@a11100 - Tumblr Blog

ONLY YOU, MY GIRL, ONLY YOU - lee heeseung

summary. grief was a weird thing. it pulled tears from some, rage from others - but from heeseung, it took everything. his voice. his light. his grip on what was real. he’s haunted by childhood memories, whispered promises about the future, and a ring that never made it down the aisle. he spirals into the belief that she’ll come back… unaware that some losses aren’t meant to be survived. pairing. fiancée!heeseung x reader. mentions. angst, death, grief, slight drive to insanity, details of trauma and hospitals, insomnia, some fluff if you blink.

heeseung used to think that if he could rewind his life far enough, every important moment in his twenty-five years of living would lead to her.

he was eight when it had all started.

the afternoon sun had been way too bright for a september afternoon. it gleamed off the windows, harsh enough to make you squint as it warmed the air and shone down on the school streets. heeseung sat alone outside of his elementary school gates as he waited for his older brother to pick him up. he had his knees pulled up, chin resting on them as his backpack leaned lazily against the wall beside him.

he was humming again - it was a song he heard his older brother blasting in his room last night - although he didn’t really remember the lyrics, only the tune, the beat, the rhythm of it. he always hummed when he felt small, or alone, or when his chest ached and he didn’t know what else to do. it relaxed him in a way he didn’t know why.

just as he continued staring off at a stray leaf by the pavement, a voice cut through his internal silence.

“you sound like a sad hamster.”

his humming stopped mid-note. his head snapped up to the voice.

a girl stood in front of him. she had her hands in the pockets of her puffy jacket and a pink backpack slouching against her back. her dark hair was tied into two braids at either side of her face, loose strands sticking out and a faint streak of pink on her cheek caught the light - chalk dust, maybe, or crayon from art class. heeseung’s cheeks instantly reddened at the newfound attention he wasn’t used to.

“i’m not sad.” he mumbled softly, and he wondered if the girl even heard him from where she stood, even though there was no one else on the street besides them.

instead, she let out a tiny laugh.

“you are. like this!” she said and puffed her cheeks out dramatically, frowning exaggeratedly.

heeseung blinked up at her. he didn’t know how to answer. the girl huffed and plopped down beside him without asking, swinging her legs like it was the most natural thing in the world. she sat close to him, practically shoulder to shoulder, as if she had no awareness of personal space. heeseung didn’t say anything but his eyes turned to look at her anyway.

“you’re in my class. you sit by the window and stare outside like you’re waiting for aliens.”

“i am not.”

“you are!” she insisted, grinning, “i watch people. you’re… easy to watch. you don’t do much.”

again, he didn’t know how to respond to that. no one had ever watched him like that before, he was used to being so invisible. he was used to staying by himself, not speaking unless spoken to, especially at home - which is why he just assumed it was like that at school too. even now, he stayed silent, stayed fiddling with a loose thread on his black school pants and frowning to himself silently.

“i’m y/n.” the girl introduced when she saw how quiet he got once again. her face leaned forward to catch his eyes and she grinned from ear to ear when she saw his dark eyes meet hers. she held out her hand with a confident tilt of her chin, like this was a very serious, very official introduction.

he stared at it for a second, then shook it carefully, his much colder hand wrapping around her warmer one, “i’m heeseung.”

her smile widened, “lee heeseung. see? i know things.”

“how did you know?”

“you answer roll call like you’ve never heard your name before.” she said matter-of-factly. his ears instantly tinged pink before he could stop the embarrassment from flooding him.

she didn’t really notice as she leaned even closer, eyes squinting, “you do look like a hamster, though.”

he stiffened, “what?”

“not a bad one!” y/n said quickly, waving her hands about, “a cute one. like, a fluffy one that stores snacks in its cheeks!”

“i don’t look like a hamster.” he muttered.

y/n gasped and placed a hand over her heart, “you totally do! especially when you’re concentrating.”

she mimicked his furrowed brow, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes like she was a tiny, energetic yet dramatic critic. heeseung wondered how she was able to imitate expressions so well, and why she loved doing it so much. he wondered if that was just her way of expressing herself, or expressing that she noticed things. he didn’t know.

he should’ve been annoyed. she was disrupting his alone time, she was calling him sad and accusing him of being a hamster.

instead, a warm feeling spread through his chest.

she didn’t treat him like he was invisible. she didn’t treat him like he was fragile either, the way some teachers or his parents did. she just… approached him without thinking he was weird for being alone or having no friends.

she just talked to him.

and from that day on, she never really stopped.

every morning, y/n started sitting beside him. if someone else tried to sit next to him, she appeared out of nowhere and said, “sorry, that seat is taken.”

she started borrowing his colouring pencils without asking. she doodled tiny stars and planets in the margins of his notebook because she was interested in space and astronomy, as she’d told him. once, she drew a tiny hamster with messy hair and wrote lee hee-hamster underneath. he pretended to be annoyed, pretended to rip the page out and throw it to the side.

he stuffed the wrinkled paper into his backpack later on when she wasn’t looking.

in music class, when the teacher asked for volunteers to sing a solo, the room would go silent. heeseung felt his throat tighten. he loved singing - he sang at home, on walks, in the shower, at night in bed - but infront of people? that was an opening door he wasn’t ready to open. his hand itched to raise but he forced it down, shrunk himself further in his seat.

beside him, y/n chewed at her bottom lip in thought. her eyes subtly drifted to the boy beside her and her eyes lit up, as if this was the perfect opportunity.

her hand shot up instantly as she announced, “i’m volunteering him!” she pointed to heeseung.

his head whipped toward her, “what are you doing?!”

she leaned close, whispering with a smile, “you sing to yourself at recess. i hear you all the time.”

“you weren’t supposed to-”

“i hear everything.” she puffed her chest out proudly and heeseung deflated. his heart was pounding so hard he thought it might leap out from behind his ribs in that moment.

y/n ignored his tiny frown and the crease between his brows. she grabbed his sleeve gently, “just pretend it’s me! pretend i’m your only audience.”

with another look of hesitation, heeseung stepped up anyway. his eyes stayed locked on her the entire time, his one audience, as he started singing the song they’d been practicing. his voice was small at first but when he saw the encouragement, the pride shining in her eyes, he grew more confident. his tone adjusted, his hand tightened on the mic.

and she smiled like he was already a superstar. she clapped louder than anyone else in the room when he finished.

later on at lunch, the two of them sat on the swings together. their feet mindlessly swung in perfect sync and that’s when y/n nudged him with her shoulder. she had a tiny, proud smile on her lips.

“see? i told you you could do it. my star!”

heeseung looked down at his shoes, smiling shyly.

“you’re not allowed to stop singing.” she added on seriously and the boy looked at her, “ever. even when you’re old and wrinkly.”

“why would i be wrinkly?”

“because everyone gets wrinkly when they’re old, hamster.”

“i’m not a hamster.”

y/n laughed so loudly it echoed in their tiny section of the playground, scattering some of the birds in the trees nearby.

they both talked about the future in the dreamy ways only children could: with the stars in their eyes and dramatic aspirations heavy in their innocent hearts.

one afternoon, sunlight streamed through the tall windows of their art class, catching the dust motes in the air like tiny floating stars. most of the class was busy painting crooked houses with tiny crooked chimneys, their brushes wobbling and hands smudged with reds and yellows. heeseung sat beside y/n as he carefully filled in the roof of his own little house, trying to stay within the lines.

he was so concentrated, he didn’t even realise y/n reaching over until her elbow warmly brushed his and her voice rang out in his personal little bubble.

“when i get married, i want white roses.” she said softly, eyes completely serious.

he blinked at her, tilting his head, “why?”

“they’re pretty. they look simple and they’re not too loud.” y/n replied, gesturing with her paintbrush as if the movement could make her statement more true, “and they smell soft.”

“how can something smell… soft?” heeseung frowned as he tried to picture it, but the idea made absolutely no sense to him.

“some flowers smell loud! like fireworks!” her eyes widened as she stretched her hands out to signify how loud something could be, “but white roses smell soft and quiet. they look gentle like they’re whispering.”

he didn’t understand exactly what she meant, but he nodded anyway because he trusted her explanations - even the ones that didn’t make sense. that’s when he looked down to her painting for a second and noticed the tiny white flowers she’d drawn on the outside of her house - they were messy, mixed with tiny stems of green and brown, but they were undoubtedly white roses.

maybe they’re her favourite flower, he thought.

he smiled to himself, hidden and soft. she nudged his shoulder to grab his attention again, “what about you? what kind of wedding do you want?”

he shrugged, a little embarrassed, cheeks warming, “i… i don’t know.”

she tapped her chin with a finger and pretended to think deeply. heeseung watched her as he waited for her answer, waited for her to magically create a scene in his head, to suggest her thoughts without him asking.

“you’d look good in a black suit!” she said finally, tilting her head thoughtfully, “but not a boring one… one with shiny shoes! and a tiny flower in your pocket! did you know my appa also wore a black suit with a flower in his wedding? eomma showed me their wedding photos! they looked so young.. now they’re old and eomma doesn’t have long hair anymore… i hope i can keep my long hair after my wedding!”

“i don’t care about weddings…” heeseung muttered, feeling his ears burn and his heart twist in guilt at ruining her happy rant with his sour statement.

y/n didn’t mind. instead, she beamed happily and nudged her elbow against his in encouragement, “that’s okay! you will one day… when someone makes you nervous.”

“who would make me nervous?”

she shrugged in the most dramatic way possible, leaning her chin on her hand with the kind of cheeky grin every eight year old possessed, “maybe me.”

then she giggled - a small, airy sound that jumped out of her like bubbles, all contagious and bright - and heeseung felt it twist his stomach and swell his chest all at once. he looked at her as she continued her painting and for a moment, the paintbrush in his hand felt heavy; the colours on the page blurring and his lashes fluttering in quiet shock.

because suddenly, all he could think about were white roses.

he thought about them for the rest of the day, imagining how soft they must smell and how small, bright moments like this could somehow feel bigger than anything else in the world.

•••

by middle school, they were already known as a pair.

if someone saw y/n in the crowded hallway, heeseung wouldn’t be far behind. she moved through the hallways like she owned the place, bouncing from locker to locker with that same fearless energy she possessed when they were younger. she’d stopped braiding her hair into two pigtails and now opted for a ponytail, her long hair cascading down her back in dark waves as tiny hairs stuck out at the front.

heeseung would follow behind quietly, shoulders slightly slouched, hands in his pockets, humming under his breath - the faintest tune that he thought went unnoticed - as he watched her laugh and communicate with everyone like she was sunlight.

she noticed, of course. she noticed everything about him ever since they first met.

“you do it when you’re tired too.” she said one day, sidling up to him as he leaned against the locker beside hers, his backpack dangling loosely from one shoulder.

“do what?” heeseung glanced at her briefly. his tone was calm, casual, soft like it always was when he felt a little exposed under her gaze.

“hum.” she tilted her head, “it gets lower when you’re sad.”

he froze, “how… how can you tell?”

y/n shrugged because she really didn’t know how to answer his question. she didn’t know how she could tell either but she’d been with him for so long, she just naturally could differentiate between his normal humming and when something sounded off.

she brushed a loose strand of hair from her face and smirked like it was no big deal, “i just know. you’re loud even when you think you’re quiet.”

he wanted to argue but the words caught in his chest. he should’ve known, long ago, that her eyes had never left him. that her mind had a tiny file full of him, probably labelled as ‘hamster’ in which she stored all of his tiny habits, his mannerisms, his thoughts that she could read from just his expressions alone. even when he wanted to stay invisible, she’d always seen him.

later that week, heeseung finally told her something he’d been keeping a secret, something he was almost too scared to even think about.

“i-i want to audition to become a trainee.” his voice was small, hesitant, unsure of how she’d react.

he doesn’t know why he expected her to laugh or to tilt her head and call him silly for even dreaming about something like that.

instead, she went unusually quiet. her normal energy dimmed into a thoughtful stillness that made anxiety crawl up his neck. he fiddled with his fingers as he waited for her answer, his heart beating louder than usual in his chest as if her following words might kill him on the spot if they weren’t what he was hoping. it was as if his own body knew he cared about her thoughts, her feelings, craved her support.

after a long pause, she said simply, firmly: “you have to.”

“what?” he blinked and his mouth stuttered random non-words until he finally said properly, “what if i’m not good enough?”

her brows furrowed slightly, eyes narrowing as if trying to hold the right words in her hands, “that’s not how it works.”

“how does it work then?”

“you try.” she reached forward to place a supporting hand on his arm, “and if you fail, you try again. you just… keep trying.”

he chewed on that, uncertainty and insecurity still tugging at the edges of his stomach, “w-what if i embarrass myself?”

she leaned closer and poked his forehead gently with one finger, completely mischievous and affectionate at the same time, “then i’ll still be your fan. i was your fan first, remember?”

he stared at her even as she added on happily, “you’ll debut. i know you will, and when you do, don’t forget that i knew you before you were cool.”

he couldn’t help the small, incredulous smile that tugged at his lips at her words. her confidence and the way she said things like it was absolute fact, made even the impossible seem possible. like the world might actually bend itself just to fit her belief in him. like just her support alone could make him invincible enough to conquer anything.

and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he could breathe.

because she noticed. always. and she believed. always.

•••

high school had changed heeseung.

he grew taller. his shoulders broadened, stretching the collars of his uniforms and t-shirts. his voice had deepened into something richer, steadier, resonant in a way that made people turn their heads. his hands had grown longer, gentle enough to glide over piano keys and strum guitar strings melodically.

people started noticing him more.

girls whispered when he walked past. they lingered too long when they spoke to him randomly, tossing their hair back or laughing a little too bright. some of the boys in his class were a little wary of his unusual popularity - the way he seemed like such a quiet, soft-spoken boy yet had heads turning to eye him everywhere he went - they were unsure how to deal with him, but most of the time they just stared.

y/n noticed everything.

one afternoon, as they stood by the lockers inbetween classes with chatter buzzing around them and teens shouting and knocking shoulders, she noticed the way a small group of girls in their year eyed him. she saw the way heeseung offered them a polite smile before looking away, watched them giggle and gush over how perfect his hair was or how dreamy his smile was.

it was humorous. she nudged him softly, teasingly, with her elbow as a grin spread across her lips, “look at you, heartbreaker.”

“i’m not breaking anyones heart.” he replied sternly, almost smirking.

“not yet.” she teased, pushing past him to grab her books from her locker, “but you will.”

heeseung only rolled his eyes, though the corners of his lips twitched. deep down, all the new attention made him feel awkward and a little exposed. y/n, on the other hand, hadn’t changed at all. she was still bright, still animated, still talking with her hands as if the air itself might understand her. she still tugged on his sleeve when she wanted him to follow her somewhere, never mind if he was late to class or tired from a long morning.

high school also brought longer days. heeseung’s mornings started with the rush to catch the bus, still halfway to tying his tie or putting his blazer on, and sometimes a hurried breakfast he barely tasted. then came the evenings at the training centre, where he practiced for hours - singing, dancing, learning choreography, learning professionalism and repeating movements until his muscles ached, his voice cracked and his hands were raw from piano keys and dumbbells.

he never complained about this sudden change in his lifestyle.

yet y/n still saw it all: his stiff shoulders, how he looked like he hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday.

whenever he stayed late at the training centre, she would wait for him on the concrete steps outside, leaning against the railing with a small plastic bag of convenience store snacks.

“you forgot to eat again.” she would scold as her eyes scanned his tired face.

“i was busy.” he would murmur, tugging at the straps of his backpack.

“busy becoming famous doesn’t mean you stop being human.” she says, shoving a sandwich in his hands before he could protest. she would stand there with that stern look in her eyes she got when she wasn’t joking for once, waiting until he finally took a bit like it was the most important thing in the world. sometimes she didn’t even speak at all - just watched, thoughtful, tilting her head as she studied him.

“what?” he asked one time as they walked to his house together. he noticed her staring at him out the corner of his eye as he scarfed down a rice cake, cheeks suddenly reddening under her intense gaze.

“you don’t look like a hamster anymore.” y/n stated softly, almost to herself.

he blinked, “what do i look like then?”

“i don’t know.” she shrugged, smiling tenderly, “you’re still cute, though.”

he nearly choked on the rice cake and y/n laughed at him - the sound bubbled up like it always did, warm and happy and infectious - and it brought a tiny smile to his own lips.

winter nights were the best. they were cold but quiet as the streets dusted with white and the streetlights cast long, soft shadows over the cloud-like piles of snow. heeseung and y/n would still walk to each other’s houses together, their shoulders brushing and breath misting in little wisps of air. the world reduced to the crunch of snow beneath their shoes and the faint sound of distant traffic when it was just them.

“promise me something.” she said one night as they walked through a park near her house. her tone had gone serious beneath her usual spark - quiet like she was thinking and feeling a million things at once.

“what?”

“even if you fly really high one day, don’t disappear.” she said finally, a hint of something fragile and emotional in her voice.

heeseung frowned to himself. confusion tightened in his chest because he didn’t know why she thought that way, why she thought that he would ever want to separate them. he didn’t realise just how stern the industry he was going into was. he didn’t realise that there could be moments where she won’t always be there for him, or where she won’t physically be able to support him.

“why would i disappear?”

“because some stars get far away.” she said simply.

he looked at her. really looked at her. the streetlight caught the dots of snowflakes in her dark hair, in her lashes and in the fluffy blue scarf she had wrapped around her neck. he could see the dust of pink on her nose from the cold, the way her eyes shone like they had little lanterns in them, the way her pretty lips smiled up at him emotionally.

for the first time in a long time, he felt the weight of everything - the rehearsals, the long hours, the exhaustion - fall away.

“i’ll always look back.” he replied quietly, low but certain.

“why?”

he swallowed. the answer was simple, even if his chest felt impossibly full: because you’re my home. because you were there before anyone else. because every version of me started with you.

instead, he just said, “because you’ll always be my first fan. my first supporter.”

she smiled, satisfied.

and neither of them knew yet that all those tiny, seemingly insignificant moments would settle into his memory like seeds. they would grow there quietly, stubbornly, until years later he would hold onto them so tightly that the line between love and longing, joy and ache, would blur impossibly.

even then, amid the awkward hallways, the long nights of practice and the endless juggling of school work and training and dreams of his future, one thing remained unshakeable.

before she was his girlfriend, before she was his fiancée, she was the girl who chose him. not because he asked, not because it was convenient, not because she felt pity that he had no friends or that he kept to himself. but because, somehow, she decided he wasn’t allowed to be alone.

and he had never, not for a single second, tried to escape that choice.

•••

the start of the after.

heeseung didn’t remember when the world stopped making sense.

was it the moment his phone rang, sharp and intrusive, against the coffee table? was it the way the voice on the other end kept repeating her name, too carefully, too gently, stretching each syllable like he might break? maybe it had begun earlier on - in those invisible seconds between screeching tires and blinding headlights on a random road downtown?

or was it when she stepped out of their front door and the universe decided she wouldn’t step back in?

heeseung became quiet after that - not the kind of quiet that came with bowed heads and folded hands or with fragile sobs. if he wasn’t already quiet, he was now vacant. it was as if something essential had been scooped out of him and replaced with air.

with nothingness.

he moved through their apartment like a ghost haunting his own life. the same apartment they had signed for with shaking hands and ridiculous excitement three years ago, when she’d just gotten her first real job after graduation and he was just settling further into his idol life. the same apartment where they’d argued for forty minutes about whether beige or white curtains looked better, where they burned garlic so badly the smoke alarm screamed and they ended up eating takeaway on the kitchen floor, laughing until they teared up.

the same apartment where she used to fall asleep on the couch, curled under her favourite blanket, waiting for him to come home from practice - insisting she wasn’t tired, insisting she’d stay up even as her eyes betrayed her and he had to carry her to their bedroom.

that apartment that felt like their own little bubble of love and security and happiness… now felt like a museum.

preserved. frozen mid-life.

he didn’t throw anything away.

her shoes still sat by the door, slightly angled inwards the way she always kicked them off. there was a faint scuff on the heel of her favourite pair of sneakers - he remembered teasing her about it. she only rolled her eyes and said she’d buy a new pair next month.

next month never came.

her hair tie was still looped around the bathroom faucet, stretched from overuse. a few strands of her hair were caught in the bristles of her brush. her skincare bottles stood in perfect, deliberate order on her side of the sink, the labels facing forward like soldiers standing at attention - he recognised some of the bottles from when she’d beg to do his skincare. he hadn’t touched them. dust started to collect at the edges but he refused to wipe it away.

in the wardrobe, her clothes hung exactly as she’d left them. when he opened it, the faint scent of her perfume drifted out - something floral, soft and warm, his favourite scent in the entire world. her scent. it hit him like a physical blow everytime. sometimes he would press his face into her sweaters and inhale until his lungs burned and his eyes stung with tears, as if he could breathe her back into existence.

he stopped turning on the lights most nights.

darkness felt more honest. darkness made him feel like he didn’t have to face the empty space, or look at the reminders of her.

he would sit on the living room floor with his back against the couch, staring at the outline of furniture in the dim glow of the city outside. the refrigerator hummed. the sink pipes clicked. the traffic outside beeped lowly.

and in the quiet, he listened.

sometimes he could hear her.

he swore he heard footsteps in the hallway once - they were soft, tiny pads of her feet as she sauntered towards the living room. his head snapped in the direction of the hallway and his frantic eyes searched for her in the darkness, his heart practically in his throat. he heard the subtle creak in the loose floorboard just outside their bedroom. he heard a gentle click of the door closing. sometimes a faint rustle from the kitchen, like someone opening a cabinet.

his heart would lurch so violently it hurt. sometimes it would physically pain him so bad he had to clutch his fingers over his shirt, curl his body inward and take deep breaths as if that could ease the pain. it never did. because this pain wasn’t something on the surface - it was something ugly and hostile that had settled in the deep depths of his heart, right where she used to be.

he would be sitting on that cold floor with his head thrown back against the edge. his eyes would be hooded, heavy with unwanted sleep and his lips parted as he breathed shallow breaths, huffing through the ache. he couldn’t register anything as the dreadful silence pinned in on his ears, except that one voice that would call out to him.

“heeseung.” it’s merely a whisper. barely a murmur. but it’s there - her playful voice, a little scolding in it and his head would turn toward the sound so fast his vision blurred, “why are you still awake?”

“i’m here.” he’d whisper back, voice cracking, “i’m right here.”

he’d look around the living room but there was no reply. he’d wait for her laugh, wait for her scolding, but the apartment never answered back. instead, silence would stretch, merciless and heavy.

but he was certain she was there. he was certain she hadn’t fully left. because if she wasn’t-

if she truly wasn’t-

he didn’t even want to say the word because then that meant she was gone in a way that could never be undone. his mind refused to survive that truth.

heeseung was thinner now, painfully so. his collarbones jutted out sharply beneath his skin, his cheeks had hollowed, shadows pooling under his eyes next to his dried tears like bruises that never faded. the red lining his waterline had become permanent, as if sleep had abandoned him entirely - because it had.

when he did drift off, it lasted barely minutes. maybe an hour. then he would jolt awake, disoriented, heart racing, reaching for her side of the bed or reaching for her pillow. her side was always cold and he never washed the sheets no matter what. it was disgusting but he didn’t care - he couldn’t lose the scent from her pillow any more than he’d already lost.

he barely ate. food tasted like ash. he lost his appetite long ago, lost the motivation to do anything nevermind do something as mundane as eat. whenever he was able to put something together, he’d stare at it until the edges blurred, until that one bite he had started to feel like bile in his throat and a luxury he didn’t deserve to have. he’d push it away, untouched and unwanted. sometimes he forgot what day it was. sometimes he’d sit in the same position for hours, unmoving, until the sun rose and set without him noticing.

the world outside the apartment felt obscene.

cars still drove by. neighbours still laughed in the hallway. the café downstairs still opened at eight sharp. people still went to work, still fell in love, still met up with friends, still complained about trivial things.

how dare the world continue? how dare it breathe when she couldn’t? how dare he still be able to wake up and live another day when she was stripped of that?

people said grief softened overtime. that it would dull and become manageable. that it would settle slowly and you learned to live with it.

for heeseung, it didn’t soften.

it sharpened. it was a blade he carried in his chest, twisting deeper each night he lived without her. every time he had to take a deep breath, every time he had to move from one room to another, everytime he looked down at his finger and saw his engagement ring, he had to press a palm against his sternum as if something was leaking out. like he physically couldn’t hold it together.

and everytime he closed his eyes, he was back in that moment.

•••

3 and a half months ago.

heeseung had come home angry.

not at her. at everything else.

practice had been relentless lately as he and his group prepared for their upcoming comeback - everything just seemed to strip him down to bone. his voice cracked twice during a high note he tried to record. the choreography somehow refused to sit right in his body lately. the management had been giving him tight, clipped, dissatisfied expressions everytime he messed something up. every correction felt like a small failure carved into his skin and he doesn’t know why - why nothing was going right, why his mind was so distracted lately, why he had this weird sinking feeling in his stomach everytime he was away from the apartment.

he chose to ignore it and focus on his work. by the time he reached home, the pressure had wrapped so tightly around his ribs that even breathing felt optional.

when he opened the door, she was there.

warm lamplight caught in her hair, cascading the living room in a pretty, cozy shade of white. she had a hand curled over her stomach whilst the other held a book across her lap. the second she heard that familiar beep of their lock, her head snapped up and her entire face softened.

“you’re home!” she said happily, like it was the best part of her day.

heeseung dropped his bag harder than he meant to. the thud echoed, wrong and cold and he kicked his shoes off.

“yeah.”

her smile didn’t waver when she heard his harsh tone. she marked her page carefully and set the book aside as she stood up and walked over to him slowly, gently, like she could see the storm clouding behind his eyes. he noticed then that she was dressed in one of his hoodies and sweatpants sets, the one he absolutely adored her in but right now, he couldn’t find it within him to care.

“did you eat dinner?” y/n asked him, voice already laced with worry when she stopped in front of him.

he took off his jacket and hung it up, “i’m not hungry.”

“you didn’t eat lunch either.” it wasn’t an accusation. just a fact. softly delivered.

“i said i’m not hungry.”

the sharpness in his tone startled even him.

her happy smile wavered just a bit - just for a second like a crack in porcelain. but she didn’t retreat. she knew how hard he’d been working lately and she knew he was just stressed, tired, that he was overwhelmed and didn’t really mean to take it out on her. she understood, which is why she didn’t react. instead, her fingers tenderly reached for his wrist as she warmly brushed her thumb over his pulse - the way she always did when she wanted to ground him but not overwhelm him from affection.

“eat, please. just a little.” she coaxed, eyes staring up into his as she pleaded, “i made soup. it’s still warm.”

that’s when he registered the smell - something savoury, delicious. garlic and herbs. something she’d spent time on for them both to enjoy together, something she’d purposely kept warm for him when she realised he wasn’t coming home on time. on a normal day, he would’ve melted on the spot, would’ve hugged her and pressed a kiss to her lips while begging for two bowls and extra rice.

but today wasn’t a normal day. nothing was normal. and nothing ever would be.

“i don’t want soup.” he snapped instantly and ripped his wrist out of her grasp. the exhaustion curling around him started to turn into irritation, “can you just- not tonight?”

the sentence fractured in the middle, but the damage was already done. his words didn’t need to echo loudly. they landed between them like porcelain slipping from a table’s edge - a suspended second before impact - and then shattered in the quiet space of their living room.

y/n stilled. she wasn’t angry, or offended or dramatically annoyed. she just went quiet. her hand dropped to her side, just a soft retreat like something wounded curling inward and for a second, she looked smaller. she looked hurt at the rejected touch, almost disappointed that he came home in such a mood but she covered it anyway.

“i’m just trying to help, baby.” she replied softly, completely opposing his harsh tone.

heeseung exhaled sharply at the loving nickname. he dragged a hand through his hair until the strands stuck up evenly. his scalp hurt from how tightly he’d been clenching his jaw all day, from how much he’d ran his fingers through the strands, from the loud echoes of their choreographer shouting at them again and again.

“i know.” he muttered as his eyes finally dropped to her much lighter, much expectant ones, “i’m just tired.”

tired didn’t even begin to cover it.

she studied him then. not with hurt - though it was already there, faint around the edges - but with something deeper. something thoughtful. there was a glow in her eyes that night. it was subtle, almost trembling beneath the surface like she was holding a secret so fragile she was afraid even her own heartbeat might crack it.

on the coffee table, tucked somewhere inside her book, was a folded sheet of paper. a printed appointment confirmation with the clinic’s logo at the top, a date circled lightly in red pen. she had stared at it for atleast five minutes that evening, rehearsing again and again how she’d tell him.

maybe after dinner. maybe once he’d eaten. maybe when he was smiling again.

she had imagined the way his face would change with disbelief, with tears. the way he would laugh and cry at the same time and his cheeks would puff out like the cute hamster he was. she imagined him kneeling infront of her, pressing his ear to her stomach even though it was far too early for anything to hear.

she had imagined him saying, “we’re going to be three.”

he hadn’t noticed any of it.

hadn’t seen the way her fingers lingered over her abdomen that afternoon before he left for work. hadn’t seen the way her smile trembled with anticipation. hadn’t seen the future quietly blooming inside their living room. instead, he’d shrugged her touch off and went to go cool off on the couch.

y/n stayed standing where she was by the door, still facing where he’d just been stood. her heart rate spiked in her chest but she took a deep breath, shut her eyes for a second and calmed herself down.

it’s okay, she thought to herself, he’s tired. i can tell him tomorrow.

instead, she plastered a loving smile on her lips and turned around to face him, “i’ll be back.” her voice felt steadier than her heart felt. heeseung sighed and lazily looked up to see her grabbing her coat from the hook by the door.

“where are you going?” he frowned slightly.

“you like that bakery downtown.” she slipped her arms through the sleeves. the fabric rustled softly in the tense silence of the air between them, “they restock your favourite pastries at night. i thought… maybe sugar therapy?”

her smile was small. careful. hopeful. like she was offering him something fragile and praying he wouldn’t drop it. his heart should’ve warmed, he should’ve smiled and thanked her as he told her it’s too dark for her to be driving alone. he might’ve even went with her if he was in the mood.

he almost told her to forget it. the words hovered on his tongue.

he almost stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her waist, almost buried his face in her shoulder the way he did when he was tired and overwhelmed. he almost said i’m sorry for snapping. almost said i love you. almost said stay, we’ll sit and eat together instead. he almost chose softness.

but pride and exhaustion glued him to that couch. there was a stubborn part of him that didn’t want to admit he needed comfort, didn’t want to be seen unraveling.

“fine. whatever.” he muttered in reply and the words felt so dismissive and uncomfortable on his tongue as they aimed at her.

y/n didn’t flinch. she stepped closer to him before reaching for the door, her fingers brushing lightly against his sleeve as she passed. it wasn’t accidental. it lingered - warm and real and loving. she didn’t lean down to kiss him like she did everytime she left the house and that sparked something in him, but he ignored it.

he could’ve caught her hand.

could’ve turned his wrist and intertwined their fingers.

could’ve stopped everything with one movement.

“i won’t be long, baby.” she promised softly with one last mumble of his favourite nickname.

he nodded without looking at her. he didn’t kiss her goodbye. he didn’t press his forehead to hers like he usually did. he didn’t say i love you.

the door opened with a soft click, then closed just as gently. the apartment instantly shifted in the new silence that followed - like it had exhaled. he stayed in the corner of the couch, staring at the door after she left and something tugged at him. a flicker of unease. an urge to call her name and tell her to wait.

to tell her didn’t need fucking pastries.

that he just needed her.

but he didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t chase the feeling. he let the moment pass.

and that was the last time he saw her standing.

his phone rang 47 minutes later.

he knew because he glanced at the screen with mild annoyance. 10:47pm. y/n’s name flashed across the screen and he took a deep breath, wanting to calm down before answering. the second he picked up his phone, something dreadful curled in his chest.

“hello?”

“is this lee heeseung?” a male’s voice called out to him. it was very faint, as if he was standing under the shower of heavy rain and distant voices.

heeseung furrowed his brows and hesitantly replied, “yes.”

there was a pause. he could hear the crackle of rain and the whirring of wind and chatter. his brows furrowed deeper as he listened, waited, confusion trickling into his bones.

“there’s been an accident.”

that sentence itself split his world clean in half.

“i-im sorry- what?”

“the owner of this phone was involved in a collision about ten minutes ago. a truck ran a red light. it’s raining heavily. she’s been taken to-”

the rest of it came in pieces. words that refused to assemble into reality.

rain. intersection. truck. critical. hospital. critical. head injury. car crash. critical.

“no.” he said immediately, “no- that’s not- she just left. she went to- she’s fine- she just…”

“sir, are you her partner?”

“yes.”

“please come right away.”

the call ended. or maybe the guy on the other end hung up. he didn’t remember.

his body moved before his mind could even register he was moving. he grabbed his keys with shaking hands, nearly dropping them twice. the apartment door slammed against the frame behind him - louder than it ever had before. he didn’t even know if he locked it, he didn’t care. the hallway to the elevator felt longer than usual, the elevator too slow as he jabbed the button repeatedly like violence could make it arrive faster.

his heart was beating so hard it hurt - literally. physically. a brutal, painful pounding against his ribs right next to the guilt that was slowly starting to bloom.

this isn’t real.

this isn’t happening.

she said she wouldn’t be long.

the drive to the hospital was a blur of red lights and slick roads. rain hammered against the windshield, wipers struggling to keep up. every intersection made his stomach lurch. every truck that passed him felt like a threat and he wondered how she’d managed to drive in this weather, why he even let her drive in this weather. alone. maybe sad. maybe disappointed at his sour mood.

he didn’t remember parking or shutting off the engine. he didn’t remember running inside and shouting at the poor receptionist, demanding to know where she was. he didn’t remember them forcing him to sit outside the surgical department on those plastic chairs as all kinds of nurses and patients walked past, some giving him glared and some sad eyes.

he felt like his skin didn’t fit. like he was vibrating inside his own body. his cold hands wouldn’t stop shaking as he pressed them against his thighs to steady himself and he realised they were damp with sweat. the crude smell of antiseptic and metal and something faintly sterile didn’t help the situation either - the sound of machines beeping and rubber shoes squeaking against floor made his stomach turn.

everyone looked urgent.

no one looked panicked.

why wasn’t anyone panicking?

“she’s in surgery.” one of the assisting doctors had told him when he intercepted him in the corridor and asked who he was here for. heeseung stared hesitantly as the doctor continued with a fixed tone, like he’d practiced this, like this was regular protocol for him, “she’s been in a car accident. the impact was severe.”

severe.

the word burrowed into his skull.

“how severe?”

“well, she’s had significant internal bleeding and head trauma. it appears to have been a high speed collision. right now, our priority is stabilising her.”

he had muttered some other medical terms heeseung didn’t know the meaning of and quite frankly, didn’t care to listen to. once he was gone, his knees weakened. he stepped back against the wall and let his body fall limp, sliding to the cold tile, palms scraping lightly against the floor.

she’s in there… she’s behind those doors and he doesn’t know how she is. what she’s feeling. what she’s thinking about. what she’s dreaming about. what she felt in that moment. did she think about him? did she think about how much a fucking dick her fiancée is for leaving her out in the dark like that?

none of this would’ve happened if he wasn’t in such a bitter fucking mood. none of this would’ve happened if he just separated work and home. none of this would’ve happened if he just kissed her the way he usually did, hugged her and allowed just her presence, her touch to calm him down. she left because she wanted to cheer him up. she left with the sole thought of bringing a smile to his lips. she left with him on her mind.

she left for him.

and now he didn’t know if she would ever return.

the guilt curled around his heart so crudely he wanted to sob.

heeseung’s head fell into his palms.

that’s when he decided to call jungwon with shaky hands and a cracked voice.

“hyung?” jungwon’s voice was thick with confusion, “it’s late. are you okay? what’s up?”

“y/n…” he breathed out, sticking his phone to his ear like jungwon could magically bring her back through the screen, “hos- she’s in the hospital.”

silence. jungwon’s brows furrowed as he sat up in bed instantly when he heard heeseung’s sharp gasps like he was struggling to breathe, like he was holding back the tears. he jumped out of bed and reached for his jacket whilst mumbling, “i’m coming. stay where you are.”

within the next twenty minutes, three pairs of footsteps were rushing toward him and he looked up from where he had his eyes shut against his hands. sunghoon and jay had come with jungwon but he didn’t spare any of them a glance as jungwon dropped to his knees infront of his older brother, gripping his shoulders like he was trying to hold him together.

heeseung’s tears returned almost on instinct.

“she’ll be okay.” jungwon said. he didn’t ask what happened, didn’t pester him for details because he knew he wouldn’t be able to speak about it.

he just held him while his hands shook, while he nodded too fast and mumbled, “she has to be.”

because the alternative didn’t exist.

time stopped behaving normally.

seconds stretched until they hurt. the clock on the wall ticked so loudly he thought he might lose his mind. everytime the surgical doors swung open, every time a doctor rushed out or a nurse walked past with a file, his heart skipped violently - only to crash when it wasn’t for them.

he prayed. he hadn’t prayed in years, but now he was.

take my voice.

take my career.

take years off my life.

please just let her be okay. let her live.

finally, the doors opened.

the sound was soft - just the mechanical sigh of hinges - but it sliced through him like a blade. a doctor stepped out, mask lowered, indentations pressed deep into his cheeks from hours of wear. his eyes looked more hooded, heavier from when he last saw him and before he even spoke, heeseung knew.

he knew because of the eye contact they instantly made, because of the deep inhale he took before walking over. he sprang out of his seat, startling his three friends in the process as they also joined him, offering a small nod in greeting to the doctor.

there was a look in his eyes - one that all doctors carry when they’ve done everything they can and it still wasn’t enough.

“she’s conscious.” he spoke gently, “you can see her. but please one at a time, she’s still in a state of shock and post-surgery. seeing so many familiar faces can be overwhelming and might trigger her.”

conscious.

the word rises into his lungs like oxygen after drowning.

alive.

she’s alive.

heeseung has never let out a sigh as big as he did then, as if he’d been holding his breath since the second he got that phone call. sunghoon placed his hands on his knees as he exhaled in relief, jay nodded in gratitude to himself and jungwon faintly smiled, patting heeseung on the back in encouragement.

“she’s asking for you.” the doctor said to heeseung, who was instantly nodding and walking into the department without a second glance at anyone or anything else - she was the only thing on his mind.

the hallway stretched endlessly before him as he walked. each step felt like his legs were detached from his body, like he was watching himself move from somewhere above. he reached the door and pushed it open without another thought.

the small room was too bright. too quiet. his teary eyes instantly moved to the bed in the middle where she lay, looking small and defeated. the sheets swallowed her frame completely. her skin was pale - not her usual bubbly warmth but a fragile, waxy white beneath harsh lights. bruises and red scratches bloomed dark and angry along her temple and collarbone, dried blood near her hairline and small bandages and stitches lining her cheek.

an oxygen mask covered half of her face, fogging faintly with each shallow breath she struggled to take. his eyes drifted from the mask down to the wires clipped up to her chest and wrists. machines surrounded her, humming and beeping rhythmically as if technology alone was forcing her body to continue.

for a second, he didn’t move. he couldn’t.

she looked breakable, like glass, and he wondered if he even had the right to see her after everything.

still, heeseung approached her slowly, afraid that even the sound of his footsteps might hurt her. y/n’s eyes fluttered open at the noise - heavy, struggling, dimmed - and then she saw him.

and she smiled.

it was faint. weak. barely there. but it was hers, nonetheless. the same soft curve that used to greet him at the door, that kissed against his cheek in the night and made him feel better when he was down.

“i’m okay.” she whispered out to him. her words were distorted by the mask, her breath thin and uneven but he could make it out.

heeseung dropped to his knees and grabbed her hand like he was afraid someone might take her again, “i’m here.” he choked out, “i’m here. i’m right here.”

he felt her fingers curl just the tiniest bit against his, weak but alive.

“hee…” she breathed.

he leaned closer, pressing his forehead gently against her bruised knuckles. he kissed each finger with such tenderness, such care like he was apologising in every way that he could. he kissed just above her ring, covered in specks of dried blood, like it was sacred.

“i’m sorry.” he whispered, “i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have- i should’ve-”

the monitor beside her bed made a strange sound, some sort of stutter but he didn’t notice it. he was too focused on her face, on taking in every feature he fell in love with, on memorising every beautiful detail of her from the curve of her lashes to the tiny dimple on her chin.

“i was-” y/n tried again.

the line on the monitor jerked sharply. heeseung furrowed his brows when he saw her lips part as if she wanted to say more but the words lodged her throat. he saw her breath fog up the mask one last time.

and then the machine flatlined.

a single, endless tone that followed as he watched the light leave her eyes.

his entire world snapped in half.

“no-” he breathed.

a nurse who had been stood right outside rushed in when she heard the machine, two doctors following behind her, and another two running in with some sort of medical equipment. hands were grabbing his shoulders, wrapping around his chest and pulling him out of the way but heeseung could only stare at her limp hand in his with his lips parted and his breath stuttering as it left him in shallow breaths.

“step back!”

“charge to-”

“wait- no- she was just talki- she was talking!” heeseung cried out loud as one of the nurses pulled him back and her hand dropped out of his grip.

“clear.”

he watched her body jolt violently under the defibrillator.

he screamed her name.

“again.”

“charge it to-”

“go higher.”

another jolt. he screamed her name again as he got pulled away even further.

her head lolled slightly to the side. the line on the machine did not change, just kept buzzing a straight line like it had no more energy to keep her alive.

“clear.”

“time of death-”

the scream that tore out of him then was raw, almost animalistic, rippling through his body until it burned and took his voice with it. he lunged forward again but this time, rougher arms held him back, locking around his shoulders.

“hyung- please-”

heeseung couldn’t hear anything. not jungwon’s voice. not sunghoon’s silent cries. not jay’s mumbled sniffles into his hands. not the incessant beeping of that godforesaken machine. nothing. his entire world had numbed the second she took her last breath.

“please!” he sobbed, “she’s right there- she’s right there-”

the room blurred around him. voices overlapped. medical terms he couldn’t process were thrown around. equipment was being packed away. all he could see was her hand as he was dragged out of the room - it now sat still against the sheets. her fingers had slipped from his like they no longer had any meaning, like they no longer had any right to be placed within his - like the ring he’d placed on her finger meant nothing now.

seconds ago they had been warm. alive.

now they were cooling. already distant.

gone.

heeseung didn’t remember being forced into the hallway, or his knees buckling and his body slamming into the tile, or jungwon catching him as he staggered forward with teary vision and a body that felt like it didn’t even belong to him anymore.

“she was just here.” heeseung cried- sobbed into jungwon’s jacket, fists clutching desperately at the fabric and his voice cracking with fresh shock and disbelief, “she- she smiled- she was just with me-”

his body shook violently. his lungs couldn’t pull enough air. each breath was jagged, painful, insufficient and his friends didn’t even know what to do as they stood beside him, crying their own eyes out at the sight of their older sister in that bed.

a nurse approached the group slowly, hesitantly. she had tiny tears in her eyes too as if she couldn’t hold them back at the scene infront of her. she held a thin file against her chest like it weighed a thousand pounds - her eyes scanned the three boys beside heeseung before landing on him.

they all looked up when she stopped in front of them, heeseung being the last to look up after a gentle, supportive pat from jay on his shoulder. his eyes were already swelling from tears, red lining his waterline, his cheeks hollowed and mind completely unfocused.

“lee heeseung? there’s something you should know.” she said gently.

he sniffled, nodding for her to continue. she took a deep breath.

“she was pregnant.”

the hallway fell silent. everything - the buzzing lights, the distant footsteps, the screams in his mind, the pain in his heart - everything muffled. all of it vanished as his mind droned into what the nurse had just said.

pregnant.

just that one word stole his breath.

“what?”

“very early.” she continued softly, “only three weeks. we discovered it during some examinations.”

pregnant.

his lips parted in shock. his eyes fluttered and his thoughts instantly went back to her hand absentmindedly resting over her stomach that morning. he remembered the quick flash of happiness glowing in her eyes, the way she smiled to herself like she was excited to share it with him.

pregnant.

he felt something in his chest physically collapse - like a structure caving in.

two heartbeats.

there had been two.

and both had flatlined in the same room.

the nurse extended the file toward him and he stared at it blankly like it wasn’t real. it didn’t look real. it looked like paper but felt like a coffin and he didn’t reach for it, he physically couldn’t - he could barely breathe.

because inside that folder was proof that he had almost been a father. proof that she had been carrying their future. proof that the last words he gave her were irritation.

fine. whatever.

not i love you.

not drive safe.

the hallway began to tilt.

at first, he thought it was his imagination. maybe he was also dying, maybe he was also slowly losing himself so he let it happen. he let his mind swirl and his breathing stutter and his arms drop to his sides. the harsh lights above blurred into blank, white streaks. the floor felt unsteady beneath his knees. the sound of his own heartbeat roared loudly in his ears, drowning everything else out.

“heeseung.” jay’s voice sounded like he was stood a mile away.

“heeseung hyung.” more panicked voices followed but he didn’t know what to do.

he tried to inhale but the air wouldn’t come.

his vision tunnelled, narrowing into a thin, shrinking circle.

the file slipped from the nurse’s hands and the papers scattered around him. he reached out blindly for something, anything, but his fingers grasped nothing but air. she was the only thing on his mind when his vision darkened. her smile was the only thing he could see when his body crumpled forward. her scent was the only thing he could smell when his eyes slid shut. her hand in his was the only thing he could feel as he fell to the floor and his head hit the tile.

•••

“you look like a groom already.” y/n teased as her eyes ran over the suit he’d just tried on and shyly stepped out to show her. she had gasped dramatically, clapping her hands together like she couldn’t contain her happiness. heeseung giggled under his breath as she joyfully stepped over to him and started straightening the lapels of the blazer.

she looked so excited, like her dream was finally coming true.

“my groom.”

she smoothed her hands down his chest, gaze full of adoration and love as she stared up into his doe eyes, “all mine.”

the same fabric now pressed stiffly against his shoulders as he stood at her funeral instead.

the irony was cruel. the suit meant for vows and lifelong promises and her walking toward him - alive, glowing, smiling - was now witnessing her forever absence. he adjusted the cufflinks with trembling fingers. he brushed the pads of his thumb over her initials engraved into the metal, remembering how she’d once said she wanted to see him cry on their wedding day because “men who love deeply cry beautifully.”

what would she say now, seeing him unable to cry at all?

when he stepped into the funeral hall, the scent struck him immediately.

white roses. hundreds of them.

they lined the aisle in perfect symmetry, soft petals layered like clouds against polished floors. they framed her portrait at the front - a candid picture he had taken of her when they went on vacation together. she was laughing in that familiar, bright way she laughed, with her head tilted slightly and eyes crinkling mid-laugh like nothing could hurt her in that moment. her coffin was covered in white blooms so delicately arranged it looked less like a casket and more like a bridal bed.

“some flowers smell loud! like fireworks!” he remembered her vivid, eight-year old voice echo in his mind, “but white roses smell soft and quiet. they look gentle like they’re whispering.”

now they were everywhere.

a sea of white.

a bed of gentle whispers.

a wedding she never got.

he finally knew what she meant now. they did smell soft - exactly as she’d described - but they felt a little suffocating too, wrapping around his lungs and tightening with every breath. it clung to him, settled into his suit, into his hair. he would carry that scent home and it would no longer mean beginnings.

it would mean this.

guests filled the seats in hushed waves of black attire. condolences drifted toward him like distant echoes.

“she was such a light.”

“i’m so sorry for your loss.”

“she loved you so much.”

“if you need anything-”

he bowed automatically.

thank you. thank you. thank you. thank-

he didn’t hear most of what he was replying. the words bounced off something solid inside him, never quite reaching his mind.

his members stood close by, all dressed in black suits, faces pale and eyes red-rimmed. all six of them looked smaller somehow - not in stature, but in spirit. y/n had been more than just his girlfriend to them. she had been the one who cooked too much food and scolded them for skipping meals, she was the one who stayed up to watch their livestreams, who invited them all over for dinner from time to time, who brought cake to the practice room and had little nicknames for each of them.

she was their older sister as much as heeseung was their older brother. she was their family in every way that mattered.

because she was heeseung’s family before he had become their family.

jungwon’s composure shattered first. he tried to hold it in with a tight jaw and squared shoulders but all he could think about was heeseung in that hospital room - all that haunted him was his screams, the way he’d fainted, the way jungwon had sobbed as they tried to wake him back up. sunghoon turned his face away from her portrait, wiping at his eyes angrily as if frustrated by his own tears.

jay stood stiff and silent. his hands shook no matter how much he tried to clasp them together or press his fingers to his sides. jake’s lips quivered even as he wiped at his eyes with a crumpled up piece of tissue. sunoo, ever the empath and probably the closest one to y/n out of all of them, was openly crying. his sleeve was wrinkled with dried patches of tears and he couldn’t stop the tears from falling even more as he turned around to wipe them away. ni-ki tried comforting him with a hand to his back but even he looked lost and disturbed.

they weren’t just mourning her. they were mourning the future dinners, the teasing nicknames, the steady presence she brought all of them.

they were mourning their eldest hyung, who they knew would never be the same after this.

at the centre of it all, he stood still.

too still.

he stared at the flowers and thought, absurdly, that she would complain about the excess.

“this is too dramatic.” she would whisper, nudging his arm, “are you trying to make it look like a royal wedding?”

for a fraction of a second, the ghost of a smile reached his lips.

it shattered before it could even exist - because she wasn’t beside him. she wasn’t squeezing his fingers or whispering that she loved him or kissing his cheek excessively.

she wasn’t here. not truly anyway.

when it was time for heeseung to step forward, the aisle felt impossibly long. white petals brushed against his “shiny shoes” with every step. the suit - his wedding suit - felt heavier with each movement, like it understood the betrayal of the moment. this wasn’t where he was supposed to wear it. he was supposed to be standing at the end of the aisle waiting for her to walk toward him, not the other way around.

he wasn’t supposed to be the one walking to her coffin.

it looked too small. too simple. too final.

he stopped in front of it and the world narrowed to the polished wood reflecting the soft lights above. this box held her laughter, her sleepy morning voice, the way she curled into him at night, the way she pressed her cold feet against his legs just to hear him yelp, the way she would say his name. it held their childhood together - her endless support when he wanted to become an idol, her cheers when he sang, her patience when he had to be on a reality tv show for months, her pride when he debuted.

but alongside all of that, there was something else in there too.

their baby. merely a few weeks old, never having heard their fathers voice or their mothers beautiful laugh. heeseung had a whole life ahead of him that he never even got to enjoy. he will never be able to experience touching her belly and speaking to the baby, never experience their tiny kicks, never experience his members fighting over who was the better uncle, never experience their first steps or first words or first cry.

his hand lifted slowly, shaking heavily, and he pressed his palm against the surface.

it was cold. there was no warmth. no rise and fall of breathing. no heartbeat answering to his touch.

he leaned closer, voice barely existing between just the two of them.

“you were all mine.” he whispered, the words crackling halfway in his throat, “and i was yours.”

his shoulders trembled but he still didn’t cry.

“we were supposed to grow old. you promised.” the memory of her laughing, telling him she would out-live him just to annoy him, pierced through his chest like something unforgiving, “we were supposed to grow old and wrinkly together so i could keep singing for you.”

“you’re not allowed to stop singing.” she added on seriously and the boy looked at her, “ever. even when you’re old and wrinkly.”

“why would i be wrinkly?”

“because everyone gets wrinkly when they’re old, hamster.”

his forehead almost touched the coffin.

“come home.”

come home so i can scold you for driving alone. come home so i can hold you and tell you i’m not angry anymore. come home so we can eat together and i can tell you how much i love your food. come home so i can marry you in this suit like we planned. come home so i dont have to exist without you.

silence answered.

beside him, one of y/n’s family members sobbed loudly. someone broke down completely, someone went to hold them. sunoo cried in the corner and jake muttered tiny words to soothe him. the sound of grief rippled through the entire hall in waves - raw and uncontrollable.

but heeseung remained still because if he allowed himself to break, he wasn’t sure he could ever stop.

he stood there in his wedding suit and shiny shoes as the world buried away the only person who had ever truly felt like home, the first person who had ever supported him and believed in him and stayed by his side.

she was his first everything.

his first friend, his first crush, his first girlfriend, his first time, his first supporter, his first fan.

and when the last of the white petals she and their baby were buried beneath disappeared under the soil, something inside his chest was lowered with her.

heeseung didn’t cry.

but the part of him that knew how to live without her was buried that day too.

•••

heeseung took a 3 month hiatus after that.

the announcement was phrased carefully by his team’s management - they’d said it was for personal time, rest, health. the words were polished and gentle enough for the public, enough for the fans to understand and send their sympathy and approval his way.

but behind closed doors, it hadn’t been that simple. jungwon had argued in a low, steady voice that barely hid his own fear. he’d been seated with a few members of the management team at a long, conference table, speaking out, not only as the groups leader but also as a friend, as a sibling.

both to heeseung and y/n.

“heeseung hyung shouldn’t be alone.” his voice was firm. his hands were clasped tightly in front of him, knuckles pale, “especially right now. everything is still so fresh. this is unfair to him and all the members. we’re worried for him.”

he kept his tone respectful, he always did, but there was something underneath it. a tremor. not of anger but of fear. the higher-ups had mentioned giving heeseung space, allowing him privacy to grieve, how public scedhules can be adjusted and statements released.

“sometimes isolation helps with healing.” one of them had said.

“being alone can help with reflection and acceptance.” another suggested.

jungwon’s jaw tightened, “that’s not what he needs. he shouldn’t go through this by himself.”

all eyes turned to heeseung, who had been sitting there beside jungwon the entire time - a shell of himself. he hadn’t spoken once, not even a small greeting when they walked in. he sat with his hands folded in his lap, posture straight and his droopy, empty gaze fixed on a slab of wood on the other end of the room as if it required his intense concentration. his expression was composed - the kind of stillness that wasn’t strength but suppression.

he was there physically, but mentally and emotionally, he was somewhere else.

it was like the conversation wasn’t about him at all.

when someone asked him directly what he would prefer, he blinked slowly, as if surfacing from whichever memory he was living in.

“i’m going home.”

his voice was quiet but clear.

not the dorm.

home. their apartment. the one he hadn’t been to since he’d ran out that night to rush to the hospital. the one he never wanted to abandon because leaving would mean accepting she wasn’t coming back. it would mean folding her clothes, washing the sheets and letting her fade from the walls. it would mean admitting home wasn’t his home anymore.

he’d already made up his mind.

he wasn’t choosing solitude but he was choosing to live where she still felt close enough to touch.

•••

the first click of the front door echoed too loudly in the empty hallway. heeseung’s hand stayed on the handle long after the door had already opened, his knuckles turning white, breath shallow and for a second - just for a split second - it felt like second nature for him to expect her voice to travel from the inside.

“you’re home?”

silence answered him.

the apartment was still the way they both left it that night. the lamp was still on, cascading the room in white light that felt almost irritating now that she wasn’t under it to soften the glare. the curtains were still drawn from the last morning they’d woken up together. the air felt stale, untouched, faintly floral.

her mother had come by to drop off some bouquets of white roses from the funeral. she hadn’t been there for too long - afraid that if she even touched anything that belonged to her late daughter, she would start sobbing. heeseung now looked at the multiple vases of flowers that sat by the kitchen counter. their scent had soaked into everything: into the fabric of the sofa, the rugs, the walls.

it clung to the air like something that refused to leave.

like her.

heeseung didn’t change anything in the apartment. the blanket she was sitting with on the couch was still there, but now folded. her slippers still sat by the door as if waiting for her to return home and slip back into. her book that she was reading still sat on the coffee table, still marked from that night - never to be read again. her hand cream sat on her nightstand, the cap slightly crooked like she’d been in a hurry to tighten it.

he touched it once.

then pulled his hands back like it burned.

on the second night, he moved to her side of the bed.

she had always slept closer to the wall, claiming it made her feel safe. heeseung teased her for it endlessly, wrapping an arm around her waist and whispering against her lips, “you’re safe because i’m here.”

now he slid into her spot and faced the wall she used to face. he pressed his face into her pillow and inhaled until his lungs burned. the scent was fading - he could tell - but it was still there. still soft. still his.

“you’re all mine.” he had whispered into her hair one time when she was half-asleep, “god, i’m so lucky to call you all mine.”

grief had a way of replaying what you miss the most. it would loop until it feels almost real, almost palpable, almost close enough for you to touch.

the first time heeseung heard her voice he was laying on the sheets of their bed, staring up at the ceiling. his fists were tightly clutching the duvet instinctively, as if anchoring him to this world - that’s when he heard it.

like he was teetering between the edge of this world and the afterlife .

“heeseung.”

it was so soft and so close, he could practically feel the brush of breath against the shell of his ear. his heart slammed so hard he thought it might crack his ribs. he shot upright, eyes wide, scanning the empty room.

“i’m here.” he answered immediately, the first thing he’d said in a while out loud. his voice didn’t even shake, as if he was certain it was her. as if he didn’t want to greet her again with shaky breaths and a dull tone.

silence followed but something in his chest loosened instead of tightening… because if he could hear her, she had to be somewhere near, right?

one night, as he sat with her favourite blanket thrown over his lap and her faint perfume lingering from the corners, he heard it: a careful, familiar humming, like she had never left. it was her favourite song and it was drifting out of their bedroom.

hope, as always, clung to his chest and he followed the sound instinctively. it drew him into the room, toward her bedside drawer that sat slightly ajar. he hesitated before pulling it open further and his breath instantly caught in his throat.

beneath the old, piled up receipts and a small notebook, lay a pregnancy test with two faint pink lines visibly drawn across the middle. heeseung felt his entire world tilt off its axis. he opened the wardrobe with trembling fingers, afraid of what else he might find, and just as he expected: there was a tiny onesie folded just behind a pile of vitamins and medications.

he pulled it out slowly. the fabric was thick yet plush against his cold, numb fingertips and he opened it up, the size of it delicate enough to fit in his palm.

there was an embroidered hamster in the middle with another tiny hamster just beside it. heeseung’s eyes softened and tears blurred his vison when he ran his fingers over the threaded piece of art and the little bold letters that sat just under: surprise, daddy!

his knees buckled. she’d been planning it. planning a future.

three weeks - only three weeks had passed, but in that short time, their child had existed. the laughter they had been hearing in the quiet apartment felt closer now, more haunting, more ghostly. he clutched the onesie to his chest and rocked slightly as if his child was there with him, in his arms, alive and healthy. tears, scalding and aching against his cheeks, finally broke free.

“come home.” he whispered to no one in particular, his voice more than already raw and broken. the apartment, once again, remained silent but heeseung heard her again. in his mind. in his heart. she was calling out to him, gentle, encouraging, telling him to let go.

somewhere, between memory and madness, grief and denial, heeseung finally shattered completely.

everything became easier after that moment.

he started talking to her.

at first, they were just whispers in the night, small murmurs as he lay in the darkness of their bedroom. he muttered something about how the night didn’t feel as lonely anymore, or how he liked sleeping on her side of the bed, or reminisced on something silly she said to him one time.

then, he started talking in normal conversation. in a way, it gave him motivation to do things around the house because he felt like she was watching him, or that she was with him, communicating with him. it allowed him to eat, to shower, to do his skin care because he’d talk to her through it all - just the way he used to when she was still here.

he’d stand in the kitchen, chopping vegetables as he tried to make a meal for himself. mid-way through his work, he’d randomly stop and look up at nothing in particular, “you’d say i’m doing this wrong, wouldn’t you?”

he paused, tilted his head slightly like he was listening for a response. then he’d nod, satisfied, a tiny smile on his chapped lips, “yeah, okay. i’ll fix it.”

he began setting her a plate at dinner, at her usual seat right beside his own. he always hated when she sat opposite to him on dates or events - he claimed she was too far and he couldn’t touch her. he loved having her beside him where he could easily talk to her, hold her, protect her.

he’d set two bowls of rice, two glasses of water, chopsticks and utensils placed neatly beside each plate.

he started buying her favourite snacks again - the strawberry milk she liked, the overly sweet cookies she always defended even though they made him grimace. he reached for them automatically at the store, like muscle memory was stronger than reality. he would smile in anticipation as if excited to see her reaction and excited to share them with her.

“you don’t have to stay mad.” he would murmur while leaning against the counter after doing the dishes, “i know i snapped that night. i was tired. i swear, i didn’t mean it.”

in his mind, she wasn’t dead.

she left because she had to - this was the alternative his grief had made him believe.

if she left because she was upset, she could forgive him. if she left because she needed space, he could wait. if she left because he failed her-

his thoughts cut off there all the time, sharp and immediate. his mind never let him finish that sentence.

what if she’s fine and it’s his mind that’s wrong? what if she’s happy and alive somewhere and it’s just his mind that’s making up all these fake implications about her?

she’s not dead.

sometimes in the quietest hours of the night, heeseung felt the mattress dip beside him because that was what his mind convinced him to feel. it was never a violent or obvious shift - just a subtle change in weight. a warmth brushed against his arm once, light as a feather, and he held his breath, afraid to open his eyes. it wasn’t there when he did but the sensation lingered in his chest.

“i knew you’d come back.” the words were barely audible yet they felt like a tether, a small proof that she still might be near.

he would hum an old tune, a random song she liked, because he knew how much she liked his humming. he didn’t want her to think he was hurting or in pain so he always made sure he sounded normal… she knew his humming very well.

after nights like those, he slept a little better. he slept as if the world outside his fantasy could wait a few more hours as he imagined her presence beside him.

during the day, he carried a quiet change.

he smiled faintly, a fragile curve that didn’t reach his eyes. he answered unheard questions with gentle nods, paused mid-sentence as though someone invisible had interrupted him to ask him something. the members all noticed this - especially when they did group facetime calls. they noticed the way he smiled off into the distance, muttered small phrases to the air beside him as if he was talking to someone.

and when he wasn’t doing any of that, then he was distracted, staring off into nothing as he thought about everything. the members noticed this too. his silence.

one day, using the spare key, they had let themselves in.

the apartment was dim despite the early hour, curtains half-drawn, air thick and unmoving. it felt almost ghostly. shadows clung to corners and the faint, lingering scent of her perfume hung in the air like a fragile memory. all six of them piled in with furrowed brows and heavy hearts, yet when they saw heeseung in the kitchen, their heavy hearts felt like they could completely sink any moment.

he looked smaller. thinner. cheekbones sharper, collarbones more defined beneath the t-shirt hanging off his frame. dark circles hollowed out his eyes and his hair fell in unkempt strands against his forehead. yet, somehow, he was smiling… a soft, distant smile that barely curved around the stubble on his chin and the hollowness of his eyes.

beside all that, he still wore his ring. the matching one he had with her. they all saw it.

on the table were two plates already placed perfectly. one plate had food half-eaten, which they guessed was his, meanwhile the other plate was pristine and untouched.

jungwon’s chest tightened painfully.

“hyung.” he called out carefully.

heeseung looked up, as if mildly surprised to see them there. he looked completely out of it, like he’d lost his mind being here by himself for the past month. he gave them all a welcoming smile, as if it wasn’t their first time visiting since everything that happened.

“oh! you’re all early!”

“early?” jay couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice as his eyes travelled from the dining table to heeseung’s worn out frame.

“for dinner!” heeseung replied simply, eyes shifting toward the empty chair beside him, “she just stepped out.”

the apartment went completely still.

jake swallowed hard, sunghoon’s gaze locked onto the second pair of dishes as if it might shatter or vanish if he blinked, ni-ki furrowed his brows and sunoo felt the tears already brimming his lashes as he took in the scene before him.

at the man before him.

because that was not his heeseung hyung, and he knew it.

jungwon took a careful step forward, each movement hesitant, as though approaching someone already balanced on the edge of a cliff. when he spoke, his voice was soft and understanding, as if wanting heeseung to see reason, to see past his delusions, to see his reality.

“she’s not here, hyung.”

heeseung’s smile didn’t falter, “she will be.”

the certainty in his tone was unnerving - calm, steady and unshaken. this wasn’t denial or grief. it was something else entirely, something cruel and wicked that had curled itself into his mind and messed with his healing process. it unnerved the members more than tears or rage or shouting ever could.

“hyung…” sunghoon started, raw and unsteady, “she-”

“she just needed space.” heeseung interrupted and snapped his head from jungwon to sunghoon, his words sounding gentle yet strewn on simmering anger, “you know how she gets when i overwork myself. she was worried. i told her i’d rest.”

his eyes flickered toward the hallway where their bedroom sat, expectant and waiting.

the members exchanged terrified, helpless glances, as if silently acknowledging that what they were witnessing was no longer grief - it was something that was breaking him from the inside out. something that was handling him in slow, deliberate increments. something inside him that had shifted beyond repair.

heeseung reached for the extra glass of water and adjusted it so that it aligned perfectly with the plate infront of the empty chair, “she doesn’t like it when things are messy.”

jungwon’s vision blurred.

the man standing before them all - the same hyung who once filled their practice room with laughter and stupid jokes, who once sang like the world itself resided in his chest - looked like a shadow stretched thin over bones.

he suddenly felt an overwhelming amount of regret. regret for not arguing more in that meeting, regret for not pressuring him to stay with the rest of the members. he knows it would’ve sounded rude or selfish at the time but at least they could’ve avoided this - whatever this was. at least they could’ve helped him grieve, at least he wouldn’t have been couped up alone in the silence of his loss.

at least it wouldn’t have driven him to madness.

“she’ll come home. she only stepped out for a bit.” heeseung smiled fondly, “she won’t be long.”

he wasn’t speaking directly to them anymore.

he was speaking to himself. convincing himself.

and in the way he said it - all patient, loving, utterly certain - it was clear. he wasn’t waiting anymore. he was living in a world where she had never truly left and somewhere between the untouched sheets and the phantom voice in the darkness of his mind, heeseung had long since stepped past grief.

he had crossed the line.

past sorrow. past mourning. past bargaining and acceptance and all the stages people had made up. he’d moved past the fragile remnants of the person he had once been.

heeseung wasn’t grieving anymore. he was existing in a world built entirely around her absence - a world that had room for absolutely no one else.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs