"They're already gone by now, huh," Daniel muttered as he and Eunhee walked back to his apartment, the quiet night enveloping them.
Just then, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen—it was one of his friends.
"...These guys are pushing it," he muttered under his breath, rejecting the call.
Moments later, a flood of notifications lit up his screen. Sighing, he opened one of the messages.
[DUDE, YOU GOTTA SEE THIS POST NOW. JIHO IS...]
His grimace deepened. 'Wow,' he thought bitterly. 'They're really pushing it.'
His jaw tightened as anger bubbled beneath the surface.
'To gossip or shit-talk about Jiho right after his funeral? Why, I should—' His grip on the phone tightened, knuckles white with restrained fury, but his thoughts screeched to a halt when Eunhee came into his peripheral vision.
He stole a glance at her. She walked silently beside him, her face unreadable, lost in the shadows of the dimly lit street.
Daniel exhaled slowly, forcing the anger to subside.
'...I'll deal with them later,' he decided, locking his phone without bothering to look at the image they'd sent. He slipped it back into his pocket with a heavy sigh.
"Surprised your phone isn't flooded, Eunhee," he said casually, trying to shift the conversation.
Eunhee didn't respond. Her gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, her silence louder than the night around them.
Daniel's brow furrowed as he glanced at her. She didn't even acknowledge him, as if his words had dissolved into the air.
"Eunhee," he called softly, his voice tinged with concern.
Still, she said nothing. Her footsteps remained steady, her face distant, almost as if Daniel wasn't even there.
Exhaling, he stepped in front of her, blocking her path. She stopped, her gaze dropping to the ground.
"Eunhee," he called more firmly.
"What?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You—" He breathed out, sighing as his eyes flicked around the empty street, searching the surroundings as if hoping to find the words he wanted.
"You don't have to like me. I get it."
"I do like you, Daniel," she replied flatly. Her small confession, spoken without inflection, didn't quite reach Daniel's ears.
"What are you talking about?"
Daniel gulped at her deadpan tone, his throat tight.
"I get it, okay?" he repeated, his voice strained. "I'd hate me too. I would. But..."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"But you... you wanted me to stay with you," he said, his words landing heavy in the space between them.
Her body tensed, a visible flinch betraying her composure.
"Just... throw me a bone. Anything. Please," he begged, his voice soft but desperate.
A long pause stretched between them, the silence heavy as Eunhee carefully considered her response.
"...I'm tired," she murmured finally.
"And cold," she added, her eyes fixed on the ground as a faint frown formed on her lips.
"Here's your bone," she muttered, crossing her arms and gripping her upper arm tightly, her posture closed off.
Daniel sighed deeply, recognizing the faintest crack in her emotional wall.
'It's a start,' he thought, his chest tight with relief as he shrugged off his jacket and gently placed it over her shoulders. Without a word, he stepped beside her, wrapping one broad arm around her as they continued walking.
"I turned off my phone for the day," she finally said, breaking the silence.
"Jiho deserves at least that much... don't you think?" she murmured, her voice so quiet it felt like it might dissolve into the night. Her gaze remained fixed downward, refusing to meet his eyes.
Daniel glanced at her, his expression softening as he saw the weight she carried.
"Yeah," he replied quietly. "I guess."
Just then, a darkened limousine passed them on the road. Daniel cast a passing glance at it.
'Must feel great being this loaded and important,' he thought bitterly.
Inside the limo, Jiho's gaze lingered on Eunhee and Daniel as they walked, her wrapped in his arm. His expression tightened.
"...Monsieur Jiho? Is something wrong?" Marcel asked, noticing Jiho's distant stare.
"No," Jiho replied, his voice clipped. "Nothing. Nothing at all." His voice sounded more strained than usual, something Jang noticed as he watched him from the side; taking in every shift of expression.
'Yeah,' Jiho thought bitterly to himself, 'With me dead, you can go hugged all you want now, huh? No need to sneak around anymore and make a fool out of me.'
'Fuck. I accepted that it happened,' he told himself, his jaw clenching. 'And it was over a week ago. So why does it still hurt...?'
The silence in the limo thickened until Jang finally broke it.
"Jesus fuck," Jang drawled, cutting through Jiho's thoughts. "You look like that guy fucked your crush and sent you the tape. Had a rough love life, bitch?"
Jiho's head snapped toward him, his eyes narrowing into sharp daggers.
"At least I was loved, hyung," Jiho sneered. "Being that 90's-styled bully, I bet everyone wanted to send you to a different timeline, too."
"WHAT WAS THAT, YOU TINY BITCH!?" Jang growled, immediately lunging at Jiho. He grabbed Jiho's face and pulled his mouth open as if trying to rip off his lips. Jiho retaliated by grabbing at Jang's mouth with equal ferocity.
"Haaah..." Marcel sighed. "Monsieur Jiho, we're almost there. I suggest preparing yourself for whatever you may find."
The two immediately stopped their bickering, snapping their heads toward Marcel with matching annoyed glares.
"..."
"She'll be gone. There's nothing to find. But that's okay," Jiho said, settling back in his seat. "I can just call her later."
"...I see," Marcel replied with a nod.
"That aside, Marcel, how did you know when to come for us?" Jiho asked, leaning forward slightly, his tone casual but curious.
"Lady Amelie and I arranged it so with the person in charge of handling the quarantine," Marcel explained.
"We requested to be notified if someone named Jiho came across. I arrived just as your quarantine ended. And judging by the two of you, I see they've taken good care of you."
Jiho shrugged as he leaned back in his seat, the soft fabric of his long-sleeved shirt, covered with a comfortable hoodie. A subtle fragrance of fresh laundry clung to it, clean and calming. Paired with cargo jeans and a fresh pair of work shoes, his outfit was simple yet perfectly crisp. His jet-black hair, freshly washed and emanating a faint hint of chamomile, flowed smoothly in a straight line over his head, adding to his polished appearance. His face was immaculate, not a single blemish marring his smooth complexion—so flawless, in fact, that it appeared even more refined than when Marcel had first seen him.
"Ah, they let us shower and rest. Even brought in some fresh clothes," he said with a faint smirk before his gaze drifted, his expression turning distant as he became lost in thought.
Jang leaned back in his seat, his long leather trench coat freshly laundered, the faint scent of detergent blending with the natural scent of the polished material. The coat flowed nearly to his heels, its edges crisp, giving him a striking, almost cinematic silhouette. Beneath it, he wore a plain black t-shirt that fit snugly across his broad chest, paired with dark jeans that appeared freshly pressed, yet didn't take away from his rugged demeanor. His boots, clean but still exuding a durable, well-worn vibe, rested firmly against the limo's floor. His jet-black hair, combed but still slightly tousled, framed his angular, sharp features. His face, smooth and blemish-free, had a quiet intensity that contrasted Jiho's youthful polish.
He gazed out the window, his expression unreadable. "Food wasn't bad," he muttered, his voice gruff but steady.
Marcel's relaxed gaze shifted between the two, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Good to hear," he said lightly, settling back into his own seat.
[IMAGE]
'Kinda cramped for a limo...' Jiho thought.
------- AT THE AN RESIDENCE -------
"Ji-yeon. Come on, it's getting late," Min-soo called, his voice carrying softly through the quiet evening air.
She stood at the edge of the driveway, a single suitcase by her side, staring at the darkened house that had once been full of life. Her gaze lingered on the door, her hands trembling as she clutched the handle of her bag.
"I'm coming," she murmured, though her feet didn't move.
Min-soo approached her, his steps deliberate and slow.
"I know it's hard, but... there's nothing left for you here. We'll figure things out—together," Min-soo said, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it.
Ji-yeon gasped, her eyes widening. After all these years, Min-soo had always kept his figure stoic and detached. For him to show such gentleness now...
It brought her back to their youth, to when they had just met. Even in the early years of parenting Jiho, Min-soo had never shown this level of tenderness or consideration in his words.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, her heart heavy. The thought of leaving—walking away from the memories of Jiho—felt like abandoning him all over again.
But what was left for her? Jiho was gone.
Jiho was dead.
"You're... really different, Min-soo," she murmured, her voice trembling.
"Why are you so kind... only after our son died?" she nudged, her words cutting through the quiet.
Min-soo flinched at her question, his gaze wavering as he struggled to hold her eyes. For a long moment, he didn't answer.
"Just come with me, Ji-yeon," he said finally, shaking off her question.
"There's nothing here for you. For either of us. You know that," he muttered, his voice low.
"Yes... I," Ji-yeon began, her words faltering. She took a deep breath, her eyes drifting to the spot where Jiho had once stood—the same spot Min-soo had walked away from when Jiho was just five years old.
She could still see it clearly: the dried blood staining the floorboards, Jiho holding a hammer with an innocent look on his face, oblivious to the weight of the moment.
"It's... it's just that..." she said, her voice cracking.
"He's standing there all over again, watching as we argue. Only this time, I'm the one who's leaving him all alone..." Her tears spilled over, blurring her vision.
Min-soo sighed quietly, stepping closer. He gently took her shoulders, his grip firm but tender.
"You are not leaving anyone, Ji-yeon," he said softly.
"He's gone, okay? But..." Min-soo paused, drawing in a shaky breath.
"I'm here now," he said firmly.
For a moment, silence settled between them, his words lingering in the air.
"Just now, huh?" Ji-yeon whispered at last, her voice so soft it was almost swallowed by the quiet.
"..."
"I should have stayed," Min-soo admitted.
"I should have stayed with you and Jiho. I shouldn't have left. You raised him well, Ji-yeon. He grew up to be more than I ever expected," he said; trying to keep his voice from cracking.
"I was a coward. I know I was. So..." He reached up, rubbing her arm gently. "Please, let me make it right with you."
Ji-yeon's gaze returned to that spot, where Jiho's younger self seemed to linger in her mind's eye, silently watching his parents, searching for answers he'd never understand.
"Please, come with me," Min-soo pleaded, his voice softer now.
For a moment, Ji-yeon hesitated, her heart caught between the pull of his words and the weight of her grief. The tenderness in his voice, so uncharacteristic, broke the silence and filled the space between them.
'I'm sorry, baby,' she thought, her gaze lingering on the imagined figure of Jiho standing there, as vivid as a memory. 'But Mommy has to leave, okay? It's just...'
'Mommy feels an ouch staying here.' She absentmindedly touched her chest, the gesture mirroring the moment she had once pointed at Jiho's chest to teach him the concept of pain.
'I have to go. I'm so sorry, baby...'
With a deep breath that trembled as it left her, Ji-yeon finally nodded, her heart heavy with the decision. Min-soo stepped closer and gently guided her to the car, his touch careful, almost reverent.
A few moments passed.
The car door clicked shut, and as the engine rumbled to life, the house stood behind the car in a shroud of silence. Its lights extinguished, its heart seemingly gone.
The limousine rolled to a stop outside Jiho's house. Marcel glanced back at Jiho.
"Monsieur Jiho, we've arrived."
Jiho stepped out first, his eyes scanning the driveway. It was empty, just as he expected.
The house stood dark and silent, its emptiness matching the hollowness in his chest.
"They're already gone," Jiho muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.
Jang stretched as he climbed out, cracking his neck.
"Guess that's it, huh? Home sweet—" He stopped when he noticed Jiho staring at the house.
Jiho took a step toward the door, his movements hesitant.
"I'll check inside," he said softly, more to himself than anyone else.
Marcel gave a solemn nod. "Take your time, Monsieur Jiho."
Jiho stepped out of the car, his gaze sweeping over the driveway. No car. He glanced up at the house again, the windows dark and lifeless.
'... Same as I left you, old friend...' he thought, pressing his lips tightly. 'Or more like we left you...' His chest tightened as his thoughts spiraled.
'What did you expect?'
The question gnawed at him as he pushed the door open. The faint creak of the hinges echoed through the stillness. The dim light from the street spilled weakly into the entryway, painting the space in muted shadows.
'That she'd actually still be here, waiting for—'
"J-... J-Jiho?"
[BACKGROUND MUSIC: When She Loved Me - Sarah McLachlan]
The voice shattered his thoughts like glass hitting the floor. His heart stopped.
He froze, his breath catching in his throat. Slowly, almost afraid to believe it, he turned toward the voice.
There she was.
Ji-yeon stood in the living room, her face pale as a ghost, her wide eyes brimming with disbelief. The suitcase she had packed sat untouched by the couch, a frozen remnant of her intent to leave.
He'd convinced himself she'd left.
That she was gone.
Yet here she was, shattering every wall he'd built in an instant.
"...Mom?" Jiho whispered, his voice trembling, barely audible.
Ji-yeon's lips parted, but no words came at first. She took a shaky step forward, her hand flying to her mouth. Her breathing quickened, a strangled sob escaping her throat.
"I... I couldn't leave," she finally managed, her voice breaking. "I thought—I felt—I thought I'd see you again... I just couldn't leave..."
Tears streamed freely down her face now, her body trembling as if struggling to contain the flood of emotions.
"You're... ahh... haaa... you—a... am I dreaming...?" Ji-yeon gasped, her knees buckling as she collapsed to the floor, her strength utterly failing her.
"Please," she begged, her voice trembling as she looked at the son whom everyone but her had declared dead.
"Please... if this is a dream..." Her voice broke as tears spilled freely down her face, her hands reaching toward him as if afraid he might disappear.
"Never wake me up," she whispered, her plea fragile and desperate, her eyes fixed on the figure before her as though he were a fleeting vision.
Jiho moved toward her instantly, his own eyes welling up as he knelt in front of her.
"Mom..." he murmured, his voice cracking.
'She really... waited for me...? Even when I was dead? Mom...?'
Ji-yeon reached out a trembling hand, her fingers brushing his face, as though to confirm he was real. The moment her fingers made contact, a choked cry escaped her, and she pulled him into her arms, clutching him with all the strength she could muster.
"You're alive... you're alive... my baby's alive..." she sobbed, her words tumbling out in broken fragments, as if saying them aloud might make them more real.
"Ah... Ohh... My baby... what happened to you...?" She suddenly pulled him back, her hands gripping his shoulders as she scanned his face through the dim light.
Her eyes widened, her voice trembling as she continued, "You look even more impossibly handsome than before.... My baby is here with me..."
Before Jiho could respond, she pulled him into another hug, clutching him tightly. She didn't even pause to question his new height, his striking features, or his toned body.
"I..." Jiho gulped, his words catching in his throat.
She's... smaller now, Jiho thought, his gaze lowering to her as he felt her warmth. Her frame seemed so much smaller than he remembered, where once they had stood eye to eye.
"I... I could be someone else, you know...? You should... be more cautious, Mom. I look different, don't I—"
"You're my Jiho," she interrupted, her voice firm yet tender. "I know. I know you are. I don't know how you've come back even more beautiful—more beautiful than the perfection you already were—but you're my Jiho."
Her words broke something in him, and he let out a shaky breath, collapsing gently into her arms.
'Right,' he thought as he rested his head against her shoulder, his arms wrapping carefully around her back.
'You have to be careful with your new strength so you don't hurt her,' he reminded himself as he hugged her, his grip gentle yet secure.
His eyes closed, tears slipping down his cheeks as he leaned into her warmth.