(a/n): missing Wonwoo hours is officially on. I just wanted to post something for him before he leaves. Also thankyou cel ( @mylovesstuffs ) and ro ( @shinysobi ) for beta reading ^^
summary: Before leaving for military service, Wonwoo hands you a disposable camera, saying, "Take a picture whenever you think of me." At first, you laugh it off, but as the days pass, you find yourself reaching for the camera more often than you expected
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The Departure
The night before he leaves, the air feels differentโheavier, like the weight of unsaid words is pressing down on both of you.
You sat together on the couch, a blanket draped over both your legs, the TV playing a movie neither of you were really watching. Wonwooโs arm was resting along the back of the couch, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his skin, but he hasnโt touched you in a while. Not because he doesnโt want to, but because he knows the moment he does, itโll make leaving that much harder.
You stole a glance at him. His face is calm, unreadable, but you know him too well to be fooled. His fingers drummed softly against the fabric of his sweatpantsโrestless. Heโs been like this all evening, like heโs bracing himself for the inevitable.
โโฆYou should go to bed soon,โ he finally says, his voice quieter than usual. โYou have to wake up early.โ
Your throat tightens. So do you, you want to say, but instead, you shake your head. โNot sleepy.โ
He exhales a soft laugh, but it doesnโt quite reach his eyes. โLiar.โ
You donโt argue. Instead, you pull your knees up to your chest, curling into yourself. He watches you for a moment before reaching behind him.
โHere.โ He handed you something small, something rectangular. You took it hesitantly, fingers brushing his, and when you looked down, you saw a disposable camera resting in your palm.
You blink up at him. โWonwoo, what is this?โ
He shrugs, looking almost shy. โJust thoughtโฆ whenever you think of me, you could take a picture. So you wonโt forget me.โ
Your heart aches at the way he says itโlightly, like itโs a joke, but the meaning behind it is anything but.
โIdiot,โ you murmur, gripping the camera tighter. โLike I could forget you.โ
He smiles at that, but thereโs something in his expression that makes your chest tighten. You donโt want this moment to end, because when it does, it means morning will come, and with it, the goodbye youโre not ready for.
But time is cruel, and before you know it, the night slips away.
โ
The train station is busy, filled with people coming and going, but to you, it feels like you and Wonwoo are standing in your own little world.
Youโve never been good at goodbyes. You hate how they always feel too short, no matter how long they actually last.
Wonwoo shifts his bag on his shoulder, looking down at you. โYouโll be okay, right?โ
You nod, but you donโt think you really mean it. He sees right through you, sighing as he reaches out to ruffle your hairโsomething he always does when he doesnโt know how else to comfort you.
โIโll be back before you know it.โ
You bite your lip, willing yourself not to cry. โLiar.โ
That makes him laugh, and for a moment, itโs just like any other day. Like he isnโt about to step onto that train, like he isnโt about to leave for months.
The announcement echoes overhead. Wonwoo glanced at the clock, then back at you. His eyes soften.
โGuess this is it.โ
You swallow past the lump in your throat. โYeah.โ
He hesitates, then reaches for your hand, squeezing it once before letting go. He doesnโt say anything, but he doesnโt need to. You feel the words lingering between you, the ones heโs never been good at saying out loud.
You watched as he took a step back, then another. And then, with one last lingering glance, he turns and walks away.
Your fingers tighten around the camera in your pocket.
The first picture you take is of the train as it disappears into the horizon.
The First Few Weeks
The first thing you notice is the silence.
Wonwoo never filled a room with noiseโhe wasnโt the type. But the absence of him is loud in a way that makes your chest feel hollow. You woke up the morning after he left, instinctively reaching for the other side of the bed, only to find cool, untouched sheets. You tell yourself itโs fine. Youโll get used to it.
Except you donโt.
The first week is the hardest. Every little thing reminds you of him. The empty coffee mug sitting on the kitchen counter because you keep forgetting that you only need one now. The folded-up blanket on the couch, still carrying the faintest trace of his cologne. The Spotify playlist he made for you playing on shuffle while you try to focus on anything that isnโt the aching space he left behind.
You held out for a call, a textโsomething. But the military isnโt generous with communication, and you know you wonโt hear from him often. You try to be rational about it. You tried to focus on other things. But every time your phone lit up, your heart stumbled, hoping it was him.
It never is.
You donโt want to admit how much you miss him. Itโs embarrassing, really. Heโs only been gone for a few days, and youโre acting like youโve been separated for years. But the quiet moments are the worstโthe ones where you have no distractions, nowhere to direct your thoughts.
And thatโs when you remembered the camera.
It had been sitting on your nightstand since he gave it to you, untouched. You pick it up hesitantly, rolling it over in your hands.
"Whenever you think of me, take a picture."
You scoffed under your breath. Heโs going to regret saying that.
Because the first picture you take is of his empty side of the bedโa silent complaint, a little jab at how much you miss him already. You didn't let yourself linger on it for too long, tossing the camera back onto the nightstand and climbing out of bed.
___
Days passed, and the camera became an extension of your routine.
You take pictures without thinking too hard about it, little pieces of your life that heโs no longer here to witness. The second picture is your morning coffee, still made in two mugs before you remember thereโs no one to drink the other. The third is the bookshop you both love, his favorite aisle tucked into a quiet corner.
You find yourself narrating moments to him in your head, like heโs still beside you. Wonwoo, you wouldnโt believe the way our neighborโs cat tried to steal my lunch today. Wonwoo, I went to that ramen place you like, and they gave me extra toppings because they felt bad I was eating alone.
You donโt say them out loud, but somehow, taking the pictures feels like sending a message. Like youโre keeping a record of your days, waiting to share them with him when he comes back.
___
One evening, you caught yourself reaching for your phone before realizing, again, that you couldn't call him. Frustrated, you grab the camera and snap a picture of yourself in the bathroom mirrorโtired eyes, a messy ponytail, an expression that practically screams, "I miss you, idiot."
You roll your eyes at yourself. Pathetic.
Still, you didn't delete it.
Somewhere in the quiet, you started to realizeโthis wasn't just about missing him. This was proof. Proof that life is still moving, that youโre still finding ways to smile, to laugh, to exist, even in his absence.
And maybe, just maybe, when he finally came back, youโd hand him this little stack of memories and sayโ
"See? I never stopped thinking of you."
The Changing Seasons
The world keeps turning, even when part of you feels frozen in time.
Autumn faded into winter, and with it, the sharpness of your grief softened. Missing Wonwoo doesnโt feel like an open wound anymoreโit becomes a quiet, familiar ache, something that sits in your chest like a second heartbeat. You still woke up reaching for him, still caught yourself glancing at your phone too often, but the loneliness no longer consumed you.
Winter was harsh this year. The first snowfall blankets the city in white, and for a moment, itโs almost beautiful. You remember the way Wonwoo used to stick his hands into his coat pockets, his nose red from the cold, mumbling about how heโd rather be inside reading. The memory makes you smile, and without thinking, you grab the camera.
Click. A picture of the snow-covered street. The kind of scene heโd roll his eyes at but secretly find pretty.
The days were slow, but they passed. You kept moving forward, one foot in front of the other. Work keeps you busy, friends pull you into plans youโd rather avoid, but you go anywayโbecause thatโs what Wonwoo would want.
You started writing him letters.
Not the kind you sendโjust scribbled thoughts on paper, folded neatly and tucked away. Some are short: I saw someone today who looked like you, and my heart nearly jumped out of my chest. Others are longer, rambling about your day, the books youโve been reading, the songs youโve been listening to. Itโs comforting, in a way, to pretend heโll read them someday.
Then spring came, and with it, a shift.
The world thawed. Trees blossom, the air turns warm, and the weight on your shoulders liftsโjust a little. Itโs strange how time does that. How grief doesnโt disappear, but it changes shape, fitting itself into the life youโre still trying to live.
You took more pictures now. Not just for him, but for yourself.
The cherry blossoms are in full bloomโsoft pink petals against the sky.
The first ice cream of the season, melting too fast in the sun.
A selfie, just to prove to yourself that youโre still here, still living.
There was a momentโjust a fleeting oneโwhere you thought, Maybe Iโm okay.
Then summer arrived.
And so did his letter.
You recognized his handwriting instantly, your breath catching as you tore open the envelope. It was short, because Wonwoo had never been one for long-winded words.
"I miss you. Are you still taking pictures?"
Your hands shook as you held the paper.
And for the first time in months, you cried.
Not because of sadness. Not because of longing.
But because you finally understood.
This distanceโit was temporary. Seasons change. Time moves. And eventually, heโll come home.
And when he does, youโll have a whole lifeโs worth of memories waiting for him.
The Hardest Days
Some days pass in a blurโwake up, work, eat, sleep, repeat. You go through the motions, keeping busy enough that the ache in your chest doesnโt have time to settle. But the hardest days?
The hardest days drag.
They stretch endlessly, pressing down on you until you feel like you might sink under the weight of them. They arenโt loud or dramatic; they donโt come with warning signs. Instead, they creep in quietly, disguised as ordinary moments that turn into reminders of how much you miss him.
__
The first bad day comes two weeks after Wonwoo leaves.
You were doing okay, keeping yourself distracted, until you stepped into your favorite bookstoreโthe one you used to visit together. At first, it felt fine. You even reached for a book you thought heโd like, flipping through the pages with a small smile.
Then, you glanced to your right.
His usual spotโthird shelf from the entrance, where heโd always linger, eyes scanning the titles like he was searching for something heโd lostโwas empty.
The realization hit you like a punch to the stomach. You could almost see him there, adjusting his glasses, tilting his head slightly in thought. You could hear his voice in your head, muttering about how he โwasnโt going to buy anything this timeโ only to walk out with three new books.
But he wasnโt there.
And for the first time since he left, you truly felt his absence.
You left without buying anything.
__
The days bleed into each other after that. Some are manageable. Others make you feel like time is moving too slowly, stretching the distance between you even further.
Then the second bad day comes.
It starts with an innocent notificationโa new game update.
Wonwoo had been so excited about this one. Heโd rambled about it for weeks, explaining all the new features in way too much detail, his eyes lighting up in that rare, boyish way. Youโd teased him for it, but truthfully, youโd loved seeing him that excited.
Your fingers hover over your phone, debating whether to open the game.
But whatโs the point? Heโs not here to play with you. There wonโt be any late-night matches, no playful competition, no quiet chuckles when you mess up and pretend it was lag.
Still, you tap the icon. The screen loads, and suddenly, your vision blurs.
Because thereโat the top of your friend listโis his username, followed by the dreaded words:
"Last online: 14 days ago."
The tears come faster than you expect.
You stare at the screen for a long time, hands clenched tightly around your phone, chest aching in ways you donโt know how to fix. The world keeps moving, but for you, time feels frozen in the moment he left.
___
And then, the hardest day of them all.
Itโs lateโpast midnight. You should have been sleeping, but instead, you were lying in bed, curled up under the blanket Wonwoo used to steal half of.
Your body feels heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and loneliness.
You roll over, reaching for your phone, because on nights like this, instinct takes over. You want to call him. Just to hear his voice, just to know heโs still there, even from miles away.
But you canโt.
So instead, you do something even more reckless.
You scroll up in your messages. Past the "good luck" text you sent before he left. Past the "I landed safely" reply he sent hours later. Past the little check-ins, the random inside jokes, the "I miss you too" he sent on a particularly bad night.
You scroll all the way backโweeks, monthsโuntil you find the voice messages.
Your fingers tremble as you press play.
"You always stay up too late, you know that?" Wonwooโs voice filters through the speaker, quiet and familiar.
"I swear, if you donโt start sleeping earlier, Iโm gonnaโugh, never mind. Just take care of yourself, okay?"
Thereโs a slight pause, then a soft chuckle.
"Youโre probably rolling your eyes right now."
A shaky breath leaves your lips.
"Alright, go to sleep. Goodnight, dummy."
The recording ends. The silence that follows is deafening.
And thatโs when it really hits.
Itโs not just that you miss him. Itโs not just loneliness. Itโs the fact that you canโt reach for him whenever you want. You canโt call him and expect an immediate answer. You canโt see him, canโt hear his real-time reactions, canโt fall asleep to the sound of him breathing beside you.
Heโs gone.
And no amount of scrolling through old messages will change that.
So you do the only thing you can do.
You clutch the phone to your chest, squeeze your eyes shut, and let the tears fall.
Somewhere, across the distance, Wonwoo is probably doing the same.
The Small Joys & Healing
Time has a funny way of moving. Some days stretch endlessly, the hours dragging with a weight that makes everything feel slower, heavier. And then, without warning, weeks slip past in a blur of routine and half-hearted distractions. You donโt know which is worseโfeeling like youโre stuck in time or feeling like youโre moving too fast without him.
But eventually, somewhere in between the long nights and the quiet mornings, you start to find something like peace.
Itโs not the kind of peace that makes the missing go away. No, that lingers, settling in your bones like a familiar ache. But itโs a softer kind of longing nowโone that doesnโt consume you, one that reminds you that love doesnโt disappear with distance.
___
The first few weeks were the hardest, but the world didnโt stop turning just because he was gone.
You still wake up every morning, even when the bed feels emptier than usual. You still go about your day, even when every little thing reminds you of him. The bookstore you both used to visit, the ramen place he always craved at the most random times, the late-night walks that feel lonelier without his quiet presence beside you.
At first, you avoid these things. It feels wrong to do them without him, like youโre leaving him behind somehow.
But then, slowly, you do return.
You find yourself stepping into the bookstore one afternoon, the familiar scent of paper and ink wrapping around you. Itโs instinct to glance toward the third shelfโthe one where he always stood, hands tucked into his pockets as he scanned the titles. Heโs not there, of course. But you let yourself linger anyway.
Your fingers brush against the spines of books you know he wouldโve picked. A classic novel with poetic prose. A sci-fi story with a plot twist heโd figure out before the halfway mark. A historical book heโd read just to debate the accuracy of it later.
Before you know it, youโre picking one up.
Not just for him. For you.
Maybe, when he comes back, you can tell him about it. Maybe youโll finally have something to recommend to him instead of the other way around.
The thought makes your chest feel lighter.
__
Then, thereโs the laughter.
It sneaks up on you one evening while youโre on a call with friends. Theyโre arguing over something ridiculousโwhether or not pineapple belongs on pizza, or maybe which video game has the worst NPC dialogue. Youโre half-listening, offering the occasional hum of agreement, until someone casually brings up Wonwoo.
โHeโs probably trying to act all serious in training,โ one of them says. โBut I bet he still zones out mid-conversation like usual.โ
The memory of Wonwooโs blank, unreadable expressions comes rushing back, and before you can stop it, a laugh bubbles up. A real one.
And just like that, you remember:
Wonwoo might be far away, but heโs not gone.
Heโs still him, still existing, still part of the world you share.
Itโs a simple realization, but it lifts something inside you.
You laugh again that night, and for the first time in weeks, it doesnโt feel like youโre betraying the ache in your chest.
___
And then come the letters.
They donโt arrive often, but when they do, they feel like tiny lifelines. A piece of him, sent across the miles, just for you.
The first one is short, the paper slightly crinkled at the edges. His handwriting is neat but rushed, like he was scribbling between moments of exhaustion.
"Iโm fine. Tired, but fine. Itโs weird not having my phone. I keep reaching for it before remembering I canโt just text you. I hope youโre eating well."
You trace your fingers over the ink, swallowing the lump in your throat. Even in the middle of everything, heโs still thinking of you.
"Oh, and donโt let them trick you into watching horror movies without me. You know youโll regret it."
A small, breathy laugh escapes you. He knows you too well.
That night, you sit at your desk with a pen in hand, writing your own letter back. You tell him about your days, the little things he might missโthe bookstore visit, the ramen place, how your friends still argue over the same things. You try not to sound too sad, even though the words feel heavier than they should.
At the end, you add, โI miss you. But Iโll wait. Just donโt forget about me, okay?โ
You donโt expect an immediate reply, but when his next letter arrives weeks later, your heart pounds as you unfold the paper.
"I could never forget you. Donโt even joke about that."
And just like that, the waiting feels a little easier.
___
Healing doesnโt come all at once. Some days are lighter, some days are heavy. There are moments when the longing feels unbearable, when all you want is to hear his voice, to see him sitting beside you, to feel the warmth of his hand in yours. But there are also moments of quiet contentmentโwhen the missing turns into something gentler, something that reminds you that heโs still yours, even from a distance.
And maybe thatโs enough.
For now.
Because love like thisโsteady, unshaken, unwaveringโis worth waiting for.
And when he comes back?
Youโll be right there, waiting.
The Return
The moment you spot him, the air in your lungs disappears.
Youโve been preparing for this day for monthsโcounting down, dreaming about how it would feel to finally see him again. But none of those daydreams couldโve prepared you for this.
For him.
He steps past the arrival gate, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his uniform crisp and perfectly fitted. His posture is straighter, his movements sharper, his presence heavier. Itโs him, but at the same time, it isnโt.
Wonwoo has always been broad, but now heโs differentโstronger. His shoulders are wider, his arms more defined, muscles straining slightly under the fabric of his uniform. Even his stance is different, more solid, more certain.
And his face.
Your heart stutters at the sight of him.
The softness of youth has faded from his features, replaced by sharper angles, a sculpted jawline, a quiet confidence that wasnโt there before. His skin is tanned, kissed by the sun after months of training outdoors. His lips are slightly chapped, a little more serious than you remember. And his eyesโ
They meet yours across the crowded terminal, and everything else ceases to exist.
Your chest tightens.
His gaze is the same.
Still warm, still familiar, still your Wonwoo.
For a second, he doesnโt move. He just stands there, watching you, taking you in. And thenโ
The corner of his lips twitches. A breath of a smile.
And just like that, youโre running.
You push past strangers, the sound of your own heartbeat drowning out the noise around you. He sees you coming, and before you even reach him, his bag is slipping from his shoulder, arms already openingโ
Then you crash into him.
Heโs solid. So, so solid. Your arms wrap around him, and for a second, he stumbles back from the force of your embrace. But then his hands find your waist, gripping you tightly, pressing you closer.
And oh.
He feels different.
The Wonwoo you remember was warm and comforting, but this Wonwoo is unshakable. His back is firm under your touch, his arms secure around you, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. He smells like fabric softener and something distinctively him, something you missed more than you can ever put into words.
โWonwoo,โ you breathe, voice muffled against his shoulder.
He exhales shakily. โYeah,โ he murmurs, like he canโt believe this is real either.
You squeeze your eyes shut, hands fisting the back of his uniform. He doesnโt let go. Neither do you.
When you finally pull back, your hands instinctively find his face, palms pressing against his cheeks. He lets you look at him, watching as you take in every detailโevery sun-kissed inch of his skin, every small change time has left behind.
โYou got buff,โ you whisper, half teasing, half awed.
His lips quirk slightly. โThatโs the first thing you say?โ
You laugh, a little breathless, shaking your head. โYou justโโ You pause, eyes sweeping over him again. โYou look different.โ
Wonwoo tilts his head. โYeah?โ
You nod, fingers brushing over his jaw, feeling the rougher skin there. โBut youโre still you.โ
His expression softens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. His hands, still resting on your waist, tighten just slightly. โStill me,โ he echoes.
You smile. โStill mine.โ
Something shifts in his gaze. His thumb brushes against your hip, and for a moment, he just looks at you, like heโs memorizing this moment, memorizing you.
Then, voice quieter than before, he murmurs, โAlways.โ
And with that, he takes your hand, laces his fingers with yoursโstrong, sure, steady.
โLetโs go home.โ
Epilogue: Home
The apartment feels the same, yet entirely different.
It smells like the candles you kept burning, like fresh linen and the faint scent of coffee. The same bookshelf stands against the wall, still overflowing with your shared collection of novels and mangas. The couch still has the blanket you always curled up in, the one that used to smell like him before it faded away.
But nowโheโs here.
Wonwoo stands in the center of the living room, eyes scanning the space like heโs reacquainting himself with it, like heโs trying to remember what it felt like to belong here. His duffel bag rests by the door, abandoned the moment he stepped inside. His jacket is slung over the back of a chair, and heโs wearing the plain black tee and gray sweatpants you had set out for him, finally out of that uniform that made him feel distantโunreachable.
His hair is shorter, his shoulders broader. His stance is different, like the months away have reshaped him in ways that are still settling. But his eyesโthey are the same. Warm. Familiar. Home.
And then his gaze landeds on what youโre holding.
The disposable camera.
A slow smile tugs at the corner of his lips. โYou still have that?โ
You nod, turning it over in your hands, fingers brushing over the familiar ridges of the plastic body. โOf course. You gave it to me before you left.โ
He had slipped it into your hands that day at the departure gate, voice teasing but eyes serious. "Take pictures. So I donโt miss too much."
So you did.
Of your morning coffee, of the stray cat that lingered by the bookstore, of the first snowfall that settled on the windowsill. Silly things. Little things. Things you wished he couldโve seen.
Wonwoo stepped closer, his fingers ghosting over the camera. โHow many are left?โ
You glanced at the film counter. โOne.โ
His expression shiftedโsomething unreadable flickering in his gaze before he reached out, fingers wrapping around the camera.
Click.
The shutter snaps before you can react.
Your eyes widen. โWait, whatโโ
Wonwoo lowered the camera, the corners of his lips quirking up. โWanted the last one to be of you.โ
Your heart stutters.
You shouldโve expected it. He has always been like thisโquietly sentimental in ways that take you by surprise. But something about this moment, about the way heโs looking at you, like he wants to memorize every detailโit makes warmth bloom in your chest.
You reach for the camera, setting it gently on the table before stepping closer, wrapping your arms around him.
Wonwoo exhales, his hold firm, grounding. His chin rests against the top of your head, and for the first time in months, you feel complete.
โYouโre back,โ you whisper.
His lips brush against your temple. โIโm back.โ
A pause.
Then, softerโโI missed you.โ
Your fingers tighten around the fabric of his shirt, your throat tightening with emotion. โI missed you too.โ
Outside, the city hums with life, the world moving as it always has. But here, in this small apartment, time stills.
And as you stand there in his arms, the disposable camera sitting beside you, its final photo safely tucked away insideโyou know youโll never need it to remember this moment.
