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“Yuqi-ah, are you afraid of dying?” Soyeon’s voice was soft, but it trembled at the edges. An anxious smile sat on her lips, barely holding back the fear that had been swelling in her chest all night.
Yuqi didn’t answer right away. She found Soyeon’s hand in the darkness, cradling it gently before her thumb began tracing slow, calming circles over her skin. The cold air bit at their cheeks, and goosebumps prickled along Soyeon’s arms beneath her sweater. The rooftop felt higher than ever, like a ledge suspended between what was and what might never be again.
“No,” Yuqi said finally, a quiet smile tugging at her lips. “I’m not.”
Soyeon looked at her, eyes searching. “Why not?” she asked, her fingers drifting to Yuqi’s knuckle, brushing over the small, pale scar there, one of many, one she knew by heart.
“Because,” Yuqi began, eyes dropping to their hands, “I think death isn’t an end. It’s just… another beginning. Another life. Another shot at something new.” Her voice was calm, steady,too steady. “I get to feel things for the first time again. Maybe it’s something as simple as winning a chess match, maybe it’s finally passing that damned algebra test—God knows how bad I am at math. Maybe I’m a singer next time, and I get to perform on a stage instead of shitty bars.”
Soyeon’s brows knit together. “That’s… a strange way of seeing it.” Her voice was quieter now, more fragile. “But don’t you think dying means letting go of everything you’ve built here? The people you love, the memories, the versions of you that fought so hard to exist?”
Yuqi pressed her thumb a little firmer into Soyeon’s hand, grounding her. “Maybe. But maybe I get to live them all over again. Maybe differently. Better. Or worse.” She tilted her head and smiled. “But I’d still choose to feel them. Every part.”
“And what if you don’t get a next life?” Soyeon’s voice cracked just a little. “What if it’s just nothing? What if this is all we ever get?”
Yuqi turned to her then, her gaze soft. “Then I’ll be grateful that I had this one. That I got to meet you.” Her words fell like a prayer, sincere and heartbreaking.
Soyeon’s cheeks flushed. She pulled her hand away and shoved it deep into her sweatshirt, like she was trying to hide from the weight of Yuqi’s words. “Liar.”
Yuqi let out a breath of laughter, her eyes lighting up even in the dark. “Yah, Song Soyeon,” she teased, leaning slightly closer. “You’re the love of my life. My wife. I married you under the stars, remember? Why would I not be glad I met you?”
But Soyeon didn’t look at her. She buried her face into her knees, drawing them close to her chest as the night wind tousled her hair. Below them, the town stretched out quietly, lights flickering like distant fireflies. Their house was perched at the edge of the world, or so it felt—high enough to see everything, but just far enough to feel apart from it.
“Because you talk about dying like it’s something beautiful. Like you’re ready to leave all this behind. Me behind.” Her voice wavered, raw and wet with held-back tears. “You want to experience things again, but I’m still trying to hold on to this.”
Yuqi sighed softly and wrapped her arms around her, pulling Soyeon gently into her chest. She kissed her temple with a tenderness that hurt. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Soyeon didn’t move at first. She just listened to Yuqi’s heartbeat—faint, tired, but still fighting.
“Soyeon-ah…” Yuqi’s voice was quieter now, almost trembling. “Haven’t I already burdened you enough with this illness? I didn’t want this to be your life too.”
Soyeon looked down at Yuqi’s bruised hand, remembering the nights spent in sterile rooms, the sobs she muffled in her hoodie, the quiet agony of watching the person she loved wither and still smile through it.
“Sometimes,” Soyeon whispered, her throat tight, “I wish you never met me. Maybe that would’ve been better than watching you suffer like this… because of me. Because I couldn’t protect you from it. I’ve heard you cry when you thought I was asleep. And I hate it. I hate that I can’t fix any of this.”
Yuqi exhaled shakily, her arms holding Soyeon tighter.
“But you’re the only thing that made all of it worth it,” Yuqi murmured, voice cracking. “You’re the only thing I’d choose again, in every life.”
“If I asked you to live for me, would you?” Soyeon whispers.
“As much as I can, as long as I make you happy…I would.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” Yuqi smiles.
“Sing me a song?” Soyeon asks.
“Always.”
-
Soyeon held on to those words.
She really did.
Like a thread keeping her from unraveling, she held onto every syllable Yuqi had spoken that night on the rooftop, the promises, the dreams, the strange comfort she found in dying. Soyeon repeated them like a mantra, clung to them when the walls of the hospital felt like they were closing in. But they were slipping now. All of them.
“Soyeon… come lie with me,” Yuqi whispered, barely more than a breath.
Her voice trembled with the effort, each word soaked in exhaustion. Tubes surrounded her oxygen feeding tired lungs, IV lines threading through her arms, a monitor’s beeping rhythm echoing far too loud in Soyeon’s ears. It was maddening. It was cruel. The room smelled of antiseptic and grief.
Yuqi looked so small now. Her skin had gone translucent, as if the light could pass right through her. The vibrance she once carried like fire had dulled,her cheeks sunken, her once-strong arms reduced to bone and bruises. Soyeon prayed desperately, selfishly that something, someone would spare her just a little longer. That they'd get one more night. One more stupid rooftop memory.
It destroyed her to see the same girl who once danced barefoot under starlight now dying under fluorescent bulbs, still trying to smile.
Wordlessly, Soyeon climbed onto the bed, curling herself gently beside Yuqi, every movement measured with care. She was scared to touch her too hard, scared she might break. Yuqi weakly wrapped her arms around her, like she always did but this time, there was no strength behind it. Only warmth. Only need.
“Closer,” Yuqi mumbled. Her voice cracked like old glass. “Please.”
Soyeon melted into her, cradling her like she was something holy. Something already halfway gone.
Then Yuqi’s voice wavered. “Soyeon… I lied.”
Soyeon lifted her head at once, startled by the sudden shift in her tone. Yuqi’s eyes had welled up with tears, her lashes wet. Her lips quivered as she tried to hold it back.
“What do you mean?” Soyeon asked, quickly reaching up to catch the tear that slipped down Yuqi’s cheek. Her own heart was pounding, breaking open in silence.
“I’m scared,” Yuqi whispered, her voice a raw confession.
Soyeon froze.
“I’m so fucking scared of dying.” Her breath hitched, chest rising with a stifled sob. “I thought I was okay with it. I thought if I made it sound beautiful, it would be beautiful. But it’s not. It’s dark and it’s empty and I don’t want it.”
Soyeon clutched her tighter, pressing their foreheads together as her own tears began to fall.
“I’m scared of leaving you,” Yuqi said. Her voice had dropped again, too weak to hold the weight of her fear. “I’m scared of what’ll happen when I’m gone. I’m scared of never seeing you again. I don’t want this to be the last time I feel your arms around me. I don’t want this to be the last thing we are.”
Soyeon bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. Her whole body shook. “Then don’t go. Please don’t go.”
Yuqi gave a broken smile, the kind that came with peace and pain all at once. “But I’m so tired, Soyeon-ah.” Her voice cracked. “I’m so tired of fighting. And I’m sorry.”
Soyeon kissed her wife’s forehead, her cheeks, her lips each one with a desperation she couldn't hide. “Don’t apologize. Please… don’t ever apologize.”
Yuqi blinked slowly, her tears finally spilling freely. “Will you stay here? Until the end?”
Soyeon nodded, unable to speak. “Always,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’ll be right here. Always.
-
Yuqi’s final days came slowly, then all at once.
There was no dramatic drop, no sirens, no screaming. Just a quiet, steady unraveling. Her doctors no longer spoke in timelines, only in softness. The nurses came in less often, as if time had finally stopped being something they could measure with machines.
Soyeon stayed by her side through all of it.
Word had spread to their circle of friends, and one by one, they came. Not as guests, but as family. Miyeon brought Yuqi’s favorite strawberry milk even though she couldn’t drink it anymore, and just left it on the bedside table like a silent offering. Minnie played her guitar softly at the edge of the bed, humming the melody of a song Yuqi once wrote but never finished. Shuhua cried into Soojin’s shoulder without shame, whispering things she could never say out loud when Yuqi was still strong.
They never said goodbye. They just sat with her. Talked like it was a sleepover. Laughed. Shared stories. Let her exist as she was—beloved, fragile, alive.
Yuqi managed a smile for every single one of them.
On the last night, it was just Soyeon and Yuqi again. Their room had been decorated in warm fairy lights and hanging stars that the girls put up as a surprise. On the wall, Minnie had taped up dozens of polaroids from their relationship—wedding photos, rooftop nights, blurry snapshots of half-eaten meals, candid shots of Soyeon staring at Yuqi like she held the universe.
It was their anniversary.
Soyeon helped Yuqi sit up with every ounce of strength left in her. They ate tiny pieces of cake that Soojin made, though Yuqi could only manage a bite. Soyeon wore the same sweater she wore the night of their rooftop talk, and Yuqi leaned against her like it still gave her warmth.
“I didn’t think I’d make it to this,” Yuqi murmured.
“You promised me five years,” Soyeon said with a soft smile, wiping the corner of Yuqi’s mouth.
“And I gave you six.” Yuqi chuckled, breath shallow, eyes shining. “Overachiever.”
Soyeon laughed through her tears. “Thank you for being mine.”
Yuqi leaned in slowly, trembling, and kissed her. It was barely a kiss. But it was theirs.
“I love you,” she whispered, eyes fluttering closed.
“I love you more,” Soyeon replied, voice trembling. “In this life and the next.”
The next morning, the light came through the window softly, spilling over their tangled bodies on the bed.
Yuqi never woke up.
Her head rested gently on Soyeon’s shoulder, face calm, lips parted like she was mid-dream. Soyeon didn’t realize at first. She only noticed the silence. The stillness. The machine’s steady beep had been turned off hours before, at Yuqi’s request.
No alarms. No panic.
Just the quiet end of something infinite.
Soyeon held her there for hours. Rocking gently. Kissing her knuckles. Whispering stories of new lives they’d meet again in. Of how she'd find Yuqi anywhere in any world, in any time.
And when she finally let go, Yuqi still looked like she was dreaming.
-
“Damn,” Soyeon mutters as she scrolls back to the top of the fanfic. “They really killed you off?”
Yuqi sniffles beside her like someone just ran over her dog. “Soyeon, it’s supposed to be fucking sad,okay? Killing me off was the only way. It had emotional weight. Symbolism. Tragedy.” She swipes at her nose, then without hesitation, smears her tears and snot across Soyeon’s sweatshirt sleeve.
Soyeon recoils instantly. “Fucking gross.”
Without missing a beat, she grabs the edge of Yuqi’s shirt and aggressively wipes it back. “There. Now we’re emotionally bonded and bodily fluid-bonded.”
Yuqi gapes at her in disbelief. “You’re a menace. I’m literally mourning myself right now.”
“You’re mourning a fictional version of yourself written by a Tumblr user named yuyeon69 Soyeon replies flatly. “Also, that version of you died in like a few hundred words with zero build-up. It was like, vibes-vibes-vibes boom, funeral. Terrible pacing.”
“It was artistic” Yuqi huffs, crossing her arms under the blanket like a sulking child. “And you’re supposed to be supportive!”
“Yes,” Soyeon says dryly, already opening a new browser tab without a shred of remorse. “So supportive that I’m switching to smut now. Something where you’re not dead and I’m not sobbing into my cat pillow.”
She scrolls, eyes scanning. “Ooh, here we go. I saw one recommendation where you had a dick. Thought it was so fucking funny.”
Yuqi shoots up like she’s been electrocuted. “Wait, what? Are you okay? Are we okay? What kind of cursed internet hole are you crawling into?”
“Shh.” Soyeon doesn’t even look up. “Keep quiet. Also, bold talk for someone who just wiped snot on my tit.”
Yuqi groans and buries herself deeper into the blanket. “I’m grieving and you’re reading fanfic with alternate-universe genital arrangements. What is my life.”
Soyeon smirks, clicking into the fic with all the determination of someone about to emotionally scar her wife. “Your life is being immortalized in poorly written erotica. Take some pride.”
“You are the least supportive wife in the history of wives,” Yuqi mutters.
“And you’re the only one who makes mucus warfare a love language.”
Yuqi peeks out from under the blanket. “Is it at least well-written?”
“I dunno yet,” Soyeon says, already skimming the first paragraph. “But you just slammed me against a piano and called me ‘kitten,’ so we’re off to a very unhinged start.”
Yuqi looks mildly horrified and deeply intrigued. “Wait, am I hot in it?”
“Absolutely,” Soyeon replies. “Still emotionally unavailable though. Very accurate.”
Yuqi grins. “Well, I am everyone's favorite fictional menace.”
Soyeon rolls her eyes fondly. “And you’re my real one.”
"You know,” she mumbles, voice softening as she rests her head on Soyeon’s shoulder, “if I really had to die like that… I’m glad it was with you.”
Soyeon hums, rubbing lazy circles on her back. “I wouldn’t let anyone else be your final scene partner anyway. You’re stuck with me. Even in death.”
“Ugh, romantic and annoying,” Yuqi mumbles, but she smiles, eyes closing. “Fine. Haunt you in the next life too, I guess.”
“You better,” Soyeon whispers.
They sink deeper into the couch cushions, half-draped in each other, half-lost in dramatic fanfiction plotlines they’re somehow both laughing at and living through. And maybe the story ended in death, but here in their own messed-up, mucus-covered love story.
Yuqi gets to live. Loudly. Weirdly. And with Soyeon by her side, always.