Chapter Text
‘Time is a healer’, they’d always told Shota. Then why couldn’t time heal Keeho?
He left too soon. Too young. Shota was too young as well. Left alone to fend for himself in the big wide world.
No amount of justice could put his mind at peace. The drunk driver who slammed into Keeho’s car head-on? Jailed. For exactly as long as he deserved. But that didn’t mean anything, really, did it?
It didn’t stop the grief that was eating Shota alive.
And now, he was the only living one of the two, sat there, at the other’s funeral.
It was nothing like he had imagined. If anything, he thought he’d be gone first, and now he wished he was. It was just suffering and crying and hugging that didn’t really mean anything. People who didn’t know Keeho that personally were there. They didn’t know how it really felt. Didn’t know how it felt to have your whole world ripped out of your hands, decades earlier than the universe promised.
Shota found himself wandering towards Taeyang, Keeho’s long-term boyfriend. And that’s where he stands right now.
“Hey,” Shota says flatly. “I hope you’re not doing too bad.”
Taeyang chuckles emptily. “Of course I’m doing bad. My boyfriend died, Shota.”
Shota doesn’t know what to do or what to say. His hand reaches out for Taeyang’s shoulder. Taeyang flinches at the touch. It’s familiar in a painful sense.
It’s too silent. Unbearably silent.
Taeyang’s eyes dart away, then down to his tie. He adjusts it slightly, coughs, and says, “I’m… gonna go. See you later.”
Shota just awkwardly waves in response, feeling guilty about that whole interaction, before turning around and heading to the garden.
Each footstep echoes and pain rings in his ears. Everything hurts nowadays. Suffering’s relentless.
He makes it outside after a walk that seemed to stretch on forever with endless grief. Shota looks around, confirms there’s no one near, and sinks to the ground.
He sobs and chokes, arms hugging his knees. The tears fall endlessly, like a waterfall of regret. A stream of lost time. There’s no way to mend this pain, he thinks.
…
The funeral stretches on and on, the same generic speeches repeated from people who didn’t actually truly care. Taeyang’s speech was a lot more meaningful. Bittersweet memories, laughs, aches… raw emotion.
…
As the funeral fizzled to an end, the crowd began fading, sorry goodbyes flooding the air. Shota, despite his pain being some of the most extreme out of everyone who attended, was one of the last to leave.
When him and Taeyang are alone in the parking lot, Taeyang apologises for being distant. The two briefly exchange their shared emotions.
“Want a lift? I’m passing by the uni anyway.” He offers, politely.
“No thank you, I’ll walk.” Shota replies. Without any objection, Taeyang turns away, getting in his car, and driving off.
Shota’s alone - well, he’s always been alone, since the day Keeho died.
He has nothing left to do except just go back to his dorm, as he said he would. His shoes crackle against the worn pavement and he begins another journey, filled with nothing but hardship and glossy eyes (that try) suppressing feelings.
As he’s walking back to campus, his mind is both empty and full at the same time. He feels empty, but also too occupied. Too desperate. Too hopeful that maybe this isn’t the last he’ll see of Keeho. Too devastated when he comes crashing down to the realisation it definitely is. Too intoxicated by the cycle he’s trapped in. The cycle of hopes (and those hopes being crushed) recycling over and over.
…
The campus is recognisable. It’s very large. The dorms are generic. Two people in each. Or one, if you’re Shota. Now that Keeho’s gone.
Despite the fact the walk is very prolonged - about thirty minutes - Shota hasn’t stopped crying the whole way back. His eyes fail to hide his grief, his tears fail to hide his pain.
He finally makes it to where he’s supposed to be, hurting inside and out. He slams his key into the lock, done with life, when he feels a brush against his arm.
Oh, great. Just what I wanted. More human interaction.
He’s quick to plaster a hospitable smile across his face, wishing to avoid any unwanted questions.
He turns around, and it’s a boy, around his age (who he thinks he’s seen on campus before), frowning empathetically.
“Hey, are you doing alright?” The stranger asks, softly, “I’ve noticed you’re crying…”
“I appreciate it, but yeah, I’m fine.” Shota replies blankly.
“I don’t mean to cross any boundaries—“ he reaches into his bag, “—or make you uncomfortable—“ he pulls out a packet of tissues, and places them in Shota’s hands, “—but I’m a therapist… in training, and I wanted to let you know I’m free to talk any time.”
…
He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to. But somehow, he ended up in the mystery boy’s dorm.
“I’m Jongseob.” He says sweetly, as he walks Shota toward the couch.
“Shota.” He replies, failing to hold back an appreciative grin.
“So, Shota, fire away. You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to, and if it becomes too much, you can stop. Make yourself comfortable, and remember, I’m right here.”
Shota sits on the couch. It’s soft and fluffy with blankets thrown over the side. The textures calm his aching limbs. He melts into the fabric, exhausted.
He begins telling Jongseob his story. From the very beginning. All the way up to the very end - the end of Keeho.
He gets a little teary-eyed when mentioning the hospital visits. The day the doctors told him Keeho was gone. The moment both of them died, but only one stopped breathing.
Yet he never cries. At least not until Jongseob speaks.
“Oh, that must be so hard, Shota. I’m really sorry.”
That’s it. The words no one’s ever said to him. Not once this whole time. And a stranger just did it.
Once again, he didn’t intend to. He didn’t intend to cry, just like he didn’t intend to walk into Jongseob’s dorm.
”Jongseob…” Is all he could make out. All his throat would let escape.
“Shota…” He replies, opening his arms invitingly.
Shota dives straight into his arms. Right into that stranger’s arms. And Shota hates physical touch.
Jongseob just sits there, stroking his hair and holding him as he tries to stifle tears and fails miserably.
Holding Shota makes him feel some sort of unexplained feeling he can’t quite name.
It didn’t feel safe. It didn’t feel secure. But boy oh boy, did it feel easy. It felt so easy to be comforted by someone who didn’t care who you were, what you’ve done, or didn’t know anything about your past.
…
Seconds stretch into minutes, and minutes stretch into hours - before they know it, it’s dark outside.
“It’s getting dark, Shota. Shall I take you home?”
“Take me- pfft. I can go myself.” Shota replies, voice quiet and broken.
He untangles himself from Jongseob’s arms and shudders at the sudden temperature difference, before swinging his legs down off the couch and attempting to stand up. His legs immediately wobble and go limp. Luckily, Jongseob is smart and he knew this would happen, so he catches Shota. Shota’s jaw hangs low to the floor and he feels like breaking down all over again, knowing a complete stranger has seen him so vulnerable like this.
He’d always been good at masking his emotions. He and Keeho had each other to rely on when in the comfort of their own dorm, then they went back to picture-perfection.
When Keeho died, Shota lost that privilege. And he just crumbled. Stopped volunteering at the coffee shop. Isolated himself. Started handing in assignments way later than he usually would - still on time - but later. To put it simply, he became a version of himself Keeho would’ve absolutely hated.
“Hey, easy.” Jongseob says, steadying Shota.
He flusters immediately, embarrassed that he needs help with such a simple task such as standing up.
“I- I don’t need your help!”
“It’s okay to feel embarrassed or angry after sharing as much information as you did, Shota. I understand.”
He- he understands. He really does. It’s the first time anyone’s ever understood.
“Fine. You can walk me back.” Jongseob smiles, and Shota can’t help but reciprocate the same energy.
“I know you don’t fully trust me yet, Shota, and I’m not asking you to, but I promise you I’m not a bad person.”
“I- I never said you were!” Jongseob stands, taking Shota’s hand, and he guides him to the front door like a lost puppy.
As Jongseob’s hand turns the doorknob and the door inches open, Shota’s voice cracks. It’s quiet and careful, but he says, very distinctly,
“Thank you for this, really.”
“Hmm?” Jongseob pulls him gently out of the dorm.
“I just realised I never said thank you.”
The door clicks softly, along with Jongseob’s chuckle. Shota looks back at the beaming boy, and notices he has a snaggle tooth. He can’t help but find it slightly cute.
But not like that, he tells himself.
“You’re welcome.” The reply is simple.
On the short walk to Shota’s dorm, when he isn’t telling Jongseob which way to turn, they talk about life in general. University majors, coffee orders, all the usual stuff.
Nothing about death. Nothing about Keeho.
Dropping him off at his door, Jongseob waves goodbye to Shota, feeling pleased that he’d done something nice for the world that day.
No empty promises to see each other again, no established label, no pressure, just a lighthearted interaction. Something short and sweet, almost.
That’s it, back to strangers now.
As Jongseob turns to leave, turns to walk away from the broken mess of the boy that is Shota, he feels a little guilty, but he doesn’t doubt Shota’s capable of paving his own path, so he pushes his guilt down.
He suddenly feels a hand gripping his wrist, urgently. He turns back to see Shota staring into his eyes, looking a bit sad.
“Can I give you my number?” He murmurs.
Suddenly, all his guilt washes away, and it’s replaced with determination. Determination that he’ll help Shota find who he is again.
So he enthusiastically pulls out his phone, handing it to Shota trustfully, then shoving it back in his pocket when he receives it back.
“I’ll text you.” Jongseob says, and it isn’t an offer, it’s a fact.
“See you around, Jongseob.” Shota whispers, before disappearing and dissolving into his dark dorm.
When his door closes and Jongseob’s left alone, he doesn’t feel alone or cold. He feels… complete.
Like maybe he’d been missing Shota for his whole life - he just didn’t realise it.