Our Story | HaJeongwoo

Our End | Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Varied Advices

Haruto found himself outside the hospital, drawn by an invisible force. He stood there for a long time, just staring at the building, his heart a tangled mess of emotions.

He ached to see Jeongwoo, even if it was just a glimpse from afar. But the fear held him back, a fear of shattering the fragile peace, a fear of what he might see in Jeongwoo's eyes.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Jihoon emerged, his face etched with exhaustion. Haruto stepped back into the shadows, hoping to avoid him.

But Jihoon had already seen him. He sighed, a weary smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Haruto, come on. Let's talk."

Haruto hesitated, his voice strained when he finally spoke, "How is he?"

Jihoon walked him to a nearby park, both of them needing the space to breathe.

They sat on a bench, the city lights twinkling in the distance. Jihoon spoke softly, "He's making progress, slowly. He doesn't remember the overdose, thank God, but there are gaps in his memory. He remembers childhood stuff, some of our friends, but..." he trailed off, his voice choked with emotion.

"But me?" Haruto finished the sentence for him, his voice barely a whisper.

Jihoon nodded, his eyes filled with concern. "He doesn't remember you, Haruto. And honestly, I don't think it's a good idea if he sees you right now."

Haruto understood.

Seeing him, a face linked to unspoken feelings and a painful past, might trigger a downward spiral for Jeongwoo. He wouldn't be able to handle.

The lump in Haruto's throat tightened.

He knew Jihoon was right, but the sting of rejection was sharp. "I just want to help," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Jihoon placed a hand on his shoulder, a silent show of support. "You are helping, Haruto. More than you know. The bills, the gifts - they're a lifeline for us right now."

Haruto nodded, a small measure of comfort washing over him.

He knew Jeongwoo's family wasn't wealthy, and the hospital bills were bound to be a significant strain.

But the feeling of being relegated to a secret benefactor gnawed at him. He yearned to be there for Jeongwoo openly, to hold his hand and offer words of comfort, even if they wouldn't be recognized.

"How long?" Haruto finally asked, the question heavy on his tongue. "How long before he remembers?"

Jihoon sighed, shaking his head. "The doctors can't say for sure. It could be weeks, months, or even..." he left the sentence unfinished, the unspoken possibility hanging heavy in the air.

Haruto closed his eyes, picturing Jeongwoo's face.

Would he ever see recognition in those eyes again? Would their unspoken connection ever resurface, or was it buried deep beneath the fog of amnesia?

•••

One evening, while picking up flowers- a set of lavenders and lilies- the shop owner, a kind woman named Hana, struck up a conversation. "You seem troubled, young man," she said gently, her eyes filled with concern.

Haruto hesitated, then blurted out, "There's someone I care about deeply. They're sick, and they don't remember me anymore."

Hana listened patiently as Haruto poured out his story, the tale of his unspoken love for Jeongwoo, the fear of seeing him, and the silent support he offered from the shadows.

When he finished, a tear rolled down his cheek, leaving a glistening trail on his dust-covered face.

Hana placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Love takes many forms, young man," she said softly.

"Sometimes, the most powerful way to love someone is to let them go, at least for now. But that doesn't mean you have to stop caring."

Her words resonated with Haruto. Maybe Jihoon was right.

Maybe seeing him wouldn't be helpful for Jeongwoo's recovery. Maybe, for now, his love had to manifest in these quiet ways - the anonymous gifts, the silent prayers for Jeongwoo's healing.