Annyeongz One-shots

85. Secrifice

Yujin always knew before it happened.

It was in the way his little brother’s shoulders moved—too fast, too light. In the way his fingers flickered near his ears like he was trying to block out a sound that hadn’t even reached its loudest point yet.

“Hyunwoo,” Yujin called gently.

Hyunwoo was seven, small and thin, with big dark eyes that rarely stayed focused on one thing for long. He had been diagnosed with autism when he was two years old. Since then, the world had never been simple for him. Sounds were too loud. Lights were too bright. Feelings were too big.

Their parents worked at the hospital—both surgeons. They left early and came home late, exhausted but loving in the little time they had. Most evenings, it was Yujin who handled dinner, bath time, therapy homework, and quiet reassurance when Hyunwoo couldn’t sleep.

And Yujin never complained.

That evening, he decided to take Hyunwoo to the park. The air was cool, the sky painted in orange and pink. It should have been calming.

But Yujin felt it the moment they stepped through the park gate.

Hyunwoo’s breathing changed.

His eyes darted from the swing set to the ice cream truck to the group of teenagers laughing too loudly near the benches. His steps became bouncy, erratic.

“Stay close, okay?” Yujin said softly, crouching down to his level.

Hyunwoo didn’t answer. He rarely answered with words. Instead, he rocked slightly on his heels, a tiny hum escaping his throat.

Too excited.

Too stimulated.

Yujin reached for his hand.

For a few seconds, Hyunwoo let him hold it.

Then he pulled away.

And ran.

“Hyunwoo!”

Yujin’s voice cut through the noise of the park, but Hyunwoo didn’t process it. He wasn’t running with direction—just pure motion. His arms flapped slightly at his sides as he weaved between people, laughter echoing too loudly around him.

Yujin sprinted after him, heart pounding. Not out of anger—never anger first. Fear.

Hyunwoo didn’t see her.

He collided straight into a tall girl holding an ice cream cone.

The impact wasn’t violent, but it was enough.

Her ice cream slipped from her hand, landing on the pavement with a splat of melting vanilla and chocolate. Gasps came from her friends.

Hyunwoo stumbled backward and fell to his knees.

The scrape was immediate—red blooming against his pale skin.

But he didn’t cry.

He just sat there.

Frozen.

His eyes unfocused.

Blank.

The girl stared down at him, surprise quickly shifting into concern. She was beautiful—long dark hair, soft features, her expression delicate but sharp at the same time. She glanced at the bruised knees, then at his face.

“He’s not crying…” one of her friends whispered.

But the girl didn’t speak. She was watching him closely.