Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Keonho is mildly disturbed by the way life continues around him.

Fall in particular, brings sadness.

Martin doesn’t need him as his emergency contact anymore, at attention anytime he needed Keonho to drag him back into his house. He doesn’t need to nurse anyone back to health from their injuries, nor keep watch over them while they spiral. There are no more late-night knocks on his door to attend to, where Seonghyeon just has to unload the pain of the last week in his arms. How he had to hold Juhoon down to stop him from crying, how he has to spend the nights alone and figure out what to eat that day.

Another part of Keonho misses the way his life used to revolve around being there for people. It’s selfish, really. But it starts to feel like the world is moving on without him.

Keonho doesn’t remember the last time he smiled until his cheeks hurt.

He and Seonghyeon don’t really talk anymore. Passing conversations when they bump into each other on the street. Sometimes Seonghyeon will come to the restaurant for dinner like he used to, and they’ll pretend nothing is wrong. Sometimes Keonho will be in the laundromat when he’s on shift, and they’ll casually strike up conversation about what they’ve missed in each other’s lives.

He knows they’re drifting. And yet, it doesn’t feel like he can do anything about it.

He spends a lot of his time in his memories now. It’s less lonely.

When he’s in his memories, he’s able to recall a pleasant, warm day lakeside with his friends. How the sun had beamed down at the ground with intense ferocity that he’d hated in the moment. It was far too hot, and Keonho could feel the sweat dripping off him.

But now? He thinks could cry if he so much as saw a golden sunray again. He catches himself debating if this is what Juhoon was doing when he’d stare off into the distance. Is that how he coped with the depressing reality of life in the moment?

Maybe Keonho needs to see someone too.

He dives back into their last day at the lake together. Martin and Seonghyeon stand on the shore behind him as he stumbles into the water after James. He’s giggling with a bubble in his chest, and a tingle in his fingertips. He remembers how James had dunked himself into the lake without a second thought, interrupting Juhoon’s pleasant soak.

Man, seeing Juhoon swim was weird. He moved in the water like he’d always been there. Like a mermaid. But the fact that Keonho had never once seen him even step foot in the water meant that Juhoon kind of stuck out like a sore thumb against the clear water. Martin and Seonghyeon had fallen in together – but Keonho thinks that Martin fell into him first. James had said something stupid with his arm around Keonho and Juhoon. Everyone had been smiling. Genuinely.

The memory gets stained by sadness. It turns blueish gray around the edges and tinges every move with a sense of cold melancholy, for something he’s never going to get back.

It could be worse. So much worse. Life just continued like normal the minute Juhoon and Martin walked out of it. It makes him taste bile at the back of his throat. He can’t tell if he’s angry or not.

He doesn’t have the luxury of falling to pieces like Seonghyeon does. Keonho’s phone vibrates as a flood of message notifications illuminate the screen in his pocket. He barely hears it over the drone of customers in the restaurant, constant chatter a low-level buzz in his ears. The ceiling light above his head flickers annoyingly, a jaundiced pool of light that casts heavy shadows across his face, really highlights the tired bags under his eyes.

eom
sorry i haven’t been messaging
been busy
i finish at 8 today
want me to come by?

dd
yea
i'm closing
if that changes ur plans

He replies as fast as his fingers can move under the counter, anxiously waits for the voice of his mother in his ear, nagging him to get back to work. Instead, a fresh round of plates and bowls appears in front of him, wafting the delicious aroma of steamed vegetables and freshly cooked meats around the register.

“Table outside, okay?” His older sister says quietly, shoulders also hunched with exhaustion. It crinkles her apron up. The evening rush always takes its toll on her. “The one with the wrinkly old guy.”

Keonho manages to sweep the various dishes into his arms and prepares himself to don the customer service face he knows is needed. He feels his phone vibrate again in his pocket. The lighting gets gentler as he reaches the doors to the outside. The darkening sky softens the edges into a warm, yellow glow that spills out onto the concrete paving outside. He hears the hammering of rain down onto their shelter, sees a couple trails of rainwater flowing past his feet. He carefully steps over them, plasters a charming, artificial smile on his face.

“You’re a slow one, aren’t you?” A man’s voice says, annoyance clear. It makes Keonho falter briefly, and he has to try to keep the gentle smile from morphing into something less savory.

“I’ve got your food here.” He replies politely. He places the dishes down methodically, like he’s rehearsed over the past year and a half. It’s become a simple routine. Biggest dish in the middle, spread the rice and vegetables out. Place the meat dishes in front of the guys because they always complain otherwise.

“About more drinks.” The guy ignores him, and Keonho recognizes that this must be the wrinkly old guy his sister was talking about.

His skin is leathery, with deep crow's feet wrinkles radiating from the corners of the eyes – uglier than how the sunrays echo outwards in warmer months. Defined, stubborn marionette lines carve out the space his mouth occupies. His teeth are yellowing, and Keonho averts his eyes to the other customers at the table to avoid the piercing gaze of his dark brown eyes.

“Sorry, sir.” He apologizes curtly. “What would you all like?” He says, opening the conversation to the rest of the table as he retrieves his notebook from deep in his pocket. He hopes his pen isn’t out of ink this time.

“She will take a wine.” The man says, pointing at the timid woman sat next to him, with tired eyes and brown hair that’s graying at the roots. Keonho assumes this must be his poor wife. “She needs it.”

He nods, chooses not to question it. Writes it down with scratchy handwriting that is too clumsy.

“Water for the table.” The guy continues, looking at the two children sat with them. They must be in their early teens and sit with their heads down as they wait their turn to speak. The younger one is occupying herself with her chopsticks.

“Soju for me. Two.” He finishes with a sneer in Keonho’s direction. He looks him up and down with a judgmental stare. Keonho inhales deep through his nose and collects his inner calm.

“It’ll be with you soon.” He promises, head dipping in faux respect. “Anything else I can help you with?”

The man shoos him away with a dismissive hand, glancing back to his so-called family and continuing to talk in an offputtingly loud voice. Keonho turns on his heel, begins to walk back into the warmth of the restaurant. He steps back behind the counter, pokes his head around the corner to announce the round of drinks. There is too much noise in the kitchen.

There’s the sound of water running, and glasses clinking against each other as they’re hurriedly washed and tidied away. The steam within the room is overwhelming despite the two open windows, and the contrasting smells of various foods being cooked up makes him wrinkle his nose. The heat of the stove is immediate, suffocating.

His father’s voice booms loud from the far corner of the kitchen, barking orders at his staff. He knows his grandfather is standing next to him, organizing the efforts of the other employees in the building.

“Keonho, you need to be at the register.” His father calls the moment Keonho appears. His face is obscured by smoke, and steam, and Keonho is frankly thankful he doesn’t have to look him in the eye.

He doesn’t bother to put up a fight this time, just rips the page out of his notebook and passes it to his sister before he leaves.

eom
i'll be there

Seonghyeon arrives as the restaurant begins to clear of people. He shuffles in awkwardly, sidesteps Keonho’s sister as she heads outside to clean. The heat from the rush of cooking and steam earlier lingers, but it has stilled to a background warmth that settles into Keonho’s bones like an arthritis treatment.

The mean guy outside is thankfully gone.

Keonho takes in Seonghyeon’s appearance – hair held back off his forehead with a plain headband. He looks exhausted, with his eyes blinking slowly as he adjusts to the brighter light inside. His work shirt is peeking out of the bag Seonghyeon has slung over one shoulder, replaced by a thick, black hoodie underneath a leather jacket. There’s a black bike helmet attached to his bag, and his sweatpants are dragging along the floor that Keonho is supposed to mop in a minute.

“You look like death.” He says, and Seonghyeon exhales sharply, like he’s too tired to laugh.

“I feel like it too.” He replies, hands deep in his pockets as they stand across the room from each other. It’s unfamiliar. Standoffish. Like when Keonho first tried to befriend Seonghyeon.

“My feet hurt.” He complains instead. It makes Keonho want to laugh, but the bubbling within his chest settles when he watches Seonghyeon’s shoulders sag even more as he stuffs his bony hands into his pockets.

“You should fix your shoes.” Keonho replies flatly, looking down at Seonghyeon’s beaten, holy sneakers.

Seonghyeon looks down at the ugly, practical shoes Keonho has chosen to don. “What, and wear halbae slippers?”

“They’re comfy.” Keonho shoots back. “One of us has made a poor choice.”

Seonghyeon rolls his eyes, moves to dump his bag behind the register. Keonho hears the voice of his mother nagging again in the kitchen, but it’s thankfully not directed towards him. He strips off his jacket and hoodie, leaving him in a t-shirt that exposes skinny arms. He can smell the faintest trace of lavender and sage that follows Seonghyeon as he barges past Keonho.

“Whatever.” He says, slumping down at the counter lazily.

“How was your shift?” Keonho asks as he lifts the last of the chairs off the floor and onto the tables neatly.

“The laundromat is designed to give people back problems.” Seonghyeon complains as he screws his eyes shut. A yawn follows.

Keonho finally laughs, breaks the stifling atmosphere with a quiet giggle.

“I think any job is designed to kill you really slowly.” He replies, wringing out the mop.

“That’s just life.” Seonghyeon replies, but Keonho can see the small smile tugging at his lips.

Finally.

“Your apron is cute.”

Keonho rubs the back of his neck awkwardly with his free hand. He looks down at the floral-patterned fabric tied around his waist.

“My sister took mine.” He insists, gesturing vaguely outside, at where she’s wiping down tables. “I prefer mine.”

Seonghyeon snorts. His eyes are still closed, resting on his hands as he’s slumped forwards over the counter. “Are we good?”

Keonho pauses.

“Why?” He replies hesitantly. “Have I done something?”

“What could you have done?”

“I don’t know.” Keonho murmurs. “We haven’t spoken in like, a month and a half.”

“What, like you’re counting now?” Seonghyeon sneers, and there, Keonho hears the bitterness underneath that he’s been sensing since Juhoon and Martin left.

“No.” He breathes out, defeated. “I just wanted to see...”

He swallows, wets his lips again. Seonghyeon keeps staring at him.

“I wanted to know if either of us messed something up. You know. We don’t really talk anymore.”

“People change.” Seonghyeon replies, awkwardly changing the subject. “Maybe nothing is wrong and we’re just different.”

Keonho stares back this time. Seonghyeon has a vacant look in his eyes.

“Do you believe that?”

No reply comes. Keonho decides to go back to mopping before his mother comes down to chide him for not working fast enough.

“Is it my fault?” He whispers, barely loud enough for Seonghyeon to catch it. “Did I do something wrong?”

Seonghyeon rolls his eyes and ignores him. It opens up a void in his stomach that makes his head spin with all the worst possible outcomes. He pushes the mop harder against the floor, like trying to carve a line into the linoleum will make him feel fuller.

“Why does it seem like a chore to talk to me?” Keonho asks suddenly, and he doesn’t know where the sudden burst came from. “You just look like you want to go home.”

“It’s not a chore.” Seonghyeon says. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, in a way that reminds Keonho too much of Juhoon. It hurts a little. “Just having a bad day.”

“Can I help?” Keonho offers.

Seonghyeon looks back at him, and the pleading look he sometimes gets in his eyes has reappeared, just below the surface. Anyone who didn’t know him well enough wouldn’t see it, but Keonho has spent far too much time looking at Seonghyeon in his worst moments to miss it.

“I don’t think so.” He replies, but his voice falters and his eyes soften. “Sorry.”

So Keonho goes back to mopping. A strange mix of worry, nausea and confusion bubbles in his stomach as he glances back at Seonghyeon nervously. But he just sits, quiet and unmoving, waiting for Keonho to finish.

“Do you ever feel like you could’ve turned out different?” Seonghyeon proposes, fingers tapping annoyingly against the countertop. “If your family wasn’t....”

Keonho’s heart aches in his chest. Because yes, without an overbearing father who he can’t even look in the eye without getting clammy hands, he’d probably be a hell of a different person.

“Yeah.” Is all he admits though. “Why?”

“Some part of me feels like I was destined to end up miserable.”

“Oh.”

Seonghyeon looks like he could collapse, dead, right here and now. His skin is far paler than last time Keonho saw him. He looks exhausted, bone deep. Like holding his eyes open is hard work.

And yet, Keonho can’t stop the mistake that comes out of his mouth.

“You look better.” He changes the subject. Diverts the attention away from pain.

Seonghyeon winces. “Keonho-”

“Have you been working out?” He rambles, desperately trying to avoid Seonghyeon’s prying questions. “You look healthier.”

“What- no, I don’t. Keonho-”

“You’ll have to give me some tips. Maybe you can tell me your diet too, it looks like it’s working.”

“No-”

“You’re going to be all set for summer, I guess. I’m kind of jealous. My muscles are still stringy and-”

“Keonho.” Seonghyeon says, voice raised. His hands are covering his arms, where they protrude from his t-shirt. The horrified look on his face is enough to stop Keonho in his tracks and fill him with regret.

“Stop it.”

His voice breaks around the edges, like it loses some of the confidence Seonghyeon has built up again over the months. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” Keonho says with an artificial laugh.

“The thing where you avoid talking about bad things.”

“I’m not,” Keonho swallows the spit in his mouth. “I’m not doing that.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything.” Keonho stumbles over the words like he isn’t quite sure what he should say, even as it comes out. Seonghyeon tries to avoid eye contact with him.

“Stop commenting on my body.” He says firmly after a second, like he was determining whether it’s a boundary he should even bother suggesting. “I don’t like it.”

Keonho’s cheeks burn. “Sorry.” He mumbles the apology.

“Yeah.” Seonghyeon breathes out through his nose, like it’s a mistake to acknowledge what Keonho is saying. “It’s okay, I guess.”

✧

Keonho wanders down the main street as the sun sets on his day off.

The weather has taken pity on him, and the grey clouds have broken. The rain has stopped falling, and Keonho can see the faintest, lingering tinge of pink in the sky, as it fades from orange to purple on the horizon.

The brick buildings either side of him are worn. Far overdue a refresh of paint, or a clean, or anything to make them look less depressing. The shopkeepers he passes are closing up, and their nosy eyes follow him like old paintings in horror movies. He wishes he could turn invisible. He thinks he recognizes an old classmate, and she starts to lift her hand to greet him, but before she can offer a genial smile and a wave, Keonho ducks into the next shop entrance. He’s not ready to handle that.

The room he clumsily stumbles into smells old. Like mold that got washed away and paneled over to hide the scent. The air is still, despite the fact that Keonho can smell the rain on tarmac wafting in from outside. Theres the faint scent of drying, old flowers that he recognizes from evenings spent watching over his grandmother as she slept, layered underneath a gentle vanilla that reminds him of Juhoon.

He wonders if he’s just walked into an abandoned shop as he looks around, eyes adjusting to the dimmer light levels.

There are walls of faded pine bookshelves, overflowing with books, old and new, intersecting like some form of labyrinth. They open up into a quiet middle section where there is a blonde girl, waiting patiently behind the counter. Her nose is buried in a book, all too similarly to how Juhoon used to spend his time.

He gingerly steps forward, hears the floorboards creak underneath his weight. The noise of the people existing outside is replaced by the monotone, quiet ticking of a clock he can’t see. He continues to walk in, navigating the bookstore, almost under a trance.

He should leave, really. It’s peaceful in here and he didn’t even mean to come in.

“Hi!” The girl exclaims before he can back out, enthusiastic and sweet beyond compare. It takes Keonho aback. He hasn’t really seen a personality like this since he left the city. “We close in fifteen minutes, by the way.”

“No worries.” Keonho stutters. He observes the way her big eyes slope down at the corners, and her lip quirks up at the corner. “I didn’t really mean to come in.”

“Okay, damn. Lay it on me.” She jokes, stepping out from behind the counter. Her jeans are tattered at the hems, where she steps on them consistently. “Why are you in here?”

He laughs. Realizes he hasn’t really done that very much recently.

“I was avoiding talking to an old classmate.” He answers honestly. “And deep in thought.”

“Ah, fair enough.” She replies. She pushes a rolling ladder with her sneaker, sending it away from the pair of them. The wheels ache under the weight of the books stacked on the ladder that clearly aren’t meant to be there.

“Sorry.” He apologizes. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Don’t be.” She laughs again, light and airy. “I normally only get old people coming in here.”

“You like to read?” She asks earnestly, busying her hands with books that have been left out. She’s a flurry of limbs and energy around Keonho in his dazed state as she finds their respective homes.

“Not really.” He replies, voice catching in his throat. “I like comics.”

“Oh, really?” She replies happily, rolling past him on her ladder like she’s rollerblading. “We might have a couple of them in the back.”

“That’s nice.” He comments, eyes trying to follow her as she continues to dart around.

“Sorry, it’s a mess in here. We haven’t had any customers today, so I didn’t really bother.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He trails off, stumbling into an old, worn armchair. It’s tucked into the corner, only just fits inside the store. It feels a little out of place, yet it welcomes his presence.

“I completely forgot to introduce myself.” She says cheerily as she stops in front of him again. Her hair is blonde in a way that looks faker than Martin’s, most of it tied up out of her face. She tucks the wispy front sections behind her ears.

“I’m Iroha.” She says, extending a hand towards Keonho. “And you?”

“Keonho.” He says with a casual smile. It feels nice, to not walk on eggshells around someone. They linger for a second longer than he means to. He stuffs his hands back into his pockets awkwardly once he realizes.

“I haven’t seen you around before.” He says, and Iroha shrugs.

“I’m only here for a couple months, I think.” She replies. “We’re a military family so... not long in each place.”

“Ah. I see.”

Iroha checks the watch around her wrist. “I’ve gotta close up now.” She sighs. “I’ll catch you around?”

Keonho smiles, genuine, somewhat hopeful.

“Yeah. I think so.”

Keonho finds himself at another house party, months after he first visited town, a couple months after his birthday. It was a depressing look into his future the first time around. This time, it’s a miserable reminder that he’s stuck here.

He doesn’t know whose house he’s at, nor what alcohol he just downed to numb the pain of leaving everything he loved behind.

Because realistically, the burn of alcohol can’t match the grief of having your life ripped away from you.

The party is loud and rowdy, but more than anything it feels familiar.

This is the rush he missed after moving from the city. House parties, basement gigs, adventures to a new place without a plan.
The house is small, no bigger than any of the other houses in town. Nothing but the deep bass echoing through the walls that Keonho can feel in his feet to set it apart from the others.

The hallway lights are on, and it looks... almost tidy as he steps in, but one glance around tells another story. The rest of the lights are off. Through the doorway, Keonho can see pulsating light from what must be a strobe somewhere in the room. It flashes between pinks, purples and greens. The music is thrumming heavily through the floorboards and rattling in his chest.

There are too many people here. Too many bodies in this small room, bumping against him as he tries to push through the crowd. He manages to squeeze into the dining room, and Keonho runs his fingers along the wooden table. It’s cold and sticky under his skin with what smells like vodka.

He stands opposite a girl, who sizes him up.

When are people going to stop staring at him like he’s a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece?

“Drink. You need it.” She says, leaning in close so that he can hear her and thrusting the cup into Keonho’s hands. The plastic is flimsy as he grips it, tips his head back and downs some of the mystery drink.

It’s gross. It burns his throat on the way down and his face contorts into something disgusted. He gags a little, and she just laughs.

“Bad, right?” She shouts over the music, taking a sip of her own cup. Her face does a similar thing.

“You’re not from around here, are you.” She continues. He shakes his head, wonders when he became so easy to read.

“I moved from the city.” He replies, voice raised, attempting another gulp of the disgusting mix.

“Ah. That makes sense.” She replies. “You seem like you belong somewhere like this.” She says, gesturing around them at the chaotic party unfolding around them. He can barely hear her.

“I used to go to parties all the time.” Keonho agrees. “Life got quieter when I moved.”

“More boring, you mean.” She jokes. Keonho can’t disagree. He finally feels some part of him relax. He takes another swig of his drink. This time it’s less awful.

“Exactly.” He shouts, a smile breaking across his cheeks. It feels unnatural. “You get me.”

The night melts by. Keonho gradually sheds more layers of his clothes, tries to remember where he left them in between people handing him more drinks. It feels easy, the way he loses himself in the music. His body is warm, unearthed confidence coursing through his veins as the alcohol settles in deep. He begins to feel the time melt together.

He stumbles into a familiar body.

The boy turns and scoffs. Keonho notices how his soft, dark hair is tucked behind his ears, and his cheeks are flushed a dusty pink. Keonho feels his stomach twist itself up in knots.

“Sorry.” He sputters. “Accident.”

“Do you mind?” He demands, far angrier than the last time they met as Keonho puts a hand on his shoulder to steady himself.

“Look, I just want to say-”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Keonho raises an eyebrow. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“It was an accident.”

“You kissing me was an accident?” Keonho repeats, like it’s a bad word. “Wow, okay.”

“I didn’t mean to-” He rubs his temples. “Can we do this somewhere else?”

Keonho lets himself get dragged into another bathroom somehow. It’s not as cramped as last time, but the lightbulb above them keeps flickering, and he thinks he can hear the slow drip of the tap into the sink.

“Bro-”

“I don’t care.” Keonho deadpans. “Seonghyeon, I couldn’t give two fucks that you accidentally kissed me. You were shitfaced. I just happened to be there.”

“You remember my name?” Seonghyeon replies, like he’s confused.

“You told me.”

“Oh.”

Keonho stands with his hands on his hips.

“Look, I don’t really remember much else of that night.” Seonghyeon stumbles over his words clumsily. Keonho can see his pupils are blown, and his hands don’t stall for a second. “I’m sorry if I did anything-”

“Are you on something?” Keonho interrupts. Seonghyeon looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Why, does it look like it?”

“I thought you were just the dude who gets blackout drunk at every party.” Keonho mutters. “I didn’t think it was gonna be this too.”

“You don’t know me.” Seonghyeon retorts defensively. “Nobody is making you be nice to me.”

“I know.” Keonho sighs. “What are you on?”

Seonghyeon looks sheepish. “I don’t even know.”

“What? That’s crazy.” Keonho hisses. “You’re crazy.”

“I know.” Seonghyeon replies, lazy grin splitting his face apart. “People dig crazy.”

“I don’t care.” Keonho replies, frowning. “Do you not care about yourself?”

“Not in the slightest.” He confesses freely. Maybe Seonghyeon has had too much of whatever he’s taken.

“Right.” Keonho says, watching almost in slow motion, as Seonghyeon sways on his feet, lilts slightly too far left, and starts to fall over. His arm shoots out instinctively, and he puts his body in between the wall and Seonghyeon.

“Sorry.” Seonghyeon mutters, trying to pull his weight back into his control. “Fuck, I’m fucked.”

“You think?”

“It didn’t hit me as hard at first.” Seonghyeon scowls.

“You with anyone this time?”

“Course not.” Seonghyeon mumbles under his breath. “Nobody wants to be responsible for me.”

“Lighten up.”

Keonho almost feels bad for him. Twice now, he’s found Seonghyeon in need of somebody. And both times, he’s had nobody.

Seonghyeon sighs, and perches on the edge of the bathtub.

“I’ll be fine, I swear.” He promises, waving Keonho away. “You can go back to whatever you were doing. You don’t need to handle me.”

“I’m not... handling you.” Keonho replies, arms folded as he leans against the door. “I’m making sure you’re going to be okay.”

“I’m gonna be fine, obviously.” Seonghyeon sighs through gritted teeth, but it sounds like artificial annoyance more than genuine distaste.

“I’m making sure.”

“Don’t- you don’t need to do that-”

“Enough.”

Keonho takes in the tattered t-shirt Seonghyeon is wearing, and the tie around his neck. It’s messily done, like someone else has hastily done it for him.

It’s their school tie.

“You like the tie or something?” He comments, and Seonghyeon giggles.

“Why, you wanna try?” He teases, fingers clumsily moving to untie it from his neck. Keonho laughs awkwardly.

“No, I go there too. Remember?”

Seonghyeon stops in his tracks, and Keonho can practically see his memory spinning in real time to rearrange his thoughts into something coherent. “Oh. Right.”

Keonho can’t quite make out whether Seonghyeon looks crestfallen or embarrassed.

“You swing that way?” He asks, and Seonghyeon shrugs.

“I swing towards people who give me attention.”

“That can get you into trouble, you know.” Keonho replies, like he has any kind of comparable experience. “It’s a stupid game to play.”

“It has already.”

Oh.

“People take that well out here?” He asks.

Seonghyeon looks at his feet in... shame?

“They hate me.” He admits. “I hate myself.”

“You always this miserable when you’re drunk?”

“Ouch.” Seonghyeon jokes. “Mean.”

His small smile pulls at Keonho’s heartstrings. Just a little.

“Stay with me?” Seonghyeon asks, and there’s a tinge of desperation underneath it. “Just until I sober up a bit.”

Keonho shrugs. Pretends he doesn’t care.

“Whatever.”

✧

The weather continues to become frigid. The nights stretch longer and longer. Mornings arrive later. Keonho finds it increasingly hard to get out of bed in the mornings. The sky remains consistently dark and cloudy – so unlike winters he’s experienced before. It’s far more oppressive, leaves him feeling so alone.

His feet hurt from where he’s been stood for long shifts. His arms ache from carrying dishes all evening. His back is in pieces from being bent over the stove in the kitchen, cleaning it to his father’s excruciatingly specific standard, all whilst his grandfather stood and watched.

The drop in temperature makes it all worse. It settles into his joints, where they’ve been overused. The wind consistently whips around the building, making any steps into the cold hellish. Thankfully, most of the customers seem to think the same – they avoid seating themselves outside.

Keonho regularly extends himself far beyond what he knows he can handle – picks up the shifts his sister can’t make, because, what? Would he rather be sat at his grandmother’s bedside, continuing to watch her fade away?

Absolutely not.

So, he numbs the ache in his heart with grueling work. He even volunteers himself to pick up litter around the neighborhoods, impaling each piece one by one with the sharp end of the stick he’s given.

They don’t ask questions. The tired, old woman just looks thankful for the willingness to help.

An aluminum can crunches satisfyingly under his foot before he stabs it hard and dumps it unceremoniously into his trash bag. An empty, plastic packet of what he thinks used to have candy in it follows suit. The process is therapeutic, in a way.

The thought of fall crosses his mind, and he debates whether the litter picker would be sharp enough to pierce through skin.

Seonghyeon is there occasionally, doing his bit for the community as part of his commitment to the church.

They don’t talk much.

It makes the experience worse than it needs to be. He’s left alone with his thoughts in the biting cold, where his lips are raw, and his throat is hoarse.

His hair stays tucked away under a beanie to avoid the drying wind. He pulls his hood up around his face to keep his ears warm. His nose, however, doesn’t escape the cold. It runs constantly, and he has to use the back of his sleeve to stop it from flowing down his face when he leans down.

Part of him wonders if he’s getting sick. Maybe the headaches he’s been suffering with are connected. And the terrible sleeping. And the fact that he gets incredibly warm at night after a particularly stressful day.

But then again. Cold weather will do that, right? It’s not worth kicking up a fuss about.

Sometimes Seonghyeon shows up wearing a hoodie that Keonho left at James’ house weeks ago. The one that he can’t bring himself to retrieve. Sometimes it’s a beanie he graciously handed over when Seonghyeon didn’t like his hair that day. Sometimes it’s his scarf that he knows was hung up over a chair at his restaurant as Seonghyeon waited for him to close up.

“You really like doing this?” Seonghyeon asks one day, like he can’t believe it, as he stops in front of Keonho and leans on his litter picker like it’s a cane.

“Of course I do.” Keonho lies sweetly. “I’m all over that good deed shit.”

“You’re so full of it.”

“Am not.”

“You’re totally lying right now.”

Keonho shoves Seonghyeon’s shoulder lightly, and he stumbles into a bush roadside. He nearly loses grip on their trash bag.

“You idiot.” He huffs. “You nearly lost us our whole afternoon of progress.”

And man, Seonghyeon’s annoying smile is kind of pretty. Even if it’s half-hearted, and they’re not really friends anymore.

The cold suddenly feels slightly less depressing.

“It would’ve been easy to clean.”

They trek along a worn road on the outskirts of town, picking up the sad pieces of rubbish along the side of the road. They avoid puddles that are half frozen, mushy mud pits. The drivers that pass them, however, are not kind. They like to skirt the puddles and gamble with soaking the pair of them. Seonghyeon flips them off every time as Keonho sighs.

“A girl asked me on a date the other day.” Seonghyeon says, voice quiet like it’s a dirty secret. Keonho’s head whips around, almost too fast for comfort.

“Really?” He replies. It comes out more shocked than he means for it to.

“She was pretty.” Seonghyeon hums. “But I said no.”

“Why?” Keonho says, cocking his head to one side when Seonghyeon slows his pace to a standstill.

“Just wasn’t interested.” He shrugs. “Wasn’t that bothered by it.”

The weird flatness of Seonghyeon’s responses doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You and romance aren’t meant to be then?” Keonho jokes. “What did she look like?”

Seonghyeon raises an eyebrow. “Blonde. Not my type, really?”

“You have a type?” Keonho asks curiously. “I couldn’t tell.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m into people at all.” Seonghyeon shrugs, like he expects Keonho to relate. “Or if I’m just too busy trying to stay alive.”

“I remember Juhoon and James trying to convince you otherwise.”

“I was busy throwing a tantrum at the same time.” Seonghyeon says with a wry smile. “So I guess I was being kind of dramatic.”

“Kind of.”

“Okay. Very. But I think it was warranted.”

“Maybe.” Keonho agrees. “Do you really think you’re not interested in people like that?”

Seonghyeon shrugs. “Maybe.” He says reluctantly. “I haven’t given it much thought since Juhoon and Martin left.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to end up abandoning everyone because I’m in love, you know?” Seonghyeon says carefully. “I know it was their choice. And I get it, I really do.” His tongue dips out of his mouth and wets his lower lip. It cracks a bit.

“I’m like, so happy that they’re happy.” He continues, like Keonho doesn’t get exactly how he feels. “But I don’t want to put myself in that situation as someone who’s been on the other end.”

“Is that why you hate the whole love thing?” He pries. “Because it feels like you’ll abandon people?”

Seonghyeon makes a sound between a sigh and a sad laugh.

“Maybe.” He says. Keonho can practically see his brain working in real time. “It’s happened more than once now.”

“That doesn’t mean it was love’s fault.”

“No, but it was a pretty important factor.” Seonghyeon argues back.

“Not to be insensitive.” Keonho replies. “But who would you be leaving behind?”

Seonghyeon pauses, like he hadn’t considered that option. His expression darkens, and Keonho feels his heart begin to race in anticipation.

“Sorry.” He says immediately. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, you did.”

The uncomfortable silence between them stretches for longer than it should. It warps, makes Keonho feel like Seonghyeon is miles away.

“I’m sorry-”

“I’m sorry-”

They lock eyes and laugh awkwardly.

“I don’t know why things are weird.” Keonho confesses. “I just want things to go back to how they were.”

Seonghyeon nods miserably.

“Yeah. Me too.”

✧

Keonho feels uneasy as he sits at James’ dining table. It’s like he’s constantly on edge, just in case Seonghyeon appears.

“You can come by anytime, you know.” James reassures him, looking up from his sketchpad. Keonho shrugs, tries to focus his attention back on his comic book.

“It’s all wrong.” He mumbles. He can’t quite pinpoint what he’s even feeling anymore.

“It’s okay.”

Keonho can hear the low drone of James’ mother and her boyfriend in the other room. The chatter on the television, her voice mixing together with a hearty laugh.

“Does it feel weird?” He asks. James looks up briefly and seems to understand.

“Yeah.” James says quietly. “They’re engaged, you know.”

“That happened fast.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What was... he like?” Keonho asks timidly, and James looks taken aback. Not in the way that indicates Keonho should’ve never asked the question though – thankfully. Keonho has enough friendship troubles and anxieties on his plate to deal with.

James looks back at him with a gaze that reads as one that didn’t expect to ever be asked that question again.

“He was nice.” James settles on after a long silence. “Really nice.”

Keonho sees his fingers twitch,

“Want to go outside to talk about it?” He offers.

The shudder that forces itself out of James the minute they get outside startles Keonho. It sounds like it clawed its way out of his lungs and overpowered the instinct he had to hold his breath.

The cigarette lights up frantically, like he can’t wait another second.

James inhales, and Keonho watches the flicker of ash illuminate and fade. Then he notices the wet sheen over James’ eyes.

“You never really notice how much you care about someone.” He says shakily. “Until they’re not there anymore.”

Keonho stares off into the distance. The plain gray of the sky blends with the muted browns of the ground, succumbing to the cold of winter.

“It’s been years now.” James continues. “But some mornings I wake up and it still feels fresh.”

The wind begins to freeze him beneath his layers, despite the scarf he has wound around this neck and the thick coat he’s pulled over his shoulders.

“I can’t even brush my teeth some days, because he used to wish me a good day at school and smell like my toothpaste.”

“I’ve tried every toothpaste I can get my hands on.” James swallows thickly. “And the pain hits just as hard no matter which one.”

“My halmeoni is going to die.” Keonho says plainly. “They’ve been saying it for years now.”

“At least you have time to come to terms with it.” James offers. “Time to make sure you’ve said everything you want to.”

“That’s the thing.” Keonho sighs. “I don’t have anything to say to her.”

James’ fingers tremble where he holds his cigarette. Keonho can’t tell if it’s because of the cold or not.

“Do you ever feel like you didn’t have long enough?”

James looks beaten down by the question. “I never could’ve had enough time.”

“Am I supposed to pretend I’m bothered by it? When it eventually happens?” Keonho asks, blindly searching for how he’s supposed to react. James doesn’t give him an answer.

“I don’t think this kind of grief ever truly passes. You just get better at dealing with it.”

He exhales smoke, and shakily takes another drag.

“But I haven’t gotten better at it.” He trails off, staring into the distance. “I wish I knew what I was supposed to do.”

“How did he...?” Keonho murmurs, hands deep in his pockets. The branches sway in the wind, now barren. Their leaves long gone on the floor, swept away.

James shudders again.

“Traffic collision.” He says shortly. He continues to avoid Keonho’s gaze like the plague. “It was gruesome.”

“I’m sorry.” Keonho stutters. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s okay.” James reassures him. He ashes his cigarette and it falls to the ground between them. “I don’t mind.”

There are tears in James’ eyes, and Keonho watches him blink them away.

“Some days,” He breathes. “It feels like I’m drowning still. I’ll see her boyfriend sitting in his chair and just want to run away again.”

Keonho looks at the floor.

“When I die.” He says. “I hope my last moments are spent with him.”

“He sounds like he was a wonderful man.” Keonho mumbles.

“Things took a turn when my grandmother died.” James admits, and Keonho looks at him with wide eyes. “He didn’t know how to handle it.”

Keonho wonders if the collision was a truly an accident.

“I look at Sean and see the same desperation some days.”

Keonho’s eyes sting.

“He looks like he would do anything for another moment with Martin and Juhoon. Like the fact that they left him meant that nobody would ever choose to stay for him.”

The wind whistles.

“I can’t imagine what he’d be like had he stayed with his mother.”

Keonho recoils at the thought of it. Remembers how miserable and inconsolable Seonghyeon was the day his mother returned.

“My dad told me something once that I think the both of you ought to hear.” James murmurs. His cigarette is dying. A single tear rolls down James’ cheek as he gives up on trying to stop it.

“You can’t heal in the same environment that made you sick.”

Keonho waits like a coward outside a small bedroom with flaking yellow wallpaper, that smells like old incense and dying flowers. There are muffled voices on the other side of the heavy door, and he presses his ear to the wood.

“Thank you for coming home, son.” He hears his grandfather say, but the tone is entirely devoid of warmth. It’s clinical and transactional. No emotions behind it, simply a customary statement of gratitude.

“It’s my responsibility.” His father’s voice replies, steely as always. “I’m home to take over for the family.”

Keonho presses gently against the door, and the wood cracks open slightly, enough for a sliver of golden light to shine across the brown carpet, and for the voices to become clearer. He sits down, cross-legged with his back against the wall, and rests his chin on his hand.

“I understand you have a son and a daughter?”

His father clears his throat.

“My son is younger.”

“That will do.” His grandfather says gruffly. “We want a boy to inherit the restaurant.”

“My daughter is extremely competent. She is organized, studious and smart. She would-”

“The boy will inherit.”

His grandfather’s voice is flat at first, but Keonho can hear the aggression that lies beneath.

“Yes sir.”

Keonho feels a sharp pain in his chest. There’s layers to it, though.

His father thinking his sister is better suited than him for the job – is she really more competent than Keonho in all the ways that matter? Superior to the point that it should be a no-brainer that the inheritance goes to her?

Then, there’s the stark rejection, and insistence on him. But he knows it’s not really about him. It’s about what he is. Nothing more than a male ‘heir’ to a restaurant nobody even cares about. Like the only meaningful thing about him was that he was lucky to be born a boy.

And finally, the most confusing part to him.

The strange way his father submits to it all. It’s entirely unfamiliar.

His father, whom he’s known as a warm and kind man, slipping back into familial tradition and roles like it’s nothing. Was he playing a role when he was treating Keonho with softness? Is that as easy to wash away as dirt from hands?

The room stalls, like the calm before a hurricane.

“How is mother?” His father asks, voice smaller than before. Keonho can hear them shuffling around, floorboards creaking.

“She sleeps frequently.” More rustling. “The doctors insist she has a few more years.”

“We have time to get things in order, in that case?”

“Exactly.”

Keonho feels tears well up in his eyes. His poor grandmother, sleeping peacefully in her bed, whilst his father and grandfather discuss her life above her as though it’s a simple obstacle.

“Your boy will have to be trained. He’s weak.”

Trained. Like he’s a dog.

“Keonho.” His father interjects. “He has been quite difficult to manage during the moving process.”

A low sigh. Disappointment, clear as day.

“He’ll learn.” His grandfather replies. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“He’s only sixteen-”

“He needs a strong role model. Which you are clearly unable to fulfil.”

“I can. I promise-”

“Your mother would be ashamed. You are soft.”

“Father.”

A tear slides down Keonho’s cheek. The shadows of the men interrupt the golden ray of light from the room. The door closes without a word, like they don’t care to check if someone is listening from outside.

Or they don’t care whether they hear, full stop.

“He will not be good enough if you don’t teach him right now.”

The words are muddled now.

“He just needs time. Father, I promise-”

“The city made you all soft. We ought to get the family in line with how we have always done it.”

Silence follows. Keonho feels the pit of dread in his stomach again.

✧

The sad slide of the fall season back into a chilly winter brings with it a feeling of nostalgia. Leaves have changed from green, to orange, and finally to a deep red. They fall from branches into heaps on the sidewalks, ungraciously swept into piles and left to rot. The heat of the summer has burned away into the air, left behind an empty pit waiting to be filled by endless rain.

The sun rarely breaks through the thick blanket of rolling clouds overhead, and Keonho misses the warmth of the rays on his face. The near-constant drizzle that occasionally splits open the sky in a thunderous downpour floods the streets drowns the leaves and drags them into drains. The nighttime is often colder, lonelier. The rain offers no comfort like the fresh summer breeze did.

He sits, shoulder to shoulder with Seonghyeon, on the steps of James’ porch. The drizzle eases around them, unbothered with their lives. His cold fingers tremble as he turns the pages of his comic book. He tries to pretend that he’s not bothered by the fact that he hasn’t talked to Seonghyeon for two weeks.

“James got a car the other day.” Seonghyeon says.

“From where?” Keonho asks, not bothering to look up from his panel. He watches a raindrop soak Superman’s face. “With what money?”

“They money he would’ve spent on flights if he hadn’t decided to stay in town.” Seonghyeon replies pointedly. “And from some guy. I dunno.”

“Is it safe?”

“It’s old but the engine doesn’t sound or smell like it’s going to blow up like Juhoon’s car, so I think we’re all good.”

Keonho hums, wipes some rainwater out of his eyes.

“He’s teaching me how to drive.” Seonghyeon says, dragging his hands down his face as he sits up straighter and looks at Keonho. “I suck.”

“It can’t be that hard.” Keonho replies, eyebrows pulling into a frown. “Jju always made it look easy.”

“I nearly crashed twice, and I’d only been behind the wheel for ten minutes.”

“Oh.” Keonho snickers. “Remind me not to get in the car with you.”

“Shut it.” Seonghyeon retorts. “I’ll be fine when I get used to it.”

Keonho shrugs it off.

“Didn’t you just get a bicycle or something? Why do you even need to drive?”

Seonghyeon looks at him with confusion in his eyes. “How’d you know.?”

“You came to the restaurant with a helmet on your bag.” Keonho replies plainly. “Figured you hadn’t started wearing it as a fashion statement. And it wasn’t big enough to be a motorcycle one.”

“Oh.”

“Also, I don’t think you’re the type to get a motorcycle.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Seonghyeon asks, and there’s a smile on his face now.

“Nothing.”

“Sure.”

Seonghyeon laughs and trails off into silence.

“Do you ever miss school?” He asks eventually, and Keonho snorts, closes the comic.

“Absolutely not.” He replies. “You were literally my only friend for a year.”

“You chatted to people. Lots of them”

“Most of them called me a city boy freak roleplaying small town life.” Keonho deadpans. “And the others weren’t close enough for me to consider a friend.”

He can see Seonghyeon holding back a laugh. “It’s okay. You can laugh. It’s funny.”

“You kind of are... that.” Seonghyeon says. “They just chose not to fluff it out with niceties.”

The rain finally lets up a bit. “You think I’m not aware of that?”

“Okay maybe. Still.”

“You’re so annoying.” Keonho huffs.

“You’re worse.” Seonghyeon bickers back.

“Shut up.”

“I don’t know why I like hanging out with you.” It looks like it slips out before Seonghyeon can stop himself. He falters when he sees doubt flash across Keonho’s face.

“Me either.” He replies, lip curling into a tired, plastic smile.

He sighs, looks down at his feet, where they’re planted on the wet steps.

“I’m sorry about the whole... body thing.” He says. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Shut up, Keonho.” Seonghyeon dismisses. “Forget about it, please.”

But he can’t. Something about it eat at his consciousness. Because where the hell did that come from? When did he ever care about stuff like that? Let alone enough to say anything about it. About someone else’s body. Maybe he’s lost his mind.

“I never apologized for it.” He replies, voice shaking with nervousness. “I’m so sorry.”

“Enough.”

Seonghyeon pushes him away again.

“Did you know that my dad still tells me what to do every day.” Keonho blurts out. “Like, not even on shift. I don’t make a single decision for myself anymore.”

Seonghyeon looks back at him with glassy, faraway eyes.

“I didn’t.”

Keonho’s façade crumbles in on itself, and his face dissolves into an ugly frown.

“We don’t just fight about college.” He confesses. “If he doesn’t like how my hair looks, I have to redo it exactly how he wants it.”

“What?” Seonghyeon exclaims, head whipping in his direction. “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

So that I at least look good enough for the family.

“I guess it’s just what he’s like now.” He shrugs.

It’s what everything is like.

“That’s just how things have been since I started growing up.”

How they’ve been since we moved here.

Seonghyeon’s eyebrows pull together in a confused grimace.

“You don’t even get to decide what to do with your hair.” He repeats. “What?”

“It’s normal.” Keonho replies, tries to shake off Seonghyeon’s concerns. “It’s whatever.”

“It’s not.” Seonghyeon whispers.

He almost looks... sorry.

Part of Keonho knows it’s not okay. That all of this started happening as he got older and had more freedom. That it worsened when his father came back. When they talked. That conversation inside a mildew scented room, above a woman deep in sleep, about a family that will simply never be good enough.

For the first time in months, Keonho cries in front of someone.

“I’m sorry.” He chokes, as he turns his back on Seonghyeon and curls up into a ball, arms hooked around his knees. “I don’t know why this is happening.”

The tears come, hot and fast, streaming down his cheeks and dripping off his chin. They mix with the rainwater on the stairs. Seonghyeon’s hand touches his back gingerly, like he might break him.

“I’m sorry.” Seonghyeon says, but his voice is flat again. Keonho feels no sorrow, no remorse, radiating from him.

His throat tightens as a fresh wave of tears overcome him. He doesn’t even know what he’s crying about. Whether he’s sad, angry, confused. Or a combination of all of them.

“We’re still friends,” Keonho says quietly, voice shaking. “Right?”

Seonghyeon pauses.

“Yeah.” He says.

Unconvincing.

✧

Keonho finally stomachs the uncomfortable, nervous feeling that alights in his gut when he walks past the church. He can’t quite figure out whether it’s because he knows Seonghyeon is a frequent visitor, or if it’s because he spent so much time in there with friends he doesn’t have anymore. He needs to find Wonhee though.

The sheer feat of getting Martin back on his feet and making sure his head was screwed on tight might be her most impressive accolade. She always used to give good advice to Martin. Something about the way she held back from saying anything until she was absolutely sure. The way her morals and opinions never really impacted the way she advised others.

Keonho stands, maybe twenty feet away, staring at the dull, boring building. He doesn’t see what Seonghyeon sees in it. But she’s sat there, unwrapping a plain sandwich from a neatly pressed tablecloth looking thing, hair pinned off her face effortlessly with these sparkly hairclips Keonho is sure his sister also owns. She has this docile, unassuming look about her as she neatly splays the fabric up across her lap, protects her plain jeans from the threat of crumbs.

He sighs.

Keonho doesn’t quite get how she holds it together. She looks so in control of all situations she’s in, whether she’s listening to Martin’s endless drawl of stupid confessions, or whether she’s talking Seonghyeon off a metaphorical ledge.

He finally swallows his fear and begins to walk towards her. The knit sweater she’s wearing has a hole where her left thumb pokes through it. She’s chewing on a bite of the seeded brown bread crust by the time he crosses the gap between them and ends up standing in front of her. Maybe he’s too close, because he can hear her chewing. Before he can spiral any more, she pats the space on the wooden bench next to her. He sits without question, silently.

“Hi.” He says plainly, tongue feeling clumsy in his mouth. His mind races for the next thing, how to explain why he’s even here. What does he even want to say? How does he describe what he can’t even name?

Why did he even come? If he’s just going to sit and wallow in silence without saying anything he shouldn’t have wasted his energy. He should’ve just stayed home and not bothered Wonhee.

“Keonho, stop thinking.”

She pulls him out of his mind palace, so to speak, so abruptly that it almost knocks the wind out of him. He puffs out a breath.

“How’d you know I was-”

“You have a tell.” Wonhee replies, taking another bite of her sandwich, unbothered.

Keonho fiddles with a loose thread on his sleeve.
“What is it-”

“Just sit.” She says softly, hand covering her mouth. Keonho looks down at her feet next to his. Tidy, polished black Mary-Janes next to his beat up, muddied sneakers.

“Wonhee-”

“Keonho-ah, can’t you understand what I’m saying?” She replies, and Keonho can hear the small, slightly condescending smile on her face without looking up. “Just sit.”

“Sorry.”

He bites his tongue but can’t stop the apology from falling out. He almost expects another patronizing comment, but he knows Wonhee isn’t like that. She continues to eat her sandwich, posture perfectly upright without a flicker in her confidence. Keonho on the other hand, is leaned forwards, elbows dug into the muscle on his thighs. His head is dropped forwards, and his temples ache from grinding his teeth.

“You worry too much about what the right thing to say.” She murmurs in between bites. He glances over, sees her clear lip gloss smeared. The wind blows her dark hair across her face, and some of it sticks to her cheek.

She doesn’t try to fix it.

“I don’t.”

“You do.” Wonhee replies patiently. “It wasn’t a question.”

Keonho sighs, looks away again.

“I can’t keep doing this.” He mumbles.

He doesn’t even know what this is.

“And yet, you do.” Wonhee comforts him. Her hands shake out the napkin across her lap, and deftly fold it neatly back together. She puts it back into her bag. “You don’t really have a choice.”

“I never do.” Keonho whispers, voice breaking. He feels his throat tighten again, and the sting of tears re-emerges.

“You also don’t have to be perfect all the time you know.”

Keonho’s head whips violently to stare at her. He sits up straighter.

“I know that’s hard to hear.” She continues quietly. Wonhee’s gaze is soft and understanding, her eyes big as she searches for something in his expression that Keonho can’t name.

His bottom lip might wobble, but he’s too embarrassed to acknowledge it.

“I do.” He insists, biting the inside of his cheek. “You don’t know me.”

“Keonho.” She says, in that familiar tone his older sister liked to use years ago. It reminds him of her holding his hand as they stood in the evening air, surrounded by busy people as they waited for a bus he didn’t want to get on.

“Wonhee.” He replies, grimacing as he wipes his eyes.

They sit in silence again, and Wonhee leans against his shoulder.

“I think Seonghyeon hates me again.” He mumbles. His voice is small, like he’s been reduced to a small, scared boy again. “But I don’t know what I’ve done.”

“I don’t know if he ever hated you.” Wonhee suggests. “It just looked like he wasn’t ready.”

“He keeps confusing me.” Keonho huffs. “One day I think we’re friends again, and then I’ll say something stupid. Then we won’t talk for a week.”

He swallows.

“He’ll forgive me, and he’ll be back to chatting to me. Then he’ll ghost me again.”

Wonhee sighs.

“Every time I say something to him, he’s so distant. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else at that moment.”

It’s only early evening, but the pink and orange paint begins to spread across the clouds.

“I don’t even know if I still want to be his friend.” Keonho confesses. “I keep trying. So hard. And I keep getting nothing in response. And it’s different to how it was when I met him, too. I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Why do you keep waiting around?” Wonhee asks quietly. “There’s gotta be a reason.”

“I care about him.” He replies, like it’s an obvious answer. It might, however, be the most natural thing that’s come out of his mouth so far.

“You sound certain.” She points out.

“I am.” He agrees. “I worry about him.”

“With the whole sobriety thing?”

“Not just the drugs.” Keonho sighs. “Like, that’s the most obvious thing.”

Not just the times he ran into Seonghyeon, alone and crying out for help with nobody around to help. That’s the glaringly obvious problem that anyone with a pair of eyes and a brain could see. There’s something deeper brewing inside him. Even Keonho can see something changing. Seonghyeon has become less and less reliant on everyone in his life, not just him.

He’s pushing everyone away again.

He stares at the sun until his vision is spotty. “He doesn’t seem to think he’s worth sticking around for.”

“I see.”

She sits up again, crosses one leg over the other.

“I can’t leave him alone again.” Keonho laments, and it makes his eyes well up. “I can’t do that to him.”

Seonghyeon, poor Seonghyeon. The boy whose father walked out with his dear sister, long before he was old enough to understand why.

Poor Seonghyeon, who fell into the wrong crowd in a desperate cry for attention and companionship. Just to be used up and spit out when he became too much to handle.

Poor Seonghyeon, whose own mother abandoned him, this time at an age where he could only feel heartbreak, with no explanation. Only to fix her life without him present and return like nothing was wrong.

“He’s not your responsibility.”

“He isn’t anyone else’s, either.”

Wonhee stills.

“I care too much to let him destroy himself.” Keonho’s stomach aches. “He’s a mess, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“There’s no magical fix to grief.”

“I know that.” He feels his chest tighten. “But it’s like he doesn’t want me to help either.”

“You can’t force him.”

“I know.”

“Have you considered,” Wonhee breathes, careful. “Letting him be to figure it out?”

“I can’t.”

Wonhee tucks a strand of his growing hair behind his ear. “But you have needs too.”

“You have your own stuff to deal with.” She reasons. “You can’t sit around waiting for him to be ready to accept your help.”

It’s not fair. It’s really not.

How come Keonho isn’t afforded the same luxury of falling to pieces when things go bad?

Seonghyeon keeps digging himself a deeper hole of isolation, and Keonho is forced to not only stand by and let it happen, but purposefully step away and leave him to self-destruct until he realizes that maybe, he needs help.

“I...” He trails off, feels his heart drop upon the realization.

“I need to feel needed.” He confesses. The deep ache in his stomach has begun to radiate outwards, seeps into his other organs. His lungs hurt, like it’s hard to take in a breath.

“I don’t know what to do if nobody needs me.”