our crossed paths | jww.

thirty three.

(slightly) mature content ahead!

The muted sounds of a television hummed in the background, the news anchor's voice somber yet steady. A report filled the screen, showing images of the hospital where the explosion had took place.

The ER was a total loss, its charred remains a grim reminder of the violence that had unfolded there. Yet, the rest of the hospital stood strong.

Despite the destruction, no lives had been lost that day. The news praised the swift evacuation by the medical staff and police, the authorities having successfully captured the mob responsible. Relief hung in the air, but it didn't reach everyone.

Jiwoo sat on the edge of the bed, her body still, her expression distant. Since the accident, she had barely spoken a word. The first two days, she had spent entirely in bed, refusing to eat or drink.

She offered no explanations, no insights into what had happened inside the ER. Her lips parted only to give her statement to the police, and beyond that, there was nothing.

No one pushed her to talk. They knew the weight of trauma, understood that some wounds went deeper than what anyone could see.

Wonwoo tried to be patient, but watching her in this state, lifeless and withdrawn, tore his heart.

Every day, he asked, "Are you okay?" And every day, she responded the same way—"I'm okay." The words were empty, mechanical.

He had tried feeding her, coaxing her to eat something, anything. She would take one spoonful, then stop.

After a few days, they had to resort to IV fluids to keep her from dehydrating. Her body couldn't handle even a sip of water.

The bruise on her neck, still tender and wrapped in gauze, seemed to haunt her. Sometimes, Wonwoo caught her absentmindedly touching it, her fingers grazing the spot where she had been choked.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice soft, afraid of pushing too much.

Jiwoo didn't answer. She never did.

While Jiwoo's silence weighed heavily on him, the world outside hadn't let the actor Jeon Wonwoo off the hook either.

The media swarmed him with questions about his breakdown outside the hospital, capturing every tear, every anguished cry. Neither he, his manager, nor his studio had issued a statement. They thought it best to let things cool down.

The world could speculate all it wanted. Right now, Jiwoo was all that mattered to him.

Wonwoo had pulled out of his movie, needing time to process everything. The director, understanding, gave him the space he needed, assuring him that they would film other scenes first.

Then there was Ahrin.

She had been deeply shaken by the explosion, her small body jolted awake every night by nightmares. She'd cry for Wonwoo, and he would hold her, sleep beside her, trying to ease her fears.

He noticed the change in her though. She cried less these days, holding herself together a little better.

It struck him, this quiet sign of growing up in the midst of the chaos. She was strong—stronger than he realized.

Again today, it was Jiwoo who occupied his thoughts.

He stepped into the room, expecting to see her curled up in bed like she had been for days. Instead, she was sitting at the edge, her hands resting limply on her knees, her gaze fixed on some faraway point.