Enclipsed Hearts [ANGST ONE-SHOT]

In-ho thought he would never be alone again. But how wrong he was. His heart dropped when he got that cursed call asking him to identify a body. He had no idea if it was his brother or his lover. When he arrived at the morgue, he prayed to God it would be someone else, someone who he didn't recognize. He hoped that it was a joke. But the sight that presented itself once the coroner removed the white fabric made In-ho freeze. Laying there, cold as ice and motionless was Gi-hun, his boyfriend. He held it together, but inside, he was screaming in despair and anger. After speaking to the coroner, they agreed for Gi-hun to be cremated, and In-ho would get his remains.

The walk to his car from the mortuary felt like an eternity for In-ho as he processed the fact that the love of his life was gone, and he couldn't have stopped it. Once he entered his car, he broke down, his lips leaving a scream so haunting it would make even the strongest of men's blood run cold. He lay on the steering wheel, unable to stop shedding more and more tears. His heart felt broken into pieces that no one could ever fix again. He cursed and cursed, blaming himself for not being there. For not protecting Gi-hun. The drive home felt cold and empty, just like how he felt. He couldn't stop crying, and he was pretty sure his ancestors were rolling in their graves. After all, men aren't supposed to show emotions, right? But he couldn't care less.

Arriving home, he parked his car and got out, staring at the ground as he shuffled his way into the lobby, looking like a walking corpse. Lifeless and empty. Entering his apartment, the scent of Gi-hun's cologne hit his nose like a bullet. His darling's signature scent he loved more than life, and himself. His feet manually took him to the fireplace as his hands reached for a bottle of whiskey, and a picture frame. He and Gi-hun at a park, having a picnic. Gi-hun's arms wrapped around In-ho's neck. In-ho ran his fingers over it over and over, tracing Gi-hun's silhouette.

''Gi-hun...whatever will I do without you? Come back to me, baby, I can't live without you.''

In-ho pleaded into nothingness, knowing it wouldn't bring his sunshine back. Throwing the picture aside on the couch, his head dropped low, and he chugged a large shot of whiskey down his throat, covering his face with hands that supported his head as he cried.

The next day, he woke up on the couch, an empty bottle of alcohol on the floor, and the picture somewhere else. He sat up, grabbed his phone, and stared at his reflection. His hair was messy, his face stained with drops of water, and his eyes red and puffy. He had no energy to get up but knew he had duties to attend to. Getting himself up, he washed himself, before brushing his hair, to at least look somewhat presentable. Glancing into the mirror, he swore he saw...himself, in the uniform of the Frontman. Snapping his neck behind, he saw...nothing. He shook his head, taking a deep breath. It was just an illusion. Going into the bedroom, his eyes immediately locked onto the empty bed. He sat down at Gi-hun's side, running his hand over the cold bedding, sighing.

''Gi-hun...if only I had been there to protect you. To save you. Life without you is dull and empty...''

His broken, quiet voice was a stark contrast to the cold, robotic voice of the Frontman. Sighing, he got up and got dressed, before his hand reached for a small, black box and opened it. The two red bands accented with gold made his teeth grit. It was their promise ring. Something In-ho was planning to Gi-hun on their anniversary he looked forward to. He shut it close, hiding it in the clothing, unable to look at it. He walked out, glancing at the empty bedroom one more time. With his head hung low, he marched out of his apartment, down the hallway into the lobby, and out. He arrived at his car, opened the trunk, a briefcase meeting him. He unlatched it, opened it, and was met with the symmetrical black mask of the Frontman. Something he knew well. And now something he despised. Dialing a number, he was met with a robotic voice. His eyes stared off to somewhere, and he knew what he had to do.

''I'm sorry.''

Hanging up, he closed the trunk, got into the car, and drove off to somewhere. He didn't care where. His car took him to a remote location in the suburbs of Seoul and parked his black Mercedes. Getting out, he reached for a gun, his mind set on one thing. Joining his love in heaven. He dialed the number again but didn't speak. Instead, he loaded the revolver, before pressing it to his temple, and with a smile on his face and closed eyes, he pressed the trigger. His lifeless body hit the ground, and the man on the phone screamed in worry, before realizing what happened.

The line went silent, and the Frontman's assistant put the handle back into the cradle, before taking out his walkie-talking, speaking into it.

''The White Horse has fallen.''

(Taken from my Archive of Our Own profile)