Work Text:
⸻
The smell of garlic and butter filled the apartment, soft and warm like a memory. Sunoo stirred the sauce slowly, watching it bubble in the pan.
Riki always came home no later than 6:40 PM, like clockwork. Today, he had messaged Sunoo:
[4:38 PM]
Riki 🫶:
“I’m getting off early! Be home around 6. Love you.”
So Sunoo had planned.
He set the table; two bowls and two pairs of utensils. He even lit a little candle and plated the side dishes in a nicer set he’d unboxed just that morning. The rice cooker clicked off right at 5:56.
But 6 o’clock came.
And 6:15.
Then 6:30.
6:37 PM.
He frowned lightly, not quite worried yet, just puzzled. Maybe Riki had actually stayed late to help someone at work again and forgot to tell him. Maybe traffic was worse than usual. Maybe he just stopped at the corner store for those awful energy drinks he loved.
Sunoo reached for his phone, thumbs moving out of habit. One text sent, two, then a call but no answer. He shrugged it off, tossing his phone gently on the counter and lowering the sauce's heat.
“Probably dead battery,” he mumbled to himself. “Or maybe forgot it at work.”
Still, a slight unease curled in his chest. He tried to brush it away by focusing on the table—folding the napkins just right, fidgeting with anything in his view. He lit another small candle Riki had mockingly gifted him after teasing him for being picky about the ambiance of their apartment.
He liked the glow of it now. It made the place feel less empty.
By 7:05, the food was cold. Riki wasn’t home. His phone still rang out and went to voicemail.
Sunoo sat at the table, the candle flickering. He stared at the door like it might open by itself. Like Riki might kick it open the way he always did when he was being playful, saying something ridiculous like “Honey, I’m home~” in that deep voice he used when trying to make Sunoo laugh.
Sunoo cracked a smile at the thought but faded too quickly.
His palms felt a little sweaty.
7:23.
He tried calling again, voicemail. Then again.
He sent another text.
’Where are you? I’m worried.’
No reply.
He stood and began to pace.
“Come on, Riki,” he muttered under his breath. “I swear to god if this is a prank, I’m going to kill you.”
The moment the words left his mouth, a chill settled in his stomach. He clutched his arms and returned to the table, sitting down hard. He stared at his untouched plate. His fork. Riki’s plate.
9:41.
The knock at the door made him jolt upright.
He leapt out of the chair, stumbling slightly in his socks. Hope flooded him like a dam cracking.
He raced to the door, tugging it open without checking.
“Riki! Did you—”
It wasn’t Riki.
Two police officers stood there. Calm.
Sunoo blinked, heart stuttering.
“…Hello, what’s going on?” His voice was shaky. He looked past them quickly.
The man spoke gently. “Are you Kim Sunoo?”
Sunoo’s eyes snapped to his face. “Yes…”
The woman stepped forward slightly. “Are you the partner of Nishimura Riki?”
His breath caught.
“Yes. He’s my boyfriend, I live with him. Why?”
Neither of them spoke for a second. That second lasted forever. Then the man spoke again, and Sunoo felt his world tilting before he heard the words.
“There’s no easy way to say this, sir,” he began gently. “There was a multi-vehicle accident this evening on the 405. Your partner, Riki, was identified on the scene. He—”
“Wait,” Sunoo said, shaking his head. “What-what are you saying?”
The officer looked visibly pained. “He didn’t survive the crash. I am so sorry.”
Sunoo stared.
The words didn’t fit. They didn’t make sense in his head, they felt like static.
“What? What do you mean?” he whispered. “No, no. He’s just late. He probably forgot his phone. That doesn’t—he’s probably on the way home right now!”
The female officer took a slow breath. “We assume he was on the way home, driving back from work. There was a car that was speeding…and…I’m so sorry.”
Sunoo’s knees buckled before he even realized he was falling.
He hit the floor hard, arms instinctively reaching for something, anything but there was no one to hold. Just the cold floor and the sound of his own breath catching in his throat.
“No,” he said. “No, no, no! This is wrong. You have the wrong person. H-he was just texting me earlier today! He’s always careful especially when driving, he—”
The male officer stepped in carefully, crouching a bit. “We understand this is hard. We’ve confirmed his identity with his license and the vehicle… I know this isn’t what you want to hear. But he—he’s gone. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Sunoo clutched his shirt at the chest.
He couldn’t breathe.
It felt like something inside him ripped open. Like someone had pressed pause on the world, and he was the only one left moving through a frozen moment.
Gone?
He heard the word, but it didn’t feel real.
His hands trembled. His mouth opened like he wanted to scream, but no sound came.
He stared at the two people in front of him like they were ghosts—like maybe he was a ghost.
The candle flickered in the kitchen.
The food still sat there cold and untouched.
Riki was supposed to walk through that door. He was supposed to throw his bag down, complain about traffic, steal a bite off Sunoo’s plate and kiss his cheek and smile.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Not to Riki.
Not his Riki.
Sunoo let out a choking sound, something between a gasp and a sob, and his hands covered his mouth as he curled forward. The grief hit him all at once, quick and suffocating.
The female officer stepped forward slightly, unsure if she should touch him.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “We’re here to help you through this. Whatever you need. We’ll take care of things.”
Sunoo couldn’t answer.
He didn’t hear her.
He was still on the floor, heart breaking wide open, shattering quietly into pieces no one else could see. The air felt heavy, like it wasn’t made for breathing anymore. His thoughts came in fragments.
He’s not coming home.
He didn’t forget his phone.
He’s dead.
His chest hurt. His limbs felt far away. His vision blurred.
He felt this unbearable ache in every part of him that used to be held together by Riki’s laughter, Riki’s warmth, Riki’s existence.
He stayed on the floor long after the officers spoke, after they asked if he had someone to call, if he needed help. He heard their voices like underwater echoes.
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t know how to.
⸻
In the dining room, two plates of food sat cold.
One of them would never be eaten.
One of them would never be needed again.
The candle burned down to a stub.
And the world kept spinning, heartlessly unaware that Sunoo’s had just stopped.
⸻
The air smelled different now.
No more garlic and butter hanging heavy in the walls, no scent of burning candles left too long. It smelled like laundry detergent and lavender air freshener and something new. Hope, maybe. Or at least, something close to it.
Sunoo stood in the small apartment, tying the last loop of his shoelaces, humming under his breath. He wasn’t rushing. He didn’t really rush anymore. He’d learned to give himself time. Time to think, time to breathe, and time to live.
Two years.
Two full years since the knock at the door.
Since the worst night of his life.
Since the world split into “before” and “after.” Riki.
And somehow, he was still here.
Still breathing.
Still existing.
The pain had faded from a violent burn to a quiet ache. It had lived in his bones, in his routine, in the way he set one too many plates at the table out of habit, when he turned to tell a joke only to realize there was no one there to laugh with him, or when he still left Riki’s side of the bed empty, like he was still coming back.
But he had learned, slowly, painfully, to build around the hole Riki left.
He still missed him.
But he had also learned how to smile again. Genuinely.
⸻
Sunoo checked the time on his phone: 5:12 PM.
He was heading out to meet the rest of the group downtown for dinner. He hadn’t confirmed if he was going to go, but he’d thought it be a nice suprise.
He grabbed his bag, swinging it onto his shoulder. The last thing he needed was his sweater—he’d bought one, a couple months ago, something soft and forest green, slightly oversized.
He walked into the bedroom and opened the closet door.
He reached in, fingers moving through layers of fabric until—
There.
His sweater. Sandwiched in the back behind a hoodie and some old winter coats. He tugged at the sleeve to pull it loose.
The sweater came out.
And there was something behind it.
Something familiar. Dark fabric.
Sunoo froze.
His breath caught in his throat as his eyes locked on it.
A leather jacket.
Not just any jacket.
Riki’s.
⸻
His world quieted instantly, like someone hit “mute” on the universe.
He couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.
It was the exact one Riki had worn the night he asked him to be his boyfriend.
It had been stuffed in the back of the closet, hiding, forgotten or maybe waiting.
Sunoo hadn’t seen it in a year. He had packed everything. All of Riki’s clothes. His hoodies. His shirts. His sneakers he always left in the hallway. The sweatshirt Sunoo had once claimed as his own.
He folded them. Boxed them. Sealed them shut and shoved them in the back of the hall closet and told himself it was the only way he’d ever start to heal. To move on.
But somehow, he had missed this.
Sunoo reached out, hesitant fingers brushing over the fabric.
Still warm somehow, like it had just come out of the dryer, or like Riki had only taken it off yesterday.
Sunoo blinked, eyes burning.
His heart thudded dully against his ribs.
He held the jacket in both hands, lifting it from the closet gently, like it might fall apart if he moved too fast.
His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper. “How did I forget you…?”
He sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, the jacket draped across his lap.
Memories flooded him so fast it made him dizzy.
⸻
Riki smiling at him across a candlelit table, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.
“Sunoo, I’ve liked you for so long, no not like, I love you, will you be my boyfriend…please?”
Sunoo started laughing.
“Huh? Why are you laughing?!” Riki pouted.
“Cause you’re so cute!” Sunoo reached across the table and pinched his cheeks.
“So…will you be mine?”
“Yes, of course.” He smiled.
Riki was already crying. Because of course. Of course. He already was. His heart had beat for Sunoo, overfilled with love and joy in this moment.
Sunoo leaned in to kiss him, whispering, “I love you too, Riki.”
⸻
Sunoo clutched the jacket tighter to his chest.
He hadn’t cried in months. Not since he packed all of Riki’s belongings, not since he packed the constant reminders of Riki and how he’d never come back in the back of his mind.
But now, in the quiet of their room, the tears came like a flood breaking through a dam.
They trailed silently down his cheeks, over his jaw, soaking into the fabric of Riki’s jacket.
Sunoo folded forward, forehead pressed to the cloth, and let out a sound that came from somewhere deep—grief, relief, love, longing, all tangled together.
He had come so far.
He had survived this pain.
He had done what Riki would’ve wanted—lived, laughed, made new memories.
But this? This was still here.
Still waiting in the closet.
Still waiting for him.
He opened his eyes and stared down at the jacket, at the way the sleeve fell just slightly too short. He remembered teasing Riki for buying it a bit too small.
“You can just wear it, and think of me.” Riki had said with a grin.
At the time, Sunoo had rolled his eyes and hit him with a throw pillow.
He sniffled, wiped his cheeks, and stood on unsteady feet.
He couldn’t throw it away. Not this one. But maybe he could tuck it away again. Carefully. Somewhere safe.
He spotted the boxes at the top of the closet—the ones he refused to reach for. He grabbed one and brought it down, placing it gently on the bed.
He lifted the jacket and began to fold it, slow and deliberate, smoothing the sleeves the way Riki always had when trying to impress Sunoo.
Then he paused.
His fingers brushed over something—a lump in the fabric.
A pocket.
He reached into it, brows furrowing.
He hadn’t expected to find anything special.
Just something small, not important.
But when he reached into the pocket and pulled it out.
The breath left his lungs all at once.
A small box.
Black velvet.
Sunoo stared, heart beginning to pound so hard it made his chest ache. His hands trembled violently.
“No…”
But the moment he said it, he already knew.
He knew exactly what it was.
Still, he opened it anyway.
Inside, nestled in the soft fabric, was a ring.
Gold and subtle. Not flashy, not loud. Just elegant and familiar, like something meant to be worn forever.
An engagement ring.
Sunoo’s whole body stilled. He didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.
The tears came again, this time harder—hotter. His lips parted in a silent gasp, and he clutched the box like it might disappear if he let go.
Riki… was going to propose.
A sob tore from his throat.
He doubled over, pressing the heel of his hand to his mouth, but it couldn’t hold the sound in. The grief came surging back, like he’d just heard the news all over again. Like the knock on the door had come just seconds ago.
“Riki…” he whispered. “No… oh my god…”
His chest heaved with each breath, the pain rushing in like water through a cracked dam.
He remembered now.
The day after Riki died.
It was their two-year anniversary since they started dating.
They’d made plans—Sunoo had forgotten them in the haze of tragedy, but now it came back in full color. They were supposed to go to the beach. Their beach.
The one where Riki had kissed him for the first time, a year before they made things official.
They had talked about going back there every year.
Sunoo had packed snacks and sunscreen.
Riki had promised to drive and even not complain about the sand getting everywhere.
But he never made it home.
He had died the night before.
And now, sitting here on the bed two years later, holding this ring—Sunoo knew. He felt it in his soul.
Riki was going to propose that day.
On the beach.
On their anniversary.
Where it had all begun.
Sunoo let the box rest gently beside him on the bed, unable to look at it another second. His eyes burned. His hands shook. His entire chest ached with the weight of what could’ve been—what should have been.
“I wish you gave me a reason to let go.”
But he hadn’t.
All Riki had ever done was love him.
And now the love Sunoo still had—endlessly, overwhelmingly—had nowhere to go.
⸻
A small paper drew his gaze downward.
A folded piece of paper had fallen from the jacket pocket along with the box.
Sunoo reached for it with hesitant fingers, hands trembling, afraid to open it—afraid of what it might say.
He turned it over.
His name was written on the front in Riki’s handwriting.
Sunoo ᥫ᭡.
His vision blurred instantly.
He carefully unfolded it, smoothing out the creases like it was made of gold.
The page was dated—the day before Riki died.
The writing was slightly rushed but clear, like Riki had scribbled it down in a moment of quiet confidence.
A speech.
A proposal.
Sunoo held the paper in both hands, the ring beside him, jacket still warm in his lap.
He took a breath.
And read.
⸻
‘To the love of my life, my Sunoo,’
I don’t know if I’ll get through this speech without crying. Knowing me, probably not. But I’ve been carrying this in my heart for a long time, and I think you already know what I’m about to say.
I’ve loved you since the day I met you.
You probably don’t even remember it—my freshman year, my first week of college. I was awkward, tired, and terrified, and you were this cool and cute sophomore leading our orientation group with your bright smile and sarcastic little comments.
I decided that day that I was going to follow you around forever. And I did.
Four years of friendship. Four years of pining. Of sitting next to you in lecture halls pretending not to stare. Of walking you to your dorm and pretending I wasn’t nervous every time you brushed your hand against mine.
I loved you so quietly for so long.
And then that day—after I graduated—when we went to the beach, and you kissed me…
That was the moment everything shifted. The moment I knew, deep in my bones, that there was no one else. There never could be.
When I got my first paycheck from my first real job, I spent it on a fancy dinner to finally ask you to be mine. And when you said yes, Sunoo, I swear I saw my entire future flash in front of me.
You’ve filled my life with light, with laughter, with softness and strength. You’ve held me on my worst days and loved me on every single day. You’ve made every version of me feel like enough.
So today, on our anniversary, I want to ask you one more question.
Will you marry me?
Will you let me spend every sunrise and every sleepy evening next to you? Will you let me make a life with you—full of takeout dinners, bad dramas, sand in our shoes, and kisses that still feel like the first?
I want to grow old with you.
I want to love you until my last breath.
And even after that, I’ll find you again.
I promise.
— Riki
⸻
Sunoo didn’t realize he was sobbing until the paper started to blur in his hands.
He clutched it to his chest like it was the last piece of Riki he’d ever hold.
The pain felt unbearable—but so did the love.
He sat there for what felt like hours, crying into the jacket, into the ring box, into the letter that should’ve changed his life in joy—but now lived as a memory.
But beneath the pain, another feeling bloomed slowly.
Gratitude.
Because Riki had loved him.
Because he had known, truly and deeply, what that love felt like.
Because even in death, Riki had found a way to give him one last moment. One last truth. One last glimpse of their forever.
Riki had planned everything.
And the only thing life hadn’t accounted for was time.
He stared at the ring again. This little thing—just a piece of metal and a promise—had somehow shattered and stitched his heart at once. And maybe it was insane, maybe no one would understand it, but the thought bloomed quietly and powerfully in his chest.
'He was supposed to put this on me…'
But he didn’t get the chance.
And now… now Sunoo wasn’t going to let that moment vanish like it had never existed. Because it had. Because Riki had meant it. Because they had loved each other.
With trembling hands, Sunoo slipped the ring onto his finger.
It slid on effortlessly, like it belonged there all along.
And even though no words were spoken aloud, he whispered back:
“Yes. Of course.”
The sob that escaped him then was too raw to be graceful. It bent him forward, clutching his hand to his chest, forehead resting on his knees as he wept.
But eventually, it passed.
Eventually, he sat up. Breathing unsteady. Eyes bloodshot. But there was a steadiness to him now. A strange sense of peace.
Sunoo stood from the bed slowly, gripping onto Riki’s jacket.
The same jacket he wore when he’d held Sunoo’s hand the entire night despite spilling water on himself and fumbling with the menu, blushing so hard he couldn’t meet Sunoo’s eyes. The same one he’d worn when he asked “Will you be mine?”
Sunoo lifted it gently, shaking out the soft fabric.
It still smelled faintly like him—like the cologne he used everyday, like the warmth of home, like something Sunoo didn’t realize he’d missed this much.
He slipped it on.
It was too big, of course.
But it wrapped around him like Riki’s arms used to. Like he was being held. Like somewhere, somehow, Riki was holding him.
Sunoo stared at his reflection in the mirror.
Oversized jacket draped across his frame. The ring glinting on his finger. A soft smile barely touching his lips. His eyes were tired, tearstained, red.
But there he was. Still standing.
Still loving.
Still remembering.
And living.
That mattered.
He walked to the door, stopping for a moment to glance back at the room—his room, their room, a thousand memories folded into the walls.
Sunoo stepped outside.
The breeze met him gently, warm and late-spring soft. The sky above was streaked with golden light, clouds fading to pink like they were painted by someone who knew beauty came from endings too.
He pulled Riki’s jacket tighter around himself and walked forward.
Not to forget.
Not to move on.
But to carry.
Because some love never leaves.
Some rings will never be taken off.
And some promises are still kept—
even in the silence after goodbye.
⸻