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hwaightme · 1 year

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Feels Like Home (part 1)

(part 2)

pairing: seonghwa x fem!reader genre: fluff, slight angst, doctor!seonghwa, graphic designer!reader, slice of life summary: What is home? Perplexed by this notion, you spent many years looking for your own answer, moving and running from your past. Your new neighbour, Park Seonghwa, might just be the key to discovery. wordcount: 5.7k warnings: language, mentions of food, mentions of the pandemic, anxiety, mention of past abusive relationships a/n: thank you all so much for the love <3 beyond grateful for you, and am inspired by you! Here is a work on the longer side, so I will be splitting it into two parts, stay tuned~

You lucked out. After having spent over two years migrating from one disastrous excuse for an apartment, to another, you finally felt like you could relax. No more leaks, no more creepy crawlies threatening to fall right on your face in the middle of the night… you shuddered at the memory; no more landlords that enjoyed screaming down the phone at you… you could finally achieve your domestic dreams and lounge at home to your heart’s content.

The apartment itself was on the more ‘compact’ side, located on the ninth floor of a complex in a quiet residential area. The living room, dining room and kitchen were combined, but not overwhelmingly so – everything still had its own area, and in no time did you set up your rather wild collection of plans by the sliding windows. Since the building was fairly new, you did not need to invest much in any repainting or cleaning of the apartment, and by the grace of the landlady who took a liking to you, the deposit was equally reasonable. It was almost worth it going through all the terrors after university, just to appreciate this place.

This was the place that made you understand why some people never wanted to leave their house or area – to be frank, you were turning into one of them. Only leaving on the days you had to, your hybrid work as a graphic and brand designer was becoming better and better, and finally you managed to get rid of the nickname your colleagues gave to you: “true businessman”. Your old place had gotten you used to spending some nights in the office common room, just to avoid the seedy neighbourhood, cracking walls and windows that were threatening to fall out at any second.

Really, it was heaven and earth. What was another very welcome change was the difference in neighbours. Whilst before there was that one elderly couple down the street that ran a tteokbokki stall, sure, they couldn’t exactly make you feel continuously welcome and safe, not when you quite literally had a loan shark knock on your door that one time, and then go “oops sorry wrong address, keep your money in a bank, kid”. Since that day you became the most loyal out of your friends to filling out taxes and budgeting.

In this apartment complex, there was the receptionist downstairs who, without fail, would give you the most reassuring nod humanly possible and then with a rough clearing of the throat, would go back to solving puzzles in the newspaper he subscribed to. There also was the family of four, man and wife and their boy and girl, who lived right down the corridor from you (and who you did hear on occasion, but this was nothing) – total sweethearts, the types of neighbours who left you alone, but in a good mood. And of course, him.

Park Seonghwa.

Lived two doors away and across the corridor from you. Worked as a junior resident at a hospital. A dream of a man. You two clicked instantly; maybe it was the circumstances of your first meeting that did it. You, in an oversized puffer coat, scarf wrapped up to your very eyes and a hat completing your disguise, only the crinkling of the plastic bag in your hands revealing why you were out and about at two thirty-five in the morning. Him, eyes slightly bloodshot, beanie tugged off to reveal a mop of black hair, and what looked to be a while lab coat protruding from layers of rained-on outerwear. Needless to say, both of you made quite a fascinating impression.

“So, what did you cook up in the labs this time of night, good sir?” you tried, too sleep-deprived to not fulfil your need for entertainment.

“Probably something that you were buying, good madam.” Seonghwa shot back at the speed of light, spinning on his heels to face you. You had stopped him right when he was about to unlock his front door. You noted the smirk that was appearing on his lips, and at that moment you decided that he was your type of man.

In your full incognito Mr. Stay-Puft glory you sashayed over to your neighbour, reaching into the bag and taking out a tightly packed cylinder.

“No wonder kimbap is so addictive.”

“Oh no! Not the ultra-classified prototype! Society is in danger!” raising his hands up, acting every part the diva in a low-budget, trashy horror flick, Seonghwa began to charm his way into your heart. So you did what no introvert had ever done before and, upon loosening your scarf slightly, took the risk and… introduced yourself.

“L/N Y/N. Your neighbour from… that door over there. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” You bowed your head, momentarily concealing your shy smile.

“Park Seonghwa. The neighbour you just intercepted, and the pleasure is all mine.”

That night you had also made the gutsy move to offer to snack on the kimbap together, which led to the pair of you having one philosophical discussion after another all through the night, ranging from the basics like ‘how come we did not talk a single time until now’ to the more insightful ‘what hope of yours would you want to reignite’ to the showstopper ‘why was there sound in the Star Wars intergalactic battles’. Probably the last one could be considered your first argument, but you were adults who knew how to communicate over even the most critical matters.

Steadily, you and Seonghwa became practically inseparable and were orbiting around one another even if outside of the complex. Your work schedules somehow complemented one another, and where he had to work night shifts or catastrophically long hours, you would be ready with a comforting meal and a completed chore or two – otherwise mundane and tiring but seeing a grown man giggle because he heard you took the trash out was beyond and became your choice of entertainment. Likewise, if you had project deadlines or particularly stressful client negotiations, Seonghwa would be right at your door, ready to take care of, quite literally, anything you would point at. Not that your friend from college would ever find out, but he was the one texting her back about what laundry detergent she should buy.

As time went on, you also got to see each other at your worst and lowest. His transition into being a full-time medical doctor was met with crash courses in intense epidemiology and volumes of patients unprecedented to him. Returning home after days of barely sitting down and intermittently losing consciousness for minutes of sleep had become a horrendous routine at a certain point. Seonghwa had crashed just about anywhere one could think of. His apartment, yours, even the corridor. And every time, your heart broke just a little, and you would climb close, flinging his arm around your neck and shoulder, and be his guide to a haven.

Though you would never understand the exact pain he felt, nor what he had to see out there and what choices he was forced to make, you tried your best to support Seonghwa how you could. Need more personal protective equipment? You were on it. Need hand sanitiser and antibacterial surface cleaner? Done and stocked up. Need to sit on the floor in silence for an hour and wait until the cacophony of the day stopped echoing in the mind? You were always ready.

It was the night of the 3rd of April, yet Seonghwa did not feel even a little bit happier, nor smarter, nor like he had the right to celebrate. For the most part, he had suppressed the fact that it was his birthday, instead pouring himself out at work until he could barely stand. At that point, like an automaton he followed the command of the doctor on call and trudged home, to the complex. He fell asleep twice on the metro, nearly missing his stop, and could barely walk up the tiny hill that now seemed to be a mountain.

He was fed up. Everything was too much. His own body was an unbearable load he had to carry. How did he fall victim to the illusion that the life of a doctor was one where he would feel gratitude and honour? The longer Seonghwa studied and worked, the more confident he became that no one ever said thank you to a medical professional. No, only blamed them. Blamed them for mistakes they did not make. Blamed them for the risks they did not take. Blamed them for when they tried their hardest, but that still was not enough.

Seonghwa thought of his family. How proud they were when he left his hometown to pursue his dreams at a prestigious university in Seoul. It used to bring him joy to think that the next time he would return for the holidays, his parents would show him off to anyone they could, and his brother would give him a congratulatory pat on the back and share the words ‘I knew you could do it, little bro’. He desperately wanted to return to the time when he still knew little about the field, so that it would not yet be tainted by the true colours of the world.

The wind was unusually cold for April, as though the winter had decided to return for a spring break. The young, fatigued man was fighting a losing battle against the gusts which did little to prevent tears from welling up. Not much longer now. One foot in front of the other. He was attempting to encourage himself to get across the little square in front of his building. In a confused panic when he almost lost his footing because of a hidden rock on the path, he raised his head, pleading for something better than this. Searching for a light.

There it was. A warm hue. Cheerful rays housed in four walls, hinting at a life behind the curtains. The sun that set only when you decided. The windows of your apartment, facing the square. He could imagine you swaying to whatever new release you had discovered, humming along to mask that you did not know the lyrics, cooking away. That was his guiding star.

In brighter spirits, Seonghwa managed to make his way to the ninth floor, where he was promptly greeted by your front door opening, and you in an oversized hoodie inviting him over for dinner once he was done with his second de-scrub and cleaning. Relief washed over him. After you had officially met and cemented yourselves as more than just neighbours, you had been nothing but kind and understanding of him. His work-induced lifestyle did not matter much to you, and you had not commented a single time that he should ‘change his ways’ or ‘go into a different field of medicine’. Over dinner at a local restaurant Seonghwa had explained to you his dreams of being a neurosurgeon, and you had merely lit up in admiration and commended him for his determination and strength.

This evening, too, you were right there for him. Once he had cleaned himself up and was at your door, he was greeted by an array of dishes that you had painstakingly been preparing for a few hours. From the traditional miyeok-guk to pajeon, you had done everything in your power to celebrate Seonghwa, even if it was just for a little, until midnight. That was when the swelling of his heart became too much, and he collapsed onto one of the dining chairs, head in his hands. The tears that had been on the verge of falling for the hours he was working were finally set free, and he could not help but want to hide.

You were taken aback. Never before had you brought anyone to tears. Especially for doing something that you would consider nice. But your intuition told you that there was something more to this, you were not one to judge. Seonghwa had been under pressure for an astonishingly long time, and his ability to still function blew you away. You did not know his whole story, but you wanted to ensure that he could get the happy ending he wanted.

Silently you poured the fragrant seaweed soup that you made, trying to follow a variation created by a cook from South Gyeongsang province, and set the bowl in front of him. You sat down across from the birthday boy. When he failed to move, you nudged his elbow with a plate of danmuji you had bought. When he finally looked up at you, eyes watery and red, you mustered your brightest grin and whispered:

“Don’t over-salt the food, Seonghwa, I want you to try it as is.” Hearing his chuckle was music to your ears. You reached over to pass him his cutlery, and before moving away, softly squeezed his forearm in reassurance. The gesture was meant to be brief and non-invasive, but Seonghwa had other plans and wrapped his fingers around your forearm, letting time stand still. He was aware that you were in a relationship with some good-for-nothing, so did not overstep any boundaries (though his body was screaming at him to act), but the touch had triggered a shutdown of his rumination. Right there and then, he was home.

“Thank you, Y/N.” He released you, only to pick up the spoon you provided and dig into the soup.

“You are very welcome, Seonghwa. Happy birthday.”

Not long after that, about a year and a half of you knowing one another, your neighbour turned closest friend had comforted you through loss of love; something you had initially attempted to hide, seeing as the loss Seonghwa had to witness day in day out was gut-wrenching on a different level, but he wanted to hear none of it. That same moment that he had managed to pry out of you the reason for your melancholy, he called into work claiming an emergency day off. He had stormed into your apartment with a mission to make you smile at least once, or at least to make you feel lighter – he did not have to try too hard, you had to admit. Part of you was certain that it was exactly because you had Seonghwa you could walk out of your ex-boyfriend’s apartment with a smile on your face.

The waves of bitter regret had hit you only after you came home. Replaying every scene in your head, you never thought yourself to be the one who would, one, be able to put up with someone, in retrospect, so judgemental for a total of three years, and two, be the one who was cheated on and then cussed out. The magical world of the new apartment complex you lived was shuddering under the heaviness of your dark mood.

The few weeks before Seonghwa had fully committed to treatment had passed agonisingly slow, with you hurling your phone across the living room in an attempt to silence the spam from your ex and existing on mere inertia. Getting up because you had to. Breathing out of habit. You had been struggling to keep your focus during meetings and had notified your team that you were to be exclusively online for the next couple of weeks due to being under the weather. By grace, your boss was more than understanding. And that was when you stopped being bothered to draw your curtains or to take care of yourself. Your ecosystem rapidly decreased in size until it was mashed into your apartment. Seonghwa was the one to see the signs. You were convinced that it was because he was a doctor and thus had a sixth sense, but he did not dare explain why he was acting the way he was. At least it was not the right time.

You healed fast. And got back into the pleasant lifestyle of amiable banter and housekeeping with Seonghwa. However, a few things had definitely changed since overcoming the various plot twists life had thrown at you. Probably one of the most obvious ones was that neither of you were hesitant to share stories about one another to your respective circles. Moreover, both of you would chat away even when unprompted, which had earned you a few sighs already. To express gratitude and satisfy your curiosity for where Seonghwa worked, you surprised him by bringing him a boxed lunch he had been raving about. This had set off a couple of rumours about you, though they were dispelled very quickly by your neighbour’s squadron of ambitious, wild, and hilarious doctors. They were quick to state that you had ‘old married couple energy’ and were asking if you could adopt them so they could get good treatment too. While you were laughing, you failed to notice the proud and warm grin that danced on Seonghwa’s lips and made his dark eyes gleam.

This was your shared rhythm. Your shared feeling of home.

☼☼☼☼☼

“Hey, do you need me to pick anything up on the way home?” your neighbour asked, his voice turning static for a split second as you switched the call to speaker.

You were currently hidden away in your home office – a tiny closet of a bedroom that you had converted to something of a studio for your creative deeds. So far, it was simply a desk and chair facing the window, a shelving unit housing random prototyping and art materials as well as being a pedestal to a potted English ivy to your right, and an overfilled corkboard to your left. As Seonghwa had commented, it was a manifestation of your creative and professional self. Truer words could not be said – it explained why you were constantly thinking of ways to update the interior.

As you repeatedly dragged and clicked with your mouse, scrutinising the vector image you were in the process of designing, you mumbled your resident partner in crime a response:

“I think I am good for now…”

“Really? So, we are just going to brush over the fact that you ran out of onions last week?”

You chuckled. The name under which you had him saved, ‘Mother Hwa🖤’ was very appropriate right that second. Nevertheless, these were the moments when you felt the most at ease. There was someone taking care of you, even though you were away from your childhood home, away from your old friends. There was someone right beside you, who you knew would return any care and affection a thousand-fold.

“See? You somehow know the contents of my kitchen better than I do. Please bestow some more knowledge upon me, dear Mars bar.” You countered, not looking away from your screen to pretend like you were still concentrated on work and not a soft mushy mess.

“Well… there was that one seasoning you had… you know the one in the red packet with the TV show host guy randomly in the corner and-” you tilted your head at the sudden pause “…since when am I a Mars bar???” you had to purse and suck in your lips to prevent a loud giggle from spilling out.

“Because you are a snack, Seonghwa.” Your success at a deadpan delivery sent the man on the call into a state of ‘error.exe’, even though the joke was outdated and highlighted how both of you were not quite the peak of modernity among the youth.

Before you had attained the status of singlehood, you were a lot more reserved with your jokes and flirtation, and understandably so. You had not wanted to appear to be a player, not give anyone false hopes. Seonghwa had to admit that it had been slightly easier to talk to you when he felt as though he had no chance. Now, more often than not, your comments reduced him to nothing more than a pained expression and flaming cheeks. Believing that there could be something, a tomorrow, hell, a whole future with you, really sent him into a mental frenzy.

“…okay… then I won’t get you the bbungyeoppang that is on sale since I am enough.” He whispered. Nothing much, but a shiver still ran down your spine at the sudden sultriness in his enunciation.

“Why not spice things up and add a plus one, especially since they are so willing?” you countered, mirroring him.

“Oh you- ah sorry, I have to drop the call, duty calls. Hongjoong is asking for a consult. Then I’ll pick up the groceries on the way, see you later Y/N.” Seonghwa rushed, jolting you back to reality. That’s right, you were still in your tiny room, in front of your set up, hand hovering above the mouse.

“Sure, got you. See you later, Seonghwa!”

As soon as you ended the call and watched the phone screen fade to black, you spun around on your chair, doing a miniature wiggle dance. These domestic interactions had never failed to give rise to pure glee within you. It was a tad unconventional to be pretty much sharing living space with someone who, technically, was just your neighbour, but it felt more than right. Oh, the wonders of having powered through life struggles and global crises together.

While you continued to work away at a brand re-design portfolio deck, Seonghwa was left standing in one of the many passageways of KQ Hospital where he worked. This particular one was almost fully glass, connecting the emergency centre to the main building. Whenever he felt like shooting you a quick text or to slow down after doing rounds and more training, Seonghwa would come here. To some degree, the location reminded him of the apartment complex – people bolting across, on a mission, never stopping to admire the setting sun that the glass captured, turning the linoleum floor into a carpet of glistening gold. People greeting each other with a curt nod, posing as good colleagues when in fact they had no idea what the other’s name was, nor why they felt obligated to follow societal norms and not ignore one another. Seonghwa, too, was guilty of this, especially in his first rotations when everything was a huge blur.

At one point he had even ceased to reach out to his friends – those in the exact same rotation and doing the same shifts as him, let alone those with whom, on top of exhaustion, there were other excuses. Funnily enough, it was you who pulled him out of this pattern, preventing him from losing himself and who he held dear. You reminded him that even in this vast world where one can never quite know anyone’s full story, you can find those whom you wouldn’t mind co-authoring with. One of these people was Hongjoong, his best friend since the first year of medical school and colleague he could count on. The shorter man was standing at the entrance to the passageway, arms crossed, his mobile phone dangling between two fingers.

“No wonder I couldn’t call you, Hwa. You were flirting with Y/N again.”

“Come on, man, I wasn’t flirting.” Seonghwa waved his friend off, hiding his phone in his scrubs.

“Then what was it, digital first base?”

Seonghwa could imagine the mischievous expression on Hongjoong’s face, one not dissimilar to that of a dad figuring out that his son was talking to someone in a very happy tone. Sighing deeply, he chose to not look to his side and continue walking, hands in his pockets. Seeing that the joke did not quite land, Hongjoong backtracked and added:

“If it is going to make you actually respond to me, I can start paging you, I don’t mind. I have gotten pretty good at dialling up the numbers at lighting speed.” This made Seonghwa shudder and turn dramatically.

“Oh, you would not dare, Kim Hongjoong, I am still getting flashbacks from the time the senior resident just decided to give me three pagers on a Friday night shift.” He proclaimed, placing a hand on his chest.

“You’ll deal with it, better train those nerves up for when you become a neurosurgeon.” Hongjoong poked him in the arm, then fell into the same stride as his friend.

That was how it had been through out the years they had known each other. Through thick and thin, on caffeine or suffering through withdrawals. They had sworn to support one another through the thorned path that was medicine, and somehow had managed to deal with each other’s nonsense. At this point they could be called brothers, having only moved into different apartments by mutual agreement to not drive each other insane 24/7. Interestingly, their opportunity to spend some time apart, forming their own habitats and lives not directly related to careers and studies, had enabled them to be even better attuned to each other’s changes. This was how Hongjoong knew you were someone who Seonghwa could rely on. In a matter of weeks after ghosting those closest left and right, he had walked into the staff common room with an apologetic smile and coffee for all his friends who he had gathered prior. And, upon being taken aside by Hongjoong for a miniature interrogation, brushed any suspicions and hypotheses aside, only saying that ‘he had found home’.

Needless to say, when the bond between you two began to grow stronger, and you had, evidently, not left his side for the duration of the worst parts of the pandemic, nor did Seonghwa abandon any hopes as he had previously done when it came to even hints of relationships, for Hongjoong you were instantly approved. Bonus points for having returned the next day after bringing Seonghwa lunch that one time to feed his friends too. It was frustrating that his best friend was not yet aware of the necessity to make the final move and make things official. For a doctor he was unbelievably thick in matters of love, or was a classicist and was afraid of rejection.

“You know…” Hongjoong began as they were approaching the elevators, “I think you really need to seal the deal, Hwa. Time goes by fast, and it is unfair to both of you if you don’t neither time nor the feelings you obviously have.”

Seonghwa expected that this conversation would happen at some point. His friend knew him too well. Maybe even caught him looking at your pictures that he had saved on his phone in a separate album of his gallery. He took a deep breath and shrugged, pressing the button to call the lift.

“True, but at the same time, things are going so well right now and-”

“Hate to rain on your parade, buddy, but that is how you messed up with your first girlfriend. And your second… oh wait a minute, even the blind date I set you up on did not work out, guess why?”

“Okay, okay, I got it. Fine.”

“No, you ‘don’t got it’. I can see you are scared. But you know why? Because you are being given a chance by the universe to hold onto something so precious and fragile that you know you cannot be the same without. But your self-doubt and anxieties wake up and torment you, day in day out, saying that you cannot step up and be responsible and commit.”

Seonghwa fell quiet, all attention on the painful monologue that was cutting up his psyche into small pieces, arranging it into a clearer bigger picture that he was trying to hide from himself.

“Take this, if you were not ready to step up, you wouldn’t have her as your emergency contact – don’t ask how I know. And, and you sure as hell would not be rushing home after a day shift just to make it to the bakery she likes. You would not be so worried for her even if everything was okay and you would not drop everything just to help her. You, my friend, are denying what is so blatantly obvious and is right in front of you that I seriously want you to call ophthalmology.”

“I swear, it is almost as if I was the one who called you for a life consult.” Seonghwa retorted as they watched the numbers blink in ascending order.

“See how lucky you are? Doctor Kim is blessing you with love wisdom for free.”

“Yeah… yeah… And I am trying my best to apply it.” If only destiny was so kind so as to give him an opportunity to just… get the awkward stuff over with and be able to wrap you in his arms – he was getting ahead of himself. Again. Seonghwa ran a hand through his hair. Way to go, declaring to another doctor he was ‘self-soothing’. He cleared his throat and decided to fully switch topic.

“Now, oh wise one, what troubles did you wish to talk to me about?”

“Oh, okay, so there is this one patient, complaining of episodes where their surroundings start spinning uncontrollably and they get a splitting headache and waves of nausea-”

“Vertigo?”

“Exactly, care to check it out?”

“Sure, lead the way.”

They ambled onwards, having fully moved on from conversing about you, however Seonghwa was still clouded over, pondering what you were up to. He was meant to have a full day off soon, and his infatuated self was inclined to conjure up plans exclusively involving you. But first, this patient…

You had not moved much in the time of Hongjoong’s and Seonghwa’s chat, nor for the two hours after that. Having found the perfect position in your chair, you were an unstoppable force, bashing out page after page of innovation for a re-branding that a late-stage start-up had requested. Their market focus reminded you of Seonghwa. Neuro-something or other. Maybe you should show him a sneak peek of one of your designs, just to see what the impact would be, though the non-disclosure agreement was hanging right above you like a guillotine. Yet another cause for your having been accustomed to asking well-crafted questions about your neighbour’s day – patient confidentiality was not too far off, style-wise. Like serif and sans serif fonts. Or two font families that could be mish-mashed together and no one would mind.

It was obvious that you had spent far too long doing some ‘font shopping’, as you liked to call it. Another hour, to be exact. However, you pushed the initial wave of guilt away pretty quickly, reminding yourself that, thankfully, this, too was part of your job. You yawned and stretched, taking a look at the time.

“Right, time for a snack!” you exclaimed out loud, and with a huff pushed yourself to your feet.

It was already getting dark outside, and temperatures were dropping in true autumn fashion, so after much deliberation you settled for a decaffeinated latte and a yogurt you found in your fridge. You moved to your sofa and turned on some random drama to play in the background while you zoned out scrolling for inspiration on your phone. After not finding anything too impressive but liking things for the sake of it, you clicked on your own profile to reminisce on the memories you captured. Funny how more and more of them appeared to involve the doctor next door.

After you proudly deleted any traces of your ex from social media, you vowed to be careful about the people you included in photos. So, none actually revealed the identity of be it a shadow or an extra mug or the holder of a ticket, but for you each scene was crystal clear, and replayed with ease. There was the picture Seonghwa had taken during your ‘supposed to be spontaneous but was planned weeks in advance’ getaway to Daejeon – you looking particularly cute while scrutinising an exhibit at the museum of art. There was the snapshot from one of your late-night trips to the convenience store, when you two were snuggled in oversized hoodies, sprawled on plastic chairs. And one of a completed Lego build, completed in three hours, mainly with you observing and searching for any stray piece that had gone flying across your neighbour’s living room.

You were also glad for the time you had to move on. You had a problematic relationship previously, you had to admit, and rushing into anything more would have had you repeating patterns you did not want to remember. Yet now, all you were hoping for was for a new chapter. An evolution of what you had been cultivating. Your instincts were telling you that you and Seonghwa were approaching a sort of crossroads, or a breaking point, and depending on what decisions you two would make, your future could be rewritten, and the world around the apartment complex either bloom or wither.

It was not that complicated a conclusion to reach – your ex had been bothering you incessantly with messages, voicemails and even direct messaging on social media, leading you to block him almost everywhere. He was going through the usual routine of pretending to care for your wellbeing, demanding attention and then on a night when he was probably shitfaced, saying he loved you and then proceeding to call you a whore. Prince charming indeed. You were disgusted that you had ever associated yourself with that sorry excuse for a man.

Tonight was no different. After deciding to post a ‘throwback’ story, he was back. It had been months since you last shared a full conversation, and it appeared that he was more communicative than ever. Was this what the memes you had seen online were talking about, where two people in a breakup often had radically different grief processing schedules? You were tired. You wanted to forget what and who you had moved away from. You wanted to build your new home in peace, and here was a ghost, howling and wishing to haunt you.

[do not answer!!] hey

[do not answer!!!] I know you are seeing this, you have read receipts on

[do not answer!!!] Y/N… come on I just want to talk things through

[do not answer!!!] I don’t think we have ever really had a chance to go over things

[do not answer!!!] you know, understand each other’s perspectives

[do not answer!!!] Y/N! seriously give me a chance I want to just TALK

[do not answer!!!] anyways, I am on my way to your place so… I guess talk soon?

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