“Shhh. I’ve got you. It’s over. You’re here. You’re not alone.”
But it wasn’t over.
It had never ended.
It had only looped, circled, burned itself into the marrow of something older than memory.
Haneul didn’t speak. He couldn’t.
He just clung to Seungho like a ghost that didn’t want to vanish.
And Seungho let him.
They stayed like that for a long time.
Minutes.
Maybe hours.
When Haneul’s shaking finally eased, Seungho still couldn’t release him. Some primitive fear had taken root. His eyes kept darting to the corners of the room—as if checking for embers, for smoke that wasn’t there. His pulse hammered. His palm, pressed to Haneul’s spine, felt for fire like a man expecting pain.
Then a sharper ache bloomed under his ribs. He pressed his free hand against his sternum, right where the burn should be, fingers curling into the fabric like he could keep something from escaping. The phantom heat made him dizzy. He didn’t understand it—only that losing this person again would kill him.
He pulled Haneulcloser, near crushing, until their breaths tangled. His whisper was rough, unguarded.
“I don’t wanna lose you.”
“You haven’t,” Haneul mumbled, half-asleep, voice wrecked.
“Not again,” Seungho breathed—too low for sense, almost prayer, without truly understanding its meaning.
Only then did he ease his grip, his hand still over that empty place in his chest that ached as if it remembered being whole.
Eventually, Haneul calmed. His breathing slowed. He curled closer, half beneath Seungho’s chest like he needed his heartbeat to stay tethered to the present.
Only then did he speak. “Seungho?”
“Mmm?”
A pause. Barely a breath.
“Have you ever felt like… you’re remembering something that never happened?”
Seungho didn’t answer right away.
He just traced the curve of Haneul’s back. Shoulder to hip. Slow and grounding.
Then—
“I do…” a pause, his thumb finding the knot of Haneul’s braid. “All the time.”
Haneul closed his eyes.
“I just… draw them. So they stop screaming.”
Seungho turned toward him.
Lifted a hand.
