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.