Work Text:
His hoodie still sits on the coat rack like it had the day he left, haphazardly tossed and barely hanging onto the metal hook.
Sunghoon would always fix it once Jake had pressed a tender kiss to his cheek followed by a sheepish I'll tidy up when I get back, promise, that Sunghoon would always scoff at. He would say that about his hat on the table by their doorway too, but when he got home everything would be in order and there would be nothing to tidy and nothing to fix. Just the way Sunghoon liked it.
His chipped coffee mug still sits on the counter, right where Sunghoon had placed it, threatening to throw it away.
It's still good! Jake would always exclaim, even if Sunghoon had watched him day after day shrink his shoulders as his face with twist into one of utter concentration, his tongue peeking out between his lips as Sunghoon watched with amusement as he muttered prayers under his breath that it wouldn't break as the hot coffee poured into it.
They all sit right where Jake left them that day. Frozen in time, balancing delicately like they were waiting for the right moment to fall off the coat hook or dangle off the table or finally crack even if there wasn't hot coffee to pour.
The old him would have fixed them in a heartbeat, eager to tidy and keep their space somewhat organized—but he hasn't had the heart to fix it.
Not for the months it's been since the hoodie was placed there for the last time, sleeves drooping and grazing one of his own cardigans like they were holding hands.
Sunghoon would stare at it during early mornings, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment as he tried to remember what the weight of Jake's hand felt like against his palm, what his fingers felt like when they grazed his knuckles and danced across his face, tracing constellations only Jake seemed to know how to find.
But there was no hand to sneakily interlock with his beneath blankets during movies, no hand to pretend to trace his moles as a smiling face greeted him with love that felt overwhelming. Twinkling with the kind of adoration that made Sunghoon's breath catch in his throat as Jake would laugh and rest his head against Sunghoon's shoulder.
Then, on an empty couch, void of anything besides the one blanket that didn't smell like him and the discomfort of weightlessness, he'd let himself cry, burying his face into the blanket to try and quell the tears that no one was allowed to see. He'd cry for long enough that his breath would grow unsteady and his throat would tighten with a million more things on his mind that didn't exist to him anymore.
Late nights in. Hands intertwined. Lips dancing across his own. A bed that was big enough for two.
Now, he's alone. He sits on that empty couch and watches the sun rise beyond curtains, holding the cup Jake had made for him at a pottery shop without a single drop of liquid in it, wondering if up there, Jake remembers these things too.
Can he remember? Does he think even in death?
Sunghoon knows it's a stupid question. His body is buried six feet beneath the ground a fifteen minute walk away, becoming one with the earth. There is nothing to think about if you cannot think at all, but Jake always liked to believe that there was no such thing as a stupid question.
Only ones that people don't have the courage to answer, Jake would say. But that doesn't make them unanswerable. There's so many things we don't know and can't explain—but even the things that will never have a definitive answer can be answered with hope and faith. That’s the beauty of it—if you believe, there can be an answer.
So Sunghoon likes to believe that Jake’s mind is still rattling with a million different thoughts he never could forget and a million more things that he could, rambling things Sunghoon never had the capability to understand.
That he's somewhere out in the beyond, his eyes twinkling with glee and his hands excitedly moving as he explains and subsequently over explains for an audience, doing what he'd do if he was here.
That maybe, on rainy cold days, the kinds that they liked to spend together inside, he still breathes, walking through rainy streets that couldn't soak him anymore as he finds his way home.
Home. Sunghoon doesn't know if he can call this apartment a home without him.
It's been months. Long enough that people are beginning to forget. The sheets are starting to lose the smell of Jake's cologne and his PC and keyboard are beginning to collect dust and the packets of ramyeon Jake had hoarded in the cupboard are beginning to expire because time is passing, even if he isn't here to see it.
It's been months, long enough for Sunghoon to have the courage to go back to work in-person after sheltering himself for weeks in the aftermath, because the office didn't feel as lonely as an empty, quiet apartment.
It's been months, long enough for people to wonder if Sunghoon will ever have the courage to let go.
His engagement ring still sits upon his finger.
The small venue they had booked for the ceremony still haunts him as he spends hours each night trying to work up the courage to cancel all the plans they had made, to send that email letting them know that there would be no wedding—because letting go of what was supposed to be his future felt like letting go of the only love he had ever known.
He can see the pity in people's eyes every time. Sunoo would drop by with a smile and a gentle offer for Sunghoon to join him to check out a new café or restaurant, his gaze softening into something a little sad when he’d help Sunghoon pull himself together, watching as Sunghoon fiddled with his ring.
He'd pose hypotheticals when Sunghoon got too lost in his head. Do you think Jake-hyung would’ve liked this place? What do you think he'd order? Oh, do you think he'd make a face at the taste of this? He always had so many opinions on food.
Sunghoon would answer them every time, even if he could see Sunoo's smile drooping into something more subdued when Sunghoon would talk until his coffee went cold, untouched.
Jake would want a sip of this, he'd say when Sunoo would quirk his head and point at the cold coffee. I want him to enjoy it, even if he can't taste it. I didn't really have the stomach for coffee anyways.
Jay would call him on nights when the empty space hurts too much, asking him if he wanted to just take a walk.
He sees the way Jay's lips press thin before they curl into a hesitant smile when Sunghoon steps out of the apartment with Jake's hoodie on, clinging to the fabric like it will disappear when he lets go. He feels the way Jay will wrap an arm around him as he squeezes his shoulder when Sunghoon ends up unconsciously leading them to Jake's favorite park, right beside the river.
I know I’m not you, that I've never been in your position, Jay would murmur, when Sunghoon rambles about Jake for a little too long, his voice growing weary the longer it sinks in that he isn't here. But I hope you know that if Jake could come back, just for a moment—he would tell you it's okay to begin to let go.
But that means forgetting, Sunghoon would say in return. And I'm not ready to forget.
Jay used to argue with him about that. Moving on doesn't mean forgetting. Living for yourself again doesn't make you selfish. He would want you to be happy, he would want you find happiness in things and people that aren't him—
But he's stopped trying. Because Sunghoon thinks he knows that Sunghoon isn't ready for the world to change without Jake, even if it already has. Because Sunghoon still feels like he isn't ready to live without him.
It's been months. Almost a year now. Birthdays have gone by and been celebrated and the few people that stayed, not only for him, but for Jake, shuffle in and out of their apartment when they know the silence feels like punishment.
They carefully avoid all the things Sunghoon has kept untouched since Jake died, after spending a month walking on eggshells when Sunghoon would snap at the drop of a pin, screaming when they accidentally grazed Jake's hoodie or moved his shoes or touched the mug no one else was allowed to. It's been long enough that there's a routine. Jay and Sunoo visit weekly, Heeseung and Jungwon when they can, and Riki when he finally has the courage to step inside after spending months hurting like Sunghoon has.
I'm sorry, hyung, Riki had said when he stood in the doorway for the first time in a long time, all gangly limbs and a solemn face as he tried not to look at the hoodie and the shoes and the little framed photo Jake had set on the table by the entryway, grinning and flashing his ring as Sunghoon did the same. But I couldn't…I didn't know how to come back here.
Sunghoon understood. He understood when he pulled Riki inside and into a hug, barely composed himself.
I still don't know how to come back here either sometimes, Sunghoon admitted. But I'm really trying. I'm just happy you're here. He missed you just as much as I did.
Even if it's been months, Sunghoon likes to pretend that sometimes, he's still here. He likes to think that when they celebrated Jake's birthday, the candles went out because Jake was there, ready to celebrate too. He likes to think that when everyone went home and it was just Sunghoon and the cake and the gift Jake would never open, the ribbons were tugged and the wrapping was peeling because Jake tried his best to unwrap it, even if it was impossible to believe.
He likes to think that on the night of his birthday, when the world was quiet and Sunghoon stood out on the balcony in the chilly air, bundled in Jake's hoodie and cupping that mug Jake had made for him, the warmth that enveloped him when his eyes shut was Jake trying to give him the biggest hug he could muster.
He's terrified of forgetting. Of leaving this world they built behind in exchange for one where he'd have to accept that Jake wouldn't be there.
But even though it's been months, even though he’s been grieving and hollow, even though he's desperate to stay in the world he thought he'd always have—
He's beginning to realize that maybe Jake did want him to start to move on like the rest of the world was.
The apartment feels warmer when everyone is in it. The nights feel a little less quiet when Riki sends him a song he thinks he’d like and Sunoo asks for his opinion on the drama he's convinced Sunghoon to watch and Jay calls so they can talk for hours until Sunghoon has the courage to fall asleep.
Sunghoon can muster the strength to clean the PC and keyboard and tuck a mug Jake left out away, even make himself some tea in the mug Jake made because what greets him is a gentle touch against his spine and the ghost of a warmth he was afraid he'd never remember.
When Sunghoon goes to bed tonight, he’ll try to dream of better things. Fond memories that leave him nostalgic. The sound of Jake's laughter chiming like bells in his ear, except this time, he won't cry. The whisper of a voice he's heard over and over again on all the voice messages Jake loved to send, sweet and honey-like and his.
I love you, Hoon-ah, it whispers when he finally closes his eyes, the phantom touch of a hand against his cheek making him smile.
“Jakey,” he murmurs, as a gentle hum greets him.
“Love you too.”