The room was quiet except for the faint hum of machines. Sieun’s eyes fluttered open to a blinding white ceiling and the smell of antiseptic. His body ached, his breath trembled, and his mind was caught between dream and memory. He remembered the screech of tires, the blinding headlights, and then nothing.

He had been asleep for weeks, maybe months. Long enough that the bruises on his skin faded, but not the ones in his heart. His parents hadn’t visited much. They never did, even before the accident. But there were new faces now, Humin’s steady hands, Beomseok’s quiet guilt, Jihoon’s awkward laughter. People who reminded him that maybe friendship wasn’t just an illusion.

Still, when he closed his eyes, he only saw Suho. Suho’s grin, his messy hair, the pink pillow he carried everywhere. The way he stood up for him, protected him when the world turned cruel. But Suho was gone, trapped somewhere Sieun couldn’t reach, in a coma that lasted over a year.

That morning, the dream came. Suho standing in the sunlight, smiling faintly, calling his name. It felt so real that when Sieun woke, his chest burned like fire. He ripped the IV from his arm and stumbled out of bed, his legs shaking beneath him.

“Sieun!” Humin rushed to his side, catching him before he fell. “You just woke up, you can’t move yet!”

But Sieun’s eyes were distant, trembling. “I have to… go see… Suho,” he whispered, voice breaking between breaths.

“Your friend is okay,” Humin said quickly, gripping his shoulders tight. “I heard he’s okay. He’s awake now, Sieun. He’s fine.”

Sieun froze, breath hitching. His eyes widened, tears spilling faster. “Suho… is awake?”

Humin nodded, his own voice shaking with relief. “Yeah. He’s been asking about you too.”

The monitors beeped faster, but this time it wasn’t panic. It was hope, weak but alive. Sieun’s hand trembled as he covered his mouth, a broken sob escaping him.

“I thought… I’d never see him again.”

Humin smiled faintly, steadying him. “Then get better, Sieun. Get strong enough to see him yourself.”