Yongguk wakes up in the morning, the back of his hand pressed against his forehead, skin hot and clammy. He had another nightmare, the same sound of metal grinding and tires screeching, screeching to stop before they hit anything important. Of course, they never stopped on time. He was just happy that he managed to force his eyes open before he saw what happened, over, and over, and over again. He squints under the soft light that managed to seep in through the window and sighs at the lack of heat beside him.

He forces himself to roll off of the mattress, landing on the floor with a pathetic thud. There's the clinking of empty glass bottles and the clacking of pills in nearly empty plastic bottles. It doesn't matter anyways because none of those drugs have ever helped him in any way. The doctors insist it'll help him sleep, to rest without those images reaching out to him in his dreams. But they don't understand, those pictures have been burned into the back of his eyelids. He's ashamed to admit that he makes an effort to stop blinking.

Shuffling past the bathroom, he opens the door and forces himself through. He is tempted to just throw himself back into the small bed that has become his one true shelter, but growls under his breath. As pathetic as he may feel, or be, Bang Yongguk has to keep fighting for himself. He chants that over and over again until he reaches the living room. He chants it again as he lowers himself into the leather armchair that his body has come to know. Every single wrinkle and curve, that chair has become his new best friend. Yongguk shuts his eyes as the chair squeaks in protest under his now much lighter weight. 

"Why do you even keep this chair?" he had asked, sliding into it and curling up into it as much as a lanky teenager could. Yongguk scratched at his head.

"Mm... I'm not sure. It's old, I should really get rid of it." 

"Don't!" he had replied immediately. "It's... interesting." And then he had laughed.

Yongguk laughed along too, though he couldn't find what was funny. He just liked listening to the other boy laugh.

Yongguk could almost hear that laughter again. Almost. So he slumps in his chair a little, hearing it squeak again. He almost found the infernal noise to be reassurance, a subtle anchor in his life of nothing. And as always, Yongguk starts his morning off by reaching over to the small stack of cassette tapes. Blindly, he s the cassette player, until his fingers find the slot for the tape. He pushes the tape in, and waits for the scratching sound that confirmed that the tape was ready to be played. Yongguk isn't sure of what tape he chose, but he didn't care.

I hope it isn't that one, he thinks. The one with the old yellowing sticker on it. Labelled 'for when it's rainy'. 

He shuts his eyes again, the images at the corners of his eyelids. They dispell immediately however, when the quiet static of the recording breaks the dead silence in the room. Yongguk reaches blindly again, except for the other end of the table. His fingers wrap around a bottle and he draws it closer, almost hugging it for some sort of security.

"Ah, Bang isn't back yet." There's some sort of scraping sound. Perhaps it was him scratching his hair awkwardly. Yongguk could almost picture the boy, huddled up next to the cheap microphone with his arms wrapped around his lanky mile-long legs. "So I guess I'll leave a message here for now. I bet he'll be mad, he's already complaining about how big the stack is now." An awkward chuckle escaped the boy's lips, and there's more scratching. Yongguk regrets complaining, pressing his fingers against the cold glass a little more.

"It's boring, it's really boring!" It was a loud exclaimation, but Yongguk wasn't surprised at all. This was perhaps his fiftieth time listening. Then there's a loud whining sound, that almost made Yongguk smile but instead he clutched the bottle tighter, lifting it up to take a long swig. He then begins to ramble on about his day, how Jongup almost knocked him off of his skateboard, and about this cute alley cat that he almost picked up but didn't, and oh he was so guilty, he really should have gotten it even if Bang protested!

It's a short time before the tape stops, the static leaves the air, and Yongguk is left to lean forward to pick up the tape that had been spat out by the player immediately. He stares at the tape, a rare unlabeled one. Though that was to be expected, it was about his day, done out of boredom while waiting for Yongguk to come home. He feels a guilty lump build in his throat, and quickly sets down the tape to exchange it for another one. This time, he selects it carefully. "First", it says.

"Is it recording? I think it's recording now! Bang, come on!"

"Alright, alright. Why do you even want to record this?"

"Memories are precious, you know." There's a bit of fumbling in the background, as the boy tries to pass the microphone he bought at some convenience store to the elder. Yongguk takes it, and awkwardly, he clears his throat. He's not sure of what to do so he chooses to cough into it. There's a new background noise, a stiffled giggle that's only there for a second before it was fully supressed beneath a pale palm. Yongguk now holds onto that sound.

"Just say something!" That prompt is a bit muffled because he was still covering his mouth with his hand. Yongguk remembers smiling at that before turning back to the mic.

"Ayo, wassup, this is Bang Yongguk." There's more lovely laughter, before the recording cuts off mid-chuckle. That was from when he had slapped the recording machine until it stopped, too embarassed to keep going.

Yongguk holds onto the tape a little after it is ejected. It's one of his favorites, the one where Junhong laughs the most. His eyes tear up, just thinking of his name. Today, he feels like nothing, so he lets out a choked sob, managing to force it down with another swig of cheap booze. His hands shake and fumble with the next tape. It seems that today wanted him to feel even more like nothing, as he recognizes the sound of Junhong impatiently tapping the old wooden table as an introduction.

"Again with this? What now?" There was a quiet shuffle. 

"I want evidence." A small chuckle.

"Of what?" There's a long silence, and anyone listening would have thought that one of them accidentally ended the recording. But Yongguk remembers. He remembers how the boy burrowed his face into his chest, lips brushing against his chest, a barrier of cloth between the skin.

"You'll stay with me forever, right?"

"I will." The answer was immediate.

"Do you love me?" The answer is even faster this time.

"I love you, Junhong. Is this enough evidence?" There's the quiet sound of lips pressing together.

"Absolutely."

The recording cuts off.

Yongguk slams the back of his head agains the chair, trying not to cry, to not throw himself at the floor and sob and complain until he came back to him. But of course that wouldn't happen. Junhong couldn't come back after what happened. And the floodgates opened, letting dark memories free into his mind to claw at his insides. 

As soon as he heard, Yongguk charged out of the building, leaving his assistants to yell at him to come back, that they weren't finished recording. He didn't care, he just ran, leaving his car behind. He couldn't afford to be caught in the damned midday traffic. His heart pounded as he rounded the same street corner where Junhong would ride his skateboard, wheels rolling over burnt out cigarettes and old newspapers. 

It seemed to be hours until Yongguk arrived, doubled over as his body shuddered for breath, but he still shoved his way past the crowd of people that just stopped to gawk, some officers having to shove some of them back. He was still breathless, wheezing that he was supposed to be allowed through, he was Junhong's guardian. The officer gave him a stern look, eyes sparkling with pity before letting him pass through the barrier of frail yellow tape.

"Junhong, Junhong? Junhong!" Yongguk was practically screaming, voice hoarse as his eyes swept through the crowd. There were too many people, scurrying around and barking orders. They were supposed to go out for dinner today, he thought in the middle of all the confusion. Sirens wailed, and he stumbled after a few bustling medics. His foot steps into something grimy and he looked down. Scarlet liquid ran in the cracks of the concrete, running away from the scene before him. 

He practically chokes on air as he steps forward, shoving someone aside and staring at the figure that was crumpled on the floor. 

This couldn't be happening.

And then suddenly Yongguk is whisked away to the hospital in the back of an ambulance, reeking of rubbing alcohol and medicine. He clutches the limp hand that had slid off of the gurney. All the while, he is thinking. This is a joke. This shouldn't be happening. This was all a lie. This was supposed to happen to some sap in a stereotypical movie, not to some average couple. He slams his fist against the metal walls of the wailing ambulance, screaming about how it has to be faster, goddamn it! There was a life at stake! 

"It'll be okay, it'll be okay. They'll fix you, and it will all be okay." Yongguk says after he is forced to stop by the man who is also riding in the back. He wasn't sure if he was trying to comfort the unconscious, broken boy by him or himself. He keeps repeating it, ignoring the look of pity of the other male, until his voice falls apart and he, Bang Yongguk, a grown man, is sobbing loudly. He practically wails, feeling as if he was matching the intensity of the sirens, his hand tightens around Junhong's slightly smaller one. It feels cold. It feels wrong. "It'll be okay, I promise! It'll all be okay!" 

Yongguk slammed his fist on the table, breaking him away from the past. He presses his hand against his stinging eyes. It wasn't okay. 

The day after, he was crying again, sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair as he stared at the limp body of his lover. He remembered starting to yell again, rationality gone as he stood up, sending the chair flying back.

"Wake up! You're supposed to wake up! I'm supposed to stay with you, remember? How can I do that, when you're, you're..." Then he fell to his knees, pressing his face against the plastic mattress of the bed, feeling the hot tears pool on the material until he's pulled to his feet and ushered out by the nurses. He stares at the neatly combed pink-red hair that stuck out like a sore thumb, just the way he liked for as long as possible. "Junhong! Junhong..." he called out for the last time, as if he was just calling the younger male awake before he was late for school. His voice faded into nothing.

The week after, he is forced to dress in a black suit and tie, walking in a single-file line. Each footstep feels like lead as he walks, he doesn't want to go but again, there is a light press against his back as Himchan, Junhong's favorite and only brother pushes him forward. They connect a bit, by the same burning, empty feeling in their chest. They stand in neat rows, under the sunlight that beat down on them, a light breeze whistling between the bodies. He would have liked a day like this. He would force me to go outside and play soccer with him. The train of thought seems to drive itself right off of a cliff, as it's eventually Yongguk's turn to speak.

"Junhong..." he says weakly, and after that, his voice fades again. There's murmuring, vicious rumours spreading that maybe Yongguk wanted Junhong to pass away. He doesn't want to defend himself. He doesn't want to do anything. So he stands there, jaw slack as he looks at the hole in the ground, exactly six feet underneath the surface of the world. He turns to the open casket, stares into the beautiful, hollow body before him. There was something missing. Junhong was missing. Cold and limp and lacking the laughter he needed so much. Yongguk ends up being paralyzed in his place, the noise and everything around him turning into static until a hand claps his shoulder.

"You've been standing here for hours. He's already gone." Himchan whispered, his voice firm and hiding a definite tremble. Yongguk knows what he means. The hole has been covered with earth, and he can only think 'Junhong is under there. Why is he there?' How could a car accident take the one he loved away from him? 

Yongguk returned to reality once again, taking huge, shuddering breaths as he reached for another cassette. He should feel sad, recalling those memories. But he realizes that he feels nothing. He should feel something. He is a human. He has emotion. But it felt like nothing was left inside of him, just another hollow body. He felt like he was the one six feet under. Another cassette tape was fed to the player. It was one that wasn't listened to often, as it twisted at his heart more than the others would.

"It's lonely without you here, Yongguk. But... I guess I can't complain." There's more drumming on the desk. "It kind of , waiting. But... It's worth it when you come home. It makes it worth it. You better finish that album soon!"

And at that moment, there's the sound of a door clicking as it opened. There's the sound of the office chair creaking, then a soft thud. There's muffled laughing and the crumpling of clothes. Junhong had tackled him down as a greeting, nuzzling their noses and gently kissing Yongguk's forehead. He remembers it perfectly, the younger male's hair was blue back then, tickling his nose as they touched, pearly white teeth gleaming as they grinned at each other.

Yongguk doesn't even try to stop his hands from shaking as he feeds another tape in. He's unstoppable now, he can't help but listen to more. A drug addict, except his narcotic was the sound of his voice. He couldn't be choosy. Anger, love, happiness, a laugh that both pained and healed him temporarily, he needed it all.

"Yes, yes, Announcer Choi Junhong is here to tell you about today's news!" Junhong chirped happily, his mouth a bit too close to the mic, making his voice echo in the room, his breath audible. "We, are going on vacation! Woohoo!" Yongguk could imagine him pumping his fist in the air as he continued cheering happily. It wasn't even that big of a deal, Yongguk thought. It was just a visit to Jeju for the weekend, yet Junhong was so excited. There was something that caused the boy to gasp.

"Yeah?" he called out. It was Yongguk calling him to pack his things beforehand. Then the familiar sound of the door clicking and then shutting once again. A scraping sound, a plastic chair being dragged so that he could sit beside the younger. 

"Why do you keep recording these things?"

"I told you. Memories are important." There was a heavy sigh. Junhong clicked his tongue at the elder. "We'll listen to these together when we're all old and wrinkly!"

Of course, they hadn't had the chance to become old together.

"I miss you so much." Yongguk spoke, voice mangled from the lack of use, to the cassette player, as if Junhong could hear him. He wished that would happen. But of course, it wouldn't. So he grabbed his beer again and took another sip. His other hand was held on his chest, as if to stop the pain that was building up. He wanted to hear his voice again. Another tape, a label scribbled on messily. The ink was smeared and crossed out on top of it, a product of embarassment.

"You'll get mad at me if I break this, right? Ah, I probably won't... I think." He was talking about the electronic keyboard they kept in the corner of the small room that Junhong used to record. There was some shuffling and a small grunt, before Junhong sighed. "I'll try to play a little, just to keep it on record." He must have gotten scared, because after that, there was no music, just the sound of the tape stopping.

The sun was setting by the time Yongguk had listened through the small stack. A pile of bottles was accumulating at his feet, glass clinking together as he stretched in the chair. One cassette was left. For when it's rainy. He stared into it, before swallowing the newest lump in his throat. Yongguk forced himself to play it.

"I know you hate rain." There was a soft yawn. Junhong had recorded this during the early morning, unable to sleep because of the storm."I do too." he chirped suddenly. There's a long silence again before he presses his lips together, a dry sound.

"It's your birthday tomorrow. So I'll do a lot of stuff for you, hyung!" Yongguk imagined the boy raising his fist in the air. "First, a confession." 

Yongguk took a deep breath. He knew what was coming. The thought of it made him choke back a lump in his throat. This is why you don't touch this cassette, he scolded himself and how pathetic he felt. But Junhong was Junhong. Everything about him made his heart throb. 

"Thank you so much. I love you. I'm sorry. That's just some of the things I want to say." he sniffs quite audibly. "I don't know why I just can't tell you face to face. I'm... strange, I guess." Yongguk felt like shaking him by the shoulders, the first time he had listened. Fingers tap on the desk.

"It hurts when we fight. A lot more than you'd think. I hate when we fight. I'm so, so sorry for being such a kid." he sounds almost robotic, his voice seeming to deadpan. Yongguk knows it's only because of his tentativeness. There's a deep breath taken. "I've cried a lot too. Thank you for staying with me through those times."

Yongguk forces himself to listen through the quiet voice's words. Words that Junhong almost never spoke of, he was the type to stay bright and cheery. Expressing true emotions was difficult. He grasps the arms of the chair, trying to find some psychological support through them.

"I think I'm scared. Really scared, 'guk. I'm scared of you leaving. It... It kind of..." his voice dies out, starting from waivering, to a quiet whisper, then silence. There's more sniffling, and an odd laugh as Junhong tries to brush his tears aside.

Yongguk's heart twists. The irony didn't escape him in this situation, and he hated it. He was supposed to die first, not Junhong. He promised to stay with him. He blamed himself for everything that happened. If he hadn't said that it was alright for him to visit, if he had just forced Junhong to wait a little longer... 

 "Anyways, I'll sing you something, hyung… Since you always ask, and stuff… Don't you dare play this when I'm around!"

Yongguk didn't have to worry about that anymore. 

Hands clap and there's the harsh sound of a throat clearing. Fingers tap the mic shyly. 

"You…" The note sung is awkward and highpitched, derailed by embarassment. Then he starts again. "You… are my sunshine… my only sunshine… You make me happy, when skies are gray…" Junhong's voice rises and falls quickly, trying to be both quiet and confident at the same time. It doesn't matter if he hits the notes or not, because Yongguk adores it all the same. 

"You'll never know dear, how much I love you," Suddenly, the singing stops, replaced by a sharp knocking. Yongguk was home at the time. He clears his throat, and when he speaks, it's impossible to not notice the happiness laced into his voice. "You're home! I promise, I'll finish the song soon."

The recording ends.

He never had a chance to finish the song.

Yongguk blinks the tears away. He never seemed to run out of them, and it bothered him. His pain and weakness, everything seemed to tear at him. Sympathetic smiles and awkward hugs by his coworkers made it burn even more. Shouldn't someone be able to run out of pain? Feeling nothing, feeling everything. It confused him, it made his head pound, the alcohol an extra bitter note to the harsh rhythm beating in his skull. He decides to stare out the backdoor, where now not daylight, but night streamed in, moonlight dancing along the cold wooden boards. 

"That's enough for today." The pounding moulds into something delusional. It's Junhong's voice, the notes hitting that quirky low. Yongguk knows that it's just his imagination, the cassette tapes and the many words that roll off of his tongue during the recording that helps build it. And he falls for it, every time.

"I know." he replies in a hoarse whisper. Junhong laughs.

"See you tomorrow morning, hyung." The voice is distorted, it shrinks down into static and then nothing.

He leaves the nothing behind, trudging to his bedroom and practically throwing his body at the mattress. He misses the warmth and the quiet snore of the other. It hurts to breathe, it hurts to think and imagine. So he shuts his eyes. Tomorrow will be another morning. He will head right to the living room, and reach for the cassette player. He will pick a random one from the stack that had accumulated over the too little years. 

"Good night, Junhong. I love you."

- - - a/n

Yay character death. ;;
How to write endings? I don't even know.
Oh god sorry to the people who had high expectations for this.
I just wanted to get into the swing of writing again.
But I'm going to be honest. I teared up while writing this. /embarassed/
Thanks for reading! (◡‿◡✿)
e: Oh my gosh you guys are way too kind to me, thank you so so much.