^ that gif looks like some kind of romantic Titanic scene

im done 

“What was it like to love him?”  asked Gratitude.

Jongin was born and raised in his own home, where he had only known what life was like from the inside—from the windowsill, or the mountains of books in his bookshelf. He was forced to stay inside; always. Because otherwise, he’d start coughing really loudly and his head would feel light but he was never sure why.

His mother would scold him for running outside and playing in the mud in his new clothes and he’d have to be watched by the maids for the rest of the day. Oh, how he hated the maids, with their loud chatter and curse words and leering eyes for his father.

Except one day, his father had brought a small, pale boy home with him. And Jongin had been at the front door when he’d seen the kid exit his father’s car. He’d seen the first sightings of black hair, pale skin and pouty lips that were larger than his own.

And in that moment, something other than air particles got caught in Jongin’s throat, which made his heart flutter like the butterflies he’d occasionally see playing tag outside.

And then, all the pain had disappeared when the two boys had locked eyes. Jongin had never believed in love at first sight, but even the fairy-tale books in his room couldn’t prepare him for the feeling of utter adoration.

“It was like being exhumed,” I answered, “and brought to life in a flash of brilliance.”

“What was it like to be loved in return?” asked Joy.

Jongin had remembered the moment he first confessed to Kyungsoo. It wasn’t a big deal back then, but it had warmed his squirming, childish heart and to this day, still has him sighing like a high school girl.

It had been a Tuesday and he’d been 12, while his step-brother had been 14 (although still five inches shorter than him), and they’d been playing with Kyungsoo’s art set that he’d gotten last Christmas.

It had been almost three years since his father had brought Kyungsoo home, and ever since, Jongin’s not-so-subtle crush had bloomed into something more than just brotherly love.

And on a Tuesday, in the middle of June, Jongin had exclaimed, “Kyungsoo hyung, marry me.”

And Kyungsoo had responded with, “Maybe when you’re older, Jongin-ah.”

Jongin promised himself that he’d hold onto that statement until his dying breath, because this was Kyungsoo, his older brother. The one who’d shown him the world—not the one from the books, but the one that a windowsill always separated him from.

Kyungsoo had broken through the glass of Jongin’s window, and he’d helped the younger up with more than a reasonable amount of shards embedded into his palms.

“It was like being seen after a perpetual darkness,” I replied, “to be heard after a lifetime of silence.”

“What was it like to lose him?” asked Sorrow.

He’d held onto the statement for more than ten years but it seemed that the love he felt for Kyungsoo was doomed from the start.

The first goodbye came in the form of Jiyeon, an art major, who coincidentally sat next to Kyungsoo on his first day at NYU.

The second goodbye came in the form of a phone call (or many, he guesses) regarding Kyungsoo’s little crush on the apparent ‘girl-next door’.

The third goodbye was never received on time, because Jongin had refused to answer his elder brother’s calls from then on; it came as a rush of emotions, when his father had told him of the engagement.

The fourth goodbye came in the form of a sparkly, white wedding and lots of alcohol.

The final goodbye came in the form of a car crash, severely injuring both victims and fatally killing the third.

And yet, the last thoughts that crossed Jongin’s mind, were that of Kyungsoo—when they’d first met, when Kyungsoo had protected him from bullies, when he had helped Kyungsoo learn how to swim.

A dozen, heart-shaped smiles cross the back of his eyelids in the mere moments he feels himself slipping away into darkness. The memories grow fuzzy, and black at the edges, but one thing remains apparent; Kyungsoo.

It’s always been Kyungsoo.

It will always be Kyungsoo.

There was a long pause before I responded:

“It was like hearing every goodbye ever said to me—said all at once.”

im sorry