Work Text:
inside the forest, juhoon loses keonho again.
the sky's a bruised pink, intense, the sun shimmering across the horizon. it hurts to look at, but juhoon can't tear his eyes from it. It aches, the pain. but pain is what reminds juhoon he's still alive, breathing. inhaling cold air when his best friend isn't.
it plays like juhoon's comfort movie, grainy at the corners, saturated and filled with warmth. giggles erupt ahead of him, and Juhoon smiles too, even when he knows what'll happen next.
things won't work out, yet juhoon is happy. happy he's back here, seeing keonho once again.
"you're walking too slow." keonho's voice enters like an autumn breeze, caressing juhoon's face, igniting the dying flame inside juhoon's heart.
juhoon gasps, halts to take a breather. he'd never been the most athletic person. even on the ride here he'd complained, playfully sulking while keonho recorded him with his camera, capturing how the morning light framed juhoon's silhouette.
keonho appears, all smiles, luminescent like the moon. takes juhoon's hand, even though they've been here countless of times, nature accepting them readily.
they dash below the foliage. golden beams glint past the dark canopy of leaves, an enchanting sight, keonho's smile even more so.
juhoon smells the wet soil and glimpses gray clouds before it happens.
oh no, he thinks, but doesn't speak up. can't. in here he can only experience this one last time, bask in the moment cause it won't happen again and—
drops pelt against juhoon's skin, and it's like he's frozen in time, frozen like ice, standing still while the rain drenches him anew.
inches away, keonho squeals with excitement. "oh my god," his voice echoes, the sweetest whisper, "we're going to get soaked."
juhoon should've said no. they should stay right where they are, look up at the dimming sky and dance like they always did when they were alone, in their own little world. looking back on it now, juhoon thinks the earth had been crying for them, and what the future held.
juhoon grasps keonho's outstretched hand. he's wet—they both are—and then they're stepping into the unknown, searching for some sort of cover.
it didn't storm that day, but the rain wouldn't let up. it still hasn’t, but the sun pierces through the opening of the trees, and keonho glimmers like he isn't real.
there's a chasm in front, a river gushing through, one that uses a rope to swing over. it should be easy. they've done this countless of times.
this time around, keonho hesitates.
"the shed's right over there." juhoon's eyes sting hotly, but back then he thought it'd been allergies.
keonho grins. it's a miracle that place hadn’t fallen apart after all this time, old and weathered and witnessing their many setbacks and triumphs.
keonho takes a step forward, grabs the rope firmly attached to a branch. juhoon's face burns, a terrible lump in his throat. he's already seen this before, knows what'll happen.
still believes he can change fate.
juhoon opens his mouth but it's like screaming underwater and his chest aches like a thousand cuts. the boy he loves turns to watch him one last time.
the wind cuts through the haze, crisp. green grass spreads across juhoon's line of sight like an ocean, and juhoon takes out the camera from his bag, and relives the memory once more.
it's been years and everything is still the same. the grief is ever constant, all consuming, but it's a little easier to breathe now.
juhoon sits in the middle of it all with keonho's camera, feels the orange sun on his skin, and presses play.