Chapter Text
Ten years had passed since Sparks first stood on a stage together. And it had been five years since the river stole Kim Iwol.
The remaining five members gathered in the quiet living room of Choi Jeho’s house. The air was filled with a delicate mix of nostalgic warmth and unsaid grief. Between them sat a small, dented metal box—a time capsule they had buried together back on their third anniversary, promising to open it on their tenth.
"All right, let's open it before someone starts crying already," Cheonghyeon said, trying to force a lighthearted tone as Choi Jeho used a small tool to pry open the rusted latch.
Inside sat six folded pieces of paper, slightly yellowed at the edges. They decided to read their own letters first.
Seongbin unfolded his carefully, staring at the handwriting for a long moment before covering half his face with one hand.
“I seriously wrote this?”
“What did you write?” Kiyeon leaned closer, trying to peek.
Seongbin hesitated, then reluctantly read it aloud. “I wanted to open my own artist agency.”
Joowoo let out a small, breathy chuckle. “President Jeong.”
Seongbin lowered the letter, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Don't laugh. It sounded reasonable at the time.”
“You were aiming pretty high,” Cheonghyeon murmured.
Seongbin pointed at him. “At least I had a career plan.”
Joowoo quickly pulled out his own letter before Seongbin could retaliate.
“I wanted to form a rock group with passion.”
Everyone stared at him.
“A rock group?”
“With passion,” Joowoo repeated, his expression completely serious.
Kiyeon's lips twitched. “You actually wrote with passion?”
“I was too young.”
“You're still young.”
“That isn't the point.”
A quiet chuckle passed through the group. It wasn't the kind of laughter they used to have. It faded quickly, leaving behind a strange ache in the silence.
Three years ago, they would have laughed until their stomachs hurt over something this ridiculous.
Now, one of the people who should have been sitting among them was gone.
The thought settled quietly between them. Kiyeon lowered his gaze for a moment before unfolding his own letter.
“I wanted to become a dance teacher.”
Choi Jeho nodded. “Actually, that one isn't surprising.”
Kiyeon gave him a small smile. “Unlike Seongbin hyung wanting to become a CEO.”
“Hey,” Seongbin protested, though there was no real irritation in his voice. “Leave me alone.”
For a moment, the corners of their mouths lifted again.
Then Cheonghyeon opened his letter. “I wanted to become a world-class model and a big-time composer.”
Joowoo looked around at them, shaking his head with a faint smile. “Why were we all so insanely ambitious?”
“Because we were young,” Choi Jeho answered.
“We were only five years younger,” Seongbin reminded him.
“Exactly, we were immature.” Kiyeon's mouth curved slightly. A quiet, fond chuckle moved through them.
Then Choi Jeho unfolded his own letter.
“I wanted to have my own gym and become a personal trainer. Especially for artists.”
Kiyeon stared at him. “Wait. So basically, you wanted to make us exercise for the rest of our lives?”
Choi Jeho blinked. “That's not what I said.”
“That's exactly what you said.”
This time, even Seongbin laughed softly. Only for a few seconds. Then the room fell quiet again.
Their smiles remained, but they were fragile now, carrying something heavier underneath.
Kim Iwol's letter was still lying unopened among them.
Remembering that he would never get to laugh with them about them was another. For a brief moment, though, they could almost imagine him sitting there.
The thought hurt. But somehow, it was warm too. And so they sat together in the quiet room, holding their old dreams in their hands, allowing themselves the smallest smiles for the boy they had once been—
and the boy they could no longer bring back.
As the laughter quieted down, Choi Jeho’s eyes fell onto the very bottom of the metal box.
There was one last piece of paper left.
The room grew noticeably still. Choi Jeho’s hand hovered over the paper for a long second before his fingers slowly closed around it.
"What about Iwol-hyung’s letter?" Seongbin asked softly.
Choi Jeho stared down at his friend’s handwriting on the folded sheet. His chest tightened painfully, the secret he had carried for five long years burning in his throat.
"I wonder if he’d get mad if we read it," Choi Jeho murmured, his voice barely audible.
"If we don't read it, who else will?" Kiyeon said gently. "Let's read it."
"Go on and read it for him, Jeho-hyung," Joowoo added, his eyes glistening.
"I really want to know what Iwol-hyung wrote," Seongbin agreed quietly.
Choi Jeho swallowed the lump in his throat and unfolded the paper. His hands trembled slightly, but he forced his voice to remain steady as he began.
"Dear everyone in five years, how are you doing?"
Choi Jeho paused, taking a ragged breath before continuing.
"To Choi Jeho... you are always the stoic, but reliable king of center—"
"Wait, are you making that up, hyung?" Cheonghyeon interrupted, craning his neck forward suspecting a joke. "Did he really write that?"
Choi Jeho turned the letter slightly, showing the neat script to Cheonghyeon. "No... it's really written right here."
Cheonghyeon blinked at the paper. "It really is..."
Choi Jeho lowered his eyes back to the text, his chest aching as Kim Iwol’s voice echoed in his head.
"I really appreciated being the same age as you. It took a lot of the burden off my chest, having someone to share being the oldest with. Are you still cursing at people? Joowoo, please send him to a temple for meditation, ahaha..."
Joowoo snorted through a wet sigh. "He still cursed, hyung." Choi Jeho couldn't help the faint, broken smile that pulled at his lips.
A quiet chuckle passed through the room, but Choi Jeho felt like he was suffocating. Every word was a knife.
"To our cutie-pie visual, Lee Cheonghyeon. How many songs have you composed already? I still laugh thinking about the times we were partners-in-crime, looking like pandas staying up late to dodge leader Seongbin’s scolding while working on your tracks..."
Cheonghyeon grinned through his tears. "I knew he'd ask..."
"To our leader, Jeong Seongbin. A gentle, handsome face that warms everyone with his kindness. Did you start losing hair from the stress of managing all of us? I hope the fans don't see you as an old man losing his hair before your time..."
A wave of sad laughter broke over them. "That's definitely Iwol-hyung," Seongbin murmured, wiping a tear from his cheek.
"To Joowoo, our human morning mist, who looks like someone who might appear on a foggy mountain at dawn wearing a hanbok. I'm so glad to have had a partner who shared my sensitive stomach. I really enjoyed cooking with you, especially during Chuseok before running off together to burn the calories. Do you have a stronger stomach now?"
Joowoo shook his head violently, tears splattering against his knees. "Iwol hyung really remembered everything..."
"To our youngest, super cutie Kang Kiyeon. Are you a complete dance machine now? How is your ankle holding up? Take care of it before you turn into a 70 year old man using wheelchairs for dancing hahahaa..."
Kiyeon let out a tearful, wet laugh, covering his face with his hands.
Choi Jeho’s voice began to crack as he reached the final line.
"I hope everyone is still together, and still good friends who can laugh like always — Kim Iwol."
Choi Jeho stopped. The quiet in the room was deafening.
Cheonghyeon wiped his eyes and looked up. "That's all? What did he write for himself?"
Choi Jeho kept his gaze glued to the paper, his jaw clenched tight.
"Nothing."
"Why?" Cheonghyeon asked, his voice rising with sudden, fragile confusion. "We all agreed to write something to our future selves... why didn't he write anything for himself?"
Choi Jeho couldn't look at them. He couldn't look at their broken, confused faces. If he looked up, he knew he would break. He knew he would scream the truth—that Kim Iwol never wrote a letter to his future self because Iwol knew he didn't have a future.
"Who knows," Choi Jeho choked out, forcing his voice to sound cold to hide the tremor. "Go ask Kim Iwol."
Cheonghyeon gasped softly, as if struck in the chest. "Why... why, hyung..." he sobbed, collapsing forward and crouching onto the floor, clutching his knees.
The room completely broke down. Kiyeon buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking silently. Seongbin pulled Joowoo into a tight embrace as they both wept openly.
Choi Jeho sat entirely frozen in the middle of their grief, terrifyingly silent.
The weight of the secret he held pressed down on him until he felt he couldn't draw air. Kim Iwol had known his time was limited when he wrote this letter. He had written a farewell disguised as a joke, quietly preparing for a future he wouldn't be part of. And then the river had stolen even the short time he had left.
Choi Jeho suffered, trapped in the nightmare of knowing that Kim Iwol died keeping this from them, and that he was forced to keep it from them forever.
"Did... did Iwol-hyung know?" Joowoo sobbed hysterically, wiping his soaked face. "Did he know he had no future?"
The question hung in the air like poison.
"How could he?" Seongbin argued through his tears, his voice desperate to find logic. "Wasn't it an accident? It was just a terrible accident..."
"Why... why, Iwol-hyung..." Kiyeon wept quietly to the floor.
Choi Jeho looked at his shattered brothers, his heart bleeding out in absolute silence. He swallowed the truth back down into the dark corner of his chest where it had lived for five years. He would carry this poison to his grave. He would let them believe it was a cruel twist of fate, rather than let them know Kim Iwol had been living on a quiet countdown all along.
Seongbin wiped his wet cheeks with the back of his hand, looking at the unfolded letter in Choi Jeho’s trembling hands.
"Nobody knows what the future holds," Seongbin whispered, his voice trembling heavily. "Nobody is really laughing the same way without you, Iwol-hyung... but you're still close to our hearts. Always."
Long after the others had dried their eyes and left for the night, Choi Jeho remained sitting alone in the dim light of his living room.
The dented metal box sat open on the table. Five letters were put away, but Kim Iwol’s letter remained in Choi Jeho’s hands.
Choi Jeho ran his thumb over the faded ink of Kim Iwol’s signature.
Choi Jeho had kept Kim Iwol's secret until the very end. But sitting here among the people who loved Kim Iwol just as desperately as he did, Choi Jeho finally understood the true cost of his silence. He hadn't saved them. He had only ensured that while they mourned together, he would have to grieve alone.
Choi Jeho carefully folded the paper, placed it back into the metal box, and closed the lid. The latch shut with a quiet, final click.
He leaned back against the couch, looking out the window at the quiet night sky.
"You really were terrible at keeping promises, Iwol-ah," Choi Jeho whispered into the empty room, tears finally spilling freely down his face. "You made me carry the whole five years by myself."
The house was silent. No answer came.
Choi Jeho closed his eyes, holding the secret tightly in his chest—the last, painful piece of Kim Iwol that belonged only to him.
The End