Archive of Our Own

scattered 'cross my family line
i'm so good at telling lies
that came from my mother's side
told a million to survive

dear diary,

6th june 2019

its my birthday today and im nineteen now but the morning came in quiet and gray like it always does when no one really cares enough to make it different. i woke up with that same heavy feeling in my chest that has been sitting there for months and i just lay there staring at the ceiling wondering if getting up was even worth it.

the house was silent except for the usual sounds of mom in the kitchen and dad already somewhere with his work. when i finally went downstairs they both said happy birthday in that same flat way they say everything these days like its something they have to check off a list. then mom reminded me that the medical entrance exam is only a few weeks away now and that i need to focus on studying and nothing else because they are planning a party for after the exam is done like that is supposed to be some kind of reward or motivation. she said it with this tired smile and dad just nodded without looking up from his phone. i told them okay ill study and they left me alone again like they always do. no questions about how i slept or if i was okay or if i wanted anything special for today. just study and wait for the party that probably wont even feel like mine.

i keep coming back to mark. he wanted space and i let him have it because i knew he was right. i had been so distant for so long pulling away without meaning to because my head was too loud and too empty all at once and i couldnt give him the version of me he deserved. i wasnt there when he needed me and i could feel him slipping further away every time we talked. when he finally said he needed time to himself i didnt fight it. i told him it was okay and that maybe we should just break it off for real because i knew my own health was too fucked up to keep dragging him into it. i said the words like they were the right thing to do even though they tore something open inside me. he agreed. he said he had been thinking the same thing and that space would be good for both of us. and now hes gone and today is supposed to be happy but everything is ruined and i dont know how to make any of it make sense again.

i miss him in ways that dont have words big enough to hold it. i miss the way he would send me stupid memes at three in the morning just because he knew i was probably still awake. i miss how he could make me laugh even on the days when laughing felt impossible. i miss sitting next to him and feeling like maybe for a little while the world wasnt so heavy. but i ruined all of that by being distant and quiet and lost in my own mess. he was right to ask for space. i wasnt in the right headspace then and im still not now. my mind has been turning against me for so long that sometimes i dont even recognise the person i see in the mirror. breaking it off was the only thing that felt fair to him even if it left me here feeling like i cant breathe properly anymore.

the day has been moving in this slow blurry way. i tried to open my books like mom wanted but the pages just blurred together and all i could think about was the last time i saw mark and how quiet his voice got when he said he needed to step back. i keep replaying it over and over like maybe if i remember every word i can figure out where it all went wrong. but i already know where it went wrong.

it went wrong inside me where the darkness lives and where nothing ever feels steady for long. the exam is coming and everyone keeps saying this is the most important thing right now like passing it will fix everything else. but how can it fix the way my chest feels hollow or the way i wake up every morning wishing i hadnt. how can a party after the exam make up for the fact that the person i loved is gone and my parents dont see past the grades and the future they want for me.

i feel so alone in this house even when they are here. they dont know about the nights i spend writing in this diary instead of sleeping. they dont know how many times i have sat with the blade from the drawer and wondered if the sting would finally make everything quiet.

last time i tried i survived somehow. i woke up in bright lights with tubes and voices and then slowly everything went back to normal like i was supposed to just forget and move on and study for exams like nothing had changed. but it did change. it changed me and now on my birthday i can feel that same pull again stronger than before. i dont know what else to do when the thoughts get this loud and the emptiness gets this big. cutting feels like the only thing that might let me breathe for a minute even though i know it wont last and even though i promised myself i wouldnt go back there. but promises feel small tonight.

i spent hours just sitting by the window watching the light change and thinking about how mark is probably somewhere feeling lighter without me weighing him down. i hope he is. he deserves to be happy and free and not stuck with someone who can barely hold himself together. i agreed because i love him enough to want that for him even if it means i have to carry this alone.

but carrying it alone is so much harder than i thought it would be. every quiet moment feels like its pressing down harder. every time my phone stays silent i feel the space he asked for turning into something bigger and colder. today was supposed to be mine but it belongs to the exam and the future party and the silence where mark used to be.

i keep writing because the words are the only thing that dont push me away. i write until my hand cramps and the pages fill up with all the things i cant say out loud. i write about how tired i am of pretending that studying will save me or that the party will make me feel seen. i write about how much i wish someone would look at me and see past the quiet kid who is supposed to become a doctor. i write about mark and the way his absence sits in every corner of my room. and when the words slow down i find myself staring at the drawer again wondering if tonight will be the night i give in again.

i survived last time but surviving doesnt feel like enough anymore. it just feels like more days exactly like this one. more birthdays that start and end in the same gray quiet. more pages like this one where i try to hold everything together with ink because i dont know what else will keep me here.

its getting late now and the house is dark and still. i can hear mom and dad talking in low voices downstairs about something that probably has nothing to do with me. theyll probably check on my studying tomorrow and remind me again about the exam like today never happened. and ill nod and say im fine because thats what they need to hear. but im not fine. im nineteen and my heart feels like it has been breaking in slow motion for a long time and the only person who made it feel lighter is gone because i let him go. because i had to. because my health is too fucked up and i knew i would only hurt him more if i stayed. 

i dont know what comes next. i dont know if ill close this diary and try to sleep or if ill open the drawer instead. i dont know if the words will be enough tonight or if the pull will win. all i know is that today was supposed to be happy and instead its just another page in this book where everything hurts and nothing changes.

happy birthday to me i guess.

nineteen and still here writing because stopping feels too close and too easy and too final. ill keep going for now. one more line. one more breath. one more day even when it feels like too much. maybe tomorrow the words will hurt a little less. or maybe they wont. either way ill be here writing it all down because its the only thing i have left that feels like mine.

i miss you mark. i hope youre okay. i hope the space you needed is giving you something better than what i could. and to whoever might read this someday if anyone ever does please know that i tried. i tried to be okay. i tried to study and wait for the party and pretend the days were getting lighter. but some days the only thing that makes sense is the sharp edge and the quiet it brings. i survived once. i dont know if i will again. but for now the diary is still open and im still writing and that has to be enough for tonight.

happy birthday to the boy who is still here even when everything inside him wants to stop.

it's hard to put it into words
how the holidays will always hurt
i watch the fathers with their little girls
and wonder what i did to deserve this
how could you hurt a little kid?
i can't forget, i can't forgive you
'cause now i'm scared that everyone i love will leave me

Riku hauled the last suitcase from the trunk of the car, the wheels catching on the uneven pavement as he set it down beside the growing pile of boxes. The afternoon light in Seoul felt sharper than he remembered from his few childhood visits, cutting across the narrow street and throwing long shadows against the old house that now belonged to them. His parents stood a little distance away, voices low and polite as they spoke with the owner who had handed over the keys only minutes earlier. The man was older, his face lined in a way that suggested he had seen many families come and go through these doors.

Riku tried not to listen, but fragments drifted over anyway—something about the house being kept in good condition, the furniture mostly intact, the utilities already transferred.

He did not care. All he could think about was the life he had left behind in Fukui: the narrow streets he knew by heart, the friends who had gathered at the station to see him off with half-hearted jokes and promises to message every day, the quiet certainty of belonging somewhere.

He had not wanted to come. No one had asked him, of course. His father’s company transfer had arrived like an order that could not be refused, and so the family had packed their lives into crates and suitcases and crossed the sea to a city that felt both familiar and entirely foreign.

Riku was eighteen now, old enough to understand that protest would change nothing, but young enough for the resentment to sit bitter on his tongue. He missed the way the air smelled after rain in Fukui, the easy laughter of his friends over convenience-store snacks, the small routines that had made the days feel steady. Here everything was new and sharp-edged. Even the language, though he spoke Korean well enough from years of study, carried a different rhythm in the mouths of strangers.

“Riku,” his mother called, turning from the conversation with a small wave of her hand. “Bring that box inside, please. We need to get settled before it gets dark.”

“Coming,” he answered, the word automatic. He lifted the heavy carton of books, the corners digging into his palms, and followed her up the short path to the front door.

The house stood two stories tall, its exterior clean and unassuming, the kind of building that had probably housed generations of families before being offered to newcomers like them. Inside, the air smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and old wood. The floors were polished, the walls freshly painted in soft neutral tones, yet there was something in the way the light fell through the windows—as though the rooms still remembered who had lived here before.

It was not empty in the way new apartments were empty. It felt paused, like someone had stepped out and might return at any moment.

His mother was already directing the movers with quiet efficiency while his father signed the last of the papers. She glanced at Riku as he set the box down in the entranceway and brushed dust from his hands.

“Your room is on the first floor,” she said. “Second door on the left. Go settle in and unpack what you can. Your new tutor, Mr. Lee, will be here tomorrow morning, so we need everything in order before then.”

Riku stopped mid-motion, the words catching him off guard. “What the hell? from tomorrow? We just got here today.”

His mother gave him the look she reserved for moments when patience was required. “Your college entrance test is in a few months, Riku. You cannot afford to fall behind. The best business schools are competitive, and Mr. Lee comes highly recommended. We paid for the tutoring in advance. You will start tomorrow.”

He sighed, the sound escaping before he could stop it.

Business school. Of course.

No one had asked if he wanted that path, if the endless rows of numbers and case studies and networking events were what he imagined for himself. The decision had been made somewhere between his father’s ambitions and his mother’s quiet hope that he would have stability, status, a future that looked successful on paper. Riku had nodded along because arguing felt pointless, the same way he had nodded when the transfer notice arrived. He carried the box up the narrow stairs, the wood creaking softly under his steps, and found the room easily enough.

It was smaller than his old bedroom but clean, the walls bare except for a single framed print of abstract lines that someone had left behind. A simple desk stood beneath the window, its surface empty and waiting. A narrow bed was pushed against one wall, already made with fresh sheets. The air smelled faintly of cedar and something sweeter, like old paper or dried flowers that had long since been removed. He set the box down on the desk and stood for a moment, letting the silence settle around him. The house felt larger from inside than it had looked from the street, and the room carried a quiet that made him aware of his own breathing.

He wondered, briefly, who had slept here before, whose hands had once rested on this same desk, whose thoughts had filled these walls. The thought passed as quickly as it came, he had enough of his own displacement to carry without borrowing someone else’s ghosts.

He began unpacking because there was nothing else to do. One by one he lifted the books from the carton. Textbooks on economics and business administration that he had barely opened, a few novels he actually cared about, a worn copy of a Japanese poetry collection his grandmother had given him years ago. He arranged them on the desk first, then opened the single drawer beneath to see if there was space for the rest. The drawer slid open smoothly, revealing a shallow space that smelled of old wood and something else, something faintly metallic or perhaps just the residue of time.

At the back, half-hidden beneath a folded piece of yellowed paper that might once have been a receipt or a note, lay a small notebook bound in faded dark cloth. It was not his. The edges were worn in a way that spoke of frequent handling, the cover slightly warped as though it had been carried in a bag or held through many nights.

Riku hesitated, his hand hovering above it. He knew better. This was someone else’s private thing, left behind in a house that had clearly belonged to another family before his own arrived. Snooping through forgotten belongings felt wrong, invasive in a way that made his stomach tighten with quiet guilt. Whoever had lived here had probably moved on years ago, and the notebook might contain nothing more than old school notes or shopping lists. Still, the rule was simple and clear in his mind: do not open what is not yours. Privacy was a small dignity, and he had no right to it here.

Yet the curiosity was already stirring, quiet but insistent. The house itself seemed to invite it, the way the rooms held their breath, the faint traces of lives that had passed through them.

Who had once sat at this desk? What thoughts had been important enough to write down and then abandon?

The notebook looked personal in a way textbooks never did, and the wear on its spine suggested it had been opened and closed many times, carried through days that mattered to someone. Riku told himself again that he should close the drawer, push the books in around it, and pretend he had seen nothing. His mother would call for dinner soon. The tutor would arrive tomorrow. There were more important things to focus on than a stranger’s forgotten diary.

But the thought would not leave. It sat in the quiet of the room like a question that refused to be ignored. He had left everything familiar behind in Fukui, perhaps this small, ordinary mystery was the first thing the new city offered him in return. A fragment of someone else’s story, waiting in a drawer no one had thought to empty. He reached for the notebook slowly, his fingers brushing the cloth cover. The guilt remained, but it was smaller now, edged out by the simple, human pull of wondering what lay inside. He lifted it free from the drawer, feeling the slight weight of it in his hands, the way the pages shifted faintly as though they still remembered being turned.

For a moment longer he stood there, the notebook resting against his palm, the bare walls of the room watching without judgment. Then, almost without deciding, he opened it.

The knock landed hard against the bathroom door, a sharp sound that cut through the thick fog of nausea and exhaustion. Donghyuck sat on the cold tile floor with his back pressed to the wall, knees drawn up, one arm wrapped around his middle as if he could hold the sickness inside by force alone. His face was wet with tears that kept coming no matter how many times he wiped them away.

Six hours had passed since he had swallowed the pills, ten at least, taken quickly with water from the kitchen tap when the house was quiet. He had expected the world to go dark and still. Instead his stomach kept twisting and emptying in violent waves that left him shaking and hollow.

His mother’s voice came through the door, impatient and already moving on to the next thing.

“Donghyuck, come out fast. What are you doing in there from so long?”

He pressed the heel of his hand against his mouth, trying to trap the sob that rose in his throat. His voice came out hoarse and thin when he answered.

“Yeah. I’m coming.”

From the hallway her reply was short, already turning away.

“Yeah, come fast. You have to study.”

Footsteps faded. He stayed where he was, forehead resting against his knees, breathing through another surge of nausea that made his eyes water all over again. The urge to heave rose and fell like a tide that would not settle.

He hated how this was happening. He hated that even the choice to end everything had been taken from him and turned into more pain, more mess, more time spent on the floor of a bathroom while the rest of the house moved on without him. Nothing ever worked in his favor. Not the relationship that had slipped away because he was too far inside his own head to hold on to it, not the attempts to be the son his parents needed, not even this final decision he had made when the weight became too much to carry another day.

He remembered the days leading up to this one with a clarity that made his chest ache. A few days earlier he had sat at the dinner table, the exam date looming like a storm he could not outrun. The breakup with Mark still sat raw inside him, an absence that made every quiet moment feel louder. He had missed Mark so much it hurt to breathe sometimes. The easy way Mark used to listen, the warmth of his voice on late calls, the sense that someone saw him as more than a set of expectations and future plans, it all churned in his head. Anxiety had stolen his appetite completely. Food tasted like nothing. Every attempt to swallow made his throat close.

His father had been watching from across the table.

“Eat properly, Donghyuck. You cannot sit there moving rice around your plate like this. The exam is coming in a few weeks. How do you expect to get into college if you do not even take care of your body?”

Donghyuck had kept his eyes on the plate. His voice had come out small.

“I am not hungry. The anxiety from everything is making it hard.”

His father had set his chopsticks down with a deliberate click.

“Anxiety? There is no room for anxiety right now. We are spending so much money on your education. Coaching classes, books, the exam fees, the extra lessons. Do you think this comes from nowhere? Your mother and I work hard every day so you can have these opportunities. And you sit here wasting food and time because you feel anxious? Eat. Now.”

Donghyuck had lifted a small spoonful to his mouth. The rice had felt heavy and wrong. He had forced it down, then another bite, telling himself that if he could just get through the meal his father might leave him alone. For a few minutes it had stayed. Then the nausea had risen fast and sharp. He had excused himself quietly, gone to the bathroom, and thrown up what little he had eaten. When he returned to the table his hands were still shaking.

His father had looked up immediately.

“What was that? You ate and now you are throwing it away? Do you have any idea how much we are spending on you every single month? On your future? And you cannot even finish one meal without wasting it? Sit down and eat again. Properly this time. No more excuses.”

Donghyuck had sat. The tears had burned behind his eyes but he had refused to let them fall. Crying would only make the scolding worse. His father would say he was being dramatic, that real problems did not involve tears over a plate of food. So he had taken another bite, chewing slowly, willing his stomach to behave. It had not. Another wave had come and he had left the table again, returning paler and quieter.

His father had not raised his voice that time. The quiet disappointment had been heavier.

“This cannot continue. You think getting into college will happen by itself? You think the money we spend will mean anything if you cannot even eat and study like a normal person? Your mother and I are doing everything we can for you. The least you can do is try. Eat. I am not asking again.”

Donghyuck had eaten. And later that night, alone in his room with the door closed, he had thrown up again until his throat burned and his eyes watered. He had cried then, quietly into a towel so no one would hear. The next day had been the same pattern. His father pushing food and expectations at every meal. Donghyuck trying to comply because refusing felt like another failure on top of all the others. His stomach rejecting everything. The scoldings growing sharper each time.

“Do you know how many students would kill for the opportunities you have? We are giving you everything and you are throwing it back at us. Eat. Study. Stop making problems where there are none.”

By the third day the decision had formed in the quiet spaces between the scoldings and the nausea. This could not be the rest of his life. Performing for parents who measured love in exam scores and future stability, carrying the guilt of every cent spent on him, missing Mark in a way that made the days feel colourless.

The pills had seemed like the only clean exit. An end he could choose instead of waiting for the next scolding or the next wave of emptiness.

Now, six hours after swallowing them, he was still here on the bathroom floor, body refusing to let go of life even when he had asked it to. The throwing up came in smaller waves now but it would not stop completely. His mouth tasted bitter. His hands trembled when he lowered them from his face.

He could not let his parents see him like this. They had no idea about any of the previous times he had come close and somehow survived. If they knew he had tried again they would not offer comfort. They would scold him for being selfish, for wasting their money and their efforts, for creating more problems when all they wanted was for him to study and succeed and make everything worth it.

He had to stop crying. He had to stop being sick. He had to walk out of this bathroom and pretend the world was still ordinary so he could reach his room and put the words somewhere before they drowned him.

With slow, careful movements he pushed himself upright. The floor tilted for a moment and he steadied himself against the sink. He rinsed his face with cold water, watching the red in his eyes fade slightly. He practiced breathing until the sobs stayed buried. When he opened the bathroom door his father stood in the hallway, arms crossed, the familiar line of disappointment already forming between his brows.

“If this is how you are going to waste your time in the washroom,” his father said, voice rising with each word, “then how will you ever study and get into college? Do you think the exam is going to wait while you sit in there doing nothing useful? We have spent years getting you ready for this. Money on classes, on materials, on everything that is supposed to give you a future. And you disappear into the bathroom for so long that your mother has to knock and call you out like you are still a child who cannot manage his own time. What is wrong with you? What are you even doing in there that takes so long?”

Donghyuck kept his gaze on the floor. He did not lift his eyes. He did not let the tears that threatened to return show on his face. The words landed one after another, each one familiar and heavy.

His father continued without waiting for an answer.

“Your mother and I are doing everything we can. We work so you do not have to worry about anything except studying. And this is what we get? Wasted time? Excuses about anxiety when there is no time for anxiety? The exam is weeks away. You should be reviewing notes, not hiding in the bathroom. If you cannot even manage basic things like eating and studying without creating problems, how do you expect to succeed? Tell me that. How?”

“Sorry,” Donghyuck said. The word came out flat and small. He did not add anything else. He did not explain the sickness or the hours on the floor or the way the decision to leave had turned into more pain instead of peace. He definitely did not cry, even though the urge sat tight in his throat like another thing he had to swallow.

His father shook his head once, the gesture full of the same tired frustration that had marked every conversation for weeks.

“Sorry is not enough. Go to your room. Study. No more wasting time on nothing.”

Donghyuck nodded. He walked past his father without looking back, each step measured so his legs would not shake visibly. The door to his room closed behind him with a soft click that felt louder than it should. The space was small and familiar. The desk under the window, the narrow bed, and the drawer that held the one thing he still trusted. He crossed to the desk and pulled the chair out. His hands trembled as he reached for the drawer handle and slid it open.

The diary rested inside where he had left it last, the dark cover worn from nights like this one. He lifted it free and placed it on the desk in front of him. For a moment he simply sat with it there, the weight of everything he could not say pressing against his ribs. Then he opened the cover.

dear diary,

10th june

i took the pills this afternoon. i sat on the edge of my bed with the bottle in my hand and counted them out one by one until i lost track. enough i thought. enough to make everything stop. the noise the pressure the constant feeling that i am taking up space i did not earn and costing people money and time and patience they should not have to spend. i swallowed them with water from the tap and lay down waiting for the quiet to come.

it did not come the way i hoped.

at first there was nothing then the sickness rolled in like a wave i could not outrun. my stomach turned inside out and i spent hours on the bathroom floor throwing up until there was nothing left and still it kept coming. six hours later and i am still here. still breathing. still feeling the cramps and the shaking and the way my head spins when i try to stand.

i survived again. i hate it. i hate that my body keeps choosing to stay when i have asked it so many times to let me go.

right now the want to try again sits heavy in my chest. i want the dark to take me properly this time. i want the noise to end. surviving feels worse than dying ever could because it means waking up to the same empty rooms and the same heavy days and the same ache that never leaves.

and through all of it mark the one name that keeps rising is yours. i miss you so much it feels like something has been carved out of me and nothing will ever grow back in its place. i miss the way your voice used to settle the storm inside my head even when you were not trying. i miss the way you looked at me like i was not a problem to be fixed but a person worth knowing. i miss the small things the way you would reach for my hand without thinking the way your laugh could make the worst day feel bearable the way being near you made me believe for a little while that i could be okay. 

i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you  

i fucking love you 

i really love you 

i really do…

i hope you will wait for me to get better but then again even if you will not i just hope you are happy.

if the only way for you to be happy is for me to disappear from your story then i will leave without asking you to look back. i will carry every unanswered question every unsaid word and every piece of love that never found a place to belong. even if it breaks something inside me every single day i will choose your peace over my own because i would rather spend a lifetime grieving the version of us that never existed than become the reason your smile fades. i will miss you quietly endlessly and from as far away as i have to.

the ache of you is everywhere today. it sits in the spaces between my breaths and in the silence after i stop throwing up. it follows me when i wipe my face and try to look normal for the people who live in this house. i keep thinking about the last time we spoke and how your voice sounded when you said you needed space. i did not fight it because i knew i was already pulling away. my head was too loud and my heart was too tired and i could not give you the version of me that used to smile without effort.

i miss the way you made ordinary days feel like they mattered. i miss the way your presence could turn the weight of everything else into something i could carry for a little longer.

loving you was never a choice it was just something that happened the way breathing happens and now that you are gone the air feels thinner.

i still reach for my phone sometimes before i remember there will be no message from you. i still catch myself smiling at nothing when a memory of your laugh surfaces and then the smile dies because you are not here to hear it.

i took the pills because the missing you and the pressure of the exam and the way my parents look at me like i am a project that keeps failing became too much all at once. but even in the middle of wanting it all to end the thought of you kept flickering.

i do not want to be the reason anything good in your life turns heavy. i do not want my broken pieces to cut you. so if disappearing is what keeps your world soft then i will disappear. i will do it quietly. i will carry the love i still feel for you like a secret no one else needs to know. it hurts to think of you moving forward without me but it would hurt more to think of you hurting because of me.

i still love you in the quietest parts of my day in the moments where no one is looking and i no longer have anything left to prove. maybe i no longer have the right to stand beside you but i still have the privilege of loving you and somehow that feels like the greatest thing i have ever been given. if this love is all i am allowed to keep then i will hold it gently for the rest of my life because even from a distance being able to love you is a gift i could never bring myself to regret.

the sickness has not fully left me yet. my hands still shake when i write and my throat burns from everything that came up earlier. but i needed to put this down before it swallowed me again. i needed to tell you even if you will never read it that i miss you in ways that do not have clean endings.

i miss the future we did not get to have. i miss the version of me that existed when you were still close enough to touch. i love you in the way that makes my chest feel both full and empty at the same time. i love you in the way that makes me want to stay just to see if one day the missing might hurt less and i love you in the way that makes me willing to leave if that is what keeps you safe. i hope you are somewhere smiling right now. i hope the space you asked for feels like freedom instead of loss.

and if you ever think of me i hope it is with something soft instead of regret.

i am still here tonight even though i did not want to be. the diary is the only place that does not ask me to explain or to be better or to study harder. so i will keep writing until the words run out or until the want to try again gets too loud to ignore. either way you are the last thing on my mind before the page ends.

i love you mark. i love you in every quiet corner of this room and every empty hour that follows. i love you enough to let you go and enough to keep loving you anyway. that is all i have left to give.

dear diary,

14th june

today was the mock test and i knew before i even walked into the room that it was going to be bad. i sat there with the paper in front of me and the questions blurred after the first few lines. my pen stayed still for long stretches because nothing would come out. i had not studied a single proper hour all week. every time i tried to open the books my eyes would fill and the words would swim away. i could not focus on anything except the way my chest kept tightening and the memories of everything that has been falling apart. the test ended and i handed in whatever half answers i had managed to scribble.

i already know the score will be low. i already know it will be another thing to add to the list of ways i am letting people down.

the whole week has been like this. i wake up and the first thing that comes is the crying. sometimes it starts before i even open my eyes and it just keeps going in waves that leave my face swollen and my throat raw. then the throwing up comes back in the middle of the day or at night when the house is quiet. my stomach twists like it is still trying to push out everything i swallowed days ago. and when that is not enough i end up in the bathroom with the blade again. the cuts are small but they sting enough to pull me out of the spinning thoughts for a little while. i do it because the other feelings are too big and too loud and i do not know what else to do with them. i hate that i am doing it but i cannot seem to stop.

all of it makes me feel like i am wasting everything. the money my parents have spent on coaching and books and the exam fees. the time they have given up so i could sit in quiet rooms and prepare. the effort they keep putting in even when i give them nothing back. i see the way they look at me sometimes like they are waiting for me to turn into the son who will make it all worth it.

and i am not that son. i am the one who sits in the bathroom for hours and comes out with red eyes and no answers. i am the one who cannot even finish a mock test without my mind going blank from everything inside it. i do not want to be a disappointment. i really do not. but every day i wake up and it feels like that is exactly what i am becoming.

and then today after the test i saw something about you mark. just a small post or a message from someone who knows both of us. you looked like you were enjoying your life. there was a smile in the picture and you seemed lighter than the last time i saw you. i stared at it for a long time and the strangest thing happened.

i felt happy for you. really happy. the kind of happy that sits warm in the middle of all the cold that has been sitting in me lately. i am glad you are finding moments that feel good. i am glad the space you asked for is giving you something better than what we had when everything was heavy. you deserve that. you always did.

at the same time i know it must be hurting you too. i know because i know you loved me. i could feel it in the way you stayed even when i was pulling away. i could hear it in the quiet parts of our last conversations. you loved me and losing someone you love leaves marks that do not show on the outside.

i hope the hurting is not too loud for you. i hope the good moments are starting to outweigh it. seeing you happy made something in me settle even while the rest of me stayed broken. it is strange how both things can be true at once. i can want you to keep smiling and still feel the empty space where you used to be.

i keep thinking about how you used to sit with me when the pressure got too big. you never tried to fix it with big speeches. you just stayed until the noise inside me got a little quieter. i miss that more than i can say without it turning into the same ache all over again. but i am trying not to hold on too tightly to what is already gone. you are moving forward and i am glad.

even on days like today when the mock test went wrong and the crying would not stop and the cuts on my arm still sting i can look at that small piece of your life and feel something close to relief. you are okay. or at least you are finding ways to be okay. that matters more than the test score i will never show anyone.

the week has left me tired in a way that sleep does not fix. my body feels like it is still carrying the sickness from earlier and my mind feels like it is still carrying the weight of every expectation i cannot meet. but knowing you are somewhere smiling makes the weight feel a little less endless.

i hope the days keep giving you reasons to smile. i hope whatever comes next for you feels kinder than what we went through. and even though i am still here in the same room with the same thoughts circling i can hold on to the small fact that you are finding light somewhere. that is enough for tonight. that is something i can carry without it breaking me further.

Donghyuck sat at the desk in his room with the textbooks spread open in front of him. The pages of notes from his coaching classes blurred after the first few lines no matter how many times he blinked and tried to focus. He had been sitting there for over an hour already and the only thing he had managed to do was trace the same sentence with his finger without taking any of it in. The mock test from earlier in the week still sat heavy in his mind like a weight he could not set down. He knew the results would come back low and that knowledge made every attempt to study feel pointless before it even began. His pen rested unused beside the open notebook. His shoulders stayed tight from the effort of holding everything inside.

The door to his room stood open because his father had insisted on it earlier that evening. There was no privacy left in the house anymore. His mother had positioned herself in the laundry room across the narrow hallway where she could glance up every few minutes and see him at the desk. He could feel her eyes on him even when he did not turn his head. Every small movement he made seemed to be noted. He tried to keep his breathing even and his posture straight like someone who was actually working but the tears kept threatening to rise anyway.

He swallowed them down again and again until his throat ached from the effort. Crying would only bring more questions and more watching. He could not afford that right now.

The pressure in his chest built steadily as the minutes dragged on. The words on the page refused to settle into any kind of meaning. All he could think about was how far behind he had fallen and how little he had to show for the days that had already passed. The exam date loomed closer with every failed attempt to concentrate. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and forced himself to read the same paragraph for the third time. Nothing stayed. His mind kept drifting to the same quiet places it always went when the silence in the house grew too loud.

After another stretch of staring without progress he pushed his chair back slowly so it would not make too much noise. He stood and walked to the doorway keeping his steps measured. His mother looked up from folding clothes when she heard him. He stopped at the edge of the hallway and kept his voice low so it would not carry through the open door.

“Can I go to the washroom for a bit?”

She glanced at the clock on the wall and then back at him. Her expression stayed neutral but there was a tiredness underneath it that matched the exhaustion he carried in his own body.

“Come fast,” she said. “You still have studying to finish.”

He nodded once and added the excuse he had prepared in his head.

“I have to poop. It might take a little time.”

She considered it for a moment then gave a short nod of her own.

“Ten minutes,” she said. “No more than that. Your father wants the door left open when you come back so we can see you are working.”

Donghyuck nodded again without meeting her eyes. He turned and walked down the short hallway to the bathroom at the end. Once inside he closed the door behind him and turned the lock with careful fingers. The small click sounded louder than it should have in the quiet. He reached for the tap and turned the water on full so the sound of running water would cover anything else that might escape. The steady rush filled the small space and gave him a layer of cover he had not had all evening.

He stood there for a moment with his hands braced on the edge of the sink. The mirror in front of him showed a face that looked older than it should at nineteen. His eyes were red at the edges from holding back tears for so long. He let out a slow breath and the first words came out low and uneven as he spoke to the empty room.

“Mark,” he whispered. The name felt both familiar and distant at the same time. “Why did everything have to get this hard after you left? You were the only part that made the rest of it feel like it could be managed. Now there is just this. The tests I cannot pass. The days that blur together. The way my parents watch every move like they are waiting for me to prove I am still worth the effort they put in.”

He reached into the small drawer beside the sink and pulled out the blade he kept hidden there. It rested in his palm for a second while he stared at it. His voice stayed quiet under the cover of the running water.

“I do not even believe in any of it,” he said. “I never have. But if there is something out there listening why make it hurt this much? Why put the people I care about through watching me fail and then take away the one person who made the failing feel less final? Why let me miss someone this badly when missing them changes nothing? It just sits there and grows heavier every day.”

The questions kept coming in the same low mumble as he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. The skin on his forearm already carried faint lines from earlier nights. He pressed the edge of the blade against it with steady pressure. Not deep enough to do real damage. Just enough to break the surface and let the sting rise sharp and immediate. The pain cut through the fog in his head for a moment and gave him something solid to hold on to instead of the endless loop of thoughts about the mock test and the open door and the watching eyes in the laundry room.

He made another line beside the first one moving slowly so the hurt would last. His breath came out shaky but the tears stayed back this time. The running water kept masking the small sounds he made. He spoke again between the cuts keeping his voice low enough that it would not carry beyond the locked door.

“Mark you are probably somewhere right now not having to think about any of this. I am glad for that. I really am. But it still hurts knowing you are carrying some of it too because you loved me once. I can feel it even from here. The same way I feel everything else that will not leave me alone.”

Another careful line followed. The sting layered on top of the previous ones and for a short while the pressure in his chest eased enough for him to breathe without it catching. He did not go further than that. Just enough to hurt. Just enough to remind his body that it could still feel something besides the heavy weight of disappointment and the constant watching. He rinsed the blade under the tap and put it back in its place before rolling his sleeve down again. The water kept running as he stood there a little longer letting the sound fill the space where his thoughts had been.

When the ten minutes were almost up he turned the tap off and unlocked the door. He stepped back into the hallway with his face carefully arranged into something that would pass for calm. The open door to his room waited for him like it had before. His mother glanced up once from the laundry room and then returned to her folding without saying anything.

He walked back to the desk and sat down in front of the same blurred pages. The sting on his arm stayed with him under the fabric of his shirt. It was small and private and for now it was enough to let him keep sitting there without the tears finally breaking through.

dear diary,

19th june

i really cannot do this anymore. no matter what i try the outcome stays the same. the studying turns into blank pages and wasted hours. the pretending wears thin until i can barely keep my face straight in front of anyone. every effort i make lands short and the gap between what they expect and what i can give just keeps widening. it does not matter how early i wake up or how late i stay up with the books open in front of me. nothing sticks. nothing improves. i am running in place while everything around me moves forward and i am so tired of watching the distance grow.

i am such a fucking coward. i never told them that medicine was never what i wanted. i never said the words out loud even once. literature was the thing that made sense to me. stories and poems and the kind of work where i could lose myself in words instead of fighting against them. but i kept it buried because saying it would have changed nothing except to make the disappointment louder. they would have looked at me like i was throwing away their sacrifices for something childish and impractical. still i should have tried. i should have found the courage somewhere in all the fear and the silence. instead i let them build a future around me that never belonged to me in the first place. that silence makes me hate myself more than anything else right now.

if they ever found out the rest of it they would never recover. the fact that i am gay would be the final proof that something in me had always been wrong. they would see the ex who was a boy as another reason why i failed at being the son they raised. there would be no coming back from that. no quiet acceptance or even the cold tolerance they sometimes manage for other things. it would be the end of whatever thin thread still holds us together. i have carried that secret like a second skin for so long that sometimes i forget how heavy it is until nights like this when everything feels close to breaking.

how can a father look at his own child and choose hurt over anything else? the words the pressure the constant measuring of worth against results. was i not loveable enough on my own? did i need to earn every small piece of care by being exactly what they pictured? was i not their child from the first day or did that change the moment i started struggling to meet the version of me they had already decided on? it makes me wonder if there was ever space in their love for the parts of me that did not fit the plan. it makes the resentment sit deeper because it feels like the only thing they see when they look at me is potential that keeps disappointing them.

i am leaving all of this with resentment toward everyone except mark. the parents who could not separate their dreams from the person standing in front of them. the expectations that turned every day into another test i could not pass. the silence in this house that never asked what i actually needed. all of it built a weight i cannot keep carrying. but not him. he never asked me to be anything other than what i was in the moments we shared. he never measured me against a future that was not mine. that difference still matters even now when everything else has fallen apart.

i wanted so much to know what a future with him would have looked like. the ordinary mornings and the quiet evenings and the way we might have figured out how to belong to each other without the rest of the world pressing in. i wanted to see if we could have built something small and real that belonged only to us.

we will never know now. that possibility ended when he asked for space and i agreed because i was already too lost inside my own head to fight for it. the door closed and all that remains is the wondering and the ache of what might have been if i had been braver or steadier or simply enough.

i really cannot do this anymore.

Riku sat on the edge of the bed with the diary resting open across his lap. The final lines from June 19th, 2019 still hung in the quiet of the room seven years later. His mother’s voice rose from the kitchen downstairs, steady and familiar.

“Riku, dinner’s ready. Come eat before it gets cold.”

He closed the notebook slowly, his fingers lingering on the worn cover for a moment longer than necessary. “Coming,” he called back, his voice even as he set the diary aside for now.

This had been the last entry Donghyuck ever wrote.

Riku sat on the edge of the living room sofa with his notebook and a fresh set of pens already laid out on the low table in front of him. The house still carried the faint scent of the lemon cleaner his mother had used that morning, and the late afternoon light slanted through the windows in long golden strips across the polished floor. He checked the time on his phone again even though he knew it was only a few minutes past the hour.

Mr. Lee was due in exactly five minutes.

His mother moved quietly around the room, adjusting the small show pieces on the shelves with careful fingers, turning each one a fraction so the arrangement looked balanced and welcoming. She had been at it for the last ten minutes, her focus precise in the way it always was when she wanted to make a good impression.

“Behave yourself when he arrives,” she said without looking up from the shelf. “Mr. Lee is very accomplished. He has lived in this neighbourhood his whole life and comes highly recommended. The families who have worked with him speak well of his methods. You need to show him respect from the first minute.”

Riku nodded once, keeping his posture relaxed even though the reminder made the familiar tightness settle in his shoulders. “Yeah sure, mom.”

She gave a small satisfied sound and moved to straighten the cushion on the armchair. The doorbell rang before she could say anything else. She glanced toward the entrance and then at Riku with a quick tilt of her head.

“Go open it,” she said.

He stood and crossed the short distance to the door, his steps quick on the wooden floor. When he pulled it open, the man standing on the step was not what he had expected. Mr. Lee looked young. His face was open and calm, dark hair falling slightly over his forehead in a way that made him seem closer to a university student than a tutor who had already built a reputation in the area. He carried a simple leather bag over one shoulder and wore a plain button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled once at the cuffs.

Riku blinked once before he could stop himself. “You look young.”

The man chuckled, a low easy sound that carried no offense. “I’m just twenty-seven. Now, can I come in?”

Riku stepped back and held the door wider. “Yeah, of course.”

His mother appeared in the hallway almost immediately, her expression shifting into the polite warmth she reserved for guests and teachers. She greeted Mr. Lee with a small bow of her head and a smile that reached her eyes.

“Mr. Lee, thank you for coming on such short notice. Please, let me show you Riku’s room. It’s on the first floor, second door on the left. Riku, go with him and get settled. I’ll bring tea up in a little while.”

Riku nodded and led the way up the narrow stairs, Mr. Lee following at an easy pace behind him. The room looked much the same as it had when Riku had first arrived, though his mother had added a small vase of fresh flowers on the desk that morning. Mr. Lee set his bag down beside the chair and glanced around once with quiet interest before turning his attention to Riku.

“Shall we begin?” he asked.

They started with the basics. Mr. Lee asked a few questions about the subjects Riku found most difficult and the areas where he felt he needed the most help. His voice stayed calm and measured, the kind of tone that made explanations feel clear without any pressure behind them. Riku answered honestly, surprised at how quickly the awkwardness of a first meeting faded. They moved into the first lesson without much ceremony, Mr. Lee pulling out a few printed sheets and a textbook while Riku opened his own notebook.

For a while the only sounds in the room were the soft scratch of pens and the occasional question or correction. Riku found himself relaxing into the rhythm of it. Mr. Lee had a way of breaking down concepts that made them feel less like obstacles and more like puzzles that could actually be solved. Still, curiosity sat at the back of Riku’s mind, growing stronger with every passing minute. He waited until they reached a natural pause in the exercise before he spoke.

“Teacher Lee,” he said.

Mr. Lee looked up from the page, one eyebrow slightly raised in acknowledgment. “Hmm?”

Riku hesitated for only a second. “Do you know of any Donghyuck?”

The pen in Mr. Lee’s hand stilled completely. For a moment the room felt heavier, the air thicker in a way that had nothing to do with the afternoon heat. His expression shifted into something careful and unreadable, the easy calm from earlier replaced by a stillness that made Riku wonder if he had stepped over some invisible line.

“How do you know Donghyuck?” Mr. Lee asked. His voice stayed even, but there was a new edge to it, something guarded that had not been there before.

Riku shrugged, trying to keep his own tone light even as he noticed the change. “I just found a diary in the drawer of the desk. I read one of the entries.”

Mr. Lee was quiet for a long moment. He set his pen down on the table with deliberate care and leaned back slightly in the chair. When he spoke again his voice was softer but firm.

“Donghyuck used to live in this room. Seven years ago. He died, and his parents shifted cities not long after. That is all you need to know.”

Riku opened his mouth to ask something else, the questions already forming, but Mr. Lee shook his head once before any words could come out.

“No ifs and buts,” he said. “Focus on your studies. That is what we are here for.”

The lesson continued after that, though the air between them felt different. Mr. Lee kept his explanations clear and patient, but the earlier warmth had cooled into something more professional and distant.

Riku tried to concentrate on the pages in front of him, yet the name Donghyuck and the quiet finality in Mr. Lee’s answer lingered at the edges of his thoughts. He did not push again. The rest of the hour passed in focused silence broken only by the necessary exchanges about the work.

When the time was up, Mr. Lee gathered his papers and returned them to his bag with efficient movements. He stood and gave Riku a small nod.

“You are a smart kid,” he said. “Keep working at this pace and you will do well.”

They walked downstairs together. Riku’s mother was waiting in the living room, and she smiled when she saw them.

“Mr. Lee, thank you again for coming. How did it go?”

“He is a smart kid,” Mr. Lee repeated, his tone polite and steady. “With consistent effort he will see good results.”

Riku’s mother’s smile widened with clear relief and gratitude. “I am thankful for you. Truly. It means a lot that you are willing to help him settle in so quickly.”

Mr. Lee gave a small respectful nod and then took his leave. The front door closed behind him with a soft click, and the house settled back into its usual quiet.

Riku returned to his room to put his books away. On the desk, where Mr. Lee had been sitting, lay a single pen that had not been there before. It was a simple black one with a silver clip, nothing particularly remarkable at first glance. Riku picked it up to return it and noticed the small engraving along the side.

He turned it slowly in his fingers. The words were etched in neat, careful script.

mark lee, i love you my boyfriend.

Riku stared at the inscription for a long moment. He walked to the window and looked down at the street, but Mr. Lee was already gone, the pavement empty in both directions. The pen remained in his hand, the words catching the light as he turned it once more. Outside, the neighbourhood carried on with its ordinary evening sounds, but inside the room the weight of the diary and the quiet reaction from the tutor and the engraved message on the pen settled together into something that felt larger than any single piece on its own

The call for dinner came just as the sky outside Riku’s window had begun to deepen into the soft blue of early evening. His mother’s voice carried up the stairs with its usual steady warmth, and Riku set his notebook aside, the engraved pen still resting on the desk where he had placed it after Mr. Lee left. He took a breath, feeling the weight of the day settle differently now that the house had quieted.

When he reached the dining table, his father was already seated, the day’s newspaper folded neatly beside his plate. The meal was simple, the kind his mother prepared when she wanted the evening to feel ordinary and safe. Steam rose from the bowls of rice and the small dishes of vegetables and soup arranged between them.

Riku pulled out his chair and sat down. His father looked up from adjusting his glasses and offered a small nod of greeting before turning his attention to the food.

“How are your studies going?” his father asked after the first few bites had passed in comfortable silence. “The new tutor, Mr. Lee, how was he today?”

Riku reached for his water glass, buying a moment to steady his thoughts. “It went well. He explained things clearly. I think I understood the material better than I have in weeks. He seems patient.”

His father nodded again, the movement small and approving. “Good. That is what matters. Consistency will bring results. You have time to catch up if you stay focused.”

They ate quietly for a while after that. The only sounds were the soft clink of chopsticks against bowls and the occasional rustle as his mother passed a dish across the table. Riku kept his eyes on his plate, but the conversation from earlier in the day with Mr. Lee lingered at the edges of his mind, the name Donghyuck and the quiet finality in the tutor’s voice when he had spoken of the boy who once lived in the room.

It made the ordinary act of sitting at dinner feel heavier somehow, as though the house itself carried stories that had not yet finished being told.

He set his chopsticks down carefully when the moment felt right. The courage he had been gathering since the tutor left now sat tight in his chest, but he knew if he waited any longer it would slip away again.

“Dad,” he said.

His father looked up, his expression open and attentive in the way it sometimes was when the day’s work was behind him. “Yeah?”

Riku swallowed once, the words coming out steadier than he had expected. “What if I did not want to study business? What if I wanted to dance instead?”

The question hung in the air between them for a moment that felt longer than it was. His mother paused with her hand on the soup ladle, her eyes moving from Riku to his father and back again. His father set his own chopsticks down and leaned back slightly in his chair, the lines around his eyes softening as he considered the words.

“Dance,” his father repeated, not as a question but as something he was turning over carefully. “You have never mentioned this before.”

“I know,” Riku said. His voice stayed quiet but clear. “I did not know how to bring it up. Everything has always been about the entrance exams and the business school and the future you and mom planned. I thought if I said something it would only make things harder. But today, after the lesson, I kept thinking about it. About what it would feel like to do something that actually belongs to me instead of something that was chosen for me.”

His father was quiet for a long stretch. He reached for his water and took a slow sip, his gaze resting on the table between them rather than directly on Riku. When he spoke again his tone carried none of the sharpness Riku had feared.

“I see,” his father said. “You have been carrying this for some time.”

Riku nodded. “I have. I am good at studying when I have to be, but it never feels like mine. Dance does. I have been practicing when no one is watching, in the room when the door is closed. It is the only thing that makes the days feel lighter instead of heavier.”

His mother set the ladle down and folded her hands in her lap, her expression thoughtful but not closed. She did not interrupt, letting the space between father and son hold the weight of the moment.

His father exhaled slowly, the sound carrying the tiredness of years spent building plans that had seemed solid until this evening. “I will not pretend this does not surprise me,” he said. “Your mother and I have always wanted stability for you. A path that would not leave you struggling the way so many others do. Business school was part of that picture because it felt safe. But if it has become a weight instead of a direction, then perhaps we have been looking at the wrong map.”

Riku felt something loosen in his chest at the words. He had expected resistance, the same careful pressure that had shaped so many conversations before. Instead his father continued, his voice steady and measured in the way it became when he was truly listening.

“I remember when I was your age,” his father said. “My own father had plans for me that had nothing to do with what I enjoyed. I followed them because it seemed easier than fighting. But there were nights when I wondered what it would have been like to choose differently. I do not want that for you. If dance is what calls to you, then we will find a way to make room for it. It will not be simple. There will still be responsibilities and practical matters to consider. But we can talk about them together instead of deciding everything in advance.”

His mother reached across the table and rested her hand lightly over her husband’s for a moment before turning her attention to Riku. “We only ever wanted you to have choices that would not leave you empty,” she said. “If this is one of them, then we will learn how to support it. Tell us what you need. We can start there.”

Riku felt the sting behind his eyes but held it back, the relief arriving in quiet waves rather than a single rush. “Thank you,” he said. “I did not expect you to agree so quickly. I thought there would be more arguments.”

His father gave a small, wry smile. “There might still be some. Change is never entirely smooth. But I would rather have honest conversations now than silent resentment later. You are old enough to know what moves you. We can figure out the rest as we go.”

The rest of the meal passed with a different kind of quiet, one that felt lighter than before. They spoke more about small things, the way the neighbourhood was changing, the plans for the weekend, but the larger question remained present like an open door rather than a closed one.

When the dishes were cleared and the evening settled into its familiar rhythm, Riku returned to his room with the sense that something important had shifted, even if the full shape of it was still forming.

The city had already slipped into night. Streetlights cast their steady glow along the sidewalks, and the air carried the faint coolness that came after a long day of summer warmth.

Mark walked with steady steps, a simple bouquet of sunflowers cradled in one arm. The flowers were bright against the dark of his jacket, their faces turned upward as though they still sought the light even in the evening. He had bought them from a small stall near the station, the vendor wrapping them with practiced hands while Mark stood in silence, the decision to visit already made hours earlier.

The graveyard gates were still open when he arrived, the path between the stones lit by low lamps that hummed softly in the quiet. He followed the familiar route without needing to check the signs, his feet remembering the way even after years of staying away. When he reached the stone marked with the dates he knew by heart, he paused for a moment before kneeling to set the sunflowers at its base. The petals caught what little light remained, their color vivid against the pale marble.

Lee Donghyuck

6th June 2000 – 19th June 2019

Mark settled onto the low stone bench nearby, the one that had always been there, and let his hands rest on his knees. The night air moved gently around him, carrying the faint scent of grass and distant rain. He looked at the stone for a long while before he spoke, his voice low and steady in the empty space.

“I took the tutoring job for the kid in your old house,” he said. “It was the same room. Same desk. Same window that looks out over the street. I did not realize how hard it would be until I was standing there again. Everything felt smaller and larger at the same time. The walls still hold the same quiet, but it is different now. Emptier in the places where you used to be.”

He reached out and adjusted one of the sunflowers so it would not tip over in the breeze. “The boy who lives there now found your diary. He asked about you during the lesson. I told him only what was necessary. That you used to live there. That you are gone. I could not say more without it becoming something I am not ready to share with a stranger, even one who seems kind. It felt strange to speak your name in that room after so long. Like the years folded back on themselves for a moment.”

Mark leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he continued. “Seven years is a long time and no time at all. I still wake up some mornings expecting to hear your voice on the other end of a call that will never come. I still keep the small things you gave me in a drawer I do not open often. The pen you had engraved for me is the one I use when I want to remember that love can be quiet and lasting even when everything else changes. Today I left it behind by accident. I will have to go back for it tomorrow. Part of me wonders if that is the universe’s way of making sure I do not stay away too long.”

He was quiet for a stretch, the only sound the soft rustle of leaves in the trees beyond the graves. When he spoke again his voice carried a gentleness that had grown steadier over the years. “I think about what you wrote in those pages. The way you carried so much weight alone. The love you still held even when it hurt. I wish I could have taken more of that weight from you. I wish the space I asked for had not become the distance that stayed. But I also know you would tell me not to carry guilt that does not belong to me. You always saw the best parts of people even when they could not see them themselves.”

Mark reached out and brushed a stray leaf from the base of the stone. “The boy in your room seems lost in his own way. Not the same kind of lost you were, but still searching for something that feels like his own. I hope he finds it. I hope the house gives him better memories than the ones it holds for me. Going back there reminded me how much of you is still woven into those walls, even if the people living there now will never know the full story. It hurt, but it also felt right somehow. Like honoring you by stepping into the space again instead of avoiding it forever.”

He sat back on the bench, his gaze resting on the flowers and the stone beyond them. The night had deepened fully now, the stars beginning to show in the clear patches of sky above the trees.

“I still love you,” he said, the words simple and steady. “That has not changed in seven years and I do not think it ever will. It lives in the quiet parts of my days now, the way you once wrote it lived in yours. I carry it without it breaking me the way it used to. Some mornings it feels like a gift. Other mornings it feels like the reason I keep moving forward instead of standing still. Either way, it is part of who I am.”

Mark stood slowly and adjusted the sunflowers one last time so they faced the stone. “I hope you are at peace now,” he said. “Wherever that peace finds you. I hope the parts of you that hurt so much have found rest. And I hope you know that the love you left behind is still here, still growing in its own quiet way. I will come back again. Not every week, but often enough that the space between visits does not grow too wide. The house will always be difficult, but it is also where part of you remains. That makes it worth returning to.”

He lingered a moment longer, the night air cool against his skin, then turned and walked back along the path toward the gates. The city lights waited beyond the graveyard walls, steady and ordinary, carrying on with their own stories while the sunflowers stood bright against the stone, their faces still turned toward whatever light remained.

Mark walked with steady steps, the weight of the day settling into something that felt lighter than it had when he arrived, the love he carried no longer a burden but a quiet companion that moved with him through the night.

dear diary,

30th april 2018

omg omg omg i cannot even believe this is real i keep reading the last message he sent me over and over again like if i stop the whole thing might disappear into thin air.

mark and i are together. like actually together. boyfriends.

i still cannot wrap my head around it. i keep smiling at nothing and my face hurts from it but i do not even care because everything feels lighter and brighter and like the world finally decided to give me something good after all this time. i cannot stop thinking about the way he looked at me when he said it. the way his voice got a little soft and nervous but sure at the same time. he said he liked me too. he said he had been thinking about me the same way i had been thinking about him and i almost dropped my phone right there in the middle of the street because how is this my life now.

i had the biggest crush on him for the longest time. like forever. since the first time we actually talked properly and he laughed at something stupid i said and it did not feel like he was laughing at me but with me. i used to replay our conversations in my head at night when i could not sleep. i used to wonder what it would be like if he ever saw me the same way i saw him.

and now he does. now he is mine and i am his and i keep wanting to scream it from the rooftops but i cannot because no one knows yet and that makes it feel even more like our own secret little world. we went for a walk after he told me and he held my hand for the first time and i thought my heart was going to beat right out of my chest. his hand was warm and a little clammy like he was nervous too and that made it even better because it meant he cared enough to be nervous around me.

i am so fucking excited i can barely sit still. every time my phone lights up i hope it is him and when it is i feel like i am floating. we texted until three in the morning last night just talking about nothing and everything and i kept laughing into my pillow so my parents would not hear. he makes me feel seen in a way no one else ever has. like he actually listens when i talk about the things that scare me or the things that make me happy. he does not rush to fix anything he just stays there with me and it feels like enough.

i keep thinking about the future even though it is probably too soon to think that far but i cannot help it. what if we go on real dates? what if we watch movies together and share headphones and he lets me rest my head on his shoulder? what if we tell people one day and it is not the end of the world? i know it is dangerous to hope like this but right now hope feels bigger than the fear.

i do not know what my parents will do when they find out. i know it will not be good. they already have so many plans for me and none of them include a boyfriend who is a boy. they would probably lose their minds. the thought makes my stomach twist a little but then i think about mark again and the way he smiled when i said yes and the twist turns into butterflies instead.

i am still so fucking excited. i keep wanting to write his name over and over just to see it on the page.

mark mark mark mark mark mark mark mark mark mark mark mark mark mark mark mark mark mark mark mark mark

my boyfriend.

i cannot believe i get to call him that now. i keep touching my lips and remembering the almost kiss we had before we said goodbye and how he pulled back at the last second because we were in public but the look in his eyes said he wanted to. i wanted to too. i still want to. i think about it all the time.

everything feels different today. the sky looks bluer. the songs on my playlist sound better. even the boring parts of the day feel like they are leading somewhere good instead of just dragging on. i keep catching myself grinning at my reflection in the mirror like an idiot and i do not even try to stop. this is the happiest i have felt in a long time. maybe the happiest i have ever felt. i know there are things we will have to figure out and i know it will not always be easy but right now i just want to hold on to this feeling for as long as i can. mark likes me back.

mark wants to be with me. i am someone’s boyfriend and he is mine and that is the best thing that has happened to me in forever.

i cannot wait to see him again. i already miss his voice even though we just talked this morning. i keep checking my phone even though i know he is probably busy with his own stuff. i hope he is smiling too. i hope he is thinking about me the way i am thinking about him. i hope this feeling lasts. i hope we get to keep this for a long time.

i am so happy i could burst. omg omg omg i still cannot believe it.

mark is my boyfriend. i am the luckiest person in the world right now and i am going to try really hard to remember this feeling on the days when everything else feels heavy.

this is ours. this is real. and i am so fucking excited for whatever comes next.