ⅠⅠ. 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞?
╭ 𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛,♡‧₊˚
Kim Seungmin, Yang Jeongin and Lee Minji are childhood friends who grew up together. It was always the three of them.
The catch?
It was the three of them, until it wasn't.
One of them is long...
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︶꒦꒷∞꒷꒦︶
We barely slept the night before visiting Jeongin. It gave us a strange sense of déjà vu— how we once stayed up till midnight to wish him a happy birthday, how we'd watched a movie together the night before it all happened. But this time, we just lay in bed, too sad to do anything. Too heavy, too quiet.
That emptiness—that dull ache in our chest—it wasn't something that would go away easily.
Jeongin's parents arrived early, around 9 a.m. His mother wore her usual warm smile, but there was something different in her eyes— a quiet sorrow that mirrored ours. His father glanced at us, taking in our anxious expressions. "Ready to go?" he asked.
We nodded, unable to speak.
They nodded back, silent, and led us to the car. The drive to the cemetery was steeped in a heavy stillness. Each passing minute dragged us closer to where Jeongin lay.
Seungmin sat in the backseat, fists clenched tightly in his lap. He kept taking deep breaths, trying to ground himself. I gently held his hand, prying his fingers open until he relaxed, and soon enough, our hands were intertwined.
Outside the window, the familiar rows of gravestones stretched endlessly. The moment the car slowed to a halt, my heartbeat quickened.
Aunty Yang turned around, her eyes filled with both compassion and grief. "We're here," she said softly. "I know it's a lot. We can stay in the car for a while, if you need to."
After a brief silence, Seungmin looked up. His voice was barely a whisper. "No... we can get out. I—we can do this."
I gave him a sad smile and nodded. Sitting in the car any longer would only drag out the ache.
We stopped by a flower shop on the way in. Seungmin picked pink roses. I chose white ones. Purity, youth, innocence. Goodbye.
We continued walking toward the grave, the flowers trembling slightly in our hands. Each step felt heavier, the weight of seven years pressing down on our shoulders.
Seungmin looked jittery, his fingers brushing against mine. So we walked hand-in-hand. Honestly, I needed it just as much as he did.
"Where is he?" I asked. My memories of this place were hazy, like a dream I was trying to wake from.
"This way. It's right ahead," Aunty Yang said, already walking ahead. She knew exactly where he was—she had visited many times before.
