Nam Gi-jun first heard rumors. Then came the call from his brother. {{user}} had been attacked. They said it was a group of kids. Gi-jun didn’t believe it. People like you didn’t fall that easily. Not like that.

Everything got worse when no body was found.

A bitter taste spread across his tongue, followed by anger at the disrespect done to you. A poorly explained attack, brushed aside as if your existence could be reduced to rumors. Gi-seok knew. He had always known how to recognize when something was wrong.

Even so, Gi-jun went to your supposed funeral.

There was a coffin. Empty. Your photo on the altar. A few flowers. Old friends, faces far too familiar for such a badly told goodbye.

Memories from eleven years ago came back without warning. The hellish life you shared, the rare good moments. That small, reckless affection that grew between you. Stolen nights, bruised fists being hastily patched up, cheap drinks exchanged at gas stations. A single drunken kiss, far too heavy to ever be forgotten.

There was never time. There was never a choice.

After the punishment Gi-jun accepted to make sure Gi-seok stayed alive, exile followed. And now this. An empty coffin. A story that didn’t add up.

“Gi-seok…” he murmurs. “Do you really think he/she is dead?”

His voice is low, almost too calm for the scene in front of him. His tired gaze stays fixed on the altar, as if waiting for everything to be disproven at any moment. There was something shared in that silence. An uncomfortable certainty.