Photographer!AU 

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Seunghoon drops his duffle bag by the door, swallowing the tightness of his dry throat as he settles the set of keys into the ceramic bowl on a high shelf. The silence that welcomes him stills a forlorn atmosphere and it’s too late to regret the decision he made to come back to this very place. It’s been three years. Get a ing grip, Lee Seunghoon. 

He toes off his sneakers, kicking them softly to the corner and it takes him a few seconds before he gathers the courage to walk further, nostalgia flooding him ever so slowly it’s almost nauseating. It certainly didn’t feel this way the last time he was here where the visit served an entirely different purpose, an anniversary accompanied by someone that swept into his life like a storm. Leaving him bruised with the aftermath when she left just as quickly as when she entered it.

For the first time in a while, Seunghoon’s not hiding behind the lenses that have become a part of him. His cameras still tucked in the backpack over his shoulder and maybe it’ll stay that way; it was foolish of him to think that he could take back pieces of this beach house in forms of photographs void of her presence. Everything about it reminds him so much of her and there’s a weary ache in his chest, maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.

His eyes dart slowly over the glossy wooden floors up to the glass windows that overlooked a quiet beach front. It reminds him of spontaneous, socked feet dancing on summer nights, hearty, breathless laughter and deep conversations. Seunghoon finds her over the white tiled countertops, whisking a bowl of pancake batter in lazy mornings, a ghostly image projected from the grieving parts of his mind. He finds her on the dock outside, leaning against the railing the way she would while soaking in the sunrise, reflecting the lapping sea with a golden glow across the infinite horizon.  She had left her mark and the further he ventured, the more he sees her; she was gone but she was everywhere.

It was a cliché, she once told him, how his favourite subject was her. But Seunghoon paid no mind, she could never complain seeing his final prints and the silent awe in her eyes was something he lived for.

“Seunghoon, you really do know all my good angles.”

“Trust me, it’s all you.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not, if anything... they don’t do enough justice.”

He would joke how he didn’t go through school for a photography degree for nothing, always one to dream big. Of course, it didn’t go as planned since life has a funny way of working out. Seunghoon didn’t score a spot on National Geographic chasing elephants or some major photojournalistic project and travel the world as he had aspired to be.

Instead he’s slowly breaking in to the fashion industry, working for a number of big names and he’s not so shameless to admit that he’s rather great at it. It’s not what he wanted, but hey, it pays the bills and keeps a roof over his head.

And if it weren’t for his job, Seunghoon wouldn’t have met her.

Seunghoon likes to think that it was an honest mistake (and much to his own delight) when she mistook him as one of the models they were working with for that editorial shoot. Not like he was anyone back then, but Seunghoon does appreciate it when the team knows one another. She was a rookie stylist assistant slash intern on the first gig, so he gave her a pass, and the lovely blush of embarrassment on her cheeks? Another pass.

“Hi, um, I need you to come with me to get these fitted?”

Seunghoon turned around hesitantly because he certainly didn’t need a fitting, “Excuse me?”

That was the first time he laid eyes on her, meeting her slightly stunned gaze at his response. Seunghoon couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t the least bit glad for turning around; he was, completely and utterly.

“Oh. They sent in a different set? I know, I honestly don’t see the difference too.” Her shoulders dropped, rolling her eyes a little as she lifted her outfit downed arm.

“Really?” Seunghoon masked his amusement, arching a brow and when she scrunched her nose in agreement, he was grinning then.

“Yeah, if you could just come with me?” She tilted her head to the side, clearly oblivious to his sudden, playful act.

“Sure, yeah.” He nodded, pursing his lips to fight a laugh and stalks her into the fitting rooms.

“Oh hey, Seunghoon, everything alright?” A familiar member of the styling team greets him and he was quick to notice that she stopped, eyes flicking quizzically to him.

Seunghoon shrugged casually, breathing out a small laugh, “Yeah, just coming in for a fitting.”

The confusing silence that fell next was enough to make her realize her mistake, his name finally ringing a bell.

With a brilliant smile still, Seunghoon held out his hand to her, something he should’ve done earlier and quite frankly, he couldn’t wait any longer.

“Sorry about that. Lee Seunghoon— photographer, pleasure to meet you.”

He stands stupidly at the bottom of the staircase and stares up to the room at the top, childishly wishing that he could see her, peeping through the open door, making him laugh as she wriggled her eyebrows the way she would, “Well come on up, handsome.”

Running up to her was the easiest thing he’d ever done, without thinking, without effort. Yet this time his legs feel like a sack of bricks, taking a lifetime to finally reach the room they both shared. It hurts even more when the room comes into view, the door creaking slowly when he reluctantly nudges it open. Everything was still how he remembered it last, her books stacked neatly on the bedside table, his slippers and hers side by side just outside the bathroom door.

Maybe he should’ve listened to her mother, guilt still warm in his chest for taking so long to gather up the courage and finally see his in laws. Tears glazed her eyes the second she saw him at her door, whispering Hoonie, my son, into a longing embrace. It was selfish of him to forget that he wasn’t the only one mourning, that she wasn’t entirely his.

“Are you sure, dear?” She asked him, concern spilling in her tone and Seunghoon couldn’t stand the way she looked at him, like he was broken.

“It’s been three years.”He rolled the keys in his palms, feeling a lump forming in his throat, “I guess it’s a closure… of some kind.”

“Well then if that’s the case, by all means.” A sad smile crawled across her aging features. Losing her daughter took a toll, Seunghoon could tell, she looked older than her years.

“We’re planning to sell the place soon, Seunghoonie…” He looked up from his knotted hands to her, her brows furrowed apologetically and she registered his surprise, “I can’t go there, knowing what had happened— I can’t, not anymore.”

Seunghoon stayed silent, that beach house held dozens of memories for him alone. He couldn’t comprehend how much more it must mean to her mother, treasured childhood memories that he’d only heard so much about.

“So you should, sweetheart. You should go before it’s gone.”

//

Seunghoon woke up with a start. He snoozed past his third alarm that blared through his ears and he’s blindly patting the comforter in search for his ringing phone. As if taunting him, it shuts off before he could do it himself and he groans, flopping back onto the pillow while yanking the covers over his face all at once.

“Rise and shine, sleepy head.”

He blinks once, twice to the white sheet over his eyes, unsure if he heard it right. He’s drunk with sleep, his vision blurry when he squints over the morning rays that seeped through the bedroom windows.

Open windows?

Disorientated, the room spins before he could focus properly and he stops trying to figure out how the curtains were drawn out because it’s giving him a damn headache. Honestly, it’s about time he’s gone crazy, not even surprised if he’d been sleep walking the past year or so.

But it’s the voice he just heard that convinced him he’s still hovering in his dreams. Seunghoon rolls to his side, half nuzzling on the pillow and when it’s her that meets his sleepy gaze, he smiles slightly, and helplessly.

He watches her stand in front of the bathroom, watching him in return as she rubs a towel over her damp hair with a smile he terribly misses. She’s got on a pair of his sleeping shorts, a faded band t-shirt and it’s doing things to his scattered mind because this is the last thing she had on before he lost her all together.

 It’s only a dream, he’s chanting it over and over in his head. Yet the vividness of this all, how real it seems to be makes him question his own sanity once more.

And for the love of god, he could even smell the mangoes from her favourite shampoo.

“Hoon?”

Everything seems to fade, silenced by the one syllable uttered in a voice he never thought he would ever hear again. It pricks his pulse for a second or two, wanting so much to play along but Seunghoon’s terrified that once this is all over, it’ll do him more damage than good.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

It only leaves a sad smile stretching his lips. A dream has never been so intense before, so close to the real thing and he’s trying to reason himself, settling on the fact that maybe he’s here, a place that held many stories of the two of them. Or that he’s just missing her a lot more than he’s willing to let on, and everything is just amplified.

“Hey, wake up...”

She hops gently onto the bed, making him choke on his own breath the way the mattress dipped down at her weight. Seunghoon could only stare, thinking of the one thing he would always say in the mornings she pestered him to get up.

Can’t we just sleep in?

“No-uh, you’ll miss out and you’ll regret it.”

The way she beams at him as she shakes her head quickly sends a devastating pang to his chest. The familiarity of morning routines with her he had tried so hard to forget coming down at him like a merciless smack to the face.

She crawls up to him, smelling of fruity body wash and happiness so pure that it makes him want to weep.

And when her finger tips grazed over his jaw, it sets his nerve endings on fire at how painfully realistic her touch is, the one the pores of his skin have memorized and still remember.

“What’s wrong?” She senses his evident distress, brows curling to a frown and her voice, oh god, her voice.

All he could focus on is how she caressed his cheeks, and in that moment he’s falling apart beyond his control.

 “I miss you.” He whispers, stalling before he curses himself and gives in. Seunghoon leans in to her touch, tears threatening his tired eyes, “I miss you so much.”

“Jeez, I was just in the shower you big baby.” She scoffs out a laugh, the sound warming parts of him in utter bliss and heartbreak all at the same time.

“You’re going to miss me a lot more if you don’t wake up.” She adds, teasing him with a smile as she pokes his side playfully, hopping back off the bed, “Now hurry downstairs will you? Throw on a shirt... or not. I’m not complaining.”

Seunghoon breathes a faint laugh, the infuriating confusion that disturbed him briefly forgotten. She hurries away out the door, and as much as he wanted for her to stay, he knows he can’t bear the facade if it so much continues for another second.

Yet the small voice in his head gnaws him, urging him to follow her and play along just for a while longer. It feels so wrong to wish that he wouldn’t be greeted by the smell of breakfast, to wish that what he just witnessed isn’t real.

He feels weak in the knees when he swings his legs off the bed, mindlessly snatching his Leica off the vanity table as he makes his way downstairs. The sizzle of the skillet that fleets through his ears makes his heart stutter, the smell of eggs no longer inviting as it would have been back then.

, it can’t be.

She comes into view when he rounds the end of the staircase and Seunghoon stands idly by the kitchen door, hands gripping onto his camera so tight, fearing that he might collapse.

She peeks up from the stove, staring right back at him with a suppressed smile, “Was kinda hoping you’d skip the shirt.”

Seunghoon remains silent, and he notes the frown casting her pretty face.

“What’s up with you today?” She asks, a nervous laugh escaping her lips as she flips the gas off, running both hands over her side. 

Not a word he could utter, his mind scurrying for anything but he couldn’t. Seunghoon only does what he does best, bringing the camera up to his eyes and he’s praying frantically that the viewfinder would confirm him of her absence. Yet there she is, solidly present in every way.

His heart erupted to his mouth when he brings the device away, seeing her captured perfectly in every single frame. Like a lunatic, he zooms in with trembling fingers until the image of her are merely pixels that didn’t make sense.

At this point, nothing did.

Seunghoon keeps on clicking the shutter, unsure if he’s just desperately taking the chance to trap this new memory of her, no matter how morose it was. The way her hair falls over her shoulders and how the colours in her eyes melt, swirling with the streaming sunlight. How her lashes disappear when light bounces of them as she blinks and her gaze, scrutinizing his nervy movements but he didn’t care. Even with the countless photographs he has of her, he has yet to find one that can truly depict how he feels for her.

He’s rooted to the floor when she trails her way over to him. And it takes every ounce of his being to not break down when her arms found its way around his torso, her head pressed softly on his chest.

“Did I miss something up there?” She mumbles and he tenses when she tightens her hold of him. Seunghoon couldn’t bring himself to look down to her, distant memories of him poking fun of their height difference flashed tenderly before his eyes.

“All clear, ma’am. It’s all good.”

“Huh?”

“Just giving you a heads up, you know, just in case you missed anything down there.”

“You are infuriating, bite me.”

“Oh? I will.”

 “You’re scaring me, Hoon.” She tugs the camera off his grip, her tone worried over the stubborn silence he insisted on. Seunghoon swallows thickly, his eyes burning when tears spill out, the myriad of feelings making it hard to breathe.

“Y-You’re not real.” He barely manages, whispering out strained words that leave her staring at him like he just grew another head.

“What are you on about— why are you crying?” He could see the hurt painted on her face when he pulls away, her open palm only meeting empty air.

“Why are you here?” He blurts, vision distorted into a teary, blurry mess.

“What do you mean? It’s our—”

“You’re dead!”

Seunghoon squeezes his eyes shut, hanging his head low as he grasps onto the edge of the cold counter like his life depended on it. The abrupt silence pierced him and for a second he thinks she’s gone but it did nothing to soothe him, he’s broken beyond any fix.

“Stop it. You promised no pranks, Seunghoon.” Her voice is stern, but he didn’t miss the uneasiness beneath it.

“Do you think this is a joke?” He spins around, his tone sharp and bitter, almost accusing. “Do you have any idea how hard it was?”

“Jesus— it still is! Three years. Three years, baby, and I’m still trying to figure it out, trying to—” He spares no chance for her response, but she’s just as determined, cutting him off short.

“Seunghoon— please.” She pleads, “Figure what out?”

“How to be without you.” He could clearly see the distance she’s keeping from him, given his out of character reaction to her touch. It’s contradicting when there’s nowhere else he’d rather be but in her arms. 

“You’re ing scaring me right now, Hoon—”

“You show up out of the goddamn blue acting like everything’s okay, am I supposed to play along? Oh believe me, I would if I could. But three ing years since I had to—” Seunghoon stops, the words laying soundless on his tongue, heavy. He couldn’t say it when the thought of discovering her lifeless body alone has him in an overwhelming turmoil.

She’s looking up at him in a way that softens whatever is left of his heart, “God, the things I would do to be with you.”

“Seunghoon you don’t have to do anything, I’m here. I’m here.” She clamps her teeth over her quivering lips shaking her head furiously, just as scared as he is and it hurts.

“I’m here, Seunghoonie...” She repeats dejectedly, taking a hasty step towards him but he stumbles back.

“No, you’re not. Not anymore.”

Countless times he’d wish to hear her say his name, never thinking that it would take him back to square one. It’s a mistake to look her dead in the eye, to see it full of life. Her cheeks flushed in fury, she’s breathing and she’s whole, and she’s here.

Maybe this is what it means to love to the point of madness, to reject the idea even when it’s right there screaming at him.

“What we had, what you gave me, thank you.” He shakes a wistful smile, “I hope it’s nice where you are. Thank you for loving me.”

//