Take me home | Seongjoong

Grief

Seonghwa lay on the cold stone floor of the darkened room, his body curled in on itself, sobs wracking his frame until there was nothing left inside him. His tears had soaked into the floor beneath him, mixing with the dirt and dust that clung to his skin, but he barely noticed. He couldn't move. He couldn't think.

All he could feel was the overwhelming, suffocating weight of loss.

Hongjoong was gone. Dead. His blood had been spilled right before Seonghwa's eyes, and there was nothing—nothing—he could do to bring him back. The scene replayed endlessly in his mind: the guards dragging Hongjoong onto the stage, his body limp, his head hanging low. The way his coat and hat had once made him seem larger than life, but now, in those final moments, he had looked so small.

The sound of the axe cutting through the air, the sickening thud that followed—it echoed in Seonghwa's head like a drumbeat, each pulse of it tearing him apart from the inside out.

For hours, he lay there, unmoving, shattered.

He had failed.

The weight of that truth pressed down on him until it felt like he was drowning, sinking deeper into an ocean of despair with no hope of resurfacing. It was his fault—his rebellion, his defiance had brought this upon Hongjoong. If he had just obeyed, just bowed his head and followed the rules, Hongjoong might still be alive. They might still be planning their escape, still dreaming of the open sea and the Black Siren beneath their feet.

But now...

Now, Hongjoong was dead, and Seonghwa was alone. Truly, utterly alone.

His mind was a storm of memories, each one striking him like a lightning bolt. He remembered the way Hongjoong's eyes would gleam with mischief when he teased Seonghwa, how his laughter would echo across the deck of the Black Siren, filling the air with warmth. He remembered the quiet moments they'd shared, standing side by side at the helm of the ship, the wind whipping through their hair as they sailed toward whatever adventures lay ahead.

He remembered how safe he had felt with Hongjoong by his side—how, despite the danger, despite the uncertainty of life as a pirate, he had felt more at home with Hongjoong than he ever had in the palace.

And now, he would never feel that again.

Seonghwa's breath hitched as the tears flowed anew, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. He had never told Hongjoong. Not once. He had never said the words that had been building inside him for so long, the words that now clawed at his throat, desperate to escape but far too late to matter.

I love you.

He had never said it. Never had the chance to tell Hongjoong how deeply, how fiercely he had loved him. He had thought there would be time. They had talked of escape, of freedom, of a life beyond the reach of the Crown. He had imagined that one day, when they were far away from this place, he would tell Hongjoong everything. He would confess his love, his devotion, his dreams for a future together.

But now, that future was gone. Stolen from him by his father's cruelty, by his own failure.

Seonghwa pressed his face into the cold stone floor, his sobs shaking him until he felt like he might shatter. He wanted to scream, wanted to rip the world apart with his grief, but he had no strength left. He had cried out every tear, every plea, every breath.

Now, there was only emptiness. A hollow void where his heart had once been.

He had loved Hongjoong. And he had never even said goodbye.

Time passed in a blur, the hours bleeding together in a haze of sorrow and pain. At some point, the door opened, and Seonghwa felt a pair of strong arms lifting him from the floor. He didn't fight. He didn't care.