(ft. sungchan of riize), coming of age romance, soft angst(?), semi-autobiography, leaning more in sungho's pov, okay maybe too angsty, ! mention of death
overview : ten years after parting ways, you reconnect with sungho after discovering his book. you invite him to your wedding, and though he initially refuses, he shows up outside the venue to see you one last time.
every breath you take, robbers, flower
a/n : hey guys! this is a short epilogue i decided to write during little breaks when i wasn't too busy. i've been itching to write and update, but i don't really have the time to focus on a full story right now, and i don't want to give you all a half-planned plot :') so, i thought i'd make a little epilogue for my last fic (which is honestly my favorite work) instead. here it is, for now :))
2026, October 14th
Ten months have passed since I saw you at the café, and I have become someone I barely recognize anymore.
The doctors say I'm lucky. Lucky, that's the word they said when they check my vitals and shake their heads in awe. They'd given me until March, maybe April if I was fortunate. But here I am in October, still breathing, still conscious, still holding on by threads I don't remember putting up.
"Your body is fighting hard," My doctor said during my last appointment, the one where I could barely make it from the car to his office without stopping to catch my breath. "Whatever's keeping you here, it must be important."
I didn't tell him about your wedding. Fall, you'd said. You were getting married in the fall.
It's strange, this feeling of being a passenger in your own body. I don't feel like I'm fighting, not consciously anyway. There's no willpower, no determination keeping me alive. If anything, I'm tired in ways I don't have words for. Tired of the pain, tired of the medications that don't work as well as they used to, tired of watching my own body fall apart piece by piece.
But something deeper than my conscious mind seems to have made a different decision. My heart keeps beating. My lungs keep pulling air. My body continues forward like it knows something I don't, and maybe it does.
Maybe some part of me that exists below thought and beyond choice has decided that I need to make it to your day. Not to be there, I know I made that choice when I told you I couldn't come. But to still exist in the world on the same day you become someone's wife, to breathe the same air you breathe as you walk down that aisle, to be alive for your happiness even if I'm not there to see it.
It sounds foolish when I write it down. Romantic in the worst way, the kind of idiotic devotion that probably says more about my inability to let go than any noble sentiment. But I've stopped trying to rationalize the things my mind thinks of in this state.
I'm so tired, Hana. More tired than I've ever been. But I'm still here. And your wedding is in two weeks.
I think my soul is trying to give me one last chance to exist in the world at the same moment your forever began, even if I won't be part of it. Maybe that's what's keeping me here.
I think I can make it that far. I think my body will carry me that far, even if the rest of me has already started saying goodbye.
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Sungho closed his laptop carefully, folding it shut with trembling hands . He placed it on the bedside table next to his water cup and the stack of medications he'd stopped keeping track of weeks ago.
The hospital room was nicer than most. It's private, quiet, with a massive floor-to-ceiling window that took up the entire wall across from his bed. It was the kind of window that made you feel less trapped for something inevitable. Outside, he could see the city inhabited by people living each of their own lives.
He had the nasal cannula in now, the thin tubes feeding oxygen into his nose. His hair was messy, unkempt for longer than he cared to admit. He was pale, he'd seen himself in the bathroom mirror this morning and barely recognized the remnants looking back.
Sungho blinked slowly, watching the world outside without really seeing it. Just then, a knock on the door broke through his daze.
"Please tell me you're decent," came a familiar voice, "because I'm coming in either way." Riwoo pushed through the door before Sungho could answer, carrying a plastic bag in one hand and a book in the other.
They'd met at a book fair last year, Sungho signing copies of his novel, Riwoo asking questions that actually showed he'd read it carefully. Somehow they'd stayed in touch, and Riwoo had become one of the few people Sungho could stand having around during all of this.
"Damn, you look terrible," Riwoo said cheerfully, dragging a chair from the corner over to Sungho's bedside.
Sungho let out a weak chuckle that was more breath than sound, but genuine. "Thanks. You always know just what to say."
"It's a gift." Riwoo settled into the chair and pulled items from the bag. "I brought you some light food. Soup, some of those crackers you can actually keep down, and this." He held up the book. "New release from that author you like. Figured you could use something to read that isn't medical charts."
"Appreciate it." Sungho took the book, running his fingers over the cover without really looking at it.
"So how are you feeling today? And I want a real answer, not the polite one you give the nurses."
Sungho was quiet for a moment, still staring out the window. "I don't know why I'm still here," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
Riwoo's expression softened. He leaned back in his chair, studying his friend's profile. "How's... how are things with Hana?"
Sungho subtly stopped blinking at the mention of your name.
"I haven't contacted her," Sungho finally breathes. "Not since we met last year."
Riwoo nodded slowly. "Yeah, that makes sense. She's engaged and all."
"She's moved forward." Sungho's fingers tightened slightly on the book in his lap. "That's good. That's what she should do."
"Have you?."
It was a question, but didn't feel like one. Sungho smiled faintly, sadly. "No. I haven't." He said simply. "She's getting married in two weeks."
Riwoo went very still, carefully choosing his words. "Two weeks?"
"Yeah."
"Are you going? She invited you."
Silence filled the room, broken only by the beep of monitors and the hum of oxygen. Sungho just stared out the window, and that was answer enough.
"Sungho," Riwoo said gently, leaning forward. "You know I'll support whatever you decide. But..." He struggled for the right words. "If you want to be there, if you think it'll bring you peace or closure or whatever, I would drive you there. Life's too short to spend it wondering what if."
Sungho turned to look at his friend then let out a smile. "Life is definitely too short," he agreed with an ironic tone.
Riwoo was quiet for a moment, then reached over and squeezed Sungho's shoulder carefully. "Just, whatever happens, whatever you decide, I'm here. Alright? You're not doing this alone."
Sungho nodded, throat tight with emotion he was too tired to let out. "I know. Thank you."
They sat in silence after that, Riwoo scrolling through his phone while Sungho returned to watching the world outside his window. Two weeks felt like both forever and no time at all.
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The last box was finally empty.
You set it aside with a satisfied sigh, looking around the living room that was slowly starting to feel like home. Cardboard boxes were flattened and stacked by the door, books were organized on the shelves, picture frames were hung the walls. The house was just a few blocks from your old apartment, but it felt like a completely different life.
"I think that's the last of them," you said, brushing dust off your hands as your fiance emerged from the kitchen with two glasses of water.
"Finally." He handed you a glass and collapsed onto the sofa beside you. "I never want to see another moving box again."
You laughed and settled next to him, both of you letting out sighs from exhaustion. The late afternoon light streamed through the windows, warming the hardwood floors you'd spent all morning polishing.
"This is nice," you said softly, looking around at the space you'd created together. "Having a house. Getting married in two weeks. Just growing our lives together, you know?"
"It is nice," Sungchan agreed, reaching over to take your hand. "Sometimes I can't believe this is real."
You squeezed his hand. "Me neither. I feel really lucky."
"We both are." He stood up, stretching his back with a groan. "Okay, I'm going to start dinner. You've been working all day, so just relax. Maybe take a bath or something."
"You sure?"
"Absolutely. I'm thinking pasta." He leaned down and kissed the top of your head. "Just rest."
You watched him head back to the kitchen, heard the sounds of cabinet doors opening and the water running in the sink. The house felt alive, and it made you smile.
After a minute of just sitting there, letting the tiredness fade away, your eyes drifted across the living room to the bookshelf you organized earlier. All your favorites were there, arranged by author and genre, spines picturing a colorful mosaic against the shelf.
And there, on the third shelf, you saw Sungho's book that is noticeably thinner than the rest.
You got up and walked over, reaching for it. You stared at the cover, painted illustration of your college university's park, cherry blossom trees rendered in pinks and whites, a single bench beneath their branches. The title in simple lettering. Spring of '15
You ran your fingers over the cover, remembering the first time you'd opened, the awe of recognition as you'd read about the lonely boy and the girl who'd approached him. It felt like so long ago now, even though it had only been last year.
A small smile curved at your lips as you stared at the painting. Somewhere out there, Sungho was probably living his life, you thought. Writing his stories, finding his happiness in whatever form that took. The book had said he'd found peace and solitude, and you hoped that was true. Hoped he'd found someone who made him laugh, someone who understood the way he saw the world.
He deserved that. Deserved all the happiness he'd once given you, reflected back by someone who could stay.
You thought about that afternoon at the café, how easy it had been to sit with him and remember who you'd both been. How he'd smiled when he saw your engagement ring, genuine and warm and free of any lingering hurt.
He was probably doing great now, wherever he was. Probably working on his next book, living the quiet life he'd always seemed suited for. The thought made you happy in a way of happiness you feel when someone you once cared about finds their place in the world.
"Hana?" Sungchan called from the kitchen. "Red or white wine with dinner?"
"White," you called back, carefully placing the book back on its shelf.
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Then, two weeks. Just two weeks ago you were unpacking boxes and sitting on a sofa with flour-dusted hands eating Sungchan's pasta while he complained about bubble wrap, and now you were standing in a white dress.
It happened like that sometimes. Life moved in long slow stretches that felt like waiting, and then suddenly it lurched forward all at once and left you breathless, standing in a moment you'd been moving toward without realizing how quickly you were arriving at it.
Your mom was fussing with your veil, her hands trembling slightly in the way they always did when she was trying not to cry. Your dad sat in the corner chair looking at you with quiet, speechless pride that made your chest ache with tenderness.
"Stop moving," your mom said softly, smoothing the fabric at your shoulders. "You're making it harder."
"I'm not moving."
"You're breathing too much."
One of your college friend burst out laughing from the couch where she and the others were doing their own makeup. "That's literally not possible."
"Leave my mom alone," you said, laughing too despite yourself.
The getting-ready room was warm and full, everyone talking over each other the way they always had. Keeho was telling a story about his commute there that had gotten somehow more dramatic with every retelling in the past hour. Your other friends are bickering over crackers and hairstyles. Your mom alternated between fussing over your veil and wiping her eyes when she thought no one was looking. It felt like being held by every important thing in your life at once.
But at some point in the comfortable noise of it all, your eyes drifted to the window. The sky outside was clean, pale and bright, the kind of white sky that feels soft rather than overcast, like the whole world had put on its best clothes for the occasion. Trees lined the venue's garden below, still holding onto theie autumn leaves in colors that looked almost unreal, gold and rust and amber catching in the morning light.
It was beautiful.
Your eyes lingered longer on the garden, the benches, the way the light fell soft and generous over everything, and something small moved through your chest.
"It would have been nice if Sungho was here." Your mind spoke.
Not in a complicated way. Just the simple wish you have when life is at its most beautiful and you want the people who shaped you to see it too. The people who were part of the story that brought you here, even if they weren't in its final chapters.
You wondered briefly how he was. Whether he was writing something new, whether the quiet solitude he'd found still held good things for him. Whether the same kind of pale October sky was outside whatever window he was near today.
You hoped so.
You nodded to yourself imperceptibly, and let the thought settle and release. It felt right to have him cross your mind today of all days, and to carry it lightly without grief or guilt, just a small acknowledgment that some people leave fingerprints on your life that never fully disappear, and that's okay. That's a beautiful thing, not a sad one.
"Okay, Mom. can we please stop making her cry before the ceremony even starts?" Keeho announced, standing up dramatically. "I did not spend forty minutes on this look just to have it ruined by emotion." The room erupted into laughter again, and you felt it wash over you like warmth.
Your whole life was waiting.
You took a breath, feeling the dress settle around you, feeling your mother's hand briefly squeeze yours, feeling the realness of this moment that you'd somehow arrived at through all the ordinary days and hard seasons and small joys.
"Okay," you said softly, mostly to yourself.
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Sungho was sitting up when Riwoo got back.
Not in bed, but in the chair by the window, the one the nurses had rolled over weeks ago when they noticed he spent most of his time staring at the city outside anyway. He was still in his hospital gown, the thin blue fabric hanging loosely off shoulders that had gotten smaller over the months, the nasal cannula still in place, the IV standing beside him.
But he looked visibly different today. Better, somehow, in a way that had nothing to do with his charts or his vitals. His eyes were clear. There was color in his face that hadn't been there for months.
Riwoo stopped in the doorway for a moment, just looking at him.
"You look different today," he said carefully, coming inside and sitting down on the edge of the hospital bed. "Good different."
Sungho glanced over at him. "Really?"
"Really. Did you sleep?"
"A little." He looked back at the window. "The sky is nice today."
Riwoo followed his gaze to the pale morning stretched out beyond the glass, and he already understood without having to ask. He'd known about Hana's wedding for weeks. Had known what day it was the moment he woke upthis morning.
"I talked to Dr. Kim," Riwoo said after a moment.
Sungho turned to look at him.
"If we kept it short, if I drove, if you stayed in the car..." Riwoo shrugged, choosing his words carefully. "He said it's not completely out of the question. Just driving by. You wouldn't even have to get out."
The room was quiet for a long moment. Outside, the city moved at its usual Saturday pace, unhurried and ordinary. A completely normal day for most people.
Sungho turned back to the window and sighed, long and slow. He didn't say yes. He didn't say no either. He just sat there looking at the sky, and Riwoo let him.
2026, October 23rd
The sky is white and clean today. The good kind of white, the kind that looks like the world itself also wore a veil along with you.
I keep looking at it and wondering if you're looking at it too. From wherever you're getting ready, whether your window faces east or west, whether the light in your room is soft enough to cast heaven on your face, or too bright to make you squint your eye that turns into a bright shade of amber. I keep thinking that somewhere under this same sky, you're putting on a white dress and your mother is probably already crying and your friends are probably making noise because that's what your people have always done.
And just knowing that, just knowing we're breathing the same air, looking at the same sky, makes something in my chest go very still. Like the aching that's lived there for years finally found a way to rest.
Riwoo asked me if I want to drive by the church. Just drive by. See the outside of the building, maybe the garden, maybe the cars lining the road. He wouldn't even have to slow down.
I've been sitting with that question for an hour now.
The logical answer is no. I know how I look. I know what it would cost me physically, the sheer effort of getting into a car and staying upright for that long. I know that if I saw you, even through glass, even from a distance, something in me might break that I don't have the energy to put back together.
But I think, this is the last time. This is the last beautiful thing that will happen in my life.
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The doors were heavy old wood that had been here long ago to have witnessed a hundred other beginnings. When they opened, they opened slowly with a comforting creak rather than the ear shattering ones.
Light poured in first, flooding through the gap and pooling on the wooden floor. And then you stepped into it, your mother on one side, your father on the other, your hands resting in theirs like you were a toddler again in your first steps.
Every face in the room turned toward you, and you barely registered any of them, because Sungchan was at the end of the aisle.
He was looking at you with the expression of a man who has been hit by something he saw coming and still wasn't prepared for. His hands were clasped in front of him, and as the light from the open doors fell across his face, his eyes filled. He didn't blink, like he was afraid you might disappear if he did. His jaw worked silently for a second, and then he just smiled, wide and helpless.
That was when your own eyes stung.
You walked slowly, matching the music's pace even though every instinct was telling you to run to him. Your father's hand tightened around yours as you moved, and you heard your mother exhale shakily beside you.
The aisle felt long and short at the same time. Long enough for you to notice the candles along the pews, the autumn flowers woven into every arrangement, the way the ceiling arched above you like cupped hands. Short enough that before you felt ready, Sungchan was right there. Real and present and looking at you like you'd hung every star in the sky.
Your father lifted your hand to Sungchan's, and the transfer of that small weight felt enormous.
Your dad kissed your cheek. Your mom pressed her hand briefly over yours. And then they stepped away, and it was just you and Sungchan standing together in all that light.
He mouthed something too quiet for anyone else to hear.
"You're beautiful."
You laughed despite yourself, blinking hard against the tears that were absolutely going to win this battle.
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Time went by both so quick and slow. The officiant had spoken before you knew it, and Sungchan turned to you fully, unfolding a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket with shaky hands.
"I practiced this a hundred times," he started, voice low and already rough around the edges. "And I'm still not sure I have the right words. But I think that's the point, isn't it? That you're the kind of person words have trouble keeping up with."
He paused, clearing his throat.
"I fell in love with you on an ordinary Tuesday. I don't even remember what we were doing; something completely unremarkable, probably arguing about what to have for dinner. But I looked at you in that completely ordinary moment and thought, I want every ordinary Tuesday for the rest of my life to look exactly like this."
Someone in the pews laughed softly through their tears.
"I promise to choose you on the easy days and the hard ones. On the days when you rearrange all the furniture at 2 AM for reasons I still don't fully understand." A ripple of laughter. "On the days when you're too tired to be kind but you try anyway, and on the days when you succeed. I promise to pay attention. To notice the things you don't say as much as the things you do."
His voice thickened.
"I promise to build a life with you that's bigger than either of us could build alone. And I promise to remember, every single day, that I'm the luckiest person in this room."
He folded the paper carefully and put it back in his pocket. His eyes were bright.
"I love you, Hana. I think I always will."
The officiant turned to you before you could even think about crying, and you unfolded your own paper with fingers that trembled as well.
"Sungchan," you started, and just saying his name in this room, in this moment, made you have to stop for a second.
"I used to think love was supposed to feel complicated. Like it was only real if it came with a little fear, a little turbulence, something to push against. And then I met you, and you were just you."
You looked up from the paper, because the words felt more important when you looked at him.
"I don't have grand promises. I just have this, I will show up for you the same way you have always shown up for me. I will choose you when it's easy and when it's hard and all the ordinary days in between. I will love you for exactly who you are, every version of you still to come."
Your voice broke on the last line, but only slightly.
"Thank you for being my calm. My home. My person."
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The doors burst open and the world came rushing back in.
Sunlight, noise, laughter, petals. White and gold and autumn colors raining down as you and Sungchan stepped out the church, hands intertwined, faces already aching from smiling. The crowd surged forward, family and friends pressing in from every side, flower petals catching in your hair and settling on your shoulders like confetti made of love.
"My baby," your mom said, pulling you into her arms before anyone else could reach you, and you held her tight, laughing into her shoulder. Your dad wrapped his arms around both of you, and for a moment the three of you were just there, the same as you'd always been, even as everything changed.
"Mrs. Jung," Keeho said dramatically when you finally pulled apart, pressing both hands to his cheeks. "I'm not crying. I'm not crying."
"You are absolutely crying," one of your friends said.
"I said what I said."
You laughed, reaching for him, and the whole group folded into an overlapping embrace, everyone talking at once, someone's flower petals going directly into your mouth, your friend saying something about your dress that got lost in all the noise. Sungchan caught your eye across the small crowd and gave you that happy smile that made you fall in love with him all over again.
You were still smiling when your gaze drifted without meaning to, further across the noise and the petals and the gathered crowd.
There was a white car parked further down the street. Far enough back to be unobtrusive, close enough that you could see the window rolled all the way down.
And there was Sungho.
He was sitting in the passenger seat, turned slightly toward the church. He was wearing a brown sweater, and his hair was dark and neat, more carefully kept than the last time you'd seen it, which struck you as significant somehow.
He looked different from a year ago. Smaller, maybe. Softer at the edges. But his eyes, even from this distance, were the same.
He saw you the moment you saw him.
You smiled at him warmly, the way you'd always smiled at him. You lifted your hand in a small wave from amid the crowd, just enough for him to see.
Something moved across his face. He smiled back, slow and gentle, and raised his hand in a weak wave that didn't travel very far. Like it cost him something to lift it, but he did it anyway. His eyes glistened in the afternoon light, and even from across the street you could see the way he pressed his lips together briefly, holding something in.
Then he mouthed the words clearly.
"Congratulations."
He nodded once, something final and full in the gesture, and turned to look forward again, and that was when you saw it.
The thin tubes resting below his nose. An IV stand visible through the window, standing beside him in the car like it had followed him out of the hospital. And suddenly the brown sweater made sense, and the careful hair made sense, and the way he'd lifted that weak arm to wave made a different kind of sense entirely.
Something shifted in your chest that made you perk up slightly, but the window began to roll up.
You watched it rise, the glass catching the afternoon light as it sealed shut. The car pulled away from the curb with no rush. You watched it until it turned at the far end of the street and disappeared, taking him with it.
Around you, the noise continued. Sungchan's cousins were taking photos. Your mom was dabbing her eyes again. Keeho was making someone else laugh. The petals were still falling.
You turned back to it all, but there was a small ache sitting right underneath. Like the feeling of watching the last light leave the sky before night comes in. You couldn't explain why this goodbye felt heavier than the last one.
Sungchan was looking at you with soft eyes, a question in them.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
You looked at him presently as your chest settled down.
"Yeah," you said, taking his hand. "I am."
And it was the truth. You leaned into Sungchan's shoulder as your life went on.
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2027, one year had passed.
The field was green and thriving, the kind of open space that made you feel like the busy city existed in another dimension. You walked slowly through the grass, the hem of your jacket brushing the tops of wildflowers that had come up with the season, the sky above you so clear and blue it almost looked painted.
You stopped at the cherry blossom tree at the far edge of the field. It was full now, heavy with soft pink clusters that drifted down in the breeze and settled on the grass below, really something out of a dream. You'd been here once before, in the winter, when the ground had been hard and the branches bare. It looked better now.
You knelt down in front of the headstone nestled at the base of the tree. You reached out and brushed the engraving with your fingers, clearing away the thin layer of petals that had gathered in the carved letters. Park Sungho, 1995-2026
You smiled. A bittersweet smile that had become the only kind you had for this place.
"Hi," you said gently. The wind moved through the branches above you. Petals fell like a response from him.
"I brought freesias," you said, placing them carefully against the base of the stone. "I remembered you mentioned them once in college." You straightened them unnecessarily, just to have something to do with your hands. "I wasn't sure if you were the type for flowers but it felt wrong to come empty-handed."
You sat down beside the tree, drawing your knees in, letting the silence settle around you.
"I'm sorry," you said after a moment. Your voice was steady, but just barely. "I'm still sorry I didn't know sooner. I keep thinking about that afternoon at the café, how you smiled when you said you were doing well, and I just believed you. Because you seemed okay. Because you seemed at peace." You exhaled. "You were always so good at that. Making things look manageable."
A petal drifted down again and landed on your knee.
"Sungchan and I is getting the house a minor work. We need the room now." You smiled to yourself, touching the small swell of your stomach without thinking about it. "I think you'd like him, if you'd ever really gotten to meet him. He's patient in all the ways you and I never quite managed to be with each other. He cried at our wedding, did I tell you that? The moment the doors opened, just completely undone." You laughed softly. "It was the best thing I've ever seen."
You rested your head back against the tree trunk and looked up through the branches at the sky coming through in pieces.
"Thank you," you said quietly. "For teaching me what I was worth. For loving me first, when I was still figuring out how to be loved. I don't think I would have known what to look for in Sungchan if I hadn't known you first."
You stayed like that for a while, just sitting, letting the air move around you. Then the grass rustled beside you.
You looked over to find a man approaching, about your age, carrying a small bundle of white flowers and a worn notebook tucked under his arm. Something about the careful way he held the notebook told you it wasn't his. He slowed when he saw you, then seemed to recognize you.
"Le-" He stopped, "Jung Hana?" he said.
You stood, brushing grass from your jacket. "Yes."
"I'm Riwoo. I believe we've met during the funeral." He stopped a few feet away. "Sungho mentioned you. A lot, actually." He looked down at the headstone with a gloomy expression. "I'm glad you came today."
You bowed your head in greeting. "Oh, yes. I believe we've met."
Riwoo bent forward and laid his flowers beside yours, taking a quiet moment that you didn't interrupt. Then he straightened and looked at you, and held out the notebook.
"This was his," he said simply. "The last one. He asked me once, not directly but- you know how he was." He smiled tenderly at the thought of Sungho.
"He asked me once if I thought you'd want to read it someday." He pressed it gently into your hands. "I've been carrying it around ever since he passed. Not knowing when the right time was. But I think today is probably it."
You looked down at the notebook. The cover was dark brown, soft with wear, the string closure tied in a loose knot of someone who opened it often.
"Thank you," you managed. "Really, Thank you for being his friend when no one was."
Riwoo smiled, and there was grief in it and also warmth. "He was easy to be friends with, once you got past the quiet. I'm sure you know." He glanced at the grave once more. "Take care of yourself, Hana."
"I do know." you smiled. "You too."
You watched him walk back across the field until he was just a shape moving through the green, then grew small, then was gone.
You sat back down against the tree, the notebook in your lap. For a moment you just held it, feeling the worn cover under your palms, then slowly, you pulled the string loose, skimming through the paper as you land on a page.
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2026, October 23rd
Riwoo drove me to the park after as I said.
It's quiet here now, the afternoon crowd has gone home for dinner and the lights are just starting to come on along the pathway. The bench is empty. The swings are moving on their own a little, just from the breeze, and I'm watching them from the car window because I don't have the strength to walk out there today.
That's okay. I can see everything I need to see from here.
I want to write down what I remember before the day gets any further from me. Before sleep takes it.
You were wearing white, but it wasn't the cold, sterile white that my eyes were used to see. It was warm. It catches light and holds it. When those doors opened and you walked through them, I think the whole street got brighter. Not metaphorically, I mean that actual light seemed to follow you out of that building, the way it always seemed to follow you, the way it had since that first March morning when you crossed a garden to talk to a boy who'd given up on being noticed.
You were smiling so brightly the whole way down the steps. It was as real and alive as it was the first time I saw it. And then you looked up, and you found me. In that white dress, holding all those flowers, surrounded by everyone who loves you. You waved at me so naturally.
I managed to wave back. I don't know if it looked like much from where you were standing. My arm isn't what it used to be. But I raised it. I made sure I raised it. You smiled at me one last time.
I asked Riwoo to roll up the window then. Not because I wanted to stop looking, but because I'd already given what I came for, and the rest of the day belonged to you.
-
The park looks the same as it always did too.
I keep looking at the swings. I keep thinking about the first time we sat on them, how you pumped your legs and went so high while I barely moved, how you said the sun looked nice that day and meant something more by it. I remember thinking I had never been given such a simple, extraordinary gift; to be wanted just because a day was beautiful.
I have no regrets. I loved you better by letting you go. I have to believe that.
And I don't regret the love itself too. Not one morning of it. Not one fight, not one misunderstanding, not one missed call or ruined plan. All of it was mine, and all of it mattered, and all of it made me into someone capable of writing things worth reading. You are in every sentence I have ever been proud of. You are the reason I learned to pay attention to the world.
This is my last piece. I am not afraid. My life has been completely lived.
I saw you happy today. I saw you radiant and laughing and loved. I saw the way your husband looked at you like he already knew he'd spend the rest of his life grateful. I saw your friends throwing petals in your hair and your mother holding her own hands to keep from reaching for you. I saw a whole life gather around you, celebrate you, love you.
My body and soul has been waiting to rest, but it needed to know you were alright first. Needed to see it with its own eyes before it could let go. And now I have seen it. Now I know.
So rest, then.
Hana — wherever you are when you read this, if you ever read this, I hope spring is coming in through your windows. I hope you laugh a lot. I hope you are incredibly full and unhurried and exactly where you are supposed to be.
I loved. It was the greatest thing a man can ever do.
a very, very belated happy 2026 to all of you omg... i've been on a long, painful hiatus these past few months. the last quarter of our academic year is merciless and we've been buried by the workload. but good news is i'm graduating in a month!! i survived through hell and back, and i'm actually so so happy about it.
i hope you all had an amazing january and are having a lovely february so far. with graduation coming up, i'll slowly start updating again and rise from the ashes.
special thank you to my suitor for being ever being reliable. you make sense the most when nothing else does :)
with thaaaatt, this means i'll be posting a new fic shortly after this update. we are so back‼️
MY BOOKIE I MISS YOU 😭😭😭 been re-reading all your works and gazing into the horizon like a lonely victorian wife waiting for her lover to come back from war 💔
HELLO, POOKIEEE. I MISS Y'ALL TOO SO MUCH‼️ugh, i've only been popping in to check my feed like a war soldier staring at a photo of his wife, yearning to be home💔 BUT WORRY NOT, there are only four more days before this doom ends, and i'll be updating fics a lot this month🙏🏻
hii i’ve been reading your fics for awhile and i just wanted to tell you that you’re my favourite writer here 🥹 i love your writings so so much and i genuinely hope you get the appreciation and support you deserve because you’re actl so so talented ❤️
helloooo, dear anon! as a small writer, it's such an honor to be your fav writer in a niche community bless u oml :') and with this hell semester going on, receiving such encouraging message is honestly helping me not completely abandon this page from all the external burnout.😓
thank u so much for the support! i'll be back once everything tones down. have lovely days ahead of you! :))
hello, guys!! i'm finally able to update on this page after a month💔 the new fic i was supposed to post last month is still stuck in my drafts, only halfway done because my schedule this 2nd semester got so hectic. honestly, even worse than last sem. sigh… i'll probably be back around the third week of december for christmas break. so i'll be on a quick hiatus for the meantime.
I MISS Y'ALL SO MUCH. i miss posting, i miss reading. i'll try to check in here once in a while. but for now, i'll be off. take care, everyone! may the last two months of 2025 be kinder to all of you <3
just wrapped up day 1 of our exams—five straight hours with zero breaks. gosh, it's awful. i've been dying to work on new fics, but academics come first. tomorrow's day 2, and right now i'm gnawing on my notebooks. and after exams, i'll be conducting ftf surveys all over the city's rural areas—absolute hell. though! i'm trying not to let negativity get to me. where there's a tunnel, there's light. even if there's another tunnel after that; if it's endless, punch the hell out of it, poke a hole, and let the sun in.
our first semester is coming to an end! the second (and last) one's right around the corner, but so is our one-week break next week! i'm so ready to visit the local club again, get drunk, go home barefoot at 3, and have hot soup in the morning. and goodness, i'll finally go back to READING FANFICS. it’s been a while, and i've met so many lovely writers here, i'll be checking out all your works. special mention to @pupillary! i'm so gonna check yours out :) also, i'm dropping a new fic next sunday! (and, shoutout to that one consistent anon who's my favorite i love u.)
see y'all soon, and i hope you're having a great day. if not, i hope happiness finds its way to you :)
hi cinna! welcome and goodbye was so beautiful i genuinely cried while reading it (also as of me sending in this ask, the pairing is still eunseok/reader jlyk in case u missed it while editing!)
im such a sucker for yearning and having someone chose you despite despite despite and as much as i wanted them together, that ending wrapped it up so beautifully i wouldn't have wanted it any other way. and the passages from sungho's autobiography blended perfectly with the scenes! they didn't disrupt the flow of story but enhanced it with so much emotion.
(i had a lot to say abt it while reading but i drowned in my feelings the moment i finished so in summary: screaming crying throwing up fr)
i eat up every single one of your bnd fics! (and recommend a lot of them to my friends here lol) thank you so much for that beautiful read!
— levy
HI AGAIN, DEAR LEVY! i always love seeing you in my notifications, so glad to hear from you again‼️
also, thank you for pointing out the pairing description error omg......
i really appreciate you loving my works! it's so, so heartwarming to know you resonated with the fic just as much as i did. i was lowkey fighting tears while writing sungho's passages too, so lowkey u me both💔
again, thank you so much for the support! this is incredibly encouraging for a writer who's battling demons everyday. i'm really looking forward to hearing more from you, and i'll keep pouring my heart into every new fics i release :) 🍒❤️
pairing : ex!sungho x f!reader ( as hana) | wc : 15k
tags : coming of age, angst, romance, college au, mutual pining, semi-autobiography, story within a story, lots of yearning
🎧 : space, summer night, lily of the valley, love
overview : ten years after parting ways, you thought your first love was long behind you, until you found his book containing all the memories you once shared and the truths you never knew.
a/n: this fic was originally written and finished for a riize member (i actually posted it before but deleted it after it got content-labeled for an unknown reason) but after some thought, i figured the atmosphere of the story kinda fits sungho more :')
MASTERLIST
The morning light filters through your kitchen window as you adjust your fiancé's collar one last time. His tie sits perfectly straight now, navy blue against his clean white shirt. He smells like the aftershave you bought him last Christmas, woody and warm.
"Have a good day at work," you say, standing on your toes to press a quick kiss to his lips.
He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "You too. Don't let the kids drive you too crazy."
You watch him gather his coat, briefcase and keys, the cozy routine of another weekday morning. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you with the quiet hum of the coffee maker and the winter sunlight spilling across the wooden floor. Your own reflection catches in the hallway mirror as you grab your bag. neat ponytail, comfortable coat, the small diamond on your ring finger catching the light.
The elementary school buzzes with its usual mess. Tiny voices echo down hallways in cheerful yellows and blues. Your classroom smells like crayons, old papers, sunlight, and that specific nostalgic scent of childhood classrooms.
"Miss Hana, can you help me with this?" one boy tugs at your sleeve, holding up a math worksheet with numbers scribbled in uneven lines.
You crouch beside his desk, pencil in hand. "What's troubling you?"
"I don't get why we need to borrow from the tens place."
His brow furrows in concentration as you guide him through the problem, your voice patient and soft. Around you, twenty-three other seven-year-olds work at their desks, some chewing their erasers, others throwing pencils around.
The afternoon slips by in a rush of papers and scraped knees, art projects that somehow end up more on hands than paper, and the eternal mystery of where all the glue stick caps disappear to. When the final bell rings, you wave goodbye to the last parent pickup and sink into your desk chair.
The classroom feels different in silence. Sunlight slants through the windows, highlighting motes floating in the air. Your lesson plans for tomorrow sit in a neat stack, red ink marking corrections and encouraging notes you'll hand back in the morning.
You lock up and walk to your car, but instead of heading straight home, you find yourself turning toward downtown. The local library down the street, its red brick facade warm in the late afternoon sun. You haven't been here in months, maybe longer.
The heavy wooden doors open with a soft creak. Inside, it's warm, and smells like old paper and coffee from a couple of people by the seats. Your footsteps are muffled by worn carpet as you wander between the shelves, fingers trailing along book spines. You're not looking for anything particular, just something to read before your fiancé comes home from his business dinner. Romance, maybe. Or something short.
But then your eyes catch on a slim volume tucked between a cookbook and a travel guide. The cover is simple, watercolor blues and greens that look almost like a painting of somewhere you know. The title reads "Spring of '15" in simple font. 2015. Your chest tightens with something you can't describe. College, that spring when everything felt possible and terrifying all at once, when you were twenty and thought you had forever to figure things out.
You pull the book free and turn it over. The back cover shows a small photograph, a park bench under cherry blossoms, a path winding between old trees. The corner of your lips curved into a small smile of recognition. It looks exactly like the park down by your old university. The place where you used to study on afternoons, or hangout with your friends, where couples would spread blankets for picnics and watch the water flow past.
The author's pen name is printed small at the bottom, but you don't recognize it. Inside the front cover, the copyright date confirms that it's published just last year. Something about the details of the book pulls at you. You check the book out without really deciding to.
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You took the book home. Your apartment welcomes you home with the vanilla candle from last night. You set your keys in the little dish by the door and kick off your work shoes, leaving them beside your fiancé's running sneakers.
In your small home office, you settle into the chair at your desk. The room is tidy. Your laptop closed and plugged in, a stack of graded papers ready for tomorrow, a framed photo of you and your fiancé from last summer's vacation smiling back at you.
You open "Spring of '15" to the first page. The paper feels smooth beneath your fingertips, still crisp and new.
The spring I turned twenty-one, I thought I knew what loneliness was.
The words draw you in immediately. Outside your window, evening light fades to purple, but you barely notice. You're already somewhere else, following a story that feels like stepping into a half-remembered memory.
I spent most days in the library or walking the paths by the river, watching other people live their lives while I tried to figure out how to live mine.
You tilt your head as your interest is piqued. There's something about the narrator's way of writing, something achingly familiar that you can't place. You turn the page and keep reading, drawn deeper into a story that feels less like fiction and more like looking through someone else's eyes into a world you once knew.
════════ 2015
The March air was sharp and cold. Sungho pulled his coat closer, watching other students walk in groups toward the university gates. Everyone seemed to know where they were going. Friends linking arms, couples sharing earphones, people who had already figured out how to belong here. He walked alone, hands deep in his pockets.
The orientation hall was too warm and too loud. Sungho sat near the back, half-listening to the dean talk about campus traditions and academic excellence. Around him, students whispered to each other, trading phone numbers, making lunch plans. He looked down at the campus map in his hands with nothing but the thought of just getting through the day.
When they were finally told to explore the campus, everyone split off into groups. Sungho waited until most people had left, then stood up with nowhere particular to go. He wandered until he found the university garden. It was quiet there, away from all the noise. Pink cherry blossoms fell like snow, covering the grass and benches. He found a spot under a big tree and pulled out his iPod, then his journal. The one he'd been writing in since high school.
The music helped. He wrote about his first day, about feeling lost, about the way the petals kept falling even when no wind was blowing. But something made him look up. Across the garden, five people were sitting together on the grass. They were laughing about something. But it wasn't their happiness that caught his attention.
It was you.
Your hair moved with the breeze as you threw your head back, laughing at whatever story someone was telling. Even from far away, he could see how your whole face lit up when you smiled. You moved your hands while you talked, and everyone else leaned in to listen. Like you were the center of everything.
Just a random crush, he told himself, looking back at his journal. It'll go away. But his pen had stopped moving.
"Excuse me?"
He looked up. You were standing right there, having walked over while he wasn't paying attention. Up close, your smile was even brighter than the surroundings.
"Sorry to bother you, but are you here by yourself?" You pointed back at your friends. "We're going to walk around campus if you want to come with us."
Sungho stared for a second, earphones still in his ears. Then he quickly pulled them out and stood up, almost dropping his journal.
"I'm Hana," you said. "What's your name?"
"Sungho," he managed to say. "Park Sungho. And yeah, if you don't mind..."
"Of course not!" Your smile got even bigger. "Come on."
I used to think being alone was something we choose. Like people who ended up lonely just didn't try hard enough. But sitting there that first day, watching the petals fall like the minutes i waste, I realized loneliness could hit you like a season you never saw coming.
Then you appeared. Not with anything dramatic and grande like the dramas in tv, just a simple "Are you here by yourself?"
I didn't know then that some questions change everything. That sometimes the thing that saves you looks like just another ordinary Tuesday, just another stranger with a kind smile. Your name sounded like a song I'd been waiting my whole life to hear.
════════
Your friends welcomed Sungho easily, the way good people do. Introductions exchanged from your newly made friends were quick too, but their names blurred together in his mind. He was too busy trying not to stare at you.
"So where should we go first?" you asked, pulling out the campus map and spreading it between your hands. "Library? Student center? Oh, we should definitely check out the cafeteria."
"Food first," Keeho said immediately. "I'm starving."
"You're always starving," Your other friend laughed, nudging him with her elbow.
Sungho walked a little behind the group, hands in his pockets, listening to the way you all talked to each other. Like you'd known each other for years instead of hours. He wondered how some people made friendship look so simple.
"What do you think, Sungho?"
He looked up to find you turned around, walking backward while the others continued forward.
"About what?" he blinked.
"Cafeteria or library first?" You tilted your head, waiting for his answer like it actually mattered.
"Cafeteria's fine," he said quietly.
You grinned. "See? He gets it. Food is important."
As the group started moving toward the main building, you fell into step beside him. Not saying anything at first, just matching his pace. Sungho glanced at you sideways, wondering why you weren't up front with the others where all the conversation was happening.
"You're really quiet," you said eventually. Not like an accusation, just more of an observation.
"Yeah." He didn't know what else to say.
"That's okay. I talk enough for like three people anyway." You laughed at yourself, and the sound made warmth bloom in his chest. "My friends always tell me I need to learn when to shut up."
"I don't think you should," Sungho said, surprising himself.
You looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Yeah?"
"You have a nice voice," he said, then immediately felt his face heat up. "I mean-"
"Thank you." Your smile was softer now, different from the bright ones you'd been giving everyone else. "That's really sweet."
The group moved through campus like a small parade. You pointed out buildings, read signs out loud, made jokes about the statue of the university founder. Everything seemed to fascinate you, the way the afternoon light hit the library windows, a dog someone was walking near the quad, the smell of coffee floating from the student center.
Sungho found himself watching you more than the actual tour. The way you gestured with your whole body when you talked. How you listened to everyone else like they were saying the most interesting things in the world. The way you stopped to pet every dog you saw.
Time felt strange. The other students on campus seemed to move faster, their voices blending into background noise. But you were clear and bright and constant, like everything else had gone slightly out of focus except for you. Sungho caught himself smiling and didn't even try to stop it.
"This is nice," you said as the group paused near a fountain in the center of campus. The water caught the light, sending little rainbows across your face.
"What is?" Keeho asked.
"This, all of us. The first day." You looked around at everyone, and your eyes lingered on Sungho for just a second longer. "I was kind of nervous about starting college, but y'all are amazing."
You were the sun in human form that day. Not the kind that burns, but the kind that makes everything grow. I watched you discover our campus like it was a whole new world, and somehow that made me see it differently too.
I'd spent so many years walking through life like I was watching a movie of someone else's story. But when you smiled at me that afternoon, everything shifted into focus. Like I'd been living in black and white and suddenly remembered what color looked like.
That was the day I learned that loneliness isn't the opposite of being with people. It's the opposite of being seen. And you saw me, even when I was trying to disappear.
════════
Two months passed like pages flipping through the wind. Sungho had found his place in your group, even if it was on the quieter part. He still didn't talk as much as everyone else, but he laughed now. Real laughs, not the polite ones he used to give for weeks. And sometimes, when the conversation turned to books or movies, he'd surprise everyone by talking for minutes at a time.
You'd learned things about him. That he always ordered the same coffee. That he wrote in his journal every day, usually at the same bench in the garden where you'd first met him. That he had a way of listening that made people want to tell him their secrets.
Today was one of those good days. The six of you were at the student center, sprawled across couches that had seen better years. Keeho was telling a story about his roommate's latest disaster, complete with dramatic gestures that made you laugh until your sides hurt.
Sungho was sitting next to you, close enough that you could smell his cologne, something clean and fresh that you'd started to associate with comfort. He wasn't saying much, but he was smiling. The one that made his eyes crinkle. But then, his phone rang.
The sound cut through Keeho's story, and everyone looked over. Sungho glanced at the screen and his expression changed. His smile from seconds before just faded.
"I need to take this," he said, standing up. "I'll be right back."
He walked toward the windows on the far side of the room, phone pressed to his ear. You tried not to watch, but something about the way his shoulders tensed made you worried.
"Mom, I told you I can't-" His voice is stronger than he probably meant it to. "No, I know it's important, but I have plans this saturday."
You looked away, focusing on your other friend who was showing everyone pictures on her phone. But you could still hear him.
"It's not like that. I'm not being irresponsible." His voice was getting sharper. "I just... for once, can't it wait until next week?" There was a long pause before he speaks again. "Fine, whatever. I'll think about it."
The call ended with a beep. You got up without really thinking about it, telling the others you needed some air. Sungho was still standing by the windows, staring out at the campus like he was trying to solve something.
"Hey," you said carefully.
He turned around, and for just a second, you saw something raw in his face. Frustration, maybe. Or fear. But then he saw you, and it was like watching clouds clear from the sun.
"Hey." His voice was gentler now.
"Everything okay?" You ask.
Sungho looked at you for a long moment. You were wearing that yellow sweater he'd complimented once. Your eyes were worried but not prying. And the heaviness in his chest, the weight of doctor's appointments and worried mothers and things he couldn't control, it didn't disappear completely. But it got smaller, more manageable.
"Yeah," he said, and meant it for the first time in years. "It's nothing important."
You observed his face, clearly not buying it completely. But you didn't push. That was the thing about you, you knew when to dig deeper and when to just stand beside someone.
"You sure?" You ask.
"I'm sure." He smiled, and it wasn't forced. "Come on, let's go back. I think Keeho was getting to the good part of his story."
Two months in, and you'd already changed everything without even trying. I was still the same person, still quiet, still carrying weight I couldn't figure out. But with you, the silence felt different. Comfortable than threatening.
That day when my mother called, I felt the old familiar pull. The voice that said responsibilty comes first, that wanting things for yourself was selfish. But then I turned around and saw you waiting, and I understood what people meant when they talked about having something worth fighting for.
I didn't know yet that I was falling in love with you. I just knew that you made life feel less like something I had to endure and more like something I wanted to live.
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The cafe was tucked away on a quiet street where the city noise felt softer. Sungho had arrived early, like he always did, and claimed a table by the window. He'd changed his shirt three times that morning before settling on something simple, a white button-up and jeans. Nothing too formal, nothing that would give away how much this day meant to him. He was reading when you walked in, and something about seeing you in the morning light made his chest feel so light. You were wearing a sundress he'd never seen before, something yellow, and flowy that moved when you walked.
"Hi," you said, sliding into the seat across from him.
"Hi." He closed his book and looked around. "Where's everyone else?"
You blinked innocently, like you had no idea what he was talking about. "Everyone else?"
"Didn't you invite the others?" But even as he asked, Sungho was smiling. He knew that look on your face.
"I never said anything about inviting anyone else." You grinned, completely shameless. "Why? Is that a problem?"
"No. Not a problem." He cheesed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Good. Because I already ordered for us." You pointed to the counter where the barista was preparing two iced coffees. "Hope you don't mind mocha latte."
"You really know how I like my coffee." Sungho smiled.
Twenty minutes later you were walking through the park, iced coffee in hand. You'd both chosen mocha latte without discussing it. "Can I ask?" Sungho said as you found the swing set tucked away in a quieter corner of the park.
"Sure." You settled onto one of the swings, testing the chains.
"Why did you ask me to hang out today?"
You started swinging, pushing off with your toes to get higher. Your hair flew behind you with each arc. "Because the sun looked nice today."
Sungho sat on the swing next to yours, moving just enough to keep from being completely still. He watched you pump your legs, going higher and higher. "That's it?" he asked.
"That's it." You leaned back at the top of your swing, looking up at the sky. "Sometimes you don't need a big reason to want to spend time with someone. Sometimes the sun just looks nice and you think, 'this would be better if Sungho was here.'"
He stopped swinging completely. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. That his presence could make a good day better, not just fill an empty space.
"Plus," you added, slowing down until your swings were moving at the same lazy pace, "you've been different lately. Happier, but also... I don't know. Like you're carrying a burden."
Sungho looked down at the condensation of the cup from his hand. "Everyone carries heavy things."
"Yeah, but not everyone has to carry them alone."
Both of you sat in silence for a while, watching kids run around the playground while their parents called after them. A little girl with pigtails kept trying to go down the big slide, and every time she got scared at the top and climbed back down.
"She's going to do it eventually," you said, following his gaze.
Sungho turned to you, blinking. "How do you know?"
"She keeps trying. That's the difference between people who do things and people who don't. The ones who do it keep trying, even when they're scared."
"Is that your philosophy on life?" He huffed, smiling.
You turned to look at him, slowing your swing with your feet. "Kind of. I mean, most good things happen when you're a little scared, right? First day of college, trying new food, talking to cute guys at coffee shops."
Sungho's swing came to a complete stop. "Cute guys?"
"Very cute guys," you said seriously, trying not to cheese but your eyes were sparkling. "Ones who write in journals and know all the good quotes from movies and make the best facial expressions when they're trying not to laugh."
"I don't make facial expressions."
"You're making one right now." You leaned over to poke his cheek, and he jerked back, laughing despite himself. "See? There it is."
The little girl had finally made it down the slide. She was running back to the ladder, ready to do it again.
"Told you," you smirked.
Sungho looked at you. The way the afternoon light caught in your hair, how you'd gotten a tiny bit of condensation on your chin, the fact that you were here with him on a Saturday just because the sun looked nice.
"Hana?" He voiced out.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for today. For..." He gestured vaguely, not sure how to finish. "For asking you out because the weather was good?" You cut in.
"For making everything feel less heavy." He nodded, as your swing had stopped moving now too. You were close enough that if he reached out, he could touch your hand.
"Sungho?"
"Hm?" He turns to you with curious eyes.
"Next time it rains, I'm going to ask you out too. Just so you know."
He chuckled, a real laugh that started in his chest and bubbled up before he could stop it. "Why?"
"Because rainy days are good for different things. Hot chocolate instead of iced coffee. Museums instead of parks. But still..." You shrugged, smiling at him. "Still better with you there."
You asked me out because the sun looked nice. Not because you needed something, not because you were bored, not because anyone else was busy. Just because the day was beautiful and you wanted to share it with me. I'd spent so many years believing I had to earn people's time, that I needed to be useful or entertaining or different than I was. But you chose my company for the simplest reason of all, because it made your good day better.
Sitting on those swings, watching you laugh at nothing and everything, I realized I was learning a new language. The language of being wanted, not needed. Of mattering without needing to have a proof. That was the day I started falling in love with Saturdays. With iced mocha lattes. With the sound of swing sets creaking in the sunny afternoon. With you.
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Sungho went home that day with happiness filling his chest. He couldn't stop smiling as he sat at his desk, journal open in front of him. The pen felt light in his hand as he wrote about earlier. Before he could talk himself out of it, he picked up his phone.
"Thanks for today. Really. Can I take you out again next Saturday?" He messaged.
The message reached you, grinning. Your reply also came faster than he expected. "I was hoping you'd ask. Yes!"
He stared at the message until his cheeks hurt from smiling. Saturdays became your thing after that. Each one different but somehow similar, bookstores and coffee shops, walks along the river, that tiny movie theater that only showed old films. Light, comfortable days that made the rest of the week feel like waiting.
But by the fifth Friday, Sungho realized he was tired of waiting. Tired of wondering if you knew how he felt, tired of these almost-dates that could be explained away as friendship. His hands were shaking as he typed the message.
"Can you come down for a minute? I'm outside your dorm building. Want to tell you something."
He paced in front of the building, wiping his palms on his jeans every few seconds. This was insane. He should have planned this better, should have brought flowers or picked a more romantic location. But the thought of spending another week pretending tomorrow was just another casual hangout made him stubborn.
You appeared in the doorway wearing a simple sweater and looking curious.
"Hey," you said, walking over slowly. "What's up? You sounded all mysterious in your text."
Sungho opened his mouth, then closed it back. His hands were tapping against his legs, a nervous fidgeting he couldn't control. You stood there waiting, and he could see you noticing how fidgety he was.
"Are you okay? You look..."
"I'm fine." He took a breath. "I just... tomorrow. Our Saturday thing."
"Yeah?" You tilted your head. "What about it?"
He looked down at his shoes, then back up at you. "I want it to be different. I mean, I want you to know that it's..." Why was this so hard? He'd practiced this in his dorm room mirror. Even had the whole thing planned out.
"Know what?" you squinted.
"That I want to take you on a proper date." You blinked, nodding as you smirk at his words. The silence that followed between you was palpable. Sungho's heart was beating so loud he was sure you could hear it.
"And I like you," he said quickly, before he could lose his nerve. "A lot. Like, really lot."
You didn't say anything right away, just looked at him with those eyes that always made him forget what he was trying to say.
"I've liked you since that first day in the garden," he continued, the words coming smooth nowthan earlier. "And I know we've been hanging out, but I didn't know if you knew that I... that this was-"
He gestured helplessly between you two before you leaned forward playfully with a smirk, cutting him off. "Sungho," You spoke.
He completely stopped talking and looked at you. You were smiling. Not the surprised smile or the polite smile, but that warm one you'd always have. You reached out and pushed his shoulder lightly.
"You're so silly," you said, and there was laughter in your voice. "Of course I know you like me."
"You do?" Sungho grimaced, feeling embarrassed.
"Did you really think I ask out every guy just because the sun looks nice?" You were grinning now. "I've been waiting for you to say something for weeks."
"Really?" He replied, still dumbfounded.
"Really." You stepped a little closer. "And yes, I'd love to go on a proper date with you tomorrow. I like you too, in case that wasn't obvious."
Sungho felt like his brain did a complete 360. All that panic, all those sweaty palms and rehearsed speeches, and you'd been waiting for him to figure it out.
"So tomorrow..." he started.
"Tomorrow's a date," you confirmed, grinning at him. "Our first official one."
Both of you stood there for a moment, neither sure what to do next. The evening air was cool, and somewhere in the distance you could hear other students laughing as they walked back from dinner.
"I should probably go back up," you said finally. "Early class tomorrow."
"Yeah. Yeah, of course."
You took a step toward the building, then turned back. "Sungho?"
"Hm?" He quickly looked up.
"For the record? Even if you hadn't said anything, I would have figured out a way to let you know. You're not as mysterious as you think you are."
He watched you disappear into the building, then stood there for another minute just smiling at the closed door. His hands had stopped shaking. His heart was still racing, but in a good way now.
I'd never been brave before I met you. Caution was my default setting. But standing outside your dorm that night, with sweaty palms and racing heart, I learned that courage isn't the absence of fear. Courage is having so much passion for something that not expressing it becomes scarier than proudly expressing it.
You made even my most terrifying moments feel safe. Not because you took the fear away, but because you made it worth feeling. Made me worth risking. The best conversations happen when you're too nervous to think about what you're supposed to say. When all you can do is tell the truth and hope it's enough.
It was. You were. Everything was.
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Tomorrow arrived with your first official date. He'd stood in front of his mirror for twenty minutes that morning, changing shirts twice before settling on a soft gray hoodie. Not too formal, not too casual. He sprayed on cologne, something light and clean because you'd mentioned once that strong smells gave you headaches. Small things like that had stuck with him over the months. His overgrown black hair took another ten minutes to get right.
The flower shop owner smiled when he walked in, probably recognizing the look of a nervous boy on his first real date. He picked a single sunflower, bright and simple, like you.
You appeared in the dormitory entrance looking like you'd put in effort too. Your hair was down instead of in its usual ponytail, and you were wearing a light blue dress that made you look like you were carrying your own sky. When you saw him waiting there with the flower, you broke into the biggest smile.
"Hi," you said, walking over.
"Hi." He held out the sunflower, suddenly shy. "This is for you."
"It's beautiful." You took it and held it up to your nose. "Thank you."
You both stood there for a moment, grinning at each other like complete dorks. "So," you said eventually. "Where to?"
"I have no idea," Sungho admitted. "I was kind of hoping we could just walk around? See where we end up?"
"Of course."
The late spring air was perfect too, warm enough to be comfortable, with a breeze that smelled like flowers and fresh grass. You walked side by side, not really having a destination, just enjoying being together. Your hand brushed his a few times, and by the fourth time he was pretty sure it was on purpose.
"Oh, wait," you said when you passed a convenience store. "We should get something."
Ten minutes later you were walking out with way too many snacks and drinks, arguing about whether chocolate or vanilla ice cream was superior.
You ended up in the university garden where you'd first met, spreading out on the grass near the same bench where he used to sit alone. The cherry blossom trees were different now, full green leaves instead of pink petals.
"This is nice," you said, lying back on the grass and looking up at the sky through the branches.
"Yeah." Sungho sat cross-legged beside you, opening a bag of chips. "It's perfect."
"You know," you said after a while, "I should probably tell you something."
"What?" Sungho perked up.
You sat up and turned to face him, smiling as you held your own hand. "I liked you from the start too. That first day, when I saw you sitting alone with your journal. You looked so... I don't know. Mysterious? But also kind of sad."
Sungho stopped chewing. "Sad?"
"Not in a bad way. Just... like you were thinking about something so deep. I wanted to know what you were thinking about." You smiled, a little embarrassed. "It was one of those silly first-day crushes, you know? Like when you see someone across a crowded room and think they look interesting."
"But?"
"But then I actually got to know you. And it wasn't just a crush anymore." You picked at the grass beside you. "You're... you're really easy to like, Sungho. The way you listen when people talk, how you remember things,the way you get excited about books but try to hide it."
"I don't get excited about books." Sungho frowned.
"You literally recommended four different novels to me last month."
"That's not excitement, that's just sharing information."
You laughed, pointing at him as he playfully swats your hand. "See? That's what I mean. You're so endearing without even trying."
Sungho felt that warm feeling in his chest again, the one that had been showing up more and more lately when you were around. "I was terrified that first day," he said quietly. "Meeting new people, starting over. Everything felt too big and I felt too small."
"And now?" You smiled.
"Now it feels like everything's exactly the right size." He smirked softly, turning to look at you.
You smiled that smile that made his heart smile as well. "Good. Because I was kind of hoping you'd stick around."
"Yeah?" He blnked
"Yeah. I like having you around, Park Sungho. I like it a lot."
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The next few weeks after comfort had been brutal. Midterm projects, late nights at the library, texts that started with "sorry can't talk right now" and ended with promises to catch up soon. By Thursday evening, Sungho couldn't stand it anymore.
"Want to meet up? Nothing fancy, just... miss talking to you." He messaged.
Your reply came twenty minutes later. "Of course. Where?"
"Our bench?"
"Perfect. Give me 30 minutes."
The university garden was quieter at this time of day. Most students were either at dinner or holed up in their rooms studying. Sungho got there first, like always, and watched the last bit of sunlight filter through the leaves above their bench.
You appeared wearing jeans and an oversized sweater, looking tired but happy to see him. When you sat down beside him, close enough that your shoulders touched, he felt some of the week's tension finally ease.
"Hi," you said softly.
"Hi."
You sat in silence for a moment, just being near each other after days of rushed conversations between classes. "So," you said eventually, turning to face him. "Why did you ask me out tonight? Not that I'm complaining."
Sungho smiled, that easy smile he only seemed to have around you these days. "Just because."
"Just because?" You raised a brow.
"And because this week has been crazy and we haven't really talked much lately." He looked at you, taking in the way the evening light caught in your hair. "I missed you."
"I missed you too." You reached over and took his hand, lacing your fingers together, feeling each other's warm and comforting palms radiate. "It's been weird, not having our random conversations every day."
"Yeah." He squeezed your hand. "Also, I wanted to say something important."
"Hm?" You turned your body toward him completely now. "What is it?"
This should have been the moment where his heart started racing, where his palms got sweaty and his words got tangled up. But sitting there with you, your hand warm in his, everything felt easier to say.
"I want to ask you something," he said, and his voice was steady. "Can I be your boyfriend? Like, officially?"
Your face then broke into the brightest smile he'd ever seen. "I was wondering when you were going to ask that," you said, laughing. "Yes. Obviously yes."
"Obviously?" His smile starts to grow wide.
"Sungho, we've been on three dates and I've been telling everyone you're my boyfriend for the past week."
He blinked, a smile growing in his lips. "You have?"
"Of course I have. What else was I supposed to call you? 'The guy I'm dating but we haven't defined what we are yet'?"
"You could have said that." He shyly chuckled.
"That's way too many words." You were still grinning at him. "Boyfriend is easier."
The both of you sat there looking at each other, both smiling like idiots. The garden was getting darker around, but neither of you seemed to care.
After a moment, Sungho scooted closer on the bench. Close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in your eyes, could count your eyelashes if he wanted to.
"Can I..." he started, then stopped.
Instead of finishing the sentence, he leaned forward slowly. Giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn't pull away. You leaned forward too, closing your eyes, meeting his soft lips.
The kiss was light and gentle. Just a brush of lips that tasted like chapstick. It lasted maybe three seconds, but that was the most important three seconds of his life. And when you pulled back, you were both smiling again.
"Wow," you chuckled quietly, not moving away from him. "Yeah, wow." He echoed shyly, his forehead was almost touching yours.
"Good first kiss, Park Sungho." You giggled, leaning your head on his broad shoulders. "Thanks. You too, Hana."
Our first kiss tasted like strawberry, and mint chapstick and felt like coming home to a place I'd never been before. It wasn't as theatrical like how they imagined first kisses to be, it's just healing and comfortable like everything else with you.
I'd imagined that moment a hundred times, worried about doing it wrong, about the timing, about whether my hands would shake or accidentally biting your lips. But when it finally happened, it just felt natural. My hands didn't shake, I hadn't bitten your lips.
Some people talk about fireworks and explosions when they describe their first kiss. Ours was simpler than that. Like a door opening, or a light turning on in a room that had been dark for too long.
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The first time he saw you cry was during finals week. You'd been stressed for days, snapping at everyone and barely eating. When your professor handed back your essay with more red ink than black, you finally broke down.
You found him in the library and sat down beside him without saying anything. He looked up from his textbook to see tears streaming down your face. "Hey," he said softly, immediately closing his book. "What's wrong?"
"Everything," you said, and then you were really crying, making him hold your cheeks gently. Sungho had never been good with crying people. He usually just stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his hands. But with you, it felt like he already know what to do.
He pulled you against his chest, one hand rubbing small circles on your back while you soaked his sweater with tears. "It's okay," he mumbled into your hair. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out."
You stayed like that until the librarian started turning off lights, and Sungho realized he'd never felt more useful in his entire life.
Then your first real fight was about something completely stupid. You'd made plans to study together, but Sungho had forgotten about a mandatory department meeting. When he texted to cancel last minute, you were already at the library with coffee and snacks.
"Really? You couldn't have remembered this earlier?" you'd argued.
'I'm sorry. I completely forgot. Can we do tomorrow instead?"
"I already cleared my whole afternoon for this."
"I know. I'm really sorry."
You didn't answer for two hours. And when you finally did, it was just "Whatever. See you later."
Sungho stared at the message, feeling sick. He'd never had someone be disappointed in him before, not someone whose opinion actually mattered. He found you the next morning at your usual coffee shop, sitting alone with a book you were clearly not reading.
"I brought you this," he said quietly, setting down a chocolate croissant. Your favorite.
You looked up at him, still a little hurt. "You don't have to bribe me."
"I'm not bribing you. I'm apologizing." He sat down across from you. "I should have remembered. I should have checked my calendar before we made plans."
"It's not about the plans, Sungho." You sighed.
"Then what's it about?"
You were quiet for a moment, picking at the croissant. "It felt like I wasn't important enough to remember."
He immediately shook his head, holding your hand as he consoled. "No. No, you're the most important thing in my life, Hana."
"I know that. Usually, it's just..." You sighed. "I was looking forward to spending time with you. And when you canceled, it felt like you had better things to do."
"There's nothing better than spending time with you."
You finally smiled a little, slowly giving in. "Okay, but next time, put me in your calendar."
"Already done. Every day from now until graduation."
"Every day?"
"Well, the days I want to see you. Which is every day."
The way you automatically reached for my hand when we walked together, like our fingers belonged intertwined. How you kiss me goodbye after every study session, even the short ones. Just a quick peck, but it made my whole day better. Those were what mattered the most.
Or how we always saved each other the last bite of whatever we were eating, even if it was something we'd never asked for. How I texted you pictures of dogs I see on campus, because I knew they made you smile. The way you fall asleep against my shoulder during long movie nights, and how I'd stay perfectly still until my arm went numb rather than disturb you.
These weren't grand gestures. Other people might have called them ordinary, or unremarkable. But to me, they were everything. They were proof that someone cared about my day, my thoughts, my comfort. That someone chose me, again and again, in a hundred small ways as I chose you too.
They say love is in the details, but I never understood what that meant until I met you. Love was the way I remember that you took your coffee with milk, how you'd automatically hand me a philosophy book even though I never asked for it.
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It started with something small. Sungho had been quieter lately, distracted during conversations, canceling plans at the last minute. You'd asked if everything was okay, and he'd given you that smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, and said he was just tired from school.
You also forgot his presentation day. The one he'd been nervous about for weeks, the one you'd promised to meet him after to celebrate or comfort him, depending on how it went. He waited for you at the coffee shop for an hour before your text came. "I'm so sorry. There was a sudden deadline, and I lost track of time at the library. How did it go?"
Those are followed by more arguments. Whether you get too busy with piling academic works, or Sungho missing and cancelling plans so suddenly without giving you clear reasons why.
"It's like you're not even here anymore," you said, Sungho standing outside your dorm building with your arms crossed. "Even when you're sitting right next to me."
"I'm here," Sungho said, but even he could hear how hollow it sounded.
"Are you? Because it feels like I'm dating a ghost."
It took three days to make up from that fight. Three days of awkward silences and careful texts before he finally showed up at your door with takeout and tired eyes. "I don't want to fight," you said quietly. "I just want my boyfriend back."
"I'm right here," he said, pulling you into his arms. "I'm sorry. I'll do better." And he meant it. He really did.
But two weeks later, you were fighting again. This time because he'd missed dinner with your parents, your parents who'd driven two hours to meet him. He'd texted twenty minutes before they were supposed to meet, saying something urgent had come up with his thesis advisor.
"What's happening to us?" you asked through tears that night. "We never used to be like this."
Sungho looked at you crying because of him, and felt his chest break that had nothing to do with his health. "I don't know," he whispered. "I love you. You know I love you, right?"
"I know," you said, wiping your eyes. "I love you too. But sometimes I just want too feel that you actually do..."
So you'd both agreed on the date, a whole day just for the two of you. No studying, no friends, no responsibilities. Just reconnecting, remembering why you'd fallen for each other in the first place. Sungho had been looking forward to it for days. He'd even written about it in his journal the night before. "Tomorrow I'm going to fix this. I'm going to show her that she's the most important thing in my world."
But at 10 AM, while he was getting ready, the pain hit him like a truck.
It started as a tightness in his chest, then escalated into something sharp and breathtaking. He doubled over on his dorm room floor, gasping, unable to call out for help. The pain was so intense he couldn't even reach for his phone at first.
When he finally managed to dial, his fingers were shaking so badly he could barely hit the numbers.
"Mom," he gasped when she answered. "I need you to come to the city. Something's... wrong."
The next few hours were series of ambulance and hospital rooms and doctors asking questions he didn't have answers to. Tests and more tests, his mother arriving with worry etched in every line of her face, and more waiting.
When the doctor finally came back, Sungho was exhausted and scared and still in pain.
"It's manageable," the doctor said, which wasn't exactly reassuring. "We'll need to monitor it, adjust your medication. You should have been consistent with your check ups. Youre having new symptoms"
"What symptoms?" his mother asked.
The doctor looked surprised. "The fatigue, the shortness of breath, the dizzy spells. Mr. Park mentioned he's been experiencing these just this month. Its new."
Sungho felt his mother's eyes on him, but he was staring at the clock on the wall. 6:47 PM. You were supposed to meet at noon. He looked at the bedside table. His phone felt like it weighed a hundred pounds when he finally picked it up.
Twelve missed calls, and Twenty-three unread messages from you.
"Hey, running a few minutes late but I'll be there soon!"
"I'm here, where are you?"
"Sungho? Your phone is going straight to voicemail."
"It's been an hour. Are you okay?"
"I'm worried. Please call me back."
"I don't understand. Did something happen?"
"I'm going home. I hope you're okay but I'm also really hurt right now."
"Are we still together? Because it doesn't feel like it."
"I can't keep doing this."
Sungho started crying right there in the hospital bed, with his mother watching and nurses bustling around outside his door. Not because of the diagnosis or the pain or the fear of what this meant for his future. He cried because he'd hurt you. Because he didnt show up, and you'd been waiting for him, worried about him, and he'd left you thinking the worst.
But how could he tell you the truth now? How could he explain that he'd been hiding this from you for months, that every canceled plan and distant moment had been because he was falling apart and too scared to admit it? You were already stressed with school, already stretched thin trying to keep your relationship together. Adding his health problems to your list of worries felt selfish and cruel.
So he typed the only thing he could think of. "I'm so sorry. I can explain everything when we see each other. Please don't give up on us."
You never responded.
The distance that grew between you after that felt like watching something beautiful die in slow motion. You tried, both of you tried. Coffee dates that felt forced, conversations that skimmed the surface of everything you weren't saying, forced smiles that didn't convince either of you.
But trust, once broken, was harder to rebuild than either of you had expected. And secrets, once kept, seemed to multiply even more.
Love was still there. Sungho could feel it every time you looked at him. You could feel it everytime he'd hold your hands, could see it in the way you still saved him the last bite of your food, still reached for his hand without thinking.
But love wasn't enough to bridge the gap that had opened between you. Love couldn't fix what neither of you knew how to name or heal.
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The rain started just after sunrise, a gentle pattering against Sungho's dorm window that made him think of you. You'd always loved rainy days, said they made everything feel honest, quieter despite the raindrops on the ground. Maybe that's why he finally decided to tell you everything.
He'd been carrying the weight of his secrets for too long. Every canceled date, every distant moment, every time he'd seen hurt flash across your face and known he was the cause. Last night, lying awake listening to the rain begin, he'd finally understood what you'd been trying to tell him for weeks.
"Can we meet this morning? I need to tell you something important." his message lit up your phone.
"Okay, my dorm building in 20 minutes."
You were waiting under the overhang when he arrived, watching the rain create small rivers in the campus walkways. You looked tired, the kind of tired that comes from too many sleepless nights and too much worrying.
"Hi," you said softly when you saw him.
"Hi." He stood there for a moment, just looking at you. "Thank you for meeting me."
"Of course." You observed his face. "You sounded serious in your text."
"I was. I am." He gestured toward the covered area near the campus center. "Can we sit somewhere? This might take a while."
You found a bench under one of the wide overhangs, protected from the rain but still able to watch it fall. The sound of water hitting concrete filled the silence between you as you both settled in.
"So," you said, turning to face him. "What did you want to tell me?"
Sungho took a deep breath. This is the moment where everything either get better or fall completely apart. "I want to apologize first," he started. "For the past few weeks. For being... absent. For making you feel like you weren't important to me."
You didn't say anything, just looked down the raindrops on the ground, listening, and waiting for him to continue.
"I love you so much, Hana. You're the most important person in my life. You always have been. And that's exactly why I've been..." He struggled for the right words. "Why I've been such a terrible man lately."
"I don't understand." you mumbled.
"I've been trying to protect you from something. But I realize now that keeping secrets from you isn't protecting you, it's just hurting both of us. You're a part of my life, and this includes you having the right to know everything about me, bad or good."
Your expression softened slightly with a hint of worry. "What kind of secrets?"
"The reason I've been canceling dates. Why I've seemed distracted, why I couldn't meet your parents, why I missed that date we planned..." He ran a hand through his damp hair. "It's not because I don't care. It's because I've been dealing with some health stuff, and I was scared to tell you."
"Health stuff?" You asked, worry growing evident in your voice.
"Yeah. It's... it's not great. But it's manageable, and the doctors say with the right treatment I can live a normal life, but I've been scared and-"
Then, your phone buzzed, cutting off Sungho. You glanced at it, then looked back at him. "Sorry, I should probably-"
"It's okay. Take it."
You looked at the screen and frowned. It's your mom. She never calls this early unless its some thing serious. You answered immediately. "Mom? Is everything okay?"
Sungho watched your face change. The confusion shifting to concern, then to something that looked like the world had just collapsed around you.
"What?" Your voice was barely a whisper, trembling with each word. "When?"
He could hear your mother's voice through the phone, but couldn't make out the words. He didn't need to. The way your free hand flew to cover your mouth, the way your shoulders started shaking, told him everything.
"I... I need to come home right away. I'll figure out flights and..." Your voice broke completely.
The phone slipped from your hand as you dissolved into tears. Deep, wrenching sobs that seemed to come from somewhere so deep inside you that Sungho felt his own chest ache in response.
He caught your phone before it hit the ground and ended the call, then immediately pulled you against his chest. You collapsed into him like your bones had turned to water, your hands clutching at his jacket as you cried.
"My grandmother," you managed to say between sobs. "She's... she's- oh god.."
"Hana..." Sungho felt his own eyes burn as he held you tighter. He'd met your grandmother once, over video call when you were showing him your family. She'd been fierce and had made him promise to take good care of you. "I'm so sorry."
You cried harder at the gentleness in his voice, and his hand caressed your hair. All thoughts of his confession, of his health, of everything he'd planned to say disappeared. None of that mattered now. The only thing that mattered was you, falling apart in his arms, and how helpless he felt to fix it.
"She was... she was fine last week," you sobbed into his shoulder. "Mom said it was sudden. She didn't suffer, but she's just... gone."
Sungho pressed his face into your hair, holding you as tightly as he dared. He could feel you trembling, could feel the way grief was tearing through you like a physical force.
This was the most painful thing he'd ever experienced. Not his diagnosis, not the fear of his own unsure future, but this, watching someone he loved more than his own life break into pieces and knowing there was nothing he could do to put you back together.
"I've got you," he whispered, the words feeling inadequate but that's the only one he had. "I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."
You stayed like that for a long time, the rain continuing to fall around your small shelter while you grieved in his arms. His secrets could wait. His fears could wait. Right now, you needed him to simply be here, solid and present and unbreakable, while your world fell apart. So he held you and let you cry and promised himself that whatever came next, he would find a way to be the person you needed him to be.
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Sungho barely slept that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face crumpling as you received the news, felt the weight of your grief in his arms. When morning finally came, gray and subdued, he knew he had to see you.
He stopped by the convenience store first, buying all your favorite comfort foods. Mocha latte, the the croissant you liked, those honey butter chips you always craved when you were sad. His hands shook slightly as he paid, remembering how you'd shared these same snacks on happier days, sitting in the garden where you'd first met.
The walk to your dorm felt longer than usual. Students hurried past with umbrellas and coffee cups, normal people living normal mornings while his world felt suspended in the space between yesterday's ache and whatever today would bring.
But when he reached your building, he saw someone emerging with a cardboard box balanced in his arms, a suitcase trailing behind him. It took Sungho a moment to recognize him. It's your older brother, the one from the photos you'd shown him, the one who called you by that embarrassing childhood nickname you pretended to hate.
"Excuse me," Sungho called out, jogging over with the bag of snacks clutched in his hands. "Are you... is Hana here?"
Your brother looked at him with tired eyes that held the same grief Sungho had seen in yours yesterday. "You must be Sungho."
"Yes... Is she okay? I brought her some food, I thought maybe-"
"She's in the parking lot," your brother said quietly. "But..." He paused, shifting the weight of the box. "We're leaving soon."
The words hit Sungho like cold water. Leaving. Not just leaving the dorm, but leaving in a way that worried him. The bag of snacks then suddenly felt impossibly heavy in his hands.
"Where?" he managed to ask.
"Back lot. Near the blue sedan."
Sungho was running before your brother finished speaking, his feet splashing against the damp pavement as he rounded the corner to the parking area. And there you were. You stood beside a car he didn't recognize, wearing the same clothes from yesterday, your hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. There were more boxes in the backseat, more suitcases. Your whole life, it looked like, packed away and ready to go.
The bag of snacks slipped from his fingers, contents scattering across the asphalt as he ran toward you.
"Hana!"
You turned at the sound of your name, and Sungho's steps slowed. Your face was different somehow, not just sad, but empty. Hollowed out. Like something important had been carved away and left you fundamentally changed.
"Sungho." Your voice was barely above a whisper. "You shouldn't have come."
"What's going on?" He was breathing hard from running, from fear, from the growing certainty that this was worse than he'd imagined. "Where are you going? You didn't even tell me-"
You looked away, toward the gray sky that threatened more rain. "Let's... can we talk somewhere else? Not here."
You led him to a small alcove between buildings, away from the parking lot and the car that seemed to be waiting to take you away from him. The concrete walls felt like they were closing in as you both stood there, neither quite able to look at the other.
"My mom is taking me home," you said finally. "Back to my hometown."
"Okay." Sungho nodded, relief flooding through him. "That makes sense. For the funeral, right? To be with your family. When will you be back?"
You felt your throat strain as you looked down, shutting your eyes, hearing Sungho's voice. "I won't be," you said quietly without looking to his eyes.
The ground seemed to shift beneath his feet as he blinked, his eyes starting to glistren. "What do you mean?"
"I'm not coming back, Sungho. I'm withdrawing from school. My mom needs me at home, and I..." Your voice caught. "I can't do this anymore."
"Do what?" But even as he asked, he knew what you meant. This. The relationship that had been fraying at the edges, the distance that had grown between you, the weight of everything you'd both been carrying. You finally looked at him then, and Sungho saw tears welling in your eyes that you were fighting hard to keep from falling.
"I'm tired," you whispered. "I'm so tired, Sungho. My grandmother is gone, my mom is falling apart, I'm failing half my classes because I can't concentrate on anything, and we..." You gestured helplessly between the two of you. "We've been falling apart too. Can't you see?"
"But we can fix it," he said desperately, reaching for your hands. They felt cold and small in his. "Yesterday, I was trying to tell you something important. About why I've been so distant. We can work through this, we can-"
"Can we?" Your voice was so quiet he had to lean in to hear you. "Because it feels like we've been trying to fix us for months now, and we just keep breaking in new places."
"Hana, please. I know things have been hard, but if you just give us another chance-"
"There's no more chance left to give," you said, and now the tears were falling despite your efforts to stop them. "I don't have the energy to keep fighting for us when everything else in my life is falling apart too."
The words hit him like physical blows. He could see it in your face, the exhaustion that went deeper than sleepless nights, the kind of bone-deep weariness that comes from trying to hold too many pieces together at once.
"So that's it?" His own voice was breaking now. "We just... give up?"
You closed your eyes, and when you opened them, they were full of a pain that had nothing to do with your grandmother's death and everything to do with this moment, this choice, this ending that neither of you had wanted but both of you could see coming.
"Yes."
Sungho felt the world tilt sideways. This couldn't be happening. Not now, not like this, not when he'd finally found the courage to be completely honest with you.
"I love you," he said desperately, squeezing your hands tighter. "I love you so much, Hana. Please don't do this."
"I love you too," you whispered, and somehow that made it worse. "That's why this is so hard."
He could feel you slipping away from him even as you stood right there, could feel the finality in the way you said the words. You'd already made your decision. Maybe you'd made it yesterday, or last week, or during one of the fights you'd never really recovered from.
"I have to go," you said, gently pulling your hands from his. "My mom is waiting."
Sungho felt like he was drowning. Like all the air had been sucked out of the world and he couldn't remember how to breathe. He wanted to argue, to fight, to refuse to let this happen. But he could see in your face how much this was costing you, how hard it was for you to be the one making this choice. And he loved you too much to make it harder for you.
"Okay," he said, even though the word felt like swallowing glass. "Alright."
You stepped forward then, rising on your tiptoes to kiss him one last time. It was soft and desperate and tasted like tears.
"Thank you," you whispered against his lips. "For everything. For being the best part of this time of my life. For making me feel like I'm your whole world."
"You are," he said, his voice breaking completely. "You are my whole world."
You smiled then, small, sad, and beautiful, and Sungho tried to memorize everything about that moment, the way the gloomy morning light caught in your hair, the sound of your voice saying his name, the feeling of your hand touching his cheek one last time.
"Goodbye, Sungho."
And then you were walking away, back toward the parking lot and the car that would take you out of his life. Sungho stood frozen until he heard the engine start, until he saw the car pull away with you in the passenger seat, until the brake lights disappeared around the corner and you were really, truly gone.
Only then did he let himself collapse. He sank to his knees in the alcove where you'd just stood, and cried like something had been torn out of his chest. Because something had been. The most important part of himself had just driven away, and he didn't know how to exist without it.
Goodbyes rarely looks like you think it will. I'd imagined dramatic fights or betrayals, something sharp and angry that would make it easier to hate you afterward. But our ending was quiet and full of love that had nowhere left to go.
You left because you were tired of fighting battles on every front. I stayed because I thought love was supposed to be a war you never stopped waging. We were both right. We were both wrong.
The cruelest part wasn't that you stopped loving me. It was that you loved me enough to walk away when holding on was hurting us both. That kind of love, the kind that chooses someone else's peace over your own happiness, is the most painful gift anyone has ever given me.
I wanted to chase after that car. I wanted to be the kind of person who fights for what he wants, who never gives up, who proves through sheer stubborn will that love conquers all. But the most loving thing I can ever do is to let you go. Even when it kills me. Even when it feels like dying.
Especially then.
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You now sat in your living room, the evening city lights filtering through your curtains, casting everything in that navy blue glow. The small book felt heavier in your hands now, weighted with recognition and memory. A small smile curved at the corners of your mouth even as your eyes glistened with unshed tears.
You'd known, somehow, from the very first chapter. The way the author described loneliness, the cherry blossoms, the girl who approached a stranger with sunshine in her voice. But reading your own story reflected back to you through someone else's eyes, through Sungho's eyes, felt like looking into a mirror you'd forgotten existed.
Your fingers trembled slightly as you turned to the final pages.
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Those months with you were the happiest of my life. Not because they were perfect, they weren't. We fought and made up and learned how to be two separate people choosing each other every day. But they were real in a way nothing before or since has been.
You taught me what it meant to be known. Not just the parts of myself I was proud of, but also the hidden parts, the insecurities, the dreams I'd been too afraid to say out loud. You saw all of me and chose to stay, at least for a while.
I know now that some people come into your life to teach you how to love yourself. You were that person for me. You showed me that I was worth choosing, worth remembering, worth caring about in all the small daily ways that matter most.
When you left, I thought it would destroy me. For a while, it did. I spent months angry at everything, at your mother for taking you home, at myself for not fighting harder to make you stay.
But time has a way of softening the sharp edges of grief. Now I understand that you left because you loved us enough to recognize when holding on was hurting us both. That takes a kind of courage I'm only now learning to appreciate.
I've found my peace now, in my own way. I still think about you sometimes and hope you found your peace too. I hope you're happy, wherever you are. I hope someone is making you laugh the way you used to laugh with me, bright and full of joy. I hope you know that loving you, even for such a brief, beautiful time was the best thing I ever did with my life. Some people are meant to stay forever. Others come to teach us what forever feels like, so we'll recognize it when it finds us again.
Thank you for teaching me about forever. Thank you for the best months of my life. Thank you for showing me that I was capable of being loved, completely and unconditionally, even if just for a little while.
That knowledge has been enough to build a whole life on.
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You closed the book softly, as if it were made of something fragile that might shatter with too much force. One tear escaped your eye, rolling down your cheek before you could stop it. You wiped it away with the back of your hand, a small smile still lingering on your lips.
So that's what he'd been trying to tell you that morning in the rain. He'd been fighting his own battles while you'd been fighting yours, both of you too proud or too scared to show each other the full extent of your struggles.
You thought about the boy you'd known, quiet and introspective, always writing in that leather journal, always listening more than he spoke. The boy who'd bought you sunflowers and held you when you cried and made even ordinary Saturdays feel like small miracles.
It felt strange, this closure you hadn't known you needed. Like finding the missing piece of a puzzle you'd given up on years ago, only to discover the picture was beautiful even with that piece missing.
You ran your fingers over the cover one more time, over his pen name printed in simple black letters. Tomorrow you would put the book back on the shelf, return to your life, to your fiancé, to your wedding plans, to the present you'd built from the pieces of who you'd become after leaving that college town behind.
But tonight, you would sit with this gift he'd given you. The knowledge that those months had been significant to him, that the love you'd shared, though brief and complicated, had been worth something. Had been enough to build a life on.
That was more than you'd dared to hope for when you'd first opened to that dedication page and seen your name written there like a secret only the two of you would know.
Some stories don't need happy endings to be complete. Sometimes they just need to be told with love, remembered with gratitude, and closed with peace.
Three days had passed since you'd closed the book, and life had settled back into its routine. Morning coffee with your soon to be husband, lesson planning for your third-grade class, wedding venue calls during lunch breaks. The story felt like something you'd dreamed.
Your phone buzzed during dinner preparation, a message from a number you didn't recognize at first, then saw the name, Yoon Keeho
"Hey Hana! Hope this number still works. We're planning a college reunion, 2 weeks from Saturday. Would love to have you there! Been too long."
You nearly dropped the wooden spoon you were holding. A reunion after all these years, after reading Sungho's book just days ago, the timing felt like something more than coincidence.
You typed back quickly as you did a little jump from excitement. "Keeho! Yes, this number works. A reunion sounds amazing! Will everyone be able to make it?"
The response came within minutes "Most of the old gang, yeah. Unfortunately we haven't been able to reach Sungho. Lost touch with him a few years back. But everyone else is excited to catch up!"
Your lips pressed into a tight-lipped smile. Of course they couldn't reach him. After reading his book, you understood now why he might have pulled away from old connections, why he might prefer the quiet solitude he'd written about.
"That's great about everyone else. Send me the details when you have them." You respond.
When your fiance came home an hour later, you were standing in the kitchen with a thoughtful expression, stirring soup that definitely didn't need that much stirring.
"Good day?" he asked, kissing your cheek as he reached around you for a glass from the cabinet.
"Actually, yes. I got an interesting message today." You turned to face him, ladle still in hand. "My old college friends are planning a reunion."
"That's nice. When?"
"Two weeks from Saturday. I was thinking..." You paused, considering how to phrase this. "There's someone from that group I'd like to invite personally. He might not know about it."
He raised his eyebrows. "He?"
"His name is Sungho. We dated in college, actually. But we're friends, well, were friends. It's been a long time." You felt suddenly awkward, like you were thirteen and telling your parents about a boy. "I just think he should know about the reunion."
"Of course," He said easily, and you remembered why you loved him, his steady, and uncomplicated trust. "Want me to help you track him down? I'm pretty good at internet detective work."
You smiled, feeling grateful and slightly shy at the same time. "Actually, I think I might have his contact information already. But thank you."
After dinner, you found yourself standing in front of your bookshelf, looking for the book you'd carefully placed back between your other novels. There it was, the spine slightly worn, looking so ordinary yet special among all the others.
You pulled it out and flipped to the back cover, scanning the small print. Author bio, publisher information, and there, at the very bottom in tiny font "For correspondence: [email protected]"
Your laptop felt heavier than usual as you carried it to the dining table. The email compose window seemed to glow extra bright in the evening light filtering through your windows.
You sat there for a moment, cursor blinking in the "To" space, and realized you felt light. Surprisingly, wonderfully light. No anxiety, no old heartbreak threatening to resurface, no weight of unfinished business. Just a simple desire to reach out to an old friend who'd given you an unexpected gift.
Your fingers moved across the keyboard:
Subject: Lee Hana - College Reunion
Hi Sungho,
I hope this email finds you well. This is Hana, Lee Hana from college. I got your email address from your book (which I read recently, by the way. it's beautiful).
I'm writing because Keeho is organizing a reunion for our old group from school. Two weeks from Saturday at 7 PM. He mentioned they haven't been able to reach you, and I thought you might want to know about it. The others will all be there too. I know it's been a long time, but it would be really nice to see you again. No pressure at all if you'd rather not, I completely understand.
If you're interested in catching up before the reunion, I'd love to meet for coffee sometime this week. There's a nice place called Lucky Café downtown, very popular, always busy, good neutral territory. Let me know if that works for you.
I hope you're doing well.
Best, Hana
You read it through twice, checking for the right tone, friendly but not presumptuous, warm but not weighted with old emotion. It felt like writing to someone you'd genuinely like to reconnect with, which, was exactly what it was.
Before you could second-guess yourself, you hit send. The whoosh sound seemed louder than usual in the quiet apartment. Your fiance was in the shower, and you could hear him humming something cheerful and off-key. Your engagement ring caught the light as you closed the laptop, and you twisted it around your finger once, a habit you'd developed during stressful moments.
But this didn't feel stressful. It felt complete somehow. Like you'd just tied up a loose thread you hadn't even realized was bothering you.
Your phone buzzed with another message from Keeho "Just got the venue confirmed! This is going to be so much fun. Feel like we're all kids again just thinking about it."
You smiled, typing back. "Can't wait! And don't worry about Sungho, I think I might have found a way to reach him."
"Really? That's amazing! He was always one of my favorite people from our group. Quiet but really thoughtful, you know?"
"Yeah," you typed, looking at your closed laptop. "I know exactly what you mean."
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Later, after you'd both settled into your evening routines, you found yourself in your small home office, ostensibly to check work emails before bed. The room was quiet, lit only by your desk lamp and the glow from your computer screen. You had seventeen new emails. Work stuff mostly, a few wedding vendors, and your cursor hovered over one name in your inbox: Park Sungho.
You opened it without hesitation.
Hi, Hana.
Thank you for reaching out. Saturday at 7 PM at Lucky Café works for me.
See you then.
Sungho
That was it. No small talk, no mention of the book, no "it's been so long" or "how have you been." Just the practical information, plain and direct. Still the same Sungho, you thought with a small smile.
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Saturday arrived gray and cool, the kind of winter evening that still held autumn remnants in its air. You walked the familiar downtown streets toward the café, hands tucked into your coat pockets.
The café was busy as expected, filled with the weekend crowd, couples on dates, students with laptops, friends catching up over shared desserts. You scanned the interior through the large windows, looking for a familiar silhouette.
And there he was.
Sungho sat at a table by the window, just like he always used to, arriving early, claiming the spot with the best light. His hair was still the same overgrown black hair you remembered from college, and there were subtle changes in his face that's evident of the years between then and now. A slight sharpness to his cheekbones, faint lines around his eyes when he concentrated.
He wore a dark coat against the chill, had one earphone in his ear, and there on the table beside his water cup is a leather journal. The same one, maybe, or one just like it. Some things never change, you thought, smiling to yourself.
You knocked gently on the window beside his table, and he looked up. For just a moment, you saw something flicker across his face, surprise, maybe, or recognition that went deeper than just seeing an old friend. Like he was seeing not just you, but the remains of who you'd been together, the ghost of those Saturday afternoons that felt like a lifetime ago.
But then he smiled, and it was just Sungho. He was already standing when you walked through the café door.
"Hi," you said as you approached his table.
"Hi." His voice was the same, quiet, and warm. "You look good, Hana. Really good."
"So do you." And he did. Different, but good. There was something settled about him now, a kind of peace that hadn't been there in college. "Should we order? I was thinking-"
"Mocha latte?" he said at the same time you did.
You both laughed, and just like that, the wall of all those years collapsed with the lighthearted recognition of two people who had known each other well once upon a time.
"Some things don't change," you said.
"The good things shouldn't," he replied.
You ordered your matching drinks from a barista who looked about the age you'd been when you first met, then found yourselves walking without really deciding to. Your feet seemed to remember the path, away from the busy downtown streets, toward the quieter neighborhoods, eventually to the small park with the swing set that had been witness to so many of your conversations.
"This feels familiar," you said as you both gravitated toward the bench facing the swings.
"Yeah." Sungho sat down, leaving a respectful space between you. "I was half-expecting to see our younger selves there, talking about the little girl down the slide."
You looked at the empty swings moving slightly in the evening breeze and could almost see them, the girl in the yellow dress who used to swing so high she felt like flying, and the boy who kept his feet on the ground but whose eyes followed her arc through the air.
"So," you said, settling back against the bench. "How are you? I mean, really. It's been what, ten years?"
"Ten years," he confirmed, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup. "I'm... I'm good. Really good, actually. I'm a writer now. Full-time."
"I read your book," you said gently. "It's beautiful."
He glanced at you sideways, a slight color rising in his cheeks. "Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you."
"What about you?" he asked, steering the conversation away from himself the way he always had. "What are you up to these days?"
"I'm a teacher," you said, and felt the comfort that came with talking about your work. "Third grade. It's messy and wonderful and exactly what I never knew I wanted to do."
"That suits you," he said, and something in his voice made you look at him. "You always made everything feel lighter. Kids probably love you."
"Most days," you laughed. "Though there are definitely moments when I question my life choices."
You sat in silence for a moment, watching the swings sway.
"Sungho," you said carefully. "In your book, you mentioned some health issues. From back then. Are you.... how are you doing with all that?"
He went very still for just a second, his coffee cup halfway to his lips. You saw something flicker across his face, fear, maybe, or the instinct to deflect that had kept him from telling you the truth all those years ago. But then he smiled, and it was genuine in its facade, but if you happened to look closely, theres a hint of hesitation in his voice.
"I'm doing well," he said simply, though convincing, it somehow felt empty. "It's cured now. Has been for a while. The doctors are happy with my progress, and I've learned to take better care of myself."
You nodded, relieved by the peace in his voice. "I'm glad. I'm really glad."
"Me too."
You talked about other things then, the reunion, college friends, career changes, books you'd both read, places you'd traveled. The conversation flowed like water finding its natural course.
At some point, Sungho's gaze fell to your hands wrapped around your coffee cup, and his expression softened.
"That's beautiful," he said quietly, nodding toward your engagement ring.
You looked down at it, the simple band with its modest diamond that your fiance had chosen so carefully, and felt a warm flutter of happiness.
"Thank you." You looked up to find Sungho watching you with genuine warmth. "I'm engaged. Getting married in the fall."
"Congratulations," he said, and the word carried real joy. "He's a lucky guy."
"I'm pretty lucky too," you said, and meant it. "He's really wonderful. Kind and patient with my tendency to rearrange furniture at 2 AM."
Sungho laughed. "You still do that?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Some things never change."
"The good things shouldn't," he said again, echoing his earlier words.
As the evening light began to fade around you, you realized how perfectly this had gone. No awkwardness, no lingering hurt, no weight of unfinished business. Just two people who had loved each other once, sitting in the place where they'd been happiest, grateful for what had been and content with what was now.
After a brief silence, Sungho spoke again, his voice quieter than before.
"I don't really want to talk about this anymore," he said, looking down at his hands. "But I need to apologize. For our last day together. For how I handled... everything, really."
You turned to face him more fully. "Sungho-"
"No, let me say this." He looked up at you then, and you could see the weight he'd been carrying. "That morning when your grandmother... I was supposed to tell you something important. About why I'd been so distant, so unreliable. Instead, you had to deal with your grief and my mess at the same time."
"You were there for me when I needed you most," you said gently. "That's what I remember."
"I should have been honest with you from the beginning." He smiled sadly. "I thought I was protecting you, but I was just scared. Scared you'd look at me differently, scared you'd stay out of pity instead of love."
"You could never have been a burden to me." You muttered.
"I know that now." He looked back toward the swings. "But twenty-year-old me didn't know much about anything, did he?"
"He knew enough to love me well," you said softly. "Even if it was complicated."
Sungho was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "Do you ever think about how different things might have been? If your grandmother hadn't passed, if I'd told you the truth that morning, if you'd stayed..."
"Sometimes," you admitted. "But not in a way that hurts anymore. More like wondering about alternate lives."
"I used to think we were unfinished," he said. "Like there was more story to tell, more time we should have had."
"And now?"
"Now I think maybe some stories are perfect exactly as long as they are." He smiled, and there was something both sad and peaceful about it. "We had the best parts, didn't we? The falling in love, the discovering each other, those perfect Saturday afternoons. Before life got too complicated."
You felt your eyes sting slightly. "We did have the best parts."
"I'm glad it was you," Sungho said quietly. "It was such a beautiful moment to love you and to be loved by you."
"Me too," you whispered.
The silence that followed was different from the comfortable one you'd shared earlier. You saw Sungho wipe his eyes quickly, thinking you weren't looking. When he turned back to you, he was smiling again.
"It's getting late," he said, checking his watch. "I should probably get going. Still have some work to finish tonight."
You both stood, brushing off your jackets, gathering the invisible pieces of this conversation to carry with you.
"Sungho," you said as you walked back toward the café where you'd parked. "I hope you'll come to the wedding. I'd really like you to be there."
He was quiet for a moment, and you could see him considering it. "I don't think I can make it," he said finally. "But thank you for asking."
"Well, the invitation stands if you change your mind," you said lightly. "And feel free to bring someone. I know from your book that you found your peace and happiness. I'd love to meet whoever helped you find that."
Something flickered across Sungho's face, confusion, maybe, or surprise. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then seemed to think better of it.
"Right," he said simply, not telling more about it. "Thank you."
You reached your car first, and turned to face him one more time. "This was really nice," you said. "I'm glad we did this."
"Me too." He stepped forward and gave you a brief, friendly hug. The kind of hug you give someone you care about but know you won't see again for a very long time. "Take care of yourself, Hana. Be happy."
"You too," you said against his shoulder. "Write beautiful things."
When you pulled apart, you were both smiling, even though your eyes were a little bright.
"Goodbye, Sungho."
"Goodbye."
You got into your car and watched him walk away in your rearview mirror until he turned the corner and disappeared. There was something final about it, but not sad. Like closing a book after a satisfying ending, complete, perfect in its own way, and ready to be placed back on the shelf with love and gratitude.
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Sungho's apartment stretched out before him. Spacious rooms with minimal furniture, walls painted in shades of gray that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. It was clean, organized, the kind of space that looked like it belonged to someone passing through rather than someone who called it home.
He moved through the quiet halls to his bedroom, past the kitchen where he ate most meals standing up, past the living room where he'd never had guests. At his desk, the only space that felt truly lived-in, he sat down and pulled out a thick stack of handwritten pages from the bottom drawer.
These were the words that would never see print. The chapters too raw, and too revealing for the world to read. The parts of his story that he'd kept locked away, even as he'd laid his heart bare in everything else he'd written.
He spread the pages across his desk, his own handwriting staring back at him in the lamplight.
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I never moved on from you.
I know how that sounds. Pathetic, maybe. The kind of thing people say when they're trying to romanticize their inability to let go. But it's not that I couldn't try to love someone else. It's that no one else ever felt like coming home.
I dated, briefly, in the years after you left. Nice women who deserved better than the ghost of a relationship I carried with me everywhere. They could sense it, I think, that part of my heart that would always belong to a girl who used to swing higher than anyone else, who made ordinary Saturdays full of life.
I told myself I was just being selective. That I had learned what real love felt like and wouldn't settle for less. But the truth was simpler and more devastating. I had become a prisoner of the past, and I chose to stay locked up. Maybe that's the curse of some people, to love so completely once that everything else feels like settling. Or maybe I'm just a coward who found it easier to live with the memory of my first love than to risk the messy reality of trying again. But I never regretted it. Not once. Because loving you was the greatest thing I ever did with my life, even if it was the only thing I ever did with my whole heart.
I saw you last year. Downtown, coming out of that bookstore down the street with him. your fiancé. He was carrying your purse and making you laugh, and you looked so happy it stopped me in my tracks. I stood there for minutes, just watching you be loved the way you deserve to be loved. Completely, easily, without the shadows I would have brought to any relationship. He looked at you the way I used to look at you like you were the sun and he was just grateful to be in your orbit.
That's when I finally understood what "letting go" really meant. Not forgetting, not stopping loving, but accepting that your happiness mattered more than my longing. That night, I went home and wrote the ending of my book. The part about finding peace and solitude. I wasn't lying when I wrote those words, I had found peace. But it wasn't the peace of moving on. It was the peace of knowing you were happy, that the gap in your heart I could never properly fill had been completed by someone who could love you without worries.
The doctors told me six months ago that there's nothing more they can do. The treatments worked for a while, bought me years I'm grateful for, but this was always going to be the ending of my story. Terminal, they said, like it was just another word instead of the period at the end of everything I'd ever known.
I could have reached out, could've told you, could have let you carry that weight, could have asked you to see me, and sit with me while I disappear piece by piece. But I've seen enough of grief to know what it does to the people left behind, and I love you too much to make you watch me fade.
You have a life to build, a wedding to plan, a future that stretches out bright and beautiful before you. I won't be the shadow that extinguishes that light.
Tears fell from Sungho's eyes as he picked up his pen, hands steadier than they'd been in weeks, and turned to a fresh page.
January 15th, 2025
With what little time I have left, I never expected the universe to bring you back to me. After all these years, after I'd made peace with never seeing you again, you knocked on that café window like no time had passed at all. There's something almost cosmic about the timing of it. Like the universe decided to give me one last gift before calling in my debt.
Seeing you today healed something in me that I didn't even know was still broken. You looked so beautiful, so genuinely happy, so completely yourself. The girl I fell in love with and the woman you've become, both present in your smile, both perfect in their own way.
I'm not afraid anymore. I was, for so long. Afraid of the pain, afraid of the darkness, afraid of leaving this world without ever having mattered to it in any meaningful way. But sitting with you on that bench, watching the remnants of our younger selves on those swings, I realized I was never afraid of dying. I was afraid of having never truly lived.
But I did live. For those times with you, I lived every second more fully than most people do in entire lifetimes. I learned what it felt like to be chosen, to be seen, to matter to someone in all the ways that build a life worth living.
I want to give you forever, but I won't be here anymore soon to give you that. I have no regrets loving you first and last, completely and without conditions, with everything I had to offer.
If there's another life after this one, if consciousness continues in some form I can't imagine, I hope I find you there too. Maybe in that life, I'll be braver sooner. Maybe in that life, we'll get our forever. But if this is all there is, these memories, these words, this one beautiful love story that was ours alone, then I'm grateful it happened at all.
Thank you for coming back, one last time, to welcome me back, and also to say goodbye. Let's see each other again, whatever form I take, whoever I become when this body is done carrying my heart around.
Until then, be happy. Be so incredibly, wonderfully, completely happy.
All my love, always, Sungho.
hey cinna can we get a hint on what the 03 liners fic is 🫣
heyyy! hmm, let’s see what we’ve got here… an angst about two college ex-lovers, a romcom about a white hat and black hat hacker (or maybe two online gamers—still deciding ;] ), and a crime romance between a cop and an assassin… stay informed🗣️
sigh... the action concept photos are SCRUMPTIOUS. they’re giving me major neuron activation, it’s lit so rich with possible plot ideas. the ber months are gonna be a field day for both me and y’all
omg i’ve only written one myungjae fic so far💔 i’m already brainstorming plots for another jaehyun fic /srs (and for riwoo and woonhak too) so please bear with me😞
overview : you lived an isolated life as an ill girl, until leehan's family moved in next door, and he became the one you could lean on in times of grief.
a/n : i’ve been in full angst mode lately, so i've decided to give this one a cute plot for the sake of everyone's happiness. i’ve also postponed the release of the eunseok fic (i acc already posted it, but it keeps getting content-labeled, so it’s not showing up on everyone’s feed. some of you managed to read it though, well congrats! you’ve basically witnessed lost media.) so for now, here’s this leehan fic i impulsively wrote while listening to ride by wave to earth
MASTERLIST
at twenty, you had already perfected the art of existing in silence. your days followed the same routine. wake at eight, take the small white pills that sat in a plastic organizer by your bedside, wash your face in the adjoining bathroom, and settle at your desk by the window with whatever textbook your tutor had assigned.
the morning light filtered through pale curtains, casting soft shadows across your bedroom wall. you could hear your mother's footsteps downstairs, the sound of her preparing breakfast, the clink of dishes, the whistle of the kettle, the scrape of a chair against kitchen tiles. these sounds had become your morning alarms, repeated in seven different houses over the past twelve years.
the desk had been positioned by the window in every house you'd lived in. your mother insisted on it. "you need natural light," she would say, arranging your things just so. "it's good for your eyes, good for your spirit." you never had the heart to tell her that what you really needed was what lay beyond that glass, a world you could only observe, but never truly be a part of it.
you had stopped hoping for friends by the time you turned sixteen. what was the point? your world only existed inside your house, doctor's appointments and pill schedules. you'd grown comfortable with solitude, found peace in the predictability of homeschooling and the books that never judged your pale complexion or the way you tired so easily. your illness had been your longest companion more than any friend could ever be.
leehan's life couldn't have been more different. moving houses for him was an adventure, new neighborhoods to explore, new coffee shops to discover, new routes to memorize. this was house number seventh for his family, if he'd counted right. he'd grown up thinking everyone lived this way, boxes always half-packed. it wasn't until high school that leehan realized how unusual his family was, how other kids talked about childhood bedrooms they'd had for years, friends they'd known since kindergarten. but he didn't mind. change kept things interesting.
the cardboard box was heavier than it looked. leehan adjusted his grip, feeling the rough texture against his palms as he carried it up the front steps of their new house. inside, he could hear his mother directing the movers.
the house next door caught leehan's attention as he paused on the front steps. it was similar to theirs, two stories, white siding, a small front yard, but something about it seemed quieter. the curtains were drawn even though it was the middle of the day, and the garden looked like it had been tended to but not truly cared for, if that made sense.
"you coming in, sweetheart?" leehan's mother called from inside.
"yeah, just looking around." leehan said, shifting the box as he head inside.
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
by evening, leehan's room was starting to look like home. his mother had helped him arrange the furniture, and he'd insisted on putting his desk by the window.
"are you sure you want it there?" his mother had asked, hands on her hips as she surveyed the room. "it might be distracting when you're trying to study."
"i like being able to see outside," leehan had replied, running his hand along the smooth surface of the desk. "besides, the light is perfect here."
leehan was arranging his books when he first noticed the light. a warm, amber glow had appeared in the window across from him, and as he looked closer, he could make out the shape of someone moving around inside. leehan's curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself leaning slightly forward, trying to see more clearly.
the person, a young woman, he could see now, was sitting at a desk just like his. her head was bent over what looked like textbooks, and often she would reach up to push her dark hair away from her face. leehan should look away, he thought. this felt like intruding, watching someone in their private space. and as if sensing his gaze, she looked up.
the moment stilled between them like a held breath. it was awkward. her eyes met leehan's through the two panes of glass and the space between their houses, and leehan felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment. he should definitely look away now, apologize somehow, pretend he hadn't been staring.
instead, leehan found himself raising his hand in a small, awkward wave.
you blinked, clearly surprised and didn't know how to act. for a moment, leehan thought you might close your curtains or turn away. but then your expression softened, and the corners of your mouth lifted in a shy smile that transformed your whole face. slowly, as if you weren't sure you were doing the right thing, you raised your own hand and waved back.
a sudden idea struck leehan, and before he could second-guess himself, he reached for the spiral notebook beside him. his pen moved quickly across a fresh page, the black ink bold and clear in a text. when he finished, he held the notebook up against the window, pressing it flat so you could read it clearly.
"what's your name?"
leehan watched your face change as you read the words, eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise. for a moment, leehan worried he'd been too forward. maybe this was weird. maybe normal people didn't communicate through windows like this. but then you reached for something on your desk, a notebook with its edges slightly worn. leehan watched your arms move as you write. when you turned it toward the window, he could see a writing on it.
"na dami"
the name suited you somehow. leehan found himself mouthing it silently, testing how it sounds, "dami" he whisper to himself. without waiting for you to ask the same question in return, leehan flipped to a clean page in his notebook. his handwriting was messier than yours, but he wrote large enough that he was sure you could read it from your window.
"kim leehan"
when he held it up, he saw you nod, and that small smile returned to your face. you seemed to be repeating his name the same way he did to yours. lips moving slightly as if trying out the sound.
leehan then wrote another message. "nice to meet you"
your response came quickly, as if you'd been hoping he'd continue. "nice to meet you too"
"are you new here?" you wrote again.
"yes, just moved in today. we move a lot." leehan wrote, then added below it. "you?"
"been here 3 months" appeared in your window. then, after a pause, you added more. "we move a lot too."
something about that admission comforted leehan. he wasn't the only one who lived in temporary spaces, who knew the feeling of boxes and empty rooms that never felt permanent.
"where did you live before?" leehan wrote.
"gyeonggi," came your answer, followed by "you?"
"busan," leehan wrote back, then grinned as he added. "much warmer here."
leehan saw you chuckle at that, your shoulders shaking slightly as you nodded in agreement. the sight of your genuine amusement made his chest flutter. when was the last time he'd made someone laugh just by being himself?
the conversation continued to flow like that. "what are you studying?" led to you showing leehan your biology textbook, holding it up so he could see the cover. "are you in college?" he asked, and you shook your head, writing "homeschooled." in response.
"me too sometimes" leehan wrote back. "when we travel too much"
the questions and answers came easier now. leehan found out more about you, that your favorite color was blue, that you've never had a pet, but if you did, you would like a cat. you learned leehan took photographs like his father, that he collected postcards from every place he'd lived, and that he has a pet fish.
as the evening wore on, leehan's writing became more relaxed, and less formal. he started adding little doodles to his messages. a smiley face, a small sun, a tiny drawing of a camera. you began doing the same, your artistic skills clearly better than his. when leehan drew a stick figure cat that looked more like a mutated spider, your laughter was visible even from across the way, and he found himself laughing too.
"you're funny" appeared in your window, and leehan felt warmth spread through his chest.
"you're kind" leehan wrote back, and watched you duck your head slightly, as if the compliment had embarrassed you.
the night grew deeper around, but neither of you seemed ready to end the conversation. leehan's desk lamp created a small circle of warmth in his room, and across the way, yours did the same. when leehan glanced at his phone and saw it was nearly eleven, he couldn't believe how quickly the time had passed. his parents were probably asleep already. they'd always been early to bed after the exhaustion of moving day.
"i should go to sleep" leehan wrote, though he didn't really want to.
"me too" came your response, but you seemed to hesitate before showing it, as if you didn't want this to end either.
"same time tomorrow?" leehan found himself writing, his heart beating a little faster as he held it up. the smile that spread across your face was answer enough, but you wrote back anyway "yes, goodnight leehan."
"goodnight dami" he responded, and for a moment, you both just sat there, smiling at each other through your windows.
finally, you raised your hand in a small wave, the same gesture that had started this whole conversation. leehan waved back, and then watched as you carefully slid your curtain close and turned off your desk lamp, your room falling darkness.
leehan sat there for a moment longer, looking at the now dark window across from his, his notebook still open on his desk. the pages were filled with your conversation. as he finally prepared for bed, he found himself already looking forward for tomorrow.
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the morning sun was still low when leehan opened his eyes, and the first thing he did was look toward the window. your curtains were drawn, your room still dark. he smiled to himself as he got ready for the day, wondering what time you usually woke up.
it was around nine when leehan saw movement in your window. he was sitting at his desk, sketching in the margins of his journal, when your curtains pulled back and there you were, hair still messy from sleep, rubbing your eyes as you settled at your desk with what looked like a cup of tea.
leehan grabbed his notebook quickly, writing "good morning" in cheerful letters and holding it up.
you spotted him immediately, as if you'd been looking for him too. your sleepy expression brightened, and you reached for your own notebook. "good morning leehan" appeared in your window, followed by "did you sleep well?"
"yes :), you?" he wrote back.
"better than usual" you replied.
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the days began to follow a happy routine. sometimes leehan would catch you studying, and he'd quietly work on his own things so as not to disturb you. other times, you'd see him reading and would show him whatever book you were working through.
one evening, he noticed you writing in your notebook but not showing it to him. instead, you seemed to be working on something longer, occasionally glancing up at leehan and then back down at your page. your brow was furrowed in concentration, and every so often you'd erase something and start over.
"what are you working on?" leehan finally wrote.
you hesitated, then wrote. "about how strange it is to talk to someone every day but never hear their voice"
something about that observation made leehan's heart skip. he'd been thinking the same thing, wondering what your laugh actually sounded like, whether your voice was as gentle as your expressions.
"do you want to hear mine?" he wrote.
"yes" came back immediately with no hesitation.
leehan pointed to his phone and mouthed "call me," then wrote his number on a piece of paper and held it up to the window. he watched you carefully copy it down, then disappear from view. when his phone rang a few minutes later, his hands were actually shaking as he answered.
"hello?" his voice came out smaller than usual.
you slipped out of the window's view the moment you heard his voice, hopping on your toes in the corner of your room, grinning from ear to ear as you covered your phone's speaker and cleared your throat before speaking. "leehan?" your voice was soft and low, that made the corner of leehan's lips curve into a smirk. "is this... is this weird?"
"no," leehan said quickly, still smiling, looking across at you through the window as you went back to sit on your desk. "well, maybe a little weird, but good weird."
he could see you smile at that, and hearing your quiet chuckle through the phone while watching your shoulders shake with laughter felt like magic.
"your voice is exactly what i imagined," he said.
you raised a brow, looking at him through the window. "what did you imagine?"
"clear," he said simply. "like the sky."
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the phone calls became part of your routine too. sometimes you'd talk while looking at each other through the windows, other times one of you would lie on the bed while the other stayed at their desk.
"do you ever want to go outside?" leehan asked you one evening during a call.
there was a long pause. leehan could see you through the window, phone pressed to your ear, looking down at your hands as you think of what to respond.
"sometimes," you spoke. "but it's complicated."
"how complicated?"
your sigh can be heard through leehan's speaker when you shifted on your seat. "my parents are very protective. they worry about me eating the wrong things, being around... i don't know, germs, i guess. they think i'm fragile."
"are you?" the question slipped out before leehan could stop it.
"i..." you seemed to struggle with the answer. "i have to be careful about some things. they don't let me eat most foods, just very specific meals my mom makes. no sweets, no snacks, nothing processed. they say it's not good for my health."
something about the way you said it made leehan frown. it sounded less like health consciousness and more like serious stuff. "that sounds really restrictive," he said gently.
"i'm used to it," you replied casually, though your voice was wistful.
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that night, after you'd said goodnight and ended the call, leehan stared at your darkened window for a long time. then, quietly, he crept downstairs to the kitchen.
leehan's family had grabbed takeout for dinner, thai food that had left them with leftovers and a bag of snacks his mother had picked up at the grocery store. he selected a few things. some cookies, a small bag of chips, a chocolate bar that had caught his eye earlier.
back in his room, he found one of the plastic bags from the moving boxes and carefully placed the snacks inside. then he looked around his room until his eyes landed on the detachable curtain rods, long, thin, and detachable.
leehan opened his window as quietly as he could and extended the rod, the plastic bag tied securely to the end. it just barely reached across the gap between their houses. he reached for a small pebble in his flower pot and gently threw it on your window, enough for you to hear a low thud.
after a moment, your curtains parted and your face appeared, eyes wide with surprise. leehan pointed to the bag and mouthed "for you."
leehan could see you looking around your room, probably searching for something long enough to reach. you disappeared for a few minutes, then returned with what looked like a long-handled hook, maybe something for opening high windows.
the transfer was careful work, both of you trying to be quiet while maneuvering the bag from leehan's rod to your hook. when you finally pulled it safely inside, your expression was a mixture of excitement and worry. you opened the bag and examined each item like you were discovering treasure. then you looked up at leehan through the window, mouthing "thank you" with such genuine gratitude that leehan felt his chest swell with joy.
leehan watched you carefully open the package of cookies first, taking a small bite. your eyes widened, and then you were smiling so bright it's blinding. you held up one finger, asking leehan to wait, then grabbed your phone.
his phone rang after a minute. he swiped right as he pressed the phone on his ears. your voice coming out low and breathy, careful not to make too much noise. "these are incredible..!" you spoke. "i've never tasted anything so sweet."
"really, never?" he answered.
"never" you confirmed. "my mom only makes very plain food. rice, vegetables, simple proteins. she says anything else will make me sick."
as leehan watched you savor each small bite of the snacks like it's five star, questions flooded in his mind. what kind of condition required you severe dietary restrictions? and why did you seem so normal and even healthy, despite whatever was supposedly wrong with you?
"you don't have to tell me" leehan spoke carefully, "but what kind of health problems do you have?"
you stayed silent at his question for a minute as your chewing slowed down. so long that he started to worry he'd overstepped, pushed too hard too fast. but then you cleared your throat, about to say something.
"i'll tell you someday" you just said "when i'm ready."
"no pressure," leehan replied back quickly. "i just worry about you."
you blinked, feeling your stomach flutter with his words. "you worry about me?"
"of course i do."
the smile that spread across your face at those was soft and wondering, like you couldn't quite believe what you were hearing.
"thank you for the snacks," you said. "and for worrying about me. no one except my parents has ever worried about me before."
"well now you have me" he replied. "and i worry a lot, so get used to it."
your laugh was visible even through the glass, and leehan found himself smiling despite the questions that still nagged at the back of his mind. whatever was going on with your health, and whatever reasons your parents had for keeping you so isolated and restricted, he was glad he'd found you.
as you both finally prepared for bed, leehan watched you carefully wrap the remaining snacks and hide them somewhere in your room. the care you took with them, and how it drew a bright smile on your face made him determined to find ways to bring more happiness into your life.
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
saturday morning came with a hope that made you feel restless in the best way. you'd been sitting by your window since dawn, watching leehan's house for any signs of movement. no school today meant no schedule, and you found yourself hoping he might be free to talk longer than usual.
around ten, you saw his curtains pull back. he appeared at his window, already dressed, hair slightly tousled but neat. when he spotted you, his face lit up with that smile you'd wore over the past two weeks.
"good morning," appeared in your screen as a notification lits it up. you looked at his window, smiling before picking your phone up. it then rang again with another message "no school today!" he sent.
"i know! feels different" you replied, then added "what are you doing today?"
you looked at leehan through the window tilt his head in thought, then he typed "would it be weird if i asked to visit?"
your heart skipped for a second. "visit? actually come over?" you replied as you stared at his message, then at his face through the window. he looked nervous, hopeful, and slightly embarrassed all at once.
"well, not weird you followed up quickly. "i'd like that"
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twenty minutes later, you heard the doorbell ring. and you could hear your mother's footsteps echoed from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she walked to the door. you stayed by your window, suddenly nervous.
"oh, hello there," you heard your mother say, as you sneaked by the stairs, her voice tinged with the pleasant surprise tone she always had with unexpected visitors.
"good morning, ma'am," came leehan's voice, clearer and much more handsome than it sounded through the phone. "i'm leehan, from next door. i brought these for you."
you couldn't see the front door from the stair, but you could picture the scene of leehan standing there with whatever he'd brought, probably looking as nervous as you felt.
"how thoughtful! these look delicious. are they from the bakery on main street?" your mother asked.
"yes, ma'am. i wasn't sure what you might like, so i got a variety."
there was a pause, and you could hear your mother's curious smile in her voice. "and what brings you by today, leehan?"
"i was hoping to visit dami, if that's okay. we've been... well, we've become friends. i live right there." you imagined him pointing toward his house.
"friends?" the delight in your mother's voice was unmistakable. "oh, how wonderful! dami hasn't mentioned. well, she doesn't usually-" your mother caught herself, probably realizing she was about to reveal too much about your situation. "she'll be so happy to see you. come in, come in! dami!" she called up the stairs. "you have a visitor!"
your hands were trembling slightly as you quickly stood up, brushing invisible dust on your shirt. you could hear your mother chattering to leehan about the weather, the neighborhood, asking if he wanted something to drink. when you reached the bottom of the stairs and saw him standing in your living room, your heart did a little flip which turned your ears bright red.
he was taller than you'd expected, and seeing him without the barrier of glass between you felt surreal. he was wearing a gray sweater that brought out his eyes, and his bleached hair fell naturally across his forehead in a way that made you want to reach up and brush it back. when he saw you, his conversation with your mother stopped mid-sentence.
"hi," he said softly, lifting a small awkward wave like he did when you first met.
"hello," you replied, equally quiet.
for a moment, you both just stood there, looking at each other while avoiding eyes every second. then leehan seemed to remember himself and stepped forward, extending his hand. "it's really nice to finally meet you properly, dami."
you looked down at his outstretched hand, then back up at his face. he had the same gentle expression you'd seen through the window, but now you could see every single details of his face, the way his eyes crinkled slightly when he smiled, the tiny line under his eyes, the dip of his nose, and how his lips twitched slightly while talking to you.
slowly, you reached out and took his hand. his palm was warm, slightly callused from whatever hobbies he have, and the contact sent a small thrill through your skin. you'd never held someone's hand before, not someone your age who'd chosen to seek you out, especially a handsome guy's.
"nice to meet you too," you said, surprised by how steady your voice sounded despite your stomach flipping into somersaults.
"well, this is just lovely," your mother said, beaming at both of you. "sit, sit! i'll bring some drinks and we can try those pastries you brought, leehan."
you settled on opposite ends of the sofa, suddenly aware of how different this felt from your window conversations. here, you could see all of him, the way he sat with his hands clasped politely in his lap, how he glanced around your living room with genuine curiosity, the way he kept stealing glances at you as if he couldn't believe you were real either.
"this is so strange," you said after a moment with an embarrassed chuckle, then immediately worried that sounded rude. "i mean, good strange. it's just-"
"i know," leehan said quickly. "i keep wanting to hold up a notebook." you laughed hearin g that making your shoulders shake, and leehan's face lit up at the sound.
"i was so nervous coming over here," he admitted. "what if we ran out of things to talk about? what if it was awkward?"
"we've never run out of things to talk about before," you pointed out.
your mother returned with a tray laden with a pitcher of fruit juice, cups, and the pastries leehan had brought, an assortment of croissants, danishes, and what looked like cinnamon rolls. she set everything on the coffee table between you.
"i'll leave you two to chat," she said, but you could tell she was reluctant to go. having a friend visit was probably as new for her as it was for you. "leehan, you're welcome here anytime. it's so nice to see dami with a friend." after she left, you and leehan sat in silence for a moment, both reaching for the pitcher at the same time and nearly colliding hands over the handle.
"sorry," you both said simultaneously, then laughed.
"this is ridiculous," leehan said, settling back with his cup. "we talk for hours through windows and on the phone, but now i'm acting like i've never had a conversation before."
"maybe it's because we can see each other's reactions to everything now," you suggested. "like, i can see that you're nervous because you keep adjusting your sweater." leehan looked down at his hands, which were indeed fiddling with the hem of his sweater, and laughed. the tension broke then, and you found yourselves falling into the same comfort you'd developed over the past weeks. leehan told you about his morning, how he'd spent minutes picking out pastries and rehearsing what he'd say to your mother. you shared how you'd been watching from your window since dawn, too excited and nervous to do anything else.
"i keep thinking i'm going to wake up and this will all have been a really good dream," you admitted, selecting a small danish from the tray.
"which part? me being here, or just having a friend?"
the question was casual, but it hit something personal in you. "both, i think. i've been alone for so long that sometimes i forget what it feels like to have someone care about whether i'm okay."
leehan set down his cup and looked at you directly. "you're not alone anymore, dami. even when i go back to my house, and even when we're just talking through windows."
the sureness in his voice made your throat tight with emotion. you'd never had someone speak to you like that, like your wellbeing mattered to them just because you existed. "thank you," you said quietly. "for coming over. for being my friend, and for making me feel like i'm part of the world, even when i can't really be in it."
leehan just nodded, wanting to ask more about what you really meant, but chose to keep his questions to himself instead. you spent the rest of the morning talking, sharing stories you'd never told through notebooks, laughing at things that were funnier when you could see each other's expressions. and when leehan finally said he should probably head home for lunch, you found yourself reluctant to let him go.
ashe gathered his things and prepared to leave, he glanced toward the kitchen where your mother was washing the plates. you were still sitting on the sofa, carefully wrapping the leftover pastries in napkins.
"mrs. na?" leehan called softly. "could i speak with you for a moment? before i go?"
you looked up, curious, as your mother dried her hands and walked over to where leehan stood by the hallway. they moved just far enough away that their voices became low mumbles, too quiet for you to make out the words. you tried not to stare, but something about leehan's earnest, and slightly nervous posture made you wonder what he could possibly need to discuss with your mother.
"i was wondering," leehan began, his voice careful and respectful, "if maybe... if i could take dami out tomorrow? just for a little while. somewhere nearby, nothing strenuous."
your mother's eyebrows rose slightly. "out? you mean, outside the house?"
"yes, ma'am. i know she doesn't get to leave very often, and i thought maybe it would be nice for her to see a little bit of the neighborhood. i promise i'll take good care of her. we wouldn't go far, and if she gets tired or feels unwell, i'll bring her straight home."
your mother was quiet for a long moment, her gaze drifting from leehan to where you sat in the living room, still pretending not to watch their conversation. you could see the conflict drawn across her face. "she's never..." your mother started, then stopped. "i mean, she hasn't been out for anything that wasn't a medical appointment in years. i worry about her overexerting herself, or being around too many people, or-"
"i understand," leehan said gently. "but maybe that's exactly why it would be good for her? she seems stronger than you might think. and she talks about wanting to experience things too."
your mother carefully studied leehan's expression, taking in his sincerity, and the way he spoke about you. you held your breath, though you still couldn't hear exactly what they were discussing. there was something about their body language, your mother's thoughtful expression, leehan's hopeful but respectful stance, that made your stomach flip with anticipation.
finally, your mother sighed softly. "maybe you're right. maybe it is time for her to experience a little more of life outside these walls." she looked at leehan seriously. "but you have to promise me, if she seems tired, if she's having trouble breathing, if anything seems wrong at all-"
"i'll bring her home immediately," leehan said. "i promise."
"and nowhere too far. and not too long."
"yes, ma'am."
your mother nodded slowly, lips pursed as if convincing herself. "alright, but leehan? she's everything to me. please keep her safe."
"i will," he said solemnly.
the conversation seemed to settle between them, and you saw your mother's expression soften completely. whatever worry she'd had were melting away in the face of leehan's obvious devotion to your wellbeing. they walked back toward the living room, both wearing expressions that were trying a little too hard to look casual. you looked up expectantly, but neither of them said anything about their conversation.
"well," leehan started, "i should probably head home. my parents will want to know where i've been all morning."
"of course," you said, standing up walking with him to the front door. "thank you for coming over, and for the pastries. they were really good."
"i'm glad you liked them." he paused at the door, looking like he wanted to say something else but wasn't sure how. "actually," he said, glancing briefly at your mother, "maybe i'll send you a message later. i have something i want to ask you."
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later that evening, your phone buzzed with a text message. you glanced at it, expecting maybe a goodnight message from leehan like he sometimes sent. but his message made your eyebrows crease, putting down the towel you were rubbing on your hair as you sat down.
[leehan] dress up tomorrow with something comfortable, whatever you want to wear :)
[you] dress up? why? what for?
[leehan] just do it. trust me.
[you] stop being all mysterious :/ dress up for what?
[leehan] you'll see, just pick something nice that you feel good in.
you sat there holding your phone, completely bewildered. this was so unlike your usual conversations. leehan was never mysterious or vague. he always explained things, always made sure you understood what was happening.
[you] this is confusing but okay, i guess?
[leehan] nice, see you tomorrow then :)
as you set your phone aside and prepared for bed, you found yourself standing in front of your closet for the first time in months, wondering what leehan could possibly have planned. your hands were shaking slightly from anticipation as you ransacked your closet for decent clothes, eventually leaving everything piled up on your chair until you drifted to sleep.
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sunday morning light filtered through your curtains earlier than usual, but you were already awake. you'd been lying in bed since dawn, staring at the ceiling and trying to process what might happen today. leehan's mysterious text message had kept you tossing and turning all night.
by seven, you slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom, deciding that whatever leehan had planned, you'd rather be ready for it than caught off guard. you stood in front of your bedroom mirror, running a comb through your damp hair, overthinking what you should wear.
your closet had never seemed so inadequate. years of staying inside meant your wardrobe consisted mainly of comfortable clothes. soft pajamas, loose sweaters, and pants. you had a few nicer things from the gifts you've received from relatives, luckily.
after twenty minutes of staring at hangers, and the pile on your chair, you finally settled on a light blue hoodie that you'd always loved the color of. you paired it with a simple black skirt that hit above your knees, something you'd worn to a doctor's appointment once and felt confident in.
standing in front of your mirror, you pulled your hair back into a ponytail. the style made your face look more open somehow. you applied a thin layer of lip balm, the only makeup you ever bothered with, and stepped back to assess yourself.
curious about whether leehan was awake yet, you moved to your window and peered across. his curtains were still drawn. you glanced at your phone, 8:30 am. maybe he was still sleeping, or getting ready himself.
you waited for a while, book in hand to pass time. then, at exactly nine o'clock, you finally heard the doorbell rang dowsntairs.
your heart jumped into your throat. you rushed to your other window and vaguely saw leehan's figure standing at the front door, but from this angle, you couldn't make out details. the sound of your mother's footsteps echoed from downstairs, and you heard the front door open.
"good morning, leehan! you're right on time." her voice echoed.
"good morning, mrs. na. is dami ready?"
ready for what? you blinked, hurrying to the top of the stairs, curiosity overwhelming your nerves. when you looked down, you had to grip the banister to steady yourself.
leehan stood in your entryway wearing a light blue hoodie that was almost identical to yours, paired with white jeans and a striped blue scarf. his usually tousled blonde hair was combed neatly, and he looked up at you with that smile that never failed to make your stomach flip.
when he saw you, his eyes widened slightly, and he raised his hand in a small wave. "hi,"
"hi," you replied, slowly making your way down the stairs. you looked down at your own blue hoodie, then back at his, and couldn't help but smile. "did we plan this?"
"i just figured you'd like the blue," he said, his grin widening.
your mother beamed at both of you, her hands clasped like a mom sending her daughter off to prom. "don't you two look lovely. are you ready for today?"
"for today?" you looked between your mother and leehan, confusion clear in your voice. "what today? what are we doing?"
leehan stepped forward slightly. "we're going out. just around the neighborhood. maybe to the park nearby. i thought it would be nice for you to see some of the world up close."
"going out?" your eyes widened as your foot starts to subconsciouly tap from excitement. "you mean, outside? like, walking around outside?"
leehan nodded, his smile widening seeing you brighten up with joy. "your mom said it was okay. we won't go far, and we can come back anytime you want. i just thought..." he paused, searching for the right words. "i thought you might like to see what's beyond your window."
you turned to your mother, eyes wide with disbelief. she was supposed to be the one who restricted you, who reminded you of all the reasons why staying inside was better. but she just nodded with an encouraging smile.
"go on, sweetheart. you should hurry up and get your shoes before i change my mind." she teased, giving you a gentle nudge toward the coat closet, then disappeared back into the kitchen.
the happiness hit you like a wave. without thinking, you launched yourself forward and wrapped your arms around leehan in an impulsive hug, bouncing on your toes with excitement.
"i can't believe this is happening!" you said into his shoulder. "i can't believe my mom said yes! i can't believe you planned this!"
leehan went very still for a moment, clearly caught off guard by your sudden hug. you could feel his heart racing against your cheek where it pressed to his chest. then his arms came up slowly to hug you back, his hand patting your back gently.
"i'm so happy," you whispered, and you felt him smile against your hair.
after a moment, the reality of what you'd done hit you. you were hugging leehan, not just the polite handshake from yesterday but an actual, full embrace. you could smell his soap and the scent of his hoodie's fabric softener. embarrassment flooded through you, and you pulled back quickly with burning ears. neither of you could seem to look directly at each other, suddenly fascinated by your shoes, the floor, anything but each other's faces.
leehan cleared his throat. "so, um. should we... should we go?"
"yes," you said quickly, grateful for the change of subject. "let me just get my shoes."
your hands were shaking slightly as you slipped on your sneakers. when you straightened up, leehan was watching you with an expression you couldn't read.
"ready?" he asked.
"let's go." you nodded with a smile.
the moment you stepped outside, the world felt impossibly vast. the clear, blue sky stretched overhead in a way that no window could capture, and the air moved against your skin with a freshness you'd forgotten existed. you paused on the way, momentarily overwhelmed.
"you okay?" leehan asked softly, noticing your hesitation.
"yeah, it's just bigger than i remembered," you admitted, taking a tentative step forward.
leehan fell into step beside you as you began walking along the sidewalk. your neighborhood looked completely different from ground level. houses that seemed distant and anonymous from your window were now real places with gardens you could smell, mailboxes you could read, driveways where actual cars sat waiting.
"this is the route i take when i go for walks," leehan said. "i always wondered if you could see me from your window when i passed by your street."
you looked around, trying to orient yourself. "i think i can see that yellow house from my room. and that one with the red door."
your legs felt slightly unsteady at first, months of limited activity had left you less confident in your physical abilities than you'd expected. but as you walked, the rhythm came back to you, and you found yourself naturally matching leehan's pace.
the neighborhood park appeared around a corner, and you stopped short. you'd seen it from your window many times, a distant patch of green, but being here was entirely different. there were families with children, joggers passing by, an elderly man feeding pigeons by a fountain you hadn't even known existed.
"there are so many people," you whispered, suddenly aware that you were now part of this world you'd only observed from afar.
"are you uncomfortable?" leehan asked immediately. "we can go somewhere quieter if you want."
you shook your head. "no, i like it. it's nice to see that the world is full of people living their lives."
you made your way to the swing set, where two swings hung empty. as you settled onto one, the metal chains creaking softly under your weight, you couldn't help but smile. when was the last time you'd been on a swing? years, probably.
"wait here for just a minute," leehan said, already backing away toward the park entrance. "i'll be right back, i promise."
before you could ask where he was going, he was jogging toward a small convenience store visible just beyond the park's edge. you sat there alone, gently rocking back and forth on the swing, watching the world happen around you. a mother pushed her toddler on the swing across you, and the little boy waved at you with sticky fingers. you waved back, feeling like you were part of something larger than yourself for the first time in years.
leehan returned within minutes, slightly out of breath and carrying a small plastic bag. "i thought you might want to try some things," he said, settling onto the swing beside you and pulling out two chocolate ice cream bars and a small bag of chips.
your face lit up as you recognized the same brands he'd smuggled to you through your windows weeks ago. "you remembered."
"of course i remembered. i wanted your first real time outside to include all your favorites."
you accepted the ice cream with cold hands, not from your condition, but from pure happiness. the cold sweetness was just as wonderful as you'd remembered, made even better by the fact that you were eating it outside, in the sunshine, like a normal person.
for a while, you just swung gently back and forth, eating your ice cream and sharing the chips while talking about everything. leehan told you about the different people he'd seen in the park over the months, creating little stories about their lives. you shared what you'd observed from your window, comparing your distant impressions to the reality of being here.
"this is perfect," you said, licking the last of the chocolate from the wooden stick. "i don't think i've ever been this happy."
leehan looked at you, his expression soft and thoughtful. "actually," he said, "there's something else i wanted to show you. if you're feeling up to it."
"what is it?"
"my university. it's not too far from here, and i thought you might like to see where i spend my days when i'm not talking to you through windows."
the idea sent a thrill through you. leehan's university was part of his world that you'd only heard about in stories. "really? you'd show me?"
"if you want to see it. but i'll need to get my bike first, it's a bit far to walk."
you nodded eagerly, and leehan jogged back toward your neighborhood, returning surprisingly quick with a well-used bicycle. he wheeled it over to where you stood, suddenly looking a bit unsure.
"have you ever ridden on the back of a bike before?" he asked.
you shook your head, eyeing the narrow space behind his seat with some trepidation. "it looks unsteady..."
"i'll go slow," he promised, steadying the bike while you approached. "and i'll make sure you don't fall. do you trust me?"
"yes," you said simply. the same burning red painting on your ears. "i trust you."
carefully, you climbed onto the back of the bike, your legs dangling on the side of the rear wheel. the seat was narrow and the position felt unstable, making you acutely aware of how dependent you were on leehan's balance and control.
"you'll need to hold on," he said over his shoulder. "around my waist is probably safest."
heat flooded your cheeks even more at the suggestion. slowly, you placed your hands on his sides, then gradually let your arms encircle his waist. through his hoodie, you could feel the warmth of his back, and the sculpt of his abdomen.
"is this okay?" you asked, your voice smaller than you intended.
"perfect," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. looking down, you saw your own smile reflected. "hold on tight," leehan added, placing one foot on the pedal. "here we go."
the bike lurched forward slowly, and you tightened your grip around his waist as the ground began to move past you in a way you'd never experienced before. the wind caught your ponytail, and you found yourself laughing as you rode through the street and beyond.
the bike ride to the university was like traveling through a living painting. you'd never experienced the world rushing past you at this speed, close enough to smell the honeysuckle climbing garden fences, to hear conversations from open windows, to see dogs wagging their tails as their owners walked them along tree-lined streets.
your arms tightened slightly around leehan's waist as you passed through a particularly beautiful stretch where cherry trees formed a canopy overhead. people jogged past in the opposite direction, and you caught glimpses of their faces. some focused and determined, others smiling and chatting with running partners.
"look ahead," leehan called over his shoulder as you crested a small hill.
the university spread out before you like something from a movie. the entrance gates were impressive, tall, wrought iron, with stone pillars. beyond them, you could see manicured lawns, and pathways lined with trimmed bushes.
leehan slowed as you approached the bike parking area, bringing you to a careful stop. your legs felt slightly wobbly as you climbed off.
"this is beautiful," you breathed, taking in the scene around you. students your age moved along the pathways in small groups, backpacks slung over shoulders, some deep in conversation, others walking hand in hand. it was like seeing a version of life you'd only read about in books.
"do you like it?" leehan asked, securing his bike to the rack. you nodded, unable to take your eyes off the bustling weekend campus life.
as you walked through the main pathway, you found yourself observing the other students. some looked stressed, hurrying to extracurricular classes with coffee cups and heavy bags. others lounged on benches, laughing with friends or reading under the shade of large trees. there were couples walking together, their intimacy making something flutter in your chest as you glanced at leehan beside you.
"leehan!"
you both turned to see two young men jogging toward you from the direction of the main building. they were both grinning widely, and you could see the moment they noticed you, their expressions shifting to amusement.
"hey guys," leehan said as they approached. "riwoo, jaehyun, this is dami. dami, these are my friends from class."
you watched, fascinated, as leehan's entire demeanor changed. he was still the gentle, thoughtful person you knew, but there was confidence here now. he gestured and laughed in ways you'd never seen through your window conversations.
"so this is the pretty neighbor," jaehyun said with a teasing smirk, looking between you and leehan. "finally decided to bring your girlfriend around to meet us?"
"she's not my- we're just friends," leehan said quickly, but you caught the faint pink in his cheeks.
"sure you are," riwoo added with a grin. "nice to meet you, dami. we've heard absolutely nothing about you."
"that's not how that works," leehan protested, but he was laughing despite his embarrassment.
you found yourself smiling at them. it was wonderful to see this boyish, and playful side of leehan surrounded by people who clearly cared about him.
"we were just heading to grab lunch," jaehyun said. "you two want to come?"
leehan glanced at you questioningly, but you shook your head slightly. as much as you enjoyed meeting his friends, the thought of sitting in a crowded cafeteria felt overwhelming.
"maybe next time," leehan said smoothly. "we're still exploring."
riwoo nodded in understanding. "well, don't let him bore you with the history of every building. see you later, leehan. nice meeting you, dami!"
as they walked away, still chuckling about something, you turned to leehan with a playful smile. "so," you said, falling into step beside him, nudging his shoulders "they said they've heard absolutely nothing about me, which means you talk about me constantly."
leehan's cheeks flushed pink. "that's not- that's not how it works."
"what did you tell them about me?" you pressed gently, enjoying his flustered expression.
he rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture you'd noticed he did when he was embarrassed. "i... well, the first day i saw you through the window, i thought you were really pretty. and i guess i mentioned that to them."
your own cheeks warmed at his admission. "you thought i was pretty?"
"i still do," he said quietly, then cleared his throat. "but it's more than that. i told them about you because i wanted the people in my life to know that you're part of it now too."
"that was nice," you said softly, biting your lips to suppress a grin.
"i want to show you all of it," leehan said suddenly, stopping to face you. "all my sides, all the places i go, all the things i do. because you're part of my world now, dami. you're part of everything."
your heart raced at the intensity in his voice, you never expected him to suddenly tell you all of this now, but hearing it made you feel warm and fuzzy inside.
"come on," he said, taking your hand without seeming to realize he'd done it. "let me show you the library. it has these huge windows that i always thought you'd love."
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
the rest of the day passed with new experiences. after the university, you rode to an arcade where leehan taught you to play games you'd only heard about. your coordination was terrible from lack of practice, but leehan cheered for every small victory like you'd won the olympics. then there was the park with the pond where you fed pigeons with bread leehan had bought from a nearby bakery. the birds flocked around your feet, and you couldn't stop laughing with how ticklish it felt.
you walked through a small arts district where street musicians played on corners and vendors sold handmade jewelry. leehan bought you a simple bracelet with a small blue charm that matched both your hoodies.
by the time you were riding home, the sun was already hot from late afternooon, and your body was sending clear signals that it had been pushed further than it was used to. but instead of the panic you expected from exhaustion, you felt a deep, satisfying tiredness.
this time, when you wrapped your arms around leehan's waist for the ride home, there was no hesitation anymore. you settled against his back naturally, your head finding a comfortable spot between his shoulder blades. through his hoodie, you could feel his breathing, the warmth of his body comforting you as the nearing streets of your neighborhood came into view.
"thank you," you said softly as he pedaled slowly, in no hurry to end the day.
"for what?"
"for today, you know."
his free hand came up to briefly cover yours where they were clasped around his waist. "you've always belonged in this world, dami. i just helped you remember."
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
morning came too quickly. leehan's alarm went off at six-thirty, and he groggily reached over to silence it. his first instinct, as always lately, was to look toward your window. your curtains were still drawn, your room dark. you were probably still sleeping after yesterday. your body would need the rest.
he got ready for class mechanically, his mind already on when he'd see you again. maybe tonight through the windows, or maybe he could visit again tomorrow. the thought made him smile as he grabbed his bag and headed out.
you woke several hours later to sunlight streaming through your curtains. for a moment, you just lay there, basking in the residual happiness from yesterday. your body ached slightly from all the activity, but it was a good ache, you convinced yourself.
you looked toward leehan's window, curtains drawn, room empty. he was probably already at university, sitting through lectures or hanging out with with his friends. the thought made you smile. you could picture him there now, instead of just imagining it.
slowly, you got out of bed and made your way downstairs. the smell of breakfast greeted you. your mother had made your usual bland but nutritious meal, the same thing she'd been preparing for years.
"good morning, sweetheart," she called from the kitchen. "how are you feeling after yesterday? not too tired?"
"i feel great, actually. a little sore, but in a good way."
"i'm so glad. it was wonderful seeing you so happy. come sit, breakfast is ready."
you moved toward the dining table, but as you pulled out your chair, something pierced in your chest. not pain exactly, but a strange tightness that made you pause and grasp the chair beside you. then, a sharp, crushing sensation that stole your breath hit. your hand flew to your chest as you gasped, trying to pull in air that wouldn't come. the room tilted sideways, and you heard the chair clatter as you stumbled.
"dami!" your mother's voice was muffled and panicked in your ears. "dami, what's wrong? talk to me!"
you tried to speak, but no words came. just a pain radiating from your chest, squeezing like a vice, making black spots float across your vision. your legs gave out, and you felt your mother's arms catching you before you hit the floor.
"no, no, no," your mother said frantically. "stay with me, baby. stay with me."
the next minutes were static. your mother half-carried, half-dragged you to the car, not bothering with an ambulance. the hospital was only ten minutes away and she couldn't bear to wait. you were vaguely aware of the car speeding, of your mother's voice talking to you to keep you awake.
the hospital emergency entrance appeared through your dimming vision. hands, so many hands lifted you onto a gurney. bright lights flashed overhead made your head numb as you were rushed down corridors. voices shouted medical terms you couldn't process.
"bp dropping-"
"get her to icu-"
"possible cardiac arrest-"
then there were tubes and machines, the cold press of monitors against your skin, and your mother's tear-stained face hovering above yours before someone gently moved her away.
"we need to run tests," a doctor was saying somewhere beyond your line of sight. "it looks like her heart is failing. we'll need to get her stabilized and start looking for a donor immediately."
hearing these, you thought of leehan, sitting in class somewhere, not knowing that the person he'd shown the world to yesterday might not get to see it again. you thought of everything, and all the things you wish you had said before.
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
the afternoon sun was already slanting low when leehan finally made it home from campus. his last class had run late, and he'd stayed after to work on a group project, but all day his mind had kept drifting to you. he wanted to tell you about the funny thing jaehyun had said, about how the professor had mentioned something that reminded him of your conversation last night.
instead of going straight to his house, he found himself walking toward yours. it had become instinct over the past weeks, checking your window first, seeing if you were at your desk, maybe holding up a quick message before he went inside.
but your house looked dark. all the curtains were drawn, and there was no glow from any of the windows. it was strange, it was barely six o'clock, it's too early for everyone to be asleep.
still, he approached the front door and rang the doorbell. the sound echoed inside, but there was no response. no footsteps, no voice calling "just a minute," nothing.
he waited, then pressed the doorbell again, listening intently, but it was another silence. a small knot of unease formed in his stomach, but he pushed it aside. you and your mother were probably just out somewhere. maybe at a doctor's appointment that ran late, or maybe your mother had finally taken you on another outing after seeing how well yesterday had gone.
leehan headed back to his own house, trying to shake the worried feeling that bugged to him.
"you're home late," his mother said as he walked through the door. "how was class?"
"tiring." he set his bag down. "mom, have you seen dami or mrs. na today?"
his mother's expression changed, concern flashing across her face. "actually, yes. this morning, mrs. na was carrying dami to the car. dami looked like she could barely stand. they drove off so quickly, i didn't even have time to ask if everything was okay. i've been worried about it all day."
the knot in leehan's stomach pulled back tight as his worries are slowly getting the confirmation. "what time was this?"
"around nine, maybe? why? is something wrong?"
but leehan was already moving, dropping his backpack on the sofa. "i need to go. i think- i need to check the hospital. i'll call you!" he shouted over his shoulder, already running toward where he'd left his bike.
his heart pounded as he pedaled faster than he ever had before. the hospital wasn't far, but every second felt like an hour. his mind raced through possibilities, each one worse than the last. you'd been fine yesterday, tired, but happy. what could have happened in less than twenty-four hours?
the hospital parking lot appeared, and he barely remembered to lock his bike before sprinting toward the entrance. the lobby was busy with people coming and going, and leehan stood there feeling lost, not knowing where to even begin looking.
then he spotted a familiar man near the reception desk, someone he'd never met but recognized from the photos in your living room. it's your father, talking urgently with a staff member.
"excuse me," leehan said, approaching cautiously. hir breathing still heavy. "mr. na?"
the man turned, his face drawn with worry. "yes?"
"i'm leehan. kim leehan. i live next door to you, i'm dami's..." he hesitated. "i'm dami's friend."
recognition dawned in your father's eyes as he nodded. "leehan. yes, she's mentioned you. my wife told me about you." he glanced back at the receptionist. "i just got back from a business trip from a different city. i came straight from the airport."
"is she okay? what happened?"
your father's expression crumbled slightly. "her heart gave out this morning. they have her in the icu." he turned back to the receptionist. "room 304, icu ward. thank you."
they walked together through the sterile hospital corridors, neither speaking. leehan's legs felt numb, moving on autopilot as they navigated turns and passed through double doors marked "intensive care unit."
room 304 was at the end of a long hallway. through the small window in the door, leehan could see your mother sitting in a chair beside a hospital bed, her head bowed.
your father entered first. "i'm here," he said, and your mother looked up with red-rimmed eyes before standing and falling into his embrace.
leehan stood awkwardly in the doorway until your mother noticed him. "leehan," she said, her voice hoarse. "you found us."
"my mom saw you this morning. i got worried." he couldn't take his eyes off the bed where you lay, so still among all the machines and tubes. "is she..."
"she's stable for now," your mother said. "but she needs a heart transplant. they're searching for a donor."
the words hit him like a truck speeding. heart transplant, the dietary restrictions, the limited activities, the way your parents kept you so carefully protected, it all suddenly made horrible sense now to him. but have no time nor the energy to be disappointed with why you didn't tell him.
"can i...?" he gestured toward the chair beside your bed.
"of course," your father said. "we'll be right outside if you need us. we need to talk about arrangements."
they stepped out, leaving leehan alone with you. he sank into the chair, his hands trembling as he reached for yours. your hand was cold, and there were so many tubes and wires, but underneath it all, you were still you.
"dami," he whispered. "i'm so sorry. i shouldn't have taken you out yesterday. if i'd known-"
your fingers twitched in his, and your eyelids fluttered. when your eyes opened, they were cloudy with medication but focused on his face. "leehan?" your voice was barely audible.
"i'm here. i'm right here." he squeezed your hand gently. "how are you feeling?"
you managed a small nod, which he took to mean you were okay, or at least as okay as you could be under the circumstances.
"are you going to be okay?" the question came out broken, and leehan felt tears burning behind his eyes that he desperately tried to hold back. it's followed by another small nod from you. "heart transplant," you whispered. "soon."
leehan nodded, trying to be strong for you even though everything inside him was crumbling.
"dami..." he held your hand tighter, leaning closer so you could hear him clearly. "you're really important to me. more important than i knew how to say before. i love you, not just as a friend, but... i really love you. and whatever happens, i'm going to hope for the best. i'm going to believe you'll be okay."
through the haze of medications, your expression softened into something that looked like joy. "i love you too," you whispered back, each word clearly an effort.
the tears leehan had been holding back finally fell, but he was smiling through them. "you're going to get through this. you showed me yesterday that you're stronger than anyone gives you credit for. you're going to get your transplant, and then we're going to have a thousand more days like yesterday. i promise."
you smiled, your grip on his hand weakened. "tell me about today, about class."
so he did. he sat there for hours, talking about random things, with stories about jaehyun's terrible jokes and the professor who'd spilled coffee on his notes. he told you about the sunset he'd seen on his bike ride home, about the dog that had chased him down the street.
he talked until visiting hours were nearly over, until your eyes grew heavy and your responses became slower. your parents returned eventually, your father looking slightly less shell-shocked, your mother managing a grateful smile for leehan.
"you should go home and rest," she said gently. "it's getting late."
leehan looked at his phone, it's 11:04 pm. he'd been here for hours and it felt like minutes.
"i'll come back," he said, looking at you. your eyes were closed now, but he could see the slight rise and fall of your chest. "tomorrow morning before class, and after class too. every day until you're better."
"she'd like that," your mother said with a grateful smile.
leehan stood reluctantly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "see you tomorrow, dami. i love you."
as he rode his bike home through the dark streets, the world felt different than it had that morning. heavier, and even more fragile like every second is on the edge. but also more precious, because he'd finally said the words he'd been afraid to say, and you'd said them back.
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
the morning light was still soft when leehan arrived at the hospital, a thermal bag in one hand and daisies wrapped in brown paper in the other. he'd woken up at six to make rice porridge, bland but warm, the kind your mother said the doctors would allow.
when he pushed open the door to your room, you were already awake, staring at the ceiling. the monitors beeped their steady rhythm beside you.
"you brought breakfast?" your voice was still weak, but better than last night.
"the hospital food looked sad." he unwrapped the daisies carefully, arranging them in the vase on your bedside table. "your mom told me these are your favorite."
"they are." you reached out slowly, your fingers trembling slightly as you touched one of the soft white petals. the simple move seemed to tire you out.
leehan pulled the chair as close to your bed as it would go and opened the container. he tested the temperature of the porridge against his wrist the way he'd seen his mother do when he was young, then lifted a spoonful to your lips.
you ate slowly. between bites, he told you about his bike ride here in the early morning, how the streets were empty except for a few joggers, how he'd passed an old man by the park fountain feeding ducks. the ducks had waddled after the man adorably.
"i wish i could see that," you said quietly.
"when you're better, we'll go feed them together.".
before he had to leave for class, he pulled a worn paperback from his bag and set it on your bedside table. the cover was faded, the pages soft from being read too many times. "the little prince," you said, recognizing it immediately. "your copy."
"so i'm here even when i'm not." he squeezed your hand. "and text me anytime, okay? even during class. especially during class."
"you'll get in trouble." you looked at him with a concerned expression.
leehan just held your hand tighter, shaking his head. "i don't care."
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
the next two days moved like that. every morning before his first class, leehan would arrive with something, food you were allowed to eat, flowers that changed each day. chrysanthemums one morning, their petals curled tight. tulips the next, yellow ones that reminded him of sunlight. on the second day, he brought wildflowers he'd picked from a field near campus, their stems still damp with dew.
he'd sit with you while you ate, reading passages from books when you were too tired to hold them yourself. your hands would shake if you tried to lift anything heavier than a spoon, and he pretended not to notice the way you'd get breathless just from sitting up. then he'd have to leave, and the hospital room would feel colder without him in it.
but every afternoon, after his last class ended, he'd come back. sometimes with fruit smoothies. sometimes with small pastries your doctor had approved. once, he brought you sketches he'd drawn during a boring lecture, clumsy drawings of the two of you riding his bike, standing at the university gates, sitting on the swings.
"you're terrible at drawing," you'd said, letting out a weak chuckle.
"tell me about your day," he'd say, settling into the chair that was starting to have a permanent dent from where he always sat.
and you would tell him. about the kind nurse who always warmed her hands before checking your pulse. and about the physical therapist who'd helped you stand for thirty seconds today, which felt like climbing a mountain.
"how was yours?" you'd ask.
he'd then tell you everything too. jaehyun had spilled coffee on his notes during philosophy class, and the professor had used it as a metaphor for chaos theory. a ginger cat had followed him around campus, meowing insistently until he'd shared his sandwich. riwoo had asked about you, wanted to know when you could all hang out together.
the conversations weren't rushed. they'd pause around silences, around times when you'd drift off mid-sentence and he'd just sit there, holding your hand while you slept.
when visiting hours ended at nine and he had to leave, he'd call you from his room. though you were apart. still, he'd stay on the line, just talking to you, about the stars he could see, about a movie he wanted to watch with you, about all the ordinary future he was building in his mind.
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
surgery day arrived too fast and too slow. the sun came up the way it always did despite the importance of this day. leehan woke at five, his stomach in knots. he got ready in the dark, his hands clammy as he picked out clothes. he stopped by the florist that opened early, the one near the hospital. white roses this time. for hope, the florist had said.
when he walked into your room, you were already awake. you looked so small in the hospital gown, your hair spread across the pillow. they'd stopped letting you eat or drink hours ago, and your lips were dry.
"hi," he said, and his voice cracked on that single word.
"hello." your hand reached for his immediately, gripping tight. "i'm really scared."
"i know." he sat down and held both your hands in his. "but you're going to be okay. i know it."
you talked about small things to avoid the big thing. the white roses, the chapter of the little prince you'd read last night, a weird dream you'd had about flying. neither of you said the word "surgery," as if not speaking it might make it less real. and when he finally had to leave for class, you didn't let go of his hands right away.
"i'll be back right after," he said. "the second my last class ends, i'm coming straight here."
you nodded, then pulled him closer. he leaned down and wrapped his arms around you, careful of all the tubes connecting you to machines. you smelled like antiseptic and underneath it, faintly, like the lavender soap your mother brought from home.
he pulled back just enough to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. then he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently against your cheeks.
"listen to me," he said quietly, his eyes locked on yours. "when you wake up from this, not if, i'm taking you on a real date. a proper one. we'll go somewhere nice, maybe that little café near the university with the outdoor tables. the one with the blue awning. you can order whatever you want, and we'll sit there for hours just talking. no hospital rooms, no windows, just us."
your eyes were getting glassy, but you smiled with the hope it gave you. "that sounds perfect."
"and after that, we'll go everywhere. the beach, maybe. or that bookstore downtown you mentioned once. we'll make up for all the time you spent inside, i promise. we'll have so many days together that you'll get tired of seeing my face."
"i could never get tired of you." your voice cracked as you close your eyes.
he kissed your forehead again, then your temple, then rested his forehead against yours. "you're going to be okay. you have to be, because i have so many plans for us, and i need you here for all of them."
"i'll try my best," you whispered.
"that's all i need. your best has always been more than enough." he held you a moment longer, then reluctantly pulled away. "i love you so much, dami."
"i love you too," you whispered against his shoulder.
he looked at your face one more time, before reluctantly stepping back. "see you soon, okay?"
you nod. "okay."
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
sitting in class was torture. the professor's voice was just noise. leehan stared at his notebook, his pen hovering over the page without writing anything. his leg bounced under the desk. he checked his phone every thirty seconds even though he knew the surgery wouldn't start until two, wouldn't be done for hours after that.
"you okay, man?" jaehyun whispered during a break.
"dami's surgery is today."
jaehyun's usual grin faded. "shit, that's big. you want to leave?"
"i can't. she'd want me to stay." leehan rubbed his face. "she'd want me to keep going."
he forced himself to focus. to copy down the notes on the board even though none of it made sense. to nod when the professor asked if everyone understood. every minute felt excruciatingly long, but he stayed because you would want him to.
at two in the afternoon, they wheeled your bed down the long corridor toward the operating room. the lights overhead were too bright, blurring together as you moved. your mother walked beside you, holding your hand. your father was on your other side.
the operating room was cold. there were too many people in masks and blue gowns, too many machines beeping and humming. someone adjusted the iv in your arm.
"we're going to put you under now," a woman's comforting voice said. "count backward from ten for me."
"ten... nine... eight..."
as the medication pulled you under, your mind filled with your happiest memories. leehan's face the first time you saw him through the window. the way he'd awkwardly smiled when you waved. the notebook conversations, the smuggled snacks, the first time he'd visited your house.
you relived the feeling of the wind in your hair as you rode on the back of his bike. the university campus, alive with people and life. his hand in yours at the arcade, the way he'd laughed when you'd beaten him at a game.
his voice when he finally told you he loves you in this very hospital room, your parents, who'd spent twenty years keeping you alive, who'd sacrificed so much to give you every possible chance to live.
you'd lived. maybe not in the traditional way, but you'd lived. you'd known love and friendship and joy. you'd seen the world beyond your window, even if only for a day, and if you were very lucky, you'd get to see so much more.
the darkness pulled you under completely, and your last conscious thought was a simple hope. let me wake up, let me have more time, let me live.
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
the moment leehan's last class ended, he was out the door. he didn't wait for jaehyun or riwoo, didn't stop to pack his bag properly. he just shoved everything and ran, his backpack bouncing against his shoulders as he sprinted to where he'd locked his bike.
the ride to the hospital was hazy. the streets passed in streaks of light, and he barely registered the traffic or the other cars. his heart pounded so hard it hurt, and his hands were slick with sweat on the handlebars. what if something had gone wrong? what if the surgery failed? what if he got there and you were- he shook his head, pedaling harder. you were fine. you had to be fine.
he abandoned his bike in the first spot he found and ran through the hospital's automatic doors. the fluorescent lights overhead felt too bright, the antiseptic smell is too sharp. his shoes squeaked on the polished floors as he navigated the hallways toward the icu.
each step closer to your room made his chest tighter. he turned the final corner, and his breath caught when he saw the nameplate still there beside the door, na dami.
he stood there for a moment, his hand hovering over the door handle. he was terrified of what he might find on the other side. but he'd promised he'd be here when you woke up.
he knocked gently, then pushed the door open.
the first thing he saw was your mother sitting in the chair beside your bed. and the second thing, the thing that made his knees weak with relief was you, lying there with your eyes open. alive, and okay.
"leehan," you said, and your voice was hoarse from the breathing tube they'd removed.
he crossed the room in three steps and took your hand in both of his, gripping it like you might disappear if he let go. his eyes were burning, and he could feel his throat closing up with the overwhelming mixture of emotions.
"hi," he managed, and then he laughed because it was such a stupid thing to say, but he couldn't think of anything else. he breathed as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
"hi," you said back, smiling weakly.
your mother stood up, touching leehan's shoulder gently. "i'll give you two some time. i need to call her father anyway." she leaned down to kiss your forehead. "i'll be right outside if you need me, sweetheart."
when the door closed behind her, leehan sank into the chair she'd vacated, still holding your hand. he brought it up to his cheek, closing his eyes. "you scared me," he said quietly.
"i'm sorry."
"don't apologize. just don't hide everything from me next time." he said, caressing your hands against his face.
you laughed, which turned into a small cough. "i'll try my best."
he opened his eyes and looked at you properly. you were pale, and there were new tubes and monitors. you looked exhausted, but you were smiling at him without looking too sickly anymore, and that was enough forhim.
"how do you feel?" he asked.
"tired." you paused. "but different, i think. like something that was broken is fixed now."
his vision blurred with tears he'd been holding back all day. "i'm so glad you're okay. i couldn't- i didn't know what i'd do if-"
"hey," you tugged at his hand, pulling him closer. "i'm here. i'm okay. we're okay."
he rested his forehead gently against the side of your bed, next to where your hand lay. "i kept thinking about what i said this morning. about the café with the blue awning. about taking you everywhere. and i was so scared i wouldn't get to."
"well, now you have to," you said. "you made promises. can't back out now."
he lifted his head, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. "you're really going to hold me to that?"
"every single one." you nodded. "the café, the beach, the bookstore. all of it."
you were quiet for a moment, just looking at each other. the monitors beeped steadily, and outside the window, the sky was turning pink and orange with sunset.
"i was thinking about you," you said finally. "when they put me under. about the first time i saw you through the window. about all the moments between then and now."
"yeah?" leehan perked up.
"and i kept thinking how lucky i am. that we moved next door to you. that you looked up and waved back. that you cared enough to bring me snacks and flowers and your favorite book." your voice got quieter, on the verge of crying from joy. "that you loved me."
"love," he corrected gently.
"love," you repeated, smiling. "of course."
he stood up carefully, leaning over the bed rail to press a kiss to your forehead, just like he had this morning. "i'm going to be here every day while you recover. before class, after class, whenever they'll let me, and i'm going to be with you too after you recover and wherever time takes us."
"promise?" you blinked, cradling his warm cheeks against your still cold palm.
"i promise you, dami. i'll be with you through bad or better days."
you closed your eyes, exhaustion pulling at you, but your hand stayed on his warm face. as you drifted toward sleep, leehan sat there watching you breathe, in and out with a heart that gave you a second chance at life, and he was going to make sure you got to live every moment of it this time.
Author if you don't start dropping that woonhak fic...
LOLL HI, ANON omg so y'all do check my masterlist💔 i'll work on it after my wip at the moment and that's a promise. just—all i need right now is patience (and coffee)
hi cinna!! can i just say i binge-read slowly then all at one and not a romance story and i loved how you wove them together!! i also noticed a lot of k-writers tend to avoid long word counts (attention span for readers maybe??) but im so happy your works are longer because the pacing is absolute perfection! the build-up was thrilling and the pay-off was worth it, for both series! musa was also great 🥹 (i ugly-cried at that ending PLS) i just got into bnd two months ago and the bnd writing community and i'm so glad to stumble across your fics and that you're back to writing bc your works are incredible! excited to read more 🫶🏻
—levy 🍒
HIII, DEAR LEVY🍒! thank you so much for the appreciation—i’m really glad my works satisfied you! :)
i also appreciate you enjoying my long fics. i used to worry they might feel unreadable, but adding details and build-up to my writing is something i enjoy, so knowing they’re well received is truly reassuring :)
thank you for enjoying musa, and for the warm welcome back, it really means a lot! and i hope to see you more in my notifs for my upcoming fics :))🩵