Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"I'm thinking about divorcing him," Gi-hun said.

Jung-bae looked up from his drink, brows knitting together. "What?”

Gi-hun sat across from Jung-bae, his fingers wrapped around a shot glass, the rim smudged from the drinks he’d already downed. Gi-hun didn’t look at him. "I’ve been thinking about it for a while now." He paused, swallowing as if the words themselves were heavy. "I just... I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not."

Jung-bae leaned forward, his concern apparent. "What do you mean? What's been going on?"

There had been a lot of things happening in his marriage and Gi-hun didn't know where to begin. He had tried to get his husband's attention, tried to reach him, tried to feel like they were still something. Like last week, when he had cooked dinner for him, staying up late just to make sure it was ready when In-ho got home. But In-ho had barely looked at the table before muttering he wasn’t hungry and locking himself in his office.

Or the time Gi-hun had texted him— Are you coming home early tonight? —only to get a single-word reply three hours later. Busy.

And the worst part? Gi-hun wasn’t even angry anymore. He was just tired.

Gi-hun let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. He poured himself another shot, tipping it back without hesitation. The burn in his throat was easier to handle than the ache in his chest. "Nothing's the same anymore, Jung-bae. I wake up alone, eat alone—if I even bother. He’s always working, always somewhere else. And when we do talk, it’s just…fighting. About stupid things, about nothing at all. It’s like I’m living with a stranger.”

It wasn’t that he had ever wanted this. It wasn’t what he’d imagined for his life, for their life. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized—he just couldn’t keep pretending.

Jung-bae didn’t speak right away, and Gi-hun could feel his friend’s eyes on him, searching for an answer to the unasked question. He could tell Jung-bae was trying to understand, to make sense of it.

"You and In-ho fought so hard to be together," Jung-bae finally said, his voice softer now. "I remember how his family treated you—how they rejected you. You two fought so much to get married. What happened to that?"

Gi-hun’s chest tightened at the mention of it. He hadn’t forgotten. He could still remember the late nights, the way In-ho had looked at him with desperation, with love. The way they’d promised each other that nothing would come between them. That they’d face everything together.

"I know," Gi-hun whispered, his throat tight. "But now, it’s like none of that matters. We’re not even the same people anymore. And I...I don’t know when it changed, but it feels like I’ve been holding on to something that isn’t even there.” 

He paused, the memories of those early days coming back in flashes—the excitement of their first few months together, the way In-ho had looked at him as though he was the only thing in the world that mattered. Those days felt so distant now, like a lifetime ago. Now, everything felt so cold.

Jung-bae didn’t push him further, though the look on his face said everything: he was worried, torn between wanting to help and wanting to say something that would make it all better. But he knew that wasn’t possible.

Finally, he spoke. "Do you still love him, Gi-hun?"

Gi-hun swallowed hard. He didn’t answer right away, his mind clouded by the years of memories, both good and bad, that swirled in his head. There had been a time when he couldn’t imagine his life without In-ho, when every moment had been filled with laughter, warmth, and hope. But now? Now, it felt like they were strangers, bound only by the weight of their vows.

He had spent so many nights alone in that big house, the silence swallowing him up. In-ho was always working, always on the phone or in meetings, disappearing into his world and leaving Gi-hun to figure out where he fit. And it hurt, more than he cared to admit, but what hurt even more was the fact that he wasn’t sure when it had all started to fall apart. Was it his fault? Had he been too caught up in his own insecurities, in the way people saw him? Or had In-ho truly stopped trying?

"I don’t know," Gi-hun said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jung-bae nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything else, just reached for the soju bottle and poured them both another shot. It was a silent gesture, one that said he was there, that he was listening, and that sometimes words weren’t enough.

“It’s okay,” Jung-bae said. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’ll help you through it. We’ll figure it out together.”

Gi-hun could feel the sincerity in his words, the warmth of his friend’s support wrapping around him like a lifeline. It was a relief, in a way, to know he wouldn’t have to face this decision completely on his own. But even with Jung-bae’s reassurance, something still nagged at him, a thought he couldn’t shake.

“We could talk to Sang-woo,” Jung-bae suggested, his eyes lighting up. “He’s one of the best lawyers in the country. He wouldn’t hesitate to help you. He’s been through a lot himself, and he wouldn’t back down from someone like In-ho.”

Gi-hun’s gaze flickered over to his friend, the offer tempting. Sang-woo was undeniably brilliant, his reputation as a top-tier lawyer had been earned through years of handling cases that would make anyone else tremble. He knew that if anyone could help him get out of this marriage it would be Sang-woo.

But the thought of involving him felt like a dangerous gamble.

Gi-hun took a slow breath, his fingers tightening around his glass as he considered the options. He knew Sang-woo could win. He knew that if Sang-woo took on this case, there would be no one better to handle it. But the cost wasn’t just legal; it was far more personal. And it wasn’t something he could bear to put on Sang-woo’s shoulders.

“No,” Gi-hun said quietly, shaking his head slowly. “I can’t ask him. I can’t involve him in this.”

Jung-bae frowned, clearly confused. “Why not? He’s more than capable. And he’d want to help you.”

Gi-hun looked at his friend, his eyes heavy with a mixture of guilt and understanding. “Sang-woo is good, I know that. But there’s no one who can win against In-ho and not have their career destroyed in the process. He’s too powerful, Jung-bae. And I can’t do that to him. I won’t put him through something like that.”

Jung-bae opened his mouth to argue, but Gi-hun’s expression stopped him. The finality in Gi-hun’s words silenced him, and for a long moment, they both sat there in the quiet, the weight of Gi-hun’s decision hanging between them.

“I’ve seen what In-ho does to people who go up against him,” Gi-hun continued, his voice quiet but firm. “He’s ruthless. If I asked Sang-woo to take this on, he’d lose everything. His career, his reputation—it would be destroyed, and I can’t let that happen. Not to him.”

Jung-bae’s face softened as he listened. He knew the sacrifices Gi-hun had made, the quiet selflessness that often came at the expense of his own happiness. It hurt to see Gi-hun carry this burden, knowing how much he wanted to be free, but unwilling to drag others into the mess his marriage had become.

"I get it," Jung-bae said. "But you don’t have to face this on your own. I’ll be here. We’ll figure something else.”

Gi-hun nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He appreciated the comfort of not having to carry this burden alone, even if just for a few hours.

When they finally stood up to leave, the streets outside were bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. Gi-hun offered Jung-bae a small smile, the first one of the night, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Thanks, for listening,” Gi-hun said, his voice soft but genuine.

Jung-bae clapped him on the shoulder. “Anytime, Gi-hun. You know I’ve got your back.”

They exchanged a few more words before Gi-hun watched Jung-bae disappear into the distance, heading toward his apartment. Gi-hun felt the familiar heaviness settle back on his shoulders as he made his way to his own home. It was late now, and the streets were quieter, the night air cooler. He wasn’t sure what he’d do when he got home, but he knew one thing for sure. He didn’t want to deal with In-ho tonight.

When he reached his house, the place seemed even quieter than usual. Gi-hun felt a fleeting sense of relief, thinking that maybe he could escape for just one night. But as he stepped inside, the flicker of a light from the living room caught his eye. His heart dropped into his stomach. There, sitting in the dark, was In-ho.

Gi-hun froze for a moment, his stomach twisting as he saw his husband, who was staring at him with an unreadable expression. The weight of the day seemed to hit him all at once. He didn’t want to deal with this now. Not tonight.

But before he could slip away quietly, In-ho’s voice cut through the silence.

"Where have you been?" In-ho’s voice was calm and his eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to piece together something that didn’t make sense. “I’ve been trying to reach you all night. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

Gi-hun froze, a small wave of panic rising in his chest. He hadn’t expected In-ho to be here, let alone ask about his whereabouts. He couldn’t just tell him the truth, not about blocking his number, not about everything that had been brewing under the surface. He needed an out, a way to deflect, to push the questions aside.

“I…left my phone in my room. Didn't you check?” Gi-hun said quickly, the lie slipping out before he could stop it. His voice sounded flat, rehearsed, and he hated himself for it. But it was the best he could come up with on the spot.

In-ho hesitated. As if that option never occurred to him.

“You didn't, right? You didn't even bother to see if I was already in the house.” Gi-hun scoffed, shaking his head.

In-ho huffed, rolling his eyes. "Why would I? I figured you were out doing whatever it is you do these days."

Something inside Gi-hun snapped.

"Are you serious?" he shot back, taking a step closer. "You’re standing here questioning me about my phone like I’ve done something wrong, but you didn’t even bother to see if I was home?"

In-ho shrugged. "If you were, you would’ve picked up."

Gi-hun let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Wow. Right. Because you always check on me, don’t you? Always so attentive, always so—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "You don’t even care if I’m home or not, In-ho. Admit it."

"Don’t be dramatic," In-ho scoffed. "You’re acting like a child."

"A child?" Gi-hun repeated, voice rising. "I’m acting like a child because I’m upset that my own husband doesn’t even notice whether I’m here or not?"

"You want me to what? Keep tabs on you every second of the day?" In-ho shot back. "You’re the one who’s always out, always ignoring my calls—"

"Because I have your number blocked, In-ho!" Gi-hun snapped.

That made In-ho pause for half a second, his jaw clenching, but then he scoffed. "Right. Of course you do. That’s mature."

Gi-hun laughed again, shaking his head. "Like you care. If I didn’t come home tonight, would you have even noticed? Or would you just assume I was off being ‘irresponsible’ again?"

"You are irresponsible," In-ho said coolly. "You don’t think, Gi-hun. You don’t act like someone who—"

"Who what?!" Gi-hun interrupted, stepping closer, rage bubbling in his chest. "Who belongs here? Because let’s be honest, In-ho, that’s what this is about, isn’t it?"

"Don’t start.” In-ho said flatly, rubbing his temple like this conversation was already giving him a headache.

"Oh, I’m starting," Gi-hun snapped. "You are the one who started this. You don’t even check if I’m home, but the second I step through the door, suddenly I’m worth interrogating? What, did I disrupt your peace by existing?"

"Gi-hun, you’re so damn dramatic," In-ho muttered.

"Dramatic?" Gi-hun repeated, his voice rising. "Dramatic would be me throwing shit at you right now. I should, you know. Maybe then you’d actually look at me like I’m a real person instead of some fucking inconvenience."

In-ho’s jaw clenched. "Lower your voice."

"Or what?" Gi-hun barked. "You’ll finally remember we’re married?"

In-ho exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I don’t have time for this."

"Yeah? Well, maybe if you ever actually made time for me, we wouldn’t be here!"

In-ho shot him a glare. "You knew what this marriage would be like. You knew who I was."

"Oh, don’t give me that bullshit!" Gi-hun snapped, his heart pounding. "You weren’t like this before! You weren’t—" He stopped, shaking his head. "Whatever the hell you’ve turned into!"

"I had to change. Unlike you, I have responsibilities."

Gi-hun let out a humorless laugh. "Right. Responsibilities. And I was never one of them, was I?”

In-ho didn’t answer so Gi-hun continued.

"You think I don’t know what people say about us? About me? About how I’m just some lucky idiot who got to marry Hwang In-ho, heir of a goddamn empire?"

In-ho’s expression darkened, but he still said nothing.

"You never told them to shut the hell up. You just let them think I was some gold-digging loser while you acted like you were too good to even acknowledge me!"  Gi-hun continued, voice shaking.

"You knew what you were getting into," In-ho repeated, his voice cold. "You knew what my life was like. If you couldn’t handle it, you shouldn’t have married me."

Gi-hun felt like he had been punched in the gut.

He stared at In-ho, at the man he had fought so hard to be with, the man he had once loved so much he would’ve given up everything for him.

And now, all he felt was empty.

"You're right," Gi-hun murmured, his voice hollow. "I shouldn’t have."

For a moment, In-ho didn’t react. But then he exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes, already done with the conversation. "Are we finished now? Or are you going to keep throwing a tantrum?”

"I want a divorce," he said.

For the first time, In-ho’s expression changed. His shoulders tensed, his lips parted slightly, like the words had physically hit him. But then, his face hardened again.

"No."

Gi-hun let out a sharp breath, chest heaving. "No?" he repeated, his voice shaking. "No? You don’t get to fucking say no, In-ho! This isn’t a deal you can reject, this is our goddamn marriage!"

"And I’m not signing a divorce," In-ho said, voice cold. "Do you have any idea what that would do to my reputation?"

Gi-hun’s world tilted. He had expected anger. He had expected something. But not this. Not this cold, calculated response, as if their entire relationship was nothing more than a business transaction.

"Your reputation," Gi-hun whispered, the words barely audible over the blood rushing in his ears.

In-ho gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. "Yes. My reputation. Do you think I’m going to let you walk away and have the world believe you left me? You already know what people think of you, Gi-hun. Imagine what they’ll say when you try to take my name and run with it."

"Are you even hearing yourself right now?!" Gi-hun snapped, stepping closer. "I don’t give a damn about your reputation! I don’t love you anymore, I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be with you! We are not a fucking business contract, In-ho!"

"And yet you’re treating it like one," In-ho shot back. "You want to tear this apart just because you’re bored? Because you finally realized you don’t get to live off me without consequences?"

Gi-hun felt his blood go ice cold. "Is that what you think?" he whispered. "That I married you for your money?"

"That’s what everyone thinks," In-ho said, tilting his head slightly. "What makes you think I wouldn’t?"

Gi-hun let out a bitter laugh, hands shaking. "You’re disgusting."

"I’m realistic."

"No, you’re selfish," Gi-hun spat. "I want out, In-ho. I don’t care what people say, I don’t care what they think. I’m not going to waste my life trapped with someone who doesn’t even give a damn about me!"

"Oh, please," In-ho scoffed. "You don’t get to act like some tragic victim here. You knew exactly what you were signing up for. But now that you’re not getting what you want, suddenly you’re desperate to run?"

"What I want?" Gi-hun laughed harshly. "What I want, In-ho? I wanted you! I wanted the man I fell in love with! I wanted my husband to look at me like I was something other than a nuisance!"

In-ho’s expression didn’t change. "Then leave," he said simply. "But I won’t be signing anything."

Gi-hun stared at him, pulse pounding in his ears. "Why?" he demanded. "Why are you doing this? You don’t love me. You don’t even want me here! So what the hell is your problem?"

"I will not let the world think I lost you."

Gi-hun took a deep, shuddering breath. "I am not a trophy for you to win or keep, In-ho."

"Aren’t you?"

Gi-hun’s chest ached with the weight of those words.

For years, he had held on. Through the loneliness, through the distance, through every little moment that told him this wasn’t the same anymore. He had told himself there was something left, that In-ho still cared, even in his own, terrible way.

But now—now it was so clear. In-ho didn’t love him. He never had.

"Go to bed, Gi-hun," In-ho said coolly. "You’re drunk."

Gi-hun let out a shaky breath. "No," he murmured. "I’m just finally seeing things clearly."

And without another word, he turned and walked away.

Chapter Text

A sharp knock at the door jolted Gi-hun awake. He groaned, face buried in his pillow, willing whoever it was to go away. But the knock came again, firmer this time.

"Mr. Seong," a voice called from the other side. "You need to wake up. You have an interview with GQ Korea in two hours."

Gi-hun squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling slowly. Right. The damn interview.

Before he could even think about ignoring it, the door opened, and Kang No-eul, In-ho’s assistant, stepped inside—poised, professional, and completely unfazed by his half-conscious state. She was already dressed in a sharp black suit, tablet in one hand, phone in the other, the picture of efficiency. She looked down at him with the same professionalism she always did, like waking up the CEO’s husband was just another task on her schedule.

"Right," he muttered, voice thick with sleep. "The thing."

"Yes," No-eul confirmed. "They’ve been waiting months for this interview. It would be inappropriate to cancel now."

Gi-hun didn’t bother to hide his bitter laugh. Of course, it would be inappropriate. Everything in his life had to be perfectly curated, presented, controlled.

“You should start getting ready," she said. "Your stylist will be here shortly."

Gi-hun pushed himself up with a sigh. His head still ached from last night, from the fight, from everything. He blinked at No-eul, who was standing by the curtains now, pulling them open. Morning light spilled into the room, making him wince.

"Is In-ho going to be there?" he asked, not sure why he even bothered.

No-eul didn’t even look up from her tablet as she answered. "No, sir. CEO Hwang will not be attending."

Gi-hun scoffed under his breath. Of course not. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from his face as No-eul scrolled through her tablet. He exhaled sharply. "Let me guess. They want to hear about how ‘happily married’ we are?"

No-eul didn’t react to his sarcasm. "The interview will focus on your marriage, your role as CEO Hwang’s spouse. They are aiming for an elegant, exclusive feature on your life together." Gi-hun snorted. "The stylist is bringing pieces from Kim Seo-ryong’s latest collection." No-eul continued.

"Great," he muttered, stretching his neck. "At least I’ll look expensive while lying through my teeth."

That earned him a sharp glance. "It would be best if you kept to the narrative, Mr. Seong."

Gi-hun let out a tired laugh. "And what narrative is that, No-eul?" He tilted his head. "That my husband and I are madly in love?”

No-eul’s expression didn’t change, but there was a pause. Even she knew how ridiculous it sounded.

"Your image is important," she said carefully. "Both yours and CEO Hwang’s."

Gi-hun stared at her for a long moment before sighing. "Fine." He pushed himself off the bed. "Let’s get this over with."

No-eul nodded. "Your breakfast is ready in the dining room."

Gi-hun didn’t answer as she left the room, closing the door behind her. He ran a hand through his hair, staring out the window. He was used to this, used to pretending for the cameras, for the world, but it didn’t make it any easier.

With a deep breath, he made his way downstairs to the dining room. The table was set as usual, everything was perfectly placed, from the freshly brewed coffee to the neatly arranged fruit and pastries. It all felt so… rehearsed. His heart sank a little further.

Gi-hun sat at the long dining table, a plate of food in front of him that he barely touched. The house was silent. Too silent. He tapped his fingers against the porcelain edge of his coffee cup, staring down at the eggs and toast that were already going cold. He wasn’t hungry. Not really.

The silverware rested neatly beside his plate, untouched since he had pushed the food around a few times, more out of habit than any real intention of eating. There had been a time when breakfast was something he looked forward to, something they shared. He used to wake up to the sound of In-ho’s voice, low and groggy with sleep, complaining about how Gi-hun was too energetic in the morning. He used to laugh as In-ho scowled at his coffee, never satisfied with how it was made unless he did it himself.

Now, Gi-hun only woke up to silence.

His fingers curled around the coffee cup, lifting it to his lips, but the bitterness did nothing to shake off the emptiness weighing on his chest. He exhaled through his nose, setting it down carefully, his eyes drifting toward the large windows that overlooked the garden. It was an expensive view, just like everything else in this house. Cold. Distant. Much like the man who owned it.

He should eat something. He knew that. But every bite felt like swallowing a stone, and he was tired of carrying around that weight. He was still staring at his untouched breakfast when No-eul’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Mr. Seong," No-eul said from the doorway. "The stylists have arrived."

Gi-hun blinked, pulling himself back into the present. He glanced down at his plate one last time before pushing it aside.

"Already?" he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

No-eul checked her watch. "They’re on time, Mr. Seong."

Gi-hun pushed back his chair and stood, rolling his shoulders as he let out a sigh. "Yeah, yeah. Let's go." he said, forcing some life into his voice.

No-eul gave a short nod and stepped aside as Gi-hun left the dining room. His steps were slow, almost reluctant, but he knew there was no avoiding this. By the time he reached his room again, the stylists were already setting up, their cases open, brushes and palettes neatly arranged on the table. A woman with a sharp bob gave him a once-over, eyes scanning him like she was already calculating how much work needed to be done.

“Mr. Seong,” she greeted. “We’ll start with your hair.”

Gi-hun hummed in response and sat in the chair they had pulled out for him. As soon as he settled in, hands were on him—fixing his posture, adjusting the collar of his shirt, running fingers through his hair. He let them move him however they wanted, staring at his own reflection in the mirror in front of him. He looked exhausted.

The stylist worked quickly, brushing through his hair with practiced efficiency. Another person added concealer under his eyes, muttering about dark circles. It was laughable, really. How much effort went into making him look perfect when his entire life was anything but that. They smooth out every imperfection, as if a well-styled appearance could hide the cracks in his life. Gi-hun barely paid attention. He had gone through this routine so many times that it didn’t even feel like a process anymore, just another obligation.

When they finally stepped back, satisfied with their work, No-eul handed him a neatly pressed suit jacket. “The interview will be in the living room,” she informed him. “They’re ready for you.”

Gi-hun exhaled slowly, slipping the jacket on. “Of course.” With that, he followed her, his steps steady but unwilling.

Inside, a small team was already waiting. A woman in a crisp blazer, likely the reporter, was flipping through her notes. A photographer adjusted the lighting. When Gi-hun entered, all eyes turned to him.

The reporter immediately stood, offering a polite bow. “Mr. Seong, thank you for taking the time for this interview.”

Gi-hun returned the bow, slipping easily into the role expected of him. “It’s a pleasure.” 

He took his seat, adjusting his posture as the camera crew set up. A glass of water was placed in front of him, untouched. The reporter offered a practiced smile, pen poised over her notebook.

“Shall we begin?”

Gi-hun nodded and put on the best smile he could manage.

The reporter smiled as the cameras started rolling, her voice smooth and professional. “Mr. Seong, thank you for sitting down with us today. Your marriage to Hwang In-ho has been widely regarded as one of Korea’s most high-profile unions. Many admire the relationship you both present to the public. How would you describe your marriage?”

"Admire is a strong word," he said. "I think every marriage has its moments, its ups and downs. Ours is no different. We’ve been through a lot together, and it's not always easy. In-ho and I…we’ve built something that, for me, is worth fighting for. It's about trust, respect, and really understanding each other’s struggles. There are times when it feels like everything is aligned, and then there are times when we question everything. But at the end of the day, we have each other. And that’s what matters most."

He hated this part, the way he had to dance around the truth. His marriage was far from the picture-perfect union he was trying to sell. "It’s a work in progress. But isn’t that what marriage is? A constant evolution, learning and growing together, even when it's tough. People can admire whatever they want, but the reality is, we keep fighting for each other, day by day."

The bright lights above and the sound of the pen scratching against paper made the room feel more suffocating than usual. He focused back on the reporter, his smile returning. "That's how I would describe it.”

The reporter leaned forward a little, her pen ready to catch his next words. "So, with both of you having such demanding lives, how do you make time for each other? How do you balance everything?"

"Ah, that's the million-dollar question, right?" He waved a hand casually, as though waving away the complexity of the question. "Honestly, it’s all about the little things. Like, if I can steal him away for a quick breakfast before work, or if we can sneak in a phone call during his lunch break…I’ll take it."

He glanced at the reporter, his fingers tapping on the armrest. "It’s not perfect, obviously, but you make it work. And hey, if I’m being honest, I’m not the easiest person to deal with, so props to In-ho for sticking around."

The reporter smiled, clearly charmed by his words. "Well, it sounds like you're doing a pretty good job of making it work, then. And it’s clear you two care about each other a lot."

Gi-hun’s throat felt tight, but he nodded. "Yeah, we do. I think that’s the most important part, right? It’s all about trying, and maybe laughing along the way, too."

“And I imagine maintaining a marriage under such public scrutiny comes with challenges. How do you and Mr. Hwang handle adversity?”

Gi-hun barely stopped himself from scoffing. That's the only thing his husband seemed to care about. He took a breath, trying to steady his thoughts. He knew how this was supposed to go. He had answered similar questions countless times before. He leaned back slightly, as if considering the answer more deeply than he actually was.

“Well,” Gi-hun said, “it’s not always easy, that’s for sure. There are days when it feels like the world’s watching you a little too closely. People like to make assumptions, and sometimes, it feels like you’re just one misstep away from a headline.” She nodded, her eyes focused intently on him. “But at the end of the day, we’re a team. No matter what happens, we face everything together. In-ho and I, we’ve been through a lot—both in private and in the public eye. People don’t always see the struggles we’ve gone through behind closed doors. But that’s what keeps us going: knowing that we’re still standing next to each other, no matter what the world thinks.”

Gi-hun could feel his stomach tighten with discomfort as the words left his mouth. He couldn’t remember the last time he and In-ho had faced something together without it turning into a fight. He wanted to scream. The tension between him and In-ho had become unbearable, but he couldn’t admit that. He couldn’t tell this reporter that he felt more alone than ever, that their marriage was crumbling, or that every time he looked at In-ho, he wondered how they had gotten so far apart.

She smiled, seemingly satisfied. “Now, let’s talk about the beginning of your love story. How did you and Mr. Hwang meet? I heard you were both interns at Hwang Global Holdings.”

Gi-hun felt something twist in his chest. He knew this question was coming. He had told this story countless times before—the polished, romanticized version of it. But the real memory resurfaced too fast to ignore.

“That’s right,” Gi-hun confirmed, pushing the memory away. He didn't need that right now. “Though, between us, I had no idea he was the heir to the company.”

The reporter raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“No clue.” Gi-hun shook his head. “To me, he was just another intern. A really bad intern, actually.”

The reporter chuckled. “Mr. Hwang wasn’t great at the job?”

Gi-hun grinned. “He couldn’t use the printer, mixed up important documents, and, my personal favorite—he tried to make coffee one morning and set off the fire alarm.”

The room chuckled again, and even No-eul, standing just off-camera, exhaled quietly in amusement.

A small smile tugged at his lips and continued. “He tried, though. He really did. But you could tell he had never done that kind of work before. The little things like organizing files, even just taking notes in meetings, none of it came naturally to him. I could see the frustration in his face, but he never once asked for help.”

Gi-hun’s fingers curled slightly against the fabric of his suit, his voice turning almost nostalgic. “I didn’t want him to get in trouble. I didn’t want him to feel like he was failing. So, I helped him.”

The reporter nodded, clearly drawn in. “And when did you find out who he really was?”

Gi-hun exhaled, a small, wistful smile appearing. “Someone said his full name, just casually, in passing. And suddenly, everything made sense—the way managers acted around him, the way people watched him carefully but never corrected him. I realized I hadn’t just been helping some struggling intern. I had been helping the Hwang In-ho.”

He let out a quiet breath, his smile fading slightly. “I panicked. I resigned the next day. Walked right up to my supervisor and said, ‘Thank you for the opportunity, but I will be resigning effective immediately.’”

The reporter gasped. “You quit? Just like that?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” Gi-hun said, laughing. “I had been casually complaining about the company to him for weeks! Imagine standing next to your boss’s son, venting about how underpaid you are, how bad the office coffee is, how management is incompetent—and then finding out he’s the next in line to take over. My heart stopped. I thought, yep, that’s it. I’ve sealed my fate. Better leave before they escort me out.”

“So what happened next?” the reporter asked, still grinning.

Gi-hun hesitated for just a second, his smile softening. “In-ho came after me.” There was a pause, a quiet, delicate moment before he continued. “A few days later, he came to find me. He told me I was an idiot for leaving, that none of it mattered to him. That I mattered more.”

His throat felt tight for just a second, his emotions creeping too close to the surface. “That’s when I knew,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “That he wasn’t just Hwang In-ho, the heir to some massive company. He was someone who cared. Who chased after what he wanted. And that time…he wanted me.”

He thought back to that moment, how determined In-ho had been, how his normally serious expression had been replaced with something so serious, so earnest. He had never seen anyone look at him like that before.

“I thought I was just another intern to him,” Gi-hun said softly. “But that was the first time I realized… maybe I wasn’t.”

He smiled, and this time, it wasn’t for the cameras. It was real. The room was silent for a moment, the weight of his words settling in the air.

The reporter smiled too, letting the moment settle before flipping to the next page of her notes. “It sounds like a fairytale romance. But, fast-forward to today, you’ve been married for years. Yet, you don’t work together, even though you both have the skills and experience. Why is that?”

Gi-hun had perfected the art of playing the charming, devoted husband, and the reporter seemed content to follow the script. But this…Gi-hun barely let his smile falter. He had been prepared for many things, but not this.

He shifted slightly, his posture still relaxed, though his fingers curled subtly against his knee. “Oh, well,” he started, voice light, “we always had different interests. The company was always In-ho’s dream. I never saw myself in that world long-term.”

The reporter’s brow furrowed slightly, sensing the tension, but she pressed on. “But you were working together before, correct? There are…rumors that your departure wasn’t entirely your choice.” The reporter barely paused, watching for his reaction. “That CEO Hwang didn’t just discourage you, he prohibited you from working there.”

No-eul leaned forward, her expression polite but firm. “I believe we agreed to focus on their relationship, not business matters.” Her voice was light, but there was an undeniable steel beneath it. The tension in the room deepened.

Gi-hun raised a hand, a small movement, just enough to stop her. No-eul hesitated but leaned back, her jaw tight. Gi-hun turned back to the reporter, smiling, as if the simple idea was ridiculous to him. “People love to twist things, don’t they?” His tone was warm, easy. “My husband never prohibited me from anything.”

It was a lie. And he knew it. He thought of all the times he had asked. Tried to ask. The way In-ho had shut it down before the words had even fully left his mouth. You’re not working there, Gi-hun. I don’t need to explain myself. It’s not happening.

“He wanted me to have the freedom to pursue my own interests, without being tied to the company.” he continued, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

The reporter studied him. “And you were okay with that?”

Gi-hun hesitated. He should say yes. It was the logical answer. The expected answer. But for a fraction of a second, Gi-hun hesitated. Was he? Was he okay with walking away from the company he had worked so hard to be a part of? From the career he had once dreamed of?

Gi-hun had told himself it didn’t matter. That it was fine. That he didn’t need to be part of the company to be part of In-ho’s life. But what had that really left him with?

The pause was minuscule, but No-eul caught it. Immediately, she stepped forward, her voice firm. “That’s enough.” It wasn’t a suggestion.

The reporter’s eyes flickered to No-eul, amused but knowing. “Of course.”

She closed her notebook with a practiced motion, her assistant already standing.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Seong,” she said smoothly. “You can head over for the photos now.”

Gi-hun exhaled quietly and then he smiled, as if nothing had happened. He responded with practiced ease, a charming grin that masked the exhaustion sitting heavy in his bones.

No-eul stepped in quickly, guiding him towards the next part of the day. "Let's get the photos done," she said.

Gi-hun only nodded, following the magazine’s staff. The setup was already waiting—lights adjusted, the photographer flipping through his notes. And the moment the cameras focused on him, Gi-hun became the perfect image of himself.

He laughed at the right moments, let the camera catch the soft crinkle of his eyes, the easy charm that had once made him the heart of every room. No one would ever guess the weight pressing against his ribs.

"Can you turn slightly, Mr. Seong?" the photographer asked.

Unaware to the people below, Hwang In-ho was watching from the second-floor balcony, hidden away in the shadows. He stood motionless, his hands gripping the railing as his eyes followed Gi-hun’s every move.

His fingers were resting on the railing, tightening slightly when Gi-hun smiled—not at him, never at him anymore. How long had it been since he’d last held him? Since he’d last felt Gi-hun’s warmth without that undercurrent of bitterness between them?

His hands ached with the longing to reach out, to pull Gi-hun close, to remind him of everything they once were. But he couldn’t. It was better this way.

“You should tell him.” No-eul’s voice was quiet as she stood next to him.

In-ho didn’t turn. His fingers curled tighter around the railing, his gaze locked on the man below, lost in a world he no longer shared with him.

“No,” he said simply. 

No-eul crossed her arms. “He shouldn’t be alone in this.”

“He’s not alone,” In-ho countered immediately.

She let out a breath, unimpressed. “That’s what you tell yourself?”

Finally, In-ho turned to her, his expression blank, unreadable. “I pay you to take care of him, No-eul. Not to give me advice.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “And I do take care of him.” 

“This is the only way to keep him safe,” In-ho said at last.

“Safe? You think this is protecting him?” No-eul let out a bitter scoff. “You’re not pushing him away, you’re breaking him.”

In-ho clenched his jaw. He knew.

He saw it every day, the way Gi-hun barely looked at him anymore, the exhaustion in his eyes, the walls he had built between them. And still, every night, when In-ho lay awake in their empty bed, all he could think about was how much he missed him.

But if he told him the truth…no. He couldn't.

“No,” In-ho said finally, forcing the words out. “This is the only way.”

No-eul shook her head. “At least be honest about what you’re doing.”

In-ho inhaled slowly. Honesty wouldn’t change the fact that he had already made his choice. He had let Gi-hun slip through his fingers, letting the love they built rot under the weight of his silence. And yet, some nights, when exhaustion clouded his judgment, he still reached out for him, only to be met with cold sheets and the crushing realization that this was his own doing.

It’s better this way, he repeated to himself, even though deep inside, the words felt hollow. It has to be like this. Because the alternative was something he would never be able to live with.

Chapter Text

The restaurant was quiet, an intimate place tucked away on a side street in Gangnam. Gi-hun sat near the window. The low hum of conversations filled the space, but he barely heard any of it. He was waiting for Jung-bae, the only person he felt he could still talk to about this mess.

When the waiter passed, he glanced up, hoping to see Jung-bae walking through the entrance—but instead, a familiar figure in a gray suit strode in, scanning the restaurant until his eyes landed on him.

Sang-woo. His eyes locked onto Gi-hun’s, unreadable but unmistakably focused. Then, Gi-hun’s phone vibrated.

Jung-bae: I’m so sorry. I really tried, but Sang-woo cornered me, and he’s terrifying. Good luck.

Gi-hun scoffed, tossing his phone onto the table with a little more force than necessary. “Unbelievable.” Jung-bae was an idiot. And so was he, for thinking he could keep this from Sang-woo for long.

Sang-woo slid into the seat across from him without waiting for an invitation. “You look like shit,” he said, adjusting his cuffs.

Gi-hun let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Good to see you too.”

Sang-woo didn’t smile. “Jung-bae told me.”

Gi-hun looked away. “Figures.”

“I would’ve found out either way,” he said smoothly. “It’s not like you to keep things like this from me.”

Gi-hun scoffed. “You say that like I tell you everything.”

Sang-woo tilted his head, watching him closely. “Maybe not everything. But I know you.”

Gi-hun hated how that made something in his chest tighten. Hated the way Sang-woo’s voice dipped just slightly, as if the words carried more weight than they should. Sang-woo signaled for a waiter before turning his attention back to him. “You should eat something.”

Gi-hun didn’t reply. His stomach felt too tight to even think about food. He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “What exactly did Jung-bae tell you?”

“Just that you’re serious about the divorce.”

The waiter arrived, placing a menu in front of Gi-hun, but he barely glanced at it. Instead, he watched Sang-woo carefully. Finally, he said, “In-ho won’t sign.”

For the first time, Sang-woo’s expression changed. His brows furrowed. “What?"

Gi-hun let out a humorless laugh. “He said it would ruin his reputation. So, no. He won’t sign.”

A long silence stretched between them.

“Bastard,” Sang-woo muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening. He exhaled slowly, schooling his expression before meeting Gi-hun’s gaze again. “There are ways around that. Legally, I mean.”

Gi-hun frowned. “Sang-woo…”

“I’m serious,” he pressed. “You don’t have to accept this. You have options. In-ho isn’t invincible.”

“You’re too stubborn,” he muttered.

Sang-woo raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Gi-hun rubbed a hand down his face. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I told Jung-bae. I told him that if I told you, you’d try to help. Because you’re stubborn, and you’re a damn good lawyer, and you wouldn’t be able to let this go.”

Sang-woo’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And?”

“And In-ho would ruin you.”

Gi-hun clenched his fists under the table. “I know you, Sang-woo. You’d fight for me. You’d dig and push and find a way. And In-ho wouldn’t let you walk away from it unscathed.” He swallowed, voice tightening. “I can’t let that happen to you.”

Sang-woo didn’t move. He just stared at him for a couple of seconds. “I know how to protect myself,” he said finally.

Gi-hun let out a laugh. “Not from him.”

Sang-woo’s fingers curled against the table, his knuckles going white. It was the closest thing to an emotional reaction Gi-hun had seen from him in a long time. For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something else. But then the waiter arrived. Sang-woo smoothly placed an order for both of them, like he already knew Gi-hun wouldn’t.

The moment the waiter left, Sang-woo didn’t waste a second.

“Annulment is out of the question,” he started. “You’ve been married too long for that.”

Gi-hun barely held in a groan. “Sang-woo—”

“You can file on grounds of irreconcilable differences,” Sang-woo ignored him completely, “but since In-ho isn’t consenting, that makes things complicated."

“Sang-woo.”

"There’s also abandonment. If you can prove he’s neglected the marriage. Emotional neglect can count in some cases, but it’s harder to prove. Unless—”

“Sang-woo.”

“—you can prove misconduct. Abuse, infidelity, financial fraud—any of those could give you leverage.”

He shook his head immediately. “There’s no abuse,” he said, his voice quieter now. “And as much as I hate him, I wouldn’t lie about that.”

Sang-woo’s expression didn’t change, but there was something unreadable in his eyes. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“Then we look at assets,” he continued. “If you can prove financial mismanagement—”

Gi-hun let out a short, humorless laugh. “You think In-ho is stupid enough to leave a paper trail?”

Sang-woo exhaled slowly. “Then there’s another way.”

Gi-hun raised a brow. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

Sang-woo leaned forward slightly. “Make him want to divorce you.”

Gi-hun blinked. “What?”

Sang-woo’s eyes were sharp. Calculated. “In-ho doesn’t care if you hate him. He doesn’t care if you fight. But he does care about his reputation.”

Gi-hun exhaled sharply. He hadn’t thought about something like that before. Because deep down, maybe he hadn’t wanted to push things that far. Not until now. His chest felt tight.

“You humiliate him publicly,” Sang-woo said. “Make it so his perfect marriage isn’t so perfect. Give him a reason to cut you loose before his name takes a hit.”

Gi-hun stared at him, almost in disbelief. “You’re serious.”

Sang-woo didn’t blink. “I’m giving you options.”

“No.” Gi-hun shook his head. “That’s not an option. I won’t—I won’t play games like that.”

“Then you fight him in court.”

Gi-hun scoffed. “And let him drag it out for years?”

“If it gets you free, then yes.”

Gi-hun looked at him for a moment. "Why do you care so much?"

Sang-woo avoided his gaze. "Because you deserve better."

Gi-hun felt something in his chest, something he didn’t want to examine.

“I’m not letting you get involved,” Gi-hun muttered after a couple of seconds of silence.

Sang-woo huffed a quiet laugh. “I wasn’t asking for permission.”

Gi-hun’s jaw clenched. “I mean it,” he pressed, leaning forward. “You’re a damn good lawyer, but even you can’t go against him without consequences. If he decides to retaliate, he’ll make sure you never work again. I won’t let that happen.”

Sang-woo held his gaze now. “You think I care about that?”

“You should.” Gi-hun’s voice was firm, but his hands had curled into fists on the table. “I’ve already ruined my own life, I won’t let you throw yours away too.”

Sang-woo exhaled sharply, but his stare didn’t waver. “I told you,” he murmured. “I wasn’t asking for permission.”

Gi-hun let out a slow breath, pressing his fingers against his temples. Sang-woo wasn’t going to back down. He never did.

“You’re so damn stubborn,” he repeated again, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

Sang-woo smirked, but there was no amusement in his eyes. “Takes one to know one.”

Gi-hun looked away. His fingers drummed against the table as he tried to think. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. Gi-hun could hear the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen. It felt like the rest of the world was moving, but he was stuck.

Sang-woo was watching him. Then, after a long pause, he asked, “Do you really want to leave him?”

Gi-hun’s breath caught for half a second. Yes. He should say yes. But his silence stretched just a little too long, and Sang-woo noticed.

“You’re not answering,” Sang-woo murmured.

Gi-hun forced a scoff, shaking his head. “Of course I do.”

Sang-woo didn’t look convinced. “Then say it.”

He could say it. He should say it. But the words wouldn’t come out the way he wanted. He wanted a divorce. He wanted to be free from In-ho. But then why did it feel like something in his chest tightened at the thought?

Sang-woo sighed and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Gi-hun.” His voice was softer now, patient. “You can’t hesitate with this. If you want out, I can make it happen. But you need to be sure.”

Gi-hun looked away, lips pressing into a thin line.

“Let me ask you something,” he continued. “If In-ho walked in here right now and told you he’d sign the papers, just like that, would you feel relieved? Or would you feel something else?”

Relief. That should be the answer. But he wasn’t sure it was.

Sang-woo must have seen the conflict in his expression because his voice dropped even lower. “Gi-hun, what happened between you two?”

Gi-hun barely had time to process Sang-woo’s question when his phone vibrated on the table. The screen lit up.

No-eul.

“Sorry,” Gi-hun said.

Sang-woo glanced at the screen before nodding. “It’s okay. You can answer.”

Gi-hun exhaled, pressing the phone to his ear. He didn’t bother getting up—if it was No-eul, it couldn’t be anything urgent.

“Yeah?” he said casually.

But the voice that answered wasn’t No-eul’s.

“Where are you?”

Gi-hun’s entire body went cold. His grip on the phone tightened, his breath catching in his throat. In-ho.

His mind scrambled for an explanation—he had In-ho’s number blocked. How was he—? His gaze flickered to the screen again, where No-eul’s name was still displayed.

“Did you tell No-eul to change your name in my contacts?” Gi-hun asked, voice sharp.

“No,” In-ho said easily. “I bought a new number and made No-eul add it under her name because it’s the only way you’d pick up.”

Gi-hun’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Sang-woo, still watching, frowned. “Gi-hun?”

Gi-hun ignored him, pulse pounding in his ears. “You—” His voice dropped. “Are you serious!?”

Before he could say anything else, In-ho’s voice cut through the line again. “Who’s with you?”

Gi-hun scoffed, leaning back against his chair. “Why do you care?”

There was silence on the other end, but Gi-hun could feel it—the slow-burning irritation radiating from In-ho, even through the phone. Then, his voice, low and knowing.

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

Gi-hun’s jaw clenched. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to.

“I knew it.” In-ho’s voice was like steel, cold and cutting.

Gi-hun let out a humorless laugh, his fingers tapping against the table. “And? What does it matter to you?” His voice dropped, laced with something bitter. “You don’t like Sang-woo. You never have.”

Sang-woo shifted slightly.

“I don’t have to like him,” In-ho said, voice tighter now. “He’s still—”

“He’s still what?” Gi-hun snapped, his frustration flaring. “Someone who actually listens to me? Someone who’s willing to help me? Yeah, In-ho, maybe he is.”

There was another pause, heavier this time. Then, In-ho exhaled sharply.

“You shouldn’t be with him.”  

His gaze darted toward Sang-woo, who had been watching the entire scene unfold with an unreadable expression. Gi-hun let out a bitter laugh. “And why is that?” he challenged, gripping the phone tighter. “Because you don’t like him? Because you never have?”

“You know exactly why,” In-ho shot back.

Gi-hun scoffed. “No, I don’t. But please, enlighten me.”

“He’s in love with you,” In-ho said bluntly.

Gi-hun blinked, thrown off for half a second before scoffing again. “That’s ridiculous.”

In-ho’s voice darkened. “You really think I wouldn’t notice? The way he looks at you? The way he acts around you?”

Sang-woo, who had been quietly watching, stood up from his seat, a subtle tension in his posture. “Gi-hun,” he began, his voice low, “maybe it’s best if I go.”

“No,” Gi-hun said quickly, his voice coming out stronger than he’d intended. “It’s ridiculous. You can stay. It won't take long.”

Sang-woo hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly as he looked at Gi-hun, a quiet concern in his gaze. “Are you sure?”

Gi-hun forced a smile, though it felt strained, and nodded. “Yes. I’m fine. You don’t need to leave.”

“Are you fucking serious, Gi-hun?” In-ho spat, frustration leaking through the phone. “I just told you he is in love with you because you are so fucking blind and you still are going to stay with him?”

Gi-hun’s lips pressed into a thin line, frustration bubbling beneath his skin. “Oh, please. If you are trying to manipulate me, at least say something that actually makes sense.”

“You’ve always been like this,” In-ho barked a bitter laugh. “Do you really think he’s not trying to get closer to you for his own reasons?”

Gi-hun gritted his teeth. “You don’t get to act jealous now.”

“I have always been jealous of him,” In-ho admitted, voice clipped. “Because he’s always been waiting for you. And now, you’re just giving him exactly what he wants.”

Gi-hun exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “And what exactly do you think that is?”

“To take you from me,” In-ho growled.

Gi-hun flinched, anger twisting in his chest. “Take me from you?” he echoed, voice rising. “You don’t own me, In-ho. And you sure as hell don’t get to decide who I talk to just because you think—”

“I don’t think, I know,” In-ho snapped.

Gi-hun's pulse was pounding in his ears. “You know what?” His voice was low, steady, and deadly. “You’re unbelievable. You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me either. What kind of selfish idiot does that?”

In-ho’s voice came through, sharp and measured. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Gi-hun let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, I think I do.” His pulse was pounding in his ears. “You think you can keep me trapped forever just because you can’t stand the idea of someone else having me? You don’t even want me, In-ho.”

Silence.

And then, dangerously quiet, In-ho said, “You really think that?”

Gi-hun’s throat was tight, but the words came anyway. “I wish I never met you.”

The moment they left his mouth, regret hit him like a punch to the gut. But it was too late. The silence that followed was suffocating.

When In-ho spoke again, his voice was different—calm, but cold as ice. “That’s a shame.”

Gi-hun’s breath caught.

“Because no matter how much you wish that,” In-ho continued, “you did meet me. You married me. And you’re still mine.”

Gi-hun’s fingers curled against the table. “You don’t own me.”

“I never said I did.”

Gi-hun scoffed, heart hammering. “Then let me go.”

In-ho exhaled slowly. “Tell Sang-woo to enjoy his time with you while he can.”

Gi-hun’s blood ran cold. “Don’t you dare threaten him.”

“I don’t have to,” In-ho murmured.

Gi-hun swallowed hard, his grip on the phone shaking. Then, without another word, he hung up. The silence between him and Sang-woo was thick.

Then Sang-woo exhaled through his nose. "That went well."

Gi-hun let out a humorless laugh, running a hand over his face. "Yeah. Perfect.”

The waiter approached, setting their food down with practiced ease, but Gi-hun didn’t even glance at his plate. His fingers tapped against the table again.

Sang-woo picked up his chopsticks, watching him for a moment. “Eat.”

Gi-hun shook his head. “I can’t.”

Sang-woo sighed, placing his chopsticks down with deliberate patience. “Yes, you can.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“That’s not the point.” Sang-woo reached across the table, taking Gi-hun’s chopsticks and placing them in his hand. “Eat, Gi-hun.”

Gi-hun glared at him. “You’re not my mother.”

“No, but I’m your friend. And I’m not going to sit here and watch you starve yourself over him.”

Gi-hun swallowed hard, his pride flaring up, but there was something in Sang-woo’s eyes that wasn’t pity, but genuine care. It made his chest ache.

Gi-hun hesitated, then finally picked up his chopsticks and took a small bite. The warmth grounded him, and he realized how empty his stomach felt. Sang-woo didn’t comment, didn’t smirk or tease him for caving. He just kept eating, letting Gi-hun find his own pace. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like the first moment of peace Gi-hun had all day.

The rest of the meal passed with quiet conversation. Sang-woo moved their talk towards neutral topics—old cases, stories from law school, even a half-hearted joke about Gi-hun’s terrible taste in restaurants. They didn’t bring up the call again.

By the time they finished, the tension from before had settled into something softer, and when the bill arrived, Sang-woo reached for it first.

“I’m paying,” he said simply.

Gi-hun huffed a laugh, leaning back in his chair. “You mean you’re paying because you’re the one who showed up instead of Jung-bae?”

Sang-woo raised an eyebrow, lips curving slightly. “Something like that.”

Gi-hun just shook his head, letting him. He didn’t argue. Sang-woo always had a way of getting his way, and right now, Gi-hun didn’t have the energy to push back. As Sang-woo settled the bill, Gi-hun’s phone vibrated on the table. Another call. He glanced at the screen, already half-annoyed, ready to ignore it—until he saw the name.

No-eul.

But this time, he recognized the number. It was actually her.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before swiping to answer. “What now?” he muttered, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Where are you?” No-eul’s voice came through, urgent.

Gi-hun immediately stiffened. His irritation flared. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he bit out. “If he still wants to know, tell him I’m not playing along. He needs to stop using you for this.”

There was a brief pause on the other end before No-eul’s calm, professional voice came through. "Mr. Seong.” The way she said it made Gi-hun stop. “Mr. Hwang…he—” she stopped for a moment. “Mr. Hwang had an accident.”

Chapter Text

Gi-hun walked in the sterile hallway of the hospital, his shoes clicking against the polished floor with each anxious step. The bright, clean space seemed to mock his frantic thoughts as his mind spun out of control. 

Sang-woo, who had come to the hospital with him hadn’t said much, he stood at a distance, his eyes never leaving him. "Gi-hun," he said, his voice gentle. "You have to breathe. Panicking won’t help."

Gi-hun didn’t respond. He just continued walking up and down the corridor, eyes darting between the nurses passing by and the closed doors that seemed to hold nothing but uncertainty behind them. His thoughts were jumbled, a mess of memories, regrets, and questions that had no answer. 

“I shouldn’t have said it,” Gi-hun muttered, his voice barely audible. “I should never have said it. I…I told him I wished I never met him. And now this…Now, he’s…” His words trailed off, his throat tight. The guilt weighed on him, suffocating him, like an anchor pulling him deeper into despair. He felt his chest tightening, the cold grip of panic threatening to take over.

He ran a hand through his hair. Sang-woo took a step forward, placing a hand on Gi-hun’s shoulder to stop his movements and offer comfort. “Gi-hun, listen to me. They are doing everything they can. It’s going—”

Gi-hun couldn’t bear to hear it. The panic, the guilt, the self-loathing—it all came crashing down at once, and he turned around to face Sang-woo. “Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay! Don’t tell me anything is okay!”

His hands were trembling, fingers digging into his hair as he paced. He couldn't stop moving, couldn't stop the suffocating dread clawing up his throat.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

He wanted the divorce. He wanted to be free of In-ho, wanted to get as far away from him as possible. He wanted to be done with the coldness, the fights, the distance that had swallowed their marriage whole. But now? Now, with In-ho lying somewhere in that hospital, with Gi-hun not knowing if he would ever open his eyes again.The thought of never seeing him again was unbearable.

Even if their marriage was crumbling, even if Gi-hun had spent months telling himself he wanted out, he still loved him. And the thought that the last words In-ho ever heard from him were those—

He swallowed hard, chest heaving, hands clenched into fists as he tried to force down the rising nausea. "I can’t lose him," Gi-hun said, the words coming out in a choked whisper. "I can’t—"

"Gi-hun," Sang-woo interrupted, his voice a little sharper now, trying to break through the panic. "I know this is hard. But you're here, and that's all you can do right now."

Before Gi-hun could answer, the doors swung open, and No-eul stepped out, her expression tight. She bowed politely, her gaze flicking between them before settling on Gi-hun.

No-eul had always been the epitome of composure—an unshakable presence with her perfectly styled hair, sharp, tailored outfits, and a calm voice that could smooth over any situation. She had a way of commanding attention without ever seeming frantic, her professionalism always at the forefront. But now, as she stood before Gi-hun and Sang-woo, the cracks in her usual demeanor were undeniable.

Her hair was a mess, strands of it falling out of place and curling around her face as though she hadn’t had the chance to fix it. She tugged at the loose strands, trying to pull them back behind her ear, but it did little to mask the chaos beneath the surface. Her clothes now seemed to hang a little off-kilter, the edges slightly wrinkled as if she’d been pacing too much, too quickly. 

“Mr. Cho, Mr. Seong." No-eul’s voice cracked slightly when she spoke, the usual unwavering tone now soft and laced with visible worry. She was still trying to maintain control, but it was clear that the news about In-ho had taken its toll on her. No-eul, who had always been so careful and composed, now looked vulnerable, a stark contrast to the woman Gi-hun had come to know. The panic behind her eyes was hard to hide, and for a moment, she didn’t seem like the assistant who kept everything running smoothly. She seemed like someone who was barely holding it together, just like Gi-hun.

Something was wrong. He couldn’t quite place it, maybe it was the way her eyes wouldn’t quite meet his, or the slight unsteadiness in her step, but he could feel the change in the air, and it made the panic rising in him grow even faster. "No-eul," he blurted, rushing forward, his voice raw with the desperate need to hear something that would assure him In-ho was going to be okay. "How is he?"

Her hesitation was all he needed to know that the news weren't good. The look in her eyes, the mess she had become, told him everything. A part of him already knew the worst before she spoke. And when she finally told him, her voice was quiet.

“The collision was severe.” 

Gi-hun’s breath caught in his throat. His ears started ringing. “What?” What do you mean, severe?” His voice cracked as the words tumbled out. He didn’t like how she said it. It didn’t sound like good news.

“Another vehicle was involved. He—” She paused, her gaze lingering on him before continuing. “He sustained internal bleeding, and some of his bones are broken. He’s currently under surgery to stop the bleeding, and they’re stabilizing him.” 

He couldn’t ignore the deep sense of helplessness in No-eul’s gaze. She wasn’t just telling him what had happened to In-ho. She was showing him her own fear, and it made the situation feel even more impossible. Gi-hun’s chest tightened, the air in his lungs feeling like it had been sucked out. His vision blurred, and his body swayed slightly as he tried to absorb what she was saying.

“Internal bleeding? Broken bones?” He repeated the words to himself, unable to fully grasp the extent of what had happened. “Is he...is he going to make it?”

She looked down briefly, trying to find the right words. “It’s too early to tell, Mr. Seong.” She took a quiet breath. “The doctors are doing everything they can, but the next few hours are critical. I wish I could tell you more, but we have to wait and see how he responds.”

“Too early?” His voice faltered, cracking as he fought to hold himself together. “No, no, please. You must know something. He has to make it. He can’t...” His words broke off.

No-eul’s eyes softened, and she looked almost apologetic, as if she didn’t want to be the one to deliver this kind of news. “I’m sorry. I really wish I had better news for you. But it’s just too soon to say. I didn’t want you to hear this from anyone else, but I need you to understand it’s a critical situation.”

Gi-hun closed his eyes for a moment, fighting to steady his breath, trying to push back the panic. “I need to see him,” he said urgently. “I need to be with him.”

No-eul hesitated, glancing down the hallway briefly before meeting his gaze again. She shook her head gently, taking a step back. “I know you want to, but it’s better to let the doctors work now. Besides—” She hesitated again, clearly struggling with how to say what came next. "I did what I could to keep the media away, but you know that’s impossible. They’re already outside, gathering. If we don’t manage them, things could get worse.”

“The media? Now?” He let out a bitter laugh, the absurdity of the situation striking him. “You want me to deal with reporters right now when In-ho’s under surgery, when I don’t even know if he’s going to make it?” His voice cracked slightly, frustration and disbelief bubbling over. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I know it’s the last thing you want to deal with,” No-eul said, “but if you don’t manage it, it will only make things harder for everyone. The press will create a circus, and In-ho doesn’t need that right now.”

Gi-hun's fists clenched at his sides. He had never felt this torn, this helpless. He couldn’t just leave In-ho alone when every second felt like it counted, but now there was this other pressure—something that felt almost ridiculous, even as it was happening. The reporters. He could barely even think about it.

“No,” he muttered, his voice cracking with frustration, “I’m not going anywhere until I see him. I don’t care about them right now.”

She took a cautious step towards him, her tone becoming a little more insistent. “I understand how you feel, but you need to think about the bigger picture. If the press gets too close, it’s going to draw even more attention to him. We need to keep them under control for his sake.”

Before Gi-hun could respond, Sang-woo, who had been silent up until then, stepped forward. “I’ll take care of it.” His words hung in the air, cutting through the tension.

Gi-hun blinked, startled. “What?”

Sang-woo shook his head, his voice filled with disbelief. “It’s unbelievable,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “All you care about is In-ho’s image, what the media’s going to say. You couldn’t care less about what’s actually happening here.” He glanced towards No-eul, his expression hardening slightly. “I’ll deal with the press.”

No-eul pressed her lips together, her expression hardening. “This is a family matter,” she said as if she were reminding Sang-woo of his place. “And with all due respect, Mr. Cho, you’re not part of the family.”

Sang-woo stiffened, his eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second before he let out a slow breath, his gaze still fixed on her. For a brief moment, there was an unspoken tension between them. Gi-hun couldn’t help but notice the way their eyes lingered on each other, the silent communication between them that he couldn’t quite grasp.

Gi-hun looked at No-eul and then to Sang-woo. He took a steadying breath and spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay, No-eul,” he said, his eyes locked on hers. “I trust him to handle it.”

No-eul hesitated for a moment, her lips parting as though she wanted to say something, but in the end, she nodded. 

“Just...make sure they leave us alone,” Gi-hun continued, turning back to Sang-woo, his voice low and tinged with exhaustion. “I don’t want to deal with that right now. I just need to focus on him.”

Sang-woo gave a small nod. “I’ll make sure of it.”

With that, Sang-woo turned to leave, and No-eul followed after a brief pause. Gi-hun couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more she wanted to say. However, she kept it to herself, walking away without another word.

Gi-hun sat alone in the sterile waiting room. His heart raced, and he found himself moving uncomfortably in the seat, his feet tapping anxiously against the cold tile floor. The minutes felt like hours, every second stretching longer than the last. Despite the cool air in the room, a thin layer of sweat clung to his skin.

He couldn’t stop thinking about In-ho—the crash, the surgery, the uncertainty. The idea that he might lose him felt too overwhelming to accept, but there was nothing he could do except wait. And as he waited, his mind spiraled into darker thoughts. What if…the words danced at the edge of his consciousness, but he quickly pushed them away, trying to focus on the sounds of the hospital around him, anything to drown out the mounting dread.

Every time the door opened, Gi-hun’s heart skipped a beat, only to sink when it wasn’t the news he was waiting for. No Sang-woo. No No-eul. The anxiety gnawed at him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out.

Then, just when he thought he couldn’t bear the waiting any longer, the door opened once more. Gi-hun shot to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest, but it wasn’t Sang-woo or No-eul who entered. A doctor, wearing a faded green surgical mask and a white lab coat appeared. 

Gi-hun’s breath hitched in his throat as he stared at the doctor. He swallowed hard, his voice strained as he forced the words out. “How is he?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly. "In-ho...is he okay?"

The doctor nodded. “Mr. Hwang is stable for now,” he said. “However, the situation is still critical. The surgery was successful in controlling the internal bleeding, but his condition is still very serious. His body is weak, and his recovery will take time.”

Gi-hun exhaled sharply, his knees nearly buckling. “Can I see him?” Gi-hun asked, his voice low but filled with desperation. “I need to see him. Please.”

He couldn’t just sit here. He needed to see In-ho. He needed to be by his side, even if it was only for a moment.

The doctor hesitated for a brief moment before nodding, his expression softening. “You may, but he hasn’t regained consciousness yet. The sedation is still in effect, but even when it wears off, we can’t predict when he’ll wake up. His body has been through a severe trauma.”

Gi-hun’s relief was cut short, dread creeping back in. In-ho was alive—but unconscious, still teetering on the edge. What if he doesn’t wake up? The thought sent a cold shiver down his spine. No, he couldn’t think like that. He was going to be okay. He gave a short nod. “I understand. Just take me to him.”

The doctor gestured for him to follow, and Gi-hun moved without hesitation. His legs felt heavy, but his steps were quick, driven by the desperation clawing at his chest. The hallway was too long, the air too sterile, the sound of distant machines beeping making everything feel too real.

When they finally reached the door, Gi-hun felt his breath hitch. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for this—but he had to be. He had to see him. Because In-ho was alive. And Gi-hun wasn’t leaving his side.

The door opened with a soft click, and Gi-hun stepped inside, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break his ribs. The hum of medical machines filled the silence in the room. His breath hitched when his eyes landed on In-ho.

He was so still.

Gi-hun had prepared himself, or he thought he had, but nothing could have braced him for the sight of In-ho lying there, pale and unmoving. Bandages covered parts of his face, and a deep bruise bloomed along his cheekbone. His right arm was in a cast, wrapped tightly against his body. Slowly, he stepped forward, his throat burning as he swallowed down the lump forming there. He hovered beside the bed, his fingers twitching at his sides, unsure whether he should reach out, afraid that if he did, In-ho might shatter like glass beneath his touch.

The doctor lingered for a moment before exhaling softly. “I’ll give you some time alone,” he said. Gi-hun nodded, barely noticing the quiet sound of the door clicking shut. His eyes were locked on In-ho.

The machines beeped in steady intervals, a quiet reminder that he was alive—but it wasn’t enough. Gi-hun swallowed hard, forcing the lump in his throat down. His voice wavered when he finally spoke.

“You look like hell,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. It felt wrong, hearing nothing in response—no sharp retort, no exasperated sigh, no tired remark about how Gi-hun worried too much. Just silence.

Gi-hun dragged a chair closer and sat down, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together. His foot tapped anxiously against the tile floor, the nervous energy in his body refusing to settle. He wanted to say something, but what could he possibly say to someone who wasn’t awake to hear it?

He let his head drop forward, eyes squeezing shut. “You scared the hell out of me,” he admitted hoarsely. “When No-eul called, I—I don’t even remember how I got here. I just drove. Didn’t think. Didn’t care. I just needed to see you.” His throat tightened. “And then I got here, and they wouldn’t tell me anything, and I thought—” He cut himself off with a sharp inhale. “I thought I was too late.”

He let out a breath and reached out, hesitating before his fingers brushed against In-ho’s hand. His skin was cold. Too cold. Gi-hun swallowed hard and wrapped his hand around In-ho’s, rubbing his thumb along his knuckles, as if that could somehow warm him up.

“I said some real stupid shit to you, didn’t I?” His voice came out hoarse. “I bet you’re pissed, huh?” He squeezed his hand a little tighter, his own trembling. “Knowing you, if you could hear me, you’d probably just roll your eyes and say I’m being dramatic.”

He swallowed, blinking rapidly.

“I was so fucking angry at you.” His throat tightened, but he forced himself to keep going. “You were shutting me out, treating me like I didn’t matter. And I just—I got so tired of it. I was exhausted, In-ho. So I said something I didn’t mean.”

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

“I hate that the last thing I said to you was something I didn’t mean,” he whispered. “I hate that you—” His breath shuddered as he forced down the sob threatening to break free. “You always act like nothing gets to you. Like you don’t care. But I know you do. I know you do.”

Gi-hun closed his eyes one more time, willing himself to stay steady, to not let the emotions bubbling up inside him spill over. 

“You remember the first time you got sick when we got together? You acted all tough about it, said you didn’t need anyone to take care of you. You nearly passed out in the damn kitchen, and even then, you told me to go home.” He huffed a small laugh, but it cracked halfway through. “I didn’t. I stayed. And you let me, even if you pretended you didn’t want me to.”

His gaze flickered up to In-ho’s face, searching for any sign of movement, but there was nothing. Just the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest.

“You’re probably gonna do the same thing when you wake up,” he murmured. “Pretend you don’t need anyone. Act like you’re fine. Like you always do.” His voice cracked and he blinked up at the ceiling as if that would stop the tears from coming. “But you’re not fine, and I don’t care if you don’t want me here—I’m staying. So don’t even try to tell me to leave.”

He blinked again.

“You piss me off, you know that?” The sob tore out of him before he could stop it. His shoulders shook, his free hand tightening into a fist against the blanket. “You push me away. You shut me out. You—” 

Gi-hun had to stop himself. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he sobbed, his voice breaking. “I never meant it, In-ho. You have to know that.”

His hands shook as he squeezed In-ho’s, his grip desperate, pleading.

“Don’t you dare leave me like this.” His breath hitched. A strangled sob ripped from his throat as his head bowed, his forehead pressing against their joined hands.

“Damn it, In-ho,” he whispered through the tears. “You have to wake up. You have to.”

His fingers tightened, desperate for any sign—any twitch of movement, any squeeze in return. But In-ho remained still.

Gi-hun exhaled shakily, forcing himself to pull back just enough to look at him. His face was paler than ever, his breaths too shallow, too weak. It made something twist painfully in Gi-hun’s chest.

“You always have to be the one in control, don’t you?” he muttered. “Even now…You’re doing this on your terms.”

He let out a breath that could’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so broken. “But not this time, okay?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Not this time. You’re going to wake up. And when you do, I’m going to be right here.”

His eyes burned, he couldn't force down the sob rising in his throat.

“You hear me?” His voice wavered, but there was steel beneath it. “I’ll be right here.” Gi-hun exhaled shakily, wiping at his face with the back of his hand, but the tears wouldn’t stop. His other hand still clung to In-ho’s, unwilling to let go, unwilling to accept the stillness. “You always hated when I made a scene,” he murmured. “So wake up and tell me to shut up already.”

Silence.

“Just come back to me, In-ho.”

Chapter Text

He watched In-ho’s chest rise and fall, each breath proof that he was still here—still alive. Gi-hun wasn’t crying anymore. His face was swollen, his eyes bloodshot, but the tears had stopped. The sound of approaching footsteps barely registered in his ears. 

“Gi-hun.”

Sang-woo’s voice pulled him back, but he didn’t lift his head immediately. He just exhaled, trying to steady himself before forcing himself to turn.

Sang-woo was standing a few steps away, observing him. His tie was slightly loosened, and there was a crease between his brows, like he’d been frowning the entire time he was gone.

“It’s done,” Sang-woo said quietly. “The media won’t be a problem for now.”

Gi-hun blinked at him, the words taking a moment to process. “Right. The media.” He had completely forgotten about it.

“Some legal threats, a few statements, and a little pressure in the right places. They’ll back off.” His gaze flickered towards In-ho’s still form. “For now, at least.”

Gi-hun swallowed, nodding slightly, but said nothing.

Sang-woo hesitated before speaking again. “What did the doctor say?”

Gi-hun’s grip on In-ho’s hand tightened. He turned away, staring at the sheets instead. His voice was hoarse when he answered.

“Surgery went fine. He lost a lot of blood, some broken ribs, internal injuries…” His throat tightened. “He hasn’t woken up yet.”

He felt Sang-woo’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up at him again. He just kept holding onto In-ho’s hand like letting go wasn’t an option. 

“And you? Are you—” He hesitated. “Do you need anything?”

Gi-hun shook his head, staring at his husband. “I just need him to wake up.”

Another silence stretched between them. The machines beeped softly in the background, a steady, infuriating rhythm that did nothing to ease the tension in Gi-hun’s chest.

“No-eul is still dealing with some things outside. She’ll be back soon.” Sang-woo said.

Gi-hun barely reacted. “Okay.”

After a beat, Sang-woo pulled out a chair and sat beside him. Gi-hun could feel the weight of his stare. He could tell Sang-woo wanted to say something. It took a while, but eventually, he did.

“…Do you think it’s real?”

Gi-hun blinked, his fingers twitching slightly. “What?”

Sang-woo moved in his seat, uncomfortable, his hesitation was clear. He exhaled softly through his nose, then tried again.

“The accident,” he said in a whisper. “Do you think it was real? That it just…happened?”

Gi-hun’s brow furrowed. His head turned slowly, his tired brain struggling to make sense of what Sang-woo was asking. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Sang-woo met his gaze, only to blink and pull away a few seconds after. “I’m saying…you asked for a divorce, and now he’s here.” He gestured vaguely towards In-ho. “You really don’t think—”

The words barely left his mouth before Gi-hun shot to his feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. He dropped In-ho’s hand in the process.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” His voice cracked as he tried so hard to not shout. “You think he planned this?”

Sang-woo stayed in his seat, but his jaw tightened. “I think you know what he’s capable of.”

Gi-hun let out a humorless, bitter laugh. "That’s insane. He wouldn’t—he wouldn’t do that.”

Sang-woo didn’t look convinced. He exhaled slowly. “I talked to No-eul."

“And?”

Sang-woo didn’t look away. “She told me what happened.” He paused, glancing at In-ho before continuing. “Another car was coming from the opposite lane, and somehow, he ended up right in front of it. It was a head-on collision.”

Gi-hun’s stomach twisted. “Is the other driver okay?”

“He is. No-eul made sure to cover everything.” Sang-woo hesitated, just for a second. “She was on the phone with In-ho when it happened.”

“What?” Gi-hun’s breath caught in his throat.

“He called her,” Sang-woo repeated. “She said he sounded off. And then, mid-sentence, he just—stopped. All she heard was the crash.”

Gi-hun’s heart pounded painfully against his ribs. But Sang-woo wasn’t finished. He hesitated again, visibly debating whether to say the next part. When he finally did, his voice was quieter.

“It was after you hung up,” Sang-woo said, his voice steady but edged with something Gi-hun couldn’t quite place. “When we were at the restaurant.”

His blood ran cold. His breath caught in his throat, and suddenly, the hospital room felt smaller. Sang-woo must have seen the guilt flash across his face, but if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. He just kept going.

“After your call—that’s when he called No-eul,” he said. “He told her he wasn’t going to let you go. But she didn’t tell me much else,” Sang-woo continued, his tone darkening. “Not directly. She kept skirting around details, avoiding certain questions. I think she’s hiding something.”

“And you think that means what, exactly?”

“Just think about it, Gi-hun. After everything, why else would he crash like that, with another vehicle involved?” Sang-woo finally stood up from his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, whispering as if he was afraid In-ho might wake up at any moment. “The timing is too much of a coincidence, and No-eul is the only one who could help him pull this off.”

Gi-hun’s face twisted with confusion and he took a step back, making distance between him and whatever nonsense Sang-woo was trying to say. His entire body was trembling. “Do you even hear yourself?” he snapped. “That’s not who he is. You think he’d do this to himself? For what? To keep me trapped? I know him.”

Sang-woo’s lips pressed into a thin line, studying him in a way that made Gi-hun’s skin crawl. “You knew him. Do you know who he is now?”

“If you want to say something just fucking say it.” Gi-hun's voice came out sharp. He appreciated Sang-woo's friendship more than anything, they grew up together and he had never doubted that Sang-woo had his back. But this? This was too much.

Sang-woo was going too far, and Gi-hun was running out of patience.

He sighed, shaking his head like this was exhausting for him. “You’re not stupid, Gi-hun. You know what I’m trying to say.”

“I know what you’re implying, and it’s insane,” He scoffed. “You know how fucked up that sounds?”

Sang-woo didn’t back down. “I hear how fucked up you sound, refusing to even consider it.” His voice dropped lower. “He refuses to give you the divorce. He ignores you every time. He controls your life, Gi-hun. He lies to you. He hides things from you. And now, suddenly, after you tell him you want out, he crashes his car?”

Gi-hun inhaled sharply through his nose. “It was an accident. You weren’t there, Sang-woo. You don’t know.”

“Neither do you.” 

Gi-hun swallowed, his throat dry. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t. But he thought about it and he hated that it almost did. He hated that his mind was turning over the possibility. Sang-woo was planting these ideas and making them grow.

“He wouldn’t,” he forced out, but it sounded weak, even to him.

Sang-woo stepped forward. “Are you sure?”

He wanted to argue. He wanted to call Sang-woo a liar, to tell him he was being ridiculous. But he couldn't because deep down, a small, dark part of him whispered— Is it?

This wasn’t the first time In-ho had done something drastic. He had a way of controlling situations, of twisting things until they bent in his favor. And Gi-hun had pushed him this time. He had asked for a divorce. Would In-ho really—?

“You knew him. Before. The man you married? Maybe. But the man lying in that bed?” Sang-woo exhaled, almost like he pitied him. “You don’t know what he’s capable of anymore.”

No. It was impossible. He knew his husband. Even if their marriage was crumbling under the weight of everything wrong, he knew that deep down, In-ho was still the same man he fell in love with. He didn’t know what happened to them. When everything went wrong. When In-ho stopped looking at him the same way. But no matter how much distance grew between them, he refused to believe their love was completely gone.

So no. No, In-ho wouldn’t do this just to keep him. He wouldn’t.

Gi-hun rubbed a hand over his face. His skin felt hot, like the anger was simmering under his flesh, ready to boil over.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “This whole thing—you—”

“I’m pointing out the obvious,” Sang-woo said, sighing as he rubbed his fingers against his temple, like this was all some headache he had to deal with.

“The obvious is that my husband almost died,” Gi-hun shouted, his chest rising and falling with the force of his breath. “And you’re standing here trying to tell me he did it on purpose.”

Sang-woo shook his head. “You don’t know him anymore, Gi-hun.”

Gi-hun’s whole body tensed. “You keep repeating it. You keep saying I don't know my husband now, but you do?”

“I know enough.”

Gi-hun let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humor in it. Just disbelief. Frustration. “Right. Enough to sit here and tell me he crashed his car on purpose?” His voice rose, disbelief turning to anger. “Enough to say he’s faking all of this?”

Sang-woo didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

Gi-hun took a step forward, jaw clenched. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think I do.”

“You don’t.” Gi-hun’s chest heaved. “You’re acting like you suddenly understand him better than I do—like you have some kind of insight that I don’t.” His voice cracked. “Like you weren’t just some outsider in our marriage.”

Sang-woo’s eyes darkened. “That’s exactly the problem, Gi-hun.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You’re holding onto a version of him that doesn’t exist anymore. And maybe—” He hesitated before continuing. “Maybe it’s time to admit that.”

Gi-hun’s pulse pounded. He hated this. Hated how Sang-woo looked at him, like he was pathetic. Like he was delusional. “You’re so fucking wrong.”

“Am I?” Sang-woo’s tone softened, but it wasn’t comforting. “Then why are you so scared, Gi-hun?”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.” Sang-woo took another step forward, close enough that Gi-hun could see the shift of his expression, the slight narrowing of his eyes as he studied him. “You don’t want to admit that there’s even a chance I could be right. Because if I am?” He tilted his head, looking at him with that gaze of his that was too familiar to Gi-hun. “Then everything you’ve been clinging to is a lie.”

Gi-hun’s hands shot forward before he could stop himself, grabbing Sang-woo by the collar and yanking him close, their faces just inches apart. “Don’t fucking look at me like that,” he seethed. “Like I’m a fucking idiot.”

Sang-woo’s gaze flickered, but he didn’t push him away.  “I never said that.”

“You don’t have to.” Gi-hun shook him slightly. “You’re standing here like you know some great fucking truth about my marriage that I don’t. But you weren’t there, Sang-woo. You weren’t the one waking up next to him every morning. You weren’t the one fighting to make things work.” He had to stop for a moment, he refused to cry again. “You weren’t the one who fucking loved him.”

Sang-woo’s lips pressed together. He took a slow breath. “You still love him. Even now, when everything is falling apart, when you’re standing here with me telling you what he did, you still love him.”

Gi-hun’s fingers twitched against Sang-woo’s collar. His grip loosened.

“If he woke up right now and told you he was letting you go,” he murmured, “would you accept it?”

It was the same question Sang-woo had asked him at the restaurant. If In-ho walked in here right now and told you he’d sign the papers, just like that, would you feel relieved? Or would you feel something else? 

He had thought about it—more than once, especially when things started to get worse between him and In-ho. The distance, the silence, the fights that never seemed to end.

Before, during the first year of their relationship, he’d felt secure. He had loved the man with everything he had, and in return, he had believed In-ho loved him too. They had built something together, something that should have worked. But now...now everything felt broken.

There was a part of Gi-hun that wanted to say yes. He could leave. He could escape from this mess that had spiraled out of control, from the man who didn’t understand him anymore, from the pain that had settled into his bones. The thought of finally being free of it all almost sounded like a relief.

But then, Gi-hun thought of In-ho. He thought of the man he had fallen in love with, the man who had once been everything to him. He wanted to say yes. He needed to say yes, but he couldn't.

Sang-woo’s gaze bore into him with an intensity that felt almost suffocating. He shook his head, he already knew the answer. “That’s what I thought. No matter what I say or what he does, you’re still going to love him, don't you?”

Gi-hun refused to meet his eyes. Instead, his gaze focused on the floor. 

“I’m not doing this to hurt you,” he said, his words almost a whisper now.

Gi-hun scoffed. “Could’ve fooled me.” 

Sang-woo’s eyes were unreadable, but there was something in his posture that made Gi-hun pause for a moment. He wasn’t standing in his usual defensive way, hands crossed, a wall between them. This time, Sang-woo looked almost exhausted, his jaw tight, like he was battling with something inside.

“I’m just trying to make sure you don’t lose yourself in the middle of this mess,” He grabbed Gi-hun by the shoulders, his grip firm, forcing Gi-hun to meet his gaze. “I’m doing this because I care about you.”

Gi-hun let out a sharp breath, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He was so damn tired of this. Of the conversation. Of Sang-woo’s constant pushing, of the way he always acted like he knew what was best, like he had all the answers. Like Gi-hun was too blind, too stupid, to see what was right in front of him.

"Right," Gi-hun scoffed. "Because you always know best, don’t you? You always fucking do."

Sang-woo’s fingers dug in just a little, not enough to hurt, but enough to make Gi-hun aware of the weight of his hold. "You think I like doing this?" he shot back. "You think I want to stand here and argue with you?"

His head felt like a mess. He had seen Sang-woo in court, in meetings, in negotiations, he knew he could tear people apart with nothing but his words, that he could twist things, push until they broke . Sang-woo knew how to make people question themselves. And right now, he was doing it to him.

But even then, as Gi-hun stared at him, there was something different in Sang-woo’s eyes. Not just sharp calculation. Not merely the cold precision he always seemed to hold for all his clients. There was something more cautious, more desperate. It reminded Gi-hun of something from a long time ago.

They must have been ten, maybe eleven. There had been a storm that day, and Gi-hun had climbed a fence near the school, trying to show off. The rain made the metal slick, and before he even had time to react, his foot had slipped.

The fall wasn’t too bad, but he had scraped his knee and torn his uniform. And he remembered Sang-woo, he was furious, scolding him like a mother, grabbing his arm and dragging him to get him out of the rain.

"Are you stupid?" Sang-woo had snapped at him. "You could’ve broken something!"

"It’s fine," Gi-hun had laughed, brushing dirt off his knee. "It doesn’t even hurt."

"Idiot." Sang-woo had huffed, but still he had cleaned his knee and he had pulled off his own jacket, shoving it at Gi-hun, covering the tear in his uniform. 

That was how Sang-woo always was. He’d sigh, roll his eyes, act like Gi-hun was exhausting, like dealing with him was just another burden on his back. But no matter how much he complained, no matter how sharp his words got, he always made sure Gi-hun was okay.

He had been the first to support his relationship with In-ho when it started. He hadn’t looked at Gi-hun like he was being stupid or selfish. He had stood by him. Said if this was what he really wanted, then he should go for it.

Gi-hun had held onto that. Had told himself that if even Sang-woo—the most rational, pragmatic person he knew—thought it wasn’t a mistake, then maybe it wasn’t.

Now, standing here in this hospital room, with Sang-woo gripping his shoulders, looking at him like he was trying to save him from something —Gi-hun felt like he was back under that rain with Sang-woo shoving a jacket at him and calling him an idiot. He felt the same frustration. The same concern. It was like he was watching him climb that fence again and he couldn’t do anything to stop him.

"I know you care about me," he admitted, his voice quieter than it should have been.

Sang-woo’s expression flickered. His fingers loosened, just slightly.

"Then listen to me," he said, voice low. "I just don’t want you to lose yourself in this mess. I don’t want you to—"

He stopped. He looked past him, like he was so lost in something Gi-hun couldn’t see. His lips were parted slightly, as if he were about to speak, but no words came. It was like he was deciding something, weighing a choice in his mind, hesitating in a way that felt unnatural for him.

Then, just as he seemed like he might say something else, a soft sound broke the silence.

Gi-hun’s body tensed. He barely heard it at first.

A weak, barely-there whisper.

“Gi-hun…”

His heart skipped a beat. It was barely a sound, a fragile breath slipping past his husband’s lips.

Gi-hun’s eyes snapped to the bed, his body already moving without thinking. His feet rushed to the bedside, the earlier tension with Sang-woo forgotten, replaced with a sharp rush of panic and hope.

In-ho was there, barely conscious, his eyes fluttering open, the faintest hint of recognition in his gaze as he struggled to focus.

“Gi-hun…” In-ho’s voice cracked, so faint it almost didn’t feel real.

Gi-hun sat at his side, his hand automatically reaching for In-ho’s, cupping them gently on his own. The warmth of his touch calmed the rising panic in his chest, but it couldn’t quell the storm that had been building in his mind.

His fingers threaded through In-ho’s, and he couldn’t stop the quiet breath that escaped his lips.

"In-ho." His voice came out shaky, almost broken. He reached up with his free hand, brushing damp hair away from In-ho’s forehead, his fingers trembling. "You're awake. Fuck. You're—" He let out something between a laugh and a sob, swallowing hard. "God, you're really awake.”

In-ho’s lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something else, but he was too weak. Gi-hun squeezed his hand. "It's okay, don't try to talk," he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over In-ho’s knuckles. He sniffed, trying to pull himself together, but the relief was overwhelming, crashing over him all at once. "You're gonna be okay. You're here. I—" His throat tightened. "I thought—"

Tears blurred Gi-hun’s vision as he held In-ho’s hand tightly, his breath hitching as the reality of it all hit him. He could barely believe it—In-ho, here, alive, awake. The fear and uncertainty from earlier began to melt away, replaced by an overwhelming rush of love and relief. His chest tightened, his throat constricting as tears spilled over, running down his cheeks, unbidden.

He hadn’t realized how much he had been holding onto, how much he had feared losing him, how much he still needed In-ho, despite everything that had happened.

Sang-woo was still standing in the corner of the room, his presence almost forgotten now as Gi-hun leaned forward, his forehead brushing against In-ho’s, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t leave me again,” Gi-hun begged, his tears soaking into the sheets, his hand never leaving In-ho’s.

The world around them seemed to fall away as In-ho’s grip tightened just a fraction. His breathing was labored, but he was there—he was back.

“Sang-woo,” Gi-hun said, trying to blink away the tears. “Go get the doctor.”

He expected to hear the door swing open, he expected the sound of hurried footsteps as Sang-woo left to get help. But the room was silent. He frowned, glancing over his shoulder—only to find Sang-woo still standing there, motionless.

He wasn’t looking at Gi-hun. Wasn’t looking at In-ho, either. He just stood there, stiff, his hands clenched at his sides, his expression unreadable. Like he was stuck in his own head, caught between something Gi-hun couldn’t see.

“Sang-woo!”

Sang-woo’s head jerked slightly, his eyes focusing, as if shaking off whatever had just been running through his mind. He blinked, once, twice, and then his jaw tightened.

Gi-hun pointed sharply towards the door. “Go get the doctor. Now.”

For a second, Sang-woo didn’t move. Then, without a word, he turned and walked out.

Chapter Text

The last thing Sang-woo wanted was to deal with vultures who thrived on tearing lives apart for the sake of profit. He despised the way they preyed on tragedy, warping reality to fit their own narratives, asking questions they already knew the answers just to push someone to the breaking point. They didn’t care about truth. They cared about the most sensational headline, the most gut-wrenching footage, whatever would keep people watching. 

As a lawyer, Sang-woo had dealt with reporters more times than he cared to count, but today wasn’t about him. Today, it was about stepping in before they could tear Gi-hun apart. Of course, he knew Gi-hun was more than capable. He had learned to navigate the constant scrutiny, to stand in front of cameras without flinching, to answer invasive questions with that effortless charm people adored. Not because he enjoyed the attention, but because he had been forced to adapt since he married the Hwang In-ho. 

If helping Gi-hun meant swallowing his own disdain for the media, then Sang-woo would do it—no matter how much he loathed the idea. He could push aside his frustration, force himself to endure their manufactured concern, just to shield Gi-hun from the worst of it. But before he could even step out of the hospital, there was still one more conversation he needed to have with No-eul.

Sang-woo exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back. He fell a few steps behind No-eul, his footsteps barely audible on the gleaming hospital floor. The corridor stretched out before them, nearly empty, with only the persistent hum of fluorescent lights overhead and the quiet scuff of their shoes breaking the silence.

He waited until they were alone, far enough from prying eyes, before speaking. “What exactly happened?”

No-eul kept walking, her heels clicking against the floor, not bothering to look back. He sighed, quickly catching up. “I asked you a question.”

No-eul stopped, letting out a long, exasperated breath before finally turning to face him. “And I don’t need to answer it.”

Sang-woo narrowed his eyes.

“You don’t like me,” No-eul said plainly. “And I don’t like you.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Sang-woo shot back. “If this affects Gi-hun, then yes, you do need to tell me.”

No-eul scoffed, arms folding tightly over her chest, her nails digging into the fabric of her sleeves. “You act like you care about him.”

Sang-woo didn’t hesitate. “I do.”

“Bullshit.” She tilted her head, lips curling. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You don’t care about Gi-hun’s safety. You just want to use this to your advantage.”

Sang-woo’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He should have expected this. No-eul had never trusted him, and right now, she was looking at him like she was seeing straight through him, but she was so wrong.  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, finally.

No-eul let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Don’t I?” She looked at him up and down. “I know about your promotion.”

Sang-woo only raised an eyebrow. Of course she knew. He wasn’t surprised. 

“I know you’re about to become fiscal. And I know,” she continued, stepping close to him, “that you wouldn’t have gotten there without Mr. Hwang's help.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and let out a humorless laugh too, shaking his head. “And what exactly do you think it means? That I have some bigger plan here? That I was only helping him to protect Gi-hun until he suggested me for that job? Please, No-eul. If I took the position, it was because it is the only way to end the mess your boss got himself into.”

“You might have fooled Mr. Hwang, but I know you’re just making sure you have your spot with them.” She was studying every flicker of movement, every shift in his expression, waiting for something to confirm what she already believed.

Sang-woo didn’t flinch, but he felt the weight of her stare pressing into him, demanding a reaction. A slow exhale left him, measured and controlled, though his pulse had quickened. 

“I’m trying to protect him, damn it." He said. "I’m trying to end it before it affects Gi-hun. Wasn’t that the plan?”

"Oh, really?” No-eul scoffed, her voice was dripping with skepticism. “And what about that promotion? The big raise? Just a lucky coincidence, huh?” She tilted her head, her gaze steady. “Tell me, does Mr. Hwang know about that debt hanging over your head? Or how about Mr. Seong? Have you told him?”

For the first time since the conversation started, a sliver of fear flickered in his eyes. His heart pounded once, twice, before settling into a rapid, uneven rhythm. His mind raced, trying to figure out how—how the hell had No-eul found out? He had buried that information deep, made sure there were no loose ends, no trails to follow.

And yet, she knew.

Sang-woo quickly masked the momentary lapse in control, but No-eul had already caught it. Her eyes gleamed with the sharpness of someone who’d just gained an advantage. There was a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes, but her posture didn't change. She still had her arms over her chest, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

“How did you—” He started to ask, but he cut himself off, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of seeing him hesitate. He took a slow breath, his mind working faster than his mouth could keep up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” he said again.

No-eul let out another short laugh. “Don’t I? You think I don’t have my ways of finding things out? You think you can hide something like this from me?” Her eyes locked onto his with unnerving intensity, but Sang-woo didn't back down. “You’re not as good at this as you think.”

His hands twitched at his sides, his mind already scrambling through possibilities. Who else knew? Was it just No-eul, or had she told someone? If In-ho found out—

No. In-ho wouldn’t care about it, not as long as Sang-woo did his job. But Gi-hun…

Sang-woo forced himself to focus. “This has nothing to do with Gi-hun,” he said. “Whatever you think you know, it doesn’t change the fact that I am the only one in a position to help him right now.”

No-eul didn’t answer right away. She studied him, as if deciding whether she believed him or not. “If you’re lying, I’ll find out,” she warned. “And if you’re using him, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“I’m not lying,” he said, his voice a little sharper than intended. “I’m trying to protect Gi-hun. That’s all I’ve been trying to do.”

He didn't care what she thought of him, but she needed to just understand. He watched her and he saw that flicker of doubt in her eyes. She wasn’t buying it.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his frustration bubbling to the surface. Didn’t In-ho tell her why he was doing all of this? “You think I’d be here, doing this, if I didn’t care about him? You really think that? If I wanted to climb the ladder, I could’ve used any other angle. I wouldn’t spend my life and time seeing the man I love being in love with somebody else.”

There was something in her eyes, a glint of understanding, but it was brief, and before he could fully read it, it was gone.

“You think I want to be this close to Gi-hun? You think I want to be in the middle of all this?” Sang-woo exhaled, his hands going to his hair. "If I had a choice, I would walk away from all of it. But Gi-hun… he doesn’t know the truth, and he needs someone to keep him safe from it.” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the frustration he’d been holding back. “I’m doing everything I can to stop it, but you keep standing here—acting like I’m the one playing a game. I don’t care about In-ho’s mess. I care about Gi-hun.”

For a long moment, she didn’t speak. Sang-woo could feel his pulse racing in his ears, the weight of his words hanging in the air. He knew he had to make her understand, but there was something in her eyes that kept him from feeling like he was getting through.

Then, finally, No-eul spoke. “Gi-hun has his husband,” she said. "And his husband is taking care of him."

Sang-woo froze. His throat tightened as her words sank in. He wasn’t sure whether the words were meant to comfort him or to remind him of his place. She wasn’t wrong—Gi-hun did have In-ho. The man who was, for all his flaws, still committed to keeping Gi-hun close, protected, no matter how twisted their relationship had become.

"I know," Sang-woo muttered. “But In-ho isn’t protecting him. He’s breaking him. And you know it.”

"And you think you’re the one who can save him?"

Sang-woo stopped for a moment, thinking. He knew he wasn't the one who could do it, but it was the only one willing to try.

"If he's not going to do it, I will," he said. "I won't stand and watch Gi-hun be dragged into this mess. I don’t care what it costs me—I’ll do whatever it takes to protect him."

No-eul studied him, her eyes searching, trying to see if he was telling the truth, if there was any hesitation behind his words. She wasn’t fully convinced, but there was something that made her hesitate.

After a few minutes, No-eul sighed, a heavy, resigned sound escaping her lips. She turned her gaze away from him for a moment, as though wrestling with the weight of the truth she didn’t want to say. Her fingers twitched at her sides as she spoke again, her words laced with hesitation. “He called me,” she said softly.

Sang-woo's brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. “What?”

No-eul didn’t look at him as she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mr. Hwang. He called me just before the accident.” She paused, gathering herself. “He was on the phone with me when I heard the crash.”

Her jaw tightened as she swallowed the lump in her throat. “He told me Gi-hun was with you. That you were probably going to help him with the divorce. He sounded panicked.” 

Panic? Why would In-ho be panicked about that? It didn’t make sense. In-ho was many things, controlling, ruthless, but not panicked. At least, not usually.

He tried to piece together the fragments of information No-eul had just given him, but he couldn’t shake the thought that something was wrong. In-ho was too careful, too calculated to ever make a mistake like this—especially not one that could put his own life in danger. In-ho never did anything unless he had control of the situation. He wouldn’t do anything that could harm Gi-hun or make things worse for himself, especially not after Gi-hun had just asked for a divorce.

He knew there was more, he could feel the hesitation in No-eul’s words. She wasn’t telling him everything, but she was telling him enough. “By the time I got to the scene, they were already taking him to the hospital. He’d crashed right into another car. Came straight at him.” The tension in her body made it clear that she was holding back, and Sang-woo could see the struggle in her eyes.

Sang-woo turned to No-eul, a frown pulling at his lips. "You don’t think they did this to him, do you? Made it look like an accident?” The thought gnawed at him, the idea that someone might have targeted In-ho, using the crash to send a message.

No-eul’s response came too quickly. “No. Of course not. It was just an accident.” She said it with such certainty, but something in the way she said it made Sang-woo pause.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said after a moment, his voice flat, but his mind far from calm. 

No-eul didn’t look at him, her arms crossed tightly. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a brief moment, Sang-woo wondered if she was going to speak further. But she didn’t. She simply turned away, heading towards the door. Then, she stopped. And without turning to look at him, she spoke. 

“You know they can’t divorce,” she said. “So you’d better make sure it doesn’t happen. If you really care about him, you’ll make sure of it.”

Sang-woo paused for a moment. “I’m going to protect Gi-hun. If that’s what he wants, then I’ll make sure it happens. I’ll make sure he’s safe.”

Chapter Text

Gi-hun had always considered himself a patient man. He knew how to wait, how to endure, how to hold his tongue when necessary. Patience had carried him through years of struggle, through losses that should have broken him, through moments where all he could do was grit his teeth and hope for something better.

But now, standing outside that hospital room, patience meant nothing. Composure meant nothing. Every second that passed felt like a lifetime, stretching unbearably thin. He didn’t care about keeping himself in check, didn’t care about holding back—he just wanted to open that door, to be there, to hear every word the doctor was saying. 

Even though he had seen In-ho awake, even though he had heard him say his name, there was still a part of him that refused to believe it. A cruel voice lingered in the back of his mind, suggesting that perhaps he had imagined it—that his mind was simply playing tricks on him because it couldn’t bear the weight of the alternative. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought. No, it was impossible that his mind would make this up. This was real. In-ho was awake. He was here. And Gi-hun had to let himself believe it, no matter how fragile that belief felt.

No-eul and Sang-woo stood next to him, both silent, but their presence did little to ease the storm inside him. He refused to look at Sang-woo, not after what he said moments before In-ho woke up. It was absurd. Cruel, even. And Sang-woo had said it so easily, as if the thought had been lingering in his mind all along, as if In-ho was the kind of man who would put himself through hell just to manipulate people.

It was ridicoulus. Sang-woo’s words might have carried a weight that felt heavier than casual conversation, but Gi-hun wasn’t going to let himself be pulled into it. He knew In-ho—better than anyone. He had spent years learning the way his husband thought, the way he spoke, the way he held onto things without saying them outright. If there was something to know, something worth hearing, In-ho would tell him.

And yet, doubt crawled beneath his skin, unwelcome and stubborn.

Sang-woo wasn’t careless with his words. He never had been. If there was something he was trying to say without saying it, then it was deliberate. Gi-hun clenched his jaw, forcing himself to shake off the thought. Whatever Sang-woo thought he knew didn’t matter. 

Gi-hun glanced at No-eul. She had arrived not long after Sang-woo left to find the doctor, slipping into the hallway with little more than a nod. She hadn’t said anything, but she didn’t need to. Her arms were now crossed tightly over her chest, like she was holding herself together, but her expression wasn’t as unreadable as she probably wanted it to be. There was relief—Gi-hun could see it in the way her shoulders had lost their rigid tension, in the way she let out a slow, careful breath. But beneath it, just barely contained, was still a flicker of worry.

The elevator chimed at the end of the hall, its soft ding cutting through the suffocating silence. For a brief moment, Gi-hun felt a sense of relief, the sound broke through the heavy stillness pressing down on his chest. Then came the footsteps echoing against the sterile hospital walls.

His breath caught in his throat as Jun-ho stepped into view. The moment Jun-ho’s eyes landed on him, his expression crumbled. The composure he had likely forced himself to maintain shattered in an instant. His shoulders tensed, and the rawness in his voice made Gi-hun’s stomach twist.

“Gi-hun,” he breathed his name out. “How is he? I tried to get here as soon as I could—I should’ve been here sooner, I—”

Before he could say another word, Gi-hun closed the space between them without thinking, arms wrapping around Jun-ho in a grip that was tighter than he meant it to be. It wasn’t just for Jun-ho—it was for himself, too, for something solid to hold on to when everything else felt unsteady.

Jun-ho froze for only a second, just a moment of resistance, like his body was trying to keep it together, but then he broke completely. His arms wrapped around Gi-hun with a crushing grip, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt like he needed something to hold on to. A choked sound escaped him, muffled against Gi-hun’s shoulder, and Gi-hun felt the way his whole body shook.

"I thought—I thought I was too late," Jun-ho admitted, his voice barely more than a broken whisper, like saying it out loud would make it real.

Gi-hun swallowed hard, the lump in his throat tightening until it ached. “He’s okay now,” he whispered. “He woke up. A little while ago.”

Jun-ho let out a sound that wasn’t quite a breath and wasn’t quite a sob—something caught between relief and exhaustion. His chest rose and fell too fast, his body still trembling from the adrenaline, from the fear that hadn’t yet let him go. 

“I should have been here sooner,” Jun-ho said. “I should have—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “What if I had lost him, Gi-hun? What if—” His voice cracked, the words falling apart before he could finish them.

“But you didn’t,” Gi-hun whispered into his hair, his voice somehow calm despite the turmoil in his chest. He held him tighter, the warmth of the embrace offering some kind of grounding for both of them. “He’s alive. He woke up, Jun-ho. He’s okay now.”

He buried his face in Gi-hun’s shoulder. The sound of Jun-ho’s breath coming too quickly broke Gi-hun’s heart, but he didn’t let go. He knew that sometimes, all you could do was hold on.

Before either of them could say anything more, the door to In-ho’s room creaked open, and the doctor stepped outside. The sound made them all jolt—Jun-ho, Gi-hun, Sang-woo, and No-eul all turning at once, their breath collectively held in anticipation. The doctor's face was unreadable, though his eyes betrayed a trace of fatigue. Gi-hun pulled back from Jun-ho, his arms lingering for just a second longer before they dropped to his sides. 

Jun-ho blinked, trying to regain control of himself, wiping at his face quickly before taking a cautious step forward. His gaze locked on the doctor, searching for any sign, any clue that could give him some relief.

The doctor looked from one to the other, his mouth tightening slightly as if considering how best to deliver what was coming. He took a deep breath before speaking, there was something in his voice that made Gi-hun’s gut twist.

“He’s stable,” the doctor finally said. “He’s out of immediate danger. His vitals are stable, and there’s no sign of any life-threatening complications.”

A deep, collective breath swept through the group, but it wasn’t the release they had all hoped for. Gi-hun could feel the weight of it settle heavily on his chest—relief, yes, but it felt fragile, like it could shatter any moment. He tried to hold onto it, but something in the air told him it wouldn’t last.

The doctor’s stance shifted, a subtle movement that was hard to ignore. His gaze flickered, as though he was unsure of how to continue, and for a moment, it felt like time slowed. There was hesitation in his eyes, and Gi-hun’s heart raced, sensing that something was coming. Something they weren’t ready to hear.

“However,” the doctor continued, his tone of voice lower. “There is another concern.”

Gi-hun’s heart lurched. He felt Jun-ho tense beside him, felt No-eul’s sharp inhale. Even Sang-woo, who had been quiet since the doctor stepped out, straightened, his jaw tightening.

"It appears Mr. Hwang has suffered significant memory loss.” He hesitated for the briefest moment before adding, “He doesn’t remember the crash.”

Jun-ho was the first to talk, Gi-hun could see his entire body shaking. "What?" His voice cracked with barely restrained panic.

The doctor let out a slow, measured breath, fingers tightening around the edges of the chart as though steeling himself for what he had to say. “When he woke up, we conducted a cognitive assessment,” he began, his voice calm, clinical. “We asked him his name, the date, some basic recall questions.” He exhaled through his nose. “He got the year wrong.”

Gi-hun's felt like his heart stopped for a moment.

“He doesn't remember the last two years of his life,” the doctor clarified, letting the words sink in. “His cognitive functions are mostly intact, but that gap in his memory…it’s significant. Everything from that period, everything he’s experienced, everything that’s happened, he has no recollection of it.”

Gi-hun felt the weight of those words pressing down on him, suffocating. The world around him dulled, like sound was being sucked from the room, like his own heartbeat was drowning out everything else. Two years. That was how long he and In-ho had been fighting. Two years of distance, of silence, of pain—and now, that entire period was just…gone for him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to blink away the tightness in his throat, the tears threatening to surface. For a moment, a cruel thought crossed his mind: maybe this was the opportunity he had been waiting for. Maybe now, with In-ho's memory wiped clean, he could divorce him. In-ho wouldn't remember why he hadn’t let Gi-hun go before—why he had clung to him, even when their love had withered, even when Gi-hun had asked for the freedom to leave. 

If the In-ho in that room was the same as the one who had loved him two years ago, Gi-hun could leave now. It would be easier. He wouldn’t have to endure another round of arguments, wouldn’t have to explain why he wanted out. In-ho would understand. He would see that Gi-hun had to go, that their marriage had crumbled beyond repair, and he would let him. He would never have to know why—Gi-hun could lie, he could tell him that their marriage hadn’t worked, that they had been in the process of signing the papers. He could tell In-ho they were done, and In-ho would never fight him on it. He would have no reason to.

Gi-hun’s eyes flickered towards Sang-woo, their eyes meeting for the briefest, silent moment. There was a shared understanding in that glance—an acknowledgment of the possibility that Gi-hun could finally break free. It felt, for a moment, like Sang-woo was thinking the same thing, about the chance to leave.

It felt like the perfect escape, the perfect way out. Gi-hun could finally be free from a cold marriage, from the stifling silence that had turned their home into a prison. He could leave, no questions asked, and never look back.

Gi-hun swallowed, the thought gnawing at him. Part of him wondered if it was the right choice. But then, he looked at the door that lead to In-ho’s room, and his heart twisted. Could he really walk away from this—now, when In-ho didn’t even remember the pain? When everything was a clean slate, a blank canvas?

What if this was a chance? A chance to rebuild, to reconnect. What if the man in that room was still the one who loved him, the one who once made him feel seen? If that In-ho still existed, maybe Gi-hun could find a way to fight for him, fight for them.

"For now, we’ll continue to monitor his progress. It’s too early to tell what the long-term effects will be, but it’s important to keep him in a stable environment for recovery."

The doctor’s voice pulled him back to the present, and Gi-hun forced himself to blink, shaking off the fog in his mind. He couldn’t be thinking about himself now, no. What kind of person was he becoming? In-ho was still his husband, despite everything. He hadn’t signed anything yet, hadn’t finalized the divorce. And he had promised in his vows, all those years ago, that he would stand by In-ho through sickness and health. He had sworn to be there, no matter what. 

Jun-ho let out a sharp, ragged breath. “Two years.” He said, as if he couldn't believe it himself. His hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the strands like he needed something to hold onto. “No, that’s not—How is it even possible?” 

The doctor exhaled slowly, shifting his grip on the clipboard. His features softened, but there was no comfort in it. “The brain's response to trauma isn’t always predictable. In some cases, after a significant head injury like the one Mr. Hwang sustained, the brain isolates certain memories. It’s almost as though it blocks them out to protect the person from the pain or confusion. But the extent of the memory loss...that’s unusual. It’s as though the traumatic event was so overwhelming, it disconnected him from the recent past entirely.”

No-eul’s voice trembled as she asked. “Is it permanent?”

“We don’t know.” The weight of those three words settled over them like a suffocating fog. “Sometimes memories return gradually—through familiar faces, places, emotions. Other times, they return suddenly, triggered by something seemingly insignificant. But in cases like this…” He paused. “There is a chance they may never return at all.”

Gi-hun looked around, catching the stunned expressions on everyone’s faces—No-eul, her hands trembling at her sides; Jun-ho, his jaw clenched as though he couldn’t bring himself to speak; and Sang-woo, standing in the corner, stoic but clearly affected.

Sang-woo stepped forward. “So, what can we do to help him?” His voice was laced with a concern that Gi-hun hadn’t expected. Sang-woo had always been blunt, rarely one to sugarcoat things, but now, there was an edge to his tone that suggested genuine worry. “Is there therapy or medication we can try?” he continued, his gaze fixed on the doctor, waiting for an answer.

The doctor nodded, offering a small semblance of hope. “There are therapies that might help stimulate memory recovery, and certain medications can sometimes aid in cognitive function, but there’s no guarantee they’ll work in cases like this. It’s a delicate balance, and it depends on how his brain heals over time.”

“So we just...wait?” he asked, as though searching for something more tangible, something that could give them a clearer path forward.

“For now, yes. We can’t force the memories back. All we can do is wait and see.” He sighed, his voice heavier now. “We’ll continue to monitor his condition, but emotionally, this could be difficult for him. He may not understand why he’s lost those memories, and that could cause confusion, fear, and frustration. He’ll need support, patience, and reassurance.”

Jun-ho swallowed hard, shaking his head as tears welled in his eyes. “But what if he never remembers? What if he’s like this forever?”

The room fell into a suffocating silence. No one answered. The question lingered, hanging in the air like an unspoken truth none of them wanted to confront. The fear in Jun-ho’s voice was a reflection of their collective dread, and yet none of them could find the strength to speak the answer they all feared.

Gi-hun swallowed. He couldn’t stay anymore in the hallway, lost in his own thoughts. He needed to see his husband.

He turned towards the doctor. "Can I see him? Is he awake enough for me to… talk to him?"

The doctor hesitated, studying Gi-hun carefully, as if weighing the risks of letting him in. Finally, he gave a slow nod. “You can,” he said. “But you need to be careful with how you approach him. He’s already confused, and overwhelming him with too much information too fast could make things worse.”

“What should I say?” he asked, his eyes now fixed in the closed white door. He wasn’t sure if he was asking for medical advice or just grasping for some kind of reassurance.

“For now, just be there. Talk to him like you normally would. Let his mind settle first. Memory rehabilitation takes time, and forcing him to recall things too soon could cause distress.” His tone softened. “Right now, he needs familiarity, not pressure.”

Familiarity.

Gi-hun’s stomach twisted. What was familiar anymore? If In-ho thought it was two years ago, then the only familiarity between them was love. Affection. A marriage that still felt whole. Could he really stand in front of In-ho, knowing everything they had been through, and pretend it never happened? Could he act like the man who had once been so full of love for him hadn’t changed? Could he pretend that those quiet, lonely nights, when he had felt invisible in his own marriage, didn’t leave a mark on him?

Jun-ho wiped his face, sniffing sharply. “I’m coming too,” he said.

“Alright.” the doctor said. “But keep it simple. If he asks questions, answer gently. Don’t contradict his memories too directly, and most importantly, don’t lie to him. Just...ease him in.”

Gi-hun took a shaky breath, nodding, but his feet felt rooted to the floor. He wasn’t sure if he was ready. But was he ever going to be? Slowly, he forced himself to move, each step heavier than the last as he followed the doctor towards the door.

The door wasn’t far. A handful of steps at most. But to Gi-hun, it felt like an impossible distance. He didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel. In-ho was still his husband. That much hadn’t changed. But the man behind that door wasn’t the same one Gi-hun had spent the past two years with. He wasn’t the man who had grown distant, who had filled their home with cold silences and empty spaces where love used to be. He wasn’t the man who had stopped looking at him the way he used to. That man didn’t exist for In-ho anymore.

And maybe that should have been a relief—should have made it easier. But it didn’t. Because In-ho didn’t remember the things that had hurt Gi-hun the most. He didn’t remember the nights Gi-hun had spent lying awake beside him, staring at the ceiling, wondering when everything had gone so wrong. He didn’t remember the arguments that left them both exhausted. He didn’t remember the moment Gi-hun had realized he was holding onto something that had already slipped through his fingers.

The doctor’s voice barely registered in his ears. "Remember. Not pressure.”

Gi-hun gave a stiff nod, but his hands felt cold. Then the doctor pushed the door open.

In-ho was awake. That was the first thing Gi-hun registered. His eyes were focused on the window next to his bed. He looked pale, exhaustion clinging to his features, but there was nothing cold in his expression—nothing closed off. Then, as if sensing him, In-ho turned his head and his face changed entirely.

His lips parted, his eyes widening before filling with something so warm, so achingly familiar, that it knocked the air from Gi-hun’s lungs.

“Gi-hun.”

He said it like it meant something. Like it still meant everything.

Gi-hun barely had time to brace himself before In-ho’s face broke into a smile—genuine, bright, the kind Gi-hun hadn’t seen in years. “You’re here,” In-ho said, voice filled with relief, as if Gi-hun’s presence alone was enough to make everything okay. He tried to sit up further, movements sluggish but eager, reaching for him without hesitation.

For a moment, it was like the last two years had never happened. Just In-ho, looking at him like he was the most important person in the world. He took a step closer to the bed before he could think better of it. His feet felt unsteady, his mind struggling to process what was in front of him. It was like stepping back into a life he’d already lost.

Once Gi-hun settled into the chair beside In-ho’s bed, his heart thudded heavily in his chest. He barely had a moment to prepare himself before In-ho’s hands were on him.  Warm, familiar palms framed his face, thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones like they were searching for something. Then In-ho’s hands were on his shoulders, running down his arms, checking. His touch was desperate, urgent.

“You’re okay?” In-ho’s voice was tight, almost frantic. His eyes darted over Gi-hun like he was trying to piece him back together just by looking. “You’re not hurt? The doctor wouldn’t tell me anything, he only said I was in a crash.” His grip on Gi-hun’s arms tightened. “I thought—I thought if I was in the car, then you—” 

His words trailed off, lost in the weight of his unspoken fear, and Gi-hun felt the vulnerability in his touch, in the way In-ho clung to him. Gi-hun couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe past the lump in his throat. In-ho was looking at him like that again, like nothing else mattered as long as he was safe.

And for a moment, Gi-hun wanted to believe it. Wanted to step into that illusion, into that time where things were still good, where this kind of touch wasn’t foreign, where In-ho’s first instinct had always been to make sure Gi-hun was okay.

But that wasn’t the truth anymore.

His chest tightened, something sharp and unbearable swelling inside him. He swallowed against the burn in his throat, but the words still wouldn’t come. Then, Jun-ho answered for him.

“He’s okay.”

In-ho’s head snapped towards his brother.

Jun-ho cleared his throat, his voice steadier this time. “He wasn’t in the car, hyung. He wasn’t there.”

Gi-hun watched as In-ho’s face went through a series of emotions—first confusion, then a flicker of disbelief, followed by relief. It washed over him so quickly that Gi-hun almost didn’t catch it. The tension in In-ho’s shoulders eased, his breathing slowing as he let out a shaky breath, the kind of breath that seemed to release all the fear that had been building up inside him. He looked at Gi-hun again, eyes searching, as if confirming what his brother had just said.

In-ho exhaled in relief, his eyes momentarily softening as his gaze fell on Gi-hun again. “Thank God,” he murmured. “I’m glad you weren’t in the car with me.”

Gi-hun swallowed, the relief on In-ho’s face a bittersweet feeling he wasn’t sure how to react to. He wanted to feel the same weight lifted from his own chest, but he couldn't.

Then In-ho’s eyes caught the redness around Gi-hun’s eyes and the dampness in his lashes. A slow smirk spread across In-ho’s face, and a playful glint flickered in his gaze.

“Well, well,” In-ho said, a teasing lilt to his voice. “You two have been crying, haven’t you?”

Jun-ho let out a sharp, watery laugh, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Shut up,” he muttered, trying to sound more annoyed than he actually was. 

In-ho chuckled, shaking his head. “Didn’t think you’d miss me that much.”

Jun-ho exhaled, a sound that was half a laugh and half a sob, before he crossed the room and sank into the seat beside Gi-hun. In-ho’s smirk softened as his eyes moved back to Gi-hun. In-ho’s fingers found their way to Gi-hun’s hand, his grip light.  “Didn’t think I’d have both of you crying over me. What, did I become the most beloved man in Korea while I was unconscious?”

Jun-ho scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered, swiping a hand under his nose. “We were just worried you’d wake up even more annoying than before.”

In-ho let out a laugh, but it was breathy, like he still wasn’t used to the feeling of it. “Guess that means I’m still me, then.”

His fingers absently played with Gi-hun’s, tracing over his knuckles like he was reacquainting himself with the touch. “And you,” he added, looking at Gi-hun with an amused glint in his eyes. “I’m the one stuck in this hospital bed, but you’re the one who looks like he’s about to pass out.”

Gi-hun blinked at him, startled, and Jun-ho snorted beside him.

“Seriously,” In-ho continued, giving Gi-hun’s hand a gentle tug. “Did you get checked out while you were here? You look paler than me, and I’m the one who got into a car crash.”

Gi-hun let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Yeah, well,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Maybe I’m just trying to steal your thunder.”

In-ho huffed, amused. “Typical.”

Gi-hun shook his head, exhaling sharply. His fingers curled around In-ho’s almost unconsciously, grounding himself in the warmth of his touch. 

In-ho sighed, stretching the fingers of his free hand against the blanket. “The doctor told me I lost some time,” he said, like it was just another fact, nothing to be concerned about. “That my memory’s…off.” 

Jun-ho, beside him, stiffened slightly before forcing himself to relax. “How do you feel?” he asked carefully. 

In-ho tilted his head, considering it. “Normal, I guess?” He gave a small shrug. “I don’t feel like I’ve lost anything. It’s weird knowing there’s a gap, but…” His lips curled into a smirk. “Not much I can do about it right now, is there?” 

Gi-hun swallowed, forcing a tight smile. “Guess not.” 

Jun-ho’s fingers curled against his knee before he spoke. “What do you remember?”

In-ho hummed, his gaze drifting towards the ceiling as if the answer might be written there. He frowned slightly, thinking. “The day I took over the company,” he said finally. His voice was even, casual, like he was just recounting a regular day. “I remember walking in, shaking hands, hearing all the applause. Gave a speech, made a toast.” His fingers absently played with the edge of the blanket. “Drank a little.”

He clicked his tongue, then grinned. “I also remember how damn good my husband looked in that suit.” His gaze flicked to Gi-hun, eyes warm with amusement. “You looked...damn good, actually. I barely made it past the door before—” He let out a laugh, looking at Jun-ho’s face for a reaction.

Gi-hun felt his entire face heat up. “Wait, that’s…In-ho—”

Jun-ho groaned and covered his ears. “I really don’t need to hear the details of you and your husband in that state. Please, for the love of God, spare me.”

In-ho smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “What? I lost two years, let me have this.” He turned to his brother with a mock-serious expression. “You should be happy for me, Jun-ho. I have a very fulfilling marriage.”

Jun-ho shot him a look of disgust. “I’ll literally unplug your heart monitor,” he threatened, his tone dry.

In-ho gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Oh, how cruel. Threatening me when I’m at my most vulnerable? How could you?”

Jun-ho narrowed his eyes. “I’m not kidding, I’ll do it.”

Gi-hun, caught between secondhand embarrassment and amusement, cleared his throat. “Okay, maybe we focus on what you actually remember instead of traumatizing your brother?”

In-ho chuckled, settling back against the pillows. “Fine, fine,” he said, a playful glint still in his eyes.

Gi-hun cleared his throat, feeling the heat rise in his neck. “So, uh,” he said. “After that night, do you remember anything else?”

In-ho’s smirk stayed in place for a moment, but something in his expression softened as he exhaled. “No,” he admitted after a brief pause. “That’s where it stops.”

Gi-hun and Jun-ho both fell silent, exchanging a glance. In-ho watched them for a moment, his eyes flicking between the two of them as the silence stretched on. Finally, he couldn’t help himself. “You’re acting like I died or something,” he teased, his lips curling into a smirk. “Come on, it’s not that bad. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Jun-ho didn’t hesitate—he smacked his brother’s arm, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make a point. “Don’t say shit like that,” he scolded, though his voice wavered slightly. “Idiot.”

In-ho winced dramatically, rubbing at the spot. “Ow, I just woke up, you know. Shouldn’t I be getting sympathy?”

Jun-ho shot him a look. “I’ll give you sympathy when you stop making shitty jokes.”

In-ho huffed, shaking his head with an amused smirk, but when he turned his gaze back to Gi-hun, the teasing melted into something softer.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, like it was meant just for him.

Gi-hun blinked, a little caught off guard by the change in tone. “I—” He hesitated, trying to find the words. Was he okay? His chest ached with something he couldn’t quite name, his hands felt shaky, and his mind was swirling with confusion. He forced a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I should be asking you that.”

In-ho rolled his eyes, his hand still holding Gi-hun’s with a loose, but comforting grip. “I think I’ve got the easier job here. Just lie in bed and look pretty.”

Gi-hun couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You think that’s what you’re doing?”

“Obviously.” In-ho smirked, giving Gi-hun’s hand a teasing squeeze.

Jun-ho groaned loudly, tossing his head back in exaggerated frustration. “Oh my god. I knew this was gonna happen.”

Gi-hun shot him a look. “What?”

“You two get one second alone, and suddenly, it’s flirting central.” Jun-ho gestured between them. “I swear, if you start making goo-goo eyes at each other, I’m leaving.”

In-ho chuckled, unfazed. “You should’ve left the second I woke up, then.”

In-ho’s laugh was easy, light, and Gi-hun let himself bask in it for just a moment longer. Because no matter how fragile this was, no matter how much it ached—right now, In-ho was here, with him. 

Gi-hun swallowed, his gaze dropping to their joined hands. His grip tightened slightly. “You scared us.”

That, at least, made In-ho pause. His fingers stilled against Gi-hun’s. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am.”

Jun-ho huffed. “Yeah, well, you should be.”

In-ho chuckled, but there was something thoughtful in his expression as he squeezed Gi-hun’s hand again. “I’ll make it up to you.”

How? Gi-hun wanted to ask. How could you make up for something you don’t even remember? But he didn’t say it.

Instead, he smiled. “You better.”

Jun-ho groaned. “Okay, I’m seriously gonna puke.”

In-ho laughed, and this time, it was louder—easier. It echoed in the room, filling the space between them with something lighter. And for the first time since stepping through that door, Gi-hun let himself breathe.

In-ho shifted slightly in bed, glancing at the ceiling before his eyes found Gi-hun again, a faint hint of impatience flickering behind them. “Any of you know when I get to leave this place?” he asked.

Jun-ho scoffed. “Seriously? You just woke up.”

“And?” In-ho shot back. “I feel fine.”

Gi-hun couldn’t help but notice how naturally their hands fit together, how the weight of In-ho’s touch grounded him. It had been so long since he’d felt that—a touch that wasn’t hesitant or fleeting, but familiar and reassuring. In-ho’s eyes, those same eyes that once made him feel like the center of the universe, were locked on him with such intensity it made Gi-hun’s chest tighten. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be seen that way.

He tried to focus on something else than the rush of emotions that were threatening to spill over. His heart was a mess, torn between the weight of their shared history and the uncertainty of where they stood now. How could things feel so distant, yet so familiar all at once? 

Jun-ho crossed his arms, not hiding the exasperation in his voice. “You went through surgery. You’re not leaving anytime soon.”

In-ho blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Surgery?” He looked at Gi-hun, a bit confused.

“Yeah!” Jun-ho answered. “You had to go through surgery after the crash. That’s why you’ve been out of it for so long.”

In-ho sat up slightly, frowning as he processed the information. “Surgery…” He chuckled weakly, rubbing his chest where the pain had been when he laughed earlier. “No wonder it hurt so much when I laughed.” He chuckled weakly, as though trying to make light of it, but there was an edge of realization in his eyes.

Jun-ho let out an exasperated sigh. “Seriously? You’re laughing again?” he scolded, his voice tinged with frustration. “You’re laughing like it’s nothing? Stop that. You’re not fine, okay?”

In-ho’s smirk faded, but he didn’t seem entirely fazed. He looked at his brother with a mixture of confusion and amusement. “I’m just trying to keep things light, you know? Can’t sit here moping all day.”

Gi-hun, still caught in the tight coil of his thoughts, glanced at In-ho, his chest tight as he watched him. He knew In-ho—knew how much he hated the idea of being vulnerable, of showing any sign of weakness. But now, with this gap in his memory, there was something different in the way he carried himself, a vulnerability that wasn’t quite like the old In-ho. It wasn’t that he wasn’t trying to hide it—it was more like he didn’t even realize it was there.

“In-ho,” Gi-hun interrupted, voice quieter than he intended. “You should just focus on resting,” he said, squeezing In-ho’s hand before pulling away, as if it didn’t hurt to do so. 

In-ho frowned slightly, his eyes searching Gi-hun’s face for something, but whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it. Instead, he just sighed. “Then tell the doctor I feel fine. I’m bored.”

Jun-ho groaned. “You’re not walking out of here just because you’re bored.”

In-ho scoffed. “I’m older than you. You can’t tell me what to do.”

Jun-ho rolled his eyes. “And? You still act like a reckless idiot, so I think I can.”

In-ho huffed but didn’t argue further. Instead, he turned his attention to Gi-hun. “Gi-hun,” he said, his tone suddenly softer. “You’ll talk to the doctor, right? My dear husband wouldn’t just leave me here to rot.”

His smile was warm, so bright, and the laugh that threatened to escape Gi-hun barely left his lips before something cracked inside him, and before he could stop it, his vision blurred. A few tears slipped free.

In-ho’s expression faltered immediately. “Hey—”

Gi-hun shook his head quickly, lifting a hand to wipe at his face. “It’s nothing,” he whispered, his voice unsteady. “I just…”

But he couldn’t finish the sentence. Because how was he supposed to explain this? How was he supposed to put into words the way his heart clenched at the sight of In-ho looking at him like this?

In-ho’s brow furrowed, his hand, which had been resting on the bed, reached out, cupping Gi-hun’s face with a gentleness that only made his emotions swell further. “You don’t have to hide it from me,” he said, his voice low and full of genuine worry. “What’s going on?”

Gi-hun swallowed hard, fighting to steady himself. After a long pause, he shook his head again, trying to push the tears back. “I’ll talk to the doctor,” he said, his voice a little firmer now. “But no promises.”

In-ho’s eyebrows furrowed deeper, his gaze never leaving Gi-hun’s face. He could tell something was still off, something he wasn’t being told. Without hesitation, he reached out with his thumb, wiping the wetness from Gi-hun’s cheek. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if trying to erase the pain he couldn’t see but felt in the silence between them.

“Gi-hun,” In-ho said quietly, his voice insistent. 

“It’s nothing,” he murmured. “I’m just…glad you’re back.”

In-ho studied him closely, still sensing that there was more beneath the surface, but for now, he let it slide. His lips curved into a gentle smile, his hand still resting on Gi-hun’s face, a silent reassurance.

“I’m here,” In-ho said quietly, his tone full of sincerity. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Jun-ho cleared his throat loudly, drawing both of their attention. “Hello? I’m also here,” he said, his voice dripping with exaggerated annoyance. “Please, save this moment for later or I’m leaving.”

In-ho glanced over, raising an eyebrow as if just noticing his brother’s presence. “Oh, you’re still here?” he teased, his smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Didn’t realize you were so desperate for attention.”

Gi-hun let out a small laugh despite the heaviness in his chest, his gaze briefly flicking to Jun-ho. “He does have a point,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “We’ve been ignoring him for a while now.”

It was easy to pretend. Easy to believe nothing had changed, that In-ho had never shut himself away. And Jun-ho—he didn’t find anything strange about In-ho’s attitude, because how could he?

The few times Jun-ho had seen his brother over the past two years, this was who In-ho had been. Bright, teasing, just as he always had been when they were younger. He had no idea what In-ho had become the rest of the time, when he wasn’t around.

But Gi-hun did. He knew the exhaustion, the distance. He knew the version of In-ho who barely looked at him, who spoke only when necessary, who came home late and left early and never let him in.

That In-ho wasn’t here now.

This In-ho was different—playful, lighthearted, teasing. He was the man Gi-hun remembered from before, the one who had filled the silence between them with laughter, the one who had cared.

But the silence that had grown between them wasn’t easily forgotten.

Gi-hun had watched that version of In-ho fade away over the years, little by little, until one day it seemed like he didn’t recognize him anymore. He didn’t know when it happened—when the distance had started to stretch so far it felt impossible to bridge. All he knew was that the man beside him now, the one joking and holding his hand, was a stranger in many ways.

Gi-hun didn’t know if that was comforting or terrifying.

Chapter Text

During the days In-ho—in his own words—was trapped in the hospital, Gi-hun found himself caught between two versions of the same man and he wasn’t sure which one hurt more.

This version of In-ho was warm, almost clingy, all affectionate touches and casual jokes. He smiled easily, laughed loudly, and if he had his way, he would have followed Gi-hun everywhere, including the bathroom, which he almost did once before Jun-ho physically blocked the door and threatened him.

This In-ho loved him and not in the quiet, distant way Gi-hun had grown used to. It was open, present, constant and overwhelming.

Then there was the other In-ho. The one Gi-hun had come to accept as reality. Sometimes distant. Sometimes cruel. A man whose presence Gi-hun could barely feel, even when they were in the same room. That version had pushed Gi-hun out so completely that he had started to find comfort in the distance, because the distance at least made sense. It gave him something to expect.

He’d grown used to it. But now In-ho reached for his hand without hesitation, cracked dumb jokes just to see him smile, and said his name like it was something sacred. Even in sleep, he whispered his name over and over again, as if Gi-hun was something he was afraid to forget.

He didn’t want to fall for it. Because what if this In-ho disappeared again? What if the man who barely looked at him returned the moment they stepped outside the hospital walls? Or worse, what if he didn’t disappear? What if he stayed, gentle and kind, and Gi-hun couldn’t figure out how to forgive him?

He tried not to think about it, but the question sat with him in every quiet moment.

One night, long after Jun-ho had gone home, In-ho turned to look at him.

“You’ve been quiet.” he said.

Of course he had noticed something was wrong with him. 

“I’m fine,” Gi-hun replied, but the words felt automatic, not quite convincing, even to himself. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” In-ho tilted his head. 

Gi-hun hesitated. His fingers were laced loosely with In-ho’s, his thumb absently brushing the side of his hand like he hadn’t realized he was doing it.

It took a while for him to answer.

“I was thinking about what to cook,” he said at last.

In-ho blinked. “What?”

“When we go home. I was trying to figure out what I should make.” Gi-hun’s lips curved slightly. “You probably can’t eat anything heavy yet. Maybe juk? Or something soft with ginger.” He paused. “Something warm.”

In-ho stared at him for a second, then snorted. “You’re seriously in here losing sleep over soup?”

Gi-hun gave a soft laugh, more air than sound. “Well…someone has to. You’d burn the kitchen if I let you near the stove.”

“Hey. That's not true. I know how to cook.” In-ho defended himself.

“You tried to microwave rice in a metal bowl,” Gi-hun said, deadpan.

“That was one time!”

“Yeah, and in that time you almost set the kitchen on fire.”

“Well, I guess it’s lucky I married someone who actually knows what they’re doing.” In-ho chuckled, and it made Gi-hun’s chest ache all over again.

“I’ll make something good,” Gi-hun said, the smile lingering on his lips now a little softer. “You’ll be sick of me cooking for you.”

In-ho squeezed his hand. “I could never get sick of you.”

Gi-hun’s smile faltered. He looked down, staring at their joined hands and had to blink a couple of times. “Okay,” it was the only thing he managed to say. 

The morning when they were finally able to leave felt quieter than usual. Gi-hun moved around the room helping In-ho change out of the hospital clothes into the clothes he’d brought from home, a hoodie and some loose sweatpants. The hoodie hung off In-ho’s frame, swallowing his shoulders in a way that made Gi-hun pause. For a second, he wondered if he’d accidentally packed one of his own. It looked too big on him, but In-ho didn’t seem to mind.

A light knock against the open door interrupted them. In-ho's doctor stepped into view with a smile on his face.

“Mr. Seong,” he said, eyes briefly flicking to In-ho, “Could I have a word with you? Just outside?”

Gi-hun paused, glancing at In-ho, who raised a curious eyebrow but said nothing. “I’ll be right back,” he said quietly, giving his husband’s shoulder a light squeeze before slipping out into the hall.

They walked a few steps down the corridor.

“I won’t keep you long,” the doctor said. “I wanted to speak with you because, well, your friend, Mr. Cho Sang-woo, brought a few concerns to my attention.”

“Sang-woo?” Gi-hun blinked. 

“He mentioned that your husband has been through quite a lot in the last two years, emotionally and physically. And given the trauma of the accident and the memory loss…” he paused. “I just want to recommend that you stay with him as much as possible. Memory loss can feel isolating, even when surrounded by people. The presence of someone familiar can make all the difference.”

“So he shouldn’t be left alone,” he murmured.

“Exactly,” the doctor said. “Even if he insists otherwise. Especially if he insists otherwise.” He smiled warmly at him, as if he didn't really understand what was asking from Gi-hun. And he didn't. How could he? To him, they were just another picture-perfect couple, the kind In-ho had always been careful to present to the world—successful and devoted to each other.

Gi-hun managed a quiet, “I understand,” but the word felt like it caught somewhere in his throat.

In theory, it sounded simple. Be with him. Stay by his side. Be the person In-ho needed. But the truth was…Gi-hun didn’t think he could. 

The doctor offered a kind pat on his arm before walking away. For a moment, he didn’t move. He just stood there looking blankly at the white floor.

He had thought about it, what would he do after leaving the hospital. He knew he couldn't tell In-ho the truth, not in the state he was. Would he lie and tell him they didn’t live together anymore, that they’d grown apart and gone their separate ways but remained as good friends? Or would he pretend nothing had changed at all? 

He didn’t know which lie would hurt less. Or which one he could keep up.

But now, maybe it didn’t matter. The doctor had made the choice for him—had gently told him to stay with him. So whatever story he might have told…it didn’t matter now. Gi-hun didn’t have to wonder what version of the truth to give. Because there was no room for leaving.

He took a slow breath, forced his shoulders to settle, and turned back towards the room. The only thing he could do now was pretend.

In-ho was already sitting up in bed, arms resting lazily over his lap. He looked up the moment Gi-hun entered.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Gi-hun nodded, forcing a small smile. “Just the doctor wanting to talk.”

In-ho tilted his head slightly, studying him for a moment. “You were gone for a while.”

“He had a lot to say.” Gi-hun moved around the room as he spoke, collecting their things from the bathroom—In-ho’s toothbrush, a half-used tube of toothpaste, a small bottle of shampoo—and gently placing them into a bag.

“About me?” In-ho asked, watching him with quiet curiosity.

Gi-hun nodded, zipping the bag halfway. “Mostly about how annoying you’re going to be during recovery.”

In-ho scoffed, offended. “Me? Annoying?”

Gi-hun shot him a look over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You made me watch three hours of fish documentaries yesterday.”

“And now you know the difference between a grouper and a snapper,” In-ho said, grinning. “You’re welcome.”

“I don’t even like fish.” Gi-hun chuckled, shaking his head. 

“You do now,” In-ho said confidently.

Gi-hun laughed again, softer this time, then exhaled. “Well, lucky you—the doctor said I can’t leave you alone. So you’re stuck with me for a while.”

In-ho’s eyes softened. “Lucky me.”

Gi-hun had just finished zipping up the bag and was halfway to the door when he felt fingers curling gently around his wrist.

He paused, glancing back in confusion. “What is it?”

In-ho was still sitting on the edge of the bed, hoodie slightly rumpled, eyes locked on his like he’d been holding something in for too long. “Wait,” he said softly. “Just—before we go.”

Gi-hun stilled, heart ticking a little faster.

“I don’t remember everything,” In-ho held his gaze. “And I don't know what I lost, but I want it back. I’ll do whatever it takes to remember.”

Gi-hun swallowed, a hundred things catching in his throat. He nodded faintly, eyes stinging. In-ho’s fingers were still wrapped gently around his wrist. He gave a quiet tug and Gi-hun moved without thinking, letting the pull guide him forward until their knees touched.

In-ho’s hand slid up to rest at his waist. His other hand rose, brushing the side of Gi-hun’s face with a tenderness that made him forget how to breathe.

“You matter to me,” In-ho said in a whisper. “I don’t know everything I’ve forgotten…but I know that I’d do anything for you.”

His breath hitched as he looked down at In-ho, still sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, eyes shining. Their faces were so close now Gi-hun could see the faintest tremble in his lashes. His fingers twitched where they hung by his sides.

In-ho tilted his face up, eyes never leaving Gi-hun’s, and brushed his lips against his in a touch so soft it barely felt real and then he kissed him.

Gi-hun froze for just a second. His heart thudded once—twice—and then it stumbled over itself like it didn’t know how to beat in a moment like this. A part of him wanted to pull away. Not because he didn’t want the kiss, but because he did. So much it scared him. When was the last time he’d kissed In-ho like this? Not the quick, stiff pecks they gave each other at galas, in front of photographers and board members. Not the kind of kiss meant to be seen. This one was real. And it was everything he thought they’d lost.

He should’ve stepped back and protected what little was left of him. But his feet stayed rooted to the floor. Because even though everything in him screamed this wasn’t real—his heart refused to listen.

His hand settled on In-ho’s shoulder while the other brushed lightly against In-ho’s jaw. His fingers trembled, but he kissed him back.

Gi-hun didn’t know what this meant. He didn’t know what would happen tomorrow. But in that moment, kissing In-ho felt like breathing again. And he didn’t want to stop.

There was no urgency in it, no fire—just warmth. In-ho’s mouth lingered against his like he was trying to memorize it. Gi-hun melted into it slowly, as if surrendering to warmth after standing too long in the cold. 

The kiss deepened by a fraction, enough to say stay with me, enough to say don't leave me again. 

He didn’t even realize a tear had slipped free until In-ho pulled back slightly, resting their foreheads together, breath mixing in the narrow space between them.

In-ho’s thumb brushed the tear from his cheek. “I know something’s wrong,” he whispered. “Even if you don’t say it, I can feel it.”

Gi-hun’s eyes opened, his throat felt too tight to say anything.

“It must be hard…having me like this.” In-ho swallowed. “I keep thinking—if it were you who forgot, I don’t know if I’d be strong enough to do what you’re doing.”

Gi-hun looked down, his lashes wet but no tears falling. 

“I hate that I lost those years with you,” In-ho continued, his voice cracking just slightly. “But if there’s even the smallest chance I can remember—if there’s anything I can do to make this easier for you—I will. I swear I will.”

Gi-hun didn’t say I know. He didn’t say It’s okay. Because it wasn’t. What he did instead was to reach out, fingers curling into In-ho’s sleeve. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the silence hang in the air, his heart thrumming louder than his thoughts. He had made up his mind already, even if he hadn’t said it aloud.

After that kiss, Gi-hun knew he couldn’t keep this up forever. He could be patient, kind, do his best to pretend everything was fine for a little while longer—but that was all it would be: pretending. He was good at it, too good, but even he had limits.

He’d give it a few more weeks. Two, maybe three—just enough time for In-ho to try to recover his old life. After that, he’d do what needed to be done. He would ask for the divorce.

It felt cruel, taking advantage of In-ho’s confusion, of his vulnerable state. But it also felt crueler to stay. To keep living in a life that no longer belonged to him, clinging to something that had broken long before the accident.

Gi-hun needed to breathe again. To be himself again. He had to choose himself—just once.

“You’re trying,” Gi-hun finally said. “That’s all I could ask for.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough,” In-ho murmured, his hand still cradling Gi-hun’s face, thumb brushing just beneath his eye. 

Gently, Gi-hun tilted his head, just enough for In-ho’s fingers to slip away from his cheek. At the same time, he brought his own hand to cover In-ho’s at his waist, holding it for a second before guiding it down between them, lacing their fingers briefly. Then he stepped back just slightly. Enough to keep the closeness, but still create a little space.

“You know,” Gi-hun said, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I always knew you were dramatic, but losing your memory just to get a kiss? Bit much, don’t you think?”

In-ho let out a breath of laughter. “So that’s what this is? A scheme?”

“I mean, it’s working, isn’t it?” Gi-hun raised an eyebrow. “Next, you’ll fake a coma so I have to spoon-feed you soup.”

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” In-ho said with a grin. “As long as you’re cooking.”

Gi-hun raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “You’d fake a coma just for my cooking?”

In-ho leaned back slightly, grinning with mock seriousness. “I might just consider it, yes.”

They both laughed and for a moment, it felt like the world had paused, leaving only this small slice of normalcy between them.

Then Gi-hun glanced at the door, the smile on his face faltering a little. “Well, I think the nurses are plotting our removal. Pretty sure I saw one doing the ‘wrap it up’ gesture behind the curtain.”

In-ho smirked, leaning back against the bed with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Let them try. I’ll throw a bedpan.”

Gi-hun snorted. “Great. I’ll make sure to bail you out when they arrest you for threatening hospital staff.”

“True love,” In-ho said with a roll of his eyes.

Gi-hun couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head. “Come on, bedpan bandit. Let’s get you home before they revoke your fish documentary privileges.”

The nurses gave them a gentle farewell, all warm smiles and well-wishes. Gi-hun stood quietly beside In-ho as one of them handed over the discharge papers and adjusted the strap on his duffel bag. “Take it easy, alright?” she said, her voice kind but firm. 

In-ho gave her a smile. “I’ll try.”

Gi-hun kept close as they walked out—never touching, not unless In-ho reached for him first. The air felt different outside, cooler, but Gi-hun couldn’t shake the feeling of being on the edge of something, balancing between the past and whatever uncertain future lay ahead.

He opened the passenger door for In-ho, his other hovered just behind In-ho’s back. He glanced at him, a quiet flicker of appreciation in his eyes, then eased himself into the seat with the kind of caution that said his body still hadn’t caught up to the idea of healing. Gi-hun watched him lower himself slowly, bracing slightly with one hand on the doorframe, the other gripping the seat. The same body that used to move with such certainty now seemed to second-guess every movement.

Once In-ho was settled, Gi-hun gently closed the door, taking a breath before circling to the driver’s side. The keys were already in his hand, cold metal biting into his palm. He slid in beside him and started the car.

In-ho looked calm. A little uncertain, maybe. But not afraid. Not like someone who had just woken up missing years of his life.

Halfway through the drive, In-ho spoke. “You haven’t changed.”

Gi-hun glanced over with a raised brow. “Not sure if that’s a compliment or a warning.”

“A compliment.” In-ho smiled faintly. “You were a pain back then too, but somehow still the best decision I ever made.”

Gi-hun let out a small laugh, one hand resting on the steering wheel. “You really know how to flatter a guy.”

In-ho didn’t reply right away. He leaned his head against the window, watching the city slip past. His reflection shimmered faintly in the glass.

“You know,” he said after a beat, “I was thinking about the day I proposed to you.”

That made Gi-hun pause. “Yeah?”

“Mm.” In-ho didn’t look at him, but there was something almost shy in the way his voice softened. “I remember I was a mess about it. I'd been carrying the idea around in my chest for weeks.”

Gi-hun gave a low chuckle, eyes still on the road. “You looked terrified.”

“I was terrified. I kept thinking, ‘He’s gonna laugh. He’s gonna say no. Or worse, he’s going to think I’m joking.’”

“You didn’t even have a ring.”

“I had one,” In-ho said, defensive. “I just forgot to pick it up. And then I panicked and used the fork from the takeout bag as a prop.”

“You held it up like it was a diamond.”

“It was symbolic!” In-ho shot back. “We were eating on the floor, remember? Barely unpacked in the new apartment. You were in sweatpants. You had chili oil on your chin.”

Gi-hun shook his head, smiling despite himself. “And you looked like you hadn’t slept in two days.”

“Because I hadn’t. I was trying to figure out the right moment.”

“There was no ‘right moment,’” Gi-hun said quietly. “There was just…us.”

In-ho nodded, the memory slowly knitting itself together. “You stared at me for a second like you didn’t know if I was serious. Then you said, ‘If this is a joke, it’s not funny.’”

“You proposed with takeout and a fork,” Gi-hun muttered, but his tone was fond. “How was I supposed to take that seriously?”

“But you said yes,” In-ho said softly.

Gi-hun’s smile faltered. “Of course I did.”

“I remember your eyes got all watery, and you told me I was ridiculous. But you kissed me anyway. Right there, with hot sauce between us and that terrible flickering overhead light.”

Gi-hun swallowed. “You said something stupid, too. About how even if we ended up broke and bald and living in a shoebox, you’d still want to come home to me.”

In-ho chuckled. “It wasn’t stupid.”

“It was sappy.”

“Same thing.”

They both chuckled at the memory. Gi-hun kept his eyes on the road, but his grip on the wheel had loosened. He didn’t want to feel how easy it was to fall back into this rhythm. How natural it was.

After a moment, Gi-hun asked quietly, “Why were you thinking about that?”

In-ho exhaled slowly, his breath fogging a faint patch on the glass. “Because…I keep trying to remember the big things. Dates, names, places. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Addresses. I run through names like I’m testing myself. But that’s not what’s coming back first.”

Gi-hun glanced at him, unsure what he meant.

“It’s not the facts I remember,” In-ho continued, still staring out the window. “It’s the feeling.”

Gi-hun swallowed, eyes flicking back to the road.

“I know I love you enough to ask you to spend your life with me,” In-ho said. “And even now…sitting here next to you, not remembering everything—I still feel it. Like if I had the chance again, I’d get down on one knee without a second thought.”

Gi-hun’s throat tightened. He didn’t look at him again. He couldn't. If he saw In-ho’s face right now, he might break the fragile thing he was holding together inside his chest.

So instead, he focused on the road, letting the hum of the engine and the rhythm of the tires on pavement ground him.

“If I’d known memory loss would make you this romantic,” he said, his tone teasing, “I might’ve hit you with the car myself.”

In-ho let out a surprised laugh, his head tipping back against the seat as he shook it. “You’re such an ass.”

Gi-hun smirked, glancing sideways. “Yeah, well. You married me.”

In-ho turned his head, eyes warm, the smile lingering on his lips. “I did,” he murmured.

They turned the last corner and their house came into view—wide windows catching the afternoon light, clean angles, dark wood and stone. It was beautiful, in a cold sort of way. Gi-hun slowed the car and pulled into the driveway. Next to him, In-ho stared out the window, silent.

Gi-hun didn’t look at him. He didn’t have to. He could already imagine the confusion crossing his face.

Because this—this wasn’t where they started.

They’d started in a third-floor apartment tucked between a flower shop and a laundromat, the kind of place that always smelled faintly like jasmine and detergent. It had tall windows, warm light, and yellow tiles in the kitchen that Gi-hun loved and In-ho claimed to hate.

It was decent. More than decent. Comfortable in a way that made Gi-hun feel proud. And even though In-ho had insisted it wasn’t expensive, Gi-hun had always suspected the rent was higher than he let on. The fixtures were too new and the water pressure too good. But he let it go because In-ho had followed his lead—had let Gi-hun insist they do it “right.” No family money. Just their paychecks, their savings, their stubbornness.

For a while, it worked. Then three months after In-ho took over Hwang International, everything changed.

He came home one day to boxes already packed. In-ho had signed the lease, paid in full, picked the new place without a word of consultation. He’d called it a surprise. Said it would be better this way. Something about the company demanding a certain image.

Gi-hun hadn’t argued. Not really. He’d just gone along with it, because it was easier than fighting. But he never unpacked half his things. 

Even now, walking around the front of the car to help In-ho out, he felt like a visitor returning to a hotel suite after a long trip. He opened the car door and held out a hand. In-ho took it with an absent nod, gaze still locked on the house. His fingers curled tightly around Gi-hun’s.

“This is where we live?” he asked.

Gi-hun gave a single nod. “Yeah.”

“Why did we move?” In-ho’s eyes drifted from one wide window to another, lips parting slightly as if the size of the place physically unsettled him.

He forced a smile. “We outgrew the space. You said you wanted something more private. I agreed.”

It wasn’t a lie—not entirely. Just enough truth to keep In-ho from asking more.

In-ho nodded slowly, though his eyes still searched the house like it was holding answers he couldn’t quite touch. “Feels...strange,” he admitted. “I thought I’d feel more…I don’t know. Familiar. Like something would click.”

Gi-hun squeezed his hand gently. “It’ll come. Just give it time.”

He helped him up the front steps, unlocking the door and pushing it open. In-ho stepped in slowly, his fingers brushing the edge of the wall as he moved, like he was trying to memorize the shape of a life he didn’t recognize.

Gi-hun stayed a step behind, watching. “It’s nice, isn’t it?"

“It’s…” he finally said, breath leaving him in a quiet puff, “big.”

Gi-hun couldn't help but laugh at his reaction. “It is. I think you liked it when we first moved in.”

In-ho glanced over his shoulder, brow furrowed. “Did I? It doesn’t feel like ours.”

He walked further in, touching the corner of a picture frame on the wall. His own face stared back at him from a photograph—arm slung around Gi-hun’s shoulders, both of them caught mid-laugh.

In-ho’s brows drew together, a faint crease forming between them. He didn’t say anything, but his thumb lingered on the edge of the frame, like he was hoping some memory might surface if he touched it long enough.

Behind him, Gi-hun cleared his throat, breaking the silence before it could grow too heavy. “I’ll cook something,” he said, keeping his tone light. “You must be starving.”

In-ho turned towards him, startled out of whatever thought had taken hold.

Gi-hun offered a half-smile. “Food will be ready soon. You should take a shower if you want—it might help you feel more settled.”

In-ho’s eyes softened for a moment before a mischievous glint sparked in his gaze.  

"Well, why don’t you come with me?" He tilted his head slightly, a smirk curling at his lips.

Gi-hun was ready for whatever answer In-ho had, but that…His eyes widened in shock. "Wha—what? No, no, you just got out of the hospital!" he stammered, nearly tripping over his feet as he flustered. "You need to rest, In-ho. You shouldn’t...I mean, we shouldn’t—"

In-ho, unable to hold back anymore, burst out laughing and it made Gi-hun’s face flush even harder. He laughed so hard that he had to clutch his side, wincing slightly at the discomfort.

"I didn’t mean—" he started, but In-ho waved a hand, still chuckling.

"I’m joking, I’m joking!" In-ho said, his voice breathless from laughing. His grin never wavered, eyes twinkling as he watched Gi-hun, whose cheeks were a deep red. "You’re too easy to tease, Gi-hun."

Gi-hun, still flustered, quickly looked away, trying to hide the heat in his face. "I—I didn’t think...you were serious, obviously" he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

In-ho stepped close to him, his grin softening. His hand gently cupped Gi-hun’s jaw. With a quick, light kiss to his lips, he pulled back slightly.

"You’re still adorable when you’re embarrassed," In-ho murmured.

Gi-hun was too stunned to say anything, his brain still processing the quick kiss that had just sent warmth flooding through him. 

"You really don’t have to panic like that. I just meant that I don’t know where our room is." He gestured vaguely towards the stairs.

Gi-hun stood there for a moment, blinking in confusion, then let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He laughed nervously, trying to cover up his awkwardness. "Right, of course. Uh, your room’s upstairs, at the end of the hall...with the big window," he said, trying to sound normal.

In-ho smiled, a playful glint in his eyes. "Got it. Thanks." He gave a little wink before heading towards the stairs, still looking back at Gi-hun once, as though still amused by the whole thing.

Gi-hun stared after him, his heart still racing, and let out a shaky breath. He muttered to himself under his breath, "Get it together, Gi-hun." He turned quickly, walking towards the kitchen, trying to focus on anything else but the way his hands were shaking.

He busied himself with the familiar rhythm of cooking—washing rice, chopping vegetables, heating oil in a pan. The kitchen was quiet aside from the soft hum of the stove and the occasional clatter of utensils. Gi-hun’s hands stilled for a moment over the cutting board.

Fuck.

He pressed his palm against his face, exhaling hard. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Could he really do this?

Could he really stand in this kitchen and pretend to be a husband again—In-ho’s husband—just for his sake? The worst part wasn’t even the lie. It was how easy it was starting to feel. How familiar it all was. Like slipping into an old coat, a little worn, but warm enough to make him comfortable.

The knife resumed its steady rhythm on the board. The scent of ginger hit the air. He couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t.

This wasn’t about rekindling anything. This was about helping In-ho. Giving him time. Guiding him back into the life he’d forgotten—at least the parts Gi-hun could afford to show him.

And then, when the time came, he’d walk away.

He had to.

Chapter Text

There was something comforting about cooking. He liked the simplicity of it. He liked how ingredients could become something whole if you just followed the right steps. How the heat could soften even the toughest cuts, coaxing out flavor with time and patience. Every time he cooked, it reminded him of when it was just him and his mother.

Back then, their kitchen was barely big enough for two people, and the stovetop tilted slightly to the left. The fridge made a strange clunking noise at night. He used to sit on the floor, watching her cook, her dress brushing against his knees as she moved from sink to stove. She never followed recipes. She just knew. A pinch of this. A splash of that.

He didn’t start cooking because he wanted to. Or because he looked up to his mother, though he did. It was because of Sang-woo.

He had said he couldn’t cook anything that didn’t come out of a plastic wrapper, and Gi-hun, as always, had taken the bait like always and ran straight home, red-faced, chest puffed up, and told his mom she had to teach him how to cook something real. Not instant noodles. Not fried eggs. Something impressive.

She’d looked at him like he was insane, then handed him a knife and said, “Fine. Start peeling.”

He cut his thumb on the second potato and used too much salt. Sang-woo made fun of him for weeks. But Gi-hun remembered how his mother smiled when she tasted it, how she patted his shoulder like he’d just done something important.

He started cooking more after that. Not to prove anything. Just because it felt good to make something with his hands. Because when his mom got tired or sick, he could at least make dinner. And later, when it was just him in that same small kitchen, too quiet without her humming at the stove, cooking became a way to remember those days when the only thing on his mind was his math homework. 

The knife moved easily under his fingers now, slicing scallions into thin green ribbons. The house was quiet except for the soft bubbling and the distant sound of water running in the bathroom. Gi-hun let out a slow breath. At least here, in this space, he could still feel like something was within his grasp. It was the only place in the house that hadn’t changed, not really, not like the bedroom.

He was relieved No-eul had handled that before In-ho came home. She’d moved his things out of the guest room and back into the master bedroom, tucking away the reality they’d been living in for years. Now, at a glance, it looked like nothing had changed. 

He stirred the soup again, absently, then wiped his hands and reached for his phone. The silence in the house was heavier than he remembered, and the idea of spending the night alone with In-ho, pretending everything was fine, made his skin itch.

He thought about calling No-eul. She was quiet, sure, but reliable. Just having someone else in the house might have made things easier. But In-ho didn’t remember her.

She’d only been working for him for about a year—long enough to be important in their lives now, but not long enough to leave a mark on the version of the life In-ho could still recall. No-eul had offered, without hesitation, to step back. “It’ll be easier for him,” she’d said. Gi-hun hadn’t argued. She would manage the company in In-ho’s place while he recovered. 

Gi-hun knew her well enough by now to hear what she didn’t say. It hurt her. Being forgotten. Being erased from someone she clearly cared about. She’d never told him the full story of how she and In-ho met, only offered a vague explanation once, something about In-ho helping her when no one else would. Whatever it was, it had been enough for her to stay, through the worst of it, fiercely loyal even when In-ho no longer recognized her.

It didn’t feel right dragging her into this.

He thought briefly about calling Sang-woo, but the last time they spoke, things hadn’t ended well. Gi-hun knew he meant well, in his own rigid, logical way. Sang-woo was concerned, Gi-hun knew that. He always had a way of showing it sideways. But even with that concern, the words he’d said still hurt. 

And now, even if the anger had faded, the disappointment lingered. So no—he wasn’t going to call Sang-woo.

His thumb hovered over another name on his screen.

Jung-bae picked up on the second ring. “Well, well. Look who remembered I exist.”

Gi-hun smiled despite himself. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Oh, too late. You only call me when you're sad, drunk, or both. And it’s not even dark out yet, so I’m guessing sad.”

Leaning against the counter, Gi-hun stirred the soup lazily. “Yeah. Things have been a lot.”

“I figured. Sang-woo told me what happened. I wanted to visit, but I wasn’t sure if In-ho still had me on his hit list.”

Gi-hun scoffed. “Don’t be dramatic. He doesn’t hate you.”

“Oh really?” Jung-bae said. “Have you forgotten the retreat his company made us do?”

Gi-hun blinked. “The one where they made everyone play humiliating team-building games?”

“Exactly,” Jung-bae said. “And before we even started, your loving husband just looked at me. Smiled. And said, ‘If you mess this up, we’ll lose. And I’ll remember.’”

Gi-hun burst out laughing. “He did not.”

“And with the calmest, nicest tone! And the smile? Not a twitch. Like he was already planning where to bury me.”

Gi-hun shook his head, still laughing. “He probably thought he was being motivational.”

“Sure. If by motivational you mean ‘haunting my dreams for three weeks.’”

Gi-hun huffed a quiet breath through his nose, not quite laughing this time. “That sounds like him.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then Jung-bae asked, more gently now, “So...what’s it like? Having him back home?”

Gi-hun didn’t answer right away. He stirred the soup again, even though it didn’t need stirring, eyes fixed on the surface.

“Gi-hun?” Jung-bae prompted, his voice softer. “How are you doing?”

Gi-hun let the spoon rest against the edge of the pot, fingers curling around the handle. He exhaled, long and slow. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s like...he’s here, but not really. And I’m trying to act normal, but nothing about this feels normal.”

There was no rush to Jung-bae’s response, just the soft sound of him breathing on the other end before he said, “That sounds lonely.”

Gi-hun nodded to himself. “It is.” He hesitated, then said, “Can you come over?”

There was a brief silence on the other end—just long enough for Gi-hun to start second-guessing—before Jung-bae’s voice came through, light and teasing. “And what’s in it for me?”

Gi-hun rolled his eyes. “A hot bowl of soup and my company.”

“Oh, thrilling,” Jung-bae said. “Exactly what I needed after a long day, soup and third-wheeling your emotionally complex marriage.”

“You coming or not?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jung-bae said, and Gi-hun could hear the rustling of keys. “On my way. But if your husband glares at me, I’m leaving with your wine.”

“He won’t glare,” Gi-hun said, though he didn’t sound too sure. “He might...stare.”

“Oh, good. An upgrade.”

Gi-hun smiled faintly, already feeling lighter. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Gi-hun ended the call with a quiet smile, setting his phone down on the counter. The soup had started to bubble softly, and he gave it one last stir before turning off the heat. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed that conversation—how grounding it was to talk to someone who knew him before all of this. Jung-bae could be loud, dramatic, and a little too nosy, but he never asked for more than Gi-hun could give.

“With who were you talking?” came a voice behind him.

Gi-hun jumped slightly. He turned to find In-ho freshly showered, towel still around his neck, hair damp and clinging to his forehead. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, water still glistening on his skin, one brow raised in quiet amusement.

“You need to start wearing a bell or something,” Gi-hun muttered, recovering quickly.

“I do live here,” In-ho replied. “Or am I supposed to knock before entering my own kitchen?”

Gi-hun rolled his eyes. “Depends. You planning on sneaking up on me every time I cook?”

“No promises.” In-ho stepped inside the room, resting his hands lightly on the counter. “So?”

“So…?”

In-ho gave him a look. “Who were you talking to?”

“Jung-bae,” Gi-hun said, glancing over. “He’s coming over. Does it bother you?”

In-ho immediately crossed his arms, posture stiffening like a kid being told to share his favorite toy. “I mean…no. It’s fine. Totally fine. I’m just saying. Isn’t it a little sudden? I just got out of the hospital! Like, does he have to come over?” He paused, lips pushing further into a sulk. “I wanted to spend time with my husband.”

Gi-hun stifled a laugh. “We’ve been friends for years.”

“Yeah. Too friendly if you ask me,” In-ho muttered as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “He always acts like he knows you better than I do.”

“He does,” Gi-hun said, just to poke at him.

In-ho opened his mouth like he was going to argue, then frowned instead. “He does it on purpose, you know. Looks right at me when he wraps his arms around you. Like he’s trying to make a point.”

“Are you seriously jealous of Jung-bae?” Gi-hun asked, blinking in disbelief. “He’s married!”

“That makes it even more weird.”

Gi-hun let out a laugh. “Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“I’m just saying,” In-ho mumbled, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around Gi-hun’s waist like he could physically stake his claim. “I just got out of the hospital.” In-ho whined, “I deserve, like, undivided cuddles and pampering for at least a week.”

Gi-hun shook his head, biting back another grin. It was ridiculous, but in a way that warmed him. This was so different from before. Gi-hun stood still for a moment, the warmth of In-ho’s embrace creeping in. His fingers absentmindedly moved over In-ho’s forearm, and he glanced down at the arms holding him—not possessively, not like a cage, but like a loose hug, easy to break if he wanted to.

He remembered how it used to be. How he used to have to lie just to see his friends. How, if someone like Jung-bae had wanted to come over before, it would’ve turned into an argument—In-ho stone-faced, voice cold, accusing without ever using the words. Gi-hun used to find excuses to leave the house because it was easier than asking to bring someone in. He hadn’t realized how much of himself he’d been hiding until In-ho forgot it all.

And now here he was, pouting like a jealous teenager, arms loosely wound around Gi-hun like a lazy octopus.

“You had me all these days.”

“I was unconscious for half of it.”

Gi-hun laughed softly, patting his back. “You want me to cancel?”

In-ho paused. “...No. I mean. I’m not that clingy.” He looked up. “But if he gets here and tries to hug you, I’m throwing a cushion at his head.”

Gi-hun smirked. “Noted. I’ll warn him of incoming pillows.”

In-ho rolled his eyes but leaned in anyway, brushing a quick kiss against Gi-hun’s lips. It was brief, but unexpectedly gentle. Gi-hun blinked, caught off guard by how soft it felt.

He let In-ho’s arms stay around him a moment longer before placing a hand on his chest and slowly easing back.

“Food’s ready,” Gi-hun said, clearing his throat. “It just needs to cool a bit.”

He turned towards the stove, grabbing a dish towel and nudging one of the bowls away from the burner. The warmth in the room was starting to cling to his skin. “I’m gonna take a quick shower while it does. Think you can be civil and let Jung-bae in when he shows up?” He glanced over his shoulder. “And please don’t make him wait outside like last time.”

In-ho squinted. “That was one time. And it was only, like, five minutes.”

“It was raining.”

“He had an umbrella!” In-ho shot back, then waved a hand. “Fine. I’ll let your married friend inside. But only because I’m a changed man.”

Oh, he had no idea.

“That’s very big of you.”

“And also because you definitely need that shower,” In-ho added, lips curling into a sly smile as he leaned back against the counter. “I love you, but you currently smell like soup and hospital.”

Gi-hun let out a short laugh, glancing over his shoulder. “Soup and hospital. That’s a new one.”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” In-ho called after him. “Just not, you know, seductive.”

“I’ll make sure to come out smelling completely irresistible then.”

“You better,” In-ho yelled back. “I’m setting a very high standard now!”

Gi-hun chuckled to himself as he headed upstairs. Without thinking, he turned left at the top of the stairs and pushed open the door to the guest room, his usual routine for the past year. It wasn’t until he crossed to the dresser and opened the drawer that he paused. Empty. No shirts, no socks, not even an old pair of sweatpants.

He blinked at the empty drawer, then let out a soft, sheepish laugh. Right. That’s not his room anymore, genius.

Scratching the back of his neck, he backed out and made his way to the master bedroom instead. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually stepped inside. Maybe once, to grab something In-ho had left behind. 

Everything looked the same. The furniture hadn’t moved, the bedspread still that deep navy In-ho liked, and the faint smell of the cologne he always wore still lingered. But there were new touches too, small ones. Framed pictures on the dresser, obviously picked by No-eul. One of them at the beach, another of a younger In-ho holding a baby Jun-ho. For a second, Gi-hun just stood there in the doorway, taking it all in.

It was the same room, technically. But now it felt lived-in. Shared.

He stepped inside quietly, opening the top drawer to find a neatly folded set of clothes already waiting—In-ho must’ve put them there. Sweatpants, and that worn-in shirt he used to steal from In-ho’s side of the closet, the one that always smelled like him. Gi-hun smiled before he even realized he was doing it.

He walked into the bathroom, the tile cold under his feet. He turned the shower knob, the water sputtering to life, steam slowly beginning to curl around the edges of the mirror.

And then he looked up.

There he was. His own reflection staring back at him, caught in the silvery glass. For a moment, he just looked. Not at his hair or the tired lines under his eyes, but at the expression that had started to form on his face without him even thinking: a soft, warm sort of look. The kind that told a story of peace. Of love. And it wasn’t real.

He pressed both palms to the edge of the sink, leaning forward as the fog crept in around the glass. His reflection blurred, melted.

Who would’ve thought, he thought bitterly, that just when he was ready to finally walk away, life would hand him everything he’d already decided to let go of?

The doorbell echoed faintly, pulling him out of his thoughts. Gi-hun blinked and tilted his head, waiting. No second ring followed.

He smiled. Guess he didn’t let him wait long.

Gi-hun removed his clothes and stepped into the shower, warm water washing over him. The hot water cascaded over his shoulders, loosening knots he hadn’t even realized were there. Gi-hun let his eyes close, head tipped back as the stream washed through his hair and down his back. For the first time in what felt like ages, he wasn’t in a rush. No one was waiting for him to come out and fight. 

He could hear In-ho’s voice echoing faintly from downstairs, maybe talking to Jung-bae, maybe complaining throwing a pillow already. It made him chuckle.

G-hun took his time cleaning himself up. He reached for the soap In-ho preferred, the one with that warm, earthy scent. Too expensive, Gi-hun used to tease, but he found himself holding it a little longer than necessary.

When he finally stepped out, he towel-dried his hair and pulled on the clothes In-ho had left for him. The shirt was old, stretched a little at the collar, but it fit him.

His hair was still wet, strands clinging stubbornly to his forehead as he walked down the stairs. The murmur of voices reached him before he turned the corner. He paused just out of sight, catching the low hum of In-ho saying something and Jung-bae’s weird chuckle in response.

They were sitting on opposite ends of the couch with a decorative cushion placed suspiciously between them. In-ho’s posture was stiff, arms crossed tightly over his chest, one leg bouncing in a steady rhythm. His expression was the picture of politeness—if politeness had teeth. Meanwhile, Jung-bae looked anywhere but at In-ho’s face, as if direct eye contact might get him vaporized. Gi-hun tried not to laugh.

"So how’s your wife doing?”

Jung-bae blinked, startled by the question. “Ah…she’s good. Busy. You know how it is.”

In-ho’s smile widened, just a fraction too tight to be sincere. “Oh, I do. Married life can be...demanding.”

“Y-Yeah. Right,” Jung-bae laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. 

In-ho leaned back, resting an arm across the back of the couch. His voice stayed calm, almost friendly. “Must be hard. Having to juggle work, family, and random middle-of-the-day visits to old friends.”

“I—I mean, Gi-hun called me. I didn’t just show up.”

“I know.” In-ho tilted his head. “I just wonder what makes a married man rush so fast.”

“I didn’t rush,” Jung-bae muttered defensively. “I just thought…he might need some help?”

In-ho’s eyebrow quirked. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

That was Gi-hun’s cue. He stepped around the corner, interrupting the standoff before it could spiral.

“Alright,” he said, “how about we put a pause on whatever weird power play is happening?”

The moment In-ho saw him, his expression shifted. It was softer, warmer, like flipping a switch. He stood up and crossed the space between them like there hadn’t been any tension at all.

“Hey,” he murmured, reaching out and brushing a hand through the damp strands of Gi-hun’s hair before leaning in and kissing him softly.

Gi-hun let it happen, eyes slipping shut for a second. But when he pulled back, he gave In-ho a look.

“I know what you’re doing.”

In-ho tilted his head, pretending not to understand. “What, I can’t kiss my husband in my own house?” In-ho’s hand was still resting lightly on Gi-hun’s waist.

Gi-hun sighed. “Be nice.”

“I am being nice,” In-ho replied with a small shrug. “I let him in, didn't I?”

Gi-hun sighed and turned towards the man now standing awkwardly by the couch, hands stuffed in his pockets, clearly unsure whether to sit or run.

“Maybe you were right,” Gi-hun said, smirking. “He does have you on his hit list.”

That broke the tension. Jung-bae laughed, the sound a little too loud with relief.

“I told you he did!” Jung-bae huffed out a laugh, stepping forward. 

He opened his arms without hesitation, and Gi-hun walked straight into the hug. It was supposed to be quick—just a greeting. But when Jung-bae’s arms wrapped around him, firm and familiar, Gi-hun didn’t pull away right away.

He held on. Just for a moment longer.

“You okay?” Jung-bae murmured near his ear, low enough that only Gi-hun could hear.

Gi-hun nodded against his shoulder. “Now, yeah,” he said quietly. “Thanks for coming.”

When they finally pulled apart, Jung-bae gave him a once-over. “You look like hell, but I’ve seen worse. At least your hair’s clean.”

Gi-hun let out a quiet laugh. “You always know how to flatter me.”

“It’s a gift,” Jung-bae said with a grin. Then he leaned in again to sniff dramatically. “Is that lavender? Look at you—smelling like a fancy candle.”

Behind them, In-ho turned just slightly, eyes flicking over the scene. He didn’t say anything, but his jaw tightened for half a second.

“If you’re done sniffing each other, the food’s getting cold.”

He turned and walked off towards the kitchen, posture a little too straight. Gi-hun watched him go, then looked back at Jung-bae, still amused.

Jung-bae tilted his head, thoughtful. “Hmm. Are you sure he lost his memory?”

Gi-hun blinked. “What?”

“He looks at me like he knows exactly where I buried the body,” Jung-bae muttered. “And I didn’t even bury a body. This time.”

Gi-hun snorted. “That’s just his face.”

Jung-bae narrowed his eyes. "Feels personal. Like he’s waiting for me to confess to something I don’t remember doing.”

Gi-hun patted his shoulder. “He likes you. Sort of.”

“Likes me?” Jung-bae scoffed. “Dude, he looks like he’s two seconds away from killing me in front of you.”

Gi-hun laughed under his breath. “Don’t be ridiculous. He might be intense, but he doesn’t kill people.”

Jung-bae gave him a look. “You said that with the confidence of someone who thinks it’s true, but isn’t 100% sure.”

Gi-hun shrugged, amused. “If he was gonna kill anyone, he’d start with someone who actually wronged him. You’re, like, 15th on the list.”

“Oh good,” Jung-bae deadpanned. “Lucky number fifteen. That’s comforting.”

Before Gi-hun could respond, In-ho’s voice rang out clearly from somewhere down the hall.

“Are you two done? The soup’s getting cold.”

Jung-bae smirked. “Out of the hospital but already back to boss mode, huh?”

Gi-hun knew he couldn’t keep Jung-bae all day. He had a wife, a child, a life. But after the quietest lunch of Gi-hun’s week, he found himself drawing out every second he could. He ate slowly, slower than usual, and then refilled Jung-bae’s glass before it was empty. Then he asked for another story. Then another.

Eventually, they moved back into the living room. Gi-hun sank into the couch with a sigh, a bottle of soju in one hand and the remote he didn’t plan on using in the other. Jung-bae took the opposite seat. In-ho sat nearby in an armchair, book in hand, angled just enough away from them to pretend he wasn’t listening. His eyes tracked the pages slowly, but he hadn’t flipped a single one in the last five minutes.

“So hear this,” Jung-bae said, half-laughing already, “this poor guy from logistics brings his girlfriend to the office party last weekend. Big mistake. Because turns out, she used to date the manager from sales. And I don’t mean like, high school sweethearts—I mean, like, last month.”

Gi-hun choked on his drink. “No.”

“Oh yes. It gets worse.” Jung-bae grinned. “The ex—Jae-hyun—you remember him?”

Gi-hun nodded. “The one with the hairline that’s always running away from his eyebrows?”

“That’s the one. He gets drunk and tries to make a toast to ‘healthy transitions’ and ‘growing from shared experiences.’ I’ve never seen a woman launch a shrimp that fast.”

Gi-hun burst into laughter. “No way.”

“I swear on my life,” Jung-bae said, raising his bottle. “It flew across the buffet, hit the intern’s laptop, there's sauce everywhere. HR is still trying to write a memo without admitting any of it happened.”

Gi-hun laughed again, leaning back against the couch, his eyes warm for the first time in days. 

Jung-bae leaned back, sighing. “Honestly, you should come back.”

Gi-hun made a face, but Jung-bae didn’t catch it.

“I’m serious,” he went on, nudging Gi-hun with his elbow. “You were good at it. And we miss having someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

Before Gi-hun said anything, In-ho’s voice cut in. He lowered his book, eyebrows pinched.

“Wait,” he said. “You’re not working?”

Gi-hun froze for half a second. He didn’t look at Jung-bae, but he could feel the shift beside him. His friend was suddenly very interested in his soju, sipping like his life depended on it.

Gi-hun cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet In-ho’s eyes. “I’m not,” he said, aiming for casual. “We decided it was better for me to stay. Easier to take care of the house.”

He added a smile at the end, his fingers tightening at the neck of the bottle. This was the last conversation he wanted to have, especially with this version of In-ho. 

In-ho frowned, clearly unsatisfied. “Take care of the house? We have a staff for that. Don’t we?”

“We do, yes. It's just…”

That you banned me from working with you. It's just that you made one phone call and blocked my last interview, and I found out about it a week later from the HR guy who accidentally forwarded your email. 

“I just thought I’d focus on home for a while,” Gi-hun said, trying again. “It’s what we agreed on.”

In-ho blinked. “Did we?” 

Gi-hun gave a subtle nod and took a drink from his bottle, using the burn of it as an excuse not to answer. His fingers curled tightly around the glass, grounding himself. 

Across from him, In-ho looked down at his hands, his brow furrowing like he was trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces.

“And I let you?” he asked again, quieter this time. “But we had plans, didn’t we?”

Gi-hun’s heart stuttered for a beat. He looked away, focusing on the light reflecting off the glass coffee table. Plans. They had plans. Once.

Late nights with shared laptops and overlapping notes. Cramming for presentations in his old apartment. Debating contracts and laughing over ramyeon at two in the morning. It had been chaotic, exhausting, but it had been theirs.

Until In-ho took over the company and Gi-hun stopped being part of those plans.

“I guess we did,” he said at last. He took a slow sip from his bottle to keep the sigh from surfacing. “Things just…changed.”

In-ho’s thumb rubbed absently against the spine of the book in his lap. His voice was distant now.

“I just don’t get why I’d let it go,” he murmured. “You wanted that hotel so badly. I remember that. You talked about it all the time. It used to make you light up.”

Gi-hun’s throat tightened. He stared at the label on the bottle in his hand, fingernail tracing the edge.

“You didn’t let anything go,” he said gently. “Life got in the way. The company needed you. I was okay with that.” 

It was mostly true. Or it had been, at the time.

In-ho leaned forward slightly, frustration flickering across his face. “But we talked about it. Expanding the business, starting something new. We even went through the numbers. It could’ve worked.”

Gi-hun gave a small nod. “Yeah. It could’ve.”

He wanted to scream and finally let that frustration come out, but this version of In-ho—the one sitting in front of him with a cut still healing on his cheek and gaps in his memory—wasn’t the one who had shut the door on him. And Gi-hun couldn’t hold him responsible for choices he didn’t remember making.

“But it’s fine,” Gi-hun added gently, offering a small shrug. “It’s not something I ever gave up on completely. Just...paused. Life’s full of those, right?”

In-ho looked like he wanted to say something, but Gi-hun didn’t give him the chance. He was done talking about it.

He turned instead, glancing towards Jung-bae with a lighter expression. “Want another, or are you ready for the wine?”

Jung-bae opened his mouth to respond, but then hesitated. He looked at Gi-hun for a beat longer, eyes softer than before. Then he muttered, “Sorry. For bringing it up.”

Gi-hun stilled for half a second, then shook his head and offered a quiet, real smile this time. “It’s okay. He was going to find out eventually.”

Jung-bae gave a short nod, pressing his lips together like he wanted to say more but didn’t. “So?” Gi-hun asked. “Another drink?”