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Jaejoong shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets, the cold biting through the thin fabric like it had been waiting for him. He hadn’t planned on coming—not really. It was Junsu who suggested it, and even then, it wasn’t much of a suggestion. More like a passing comment over drinks. It would be weird not to, wouldn’t it?
So here they were, walking up the slope of the cemetery in uncomfortable silence. Junsu trailed a step behind him, shoulders hunched against the wind. The gravel crunched under their shoes, loud in the absence of conversation.
Jaejoong stopped short when the familiar shapes of Yunho and Changmin came into view ahead of them, standing by the gravestone.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
Junsu glanced up. “What?” Then he followed Jaejoong’s gaze and froze. “Oh.”
Yunho and Changmin hadn’t seen them yet. They stood side by side, bundled against the weather, their postures stiff. For a moment, Jaejoong considered turning around and walking back down the hill. It wasn’t like Yoochun would notice.
But Junsu was already moving forward, his jaw tight. Jaejoong had no choice but to follow.
They stopped a few feet away. Yunho turned first, his eyes widening slightly, though his expression didn’t change much.
“Hey,” Junsu said, his voice soft but steady.
“Hey,” Yunho replied. Changmin didn’t say anything, but he gave a small nod of acknowledgment, his hands shoved into his coat pockets.
No one moved closer.
For a long time, they all just stood there, staring at the grave. The name etched into the stone felt almost surreal, as if it belonged to someone else entirely.
“He’d probably hate this,” Junsu said finally, breaking the silence.
Yunho’s mouth twitched. “Yeah. Too quiet. Too plain.”
Jaejoong let out a short laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. “No cameras, no attention. Definitely not his style.”
Changmin snorted, and the sound was so unexpected that it made all of them glance at him. He shook his head, looking almost embarrassed. “He’d be pissed none of us went to the funeral.”
“Like he gave us a reason to,” Jaejoong shot back, his voice low.
No one disagreed.
It was Junsu who finally suggested they leave. “Standing here feels weird,” he said. “Let’s go.”
They didn’t ask where or why.
Without speaking, they all ended up at a convenience store down the street, grabbing bottles of soju and cans of cheap beer. It was Junsu who threw a pack of chips onto the counter without looking at anyone, and Changmin, without a word, paid for everything. Yunho hesitated by the cashier, as if trying to figure out whether this was a bad idea, but Jaejoong was already heading for the door, and the momentum swept them along.
They settled on the curb outside, under the dim glow of a flickering streetlight. The pavement was cold and damp beneath them, but no one cared enough to complain.
Jaejoong cracked open the first bottle of soju, took a long swig, and passed it down the line. The liquor burned on its way down, but it felt appropriate somehow.
“This feels stupid,” Changmin muttered as he took his turn with the bottle, his tone as dry as ever. “What are we even doing here?”
“Talking,” Junsu said, shrugging. “For once.”
“Talking about what?”
There was a pause as the bottle made its way to Yunho, who took a measured sip before setting it between his feet. He didn’t answer, and neither did Jaejoong.
“Not him,” Jaejoong said eventually, lighting a cigarette with the ease of someone who hadn’t kicked the habit despite pretending otherwise. “I’m sick of talking about him.”
“Then what?” Yunho asked, leaning back on his hands. His voice was quiet but carried enough weight to make the question hang between them.
“Anything,” Junsu said. “It’s been fifteen years. There’s gotta be something.”
“What do people even talk about after fifteen years?” Changmin asked, cracking open a can of beer. He sipped it and made a face. “This cheap stuff is disgusting.”
“Like it’s your first time drinking it,” Jaejoong said, smirking.
“It might as well be. I have taste now.”
“Not from what I’ve seen.”
Changmin rolled his eyes and took another sip out of spite.
Junsu tore open the pack of chips and set it in the center. None of them reached for it immediately. The silence grew, but it wasn’t heavy—it was tentative, like they were all testing the limits of how long it could stretch before someone had to break it.
“So,” Jaejoong said after a while, flicking ash off his cigarette. “You still hate me?”
The question was directed at Yunho, though Jaejoong didn’t turn his head. Yunho froze for half a second before exhaling slowly through his nose.
“I don’t hate you,” Yunho said.
“You used to.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did,” Jaejoong insisted. He took another drag and blew the smoke away from the group. “Not that I blame you. I deserved it.”
Yunho didn’t answer right away. He stared at the road in front of them, where cars passed intermittently, their headlights cutting through the dark. “Maybe I did,” he said finally. “But not anymore.”
The weight of those words hung in the air, heavier than the smoke. Jaejoong nodded once, a short, sharp movement that seemed to release some tension from his shoulders.
“You ever think about it?” Junsu asked, his voice quieter now.
“Think about what?” Yunho replied.
“All of it. The beginning. The end. Everything in between.”
Yunho hesitated again, then nodded. “Sometimes.”
“Not as much as I used to,” Changmin said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You move on. You have to.”
“Yeah,” Jaejoong said softly. “You have to.”
Junsu cracked a smile, small and fleeting. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck sometimes.”
“No,” Yunho agreed, his tone unreadable. “It doesn’t.”
They fell into silence again, the sound of a passing car filling the gap.
“Remember that one time in Osaka?” Changmin said suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet.
“No,” Junsu said immediately. “Nope. We’re not doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“The remember when game,” Junsu said, shaking his head. “We’re not drunk enough for that.”
“You’re never drunk enough for that,” Jaejoong said, smirking around his cigarette.
“Because it always turns into ‘remember that time Junsu did something stupid’.”
“Because you always did something stupid,” Changmin shot back.
Junsu looked genuinely offended for a second, then huffed a laugh. “Fine. Osaka. What about it?”
“Osaka,” Changmin repeated, pausing for effect. “When you forgot the lyrics again and tried to blame it on me.”
Junsu groaned. “Oh, come on. That was one time.”
“It was three times,” Yunho corrected, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“And you blamed the sound system,” Jaejoong added, laughing softly.
“I blamed the truth!” Junsu said, throwing up his hands.
The laughter came unexpectedly—quiet at first, then spilling over into something that almost felt genuine. It was sharp around the edges, tinged with disbelief, like none of them quite believed they could still laugh like this.
Junsu grabbed the soju bottle again and took a long drink before passing it down. “You’re all assholes, you know that?”
“Maybe,” Jaejoong said. “But you missed us.”
Junsu didn’t deny it.
By the time they finished the last of the soju and beer, the conversation had drifted into a strange rhythm, moving between long silences and bursts of sharp, quick exchanges. They talked about everything and nothing—work, random memories, how awful the soju was.
“What now?” Changmin asked eventually, his voice low.
No one answered.
Jaejoong leaned back, staring up at the empty sky. “I don’t know,” he said after a while. “Does there have to be a ‘now’?”
“No,” Yunho said quietly. “I guess not.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward or heavy. It was just there, filling the spaces between them, carrying everything they didn’t say.
Eventually, Jaejoong stood and dusted off his coat. “I’m leaving,” he said, not looking at anyone in particular.
“Yeah,” Junsu said, standing too. “Me too.”
One by one, they all got to their feet, moving with the sluggishness of people who’d been sitting too long in the cold.
No one said goodbye. They didn’t make promises to call or keep in touch. They just started walking in different directions, letting the quiet pull them apart again.
But as Jaejoong lit another cigarette and shoved his hands into his pockets, he realized it didn’t feel as final this time. It felt like enough.