WOP Ch 5.5

“Yes, more than anyone.”

It was a firm answer. The wounds they had inflicted on each other were still deep and raw. Both Kang Taejung and Ha Joyoon knew this better than anyone.

The unintentional hurts, the hurts inflicted out of necessity for survival, and the hurts he himself had suffered as a result. Countless wounds, of immeasurable shapes and sizes, had left their mark on his heart. But he also knew that someday, they would fade into faint scars, and the pain would become a memory.

Life was a tediously long process of healing.

“…….”

A mixture of wistfulness and regret flickered across Kang Taejung’s face. After a long pause, he spoke.

“I wish I had that same faith in you.”

“You gave me plenty of strength.”

“No.” Taejung shook his head, rejecting the compliment.

“I used the excuse of danger… My own fear of being left alone… to belittle your work and paint you as reckless and selfish. I may not have said it to your face, but those thoughts plagued me constantly. And everyone around me just tried to comfort me…”

“That’s not true.”

“I heard Youngwoo caused you a lot of trouble. I haven’t had a chance to ask you about it…”

The remnants of the past coalesced into a vivid afterimage. Joyoon clasped his hands together, remembering that bitter war where no one had emerged victorious.

“I’m sorry.”

“…….”

“I’m so sorry.”

Taejung’s breath hitched. A pained smile twisted his lips as he lowered his head. The name, now unfamiliar, echoed in his mind. Lee Youngwoo. The one who had recognized his raw, unfulfilled ambition, his resentment and hatred, and filled the void. The one who had given voice to his selfishness. A distorted reflection of his own negative, flawed emotions. Their tangled emotions had ruined everything.

“It’s a pathetic excuse to say I realized it too late. If Youngwoo said cruel things to you… it’s probably because I subconsciously influenced him.”

“…Taejung.”

“Neither of us… neither I nor he… had the right to treat you that way.”

His voice was thick with self-reproach.

“I’m… grateful to you… and I’m sorry.”

Kang Taejung finally dropped his head. Joyoon couldn’t find any words to respond to the quiet despair, and simply remained silent.

Their parting continued, unspoken yet inevitable. He didn’t cry, because he knew this wasn’t a goodbye filled with only sadness and despair. He knew that even if they turned their backs and walked in different directions, they could still wish each other happiness.

Taejung took a shaky breath and slowly stood up.

“I should go. I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“…Already?”

“I’m almost out of time.”

“…Right.”

“Take care.”

His voice, gentle as a flowing river, conveyed his final goodbye. Joyoon, his gaze fixed on the face of the man he had once loved, nodded again.

This might be the last time he saw him for a long time. He didn’t know when they would have a conversation like this again. As Shin Kwonjoo had said, goodbyes were like that. An ending with no promise of a future. He understood the feelings of someone leaving another behind.

Imagining the turmoil Taejung must be experiencing, Joyoon spoke his final farewell, his voice thick with emotion.

“Taejung, stay healthy.”

Taejung paused, his hand on the doorknob.

“…You too.”

Just before disappearing through the doorway, Taejung offered a parting smile, the same gentle smile Joyoon had always loved.

As he watched his former lover walk away, Joyoon prayed for Taejung’s future, his happiness, his life, and his love. He prayed that if they ever met again, after enough time had passed to fossilize even this pain, he could love and cherish him as a friend, as family, and sincerely celebrate his love.

Thud.

The sound of the closing door echoed softly in the empty room. And in time with that sound, a single tear traced a silent path down his cheek and fell to the floor.

Finally, both of them were free to move on.

That single tear, clinging to his downcast lashes, held a different color, a different taste, a different scent than the tears he’d cried during their previous, clumsy parting.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and walked over to the bed. The crumpled sheets were a testament to Taejung’s presence. His gaze lingered on the spot where Taejung had been sitting, filled with longing and wistful affection, before he collapsed onto the bed, burying himself in the blankets.

All the exhaustion that had weighed on him since regaining consciousness crashed over him at once. Take care. You have to take care. Stay healthy. His silent wishes echoed endlessly.

…….

The soft touch of the blankets against his cheek was comforting. The headache that had plagued him all day vanished as if by magic.

He blinked, staring at the opposite wall, before reaching into his pocket as if remembering something. He pulled out the crumpled slip of paper. The bold, flowing script, so like its owner, remained strong and defiant despite its wrinkled state.

“Wow… Sunbae-nim lives in a really expensive neighborhood.”

Silent tears streamed down his face as he murmured to himself.

“And his handwriting is so beautiful…”

I’m sorry. The unspoken apology, destined to remain unheard, was all he could offer.

Thump— thump—

A dull, rhythmic beat pulsed somewhere inside his head, growing louder with each passing moment. The memory of their last conversation resurfaced.

“I won’t wait forever, and you don’t have to feel obligated to reciprocate my feelings.”

“If the timing isn’t right, then it just wasn’t meant to be.”

“But if it is…”

He carefully folded the well-worn note and placed it on the table, curling up on the bed. A watery reflection spread across the smooth sheets. Emotions surged through him, a tide of blue washing over his transparent consciousness.

The white crests of the waves crashed, creating a rhythm of their own. Embracing the ringing in his ears, Joyoon slowly closed his eyes.

A large orca surfaced, surrounded by shimmering, light-filled water. It swam powerfully towards the night sky, greeted by the twinkling North Star and the gentle moon. With a powerful flick of its tail, it sent a spray of seawater into the air, scattering the stars. The line between the dark blue sea and the sky blurred. Following the orca’s powerful movements, Joyoon’s consciousness drifted into the sea, into the sky, among the stars, towards the moon, within the waves.

Thump— thump— thump— A distant drumbeat echoed in his ears. A nostalgic sound, a tender gesture, calling him back to where he belonged.

A wave of drowsiness washed over him, slowly claiming his consciousness. His limbs grew heavy, his mind alternately flushed with warmth and chilled with cold. The oppressive weight, the phantom drumbeat – he could no longer distinguish between dream and reality. Then, complete darkness enveloped him. At the same moment, the orca, rising from the waves that crested against the moon illuminating the night sky, arched its back and leaped into the air. A desperate struggle to return to its primal home.

He would sleep a long sleep, seeking the end of this turbulent journey. He hoped that after sleeping deeply enough to melt all his emotions, to break down his cowardly, fragile walls, he might find a little courage. He hoped he could finally take the next step, despite the weight of regret and self-recrimination.

And perhaps, by then, he might finally have an answer for him.

Click.

“Yoon-ah, I made you some pancakes. Eat something before you sleep.”

His mother entered the room, carrying a plate piled high with savory, steaming pancakes. When she received no answer, she looked around and spotted her son curled up under the blankets. A gentle smile touched her lips as she walked over to the bed.

“Fell asleep already? Without even washing up. Yoon-ah, wake up and wash your face.”

…….

“This boy, this boy…”

He always hated being hot and stuffy. Seeing him wrapped up in the blankets like a child, she playfully reached out and pulled them back. His peaceful face was revealed, lost in slumber. His soft snores indicated he was deeply asleep, and she almost felt bad waking him. She hesitated for a moment, then gently shook his shoulder. His thin frame shifted easily under her touch.

“Eat something before you go back to sleep.”

“Yoon-ah, wake up.”

“…Yoon-ah.”

He called out, but only silence answered. His mother’s gentle smile slowly froze into an expression of terror. “Yoon-ah.” Her voice trembled as she called out to her son. A terrible premonition gripped her. He was a light sleeper, easily roused by the slightest sound.

“Yoon-ah, wake up.”

Slap. She slapped his thin cheek, a little harder this time. It must have stung, but his eyes remained closed. “Yoon-ah.” Her voice wavered as she shook him more forcefully. His body moved limply, but his eyes remained stubbornly shut. A terrible premonition washed over her. Everything pointed to a single, horrifying conclusion.

“Yoon-ah… Oh my god, Yoon-ah, what’s wrong?”

Tears streamed down her wrinkled face. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” she repeated, her voice trembling uncontrollably. His forehead was damp with a cold sweat, and her own cheeks were wet with tears. His condition was clearly alarming, and her hands shook violently.

“Why is he sweating so much? What’s wrong with him…?”

She continued to wipe the sweat from his forehead, her hand still shaking him. Just a few hours ago, he had gone upstairs with a smile.

“…Why won’t he open his eyes? What’s wrong…?”

Mommy’s scared… Yoon-ah, Mommy’s so scared… Tears streamed down her face, unchecked. Her lips trembled, pale and bloodless.

“What’s wrong? Son, Yoon-ah, Yoon-ah…”

She let go of his shoulder and stumbled to her feet, staggering backward, her face ashen. Crash! The tray and plate on the desk clattered to the floor, knocked over by her flailing hands.

“Honey, honey…”

She collapsed onto the floor and crawled towards the half-open door, tears streaming down her face. The floor was littered with broken dishes and scattered food, but she didn’t notice. Terror twisted her features as she neared the door.

“Honey… Honey!! Honey!!! Honey, come quick!! Honey!! Honey!!”

Her hysterical cries ripped through the house. Honey! Junghye! Honey! The sound of pounding footsteps echoed from downstairs as her family rushed up the stairs. Honey!! Honey!! Amidst her desperate cries, his pale face remained serene, undisturbed in its slumber.

❄

He opened his eyes. Everything was dark, and his body felt weightless, as if he were floating on air. He felt detached from time and space, unable to perceive any sense of movement or flow. His heart swelled and contracted rhythmically.

Am I dying?

As his consciousness drifted, he thought vaguely about death. Death. It was something he hadn’t prepared for. Thinking that this might be the end, he retraced the path he had walked.

Longing.

It was a feeling that had always been with him. Wherever he went, he felt a constant, intangible yearning. Understanding this feeling was like searching for the meaning of his own existence. He had always sought to escape, to find answers, and with each passing year, the weight on his feet had lessened. He had tried to settle down, but nothing could fill the ever-deepening void within him. When exhaustion finally claimed him, he closed his eyes.

A thousand days and nights passed before he could open them again. He didn’t know how much time had truly passed, only that it was longer than before. His thoughts were sluggish, but he forced himself to think. Waves of consciousness flowed through the fragmented images that remained. The relentless flow paused at a window in his mind, filled with an intense longing.

The reason for his return.

There was always only one reason to come back: love. The most imperfect yet most beautiful of emotions. He had believed in its eternity. Blinded by his own selfish desires, he hadn’t realized that his love was a twisted, corrupted thing, hadn’t seen the sickness consuming those he loved. He had wasted years in foolish ignorance.

Even as he walked the endless, desolate road under the scorching sun, his thoughts were filled with the love he had left behind. Not a day had passed without him thinking of his lover. And yet, even with him, he hadn’t been able to settle down. It was ironic.

What choices would I make if I could go back? It was a question he’d asked himself every day since his return. Did I try my best? Did I fulfill my responsibilities? Did I appreciate the stability I had and strive to preserve it? It was a futile exercise, but he replayed the scenarios countless times. The conclusions always branched out in a thousand different directions.

Looking at his lover’s dirt-stained feet, he had poured out all his guilt and self-reproach. That image was a testament to his original sin. That was why he had to sever that final tie, the one he couldn’t let go of, with his own hands. Only he could do it. He knew that even if he compromised with reality, held onto his lover, and stayed by his side, he couldn’t heal him. His lover was too kind. He would only torture himself with guilt and self-reproach, destroying himself from within.

As he finally parted ways with his lover, he realized that sometimes, knowing someone too well could prevent you from holding onto them.

I want you to forget me and fly free. To a wider world, with someone who will prioritize you and love only you. He truly loved him, and he sincerely wished for his happiness. He was grateful to be able to feel that way. He closed his eyes.

His consciousness flowed rapidly.

The third time he opened his eyes, he thought his surroundings were brighter, but his vision was still blurry, and he couldn’t see anything clearly. He had no sense of how much time had passed. He strained his eyes, trying to hold onto his thoughts. His body felt heavy and immobile, like a stone, but his consciousness soared, a free bird exploring the past.

He remembered capturing the beautiful moment when his beloved family was at their happiest. He remembered the love he shared with his former lover, the casual conversations with his few friends. The fragmented memories, filled with people and events, slowly began to coalesce into a coherent whole.

As he pieced together the puzzle of his memories, a face surfaced in his mind. A man, both familiar and unfamiliar. He tried to speak his name, but not even a breath escaped his lips.

I won’t wait forever, and you don’t have to feel obligated to reciprocate my feelings.

He clung to his fading consciousness, recalling the man’s last words and the look in his eyes: cold, indifferent, weary, desperate, wounded… and yet, unbroken. And the words the man had spoken, so heavy yet so light.

Desperate to hold onto his disintegrating consciousness, he searched for the missing piece of the puzzle, the emotion he hadn’t dared to acknowledge. His silence had been his last shred of conscience. He hadn’t wanted to reveal the greed he’d buried deep within. Perhaps he regretted it now. This feeling was agonizingly familiar. The regret that had haunted him ever since his reunion with Kang Taejung.

Yes, he had to admit it. His bitter regret. The regret he’d felt even as he rejected the man’s outstretched hand. The regret of never being truly honest about his feelings. The piece of his true heart he’d hidden away, convincing himself he couldn’t be greedy.

If only he had known that would be the last time.

I… to you…

“…Look… conscious… now…”

“…Yoon… awake…”

His blurry vision flickered.

His mind was a chaotic jumble, even as he opened his eyes, or perhaps he hadn’t. Unable to keep pace with the swirling currents of his consciousness, he drifted in a liminal space between dream and reality, where faces appeared and disappeared.

Uh. He tried to speak, but only a ragged gasp escaped his lips. He wanted to speak, but he couldn’t. He had something to say. The frustration was a tight knot in his chest. Gasps— Gasps— His erratic breathing echoed in the room. His vision remained clouded.

“You’re… awake…”

He heard voices, a constant stream of whispers and shouts, all blending together. He felt himself being moved. He sensed their urgency, their desperation. Someone was in great distress. And that made him want to open his eyes, to speak, to reassure them. I’m okay. I’m alright.

“Yoon… Joyoon… Oh my god…”

A voice, filled with anguish, called out to him. He saw a face, contorted with worry, hovering above him. He struggled to hold onto his consciousness, to prevent it from slipping away into the hazy realm between dream and reality. Even as he lay paralyzed, unable to move a finger, the voice continued to call out to him.

“Ha Jo…”

…It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be him. That anxious, desperate, grief-stricken face couldn’t possibly belong to him.

“…Yoon…!”

…Those dark eyes couldn’t possibly be filled with tears.

“…Ha Joyoon…!”

A rough hand grasped his own, its calloused texture jarringly unfamiliar. The man’s usual polished, almost artistic demeanor was gone. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t even breathe, as if a large stone was lodged in his throat. His wet eyelashes fluttered rapidly. Was this a dream, conjured by the wind? But whether this was a dream or reality, he had something he needed to say.

I, to you—.

“Yoon-ah!”

“Yoon-ah! Are you awake?!”

A tsunami of sensations crashed over him. He was suddenly, violently awake. His vision cleared, and a torrent of voices bombarded him.

The faces etched with shock, surprise, and relief were all familiar to him. The air crackled with heightened emotions, and a sense of déjà vu washed over Ha Joyoon.

It was the feeling of every sense returning at once. As if his submerged consciousness had been abruptly yanked back to the surface. The disorientation, the exhaustion after a long and arduous journey. This strange sensation was familiar. And soon, everything clicked into place.

Yes, it was just like waking up from that five-year coma.

Realization dawned on his face, his features slowly twisting in confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask a question, but a dark shadow fell over him.

“Yoon-ah, you… oh my god…”

His mother collapsed onto the bed, sobbing uncontrollably. His sister, equally distraught, rushed to comfort her, tears streaming down her own face. Their mournful cries filled the hospital room.

Unable to move his leaden body, Joyoon slowly turned his head.

The sky beyond the window was a brilliant, light-filled blue. The warm sunlight was a stark contrast to the gray skies and swirling snow he remembered. He couldn’t be sure, but he guessed the seasons had changed.

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay now. Yoon-ah…”

His mother struggled to sit up, clutching his hand, tears still streaming down her face. Ha Junghye, trying to comfort her mother, buried her face in her shoulder, unable to contain her own emotions.

The sound of their crying intensified as Joyoon’s gaze drifted towards the window. His vacant eyes slowly shifted towards the source of the sound. His mother and sister were weeping, while his father stood a step behind them, his face buried in his hand, silently swallowing his own grief. And then…

“Are you awake?”

A tall figure, slumped in a chair by the bed, looked up. The familiar silhouette slowly came into focus. A gentle smile, a soft voice. The warmth of a hand on his. A kind, gentle face. And the unmistakable shadow of grief in his eyes. It was a familiar sight.

He said he was leaving today… Didn’t he say he was leaving? Had time not passed? Confused, Joyoon looked from Kang Taejung to his weeping family.

“Taejung…?”

His voice was rough, strained, like a rusty machine sputtering to life after a long period of disuse. Why was Taejung here? He was supposed to be on his way to Germany. He shouldn’t be wasting time here.

He remembered their conversation, their wishes for each other’s well-being, but everything after that was a blank. Confused thoughts, struggling to make sense of the situation, swirled in his mind. Kang Taejung reached out and gently stroked his forehead. But even that comforting touch couldn’t ease his growing anxiety.

“Why… am I…?”

He couldn’t summon the strength to move. He blinked repeatedly, trying to regain his fading consciousness, to orient himself in time and space. A nameless fear gnawed at him. Tears welled up in his eyes for no apparent reason. The oppressive sense of déjà vu was overwhelming.

“Just relax. Don’t try to sit up yet.”

His fearful gaze darted around the room. It wasn’t his room.

“Where…?”

“You’re in the hospital. You had surgery. You’ve been hospitalized.”

Surgery? The unexpected word made his eyes widen in alarm. He’d been taking his medication, doing his rehabilitation exercises. He’d thought he was improving, slowly but surely. Dohyun had said he was getting better. So why…?

No, wait. The scattered fragments of his memory finally clicked into place. He remembered Dohyun’s advice. He’d said he needed to be hospitalized immediately.

But… he hadn’t said anything about surgery…

Despair washed over him. It felt as if the hands of time had spun out of control, leaving him behind. Helpless, unable to catch up, to hold on. Was he going to lose something again? Half of his life had already been ripped away with his breakup with Taejung, and now…

He forced himself to focus, to speak.

“Why did I need surgery…?”

“You collapsed. You had a brain hemorrhage. It wasn’t too serious, a relatively simple procedure, but you were unconscious for a while. You started regaining consciousness last week, but you weren’t fully awake. You’ve been drifting in and out of sleep.”

Kang Taejung explained the situation calmly, trying to soothe his anxiety. But despite his efforts, his voice was strained, laced with worry.

“What’s… today’s date…?”

Joyoon’s hand fumbled blindly across the stiff hospital sheets, his mind racing. Again. Again. Fear and anxiety made it impossible to think clearly. His body trembled uncontrollably.

He remembered a voice, speaking to him from that hazy realm between dream and reality. A voice that had been so real, so present, and was now gone without a trace. He didn’t know how much time had passed. The fear of loss made him tremble violently.

A firm, warm hand gripped his shoulder.

“Yoon-ah, calm down. Okay?”

“I… I…”

Kang Taejung’s gaze softened with sadness as he watched Joyoon struggle to speak. Joyoon’s bony hand reached up to his forehead, then recoiled as his fingers brushed against the bandages.

“What’s the date…?”

“It’s May. Only three months have passed. So just try to relax.”

“May… May…?”

Three months… May… Spring. Joyoon repeated the words like a child, his eyes darting around anxiously.

“You… Germany? You were supposed to…”

His words were disjointed, but Kang Taejung seemed to understand the worry and fear behind them. He shook his head and took Joyoon’s hand.

“I came back for a bit.”

“…….”

“I heard about you and came back.”

“…I see.”

Thank goodness. He murmured weakly, blinking back tears. He turned his gaze towards the window. The blue sky offered no clues about the season. But the warm sunlight streaming through the window announced the arrival of spring, a time of rebirth after the long, harsh winter.

“It’s spring…”

“Yoon-ah…”

“It was winter… and now spring is almost over…”

A throbbing headache pressed against his skull. He gripped the sheets, his bony fingers trembling. More time had passed. His chest heaved with shallow, rapid breaths. Regret and frustration choked him. His expression was calm, but his body trembled with silent sobs.

Ignoring his family’s mournful cries, he turned his gaze back to the window. A gentle spring breeze drifted through the slightly open window, carrying the faint scent of flowers. He closed his eyes, letting the warm breeze wash over his face, carrying away the remnants of his despair. He bit his trembling lip.

After such a harsh winter, what’s left for me…?

Click.

The sound of the closing door made Kang Taejung look up from his seat in the hallway. Ha Junghye stood before him, her expression somber.

“How is he…?”

“He just fell asleep after they gave him a sedative.”

“…….”

“He seems very confused. This is… the second time this has happened, so I think it’s especially hard on him.”

At her subdued tone, Kang Taejung buried his face in his hands and sighed deeply. The tension he’d been holding at bay since last night finally crashed over him. Ha Junghye sighed and sat down carefully beside him.

“When are you going back?”

“…Tomorrow morning.”

“So soon?”

“I’m only here briefly on company business, so my schedule is tight.”

“I see… You’re not even getting a chance to rest properly.”

“It is what it is.”

Taejung smiled wryly, rubbing his stiff jaw. Despite his casual response, his gaze remained fixed on the closed door of Joyoon’s room. Ha Junghye watched him, her expression filled with guilt.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you too… Mom wasn’t thinking straight. She was only supposed to call my aunt…”

“Junghye, don’t apologize. Of course, I should know.”

Ha Junghye shook her head at his words.

“I can’t keep burdening you like this. I could understand if I didn’t know what you went through these past few years, but I can’t keep doing this to you.”

It was a carefully guarded secret. When Joyoon’s hospitalization stretched past two months, Kang Taejung’s mother inevitably found out, but Joyoon’s family had made every effort to keep the news from Taejung himself. They’d seen how his life had fallen apart once before.

“I didn’t want to burden you or your family any further. It hurts me to think that Yoon-ah’s existence is a weight on your heart. No matter how I try to justify it, it’s still selfish. For my brother’s sake… for our family’s sake… the only reason we didn’t tell you or your parents about Yoon-ah was to protect you.”

Kang Taejung understood her concerns, but his expression remained troubled. There was no one to blame, no one to resent. And yet, a selfish part of him couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret.

“Just because we broke up doesn’t mean it’s over. Junghye, Yoon-ah is… a precious friend to me.”

“Thank you for saying that. Even knowing about your relationship with Yoon-ah… I feel so ashamed. Thank you for caring so much, Taejung. Now that Yoon-ah’s awake… you should go home and rest. You must be pressed for time with your departure preparations.”

His kind eyes flickered with pain.

“…I’d like to see how he’s doing first.”

“He just fell asleep. He probably won’t wake up until evening.”

“I just want to see his face.”

Forcing a smile, Kang Taejung stood up. Even though he’d only been sitting for a few hours, his body felt stiff and tense.

“Alright. I’ll go check on Mom. She’s not doing well either.”

“Okay, go ahead. Don’t worry. I’ll stay here with him.”

He bowed his head, and Ha Junghye nodded, a look of relief on her face. See you later. He returned the brief farewell and walked towards Joyoon’s room.

Click, click, click.

The hallway was bustling with activity, but the sound of his shoes echoed strangely loud. Even though it was only a few steps, the distance to the door felt immense.

“…….”

He stared at his hand on the doorknob, then pushed the door open with a newfound resolve. Creak— The door opened slowly, revealing the familiar scent of the hospital room and the sleeping form of Ha Joyoon.

Click, click, click. Each step felt heavy. As he approached the bed, his expression became increasingly somber. He stopped at the foot of the bed.

Joyoon’s hair was short, his head bandaged from the surgery. His face was pale, his eyes closed.

“…….”

Taejung’s lips trembled. He stood there, his body shaking slightly. He hadn’t even registered the passage of time since hearing the devastating news upon his return.

Were you… like this back then?

When you woke up after five years, were you this scared and tearful? All alone, in that unfamiliar place?

A wave of anguish washed over him. He couldn’t shake the image of Joyoon trembling in fear and confusion after waking up, disoriented and lost in time.

A sharp, visceral pain made him close his eyes tightly. He remembered their cruel, selfish reunion as if it were yesterday. He had returned from the brink of death, but he hadn’t spared a thought for Joyoon, who had lost the most vibrant years of his twenties. He had simply justified his actions, escaping into his own pain.

He took a shaky breath. This guilt, he knew, would haunt him for a long time.

“Yoon-ah.”

He reached out and gently took Joyoon’s hand. The faint warmth radiating from his skin was a reassuring sign of life. He rested his forehead against Joyoon’s bony hand, remembering the man he’d seen sitting silently in the deserted hospital hallway in the early hours of the morning.

“I saw him.”

In the darkness, they had stared at each other for a long time, neither of them speaking. The man’s haggard appearance confirmed Ha Junghye’s words – he’d been visiting every day. The arrogance and composure he’d projected during their phone calls over the years were gone, replaced by a raw vulnerability that was almost painful to witness.

He remembered what Ha Junghye had told him. How the man had come as soon as he’d heard the news, how he’d visited the hospital every single day during the three months he’d been gone. How he couldn’t bring himself to ask him to stop coming, because the look on his face as he watched Joyoon, unconscious and unresponsive, was so devastating.

The man had stared at him impassively for a long time before finally rising from his chair. He’d glanced around the room, then briefly closed his eyes, his expression unreadable.

And then he was gone.

Without a word, without a single confrontation, Shin Kwonjoo had simply walked past him. There had been no hesitation in his retreating footsteps.

A faint smile touched Taejung’s lips. His gaze softened as he looked at Joyoon, still sleeping peacefully. A warmth spread through his chest.

“He doesn’t seem like a nice person, just like you said.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips.

The laughter faded, and silence descended upon the room. Pushing aside the persistent ache in his heart, he rested his forehead against Joyoon’s hand again. A flood of shared memories and emotions flowed between them, skin to skin.

“He seems to care about you a lot.”

He hadn’t spoken a single word, but the pained look in his eyes as he gazed at Joyoon, lying unconscious in his hospital bed, had spoken volumes. The raw emotion etched on his face had been unmistakable.

“…I’m glad you’re not alone.”

He whispered the words with heartfelt sincerity.

During his three months in Europe, unaware of Joyoon’s condition, he had grieved for his lost love while simultaneously trying to rebuild his life. The irony was that he’d been able to move on precisely because their relationship had ended so definitively.

But there was one thing…

The thought that Joyoon might be alone, with no one but his family by his side, had been a constant, nagging thorn in his side. There were times, late at night, alone in his hotel room, when he’d been consumed by thoughts of Joyoon. He’d even considered dropping everything and returning to Korea, begging him to give their relationship another chance. But it had all been just thoughts, nothing more. He hadn’t acted on any of them. He found himself accepting his transformation, his newfound focus on the present, with a mixture of resignation and relief.

He imagined the man, sitting silently in the hallway, patiently waiting for Joyoon to wake up. He imagined the agonizing pain he must be feeling. And yet, selfish as it was, he felt a sense of relief knowing that someone was there for Joyoon. He no longer had to worry about him being alone. He was still recovering, but still…

Screech.

He pushed his chair back and stood up, the sudden shift in height creating a distance between them.

“Yoon-ah.”

His lips trembled. I hope you don’t wake up until I’m gone. He couldn’t bear to say goodbye, to see his own reflection in Joyoon’s clear, knowing eyes.

“…Take care.”

Someday, if our paths cross again, after a long time has passed, I’ll tell you while you’re awake. He whispered his final goodbye to the sleeping figure. Spring, arriving after the harsh winter, promised healing, gently soothing the hearts broken by the cold.

It was a long time before he finally let go of Joyoon’s hand.

He slowly inhaled, the scent of the night air tickling his nose. He blinked a few times, his vision slowly coming into focus. Sleep. Had he been sleeping again? He looked around anxiously, disoriented by the shift in time. He spotted his mother asleep in the accompanying bed, and a wave of relief washed over him.

“…….”

It was just nighttime. He clenched his trembling hands and carefully sat up. A sharp pain shot through his hand as he moved, tugging at the IV line. His brow furrowed in pain.

He carefully maneuvered the IV stand, mindful of not waking his mother, and finally exhaled. Click, click. The wheels of the stand rolled smoothly across the floor. The sensation of his feet on the ground felt strange, unfamiliar. He closed his eyes tightly, then opened them and stepped out of the room.

The hallway was deserted except for a couple of nurses. Was it early morning? The atmosphere was strange, liminal. A space that was both real and unreal.

His gaze unfocused, he slowly wheeled the IV stand towards the central lobby. With each step, a torrent of emotions and fragmented thoughts crashed around him. A nameless despair threatened to pull him under.

Click, click. Thud, thud. Each push of the stand, each step he took, created a strange, rhythmic counterpoint. Click, click, thud, thud. The sound of his labored breathing mingled with the rhythmic clicking and thudding.

His aimless wandering came to an abrupt halt when he spotted a figure slumped in a chair, eyes closed.

“…….”

The man seemed strangely out of place in the sterile environment of the hospital. It was hard to tell if he was sleeping. Shin Kwonjoo sat with his arms crossed, his face as impassive as a wax figure. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest indicated he was breathing.

Unable to tear his gaze away, Ha Joyoon parted his lips slightly. This man had been one of the figures dominating his thoughts during that period of in-between consciousness. But he looked thinner, more exhausted than he remembered, and Joyoon hesitated to approach. Hadn’t he returned to headquarters? Or was he back temporarily, like Kang Taejung? For whatever reason, his presence here felt surreal.

He’d thought about so much while he was asleep, but now, facing the man, his mind was blank. He felt like an idiot.

Swallowing hard, Joyoon leaned on his IV stand and exhaled softly. He intended to watch a little longer before returning to his room. But at that moment, as if by magic, Kwonjoo’s eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes as dark and impenetrable as obsidian. He blinked slowly, deliberately, almost theatrically. Finally, his gaze focused.

“…It’s been a while.”

“…….”

When Joyoon remained silent, Kwonjoo stretched his arms and yawned. He rolled his head, flexing his fingers, then smiled casually and reached out, grasping Joyoon’s wrist and pulling him closer. Joyoon was drawn in like a magnet, the distance between them shrinking in an instant.

“Did you sleep well?”

His voice was low, subdued. Joyoon finally exhaled, the breath he’d been holding. He was back in reality after a brief sojourn elsewhere. That simple realization filled his mind. A tangled mess of emotions, confusion and relief, pressed against his chest.

“I slept a bit too long.”

He tried to sound calm, but his voice trembled uncontrollably. Shin Kwonjoo simply nodded, seemingly oblivious to his attempt at composure.

“Yes, you did. Too long.”

“…….”

“You were sleeping so deeply.”

Joyoon swallowed hard.

“I was really worried.”

Kwonjoo’s words, spoken lightly, as if in jest, were filled with such pain and weariness that Joyoon couldn’t bring himself to offer empty reassurances.

Kwonjoo’s dark hair fell unstyled across his forehead. Joyoon realized that he wasn’t wearing his usual business attire. He looked like he hadn’t come straight from the office. Kwonjoo caught the question in his eyes and smiled faintly.

“I’m on leave, like someone else I know.”

“On leave…?”

“My mind was a mess.”

He rubbed his wrist slowly, his voice heavy. His touch was warm, firm, almost burning.

“It’s not your fault, so don’t worry about it.”

“But…”

“I’m not that selfless, am I?”

Kwonjoo chuckled, but the usual air of authority was gone. Joyoon bit his lip, staring at the large hand encircling his wrist.

“It won’t be for long. I have to go back soon.”

“…That’s good.”

“Maybe.”

His heart, which he’d kept tightly locked away during those agonizing days, began to beat again, slowly, tentatively. The sterile scent of the hospital filled his nostrils. The scent of life and death.

“The doctor said…”

“What?”

“That it might have been caused by excessive stress. There was no other explanation for your sudden decline.”

“…….”

“He gave me quite a lecture about overworking you.”

Stress.

Joyoon repeated the word silently, shaking his head.

“It’s not your fault, Sunbae-nim. It’s no one’s fault.”

Thinking back, there had been plenty of warning signs. The frequent headaches, the dizziness, the nausea and nosebleeds he’d dismissed as side effects. His body had been trying to tell him. He was the one who hadn’t listened.

But the pain in Kwonjoo’s eyes, the furrow in his brow, the lines around his nose, his tightly pressed lips, his tense posture – everything spoke of his guilt. He wanted to reassure him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but he knew that wasn’t what Kwonjoo wanted to hear. So he remained silent.

A sudden pang of sadness pierced his heart. His body, unused to movement after months of inactivity, felt weak and unsteady. He rubbed his wrist with his thumb, feigning nonchalance.

“I know. Doctors always blame stress when they can’t find another cause.”

“Haha.”

“How are you going to keep doing this job with your health like this? You need to be out in the field, running around.”

“…I know.”

“This is serious, Ha Joyoon.”

He chuckled weakly. After a long silence, Kwonjoo reached out and wrapped his free arm around Joyoon’s waist, resting his head against him. His soft hair brushed against Joyoon’s hospital gown. A soft laugh escaped his lips, the sound vibrating against his skin. He liked the feeling, and he simply stared at the top of Kwonjoo’s head, his mind blank.

“You’ve got a buzz cut.”

“…Does it look strange?”

“No. It suits you.”

Kwonjoo looked up, meeting his gaze, his hand still gripping his wrist. Joyoon licked his dry lips, his gaze tracing the sharp line of Kwonjoo’s nose. A sudden chill ran down his spine. The wisps of hair sticking out from under his bandages looked ridiculous.

“Ha Joyoon.”

“…Yes.”

“Forget everything I said.”

“…….”

Kwonjoo’s thumb and forefinger tightened around his wrist. Joyoon couldn’t speak.

“Don’t remember any of it.”

His voice was calm, firm, filled with an iron will. A long spear pierced his heart, his ribs, tearing through him. Unaware of the nature of this strange, sharp pain, Joyoon simply blinked. The bones protecting his heart shattered, the sharp shards piercing his veins, threatening his very existence.

“I’ll forget it too.”

Joyoon stared at him, his breath caught in his throat. Kwonjoo’s dark eyes were cold, yet they held a burning intensity that threatened to consume everything in its path. It was a stark contradiction, just like the hand that held his wrist so tightly even as he told him to forget. The discrepancy between his words and his actions, the raw, painful contradiction, made Joyoon’s vision blur.

“Sunbae-nim…”

“I…”

Kwonjoo cut him off, shaking his head firmly.

“I’ve always prioritized myself in every situation. My entire life.”

“…….”

“That probably won’t change, but I can make an exception this once.”

His breath hitched, etched with past memories. Joyoon slowly raised his free hand. Kwonjoo’s gaze followed its movement.

“I don’t want to pressure you emotionally anymore.”

“…….”

“So forget it all.”

His eyes shone with a stubborn intensity, lingering on the moment. Joyoon’s gaze slowly traveled from Kwonjoo’s hair to his forehead, his eyes, his nose, his cheeks, his chin. He pulled Kwonjoo closer, burying his face against him. Kwonjoo’s face disappeared from view, and his warm breath fanned across Joyoon’s waist. His unspoken feelings whispered on the spring breeze. He composed himself and spoke quietly.

“What about the entry code?”

A choked laugh escaped his lips. Kwonjoo’s grip tightened on his wrist, his broad shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Laughter. Joyoon focused on that. Tick, tock— The second hand on the clock on the wall seemed unusually loud. He glanced at it. It was late, well past midnight.

“Well…”

Kwonjoo’s muffled voice echoed from where his head was still buried against Joyoon’s chest. He paused, then shrugged, amending his answer. His expression was strangely calm, composed, yet tinged with desperation.

“Forget that too.”