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Death was anything but unfamiliar to Wooyoung. Being an undertaker, the man had not only seen but also touched hundreds of dead bodies, had cradled bodies still radiating warmth, dressed wounds, and closed eyes that would never open again. He had been in this line of work for years. To some, working with the dead was a horrifying thought. To Wooyoung, it wasn’t.
Over time, the scent of decay had settled not only into his clothes but also into any other fabric that he kept close.
No matter how many corpses he took care of, no matter how many grieving families he guided through the sorrow, Wooyoung still couldn’t think of something he would rather practice. After all, he was in charge of making them look beautiful again, fixing their wounds and dressing them nicely, making them look presentable and peaceful.
They always did, once he was finished with them. So peaceful, as if they were merely sleeping, dreaming of large fields with flowers and warm beams of light gracing their skin.
A few years back, the undertaker even took in a familiar who helped him with anything he needed. Having someone by his side was pure heaven to Wooyoung.
Yeosang was a beautiful boy, so unbelievably lovely that, for a moment, Wooyoung had doubted his own eyes when the young man first knocked on the door of his shop. His features were soft, face adorned with doll-like eyes that gazed at Wooyoung as if he’d hung the stars himself. His lips curled so wonderfully whenever he managed to coax a fit of giggles out of him. He had the cutest teeth Wooyoung had ever seen, and a beauty mark the undertaker longed to kiss every chance he got.
Wooyoung had grown attached from the very beginning.
It took Yeosang longer to open up, to trust the older enough to open himself fully, but once he did, they were inseparable.
Wherever Wooyoung went, Yeosang followed. And wherever Yeosang was found, Wooyoung was never far behind. The undertaker absolutely despised being separated from his little familiar — the one person that had stuck with him and stayed through it all. Could one really blame him?
Wooyoung was protective, almost obsessively so. He made sure to take care of him. There was not a single day where Wooyoung wouldn’t go out of his way to make Yeosang feel safe, to make sure his familiar never forgot how loved he was. To some, Wooyoung seemed horribly attached, almost obsessive about the younger.
Maybe they were right.
But Wooyoung never cared. He had Yeosang by his side, could love him as much as he wanted and he was sure that only he was able to properly care for Yeosang.
Things were good for a while — Yeosang ran errands for Wooyoung whenever the older was too busy to do it himself, while he made sure to have a proper meal on the table. Their days were filled with laughter and by the time they hit their 5th anniversary, they had plenty of stories to tell. Yeosang often joked about writing a book about them all.
„A best-seller! That’s it!“, Yeosang’s voice rang through the room, bright and clear, while Wooyoung shook his head, hands busy fixing up the open wounds of a woman who had left this earth far too early. Thinking about her family brought a look of sorrow onto Wooyoung’s sharp features.
Then, a few months ago, Yeosang fell sick.
Wooyoung still didn’t know how it happened — Yeosang only left the house to run errands, always using the same route that him and Wooyoung had walked together thousands of times before the older allowed him to do it on his own. Wooyoung had always been careful, very adamant about keeping Yeosang away from anything that could potentially harm him.
Wooyoung took great pride in how he took care of his beloved familiar, making sure that he had not a single scar on his beautiful body.
Sleepless nights plagued him as he pored over all of his books, trying desperately to find something that would help him with Yeosang‘s sudden symptoms. Wooyoung truly tried everything he found, even if he knew that it wouldn’t make a difference. Whatever Yeosang had caught was ruthless.
A few weeks of endless attempts at trying to help passed, until, one morning, Yeosang took his last breath, leaving a silence so dreadful and haunting that it left Wooyoung in a state of shock.
Wooyoung closed his business after that.
He kept Yeosang in his bed, wrapped him up in his blanket that had been one of the first things Wooyoung had gifted him, and had made sure to keep his head on the pillow he loved. His days were all the same now. Wooyoung sat by Yeosang‘s side, eyes resting on the other's body as he tightened his grip around his cold hand.
With a cloth soaked in warm water, Wooyoung made sure to clean not only his face but also his body. He always made sure to be quick with it too so his familiar wouldn’t get cold. Wooyoung deluded himself into thinking that Yeosang was still alive, that he was just in a coma and that he’d wake up one day, because he couldn’t be dead. Yeosang wasn’t dead to him.
Careful hands lifted both of Yeosang‘s feet as he put his warm socks on his feet, He buttoned up his shirt and brushed his hair to get rid of potential knots. Yeosang had always complained about how easily his hair formed knots. Wooyoung could still hear his nagging, whiny voice in the back of his mind.
Every day, he wrapped his arms around the corpse, so gently, as if he was afraid to hurt him. Wooyoung dragged him across their apartment, and when they reached the kitchen, he carefully placed him on one of the chairs at the dinner table. He’d cook for both of them, too, always making sure that two bowls stood on the table, glasses filled to the brim with their favorite drinks.
He stared across the table at Yeosang’s slumped figure, his own knuckles turning white as he tightened his grip on his fork. He waited. He always waited. Every day, he stared at him for hours, until their food was icy cold and Wooyoung was sure that he’d have to throw it all away.
„Please eat, Sangie.“, he begged, with a voice so gentle and quiet, as he pushed the bowl closer towards the corpse.
Silence.
Wooyoung stared at him for a few more minutes. Yeosang doesn’t move at all. The older of the two let out a quiet sigh, before placing the fork down, finally relaxing his hand. „You’re not hungry today.“, he stated, voice only a whisper as he began to dump their untouched dinner into the trash can.
Maybe tomorrow Yeosang would eat.
Wooyoung’s days seemed to last forever now. What once felt like a comfortable routine turned into the most agonising time of his miserable life. Every day was a copy of the previous one — he washed Yeosang, made sure that his teeth were brushed and his hair looked nice and soft. He prepared breakfasts for them, then stared at Yeosang until he dumped everything in the trash.
Lunch and dinner were no different.
Wooyoung dragged the lifeless corpse of his familiar through the whole apartment, made sure that Yeosang wouldn’t get hurt as he moved with him and kept him company.
The older of the two loved feeling close to him, even if he didn’t radiate warmth anymore, or bombarded him with obscure facts he had picked up from random websites or conversations he had overheard on his bi weekly errand run.
Wooyoung missed him so much.
The undertaker rested his hand on the back of Yeosang‘s head as they were cuddled up on the large living room couch, heavy head propped up on Wooyoung‘s shoulder. He could feel the bony structure of the others sunken-in face as his cheek pressed into his shoulder. Wooyoung let his fingers run through the familiar‘s soft locks, slowly detangling his knots. His grip tightened around his waist; it felt like Yeosang would drift away as soon as he’d loosen his grip around him. With a small sigh, Wooyoung pressed his nose deeper into the crook of the other's neck.
Yeosang didn’t smell the same anymore.
Before he passed away, his lover smelled like a walking bouquet of flowers, mixed with a twinge of fresh coffee. Yeosang loved drinking a cup of coffee in the morning, even though he’d always answer with tea whenever someone asked him what he preferred.
Now, Yeosang smelled like the people that lay on Wooyoung‘s examination table. It made him sick to his stomach. Why didn’t Yeosang smell like him anymore?
„I love you, Sangie..“, Wooyoung purred against his neck, eyes resting as he took in the presence of the body next to him. His fingers dug into his locks, as if he’s holding onto him for dear life.
After a while, his hand wandered down his neck, just for his fingers to find their way under his chin. Yeosang always loved when he did that, holding his face so delicately, looking at him with so much love.
Wooyoung took his time and stared at Yeosang‘s face, admiring every single pore, every wrinkle that adorned his face, the small dots around his nose, his birthmark. He gently rubbed his thumb over the others dry lips. They were colored a deep shade of blue and purple, matching with the various bluish spots all over his skin.
„Why won’t you talk to me anymore?“ If Yeosang could hear him, he’d turn and immediately comfort the other. He would stare at Wooyoung with those big, gentle eyes and ask if he was okay, if he could get him anything. Now he was silent. Wooyoung stopped his movements and, with so much care, pulled Yeosang‘s head towards his.
Without thinking about it, Wooyoung pressed his lips against Yeosang‘s cold ones.
For a short while he stayed just like that, his lips pressed firmly against Yeosang's as his fingers dug into his sweater.
Wooyoung didn’t want to let go. He couldn’t let go.
Yeosang had been the only person in his life that hadn’t looked at him like he was disgusting, hadn’t treated him like he’d be the bringer of all evil. Yeosang had opened up to him, had trusted him with everything and had been vulnerable around Wooyoung despite being traumatised.
No matter how horrible Wooyoung‘s melt downs or his temper were, Yeosang had always treated him well, had made him feel normal; like he finally belonged. How could he ever let go of his familiar? Yeosang needed him just as much as Wooyoung needed Yeosang.
It took him a while to get back to his senses, to pull out of that state of mind. Wooyoung took the blanket back to its original place, before he cradled Yeosang’s limb body. He held his head with care as he brought him back to his room.
Once Yeosang was back on his soft mattress, Wooyoung lit up his favorite candles and knelt beside his familiar on the floor.
„Good night, my love.“, he whispered, candle flickering beside him. He pushed a few strands of Yeosang‘s brown hair out of his face.
He looked eerily peaceful.
„I know you will wake up tomorrow.“ He knew Yeosang wouldn’t.
Pretending that Yeosang was still alive made it hurt less.