Chapter 29
Jaeyel finally stood in front of his group members again.
The moment they saw him, the room broke.
Tears, laughter, shouts all tangled together.
Some were angry, pretending to scold him for disappearing, but their hands wouldn’t let go of him. They held on like they were afraid he’d vanish again.
Minseo was the worst.
He cried the hardest, his words tripping over sobs as he insisted he wasn’t worried. The others immediately pounced on him, teasing him until his ears turned red. He still tried to deny it, but no one believed him.
This morning, Yang had told Jaeyel it was finally time to meet them again.
A week had already passed since he came back, and in that time Yang had been buried in work.
They barely saw each other except in passing.
Jaeyel usually asleep by the time Yang returned.
But still, Yang made sure he was taken care of, food stocked, everything prepared.
Jaeyel knew Yang was giving him space to process things, and he appreciated it.
But even with all that, the heavy feeling in his chest never went away.
Not until everything was truly faced and settled.
That night, Jaeyel lay awake in his room, staring at the ceiling.
The others’ voices carried faintly from the living room – soft laughter, the sound of a game, the ordinary comfort of being home again.
He should’ve felt at peace. But the knot in his chest hadn’t loosened, not once since he returned.
He sat up, hesitating.
He told himself there’d be time later, another day.
But no… he hadn’t come back just to hide again.
…
Pushing the door open, he stepped into the living room.
The boys looked up at once, sensing the shift in his expression.
“I need to go somewhere,” Jaeyel said quietly.
The room filled with instant noise – who’s going with him, how late it was, whether it could wait until tomorrow.
They were worried, all of them.
“I’ll go with Yang,” Jaeyel cut in, his tone firmer than usual.
It was a lie.
But that silenced them. Minseo opened his mouth to argue but stopped, biting his lip.
Minutes later, Jaeyel hurried out of the building, his hood pulled low.
A taxi was already waiting, the driver leaning on the wheel with the meter running. Sliding into the back seat, Jaeyel gave the address, his voice low.
“Seoul National Hospital,” he said.
The driver nodded, pulling away from the curb.
Jaeyel sat back, his hands tightening around the object hidden in his lap – something he wasn’t sure he was ready to use.
His heart hammered, relentless and unsteady.
He was finally going to see… Yin.
…
He hadn’t told anyone, not even Yang.
But one night, when Yang thought he was asleep, he’d heard him speaking over the phone.
That’s when he knew – Yin was alive, in the hospital, recovering.
At that time, his chest burned with the truth he wasn’t ready to confront.
Now… sitting in the taxi with Seoul’s lights flashing past, he finally let himself face it.
…
The hallway was silent except for the hum of fluorescent lights and the soft beeping of machines behind closed doors.
Jaeyel’s footsteps felt too loud, even though he was barely moving.
Every step toward Yin’s room made his chest tighter, heavier, until his hand hovered over the door handle, trembling.
He stopped at the door, hand on the handle, hesitating – unsure if he should turn it or walk away.
Then, slowly… he pushed it open.
…
The room smelled faintly of disinfectant.
Yin lay there asleep, pale under the glow of the monitor, chest rising and falling in slow rhythm.
Tubes ran down his arms, one disappearing into the IV drip that hung at his side.
He looked fragile – too fragile for the weight of everything between them.
Jaeyel’s lips parted, but no sound came.
For a moment, he just stood there, frozen.
…
Then finally-
A whisper cracked with hesitation,
“… I-I’m just… tired. So, I’m… so sorry…”
His throat burned.
He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out the small pouch he had hidden there.
His fingers shook as he unzipped it, revealing the cold steel glint of a syringe.
The kind of thing that didn’t belong in his hands.
“I’m… sorry,” he breathed, voice breaking, though he didn’t even know if he was apologizing to Yin or to himself.
He drew closer…
So close he could hear the faint wheeze of Yin’s breath.
His hand lifted, guiding the needle toward the clear tube feeding into the IV.
His pulse roared in his ears, drowning everything else out.
And then-
A hand clamped down on his wrist.
“Don’t…”
The voice was low and steady, commanding yet warm.
Jaeyel’s whole body jolted.
His eyes shot up, wide.
Yang…
For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.
The needle hovered dangerously close to the line, his hand still trembling in Yang’s iron grip.
The reality of what he was about to do crashed into him all at once.
His vision blurred.
“I-” his voice broke, strangled. “What… what was I…?”
The syringe slipped from his fingers, clattering softly against the floor.
And then the sobs came. Jagged, uncontrollable.
Jaeyel shivered violently, like his body had finally caught up to his guilt.
Yang pulled him in without a word, one arm locking around his shoulders, the other guiding his head to his chest.
His hold was firm, protective, as if he could shield Jaeyel from himself.
“Shh…” Yang’s breath brushed Jaeyel’s hair.
Jaeyel clung to him, shaking, his tears soaking through Yang’s shirt.
Yang didn’t care.
He bent slightly, scooping Jaeyel up as if he weighed nothing. His heartbeat pounded steady against Jaeyel’s ear, grounding him in the chaos.
At the doorway, Yang paused.
His eyes flicked once – back to the bed.
To Yin, lying still, pale and silent.
Then Yang turned away, carrying Jaeyel out into the hall.
The door shut behind them with a heavy, echoing click.
…
The room was silent again.
Yin hadn’t moved.
His chest still rose and fell slowly, his face still calm.
But from the corners of his closed eyes, tears slipped down, tracing quiet paths onto the pillow.
He was awake.
