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jiiyen · 5 days ago

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IM SOBBING OH MY GOD

one more day of you

warnings: terminal illness, emotional content, death themes

The morning light falls softly through the curtains, painting golden stripes across your shared bed. You wake to Jake's quiet breathing, his chest rising and falling rhythmically beneath your head. His arms are around you—warm, familiar, but trembling slightly. It’s in those little things now, how his hands sometimes shake, or his voice falters when he speaks. You’ve both known this was coming.

Leptomeningeal disease, causing symptoms like headaches, nausea, confusion, or difficulty moving. It often occurs in advanced stages of cancer and can be challenging to treat. You’d read the word once on your chart, printed cleanly on crisp white paper like it wasn’t the thing that would take you away. The cancer had spread to the leptomeninges—the thin, delicate layers of tissue protecting your brain and spinal cord. Jake hates the word because it feels clinical and sterile, too detached for something devastating. He only calls it “the sickness.”

You know this day will be your last good one. The doctors said so. “Make the most of it,” one had said gently, as if making the most of dying is something people could ever do.

You feel his lips press into your hair as he whispers, “You’re awake.”

��I’m awake,” you echo softly.

Neither of you moves for a moment. You close your eyes and memorize this—his heartbeat in your ear, the feel of his fingers tracing small circles against your back. How can a person possibly capture something so fleeting?

“We’re going out today,” Jake says finally, his voice still rough from sleep.

“I don’t think I can,” you admit, though part of you wishes you could. Your limbs are heavy these days, weighted with fatigue that no nap can cure.

“You can,” he insists gently. “I’ll help you. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

His voice barely cracks on that last part, but you pretend not to notice. You know he’s been trying so hard to be strong. Strong for you. Strong for himself.

He helps you get ready. There’s no rush, no urgency—he combs your hair carefully, pulling the strands gently through the brush as if you’re fragile glass. Your body is fragile now. You’ve felt it changing. Some days, the headaches come fast, pulsing deep and low, while your vision dims at the edges. Other times, your legs fail, nerves tangled like the frayed ends of an old rope. You’ve fallen a few times, and Heeseung has always caught you before you could hit the ground.

Today, though, you feel steady enough for him.

You spend the day by the lake.

It’s your favourite spot—the one where the water looks almost endless, where the ripples stretch toward the horizon like hands reaching for something beyond sight. You sit together on a blanket, your back resting against his chest while he hums softly into your ear.

“Jake?”

“Hmm?”

“What song is that?”

He pauses, the vibrations of his hum fading. “One I made up. I don’t know... it’s just for you, I guess.”

“You should write it down,” you tell him.

“I don’t need to. I’ll always remember it.”

The words hang heavy between you both because you both know the truth—there will come a day when he hums that song, and you won’t hear it.

Your hands are shaking again, and your motor skills haven’t been the same since the sickness spread. Jake notices, gently cradling your fingers in his. His touch is steady and deliberate. He brings your knuckles to his lips, kissing them as tears slide silently down his face.

You hate feeling guilty for leaving him as if this were something you could control.

“I wish I could give you more time,” you whisper.

“You’ve already given me everything,” Jake choked out. His voice is so soft, so broken. “Every moment with you… every smile, every fight, every time you told me you loved me. I don’t need anything else.”

The wind picks up slightly, carrying the scent of the lake toward you. You close your eyes and let it wash over you. You want to remember the feeling of the sun on your face, the warmth of Jake’s arms around you, and the sound of his breath catching in his chest.

When the sun begins to set, your energy is almost gone. You lean heavily into him as he carries you back to the car, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. His breathing is uneven from the weight—not of you, but of everything.

Back home, you sit in the living room wrapped in blankets while he kneels before you. The pain has started again, a dull throb deep in your spine. You wince, and Heeseung reaches for the medication.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No, it’s not.” His tone is firm. “You’re hurting.”

You watch him press the pills into your palm, his hands shaking worse than before. You swallow them slowly, grimacing against the bitter taste. He kneels, his head resting in your lap as you gently run your fingers through his hair.

For the first time, you feel his tears soak through the fabric of your clothes.

“Please don’t go yet,” he whispers.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur. “I’m right here.”

But you both know.

The clock ticks somewhere in the background; its sound is loud and unforgiving. You count each second because you don’t know how many more you’ll get.

“Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you sing to me?”

He lifts his head, wiping his eyes roughly before nodding. You know it takes everything he has to push through the grief tightening his throat, but he does it for you. His voice cracks on the first note, but it doesn’t matter.

It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

And you let yourself drift into his voice, the memory of today, and the love you’ve shared for what feels like a lifetime.

When the sun rises the next day, Jake wakes to silence.

Your hand is still in his, and your face is slightly toward him. You look peaceful, and for a brief moment, he imagines you’re simply asleep.

Then it hits him.

The emptiness.

The stillness.

There’s no word for the sound he makes when he pulls you against him, his tears falling into your hair. There’s no word for the ache that settles into his chest when he kisses your forehead one last time.

“Thank you for giving me one more day,” he whispers, his voice breaking.

You’re gone, but the sun rises, spilling light across your face.

And Jake sits there, holding you as if his love alone could keep you together.

Even now, he hums the song he made just for you—because he promised he’d never forget it.

And he never will.

The house feels wrong without you. Jake hadn’t noticed how quiet it could be—how the creak of the floorboards, the hum of the refrigerator, even the wind against the windows—could sound so loud in your absence.

It’s been three days.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing, his fingers twitching as if reaching for something no longer there. You. Your scent still lingers on the sheets. If he closes his eyes and breathes deeply enough, he swears he can feel you beside him.

But when he opens them, the bed is empty.

Jake can’t look at the lake yet. He drives past it anyway, because not seeing it feels worse. He stops the car at the same spot where you both sat, where you leaned against his chest and let him hold you. The blanket is still folded neatly in the backseat—he hadn’t been able to touch it.

The sun is setting, its light turning the water shades of gold and violet, like the heavens are mourning, too. Jake grips the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white, his breath uneven.

“You said you wouldn’t go,” he whispers into the empty car. His voice shakes, anger bubbling beneath the grief. “You said you weren’t going anywhere. You promised.”

He knows it’s not fair, that you didn’t want to leave him. He knows. But knowing doesn’t make the anger feel any less real.

“You’re supposed to be here.” His voice cracks on the last word, and he bites down on his lip so hard he tastes blood. “Why aren’t you here?”

There’s no answer. Just the sound of the water lapping at the shore and the distant cry of birds flying home.

Home.

But his home is gone.

Your clothes still hang in the closet. Jake tries to clean up one day, thinking maybe if he makes the house less you, it will hurt less. He’s wrong.

The moment he pulls one of your sweaters from the hanger, it slips through his shaking hands and crumples onto the floor. He drops to his knees, clutching the fabric tightly, pressing it to his face.

It smells like you. Like the lavender soap you loved and the faintest hint of vanilla.

“I can’t do this,” he chokes out, the sobs finally breaking through.

Jake hadn’t cried like this since the morning he woke to find you gone, but now the dam has burst. His tears stain the soft wool of your sweater as he gasps for breath, his chest heaving.

“You’re supposed to be here,” he repeats over and over, as if saying it enough times might bring you back. But the silence presses in around him, mocking him.

He doesn’t sleep much anymore. Nights are the hardest.

Every time he closes his eyes, he dreams of you. Sometimes it’s beautiful—he dreams of the lake, of you laughing, your smile radiant as the sunlight. Those dreams are the cruelest because when he wakes, for the briefest moment, he forgets.

And then he remembers.

Other nights, it’s nightmares. You slipping away from him, calling his name as he tries to hold on. He wakes drenched in sweat, chest tight, throat raw from screaming.

One night, he dreams of the day at the lake. Of you leaning against him, asking about the song he was humming.

“I’ll always remember it,” he’d told you.

When he wakes up, he sits at the piano in the dark, the song replaying in his mind like a ghost. He presses the keys gently, the melody soft and broken. Each note sounds like a piece of him shattering.

By the time he finishes, tears are streaming down his face again. He rests his head against the keys, the silence stretching endlessly around him.

“Where are you?” he whispers. “Where are you now?”

Days turn into weeks. People stop calling as much. They say things like “She wouldn’t want you to be sad,” and “You have to keep living.”

Jake hates it.

Because he doesn’t know how to keep living when everything reminds him of you.

The coffee mugs you used to bicker over—yours with the chipped rim that you insisted still worked fine—sit untouched on the counter. Your books, their spines worn and pages creased, still clutter the shelves. He swears he hears your voice in his head when he picks one up, remembering how you used to read aloud, your voice soft and full of wonder.

“I just want one more day,” he whispers one night, sitting on the floor beside the bed. His forehead rests against the mattress where you used to sleep, his hand gripping the sheets as if you might be there, just out of reach.

“Just one more day of you.”

Eventually, he goes back to the lake.

The sun is setting again, just like it had that day. Jake sits on the blanket—the same one he hadn’t been able to touch for weeks—and pulls your sweater over his shoulders.

It’s too big on him, but it’s yours.

For a long time, he says nothing. The wind blows gently through his hair, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and water. He stares at the horizon, his chest aching, waiting for something that will never come.

And then, quietly, he hums.

It’s the song he made for you.

The sound carries across the water, soft and fragile, like glass. It’s broken in places, trembling like his voice, but he doesn’t stop. Because this song is all he has left of you now.

And as the last note fades into the air, Jake lets himself cry.

The sunset turns the sky shades of gold and violet, just like it did that day.

And for the first time in weeks, he whispers, “I love you.”

The words drift into the wind, lost somewhere between the earth and sky, and for a moment, he imagines you’re there, listening.

And he wonders if somewhere, somehow, you’re whispering it back.

The present comes crashing back like a punch to the gut. The flashback fades, leaving Jake sitting in the too-bright backstage lounge, his hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles are bone-white. The faint hum of conversation buzzes around him, the other ENHYPEN members talking softly, someone laughing across the room—but the sounds feel far away, muffled, like he’s underwater.

“Jakey?”

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look up.

Sunghoon stands a few feet away, concern painting his face as he peers at Jake. “Are you okay?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and Jake forces himself to take a breath. He’s been holding it, he realizes—holding it like he might stop himself from shattering into pieces. He drags his hands down his face, swallowing the lump in his throat before lifting his head.

“Yeah,” he lies, voice hoarse. “I’m fine.”

But he isn’t fine. How can he be? The ache is still there—a hollow, gaping void in his chest where you used to be. The memory of you clings to him like shadows he can’t shake, the song he wrote for you still humming faintly in the back of his mind.

Jake knows the other members can see it—he’s quieter these days, smiles harder to come by, laughter sounding a little too forced. But they don’t push. They know him too well to pry when he’s not ready.

Jay calls out, voice cutting through the haze. “Five minutes, guys.”

The members begin to move around him, grabbing water bottles, fixing outfits, hyping each other up. Jake tries to focus on their voices, on the energy they always carry before a performance. He’s supposed to be a part of it—he always is. Walk The Line is their biggest tour yet, a dream for all of them. For their ENGENEs.

And yet, here he is, sitting on the edge of a couch with his hands still trembling.

The walk to the stage feels impossibly long. The closer they get, the louder the sounds grow—the deep bass thrum of music vibrating through the walls, the roar of thousands of ENGENEs just beyond the curtain. It’s deafening and overwhelming, a wall of sound so alive it should make him feel invincible.

But it doesn’t.

Jake adjusts his in-ear monitors as he walks, his chest tightening with every step. He swears he can still feel your hand in his, your voice whispering, "You’re supposed to be here.”

He stops walking.

The others are ahead of him now, clustered near the stage entrance. Heeseung notices first, pausing to look back over his shoulder.

“Jake? You good?”

Jake lifts his head. For a second, the question lingers, like a challenge he can’t meet. Is he good? He hasn’t been good since you left. He hasn’t been whole.

But then he hears it—the chant of ENGENEs calling his name, calling their names.

“ENHYPEN! ENHYPEN!”

It shakes him to his core, the energy crashing into him all at once.

You had always loved his voice. Loved watching him perform, the way he poured his soul into every song, every word. You told him once, in your soft, fading voice, “When you’re on stage, it’s like you’re alive in a way no one else could ever be.”

Alive.

Jake blinks hard against the sting in his eyes, the tears that threaten to spill. He doesn’t have time to break—not now. So he breathes, deep and slow, pushing your memory somewhere deeper for just a little while.

Heeseung’s voice breaks through his haze again. “Jake?”

He nods once, finally moving to catch up with the others. “I’m okay.”

This time, it’s closer to the truth.

The stage lights blind him as they burst into brightness, and the sound of ENGENEs’ cheers hits him like a tidal wave. It’s overwhelming. It’s electric. It’s everything.

Jake steps into position, his mic warm in his palm, the opening beats of their first song rattling through the stadium. He forces a smile, even as his chest still aches. Because this—this moment—is what he has left.

And maybe you’re out there somewhere, in the crowd, in the echoes of the music, in the spaces between the lyrics. Maybe you’re watching him. Maybe you’re proud of him.

As he sings, the song he wrote for you hums faintly at the back of his mind, its melody weaving quietly beneath the performance. The tears threaten again, but he pushes through it, pouring everything he has left into every note, every movement.

He sings for you.

He always will.

The crowd doesn’t see the way his hands tremble, or the way he closes his eyes just a little too long as he hits a note that feels like it’s pulling his heart from his chest. They only see Jake, their star, shining as brightly as ever.

But he knows.

You know.

And when the song ends and the lights dim for a moment, Jake whispers, so quietly no one else can hear,

“I miss you.”

It drifts into the darkness, carried by the energy of the crowd, and for the first time in days, the ache doesn’t feel quite so heavy.

Jake lifts his head as the lights burst back on, the roar of ENGENEs filling his ears once more. And as he smiles for them, he wonders if you’re smiling back, wherever you are.

Because tonight, just for a moment, it feels like you’re still with him.

And it’s enough to keep him going.

#enhypen #pov #enhypen angst #enhypen comfort #enhypen jake #jake sim #jake angst #jake comfort

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