#𓂃 ོ𓂃 dive buddy: kae
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heartepub ¡ 9 hours ago
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When I first sent in the request, I only ever had the image of an apocalypse au where despite the turmoil of the world, you could see someone without scars and think that they had someone who loved them, despite and through it all (or some vague but cliche metaphor about scars on the surface healed but the ones below skin deep remaining).
I DID NOT think you would take this prompt and bring it as far as you did, but I am endlessly grateful.
In return for the mile, I give you…hopefully also a mile, but more likely to be a (meter to kilometer worth's) mess of annotations, some circling around the use of kisses and breath as linked to both love and the apocalypse, and love in the midst of and despite an apocalypse (not spoiler free). As a diver (not clickbait btw I really am licensed HAHA) this suddenly made me have very strong feelings about oxygen
It isn’t until much later, until the damage is irreparable and the Rapture is imminent, that you will realize it. 
The use of "rapture" as the naming of this loss of oxygen was so so interesting, and I like how the motifs of kissing and breath are tied with the name and nature of the apocalypse in this story—rapture as associated with ecstasy, joy, love, and loss of breath (ie something that takes one's breath away). Rapture to stand for the breath that is being lost. (The experience of rapture as the price to pay to stay alive?)
The world as you know it is ending— but at least you have Seungcheol.
Fuck!!!!!!
You roll your eyes. He shouldn’t see it in the darkness, but he knows you all too well. “And don’t roll your eyes at me!” His reprimand draws a short laugh from you. Even that feels like a monumental effort, like it's a waste of good air. 
Adore adore how he just knows, an easy intimacy that's been built together as a couple; now to be tried and weathered by the world. Got distracted by the idea of cuddling w bare-chested Seungcheol, but more serious thoughts below
[COVID mention] Not necessarily in this excerpt, but the mentions of work from home, of sociopolitical and cultural tensions mentioned and painted in broad strokes, really situate this story nicely. I remember during the pandemic and mask-wearing was mandatory, that many commentaries and metaphor on breath and living became a thing, and this reminded me of that.
But, on this quote specifically, and this scene—of the scarcity of good air, and the ticking clock that "unnecessary" breath can be—love, including sex, also becomes wasteful.
Seungcheol doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the two of you waking up in pools of your own sweat, doesn’t care that there are whole government newscasts on how to preserve oxygen in enclosed spaces.  He holds you like a lifeline and kisses you until you’re breathless. 
Insert above commentary on the irony of Rapture as the name of the apocalypse, but also, it got me thinking about how in an apocalypse where breath becomes precious, rapture would not be the worst way to go. It's also a reoccurring motif in other segments, but I just want to say that good on this couple that joy and (real) rapture are still treated as worthy of being reached and grasped amid the scarcity of what some would regard as its necessary prerequisites. Above line also links to the "Is it bad that I want you again" to "I want you all the time" + laughter bit (got me wanting to keel over)
In between giggles, he kisses every part of you. Again, and again, and again.
Tentatively, you press chaste kisses to the injuries. Seungcheol’s hands find purchase at your waist and he tilts his head back, letting you work your magic. He’s quiet as your lips trace over each gash and wound, as you take away all the hurt with the ghost of a kiss. 
Obviously not present in the POV of this fic, but I do like to think that some outsider saw the lack of scars on these two people weathering the end of the world together and understood that they loved and were loved. Also, Seungcheol as trying to ease worry through levity (and masking vulnerability with affection) makes me both swollen with love and profoundly sad
Anyway, the good stuff: Today’s sunset painted the sky purple. We snagged some still-cold cans of Sprite in an abandoned 7-Eleven. Cheol spotted a family of ducks crossing the road, pointed it out, and said “us, soon!” Us, soon. It feels dangerous to hope, but that’s all I seem to do nowadays. That and being on the run. (Cheol made me strike out that last part, but whatever.) 
US SOON?!?!!?!? YOU WANT TO JINJJA KILL ME
anyway, smth smth hope does not have feathers, she has a bloody lip and scars on her chin and dirt under her fingernails, etc—
And so here is a small list of things I took for granted:
GRRRR this got me, also cos I have chewed on the idea of lists as a sort of antithesis to narrative (not my idea specifically, but one from a review/chapter of a book that I remember discussed the white album) (I have not read any Didion work pls do not come at me)
Lists catalog; they do not impose causality (which is sort-of essential to plot, which is almost always necessary in narrative). Anyway, this list catalogs loss (also a theme I have been chewing on for a while now to insert in a story somewhere, but bears mentioning here)
May the best of my todays be the worst of my tomorrows. 
kennawt believe I was just listening to jason mraz the other day (cos his songs are roadtrip material) and THIS QUOTE comes up (never knew ppl attributed this to jay z until I did a quick search tho)
“People are dangerous when they're desperate,” he’d tell you softly— still his rational, kind self even when faced with the worst of mankind. He was with you. He was kind. He was yours.  Even when the bullet lodged itself right between his ribs. 
WHAT TEH FUKSCSDCSMJDHFS (< actual reaction reading this)
The people dispersed. The cause of the fight— a can of chicken noodle soup, once your comfort food— lay forgotten on the floor. The love of your life, staring unblinking at the sky. When you sink to the ground, you’re moving purely on instinct. Your quivering lips press over his chest, over the red blossoming and staining his shirt. 
WHAT TEH FUKSCSDCSMJDHFS (2) THE COMFORT FOOD FUKDCSDFHDSJFHSFS
A final act of tenderness—as with loss is in general there isn't really anything to say the moment it hits. And it also shows in the brief entry (kisses don't work on bullet wounds.)
But also the parallels between this final act for Seungcheol and what he has done in the past:
You kiss him. Again. And again.  And again. 
In between giggles, he kisses every part of you. Again, and again, and again. 
Not quite accurate to use enjambment here as the term, but the breaking of the lines, along with the use of periods in place of commas, brings a poetic sensibility along with hammering home the idea of an end; where enjambment is the line break that cuts a sentence in a poem, usually with no punctuation at the end of the line, here the sentence is cut, and periods indicate the end.
It is our deepest regret that the author is unnamed and that they cannot be properly credited. However, we know of two things with certainty. We know of a man named Seungcheol, and we know that he was loved. 
You mentioned in your note at the start that "i cannot say with any certainty that this is a happy ending." And honestly, I can understand a gut reaction of "no duh its not a happy ending you're both dead"
I guess the lining to all this is simply the fact that even if life did not go on, the love remains and was (is) remembered. For these characters, there is no better way to be remembered—especially in a time where love could be linked to breath, and breath was a scarcity of its own. Digressing from breath, it reminded me of the last lines of Cold Solace by Anna Belle Kaufman:
I love you.  It will end.  Leave something of sweetness  and substance  in the mouth of the world.
ALLLLL THAT TO SAY. I am so so very in love with all this and you have my whole heart, mashed to pieces as it currently is </3333 your writing is a gift I am always blessed to read. All the love and tenderness (in Chen Chen's words, despite despite despite). Pacing and emotion handled so very well and with so much sensitivity to the characters. Little bits of light amid despair that make life a little more worth it. Love as life seen whole; life seen whole only through death. Etc etc etc (I love u I love u I love u)
like real people do ☢️ seungcheol x reader.
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little is known about the apocalypse of 2017. a century later, archivists are now unveiling the relics they found from those who lived through that time.
★ seungcheol x reader.  ★ word count: 2.1k ★ genre: alternate universe: apocalypse, alternate universe: soulmates (the only way for your scars to disappear is when your soulmate kisses them goodbye), angst, romance. ★ warnings: major character death. depictions of death/violence, injuries/scars. established relationship; suggestive scenes but no real smut. set in a fictional apocalyptic world. doubling down on the angst warning; i cannot say with any certainty that this is a happy ending. ★ footnotes: this is part of my follower milestone event. viv gave me an inch (a request for angsty seungcheol) and, in turn, i am giving her a mile (a whole thing instead of just a ficlet). mahal kita, @heartepub! this will be the last hozier brainrot i offer you— for now. + much thanks to @gyubakeries and @tusswrites for beta reading! love you both to the end of the world. ❤️‍🩹
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ like real people do by hozier. apocalypse by cigarettes after sex. i know the end by phoebe bridgers. fourth of july by sufjan stevens. interlude: i’m not angry anymore by paramore. atlantis by seafret. end of beginning by djo. nobody’s soldier by hozier.
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When the fish started dying, you did not think: This is how the world will end.
Why would you? The decimation of marine mammals and seabirds didn’t make the news. The misguided scientific breakthrough that triggered everything was kept under wraps.
It isn’t until much later, until the damage is irreparable and the Rapture is imminent, that you will realize it. 
The world as you know it is ending— but at least you have Seungcheol.
There’s some cruelty in the timing of it all. The two of you had just moved in with each other, coasting on the honeymoon phase of a long-term couple with a new thing to share. The paint on your apartment’s walls had yet to dry when the government declared a state of national emergency.
Dozens of other countries followed suit not long after, all blaming one thing or the other. Food crises. Social unrest. Cultural collapse. 
“This is crazy,” Seungcheol grumbles. 
The television is playing clips of a hurricane tearing through the Philippines. Extreme weather conditions, the reporters are saying. Due to the rise of CO₂ levels. 
You and Seungcheol are sprawled out on the floor, watching it unfold. The furniture store meant to deliver your couch has delayed shipment until further notice. 
Seungcheol has always been the sulky type, though the expression on his face nowadays has been less of his trademark pout and more of a serious frown. You can feel his growing agitation in the stiff way he holds you, in the set of his eyebrows. 
“It’s crazy,” you agree quietly, resting your hand on his knee in a bid to calm him a bit. “But it’ll pass.” 
Your touch seems to give some sort of reprieve. He rolls his shoulders. He unclenches his jaw. 
“It’ll pass,” he echoes, reaching out to intertwine your fingers. 
Neither of you knew just how wrong you could be. 
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April 8, 2017 
Weird times. Cheol knows just how anxious I get when I’m cooped up, so he encouraged me to pick up journaling. I’m not sure how much this will help, but it’s worth a try. 
It’s been a month since everything has essentially gone on ‘lockdown’. The news says that all of this started because researchers wanted to regulate harmful algae. Their genetically engineered virus ended up infecting all algae, and now the majority of phytoplankton are just... dead. 
I don’t know what to write about. Terrible oxygen levels? Seafood costing a fortune? This ‘work from home’ system everyone is trying to figure out? 
I guess I should just write about the good stuff. That way, when I look back on these entries, I can remember something good.
Today, Cheol tried to fix a leaking faucet himself instead of calling for a plumber. We flooded the kitchen floor, and ended up wet from head to toe.
I cooked pasta, called mom and dad on Skype, and watched the latest episode of Santa Clarita Diet. 
Once everything opens up again, Cheol and I have to visit my parents. (And ‘get better screwdrivers’, he claims.) 
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When Seungcheol first kissed you, you did not think: This man is my soulmate. 
It had been a clumsy, shy thing, traded way back when the two of you were high schoolers still stealing away from your eagle-eyed parents. Seungcheol liked to wax poetics about how it was perfect even though you know that first kiss was more a clash of teeth than anything. 
You don’t discover the truth of everything until a couple of years into dating. Seungcheol had gotten into playing basketball, and, one evening, you absentmindedly pressed your lips to a scar he had at the bend of his elbow. 
The mark smoothed out instantly. 
Seungcheol had giggled at the development before spending the rest of the night kissing every inch of your skin that he could reach— injured or not. You still think it’s one of your best memories as a couple. 
Kisses that healed scars. You hadn’t believed in the stories yourself until it had happened to you, until you realized how fortunate you were that your soulmate wasn’t halfway across the world or something. No, you had your soulmate, and he was more than willing to kiss away all your wounds. 
You had counted yourself as lucky. You still think you are, even now, as Seungcheol strokes your hair and holds you to his chest in the pitch black darkness of your apartment. 
His voice is quiet and small when he speaks up. “I’m sorry.” 
“What for?” you mutter back. 
“I’m sure this isn’t what you imagined,” he says. “For us moving in together and everything.” 
An amused snort escapes you. Of course that would be your boyfriend’s concern. There’s the rotational power outages and the merciless prices of goods due to inflation, but Seungcheol is worried about your expectations not being met. 
You shift in his hold. The days have been getting warmer and warmer, and the evenings are no exception. Seungcheol has taken to sleeping shirtless. You’re a couple of celsius away from doing the same. 
“It’s not your fault that we decided to move in together for the end times,” you say into the skin of his bare chest. 
He gives the small of your back a light thwack. “What have I said about the apocalypse jokes?” he chides lightly. 
You roll your eyes. He shouldn’t see it in the darkness, but he knows you all too well. “And don’t roll your eyes at me!”
His reprimand draws a short laugh from you. Even that feels like a monumental effort, like it's a waste of good air. 
Seungcheol doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the two of you waking up in pools of your own sweat, doesn’t care that there are whole government newscasts on how to preserve oxygen in enclosed spaces. 
He holds you like a lifeline and kisses you until you’re breathless. 
“Cheol,” you whine against his mouth, the protest already at the tip of your tongue. The end is near; sex should be the last thing on your mind. 
But then Seungcheol’s fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, and he sounds so, so sweet when he mumbles, “Yes, soulmate?” 
That’s always gotten to you. 
“Unfair,” you groan as you work on shucking off your own clothes. “You’re so unfair.” 
In between giggles, he kisses every part of you. Again, and again, and again. 
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June 15, 2017 
Cheol and I are on the run. 
He keeps telling me not to call it that because it supposedly makes us sound like criminals. I think it’s just funny, and God knows I need something to find humor in. 
As badly as I want to say “we have gone through worse before,” that would be a lie. We’re out of our apartment and trying to make our way to some place where there’s better air quality. In the meantime, we’re living out of his car. It’s so funny to me that I’ve started laughing until I’m crying. 
Anyway, the good stuff: Today’s sunset painted the sky purple. We snagged some still-cold cans of Sprite in an abandoned 7-Eleven. Cheol spotted a family of ducks crossing the road, pointed it out, and said “us, soon!”
Us, soon. It feels dangerous to hope, but that’s all I seem to do nowadays. That and being on the run. (Cheol made me strike out that last part, but whatever.) 
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When Seungcheol finally admits to you that he is scared, you did not think: This means that things are much, much worse than I thought. 
Maybe because there were bigger concerns, like the car’s blinking fuel warning light and the scratches littering Seungcheol’s arms. Like the fool that he was, he had gone against your well-meaning advice to not look for help. 
He did not return unscathed. 
Your lips are pursed in a thin line as you rip open a Band-Aid. It’s one of the few that the two of you have left, and Seungcheol seems to remember the fact. He reaches out to stop you. 
“Hey, c’mon,” he urges, obviously trying to aim for levity. “You know there’s other ways we can fix me up, right?”
The frown that tugs at your lips shows that you’re still less-than-pleased at his little stunt. 
“Maybe if you didn’t head out in the first place,” you grumble. “We wouldn’t need any of this.” 
Seungcheol looks like he might push back, but seems to decide against it at the last minute. Instead, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and gives you a gentle tug. 
“It won’t happen again.” His tone is edged with remorse, enough to almost convince you. Almost. 
“No more playing hero?” you ask. 
A corner of his lip twitches upward. “No more playing hero,” he concedes before tugging at you again. 
You let him. You move closer into his space until you’re practically in his lap, until you’ve got a better view of the angry red cuts on his skin. 
Tentatively, you press chaste kisses to the injuries. Seungcheol’s hands find purchase at your waist and he tilts his head back, letting you work your magic. He’s quiet as your lips trace over each gash and wound, as you take away all the hurt with the ghost of a kiss. 
After a moment, he mumbles, “Is it bad that I want you right now?” 
“Seungcheol.” 
“Okay, okay.” A beat. “I want you all the time, actually.” 
“Shut up!”
The sound of his laughter fills the car. It’s enough to have you forgetting his murmured confession of fear, the vulnerability that he had tried so quickly to cover up with affection. For a moment, there is nothing else in the world except this, except you, except him. 
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September 23, 2017
Is it weird to say that I’m starting to forget what it was like before all of this happened? Cheol is trying to assure me that it’s to be expected, that we’ll all be back to ‘normal’ soon, but I don’t even remember what normal is like anymore. 
I can’t forget. I don’t want to forget. And so here is a small list of things I took for granted: 
The first breeze that tells you winter is coming 
The kindness of people who don’t know you 
The smallest fish in the sea
Date nights with Cheol 
Clean water 
Breakfast
My parents
Cheol says there might be some biodomes ahead. Oxygen-regulated habitats. It sounds like something only the rich can afford. We don’t have a lot left between the two of us, and it’s getting harder to jump from building to building. 
But there’s something waiting for us on the other side— right? There has to be. 
May the best of my todays be the worst of my tomorrows. 
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When the gunshot rang out, you did not think: This is it.
Seungcheol never gave you any reason to think that way. He had held your hand as you raided rundown grocery stores. He had positioned himself in front of you when there were stampedes. The world might have been ending, but he was with you.
He was with you even when the strangers you ran into started getting more aggressive. He was with you even when fights would break out over necessities like water and medicine. 
“People are dangerous when they're desperate,” he’d tell you softly— still his rational, kind self even when faced with the worst of mankind.
He was with you. He was kind. He was yours. 
Even when the bullet lodged itself right between his ribs. 
There is not much that you remember after that. 
The people dispersed. The cause of the fight— a can of chicken noodle soup, once your comfort food— lay forgotten on the floor.
The love of your life, staring unblinking at the sky.
When you sink to the ground, you’re moving purely on instinct. Your quivering lips press over his chest, over the red blossoming and staining his shirt. 
You kiss him. Again.
And again. 
And again. 
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December 1, 2017
The kisses don’t work on bullet wounds. 
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▸ Archivist’s note: The following entries are undated and some portions had been redacted/deemed untranscribable. We are led to believe that the author struggled to cope in the aftermath of their soulmate’s death. For posterity, we have still reprinted their final entries.
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You’re so unfair. 
I still want you. 
Things I took for granted: ███████, you, ███████, youyouyou. 
What now? 
My love, it’s only a matter of ███████—
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▸ Archivist’s note: Nothing follows.
This concludes our transcribed logs. The full collection can be viewed at the National Museum of Remembrance.
It is our deepest regret that the author is unnamed and that they cannot be properly credited. However, we know of two things with certainty. 
We know of a man named Seungcheol, and we know that he was loved. 
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