Work Text:
six days after.
Jongseob remembers the day he met Shota.
The summer of 2012, before the world had lost its color. The sky was a striking blue with a few clouds interfering with the otherwise clear view.
Jongseob was being chased around said park by his long time friend, Kim Jungsu, newly reintroduced by his mother as his tutor. Him and Jungsu were playing an impromptu game of tag (aka, avoiding studying.)
Thinking the pavement ahead was empty, he turned back to Jungsu to tease him— only to instead fall flat on his face. He looked down at the sleek black skateboard he'd tripped on and frowned. Where'd that come from?
Standing above him was an oddly dressed teenage boy, band-aids on both knees and what seemed to be alien-shaped glasses on his head. Jongseob stared up at him before scrambling off of the ground.
He opened his mouth to apologize, but his brain apparently had other plans. "Your hair is pink," he blurted out.
The boy blinked in confusion, not expecting that reply. "Yeah." His voice was quiet, softer than Jongseob expected. A bit on the higher side, but he knew some people hit puberty later than others.
Before Jongseob could say anything, much less apologize for tripping over him, his friend caught up with him. He stopped to catch his breath before mumbling, "You win." Jongseob always won.
"Who's this?" Jungsu asked, squinting at the stranger standing next to them.
A beat passed and Jongseob looked to the pink haired boy, tilting his head. "Who're you?"
The boy pointed to himself. "Haku Shota." He spoke with a bit of an odd accent, but he sounded fluent enough. "You broke my skateboard."
Jongseob looked down at the board he'd tripped over, realizing that it was, in fact, split in half. He frowned, looking back up at Shota. "I'm sorry. Hey, give me your ID. I'll pay you back."
Shota blinked again. Jongseob noticed it seemed to be a habit of his. "But-"
Jongseob cut him off with a shake of his head. He held out his small phone, gesturing to him with a sharp determination in his gaze. Shota took the phone, reluctantly adding his information.
After that, they grew to be close. Jongseob teased Shota about his weird fashion sense and demeanor, and in return Shota dangled the broken skateboard over his head. Perfect friendship, if you asked him.
Jongseob sighed, rubbing his damp eyes. If only he'd cherished those memories more. If only he'd spent more time with Shota, with the boy he'd grown to protect and care for and love.
Would he have noticed then? Noticed the exact moment his eyes stopped reflecting the stars? Noticed when he stopped eating, when he stopped going out, when he stopped trying? Would he have caught it quicker?
Jongseob gripped the letter in his hands. He still hadn't opened it. He couldn't bring himself to bear the words written on the page. He didn't want anything to feel real, and he knew if he read the note it would punch him in the gut harder than any phone call or funeral would.
His tears had already tainted the paper, smudging the quickly scribbled, dark blue words on the front. to my star, it read, Which made everything feel so much heavier.
My star. My star. His fingers traced the messy words, trying to memorize the strokes, trying to memorize the feeling the words gave him. The feeling of the pet name, the feeling of the last time he'd ever be addressed with it.
His head was pounding. He stood up, throwing the note into his desk drawer with a heavy heart and rushing under his sheets. He'd read it tomorrow.
Which is something he said yesterday, and the day before, eventually reaching back to 4 yesterdays ago. He knew he needed to. But he wasn't strong enough. He couldn't let go of the only thing that gave him life, Not yet.
Jongseob fell asleep with a bad headache and an even worse ache in his heart.
seven days after.
Jungsu hesitantly knocked on the door of Jongseob's one room apartment. He knew to give him space, but he'd not heard back from him in over a week. "Hey, Jongseob. Could you open the door? I'm worried about you."
After a bit of shuffling around, the door finally opened. Jungsu couldn't help the frown that appeared on his face.
The bags under Jongseob's eyes were worrying enough, much less the obvious weight he'd put off and the cigarette dangling from his hand. "Since when do you smoke?" He couldn't help but ask, in a concerned tone rather than a judgeful one.
"I don't," Jongseob replied, bringing the cigarette up to his lips and taking a long drag.
Jungsu's frown deepened and he pulled the cigarette away from Jongseob. "Are you okay? Eating well? Please take care of yourself. I love you, you know?"
Jongseob wanted to reply, wanted to tell him he was okay, that he was handling this well. But he couldn't. He was so numb to everything. He didn't have it in him to respond with anything better than a nod before turning around and shutting himself off from the world again.
With a reluctant sigh, Jungsu pulled himself away from the door. He could see his friend losing himself and he didn't know what to do, didn't know how to help.
He didn't know if he could anymore.
eight days after.
Jongseob sat under the dark, twisting tree next to Shota's childhood home, holding the letter in front of him. He'd escaped here with Shota multiple times in the past, when everything pressed down on him hard enough to take his breath. It only felt appropriate to read it here.
He thought about Shota. About the times he'd argued with him. For not eating, for not getting up. For keeping his room a mess, for throwing away his valuables. He thought about how much Shota thought the evil in the world was his fault, how he'd blame himself. How his brain would default to pain induced by something that would never be his fault. He thought about Shota asking him to throw away the things that brought him pain, just to find out he'd find worse ones afterwards.
Why hadn't Jongseob done anything to help? Why hadn't he realized it had gotten this bad? How did he let it get to this point? Jongseob knew it wasn't his fault entirely, but some small part inside of him told him it was. Maybe if he focused on anything but himself. If he sat down and really looked at Shota and noticed him instead of just seeing him. If, if, if.
His hands were shaking as he opened the handwritten paper. He knew this would be his breaking point, but he couldn't avoid it anymore. It was screaming at him from across his room, burning through the dark wooden desk it had sat in for the past 8 days. It was time.
I’m sorry.
It feels kind of stupid to start this with an apology, but I really am sorry. I don't want to leave you. Some sick part of my brain feels like you'll hate me for this. You can. You're allowed to. I think you should.
Meeting you saved me, Seobie. It really did. Even at a young age, I knew I'd go early. But you extended my time here. You brightened the darkness inside of me, even if it was a dull light. I'm so grateful for you. You and your stupid, beautiful, slightly fried off hair. Please take care of that, by the way. I'm watching.
I think I’ve fulfilled my purpose as well as I could. There’s a lot I did wrong. I know I'm not inherently a good person. But I think I did well enough, for someone as wrong and as broken as I am.
I wish I was strong enough to hold on for you. I wish I could've been okay for you. I hate that we had to spend our last months together in pain. Please don't ever blame yourself for this. It's not your fault that my body is merely a shell of my soul. It's not your fault I was drowning. It's not your fault.
Right now, there's no stars in the sky. I wanted to wait until there were so you'd have something to hold on to. But if I continue to wait, it'll hurt worse. The pressure will suffocate me.
I love you to the end of the world and all the way through it. You know that. Don't hold on to me, my star. I hope you forgive me for this one day, even if it's not for a long time.
I'm sorry.
your soul, shota
Jongseob couldn't breathe. He was collapsed on the ground in tears, clutching the lined paper to his chest. He could never have prepared himself for how bad it would be, how bad the letter hurt.
"Shota," he croaked out, voice raw from sobs. "Shota, please. Please don't think you deserved this. You never did."
His chest heaved with the heavy sobs, and his voice cracked and shook, but he didn't stop.
"I miss you. I miss you so much. I miss how you'd yell at me for fucking up your hair dye. I miss how you'd brighten when I asked about your games. I miss your sheepish grin I always got after holding your hand. Fuck, I should've done that more." Jongseob's body was so tired. So exhausted from the pain of crying and smoking and lack of sleep and losing Shota. Losing Shota.
"The only part of you I will ever hate is the way your brain talked to you, my soul. How you blamed everything on yourself, how you believed you deserved to carry all of this pain on your shoulders. I will not miss how your voice would crack after telling me that you 'fucked up again and needed my help'. I will not miss how you told me that I didn't need you, that I should leave you alone and find someone 'better.' You are the best there is."
"I hate how my heart aches after I hear your name, or see your favorite game somewhere, or see any of your items around my room. God, I hate it. Not you, though. Never you, okay?"
He still had the paper against his chest, but his breath had slowed down. He sat up, leaning against the tree they'd once been against together. He ran his fingers over the rough bark, remembering the last time Shota had been there with him.
"You know, sometimes I feel like a tree," Shota said, hand next to Jongseob's at the root, in the soil that held years of memories between the two boysm
Jongseob laughed, turning his head towards his friend. "What could that even mean?"
Shota was silent for a while, thinking. "Just... they're so rough and fucked up on the outside, and the insides aren't much better, but the tree itself holds so many years of history and memories that people look past the bad exterior. People often call ugly trees beautiful, because of what they signify."
A frown grew on Jongseob's lips. "But you're not ugly."
Shota sighed, turning his head away from the blonde. He knew he was being weird.
Jongseob tugged on his hand. "C'mon, lets go back. Isn't there a game you wanted to check out?"
He felt so dumb for looking over that. Shota had ripped his heart open for him, and he'd brushed it away. Maybe it was his fault that he was gone.
"Please forgive me as I forgave you. I should've done better. Please let me love you," Jongseob muttered into his arms.
He stayed against that tree as day turned into night. After sundown, he looked up into the sky to find stars scattered throughout the darkness above. He felt something close to bliss run through his bloodstream.
Dusting off his jeans, he got up from the ground and walked into the welcoming night.
ten days after.
He finally put the note away, tucked into a box above his bed. Stepping down, he sat in the middle of his room and let out a breath. He finally felt peace, felt nothing but acceptance after days of begging for Shota back and tears and self destruction. "Please don't hate me as you'd thought I'd hate you, Shota," he said, rather calm given the situation. "I love you."
As the harsh smell of copper and regret hit his nose and his vision turned splotchy, he flinched. He let out a breath before smiling a twisted, seemingly meaningful smile. "Wait for me, my soul."
And then the welcoming darkness consumed him whole.