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“Wow. He’s hot.”
“You never stood a chance, Tak-ah…”
Hyeori smiled when she heard that. The boys had asked to come with her to the hospital—not because it was that late, but they gave her some excuse about not letting her walk around at night. She knew they were just curious, so she let them tag along.
“He’d probably help you get a girlfriend… he’s good at matchmaking,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. Gotak smirked and wrapped an arm around Juntae’s shoulders, glancing at her.
“Alright. We’ll be waiting in the cafeteria.”
She made a face. “You sure? I don’t want you to get bored.”
The tall brunette shook his head, and Juntae quickly smiled. “There’s a claw machine in the cafeteria.”
Gotak nodded. “Oh, I saw it. A plush penguin looked at me weird. It was challenging me.”
She raised an eyebrow with a grin. “Are you gonna win the penguin?”
“I will. I’ll come back victorious,” he declared. “C’mon, let’s go get some change.”
With that, the duo waved goodbye and walked out of the room, discussing whether a nearby store could break their bill. She watched them go, smiling faintly, a touch of melancholy in her chest.
The room fell silent, with only the hum of the monitor and Sooho’s steady breathing filling the space. She walked deeper inside, her steps soft, as if any noise might wake the boy from his deep slumber.
“They’re sweet, aren’t they?” she asked, her voice slightly trembling. She smiled. “I know you’ll be great friends when you wake up…”
She sank into the chair beside him with a heavy sigh. Her eyes settled on him, just like they always had.
Her hand rested delicately on his, as if afraid to hurt him. “So much happened this week…” She made a sound in her throat. “I always say that, I know… but this time, it’s true… I didn’t know who else to tell.” She swallowed hard. That knot was back. The one that hadn’t left since everything went down. “It’s Baku. Do you remember him? Loud, messy hair… Anyway, some idiots—a group of students calling themselves ‘The Union,’ like they’re some wannabe mafia—started pressuring him to join. And I guess they thought Humin was close to us, so they could use that. So they came here. To this hospital.”
Her gaze dropped to her lap, fingers trembling as they fidgeted.
“It was a threat, Sooho. They came here like this was a damn convenience store… They didn’t say anything. They just stood there… looking at you. Like they could hurt you. Even when you’re already so broken.”
She paused, staring at her hands. She didn’t want to cry. Not yet.
“And then there’s Sieun…” Her voice shook a little. She cleared her throat. “We fought. Just a little, but… it was ugly. He just wants to protect everyone, but so do I. And for a moment… for just a second… I forgot that he… I forgot the guilt he carries on his back… forgot that I’m not the only one suffering through all this…”
Her nose tingled—the warning sign. She didn’t want to cry again.
“Sieun… got into a fight. Because of me. Because I wasn’t paying enough attention.” She scolded herself, like she did every time she remembered what had happened. “I took him home… patched him up and made him soup… like I used to for you after competitions…” She pouted a little. “Except he didn’t ask for seconds like you would have.” She laughed bitterly. “He’s okay, in case you’re wondering… After we ate, we slept, had breakfast… I made him go home. I didn’t want his mom to worry… She doesn’t like me much. I didn’t want to make things worse.”
A small tear slid down her cheek, but she wiped it away quickly—almost clumsily.
“I went out today with Juntae and Gotak. We got chicken…” She looked at her hand, wondering if it still smelled like chicken. She had washed them well before coming. “You know I don’t like chicken… but that was the best I’ve ever had. I’ll take you to that restaurant when you wake up. You’ll probably ask the owner for the recipe and make me cook it every weekend…”
A warm smile tugged at her lips as she gently brushed a tiny bit of lint from his cheek.
“I told them everything. Everything that’s happened over the past two years. I told them about you. About us.” Her tone softened, like she was whispering a secret. “I don’t know if I can call them friends yet, but for the first time in a while… I didn’t feel so alone. And that scared me a little. Because… if I feel less alone, does that mean I’m drifting away from you?”
Her fingers searched for Sooho’s with a bit of desperation. She needed to feel his skin. The warmth of it was her only comfort.
“I don’t want it to seem like I’m replacing you. I never could.”
And then, suddenly, she broke. The tears started falling freely. Her body shook, but she held onto his hand tightly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect Sieun. Sorry I let them hurt him. Sorry I let them hurt you too. Sorry for only being strong when it’s too late. Sorry… for still being here and not being able to bring you back.”
Her head leaned against the mattress beside his arm. Her eyes shut, letting herself be held by his nearness—though there was no response. Though the only heartbeat in the room came from the machine, not his chest.
“You’ll come back, right?” she murmured, her voice hoarse, trying not to sob too loudly. “You don’t have to run. Just… walk back. I’ll wait as long as it takes… just come back, please.”
* * *
The storm hadn’t stopped all night. Rain slammed against the windows with fury, and the wind made strange sounds as it clashed with the trees surrounding the building.
Hyeori was in the kitchen, warming some water to make herself tea. Her head was pounding again—it was two in the morning, and once more, she couldn’t sleep.
The first knock on the door made her tense up, but she figured the insomnia was just playing tricks on her, so she ignored it and poured the hot water into her mug, where the tea bag was already waiting. But then came a second knock—clearer this time.
Weak. Three soft knocks. Like whoever was on the other side could barely lift their hand. Her brows furrowed, confused and a little scared. She wasn’t expecting anyone, especially not at this hour.
Leaving everything behind, she walked to the door. She didn’t unlock it—just checked the hallway camera. And the moment she saw who was standing there, her heart went into overdrive.
“What the hell?”
She rushed to unlock the door, fingers trembling as she undid both locks.
“Seungje?”
He could barely stand. Soaked to the bone, shivering, lips pale—almost purple. His eyes were distant. But what scared her most were the cuts across his face, his split lip and brow, and the large, slow-bleeding wound on his forehead. His shirt—white, now stained red on the side—stuck to his body, and his arm hung limp, like there were no bones left to support it.
“Help me…” he managed to say, before collapsing against the doorframe.
Hyeori acted on instinct. She caught him the best she could, stepping back to stop him from crashing straight to the floor.
“Hey! Hey, Seungje! What happened to you?! What did you do?!”
No answer. He shut his eyes tight, his teeth clenched against the pain ripping through him. His breathing was shallow. His face twisted in agony. Even his own weight seemed too much for his exhausted, skinny body.
She didn’t waste time thinking. She hauled him inside, arm around his good side, dragging him across the floor. Every step left a wet trail behind—mud, rainwater, and blood mixing into a sharp, metallic stench.
Like he had been dragged through the dirt.
“What the hell happened to you?” she muttered, her legs shaking as she pulled him to the couch. “What did you do?”
She eased him down onto a thick blanket, trying to be gentle, but he let out a pained groan the moment his side touched the cushions. His jaw clenched. His forehead glistened with sweat and water. Hyeori bolted to the bathroom for the first aid kit.
When she came back with gauze, scissors, and hydrogen peroxide, she froze in place.
“This isn’t enough… We need to go to the hospital.”
He barely opened his eyes but immediately shook his head. “I can’t. I don’t want to.”
“You wanna bleed out on my couch then?” she snapped.
“Wouldn’t be the worst place to die,” he muttered with a crooked smile—quickly replaced by another grimace of pain.
“Not funny, Seungje.”
He looked at her—slowly, calmly, that annoying arrogance still intact. His face was destroyed, but somehow, he still stared at her like she was the prettiest thing he’d seen all night.
“You’re always so nice, huh, nonna?”
She scoffed, looking away as she shook her head. She set the supplies down on the couch and stepped closer.
“I’m going to help you clean up. You’re bleeding and covered in mud… I can’t treat your wounds like this,” she said, almost automatically, helping him sit up. “Don’t you dare die in my bathroom.”
“Would make your week more interesting, don’t you think? Hiding the body of a handsome guy…”
“Shut up,” she growled, wrapping his arm around her neck.
Seungje leaned on her—heavier than she would’ve liked. Every step toward the bathroom was torture for him, and she could feel it. She could hear the strained breathing, feel his soaked, feverish body against her neck, the cold rain still clinging to his clothes.
Once they got there, she sat him gently on the edge of the bathtub. Steam from the hot water started to fog up the small space.
“I’m taking your shirt off,” she warned, shooting him a look. “Don’t be a child.”
“Since when am I the childish one here?” he replied in that rough voice he used when he wanted to piss her off.
She didn’t answer. Just grabbed the scissors and carefully cut through the fabric, her lips pressed tight in concentration, trying not to nick him by mistake. When she finally pulled the shredded shirt away, she grimaced.
The wound was deep and jagged, on the side of his abdomen—like it had been done in a rush. His torso was a mess of bruises, some fresh, some older. The skin around the wound was swollen.
She seriously hoped no ribs were broken.
Hyeori swallowed. Her stomach turned. She’d seen bruises and cuts before, but nothing like this. It was grotesque.
More than the sight—it was the thought behind it. “Who did this to you?” she whispered. “Looks like someone tried to kill you.”
“Maybe I deserved it,” he muttered, not even flinching.
She looked up, annoyed. “No one deserves this, Seungje.”
“You really are a good actress,” he muttered with a smirk. “Didn’t you threaten me just a few days ago?”
She didn’t answer. Just grabbed a sponge, dipped it in warm water, and started gently cleaning the blood from his torso. The water turned pink as it dripped down the drain.
The silence was heavy, but she focused on her hand—on being gentle, avoiding any unseen injury.
“Why did you come here?” she finally asked.
Seungje looked at her for a moment before shrugging. “Because I knew you’d be the only one to open the door.”
She froze. Her fingers paused on his skin, which trembled faintly. “Of course I would…”
He looked up. For a second, their eyes met. She finished cleaning him in silence. Then she wrapped a towel around his torso, drying him off quickly so she could fetch him something clean to wear.
She had nothing in his size. So she grabbed one of Sooho’s shirts. And a pair of his sweatpants.
When she returned, he was trying to dry his hair—failing miserably. She sighed and took the towel, drying it for him gently as he ran his fingers over the warm clothes folded on his lap.
“Can you put the pants on by yourself? Because otherwise you’re sleeping in your underwear,” she warned. He grinned, nodding. She turned around to give him privacy while he struggled into them.
“Done,” he muttered. She turned back around with a few supplies in hand.
“I’m gonna try to patch you up now,” she said quietly.
“About time,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, the grin still there.
She shot him a glare but said nothing.
She knelt in front of him, towel in one hand, alcohol-soaked cotton in the other. When she pressed it to the side wound, he let out a sharp curse and his whole body stiffened.
“Stop being dramatic,” she muttered, even though she knew full well how bad the injury was.
“Dramatic?” Seungje raised an eyebrow with a twisted grimace. “They tried to open me like a damn bag of chips.”
She looked down and took a deep breath. “This is gonna sting,” she warned.
“Uhm.”
She pressed. The cotton hit the edge of the wound, and he let out a strangled groan. His hand clenched into a fist on his thigh. For a moment, the sarcasm was gone. The pain devoured him.
“Who did this to you, Seungje?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered, eyes still closed.
“Of course it matters.”
She looked up, frustrated. But when their eyes locked again, something shifted inside her chest. He was looking at her with a mix of exhaustion, resignation, and something else—something she didn’t recognize.
“Are you crying?” he asked, suddenly.
She reached up to her face. Her cheeks were wet. “No… it’s the steam,” she muttered, annoyed that she didn’t even know why she was crying.
“Sure,” he said sarcastically.
She looked away again, focusing on the smaller wounds—his busted lip, the cuts on his brow and arms. His knuckles were torn, face bruised, a long gash still bleeding above his eyebrow.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, placing gauze on his side.
“And you? Should you be doing this for me?”
The question froze her.
He lifted his good hand and barely brushed her wrist with his fingers. It wasn’t a grip. It wasn’t a touch with weight. Just the tips of his fingers—like an apology.
She pulled away immediately, heart pounding in her throat.
“Don’t touch me,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t have the right.”
He smiled, eyes half-lidded.
“Didn’t stop you from patching me up.”
“And it didn’t stop you from coming to my door after what you did to Sieun.”
Seungje went quiet when she said that, letting her help him into the blue shirt. And when she did—Hyeori felt something burn in her throat.
It fit him. Exactly the same.
The way it hung from his shoulders. The fold in the sleeves. The way it sat at his waist. Even the way he leaned forward—it looked just like him.
For a second, her heart forgot. It pretended.
But this wasn’t Sooho.
It was Seungje.
And as she helped him lie down on the couch, covering him with a blanket, still shaking, he looked up at her in silence.
“You should sleep more… You looked prettier before you started ignoring my texts.”
She turned to him with a tired glare. “You should try being quiet more often.”
“Maybe… but here you are, still listening,” he replied with a half-smile.
She rolled her eyes and walked off toward the bathroom, grabbing some pills from the cabinet and filling a glass of water in the kitchen. When she returned, he was already fast asleep, blanket pulled up to his neck.
Hyeori stood there for a while, just looking at him. The water and pills now sitting on the table. Her hands tucked into the sleeves of the hoodie she always wore on rainy nights like this. She didn’t know if she had done the right thing. Didn’t know if he deserved her help.
But what she did know—what she’d always known—was that no matter how hard she tried to hate him, her heart would always betray her the moment someone bled at her doorstep.
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