apologize

i sure can !!!!! sorry i took so long to answer 🥺🥺🥺 i wanted to answer right and couldn’t find the right time until now !!! ^^

some awesome blogs;; (sorry if i forget anyone!!!!)

Jeno doesn’t know how long he waits for you to return. The air is cold against his skin, and the sky seems dull now that you’re gone. He stillcomes to the surface every day at midnight, when the moon is at its highestpoint in the sky. He still remembers the way the silver light shown on yourface, how your eyes gleamed in the darkness before you leaned in to kiss himsoftly on the lips, the taste of salt mingling on your lips, as Jeno’s tail swayed under the dark seawater.

He misses you, eventhough he shouldn’t, even though you told him to never come back after theattack for fear of Jeno being hurt, dragged onto the land and torn apart in thename of science. But Jeno won’t listen. Can’tlisten. So he keeps coming, waiting for someone who will never come.

Not for him.

You do come, eventually. You come years later, but you’re not alone. A man’s hands are intertwined with yours, and Jeno is forced to watch as you look at him the same way you used to look at him, softly, fondly, lovingly. Not anymore. Rings adorn your fingers, and the man’s arm is looped around your waist.

You catch his eyes, once, right before you leave. You smile at him, once, right before you rip Jeno’s heart to shreds.

⇢ Word Count: 4.9k

⇢ Category: ghost!hyuck, pure angst

⇢ Warnings: mentions of death, car accident

⇢ Song Rec: Blue Leaves - Sóley

⇢ Synopsis: You see him in the same spot every Tuesday on your way home. He looks like he’s waiting, but he never gets on the bus. In which you meet Donghyuck when it’s already too late, and you don’t have time to wait with him.

desiderium • an ardent desire or longing; especially, a feeling  of loss or grief for something lost       

He sits on the bench where your bus stops at noon every Tuesday. He’s there every week, watching as the rain falls overhead. His hair is a soft, chestnut brown, and his skin is the color of the honey your grandmother likes to drizzle on her toast on dewy summer mornings. He looks neither sad nor happy, wearing the same expression as the people who sit too close to him, waiting for something that comes too late, or not at all.