Not Your Lover (2PARK✔️)

Step Three: Willing

Postcard by Troye Sivan, a dreary melody with lyrics of loss to set the mood

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The funeral is slow-going, with grim faces surrounding me, and damp cheeks glistening in the sunny autumn sky.

"Ha Sungwoon, a young man of only twenty-five, brought us here today to celebrate. Not to mourn." The man that leads the oddly western ceremony stands over Sungwoon's coffin, narrating the event like a sport's commentator. "In fact, I'm sure he'd be yelling at anyone stood around today just crying."

I stare straight ahead, Jihoon somehow weaseling himself into place just across the burial plot from me. His cheeks are dry, surprisingly, but the small girl I recognize from the kitchen scene is close to breaking down beside him. One of her small hands holds onto Jihoon's, while the other holds onto Daniel's on her other side, both men giving her nervous glances every few moments.

I don't really understand who she is, or why she's having such a reaction to Sungwoon's passing, but I try to ignore her as much as possible. It's difficult when Jihoon's dark gaze flicks over her face so often, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

I look away when he lets go of her hand to wrap an arm around her shoulders, Daniel's hand falling away easily. I don't want to think about it, really. I don't want to know if Jihoon has a girlfriend. I don't want to know if he's suddenly given up on men after being hurt by the only two he ever let himself open up to-

You're one of those two, jackass. Don't act like you aren't.

I ignore my own spiteful thoughts and tune back into the narrative, listening as Sungwoon's achievements are listed off. "...he even bought up his own company a few months ago, fostering it as his own and developing it so the employees below him could better their lives." The man gives me a pointed look, as if he knows something I don't, before continuing.

"He took people into his heart, and gave them homes of their own when they were in desperate need." I expect another glance, but this time he turns his gaze to Nayoung. I'm surprised to remember her name finally.

She catches onto the subtle reference, swiping her hands across her cheeks to nod when others give her sympathetic smiles. Her lips stutter on their way up to a smile, fighting against her tears to show how gracious she still must be.

"And of course, the incredible donations he made to hospitals across the country to further research for his syndrome."

His syndrome. I'd almost completely forgotten about him ever being sick. He'd been more lively than the whole lot of us, despite going through treatments on the sidelines, and hours of physical therapy when nobody was watching. My stomach churns as I imagine him suffering alone. Possibly even without Jihoon once he got the chance to debut.

"Now that I've talked everyone's ears off, at the request of Sungwoon himself, we'll hear from his longest friend, and dearest brother, Park Jihoon."

I stiffen, the red haired boy across from me squeezing his eyes shut in silent preparation. I watch his mental resolve unfold across his expression, from terror, to pain, to determination in only two short breaths. He releases Nayoung from his hold to approach the front of the large gathering, everyone's eyes on him.

Camera crews that followed the procession here begin holding each other up from the ground in the back of the crowd, attempting to get Jihoon's eulogy on video. I hope they all tumble and break. That would be the only way for Sungwoon's celebration to begin.

Jihoon clears his throat as he stands before all of us, his eyes flicking over faces slowly. He doesn't pause on mine like he does for others, and I try not to feel too hurt by it, but after going so long without even being able to see him, it feels like a cheap slap. It stings even worse when his chapped lips part, and his words begin to flow.