Chapter Text
He looked just like him.
Seungcheol turned slightly, gaze falling back on Jungwon, who now stood in front of the painting, his head tilted just slightly. His schoolbag still hung on one shoulder, forgotten, as he stared at the face on the canvas like he was seeing a reflection from a dream he couldn’t quite remember.
There was wonder in those eyes.
Curiosity.
Innocence.
So much of Shua lived in those eyes but even more of him. The other one.
Seungcheol’s lips quirked up bitterly, a smile soaked in too many years of pain. “You don’t look like him that much,” he said quietly, voice carrying through the heavy air between them. “He loved that Yoon boy so much… he left behind a carbon copy of him.”
Jungwon blinked, startled, but didn’t speak.
Seungcheol took a step closer, watching the boy with both resentment and reluctant affection twisting in his chest. “But at least… you have Shua’s pretty eyes.”
He said the name like it hurt, like it was holy and cursed all at once.
“This is the one who pushed you to life,” he continued, looking up at the painting. “The one who gave you, life. Your father. But you used to call him papa, didn’t you?”
He looked down at Jungwon again, who turned from the painting slowly, those soft, wide brown eyes full of questions. Full of things Seungcheol never wanted to answer.
And God, how he hated those big eyes.
Not because they were ugly? No. Because they were his.
The Yoon boy’s.
Even if the shape was Shua’s, slanted, feline, the sheer size, the softness, the innocence that belonged to him. The boy who had taken Shua’s heart. The boy Shua had never once stopped loving.
Even in death he still loved Yoon Jeonghan.
And Jungwon… was their child.
Behind him, he heard Jihoon shift. Seungcheol didn’t turn, but he felt the tension tighten like a drawn string.
Jihoon’s voice came out small. “Do we… really have to tell him?”
Seungcheol didn’t answer right away.
Jihoon moved forward a step, hand half-lifting to touch his arm.
“Seungcheol,” he said again, more gently this time, “please. He is only….”
“Stop.”
Seungcheol’s voice cut clean through the room, and Jihoon froze mid-step.
Seungcheol finally turned to look at him, his friend, his co-parent, his shield from grief.
“It’s time, Jihoon.”
His voice was quiet. Heavy. Honest.
“I want to be free,” he said. “And I don’t want to live with this regret anymore.”