Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jiyong had been in and out of the hospital for almost five years now. He was used to the sterile, quiet halls and the constant beeping of machines. The soft shuffle of nurses' shoes against the floor, the murmur of doctors' conversations in the distance—it was all part of the rhythm he had come to know.

The sterile white walls of the hospital hallway felt colder than usual. Soft fluorescent lights flickered faintly above as the sound of distant footsteps echoed through the long corridor. Jiyong walked slowly, his own shoes making quiet taps against the linoleum. As he rounded the corner, a loud crash broke through the silence.

A thud, followed by what sounded like an object being violently pushed against the wall. It wasn’t a cry of anger or frustration—it was pain. Raw, undeniable pain. It was the only noise in the hallway. The only room making such a racket. Following the sound, he stopped in front of a slightly open door. Carefully, he peeked inside.

Inside the room, he saw a boy laying on a bed, tangled in tubes and IVs. His face was pale, almost ghostly, his hair is almost gone—replaced by a thin layer of stubble from the chemotherapy treatments. The boy’s chest heaved with each breath, as if each inhale took every ounce of strength he had left. Sweat clung to his forehead, his eyes squeezed shut in pain, the only sound coming from him was a strained, broken wheeze.

Jiyong stood there for a moment, frozen. He’d never seen the boy before, not in all the years he had been in this hospital. The boy looked a little older than him, but one thing Jiyong notice was, there was something about his face—something that spoke of a long, brutal fight. He looked exhausted, like he had fought too many battles and had nothing left to give.

Their eyes met. Jiyong froze.

"What the hell are you looking at!?" The boy's voice, hoarse yet sharp, cut through the room.

Jiyong flinched. The nurses looked at each other in surprise.

"Get him out of here! I don’t want anyone staring at me like that!" His voice cracked.

“Kick him out!” the boy shouted once again, his anger spilling over as he turned to the nurses. His hands gripped the sheets as if trying to steady himself.

The nurses hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances before one of them gently approached Jiyong. “You should leave,” she said softly, though her voice left no room for argument.

Jiyong felt his body stiffen. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he couldn't move. No one had ever yelled at him like that before—no one, except…

His father.

The memory was distant, like a dream fading at dawn. A voice, rough and angry. A presence that once loomed over him but had since become nothing more than a ghost in his mind. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember his father’s face.

With a deep breath, Jiyong forced his feet to move. He had no choice. He wasn’t the boy’s savior. He wasn’t even a part of his world. He was just another patient. Just another face in the hospital, lost in the flow of time. Still, as he walked down the hallway, the echoes of boy’s shouts followed him. His chest felt tight, his fingers curled into his sleeves as he tried to shake the fear off.

The image of the boy’s pain stayed with him, but he shoved it away. Jiyong tried not to think about the boy again, instead he thought about his mother, about how she was probably waiting for him in his room, eager to see him. She hadn’t been around much lately, but maybe today would be different. Jiyong happily rushed to his room, he greeted every nurse he pass by with a warm smile.

He reached his room, his hand hesitating over the doorknob. He opened it slowly, a little too hopeful. But the room was empty. The bed was still made, the chair still empty. The silence swallowed him whole. Just a room filled with another sad and lonely air. Jiyong is already used to this but he still have a high hopes for changes.

Jiyong stood in the doorway, staring at the empty room, his chest tight with disappointment. He had been here so many times before, but he still held on to the faint hope that someone, anyone, might finally remember he was here.

“Maybe next time.” He said, comforting his self.

Chapter Text

Another day passed, and nothing changed.

The hospital hallways remained the same—sterile, dull, and lifeless. The same nurses walked by, their faces neither happy nor sad, just stuck in routine. Ji-yong had seen this all too many times before, and today was no different.

Bored and restless, he decided to escape—to the only place that gave him a sense of peace. The rooftop.

Stepping outside, he took a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill his lungs. Up here, the world felt bigger, freer. He sat on the cold floor, tilting his head back to watch the sky. Birds soared above, their wings cutting through the open air effortlessly. A pang of jealousy hit him. They could leave whenever they wanted. They weren’t trapped in endless check-ups, tests, and white walls.

Then, a sound interrupted his thoughts.

A song.

"Dolaboji malgo tteonagara

Tto nareul chaji malgo saragara

Neoreul saranghaessgie huhwi eobsgie

Johassdeon gieokman gajyeogara~"

He knew that song. He had heard it on TV before. Soft, yet filled with emotion, like a story wrapped in melody.

Curiosity pulled him forward. He followed the sound, his footsteps light against the concrete floor. There, near the edge of the rooftop, stood a familiar figure.

The boy’s back was facing him, his head slightly bowed as he hummed the song softly to himself.

Ji-yong recognized him instantly. It was the boy from the other day.

Ji-yong hesitated, but before he could decide whether to step closer or turn away, the must have sensed him. Slowly, he turned around, his expression unreadable.

Their eyes met—for the second time.

Silence hung between them, thick and awkward. Neither of them moved, just standing there, facing each other. The only sound filling the space was the song still playing from the boy's phone.

Ji-yong shifted on his feet, feeling out of place. “Sorry for disturbing your me-time,” he mumbled, quickly deciding to leave. He turned to walk away.

“I know you.”

Ji-yong froze.

Slowly, he turned back to face the boy, his head tilting in confusion.

The boy’s gaze was unreadable. “It was you who peeked into my room,” he said, his tone calm but firm.

He quickly lowered his head, bowing slightly, trying to hide his embarrassment. He had no excuse—it was true, after all.

A heavy sigh escaped from the boy’s lips. “I’m sorry.”

Ji-yong’s head snapped up slightly, eyes widening. He hadn’t expected to hear that.

“I just don’t like it when people see me at my worst,” he admitted, his voice quieter this time. His fingers fiddled with his phone, avoiding Ji-yong’s gaze.

Ji-yong nodded, understanding what he meant without needing more explanation. “I’m sorry too,” he said sincerely. “I never meant to go into your room without permission.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke again.

The song continued playing in the background, and somehow, the silence between them felt a little less uncomfortable than before.

Ji-yong hesitated, the words lingering on the tip of his tongue. A part of him wanted to introduce himself, but another part told him to stay quiet. So, he did.

The boy didn’t say anything else. He simply turned and started walking away, his footsteps light against the rooftop floor.

Ji-yong watched him go, something in his chest tightening.

Before he could think twice, the words slipped out.

“I’m Ji-yong,” he called out, his voice uncertain but clear. “What’s your name?”

The boy stopped in his tracks. For a moment, he didn’t turn around. Ji-yong almost thought he wouldn’t answer.

Then, in the quiet space between them, he finally spoke.

“Seunghyun.”

He glanced over his shoulder briefly before continuing forward, disappearing down the stairs.

Ji-yong stood there, staring at the empty doorway Seunghyun had left through.

He repeated the name in his head.

'Seunghyun.' he wrote it in his hand incase he forgets his name.

Somehow, it felt like he’d be seeing him again. 

Chapter Text

Ji-yong woke up earlier than usual. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.

He found himself thinking about Seunghyun, he thought about visiting him but find it ridiculous.

Wouldn’t it be weird if I suddenly visit him? I think I'm going crazy. Why did I suddenly think about him? It's not like were close??

But… Ji-yong was tired of the same routine. Roaming the hallways, chatting with the nurses, doctors, other older patients and, when there was no one left to talk to, he goes back to his room to talk to himself.

So, before he could change his mind, he got up and made his way to Seunghyun’s room.

Now, standing in front of the door, hesitation crept back in.

'Maybe this is a bad idea' 'what if he thinks i'm weird?' 'i'm getting myself embarass' those are the thoughts that keep on playing in Ji-Yong's mind, unaware he started biting his nails, it became his habit whenever his anxious.

He turned around and started walking away from Seunghyun's room but he paused and took a deep breath.

He knocked on seunghyun's room.

A few moments passed before the door slowly opened. Ji-Yong was about to give up because it took awhile before the door opened.

Seunghyun stood there, looking half-awake and surprised to see Ji-yong in front of him. He blinked, as if trying to figure out if he was still dreaming.

Ji-yong gave him a small smile. “Uh… good morning. Can I come in?” he greeted, while rubbing the back of his neck.

Seunghyun didn’t answer right away. His expression was a mix of confusion and surprise. But after a few seconds, he sighed and stepped aside, letting him in. Ji-Yong wasn't expecting that he would let him come inside his room.

Ji-yong walked in and glanced around the room.

“Your room looks different than mine,” he said, trying to make conversation.

But in his mind, he thought differently.

I thought my room was dull and lonely already… but this one isn’t just lonely. It’s empty.

Ji-yong sat on the edge of Seunghyun’s bed, looking around the room. It was quiet, almost too quiet. There were no decorations, no personal belongings—just the plain hospital walls and the neatly arranged medical equipment beside the bed.

Seunghyun sat on a chair near the window, watching Ji-yong with a blank expression. “Why are you here?” he finally asked.

Ji-yong shrugged, not really knowing the answer himself. “I just wanted to visit,” he said honestly. “I thought maybe… I could do something different today.”

Seunghyun raised an eyebrow. “So, you decided to come to my room?”

Ji-yong let out a small chuckle. “Yeah. Is that weird?”

Seunghyun leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “A little.”

An awkward silence filled the room.

Ji-yong sat there, unsure of what to do next. He didn’t know what to say or how to continue the conversation. Maybe this was a bad idea, he thought, suddenly regretting his decision to visit.

Seunghyun sighed, still looking out the window.

“Uh… how are you?” Ji-yong blurted out without thinking.

What a dumb question, he immediately scolded himself.

Seunghyun didn’t even turn to look at him. “Fine, still breathing. Wish it stopped soon,” he replied coldly.

The words hit Ji-yong harder than he expected, making the awkward atmosphere even heavier. He lowered his head, unsure how to respond.

Seunghyun must have noticed his reaction because he sighed again. “I’m just kidding,” he said, though his voice lacked any real humor. “It’s too awkward in here, so why not make a joke?”

Ji-yong glanced up at him. The way he said it—sarcastic, cold, and emotionless—didn’t really make it sound like a joke.

Wanting to change the subject, Ji-yong spoke up. “You know what? You should put something in here, like decorations.”

Seunghyun finally looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “What’s there to put? This is just a hospital room. It’s not supposed to be decorated.”

Ji-yong shrugged. “Yeah, I know… but isn’t it kind of sad to see an empty room every day?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he realized too late how insensitive it might have sounded.

Seunghyun’s gaze darkened. He looked away, his voice colder than before.

“I’m going to die anyway.”

Ji-yong froze.

He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know if there was anything he could say.

Chapter Text

Ji-yong lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. No matter how much he tried to push the thoughts away, Seunghyun’s words kept echoing in his mind.

"I’m going to die anyway."

It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it. His voice had no emotion, no hesitation. His eyes, his movements, everything about him felt lifeless, as if he had already given up. Ji-yong sighed and turned to his side, but just as he was about to close his eyes, a strange sensation washed over him.

His chest tightened. He gasped, trying to take in air, but it felt like his lungs weren’t working. His arms felt heavy. His legs wouldn’t move. Panic surged through him as he tried to sit up, but his body refused to respond. He needed to press the emergency button.

He willed his arm to move, but his fingers wouldn’t cooperate. His head started pounding—sharp, rhythmic pain, like someone was striking his skull from the inside. His vision blurred, and the dim lights of the hospital room stretched into long, hazy streaks. His breath came in short, shallow gasps. He could barely make a sound. His lips parted to scream for help, but no voice came out. The pain grew worse. His whole body felt like it was shutting down.

He forced every bit of strength he had left into moving his fingers, just enough to push the call button. His hand trembled as he pressed it. A few seconds later—though it felt like hours—he heard footsteps rushing toward his room. The door burst open, and blurry figures in white uniforms hurried inside.

"Ji-yong? Can you hear me?" one of them called out, but the voice sounded distant, like it was coming from underwater.

His vision darkened at the edges, his consciousness slipping away. Just before everything went black, he saw a familiar figure of someone. A figure standing near the door, silent, unmoving. Even through his blurred vision, he recognized the outline of the person.

Seunghyun.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Seunghyun lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The silence in his room felt heavier than usual, pressing down on him. Feeling restless, he got up and wandered to the window. The night was dark, and the hospital lights cast faint glows across the parking lot below. His eyes drifted around his room, and for some reason, he remembered what Ji-yong had said earlier.

"You should put something in here... isn't it a little sad to see an empty room everyday." Seunghyun scoffed, shaking his head.

"My room does look plain," he muttered under his breath.

But what was the point? Decorations wouldn’t change anything. This was just a temporary place—a waiting room before the inevitable. Sighing, he comb his hair using his fingers. Staying inside his room felt suffocating, so he decided to wander around. Maybe walking through the hallways would help pass the time.

The hospital at night was different. The once busy halls were now quiet, except for the occasional footsteps of nurses doing their rounds. He walked past rooms, some with lights dimmed, some completely dark. As he passed one room, he heard something—soft laughter.

He stopped in his tracks, turning his head toward the slightly open door beside him. Slowly, he stepped closer and peeked through the small opening in the door.

A young boy sat on the hospital bed, giggling as his mother playfully ruffled his hair. His father, standing beside them, laughed along, his eyes filled with warmth. It was a simple moment—just a family sharing happiness—but to Seunghyun, it felt like something out of reach. His chest tightened. He had forgotten what that felt like. To laugh so freely, to be surrounded by people who made life feel less heavy.

Why does it hurt so much to see something so simple?

Clenching his fists, he turned away, forcing himself to walk again. He turned a corner, his head down, when—

“Excuse me, coming through.”

Seunghyun instinctively stepped aside as a group of nurses rushed past him. He noticed—there were more nurses, all hurrying toward a single room. His eyes followed them as they disappeared inside. In their urgency, they left the door slightly open. He glanced at the room number. It wasn’t familiar to him.

The door was left slightly open, just enough for him to see who's inside.

It was Ji-yong.

Seunghyun stood frozen, his feet unwilling to move. Nurses surrounded the bed, their voices urgent, but all Seunghyun could focus on was Ji-yong’s face—twisted in pain, body trembling, struggling to breathe.

For a brief moment, Ji-yong’s eyes opened slightly, hazy and unfocused, but they landed on him.

Their eyes met.

Seunghyun's breath caught in his throat. The door suddenly shut in front of him, snapping him back to reality.

Seunghyun stood there, unmoving, his heart pounding in his chest. He stood there, staring at the closed door, lost in his own thoughts.

He had never seen someone in that much pain before. And yet, in Ji-yong’s eyes, even through the suffering, there was something else—something Seunghyun himself had long lost.

Hope.

Chapter Text

Seunghyun let out a sigh as he sat alone on the wooden beach in the hospital park. The wind was cool, rustling the trees and carrying the faint scent of flowers from the nearby garden. It was peaceful—too peaceful.

He looked around, watching other patients. Some were alone like him, walking slowly with IV stands beside them. Others had nurses guiding them, and others have family beside them. Mothers holding their children’s hands, husbands pushing their wives in wheelchair, siblings laughing together as if they weren’t in a hospital at all.

He sighed, leaning back against the bench. Memories of his father surfaced—the only person who used to visit him. His father had passed away last year, and thee thought of him left Seunghyun with a deep, aching emptiness.

It’s also had been five days since he last saw Ji-yong. Five days since he stood frozen outside his room, watching him on that hospital bed, struggling, unable to move. The image still haunted him, it was an image he couldn’t get out of his head, no matter how much he tried.

He didn’t know why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was because Ji-yong looked so lifeless that night. Or maybe it was because Seunghyun saw himself in Ji-yong—both of them stuck in this place, waiting for an uncertain future.

He didn’t want to care. It wasn’t his business. Ji-yong was just another patient, just like him. But for some reason, the thought of never seeing him again left a strange, empty feeling inside him.

His birthday was coming soon. He knew that. The doctors and nurses probably knew that too. But it didn’t matter. Birthdays were supposed to be a celebration of life. But what was there to celebrate when he felt like he was just waiting for his time to run out? There was nothing to celebrate. He didn’t even understand why he was still alive. What was the point?

He clenched his fists, staring down at the ground.

His mother wouldn’t visit. He already expected that. She rarely came, and when she did, it was only because the doctors called her. It didn’t hurt anymore—he had accepted it a long time ago. This hospital was his home now.

And yet… for some reason, a small part of him still wished someone would remember. Seunghyun exhaled sharply and leaned back on the bench, closing his eyes.

“Why do I even care?” he muttered to himself.

//

Ji-Yong strolled through the hospital park, his usual warm smile plastered on his face. If he saw someone he knew, he greeted them cheerfully, as if nothing had happened to him just days ago. He chatted briefly with a few nurses, pretending everything was fine—even though he still felt weak.

He stopped for small conversations, laughed at light jokes, and acted like he was completely fine. Like he wasn’t the same person who had struggled to breathe, who had nearly lost himself in the pain.

After a while, he sat down on an empty bench, sighing softly as he felt the gentle breeze wrap around him. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the fresh air fill his lungs. It felt nice—peaceful, even. When he opened his eyes, he looked around, he watched as patients walked by, some with their nurses, others with their families. He smiled softly at the sight—children holding their parents’ hands, elderly patients chatting with their loved ones, laughter filling the space despite the reality that surrounded them.

It was nice to see them happy.

But deep inside, a small part of him wished he could have that, too. Even just for a moment.

He sighed and looked around again, his gaze wandering—until it landed on someone familiar. A boy sitting on a bench, his head leaning back, eyes closed as if lost in thought.

Seunghyun.

He suddenly remembered that night—the last thing he saw before everything went dark. A shadow standing at his door, watching him. Was it Seunghyun? Or was it just a dream?

His feet moved before he could think. Step by step, he slowly walked toward Seunghyun, his heart beating a little faster.

As he got closer, Ji-Yong hesitated for a moment. Seunghyun looked different today—his usual cold expression was gone, replaced with something more… tired. Ji-Yong took a deep breath, gathering his courage. Then, he spoke.

"Seunghyun?"

Seunghyun’s eyes fluttered open. For a brief moment, confusion crossed his face. Then, his gaze locked onto Ji-Yong’s.

They stared at each other in silence.

And for the I don’t know how many times already, their eyes met.

Chapter Text

Jiyong sat beside Seunghyun, leaving a small gap between them. He glanced at him briefly before turning his attention to the sky. The air was cool, carrying the soft scent of flowers from the small hospital garden.

“The air feels nice here,” Jiyong said, trying to start a conversation.

Seunghyun just nodded, his gaze still fixed in the sky. Ji-Yong sighed internally.

Why is it so hard to talk to this guy? But he wasn’t going to give up so easily.

A few moments passed, and Ji-Yong suddenly remembered something—the last thing he saw before he blacked out that night.

"You saw that, didn't you?" Ji-Yong finally asked, breaking the silence.

Seunghyun’s eyes shifted to him. He let out a deep sigh before answering.

"I didn’t mean to see it. The door was open just enough for me to see you.”

Ji-Yong nodded slowly. He didn’t know why, but hearing that made him feel a little... strange. Like he wasn’t completely alone that night. A quiet silence fell between them again. Then, unexpectedly, Seunghyun was the first one to speak.

“How are you?” Ji-Yong turned to him, surprised. He hadn’t expected Seunghyun to ask something like that.

“I’m okay now. Still recovering,” Ji-Yong said with a small smile.

“Hopefully, I’ll recover fully soon and get out of here.” Seunghyun scoffed lightly, shaking his head.

“You’re still hoping?” Ji-Yong stared at Seunghyun, a little taken aback by his question.

You're still hoping?

The way Seunghyun said it—so flat, so empty—made Ji-Yong’s chest feel heavier. It wasn’t just a simple question. It was something deeper.

"Of course," Ji-Yong finally answered, forcing a small smile. "Why wouldn’t I?" Seunghyun let out a bitter laugh.

“What’s the point?” His voice was calm, but there was something heavy in it. Seunghyun looked at him, they're both starring at each other.

“You really think you can leave this place? That you’ll get better, walk out of here, and go back to your life?” His tone is calm, but there was something painful hidden underneath. Ji-Yong felt a lump in his throat, he looked away.

“There's nothing wrong in believing and hoping for things." Ji-yong tried to smile. Seunghyun scoffed lightly, looking away.

"You make it sound so easy."

"And you make it sound so impossible."

Seunghyun let out a bitter chuckle.

"Because it is. What’s the point of hoping for something that will never happen?" His words were cold, but there was something in it, something heavy and deeper.

“Because not all of us get that chance.” He continued.

“Some of us don’t have a future waiting for us outside. Some of us are just waiting here… for the day we finally disappear.” Seunghyun looked at ji-yong. Ji-Yong took a deep breath, gripping the fabric of his pants tightly. His heart was pounding, but he refused to look away from Seunghyun instead he gave him a smile.

“I’m still hoping… even though I already know what’s going to happen to me,” Ji-Yong said, his voice was steady but filled with emotion.

“As long as I’m breathing, I won’t stop hoping.” Seunghyun didn’t reply right away. He looked away and looked up at the sky.

"I used to think like that too," he muttered, barely audible. "But hoping… dreaming… it hurts." Seunghyun clenched his fists.

"Because in the end, reality will crush you. No matter how much you want something, sometimes, it just won’t happen." Ji-Yong stayed quiet, sensing the weight of Seunghyun’s words.

Seunghyun slowly turned to look at him again.

"Tell me, Ji-yong… what will you do if, one day, you wake up and realize that everything you hoped for was never meant for you?"

Ji-Yong swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. He didn't have an answer. He didn’t know what to say. Because deep inside, he was scared too. Scared that one day, no matter how much he tried to hold on… he would lose everything, just like Seunghyun. Seunghyun looked away and turn his gaze in the sky again.

Ji-Yong took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. He looked at Seunghyun, who was still staring at the sky with empty eyes.

"Maybe you're right, Seunghyun," Ji-Yong started, his voice softer this time. "Maybe in the end, reality will crush us. Maybe no matter how hard we try, things won’t always go the way we want." Seunghyun didn’t say anything, but Ji-Yong could tell he was listening.

"But even so… I still want to believe. I still want to hope that one day, I'll wake up and receive good news. Even if the chances are small, even if the road ahead is hard, I want to keep believing that there's something waiting for me beyond all this pain." Ji-Yong looked ahead, watching a little girl in a wheelchair laughing with her family. "A lot of people in this hospital are going through so much pain. Some are struggling more than us. Some don’t even know if they’ll make it to tomorrow. But even with all that, they still pray, they still fight, and they still hope for a better day." Ji-Yong turned to Seunghyun, his eyes filled with sincerity.

"I don’t know what you’re going through, Seunghyun. And I won’t tell you how to feel. But I know that you’re still here. And maybe… just maybe… that means there’s still something worth living for. And I hope that whatever your situation is, you won’t let it stop you from living."

"So even if it feels impossible, even if the world seems unfair, I hope you can find even the smallest reason to hold on. Because you're still here, Seunghyun. And as long as you're still here… there's still a chance for something good to happen." Silence filled the space between them. The wind blew gently, ruffling their hair. Seunghyun didn’t respond right away, but Ji-Yong didn’t mind. He had said what he needed to say. And deep inside, he hoped—just a little—that his words reached him.

Chapter Text

Ji-Yong entered Seunghyun’s room, holding a small box in his hands. Inside were simple decorations—things he had kept for a long time. They weren’t fancy or expensive, but they were enough to add a little life to the dull room.

“I brought something for you,” Ji-Yong said, opening the box to reveal simple decorations—things he had kept with him, little pieces of color in an otherwise dull hospital life.

He had almost forgotten he had them, but when he remembered, he thought of Seunghyun. Seunghyun didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask why or tell Ji-Yong to stop. He just sat by the window, watching the people down in the parking lot. He wasn’t sure what Ji-Yong was trying to do, but he let him do it anyway. Meanwhile, Ji-Yong was quietly placing small decorations around the room, adding tiny changes that somehow made the space feel less empty. He carefully placed a rabbit stuffed toy on Seunghyun’s bed.

“I’ll give this to you,” Ji-Yong said, smiling.

“So that you won’t be alone every night.” Seunghyun looked at the stuffed rabbit, his fingers twitching slightly.

He wasn’t sure what to say. No one had ever given him something like this before, except for his father. It was a simple gift, just a small rabbit toy, but something about it made him feel… warm.

Ji-Yong, unaware of Seunghyun’s thoughts, continued putting up some daisy stickers on the empty walls. He hoped that even a little bit of color would make the room feel less lonely. Ji-Yong continued decorating, sticking a daisy sticker on the side of the bed frame. But as he was about to take a step back to look at everything, he lost his balance.

“Ah—”

Before he could fall, Seunghyun instinctively reached out and caught him. Everything happened so fast, but when Ji-Yong looked up, their faces were only inches apart. Ji-Yong’s eyes widened, and for a moment, neither of them moved. His heart started beating faster—not just from the fall, but from how close they were.

Seunghyun didn’t say anything, didn’t react, but his heartbeat was loud in his ears. Ji-Yong quickly pulled away, standing up straight as he turned his back to Seunghyun. His face was heating up, and he felt both embarrassed and flustered.

“Uh… T-Thanks,” he muttered, trying to calm himself down. Seunghyun, on the other hand, had no visible reaction—but for some reason, his heart was beating faster than usual.

Ji-Yong decided to stay for a while longer, talking about random things, trying to fill the silence. This time, Seunghyun responded more, though his replies were still short. But even that was progress. Ji-Yong could tell that Seunghyun was trying—even if he didn’t show any smiles or expressions of happiness, he was trying. And that was enough for Ji-Yong.

After a while, Ji-Yong decided to leave, telling Seunghyun he would come back again. When he was gone, Seunghyun sat on his bed and looked around the room. It felt different. The room was still small, still dull in some ways, but now… it wasn’t completely empty anymore. His gaze landed on the stuffed rabbit lying on his bed.

He reached for it, holding it in his hands, feeling the soft fabric against his fingertips. Slowly, without realizing it, a small smile appeared on his lips. It was faint, barely noticeable—but it was there.

But the moment he felt it, he quickly wiped it away.

'I don't deserve to smile. I don't deserve to be happy.' he thought.

There was no point in feeling this way when he already knew how his story would end. He was just someone who was waiting for his time to run out. Someone who was left here, forgotten. A person whose existence would disappear like he never existed in the first place. He stared at the ceiling, thoughts swirling in his head. His birthday was on Saturday. He never really cared about birthdays—not anymore. What was there to celebrate? Another year closer to the inevitable? Another reminder that he was still here, still stuck in this cycle of waiting for something he had already accepted long ago? What was the point of counting the days? No one would remember. No one ever had. His mother stopped visiting a long time ago, and the hospital staff were too busy to care. To them, he was just another patient—just another name on a chart.

Birthdays were supposed to be special. A day where people celebrated your existence, where you were surrounded by the people who loved you. But for him, it was just another reminder that he was alone. That he had always been alone. Still… He sighed and turned onto his side, hugging the rabbit Ji-Yong had given him. Something inside him—something he hated—was starting to hope. Maybe, just maybe, someone would remember. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to spend the day pretending it didn’t matter. Maybe, just maybe… he wouldn’t be alone. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he shook his head.

No.

Hope was dangerous.

It only led to disappointment.

//

Ji-Yong left Seunghyun’s room with a satisfied smile. The small box he had brought was now empty, and Seunghyun’s room felt a little less dull than before. He walked down the hallway, greeting familiar nurses and patients like he always did. Today feels great, he thought. The usually dull hallways didn’t seem so lifeless anymore. The air felt lighter, and for some reason, everything around him seemed brighter. It was strange, but in a good way.

As he continued walking, he overheard two nurses talking while on their break. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but something they said caught his attention. "That patient in Room 408… his birthday is coming up soon," one of the nurses said.

"Was it this Saturday?" the other asked. "Yeah… It’ll be his first birthday here in the hospital." The mood between them turned heavy. Ji-Yong noticed the sadness in their voices, the way their expressions changed.

"Do you think she’ll come?" The way the nurse said she made it obvious they were talking about his mother. The other nurse just shrugged, as if they already knew the answer.

Jiyong didn’t think too much about it. He didn’t know who they were talking about anyway. So, he shook off the thought and continued walking. Just then, he felt an itch on his neck. He scratched it absentmindedly—until he realized something was missing.

His necklace.

Panic rushed through him as he quickly checked his pockets. Not there. That necklace was given by his mother, it's a promise necklace that she will comeback for him reason why he treasures that necklace the most. His heart started beating faster as he retraced his steps, looking everywhere. The hallways, the chairs, the corners—nothing. Then it hit him.

"Maybe I left it in Seunghyun’s room."

Without wasting another second, he rushed back. As he stood in front of the door, about to knock, his eyes caught something he hadn’t paid attention to before.

The room number.

"408."

He blinked. He rubbed his eyes, thinking he was imagining things. But no. The number was real. Seunghyun…? The nurses’ conversation replayed in his mind. Without knocking, he turned around and hurried back to his own room. That night, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. His mind kept racing.

What should I do for his birthday? Should I surprise him? Should I buy him a cake? Maybe I could ask some of the nurses to help me… or some of the other patients, so he could have more people around him.'  but he suddenly paused. Thinking why does he cares so much for a person he only just me few days ago. To him, Seunghyun is just that kind of person that is comfortable to be with even though he acts so cold and replies timidly, something around him that makes you feel like warm. I think that what's make Jiyong get closer to him easily and with his joyful personality it's a no doubt that they will become friends. Even though Seunghyun can't seem to see it and feel it.

But then another thought crossed his mind, one that made his chest tighten.

"Maybe his family will come and celebrate with him." He bit his lip, feeling an unfamiliar sadness creeping in.

That familiar feeling of insecurity washed over him, one he tried so hard to ignore. He thought of his own mother. When will you come see me, Mom? His eyes stung, but he blinked away the feeling. He had long stopped expecting for her presence, but sometimes, no matter how much he told himself it didn’t matter— It still hurt. The only thing he hold on to, is the promise necklace that was given to him a year ago.

"The worst part of being forgotten isn’t the loneliness. It’s knowing that you weren’t important enough to be remembered in the first place."

Chapter Text

Ji-Yong carefully placed the small bread cake on his table, a satisfied smile forming on his lips. He had to borrow money from a nurse friend, but luckily, they agreed to help him out. It wasn’t much—just a simple cake—but to him, it was more than enough.

A warm memory suddenly flashed in his mind. He remembered being a little boy, sitting at the dinner table with his parents. His father would always bring home a small cake for his birthday—nothing fancy, just enough to make the day feel special. He could still hear the laughter, see the warm glow of candles, and feel the gentle pat on his head as his mother whispered,

"Make a wish, my love."

It used to be perfect.

It used to be warm.

It used to feel like home.

But those days were gone now. Everything had turned dark. The warmth had vanished, replaced by silence. That happy family no longer existed—just a broken past he tried so hard to forget. Ji-Yong blinked rapidly, pushing the painful thoughts away. This isn’t about me. He reminded himself. This is about Seunghyun. Today wasn’t his day, but he wanted to be happy—for him.

He looked at the cake one more time before taking a deep breath. "I hope this makes you happy, even just for a little while."

With that, he grabbed the small box, his heart pounding with a mix of nervousness and excitement, as he made his way to Seunghyun’s room. Ji-Yong's steps slowed as he approached Seunghyun's room, his grip tightening on the small box in his hands. Something felt off. His chest felt heavier with each step, and a strange feeling settled in his stomach.

Why am I nervous? He reached the door, lifting his hand to knock, but stopped when he heard voices inside. He couldn't make out the words at first, but he knew someone was talking.

A visitor? Ji-Yong’s mind immediately went to the possibility of Seunghyun’s family. His heart clenched at the thought.

Of course, they would visit him—it was his birthday, after all. But as the thought settled, so did an uncomfortable feeling. His eyes fell on the cake he had bought.

What did I expect? He let out a small, bitter chuckle.

Of course, they would come. Probably with a bigger, better cake, with candles and gifts. Something I could never give him. He was about to turn back, convincing himself that Seunghyun didn’t need his cheap effort.

He was about to walk away but he stopped. The sound of metal turning, the quiet creak of the door being pushed open—it all felt slow, drawn out, like time itself was stretching to warn him of what was to come.

And then—

"Do you really think I'm happy that you were born?"

The voice cut through the air like a blade, cold and sharp, each syllable dripping with pure, unfiltered loathing. It wasn't loud, but it didn’t need to be. The weight of those words sent a shiver down Jiyong’s spine, his body freezing in place as if those very words had chained him where he stood.

But the words weren’t for him. They were for Seunghyun.

Jiyong’s breath hitched. His mind screamed at him to move, to walk away, but his body refused. He could feel his pulse hammering in his ears, his grip tightening around the cake box as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded.

The door creaked open further, revealing the woman behind the voice. A woman stepped out. Mid-forties, well-dressed, poised. Her sharp, piercing eyes met his. Eyes he had seen before. Too familiar. Too haunting. His stomach twisted. The resemblance between her and Seunghyun was undeniable.

She stared at him—no, through him. As if he were nothing. As if he didn’t exist. Then her gaze dropped to the cake box clutched in his trembling hands. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips before she let out a soft, cruel chuckle.

"That useless thing still manages to make friends? poor friends of him."

She didn’t whisper. She didn’t try to hide it. She said it with a sickening ease, as if her words weren’t knives plunging into Jiyong’s heart, twisting and twisting until he could barely breathe.

The words struck like a slap, harsh and merciless, sending a sharp pain straight to Jiyong’s chest. He wanted to say something—anything—but no words came out. His throat burned, his lips parted slightly, but silence swallowed him whole.

The woman didn’t wait for a response. She walked past him without a second glance, her heels clicking against the floor, her posture exuding nothing but quiet satisfaction, as if she was proud of the damage she had just inflicted.

Jiyong's hands clenched around the cake box as he forced himself to breathe, but the air refused to fill his lungs properly. His eyes darted toward the slightly open door. Seunghyun was inside. Alone.

Jiyong wanted to rush in, to check on him, to say something—to do anything. But his body refused to move. His feet felt like they were chained to the ground, his heart weighing him down. A part of him already knew what he would find if he stepped inside.

Seunghyun, sitting there, with those same empty eyes he had seen before. The eyes of someone who had spent years hearing those very same words. The eyes of someone who had learned to endure pain in silence.

Jiyong’s fingers dug into the box, his knuckles turning white. He thought bringing a cake would make Seunghyun happy today.

How foolish of him.

Chapter Text

Seunghyun's POV.

They say a child is the greatest gift a mother could ever receive. What a beautiful lie.

She was happy once. She had two children by her side — a daughter and a son. They were her perfect little family. Complete. Whole. But then I came along.

I wasn’t the blessing they talk about. I wasn’t the joy a mother dreams of. I was the mistake.

A child made from another man.

Yet, he accepted me. The man I called father, the one who raised me like his own. He gave me his last name, a roof over my head, and a place at the dinner table. He gave me everything I didn’t deserve. And I? I clung to it like a child clutching a borrowed toy, terrified that one day, it would be taken away.

But no matter how much he tried to make me feel loved, her eyes never lied.

I was a constant reminder. A crack in the frame of their once perfect family. While she smiled at my siblings with warmth, her gaze turned cold when it landed on me. She didn't yell, nor did she raise her hand. But the silence was louder than any scream. The way she looked at me — like I was something she regretted, something she wished had never existed — that hurt the most.

Her eyes softened. Her words weren’t as harsh. She started calling my name instead of just “him” or “the boy.” I thought I was finally being accepted. I thought we could be something more than just a mother and the son she never wanted.

But then it happened.

That one incident.

The moment everything crumbled.

—

A young boy, no older than seven, ran across the street with tiny, hurried steps. His small hands trembled, his wide eyes locked on the fragile creature in the middle of the road. A kitten, its fur dirty and matted, meowed helplessly. It didn’t understand the danger. But the boy did — or at least, he thought he did.

He didn’t see the headlights approaching. He didn’t hear the screech of tires, the sharp honking that cut through the air. His only thought was to save the kitten. Because to him, life — even the smallest one — was precious.

But life can be cruel.

Before the young boy could reach the trembling kitten, a pair of hand from behind pushed him away from the middle of the road, sending him tumbling to the ground. His hands scraped against the rough asphalt, the sting barely registering. Dazed, he blinked up at the sky. It was blue. So painfully blue.

The figure that had pushed him away was now sprawled in the street, motionless. A dark crimson pool formed beneath the man’s body.

Blood.

It was everywhere. Staining the gray road. Sticking to the air like a sickening perfume.

The boy’s breath caught. His trembling lips parted, and a single word slipped out.

"Brother."

Then came the screams. The wails of people. The blaring horns. But none of it reached the boy. His wide, innocent eyes never left the broken figure. The man who just moments ago had been alive, breathing, and laughing.

And now…

Gone.

"It's all your fault!"

The voice struck through the air like lightning. His mother’s cries were laced with rage, with heartbreak. She stumbled toward the boy, her eyes burning with the unbearable pain of loss.

“If you hadn’t run into the damn road— If you’d just left that stupid kitten alone—" Her voice cracked, her hands trembling at her sides. “Your brother would still be alive!”

The words cut deep, like invisible blades.

The boy’s small frame shook as his mother’s words pierced through him. His little mind couldn’t grasp the weight of what had just happened. He didn’t understand. His brother had always been so strong, always there to protect him. How could he be… gone?

"Mama…" Seunghyun’s voice was barely a whisper, trembling. "B-But he’s okay, right? They’re gonna fix him. The doctors will help him. Right?"

His mother’s expression contorted even more, like his words were a dagger twisting in her chest. She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned away, clutching her face as sobs wracked her fragile frame.

He didn’t understand.

“Stop.”

A firm voice interrupted.

The boy’s father stepped in, his face pale and stained with tears, yet his arms were steady as they wrapped around his trembling son. He pulled the boy close, shielding him from the mother’s unforgiving gaze.

“It wasn’t his fault,” the father whispered, his voice thick with sorrow. “He’s just a child.”

Why was everyone acting like this? Why was his father holding him so tightly, whispering "It’s not your fault" over and over again? Why did his mother’s words echo painfully in his chest, even though he didn’t understand their meaning?

"I… I just wanted to help the kitten," he mumbled, his voice trembling. "B-Brother pushed me away. He told me to stay back. But… but he’s okay now, right?"

No one answered.

The small boy’s eyes searched the crowd, desperate for reassurance. But all he saw were solemn faces, strangers shaking their heads, and the metallic smell of blood still lingering in the air.

His father knelt down, gripping his small shoulders. "Seunghyun," he said softly, his voice breaking. "Listen to me, son. It wasn’t your fault."

And though the weight of what had happened was still too heavy for his young mind to grasp, an uneasy feeling began to settle in his chest. Like a storm waiting to break.

He didn’t cry. Not yet. Because how could he?

Little Seunghyun still think that his brother was just sleeping.

That he’d wake up soon.

—

Seunghyun's POV

It took me years to finally realize that my brother was gone.

When I was younger, Father would tell me he had gone somewhere far away — a peaceful place. I believed him. I held onto those words like they were the only truth that mattered. But as I grew older, the whispers and lingering stares told me something different. The looks of pity. The hushed voices. The empty chair at the dinner table.

But days turned into months, and months turned into years. He never came back.

That’s when I understood. My brother wasn’t just far away. He wasn’t coming back.

And as the truth set in, so did the weight of the blame.

I grew up in a house that never became a home. Mother never failed to remind me of what I’d done. She never raised her hands on me, but her words? They struck harder than anything else ever could.

"It’s your fault."

"If it weren’t for you, he’d still be here."

"You ruined everything."

And the worst part? I started believing them.

Because maybe they were right. Maybe if I hadn’t run into that road, my brother would still be alive. Maybe if I’d just let the kitten be, my mother wouldn’t have to wake up every day with grief burning in her chest. Maybe my family wouldn’t have fallen apart.

Even my sister—my own blood—never looked at me the same. When she did, her eyes were empty. Cold. As though I was nothing more than a shadow she wished would disappear. She never spoke much to me, and when she did, the words were never kind. I could feel the resentment behind every glance, every dismissive turn of her head.

I tried to fight it at first. Tried to convince myself that it wasn’t true. But no matter how tightly I shut my eyes, those words always found a way in.

No one ever asked if I wanted to be born. No one ever wondered if I even wanted to stay. If I could choose, I’d rather be something free — a bird maybe, soaring high above everything. No burdens. No pain. Just the sky and the wind carrying me far, far away.

But even when I thought about disappearing, one thing kept me tethered.

My father.

He wasn’t perfect. And I wasn’t his. But that never mattered to him. He loved me as if I was his own.

He’d ruffle my hair and call me his “little champ.” He made me laugh even on the days I didn’t think I could. And whenever I was sad, he’d take me for ice cream — saying that nothing in the world couldn’t be solved with a scoop of my favorite chocolate swirl.

Sometimes, when Mother wasn’t looking, he’d slip small gifts into my hands. A toy car. A little book. Trinkets that meant nothing to anyone else but everything to me.

"Don’t tell your mom, okay? This is our little secret."

It was never about the gifts themselves — it was about what they meant. They were proof that someone still wanted me here. That someone still cared.

And when the nights were too heavy, and the nightmares crawled beneath my skin, he’d stay. He’d sit by my side, his calloused hand brushing through my hair until my breathing slowed. His voice was soft, gentle. He never told me to stop crying. He never asked me to be strong.

"I’m here, Seunghyun. I’m always here."

In his arms, I didn’t feel like a burden. I didn’t feel like a mistake. For those few moments, I felt like a son.

And in that warmth — I found something I hadn’t known I needed.

A home.

Chapter Text

Age 22

That’s when everything went upside down for Seunghyun.

It started with the small things — things he could easily brush off. The dizziness that would hit him out of nowhere, making the world tilt beneath his feet. The nausea that would linger like a constant knot in his stomach, stealing his appetite. He thought it was stress. Late-night studies, skipped meals, the weight of expectations — it made sense.

Then came the bruises. Dark purple splotches staining his arms and legs without any memory of bumping into anything. His nosebleeds became more frequent too, crimson drops staining his hands and dripping onto the bathroom sink.

"It’s nothing."
"It’ll pass."
"I just need rest."

That’s what he told himself.

But the signs didn't stop. They only got worse.

But one evening, as he sat alone in his dimly lit room, a wave of dizziness struck harder than before. He clutched his desk, trying to steady himself. The last thing he remembered was the faint hum of the lamp, his vision darkening as the world slipped away.

When he opened his eyes, everything was white. The ceiling. The walls. The soft beeping sound of the monitor echoed in the room. His body felt weak, his head pounding. It took a moment for him to register where he was. The sterile smell. The IV attached to his arm. A hospital.

He tried to sit up, wincing as a dull ache spread through his limbs. Anxiety crawled beneath his skin. Something didn’t feel right.

Before he could dwell on it, the door creaked open. His father walked in, carrying a plastic bag with food. Relief washed over his father’s face the moment their eyes met.

"Seunghyun," his father called softly, quickly making his way to his side. He placed the bag on the table and leaned closer, his rough hands cupping Seunghyun’s face. "How are you feeling now, son?"

"I’m… fine," Seunghyun replied, though the dryness in his throat made it hard to speak. "I'm feeling better now. We can go home, right? I don't like this place."

His father smiled faintly, brushing back the strands of hair from Seunghyun’s forehead. "Alright," he said gently. "But we need to wait for the doctor first. He wanted to talk to us."

A subtle tension filled the air. The concern in his father’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

Minutes passed like hours. Then the door opened again.

A middle-aged doctor in a white coat entered, holding a clipboard in his hand. He wore a polite yet serious expression. After a brief greeting, the doctor’s gaze shifted to Seunghyun.

"Good afternoon, Seunghyun," the doctor greeted. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Seunghyun replied, though the anxiety in his chest tightened. "Can I go home now?"

The doctor exchanged a glance with his father, then pulled up a chair and sat down. He shifted the papers on his clipboard, taking a brief moment before speaking.

"We ran some tests after you were brought in," the doctor began. "Based on your symptoms — the dizziness, the frequent nosebleeds, and the fatigue — we wanted to rule out any major concerns."

Seunghyun nodded, fingers nervously gripping the edge of the blanket.

"What did you find?" The father asked.

The doctor’s expression grew more serious.

"Seunghyun, the results showed abnormalities in your blood. Specifically, your white blood cell count is extremely high. After further analysis, we confirmed a diagnosis."

The doctor paused, that made Seunghyun even more anxious.

"You have Acute Myeloid Leukemia."

The words struck like a sudden blow. The room blurred, and for a moment, Seunghyun swore the beeping of the monitor grew louder. His ears rang.

The words didn’t register at first.

Leukemia?

Seunghyun blinked. "What… What do you mean?" His voice was barely above a whisper. "Isn’t that… cancer?"

The doctor gave a small nod. "AML is a type of blood cancer. It affects the bone marrow, leading to the production of abnormal white blood cells. These cells grow rapidly and interfere with your body’s ability to fight infections, produce red blood cells, and stop bleeding."

Seunghyun shook his head, confusion and fear battling within him. "But… I was just tired. Stressed. It’s not… it can’t be that serious." Seunghyun started to panic and breathing heavily.

His father reached for his hand, his grip warm but trembling. "Seunghyun, we’ll get through this," he said, though his voice faltered. "The doctor said it’s treatable. There are options."

The doctor nodded. "AML is an aggressive form of leukemia, but advancements in treatment have significantly improved outcomes. Chemotherapy is the most common approach, and if necessary, a stem cell transplant may be recommended."

"Chemotherapy?" The word felt foreign. All he knew about it was the stories — the sickness, the hair loss, the unbearable fatigue. He couldn’t imagine it.

Seunghyun’s mind raced. Chemotherapy. Needles. Hospitals. The smell of antiseptics. The thought of his body weakening even further. His throat burned as he tried to form words.

"How… how long?" he finally asked, his voice trembling.

"We can't predict the exact outcome," the doctor answered carefully. "But with treatment, many patients go into remission. You’re young, and that works in your favor."

Seunghyun bit his lip, his hands trembling beneath the thin hospital blanket. Every heartbeat felt like a painful reminder that his life had just shifted into something he never could've imagined.

His father pulled him close, wrapping him in a firm embrace. Seunghyun could feel the faint shake in his father’s arms, the fear he tried so desperately to hide.

"I’m here," his father whispered. "We’ll get through this."

But even as those words echoed, Seunghyun couldn’t shake the question that lingered in his mind.

"What if I don’t?"

The room felt colder now. Even though the sun shone brightly through the window, the warmth didn’t reach Seunghyun. The beeping of the monitor echoed softly, filling the silence that followed the doctor’s words.

Seunghyun’s father still held his hand tightly, as if afraid that letting go would mean losing him. But Seunghyun’s gaze remained fixed on the doctor. His mind was reeling, desperately trying to process everything.

"Acute Myeloid Leukemia," Seunghyun repeated under his breath, the words tasting bitter. "And... if the treatment doesn't work?"

The doctor sighed, his expression calm but burdened. "While we’re hopeful, we have to prepare for all possibilities," he began. "AML is aggressive, and sometimes, even with immediate treatment, the body may not respond the way we hope."

Seunghyun's stomach twisted. The doctor continued.

"If the leukemia progresses or if complications arise, the treatment plan will need to be adjusted. In cases like this, long-term hospitalization may be necessary. You’d need to stay here for continuous monitoring, stronger chemotherapy, and potentially additional treatments."

"Long-term?" Seunghyun’s voice cracked. "How long are we talking about?"

The doctor’s eyes softened. "It could be months. For some patients, even years."

Seunghyun’s hands clenched the hospital blanket. The thought of being trapped in this sterile room, surrounded by white walls and the constant hum of machines, suffocated him. The idea of life slipping by as he lay in a hospital bed — it was unbearable.

He leaned his head back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. The air felt heavier, every breath harder to take.

"Months... years..."

"Will I still be the same by then? Will I even recognize myself?"

He blinked away the tears that threatened to fall. The fear, the uncertainty — it clung to him.

And for the first time in a long while, Seunghyun didn’t know how to face tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Seunghyun sat in the hospital lobby, waiting for his father to return from settling the bill. The air was thick with the sterile scent of antiseptics, and the low hum of distant conversations barely registered in his mind. His hands fidgeted against the fabric of his hoodie, but no matter how much he tried to steady himself, the weight of the doctor’s words pressed down on him like an anchor.

Acute Myeloid Leukemia.

He swallowed hard. He still couldn't fully grasp it. The uncertainty, the fear—it gnawed at him. His legs felt restless, so he pushed himself up and began pacing, trying to shake off the weight pressing on his chest. But his thoughts kept circling back, each one more suffocating than the last.

He was so lost in his mind that he didn’t notice the person walking toward him. Their shoulders collided, jolting Seunghyun back to reality. He turned abruptly, ready to apologize, but the boy merely bowed his head in quiet acknowledgment and continued walking without a word. Something inside Seunghyun stirred. His heart skipped a beat, an unfamiliar warmth settling in his chest. He didn’t know why. He didn’t even see the boy's face properly. Yet, for a brief moment, the weight of his illness faded, replaced by something he couldn’t explain.

Days passed. Then weeks. Then months.

Seunghyun’s condition only worsened.

His body grew weaker, exhaustion becoming his constant companion. His limbs ached as if they carried the weight of the world. The bruises spread faster now, staining his skin like ink seeping into paper. Some mornings, he would wake up to find blood on his pillow from nosebleeds that wouldn’t stop. His fever never truly broke, and each breath felt heavier than the last. Even standing for too long made his vision blur, the world around him tilting dangerously.

His father noticed.

Seunghyun could see it in the way his father’s brows knitted together, in how his hands trembled slightly when adjusting Seunghyun’s blanket. But what he didn’t see—what he had been blind to—was just how much his father was sacrificing.

His father worked relentlessly, taking on extra shifts and side jobs, scraping together every penny he could find for hospital bills and treatment. What Seunghyun didn’t know was that his father often skipped meals, choosing instead to keep working, his body running on little more than sheer willpower. And his mother—she never helped. Not a single penny, not a single word of support.

Seunghyun saw none of it. He only saw his father smile, reassuring him that everything would be okay.

Despite months of resisting, Seunghyun finally gave in. His father had spent weeks convincing him, pleading with him to get hospitalized. And so, with a heavy heart, he agreed to treatment, hoping—desperately—that maybe things would return to normal. That maybe, just maybe, he could live like before.

The treatments were brutal.

His body rejected the chemotherapy at first. The nausea was relentless, each wave leaving him curled over a bucket, dry heaving until his throat burned. His hair thinned and then began to fall in clumps, each strand a painful reminder of what he was losing. His bones ached as if they were being crushed from within, and there were nights where he would curl into himself, biting his lips to keep from screaming.

His father visited him often. Always with a warm smile, a joke to lighten the mood, a promise that he would be by Seunghyun’s side no matter what. Even on the worst days, when Seunghyun could barely lift his head, his father would sit beside him, holding his hand, whispering reassurances that everything would be okay.

Until one day, he didn’t show up.

At first, Seunghyun brushed it off. Maybe his father was busy. Maybe work was overwhelming him. Maybe he just needed a day to rest.

But the days stretched into weeks.

Weeks into months.

His father never showed up again.

A gnawing dread grew in Seunghyun’s chest. His father wouldn’t abandon him. He wouldn’t just disappear. Something was wrong. Something had happened.

The door to his hospital room suddenly swung open, and his heart leaped. Relief flooded him for a brief second, believing it was finally his father.

But in just a blink, a sharp, stinging pain spread across his cheek. The force of the slap sent his head snapping to the side, his already frail body unable to withstand the impact.

His mother stood before him, eyes red with rage and grief.

"Why did it have to be your father?!" she screamed, voice trembling. "You should be the one who's dead!"

Seunghyun’s mind reeled. He barely had time to process the words before she continued, her fury pouring out like venom.

"You ruined my life! Ever since you were born, you ruined everything I planned! You destroyed the family I imagined! You took away my son and my husband!"

She was crying, but the anger in her voice never wavered.

Seunghyun felt like the air had been knocked out of him. He sat frozen, trying to make sense of her words. Trying to understand how—why—this was suddenly his fault.

"You will rot in this hospital. Die alone. Suffer alone, just like you deserve! You don’t deserve happiness!"

Each word was a knife plunging deeper into his chest.

Then, just as quickly as she came, she was gone.

The room fell into silence.

His sister remained, standing near the door, hesitation flickering in her eyes. She stepped forward, her voice softer than their mother’s but just as heavy.

"I know you're confused," she murmured. "You're trying to grasp for answers."

She hesitated, her hands trembling before she finally spoke again.

"H-he's dead."

The words echoed in Seunghyun’s head.

Dead.

His father was dead.

Something inside him shattered. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. His vision blurred, tears pooling at the edges of his eyes.

"Since he found out you were sick, he never stopped working. He took on extra shifts, sometimes skipping meals just so he could save enough for your treatment. I saw it happening—I saw how his weight dropped, how his skin grew pale, how he coughed more and more each day. But he kept pushing forward. He didn’t stop, Seunghyun. Not even when his own body was failing him."

Seunghyun’s hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palm.

"One morning, he said he just wanted to rest. He laid down for a nap. But... he never woke up. We thought he was just sleeping, but as the hours passed, we realized... he was gone."

Seunghyun broke. A silent sob wracked his frail body as he gasped for air, his heart crumbling under the weight of the truth.

His sister stepped closer, her eyes filled with sorrow. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, worn-out bracelet.

"He loved you until his very last breath."

Her hands trembled as she placed it in his palm, along with a folded piece of paper.

"This is where he’s buried. If you ever get the chance… visit him."

Seunghyun stared down at the bracelet, his father’s warmth still lingering on the faded thread.

His father had given everything for him.

A scream built in his throat, but no sound came out. Only the silent agony of a son who had just lost the one person who never abandoned him.

And for the first time in his life, Seunghyun truly felt alone.

Seunghyun clutched the bracelet tightly against his chest, his entire body trembling as sobs wracked through him. His vision blurred with endless tears, his lips quivering as he choked out broken apologies between gasps for air.

"I'm sorry, Dad... I'm so sorry... Please, come back... Please don't leave me alone..."

His cries echoed through the empty hospital room, each sob filled with unbearable pain. He begged, pleaded, as if his father could somehow hear him, as if his voice could reach beyond the walls of this world and bring him back. But the only response was the cold air pressing against his skin and the suffocating silence that followed.

He curled into himself, the small bracelet pressing against his heart as if holding it close could somehow bring his father back. But no matter how tightly he held it, no matter how much he pleaded, his father would never answer him again. And with that realization, something inside him shattered completely. The little hope he had left—gone. The will to keep fighting—fading. It felt as if a part of him had died along with his father.

The next morning, Seunghyun made a request to his doctor. "Can I visit my father? Please… I need to visit him."

The doctor hesitated. Seunghyun’s condition had worsened significantly—his body weaker, his skin paler, the bruises on his arms darker. Each day felt like a battle, his energy slipping away like sand through his fingers. But the doctor saw it in his eyes—the desperate need for closure, for something to hold onto before the weight of his grief completely swallowed him. With a deep sigh, the doctor finally nodded. "Alright... but only if a nurse accompanies you."

The ride to the cemetery was quiet. Seunghyun stared out the window, his fingers gripping the fabric of his sleeves. The closer they got, the heavier his chest felt. It was as if someone was squeezing his heart, ready to crush it entirely.

When the car stopped, the nurse moved to help him, but Seunghyun shook his head.

"Please... Just give me some time alone."

The nurse hesitated for a moment before nodding and stepping back.

Seunghyun stepped out of the car, his legs feeling unbearably heavy. The cold wind stung his fragile skin, but the pain in his chest was far worse. He walked slowly, carefully reading each name on the tombstones as he passed by. His heart pounded violently against his ribs, his breaths shallow, each step heavier than the last.

And then he saw it.

'Choi Sungjae.'

His father’s name.

His knees gave out, and he collapsed onto the damp grass. A broken sob tore from his throat as he reached out, his fingers tracing over the engraved letters, his touch trembling. "Dad..."

His cries grew louder, his body shaking as grief consumed him. He hugged the cold tombstone, clutching it as if holding on tight enough would bring his father back. "You promised me..." His voice cracked, raw and filled with unbearable pain. "You promised to stay by my side until my last treatment... You swore!"

Tears streamed down his face, dripping onto the stone. His chest ached, each sob cutting through him like a blade. "How am I supposed to keep going without you?" His breath hitched, his hands tightening into fists. "Who’s going to hold my hand when it gets too hard? Who’s going to tell me that everything will be okay?"

A cold breeze swept through the cemetery, and for a brief moment, Seunghyun swore he could smell his father’s scent—warm, familiar, comforting. It only made the pain worse.

"I miss you, Dad..." His voice was barely above a whisper now, weak and desperate. "Please... come back... Just once... Just let me hear your voice again... Please..."

He stayed there, curled up against the tombstone, sobbing until he couldn’t anymore. Until his voice was gone, until his body ached from crying. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay, to hold on to the last piece of his father that he had left.

Because if he left, it would mean accepting that his father was truly gone. And Seunghyun wasn’t ready for that. He didn’t think he ever would be.

‘I never knew there would be days more painful than the words my mother spat at me. I never knew that living could feel so much like dying—that waking up could be a battle I no longer wanted to fight.

Every morning, I open my eyes and remember that he’s gone. And for a split second, I wish I hadn’t woken up at all.

Breathing feels like a punishment. Every inhale is a dagger to my chest, every exhale a reminder that I’m still here while he’s not. My heart is beating, my lungs are working, but inside—I am already gone.

I exist, but I don’t live. I breathe, but I don’t feel alive.

How cruel is it that my body refuses to give up when my soul already has?’

Chapter Text

Seunghyun was pulled back to reality when he felt a pair of arms wrap around him from behind. A warmth he hadn't felt in so long, a comfort that made his breath hitch.

"Happy birthday, Seunghyun..."

That voice. That familiar, soothing voice.

Seunghyun’s breath hitched as he froze for a moment, letting the warmth seep into his tired bones. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel so alone. He didn’t feel like a ghost in his own world. He just stood there, letting himself be held, feeling the rise and fall of another’s breath against his back, reminding him—he was still here. He was still alive.

After a moment, the arms loosened, slipping away, leaving behind a lingering warmth that Seunghyun wasn’t ready to lose. He turned around, his lips slightly parted in surprise when he saw Jiyong standing there, holding something in his hands—a small bread cake with a single candle flickering on top.

Jiyong’s gaze wavered as he smiled shyly. "It’s not much… It’s not as big or as fancy as the cakes you probably had before, but…" He scratched the back of his head, suddenly nervous. "I hope you’ll like it."

Seunghyun’s breath caught in his throat. Something inside him stirred—something fragile yet overwhelming. How could he tell Jiyong that he had never really had a birthday cake?

That his father would sometimes buy him a single cupcake or an ice cream when he had the money, and even that was more than enough to make him happy? How could he tell him that no one—no one—had ever surprised him like this before?

Now, standing here, seeing someone—Jiyong, holding this simple bread cake just for him, made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t explain.

Jiyong must have noticed the way Seunghyun’s hands slightly trembled because he quickly cleared his throat and smiled wider.

Jiyong struck a match and lit the tiny candle in the center. His eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Make a wish. It'll come true."

Seunghyun swallowed thickly. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Instead, he leaned forward, closing his eyes.

A wish?

He had stopped believing in them a long time ago. But just for this moment, just for him, Seunghyun let himself believe.

His eyes slowly closed, and in the quietest whisper of his heart, he wished.

"I want to live."

Then, he blew out the candle.

Jiyong watched as Seunghyun closed his eyes and blew out the candle, the tiny flame flickering before disappearing into the air.

As the smoke curled up and vanished, Jiyong made a wish of his own.

"Let him be happy."

When Seunghyun opened his eyes, their gazes locked.

Jiyong’s heart skipped a beat.

Something was different.

The emptiness that had once drowned Seunghyun’s eyes had softened. The lifeless, hollow gaze he had grown accustomed to was now replaced with something fragile—something warm. And then, Seunghyun smiled. A real, pure, and genuine smile. Not the forced kind, not the one meant to reassure others, but one that reached his eyes, making them shine in a way Jiyong had never seen before.

They had only known each other for a short time, yet somehow, it felt like they had been together for years, like they had always been a part of each other’s lives.

Before Jiyong could fully process everything, he felt warmth engulf him.

Seunghyun had wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Jiyong’s body stiffened in surprise, but before he could react, he heard the faintest whisper against his shoulder.

"Thank you."

The hug tightened, and Jiyong felt something stir deep inside his chest—something unfamiliar, yet comforting. Something that made his heart race in a way he never expected.

He was happy.

Happy that, even in the smallest way, he had brought Seunghyun a moment of joy.

He didn’t want to let go.

But Seunghyun slowly pulled away, leaving Jiyong standing there, dazed.

Jiyong let out a breathless chuckle, trying to shake off the strange warmth spreading through him. "No need to be so thankful, you know. This isn’t even that special. It’s not as big or as fancy as the cakes you’ve had before."

The moment the words left his lips, Seunghyun froze.

Jiyong immediately noticed the shift in his expression—the way his body tensed, the way his fingers curled slightly as if gripping onto something unseen.

Did he say something wrong?

He watched as Seunghyun took a slow, shaky breath, his gaze shifting toward the small bread cake on the table. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet—so quiet that Jiyong almost missed it.

"I never had a cake before."

The air between them felt heavy.

Jiyong stood there, speechless.

Guilt crept up his spine, making him feel foolish for assuming something so simple. His throat tightened as he struggled to find the right words, but before he could say anything, Seunghyun turned back to him with a warm smile.

"This is the first time someone has ever surprised me. Thank you."

Jiyong stared at him, his heart aching in a way he couldn’t quite understand.

And before he could stop himself, the words left his lips—soft, yet carrying all the emotions he couldn’t put into words.

"I’m happy..."

Seunghyun tilted his head slightly, confused. "Happy?"

Jiyong exhaled, his lips curling into a small, sincere smile.

"I’m happy that you exist."

The room fell silent.

Seunghyun’s breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded so loudly, he was sure Jiyong could hear it. His fingers twitched slightly at

his sides, his mind racing with emotions he wasn’t prepared for.

For so long, he had felt like a burden. Like a mistake. Like someone who shouldn’t have been born.

But now, here was Jiyong—standing right in front of him, looking at him like he was someone worth existing for.

And for the first time, Seunghyun felt something warm bloom inside him—something terrifying, yet so, so comforting.

Something stirred deep inside Seunghyun—a feeling he hadn’t allowed himself to embrace for so long.

Maybe... just maybe, there was still something worth living for.

Maybe, it wasn’t too late to hope again.

Chapter Text

Ever since Jiyong stepped into his life, Seunghyun’s days began to shift—slowly, gently, like the way the sky turns gold before the sun sets.

Jiyong began visiting Seunghyun more often, always showing up with a soft smile and a gentle kind of energy that didn’t ask for anything in return. He’d pull Seunghyun out of his shell, dragging him to the rooftop to watch the clouds drift by or to the nearby park to sit under the trees, quietly enjoying each other’s company.

“Let’s go to the rooftop,”

“Want to take a walk at the park?”

“Clear skies today. Let’s breathe under them.”

And strangely, Seunghyun would say yes. Every time.

Seunghyun began to smile again—not the kind he forced when nurses tried to cheer him up, but the kind that slowly bloomed from somewhere deep inside. A kind of smile he thought he'd already buried along with the parts of himself he'd given up on. But Jiyong… Jiyong brought it back without even trying.

One afternoon, while they were sitting on a bench near the rooftop garden, the sunlight hit Jiyong’s face just right. Seunghyun couldn’t help but stare, caught in a moment that felt too quiet and too perfect. Jiyong’s side profile caught in the sunlight made something ache in his chest. It wasn’t the kind of ache he was used to. This one felt alive.

Jiyong noticed. He blinked, turned toward him, confused.

"Is there something on my face?" he asked, brushing at his cheek awkwardly.

Seunghyun blinked, startled out of his thoughts. He smiled, small and warm, and shook his head.

Jiyong tilted his head, squinting at him like he was trying to read his mind, then gave a little smile of his own.

"Smile does really suit you," he said, casually—like it was the easiest truth in the world. "You look good in it."

Seunghyun felt his heart trip over itself. He wasn’t used to compliments—not the genuine kind.

He lowered his eyes for a second, then looked back at Jiyong, meeting his gaze.

"Then I should always smile," he said softly, "to always look good in your eyes."

And just like that, Jiyong forgot how to breathe.

His heart pounded louder than it should. He didn’t know how to respond—not right away.

A shy laugh escaped his lips as he looked away for a moment, then back again.

"Even if you don’t smile," he said, voice a little quieter now, "you still look good in my eyes."

Their eyes met.

Neither of them looked away this time.

They sat there in silence, but it wasn’t empty. It was full—of something delicate, unspoken, and almost too much to hold all at once. The kind of silence that wrapped around them like the wind did—soft, warm, and real.

Seunghyun turned his gaze toward the sky, the clouds drifting slowly above them. Jiyong had closed his eyes, face tilted toward the breeze, lips barely curved in peace.

And in that moment, Seunghyun wondered:

Since when did everything start to feel so bright?

Since when did the world feel this quiet, this calm?

Since when did everything become beautiful again?

Was it always like this… or did it only begin when he came into my life?

He looked back at Jiyong.

Since when did I become scared of losing him?

The thought struck deep.

But even deeper was the feeling that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t alone anymore.

And that thought didn’t scare him. It gave him hope.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a soft lavender hue through the rooftop windows. The wind had grown quieter, more solemn—as if even the air knew it was time to go.

“It’s getting late,” Jiyong murmured, stretching slightly. “We should probably head back before the nurses start scolding us again.”

As they walked side by side down the quiet hallway, Jiyong continued chatting away—his words light and full of energy, like the day hadn’t taken anything out of him. He asked questions, made little jokes, and told stories that probably didn’t have a point, but Seunghyun didn’t mind.

Though he still spoke in short replies, something had changed in his tone. His words weren’t distant anymore. They were quiet, yes—but warm. He wasn’t talking just to respond. He was talking because he wanted to. Because it was Jiyong.

When they reached the corridor where their rooms branched off into separate directions, they both paused.

Jiyong turned to him, grinning. “See you tomorrow, Seunghyunie!”

Seunghyun blinked, caught a little off guard by the nickname. A soft, surprised laugh slipped from his lips. He didn’t hate it. Actually... he liked how it sounded coming from Jiyong.

“Yeah. Tomorrow,” he said gently.

They parted ways, each walking down their respective halls.

But after just a few steps, Seunghyun noticed something strange. Out of the corner of his eye, Jiyong hadn’t moved far—he was still standing there in the corridor, looking around, a puzzled expression slowly spreading across his face.

Seunghyun stopped and turned slightly. “Jiyong? Are you okay?”

Jiyong turned his head, forcing a smile. “Yeah,” he said, too quickly. “I’m okay.”

But his eyes didn’t match the smile.

His gaze darted from one door to another. His steps grew uneven. Confused. Something wasn’t right.

‘I can’t remember my room number.’

The thought hit him like cold water. He kept walking, hoping it would come back to him—maybe his body would remember what his mind couldn’t. But each door he passed looked more unfamiliar than the last. The hallway felt longer than it should have, stretching endlessly.

His breaths came faster. His chest tightened.

‘Why can’t I remember even just a small thing?’

The world around him blurred. The floor felt farther away. His knees buckled.

He sank to the ground with a soft thud, tears already welling up in his eyes.

And then he broke.

He cried—not the quiet kind, but the raw, helpless kind. The kind that shook his shoulders and echoed softly down the empty hallway.

“Why… why can’t I remember…?” he whimpered, curling into himself like a child. “It’s just a room number. Just a stupid number…”

Footsteps hurried down the hall.

A nurse, who had just stepped out of a nearby room, spotted him immediately. Her face fell.

“Jiyong?” she called, rushing over. She knelt beside him, gently placing a hand on his back.

He looked up at her with red eyes, tears streaking down his cheeks. “I… I can’t remember where I’m supposed to go…”

She didn’t say anything right away. She simply looked at him, and something in her expression changed—not surprise, but something softer. Resigned. As if… she already know this is going to happen.

She bit her lower lip, nodding slowly.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, voice gentle as she helped him up. “Come on, I’ll take you there.”

He leaned on her for support, silent except for the occasional sniffle, and she guided him back—carefully, like he was made of glass.

Once she got him into his room, she helped him sit on the bed, made sure he had water, and tucked the blanket over his lap. Jiyong just sat there, eyes unfocused, a hollow look replacing the light he usually carried.

“I’ll be right outside, okay?” she said, but he didn’t respond. He just stared quietly at his hands, still trembling.

She stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.

And then she exhaled—deep, heavy, the kind of sigh that carried sorrow in every breath.

In the hallway, she took out her phone with slightly trembling hands and dialed a number she had memorized too well.

The line rang once.

Then twice.

Click.

“Hello? Mrs. Kwon?......"

Chapter Text

Time flew so fast. Somehow, tomorrow came without warning—just like how Seunghyun now found himself frozen in front of Jiyong’s door, standing there for over an hour, still unsure whether to knock or not.

He had woken up early — too early — with an unfamiliar feeling. Today, for once, he wanted to be the one to visit. Jiyong had always been the one checking in, the one knocking on his door. Maybe it was time he returned the gesture.

But easier said than done.

"Just knock on the goddamn door, Seunghyun!"

"Come on, what’s so hard about this?"

"When did you become so dumb that even knocking is a struggle?"

He had been battling himself like that since 7:00 A.M. It was now 8:15.

He let out a long, defeated sigh and finally steeled himself. He stood straighter, like he was about to address royalty. His hand hovered in the air—

—and then the door swung open.

His knuckles smacked right into a forehead.

“Ahh—!” Jiyong flinched, grabbing at his forehead. Seunghyun panicked, eyes wide.

“Oh my god—” Seunghyun stuttered, quickly pulling his hand back. “I didn’t mean to—”

But Jiyong wasn’t mad. In fact, he looked… stunned. Not by the hit, but by the sight of Seunghyun.

He stared for a second, eyes scanning Seunghyun’s face as if it couldn’t possibly be real. Then he dramatically checked seunghyun’s forehead like he was trying to check if he has a fever, because it’s unusual for Seunghyun to show up in front of his door.

"He’s not sick…" Jiyong thought. Then, suspicious, he pinched his own cheek. “I’m not dreaming either…”

Seunghyun raised a brow in confusion. He looked at Seunghyun who’s already looking at him like he’s a weird guy. Jiyong tiptoed to reach Seunghyun’s face and pinches his cheeks, seunghyun’s eyes widened as he watches jiyong’s face so near to him. When jiyong realized its not a dream and he’s in an embarrassing situation he immediately put away his hand and smile to him awkwardly.

He stepped aside to let Seunghyun in.

“Uhm…” Jiyong finally broke the silence. “What brings you to my room this early in the morning?”

Seunghyun stepped into the room, eyes slowly scanning the space. It was small, just like all the rooms in the ward, but somehow… it felt warmer. Brighter. There were little things—books, notes, snacks, a small plant by the window. It looked lived-in. Alive. Like its owner.

“I just thought…” Seunghyun began, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, “maybe it’s time I return the favor. You’ve been visiting me every day. I just thought that maybe it’s my turn now to visit you.”

Jiyong blinked. For a moment, he didn’t speak. But the way his lips curled into a smile said everything.

“It’s nothing,” he said gently. “I’m happy to do it. I just wanted to help… my friend.”

There was a pause. That word—friend—lingered in the air like soft music.

Seunghyun looked down at his hands, then up again, a small smile tugging at his lips.

A friend.

It was such a simple word, but in this place—this cold, white, sterile world—it felt like someone lit a candle in the dark.

“Your room looks… different than mine,” Seunghyun said as his eyes wandered, taking in the colors, the textures, the gentle touches that made the space feel almost like home.

Jiyong chuckled, a soft laugh escaping from his lips as he leaned against the wall. He remembered the exact thought he had when he first visited Seunghyun’s room—it felt so plain, untouched, as if life never even passed through it.

He looked thoughtful for a moment, his gaze flickering to the handmade decorations taped on the wall, the faded Polaroids, the carefully arranged books. His voice lowered, more serious now—gentle, but sincere.

“I wanted it to feel warm,” Jiyong said, his voice calm, almost reflective. “I told myself, if I ever leave this place, I want to leave something behind... a feeling, a memory.”

Seunghyun turned to him, listening closely.

“I want the next patient who comes in here to think, ‘The person who stayed here… made it.’” Jiyong smiled softly, looking around his own room. “Maybe it’ll give them hope. That good things can still happen. That tomorrow is still worth waiting for.”

Their eyes met. Jiyong’s gaze was gentle but strong, like someone who had learned how to smile through storms.

And in that quiet moment, Seunghyun thought to himself—He really is something else.

Jiyong’s eyes drifted downward, landing on something Seunghyun was holding behind his back.

“Wait—what’s that?” he asked, squinting a little.

Seunghyun shifted awkwardly, caught.

“It’s nothing,” Seunghyun said, then hesitated. “I mean… it’s a camera. My dad gave it to me.” slowly bringing it out.

It was a camera. Worn, but well-kept. He ran a thumb over the lens cap.

“He used to say, ‘If you can’t stop time, at least hold on to the moment.’ So… I guess I brought it with me. Just in case I found something worth remembering.”

There was a beat of silence between them.

Then Jiyong’s smile returned, brighter this time, a little mischievous.

“Well, come on then,” he said, standing up and stretching. “Let’s go make a memory.”

“…Huh?”

“To the park. You and me. You’ve been cooped up in that boring white box too long.”  Seunghyun blinked at him, surprised—but then he smiled.

The air outside was fresh, the sky a soft kind of blue that felt like it belonged to the start of a good day.

When they reached the park, Jiyong immediately snatched the camera from Seunghyun’s hand.

“Come on! Stand there.”

Seunghyun hesitated.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes. Now pose!”

With a sigh, Seunghyun raised an awkward peace sign and gave the most uncomfortable smile he could manage.

Click.

Jiyong burst into laughter the moment he looked at the screen.

“Oh my god, you look like a lost puppy who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Seunghyun looked away, a little embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Stop laughing…”

Still giggling, Jiyong moved closer and grabbed Seunghyun’s arm, pulling him into the frame.

“Okay now—us.” He leaned in close, cheek brushing against Seunghyun’s as he held the camera up.

Click.

He pulled back and looked at the photo, his eyes shining.

“Look how cute we are!”

He turned the camera to show Seunghyun. There it was—the two of them. Jiyong smiling big, eyes squinting from happiness, and Seunghyun next to him, a little shy but clearly smiling too.

Seunghyun stared at the photo for a moment, something warm blooming in his chest.

“Yeah…” he said softly, eyes still on the screen. “We are.”

Seunghyun took the camera, his fingers lingering on the shutter as he aimed it at Jiyong.

“Alright, pose!” Seunghyun grinned, his eyes catching the sunlight.

Jiyong didn’t hesitate. He threw out a few playful poses, a hand on his hip, a peace sign here, a wink there. Each movement was a little more exaggerated than the last, as if he was enjoying himself just a little too much.

Seunghyun couldn’t help but smile. He clicked the camera again, watching the way Jiyong’s smile lit up the moment. It was infectious, the way his eyes sparkled with each new expression.

[cttro: pinterest]

“Since when did you get so beautiful?”

Seunghyun said it without thinking, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

The words hung in the air for a second longer than Seunghyun intended. He didn’t realize what he had said until after it slipped out, and when he saw Jiyong freeze, a slight blush creeping across his cheeks, Seunghyun’s own face turned red.

Jiyong’s eyes widened, and he blinked rapidly, trying to process what he had just heard. His heart skipped, then raced. Beautiful? Did Seunghyun really say that? His breath caught in his chest.

Seunghyun immediately looked away, his face flushing just as hot. “Uh—uhm, let’s, uh, go have breakfast,” he stammered, trying to deflect the sudden rush of awkwardness.  He turned quickly and started walking away, his pace a little too fast.

But behind him, Jiyong stood frozen, still processing the words. His heart raced, and he felt his pulse in his ears. Did he just—did Seunghyun just say that? He could hardly make sense of it. Maybe he was just hungry, or maybe it was the sun getting to him, but Jiyong’s stomach twisted in a way he didn’t quite understand. The butterflies wouldn’t stop fluttering.

Before he could even fully process everything, Jiyong found himself chasing after Seunghyun, who was now almost halfway down the hallway.

The two of them sat across from each other in the hospital cafeteria, eating their breakfast in an almost awkward silence. Neither of them could look at the other for too long, both caught in the whirlwind of what had just happened.

Jiyong picked at his plate, his mind still spinning. Why am I thinking about it so much? He didn’t mean anything by it, right?

His heart was still thumping too fast for him to concentrate on anything else, and he felt strangely warm every time he accidentally glanced at Seunghyun.

The awkwardness between them was palpable.

Trying to ease the tension, Jiyong spoke up, his voice a little too loud in the quiet room. “The vegetables were delicious.” He immediately winced, realizing how awkward that sounded.

Seunghyun barely glanced up but managed a short, “Yeah,” in response, his voice tight.

Jiyong internally groaned. Why is this so hard? He needed to say something, anything, to break the ice. He had to.

“Uh—uh, the water tastes nice. It tastes like... water,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush. The moment the sentence left his mouth, Jiyong slapped his forehead in embarrassment.

Seunghyun chuckled softly, his lips curving into a smile. “Then the vegetables must taste like... vegetables,” he teased, his tone light but playful.

Jiyong rolled his eyes, exasperated, but there was a flicker of amusement in his expression. “Oh, now you’re Mr. Clown Guy,” he said sarcastically, though the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth gave him away.

Seunghyun laughed out loud, and for the first time that morning, the air between them seemed to lighten.

“You look cute when you’re annoyed,” Seunghyun said with a grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Jiyong froze, the teasing words landing somewhere deep inside him. He turned away quickly, his face suddenly hot again. “I didn’t hear that,” he mumbled, pretending to focus on his food, though his heart had just jumped to his throat.

But deep down, Jiyong couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. He liked it. It felt nice, the way Seunghyun said it. It made something flutter inside him, something soft and warm.

He cleared his throat, trying to hide the blush creeping up his neck. “You’re ridiculous.”

But Seunghyun didn’t miss the way Jiyong’s lips quirked up, how his eyes softened just a little. Seunghyun knew—he could tell. And it made his heart race a little faster too.

“Maybe,” Seunghyun said softly, his gaze flickering to Jiyong. “But you like it.”  Jiyong couldn’t look at him now, not when Seunghyun’s eyes were locked on him with that unrelenting warmth. His chest felt tight in a way he didn’t understand. Instead, he focused on his breakfast, his fork trembling slightly in his hand.

And for once, Seunghyun didn’t feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. He just felt... happy. With Jiyong.

Jiyong, still flushed, let out a soft laugh and shook his head. “You’re impossible,” he said, but his voice was gentle, his smile soft and real.

Seunghyun just smiled back, his heart full of something he couldn’t quite name yet—but it felt right. And for now, that was enough.

Once they finished their breakfast, Seunghyun and Jiyong wandered aimlessly around the hospital park. The air was fresh, and for the first time in a while, Seunghyun felt a sense of freedom—just the two of them, surrounded by greenery, the world feeling a little less confined.

Jiyong suddenly stopped in his tracks, his eyes lighting up with an idea.

"Let's go outside, Seunghyun!" he said, his voice filled with excitement.

Seunghyun blinked at him, momentarily confused.

"You know you can't, right?" he said, his brow furrowing in concern.

But before Seunghyun could say anything more, Jiyong grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the door with a determined smile.

"Wait, Jiyong—what are you—" Seunghyun’s words trailed off as they found themselves back in Jiyong’s room, the same place they had just left. Jiyong was already rummaging through his drawer, looking for something.

“I found it!” Jiyong exclaimed, holding up a form triumphantly. Seunghyun blinked at him, still trying to make sense of it all.

“What’s that?” he asked, a question brewing in his mind.

“It’s a form,” Jiyong replied, grinning. “A leave of absence request. I’ve been saving it for the right moment. My mom gave me five of these before... just in case I needed to leave here for a bit. I can use this to go outside, as long as I fill it out. I just need to finish writing it."

Seunghyun was silent for a moment, watching Jiyong fill out the form with quick, practiced movements. Something about the way Jiyong was so determined, so certain in his actions, made Seunghyun feel... moved. It was like Jiyong was trying to make the most of every moment, to take back a little control in a world that often felt so unpredictable.

After a few minutes, Jiyong looked up, meeting Seunghyun’s gaze. “All done,” he said, his smile wide and victorious. “Let’s go.”

They made their way to the doctor’s office. Seunghyun felt his heart beat a little faster with every step. He knew it was a long shot, but the thought of being outside, even for just an hour, felt like a glimpse of freedom.

The doctor looked at them both with a raised eyebrow, clearly skeptical. He knew the risks—both of them had conditions that could go south quickly. But Jiyong was persistent. His smile, his excitement, was hard to ignore.

“I promise,” Jiyong said, his voice steady despite the uncertainty. “We’ll be back in an hour. We’ll stay with the nurse. We won’t do anything that could put us at risk.”

The doctor sighed, clearly torn. After a long moment of hesitation, he relented, shaking his head with a quiet laugh.

“Fine,” the doctor said, pulling out a form. “But if either of you faint, I’m writing you up for it. And I’m sending you right back to your rooms.” He handed them the form, along with a nurse to accompany them.

Jiyong and Seunghyun exchanged excited looks, as if they had just won a small battle.

The two of them rushed back to their rooms to change into something more casual. Seunghyun tugged at his pants, trying to pull them up over his hips. They barely fit anymore—he’d grown taller in the time since he’d arrived at the hospital, and the fabric strained across his legs.

He pulled out an envelope from his drawer, flipping it open to reveal some money—money from his father, from insurance payouts, and donations that had been made for patients like him. Seunghyun had never really cared about it before, often feeling as though it was given out of pity. But now... now he was holding it like it was a lifeline. He slipped it into his pocket, along with the camera his father had given him.

When Seunghyun arrived at the gate, he saw Jiyong already waiting by the car. He waved, and Jiyong responded with a bright, genuine smile. Seunghyun couldn’t help but wave back, his heart fluttering for no particular reason.

He stopped in front of Jiyong, his mind racing with thoughts that he couldn’t quite name. Jiyong noticed something—his collar was a little out of place—and stepped closer to fix it, his hands gently adjusting the fabric.

Seunghyun froze, suddenly acutely aware of how close Jiyong was. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, everything around them faded. Jiyong’s fingers brushed the fabric of his shirt, and Seunghyun felt his pulse quicken.

“There,” Jiyong said with a satisfied smile. “Good as new.”

Seunghyun cleared his throat, trying to mask the sudden wave of nerves. “Uh, thanks,” he muttered, unable to look Jiyong in the eye.

Jiyong, oblivious to the effect he had, grinned. “Let’s go?”

Seunghyun nodded quickly, feeling a little too warm. He wasn’t sure what was happening between them, but he couldn’t deny that being with Jiyong made him feel... lighter.

As they walked toward the car, the nurse accompanying them asked, “Where would you like to go first?”

Seunghyun and Jiyong exchanged a look, their eyes locking for a moment before they both said in unison, “Museum.”

They looked at each other and chuckled, the sound warm and easy. It was a simple thing, but in that moment, it felt like they had just discovered a secret they both shared. Who knew they both had such a love for history and art?

The nurse smiled at their unspoken connection. “A museum it is then.”

They climbed into the car together, side by side, both of them with the same thought echoing in their minds: Today, for the first time in a long while, the world outside felt like it was theirs to enjoy.

Chapter Text

The moment the hospital gates closed behind them, everything felt different.

It was strange how the air felt different outside the hospital walls—warmer, freer. Even the breeze carried a softness to it, like it knew how long they'd both waited just to breathe something that didn’t smell like medicine and antiseptic. For Jiyong and Seunghyun, stepping outside felt like pressing pause on their reality. The nurse assigned to accompany them stayed a few steps behind, giving them space. She watched quietly as the boys walked side by side like they’d been doing it forever. There was something unspoken between them—something gentle and genuine.

Their first stop was the museum.

Inside, Seunghyun lit up like the paintings on the wall were old friends he hadn’t seen in years. He moved slowly through each exhibit, talking about brushstrokes, light, history, and hidden meanings like they were poetry. His voice was soft but steady, full of things he once read and remembered. Jiyong watched him the entire time, not just listening—but absorbing every word like it mattered. And to him, it really did.

Jiyong watched with fascination as Seunghyun’s eyes lit up while explaining one of the paintings—a classic piece by Gustav Klimt.

It was The Kiss.

Seunghyun stood in front of it, arms folded, his gaze deep and thoughtful.

“This painting…” he began, “it’s not just about romance. It’s about surrender. Look at how the woman leans into him—not with weakness, but trust. And the man, he’s holding her like he’s afraid the moment might disappear. It’s gold and beautiful, but there’s also a kind of sadness in it… like they know it won’t last forever, so they’re trying to hold on as tight as they can.”

Jiyong glanced at him, quiet for a moment. “You sound like you’ve thought about this a lot.”

Seunghyun smiled faintly, not looking away from the painting.

“I guess… I used to think love was something distant. Like art—nice to look at but not really for me. But now… I don’t know. Maybe it’s not about how long you have. Maybe it’s about the depth, about feeling everything fully, even if it’s just for a short while.”

Jiyong stared at him, his chest tightening with emotions he couldn’t name. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

“You sound like a professor,” Jiyong smiled.

“Maybe in another life,” Seunghyun chuckled, “or in this one… if I get lucky.”

After the museum, Jiyong suggested something fun—the arcade, “Let’s go to the arcade.”

“The arcade?” Seunghyun raised a brow.

“Yeah! Come on, let’s do something fun and loud for once.”

Seunghyun’s entire face changed when they stepped inside. His eyes sparkled, wide and full of wonder. It was like watching a kid who’d never seen candy before. Jiyong couldn’t help but smile, nudging him playfully.

“Come on, you’re gonna love this,” he said, pulling Seunghyun’s hand as they made their way to the claw machine.

“Look! That bear! The big and white one—it’s too cute, we have to get it,” Jiyong declared dramatically, already halfway to the token machine.

He tried once. Then twice. Then three more times.

“Okay, this machine is rigged,” Jiyong mumbled after the fifth fail, his starting to get irritated and that might cause trouble. The nurse shifted a little, and was about to approach them.

“I’ll try,” Seunghyun said suddenly, placing a hand on Jiyong’s shoulder gently. “Let me win it for you.”

Jiyong blinked. “For me?”

Seunghyun just gave him a quiet smile and stepped up to the machine. His hands trembled slightly, but not from weakness—just nerves. His eyes focused hard, carefully aligning the claw like it was a life mission. He had no idea what he was doing, but something about wanting to win that bear for Jiyong made him determined. His hands moved carefully on the controls, his brows furrowed in focus. Jiyong didn’t blink, holding his breath beside him.

The claw dropped. Everyone held their breath.

And then—it grabbed the bear. Held it. Carried it. And didn’t let go.

“OH MY GOD!” Jiyong practically screamed. He jumped, hands in the air like he just won the lottery. Without thinking, he threw his arms around Seunghyun in a tight hug.

Seunghyun froze for half a second, eyes wide. Seunghyun reacted as if they haven’t hugged each other before.

Jiyong suddenly realized what he’d done and pulled back, flustered. “Ah—sorry! Got a little too excited.”

Seunghyun just chuckled, heart beating a little too fast. “Cute,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Hm?” Jiyong blinked. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Seunghyun smiled and handed him the teddy bear.

Jiyong took it like it was the most precious thing in the world, hugging it to his chest with a grin so bright it could’ve lit up the whole arcade. “I’m naming him Seungbear.”

“That’s a terrible name.”

“I’m still keeping it.”

Seunghyun laughed, and something in his chest felt lighter than it had in years.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of color and noise—racing games, shooting hoops, dance battles. They forgot about the hospital, about doctors, needles, and IV lines. For a few hours, they were just two boys making memories.

By the time the nurse signaled it was time to return, both of them had soft smiles on their faces and tired feet. But their hearts felt full—overflowing, even.

As they rode back, Jiyong hugged the bear tightly and glanced sideways at Seunghyun. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for today.”

Seunghyun looked at him and nodded. “You too.”

He didn’t say much—but in his silence, there was something real.

Something that said: I’m happy you exist.

Seunghyun held onto every moment from that day like precious photographs etched into his memory. He wanted to keep it all—every laugh, every glance, the way the world felt a little less heavy when Jiyong was beside him. He wanted to remember the way Jiyong’s eyes sparkled when he smiled, the curve of his lips, the warmth of his presence.

He didn’t say it out loud—maybe he couldn’t—but deep down, Seunghyun knew: he only wanted one thing now. To make Jiyong happy.

Breathing suddenly felt like something he wanted to do, not something he was forced to keep doing. For the first time in a long time, he found himself hoping for tomorrow. Just so he could see him again.

He wanted to keep breathing…
To keep hoping…
To see tomorrow.
Because tomorrow meant another chance to see him again.

As if meeting Jiyong had quietly filled the empty spaces in his chest.

As if the thought of losing him had already become his greatest fear

Weeks passed. They grew closer, like it was the most natural thing in the world. They shared inside jokes, laughed like children, and filled the sterile hospital with warmth. Some nights, when the hallways were quiet and the nurses turned a blind eye, they would sneak up to the rooftop.

Just to sit under the stars.

There, under the velvet stretch of the night sky, they’d sit side by side—sometimes talking, sometimes just existing in the same silence. The cold air wrapped around them like a blanket, the city lights glittered in the distance, and the moon always hung low and bright, like it was keeping them company.

“How beautiful…” Jiyong murmured one night, eyes fixed on the sky above.

“Yeah,” Seunghyun replied, softly.

But he wasn’t looking at the stars.

He was looking at him.

After a moment, he added, “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Jiyong nodded, still lost in the sky, unaware of the deeper meaning behind the words.

Seunghyun smiled quietly to himself.

He didn’t need Jiyong to understand just yet.

It was enough—for now—that he could look at him like this,

and feel his heart ache in the most gentle, wonderful way.

Jiyong watched Seunghyun in silence, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The way the night light brushed over Seunghyun’s face made everything feel almost unreal, like a fleeting dream he didn’t want to wake from. He was happy—so happy they had found their way back to each other, that the distance between them had shrunk, that they were laughing again, sharing stolen moments under the stars.

But beneath that happiness, something heavy curled in his chest. A quiet ache he couldn’t ignore.

How was he supposed to tell him?

How could he say the words when just the thought of them shattered him—I’m leaving soon.

He didn’t know how to tell Seunghyun that this might be one of the last nights they’d have together like this. That in a few short days, he would walk out of the hospital doors—not just for a break, not just for a walk—but for good.

How do you say goodbye to someone who’s starting to feel like home?

His heart clenched. The sentence echoed in his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak it. Not when Seunghyun was smiling like that. Not when everything finally felt… right. His gaze dropped to Seunghyun’s hand resting beside his, close but not quite touching. He wanted more time with Seunghyun. He wanted to hold on to these moments—these peaceful, quiet nights on the rooftop, the easy laughter, the way Seunghyun’s eyes softened when he looked at him. There was so much more he wanted to share, more he wanted to say.

His heart clenched at the thought. The image of Seunghyun alone again in that hospital room, surrounded by white walls and quiet beeping machines, haunted him. He didn’t want to be another person who walked into Seunghyun’s life just to walk right back out.

How could he leave… when he was already starting to see Seunghyun as his one of the reason to stay?

"I... I’m going to miss you," Jiyong whispered, so quietly that Seunghyun almost didn’t hear him.

Seunghyun turned his head slightly, their eyes meeting. There was no answer, no need for words. The moment lingered, heavy with things unsaid, but somehow understood.

Jiyong took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in his throat, and tried to smile. Just a little longer... he thought, wishing time would slow down. Wishing there were more days like today.

Chapter Text

“If you were given a chance, what would you want to be?” Jiyong asked, his voice soft as they strolled through the hospital garden, taking in the rare breath of fresh air.

Seunghyun thought for a moment, his gaze wandering to the sky, the bright blue a stark contrast to the sterile walls inside.

“When I was a kid, I always wanted to be an astronaut. Go to the moon, you know? See the stars up close.” He paused, as if reminiscing about a time when life felt full of endless possibilities.

“But now... thinking about it, I think I’d want to be a professor. Live a quiet life. Peacefully. Away from the chaos, away from the pain. I want to live and experience what it’s like to truly be free.” His voice softened at the last part, almost as if it were a secret wish he hadn’t said aloud before.

Jiyong nodded quietly, listening, his gaze lingering on Seunghyun’s face. He could hear the yearning in Seunghyun’s words, the desire for something simple and good. But as Seunghyun added the last part, Jiyong’s heart seemed to tighten in his chest.

“And if I ever get out of here… I want to start a new life.”

Jiyong’s heart skipped. A new life? He looked down, the thought suddenly feeling heavier than it should have. That might mean forgetting everything from the past, including me. He couldn’t help but feel a pang in his chest. He hadn’t expected the words to sting so much.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, but before he could say anything, Seunghyun spoke again, his eyes meeting Jiyong’s with a quiet sincerity.

“Start a new life... with you.” Seunghyun’s words hung in the air like a promise, unexpected and so pure. He took a single daisy from the grass and handed it to Jiyong with a soft smile. “This flower… it looks like you. Pretty, and full of life.”

Jiyong’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t help the way his heart skipped, the way warmth bloomed in his chest at the simple gesture. He laughed softly, trying to hide the sudden fluttering in his chest.

“Stop fooling around, you almost got me there,” Jiyong teased, but his voice wavered just slightly. He tried to sound playful, but inside, his heart was racing—faster than it ever had.

Seunghyun just smiled, watching him with a look that spoke volumes more than any words could. “I’m serious, Jiyong.”

Jiyong cleared his throat, trying to steady himself. The playful air had disappeared, replaced by something far more intense. He couldn’t tell if it was the weight of Seunghyun’s words or the daisy resting against his ear that made his heart pound.

Seunghyun looked at him, waiting for a response. “So, how about you? If you were given the chance, what would you want to do?”

Jiyong paused for a moment, his gaze drifting away as he thought about it. “Well,” he started, “I want to live my life to the fullest. Do everything I can, try all the things I haven’t done yet. I want to live without worrying that tomorrow might not come.” He chuckled lightly. “If I’m gonna worry about something, I want it to be about running out of food in the fridge.”

Seunghyun chuckled softly at that, his smile warm. But Jiyong wasn’t finished.

“I want to live without worrying about time running out. I want to keep seeing how the night sky hugs the stars and how the flowers bloom every spring. I want to wake up tomorrow and keep living, because waking up tomorrow means I get to see you. It means I get to be with you.”

Jiyong turned his head to look at Seunghyun. Their eyes met, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was thick, but in the quiet, their hearts beat loud enough to fill the space between them.

Jiyong could feel the warmth of Seunghyun’s gaze, the weight of everything unspoken between them. The connection, the bond—it was all there, in the quiet moments like this. His chest tightened with something that was almost too much to name.

Seunghyun didn’t look away. Instead, he smiled gently, as if he understood everything Jiyong

hadn’t said.

And for that moment, under the wide, open sky, Jiyong felt like time stood still. No more words were needed. Only the silent

understanding of what they both felt—a promise of tomorrow, no matter how uncertain, just as long as they had this.

Their journey together had been unexpected—two people meeting at a time when neither of them was ready for it. At first, things

weren’t easy. Their beginnings hadn’t been sweet or smooth. But as the days, weeks, and months passed, something grew between

them. A connection that neither of them had planned for, but both of them desperately clung to. They had started off as strangers,

unsure of what to make of each other, but now… now they were beginning to feel something they couldn’t deny.

Neither of them would admit it out loud, but deep down, they both knew what they feared. Losing the other. Not having enough

time together. The thought alone made them ache inside. The moments they had shared were so precious now. And neither of

them wanted it to end.

“I heard you’ll be going through chemotherapy again,” Jiyong said quietly, watching Seunghyun with a concerned look.

Seunghyun sighed heavily, the weight of his words pressing down on him. He looked away for a moment before speaking.

“Yeah. I need to do it. But this time, it’s different. I’ll be going through chemo for seven straight days.” His voice dropped, the

sadness

and exhaustion creeping into his tone.

Jiyong felt a lump form in his throat at the thought. “Must be hard for you... being locked up again,” he said softly, unable to hide the

ache in his voice. He had hoped to spend more time with Seunghyun before he had to leave, but it seemed like fate had other plans.

Seunghyun’s eyes softened as he looked at Jiyong, his lips pulling into a faint smile. “Maybe before, yeah…” He trailed off for a

moment, gathering his thoughts. “But now, that you’re here... I don’t feel like I’ll be suffering alone anymore.”

Jiyong was taken aback by his words, his heart skipping a beat. He bit his lip, trying to hold back the emotions bubbling up. His

eyes quickly flickered away, trying to hide the vulnerability he felt.

“You’ll be there, right?” Seunghyun’s voice was quiet, but there was a strength in the question. As if, for the first time, he needed to

hear the assurance.

Jiyong paused, his chest tightening. But then, he smiled at Seunghyun—gentle, yet full of certainty.

“I will.”

It was a simple answer, but it was all Seunghyun needed to hear. The reassurance in Jiyong’s voice was enough to make him feel like,

maybe for once, things would be okay.

Jiyong smiled then, a soft, small smile that spoke more than words could ever say. He wanted Seunghyun to get better, to live—not just for

himself, but for them. He would be there. No matter what came next, he would be there. And that was all that mattered.

Seunghyun’s chemotherapy had been intense. The 7+3 regimen, a grueling and punishing process, took everything out of him. Every day, it

felt like his body was being slowly drained of life. He would endure the pain, the exhaustion, and the overwhelming sense of

helplessness—but there was one thing that always kept him going: Jiyong.

Jiyong, even with his own treatments, always managed to find the time to visit. Every day, Seunghyun would find solace in the familiar

sight of Jiyong walking into his hospital room. It was the one thing that kept him tethered to hope, even as the days blurred together in a

haze of pain and fatigue.

The 7 weeks felt like an eternity to Seunghyun—every moment spent in a haze of nausea, weakness, and the constant sting of the IVs. But

with Jiyong by his side, he found the strength to keep pushing forward. Whenever he opened his eyes after each chemotherapy session, he

would hope, with everything in him, that Jiyong would be there. And most of the time, he was.

But the toll it took on him was immense. After the final round of chemotherapy, Seunghyun’s body couldn’t handle it any longer. His body

finally gave up, and he slipped into unconsciousness. Days passed, and he remained in that state, unaware of the world around him. No

sounds reached him, no faces touched his consciousness—he was lost in a deep, endless sleep.

On the other side of the hospital, Jiyong’s condition worsened too. Seizures became a regular occurrence, his head aching constantly as if

someone was pounding at it from the inside. There were moments, especially in the middle of the night, when panic would seize him. His

breaths would grow shallow, erratic, as though he couldn’t escape some invisible threat.

He would shout for his mother, tears blurring his vision. He would throw things, knocking over anything within reach, desperate to find

something—someone—familiar. If he couldn’t find her, his panic grew into something even darker, something that felt like it might swallow

him whole. His body trembled with the strain, and his mind spiraled, always searching for something he couldn’t name.

And yet, there were days—some rare, fleeting days—when he felt better. He would smile as if the world hadn’t collapsed around him. He

would visit Seunghyun, bringing with him a kind of hope that only someone who had known love and loss could understand. He still

believed Seunghyun would wake up. He still believed they had more time.

Jiyong sat there, his eyes soft as they traced the familiar lines of Seunghyun’s face. He couldn't help but smile, his heart swelling with a

bittersweet warmth. Seunghyun’s features, even in his unconscious state, were impossibly beautiful. Every curve, every contour felt like a

delicate work of art. There was something about him—something in the way he looked so peaceful, even as he fought his own battles.

"I’ll see you next week," Jiyong whispered, his voice barely a breath as he leaned back, reluctant to let go. The words felt so final, as if he

were saying goodbye, even though he knew he would return. But the feeling that gripped him—this tight, hollow ache in his chest—made

him question everything. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep holding on, how many more goodbyes he could say without

losing himself in the process.

The room was quiet, save for the soft beeping of machines, but in that silence, the weight of everything between them seemed to hang in

the air. He took one last look at Seunghyun, fighting back tears that threatened to fall.

And then, with a shaky breath, Jiyong stood up, walking away as if it would somehow make everything less painful.

But inside, his heart shattered a little more each time.

And so, one day, Jiyong stopped visiting Seunghyun.

As the car pulled away from the hospital, the familiar white walls began to blur in his rearview mirror, shrinking into the distance until they

were nothing more than a distant memory. The farther they drove, the heavier the feeling in his chest became, as though he were leaving

behind something—someone—important. Someone who had come to mean more to him than he could ever explain.

The hospital, the place that had been a constant part of his life, felt like a part of him was being left there, abandoned. And as the building

disappeared from sight, an unsettling emptiness crept into his heart.

Something inside him twisted.

Jiyong reached up instinctively, his fingers trembling as they brushed against his cheek. He felt something wet—cold and unfamiliar.

A tear?

He didn’t understand why it was happening. Why was he crying? Why did it feel like something was slipping away from him? Was it the

hospital? Was he leaving someone behind without even knowing?

His heart ached in a way he couldn’t describe, as if a part of him was still there, tethered to that place, to the boy who had quietly become

his whole world. And yet, no matter how hard he tried to hold onto the memory of him, it was slipping through his fingers, like sand running

out of his grasp.

Did I leave someone behind?

The question echoed in his mind, but there was no answer. Only silence. Only the thumping of his heart that was beginning to feel too loud

in the quiet car. And for the first time in a long while, Jiyong felt more lost than he ever had before.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter Text

I was born into what looked like a perfect family.

Warm mornings, laughter echoing through the walls, hugs that felt like home. My parents treated me like I was something precious—like I was glass, beautiful but breakable. I grew up wrapped in love, the kind that other people only dream about. The kind that makes you feel safe, untouchable.

I didn’t grow up craving love. I had it, all of it.

At least… that’s what I thought.

I didn’t notice it at first—how their smiles toward each other started to falter, how silence replaced laughter. I didn’t see the way my father’s eyes stopped looking at my mother like she was home, and how her eyes started filling with something that looked a lot like grief.

Then one night, I heard it.

“You’re really choosing that mistress over us? Over your own family?!” I still remember my mother’s voice that night—shaking, broken, full of disbelief.

I froze. I remember how loud my heartbeat got. Like it was trying to drown out the words.

But no matter how tightly I covered my ears… I heard them.

“You know I only stayed for Jiyong’s sake. Now that he’s old enough… I don’t think I need to pretend anymore.”

Pretend. That word cut deeper than I expected. How could he say that. He said it like I was just a

task on a list he had finally completed. Like I was no longer his reason to stay.

I heard my mother cry. A quiet sob, like she was trying to keep it together—but failing.

How could someone say something like that? To someone they once promised forever? How do you look a person in the eye, the same person you once vowed to grow old with, and tell them they were just a detour… a mistake?

I was too young to understand the truth, but old enough to feel it.

I watched two people—my parents—peel off the masks they wore for years. I saw the strangers hiding underneath. And I realized… maybe love really can fade. Maybe forever is just a word.

“Was it that easy for you to leave us? The wedding? The vows? The family we built?” my mother asked through gritted teeth.

Her voice trembled. She sounded like someone begging the past to come back.

But he just replied, calm and cold—

“Those were just words. All of this was an agreement between our fathers. I only cooperated. I thought you knew by now…”

Then he looked at her, with eyes full of disgust.

“If anyone’s the mistress here, it’s you.”

Something inside me broke that night.

It was like being hit by a wave in the middle of the ocean—pulling me under, and no one even noticed I was drowning.

After he left, everything changed.

My mother—she stopped being my mother. She became someone else entirely. A wreck of a woman who once smiled when I brought home drawings or trophies. She barely looked at me anymore unless I had something to prove. It was like I only mattered when I was doing something right. Otherwise, I was invisible.

And then… the pressure started.

I had to be perfect. Not for me, but for her.

She wanted me to win, to rise, to shine—so maybe he would come back.

So maybe she would feel enough again.

I became her project. Her revenge. Her second chance.

She pushed all of her pain onto me—pressured me to be the best, to be perfect. “You have to be better than him,” she’d say. “Prove you’re worth more than what he threw away.”

She bought me clothes when I won awards. She praised me when I topped my class. But when I failed? When I slipped even a little?

She turned into someone I didn’t recognize.

I still believed she loved me. I told myself that every time she scolded me for a mistake, every time she compared me to my father, every time I cried alone in my room, I told myself she cared.

But love shouldn't feel like survival.

Months passed, and something in me began to change.

It started small—just a little more tired than usual. A bit more forgetful. I blamed it on the late nights, the stress, the constant pressure. The nurse told me to rest more, eat better. I laughed it off. I told myself I was just burned out.

But it didn’t go away.

The headaches came next. Then the zoning out, the confusion. I started forgetting simple things—what I was doing, what I was supposed to say. My mother didn’t understand. She thought I was slacking, rebelling. I remember the day I blanked out during an exam. My hands froze. The paper stared back at me, empty. My mind… empty.

When she saw the blank sheet, she lost it. Locked me in my room. I screamed until my throat gave out. My fists banged against the door until they went numb. My tears soaked the carpet as I begged, “Please, just give me one more chance.”

Something wasn’t right. I knew it. This wasn’t stress.

So I went to the hospital. Alone.

I remember the cold air when I stepped through those doors. I didn’t know why I was shaking so badly—whether it was fear, or something deeper. Something I didn’t want to admit yet.

The nurse smiled politely. “Yes, sir. How can I help you?”

“I… I’m here for Dr. Shin. I have an appointment.”

She nodded and guided me down a quiet hallway. The fluorescent lights above buzzed softly. The smell of antiseptic filled my nose. My heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

Dr. Shin entered the room holding a clipboard, his expression unreadable. Jiyong immediately sat up straighter, trying to look less nervous than he felt.

“Jiyong-ssi,” he said, offering a faint smile. “Thank you for waiting. How have you been feeling lately?”

“I… I’ve been getting headaches,” Jiyong replied quietly, eyes glued to the floor. “Almost every day. It starts dull then gets worse... like there's something pressing inside my head.”

Dr. Shin nodded slowly, jotting something down on the paper.

“And you mentioned you’ve been zoning out?”

“Yeah,” he said, finally looking up. “Sometimes I just… stop. Like I’m there but my brain just switches off. I forget things too, like small things I normally wouldn’t. I even forgot where I was going once. I just stood there for minutes.”

“Any nausea? Blurred vision?”

“Not at first, but... recently, yeah. A few times. Sometimes I feel dizzy too, like I’m about to fall even though I’m standing still.”

Dr. Shin set the clipboard aside and leaned forward a little.

“Have you experienced any muscle weakness? Maybe in your hands? Or have you dropped things recently?”

Jiyong hesitated, then nodded. “My right hand… it gets shaky. I dropped a glass the other night. My mom yelled, but… I didn’t even feel it slipping.”

“Hmm...” the doctor murmured. He picked up a small flashlight and stood. “Mind if I check your pupils?”

Jiyong shook his head and sat still as the doctor gently moved the light from one eye to the other.

“No pain here?” Dr. Shin asked, placing his fingers lightly on the sides of Jiyong’s temples.

“A little sensitive,” Jiyong muttered.

Dr. Shin went quiet for a moment. The silence stretched just a little too long.

Jiyong swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

“Is it just stress?” he asked softly. “Or... is something wrong?”

Dr. Shin didn’t answer right away. He walked back to his seat and pulled the clipboard closer again.

“I’d like to run a few more tests, Jiyong-ssi. A brain scan, some blood work… just to be sure.”

Jiyong’s stomach dropped.

“So... it’s not just stress?”

“We won’t jump to conclusions yet,” the doctor said carefully. “But it’s better we look into it early than ignore the signs. You did the right thing coming here.”

Jiyong looked down at his hands resting on his knees. They were trembling.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay... yeah.”

Dr. Shin nodded and reached for the phone on his desk.

“I’ll ask the nurse to set everything up. You won’t be alone, alright?”

But Jiyong already felt alone.

It’s been a week.

Seven days of pretending to be okay. Of telling myself it’s nothing serious. Of forcing myself to believe maybe I was just overthinking. That maybe I just needed sleep. That maybe... maybe stress really can mess you up that badly.

But deep down, I already knew.

I’ve always known.

_________________________________________________________________________________

I sat in the same chair as before, in the same quiet office that smelled like antiseptic and cold air. My hands were clenched together on my lap, trying to hide the shaking.

The door opened gently.

Dr. Shin walked in with a manila envelope in one hand and a tired look in his eyes. That kind of look that says everything before a single word is even spoken.

He sat down slowly, quietly. I hated how soft he was being. How gentle. Like he already pitied me.

“Jiyong-ssi,” he started. Just my name. Nothing else.

I swallowed hard. My throat was dry. “Is it... out already?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yes. We got the results back yesterday.”

My eyes flicked to the envelope in his hand. I hated that thing. I wanted to rip it and never read it.

“There’s no easy way to say this,” he said, voice low. “But we found something.”

I didn’t move. I didn’t blink. I think part of me already left the room.

“There’s inflammation in your brain — specifically in the limbic system, which is responsible for things like memory, emotion, and behavior,” he explained slowly, watching me carefully.

I blinked. “Limbic… what?”

“Limbic Encephalitis,” he repeated softly. “It’s a condition where the immune system starts attacking parts of the brain—mainly the limbic system. That area controls memory, emotions… sometimes behavior.” He kept talking, but everything became distant.

“What… what causes it?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“There are a few possible causes,” he said softly. “Sometimes it’s autoimmune — meaning your immune system starts attacking your brain, thinking it’s a threat. Sometimes it's triggered by infections. In some cases… it’s linked to cancer.”

Cancer.

The word hit me like a brick to the chest. My breath hitched.

“But we haven’t found any signs of that,” he quickly added, sensing the panic on my face. “We’ll run more tests to be sure. But right now, the focus is on reducing the inflammation and stabilizing your symptoms.”

“How... how do you fix it?” My voice cracked.

“There’s treatment,” he said gently. “Steroids. Immunotherapy. In some cases, long-term medications. You’ll need monitoring. Possibly hospitalization. We’ll take it step by step.”

I nodded, even though I didn’t understand anything anymore. My throat burned. My chest felt like it was caving in.

“Is this… going to change me?” I asked.

Dr. Shin hesitated.

“It can,” he answered honestly. “But we’ll do everything we can to manage it. You’re not alone in this.”

I pressed my lips together. I didn’t trust my voice anymore. My eyes were already starting to sting.

I was so lost in thought after what Dr. Shin told me just minutes ago.
His words keep circling inside my head like a boomerang—coming back over and over no matter how much I try to push them away. I didn’t even realize I had bumped into someone in the hospital lobby. My shoulder hit theirs, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I just lowered my head and gave a small, automatic bow before walking away. Numb.

My legs were moving, but my mind stayed frozen. I couldn't even remember how I ended up outside the building.

I’ve always been a good child.

The kind every parent dreams of.

I listened, I studied hard, I followed the rules. I became who they wanted me to be. Strong. Responsible. Well-behaved. I forced smiles even when I was breaking inside. I made myself happy—at least, I tried. For her. For my mother.

But now, after those words...  Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe properly.

My chest felt tight. Not in a way that hurts, but in a way that suffocates slowly. The kind of fear that creeps in and never really leaves.

I tried. I really tried to tell myself that maybe—maybe I could go through this.

Dr. Shin said there’s a way. There’s treatment. Options. A chance.

But why does it feel like I can’t find a room for hope inside myself?

Why does it feel like I see nothing but darkness in front of me, like I’m already disappearing piece by piece?

I went home that night without saying a word. I avoided eye contact with my mother and told her I was just tired.

But days later, she found the hospital envelope I hid in my drawer.

I’ll never forget the sound of her crying in the hallway.

I stood frozen behind the door, listening.

She opened it slowly, her eyes red and swollen.

“Jiyong…” her voice cracked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I couldn’t answer her. I didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” she said, over and over, like a prayer. “I’m so, so sorry.”

She knelt on the floor beside my bed, clinging to my arm like she was afraid I’d vanish.

“This is all my fault… I should’ve seen it. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. I treated you like… like you were a robot. Like you were something to fix all the things I couldn’t fix in my own life.”

She sobbed like she hadn’t cried in years.

Maybe it’s true.

Maybe people only start to see your worth when your life starts running out of time.

She kept asking if I hated her.

I didn’t know what to say.

How could I?

I didn’t have space for anger anymore. Not now. Not when everything already hurts.

I wanted to comfort her. I wanted to tell her I’d be okay.

But how do you say you’ll be okay when you’re not even sure who you’ll be tomorrow?

When you don’t even know if the parts of you that make you – you, will still be there?

_________________________________________________________________________________

I agreed to be hospitalized, hoping that it would help me survive.

I told myself it was worth it—enduring the pain, the needles, the tests—for the sake of my life. There’s still so much I want to do, so much I want to see. There’s still a life waiting for me if I can just make it through this.

My mother promised she’d be there.

She said she’d stay by my side, through every treatment, through every difficult day. But all she left me with was a necklace. It wasn’t even anything special—just a simple silver chain with a small pendant. But it felt like all I had left of her. And then… she stopped coming.

It was lonely, of course. That’s an understatement. The smell of the hospital, the cold walls, the blank faces of doctors and nurses who passed by, all of it became so familiar, so suffocatingly predictable. Nothing new, nothing different. It was like I was existing in a loop I couldn’t break.

Then, I met him. Seunghyun.

I never expected him to change everything for me. I didn’t know he would make things feel lighter, easier to carry. His presence… it was like a softening in the middle of all the pain, something that made me breathe a little easier, even if it was only for a moment.

But there’s always that lingering fear, that deep, terrible fear. I’m afraid that one day, I won’t remember him. His face will fade, his voice will blur into something unrecognizable, and even his name will be a stranger to me. I’m terrified of losing him, of losing this connection that feels so real.

I don’t want to forget him. I don’t want to forget how he made me feel.

“Let’s see each other again soon, Seunghyun,” I said to him quietly, even though the words felt like a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep.

I hope I’ll remember. I hope my heart can keep him, even when my mind starts to slip away. But deep down, I was scared. Scared that the next time I closed my eyes, the next time I woke up, I’d be a stranger to myself.

And that Seunghyun… he’d be a memory I couldn’t even hold on to.

Chapter Text

The streets buzzed with life.

People hurried past on both sides of the road, their chatter echoing in the evening air. Some faces felt familiar—shadows from a past life—while others were complete strangers, just passing by. The world didn’t stop. It never did. A lot had changed in a year.

The memories? They used to be warm, vivid, like a favorite song stuck in your head. Now, they were starting to fade—rusting at the edges, like forgotten photographs left out in the rain. What once felt eternal now seemed like a dream slipping through his fingers.

The memory of that day hadn’t faded. If anything, it had burrowed itself deeper into his bones.

“Seunghyun-ssi, can you take this to this address?”
The man’s voice was gruff, worn by years of hard work. He was in his forties, maybe older. Seunghyun nodded quickly, grabbing the warm plastic bag filled with tonight’s delivery.

It’s been one year. One whole year.

It felt like yesterday.

Yesterday, when he was lying in that sterile white room, staring at the ceiling, begging for everything to stop. When the weight of existing was too heavy to carry, and death felt kinder than hope. It felt like just yesterday he read that letter—hands shaking, heart breaking—while the machines beside him beeped steadily, unaware of the silence it left inside him.

And now… now he was here. Breathing, walking, delivering food to strangers who had no idea how much he had lost.

There were so many questions he never got to ask. So many things left unsaid. A million versions of “Why?” lodged in his throat every day.

“I tried to live for you,” he whispered to himself sometimes, “hoping to see you again… just once. Just with my own two eyes.”

But the truth was cruel. He hadn’t given up—but he had started to wonder if they had. If they had chosen to walk away. If it was easier for them to leave him behind than to stay. But why did it have to be when he was unconscious? Why no goodbye? Why disappear like he never mattered?

“Here’s your order, ma’am. I’ll just get your payment,” he said, forcing a smile onto his face.

The woman thanked him softly and handed over a few bills. He bowed slightly, pocketed the money, and walked away before the tears in his eyes could fall.

It was already his breaktime, but Seunghyun didn’t return to the restaurant.

Instead, he stood still on the quiet sidewalk, tilting his head back to look at the night sky.

It was peaceful—calm even. The stars blinked gently from above, watching over a world that kept spinning.

He took a deep breath, and another.

“When did the night become this sad?” he thought.

There was a strange tightness in his chest. Not the kind that hurt physically—but the kind that wrapped around your heart, squeezing slowly, suffocating without mercy. Like someone was inside him, quietly hammering away at the pieces he had glued together.

He tried. God, he tried.

But some nights… some nights it felt like he was still in that hospital bed, waiting for someone who would never come.

He clutched the delivery bag tighter even though it was already empty. Maybe it was just something to hold onto.

Maybe it was just something that reminded him—he was still here.

But for what?

He exhaled shakily, lips trembling.

And in the middle of the street, with no one to notice, no one to care, Seunghyun let himself ache.

Because even the strongest hearts get tired of waiting.

It’s been almost five months since I left the hospital.
At first, everything felt so strange, so new. The air outside felt thicker, like I was breathing for the first time in ages. I always thought I wouldn’t get a chance to be free again, and when I finally stepped out of that sterile white room, it was like I’d forgotten how to live like a normal person. The world outside seemed too loud, too bright, too fast. I spent my days in my apartment, staring at the walls, feeling lost in a life I didn’t know how to live anymore.

I stayed inside, as if I was afraid to see what the world had become. But I knew I couldn’t keep living like that. I couldn’t stay stuck in the past, wrapped up in fear. I had to keep moving forward, even if it felt impossible.

I forced myself to get up, to step out, to work. I didn’t have a choice. I worked hard every day, trying

to earn enough money to move somewhere far away. Somewhere that could feel like a fresh start.

Somewhere I could forget. Forget everything that happened. Forget him, if that was even possible.

But no matter how far I went, no matter how much I tried to run from the memories, I couldn’t

escape the thought of him.

I pulled something out of my wallet, my fingers trembling slightly. It was a picture of us—me and

him, taken when he was still in the hospital. He was lying there, fragile, but smiling. I remember that

smile like it was yesterday. It’s the only thing that keeps me going sometimes.

I don’t need much. I just want to see him… even from afar. Just once. I want to know if he’s okay.

Breathing. Living. That alone would be enough for me.

He doesn’t have to say anything. He doesn’t even have to remember me. Just seeing him walking

around, alive and warm under the same sky… that would be more than enough.

I started the engine of my motorcycle, the sound loud in the quiet morning. It’s old and sputters

sometimes, but it still works, and that’s all I need. This is what I do now. I deliver food. I fix cars

when I have the time. I keep myself busy, keep my hands moving so my mind won’t wander too far.

I’m doing my best to live independently, to stand on my own, to prove something—to myself, to

everyone else.

But no matter how much I try to move forward… Some nights, when I’m too tired to sleep, I still think

about that day.

Was it really a year already? Since he left? Since I heard his voice, even if it was faint and broken

through a coma?

A whole year of waiting. A whole year of hoping.

I know he probably doesn’t remember me the way I remember him. I know the world keeps turning,

and people move on. But some part of me… hasn’t.

Some part of me still waits for a miracle. Even if it’s foolish. Even if it hurts.

Because maybe… just maybe… he’s out there, looking at the same sky and thinking of me too.

And until then—until the day our paths cross again—

I’ll keep riding. I’ll keep working.

I’ll keep living.

Because that’s what he would’ve wanted for me.

And that’s what I promised myself I’d do.

I can only hope that one day, I’ll get to see him again. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll get another

chance.

Chapter Text

A few weeks have passed, and honestly, nothing new has really happened. Just the same routine—delivering food, fixing cars, coming home to silence. That’s my day, every day.

It’s funny how even outside the hospital, life can still feel like a box. The only difference now is that I’m not stuck between four white walls that smell like medicine. But still, nothing really changes. I wake up, work, come home, sleep—or at least try to. And repeat.

Today, during my break, I sat on the same park bench I sometimes go to. It’s near the restaurant where I work, just a few steps away, a little quiet spot that’s almost hidden behind the trees. I sat down, letting my body rest, stretching my legs out and rubbing my lower back a little because lately it’s been hurting more than usual. Maybe it’s the long hours on the bike or just getting older, but I’ve been feeling drained lately, like there’s this weight sitting on my chest that I can’t shake off. Sleep doesn’t come easy either. I lie down, close my eyes, and no matter how tired I am, my mind just won’t stop. Thoughts keep running around in my head, loud and restless, and all I can do is stare at the ceiling and wait for morning again.

I looked around as I drank the last of the water I bought earlier, the bottle already warm from the sun. The park was full, as always, filled with people walking around hand in hand, couples smiling at each other, kids running after pigeons, and people laughing like they had all the time in the world. I don’t know when it started, but watching happy people has begun to hurt a little. I know I shouldn't compare myself to them, but it's hard not to when you’ve spent so long wishing for something that never came back. I just stared for a while, pretending that I wasn’t bothered by any of it, but my throat tightened and my chest ached in a way I couldn’t explain.

And then, like it always does, his face showed up again in my head, clear and sudden like it never left. Jiyong. His voice, his smile, even the way he used to say my name when he was trying to be serious—it all just comes back without warning, like my mind’s playing a cruel joke. I’ve tried so hard to forget, not because I want to, but because I think maybe it’s the only way I’ll survive this. But no matter how hard I try, he’s still there. His face still visits me when I close my eyes, and even when I open them, he’s everywhere—in the silence, in the laughter of strangers, in the way the sky looks when it’s just about to rain.

"Let’s see each other again soon, Seunghyun."

But how soon is soon?
A month? A year? A lifetime?

He never really left my head. Every day, there he is—living quietly in my thoughts like he’s renting space in there. Some mornings I wake up and I swear, for a split second, I forget that it’s been over a year. That I don’t even know where he is anymore. If he still remembers me.

I keep wondering when he’ll stop living in my head. I keep asking myself how long it takes to forget someone you never wanted to let go of. But no matter how many times I ask, I never get an answer. All I know is—I miss him. I miss him in ways I can’t even say out loud. And the worst part is, I don’t even know if he’s still out there, still breathing, still fighting, or if I’m just clinging to a memory that already gave up on me a long time ago.

I think I’m already at that point where I’m slowly giving up—not just on waiting, but on hoping too. It’s like asking for a miracle, like expecting a million dollars to suddenly appear in front of you with a snap of your fingers. That’s how impossible it feels now. Because if he really cared, if I actually meant something to him, he would’ve found a way to see me, wouldn’t he? He would’ve looked for me, visited me even once… but not even his shadow came.

Maybe this is it. Maybe this silence, this emptiness, this aching feeling that won’t go away—it’s all just a sign telling me to stop. To let go. To finally move forward and stop clinging to something that ended a long time ago. I tried, I swear I did. I held onto him like he was the only thing keeping me alive. I told myself over and over that one day he’d come back, that he’d walk through some door, any door, and say he’s sorry for the wait, that he missed me too. I even practiced what I’d say. I pictured myself smiling, arms wide open, telling him that I was still here… that I never stopped waiting.

I hear his voice in my head sometimes, the words he said that one day that stayed with me all this time.

"So even if it feels impossible, even if the world seems unfair, I hope you can find even the smallest reason to hold on. Because you're still here, Seunghyun. And as long as you're still here… there's still a chance for something good to happen."

I remember how he looked at me when he said that, like he believed it so much that I believed it too. But what if I can’t find that reason anymore? What if I searched every corner of myself and there’s nothing left but this aching emptiness? Would he hate me for it? Would he be disappointed that I’m tired now, that waiting for him isn’t my goal anymore? That the hope I had is slipping through my fingers like sand I can’t hold onto?

I took a walk, letting the cold air slap against my face. It was getting late, and the streets were starting to glow with the dim yellow lights of the lamps, people passing by without looking, everyone in a rush to get somewhere. I kept walking, no real destination, just hoping the movement would shake the thoughts out of my head. But it didn’t. They stayed. They always stay.

I looked around, and everything just felt… empty. Not because the world lacked color or sound, but because I couldn’t feel any of it. I was just… there. Watching life go on while I stood still.

I used to believe things lasted forever. I used to believe that when you find something that feels like home, you hold on tight and never let it go. But I guess I was wrong. Nothing in this world is permanent. Not happiness, not people, not even love. Everything—no matter how beautiful—eventually fades away.

And maybe… maybe that’s just how things are meant to be.

I always hoped that somewhere in this crowd of strangers, in this endless stream of people walking past me every day, one of them would be you. That maybe, just maybe, if I looked long enough, I’d see your face again—even if it was just for a second. Every time someone walks toward me on the sidewalk, I hold my breath a little, hoping I’ll bump into you by accident. But it’s never you. Just strangers. Always strangers.

The wind passed through me like it knew what I was feeling. Like it was trying to wrap around me and carry some of the weight I’ve been dragging every day. I’ve been out of that hospital for months now, but somehow, I still feel stuck there. My body might’ve walked away, but my mind... my soul never really left. It’s like I’m still sitting in that cold white room, waiting for you to show up again. Waiting for a voice that stopped coming.

I ended up walking into a nearby coffee shop without thinking much. It’s one of those quiet places tucked between an old bookstore and a laundry shop. I ordered a black coffee—no sugar, no cream. I don’t even like it that much, but I drink it anyway. Somehow, the bitterness makes more sense to me than anything else these days.

While waiting, I looked around the shop. Everyone seemed to have someone. A friend laughing too loudly. A couple sitting close and whispering like the world was just theirs. A kid showing his mom something on his tablet with the kind of excitement I forgot how to feel. And then there was me—just sitting, silent, pretending like the empty seat across the table didn’t bother me.

I stepped outside the coffee shop with the warm cup still in my hand, needing to get away from the noise—the loud conversations, the clinking of glasses, the laughter that somehow made the silence inside me louder. I walked over to the small park nearby, the one I usually go to when I need to breathe. It was a quiet place, not many people around, just a few scattered on benches, some walking their dogs, others just passing time like me.

I found an empty bench near a tree, not too far from the pathway but tucked enough to feel alone. . I pulled out the book that Jiyong once gave me, the one we shared during the brief hour we spent together outside the hospital. I hadn’t opened it in a while, but today, I needed something to distract myself. As I flipped through the pages, trying to lose myself in its words, something slipped out between the pages.

It was a letter.

His handwriting—so familiar, so full of warmth—was there on the paper. I hadn’t seen it in so long, and yet, in this moment, it felt like he was right there with me. The letter he had left before he disappeared from my life, when everything was still uncertain. I had tried to keep it locked away, along with all the emotions I felt when he handed it to me, but now it was in my hands again. I hid it again in the another page of the book, and continued to read.

Just when I was finally starting to enjoy a small moment of peace, I heard a loud laugh from behind me. The benches were back-to-back, and whoever was sitting behind me was clearly having a good time. I sighed, a little annoyed, and furrowed my brow as I tried to focus on the paragraph I was reading. But then I heard it.

A voice.

That voice.

“Jiyong-ssi, let’s take a picture there!”

It felt like the world stopped for a second.

My heart thudded so hard against my chest I thought it might break through. My grip on the book loosened. My feet felt heavy and cold, like they were suddenly made of stone. I wanted to move, to turn around, to stand up, to do something—anything—but my body wouldn’t respond. It was like my brain had disconnected from the rest of me. I was stuck there, frozen, as if the air around me thickened and held me down.

I told myself it was nothing, just a coincidence, just someone with a similar voice. My mind had played tricks on me before. Maybe this was just another cruel joke. But before I could finish that thought, I saw it—just a flash of a figure walking past me from the corner of my eye.

And something inside me screamed: it’s him.

I turned my head slowly, terrified of what I might see, but unable to stop myself.

And there he was.

Jiyong.

Walking, laughing, his hand holding a drink, with someone else beside him—probably just a coworker or a friend, I don’t know. It didn’t matter. Everything else blurred out around him. The noise of the park, the cars in the distance, even the sound of my own breathing—it all just faded.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible pull, he turned his head too.

Our eyes met.

And just like that, the world stopped again, but in a different way.

It wasn’t like the hospital. It wasn’t like the day I waited for him to show up and he never did. It wasn’t like the nights I stayed up, staring at my phone, waiting for a message that never came. It was… stillness. Familiarity. Pain. Relief. A thousand things all crashing into each other inside my chest.

For a second, neither of us moved. I don’t even think I breathed. I just stared. His expression changed slowly—confused at first, then surprised, and then something else I couldn’t name. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was recognition. Maybe it was everything I felt too.

The soft wind passed between us, brushing lightly against my skin, and it reminded me of that one afternoon in the hospital garden, when we sat without saying much, and he told me not to give up. It felt like that again. Like nothing and everything was happening at once.

And in that moment, after a year of waiting, hoping, hurting, and almost giving up—there he was.

And I didn’t know what to do.

Should I stand up?

Should I call out his name?

Or should I just stay seated and pretend like nothing was happening at all?

But deep down, I knew one thing for sure—this moment, right here, was something I had imagined over and over again. But I never thought it would feel this real.

And I never thought it would hurt this much.

Chapter Text

Dear Seunghyun,

By the time you’re reading this, I’m probably already gone. I didn’t want to leave like this—while you were still unconscious. I waited as long as I could, hoping you’d open your eyes. I’m so sorry I couldn’t say goodbye properly. It wasn’t my choice to leave, but I still feel like I’m abandoning you, and that hurts more than I can explain.

But I want you to know this—meeting you was the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me. You changed me. You made me braver, softer, more real. You made my days feel like poetry, even when they were filled with pain.
Thank you for showing me what love can be. Thank you for the laughter in hospital rooms, for holding my hand when I was shaking, for seeing the version of me no one else ever bothered to look for.

I don’t know what will happen from here. I don’t know if time or distance will change things. But if my mind ever forgets, I hope my heart still remembers you.
Thank you for everything. For being kind. For letting me in. I’ll carry all of it with me.
I hope you keep getting stronger. I hope one day we’ll meet again, even if it’s just by chance.
I’ll see you soon, Seunghyun.

Yours, Jiyong.

Chapter Text

He was already there. Right in front of me. So close.

But why couldn’t I move? Why couldn’t I take even one step toward him?

My feet felt like they were nailed to the pavement, like the ground had swallowed me whole. I had been waiting for this moment for so long, hoping for it through every exhausting day, every long shift, every night I stared at the ceiling wondering if he still remembered me. And now… now that he was finally here… I couldn’t do a damn thing.

He looked different. Not in a physical way—no, he was still the same Jiyong. But something in his eyes had changed. The way he looked at me yesterday… like I was a complete stranger. Like all those nights we spent talking, all those little moments we shared, had never happened. Like he didn’t know me at all.

I remembered the letter. That line from the letter won’t leave my head.

“If my mind forgets you, I hope my heart will remember.”

What did he mean by that? Why would his mind forget me? Was he trying to say goodbye already when he gave me that book? Is he sick? Was he trying to warn me about something?

I want to understand, but nothing makes sense. And the more I try to make sense of it, the more it hurts.

“Seunghyun!”

I flinched when my boss called my name from the counter, breaking the spiral in my head.

“Here’s the address,” he said, handing over the delivery bag. “Make sure this one doesn’t get screwed up like last time. You're lucky the customer was understanding. Another mess and you're out, got it?”

I gave him a tired nod, taking the bag carefully.

The last time was because of some reckless driver who cut me off and made me lose my balance. My motorcycle skidded, and the food was ruined. I almost lost my job, and no one even asked if I was okay. Not a single person. They just cared about the food.

I looked at the address on the slip. My stomach tightened. A condo complex. A really expensive one, well-known here in Seoul. Room 192.

It’s not the first time I’ve delivered to a place like this. I’ve done it plenty of times. Even as a mechanic, I’ve fixed luxury cars, ones that cost more than I’ll ever earn in five years. The pressure’s different when the people you’re dealing with are rich. One mistake and you could lose everything. The thought always makes my palms sweat.

I arrived at the condo and showed my ID to the receptionist, a young woman who looked up from her desk with a polite smile.

“I’m here to deliver food to Room 192,” I told her.

She picked up the phone, probably to confirm the order. I waited, fiddling with the strap of the delivery bag. After a few seconds, she nodded on the phone, then turned back to me with a smile.

“They’re expecting you. Take the elevator to the 19th floor, turn left when you get out. It’s the second door.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

The elevator ride felt longer than it should have. I kept staring at the red numbers above the door as they ticked up. 15... 16... 17... I thought about that letter again. About Jiyong’s words. Why would he say something like that? Was he sick in ways I couldn’t see? Mentally? Physically? I never heard anything from anyone after he left... he just vanished. No calls, no messages. Just that book, and that note.

"If my mind forgets you..."

Forget me?

I clenched my jaw. The elevator dinged. 19th floor. My heart pounded harder with each step.

As I stepped out of the elevator, a strange feeling hit me all at once. I couldn’t describe it—just this tight, uneasy sensation in my chest, like something was off, like I was walking into something I wasn’t ready for. My heart was beating too fast, too loud. It felt like it wanted to rip through my chest. I tried to shake it off, telling myself I was just nervous. That was all. It’s just a delivery.

But the second I saw the number on the door—192—my hands started to sweat. I took a breath, pressed the doorbell, and waited.

I heard the lock click from the other side. The door slowly creaked open.

And everything else just… stopped.

It was him.

The same person I saw at the park yesterday. The one who looked at me like I was no one. He was right here, in front of me now. Still him, still Jiyong—but something felt different. His face was the same, his features the same, but his eyes—they were missing something.

The plastic bag dropped from my hands before I could stop it. And without thinking, without planning it, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him. I hugged him tight. The kind of hug you give when you've been aching to feel someone again. The kind of hug you give when you're scared it might be your last chance.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know where to begin. There were a thousand questions in my head, and none of them made it past my lips. All I knew was that I missed him. God, I missed him so much. I needed to feel that he was real. That he was here. That after everything, after all the waiting and the silence and the nights I spent convincing myself not to give up—he was here.

I wasn’t going to waste this moment. Not again. Not like yesterday.

“Jiyong, who’s that?”

A voice from behind him. A girl. She looked a bit like him—same sharp features, same serious eyes.

I slowly pulled back from the hug, my heart still racing, my hands still trembling. He looked at me, but not like how I remembered. He looked... startled. Confused. Uncomfortable. There was no warmth in his face. No recognition. No smile. Not even a flicker of something familiar.

This wasn’t the Jiyong I knew.

“I don’t know,” he said flatly, turning to the girl. “He just hugged me out of nowhere.”

I felt like I was falling, but I hadn’t moved an inch. His words hit me like a punch straight to the stomach. I almost couldn’t breathe.

“Jiyong, what are you talking about? It’s me—Seunghyun.”

My voice cracked as I reached for his hand, desperate for something—anything—to tell me this was just a terrible joke. That he remembered. That he was just playing with me like he used to.

But the way he looked at me… cold, confused, distant—it told me everything.

“I’m sorry,” he said, gently pulling his hand away. “You must have mistaken me for someone else. We even have the same name, huh?” He tried to laugh, but it felt forced, awkward—like he was trying to make it less weird for both of us.

I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to ask what kind of sick joke this was. I wanted to beg him to stop pretending, to just say my name one more time like he used to. But I couldn’t. Because I saw it in his eyes. He wasn’t pretending.

“No… no, this isn’t funny,” I muttered. “You’re kidding, right? Jiyong, come on. You always do this—this kind of prank. Say something.”

He really didn’t know me.

“I... I’m really sorry. You’re handsome, but I think you’ve got the wrong guy. I don’t know you.”

That’s when everything inside me gave out. I don’t know how I stayed standing after that. Everything inside me cracked open. I couldn’t cry, couldn’t scream, couldn’t run. I just stood there, frozen. My throat burned with all the things I wanted to say but couldn’t.

I should’ve been angry. I should’ve yelled. I should’ve demanded answers. But instead, all I could manage was:

“S-sorry. You just… look like someone I used to know.”

My voice was so quiet I barely heard myself say it.

I wanted to cry right then and there, but I forced myself to hold it in. I bent down slowly and picked up the plastic bag, checking if the food was still okay. My hands were shaking. My whole body felt cold.

I reached into my pocket and handed him the receipt form. “Just... please sign this.”

He did, without another word.

Before I left, I looked at him one last time. Just once. And for a split second, something in his eyes changed. They softened. Like maybe—just maybe—something inside him flickered. But I couldn’t take that chance. I couldn’t stay and find out. Not when it hurt this much.

I walked away.

The elevator doors closed behind me, but it felt like the world was closing in too.

I tried to live for you, Jiyong.

I tried to stay strong for you.

I tried to find you, thinking that maybe if I just held on long enough, fate would bring us back together. I told myself every day that I could handle the pain, as long as I knew you were somewhere out there.

But now that I’ve found you, why do you look at me like I never even existed in your life? Like I was never a part of your story? Like I was just another stranger at your door?

What was the point of holding on if this was the ending?

Chapter Text

Seunghyun walked away as fast as he could, not even sure where he was going—he just knew he had to get away. The hallway, the elevator, the lobby—it all blurred together. His chest hurt so much he thought he might collapse right there. With every step he took, it felt heavier, like his body was giving up on him. His feet dragged against the floor, his knees threatening to buckle. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until he reached the front of the building.

When he finally got back to where his motorbike was parked, he stopped. He didn’t get on right away. Instead, he turned around slowly, lifting his head to look up at the tall building he just came from. Room 192. He remembered the number too well.

The condo looked the same as any other building, but to him, it felt like a wall that just crushed him. Like it held a piece of his life inside but refused to give it back. He kept staring at it, hoping maybe the door would open again. That Jiyong would run out, smiling, calling his name. That maybe it was all a misunderstanding or a joke, or just a really bad dream.

But nothing happened. The building stayed quiet. The windows just stared back at him like he was nothing.

He let out a shaky breath and looked down at his hands. They were still slightly trembling. Just a few minutes ago, those hands were holding Jiyong. Hugging him like it was the last time. And maybe it was. He didn’t know anymore.

“I waited for you…” he whispered, barely hearing his own voice. “Why didn’t you remember me?”

There were so many things he wanted to say, but there was no one left to say them to. Jiyong’s eyes had looked at him like he was a complete stranger. No spark, no warmth, no hint of recognition. It was worse than being ignored. It was like he never existed in Jiyong’s life at all.

He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve even though there weren’t any tears. His chest ached like something inside was breaking apart. Again. Slowly. Quietly.

He sat down on the edge of the sidewalk, not ready to go yet. Not ready to ride off like nothing happened. He just stared at the ground, fists clenched, jaw tight.

While on Jiyong’s side, he stood frozen for a while after closing the door. He didn’t say anything at first, just quietly leaned against the back of the door, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Something about that guy—his eyes, the way he hugged him so tightly, the way his voice cracked when he said his name—it was all too familiar, but his mind couldn’t place it. It was like a puzzle with missing pieces that refused to fit.

He was about to walk away when his eyes landed on something on the floor, just near the door. A brown wallet. He blinked, confused, then slowly bent down to pick it up.

“Must’ve dropped it,” he mumbled, letting out a short breath, still trying to shake off the weird heaviness that lingered after the guy left.

“Well, that one was weird,” he joked awkwardly, mostly to himself, trying to lighten the mood that didn’t sit right in his chest. He placed the wallet on the side table next to the couch, pretending it didn’t matter.

“But… he knew your name, though,” his stepsister said, half-watching him, still standing a few feet away.

Jiyong shrugged, forcing a small chuckle. “I’m not the only Jiyong in this world,” he replied casually, but even he didn’t believe it. His voice sounded lighter than what he actually felt inside.

He glanced at the wallet again. There was something about it, something strange. Not because it looked expensive or unusual—it was simple and worn out—but because the moment that guy left, it felt like something left with him too. Something empty settled in the air. The apartment suddenly felt colder, quieter, almost unfamiliar.

After his step sister left a few minutes later, the condo turned quiet again. Too quiet.

He stood there for a while, leaning on the edge of the couch, arms crossed but feeling uneasy. His eyes kept going back to the wallet. He didn’t even realize how many times he glanced at it. He wasn’t the type to go through someone else’s things, but something about it… something kept pulling his attention back.

“I’ll just check his name. Maybe he left some kind of ID,” he whispered to himself, almost like he was trying to give himself a reason, an excuse.

His fingers hovered over it for a second before finally picking it up. It was light, not much inside, but the leather was worn, like it had been used for a long time.

His hands were shaking as he opened the wallet. He didn’t even realize how tight he was holding it until his fingers started to ache. His heart was racing, thudding so loud he could barely hear anything else.

The first thing he saw was a folded receipt and a few worn-out bills, but what made his breath hitch was the small photo tucked neatly into the slot. His fingers hesitated before pulling it out. The second he saw what it was, his chest tightened, and he felt something heavy press down on him, like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

It was a photo of him and… that guy from earlier.

Of him and Seunghyun. Back in the hospital, both of them smiling weakly but genuinely. Jiyong was leaning slightly on Seunghyun’s shoulder, and Seunghyun had that soft look in his eyes—the one Jiyong couldn’t name but suddenly recognized. It wasn’t fake. It was real—so real it hurt to look at.

His legs gave out a little, so he sat down on the couch, staring at the photo like he was trying to understand what it meant—like he was begging it to explain everything.

He turned the picture around, hands still trembling. There was something written on the back, small and a little faded.

"With my beautiful daisy, Jiyong. Let’s make more memories."

His breath hitched so hard it almost hurt. He covered his mouth with one hand, trying not to sob too loudly, but the tears wouldn’t stop. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. Why did this hurt so much? Why did it feel like he had lost something important—no, someone—someone who meant everything?

He didn’t remember taking that photo. He didn’t remember being that close to Seunghyun. But his body reacted before his brain could catch up. His chest ached in a way he couldn’t explain. His heart was beating so fast, it was almost painful.

His heart knew something his mind had forgotten.

Jiyong sat down slowly on the couch, still staring at the photo like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt, but the tears kept coming. He didn’t know why, but it felt like he’d just broken someone’s heart—and that in doing so, his own was breaking too.

“Seunghyun…” he whispered, the name finally slipping past his lips like it had been trapped there all this time.

His mind might have forgotten him, he thought bitterly, but his heart—his heart still beat for him like it never forgot a single thing. Like it still remembered the way he used to smile, the way his voice sounded, the way everything between them had once felt so alive.

It must have been so hard for you, Jiyong thought, his voice barely a whisper inside his head. It must be so exhausting, waiting for someone who doesn’t even remember your name anymore, someone who can’t even remember that you exist.

He hugged the picture tighter, his hands trembling, like if he let go, everything would fall apart. My memories of you… they’re still blurry. I can’t seem to hold onto them no matter how hard I try. I don’t know why I can’t remember you like I should. And I’m so sorry… sorry for making you wait this long.

His chest felt heavy, like something inside him was breaking all over again. He wanted to scream, to cry until there was nothing left, but all he could do was sit there quietly, holding onto a piece of the past that was slipping through his fingers.

I wish I could tell you this in person, he thought, that I’m still here… even if I’m lost, even if I don’t remember, I’m still here.

Some people are really brave. They keep going, even when it hurts so much. They hold on to something that isn’t clear or promised, just because they love someone. They keep trying, even when everything inside wants to give up.

In the hospital hallway where everything began, where their story first took shape, the future was still a question mark. Neither of them knew how it would end. Behind those closed doors, each of them was fighting their own battle—pain, fear, sickness. They were scared. Scared that tomorrow might never come, scared of what the next day might bring. Every small moment felt like a gift, but also a reminder of how fragile life was.

One of them had already stopped trying. He was tired. Tired of the pain, tired of the endless tests, the needles, the looks of pity from strangers who didn’t know what to say anymore. He had reached a point where even breathing felt like a chore. He didn’t want to fight anymore. What was the point when everything kept falling apart no matter how hard he tried?

The other one was still holding on. Barely. Not because he wasn’t scared—he was. Every time he closed his eyes, he wondered if they’d ever open again. But he still had that small bit of hope, that tiny part of him that wasn’t ready to let go. He clung to it like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

And yet, somehow, they found each other. Just passing by in that long hallway, two people who had no idea how much they would mean to one another. Maybe it was luck. Maybe it was fate. Or maybe it was just two broken people who needed someone to hold on to. It didn’t matter if it was the wrong time, the wrong place, or if the world was against them. Even with the clock ticking, even with the fear that they might run out of time, they made a choice.

They made memories.

They built something real in the middle of the chaos.

I don’t think they expected it to be easy. They didn’t pretend the pain wasn’t there. Every smile was a little bit forced. Every laugh a little too loud to cover up the fear inside. They didn’t know if they’d get another chance to see each other tomorrow, but they tried. Because sometimes, that’s all you can do—try.

And isn’t that what makes it so hard? Knowing how uncertain everything is. Knowing that every moment might be the last, but still hoping, still wanting to believe in something better. It’s like holding onto sand that keeps slipping through your fingers. You want to hold tight, but you don’t know if you can.

Maybe that’s why it hurts so much. Because the more you care, the more you stand to lose. But somehow, even in that pain, they kept going. They kept trying. Maybe because sometimes love isn’t about forever. Maybe sometimes it’s just about this one moment, right here, right now.

And that’s what makes it worth it.

Chapter Text

The room was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that makes your ears ring. The only sound came from the monitor beside the bed, beeping every few seconds like it was the only thing still alive in there. Everything was a mess. The blankets were on the floor, the pillows tossed aside like someone had been fighting sleep for nights in a row and the table had food no one touched. The lights were dim. The curtains, half drawn. It didn’t feel like a hospital room anymore. It felt like a cage.

Seunghyun sat by the window. Every day. Every night. He didn’t move much. He didn’t talk. He just stared out the glass like he was waiting for something—or someone.

He just sat there, staring out at the rain. Watching how it hit the glass, how the lightning briefly lit up the sky only to disappear a second later. His eyes didn’t move. Not even a blink. Like if he stared long enough, he’d see him again. Like maybe Jiyong was out there in the storm, waiting to come back.

He looked empty. Not just tired—empty. Like someone who had already died inside but just happened to still be breathing.

It had been almost a month since he woke up. A month since that day when the machines started beeping faster, when the nurses ran in, when everyone looked shocked that he was actually opening his eyes after weeks of being unresponsive. He had been in a coma for so long. And the first thing he said when he came back?

“Jiyong.” His voice had cracked, barely more than a whisper, but he said it like it was the only name that mattered.

And when he realized Jiyong wasn’t there, when no one could tell him where he was, he lost it. He tried to get up, even though he could barely move. Screamed so loud that the nurses had to rush in. They had to inject him with something just to calm him down. It was too much. Like he’d come back to life just to be reminded that what he wanted most wasn’t here anymore.

He wasn’t the same anymore.

He had tried. Tried to keep it together, tried to stay strong. But the longer he waited, the harder it became to keep breathing like nothing happened. He started to disappear again, little by little. Skipping meals. Ignoring the nurses. Staring into nothing for hours. He was falling back into the version of himself he fought so hard to leave behind—the one who didn’t care if tomorrow came or not.

He lost himself again.

Every time someone mentioned Jiyong’s name, his shoulders would stiffen. His eyes would flicker with something between hope and pain. But nobody had answers. Nobody knew where he went, or why he left. And that silence was worse than any goodbye.

He just held onto that letter. The one Jiyong left. It was wrinkled from how often he read it. The edges were soft now, from his shaking hands holding it every night like it was the only thing keeping him alive. It didn’t say much. Just a few lines. Not even a proper goodbye. But it was the last thing he had from him. And that was enough to keep him breathing.

Some nights he would whisper the words to himself. Like maybe if he said them enough, Jiyong would come back. Like maybe somewhere, Jiyong was reading a letter too. Remembering him. Missing him.

He told himself that when he finally got out of the hospital, he would find him. He didn’t care how long it took, or how far he had to go. He just wanted to see him again. Even for a second. Even from a distance. He just needed to know Jiyong was real. That what they had was real. That it wasn’t just something he made up in his head while lying in a hospital bed.

And now, seeing him again—it felt like he was back in that hospital room. Cold. Empty. Like time didn’t move, like all the air got sucked out the moment their eyes met. His heart couldn’t keep up. It didn’t know what to feel. Was it supposed to be happy because Jiyong was standing right there? Or confused, because he acted like he didn’t even know him? Or maybe it was pain. The kind that sits so deep, you don’t even cry anymore. You just go quiet.

He thought the most painful thing Jiyong did was leave. That morning when he opened his eyes and realized he was gone, he thought that was the worst kind of heartbreak—waking up alone, without even a word. But he was wrong. The worst part came after. When Jiyong looked him in the eyes and said he didn’t know him. Like all those months meant nothing. Like Seunghyun was just some stranger who showed up out of

Those words did something to him. Broke something he didn’t even know was still intact. It wasn’t just sadness—it was emptiness. Like his heart gave up trying to feel anything at all. There were no more tears left. Just this hollow, heavy thing sitting in his chest.

He stood there, holding it all in. Trying not to fall apart right in front of him. Trying to pretend it didn’t matter. That he didn’t care. But he did. God, he did.

And maybe that was the most pathetic part. That even after all of it, even after being forgotten, a part of him still hoped. Still wished that Jiyong would suddenly remember everything. That he would laugh and say it was just a joke. That he would hold him again, the way he used to.

He used to dream of seeing him again. He imagined that moment over and over in his head. How he’d run to him, how they’d cry, maybe hug, maybe say everything they couldn’t before. But none of that happened. None of it came true. The person he waited for… he wasn’t even there anymore. Just a familiar face, with eyes that didn’t recognize him.

He couldn’t even look at him for long. It hurt too much. Like staring at someone you used to call home, but now feels like a stranger’s face.

It was worse than being left behind.

It was like being erased.

He let out a dry laugh, the kind that didn't really sound like one. More like a broken sound that slipped out without meaning to

“Right,” he muttered under his breath, staring at the empty bottle in front of him. “And you really thought you’d be that special to someone you only knew for a month. What a joke.”

He reached for another beer, twisted it open with shaky hands, and took a long sip like he was trying to drown the bitter taste in his mouth. But it stayed there, no matter how much he drank. He lit a cigarette with shaking hands, the flame flickering like it couldn’t decide whether to stay or not—just like people, he thought. Smoking became a habit again, the only thing that made him feel like he was still in control of something, even if it was just the slow burn in his lungs. Inhale. Exhale. It felt like breathing out everything he didn’t have the guts to say out loud. Like he could burn a little of the pain away with every drag.

It’s funny, how quick he slipped back into this version of himself. The one who gave up. The one who stopped believing in good things because good things never lasted. He hated how easy it was.

Outside the window, he could see people passing by—couples holding hands, laughing, lost in their own little worlds. He scoffed, almost choking on the smoke in his lungs.

“Do they really think they’re gonna last?” he said quietly, voice half-laughing, half-tired. “Nothing lasts in this world. Everything ends, whether you want it to or not.”

He watched them for a moment longer, his jaw tight.

“People leave. Things change. One gets to move on, like nothing ever happened. And the other? The other gets stuck. Left behind with memories they didn’t ask to keep.”

He leaned his head back, eyes stinging. Maybe from the smoke. Maybe not.

The word "love" felt like a joke now. A word people throw around when they’re happy and hopeful and too naive to know better. He used to believe in it—just a little—but now? It felt like some cruel thing the world used to trick people into caring too much, just so it could rip them apart later.

He stared at the ceiling like it held the answers he stopped asking for. Everything felt too quiet again. Too familiar. Like the silence he used to live with before Jiyong ever walked into his life.

And now that silence was back. Louder than ever.

Chapter Text

Seunghyun kept himself busy, too busy—fixing engines, running errands, picking up side jobs wherever he could. It wasn’t about the money anymore. He just needed something to do, anything that would keep his hands full and his mind too tired to think. It was easier to feel exhausted than to feel empty. Easier to ignore the way his chest tightened at night when everything finally got quiet.

But no matter how much he tried to stay busy, the pain had its way of finding him. Like it was waiting just around the corner every time. Some nights he thought he was fine—until something small triggered him. A sound. A name. A dream. Then it all came crashing again

He barely ate. He barely slept. The nurses used to warn him about overworking himself, back when he was still in the hospital. But he stopped caring. What was the point of taking care of himself when the one thing he tried to live for was no longer there?

“Seunghyun, someone’s looking for you,” a voice called from the garage.

He was wiping his hands with a rag, grease still stuck in the lines of his palms, his shirt soaked with sweat. He paused for a second. Who would even look for him? It couldn’t be his family—he barely talked to them. And he never had real friends. Not anymore. Not since that day.

He rushed out anyway, half-hoping it was a customer. That would be easier to deal with. He could talk about engine parts, prices, anything other than what he really felt.

But the moment he stepped out, his feet stopped moving.

Just a few steps ahead, there was someone standing by the fence—leaning slightly, hands tucked in his pockets, back turned to him. Wearing soft-colored clothes, too delicate for a place like this, too familiar. Too much like a memory he tried so hard to bury.

Seunghyun’s hands trembled at his sides. He didn’t know if he should run toward him or run the other way.

Because this wasn’t just some visitor. This was everything he tried to leave behind... standing right in front of him.

Seunghyun cleared his throat quietly, just enough to catch the other’s attention. Jiyong turned around slowly, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Their eyes met—and just like that, Seunghyun felt that familiar pounding in his chest, the same one he used to feel back then, when everything was still uncertain but full of something warm.

Jiyong didn’t say a word. He just reached into his bag, pulled something out, and held it forward.

Seunghyun’s eyes shifted down. It was his wallet—the one he’d been looking for the past few days. He took it from Jiyong’s hands with a quick nod, opening it right away, checking inside like some habit he couldn’t drop. All his cards were there, even the tiny old photo tucked behind one of them. He let out a small sigh of relief.

Jiyong raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms with that old expression he used to make when teasing him. “Wow. I return your wallet and the first thing you do is check if I stole your cards?”

Seunghyun looked up, caught off guard, then quickly bowed his head in embarrassment. “Ah—sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I was just making sure...”

Jiyong didn’t answer right away. He just let out a small laugh, quiet but enough to make Seunghyun’s ears burn a little.

“I’m not a thief, you know,” Jiyong added, grinning lightly.

Seunghyun nodded, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Still, thank you... for returning it.”

“Seunghyun… right?” Jiyong asked, voice a little unsure like he wasn’t even confident in saying the name.

Seunghyun glanced at him and gave a small nod.

Jiyong looked away quickly, unable to meet his eyes, his hands fumbling with the strap of his bag like it could distract him from the guilt.

“Can I have your moment… please?” he asked, eyes fixed on the ground.

Seunghyun didn’t answer right away, didn’t even nod again this time. He just turned and walked back into the shop without a word. Jiyong stood there, heart sinking in his chest. He let out a slow breath, thinking maybe that was his answer. Maybe Seunghyun didn’t want to hear anything from him anymore. And if that was the case, he understood. He deserved it.

He turned around, ready to walk away, but then—he felt someone brush past him. He turned his head quickly.

“Leaving me again? Don’t you have anything better to do than just disappearing all the time?” Seunghyun said from behind, not even looking at him, just walking ahead like he didn’t just knock the wind out of Jiyong’s chest.

Jiyong stood still for a second, unsure if he should laugh or cry. His mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out.

“I’m just kidding. It’s too awkward in here, so why not make a joke?” he added in a flat tone.

Jiyong stared at his back, eyes wide for a second. Something about the way Seunghyun said that—he could almost hear it echo from somewhere else. Somewhere far but familiar.

He stopped walking. His feet wouldn’t move.

That sentence... that exact voice... he remembered hearing it before. Not clearly, but like a blurry memory just out of reach. Like something from a dream that stuck with him all day without knowing why

Seunghyun kept walking but noticed the quiet behind him. He turned around and saw him just standing there in the middle of the road, spaced out like his mind wandered somewhere far. A car was coming. Without thinking, Seunghyun ran toward him, grabbed his hand, and pulled him out of the way.

Jiyong blinked, like he was suddenly waking up. His eyes met Seunghyun’s, who was looking at him with clear worry in his face. But all Jiyong could do was smile.

Seunghyun immediately pulled his hand away, like he realized what he just did. He cleared his throat, fixed his jacket, and walked ahead without saying a word. They ended up sitting on a bench not far from the shop. The silence between them felt heavy. Awkward. Neither of them knew what to say or where to start. Jiyong glanced at Seunghyun, who was just staring off at the people walking by like he wasn’t really seeing them. This moment felt familiar, like he had been here before, like this already happened once.

“What do you want from a stranger like me?” Seunghyun suddenly asked, voice flat and distant.

Jiyong looked down, took a deep breath. It was quiet for a second.

“I’m sorry…” he said, soft and unsure. He didn’t even know exactly what he was apologizing for. It just felt like he owed it to him.

Seunghyun looked at him, one eyebrow raised. His face said it all. Confused. Hurt. This same person once looked at him like he was his world, and now he was saying sorry like he barely knew him.

“I—uhm, I meant it when I said I didn’t know you. The photo… I saw it” Jiyong’s voice trembled a bit. He stared at the ground, scared to look at Seunghyun’s eyes. “At first I thought maybe it was someone who just looked like me… but then I saw the handwriting on the back of the picture. The letter. And I don’t know… it hit me. I didn’t mean to forget you, I swear. Everything is still a blur. I still can’t remember you clearly… but it’s weird. It’s like something inside me… remembers. Like my heart knows you, even if my mind doesn’t.”

Seunghyun stayed quiet. He didn’t interrupt. He looked up at the sky for a moment, like maybe it would give him an answer.

“I want to get to know you again,” Jiyong said, finally looking at him, voice barely above a whisper.

Seunghyun didn’t answer right away. His chest felt tight. He wanted to believe it. But a part of him was terrified. He didn’t want to go through that pain again. Didn’t want to get used to Jiyong only to lose him all over again.

“I want to remember you,” Jiyong added, voice softer now, but there was a small hope in it.

Seunghyun let out a sarcastic laugh and looked away, shaking his head a little. It wasn’t the kind of laugh that meant he found anything funny. It was bitter, tired, like he already saw the ending of this story and didn’t want to sit through it again.

He didn’t even know what to feel anymore. Everything was a mess inside him. Hope, pain, anger, fear—they were all sitting in the same room, too loud, too much.

“And then what?” he finally said, still not looking at Jiyong. “You remember me, then forget me again? You’ll leave again like it’s nothing? You’ll disappear again like I was just some part of a bad dream you woke up from?”

His voice shook, just slightly. He swallowed hard, trying to keep it together but it was already spilling through the cracks.

“You want to remember me. Fine. But what happens after that? What if one day it all becomes blurry again? What if one day you wake up and I’m just a stranger again? What am I supposed to do then, Jiyong? Start over again? Pretend it doesn’t hurt?”

He looked down and laughed again, but this time it was quiet and broken.

“I suffered waiting for you. Do you know how long a year feels when you’re just holding onto nothing? No answers. No closure. Just silence” His chest rose and fell quickly. He was breathing heavy, like saying it out loud took the strength out of him. His hands were shaking slightly, but he tried to hide it by stuffing them in his pockets.

“It wasn’t just hard, Jiyong. It destroyed me. I lost myself thinking about you every day, wondering if I meant anything to you at all. And now you’re back and you say you want to try again... and part of me wants to say yes. God, I want to say yes. But I’m scared. I’m scared you’ll leave again and I’ll be stuck right where you left me. Alone” There was a long silence after that. The kind that made everything around them feel too still. Too quiet. Seunghyun bit his lip and looked away again, not wanting Jiyong to see the tears forming in his eyes.

Because what hurts more than losing someone, is getting them back and knowing you could lose them all over again.

“Maybe it’s better if you don’t remember me anymore,” Seunghyun said quietly. “At least that way, I won’t have to go through the pain of being forgotten all over again.”

He stood up slowly and forced a smile, the kind of smile that doesn’t reach the eyes. The kind that tells you everything hurts but you’re trying so hard to pretend it doesn’t. The kind of smile that breaks you more than tears ever could.

Then he walked away.

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. Because if he did, he knew he wouldn’t have the strength to keep going.

Jiyong stayed frozen on the bench, staring at the space where Seunghyun used to be. His chest felt tight. His throat burned. He didn’t know what this feeling was exactly, but it hurt. Like something important had just been ripped out of him. Like something inside him was begging him to run after that man and hold on tight and never let go. He didn’t have memories, not full ones, not yet. Just scattered flashes, vague feelings. But right now, the weight in his chest was real. The ache in his stomach was real. The silence left behind was deafening. He couldn’t blame Seunghyun. Anyone in his place would’ve given up already. But still, some part of him wanted him to turn back. Just once. Just look at him. Maybe even hug him. Anything.

Seunghyun, on the other hand, kept walking. Each step felt heavier than the last. Every part of him wanted to stop, to turn around and run back. To take back everything he just said. To sit beside Jiyong and say, “Forget everything I said. I don’t care if you forget me again. I just want you here.”

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Because he knew if this happened again, if he gave his heart only for it to be forgotten again, he might not survive it next time. Maybe this was what strength looked like. Not fighting, but letting go. Even when it hurts like hell. Even when the only thing you want is to stay.

He wanted Jiyong to remember him so badly. He missed hearing his name from Jiyong’s lips. He missed the way Jiyong would run up to him, eyes wide with excitement, talking endlessly about the smallest things. He missed feeling needed. Missed being loved in a way that made him feel like he mattered.

But what if Jiyong remembered everything and still walked away?

What if he woke up one day and it was all gone again?

What if everything Seunghyun tried to rebuild came crashing down, again?

That fear… that fear was louder than hope.

He stopped walking.

The distance between them wasn’t far, but it felt like miles. Seunghyun stared up at the sky, trying to swallow down everything he was feeling—everything that hurt, everything he was afraid to admit. The clouds drifted slowly above him, as if time was giving him one last chance to decide.

Behind him, Jiyong sat still on the bench, wiping away tears he didn’t fully understand. His chest felt heavy, his breathing shaky, and it ached in a way that didn’t make sense. It was the kind of pain that hits you in your ribs and stays there, quiet but impossible to ignore. He wanted to run after Seunghyun, call his name, ask him to stay, but his body wouldn’t move—like his feet were glued to the ground, stuck between confusion and something that felt a lot like love.

Then he noticed it. A pair of shoes, right in front of him.

Slowly, Jiyong looked up. Seunghyun was standing there again, just quietly watching him with a soft, unreadable expression. Jiyong didn’t think. His arms moved before his brain could catch up. He stood and hugged him—tight, desperate, like he was afraid Seunghyun would disappear if he let go. Seunghyun, froze for a second, then slowly brought his arms around him too. It was hesitant, unsure, but real. And maybe that’s what made it feel even more special.

He didn’t speak right away. Just stayed there, breathing in the moment.

“You don’t have to remember me,” he whispered quietly against Jiyong’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Jiyong didn’t move. He didn’t say anything, just held him tighter, like his heart understood more than his head did.

“Let’s make new memories,” Seunghyun said, finally letting the words fall out of his chest.

Jiyong slowly pulled away to look at him. His eyes were wet, but his face softened when he saw the way Seunghyun smiled at him — not the painful one from earlier, but the kind that felt real, like he meant it.

A memory hit him out of nowhere, like a quick flash that made his heart skip.

“Is there something on my face?”
“Smile really suits you. You look good in it.”
“Then I should always smile, so I always look good in your eyes.”
“Even if you don’t smile, you still look good in my eyes.”

It was blurry, like a dream he wasn’t sure was real, but the feeling that came with it was too strong to ignore. His heart skipped a beat, and he looked at Seunghyun like he was seeing him for the very first time—and also, somehow, all over again.

Seunghyun saw the shift in his eyes, the recognition, the quiet spark that flickered like a match being lit. And even if it was faint, even if it wasn’t everything, it was enough.

“I don’t know what this is,” Jiyong said softly, “but it feels right.”

Seunghyun nodded. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. We can start again. Day one.”

“And if I forget again?” Jiyong asked, his voice small, unsure.

Seunghyun smiled a little wider, though there was a sadness behind it. “Then I’ll remind you. Again and again. Even if it takes forever.”

He didn’t say it, but the thought echoed in his head like a quiet promise. It’s okay if this ends up being forgotten. We can always make new memories. It hurts, but losing you again would hurt more.

There are two kinds of brave when it comes to love. One is the kind that walks away—strong enough to let go, to choose yourself, even when it hurts. The other is the kind that stays—willing to take the risk, to try again, even if it means getting hurt all over again.

Seunghyun is still scared. Scared that one day Jiyong might wake up and forget him all over again. But what scares him more is the thought of turning his back now and never seeing him again. That kind of regret—of leaving without trying—feels heavier than any pain he's known. It’s like being chased by a trauma you thought you already buried. The kind that sneaks up on you in the middle of the day, reminding you of the chance you didn’t take. Maybe this will hurt again. Maybe he’ll be forgotten. But maybe, just maybe, it’s still worth trying. Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is try again — even when you’re terrified. Even when there's no promise it'll last. Because even if it ends in pain, at least you won’t spend your life wondering what could’ve been.

Chapter Text

Some second chances are actually worth it. Scary, yes—terrifying, even. Because trying again means opening yourself up to the possibility that it might all fall apart again, and maybe this time, it’ll hurt worse than before. But for Seunghyun, he still chose to take that risk.

He knew nothing was guaranteed, that not every day would be like this. But what scared him more was the idea of walking away again—without even trying. He didn’t want to wake up one day regretting that he let Jiyong slip away just because he was too afraid.

The two of them sat quietly by the beach, barefoot, with the soft sand under their feet and the sound of waves filling the silence. The sun was slowly sinking into the horizon, painting the sky in soft orange and pink. Seunghyun pulled something out of his wallet. It was worn out from time but still carefully kept. He handed it to Jiyong.

“Do you remember this?” he asked softly.

Jiyong took the photo and held it close. It was the first picture they ever took outside the hospital. They looked younger, maybe a little healthier too, but still them. Jiyong stared at it for a while, like his brain was trying to dig up something buried deep inside.

Jiyong squinted at it, a small smile forming on his lips. “We look so young here,” he said softly. He tilted his head, trying to see if his brain would hand him a memory to match the image. “It feels kind of familiar… like I’ve seen this before in a dream.”

Seunghyun didn’t say anything. He just watched Jiyong, the way the corners of his lips curled up, the way his lashes framed his eyes when he blinked down at the photo.

Jiyong caught him staring and raised an eyebrow. “What?” he asked. “Is there something on my face?”

He started rubbing at his cheek with the sleeve of his hoodie, and Seunghyun laughed.

“Yep,” Seunghyun said, biting his lip like he was trying to stop himself from smiling too wide.

“What? Don’t tell me it’s dirt or something.”

“Nope,” Seunghyun said, shaking his head. “It’s just… pretty.”

Jiyong paused. “Huh?”

“You look really pretty when you smile,” Seunghyun said casually, like it wasn’t a line that just made Jiyong’s heart do a full somersault.

Jiyong looked away instantly, trying to play it cool, but his ears were already turning red. “Don’t be such a joker.”

Seunghyun tilted his head, amused. “When have I ever joked about you being pretty?”
Jiyong rolled his eyes and muttered, “Whatever,” under his breath, but he was smiling so hard it was impossible to hide it.

“I miss that,” Seunghyun said quietly, his eyes still on Jiyong. “Your smile… the way you always look away when you get shy, and how you roll your eyes whenever you run out of comebacks.”

His voice was softer now. There was something raw in it. Like every word he said was being pulled straight from his chest. You could tell how much he missed him—not just in the way he spoke, but in the way he looked at Jiyong, like he was finally breathing again after holding it in for too long.

Jiyong reached for his hand and held it, squeezing it gently before sitting a little closer beside him. He looked down at their hands, his thumb tracing circles on Seunghyun’s skin.

“It must’ve been hard for you,” Jiyong whispered. His voice was barely there. The guilt he’s been trying to push down started to creep back in again. It’s been there from the start, and it never really left.

The past few weeks, they’ve been slowly trying to rebuild something—making new memories, taking walks, sharing meals, laughing again. There were moments Jiyong would get flashes, blurry and incomplete, but enough to make his chest ache. Still, no matter how happy the days were, a part of him always wondered what Seunghyun went through during the time he couldn’t remember him.

Seunghyun let out a soft chuckle, then gently lifted Jiyong’s hand and pressed a kiss to it. He didn’t let go.

“Shh…” he said softly. “What’s important is that you’re here now. Whatever I went through… it’s worth it. You’re here again, and that’s all that matters.”

Jiyong looked up at him, eyes slightly glassy. He could feel the weight of those words, how they held a year of quiet pain and silent hope. Seunghyun didn’t say it, but Jiyong knew. He knew how broken he must’ve been after he left. And even though he did it because he thought it was for the best… the truth was, he left Seunghyun alone.

And back then, Seunghyun didn’t look like this.

The first time they saw each other again, Seunghyun’s eyes looked empty—like someone just going through the motions, breathing but barely living. No spark. No light. Just a guy who was surviving.

But now… looking at him like this, Jiyong could see the difference. There was warmth in his eyes again, a softness in the way he smiled, like he finally let the sunlight in after spending so long in the dark. Like someone who found a reason to try again.

Jiyong smiled, though his chest still felt a little heavy.

“You look different now,” he said.

“Different how?” Seunghyun raised an eyebrow, teasing.

“You look like… you finally see yourself the way I see you.”

Seunghyun blinked, caught off guard. Then he smiled—a real, quiet smile that made Jiyong’s heart feel like it was about to explode.

“You’ve always seen something in me that I never did,” he said. “And maybe… that’s what I needed. Not someone perfect. Just someone who could remind me that I’m worth staying for.”

Jiyong looked up, thinking deeply.

“Why did you wait for me?” Jiyong suddenly asked.

Seunghyun turned to look at him, confused for a moment, but Jiyong didn’t meet his gaze. He was still looking up at the sky, his voice calm but quiet, like he was trying to hide the weight in his chest.

“When you could’ve just moved forward,” Jiyong continued, “when you could’ve left the country, start fresh somewhere far away. You could’ve forgotten everything about the hospital... everything about me.”

It wasn’t the first time that question crossed his mind, but it was the first time he said it out loud. A part of him was scared to hear the answer.

Seunghyun sighed and leaned back, eyes following the stars above.

“I don’t know either,” he said at first, and for a second Jiyong thought that was it. But he stayed quiet, waiting, because he knew Seunghyun wasn’t done.

“I wanted to,” Seunghyun continued. “Who wouldn’t want to? That place only reminded me of pain... of being stuck. It was like every hallway, every corner... had your shadow in it. I hated it, but no matter how far I tried to go, my feet always brought me back.”

“It’s like... even if I left that hospital, my heart never did. It stayed there, still waiting for you to open the door, like you always did. My body was out, but everything else felt stuck, like I couldn’t move on without you.”

Jiyong slowly turned to face him. His heart was starting to race.

“Yeah, sure,” Seunghyun said with a soft laugh. “I could’ve left. I could’ve forced myself to move forward. But every time I tried to, it felt like I was locking myself in that white, lifeless room all over again. Because leaving you...” he paused, looking at Jiyong straight in the eyes, “felt worse than being sick.”

Jiyong’s eyes started to sting. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until it came out as a shaky sigh.

Seunghyun smiled gently and added, “I stayed because I love you.”

The words hung in the air like a soft breeze — light, but enough to send Jiyong’s heart into a mess. It was the first time Seunghyun said it out loud. And it hit him hard, not in a painful way, but in that kind of way where everything else around you disappear for a second.

Jiyong looked away quickly, biting his lower lip, trying to hide his smile. His face was already turning red. He smacked Seunghyun’s shoulder lightly, trying to brush it off.

“Don’t say things like that out of nowhere,” he mumbled.

Seunghyun chuckled and didn’t let him go. Instead, he pulled Jiyong closer by the waist, like he didn’t want to let him drift too far.

“What? It’s true,” Seunghyun whispered, teasing but sweet. “I love you.”

Jiyong’s heart skipped again. He couldn’t fight the smile that took over his face. It felt warm. It felt like home.

“Stop it. You’re being cheesy,” he said, trying not to melt.

“Aren’t you even happy I said those words?” Seunghyun sulked with a pout, his lips pushed out like a kid who didn’t get the candy he wanted.

Jiyong rolled his eyes, trying to hold back a smile. “I am happy, so shut up. I’m just trying not to look like an idiot by grinning like crazy.”

That made Seunghyun burst out laughing, loud enough that a few people on the beach turned to look at them. Jiyong gave him a glare, which only made Seunghyun laugh harder. He reached out and pinched Jiyong’s nose gently.

“You’re too cute when you get annoyed,” he grinned.

Jiyong smacked his hand away. “You’re too loud.”

“Wait—wasn’t I supposed to be mad right now?” Seunghyun said, suddenly remembering. He straightened up and crossed his arms, doing a poor job of pretending to be upset.

“And why is that?” Jiyong raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Because,” Seunghyun said dramatically, “you still haven’t said you love me back.”

Jiyong’s smile threatened to break through, but he looked away, refusing to give in.

“I don’t want to,” he teased.

Seunghyun’s jaw dropped. “Wow. So you really don’t love me.”

He started gathering their things, stuffing their snacks back into the bag with exaggerated movements. Jiyong watched him, half-laughing, half-worried. He couldn't tell if Seunghyun was just being playful or if he was actually hurt.

“I guess I should go,” Seunghyun said, standing up and brushing off the sand from his pants. “Since you don’t love me, I don’t really have a reason to be here anymore.”

Jiyong blinked, his heart suddenly skipping a beat. “Where are you going?” he asked, a little too fast, the panic creeping into his voice.

Seunghyun didn’t answer. He just started walking away, slowly, without looking back. Jiyong stood frozen for a moment, watching him get farther and farther.

Then, before he could stop himself, Jiyong lowered his head and said quietly, “I love you…”

The wind almost carried it away, but Seunghyun had stopped. A pair of shoes appeared in front of Jiyong. He slowly looked up and saw Seunghyun standing there with a wide grin.

“What was that again?” Seunghyun asked, obviously enjoying this way too much.

Jiyong bit his lip and looked away again, clearly flustered. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Seunghyun sighed loudly, pretending to be disappointed. He turned like he was about to walk away again.

But Jiyong quickly grabbed the back of his shirt. “Wait,” he whispered. Then, in a louder, clearer voice this time, “I—I love you.”

Seunghyun’s eyes lit up. Without saying a word, he pulled Jiyong into a tight hug and lifted him off the ground, spinning him around in circles. Jiyong screamed out of surprise, laughing as he clung onto him, cheeks turning red. People around them turned to look again, but this time, no one cared how silly they might’ve looked. They just looked happy—genuinely, stupidly happy.

And in that moment, everything else faded away.

For a moment, they forgot everything else—every painful memory, every fear about what might
happen tomorrow. None of it mattered. What mattered was the now. The sound of Jiyong’s laughter.
The feeling of Seunghyun’s arms wrapped around him. The ocean breeze. The sky. The simple fact
that they were together again. They knew life wouldn’t always be like this. There would still be hard
days, confusing days, maybe even sad days. But right now, they had this moment. And they weren’t
going to waste it.

Because if they kept letting fear and guilt sneak in, they’d lose the chance to enjoy what they still
had. So instead, they made a promise—not out loud, but silently through every laugh, every hug,
every "I love you" whispered between smiles.

Sometimes, the hardest thing isn’t falling in love or letting go—it’s choosing to stay, choosing to be
vulnerable again even when your heart is still healing. It’s scary to risk the pain, but the truth is,
some moments, some people, are worth the chance. Life won’t always be perfect, and the future
will always hold uncertainty, but what matters most is this: to hold on to the people who make you
feel alive, to laugh when you can, to say what’s in your heart before fear steals your words. Because
in the end, it’s not about never getting hurt—it’s about having the courage to love, again and again,
despite the risk. And sometimes, that courage is the greatest gift you can give yourself.

Chapter Text

“Look, I made something for you!” Seunghyun blurted out, clearly nervous. His hands were a little shaky as he handed Jiyong a daisy and a folded piece of paper.

Jiyong took them with a confused look. He opened the paper and read what was written. His brows furrowed as he stared at Seunghyun, silently asking what is this?

“Uh— it’s... it’s a rap. I made a rap for you.” Seunghyun said, scratching the back of his neck, eyes darting everywhere but at Jiyong.

Jiyong blinked. Then his lips curled into a small grin. “Oh really? Then let me hear it.” His tone was teasing but excited.

Seunghyun froze. He gulped. Just the thought of performing it out loud made him want to disappear. But he had no choice now. Jiyong was already looking at him expectantly, eyes sparkling.

He combed his hair nervously, trying to gather some courage. He cleared his throat, twice. Why did I even think this was a good idea?

And then, with a voice shaking but determined, he began:

“Yo yo yo,
You prettier than a daisy, it’s drivin’ me crazy,
Your smile so bright, I need SPF… eighty.

Your eyes? Two stars.
Your nose? Five stars.
Your face? Picasso, if he painted in K-drama bars.

Jiyong, oh Jiyong, don’t call me a fool,
But if I was a bug, I’d drown in your drool.”

“That’s so awkward.” Seunghyun said still hiding in his hoodie, but he admits that it was weird and cringe.
Seunghyun ended it with an awkward finger heart and a wink, cheeks burning red.

The moment he finished, silence hung in the air for half a second. Jiyong just stared at him, blinking. The face of someone trying to process what they had just witnessed. It was like watching a man walk straight into a wall on purpose.

“Wow. I mean… wow.” Jiyong said, trying his best not to laugh. His lips twitched but he fought it. “That was… nice!” he managed to say, giving Seunghyun a thumbs up like a kindergarten teacher encouraging a kid who just ate glue.

Seunghyun groaned and immediately yanked his hoodie over his head, pulling it so low that only his chin was visible. “I wanna die,” he muttered under the fabric.

Jiyong couldn’t hold it anymore and let out a soft laugh. “I can see you really put effort into it. Thank you. I like it.” He reached out and held Seunghyun’s trembling hand. “Really. It was sweet.”

Seunghyun peeked out from the hoodie, his ears tomato red. “Where did you even get those lines?” Jiyong asked, still chuckling. He wanted to make Seunghyun feel a little less mortified.

“Uh… well… from my mind. Daisies reminded me of you.” Seunghyun mumbled, still looking down, fidgeting with his fingers. “I don’t even know why I freestyled. My brain just… betrayed me.”

He covered his face with his palm, ready to evaporate from existence. The shame would probably haunt him until he was old and gray.

“I didn’t know you could rap. You actually had some flow.” Jiyong teased, leaning closer.
“You just need to work on your lyrics.” He smile softly.

Then, with a soft tug, he pulled Seunghyun’s hands away from his face and leaned in until their noses touched.

“I like it.” Jiyong whispered, eyes twinkling.

Seunghyun’s heart did at least three somersaults. At that moment, he didn’t care anymore how embarrassing it was. If it made Jiyong smile like that, he’d gladly write a whole rap album if he had to.

“You painted your nails again?” Seunghyun asked, gently taking Jiyong’s hand and turning it so he could look at them closer. Last time, they were bright red. Now, each nail had a different color. It almost looked like that ring Thanos wore in Avengers.

"Yeah," Jiyong replied softly, staring at his own nails. "Painting my nails always reminds me not to ruin something beautiful."

Seunghyun tilted his head. He knew there was more behind those words.

"I bite them," Jiyong admitted, keeping his gaze on his nails. "Whenever I feel anxious. Or when my head gets too loud. Sometimes I don’t even notice it... I just find them ruined after." He gave a bitter smile. "But when they’re painted, I stop. It’s like... if I destroy the color, it feels worse. So I hold back."

Painting his nails helped him stop. It gave him a reason to pause, to think twice before letting the anxiety take over again. Chipping or ruining the polish felt like damaging a tiny piece of effort he put into himself, and that was something he tried to protect.

But unlike his nails, things inside him didn’t feel colorful anymore. They used to be. They used to feel full of hope and bright ideas about the future. Now, there was more doubt than certainty. More fear than excitement. There were still good days, but they felt harder to trust. The worry of what might happen next, of what could go wrong, was always there somewhere in the back of his mind.

Jiyong gave a faint smile but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "It’s not just about the nails though," he continued. "Sometimes I think... I wish I could paint over everything else too. Over the parts of me that feel messed up. Over the things I can’t fix. Just like this—cover them with something bright so I won’t ruin them again."

He looked down at his hands. "Outside, it looks fine. But inside, it doesn’t always feel like that. Sometimes I still feel scared. Or like I’m stuck. Or like I’m losing bits of myself. But when I see my nails, even just for a second, it reminds me... I can still make something look okay. I can still take care of something. Maybe one day I can do that for the rest of me too."

When everything inside him felt cracked and unfixable, at least his nails could look whole. Each stroke of polish was like a quiet apology to himself — I’m trying, even if no one sees it. Because sometimes it was easier to cover the damage with pretty colors than to admit how broken he really felt underneath.

Each color was a shield, a fragile layer standing between his shaking hands and the heaviness inside his chest. The more beautiful they looked on the outside, the more he hoped no one would notice how ruined everything else felt underneath. Because if he chipped the paint, if he bit them again, it meant the walls he built around his sadness were cracking. And he was so tired of breaking. So tired of pretending. So tired of fighting a war inside him no one else could see. Painting his nails wasn’t about looking pretty. It was about surviving the days where getting through an hour felt impossible. It was about holding onto the last pieces of himself he still had left.

Seunghyun gently squeezed his hand. He didn’t say anything at first. He just held it a little tighter, long enough to remind Jiyong that he was here, and that not everything had to be fought alone.

Jiyong finally looked at him and smiled again. It was small, not the brightest one Seunghyun had seen, but it was real — and for now, that was enough.

Seunghyun and Jiyong walked side by side through the quiet halls of the museum, their fingers intertwined so tightly it felt like letting go even for a moment would make them both lose their breath. They stopped in front of a familiar painting—The Kiss by Gustav Klimt. Seunghyun looked at it, then glanced at Jiyong with a soft smile.

“Do you remember this one?” he asked quietly.

Jiyong’s eyes traced the shimmering gold and the delicate figures frozen in the embrace. He nodded slowly, a sense of déjà vu washing over him like a warm memory he couldn’t quite place.

“It’s called The Kiss. At first glance, it looks like just a beautiful moment — golden, bright, full of life,” Seunghyun said, his voice low and steady, “But if you look closer, it’s about something more than just the kiss. It’s about holding on… like they’re trying to pause time before it slips away.”

He turned to Jiyong, his gaze soft but serious. “The man is almost holding on too tightly, like he doesn’t want to lose her. And the woman — she looks calm, but there’s something fragile in her expression. Like she knows this moment can’t last forever, so she’s letting herself feel it fully while she still can.”

Seunghyun took a breath and looked back at Jiyong. “It reminds me of us, honestly. When everything feels so uncertain, even something small — a touch, a kiss — feels like the whole world. Like you want to hold on so tight that it never goes away. But you can’t. All you can do is love it while it’s here, because that’s what matters.”

Jiyong’s eyes didn’t leave Seunghyun’s. He could feel the weight behind those words, how much they both understood without saying more. In that quiet moment, between the art and their intertwined hands, they both knew some things are fragile, but love — real love — is worth holding onto, even if it’s only for now.

Seunghyun and Jiyong kept wandering through the museum, still holding each other’s hand like it was the only thing anchoring them to the moment. They stopped again in front of another painting, this time one that seemed a little heavier, a little quieter — Separation by Edvard Munch.

Seunghyun tilted his head slightly and stared at the painting for a while, as if letting it speak to him first. Jiyong glanced at him, always amazed at how Seunghyun could just stand there and somehow pull out all the emotions a painting was hiding.

“This one’s called Separation,” Seunghyun finally said softly. “You see the man in front? He’s clutching his chest, like he can’t breathe, like there’s this invisible weight sitting right on his heart.” He pointed gently toward the figure in the background. “And the woman behind him — she’s there, but fading. Almost like she’s already gone, but a part of her is still stuck with him. Or maybe… maybe he’s the one who can’t let go.”
Jiyong listened carefully, eyes shifting back to the painting, taking in every little detail through Seunghyun’s voice.

“The man looks so lost. You can see it in his face. He knows she can’t stay, but it’s like no one told his heart yet,” Seunghyun continued, voice a little quieter now. “And that red… it’s not just love. It’s hurt. It’s anger. It’s longing. Sometimes love doesn’t leave in a clean way. It lingers. You wake up thinking of them, walk around feeling like half of you is missing.”

He glanced at Jiyong for a second, eyes softer now. “That’s what this painting is about. When you love someone so much that even when they say goodbye, they’re still with you. In your chest, in your mind. You keep carrying them, even when you’re alone.”

Jiyong’s heart squeezed in his chest. He didn’t say anything, but he leaned his head a little closer to Seunghyun’s shoulder. It was moments like this when Jiyong realized just how deeply Seunghyun could feel things, how his heart was stitched together by all these little pieces of beauty and pain.

“You’re really amazing, you know?” Jiyong whispered, just loud enough for Seunghyun to hear. “You don’t just look at paintings. You see them.”
Seunghyun chuckled, ears turning slightly pink. “I don’t know… maybe I just feel them. A little too much sometimes.”

Jiyong smiled and squeezed his hand tighter. “That’s one of the reasons why I like being with you. You make everything feel a little more alive.”

Seunghyun glanced at him shyly, then leaned down to brush his lips against Jiyong’s temple, lingering for a moment. “As long as you’re beside me, I’ll keep seeing everything a little brighter.”

Jiyong laughed softly, feeling butterflies in his stomach again. The painting of Separation still hung silently in front of them, but in that moment — with their fingers entwined and soft smiles shared — neither of them felt alone.

They stayed in the museum for a while longer, wandering through the halls at an easy pace. Jiyong kept listening to everything Seunghyun said about the paintings, hanging on to every word like he was learning something new with every step. It almost felt like he was back in class, except this time, he didn’t mind paying attention.

When their feet started to feel tired, they finally decided to head outside. The sun was already lower, casting a soft golden light. Just as they stepped out, an ice cream vendor passed by. Without even thinking, Jiyong grabbed Seunghyun’s arm and pulled him toward it.
Without thinking, Jiyong grabbed Seunghyun’s wrist. “Let’s get some!” he said, eyes lighting up.

Seunghyun laughed and pulled out his wallet. “Alright, alright, I’m paying.”

He handed over the money and passed Jiyong his ice cream, watching the way Jiyong’s whole face lit up over something so simple. It made his heart feel weird in the best way.

“You look like a kid,” Seunghyun teased with a smile.

Jiyong pouted at him, lips slightly sticking out. “If I act like one, it means I’m comfortable with you.”
The words made Seunghyun’s heart skip a beat. He couldn’t help it, he reached out and pinched Jiyong’s nose gently, making him scrunch his face even more.
“Good. Then keep acting like this,” Seunghyun said softly.
Jiyong smiled, and without a word, he moved closer until their arms brushed. Then he slipped his free hand into Seunghyun’s jacket pocket, searching for his hand. Seunghyun found it and squeezed it tightly, keeping their hands hidden and warm together.
They walked like that, side by side, sharing small bites of their ice cream, the world around them feeling quieter, softer. Neither wanted to let go, not even for a second. It wasn’t just about the ice cream or the museum anymore. It was about these small moments — these little pieces of happiness they could keep for themselves.

They rested at the side of the park where a small lake shimmered under the soft glow of the night lights. The sound of the water flowing gently filled the air, making everything feel calmer, lighter. It was one of those moments you wish you could bottle up forever.
They sat close, shoulders almost touching. For a while, neither of them spoke, just listening to the sound of the water and the soft wind through the trees.
Then, Jiyong broke the silence.
“Are you not afraid?” His voice was low, unsure.
Seunghyun turned his head slightly to glance at him. “Of?”
“That I might forget everything again… even this.” Jiyong looked down at his hands, fidgeting with his fingers, like he was almost too afraid to ask.
Seunghyun took a deep breath, eyes shifting back to the lake. The question made the air feel a little heavier.
“Honestly…” he started, voice soft. “The fear never really leaves me. It’s always there, in the back of my mind. I think about it all the time.” He paused for a second, trying to find the right words. “But you know what? Even if that happens, even if you forget… I’m ready to start again. I’ll love you again. I’ll find you again. And if I have to, I’ll fall for you all over, as many times as it takes.”
Jiyong looked at him, his heart quietly aching and fluttering all at once.
“But… what if you get tired?” His voice was smaller this time, almost like a whisper. He wanted to hear the answer. He needed to.
Seunghyun smiled and shook his head gently. He turned to face him more and leaned closer.
“Then I’ll rest for a bit,” he said softly, “and then I’ll try again. That’s all. I’m not doing this because I owe you something. I’m doing this because I want to. Because you’re worth it. I waited for you for a year, remember? Do you really think I’d give up just because it gets hard?” He laughed a little, the sound light and reassuring.
Without saying anything else, he wrapped his arm around Jiyong’s waist and leaned his head against his shoulder. The closeness wasn’t about comfort anymore. It was about making sure Jiyong could feel every bit of his sincerity.
“Look,” Seunghyun continued, voice softer now. “I’m not scared of starting over. Not when it’s with you. Loving someone doesn’t mean staying only when it’s easy. It means staying even when things get hard, even when it hurts. I’m not going anywhere. And even if you forget everything tomorrow, I’ll be right here. I’ll find ways to make you smile again, to make you fall for me again. And I’ll do it as many times as you need.”
Jiyong bit his lip, trying to hold back a smile and the sting of tears at the same time. His heart felt too full.
Seunghyun tilted his head to look up at him, grinning now. “So don’t overthink it. If I can handle your terrible ice cream choices, I can handle this too.”
That made Jiyong laugh quietly, leaning his head on top of Seunghyun’s.
Right then, they both knew — no matter how uncertain tomorrow was, they had this moment. And sometimes, having one real, genuine moment like this was enough to face whatever might come next.

They both got home safely that night. After one last lingering hug, they finally said goodbye at the parking lot.

As Jiyong's car drove off, Seunghyun stood by the gate for a little while, watching the taillights fade down the road until they became nothing more than a blur in the distance. Even after the car was gone, he stayed still, like his body was waiting for his heart to catch up. The night air was cool, but his chest felt warm maybe from all the smiling, or maybe just from being around Jiyong.

He pulled out his phone from his pocket and dialed a number without even thinking twice.

The call connected after a few seconds.

“Hi, my daisy,” Seunghyun said, his voice a little too soft, a little too giddy.

On the other end, Jiyong chuckled. “You miss me already? It’s literally been what — thirty seconds?”

“What? Can’t I miss you now?” Seunghyun said with a sulky tone, his lips forming a pout even though he knew Jiyong couldn’t see it. But hearing Jiyong’s soft laugh through the phone instantly made him smile anyway. He felt lighter.

“Okay, okay. I miss you too,” Jiyong replied in between giggles.

Seunghyun flopped down on the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Where’s the nickname you made up for me? You promised me one.”

“Ah, that again?” Jiyong said, already laughing harder. “Why are you so obsessed with that?”

“Because it’s cute,” Seunghyun whined like a kid not getting what he wants.

Jiyong burst out laughing again. “Hey, stop asking for it, I’m trying to drive home, you’re gonna make me crash!”

“Hey, I’m serious, you know,” Seunghyun said, keeping the pout in his voice. He was practically bouncing on his toes now in front of his house, looking like a puppy waiting to be let inside.

Jiyong finally caught his breath. “Alright, alright, chill Mr. If-I-Was-a-Bug-I’d-Drown-in-Your-Drool.” He laughed harder, clearly enjoying throwing Seunghyun’s cringe rap back at him.

Seunghyun groaned, rolling his eyes, but he couldn’t stop laughing either. It was ridiculous, and he loved how Jiyong never missed a chance to tease him.

“I miss you more, Tabi,” Jiyong added softly. This time there was no teasing, just warmth.
Seunghyun bit his lip, trying to fight back the goofy smile that was taking over his entire face. He looked like a worm sprinkled with salt, squirming and skipping a little on his feet from happiness.

They stayed on the phone like that for almost an hour, even though they had just spent the whole day together. It was like neither of them wanted to hang up first — as if the moment they did, the day would really be over.

Even when they both lay in bed, under different roofs, they stayed connected. Talking about everything and nothing. What they wanted to eat tomorrow. Which animal they’d be if they were reborn. Who would win in a thumb war (Jiyong insisted he would).

Eventually, Jiyong let out a soft yawn.

“You should sleep already,” he said, his voice starting to sound drowsy. “You’ve got work in the morning.”

“But I don’t want to hang up,” Seunghyun said in a small voice. “What if I miss you again?”

“You just said you’d fall for me again if I forgot you,” Jiyong said. “Now you can’t even survive one night?”

“I told you, you’re my oxygen. I can’t breathe properly if I don’t hear your voice before bed.”

“Oh my god, you’re getting too cheesy,” Jiyong said, but Seunghyun could hear the smile
in his voice.

Seunghyun heard a small yawn from the other end. He smiled softly to himself. “Alright.
Let’s sleep. I know you’re tired too.”

There was a small pause, then Seunghyun whispered, “Goodnight, my Jiyong. I love you.”

He said it so naturally now, like it was the most normal thing in the world to tell him that.

“Goodnight, my Tabi,” Jiyong replied. Seunghyun waited for more, but didn’t want to push. He wanted Jiyong to say it only when he truly felt like it.

Within a minute, Seunghyun had already fallen asleep, phone still resting by his ear. The call hadn’t ended. Jiyong could still hear his quiet, steady breathing.

A smile tugged at Jiyong’s lips. He stared at his own phone for a while, warmth spreading through his chest.

“I love you more, Tabi,” he whispered into the receiver, knowing Seunghyun couldn’t hear it now. But somehow, saying it still made his heart feel lighter.

He stayed on the line a little longer, listening to Seunghyun breathe, before finally drifting off to sleep himself — their voices the last thing they heard that night.

Chapter Text

They say happiness always comes with a shadow.

You laugh, you smile, you feel like maybe—just maybe—this time, things will stay good. But somewhere deep down, there’s always that small voice reminding you not to get too comfortable. Because life has its own way of balancing things out. And sometimes, the moment you start to feel at peace… that’s when life begins to test how much of it you can hold onto.

They say happiness has a twin — and it’s sadness. The kind that shows up even when you pretend it’s not there. Sometimes it doesn’t knock. It just slips in quietly, like a shadow when the sun begins to set.

No matter how tightly you hold onto the good days, they can’t stay forever. Just like people. Just like moments. That’s just how life works. The more you want to pause time, the faster it runs. And the scarier part? The things you fear the most — losing someone, hearing something you don’t want to hear, waking up one day and feeling like the world shifted — they come without warning.

“Seunghyun-ssi, can you please wash the customer’s car? I’m still not done fixing this one,” one of his co-workers called out from under the hood of another vehicle.

“Okay,” he replied quietly, almost too quietly to be heard, but he moved without hesitation.

He grabbed the hose and a bucket, filled it with soap, and picked up a sponge that had seen better days. His hands were already starting to hurt — raw from scrubbing tires earlier that morning, but he didn’t complain. He just bent down, turned on the hose, and started working.

The sun was hot, too hot for someone who barely had the energy to keep standing. Beads of sweat started forming at his temples. His uniform clung to his back. His knees felt like they could give in at any moment. But he kept moving, careful not to scratch the surface, just like they told him. Over and over again, gently. Repetition. Routine. Silence.

Laughter suddenly broke the rhythm.

A group of students passed by on the other side of the street — uniforms crisp, faces bright, shoulders light. One of them had a bag slung over one shoulder and a sandwich in their hand, talking too loudly about something dumb but funny. The others laughed like they didn’t have anything to worry about. And maybe they didn’t.

Seunghyun look away.

Just for a second, he let himself wonder — what would it feel like to laugh like that? What would it be like if his life hadn’t paused for years inside that hospital room? What if he actually got the chance to sit in a classroom, complain about homework, chase a dream he still can’t name properly? Would he be different now? Better? Happier?

He didn’t even realize his hand was pressing too hard.

The rough sponge dragged across the car’s paint a little too hard — a tiny scraping sound that felt louder than it was. A faint scratch appeared on the surface, almost invisible, but enough to catch the wrong eyes.

“Hey! Are you blind? Look what you’ve done to my car!”
A man’s voice rang out, sharp and furious. Seunghyun flinched as if slapped. The man stormed out, pushing Seunghyun back with one hand. His body hit the pavement hard, the gravel digging into his palms and the side of his thigh.

“I-I’m sorry,” Seunghyun stammered, already scrambling to his knees, head bowed low. “I didn’t mean to, I—”

“Sorry?” the man scoffed. “You think sorry can fix that?”

The boss came out too, his face tight with frustration as he tried to calm the customer down. Seunghyun stayed low, hands clenched, staring at the ground. The scratch really was small. Maybe even buffable. But none of that mattered now.

His pride was already scratched deeper than that car.

He couldn’t even look them in the eyes — not the man yelling, not his boss, not anyone. He could feel the embarrassment crawling under his skin. Shame, frustration, exhaustion — all of it clinging to him like the sweat on his back.

His hands trembled. Not from fear, but from something worse — from the weight of knowing that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how far he’s come from the hospital bed, life still found a way to remind him that he was behind.

That he was trying so hard, but maybe it would never be enough.

Seunghyun stood silently inside the office, his clothes still damp from the water, the scent of car soap clinging to him. His hands were still shaking a little, but he tried to keep them in his pockets to hide it. Across from him, his boss was pacing, red-faced with frustration.

“Do you even realize who that customer was?” the boss snapped, slamming the door shut behind him. “One mistake — one — and we could lose every client in this area. You think that’s small? That’s your idea of ‘just a scratch’?”
Seunghyun didn’t say anything. He didn’t even flinch. He just stared at a random point on the floor, trying not to let the sting show in his face. He already knew. He always knew that in places like this, people don’t wait for you to explain.

“I’ve been patient with you. But let’s be real,” his boss continued, voice louder now, like he was trying to push every word into Seunghyun’s chest. “You’re not even that good. You’re just here because you work hard. But talent? Skill? You don’t have it. There’s nothing special about you.”

That one hit different. That one stayed.

Seunghyun clenched his fist at his side. His chest felt tight — not from anger, but from that quiet, sinking feeling that maybe his boss was right.

It wasn’t just an insult — it was a confirmation of every fear Seunghyun already had in his head. That no matter how much effort he put in, people would always see him as replaceable. That even when he gave everything, it would never be enough to be seen.

“I quit,” he said quietly, the words bitter and dry on his tongue.

His boss let out a sarcastic laugh like he was expecting that.

“Oh really?” he muttered, opening a drawer with a smirk. He pulled out a white envelope and tossed it onto the floor like it was nothing. “There. Your final pay. Take it and leave. With that kind of attitude, I doubt anyone else will hire you. What a joke. Idiot.”

Seunghyun bent down to pick up the envelope, his hand trembling as he grabbed it. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t trust himself to speak — afraid that if he opened his mouth, something other than words might come out.

He turned and walked away. Out of the office. Out of the shop. Maybe walking away was the right thing... but it still didn’t feel like winning. It felt like losing — again.

The sun was setting by the time he got out of the shop. His bag felt heavier than usual. Maybe because it wasn’t just tools inside — it was the weight of trying so hard and still not being enough.

Outside, the air was warm and humid. Life was still happening, uncaring. He passed a restaurant on the corner, and through the glass window he saw a family sitting together at a table — laughing, eating, leaning into each other like the world wasn’t so heavy. The kid was waving a spoon around while the mom wiped his face gently, and the dad just watched, smiling like he couldn’t believe this was his life.

Seunghyun stood there for a second too long, pretending to tie his shoelace, but really just trying to hold himself together. His throat burned, not from tears, but from the kind of frustration you can’t put into words. The kind that builds when you keep trying to do everything right, and nothing changes.

He didn’t want to cry. But it was one of those moments where everything in you asks, “What now?”

Not because you’re curious, but because you’re exhausted. Because you’re trying. You’ve been trying. And still, life keeps handing you these moments that feel like punishment for something you never even did.

He looked down, wiping the corner of his eyes as the tears slipped out again. He didn’t even realize he was crying until he felt the warmth on his cheeks. He let out a dry laugh to himself.

“When did I become such a crybaby?” he thought, trying to rub the tears away with the back of his sleeve.

He was happy — or at least he thought he was. Jiyong was by his side again, and that should be enough. But sometimes, when things quiet down, the thoughts come back. The kind you push away all day but find you again the moment you're alone. The kind that whisper, “You’re still behind everyone else.” The kind that remind you of what you never had — a normal childhood, a safe home, someone who stayed.

He sat down on the side of the road, just outside a convenience store. His legs felt heavy, and his chest even heavier. He watched people pass by. Some laughing, some eating ice cream, others just casually walking as if tomorrow didn’t scare them. None of them looked like they were trying to hold themselves together. None of them looked like him.

Suddenly, a flash on the giant TV screen mounted on a nearby building caught his attention. He looked up lazily, not really caring, until a familiar face appeared.

A woman in a neat dress, smiling calmly, speaking into a microphone like she had all the wisdom in the world.

“To be a great mother,” she said, “you need to discipline your children properly. Teach them to be respectful. A child’s behavior reflects the actions of their parents. That’s why raising them right is so important. If your child turns out rebellious or broken, it’s on you.”

Seunghyun let out a small, bitter laugh. Not because it was funny — but because it felt like a slap he didn’t even see coming.

Of all people.

It was her. The same woman who once looked at him like he was a burden. The one who walked out without turning back. Who called him a mistake more than she ever called him by name. And now she was here, on a screen, talking like she was someone else — like she had any right to say those things.

He gripped the water bottle in his hand tighter until the plastic crumpled. His vision was blurry again, but this time he didn’t bother to wipe the tears. What was the point?

“How can you say things like that so easily?” he whispered, his voice shaking. “In front of all those people... acting like you’re some perfect mother. Like you didn’t leave me behind when I needed you the most.”

He bit his lip, trying to stop the lump in his throat from growing, but it was too late. His chest was already too tight.

“How can you talk about raising a child right,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, “when you couldn’t even stay for your own?”

He laughed again — quietly, bitterly — and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at it like it would somehow help him breathe.

“Do you even remember me?” he asked the screen, knowing full well she couldn’t hear him. “Do you even think about me at all? Or did you erase me from your life so well that you started believing your own lie?”

He looked down, his shoulders trembling. He felt small again. Not because of the job he lost or the things he didn’t have, but because the person who was supposed to love him the most made him believe, over and over again, that he wasn’t worth it.

Some wounds don’t bleed. They just sit there — quietly — for years, waiting to be touched, so they can remind you they’re still there.

Seunghyun wiped his eyes and sniffled, trying to pull himself together. He was about to push himself up from the curb when he noticed something red on his hand. For a second, he stared at it, confused. He wiped his nose again, and more blood smeared across his palm.

He sat still for a moment, trying to figure out what was happening. He wasn’t used to nosebleeds — at least not lately. He reached into his bag and pulled out a folded handkerchief, quickly pressing it to his nose to stop the bleeding. He looked around, hoping no one saw, but everyone was too busy with their own lives to notice the boy on the sidewalk falling apart.

He tried to tell himself it was nothing. Maybe just stress. Maybe he hadn’t eaten properly today, or the sun was too much. He was tired — that had to be it.

But then everything started to spin.

He blinked fast, trying to steady his vision. He shook his head like it would help. But the world around him stayed blurry. His legs felt weak, and he had to lean against the wall just to stay standing. His hands were trembling now, and his breath felt uneven.

He pulled out his phone, called for a taxi, and gave the driver his address with a strained voice, trying to sound as normal as possible even though he could barely sit still without swaying. During the ride, he pressed his forehead against the cool window, hoping it would ease the pressure in his head — but it didn’t. The pain just kept getting worse, like someone was smashing something inside his skull, again and again.

By the time they reached his apartment, Seunghyun could barely keep his eyes open. He paid the fare with shaky hands, muttering a quiet “thank you” before dragging himself out of the car and up the stairs. He fumbled with his keys, missed the lock twice before he finally got the door open. As soon as he stepped inside, he dropped his bag and headed straight to his bed.

Maybe it’s just exhaustion, he told himself. Maybe a few hours of sleep will fix this.

He lay down, eyes half-shut, the ceiling spinning above him like it was moving. He reached into his drawer, grabbed the medicine he had kept from the hospital, and swallowed it dry. His fingers were cold. His chest felt tight. He could feel his body shutting down slowly — piece by piece.

Something in him said this wasn’t normal.

Something told him it wasn’t just sleep he needed.

So he picked up his phone with the little strength he had left and scrolled through his contacts until he found Jiyong’s name. His thumb hovered over it for a second. He didn’t want to scare him. He didn’t want to be a burden. But at that moment, he didn’t care about pride or timing.

He just didn’t want to be alone.

He pressed the call button.

The phone started to ring, but even the sound was fading now. It didn’t echo the way it usually did. His ears were ringing, the pain in his head was almost unbearable, and his eyes kept fluttering shut on their own.
Everything around him was starting to turn black. And just before he lost consciousness, he heard Jiyong’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Hello? Who’s this?”

The phone slipped from Seunghyun’s hand and hit the floor with a soft thud.

Chapter Text

“How much longer do I have left?” he asked quietly, his voice steady—but not because he wasn’t scared. He was. Deeply. But he already knew there was no use in running from it. The truth always catches up eventually. Sooner or later, it’ll corner you, and you’ll have no choice but to face it head-on.

The doctor stayed silent for a second, holding a piece of paper tightly in his hand—the result. He adjusted his glasses, then slowly took them off. He looked straight at the man in front of him, and in those few seconds, the silence already said too much.

He could see it in his patient’s eyes—the fear that he tried so hard to hide, the way his hands gripped the armrest of the chair, as if letting go might cause him to fall apart completely.
The doctor let out a deep sigh.

One he’s done too many times, but somehow, it never gets easier.

“…One month,” he said. “You only have one month left.”

The walls of the room didn’t feel like they were closing in—but more like everything inside him was crumbling all at once. His chest felt tighter than it had in years, and it wasn’t because of his illness. It was something deeper. Something heavier. He tried to nod. He tried to act like he already knew. But now that the words were real, now that he heard them out loud—it hit completely different.

He alwayss told himself he was ready for this, that he accepted his reality. But in that moment, he realized no one is ever really ready to hear when their time is almost up. Even If you expect it, it still knocks the air out of you. It still hurts.

He looked down, trying to keep it together. He bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t cry. But his eyes betrayed him. They welled up until the tears blurred his vision and slid down without his permission. His fingers clenched the edge of the seat, holding on like it was the only thing grounding him in that room.

It wasn’t just one month. It was one more sunrise. One more breakfast. One more time brushing his teeth or tying his shoes. One more lazy afternoon. One more hug. One more chance to hear someone laugh. Suddenly, everything felt so small but so incredibly important.

Outside the window, the sky had turned dark. Rain began to fall hard and fast, as if the world somehow knew what was happening. As if the clouds decided to cry with him.

The thunder echoed In the background, loud and sharp, but it didn’t compare to the storm he felt inside his chest. It wasn’t fair. It didn’t matter how long he prepared for this day. It still hurt the same.

He didn’t want to die.

He didn’t want to count days like they were running out.

He didn’t want to say goodbye before he was ready.

And all he could think was:
How do you live normally, knowing the clock is ticking?
How do you smile, laugh, or sleep, when you know everything’s ending soon?

He didn’t have the answers.
All he knew was that one month suddenly felt both like a gift and a curse.

Chapter Text

Jiyong sat by the window, quietly staring outside as if the view could distract him from what he was really feeling. He was still trying to adjust to this new room. It was much different from his old hospital. Bigger. Brighter. More comfortable. There was a table with fresh flowers, a fridge filled with food, and warm lighting that made it feel less like a hospital and more like a place for healing.

But Jiyong didn’t feel home.

No matter how much nicer this room was, it still felt empty. Not because of what it lacked—but because of who wasn’t here. His body was here, in a different hospital, in a better place as they all told him. But his heart? It was still stuck in that cold white room, sitting in the same chair day after day, waiting for Seunghyun to wake up.

His fingers played with the fabric of his bedsheet, his eyes wandering around the room like a stranger in someone else’s life. This was supposed to be good for him. The doctors said this place had better care, better facilities, better hope. They said it was for the best. But how can something be the best when it rips you away from the only person who made you feel safe?

He was supposed to be beside Seunghyun. Like he promised.

Jiyong swallowed hard and looked at the picture frame on the table next to him. It was the only thing he brought with him when they transferred him here. He reached for it with shaking hands. It was a photo of them—him and Seunghyun— in the picture, they looked happy. Young. Safe. Seunghyun had his arm around Jiyong, smiling like he had everything he needed in that moment. Jiyong pressed the frame to his chest, clutching it so tightly like if he let go, it would disappear too. The tears came before he could stop them. They rolled down silently, soaking his cheeks and dripping onto the blanket.

He cried, really cried, not just from pain—but from guilt.

From the ache that sat heavy in his chest every time he thought about Seunghyun waking up alone. The thought kept haunting him. What if he looked around and realized Jiyong wasn’t there? What if he thought Jiyong had left for good?

Jiyong knew the reason why he had to go—but it didn’t make it hurt less. He didn't choose to leave Seunghyun. He was forced to. But no matter how many times people around him told him it was necessary, he still couldn’t forgive himself. He didn’t even get to say goodbye.

He wondered if Seunghyun was eating well. If he was still working. If he was okay. Or if he felt abandoned again, just like the way life always did to him.
The picture frame trembled in Jiyong’s hands.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered through broken sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

But the walls didn’t answer. The room stayed quiet. And no matter how tightly he held that photo, it couldn't bring Seunghyun back beside him.

“Did he cry again?” a woman in her 50s asked quietly as she stood at the doorway, arms crossed, eyes fixed on her son curled up in bed.

“I think so,” Aera replied softly. She stood beside her, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “He’s holding that picture again.”

Aera’s features mirrored Jiyong’s—same eyes, same shape of the face—but unlike him, her expressions were guarded, almost always in defense mode. She watched her brother with a quiet heaviness. No matter how strong she tried to be, it hurt her to see him like this. So fragile. So lost.

His mother slowly walked over to Jiyong’s bed. Every step she took was careful, deliberate, like she was approaching something fragile. Jiyong was sleeping, but the way his eyebrows were slightly furrowed and how he clung so tightly to that photo said enough. Even in his sleep, his pain didn’t leave him.

She crouched down and reached for the picture in his arms. He was clutching it with so much force, like it was the only thing grounding him to this world. Her fingers gently pried it out, careful not to wake him. Once it was in her hands, she stared at it for a long time.

It was Jiyong and Seunghyun—side by side, grinning like they had the whole world in their hands. There was no sadness in that photo. Just two boys in love. Young and full of life. But to her, that happiness in the frame looked like a threat.

“Burn it,” she said flatly.

Aera blinked, shocked. “What?”

“You heard me,” her mother said, already turning away. “Burn it.”

Aera stared at the photo in her hands like it had suddenly turned into something dangerous. “You know how important this is to him,” she said, her voice rising just a little, holding back emotion. “He clings to this because it’s the only thing that makes him feel like he hasn’t lost everything.”

Her mother paused near the doorway. “Exactly,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “And that’s why he’s not getting better. That boy in the picture—he’s part of the past. A past that keeps pulling Jiyong down no matter how hard he tries to move forward. The more he holds onto this, the more it’s going to hurt him.”

Aera didn’t respond. She just looked down at the photo again. The smiles. The way Jiyong’s eyes crinkled with happiness. She’d never seen that kind of light in him again since Seunghyun was gone.

“He needs to forget,” their mother continued, her voice low. “If he wants to survive, he needs to let go of whatever’s keeping him tied to something that’s never coming back.”
“But what if that’s the only thing keeping him alive?” Aera whispered, not sure if her mother even heard her.

They stood there in silence for a few seconds, and then their mother walked out.
Aera was left standing in the hallway, holding the photo with trembling hands. Her throat tightened. She looked back at the room where her brother was sleeping—still frowning, still hurting.

She didn’t know what to do.

She knew her mother meant well in her own way. But how do you destroy something that holds so much meaning? Something that reminds someone of love, even if that love is gone? Aera closed her eyes and held the picture tighter against her chest.

Jiyong went through treatment after treatment. Some days were better, some felt unbearable. He did what the doctors asked. He smiled when his family visited. He tried to convince himself that this—this routine, this progress—was something to be thankful for. And in some ways, it was. He was alive. He was getting better. Every day felt like a fresh start, a small victory.

But still… something didn’t feel right.

No matter how many good meals he ate, how much sunlight came through the window, or how many times the nurses told him he was improving—there was always this strange emptiness in his chest. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t scream. But it sat there quietly, like a weight that never left.

He couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t exactly sadness. It wasn’t pain either. It was just this dull, constant ache like something was missing—but he didn’t know what. And that made it worse.

Sometimes, he would catch himself staring at the ceiling, wondering why he felt this way. Why was there this invisible gap in his life? Everyone kept saying he was lucky, that he was getting a second chance. But if this was luck, why did he feel so incomplete?
There were moments when he laughed at a joke someone told him, and then the laughter would suddenly die in his throat. Moments when the world felt too quiet. When the things that used to make him feel okay suddenly felt hollow.

And now, even if he didn’t remember everything clearly… he could feel it. Like a shadow. Like a name he forgot how to say but still lived somewhere deep in his chest.

“Jiyong-ssi, wait for me here, I’ll just order something,” Aera said, gently patting his shoulder. Jiyong gave her a small nod and quietly leaned back in his seat.

He looked around the restaurant, eyes scanning the place slowly. It was loud, filled with chatter and clinking utensils. Families, couples, friends—people came and went with ease, laughing, talking, living. The atmosphere was warm, full of life. Maybe that’s why it felt a little too loud for him.

He rested his elbow on the table and let out a quiet breath. It wasn’t like the hospital cafeteria he got used to—this place felt too alive. Too bright. Too much like the world he thought had moved on without him.

He kept scanning the room out of habit. At the far corner, his eyes landed on two men—one older, wearing a buttoned-up shirt, standing with arms crossed. The other was in uniform, head bowed, clearly being scolded.

“I told you to be careful with the food you deliver. You’re lucky they didn’t sue you. You should thank that pretty face of yours,” the man said, tone sharp but tired, like he’d said this a dozen times before.

Jiyong’s brows pulled slightly together, curious. The employee bowed his head so low it was hard to see his face. There was something oddly familiar about him, but Jiyong quickly looked away. Getting involved in someone else’s mess wasn’t really his thing.

His phone suddenly vibrated on the table—his mom was calling.

He stood up, grabbed his phone, and pulled his cap down a little lower. As he turned toward the exit, lost in his thoughts, he bumped into someone.

“Sorry,” Jiyong muttered without looking up, giving a slight nod before continuing toward the exit.

But a few steps out, he stopped.

Something in his chest shifted. Like something quietly cracked open inside him.
He blinked, gripping his phone a little tighter. He didn’t understand it—this strange feeling, like a string had been tugged. Like a memory that wasn’t fully there had brushed past him.

It was subtle. But real.

He shook it off and answered the call. “Hello?”

But even as his mother spoke on the other end, his mind wasn’t fully there. His heart was still stuck at that moment. That bump. That warmth of another person’s shoulder. That silence that suddenly felt too loud.

Inside the restaurant, Seunghyun stood near the kitchen door, still bowing after getting scolded, his head hanging low. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, completely unaware of the person he just bumped into. Completely unaware that for a second, they had stood just inches apart.

We meet so many people in our lives. Some pass by quietly. Some leave us shattered. Some teach us what love really means. And some—we never stop waiting for, even when we pretend we’ve forgotten.

Jiyong walked a little slower as he returned to his seat, his hand brushing his chest where that strange feeling lingered. It was nothing, he told himself. Just a random bump with a stranger.

Some people believe that when two souls are meant to find each other again, the world will bend quietly—no fireworks, no loud signs—just a quiet pull in the chest, an unexplainable feeling, like something inside you woke up without warning. Sometimes, that’s all it takes. A simple passing. A single moment that feels too familiar to ignore.

Life is messy. It takes people away and brings them back in strange, unplanned ways. But if there’s one thing Jiyong is starting to realize again, it’s that the emptiness we sometimes carry isn’t always a sign that we’ve lost something—but a sign that something important is waiting to be found again. 

Chapter Text

30.
“I just want to see him… please, ma’am,” Seunghyun begged, his knees hitting the cold ground as he clung to the hem of her coat, both hands trembling. His voice was low but firm, and his eyes didn’t plead with desperation—they pleaded with pain. With sincerity.

Jiyong’s mother stood in front of him, arms crossed, her jaw clenched as she looked down at him. She didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink.

“My son doesn’t even remember who you are anymore,” she said coldly. “And maybe it’s better that way. Maybe it’s better that you’re just… gone from his life. You were never good for him.”

Seunghyun didn’t react right away. His fingers slowly loosened from her wrist, but he stayed kneeling. His head was bowed, as if he was trying to swallow the weight of her words.

He lowered his head, swallowing the lump in his throat, and whispered, “Is that what you call better?”

The question made her blink. Just for a second, her expression faltered. Seunghyun slowly stood up, brushing his knees off, not because he was ashamed of kneeling—but because now, he needed her to look him in the eye.

“You think it’s better to keep him in the dark? To strip away every part of his past that made him who he is? Do you know what it’s like to wake up confused every day, trying to piece together who you are, and why your heart hurts even when your mind can’t remember the reason?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

“You’re not protecting him… you’re just deciding what’s convenient for you. You say you love your son. But love isn’t locking him away from the truth. It’s not erasing the people who made him feel alive. You don’t get to rewrite his story just because it doesn’t fit the one you had in mind.”

Her lips parted, like she wanted to say something back—but no words came out.

“And who do you think you are to say that to a mother?” she finally asked, her voice shaky with anger. “You don’t know what I’ve done to protect him. You don’t know how hard it’s been. That’s right—you wouldn’t understand. You don’t even have a mother, do you?”

Seunghyun chuckled bitterly at that. He didn’t even try to hide the crack in his voice. “You’re right. I don’t.”

He paused, looking her straight in the eyes. “But maybe that’s why I know what real love should feel like. Because I grew up learning how to hold onto people, not control them. I never needed anyone to suffocate me with care that only ends up causing more pain.”

Her face hardened again, but Seunghyun didn’t stop.

“Jiyong might not remember me right now. Maybe to him I’m just a stranger. But I believe this… even if his memory fails, his heart won’t. You can hide my name. You can burn every picture. You can even erase every letter I wrote him—but the way I made him feel… the love we shared... that won’t ever go away.”

He stepped back, eyes filled with something that looked like heartbreak—but also hope.

“Even if I can’t see him today… there’s still tomorrow,” he said softly, more to himself than to her. “And if not tomorrow, then the day after. Because I’m not giving up on him. Not again.”

He stood at the far corner of the parking lot, far from the crowd, far from anyone who could see the way his hands were shaking. The cold metal of the lighter clicked, the flame flickered, and soon enough, the familiar smell of smoke filled the air. He had told himself so many times that he would stop. That he needed to stop. But sometimes, lighting a cigarette was the only way to breathe through the weight he couldn’t put into words.

With the first drag, his chest relaxed a little—then immediately tightened again. He hated the taste, but it was better than breaking down in front of everyone.

“Seunghyun.”

A voice called from behind, soft but steady. He turned slowly. A woman, probably in her early thirties, stood a few steps away. She had Jiyong’s eyes. And when he looked closer, he remembered—Aera. Jiyong’s stepsister.

He didn’t say anything. Just stared, expression blank, eyes tired. He didn’t have the energy
for small talk.

Aera walked toward him without hesitation and handed him something. A white envelope,
sealed and slightly wrinkled like it had been held for a while.

“If you really love him… open that,” she said simply.

And just like that, she turned around and left. No more words. No questions. No
explanations.

He stared at the envelope in his hand, unsure of what to feel. His fingers brushed over the sealed edge. His heart thudded like it already knew what was inside. Slowly, carefully, he opened it.

Inside was a photo. Faded, the corners a little bent, but still whole. It was them. Him and Jiyong, sitting on a bench, laughing. Seunghyun had his arm around Jiyong, smiling like he had everything he needed in that moment. The way Jiyong leaned on him, the way their smiles reached their eyes—it wasn’t just a picture. It was proof that they existed. That their love was real. That they were once whole.

Another piece of paper fell from the envelope. He unfolded it, and in small, neat handwriting, something was written on the back.

“This is the passcode to his room.
The picture—give it to him again.
Mother told me to burn it.
But I couldn’t bring myself to destroy the only thing that helps Jiyong hold on.
Take care of him. Please.”

His grip on the paper tightened. His cigarette fell to the ground, forgotten.
It was such a short message, but it hit harder than anything else he’d heard in weeks. Because in those few lines, he saw it—hope. The kind of hope that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he could still keep his promise. That maybe he hadn’t lost everything yet.

He looked at the photo again and wiped the tears that had started falling without him realizing. He tucked the envelope close to his chest, like it was something fragile, something sacred.

Seunghyun stood outside the door for a few more seconds, staring at the numbers on the keypad. His fingers trembled slightly as he entered the passcode Aera gave him. He paused when the lock clicked open. His heart was racing, not because he was nervous to see Jiyong—but because he was terrified of what version of Jiyong he’d meet this time.

He peeked down the hall first, making sure Jiyong’s mother was really gone. When the coast was clear, he smoothed out his clothes, rubbed the last trace of cigarette smell from his fingers, and took a deep breath. One shaky step after another, he walked in.

“Eomma? Did you forget something?” Jiyong’s voice came from inside the room. His tone was casual, a little curious, like nothing was wrong.

Seunghyun didn’t answer. He took quiet steps through the hallway, following the sound of the TV. He saw him. Sitting on the couch, watching a movie, the light from the screen bouncing gently off his skin. His posture was relaxed, but his voice had that edge of restlessness. Like someone who was constantly trying to find a missing piece but had no idea where to start looking.

“Eomma, why aren’t you say—”

Before Jiyong could finish his sentence, Seunghyun crossed the room in a few quick steps and wrapped his arms around him from behind. A tight, desperate back hug.

Jiyong flinched at first, caught off guard. His body stiffened, unsure. But then… something in him softened. His hands didn’t push away. Something about it felt familiar, warm. Safe.

Seunghyun gently loosened his hold. Jiyong slowly turned his head to see who it was.

His eyes scanned the man’s face, searching for answers.

“I’m sorry, but… who are you?” Jiyong asked quietly. His voice cracked. There was fear in his eyes—not fear of Seunghyun, but fear of what he might have forgotten again.

Seunghyun didn’t flinch. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was a tired, bitter kind of smile. The kind you force when you’ve already prepared for the worst, but it still hurts like hell when it happens.

“I’m Seunghyun,” he said softly, like he was introducing himself for the very first time… even though he had done it many times before.

Jiyong took it slowly, his eyes never leaving Seunghyun’s face. Then he looked down at the photo, stared at it like he was trying to reach into it, to grab hold of whatever part of himself had been lost.

His bottom lip trembled.

“Did I… forget you again?” His voice was barely above a whisper, and it broke something inside Seunghyun.

“It’s okay,” he whispered back. “I promised I’d stay no matter what. We can start again,
Jiyong. We can always start again.”

Tears spilled down Jiyong’s cheeks, but he didn’t hold back this time. He stood and pulled
Seunghyun into a tight hug, one that said even if his mind didn’t remember, his heart still
did.

Seunghyun held him just as tightly, resting his chin on Jiyong’s shoulder, rubbing his back slowly.

“It’s okay,” he repeated, this time more for Jiyong than for himself. “You’re safe now.”

He pulled back just enough to kiss Jiyong’s forehead, wiping away the tears under his eyes.

“Let’s start all over again,” he whispered.

And they did. Again.

Because this was their new normal. This would be their everyday. Seunghyun introducing himself over and over. Jiyong holding a photo he didn’t recognize, but still felt attached to. The memory of yesterday erased. The memories of today temporary.

Sometimes, the people we love the most will forget us—not because they want to, but because life, or pain, or time took away pieces of them they never asked to lose, and in moments like that, love isn’t about being remembered perfectly, it’s about showing up anyway… choosing them again, even when they can't choose you back, and loving them not for who they were yesterday, but for who they are today, right now, even in all their broken, forgetful, and uncertain pieces.

Because some days, the hardest thing isn’t losing someone completely—it’s losing them a little at a time, in the quiet ways that no one else sees… through blank stares, missed names, and confused smiles… and still choosing to stay, even when your own heart feels forgotten.

And maybe that’s what real love looks like—staying when it hurts, holding on when there’s nothing left to hold but a memory, and finding peace in the pain, knowing that even if the world resets tomorrow, you’ll be there again, saying the same words, starting over from page one, and loving them just as much, if not more, every time.