Outside, dawn had barely broken. The pale morning light filtered through the curtains, painting everything in soft orange from the sun.
The room was quiet — almost unnaturally so.
Only the faint rhythm of the clock and the soft rustle of bandages broke the silence. Kun sat at the edge of the bed while Doyoung carefully checked the girl’s pulse, his touch calm and practiced.
The scent of antiseptic clung to the air, sharp and sterile, mixing with the lingering traces of iron.
The slow beeping of the heart monitor Kun had set up filled the space next to the bed. Jaehyun sat on the floor beside the bed, a cold washcloth in his hand. He pressed it gently to her forehead, flinching every time her fingers twitched, hoping she would wake up.
Taeyong stood by the door. His arms were crossed, but his shoulders were tense, his gaze restless. He didn’t speak — just watched as Doyoung fixed a new IV line.
Doyoung turned to Taeyong. “She needs something to bring her strength back when she wakes up— something light. Soup or sandwiches, anything that’ll give her quick energy.”
Taeyong nodded once.
The girl lay still, her breathing shallow but steady. The color had begun to return to her cheeks- just enough to let everyone believe she might truly recover. But her skin still glistened with cold sweat. Her hair was damp and tangled across the pillow.
Jaehyun hadn’t moved in hours.
He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the fragile figure lying beneath the blanket with eyes that hadn’t blinked properly since the night before. His eyes were rimmed red from exhaustion, his knuckles were white where his fingers dug into each other.
He’d tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face again — covered in blood, motionless in his arms.
He’d tried to wash the blood from his hands earlier, but it felt like it had sunk into his skin.
No matter how hard he scrubbed, it was still there — in his head, in his chest.
A bowl of cold water and a towel rested on the nightstand — useless now, but he couldn’t bring himself to move them.
The door opened quietly.
“Hyung?”
The soft, cautious voice belonged to Sungchan who stood in the doorway, looking drained but awake. He stepped into the dim light, his own complexion still pale from the blood loss. A thin patch of gauze was taped to the inside of his arm.
Jaehyun looked up, startled. “You should be resting,” he said softly.
“I tried,” Sungchan answered with a faint smile. “Couldn’t sleep. My head’s all over the place.”
He stepped closer, his gaze moving to the bed, watching his twin breathe. He looked exhausted, but there was a quiet relief in his face — relief that his blood had helped her, at least a little. “She looks… better.”
“She’s stable,” Jaehyun said. His voice cracked slightly. “Kun- hyung said her pulse’s stable again.”
Sungchan nodded and sat in a chair beside him, both brothers staring at the same fragile figure in silence. For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Sungchan exhaled. “You know, when we were kids, she used to cry every time she scraped her knee. She’d come to you first, never to me. You’d yell at her for being clumsy, then carry her inside anyway.”
Jaehyun smiled faintly. “She always knew how to make me panic.”
Sungchan smiled sadly. “She’s tougher than all of us.”
Jaehyun’s throat tightened. “She shouldn’t have to be.”
Sungchan’s gaze softened. “She’s our sister, hyung. She’s always been stronger than she looks.”
