Work Text:
It has been weeks since Jihoon killed himself.
Seungcheol didn’t dare to touch Jihoon's room.
It stayed exactly the way Jihoon had left it. Chair slightly turned, headphones hanging off the edge of the desk, unfinished instrumentals frozen mid progress like time itself had refused to move forward.
Everyone else had tried to clean it up.
Seungcheol hadn’t let them.
“Leave it,” he had said. “Just… leave it.”
Because if nothing changed, then maybe, just maybe, it would feel like Jihoon could still walk in at any moment, complain about the mess, and fix everything like he always did.
But he didn’t.
And the silence grew heavier with each passing day.
The funeral had been a blur.
Faces he barely recognized. Words he couldn’t process. Hands on his shoulders that he shrugged off without meaning to.
Jihoon was gone.
That was the only thing that stayed clear.
Gone in a way that didn’t feel real, didn’t make sense, didn’t fit into anything Seungcheol understood about the world.
He kept expecting to wake up.
He didn’t.
It was a week later when Seungcheol finally went back to Jihoon's room alone.
The door creaked as he pushed it open, and for a moment, he just stood there.
“Hey,” he said softly, like Jihoon might still be there. “I’m back.”
The words echoed.
Seungcheol let out a shaky laugh, rubbing his face. “Yeah… I know. Stupid.”
He stepped inside.
Everything was exactly the same.
And somehow, that made it worse.
He moved toward the desk slowly, fingers brushing against the surface, tracing the familiar marks and scratches Jihoon used to complain about.
“You hated this desk,” he murmured. “Said it was uneven.”
His voice cracked.
“You were right.”
Silence.
Seungcheol swallowed hard and reached for the keyboard, intending to move it just to do something, anything.
That’s when he felt it.
Something taped underneath.
He frowned, flipping the keyboard slightly.
A folded piece of paper.
His heart stuttered.
For a second, he didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Then, slowly, he peeled it off.
On the front, in handwriting he knew too well.
'Coups hyung.'
Seungcheol’s hands started to shake.
“No…” he whispered.
He sank into the chair without realizing it, eyes locked on the note like it might disappear if he blinked.
“Jihoon…” his voice broke. “What is this…?”
His fingers trembled as he unfolded it.
---
"Coups hyung,
If you’re reading this, then I guess I couldn’t say any of this out loud.
I’m sorry.
I know that’s probably the worst way to start this, especially to you. You hate apologies that don’t come with explanations. So I’ll try to explain. I don’t know if I’ll do a good job.
I’ve been tired for a long time.
Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes. It’s deeper than that. It’s like something in me has been worn down slowly, day by day, and I didn’t notice how bad it got until I couldn’t recognize myself anymore.
College was supposed to be different. I thought if I worked harder, did better, became someone I could be proud of, then maybe everything in my head would quiet down. But it didn’t.
It just got louder.
Every expectation. Every mistake. Every little thing I thought I could handle started piling up. And I kept telling myself I could manage it, because that’s what I always do, right? I manage. I endure.
But I think I reached a point where enduring wasn’t enough anymore.
I didn’t know how to ask for help.
That’s not your fault. Please don’t think it is. You were always there. You always made it so easy for everyone else to lean on you.
Maybe that’s why I couldn’t.
Because I saw how much you were already carrying so much.
You take care of everyone, hyung. Even when you’re falling apart, you still put other people first. I didn’t want to be another thing you had to worry about.
I didn’t want to see that look on your face, the one you get when you realize someone’s hurting and you blame yourself for not noticing sooner.
So I stayed quiet.
I told myself it would pass, but it didn’t.
It got worse.
Some days, I felt like I was disappearing even while I was sitting right next to you. Like I was there, but not really there. Like everything around me was moving and I was stuck somewhere behind it, watching.
It scared me.
And I didn’t know how to tell you that without sounding like I was breaking.
I didn’t want to break in front of you.
Not when you’ve always been the one holding everyone else together.
I know you would’ve listened.
I know you would’ve stayed.
That’s what makes this harder to write.
Because you were the one person I wanted to run to.
And I didn’t.
I’m sorry for that more than anything.
I’m sorry for every time you asked if I was okay and I said yes.
I’m sorry for every time you looked at me like you knew something was wrong and I still couldn’t say it.
I’m sorry I made you believe I was stronger than I actually was.
I’m not writing this because I want you to understand everything. I don’t think anyone can fully understand what goes on inside someone else’s head.
I’m writing this because I want you to know that none of this was because of you.
You were never the reason.
If anything, you were the reason I stayed as long as I did.
You made things lighter, even when I couldn’t feel it completely.
You made me laugh when I didn’t think I could.
You made me feel like I wasn’t completely alone.
And I’m sorry that wasn’t enough to keep me here.
I wish it was.
If there’s one thing I regret, it’s not telling you how much you mean to me.
You’re not just someone I look up to.
You’re not just someone who took care of me
You're not just my lover. You were my home too, hyung.
Again, I'm sorry I couldn’t stay.
Please don’t carry this with you.
Please don’t turn this into something you blame yourself for.
You did everything right.
I just… couldn’t keep up anymore.
Thank you for being there, even when I'm at my lowest.
I’m really, really sorry.
Live with love, seungcheol.
— Jihoon"
—
The paper trembled in Seungcheol’s hands.
For a long time, he didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t think.
The words sat heavy in his chest, pressing against something fragile, something already cracked beyond repair.
“You said it wasn’t my fault,” he whispered hoarsely.
His voice sounded unfamiliar.
Broken.
“But you didn’t give me a chance to prove that I could’ve made you stay."
A tear slipped down, landing softly on the ink, blurring part of Jihoon’s name.
Seungcheol quickly wiped it away, like he could protect the letter from being ruined—like this was the only piece of Jihoon he had left.
“You were never a burden,” he said, louder this time, even if no one was there to hear it. “Not once.”
His grip tightened around the page.
“You should’ve told me,” he choked. “I would’ve listened. I would’ve-"
His voice broke. The sentence never finished.
Because there was nothing left to fix.
Nothing left to say that could reach him.
Seungcheol pressed the letter against his chest, curling forward slightly as if trying to hold himself together.
“You were my home too,” he whispered.
The room stayed silent.
Only Seungcheol's broken sobs were heard.
