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The apartment was too quiet.
Seungcheol sat on the edge of his bed, his hands resting limply in his lap as he stared at the floor. The night felt heavier than usual, pressing on his chest, suffocating him. Across the room, his reflection in the mirror looked back at him—tired, hollow, and dressed for an occasion he’d been dreading for months.
The members had arranged a farewell party. A celebration, they called it. But how could he celebrate the day he had to say goodbye? Two years. Jeonghan would be gone for two years, and Seungcheol would be left to navigate the emptiness he had already grown so familiar with.
His gaze shifted to the bedside table. Slowly, almost as though the weight of his thoughts was dragging him down, he opened the drawer.
The photo was exactly where he had left it.
It was slightly faded now, the edges worn from the countless times his fingers had traced them. But it still held that moment, frozen in time. He and Jeonghan, grinning like fools, standing in the middle of an empty apartment. Their apartment. Or at least, the one it was supposed to be.
It had been two years ago, but Seungcheol remembered it as though it were yesterday. Jeonghan had run from room to room, pointing out where the couch would go, where their dining table would be, where their bed would sit so they could wake up with the sun streaming in. He had laughed so much that day, his voice echoing through the empty space like a melody.
They’d been so sure of their future. So sure of each other.
But everything had unraveled.
Seungcheol’s hand tightened around the photo as his mind wandered back to that day—the day everything fell apart. He didn’t even know who had said it first. Was it Jeonghan? Was it him? Or had they both broken under the weight of the inevitable?
“We can’t do this anymore.”
The words had hung in the air like a death sentence.
They were idols. Public figures. Living in a country where their love wasn’t just taboo—it was dangerous. For them, for their group, for everything they had worked so hard to build.
The company hadn’t approved, of course. No surprises there. But they had fought. God, how they had fought to keep what they had. Jeonghan had held him that night, whispering promises through his tears. “You’ve fought enough for us, Cheol. Let me protect you this time.”
But the world was relentless. Fans had noticed. Paparazzi followed them everywhere. Their stolen moments weren’t secret anymore. And no matter how much Jeonghan tried to reassure him, Seungcheol couldn’t shake the guilt.
He had been too obvious, too clingy. He had looked at Jeonghan like he was the only thing in the world that mattered, because he was. Jeonghan had always been better at hiding his emotions, keeping his love carefully guarded. But Seungcheol had worn his heart on his sleeve, and the world had seen it.
The rumors had spiraled out of control. Death threats. Petitions demanding they leave the group. The company had stepped in, cold and unforgiving. Jeonghan had been told to date someone—a fellow idol, Kim Sowon—to kill the rumors.
Seungcheol had been the one to let go. He had told Jeonghan they couldn’t keep doing this. He had said it to protect him, to protect Seventeen, but it had felt like tearing himself apart.
Jeonghan had agreed to the fake relationship, but Seungcheol knew it wasn’t for the company. It was for him. Jeonghan had always loved him in a way that was quiet but all-consuming, willing to do anything, even destroy himself.
A sharp buzz pulled Seungcheol from his thoughts. His phone lit up with Mingyu’s name, the ringtone breaking through the suffocating silence.
He wiped at his face, startled to find that he had been crying. He picked up the phone, forcing his voice to steady.
“Hyung, where are you?” Mingyu’s voice was gentle, careful. “You’re late. Jeonghan’s already here.”
“I’ll be there soon,” Seungcheol said, but his voice cracked on the last word.
There was a pause on the other end before Mingyu spoke again, softer this time. “Take your time. We’re waiting for you. We’ll always be waiting for you.”
Seungcheol closed his eyes, the words hitting him harder than they should have. He hummed in response, unable to say more, and ended the call.
He looked at the photo again, his tears blurring the image. A single drop fell onto its surface, and he wiped it away carefully before slipping the photo back into the drawer.
In the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face, trying to pull himself together. He went through his routine—skincare, fixing his hair—and pulled on a jacket.
As he stepped out of the apartment, locking the door behind him, Mingyu’s words echoed in his mind.
We’re waiting for you. We’ll always be waiting for you.
And tonight, like every other night, Seungcheolwould keep moving forward. Even when it felt impossible.
---
The restaurant was alive with laughter and chatter, the kind of noise that usually brought Seungcheol comfort. But tonight, it felt distant, like he was watching it all unfold from behind a glass wall. The moment he stepped in, his eyes instinctively sought out one person: Jeonghan.
There he was, sitting in the middle of the long table, effortlessly radiant even under the dim lights. And just as always, the seat to his left was empty, waiting for Seungcheol. It was their little joke, a quiet, unspoken tradition that Jeonghan had insisted on for years.
“Closer to my heart,” Jeonghan would whisper with a teasing smile whenever Seungcheol asked why it had to be the left side. Seungcheol would blush, laugh it off, and call it nonsense, but Jeonghan would lean closer, his voice a secret only for him. “It’s true.”
The memory made Seungcheol’s chest ache. Tonight, just like every other night, the seat to Jeonghan’s left was still empty.
He mustered a smile for the members who greeted him, their joy masking the weight in his heart. He slid into the seat beside Jeonghan, the familiarity of it both comforting and cruel.
Dinner unfolded in a blur of laughter, shared memories, and bittersweet tears. Seungkwan, Soonyoung, and Dokyeom cried the most, clinging to Jeonghan like they could somehow keep him from leaving. Seungcheol wanted to join them, to let his emotions spill out the way they always did. But tonight, he couldn’t.
He was the leader. He had to be strong—for the group, for Jeonghan, for himself.
Jeonghan, ever the picture of ease, moved around the table, hugging the younger members, reassuring them with his quiet strength. When their eyes met across the table, Jeonghan smiled at him, a soft, amused expression that made Seungcheol feel both seen and utterly invisible. They weren’t lovers anymore, but Jeonghan still knew him better than anyone else.
The conversation shifted to Jeonghan’s girlfriend, Sowon, who was coming tomorrow to send him off. The mention of her name was like a knife twisting in Seungcheol’s chest. Their relationship, once fake, now seemed real, and it was too much for him to process. He swallowed hard, reaching for the shot glass in front of him, letting the burn of alcohol numb the pain for a moment.
He didn’t have to pretend he was okay. Not tonight.
The dinner ended too soon, the hours slipping away like grains of sand through his fingers. One by one, the members hugged Jeonghan, their farewells a mix of tears and promises. Seungcheol stood back, watching, his heart heavy with the knowledge that this was the last time they would all be together for years.
Finally, Jeonghan turned to him, arms open, his smile soft and knowing. Without hesitation, Seungcheol stepped into his embrace, wrapping his arms around him tightly, as though he could hold him here, keep him from leaving. Jeonghan’s arms circled his waist, the hug warm, familiar, and heartbreakingly final.
The silence between them said everything. There were too many words left unsaid, too many emotions he couldn’t put into sentences. So he stayed quiet, burying his face in Jeonghan’s shoulder, breathing him in, memorizing the way he felt in his arms.
The group joined in, forming a chaotic, tearful hug around them. Seungcheol stayed still, hidden in Jeonghan’s embrace, his eyes stinging as he fought back the tears threatening to fall.
And then, it was over.
They stood outside, watching as Jeonghan’s car disappeared into the night. The others left one by one, their smiles forced, their goodbyes lingering. Seungcheol got into his car, but instead of going home, he found himself driving to a place he hadn’t been in months.
The apartment complex loomed in the distance, both familiar and foreign. He parked the car and took the elevator to the 17th floor, his footsteps echoing down the quiet hallway. Apartment 1008. The number was a combination of their birthdays—a little piece of them immortalized in concrete and steel.
He pushed the door open, the stillness of the empty apartment greeting him like an old friend. The air was heavy with memories, the kind that clung to the walls and refused to fade.
But tonight, something was different.
By the window stood a figure, silhouetted against the faint glow of the city lights. Seungcheol’s breath caught in his throat as recognition hit him like a wave.
Jeonghan.
He was here, his back turned, his shoulders slightly hunched as he stared out at the city. For a moment, Seungcheol thought he was imagining it, the ache of longing conjuring a ghost from his memories. But then Jeonghan turned, his eyes meeting Seungcheol’s, and the world seemed to stop.
Neither of them spoke. The silence was loud, filled with everything they had left unsaid.
Seungcheol took a step forward, his heart pounding in his chest. “Jeonghan,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
Jeonghan smiled, soft and sad, and in that moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.
---
The apartment was still, but the silence between them was no longer comfortable. It was heavy with everything they had been unable to say, everything they had been avoiding. The space between them felt too vast, too full of unspoken words and forgotten dreams.
Seungcheol stared out the window, his gaze unfocused, lost in the memories of the years they had shared. The silence was punctuated only by the soft clink of the soju bottle as it met the table. Jeonghan’s presence beside him was a familiar comfort, but it felt like a distant echo now, something he was afraid to hold onto too tightly, knowing it would slip away.
Jeonghan, who had been watching him, spoke quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “You remember when we said we’d put a couch here?” he asked, his voice breaking the silence. “You told me you wanted a view of the window. Said it’d be perfect for us to just… relax and watch the world go by.” He chuckled softly, but it was hollow, tinged with sadness, as though the weight of that dream had finally crushed them both.
Seungcheol swallowed hard, his throat tight as memories rushed back. He nodded slowly, his hand resting on his knee, fingers trembling. "Yeah… I remember." His voice was thick, as if he was fighting to keep it steady. "I thought we’d have time. I thought we’d have time to do all of it.”
Jeonghan’s gaze softened, and he leaned closer, his hand drifting toward Seungcheol’s. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. The warmth of Jeonghan’s touch sent a wave of comfort and pain crashing through Seungcheol at once.
“We always thought we’d have time,” Jeonghan whispered, his eyes distant. “But time doesn’t wait for anyone. It just keeps moving, whether we’re ready for it or not.”
Seungcheol’s chest tightened, and he had to fight back the tears that threatened to spill. “And now you’re leaving,” he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tomorrow, you’ll leave for two years, and I’ll be here… alone.” His voice cracked as the reality of it all set in. "I don’t know how to do this without you.”
Jeonghan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for the soju bottle again, taking a long drink before handing it to Seungcheol. He drank deeply, the burn of the alcohol doing little to numb the ache in his chest. The room felt colder now, and the weight of their separation seemed unbearable.
“We’ve been through so much together, Cheol,” Jeonghan said softly, his eyes searching Seungcheol’s face as if trying to memorize it. “And I know things are changing, but I want you to know that this—” he gestured around them, the empty apartment, the space between them that felt too wide now, “—this was always meant to be just one chapter. We’re not closing the book. We’re just turning the page.”
Seungcheol’s breath hitched, and he shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “I don’t know if I can turn the page, Jeonghan-ah. It feels like this chapter is all I’ve ever known. I don’t know what it’s going to be like without you.”
Jeonghan’s eyes softened with a sadness Seungcheol couldn’t quite bear. Without a word, Jeonghan moved closer, his shoulder brushing against Seungcheol’s, his breath warm against his ear. “You’ll be okay,” Jeonghan murmured, his voice tender but firm. “You’ve always been strong, Cheol. You’ll carry on, and so will I. But the hardest part…” He paused, his voice catching slightly. “The hardest part is letting go, right?”
Seungcheol closed his eyes, his chest tightening, and finally, he let the tears fall. He let go of the barriers he had built so carefully. He cried for everything they had lost, for the life they had dreamed of but never gotten to live. He cried for the years that stretched ahead of them, uncertain and too long.
Jeonghan’s arms were around him instantly, pulling him close, holding him tightly as if afraid the moment would slip away if he let go. Seungcheol buried his face in Jeonghan’s shoulder, his sobs muffled against the fabric of Jeonghan’s shirt. It was the last time he would ever feel this—Jeonghan’s arms around him, his heartbeat steady and warm against his cheek.
“I’ll be fine,” Seungcheol whispered between ragged breaths, his voice raw. “But I don’t want you to go.”
Jeonghan’s hand ran through Seungcheol’s hair, the touch gentle, tender, as if trying to hold onto this moment, to make it last. “You’ll be fine. I need you to promise me that. Promise me you’ll be okay for these two years. Promise me you’ll hold on to yourself while I’m gone.”
Seungcheol nodded, pressing closer, clinging to Jeonghan as if his very soul depended on it. “I promise,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but there was a quiet strength in it. He would keep his promise, even if it broke him to do so.
Jeonghan kissed the top of Seungcheol’s head, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary, as if sealing this moment in time. “I’ll come back to you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “But for now… we need to let go. For now, we need to close this chapter.”
Seungcheol swallowed hard, the finality of the words sinking in. “Goodbye,” he whispered, the word tasting foreign on his tongue.
Jeonghan held him tighter, his heart breaking as he whispered back, “Goodbye, Cheol. Just for now.”
And in the stillness of the apartment, with nothing but the echo of their breathing and the fading warmth of each other’s touch, they finally let go. They closed their chapter, knowing that no matter how far apart they were, they would always return to each other.
The last time they would say goodbye, in the apartment that they won't share.
And for a moment, it almost felt like everything would be okay.
---
Seungcheol stood at the back, away from the crowd of members and staff, his gaze fixed on the scene unfolding in front of him. He felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him as he watched Jeonghan, his figure still as striking as ever, stand with his girlfriend. The two of them exchanged a quiet, intimate goodbye, a kiss lingering on Jeonghan’s lips. He seemed happy, more so than Seungcheol had ever imagined him to be in these last few months, and for a moment, Seungcheol thought he should feel happy too. He should feel content, at peace with the choice Jeonghan had made.
But all he felt was a tightness in his chest.
Jeonghan’s eyes met his briefly from across the distance, and he gave Seungcheol a small, knowing smile. It was the same smile he had always given him, the one that made everything feel okay, but today it felt different. There was an ache in it, something bittersweet that seemed to cut through the distance between them. Jeonghan turned to wave at the members before disappearing into the camp, his figure retreating into the unknown.
Seungcheol stood frozen, his heart pounding, eyes still fixed on the space where Jeonghan had been. He had promised himself he wouldn’t cry, that he would be strong, but the weight of the finality of it all pressed down on him harder than he could have prepared for.
Without him even noticing, a hand rested gently on his shoulder. He turned slightly, and there stood Joshua, the ever-quiet and steady presence, offering him a comforting smile. Joshua didn’t say anything; his smile spoke volumes of understanding, as if he knew exactly what Seungcheol was feeling.
“This is it,” Seungcheol whispered, almost to himself, his voice barely audible as the words escaped his lips like a confession.
Joshua nodded, his expression softening. “This is it, Cheol. You’ve got to let go now.”
Seungcheol swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing, but the lump in his throat was too much. He nodded back at Joshua, the simple gesture somehow grounding him, even though he felt as if the earth beneath him was shaking.
He turned his gaze back toward the camp where Jeonghan had disappeared. "I don't know how to do it, Josh," Seungcheol confessed quietly, his voice cracking under the weight of everything left unsaid. "Letting go... It's harder than I thought."
Joshua didn’t try to fix it or offer empty words of comfort. Instead, he just stood there with Seungcheol, shoulder to shoulder, sharing the weight of the moment. Both of them knew this wasn’t just another goodbye—it was the final one, the last moment they would share before the time apart became real.
For a long while, they stayed in silence, watching the camp gates in front of them, knowing that life was about to change for all of them, whether they were ready or not.
Seungcheol had been preparing for this moment for so long, but nothing could have prepared him for the finality of seeing Jeonghan walk away, knowing that for the next two years, their paths would be separated in ways they couldn’t control.
And as he stood there, with Joshua by his side, he finally understood what it meant to truly let go.
---
Seungcheol walked through the empty apartment, the silence of the space echoing in his chest. The once-familiar sights—the worn couch by the window, the kitchen counter where they’d shared so many late-night meals, the bathroom mirror that had seen too many whispered confessions and quiet tears—were all still there, but everything felt… distant. As if the memories had already slipped away, leaving behind only the shell of what had been.
He paused by the window, staring out at the city below, a place that had once been theirs to dream about. His hands rested against the glass, the coldness of it biting through his fingertips. He could almost hear the sound of Jeonghan’s voice, soft and teasing, filling the space. The soft hum of their laughter, the quiet moments of peace they had shared here… it all felt like it belonged to someone else now.
He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of it all settle heavily in his chest. He was ready. Ready to let go of the life they had built together, ready to finally accept that things would never be the same.
He turned back to the front door, keys in hand, and made his way down the hall, the echo of his footsteps louder in the empty space than he would have liked.
At the door, he hesitated just for a moment, before handing the keys back to the owner. The finality of it hit him like a wave—this chapter of his life, the one that had been filled with love and loss, had come to its end. He wasn’t just leaving behind an apartment; he was leaving behind an entire life that no longer belonged to him.
As the owner took the keys, Seungcheol’s heart felt heavy with a kind of sadness that he couldn’t shake. But it wasn’t just the sadness of losing Jeonghan—it was the sadness of accepting that he could never go back to what they had. That the love they once shared, the easy affection and the promises of forever, had faded into memories that were slowly slipping through his fingers.
“Thank you for everything,” Seungcheol said, his voice steady despite the turmoil swirling inside him. He forced a smile, but it felt weak, out of place. The owner nodded and smiled back, a gesture that was kind but impersonal.
Once the door shut behind him, Seungcheol stood outside for a moment longer, the weight of the world pressing down on him. He was no longer the man who was once held by Jeonghan in his arms, promising him forever. No longer the lover who had shared quiet mornings and passionate nights. Now, he was just Choi Seungcheol, the leader of Seventeen.
No more Yoon Jeonghan’s love. Just a bandmate. Just a leader.
And yet, in the silence that followed, Seungcheol realized there was no other choice. This was the only way forward. He had to let go of what they had. Because if he didn’t, he would be stuck—forever caught between the man he used to be and the man he had to become.
With one last glance at the apartment, Seungcheol turned and walked away, the door closing behind him for good.
---