there's truly nothing i love more than niche au fics and i just found a 20k pacific rim seungcheol fic ,,, you will NOT be hearing from me for a couple hours
warnings : language , descriptions of blood , mafia themes
word count : 3.5 k
requested ? no
a/n : there's just something about the domestic side of mafia au's that i just love so dearly . secretly soft and fragile mafia leader crying in the arms of their loved one >>>>>>> ruthless and cold mafia leaders .
The day you stood by Seungcheol at the altar, you promised a myriad of unconditional vows, as did he. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health— until death do you part. To love him without doubt and cherish the heart he had so willingly placed in your care. You swore to cradle it with gentle hands; to keep it safe from shattering until the very last beat.
You were prepared for that. Excited, even.
But as Seungcheol limps through the entrance of the home you've built together, you feel your confidence in that pact falter for the first time. Perhaps you'd missed something in your vows. The part that told you what to do when the love of your life comes home stained in red. From his white button-up to his polished shoes— even his sweet, sweet face— tarnished.
You don't want him to hear the way your voice trembles. But God, that stench. That pungent scent of iron coats your throat and you can't help the way it constricts to keep the subsequent wave of nausea at bay.
"Cheol?"
His head snaps up at you like he's just now realized where he is. Glazed-over eyes connect with the wood floors you'd spent an hour mopping, then to his shaking hands painted in crimson, before that stale gaze finally lifts and meets your own.
"Are you hurt?"
He shakes his head.
"Seungcheol..." You take cautious steps his way, like how one would approach a wild deer. "Who's blood is this?"
Tears are in his eyes, but his face remains rigid. Like his brain is stuck in survival mode, but his emotions are leaking out.
"Chan's."
The boy's name hits your ears like venom. Sweet, gentle, kind, Lee Chan. The youngest intern under Seungcheol's leadership, you'd met him once at a company dinner. You don't think you've ever met someone with such a heart of gold. And it's a little hard to imagine you could be staring at all that's left of him. "Oh my God, is he okay? What happened?"
Seungcheol's face twists at your questions, some memory pulling at his brows and forcing his eyes shut. They open with fresh tears and the first ounce of clarity cracks through his otherwise dazed state.
"He's in the hospital—" You see the words catch in his throat. His fist repeatedly pounds against his thigh and his mouth hangs open until the words finally come. "It's my fault. He's just a kid, this is all my fault— he shouldn't have been there. They shouldn't have been able to get to him. It was too dangerous, he wasn't ready."
Nothing of his fragmented words makes any sort of sense. You've never seen him like this, so frazzled, so pitiful, so... broken. The sight of it twists your heart, contorting in your chest to such an unnatural degree there's a physical ache.
So, despite the nausea burning your esophagus and the screams of protest deep within your bones, your arms open and gravity pulls Seungcheol into them with labored steps. His knees buckle instantly at the contact and it takes every ounce of strength in your arms to catch him. Letting yourself sink with him to soften the fall; even if that means your knees land with a painful thud, already able to feel purple bruises blossoming from the impact.
Because you love him.
Because you vowed not only for better but for worse as well. And vows are only as good as the turmoils they prove to withstand.
Calloused hands grip the sides of your shirt. You try to ignore the stains they leave, pushing your focus onto the man before you on the brink of hysterics. His forehead falls to your chest, and that's when the most wretched sobs you've ever had the displeasure of hearing begin. Loud and sharp, like the blade of a sword, as they slice through the eerily still night.
A chill creeps in from where your knees connect with the hardwood and crawls up the length of your spine. It nests in your mind and metastasizes, igniting alarms in that little part of your brain that warns: you should be scared. Though it doesn't grant you the knowledge of what.
"Baby, what happened?" You ask and recite a silent prayer the answer to that is not him.
He sobs out an unpromising, "I can't."
"Seungcheol, there is too much blood for that shit. You need to tell me what the hell is going on." Your eyes are starting to burn with the flood breaching your lashes, unsure how much longer you can force an ease into your tone.
You need him to just spit it out. Before your heart explodes.
You steady his head between your palms and swipe at the blood spatter decorating his jawline. It just smears, mixing with his tears and tinting more of his cheek in a dull brownish-red. Seungcheol looks at you with eyes that scream please don't hate me and you don't know but... you know. Enough that when the confession finally pours from his lips, the shock doesn't totally shatter your ribs on impact. Instead, the words slowly seep into your skin and enter your bloodstream like a bitter poison.
Suddenly, minuscule details make much more sense, revealing the full picture like a jigsaw puzzle falling into place. The nights he doesn't return until the sun breaches the horizon. The general air of mystery around his job and the "family business" he took over years ago. How insistent he had been with you learning some type of self-defense. All the way down to the dried blood that lingered under his fingernails.
You should be levels more upset than you are at his confession. Any normal person would be. He lied to you, for years. Hid a secret so large it could easily blow a crater in the earth should the measly stilts it balanced on collapse. Yet, the anger you feel doesn't boil over into a blind rage. It stirs with concern and simmers until it has been diluted into nothing but the type of anger that can only be fueled by love. It comes with the terrifying revelation that the person you love most in this world, could've been stolen from you at any moment and you would've been none the wiser as to how. It makes you want to hold him a little extra in the mornings, a little harder, closer.
Then, somewhere, in that tangled web of emotions fighting to reach the surface, there's an unexpected relief. Because one thing has been glaringly obvious since the day you met Choi Seungcheol. The reason he appears as such a pillar of strength relies solely on the fact that he shoulders the weight of the world alone. Rarely does he let his struggles reach his cheery expression. You can't help but think, now that you know, there's one less burden he has to carry by himself.
"Please don't leave me," Seungcheol rasps out. You'd nearly forgotten where you were for a moment. Forgot his face was still between your hands, that blood still smeared his cheek, and tears were still slipping from his lashes. But at this moment, as those weary earth-brown eyes search your face for an answer, you realize just how malleable your morals are when it comes to him.
"I love you." You confess, like it's the first time the phrase has ever left your lips. "Cheol, I love you more than anything in this world." So much it frightens you what you're willing to forgive.
But then again it doesn't. Because he's never been Choi Seungcheol, the city's most feared mob boss. To you, he's always just been Cheol. The man that nearly burned your kitchen down two anniversaries ago trying to make you breakfast in bed. Who pouts and whines when you haven't given him enough attention after work. Who's touch has only ever been as gentle as a Summer's breeze. And maybe you're naive, but you'd like to believe the Seungcheol that peppers your face with kisses every morning and begs for five extra minutes in bed is a truer reflection of his heart than his job.
With one final deep breath to steel your nerves and silence the brigade of questions swirling in your head, you press a long kiss to his temple— one of the only areas not tainted with red. The tension in his muscles visibly melts away at the contact and beyond anything he just looks... tired. You want nothing more than to let him rest in the safety of your arms, but he's still covered in Chan's blood.
"Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" You coax him from the floor, never once letting your voice slip above a gentle whisper. He tries to protest, insisting he needs to be at the hospital with the others to check on Chan, but puts up absolutely no fight when you tell him that can wait until tomorrow as you guide him towards the bathroom.
You gather towels and fresh clothes and lay them out on the vanity. "Take your time, okay? I won't go far, promise." With one last reassurance, you leave Seungcheol in privacy to shower and clean the blood from his skin.
Alone now, the adrenaline in your veins dissolves, and the full gravity of everything finally crashes around you. The metallic scent lingering in the air, the drying blood on the hardwood, the feeling of impending doom that comes with a truth so heavy. It's too much, at least to bear in such a tiny apartment. You all but sprint out the front door, accidentally letting it shut with a hefty slam.
The warm Summer night air hits your skin and wraps around you like a security blanket. You inhale deeply, once, twice, thrice, and on the fourth breath, it feels like the oxygen finally reaches the base of your lungs.
You sit, for a length of time you remain ignorant to, at the bottom of the stairwell. Lost deep in thought until the buzzing of your phone reverberates from your back pocket. You look at it but— no caller I.D.
Answering it anyway, a sense of comfort fills you at the familiar voice.
"Jeonghan." You greet.
"I'm sorry to call so late," He says, voice languid. "I just wanted to know if Seungcheol got home safe yet."
"He did."
There's a long pause of silence. Just the steady beeps of a heart monitor on the other side of the line. Then, "Is Chan okay?"
"Yeah, he's sleeping right now. Doctors gave him some of the good shit to knock him out for the night." There's a hesitance to the way he speaks and you think perhaps he's weighing in his mind what excuse Seungcheol might have told you as to why Chan is even in the hospital to begin with.
"Jeonghan, can I ask you something?"
"I can't promise I'll have an answer, but sure." He's always been so calculated in the way he speaks, which makes sense to you now.
You chew at the inside of your cheek. "Seungcheol, he... He keeps himself safe, right?"
"You know." He sighs, matter of fact.
"I do."
"He's careful, smart, keeps his hands clean-ish. We all look after each other, he's about as safe as he can be." The man on the other end of the line yawns, and you wonder how long he's been up wondering if Seungcheol made it home before he finally called. That in and of itself should comfort you and prove Seungcheol has people who care about him when you're not around, but it doesn't. You don't think anything ever could at this point. Perhaps it was better not knowing the truth.
"That doesn't exactly make me feel better."
Jeonghan snorts. "I didn't think it would."
Another stretch of silence spans over the line for an uncomfortably long time. So long, you begin to think maybe the call disconnected. But that steady beeping is still there, quiet, but there.
Then Jeonghan speaks, his sudden words sending ice pricking through your veins. "You're an accomplice now, you know?" His voice carries no emotion. It's as if he's reading the words straight from an instruction manual. "Unless, of course, you turn him in."
Oh.
You hadn't thought of that.
"Would you?"
His question lingers in the air like smoke, suffocating your airways so much it feels like you might choke before you can even answer.
Never has the idea of betraying Seungcheol's trust ever been a thought in your head, much less an option. But he's right. Your newfound knowledge makes you just as much a criminal in the eyes of the law as if you had committed the act yourself. It's either fess up while you still can or guard his secret with, quite literally, your life.
Perhaps you were a bit hasty. It was easy to hold Seungcheol in your arms and whisper comforting words between his sobs. However, when it comes to your own fate, you're forced to reckon with the dread that washes over you like a bucket of ice, alone.
Still, you're embarrassed that not even a shred of doubt weighs your decision. Just an immeasurable amount of guilt.
"No."
"You don't sound so sure."
"It's a lot to process." You defend, trying not to let your voice waver too much under Jeonghan's scrutiny.
"I know it is," He relents, and suddenly, his voice shifts back to the soothing, angelic tone you've always been used to. "I'm sorry, I haven't even asked how you're feeling."
The conversation lulls in what you assume is Jeonghan leaving space for you to share if so you wish. You don't— knowing that if you were to loosen even a single thread tethering your mind in the realm of sanity, it would all unravel. You've only just begun to construct the brittle wall that separates your Seungcheol from the one covered in blood. If it were to take a blow so early and come crumbling down, you fear you may not have the strength needed to start over.
Your current position is precarious and emotions are already tricky— pouring them out to Seungcheol's best friend even more so.
"I'm fine. I should probably get back to Cheol." You say instead.
Jeonghan hums. "He's had a rough night." Steady beeps still pulse like a metronome in the background, mixing with a subtle chatter. "Let him know everyone is okay and if you two need anything, just call."
"I'll tell him."
"That means you too."
A voice calls Jeonghan's name and the line goes dead before you can say anything more. Not that you had much else left to say— or anything that would be news to Jeonghan at least. It felt like he knew more about your spinning mind in one phone call than you'd pieced together since Seungcheol stumbled through the door.
Seungcheol.
Seungcheol, who's been alone in your tiny apartment for who knows how long at this point. With nothing but his thoughts and a water heater that runs out far too quickly to comfort him. Your heart aches at the idea of him crumpled up in the basin of the porcelain tub alone.
Seungcheol, whom you find sitting at the kitchen island with his head in his hands— hunched over a steaming mug of tea— upon your return. His hair hangs down in damp strings, dripping onto his pair of comfort sweatpants, the ones he tends to gravitate towards when he's had a long day.
The door clicks shut behind you and his head snaps up with lightning quick reflexes. A wild look flashes in his eyes, but it melts away almost as quick as it came. His shoulders slump with relief and for what seems like an eternity, he just let's his gaze linger.
"I didn't think you were coming back." He rasps. His fingers curl around the mug, siphoning off some of its warmth to combat the slight chill in the air.
His hands are clean now— free of any trace of dark red— then again, they never really were. Probably never will be.
"To be honest, I wasn't completely sure I was." You're still some distance away from where he sits, a fact you're made painfully aware of by the way his eyes flit between you and the door. As if he expects you to flee at any moment.
"I would understand, you know?" His voice is as soft and genuine as it was the day he said I do. "I wouldn't be mad. My job, this life, it was never supposed to be your burden. You can walk out and I wouldn't—" His voice catches and he takes a swig of his tea, cringing at the temperature as it goes down. "—I wouldn't stop you."
You know he wouldn't. Because Choi Seungcheol is a good man. There would not be a ring on your finger if he wasn't. It's why you're so comfortable closing the distance that separates you two.
It's why you're so comfortable excusing all of his wrongs.
"I'm not going anywhere."
"You should." He croaks. Tears gather at his waterline and on instinct, you wipe the first to fall away. But more continue to silently slip down his cheeks. Unable to catch them fast enough, you step between his legs and guide his forehead to your shoulder with a gentle hand on the back of his neck.
Seungcheol lets out a shaky breath as your fingers trail down the nape of his neck to just between his shoulders, then back up again. You hold him. Just as you've held his heart for years. Delicate. Like handling glass.
"I love you," He whispers. "I'm sorry I lied, I— all I ever wanted was to keep you safe."
"I know."
He tilts his head back, staring up at you with damp cheeks and bloodshot eyes. "I don't deserve you."
You tuck a piece of hair that's fallen into his eye behind his ear. "I could find you in a thousand lifetimes and there wouldn't be a single one where that'd be true."
"I'd still spend every one of those thousand lifetimes making it up to you." His hands grip your hips, holding you steady, as if he's still scared you'll run away.
"You." You hold the underside of his chin so he can't divert his gaze for your next words. Your tone is a firm, bordering on authoritative. "Make it up to me by coming home."
Seungcheol nods, but it's not a good enough answer for you.
"Don't ever make me plan your funeral, Choi Seungcheol. Do you understand? You cannot do that to me."
"I won't."
"Promise me. Because I swear if I ever have to hear from Jeonghan that you're not coming home I swear I'll—"
Seungcheol takes your hand from his chin and pulls it flat against his chest. The quick but rhythmic beats of his heart calms your barrage of threats instantaneously.
"I promise."
The words leave his lips slowly. Each syllable is enunciated loud and clear, so the sincerity with which he says them can reach your ears without doubt. His words linger in the air and all you can focus on is his pulse. How terrified you are that one day it'll stop before your own. That there could come a night where your head rests against empty sheets instead of his chest. No longer lulled to sleep by its steady beating.
That thought rattles you more than any crime Seungcheol could commit.
It takes Seungcheol's thumb grazing over your cheekbone to realize you're crying. But then it becomes unstoppable. More worries spilling out in the form of tears. It's the not knowing that may be the end of you.
"I want you in this lifetime, Cheol. I don't want to wait until the next to live a full life with you. So I need you to keep that promise."
Seungcheol rises from his seat and brings you into his chest. Allowing you to hide away from the horrors of it all in his strong embrace. "There's nothing I wouldn't do to make it home to you." He reassures. And the sheer determination in his voice makes you believe him.
"And no more secrets, okay?" You mumble against the soft fabric of his shirt. "I want you to tell me everything."
"It's better if I don't." He whispers with a deep exhale. And you want to be more upset with his answer than you are. But he keeps rocking you side to side and pressing long kisses to your temple.
"All you need to know is that none of it comes before you." The sincerity in his voice is as prominent as it was reciting his vows. "Everything I've built. All the money and power in the world— I'd burn it all to the ground for you."
a/n : this is just pure self-indulgent sangyeon brain rot ,,, you've been warned ( aka. the epitome of "i write what i want to read and then toss it into the void" )
Lee Sangyeon is a patient man. He babysits his young nephews, tutors underclassmen on weekends, and keeps his ten gremlins wonderful friends out of trouble. But his sanity is slipping. Granted, being president of the TBZ fraternity is hard work, but it's starting to feel more like running a daycare.
Though, with all its chaos over the years, rarely has he felt the need to wring anyone's neck out over a few minor inconveniences. Lately, however... well, his fingers start to twitch at the sight of his housemates.
And it's exactly that familiar feeling that begins to tingle at his fingertips when the infuriating voice of Kim Sunwoo follows the slamming of the frat house door. It startles Sangyeon from his dozed state and you as well. Flinching so hard your fingers that were previously twirling a lock of his hair pull painfully at his scalp. "Shit– oh! Sorry, babe." You hiss, petting his hair back down once you realize.
Sangyeon lifts his head from your lap solely to glare at the obtuse boy. His hands and arms adorned with multiple paper grocery bags and beer cases. "A little help would be nice," he jabs, mid-struggle to pile them onto the kitchen island before his strength gives out.
"A little peace and quiet would be nice." Sangyeon cuts, rolling back over to face the television. He stirs, stretching out his tired muscles before sinking back into the couch and your warmth. Desperately chasing the cozy feeling he'd been robbed of too soon.
"Is all that for the party tonight?" You ask Sunwoo. An innocent question for the sake of being polite that the boy somehow takes as an invitation.
"Almost all of it, Changmin is grabbing a few more bottles from the liquor store– is that Love Island?" He points, creeping up behind the sofa.
Whatever merciful God is listening. Please. No. Sangyeon begs.
"Yeah, it's the most recent–"
"I love Love Island– scoot!"
Sangyeon pulls his knees up just in time as Sunwoo jumps the couch, swinging his legs dangerously close to the glass coffee table, causing Sangyeon's fingers to twitch once more.
"Don't you have other things to be doing?" Sangyeon's voice is low in a silent warning. One Sunwoo purposely remains blissfully ignorant to.
"You know I personally like the British version better." He rambles on. Your boyfriend shoots you a pleading look. Whether he's begging you to do something or finding the strength to keep his cool, you aren't sure.
You give a pitiful shrug in return. Sangyeon just sighs, dropping his head to your shoulder. Perhaps the living room wasn't the best place for alone time.
Surely, he couldn't be bothered in his room. He even added a "do not disturb" sign for good measure. Sure, Juyeon's music was a tad loud and he could hear tidbits of the show playing downstairs, but he could tune that out. Just a few more sentences and he'd be done with his paper and finally free to spend time with you.
"How much longer?" you ask, peaking over to where Sangyeon sits hunched over his laptop on his bed.
"Maybe like five minutes." He doesn't bother looking up from the word document. "I just need to figure out the phrasing on this, it's been driving me mad."
"You've been figuring it out four nearly two hours," you step over to the end of Sangyeon's bed. "Maybe you need to take a break and come back with fresh eyes."
He stubbornly shakes his head, running his fingers through his already messy locks. "I need to get it over with." At this point, you're standing right over him. Yet still, it's like you're not even there. Though you must admit, the focused scowl on his face is quite adorable.
"Sangyeon."
Nothing. Not even as you tilt down to his level does he pause his typing.
"Sangyeon." You call a little sweeter this time.
Again, nothing.
Having finally waited long enough, you tip his chin back with a single finger. He looks slightly miffed at first, but then his eyes land on your wardrobe. "Is that my shirt?" He whispers. Jaw slack as his eyes not so subtly roam every inch of the fabric, admiring how it hangs from your figure.
"It is." Matter of fact, it's not just his shirt, but a pair of his boxers as well. A detail that short-circuits his brain for a solid five seconds. It feels like he's been knocked in the chest, unable to say anything. His eyes flit from your outfit, to your lips, and back down.
"Sangyeon?" You purr.
"Yeah?"
"Click save."
You've never seen him move so fast. Throwing his laptop with such force it nearly flies off the bed. Sangyeon effortlessly pulls you over to straddle his lap, grinning so hard it makes you giggle.
"When did you even change into these?" His hands rest at your waist under the thin cotton tee, letting his pinky dip into the waistband of your, really his, boxers.
"I got bored and raided your closet while you had your nose buried in Microsoft Word." Your hands clasp behind his neck. "You don't mind, right?"
"Definitely not." Sangyeon's fingers dig into your skin as he sloppily attaches his lips to your own. He's greedy, like a prisoner starved for water on a hot summer day, but that doesn't seem to bother you.
"I'm gonna need this back though, you know?" He teases against your lips, pulling at the hem of the cotton covering your torso.
"You'll have to offer something in exchange."
"Now that," Sangyeon's eyes light up, "I can do–"
The door to his room flies open with a force so great Sangyeon half expects the Hulk to be standing in his door frame. The resounding bang of it ricocheting off the wall accidentally making Sangyeon dig his fingers a little too deep into your skin. It earns a yelp from you and you're shuffling off his lap in an attempt to escape his iron grip.
"Hyung–!" Eric exclaims, but takes a pause in his panicked state to greet you. "Oh, hi Y/N!"
"Hi, Eric," you wave awkwardly.
Sangyeon is scrambling to cover you with his comforter as fast as possible. Not that you're wearing anything particularly revealing, but it's still nothing Eric needs to see. Not that it matters, Eric doesn't seem too concerned with you or the state you and your boyfriend were previously in.
"Hyung, I need your help!"
This is Sangyeon's absolute last resort.
Does he necessarily want to spend his only free period of the day with you in a noisy, crowded, cafe? No. He'd much rather be in his room with you curled up in his arms, completely and utterly alone. But so long as he lives with ten men who have never known the concept of privacy, he'll have to settle.
At least you seem happy with the lunch date he planned. Animatedly talking on and on about how you've been wanting to try this cafe. And if you're happy, then Sangyeon is happy. He'd count today as a success even if all he does is admire the beautiful pair of eyes across from him while you ramble.
"—Everything just looks so good, I don't know if I should go for a coffee or a fruity tea."
"Get both if you want." He offers, but you scrunch your nose up.
"That's a bit much, don't you think?"
"Then why don't you get a coffee, I'll get a tea, and whichever you like better you can have." A smile breaks out on your face at that idea.
"See, this is why I love you."
Yeah, Sangyeon thinks, this was a success.
Well. Almost.
"Sangyeon? Y/N?" Comes an unfortunately familiar voice. "What are you guys doing here?"
"Oh, you've got to be fucking joking," Sangyeon pinches the bridge of his nose as Kevin Moon and his impeccable timing make an appearance.
"We're on a date." He cuts, hoping the boy will get the hint to leave. But of course, he doesn't. Instead, Kevin pulls up an empty chair and plops down at the end.
"Have you guys been here before? It's my first time and I can't figure out if I want a coffee or a tea."
Sangyeon gives up. They win. The ten little demons infesting his home win.
"Jail can't be that bad, right?" He ponders aloud as the two of you lay sprawled out on his bed. Even you've begun to notice your boyfriend's slow descent into insanity. And while you do feel bad, it is a little comical. "What's a few murder charges... or ten."
You listen to him rant, his head in your lap and arms encircling your hips. You continue to brush your fingers through his hair, hoping the action will induce some sort of calming effect.
He props his chin up on your stomach to look at you pouty lips and puppy eyes. "It's so unfair," he whines like a toddler.
"I think you'll live," you chuckle.
"I literally won't."
Like clockwork, there's a knock on his door. Sangyeon groans, exasperated. "Ohh my God, seriously?" He faceplants into your stomach. "You deal with them. If I do it I'm leaving in handcuffs."
"Come in," you call.
Haknyeon peaks in, frowning when he sees Sangyeon's state. "What's wrong with him?" He points.
"Everything."
"Nothing," you both answer. "He's just being dramatic. What did you need, Haknyeon?"
"Uh, well I was wondering if you could help me with a dilemma?" He asks shyly, tip-toeing the rest of the way in.
"What's the dilemma?"
He pulls two shirts from behind his back. "So, I finally asked out that girl in my class—"
"Aw, Hak, congrats!" You coo.
"—Thanks," he beams. "We're supposed to meet for coffee in an hour. Which shirt should I wear?"
"Whichever gets you out of my room the fastest," Sangyeon grumbles, voice muffled.
"Shush!" You slap the back of his head in warning. "I think blue would go well with your eyes, Hak." You smile and Haknyeon lights up.
"Okay, perfect! That's the one Younghoon and Jacob picked as well. Thanks, Y/N, thanks Hyung!" The boy is already turning on his heels as he calls out his thanks. Sangyeon lifts his hand in a half-hearted wave as the door slams shut.
"Be nice to him, he's excited," you chastise. "He's been ogling over that girl for months. This is a big deal for him."
Sangyeon sighs, propping his head back up. "I know it is, who do you think helped him pick out and iron his pants this morning?"
"They really look up to you, you know? That's why they're always bothering you for stuff."
Your warm palm comes to rest against his cheek. It's frustrating for him, always feeling responsible for everyone around him, you know this. And while his willingness to take on that challenge is something you've always admired, you do fear him getting burnt out.
Sangyeon frowns. "I know, I just wish I could have a few moments to be selfish. Is this how parents feel?"
You laugh at his remark. "I think even parents get more of a break than you do."
"Told you we should've used protection." He grins with his gummy smile at his own joke. Making you playfully flick his forehead.
"Getting all of us out of the house at once is a big ask, Y/N." Jacob grimaces as takes a sip of his of his cold brew.
What was originally supposed to be an intense study session for your upcoming physics test quickly turned into you debriefing Jacob on Sangyeon's declining sanity. Which you're eighty percent sure Jacob only entertained as an excuse to procrastinate. Because it's been two hours and neither of you has so much as opened a single textbook despite his multitude of complaints about being unprepared.
"I know, but you're their vice president, isn't there something you can do? You could organize a charity event or something." You pout. "I'm suffering too here!"
"Even if I could find a way to convince ten—" he holds up both hands with fingers spread for emphasis. "—ten, that's one-zero, men to all clear out, I don't want to be the one babysitting them."
"You'd have Chanhee there to help."
"The odds of getting Chanhee to do anything outside of his job description are about as good as me passing this test." Jacob snorts, and all hopes of getting TBZ's treasurer involved are squashed then and there.
Jacob is your only hope, so you're going to have to lay it on thick.
"Come on, Jacob, please. Sangyeon really needs the break."
"Don't give me that look." He jabs a finger at you.
"Please, Jacob."
"No."
You sink back into your seat, letting out a long and dramatic sigh. Attempting to look as pitiful as possible. And judging by the way Jacob's leg won't stop anxiously bouncing beneath the table, it's working.
"Don't do that," Jacob whines.
Silence.
"Okay, fine, I'll figure it out." He throws his hands up in surrender. "Just quit pouting and help me study."
"Thank you, Jacob," You perk up. "You're the best!"
"Yeah, yeah."
The excited call you get from Sangyeon telling you to come over immediately comes sooner than expected. You're not usually one to question miracles, but you are curious as to how Jacob managed to drag everyone out of the house on a Tuesday night.
"Where is everyone?" You ask as Sangyeon tugs you through the front door.
"Don't know. Don't care." He smiles brightly. "What I do know, is I'm not touching a single textbook, laptop, or phone."
You aren't sure when the last time you saw your boyfriend this happy was.
Sangyeon plops down onto the couch, pulling you into his lap as he does so. "It's gonna be just me, you, some take-out, this couch, and the last season of Love Island Australia."
You snort. "You say that, but I'm betting twenty on you being knocked out by the end of the first episode."
"That's actually the plan," he grins smugly before pulling a blanket over his legs and letting his head fall into your lap. He's not even facing the screen. You're starting to think he just invited you over to be his personal pillow.
NOW THIS this was so fun and exactly what i needed like omg the smile on my face during this whole thing is impenetrable 😆😆😆 i don't use that emoji EVER SKFNKDNFNF but like that's exactly how i looked haha
honestly poor sangyeon, this is exactly how i picture him as frat pres, and the whole chaotic energy and being interrupted ESP by the maknaes is so peak !!! and the little jokes abt should've used protection LIKE THAT MADE ME CHUCKLE WHAT AN UNDERRATED LINE AND KEVIN INTERRUPTING THE CAFE DATE AND THE IRONY OF HIM SAYING HE CANT CHOOSE BTWN COFFEE AND TEA AKFNDJFNFKFNNF bless both yn and sangyeons souls 😭😭😭
anyways props to jacob on pulling it off, he took the toddlers on a field trip weeeee !!! thoroughly enjoyed this <3
this fic is one of my top 5 favorites i've written, and it means so much to me you'd take the time to read it and delve into it so much 🥹 ( also thank you, hehe, i was very proud of that line )
i can't lie, i've been rereading this all day, thank you so so much
Heyyyyyyy I was reading how flowers bloom and wither and gosh it was so beautifully written!! I desperately want a second part but I know for a fact I'll cry my heart out-
thank you so much 🥹 how flowers bloom and wither is definitely one of the works im proudest of ( it's my baby ), so hearing that means more than you know 🫶
and i PINKY promise part two will not be AS heartbreaking ( maybe, i actually haven't decided an ending )
that “instead of ‘i love you’” jaehyun fic of yours 🥺 what a short but sweet little thing! i liked reading that. thank you for sharing it! made me feel warm 💛🌸🍃
this is so sweet :(( thank you so much 🫶
writing short, little comfy fics is always one of my favorite things to do, so i'm glad you liked it 🥹
warnings : language , death , apocalyptic themes , depictions of wounds and blood , suicidal ideation , this is not a happy ending or story
word count : 6.3 k
requested ? no
a/n : heavily inspired by this juyeon fic that made my cry in my car (p.s. there is a jeonghan ver as well).
Your voice is the first to call his name in months. It's been so long that the cadence of it sounds foreign to his ears. Almost like another language entirely. A cry from the distance, barely audible in a way he easily dismisses it as a hallucination. Perhaps he was finally going mad.
He knows other survivors exist, he'd seen them in nearly every town he scavenged. Though in no reality had he ever assumed any of them knew his name. The world had not been kind enough to spare anyone who knew and loved Lee Chan. They'd all been swept away in the initial outbreak. And with no one tethering him to his own existence, he was no more than a living ghost amongst the ruins.
But then the voice calls again, this time closer. Behind him. Louder.
"Chan? Lee Chan!"
And even stranger, he knows this voice. Better than he knows the sound of his own name. Could pick it out of a crowd, blindfolded and all.
Though he still can't bring himself to believe it. Not even as he turns and your silhouette comes into view against the setting sun, your elongated shadow reaching out for him. Tattered shoes well beyond their usable years slap against the pavement as you sprint.
"Oh my God, Chan!"
It has to be a mirage. You'll pass straight through him like an apparition and the universe will laugh at him for believing another one of its cruel jokes.
Yet still, his arms open, and seconds later your full weight crashes into him. Like a tide breaking the shore, stirring up memories like loose sand in its wake.
It's the first time in months he's been held. Felt the warm touch of anything living, much less the safety of something familiar. Tears fill his eyes instantly as Chan clings to the one thing from his past he could never seem to bury. To what he can only assume is a pity gift from the universe making up for all the times it fucked him over. To you.
Your chest heaves against his as you ask, "Is it you? Is this real?"
Chan himself doesn't know the answer to that.
"I can't believe I found you," you breathe out once the air surrounding you two settles. You haven't let go yet and Chan doesn't want you to. Worried that when you finally do, he'll wake up back in the crumbling shed he'd used for shelter the night before. With his back against a cold, moldy mattress instead of being held by the warmth of a thousand suns. Alone again.
"Please say something," you nervously laugh. Despite the chill in the air, Chan's cheeks are burning up. He's at a loss, far too overwhelmed to produce anything remotely coherent. Though as you peel away to examine him, concern knitting your brows, one word does come to mind.
Wow.
You're still as radiant as he remembered. A diamond amongst the ruins of the world. It looks, for the most part, the universe has been kind to you. Good, he thinks.
"You're not..." Your expression falls. "You're not sick, are you?"
It's the fear in your eyes that finally prompts Chan to push down the lump in his throat. "No!" He rasps, then clears his throat. "No, I'm not sick. Promise."
"Are you hungry?"
Chan looks back at the reason he'd left his shelter in the first place, the rundown mini-mart about a hundred feet away. The stabbing pain in his stomach brings him back down to reality.
"There's nothing worthwhile in there, we already checked."
We?
Your arm extends to point past the mini-mart. Towards a small abandoned town that pokes out just beyond the darkening horizon. "Our shelter is just about a mile that way. Would you–"
He agrees before you've even finished your sentence.
Chan cannot fathom the hope you hold in your heart in a world like this. Not until he meets Seungkwan. The vibrant boy you've been traveling with thus far.
"You can't go around picking up strays."
"He's not a stray, Kwan, he's an old friend. Besides, you were a stray at one point too." You disappear into another room before the boy can argue any further. Leaving him to glower at his new guest.
"If you start acting strange, I'll kill you." Seungkwan points at Chan, though he's not the least bit threatening. His shiny eyes and round face are far too friendly to ever be perceived as intimidating.
Yet Chan humors the boy anyway. "Virus-free, I promise." He raises his hands in surrender.
"And don't touch anything." He motions around the living room, which is surprisingly homey.
When you mentioned you had a shelter nearby, Chan was expecting something a little less... comfortable. Something like the random sheds or raided stores he'd crouch into for just a few hours of shut-eye, never any longer. Or perhaps even a poorly constructed tent made up of various scrap parts. But when you climbed the stairs to a tiny townhouse, one of the better-looking ones amongst the multiple shells of former homes in the neighborhood, Chan almost couldn't believe his eyes. Perhaps this really was all just a dream.
The outside, for the most part, looked pretty decent. There had been some obvious repairs done; trash cleaned from the yard, wooden boards haphazardly nailed over broken windows, a tattered blue tarp covering a large section of the roof, and Chan could just barely make out remnants of graffiti that couldn't be scrubbed away. But the blue paint was hardly peeling and the stone steps had only a few cracks.
When it came to the inside, one word came to mind. Charming. None of the furniture matches, meaning either the previous owner hadn't cared for aesthetics or you and Seungkwan had at some point scavenged the surrounding houses in search of the least fucked up looking decor. Even then, it was really just the bare essentials. A surprisingly comfortable couch, two rocking chairs that look as though the wood had been chewed by squirrels, a metal center table, and a couple bookshelves filled with various novels, picture frames of strangers, and knickknacks.
Down the short hallway to the left are two closed doors. Of which he assumes is a single bedroom and bath respectively. Behind him, where you had disappeared to, is a door he'd quickly caught a glimpse of the kitchen through.
Most notably, however, against the back wall of the living room is a stone fireplace. Ablaze with such life it fully illuminates the space, providing a much-needed warmth as the brisk night rolls in. Chan watches it dance over the mound of logs, completely entranced until that same lovely voice from before calls his name once more.
"All we really have left from our last supply run is tuna, I hope that's okay." In your hands is a bowl with a small portion of rice and half a can of tuna, along with a glass of water. It's no five-star meal, but Chan's mouth still waters at the sight. And better yet, it's warm. He can't remember the last time he had a meal that wasn't a can of cold mystery mush or a granola bar.
He half expects Seungkwan to gripe about him taking something as precious in this world as food. But the boy snorts and a teasing smile creeps its way onto his lips. "Poor kid looks like he'll start drooling any second, I think tuna is more than okay."
He's right, tuna and rice is more than okay. In fact, it's the best damn thing he's ever had in his life. Even as he shovels spoonful after spoonful into his mouth, it only gets better. It isn't until every morsel of food has vanished from the bowl that Chan finally acknowledges his drink. Gulping the clear, luke-warm, liquid down in a matter of seconds.
"Thank you," he breaths out.
"So what are your plans? Are you leaving in the morning?" Seungkwan promptly asks.
Oh.
A chasm opens in Chan's stomach. Right, he thinks, How could he be so naive? Sure, the two of you knew each other. But it's been what, three years? Three years of the two of you living your own lives, growing, becoming new people. Almost a full one of those years spent fighting to survive. You didn't even owe him a meal to begin with, much less a place to stay. And, not to mention, Seungkwan doesn't know him from a hole in the wall.
He isn't sure why he assumed you'd stick by his side. But he'd sure hoped you would.
You have an equally solemn look on your face. "Right, you probably have people you need to get back to. They'll be worried if you stay too long."
"No, actually, it's just me."
Please. Chan silently pleads. Please don't leave me alone again.
You lock eyes with Seungkwan. A silent conversation between the two of you has Chan's heart pounding against his ribs.
"Can I talk to you?" Seungkwan motions you to follow him down the hall and into the solo bedroom.
Minutes feel like hours; and no matter how hard he tries, Chan can't decipher anything from the muffled whispers. It's just a flurry of back and forth until it stops with Seungkwan letting out a long sigh.
When Chan sees your nervous, fidgeting, figure appear with Seungkwan in tow, he starts mentally preparing for a no.
"There's only one bedroom," Seungkwan states, arms crossed. "So we'll have to rearrange the sleeping arrangements—"
"I'll sleep anywhere," Chan immediately bargains. "I can take the couch—"
"Absolutely not." The older boy jabs a finger at him, his stare menacing. "That couch is the nicest thing we have, if anything it's mine."
That is perfectly fine with Chan. In fact, he'd take the termite-chewed wooden floor if that's what it would take. "Does this mean..?"
"Yes," the boy exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, but the action doesn't feel malicious. More like a brother teasing his younger siblings. "You're lucky, you had a very reliable source vouch for you."
It feels like Chan can breathe for the first time since this whole shit-storm began. The weight that lifts from his chest makes him feel as though he's floating. And as your soft gaze catches him, he sees it. That indomitable glimmer of hope humanity has to offer. A light at the end of a dark tunnel. Security wrapped up in a warm, fluffy blanket.
A second chance to be alive.
Seungkwan, as Chan quickly learns, had dreams of being a singer back before. There's rarely been a quiet moment in the week since you found Chan. If he's doing repairs, he's humming. If he's taking inventory, he's softly mumbling along to some tune. If he's sat by the fire at night, his voice carries beyond the walls and into the night.
It's strange. Chan hadn't realized just how quiet being alone was until now. But you enjoy Seungkwan's voice, and it eases you to sleep on Chan's shoulder. So he enjoys it as well.
"Are they asleep?" He asks, letting his song teeter off, voice just barely audible above the crackling logs.
Chan looks down at the slow rise and fall of your chest. He smiles fondly, dropping his shoulder a tad lower to not strain your neck. By now, he's finally gotten over the disbelief of his luck in finding you— well, more so you finding him. Deciding to no longer question the probability of it all and simply cherish the feeling you bring him.
"Yeah, I think so."
Similarly, Chan has also learned that as much of a tough guy act as Seungkwan puts on, he's got an incredibly soft heart. It's pertinent in his gaze and the discreet ways he dotes on anyone around him. Bickering with Chan to wear something warmer even though Spring is around the corner or fussing at you to take an extra portion of rations.
In an alternate life, Chan likes to think he and the boy could've been life-long friends.
"How long were you out there alone?" He muses, a curious look on his face.
"Since the first outbreak," Chan answers casually. Though, Seungkwan's eyes go wide in horror.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, why? How long were you?"
"Three weeks, maybe." He shrugs. "Give or take a few days. We ran into each other pretty early on and we've stuck together ever since. Found this place about four months ago and tried to make it feel somewhat normal."
"Oh, that's nice." Chan forgets that for some, life kept moving. Even as society crumbled, humanity persisted. Some in vain, some succeeding, and others, like himself, not at all.
"Can I ask something else?" Seungkwan pulls him from his thoughts. There's a prying curiosity that's scribbled all over his face. Grinning like a schoolgirl with fresh gossip to tell her friends. Chan decides to entertain his curious mind, nodding.
"How do you two know each other?" He gestures at the two of you curled up on the couch. "Like, what's the story there?"
Chan's heart drops straight into his ass and like a reflex, he glances down to ensure you're really asleep. The two of you haven't exactly gotten the chance to talk about everything quite yet. So as of now, he isn't sure where you stand. He decides the more vague the better.
"We met in our third year of university. Their roommate was friends with my roommate."
Seungkwan squints his eyes, visibly displeased with that answer. "And?"
"And..." Chan toys with the material of his pants. "We dated. Two years. Just... didn't work out in the end."
Chan seriously wishes Seungkwan's facial expressions weren't so telling. That way he'd be able to at least pretend he was getting out of this conversation any time soon. But still, the boy persists, nagging him about the who's, what's, when's, where's, and why's until Chan caves. Explaining everything from the stolen glances that started it all, to the teary-eyed bittersweet end.
He vividly remembers the way regret pooled in his chest the moment your front door shut. Making his chest feel cold and empty, a feeling that stuck around nearly every day after. Reminding him of what he let go of for the past three years. The conversation plays on in a loop in his head, and since then, he's thought up about a thousand ways he would've done differently.
"Are you saying you want to break up?" Your voice was so small it ripped Chan's heart in two.
"No! I just— I mean, but... shouldn't we?"
"Our lives started growing in different directions faster than we could keep up." He explains to Seungkwan, who's been uncharacteristically quiet. Not once stopping to interject his opinion or pop in another question. "They were offered a really good internship a few cities away. I was given the opportunity to be mentored by a renowned choreographer. We'd both be so busy. It didn't seem fair to hold each other back from our dreams. There wasn't much of a choice."
But that's not true. Chan ripped the bandaid off long before it could prove to stand the test of time because he was scared. He assumed the love you felt for him would slowly wither and die with the distance. Drawn out in a slow and painful process he couldn't bear the burden of. So he ran, like a coward, and left you to deal with the fallout by yourself.
It's funny, how the universe deals out karma.
"Probably the dumbest decision I've ever made."
Seungkwan hums, relaxing back into his wooden rocking chair, seemingly deep in thought. A silence settles over the room, only the sound of dying embers softly crackling fills the air.
You stir next to him, nose cutely scrunched up as you search for a more comfortable position. Chan hooks his arm around your waist, pulling you to fully lean against him, being extra cautious not to accidentally jostle you awake. You finally settle, and he can't help but notice your body still fits against his perfectly. Just like to used to.
And when Chan lifts his head back to meet Seungkwan's eyes, he catches the tail end of a fond smile. He rises from the chair, making his way around behind the sofa.
"You made it back, that's all that matters." He whispers, hand on Chan's shoulder. "You don't get a lot of second chances in life— much less in the middle of the apocalypse. Maybe it's time you stop just trying to survive and start letting yourself live. Whatever that looks like for you."
Spring rounds the corner like an old friend. Marking officially one year since the world went to shit and bringing with it much-needed rain in the form of rolling storms. One brews on the horizon, dark clouds gradually closing in on the afternoon sun. The cool breeze feels refreshing against Chan's damp skin. A pleasant contrast to the heavy bag slung over his shoulder, filled with scavenged treasures from the latest scout.
"You know, I offered to carry it halfway," you tease, significantly less out of breath than Chan on your trek back home. The exterior of the townhouse hadn't fared well with the harsh storms, yet it's a welcomed sight nonetheless.
"Yeah, but that would require him relinquishing about this much pride," Seungkwan laughs while pinching his fingers together, squinting through the narrow gap between them.
"It's not even that heavy," Chan scoffs, and if you clock his lie, you don't make it known.
"Whatever you say, golden boy," Seungkwan snickers, the corner of his lip quirked up in a smirk before veering off to the small plot just to the left of the entrance steps.
Seungkwan, arguably the most excited for Spring to arrive, had taken up gardening. Plowing up the soil with a water-logged wooden shovel and planting various packs of seeds he'd once found on a scout. They were mostly just flowers, anything useful like fruits and veggies having already been snatched up by other scavengers. However, he'd been lucky enough to find one packet of tomato seeds, one of green onion seeds, and another of squash seeds. The boy has a surprisingly green thumb, having created a flourishing garden in just a month.
"It's looking beautiful, Seungkwan. Another few weeks and we may actually have something to eat that isn't out of a can." You praise, admiring the colorful arrangement as well.
Sure, the fruits and veggies are nice, but Chan much prefers the cluster of voluminous purple hyacinths. Their vibrant color reminds him of the rich sunsets he'd use as a child to gauge when to return home for dinner.
He swiftly plucks a single bloom from the arrangement and places it behind your ear. You smile at the gesture, and it somehow shines brighter than the flower itself. A sight he believes is capable of parting the gray clouds stretching across the sky.
"Stop killing my babies, Lee Chan." Seungkwan chastises, annoyance evident in his tone.
"Sorry," he sheepishly grins, remembering Seungkwan's no-touching rule he had applied to the garden.
In the distance, there's a low rumbling that draws your attention to the sky. "We should go in before it starts pouring." You take Chan's hand, tugging him inside while his heart beats out of his chest. You call out for Seungkwan as well, urging him that his babies will be fine in the rapidly approaching storm.
Rain slowly begins to patter against the rafters the second the front door squeaks shut. Crescendoing to a downpour within a matter of minutes. Sounds like the three of you are in for a long one tonight.
It was hard to notice at first. The occasional slip-ups here and there. Easy enough to blame the rising Summer heat on Seungkwan's mood swings. Even if the boy had been more readily agitated lately, his bubbly moments stuck around in an abundance that excused the outbursts.
Though Chan can't quite get over that look on your face the first time Seungkwan snapped at you. Something about his bush of hydrangeas being disturbed despite you insisting you hadn't laid so much as a finger on his garden. But the moment tears slipped from your irises, Seungkwan crumbled. His eyes blown wide in horror as the realization hit. He uttered endless apologies, begging for forgiveness until you assured him everything was okay.
And to his credit, he hadn't had an outburst that big since. But still, you made sure to be extra cautious around his garden from then on out.
The red patches painting his arms are harder to ignore, though. Especially with the incessant noise of nails obsessively itching at dry skin.
"Are you okay?" Chan asks, finally voicing his concerns after watching the boy go at his skin with an inhuman determination for the past half hour. The sight reminding him of a rabid dog infested with fleas. With little care for its own health, left only with the insatiable urge to make the itching stop.
Seungkwan's head snaps up with feral eyes, though they dissolve into cheery crescents quick enough to fool Chan into believing he was just imagining things. Perhaps he'd been a little too on guard around his friend. The sweltering heat surely didn't help his nerves.
"Yeah," he chuckles. "I must've gotten into some poison ivy, it's been driving me mad."
It only got worse.
The scratching.
It keeps Chan awake in the late night hours. That dry sound echoing in his head over and over and over and over. And during the day, despite it being the peak of Summer, Seungkwan wears long sleeves. They do well in muffling the sound and hiding whatever visuals resulted from the night before. Yet, he forgets to scrub the dried blood from under his nails.
There's an unease that settles in Chan's chest and makes a nest there. A feeling that comes in waves, yet never fully leaves him. It consumes his thoughts and taints the air in his lungs until he feels like he may choke on it. Unable to breathe a single word about his worries without accidentally manifesting them into fruition. Because perhaps nothing is awry. Perhaps Chan is the one slowly losing his mind.
After all, you've yet to mention anything. Content with humoring Seungkwan's better moments in spite of his worst.
Perhaps, Chan is still stuck in his mirage.
It happened again.
Seungkwan snapped and this time Chan had to intervene.
Over his garden again.
The once glorious flowers were sad and wilting, through no fault of anyone's, but the elements. The heat was harsh on them and there hadn't been enough rain in a while to revive them. Not to mention, Seungkwan simply hadn't been tending to them as much as he thought he had. He spent most of his days now obsessing over illusions instead.
Swore he saw spiders in the rations. Heard scratching in the walls. Had caught shadows of looters pacing outside at night.
You called it dehydration.
But he'd somehow gotten it into his head you'd been poisoning the soil when he wasn't looking. He swung the front door open so hard it nearly flew off its hinges, yelling obscenities about how you betrayed him. How rotten and horrid you were for killing the one thing that'd given him any semblance of joy. Chan swears he's never seen someone so unhinged as Seungkwan in that moment.
All it took was three large steps in your direction for Chan to brace himself in front of you. However, all it really took to freeze Seungkwan in his steps was his name. Loud and firm. Lighting a clarity in his eyes that's been missing for a few days now. He ushers the boy outside with haste. Too afraid to look back at your crumbling face.
Seungkwan collapses down on the stone steps. He pulls his knees to his chest and digs his palms into his eyes, hard. "I fucked up, didn't I?" He whimpers.
Chan doesn't know what to say. He did. But confirming it when he's in such a state seems cruel. And he doesn't care to twist the knife any further. He just takes a seat next to what's left of his friend and lays a comforting hand on his back.
"I'm scared." Seungkwan's head tips back to the sky. Chan had always been under the assumption that Seungkwan was oblivious to his deteriorating state. But the steady stream of tears down the boy's cheeks says otherwise.
"I can feel my mind slowly becoming not my own."
"Maybe it's not—"
"I already tried telling myself that." Chan's heart sinks as the boy hikes up his sleeves. Revealing the angry red tracks and rust-colored scabs covering a majority of his forearms. Some wounds still look fresh, and painfully deep.
"That's the first symptom, right? Feeling like there's ants under your skin. Being easily irritated. Foggy memories, whole days missing..." He looks ahead at the setting sun. "I'm already seeing things. Was it one or two months the broadcast said the infected have once those start?"
Chan tries to remember back to when his radio crackled to life for the first time. He's pretty sure it's one.
"I can't remember."
Seungkwan pushes a bitter laugh through his nostrils. "Me either."
Chan glances at the sad plot of greenery beside him. He frowns at the way the tulips droop and their petals hang limp. At least those who are still trying to hold on. Desperate to escape the same fate as their counterparts that have already begun decaying into the soil.
He looks back to Seungkwan and wonders what it's like. To have the tulips weep for you. For them to bow their heads and shed their petals like tears. He also wonders if you'll grieve for Seungkwan as gracefully as they do.
"Promise me one thing?" Seungkwan whispers. His eyes already look like they're glazing over again.
"Anything."
He speaks your name with longing. "Take care of them, yeah? I know it seems like they have their shit together, but that's not how it always was."
"What do you mean?" Chan asks, skin crawling. But Seungkwan continues to stare ahead, eyes focused on who knows what in the distance. He blinks slowly, "It's not my story to tell. Just... promise."
"I promise. Don't worry, it's not something you even have to ask."
"The garden, too." His lips lift at the corners. Chan thinks it's a smile, but it's too uncanny to recognize. "If you're taking requests."
He agrees, partly to provide Seungkwan with what little peace of mind he can offer him, but also because he already has been. Chan tries on occasion to care for the sad little plants. Wetting the soil with what little water he can spare.
Part of him naively hoped that maybe somehow, some way, if the garden could be nursed back to its former glory, so could Seungkwan. But deep down, Chan has learned to tell the difference between a dream and reality by now.
And the reality is, Seungkwan reeks of borrowed time.
The world stole your smile when it stole Seungkwan. It ripped his soul from your grasp as Chan held you in his. Kicking and screaming.
Endless tears streaming down his cheeks as he fought to hold you back. Your pleas grew more desperate and wrangled. Mixing with the garbled, wretched, shrieks of your friend. Fingers clawing at his eyes. The virus embedded so deep in his brain he was no longer Seungkwan.
Just another host.
Your voice was the last to call Seungkwan's name that day. Raspy and hollow as you begged for his life. Begged the universe to not take the last ray of sunshine the world had to offer. Begged Seungkwan to fight just one more day. Begged Chan to let you save him despite all hope having set when the sun did. The scratches you'd left on his forearms remained a week after. But the hole Seungkwan's presence left has yet to fade.
Neither of you spoke of the boy in that time. He still doesn't know if that's for better or worse. Chan's terrified you'll shatter if he so much as whispers the boy's name. But to act like he never existed in the wake of it... well, that just doesn't feel right either.
But Chan knows there's no proper way to grieve. He figured that out at the beginning. He'd had damn near a year to mourn everyone he ever loved, you've only had a week. He knows with time, acceptance will come. But it kills him not knowing how to help.
So instead, Chan does the hard stuff.
He buries Seungkwan. Next to his garden, so that next Spring he can watch it grow. He stacks rocks as a makeshift headstone and plucks dried, stiff asphodel from the garden to make it look neat. He rearranges the bookshelf into a tiny shrine of Seungkwan's things. His favorite books he'd read over and over. A silver ring, with some date Chan doesn't know the meaning of carved into it. A liquor bottle that he used as a makeshift vase with the last flowers he picked still in it. Long dead, but the petals somehow still holding on. Replaces one of the bronze picture frames of strangers with a photo he found tucked away in Seungkwan's bag. One of him and two other people he assumes are his parents.
And when he's done, he lights a candle, the flame drawing you out like a moth.
"What is this?" you croak. It's the first you've spoken to Chan since it happened.
"Something to honor him," Chan whispers, keeping his gaze locked on the flickering light. He's too scared to see your reaction. Afraid you'll break down again. Afraid you'll hate it and scream that he has no right to mourn someone you loved for longer. Afraid that if he sees your tears flowing, he won't be able to stop his own.
Because he also knows part of you still resents him for that night. For grabbing your waist and stopping your momentum from hurtling towards Seungkwan. Robbing you of the chance to hold and comfort your friend one last time. Your screams echo in his head as a reminder whenever your gaze refuses to meet his or you shrug away from his touch.
But then your head falls to his shoulder like an olive branch stretching across a battlefield. Your sniffles break through the silence. Chan hesitantly pulls you closer, and when you don't flinch away, he does even more so until your full weight is against him.
When Seungkwan was here, there was rarely a moment of silence. But now, the house, and you, are quiet. And all Chan can hear are the sounds of heartbreak. Never before had he thought it could be so incredibly loud.
The cold air sneaks in sometime around mid-November. Bringing with it longer nights and temperatures low enough to warrant nightly fires again.
You haven't talked much since the night you cried your heart out on Chan's shoulder. Operating more like a zombie replicating past routines from life before. Wake up. Scavenge. Eat. Sleep. So when you offer up the first ounce of interest in something other than your daily routine, Chan nearly jumps out of his skin.
"I miss the ocean," you mumble, solemn eyes looking down at the crackling fire. The tip of your nose red from the chill.
"We can go if you want... If it would make you happy." He says though he'd settle for content. To bring you back, he'd do anything.
You nod. "Yeah, I'd like that."
And Chan makes it happen.
Maps out the closest beach. Rigs up two rusty old bikes he found in a shed. Packs enough provisions just in case. All for the sake of maybe returning with a sliver of the person you used to be.
The two of you easily find the rocky formation looking over the dark sea, waves raging below. It's here, that Chan truly realizes just how much of a shell you've become of your former self. The way you inch closer and closer to the sharp edge is lifeless. Like a magnet being pulled at with no will of your own. It lodges a dagger of dread through the center of his chest.
"Don't go so close, you could slip." Chan doesn't know if you can't hear him over the crashing waves below or if you simply choose not to. But your feet keep moving and Chan's feel cemented to the ground.
"That's close enough!" He calls.
Again, nothing.
Your toes hang over the edge now, hands in your jacket pockets. Raging waves slam against the cliff, reaching up for you. You close your eyes and point your nose to the sky.
Wind rushes around Chan. His shoes slip on the slick rocks below as instinct takes charge of his momentum while his brain remains frozen in panic. His lungs refuse to work until his arm can hook around your torso. Yanking you back with such a force it throws the both of you off balance. It isn't until his back meets solid rock that he finally gasps in a sputtering breath. The dull throbbing is instant, but the full weight of you atop his chest is comforting.
Chan desperately scrambles to collect you in his arms. Pulling your back against his chest so that he can curl around you like a protective barrier from the world.
"I wasn't going to jump." You whisper. But he feels no comfort from your empty words.
"Please don't make me lose you twice." He pleads like a child, rocking you in his grasp. The salty spray from the ocean mixes with his tears until he can't tell what is what. Right now, the only thing he's certain of is the one in his grasp. The feeling of you in his arms, safe, and he doesn't want to ever lose that. Call it selfish if you must. Lee Chan will wear that title proudly.
There's a rush of déjà vu as you crumble, muttering Seungkwan's name between wretched sobs, nails deep in his forearms. Sobbing about how you miss him, how unfair it is, everything you've been holding in since. Chan holds you tighter. Scared you'll slip away like the tide. Like Seungkwan did. Plunged into cold, thrashing darkness.
He prays to whatever merciful forces have forsaken him to please not do the same to you.
It's a silent trip back to the townhouse and you all but collapse from exhaustion the second you're through the door. Dragging yourself over to the couch and immediately curling into a ball. Chan takes the liberty of lighting the fire before sitting down beside you. He opens his arms, and to his surprise, you accept, letting your head fall into his lap. His arm securely drapes over your torso, though you're quick to cradle his hand. Hugging it to your chest so that his palm can feel the rhythmic thumping of your heart.
Chan lets out a long-held sigh, counting each beat like a lullaby. Then focuses on the rise and fall of your chest. Letting the steady swells ease the adrenaline from his system.
For a second, life is okay. Happy, even. Like how it was back before the world ended. Before he broke your heart. When he didn't care about anything except you and passing chemistry.
"I'm scared to lose you." When you say it, it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. "I always thought maybe, because we'd made it this far, that meant we were somehow immune. That the worst was over for us."
You pause to take a deep breath. But Chan doesn't push, simply thankful you've finally decided to let him shoulder the weight you carry.
"But if Seungkwan can die, that means you can too. Then who do I have?"
"I'd never leave–"
"You can't promise that," you drop to a whisper. Compensating for the waver in your voice. And you're right, he can't. Not in a world as cruel as this.
But he wants to.
"I don't believe in this world anymore. Not after what it did to him."
"Can you believe in me?"
Your answer doesn't come in the verbal form. Nor does it come quickly, which makes Chan think he's officially lost you. But then your fingers thread with his, squeezing in a way that he can only describe as feeling like pure hope.
Chan can't remember when the turning point was. All he knows is that today, months after the ocean, life feels peaceful once more. The Spring breeze is gentle against his skin as he lays in the soft grass with your head on his stomach. Surrounded by the aroma of the newly bloomed tulips that far outshine the rest of the garden.
He doesn't have as nearly green of a thumb as Seungkwan did, but he's proud. The garden is lush, green, and full of life. A little chaotic, but beautiful nonetheless.
Chan had even managed to revive the hydrangeas Seungkwan was so fond of.
You point to clouds with upturned lips, remarking on their resemblance to various animals. It's not the first time he's been lucky enough to catch you smiling in the subsequent months. But he knows to cherish each one more than he once did.
There's still a chill to the spring air and Chan tugs at his sleeves. Ignoring the incessant urge to animalistically claw at his arm. At the itch so deep under his skin, it feels like it's in the bone.
been thinking about making a part 2 to this, i know what direction i want to go, just not sure which member i want to include in part 2 — possibly vernon, keeping with the maknae line feels right ( and i love vernon ) but also maybe wonu or minghao,,, idk idk
yeah i'm just gonna go ahead and start off by apologizing for going m.i.a. again unannounced </3
i once again (surprise, surprise) got into a mood where everything i wrote just felt blah, i was pressuring myself with deadlines, sucked the joy out of writing all together and, in the end, decided to delete tumblr and give myself the time to reset. i think i've discovered writing truly comes to me in waves, and that's perfectly okay !! but i need to be gentle with myself when i'm in these slumps instead of spiraling over how i must be disappointing everyone by not pumping out fics. like girl! it's just fanfic! it's not that serious! calm down you're not even getting paid!!
writing is meant to be for my enjoyment and slowly, i've been unlearning all the stress i've put into it to reclaim that joy! so, with a (tentative?) return, just wanted to stop in and give an update that hopefully, fingers crossed, i will be slowly getting back into the groove of things.
i've got a lot to catch up on, but for now, i will be active (:
for those still here, loving and supproting my works, thank you as always 🫶
when it hits that i don't have to compulsorily write anything or that I don't have to pressurise myself into posting something that feels mediocre to me, it already feels so much better and helps me look forward to any new ideas that I may have.
still reaching that phase where I allow myself to take breaks, and relax and not worry about not having posted.
exactly the type of mentality i'm trying to reach— and from someone as talented at writing as you, it's nice to know the burn out is universal writer thing, haha
yeah i'm just gonna go ahead and start off by apologizing for going m.i.a. again unannounced </3
i once again (surprise, surprise) got into a mood where everything i wrote just felt blah, i was pressuring myself with deadlines, sucked the joy out of writing all together and, in the end, decided to delete tumblr and give myself the time to reset. i think i've discovered writing truly comes to me in waves, and that's perfectly okay !! but i need to be gentle with myself when i'm in these slumps instead of spiraling over how i must be disappointing everyone by not pumping out fics. like girl! it's just fanfic! it's not that serious! calm down you're not even getting paid!!
writing is meant to be for my enjoyment and slowly, i've been unlearning all the stress i've put into it to reclaim that joy! so, with a (tentative?) return, just wanted to stop in and give an update that hopefully, fingers crossed, i will be slowly getting back into the groove of things.
i've got a lot to catch up on, but for now, i will be active (:
for those still here, loving and supproting my works, thank you as always 🫶
