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The first time Soobin calls the number, it was entirely by accident.
It was a late night—one of those sleepless nights where the apartment felt too big and too empty, the bed felt too cold, the sight of his late lovers hoodie curled over an arm chair, like they’d come back and pull it on.
He was curled on the couch, a cup of cooling tea cradled in his hands. He had his phone in his hand, staring at his lockscreen, a photo of him and Yeonjun together, smiling and leaning into each other like magnetic resonance.
And then he sees it:
Yeonjun my Love
The contact was still saved. Still favorited, like nothing had happened.
Soobin presses it, maybe by accident or maybe on purpose. Maybe some small part of him expected Yeonjun to answer. Maybe a more masochist part of him just wanted to hear his boyfriend's voicemail, to hear his voice.
“Hey it’s Yeonjun, can’t get to the phone right now but leave a message and I’ll catch ya later when I get the time ‘kay?”
Beep.
Soobin stares at the phone, the timer signaling the amount of time he’s sat in the silence of the answering machine. Hoping. Praying. Yeonjun might somehow say something else.
—
The second time Soobin calls it’s not by accident, this time he actually speaks into the silence.
“Hey Yeonjun, it’s me.” He murmurs. “I cleaned out our closet today. Found your old purple hoodie. The one I said made you look like a sexy eggplant, remember that?” He laughs dryly. “It still smells like you, I’m not gonna wash it.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, quietly:
“I should have known. I should’ve seen it. Been better for you. Been there for you. I’m…I’m so sorry, Yeonjun.”
Click.
Then the tears.
—
It became an unhealthy ritual after that.
Soobin doesn’t tell anyone about it. Not even the grief counselor he stopped seeing last month. Not his mother who’d he’d been pretending to be okay for. Not his friends, who were trying not to notice his declining mental status.
Every night, he calls. Always after midnight when the world is quiet enough to hear the hum of the light fixtures. The buzz of his own loneliness.
“Hey, it’s Yeonjun, can’t get to the phone right now but leave a message and I’ll catch ya later when I get the time ‘kay?”
Beep.
“It’s me again. The rabbit is chewing the curtains next to his cage again. You used to yell at him for that but I think I’ll leave him be for now. I’m sure he misses you too.”
Click.
“Watched that horror movie you said was spectacular yesterday. It kinda sucked.”
Click.
“Your mom called yesterday. We cried over the phone together. I think that’s the most honest I’ve been with anybody since you…since what happened.”
Click.
“I miss you, Yeonjun.”
Click.
“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me? Why…why didn’t I ask?”
Click.
“I’m so sorry, Yeonjun. God. I'm so sorry.”
Click.
Some nights the messages were long rambling monologues of regret and grief. Other times they were Soobin sobbing his apologies and trailing thoughts of longing to be in Yeonjun’s embrace again. Then sometimes Soobin just whispers goodnight and tries to pretend the silence isn’t swallowing him whole.
He still remembers the last morning. Yeonjun made him coffee, kissed him on the forehead like it was any other day. He even smiled.
By noon Yeonjun was gone.
Blood splattering the walls. A limp hand holding his fathers old work pistol. A note.
The note didn’t blame anyone. That, somehow, hurt even worse.
—
Time passed though Soobin didn’t acknowledge it. Days were blurring together like wet ink. Grief becoming a ritual, a routine.
Eventually he stops introducing himself over the messages. He doesn’t need to anymore. It’s not for anyone else anyways. Just for the ghost who he wanted more than anything to come back from the other side.
—
One night the call goes straight to voicemail. Doesn’t even ring.
Just:
“Hey it’s Yeonjun, can’t get to the phone right now but leave a message and I’ll catch ya later when I get the time ‘kay?”
Soobin hesitates but speaks anyway.
“It’s been six months. I…uh…I don’t know what I’m doing or how I’m feeling anymore. It’s all kind of numb? I still feel you all around me. I haven’t even picked up your dirty socks.”
He leans back on the couch.
“It’s like I’m in love with a ghost. The ghost that’s free from all that pain y'know? Wherever you are now, Yeonjun, I hope you’re happier.”
Silence stretches on the other end of the line.
“I don’t know if I believe in the afterlife. Or heaven. Or whatever people call it. But I keep thinking that somehow you’re hearing my messages in this…in this other place you are. I hope…I hope I see you on the other side.”
—
Weeks pass. Then months.
Soobin doesn’t call everyday anymore. Only sometimes when the day is harder than normal.
He’d stop expecting Yeonjun to respond. It’s ridiculous he even thought that he would in the first place.
Then one night in October. He dials the number.
It rings.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
“Hey, it’s Yeonjun, can’t get to the phone—”
The message cuts off, static.
“Soobin?”
His blood turns to ice.
“…Yeonjun?” he breathes.
There’s a pause. “Yes, Soobin. It’s me.”
It’s his voice. Yeonjun’s real voice. Not that smiling voicemail one. Not the one that said everything was fine when it wasn’t. This one is softer. Heavier. Like Yeonjun was carrying just as much weight as Soobin was.
Soobin swallows. “Am I dreaming?”
“Does it feel like a dream, Soobin?”
He laughs, the sound ragged and forgotten. “Maybe I’ve finally lost my mind.”
“Maybe you have. Or maybe the line finally opened because you couldn’t let me go.”
Soobin sinks to the floor, the phone screen pressed to his cheek.
“You left me, Yeonjun.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you thought I was okay. You thought I was the strongest person in the room. And I didn’t wanna ruin that for you.”
Soobin clenched his jaw. “I should’ve been able to tell. I should have seen it. I lived with you. Slept next to you. How the hell didn’t I know you were—”
He cuts himself off.
“How didn’t I know you weren’t okay? I could’ve done something. I could’ve helped you, Yeonjun.”
There’s a silence over the other line, crackling static.
“You loved me. That really should’ve been enough. And it was…for a while at least. But I was sick, Soobin. I was hurting in a way I didn’t even have the words for.”
Soobin’s voice cracked. “I would’ve waited. I would’ve fought for you.”
“I know that. But I didn’t want you to spend your life dragging me out of dark water just to watch me drown over and over again. I didn’t want to hurt you like that.”
Soobin was crying now, quiet, shuddering sobs.
“What now, Yeonjun? You get to talk to me after? After it’s too late for me to do anything?”
“This isn’t about me anymore, Soobin. It’s about you. It’s about time you stopped hating yourself.”
“I don’t know how.”
Yeonjun inhaled sharply. “Then let me be clear.”
“It’s not your fault. I made a choice. The wrong one. A terrible one. But it was my decision. Nobody caused it. You didn’t cause it. You didn’t have any idea and I needed that. You loved me the best way you knew how. The way I let you.”
Soobin pressed his palm to his chest, trembling.
“You deserved so much better, Soobin.” Yeonjun said, his voice gentler. “I wasn’t your punishment. I was just a person. A broken person. Someone who loved you. Someone who lost a fight I wasn’t strong enough to win.”
Soobin closes his eyes. “What now?”
“You live. You heal. You laugh again. You finally forgive yourself.”
“And when you’re old, tired and good and ready, I’ll be here. Waiting for you.. on the other side.”
The connection flickers.
Soobin panics. “No, wait, Yeonjun, don’t go.”
“I wish I could stay longer but thank you, Soobin. For loving me even when I wasn’t strong enough to love myself. And for calling. I heard every word. Goodbye, Soobin.”
“See you on the other side.”
Click.
The line goes dead.
—
Soobin doesn’t call again. But he doesn’t delete the number either.
He still wears Yeonjun’s purple hoodie. Still keeps the pictures of them together on the fridge.
The guilt doesn’t disappear but it softens its grip.
And then Soobin started smiling again, laughing without guilt. When the weight in his chest becomes bearable. He knows.
Somewhere he knows Yeonjun is listening.