Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun bled through the blinds, slanting golden lines across Nicholas’ living room floor. The apartment was hushed, save for the occasional creak of the ceiling as the summer heat pressed down. Nicholas sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor, surrounded by open boxes that smelled faintly of dust and old paper.

He had promised himself he’d do this months ago — sort through the things he’d carried from his old place, the things he couldn’t throw away but never had the courage to face. He hadn’t expected how heavy cardboard could feel when it carried pieces of another life.

The first box had been easy: mismatched mugs, college notebooks filled with doodles, a scarf he’d forgotten he owned. The second made his chest tighten — polaroids of him and friends, and tucked between them, photos of him and Euijoo.

Nicholas swallowed hard and set those aside before he could look too closely.

The third box was smaller, taped clumsily with worn masking tape. He ripped it open and blinked at what lay inside: a beanie the color of midnight, soft from years of use. He didn’t need to bring it to his face to know what it smelled like — Euijoo’s shampoo, citrusy and clean. His throat closed up, and he set it carefully to the side, like it was made of glass.

Beneath it lay a phone. Its case had once been white but had long since faded to an uneven ivory, the edges scuffed. Nicholas’s breath caught.

It was Euijoo’s phone.

He hadn’t seen it in years. He remembered slipping it into this very box after the funeral, unable to bear the thought of turning it on. Even now, just holding it sent a rush of memories through him — Euijoo laughing at something ridiculous on Instagram, Euijoo using the cracked camera to take blurry selfies, Euijoo’s voice saying, “One day, we’ll look back at all of this and smile.”

Nicholas’s thumb hovered over the dark screen. He told himself not to. He told himself it was a bad idea, that digging into the past would only hurt. But his hands shook as he reached for the nearest charger.

The screen flickered weakly, dim light bleeding into the room. The lock screen appeared, and Nicholas almost laughed through the lump in his throat when his fingers typed in the code without hesitation: 0709.

July 09. Nicholas’ birthday.

For a moment, Nicholas only stared. The wallpaper was still the same: a picture of their hands clasped on a café table, Euijoo’s silver ring gleaming faintly against his olive skin. Nicholas hadn’t thought of that day in years, but here it was — frozen, waiting for him.

His heart thudded. He scrolled, not knowing what he was looking for, until he saw it.

A playlist.

The title was simple but enough to make Nicholas’s breath stutter.

For Nicol, Always.

He didn’t remember ever seeing it. His thumb trembled as he tapped. A list of songs appeared, familiar titles lined up neatly. He wanted to throw the phone away, to run, to not face what those songs would bring back. But he was already too far in.

The first track.

“Fix You” — Coldplay.

The opening chords spilled through the tiny speaker, tiny but unmistakable.

And then the room around him shifted.

Nicholas gasped as the air grew heavy, pressing against his skin. The golden sunlight fractured, and his vision blurred, like being pulled under water. The floor beneath him dissolved, replaced with cool, uneven carpet.

When his sight cleared, his breath caught.

He was in his old dorm room.

The rain outside pattered against the window, and the faint scent of damp books filled the space. At the desk sat a younger version of himself, shoulders hunched, face buried in his arms. His chest heaved with silent sobs.

And then—

“Nicol?”

The voice nearly split Nicholas’s chest in two.

He turned.

There he was. Euijoo.

Alive. Breathing. Beautiful. His dark hair clung damply to his forehead, his sweater soaked from the rain, but his eyes — warm, worried, endless. Nicholas froze, torn between wanting to run into his arms and knowing this wasn’t real.

Past Nicholas lifted his head, eyes red. “I failed again,” he whispered, his voice raw.

Without hesitation, Euijoo crossed the room and pulled him into his arms. He held him tightly, firmly, like Nicholas was something precious that couldn’t break. His hand rubbed circles against Nicholas’s back.

“You didn’t fail,” Euijoo murmured into his hair. “You just fell. That’s different.”

Nicholas — the present one, watching — felt his knees weaken. He wanted to shout, to tell his younger self to cling harder, to tell Euijoo not to ever leave.

Past Nicholas mumbled into Euijoo’s sweater, “I’m so tired. What if I’m not good enough?”

Euijoo pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. His smile was soft, unwavering. “Then we’ll try again. Together.”

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

Nicholas’s vision blurred with tears. The warmth of Euijoo’s arms, the smell of rain on his skin, the safety of his presence — it was all here, real and solid. He reached out instinctively, desperate to touch.

But then the song faded, the notes dissolving like mist.

The room warped, pulling away. The warmth left his skin, and suddenly he was back in his apartment, clutching the cold phone in both hands.

The silence was deafening.

Nicholas sat there, chest heaving, tears streaming down his face. He stared at the screen, at the words For Nicol, Always, glowing faintly.

It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a hallucination. The playlist had brought him back to Euijoo — even if only for a song.

And for the first time in years, Nicholas felt something stir in his chest. Not just grief. Not just longing. But a fragile, impossible hope.

Chapter Text

Nicholas didn’t sleep that night. He sat on the couch, the phone in his hands, replaying in his mind the way Euijoo’s arms had felt around him. Real. Solid. For a fleeting four minutes and fifty-six seconds, he had been given what grief had stolen.

When dawn crept in through the blinds, Nicholas’s eyes burned, but his heart was restless. He set the phone aside, almost afraid to push further. What if it was a one-time miracle? What if the next track brought nothing? Or worse—what if it brought him more than he could handle?

Still, by evening, when the weight of silence became unbearable, he reached for the device again. His thumb hovered over the screen. The next title made his chest ache:

“Yellow” — Coldplay.

The first chords unfurled like sunlight through water. And once again, Nicholas felt the world tilt, felt his body pulled through invisible threads of memory until the living room dissolved.

When his eyes opened, he was lying on his back on soft grass. The night air was crisp, filled with the faint buzz of cicadas. Above him stretched an endless sky, studded with stars. The familiar sprawl of the campus lawn surrounded him, quiet except for the rustle of leaves and the occasional laughter from a group far in the distance.

He turned his head.

Beside him, Euijoo lay on his side, propped up on one elbow, pointing at the heavens with his free hand. His eyes shimmered under the starlight.

“That one’s Orion,” Euijoo said, voice animated. “See? Three stars in a line, right there — his belt.”

Nicholas squinted, following the invisible lines his boyfriend was tracing. “You’re totally making that up.”

“I’m not!” Euijoo laughed, turning onto his back to mirror Nicholas. “My dad taught me. I used to come out every night as a kid to look for it.”

Nicholas smirked, folding his arms behind his head. “So you’re telling me you were always a nerd, even as a child?”

“Yes,” Euijoo replied without hesitation, grinning wide. “And proud of it.”

Nicholas chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.” Euijoo’s words were soft, teasing, but there was a flicker of vulnerability beneath them — as though he wasn’t just joking, but searching for reassurance.

Nicholas turned his gaze from the sky to Euijoo’s face. The starlight caught on his features — the curve of his nose, the slope of his jaw, the way his lips curved even when he wasn’t smiling. Something in Nicholas’s chest tightened. He didn’t answer, but the truth hung unspoken in the air: Yes. I do.

Look at the stars

Look how they shine for you

And everything you do

Yeah, they were all yellow.

Euijoo rolled onto his side again, resting his chin in his hand as he studied Nicholas. “Do you ever wonder,” he said quietly, “if people are looking at the same stars somewhere else? Like, right now, across the world?”

Nicholas hummed. “Maybe.”

“I like that,” Euijoo continued, his eyes dreamy. “It makes me feel less small. Like we’re all connected by something bigger than us.”

Nicholas arched a brow. “That’s either very profound or very cheesy.”

Euijoo laughed again, bright and unguarded, the sound echoing across the lawn. Nicholas felt his lips curve despite himself. He couldn’t remember the last time a laugh had hit him like that — like it reached into his ribcage and rearranged the way his heart beat.

As the song swelled, Nicholas realized he was memorizing the moment. The way the grass tickled his arms, the cool air against his skin, the way Euijoo’s hair stuck out at odd angles from lying on the blanket. The universe above them felt infinite, but all Nicholas could see was him.

Your skin, oh yeah, your skin and bones

Turn into something beautiful

And you know, you know I love you so.

He wanted to reach out, to lace his fingers with Euijoo’s, to confess everything that was thundering in his chest. But he didn’t. Not yet. Instead, he let the silence stretch, comfortable and full.

Euijoo shifted, his shoulder brushing against Nicholas’s. “Hey,” he murmured, tilting his head to look at him. “Thanks for saying yes tonight.”

Nicholas blinked, caught off guard. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Euijoo shrugged lightly. “I don’t know. You… you always seemed a little hard to reach.”

Nicholas’s lips parted, but no words came. He wanted to protest, to say he wasn’t hard to reach, not with him. But maybe Euijoo had been right. Maybe Nicholas had been afraid of letting anyone close. And yet, here he was, lying under the stars with someone who made him feel like the world wasn’t quite so heavy.

The music swirled around them like a confession neither of them was brave enough to say out loud.

And then, before Nicholas could respond, the stars began to blur. The grass dissolved beneath him. Euijoo’s warmth faded like smoke between his fingers.

Nicholas gasped and sat up, back in his dim apartment. His chest heaved as the final notes of Yellow slipped into silence.

He pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes, a choked sound catching in his throat. It wasn’t just a memory — it was reliving. He could feel the grass, hear Euijoo’s laugh, see the glimmer of stars reflected in his eyes.

And it broke him all over again.

Nicholas set the phone down carefully, as though it were fragile. His hands shook. He whispered into the stillness, “Why now? Why are you showing me this now?”

But there was no answer. Only the silence, heavy with ghosts.

Chapter Text

Nicholas stared at the phone for hours before he dared to press play again. The device sat on his coffee table like some ancient relic, its screen faintly glowing in the dim apartment light. He had convinced himself to wait, to pace out the memories like doses of medicine, but his resolve never lasted long.

The silence was unbearable without him.

Finally, with a shaky breath, Nicholas tapped the next track.

“Falling Like the Stars” — James Arthur.

The first notes wrapped around him, warm and tender. And once again, the air shifted, pulling him under.

When Nicholas opened his eyes, he stood in the doorway of a tiny apartment. The walls were bare and scuffed, the wooden floor slightly warped, and the smell of dust and cleaning spray lingered. Cardboard boxes towered in the corners, half-opened, spilling clothes and mismatched kitchenware.

And in the middle of it all — Euijoo.

He wore an apron that fits him perfectly, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he poked at something sizzling in a frying pan on the electric stove.

“It’s not supposed to look like this,” Euijoo muttered under his breath, frowning.

Nicholas couldn’t help it — he laughed, leaning against the doorframe. “What exactly is it supposed to be?”

Euijoo turned, startled. His cheeks flushed faintly as he held up the spatula, revealing a half-burnt, vaguely omelet-shaped creation. “It was… an omelet. Now it’s… abstract art.”

Nicholas smirked. “Looks edible.”

“Edible for who?” Euijoo shot back, his lips twitching with amusement despite himself. “A dragon?”

Nicholas stepped closer, peering into the pan. The smell wasn’t awful, though definitely more smoke than eggs. He reached out, looping his arms loosely around Euijoo’s waist from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. “You’re cute when you’re failing.”

Euijoo made a face, though Nicholas felt the way his boyfriend’s body relaxed into the embrace. “You’re supposed to encourage me.”

“I am,” Nicholas teased. “Encouraging you to give up cooking forever.”

Euijoo elbowed him lightly, but Nicholas caught the quiet laugh that escaped him.

They ended up eating it anyway — sitting cross-legged on the bare floor, plates balanced on their knees. Between bites of burnt egg, they traded exaggerated critiques like food critics on TV, laughing until their stomachs hurt.

“Notes of charcoal,” Euijoo declared with mock seriousness, “and a subtle hint of despair.”

Nicholas nearly choked on his water, laughing so hard he doubled over. “Stop, I can’t—”

By the time the plates were empty, their cheeks hurt from smiling. Nicholas leaned back against a box, sighing as he looked around the messy little apartment.

It wasn’t much. The wallpaper was peeling in places, the heater rattled every few minutes, and the bathroom tiles had definitely seen better days. But as he glanced at Euijoo, sitting in the warm glow of fairy lights he’d already strung across the window, Nicholas felt something in his chest shift.

It was enough.

More than enough.

Euijoo caught him staring. “What?” he asked, tilting his head.

Nicholas shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Nothing. Just… I think I like it here.”

Euijoo’s expression softened. He reached over, his fingers brushing Nicholas’s hand.

“Good. Because this is ours now.”

I swear to God

when I look in your eyes

I see forever in me

Nicholas leaned over, pressing a kiss to Euijoo’s temple. “Home,” he murmured, so quietly he wasn’t sure if he meant for Euijoo to hear.

But Euijoo did. He turned, his smile brighter than any fairy lights. “Yeah. Home.”

For the rest of the night, they unpacked boxes slowly, making more of a mess than progress. Nicholas hung their clothes crookedly in the closet while Euijoo tried to figure out how to assemble a bookshelf without instructions. They fell asleep surrounded by half-open boxes, curled up under a blanket on the floor.

And in the quiet space between dreams and waking, Nicholas remembered thinking — this was it. Not the furniture, not the walls, not the address. This. Him . That was home.

The final notes of the song lingered like a heartbeat, and then the apartment dissolved.

Nicholas blinked and found himself back in the present, his own living room cloaked in silence. His chest ached, but not with emptiness. The memory had left warmth behind, like a flame flickering against the dark.

He pressed the phone to his lips, whispering into the stillness.

“You were my home. ”

Chapter Text

For days, Nicholas avoided the next track.

The phone sat on the edge of his nightstand, the screen dark, the playlist waiting. Every time he thought about pressing play, his chest clenched with dread. He knew what was coming. He didn’t know how, but he knew.

The playlist wasn’t only love stories. It was all of them. Every moment Euijoo had deemed important enough to save. And love was not just warmth and laughter. Love had been storm clouds too.

Finally, one sleepless night, Nicholas caved. His thumb tapped the screen, and the title seared his chest like an old wound reopening:

“All I Want” — Kodaline.

The first heavy chords spilled out, low and aching. Nicholas’s stomach twisted.

The room around him dissolved.

He found himself in the dim light of their first apartment. The fairy lights still clung to the window, but tonight they seemed duller, their glow failing to soften the tension that hung in the air.

Nicholas remembered this night.

And he hated it.

Euijoo stood across the room, arms crossed, his expression a mixture of hurt and frustration. His voice trembled, though not from weakness — from holding back too much for too long.

“You don’t care anymore,” Euijoo said, the words cutting through the silence. “You’re always working, always somewhere else. Do you even see me anymore?”

Nicholas — the younger version — stood near the desk, his fists clenched at his sides. His jaw was tight, his pride like a wall between them. “I’m doing this for us,” he said, his voice low, sharp. “I’m working so we can have a future. You think I want to be gone all the time? You think I want to be this tired?”

“Then what about now?” Euijoo’s voice broke, his eyes shining. “What’s the point of a future if you’re not even here in the present?”

The music swelled, bitter and pleading.

But if you loved me

Why’d you leave me?

Nicholas, the one watching, felt his throat burn. He remembered this fight in painful clarity — how neither of them had meant the words they said, but how pride had made them spit them anyway. He wanted to run forward, to grab his younger self by the shoulders and shake him. Stop. Listen. Hold him before it’s too late.

But he couldn’t. The memory was carved in stone.

Past Nicholas ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “You think I don’t love you? Everything I do is for you, Euijoo. For us. But I can’t—” He stopped, his voice cracking, and then hardened it again, as though vulnerability was something to be ashamed of. “I can’t be everything you need all the time.”

Euijoo flinched. Just slightly, but Nicholas saw it. And it gutted him.

For a long moment, silence filled the room. The fairy lights hummed faintly. The weight of unspoken words pressed down.

Finally, Euijoo whispered, “I don’t need you to be everything, Nico. I just need you to be here.”

The line echoed in Nicholas’s chest like a stone dropped into a well.

But his younger self didn’t answer. He turned away, jaw set, eyes fixed anywhere but on Euijoo.

All I want is nothing more

To hear you knocking at my door

And then, just as quickly as it began, the memory unraveled.

Nicholas gasped as he snapped back into his present-day apartment. His knees buckled, and he sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.

The silence that followed was worse than the fight itself.

Tears slipped through his fingers. It wasn’t just the argument — it was the memory of the weight it had left between them, the way pride had turned love into distance, even if only for a night. He remembered how long it had taken to apologize, how much strength it had cost to swallow pride and reach for each other again.

And now, in the silence, Nicholas whispered the words he had never said that night.

“I see you, Euijoo. I always saw you. I was just too stupid to admit it.”

But there was no one left to hear him. Only the echo of a song that had already ended.

Chapter Text

Nicholas sat on the edge of his bed that night, phone clutched tight in his hands. The fight had left a bruise on his chest that pulsed even now, years later. He could still feel the weight of Euijoo’s words, the hurt in his eyes.

But the playlist wasn’t done. It never left him stranded in the ache.

He wiped his face with the back of his hand and pressed play.

The gentle strum of a guitar filled the silence, warm and familiar.

“I Won’t Give Up” — Jason Mraz.

And the world shifted again.

Nicholas blinked, finding himself back in their apartment, but the air felt different this time. Softer. The fairy lights glowed warmly, painting gold across the walls. A candle flickered on the coffee table, its wax dripping slowly.

On the couch, Euijoo sat curled up under a blanket, his head resting against the cushions. His eyes were tired, but when Nicholas — his younger self — walked in from the kitchen with two mugs of tea, those eyes softened instantly.

“Here,” Past Nicholas said, handing him a mug. His voice was quiet, almost tentative.

Euijoo accepted it with a small smile. “Thanks.”

For a while, they sat in silence, sipping. The only sounds were the faint hum of the song and the occasional clink of porcelain.

Finally, Nicholas broke the quiet. His younger self set the mug down and turned, his expression raw. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked. “For earlier. For… all of it. I didn’t mean—”

Euijoo reached out, brushing his fingers against Nicholas’s. “I know.”

Nicholas’s breath caught, his gaze dropping to where their hands barely touched. “I’m scared,” he admitted, voice breaking. “I keep pushing myself because I don’t want to lose what we have. I don’t want to let you down. But in the process, I…” He swallowed hard. “I keep losing sight of you.”

Euijoo set his mug aside and shifted closer, sliding his hand fully into Nicholas’s, threading their fingers together. His grip was warm, steady. “Nico, you don’t have to prove anything to me. You don’t have to fight so hard all the time. I don’t want some perfect future if it means I don’t get you now.”

Nicholas stared at him, words tangled in his throat.

Euijoo smiled, faint but firm. “I don’t want you to think you have to choose between your dreams and us. I just… I want to be in them too.”

I won’t give up on us

Even if the skies get rough

Nicholas’s younger self pulled him into a tight embrace, burying his face against Euijoo’s shoulder. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I can’t.”

“You won’t.” Euijoo’s voice was steady, full of quiet certainty. He kissed Nicholas’s temple, lingering. “Even when you push me away, I’ll wait. I’ll always wait for you.”

Nicholas — the one watching from the present — felt tears spill hot down his cheeks. That was Euijoo. Always patient. Always steady. Always there, even when Nicholas hadn’t deserved him.

The two younger versions stayed wrapped around each other, the candle flickering gently, the music cocooning them. Their breaths evened, their foreheads pressed together.

And for a moment, Nicholas could almost believe he was back there too — in that fragile, tender night, held by the one person who had ever truly understood him.

But then the song faded, and the warmth unraveled like threads pulled loose.

Nicholas found himself back in his silent apartment, the phone dark in his lap. His chest ached, but this time it wasn’t sharp. It was a deep, steady ache — the kind that came from love that refused to die, even when the person was gone.

He whispered into the quiet, voice trembling but certain:

“You never gave up on me. I should have told you more often that I would never give up on you either.”

The silence felt like an answer.

Chapter Text

Nicholas knew before he pressed play.

The playlist had carried him through laughter, through warmth, through fights and promises. There was only one place left it could go. His heart knew it, his body knew it. His hands trembled anyway as they hovered over the screen.

He whispered into the stillness, as though Euijoo might hear him: “I don’t know if I can do this.”

But he pressed play.

A piano chord drifted out, low and haunting.

“Say Something” — A Great Big World & Christina Aguilera.

The sound pulled him under.

When Nicholas opened his eyes, the world smelled faintly of antiseptic. The room was pale, white walls and dimmed fluorescent light. Machines hummed steadily, their beeps and whirs the rhythm of a fragile heartbeat.

He knew this place.

The hospital.

And there he was—Euijoo—lying in the bed, skin pale, lips dry, but his eyes… his eyes were still him. Warm. Steady. Brighter than anything else in the sterile room.

Nicholas’s younger self sat at the bedside, hunched forward, gripping Euijoo’s hand like a lifeline. His eyes were red, his face streaked from hours of crying.

“I’m right here,” Nicholas whispered, his voice raw. “I’m not going anywhere. Do you hear me? I’m not leaving you.”

Euijoo’s lips curved into the faintest smile. His voice was barely a whisper, but Nicholas caught every word. “You always… so stubborn.”

Nicholas laughed, choked and broken. He pressed his forehead to Euijoo’s hand. “Stubborn enough to hold on to you. Stubborn enough to believe we’ll walk out of here together.”

Euijoo’s thumb brushed weakly against Nicholas’s hand. The effort it cost him made Nicholas’s throat ache. “Nico…” His voice trembled. “If I don’t…”

“No.” Nicholas cut him off instantly, lifting his head, eyes blazing with desperate denial. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it.”

Tears slid from Euijoo’s eyes. He reached up, fingers trembling, and brushed Nicholas’s cheek. “Then let me just say… thank you. For everything. For loving me the way you did.”

Say something

I’m giving up on you

Nicholas broke. His younger self pressed Euijoo’s hand against his face, sobbing. “No, no, no. You don’t thank me. I thank you. You— you gave me everything, Joo. You gave me more than I ever deserved.”

Euijoo smiled faintly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, then opening again, barely holding on. “Promise me something?”

“Anything,” Nicholas choked.

“Don’t… stop living. Don’t stop loving. Even when I’m gone.”

Nicholas shook his head violently, clutching his hand tighter. “Don’t you ask me that. Don’t you dare ask me to let go.”

Euijoo’s gaze softened, endless love in those fading eyes. “I’m not asking you to let go. I’m asking you to carry me with you. Always.”

The present Nicholas, watching from the corner of the room, collapsed against the wall, sobbing. He remembered this. Every word. Every breath. He remembered the way Euijoo’s hand felt so fragile in his, the way he wanted to freeze time, to bargain with the universe for just one more second.

The song rose to its peak, and the machine by the bed slowed, each beep stretching longer than the last.

“No,” Nicholas whispered. “No, no, no, please…”

His younger self pressed kisses to Euijoo’s knuckles, frantic. “Stay. Please stay. I can’t do this without you.”

And with a final breath, Euijoo whispered, “You can. You will. For me.”

The line held, then flatlined.

Nicholas screamed.

The sound tore through the sterile room, raw and animal. He collapsed forward onto the bed, clinging to Euijoo’s body like he could hold him there, anchor him to this world. Nurses rushed in, voices urgent, but all Nicholas could hear was the ringing silence of the flatline.

The memory shattered.

Nicholas slammed back into his present-day apartment, chest heaving, sweat on his forehead, his throat hoarse from silent sobs. His phone slipped from his shaking hand onto the couch.

The song ended.

And for the first time, Nicholas wished the playlist would stop.

Because reliving that goodbye had ripped him open all over again.

Chapter Text

The apartment was quiet again.

Nicholas sat slumped on the couch, the ghost of Euijoo’s touch still clinging to his skin, the echo of the hospital’s flatline still ringing in his ears. He hadn’t cried this hard in years — not since that night. But the playlist had dragged him back, and he couldn’t outrun it anymore.

The phone lay facedown beside him, waiting. He knew what it meant. One last song. One last memory. And then it would all be gone.

He stared at it for a long time, afraid. Afraid of what it would show him. Afraid of what would be left when it ended.

Finally, with trembling hands, he picked it up and pressed play.

A gentle piano melody began, quiet and hopeful. The kind of song that was made for beginnings and endings all at once.

“The Night We Met” — Lord Huron.

The world shifted one final time.

When Nicholas opened his eyes, he wasn’t in their apartment. Not the hospital. Not the kitchen, or the studio, or the living room with fairy lights.

He was back at the beginning.

The memory unfolded in front of him: a crowded little bar, warm lights strung across the ceiling, voices and laughter spilling around like waves. Nicholas had just turned 19, dragged here by friends who insisted he needed to live a little.

And across the room, at a small table with a sketchbook open in front of him, sat Euijoo.

Hair falling into his eyes, pencil tapping absently, completely lost in his own world.

Nicholas remembered this moment vividly. The way he couldn’t stop staring. The way his chest had tightened with a strange certainty, like the universe had shifted under his feet.

His younger self worked up the courage, walked across the room, and said a shaky, “Hey. What are you drawing?”

Euijoo looked up, startled at first. Then he smiled.

Nicholas, watching from the present, felt his heart break all over again. That smile. It had been the start of everything.

The music swelled softly.

I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

The memory blurred at the edges, but Nicholas wasn’t ready for it to end. He stepped forward, desperate, as though he could intervene, as though he could stop time.

And this time, Euijoo looked at him. Not the younger Nicholas at the table — him. The Nicholas from now.

His heart stopped.

“Juju?” Nicholas whispered.

Euijoo’s eyes softened, like he knew. Like he had been waiting.

“Hi, Nico,” Euijoo said, his voice warm and steady, just as Nicholas remembered. “You found the playlist.”

Nicholas’s throat closed. Tears spilled fast and hot down his cheeks. “I don’t want it to end. Please. Don’t make me lose you again.”

Euijoo stood, moving closer. His hand reached up, brushing against Nicholas’s cheek — warm, impossibly warm. “You’re not losing me. You never did.”

Nicholas clutched his wrist, desperate. “Then why does it hurt so much?”

“Because it mattered,” Euijoo whispered. “Because what we had was real. And real love always hurts when it changes shape.”

Nicholas shook his head violently. “I can’t do this without you. I don’t know how.”

Euijoo’s smile was sad and gentle. “You already are. Every day you’ve kept going, even when it felt impossible — that was you living for both of us. You carried me in all the little ways. In the coffee you still make too sweet. In the sketch you kept in your drawer. In every song you pressed play on.”

Nicholas sobbed, leaning into his touch. “I miss you so much.”

“I know.” Euijoo leaned closer, pressing their foreheads together one last time. “And you always will. But that’s not the end of us. It just means I’m part of you now, wherever you go.”

The music rose to its final verse. The memory began to fade, light bleeding in from the edges. Nicholas clung to him, terrified. “Please, stay—”

Euijoo smiled softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ll see you in the music.”

And then he was gone.

Nicholas gasped awake on his couch, the phone screen dark. The playlist had ended.

The silence was deafening. For a long time, he sat there, empty and aching, staring at nothing.

But then, slowly, he picked up the phone again. He opened the music app. His finger hovered over “Replay.”

He didn’t press it.

Instead, he scrolled, found a blank playlist, and typed in a new title:

“for juju”

His hands shook as he added the first song — one they used to sing together in the car, laughing off-key. Then another. And another. Songs that reminded him not just of the pain, but of the joy. The love. The life they had shared.

Tears blurred his vision, but he was smiling through them. Soft. Bittersweet.

Euijoo was gone. But he was here, too. In every note. In every breath. In every beat of Nicholas’s stubborn, surviving heart.

Nicholas pressed play on the new playlist.

And for the first time since the night he lost him, the music didn’t hurt quite as much.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6HeL8rAXlB1JVYHvH4JFYI?si=y1oPRKuOS6m03yGiOde1lQ&pi=IhTimVjNTRStE