why? // ateez au

san.

Running away. That's what I knew best.

It was ingrained in me, a reflex honed over time. Whenever something happened, I would be the first one out the door, running without ever looking back. Why dwell on the past? What was the point in constantly looking back when there was an entire future ahead waiting to be explored?

But some people don't have a whole future ahead of them. Some get their future stolen from them, the pain making their fate seem blurred and they can't fight the battle within themselves anymore. so, 

they take it themselves, changing what once was life into a mere memory.

I had never taken the time to reflect on my own past, but now it was imperative that I did. The haunting thought that I could have been the one to intervene, to say something before his life was abruptly taken, plagued my every waking moment. It never left my weary mind.

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18th of September, 5:07pm

His phone was connected to the car's Bluetooth as we conversed. He had called me to discuss plans for a mini-project he intended to present to Hongjoong. I listened attentively as he shared his ideas, including the idea of collaborating on a song together as a group.

Who plans something like that when he was just about to plan on dying a few minutes later?

"You know, San, I'm really grateful for you. Always putting up with my bullshit," he chuckled warmly through the phone. Those were his final words, spoken with such intention, and I was the one fortunate enough to hear them. I smiled at the genuine affection in his voice, and he continued to laugh, unaware that it would be the last time I would hear such a joyous sound from him.

I let out a breath ready to respond, but a loud crash from the other line interrupted me.

I took a breath, ready to respond, when suddenly, a loud crash from the other end of the line startled me. The call abruptly disconnected, and I held my breath, my eyes fixed on the phone screen. Horror etched across my face, tears involuntarily streamed down my cheeks as I stared at Yunho's contact name on my phone. In that moment, I knew.

He was gone.

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The train roared into the station, its arrival announced by the booming voice of a man through the nearby speakers, beckoning passengers to board. With hesitation, I placed one foot onto the train, uncertain if I should proceed with my plan. The perpetual act of leaving, over and over again, had become wearisome. And to abandon the group that had finally made me feel like I belonged, like I was important? Maybe it was a mistake, but it was too late now.

My feet carried me further into the carriage, and as the train started to move.