just pretend.

EPILOGUE

ONE YEAR LATER

Minho unpacked his belongings the day before Chan and Hyunjin’s wedding, moving carefully around his new place. His cats had already settled in, curling up comfortably as if they’d always been there. Minho couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight of them sprawled across the sunlit floor. He pulled out his books one by one, placing them neatly on the shelf, letting his fingers brush the covers like they were dear old friends. It was then, between two books, that a small, folded piece of paper slipped out and fluttered to the floor. His heart lurched as he stared at it, the unexpected memory catching him off guard. With a shaky breath, he set the book down on the shelf and bent to pick up the paper. He knew exactly what it was, and the emotions he had locked away surged forward as if they’d just been waiting for an invitation. The surface of the letter was soft from wear, the ink slightly raised where his mother’s pen had pressed hard into the paper, making him smile faintly. Her handwriting, so neat and precise, always seemed like an extension of her warmth and strength. His fingers traced over the letters, and he felt that old ache stirring, the grief he’d worked so hard to soothe. His legs carried him slowly to the couch, his steps unsteady, and he sank down, clutching the paper tightly. As he unfolded the letter, his mother’s words leapt off the page, each line resonating with her voice in his memory. He felt his throat tighten and his vision blur as he read her message over and over, his tears falling unchecked. Memories of her laugh, her touch, his father’s smell, the days he taught him how to defend himself, the way she always seemed to know what he needed – all of it came rushing back, raw and overwhelming. A broken sob escaped him, and his body trembled as he gave in to the sorrow that had been lying dormant for so long. Suddenly, he felt the warmth of a presence kneeling beside him, and then Jisung’s hand cupped his cheek. “Baby”, Jisung whispered softly, his voice laced with concern. “Look at me. What’s wrong?” Minho managed to open his eyes, his vision blurred by tears as he focused on Jisung’s familiar face, which was filled with worry and love. He felt another set of arms wrap around him from the other side as Seungmin sat down next to him, holding him in a secure, grounding embrace. Minho tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat, his grief pressing so heavily on his chest it made breathing feel like a task he could barely manage. “He read the letter”, Seungmin explained to Jisung, his hand resting reassuringly on Minho’s waist. Jisung’s expression softened further, and he stroked Minho’s damp cheeks, wiping away the tears as they continued to fall. “Oh, baby”, Jisung muttered, his voice gentle and soothing. He leaned closer, letting his fingers brush through Minho’s hair in soft, calming strokes. “We’re here. We’re right here.” It had been two years since he had lost his parents, but grief had a way of defying time. Despite therapy, despite the healing rituals he tried – visiting their graves, lighting candles, talking about them in the safe spaces of his life – it never truly got easier. There were still days where the loss felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. Jisung and Seungmin stayed beside him, whispering soft reassurances and wrapping him in warmth, holding him tightly as his body shook. Their presence slowly grounded him, their words quieting the storm within him. At last, his sobs began to subside, leaving a tender ache in their place. Seungmin gently pried the letter from his hand, the paper crumpled slightly from where Minho’s grip had tightened during his breakdown. His eyes, red-rimmed and weary, followed Seungmin’s movements, feeling the weight of that piece of paper in his heart. “Let’s stop unpacking for now and get some rest”, Seungmin suggested softly, his tone as gentle as the touch on Minho’s shoulder. Minho nodded, barely managing the faintest of nods. His throat was too tight for words, and exhaustion was settling over him like a heavy blanket. Jisung checked his watch, glancing at Seungmin. “It’s only two”, he said quietly, his hand coming to rest on Minho’s thigh. Their therapy session was in two hours, and this time, Minho found himself almost anticipating it, longing for the space to lay everything bare. Today, he wanted to let go of the silence he had held within, hoping that by speaking aloud, he might find a way to carry the weight just a little more lightly.