Chapter Text
Seonghyeon had been distant. It was something Keonho noticed rather early on, and it had continued this way for a few weeks now. His boyfriend was still there, but honestly, it felt like he wasn’t. Keonho would mostly get short, clipped responses when he pestered the other boy, but when he didn’t, it was silence—as in they wouldn’t speak for days until Keonho initiated conversation again.
Keonho understood, or well, he was trying to be understanding about it all. Because exam season was approaching, creeping up on them without much warning. And it made sense for Seonghyeon to be stressed out of his mind, locked in completely for study, since he was aiming for medicine. Keonho knew that.
He just wanted his boyfriend not to pass out head-first in his books and maybe pay a hint of attention to him, because unfortunately, it seemed like Keonho thrived off Seonghyeon’s attention and affection. It was a little embarrassing to admit, but deep down Keonho knew it was the truth, which is why he needed his daily—now turned weekly—dose of Seonghyeon.
The takeout bag was some Korean food Keonho had ordered, along with an acai bowl full of Seonghyeon’s favourites. If acai, as a form of bribery, was what was required for Seonghyeon to pay attention to him, then so be it. Keonho couldn’t exactly be ashamed when he had spammed Seonghyeon with texts only to be left on read. Again.
So he was taking things into his own hands. Quite literally. Keonho knocked on Seonghyeon’s dorm door, receiving no response. He tried again, knocking once more, but there was still no reply, so Keonho keyed in the passcode 1402. Seonghyeon—the loving one from the past, who wasn’t so distant—had set it as his birthday.
The room was quiet, but Keonho’s eyes immediately landed on Seonghyeon, crouched over his desk. The older boy had his AirPods in, head down, hand moving quickly as his pen glided over whatever paper he was working on. Something inside Keonho softened, warming at the sight.
He carefully placed the takeout bag on the kitchen counter, toeing off his shoes by the door. Keonho walked over, not saying anything, before dropping himself on Seonghyeon’s bed. Either he had spider-sense, or maybe Keonho’s breathing had disturbed his focus, because Seonghyeon’s gaze flicked up for a second to meet his.
Seonghyeon took out his AirPods and put them back in their case. This was normal. This was great, actually. His boyfriend was finally paying attention to him. Except when Seonghyeoon turned to look at him properly, Keonho’s heart sank into his stomach like a heavy stone that couldn’t hold itself up anymore.
There was so much distance in his eyes. The look was flat, with none of the affection or warmth Keonho had grown used to. Keonho wasn’t sure when everything had changed, when Seonghyeon had stopped looking at him like he was someone he truly cared about. Was he imagining things?
“Hey,” Keonho said, forcing a small smile onto his face. Maybe he was overthinking again. It happened often, though Seonghyeon was usually there to bring him back down to earth. Still, he tried his usual approach of teasing. “You haven’t eaten yet, have you? I brought you food.”
“Just leave it. I’ll eat later.” Seonghyeon’s tone was flat, like Keonho was nothing more than an annoying piece of chewing gum stuck to the sole of his shoe.
“Oh.” Keonho blinked, still not quite used to Seonghyeon being so detached. “Okay, uh, there’s an acai bowl in there too.”
Seonghyeon only nodded in response, returning his focus to the past paper he was completing.
He knew he was pushing it a little, but the distance was seriously starting to get under his skin. “Seonghyeon, are you sure you don’t want to take a small break? You’ve probably been studying all day, and that’s not exactly very effective.”
The pen in Seonghyeon’s grip stopped moving, and Keonho stopped breathing. “I can’t.”
“You can’t what?” Keonho pushed. “Can’t stop studying? Can’t reply to my messages? Can’t look at me when you talk? Can’t pay attention to your boyfriend for even a second?”
Now that the dam had been broken, everything else just flowed out. “Seonghyeon, I’m not asking you to stop studying, nor am I trying to distract you. It’s just that you’ve been so distant these days, I can’t help but worry.”
Seonghyeon abruptly dropped his pen, sighing loudly. “I didn’t ask you to come.”
“What?” Keonho said, dumfounded.
The older one finally turned again, meeting his eyes once more. Seonghyeon’s gaze was cold. “I said, I didn’t ask you to come here.”
“I come here all the time. You’ve never had a problem with it before?” Keonho asked, hurt and confused. “So why now?”
“I do now.”
Keonho stared at him, waiting for something to follow. An explanation, a reason, anything that would make Seonghyeon’s words make sense.
Nothing came. “Why?” he asked again, quieter this time. “Did something happen?”
Seonghyeon sighed, bringing a hand up to massage his temples, acting as if this conversation—or maybe just speaking to Keonho in general—was giving him a headache. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
Keonho frowned, the words not fully registering in his head. “Do what?”
There was no response. Seonghyeon’s attention had dropped back to his desk.
Keonho let out a small laugh, trying to keep things light and steer the conversation back into familiar and safe territory. “If you mean studying, then yeah, I get it. You’ve probably been studying all day, so I brought you food. You should take a break.”
Seonghyeon didn’t react.
Keonho’s smile faltered. “Seonghyeon?”
Still nothing. A fog of unease started blooming beneath Keonho’s ribs.
“You’re scaring me a little,” Keonho admitted. “Can you just say it properly? I don’t understand what you mean.”
He paused, noticing that Seonghyeon hadn’t reacted. “Oh,” Keonho said, the word coming out softer than he intended. “You don’t want to talk to me right now?”
Keonho shifted on the bed, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands. “That’s okay,” he added quickly. “I can leave you alone if you need some space or something.”
Seonghyeon didn’t respond, so Keonho took that as his answer, nodding to himself.
“We can talk some other time,” he continued, quieter now. “I’m sorry.”
The apology sat strangely in his mouth. Over the years, Seonghyeon had been one of the only people Keonho never had to be careful around, the one person he didn’t have to second-guess himself with because he knew Seonghyeon loved every part of him. At least, that was what he had thought.
Because here he was, choosing his words with deliberate care and softening his voice like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. Keonho couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like this with him.
It wasn’t like these were Seonghyeon’s first set of exams, because they had done this before—ever so slightly distancing themselves so they could both focus on their academics. But it had never gotten to this extent. Definitely not to the point where Keonho was starting to question what he meant to Seonghyeon.
Seonghyeon’s fingers stilled against the paper. For a moment, Keonho thought he wasn’t going to answer at all. Then, slowly, he pushed his chair back. The sound scraped against the floor, too loud in the quiet room.
“I already did,” Seonghyeon said.
Keonho blinked. “No, you didn’t.”
Seonghyeon finally looked at him again. “I don’t want this,” he said. “I don’t want us.”
The words didn’t hit him all at once. It felt like he was sinking, trapped underwater, tied to a boulder that pulled him down little by little. Keonho couldn’t breathe.
“Oh.”
That was all he could manage. It came out faint, weak, trembling. Keonho’s chest hurt. He curled his fingers, digging them into his palm to distract himself.
“You mean… You don’t want to be with me anymore?”
Seonghyeon didn’t answer. Keonho waited for him to correct himself, to say something else, to take it back. But he didn’t.
Keonho swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. The dorm room felt uncomfortably smaller, like it was shrinking in on itself. Or maybe that was Keonho.
“Did I do something?” Keonho asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Any louder and it would have cracked. “Because if I did, you can tell me. I can fix it.”
“No.”
“Then what is it?” Keonho pressed, his eyes stinging despite himself. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks, and now you’re saying this like it’s nothing. I don’t understand what changed.”
Seonghyeon stayed silent. He didn’t look at Keonho or give him anything to hold onto, anything that could’ve changed the meaning of his words.
Keonho blinked quickly, his vision starting to blur. He looked down, focusing on the floor instead of Seonghyeon’s impassive face, forcing himself to breathe properly.
“Okay,” he said after a moment, nodding to himself. His voice sounded strange.
“I thought you were just busy. I thought you were stressed because of your exams,” he continued. “I didn’t think this was where it was going.”
By now, his nails had left deep, crescent marks in his skin, his palm stinging as he pressed in harder, but the pain was a welcome distraction.
Not once had Keonho even thought of breaking up as a possibility. He and Seonghyeon were inseparable. They were the type of couple that had people asking where the other one was if only one of them was alone. Their relationship was so strong that it had others calling them descriptors like soulmates, twins, meant to be, and perfect for each other.
They had fought before, sure, but either Keonho would pout, and Seonghyeon would apologise, or Seonghyeon would give him the cold shoulder for a few minutes before accepting Keonho back into his embrace. Their friends joked about how they couldn’t live without each other and that their honeymoon phase would never come to an end.
Keonho was blindsided. He thought Seonghyeon and he were for life. Would you gift a puppy, promising to raise him together, to someone you didn’t want forever with? His heart hurt just thinking about Cookie. The puppy was his surprise birthday present from Seonghyeon, two years ago, after Keonho had told him about how badly he wanted a pet dog.
Cookie was currently in his dorm room, waiting for him to come back, because Keonho had taken the puppy for the last week or two, not wanting to add another responsibility onto Seonghyeon’s shoulders. Before, it had never mattered who Cookie stayed with because Keonho and Seonghyeon were always together anyway.
But now, Keonho wasn’t so sure anymore. He let out a small breath, an unsteady sound that slipped through despite his effort to keep it contained. He pressed his lips together immediately, hoping he could stop anything else from escaping if he tried hard enough.
Keonho stood up carefully, standing on wobbly legs. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the older boy, keeping his head angled down so Seonghyeon couldn’t see his face properly in case he had looked up.
“You should eat the food,” Keonho murmured, mildly surprised by how steady his voice sounded. “You probably haven’t eaten yet.”
Keonho didn’t hear a response, and he had no plan of waiting for one that he knew wasn’t coming, so he walked to the door. Each step felt heavy like his body was ready to give out on itself anymore. He slipped his shoes on without a sound. His eyes burned. He reached for the door handle and paused, his hand resting there for a second.
“You could’ve just told me earlier,” Keonho said softly. “Good luck with your exams.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. Keonho opened the door and stepped out, closing it gently behind him. The moment the door shut, everything felt final, and that ache in his chest spiked, making it hard for him to breathe. He swallowed hard and started walking.
Keonho kept his head down, his pace quick, refusing to slow even as his vision blurred further, even when his eyes stung badly enough that he had to blink every few seconds just to see where he was going. He wasn’t going to cry here. Not where Seonghyeon could still open the door and see.
Because Keonho no longer had the option to run back into those arms that once made him feel safe. So he kept moving, holding everything in so tightly it hurt.
The hallway stretched out far in front of him, lined with identical doors—ones he had passed numerous times before, which now suddenly felt unfamiliar and unwelcoming—that passed by in a blur, the numbers on them barely visible. Everything felt distant, as if he were moving through something thick and slow, his body continuing forward while his mind lagged behind.
His chest hurt. It was a dull, constant ache, sitting heavy beneath his ribs, pressing into his lungs every time he tried to breathe properly. Keonho lifted a hand to his face quickly, and while that didn’t stop the tears from forming, he was at least able to hold it over his mouth to muffle the sounds that threatened to escape.
Keonho turned the corner towards the stairwell, pushing the door open with all the strength he could muster. It thud behind him as it shut, the sound echoing in the empty space. He exhaled shakily, gripping the railing.
“Get it together,” he muttered under his breath.
He squeezed his eyes shut, tilting his head down, focusing on breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. Slow and controlled, just like Seonghyeon had taught him to do before exams when he got overwhelmed.
Fuck. The thought made his throat tighten. Keonho let out a small, shaky sound—uncomfortably close to sob—and immediately pressed his lips together, shaking his head like he could physically stop himself from thinking about what had just happened.
He pushed off the railing and started down the stairs. One step. Then another. He just needs to get back to his room. That’s it. He’ll be fine once he’s alone.
The thought barely registered before his phone vibrated in his pocket. The sudden sound made him flinch. Then he felt the pit in his stomach, a sickening sensation, because he knew it wasn’t Seonghyeon.
It buzzed again. And again. Keonho pulled it out with hands that weren’t as steady as he would have liked them to be. He exhaled slowly, the screen blurring for a moment before he blinked it back into focus. Martin’s contact flashed across the screen. He stared at it, feeling drained and exhausted.
He really considered ignoring it because he wasn’t in the mood whatsoever to put on a mask and pretend he was fine when he was clearly crumbling inside and out. Keonho wasn’t even sure he could talk right now. He didn’t trust his voice or himself to say anything without everything slipping out all at once.
Normally, he would’ve picked up immediately, already halfway into some complaint or joke before Martin could even say anything. But now, he stood frozen in the middle of the stairwell, thumb hovering across the screen.
The vibration cut off mid-pulse, leaving a heavy, sudden silence in its wake. He watched the screen fade to black as the call timed out, but before he could even draw a breath, it was glowing again with Martin’s name. Keonho sighed and picked up.
“Hello?” His voice sounded off, even he could hear it.
There was a brief pause on the other end as if Martin had noticed it too.
“Hey. Where are you?” Martin asked, and his tone is so casual, normal that Keonho finds himself tearing up again. “You said you were going to Seonghyeon’s dorm room. Don’t tell me you’re still there.”
Keonho stared blankly at the wall for a moment before answering, “I just left.”
Martin let out a soft chuckle. “Already? What, did he finally have some balls to kick you out for being annoying?”
On any other day, Keonho would’ve rolled his eyes, thrown something back twice as bad, maybe complained about how Seonghyeon never appreciated him properly, even though they both knew that wasn’t true. But this wasn’t like those other times, so he said nothing.
“Keonho?” Martin’s tone changed, the teasing slipping away when the silence stretched on for too long. “What’s wrong?”
Keonho opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He tried again, forcing his voice to work. “Nothing. I just—” His words faltered, and he stopped, swallowing hard.
Martin didn’t interrupt. Keonho’s gaze dropped to the floor as his vision blurred again, worse this time, and he blinked rapidly, trying to clear it before anything spilled over.
“He broke up with me.”
The words came out quieter than he expected. Flat. Like if he had said them any louder, he might have shattered completely.
“What?” Martin chortled. “Shut up, you’re not funny. I didn’t know you made jokes about relationships now.”
Keonho’s nails dug into his palm again. “I’m not joking.”
There was a pause, but it didn’t feel like the kind that came from shock. It felt like Martin was waiting for him to drop the act.
“Okay, seriously,” Martin continued, a hint of amusement still lingering in his tone. “What actually happened? Did you fight or something? Did he finally get annoyed at you for being clingy and kick you out for the night?”
“I didn’t fight with him,” Keonho mumbled.
“Then what?” Martin pressed, still not sounding convinced. “You expect me to believe that Seonghyeon just woke up today and decided to break up with you? Out of nowhere? That doesn’t make any sense.”
Keonho let out a sigh, the tears rolling down his face unrestrained now. “He said he doesn’t want us anymore.”
Martin was quiet for a second before he scoffed lightly. “Wow, you’re actually committing to this? That’s crazy. You’re crazy, Keonho.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, his free hand coming up to press against his mouth, as something sharp twisted in his chest, until he could breathe without feeling like someone was stepping on his chest. “I’m not lying.”
“He didn’t say that,” Martin said, more firmly now, like he was correcting him. “You probably heard him wrong. Or you’re leaving something out.”
“I’m not,” Keonho said, his voice breaking despite his effort to keep it steady. “That’s what he said.”
“No, it’s not,” Martin shot back immediately. “There’s no way. You two wouldn’t just break up like that.”
“He said he doesn’t want this,” Keonho repeated. “He wouldn’t even look at me when he said it.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Martin didn’t laugh this time.
“Wait, fuck, you’re being serious?” he asked slowly.
Keonho nodded before realising Martin couldn’t see him. “Yeah.”
There was a sharp inhale on the other end. “What the hell?” Martin muttered, more to himself than for Keonho to hear.
Keonho let out a small, shaky breath, pressing his hand harder against his mouth as his shoulders tensed.
“I don’t think he loves me anymore,” he said quietly.
The words slipped out before he could stop them. Martin didn’t respond immediately. When he did, his voice had lost all trace of teasing.
“Where are you?”
“In the stairwell,” Keonho answered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was going back to my room.”
“Don’t,” Martin said quickly. “Don’t go there.”
Keonho leaned back against the railing, his legs feeling unsteady.
“I’ll be fine,” he said automatically, even though his voice betrayed him.
“No, you won’t,” Martin replied. “Come up here. We’re all here.”
Keonho hesitated. The thought of facing them like this made his stomach twist. He didn’t want the questions, didn’t want to see the looks on their faces when they realised he wasn’t joking, that this was real. But the idea of being alone felt worse now that he had admitted everything aloud.
“Okay,” he mumbled finally.
“Good,” Martin said, softer, relief bleeding into his voice. “Come up quickly, but don’t trip, okay? The door’s unlocked.”
The call ended. Keonho lowered his phone slowly, staring at the dark screen for a moment before slipping it back into his pocket. His hand trailed along the railing for balance as he carefully climbed up the stairs. His legs felt heavier, like they were made of jelly, dragging slightly with each movement.
By the time he reached their floor, his throat felt scratchy, and his chest felt tight all over again. Everything he had barely managed to hold in was starting to rise back up.
He stopped in front of their door. From the other side, he could hear faint voices that usually would’ve made him smile without thinking. Keonho lifted his hand and pushed the door open. Three heads turned toward him at once.
Keonho didn’t make it any further than that. The second the door closed behind him, whatever composure he had managed to hold onto gave up on him. He didn’t even realise he had stopped moving until Martin was in front of him.
It happened quickly, the distance between them closing in a few steps, and then Martin’s hand was on his arm, steady and warm, grounding in a way Keonho hadn’t realised he needed.
“Keonho—”
That was all it took.
Keonho’s lips parted, but the moment he tried to speak, his breath hitched instead. The tight hold he had kept on himself all the way here snapped without warning, something inside him giving out. His vision blurred instantly.
“I—” he started, but the word broke apart halfway through, dissolving into a shaky exhale that turned into something worse before he could stop it.
A sob tore out of him, sudden and raw. Keonho flinched at the sound of it, like it didn’t belong to him, like he hadn’t meant for it to escape. His hand came up to cover his mouth immediately, but it didn’t do anything to stop the next one, or the one after that.
“Hey, hey,” Martin said quickly, his grip soft but firm as he pulled Keonho closer without hesitation. “It’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
Keonho shook his head, even as he let himself be pulled in, his fingers clutching weakly at Martin’s shirt because he needed something to hold onto or he might fall apart completely.
“It’s not okay,” he managed, his voice trembling, barely making it out between breaths. “He—he just—”
His voice broke again. Keonho didn’t even see Juhoon move, but suddenly there was another presence beside him, a hand pressing gently against the back of his head, guiding him down slightly, steadying him.
“Martin, sit him down,” Juhoon said softly. “He can barely breathe, and he might pass out at this rate.”
Keonho didn’t argue. He let them guide him to the couch, his legs giving in too easily, like they had been waiting for permission to stop holding him up. He sat down heavily, his shoulders shaking as he tried and failed to control his breathing.
James hovered a step behind them, quieter than the others, his gaze fixed on Keonho with a kind of disbelief that hadn’t fully faded yet.
“They actually broke up?” James asked, his voice low, directed more at Martin than Keonho.
Martin didn’t look away from Keonho. “Apparently so.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” James muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Seonghyeon’s insane.”
Keonho let out a weak, broken sound that might have been a laugh if it didn’t hurt so much.
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice small, shaking. “I don’t know what I did.”
“You didn’t do anything,” Juhoon replied immediately, his tone firm in a way that didn’t leave room for argument. His hand stayed on Keonho’s shoulder, grounding and steady. “Don’t start thinking like that.”
“But he wouldn’t—” Keonho swallowed with effort, his words catching in his throat again. “He wouldn’t just say that for no reason.”
“He said he doesn’t want us,” he continued. “He wouldn’t even look at me when he said it.”
The room went suffocatingly quiet. Martin’s expression changed, a sharpness settling into his eyes.
“He said that exactly?” Martin asked, slower this time.
Keonho nodded, his gaze dropping to his lap. “Yeah.”
“And he didn’t explain anything?” Juhoon added.
Keonho shook his head. “I asked,” he said, “I kept asking, and he wouldn’t say anything.”
A tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it, followed quickly by another. He wiped at them hastily with the back of his hand, but it didn’t do much when they kept coming.
“I thought he was just busy. I thought he was stressed because of exams,” Keonho admitted, his voice softer, worn down. “I didn’t think he was trying to leave me.”
Martin exhaled slowly, his hand coming up to rest at the back of Keonho’s neck, squeezing lightly in a way that was meant to comfort, even if he didn’t have the right words.
“He’s an idiot,” Martin murmured.
Juhoon huffed softly in agreement. “That’s putting it nicely.”
“I don’t get it.” James let out a short breath, still looking unsettled. “I’ve never even seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”
Keonho’s lips pressed together tightly at that, his eyes squeezing shut for a second as another wave of emotion hit him harder than before.
“Then why would he say that?” Keonho asked, his voice breaking again despite everything he had done to keep it steady. “Why would he say he doesn’t want me?”
None of them answered, because none of them had one.
Juhoon’s hand moved to rub slow, reassuring circles against Keonho’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out,” he said after a moment, his voice calm and certain in a way Keonho couldn’t quite believe yet. “Okay?”
Keonho shook his head weakly. “I don’t think there’s anything to figure out. He was really clear.”
Martin frowned, his jaw clenching. “No, he wasn’t. Saying something like that and giving you nothing else isn’t clear; that’s messed up.”
Keonho didn’t respond. He didn’t have the energy to argue. He leaned forward instead, his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands as his shoulders continued to shake. Then, he let himself cry properly. Fighting against his body clearly wasn’t working out in his favour.
“I don’t understand,” he whispered to himself.
The words felt useless the moment they left his mouth. Because there was nothing to understand. Seonghyeon had said it clearly. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want them.
Keonho squeezed his eyes shut, nails biting into the skin of his finger pads. Maybe if he pressed hard enough, he could focus on the pain instead. It didn’t work. Everything still felt like it was slipping through his fingers, piece by piece, faster than he could catch.
He had always known what he meant to Seonghyeon. At least, he thought he did.
Every small thing, every look, every moment they shared had built something steady and certain in his chest, something he had trusted without question. Seonghyeon had never been someone who said things lightly, never someone who gave affection carelessly, and that was why it had meant so much when he did.
That was why this hurt the way it did. Because this didn’t feel like something that had slowly fallen apart. It felt like something that had been there one second and gone the next. Like a step on a staircase that Keonho had blindly walked onto, only for it to disappear without warning.
Keonho’s breath hitched again. His thoughts were spiralling, pulling him further and further into something he couldn’t get out of. Then, without warning, something else slipped in.
Cookie.
The thought came so suddenly that it made him freeze for a second, his breathing stuttering as his mind caught onto it. Cookie was still in his room. Waiting. Cookie didn’t know. He wouldn’t understand why things had changed.
Before, it had never mattered whose room Cookie stayed in. It had never even been something they thought about properly, because they were always together anyway. If Cookie were with Keonho, Seonghyeon would show up not long after. If Cookie were with Seonghyeon, Keonho would be there before the day ended.
There had never been a separation. Not like this. Keonho let out a shaky breath, his hand dropping from his face to rest loosely in his lap.
“Cookie,” he murmured under his breath.
Martin’s hand stilled slightly at the back of his neck. “What about him?”
Keonho swallowed. “I left him in my room,” he said quietly. “He’s probably waiting.”
But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just about where Cookie was. That familiar vice clamped down on his chest, a new kind of pressure that left him just as suffocated. This was no longer about just him and Seonghyeon.
“What are we going to do about him?” Keonho asked, his voice small, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.
Juhoon’s hand slowed against his shoulder, the motion gentler now, more thoughtful.
“Don’t worry about that for now, okay? We’ll help you work something out.” Juhoon reassured, but his voice wasn’t as certain as before.
Keonho nodded weakly, even though it didn’t make him feel any better.
Because this wasn’t something that could be figured out easily. Cookie wasn’t just a pet. He was someone they had chosen together. The puppy Seonghyeon had given to him, knowing it wouldn’t just be a gift, but something they would take care of together for a long time.
Keonho let out a soft, unsteady breath, his gaze dropping to the floor again. It hurt. Everything about this hurt. Not just losing Seonghyeon. But losing the future he had built around him without even realising it. The small things. The normal things. The things that had felt permanent.
His throat constricted again, but the tears that came this time were quieter, slower, slipping down his face without the same force as before. Keonho leaned back into the couch slightly, exhaustion settling into his bones now that the initial wave had passed.
Keonho closed his eyes, his breathing still slightly uneven, though calmer than before. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could picture Cookie waiting by the door, ears perked up at every sound, expecting it to be him. Expecting it to be both of them.