Archive of Our Own ^beta

October 27

Dear Jisung,
The air feels colder today. Maybe it’s just me, maybe it’s been cold for a while and I only now noticed. Dr. Han says I should write to you, as if we were still talking over late-night tea like we used to. She says it might help with the silence. So… here I am.

I woke up before the alarm again. I don’t sleep much these days. Your side of the bed is untouched, but I still find myself reaching out to make sure you’re there, old habits don’t fade as fast as people think. I stayed under the blankets for a while, listening to the city waking up outside. Everything keeps moving, even though you’re gone. It feels wrong.

I made coffee but didn’t drink it. It tasted bitter, nothing like the way you made it, too strong, no sugar. You always said you liked things honest. I sat at the table and stared at the cup until it went cold. I’m sorry, I know you wouldn’t want me to stop living, but everything feels heavier now. Even breathing.

On my way to work, I passed the bakery you liked. The one with the red awning and the croissants you said were “almost Paris-level.” I didn’t go in. I couldn’t. I don’t think I’m ready for that place yet. Maybe one day.

Work was just… noise. People talking, keyboards clicking, phones ringing. I nodded when they spoke to me, pretended I was fine. I’m getting good at that, pretending. But inside, it’s like I’m standing in an empty room, calling your name, and no one answers.

I keep remembering little things about you. The way your glasses always slid down your nose, the way you hummed while washing dishes, how your hand fit perfectly in mine when we crossed the street. These memories hurt, but they’re all I have left of you. So I hold onto them.

Dr. Han asked me today if I’m angry. I told her no, but maybe I am. Not at you. Never at you. Maybe at the world. Maybe at myself. I don’t know. She said it’s okay not to know yet.

I’ll write again tomorrow. Maybe this will get easier. Maybe not. I miss you, Jisung. More than I know how to say.

October 28

Dear Jisung,
I’m writing again, just like I promised. It still feels strange, talking to you like this. Part of me keeps expecting you to answer, to laugh and tell me I’m being dramatic. I wish you would.

I woke up late today. I must have fallen asleep after the sun came up because the light was already filling the room. It was warm, soft, the kind you always said made our apartment look like something out of a painting. For a moment, I almost forgot you weren’t here. And then I remembered. The warmth disappeared.

I forced myself to eat breakfast. Toast and jam. You’d be proud, I think. I even washed the dishes afterward instead of leaving them in the sink like I usually do now. Small victories, right? Dr. Han said I should celebrate those, even if they feel stupid.

At work, I kept hearing your voice in my head. Not words, just the rhythm of how you spoke. Calm, steady. Whenever I got overwhelmed, I imagined you telling me to breathe. It helped, a little. I don’t know if that’s normal or if I’m just losing my mind. Maybe both.

During lunch, I sat outside. The leaves have started turning orange and yellow. You loved this time of year. You used to say it felt like the world was gently falling asleep. I liked that. I watched the trees for a while and thought about the last autumn we spent together. You wore that big scarf that made you look like a walking blanket. I teased you, but secretly I thought you were beautiful.

I ran into your friend, Soojin, on my way home. She asked how I was doing. I told her I’m managing. She smiled, but her eyes looked wet. She misses you too. I wanted to ask her if she still dreams about you, like I do, but the words got stuck in my throat.

Tonight, I made tea. Your favorite; chamomile with honey. I sat by the window and held the mug in both hands, like you used to. The steam fogged up the glass, and I wrote your name in it with my finger. I waited for it to fade before I wiped it away.

I don’t know if this is helping yet. But writing to you makes the world feel a little less empty, even if it’s just for a moment.

Good night, Jisung.
I miss you.

October 29

Dear Jisung,
I’m back again. I wasn’t sure I would write tonight. I’m tired, and everything feels heavy, but something inside me said I should keep going. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s just habit forming. I don’t know.

This morning I almost skipped work. I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring at the floor, hearing the echo of your voice telling me not to be late. I got up eventually. I’m trying, Jisung. I really am.

Work was the same blur of screens, voices, and unfinished sentences. I answered emails, nodded through meetings, and pretended the world made sense. But today, something was different, maybe because I already knew what was waiting for me after work.

Felix asked me to go out with him. He’s been trying for weeks, but I always said no. Today I said yes. I don’t really know why. Maybe I was tired of saying no. Maybe I just didn’t want to go home to the silence again.

We went to this small café near the river. You remember it, the one with terrible seating but amazing chocolate cake. Felix ordered two slices, one for each of us, because he said you’d be disappointed if we didn’t. He smiled when he said it, but I could see how careful he was being, like I might break.

At first, we talked about ordinary things like work, the weather, how the owner still burns the coffee. But then Felix said your name. And everything went quiet inside me.

He asked how I’ve been… really. I almost lied. It would have been easier. But I didn’t. For the first time since you left, I talked about you out loud. I talked about your laugh, the way you danced in the kitchen, how you used to steal my socks for no reason. And then I talked about the day you were gone. Not all of it, but enough. My voice shook. Felix didn’t say much. He just listened. And that was enough.

It hurt. It felt like ripping open something I’d tried to keep closed. But at the same time, there was this small… release, I guess. Like I could breathe a little easier. I don’t know if that makes sense.

When I got home, the apartment felt different. Still empty. Still missing you. But tonight, the silence didn’t scare me as much.

Dr. Han said speaking your grief makes it real but also survivable. Maybe she’s right.

I’m exhausted. But I’m still here. And I’m still writing to you.

Good night, Jisung.
I miss you. Always.

October 30

Dear Jisung,
I saw you last night. In my dream, you were standing at the end of our old hallway, the one with the crooked picture frame you always meant to fix. You were smiling, soft and gentle, like you used to when you caught me staring at you for too long. The light was warm behind you, and everything felt peaceful, too peaceful, like the world was holding its breath.

I walked toward you, but the hallway kept stretching, like it didn’t want me to reach you. I called your name, and this time you actually answered. “Minho,” you said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I almost cried right there. When I finally reached you, you took my hand. Your fingers were cold, but your touch felt real.

We didn’t say anything for a moment. Then you leaned your head on my shoulder and whispered, “I’m sorry.” I didn’t understand. Sorry for what? I tried to ask, but before I could, the light behind you flickered, and your smile began to fade. You looked at me with eyes full of something maybe love or regret, maybe both, and then you said: “You have to let me go.” I woke up with tears on my pillow and your name caught in my throat.

I couldn’t go to work today. I tried, I really did. I got dressed, even put on my shoes, but when I reached the door, my hands started shaking. My chest felt too tight, like I couldn’t get enough air. So I sat on the floor by the door and stayed there for a long time. Then I stood up, took my shoes off, and went back to bed. I didn’t call in. I just… disappeared for a day.

I don’t know if the dream was a gift or a punishment. Part of me is grateful I saw you, even if it wasn’t real. Another part of me wishes I hadn’t, because now I miss you even more than before. Is that possible? To miss someone more than completely?

I made tea but didn’t drink it. I tried writing your name again on the foggy window, but the glass stayed cold and clear. Maybe it’s too warm for fog.

October 31

Dear Jisung,
Happy Halloween. I don’t know if you can hear me or if these words just vanish into empty space, but I wanted to say it anyway. You always loved this day, said it was the perfect mix of mystery and sweetness. I keep thinking about our first Halloween together back in high school, when we weren’t even dating yet.

Do you remember? You wore that ridiculous vampire cape you bought for five dollars, and the fake fangs that made you lisp every time you talked. I spent the whole day pretending to be annoyed, but really, I couldn’t stop staring at you. We went to that cheap convenience store near the school and bought pumpkin candies that tasted like toothpaste and sugar, and you insisted we eat them all while sitting on the old swings behind the gym. You swung so high your shoes almost flew off, and I thought “If I could freeze one moment, it would be this one”. I didn’t tell you that, of course. I don’t think I had the courage then.

Today was… different. I didn’t go to work again. I couldn’t face the bright decorations and people pretending to be monsters when real grief already feels monstrous enough. I stayed in bed most of the morning. I told myself it was okay. That you would understand.

In the afternoon, Felix and Chan showed up at my door without warning. Felix was holding a bag of candy, and Chan had that patient smile he uses when he knows I’m about to say no. They didn’t give me time to argue, they just told me to put on my coat because I was coming over for dinner, no excuses. I almost refused. But something about the way they looked at me made me follow them.

Their apartment was warm, filled with the smell of roasted pumpkin and garlic. They had carved a lopsided jack-o’-lantern that looked a bit like you when you tried to cook and burned everything. We ate together. Nothing fancy, just pasta, salad, and too many sweets. And for the first time in a long while… I laughed. It felt strange, like borrowing someone else’s voice.

But afterward, the guilt hit me like a wave. How could I laugh when you’re not here? How could I enjoy anything when you can’t? I wanted to leave, to run back to the quiet of our apartment, but Felix caught my arm and said it was okay to smile. That missing you and being alive aren’t opposites. I didn’t answer him. I still don’t know if I believe it.

I’m home now. The streets are quiet, just a few leftover candy wrappers blowing in the wind. I lit a candle by our window for you. It flickers when I speak your name.

I miss you, Jisung. More than all the ghosts and monsters in the world combined.

November 1

Dear Jisung,
I went to see Dr. Han today. I almost cancelled, but I knew she would call if I didn’t show up and I didn’t want to explain why I couldn’t get out of bed again. So I went. I sat in her office, the one that always smells faintly like lavender and old books, and for a while, I said nothing. She didn’t push. She just waited, quietly, like she always does.

And then… I don’t even know what happened. One moment I was staring at the floor, and the next, it was like something inside me snapped. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I started talking about the dreams, the guilt, the fear of forgetting your voice, your laugh, the exact shape of your smile. And then I was crying. Not the quiet kind, but the kind that takes your breath away, that makes your chest hurt. I cried like I hadn’t allowed myself to since the day you were gone.

Dr. Han didn’t try to stop me. She didn’t tell me to calm down or hand me a box of tissues right away. She just said, softly, “Let it out, Minho. You’ve been holding too much for too long.” So I did. I cried until I couldn’t anymore. Until I felt empty and raw and strangely lighter, like I’d been dragging chains behind me and someone finally helped me loosen them.

She told me that grief isn’t something you outrun or hide from. It waits. It grows in silence. And the only way through it is to face it, even when it feels unbearable. I wanted to argue, to tell her she didn’t understand but I didn’t. Because a part of me knew she was right.

After the session, she suggested I take the rest of the day slowly. No expectations. No guilt. Just breathing. So I walked home instead of taking the bus. The air was cold, but it felt clean. Leaves crunched under my shoes, and I thought about how you used to drag your feet on purpose to make as much noise as possible, just to annoy me.

I’m tired now. My eyes hurt. But for the first time in a long while, the heaviness inside me feels… different. Not gone. But softer. Like maybe it’s okay to feel everything, even if it hurts.

I hope, wherever you are, you know I’m trying.

Good night, Jisung.

November 2

Dear Jisung,
I went to work today. It felt strange after everything that happened yesterday, but I told myself I had to try. The office looked the same; coffee cups, tapping keyboards, quiet conversations but somehow it all felt a little softer, like the world had lowered its voice for me.

People didn’t ask many questions. They just gave me small smiles, gentle nods. No one pushed. Even that was enough to make my chest ache a little. My boss called me into his office in the late morning. I thought I was in trouble for skipping work earlier this week, but he just looked at me with this tired kind of kindness and said, “Minho, you should take a few days off. Rest. Think about yourself for once.” I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded. I don’t know if I’ll actually take the time off, but it meant something that he noticed.

A bit later, Changbin showed up at my desk with a box wrapped in a napkin. He didn’t say anything at first, just placed it in front of me. Inside were homemade cookies, slightly uneven, some darker around the edges, but warm. He said he baked them last night and thought I might like some. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I tasted one. Sweet, buttery, a little bit like cinnamon. You would’ve liked them.

Changbin stayed beside me for a while. He didn’t talk much, but he helped me with a few tasks I’d fallen behind on like sorting files, answering emails. It was quiet, but not lonely. And for once, I didn’t feel like I was drowning under everything.

Still, there was a moment when I looked at the empty chair next to mine and imagined you there, teasing me for eating cookies before lunch. I almost smiled. Almost.

I don’t know if I’m getting better, or if I’m just getting used to the pain. But today, I worked. I ate. I wasn’t alone. Maybe that counts.

I’ll write again tomorrow.
I miss you, always.

November 4

Dear Jisung,
I’m sorry I didn’t write for the past two days. I promised I would keep talking to you, but everything felt too heavy to put into words. I took those days off from work like my boss suggested and went to Gimpo to my parents’ house. It was the first time I went there alone since you’ve been gone.

I thought maybe being with family would help. I thought the quiet countryside, the familiar walls, and my mother’s cooking might make things feel a little less sharp. I was wrong. If anything, it hurt more.

From the moment I walked in, there was an emptiness I couldn’t explain. My parents smiled, hugged me tightly, but their eyes looked uncertain like they were afraid I might break if they said the wrong thing. We sat in the living room, and that’s when I noticed it: the framed photo we took together was gone from the shelf. Not moved, not replaced. Just gone. They didn’t mention it, and I didn’t ask. The silence said enough.

We spent hours together without ever saying your name. Not once. Not even by accident. It was like everyone was tiptoeing around a ghost neither of us was brave enough to acknowledge. My mother asked if I was eating well. My father asked about work. Both avoided the one question hanging in the air: How are you, without him?

Even Soonie seemed confused. When I opened the front door, he stood still, staring at me with those big eyes like he was waiting for someone else to follow behind me. He kept wandering around the house, checking corners, sniffing at the doorway, as if he was looking for you. It broke something inside me. I picked him up and held him for a long time. He didn’t purr. He just stayed still, quiet.

I slept in my old room. The bed felt too big. I kept expecting to hear your footsteps in the hallway, the soft way you used to knock before coming in. But there was only silence. A heavy, suffocating kind of silence.

I came back home this afternoon. The apartment is still empty, but it feels more honest than pretending everything is normal. I think I understand now, being around people who avoid your name hurts more than being alone with your memory.

I miss you, Jisung. I miss you in crowded rooms and in quiet spaces. I miss you in every place we’ve ever been and every place we never will.

I’ll write again tomorrow. I promise.

November 5

Dear Jisung,
I’m back home now, and today felt quieter than usual, like the world is still adjusting after those days in Gimpo. I woke up later than I meant to. The apartment felt cold, the kind of cold that sits behind your ribs. I stayed in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself to move. Eventually, I did.

I made coffee still too bitter, still nothing like yours, and sat by the window while it cooled. Outside, the sky was pale and heavy, like it might rain. I watched people pass by on the street, bundled in scarves, walking with purpose. I wondered if anyone else felt this tired.

I didn’t go to work today either. I sent a short message to my boss, and he just replied: Take your time. I don’t know how much time I need. I don’t know if time even works the way people say it does.

I thought a lot today about Gimpo. About the way no one said your name. I keep hearing the empty space in every conversation, every unspoken memory. I know they meant well, they wanted to protect me. But I don’t want silence anymore. Silence feels like losing you all over again.

I tried to be productive this afternoon. I did laundry, cleaned the kitchen, even opened the windows to let in some air. The apartment smells fresher now, but there’s still something missing. You.

I don’t know what tomorrow will be. I might go back to work. I might not. But I’ll keep writing to you. Even if no one else says your name, I will.

I miss you, more than yesterday, just as much as tomorrow.

November 6

Dear Jisung,
I woke up before the sun today. Not because I wanted to, just because sleep keeps slipping away from me. For a while, I just lay there, listening to the quiet. It’s strange how loud silence can be when you’re alone with it.

I made myself get up, took a shower, and tried to look a little more like someone who’s still living. I even thought about going to work, but as soon as I stood by the door with my coat on, my chest tightened again. Not as badly as before, but enough to make me sit down and breathe slowly until it passed. I didn’t push it. I stayed home.

Instead, I spent the morning sorting through a few of our things. Not the big stuff just small, harmless things. Old movie tickets we kept in a jar. A bracelet you made for me in high school. The birthday card you wrote me last year. I thought it would make me smile, and it did but it also hurt in that deep, familiar way. I didn’t cry, though. I just let the memories sit beside me, like quiet company.

Around noon, Felix called. He didn’t ask why I wasn’t at work. He just asked if I’d eaten. I lied and said yes, and he pretended to believe me. Then he told me he and Chan were planning to stop by tomorrow evening with takeout, whether I liked it or not. I didn’t argue. Maybe I don’t have the strength to push people away anymore.

This afternoon, I took a short walk. The air was crisp, and the leaves on the ground were turning brown around the edges. I passed by the little park you liked, the one with the broken fountain. I didn’t go in, but I stood at the gate for a while. It felt like you were nearby, just out of sight.

Tonight, I’m tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes, but the kind that sits in your bones. Still, writing to you makes it feel a little less heavy.

I hope, wherever you are, you’re warm. I hope you’re not lonely.

Good night, Jisung.

November 7

Dear Jisung,
Today felt a little different not better, not worse, just clearer somehow. I woke up and, instead of lying in bed for ages, I opened the curtains. The morning light was pale, almost silver, and for a second, it made the room feel less like a place stuck in time.

I made toast and tea for breakfast. I tried to make the tea the way you liked it warm, not boiling, with just a little honey. I almost set out a second cup for you before I stopped myself. It’s strange how my hands remember things my heart still struggles to accept.

I didn’t go to work again, and i texted my boss again. I told him I’d try to come back next week. He wrote back saying: Take all the time you need. Just let us know you’re okay. I don’t know if I’m okay, but I appreciated the words.

The morning passed quietly. I picked up that book you once tried to get me to read, the one you said I’d love if I just gave it a chance. I only got through a few chapters, but it felt like having you beside me again, whispering your favorite parts.

In the afternoon, I cleaned a little. Changed the sheets, swept the floor, opened the windows to let in some fresh air. The room smelled like cold wind and laundry detergent. I left your pillow untouched. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to move it.

Then, around six, there was a knock. It was Felix and Chan, just like they said. Felix held bags of takeout, and Chan had a soft smile that said he wasn’t going to let me turn them away. They let themselves in when I didn’t speak right away. The apartment suddenly felt warmer, smaller, less hollow.

We ate together at the small table, the one you and I built when we first moved in. They didn’t tiptoe around your name. They didn’t force it either. They just talked about work, about how you’d laugh at how awkward they both were in the kitchen without you. I even smiled. Once or twice, I laughed.

And then the guilt came, sharp and sudden. How dare I laugh when you’re not here to laugh with me? But Chan looked at me and said softly, “It’s okay, Minho. He would want this. He’d want you to breathe.” Felix nodded, his eyes already glossy. I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. But I stayed. And that’s something, isn’t it?

They left an hour ago. The apartment is quiet again, but not as painfully quiet as before. They left the leftover food in the fridge, and a note on the counter that said: We’ll come by again soon. Rest tonight.

I lit a candle for you before writing this. The flame trembled a little when I said your name.

I miss you, Jisung. Every minute. In every room. Even when I laugh.

November 12

Dear Jisung,
I’m sorry I haven’t written to you in five days. I know I promised I would keep talking, but I couldn’t. I was scared of what might come out if I tried. Dr. Han says I’m entering the anger stage of grief, like it’s some scheduled stop on a train I never wanted to be on. I didn’t believe her at first. I told her I wasn’t angry. But I am. I think I’ve been angry for a while. I just didn’t want to admit it.

She told me something during our last session, something I still hate thinking about. She said that maybe, slowly, I should start letting go of some of your things. Not all at once. Just… a sweater. A book. A mug. She said it gently, like she was offering me a way to breathe again. But all I heard was: erase him. Move on.

And I got angry. Really angry.

I didn’t yell. I just stared at her and said nothing, but I could feel the heat under my skin. She kept saying it wasn’t about forgetting you, but about making room for myself again. I wanted to tell her I don’t want room if you’re not in it.

After that, I went home and didn’t leave the apartment. Not for five days. I ignored messages, didn’t answer calls. Felix knocked once, but I pretended I wasn’t here. I didn’t write to you because I was afraid, afraid I’d say something cruel, something unfair. Afraid that the anger would spill onto you, even though you don’t deserve it. You never did.

These past days, it’s been just me and the walls and the things you left behind. Your shoes by the door. Your jacket on the chair. The mug with the tiny crack that you refused to throw away. I looked at them and felt like I was choking. How can something so quiet make so much noise inside me?

I’m still angry. Angry that you’re gone. Angry that people want me to keep living. Angry that I have to figure out what to do with all this love that has nowhere to go now. But I’m writing again. And maybe that’s something.

I’m not ready to give away your things. I don’t know when or if I ever will be. But I needed to tell you this. Even if it hurts.

I miss you. I’m angry you’re not here. I love you. All of that is true at the same time.

November 13

Dear Jisung,
I went back to work today. It felt strange walking through the doors again after almost a week of silence, but I needed to move, anything to stop feeling stuck in my own head. The office looked the same, like time had been waiting for me to return. People smiled when they saw me, but no one said much, and I was grateful for that.

Hyunjin was there too. He sat at the desk across from mine, all energy and half-finished thoughts, just like always. He started telling me about the art project he’s preparing for something about a new exhibition at a small gallery downtown. He’s helping with the installation and seemed both nervous and excited. He showed me a few sketches on his tablet bright colors, wild shapes. It felt alive in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.

I let him talk. I didn’t have much to say, but listening to him helped. For a few hours, I wasn’t just the man people pitied; I was just Minho, nodding along to someone else’s dream. I think you would’ve liked the project. It’s abstract but strangely warm, like something you’d stand in front of for too long, just trying to figure out what it’s trying to say.

But in the afternoon, I had a doctor’s appointment a regular check-up, something routine. Still, just walking into the hospital made my stomach tighten. The smell of antiseptic, the sound of machines beeping faintly in the distance… I tried not to think about it, but of course, I did.

The white walls. The waiting room. The way everything was too bright. It all made me remember fragments of that night. The phone call. The drive. The cold feeling in my hands when we got there. I didn’t want to, but my mind went there anyway. I didn’t let it stay long. I can’t. Not yet.

The doctor said I look tired, but healthy. He asked if I was sleeping well. I lied and said yes. I don’t think he believed me, but he didn’t press. When I walked out of the hospital, the sun was already low. The air felt colder, sharper, like it wanted to wake me up.

I came home and sat by the window again. The city lights looked blurry through the glass, or maybe my eyes just wouldn’t focus. I tried not to think about the hospital, about that night, about everything that followed but grief has a way of sneaking back in when you least expect it.

Still, today I worked. I listened. I moved. That has to count for something.

I miss you, Jisung. Some days it’s quieter, but it never fades.

November 14

Dear Jisung,
I had my session with Dr. Han this morning. I didn’t plan to talk about that day but somehow we ended up there anyway. She asked about the hospital, about how I felt being there yesterday, and before I could stop myself, I started talking about the accident. Not in detail, just enough that my throat began to close up.

It’s strange, Jisung. I’ve avoided saying the words for so long that even thinking about them feels like standing too close to a fire. But she didn’t look away when I spoke. She just listened, quietly, like always. No notebook, no pen, just her eyes on me.

I told her how it was raining that morning. How you were driving because I’d been too tired. How we were arguing about something small so small I can’t even remember what it was now. I told her how we laughed a few minutes later, because we always did. And then… nothing. Just the sound of tires on wet asphalt, and the blur of everything that followed.

She said something that stayed with me. She said, “Minho, maybe part of why you struggle to go to work isn’t just because of grief, it’s because that was where you were headed that day. Your body remembers even when your mind tries to forget.”

And she’s right. Every time I reach for my keys in the morning, my chest tightens. I thought it was just anxiety, but maybe it’s memory. Maybe every part of me still expects you to be there in the driver’s seat, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm of whatever song was playing.

Dr. Han told me that trauma anchors itself to places, to routines, to things as simple as a drive to work. She said healing isn’t about forcing myself to “move on,” but about learning to live with those ghosts without letting them control me. I want to believe her, but it’s hard. How do you keep driving down a road that took the person you love away from you?

I left her office feeling hollow. The walk home was long, but quiet. The city felt too bright, too alive. People rushing, cars honking, everything just moving forward like nothing ever happened. It made me angry for a moment. Then just tired.

When I got home, I sat outside for a while before going upstairs. I kept staring at the road, and for a second, I swear I could see your reflection in the sky. Just a flicker, but enough to make my heart stop.

I miss you, Jisung. And now, I think I finally understand why going to work feels like driving through a memory I can’t escape. But maybe tomorrow, I’ll try again. Maybe.

November 16

Dear Jisung,
I went to the lot today. The one where they’ve been keeping the car. Dr. Han said it might help to see it one last time, to sign the final papers and close that part of the story. I’ve been putting it off for months, but this morning I woke up and knew I couldn’t avoid it any longer.

The sky was grey, not raining, but close to it. The air smelled like metal and oil, and every sound felt muffled. The man at the counter recognized my name. He didn’t ask questions, just handed me a clipboard with the release forms and said, “Take your time.” I think he could tell.

The car was parked at the far end of the lot, behind a row of twisted metal and glass. It looked smaller than I remembered, quieter. The front was still dented, but most of the damage had already been stripped away. Standing there, it didn’t look like a tragedy anymore, it looked like something that had finally stopped hurting.

I ran my hand along the door before opening it. The smell hit me first. Not the harsh chemical scent from the repairs, but something faintly familiar, your cologne mixed with old rain. My throat tightened, but I didn’t cry. Not right away.

I sat inside for a long time. The seat was cold. Everything was still, like time had frozen the moment you left it. I could almost see you sitting there again, one hand on the wheel, one on the radio dial, smiling that sleepy morning smile you always had.

I don’t know what made me look under the passenger seat, but I did. And there it was, the bracelet. The one we bought together, the pair of them made from volcanic stone. Yours had the small silver bead on it. I remember how you said the black stones reminded you of the sea solid and calm, like you wanted us to be.

It’s strange. Everything else broke that day, but this tiny thing survived. Not even scratched. I held it in my hand for a long time, feeling its weight, its warmth. For a second, I thought maybe it was a sign. Maybe something telling me that not everything ends in wreckage. That some pieces, somehow, make it through.

I signed the papers, handed them back, and walked away without looking behind me. It felt wrong, like leaving you behind all over again but at the same time, a small part of me felt lighter. Maybe letting the car go doesn’t mean letting you go. Maybe it just means I’m finally letting go of the pain tied to it.

I’m wearing the bracelet now. It feels strange, heavy in a comforting way. Like a reminder that something of you is still here, still solid, still surviving.

I miss you, Jisung. But today, for the first time, I think I also felt you with me not in the pain, but in the quiet that came after.

November 17

Dear Jisung,
Three months.

I don’t know how that much time has passed, or how it keeps moving when you don’t. Today is your day, the seventeenth. The date I can’t forget, even when I try. I woke up with that heavy feeling in my chest before I even opened my eyes. The kind that doesn’t go away, no matter how deep you breathe.

I didn’t do much today. I didn’t go to work, didn’t talk to anyone. I just stayed home and let the quiet fill the space. It felt right somehow just you and me, like before, but with the world a little dimmer.

I lit the candle again. The same one I light every night when I write to you. The flame trembled for a moment before steadying, and I took it as a sign to start writing, even if I didn’t have much to say.

I hope you’re somewhere peaceful. I hope it’s warm there. I hope you’re surrounded by the things you loved like the sound of the sea, the smell of fresh coffee, maybe even a cat or two.

Three months. It feels like forever and yesterday all at once.

I miss you, Jisung. I always will.
I just hope, wherever you are, you’re okay.

November 20

Dear Jisung,
Today was… surprisingly okay. Maybe even good, if I’m allowed to say that.

I went back to work this morning. For once, the air didn’t feel so heavy when I walked in. People greeted me the same way they used to before everything happened, no pity in their eyes this time, just the usual tired smiles of people surviving another work day. It felt normal. And I didn’t realize how much I missed normal.

Hyunjin came by my desk again, this time with his hair tied back and a coffee for me. He said his art project is almost finished and that he wants me to come to the opening next month. I told him I’d think about it. I meant it, too.

The hours went by faster than usual. I got work done, actually finished a report without zoning out. When my boss stopped by to check on me, he looked genuinely surprised, in a good way. Before I could pack up to go home, he reminded me about the company dinner tonight. My first instinct was to make an excuse, but then I thought… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go. So I did.

It wasn’t bad. The restaurant was loud, crowded with laughter and clinking glasses, but for once, I didn’t feel like I was outside of it all. Felix sat next to me and kept sneaking extra dumplings onto my plate when he thought I wasn’t looking. Changbin made everyone laugh so hard the manager had to come over twice to quiet us down. And me…I laughed, too. Not a fake one, not a small polite smile. A real laugh. It felt strange at first, but then it just… felt right.

I thought of you a few times, of course. You always liked nights like this with food, noise, warmth. The kind of chaos that made life feel full. For a second, I imagined you there, sitting across the table, smiling at how clumsy everyone was with the chopsticks after a few drinks. I didn’t feel sad, though. Just grateful.

When I walked home afterward, the air was cold but clear. The city lights were soft, not overwhelming like they used to be. I realized I wasn’t holding my breath anymore.

I miss you, Jisung. I probably always will. But tonight, it felt like maybe missing you doesn’t have to mean being miserable forever. Maybe it can mean carrying you with me while I keep moving forward.

Good Night

November 21

Dear Jisung,
It’s Saturday. I actually left the house today with the others. Felix, Chan, Hyunjin, and Changbin. We’d been talking for weeks about doing something together again, “like old times,” and this morning I finally said yes. I wasn’t sure if I was ready, but I didn’t want to keep saying no to life anymore.

We met downtown in the early afternoon. The air was crisp, the kind that makes your hands cold but wakes you up at the same time. Chan had already picked a restaurant, some cozy Korean barbecue place that smelled like smoke and laughter from outside. Walking in with them felt strange at first, like stepping into an old photograph that’s missing a corner. But once we sat down, things started to feel almost natural.

It was fun. Loud. Familiar. Hyunjin spilled water all over the grill, Felix kept burning the meat, and Changbin wouldn’t stop complaining about it. Chan just laughed until his eyes disappeared. For a moment, I forgot the months between us and it felt like we’d never drifted apart.

But then someone mentioned you. I think it was Felix. He said, “Remember that night Jisung got stuck in the elevator after the party?” And suddenly, we were all laughing so hard we couldn’t breathe. God, I hadn’t thought about that in so long. You were drunk and somehow managed to hit the wrong floor button about six times before the elevator stopped between levels. You kept calling me, slurring nonsense, insisting that the walls were “breathing.” It took Chan and me almost an hour to convince the guard to open the doors. You came out smiling, holding an empty soju bottle like it was a trophy.

We were laughing, but it wasn’t sad laughter. It was the kind that hurts in the best way, the kind that reminds you someone was real, that they lived, that they made you happy. For a while, that was enough.

When we left the restaurant, we walked by the river. The city lights reflected on the water, and everything looked softer. Felix slipped his arm through mine, and we just walked in silence for a bit. I could feel them all thinking about you, each in their own quiet way. No one said anything, but we didn’t have to. You were there with us. I could feel it.

It was melancholic, yes but not unbearable. More like standing in a familiar shadow that doesn’t scare me anymore.

I miss you, Jisung. But tonight, I also remembered how much joy you brought into the world. And somehow, that made the missing a little easier to carry.

November 23

Dear Jisung,
Today was harder than I expected. I had another session with Dr. Han, and for the first time, I told her everything about the accident. I didn’t plan to. I just started talking, and once it began, I couldn’t stop.

She asked if I remembered the moments before it happened. I told her I did. Too well. The sound of the rain hitting the windshield. The music playing, our playlist, the one we always used for long drives. You were singing under your breath, off-key as usual, and I teased you for it. You threw a tissue at me. We laughed. It was such an ordinary moment. And then nothing ordinary after that.

I told her how the car slid, how the tires lost grip on the wet road, how fast everything happened. I can still feel it sometimes, the lurch in my stomach, the screech of metal, your voice shouting my name. I told her about waking up to the sound of sirens and seeing you slumped forward, not moving. How I tried to reach for you, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

I told her I screamed your name until my throat hurt, that I thought if I just called louder, you’d open your eyes. But you didn’t. You never did.

Dr. Han didn’t interrupt. She just let me speak, and when I finished, the room was so quiet I could hear the clock ticking. I didn’t realize I was crying until she handed me a tissue. She said the words I’ve been avoiding for three months: “It wasn’t your fault.”

I wanted to believe her. I really did. But all I could think about was how I was the one who told you to take the car that day. I was the one who said I was too tired to drive. I was the one who lived.

She said survivor’s guilt is a cruel kind of love that keeps you tied to the person you lost because it feels like a way of staying close to them. But she also said that guilt isn’t loyalty. It’s just pain wearing a disguise.

I sat there for a long time after that, trying to breathe. The truth is, part of me feels like I don’t deserve to heal. You were always better at seeing light in things. I still only see the cracks.

But maybe talking about it was the first step. For months I couldn’t even say the words “the accident” without feeling like I’d break. Today I said them all, every one of them, and I’m still here. Shaking, but here.

I hope, wherever you are, you know I never stopped loving you. That if I could’ve traded places, I would have. Every single time.

I miss you, Jisung. More than words can ever fix.

November 24

Dear Jisung,
I had a funny thought today, and I could almost hear you laughing at me for it.

I was sitting on the couch this evening, writing in this same notebook, and I suddenly wondered, what if you are actually here? Like, all the time. Just… watching. Not in a creepy ghost way, but in the quiet, comforting way you always used to look at me when you thought I wasn’t paying attention. What if you’ve been around through everything listening to me ramble, watching me mess up?

And if that’s true, then I guess you already know everything I write here. Which means you’re probably rolling your eyes right now, thinking, “Minho, why are you writing all this if I’ve seen it already?”

Maybe this diary is just for me then, for the part of me that still needs to believe I’m talking to you instead of just to the air. Still, it’s funny to imagine you stuck reading this every night like it’s homework. Sorry, baby. I hope it’s at least decent entertainment.

If you really are here, then you’ve seen me almost burn my dinner tonight because I got distracted by a song on TV that reminded me of you. You’ve seen me stare too long at the candle again, like I’m waiting for it to flicker in some special way.

I like to think you’re laughing sometimes. Maybe you roll your eyes when I forget to fold the laundry. Maybe you shake your head when I talk to my plants like they can answer. Maybe you even sing along when I hum while washing dishes. The thought makes me smile.

I don’t know if any of that is real. Maybe it’s just my brain’s way of missing you less. But tonight, the idea of you being here, seeing everything, even this stupid diary, feels almost… comforting.

If you really are reading this over my shoulder, I hope you know that I’m trying. I’m eating better, working more, sleeping sometimes. I still cry, but not every night. That’s progress, right?

And if you’re watching please, just don’t judge the mess in the kitchen. You know I was never good at keeping it clean without you.

I miss you, Jisung. But tonight, I can almost feel you here. And for once, that thought makes me smile instead of break.

November 25

Dear Jisung,
Something different happened today. For the first time in months, it wasn’t me who fell apart, it was Hyunjin.

We met for coffee after work. He’d texted me out of nowhere, saying he needed to get out of the house. At first he was his usual self with his dramatic hand gestures, too-loud laugh, talking about how stressed he was over the gallery opening. But halfway through his latte, something shifted. His voice got quiet, his eyes kind of glassy, and then suddenly he was crying. Just like that.

I didn’t even know what to do. I’ve never seen Hyunjin cry like that before. He’s always been proud, fiery, impossible to pin down. You remember how you two used to argue over the stupidest things? Music, fashion, even which ramen brand was better. You’d both act like mortal enemies for an hour, and then, five minutes later, you’d be sharing snacks on the couch like nothing happened.

So seeing him break like that hit me harder than I expected. He said he’d been trying not to think about you because every time he did, he’d get angry at himself for missing you. He said he thought the fights you two had meant you didn’t really get along, but now he realizes it was just your way of caring about each other. He said he never told you how much he respected you for your honesty, for how you never stayed mad for long, for how you always looked out for him even when he didn’t deserve it.

He kept saying, “I didn’t think I’d cry for him,” over and over. And I just sat there, holding his hand across the table while he tried to wipe his face with a napkin that fell apart in his fingers. I told him you’d probably be laughing at the sight of him sobbing in a coffee shop, ruining his eyeliner. That made him laugh through the tears.

It was strange, Jisung. Comforting someone else about you. Usually it’s the other way around. But somehow, it felt good. Like sharing the grief made it lighter for both of us. I didn’t feel alone in missing you.

When we left, Hyunjin hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe. He said, “He’d be proud of you, you know.” I didn’t say anything then, but I’ve been thinking about it ever since. Maybe he’s right.

Maybe you’d be proud of both of us.

December 2

Dear Jisung,
It’s been a week since I last wrote to you, seven whole days. I’m sorry. For a while, I felt guilty about it, like not writing meant I was forgetting you. But Dr. Han said something that made me think differently.

She told me that maybe the reason I haven’t been writing as often is because I’m finally starting to live again. She said keeping busy doesn’t mean I’m running away from the grief, it means I’m learning how to hold it without letting it drown me.

And I guess she’s right. This past week has been… full. Work’s been hectic with deadlines, endless meetings, the usual chaos. I stayed late a few nights, grabbed takeout with Felix once or twice, even helped Hyunjin hang some of his pieces for the gallery show. It felt strange at first doing things that didn’t revolve around missing you, but it also felt good. Like breathing in sunlight after months of cold air.

I still think about you every day, though. It’s not like that’s changed. You show up in small ways, when I make coffee and use your favorite mug or when I hear a song you loved. You’re still here, just softer now, woven into everything.

Dr. Han said that’s what healing looks like. Not forgetting, but remembering without falling apart every time.

So yeah, I’ve been busy. Living, I guess. That still feels strange to write. But I think you’d like knowing that I’m trying. You always said I was terrible at taking care of myself, so maybe this is my way of proving you wrong for once.

I miss you, Jisung. That hasn’t changed. I just… don’t break every time I say it anymore.

December 3

Dear Jisung,
Today was one of those rare days that felt almost like a memory from before; bright, warm, and a little chaotic in the best way.

Felix, Chan, Changbin, and I took the early train to Busan for Hyunjin’s art exhibition. He’s been working on it for months, and I think we all knew how much it meant to him. The ride down was full of noise, Felix humming under his breath, Changbin complaining about the train snacks, Chan trying to keep everyone from dozing off before we even left Seoul. For a while, I just sat there listening to them, watching the scenery blur past the window. It felt peaceful. I almost forgot how heavy things used to feel.

When we arrived, Busan greeted us with that salty breeze you loved so much. The city felt alive, golden in the morning light. Hyunjin met us at the station, practically glowing with nerves and pride. He looked so different from the last time I saw him cry in that coffee shop, like he’d built something out of his sadness and turned it into light.

The gallery was small but beautiful. His art was everywhere with bold colors, sharp lines, textures that seemed to hum if you stared long enough. One of the installations caught me completely off guard, though. It was a series of mirrors, cracked but polished, hanging from the ceiling. He called it “Fragments.” He said it was about how loss doesn’t just break you, it reshapes you. I don’t know if he meant it for you, but when I stood there surrounded by reflections, I thought of us.

After the show, we spent the rest of the day wandering around the city, street food by the beach, coffee shops tucked into side streets, endless laughter. Felix spilled ice cream all over himself, Chan tried to convince us to take a group photo, and Changbin nearly fell into the water trying to skip a rock. You would’ve laughed so hard, Jisung.

And you know what? So did I. Really laughed. Not the careful kind I used to force when people looked at me, but the real kind that comes from somewhere deep, somewhere healing. For the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like I was betraying you by being happy.

On the train ride home, the others fell asleep, one by one. I watched the lights flicker past and thought about how proud you’d be of all of us, especially Hyunjin. He’s still a mess, but a brilliant one.

I miss you, Jisung. But today, I felt you with us in the laughter, in the wind off the sea, in the quiet moments when everything just felt okay.

December 4

Dear Jisung,
I don’t have anything heavy to tell you tonight. Just… gossip. You’d love that, wouldn’t you? You always said I was terrible at keeping up with people’s drama, so think of this as my effort to do better.

First of all, Chan and Felix. Oh my god, Jisung, they’re so obvious. I don’t even know if they’re still trying to keep it a secret at this point. The way Felix looks at Chan when he talks? It’s like he’s watching his favorite song come to life. And Chan, for all his “I’m just taking care of the team” talk, can’t stop smiling whenever Felix is around. It’s actually kind of ridiculous. They even share food now without pretending it’s no big deal. You’d tease them mercilessly if you were here. I can hear you laughing already.

Then there’s Changbin. Poor guy. He told me he and Seungmin broke up last week. He tried to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal, said they needed “space.” But the way he talks about him… yeah, no one’s buying it. You know how he gets when he’s pretending not to care. He mentioned that Seungmin dropped off his favorite hoodie “by accident,” which tells me everything I need to know. I’m calling it now, they’ll be back together within a month. Two, max.

And Hyunjin… well. I think he has a crush. I won’t say who (I can practically hear you groaning, but too bad, it’s my secret for now). Let’s just say he gets that look in his eyes again. The one he used to have when he was trying to pretend he wasn’t blushing. He’s softer these days, more grounded. It’s nice to see. I think you’d be proud of how much he’s grown.

It feels good, you know? Talking about everyone like this. For a long time, it was like life stopped when you left. Like everything froze in that one moment. But now, people are moving again; loving, hurting, healing. And I guess I am too.

Still, I miss having you here to roll your eyes at all of it. You’d probably have an entire theory about Chan and Felix’s “slow burn” romance and a snarky nickname for Hyunjin’s crush. God, you were always so dramatic about other people’s love lives.

Anyway, that’s all for today’s episode of ‘Minho’s Life and Everyone Else’s Romantic Disasters’

I miss you, but tonight it feels more like I’m sharing a story with you than reaching into the dark. And that’s something.

December 7

Dear Jisung,
I know, I know. I disappeared again for a few days. I can almost hear you scolding me, telling me I’m “the worst at keeping habits.” But this time, I promise I have a good reason.

Something happened at work, something that caught me completely off guard. My boss called me into his office a few days ago, and I thought I was in trouble for missing a deadline again. But instead, he handed me a folder. It was old and a little worn, with your handwriting on the front.

It was your project, Jisung. The one you were working on before… before everything. The aquarium billboard campaign. I didn’t even know they still had it saved. Apparently, they’d shelved it after the accident, no one felt right finishing it without you.

My boss said they were revisiting some old drafts and came across yours. He told me, “It’s beautiful. It deserves to be finished. And I think you’re the only one who could do it justice.”

For a second, I couldn’t even breathe. Just seeing your sketches again; the swirling blues, the way you layered light over the water to make it look alive, it was like you were standing right there next to me, explaining it like you always did, hands moving everywhere. I didn’t know whether to smile or cry, so I did both.

They want to release the campaign early next year. My boss said he thought it would be meaningful if I completed it, as a tribute to you. I said yes before I even had time to think.

So that’s what I’ve been doing these past three days: going through your files, reading your notes, trying to see things the way you saw them. And, Jisung, it’s like stepping into your mind again. You were so meticulous, so full of ideas. Every brushstroke feels like a conversation with you.

It’s hard, though. Some moments I just sit there, staring at your handwriting, and my chest aches in that old familiar way. But then I start working again, and it feels like we’re collaborating, like we’re creating something together one last time.

Dr. Han says this could be healing for me. She’s probably right. But honestly, it just feels… right. Like finishing a sentence you started, making sure your voice is heard.

I’m going to do it justice, Jisung. I promise. It’s going to be beautiful, just like you intended. Maybe even better, because it’ll carry both of us in it.

I miss you. But working on this, I feel close to you again. And I think you’d like that.

December 8

Dear Jisung,
You’ll never guess who I ran into today, your mom.

I was at the supermarket, of all places, just grabbing some groceries after work. I was half-asleep, standing in front of the produce aisle trying to remember whether I needed onions or garlic, when I heard someone say my name. I turned around, and there she was, holding a basket and smiling that same gentle smile you had.

For a second, I froze. I hadn’t seen her in months, not since the funeral. I didn’t know what to say. But she walked right up and hugged me before I could even think. It wasn’t awkward or painful like I expected, it was warm, familiar.

We ended up walking through the aisles together, talking. She asked how I was doing, and for the first time, I could tell her honestly that I’m… okay. Not healed, not fine, but okay. She nodded like she already knew.

She told me she’s been trying to keep busy too with gardening, cooking, volunteering at the library. She said sometimes she still forgets and sets an extra plate at dinner, then catches herself and laughs through the tears. I told her I still talk to you through this diary, and she said that sounded exactly like something you’d have wanted me to do.

We even talked about you. About the time you burned the rice and tried to blame the stove. About the way you used to hum when you were focused. About how you always left your socks everywhere. She laughed at that one. It felt so strange and beautiful, Jisung, to laugh about you instead of just crying.

At one point, she touched my arm and said, “You loved him so well, Minho. You still do. He’d be happy to know you’re smiling again.” I didn’t know what to say. I just smiled back, and somehow, it felt easy.

Before we said goodbye, she made me promise to come visit for dinner sometime soon. I think I will. It doesn’t scare me the way it used to. Maybe it’ll even feel like coming home.

It’s funny, talking to her didn’t break me like I thought it would. It healed something small instead. Like a quiet piece of the world fell back into place.

I miss you, Jisung. But today, for the first time, remembering you made me smile more than it made me ache. And I think your mom felt that too.

December 9

Dear Jisung,
I saw you again last night.

It was the same dream, the same long corridor from before, the one with the pale light and the soft hum that sounds like the ocean in the distance. You were standing there at the far end, just like last time. For a moment, I felt that same instinct, that pull to run toward you, to reach you before you disappeared.

But I didn’t.

You looked at me, and I smiled. And then I turned around and started walking the other way. Not out of anger or fear, but because it just felt right. There was something different this time, something calmer. I didn’t feel desperate to catch you. I felt like you already knew everything I wanted to say.

As I walked down the opposite side of the corridor, I saw your project. The aquarium design. The one I’ve been finishing for you. It was hanging there, larger than life, lit by that soft, blue glow you loved so much. The light rippled like real water, and for a second, I could hear the sounds of the sea.

I stopped in front of it, and somehow, I just knew. You were behind me, watching, smiling.

When I woke up, the morning light was spilling through the curtains, and I felt… peaceful. Really peaceful, for the first time since you’ve been gone. It wasn’t that the pain disappeared, it just wasn’t the only thing I felt anymore.

Dr. Han always says dreams are a way of letting go, but I don’t think that’s what this was. It didn’t feel like saying goodbye. It felt like… moving forward, with you still beside me somehow.

I’m going to focus on the project now. Really focus. My boss wants the final draft by the end of the month, and I want it to be perfect for you, for both of us.

So, I might not write for a few days. Not because I’m forgetting you, never that. I just want to pour everything I have into this. I want to make something beautiful enough that if you saw it, you’d smile the way you used to when you were proud of me.

Stay close, okay? I’ll finish this for you.

December 16

Dear Jisung,
It’s been a week since I last wrote, and I can finally tell you, I’ve made real progress on the project.

Your aquarium design is coming together so beautifully, Jisung. Every time I open the file, I still feel that pang in my chest, but now it’s mixed with something lighter, something almost like pride. I can finally see what you wanted it to be: the light, the movement, the feeling of calm that comes from watching something alive and endless. You always said water was your favorite thing to design because it never looks the same twice. Now I understand what you meant.

And guess who’s been helping me? Hyunjin.

He stopped by the office a few days ago, “just to check in,” and before I knew it, he was sitting beside me with his tablet, sketching out ideas for the color gradients. He said he wanted to “honor the original artist properly,” which made me laugh because I could hear his pride and shyness fighting each other in that one sentence. He’s got such a good eye for composition, though. You’d be impressed by how much he’s grown, he’s more patient now, more thoughtful with his work.

We’ve spent a few late evenings at our place, adjusting lighting tones and layering textures. The room gets quiet sometimes, and I catch him glancing at one of your old sketches taped on the wall. He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell he feels it too, the weight, the love, the memory.

He even said something yesterday that stuck with me: “It feels like he’s still here, you know? Like he’s guiding our hands.” I didn’t answer, but inside, I knew he was right. Sometimes, when I’m deep in the work, it feels like I can almost hear you, your quiet hum when you were thinking, the way you’d snap your fingers when an idea clicked.

The billboard mockup is almost done now. Just a few finishing touches left, some lighting adjustments, the typography, and maybe a soft reflection effect on the water. It’s coming together exactly the way you would’ve wanted. Maybe even better, because it’s not just yours anymore. It’s ours.

I think you’d like that.

I’ll keep going, Jisung. I’m going to make it perfect. For you. For me. For all the love that still lives between the lines of every color you left behind.

December 17

Dear Jisung,
Four months.

It still feels strange to write that number. Four months since the world turned quiet, and somehow I’m still here, still writing to you, still trying to make sense of everything you left behind.

I went to the park today, the one you loved so much, with the broken fountain that’s still broken, by the way. You’d roll your eyes at that. They’ve repainted the benches, but the cracks in the marble and the little patches of moss are still there, clinging stubbornly like they belong. I guess in a way, they do.

I didn’t just stand by the gate this time. I went in. I walked all the way to the fountain and sat on the edge. The stone was cold under me, but it felt grounding somehow, like it remembered us.

And, Jisung… I laughed. Out loud. Because sitting there, I remembered that night. You remember, don’t you? It was late, way past midnight, and we were half-drunk on cheap wine and summer air. You said the park looked “magical at night,” and I said it looked like a bad horror movie set. We argued, you climbed up onto the fountain just to prove it was “romantic,” and well, let’s just say things got carried away.

God, we were ridiculous. The water was off, but somehow we still managed to get soaked. You kept whispering, “We’re going to get arrested,” and then laughing so hard you couldn’t even keep quiet. I remember thinking I’d never seen you so happy.

Sitting there today, I could almost hear your laugh echoing in the air. It didn’t hurt this time. It just… made me warm. Like you were right there beside me, teasing me for getting sentimental.

Four months, Jisung. I miss you, but I’m learning to carry you differently now. You’re not just in the pain anymore, you’re in the laughter, the memories, the small, ordinary moments that still make me smile.

I don’t know what comes next. Maybe I’ll come back here again when the fountain finally works. Maybe I’ll bring flowers, or maybe just myself.

Either way, I think you’d like to know I’m okay. Really okay this time.

December 19

Dear Jisung,
Okay more gossip. I swear, you’d be living for this if you were here. You’d probably make popcorn and force me to start from the very beginning, pretending you weren’t that invested even though you absolutely were.

So…Hyunjin has a boyfriend.

Yeah, you read that right. Mr. “Love Is a Distraction” himself is officially taken. He called me, Chan, Felix, and Changbin last night saying, “I have something to tell you guys, but you have to promise not to freak out.” Which, obviously, guaranteed that we would all freak out.

We met at that little café by the river, the one with the mismatched chairs you always said looked like an art project gone wrong. Hyunjin showed up a few minutes late, looking nervous but also kind of glowing. And then he introduced us to Jeongin.

He works at the bar under our office building, can you believe that? All this time, Hyunjin was probably ordering lattes and secretly falling in love. Jeongin’s sweet, Jisung. He’s got this calm energy, polite but confident. His face has these sharp, fox-like features with narrow eyes that look like they’re always on the edge of a smile. You would’ve said he looks like he’s plotting something, but in a cute way.

The two of them together were… honestly kind of perfect. Jeongin kept refilling Hyunjin’s drink without even asking, and Hyunjin kept doing that quiet thing where he watches someone like they’re the most interesting thing in the room. It was weird seeing him like that, but it suits him.

Chan and Felix were already teasing them before the food even arrived. Felix kept whispering, “He’s so small and cute,” and Hyunjin nearly kicked him under the table. Changbin, of course, went into full big-brother mode and asked Jeongin about his job, his hobbies, his intentions, you can imagine how that went.

By the end of the night, everyone was laughing. And I caught myself thinking that you would’ve loved this scene. The noise, the warmth, the way everyone fit together. For a moment, it felt like nothing was missing. Like the world had found a bit of its rhythm again.

You’d like Jeongin, I think. He has that quiet humor you always appreciated. And he makes Hyunjin happy, that’s all that really matters.

Anyway, I guess that’s the latest chapter in our collective chaos. It feels nice to tell you these things again, like I’m letting you in on the small joys of everyday life.

I miss you, but I think you’d be proud of how everyone’s living. How I’m living.
Maybe that’s what you wanted all along.

December 20

Dear Jisung,
I had dinner with your parents tonight.

Your mom called me this morning, said she’d made too much japchae and that your dad had been asking if I’d stop by soon. I hesitated for a second, but something in her voice sounded warm, easy. So I said yes.

When I got there, it felt strange at first. The last time I’d stepped into that apartment, it felt like walking into a memory that was too heavy to hold. But tonight, it was different. There was music playing softly from the kitchen, the kind your dad always liked, and the smell of sesame oil and garlic filled the air. It smelled like home.

We ate together, talked about simple things. It was… normal. Comfortably normal. And then, halfway through dessert, your mom mentioned that she still had a few of your things, some sweaters, a box of old sketchbooks, and wondered if I wanted to bring them home.

For a moment, I froze. The idea of touching your things again, of going through them, it used to terrify me. I thought it would feel like losing you all over again. But tonight, it didn’t.

Instead, I found myself saying, “Actually, I’ve been thinking about sorting through his stuff too.”

Your mom smiled and said she thought that was a good idea. She offered to take some of your clothes, to keep them or donate them, whatever felt right. So after dinner, I went home, opened the closet, and started folding.

It wasn’t as hard as I imagined. Don’t get me wrong, there were moments that caught me off guard, like when I found your old hoodie with the paint stain on the sleeve, or that ridiculous shirt you loved even though it was two sizes too big. But mostly… it felt peaceful.

I packed a few boxes for your parents, things I know they’ll treasure. The rest, I think I’m ready to let go of, bit by bit. Not because you don’t matter anymore, but because I finally understand that letting go of the things doesn’t mean letting go of you.

Your mom hugged me when I dropped off the boxes. She didn’t say much, but I could tell she was proud of me. And, Jisung, I think I was proud of me too.

The room feels lighter now. Quieter, but not empty. More like… it’s making space for new air, new light.

I miss you, always. But tonight, for the first time, I felt like I was honoring you by moving forward, not just holding on.

December 22

Dear Jisung,
I spent most of today working on your project again. Or…I guess I should start saying our project. It’s almost finished now. I can hardly believe it.

I added the final touches to the color balance this morning, the way the light filters through the water, soft and layered like sunlight breaking through waves. I think you would’ve liked it. No, actually, I know you would have stopped everything to point out how “the gradients finally breathe.” That was your thing, you always said light should breathe, like it’s alive.

Hyunjin came by in the afternoon to take a last look before the final presentation. He didn’t say much, but the way he nodded told me everything. When I asked what he thought, he just said, “It feels like him.” That was all I needed to hear.

It’s strange… finishing this feels a little like closing a door I’ve been afraid to touch. But it’s not sad. It feels gentle, like the right kind of ending.

And now, the holidays are coming. I’ve decided I’m going to Gimpo to spend them with my parents. It’s the first time I’ll be there for Christmas without you. The thought still stings, but I think it’s time.

I’ll tell you how it goes, okay? I’m sure it’ll be bittersweet, but I think it’ll also be healing in some way.

The project. The trip. The quiet.
Everything feels like it’s settling into place now, like life is finally starting to move forward again, gently but surely.

I’ll write again soon, I promise.
Always with you, even as I keep walking.

December 26

Dear Jisung,
Merry Christmas, well, a little late. I forgot my diary in Seoul when I went to Gimpo, so I couldn’t write to you until I got back today. But you were on my mind the whole time.

It was good being home. Different, but good. The house felt warmer than I remembered, maybe because I wasn’t walking through it like a ghost this time. Mom hugged me so tight when I arrived I could barely breathe, and Dad pretended not to tear up, but I saw it anyway.

And you know what, Jisung? Mom put our photo back in the living room. The one from that day at the lake, the picture you said made your smile look “too big.” It’s right back where it used to be, framed between the family photos. For a moment, I just stood there staring at it. I didn’t cry. I just… smiled.

We talked about you. Carefully, at first like everyone was afraid the words might break something. But then I told them that if you were there, you’d roll your eyes and say, “Why are you all acting like I’m a ghost in the attic?” That made them laugh.

I told them it’s okay to talk about you, that you’d want to be remembered out loud, not in whispers. And, for once, everyone relaxed. Mom told me she still keeps your birthday marked on the calendar. Dad said he sometimes still expects you to show up at the door, asking if there’s any kimchi left. It hurt to hear, but it also felt… honest. Human. Real.

It was a gentle Christmas. Quiet, but full of small warmths. The kind you’d have liked.

Oh and I was so right about Changbin and Seungmin. Guess who spent the holidays together? Yep. Apparently, Seungmin showed up at Changbin’s door with a gift and that was it, they were inseparable again. I could almost hear your “I told you so.” You would’ve teased them endlessly.

I’m back in Seoul now. The city feels cold, but the kind of cold that makes you want to move forward, not hide away. I’m proud of myself, Jisung. For going home. For talking about you. For remembering you with more light than pain this time.

I miss you. Always will. But this Christmas, it finally felt like love instead of loss.

December 27

Dear Jisung,
I don’t have much to say tonight, but I didn’t want to skip a day.

The project is finally done. Completely done. My boss said he’ll be sending it to the aquarium’s director this week for final approval. I can’t even describe how strange it feels to be finished, like I’ve just stepped out of a long tunnel into open air. I looked at the last render before exporting it and just sat there for a minute, staring at the way the light moves through the water. I think it’s exactly what you would’ve wanted. Peaceful. Bright. Alive.

Anyway, today I went shopping with Felix. We needed to get a few things for New Year’s, and honestly, I think he just wanted an excuse to drag me outside. It was snowing, those soft, slow flakes that make everything feel quiet and cinematic. Felix kept trying to catch them on his eyelashes and laughing like a kid. I wish you could’ve seen him.

Oh and you’re going to love this. We were walking through the city center when Felix suddenly grabbed my arm and went, “Wait don’t look now, but look.” Obviously, I looked immediately. And there they were: Changbin and Seungmin. Hand in hand.

They were walking through the crowd like they were the only two people in the world, Changbin’s hood up, Seungmin’s scarf practically covering half his face. It was ridiculous and sweet at the same time. Felix, of course, pulled out his phone and took a picture so fast I didn’t even have time to stop him. He’s already threatening to use it against Changbin every time he insists he’s “not whipped.”

You would’ve laughed so hard, Jisung. I could almost hear you say, “Called it. That man’s a goner.”

The snow kept falling as we walked home. It was quiet, the good kind of quiet. I caught myself thinking that maybe this is what healing looks like: not a big, dramatic moment, but small ones like this. Snowflakes melting on your coat, friends laughing beside you, the world feeling soft again.

I’ll probably write again on New Year’s Eve.
It feels like something’s shifting, slowly but surely. Like I’m learning how to live again.

December 31

Dear Jisung,
It’s the last day of the year. Can you believe that? Four months ago, I didn’t think I’d even want to make it to this point, and now I’m sitting here, writing to you with a full heart and a quiet mind.

This morning I had my usual session with Dr. Han. She smiled at me more than usual, which I noticed right away. She said I’ve made “incredible progress”her words, not mine. Then she told me that next week’s appointment will probably be our last. I didn’t know what to say for a second. It felt strange, like closing a chapter that’s been both painful and comforting. But I think she’s right. I don’t feel like I’m drowning anymore. I still miss you every day, but I can breathe while missing you. That’s something, isn’t it?

After the session, I met up with the others for New Year’s Eve dinner. It felt good loud, messy, full of laughter. Chan made too much food, as always, Felix brought champagne, Hyunjin decorated the apartment with sparkly lights.

We counted down to midnight together. The second the clock hit twelve, Felix hugged everyone in sight and yelled, “Happy New Year, you beautiful disasters!” It was chaotic and perfect.

Afterward, someone (I think it was Hyunjin) suggested karaoke, and of course we all went. You would’ve loved it, Jisung. It was pure madness with off-key singing, ridiculous dance moves, everyone trying to outdo each other. At one point, Chan was belting out “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” and Felix was dramatically harmonizing like his life depended on it. I laughed so hard I nearly cried.

And guess who showed up halfway through? Changbin and Seungmin. Together. Again. They looked so smug and domestic it was almost unbearable. Felix, tipsy and absolutely fearless, pulled out his phone and shouted, “Wait, everyone! Evidence time!” Then he showed them the photo he took of them holding hands in the city.

You should’ve seen Changbin’s face. He turned the exact shade of a tomato while Seungmin just stood there smirking. We were all howling with laughter. It felt… easy. The kind of happiness that doesn’t need to be forced.

As the night went on, I found myself thinking that you’d be proud of us, all of us. The way we’ve held each other up, the way we’ve kept your laughter alive in the room without even trying.

It’s almost 3 a.m. now. The city’s quiet again, and the fireworks are fading outside my window. I’m tired, but it’s the good kind of tired. The kind that comes after living, not surviving.

Happy New Year, Jisung. Wherever you are, I hope you saw us tonight. I hope you laughed with us.

January 2

Dear Jisung,
Today was the big day.

Hyunjin and I went to meet the director of the aquarium this morning to present the final version of your project. I barely slept last night, I kept going over every small detail in my head, making sure everything was exactly as you’d wanted. The gradient of the water, the lighting reflections, the placement of the text… it all had to be perfect. For you.

When we arrived, the director greeted us warmly. He already knew the story, that the project had originally been yours, and he said how touched he was that we’d decided to finish it in your honor. That alone almost made me lose it right there in the lobby.

We showed him the final visuals on the big screen. As soon as the display lit up, the whole room turned blue, the same deep, living blue you always loved to use. The water shimmered softly, light dancing through it like real waves. It was like seeing your imagination come alive again.

I stood there frozen, heart pounding. And then I felt Hyunjin’s hand squeeze mine. I looked at him, and his eyes were already red. So were mine. We didn’t even try to hide it. We just stood there, silent, letting the tears fall as the image glowed in front of us.

The director didn’t interrupt. When it ended, he simply said, “It’s beautiful. It feels alive. You’ve honored him perfectly.”

Hearing that broke something open in me. Not in a painful way, more like relief. Like I’d been carrying a heavy weight for months and suddenly it eased, if only a little.

He told us the billboard will go up next week, right outside the aquarium entrance. Thousands of people will see it every day, Jisung. They won’t know the story behind it, but I do. And maybe, somehow, they’ll feel what you wanted them to feel: the quiet, the wonder, the sense that something bigger is moving just beneath the surface.

After we left, Hyunjin and I just stood outside for a while, not saying anything. It was cold, the sky pale and bright, and I remember thinking how fitting it was that the world looked washed clean.

I wish you could see it, Jisung. But maybe you already did. Maybe that light in the reflection really was you.

We did it.
It’s done. And it’s beautiful.

January 5

Dear Jisung,
Today was my last session with Dr. Han.

I didn’t think I’d cry, but I did. Not from pain this time, but from relief. The kind that sits deep in your chest and slowly unwinds everything that’s been tight for too long.

We talked for almost an hour, mostly about the past few months, how I’ve changed, how I’ve learned to live with the silence, how your memory doesn’t break me anymore but softens me instead. She said I’ve done the hard work, that I’ve faced what needed to be faced. I told her I was scared of stopping, scared of not having that space to fall apart if I needed it. She smiled and said, “You won’t need to fall apart anymore, Minho. But if you do, you know where to find me.”

When I left her office, the air felt sharper, cleaner. I stood outside for a while, breathing it in, realizing that I wasn’t walking out as someone broken. I was just me. Whole, somehow. Living.

I thought that would be the end of my day, but when I got home, I nearly dropped my keys. The lights were on, music was playing, and the smell of food hit me before I even opened the door.

Felix had organized a surprise dinner. Of course he had. Chan was there, setting the table like it was his own house; Hyunjin was arranging candles because he “wanted the aesthetic to match the mood”; Changbin and Seungmin were in the kitchen arguing about how long the pasta should boil. It was chaos, pure and wonderful.

When I walked in, they all yelled, “CONGRATULATIONS, MINHO!” and threw bits of confetti that got everywhere. I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe. Felix hugged me first and said, “We’re proud of you, hyung. You made it back to us.”

And that was it. I lost it again. I didn’t sob, just tears, the good kind. The kind that remind you you’re still alive.

We ate, we joked, we told stupid stories. Hyunjin even made a toast, awkward but heartfelt. He said, “To Minho, who learned how to live again. And to Jisung, who taught him how.”

Later, when everyone left and the apartment was quiet again, I looked around and realized something simple: this place doesn’t feel empty anymore. It feels like home again.

I think I’m really okay now, Jisung. Not pretending, not surviving, just living.
And I know, somehow, that’s what you wanted for me all along.

January 6

Dear Jisung,
I spent today doing something small but meaningful, I made a memory box for you.

I gathered all the little things I’d been keeping tucked away: the two matching volcanic stone bracelets, your broken fountain sketch, the hoodie you never wanted to part with, that mug with the tiny crack, the concert ticket stubs, little notes you left me. I sorted them, cleaned them, and laid them out on the floor of my room like it was an altar.

Then I found an old wooden box, you know, the one I used to store old letters, and decorated it. I painted waves on the lid, soft blue and silver, the same palette we used for your aquarium project. I glued our initials in the corner, added a few pressed petals from the park, and lined the inside with fabric from your old shirt.

It felt like I was building a little world just for you, where all your pieces could live together. I didn’t cry much; not today. Mostly I smiled.

When it was done, I placed it on the shelf next to your notebook and lit a candle beside it. I whispered your name, told you thank you, told you I hope you like it, and it flickered.

I think this will be my way to remember you, not by holding onto everything, but by choosing what to carry forward.

January 10

Dear Jisung,
Today felt like the perfect ending, and a new beginning all at once.

We all went to the aquarium for the unveiling of your project. The billboard went up just this morning, right at the main entrance, just like the director had promised. It’s massive towering over the glass walls, shimmering with that deep, endless blue you loved so much. The sunlight hit it just right when we arrived, and for a second, it looked alive. Like the water was really moving, breathing.

Everyone was there Chan, Felix, Changbin, Seungmin, Hyunjin, and even Jeongin. We all stood together in silence for a bit, watching your design come to life. No one said anything, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt full, like the air was carrying your laughter, your lightness.

Felix quietly slipped his arm around my shoulder and whispered, “He’d be so proud, hyung.” And I think he’s right. I think you’d be proud. Of how we’re still here, still laughing, still holding each other up.

Afterward, we went out for dinner. It was loud and joyful, like every dinner we used to have together. We toasted to you. To your art. To your love. And to the life you left blooming behind.

When I got home, the apartment was quiet again. The kind of quiet that used to hurt, but doesn’t anymore. It’s peaceful now.

I sat down with this diary and realized something, I think it’s time to let this go, too. Not because I want to forget you. Never that. But because I don’t need to speak to you to feel you anymore. You’re already here, in the quiet moments, in the sunlight through the window, in the laughter of our friends.

So this will be my last entry.

I want to say thank you, for loving me the way you did, for staying with me in every way that mattered, even after you were gone. I know that when my time comes, you’ll be there waiting, probably tapping your foot impatiently and saying I took too long.

This isn’t goodbye, Jisung. It’s see you later.
Save me a seat up there, okay? I’ll bring the bracelets.

I’m kissing this page before I close it. It’s the last one, after all. Now it’s time to rest the diary where it belongs, inside your memory box. Safe, quiet, eternal.

I love you, always.