Chapter Text
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A day after the unexpected encounter at the campus lake, Seongje still couldn’t calm down. Hyuntak’s words kept echoing in his head, making it impossible for him to just sit still. So he decided to go look for him. The only clue he had was the café where Hyuntak worked. His steps felt heavy, but there was determination in them when he walked inside. The smell of coffee and the whirr of the espresso machine filled the air, but his eyes were searching for just one face, Hyuntak. Until one of the staff told him Hyuntak had already quit, and now worked somewhere else.
The next two days, Seongje spent tracing Hyuntak’s trail: a small bookstore, a restaurant, a minimarket, even several places Hyuntak used to frequent. Nothing. Everyone gave the same answer: Hyuntak had quit. Hyuntak had truly disappeared ever since the day they met at the lake.
Something felt wrong. The restlessness he usually managed to ignore now gripped him tightly. As if Hyuntak had deliberately vanished from the world, leaving Seongje stranded in a sea of unanswered questions.
Seongje decided to tell Humin, Juntae, and Sieun. Even Baekjin, though their relationship was complicated and full of bitter memories, was not left out. Those memories resurfaced: Hyuntak quit taekwondo because of a knee injury, the result of an incident where Baekjin deliberately broke it out of jealousy, since Humin was no longer within his reach, and because Seongje himself had been involved. Both events had long been buried under guilt, and now the weight felt heavier than ever.
Humin, Juntae, and Sieun were pissed. Mad that Seongje hadn’t told them sooner. But hey, it wasn’t completely his fault. He didn’t know anything. He thought everyone was doing fine until that day they last met.
Eventually, Seongje managed to get Hyuntak’s phone number. He asked the others to help too, but none of their calls were ever answered, none of their texts replied to. So he tried searching for Juna, the only lead he had left, going from one dojang to another. He finally met Juna, but even that was a dead end. Juna knew nothing, but said that Hyuntak would be okay.
Seongje swallowed hard. That wasn’t the kind of answer he wanted. He wanted facts, proof, something real, not some comforting words that sounded more like self-comfort. But he could tell Juna really didn’t know anything more.
With a heavy heart, he left the dojang. Every day after, he kept calling Hyuntak, kept sending messages—just in case. Each unanswered ring, each unread text, only fueled the anxiety pressing down on him.
Until finally, a few days later, Baku’s name suddenly appeared on his phone screen. Seongje’s heart pounded violently. He stared at the screen as if to make sure, holding his breath before answering.
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t matter.”
“Everyone leaves you.”
“You’re just a burden.”
The words echoed, stabbing deeper every time he tried to move forward. No, he couldn’t. Not after those same words had come from his own mouth, thrown straight at someone he could no longer reach.
With trembling hands, he dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. He opened his email inbox, scrolling with shaky breaths until his eyes stopped at one name, a name he knew so well. A name that now felt so far yet so close.
He tapped the screen, opening the email, and his eyes slowly followed every line. The more he read, the more it felt like something crashed hard into his chest. A suffocating heaviness, a grief he hadn’t fully accepted, and for the first time in his life, Seongje realized he had gone too far. He had said too many things that should never have been said.
Tears just spilled uncontrollably, blurring his vision. The cigarette he’d been holding slipped from his fingers, dying out on the wet gravel. He wiped at his face roughly, as if he could scrub the guilt away. But it didn’t work. His sobs only broke harder, shaking his body as he cried outside the funeral home, surrounded by mourners.
Then, as if the world was crying with him, the rain came. A single drop, then a downpour, soaking his hair, his clothes, straight through to his bones. The entire city dulled into gray.
And in that rain, a harsh realization struck him so deeply that his chest ached. He had met Hyuntak three times, and all three left marks he couldn’t erase. And all three … were always accompanied by rain.
The first, at that small café where Hyuntak worked part-time. Seongje had shown up right after the rain had stopped, he was there to work on assignments. Sitting awkwardly in the corner, trying to look calm even though he was clearly nervous. Hyuntak had glanced at him with a frown, obviously confused at Seongje’s weird behavior.
The second time, on a damp night after rain. The street was still slick, streetlights reflecting in the puddles. That night, Seongje had picked a fight, poking at old wounds that should’ve stayed buried, spilling them in front of the person who didn’t even know the story. Hyuntak snapped, his voice shaking between anger and hurt. And Seongje … just stood there, expression tight, even though deep down he knew he was only driving the wedge deeper.
And the third. Their encounter by the lakeside. It started calm, almost peaceful, until Hyuntak left with heavy steps, leaving him alone. Soon after, the rain poured, forcing Seongje to find shelter. He was soaked, but more than that, his mind was flooded with regret. Before that brief parting, he had once again wounded Hyuntak in the cruelest way, throwing words so sharp, words he had meant as ties, but which became knives that cut too deep.
Now, standing in the rain outside the mourning house, Seongje realized … none of those meetings were coincidences. The rain had always been there, not just as weather, but as a witness. A witness to his failures, to the wounds he had caused.
And that afternoon, for the first time, Seongje felt rain was no longer just rain. He felt the sky was crying for him, because he himself no longer knew how to stop.
He kept crying as everyone else rushed for shelter. Umbrellas popped open, footsteps hurried under roofs, while he stayed, letting the rain wash over him, blending with his tears. The cold bit at him, his soaked clothes clung to his skin, but he didn’t care. This felt more honest. Let his body shiver, let him freeze. At least the rain could hide his face. At least no one would really see how broken he was.
His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms. His chest heaved unevenly, every breath heavier than the last. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to blame anyone, but in the end, he knew. It was all on him. Everything that had fallen apart, everything that was lost, everything he could never fix.
And under that rain, he realized: maybe this was the punishment he deserved. Sitting alone, drenched, shivering, waiting for someone he knew would never come back.
Waiting for Go Hyuntak to sit beside him, even though he knew that boy would always choose to walk away whenever he saw him.
Waiting for Go Hyuntak to scowl at him, with that annoyed face, with that curt voice that somehow always made his chest feel full.
Waiting for Go Hyuntak to come and tell him this was only a dream, that there was no loss, no regret, no wound he had to bear alone.
But the rain kept falling with no answer. The wind only brought cold, not news from anyone. And among the endless downpour, Seongje slowly realized the most painful truth: even if he waited for the rest of his life, Hyuntak would never come. Not anymore.
His body slumped, head hanging so low his forehead nearly touched his knees. He shivered hard, but didn’t move. Let the rain wash away what was left of him that night.
He should’ve said something better before Hyuntak left that day. He never meant those words. He’d just been messing around. He’d just been childish.
Every memory replayed in his head, but the only thing he could think of was Hyuntak’s face that day, hurt by his words, but still choosing to accept them, as if he no longer had any shield left. Just Hyuntak, bare and defenseless.
And after reading that email in his inbox. Funny, really, how did Hyuntak even get his email? While Seongje had to struggle just to find him. He cursed himself again. He had been rereading that email since 4 a.m., and just as he was getting ready for class, Baku had called. Telling him Hyuntak was gone. Telling him to get ready.
So here he was, at the funeral. The smell of incense, the sea of black clothes, the sobbing pressing in until he could barely breathe. Everything felt foreign, but also unbearably painful,because Hyuntak’s name kept being spoken. A name now only left to prayers and grief.
He remembered the email. Simple words, yet sharper than a knife. An apology, a tiredness, a faint bitter laugh tucked in between. “I know you didn’t mean it when you said that,” Hyuntak had written. “But it still hurt, Seongje.”
Those words, over and over, until the letters blurred behind his tears. He wanted to delete them, to reject it all, to smash his phone to the ground. But instead, he clutched it tighter, holding onto the last thing Hyuntak had left for him.
Now, sitting outside the funeral home, he knew there was nothing left he could change. The words he used to throw around so carelessly had now turned into a burden he’d have to carry for the rest of his life. And that email, maybe the last window into Hyuntak’s heart, would keep haunting him, whether he was awake or asleep.
The rain kept pouring, heavier and heavier, but Seongje didn’t move an inch. The only sound was his own sobs breaking again and again, mixing with the sound of the sky collapsing.
Then, an umbrella opened above his head, shielding him from the rain. A voice slipped into his ears, a little shaky but steady enough. “Hyuntak hyung wouldn’t want to see you like this.”
Seongje slowly lifted his face. His eyes were blurry, his vision a mess, but he could still make out the figure standing in front of him. Juna. His face pale, his eyes just as red as Seongje’s.
“That’s enough, hyung.” Juna’s voice nearly cracked. He gripped the umbrella tighter. “You should go inside. Say your last goodbye to him.”
Juna glanced down at the black suit he was wearing, at the white mourning band around his arm that somehow felt way too heavy for just a piece of cloth. Silence sat between them, cutting through the sound of the rain.
“I’m his little brother,” Juna said, lifting his head again, taking a breath. “I didn’t wanna wear this … but the truth is, I really lost my hyung.” His words were soft, but they hit Seongje harder than anything else.
The truth was, Seongje didn’t know anything.
***
The moment the funeral home door opened, Seongje almost stopped breathing. The smell of incense and fresh flowers rushed into his senses, sharp and suffocating. The room was quiet, filled only with hushed whispers and muffled sobs.
His eyes locked onto the altar at the far end. Hyuntak’s faint smile looked back at him from the frame, surrounded by white flowers that felt too pure to touch. In front of it, a closed casket, draped in black cloth and tied with a white ribbon.
Seongje’s legs froze again, but Juna’s gentle push on his back nudged him forward. He dragged his feet slowly until he finally stood in front of the altar. His eyes trembled, refusing to settle. He wanted to shut them, to pretend this wasn’t real. But in the end, his gaze landed on Hyuntak’s photo. That smile he knew so well. The smile that was now only a picture, no longer something he could find in this world.
A sob tore out of Seongje. His hand reached out, stopping mid-air, too scared to touch the casket. “Hyuntak …” his voice cracked, broken over and over, “I’m sorry. I should’ve—” The words fell apart, drowned in his crying.
The people around him lowered their heads, giving him space. Juna stood behind, holding back his own tears.
For the first time, Seongje really collapsed to his knees in front of Hyuntak. No more harsh words, no more ego. Just a young man finally crumbling in the face of the greatest loss of his life.
A week passed. Seongje shut himself inside his room. He skipped classes, never left his bed except for the bathroom. He only ordered food when his body started shaking from hunger.
He was punishing himself. Letting the pain sink in. Because to him, he deserved it. He’d hurt Hyuntak too many times. Annoyed him every time they met. And now, it was over. He could never see him again. Couldn’t approach him anymore. No longer.
Seongje refused to accept it.
The laptop screen once again displayed the email Hyuntak had written. Word by word lashed at him like a whip. Made him want to scream. He should’ve realized sooner. Should’ve read it from those empty eyes, from the calm movements that only hid exhaustion. But he chose to believe his own thoughts, that Hyuntak was just pretending. The truth was, he wasn’t.
After the funeral, the facts came crashing down one by one.
First, Hyuntak really had been living alone. He studied hard for scholarships, worked to cover his own needs. Seongje only now learned that Hyuntak no longer received money from his mother. All this time, he thought Hyuntak lived with her, since his parents had divorced. But in reality, since starting university, his mother had remarried and left with her new family, abandoning Hyuntak in the city. Not entirely abandoned, his father also lived there, the same father Juna shared with him. They were brothers through one bloodline. But his father was cold, never truly there for him.
Second, the fight with Baku. The email told the truth, it wasn’t about Baekjin, it wasn’t about the relationship itself. Hyuntak could have accepted it, if only Baku hadn’t done it behind his back. To him, that was betrayal. Far too heavy to bear, because Baku was supposed to be the one who understood his wounds the most. And yet, it was Baku who stabbed him from behind. From that day on, they fought.
Third, about Sieun and Juntae. They chose Baku. In his writing, Hyuntak admitted maybe they’d grown tired of him. He came too often, poured out too much about the betrayal. Leaned on ears that once listened. Until finally, they got worn out. They told him to make peace. “Try to look at it from another perspective,” they said. Words that, to Hyuntak, sounded like rejection. Like a warning that he was no longer wanted.
Fourth, about Juna and Taekwondo. This part was meant for Seongje. Hyuntak wrote gently, almost like a last wish: “If you’re still in this city, please look after Juna from afar. If he really decides to become an athlete, make sure he’s okay.”
Seongje read that part over and over. The words pressed down on his chest, making it hard to breathe. A final trust, left behind by someone he could never meet again.
The days passed without meaning. His bedroom curtains were always drawn tightly, letting the darkness swallow everything. Only the laptop screen lit up from time to time, displaying Hyuntak’s messages. Every time he read them, Seongje felt as if his chest were being crushed. Those simple words had now turned into wounds. Hyuntak had tried to speak in his own way. And him? He chose to shut his ears. Regret came like waves. One after another, mercilessly crashing down.
Why didn’t he ever really see Hyuntak? Why did he always get angry whenever he caught those empty eyes, instead of just asking what was wrong? Why did he assume Hyuntak was pretending to be strong, when the guy was clearly struggling on his own?
The guilt ate away at him inch by inch. Until he felt like life itself was a punishment. He kept seeing Hyuntak everywhere, his laugh, his sulky face, the heavy sighs he let out every time Seongje got harsh. They all came back, but only as ghosts he could never touch again. Untouchable. Unreachable.
“I hurt him …” Seongje whispered to himself, his voice breaking in the silent room. “I kept hurting him. And now … I can’t even apologize.” His trembling hands covered his face. Tears fell endlessly, but they brought no relief. Only pain, sharper and heavier.
And then after the funeral, more and more things about Hyuntak came out and every one of them felt like a knife to the gut. The fact that he’d been truly alone. The fact that his family had walked away. The fact that his friends had distanced themselves. And him, Seongje, the only one who might’ve been a shoulder to lean on, had only piled on more weight with his coldness and harsh words.
The regret went too deep. It left Seongje doubting whether he even deserved to move on. Because no matter how much he begged, Hyuntak would never come back.
***
A month passed, and Seongje had begun living as usual. He went back to classes, back to socializing, even back to joking lightly with friends. But inside, there was something he could never fix. Regret still lived in him, clinging like a stain that could not be washed away.
One night, after dropping Juna off from the dojang, he found out something else. Juna, just chatting casually like it was nothing, told him that Hyuntak used to come by quietly—just to watch him practice. He never came inside, just stood outside in his blue hoodie, waiting until it was over. Seongje didn’t say a word, but it felt like his chest was being crushed all over again.
A few days later, another email from Hyuntak showed up. Seongje almost couldn’t bring himself to open it, but eventually, with shaking hands, he clicked it. Turned out, it was one of those scheduled emails Hyuntak had set to be sent later.
Reading it knocked the air out of him. Hyuntak had written things he never dared to say out loud. About Seongje. About how, even though Seongje wasn’t always kind, just having him around once became the reason he held off on ending everything. Seongje even mentioned Baku’s birthday—the day he’d planned would be his last. He had it all ready, he wrote, but because it was Baku’s birthday, he didn’t want to leave behind such a terrible memory for his best friend.
“I had it all prepared, back then. I almost went through with it. But you came. You suddenly reminded me that it was Baku’s birthday, in your careless way, like it was nothing big. But for me that stopped me. You saved me, even if only once.”
Seongje sat there, frozen. He didn’t know if he should feel grateful or just broken. Should he be glad that, unknowingly, he once saved Hyuntak, even if just for a little while? Or sadder, because in the end, it hadn’t been enough, and he still lost him?
He read the email over and over again, afraid the letters would fade if he stopped. And in between the tears that wouldn’t stop falling, he started to realize something. That very first message from Hyuntak, the one he had brushed off as mere complaints, was actually closer to a cry for help. And this one … this one was clearly a final farewell.
His heart felt crushed. The regret cut deeper, spreading everywhere inside him. He grabbed at his hair, his shoulders shaking hard. “Why didn’t I get it back then … why didn’t I see it clearly?” he whispered, almost like a scream caught in his throat.
***
Now, Seongje was at the columbarium, sitting beside Hyuntak’s ashes. His body felt so heavy, leaning back against the cold bench. His eyes just stared blankly at the white wall, not really seeing anything.
“Hyuntak …” his voice cracked, hoarse, barely a whisper.He scrubbed his face roughly, like he could wipe away everything, tears, pain, even reality itself. But the more he tried, the harder the tears fell, soaking his hands. There was no answer. No soft voice answering him back. Just silence, and the urn of ashes sitting there, quiet and cold.
He hunched over, shoulders trembling. “I’m glad you didn’t go because of some stupid choice. What are you, an angel or something?” He paused, choking back a lump in his throat. “You could save other people… but not yourself.”
His blurred gaze lifted to the urn before him. “You should’ve just stayed quiet, idiot. What were you thinking? Saving a kid from a truck, but letting yourself—” his voice broke, shattering into sobs he could no longer hold back. “—what the hell were you? I don’t understand.” He lowered his head further, crying endlessly. “But I’m relieved… you didn’t die by your own hand. You left because you saved someone else. Because of an accident. That’s easier for me to take… even if it still hurts like hell.”
He drew in a long, heavy breath, as though his chest had no space left for everything inside it. His eyes lingered on the urn, long and hard, as if trying to carve it into memory. “If there’s another life after this … please don’t be someone who’s too kind again. Don’t be someone who thinks of everyone else so much that you forget yourself. I … I just want you to live happily, that’s all.”
So he stayed there, alone, carrying regret that refused to fade. Time kept moving, but the wound never healed.
“So, before you go …” his voice shook, barely there. “Was there something I could’ve said to make it all stop hurting you?”
Because the thing that killed Seongje most was how Hyuntak’s minds had made him feel worthless.