Fic: Insight
Jongdae grew up surrounded by the career he would never see himself working in; neurologists, ophthalmologists, people who generally believed they would be able to find the probable cure to cancer, next to chemotherapy. The field of medicine was a tough road that never seemed to perish throughout the centuries. However, it was perishable in the people who think this was a field in which they would never win the competition that thrived within.
The field of medicine was something that chose people naturally; the idea of serving others before themselves seemed like a way of life more than a mere mantra one person said to another. For Jongdae, it would be a way of life he chose turn his back onto and years later, return to the same state of mind as soon as Kim Minseok came into his life once again.
Growing up within a middle-class background, Jongdae's educational journey was a product of the classic cliché situation in which he is forced into a career he'd never see himself working in. Nonetheless, this was all partly because Jongdae himself had no idea what he wanted to do the minute he set foot in university. Everything came to him just like a child being spoon-fed at a young age; whether he thought it'd be best for him or not, his time in university as well as in medical school never took into consideration the path he might have wanted for himself truly.
Jongdae's life can be likened to a maze that knew of no exits; during his second year in which fate took a desperate turn in choosing his specialization (originally neurology), he met Kim Junmyeon. At a crucial time in which Junmyeon was almost done with his medical school career, Jongdae felt himself free of the chains that bound him in his own fate's miserable clutches; Junmyeon became the very boy who led Jongdae what might be the position he would have today, an ophthalmologist just like him. It didn't take a genius for Junmyeon to notice quite immediately in Jongdae that the latter had no interest whatsoever in the field many other people would die for just to pay the tuition for one year. Just as many people had their minds set on taking the path to the life of a doctor, Jongdae seemed like the black sheep in a busy herd. He likens it to Shibuya's main complex; in which everyone seems to know where they are headed, while he remains alone in the middle of the road. No one pushes him out of the way; no one helps him find his way either. There aren't any maps for him to find his way around; this is his life after all, only Jongdae can truly find out for himself the path he truly wants to take.
For Jongdae, it only seemed proper for him to make the most of what Junmyeon could teach him; thus developing a friendship that had transcended age and experience. Even before these two met, Junmyeon had his mind set on being an ophthalmologist; a specialization that had demanded more practical work experience and alternative method research. With the help of Junmyeon’s influence, little by little did Jongdae change his mind; switching from neurology to ophthalmology required more of him than he’d originally thought.
After weeks of settling all the necessary paperwork and forms stating Jongdae has completed the necessary pre-requisites he needs in order to seamlessly transfer specialties without having to repeat any of his previous classes, Jongdae realized Junmyeon was more than just a mentor to him.
It was only when Junmyeon was one with the parents and other alumni who witnessed Jongdae’s batch of graduates did the former realized that his efforts did not go unnoticed. Jongdae had been specially mentioned by the medical school’s director for his outstanding consistent performance despite choosing to switch specifications at what was perceived as a bad time to do so.
Eventually after Jongdae graduated, which by that time, Junmyeon would have been spending more of his time settling his concerns with his patients than spending some time out with Jongdae. Time gradually took its toll; as Junmyeon became more engrossed in his work, it brought his relationship with Jongdae to an abrupt end.
Before Jongdae went through the rigorous training and discipline that the field of medicine demanded, however, he grew up unlike most kids his age. As a child, he never really had anything decided for his future. Such that whenever his parents asked him what he wanted to be, they were confronted with silence that was not a sign of disobedience nor disrespect. Rather, it was the kind of silence that brought shivers to every parent’s spine; the kind of silence that seemed too dangerous for any child to exhibit; the kind of silence that said 'I'll let the gods be the judge of that'.
He recalls meeting a boy named Kim Minseok who was full of life, judging from the way he managed to drag Jongdae around when they were children just so they could still have the opportunity to join contents and debates that demanded them to speak in public. As much as Jongdae tried to remind Minseok that he was never comfortable with speaking in front of large crowds, a persistent Minseok promised that he would never ask the other to speak and the most Jongdae could do - if he wanted to - was to at least be confident in sharing his ideas with the older boy. It seemed like a decent exchange these two boys could partake at such a young age. The memory of hearing Minseok's voice reverberating on thick walls and into the ears of the audience before him reminded him of the image of Minseok's parents, whom were seen too often on television expressing speeches that talked about 'power to the masses' and 'people-led revolutions'. While their son was busy leading an example to children who only knew a set of unwritten rules that seemed to have existed in playgrounds long before the first ones had existed, Kim Minseok's parents became a fixed example of freedom of speech to people everywhere. It was no surprise as to why Jongdae managed to tolerate the older boy's bouts of self-righteousness from time to time.
In reality, not many people are aware of the relationship that had fostered between Jongdae and Minseok when they were children. Their friends simply thought of them as very close friends; peas in a pod, you might say; when in fact they considered themselves as brothers shared by experiences that might seem insignificant from a different point of view.
However, the years Minseok spent working on his goal to be working in the Vancouver Sun alongside Luhan, as well as Jongdae’s journey through medical school with the help of Junmyeon caused them to drift apart. The fact that Minseok was initially angry during the aftermath of the accident, as well as being faced with Jongdae, was not because of the former’s apparent distaste at his caretaker; in fact it was because he was blind.
“Do you even know what; in particular, was the reason why we drifted apart?” Jongdae remembers Minseok asking, that very same day the latter regained consciousness. It was right after Jongdae reintroduced himself, at the same time while Minseok was trying to associate himself with reality once again.
“Isn’t the fact that we’re together more important than what the past has done to us?” Jongdae’s voice was stern, retaining the same calmness that Minseok’s always cherished with him. The former knew no faltering in his answers; they were all exact and certain. An obvious downside to this, however: Jongdae’s words were often too blunt, thus instilling a significant amount of fear in Minseok whenever Jongdae spoke this way.
At the same time, however, at a room quite distant from the ICU in which Minseok was held in for four days, lies a man who seeks comfort in making up probabilities he knows that will never come true.
In the middle of the four days in which Minseok was under a coma from the accident, Jongdae had been arranging a favour with Junmyeon; one that could have prevented all this from ever happening.
“What’s in it for me?” Junmyeon’s thankful he’s forced Jongdae to talk softly and that he has no scheduled patients besides Minseok for the day. The last thing he wants to encounter is someone eavesdropping on their conversation. Worse, record it and have it exposed. It’s also the time Junmyeon realizes that his patient is the protégé of the very man he was supposed to be interviewed by; a short of two days before his death.
“I don’t care if you’re not going to gain anything from it.”
Jongdae recalls himself running around the hospital to find Junmyeon, repeatedly asking for help on how to deal with operations to improve cosmesis on a blind eye. Perhaps, to him, it’s only one of the many times he’s done this in the significant past.
“Jongdae, we haven’t been in touch in years; the first thing you tell me the minute we see each other again is to help you in another one of your ‘selfish acts’.”
“Old habits die hard, Junmyeon.”
After much persuasion, Minseok acquiesces to attending the third BRP session: braille reading.
He attends not knowing he’ll hate it as much as he tries to listen to the instructor. He wishes he could go back to typing several drafts on his laptop to the point in which countless files have already succeeded in covering his wallpaper. There is a strict unwritten criterion that seems to exist whenever Luhan asks Minseok to rush-send in articles to be published the day after they’re finished. Minseok distantly remembers living in the office without having any safe room to breathe freely; there is an invisible vice-like grip on his throat that could leave him breathless anytime soon the minute he makes a mistake.
Part of the reason why Minseok was forced to attend today’s session was because Jongdae explained that it would do the former good in the long run.
Sort of.
He sits in the lecture hall feeling distracted. The instructor’s voice drowns out to almost nothing to Minseok’s ears as he feels there’s something not right. In reality, he fails to notice this sense of doubt has existed for the longest time.
He remembers perfectly the events that had transpired during his fourth session. At Jongdae’s request, Minseok gets pulled out of the braille reading lesson and is moved to a class that teaches him how to type without necessarily being able to see the keyboard. His instructor calls it touch typing, Minseok calls it second skin. He thinks it’s stupid that he’s being taught this when his occupation essentially revolved around this technique.
There is a sense of relief in the air; Minseok realizes through the reintroduction of the touch typing technique, somehow from the motivation of the instructor as well as his desire to associate himself once again with the letters on a keyboard he’s been so used to for years he swore he could have taken them for granted at one point.
For once, he feels he’s at the right place.
Accompanied with the sense of relief that he currently feels, Minseok thinks the time is right for him to tell his companions the real story to what had happened to him, and reveal his true persona.
The instructor gives them a ten-minute break to relieve themselves and rest from all the exercises they’ve been given for an hour. Minseok believes they’re not hard at all, they just need to memorize clearly the letters and numbers on a keyboard so well that they can easily adapt to computers they’ve never exactly used before. It’s a talent he believes anyone can learn by themselves.
“I have something to say,” Minseok begins by clearing his throat. He feels Sooyeon’s hand on his free wrist, a sign that he should probably take his time to say what he wants, “I kept the entire story from you guys for the longest time, I’m sorry.”
His companions were not surprised with this sudden confession; it had been something that they’ve always wanted to ask Minseok for the longest time. However, with Minseok’s dispositions and BRP sessions, they simply did not have the time to confront him about the truth.
He recalls to all the people Junmyeon had introduced to him what had happened on the night of April 8: inebriated Luhan, talks about not getting the car dirty, the idea of “proper care” when the owner himself was unable to do the same to his car, as well as all the hypocritical statements he could possibly take into account during this very night.
That’s when Minseok realizes Sooyeon’s hold on his wrist is tighter than ever as his words are laced with acid and bitterness.
The final session did not really require the patients anything but a simple recall on what had taken place during the previous four sessions. The lessons they’ve learned, the meditation tactics as well as the people they’ve met are now a permanent part of their lives forever; all these are the things they need to face the reality of their disability.
Minseok hears clearing throats around him as the gradual noise of the patients slowly disappears as everyone takes their seats on the round tables around the rehabilitation center. Chanyeol’s distinct deep voice is loud in front of them all as he begins to congratulate all the patients for successfully being able to accomplish all the rehabilitation techniques they need to get used to their disability.
“I wish you all good luck on your future endeavors; may you all keep in touch with one another as a constant reminder that we are not alone in this challenge that we have to face. Our outlook on ourselves might have changed; others’ remain the same. The challenge is that we must continue to use what we have learned despite hardships. Most especially to Kim Minseok, may you be able to seek happiness despite the problems that you face.”
Applauds erupt behind Minseok when he realizes all these are for him; everyone seems to know the hardships he’s been through and this is the one time he feels so proud and at the same time a bit shy at the fact that he’s receiving recognition for something like this. It’s ironic, Minseok thinks; he remembers being incredibly disinterested the first time Junmyeon brought up the whole idea.
Chanyeol walks off the podium and he meets Minseok whose eyes are wide-open and brimming with tears. The former shakes his head as if he’s been expecting this all along, “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t have the courage to speak up like that with the problems I was really facing. You’re a brave man, Minseok; a true inspiration to us all.”
Minseok is left speechless; the only thing he can ask Chanyeol is to lead him to Junmyeon’s office. A final farewell, he explains to the taller man on the way.
“What brings you here?” Junmyeon asks Minseok as the latter is helped to a seat just beside the ophthalmologist’s table.
“Junmyeon, I don’t think I’ll come back here anytime soon, so be honest with me,” Minseok’s voice draws soft. His hands are trembling and Junmyeon can easily tell what’s going to happen next. There are incessant amounts of prescriptions the doctor’s yet to dispose but the view of the cluttered desk does not help him with distracting himself with his thoughts.
At the same time, Minseok’s heart begins to beat faster. He can’t tell the reason why but his instincts are making him choose either to leave the office right now or to stay and hear what Junmyeon has to say. Of course he chooses the former.
“Luhan,” Junmyeon’s unsure how he’s going to explain this. After all, this has gone too far to be explained properly even in words. He wishes he didn’t have to settle that favor with Jongdae; it was as if he made a deal with the devil. Lying to a patient about someone else’s death is far worse than lying to them about their own prognosis, “I haven’t been completely honest with you, Minseok.”
This is it. Minseok fears the worst-possible scenarios coming out from Junmyeon’s mouth right about now. Then again, he can’t tell exactly what his doctor’s about to tell him. We’ve been wrong about Luhan’s condition all this time? He’s perfectly fine and you can meet him right now? He’s safe and he’s been waiting for you since this morning?
“Luhan died while you were under a coma,” The date on Junmyeon’s calendar reads July 21. That means it’s been more than three months since Luhan has died. There are a billion questions running through Minseok’s mind; the most frequent being ‘why would anyone even think that hiding this from me would be a good idea?’ He wants to ask Junmyeon questions but he feels something choking him and it’s preventing the words to come out of his mouth, “He died sometime after you two were sent to the hospital after the accident.”
Foul play, it is Minseok’s first reason to suspect since playing a dirty trick on him like this could’ve been done by others who wanted to sabotage him and take advantage of his disability now that he can’t work for the Vancouver Sun anymore.
Minseok gets off his seat abruptly, in a fit of anger and mixed emotions. He’s about to leave Junmyeon’s office when he hears the doctor clearing his throat, “Let me remind you something.” his tone’s gone from apologetic to stern, as if he wants Minseok to take note of every word that comes out from his mouth, “The only way for you to regain your sight is if someone actually donates their eyes to you.”
“Why are you telling me this again?”
It’s already unfair that I’ve been given a second chance to live and not Luhan.
Minseok doesn’t heed the doctor’s words, slams the door to his office and returns to the lobby where the rest of the patients are being kept in.
In the middle of Minseok’s third BRP session, Jongdae decides to meet with Junmyeon for a little chat. The ophthalmologist is busy organizing his files as Jongdae barges in. The doctor sighs softly to himself as he sees his friend’s facial expression torn between a smug and an exasperated look.
“Thank goodness Minseok is busy right now; God knows he’ll think this is too extreme and that I shouldn’t have to go through all this just so he can get better.” Jongdae expresses in panted breaths.
The chat goes on swiftly, mostly being Jongdae reminding Junmyeon that in case Minseok asks the latter about Luhan again, he shouldn’t hide the truth anymore.
“You were the one who had originally asked me to hide the truth from Minseok.” The doctor replies a matter-of-factly, his eyes still focused on the prescriptions he’s busy organizing.
“Yeah, I know. But I think it’s about time that he knew the truth about all this.”
“Jongdae, you do know there is no ‘proper time’ for this. You should realize that things like these should never be kept in the dark for too long.”
The two men remain silent for a while; Jongdae watching Junmyeon’s movements, meticulous and precise, just like the way his actions are executed in the middle of a surgical procedure. Junmyeon has a habit of keeping everything in proper order; contrary to the way Jongdae lives, Junmyeon would probably do a pretty good job fixing up his friend’s place.
Amidst the shuffling of doctor’s prescriptions around the table, Junmyeon’s voice grabs Jongdae’s attention instantly. “Have you ever thought of how you’ll redeem yourself from disappointing Minseok?”
It takes a few minutes for Jongdae to even draw out the response from deep within him, “I’ll help him recover; I’m sure you know exactly what that entails, right?”
Minseok feels he’s being spoon-fed without knowing what the contents of his food are; he’s being forced to take it all in without prior query.
Junmyeon has taken the liberty to drive Minseok home after the chat in his office during the day of the latter’s final session. “Jongdae would have wanted it this way; he has his own reasons for giving up his life which you should probably ask him about if you want to. At the same time, I bet Luhan would understand; he’d be proud of his protégé carrying on his legacy of hard work and service, I’m sure.”
Sounds pretty cliché enough, Minseok thinks. He believes Junmyeon’s words could fit a TV drama for that matter. Nonetheless, there is a hint of truth that leads the doctor’s words home for him, Luhan might be disappointed with him if he chose not to take this opportunity. At the same time, his whole plan of going back to work in the Vancouver Sun would seem like a waste if he’d let this slip.
Minseok kept quiet in the entire duration of the drive home; Junmyeon did most of the talking. The conversation went more towards the idea of persuading Minseok to acquiesce, something the blind man has done most of his time in the rehabilitation center.
“I’m not sure if you realize this, but Jongdae isn’t around that’s why I’m the one driving you home.” Junmyeon tells Minseok monotonously, his eyes focused on the road. Minseok fears the worst has already begun. However, Junmyeon only comes off as saying Jongdae had other errands to attend to, so he tries not to worry as much.
On the ride back home, Minseok begins to reminisce the old days. He remembers enjoying those brief moments with Jongdae even though at the back of his mind he knows the latter was never really into the things Minseok has always been exposed to since he was a child. Those short moments where they have been awarded with medals and certificates for ‘Best Teamwork’ during debates were something Minseok cherished a lot. However, nothing else became more important than knowing he was able to raise Jongdae’s self-esteem somehow. There was something in the young Jongdae that made Minseok believe the former had nothing to keep his chin up with. The least Minseok could do was to encourage the kid in doing small things that would seem grand to everyone else.
On the ride back home, Minseok regrets taking Jongdae for granted; he was right, where has the time gone?
The two of them have changed a lot since their childhood.
Minseok is left alone in Jongdae’s apartment after Junmyeon accompanies him. The silence becomes too deafening for Minseok to bear. His mind returns to a blank slate where he can’t even remember the meditation techniques he’s learned from the rehabilitation program. His only resolution is sleeping it off until Jongdae comes back from his errands.
As soon as he enters his room, his blurry vision registers something unfamiliar in his periphery; a note written on a large piece of paper was left lying on his bedside table. The paper is bright neon pink, probably just so Minseok can easily spot it with his eyes. Jongdae had actually taken into consideration Minseok’s disability; the font size deemed too huge for anyone else but him.
“Have you ever read King Lear, Minseok? There’s a character in the story by the name of Gloucester; you remind me of him.
In the beginning, Gloucester was portrayed as a fool, allowing himself to be tricked by his son Edmund, for fear of Edmund’s brother Edgar’s plans of usurping the estate. Gloucester proclaims Edgar as an outlaw after Edmund fakes an injury caused by his brother. Eventually, Gloucester gets betrayed by Edmund after the latter gives him up to Cornwall, Regan and Goneril with a letter addressed to the King of France requesting for assistance. As punishment for betrayal, Gloucester’s eyes are gouged out. The blind man roams the heath and encounters his son along the way. Not recognizing him, he begs his son to help him jump off the cliff to his death, because he’s lost his will to live. Later on, Edgar pretends that his father has jumped off the cliff, and immediately changes his voice to tell him that he has survived the fall. Edgar saves his father from shaming himself; he gives him faith to live.
At the end of the story, Edgar reveals himself to his blind father; Gloucester dies from the shock and joy knowing his son has been alive all this time.
Minseok, why am I telling you this? Gloucester gained insight ironically after his eyes have been taken out. You and Gloucester are the same; earning wisdom right after you lost your eyesight. I’ve seen you work hard to earn your previous life back despite having to live as a blind person.
I’ve been cruel to you, Minseok; it would be so shameless of me to even ask for your forgiveness.
Just like Gloucester, after I’ve allowed Junmyeon to take out my eyes for you, I’ve gained insight of my own as well.”
Barely minutes before the accident had even taken place, amidst the arguing and drunk bickering; there was actually an inch of decency in Luhan to even ask a proper question.
“Minseok, be honest. How far would you go to save someone’s life?” Luhan’s wistful eyes are focused on the icy road before him. The speed’s faster than Minseok thinks is decent for this kind of weather. However, he keeps his mind off of berating Luhan for all the wrong things he’s doing.
“Like anyone? To the extent of donating your limbs or organs just to save them?” Minseok eyes Luhan surreptitiously; he thinks it’s the alcohol talking again. Nonetheless, no one has ever asked him this question; there’s an ounce of truth in his words.
“Something like that? How far would you go?”
“That depends on the circumstances. Although I’ll be really flattered if someone did that for me.”
Luhan playfully slaps the guy in the passenger seat, “Don’t say that out loud, the gods might hear you and do just that.”
“You’re drunk.” Minseok places Luhan’s flapping right hand back on the steering wheel.
“But I make perfect sense.” Minseok clearly feels Luhan smiling as the words come out of his mouth.
It was a quiet day in the Vancouver Sun offices. Luhan was blearily resting on his chair; mind torn between dreaming and listening to the sounds just outside his office. He partly wishes he could install soundproof windows just for his office alone because he can’t think straight; not with the conversation he just had with Jongdae bothering him like an itch in his mind that can’t seem to stop.
“So you’re Luhan,” Jongdae’s voice was distinct. After nearly telling off the security of the building that he had a scheduled appointment with Luhan, as well as their ability to maintain proper security - he deemed - very incompetent (he retells to Luhan an account of him being shoved out of the building harshly after the receptionists thought he was going to bomb the building - what are the chances?) exhausted seemed to be an understatement to describe the current state of his voice, “about fucking time you showed up.”
“I wonder what made you come all this way just to see me; I hope this is important,” As usual, there is the unnecessary input of ignorance in Luhan’s tone of voice; he wonders if Jongdae is another one of those sales pitchers who are just dying to have him advertise their products, no matter how trivial they might seem.
For a moment, Jongdae looks out the window of Luhan’s office and sees Minseok, distant and like a speck of dust in the air, “It’s about Minseok; I realize you’re the next best thing besides approaching him directly.”
Luhan looks up at Jongdae suspiciously, thinking there might be malicious intent behind his actions, “Why not approach him? What makes you think I’ll actually help you out?”
There is a great deal of silence in the room; the air is heavy and Jongdae notices the sky outside’s beginning to turn grey at a certain area in Downtown Vancouver, “Because I’m an old friend of his. However, I’m not exactly the best one he has.”
Two hours later and several cups of Tim Hortons’ coffee, Jongdae leaves the Vancouver Sun building without a budge from the security guards who have been reprimanded shortly after the boisterous scene beforehand, as well as Luhan’s number in his phone.
One afternoon, before Minseok’s last BRP session at the rehabilitation center, he enters Jongdae’s room to hear the other shuffling a handful of clothes into a luggage.
“What are you doing?” It was more of a question of concern than a demand for Jongdae to stop; the other was too busy pushing down his clothes just so he could zip up the bag in haste, “Jongdae, I know you’re ignoring me on purpose.”
“Minseok,” The younger man sits down on his luggage, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I have to leave for somewhere else soon.”
There is a small inch of pain in Minseok’s chest; he thinks it’s the medicine acting up again. “How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know,” Jongdae unknowingly scratches a small spot on his luggage; he’s nervous for fear that Minseok might jump to conclusions. “Someone else will take care of you while I’m gone; I doubt you’ll still need them by that time, though.”
The pain in Minseok’s chest begins to grow exponentially; he thinks he needs to call Junmyeon about the side-effects of his medicine. “You won’t take me with you?”
It was at that moment Jongdae felt a slight twinge of relief that Minseok can’t see his eyes brim with tears, “Why should I? You have a longer life to live than I do.”
After Minseok finished reading Jongdae’s letter, he instantly felt tired; feeling a heavy weight within his heart, he silently wished he hadn’t read the letter.
A few hours later, as well as several opportunities to toss and turn on the huge bed, Minseok wakes up from the scent of good old chicken noodle soup from the kitchen. He leaves his room groggily to hear Junmyeon telling him to come over and sit on the dining chair.
“So you’ve read his letter to you,” Minseok can distantly hear the boiling pot of hot soup on the stove; he immediately realizes he’s hungry.
The minute Junmyeon serves Minseok a bowl of soup; the latter eats it without hesitating. “Can I say no to this?”
“Jongdae would’ve wanted it to be this way,” Junmyeon was going to stop Minseok and tell him the soup’s too hot to be consumed; the other doesn’t seem to mind, however.
They both eat until the pot of soup becomes empty. At this point, Junmyeon believes he’s convinced Minseok fully.
“I’ve also taken the liberty of assigning someone to take care of you after the surgery takes place, in case something unexpected takes place.”
Minseok passes back his empty bowl of soup to Junmyeon, a wordless demand of another serving. As Junmyeon boils up the pot once again, he explains to Minseok that a man named Sungmin will be taking care of him. Sungmin used to take care of both Kyuhyun and Hyukjae when they were together at the rehabilitation center. It was only when Kyuhyun died and Hyukjae began to refuse his help that he left their care to the resident doctors; a part of Sungmin realized one couldn’t live without the other. Junmyeon deemed Sungmin more than qualified to take care of Minseok only because the nurse had more than enough experience with patients who have undergone evisceration of the eye.