Immortal Heart |Hyunin

Growing it, inside

The towering buildings of Seoul loomed over I.N. and his father as they made their way through the bustling streets of the city. The air was thick with the sounds of traffic and chatter, a sharp contrast to the quiet streets of their hometown. They had just checked into a hotel in the city center, close to the hospital where I.N. would begin his treatment. Despite the weight of what was happening, there was something comforting about the city's hum—like it was alive, full of possibilities, even as I.N. felt his world growing smaller.

His father suggested they take a quick walk to a nearby café before heading to the hospital, and I.N. agreed, wanting a brief moment of normalcy. The café was cozy, filled with the warm smell of coffee and pastries. They ordered two drinks—his father's usual black coffee and I.N.'s preferred iced latte. As they sat at a small table by the window, the noise of the city outside seemed to fade, replaced by the quiet between them.

His father took a long sip of his coffee, his eyes scanning I.N.'s face. "Your mom is really worried," he said softly, his voice carrying both concern and weariness.

"I know," I.N. replied, staring into his drink. He had felt his mother's tension all morning, the way she watched him like she was afraid to let him out of her sight. "She's always been like that. Overprotective."

His father chuckled lightly, though there was no humor in it. "It's just how she is. She loves you, more than anything."

I.N. nodded, taking a sip of his latte. He paused, glancing out the window at the people passing by, going about their lives. He wondered what it would be like to have no worries, to be like them again. "I'm really lucky to have you guys," he said, his voice quieter now. "Both of you."

His father blinked, surprised by the sudden sentiment. "We're lucky to have you, too. Your mom and I...we wouldn't know what to do without you."

I.N. smiled faintly, feeling a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the cancer. "I love you both. I don't say it enough, but I do."

His father's eyes softened, and without a word, he leaned across the table and pulled I.N. into a tight hug. I.N. closed his eyes, resting his head on his father's shoulder for a moment, letting the warmth of the embrace steady him. For a second, it was like nothing had changed. No doctors, no hospitals, no diagnosis. Just a father and his son, holding on to each other.

After a few moments, they parted, his father patting his shoulder before pulling back. "We'll get through this, I.N.," he said, though his voice trembled slightly. "Whatever happens, we'll be with you every step of the way."

I.N. nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Yeah. I know."

The hospital was a different kind of world. Stark white walls, the scent of antiseptic in the air, and the constant shuffle of nurses and patients moving through the hallways. I.N. and his parents walked into the oncology ward, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. His mother clutched his arm tightly as they made their way to the doctor's office.

Dr. Kang greeted them with a calm demeanor, his sharp eyes scanning over I.N.'s file. After a brief discussion about the severity of the situation, he explained the plan. "Given the stage of the cancer, we'll need to start chemotherapy immediately," Dr. Kang said, his voice professional but not without compassion. "I want to be clear—it's going to be tough. The treatment is aggressive, and while it's our best option, we shouldn't raise expectations too high. We'll see how your body reacts first."

I.N. nodded, absorbing the doctor's words with a stoic calm he wasn't sure he really felt. His parents sat beside him, their faces tense, but I.N. could see the determination in their eyes. They were ready to fight this, even if he wasn't sure how to yet.

The treatment began that same afternoon. He lay on a hospital bed, the steady drip of the chemotherapy infusion running through the IV in his arm. The room was quiet except for the occasional beep from the machines around him. His mother sat beside him, holding his hand, while his father stood nearby, watching anxiously.

As the hours passed, I.N. pulled out his phone, his fingers moving slowly as he opened the chat with Felix and Han. A message from Han popped up almost immediately.

Han: "Hey man, how's everything going? You holding up?"

I.N. smiled a little at the message, appreciating how simple and direct Han always was.

I.N.: "Just started chemo. It's...weird. Feels like everything's happening to someone else."

A moment later, Felix's message chimed in.

Felix: "Dude, we've been thinking about you all day. You're so strong, man. We're here if you need us, okay?"

I.N. stared at the messages, feeling a warmth in his chest despite everything. His friends weren't here physically, but their presence through the screen was enough. It was a reminder that even in this strange, sterile place, he wasn't alone.

I.N.: "Thanks, guys. Means a lot."

They continued chatting, exchanging silly memes and random comments about games they'd been playing. For a moment, it felt normal, like he was back in his room with his friends, the weight of his diagnosis forgotten. But as the hours wore on, reality set back in. The treatment dragged, and his body began to feel the strain.

By the time the infusion ended, I.N. was exhausted. His head pounded, and his stomach churned violently. He hadn't eaten much, but what little was in his stomach refused to stay. He rushed to the bathroom, his body convulsing as he vomited repeatedly.

His mother hovered behind him, worry etched deep into her face. She handed him a glass of water as he wiped his mouth, his body trembling from the effort. "I'm sorry, honey," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I wish I could take this pain away."

I.N. leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily. "It's okay, Mom," he mumbled, though his voice was weak. "I'll get through it."

She helped him back to bed, and the nurses adjusted the pillows to make him more comfortable. The pain in his body seemed to radiate from his very bones, a dull ache that refused to let go. His father sat by his side now, his hand resting on I.N.'s shoulder.

"We'll take it one day at a time," his father said, his voice steady but full of emotion. "Whatever it takes."

I.N. nodded weakly, though the pain and nausea made it hard to focus. The road ahead felt impossibly long, but he clung to the small comforts—his friends, his parents, the promise of another day. One day at a time, he thought, letting the exhaustion pull him under. One day at a time.