Mirror

T h e L a s t

|| e d i t e d ||

"I'm the root of all this so I'll stop myself. If my misfortune is your happiness, I'll happily stay unfortunate" - Agust D, The Last

마지막

T h e L a s t

~ Jae-hyun ~

TODAY, JI-HAN IS LEAVING.

His cheap, newly purchased duffel bag lies abandoned on our bedroom floor at the foot of the bunk bed's ladder. From my place at the window I can see that it's open, his messy attempt at folding his clothes on display for all to see. Or, more accurately, just me. Our parents should be on their way home from work to see him off, but only time will tell if they remember how big of a day today is. Although, he is their favourite son so I'm sure they'll burst into the apartment with his name on their lips soon enough.

Sighing, I pull the glowing cigarette dangling from between my fingers to my lips. The smoke clogs my airways. I can imagine it curling around inside me, twisting in a way that is distinctly serpentine and burning the inside of lungs black within the confines of my chest. The taste is beyond foul too, but in a way, I am grateful. The unpleasant sensation it induces is heavier than my despair. Unable to help it, I cough. Spluttering on the tainted air as if I were somehow drowning in it.

Don't get me wrong, I don't smoke. I have enough trouble trying to stay alive without the added trouble of addiction looming over my every rational - or in my case, irrational - thought. My mother, however, does, leaving traces of her bad habit scattered around the apartment in the form of several ashtrays and deserted packets of cigarettes like the one I found just ten minutes earlier.

I inhale again, biting my lip to repress the itch in my throat. I don't consciously remember making the decision to light one, let alone smoke one. But with Ji-han in an almost mournful conversation on the phone in the hall right outside our bedroom, I must have been prompted to do so. Since I woke up to his apology a month ago, I am learning that guilt can be awfully convincing.

He's talking to Jimin. Well, more so speaking to the idol in endless 'thank yous' and apologies. I don't know what they're discussing, but if his hushed tone is an indication of anything, it has something to do with me. Things involving my brother tend to be that way. And if that is the case, I'm guessing I honestly don't want to know.

"I'll make sure to let you know when I'm given time on leave and if you're not on tour we can meet up." Ji-han's voice is suddenly just beyond the threshold. He sounds encouraged, but also grim, bitter remorse latching on to his every word like a parasite. "And Jimin-hyung," he pauses and through the hazy smoke billowing from between my lips I can see his fingers curl around the doorframe. "Thanks again. I know you're probably sick of hearing it but I honestly can't thank you enough."

There's another short silence before Ji-han says his goodbyes. He slips into our room, tucking his phone into the back pocket of his jeans, wrinkling his nose as the sharp smell of nicotine floods his senses. Upon seeing the smouldering death stick in my grasp, his features are quick to morph into a distorted mix of concern, disappointment, and restrained anger. His eyes narrow, his thick lashes shielding the displeasure in his irises from my view and his dark brows furrow in the centre. Somehow, his expression is more suffocating than the smoke in my lungs.

"Hyung, why are you . . ." he trails off, the indignation retreating back into the inky depths of his pupils so quickly I have to wonder if it was ever there in the first place. His own guilt, just as poisonous and all-consuming as my own, is swift in taking its place. And while he doesn't share my features the same eerie way Jimin does, at this moment in time, his eyes could very well be a reflection of my own.