Warning: character death

Jongdae died.

Kim Jongdae was dead.

That's what Jongin's father told him that night in the study, but back in the solitude of his own room, the phrase didn't make any sense. Those four words shouldn't be together in a sentence; they didn't mean anything like that.

Died.

Dead, dead, dead.

He died in a car accident. At least, that's what the official statement was. But the truth was that the tires were slashed, the windshield cracked, and Jongdae's body was found with a clean bullet hole through the skull. But how he died didn't matter. The fact was -- he died.

Not alive. Dead.

Jongin let out a strangled cry as his legs gave out and he slumped to the floor after closing his door. How could Kim Jongdae die? Did that mean Jongin would never see that smile, hear that voice, see that face ever again? Did that mean Jongin wouldn't have a partner in crime, a brother to annoy, a supportive figure in his life anymore?

As tears spilled from his eyes, leaving messy trails down his cheeks, memories flashed through his mind.

He was five when he held a gun for the first time. Jongdae was seven, already experienced and patiently helped him wrap his fingers around the heavy chrome. He broke his leg when he was nine. He didn't want to cry, but it hurt, so he screamed and Jongdae was there, comforting him until the adults came. When he was ten, he wanted to try soju, so Jongdae stole some from their parents. He went on his first job when he was twelve and Jongdae stayed at home, waiting for his safe return. Twelve was also the year Sehun joined them. He was wary at first, but Jongdae forced them together. When he was fourteen and Jongdae was sixteen, their mom decided to go to Thailand and Jongdae began acting more like an adult. Half a year later, Jongin decided to start calling him “Mom.” When he was sixteen and Jongdae was eighteen, Junmyeon died and Jongdae was devastated. Jongin decided to help take revenge. Now, when he was eighteen and Jongdae was twenty, Jongdae was dead and Jongin was curled up into a ball, wracked with dry heaves.

He rocked back and forth, not caring when his head slammed into the door behind him. In fact, he welcomed the pain. But the memories wouldn't go, more and more flashing past, blending together, whipping at him, pulling him down, him into the whirlpool of anger, sadness, self-pity and he was drowning, drowning.

But, as painful as it was, he tried latching onto those memories. Because Jongdae was dead and there would never be any new memories. And no matter what he did, these would fade, slip through his fingers like grains of sand, like the dusty remains of Jongdae's corpse. And Jongin would forget his brother. Forget how he tilted his head back to laugh, forget how he narrowed his eyes and sighed when he was annoyed, forget how they fought and yelled and screamed at each other when they were angry.

Because that was the reality of death.

An empty hole that Jongin would fall into, climb out of and forget.

But he didn't want to forget and the darkness and the memories and the emotions were crushing him and he needed someone to hold. With shaking hands, he pulled out his phone. The light blinded him and he shut his eyes, squeezing out fresh tears. His finger trembled, hovering over the number one on speed dial. He wanted to hear his brother's voice, but he didn't want to listen to the voicemail. He wanted a conversation, Jongin wanted his brother to be alive.

And his finger moved to the number two, but Sehun was probably at Tao's apartment, still oblivious to the news and Jongin didn't want to tell him.

And he didn't have anyone else in his life. Except . . .

Except Kyungsoo.

~ ~ ~

Kyungsoo wasn't really asleep, but he still groaned when his doorbell rang in the middle of the night. He thought of ignoring it, but dragged himself out of bed and shuffled to the door in his pajamas. He wasn't sure what he was expecting when he threw the door open in slight annoyance, but definitely not a pathetic looking Junmyeon. Kyungsoo took in the red eyes and tear-stained cheeks and before he could react, the boy let out a desperate “Kyungsoo” and broke down in sobs.

“What's wrong?”

“My brother . . . my brother . . . my brother . . . he . . .” Junmyeon choked out between gasps and sobs.

Without another word, Kyungsoo led the boy into his room. As Junmyeon blubbered, mumbling unintelligible words about kids and cars and stupidity and who's fault it was, a wave of deja vu washed over Kyungsoo. Why did people always come to him, cry to him, telling him someone died, waiting for his reaction?

Coming to him was useless and so unnecessary. There was no need to make him feel as if he was important, there was no need to make him feel needed, as if he was the only one the other could find solace in. And he didn't really have a reaction, whispering useless soothing words, cradling the other in his arms. He didn't know Junmyeon's brother, but seeing the boy so broken like this, his heart ached a little.

He hated seeing people cry.

~ ~ ~

“Where's . . . soju . . .”

Jongin wanted to get drunk, get wasted. Deal with the pain of a hangover instead of the harsh reality.

“No, Junmyeon.”

Junmyeon. He was mourning for his brother, but he couldn't even use his real name.

Junmyeon. The name of his dead brother's dead lover. How funny. How sad.

“I can't do this,” he mumbled. He felt so guilty. Didn't Jongdae die because of him? Because he knew who had killed his brother. “It's my fault, isn't it?” he asked out loud. It was a cycle of vengeance, and it would never end, just bodies piling up on both sides and everyone would drown in blood until no one was left.

“Don't worry about it,” Kyungsoo murmured softly. “Just go to sleep tonight.”

“I can't sleep.”

“Sh . . .”

And as Kyungsoo began humming, Jongin forced his eyes shut, ignoring the flashes of memories and allowed the wordless melody to lull him to oblivion.

"I died? Oops kkaebsong~~"

More angst in the next chapter