Chapter Text
"You said I killed you - haunt me, then! Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!"
Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights
An urn, a lonely hall, and a singular photo were the only things that the boy had left behind. The only proof that at some point he had been alive.
Baekjin has been dead for two months, officially that is.
When he heard nothing from Baekjin after the fight, Baku honestly believed that he just didn’t want the other to see him. That maybe he had finally understood that they were done with each other, had been for years despite Baekjin's insistence. He had believed that the other boy was as done with him as Baku had thought he’d been for a long time now.
So he didn’t look for him.
He hates to admit that a part of him had even been relieved at the lack of contact from Baekjin. He had felt happy not to get any more threats from the other boy. The knowledge of his friends and family's safety was like a boulder had been lifted from his chest and he could finally— finally breathe again. Sure, there was a part of him that was worried but the worry wasn’t big enough to take away from the overwhelming relief.
So when Seongje tried to reach out, he just ignored his warnings. Even when the boy swore up and down that it was weird for Baekjin to be gone just like that. That while they had not been the closest, Baekjin had never stopped responding to his texts. Even when he had left the union they still remained in contact when necessary, but ever since the fight there had been complete silence from the boy.
Baku should have understood then the depth of the situation. He should have worried about Baekjin, questioned why he wasn’t answering or reaching out. But he brushed all his questions off, whether it was out of fear or relief he still wasn’t sure — maybe he just didn’t want to know.
He had tried to tell himself it was because he didn’t want to believe that Baekjin would be gone, fully gone. But at night his conscience told him otherwise.
For years he had tried to purge Na Baekjin from his system. He even believed that it had worked for some time, that maybe with distance and feigned hatred, he had finally rid himself of the love he had for his boy. That way he wouldn’t feel so much guilt and hurt from everything that they could have been.
It didn’t work.
He couldn’t rid himself of Baekjin. He had tried, and tried, and tried, but no matter what he did, his heart—his soul yearned for Baekjin’s warmth, even when his body had already grown cold.
And now two months had passed since the funeral, sixty days since he felt himself fall apart over someone he had tried to believe was no longer a part of his life, of his heart. But, it was foolish to believe so.
Even with all of the unspoken and bitter feelings, nothing mattered anymore.
Not when Baekjin was dead, not when he had stood in that funeral for hours sobbing and praying that it was all a lie, not when the only images he could see when he closed his eyes were either Baekjin's cold eyes in his school photo or his sorrowful gaze after the fight.
They couldn’t even give Baekjin the luxury of having something that resembled a loving funeral. They couldn’t find a picture or a video or anything other than that school photo. Despite their efforts his funeral had been short—impersonal, because Baekjin had died alone, just as he had been born alone, and just as he had lived alone.
And now, every day for the last two months, he was haunted by the ghost of what could have been Baekjin; he should have always known that Baekjin would be a spiteful, unmerciful spirit, cold in death as he had been in life.
He tries to tell himself that Baekjin wouldn’t be as cruel as the visions his mind comes up with. That Baekjin cared about him, or at least that’s what Seongje and Sieun believed. But why shouldn’t he be cruel? Why shouldn’t he hate Baku? When Baku had left him without a second glance.
Even when he had seen him alone, bloodied and broken, crying, on the ground, Baku had done nothing.
He just walked away.
The same way he had every single time before that day. A conscious decision that he had made for so many years. The choices that now haunt him in the form of a twisted version of Na Baekjin.
But oh, how Baku loved his beautiful ghost.
With all his cruelty, anger, and resentment.
It’s why even when he woke up in cold sweat, a scream ripped out of his throat, and tears burning his eyes, he still longed for those dreams.
He has spent every day longing to see any fragment of Na Baekjin that his mind could conjure up, even when the result left him shaking with misery. So he waited until he could sleep, until he could dream of Baekjin again, just for a couple more minutes. Anything to see those eyes again.
He could hear Baekjin’s voice before he was graced with seeing his face.
“You said you hated me, that you never wanted to see me again. So don't. Let me leave, stop looking for me,” the figure twists and turns, unrecognizable despite the venom seeping through his mouth and Baku tries to get close, tries to see it, to see him.
They were in the bowling alley this time, it was late and dark. Baekjin was facing him but he couldn’t see his face. He looked almost like a shadow.
“Wait, I didn’t—“ He tries to say as he turns to catch a glimpse of his face, tries to see his eyes, even if all he will see in them is hate. He’ll take anything—do anything, just to see him. But, no matter how he turns or how close he tries to get, he can’t reach him.
“You didn’t what? Mean it?” The voice calls out, cold, always so cold and calculating. Although Baku has always loved his voice, even when it was cold it was still soft like snow. A complete antithesis of everything he said, just like Baekjin.
But his mind isn’t always kind to him even in his dreams, and as badly as he tries he can’t seem to make out Baekjin’s features. He turns around and around making himself dizzy, his head is pounding, and his vision is going blurry around the edges.
At least he has his voice.
“There’s no point in lying, you just feel guilty now,” Baekjin calls out, taunting and icy. It sounds nothing like what Baku was used to hearing. In life, even when Baekjin was mad or wanted to inflict pain, he always sounded so soft. It made Baku want to cry, not because the words hurt, not even because his voice sounded colder than it ever did in life. But, because he missed that voice so much, any version of it. He’d take those harsh words if only he never forgets that beautiful melody.
“No stop, that’s not—” he’s shaking his head he thinks, it’s not a conscious movement, not really. Nor does he know why he tells him to stop when he doesn’t want him to. Maybe his body is reacting in hopes that it will show his feelings or snap him out of his dream. Maybe it knows better than to follow what his heart wants.
In his dreams, he feels the need to defend himself. To let any version of Baekjin know that he doesn’t feel that way, that he didn’t mean those words. But it’s pointless, he knows it is. Fighting this image of Baekjin is pointless, and trying to fight his conscience is even worse.
“Let it go Humin, this is what you wanted, what you wished for. You finally have it, you should be glad, why aren’t you?” He finally steps closer, and the game lights illuminate the sides of Baekjin's face. He’s so painfully pretty even like this. His lips curl into some form of a twisted smile. It’s ugly, horrible, and terrifying. Yet so, so beautiful.
It makes more tears gather in his eyes.
He wants so badly to reach out, to touch his face and feel the cool skin under his fingers. But, he’s never been able to get close enough to Baekjin. Not even in his dreams. As he tries to walk forward— to get near him, Baekjin’s figure moves back. He reaches out with his hand and tries to pull him in but it feels like there's a rope tied around his chest and every time he moves he gets pushed further and further back.
Baekjin’s face is starting to obscure, and his once clear eyes start to look like shadows. Baku tries to pull back against the invisible rope but it’s no use. He screams and thrashes around but, in the second it takes for him to close his eyes, Baekjin is gone.
He wakes up with a scream on the tip of his tongue. His hands feel cold and clammy. Baku tries to close his eyes again, to go back to sleep but he’s wide awake. The only thing he can do is clamp his eyes shut and at least try to see what Baekjin had looked like—try and remember the sound of his voice.
Sleep doesn’t always come easily to him. Most nights it’s a herculean effort to manage to shut his eyes for more than an hour at a time, despite the sleeping pills and the magnesium that Juntae and Sieun had offered him. It was like his body was trying to save him from something his mind and soul longed for.
He knew his friends were worried, he could see their eyes chasing him around. He was sure that the same way he could see the dark circles growing under his eyes they could as well, and he was sure that they wanted to reach out.
But they couldn’t help him. They couldn’t bring back the part of him that was missing.
On the nights when he lay awake or when he had dreamless nights were always the hardest. He would pick any of Baekjin’s cruel words over not seeing him at all.
It really was the worst punishment to be left alive while a part of you is dead, and as much as he tried to look for Baekjin in everything he did when he couldn’t dream, there was not much that the other boy had left behind.
Baekjin had taken everything with him.
Sometimes, more than being dead, it would seem like he had never been born at all. Baku hated that idea, because as much as he had once hated being compared to Baekjin, now he had to admit that there were parts of himself that wouldn’t exist without the other boy.
Parts that he had tried to rip away from himself the same way he had tried to rip Baekjin away from his very being.
On those nights he has a lot of time to contemplate everything he feels for Baekjin. Things that even with his death, Baku still had no clarity on. Instead of being left with an open path into understanding everything they had been, Baku had been left with a bitter tangled mess of everything they were.
So he chooses those nights to de-tangle their mess.
Like tonight.
He’s staring at the ceiling of his room, the soft glow from the moon whisking away the harsh night. It’s raining outside, like it had been the day of their fight. He can hear the soft patter of the rain thumping against the roof.
Baekjin liked the rain when they were younger. He would step outside of their umbrella and let the water coat his hair and drip down to his eyes. All while he smiled, eyes crinkling at the sight of the sky. Baku would spend every single day wishing it would rain just so he could see his best friend happy and at peace for the rest of their lives.
He would imagine them together in some distant future going on walks or sitting on their balcony when it rained. After their falling out Baku had tried to keep that idea away. Tried to not fall asleep to the image of Baekjin and him building a future together.
Now, it was one of the only things that helped him get through the day, even when the idea was torture. He spent hours daydreaming of what their lives together could look like. The apartment they would share, how they could get a cat someday because Baekjin had always really liked them. He spent hours envisioning a future with someone who was dead, just to be able to keep going on.
With how many things had been left unsaid between the two of them it made trying to decipher his feelings — trying to manage the anger that he had clung to for so long — so unbearably hard. Even when he wanted Baekjin more than anything else in the world, his feelings stayed complicated. But, with Baekjin’s death, Baku had been granted the ability to let go of most of his anger towards the other boy.
After all, what was the point of being angry with a ghost?
He thinks back to all their arguments. His past words loudly echoing in his mind. I just really fucking hate you. We’ll be strangers for the rest of our lives. This time I realized that you and I will never get along.
Had he meant those words when he said them? He thought he did. He was so sure that he was done with Na Baekjin. That he wanted him as far away from him as possible.
Had those wishes caused his death?
A question that resounds in his mind every time he thinks about Baekjin, is whether Baku could have forgiven him for everything if he hadn’t died.
Years down the road, would they have been able to meet again, older and more mature, and finally put aside their differences? If he hadn’t received that call, would he have even cared about what happened to Baekjin?
He wants to say yes, to make an argument for himself and plead his case. That hewould have, that he’d always cared about him. Behind the resentment and the hurt, he cared. But how could he defend himself if all his actions consistently proved otherwise?
Baku's head hurts, and he craves nothing more than to finally have the relief that sleep brings him.
Today they are at a beach, a place he had come to recognize and get close to only in his dreams.
It’s not a place he has ever gone to while awake, and if he were to be asked, he wouldn’t be able to describe it all that well. His only association with it is sea salt and indented cheeks.
The sun is set high in the sky, reflecting its light onto the water and making the view around them almost blinding. The rise and fall of the waves as they come up to land and drag sand back with them into the sea. The sounds of birds chirping, the bubbly sound of the waves falling between the rocks. In the distance, he can see Baekjin.
Despite how far he appears, Baku can see him clearly. The movement of his clothes and hair as the breeze pushes between them. Baku feels an inexplicable jealousy at the air being allowed to touch his skin. Baekjin looks almost translucent, in the sun, the light creating a halo around his hair.
He’s smiling.
Baku can’t remember the last time he actually saw Baekjin smile. Before this, he couldn’t remember what his face looked like, scrunched in happiness instead of pain. He tries to run after him, and usually he can get close, but he can never touch him.
Not this time.
This time, when he runs towards Baekjin, Baekjin seems to get further away. He’s not running away from him, but he’s not letting him get close either.
Baku can feel the sand moving beneath his feet, his chest heaving as he tries to take in a breath while continuing to run. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, can barely feel the ache in his muscles. All he knows is that he wants to get near Baekjin, wants to see his smile up close.
“Baekjin!” He heaves out. “Baekjin, wait!”
Despite the distance, Baekjin's voice comes out clear, “I’m not moving”.
“Then why can’t I get close?!”
No matter how hard he tries to push his feet off the ground, he can't reach him. For a moment he thinks about stopping, thinks about just sitting on the sand and crying. But he can’t just quit. Not again. So he uses the little energy he has left to keep running.
Baekjin smiles again. His hair, despite its darkness, reflects some of the light from the sun. He looks so painfully ethereal that it makes something crack in Baku's chest. Standing there, surrounded by the sunlight reflecting off the crashing waves, dressed in perfectly ironed white clothes — he almost looks like a ghost. "I guess you’ll just have to figure that out, huh?”
Frustration prickles at his eyes. He doesn’t know what to do anymore, doesn’t know how to get close. He supposes it had been like that when Baekjin was alive too, not that he had ever tried to think about that back then. “Please, I just want to see you,” he screams, pushing his feet forward despite the ache. He remembers once hearing about how, in your dreams, you aren’t supposed to feel pain. That if you do, then you are not actually asleep. He wishes it were like that. Then the ache in his bones and his heart would at least mean that Baekjin is real.
Baekjin smiles, “I’m not stopping you,” he says, voice so light it gets carried away with the sound of the waves.
He tries to push forward so he can hear Baekjin’s voice better. But, just like all his attempts before this, he can’t get any closer. He’s so tired. Should he be this tired in a dream? Probably not.
“Then can you at least get closer?”
“No, you have to be the one to get to me,” he says, still unmoving, still beautiful.
“I don’t know how!” He cries out, feet barely moving now. He wants to cry, wants to sit down on the sand and throw a tantrum like a child. Instead, he reaches a hand, like that movement will get him to touch Baekjin. When all he feels is air and sea salt, that’s when he cries.
He sits down and lets out loud, heaving sobs into the cold, now dark air. Who knows how long he cries for. He thinks dream Baekjin can’t even tell him that. So he settles for crying, every new breath coming out louder until his voice breaks and he feels a burn in his throat.
“Are you enjoying this?” He cries out, just barely managing to moves his head up to look at Baekjin.
Baekjin frowns, and looks down, “I don’t enjoy seeing you hurt, Humin-ah,” he says, crouching down.
He’s closer now, but still too far. Baku doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to close enough.
“Then why are you doing this?” He asks, even if he knows it’s not Baekjin placing this punishment on him, but his own guilty subconscious.
Baekjin looks sad. So sad. His eyes cast downward. He shouldn’t look like that. Baku is overwhelmed by how wrong it is for Baekjin to look so sad. Even if it had been the look he wore for most of their interactions. There’s a deep pit of anger and guilt that settles in his stomach. His time with Baekjin is so short, he should be taking it as a blessing not making the other boy unhappy.
He looks at Baekjin’s face again, tries to burn the image into his mind, sees his lips move, “I’m not doing anything, all I want is to be close to you,” he whispers.
Without a doubt, Baku prefers Baekjin with any expression except for anguish. Baekjin should be happy, like he was earlier, or mad like he had been in so many dreams before. He prefers the screaming, the cruel words, and hate— over a look of grief on his face. Baku had already caused the other boy so much pain in life, can’t he at least make him happy in his dreams?
He tries to speak up, to see Baekjin again. But a loud sound wakes him, and he’s left with only flashes of waves and Baekjin’s smile.
On the first autumn after Baekjin’s death, all of them except for Suho go to university together.
Between sports scholarships and student loans, they all end up at the same school. Sieun probably could have gone somewhere better a couple of years ago. But, despite his good grades and hard work, having Eunjang as your high school wasn’t something a lot of prestigious universities looked at.
Baku gets an apartment close to home, despite the university being a long distance away. It’s not a nice place, located in probably one of the worst areas around. But that made rent cheap, and helped him avoid a roommate for the time being as long as he cut down on his expenses, and worked two part-time jobs. The jobs come in the form of a food delivery service on the weekends and a horribly amateur basketball coach for the university’s children's program. It was supposed to make kids more interested in going into higher education, and make sure that they developed an interest in their university. Neither paid much, but together, he made just enough to pay his rent and eat dinner.
He moves into his new apartment on a Monday.
Gotak and Seongje are the only two who can help him move in. They bicker, argue, fight, and he pretends not to throw longing gazes at them, and in return, they pretend not to see it.
By the end of the day, all of his belongings and the few things he had bought to furnish his apartment had been built and arranged. Gotak suggests going out to eat as soon as they finish, insisting that they had earned it and says “Plus, Seongje’s paying anyway.” The other boy doesn’t fight the statement, doesn’t even try to act mad or argue, just looks at Gotak and sighs in agreement.
When they head out, Gotak informs them that he invited the rest of the guys, Juntae is no longer busy with paperwork, while Sieun and Suho are finally done with Suho’s appointment and physical therapy visit. Seongje jokes about them just wanting to get out of helping Baku move in, but doesn’t protest their joining.
They spend all night out, using their last couple of free days before starting school to just hang out. No pressure, no worries, just them.
Baku tries to focus on the present, tries to be there despite their blurry faces and faraway voices.
By the look of concern on their faces, he can tell it doesn’t work, but they don’t push him to get over anything. They just make sure to take care of him, to check on how often he eats, how he takes care of himself. Juntae and Gotak give him containers of meal-prepped food. For a long time, Baku wonders where the hell Gotak gets his. He loves his friend, but that boy cannot cook to save his life. Then one day, when he visits his and Seongje’s apartment, he sees Seongje preparing some food and setting it inside the fridge, the same containers Gotak takes for him every other week.
At the beginning of their first semester, they all agreed to make Fridays their official scheduled hangout day. An unneeded attempt to make sure they didn’t fall apart from each other even when school got hard. They made their schedules work around so that none of them had classes that day, and most of the time, it worked.
When possible, they spend the entire day together. In the morning, they have breakfast at one of their apartments, usually Sieun and Suho’s . Although after finding out Seongje could cook, they frequented his and Gotak’s apartment more often, Seongje’s pretend annoyance only fuelling them more. In the afternoons, they went to a cafe or a park, sometimes even going to the library to pretend — except for Sieun and Juntae — to study. Their nights usually consisted of going back to one of their apartments, eating dinner, and watching a movie.
Sieun and Seongje loved to complain about how long they spent together on those days, they would complain and argue about their social batteries and how “It's unnecessary because we see each other basically every day.” But in the end, neither of them — probably because of Suho or Gotak — tried to leave early, and they never tried to bail either.
Baku was usually the only one who would do that. On days when his body felt too heavy, getting out of bed seemed like the hardest job. He felt bad about it, always did, but the boys never complained, they didn’t get angry or upset. So he tried not to do it often, but it was always harder around July.
At the end of spring, Baku loses his spot on the team and with it part of his scholarship. Too many missed practices, lost games, and warnings that fell on deaf ears. Honestly, it was a surprise that he hadn’t lost it sooner. Sieun offered to help him study in hopes that next year he could apply for merit-based scholarships. To his surprise, it worked, but only because the textbooks around him made him feel closer to a ghost.
By next autumn, Suho joins them at school. Sieun transfers to a nicer university not that far away from them. Two months after that, they help him and Suho move into another apartment. Sometime later, Juntae starts his first internship, and they see a lot less of him until spring comes again. In late November, Gotak and Seongje break up, and Gotak moves in with Baku, only to get back together with Seongje by the middle of December.
During every month — every one of their important milestones, he walks around wishing that Baekjin could be there with them, and longing for the moment he could finally fall asleep to the sound of lapping waves.
When they were little, Baekjin and Baku used to spend their afternoons on the basketball court. Baekjin never really played, he would just shake his head and smile at Baku with a polite no on his lips.
He was always so polite back then.
So he stared at Baku as he played. He would sit on the far side of the court, book in one hand and notebook in the other. He studied his way through their afternoons, always saying he was much more content with just watching Baku.
Maybe if he had known that for the rest of his life, all he would ever do was just watch Baku from afar, he would have joined more often.
Today, they are back on that court, but instead of a 10-year-old, he is greeted with the sight of a bruised, hollow Baekjin. He’s looking at him in the same way he had during the fight. Betrayal, hurt, and something he can now recognize as longing, are cast over Baekjin’s face.
It’s night, there isn’t much around them, there never is during these dreams. This is the only place he can be just with Baekjin. He loves it, and hates how even then it’s not enough. There’s a small rhythmic creaking in the distance, the swings they used to fly on are completely abandoned. Closer to them, there’s a constant buzzing and clicking, and he’s reminded of a time when he used to look for cicadas to scare Baekjin. The boy would look at the bugs and shrink back, but claim he was not afraid of them.
Baekjin is sitting across from him, cross-legged and looking at the sky. Baku wonders what he’s thinking about. Is he counting the stars? Looking for constellations between the spaces they occupy? Or is he thinking about him?
It sounds dumb. This Baekjin is not the real one. He doesn’t think or act in the same way the real one did. So whatever he is thinking about doesn’t matter, because in the end, it’s just Baku’s own consciousness creating this world. But, it’s the only thing he has left of the boy, and he prefers believing he is real than acknowledging he has nothing left.
Baekjin speaks first, slow, quiet, “You hate me,” he says. “You always have.”
Baku feels his heart hit against his ribcage, a cold despair spreading through him, “I don’t—”
Baekjin’s face twists, “You said you did.”
Baku can see a shine reflecting on the surface of the other boy's eyes. He holds his breath for a second, terrified that the smallest change in atmosphere will make the tears fall. And then how will he fix that when he can’t get close?
Slowly, he moves his mouth, the words barely breaking through, “I didn’t mean it. Baekjin, I—” he tries to reach for Baekjin, but the boy flinches back. A tightness is visible on his shoulder, and Baku feels bile rise in his throat.
Baekjin turns his face to the side, making it no longer visible, almost as if he knows that it’s the perfect way to punish Baku. “But we both know you did.” His voice is stubborn, but it almost sounds like a child's.
It startles Baku. Makes him expect to see the Baekjin he knew almost ten years ago.
“I—” He tries to stabilize his breathing— needs to make sure that their conversation doesn’t end like last time. “Yeah, I did at the time, I did. But—”
Baekjin moves his head, making his devastatingly beautiful face come into full view, “So then why did you say it?” The words sound angry, but beneath that, they sounded hurt, shattering around the edges like broken glass.
He doesn’t know how to respond, all those nights of thinking about his past actions over and over again become useless when he has Baekjin in front of him.
“Because, I—I was hurt,” he stutters out. “You hurt me. Everything you did, all the ways you tortured those around me, what would you have done in my place?” His mind flashes red. Warning him that he should stop before he says something wrong again.
Baekjin shakes his head, slow and sad, “Not that. I never would have done that to you. I never would have left you, or turned my back on you the way you did with me,” his tone defeated.
It’s the first time he really thinks about it. Baekjin had been mean and cruel at times, but he had never done anything to hurt Baku in the same ways Baku had done to him. He had constantly fought to have Baku at his side. Not in good or healthy ways, but in the only way the boy knew how to.
Why had Baku never seen that before? Why couldn’t he have seen past his anger and hurt to realize how much Baekjin cared about him.
Logically, he knows it’s not his fault. That there was no way for him to see that Baekjin had been so good at hiding his real intentions and emotions. Still, the thought makes his heart hurt.
A small sob leaves Baku’s lips, “I didn’t—”
Baekjin stands up and begins to walk away, “You did, you walked away, you left me there. And now what? You expect me to believe that you care about me? You never have, or at least you haven’t in a long time. So stop pretending, stop thinking about me, and stop looking for me in everything you do.” He turns around and catches Baku’s eyes. “Stop tormenting yourself and let me rest.”
He wanted to say something, to respond, to beg, to plead. But the words got caught in his throat, his lungs felt like they were full of glass, and he wasn’t quite sure how to breathe anymore. All he knew was that he couldn’t let go, not yet.
Some nights, his dreams haunt him in a very different way.
On those nights, he dreams of violet and crimson stains over porcelain skin, of gripping petal soft complexion until he leaves dark finger marks behind. He dreams of whining and crying— of breathy calls, ‘Humin-ah,’ leaving soft lips. He dreams of tasting salty tears— of a push and pull similar to that of the waves they visit at night. He dreams of the sound of rumpled sheets being thrown to the ground— of skin hitting skin like water against rocks. He dreams of kissing noises out of trembling lips— of holding him so close their bodies mend and melt into each other until they become one.
Sometimes those dreams feel so real that he wakes up and can practically taste the salt on his lips, looks to the other side of his bed expecting to feel a warm body pressed into his, and a dimpled smile aimed at him.
Those are probably the worst dreams he has. Both because of the guilt and how scarily real they feel, like in the moment, he doesn’t remember they are just dreams. It leaves him shaking — guilt settling deep in his bones, seeping out from under his skin. So overwhelming it makes nausea curl in his stomach, and bile rise in his throat. The mornings after, he walks around in fear half believing that something, something will call out his dreams from the night before.
The first time he had one after Baekjin died, he felt so much guilt the next morning that he threw up, and for the first time in months, he tried to stay awake.
Even when he missed Baekjin so much it felt like he was tearing off his own limb. He just couldn't get over the guilt of imagining him like that now that he was gone. It had never been something he felt guilty about when Baekjin was alive, back then it had felt like something normal, maybe weird, but almost expected. Always chalking it up to hormones and pent-up emotions breaking through. Now it feels like he is defiling the image of something he helped end.
But he always goes back to longing for a glimpse of Baekjin in his dreams. Anything that eases his reckless mind, and puts an end to his daily torment. He longs to see Baekjin every day.
His Baekjin.
Baku always thought of him like that.
Even when he wasn’t his anymore, even when he wasn’t anything anymore. He always thought of the other boy as someone who belonged to him, belonged withhim. Something that should have been his right to keep, but that had been ripped away from his hands without a single warning or explanation.
For so long, Baku had dreamed of a future with a version of the boy he knew in his past. Now he wishes they had a future at all. He sits and stares at the stars during the night when his eyes refuse to give in to the one thing he wants and thinks over and over again, wishing ‘if I had another chance, I would do it right, I would love him regardless of how he is, with everything he is’.
But nothing ever comes from his wishing.
Not until he falls asleep.
Then he can see him again, and try to be close. Baku wonders sometimes if his dreams are a punishment or a reward, but doesn’t really care, though. At the end of the day, what matters is that he gets to see Baekjin again, that he can hear his voice.
Baku refuses to think about what might become of him the day he no longer remembers what his boy sounded like.
He would prefer drowning in the icy cold of the water that occupies his dreams than to ever let that happen. Then at least he would die surrounded by the ice that had once decorated his Baekjin’s features, and the salt that haunts his dreams.
By the beginning of summer, he thinks he’s doing better. Except that he still prefers to go to sleep instead of going out. Oftentimes falling asleep to the recording of waves in hopes of dreaming about Baekjin for just a little bit longer.