*Note: It starts out as Yesung's POV, but after the gray line it becomes Kyuhyun's POV. The little fancy dividers are a change in time. 

Word Count: 1,532

“I’ll come back for it,” You whisper, reaching up to curl my fingers around the small pendant. It was a locket, small but intricate, the inside containing two small, precious gems; one for you, one for me. You treasured this necklace, and you never let it out of your sight.

 But you’re giving it to me now.

“No, I don’t want this!” I sob, pulling away from you angrily. “I want you!”

“I know, Yesung.” You say, reaching forward again to comfort me, but I swat your hand away. “Two years, Jongwoon. Just give me two years You know I’ve dreamed to become a singer. This is my chance.”

“And then what?!” I yell, wiping away my tears. “You’ll be on tour, Kyuhyun. You’ll get to see the world, travel it, and live the life of fame! And then what about me? What will I become to you? I’ll become only one of the million fans you’ll have! A trifling number.”

“No, baby, that’d never happen. I’ll be back, and we could get married. I could finally use this diamond, put it on a ring and propose to you.”

You sounded so hopeful.

You grab me by the wrist before I could step back again, and pull me into your arms tightly, engulfing me in your strong arms. “I love you.” You say, and I could hear and feel the sincerity, but also the desperateness for me to let you go.

“Then don’t leave me,” I cry stubbornly, burying my face into your chest as my hand tightens around the locket.

“Two years, please, just two.” You beg, pressing your lips to my hair as we hold onto each other .I couldn’t talk anymore, my words drowned out by unstoppable sobs.

And I should’ve said more, I should’ve held on to you tighter and begged for you to stay…. because you left the next day with a sorrowful heart.

My hand clenches around the locket that was around my neck, my gaze locked upon the horizon as the sun set behind it.

Another day passes away.

It’s been well over two years now.
Where are you?

“One more year,” I whisper to myself, pressing my face into the turtle plush that was originally yours, but I snatched it away from you as my comfort item. Luckily, you didn’t mind.

It’s been one whole year without seeing or contacting you now, my days and time consumed by nothing but vigorous training and vocal practices.

I miss your voice, the comforting words that’d always fall from your soft lips when I’m tired or upset.
I miss the scent of your skin, the way it’d linger in my sheets, my clothes, or in my mind.
I miss the feel of your body, so warm and petite, curving and fitting perfectly again my own.
I miss the taste of your lips against mine, using action rather than words to convey your feelings for me.
I miss your dazzling smile, the one that always brighten my day whenever I see it.
I miss you.

My hold finally loosens on the stuffed animal as I reach for something else instead. My fingers close around a picture frame, a small smile unconsciously making its way across my face as I see the picture of you.

It’s been so long since I’ve seen you

“One more year, “I whisper to myself again, my arms tightening around the old plush.

It’s been over two years now, I know, and I’ve had my debut.
I’ve broken records, had many hit songs, and have become the most well-known and internationally famous idol of Korea.
 I’ve reached the top, Jongwoon, are you proud?

But I haven’t had the time to see you yet. I don’t have contact with you anymore, how do I find you?
Come back to me, my love.

The stage is beautiful, just like what I’ve expected. The fans are loving, the music is powerful, and the energy I receive just by standing at the front is so memorable. Will you stand on the same stage as me someday? Will you still be my side?

I can hear the fans cheering from inside my dressing room right now. Someday, you’ll be with me, and we’ll share this moment together.

I let go of the stuffed animal though when the makeup artist comes in, hastily trying to fix my sweaty appearance. And as usual, I reach for your picture, holding it, caressing it.

We’ll be together some day.

“One more year,” I cry, my tears soaking into the worn out plush.

How many years has it been? I’ve lost count now; four? Five? Seven?
Fame is relentless. It begins as something so beautiful and magnificent, something you’d never expect to ever go wrong. But after a long time, it becomes onerous; it’s tiring and exhausting.

My voice hurts, my backs aches and my muscles are sore. My eyes sting from the lack of sleep and my head spins from the loud cheers. My stomach burns from the irregular meals I have, and my bones seem to grind and creak in exhaustion by each movement.

I’m tired, so tired.
I want to go back, my love; back into your arms, back to our little home, back to the life we used to have before all of this.
 Back to you.

Once again, I release the broken plush out of my hands when my manager rushes in, hurrying me out the back door to my next destination.

I quickly reach for the photo of you that was on the table, but someone that was hurrying by runs into me, causing it to slip from my grasp and fall to the floor.

The other apologizes quickly, a look of guilt across his face.
I smile though in dismissal, even through the pain.

 I recognize the man. HanGeng is his name, a famous singer from China that I’ve toured with before. He’s kind, but somewhat clueless when he’s in Korea.

I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm.

He reaches for it to return it to me with another sincere apology, but his face fell hard when he saw it.

It’s broken. 

“One more year,” I mutter quietly under my breath as my eyes gaze upwards towards the night sky, to see no stars in sight. Just one star; one star for me to make a wish upon. I tuck the plush tighter to my side as I squeeze my way through the crowd of screaming fans.

I wanted to quit, stop this nightmare I’ve created for myself and return to the life I loved; back to you.
I want you to hold me while I cry.
I want you to cook me my favorite food while I spill my problems out to you.
I want you to kiss me when I feel insecure.
I want your love.  

Some reached for me, grabbing whatever they could; my hair, my hair, my shirt, your turtle.
I jerk it away quickly when someone managed to grab a hold of it, clutching it possessively to myself.

The screams were deafening, and the bright flashes from the cameras were blinding. Things were being thrown my way, undergarments, stuffed animals, fan signs, everything.
But I didn’t want any of it, I just wanted you.

My bodyguards pushed in futile attempt at the crazy fans that were trying to get to me, and I cringe when a hand shoots out to touch my face. It’s horrifying here, Jongwoon.

Help me.

“One more year,” I think quietly to myself as I dragged myself off stage and down onto the seat by the vanity mirror, my arms unconsciously reaching for the turtle plush I always carry around. It’s been a routine now, every day. The turtle was my only source of comfort now, and the broken picture of you. It’s my only hope to keep my sanity.

But something else catches my attention this time.

By your picture, was the locket I had given you.

I sit up immediately, reaching for it.
Surely it’s not the same one, right?

I turn it over and I feel my heart stop. On the back, our names are still neatly carved in black ink on it.
Why have you returned it? I was going to come back for it, for you, for us.

I immediately questioned my manager on where he had gotten it, and he answers with a short shrug, saying someone had handed it over to him at the airport. I demanded for the giver’s name, but my manager simply shrugs again.

“Didn’t catch it. He’s average height, had dark hair and fair skin, but it looked like he was going somewhere too with that large suitcase of his. He told me that it belonged to you; ‘It would be the best for the both of us’ was what he told me to tell you.”  

My heart sinks and the world came crashing down.
This can’t be possible.
This shouldn’t be happening now.

I open it slowly and there was only one diamond left in it; mine.
You’ve taken yours, and now I can’t return to you, and propose like I had promised.

You’ve given up.

A/N2: Yeah, this isn't my greatets story, but this is an angst for you guys! And it's not greatly edited, sorry.