Chapter Text
The sun hung low against the mountains, a dull amber disc sinking slowly behind jagged peaks, casting long, fragile shadows across the slopes. Juhoon stood at the edge of the small family graveyard, his sandals half-buried in snow that had been disturbed only hours ago. The stone markers, old, uneven, softened by moss and time, rose from the earth like silent guardians, bearing names worn thin by decades of wind and rain. Generations slept here, rooted into the mountain that had raised them.
The air felt sharper today, biting deeper into his skin. Pine and damp earth clung to every breath, the scent of winter and endings. The forest surrounding the clearing whispered softly, branches creaking, leaves rustling.
As if the mountain itself mourned alongside him. It was the kind of quiet that didn’t comfort, it pressed inward, heavy and inescapable.
His grandmother’s funeral had been simple. Traditional. Just as she would have wanted.
No grand speeches. No excess.
They had walked from the house in a small procession, following the narrow paths she herself had walked countless times, snow clinging to kimonos and geta's. Juhoon remembered the sound of footsteps crunching softly, the way no one spoke, how even the birds seemed to keep their distance. Her absence had moved with them like a shadow, stretching long and dark across everything he saw.
Now, the mourners were gone. One by one, they had bowed, offered their condolences, and left him standing there. The silence grew wider in their wake, broken only by the wind weaving through the trees and the distant cry of a bird high above.
Juhoon’s gaze remained fixed on the grave.
His fingers curled at his sides, nails biting into his palms. He didn’t notice the cold anymore.
Footsteps approached quietly behind him. Keonho. Martin. Seonghyeon. James. They stopped at his side, careful not to crowd him, their presence gentle, tentative. None of them spoke at first. They didn’t need to.
“We’re sorry, Juhoon,” Keonho said at last, voice barely louder than the wind. His hand rested on Juhoon’s shoulder, warm, steady.
Juhoon didn’t turn. He didn’t trust himself to speak. If he opened his mouth, he was afraid everything inside him would spill out at once.
James shifted beside him, swallowing. “If there’s... anything you need. Anything at all.”
Juhoon nodded slowly. The motion felt heavy, like it took effort just to exist. He didn’t know what he needed. He only knew that the world felt wrong, unbalanced, as if something essential had been torn out and everything else was struggling to adjust.
The last light drained from the sky, dusk bleeding into night. Shadows deepened around the graveyard, stretching between the stones. The gravedigger stepped forward then, his silhouette stiff against the darkening trees, age sat heavily on his shoulders.
“It’s late,” he said gently, though his voice carried quiet authority. “You should go home now.”
Juhoon obeyed without argument. He turned away from the grave, each step down the mountain path feeling like betrayal. Like leaving her behind again.
The house greeted him with warmth, but it felt hollow.
Fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering light across the wooden walls. Shadows danced along the floorboards, familiar and foreign all at once. This house had stood for generations, soaked into the lives of everyone who had ever lived here. And yet, now, it felt too large. Too quiet.
Juhoon paused at the doorway to his grandmother’s room.
The silence there was suffocating.
Incense lingered faintly in the air, mixed with the scent of old paper and dried herbs. Shelves lined with faded scrolls and delicate porcelain sat untouched, exactly where she’d left them.
His eyes caught on something by the bedside table.
An envelope.
Yellowed with age. Edges worn soft. His breath hitched as he reached for it, hands trembling.
A note she had written for him long ago, meant for a time she knew would come.
His fingers fumbled as he opened it.
Her handwriting stared back at him, careful, elegant, unmistakably hers.
To my dearest Juhoon,
When you read this, know that I am still with you.
You carry my love in your heart. That will never fade.
The words blurred.
Memories flooded him without mercy, bare feet on forest paths, laughter spilling from the kitchen, her hands brushing snow from his hair. The way she always knew when he was hurting, even when he said nothing. She had been his anchor. His constant.
And now-
Juhoon dropped to his knees beside the bed, clutching the card to his chest like it might keep him closer to her. The sob that tore from him was raw, broken, pulled from somewhere deep and aching. His shoulders shook as grief finally broke free, loud in its silence.
“I’m here,” he whispered uselessly into the empty room. “I’m still here.”
But she wasn’t.
He fell asleep there on the floor, exhausted by sorrow, the card still clenched tightly in his hand.
When he woke, it was to the scent of breakfast wafting through the house.
He blinked, his mind still hazy from the grief and the exhaustion. As he groggily stood up, he was greeted by the sight of his four friends, James, Keonho, Seonghyeon, and Martin, all gathered around the low table in the center of the room.
Their faces were filled with concern, but they didn’t press him. Instead, they simply smiled and gestured toward the breakfast spread in front of them.
“Juhoon,” James said softly, his voice warm. “We made breakfast. You should eat something.”
Keonho, ever the gentle soul, added, “We cleaned up a little too. Windows are open, house aired out. Just... take it easy today.”
Juhoon could only nod, his throat tight with emotion. He had no words to thank them, but the quiet care they showed him spoke volumes.
As they ate together, the warmth of the food and the quiet companionship of his friends began to soothe the ache in his chest. It wasn’t enough to make the grief disappear, but it was a start, a small step toward finding peace.
Later, after everyone else had left except for Keonho and Martin, Juhoon sat with them in the living room, his eyes fixed on the fire burning in the hearth. He took a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak the words he had been holding inside for so long.
“I need to go,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “I don’t know where, but I need to get away from here for a while. I just... I need some time. To think, or heal... I don't know.”
Keonho and Martin exchanged a glance, both nodding without hesitation. They had known this moment was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier.
“We understand,” Keonho said softly, his voice steady. “We’ll miss you, Juhoon. But we know you need time for yourself.”
Juhoon smiled faintly, his heart full of gratitude for their understanding. “I’ll miss this place. Miss all of you. I just need to find something for myself.”
That night, as the house grew quiet, Juhoon packed his things. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he needed to leave.
The memories here, the weight of everything that had happened, were too much.
As he finished packing, Keonho and Martin came to say their goodbyes.
Juhoon walked toward them, his heart heavy with the impending separation, but also strangely light, as though something was being lifted from him.
He stepped toward Keonho, cupping his face gently in his hands, pulling him close to kiss his cheek.
He lingered there for a moment, feeling the warmth of the kiss, then pulled away, turning to Martin.
Without thinking, he did the same for him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Goodbye,” Juhoon said softly, a small, bittersweet smile on his lips.
He closed the door behind them, feeling the weight in his chest lift ever so slightly.
He took a deep breath, feeling lighter than he had in days.
By tomorrow, he would be somewhere else, starting fresh.
Five Years Later...
Spring had settled over Fujikura like a gentle breath finally released. The trees stood heavy with bloom, branches crowned in pale pink, petals loosening themselves and drifting lazily through the cool air. The town looked unchanged, quiet, patient, timeless, as Juhoon followed the familiar mountain paths home. Pine and damp earth clung to the breeze, softened by the sweetness of new flowers and thawed soil.
Life was waking up again.
And so was something inside him.
With every step closer, a quiet anticipation grew, coiling low in his chest. It wasn’t excitement exactly, more like recognition, as if his body knew something his mind was still catching up to.
As he approached his cabin, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The door was slightly ajar, a soft creak of wood on hinges whispering as if inviting him back home.
Memories surged without warning, the weight of winters spent here, laughter echoing against wooden walls, silences that had once felt unbearable.
The cabin had been his refuge.
His beginning. His unfinished ending.
He pushed the door open.
The familiar scent of cedar wrapped around him instantly, warm and grounding, like being pulled into an old embrace. The hearth still held the faintest trace of ash. Dust floated lazily in beams of sunlight. Everything was the same, and yet it felt as though the house itself was holding its breath.
Juhoon didn’t waste any time. He moved upstairs, the old wooden stairs creaking under his weight as he ascended. He knew this cabin better than he knew himself, each step familiar, each creak and groan of the wood a reminder of everything he had left behind.
His heart was beating faster now, each beat pounding in his chest with a longing he couldn’t fully explain.
He reached the top of the stairs, his hand brushing the cool wood of the sliding door to his room.
For a moment, he hesitated, feeling the weight of years, five long years, bearing down on him.
But then, without another thought, he slid the door open. And there he was.
Slowly, almost cautiously, the boy turned around and their eyes met.
The smile that spread across his face was unhurried, like sunlight spilling over the horizon. Soft. Certain.
It carried longing, patience, and something deeply rooted, something that had endured. He stood, movements fluid, familiar, as if no time had passed at all.
Juhoon crossed the room before he realized he’d moved.
All the words he had rehearsed, all the explanations he’d carried across seasons and miles, dissolved the moment he was close enough to feel his warmth.
He wrapped his arms around him without hesitation.
The embrace was deep, desperate, grounding, like finally stepping back into solid ground after drifting too long at sea.
The boy held him just as tightly, arms firm, unyielding, as if afraid that if he loosened his grip even for a second, Juhoon might disappear again.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he whispered, breath warm against Juhoon’s ear. The words carried years inside them, quiet nights, unanswered letters, faith held together by nothing but hope.
Juhoon’s breath broke.
A sob slipped free before he could stop it, then another.
Tears spilled down his cheeks, unchecked, unashamed.
He buried his face against the boy’s shoulder, clinging to him as though this moment was the only thing keeping him whole.
His voice trembled when he finally spoke, fragile and raw, heavy with everything he had survived alone.
He tightened his grip, unable to let go.
“Me too, Martin.”