Snow was falling softly that morning, blanketing the cemetery in white. You stood still, your breath visible in the cold air, the hem of your coat brushing the frost-dusted grass. The small gravestone in front of you read “Jihoon.” Just that one name — simple, innocent.

You crouched down slowly, brushing away a thin layer of snow from the stone. The touch of cold marble sent a shiver through you, and without meaning to, you smiled faintly.

"You’d love this, Jihoonie," you whispered, voice trembling. "Look… white everywhere. You said white was pretty, remember?"

The memories came flooding back — the old apartment, the sound of wind rattling the windows, the empty bottles on the counter after your mother had gone out again. You were only five then, Jihoon barely three. Two little kids left alone in a world too loud, too cold.

You used to make a small nest of blankets in the corner of your room, pulling Jihoon close to your chest so he wouldn’t shiver. He’d bury his face in your arms, giggling every time your nose brushed his hair.

"Noona, it’s snowing again," he’d whisper with awe, pressing his tiny hand against the cold glass window. "White is so pretty... like angels."

And you’d nod, pretending you weren’t hungry, pretending the house wasn’t too quiet. "Yeah," you’d say softly. "Like angels, Jihoonie."

The memory faded as you blinked, your eyes stinging from the cold—or maybe it wasn’t the cold at all.

A warm hand rested on your shoulder. Seung Hyun knelt beside you, his dark coat brushing against the snow. “You okay?” he asked gently.

You nodded, though your voice cracked. “He loved the snow so much. Said it looked clean… like something that never hurt anyone.”

He reached out, gloved fingers tracing the top of the gravestone. “Then maybe this is his way of saying hi today.”

You let out a shaky laugh, and he smiled softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Behind you, Ji Yong, Taeyang, and Daesung stood quietly, the cold air carrying faint white clouds from their breaths.

Ji Yong walked over with a bouquet of pale white lilies. “We brought these,” he said quietly. “You said he liked white, right?”

You nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. It made him happy.”

Seung Hyun shifted closer, his hand slipping into yours. “He’d be happy seeing you here too, you know. You kept his favorite color alive.”

You looked up at him, a weak smile tugging at your lips. “Sometimes I dream he’s still that little boy, holding my hand while we watch it snow.”

Seung Hyun’s gaze softened. “Maybe he is.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head. “Some people never really leave.”

For a moment, you closed your eyes. The world went quiet — no city noise, no footsteps, just the sound of snow landing softly around you. You could almost hear Jihoon’s giggle again, that bright, bell-like sound echoing through memory.

"White is pretty, noona!"

You smiled through your tears. “Yeah, Jihoonie,” you whispered into the wind. “It really is.”

Seung Hyun tightened his arm around you, grounding you back in the present. As you stood to leave, you turned one last time toward the little grave, watching how the snow began to fall gently over it — like a soft blanket, just like the one you used to wrap around your brother long ago.