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yang jeongin was ready.
he already had it marked on his calendar. his last day.
the rest of the year was ripped off– he wouldn’t need it anyway.
he had thought about leaving for a long time. late nights where he would stare at the ceiling while tears streamed silently down his face. the room was dark and quiet but sleep wouldn’t come.
at first he thought that it would pass.
that the heaviness in his chest would fade with time. that if he just smiled more or kept busy it would disappear.
that had been a a year and a half ago.
it stayed.
and jeongin was too tired to continue.
he was going to leave.
not today. not yet. soon.
there were still a few things he wanted to do first.
-
he sat on the floor with his back against the side of his bed, phone resting loosely in his hands
the dorm was silent. everyone else had gone to sleep hours ago- except for chan, but he wanted to spend the night at the studio to work on their new song.
the song jeongin wouldn’t be around to perform.
jeongin stared at his screen for a long time.
he could leave whenever he wanted. he had already decided that much.
but the thought of leaving just like that- without a lasting memory or something to hold onto made his chest ache.
because he loved them.
even now, with the heaviness weighing him down and the stinging on his wrists- even with the voice in his head that told him to get it over with now, he loved them.
jeongin swallowed and opened his notes app.
it was riddled with these sorts of late night self-destructive thoughts. jeongin had promised to himself he wouldn’t act on any of them- but he’d fucked up again.
like he always did.
for a moment he didn’t type anything. the blinking cursor waited patiently.
when his finger finally started moving, jeongin let out a slow breath.
things i want to do before i die
pull an all nighter with chan hyung
paint with hyunjin
cook a meal for the members with minho
learn to build a pc with felix
movie marathon with jisung
go hiking with changbin
karaoke and shopping with seungmin
take photos!
he read the list over once. then again.
it looked normal. harmless. just a list of small things, the kind anyone might write down on a random day.
but to jeongin it was his final goodbye.
the thought was freeing- almost.
jeongin locked his phone and rested his head back against the bed.
the ceiling looked the same as it always did.
he had time still.
-
jeongin watched as hyunjin was lying on the floor. he twirled a paintbrush in his hand, the sunlight hitting the tip of his hair and giving it an unnatural glow.
jeongin’s knee were tucked to his chest and he swallowed hard. this was probably the last time he’d be alone with hyunjin.
“you sure you want to use that color?” hyunjin asked, glancing up.
jeongin nodded softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “yeah… whatever you think looks best.”
he dipped the brush into the dark blue paint and let it glide across the canvas, following hyunjin’s lead.
jeongin tried to memorize it all. the way hyunjin’s hair glowed. how he had two rings on his right hand.
how the room looked when the curtains were pulled just enough so it left amber streaks on the ground and little dust stars floating in the air.
the smell of paint thinner that he normally hated, but didn’t mind now.
his hands shook slightly as he added a few careful strokes.
he tried to memorize the way the paint glided onto the canvas.
he watched hyunjin tilt his head, study the canvas, and bite his lip in concentration.
“it kind of looks like a flower,” hyunjin said after a while, “it looks alive.”
alive.
he wanted to tell hyunjin everything. that he was going to be gone soon and he was sorry, and it wasn’t his fault, but no words came to his mind.
so he just painted.
jeongin put the brush down for a moment and reached into his bag. he pulled out his small camera, the one he had tucked away for months.
he lifted it carefully, aiming at hyunjin, who didn’t notice at first, still focused on his painting. the click of the shutter was soft, almost polite, and jeongin froze, afraid the moment would break if he made a sound.
he took another. and another.
the way the sunlight hit hyunjin’s hair, the tilt of his head, the concentration in his eyes.
jeongin wanted to remember all of it.
he took photos of the dirty brushes and water. hyunjin’s paint-stained hands. he took photos of the plastic waterbottle with a green cap and the few blue brush-strokes he’d painted.
after a while, hyunjin looked up.
“what are you doing?” he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“nothing,” jeongin said softly, though his hands shook. “just… making sure i don’t forget.”
jeongin took a few more pictures.
the rings on hyunjins fingers. the scattered paint tubes.
“will you wait for me?”
the question caught the older off guard.
hyunjin laughed, pawing at his ear.
“where would i go?”
jeongin hummed and went back to painting.
he took photos of things around the room. hyunjin’s computer and messy desk. the window curtains that he suddenly found beautiful. it’s lace danced in the air gracefully.
he took one last picture of hyunjin, looking down at the canvas with the softest concentration.
jeongin’s chest ached. every small thing felt too important. he wanted to memorize the sound of hyunjin’s breathing, the faint hum of the heater, even the little creak of the floorboards beneath them.
the sunlight shifted, tilting across the room. jeongin wanted to memorize the amber streaks one last time. he wanted to store every color, every shadow, every little imperfection, in the corners of his memory.
when he finally put his paintbrush down, jeongin took one last photo of the lopsided flower he drew. it was supposed to be a violet- but it didn’t look purple at all.
he let himself breathe.
because this was the last time he would sit like this with hyunjin, and he wanted to remember it.
-
seungmin was already hovering in the living room, scrolling through his phone, headphones dangling around his neck.
“okay, so karaoke first or snacks first?” he asked, eyes bright.
jeongin shuffled beside him, backpack slung over one shoulder. “whatever you want, my treat.”
“really?” seungmin lit up.
it wasn’t like jeongin had a use for the money anyway.
when they reached the mall, seungmin tugged jeongin towards the small shops. jeongin followed, letting seungmin grab whatever caught his eye.
it’s the least i can do.
he watched seungmin’s bright grin, the way his eyes lit up at every small thing, and felt a quiet ache in his chest.
he used to be like that once.
tears pricked at his eyes but he refused to let them spill.
instead jeongin gazed at seungmin. he watched seungmin’s bright grin, the way his eyes lit up at every small thing, and felt a quiet ache in his chest.
jeongin took photo after photo.
the mall.
seungmin dancing. singing his heart out.
karaoke lyrics.
jeongin thought of the envelope he would leave behind, tucked somewhere the others would find it after he was gone.
would they cry?
he pressed every moment into his mind like his grandmother used to do to flowers.
-
jeongin laced up his sneakers quietly, glancing at changbin, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet, stretching. “ready?” changbin asked, grinning.
jeongin nodded softly. “yeah… let’s go.”
the trail was steep, the air cold and sharp in the morning. changbin led the way, confident and steady, never looking back, while jeongin followed carefully, trying to match his pace.
his camera hung around his neck.
he didn’t speak much.
it was the same trail they’d taken before.
jeongin still stopped to take photos every few minutes.
a pretty rock. a light yellow leaf. changbin smiling. a squirrel that kind of looked like han.
the tiny wildflowers growing at the edge of the trail.
the twisted roots that looked like they were holding the soil together.
changbin paused at a clearing, hands on his knees, breathing hard but smiling. jeongin took another photo, capturing the curve of his shoulders.
they reached the top of the trail together. changbin threw his arms up, chest heaving, face bright in the morning light. jeongin raised his camera once more, snapping one last shot.
the mountains that seemed to just keep going forever.
that reminded jeongin that just maybe there was something worth living for.
-
jeongin stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hands hovering over the cutting board. minho was already chopping vegetables with steady, precise movements. the smell of garlic and oil filled the small space.
“you sure you want to do that?” minho asked softly, glancing at jeongin.
“yeah,” jeongin said, trying to keep confident, “i want to.”
he watched him carefully. the way minho’s brow furrowed slightly when he focused, the soft rise and fall of his shoulders, the way his hands moved confidently but gently.
he would miss minho’s cooking.
jeongin wishes photos could capture scent.
“what are you doing?” minho asked. jeongin was hovered over the cutting board and taking photos of garlic.
“i just want to remember,” jeongin said, smiling. before i go.
minho tilted his head then laughed.
“you’re weird innie.”
“you’re weirder hyung,” he teased back.
minho shrugged and accepted it, “true.”
the older turned his attention to putting the garlic into the sizzling pan. jeongin turned to snap a photo of the sauce bottles.
minho paused.
“you’ve been doing that like all week-” he said, tilting his head.
“doing what?”
“taking photos of everything,” minho gestured vaguely, “brownies, the couch, even changbin’s dumb gym bag.”
jeongin strugged, “maybe i’m becoming a photographer.”
minho snorted before turning back to adjust the temperature.
for a second, jeongin watched him again.
the way minho hummed quietly when he thought no one could hear him.
the way he always tapped the spatula twice to shake off any stuck pieces of garlic.
the older didn’t look at him when he spoke again.
“you’re pretty quiet today.”
jeongin blinked.
“am not.”
“you are–” minho shrugged, “usually you’d be more annoying.”
jeongin forced a laugh.
minho scooped the food into eight bowls and handed him one.
“you know what i mean.”
jeongin took the plate carefully. the warmth flooded into his palms. he’d be cold soon.
he wondered if this was the last time he would be able to have dinner with everyone together.
minho walked past him to the kitchen before stopping midway.
“...you okay?”
jeongin looked down.
“yeah.”
then he lifted his camera again.
click.
“did you just take another photo of the food?”
jeongin nodded.
minho sighed dramatically, motioning for jeongin to join him at the table.
jeongin sat down and nudged the plate so the light cut it in half.
“...i’ll make them look good– ” he said, before taking another photo.
-
felix was the burst of light in jeongin’s muted gray.
the dorm living room floor was a mess of boxes, cables, and instruction manuals. felix sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, carefully holding a tiny screw between two fingers like it might disappear if he breathed wrong.
“innie,” felix said slowly, squinting at the motherboard, “i think this goes… here?”
jeongin leaned over his shoulder.
“hyung,” he said gently, “that’s the ram slot.”
felix froze.
“…oh.”
they stared at it for a second. then felix burst into giggles, shoulders shaking.
“okay listen,” he said, “in my defense, they all look the same.”
“they really don’t.”
felix nudged him with his shoulder. “you’re supposed to be helping.”
“i am helping,” jeongin said.
he lifted his camera.
click.
felix blinked.
“for memories.” jeongin said, smiling sweetly.
“rude!”
but felix leaned closer anyway, peeking at the photo.
the screen showed felix surrounded by parts and cables, freckles bright in the lamplight, hair falling into his eyes as he laughed.
jeongin wished pictures could capture warmth.
because felix felt like warmth.
“wait,” felix said suddenly, eyes widening. “this is actually a really cute photo.”
“that’s because you’re cute, hyung.”
felix made a scandalized noise.
“innie!”
jeongin laughed softly.
felix went back to the computer, carefully sliding a piece into place.
“you know,” he said after a minute, voice quieter now, “when this is finished we can play games together.”
jeongin hummed. “yeah?”
“mm.” felix smiled to himself. “all of us.”
jeongin watched him.
the way his tongue peeked out slightly when he concentrated. or the fact that he had more freckles on his left cheek than he right.
the way he double-checked every connection like he was afraid of doing it wrong.
jeongin raised his camera again.
click.
felix didn’t even look up this time. “another one?”
“yeah.”
“…you’re really sentimental lately.”
jeongin swallowed.
“maybe.”
felix finally glanced up.
his eyes softened.
“…i like it,” he said.
-
the living room lights were off, the only glow coming from the tv. empty snack wrappers littered the coffee table and a half-finished bowl of popcorn sat between them.
han was sprawled across the couch like he’d melted into it.
“innie,” he mumbled through a mouthful of popcorn, “this is the third movie.”
“and?”
“and we were supposed to stop after one.”
jeongin shrugged, hugging a pillow to his chest. “you said movie marathon.”
han squinted at him.
“…i said maybe two.”
jeongin didn’t answer.
he just lifted his camera.
click.
han groaned immediately.
“again?”
he rolled his eyes but leaned closer anyway to see the photo.
the screen showed him mid-bite, cheeks puffed out with popcorn.
“innie–” he whined, “that’s a terrible one.”
jeongin laughed. han shoved his shoulder lightly.
“delete it or i’m telling everyone you cried during that sad dog movie.”
“you cried too.”
another scene flickered across the tv, lighting the room in soft blue.
han settled back into the couch, pulling the blanket over both of them without really thinking about it. “this one’s good,” he said. “you’ll like the ending.”
jeongin gazed at him instead of the screen.
han talked through half the movie, predicting scenes, making dumb commentary, occasionally pausing just to grab more snacks.
the room felt safe.
alive.
alive.
like it was just another normal night and he would be able to do this with han again.
jeongin lifted his cammera.
“not again-”
han studied him for a second. longer than usual.
“you’ve been taking a lot of pictures lately,” he said quietly.
jeongin shrugged.
“i like remembering things.”
han didn’t answer right away. then he nudged jeongin’s knee with his.
“well remember this then,” he said.
han grabbed a handful of popcorn and dramatically tossed one piece in the air, catching it in his mouth.
he raised his arms like he’d just won a competition.
“skrrt.”
jeongin laughed.
click.
han pointed at him. “okay that one better be cool.”
jeongin looked at the photo. han grinning, hair messy, the tv light catching in his eyes.
jeongin smiled softly.
“it is.”
han leaned his head back against the couch, satisfied. “good,” he murmured.
the movie kept playing.
jeongin didn’t watch it fully. he was too busy memorizing the way han looked in the dim lighting. he didn’t want to forget his face.
-
it was well past midnight.
empty cans of soda sat on the coffee table, the curtains were half open to the quiet city lights, and chan’s laptop glowed softly in the dim living room.
the speakers played a rough loop of a beat chan had been working on for the last hour.
jeongin was curled up sideways on the couch with a blanket around his legs, controller resting in his lap.
“okay,” chan said, leaning closer to the laptop, “listen to this part.”
the beat restarted.
a soft melody layered over the drums.
jeongin tilted his head, listening carefully.
“ooh,” he said, pointing at the screen even though he had no idea what any of the buttons meant, “that part.”
chan laughed quietly.
“very helpful feedback.”
“i’m serious!”
“you always like the dramatic parts.”
jeongin shrugged.
“they’re cool.”
chan replayed it again anyway.
jeongin lifted his camera.
the older didn’t even look up.
he was too busy tapping out the rhythm on the table with his fingers.
jeongin smiled a little.
the light from the laptop made everything look softer- the scattered notebooks, chan’s messy hair, the half-finished song still looping through the speakers.
he took another photo.
click.
“innie,” chan said suddenly.
jeongin froze.
chan leaned back in his chair and stretched, arms reaching over his head.
“…grab me another soda while you’re up?”
jeongin laughed quietly. “i’m not even up.”
chan rolled his eyes playfully.
jeongin stood and shuffled to the kitchen anyway, returning with two cans. the other accepted one with a grateful hum.
“thanks.”
they sat there for a while after that- chan adjusting the song, jeongin occasionally chiming in with very unhelpful commentary.
at some point they switched to playing a game. chan insisted he was good at it.
he was not.
“hyung,” jeongin said through laughter, “you just walked directly into that.”
“it was a strategy.”
chan groaned as his character lost again.
click.
jeongin looked at the photo.
chan mid-eyeroll, leaning back on the couch now, controller hanging loosely in his hands. the room felt warm. comfortable.
he would be cold soon.
jeongin leaned back beside him.
“this is fun,” he said quietly.
chan nudged his shoulder. “we should do it again sometime.”
jeongin smiled.
he didn’t touch on the fact that here wouldn’t be another sometime.
after a moment, he lifted his camera again.
click.
-
today was the day jeongin decided to leave.
he sat on the edge of his bed, fingers tracing the folds of the envelopes before him. each one was addressed to someone he loved, heavy with words he couldn’t speak out loud.
he had rehearsed this goodbye a thousand times in his head.
“i hope you understand,” he whispered to the quiet room. his voice barely rose above the hum of the heater.
he picked up the first letter, meant for chan, and pressed it to his chest. the words were trembling even as he wrote them. each letter ended in the same phrase.
will you wait for me?
it was the last line he wrote to them.
the letter ended with a heart and a poorly drawn photo of all their skzoos. jeongin took a deep breath and hugged the note closer to himself.
he tucked the letters into the drawer of his desk. his heart laid bare and fragmented, but not enough to stop the lingering ache in his chest.
he slipped out of the room.
jeongin would never see the dorm again.
he would never hear hyunjin laugh or minho make a out of pocket comment.
he would never taste felix’s brownies again or feel changbin’s hugs.
he would never joke with seungmin and han again or have chan tease him.
he would never play with berry again, or coo at minho’s cats.
it made his heart twist, but he had made up his mind already. jeongin paced through the house. he wanted to properly say goodbye to everything.
the couch his members always sat on.
seungmin’s pride and joy- the coffee machine.
his trusty headphones.
maybe it would have turned out different if things hadn’t gone south.
jeongin returned to his room– the one he shared with chan. soon the leader would have it to himself. his hands shook as he pulled out the letters again.
he wanted to re-read them before he left.
jeongin sat on the floor beside his bed.
the dorm was quiet again.
the kind of quiet that only existed after everyone had finally gone to sleep– when the hallway lights were dim and the refrigerator hummed softly in the kitchen.
his camera rested beside him.
a small stack of polaroids lay scattered across the floor like fallen petals with a letter to his members.
jeongin picked one up carefully.
hyunjin.
the photo had come out slightly tinted, the sunlight in the room turning everything amber. hyunjin’s head was tilted toward the canvas, paintbrush in his hand, lips caught between his teeth in concentration.
jeongin traced the edge of the photo with his thumb.
he slid it into a small envelope and wrote hyunjin’s name on the front in careful handwriting.
next came seungmin.
a blurry photo of him laughing in the karaoke booth, microphone raised like he was on a real stage. the neon lights behind him made the whole picture glow.
jeongin placed it gently into another envelope.
changbin’s photo was next.
taken at the top of the trail, his arms thrown up in victory, the mountains stretching endlessly behind him.
jeongin smiled faintly as he set it aside.
one by one, he sorted them.
minho standing over the stove, steam curling around him like fog.
felix sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by computer parts, freckles bright under the lamp.
han mid-laugh on the couch, popcorn in his hand, hair messy from leaning back against the cushions.
chan leaning back with the controller in his hands, eyes crinkled with the controller almost falling out of his hands.
the pile of envelopes slowly grew beside him.
jeongin arranged them carefully inside the drawer of his nightstand, stacking them neatly like they were something fragile.
maybe they were.
for a moment, he just looked at the photos still scattered across the floor.
there were more than he remembered taking.
little things.
garlic on a cutting board.
paint-stained brushes.
a yellow leaf on the trail.
the glow of chan’s laptop.
jeongin gathered them into a small pile, holding them loosely in his hands.
the glossy surfaces reflected the dim room light.
each one held a moment that had already passed.
but it didn’t feel gone.
it felt… preserved. like pressing flowers between pages of a book. something to keep forever.
jeongin leaned back against the side of the bed and stared at the ceiling. his chest still felt heavy.
that hadn’t changed.
but the room didn’t feel quite as empty as it had before.
his fingers brushed over the top photo again.
han, frozen mid-laugh with popcorn in his face.
jeongin let out a quiet breath.
the drawer stayed open for a long time before he finally reached forward and slid it shut.
softly.
as if he was tucking the memories in for the night.
he was ready.
-
jeongin sighed, getting up from his place hunched over next to the end of his bed and walked towards the drawer of his desk.
would they cry? would the miss him and wonder what had went wrong? would chan blame himself?
a part of him told him no, but a bigger part screamed yes. jeongin was too far to turn back now, though.
he folded the letter neatly and placed it back in the drawer before dragging his feet to the bathroom.
around a year’s worth of skipped pills and medications sat in a little bottle on the counter.
every step felt relieving and crushing at the same time.
his hands shook as he emptied out the container.
he stared at the array of cheerfully colored pills in his trembling hand.
his vision swum and sweat was gathering in his palm.
jeongin sighed and slipped one into his mouth- playing with is using his tongue before swallowing.
it didn’t help fill the bottomless pit in his heart or stop the stinging in his wrists.
so he took another.
didn’t help.
and another.
until he couldn’t feel anything but the tears that were falling from his eyes.
until everything felt fuzzy.
his head hurt and he wanted throw up and cry at the same time. jeongin hissed, gripping his stomach with one hand clutching the sink– knuckles turning white.
there was banging at his door now. voices calling his name. he didn’t respond.
he was hunched over on the cold bathroom floor and everything hurt.
the banging grew louder.
he could hear felix and han– was that han? or maybe hyunjin?
was minho really crying right now–?
he couldn’t really tell anymore. everything blurred together shapelessly– almost cruel.
“will you wait for me?”
the words echoes endlessly in his mind.
his mind blurred and twisted, vision fogging up and warping. the pain washed over like a tide, dragging him down under.
jeongin gasped for air, but the waves didn’t let up.
the floor was too close to his face all of a sudden and he tried to stop himself from falling.
the door burst open. hands grabbed him and dragged him back.
somewhere at the back of his mind he could feel someone tapping his cheek. could see chan’s tear-streaked face in front of his.
he opened his mouth, hands grasping at the air, but nothing came out.
his vision blurred and dark spots began creeping up on him, pulling him down farther and farther.
until jeongin saw nothing.