Chapter 95: A Belated Return

The sweet whispers quelled the urgent feeling that had compelled me to leave. The earnest voice that had called to me just moments before grew distant, fading like a receding echo until it was no more than a faint wisp.

‘Do I really have to go?’

My eyes, slowly losing their focus, yearned to remain here, to find solace in this place. Why had I ever thought of leaving, when you were already by my side?

“Don’t abandon me.”

That voice, brimming with desperation, jolted me back to my senses. Slowly, I turned, my gaze falling upon your tear-streaked face.

“Are you going to abandon me ‘again’?”

You leaned your cheek into my hand, your voice a question. I needed to answer, yet my throat felt constricted, and no sound escaped my lips.

Firmly, I closed my lips, which had been senselessly parting and closing. My gaze then shifted, drawn by the voice that had begun to sharpen once more.

‘You were calling me… all along.’

Only then did the forgotten memories flood back, one after another. The blissful moments we shared were long gone, and I was no longer Yoo Joon-hee. Nor were you.

“Hyung?”

You called out to me, a note of urgency in your voice. The ‘you’ standing before me was, perhaps, nothing more than a phantom born from my profound longing.

It was my fervent wish that if I were still Yoo Joon-hee, and you, Seon Woo-jung, we would have remained happy together.

“Stay by my side.”

You bent your head, pressing your lips to mine. I yearned to cling to your soft, warm presence, but knowing it was impossible, tears streamed down my face.

If I were to abandon reality and linger here with you, I might find happiness. However, the ‘you’ I would leave behind would surely crumble. I simply couldn’t bear to see you make such a choice again.

“I’m sorry, Jung-ah.”

With a heartfelt apology, I gently pushed away the ‘you’ I held. In your eyes, trembling with shock, my own reflection stared back, a forced smile upon my face.

“Why…?”

You mumbled, a whisper of disbelief in your voice. Your trembling hands seized me as words poured forth like a waterfall.

“If you stay here, we can be happy together. Nothing you worry about will ever happen, and we won’t have to part ways. Here, Hyung can continue to live as Yoo Joon-hee, and I can remain Seon Woo-jung. We can be together indefinitely. So please, stay here with me—”

“Even so, I have to go.”

With great difficulty, I pushed you away. To follow the voice that beckoned me, I hastily donned the clothes scattered across the floor.

Before stepping out of the room, I cast one last glance behind me. You remained rooted to that very spot.

As if unable to depart from it.

The days of carefree happiness with you had reached their end. We had already traversed too much anguish, only to reunite within that very suffering.

Undoubtedly, more pain lay ahead. Yet, one truth I held with unwavering certainty: a separation so agonizing, so akin to having one’s heart torn out, would only ever happen once.

We would never again let go of each other.

“We’ll meet again, Jung-ah.”

Even though I was leaving you behind in this place, I knew we would soon meet again. With that certainty, I offered my farewell to the ‘you’ conjured by my own desires.

Only then did you smile, calling out to me as I walked forward. ‘We’ll definitely meet again,’ you said.

****

Though the birth came earlier than expected, the baby was healthy.

The profound emotion, upon confirming all five tiny fingers and toes of the vigorously crying baby, was utterly beyond words.

Its eyes hadn’t yet opened, making it impossible to tell for certain. Still, its hair was a light shade, much like Joon-hee’s.

With rosy cheeks and plump lips, the baby seemed to take after Joon-hee more than me. It was a profound relief.

The profound emotion of a strong bond, finally born to connect him and Joon-hee, was fleeting. For a great despair lay in wait.

The surgery had been successfully completed. Yet, for reasons unknown, Joon-hee failed to awaken. He had been told to simply wait a few hours for him to emerge from the anesthesia, but the outcome remained unchanged.

To his growing anxiety, the doctors offered only a repeated, hollow assurance: ‘Soon.’ He confronted the person in charge, implored them, and exhausted every possible modern medical treatment. Still, it was all in vain.

So passed a day, then two, until, before he realized it, a full week had elapsed since Joon-hee had fallen into his slumber. Time, it seemed, moved with alarming speed.

He hadn’t slept properly, nor had he found a moment to eat in peace. Apart from brief visits to the baby in the nursery, he had not once left Joon-hee’s side.

“Hyung, when will you wake up?”

Even knowing no answer would come, he continued to speak to the persistently sleeping Joon-hee. He feared that if he didn’t, Joon-hee truly wouldn’t awaken, and even his faint glimmer of hope would vanish entirely.

‘No, don’t think negative thoughts.’

Even as he attempted to steel his resolve, it proved incredibly difficult. He was, at this point, merely enduring. He felt like a futile sandcastle, poised to collapse with the slightest breeze.

“Director Han.”

His head bowed, he must have drifted off for a brief moment. The voice calling his name jolted him awake, and as he turned, he saw Seo-jin’s parents standing there.

“CEO Yoo.”

CEO Yoo prevented him from rising. However, with only one chair available, he made to offer it to Seo-jin’s mother, as doing so would also bring him some measure of comfort.

“Thank you.”

Seo-jin’s mother, whose eyes had been red-rimmed since entering the room, wept silently upon seeing Joon-hee’s unchanged condition from the day before.

He watched CEO Yoo gently pat the mother’s shoulder, then quietly slipped out of the hospital room. After all, the family would surely need some private time together.

‘I’m tired.’

He lightly stretched, attempting to loosen his stiff body, before making his way toward the nursery. He had no desire to squander this brief, unexpected moment of respite.

The one small mercy was that visiting hours weren’t strictly enforced, provided it wasn’t excessively early or late. This meant he could see the baby at almost any time.

Though he could only gaze through the glass window, the baby, having opened its eyes sometime during the week, was strikingly beautiful, a perfect likeness of Joon-hee.

“Hello.”

He waved, and in response, the baby let out a wide yawn, as if acknowledging him. Joon-hee would have adored this sight. He barely managed to compose the surge of emotion before offering the baby a bright smile.

‘I need to name them too.’

With Joon-hee still unconscious, they hadn’t yet been able to name the baby. A wave of belated regret washed over him; if only he had known, they would have chosen a name together beforehand.

“Kkam-jjaki, you miss Hyung Joon-hee a lot too, don’t you?”

As if understanding his words, the baby blinked its large eyes. Even that simple gesture bore such a strong resemblance to Joon-hee that he found himself unable to hold back his tears.

He quickly wiped his tears away, but the baby, having witnessed his distress, began to cry along with him. While the nurse moved to soothe the wailing infant, he worked to compose his own turbulent emotions.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, “he’ll be able to come with us soon.”

He said, meeting the crying baby’s gaze. Slowly, the infant quieted, eventually drifting off into a deep, peaceful sleep.

With a silent promise to return, he made his way back to Joon-hee. The family, it seemed, had stepped out for a while, as they were nowhere to be seen.

“Hyung, I just saw Kkam-jjaki.”

Taking Joon-hee’s hand, he recounted his recent visit with the baby. During these moments, he could, at least, find a reason to smile.

“Kkam-jjaki, they really resemble you, Hyung.”

The baby’s eyes, too, were a light shade, mirroring Joon-hee’s. While there must have been some features that resembled him, he simply couldn’t discern them. To his eyes, the infant was merely a miniature Joon-hee.

“You both must miss each other terribly. You, Hyung, and Kkam-jjaki too.”

He held Joon-hee’s hand, which, though unmoving, still pulsed with warmth. Then, closing his eyes, he earnestly prayed to an unknown deity.

“Please, come back to me.”

Losing Joon-hee once had been more than enough. He lacked the strength to endure a second time, a period when the very act of breathing had felt like hell itself.

So please, for his sake, and for the sake of their innocent baby who knew nothing of this, he begged him to return.

A jolt—he felt a subtle movement in the hand he clasped. Startled, he opened his previously closed eyes.

He tried to temper his expectations, for such small movements had occurred several times before. The greater his hope, the more devastating the disappointment would be, threatening to shatter his already fragile resolve.

Nevertheless, a ‘what if’ flickered through his mind. He lifted his head, gazing at Joon-hee, who he expected to still be deeply asleep.

At that moment, a miracle unfolded before him.

The light-colored eyes, hidden beneath his eyelids for an entire week, were now visible. Those very eyes, identical to the baby who still had no name, were unmistakably looking at him.

“…Hyung?”

He couldn’t believe it. He wondered if he was merely dreaming, if his desperate longing had conjured this reality.

But only when the hand he had been holding unilaterally now returned his grasp did he truly realize that Joon-hee had awakened. Finally, Joon-hee had returned to his side.

“Ah, ahh…”

His face was a mess of streaming tears, and only incoherent sounds escaped his lips. Watching him weep openly, Joon-hee offered a gentle smile and a belated greeting.

“Jung-ah, I’m back.”

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