Archive of Our Own ^beta

the first thing yoongi becomes aware of is—sunshine. he can feel the sunshine upon his skin, warming him where it dares to touch his face. when he opens his eyes and looks down at himself, he can’t help but marvel at the feeling. he takes a deep breath, noting the faint scent of food in the air, likely wafting down the street from some of the restaurants trying to entice customers to stop by. he turns his face to the sky, drinks in the sun and the clouds dotting the blue above—and then nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears an engine revving behind him.

yoongi twists around and steps out of the way just in time to avoid nearly getting run over by a man on a motorcycle, a deliveryman working against the clock to delivery someone’s precious meal. he can feel his heart hammering in his chest at the scare, but when he lifts his hand over his heart, it’s not the deliveryman he dwells on but that heartbeat. that heartbeat. he’s never been so glad to feel an adrenaline rush.

it doesn’t take long to situate himself; he still knows this area of the city like the back of his hand, having spent years roaming these streets. everything is so wonderfully familiar, and within seconds, yoongi’s feet are carrying him down the street with one singular destination in mind. his old apartment isn’t far from here, but someone else would have lived there for years by now. but here—the chicken place he used to have lunch at often, with the kind ahjumma who gave him extra servings for free because she thought he was too skinny. and here—the pc cafe that was always popular with students from the nearby university campus.

not everything is the same. some stores or restaurants have changed. these stoplights weren’t here back then. there’s a new row of trees here. the people are different, older. but this is still the home he remembers so fondly. when he walks these streets, he almost feels like he never left at all.

even more than the sights and the sounds and the feelings, though, yoongi marvels at the little things—people on the street stepping out of the way to avoid walking into him when they pass. cars stopping to let him walk across the crosswalk. fallen leaves crunching underfoot, and the shadows his body creates on the sidewalk.

nearly at his destination, a young woman walking a dog comes near. he can’t help the reaction he has, thinking it too cute—and the puppy tries to scamper to the other side of the sidewalk as its owner passes, effectively trapping yoongi with its leash. yoongi laughs even as the young woman apologizes profusely, and as yoongi steps over the makeshift tripwire, the little dog stops to look at him, tail wagging, tongue lolling. hesitantly, yoongi asks if he can pet the dog, and when the young woman complies, yoongi does.

he nearly cries feeling the soft fur under his hand, the warmth of the animal’s body. the dog barks happily at him, and for fear of breaking down entirely, yoongi thanks the young woman and continues on his way.

see, it’s strange. it’s strange to see and be seen, to manipulate this world as he once did. when yoongi reaches the bar, he pushes open the door and remembers all too clearly the last thing he tried this. how he failed.

this time, he sits at the bar and orders a strong drink. it’s early in the day, but the bartender says nothing as she passes him his glass, and yoongi stares down at the alcohol for a long minute before he can even convince himself to drink. but it goes down smooth, as it always did; the liquid is warm when it settles in the pit of his stomach, and yoongi feels at home once again. he hasn’t done this in so long. he feared that his mind or body might not remember, but no part of him could entirely forget how to be human.

as he sips at his drink, yoongi lets his eyes wander around the bar. not much has changed in here either, not since he worked here. this was his home for years after namjoon gave him a job; he was here six nights a week, serving drinks and chatting with customers, cleaning this bar and trying to convince namjoon to let him design new drinks. they were terrible any time namjoon relented, but yoongi still thinks he would have struck gold had he been given a few more opportunities.

it takes him a while to notice the one thing that is different about this place, and upon spotting it, yoongi feels his breath hitch. the bartop is as scuffed and worn as it always was, and the bottles of alcohol are all in the same places, the same order. the door to the bathroom still squeaks. but right there, on the wall behind the bar, is a little memorial plaque: a name, a death year, a picture, a hopeful quote for any mourners.

on the bottom is inscribed the words, may we be who our dogs think we are. it makes yoongi snort; he and namjoon made such a toast often when they drank together. the bartender must notice him looking at the plaque, for she leans against the bar across from him and looks at it herself. “it’s a good toast,” she says.

“it is,” agrees yoongi. “and a good thing to strive for.”

unprompted, the bartender continues—“he worked here for years. i never knew him, actually, but he was the owner’s best friend and everyone who worked here then and came to drink here always talks so highly of him. it’s a shame.”

yoongi purses his lips, studying the plaque. “what happened to him?”

“he drowned,” says the bartender. “he was only twenty-five, you know? really horrible. it’s been… four years today, actually.” she turns back to yoongi with a sympathetic smile. “we have a special night for him on this day every year. to celebrate his life. we serve his favourite drinks and food and play his favourite songs. if you feel like coming back tonight, it’ll be a good time.”

“i mean, i didn’t… i didn’t know him,” says yoongi quietly.

“everyone says he was a good kid,” says the bartender. “that’s all the reason you need to celebrate his memory.”

yoongi nods, turning back to the plaque. may we be who our dogs think we are, he reads.

above the words is a picture of… himself—shocking mint hair, mouth open mid-laugh, giving the camera some sort of half-assed gang sign. it was namjoon’s favourite picture of him, one he took himself on yoongi’s twenty-fifth birthday. 

and above that: in memory of min yoongi. 1993-2018.

yoongi takes a deep breath, and then knocks back the rest of his drink.

“m, please,” says yoongi, trailing behind the much taller woman—his superior, the mayor. her skirts swish around her legs as she walks, heels clicking dangerously against the floor. the two of them have become close since yoongi arrived, as everyone in the neighbourhood does, but she’s still the one in charge of them all, and she’s the one who runs things around here. she’s the one who make the decisions. and when yoongi wants something this badly, he can’t help but be terrified of her answer.

“yoongi, we’ve been over this,” the mayor sighs. she leads him into her office where none of the decorations or styles of furniture match, and that’s always bothered yoongi, but that’s not the point; she sinks into the chair behind her desk, setting down the stack of papers she was carrying. “it’s just not possible.”

“why not?” sighs yoongi. “you’re an all-powerful being. i’ve seen you create entire houses with one hand movement. i’ve seen you banish people from the neighbourhood with one word. it’s entirely possible.”

her eyes are exasperated as she looks at him. “alright, possible isn’t the right word. it’s not… right. yoongi, it’s against the rules. we don’t have a lot of rules around here, so you can’t ask me to break the one we do have.”

yoongi groans, moving to the window so he can look out at the neighbourhood she and this office watches over. this neighbourhood he has lived in for four years, that has everything he could ever want or need, that has been designed specifically for people like him—

the afterlife.

he never used to wonder about it, not entirely sure there even was an afterlife. but then he died on earth, and became a ghost, and once his unfinished business had been taken care of—locating his body after he died in a drowning accident and allowing his family and friends to be at peace knowing what happened to him—he was taken from earth and arrived here instead: the afterlife. the afterlife, which isn’t so different from earth, really. he lives in a cozy neighbourhood, his house perfectly tailored to his own tastes and interests so that he’s comfortable and happy. he doesn’t have to work, which is nice, but if he wanted to, he could ask his superior—the mayor—to allow it, either to send him to a neighbourhood where he could get the job he wanted, or make room for it in this neighbourhood.

in the afterlife, he doesn’t need to eat or drink, but plenty of people do merely for the taste. sometimes he misses bartending so he’ll mix drinks for his friends and neighbours, especially at the neighbourhood gatherings they have every weekend. he can have any hobby he wants, try anything he wants. there’s no danger of illness or death here, since he’s already dead. everything is… nice. it’s good.

but for four years, yoongi has been missing something. it’s hard for anyone to adjust when they arrive to the afterlife, missing their family and friends and lives back on earth. it’s hard to transition. but for yoongi, he feels it so much more—because the thing he misses so much is also the one thing that is so goddamn prevalent here.

each person who dies and has unfinished business stays on earth as a ghost until that unfinished business is completed. sometimes it takes days or months and, on rarer occasions, even years. but each ghost is given as a responsibility to one human among millions on earth who, at least as yoongi knows them, call themselves ghost whisperers. they can see the ghosts, can speak to them, and can ultimately help solve a ghost’s unfinished business.

and when that ghost is finally at peace and is able to move onto the afterlife, they arrive in a neighbourhood that contains every other ghost that particular ghost whisperer has helped in their lifetime. so yes, it’s nice here. yes, it’s peaceful and rewarding after a hard life. but every day, yoongi wakes up and is surrounded by other people who once knew and were helped by and loved jeon jeongguk—the human who helped yoongi to the afterlife.

the human that yoongi has been in love with for his entire time as a ghost, as a person in the afterlife, as someone who is dead and will have to wait the rest of jeongguk’s life on earth to see again.

yoongi didn’t mean to fall in love with his human. of course, jeongguk didn’t mean to fall in love with his latest ghost. but they did, and they had to let go of each other, and for four years, yoongi has been in an afterlife dedicated to honouring the work that jeongguk has done for every ghost here. and because jeongguk is, well—jeongguk, each of the ghosts he’s helped adore him. they talk about him constantly, share stories, wonder what he’s doing back on earth now. and each time a new ghost shows up in their neighbourhood, the latest that jeongguk has helped cross to the other side, they spend an entire night hearing new stories of him, updates, sharing well wishes.

jeongguk deserves that kind of love and praise after he’s helped them all and loved them all and been so incredibly gentle in the way he helps them into the afterlife. but for someone who learned to love jeongguk a little differently than all the rest, it’s a double-edged sword. of course yoongi wants to hear about what jeongguk is doing on earth now. of course he wants to recount his fondest memories of the jeongguk he knew, even if it was only for a few weeks. of course he wants to listen to the ghosts who have been here the longest talking about what jeongguk was like as a child, as a young teenager.

but it hurts, too. it hurts because, despite four years, yoongi still hasn’t learned how to let go of jeongguk entirely. he doesn’t know when he’ll see jeongguk again, in this afterlife—and he hopes it won’t be for many years, because jeongguk deserves to live a full and long life, but he can’t help being selfish and wanting him now—and he knows even when jeongguk does die, he’ll probably have moved on and found someone else to devote his life to, and then yoongi will be nothing but a fool.

but he’s not the only one. because every time one of jeongguk’s ghosts arrives in the afterlife with stories and fond memories, they find yoongi. later, when the rest of the ghosts have returned to their houses satisfied that their jeonggukie is happy and safe, the new arrival knocks on yoongi’s door. they’ll ask if he’s min yoongi—and it’s hard to miss him, with his mint hair (which yoongi has decided to keep, so long as these ghosts know it’s him because of that hair). when he says yes, they always look a little sad, just for a second.

and then they give him a piece of paper. and there, with each new ghost, is always a new message from jeongguk. every time, without fail, jeongguk gives his ghost something to pass along to yoongi—well wishes, updates on his life and these things that only yoongi can understand, inside jokes, words that make yoongi cry with how heartfelt and at times lonely they are.

jeongguk always misses him. jeongguk always loves him. it’s been four years, and jeongguk still sends him messages, and as much as yoongi wants to let go—how can he, when jeongguk hasn’t? how can he, when jeongguk still asks if yoongi is waiting for him at the top of a ferris wheel in the afterlife, where they will finally meet again and share the kiss they never could on earth?

the worst part of it all is that yoongi can never send a message back. here in the afterlife, they are completely cut off from the living world on earth. they can’t take a peek at what’s happening to the living, can’t manipulate the living world to let their loved ones know that they’re doing alright. there are too many risks, too much danger. it’s like the mayor said—there aren’t many rules here, but the one they must always follow is to never interfere with the living.

but yoongi knows they can. he’s heard stories. he’s seen her power, and the power of every superior supernatural being in the afterlife. yoongi has no supernatural powers, but the mayor was never a living human to begin with, instead a god-like being that has always been in the afterlife and has always moved from neighbourhood to neighbourhood to watch over its inhabitants and do right by them.

so—here yoongi is, in her office. from the window, he can see taehyung sitting on the bench outside of the building, waiting for yoongi to return. jeongguk helped him, too, took taehyung to jeju in the end so that he could move on from a life that ended too early because of cancer. he and yoongi became instant friends once yoongi arrived here, and in the past four years, yoongi has poured out his heart to taehyung more times than he can count. it was kind of taehyung’s idea to ask for this in the first place.

yoongi must succeed for the both of them, then.

“i know it’s against the rules,” says yoongi, turning to the mayor again. “and you know i wouldn’t ask for this if it wasn’t my greatest desire. i’m happy here. i really am. but… it’s been four years. tomorrow is the anniversary of my death, and…” he sighs. four years is a long time, even in a paradise like this. four years without his parents, without namjoon. without jeongguk. “i’m not asking for this lightly, and i’ve considered the risk you would be taking by allowing me to do this. but i’ll… i’ll never ask for anything else so long as i’m here. i’ll be your personal assistant if you want. i’ll get you coffee every day and clean your office and—whatever you want. just please.”

he can tell she’s wavering. she, too, knows of jeongguk’s impact, not just on the neighbourhood as a whole, but on yoongi in particular. she knows that yoongi doesn’t break rules just to break them. she’s seen how he’s struggled for four years.

“you don’t need to earn this, yoongi,” she finally says. “just… don’t tell anyone about it or they’ll all come begging me for the same opportunity. i’m trusting you because i know you.”

“really?”

“i’ll give you twelve hours,” she says, face stern even as yoongi hurries toward her desk, too relieved and joyful to worry about rules. “and no one will be able to recognize you, alright? you’ll still look the same, but it won’t register in their minds who you are. that means you must absolutely not, under any circumstance, tell anyone that you are min yoongi. do you understand? if you tell anyone, or allude to it, or if they figure it out on their own, you will immediately be brought back here.”

“yes, sure,” yoongi laughs. “whatever you say.”

“you can’t bring anything back with you,” she continues. “this is a once in an afterlife deal and i’m only doing this because i think it would do you some good to see them. you’ll go tomorrow morning. and don’t hug me—” but yoongi is already pulling her out of her chair, hugging her fiercely in appreciation and gratitude.

twelve hours—even if he can’t say everything he wants to say directly, because he can’t tell anyone who he really is, it’s still twelve hours.

twelve hours back on earth. twelve hours with the living, in a human body, where he can see his parents. he can see namjoon.

he can see jeongguk.

he can touch jeongguk. for the first time, after four fucking years—he can have it all, for twelve hours. that’s all he needs.

after yoongi finishes his drink at the bar, he heads to the university campus where he first met jeongguk. the truth is, he has no idea if jeongguk will be there, but the last ghost who arrived in the neighbourhood a few months ago told him that jeongguk would be starting his master’s degree at this university soon, and if there’s one thing yoongi remembers about jeongguk being a student here, it was that he loved one particular coffee shop on campus. it’s the coffee shop they met in—or almost met in, when jeongguk walked right through him and thus knew that he had met a new ghost, and then proceeded to chase him down the street.

the memories bring a fond grin to yoongi’s face, remembering the rocky start they got off to, because yoongi didn’t believe he was dead at first, and then when he realized he was, he was upset and closed off even though jeongguk was just trying to help him. it’s strange to be back now that he can open the door, can order a coffee from the barista and take up space here. in the afterlife, everyone can see and hear him and touch him, of course, but these familiar places where he was nothing but an invisible being leave him feeling nostalgic and perhaps sorrowful.

he’d been planning on stopping by briefly and then moving on if he didn’t find what he was looking for, but the moment yoongi steps inside, he feels that this isn’t the place. the coffee shop is mostly empty, but none of the students occupying the tables look familiar, and it’s with a sigh that yoongi turns around to leave.

that’s when he nearly collides with someone, stuttering out an apology as he steps around the person who entered the coffee shop behind him.

“it’s okay,” laughs the other man. “i’m just glad you weren’t holding coffee.”

“yeah,” laughs yoongi, and then he looks up and—

yoongi hasn’t seen jeon jeongguk in four years.

back then, he was just twenty-one years old, and too skinny for his own good. his hair was brown and hanging in his eyebrows, too lazy to get it cut or styled properly. he always looked tired, because he didn’t get enough sleep when he was trying to juggle school and helping ghosts to the other side. but his eyes were always bright, and they always held so much more than anyone else’s, and when he smiled, it was impossible not to smile back.

looking into the face of jeon jeongguk after four years of pining after him and missing him and wishing for nothing more than this moment is like waking up in the afterlife for the first time all over again. yoongi feels safe, feels at home, and yet, there’s this tug somewhere deep within him, an ache for something more, something he’s lost.

jeongguk gives him a bright smile and then steps around yoongi, because of course he doesn’t recognize yoongi—just as the mayor said he wouldn’t, and he knows not the gravity and weight of this moment. yoongi watches him claim a table near the middle of the shop, settling in and pulling out his laptop and several textbooks. this is just his life—going to school, studying in coffee shops. he doesn’t even know yoongi is right here. he doesn’t even know yoongi has been waiting so long to see him, to speak to him again.

yoongi could cry, both with the relief and elation of seeing jeongguk again and with the frustration of knowing that jeongguk doesn’t know who he really is and can’t, because if yoongi were to tell him, it wouldn’t matter; yoongi would return to the afterlife in an instant, perhaps leaving jeongguk all the more devastated.

so all yoongi can do is buy a coffee and sit at the table next to jeongguk’s, borrowing a magazine from the shop to look less conspicuous. all he can do is sit here and watch jeongguk, marvel at seeing him here and so close and knowing he’s—well, he’s here at all.

jeongguk is twenty-five now, the same age yoongi was when he died. jeongguk is broader, his jawline more defined and his features stronger. his hair is black, and he keeps it long—so long that, once he starts studying and he realizes his hair is in his face, he pulls out a ponytail to pull it back. he looks well, like he’s finally getting enough to eat and sleep, like he finally figured out how to stop giving pieces of himself to every ghost he helps.

he looks… like the jeongguk that yoongi fell in love with four years ago, and yet entirely different. here is this person that has grown for four years without yoongi getting to watch. who has gone through trials and tribulations, who has triumphed over and over again. who is so much more than the twenty-one-year-old boy he was when yoongi knew him, and that’s both wonderful and terrible all at once—knowing that jeongguk has grown. that jeongguk isn’t the same person, not quite.

somehow, sitting here, yoongi misses jeongguk more than he ever has in the past four years.

yoongi’s thoughts are interrupted by a new arrival at jeongguk’s table, and when yoongi subtly looks up from the magazine, he sees park jimin slide into the seat across from jeongguk. the sight of him brings another fond grin to yoongi’s face; jimin, like jeongguk, can see and help ghosts. it was jimin who gave yoongi a firm talking to about allowing jeongguk to aid in his unfinished business in the first place—and jimin whom yoongi was confident would be able to help jeongguk cope after yoongi moved onto the afterlife.

seeing him here, too, four years later—older, although no taller, still best friends with jeongguk—makes yoongi feel another wave of emotion. he of course wasn’t as close to jimin as jeongguk, but this is just another part of earth and the living world that he hasn’t seen for so long.

he tries to keep his eyes down as jeongguk and jimin begin talking, but it’s hard; he hasn’t heard jeongguk’s voice in so long, and he hasn’t seen jeongguk in so long, and he doesn’t want to take his eyes off of him. but he knows it would look strange for him to stare, so he does his best.

“how are classes going?” jimin asks as he sips at his own coffee.

“terrible,” jeongguk sighs. “i’m only two months into this degree and i’m already ready to quit.”

“that difficult?”

“what i’m learning isn’t hard. it’s just a lot of work and a lot of assignments and… i dunno. this matters so much, you know? i want to do well.”

yoongi peeks up from the magazine, catching the look on jeongguk’s face; it’s a similar look to the one he wore so often when he was trying to help yoongi as a ghost. back then, they had to find yoongi’s body in order to help him move on—but beyond pretending to be detectives, it was hard work. jeongguk looks troubled and stressed, but it’s clear that he cares about this degree.

“you’ll do great, jeongguk-ah,” says jimin, patting jeongguk’s hand. “you’re probably the hardest working person i’ve ever met. if there’s one person i know can do well in this field, it’s you. and when it gets too hard, just take a step back and remind yourself why you want to do this in the first place.”

jeongguk sighs again, sinking into his chair. “i’m getting my master’s in sociology because i want to help kids,” he says. “i want to work with underprivileged and disadvantaged kids to give them opportunities and support early in their lives so that i never have to help any of them cross to the other side as ghosts, because they don’t end up in situations where they die young in the first place.”

yoongi looks away, emotion suddenly filling him again; he remembers jeongguk saying something similar four years ago about why he was studying sociology. but the fact that he’s chosen to truly devote his life to that purpose means so much more; he’s getting his master’s, is truly working toward this goal. he’s helped so many ghosts who are kids, who didn’t deserve to die but did because of the shitty hand they had been dealt in life. jeongguk has been helping ghosts for so much of his life. now he wants to help the living, too.

“exactly,” says jimin. “and you’re going to do just that. you might have to suffer through classes and assignments first, but at the end of this, you’ll be able to do so much more than sit in a classroom.”

“thanks, hyung.”

“you’re welcome. now stop talking to me and do your damn homework.”

when silence descends upon the table and they both return to their work, yoongi looks up again. he prays that jeongguk can’t feel his gaze, because this time, yoongi can’t look away—not from that face he’s longed to see for four years. he wants to make jeongguk laugh again. he wants to make jeongguk smile, wants to make him flush with embarrassment at a bold comment or a tease. he wants to hear all about the past four years from jeongguk’s own mouth, not in a game of telephone with ghosts who don’t know every detail, who don’t know jeongguk the way yoongi does. he wants to see jeongguk’s eyes light up when he sees yoongi again, wants to say everything that he’s been holding back for so long.

yoongi wants nothing more than to reach out and touch him—touch him with purpose, with intent, more than just bumping into him. he wants to run his hand through jeongguk’s hair and comfort him, wants to reassure him with a pat to the cheek, wants to hold his hand.

it would be the first time. as a ghost, he could speak to jeongguk, talk with him, laugh with him. but he could never touch.

his hands tremble at the very thought of all the things he could do now. it was a cruel existence they had together, so painfully short and abrupt. they only knew each other for two weeks, but were somehow able to fall in love in that time, to wish there was a way to stop the inevitable. but if yoongi hadn’t gone onto the afterlife, he would have become a poltergeist, a malignant spirit haunting jeongguk and ruining his life. and no amount of time together before that change could make the aftermath worth it.

but yoongi can’t stop all of this want from bubbling up within him. at times in the past four years in the afterlife, he’s thought perhaps he had moved on from jeongguk. they’ve been apart for so long, and although he doesn’t age in death, four years is still four years. he’d seen less back then, known less. he has everything he could ever want in the afterlife, everything at the tips of his fingers. when he first arrived in the afterlife, he was distraught for months, not wanting to move from his bed, not wanting to speak with anyone as he mourned the loss of jeongguk.

but it got easier, as grief always does. he made friends. he learned new hobbies. after four years, he’s no longer sad when he thinks of jeongguk, but grateful for the time they had together. foolishly, he thought that might have meant he wasn’t so in love anymore.

but sitting here, only feet from jeongguk again—yoongi realizes it could never be so easy.

now he has the opportunity to speak to jeongguk again, to touch him, to say everything he’s wanted to—but even this close, yoongi has no idea how to go about doing any of that. since jeongguk doesn’t recognize him, yoongi can’t simply go up to him and say he misses him, say he still loves him. he can’t strike up any kind of meaningful conversation with jeongguk without seeming strange, particularly when jeongguk is already here with a friend. were he to say anything he wants to, yoongi would seem like an insane person and no doubt jeongguk would run far from him.

so yoongi sits. and he watches. and he thinks of every day they had together four years ago—the search for yoongi’s body and the games of twenty questions they would play. the movies they watched together, the classes they attended where yoongi would make terrible comments about the professors that no one but jeongguk could hear. the amusement park they visited, where they played carnival games and rode the ferris wheel together.

and the last day they had, after they’d found yoongi’s body and notified the police: sitting in the park and imagining the future they could have had together, with love and life and laughter. sometimes those two weeks feel like a fever dream to yoongi, coupled by the fact that he had been a ghost the entire time, unable to speak to anyone but jeongguk, unable to impact anything in the world other than the heart of this one boy who gave his all to bring yoongi peace and let him move onto the other side.

he knows that that future can never happen for them, not while jeongguk is alive and yoongi is dead. no ghost has mentioned jeongguk having a boyfriend—or a girlfriend, for that matter—but surely there had to have been someone in the four years. and if jeongguk is to live a long life, which yoongi hopes so earnestly for, then surely he’ll find someone to spend that life with.

someone who isn’t yoongi.

and yoongi has to accept that. he’s dead. he can’t selfishly hope that jeongguk remains hung up on him for his entire life when they only knew each other for two weeks. but he also doesn’t want jeongguk to forget him entirely, doesn’t want him to move on to the point that this day of his death no longer means anything. the fact that he still sends messages for yoongi with every ghost he helps brings yoongi hope, and yet—and yet—

“hey,” says jimin after some time, thoughtfully, “isn’t today—”

“yeah,” says jeongguk quickly. yoongi lifts his eyes. “yeah, it is.”

jimin makes this noise, partially wounded and partially sympathetic. he reaches out for jeongguk’s hand again. “i’m sorry, gguk-ah. are you doing okay?”

“it’s been four years, hyung,” says jeongguk, and yoongi’s breath hitches once more. “it still hurts like fuck, especially today of all days, but… i’m okay. i didn’t want to spend all day being sad, so i thought i’d focus on something else for a few hours.”

“are you doing anything tonight?”

“yeah, i’m going to dinner with his parents and namjoon-hyung. tradition.”

tradition. yoongi’s eyes feel wet, suddenly, and he has to look down, pretending to be fascinated with his nails as he listens to jeongguk and jimin talk. “it’s really nice that you’ve kept in contact with them.”

“his parents are really lovely people,” jeongguk laughs. “originally, i wasn’t going to because it hurt a lot, but i was their last connection to him so they reached out to me. and now they take care of me a lot, actually… since my own parents are still in busan, it’s nice to have a surrogate family here in seoul.” he pauses. “and… they lost both of their sons so young. i think it really helps them to have me to look after. i actually just visited them over the weekend, but i’ll never say no to more food.”

yoongi has to wipe at his eyes quickly, trying not to draw attention to himself at the knowledge that his parents have taken jeongguk under their wing. he remembers that last day again, when they visited yoongi’s parents to let him say goodbye through jeongguk. he misses them so fiercely, wants to be happy and safe as well—and the thought of namjoon, as well, his best friend, makes him all the more emotional. he knows he can’t possibly speak to jeongguk here, not without falling apart completely.

“they must miss him a lot,” says jimin quietly.

“i miss him a lot, too. i miss him every day.” he thinks he hears jeongguk sniff, but he can’t raise his head knowing his own eyes are wet. “i keep waiting—for… something.”

“ah, jeongguk-ah. you know there’s never really been a substantiated claim that ghosts are able to communicate with us from the afterlife.”

“i know, hyung. but i keep waiting. how do i even know he’s there? what if something happened to him? i send him messages with the other ghosts but what if he’s not getting them? i just want to know he’s okay.”

yoongi could scream. he’s right here—right here, and yet he can’t let jeongguk know. he can’t do or say anything, stuck in a torturous situation like this. he has been getting jeongguk’s messages, but of course jeongguk doesn’t know that—and yet he keeps sending them. yet he keeps hoping.

“i’m sure he’s fine, jeongguk. i don’t think they have a way of letting us know from over there, though.”

“if there was one person who would find a way or—or break the rules to send me a sign, it would be yoongi-hyung.”

yoongi can’t help but grin; jeongguk doesn’t know how right he is. but for now—for now, yoongi stays silent. it feels like he’s wasting time with every minute that passes of his twelve-hour time limit in which he’s not speaking to jeongguk, but he has time. he has time. he’ll figure out a way to speak to him. he’ll figure out the perfect things to say.

when jeongguk and jimin leave the coffee shop, so does yoongi. he overhead which restaurant the dinner will be taking place at, so rather than follow jeongguk, yoongi goes his own way. after his time ruminating in the coffee shop, he has something he has to do first.

the restaurant is one that yoongi has never been to, and he has no real plans as to what he’s going to do. he can’t keep following jeongguk around for twelve hours without getting caught, but his parents and namjoon will be here, too, and it’s an opportunity he can’t pass up. besides, as a living human—even for twelve hours—he does have to eat.

he purposely arrives half an hour later than jeongguk told jimin that the dinner would be beginning, in hopes that seeing all of them at once will be easier than having to go through the emotional turmoil of seeing each of them arrive separately. but as he walks down the street, drawing closer and closer to the restaurant, yoongi begins to feel restless. with each step, new memories resurface—memories with his parents, with namjoon, with jeongguk. the last fight with his parents that drove him to his death after he got drunk and accidentally drowned in a lake not far from seoul. how he never really got to apologize to them, not in person. how namjoon tried to stop him from driving while drunk in the first place, and how yoongi wouldn’t listen. how namjoon must blame himself for it, even now.

yoongi reaches the restaurant, but as he’s passing by the large window at the front, he sees—his mother. and then he sees his father. and then namjoon. the three of them, along with jeongguk, are sitting at the table right next to the window, and the tint isn’t dark enough to conceal them completely, and—and—

and—

yoongi stops walking. his mother is laughing at something that namjoon must have said, because jeongguk is hiding his face in embarrassment, and namjoon looks so proud of himself, and yoongi’s father looks vaguely amused at all of their antics. and this is a dinner to celebrate yoongi’s life, to mourn that it’s been four years since his death, but they’re together, stronger than ever. they’re happy together. this is his family right here—his parents, his best friend, the man he’s in love with.

and yoongi thought that he could do this. but seeing them all here makes him realize he really can’t, and the overwhelming emotion nearly knocks him off of his feet, and yoongi panics, and—he runs.

he just runs.

eventually, he ends up at a cemetery—the cemetery he knows he’s buried in. the sun has long set when he arrives, and he knows he only has a few hours left before his time on earth is up. and here he is, having run from the one thing he wanted to see so badly. but he can’t stop the way his heart aches, and the tears he continues to wipe away as he walks through the cemetery in search of one thing. just one thing.

finally—there it is.

his gravestone looks like any other, but that’s his name. min yoongi. only twenty-five when he died, so young, so tragic. yoongi stares down at it and feels his sorrow begin to shift into—anger.

“fuck you,” he whispers, stepping onto the grass just below the gravestone. he stomps on it, just once. his coffin is six feet below him, his body six feet below—just bones by now, nothing more. “fuck you for fucking dying.” he stomps again. “fuck you for—for everything. you could have had so much more. you could have done so much more. you let down your parents, and namjoon, and—” yoongi sucks in a breath, tears spilling over onto his cheeks. “you could have met him. if you hadn’t gotten drunk and tried to drive to fucking daegu and fallen into that stupid lake instead… you would have. i know you would have. and it would have been okay.”

yoongi wipes at his eyes, dropping into a crouch and wrapping his arms around his knees as he stares at the name engraved on the gravestone. but—is that the truth anyway? would he and jeongguk have met had yoongi not died? it’s the paradox of their relationship—the fact that they only met because yoongi died and became a ghost, and jeongguk was the ghost whisperer given the responsibility of helping him cross to the afterlife.

they moved in completely different circles, had completely different lives and interests. would they have met? and if they had, would they have even been friends? would they have fallen in love if they hadn’t been forced to spend every moment together, working to solve the greatest mystery of yoongi’s life and death?

the truth is, yoongi doesn’t know. but he wants to believe they would have. he wants to believe they would have had everything.

yoongi sniffs again, wiping at his runny nose. he thought this would be the best twelve hours of his afterlife. he thought he would be happy to see jeongguk and namjoon and his parents again. but all it’s done is make him feel empty, and miss them more, and realize he’s done a lot less moving on than he thought he had. but maybe that’s what grief is: it never really hurts less, it just hurts less often.

it’s as though he’s a ghost all over again. he might be able to touch things, to eat and drink and feel the sun on his skin, but it doesn’t matter, because the people he wants to see most just look right through him. the people he wants to talk to most wouldn’t even hear him, or wouldn’t care for what he has to say.

so what’s the point?

“yoongi-oppa?”

yoongi’s head snaps sideways, eyes wide when he sees a little girl standing a few graves away from him, staring with her head cocked to the side. she can’t be more than five or six years old, and she’s wearing a little yellow raincoat. he’s so surprised to see a child in the cemetery—alone—that it doesn’t register for several seconds that she called him by name.

when the realization hits, he’s even more confused. because the mayor told him that no one would be able to recognize him, and more than that, yoongi certainly doesn’t know who the little girl is, so why would she know who he is to begin with? she must have been just a baby when yoongi died. even if she saw pictures of him, she wouldn’t be able to recognize him.

and then yoongi sees the blood.

it’s harder to see in the darkness, but the right side of the little girl’s raincoat is stained with it. when he pays attention to her features, he sees what looks like road rash on the right side of her head, on her temple and disappearing into her hairline.

suddenly, yoongi understands.

she’s a ghost.

“you… you know me?” yoongi asks, bewildered as he quickly wipes at his eyes again. the little girl grins when he speaks to her, running toward him with her little raincoat flapping behind her.

“yoongi-oppa!” she exclaims again, giggling as she crouches down next to him. “your hair is like ice cream. jeonggukie-oppa showed me.”

yoongi’s heart skips a beat in his chest. “jeongguk-oppa?” he repeats. “he, um… he’s helping you? what’s your name?”

the little girl nods, giggling again. “i’m soomin. jeonggukie-oppa says i had an accident when i was playing and now i get to go to a really fun place! but i can’t go with eomma or appa so we have to make sure they’re okay with it first. and then i can go on a biiiiiig adventure!”

of course—this little girl is jeongguk’s ghost. she must have gotten into a car accident or something similar, and now jeongguk is helping with her unfinished business so she can go to the afterlife. and the mayor told yoongi that no one would be able to recognize him—but that probably only pertains to living humans. this little girl is a ghost, and because yoongi is technically a ghost as well, they can see each other. and whatever powers the mayor is using on humans, they don’t extend to soomin.

but that means—

“how do you know who i am?” yoongi asks, wiping at his eyes again. “i’m, uh—i’m like you. i had an accident and went to a really fun place, too.”

“oppa showed me pictures,” says soomin. “and he told me aaaaaall about you. jeonggukie-oppa says you’re really pretty.” then she pauses, tilting her head at him. “i think he was right.” yoongi lets out a startled laugh at her honesty, although he’s more caught on the fact that jeongguk has shown soomin pictures of him, has talked about him. of course every ghost gives yoongi a message from him, but yoongi always assumed he just gave them a quick briefing, not this.

“what else did oppa tell you?” asks yoongi.

“jeonggukie-oppa said yoongi-oppa is really pretty and funny and when i see him, i should give him a big hug.” soomin shuffles closer, wrapping her little arms around one of yoongi’s—but her arms go right through his. “and to tell yoongi-oppa that jeonggukie-oppa misses him lots but he’s trying not to be sad because… um… thinking about yoongi-oppa makes him happy instead!”

yoongi tries to smile, tries not to startle soomin with his own emotions, but he can’t help it—tears spring to his eyes again, and he has to look away in hopes that soomin won’t be able to tell. but soomin does, and she stands up, wrapping her arms around yoongi’s neck to give him a hug that way. even though she’s a ghost and it doesn’t work, yoongi still holds his arms around her as well, ignoring the way the touch makes him shiver.

“thank you, soominie,” he sniffs. “when you come to the fun place, i’ll be there, okay? and i’ll take care of you.” soomin will forever be this little girl in the afterlife. there are already a handful of children in the neighbourhood, and yoongi would be honoured to volunteer to take care of soomin, to make sure her big adventure is the best it could possibly be.

soomin pulls away, beaming at him again. after a moment, when he’s collected himself, yoongi asks, “how did you know i was here?”

“um… i didn’t,” shrugs soomin.

yoongi frowns. “then how did you know to come here? and how did you get here anyway?”

“jeonggukie-oppa,” says soomin, giggling as she points over yoongi’s shoulder. and yoongi freezes, panic filling him as he turns his head to see jeongguk walking through the rows of gravestones toward them. for once, seeing jeongguk doesn’t fill him with emotion or want or sorrow; he’s too busy panicking about the fact that soomin recognizes him and will most certainly tell jeongguk.

but if she does, yoongi will disappear.

“hey, soominie,” says yoongi, turning back to her quickly. “do you want to play a game for yoongi-oppa?”

“what kind of game?”

“can you count all of the gravestones for oppa?” he asks. “if you can get the number right, i’ll give you a treat when you come to the fun place.”

soomin gasps, clapping her little hands together before she takes off running without a second thought, hurrying past jeongguk who calls to her but gets no answer. she’s too busy taking on the task yoongi has given her, and now with her out of the way, yoongi doesn’t have to worry about the little girl accidentally ruining any of this.

but then jeongguk turns to yoongi. the moment they make eye contact, yoongi feels a shiver run down his spine, and he stands, stepping off of his own grave and trying to make it look like he’s here for the person buried next to him. he doesn’t want jeongguk to think him strange, not when he’s running out of time to talk to jeongguk at all, and he can’t waste this, can’t leave this place without at least saying hello—

“you too?” asks jeongguk. he comes to a stop next to yoongi, hands shoved in his coat pockets.

yoongi turns to him with wide eyes.

“i saw you talking to soomin,” says jeongguk carefully. “so, um… you can see them too?”

“oh,” says yoongi, flushing. “you mean ghosts? yeah, i can see them.” he sees jeongguk relax, clearly more comfortable in the presence of someone who is a bit more like him. yoongi is glad for the darkness, so that if he stares, perhaps jeongguk won’t be able to tell. “she’s really cute, by the way. she told me you said she’s going on a big adventure.”

jeongguk laughs (yoongi’s heart clenches), shoulders hiking up in a clear sign of embarrassment. he used to that four years ago, too. “i always try to make death and the afterlife seem like a really cool thing for kids,” he says. “it’s… it’s so sad that they’ve died so young at all, and i don’t want them being more upset that they have to leave their parents. if i make it seem fun, then it’s an easier transition.” by now, jeongguk is a seasoned pro at all of this. he’s seen ghosts since he was four years old. how many more has he helped since yoongi? how many more times has his heart been broken by their pain?

“you seem like you’re really good at this,” muses yoongi.

this time, jeongguk doesn’t laugh. instead, his eyes focus on the gravestone—yoongi’s gravestone. his throat bobs as he swallows. he tilts his head a little, as though considering. and then he says, “when you care this much for the ghosts, it’s easier for them, i think. not so much for me, though.”

he’s trying not to be sad because thinking about yoongi-oppa makes him happy instead.

“i bet they’re really grateful that you care so much,” yoongi says quietly. “and i bet they care just as much for you.”

jeongguk’s grin is small and sad. “i doubt any of them even think of me once they’re in the afterlife,” he says, and oh, how wrong he is. “i’m just this one little stop on the way to forever for them. but if i can help them… i’m glad. even if it breaks my heart, at least i was able to do right by them.” he stares at the gravestone for another moment before he shakes his head as though to shake himself out of some stupor, laughing when he turns to watch yoongi again. “sorry, i didn’t mean to get so emotional. i’m jeon jeongguk.”

he holds out his hand to shake, and yoongi takes it, saying, “i’m yoon—” he stops, realizing what he’s about to say—“jae. kim yoonjae.” he shakes jeongguk’s hand, forcing himself to let go when he ought to and—it’s the first time they’ve really touched. these hands he has dreamed of holding, of studying, of loving. yoongi shoves his own hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out again. “it’s nice to meet you.”

“are you here visiting someone?” asks jeongguk.

“um,” says yoongi, turning to look at the gravestone next to his own. “yeah, my, uh—uncle.” the name and birthyear seems like it could match up with someone his parents’ age. “you?”

jeongguk hums. “yes,” he says. “it’s been four years today since i lost him.” he gestures to yoongi’s gravestone, and yoongi watches the way jeongguk’s lips tremble between a smile and a frown. it’s the crease in his forehead that gives him away.

yoongi dares to ask, “who was he?”

it takes jeongguk an agonizing minute to answer; it seems as though he’s wrestling with how to answer the question himself, bottom lip trembling with the effort not to cry. and then, at long last, jeongguk says, “i think he could have been the love of my life.”

“oh,” whispers yoongi, nails digging into his hands as he balls them into fists, focusing on the slight pain to keep from crying. “only could have been?”

when jeongguk laughs, the sound is waterlogged. “i didn’t know him for very long. but i fell in love with him in that short time, anyway, and then he was just—gone. and sometimes i feel silly for having felt so much for him when it was only a few weeks, but i really did love him.” he pauses, voice growing small when he adds, “i still do.”

yoongi trembles when he exhales.

“but,” continues jeongguk with a sigh of his own, “we never did get to be together, not like we wanted. so i say he could have been the love of my life, because i think if we would have had more time and could have done everything we dreamed of… we would have been great together. i think i’ll love him for my entire life, you know? but i’ll always wonder what we might have been.”

it’s hard to remember the rules now when all he wants is to tell jeongguk the truth, to hold him, to say something. how can he stand here and listen to jeongguk say such things and pretend it doesn’t affect him? because now he knows for certain it’s not just him. it was never just him.

and yoongi can’t tell the truth, not if he wants to stay—but he can at least tell a half truth and hope jeongguk understands. “i’m sure he feels the same way,” he says carefully. “wherever he is. he… he probably loves you a lot, too, and is waiting for the day you can finally be together again in the afterlife.”

to his surprise, jeongguk actually laughs. “it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?” he asks. “but no one really knows what happens after all of this. we help these ghosts to the afterlife, but who knows what it’s like there? what if they don’t remember us? what if there’s just… nothing? and i’m clinging to someone who no longer exists in any realm? what if i never see him again?”

“i don’t think… you should think like that. i mean, you’re right. we don’t know what happens. but what if it’s amazing on the other side? what if there are whole neighbourhoods dedicated to honoring what you did for your ghosts and they talk about you all the time and min yoongi is there, thinking of you every day?” that’s exactly what it’s like, of course, but jeongguk gives him an incredulous look, so yoongi shrugs. “i think it’s good to be optimistic, is all.”

“i guess. but what scares me so much about that is… i don’t know when i’ll die. i don’t know when i’ll get to see him again, and i’m afraid of moving on and being with someone else and doing other things and then—then i see him again in the afterlife and he’s been waiting all this time for me but i’ve betrayed him.” jeongguk sniffs. “it breaks my heart to think of how that would make him feel.”

yoongi has to catch his own tongue before he says baby, swallowing down the word and forcing himself to instead address jeongguk as, “jeongguk-ssi.” he hesitates and then reaches out, putting a hand on jeongguk’s shoulder and squeezing. “i know i’m just a stranger, but can i give you some advice?” jeongguk nods. “i think that he would want you to be happy. if that means moving on and finding someone else to spend your life with, he’s never going to resent you for that. it’s a tragedy that he died before you could really be together, but if he really loves you—and i know he does—then he wants you to live your life to the fullest. to achieve all of your dreams and go on grand adventures and not spend your life hung up on him. and if that means being with someone else, how could he be upset about it? you deserve to be happy, jeongguk. and seeing you happy, even if it’s with someone else, will make him happy, too.”

he doesn’t realize until he’s saying those words that they’re true. yoongi has wrestled with his own feelings for four years; of course he loves jeongguk and wants them to be together in the afterlife whenever jeongguk dies, but it would break his heart to think that jeongguk missed out on living a wonderful life because he was hung up on yoongi or afraid to do something more because he didn’t want to hurt yoongi. it’s heartbreaking, but they both have to understand the reality of their situation—yoongi is dead. and jeongguk is alive. they can’t be together. right now, loving each other means letting each other go.

a quiet sniff draws his attention, and jeongguk wipes at his eyes. “you really think so?”

“if this yoongi of yours would be selfish and foolish enough to be upset that you did everything in your power to live a good life, then he’s a fucking idiot and he didn’t really love you in the first place.” jeongguk’s laugh is watery. “look, there’s nothing with loving him. there’s nothing wrong with spending the rest of your life loving him and looking forward to seeing him again and wanting to be together in the afterlife,” says yoongi. “but don’t forget that right now, you’re here. you’re alive. he will still be there when you go to the other side. and he will be so happy to see you that he won’t care about anything other than the fact that you are there. so you might as well have a damn good life to tell him about when you go, right?”

jeongguk nods, grinning as he wipes at his eyes. “how are you so wise?” he laughs.

“i lost someone, too,” says yoongi, frowning now as he looks at his gravestone. “and i loved him with all of my heart. but… death is cruel. i’ve been struggling with the same thing, really—with the idea of being reunited after so long and finding that we no longer feel the same way we did when we were together. but i realized is that i’m always going to love him. maybe that love will change over the years, but it doesn’t matter because he’s still always going to be the person i want to be with—maybe as a friend instead of a lover, but that’s okay, too. i don’t care as long as i get to see him and hold him and tell him everything i didn’t get the chance to. and i think your yoongi probably feels the same way.”

that’s it, really; he just wants jeongguk to be happy, even if it’s not with yoongi. and it won’t be with yoongi, because yoongi is dead. but when they’re reunited in the afterlife, yoongi won’t care what jeongguk has done with his life—won’t care if he married someone else, had ten kids, forgot about the ghost boy he once loved as a young man. because he’ll get to see jeongguk again, and that’s all yoongi wants. they can figure out the rest later.

“i wish the ghosts could stay,” sighs jeongguk. “or i wish they could at least communicate with us. i wish i could just… hear his voice again, or see him smile. four years is a long time to be without someone, but i always miss him the same. especially today.”

if only jeongguk had the eyes to see—to see that yoongi is right here. but he’s just a stranger, someone who can only offer superficial promises and comforts. jeongguk was sad for so much of the time that they were together four years ago—sad that yoongi had died, sad that yoongi had to leave in the end. back then, yoongi could do little more than speak words of comfort to him.

this time, he holds his hand out between them, palm up. to jeongguk, they only just met. but he sees jeongguk look down at the offered hand, consider it, and then—he takes yoongi’s hand, threading their fingers together, and then they stand before yoongi’s grave together, two people who are always just missing each other, always just on the wrong side.

“he loved kumamon,” says jeongguk quietly. “every time i see anything with kumamon on it, i have to buy it, so i’ve basically got a fucking kumamon shrine in my house and it’s so embarrassing but i can’t help it.” and then he giggles, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. “he loved the piano, too. and mulan. he called me bunny all the time, and now i never let anyone else call me that because that was his, you know?”

yoongi’s lips quirk upward. “he sounds like a pretty cool dude.”

“he was,” says jeongguk. “he was kind and funny and smart. but he… he had his problems, too. he was so worried about not accomplishing anything in his life. about wasted potential, because he lost his way after his hyung died as a teenager. i think he… he thought that he didn’t matter as much as other people. he thought his parents just wanted to make him into his brother, because they lost him. he thought he was just another nobody in this stupid world. but he was wrong. you should see the way people celebrate his life on this day every year. the people he touched, the friends he made, the impact… he’ll never know it. and it’s not fair that it took him dying for the world to learn how to appreciate him, but if i could just tell him one thing, it’s that he matters. he still matters. he always did. and even if i move on and fall in love with someone else, he’s always going to be right here.”

jeongguk presses a hand over his heart, but yoongi can barely see it through the blur of his own tears. when jeongguk notices him crying, his face morphs into one of vague panic, saying, “oh my god, i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“no, it’s okay,” laughs yoongi, wiping at his own tears. “it’s just—” he’s right. even if yoongi didn’t really realize it in life, he knows it’s true: he never thought he mattered as much as his brother, or as much as his friends, or as much as any stranger on the street. maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have gotten into that car while drunk. maybe he would still be here. “it’s just really lovely.” jeongguk squeeze his hand. “he was really lucky to have you when he did.”

“i was the lucky one,” says jeongguk. “he taught me so much even if i only knew him for a short time. and i can’t even thank him.”

“i’m sure he knows.”

“what about you?” jeongguk asks. “you said you lost someone, too.”

yoongi almost laughs. “what would i tell him?”

“yeah. you never know, maybe they’re really listening.”

he has no idea. but yoongi takes a moment to collect himself, watching jeongguk carefully. what would he say to jeongguk? what can he say now in hopes that jeongguk will somehow understand who yoongi is really talking to? “i’d say… i love you,” he whispers, tightening his hold on jeongguk’s hand. “and i’m sorry for the pain that i’ve caused you. sometimes i think it would have been easier if we had never met, because we wouldn’t have had to part the way we did. i think maybe you’d be happier. but as much as it hurts to think of you and to wait until we can see each other again, i’m glad for the pain—because it reminds me that we had something great. that i got to spend two weeks with the most compassionate and wonderful human i’ve ever met, and i’m much better for having known you. i wish i could take your pain away and i wish i could make all of this easier, but even when it’s hard, just know that you’ve done well. and spring will come again.”

does jeongguk know? does he know that yoongi is saying those words to him, that this is all the opportunity he’ll ever have to let jeongguk know that it’s okay to be in pain? it’s okay to go at his own pace? and it’s okay to move on if that’s what he needs or wants?

but time is running out. that’s always been their problem, hasn’t it? they never have enough time.

so yoongi squeezes jeongguk’s hand again, his own eyes filling with tears once more as he says, “i would tell him not to be afraid of his life, and his own desires, and the opportunities that the world wants to give him. you go out there and you do everything you’ve ever wanted. and when you come to the end of your life and you are finally at peace, i’ll be waiting for you. i’ll be waiting on the top of that ferris wheel.”

jeongguk’s eyes widen just slightly, but—yoongi can tell. he can tell those words are spiralling madly through his mind, trying to understand what yoongi is saying. see, it’s the last thing yoongi ever said to jeongguk four years ago, after he’d gone to the afterlife and jimin had given jeongguk a letter yoongi had written for him. and it’s cheating, yes, but—yoongi knows that jeongguk can figure it out. and he deserves to know, deserves to know that everything yoongi has said tonight is about him, is for him.

jeongguk remains frozen, staring at yoongi now, but yoongi knows he’s thinking it. knows he’s figuring it out. which means—they only have a little time left, because as soon as jeongguk does figure it out, yoongi will disappear. he’s broken the rules. but he had to. he couldn’t possibly leave without jeongguk knowing the truth.

“did you say—” jeongguk begins quietly, and then, from behind yoongi, a tiny voice shouts, “jeonggukie-oppa!”

yoongi twists around, hand falling from jeongguk’s as he sees little soomin racing through the rows of graves. yoongi’s eyes widen, realizing she’s opening her mouth to call for him, but if she does, it’ll ruin it—and whatever limbo they’re stuck in with jeongguk knowing but not knowing will be broken, and yoongi will disappear—

he steps toward her, panicked when he says, “soomin, no—”

but it’s too late, and soomin is laughing as she shouts, “yoongi-oppa!”

yoongi can feel everything around him freeze, tension snapping in the air as soomin finally reaches him and hops into the spot before him. she beams up at him before holding up her fingers. “there are two hundred and sixty-three gravestones,” she says, and opens her hand to him. “can i have my present in the really fun place now?”

he stares down at her, trembling. he can feel jeongguk staring behind him, but he’s terrified to look around, feeling as though the moment they make eye contact and jeongguk knows for sure that it’s him, everything will be over. this is the very last moment they have together—and did yoongi say enough? does jeongguk understand what he feels, how he longs for jeongguk yet doesn’t want to see him in the afterlife for a very long time?

taking a deep breath, yoongi crouches down in front of soomin. “very good job,” he tells her, mustering up a bright smile. “you’re very smart, soominie. i can’t wait to see you in the fun place.”

“me too!” she chirps.

“yoongi-oppa has to go away soon,” he says quietly. “and when i do, jeonggukie-oppa might be sad again. so make sure to cheer him up, okay?” soomin nods. “good girl. i’ll see you in the fun place soon, okay?”

then, slowly, with bated breath, yoongi stands up. he braces himself.

he hears jeongguk’s voice behind him, soft and hesitant but oh so hopeful: “yoongi-hyung?”

yoongi turns around, tears already in his eyes when he whispers, “hey, jeongguk-ah.”

suddenly, his arms are full of jeongguk, who has thrown himself at yoongi in a tight embrace. he wraps his arms around yoongi so tightly that it hurts, but yoongi holds him right back, for the first time—not just in four years, but the first time ever. he’s imagined this a thousand times, but nothing compares to the feeling of having jeongguk in his arms, of being able to hold him, to feel jeongguk’s chest heaving against his.

and jeongguk’s body is wracked with sobs, holding yoongi tightly as he says, “oh my god—oh my god, is it really you?”

“yeah, it’s me.”

“how?”

“i begged them—i begged them to let me see you, jeongguk, but i broke the rules. i wasn’t supposed to let you find out it was me and they’re going to bring me back, and i—i have to go, jeongguk-ah, i’m sorry.”

he’s crying as jeongguk pulls back, face red and wet with tears, hands coming to hold the sides of yoongi’s face. the first time. it’s finally the first time. but yoongi has said all he could, and they don’t have time anymore, and it’s just like the first time, isn’t it? when he knew he would go and he had to say goodbye, and now they have to say goodbye again—“i missed you,” gasps jeongguk. “i missed you, hyung; i love you so much.”

“jeongguk,” says yoongi, wiping away jeongguk’s tears. “you did well. be happy, okay? it’s okay to be happy.”

jeongguk nods, more tears spilling over onto his cheeks, and then—yoongi can feel it. this tug low in his gut, not unlike the first time. he has to go. but he can’t let go of jeongguk, not when he can finally touch him, hold him, say what he’s been meaning to for four years. death is so goddamn cruel.

“jeongguk-ah,” he laughs. “baby. i love you.”

“can i finally kiss you?” asks jeongguk, and yoongi laughs even as he nods, and jeongguk pulls him in, and yoongi closes his eyes, waiting for the touch he’s longed the most for—

but it never comes.

when yoongi opens his eyes again, he’s standing in his house. his house in the afterlife—where everything is perfect and peaceful. where he’ll live for eternity.

where jeongguk isn’t.

for a time, he just stands in his living room, staring at the painting on the wall above his sofa; it’s of a forest caught in the throes of autumn, brilliant reds and yellows and oranges dancing about the canvas as though the trees are on fire. it’s the end of something: of summer, of the life that the forest had for the warm and wet months. and here they are, dying. here they are, shedding their leaves and losing what once made them so full of life.

and yet they’re beautiful. it’s only in death that they can be so beautiful. and when the winter comes and goes and spring arrives once more, they’ll bloom anew. stronger, better. perhaps more beautiful than ever before. life after life after life.

yoongi leaves his house, taking the few steps down the street until he comes to the house next to his. he wasn’t supposed to come back for another hour or two, so of course no one is expecting him—and so he knocks on the door, surprised at how numb he feels as he waits. eventually, the door opens, revealing taehyung.

they stare at each other. and then taehyung seems to deflate a little, reaching out his hand as he says, “oh, yoongi-hyung.”

it’s only when yoongi takes taehyung’s hand and is pulled into another warm hug that he’s finally overwhelmed with emotion, and he lets himself go, and he weeps. he weeps for what he and jeongguk could have had but never will. he weeps for what they had today, just a glimpse of a life where they could touch and speak and be honest. he weeps for the years to come in which he will wait patiently for jeongguk to join him, always in agony that he’ll have to wait so long—but in the same agony that he’ll have to wait only a short time.

he weeps, and when he’s exhausted himself, yoongi looks out at the sky full of stars, and he believes that somehow, he and jeongguk are looking at the same ones. he believes that jeongguk knows. and he believes that one day, when they’re finally reunited, it’ll be more than worth all of this pain and sadness.

one day, they will finally have eternity. in this afterlife, they’ll finally live forever.

a year later, jeongguk receives a letter.

he can’t help his confusion when he sees the envelope sticking out of his mailbox on his way out of his apartment building; he doesn’t know a single person who still writes letters or sends cards in the mail anymore, not when everything is so much quicker online. but he grabs the envelope anyway, tucking it into his backpack as he heads for the subway. he has a full schedule of classes today, although he’d considered skipping them in favor of spending the entire day with the mins. they’d insisted he be responsible, though, so he’ll see them after class.

see, today is the day. today, it’s been five years since yoongi died.

every year, it gets a little easier to breathe on this day. but there’s something about that number—five—that leaves such a bitter taste in jeongguk’s mouth. five is a lot of years. just recently, jeongguk turned twenty-six, and now he’s older than yoongi ever was. now when they meet in the afterlife, jeongguk will insist that yoongi call him hyung, although he’ll always prefer baby.

when jeongguk settles on the subway, ready for the long ride to campus, he can’t help letting his eyes wander over the faces of the other passengers. he won’t say that he’s searching for one in particular, but he’s done it every day for a year now. he wouldn’t know, is the thing—because he didn’t know the first time. he didn’t recognize yoongi when they were standing face to face, speaking to each other and pouring their hearts out. any of these people on the subway could be yoongi. but he knows it’s not likely; yoongi did say that he’d broken the rules by letting jeongguk find out who he really was, and whoever allowed yoongi to come back to earth for that day in the first place probably wasn’t happy. probably wouldn’t let yoongi come back again.

and yet—jeongguk can’t help it. today of all days, on the fifth anniversary of yoongi’s death, he has hope.

when none of the other passengers even seem to notice him—surely yoongi would be staring at him—jeongguk instead reaches into his backpack to pull out his phone. there, his hand knocks against the forgotten envelope, and now he pulls it out, frowning down at his name scrawled on the outside. it’s not handwriting he recognizes, but he curiously opens the envelope and pulls out the paper inside.

it’s a letter. long and neatly handwritten. why anyone has written him a letter is beyond him, but then jeongguk actually begins reading and—he gasps loudly, too loudly in the silence of the subway car. he immediately puts a hand over his mouth, flushing at the stares that some of the other passengers give him.

it’s just—it only takes him several words to understand.

bunny, the letter reads. today marks five years, doesn’t it?

of course jeongguk doesn’t recognize the handwriting, because he’s never read this handwriting before. but he knows that nickname. and he knows those words. he’d know them anywhere.

it’s yoongi.

i apologize for the old-fashioned way of communicating. but since i can’t really send you messages from the afterlife, i figured this was the next best thing. i’m writing this one year ago for you, on the fourth anniversary of my death. i don’t know how this day will go and if you’ll find out i was there with you, but i was. i don’t think i’ll get another chance, so i wanted to do this instead.

my hand hurts like hell, but i think i’ve written enough letters to last fifty years. so if you live longer than that—and i hope you do—please forgive my lack of foresight. you might think it strange or unnecessary, but i’ve written letters that are going to be sent on my deathday every year. not to make you sad or in hopes that you’ll always remember me. i just want to remind you that you’re loved, and that no matter how difficult life might get, how dark the days might seem, there is someone who is thinking of you and wishing you well. a bad day is just a day, and it’s one day closer to me.

i do hope, though, that eventually, this day will just be another day. the letter you receive will just be another piece of mail. i hope that one day, my death won’t be the most important thing about today, but another part. i hope that you will have so many more wonderful things to focus on that you don’t even have time to open my silly letters. i hope you are so overwhelmed with joy at the life you lead that my death can’t possibly dampen your spirits.

because you deserve that, jeongguk. you really do. you deserve love and happiness. i hope you find it. i hope you find everything you’ve ever wanted. and at the end of it, i’ll be here, waiting to hear all about it. you better have a damn good story to tell me, jeon jeongguk. you know i won’t settle for anything less.

until then, do well. i will, too.

love always,

yoongi.

jeongguk’s eyes are wet as he finishes reading, but there’s a grin on his lips as he traces his fingers over yoongi’s name. he thinks again of that day one year ago, when he found out that yoongi had come back for him. he’d been devastated upon learning that yoongi had been with him the whole time only for yoongi to disappear again, but now he can only think of that day so fondly. and now with this letter, he can’t help the pure joy he feels—at knowing yoongi, at knowing yoongi cares so deeply for him, at knowing that he has this to look forward to every year.

because yes, he still misses yoongi. he still grieves for yoongi. this day still hurts. but when he puts down the letter, he can finally let out the breath he’s been holding for five long years. with these words—and remembering the words yoongi spoke to him a year ago—jeongguk finally feels free. he didn’t need yoongi’s permission to be happy, but knowing that yoongi wants him to be happy more than he wants jeongguk to miss him takes a great weight off of his chest.

for four years, he wrestled with his own heart, feeling as though he was betraying yoongi by wanting to grow and move on from those weeks they spent together. but now he knows that yoongi will never blame him for it. yoongi wants him to move on, if that’s what jeongguk wants, too. he wants jeongguk to be happy, whatever that looks like.

for those four years, jeongguk couldn’t be truly happy not knowing what had happened to yoongi. all he could do was watch his ghosts disappear and hope there really was an afterlife out there for them—but then yoongi came back to him. now he knows there’s an afterlife and that yoongi is there. he knows yoongi is safe. he knows yoongi is taking care of himself, and he wants jeongguk to take care of himself, too.

he has nothing to worry about anymore. yoongi does love him, but it’s not with a selfish love. he’ll wait as long as it takes for jeongguk to join him, and if jeongguk is different, has loved and lost and moved on, yoongi is just going to be happy to see him. jeongguk wants to live a long and happy life, and he’s always going to hold yoongi in his heart. but now he knows he can hold other things in his heart, too. he’s not afraid to live fully, to be happy, to open himself to love and desire and adventure. yoongi has given him this one last gift—the ability to live with his grief, and give himself permission to be happy, even without yoongi. he’s not going to waste it.

jeongguk has been able to see ghosts for his entire life. for most of that time, he has actively sought them out, heard their stories, learned their ways, so that he can help solve their unfinished business and allow them to move from this world to the next. for most of his life, jeongguk has been bringing ghosts peace.

and for the first time in his life, in this quiet subway on the fifth anniversary of min yoongi’s death—a ghost brings jeongguk peace instead.