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Seungkwan curled in upon himself, the tears not yet there but surely on their way.
There is not one correct way to respond to death, to show grief. Some show it immediately, screaming and crying and expressing their heartbreak through wails and moans and “no, it can't be true”s. Some don't believe it at all, taking days or even weeks before it hits them. Some are angry; angry at themselves for not being able to do anything, angry at doctors who couldn't save their loved one, even angry at the person who passed away. Some isolate themselves, others refuse to be alone.
For Seungkwan, it came upon him like a wave, but in slow motion. It was as if he was watching himself lay on the sand, the large wave looming over him before crashing down slowly. There was nothing he could do, his feet were locked in place and he couldn't scream for it to stop, pull himself out of the way. He could only watch as it happened.
When the tears came, they started as just a few drops falling down his cheeks and onto his lips, making him taste salt and sadness and then the dam broke loose. He sobbed, his face contorting as he wept and cried out, shoulders shaking with the force of it all.
Nobody wants to hear the words “They are dead” about the ones they love. When you are sat down, told that there is something you need to know, you expect the worst. What you believed to be the worst, at least. Sometimes, tragically, what you expected was infinitely better than reality.
To watch someone you love experience grief over the death of someone they loved is terrible. Sometimes, you are grieving yourself, and you are stuck between a desire to help the one who is hurting but also take time to cry and mourn.
Hansol felt numb as he watched Seungkwan cry. He felt helpless, because what could he do to help? Comforting words cannot bring a person back, stop the pain of the one who misses them. They can ease the pain, but that's a band-aid fix on a gunshot wound.
As Hansol sat beside Seungkwan, his hand reached out to stroke the boy’s back gently, Seungkwan shook with sobs that seemed to tear him up from inside, and Hansol waited, patting his back or his hair.
When Seungkwan finally spoke, his voice was cracked and thick. He cleared his throat and tried again, “They're gone.”
“Yeah.” Hansol whispered, laying down but so that he was facing Seungkwan, “They are.”
There was silence after that. Not awkward silence necessarily, but not the good kind either. Sad silence.
“You don't think this could happen to you. It happens to people in movies, in television shows. Not to you. Not to people you love.” Seungkwan’s voice cracked at the end, and Hansol took his hand, gently squeezing it. There wasn't much to say, and Hansol knew Seungkwan understood.
“I regret some things-” Seungkwan started, but Hansol cut him off.”
“You aren't blaming yourself, are you?”
“No. I'm not. This wasn't my fault, I know that. I just wish I didn't spend as much time angry with them. Hugged them more, said I loved them more.”
Hansol turned to face Seungkwan, his face serious but still comforting and loving. He wiped a tear away with his thumb as he spoke. “No matter what, you'd have regrets. You could have spent every second of your life with them, or called them every night to tell them you love them. You'd still wish you had done more.” He paused, pulling Seungkwan in for a hug.
“And I know they loved you, and they knew you loved them too.”