Uncontrollably Fond - Tumblr Posts

I haven’t said anything about any Kdramas for a while now (I still watch plenty, check my list), but I started watching Uncontrollably Fond the other day and all I can say rn is: Girl, why tf are we yelling all the time???💀💀 Every other line is being yelled out 💀💀

please, like or reblog if you save/use

me after scarlet heart and uncontrollably fond

smile for me (웃어줘) — lee taeyong (이태용)

✧.*

fate was a silent sculptor, a force that worked with the grace of a master artisan, molding the raw clay of existence into shapes unforeseen. it was an entity shrouded in mystery, an invisible thread weaver, pulling taut the strands of your life with an artistry both cruel and kind. every choice, every chance encounter, every seemingly trivial moment—fate held them in its delicate hands, spinning them into the tapestry of your existence.

but fate was not a mere craftsman; it was an omnipotent architect, capable of constructing entire worlds with a single breath. it could raise mountains of joy or carve deep valleys of despair with equal precision. it had the power to guide your steps down paths you never intended to tread, to bring you to your knees with the weight of its decisions, or to lift you to heights unimaginable, where the air was thin and every breath felt like a gift.

in its infinite wisdom, fate was both a gentle whisper and a thunderous roar. it spoke to you in the quiet moments of dawn, when the sky blushed with the promise of a new day, and it shouted at you in the chaos of a storm, when the winds howled with untamed ferocity. it was the unseen hand that nudged you towards love when your heart was unguarded and the ruthless tyrant that tore it away when you least expected it.

you knew that fate was not to be questioned. it was an ancient force, older than time itself, a presence that moved through the ages with a purpose unfathomable to mortal minds. it carried within it the echoes of a million lifetimes, the hopes and dreams of those who had come before you, and the silent prayers of those yet to be born. it was neither kind nor cruel, neither friend nor foe; it simply was.

the weight of nostalgia wrapped around you like a heavy blanket as your thoughts drifted back to those tender years when love was a golden thread that tied you and taeyong together. you were both so young, too young to understand the depth of the feelings that had blossomed between you, yet old enough to believe that what you shared was something eternal. it was the kind of love that flourished in secret, nurtured by stolen glances and whispered words under the cover of twilight. you could still remember the way his eyes lit up when he saw you, a brilliant, unwavering gaze that made you feel like you were the only person in the world. he had always been like that—intense, focused, as though nothing else mattered when you were together.

there was one evening, a memory still vivid in your mind, when the two of you had escaped to the old playground behind the school. the swings creaked with age, and the air was thick with the scent of rain that had just passed. you sat side by side, your hands barely touching, as you watched the sun dip below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of pink and gold.

“do you think we’ll always be like this?” you had asked him, your voice soft, almost hesitant. it was a question that carried the weight of your unspoken fears—the fear that this moment, like all things, would eventually fade.

taeyong had turned to you, his expression serious, but his eyes held that familiar warmth. “i don’t know what the future holds,” he had replied, his voice steady, “but as long as you’re here, i’ll be happy.” he reached for your hand then, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that felt both comforting and electrifying. you had smiled at him, feeling the warmth of his touch seep into your skin, anchoring you to that moment, to him. it was one of those rare times when the world seemed to stop, and all that existed was the two of you, together.

but the world didn’t stop, and neither did time. there were other memories, too—nights spent talking about dreams and fears, of futures you dared not imagine without each other. he had always been the more daring of the two, the one who would pull you into the unknown with a laugh and a promise that it would all be okay. and it always was, as long as he was by your side.

yet, nothing lasted forever. the inevitability of change came crashing into your life on a day that should have been ordinary. you could still hear the sound of your mother’s voice breaking as she delivered the news—the kind of news that shatters the world you thought you knew.

your sister was gone. the accident had been swift, merciless, taking her from you without warning, without time to prepare or to say goodbye. the grief that followed was a dark, suffocating cloud that settled over your home, over your heart. and with it came the decision that would alter the course of your life.

“we’re moving to gangnam,” your father had said, his voice heavy with a resolve that left no room for argument. it was meant to be a fresh start, a way to escape the memories that haunted every corner of your old life. but for you, it was the end of everything you knew, including your relationship with taeyong. you could still remember the day you told him. it was the last day of summer, the air thick with the scent of autumn just around the corner. you met him at the park, the same place where so many of your memories had been made. but this time, there was no laughter, no lightheartedness. only the heavy weight of what you had to say.

“i’m leaving,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you fought to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. “my family, we’re moving to gangnam. i don’t have a choice.”

taeyong’s eyes widened, disbelief and pain flashing across his face. “no, you can’t,” he murmured, stepping closer to you as if he could somehow change the reality with his presence alone. “we’ll find a way, we always do.”

but there was no way this time, and you both knew it. the distance, the grief, the weight of everything that had happened—it was too much. you shook your head, unable to meet his gaze. “we can’t, tae. this time, it really is goodbye.” he was silent for a long time, the kind of silence that felt like it stretched on forever, as if the world itself was holding its breath. when he finally spoke, his voice was low, filled with a sadness that broke your heart all over again. “i don’t want to say goodbye to you.”

you finally looked up at him, your vision blurred with unshed tears. “neither do i,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “but we don’t have a choice.”

he took your hand then, just as he had so many times before, but this time it felt different—final. he held it tightly, as if trying to memorize the feel of your skin against his, as if this one touch could somehow bridge the distance that was about to come between you.

“promise me something,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “promise me you’ll be happy, no matter what happens.” you nodded, unable to find the words. your throat was tight, your heart breaking with every second that passed. but you knew you had to let him go, just as he had to let you go.

he smiled at you then, a sad, beautiful smile that you knew you would carry with you for the rest of your life. “smile for me,” he whispered, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek. “just once more, before you go.”

you forced yourself to smile, though it felt like your heart was shattering into a thousand pieces. he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin.

“i’ll never forget you,” he murmured against your hair, his voice breaking. “no matter where you go, or how much time passes. i’ll never forget.” you closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of that moment, knowing it was the last you would share. when you opened them again, he was already stepping back, his hand slipping from yours as if he was afraid to hold on too tightly, afraid to break you both. you watched him go, your heart aching with every step he took away from you. and when he was finally gone, you stood there for what felt like hours, the weight of the goodbye settling over you like a heavy, unbearable burden.

and though you eventually turned and walked away, leaving behind the park, the memories, and the boy you had once loved, you knew that a part of you would always remain there, with him, in the echoes of your past.

time had a way of healing wounds, softening the sharp edges of pain until they became manageable, like scars that faded but never entirely disappeared. after the storm of your past, you had found solace in creation, in the art of storytelling, where you could lose yourself in worlds of your own making. it was there, behind the lens of a camera, that you found your true calling.

filmmaking became your salvation. each frame you captured, each story you brought to life, was a step forward—a way to channel your grief, your loss, and the remnants of love that still lingered in the corners of your heart. you poured yourself into your work, every script a piece of your soul, every scene a reflection of your journey.

there was one film in particular, one that marked the turning point in your career and life. it was a story about love and loss, about the inevitability of change and the beauty that could still be found within it. it was a story that, in many ways, mirrored your own, though you kept that truth hidden beneath layers of fiction.

on the day of the premiere, you stood at the back of the theater, watching as the audience was drawn into the world you had created. the lights dimmed, the opening scene played, and you felt a sense of pride swell within you—a pride that you had not felt in a long time. you had done it. you had taken the broken pieces of your heart and crafted them into something beautiful, something that resonated with others.

when the lights came up and the applause filled the room, you allowed yourself a moment to close your eyes, to let the sound wash over you. it was more than just success; it was a validation of everything you had been through, a sign that you had not only survived but thrived.

later, as you mingled with guests at the after-party, you found yourself surrounded by admirers—people who had been touched by your work, who saw in you the talent and drive that had carried you this far. but amid the congratulations and praise, there was one moment that stood out above the rest.

a young aspiring filmmaker approached you, her eyes wide with admiration. “your film, it was incredible,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “i’ve always wanted to make films, but i never thought i could do it. watching your work, it’s made me believe that maybe i can.”

you smiled at her, seeing a reflection of your younger self in her eyes. “you can,” you assured her, your voice steady and warm. “if you have a story to tell, then nothing should stop you from telling it. the world needs to hear it, and you’re the only one who can share it in your way.” she beamed at your words, and you felt a deep sense of fulfillment knowing that you had inspired someone else to follow their dreams. it was in that moment that you realized how far you had come, not just in your career, but in your journey of healing.

the years had been kind to you, and as you continued to create, to tell stories that moved and inspired, you found that the pain of the past had become a source of strength, rather than a burden. you had taken the darkest chapters of your life and turned them into art, into something that could touch the hearts of others and remind them that there was always hope, even in the face of loss.

but you were not the only one who had found success in the years that followed your breakup with taeyong. he, too, had risen to the heights of his potential, carving out a name for himself in the world of acting. he had always possessed a natural talent, a charisma that drew people to him, both on and off the screen. his presence was magnetic, his performances imbued with a raw intensity that captivated audiences. he had a way of slipping into his roles, of becoming the characters he portrayed, with a depth that left those who watched him breathless.

you heard about his success in the way one might hear about the weather—a constant, ever-present topic of conversation among those in your circle. his name was on the lips of critics and fans alike, his face gracing the covers of magazines, his performances earning him accolades and awards.

there was one film, in particular, that catapulted him into the spotlight, a gritty drama that required him to delve into the darkest recesses of the human experience. it was a role that demanded everything from him, both physically and emotionally, and he delivered with a performance that was nothing short of transformative.

as you watched the film, you couldn’t help but be struck by how far he had come, how much he had grown since those days when the two of you had been just a couple of kids with big dreams. he had taken the raw potential that you had always seen in him and honed it into something extraordinary.

his eyes, those same eyes that had once looked at you with so much love, now held a depth of emotion that spoke of experience, of a life lived and lessons learned. he was no longer the boy you had loved; he was a man who had faced his demons and come out stronger for it. in interviews, he spoke with the same quiet confidence that you remembered, but there was a wisdom in his words now, a maturity that came from the years that had passed. “acting is more than just pretending,” he once said during a particularly poignant interview. “it’s about understanding, about feeling deeply and sharing that with the world. it’s about connection.”

you couldn’t help but smile as you listened to him speak, recognizing the passion in his voice, the same passion that had driven you both to pursue your dreams. he had found his place in the world, just as you had found yours, and though your paths had diverged, there was a sense of pride in knowing that you had both made it.

the years had changed you both, in ways that were both subtle and profound. but as you reflected on all that had happened, on the successes and the sorrows, you realized that there was no regret in your heart. the love you had shared with him had been beautiful in its time, and though it had ended, it had left you both with something invaluable—a strength that carried you through the darkest times, and a determination to succeed, no matter the obstacles. and so, you continued to create, to inspire, to tell stories that mattered. and somewhere out there, taeyong did the same, each of you living the life that you had once dreamed of, finding your place in the world, and knowing that, in some way, you would always be connected by the memories of a love that had shaped you both.

the world had always been a stage for taeyong, a place where he could perform, transform, and transcend the boundaries of the ordinary. the lights, the cameras, the applause—these were the constants in his life, the elements that shaped him and gave him purpose. yet behind the scenes, away from the adoring fans and the glittering awards, there were moments that never made it to the silver screen. moments where the performance slipped, and reality seeped in, raw and unforgiving.

it was a day like any other, the sun bright against the city skyline, casting long shadows that danced along the pavement. taeyong found himself at the doctor's office, a place that had become all too familiar over the past few months. he had always been diligent about his health, keeping up with his annual check-ups, even when his schedule was packed. but this visit carried a weight that he had been trying to ignore, a heaviness that settled in his chest as he sat in the waiting room, flipping through a magazine without really seeing the pages.

when the nurse called his name, he stood, his movements fluid, graceful—an actor slipping into a role. he followed her down the hallway, past the sterile walls and closed doors, until they reached the examination room. the nurse smiled at him, a practiced, polite smile, before leaving him to wait.

and so he waited, the seconds stretching into minutes, each one a reminder of why he was here. he looked around the room, at the medical posters on the walls, the jars of tongue depressors and cotton balls, the examination table covered in crisp white paper. it all felt surreal, like a scene in one of his films, only this time there was no script, no director to call cut.

finally, the door opened, and doctor kim entered, his expression calm and measured, though taeyong could see the strain behind his eyes. they had known each other for years, the doctor having been a constant in his life, someone who had seen him through the ups and downs of his career, who had celebrated his successes and supported him through the tough times.

“taeyong,” the doctor greeted him with a nod, taking a seat at his desk. he pulled out a file, flipping it open and scanning the contents before looking up. “how have you been feeling?”

he leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, his smile easy, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “good, i suppose. busy, as always. the new project’s been keeping me on my toes.”

the doctor nodded, though his focus remained on the file in front of him. he let out a quiet sigh, closing the folder with a soft snap. “taeyong, we need to talk about your test results.” there it was, the moment he had been dreading, the words he had hoped he would never have to hear again. he kept his expression neutral, though his heart pounded in his chest. “has it gotten worse?” he asked, his voice steady, but there was a tension there, a crack beneath the surface.

the doctor's gaze softened, and taeyong could see the sadness in his eyes, the weight of what he had to say. “i’m afraid so,” he replied quietly. “the cancer has spread.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and oppressive, pressing down on taeyong’s shoulders like a physical force. he swallowed hard, his throat tight, but he didn’t let his composure falter. “well,” he said, forcing a smile, “i guess that’ll make for an interesting documentary, don’t you think? the story of an actor battling against the odds. it’s got drama, emotion, everything a good film needs.”

but the attempt at levity fell flat, the joke hollow in the face of reality. doctor kim didn’t smile. instead, he leaned forward, his voice gentle, full of compassion. “taeyong, i’m so sorry. i know this isn’t what you wanted to hear.” for a moment, he couldn’t find the words. he stared at the floor, his vision blurring at the edges as the reality of the situation crashed down on him. the dreams he had, the plans for the future—all of it suddenly felt fragile, like glass that could shatter with the slightest touch.

he had always been in control, always the one who called the shots, who decided how his story would be told. but now, now he was faced with something that he couldn’t direct, something that wouldn’t follow the script he had written for himself.

“i thought i had more time,” he finally murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “i thought, i could beat this.”

despite it all, he managed a weak smile, though his mind was already racing, trying to process what this meant for him, for his career, for the life he had built. he had always been a fighter, someone who never gave up, no matter how tough the battle. but now, it felt like a war he wasn’t sure he could win.

the studio was your sanctuary, a place where creativity flowed freely and the boundaries of reality blurred into the world of film. the walls were lined with storyboards, sketches, and notes, each one a fragment of a story waiting to be told. the room was filled with the soft hum of computers, the quiet rustling of papers, and the muted conversations of your team as they worked diligently on the myriad of projects you had taken on.

you stood in the center of it all, surrounded by the familiar chaos, yet your mind was already elsewhere, lost in the labyrinth of ideas that always seemed to pull you in a hundred different directions. the morning light filtered through the large windows, casting a warm glow over the space, but you barely noticed, too engrossed in the task at hand—a script that demanded your attention, characters that needed your voice to bring them to life.

“hey, boss,” a voice broke through your concentration, and you looked up to see one of your team members standing at the door, a hesitant smile on her face. “got a minute?” you sighed, setting the script down on the cluttered table and running a hand through your hair. “barely,” you replied with a weary smile. “i’m buried under a mountain of work, but go on. what’s up?”

the team member exchanged glances with the others in the room, a silent communication passing between them before she stepped further into the studio. “we’ve got a new project for you,” she said, her tone careful, as if she was choosing her words with great precision. you raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued despite your earlier protest. “a new project?” you repeated, leaning back against the table and crossing your arms. “you know how swamped i am. i’ve got deadlines looming, scripts to revise, not to mention the festival coming up. i’m not sure i can take on anything else right now.”

“i know, i know,” she said quickly, holding up her hands in a placating gesture. “but this, this is something you can’t pass up. trust me.” your interest was definitely piqued now. she knew you well enough to understand that you didn’t take on just any project, especially when your plate was already full. if she was pushing this, it had to be something special. “alright,” you said slowly, eyeing her with a mixture of suspicion and intrigue. “what’s the project?”

she hesitated for just a moment, and you could see the flicker of something—concern, maybe—in her eyes before she spoke again. “it’s a documentary,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “about a famous actor, and his battle with cancer.”

her words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. you blinked, trying to process what she had just said. it wasn’t the first time you’d been approached with a project like this—after all, your reputation as a filmmaker was built on your ability to tell stories that resonated deeply with people, stories that touched on the raw, human experiences of life. but something about this particular proposal struck a chord within you, a sense of déjà vu that you couldn’t quite shake.

“a documentary about an actor’s battle with cancer?” you repeated, your voice softer now, tinged with the gravity of the subject. “that’s certainly an interesting proposal.” there was a brief silence as your team watched you closely, gauging your reaction, waiting to see if you would take the bait. and how could you not? this was the kind of story that could change lives, that could bring hope to others in the same situation. it was the kind of story that needed to be told, and you knew you had the skills and the sensitivity to tell it in the way it deserved.

“so,” your team member continued, her voice a little more confident now, “what do you think? are you up for it?” you let out a slow breath, your mind already racing with the possibilities, the ideas that were starting to take shape. the weight of the project was immense, but it was also an opportunity—one that you knew you couldn’t walk away from. this was why you had become a filmmaker in the first place: to tell stories that mattered, stories that could make a difference.

you met her gaze, a resolve settling over you as you nodded. “yeah,” you said, your voice firm with decision. “i’m up for it. let’s do it.”

there was a collective sigh of relief from your team, and the tension in the room eased as smiles spread across their faces. “great,” she said, her smile wide and genuine. “i’ll set up the meeting as soon as possible. you won’t regret this.”

you nodded again, though your thoughts were already elsewhere, your mind drifting to the story you were about to embark on, the life you were about to explore and capture on film. there was something about this project that felt different, something that tugged at the edges of your consciousness, a sense that this was more than just another film—it was a story that was somehow personal, though you couldn’t quite place why.

the house was quiet, an eerie stillness filling the space as taeyong stood in the center of his living room. the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows that danced across the walls, their movements gentle and unassuming. the room was warm, lit by the soft glow of the fireplace, its flames crackling quietly, adding a touch of life to the otherwise somber atmosphere.

his gaze was distant, his thoughts miles away, lost in the labyrinth of memories and the weight of the present. he had always been a man who carried his burdens silently, his struggles hidden behind a charming smile and a confident demeanor. but tonight, there was a heaviness to him, a sense of finality that clung to the air, making the room feel smaller, suffocating.

mark stood by his side, his eyes filled with concern as he watched his boss, his friend, grapple with the silent battle he had been waging for months now. taeyong’s health had been declining slowly, the cancer spreading with a relentless determination, yet he had never once allowed it to break him. he had continued to work, to smile, to laugh as if everything was fine. but mark knew better. he could see the toll it was taking on him, the exhaustion that was starting to seep into his bones, the way his eyes seemed dimmer, less vibrant.

“are you alright?” mark’s voice was soft, hesitant, as if he was afraid to disturb the fragile peace that hung in the air. taeyong didn’t turn to look at him, his eyes still fixed on the flames that danced before him. “never been better,” he replied, his tone light, almost nonchalant. but there was an edge to his voice, a hint of something darker that he couldn’t quite mask.

mark’s brow furrowed, a frown tugging at his lips as he tried to make sense of his words. he had always admired taeyong’s ability to stay positive, to find the silver lining in even the darkest of situations, but this—this felt different. there was something unsettling about the way he spoke, as if he had accepted his fate, as if he was ready to let go.

“the cancer,” taeyong continued, his voice calm, almost detached, “despite its slow murder, is a good chance for my career to reach its peak.”

mark’s heart clenched at the words, a cold chill running down his spine. how could he say such a thing? how could he talk about his own death with such casual indifference? mark shook his head, trying to push the thought away, trying to ignore the fear that was beginning to coil in his chest.

“boss,” mark began, his voice trembling slightly, but he quickly caught himself, forcing a steadiness he didn’t feel. “don’t say that. you’re going to make it. you’ll beat this.” taeyong didn’t respond, his silence heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts and unacknowledged fears. he stepped away from the fireplace, his feet moving almost instinctively towards the mantle where several framed photographs were arranged neatly, each one a snapshot of a moment in time, a piece of his past carefully preserved behind glass.

he paused in front of the mantle, his eyes scanning the photos, memories flooding his mind as he took in the images—his parents, his friends, moments of triumph and joy. but there was one photograph that drew his attention, one that seemed to pull him in with a force he couldn’t resist. it was a picture of you and him, taken years ago when the world seemed so much simpler, so full of promise.

you were both smiling in the photo, your eyes bright with laughter, your arm looped through his as if you were afraid to let go. it was a candid shot, one taken during a summer festival, the two of you surrounded by the vibrant colors of the fair, the warmth of the day captured in the curve of your lips and the softness of your gaze. taeyong’s fingers reached out, brushing lightly against the glass, tracing the outline of your face, the curve of your smile, as if by touching the image, he could somehow bring you back, relive that moment just once more. there was a sadness in his eyes now, a longing that he couldn’t quite put into words.

mark watched him in silence, his heart aching for his best friend, for the man who had once been so full of life and energy, who had always faced the world with an unbreakable spirit. he could see the pain that he was trying so hard to hide, the sorrow that he kept locked away, refusing to let it show, refusing to let it consume him. “you’re going to make it,” mark repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying the words quietly would make them true, would somehow protect taeyong from the cruel hand that fate had dealt him.

his hand stilled on the photograph, his gaze lingering on your face, on the memory of what you had once been to each other. there was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to tell you, but the words were caught in his throat, trapped by the knowledge that it was too late, that those moments were gone, that the life he had envisioned for himself, for the two of you, had slipped through his fingers like sand.

“smile for me,” he whispered to the photo, the words so quiet that they barely reached mark’s ears. it was a request, a plea for something that he could no longer have, for the joy that had been taken from him, for the love that he had lost.

the morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of your apartment, casting a soft, golden light across the room. you sat at the edge of your bed, your fingers idly twisting the delicate silver chain that hung around your neck. the pendant, a simple charm that had once meant the world to you, was cool against your skin, a reminder of a time long past.

today was a day you had been preparing for, though you hadn’t known it. a part of you had been waiting for this moment, whether consciously or not. you had been told this was a career-defining opportunity, a project that could cement your place in the industry. but as you sat there, staring at your reflection in the mirror, you couldn’t help but feel the tight knot of anxiety in your stomach, the unease that had been building ever since you first heard the name of the actor you were about to meet.

“focus,” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely more than a breath. you had come so far, had worked so hard to get here. this was your moment. you were a successful filmmaker, your documentaries praised for their depth, their emotional resonance. you had built a career on capturing the raw, unfiltered truth of human experience. and yet, the truth of what you were feeling now was something you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

you stood and walked over to the wardrobe, pulling out a simple, yet elegant, outfit. something professional, but not too formal—a reminder that while this was work, it was also personal, far more personal than anything you had ever done before. as you dressed, you went over the plan in your mind, rehearsing the questions you wanted to ask, the tone you wanted to set. you had to be calm, composed, professional. but above all, you had to be respectful. this was someone’s life, someone’s struggle that you were about to document. you needed to handle it with the care and sensitivity it deserved.

you inhaled deeply, trying to steady the trembling in your hands. “it’s just another project,” you told yourself, though the words felt hollow, like a mantra you didn’t quite believe. you shook your head, pushing the thoughts away, focusing instead on the task at hand. this was about the work, about telling a story that needed to be told.

when you arrived at the studio, your manager greeted you with a warm smile. “he’ll be here soon,” she assured you, her tone light, as if this were just another day at the office. you nodded, your expression calm, though inside, you were anything but. you tried to imagine how the conversation would go, the questions you would ask, the answers he might give. you wanted to make sure that you approached him with the respect he deserved, whoever he was. this wasn’t about you, or the past. this was about him, about his story.

you were so lost in thought that you didn’t hear the door open, didn’t notice the figure that walked into the room until it was too late. the air seemed to shift, the room growing heavier as if time itself had slowed. when you finally looked up, your breath caught in your throat. there he was, standing just a few feet away, his presence as commanding as ever. your heart pounded in your chest, your pulse racing as you took him in, the years that had passed between you falling away in an instant.

he hadn’t changed. not really. he was older, yes, his features more defined, more mature, but the essence of him was still the same. the same sharp eyes, the same confident posture, the same warmth in his smile that had once made you feel like you were the only person in the world. but now, that smile was tinged with something else, something sadder, something that spoke of battles fought and lost, of a life that had been lived, but not without cost. and then he saw you.

his gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. the air between you was electric, charged with the weight of all that had been left unsaid, all the memories that had been buried but never forgotten. you saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes, the way his breath hitched, the way his expression softened, just for a moment, before he schooled his features back into that same calm, controlled mask he always wore.

but it was too late. you had seen it. the way his eyes had widened, the way his shoulders had tensed, the way his lips had parted, just slightly, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. he hadn’t changed a bit, you thought, your heart aching with the realization. he was still the same boy you had fallen in love with all those years ago, still the same person who had once held your heart in his hands. but there was something else there now, something deeper, something that spoke of pain and loss and the kind of strength that could only come from enduring both.

for a moment, you didn’t know what to do, what to say. the room felt too small, the air too thick, and all you could do was stare at him, your mind racing, your emotions a whirlwind of confusion and longing and fear. taeyong, for his part, didn’t say anything either. he just stood there, his eyes locked on yours, as if he couldn’t quite believe that you were real, that after all these years, after everything that had happened, you were standing in front of him again.

and as you stood there, frozen in place, you couldn’t help but think how much prettier you had gotten. the years had been kind to you, had softened the edges of your beauty, had added a depth to your eyes, a grace to your movements that hadn’t been there before. he could see the strength in you, the resilience that had carried you through the years, through the pain and the loss and the heartache. but he also saw the vulnerability, the way your hands trembled just slightly, the way your breath hitched when you saw him. and it broke his heart, because he knew that he had put that there, that he was the reason you had learned to guard your heart so carefully, to protect yourself from the kind of pain that had once torn you apart.

the silence stretched on, thick and heavy, until it was finally broken by the soft clearing of a throat. your manager, sensing the tension, quickly made an excuse, something about giving you both some privacy, and with a few hurried words, she ushered the rest of the staff out of the room, leaving you and taeyong alone.

you sat across from him, the space between you feeling like an ocean of memories and emotions that neither of you could fully navigate. the small table in the center of the room was the only thing that separated you, yet it felt like a chasm. both of you were still stunned, your hearts beating in sync with the silence that enveloped the room.

you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the words tumbled out before you could catch them. “of all people,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, “i didn’t expect to see you.”

taeyong’s smile was small, almost wistful, as he looked at you. his eyes, though still bright with that familiar spark, held a depth of sorrow that hadn’t been there before. “it’s been a long time,” he replied, his voice softer than you remembered, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. the pieces began to click in your mind, the realization slowly dawning on you as you recalled the brief your team had given you—the documentary about an actor’s battle with cancer. the words had seemed almost abstract then, just another story to tell, but now, with taeyong sitting in front of you, they took on a weight that made your heart swell with a mixture of pain and empathy. he was the actor. he was the one fighting for his life.

his smile grew a little, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “you’ve gotten prettier,” he said, his voice carrying a note of admiration, but also of something unspoken, a sadness that lingered in the air between you. you couldn’t help the sad smile that tugged at your lips as you responded, “you look as good as ever.” but even as you said it, you noticed the subtle changes in him, the way his clothes seemed to hang just a little too loosely on his frame, the pallor of his skin, the slight tremor in his hands that he tried to hide.

he tilted his head slightly, studying you with those same piercing eyes that had once seen right through you, had once made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered. “how’ve you been?” he asked, his voice gentle, as if he was afraid of the answer. you hesitated, your heart constricting in your chest as memories of the past few years flashed through your mind. “it’s been rough,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. the loss of your sister, the breakup that had shattered your heart, the long, lonely nights spent trying to piece yourself back together—it all came rushing back in a wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm you.

“and you?” you asked, your voice trembling with the weight of your concern, though you already knew the answer. “how have you been?”

taeyong’s smile faltered, and for a moment, you saw the truth written on his face—the exhaustion, the pain, the fight he was barely holding onto. “i’ve seen better days,” he confessed, his voice tinged with a resignation that made your heart ache. it was only then that you truly saw him, really saw him—the fragility in his posture, the way his shoulders slumped slightly as if carrying the weight of the world, the way his skin seemed almost translucent in the harsh lighting of the room. he looked like a shadow of the person you once knew, a ghost of the man who had once stood so tall, so strong. the sight of him, so frail, so vulnerable, sent a pang of sorrow through you that you couldn’t suppress.

your vision blurred as tears welled up in your eyes, and you struggled to keep them at bay. “i leave, and you get sick on me,” you murmured, your voice cracking with the effort to keep your emotions in check. “how’s that fair?”

taeyong’s smile was sad, a reflection of the pain he saw in your eyes. he reached out, his hand hovering over the table as if he wanted to comfort you, but then he hesitated, pulling back slightly. “don’t worry about me,” he said softly, his voice carrying a gentle reassurance that only made the tears in your eyes spill over. you wiped at your eyes, trying to compose yourself, but the overwhelming reality of the situation was too much to bear. the person who had once been your everything was now facing a battle you couldn’t even begin to fathom, and you felt utterly helpless.

he paused, his gaze fixed on you, as if he was memorizing every detail of your face, every expression, every flicker of emotion. “you have a documentary to work on,” he reminded you gently, his voice steady, though you could hear the strain beneath it. you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you tried to push down the flood of emotions threatening to consume you. “yeah,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “i guess i do.”

but even as you said the words, you knew that this was more than just a project, more than just another film to add to your portfolio. this was taeyong’s story, his life, and the thought of capturing something so personal, so painful, filled you with a sense of dread you couldn’t shake.

he smiled again, that same sad, knowing smile, as if he could read every thought that crossed your mind. “it’s okay,” he said, his voice soothing. “we’ll get through this. together.” the word “together” hung in the air between you, a reminder of all that had been lost, but also of all that still remained. despite everything, despite the years that had passed and the pain that had followed, there was still something between you, something that time and distance hadn’t been able to erase.

taeyong glanced at the clock on the wall, the faint ticking echoing in the quiet room. the moment stretched out, heavy with unspoken words and lingering emotions. you could feel the time slipping away, each second pulling him further from you. he began to rise slowly, his movements careful and deliberate, as if he was mindful of every breath he took.

his eyes flickered to yours, and you caught the briefest glimpse of hesitation, a flicker of something deeper that he quickly masked with a soft smile. you knew he was about to leave, and the thought sent a ripple of panic through you—a fear that this might be the last time you'd have him this close, the last time you could reach out and touch the memories that still bound you together.

before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out, desperate and unguarded. “would you like to discuss the details over coffee?” he paused, his eyes widening slightly as he took in your request. for a moment, you thought he might refuse, that the careful distance he was trying to maintain would hold, keeping the fragile walls between you intact. but then, his smile softened, melting into something genuine, something warm that reminded you of the boy you once knew.

“i’d love to,” he murmured, his voice tender, as if the mere act of agreeing to your offer was a kindness you couldn’t fully comprehend. his eyes, now shining with a mix of nostalgia and affection, locked onto yours, and in that moment, the distance between you seemed to shrink just a little.

together, you left the room, the tension easing with each step as the familiarity of your presence beside him settled into something more comfortable, more natural. the hallway outside was dimly lit, the muted colors adding a softness to the surroundings that matched the quiet emotions hanging between you. you walked in silence, neither of you needing to fill the space with idle chatter. it wasn’t long before you found a small, cozy coffee shop tucked away on a quiet street corner, its warm glow inviting you both in from the cool evening air. the bell above the door jingled softly as you entered, the sound somehow grounding you in the moment.

taeyong held the door open for you, his eyes never leaving yours as you stepped inside. the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped you, mingling with the faint scent of pastries and the low hum of quiet conversation from the few patrons scattered throughout the shop. the space was intimate, with dark wood tables and soft lighting that cast a gentle, golden hue over everything. it was the kind of place that felt like a secret, a hidden gem where time seemed to slow down.

he gestured toward a corner table by the window, where the light from a single candle flickered, casting delicate shadows on the polished wood. you nodded, making your way over to the table, the soft cushion of the chair sinking slightly under your weight as you sat down. he followed suit, his movements unhurried, as if savoring the simplicity of the moment. as he took the seat across from you, the candlelight caught the edges of his features, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the soft curve of his lips. he looked at you, and for a moment, it felt as though the years between you had melted away, leaving only the two of you, here and now.

when the waitress came to take your order, you hesitated, unsure if he would remember. but before you could speak, taeyong smiled up at her, his expression calm and certain. “two caramel macchiatos,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “one with extra foam, the other with just a hint of cinnamon on top.”

your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, the familiarity of the order sending a rush of warmth through you. he still remembered. after all these years, after all the distance that had grown between you, he remembered your favorite coffee, right down to the smallest detail. the waitress nodded, scribbling down the order before disappearing behind the counter. for a moment, you just looked at him, your heart swelling with a bittersweet kind of joy. the fact that he remembered something so trivial, something you had always considered your little indulgence, felt like a small miracle in the vastness of everything that had changed.

he met your gaze, his eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight, and he smiled—a real, unguarded smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and softened the lines of his face. “some things you just don’t forget,” he murmured, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity that wrapped around your heart like a comforting embrace. the words hung in the air between you, a gentle reminder of the connection you once shared. the silence that followed wasn’t heavy or uncomfortable, but rather, it was filled with a kind of understanding, an acknowledgment of all the things that had been left unsaid over the years.

when the drinks arrived, his smile widened as he slid yours across the table, the extra foam creating a delicate swirl in the amber liquid. you wrapped your hands around the warm cup, letting the heat seep into your skin, grounding you in the present moment.

the first sip was familiar, comforting, and you couldn’t help the small sigh of contentment that escaped your lips. he watched you with an expression of quiet satisfaction, as if your enjoyment of something so simple brought him a sense of peace. for a while, the two of you simply sipped your coffee, the world outside the window blurring into the background as the evening darkened. you talked about small things—work, mutual acquaintances, the latest films—but the conversation flowed easily, naturally, as though no time had passed since you last sat together like this.

but underneath the casual conversation, there was a current of deeper emotion, an unspoken acknowledgment of the elephant in the room. you could feel it in the way his gaze occasionally lingered on you, as if he was trying to memorize every detail of your face, every subtle shift in your expression. eventually, the conversation quieted, and the silence that followed was different—more charged, more significant. his eyes softened as he looked at you, and he reached across the table, his fingers brushing lightly against yours.

“i missed this,” he admitted softly, his voice almost a whisper, as if the words were too fragile to be spoken aloud. his thumb traced a gentle line across the back of your hand, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. you looked down at your intertwined fingers, the sight so familiar, so right, that it made your chest ache with a longing you hadn’t realized you were still holding onto. “i did too,” you whispered back, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth behind the words.

the warmth of his hand was a balm against the coldness that had settled in your heart over the years, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, the chasm between you could be bridged. that somehow, despite everything, you could find your way back to the place where you had once been so close. as you sat there, the candlelight casting soft shadows on the walls, you realized that this moment—this simple, quiet moment—was more precious than anything you could have imagined. it was a reminder that no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much had changed, there was still something between you. something worth holding onto.

the coffee shop door swung shut behind you, the faint chime of the bell ringing in your ears as you and taeyong stepped out into the cool night air. the evening had settled in fully now, the sky a deep canvas of indigo, speckled with stars that flickered faintly against the darkness. you shivered slightly, though whether from the chill or from the weight of everything unspoken between you, you couldn’t tell.

he walked beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air. the silence between you was thick with the lingering warmth of your time together, but also with the unshakable reality that this moment was coming to an end. the streets were quiet, the usual bustle of the city muted as if the world itself had paused to allow you these last few moments together.

when you reached the corner where you would part ways, taeyong stopped and turned to face you. the soft glow of a nearby streetlamp cast a halo of light around him, illuminating the sharp planes of his face, the softness in his eyes that he hadn’t quite hidden from you tonight. he seemed to hesitate, his gaze searching yours for something—perhaps the words he didn’t know how to say, or the strength to hold back what he truly felt.

“thank you,” he finally said, his voice low and sincere. his eyes never left yours, and you could see the depth of his gratitude, the silent plea that you understood how much tonight had meant to him. “for everything. for the coffee, for listening, for just being here.”

you nodded, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak. you wanted to say so much—to tell him how much you had missed this, how much you wished things could be different, how much you still cared—but the words felt too heavy, too vulnerable to voice. instead, you just stood there, your heart aching with the knowledge that you were once again saying goodbye to the boy who had once meant everything to you.

he smiled, a sad, bittersweet curve of his lips that made your chest tighten painfully. “i'll see you tomorrow,” he murmured, his eyes holding yours for a long moment, as if trying to convey all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud. “take care,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat, which seemed to echo loudly in the quiet night.

he took a step back, hesitated, then stepped forward again and wrapped his arms around you in a tight, warm embrace. you closed your eyes, sinking into the familiar comfort of his arms, letting yourself hold on for just a little bit longer. the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body against yours—it all felt so heartbreakingly familiar, and yet so distant, as if this moment was something you were meant to remember, not live.

when he finally pulled away, you felt the loss acutely, as if a part of you had been torn away with him. he offered you one last smile, one last lingering look, before turning and walking away, his figure slowly disappearing into the darkness of the night. you watched him go, your heart heavy with the realization that you didn’t know when—or if—you would ever see him again.

once he was out of sight, you finally turned and started the walk home. the streets were empty, save for the occasional car passing by, the world around you quiet and still. your footsteps echoed softly against the pavement, the only sound accompanying the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind.

by the time you reached your front door, your hands were trembling. you fumbled with the keys, the cold metal slipping between your fingers as you tried to fit the key into the lock. it took longer than it should have, but finally, the door clicked open, and you stepped inside. the warmth of your home greeted you, but it did nothing to chase away the cold that had settled deep within you. the silence here was different—heavier, more oppressive. it pressed down on you as you closed the door behind you, the finality of it ringing in your ears.

you took a few steps into the living room, your eyes scanning the familiar space without really seeing it. everything felt surreal, as if you were moving through a dream, one where you were painfully aware of how it would end. and then, as if the weight of it all had finally become too much, your knees buckled, and you sank to the floor. the tears came suddenly, without warning, spilling down your cheeks in hot, uncontrollable waves. you pressed your hands to your face, trying to stifle the sobs that tore from your throat, but it was no use. the dam had broken, and there was no stopping the flood.

you cried for everything—for the boy who had once been your everything, for the man he had become, for the distance that had grown between you over the years, for the love that still lingered, unspoken and unresolved. you cried for the memories that haunted you, for the pain of seeing him again, for the fear that this might truly be the end. your sobs echoed through the empty room, the sound raw and anguished, a release of all the emotions you had been holding back for so long. the reality of his situation, the knowledge that he was facing something you couldn’t fix, something you couldn’t protect him from—it all came crashing down on you, overwhelming you with a grief so deep, you could hardly breathe.

you stayed like that for what felt like hours, curled up on the floor, your body wracked with sobs until there were no more tears left to cry. the exhaustion that followed was bone-deep, leaving you drained and empty, a hollow shell of yourself. eventually, the tears subsided, leaving only a dull ache in their wake. you were too tired to move, too tired to do anything but lay there, the coolness of the floor pressing against your cheek, grounding you in the present. your breathing slowed, your sobs fading into quiet, shaky breaths as you finally began to slip into the darkness of sleep.

the following morning, you woke with the remnants of your tears still damp on your cheeks, the pain of the previous night still a heavy presence in your heart. you moved through the motions of your morning routine with mechanical precision, the hollow weight of grief settling deep within you. despite your efforts to compose yourself, your eyes were still red and swollen, the telltale signs of a night spent in anguish.

when you arrived at the studio where you were scheduled to meet taeyong, you tried to ignore the way your reflection in the glass doors revealed the exhaustion etched into your features. the bustling energy of the set did little to mask your own emotional turmoil as you prepared for another day of filming. he was already there, looking remarkably composed in contrast to the chaotic state you felt inside. he greeted you with that familiar smile, but it faltered just slightly as he took in the sight of you. his eyes softened with concern, a depth of empathy in his gaze that was all too familiar.

“hey,” he said, his voice gentle as he approached you. “you look tired. surely, you haven’t been crying because of me?” you tried to muster a reassuring smile, but it felt strained and weak. “oh, no,” you said quickly, your voice betraying the lie. “i’ve just been restless. Iit’s nothing, really.”

his expression remained skeptical, but he chose not to press further. “if you say so,” he said, though his eyes lingered on you with a hint of worry. “let’s get started. we’ve got a lot to cover today.”

the morning passed in a blur of activity as you worked together, setting up the cameras, adjusting the lights, and preparing for the next segment of the documentary. he was, as always, a professional, his presence commanding and charismatic even in the face of the vulnerability he was about to share. but today, the process felt more poignant, more bittersweet. each moment of film captured was a moment of his life that was both being documented and slowly slipping away.

as you filmed, taeyong spoke candidly about his journey with cancer. his voice was steady, but beneath the surface, there was a current of raw emotion. “it started with just a bit of fatigue,” he recounted, his eyes distant as he looked at the camera. “then came the pain, and before i knew it, it was everywhere. the treatments, they’re brutal. sometimes, i wonder if the cure is worse than the disease.”

his words were measured, but each one carried the weight of his suffering. the room was filled with the soft hum of the camera, and every so often, taeyong would glance over at you, as if checking to see if you were still there, still listening. his stories were filled with moments of strength and despair, the two coexisting in a delicate balance that left you feeling both heartbroken and inspired.

at one point, he began to talk about the impact of his illness on his personal life. he spoke about the relationships that had faltered, the friends who had drifted away. “people say they want to be there for you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “but it’s hard to be around someone who’s constantly fighting a losing battle. i understand why they pull away. i wouldn’t want to be around me either.”

your eyes filled with tears as he spoke, and you struggled to maintain your composure. the pain in his voice, the vulnerability he exposed—it was all too much. the camera kept rolling, capturing the raw honesty of his words, but you could no longer hold back the tears. they spilled over, running down your cheeks as you tried to stifle the sobs that escaped from your throat.

taeyong noticed immediately. he paused, his gaze shifting from the camera to you, his expression a mix of concern and sadness. “are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle but laced with worry. “do you need a break?” you shook your head, though your sobs were still audible. “i’m sorry,” you managed to say through your tears. “i didn’t mean to—”

he moved quickly to your side, his hand reaching out to touch your arm with a comforting warmth. “hey, it’s alright,” he said softly. “you don’t have to apologize. this is hard for me too. i understand.”

he took a deep breath, his own eyes shining with unshed tears. “i know it’s difficult,” he contonued, his voice cracking slightly. “i don’t have much time left, but i want to make the most of it. i want to spend the time i have left with you.” you looked up at him, your heart aching as you saw the sincerity in his eyes. “taeyong, i—”

he cut you off gently, placing a hand over yours. “let’s make a pact,” he said, his voice resolute despite the tears that glistened in his eyes. “let’s spend as much time together as we can. we’ll make these moments count.” you nodded, the weight of his words sinking deep into your heart. “i’d like that,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

he squeezed your hand reassuringly. “good,” he said, his own tears now flowing freely. “because i need you here with me. more than you know.” the two of you sat there for a while, holding each other in the quiet aftermath of your shared tears. the pain and sorrow were still present, but there was also a sense of connection, of understanding that transcended words. you both knew that the road ahead would be difficult, but in that moment, there was solace in the promise of being there for one another.

you and taeyong honored your pact with a quiet determination that bordered on sacred. the days became a collection of moments, each one more precious than the last, as you spent your time together creating memories that you both knew would one day be the echoes of what once was. the camera was your constant companion, always present but never intrusive, capturing the essence of taeyong as you saw him—strong, vulnerable, endlessly human.

in those weeks, you and him were inseparable, the lines between filmmaker and subject blurring until they no longer mattered. the only difference was the camera, but even that became an extension of your bond, a way to immortalize the fleeting beauty of each day you spent together.

you filmed everything—his quiet moments of introspection, the laughter you shared, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way he moved with a grace that belied the weight he carried. you wanted to capture it all, every nuance, every detail, so that when the time came, you would have these memories to hold onto. one afternoon, the two of you were sitting in a sun-drenched park, the warmth of the day wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. the camera rested on its tripod, focused on taeyong as he sat cross-legged on the grass, his head tilted back to catch the rays of the sun. his eyes were closed, a peaceful smile playing on his lips, and for a moment, he looked like he was simply soaking in the beauty of the world around him.

“do you ever wonder what people will remember about you?” he asked, his voice soft as he opened his eyes and turned to you. you lowered the camera, meeting his gaze. “all the time,” you admitted, your voice equally gentle. “but i’m more concerned with how i’ll remember you.”

he smiled, a bittersweet curve of his lips that tugged at your heart. “you’ll remember the good things, i hope,” he said, his tone light but with an undercurrent of sadness. “i’ll remember everything,” you replied, a lump forming in your throat. “every laugh, every tear, every moment we shared. i’ll remember the way you make the world seem brighter just by being in it.”

his eyes softened, and he reached out to take your hand in his. “you make it sound like i’m some kind of miracle,” he said, his voice laced with emotion. “you are,” you said, squeezing his hand gently. “you are to me.” the words hung between you, a quiet confession that neither of you needed to elaborate on. the depth of your connection was something that words could never fully capture, but in that moment, you both understood what you meant to each other.

as the weeks passed, you continued to film, capturing every detail of his life. there were moments when the reality of his situation would hit you both, the weight of it all pressing down like a heavy fog. but even in those moments, you found solace in each other, in the knowledge that you were not alone.

one evening, you found yourselves back in the studio, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the overhead lights. taeyong was sitting in a chair, the camera focused on him as he spoke about his journey with cancer, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “i’ve come to terms with it,” he said, his eyes distant as he looked into the camera. “i know that my time is limited, but i’m not afraid anymore. i’ve lived a good life, and i’ve been lucky to have people who love me. that’s more than i could have ever asked for.”

you stood behind the camera, your heart aching as you listened to his words. there was a calmness in his voice, a sense of acceptance that both comforted and devastated you. but then, something shifted inside you, a desire to show the world not just the man sitting in front of the camera, but the way you saw him—the way you loved him.

without a word, you turned the camera around, adjusting the focus until it was pointed at yourself. taeyong watched you with a curious expression, his head tilted slightly as he tried to understand what you were doing. “i want everyone to see you the way i do,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as you looked into the lens. “i want them to see the man who’s strong and brave, but also the man who’s gentle and kind. i want them to see you through my eyes.”

his expression softened, his eyes filling with unshed tears as he understood the depth of your words. “you’re going to make me cry,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. you gave him a small, tearful smile, your heart pounding in your chest. “maybe it’s time we both let it out,” you said softly.

and then, before you could say anything more, taeyong reached out and gently cupped your face in his hands. his touch was tender, his fingers warm against your skin as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. the kiss was soft, sweet, and filled with a quiet desperation, as if he was trying to pour all the love he had left into that one moment. you kissed him back, your tears mingling with his as the camera captured it all—the love, the sadness, the overwhelming beauty of two souls connected in a way that transcended words.

when you finally pulled away, you were both crying, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. the camera continued to roll, documenting the raw, unfiltered emotions that spilled from your hearts. “i love you,” he whispered, his voice thick with tears. “i don’t know how much time i have left, but I know i want to spend every second of it with you.”

“i love you too,” you replied, your voice breaking as you spoke the words that had been trapped inside you for so long. “and i’ll be here, right by your side, for as long as you need me.” and when the time came, when the camera was finally turned off and the lights dimmed, you knew that you had done everything you could to show the world the man you loved. the man who had changed your life, who had filled your days with a love so profound that it would linger in your heart long after the film had ended.

the days grew shorter, the light of the sun slipping through the curtains with less intensity as taeyong’s condition deteriorated. the once vibrant and hopeful man you knew was becoming increasingly elusive, his memory fading like the last echoes of a song. it was heartbreaking to witness the gradual erosion of his past, the slow unraveling of the threads that once held his identity together.

yet, even as his memory faltered, one truth remained steadfast—his love for you. it was as if, amidst the fog of confusion, the warmth of his feelings for you was a constant flame that refused to be extinguished. but with each passing day, even this seemed to be on the brink of slipping away.

one afternoon, you found yourself in the kitchen, preparing a meal with a tenderness that mirrored the affection you felt for him. the aroma of the food filled the small apartment, a comforting presence amidst the anxiety that hung in the air. you meticulously arranged the plate, hoping that a familiar taste might bring him some solace.

when you entered the room with the plate of food, taeyong was sitting in his armchair, staring vacantly at the wall. his eyes were distant, his once bright gaze now clouded with confusion. you placed the plate on the small table beside him and gently took his hand in yours. “taeyong,” you said softly, trying to catch his attention. “i made your favorite. i thought it might help you feel a bit better.”

he looked at you, but there was a moment of hesitation, a clouded recognition that struggled to pierce through the haze. his brow furrowed, and for a second, it seemed like he was trying to grasp at a fleeting memory. “i—i’m sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “i’m trying to remember.”

you could feel the sting of tears behind your eyes as you knelt beside him, your heart breaking at the sight of his struggle. “it’s okay,” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. “you don’t have to remember everything. just know that i’m here.” he reached for the plate, his movements slow and uncertain. as he took a bite, you watched him with a mixture of hope and sadness. he chewed slowly, his face reflecting the effort it took to recognize the taste.

with a mouthful of food, he looked at you, a tear slipping down his cheek. “i remember,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “i remember, the taste of your cooking.”

the words hit you like a wave, a bittersweet reminder of the depth of your connection. you nodded, unable to speak as the tears streamed down your face. taeyong continued to eat, each bite accompanied by a flicker of recognition that was as precious as it was painful.

he swallowed hard, his eyes locked on yours, and with a tremor in his voice, he said, “i know your name. i do. it’s...” he faltered, the name on the tip of his tongue slipping away once more. you squeezed his hand gently, your own tears falling freely. “it’s (y/n),” you whispered.

he nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips. “yes,” he said through his tears. “(y/n).”

you held his hand tightly, the warmth of his grasp a comforting anchor amidst the storm of emotions. as he continued to eat, his tears mixed with the food, his sobs muffled by the bite of the meal. the sight of him, struggling to hold onto the fragments of his memory while still reaching out to you, was both heart-wrenching and beautiful. the camera, positioned in the corner of the room, captured the scene with an eerie silence, documenting the raw, unfiltered moments of love and loss. each frame told a story of devotion amidst the sorrow, a testament to the bond that remained even as everything else seemed to fade.

“i love you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but carrying the weight of everything he felt. and as you nodded, your own tears still falling, you knew that no matter what else he might forget, this one truth would remain. “i love you too, taeyong,” you whispered back, your voice filled with all the emotion you couldn’t put into words.

the days seemed to blend into one another, each moment weighed down by taeyong’s increasingly distant demeanor. it had become more pronounced recently—he would lose focus mid-sentence, his gaze would drift off into the distance, and he often seemed to be fighting to recall things that once came so easily to him. the sight of his struggle was an unbearable reminder of how fleeting memories could be, and it left you with a deep-seated ache in your chest.

you had been planning this trip for some time, hoping that a change of scenery might help revive his spirits, and today seemed like the right moment to take action. as you looked at him, sitting in the living room with a distant expression, you took a deep breath and gently broached the subject.

“i think we should go on a trip,” you said softly, trying to sound casual despite the turmoil in your heart. “a change of pace might do us both some good.” he looked up from where he had been absentmindedly tracing patterns on the arm of his chair. “a trip?” he echoed, his voice tinged with curiosity and something else—perhaps a flicker of hope.

you nodded, a small, encouraging smile on your lips. “back to seoul. i thought it might be nice to revisit some places we used to go. what do you think?” a faint smile touched his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “seoul sounds good,” he said quietly. “i’d like that.”

the journey back was a quiet one, filled with moments of introspective silence as the cityscape rolled by outside the car window. taeyong’s hand rested on his lap, and you kept your gaze fixed on the road ahead, doing your best to manage the mix of anticipation and anxiety that churned within you.

as you arrived in seoul, the city seemed to envelop you both in its familiar embrace. the streets were alive with the hum of activity, the vibrant buzz of the city a stark contrast to the somber mood that had settled over taeyong. you drove slowly, making your way to a park you both had cherished during your youth.

the park came into view, and you could see the large, welcoming expanse of green surrounded by towering trees. you parked the car and took his hand, gently guiding him out and toward the entrance. his steps were hesitant at first, but as you led him along the familiar path, you could see a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

the park was just as you remembered—an oasis of tranquility amidst the bustling city, its paths winding through lush greenery and blooming flowers. you guided him to a bench beneath a grand old oak tree, its branches stretching out like welcoming arms. the sun filtered through the leaves, casting a dappled shadow on the ground.

you sat down beside him, your heart pounding as you pulled out your camera, ready to capture the moment. “do you remember this place?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. he looked around, his eyes roaming the landscape with a mixture of confusion and dawning comprehension. “i think so,” he said slowly, his voice tentative. “it feels familiar.”

you smiled encouragingly, urging him to take it all in. “we used to come here all the time. we’d sit here and talk for hours. this was one of our favorite spots.” the transformation was gradual but undeniable. as taeyong took in his surroundings, a wave of recognition seemed to wash over him. his eyes grew wider, and you saw the struggle as he fought to connect the fragments of memory that were beginning to surface.

a tremor of emotion passed through him as he began to recall the days spent in this very park—the laughter, the conversations, the dreams you had shared. “i remember,” he said softly, a mixture of awe and sorrow in his voice. “i remember coming here with you. we’d sit here and talk, about everything.”

you nodded, tears welling up in your eyes as you watched him. “yes,” you whispered. “we did. and i wanted to bring you back here, because this place means so much to both of us.” he reached out, taking your hand in his, and for a moment, it was as if time had folded itself back upon itself. his touch was tender, filled with a longing that echoed the depth of his emotions. he looked at you with an expression that was both familiar and poignant.

“i’ve missed this,” he said, his voice breaking. “i’ve missed us.” you squeezed his hand, feeling a mixture of relief and heartache. “i’ve missed us too,” you replied, your voice trembling.

as you continued filming, capturing the raw and beautiful reality of the moment, his emotions seemed to overflow. he stood up slowly, his gaze locked with yours, and wrapped his arms around you. you were caught off guard by the intensity of his embrace, but you melted into it, holding him tightly. he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was both tender and filled with a bittersweet intensity. the kiss was a silent testament to all the love you had shared, all the memories that you both cherished, and the reality of the present moment.

when he pulled back, his eyes were glistening with tears, and you could see the depth of his emotions reflected in his gaze. “thank you,” he whispered, his voice filled with a heartfelt gratitude. “thank you for bringing me here.” you nodded, unable to speak through the lump in your throat. Instead, you continued filming, letting the camera capture the poignancy of the moment—the way his eyes shone with love and the way you clung to each other amidst the memories and emotions that surrounded you.

the days seemed to bring a renewed sense of hope, a fragile light that flickered more brightly with each passing moment. taeyong's health appeared to be stabilizing, and the improvement, though modest, filled both of you with a cautious optimism. the treatments had begun to take effect, and his spirits were visibly lifted. he even began to joke about the future, something that had seemed almost impossible just weeks before.

the film project, which had started as a painful exploration of his battle with cancer, had come to an end. with it wrapped up, you decided it was time for the two of you to watch it together, to relive the journey and see how far you had come. you felt a mix of anticipation and anxiety as you prepared the playback.

you set up the projector in the cozy living room, dimming the lights and arranging the comfortable cushions on the floor. taeyong sat beside you, his presence a comforting anchor as you both settled in to review the film. the screen flickered to life, and the first images began to play.

as the film unfolded, you watched every moment with a mixture of tears and a wistful smile. each frame was a testament to the love and pain you had shared, the highs and lows of the journey that had brought you closer together. the scenes of his struggle, his strength, and the tender moments between you both played out before your eyes. the footage captured his vulnerability, his laughter, and the quiet moments of reflection.

his face was a canvas of emotions as he watched the film, his expression shifting from sadness to nostalgia, and then to a gentle smile. he leaned his head against your shoulder, seeking comfort in your presence as the film continued. you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, a small solace in the midst of the emotional whirlwind.

you turned to look at him, only to find his eyes closed, his face serene yet pale. the sight of him resting so peacefully, so vulnerably, sent a pang of anxiety through your heart. you reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, hoping to provide him with some comfort.

as the film reached its climax, taeyong opened his eyes slowly, meeting your gaze with a faint, bittersweet smile. the change in him was stark; his face looked more drawn, his breaths more labored. the realization of what was happening hit you with a force that left you breathless. his once-hopeful demeanor was now overshadowed by a profound weakness.

“smile for me,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with a tender request.

tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to maintain your composure. you managed a trembling smile, forcing through the waves of sorrow that threatened to overtake you. the smile you gave him was full of love, a desperate attempt to hold onto the beauty of the moment even as the reality of his condition loomed over you.

a tear slipped down taeyong’s cheek as he closed his eyes again, leaning his head on your shoulder with a quiet resignation. the sight of his tear, so vulnerable and raw, broke something within you. you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, trying to offer whatever comfort you could.

through your own tears, you whispered, “you’ll wake up, taeyong. we’ll see each other tomorrow.”

you clung to the hope that somehow, despite everything, you would get another chance to share a moment, to hear his laugh again, to hold him close. but as you looked at his pale, still form, you knew deep down that this was the end. the light in his eyes was fading, his breaths coming slower and more shallow.

the film continued to play softly in the background, the images a stark contrast to the stillness between you. you felt the weight of the moment, the enormity of the farewell that was unfolding. his breathing grew even more labored, and his grip on you loosened. his eyes remained closed, a final tear slipping from the corner of his eye as he succumbed to the darkness that had been slowly encroaching upon him. you held him close, your own tears flowing freely, your heart breaking with the finality of the situation.

the room seemed to grow colder, the warmth of his presence slipping away. you could feel the heavy silence settling around you, punctuated only by the soft hum of the film projector. you held him tightly, your tears mingling with his as you whispered to him, your voice breaking with sorrow. you had fulfilled his final wish. you had given him a smile to remember.

✧.*

a/n: i'm ngl i cried writing this bye

Uncontrollably Fond Episode 18: Sad and Stressed

Did everyone watch Episode 18 of Uncontrollably Fond!? If you haven’t, stop reading! If you have, woot!

I am still enjoying this show and it started as such a great character to watch Kim Woo Bin 김우빈 bring to life and it led to me being so intrigued by these characters I couldn’t truly fall in love with but I couldn’t hate either. Also, I am so thankful to be exposed to Lim Ju Hwan 임주환 playing Choi Ji Tae.

This episode…that opening scene where we are given a flash back to what happened that we didn’t get to see. Ji Tae asks Joon Young if he eats and not to skip meals and to take his medicine and it is frustrating as he was mean to Joo Young in the past and I’m trying to figure him out and regardless of me not understanding completely. I can’t ignore the feeling that they portrayed of him feel the agony of his younger brother he never really got to know, not only losing his life but spending these last few months in such a stressful state. When he asks Joon Young to take care of himself amongst this push and pull between them. He doesn’t know what else to say and just hangs up and Joo Young calls him back.One of the best scenes.

The truth behind the finale of Uncontrollably Fond

I am not sure if I made a mistake watching the finale. The way Joon Young screamed out over the sea at the universe, his loved ones were all just becoming happy and he wanted to live and stay with them.

The heart wrenching scenes of him not recognizing No Eul or Ji Tae then his mother. The simplicity of him watching his mother cook in the kitchen, how he waits to approach her and when she asks him to sample the food, he agrees. He finds the food delicious, initially, not recognizing her and eventually he does as he tastes the familiarity.

The trackless scenes between Shin Joon Young and his mother. How she tells him to visit her when he feels lonely and she’ll take the signs of the wind and spring as his presence. How realistic the last moments were. If death was something we remembered was coming in a short span of time, if we were told how many days we had left, my how we would live. How we choose not to say things, we run in fear to be honest, we can’t be who we are but if we had only a moment to live, would we live differently? What would we say to one another? How would we treat one another and would we regret anything, would we want to relive our lives again? It leaves you with all of these questions. What would we all be like if the people we loved had seen there time, and rested there head on our shoulders and fell asleep in death? That scene was dope by the way as she tells him he looks tired and he says he is, almost as if he’s been hanging in for a long time.

Part of me wishes I hadn’t watched it as I understood it too clearly.

Uncontrollably Fond, Written by Lee Kyoung Hee 이경희 , Directed by Park Hyun Suk  박현석