Jihyo
The lock is big. Heavy. It sways ever so slightly, clinking against the metal frame of the door, the sound hollow in the silence.
It isn’t needed, just a symbol. The door is already sealed, locked from the other side with measures far sturdier than this single piece of metal. This one is just for show. A detail placed with intent. Something to see, to understand, to fear.
It’s almost poetic, even in tragedy. Specially in tragedy.
She let the lighter roll between her fingers, the small weight keeping her tethered to this moment. She pressed her thumb against the ridges, flicked it open with a sharp, metallic click.
A spark. A flame.
The fire is small, delicate in its form, but still, it lives. It moves. It bends and sways with every slight motion of her hand, a dancer caught in the rhythm of the air.
She watches it closely, her breath steady, her pulse slow.
There is no hesitation.
No sign of remorse.
Her gaze drifts downward, following the thin trail of fuel snaking across the floor, disappearing into the dark beyond. It glistens under the faint light, waiting—beckoning.
This is the moment. The last stillness before everything shifts, before the world changes... before they all burn.
Jihyo tilts her head slightly, eyes half lidded as she studies the flame one last time.
Then, without a word, she flicks her wrist and lets it go.
The lighter tumbles through the air, twisting once, twice.
Then—
A breath.
A spark.
A roar.
/////////
She walked briskly past the entrance of the airport, the night air thick and clinging to her skin, but she barely felt it. The world around her existed only in fragments—the blur of taxi headlights, the murmur of overlapping voices, the occasional shuffle of luggage wheels against pavement.
She hadn’t even stopped to look for hers.
Hadn’t stopped talking to Nayeon the entire time. Every minute, every second that passed, she’d been updating her, asking questions, grasping for anything that could make her feel like she wasn’t stranded thousands of feet above ground with no control.
And then, her phone died.
Right there in her hands. The screen flickered once before going completely black, and for a brief moment, she stood there, staring at it like she could will it back to life.
She had almost lost herself again. Almost spiraled back into that suffocating panic she barely managed to hold back on the plane.
But Nayeon’s last words stayed with her.
"She’s stable now."
Jihyo didn’t believe it. Not fully. Nayeon's voice carried a softness, a carefulness deliberately placed there for her. Jihyo recognized it as an attempt to help her think clearly and to pull her back from the complete breakdown she had experienced after that first phone call.
And it worked—to a degree.
Now, as she rushed toward the line of cabs outside, she wasn’t panicking the way she had before. She could move with purpose, keep her hands steady, breathe without feeling like she was suffocating. But beneath that, the weight in her chest remained unchanged.
She was reaching for the handle of a taxi door when she heard her name.
"Jihyo!"
She turned, eyes scanning past the rows of cars until she saw her.
Mina.
She was waiting a few cars away, standing just outside the passenger seat of her sleek black car, her posture controlled but not detached. There was something softer about her tonight, something fragile in the way her fingers curled slightly against the handle, in the way her lips parted just enough to let out that breathless call of Jihyo’s name.
Jihyo rushed toward her, relieved but confused. “I thought you were at the hospital already. Why are you here?" she asked as she climbed into the backseat, Mina sliding in beside her and signaling the driver to go. "How did you even know when I was landing?"
Mina exhaled, smoothing a hand over her lap as the car pulled away from the curb. "Sana told me to pick you up."
Of course.
Jihyo nodded, settling back against the seat. The exhaustion was starting to creep in now that the immediate panic had dulled, but the moment she caught Mina’s gaze again, she felt it return.
Not panic—but grief.
They didn’t speak for a moment, just stared at each other in the dim glow of passing streetlights. Then, as if deciding all at once, they leaned in, arms wrapping around each other in a long awaited embrace that finally let them surrender to their sorrow.
Jihyo buried her face into the curve of Mina’s shoulder, and Mina held her just as tightly, her fingers trembling slightly where they pressed into Jihyo’s back.
Neither of them cried.
They had cried too much already.
But the ache of it all still sat between them, the words they couldn’t bring themselves to say still lingering in the air.
They finally pulled back, and for the first time since it all started Jihyo felt relief—cared for, no longer alone.
"They said it was a fall. An accident."
Jihyo nodded. “I know, Joon called me... And Nayeon said she’s stable now, just waiting."
Mina’s hands curled into fists on her lap.
Jihyo recognized the look in her eyes. She wasn’t sure either, didn’t want to believe until she saw it with her own eyes.
Mina moved then, glanced toward the window, the faint city glow reflecting in her dark eyes. "Sana’s at the hospital. She’s with Nayeon."
That shouldn’t have surprised her, but something about it still made Jihyo pause.
Sana and Jeongyeon hadn’t stayed particularly close—not like she and Nayeon had. Not like Jihyo and Jeongyeon had.
And yet—she was there.
Holding Nayeon together in a way Jihyo had always assumed would be her job.
She swallowed, her throat tight. "Good."
The car moved through the city, the streets too still—the world should be rushing too, racing with them, but instead it had slowed to a halt. Jihyo watched the blurred lights pass by, her hands clasped tightly by her sides.
She had been falling apart since the second she got that call.
But now, as she sat next Mina that feeling was slowly shifting.
She wasn’t falling apart anymore. She was piecing something together.
Jeongyeon had called her two weeks ago.
It had been late—too late, for her at least. Jihyo was sitting in her trailer, exhaustion clinging to her sore limbs after another fourteen-hour shoot, her brain fogged with dialogue she hadn’t yet memorized, her stomach aching from forgetting to eat. She was living inside the mind of someone else—a lonely, broken mother of two, trapped in a script so tragic, so raw that it had begun to sink into her bones, filling the spaces where she used to be.
The role was going to make her.
Not in money, but in reputation. The kind that got her name whispered in the right rooms, written at the bottom of festival ballots, attached to something real.
And she had been so consumed by it, so deep inside of it, that she hadn’t spoken to anyone outside of set in days.
So when Jeongyeon’s name lit up her screen, she picked up immediately.
"Hey," Jihyo greeted, already making up an excuse for being absent so long.
"Hey."
Jeongyeon’s voice was light, casual, but her soft tone made Jihyo pause.
She blinked at the screen, clicking to connect the video, adjusting her grip on the phone as Jeongyeon’s face came into view. The lighting in her apartment was dim, the video call grainy, but it wasn’t enough to hide what was obviously there.
The bruises.
Dark marks peeking just beneath the sleeves of Jeongyeon’s sweater. The way she was angled slightly away from the camera, chin tilted downward—like she didn’t want Jihyo to get a good look.
She felt her entire body go cold. Heavy.
"What the hell happened to your face?"
Jeongyeon barely reacted.
"Nothing," she said, the answer smooth, practiced.
Jihyo’s eyes narrowed. Too easy.
"Jeong."
Jeongyeon exhaled, shifting slightly, reaching for something offscreen—maybe a drink, maybe a distraction—before finally meeting Jihyo’s eyes again.
"I tripped in the shower."
Jihyo scoffed, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Yeah, right."
"I did," Jeongyeon insisted, too quickly. She gave Jihyo a lopsided grin, too rehearsed, too perfect. "You know me. I bruise easily, that’s all.”
"Jeong." Jihyo wasn’t buying it. Not for a second. "You’re wearing makeup."
Jeongyeon blinked.
"So?"
"So, you never wear makeup when you’re home."
Jeongyeon hesitated.
It was small, barely noticeable, but it was there. And it was enough.
"Who did that to you?" Jihyo pressed.
"No one," Jeongyeon said, too fast, too smooth, too much like a lie.
"Jeong—"
"Jihyo, I’m fine." Her voice came softer this time, quieter, like she was tired. Like she prepared for this, for Jihyo’s questions, for the way she always pushed too hard.
"I don’t believe you."
"You don’t have to.” Jeongyeon leaned back in her seat, the bruises on her arms shifting into the light for a fraction of a second before she pulled her sleeves down. "Look, I called because I wanted to talk, not because I needed a lecture. Can we just—" She exhaled sharply, raking a hand through her hair. "I don’t need you worrying about me, okay? It’s nothing."
It wasn’t nothing.
Jihyo had been in the industry long enough to recognize cover-up. Had seen too many people with excuses.
She should have booked the flight.
And she almost did.
She had started opening tabs on her laptop, looking at flights for that same night, ready to throw everything aside.
But then—Jeongyeon stopped her.
"Jihyo, don’t."
"I just want to see you."
"I know. But you’re filming, right? It’s that movie I’m not supposed to know about.” she teased her, “The big one."
Jihyo clenched her jaw.
"You’ll get in trouble if you leave."
"I don’t care."
"Yeah, you do."
Jihyo hated how well Jeongyeon knew her.
Because she was right. Jihyo did care.
She cared about her reputation, about not being that actress. The one who was a nightmare to work with. The one who walked out mid shoot. The one directors whispered about, crossed off lists, refused to cast.
The recognition she’d fought so hard for, the respect she had bled for, the chance to finally be seen as more than a theater-actress-turned-film-star... it was all right there.
And maybe—selfishly, shamefully—that was part of the reason she didn’t book that flight.
She told herself that Jeongyeon was convincing. That she had laughed, that she had smiled. That she’d been fine.
But now, sitting in the back of a car, staring blankly out the window as the hospital loomed closer, she regretted everything.
She should have gone. Should have been there.
Because maybe—if she had, Jeong wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed, her body broken, her face unrecognizable beneath the bruises and bandages.
Maybe—if she had, she wouldn’t be choking under this sickening, guilt-ridden certainty that she had failed her.
Her nails digging into her palms.
Too late now. She was too late.
But she didn’t say a word, didn’t mention the phone call, the bruises, the way her gut twisted every time she thought about the excuses Jeongyeon made up that night.
Instead, she followed Mina. Stepped out of the car and let her legs carry her forward, even though she could barely feel them beneath her. Even though she felt like she was walking on air, disconnected, like her body was here but her mind—her heart—was somewhere else.
It was as if every step was leading her into something she wasn’t ready to face.
Because she knew. She knew it was bad.
She’d heard it in Nayeon’s voice, had felt it in the way her breath hitched, in the way her sentences broke apart over the phone.
"She’s—she’s unrecognizable, Jihyo."
That was all Nayeon had managed before falling silent, before leaving Jihyo to fill in the gaps on her own.
So she braced herself.
Took deep, measured breaths, steadying herself for what she was about to see.
Mina reached for her hand as they walked, squeezing lightly, grounding her. Jihyo barely reacted. She was too caught up in her own head, in the raging storm that had been brewing inside of her since that call two weeks ago.
Because she would see Jeongyeon soon. Would be next to her, would hold her hand, would cry her name, would beg for her to wake up.
But after that?
She would find him.
She wasn’t going to cause a scene. Not here, not in this place where grief already stuck to the walls, where the weight of too many ghosts lingered around.
But she would make him talk.
He would explain how something like this had happened. He would tell her every single detail. And then she would decide what to do with it.
Because she didn’t trust him.
Not before the call. Not after. And now, now that Jeongyeon was in a hospital bed, barely holding on?
Jihyo was ready to eat him alive.
To tear him apart limb by limb.
To—
The elevator doors opened, and all of it—the anger, the fury, the blind, consuming need for vengeance—vanished in an instant.
Because there, just beyond the edge, was Nayeon.
Sitting on the floor, her back against the wall, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, her head buried between her knees.
She looked small.
She looked broken.
Jihyo stopped breathing.
The world around her blurred.
All of the fire inside of her, the molten rage that had been pushing her forward, cracked beneath the weight of this.
This sight. This unbearable proof of their reality.
Jihyo had spent the entire flight here preparing for the worst.
But she hadn’t prepared for this. For what it would do to them. For how it would shatter them, one by one.
And as she stepped forward, as Nayeon lifted her head, her face streaked with tears, her eyes empty and lost—
Jihyo felt herself begin to break, too.
She collapsed next to her, wrapping her arms around her and holding tight, too tight, like she could somehow keep her from falling apart completely.
Nayeon didn’t resist, didn’t say anything—just pressed her face into Jihyo’s shoulder, her whole body trembling against her. Jihyo closed her eyes, letting herself breathe through it all, letting the guilt settle in her chest like a stone.
I should have been here.
She should have been here before it happened.
Mina stood beside them, silent, but Jihyo could feel her unease too, could sense the way her eyes kept flickering toward the hallway, toward the door that led to Jeongyeon.
She was afraid to go in. To look beyond what waited for them there
She focused on Nayeon’s breathing, on the way she slowly, carefully, tried to compose herself. When she finally spoke, her voice was raw, thin, like she had already run out of ways to hold it together.
"They moved her to a private room now," Nayeon murmured, her fingers curling weakly into Jihyo’s sleeve. "They... They did everything they could think of. The scans, X-rays... everything."
Jihyo forced herself to ask, even though she already knew she wouldn’t be able to handle the answer.
"And?"
Nayeon let out a slow, shaky breath. "It’s just the aftermath now... The damage, Jihyo... It’s a two-story house.”
Her stomach twisted, but she stayed still, bracing herself.
"She fell face first," Nayeon continued, explaining what little she gathered. "They said—her nose is broken. Her eye socket, too."
And just like that, Jihyo saw it.
The image flashed in her mind, sharp, brutal, raw.
Jeongyeon losing her footing, looking for something and tipping forward, the weight of gravity pulling her down mercilessly.
Or—
Joon.
His fist connecting with her face, the force knocking her back, then down.
Falling, but not by accident.
Jihyo clenched her jaw, trying to push the thought away, but it kept flashing—Jeongyeon slipping... Jeongyeon being thrown.
The images interchanged, shifting, colliding.
She forced herself back into the present.
Nayeon was still speaking, her voice distant, fractured.
"Her face is bruised, but nothing else was broken there. Just—"
She hesitated.
Jihyo already knew what was coming.
“No her ribs or—“ Mina murmured, breaking her silence.
Nayeon nodded. "A few. From the fall."
Another flash.
Jeongyeon hitting the ground, the impact crushing into her ribs—
No.
A heavy shove against the railing, the force jarring, sending her off balance. A desperate struggle, then the sickening crack as she hit the ground.
She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she felt Mina’s hand brush against hers, an instinctive, a steadying motion.
“It’s her head that worries them,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. "The side—her skull cracked from the impact. Her brain—" She swallowed, closing her eyes for a brief moment. "It’s swollen. Too much. They put her in a coma to try and let her body heal itself."
Jihyo felt everything inside her still.
An induced coma. Their last resort. The only thing left to do when a body couldn’t heal fast enough, when the damage had been too severe.
There was nothing else.
Nothing except to wait.
To hope.
The silence that followed... it consumed it all.
Jihyo barely noticed the sound of a door opening down the hall until Mina’s hand withdrew from hers.
Sana.
She walked toward them slowly, a tissue in her hands, dabbing at her nose. Her eyes were red, swollen.
She’d been crying too.
Jihyo watched her approach, unable to look away. Sana’s gaze flickered to her, and she held it there.
Then, Sana looked away, her fingers tightening around the tissue in her hands.
"I was on the phone with Momo," she murmured. "They’re at the airport now. They got the earliest flight they could."
Jihyo nodded stiffly, forcing herself to focus.
Of course they were coming. They all were. Because Jeongyeon was one of them.
And if there was one thing that had never changed, not even after all these years, it was this.
They always showed up.
She stood up with the little force she had left, her body drained. She braced her hands on her knees for a second, inhaling deeply before straightening up, her shoulders tense, her chest tight.
She needed to see her now.
Mina and Sana followed her lead, their steps cautious, uncertain, but Nayeon didn’t move. She stayed behind, pressing her back against the wall, arms wrapped around herself like she was holding something inside.
And Jihyo didn’t push her to move.
She took slow, measured steps down the hall, the air around her thick with antiseptic, with desperation.
And as she got close, as she looked through the curtains of the room...she saw her.
And even after everything Nayeon described, nothing could´ve prepared her for this.
She lay in bed, still, unnaturally so, like her body had forgotten how to exist outside of pain. A breathing tube was taped to her mouth, wires running from her arms, from her chest, disappearing into machines that beeped softly in the background even through the walls.
Her face—
Jihyo turned away before she could fully process it, before the image could carve itself too deeply into her mind. But she had already seen enough.
The unnatural swelling, the deep reds and nauseating purples blooming across her skin, the bruises so dark they blurred into one another.
"Can we go in?" Jihyo asked, her voice tight, her throat dry.
She hadn’t looked at Nayeon when she asked, her gaze still locked on the wall beside Jeongyeon’s room. But she heard the answer.
"No."
Jihyo’s jaw tensed. "Why?"
Nayeon took a breath before answering, her voice carrying from behind them. "The nurses told me we couldn’t."
"What do you mean we can’t?" Jihyo turned to face her now, her voice sharper than she intended.
Nayeon sighed, picking at loose strands on her sweater, her exhaustion evident in every small movement. "I don’t know. They didn’t explain, or maybe they did and I just... I don’t remember. They just said we couldn’t go inside yet."
Jihyo exhaled, turning back to Jeongyeon.
She forced herself to look this time.
To really see.
As if, by some miracle, she would find something different.
That maybe she had imagined the worst. That maybe, somehow, Jeong wouldn’t look so... so broken.
But she did.
Jihyo’s stomach turned, and she dug her nails into her palm to keep herself from spiraling again.
This was real.
Not a nightmare she would wake up from. Not a scene from one of her films, or one of her plays.
This was Jeongyeon. And it was happening.
There was a small, shuffling sound, and then Nayeon stood beside them, leaning against the opposite wall, eyes dull and tired.
"Where’s Joon?"
Nayeon’s expression didn’t change. "Gone."
"Gone?"
"He left the moment I got here," Nayeon said. "I haven’t seen him since."
Jihyo stared at her, searching her face for any kind of sign. But there was nothing. Not anger, not relief, not even shock.
Just exhaustion.
Mina shifted beside them to face Nayeon, “And Harang?"
Nayeon didn’t answer right away.
She didn’t need to.
The way her jaw tensed, the way she exhaled through her nose, the way she wouldn’t even spare them a glance—it said enough.
There was silence then.
For a long time, the four of them just standing there, waiting, watching.
Not speaking. Not moving. Just waiting for something to happen—anything.
A doctor, a nurse, a miracle.
Someone to walk through that door and tell them what to do. How to fix this. How to bring Jeongyeon back.
But no one came.
And so they waited.
And waited.
And waited.
An hour passed.
They moved to the chairs in the waiting area, cushions tucked under them, exhaustion and dread sinking in their bones. The urgency hadn’t faded completely, nor had the panic, but it did settle into something quieter, something less sharp and overwhelming. They werenn’t in control of anything that was happening, but at least they weren’t alone. That was the only solace they had right now—each other, the presence of familiar bodies pressed close.
Jihyo leaned against Nayeon, feeling the way their shoulders pressed together, solid and warm. They weren’t speaking, but they didn’t have to. The silence between them carried depth, but somehow, in a way that made it easier to breathe. Across from them, Sana clutched Mina’s hand, their fingers intertwined, knuckles turning white from how tightly they were holding on. No one was crying anymore. That moment had passed, burned through them in the first wave of shock. Now, there wasn’t much to do but to let time pass, existing in the same space, feeling the same thing but unable to put words to it.
Then, Nayeon broke the silence, her voice quieter than usual, like she wasn’t even sure she was speaking aloud.
"I still can’t believe this is happening." Nayeon´s voice felt softer than usual, like she wasn’t even sure she was speaking aloud. "We were supposed to see each other. He was going to propose, and—"
Sana moved slightly, just enough for Jihyo to catch it.
"Nayeon," she said, gently but firmly.
Nayeon stopped mid-sentence, blinking, as if just realizing what she’d said.
She didn’t miss the way Mina tensed beside Sana, her brows knitting together. It wasn’t a dramatic reaction—just a flicker, an almost imperceptible shift in her expression, the kind that only someone who knew her would’ve caught. But it was there.
Sana wasn’t hiding it as much. There was a deliberate avoidance in her gaze, a subtle hurt reflected in the way her jaw tensed.
Only she and Nayeon knew about the proposal.
That wasn’t a huge thing—not really. It wasn’t like they had to tell everyone, it wasn’t like keeping secrets was a crime. But...
The realization of it, the proof of how much had changed, how out of the loop they had all become—it stung.
Once upon a time, there wouldn’t have been anything to catch. Because there wouldn’t have been secrets, wouldn’t have been anything thrown in the air.
Now?
Now, they were realizing, too late, how many pieces of them they’d stopped sharing.
She scoffed, leaning back against the chair. "Well, I never liked him anyway."
Nayeon’s head snapped toward her, frowning. "Since when?"
"Since always."
"You never mentioned that before."
Jihyo gave a small shrug. "I never talked about him before."
She knew what she was saying, knew how it would sound. She could feel Nayeon staring at her, waiting for her to say more, but she didn’t. It didn’t matter now.
Jihyo exhaled sharply and sat forward, resting her elbows on her knees, digging deep. "Where is he?"
They looked at her, the same question in their eyes, the same pain. They didn’t know what she did—but still, she saw the anger simmering beneath their eyes, the betrayal.
"He should be here. At least pretending to give a damn."
No one answered.
The silence stretched between them again, heavier this time, thick. Burning.
And then the elevator doors slid open.
They all turned to the sound automatically, as if expecting a him, waiting to prove them wrong.
Instead, behind a tight suit was Harang.
He walked toward them with gentle steps, like he wasn’t sure how to carry himself in this space. In his hands, a small bouquet of flowers—fresh, but muted in color, ready to be shoved in someone’s face.
Jihyo felt something in her stomach twist at the sight of them.
It wasn’t anger.
Not exactly.
It grew quietly, something duller but no less cutting.
What the hell were flowers supposed to do now? What the hell was he supposed to do now?
She felt Nayeon tense beside her, moving her body without saying a word.
Mina and Sana didn’t react—not outwardly. Their bodies stayed still, their hands still clasped between them.
Jihyo just watched.
Waiting.
Waiting to see what the hell he thought he was walking into. Waiting to hear what excuse he had for showing up now.
A nurse stepped out of Jeongyeon’s room, making her way so slowly it made her patience fray.
"You can go in now," she said.
Jihyo stood immediately, her body moving before her mind fully caught up. The last thing she heard as she walked away was the hushed argument still unfolding between Nayeon and Harang.
"They’re for Jeongyeon," ha was saying, turning the flowers in his hand.
"She’s unconscious," Nayeon shot back, tired, clipped, like she didn’t even have the energy to argue with him properly.
"You didn’t say how bad it was," he continued, his tone shifting—frustration laced with defensiveness. "I thought it was just— I didn’t think—"
Jihyo didn’t hear the rest.
She stepped into the room, and the sound of machines drowned it all.
The rhythmic beeping startled her at first, each pulse of it an obvious reminder that Jeongyeon’s body wasn’t doing this on its own.
She took a slow breath, forcing herself to match it to the rise and fall of Jeongyeon’s chest, as if loosing herself in the sound, in the movement, would somehow make it easier to bear.
She moved carefully, pausing for a second before lowering herself into the chair beside the bed. Her fingers reached out before she could talk herself out of it, curling around Jeongyeon’s hand where it lay limp against the blanket.
Cold.
She swallowed down the sob that threatened to escape her and she held on anyways.
She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to apologize for something like this. For not being here sooner. For not knowing. For not seeing the signs when she should have.
So she just held her hand, tightly, so tightly. Trying to pull her back into this moment.
"Did anyone else talk to Joon?" she turned to them without letting go.
Sana shifted slightly behind her. "Not me."
Mina crossed her arms, locking eyes with her before finally speaking, “I did," she said. "On my way to pick you up from the airport."
Jihyo nodded, letting speak.
“I... I called him,” Mina continued, her voice careful, recalling what she knew. “He said she fell. He turned away for a second after a small argument... Just to grab something from the counter, and then she was just... gone. He didn’t even notice at first. Not until he heard her scream."
Jihyo stayed silent, absorbing the words.
The version he gave her... the carefully chosen words he’d fed Jihyo over the phone...
The same story.
Almost. But not quite.
Because what he told her... "—just talking, Jihyo, and I turned and—" It echoed in her mind. Just talking... just talking.
But now, a new detail. A slip-up. Something to make it sound more convincing, more controlled.
Arguing.
That’s what they’d been doing.
Jihyo’s jaw tightened.
A small difference. Barely noticeable. But it mattered.
Because details like that didn’t just change. Not if you were telling the truth.
She didn’t say anything, didn’t let her expression shift, didn’t let the realization show.
Instead, she just turned back to her—to her friend who was now battling for her life.
And right before it fell she wiped the lone tear with the back of her hand.
She needed a moment to just pause and let her thoughts settle, to breathe steadily through her nose, to quiet her mind for just a moment. It had been running on overdrive for so long—she had to shut it down, even if only for a second.
She walked out of the room, past the still muffled argument between Nayeon and Harang, past the toobright fluorescent lights and the staleness of the hospital air. She didn’t stop until she reached the elevator, then the first floor, then the exit...
She just needed air. Needed something that didn’t feel so suffocating.
Outside, the breeze that brushed against her was cool, the kind that lingered after a long day, warm enough to stick to her skin but cold enough to remind her it was too late for any of this.
She pulled out her lighter, flipping it open, flicking it until the small flame danced before her eyes. Not for a cigarette—she hadn’t thought to grab them in the chaos of it. So it was just for show, a distraction for her mind.
Her gaze flickered to the parking lot, scanning each car, searching for one she recognized.
For him.
For Joon.
She didn’t know what she expected—to see him walking toward her, to hear the truth come out of his mouth, to catch the way his face twisted, cracked under pressure.
But the coward was stalling, taking his sweet time to show up.
She inhaled deeply, flicking the lighter off, then on again, watching the flame rise and fall, rise and fall—
She barely noticed Sana until she was already walking past her.
She moved easily, without hesitation, settling against the wall beside her like it was second nature, like they’d done this a thousand times before.
Jihyo didn’t look at her, not at first. Her eyes were following the flame.
She only did when she saw Sana’s hands move, reaching into her bag, fishing out a pack of cigarettes.
Sana glanced at her briefly, the corner of her lips curling slightly, something unreadable in her eyes. Then, she plucked one out, placed it between her lips, and leaned in slightly.
Jihyo didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even have to think about it. She lifted her lighter, flicked it open again and held it out.
Sana bent more, close enough that Jihyo caught the faintest trace of perfume beneath the lingering scent of the hospital. The flame flickered between them, igniting at the end of Sana’s cigarette, sizzling when it caught on.
She watched her move again and take a long drag, then lean her head back against the wall, exhaling a thin stream of smoke into the sky.
She didn’t say anything at first.
Sana just stood there, smoking, breathing, waiting for an opening.
Then, casually, she tilted her head slightly toward Jihyo.
"Want one?"
Jihyo flicked her lighter shut, exhaling through her nose. "I don’t smoke."
Sana hummed, unconvinced. "Since when?"
Jihyo shrugged. "A while."
"You used to."
"Yeah, well. Things change.”
It was a throwaway comment, not sharp enough to be a jab, not soft enough to be meaningless. Just something in between, something with weight in it. Something that acknowledged the space between them, the years, the silence, the gaps in knowing.
Sana took another drag, eyes flickering toward the parking lot, toward the cars Jihyo had been watching earlier.
Then, with smoke still coming out her mouth, she stepped closer.
It wasn’t much. Just enough that the distance between them meant something.
"You’re hiding something," she murmured, voice low so only she could hear.
Jihyo didn’t move, didn’t react, but she could feel it—the shift in the air, the slow unraveling of a knot she hadn’t even meant to pull loose.
Sana’s gaze lingered, searching for even the slightest flicker of motion on her face, the tiniest twitch.
"Am I?"
Sana’s lips curled slightly, even through the haze of her puffy eyes. Her cigarette burning slowly between her fingers.
"Yeah," she said simply. "You are."
And just like that, the space between them felt smaller. Like something started cracking open.
Jihyo watched the cigarette burn, the embers glowing in the dim light. She didn’t think much before reaching for it, plucking it effortlessly from her hand.
Sana smirked, watching as Jihyo took a slow drag, her exhale steady, practiced. A sharp exhale that betrayed her lie before she even had a chance to hold onto it.
"Thought you didn’t smoke," Sana mused, though the amusement was muted.
More smoke came out her nose, flicking the ash off the tip with her thumb. "I don’t."
Sana didn’t laugh—it still didn’t feel right— but the trace of it was there, “Right."
Jihyo rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips betrayed her. They fell into an easy rhythm, a back and forth so ingrained it felt automatic, like muscle memory. It was strange, yet effortless. They’d done this a thousand times before—the teasing, the push and pull, the way Sana always caught her in a lie but never pushed too hard.
The cigarette was small now, nearly burned down to the filter, but Jihyo took one last inhale anyway, feeling the smoke coil in her lungs before she let it go. She glanced sideways at Sana, watching the way she leaned against the wall, the way she held herself like she belonged everywhere and nowhere all at once.
That complicity between them was still there. That memory of what they once were.
And it was hard—it always had been—to keep her walls up with Sana.
"How’d you know I needed a ride?" she asked, tossing the cigarette to the ground and pressing it into the pavement with the tip of her shoe. "I mean, it was obvious I was coming, but how’d you know when I landed?"
Sana shrugged, reaching for another cigarette but not lighting it yet, just rolling it between her fingers. "Nayeon said something like that.”
Jihyo hummed in acknowledgment. She hadn’t checked her phone since the airport, hadn’t seen the messages buzzing through as she rushed to get here. She exhaled again, clear air this time as she rested her head back against the wall, letting herself breathe for just a second longer.
Then, she glanced at Sana again, the quiet between them comfortable in a way it hadn’t been for years.
"What are you up to now?"
It was an innocent enough question, but something in the way Sana’s expression shifted—just slightly, just enough for Jihyo to catch it—made her feel... miserable.
"I’ve got a play coming up. Just a couple of days away now."
Jihyo turned her head fully toward her then, raising a brow. "Star of the show?"
Sana smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "What else?"
Jihyo smiled for the first time since this whole mess started. A real smile. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
"And you?" Sana asked, locking eyes with her. "Still doing films?"
Jihyo nodded. "Yeah. I’m filming one now."
Sana hardly faltered before saying, "I know."
"You do?" She felt the deep furrow of her brows.
Sana looked away toward the parking lot, toward nothing in particular. "Mina tells me things sometimes."
It took her a moment to let the words sink in. She and Mina had remained friends over the years, that much was true. But for Sana to still ask about her?There was an unspoken understanding in that, a silent truth neither of them addressed directly.
Jihyo watched her carefully. "I didn’t know you and I weren’t friends."
Sana let out a small scoff, shaking her head. "You never called."
“You never picked up when I did."
Sana turned to face her now, fully, and there was a rare openness in her expression, a look that made Jihyo’s stomach twist in ways she didn’t want to dwell on.
There was a beat of silence, a pause that almost stretched, a fragility that felt like it might unravel if either of them tugged too hard.
But before either of them could say anything else, Jihyo saw it.
The car.
His car.
It pulled up to the parking lot, and everything in Jihyo’s body tensed before she even knew she was moving.
She straightened completely, her gaze locking onto the vehicle, her mind already racing ahead, already anticipating, already thinking too much too fast.
Sana noticed.
Of course, she noticed. She saw the shift in Jihyo before Jihyo even fully processed it herself. And then, as if sensing the exact moment Jihyo’s gears started turning, she spoke.
Low. Direct. "What do you know?"
Jihyo didn’t look at her.
"Jihyo."
This time, it wasn’t a question. This time, it was a demand.
Jihyo was fuming again, but it was controlled this time because Sana was watching her now, waiting for something. And Jihyo wasn’t sure she was ready to give it to her.
Jihyo didn’t think—she just moved.
The moment Joon stepped out of his car, she was charging toward him, barely aware of the sound of Sana behind her, calling her name. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except him.
She reached him before he had a chance to react, shoving him back with both hands, her grip tight in the fabric of his shirt.
"You—" she started, but the rage tangled the words in her throat.
Joon barely stumbled, his expression shifting from startled to annoyance as he steadied himself. "What the hell—"
Jihyo didn’t let him finish.
She raised her hand, ready to slap him across the face, but he caught her wrist mid-air, fingers tight, unyielding.
"Are you fucking crazy?" he hissed, he was furious now.
Sana was there in an instant, grabbing Jihyo’s other arm, trying to pull her back. "Jihyo!"
But she didn’t move, didn’t let go.
She glared up at him, chest rising and falling with barely restrained fury. This close, she could see everything. The tension in his jaw, the sweat beading at his temple, the glint in his eyes—not quite fear, but not quite control either.
"The fuck is wrong with you?" Joon snapped, straightening his posture, shaking her off like she was nothing more than an inconvenience.
"Where the hell were you?" Jihyo’s voice came out raw, edged with danger.
Joon scoffed, rubbing the spot where she’d shoved him. "At the police station."
Jihyo let out a sharp, humorless breath. "Right. Filing a report?"
"Yes," he gritted out.
She tilted her head, stepping closer again. "I hope it was to turn yourself in."
And that was when she saw it—the frightening change in his eyes.
Jihyo froze, petrified by the look he was giving her. A sliver of fear crept in, cold and unwelcome.
Not because he had done anything to her, but because she saw it now. The way his face gave nothing away, the way he was too controlled, too unaffected.
And for the first time, she wondered if Jeongyeon had seen it too. If she had felt that same shift, the same creeping dread—the hollowness in his eyes.
The thought made her stomach turn.
She barely had time to process it before Sana was there. Her hand wrapped around Jihyo’s arm, yanking her back, forcing space between them.
Sana kept her stance, unshaken. "You better stay away from her. Don’t even think about stepping inside."
Joon let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You don’t know a fucking thing, Minatozaki."
Then, without another glance, he shoved past them, his shoulder knocking against Jihyo’s as he walked away.
She spun on her heel, rage clawing its way up her throat.
"You better have a good fucking lawyer!" she shouted after him, voice sharp, cutting through the night. "Because I swear to God, I’m making sure you rot in jail!"
But Joon didn’t stop, didn’t even turn to acknowledge her.
He just disappeared into the entrance, the automatic doors sliding shut behind him, leaving them standing there with the weight of everything that´d just happened.
Jihyo stood frozen, hands clenched into fists, chest heaving with the force of everything she was holding back.
She barely registered the pressure of Sanas hand gripping her arm, fingers pressing into her skin like she was expecting her to charge after him again.
She could hear both of their heavy breaths, the heat of the moment pulsing between them, anger woven into every inhale.
Then, slowly, Sana let go of her, but she didn’t move away. "Jihyo," she murmured, voice softer now, "what the hell do you know?"
Jihyo swallowed, throat tight.
Sana knew. She knew.
Maybe she hadn’t pieced everything together yet, but she felt it.
She could see it in Jihyo’s face, in the way her anger wasn’t just about what had happened—but about what she feared to be true.
Jihyo´s jaw hurt with how hard she was clenching it, her pals sweaty and her fist tight.
If she said it out loud, if she admitted what was really circling in her head... it would mean she failed her.
And she wasn’t ready to accept that.
She couldn’t—because if she did, she might never forgive herself.