Once again, the ball of fiery orange took its leisurely descent, marrying the horizon for the night. Brittle leaves sang a chilling melody, the few left that clung to eerie, defined branches. Equally frail brown grass crunched under Kyungsoo’s weight, something he thought echoed through the park too quietly. The song ending as he sat back on a lonely park bench, electing soft groaning from days of neglect. But it all had the same, familiar sound. Winter.

 

Even though not a flake of snow lay upon the highest of rooftops, at home, a calendar hanging near his desk projected the word January. The calendar, though, seemed useless to him, spare that he hadn't need one for some time now, but a certain someone always felt obligated to blame his struggle to remember dates on the lacking monthly planner. A certain someone who he hadn't seen in eight months, two weeks, and five days. The one day he swore never to forget.

 

Cold latched onto Kyungsoo’s thin fingers, snaking its way into the sleeves of a semi-worn polyester jacket. Yet, the feeling went forgotten as a whole, vastly more overpowering Cold possessively took hold on his chest, clenching it until he physically couldn't handle the pain and discomfort. He rose from the bench once steady puffs of cloudy vapor came out much too fast. Kyungsoo finally felt the need to shiver from something other than fabrications of pure memories, stuffing his numb fingers into his coat pockets.

 

These evening walks were advice from therapist after therapist, meant from relieving pent up stress. Each new tactic promised to be better than the last. He'd even tried sacrificing his lungs to get some whiff of relaxation, but was only given a punch in the stomach and angry migraines after each attempt until Chanyeol finally suggested he stopped trying. Besides, he shouldn't add to the accumulation of dicarded white and orange cigarette butts that littered the sidewalks. 

 

He couldn't take the silence. Each step further from the rigid, desolate park, each step closer to his rigid, desolate apartment. Every expanse was too big. Though, Kyungsoo found his feet led him straight to door 108, fingers unveiling copper keys, door unlocking to an unimpressive neglected living room.

 

His shoes slipped off his feet, jacket slumping under an empty hanger. A few more steps and he would make it through the disorder of his thoughts, into his kitchen.

 

Kyungsoo opened the only cabinet that ever saw light pool into its nooks and crannies nowadays. His hand dejectedly pulled the entire box of tea from its place, some nighttime tea and a book to mute his thoughts might as well be the best medicine. It was a shame he didn't realize that his fingers stretched too far back into a corner, to a container left for no eyes to see and undisturbed by life.

 

A baby blue box presented itself, with a light layer of dust married to its opening at the top. The dull looking thing wore a teddy bear on the front, smiling back with black button eyes. A smile Kyungsoo once found creepy and cliché. But once his eyes landed on the container of nine month old tea, decorated in nostalgic blue, scattered with pastel daisies, and a tan stuffed animal bear grinning back at him, he broke down in tears; the third time that day.

 

~

 

-Six hours earlier-

 

“Working out?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Therapy?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Smoking?”

 

“...Yes.”

 

“Well, have you tried going to his grave?”

 

Yes. The spitfire response died on his tongue. The taste of his mouth now bitter from something other than black coffee. Of course I've gone to his grave. Of course I've sat for hours on the lonely ing hill wishing to God that he could somehow be sitting next to me. Of course I sat there, wondering if it was still even worth it to stay here when I know it only makes the memories hurt more. Why does everything hurt more? Time is supposed to heal this sort of , right? Why won't it ing wo-.

 

“I'm sorry. That was an unfair question. Kyungsoo, please don't cry.” A pleading voice spoke through the spiral setting in; Kyungsoo’s personal least favorite cycle of his. Without even realizing it, fat child-like tears brimmed his eyes, clouding his vision until he let them cascade down with a blink.

 

“Baek. I don't want to t-talk anymore.” He mustered the sentence with as much composure as he was aloud. His hand wiped angrily at the signs of how much he was still broken inside. Because people weren't supposed to see that side of him anymore. It'd been too long, they all had mov-.

 

“I understand.” The boy paused, his tone hinting at more. There was definitely a follow up, though. There was always a follow up. As much as he loved these amatuer therapy sessions, Baekhyun still failed to understand the concept of recovery... even if Kyungsoo found it nowhere in himself to comply to the futile attempts. “I know its been hard. I get that, well I mean I don't really get it, but I'm trying to. But, Kyungsoo, it's been eight-”

 

“Enough!” The boy spat back. Nearly every bit of resistance decided to give way. The entire coffee shop now aware of two boys near the far back with only a half eaten croissant and two cups of coffee between the both of them.

 

Kyungsoo hated this. He hated remembering. The dark chocolate haired college student, concern riddling his features, sat across from him was assumed to be his friend, some may argue best friend. But currently, Kyungsoo felt revolted to even be near him, call it immaturity if you must. Moving on was a curse word, letting go is the sin that haunts him daily. And said boy sitting across from him in the far back corner of a corner coffee shop made every attempt to speak of such language and unholy acts.

 

“Kyungsoo, you've been grieving for far too long now. Jongin’s-.”

 

The few remaining barriers of resistance still standing let Kyungsoo leave the shop as quickly as thought possible.

 

~

 

-Present-

 

City streets were lonely. Even lonelier when you have no footsteps to walk on, Luhan had once told him. That was back in a time of complete confusion. Sure he remembered his life. Mornings always seemed the most vivid in his recollection. Like the days of high school, when he reluctantly pulled himself from bed, trudging down locker walled hallways with half smiles to acquaintances. He remembered waking up every morning during the last few years, left arm asleep and numb from being tucked tightly underneath the smaller, raven haired boy in his arms. He remembered the shampoo smell tainting his thoughts for those early moments before the day went and ruined his safe haven. The sun would always seep through his favorite color of curtains, basking the both of them in a happy early spring warmth. He also remembered the morning that never came, because his boss had told him and his co-workers to finish the presentation before the meeting that Friday, which required he stayed past nearly eleven o’clock.

 

But of his life, a moment projected itself almost on a regular basis though his thoughts. The doleful reminder of the very moment when a silver BMW ran a red light, four blocks from his shared apartment. He doesn't remember the impact though, thankfully.

 

Jongin would have been completely at a lose if it weren't for Luhan, the only other person he found in his predicament, sitting under a willow tree one sunny afternoon in late June. He'd been surprised at first to finally have some acknowledgement after what seemed like months of being literally invisible to the world.

 

“If you can see me, you're…dead. B-Because… I'm-”

 

“Yes. You're also dead, Jongin.”

 

“But why aren't you just as confused and sad as me? Why am I here. I don't want to be this close to him but so, so far away.”

 

The figure in the grass seemed amused by Jongin's fidgeting. The slightest smirk adorned his features. “Trust me, people only wish to be where you and I are.”

 

The message wasn't one he was quite expecting, and he didn't really want to filter his words anymore. “How the hell can someone find this pleasant?”

 

“We’ve found our soulmates. We can't leave until they come with us. It's a blessing and a curse.”

 

“What does that mean for Kyung-... What does that mean for the other person?”

 

“They can feel your presence. So don't get too close or else it will hurt them more. We have the gift of seeing them, they don't.” A blonde boy seated quietly near the main road, a specific distance apart from then, curtly stood. He started making his way down the path which passed by the person Jongin was anchored to. Luhan abruptly stood, much like the taller male had. “I must go now, but please remember, don't get too close...for his sake.”

 

A message he formerly swore himself to live by. But the words were fading in his head. He hated the very thought of Kyungsoo moving on to someone else. Even though Luhan had said such things wouldn't ever happen, his stomach still convulsed at such an outcome.

 

He used to be able to keep at least two and a half meters distance from him, walk as a shadow in the boy’s steps. He loved to see that Kyungsoo was smiling at Chanyeol’s crappy jokes or hanging out with Baekhyun in the local coffee shop on Thursday afternoons.

 

But as the winter found its way back into the cycle of seasons, Autumn decided it loved Kyungsoo’s happiness more than Jongin did, snatching it up and taking his warm heart-shaped smile along with it. When winter sent in, so did Kyungsoo’s relapse.

 

Watching Kyungsoo hangout with new friends was thought hard to endure when the sunny months rose to their peek, watching Kyungsoo crying in their once shared apartment, alone, was infinitely harder.

 

As Jongin continued to stroll soundlessly down the street he called his own, he eyes caught onto the figure that pulled him everywhere he went, taking long strides back the the familiar beige brick apartment complex. He followed like a curious lost puppy, because said boy seemed particularly rush this evening.

 

Once inside the confines of the space, Jongin noticed the single door displayed on his right was wide open. He immediately picked up on the muffled sobs only steps away. So fragile, so broken.

 

Kyungsoo sat underneath the largest window in the room, slouching over, seated with legs tucked underneath his form. Pale moonlight cast his shaking shadow back into the depths of his- of their room.

 

Jongin had always so badly wanted to break his ruleset months ago. He'd wanted to be near him, to touch him. But the authoritative voice of Luhan scolded the taller from doing so.

 

Until he felt something, deep, deep down in his chest, caused only by the other's childlike unguarded anguish. Right where a heart used to beat steadily for 22 years. A completely new extreme impulse to break every rule he'd lived by pulled him to the boy crying oh so vulnerably in front of the large window.

 

He walked until his form stood only mere feet before Kyungsoo. Not even a hint of a shadow covered him as Jongin regarded the raven head of hair.

 

Jongin couldn't take it, he couldn't take this picture of Kyungsoo so desperate for unattainable comfort.

 

Jongin's hand tentatively graced the boy’s shivering shoulder. He didn't put too much weight on it in fear of his fingers slipping through the thought of comforting his only love. Surprisingly, the held firm.

 

It didn't seems to only surprise him, when Kyungsoo’s choked sobs hitched; nervously raising his head from tear soaked hands.

 

What presented itself was the most beautiful shades and combinations of colors and hues. The dark amethyst of Kyungsoo’s moonlight soaked hair, warm pink splotched across his cheeks along with his lips decorating his snowy pale skin, just dark enough deep brown irises brought out his round, wide eyes, and even more hints of bittersweet red surrounding them. The palette of colors made the most magnificent tragedy, and Jongin was the only one blessed and cursed to witness it.

 

His other cold palm met a moist cheek, thumb slowly pushing back tears which found their way out of Kyungsoo’s broken state.

 

Jongin hadn't noticed how small the sobs had become, only really resounding as whimpers now. His tremor induced hands came to meet the placement of Jongin's, effortlessly enclosing around his chilled wrists. “J-J-...Jon-.”

 

Said boy couldn't take the rules, he could take the mistake me made eight months, two weeks, and five days ago. And most of all, he couldn't take the distance.

 

His arms wrapped around his fragile shaking love. He pulled Kyungsoo into an embrace both of them had felt so unbelievably hollow without. It wasn't short lived, either.

 

Jongin let his nose burry itself in the deep russet locks of hair. He finally found his favorite smell again, somewhat sweet, embedded in a delicate mint evocative scent. The head of hair tucked itself tightly into his neck, letting out vibrant brazen pain. Because unlike people who were gifted a chance to see their loved one in knowing final days, they never actually had the chance of say goodbye.

 

Kyungsoo didn't seem to care that someone he definitely couldn't see was hugging him, because it felt so familiar. And he realized he could very well be going insane, but such a muddled thought process was disregarded, along with streams of hot tears. He didn't care if he looked weird. Because the smell of whoever he was hugging, the length of the arms wrapped around his waist, the way a hand languidly his back as he clung to them like it was life or death, it was all him.

It was all Jongin.