BLOSSOMED | SEOKSOO FF

PART 42

The middle of Seokmin’s seventh year in prison came crashing down on him like a missile. It was a quiet, grey morning when the warden came for him, his face pale and grim. Seokmin’s heart sank before the words were even spoken.

“Lee Seokmin,” the warden began, his voice gentle but heavy. “I’m sorry, but your mother has passed away.”

The room seemed to tilt around him as his world spun out of control. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. It felt as though his heart had stopped beating altogether. The woman who had given him life—the one person who had always believed in him despite everything—was gone.

With the decision made, Seokmin was granted permission to attend his mother’s funeral. The prison granted him a brief, escorted half-day, a cruel reminder of how far removed he was from everything he had once known. His hands were shackled, the weight of the chains somehow heavier than the loss of his mother.

As he was led into the funeral home, he saw his family gathered, the sight of them piercing his soul. Jihoon stood close by, his usual calm demeanor cracked by the grief in his eyes. Soonyoung, always energetic, seemed muted—his voice lost in the weight of sorrow. Their children were there too, Dino, now ten, his face full of concern despite trying to be strong, and the younger child, clutching Jihoon’s leg, unaware of the gravity of the moment.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol were further back, their faces masks of grief. Mingyu and Wonwko stood quietly together, an unspoken bond between them.

And then there was Jisoo—Jisoo, who had been more than just a part of Seokmin’s life. He was the one Seokmin had broken, the one Seokmin had failed most painfully. The one who still, somehow, stood there.

Seokmin could barely move as he approached his mother’s casket. He could feel the coldness of the chains on his wrists, but the chill in his bones was far worse. He knelt beside her, his heart cracking wide open, his body trembling.

"Mom," he whispered through a hoarse breath, his voice breaking into pieces. "I’m so sorry. I never wanted this. I never wanted to hurt you." His tears fell freely now, as if he were no longer in control of the storm inside. "I couldn’t be with you. I couldn’t be the son you deserved."

Jihoon knelt beside him, wrapping an arm around Seokmin’s shoulders, his touch steady. There was a quiet compassion in his eyes, a forgiveness that Seokmin didn’t deserve.

“She loved you, Seokmin,” Jihoon murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “No matter what happened, she loved you. Always.”

Seokmin’s shoulders shook harder, the dam he had built around his heart crumbling with every word.

The ceremony passed in a blur. Soonyoung gave him a bouquet of lilies, his usual energy replaced by something deeper, quieter. “She always thought the world of you, Seokmin,” Soonyoung said softly, placing the flowers in his hands. “She was proud of you, even in the darkest of times.”

Dino, ever the sassy child, tugged on Seokmin’s sleeve, his face serious for once. “Minnie, don’t cry too much, okay?” he said, his voice almost too mature for a boy his age. “Grandma’s probably up there yelling at everyone to stop moping around.”

Seokmin managed a broken chuckle, wiping his eyes. “You’re probably right, Dino,” he whispered, his heart heavy with the memories of a mother who had always tried to make him laugh.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol came forward next. Jeonghan’s usual sharpness was dulled, and for once, his words lacked the usual bite. He crouched beside Seokmin, his voice low but filled with emotion. “She always thought you could change,” Jeonghan said, his hand resting on Seokmin’s shoulder. “She believed in you, even when none of us could.”

Seungcheol added softly, “And we’ll make sure Jihoon and the kids are okay. You don’t need to worry about them. Besides there’s Soonyoung by their sides as well. You just need to get through this.”

Seokmin nodded, but his thoughts were still far away, lost in the swirl of grief and regret.

As the funeral began to wind down, Seokmin found himself standing apart from the others, his gaze drawn to the distant figure of Jisoo. Jisoo, who had always been a presence in his life—both a source of joy and pain. They had once shared so much, shared??? but now, their relationship felt like a broken bridge, a connection.. Connection? CONTROL lost in the chaos Seokmin had caused.

Jisoo approached, his face unreadable. His eyes, though, were filled with something Seokmin couldn’t place—hurt, sadness, but also... something else.

“I didn’t expect you to come,” Seokmin whispered, his throat tight.

Jisoo paused for a moment before speaking, his voice steady but full of emotion. “She asked me to,” he said quietly. “Before she died... she wanted me to be here. She thought you needed me.”

Seokmin’s heart clenched. “I don’t deserve your kindness, Bluebell,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I ruined everything. I ruined you. I ruined us.”

Jisoo didn’t reply right away. Instead, he pulled something from his pocket—an old photo. Seokmin’s breath caught in his chest as he took the picture from Jisoo’s hand. It was a photo of him as a child, smiling with his mother, both of them happy in a time long past.

“Your mom... she wanted you to have this,” Jisoo said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “She wanted you to remember that, no matter what, she still believed in you. Just like how I believe in you.”

Seokmin’s vision blurred as tears streamed down his face. The pain, the regret, and the guilt crashed over him in waves, and he felt himself crumble under it.

“I... I don’t know how to fix this,” Seokmin whispered, his voice cracking.

Jisoo stepped closer, his presence almost a lifeline. “You don’t have to fix everything, Seokmin. But you’re trying. That’s what matters.”

As the funeral ended, the guards escorted Seokmin back to the prison, the gates clanging shut behind him. The warmth of his family, the weight of his mother’s love, and the unexpected forgiveness from Jisoo gave him a brief but powerful sense of strength. He felt their presence in his heart as he walked back into the cold, sterile environment of the prison.

But this time, it was different. Seokmin walked through the gates not just with the weight of his past on his shoulders, but with a flicker of hope. It was small, fragile, and uncertain, but it was there.

Seokmin felt as though maybe, just maybe, he could change. And if he couldn’t do it for himself, he would do it for his mother, for Jihoon, for Jisoo. For the people who had never given up on him, even when he had long given up on himself.