The drive back home feels longer than it ever has before. Which is strange considering you're going home by car rather than the usual late-night bus or train. Maybe it's because time has only just started ticking forward again – for you, anyways. It seems the world is finally rotating on its axis once more. And life is moving on.

When you finally get back to the apartment, Junsu practically shoves you into your bedroom. Apparently, he was serious about the whole “rest” idea, and you roll your bloodshot eyes as he reminds you once more to forget everything and take a mandatory afternoon nap.

“I’m giving you five hours, minimum.” He holds up five stretched out fingers for emphasis. “If you leave this room before then, I’m going to…I don’t know, be really mad. So don’t you dare disobey me. Got it?”

It doesn’t take a genius to conclude that Junsu is positively abysmal at assuaging others. You decide to put him out of his misery and give him a final nod, motioning with your hand that he can leave you alone. He looks reluctant to do so, and opens his mouth to say something, but you shoot him an irritated look that has him sealing his lips with an audible pop. Narrowing his eyes, he eases his way out of your room, gently shutting the door behind him.

Silence envelopes your room then. And after countless hours of stifled inhales and bated exhales, you finally allow yourself to truly breathe.

And when you do, you break.

Your fingers bury themselves in your hair, pulling and squeezing and tangling as your nails drag across your scalp. A continuous stream of tears trails down your face, and you feel yourself burst as a choked scream is released into the air.

God, it hurts. Everything hurts so much. An emptiness so incredibly vast grows within you, and it frightens you to imagine that such hollowness will probably never disappear. You miss her already. You just saw her mere hours ago – smiling in her sleep as she unconsciously caressed the back of your hand with her thumb – but you still miss her so goddamn much.

It isn’t fair. Nothing about this is fair. Why did someone as beautiful as your mother have to live and die so unjustly? And so soon? What had even gone wrong? Why did she perish so abruptly? What had happened in the time between when you had stepped outside and when you had finally returned? Was it all your fault in the end? Maybe if you hadn’t accepted that phone call, maybe if you hadn’t left, you would still have your mother around – alive and breathing and here.

But it’s too late to feel regret now. Your mother is dead. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

Digging through your pocket, your quivering hands pull out the letter she had written you. You fall to your knees, holding the parchment close to your chest as if it can somehow become one with your very soul. This is all you have left of her. Some crinkled piece of paper that doesn’t even come close to representing the perfect woman your mother was. You want to throw it away. You want to keep it forever. You want to watch it burn. Yet you want to cherish it with all of your being.

You don’t know what to do anymore. You have no purpose. For such a large part of your life, all you have ever known is Shim Sungmi and your need to protect her. So what are you supposed to do now?

What can you do?

Sleep, you hear Junsu’s nagging voice in the back of your mind. It’s high-pitched and obnoxious, just as it always is, but you want to listen to it over and over and over again if it means you’ll no longer have to think of your mother’s laugh or her croons of I love you’s.

So you follow it.

Still kneeling on the ground, you crawl over to the side of your bed (you doubt your legs will be able to carry you). Pressing your back against the edge of the mattress, you crane your neck until you are staring listlessly at your ceiling and wish it would crumble down on you.

Fumbling through your pocket again, your fingertips graze across the silver ring resting inside of it. You balance it between the pad of your thumb and finger, before you bring it out into the light and hold it above your head to give it a closer inspection.

Your mother never wore this ring before, not that you’re aware of. But it’s sheer simplicity is (was) definitely her style. Turning it, you spot cursive markings engraved on its outside, and you lower it until you can better see the words that are written.

november with love ~ YJ

Oh. Jung Yunho (you suppose that's what the initials stand for). He was the man your mother spoke about in her letter. That was the first time she ever mentioned him, whoever he was. But they seemed to be close if your mother viewed him as a first love (albeit unrequited) and he gifted her this ring. You wonder who it was who could’ve possibly won your mother’s heart. She didn’t seem like the type to fall in love, not after everything she had went through. But obviously your lifelong assumption was wrong.

Exhaling, you slide the ring down the length of your pinky finger and close your eyes. It fits. You knew it would. And it feels as if it has always belonged there, as if a part of you was missing until the ring found its place on your hand. Just the sensation of the cool metal against your skin is enough to calm your raging heart, and you feel yourself begin to relax as your mother’s words echo through your mind.

...I assure you that you will see me again. In your dreams, in your thoughts, and hopefully in your heart.

Sleep overtakes you before you realize it.

“Oh, thank god he’s not dead.”

Like a bolt of lightning has suddenly struck you, you startle into consciousness. Your eyes flash open, and you're met by the anxious face of your cousin hovering over you. You want to tell him to back off, that he can quit the whole “concerned kin” act already, but something stops you before you can.

Junsu. He looks...different. You know it’s him – he’s the only person in this world that you know who possesses such a unique (irksome) voice – but you can’t help but feel that there is something off about him. He looks less tired. Chubbier. Brighter.

Younger?

“I swear, I thought Changmin dragged in a corpse or something. I was about to call the cops.” He’s rambling, his squeaky voice fluctuating with unease as he fusses over you. You’re too shocked by the seemingly youthful glow which now radiates off of him to do much else but stare. He doesn’t seem to notice, and if he does, he’s too frantic to care. Unexpectedly, he slaps his palms on your cheeks, squishing your face together as he lowers his own to scrutinize you closely. “Good, good. His eyes don’t look dilated. And he seems to be cognizant. So yeah, definitely not dead.”

“Are you sure?” another voice asks from behind him. And just like that, a second head joins Junsu’s in his onesided staring contest with you. This boy is a complete stranger – you have never seen him before – and he looks just as young (and just as odd) as Junsu does with his wildly-styled hair and cherub cheeks. You wonder who he is and how close he is to your cousin. Almost as much as he hates pizza, Junsu hates inviting others to his apartment. So you’re confused as to what this random kid is doing here all of a sudden.

Junsu glares at the gawking boy now kneeling beside him, downright insulted. “Of course I’m sure,” he squawks indignantly. “I come from a family of doctors, you know. This type of stuff runs in my blood.”

“I don’t know,” the boy hums skeptically, “I'm pretty sure all of those genes went to Hoon.”

Junsu squints. “Changmin. How dare you disrespect me in my own house.”

“I’m just calling it like I see it, you quack.”

Junsu flicks Changmin’s forehead, and the boy yelps in pain. “Don’t make me tell Sungmi on you!” your cousin threatens childishly. “She won't love you anymore if you bully her precious angel.”

Wait. Sungmi?

For some reason, the name sounds so foreign coming off of Junsu’s tongue. He has never spoken your mother's name aloud before (not without some hidden malice laced in his tone), so to hear him casually call her name as if they're more than just mere acquaintances…

Something is wrong, you think with growing dread.

Even Changmin seems confused by your cousin’s warning (though for entirely different reasons). He quirks an eyebrow, and looks thoroughly unimpressed as he gives Junsu a pointed look. “Do you really think Sungmi would choose a dork like you over her own brother?”

Alright, so something is most definitely wrong.

You know your mother. You know about her past and her struggles an