♡𝙱𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎♡

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚅 (𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝)

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The letter had changed everything. For Seungmin, it was a wake-up call—a reminder that love and care alone weren't enough to save Jeongin. He needed help, professional help, and a plan to navigate the darkness that Jeongin had been lost in for so long.

It took days of gentle nudging, patient conversations, and countless reassurances, but eventually, Jeongin agreed to see a therapist. The first session was awkward and strained; Jeongin barely spoke a word. But it was a step forward—a fragile, uncertain step, but forward nonetheless.

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The journey was anything but smooth.

Some days, Jeongin would come home from therapy exhausted but lighter, as though a weight had been lifted from his chest. On those days, he'd sit with Seungmin at the kitchen table, picking at his food but managing to share little pieces of what he'd learned in the session.

"They said I should try journaling," Jeongin mumbled one evening, twirling his fork through his noodles. "Like... writing down the thoughts that get too loud."

"That sounds like a good idea," Seungmin said, offering him an encouraging smile. "You've always been good with words, you know."

Jeongin gave a small, uncertain nod. "Maybe. I'll try."

Other days, though, the progress felt nonexistent. There were moments when Jeongin would retreat back into himself, shutting Seungmin out completely. He'd lock himself in his room, and Seungmin would sit outside the door for hours, his back pressed to the wood, speaking softly through the barrier.

"I know it's hard," Seungmin would say, his voice steady even as his heart ached. "And I know you probably don't want to hear this right now, but you're not alone. You'll never be alone, Jeongin. Not while I'm here."

Sometimes Jeongin would respond with a muffled, "Go away." Other times, he'd crack the door open just enough to let Seungmin in, and they'd sit together in silence until Jeongin was ready to talk.

One particularly bad night came a few months into Jeongin's therapy.

Seungmin found him sitting on the bathroom floor again, his knees pulled to his chest, his face buried in his arms. Old scars glimmered faintly under the harsh light, but there were no new ones, and Seungmin felt a surge of relief that Jeongin had resisted the urge to hurt himself.

"I messed up," Jeongin muttered without looking up.

Seungmin knelt beside him, his heart sinking. "What happened?"

"I had a bad day," Jeongin said, his voice thick with frustration. "The thoughts wouldn't stop, and I... I almost did it, Seungmin. I almost gave in. I just—I feel so weak."

"You're not weak," Seungmin said firmly, placing a hand on Jeongin's shoulder. "You fought it, Jeongin. You didn't give in. That's strength."

Jeongin shook his head, his shoulders trembling. "It doesn't feel like it."

"It's okay to feel that way," Seungmin said gently. "But I need you to know that I'm proud of you. Even on your worst days, I'm proud of you for trying."

Jeongin finally lifted his head, his tear-streaked face etched with doubt. "You really mean that?"

"Every word," Seungmin said, his voice unwavering.

Jeongin let out a shaky breath and leaned against Seungmin, his body heavy with exhaustion but slightly less burdened by shame.

The brighter days, though rare at first, slowly began to outnumber the darker ones.

Jeongin started journaling, filling page after page with his tangled thoughts. He didn't let Seungmin read them, but the act of writing seemed to help ease some of the chaos in his mind.

He also started going for walks with Seungmin in the evenings, the fresh air and quiet streets a welcome change from the suffocating walls of the apartment. Sometimes they'd walk in silence, but other times Jeongin would share fragments of himself—memories of his childhood, stories about his favorite books, and even the occasional dry joke that made Seungmin laugh out loud.

"You're funny, you know," Seungmin said one evening as they walked along the riverbank, the setting sun casting a warm glow over the water.

Jeongin rolled his eyes but smiled faintly. "Don't get used to it."

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Still, the progress wasn't linear.

There were setbacks—days when Jeongin missed therapy appointments because he couldn't summon the energy to leave the house, nights when the nightmares returned with a vengeance, leaving him shaking and breathless.

But there were also moments of triumph—like the day Jeongin volunteered to cook dinner for the first time in months. The kitchen was a disaster by the end of it, with flour dusting the countertops and sauce splattered on the stove, but Seungmin couldn't stop smiling as they sat down to eat the slightly overcooked pasta.

"This is... edible," Seungmin teased, earning an exasperated laugh from Jeongin.

"Shut up," Jeongin muttered, but there was a spark of pride in his eyes that Seungmin hadn't seen in a long time.

As the months turned into a year, Jeongin began to reclaim pieces of himself he thought he'd lost forever. He wasn't "fixed" or "healed"—those words felt too final, too neat for the messy, ongoing process of recovery.

But he was living again. He was laughing, crying, feeling—things he'd thought he'd never be able to do again. And through it all, Seungmin was by his side, his unwavering presence a constant reminder that Jeongin didn't have to face the darkness alone.

"Do you think I'll ever feel... normal?" Jeongin asked one night as they sat on the balcony, watching the city lights flicker below.

"I don't know if anyone feels normal," Seungmin said with a small smile. "But I think you'll feel like yourself again. And maybe that's even better."

Jeongin leaned his head against Seungmin's shoulder, his heart lighter than it had been in years. "Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?"

"For not giving up on me."

Seungmin wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close. "I never will, Jeongin. Not now, not ever."

And for the first time in a long time, Jeongin believed him.

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