Inho’s hospital room remained eerily silent. Once Haon left, the emptiness thickened, cloaking the bed in an even heavier stillness. His limp body showed no sign of waking.
Before long, Inho’s long eyelashes began to tremble faintly. At the same time, his tightly shut eyelids slowly parted. The first thing that entered his blurred vision was the ceiling.
He blinked several times, staring at the familiar wallpaper overhead. The only sound that reached his ears was the faint hum of the humidifier from somewhere far away—a soft background noise of daily life. It was a sound that would never exist in Inho’s own home, where neither a humidifier nor a clock had a place.
Realizing he wasn’t at home but in a hospital room, Inho shifted his gaze. His stiff body refused to move easily, and even turning his head took considerable effort.
The first thing he searched for was Haon. However, no matter how he looked around, there was no sign of Haon’s presence—not even a hint of it. The chair placed by the bed and the guest sofa were both empty, and the bathroom lights were off.
As he parted his dry lips, a metallic taste flooded his mouth. When he tried to swallow along with his saliva, his lungs tightened painfully, making it impossible to draw a deep breath.
What had happened to him?
The only thing he could remember was arguing with Haon, refusing to go to the hospital. As he groped through his memories, Inho’s forehead furrowed deeply. He vividly recalled the moment he had shouted at Haon.
“Ha….”
Just over the suggestion of going to the hospital, he had lost his temper, frightening someone as gentle as Haon.
The moment Inho pictured Haon’s pale, terrified face, his body instinctively lurched forward. Letting out a small groan, he pushed himself upright and immediately reached out to find his phone.
He yanked out the IV needle stuck in the back of his aching hand, causing droplets of blood to splatter onto the pristine white bedding. Seeing the dark red liquid seep into the fabric, his hazy memories sharpened a little more.
“Don’t! I said don’t!”
The sound of Haon screaming as he clung to Inho’s body, who had been smashing the wall with his fists, echoed in his ears. That was as far as his memory stretched.
Inho’s shoulders heaved once beneath the hands that covered his face. He couldn’t even let out a proper sigh, his breathing so ragged and shallow.
His sharpened gaze shifted to the texture of the hospital gown clinging to his skin and the chilly touch of the blanket draped over him. The tense muscles of his jaw tightened until a thick vein stood out sharply.
With a violent jerk, Inho threw off the blanket and tried to get out of bed. However, the moment his feet touched the cold floor and he tried to stand, his body crumpled helplessly.
A loud thud echoed through the room as his large frame hit the floor. Given the late hour, no one was around in the hospital corridor to hear the noise and come to check on him.
“Ha… Haon-ssi….”
The only person Inho sought was Haon. Propping himself up on the floor, he repeatedly called Haon’s name like a prayer.
His own voice, hoarse and unfamiliar, scraped out from his parched throat. Even his arms and legs, swallowed by the loose folds of the hospital gown, felt like they didn’t belong to him.
Inho ran a hand through his disheveled hair and over his rough face, finally giving up on searching for Haon. He looked a mess. His lips were chapped and even cracked.
The drifting current of his consciousness weighed him down with deep shame, and with it, a heavy guilt toward Haon. He completely forgot about finding his phone and instead staggered toward the bathroom.
His body, unwashed for who knew how long, felt grimy, and he thought he caught a whiff of something foul clinging to him. All he could think was that he needed to wash up in hot water. He would search for Haon after that. He couldn’t afford to upset him further.
With that thought, he tried to walk, but he only managed a few steps before collapsing. His body, just as foggy as his mind, refused to obey. It felt as if he were drunk—his limbs stiff and unbearably heavy.
Lying sprawled across the floor, Inho darted his eyes around the dim hospital room. The moment he truly grasped the depth of the silence, a cold shiver crawled down his spine. His lower lip started to tremble.
He spotted the nurse call button mounted by the head of the bed, but he had no desire to press it. Just looking at the pebble-shaped black button made nausea coil in his gut.
This was why he hated hospitals. Even lying on that bed alone was enough to stir up those wretched sensations.
Inho scrunched his brows and forced out a hollow laugh. Even though he was laughing, his distorted face conveyed something entirely different.
For a brief moment, he was relieved Haon wasn’t there. He had already shown him his worst, but he didn’t want Haon to witness him falling even further into the abyss.
‘Haon-ssi probably wouldn’t want to see me like this either. Maybe that’s why he left the room.’
The moment that thought crossed his mind, a hot sting prickled behind his weary eyes.
At that moment, something brushed against Inho’s foot. A small piece of paper had fallen to the floor with him. He stared blankly at the white note lying near his toes before slowly reaching out and picking it up.
It was a note Haon had left behind.
[I’ll just grab a change of clothes and be right back. So please, don’t be alarmed.]
Reading the final sentence, marked with a tiny exclamation point, Inho drew in a deep breath. Only then did he feel like he could breathe again.
Inho gently ran his fingers over the words written on the hospital-branded notepad. The neat handwriting resembled Haon—so precise, so beautiful.
The thick, deliberate strokes of each character settled into his gaze. After taking it all in, he slowly pushed himself to his feet. The legs that had refused to cooperate earlier now moved almost naturally. Maybe it was thanks to the note Haon had left behind—giving him a strength he hadn’t had before.
Inho grabbed the phone lying atop the bedside table and immediately dialed Haon’s number. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he focused on the ringtone echoing in his ear. His lowered gaze drifted down to the note clutched tightly in his hand. In his desperation to hold onto it, he had ended up crumpling the thin paper.
—Inho-ssi?
The ringtone cut off, and Haon’s voice poured into his ear. The moment he heard it, Inho’s mind snapped sharply awake.
—Is it really you, Inho-ssi?
Haon’s voice, a little louder than usual, carried a hint of alarm.
“Haon-ssi, are you on your way back?”
Maybe he should have drunk some water before calling. Inho frowned at the sound of his own cracked, powerless voice. It bothered him how obvious his unease must have been. He hated things like that.
Even after hastily clearing his throat, Haon didn’t immediately respond. Worried the call had disconnected, Inho checked his phone, hesitated for a moment, and then finally opened his mouth.
“Haon-ssi.”
Thankfully, the silence quickly broke.
—I’m on my way. Please wait just a little longer.
“Where are you?”
Wherever Haon was, it sounded unnaturally quiet. Inho massaged his stiff neck as he rose from the bed.
—I’m still in the car. I should be there in about twenty minutes.
“Did you take a taxi?”
Haon replied hoarsely that he had.
—How’s your body? Are you feeling dizzy?
“I’m fine.”
Inho answered sharply, without hesitation. Before he knew it, he was already walking toward the door. He couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at him—Haon taking a taxi alone so late at night.
He meant to go out and wait for him. Maybe sensing that, the moment Inho grabbed the door handle, Haon stopped him.
—Please don’t come out. Just stay lying down, even if you’re not feeling sick. Okay?
“…Yeah, okay.”
At Haon’s firm tone, Inho froze mid-step and obediently returned to the bed. He didn’t lie down, though, instead, he sat facing the door, his back straight. He had a feeling that if he lay down, the heavy pull of sleep would claim him instantly.
—I’m sorry for not being there with you.
Inho started to lean his head back against the bed’s headboard but immediately straightened up again. The unexpected apology from Haon left his tongue tied, as if it had turned to stone. It took him a few moments to force out a reply.
“No, I’m… I’m the one who’s sorry. For everything.”
Both of them fell silent after that, breathing quietly into their respective receivers. Normally, Inho would have been the one to break the silence first, but now he only opened and closed his parched lips, too drained even for that.
—Try to get some more rest. I’ll be there soon.
It was Haon who eventually spoke again, his voice soft and whispering. Though calm, there was an unmistakable wetness clinging to his words.
Haon quickly ended the call, saying they could finish their conversation face-to-face. His voice trembled, as if he were struggling to hold back tears.
“Yeah, be careful.”
Inho answered only after the line had gone dead. Even after the screen darkened, he continued holding the phone in his hand for several more minutes.
Then, after squeezing his eyes tightly shut once, he pushed himself off the bed and headed for the bathroom again.
He quickly splashed cold water on his face and rinsed the blood-streaked back of his hand. The bleeding hadn’t fully stopped yet, so he pressed a tissue to the puncture mark as he made his way toward the fridge.
It suddenly occurred to him that Haon probably hadn’t eaten anything. Inho, forgetting that it was the middle of the night, began rummaging through the refrigerator for something Haon might be able to eat.
His half-lidded eyes scanned the contents sluggishly, heavy with exhaustion.
He gathered a sandwich, a bottle of Haon’s favorite orange juice, and a bottle of water, then made his way back to the bed. After rinsing his face with cold water, he felt a little more clear-headed.
However, his body still insisted on sagging heavily. Thinking that drinking some water might help him wake up completely, he twisted open the bottle cap.
“Ha….”
Inho let out a faint laugh as he stared at his own hand, struggling to open the cap on the first try. After several clumsy attempts, he finally managed to get it open.
‘Thank goodness this didn’t happen in front of Haon-ssi.’
He gazed blankly at the rippling water inside the bottle before finally taking a sip. The cold liquid eased the raw ache in his throat, which had hurt even from just swallowing saliva.
However, his overly sensitive stomach didn’t seem to appreciate it. The cold water churned inside him, and he found himself massaging his aching belly with one hand while balancing the sandwich and drinks in the other.
Afraid he might drop them, he carefully set everything down right beside him. He closed his eyes for just a moment—only to end up falling asleep without realizing it.
When Inho opened his eyes again, bright daylight was filtering through the gap in the curtains. He had no idea how much time had passed.
Blinking a few times against the stiffness in his eyes, he stared at the blanket now covering him and the freshly reconnected IV line. This time, the needle wasn’t in the back of his hand but embedded into his arm. The injured hand was wrapped neatly in a white bandage.
As he slowly absorbed these details one by one, Inho turned his head. At that moment, he felt the soft brush of Haon’s breath against his cheek.
