Archive of Our Own

He can’t believe it. He can’t believe he could just be gone like that. His heart, his love, his Jisungie. He blinks once, twice, three times. He stares in front of himself as his posture falters and he curls in on himself. He can’t find the tears he should be crying right now, and he feels so fucking guilty about it, but he just can’t. It’s been a week since Jisung was pronounced dead in the hospital, and the panic attacks never stopped. He has them almost every night, and sometimes during the day too. And yet, he doesn’t cry. He just heaves painful breaths, his brain telling him that he is going to die, and he’s so close to ripping his hair out, but he still won’t cry. The tears just never come. He feels his breathing get laboured again, and he just buries his face in his hands and pretends that he doesn’t see Jisung behind his eyelids every time he closes his eyes and lets the panic wash over him again, his breathing becoming heavy as dry sobs tear themselves out of his lungs. Painful, unavoidable, lethal. There are two soft knocks on his door, but he pays it no mind. He doesn’t care who it is. He doesn’t want to know who it is, because it’s not Jisung. He hears muffled words, and he hears keys jiggling. For a second there, he thinks it’s going to be the love of his life entering through the door, but when the door opens and he sees Chan’s face look through it, he averts his gaze and stares at his feet again, his breathing not any lighter. The door clicks closed very quietly and the next second Chan is sitting next to him, not speaking, not touching, just present, and Minho knows that if he were to miraculously start producing tears, Chan would be there for him. He always has been. Both for him, and for Jisung. 

“You came alone?” Minho asks in a hoarse voice after what feels like hours, when he is sure his voice won’t shake. 

“Yeah. I considered not coming at all, because I knew you wouldn’t want company, but I can’t leave you alone with a good heart,” Chan says quietly, and Minho looks up to see him staring at his hands. His face is pale, dark bags under his bloodshot eyes. The older has been crying, Minho knows. He cried when he called to give them the news and he cried when they met after. It looks like he never stopped crying. 

“The funeral is this Saturday,” Minho says, barely a breath, but Chan can hear him anyway. 

“I’ll get everyone together,” the older says, his voice wavering slightly. 

“Thanks,” Minho replies quietly and silence envelopes them again as they both stare ahead. 

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Chan says after a while, choked up and Minho looks at him again, watching his eyes fill with tears as he buries his face in his hands. It takes him approximately 3 seconds to start sobbing and Minho gently pulls him closer to run his fingers through the older’s hair. 

“I know. I miss him too,” he says quietly, his eyes unblinking as he tries to comfort the older. He finds it ironic. He is the one who was closest to Jisung, they were together after all, and yet more often than not, he finds himself comforting the others more than the other way around. Chan suddenly turns to wrap his arms around Minho and sob into his shoulder. Minho lets it happen, rubbing his back in slow circles. “I’m sorry,” Minho finds himself apologising and Chan shakes his head almost violently. 

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers between two sobs. It certainly  does  feel like it’s his fault. Maybe if he had been more observant, if he had noticed the signs earlier. He could’ve saved him. The sight is still behind his eyelids, and he doesn’t think he will ever get rid of it. The blood, so much blood. He shuts his eyes tight until he sees stars behind them instead of the blood. “There were no signs, Minho,” Chan whispers and Minho lets out a scoff. 

“All the signs were there, hyung. I just should’ve listened,” Minho whispers. Chan stays quiet, pulling up his knees and snuggling into the younger’s side with a sigh. 

“I am so sorry, Min,” he says quietly, and Minho also lets out a quiet breath. 

“Me too,” the younger mumbles, gently rubbing Chan’s shoulder. “How is Lix?” he asks, already afraid of the answer. 

“Broken,” Chan answers, unknowingly stepping on the already broken pieces of Minho’s heart. “I left him with Changbin. He is extremely dehydrated, I almost had to take him to the hospital, because he wouldn’t stop crying and throwing up...” Chan says, his voice wavering with worry. “And Changbin, well... He’s trying to stay strong for Felix, but the moment he falls asleep, he’s in my arms.” 

“Do you think I could see them?” Minho asks quietly. He hasn’t seen Felix and Changbin since they were all in the hospital, and they refused to meet up after it. Chan stays quiet for long moments, before he speaks very carefully. 

“I don’t think they’re ready, Minho,” the older says slowly and Minho nods. He misses them. “They don’t hate you. They’re just angry at everything right now.” 

“I understand, hyung, I’ll meet them when they’re ready. I’ll stay away on the funeral. Hyunjin?” 

“He wanted to come with me today, but I told him that it might not be the right time.” Chan answers, wiping his eyes. Minho didn’t notice he stopped crying. Minho nods again, and chews on his lower lip in silence. His lips are dry and flaky, and it bothers him. 

They sit in silence for a while before Minho asks Chan if he’s okay to leave, because he’d like to be alone and the older nods, understanding. They say a short goodbye and once Chan is out of the apartment, Minho sinks back into the couch to stare ahead of himself. He’s barely eaten since Jisung died. Nothing tastes like anything anymore, the food like ashes in his mouth. Ashes. He lifts his head, stands up and walks into his room to pull the drawers open, looking for the pack of cigarettes he has hidden away months ago, when Jisung scolded him for smoking. He can’t bear looking at the unmade bed on Jisung’s side that he hasn’t touched. He grabs the pack of cigarettes and leaves the room immediately, closing the door behind himself. If he doesn’t see it, it didn’t happen. He opens the door to his balcony, pulling his sweater zipper higher as the cold air hits his skin and he pulls his hood on his head. He opens the box and just stares at the sticks, hearing Jisung’s voice in his head. ‘ It’s not good for you. You’re going to get sick and then I’m going to be alone, and I can’t be alone. Please stop. For me?’  

“Well, where are you now then?” Minho asks quietly, his voice tight and angry as he pulls a cigarette out of the box and lights it, taking a deep inhale from it. 

He coughs a couple times as it scratches his throat, but he leaves the cigarette in the empty ashtray outside and goes back inside to take a bottle of wine out of his cabinet. He opens it and takes it back outside, taking the cigarette in his hand again as he takes a swing from the bottle, the bitter taste of the alcohol burning its way down his throat. He’s shaking, from the cold or his emotions, he doesn’t know. As he puts out the cigarette, he feels his anger bubbling up from deep inside of him and he aggressively takes another swing of the wine, nearly choking on it. The tears still don’t come, which just fuels his rage further. He lights another cigarette and stares up at the stars. 

“Where are you now, Jisungie?” he asks, his voice cracking. 

He pulls up his legs and hugs his knees with the arm he’s holding the bottle with and takes another drag from the cigarette. It tastes like ashes. Everything tastes like ashes. Jisung would be so disappointed if he saw him now. Minho knows, but Jisung is not here, Jisung will never be here again, and he doesn’t care what Jisung thinks. He puts the cigarette out even though he is only halfway done with it and stumbles into the apartment, leaving the balcony door open. He takes another swing of the wine, his vision slowly clouding from it. Half the bottle is already gone and he chuckles to himself. When he gets to the couch, he turns around and puts the bottle down, flinching as there is a form standing at the other end of the room, just looking. He is seeing Jisung, with tears flowing down his face, and he blinks a couple times, but the form is as quick to go as it came. Minho feels his breathing get shallow and he runs his fingers into his hair and  pulls . His head is pounding and he knows it’s not from the alcohol. His stomach twists and his chest hurts, he can’t breathe. He slides off the couch, his knees hitting the soft carpet with a muffled thud, running a slight ache up his thighs to his hip. His chest constrict again as he desperately gasps for air, his brain and vision fuzzy and he can’t think straight and he’s going to die. He’s going to suffocate and he’s going to die. The scream he wants to let out comes out as a loud whimper instead and he folds over, wrapping his arms around his midsection as he sobs without tears, the breaths not coming. He hears knocks on the door again, soft ones, just three short raps. He can’t get himself to speak, or to make any noise, or to ask for help. He remains bent over, hugging himself on the floor as the keys jingle again. 

“Hyung, oh my God,” he hears Hyunjin’s voice, and the door click into place, and he feels him kneel next to him, touching his back and rubbing slow circles on it. He lets it happen, but he still can’t breathe, and he is still convinced he is going to suffocate and die, and maybe it is better that way. That way, he could be with Jisung. But Jisung doesn’t want him. If he did, he wouldn’t have done it. He wouldn’t have taken his own life, leaving Minho alone to suffer through life without him. Everything is fuzzy and spinning, and he can barely hear anything. He is floating, he is drowning, he can’t do this. He’s going to die. “Hyung, you need to breathe, please,” Hyunjin says, and his voice is panicked, but muffled as he desperately tries to calm Minho down. “Please, hyung, you are going to suffocate,” he whispers and for lack of a better idea, he takes one of Minho’s arms in his hands, sinking his nails into it, not enough to cause damage, but enough to hurt and to bring the older back to the present. Minho finally takes a big, gasping breath and gulps for air as Hyunjin’s nails in his arm ground him and anchor him to the present. “Breathe, hyung. Please,” Hyunjin says and there are tears in his voice, and Minho feels so fucking sorry for making him worry. 

He tries to voice it, but all that comes out is another pathetic whimper and he is so angry at himself for being so vulnerable in front of his dongsaeng, but he can’t find it in himself to feel ashamed. He is hurting, he is hurting so bad, and all he wants is to disappear. He wants the pain to go away, he wants time to stop and rewind so he could save Jisung. But none of that happens, and his breathing slowly evens out, and Hyunjin is crying, he can hear him crying, and he can’t look up. He can’t comfort him, he can’t be a good hyung, and he just can’t do it, just like he couldn’t save Jisung, he couldn’t comfort him, he couldn’t, he  couldn’t . When he finally feels himself slip out of the headspace he was in, he looks up at Hyunjin, who is trying to stop crying, but the tears just flow from his eyes. Minho is jealous. He reaches up gently to cup the younger’s cheek and Hyunjin leans into the touch, starting to sob harder. Minho doesn’t want him to hurt, he doesn’t want him to cry. He wants to take away his pain, he wants to help and say something that would comfort him, but Jisung is not here and it’s all his fault and Hyunjin saw him break down. All he can do now is gently swipe his thumb along the younger’s cheekbone to wipe away his tear trail, but it doesn’t stop him from crying. 

“Hyunjinnie, please don’t cry,” he rasps out, his voice weak and broken, as he pulls his eyebrows together with worry. He can do that. He can feel worried for Hyunjin. Not all is gone. 

“It hurts so much, hyung,” Hyunjin whispers, his voice barely audible as he keeps sobbing, his words coming out with strain as he tries to not cry too loud. 

“Then let it out, Hyunjinnie. Let it out,” Minho says quietly, because he knows. He knows that Hyunjin is trying to keep it in, trying not to cry, but he also knows that it’s good to cry. He wishes he could cry. He pulls the younger close, wrapping his arms around him and Hyunjin starts sobbing so loud that Minho flinches from the noise level, but doesn’t let go as the younger tucks himself into his side, wrapping an arm around his midsection. Minho is shaking with the other’s sobs, and he is desperately trying to calm him, to give him some comfort, to take away his pain, but it doesn’t happen. He can’t take away Hyunjin’s pain, he can’t help him, he can’t save him from anything. Just like he couldn’t save Jisung. He couldn’t, he  couldn’t . “I am sorry,” he whispers into the younger’s hair, closing his eyes. The tears still don’t come. “I am so sorry,” he adds, holding Hyunjin close. The younger starts hiccupping, gulping air as he slowly stops crying. 

“Why did he have to go?” Hyunjin asks, his words breaking up from his gasps. 

“I don’t know, Hyunjinnie,” Minho answers quietly, gently running his fingers into the younger’s hair to start scratching at his scalp. Hyunjin softly sobs into his shoulder, and that’s the only thing Minho can focus on. He doesn’t care about anything at the moment, just about comforting Hyunjin, because at least he can do  something . 

He holds Hyunjin for a long time, without moving, the younger falling asleep, curled up to his side, his head on his shoulder and he gently massages his scalp, finally feeling some semblance of normalcy since Jisung died. His phone buzzes in his pocket – he doesn’t even remember he had it – and he pulls it out carefully, looking at the message from Chan. 

Chan hyung 

Is Hyunjinnie with you???  

You 

He’s asleep.  

Chan doesn’t reply, probably satisfied with the answer, or he already left their place to pick up Hyunjin, so Minho could have some alone time, or because he doesn’t trust him to stay alone with anybody else after what happened to Jisung, which would be totally fair, if he is honest with himself, so he puts his phone down next to him and returns to focusing on Hyunjin instead of everything else around him. Things are still blurry, they are still fuzzy, but they are just a little more bearable as he listens to the soft breaths of the younger. It’s almost like Jisung is still with him, asleep in his arms and all is right in the world. He sits on the floor with Hyunjin, his hip bones slowly starting to ache from the surface under them, and just as he is about to adjust his position to relieve some pressure, Hyunjin stirs, whimpers, and Minho’s heart sinks to his stomach. Hyunjin is whimpering Jisung’s name, his eyebrows pulled together, his breathing slowly picking up as there are new tears on his face.  

“ Come back to us, please, ”  Hyunjin whispers and Minho’s stomach twists painfully as he gently shakes the younger. 

“Jinnie,” he says softly, his throat scratching. His voice comes out hoarse and flat, but he doesn’t care. He needs to stop Hyunjin’s nightmares, he needs to help him, he needs to do  something   right . “Hyunjinnie,” Minho says a little louder and Hyunjin’s eyes fly open, his breathing erratic as his eyes dart around the room before focusing on Minho’s face. 

A kind of sadness takes over his face that the older knows too well, and he feels so guilty about it. Hyunjin stays quiet, wipes his face with the sleeves of his sweater and he doesn’t cry again, which is somehow worse than his sobbing from before. Minho’s stomach twists again, and it must be visible on his face because Hyunjin frowns, tentatively reaching out to touch the older’s cheek and gently swipe his thumb across it. The touch feels nice, but the fingers are slightly too skinny and slightly too long, and it’s all slightly wrong and yet, Minho leans into the touch and closes his eyes with a painful sigh, allowing a moment of weakness for himself in front of the younger. He feels a shudder run through the hand holding his face and he opens his eyes to see Hyunjin shivering slightly. He suddenly remembers he left the balcony door open and as he stands up to close it, he stumbles from the sudden dizziness overtaking his senses and he has to grip the arm of the couch to balance himself. He feels the ghost of Hyunjin’s touch as the younger reaches for him, but he’s slightly too far away. He shakes his head and straightens up, taking step by step to walk to the balcony door and close it. He walks back to the couch, pulls Hyunjin up from the floor, sits him down properly on the piece of furniture, and he reaches for the blanket on the back of the couch before his hand stops in the air as memories after memories attack his brain about movie nights, cuddling on the couch and wrapping his Jisungie in it when he was sick. He chokes up for just a second before regaining his composure, unzipping his sweater and putting it around Hyunjin’s shoulders, sitting down next to him to hug him close again. 

“Hey Hyunjin-ah?” he asks softly and the younger looks at him, with curious eyes that still have some life in them unlike his own. 

“Hm?” Hyunjin hums back, tilting his head. 

“Please don’t tell Chan hyung about it,” Minho asks quietly and the younger seems to think for a second. 

“About your... panic attack?” Hyunjin asks, unsure of what the older is asking from him. 

“Yeah. He doesn’t need to know. He has enough on his plate because of what I’ve done...” he whispers. 

“It’s not your fault, hyung,” Hyunjin says, and Minho is upset. He is upset, because that’s what everybody keeps telling him, and it  is  his fault, and he  could’ve  saved Jisung, and it is all  his   fault . He doesn’t show the younger that he is upset though, only sighs and stares ahead of himself. 

“Just please don’t tell him about it, okay? I can’t– I don’t think I can deal with him knowing,” Minho is looking at Hyunjin again, and the younger just nods, his lips pressed into a thin line. 

They sit around for a bit, maybe minutes, hours, Minho isn’t aware of time passing anymore, before there are two quick raps on his door. Worried, fast, in a hurry. 

“It’s open!” Minho says, loud enough for whoever is knocking, he assumes it’s Chan, to hear it, but not enough to wake up the entire neighbourhood. And just as he thought, Chan steps in, his eyes scanning the apartment, looking at the wine bottle and the pack of cigarettes on the table. He crinkles his nose and shoots a disapproving, but empathetic look in Minho’s direction. 

“Jinnie, are you okay?” Chan asks softly, without any judgement, and yet Minho still feels like somebody stabbed him in the stomach and is currently twisting the knife in it. He can be left alone with somebody else. He can take care of his dongsaeng. He is a good hyung.  Right?  Hyunjin looks at Chan with his brows pulled together in confusion. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You seem cold,” Chan explains quietly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, noticing Minho’s expression. 

“Oh yeah, it’s fine. Hyung accidentally left the balcony door open, and I fell asleep. It’s okay.” 

“Okay. Please get dressed and wait for me outside. I’d like to talk to Minho,” Chan says quietly and Minho swallows, the knife twisting again. 

“I can go home alone, Chan hyung, I am not a child,” Hyunjin mumbles, his shoulders tense. 

“I know, but...” Chan’s words die down. “Just please wait for me?” he sighs in defeat and Hyunjin rolls his eyes almost imperceptibly, and hugs Minho goodbye. When he leaves, Chan sighs again. 

“I know, what you’re going to say,” Minho mumbles, his words slurring slightly even to his own ears. 

“You’re drunk,” the older says, his tone still free of judgement, but it pisses the younger off anyway. 

“I’m not. I’m tipsy at best,” Minho mumbles, his voice tight. 

“Minho...” Chan starts, then bites his lips for a couple of seconds. “You also started smoking, I see.” 

“It was a couple of cigarettes, hyung, I’m fine,” he snaps back, and the older’s facial expression changes. 

“You are anything, but fine. It’s okay to mourn, you know, but you shouldn’t start destructing yourself because of it. Jisung wouldn’t...” he starts, but his words die in his throat as Minho stands up, stumbles a little and looks at him like he is ready for murder. 

“Do  not  tell me what Jisung would want. Don’t you  dare, ” Minho hisses, his hands shaking in anger. “Jisung is  dead , hyung, and I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.” 

“I know you can. But that doesn’t mean you have the right to kill yourself, just because Jisung did,” Chan answers seriously and Minho nearly throws up right then and there. It’s the raw reality of the situation and he was not ready to hear those words yet. 

“Get out,” he says through gritted teeth and Chan’s facial expression is taken over by surprise and guilt. 

“Min, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t...” he starts, but Minho raises his voice. 

“Get out of my house!” he practically screams at Chan, who flinches, but Minho can’t find it in himself to feel bad about it. Chan contemplates his words for a second, before sighs, defeated and gets out of the apartment. 

Minho locks the door behind him and starts pacing, the anger becoming unbearable, heavy on his chest and he bends over and  screams . He needs to break something. He needs to destroy something, he needs to do  something , because otherwise he is going to blow up. He walks over to the wine bottle, looks at it like it is the source of all of his issues and hurls it at the wall. It leaves a dark red splotch on the peach colored paint, that Jisung chose, because he wanted a bright living room, that reminds him of blood, so much blood, and he recoils immediately, as he falls to his knees and throws up, choking. It’s nothing but bile and the wine he drank and he gasps for air once he is finished, pulling at his hair again as he curls up, his face almost touching his knees. He whimpers as he feels pain in his stomach and his throat and he stays like that for a long time. He’s not sure for how long, but his body is aching by the time he uncurls himself and he retrieves a roll of paper towels to clean up the mess he made, but he doesn’t touch the wall. He can’t touch the wall, he can’t even look at it. When he is done cleaning up, he lies down on his couch and closes his eyes, falling asleep. 

His days until the funeral are a blur, he remembers being angry. He remembers falling asleep in the shower, at the dining table, in front of his TV that is never turned on. Nobody visits and nobody calls. He doesn’t remember getting dressed to go to the funeral, and he doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t want to meet the people there, all sobbing, even those who barely knew Jisung, he doesn’t want to see the coffin being lowered into the ground, because that means it’s final. That means that Jisung is really gone, he is really  dead , and he is not ready for it. He doesn’t think he will ever be ready for it, but he sits in his car anyway, drumming on the wheel. His face is pale as he looks into the mirror in his car, barely concealed dark circles under his eyes, and he has lost weight. His suit doesn’t fit quite right, the radio volume isn’t quite right, however quiet or loud it is, and the atmosphere in the car is lonely, and he feels so  alone .  

He turns off the radio midway to the funeral, it is so loud, but it isn’t loud enough, and then there is only silence. He parks his car and doesn’t get out yet. He sees how many people are there, and he wants to throw up. People will tell him they are sorry, that it must be so hard, give him their condolences. He sees Jisung’s parents and his stomach churns. They are both crying, and it’s all Minho’s fault. He sees Felix and Changbin and Felix looks so small, and so sad, and he also lost weight. He looks ill. He considers starting the car again and turning around, but Jisung doesn’t deserve that. He deserves peace and he deserves Minho being present, because that is the only right thing. That is the only thing he can do correctly.  

He still hasn’t cried and seeing all of the crying faces and the abundance of tissues in the trash cans just make him want to throw up. He gets out of the car, little black spots swimming in front of his eyes as he leans against the car to keep his balance. He should’ve eaten something. He doesn’t remember the last time he ate. Everything tastes like ashes. He taps his suit pocket to feel the packet of cigarettes rattling in there and he laughs at himself. A quiet, self-deprecating chuckle. He sinks his hands into his pocket, and he starts walking towards the venue. It’s beautifully decorated, as much as a funeral could be called beautiful, the walls covered in black flowers. He knows he’s going to have to carry the coffin outside where the place he reserved is ready. Along with Changbin, Chan and Jisung’s father. He hates himself. He keeps his head down as he sits in his own chair and hears more people filter in. He hears soft murmurs, and he nearly scoffs.  

This is not what Jisung would’ve wanted. He remembers one of their late-night conversations about it. They were both lying in their bed, shirtless, just in their underwear under the fluffy blanket Jisung insisted on getting.  “Come on, Min, it feels like a cloud is on you!”  he said back then and even though Minho looked at him with an exasperated facial expression, he bought it for them, because of the way Jisung’s eyes sparkled.  “You know, if I die before you, I want you to throw a party. I don’t want people to be sad.”  he said as they were snuggling together under the blankets, Jisung’s head on Minho’s shoulder.  “I would want people to remember the happy memories, not the sad ones. I don’t want everybody to be crying.”  Minho does actually scoff then, just quietly as he focuses on the sniffles and muffled sobbing around him. He stares at his hands and his fingers are shaking. His breathing is shallow, and he just hopes that he won’t get a panic attack in the middle of the funeral. It would ruin it for everybody even more, because it’s  his fault . He’s  supposed  to be suffering. He is the only one that should be suffering. He feels the fingers on his wrist before he actually focuses on them, and he looks up to see Hyunjin’s face in front of him. His eyes are red-rimmed, he’s been crying and he has a crumpled-up tissue in his hand. 

“Hey,” Hyunjin says casually, foregoing the honorifics, and Minho feels like that’s right. He doesn’t deserve that kind of respect. He has failed Jisung. “How are you feeling?” he asks softly, his thumb rubbing slow circles on Minho’s wrist.  It doesn’t matter.  Minho wants to say. 

“Fine,” he says instead, and judging by the way Hyunjin’s eyebrow twitch, it wasn’t a very believable lie. The younger just hums, not letting go of his wrist. 

“You should come talk to the rest of us.” 

“I’m staying away from Felix and Changbin,” the names are sour on his tongue. He never calls them that. “Chan hyung said they don’t want to see me,” he explains after Hyunjin’s questioning look and the younger sighs. 

“I’m sure that’s not true.” 

“It’s okay, Hyunjin,” Minho says softly. “If it helps them, I don’t mind.” 

“You always help everybody, but who is going to help you, hyung?” the younger asks and it fucking stings. Minho lets out a soft laugh.  I don’t deserve help . He wants to say. 

“I’ll figure it out. I always have,” he says instead, because Hyunjin would start crying if he said what he wants to. 

The younger sighs again, defeated and lets go of Minho’s wrist. He doesn’t want Hyunjin to let go, he needs the support, he knows he does, and yet, he doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t  deserve  it. He looks up as Jisung’s parents sit in the same place as him on the other side and throw a look at him that he will probably never forget. Jisung’s parents are the only people who will treat him the way he treats himself, because they don’t understand. They don’t  want   to  understand, and Minho thinks that’s fair. He promised to take care of Jisung when they got engaged and he failed, he couldn’t save him, he couldn’t comfort him, he  couldn’t . He stares ahead of himself as the ceremony begins, fiddling with his fingers instead of a tissue like many others. He only looks up when he hears his name, and he stands up, his face emotionless. He walks up to the podium with the microphone and he sighs, closing his eyes for a second, before opening them again and looking around at all the familiar and unfamiliar faces. The tears don’t come, but he wants to throw up and his stomach does an uncomfortable flip, before he swallows hard and decides to ignore it. 

“You know, this is not what Jisung would’ve wanted,” he begins. He doesn’t need a written message, like Chan did before, or like Jisung’s mother, who couldn’t even finish her speech before she burst into tears. Minho wishes he could be like that. He wishes he could cry. “When we talked about it, he said that if he dies before me, he wants me to throw a party. He didn’t want people to cry, he didn’t want anybody to be sad, he wanted his friends and family to remember only the happy memories. But after all, funerals are not for the deceased, are they?” he says softly and there are soft murmurs in the audience. “They are for the mourning. They are made to give closure to the people who were left behind, not for the person who left. Jisung–” he starts, but his voice cracks and he has to clear his throat. The tears don’t come. “Jisung was such an amazing person. He was always there to make others laugh, to comfort them, when they needed, he had an incredible talent for music, and he was the kindest and most considerate person I’ve ever known. He was also the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. He didn’t deserve this,” he says, and he feels the anger and the panic bubble up in his chest again. “I couldn’t be more sorry for failing to save him,” he says, and he hears Felix’s loud sob that he lets out, and he is hammering the broken pieces of his heart to shatter them even further. He doesn’t know how much more guilt and pain he can take. “I am sorry,” he says, and steps off the podium. He hears Jisung’s father mumble  “You should be”  but he pays it no mind. 

He knows he should, and he is. He sees Chan, Changbin and Jisung’s father stand up. Chan is crying, silent tears running down his face, along with Jisung’s father, but Changbin’s expression matches that of Minho’s. Except Minho can’t cry. Changbin can, and the older knows it. The four of them lift the coffin as the doors are opened and the crowd follows them outside, crying even more. They all kneel to the count of three to lower the coffin into the ground and Minho leaves his heart there with Jisung. All the broken pieces, all his love, he leaves it in there, grabbing a handful of dirt with shaky hands and watching it fall onto the coffin. He stands up, dusting off his knees and before he realizes, somebody is hugging him and that somebody is hugging him  tight  and Minho realizes it’s Felix from the deepness of his sobs. 

“Bring him back. Please bring him back,” he sobs, his voice full of pain and desperation. “Please bring him back,” his sobs get louder and higher pitched by the second and all Minho can do is gently lower himself to the ground in a squatting position as Felix’s knees buckle and hug him tight, rubbing gentle circles on his back. Felix’s breath picks up as he starts hyperventilating and it nearly sets off a panic attack in Minho too, but he runs his clean hand into Felix’s hair to hold his head against his shoulder as the younger cries. “Please, br-bring hi-him back,” he stutters, his voice catching. 

“I am so sorry, Lix,” he whispers, and Felix breaks out in harder sobs. “You need to breathe, Felix, come on,” he says softly. “Follow my breathing,” Felix chokes on his sobs and they are so painful, that Minho feels it vibrate through his entire body. “Come on, Bokkie, you need to breathe,” he whispers, rubbing Felix’s back and even though it takes long minutes of choking and near-screaming, Felix’s breaths slow down and temper off into quiet whimpers as he breathes through his mouth, his nose completely blocked. 

Minho’s hand is still in his hair, rubbing at his scalp gently and he catches Changbin’s eyes above Felix’s head. He isn’t angry, he’s not judging Minho or Felix, but he does look like he is on the verge of crying. Minho looks away, and sees that Chan, Hyunjin, and the two youngest of their friend group are also crying. Chan is still on his knees, with his face in his hands and Hyunjin is next to him, an arm draped across his back. Seungmin and Jeongin are hugging each other. Minho nearly chokes on his air. He’s never seen them hugging before. He buries his face in Felix’s hair instead. His hair smells like vanilla and strawberries and his breathing hitches as he realizes that Felix uses the same shampoo Jisung used and he tries very hard to keep his breathing even. 

He holds Felix’s head as the boy calms down completely and when he starts pulling away, Minho lets him go, even though his heart screams to keep him close, just for a little bit longer. He was never a fan of skinship even though Felix didn’t care about that and cuddled up to him often, he feels so alone the moment Felix leaves his arms. Changbin is right next to him without Minho noticing and gently pulls him up from the ground as the younger’s eyes are closing from exhaustion. As Changbin hugs Felix to his body gently, Minho sees his lower lip tremble and Changbin raises his eyes towards the sky to keep his tears in. Minho stands up from his squatting position and stumbles as bigger dark spots dance in front of his eyes before the dark spots take over and he feels himself falling before he feels nothing. 

When he opens his eyes he is confused about where he is, and what happened. His head is pounding, his mouth feels like it’s full of cotton and his throat is scratching as he gasps for air. He tries to sit up but a hand on his shoulder keeps him lying down. 

“Stay still. You fainted,” he recognises the concerned voice as Chan. He takes a deep breath and falls back to the soft something under his head. His legs are propped up and he feels like he is going to throw up. He really feels like he’s going to throw up. He gags and he sees movement from the corner of his eyes before he is yanked up and he vomits into a trashcan that came from God knows where to his lap. It’s nothing but bile that burns all the way up his throat and he chokes, barely able to breathe. His back is rubbed which just makes it worse as he gags forcefully before his stomach can’t produce anything else and he takes a deep breath as he spits into the trashcan. “Minho, you need to eat,” Chan says quietly, his voice shaking. Minho shakes his head and spits again as he lifts the trash can away from his face. 

“Ashes,” he whispers and Chan makes a questioning noise. 

“Ashes?” 

“Everything tastes like ashes, hyung,” Minho says and he is still dizzy, so he lies back down, closing his eyes and lifting a hand in front of his face to cover it more from the light. He is desperate to be alone, to suffer in silence, or to die, he’s not sure. He wants the pain to stop. “Did I fall?” he asks quietly once it sinks in that he fainted. On Jisung’s funeral. Even though it’s all  his fault.  Pathetic. “My arm hurts.” 

“Changbin caught you, he panicked. Probably yanked your arm a little too hard to keep you from hitting your head,” Chan says. “When was the last time you’ve eaten?” 

“I don’t remember. Not hungry. Please leave me alone,” Minho whispers, his voice catching. He thinks he’s going to cry, but the tears still don’t come, he just feels pain, so much pain. 

“Minho...” Chan starts, but the younger shuts his eyes even tighter. 

“Please, hyung, I don’t want to argue again. Please,” he asks, desperate, the words hurt him, speaking hurts him, everything hurts him. “How many people saw?” 

“Saw what?” 

“That I was pathetic?” Minho scoffs. 

“Minho, you probably haven’t eaten a proper meal in a week, it wasn’t pathetic, it was bound to happen. You can’t tell me you didn’t expect it.” 

“I’m a sad excuse for an ex-fiance,” Minho says, chuckling quietly. Everything hurts. Chan sighs, and Minho knows that he disagrees but there is no point arguing with somebody whose life crumbled. “Hyunjin,” he says suddenly, quietly. 

“Hyunjin?” 

“Can I talk to Hyunjin, please?” Minho asks, his voice quiet and flat. 

“You were out for a bit. Most people went home, Min,” Chan says, his voice apologetic but Minho just nods. “Jisung’s parents, Seungmin and Innie are still here. Changbin took Felix home because he panicked when you fainted. Hyunjin went with them because Felix refused to leave without him,” he continues and Minho hums, trying to show he is listening. “I’m sorry,” Chan says quietly, but Minho shakes his head. 

“It’s on me. I’m the only one who should be sorry,” Minho whispers, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I don't want to meet Jisung’s parents. They would kill me if they had the chance. Although that would be the preferred outcome,” he lets his lips form into a sour smile. 

“Please, don’t say that Min,” Chan’s voice audibly shakes. “I can’t lose you too, I can’t, I–” Chan’s voice catches and he lets out a sob, and then takes a wheezing breath. Minho removes his hands from his eyes and blinks his eyes open to look at the older. Chan is shaking in his whole body and Minho feels a pang of guilt as he slowly sits up, he hugs Chan to himself, who is holding onto him like his life depends on it and just sobs. Minho is so tired of people sobbing around him, but he would never  not  comfort them. It’s all his fault after all. 

“I’m sorry for yelling at you, hyung,” Minho says quietly, because he really is. He never wanted to yell at Chan, never wanted to hurt him more. He didn’t want to scream; he didn’t want to break the bottle. He didn’t want to hurt. Chan just shakes his head, as if saying  it doesn’t matter , but for Minho it does. He runs his fingers into Chan’s hair and closes his eyes. Chan sobs for a long time, soaking Minho’s suit, but it’s okay, because it doesn’t fit quite right anymore anyway. 

“Please take care of yourself, Min,” Chan whispers once his hiccups subside. “I can’t lose you too. I can’t,” he whispers, a single sob escaping him again before he takes a deep breath. 

“I’ll try,”  he won’t.  “I promise,”  he doesn’t.  “I want to see Innie,” he says quietly and Chan nods, standing up as he wipes his face into a handkerchief, taking a big, shaky breath. He helps Minho stand up and holds him until he regains his balance. They walk out together to the grave where Innie and Seungmin are still standing, along with Jisung’s parents. Minho stops and Chan stops with him. Jeongin looks in their direction and immediately stands up, walking towards them. 

“Hyung...” he says, his voice hoarse and barely audible and he wraps his arms around Minho’s neck and buries his face in his shoulder. “Hyung, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He’s not crying anymore, and Minho feels sorry for him. He wraps his arms around the younger’s waist, able to touch his forearms together, which is incredibly worrying. 

“Innie, are you eating enough?” he asks quietly. The maknae of their group feels so small, so fragile in his arms. His stomach flips again. Jeongin shakes his head, but Minho doesn’t say anything, because he is not going to be a hypocrite. 

“Ashes,” Jeongin whispers and Minho feels faint. He closes his eyes and hugs the younger that much tighter. 

“I know. I’m sorry,” he says barely audibly, hiding his face in Jeongin’s shoulder as he takes a deep breath. The younger is trembling in his whole body, and all Minho can do is hug him tight, his fingers splayed out on either side of his tiny waist. It reminds him of Jisung. Everything reminds him of Jisung. 

“Hyung, it’s not your fault,” Jeongin whispers and Minho lets out a sad chuckle. “It’s not,” the maknae says again, and Minho sighs against his shoulder. He is not going to agree, but he is not going to object either. He doesn’t want to hurt Innie anymore. He doesn’t want any of them to hurt anymore. “Are you okay? I saw you faint,” Jeongin pulls away and Minho wants to scream. He needs somebody to hold onto, because he feels like he is going to crumble if he doesn’t. He lets him go. 

“I’m okay, Innie, don’t worry about me,” Minho says with a soft smile, ruffling Jeongin’s hair and gently wipes his cheek. He’s been doing that a lot lately. He’s touched so many people’s tears and yet his own are hiding deep within his body. 

“But I do,” Jeongin whispers, and he looks so vulnerable that Minho’s heart skips a beat. He looks like a child. He wants to protect him so much, but he couldn’t even protect Jisung, he couldn’t save him, he  couldn’t . 

Everybody else leaves, and after much hesitation and convincing, even Chan leaves Minho alone at the grave. There are other people here and there in the cemetery, but as the sky darkens and it is threatening to rain, Minho remains alone, kneeling next to Jisung’s grave. He stares at the candles and at the flowers surrounding the fresh ground. He is shaking, he is so cold, and yet he can’t find it in himself to move. 

“I am sorry, Sungie,” he whispers, curling in on himself again. "I am so sorry. I should’ve been better. I should’ve saved you. I should’ve been there for you when you needed me, but I was so blind that I didn’t see you were hurting. I am so sorry I failed you. If I could go back–” his voice cracks and he buries his face in his hands. “If I could go back, I would do it differently. I promise, I would. I would be there for you. I would save you. I would. I would...” his voice tapers off into a high-pitched whimper, as his breathing becomes heavy. He should be used to his panic attacks by now, but he isn’t, and he doesn’t think he ever will. Everything hurts, his whole body is one big ache and there is a gaping hole where his heart used to be. “I would, I swear, I would be better,” he is hyperventilating, he is rambling, and then he feels the first drop on his head. Then another, and another, and suddenly the sky breaks open and the rain starts pouring. He thinks it’s a sign. Because he knows Jisung is crying. He’s seen it. Jisung opened the skies to punish him, to make him sick. He folds in half, holding himself as he trembles, gasping for air.  

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, unable to breathe, before his vision darkens from lack of oxygen, and his blood is rushing in his ears before there is silence. The silence is nice, it’s comfortable. He feels like he is floating, and it’s nice. It’s comforting.  Hyung.  He doesn’t want to wake up. He doesn’t want the floating to go away. He doesn’t want the pain back.  Hyung!  He doesn’t want to come back; he doesn’t want to feel the pain anymore. He doesn’t want to be alive. He doesn’t want to live without Jisung. 

“Hyung, please wake up,” he hears a voice, and it’s familiar, but he can’t place it. “Hyung, please, please,” he hears, and the voice is panicked, breathy. “God, please, wake up. I can’t... I don’t know what to do, hyung, please,” the voice he’s hearing seems closer and he is shaking, he is so  cold , and he hurts all over. His head is spinning from trying to place the voice to the face, to the person. “Hyung, please...” the voice cracks and breaks off into soft cries. He is so tired of everybody crying around him. He feels hands on his shoulders, shaking him. “Fuck it, I’m calling an ambulance,” the voice says, still shaking. Sniffle. Cough. Sniffle again. Minho tries to turn his head, but he only jerks, his neck aching. He blinks his eyes open, but everything is so fuzzy, and so goddamn  bright , that he just closes them again. “Hyung?” the voice asks and there is an obstruction of light under Minho’s eyelids, so he pries one eye open, but he still can’t focus. “Hyung, can you hear me?” a warm hand touches his face, and he hums. Changbin. “Oh, thank God,” the younger exhales fast, but it sounds more like a hiccup. “I thought you were dead, for fuck’s sake,” he says, and the hand goes away from his cheek and Minho breathes out a  “No”  before he can stop himself. “I’m here. I’m here. You’re okay,” Changbin says, the hand returning immediately. “You’re okay, hyung. Are you hurt?” he asks, and Minho wants to let out a scoff, but it comes out as a cough. An ugly, hoarse one. “Goddamnit, hyung, I thought you were dead; you were just lying there and it’s raining so hard, and I thought–” Changbin’s voice cracks and Minho finally pries his eyes open to slowly focus on the younger’s face. His hair is stuck to his forehead, wet, and there are tears in his eyes. 

“Cold,” Minho croaks out as a full body shiver takes over him. 

“Chan hyung will be here soon with some towels and blankets, just please hold on,” Changbin says and Minho groans, closing his eyes again. He didn’t want to drag Chan back. The older will never leave him alone again. He’s so tired of being taken care of. He doesn’t  deserve  this. He wants to cry so bad and yet he cannot, and it frustrates him so much 

“I’m... Sorry,” he grits out through clenched teeth to stop his jaw from trembling. 

“Why are you sorry?” Changbin stops his movements and just sits back on his heels. 

“Jisung...” Minho whispers and his breathing gets shallow again. 

“No, hyung, don’t think about him right now, please,” Changbin says in a hurry, holding Minho’s hand between his. His touch is warm and it’s nice on the older’s frozen fingers. “You can barely breathe as it is, please,” the younger says, slightly panicked and touches Minho’s face, brushing his bangs out of his forehead. The older takes a raspy breath to calm himself. Changbin starts humming quietly and Minho immediately feels some of his muscles relax that are not trembling. He’s singing about streetlights and the older’s breathing slows down slightly. He squeezes Changbin’s hand, who squeezes back gently. The younger doesn’t stop singing until Minho hears footsteps. 

“Please tell me he’s okay,” Minho hears Chan’s shaking voice, and he feels a pang of guilt in his chest again. 

“He’s alive. But we need to get him out of these clothes before he gets pneumonia,” Changbin says quietly, and there is a rustling of fabric. “I think he’s asleep,” the younger whispers. Minho isn’t, but he pretends to be anyway. He feels himself being undressed and when the soft towels touch him, he shivers. “He’s so thin, hyung,” Changbin mumbles, with tears in his voice. After he is gently rubbed dry, he is being dressed in more comfortable clothes and he can’t find it in himself to be self-conscious or embarrassed about his body as he is wrapped in a thick blanket and lifted off the ground. His head immediately drops on whoever’s shoulder it is and he curls into the blanket further. He is placed into a warm car, and he feels somebody sit next to him. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have left him. I knew he would do something idiotic like this,” Chan says from the front seat, his voice tight with frustration. 

“Hyung, you can’t blame yourself for everything,” Changbin says, and Chan stays silent, starting the car. 

The rest of the car ride is quiet, and Minho tries to actually fall asleep, but he is still shaking. He wakes when he is being placed on his couch and he hears Chan’s voice again. 

“Bin, please run a bath for him,” Chan says, and Minho’s eyes fly open. 

“No!” he jolts up and the only reason he doesn’t fall off the couch is because the older is holding him. “No, no bath. Please. Not that bathroom. Please,” he says, his voice hoarse and painful in his throat, and he can’t breathe, and he can’t go into that bathroom, because that’s where he found Jisung, and he can’t see it, he  can’t . 

“Okay, okay, hey,” Chan is by his side immediately. “No bath. Okay. We’re not going into that bathroom. It’s okay.” 

“No bath...” Minho whispers, holding his head. It’s pounding. 

“Are you okay to shower? You need to warm up,” Chan asks, running his fingers through the younger's hair. Minho nods, and he lets himself be taken care of, just for today. 

“Alright, come on,” Chan pulls him up from the couch and supports his shaky steps to the main bathroom, that causes him less pain than their en suite. Chan undresses him and he can’t look into the mirror, he can’t see himself and the older steps into the shower with him, clothes and all and Minho feels horrible about it. 

“I can shower alone, hyung...” he whispers. 

“I’m afraid you’re going to fall,” Chan mumbles back and hands him the shower gel while holding his waist, strictly looking at his face. Minho is quiet, in his thoughts as he absent-mindedly washes himself and feels his fingers trembling just a little less as the water fogs up the stall. 

“Hyung?” he asks a little while later quietly as Chan washes his hair. Chan hums, a question, while he is utterly concentrated on his task. “It hurts so much,” Minho whispers and Chan’s fingers stop in his hair for a second, and a sigh leaves his lips. He is standing behind Minho, and the younger feels arms wrap around his torso, and he leans back, just slightly, the pain overtaking his mind and his body again and he closes his eyes as Chan rinses out his hair. 

“I know, Min. I wish I could help,” he says; his voice wavering slightly. 

“Please don’t cry,” Minho says quietly, and his voice cracks. “I can’t deal with any more people crying, hyung,” he adds, slumping slightly more against the clothed body behind him. Chan lets it happen and he hugs Minho for a long time under the hot water, anchoring him to the present. 

“Come on,” Chan says softly and opens the shower stall. The temperature change makes Minho shiver slightly, but he steps out of the stall and lets the older wrap him in a towel and dry him off. He feels like a lost child, and he is in so much pain. He can see Chan’s clothes dripping. 

“You’re going to catch a cold,” Minho says, as the older pulls a shirt carefully over his head. 

“I have a change of clothes in my car. I can ask Changbin to get it.” 

“You don’t have to stay,” Minho says, looking up from where he’s sitting on the toilet lid and watching Chan towel dry his hair. 

“I want to. You’re hurting and you need someone,” the older says and Minho opens his mouth to say something, to object, but Chan shakes his head. “Don’t tell me you don’t, or you don’t deserve it. I’m staying, whether or not you like it.”  

He would like it, but he would never say. He presses his lips into a thin line and nods. He feels useless. Chan supports him back to the couch and goes back to the bathroom to change. Minho just sits there, staring ahead of himself. His chest and his throat both hurt, along with his head. He needs to eat something. He knows he needs to eat something. He doesn’t know where Changbin has gone, but he hears pans and the stove clicking. He stands up on unsure legs, and waddles to the kitchen. Changbin is humming the same song he was singing to Minho in the cemetery, making something. 

“You actually found something edible?” he asks and Changbin flinches before he turns around and locks eyes with Minho. 

“Barely anything, but I thought you should eat something,” he answers quietly. “I hope I’m not doing something wrong.” 

“You’re fine, Binnie,” Minho says quietly. “Where is Felix?” 

“With Hyunjin. He called while you were showering. He was very worried.” 

“Everybody is, aren’t they?” Minho asks, a bitter taste on his tongue. “Everybody is worried about me,” he says, and a moment of tiredness flashes through Changbin’s eyes. He looks careful, not entirely sure about where Minho’s speech is going, so he presses his lips into a thin line and doesn’t speak, instead focusing on his cooking. Minho sighs, too tired to fight. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “Thank you for cooking,” he adds, and then walks back to the living room to sit down again and stare in front of himself. He sees a form in front of himself again, but he doesn’t look. He knows who it is, and he doesn’t want to see. He doesn’t want to see Jisung there again, he doesn’t want to see him crying.  

“Hyung”  he hears, in Jisung’s voice. The voice is broken, hoarse, just like he was speaking before he lost consciousness, before everything was over. Minho's head snaps up, but the form is gone. He runs his fingers into his hair and pulls again until the pain calms him. He only looks up again when Changbin enters the living room with a steaming bowl of soup in his hand. 

“It’s not the best thing I’ve ever made, but I promise it’s edible,” he says quietly, and the vulnerability and fear in his eyes are so obvious that Minho thinks he could touch it if he tried hard enough. 

“Thank you,” Minho says softly and squeezes Changbin’s hand again, who squeezes back. The younger sits down on the couch next to Minho, in silence. “You can watch the TV if you want to. I don’t use it anymore,” the older says quietly as he carefully takes the soup in his hands, holding the bottom of the plate with his sweater sleeve and carefully takes the first bite of the noodles. It tastes like ashes, but everything does anyway, and Minho keeps eating, because it seems to comfort Changbin. And he can’t  not  comfort them. After all, it’s  his fault . He can only finish a little more than a quarter of the bowl before he gets nauseated, and he puts it back down on the table, pulling his legs up to stare at whatever Changbin is watching. He is shivering still, but he doesn’t touch the blanket on the back of the couch. He doesn’t think he will ever touch the blanket on the back of the couch. “Binnie?” he asks softly and Changbin looks in his direction immediately, a questioning noise in his throat. “Please don’t touch the blanket or go into the bedroom,” he says, and his voice breaks once again. He’s tired of that too. He’s tired of people crying and his voice breaking. He’s tired of looking, of  feeling  so vulnerable, he’s tired of people pitying him. Changbin’s eyes flick to the blanket on the back of the couch and he nods. 

“I won’t,” he answers quietly. “Go to sleep, hyung. You must be tired,” he adds, and Minho  is  tired, but he is tired of the pain, tired of seeing Jisung behind his eyelids every time he closes his eyes, he is tired of people comforting  him , he is tired of being alive without Jisung. He doesn’t say any of that, because it doesn’t matter anyway, because everything is meaningless, and he leans against the arm of the sofa, curls up and falls asleep. 

As he steps into the apartment and it’s quiet, he immediately knows something is not right. He puts down his bag and calls for Jisung. No answer. Everything is still, everything is quiet, and he would almost think that Jisung just went somewhere and is simply not home, if it wasn’t for the quiet sound of water sloshing coming from their bedroom en suite. He puts down his jacket and goes to the kitchen to grab a glass of water for himself and wait for Jisung to get out of the bath. He doesn’t get very far into the kitchen though, as there is a folded piece of paper on the counter with his name on it. His heart drops into his stomach as he opens it with shaky hands, and he feels his breathing getting erratic. He throws the paper back on the counter and  runs , opening the bedroom door so fast it bangs against the wall. He knocks on the bathroom door and tries to open it, but it’s locked.  

“Sungie?” he calls, and his voice is high-pitched, scared. “Sungie, please answer me,” his breathing hitches, and his eyes sting. He rummages around the room before finding and pulling out the spare key to the bathroom from his drawers and jiggles it in the lock until he hears the key on the other side clank on the floor. He throws the door open, and his knees buckle as a scream leaves his throat, but he doesn’t let himself fall just yet. “No! No, no, no, no, Jisung!” he screams, and there are tears in his eyes, and he can’t see and there is so much blood. He falls to his knees next to the bathtub and holds Jisung’s hand in his. The water is still warm, he couldn’t have been in there for that long as his eyes are still blinking, unfocused. “Jisung, why, why did you do this, why?” he asks, his voice breaking at every second word. His hand is shaking as he pulls out his phone and calls an ambulance, and his voice is shaking, and he can barely speak and he’s crying, he can barely see. He takes his belt off and wraps it around Jisung’s lower arm as tight as he can, and the younger groans in pain, jerking in the tub. “Sungie, baby, can you hear me? Can you hear me, love?” Minho asks, touching Jisung’s face and brushing his hair away from his forehead. He is sobbing so hard he can barely keep his torso up straight, but he can’t be weak now. He can’t be weak, because Jisung needs him. “You’re going to be okay, baby, you’re going to be alright,” he repeats, more for himself than for Jisung. The younger shakes his head and smiles weakly.  

“I’m going to die, hyung,” he says, his voice quiet, so much unlike himself. It’s full of pain, it’s hoarse, it’s like the voice of someone who is dying. But Jisung can’t be dying because Minho can’t live without him. Jisung can’t be dying, because that’s not  right.  

“No, baby, you’re not going to die. Help is coming, and you are going to be okay, and we will figure this out together, okay? You’re going to be okay,” he’s trying to blink the tears out of his eyes to see Jisung’s face. He looks pale and his lips are blue, his lips are  blue,  and Minho thinks he is going to throw up. “Keep talking, baby, please stay with me. Stay with me. Please,” he begs, and Jisung reaches out of the tub with his other hand and squeezes Minho’s hand.  

“I love you,” he whispers, closing his eyes as there are tears streaming down his face too.  

“I love you too, but don’t you dare say goodbye. Don’t you dare,” Minho says, and he is shaking, his heartbeat is picking up and he is going to suffocate, and he is going to die. He can’t die, because then he can’t help Jisung, and Jisung needs help. Jisung needs him to stay, and he can’t die.  

“Please take– take care of– everybody,” Jisung whispers, keeping his eyes open and on Minho’s face. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, touching Minho’s face and Minho can’t stop crying and he can’t breathe, and he’s going to die and he can’t die, because Jisung needs him. Because he  has to  save Jisung. He has to do  something.  

“Please, baby, you can’t go. Why did you do this? Why didn’t you tell me? Why are you leaving me?” he sobs, and Jisung smiles sadly.  

“Kiss me,” he requests softly, and Minho is shocked by the request, and he is crying, and he can’t breathe and he is in so much pain, but he can’t die because Jisung needs help, and he can’t leave his Jisungie. Their lips touch and they’re both crying and it’s disgusting, but Minho’s heart already knows it’s the last one.  

“Could I have done anything? Please tell me if I could’ve done something differently. Please, Jisung, please, tell me.”  

“It’s not– It’s not your fault,” Jisung rasps, his eyes getting glossy every couple of seconds. Minho hears the ambulance car, and he hears the footsteps and he didn’t lock the door, so he doesn’t move, but he can’t breathe and he’s going to die. But it doesn’t matter, because Jisung is dying and he is too late and when the paramedics lift him out of the bathtub, Jisung screams and Minho can’t see and he can’t breathe, and he will have to tell the rest of them what he’s done.  

“Hyung...” he hears, in a raspy voice, but it’s not just Jisung’s anymore. The paramedics, Jisung and the blood,  so much blood,  slowly dissipates from in front of his eyes and he’s reaching for Jisung, but he can’t reach him anymore and he can’t breathe, and he can’t see...  

He opens his eyes and it’s dark, and it feels like somebody is sitting on his chest and he can’t breathe and he’s suffocating and he’s going to die. He  deserves  to die for what he did to Jisung. He deserves to suffer, and he flinches away from the touch that reaches towards him and screams, holding his head, that is still pounding, because it never stopped hurting. He falls from wherever he was to the floor again and his stomach twists before he gags and he barely has any time to turn to avoid vomiting on his carpet, but he does and he chokes, the tears gone, left in his nightmare, left with Jisung and he doesn’t think he can ever cry again. He is in pain, so much pain and he feels a hand on his back. 

“Leave me alone!” he chokes out between gags and the person retreats with a scared gasp, and he hears erratic breathing that is not his own and he can’t place it, but he doesn’t want to anyway, because he wants everybody else to stop breathing too, because he can’t breathe, and he is going to die. 

He knows it must be scary to watch for whoever is there with him and he feels guilt, so much guilt and that just makes him feel worse about the entire situation and he screams in frustration, hitting the carpet with the side of his fist as he holds his head. He briefly wonders if the headaches will go away. He can’t breathe and he tries to fight the strong arms enveloping him, but he can’t find the strength in himself, so he just lets it happen, slumping against the chest of whoever it is that’s there with him. “It hurts, it hurts so much” he whispers, pushing the heel of his palms into his eyes, but there is silence, and whoever is holding him just holds him even tighter, without a word. His breathing slows down after long minutes of heaving and he closes his eyes, pulling up his legs. His stomach hurts, his head hurts,  everything  hurts. 

“Are you here with me?” he hears the quiet voice of Chan, and he finally acknowledges that the older is petting his hair, and his body is warm and comforting and he is safe, but he is hurting, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to get through this. He just simply nods, because he doesn’t trust his voice and he wants to die. “Okay. Good. Did you have a nightmare?” Chan asks quietly, and he’s still petting Minho’s hair and it’s nice. Minho nods again and closes his eyes. He notices he is shivering; his stomach is churning, and he is scared he is going to throw up again. 

Chan holds him for a long time again before he passes out from exhaustion. He doesn’t see Jisung in his dream again, but the colour of blood is still there, he is uneasy, and he wakes up multiple times. Chan doesn’t wake up again with him, but he is holding him tight throughout the night. When he wakes, the other two are gone and he wraps himself tighter into his blanket that came from God knows where, but it’s okay, because it’s not the blanket on the back of the couch, because he is  cold , inside and outside and yet he is sweating. He probably has a fever, but he doesn’t care about it, he just stays under the covers and tries to disappear. His phone buzzes as he takes it in his hands, and he sees the message from Chan.  'We went to the store for you, but we will be back soon. Your fever spiked throughout the night, we are getting some medicine as well.'  He sighs, because he doesn’t need help, he doesn’t  deserve  it, but he lets it happen, because he is tired and there is no point arguing with Chan. His phone rings and he see that it is Hyunjin, and he contemplates hanging up and going back to sleep, but instead, he picks up and despite his voice coming out painful, and dry, he says hello. 

“Hi, hyung. Are you okay?” Hyunjin asks, and his voice is just as tired and hoarse as his own. 

“I’ve been better, Hyunjin-ah. Are you?” 

“I’ve been better,” he repeats back, and Minho allows himself a small smile. 

“Why did you call?” 

“Chan hyung was here not so long ago, and he said that you were sick. Do you want me to come over?” he asks, and Minho thinks about it for a second. Does he want Hyunjin to come over? Yes. Does he deserve the effort of Hyunjin coming over? Absolutely not. 

“Only if you don’t mind,” he answers instead, because his thoughts are jumbled, and he doesn’t know what he wants anymore. He wants Jisung back, but that’s not an option, because he was too  late . 

“I’ll be over soon,” Hyunjin says and the call ends. Minho buries himself under the blankets and goes back to sleep because he can’t find it in himself to get up. He has to pee, but he doesn’t care, and he can’t get up, because his body is so heavy, and he doesn’t want to anyway. 

He opens his eyes again when the door opens after three soft knocks, and he sees the long, blonde locks of Hyunjin’s half tied up hair. 

“Oh, hyung,” he says softly and closes the door behind himself. He sits next to Minho on the couch and touches his forehead. His hand is cold and Minho moans quietly to object. “You’re burning up,” he whispers with a soft sigh. “Chan hyung and Changbin hyung have left, but there is medicine in the kitchen. But you need to eat before you can take it, do you think you can get up?” he asks, and his touches are so soft and so caring that Minho has to fight with himself to let himself be touched. “I am not babying you, hyung, because that’s not what you need, but you are physically too weak to move, and I want to help. I don’t pity you,” Hyunjin says after Minho stays quiet for long minutes, trying to convince himself that he is allowed to let Hyunjin help. He fought with himself so much more when it was Chan or Changbin, but the presence of Hyunjin calms him slightly. He doesn’t know what it is, it just does. Minho nods and lets Hyunjin remove his blanket and pull him up from the couch. He is drenched, and he is shivering, his breathing heavy. He feels disgusting, and he knows that Hyunjin is squeamish, but the younger seems unbothered. “You need a shower,” Hyunjin says quietly and Minho nods again, letting Hyunjin take him to the bathroom. “Can you shower alone until I make you something or should I stay?” 

“I can do it,” Minho says, wrapping his trembling arms around himself. 

“Make the shower lukewarm, please, I don’t want your fever to get worse.” 

“I know, Hyunjin-ah,” Minho says quietly, caressing Hyunjin’s cheek with his fingers. 

“I know, I’m just worried,” he says softly. “I’ll try to make something edible from what Chan hyung and Changbin hyung bought. Can I leave the door open a little, please? Just so I can hear you,” Hyunjin shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

“Sure,” Minho nods and Hyunjin leaves the bathroom, leaving the door open just a crack. As Minho hears the footsteps fade away, he once again avoids looking into the mirror as he undresses and steps into the shower on unsure legs. 

His shower doesn’t last too long and it’s uncomfortable, the lukewarm water feeling like ice on his skin. He’s feeling faint and his coughs are raspy, ugly and they’re coming from deep within his chest. His eyes are burning, and he feels like he’s floating. He gets dressed and waddles out to the kitchen and sits down at the table to watch Hyunjin walk around the kitchen, putting together some sort of potato dish. Minho hopes he won’t throw it up again, because he doesn’t want to waste Hyunjin’s efforts, and it actually smells kind of nice. He is picking at his cuticles and staring ahead of himself, his thoughts one big jumble of nothingness. He doesn’t notice how much time has passed since Hyunjin started cooking, but he comes back to himself when there is a hot plate of Gamja Jorim with steamed rice in front of him. 

“You can wait until it cools down a little, but I thought you should eat something sweet and not too heavy,” Hyunjin says, a touch of worry in his voice. “I’ve only made this once before and it was disastrous so...” he chuckles awkwardly and scratches his neck, which draws a small smile to Minho’s face. 

“Thank you, Jinnie,” he says quietly and tries not to stare at the dish like it’s his greatest enemy. 

“Do you think–” Hyunjin sits down across him at the table and holds his head up with his hand. “Do you think it will ever get better?” he asks quietly, and Minho looks up from the plate. He examines the younger’s face, which mirrors much of his own, except Hyunjin has tears in his eyes and Minho can’t cry. 

“I don’t know, Jinnie,” he answers honestly. “It certainly doesn’t seem like it, but it has to get better at one point, right?” he asks, and he knows it’s not going to  for him , but Hyunjin deserves a chance at a better life. Hyunjin deserves to not be in pain. 

“I guess so,” Hyunjin nods, staring at his hand. “I just– sometimes–” he starts and his voice breaks. He lets out a shaky exhale, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Sometimes I forget he’s not here,” he says quietly, his voice already wavering with tears. Minho gently reaches out and takes one of his hands in his, gently rubbing circles on his palm. Hyunjin doesn’t look up, but there is a barely audible  thud  as one of his tears hit the table in the deafening silence. “And then I wake up, or I round the corner and–” he can’t finish the sentence as he breaks down and Minho slides off his chair, food long forgotten and he walks over the table, gently hugging Hyunjin to his body. The younger immediately wraps his arms around Minho’s waist as he sobs, his head buried in the older’s chest. Minho is sure Hyunjin can hear his frantic heartbeat, but he doesn’t want to focus on that. He needs to calm down his dongsaeng, he needs to do  something . He focuses instead on the steady up and down of his right hand on Hyunjin’s back and the steady massaging of his left hand in Hyunjin’s hair. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly and Hyunjin just buries his face more into his chest, hugging him tight, knocking the air slightly out of Minho. “I’m so sorry,” Minho says again, his voice barely a whisper, but Hyunjin’s ear is on his chest, and he surely hears it. The younger cries for a long time, and Minho’s leg is starting to hurt from standing in a weird angle, but he doesn’t care, because Hyunjin needs help, and he has to help him. Not that it matters anymore, because Hyunjin is suffering because of  him , because he was too late to save Jisung. Because he didn’t pay attention to the signs, because he was selfish, and he didn’t help Jisung while it still mattered. When Hyunjin pulls away, and wipes his eyes, Minho lets him, even though he doesn’t think he’s done enough. 

“Your food,” Hyunjin says with a wet laugh and Minho smiles softly. 

“It’s just as good cold,” he says and brushes Hyunjin’s hair behind the younger’s ears. He walks to the sink and fills a glass with water, putting it in front of Hyunjin without a word and sits down in front of his food, essentially just poking it until he convinces himself to actually eat some, and watches quietly as the younger blows his nose and starts drinking the water. His face is pale and exhausted, and it’s all  his fault.  He can’t eat a whole lot before the nauseating feeling takes over his stomach again, but he ate more than yesterday and that’s all that matters. Not for him, but for the people around him. He takes his meds when Hyunjin gives them to him and then he is supported back to the couch and tucked in. He feels fuzzy again, his eyes barely focused. 

“You need to sleep, hyung. You need to get better,” Hyunjin says quietly, sitting down next to his leg, petting his hip gently. Minho doesn’t want to get better, he wants to die, but instead, he just nods, because Hyunjin has suffered enough. 

When he wakes up again, it’s dark outside, but Hyunjin is softly snoring next to his leg, curled up on the couch, like a guardian. As Minho stirs, Hyunjin also opens his eyes, blinking sleepily at the older in the dark room. 

“Hey,” he croaks, his voice heavy from sleep. 

“Hi,” Minho answers back quietly, stretching above his head. “What time is it?” 

“Just past 6pm,” Hyunjin answers quietly after checking his phone. 

“You didn’t have to stay,” Minho mumbles and ignores the shadow standing behind Hyunjin. 

“I wanted to,” Hyunjin says quietly. “You need to eat something and take your meds, and then if you want to be alone, I can leave. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Minho nods, sighing as the shadow disappears once again. Hyunjin stands up from the couch and walks away to the kitchen. 

Minho eats a little, as much as he can, takes his meds, and after an hour or so, Hyunjin leaves. The apartment is swimming in darkness, just like his head, and he closes his eyes to shut it out. He wants to be angry, wants to feel something, but all he feels is numbness. He doesn’t find the strength in himself to stand up or do anything, because everything is meaningless anyway, so he covers himself in the blanket again, curls up and falls back asleep. He doesn’t have a nightmare or a dream again, and he wakes up over and over again during the night until the sun comes up. Another day. He doesn’t want to live another day. Not without Jisung. 

It takes him over two weeks and a hospital visit to recover from his cold. It doesn’t get any easier. If anything, it gets harder. He finds himself fainting or passing out more often, he can barely keep anything down and he barely sleeps. The days crawl by slowly, and he’s not present in them. He doesn’t know what to do without Jisung. 

Months pass, and he starts hurting himself, but he’s careful not to let the others know. It would just open the wounds that are slowly healing. He’s yelled at almost all of his friends at least once when they mentioned him going to therapy. He doesn’t want to go to therapy, because they will want him to move on and he can’t move on. He doesn’t want to move on. There is nothing without Jisung. There is only nothingness and pain. He hasn’t yelled at Felix or at Hyunjin, but he has withdrawn from them. He doesn’t want them to visit anymore. 

Everybody seems to be moving on, like nothing happened and Minho doesn’t understand how it is so easy for them, to go to the studio and make music, or go to the dance studio and dance. Or to draw. Or to listen to music. Or to just breathe. He doesn’t understand why everybody is moving on without him. So, he takes his anger out on Chan and Seungmin more often than not. 

Seungmin comes over to check on him every Thursday, and every Thursday night he leaves, because Minho blows up, saying that he won’t come back. And he does anyway. 

“Have you thought about what I said last week?” he asks, every single week, and Minho shakes his head again. 

“Leave me alone, Seungmin,” he says, curling into his blanket on the couch. 

“Hyung, it’s been 4 months,” Seungmin says. “You can’t wallow forever. That’s not what Jisung would want,” he says, and if Minho hasn’t heard that sentence 1000 times, he hasn’t heard it once. He’s tired of people telling him what Jisung would want. He knows Jisung. He knows Jisung the best. 

“Stop,” he asks, like every week, his voice shaking in anger. He knows Seungmin won’t stop, until Minho caves. Because Seungmin knows where to poke for it to hurt. For it to mean something. 

“You think he would like to see you this way? You’ve lost at least 15 if not 20 kilos, hyung. You are a shell of yourself, you barely eat. You need help, but you don’t accept it. Do you think Jisung would like to see you slowly wither away and die?” Seungmin asks, his voice is tightly controlled. He’s not angry, not yet, but Minho just wants to be left alone, and if he needs to anger Seungmin for him to leave, he will. He does every week. 

“Did you even like him?” he asks, and his vision is swimming in red. 

“What?” Seungmin asks, taken aback. 

“All you do is preach about what he would want me to do, preach about what he likes. Did you even know him? Did you care about him?” 

“Of course, I did,” Seungmin answers, and his eyes are confused, but not angry. Minho needs him to be angry, so he would leave. Minho needs to hurt him so he would leave, and he could be alone again. 

“Then how can you move on? How can you be okay after everything that happened?!” he is starting to raise his voice, like every week. Seungmin’s facial expression changes, and Minho celebrates inside a little bit. He is almost there. 

“Because that’s how grief works, hyung. Some of us go through it faster than others. It doesn’t mean I didn’t care about him. Just because you are refusing to ask for help and would rather sit on that fucking couch and slowly shrivel away has nothing to do with me. We all loved him.” 

“Then when were you when  he  needed help? Where were  you  when he killed himself?!” Minho yells and Seungmin’s eyes darken. 

“Don’t you  dare  blame any of us for his death!” Seungmin yells back as he stands up. 

“You could’ve saved him as well!  Where were you then?! ” Minho's voice is starting to get hoarse, but he is still yelling, his voice bouncing off the walls. 

“Where were  you ?!” Seungmin yells back and Minho chokes. Their panting is the only thing filling up the space in the living room, before Seungmin runs his fingers through his hair. “His death is nobody’s fault, but his. And if you want to waste your life, wallowing in your sadness on that couch, even though we have all been here to help you, and we understood what you are going through in the past 4 months, then do it. Then stay miserable, and don’t even try to move on, even though he would hate to see you like this now, and you know it. But if you don’t need our help, then we won’t. Good night, hyung,” he says, grabs his coat and shoves the door closed behind himself. 

Minho stays on his couch, feeling small and miserable. Seungmin is right, and he knows that he’s right, but he just can’t. He  can’t  get over it, and he wishes people stopped expecting him to. He briefly wonders if his head ever stopped hurting. He still hasn’t cried. He’s gone through 4 months of pain, and the last time he cried was with Jisung. It was when he was holding his hand, covered in blood,  so much blood.  Only a month and a little bit to go until the anniversary of their engagement. He doesn’t want to deal with  that  kind of pain. He doesn’t want to deal with anything without Jisung. How dare they expect him to move on. Jisung was his soulmate, he was his  everything , and they want him to just forget all of what they had together. They want him to move on, to get better, but how can he, when everything good is gone from the world? How could he get better, when he lost the  one person  he would’ve trusted with his life. He wanted to be with Jisung, he wanted to grow old together with him, but Jisung was selfish. He was selfish and he didn’t ask for help and now he’s gone, and now Minho is alone, and he will never have anybody else again. Jisung doesn’t feel pain anymore, Jisung is  fine , and Jisung was so fucking  selfish . Minho jumps up from his couch and starts pacing. His head is pounding, but when is it not? He can barely carry himself on his legs, everything aches, and he doesn’t want to be alive. He remembers Jisung’s face, and he remembers the  blood , and he sees red. He grabs the table in the living room, and flips it, the build-up of glasses and dishes clattering to the floor, breaking to a million pieces. Like his heart. He can’t look at the wall with the wine spot on it, he doesn’t want to see. He goes into the kitchen, because breaking the dishes in the living room weren’t enough. He opens the cabinet, and screams, yanking a tower of plates out for them to shatter around the floor. It’s still not enough, nothing is enough. He doesn’t touch the plates and glasses they chose together. He doesn’t touch the vase that Jisung made for their 2nd anniversary. He is broken and he is angry and he wants it to stop. He screams again, bending over and giving it his all. His voice is getting hoarse, but there is pain, so much pain and he can’t take it. He can’t breathe. He is hyperventilating, again, and he is so tired of having panic attacks. He is so tired of everything. He grabs a wine bottle, opens it and stumbles back to the living room, chooses one of the CDs with Jisung’s songs on it and places it in the player. He sits back down on the couch, and curls up, his breathing getting worse as Jisung’s voice fills the living room. He is in so much pain, and nobody understands anymore, because everybody moved on. Even Hyunjin moved on, he found someone else, and Minho shouldn’t be jealous, because he never felt any romantic feelings towards the younger, but Hyunjin is with them now, and Minho is alone, and he has nobody, and it hurts. 

Before he realizes, the entire bottle is gone, and he is nauseated. He hasn’t eaten anything in two days without throwing it up, and he is dizzy and he can barely see. He smiles to himself as Jisung’s voice slowly filters through his haze. His head hurts so much, he wants to take a painkiller. He stands up and waddles into their bedroom. He can barely see as he rummages through his drawers, then Jisung’s drawers. He finds Jisung’s anti-anxiety medication and antidepressants, and he smiles. Maybe he could be with Jisung. He needs to be with Jisung, because he is alone and he can’t be alone. He needs to be with Jisung, because Jisung needs him, and he can’t not comfort him. He needs to be with Jisung, because he is a good fiancé, and he has to be with the love of his life. He takes all the boxes he finds in Jisung’s drawer, and he finds a box of painkillers as well. He stumbles back into the kitchen, the broken glass crunching under his feet. He opens the cabinet again, trying to find more alcohol. He needs the burn. He needs it so bad. He finds a bottle of soju in the cabinet still and he laughs. It’s Jisung’s favourite flavour. He collects the things he grabs in his sweater pockets and waddles to his jacket. He grabs the pack of cigarettes and rummages around for a lighter for a bit. He packs them all on the couch, methodically, in order, before he goes back to their bedroom and stares at the bed. He leaves Jisung’s side unmade, but he does smell the pillow. It still smells faintly like Jisung, it smells like vanilla and strawberries, and he smiles to himself. He puts it back on the bed, pats it down gently, so it looks like somebody had just slept on it. That way, he can pretend that Jisung just went to the studio, and he will come home later. But by then, Minho won’t be here. And that’s okay, because Jisung was selfish and he can be selfish too. He rummages through his cabinet, but nothing that’s his own fits anymore. So, he rummages through Jisung’s part of the cabinet, very gently, as if his clothes are fragile. He picks out a black pair of jeans that Jisung  loved , and a black shirt that hugged his form  just right . It is still too big for Minho, but it fits better than his own clothes. He lifts out a black zip up hoodie that was also Jisung’s. Minho’s gift for their first anniversary. It’s still soft, but less soft than when he bought it. Jisung never stopped wearing it. He pulls the hood over his head, and it smells faintly like Jisung’s perfume. Everything is just faintly like him. Everything reminds Minho of him. He stumbles back to the living room to put his shoes and his jacket on. He grabs the pills, the bottle of soju and a framed picture of a two of them from the TV stand that has been flipped face down since Jisung died. He looks at it with a fond smile, sinking everything into his pocket. He leaves his apartment, locking the door very quietly. He leaves the apartment complex and just walks. It’s late and barely anybody is on the streets. He hasn’t felt air on his skin in a long while. He pulls his hood tighter with the strings and just as he arrives to his destination, he takes out his phone and calls the only person after Jisung that comes into his mind. He picks up after 3 rings, as usual. 

“Hello?” Chan says, and his voice is full of worry. Minho never calls. 

“Hey, hyung. What’s up?” Minho asks, and he knows his words are slurring, but he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter anymore, because nothing matters anymore, and it’s all going to get better in a little bit. 

“Minho are you drunk?” he sighs, exasperated. 

“Just a little,” Minho giggles and there is silence for a couple seconds before Chan speaks tentatively. 

“Minho, where are you?” Chan asks, and Minho knows he is getting suspicious, and he can’t have that. 

“It’s fine, hyung. It’s all going to be fine. Can you believe it? It’s all going to be so much better,” he says and slowly pops a couple of pills out into his hand, putting the phone on speaker for just a moment until he swallows the pills with Soju. They taste like nothing. They taste like ashes. Everything does. 

“Minho, where are you?!” Chan asks, and his voice is higher, it’s breathy and Minho doesn’t want that. 

“Don’t worry, hyung, I figured it out. I know how to make it better,” he chuckles. “It’s going to be so much better now. I’m so happy, hyung. Can you believe it? It feels so good,” he says, his smile growing bigger. He takes another handful of pills and gags slightly, his vision clouding even more. He is disoriented, but he knows what he is doing. He just wants to be with Jisung. 

“Minho, please, please don’t do this,” Chan’s voice cracks, and Minho hears muffled sounds in the background. “Please, where are you? Please tell me. Don’t do this,” he says, and his voice is shaking, and he is worried. Minho doesn’t want him to be worried. He’s going to be fine after all. 

“Hyung, don’t worry. It’s all going to be fine. Everybody is going to be fine. Please tell Seungminnie that I didn’t mean it. Tell him that it’s not his fault okay? And I’m sorry I yelled at you and Changbinnie. Please tell him I’m not mad. And please take care of Yongbok. Tell him he’s going to be okay. It’s all going to be okay. And Hyunjinnie and Innie too. Okay? I figured it out. It’s all going to be so much better now, hyung,” Minho says, and takes another handful of pills, chasing it down with the soju. The soju is almost done, and he climbs on the railing, shakily, and lights a cigarette. It tastes like ashes; everything tastes like ashes. 

“Minho, please, I’m begging you, just wait for me, okay? Please don’t do this,” Chan is crying, and he is running, and Minho doesn’t understand. He just said it’s all going to be okay, and he will make everything better, and his only hyung is crying and he doesn’t understand why. 

“Hyung, why are you crying? I’m going to make it all better, okay? I’m going to help. It’s all going to get better,” he repeats, but Chan just cries harder, and Minho doesn’t know why. He inhales the smoke of the cigarette once again. 

“Min-Minho, please,” Chan is sobbing now, and Minho truly doesn’t understand. 

“Just tell Seungminnie that it’s not his fault, okay? That it’s all going to be okay. Okay, hyung? It’s all going to be better,” he says. “Bye, hyung,” he hangs up the call, and puts his phone down next to the pills, not hearing the heart-breaking scream of Chan. 

His cigarette is still not done, but he has time, and it’s all going to be okay. He takes his time with it, because the soju tastes like pears, just like Jisung liked, and the cigarette tastes like tobacco. He’s finally happy, he doesn’t want to be sad anymore. He wants to be with Jisung and it’s all going to be better when he can be with Jisung. Because that’s all he’s ever wanted. He wanted to be with Jisung. The form appears in the corner of his eyes, and he looks, and Jisung isn’t crying anymore, but he is still sad. 

“It’s all going to be better now, Sungie,” he says with a smile, but Jisung doesn’t smile back. 

“That’s not how it works, Min,” the form answers back. 

“No?” Minho asks, taken aback. 

“No, baby, it’s not,” Jisung says and Minho doesn’t understand. 

“But I’ll be with you again. Do you not want me to be with you again?” he asks, and his breathing picks up, and he panics, because Jisung doesn’t  want  him. 

“Of course, I do, baby, but not yet. Not like this,” Jisung says quietly, and he walks closer, looking down at the river. Minho just looks at him. “You have to let me go, baby,” he continues, and Minho is in pain, and it’s all bad and empty again. 

“No, I can’t,” he shakes his head, his breathing picking up. 

“Min, I’m in pain. You have to let me go. Please,”– he whispers, and his face is pale, and his lips are blue, his lips are  blue , and Minho trembles. “I’m not supposed to be here anymore, and you’re keeping me here. You’re hurting me.” 

“I’m... I’m hurting you?” Minho asks, and it hurts, it hurts so much. He doesn’t want to hurt Jisung. He doesn’t want him to hurt anymore. 

“Yes, baby, you are,” Jisung whispers. “You need to let me go,  jagi, ” Jisung adds and Minho’s heart shatters. 

“I can’t. I can’t, Sungie, I can’t, it hurts so much, it hurts...” he panics, his breathing erratic, and the tears still don’t come. 

“Yes, you can. You need to let them help you, Min,” Jisung whispers, and Minho is in pain, he is in so much pain, and his head is pounding. 

“I want to be with you, Sungie,” Minho says, his voice broken from the screaming and the arguing. Jisung sighs and the form is gone, and Minho panics again. 

He needs to see him; he needs to be with Jisung. He finishes the cigarette, taking the rest of the pills with the rest of the soju. He scoots further out on the railing. His phone has been ringing, but he didn’t notice, because he was talking to Jisung. He can’t breathe, and he can’t see, and his stomach is in so much pain. He closes his eyes, and he lets go of the railing. He feels himself falling, but then somebody grabs him with a sharp scream, and he screams back. He doesn’t want to be saved, he can’t be saved, because he needs to be with Jisung. 

“Let me go!” he screams, but he is being pulled up and he can’t make whoever it is release his wrist as he is pulled over the railing. 

He is dizzy, he doesn’t know where he is, and then he suddenly feels fingers in his mouth, and they are uncomfortable as they poke at the back of his throat, and they make him throw up and he hates whoever it is that’s doing this to him. He gags for a long time, screaming with the strain of it as his stomach violently trembles from the abuse it’s gone through. He hears a voice, who is probably calling someone and then he is being hugged, but he is fighting, because that’s all he can do. 

“I want to be with Jisung, I need to be with Jisung, let me go!” he screams, hitting the chest of whoever it is, and it dawns on him that he is not dead and the pain will return and will haunt him again, and he will have to deal with it, because that’s what Jisung would want. Because that’s what he asked for. “I want to be with Jisung,” his voice dies down; his body goes limp and then his eyes sting. The person hugging him is sobbing, desperately, as Minho feels small and insignificant in their arms. “I need to be with Jisung...” he whispers, and he can’t see, and his face is wet, and the tears come. And they don’t stop. He sobs with all his strength, his tears soaking the shirt of whoever is holding him, and he can’t stop, he can’t breathe, and he can’t see, and he is in so much pain, but Jisung needs him to let go, because he is causing him even more pain. “Please, help me,” he whispers, broken and he looks up through his tears, and his only hyung is there, and he is also crying, and his face is so scared, and Minho feels bad for scaring him. “I’m sorry, hyung,” he whispers, and tilts his head against the older’s chest, and the tears won’t stop. He sobs, without strength, all the pain of the past four months in there. Chan doesn’t say anything, just hugs his head to his chest, and his hand is all over Minho’s face, then two fingers stop on his neck, checking his pulse. He is holding him tight, and Minho realizes how much he scared Chan by the trembling of his body. 

“I’m here, Minho,” Chan whispers, and he kisses Minho’s head and the younger just cries more, because it’s so soft, and it’s full of pain, but it feels so nice. He needs to let Chan help him, he needs to get better, he needs to move on. He needs to let Jisung go, because Jisung is  still  in pain, and because that’s what’s right. And then maybe, just maybe, things will stop tasting like ashes.