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Yoohan slowly walked up to Hansoo's grave, each step heavier than the last. Part of it was guilt since he hadn't visited his brother's grave at all in the past five years, but mainly it was dread. The closer he came, the more the grief and guilt grew, until it became almost unbearable.
After confronting his brother's murderer in prison, there had been this heavy and stifling feeling in his chest. It got even worse when he saw his brother's school ID and the note on the back of it. He couldn't breathe. Guilt and regret washed over him so hard he thought his ribcage would shatter. And that led him to come here, to Hansoo's grave. For the past few years, he hadn't visited once because he didn't have the time for it, too busy with work and paying his debt. And because he felt like he had no right to. But the guilt he felt for not coming was crashing down on him all at once.
Yoohan came to a halt in front of the tombstone, his throat already tight with sorrow. He exhaled, slow and shaking, and bent down to place the bouquet of flowers on the grave. His gaze was automatically drawn to Hansoo's name, carved into the stone, and he felt something inside his chest crack open.
It was his fault.
He was the reason Hansoo got stabbed that day.
Yoohan ruined all of Hansoo's dreams, stealing away his future. The potential for Hansoo to become a smart, well-respected prosecutor, just as he had aspired, was snatched away. The ID and the note burning a hole in the back of Yoohan's pocket intensified the guilt.
The revelation that Hansoo wanted to pursue a career in prosecution to prevent Yoohan from going down the wrong path and to protect him ignited a searing wave of pain and guilt within Yoohan. It was unbearable; he felt like he could crumble into nothingness.
The most disheartening aspect was his failure as a brother. He consistently distanced himself from Hansoo, never engaging in play or spending meaningful time together. The same Hansoo who likely admired and looked up to him, the one who yearned for his brother's presence and support in his life.
And Yoohan ruined that life. Hansoo, who had done nothing wrong. Hansoo, who was only a child. Hansoo, who.....
Despite his initial intention to rise again, Yoohan found himself kneeling in front of Hansoo's grave, fixated on his brother's name. He couldn't stand; his legs felt like jelly. The cold ground sent a chill up his spine, but the emptiness in his heart was more profound.
The self-loathing drowned out other emotions. How could he continue living? The selfishness of his existence weighed heavily on him. Why was he alive and pursuing his desires when Hansoo's future was snuffed out? Each moment of joy or success felt like stolen treasures from a life that should have been Hansoo's.The conflict between his desire to live and the unwavering guilt for Hansoo's stolen future tore at his very core.
The one who should have laid in that grave should have been him, not Hansoo. He felt selfish and so pathetic .
It was all Yoohan's fault—he was the reason. Regret and nausea pushed at the back of his throat, the emotions so thick he could barely breathe. Yoohan took a deep breath, attempting to steady himself, but he wasn't surprised when he felt a tear slip from the corner of his eye.
He couldn't find the strength to voice a plea for forgiveness. How could he? The one holding the decision lay in the grave before him. He, himself, was incapable of forgiving, so how could he expect his brother to do so?
He had killed Hansoo.
What distinguished Yoohan from his brother's murderer? Both knew they could never be forgiven, no matter how much they begged for it.
But he still couldn't restrain himself from uttering the words.
"I'm... sorry."
The words were uttered so softly, yet once spoken, they wouldn't cease.
"I'm sorry. ...I'm sorry. ...I'm sorry," he repeated the words like a broken record. He felt similar to the man who had taken his brother's life. Back then, he had cursed that man, but now he understood the compulsion. No matter how futile, he couldn't stop. Damn it.
An indescribable pressure built in his chest. He recognized that feeling. It was akin to the night he called the madman, crying for the second time in his arms. He didn't want to cry. It felt like he had done nothing but cry for the past months. But the desire to cry clawed at him. However, he restrained himself; he didn't want to face the tears alone.
He questioned if he would ever grow accustomed to the overwhelming pain. Even after years since his brother's passing, Yoohan still felt the guilt intensely, unsure how he was supposed to move forward. Being occupied with work offered some reprieve; he hadn't had the luxury to mourn as deeply as he should. Yet, when he did find the time to reflect, the pain intensified. The guilt weighed heavily on him.
Yoohan let out a slow breath, turning his face up to the sky, once again realizing its breathtaking beauty. The heavens painted a mesmerizing palette above, a stark contrast to the shadows of his past. Life, he realized, held a profound beauty, a realization that had dawned on him after emerging from the confines of his own metaphorical prison.
Living, truly living, was a revelation he now embraced, but it came with an expected pang of sorrow. Hansoo had probably never really seen the beauty of life.
"I'm sorry, Hansoo-ah," Yoohan heard himself say. A lump was growing in his throat, but he tried to swallow it down. "I'm sorry for everything."
His knees were beginning to go numb from the cold, but he still didn't rise. He wanted to linger, just a little longer.
Yoohan clenched his teeth, biting down on the futile apologies. Hindsight was good fuel for regret, but it wouldn't change what had happened. No amount of apologies would alter Hansoo's fate. Yoohan simply had to accept the burden of his own stupidity and recklessness.
And then it happened again. He couldn't quite register anything over the ringing in his ears. The world seemed to spin for a brief, dizzying moment, even if he knew he hadn't moved. His chest was tight, his breaths sharp, and he couldn't seem to stop shaking. What was happening? Something was building inside of him, pushing to break free, but he couldn't tell if it was panic or something else. Everything was just a jumbled chaos of impressions and emotions, none of which he could grasp or make sense of.
His hands reached for his phone. He couldn't see properly, and the ringing in his ears was growing louder and louder. His fingers fumbled for the phone screen, and he managed to call him since he was the last person Yoohan talked to. It rang for a couple of seconds before Yoohan heard his voice.
"Hmm?"
And that was enough. The ringing faded, the pressure in his chest ceased its relentless pursuit. Instead just halting in the center of his chest. Yoohan took a deep, shaky breath, finding a momentary reprieve in the connection, a lifeline tethering him to reality.
Yoohan opened his mouth to speak, but realized he couldn't; instead, he could only gasp. Yoon Jay, sharp as ever, immediately sensed that something was wrong.
"What's wrong?"
Yoohan attempted to respond, but only a whimper escaped. Something within him restrained his ability to speak. He heard the sound of a chair pushing back, the madman moving around, concern evident in his voice.
"Yoohan, where are you? Why aren't you speaking?"
Yoohan pushed through; he felt like his chest would just open from the force and opened his mouth again.
"I-I'm... I... in t-the cemetery....."
He didn't register anything after that. His phone fell from his hands, his vision blurred, and he just closed his eyes. An icy coldness spread through his veins, making him feel numb, frozen to his core — as if he was barely even alive.
He stopped trying, instead allowing it to wash over him, hoping that meant it would end quicker. It was difficult to say if it did or not. Yoohan wasn't even sure how long it took before his breathing stabilized, and everything stopped tilting on its axis. It could have been minutes — or even hours — for all he knew. It was disorienting and frightening, but he was familiar with it. He always experienced these episodes after a nightmare. It had just been a while since he last had one.
He hadn't experienced one of these episodes since he started sleeping with the madman. Yoohan stared at his phone on the ground.
Jay.
Jay.
Jay.
He kept chanting his name in his mind. An overwhelming surge of emotion hit Yoohan at the mere thought of Jay. How could he leave Jay behind? He knew he deserved to die, but his selfishness held him back. He didn't want to abandon Jay.
Even though the madman insisted that Yoohan couldn't die without his permission, he could . He could choose to die right now, but he wouldn't . Yoohan wanted to live now. Perhaps he always had. That's why he used excuses like revenge, paying his debt, or atonement – just so he could continue living.
He had many reasons to live, but the most important one was Yoon Jay. Yoohan couldn't even fathom the idea of doing something so cruel to Jay. Perhaps the Yoohan from five months ago would have, but now, with a profound understanding of how much Jay meant to him – the Jay who showed him the beauty of life, who made him want to truly live – he could never. No amount of guilt would make him choose death over the madman. Not anymore. Not ever again .
This time, he would choose Yoon Jay over death.
The guilt that followed this realization almost crushed him. How could he weave words of wanting to be with the one he loves, in front of the grave of the one he killed? How could he be so evil, so selfish? Hansoo probably wanted to have a partner too. Someone he wanted to live with for the rest of his life.
Yoohan choked on his next breath, pain shooting through his chest, sharp enough to cut through muscle, skin, and bone. Everything unraveled, unfurling with a suddenness that left him reeling.
He couldn't breathe anymore. He heard footsteps, the panic inside him growing more intense. Amidst the panic, pain, and guilt, Yoohan heard his voice.
"Lee Yoohan!"
The pressure in Yoohan's throat didn't ease, his lungs squeezing, screaming for air he couldn't seem to draw.
Yoohan blinked, the world still spinning. He turned his head, and yet, somewhere amidst all that, he caught a glimpse of Jay's face — wide eyes and slowly dawning horror. Jay seemed too far away from Yoohan.
"I can't—" Yoohan gasped for air. "I can't brea—"
Yoohan's throat closed completely. He blinked, trying to breathe anyway, but nothing happened. It was as if there was suddenly no room inside of him, everything taken up by the panic, guilt, and fear. He swayed. He heard Jay shout, yet he couldn't make sense of anything other than the ringing in his ears.
And suddenly Jay was there, his hands on Yoohan's shoulder, propping him up, keeping him from collapsing. Yoohan's fingers twisted into Jay's shirt on pure reflex, desperately scrambling for purchase. He could tell that the madman was talking — could feel the vibration, a tickling hum against his fingertips — but he couldn't hear what he was saying.
The pressure in his chest wasn't easing, each attempt at an inhale resulting in nothing but a helpless convulsion. As if something was blocking his airways, not letting anything through. He kept pushing, kept trying, dizzy and disoriented, but it just didn't seem to work. As if he'd forgotten how.
He couldn't breathe.
A sudden grip on the back of Yoohan's neck brought the world to a standstill. All his focus condensed onto that solitary point of contact, the warmth of a hand searing through his skin, melting the ice within. Tense muscles unwound, replaced by a tingling sensation spreading through his limbs.
The hand, firm and steadying, held him in place. Fingers tilted his chin upward, locking eyes with Jay. Intense and commanding, there was a flicker of something else—perhaps fear or vulnerability.
A squeeze from the hand sent a shiver through Yoohan, pulling him to the edge of balance. Jay's voice, sharp and cutting, pierced through the haze.
"Breathe."
For a moment, Yoohan wavered on the edge, but then the command registered. Without question, he obeyed. He sucked in a breath, too abrupt and too shallow. Another soon followed. And another. They were coming in too quick, impossible to control, but he was breathing. He swayed, but he didn't fall.
Jay was there. His forehead rested against something warm. The scent in his nostrils familiar.
Jay was there.
*****
As the panic passed, Yoohan wasn't sure how long the quiet lingered after he'd ceased hyperventilating. Gradually, he realized he wasn't kneeling anymore; at some point, he had settled on the madman's lap, embraced tightly.
It took him even longer to notice the madman stroking his head, repeating reassurances. Yoohan avoided looking directly at him, a mix of shame and dread knotting his chest. Though he had cried in front of Jay before, panic attacks were different — a loss of control, sometimes without awareness. It was frightening.
The madman appeared unsettled as well, and even without meeting his gaze, Yoohan sensed discomfort in Jay's posture. Perhaps this was an uncharted territory for him.
A surge of sympathy welled up in Yoohan. He understood Jay's inexperience with emotions, even though he had improved significantly over the months. This, however, seemed to surpass what the madman knew how to handle. Though Yoohan suspected a couple of relevant books might soon find their place among the stacks behind Jay's desk.
The thought brought forth a hum of affection. If he could, Yoohan would have smiled, but his face seemed unwilling to comply. Instead, he clumsily placed his hand on Jay's, hoping to convey the fondness he felt.
To his dismay, it seemed to have the opposite effect. Yoohan could feel Jay stiffen beneath his touch, muscles coiling even tighter. He opened his mouth to reassure Jay that everything was fine, but no sound emerged. Frowning, a swoop of alarm and a tendril of panic crawled up his spine.
Jay's hand settled on top of Yoohan's. It was distractingly warm. Jay squeezed Yoohan's fingers, tentatively, as if afraid of causing harm, but there was an unmistakable hint of urgency in his touch.
"It's all right."
In the vast expanse of the cemetery, Jay's hushed words reverberated with a resonance that cut through the silence like a knife.
A moment of uncertainty gripped Yoohan, a pause fueled by the lingering doubt about whether everything was truly alright. Nevertheless, he nodded, and the madness that enveloped Jay seemed to ease, if only slightly, under the reassuring touch of Yoohan's hand.
In Jay's demeanor, there was no hint of judgment, only an overwhelming concern that was both desperate and tender, like a gentle breeze whispering through the graveyard.
A pang of emotion twisted Yoohan's heart, his eyes threatening to well up. Suppressing the urge to cry, he feared that his tears might alarm Jay. Yet, the emotions welling up within him were not negative; what made the tears gather was affection and love— the knowledge of just how much Jay cared about him. How could he ever think of leaving this behind?
A tremor ran through Yoohan as Jay's hand, resting on the back of his head, slid down to his neck. Tense and pliant at the same time, Yoohan felt paralyzed, uncertain of how to respond or speak.
Struggling to maintain composure, he wondered why he bothered to resist. His defenses crumbled, and within seconds, everything unraveled.
"Lee Yoohan."
The mere utterance of his name caused Yoohan's next breath to hitch audibly. Fingers fumbled, numb and clumsy, seeking desperately for a hold as if Jay were the sole anchor preventing his complete disintegration.
Perhaps, he was.
Yoohan buried his face against Jay's neck, a desperate attempt to draw even closer, seeking something tangible to ground himself. Trembling and on the verge of breaking apart, he remained acutely aware of Jay's hand, tenderly stroking his hair again. Then he stroked Yoohan's face, his touch tender and reassuring, wiping away the traces of sorrow etched on his lover's cheeks. Jay kissed both of Yoohan's eyes several times as if to ease his pain.
In that touch, he felt a warmth and comforting strength that surpassed words. Despite the turmoil, Yoohan didn't experience fear; he found the ability to let go.
Jay would keep him safe.