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"Afterwards, memories became the only way to meet you."
After the loss of Goo, Gun couldn't stop thinking about him. It was like a crazy obsession. Days blurred into nights, a relentless cycle of longing. Gun often found himself drawn to Goo's favourite armchair, the worn cushions still holding the imprint of his absence. He'd sit there for hours, staring at the empty space, fingers tracing imaginary patterns on the worn fabric. Sleep was a fleeting visitor, replaced by vivid dreams where laughter echoed and shadows danced. In the quiet of the night, closing his eyes, this obsession became like a bridge connecting his present to his past. Through this bridge, he felt he could return to those beautiful moments and reunite with Goo. This obsession became his only way to see Goo and became a part of his daily life. But dawn always brought a cruel awakening, a stark reminder of the silence left in Goo's absence.
It was messed up, but it helped him cope. Obsession is a powerful force; it gives Gun a measure of comfort on the edge of loss. Whenever he felt lonely and helpless, his obsession would take him back to those warm moments. Though those times were long gone, in his obsession, they remained vivid. He could talk to Goo in his dreams, feel his warmth, as if he had never left. Gun's obsession was more than just longing for the past; it was a safe place where he could find happiness in the midst of his pain. They were like a warm blanket on a cold night. He knew it wasn't real, but it made him feel better.
Yet, as Gun clung to his obsession, it began to consume his life, creeping into every corner of his routine. His routine became a search for traces of Goo, from old photographs to cherished mementos. Every object or memory became a piece of a puzzle he was desperately trying to complete. These rituals offered temporary comfort, but they also deepened his loneliness. The obsession wasn’t just a means of escaping reality; it became his reality.
A worn photograph lay face down on his nightstand. With trembling hands, Gun picked it up, his eyes locking onto the image. It was a picture of them in the snow, the first year they had met and the first snow they had experienced together. Goo, with his infectious laughter, was building a snowman, while Gun stood beside him, capturing the moment on camera. A bittersweet smile tugged at Gun's lips as he traced the outline of Goo's face with his thumb. The photo was a tangible piece of the past, a bittersweet reminder of a love lost.
He found himself drawn to the balcony recently, the city lights below forming a shimmering tapestry. A chill wind carried the distant hum of traffic, a stark contrast to the quiet inside. Gun closed his eyes, the memory of a shared laughter-filled evening washing over him. It was a night like this, the city lights twinkling like distant stars, when Goo had confessed his feelings, his voice a gentle whisper in the night. A pang of longing shot through him as he realised how irreplaceable Goo was.
A cigarette dangled loosely between his fingers, the familiar sting of nicotine offering a brief respite from the relentless ache. In the past, the smell of smoke would have been met with a disapproving look and an earful scolding from Goo. The memory of those moments, filled with both irritation and affection, was a bitter pill to swallow. Now, the only one left to complain about the acrid scent was himself, and even that seemed like a hollow echo of a life once shared.
"It turns out I can truly love you year after year through memories."
When Goo left, Gun's world completely shattered, he was losing his mind. He tried to bury himself in work but couldn't escape the pain. The world had fractured into a before and after. Goo was the vibrant before, a kaleidoscope of shared laughter and dreams. Now, there was only an endless grey, punctuated by the phantom echoes of his absence. DG's voice cut through the fog, a well-intentioned but jarring intrusion. “You need to talk to someone, Gun,” he’d said, his eyes filled with concern. Gun managed a stiff smile, a mask of forced composure. "I'm fine," he'd lied, the words tasting like ashes on his tongue. He appreciated DG's concern but realised that therapy meant letting go of Goo, saying a final goodbye to his world and the only way he could still see Goo, something he wasn't ready for. Gun preferred to sink deeper into this obsession rather than face a reality where Goo was entirely gone.
They even had a few arguments because of this, but Gun stood his ground. What DG didn’t understand was that this obsession was Gun’s last line of defence against forgetting.
Everyone thinks obsession is just an escape, a refusal to face reality. But they don’t know how real this obsession is in Gun’s world, it’s his source of comfort and strength. To others, it might seem like a figment of imagination, but for Gun, it’s a vital part of his life, his most cherished memory.
Perhaps they will never understand this feeling. Obsession may not bring true freedom, but it at least offers a glimmer of light in endless darkness. They might call it delusional, but for Gun, it is a spiritual anchor, his sole connection to Goo. Seeking psychological help might help, but he knows it also means he will forever lose Goo. So, he would rather stay this way, as long as Goo still exists in his world.
Gun remembers the first time they met. He hadn’t expected much from Goo; after all, he was only following Charles’s orders. But damn, Goo quickly changed his mind. Goo was good —the best fighter Gun had ever faced. The fight lasted for hours, each blow fueling Gun's adrenaline. It was the most exhilarating battle he'd ever experienced. At one point, Goo nearly blinded him, yet Gun found himself grinning, thrilled to have met such a worthy opponent. Absent-mindedly, he touches the scar on his face—the one Goo had given him. He laughs, recalling the intense fight and the memories that followed.
After the fight, which ended up as a tie, Goo had to go to the hospital, and Gun had to tag along. He knew Charles would never let him hear the end of it if he let Goo go alone. Gun had broken several of Goo’s bones, and now they were on their way to get steel pins inserted in Goo’s body. Despite the circumstances, Gun couldn't help but admire Goo’s resilience. He still finds it funny how a grown man, who isn’t afraid of getting punched or knocked down repeatedly, could be terrified of a simple needle.
When they reached the hospital, they were drenched in blood and sweat, their shirts torn and stained. Everyone in the waiting room watched them cautiously as nurses and doctors rushed to treat them. However, when the nurse informed Goo that he needed an anaesthetic injection, Goo's face went pale. He immediately wanted to refuse, terrified of the needle. He tried to find another way, but there was no avoiding it—if he needed steel pins in his body, he had to be anaesthetised.
In the end, Goo started screaming before the needle even touched his skin, causing the nurse to ask Gun to comfort his "friend". Goo looked at Gun, his eyes silently pleading for help. Gun wanted to refuse, but the look in Goo’s eyes made it impossible to say no. So, in the end, Goo clutched onto Gun’s arm tightly, his knuckles white, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Fear, raw and exposed, etched itself on his face. Gun rubbed soothing circles on Goo’s back trying to calm him down as the needle was inserted into Goo's lower back.
Now, as he thinks back, he misses those moments—the fights, the banter, the strange camaraderie that grew between them. Most of all, he misses Goo. He misses them.
"You filled every corner of my past, but left an eternal void in my future."
As time went on, Gun’s memories started to blur. Memories that were once bright and clear now seemed faded, like an old painting covered in dust. Those moments with Goo, once so clear and present, became fragmented and distant. Each time Gun tried to recall the past, a deep sense of loss overwhelmed him. The smiles, the voices, even Goo’s very essence seemed to be slipping away. It's like trying to hold water in his hands - the more he tries to grab it, the faster it slips away.
Losing these memories brought Gun a deep sense of powerlessness. He became painfully aware of the relentless passage of time and the realisation that some precious moments were disappearing forever. Those once warm memories seemed shrouded in a thin mist, making them just out of reach. No matter how hard he tried, the memories escaped him, leaving a painful emptiness.
The sensation of loss was compounded by the trivial moments that had now taken on a haunting significance. A fleeting scent, a forgotten song, or a familiar place would trigger fragments of memories, only to vanish before Gun could fully grasp them. These small reminders, once so trivial, now felt like cruel teases of a past he could no longer fully experience. The weight of their absence became a constant companion, making every day a struggle to reconcile the vibrant past with the colourless present. Gun felt as though he was living in a world that had been drained of its richness, where the echoes of laughter and joy were replaced by an oppressive silence.
A sense of purposelessness crept into his days. Routine, once a comforting anchor, had lost its meaning. In a desperate attempt to fill the void, he found himself drawn back to familiar actions. The kitchen, once a place of shared laughter and culinary experiments, now seemed like a distant memory. Yet, a compulsion pulled him towards the stove. As he stood there, surrounded by the familiar tools of the trade, a strange sense of calm washed over him. The kitchen was awash in a comforting warmth. The soft sizzle of the broth, the gentle clinking of chopsticks against ceramic, created a soothing symphony. The aroma of simmering ingredients filled the air, a heady blend of umami and nostalgia. With each stir of the ladle, a wave of melancholy washed over him. He thought back to that snowy evening, their last together, when Goo had mistakenly called nabe a stew. A wry smile tugged at his lips as he remembered the playful argument that had ensued. Now, as he ladled the broth into bowls, the empty chair across from him seemed to mock the solitude. The nabe, a symbol of shared warmth and happiness, tasted of loneliness.
One morning, as he stared into the bathroom mirror, the reflection startled him. His face, once full of life, was now etched with lines of weariness. Dark circles hung like heavy curtains beneath his eyes. A ghost of a smile crept across his lips as he imagined Goo's reaction. He could almost hear the teasing laughter, the playful jabs that would have undoubtedly followed. The memory of a past conversation surfaced:
"What do you like most about me?" Gun had asked, curiosity piqued.
Goo had grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Of course it’s money! Look at how much you have! I wou–" Before Goo could finish, Gun had feigned offence, punching his arm.
"I’m just joking! Of course it’s your handsome face! Just seein–"
"Okay! Okay! I’ll answer you now! Stop punching me!" Gun had laughed, relishing the playful banter.
"While apart from, money and your looks..." Goo had paused, considering his words carefully. "I like you not just for liking you, but simply because it’s you."
Gun had been taken aback by the sincerity in Goo's voice. It was a declaration of love, simple yet profound. Now, as he stood in front of the mirror, the memory warmed his heart, even as it brought a pang of sorrow.
"Even though you’re no longer in my life, you're everywhere."
Despite Goo being gone, Gun couldn’t escape his presence. Everywhere he turned, there were reminders—Goo’s favourite café, the park where they spent lazy afternoons, the songs they listened to on endless repeat. These familiar places and memories were haunting reminders of a past that felt both close and unreachable. Each encounter with these reminders brought a bittersweet mix of pain and comfort. It was as if Goo had left invisible fingerprints all over Gun’s world, making it impossible for him to fully let go. Sometimes, Gun would find himself talking to Goo as if he were still there, the lines between reality and memory blurring in his mind.
Gun found himself caught in a strange paradox. He'd walk past their favourite café, his gaze lingering on the empty space where Goo used to sit and hear the faint echo of his laughter. The café, once a place of shared laughter and stolen moments, now held an eerie silence. The aroma of coffee, usually a comforting scent, carried the weight of absence. The worn leather seats seemed to harbour echoes of their conversations, each creak a phantom reminder. A familiar tune played softly in the background, a bittersweet melody that transported him to a time when happiness was simpler.
As he walks out of the cafe and continue walking, a shop window display halted him in his tracks. A familiar jacket, its cut and colour unmistakably Goo’s, was the centrepiece. A pang of longing shot through him. He pressed his face against the cool glass, the world blurring into an indistinct haze. The fabric, once soft against his skin, seemed to shimmer with memories. A wave of sadness washed over him as he realised that even inanimate objects could be vessels of longing.
These moments were like ghosts, haunting him with memories that were both comforting and painful. Gun couldn't escape the constant reminders; they were woven into the fabric of his everyday life. It was as if the world refused to let him forget, constantly pulling him back to a time when everything made sense, and Goo was still by his side. These moments gave him a strange sense of solace, a way to keep Goo alive in his heart, even if it meant never truly moving on.
He missed the chaos, the stolen laughter, even the frustration of finding his favourite shirt missing or stained with blood and who knows what. It was in these mundane moments, amidst the laundry pile and his closet, that the weight of loss truly settled in. The absence of Goo's infectious energy was a void that no amount of tidying or organising could fill.
A pang of longing hit him as his eyes fell on his closet. It was once a battleground, a silent war between his carefully organised wardrobe and Goo’s habit of borrowing without asking. He could almost hear Goo’s laughter as he rummaged through the shelves, his excuse always a mischievous grin and a promise to return the clothes, a promise that was often broken. The closet was filled with ghosts of those shared moments – the scent of Goo's cologne lingering on a particular sweater, a tiny tear on a shirt, a silent reminders to their chaotic adventures. Now, the silence was deafening, the emptiness a stark reminder of the missing piece of his life.
Gun couldn’t escape the thought that maybe this was the price he had to pay. He remembered the times he chose Charles over Goo, how he had pushed Goo away again and again. Now, the memories that haunted him felt like a punishment, a way for Goo to remind him of the pain he had caused.
Every time he walked past a place that held a memory of Goo, the guilt resurfaced, sharp and unrelenting. Gun knew deep down that he had hurt Goo, and now it was as if Goo had left behind a part of himself to make sure Gun would never forget. The laughter they shared, the quiet moments, all of it had turned into a reminder of what he had lost and what he had thrown away.
He couldn’t help but think that this was Goo’s way of making him feel the pain he had once inflicted. The thought that Goo had left him with these memories, not as a gift, but as a burden, weighed heavily on his mind. Gun realised that he would carry this guilt with him forever, unable to escape the echoes of the past, the choices he made, and the love he had forsaken.