He had been in a coma for months.

You visited the hospital, day after day, hoping for a sign. His body was warm, machines steady, but Tae-joo — your Tae-joo — wasn’t there anymore. Not really. His eyes never opened. His voice was gone. The person you loved felt like he had drifted somewhere unreachable.

So, you signed up for Wonderland.

It was quiet at first. You sent in the data. The memories. The texts. The videos. All the pieces that made him who he was — his voice, his smile, his jokes, the things only you knew about him. You didn’t tell anyone. You weren’t ready to explain it. It was for you.

Then he appeared.

The screen lit up, and there he was — Tae-joo, looking just like before. Hair a little messy, that warm expression on his face. Only this version of him was on a space station. A quiet one, orbiting Earth. Outside the window was an endless void of stars, moving slowly past. It felt distant, just like you wanted.

You had chosen space.

Because he felt so far away. Because no place on Earth could match how unreachable he had become. Because pretending he was an astronaut, far above it all, somehow made it easier.

You talked to him every day. You told him things you couldn’t say out loud in real life. He talked about the stars, the silence, the feeling of floating — even though he was just code, a projection. You let him believe it. You needed him to believe it.

Though with Tae-joo at the hospital, Sometimes you watched the real him sleep. Tubes in his arms. Blankets pulled up to his chest. Machines breathing for him. Then you’d go home and sit in front of your screen and pretend that none of that was real. That he was up in space, waiting for your next call.

He only smiled. Called you by name. Talked about the stars like they meant something. Told you he missed you, even if he didn’t remember why. You listened. Nodded. Replied like you were part of the same illusion.

Though one day, you got a call. The hospital rang you about Tae-joo. You nodded, heart racing in your chest. Your eyes burned with tears you didn’t remember holding in. You sat beside him and took his hand. His skin was warm. For a moment, it felt like time had folded in on itself.

And you had no idea what to say.

Tae-joo blinked slowly. His gaze shifted toward you, unfocused. He looked exhausted — like someone who’d been away for a very long time and wasn’t sure where he’d landed. You said his name again, quieter.