“You don’t have to go.”
Seo Inho shook off Haon’s hand, his head bowed low. Though he avoided eye contact, there was a faint edge in his eyes, a quiet hostility that hadn’t been there before.
For a moment, Haon forgot how to react to the expression on Inho’s face—one he’d never seen until now. He simply stared at him, frozen, his face blank with shock.
A cold silence settled between them, a chill in the air that seemed to cling only to the space they shared. It was a tension that had never existed before, not once in all their time living together.
Inho slowly rubbed at his sharp, tired eyes. His frayed nerves were still focused on the hand he had just pushed away.
“Sorry.”
Inho was the first to rise from the bathroom floor, reaching out a stiff hand toward Haon. His voice, suggesting they go back to bed, was rigid and strained. He was trying his best to sound gentle, but his body refused to cooperate with his intentions.
“It’s late. Let’s just get some sleep for now.”
“It’s your bedtime too, Haon-ssi.”
Inho continued speaking without meeting Haon’s gaze. Haon pressed his lips together, saying nothing, and instead took hold of Inho’s hand.
His eyes clearly said it: Let’s go to the hospital. Right now.
Inho swallowed hard, barely audibly, and was the first to step out of the bathroom. He turned his back on Haon and walked ahead toward the bed. Though their hands were joined, Haon felt as if he were walking alone, separated by an invisible distance.
Haon bit his lip and gripped Inho’s hand a little tighter. Normally, Inho would have instinctively squeezed back—but this time, there was no response at all.
So Haon forced their fingers to interlace, deliberately locking them together. He even came to a stop, refusing to walk toward the bed.
Rather than drag him forward, Inho halted as well. His shoulders rose and fell heavily—he was clearly trying to suppress a sigh.
“It’s better if we sleep separately tonight.”
When Inho turned around, his face was etched with fatigue he could no longer hide. He reached up and gently cupped one side of Haon’s face, like calming a child.
“You should sleep here, Haon-ssi. I’ll go downstairs.”
“No…”
Haon shook his head firmly. The palm against his cheek was hot—his fever was climbing.
“Haon-ssi, let’s talk tomorrow.”
Inho was making a visible effort to keep his tone soft, but Haon kept shaking his head. Even though he was trembling in fear from this unfamiliar version of Inho, he refused to back down.
He was absolutely certain: he couldn’t leave Inho alone right now. He needed help.
Cold sweat had broken out across his pale forehead and neck. He looked like he could collapse at any moment.
‘Even if I’m a fool, I can at least recognize that much.’
Haon bit down hard on his lip, swallowing the thought.
He hesitated, reaching out with both arms to embrace Inho, but Inho didn’t hug him back.
“Let’s get some sleep and talk again in the morning.”
“I don’t want to. Stay… Stay with me.”
“Haon-ssi.”
Inho stepped back, widening the distance between them, and murmured in a pleading tone.
“I’m struggling right now.”
The corners of his lips, which had been trying to force a smile, began to tremble slightly.
“Just for today… please.”
His exhausted voice trailed off, as if he barely had the strength left to speak at all.
The more Haon faced this unfamiliar side of Inho, the more his heart wavered. But he clenched his fists and refused to back down. At least for today—he couldn’t.
“If it were me…”
His voice squeezed out, as if forcing itself through a needle’s eye. Haon’s face flushed red as he spoke each word with firm resolve, the tension of holding back tears making his whole body stiffen.
“If I were bleeding like that in my sleep… you would have carried me straight to the hospital, right?”
If he had been the one lying there bleeding, Inho wouldn’t have hesitated. He would have picked him up without giving him the chance to argue, without wasting even a second.
“You told me yourself that if I’m sick, we need to go to the hospital.”
“I’m not sick right now.”
The words were completely absurd. Haon’s voice rose, his mouth moving rapidly in disbelief.
“Someone who’s not sick bleeds like that?”
Inho’s expression twisted, his sharp gaze crumpling in irritation or simply because he had no words to refute it. He could no longer hide his emotions—there wasn’t even room left to pretend.
The moment Haon saw Inho’s face so sharply contorted, his heart dropped like a stone.
Still, he didn’t flinch. He forced himself to stay calm, coaxing Inho as gently as he could.
“Just… go get checked out. It could get worse.”
“I said I’m fine, Haon-ssi. I’m fine.”
Inho turned his back to him and rubbed his forehead harshly. Even the sound of his breathing, rough and labored, felt foreign now. It wasn’t just frustration anymore—Inho seemed genuinely angry. Haon’s heart shattered a little more.
“If I just sleep it off, I’ll be fine. Let’s talk again tomorrow.”
The words came rushing out, sharp and frantic. Inho moved to storm out of the bedroom—but Haon caught him again. That was the final straw.
“Haon-ssi, please!”
Inho roared, slamming his fist into the wall. He barely held himself back from shoving Haon aside.
He pounded the wall again and again. The wallpaper dented under the force, blood smearing across it from his split knuckles. Blood splattered into the air, bright and terrifying.
“Inho-ssi!”
Haon cried out, grabbing desperately at his waist, bursting into tears. He was so shocked he couldn’t even form the words to beg him to stop.
“Haon-ssi….”
The sound of Haon’s sobs finally broke Inho’s heart as well.
“Please… just look at me. I feel like I might lose control.”
He begged—not for forgiveness, but for Haon to simply listen.
Even as he cried, Haon didn’t let go. His arms clung tightly around Inho’s waist, refusing to release him. But his strength wasn’t enough to hold him in place.
The moment Inho stepped toward the door, Haon’s arms slipped away helplessly.
He collapsed where he stood. Whether from shock or because his legs had lost all strength, his body hit the floor with a heavy thud.
“I-Inho-ssi…”
His trembling, tear-choked voice reached Inho’s ears, stopping him in his tracks.
“Please… don’t go…”
Even in a state where reason was barely clinging on, Inho couldn’t bring himself to leave Haon there, sobbing alone. But going back to him felt just as impossible—he was too unstable.
‘Is this the punishment for ignoring the doctor’s warning?’
Wiping at the fresh blood dripping from his nose, Inho let out a soundless laugh. The cold sweat running down his temples now streamed like tears.
His body’s reaction didn’t worry him. He’d lost more blood than this and still recovered fine. The real issue was his emotions.
Inho was terrified of the feelings he couldn’t control. His aversion to hospitals, always lurking in the background, had intensified beyond reason.
It was just a checkup. Haon wasn’t trying to trap him.
“Do whatever you want.”
Alongside the ringing in his ears, the hallucinations crept in again. Memories that refused to fade began clawing their way up from the depths, gnawing at every inch of his brain.
Inho gagged and collapsed onto the floor. Sour bile surged up his throat. Breathing itself became a torment.
“Then just die already—make it easy!”
His vision blurred as his eyes locked, dazed, onto the window.
‘Why are you struggling so hard to live? We’re both just suffering.’
He suddenly saw a vision of Jang Eun-young, gently cradling a newborn in her arms. The image was absurdly vivid, etched into him with impossible clarity.
‘How much longer do I have to endure this before the past lets go of me?’
The sensation of his throat tightening made Inho curl into himself. He clawed at his own neck with his nails. His body felt like it was on fire. The cramped room pressed in on him—suffocating.
He crawled to the window and pounded on the glass, wild and desperate, as if to shatter it and escape.
But unlike when he was a child, the window no longer broke easily.
He felt like if he stayed like this, he would truly stop breathing.
“Inho-ssi!!”
Through the deafening ringing in his ears, a familiar voice cut in.
‘What’s with all this noise?’ he wondered vaguely—only to realize it was someone screaming. Clutching him tightly.
“Don’t! Don’t do it!”
The voice howled with anguish, sobbing openly. Whoever it was, they pleaded for Inho to hit them instead—saying strange, broken things.
Their face was soaked with tears, flushed a deep, frantic red—so red it looked like a balloon about to burst. They were crying that hard.
‘Why… are you crying?’
Inho blinked slowly, mind dulled by the heavy medication.
‘They’re not from the hospital,’ he thought vaguely. ‘Those people never cry like this.’
“Let go… this…”
Inho muttered, still trapped inside his rotting memories.
The more he tried to push away, the more tightly those fragile arms clung to him. They looked like they could snap from just a firm grip. If he really wanted to, he could probably overpower this man with one hand and throw him far away.
“Let. Go.”
But Inho couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to push away the thin man holding onto him so desperately.
“Inho-ssi… I-I’m sorry… It’s my fault.”
“I…”
“I won’t tell you to go to the hospital anymore… You don’t have to go.”
The unfamiliar man buried his face against Inho’s chest, smearing tears and snot all over him—but still, Inho didn’t pull away. For some reason… it felt like this person might actually help him.
“I want to go home.”
Inho whispered, resting one cheek against the crying man’s wet face. He hugged the man’s shoulders gently, as if sharing a secret that no one else could hear.
“Please… send me home.”
“…”
“Please. I’m not sick.”
‘I’m okay. Please help me.’ Inho repeated the same words over and over again.
His feverish body was soaked, like someone caught in a torrential downpour. Haon, gently stroking his hunched back, answered every phrase that spilled endlessly from his lips.
“Don’t worry. Inho-ssi, I’ll help you. I’m right here.”
And then, when Inho finally lost consciousness and collapsed, Haon’s sobs grew louder and more desperate.
Clutching him tightly, Haon wept like someone who had lost their entire world—just like the figure Seong-gu had seen in his dream.
