♡ We tend to cherish the fleeting things... because we know that, someday, they'll all be gone. ♡
𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 1x
[EXTENDED SUMMARY]:
Nineteen-year-old, cancer-stricken Lee Minho knows is well aware of the presence of his impending death. Exhaus...
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EPHEMERAL » ♡ « lasting for a very short time
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The sky is streaked with thin wisps of clouds — a clear, blue expanse, serene and beautiful. Minho allows himself to soak up the tranquil atmosphere: the heat of the sun that warms his skin, the pleasant caress of the breeze against his cheekbones, the melodious chirping of birds, and the rustle of leaves as they dance to the whims of nature.
"Today is such a nice day!" Jisung exclaims, carefully lowering himself down onto the bench beside Minho.
The slight tinge of pink from the summertime sun peeks out from beneath the tips of Jisung's hair. The wind tousles the dark curls hanging loosely across Jisung's forehead. Minho finds it peculiar how his hair still looks healthier than ever . He doesn't mention it. He thinks Jisung looks a bit like a radiant angel with the way the rays of sunlight cast a golden halo around him—
Quit it, Minho.
"Yeah, it is," Minho agrees. I wish the medication in my body wouldn't stop me from fully enjoying it.
"Do you want to share?" Jisung asks, waving a polka-dotted cup before Minho's half-linden eyes. "The ice cream truck swung by earlier. It might still be there, but I figured it might just be easier to share."
Minho takes the proffered cup with a wordless nod of thanks and proceeds to scoop a generous spoonful into his mouth. It's a little nauseating. Chocolate fudge over vanilla. Minho hums as the decadent flavors poison his tongue. It does little to lift the melancholic spirits that sit firm on Minho's shoulders.
"Is it good?" Jisung asks, fiddling with his thumbs. "I haven't had ice cream in forever ; we're not allowed to. So, I'm not sure what's good."
Minho makes a small noise of affirmation in the back of his throat. Minho can hardly enjoy it, it's nauseating, but:
"It's good," Minho says. Jisung offers a bright smile in response. It makes Minho feel a little ill.
A part of Minho is resentful seeing Jisung here, so cheerful and oblivious, while he himself feels like a zombie torturously trapped within a living person; a walking corpse — alive only in body. Another part is envious. There's a lingering desperation to clip off Jisung's wings and attach them to his own body. He wishes he could be carefree and happy like Jisung, too.
