Another wake. Another day consisting of the tears of family members, monochrome clothing, and solemn expressions. Lu Han was used to this. He was used to the sadness and depression that came with the memory of those that had passed on. People came up to him patting him on the back and sharing their condolences - he kept the smallest, saddest of smiles on his rosy lips. He nodded his head, as expected, and whispered quiet “thank you”s to those that called him strong and brave for going through all that he did. He didn’t feel strong, nor brave, but tired. Exhausted of all the people that he cared about being taken away from him. Completely drained of one more person abandoning him and pushing him closer to being totally alone. No, he wasn’t strong, but he knew how to put on a show. He knew how he was supposed to act, and he was fully aware of the responses that people expected in situations such as this.

After sneaking himself yet another small cup of wine, he made his way over to the coffin. He stared down at the elderly man in it with an indifferent expression, though the sight made his heart ache painfully in his chest. Taking a small sip, he noticed that someone had approached him out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was, and he forced the corners of his mouth up into a small smile. “He’s in a better place, Yixing. You don’t have to say it.”

Swallowing the condolences he was about to share, Yixing ran his fingers through his hair, speaking with evident pain in his voice. “Two funerals in six months. I don’t know how you stay sane, Han. I really don’t. These things make me sick.”

Lu Han blinked for a moment before taking another swig from his glass, the liquid sloshing as he wiggled the cup in his cousin’s direction. “I’m used to it.” His shoulders lifted and fell limply, and he finally turned to glance at the other. “Isn’t that sad? That I’m so used to people dying I can’t even react properly. Look at me,” he used his free hand to point at his face. “Do you see any tears?” It was true, there were no tears that had stained Lu Han’s alabaster skin - instead, his lips seemed to twitch uncontrollably as they tried to keep the forced smile. “No. You don’t. Do you know why? I think I’ve run out of them. I’ve cried so often in the past few months I don’t think I’ll ever be able to cry again. My eyes will burn and burn and I just--” His voice cracked, and he took the opportunity to finish off his wine. “I need another drink.”

“No, you don’t.” Yixing snatched the cup from the man’s hands, getting a glare in response. “Don’t look at me like that, Lu Han. I’m not going to drive your drunk home because you’re trying to drown your sorrows in this nasty .”

“You shouldn’t swear at a funeral,” Lu Han chided with a grin. “It’s inappropriate.”

Yixing cursed again under his breath - successfully making Lu Han laugh, though many stared at him oddly - and folded his arms, drumming his fingers against the side of the glass. “Look, you go back to school next week. I’ve been looking into their programs, and they have a grief counseling program.” Lu Han opened his mouth to protest, but Yixing continued on, not allowing him adequate time to argue. “I signed you up for it. Look, even if you don’t think that you need counseling - which you do,” he added under his breath, “-you’re no stranger to this. You could help someone else who is.”

Lu Han’s smile finally faded from his face and he glanced down at the man in the coffin once more. He looked peaceful, as though he was merely sleeping, and multiple memories of the days that he had spent with his grandfather appeared in his mind. The lantern making, the cooking alongside both he and his grandmother - the very thoughts made his eyes burn, though no tears were produced. Taking a shaky breath, he reached over to touch the man’s cold, wrinkled hand. It wasn’t something that he had to think too hard about, so he turned towards Yixing and nodded his head once.

“Fine.”

“Hell no.”

Jongin had finally been released from the hospital, having stayed there - what he believed to be - an unnecessarily long period of time. He had been home for exactly thirteen days, and already he was planning to go back to school. It wasn’t particularly that he missed the long essays, the deadlines, and the snarky comments from both students and teachers - it was that it was the last bit of normalcy in his life, and he wished to get back to it as soon as possible.

Returning home had not been as pleasurable as he had expected. Kyungsoo hardly spoke a word, and their mother was forced to go up to the young teenager’s room just to leave him a plate of food, as he refused to come down to dinner. He hardly spoke to Jongin, other than sending dark looks in his direction. Jongin’s parents seemed to fight a lot more than they had in the past. It was no longer short arguments with raised voices that he would hear when passing their room at night - but they had escalated into full-on yelling and throwing things. His mother was often crying over the loss of her eldest son, and his father would argue with her that it was time to move on. Jongin didn’t even think his father had moved on, but someone had to act as though they were strong in the family.

The doctors had told Jongin that he would have to come once every two weeks for a check-up. If he had any headaches or seizures, there was medication for him. If they became unbearable, he was to call his doctor, or for an ambulance. If there were any other symptoms that had not been brought up before - he was to come to the hospital immediately. Jongin highly doubted that he would, regardless, but made the promise anyway.

The concept of going back to school, he believed, was his last chance at finding something that would make him feel like a normal human being again. He would be away from his parents pointless screaming, his brother’s cold demeanor, and he would have a chance to get out of that godforsaken house - where everything reminded him of what he had lost. Finally, he would be free from those memories - at least, temporarily. Or, rather, that was what he had thought.

“Jongin, it’s a very good program,” his mother protested, desperation etched upon her tired features. “It’s for students who have lost those close to them, and need a friend, or someone to talk to. If you won’t talk to us, we thought that you would at least talk to others your age going through the same thing.”

“So you thought that it would be a good idea to sign me up without my permission?” Jongin cried, fingers curling into his hair in frustration. “You want someone to have grief therapy? You should get some! Get Kyungsoo signed up! Jesus - I’m 19 years-old mom! I thought we talked about this. I can make my own decisions after I turn 18.” He sulked, sinking down into the thick couch cushions. “Or do you think I’m unable to do so after the accident?” The words were biting and cold, and even Jongin hadn’t expected them to leave his mouth with such venom. Covering his eyes with his hands, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“If you didn’t mean it, you wouldn’t have said it,” his father interjected, and Jongin glared at him over his fingers. “This is why we signed you up. If we could have signed your brother up for one, we would have, but his school doesn’t offer such opportunities, and your university only allows its students to participate. Look, we know you’re an adult, like us, and that’s why we did this. You want to hide that you’re hurting so you can seem strong and mature - but you’re only making it worse for yourself. Just go a couple of times, and if you really think that it’s not helping you, then you can leave.” His mother lifted her hand, preparing to protest against this, but her husband lifted his hand to silence her, eyes still locked with his son’s. “Deal?”

Jongin looked between the two before his eyes traveled over to the fireplace. Three framed photos rested on the mantle. Jongin on the left, Kyungsoo on the right, and Junmyeon in the middle. Junmyeon’s smiling eyes seemed to look right at him, and he could feel a thick lump forming in his throat. Swallowing it down, he looked to his father once more, gaze defeated.

“Fine.”