By: RexxieRoulette

Pairing: Jaebeom x Youngjae (with past Yugjae)

Rating: General

When Youngjae was young, his best friend was his whole world.

He’d met Yugyeom when the younger was 5, unnaturally tall for his age but gentle as a leaf. Yugyeom was shy, unbearably so. So the days before he got comfortable were spent filled with Youngjae’s voice, his laugh – boisterous even at such a tender age – and silence. They would spend each and every day together. Their parents said they were inseparable.

When Youngjae and Yugyeom were teenagers, they were each others first -

Everything.

First hug.

First sleepover.

First crush.

First kiss.

And on Youngjae’s 18th birthday, with Yugyeom nervous and shaky, both giddy and happy, they were each others firsts.

(“It’s our first time making love Jae-ah, it’s gotta be perfect!” Yugyeom whined into the pillow, cheeks flushed from the olders relentless teasing.

Youngjae giggled as he curled closer to his boyfriends torso, littering kisses along his exposed shoulders between laughs. “Why does it have to be perfect if its just for us Gyeomie?” He asks, fingers tracing lines along his spine, eyes following the movement.

Yugyeom sighs with his whole body, Youngjae watches in fascination at the muscles in his back contracting with the ordeal. “Because!”

“Because why?” He asks again, quirking a brow at the lack of answers. Normally his boyfriend is frank with his words, unafraid of hurting ones feelings and following social norms of being ‘nice’. So him being withholding now means it’s something big. “What’s got this so much meaning? It’s just .”

Yugyeom sputters, ducking his face back into the pillow nest with a flush. “It’s not just ! It’s special!”

“Ok ok.” He adheres to the youngers pleas, placing kisses along his shoulders again in apologies. “Sorry baby.”)

And even though they were each others first - everything. 

There was something Youngjae didn’t realize Yugyeom could ever be his first for.

Because not 6 days before Yugyeom’s 18th birthday, Youngjae’s world came crashing down. He’d come home from school late one day, his music performance teacher grinding his for slacking off in practice. So he wasn’t able to walk home with his boyfriend. They’d been spending less and less time together recently, and for reasons unknown to Youngjae, it seemed to be affecting the younger much worse. Every time he would see him, the bruising under his eyes would be slightly darker. His cheeks hollower, collarbones more prominent. It was like he wasn’t eating, wasn’t sleeping. But wouldn’t he tell him if something was wrong? Wouldn’t he reach out to his boyfriend for help? 

Apparently not. 

He turned the corner to his street, eyes down staring at his feet. 

“-Jae-ah!” He halts, glancing around and up finally. 

Red and blue lights are bouncing off the houses around him, the siren still going but not as loud as normal. Why are the police here? He thinks, feet picking up the pace again as he beelines for his house.

“What’s happening?” He shouts, barking out a retort when a police officer tries to push him back. “Mom? Dad?” His parents erupt from the doorway to their house, eyes frantic. 

“Youngjae!” His mother runs to him, pulling him into a tight hug. He stands stock still, unsure about - everything right now. But he wraps his arms around his mother, hugging her back just as tight. 

“What’s happening mom?” He asks, voice quiet and chin resting on her head. His father stands a bit back, fingers wringing together and unwinding constantly. A nervous habit. Why was he nervous? Paramedics were arriving now, the siren from their vehicle echoing off the quiet residential houses. “Mom.” He pries, pulling back to look down at the older woman. 

“I’m so sorry Jae-ah. I’m so sorry.” She repeats it, over and over. Voice dropping, getting shakier. 

“Mr. Choi?” Youngjae blinks at the police officer approaching him and his mother, a carefully blank expression on his face. “Are you Choi Youngjae?” He nods, arms wrapped protectively around his sobbing mothers frame. The officer clears his throat, eyes thoughtful though the rest of his face is still impassive. “Can you come with me for a second?” 

His mother sobs louder, clinging to his arm and not letting go. “I’m so - so sorry Jae-ah.” 

“Youngjae-yah, please. This way.” He follows the officer towards a parked police car, a few feet away from the chaos and his still sobbing mother. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask questions or make any comments. “From what your parents have mentioned,” the officer begins, voice gruff. He shivers from the sound, curling his fingers around his biceps. “You know a Kim Yugyeom?” 

He nods once, a jerky movement of his head that probably looks painful. “He’s my - uh,” clearing his throat, he ignores the tight feeling in his chest when he whispers, “best friend.” 

The officer nods, lips in a thin line. “Then I am sincerely sorry to have to tell you this young man.” 

 “Tell me what?” 

“At approximately 3:20pm this afternoon, we were called to the Kim residence under the guise of injury.” He feels his stomach drop, a lump in his throat so heavy and hard to swallow he almost chokes. “I’m very sorry to say this young man,” the officer’s hand on his shoulder feels like lead, heavy and sinking. “Kim Yugyeom was pronounced dead on scene.” 

The world went dark. 

There are parts he remembers. 

The pain. The unmistakable feeling of dread. The weight on his shoulders, weighing him down, down, down. He recalls choking on sobs, clutching his mother so tight there wasn’t any room between the two. His father was distant, always talking to Mr and Mrs Kim, never touching, but always there. 

He remembers going to the house, the following day. 

Knocking. 

Mr. Kim answered, eyes tinged red and body tense. He didn’t say anything. They both remain silent. So he sits. The steps are cold, cement roughness and dread. He sits, body stiff and back straight. Staring. Watching the cars go by. Watching the neighbours do their every day tasks. Some stare at him. Others avoid this side of the road. He doesn’t blame them. It reeks like death. Does death have a smell? Like dying grass, or rotting fruit? Maybe wilting flowers. 

After a bit, he gets up and goes home. 

He goes back the next day. 

Knocks. Mr. Kim answers. Silence. He sits. He waits. What is he waiting for? Beats him. But he still waits.

It’s an endless cycle. 

Somedays Mr. Kim sits with him. Others he doesn’t even answer the door. Those days are the worst. Because then Youngjae isn’t even sure this is real. That this is happening. That he’s really gone. One of the days, Mrs. Kim is the one to answer. And it’s the worst day of them all. Because she doesn’t cry. She doesn’t say anything. She just stares. Dead eyes watching. She doesn't close the door when he goes to sit down. Doesn’t sit beside him or retreat back. 

She simply - watches.

It keeps going. 

Until one day it doesn’t. 

One day Mr and Mrs Kim just - leave. 

He knocks. No one answers. He sits. 

Days pass. Then weeks. Then they turn into months. And before he knows it, he’s become so used to being in front of the neighbours house that he sometimes forgets he has his own house a few feet away. He watches in equal parts awe and sadness as the house beside his own ages everyday. New cracks appear in the foundation. The paint fades slightly from the summertime sun. The windows get a thin film of dust. Then an even thicker film of dust. Months are drawn out into years. 

Years. 

It’s been years since Youngjae first began this habit, this ritual of sorts. He’s in college now. His parents talking about retirement. He got a puppy, a white ball of fluff that has more energy than anything he’s ever seen before. He’s got new friends - a rambunctious Chinese boy that’s more puppy than his own dog, studying to become a sports psychologist. A tall fashion design major that’s got the weirdest name he’s heard to date. 

(“Say it with me hyung.” 

“I will not. I’m gonna call you Kunpi - uh, Kunpikook?” The boy laughs, eyes bright. 

“Kunpimook hyung. But no one calls me that anymore!” Youngjae huffs, crossing his arms over his chest in defeat. 

“Fine fine.” The boy giggles, hugging him. “Bambam get off!”)

He’s actually moving away. He finally decided to - get better? No. To move on. So he pulled up his big boy pants, and he got a job. And he searched, and searched. And finally, finally found an apartment. So he’s moving on. 

He takes a deep breath, eyes scanning the street for no real reason. His bags are packed, his room boxed up. It’s now. Tonight is the night. His last night here. So he steps outside the threshold of his childhood home, fingers curled around the vinyl leash for Coco, the maltese bundle of joy excited for outdoors. He swallows, mouth suddenly dry. 

“This is it Coco. This is our final goodbye.” He whispers, stepping down the stairs and making his way over. The walk over is short, he knows this. But today it feels long. Unbearably so. He’s too caught up in his mind to process what could make this happen. What could affect him so. 

He’s too caught up in this feeling that when he knocks on the door, body moving on his own accord, about to turn on his heel at the silence and take a seat on the top step, he damn near falls down the steps at the sound of the door opening. It’s opening? What the - “Oh my god.” He backtracks when a figure shows behind the screen inside door, blurry and dark. They’re tall, upper body built and hair long. 

“Hello?” The person asks, voice deep and smooth. Youngjae squeaks, stepping back and almost falling off the stairs. “Whoa hey!” the stranger throws open the door, hand reaching out to steady him before he takes a dive down the steps into the grass. “Are you ok?” 

“Holy cow.” He balks, eyes wide as he stares. Because holy cow. The person - he’s young, probably a few years older than Youngjae himself - is stunning. His black hair falls in waves, looking soft and pretty. He’s got a fancy piece of metal placed under his right eye, the sunlight glinting off it in tiny little spurts. His eyes are dark, almond shaped and cunning. He’s watching Youngjae like a hawk, hands no longer on him to steady him, but outstretched still incase he tries to dive off the steps again. He’s got another piercing in his nose, and Youngjae only notices that one cause he tilts his head ever so slightly. 

Then he’s waving a hand in front of Youngjae’s face, lips downturned in a frown. Oh . Did he ask something? Had Youngjae spaced out? Probably. Oh crap. “Uh - “ he rubs the back of his neck, cheeks heating up. “So - sorry. What was that?” 

The stranger huffs out an annoyed breath, eyes narrowing. “I said. Did you need something?” 

“Oh.” He blinks, grinning sheepishly. His fingers go upwards, rubbing the back of his head now as he turns slightly. “I’m sorry. No one lives here so I wasn’t expecting… you.” 

“Ah.” Stunning boy reels back a bit, hand curling into a fist and falling to his side. “Yeah we just moved my parents in here.” He seems to think about something before adding, “Today actually.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” A pause. “Did you know the previous owners? They told us the previous owners son died and they moved.” 

Youngjae stares, unsure. Coco is going rampant, so much extra energy now that he’s got someone new to play with. He yanks on the leash, pulling the puppy back to sit beside him. “My uh,” he doesn't know what to call Yugyeom anymore. Friend sounds too distant, but boyfriend sounds too personal. “My ex-boyfriend used to live here.” And that’s that, really. What more can he say. 

“Oh.” He purses his lips, cheeks tinting pink. 

Right. That is what happened. Literally, Yugyeom did die. But he isn’t ready for the painful tug in his chest. Or the prickling feeling behind his eyes. “Yup.” 

“I’m sorry!” The sudden outburst startles both Youngjae and the stranger, who snaps his mouth shut and throws a hand over it. “I didn’t mean to offend, or to say something disrespectful!” then he bows - a full 90 degree bow, and Youngjae is floored. 

“No no!” He waves his hands, pulling him upright. “It’s fine! It’s been years.” 

He looks flustered still, unsure and tense. Then he shoves his hand outward, eyes looking everywhere but at Youngjae. “My name is Jaebum, by the way. Im Jaebum.” He bows in response, taking Jaebum’s outstretched hand and shaking it.

“Youngjae. Choi Youngjae.” He smiles, eyes crinkling. He feels a flutter in his chest, a burning excitement he hasn’t felt in - years. Not since Yugyeom. Not since before Yugyeom died. “I actually go to the university down the road.” He’s not sure why he blurts it out, cheeks pink and eyes downcast. 

“Really?” Jaebum perks up then, grinning back at him. His smile is endearing, and so god damn pretty. Youngjae can feel how hot his cheeks are, and really hopes Jaebum can’t. Because that would be embarrassing. “Me too!” 

He blinks. “Wait really?” Jaebum nods, mentions his major being Sound Production. “That’s so cool! Singing is my major!” He blushes brighter when the endearing smile on Jaebum’s lips gets wider, eyes almost disappearing. He looks dangerous and adorable. It’s almost giving him whiplash. 

“Well maybe if you’re up - “

He’s cut off by a deep voice shouting from inside, muffled by authoritative. “Jaebum-yah! Dinner is ready!” 

He frowns, shrugging sheepishly. “I gotta go i guess.” he turns to leave, before quickly turning back. “Can I have your number?” 

Youngjae balks, opening and closing his mouth a few times. He probably looks like a fish out of water, but he doesn’t care. This cute guy just asked his number. “Uh, why?” What the hell! He inwardly slaps himself, ready to cry in frustration. Who asks that?

He’s about to apologize before Jaebum cuts him off with a snort, a casual smirk pulling the corner of his lip up. “Cause I’d rather not spend a full day trying to track you down at uni to ask for a date when i can just text you.” 

“A d-date?” 

“Yeah.” 

Youngjae is certain, absolutely certain, that he’s died and gone to heaven. Is this what heaven feels like? Is Yugyeom here? Yugyeom. Would he be ok with Youngjae moving on? What would he say? Would he even care? He didn’t leave a note for Youngjae, didn’t even say goodbye. But he still loved him - still loves him. That won’t ever change. 

But what can change…. Is is own happiness for the time he has left. 

He’s not getting over it. 

He’s moving on.