The room was quiet except for the hum of machines. Suho lay still, his face softened by the months of sleep, and Si-eun stood by his bed as he always did, a notebook tucked under his arm, the faint scent of rain on his uniform.

It had been almost a year since the fight. Since the hospital lights swallowed the world he knew.

Si-eun changed schools not long after. The old classrooms felt hollow without him, without the laughter, the stupid jokes, and the quiet glances they pretended not to share. He made new friends, people who didn’t know the name Suho Kang. They never asked why he always left early on Thursdays or why he spent every weekend at the hospital.

He told himself he came to check on a friend. But sometimes, standing beside the still body, he whispered things friends weren’t supposed to say.

“Do you know how hard it was to keep going?” he said one evening, his voice barely above the hum of the monitor. “You always told me to stop fighting, but you’re the one who never stopped protecting me.”

His hand trembled as he placed it over Suho’s. It was warm. Always warm.

Spring came again. The cherry blossoms outside the window blurred into pink light. Si-eun came after school, still wearing his new uniform, still bringing updates about the world Suho left behind.

That day, when he reached for Suho’s hand, he felt it twitch. Just a little. Enough to freeze him in place.

“Suho?”