#greiving

You bumped into him as he practically fled the funeral home, trying to get away before he broke down in some type of capacity. He wasn't even sure how it was going to happen. He just knew that something was bubbling up in his chest, and that all of a sudden he couldn't hardly breathe.

"I'm so sorry," you gasped as you knocked into him.

"It's okay," he said gruffly, trying to look more put together than he felt.

And apparently failing miserably.

"Are you okay, Darry? You look pale," you had said, reaching out a gentle hand to steady him. He'd looked dead on his feet, to be honest.

"No," he had rasped, and you were both kind of shocked at the honesty.

"My car is nearby. How about I give you a ride home?" you'd offered, glancing around at the lack of vehicles on this block.

He nodded, and tried to smile in thanks but it fell flat.

He had managed to make it to the car in one piece, and you were halfway to his house when he spoke.

"You ain't gonna ask?"

"Not my business unless you want to tell me," you shrugged. "Your call."

Despite your letting him off the hook, he felt like an explanation was in order. Unfortunately, he had been bottling up everything since they got the news, trying to take care of his brothers who were a mess. He didn't have time to break down, there were things that had to be done and people he had to look out for. So, of course, he was able to get out of exactly two words, "my folks," before the dam broke.

He was mortified, apologizing over and over and trying to say he was fine despite the fact that he was sobbing in a near-stranger's car. You didn't know him well, but you knew him enough to realize he probably wasn't prone to fits of emotion over nothing. Plus, he'd come out of a funeral home.

You turned down a side street, and he looked confused when you parked in front of an empty lot.

"Figured you needed a minute, before you'd want to be faced with everybody at home," you had said quietly, eye trained on the windshield to try to help ease his embarrassment.

"I'll be fine," he had said, convincing neither of you.

"Yeah, you seem fine," you said in a slightly teasing tone, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. "Sometimes it's easier when with somebody you don't really know," you had offered. "Somebody you aren't trying to be strong for all the time."

Despite his obvious embarrassment and his best efforts, he couldn't seem to pull it back together. You had sat with him quietly, eyes forward, as he eventually just dropped his head into his hands and cried. You had felt awkward, like you should be doing something; you didn't realize that this was exactly what he had needed. To have a minute, and a safe place, to fall apart before he had to go home and be Superman.

"Is it okay to put a hand on you, Darry?" You'd eventually asked. "I feel like I ain't doing you a whole lot of good over here."

He had hesitated before nodding, and then you had rested a hand lightly on his back, rubbing soothingly across his shoulders.

When he managed to calm down, he wiped his face on his hands and then on his shirt. He couldn't look you in the eye. "God, I'm sorry," he muttered. "You gotta be real glad you picked me up."

"I am," you had said, and he had let out a disbelieving huff. "I'm not sorry, Darry. You don't need to be either."

"I gotta go home and take care of things," he had said, voice choked. "Take care of my brothers."

"Okay. I'll take you, if you're ready to go," you said softly.

"I gotta be," he said, and you'd started to drive again. When you got to his house, he thanked you again and walked in beet red, with a neutral expression on his face.

You saw the news about the Curtis folks in the paper, which confirmed what you had suspected. You didn't bother him or his brothers, but you did drop more than one casserole by the house that week. And you'd gone to the funeral, and had seen Darry standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets, both of his brothers clinging to him and bawling. Darry had just stood there with the most helpless, pleading expression you'd ever seen.

You did decide to stop by and check in about a week after the funeral, with another casserole and a dozen cookies. When he opened the door, he looked like he hadn't slept in a week.

"Hi," you greeted him, and his face was a little pink. "Just brought you some food."

"So you're the one been dropping all the casseroles by?"

"I mean, I don't know if I dropped all the casseroles. People tend to bring a lot of those after a funeral, in my experience," you told him. He looked at you sharply. "My dad," you'd explained.

"I'm sorry," he said awkwardly, rubbing his neck.

"I'm sorry, too," you told him quietly. He nodded in acknowledgment, swallowing hard.

"Sorry I ain't got no manners lately. You want to come in?" he asked.

"I was just stopping by," you tell him. "Don't get me wrong I appreciate the invitation. But I understand completely, believe me, that having your house invaded by strangers, over and over when you're grieving ain't that helpful."

He chuckles hollowly. "You ain't exactly a stranger," he says quietly. He hesitates. "If it ain't no trouble, I wouldn't mind the company," he had admitted quietly.

"Okay," you had told him, stepping into the Curtis house for the first of what would become many times.

A few months later, you and Darry have become...something. Something confusing, to be honest, because the only label you got is friendship, and it don't feel that way when he looks at you. Every so often he has looked like he might feel the same way, but then he'd divert yours or his own attention to something else quickly. It's a little disappointing, sure, but it's understandable given the circumstances. And it ain't like he owes you nothing, anyhow. He's becoming a good friend.

You work part time, taking whatever college classes you can afford at the local campus, and since it's just you and your mom at home, and she works a lot, you've started spending a lot of time with Darry, and with his brothers. Which means seeing the rest of the gang pretty frequently as well.

Soda and Pony seem to have think you're good for their brother and approve of the friendship, though Soda asks a lot of pointed and sometimes embarrassing questions. Pony's friend, Johnny, is sweet but real quiet when you're around. You've barely seen Dallas, and you were sure he hated you before Darry told you otherwise. Told you that he was worried about Dallas, that he'd just been angry at the whole world lately, but that he didn't know what to do about it, let alone have the capacity to deal with one more thing.

Steve and Two-Bit have taken to calling you Lois, and you were confused until they added "Lane" to it a couple of times.

You help Pony with his homework when he needs it, and Soda when he'll let you, but both of those are rare circumstances to be honest. On the days when you don't have work, it ain't uncommon for you to head over to the Curtis house to cook breakfast. Sometimes you'll help Soda and Pony start dinner when you get there. Neither of 'em need much help, but seem to enjoy the company most of the time. Mostly you just talk to 'em.

You're there in the morning when Darry and Pony get into it, and you see Soda trying desperately to calm them both down. And you're there that night when Soda comes in slamming the door with Darry calling after him. You ask Darry if he wants you to go try to talk to him, and the weariness in his eyes is probably the only reason he agrees.

Soda tries saying to go away at the first knock. "Honey, I'll go if you want me to," you tell him through the door. "Just thoguht you might want somebody to talk to."

There's silence for a minute before you hear a muffled "okay."

When you go in, you pull the door shut behind you and sit on the edge of the bed. Soda is face down. You know he's usually okay with people touching him, so you put a hand on his shoulder. That's when it becomes abundantly clear that he's crying. You wait, steady, and eventually he tells you about how hard it's been trying to keep everybody happy, but also how dang miserable he's been in school. When he runs out of steam, he sits up, face blotchy and tear-stained, and he throws his arms around you.

Things aren't always smooth, not by a long shot, and you're not a miracle worker. You thought Darry was gonna lose his mind when Soda told him he wanted him to drop out. They'd both seemed furious when you were at the house that day, but when you talked to Darry alone, after the boys were in bed, the anger disappeared. He sat on the front porch with you and a bottle of beer, and you held him while he cried over how he felt like he was failing both of his brothers. And about how scared he was for Soda's future after dropping out.

Somewhere along the way, you realize that you've kinda become each other's people, at least in a platonic sense. His brothers and his buddies, especially Soda and Two-Bit, can get him to relax and smile once in awhile. You can, too, at times. But you're the only one that he doesn't feel like he has to be strong for. You're the one he comes to when he feels like he can't do this anymore, and wonders if he should just give up and throw in the towel. He admits, you think only to you, how sad he is about not just losing their folks, but about losing the future he'd hoped for. About how he feels like all he does is yell, because the boys need to be taken care of and most of the time he's at the point that he's either gonna yell or cry. Most of the time, if he gets upset enough he might tear up just a little. But when he talks to you about how he feels like the boys hate him sometimes, and about how much he misses just being their brother? It's the first time since you drove him home after the funeral home that you see him break down and bawl.

You think you have Soda to thank for actually getting you together. When Darry eventually tells you that he has feelings for you, he's a nervous wreck. Apparently he wouldn't have said anything at all if Soda hadn't pestered him for a week straight that he was sure you felt the same way way.

He kisses you, and you make Soda a dozen cookies.

And then all bets are off as far as the gang are concerned, once the two of you are official. Two-Bit occasionally jokingly calls you "Ma and Pa," and Darry gets so red and flustered that the rest of the gang end up doing the same.

If someone had told you a year ago that Dallas Winston would call you Ma, you'd have thought they lost their mind. But here you are. It's always Ma and Pa; Mr. and Mrs. Curtis were, and always will be, Mom and Dad. Mrs. Mathews is Mama to all of 'em. But since they lost their mom and dad, Darry became "Pa," some combination of brother and father. And you fell in love with each other before you ever went on a date, and somehow became "Ma" along the way.

Things get better between the boys, too. You don't get all the credit, by any means. But it's amazing how much of a difference all of you see in Darry when he has a place to let go once in awhile. He yells less, and he smiles more.

And when Ponyboy and he get in that fight about curfew, it eventually ends in a hug rather than a slap.

And that changes everything.

Felix sat across from him, trying too hard not to look obvious.

“She’ll be here any second,” he said, fiddling with a napkin. “You’ll like her. Promise.”

Jisung forced a smile. “Who’s she?”

“A friend of Seungmin’s,” Felix replied. “Her name’s Eira. She’s cool—does photography. Kinda shy, but nice.”

Jisung just nodded, looking to the window beside him.

Rain was starting to fall.

He watched two droplets race their way down the glass like he used to as a kid.

When Eira arrived, she did it with a small smile and a shy wave.

“Hi,” she said, sliding into the seat beside Felix. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic.”

“No worries!” Felix chirped. He nudged Jisung under the table. “This is Han Jisung.”

“Hi,” Jisung managed. It wasn’t cold, just quiet.

She smiled at him, and for a split second, she looked familiar. Not in the way of features—but in her energy. Yes she was shy like Felix said but she also had that kind of personality that drew people to her.

You had that too.

She asked about his music, his writing. About the lyrics he wrote and his inspiration. Her curiosity wasn’t fake—she genuinely wanted to know. He tried to answer—told her about late sessions and lyrics, about the song coming together well before deadline.

The waiter came and went. The ate quietly together but still taking. Jisung was the most silent out of the three.

Halfway through the meal, Eira started talking about a trip she’d taken to the coast last month—about how the tan she got came with sunburn because she forgot to apply sunscreen.

Jisung’s mind drifted before she finished the sentence.

You’d said the same thing once. Different beach, same words

“Sorry,” he muttered, pushing his chair back. “Just—need some air.”

Felix glanced up, concern flickering in his eyes, but nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

The restaurant door swung shut behind him, muffling laughter and clinking glasses. He leaned against the wall tilting his head back.

For a moment, it was peaceful except the occasional sounds of tires on wet gravel.

Inside, Felix laughing at something Eira said. She was smiling, but her eyes kept looking toward the door like she knew something wasn’t right.

Jisung pulled his hood up and breathed out. “You’d hate this,” he murmured.

“You’d say I’m being dramatic.” He smiled faintly. “You’d tell me to stop running and face it.”

He kicked a pebble off the curb, watching it skitter into the puddle.

—~~—

The door creaked open again. Felix stepped out, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” The lie was weak but it sounded like something.

Felix leaned beside him, their shoulders nearly touching. “She’s nice, right?”

“Yeah. She is.”

Felix hesitated. “You didn’t have to come, you know. We just thought…”

“I know what you thought,” Jisung interrupted gently. His voice was calm but his eyes were glassy.

“That maybe I’d finally stop talking about her.”

Felix didn’t reply.

Jisung let out a shaky breath. “I want to move on. I swear, I do. But it feels like if I do… she’ll fade. And I can’t let that happen.”

Felix looked at him, his expression was sad now. “You don’t have to forget her to move forward.”

Jisung’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Then why does it feel like that’s the only way?”

Neither of them had an answer. They just stood there.

After a while, Felix said quietly, “Come back inside, yeah? Just for a bit.”

Jisung nodded, though he didn’t move right away. He stayed put for a bit, steadying himself.

Then he followed Felix back inside.

Eira smiled when he returned. He smiled back, polite and hollow. Even though the laughter resumed, Jisung’s mind stayed far away.

—~~—

He put his keys in the bowl and paused. Minho’s shoes weren’t by the door, so he figured he was still at the studio. The place looked exactly the same as when he’d left.

Jisung headed to his room, taking off his hoodie. His phone buzzed with a message.

[Eira:] I’m glad you came tonight. You seemed really kind. Hope you got home safe :)

He read it, then set the phone down. He liked the message but his brain felt too tired to react to it.

He didn’t know what to do with himself, so he went to the bathroom just to get a minute alone.

Everything felt jumbled. He wasn’t upset, exactly… just worn out.

When he finally stepped back into the hallway, his balance felt a little off from being stuck in his head too long.

He steadied himself against the sink and looked at his reflection.

He looked tired.

His shoulders were tense. His eyes had that dull, unfocused look he got when he’d been putting it off for so long.

He let out a breath bringing himself back into the moment.

He wasn’t sure why today hit harder than usual. Maybe the conversation with Eira. Maybe the old memories that had been sitting in the back of his mind for months. Maybe both.

He rested his hands on the counter for a moment. He wasn’t falling apart—just overwhelmed and exhausted.

After another steady breath, he pushed himself upright. He wasn’t sure what he needed, but he knew he couldn’t keep holding all of it alone.

There were fast footsteps. Then Minho appeared.

“Why weren’t you answering your phone?” he demanded, walking straight toward him. “I’ve been calling nonstop.”

“I was busy,” Jisung muttered.

“Busy doing what? You look like you’re about to fall over.”

That’s when his eyes saw them, the small bottle and pills in his hands. “Are you out of your mind?!”

“Hyung—“

“Don’t give me that shit right now,” Minho fumed. He was pissed. “Ji she’s gone and we miss her. She was like a sister to us, but you?”

“Hyung—“

“NO! I’m not gonna stand here and watch you think this is the solution.” His voice was loud at first, “how do you think we’d feel if you just disappeared and we didn’t know—you’re lucky I’m here right now if I wasn’t, would I find you dead?”

“Hyung!”

“WHAT!” He yelled.

Jisung looked surprised but not scared. “I couldn’t do it. If you think I would leave without an explanation, you’re wrong.”

Minho listened without interrupting.

“Yes I had the pills and yes I thought about it—but I couldn’t. I didn’t want her to be disappointed and I couldn’t hurt you guys by hurting myself.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jisung nudged past him, but Minho caught his arm gently — just to keep him steady.

“Talk to me,” Minho said, softer. “Please.”

Jisung swallowed hard. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

“Well, too bad,” Minho shot back, voice tight. “I walked home in the rain like a maniac because I thought something happened. And you’re fucking lucky that I did.”

“Ji, I’m worried about you.”

Jisung finally looked at him — frustrated, exhausted, hurting in a way he didn’t know how to put into words.

“You didn’t go through it,” he said quietly. “Not the way I did.”

Minho’s expression softened, like he already knew where this was going.

“I was the one she talked to when she got scared,” Jisung continued. “I was the one who stayed up with her when she couldn’t sleep. Every night, hyung. Almost a year.”

Minho opened his mouth but closed it again.

“You keep telling me to move forward,” Jisung said, voice wavering. “But I don’t know how. I’m trying, I swear. I went out tonight. I met someone new. I’m doing everything everyone keeps saying.”

His chest shook with each breath. “But it still feels like I’m stuck in the same place.”

Minho stepped closer, slowly, like approaching a frightened cat.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re fine around me,” he said. “I’m not asking you to forget her. I’m asking you not to disappear from the people who are still here.”

Jisung’s eyes were glossy now.

He slid down to sit on the floor. Minho lowered himself beside him without a word.

They stayed like that, leaning the wall for who knows how long.

After a long stretch of silence, Minho spoke.

“She cared about you,” he said. “You meant something to her. She’d want you to keep living your life, not punishing yourself whenever you take a step forward.”

Jisung didn’t respond, but he didn’t move away either. 

—~~—

Morning showed up slowly. The place felt tired, like both of them had worn it out.

Minho was on the couch, blanket half-kicked off, and one arm over his eyes. Jisung knew he hadn’t slept. The cold cup on the table said enough.

Jisung stood near the door for a while, his hood covering his face a bit.

“Hyung,” he said quietly.

Minho lowered his arm a little. “You heading out?”

“Yeah. Just for a bit.”

“Text me when you get wherever you’re going.”

“I will,” Jisung said, and he meant it.

The café was mostly empty when he arrived. Eira sat by the window again, stirring her drink even though it didn’t need it. She looked up as soon as he stepped in.

The conversation didn’t start until they were both now seated.

“Hey,” she said. “You okay?”

He gave a weak laugh laugh and removed his hood. “That’s a dangerous question.”

She didn’t push. Just waited.

Jisung rested his elbows on the table, staring at his hands. “There’s something I didn’t tell you.”

“You don’t have to force yourself,” she said gently.

“I think I do,” he said. “Or I won’t say it at all.”

He took a moment, choosing his words instead of digging for them.

“Her name was Y/N,” he said. “We were close. Really close. My girlfriend. She passed away a few months ago. It was sudden. I still don’t know how to think about it.”

Eira’s expression shifted, not into pity or uncontrollable—just understanding.

“I keep acting like I’m fine,” he continued. “Like work and schedules and being busy should fix things. But it doesn’t. She’s still somewhere in everything I do.”

He took a slow breath, steadying himself. “And then I met you. And suddenly I feel guilty for even trying to move forward. Like I’m doing something wrong.”

Eira folded her hands together. “You’re not,” she said softly.

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m using you,” Jisung said. “You don’t deserve to be someone’s… escape route.”

“I know,” she said. “But I also know you’re trying. And trying counts for something.”

He finally looked at her. Instead of pressure, her face showed patience.

“You don’t have to forget her to let new things into your life,” she said. “It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.”

“I want to move forward. I just don’t know the right way.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “You’re allowed to go slow.”

She reached out, lightly touching his wrist—Jisung turned his hand so their fingers touched.

Eira gave a small, warm smile. She leaned in across the table and kissed him softly.

When she pulled back, Jisung let out a long breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“you don’t have to be ready now,” she paused. “But I’ll wait for you. I’ll still be here if you need to talk.”

—~—~—~•~—~—~—•—~—~—~•~—~—~—•—~—~—

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