2009.

“The guilt didn’t hit until late,” he admits. “The first and foremost emotion was pain, and it was only after we sent him back that I realized, it was because of me.”

“It wasn’t,” Naeun says, but Howon cuts her off.

“It was. If I had just kept my stupid mouth shut and not told you or Myungsoo, if I hadn’t grown careless, if I hadn’t pressured him about proving our love to anyone, then maybe none of it would have happened. Maybe he would still be here today, and maybe things really would have worked out.”

The sun bursts out from behind the clouds, and Howon feels free. He’d always known that he had a part - a large part - in Ryosuke’s death, but he’d never wanted to admit it. He was scared, needed someone else to blame because he couldn’t stand the truth, but the truth is cathartic, and Howon finds tears b in his eyes.

“I should have been there for you.” Naeun hides her face behind her hair. “I should have been there for you and that might have made the rumors stop a little, and maybe they would have left him alone because he was friends with me.”

“I should have stopped them.” Myungsoo’s crying too, turns his face to the sky and sobs. “I still cared for him, for you, and I should have done something about it, as class president, but I didn’t.”

All their failures and all their glory. Howon finds that he’s finally, in a long time, free. When he left Haean in 1989, he left behind more than just memories and grief. He left behind his freedom and all the joys that he shouldn’t have forgotten.

He was so caught up in his anger that he forgot how to feel. Would Ryosuke have wanted this? No, no, he wouldn’t have. He would have wanted all three of them to be happy and live their lives as best as they could.

And now, Howon thinks, they will.

---

Haean hasn’t changed much in twenty years. Still the same drab gray buildings, the same drab gray school. Despite the changing of the times, Howon still can’t help the erratic rhythm of his heart beating against his ribs, the unnecessary anxiety rising from his stomach, threatening to overwhelm his senses.

There is precisely one graveyard in Haean, and in the back, by the wall, there is a small plot of land, a small granite headstone, bearing the name of a Japanese boy.

“I’m back, Ryo.” His ashes are not interred here. Instead, they are an ocean away, underneath the dirt of Tokyo, Japan. “It’s been a long time.”

Myungsoo takes a deep breath and steps forward, putting down a yellow rose. “I’m sorry, Ryosuke. I hope you’re happy, and I hope you can forgive me.”

“I should have done more.” Naeun’s rose is pink, and she sets it down gently, brushing her hand along the headstone. “I hope you can forgive me too.”

“And me, most of all.” Ryosuke’s favorite flowers were roses, red roses, and Howon places a bouquet of them down on the dirt, still damp from an earlier storm. “I’m sorry. I love you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Somehow, he knows that those words will be enough, and that Ryosuke never would have wanted them to feel guilty at all. The wind blows gently past, carrying the smell of the sea and the laugh of a boy who died too young, and for the first time in a long time, Howon relaxes.

1989 was a tumultuous year. It was a happy year, but a sad one as well. Howon left behind his home, his memories, his guilt, left it all along with the pain the year had caused him, but now, as he lets go, he’ll be leaving behind something else.

His love.

He had to have let go at some point, and now, he will. The only thing that should remain in 1989 is not his guilt, nor his memories, nor anything else.

It should be joy. It should be Yamada Ryosuke.

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