In a parallel universe, Woo Do Hwan is not a South Korean actor but a young man born in North Korea. Do Hwan's life has been a series of escape attempts, survival strategies, and small victories over hardship. Together with his mother, he fled North...
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The fluorescent lights of the Brussels hospital corridor hummed softly, casting a cold, blue tint against the stark white walls. Do Hwan clutched his backpack close as he made his way down the familiar, sterilised hallway, his footsteps echoing against the polished floors. In one hand, he held a small bag of groceries he had picked up after his shift at the market. He hadn't eaten all day, barely had time for anything besides his work and his visits here, to the Intensive Care Unit, where his son Eo Jun lay cocooned in machinery meant to keep him alive.
As he approached the ICU doors, he paused, exhaling a slow, steady breath before thoroughly washing his hands and forearms. The ritual had become almost comforting, a moment of focus before he faced the machines, tubes, and the stark reality of his tiny son lying in an incubator.
Stepping inside, Do Hwan spotted the familiar face of Nurse Marieke, who had been tending to Eo Jun with a quiet, kind efficiency since his birth.
"Ah, Mr. Woo," she greeted him with a gentle smile. "Eo Jun has been stable this morning. It's been a quiet day so far."
Do Hwan forced a small smile. "That's good to hear." He turned his gaze to the incubator where his son lay, his fragile body swaddled in a maze of wires and tubes, a thin layer of sweat on his brow.
"Would you like to hold him today?" Nurse Marieke asked, her voice soft.
He nodded, setting his bag down on a nearby chair. "Yes, please. If it's safe."
"Of course," she replied and helped him carefully lift Eo Jun from the incubator, making sure the wires remained untangled. Do Hwan settled into the armchair by the incubator, unbuttoning his flannel shirt to cradle his son against his bare chest.
The moment Eo Jun's tiny head nestled close to his heart, Do Hwan's eyes filled with a bittersweet ache. He had never imagined this would be his life — holding his newborn son in a foreign country, with no family, no safety net, just his bare hands and fierce determination to survive for the sake of this small, fragile life.
"You're doing so well, Eo Jun-ah," he whispered, stroking the back of his son's head with his fingertips. "Appa is here. I won't leave you." He closed his eyes, soaking in the warmth of his son's body against his own.
For a brief moment, the world felt still. There was no chaos, no past to run from, no future to fear — only the gentle rhythm of Eo Jun's breath and the rise and fall of his tiny chest.
But then, the quiet was shattered.
A sharp, incessant beeping pierced the calm, and Do Hwan's heart leapt into his throat. He looked down to see Eo Jun's tiny body jerking, his face contorting in a small, pained expression as his muscles tensed and his arms twitched. The seizure had come on so suddenly, so violently.
The monitor next to Eo Jun's let out a sharp, high-pitched alarm. Do Hwan stiffened, eyes darting to the monitor where erratic lines danced frenetically across the screen.
"No...no," he breathed, his voice tightening as he held his son closer.
Marieke was by his side in an instant, her face focused and controlled. "We need you to step back," she said calmly but firmly.
Do Hwan didn't let go at first, a desperation clinging to him that he couldn't shake. But he knew he couldn't do anything to help, not here, not like this. He handed Eo Jun to Marieke and stepped back, watching as the medical team sprang into action. They clustered around Jo Eun, their voices steady and urgent, administering medication and adjusting the machines as one of the nurses held Do Hwan gently by the shoulder, guiding him out of the room.
Outside the ICU, Do Hwan's fists clenched, his heart pounding so loudly it filled his head with a relentless rhythm. He pressed his hands to his face, wishing he could somehow lend his own strength to his son. Every moment felt like an eternity. He could hear the muted sounds of activity inside, each beep and murmur cutting through his mind like a jagged blade.
He pressed his forehead to the glass, clenching his fists, fighting the urge to scream. "Please... please don't take him from me," he whispered, his voice cracking. "He's all I have left."
When the door opened again, Marieke stepped out, her expression tired but calm. "He's stable now," she told him softly. "The seizure passed, and his breathing has regulated. He's a strong little one."
Do Hwan let out a shaky breath, feeling a wave of relief crash over him as the tension in his body loosened just slightly. "Thank you," he said, his voice nearly breaking. "Thank you, Marieke."
"Of course," she replied, giving his arm a comforting squeeze. "Go on in. He'll be glad to hear your voice."
Do Hwan nodded and entered the room once more, feeling as though he were stepping back into a world that had just been shattered and somehow, miraculously, pieced back together.
He approached the incubator and carefully took Jo Eun into his arms once again, holding him close to his chest. This time, he didn't speak for a while, letting the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heart speak the words he didn't have.
Finally, he whispered, "Eo Jun-ah... my strong little one, we're in this together. I know you're tired, and I know it's hard. But I'm here, alright? Appa is here."
He could feel his own tears finally fall, the emotions he'd held back for so long spilling out in quiet sobs as he held his son. "I promise you, I'll fight too," he said, voice hoarse but resolute. "I'll find a way for us. You just keep fighting, and I will too."
For hours, Do Hwan stayed there, holding Eo Jun against his chest, refusing to let go. When the morning light finally seeped through the cracks of the ICU blinds, he was still there, a father who had lost so much but who had found, in this tiny, fragile life, a reason to keep going.
As dawn approached, Marieke returned, smiling softly at the sight of the two of them. "He's still here, and so are you," she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.
~
Eo Jun's tiny limbs shifted, his delicate fingers twitching involuntarily as he made a soft, almost inaudible squeak around the small tube taped to the corner of his mouth. The sound tugged at Do Hwan's heart, and he gently reached in, cupping the minuscule hand in his own, marveling at the contrast. Eo Jun's entire fist barely wrapped around the tip of his finger, his skin a fragile pink with faint blue veins visible beneath the surface.
"I wish you didn't have to be so brave," Do Hwan whispered, his words catching slightly as he felt the lump in his throat tighten. "But you're doing so well, little one. Just a little longer, and we'll be out of here. Together."
Do Hwan stayed like that for a while, speaking softly, his words spilling out in a mixture of Korean and broken English and a little French—words he'd picked up since arriving in Belgium, phrases Elise had taught him or he'd absorbed from the hospital staff. It felt strange to use a foreign tongue with his son, but he figured Eo Jun might need both to feel grounded in a life that seemed to demand so much from him already.
