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Chapter Text

The sterile white of the hospital room was almost suffocating. Mingyu blinked against the sharp light, his throat dry and his body aching in ways that felt foreign. The dull hum of machines nearby buzzed in his ears, grounding him in a reality he didn’t quite recognize.

He tried to move, wincing at the sharp pain in his ribs. Slowly, his senses returned, and with them, the unmistakable weight of confusion.

“Mingyu?”

The voice cut through the fog like a lifeline. He turned his head toward it and saw Seungcheol sitting by his bedside, his usually calm demeanor replaced by uncharacteristic worry. Beside him stood Seokmin and Minghao, their faces equally tense.

“Hyung?” Mingyu croaked, his voice barely audible.

“You’re awake!” Seokmin exclaimed, his voice breaking with relief. He reached for Mingyu’s hand but hesitated, as if afraid Mingyu might shatter.

Mingyu glanced around, his eyes darting from face to face. “What… happened?” he managed to ask.

“You were in an accident,” Minghao said softly, his tone measured. “A car crash. It was bad, but you’re going to be okay.”

Mingyu nodded faintly, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory, but everything felt slippery, out of reach. “How long… was I out?”

“Two days,” Seungcheol replied. “You’re tougher than you look.”

Mingyu blinked, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory. His heart raced as panic bubbled up. “Where… where’s Wonwoo?” he asked, scanning the room.

The three men exchanged confused glances. Seokmin tilted his head, frowning. “Wonwoo?” he repeated cautiously.

Mingyu looked at him, frustration edging into his tone. “Why isn’t he here? He should be here.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrowed, and he exchanged a subtle glance with Minghao, who stepped closer to the bed. “Mingyu,” Minghao began carefully, “what do you remember?”

Mingyu frowned, the pounding in his head intensifying as he tried to think. “Wonwoo and I were… we were supposed to have dinner. He’d been working late at the hospital, but he promised he’d make it. I remember… I remember driving to meet him.” His gaze darted between their faces, searching for answers. “Why aren’t you telling me where he is?”

Before he could say anything, the door opened, and a doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand. His calm, professional demeanor did little to ease the tension in the room.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Kim?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” Mingyu muttered.

The doctor chuckled lightly, scribbling something on his clipboard. “That’s to be expected. You suffered a concussion and some fractured ribs. It’ll take time, but you’ll recover.”

"Doctor,” Seungcheol said, literally whispering to the doctor's ears, “he’s asking about… someone who's not in his life anymore.”

The doctor nodded, moving to the side of Mingyu’s bed. “Let’s not rush anything just yet. Mr. Kim, I need to ask you a few questions. Just for routine check up. Can you tell me what year it is?”

Mingyu hesitated, his brow furrowing. “It’s… 2022?” he said, his tone uncertain.

The doctor  glanced at the trio standing by the bed. “Can I have a word with you all outside?”

Minghao hesitated, his gaze flickering toward Mingyu. “We’ll be right back,” he said softly before following the doctor out.

In the hallway, the doctor’s expression turned grave. “There’s something you need to know,” he began. “The scans show signs of retrograde amnesia. And it looks like he's lost his memory of the past two years.”

Seokmin’s eyes widened. “Two years?” he echoed, his voice trembling.

The doctor nodded. “It’s not uncommon after a head injury like his. He may eventually recover his memories, but it’s difficult to predict when—or if—that will happen.”

Seungcheol folded his arms, his jaw tight. “Should we tell him?”

The doctor shook his head firmly. “No. Bringing it up directly could be too much of a shock for him right now. It’s better to let him rediscover things at his own pace. Keep conversations natural, and avoid anything that might upset him. Gradual exposure is key.”

Minghao exchanged a glance with Seokmin. “What if he asks questions? What if he notices something’s off?”

“That’s inevitable,” the doctor admitted. “But you’ll need to navigate those moments carefully. Let him lead the process. He’s more vulnerable than he seems.”

The weight of the situation sank into the group like a stone in water.

Minghao exchanged a glance with Seungcheol. “What about Wonwoo? He’s already asking for him.”

The doctor sighed, glancing at the clipboard. “Wonwoo? You mean Dr. Jeon? The cardiac specialist? He’s off duty today, but if they were close, it might help to involve him—provided he’s prepared for the situation. Familiarity can be comforting and may aid in recovery. I can talk to him if you guys want. This is delicate.”

Seungcheol sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is going to be messy.”

Back in the room, Mingyu stared at the ceiling, frustration bubbling beneath his skin. Something didn’t feel right. There was a gap, an absence in his mind that he couldn’t explain. And yet, amidst the haze, one name sat on the tip of his tongue.

“Wonwoo.”

The name slipped out before he could stop it, carrying an ache he didn’t understand.

When his friends returned, they found him staring at the door, his brows furrowed in thought.

“Where’s Wonwoo?” Mingyu asked again, his voice tinged with urgency. “Why isn’t he here?”

Seungcheol froze, the question hitting him like a punch to the gut. Minghao and Seokmin exchanged panicked looks.

“He’s…coming. Soon,” Seungcheol lied quickly, his tone steady despite the tremor in his chest.

Seokmin forced a smile, placing a comforting hand on Mingyu’s arm. “Don’t worry, okay? He'll be here soon.”

The lie tasted bitter, but none of them dared to correct it. Mingyu nodded reluctantly, his gaze drifting back to the door.

Outside the room, Seungcheol exhaled shakily. “We need to call him,” he muttered.

Minghao nodded. “This is going to break him all over again.”

---
Mingyu drifted in and out of sleep, haunted by dreams that felt more like memories. He saw Wonwoo standing by a window, sunlight casting golden streaks through his dark hair. He saw arguments, sharp words that cut deeper than any blade. And then… nothing. A void.

---
Across town, Wonwoo sat in the quiet of his apartment, his phone vibrating incessantly on the table. He ignored it, staring blankly at the medical journal in front of him.

When the buzzing stopped, the silence felt even louder.

Finally, he picked up the phone, his hand trembling slightly.

“It’s Seungcheol,” the voice on the other end said, the weight of the words heavy.

---
“He’s asking for you,” Seungcheol said, his tone tight with frustration. “He doesn’t remember. As far as he knows, you’re still together.”

There was a pause, heavy with unspoken words.

“I can’t,” Wonwoo finally said, his voice barely audible. “Hyung, I can’t face him. It’s been over two years since we…” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. “We’re not those people anymore.”

Seungcheol’s voice rose, angry and desperate. “You owe him this, Wonwoo. He’s in there, asking for you like you’re his whole world. How the hell am I supposed to explain why you’re not?”

Wonwoo’s silence stretched, heavy and telling.

“I’ll come,” he whispered finally. “But not as… not as what he thinks. Just as his doctor.”

Seungcheol exhaled, relief and frustration mingling in his voice. “Fine. But you better be ready. This is going to hurt him all over again.”

Wonwoo leaned against the chair, his heart heavy with memories he’d buried. His hands clenched into fists as he tried to prepare for the inevitable meeting, knowing that the man waiting for him had no idea the truth they both carried.

Inside the room, Mingyu stirred, his dreams filled with whispers of a love he didn’t yet know he’d lost.

Chapter Text

The hospital corridors stretched endlessly, their fluorescent lights too bright and cold. Yet, Wonwoo’s palms were clammy, his heartbeat erratic as he gripped his phone in one hand and the strap of his bag in the other. He had walked these halls countless times as Dr. Jeon Wonwoo, the ever-composed physician. But today, he wasn’t just a doctor here to see a patient. He was something far more fragile—a man facing a ghost from his past.

Each step toward Mingyu’s room felt heavier, like walking through quicksand. Two years. It had been two years since Wonwoo had last seen him—two years since they had broken each other in ways neither had fully recovered from. The thought of facing Mingyu now, of pretending nothing had shattered between them, churned his stomach.

Minghao stood outside the door, waiting for him. His usually sharp features were softened with an unusual vulnerability. When he saw Wonwoo approach, he stepped forward, speaking in a hushed tone.

“He’s been asking for you nonstop,” Minghao said. “He’s… he’s convinced you’re still together.”

Wonwoo’s breath caught, and he had to look away. His fingers tightened on the strap of his bag. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

Minghao urged gently, “He needs you right now, hyung. Just… just go along with it, for now. He’s fragile.”

Fragile. That word struck him harder than he expected. Mingyu, the man who had once been his everything, who had always seemed so strong, so unstoppable, was now reduced to this—lost and scared and calling out for a love that no longer existed. At least, that’s what Wonwoo had convinced himself.

Minghao opened the door, stepping aside to let Wonwoo in.

The sight of Mingyu lying on the bed stole the air from Wonwoo’s lungs. Bandages covered his forehead, his left arm was in a sling, and the usually vibrant glow of his complexion was replaced with a pallid stillness. But his eyes—those same deep, expressive eyes—lit up the moment they found Wonwoo.

“Baby,” Mingyu said, his voice hoarse but filled with so much raw affection that it made Wonwoo’s knees weak.

Wonwoo froze. That word—it cut through him like a blade. He hadn’t heard Mingyu call him that in years, and the sound of it was almost too much to bear. His chest tightened as memories flooded in, memories of a love he had carefully packed away, hidden behind walls he thought were impenetrable.

Mingyu extended his uninjured arm toward him, his eyes shining with relief, with something close to reverence. “Come here,” he said softly. “I was so scared. I thought… I thought I’d never see you again.”

Wonwoo’s throat tightened as he turned his head, his gaze meeting Minghao’s. Minghao’s expression was a silent plea, urging him to step forward.

Taking a shaky breath, Wonwoo approached the bed, his movements slow, hesitant. He reached out, letting Mingyu take his hand. The warmth of Mingyu’s fingers was so familiar, so heartbreakingly familiar, that it nearly undid him.

Mingyu lifted Wonwoo’s hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. His eyes never left Wonwoo’s, filled with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “I’m sorry,” Mingyu murmured, his voice breaking. “You must’ve been so startled. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just… I’m so glad you’re here.”

Wonwoo’s heart clenched painfully, an ache blooming in his chest that felt like it might consume him. “I…” He glanced at Minghao, who nodded encouragingly, then back at Mingyu. “I’m here,” he said quietly, his voice trembling despite his best efforts. “It’s okay, Mingyu. I’m here.”

Mingyu exhaled shakily, his grip on Wonwoo’s hand tightening as if afraid he might vanish. “I kept thinking… if I didn’t wake up, I wouldn’t get to see you again. I wouldn’t get to tell you…” His voice trailed off, his eyes glistening.

The words sent a fresh wave of pain crashing over Wonwoo. He wanted to scream, to shake Mingyu, to tell him that they weren’t together anymore, that he had left because they had broken each other too much to stay.

But he couldn’t. Mingyu was staring at him with such unguarded vulnerability, the rawness of his love laid bare.

Wonwoo’s heart shattered anew.

“I’m so sorry,” Mingyu whispered again, his voice trembling. “You must’ve been so worried. I’ll make it up to you.”

Wonwoo felt his control slipping, his chest tightening as the tears he’d been holding back threatened to spill. He turned his head slightly, his gaze fixing on the wall, anything to avoid Mingyu’s eyes.

But it was no use.

A single tear slipped down Wonwoo’s cheek, and he quickly wiped it away, his hand shaking. He couldn’t let Mingyu see. Couldn’t let him know how much this was tearing him apart.

Mingyu’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. “Baby,” he whispered again, so tenderly it nearly shattered Wonwoo. “Are you crying? Please don’t cry.”

Wonwoo turned back to him, his heart aching at the vulnerability in Mingyu’s expression. He reached out, brushing his fingers gently against Mingyu’s hair. “I’m not crying,” he lied, his voice barely audible. “I’m just… tired.”

Mingyu nodded slowly, his grip on Wonwoo’s hand tightening. “Rest, then,” he murmured. “

The familiarity of the words cut deep, and Wonwoo felt his composure slipping. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “I have rounds to do,” he said stiffly.

"Stay here with me. Just for a little while," Mingyu said like a plea.

Wonwoo glanced at Minghao again, seeking reassurance. Minghao gave him a soft, understanding smile before stepping out of the room, leaving them alone.

---

The room fell into an oppressive silence as Mingyu drifted off to sleep, exhaustion finally claiming him. But even in his sleep, his hand remained clasped around Wonwoo’s, as if letting go would shatter the fragile reality he believed in.

Wonwoo sat motionless, his mind racing. He had told himself he could handle this—told himself he could stay detached, just another doctor tending to a patient. But the moment he saw Mingyu lying there, all of it—the years of heartbreak, the nights spent trying to forget—came rushing back like a tidal wave.

He stared at their intertwined hands, memories of late-night conversations, shared laughter, and whispered promises flooding his mind. How had it come to this?

He had spent two years convincing himself that leaving was the right choice, that cutting ties was the only way to heal. And yet, sitting here now, he felt anything but healed. The sight of Mingyu—fragile and broken, calling out to him with a love so pure it hurt—was undoing everything he had tried to rebuild.

He clenched his jaw, his nails biting into his palms. He hated this. Hated how Mingyu still had the power to reduce him to this mess of longing and regret. Hated how much he still wanted to hold him, to comfort him, to kiss away his pain.

“You don’t get to do this to me,” Wonwoo whispered, his voice trembling. Tears burned in his eyes, but he blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. “You don’t get to forget everything while I’m the one left remembering.”

He’d told himself that he was over this. Over him. Over the late nights they spent talking about dreams and fears, over the warmth of Mingyu’s arms around him, over the way Mingyu’s laughter had felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.

The truth clawed at his chest, leaving him gasping for air. Seeing Mingyu like this—bruised, battered, calling out to him with the kind of love and desperation that once defined their relationship—was too much. It was too much, and yet, it wasn’t enough.

How dare Mingyu look at him like that? How dare he still call him “baby” with that same softness in his voice, the same vulnerability that had once made Wonwoo fall so deeply, so irrevocably in love? How dare he strip away the armor Wonwoo had spent years perfecting with nothing but a single word?

Wonwoo let out a shuddering breath, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to steady himself. But his mind betrayed him, replaying the memories he had tried so hard to bury.

The way Mingyu used to pull him closer in the middle of the night, murmuring how he couldn’t sleep unless Wonwoo was beside him.

The arguments that had burned hot and fierce, always ending with Wonwoo whispering apologies into his skin, promising he would never let them fall apart.

The love they had shared- intense, messy, consuming, before it all came crashing down.

"You can’t just leave,” Mingyu had said that night, his voice breaking, his eyes red and glassy. “We can fix this, Wonwoo. Please, let me fix this.”
But Wonwoo had already made up his mind. He had walked out of that door, thinking he was doing the right thing, thinking that leaving was the only way to stop the pain.

He hadn’t expected the pain to follow him, to fester inside him like an open wound that refused to heal.

"Damn it, Mingyu,” Wonwoo whispered under his breath, his voice cracking. “Why now? Why did it have to be you?”

He didn’t realize he was shaking until he felt the cold press of tears against his cheeks. He wiped them away hastily, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape.

---
Minghao slipped back into the room, his expression soft but knowing. “He’s asleep,” he said gently.

Wonwoo nodded numbly, carefully untangling his hand from Mingyu’s grip. The absence of that warmth felt colder than he expected.

Minghao placed a hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder, grounding him. “You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he said. “But… hyung, he needs you. Whether as a doctor or something more, he needs you.”

Wonwoo looked at Mingyu’s sleeping form, his chest tightening with a mix of longing and despair. “I don’t know if I can be what he needs,” he admitted quietly.
Minghao’s hand squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “Just take it one step at a time.”

Wonwoo nodded, but as he left the room, one thought echoed in his mind- How do you heal someone when you’re still broken yourself?

Chapter Text

The hospital was eerily quiet at night, the hum of machines and the occasional distant footsteps the only sounds echoing through the sterile halls. Wonwoo walked with measured steps, his exhaustion weighing him down like lead. He hadn’t been able to visit Mingyu all day, caught up in back-to-back surgeries and an avalanche of responsibilities. But as soon as his shift ended, he found himself heading toward Mingyu’s room, still in his hospital scrubs, his heart heavy with guilt.

When he opened the door, the sight before him made him pause. Mingyu lay on the bed, his face turned toward the window, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. The soft glow of the bedside lamp highlighted his features, making him look younger, almost boyish.

Wonwoo approached quietly, his heart squeezing at the faint furrow in Mingyu’s brow even in sleep. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out, his fingers brushing softly through Mingyu’s hair. The strands were silky under his touch, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to forget everything else—the heartbreak, the years apart, the gnawing ache in his chest.

Mingyu stirred, his eyes fluttering open. When they focused on Wonwoo, a mixture of surprise and hurt flickered across his face. “You’re late,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep but tinged with reproach.

Wonwoo froze, his hand retreating as guilt washed over him. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, sitting down in the chair by the bed. He rested his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. “I wanted to come earlier, but…”

“You were busy,” Mingyu finished for him, his tone sulky. He shifted, trying to sit up, and Wonwoo instinctively moved to help, adjusting the pillows behind him.

Mingyu leaned back with a slight wince, his gaze never leaving Wonwoo. “You always say that,” he muttered, his lower lip jutting out just slightly—a gesture that was painfully familiar.

The words and the expression pulled Wonwoo into the past, to a memory he had tried so hard to suppress.

***
It was their college days, and Wonwoo had been buried under textbooks, the weight of exams and hospital rotations looming over him. For three days, he’d barely emerged from his room, too consumed by his studies to notice much else.

On the fourth day, Mingyu barged in.

“Hyung,” he whined, flopping onto Wonwoo’s bed. His voice was high-pitched, exaggerated, but there was a genuine edge of irritation in it. “Do you even remember you have a boyfriend? Or am I dating your textbooks now?”

Wonwoo didn’t even glance up from his notes. “Mingyu, I’m busy.”

"Busy ignoring me?” Mingyu retorted. He rolled onto his stomach, propping his chin on his hands as he stared at Wonwoo’s back. “You haven’t even looked at me in days. I’m feeling very unloved, Jeon Wonwoo!”

Wonwoo sighed, his pen stilling. He turned around, finally meeting Mingyu’s puppy-dog eyes. They were ridiculous—overly dramatic—but they tugged at something in him.

“Mingyu—”

“Nope,” Mingyu interrupted, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “Don’t try to reason with me. You need a break, and I need my boyfriend back. Let’s call it a win-win.

Wonwoo stared at him for a long moment, weighing the exhaustion in his body against the ache in his chest at seeing Mingyu like this.

And then, he gave in.

“Fine,” Wonwoo said, closing his textbook with a resigned sigh. “What do you want to do?”

Mingyu’s eyes lit up instantly. In one swift move, Mingyu pinned Wonwoo onto the bed, his weight pressing him down as he began trailing kisses across his face and neck. Wonwoo couldn’t hold back his laughter, squirming beneath him as the kisses tickled his skin.

“Stop!” Wonwoo laughed, trying to push Mingyu away. “It tickles!”

“Nope,” Mingyu said between kisses, his voice playful. “I want my man like this—smiling, happy, and in my arms.”

Wonwoo’s laughter faded as he looked up at Mingyu, who was grinning down at him. There was a warmth in his eyes, a love so pure it made Wonwoo’s chest ache.

“You’re such a baby, Kim Mingyu,” Wonwoo said softly, his hands cupping Mingyu’s face. “I love you.”

Mingyu’s grin widened as he hugged Wonwoo tightly. “I love you too, baby.”

Wonwoo pressed his face into Mingyu’s shoulder, his voice muffled as he said, “Don’t ever change, Min.”

Mingyu pulled back slightly, propping his head on Wonwoo’s shoulder as he looked into his eyes. “I won’t,” he said, his voice firm. “I’ll always love you like this, baby.”

Their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss, the kind that spoke of promises neither of them thought could ever be broken.

***

The memory was like a knife twisting in Wonwoo’s chest. The memory faded, but the ache it left behind lingered. Wonwoo looked at Mingyu now, at the way his lips were pressed together in a thin line, his eyes clouded with unspoken emotions.

“You haven’t changed,” Wonwoo murmured, his voice thick with regret.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mingyu asked, his tone defensive, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that made Wonwoo’s heart ache.

“Nothing," He trailed off, the weight of his exhaustion and guilt pressing down on him.

Mingyu’s expression softened, and he reached out, his fingers brushing against Wonwoo’s wrist. “You look tired,” he said quietly, concern lacing his voice.

Wonwoo let out a shaky breath, his eyes stinging. “I am,” he admitted. “I’m so tired, Mingyu. Of everything.”

Mingyu tried to sit up straighter, wincing slightly as he did. “Come here,” he said, his voice gentle but insistent.

Wonwoo hesitated, but Mingyu’s gaze was unwavering. Reluctantly, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against the edge of the bed. Mingyu’s hand moved to his hair, his fingers carding through it in soothing motions.

“You always do this,” Mingyu murmured. “You take everything on yourself, push yourself to the brink, and then pretend you’re fine.”

Wonwoo closed his eyes, the warmth of Mingyu’s touch breaking through the walls he had built around himself. “I don’t know how to be anything else,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” Mingyu said softly. “At least, not with me.”

The tenderness in Mingyu’s voice undid him. A tear slipped down Wonwoo’s cheek, and he quickly wiped it away, but Mingyu had already seen it.

Wonwoo lifted his head, his gaze meeting Mingyu’s. The sincerity in Mingyu’s eyes was almost too much to bear. Wonwoo’s gaze caught on the deep cut just above Mingyu’s eyebrow, the jagged line stark against his otherwise smooth skin. Without thinking, Wonwoo reached out, his fingers hovering hesitantly before gently brushing over the wound.

Mingyu flinched slightly at the contact but didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned into Wonwoo’s touch, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Does it hurt?” Wonwoo asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It was,” Mingyu murmured, his lips curving into a faint, almost tired smile. “Not anymore. Not now.”

Wonwoo’s hand lingered, his thumb brushing the edge of the cut before trailing down to Mingyu’s cheek. The warmth of his skin under his fingertips sent a wave of something unfamiliar—something achingly intimate—through him. His gaze flickered over the other cuts and bruises scattered across Mingyu’s face and neck, and his chest tightened.

“There are more,” Wonwoo said, his voice heavy with guilt and anger. “Does it…” He trailed off, his throat tight.

Mingyu’s eyes opened, locking onto Wonwoo’s with a softness that made Wonwoo’s resolve falter. “It doesn’t matter,” Mingyu said simply, his voice quiet but firm. “I’m okay now.”

Wonwoo shook his head, his hand moving on its own as it traced the line of a bruise on Mingyu’s jaw. He didn’t realize how close he had gotten until he felt Mingyu’s breath ghosting over his lips, warm and steady.

“You’re not okay,” Wonwoo whispered, the words trembling on his tongue. “You’re far from okay.”

Mingyu reached up, his fingers curling around Wonwoo’s wrist, holding his hand in place. “And you’re too close,” Mingyu said softly, though there was no heat in his words. If anything, there was a flicker of something else—something raw and vulnerable.

Wonwoo didn’t move away. He couldn’t. The pull between them was magnetic, a force neither of them seemed capable of resisting. His thumb brushed over Mingyu’s lower lip, and Mingyu’s breath hitched, his grip on Wonwoo’s wrist tightening.

“Wonwoo…” Mingyu’s voice was a low murmur, his tone heavy with something unspoken.

Wonwoo’s eyes darted to Mingyu’s lips, lingering there for a heartbeat too long before he tore his gaze away. He swallowed hard, his hand reluctantly pulling back, though his fingertips still ghosted over Mingyu’s collarbone.

He said forcing a small, neutral smile. “You need rest, Mingyu.”

“I’d rest better if you stayed,” Mingyu said matter-of-factly. Then, with a sudden gleam in his eyes, he added, “You’re still the same, you know. Always fussing over me.”

The words hung in the air, stark and cruel in their innocence. Wonwoo’s stomach churned. Still the same. The irony of it all. Mingyu didn’t remember.

“I missed you today,” Mingyu continued, breaking the silence. “It felt strange, not having you around. I kept thinking you’d show up like you always do and scold me for not eating properly.”

Wonwoo bit the inside of his cheek, the taste of blood grounding him. Mingyu’s memories were frozen in time, anchored in the version of their lives before everything had fallen apart. For him, they were still a couple.

“Hyung?” Mingyu’s voice softened, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Wonwoo lied, his throat tight. “You should get some sleep.”

Mingyu frowned, his brows drawing together in that familiar way that always made Wonwoo’s resolve falter. “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not,” Wonwoo said quickly, standing. “I just don’t want to tire you out.”

“You’re not tiring me out.” Mingyu reached out, his hand brushing against Wonwoo’s wrist. The warmth of his touch was too much, too familiar, and Wonwoo jerked back reflexively.

Mingyu’s face fell. “Hyung,” he said quietly, the confusion in his voice cutting deeper than anger ever could. “Did... did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Wonwoo said immediately, guilt clawing at his chest.

“Then what is it?” Mingyu pressed, sitting up slightly despite the discomfort etched on his face. “You’ve been acting strange ever since I woke up in this hospital. You’re here, but it feels like you’re miles away.”

Wonwoo clenched his jaw, his emotions warring inside him. He wanted to tell Mingyu the truth, wanted to scream that things weren’t as simple as he thought. But how could he? How could he tell Mingyu that the man he thought he loved—the man who loved him—didn’t exist anymore?

“It’s nothing,” Wonwoo said finally, his voice hollow. “You’re imagining things.”

Mingyu didn’t look convinced, but he let out a small sigh and leaned back against the pillows. “Fine,” he murmured. “But you’ll stay, right? Just until I fall asleep?”

Wonwoo hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

Mingyu smiled, his eyes fluttering shut as he relaxed. Wonwoo watched him, his heart heavy. Mingyu’s hand rested on the bed, palm up, and for a moment, Wonwoo considered reaching out, taking it in his own.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he sat in silence, watching as the man he had once loved drifted off to sleep, completely unaware of the fractures that had broken them apart.

And in the quiet of the hospital room, Wonwoo let himself break—just a little.

Chapter Text

The morning sun streamed through the hospital windows. Mingyu stretched his legs slightly, feeling the ache in his muscles. Two week of hospital food, hospital air, and hospital monotony was starting to wear him down. Physically, he was healing, but mentally, he felt restless—trapped in a limbo between recovery and normalcy.

It didn’t help that Seungcheol and the others had stopped by earlier, their casual chatter a reminder of the world outside these walls.

“Work’s been chaos without you,” Seungcheol had joked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His sharp jawline and easy grin betrayed the hint of exhaustion underneath. “I told the boss we need another Mingyu to pick up the slack. He didn’t laugh.”

Mingyu chuckled, though it felt hollow. “I’m sure you’re handling it just fine. You’ve got Jihoon for backup, right?”

“Sure, if you count someone who leaves exactly at five and doesn’t bother with small talk,” Seungcheol quipped, rolling his eyes. “How’re you holding up, though? Really.”

Mingyu hesitated, glancing down at his hands. “I’m fine,” he said finally. “Just… bored. I wish I could check in on work, see how things are going.”

“You’re the only person I know who’d miss work this much,” Seungcheol teased, though his tone softened as he added, “But seriously, don’t stress about it. Everything’s under control. Focus on getting better.”

Seokmin chimed in from where he was perched on the windowsill, sipping a cup of vending-machine coffee. “He’s right. You’ve got plenty of time to worry about office drama once you’re back on your feet. For now, enjoy the break.”

Mingyu managed a smile, though their words didn’t quite ease the knot of anxiety in his chest. It wasn’t just work he missed—it was the sense of purpose, the feeling that he was contributing to something. Sitting in the hospital, watching the days blur together, he felt aimless.

When Seungcheol and Seokmin finally left, promising to visit again soon, the room felt emptier than ever. Mingyu tried to distract himself by flipping through the channels on the tiny TV mounted on the wall, but nothing held his interest. His thoughts drifted to Wonwoo.

Later in the day, Mingyu decided to take a walk in the garden. His body was still stiff, but the fresh air helped clear his mind. He passed a group of nurses chatting near the entrance and nodded politely before making his way to the fountain.

From a distance, he spotted Wonwoo sitting on a bench, a clipboard balanced on his lap. Scribbling notes in the efficient, focused way he always did. The sight of him, calm and composed, should have brought Mingyu peace. Instead, it filled him with an ache so sharp it made his chest tighten.

Wonwoo hadn’t looked at him much today. Not really. Not in the way Mingyu wanted. And that ache—the one that gnawed at his insides—only grew.

Gathering his courage, Mingyu walked over, his steps faltering slightly as he approached. Wonwoo barely acknowledged him, his pen continuing its steady rhythm across the page.

“Wonwoo,” Mingyu said softly, his voice carrying a vulnerability he couldn’t quite hide.

Wonwoo hummed in response but didn’t look up.

“I was thinking,” Mingyu began, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, “maybe after your rounds, you could sit with me for a while? Just… talk? Or maybe we could go for a walk together.”

“I have a full schedule,” Wonwoo replied curtly, still not meeting Mingyu’s gaze. “We’ll see if I have time.”

Mingyu’s heart sank. “It’s just that… you haven’t really spent much time with me lately. I thought—”

“I’ve been busy, Mingyu,” Wonwoo interrupted, his tone clipped. “I can’t drop everything just because you want attention.”

The words stung, but Mingyu pushed past the hurt. “I’m not asking you to drop everything. I just… I miss you, Wonwoo. I feel like you’re avoiding me.”

Wonwoo finally looked up, his eyes cold and sharp. “Avoiding you? Mingyu, I’ve been running myself ragged taking care of you, juggling my job and everything else. I’m exhausted. I don’t have the energy to cater to your every whim.”

Mingyu flinched, the harshness of Wonwoo’s tone cutting deep. “I’m not trying to make things harder for you,” he said quietly. “I just… I don’t feel good, and having you around helps. That’s all.”

Wonwoo let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Of course it’s about what you feel. It’s always about you, isn’t it? What you want, what you need, what you believe. Did it ever occur to you that I might be tired of all this? That I might need space?"

Mingyu flinched, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I didn’t mean to— I just thought—”

“You thought what?” Wonwoo snapped, standing abruptly. His voice was louder now, harsher. “That I’d drop everything because you want me to? That I don’t have my own limits?”

Mingyu’s breath hitched, his vision blurring as tears welled up in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I didn’t realize I was—”

“Of course, you didn’t,” Wonwoo interrupted harshly. “Because you never think about anyone but yourself.”

The accusation hit like a punch to the gut, leaving Mingyu speechless. He wanted to explain, to tell Wonwoo that it wasn’t like that, that he just wanted to feel okay again. But the lump in his throat made it impossible to speak.

Wonwoo didn’t wait for a response. He grabbed his clipboard and stormed off, his footsteps echoing against the cobblestones.

Mingyu stood frozen, tears streaming down his face as he watched Wonwoo disappear around the corner. The ache in his chest had turned into something far worse—something jagged and raw that threatened to tear him apart.

Wonwoo slammed the door to the on-call room behind him, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps. He leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair as he tried to calm the storm raging inside him.

Why did it have to be so hard? Why did Mingyu have to look at him like that—with those eyes that held too much hope, too much love, too much of everything Wonwoo was desperately trying to avoid?

His hands trembled as he pressed them against his face, the weight of his emotions threatening to crush him. “Why does it always have to be me?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Why do I have to be the one who suffers?”

The image of Mingyu’s tear-streaked face flashed in his mind, and guilt twisted like a knife in his chest. He had gone too far—he knew that. But he didn’t know how to stop himself, didn’t know how to keep the walls around his heart from crumbling every time Mingyu got too close.

Back in the garden, Mingyu sat on the bench by the fountain, his head in his hands as sobs wracked his body. The warmth he had clung to—the warmth he had found in Wonwoo—felt so far away now, slipping through his fingers like sand.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to no one, his voice breaking. “I just wanted you to stay.”

Chapter Text

The weight of guilt sat heavily on Wonwoo’s chest as he leaned back against his office chair, staring blankly at the patient chart on his desk. The day had been relentless—back-to-back surgeries, emergencies piling up, and his own exhaustion threatening to pull him under. But none of that could drown out the gnawing ache in his heart.

He hadn’t meant to be so harsh to Mingyu yesterday. Mingyu had always been clingy when sick, seeking comfort in ways that used to melt Wonwoo’s heart. He used to find Mingyu’s vulnerability endearing, a softer side hidden beneath his usual confidence. But now... it felt suffocating. It wasn’t Mingyu’s fault. It was his.

Wonwoo let out a deep sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face. Mingyu’s plaster was being removed today, and Wonwoo had promised himself he would show up. He’d intended to apologize, to make things right. But the day had slipped through his fingers, leaving him running behind on everything, including his own promises.

By the time Wonwoo finished his last surgery—a critical case that had taken longer than expected—the sun had dipped below the horizon. The first thing he did after scrubbing out was head straight for Mingyu’s room. He rehearsed his apology in his mind, each word heavy with sincerity.

But when he pushed open the door, the room was empty.

Wonwoo blinked, his gaze darting around. The bed was neatly made, the sterile silence unsettling. His stomach twisted.

A chill ran through him. “Where is he?” Wonwoo muttered under his breath, stepping further into the room.

He checked the adjoining bathroom. Empty.

He tried Mingyu’s phone. It rang twice before going straight to voicemail.

Wonwoo felt the first prickle of fear creep up his spine. Mingyu wouldn’t just leave without saying anything. Would he?

Wonwoo strode out of the room, his pace brisk as he approached the nurses’ station. “Kim Mingyu,” he said, his voice sharper than intended. “From Room 305. Do you know where he is?”

The nurse glanced at her logbook, frowning. “He hasn’t been officially discharged. He was here earlier this afternoon, but I haven’t seen him since.”

Wonwoo’s fingers curled into fists. He forced himself to nod, though his mind raced with worst-case scenarios. “Let me know if you hear anything,” he said, already turning away.

He searched the hospital, his anxiety growing with every empty corridor and unanswered call. He checked the cafeteria, the small courtyard, the diagnostic labs. Mingyu wasn’t in any of his usual spots.

By the time Wonwoo reached the staff lounge, his composure was slipping. His breaths came short and fast, his hands shaking as he dialed Mingyu’s number again. The same automated message met him: “The number you have dialed is currently switched off…”

“Damn it,” Wonwoo hissed under his breath, his fear now full-blown panic. Where could Mingyu have gone? Was he hurt? Angry? Worse?

Wonwoo leaned heavily against the wall, his heart pounding. He had no idea where Mingyu was, and the possibilities racing through his mind only made the fear worse.

Gripping his phone tightly, he dialed Seungcheol. The call connected on the second ring.

“Wonwoo? What’s wrong?” Seungcheol’s steady voice came through, immediately grounding him.

“It’s Mingyu,” Wonwoo said, his voice trembling. “I can’t find him. He’s not in his room, and his phone’s off. I don’t know where he is.”

Seungcheol paused, and when he spoke again, his tone was firm and reassuring. “Hey, calm down. We’ll find him, okay? Did you check the usual places?"

"I’ve looked everywhere in the hospital,” Wonwoo said, his frustration bleeding through. “I don’t know if he left or if something happened. I—” His voice broke, the weight of his own guilt pressing down on him. “It’s my fault, hyung. We argued yesterday, and now—”

"Stop,” Seungcheol interrupted, his voice gentle but commanding. “Blaming yourself won’t help right now. I’m coming to the hospital. Stay there and keep looking. We’ll figure this out together.”

Wonwoo nodded, even though Seungcheol couldn’t see him. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Just hold on,” Seungcheol said. “We’ll find him.”

When the call ended, Wonwoo felt a small sliver of relief knowing he wasn’t alone in this. But the fear and guilt remained, gnawing at him as he resumed his search. His world had narrowed down to one name, one face, one person—and that person was missing.

Every dark corner of his mind whispered fears he wasn’t ready to confront. What if Mingyu was hurt? What if something had happened because of him? The argument replayed in vivid detail: the cutting tone in his voice, the way he’d dismissed Mingyu’s feelings, the flicker of pain in Mingyu’s eyes before he’d turned away.

He started pacing the hospital grounds, each passing minute stretching unbearably. His thoughts spiraled into darker territory. What if Mingyu had left the hospital altogether? What if something had happened to him?

Wonwoo’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and for a split second, hope flared. He fumbled to answer, only to see a text from the nurse’s station. Still no updates on Mr. Kim Mingyu’s whereabouts. Please inform us immediately if you find him.

“Damn it,” Wonwoo hissed, running a hand through his hair. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest, each passing second tightening the grip of panic around his throat.

When he reached the garden area, his heart sank. It was empty.

The cold night air bit at his skin as he stepped further onto the garden, his eyes scanning the every corners, hoping—praying—for any sign of Mingyu. But there was nothing. 

Wonwoo clenched his jaw, his chest heaving with barely contained panic. He tried calling Mingyu again, but the result was the same. 

I should have been there for him. I should have known this would happen.

His mind raced with possibilities. Had Mingyu gone home? To a friend’s place? Was he wandering the city alone?

Wonwoo pressed his palms against his face, the weight of his own failure crashing down on him. “Where are you, Mingyu?” he whispered, his voice breaking.

The night stretched on, and still, there was no sign of Mingyu. No calls. No texts. Nothing.

And for the first time after so many years, Wonwoo allowed himself to admit just how much he needed him.

Chapter Text

The rooftop was shrouded in a biting chill, the wind cutting through the quiet night like a cruel whisper. Wonwoo’s breath was ragged as he pushed the heavy rooftop door open, his heart thundering in his chest. He didn’t know why he came here, but something deep inside pulled him to the top of the building.

And there he was.

Mingyu stood at the edge, his tall frame illuminated by the faint glow of the city lights. His coat flapped in the wind, his hands limp at his sides. He looked so small, so heartbreakingly lost, as if he might let the cold swallow him whole.

Wonwoo’s heart seized, relief crashing into him with the force of a tidal wave. He clutched the doorframe to steady himself, his chest heaving from the frantic sprint up the stairs. But the relief was short-lived, quickly replaced by a simmering anger.

“Ya, Kim Mingyu!” Wonwoo’s voice shattered the silence, sharp and desperate.

Mingyu turned at the sound, his expression blank, but his red, tear-streaked eyes betrayed him. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word, just stood there, looking at Wonwoo with an emptiness that tore at his heart.

Wonwoo didn’t hesitate. He stormed forward, his shoes scuffing against the rooftop surface. When he reached Mingyu, he grabbed him by the collar with trembling hands, shaking him slightly.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Wonwoo’s voice cracked, a mixture of anger and fear. “I’ve been looking for you for hours, Mingyu. Do you even understand how scared I was?”

Mingyu didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at Wonwoo, his gaze dropping to the ground as fresh tears welled in his eyes.

“Look at me!” Wonwoo demanded, his voice rising. But the moment his eyes met Mingyu’s, all the anger drained from him. Mingyu wasn’t defiant or dismissive—he was broken. His tears fell freely, his shoulders shaking as he struggled to hold himself together.

Wonwoo’s grip faltered, and without thinking, he pulled Mingyu into a tight embrace. The younger man didn’t resist. He clung to Wonwoo immediately, his arms wrapping around him with a desperation that made Wonwoo’s heart ache.

Mingyu sobbed against Wonwoo’s shoulder, his body trembling as if he’d been holding everything in for far too long. Wonwoo held him tighter, one hand cradling the back of Mingyu’s head, the other rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“It’s okay,” Wonwoo whispered, his own voice thick with unshed tears. “It’s okay, Mingyu. I’m here. I’m sorry.”

Mingyu tightened his grip, burying his face deeper into Wonwoo’s shoulder. He cried like a lost child who had finally found his way home, his muffled sobs breaking Wonwoo’s resolve.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said again, the words tumbling out in a broken whisper. “I’m so sorry, Mingyu. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have been so cruel.”

Mingyu shook his head against Wonwoo’s shoulder, his voice barely audible through his tears. “Don’t be. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Wonwoo let out a shaky laugh, though his tears fell freely now. “Don’t be a baby, Mingyu-ah. I was so scared… I thought…”

Mingyu loosened his hold just enough to pull back and look at Wonwoo. His face was a mess, tears streaking down his cheeks, his lips trembling. The sight tore Wonwoo apart.

“I was being unreasonable,” Mingyu managed to say between sobs. “Yesterday… I shouldn’t have…”

“Stop,” Wonwoo interrupted, placing a hand over Mingyu’s mouth. “Don’t. It wasn’t you. It was me. I was wrong, Mingyu. Not you.”

Mingyu clung to him like a lifeline, his breaths coming in uneven gasps. “I’m sorry,” he said between sobs. “I just… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Wonwoo closed his eyes, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare apologize. I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have… I should’ve been better, Mingyu. I should’ve been there.”

Mingyu pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at Wonwoo. His face was blotchy, his eyes red and swollen, but there was something achingly tender in the way he looked at him.

Mingyu’s lips quivered, and he looked away again, unable to meet his gaze. Wonwoo sighed softly, cupping Mingyu’s face with both hands and tilting it upward until their eyes met.

“But don’t ever do this again,” Wonwoo said, his voice firm yet tender. “Don’t disappear like that. I was terrified when I couldn’t find you. Don’t scare me like this. Don't be a baby Mingyu. Please.”

Mingyu’s tears spilled over again, and he leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of Wonwoo’s neck. His voice was muffled but clear enough to break Wonwoo’s heart all over again.

“But I’m your baby,” Mingyu murmured, his words trembling with vulnerability.

Wonwoo let out a soft, broken laugh, his arms wrapping around Mingyu once more. He held him like he’d never let go, his voice a quiet whisper in the cold night.

“Yes, you are,” Wonwoo said, his lips brushing against Mingyu’s temple. “You’ll always be my baby. Always.”

Mingyu clung to him, his sobs gradually subsiding into quiet sniffles. The rooftop felt still now, the wind no longer biting but carrying their shared warmth.

"You don’t have to keep pretending,” Mingyu whispered, his voice trembling. “I know I’m a mess. I know you don’t want to deal with me anymore.”

Wonwoo’s heart cracked open at the words. Without thinking, he cupped Mingyu’s face in his hands, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“You don’t get to decide that,” Wonwoo said, his voice firm but gentle. “You don’t get to push me away like this, Mingyu. Not when I—” He stopped himself, the words catching in his throat.

Mingyu’s lips quivered, his gaze searching Wonwoo’s face. “Not when you what?” he asked softly, his voice barely audible over the wind.

Wonwoo’s hands trembled where they rested against Mingyu’s skin. His eyes flickered to Mingyu’s lips, and for a brief, reckless moment, he thought about closing the distance. About telling him everything.

The space between them seemed to shrink on its own, their breaths mingling in the cold air. Mingyu’s hands found their way to Wonwoo’s coat, his grip light but anchoring.

“Wonwoo…” Mingyu’s voice was a whisper, his tone heavy with emotion.

Wonwoo leaned in, his forehead brushing against Mingyu’s. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, every nerve in his body screaming for him to stop, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

But just as his lips were about to graze Mingyu’s, the rooftop door burst open with a loud crash.

"Kim Mingyu!"

The sound shattered the fragile bubble around them, and both men turned sharply to see Seungcheol standing in the doorway, his face a mixture of relief and anger.

“There you are!” Seungcheol said, his voice firm but laced with concern. He stormed toward them, his heavy footsteps echoing across the rooftop.

Mingyu immediately stepped back, his arms dropping to his sides. The loss of his warmth hit Wonwoo like a blow, but he quickly masked the hurt with indifference.

"What the hell were you thinking, running off like that?” Seungcheol demanded, his tone sharp. “Do you have any idea how worried everyone’s been?”

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu mumbled, his gaze fixed on the ground.

Seungcheol let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just get you inside before you freeze to death.”

Mingyu hesitated, casting a fleeting glance at Wonwoo. There was something unspoken in his eyes, something that lingered in the cold night air even as he turned to follow Seungcheol.

Chapter Text

Mingyu sat on the edge of the bed, freshly dressed in comfortable clothes, hair still damp from his shower. The morning light filtered through the half-drawn hospital curtains.
The familiar beeping of distant monitors and hushed footsteps in the hallway did little to quiet the chaos inside his heart.

Last night still lingered, raw, electric, too fragile to speak about.

He could still feel the warmth of Wonwoo’s arms on the rooftop, the desperation in his voice as he whispered Mingyu’s name like it was a prayer. For the first time since waking up in this hospital, Mingyu had felt it: love. The kind that held weight. The kind that had always lived in Wonwoo’s eyes.

The door creaked open. Minghao and Seungcheol stepped in, warm and smiling, but Mingyu’s eyes darted past them...searching. Hoping.

Then Wonwoo walked in, a thin folder of documents in his hand, his white coat a little more wrinkled than usual, dark circles beneath his eyes betraying the sleeplessness he never talked about.

“Hey,” Wonwoo greeted the others with a nod, voice polite but distant. He handed Seungcheol the folder. “These are his discharge papers. Meds schedule’s in there too. He’s not completely healed yet. Be careful.”

There was a strange stillness in the air, like the kind that settled before a summer storm.

Seungcheol gave a tight nod and glanced at Minghao. “We’ll… wait outside.”

The door clicked shut behind them.

Wonwoo finally turned to Mingyu.

He walked over slowly, eyes softening as he reached out, brushing his fingers gently through Mingyu’s hair, a habit from another time, a time Mingyu still believed was now.

“I’m serious,” Wonwoo said quietly. “Take your meds on time. Don’t skip meals. You’re not fully healed yet.”

Mingyu gazed up at him, his heart in his throat. “You’re really not coming with me?”

Wonwoo smiled barely. “I have a 24-hour shift today, Mingyu-ah. I really can’t.”

“Oh.” Mingyu’s voice was soft. Understanding. Too understanding. “Okay.”

He didn’t ask for anything more. But in his eyes, there was a hope, quiet and trembling.

Wonwoo saw it. Knew what Mingyu was waiting for.

But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t risk pressing his lips to a forehead he’d kissed a hundred times before. Because if he did, it would mean stepping into something he wasn’t sure he could survive again.

Before either of them could say more, a knock came at the door.

“Time to go,” Seungcheol called gently.

Wonwoo turned, but Mingyu stood and wrapped his arms around him before he could take another step. Tight. Familiar. Like home.

Wonwoo froze.

Seungcheol averted his eyes, shifting awkwardly by the door.

“Don’t overwork,” Mingyu murmured into Wonwoo’s shoulder. “Come to me tomorrow, okay? I’ll be waiting.”

Wonwoo’s throat clenched. The words were too easy. Too real. Like nothing had ever fallen apart between them. Like his heart hadn’t been shattered and pieced together with trembling hands.

He didn’t trust himself to speak.

So he just rubbed Mingyu’s back, slow and steady. A hum escaped his lips—barely audible, but it was all he could give.

Mingyu pulled back with a small smile. And even though Wonwoo didn’t kiss him, didn’t say “I will,” he still looked at him like he was his everything.

Wonwoo stood in that room long after the door closed behind them.

He looked down at the space where Mingyu had stood. His fingers still tingled from brushing through his hair. His chest ached with the words he couldn’t say.

---

Wonwoo was alone in his chamber, sitting stiffly in the chair by his desk, eyes fixed on the patient chart in front of him but not reading a single word. His white coat hung over the back of his seat, untouched, as if he couldn't bear the weight of it right now.

A soft knock tapped at the door before it creaked open.

“Lunch?” Jeonghan’s familiar voice floated in, his head poking through the gap. His coat was draped neatly around his shoulders in that effortlessly elegant way of his, like he belonged in a magazine rather than the neurology wing.

Wonwoo blinked and looked up. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

They walked in silence down the white corridors, sterile, clean, and yet stifling. The cafeteria was half-full, the midday lull having just begun. They settled into a corner table near the window, trays of warm food between them. Wonwoo stirred the rice on his plate with his chopsticks but made no move to eat.

Jeonghan watched him quietly for a moment. Then, gently, “Mingyu?”

“He was discharged today,” Wonwoo replied, voice flat but not cold. Just tired. A kind of exhaustion that sleep couldn’t cure.

Jeonghan nodded slowly. “I figured.”

There was another pause, this one longer. Jeonghan waited, letting the silence wrap around them like a shawl rather than a wall. He always knew how to leave space for the truth to breathe.

Then, softly, “Wonwoo-ah…”

Wonwoo didn’t look up.

“I know how hard all of this is for you,” Jeonghan said. “I’ve been watching you keep it all together. Pretending everything is fine. And I just… I wish I could do something for you.”

Wonwoo swallowed, his throat dry. “You are.”

“Am I?” Jeonghan offered a sad smile. “Because I see you holding your breath around him. I see how you flinch every time he says something like nothing ever happened. It’s like he’s still in love with you. And you… you never stopped.”

Wonwoo’s grip on his chopsticks tightened. His voice, when it came, was low. “I thought I was getting better.”

“I know,” Jeonghan said gently.

“I thought I had moved on.” Wonwoo let out a bitter breath, somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. “It took me months to stop waiting for his texts. Even longer to delete the photos. I… I really tried. And now, suddenly, he’s here again. In front of me. Looking at me like I’m still his.”

Jeonghan reached across the table, placing a comforting hand over Wonwoo’s clenched fist.

“He doesn’t know,” Jeonghan said quietly. “And maybe that makes it easier for him. But not for you. You’re the one who remembers everything. And you’re the one pretending.”

Wonwoo’s eyes burned, but no tears came. He was too practiced at this—holding it in, swallowing it down, learning how to live with the ache.

“I keep asking myself,” he whispered, “how do I protect him… without losing myself all over again?”

Jeonghan didn’t have an answer. But his hand stayed, steady and warm. And maybe for now, that was enough.

---

The apartment smelled the same.

Mingyu paused in the doorway, letting the quiet air wrap around him. There was the faint scent of citrus from the diffuser in the living room, the same deep blue curtains he remembered, the sofa a little more worn than he recalled. His shoes slipped off automatically, muscle memory guiding him before thought could catch up.

Seungcheol and Minghao helped carry in the bags and medications. Their voices echoed distantly, reminders about food, rest, calling if anything felt off.

Mingyu nodded through it all, smiled, said thank you. But he wasn’t really listening.

Because Wonwoo wasn’t there.

He waited, anyway.

He showered. Changed into his favorite gray hoodie, the one he always wore when they ordered late-night takeout and watched movies on the floor. The one Wonwoo used to tug the strings of when he wanted attention but wouldn’t ask for it.

He kept glancing at the clock.

Dinner came and went. Seungcheol had left kimchi stew in the fridge. Minghao had made sure the meds were labeled clearly. But the food didn’t taste like anything. It wasn’t even about being sick, it was something else. Something hollow.

Mingyu sat on the couch afterward, knees pulled to his chest, the TV playing on mute. The apartment was too quiet, even with the light hum of the city outside the window.

He stared at his phone.

No texts. No missed calls.

Just a vague memory of warm hands in his hair and a voice saying, “You’re not healed yet. Take care of yourself.”

He replayed it over and over. The way Wonwoo’s fingers brushed through his hair. The look in his eyes. The way he didn’t kiss him goodbye.

Was it because he was at work? Because someone might’ve seen? Or...

Mingyu wrapped his arms tighter around his knees. The ache in his ribs had dulled to a soft throb, but something deeper inside him still hurt.

He didn’t understand why Wonwoo felt distant. Not cold, never cold. Just guarded. Careful. Like he was afraid to get too close.

But why?

They’d been together for years. Hadn’t they?

Mingyu frowned, rubbing his palm over his chest as if that could ease the tension building there. His memories, everything before the accident felt vivid, sharp. He could remember the way Wonwoo laughed when he was tipsy, the way he muttered “idiot” when Mingyu forgot the laundry again, the exact pattern of freckles across his shoulders.

They were real.

They are real.

So why did it feel like something was missing?

He reached for his phone again. Hovered over Wonwoo’s name. Then, hesitating, he opened the photo album instead. It surprised him how there were no recent pictures of them. The last one he could find was over two year old. A selfie taken at some café, both of them mid-laugh.

He frowned.

“Wonwoo-hyung…” he whispered to no one.

His chest tightened.

“…what happened to us?”

But no one answered.

He stayed like that, curled up on the couch, the TV screen casting soft light across the room, his heart whispering questions he wasn’t ready to ask.