Dear Diary,
Tonight, he slept in my arms.
And while I held him — trembling, sweating, barely able to speak — all I could think was:
How do you love someone while watching them slowly disappear?
And worse —
How do you let go when they're still here?
Because that's what it feels like now.
Like I'm loving a shadow with the heartbeat of the boy I fell in love with.
And all I can do is hold him tighter, praying he stays a little longer.
1:31 PMHe didn't answer my texts this morning.
Not even the small ones.
Me: "Hey. Did you eat?"
Me: "Still thinking about that awful movie we watched."
Me: "I miss you."
Nothing.
I called.
It rang once.
Then stopped.
I waited.
Tried again.
No answer.
Panic crawled up my throat, slow and hot.
I got dressed, grabbed the keys, and ran.
2:47 PM
The door was unlocked.
I found him curled on the couch.
Wrapped in two blankets, eyes shut, sweat beading along his forehead.
He didn't hear me come in.
Didn't flinch when I knelt beside him.
His breathing was fast. Uneven.
I pressed my palm to his cheek.
Burning.
He was burning.
"Jung-Kyo," I whispered.
No answer.
Just a low, cracked moan as he shifted, barely conscious.
I rushed to the kitchen, filled a bowl with cool water, grabbed a rag, and knelt beside him again.
Wiped his forehead. Pressed the cloth to his neck. His hands.
He whimpered.
But he didn't open his eyes.
3:33 PM
I wanted to call someone.
A doctor.
His mother.
Anyone.
But I froze.
Because some part of me still believed he'd wake up and say, It's fine, I just needed sleep.
Because if I called someone, it would make it real.
And I wasn't ready for real.
So instead, I stayed.
I wiped his face.
I whispered his name.
I said, "Please. Please stay."
And he shivered — not from cold.
From something deeper.
Like his body was trying to fight something it couldn't name.
4:10 PM
He stirred around four.
Eyes fluttering open like it hurt.
"Mi…Chan?"
I nodded, eyes burning.
"I'm here."
He blinked. Tried to smile.
Failed.
"I feel… weird."
"You're sick."
"No. I mean… inside."
His hand reached for mine.
Weak. Barely there.
I grabbed it, pressed it to my chest.
"I've got you," I whispered. "You don't have to fight alone."
He looked like he wanted to cry.
But he didn't have the strength.
So I cried for both of us.
5:02 PM
He drifted in and out of sleep for the next hour.
Sometimes he mumbled.
Nonsense.
Sometimes my name.
Once, he said "dad."
And I swear my heart cracked in two.
Because I know what it means to call for someone you've already lost.
I know what it means to want to go home when your body doesn't feel like yours anymore.
I held him tighter.
Kissed the top of his head.
And whispered, "I'm here. I'm not leaving."
6:24 PM
He had a coughing fit.
Not long.
But sharp.
Rough.
I ran to the kitchen, got him water.
He only took two sips before turning his head.
"I'm tired," he said.
"I know."
His voice was so quiet I barely heard it.
"I'm scared."
"I am too."
He closed his eyes.
"But I don't want to waste this," he whispered.
"This?"
"You."
I bit my lip.
Swallowed the scream that wanted to rise.
"I'm not a waste," I said.
"You're the only thing that feels… real."
7:33 PM
He fell asleep again.
This time, with his head in my lap.
One hand curled against my hip.
The other resting over his chest, like he was trying to hold his own heartbeat in place.
I didn't move.
Not for anything.
Even when my legs went numb.
Even when my shirt soaked through from the sweat clinging to his back.
Because this — this moment — was all I had.
And I wasn't going to lose a second of it.
8:16 PM
I watched the sun go down through his window.
The shadows moved across the floor like time dragging its heels.
I counted his breaths.
One by one.
I told myself that as long as I could hear him breathing, he was still mine.
9:03 PM
He woke briefly.
Looked up at me.
Eyes glassy. Unfocused.
But then — a small smile.
The kind that looked like effort.
"Mi-Chan," he whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Don't cry."
I didn't even realize I was.
But the tears were there.
Falling quietly onto his shirt.
"I'm okay," he said.
"No, you're not."
"But you're here. That's enough."
And then — he slept again.
Peacefully, this time.
9:52 PM
I'm writing this while he sleeps.
My legs are still numb.
My throat aches.
And the candle I lit in his kitchen is flickering low.
But I don't care.
Because this is what love is.
It's not the poetry.
It's not the laughter.
It's not the "I love you" whispered in perfect moments.
It's this.
Holding someone while they tremble.
Wiping their sweat while pretending not to panic.
Kissing their knuckles when they can't sit up straight.
Love is choosing someone even when they can't choose themselves.
And tonight, I chose him.
Again.
And again.
And again.
10:45 PM
He stirred just now.
Murmured something about stars.
I think he's dreaming.
And I hope it's a good one.
I hope, wherever he is, he's not scared.
I hope he feels warm.
I hope he feels loved.
Because I'm here.
And I'm not leaving.
Not now.
Not ever.
Even if he sleeps through tomorrow.
Even if he forgets how to wake up.
Even if the light inside him continues to dim.
I will stay.
I will carry the heat for both of us.
– Mi-Chan