It was common knowledge among the teachers that Min Yugeon and Seo Suho were close. So when one of them asked Min Yugeon if he could deliver the diploma to its rightful owner, he accepted without hesitation. After a brief meal with Lee Minha, he headed straight to Seo Suho’s house—only to freeze in front of the door. Would this count as ignoring Seo Suho’s request not to come looking for him after graduation?
“……”
Looking between the diploma in his arms and his raised fist poised to knock, Min Yugeon made up his mind. He would just deliver the item and leave immediately.
He knocked on the door with his large fist. Then waited in silence—but no response came. Thinking it might not have been heard, he knocked again. Still nothing. The sound wasn’t as loud as a doorbell, but anyone inside should’ve been able to hear it.
Don’t tell me… he’s not home?
If not that, then…
A darker thought crept into his mind. Shaking his head to cast it off, Min Yugeon took a deep breath.
In the end, he rang the doorbell and called Seo Suho’s name, but the door remained shut. Technically, he could enter using the biometric access. He had registered his data during the time he stayed here. But barging into Seo Suho’s home uninvited didn’t sit right with him. Especially when there was a good chance Seo Suho wouldn’t even welcome his presence.
Despite the rising anxiety pounding in his chest, Min Yugeon concluded he had no choice but to leave. He hesitated for a long while, finally turning to go—when it happened.
Thud. A loud crash, the kind made when something falls and shatters, rang out. It was unmistakably from behind the door.
Min Yugeon’s eyes flew wide open. He quickly disengaged the lock and pushed open the door.
“Seo Suho!”
His panic and fear surged together, driving his body forward. Without a second’s hesitation, Min Yugeon dashed into the apartment, whipping his head around in search of him.
“…!”
He didn’t even need to check the bedroom. Right there in the living room—a flipped-over table, spilled water, and Seo Suho collapsed on the floor—stole the breath from Min Yugeon’s lungs.
Had he called out? Or just thought it in his head? His ears rang and pressure built in his skull. Face drained of all color, Min Yugeon raced to Seo Suho’s side.
When he pulled him into his arms, Seo Suho’s frail body was burning hot. His face was smeared with blood from a nosebleed that hadn’t clotted properly. His breathing was harsh and ragged, his chest rising and falling violently. Unable to endure the fever, his tightly shut eyes wept scalding tears that wouldn’t stop streaming down his cheeks.
“I’m sorry…”
Whether he was dreaming or delirious, Seo Suho’s lips trembled as he mumbled. His voice was so faint it could barely be heard without leaning in close.
“Because of me… it’s all because of me…”
“Get a hold of yourself, Suho!”
Min Yugeon gently shook Seo Suho’s body. His soaked eyelashes trembled with the movement. When his eyelids finally lifted, his unfocused black pupils wandered before settling on Min Yugeon’s face.
“…Min Yugeon?”
Floundering in a hellish memory, Seo Suho surfaced to reality through Min Yugeon. His breaths were quick and shallow. He stared at Min Yugeon in a daze, unsure whether this was better or worse than whatever came before. Yet instinctively, his whole body began to relax, as if reassured by his presence.
“Seo Suho…!”
At that moment, his consciousness completely gave out.
***
The doctor’s words weighed heavily on Min Yugeon as he stepped into the hospital room with a dark expression. The prolonged high fever could have become life-threatening if left untreated any longer. Sitting down in the chair beside the bed, Min Yugeon took in Seo Suho’s appearance. With the IV drip now delivering antipyretic medication, his face had regained a slight touch of color, looking cleaner, calmer.
Seo Suho had undergone a series of tests after Min Yugeon explained he had found him collapsed. The results revealed numerous concerns—severe underweight, slow recovery from a leg injury, and more. All indicators pointed to the toll of enduring hardship alone after Min Yugeon had left. Just imagining the lonely, painful time he must’ve suffered through made his eyes sting and burn. He felt utterly useless for not having been able to help.
“If you’re not okay, don’t smile. You’d be better off crying or throwing a tantrum like when we were kids.”
“…You’re bringing that up now? Say that again and I really might cry, you know?”
“Go ahead.”
“For real?”
“Cry.”
The memory surfaced out of nowhere—an old conversation, now bitterly ironic. And just like that, Min Yugeon broke down as if he’d returned to that younger self. His shoulders trembled as his tears fell. He lifted Seo Suho’s limp hand resting on the bed and pressed it to his forehead. The warmth still radiating from that palm tore the rest of his composure apart, and he sobbed uncontrollably.
Thanks to the drop in fever, Seo Suho began to regain consciousness. His eyes opened slowly, staring up at the unfamiliar yet familiar hospital ceiling. When did I get here? He drifted through the fog of his mind, trying to remember. Then, he noticed—his hand was damp.
This sensation… it’s familiar. Min Yugeon held my hand like this before, too…
His barely-open eyes grew wider. Turning his head in a rush, he saw the massive, familiar figure clutching his hand—sobbing.
…Ah.
Seo Suho immediately grasped the situation and quietly swallowed a sigh. Even after pushing Min Yugeon away so cruelly, he’d tried to live by some semblance of routine—but this was where he ended up. Forcing down food or medication had only led to vomiting it all back up, and that seemed to have worsened everything.
He looked at himself objectively. Since Min Yugeon left, the nightmares hadn’t stopped. His anorexia had worsened, and even the simple act of breathing had grown suffocating. Trying to sleep in bed felt like committing a sin, so he spent his nights curled up in the living room. In that empty space devoid of anyone but himself, he would fall into bouts of panic and sometimes pass out entirely. And eventually, he found himself thinking—if he died without waking up, following after his family… maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
But every time those thoughts crawled closer, Min Yugeon’s face would appear before him, as if someone were asking, Do you really have no reason left to live? No will at all? At first, Seo Suho thought it was nothing more than a hallucination. The image of Min Yugeon, shaking him awake with a face full of fear, had looked eerily like his own during his panicked episodes.
Realizing that to someone as irreplaceable as Min Yugeon, he was just as significant—that thought was enough to jolt his weakened mind back to itself.
Seo Suho stared silently at Min Yugeon. The endlessly laid-back and shameless guy was sobbing because of him. The only differences from when they were kids were that he no longer cried out loud—and that his frame had grown much more solid.
“……”
Seo Suho gently moved the hand Min Yugeon had been holding and wiped his face. At the sudden movement, Min Yugeon flinched and lifted his head. The wet eyes, the reddened tip of his nose—he was soaked in grief.
“…! Seo Suho!”
Meeting Seo Suho’s gaze, Min Yugeon shot upright before he realized it.
“You’re awake? Can you recognize me?”
“What kind of dumb question…”
It wasn’t like he had some terminal illness, or brain damage. But the reaction was way too dramatic. Seo Suho was reminded, yet again, of how overly sensitive Min Yugeon could be—especially when it came to him. Feeling oddly embarrassed, he averted his gaze.
Min Yugeon let out a long sigh, eyes closing tightly.
“Thank god…”
At the moist, cracked voice, Seo Suho glanced back at him—and paused. As if drained of strength, Min Yugeon slumped into the chair.
“…Sorry I scared you.”
Seo Suho finally opened his mouth, speaking to Min Yugeon whose face was buried in his hands.
“I must’ve fallen off the couch while dozing.”
Min Yugeon remained silent. He showed no expression, made no sound. Seo Suho hesitated, about to ask why he’d come today—
“Your fever went over 41 degrees.”
The words came in a hoarse, sunken voice.
“How long were you like that?”
“……”
“I… I should’ve just stayed. If I’d been even a little later today…”
His voice trembled, murmuring through choked-back tears. Seo Suho could hardly understand it. How could someone try to take all the blame for someone who had pushed them away so coldly? Not even hurt—he wasn’t even angry.
The words stuck in his throat. A dull ache spread in his chest.
Seo Suho placed a shaking arm on the bed to push himself upright. Min Yugeon felt the movement but didn’t raise his head—he couldn’t show that pathetic face.
“…Yeah.”
With a late reply, Seo Suho’s skinny arm wrapped around Min Yugeon. His burning warmth instantly seeped into Min Yugeon’s body.
“You’re right. I do need you.”
That feverish breath tickled his ear. Min Yugeon gasped sharply.
Wait, what did he just…
“When you’re around, it feels like I can manage to hold on. So…”
Seo Suho whispered into the ear of the wide-eyed, frozen Min Yugeon.
“Just stay by my side.”
