Chapter Text
Yeo Halyun glanced at the clock and sighed.
How long had it been?
It felt like an eternity.
Everything was different without his beloved around. His precious, one and only, Jin Cheonhee….
The constant ticking of the clock was too loud. The clothes on his skin felt too rough, too itchy. Yeo Halyun had to keep scratching his back every now and then. The house was so empty — there was simply too much space. And the silence… oh the silence. It was loud, way too loud. Yeo Halyun wanted to scream.
“What time is it…?” Yeo Halyun glanced at the clock and frowned.
So much time had passed.
Jin Cheonhee still wasn’t here.
Yeo Halyun let out a deep, audible sigh and stood up.
He couldn’t be like this, moping around like a sad animal. He had to be productive. He had to do something to distract himself from the jarring sense of loneliness that embraced him.
Yeo Halyun was distinctly aware of how his feet moved on the carpet. The rug under him was soft and fluffy, but for some reason, it made Yeo Halyun frown.
His feet moved involuntarily — forwards, backwards, turning around and around. He was pacing in circles, he realized, and each step he made reminded him that Jin Cheonhee wasn't here, he wasn't here.
Yeo Halyun recalled the story of the little mermaid — he remembered that in the original version, the sea witch cursed the mermaid to feel a shooting pain whenever she walked on land with her legs. There was something about the mermaid feeling like she was walking on knives every time she stepped on the ground….
Was this what she was feeling in the story? Now, every step he took in the living room made him feel like he was treading on a sea of knives….
Yeo Halyun was hyper aware of everything around him, and as he paced, he couldn't stop himself from noticing the various items in the house.
The house.
God, this wasn't his house. It was their house — his, and Cheonhee's.
Not just a house, Yeo Halyun reminded himself. This was a home. A place just for the two of them, like a nest of sorts, where they could stay and build a family.
Together.
Forever.
But Cheonhee wasn't here—!
Was it all just lies? Was forever but a mere word, an empty promise?
Yeo Halyun's eyes landed on the couch, where Cheonhee’s jacket laid carelessly. He turned to the side and saw a pair of mugs — one his, and one Cheonhee’s. When he glanced at the coffee table, there were medical books strewn on the table courtesy of his beloved. Everywhere he looked there were traces of his beloved.
Yeo Halyun’s feet moved on his own and he moved to the bedroom, stopping forlornly at the threshold.
This was their bedroom ah.
Their bedroom.
The place where they slept together, cuddled together, cried together, and fell asleep holding hands. It was the place that held traces of Cheonhee the most, and Yeo Halyun swallowed the lump in his throat.
Slowly, as if he was afraid of breaking the tranquility in the room, Yeo Halyun crossed the threshold and stepped inside the bedroom.
The pillows had traces of liquid — a drop of coffee (that one time Cheonhee spilled a little), and drool (Yeo Halyun refused to believe it was him who drooled in his sleep; it must be Cheonhee). The blankets were in disarray — Cheonhee always kicked away the blankets and snuggled by his side instead. It never failed to make Yeo Halyun laugh. Obviously the blanket was supposed to keep you warm. Why kick it away, only to feel cold and then turn to your human heater?
But it was things like these that made Cheonhee so endearing, Yeo Halyun realized, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. If Cheonhee willed it, he would happily become a human heater for the rest of his life, being hugged by Cheonhee.
Next to the bed was a wardrobe — their shared wardrobe, Yeo Halyun noted, and he absentmindedly opened it. The wardrobe was filled with his clothes and Cheonhee's clothes. There were even some couple outfits they had bought….
Yeo Halyun's hands paused when he touched a familiar fabric of Cheonhee's shirts. It was one of his favorite shirts, a pale blue one that was clearly worn-out. It was Cheonhee's “lucky shirt”, as he had dubbed it. He wore it when he graduated as a doctor, he wore it when he was first hired to work in the hospital, and he had even worn it during that car crash, the one he thankfully survived.
Yeo Halyun’s mind wandered off into the the memories of that day — the day of the car crash, the day his heart nearly died. When he received the news, he had been terrified — unwanted images of blood and gore springing into his mind. What if Jin Cheonhee died…?
Whenever Cheonhee was in danger, Yeo Halyun felt like he himself was on the verge of death. Because, really, if Cheonhee was dead, was there any point in this life?
His heart beat solely for Jin Cheonhee. His lover, his darling, his one and only…
The person who wasn’t even here now—!
Yeo Halyun took a deep breath and clenched his fists to ground himself.
There was no use dwelling in these pointless things.
Yeo Halyun closed the wardrobe and moved mechanically, sitting on Cheonhee’s side of the bed.
On the nightstand were Cheonhee’s body lotion and eye-drops — Cheonhee was prone to dry skin and dry eyes, and Yeo Halyun was more than happy to buy any kind of skincare product if it would make his Jin Cheonhee happy. Besides the miscellaneous items, there was one that grabbed his attention the most.
A photograph, picture-perfect with a proper frame. It was a picture of him and Cheonhee, together, posing for the cameras.
It was a picture of them on their wedding day.
It had been such a happy day, Yeo Halyun remembered. Cheonhee had been wearing a white tuxedo, and Yeo Halyun’s was black. They got married in an enchanting venue, well-decorated and surrounded by family and friends….
When Cheonhee had uttered the words “I do”, Yeo Halyun had felt his heart fly out of his chest in happiness. He was even crying while reading his wedding vows, making his damned father-in-law scoff at him. Yeo Halyun didn’t care, of course — he was finally marrying the love of his life. Nothing could take that happiness away from him.
Yeo Halyun reached out his hand and took the photograph from Cheonhee’s nightstand, caressing the photo and biting his lip wistfully.
This was them, two years ago.
How much had changed since then.
Cheonhee was nowhere to be seen now…. Not even a trace of his wedding ring here….
Plop, plop.
Yeo Halyun was startled, and he realized that he was crying. His tears had fallen to the picture — thankfully the picture was protected by the glass frame….
Yeo Halyun couldn’t deny it anymore now.
His heart was empty — he was lonely.
He missed his Jin Cheonhee.
He couldn’t go like this anymore.
Yeo Halyun stood up abruptly, swaying a little.
Ignoring the cramping in his legs, Yeo Halyun dashed to the living room, fishing in the couch for his phone. Once he found it, Yeo Halyun typed in the number he had memorized to heart.
Jin Cheonhee’s number.
Yeo Halyun pressed ‘call’.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
It was picked up.
“Hello?” Jin Cheonhee’s voice was heard through the phone, and Yeo Halyun felt like his breath was stolen from him.
Jin Cheonhee had picked up the phone—!!