EMP Chapter 27

[Are you Park Juyeon?]

[This is OO Hospital. If you’re not busy, could you drop by?]

Park Juyeon stared blankly at his phone. His thumbs hovered over the screen. It wasn’t often that someone reached out to him anymore, and even if they did, it wouldn’t be through an unknown number. Naturally, he found this message strange. After a long deliberation, he sighed and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

The hospital mentioned in the message was a familiar place, one he would frequently visit in the future. Just three months prior, he had admitted his mother there. It had been an unavoidable decision. And to put that decision into action, he had needed the help of “adults.” Park Juyeon could never forget the expressions of his family and the man he called father when he saw them after such a long time.

Damn it. If they hated the situation so much, they should’ve helped earlier. Park Juyeon had grown accustomed to cursing under his breath.

The once-cozy house, warm even with just the two of them, now only harbored a chilling atmosphere. In that dim house, lit by a single hallway light, Park Juyeon would sit alone for hours. It became his new habit and, eventually, his daily routine. Slowly but surely, he was getting used to being alone.

For days—no, weeks—he didn’t respond to the message. To be precise, he wasn’t in the right state of mind to do so. It was April, the start of a new school semester, but instead of attending school, he was preparing to transfer. The rumors spread throughout the entire school didn’t help.

After being caught by a library guard for something he had done, Kwon Jiwook stopped tormenting Park Juyeon directly. Instead, he began circulating photos and videos he had taken of Juyeon during their time together. It wasn’t surprising that Park Juyeon’s older sister, Ye-won, suffered a mental breakdown after seeing it all.

On the day he completed his admission process, he returned home and played one of the videos he had received. It left him violently ill.

The memories of that day came flooding back vividly from just the first frame. Kwon Jiwook, armed with lipstick of varying shades, scrawling vulgar words all over Juyeon’s chest, thighs, and every inch of his body. The laughter of men surrounding him. The camera capturing it all.

“…”

From that day on, Juyeon stripped his world of color. Especially red, which he now avoided more than anything. That was why his wardrobe consisted almost entirely of neutral tones.

Now, Park Juyeon sat slumped on an empty park bench, avoiding school altogether, his face tired as he ran his hands over it. At fifteen, having grown up pampered like a hothouse flower, the process of learning to be alone was far from smooth. His head, unused to thinking so much, groaned under the weight of researching transfer procedures and policies. He read the same sentences repeatedly, struggling with the difficult language. Even now, he had just fled the overwhelming sea of information after attempting to make sense of it.

“I’m so tired.” He muttered to himself. Without realizing it, he reached into his pocket for a cigarette pack. …It was another habit Kwon Jiwook had taught him. Though Juyeon initially refused, Jiwook insisted until it became a habit. Juyeon clenched his teeth and threw the pack aside.

“Is there any candy or something?” Searching his pocket again, his hand brushed against his phone. He suddenly remembered the text he had received weeks ago.

“…”

Come to think of it, he’d been visiting the hospital regularly, yet he hadn’t even thought to respond to that person. Was it a lack of emotional bandwidth? Lost in thought, his phone buzzed again, as if it had read his mind.

[Come to OO Hospital. This is the last week.]

[?? Isn’t this Park Juyeon’s number?]

“What the hell…?”

The timing couldn’t have been more surreal. Juyeon frowned at his innocent phone, stared at it up and down, then pressed the call button without hesitation.

* * *

To cut to the chase, the person who sent the text didn’t answer. Juyeon sighed, slid the phone back into his pocket, and let another meaningless day pass.

Why text if they weren’t going to answer? All it did was unsettle him.

Standing on the hospital terrace, Juyeon pouted as he gazed into the distance. It was a place designed like a sky garden, and the breeze fit the season perfectly, lifting his mood despite himself.

Feeling he had rested enough, Juyeon turned to head back to the ward. Just as he did, a familiar shout pierced the air, freezing him in his tracks.

“Ah, damn it! Why are you treating me like I’m crazy when I’m perfectly fine?!”

“…!”

His heart gave a small, heavy thud. The voice’s owner was someone he knew all too well.

Why? Why is he here?

The once-serene scenery warped in an instant. Juyeon couldn’t move his feet. He stood rooted to the spot, staring in the direction of the argument with wide eyes. Though the voice alone was unmistakable, he felt the desperate need to see for himself. His fists clenched tightly, his palms growing damp with cold sweat.

“…”

The sound was fading into the distance; he could have simply walked toward the hospital room. Yet, why couldn’t he move his feet? Park Juyeon gritted his teeth, frustrated at his own body for not cooperating.

At that moment, a rough hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.

It felt as if the pounding of his heart had abruptly stopped. A chill raced from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. His mind blanked, and he thought he might collapse right then and there. But when the voice reached his ear, it was different from what he expected.

“You’re Park Juyeon, right?”

“…!”

Park Juyeon spun around in alarm. A stranger…? His brows furrowed in confusion. No, this wasn’t the first time he had seen this person.

“So this is our first time meeting in person. Nice to meet you.”

“…”

“What’s with the glare? Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything.”

Realizing the man wasn’t Kwon Jiwook, the color slowly returned to Juyeon’s pale face. Though his breathing was still uneven, he tried to steady himself.

The man, who looked somewhere between a teenager and a young adult, had a cigarette hanging from his lips as he scanned Juyeon from head to toe. His expression made it clear that he knew exactly why Juyeon was reacting this way. A high schooler who knew about his circumstances. But who? Unfortunately, there were too many possibilities. Juyeon racked his brain under the man’s unrelenting gaze until a name came to mind—Lee Woojin.

It was a name Kwon Jiwook used to spit out daily with a string of curses. The memory of the two being constantly at each other’s throats surfaced naturally.

“Did you send the text?” Juyeon asked.

“Yeah.”

“How’d you get my number?”

“I asked the guys for it.”

“…”

That meant even the kids on the opposite side of Kwon Jiwook knew his personal information. Just how far had it spread? Thinking about it alone exhausted him. Juyeon pressed his fingers to his temples and replied, his discomfort evident.

“Why’d you call me? You don’t seriously think I’m here because of him, do you?”

“Then why are you here?”

“I came to see my mom. Because of him, she lost her mind, and I’m here to take care of her. I have no intention of getting involved again, so just leave. …Wait. Were you here first? Then I’ll go. Goodbye.”

Ju-yeon, his discomfort evident, hastily finished speaking and turned to leave. But just as he was about to move, Lee Woojin, who had been wearing an oddly troubled expression, hesitated before speaking.

“That bastard doesn’t even remember you.”

“…What?”

What nonsense is this? Juyeon’s delicate features twisted into a frown. The words were absurd, incomprehensible. But Woojin continued, his expression a mix of frustration and reluctance.

“Amnesia. Kwon Jiwook.”

“…What kind of—”

“Why else would he be here? Don’t believe me if you don’t want to.”

The implication was clear—why else would Kwon Jiwook be throwing tantrums in a psychiatric ward? Thinking about it, the logic wasn’t entirely off. But Juyeon wasn’t ready to accept it. Amnesia? It wasn’t a common occurrence; it was something straight out of a drama. He let out a hollow laugh, listening to Woojin’s words with disbelief.

“Kwon Jiwook, you know. He got a pretty bad head injury the last time he fought with our group.”

“…”

“That’s why he’s been here for weeks. I contacted you because I thought you should know.”

“…Why me?”

Ju-yeon tilted his head skeptically. Ever since Woojin had brought up Jiwook, he had become nothing but a thorn in Juyeon’s side. Yet, it was Woojin who now scanned him from head to toe, as if Juyeon’s response was the strange one. For a moment, he even looked exasperated.

“What do you mean, why? Are you just going to sit still? Do you feel nothing toward that bastard?”

“…”

“After all that, how can you just let it go?”

“Look. I just want to live quietly.”

“…”

“You’re strong, Hyung. So you can’t understand why I didn’t fight back, right?”

His remark was undoubtedly an overstepping interference. Park Juyeon closed his eyes tightly and let out a deep sigh. This situation was just exhausting.

“But there’s nothing I can do right now. The only thing I can do is forget, pretend not to know, and live a life where I never show up in anyone’s sight again. So why do you keep poking at me?”

“Park Juyeon.”

“If you still don’t understand, let me say it clearly one more time… I’m not thinking about revenge.”

Park Juyeon smirked bitterly, suppressing the boiling frustration inside him as he spat the words out. Lee Woojin looked flustered. He probably hadn’t expected this reaction. Park Juyeon let out a derisive snort.

He couldn’t guess Lee Woojin’s real intentions, nor did he understand why he was spouting such nonsense if he had truly resolved to seek revenge. It felt as if he had approached with the impure intent of overturning everything in Juyeon’s mind.

“I remember everything else, but I conveniently forgot the time I spent with you. Isn’t that unfair? … I don’t know if that’s good or bad for you, but since I don’t remember you, I won’t act scary, will I? We could at least talk.”

Everything he said disregarded Park Juyeon’s perspective entirely. Even though it had been over six months since he’d last had any involvement with Kwon Jiwook, that time was far from sufficient. It wasn’t enough to recover his mind and body, which had been slowly corroded. He had no desire to approach Kwon Jiwook or even speak to him.

“Ha. I shouldn’t have done something so stupid…”

“Something stupid?”

When Lee Woojin muttered while rubbing his face, Park Juyeon’s eyebrow twitched. From the moment they met, his behavior had been suspicious, so everything he had said thus far must have been a prelude to what he was about to say now.

“No, no. It was that bastard who was in the wrong in the first place.”

“Okay, so just tell me what happened already.”

“You know how our school and those guys had that big fight recently, right?”

Of course, he knew. Even someone like Park Juyeon, who barely attended school, had heard about it. It was a massive incident that even made rounds on social media, with local kids anonymously causing a commotion. Apparently, it had been such a big and intense fight that even the police had gotten involved.

“Yeah, how could I not know?”

“That’s when that bastard Kwon Jiwook threatened my little brother. I mean, come on, involving family? What kind of human does that? How could I not lose my temper? I thought this bastard needed a good beating to come to his senses, so I did what I did.”

As he continued, his voice grew more agitated, and his face turned red, as if he were reliving the moment. Meanwhile, Park Juyeon’s expression gradually took on a tinge of boredom. Realizing that Lee Woojin posed no threat to him, Juyeon relaxed his stance slightly. Regardless, Lee Woojin remained lost in his own thoughts, clutching his head.

“But, well, I didn’t think things would turn out like this…”

“What, did you go in with a bat or something and hit him?”

Lee Woojin blinked, staring blankly at Park Juyeon.

“…How did you know?”

“Ha, I guessed. You really did? So, he got brain damage or something?”

Reluctantly, Lee Woojin nodded. His response made Juyeon sigh involuntarily.

“A high school kid doing something like that…?”

A street fight, a hospital stay, and now memory loss—it was as if they were filming some low-budget crime movie.

Even so, it didn’t seem like Lee Woojin would be so restless over just this. He had acted out of a desire to harm Kwon Jiwook, so why would he be wracked with guilt now that the guy had memory loss? Waiting for him to continue, Park Juyeon stared at him, unblinking.

“But that guy ended up forgetting everything from the past year. Which means you can’t even get back at him… Sorry.”

Lee Woojin’s words ended there. But no, there was definitely more to this. Although Lee Woojin and Kwon Jiwook were opposites, they were also the same in a way. Neither of them was the type to make excuses or apologies for someone else. If he wasn’t rambling for no reason, Juyeon didn’t have any business with him. With that thought, Juyeon bowed slightly, intending to leave.

“I get what you’re saying. I’ll be going now.”

“Do you really think you’ll feel better if you just forget and move on?”

“What?”

“I mean, do you think you can forget? You’ll think of it before bed, it’ll come back to you randomly when you’re living your life. You’ll end up stuck with that bastard for the rest of your life.”

The one who had dragged Kwon Jiwook’s face back to the surface was none other than Lee Woojin. Yet Juyeon couldn’t understand what gave Woojin the right to say such things to him. His eyes crumpled as he fought back a surge of emotion.

“Are you cursing me right now?”

“Just because.”

Lee Woojin turned his head away, pretending not to notice. Watching his feigned indifference only fueled an odd sense of determination within Park Juyeon. A defiant urge stirred—to stand boldly before Kwon Jiwook and declare that he wouldn’t let the past weigh him down.

Park Juyeon knew full well how foolish and pointless such thoughts were. Besides, what could he possibly gain from talking to someone with incomplete memories? It was nothing more than a hollow sense of mental victory. Yet, the resolve he had cemented to bury everything and move on was already starting to waver. Truthfully, could he even call it resolve when his thoughts were so easily swayed by a few words?

“……”

Could he truly forget and move on? Would facing Kwon Jiwook head-on be the only way to shake off the memories clinging to him like a bad dream? Park Juyeon stared at Woojin’s face for a long while before finally taking a step forward. Naturally, his destination had already been decided. This time, Woojin didn’t stop him.

Initially, he had only stepped onto the terrace for a breath of fresh air. The cool spring breeze was supposed to clear his head before he returned to his mother’s side. Yet, why did unexpected encounters always seem to find him, even in the least desirable moments?

“Do you think you can forget? Thoughts of him will haunt you before bed, or creep up out of nowhere while you’re living your life. You’ll spend the rest of your life tethered to him.”

Woojin’s words lingered in his mind with unsettling clarity, as if he had foretold the future. Could that be true? Would Park Juyeon truly remain bound to Kwon Jiwook for the rest of his life?

No. That couldn’t happen. If that were the case, it would be better to face him now and cut all ties for good. That resolve had brought him here.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for a patient’s room.”

“Aren’t you Park Yewon’s guardian?”

“Yes, but… I also know someone who was admitted recently, so…”

Park Juyeon gave an awkward smile to the nurse who recognized him. He gestured vaguely down the corridor, his actions clearly betraying his unease.

“What’s the patient’s name?”

“…Kwon Jiwook.”

“What’s your relationship to him?”

“Ah…”

The nurse glanced between her paper chart and the electronic record system as she asked, her tone purely procedural. It wasn’t even an important question, yet Park Juyeon faltered.

What could he possibly say? Could he blurt out, “He’s my assailant,” or “Someone I used to have a crush on”? No, those weren’t options. In the end, he gave the safest yet most unpleasant answer he could muster.

“We’re friends.”

The nurse’s response was indifferent, matching his half-hearted reply.

“Room 501.”

“…Thanks.”

Room 501 was at the very end of the hallway, closest to the staircase leading to the adjacent building. It was farthest from his mother’s room, which was positioned right next to the nurses’ station.

Wednesday, around two in the afternoon. Checking the time on his phone, Park Juyeon walked at an unhurried pace. Any diligent student would still be at school at this hour, though exceptions like Lee Woojin reminded him it wasn’t a guarantee. His nervousness grew, leaving his mouth parched at the thought that Woojin’s group might be with Jiwook.

Yet the area outside the room was silent. Park Juyeon pressed his ear against the door but heard nothing. Taking a step back, he checked the nameplate. Room 501 was listed as a six-person ward, but only one name stood out: [M/15 Kwon Jiwook].

“……”

No sign of anyone else. It seemed Jiwook was alone. Taking a deep breath, Park Juyeon steeled himself. If Woojin’s claims were true, there was no need to feel nervous. And even if they weren’t, he had no reason to feel ashamed.

He wasn’t the one at fault.

With that thought, Park Juyeon tightened his grip on the door handle and slowly pushed it open. The door swung without a sound, revealing a spacious, sunlit room.

There, bathed in soft, orange sunlight, was the one person he ought to loathe. Eyes closed, utterly unaware of Park Juyeon’s presence, Kwon Jiwook lay breathing steadily, his chest rising and falling in rhythm.

How long had he been hospitalized? Judging by the timeline—three weeks since the fight and Woojin’s message—any minor wounds or surgical marks should have healed. In his sleep, Jiwook appeared unscathed, his features those of a near-adult, strikingly handsome and far removed from his boyish youth.

Sensing a presence, Kwon Jiwook slowly opened his eyes. Their gazes locked, his dark, drowsy eyes meeting Juyeon’s.

Park Juyeon felt his heart drop, but it wasn’t excitement—it was dread. A visceral reaction rooted in fear, not affection.

“……”

“……”

Their gazes refused to part, lingering in the tense air between them. Park Juyeon’s heart pounded so loudly that he could feel it in his throat and ears. Even though his lips were shut, his pulse echoed relentlessly. Yet, unlike the visibly tense Park Juyeon, Kwon Jiwook only furrowed his brow, remaining silent.

“You… you’re awake, huh?”

Awake? And he stuttered? What a pitiful display. Park Juyeon could hardly believe such clumsy words had spilled from his own mouth. Memories of his younger self, who had always been sharp, composed, and admired for his intelligence, flashed before him. He scolded himself, forgetting that even the most eloquent people can be rendered speechless under pressure.

Kwon Jiwook remained unresponsive for a long moment, his eyes scanning Park Juyeon’s face as if trying to piece together a puzzle. Then, at last, he spoke.

“Who are you?”

“…”

Of course. He had been expecting this. Kwon Jiwook truly didn’t remember him. The realization hit Park Juyeon like a sledgehammer. For a moment, his mind went blank, as if he were the one who had just been struck. The cold dread crept from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes. Blood drained from his extremities, leaving them icy. It wasn’t a feeling of relief but something far more chilling.

“Do you really not remember me?”

“You think I’m stupid or something? Mocking me because I’ve got a bad head now?”

The low, growling tone carried an edge of menace, coarsened further by its hoarseness. Startled, Park Juyeon instinctively took a step back before cautiously inching forward again, as though trying to approach a skittish wild animal.

“It’s not that. I’m just… someone you used to know, Sunbae. You really don’t remember?”

“Nope.”

The curt response stung.

“Why? You think I’m crazy too? Fuck, I’m so sick of this. I need to just get the hell out of here.”

“You’re not crazy. I just thought maybe you’d forgotten me…”

“Yeah, I forgot you. Don’t remember a damn thing about your face.”

Park Juyeon’s expression twisted slightly at those words. His pretty features, contorted with hurt, oddly satisfied Kwon Jiwook, who smirked faintly.

“The doctor said it’s normal to forget things that don’t matter after a head injury. Must mean you weren’t important to me.”

“…”

“Weird, though. I usually remember everything. Guess you just didn’t make much of an impression, huh?”

“Hyung, but we… we used to hang out sometimes…”

“Yeah, whatever. I don’t care.”

With that, Kwon Jiwook dismissed him, yanking the thin blue hospital blanket over his shoulder and turning away. His body language screamed disinterest, a clear sign the conversation was over.

“And don’t call me ‘Hyung.’”

“What?”

“Call me ‘Sunbae.’ Jesus, do kids these days have no respect?”

Kwon Jiwook’s broad back acted as a wall between them, an unmistakable barrier. His tone oozed irritation. It finally dawned on Park Juyeon—this man truly had forgotten him. For a long time, he stood frozen, rooted to the spot like a statue.

Even though Kwon Jiwook had turned his back, ignoring him, Park Juyeon’s lingering presence seemed to bother him. His once steady breathing turned uneven, betraying his discomfort. Still, his pride wouldn’t allow him to turn back and face Park Juyeon again. That peculiar vulnerability sparked a strange kind of courage in Juyeon. He cautiously broke the silence.

“Um, I’ll come back tomorrow. I heard you’re being discharged this week.”

“What the hell for? What could you possibly want? Just leave me alone.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Okay?”

“God, you’re so fucking annoying…”

Frustrated, Kwon Jiwook abruptly threw off his blanket and sat up, his movements abrupt and charged with anger. Alarmed, Park Juyeon bolted from the room, slamming the door behind him. From the other side of the door, muffled curses and the sound of him lying back down reached Juyeon’s ears. At least he wasn’t following.

Even after Kwon Jiwook settled back into bed, Park Juyeon’s heart continued to race, his trembling hands betraying his nerves. Staring at his hands, he let them drop limply to his sides. What had he even been thinking?

Why would you come back tomorrow, Park Juyeon? To start fresh? Because he doesn’t remember? Even if he forgot the past year, Kwon Jiwook’s nature wouldn’t have changed. Knowing that, why were you so desperate to talk to him? You’re pathetic.

“What do you think?”

“!”

The sudden, familiar voice startled him. Park Juyeon stiffened, turning toward its source. Lee Woojin stood in the hallway, arms crossed, watching him intently. Park Juyeon feigned nonchalance, attempting to mask his earlier shock.

“…About what?”

“Didn’t I tell you? He’s shameless, isn’t he? Fucking living his life like nothing happened after ruining someone else’s.”

“Who says I’ve ruined anyone? I’m perfectly fine.”

Park Juyeon snapped, openly expressing his annoyance. He didn’t like hearing such words from Lee Woojin of all people. After all, the two were similar in nature—adept at causing trouble for others and not particularly bothered by it.

“So, what’s your take? Does it really not bother you? Still not feeling like taking revenge?”

“Well… I’ll figure that out after tomorrow.”

“Fine. Do as you please.”

“But Sunbae, why do you keep telling me to get revenge? Isn’t this none of your business anyway?”

Lee Woojin’s lips moved slightly as if he was about to say something. Instead, he let out a small sigh and chose a completely unrelated point to nitpick.

“Hey. What’s with the sudden ‘Sunbae’? Weren’t you just calling me ‘Hyung, Hyung’ earlier without any hesitation?”

“He said calling someone ‘Hyung’ when you’re not close is rude.”

“Who said that? …Ah, him. Figures.”

Lee Woojin’s eyes narrowed. Even without an explicit answer, he seemed to grasp the situation, his face openly mocking. On the other hand, Park Juyeon felt his ears grow warm. It was an unconscious slip, something he hadn’t realized he was doing. Moments like these reminded him that every nerve in his body seemed to be drawn toward Kwon Jiwook. For the first time, Lee Woojin’s claim—that Juyeon was tethered to him—felt real.

While Park Juyeon wrestled with a sense of self-loathing, Lee Woojin was caught up in a lighter concern. Should they part ways now, or should he at least buy the kid a meal?

How do you even act when you’re alone with a close junior? All he could recall was smoking together. Besides, it was his first meeting with this kid today—were they even close? Or was it precisely because they weren’t close that he should treat him to a meal? The two pondered over entirely different matters, but it was Park Juyeon who spoke first.

“How did you know that Jiwook Hyung had a problem with his head?”

“I couldn’t just leave things alone after what happened. Felt uneasy. I came to check his condition and happened to overhear his doctor explaining it.”

“Must’ve been chaotic…”

“Yeah. He caught me snooping and yelled at me to get out, but I wasn’t about to hit a sick guy, so I left.”

Park Juyeon found it strange how easily Lee Woojin answered his questions. Even if his responses were peppered with expletives, it was the first time in a while that he felt like he was having a proper conversation, human to human.

Caught in this unfamiliar feeling, he glanced up at Lee Woojin. “What are you staring at?” Lee said, giving Juyeon’s head a playful shove to the side. This, too, felt new. Whenever Juyeon held someone’s gaze in the past, nine out of ten times they’d blush, and the last one would be left flustered. But Lee Woojin’s gaze was unassuming. Juyeon liked that.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Ah.”

Now that it was mentioned, he realized he’d skipped his own meals while preparing his mother’s breakfast and medication. Looking down at his stomach, Juyeon rubbed it lightly and nodded. Lee Woojin gestured with his chin toward the stairs.

“There’s a snack bar in the hospital’s food court. They’ve got better food than the ones near your school.”

“You’re treating me?”

“What, you think I’d let a kid treat me?”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Juyeon’s lips. It was his way of showing he appreciated the offer. He couldn’t bounce around cheerfully or flash the playful smiles he used to when he was happy—he was too tired for that.

* * *

“Why the hell are you barging in first thing in the morning?”

“I just wanted to talk a bit more.”

It was Thursday, 10 a.m. Lounging idly on his bed, Kwon Jiwook frowned at the uninvited guest. Though calling it “barging in” wasn’t entirely accurate—the visit was accompanied by a polite knock. Still, given the stress of dealing with strangers he couldn’t remember, Jiwook was in no mood to be civil.

“What’s the point of talking? Nothing’s going to change.”

“It’s just… it bothers me that you don’t remember me.”

“You think you’re the first one to say that? I’ve been here for almost a month now. Plenty of people have asked me if I don’t remember them.”

Clicking his tongue, Kwon Jiwook fiddled with his phone. His friends had told him they’d come by after school let out. The thought of them actually attending classes felt odd—when had they ever cared about studying? It was said that high school splits people into those who get their act together and those who stay delinquents. Naturally, Jiwook fell into the latter category.

And the pretty boy in front of him, no matter how much they had hung out together, seemed to undoubtedly belong to the first category. Kwon Jiwook couldn’t fathom why someone like that, who clearly should be at school, was instead sitting here visiting him. Meanwhile, Park Juyeon, oblivious to what was running through Kwon Jiwook’s mind, perched on the chair next to the bed, deep in thought.

“…”

Perhaps his initial encounter with Kwon Jiwook had gone wrong. What if he hadn’t met eyes with him at that PC café? Or what if he hadn’t deliberately sought them out afterward? Maybe if he hadn’t shown his interest so openly when they crossed paths again, things would’ve turned out differently—not only their relationship but the entire sequence of events. Maybe they could have formed a better bond. It was a futile daydream, yet Park Juyeon couldn’t help but believe in it, at least a little.

“So, what’s it like? You really don’t remember anything at all?”

“If you ask me to recount something that happened, it just doesn’t come to mind. Like, could you tell me exactly what you had for lunch a year ago?”

“That’s… Well… No, I couldn’t.”

“Exactly.”

As if forgetting was something to be proud of, Kwon Jiwook’s shoulders shrugged smugly. Park Juyeon watched his arrogance for a moment before averting his gaze awkwardly. But Kwon Jiwook wasn’t finished.

“Still, you’re kind of weird.”

“What do you mean?”

“With other people, I at least feel like I did something with them. But you? You feel like a total stranger.”

“…”

“You know that vibe? Like, if I asked the others, they wouldn’t even know who you are. That’s how insignificant you come off. Actually… No, it’s different. You feel like someone who wouldn’t even exist in my world.”

Park Juyeon fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. It felt different hearing it outright than suspecting it on his own. Not happy, not sad—just awkward. Why did he feel so restless? Was it really because he was upset about not being remembered?

No, not really. In fact, it was probably for the better. It was a chance, even. Because Kwon Jiwook couldn’t remember him, at least now they had an excuse to have normal conversations. If Kwon Jiwook had remembered him, it would’ve been like sticking his head into a lion’s den without any thought.

Recollections crept up, and Park Juyeon instinctively curled into himself, trying to shake them off. His rational mind debated: should he run away or stay?

“Why are you trembling? You said we knew each other.”

“Yes, well…”

“Was it a lie?”

“A lie? Of course not.”

Park Juyeon gave an awkward, faint smile. It had been so long since he’d seen such a mild side of Kwon Jiwook, even if it was only because he’d lost his memory. Their conversation felt like a throwback to a year ago, evoking nostalgia for a time he both resented and missed. Park Juyeon didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad about it.

Kwon Jiwook didn’t look away from Park Juyeon until he seemed to calm down. Only when he appeared more stable did Kwon Jiwook finally shift his gaze. And that’s when Park Juyeon dared to look at him. He looked like an entirely different person—someone clean and decent, had he simply changed out of his hospital gown.

He’d heard the numbers weren’t in his favor during the fight. Plus, the opponents had weapons. Yet apart from a minor head injury, it seemed he came out unscathed. Typical Kwon Jiwook. No matter how much he tried to avoid hearing news about him, rumors always managed to find their way to Park Juyeon’s ears, just like now. Whether it was because the brawl had been large-scale or simply because Kwon Jiwook had been involved, he couldn’t tell. Suppressing a bitter smile, he asked:

“Have you eaten?”

“Hospital food tastes like crap. Would you eat it? Anyway, I’m getting discharged tomorrow, so I’ll just have the guys bring me something later.”

It was well past breakfast time, yet he’d eaten nothing. Park Juyeon widened his eyes in surprise, making Kwon Jiwook sheepishly rub the back of his neck. “It’s not my fault the food’s that bad,” he added. Park Juyeon suddenly remembered the restaurant from yesterday.

“Have you tried the food court in the basement?”

“Never been.”

“There’s a street food stall there that’s pretty good. What do you like?”

“Why? You gonna buy me something?”

That was his plan. He didn’t know why, but hearing that Kwon Jiwook hadn’t eaten made him feel sorry for him. When Park Juyeon didn’t deny it, Kwon Jiwook glanced over with a raised eyebrow.

“Wow, how nice of you. Were we really that close?”

“Close? Not exactly, just… uh…”

Park Juyeon trailed off, shaking his head. It had been a one-sided desire for closeness on his part. Still, he didn’t want to bring up the past unnecessarily, fearing that it might jog Kwon Jiwook’s memory—or worse, lead to a stream of insults. He simply kept his mouth shut, resolving to face Kwon Jiwook with as much composure as he could muster.