Ship/Member: Seungcheol/Joshua(/Jeonghan) Major Tags: major character death, suicide mention/attempt Additional Tags: apocalypse/zombie au, lost love, unrequited love Permission to remix: Yes
***
Jeonghan didn't die; they killed him.
"Don't let me turn," he'd said, and if his eyes had glittered it was in the way that the last embers of a flame did, a warning that even dying things can still burn.
To be precise, Joshua had killed him.
To be more precise, it didn't matter which of them pulled the trigger. They loved him together; they killed him together.
Seungcheol watches now as Joshua sits himself on one of the dining chairs, pulling it out so it faces the back door. He hunches down, rifle between his legs, and starts to clean.
I'll take first watch. That's what he means. He doesn't have to say it. There's very little they need to say to each other these days. There's very little they do say.
The sofa in the living room is surprisingly intact, the stuffing gone out of the cushions but in the way of old furniture, worn down by familiarity and love. Seungcheol sinks down into the musty upholstery, and a cloud of dust puffs up.
"If I don't die from the virus," Jeonghan used to say, "I'll die from all the fucking dust in these old houses." Jeonghan used to say a lot of things, his creaky voice a constant commentary on the absurdity of their lives, turning agonies into amusement, despair into delight.
Without him, the world is silent.
Seungcheol closes his eyes and pretends to sleep. Across the room, he tries to listen out for the sound of Joshua breathing, but he can't hear anything except for the whistling of the wind through the cracks in the window.
—
Are you ready?
I can't do it.
You have to. You promised.
—
They burned Jeonghan's body. Better to let the flames consume him than anything else.
Later that night, Joshua knelt on the ground before Seungcheol, barrel of the rifle pressed into the hollow of his throat. It made a grotesque dent in his flesh, like if he pushed it deeper into himself it would crush his windpipe.
“Do it,” he hissed. “Fucking do it, you coward.”
He had one hand clutched around Seungcheol’s, wrapped around the trigger guard. Seungcheol pressed his fingers into the cool metal, digging in tightly so that Joshua wouldn’t be able to pry his finger onto the trigger.
“No.” Seungcheol’s voice sounded like ash. He felt like he was breathing it in as well. “No, you promised—”
“I’ve kept all my promises.”
They didn’t promise not to kill each other — Jeonghan wouldn’t have made them promise that. Joshua leaned closer, and the barrel dug deeper into his neck. Seungcheol felt a spasm of panic, and tried to pull the rifle back but Joshua just kept pushing.
I can’t do it.
Joshua pulled away. The rifle clattered to the ground.
If you really loved me, you would.
—
“I loved him too, you know.”
The fire crackles between them. Joshua looks up. Stark shadows stretch across his features, rendering him monstrous and unrecognisable.
Not the way I did.
“I don’t want to talk about him.” Joshua drops his gaze back into the fire. The reflection of it dances in his eyes, tongues of orange-gold in the darkness. If Seungcheol tries, he can almost pretend—
“I’m still here,” he says.
Joshua stands. Turns away and walks back towards their tent. Seungcheol watches him go, watches as the shadow of him bleeds into the blank dark canvas of the end of the world. Keeps watching, as if by the sheer power of wanting something enough he can make it become real. He wonders, if wishing were enough, which of them would be the one to come walking out of the shadows.
I love you, too.
In the silence and the stillness, he hears: Not the way he did.
He picks up a piece of gravel, tosses it into the flames. The fire hisses and spits sparks.
—
Jeonghan didn't die; they killed him.
Every day since then, he kills them slowly in return.
[FILL] but I am like this
Major Tags: major character death, suicide mention/attempt
Additional Tags: apocalypse/zombie au, lost love, unrequited love
Permission to remix: Yes
***
Jeonghan didn't die; they killed him.
"Don't let me turn," he'd said, and if his eyes had glittered it was in the way that the last embers of a flame did, a warning that even dying things can still burn.
To be precise, Joshua had killed him.
To be more precise, it didn't matter which of them pulled the trigger. They loved him together; they killed him together.
Seungcheol watches now as Joshua sits himself on one of the dining chairs, pulling it out so it faces the back door. He hunches down, rifle between his legs, and starts to clean.
I'll take first watch. That's what he means. He doesn't have to say it. There's very little they need to say to each other these days. There's very little they do say.
The sofa in the living room is surprisingly intact, the stuffing gone out of the cushions but in the way of old furniture, worn down by familiarity and love. Seungcheol sinks down into the musty upholstery, and a cloud of dust puffs up.
"If I don't die from the virus," Jeonghan used to say, "I'll die from all the fucking dust in these old houses." Jeonghan used to say a lot of things, his creaky voice a constant commentary on the absurdity of their lives, turning agonies into amusement, despair into delight.
Without him, the world is silent.
Seungcheol closes his eyes and pretends to sleep. Across the room, he tries to listen out for the sound of Joshua breathing, but he can't hear anything except for the whistling of the wind through the cracks in the window.
—
Are you ready?
I can't do it.
You have to. You promised.
—
They burned Jeonghan's body. Better to let the flames consume him than anything else.
Later that night, Joshua knelt on the ground before Seungcheol, barrel of the rifle pressed into the hollow of his throat. It made a grotesque dent in his flesh, like if he pushed it deeper into himself it would crush his windpipe.
“Do it,” he hissed. “Fucking do it, you coward.”
He had one hand clutched around Seungcheol’s, wrapped around the trigger guard. Seungcheol pressed his fingers into the cool metal, digging in tightly so that Joshua wouldn’t be able to pry his finger onto the trigger.
“No.” Seungcheol’s voice sounded like ash. He felt like he was breathing it in as well. “No, you promised—”
“I’ve kept all my promises.”
They didn’t promise not to kill each other — Jeonghan wouldn’t have made them promise that. Joshua leaned closer, and the barrel dug deeper into his neck. Seungcheol felt a spasm of panic, and tried to pull the rifle back but Joshua just kept pushing.
I can’t do it.
Joshua pulled away. The rifle clattered to the ground.
If you really loved me, you would.
—
“I loved him too, you know.”
The fire crackles between them. Joshua looks up. Stark shadows stretch across his features, rendering him monstrous and unrecognisable.
Not the way I did.
“I don’t want to talk about him.” Joshua drops his gaze back into the fire. The reflection of it dances in his eyes, tongues of orange-gold in the darkness. If Seungcheol tries, he can almost pretend—
“I’m still here,” he says.
Joshua stands. Turns away and walks back towards their tent. Seungcheol watches him go, watches as the shadow of him bleeds into the blank dark canvas of the end of the world. Keeps watching, as if by the sheer power of wanting something enough he can make it become real. He wonders, if wishing were enough, which of them would be the one to come walking out of the shadows.
I love you, too.
In the silence and the stillness, he hears: Not the way he did.
He picks up a piece of gravel, tosses it into the flames. The fire hisses and spits sparks.
—
Jeonghan didn't die; they killed him.
Every day since then, he kills them slowly in return.