Work Text:
It’s hot.
It’s hot.
It’s so, so hot.
Ricky coughs, his throat burning raw as he tries to suck in another breath, but the air itself bites. Sweat clings to him like a second skin, slick and suffocating. He feels drenched, but the heat is so intense it evaporates as fast as it forms. It’s a heat that sears, that suffocates, that scares.
The heat isn’t just temperature anymore. It’s alive . It writhes along the walls, snarling and snapping like some beast made of fire and smoke. It crackles overhead, pops beneath his feet. Plaster crumbles from the ceiling. The floor trembles.
Something explodes down the hallway. The shockwave slams into him—he stumbles, nearly falls, ears ringing.
His senses are muffled, like he’s underwater. Like he’s dreaming. The flames roar, but he hears them like echoes. Distant. Dull. Removed. His body knows it’s burning—but his mind won’t register it. His skin screams, but he feels… cold.
Detached.
There’s blood on his hands. He doesn’t know where it came from.
His knees are scraped, arms cut from shattered glass, shoulder bruised from falling debris. Somewhere along the way, something must’ve hit him—maybe when the ceiling cracked open, maybe when he tried to crawl to the stairwell. But there’s no pain. Just pressure. Just haze.
He can't even remember when he started crawling. He can't tell if he’s standing or collapsed.
Am I dying?
No. No—he can’t think like that. Not now.
He coughs again, chest spasming. The smoke is thick, toxic, eating its way down his throat. It's heavier than air. He breathes it in anyway.
He stumbles forward, one arm out like a blind man. His other hand grips his phone like it’s the last solid thing in the world.
He can't see anything—no people, no light, not even the flames through the smoke. Just the black. Pitch black. A kind of darkness that eats.
Am I alone? Did everyone leave?
The thought hits him, heavy.
But no— no. That’s not what matters right now.
Gyuvin. He needs Gyuvin. He has to be with him. He has to go home.
His trembling fingers reach into his pocket. His phone. It’s still there.
He fumbles. The screen glows dimly through the darkness—brief, fragile hope. His fingers don't feel real, but he types anyway, hands shaking as he tries so hard to enter the letters.
qubing
i cant reach you
where are you
pease
are you there
qubing
i love you i love you i love you
He hits send. Nothing happens.
No bars. No signal. Just the suffocating silence of a world caught in ruin.
Please…
Someone…
I can't breathe...
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just watches the screen fade, and with it, what little hope was left.
Panic claws at him. His breathing shortens—too fast, too shallow. He’s gasping, but there’s no air. His lungs seize. His knees buckle.
He collapses against a scorched wall, back sliding down to the floor. He tries to stand again, legs weak, floor vibrating beneath him. It feels unstable, like it’s about to give way.
He’s dizzy. The walls spin.
The world tilts.
The flames crackle like voices now. Like whispers. Like Gyuvin calling from the other side of the fire.
He blinks slowly. His lashes are sticky with sweat, smoke, tears. His vision is blurry. The glow of his phone fades in and out.
He can’t tell if he’s falling asleep or falling apart.
And still—still—he’s not afraid of the pain.
It doesn’t matter that he can’t move his legs anymore.
It doesn’t matter that his arms feel too heavy to lift.
It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know how to get out.
It only matters that Gyuvin isn’t here.
That’s what breaks him.
That’s what makes his chest ache more than the smoke ever could.
He curls around the phone like it’s Gyuvin’s hand.
Please just let me see him again.
Just one more time. Just once more. Just let me tell him I love him. Let me hear his voice.
Please.
And then, quietly—
Ricky’s eyes slip shut.
The flames roar louder.
But the only sound in his head is Gyuvin’s laughter.
Phone Call – 3:30 PM
“Ricky, when will you be home?” Gyuvin asked, one hand idly wiping the kitchen counter, the other holding his phone close, his voice soft.
“Soon, Qubing. Just an hour left of work,” Ricky replied, a little laugh in his voice, the kind that made Gyuvin’s chest ache in the best way.
“Alright. Be home soon. I miss you,” Gyuvin said, glancing at the clock. His fingers paused, and so did his heart, just for a second.
“You always do,” Ricky teased. “I miss you too. I’ll be home before you even notice I’m gone.”
There was a smile in both their voices, the kind forged over time— seven years married, ten before that.
“Oh, by the way,” Ricky added suddenly, “I saw this place online earlier—it looked so good. Do you want to eat there tonight?”
“Sure, my love. It’s the weekend tomorrow anyway,” Gyuvin replied, utterly smitten. Even after all this time, Ricky still sounded like magic to him.
“Do you want me to pick you up from work?” he offered.
“No need. Let’s just go together when I get back. I want to change first and look good for you,” Ricky said with a soft laugh.
“You always look good to me,” Gyuvin murmured, unable to help himself.
There was a beat of silence, not awkward—just full.
“Oh, Qubing!” Ricky said suddenly, his voice lighting up. “I passed by this new cat cafe on the way to the office today. I swear I’ve never seen it before—turns out it just opened! Qubing, the cats were so cute. So, so cute.”
Gyuvin chuckled, not catching half the details. He was too lost in Ricky’s voice, in the way it held excitement, warmth, and something soft.
“Do you want to go there sometime?” he asked gently.
“Absolutely! But only if it’s with you,” Ricky said, his voice practically bouncing with joy.
God, he was adorable.
“Alright, I’ll finish up work now,” Ricky said. “I’ll call again after I clock out, okay?”
“Okay. Talk to you later, love.” Gyuvin was still smiling as he leaned against the counter.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The call ended.
4:40 PM – Home
Gyuvin was folding laundry on the couch, TV murmuring in the background—some random daytime program he wasn’t really watching. He liked the noise. It filled the space when Ricky wasn’t around.
He had just finished pairing socks when the tone of the TV changed.
Urgent.
Tense.
“A large fire has broken out at a building in XXX district, Seoul, around 4:35 PM. Multiple fire trucks and ambulances are currently at the scene. At this time, only a few individuals have managed to escape. Rescue efforts are ongoing. We’ll be providing live updates—”
The sock slipped from his fingers.
Gyuvin’s head turned slowly to the screen. His body didn’t react right away. His mind couldn’t catch up.
XXX district.
That was… near Ricky’s office.
The room started to shrink around him.
He reached for the remote with shaking hands, turning up the volume.
Images flooded the screen—flames eating at windows, people shouting, smoke climbing into the sky like it wanted to choke the sun.
“—witnesses say the fire spread quickly through the upper floors—”
Ricky’s floor.
His heart thudded once. Hard. Too hard.
“No,” Gyuvin whispered.
He grabbed his phone. Dialed Ricky’s number. It rang. And rang. And rang.
No answer.
He tried again.
Still no answer.
“Come on, come on, come on, please—” he muttered, pacing now, pacing without direction.
He opened their messages. The last text from Ricky was from lunch. Nothing after their call.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
“Ricky…” Gyuvin whispered. His voice cracked.
And then the panic really set in.
Everything felt far away—the sound of the TV, the scent of detergent on clean laundry, the sun still slanting gently through the window. But his hands were shaking. His lungs wouldn’t fill. Something in him knew .
His Ricky was there.
In the smoke.
In the flames.
In the dark.
And he wasn’t answering.
4:50 PM
Gyuvin had never driven so fast in his life.
“Rick—Rick—Rick—Ricky!” his voice broke as he repeated the name, over and over, a prayer and a scream tangled together. “Please be safe. Please be safe. Please, please, please—”
His grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled, knuckles trembling with each turn. The sky outside blurred. His breath came out in short, panicked gasps.
He didn’t even remember parking the car.
All he remembered was running.
5:05 PM - The Fire Site
The smoke hit him like a wall.
The air was thick—sharp, suffocating. Flames climbed the side of the building, reaching for the sky. The orange-red glow was overwhelming—too bright, too big for his liking.
But Gyuvin didn’t care about the chaos. Didn’t care about the danger.
He needed Ricky.
He ran, shoving past reporters and police tape, until he reached the field where firemen were organizing equipment.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” he screamed, his voice breaking like glass against stone. “WHY AREN’T YOU IN THERE? MY HUSBAND IS STILL INSIDE!”
A few firefighters turned, startled.
“Sir—”
“If no one’s going to do their job, I’ll save him myself!” Gyuvin was already pushing forward, feet dragging him toward the flames, toward the danger, toward Ricky .
Two firefighters immediately ran after him, holding him back by the arms. “Sir! You can’t go in there!”
“LET ME GO! HE’S IN THERE!” Gyuvin yelled, struggling, crying, shaking.
“We’re doing everything we can—we promise we’ll get your husband out.” The firefighter’s voice was calm, but strained.
“Every second matters,” Gyuvin choked. “Ricky is suffering inside that building while we’re out here just standing around!”
He could hear it all—the screams from inside, the roaring fire, the shrill wail of sirens, the reporters speaking in tones too calm, too detached. It made him sick .
And still, his mind only screamed one thing.
Ricky.
His Ricky, who promised to come home.
His Ricky, who still hadn’t come out.
Gyuvin collapsed to his knees, fists clenched against the dirt, shaking from head to toe. “Please… please…”
5:10 PM
The fire began to slow, flames retreating under the relentless attack of water hoses. The air still burned to breathe. But the rescue team rushed in.
Gyuvin stood the second they did, eyes locked on the entrance.
His lips moved silently.
Please save Ricky.
Please save my Ricky.
Please save my husband.
Please save my life.
5:17 PM
And then—there was movement.
One by one, firefighters emerged, carrying bodies—some walking, some on stretchers. Medics rushed in.
Gyuvin scanned every single face, eyes wide and desperate.
And then—he spotted blonde hair.
Ash-covered. Tangled. Matted with soot and blood.
But unmistakably his .
“RICKY!” Gyuvin screamed, sprinting forward before anyone could stop him.
His knees nearly buckled at the sight—Ricky was unconscious, unmoving, his face cut and bruised, clothes singed and covered in ash. His chest barely rose and fell.
He looked so small on that stretcher. So fragile .
“Ricky… oh my god, Ricky…” Gyuvin dropped to his knees beside the stretcher, trembling hands reaching to touch whatever skin wasn’t burned. “Please. Please, no—please.”
The paramedics began loading Ricky into the ambulance. Gyuvin followed immediately.
“Take me with you! Please! I’m his husband—I need to be with him,” he begged, breathless.
They hesitated for only a moment, then nodded. “Get in.”
5:20 PM - Ambulance
The sirens screamed as the ambulance sped toward the hospital.
Gyuvin sat beside Ricky, clutching his hand as tightly as he dared. The monitor beeped steadily, showing a pulse—shallow, but there.
He didn’t dare blink.
He didn’t dare let go.
“I’m here, love. I’m here. Stay with me,” he whispered, lips brushing the back of Ricky’s hand. “You promised. You promised to come home…”
5:30 PM - Hospital
They burst into the ER, doctors already waiting. A rush of motion—Ricky was wheeled away, voices calling out vitals and commands, nurses rushing past.
“Get him into oxygen. We need to assess the burns. Is there smoke inhalation? Lungs first. Move, move!”
Gyuvin was left just outside the doors. The scent of antiseptic filled the air.
He pulled his phone out with shaking hands—and saw them.
All the texts Ricky had tried to send.
4:41 PM
i love you
qubing
it’s hot in here
too much smoke
i don’t know if i’ll be able to get out
i wanted to eat with you
i wanted to see the cats with you
qubing
my love
i’m scared
i’m sorry
qubing
i cant reach you
where are you
please
are you there
qubing
i love you i love you i love you
The phone dropped from Gyuvin’s hand.
He sank to the floor.
Tears fell freely.
He couldn’t stop whispering prayers. Couldn’t stop begging— please don’t take him. Please don’t take him from me.
And then—
“—————————”
Gyuvin’s heart stopped.
A few days later, Gyuvin stood still, a bouquet of red roses cradled carefully in his arms.
He had taken extra time choosing them—full blooms, the deepest shade of red, not a single petal out of place.
Ricky would love them. Ricky loved roses.
The hallways were quiet. Too quiet.
His footsteps echoed as he walked, slow and deliberate. The flowers felt heavy, like they carried more than just scent and color. Like they carried something unsaid.
He turned a corner.
The light in the room ahead was soft. Muted.
For a second, just a second, it felt like walking toward something final.
He took a breath.
And stepped in.
“Hello, Ricky,” Gyuvin said gently. “I got these for you. The ones I know you’d absolutely love.”
A pause.
Then, a voice came—hoarse but unmistakably alive.
“Hello, Qubing.”
Ricky smiled from the hospital bed, sitting upright, a light blanket pulled over his lap. His blonde hair was messy, cheeks still a little pale, but his eyes—his eyes were warm, clear, there.
Gyuvin smiled, the tension in his chest loosening all at once.
Ricky reached for the bouquet, his fingers brushing Gyuvin’s. He brought the roses close, breathing them in.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “They’re very lovely.”
“Not as lovely as you,” Gyuvin whispered, stepping closer, reaching out to cradle Ricky’s face. His thumb traced the curve of Ricky’s cheek, and Ricky leaned into the touch.
“Let’s go to the cat cafe you wanted tomorrow,” Gyuvin said.
Ricky’s smile deepened, tears catching at the corners of his eyes. “I would like that.”
“And Ricky—”
“Hmm?”
“I’ll never let you leave alone again,” Gyuvin said. “I’ll stick to you like glue if I have to.”
Ricky laughed under his breath, eyes watery. “Alright. I’m sure we can make it work.”
Their hands found each other—Ricky's fingers curling tightly around Gyuvin's.
And then, after a moment of quiet, Ricky whispered, voice trembling, “Qubing… let’s go home.”
Gyuvin didn’t answer right away. His throat was tight, but his heart was full.
So full.
“Hmmm… let’s go home… together,” he finally said, and the tears came freely now.
But they were no longer tears of fear or pain.
They were tears of love, of relief, of finding light again after almost losing it.
Of being given one more day—with the one you can’t live without.
♡