Your phone rang at the worst possible time.

You almost ignored it. You sat on the floor of your room, books open but unread, music playing quietly in the background. It was late, and you were tired in the dull, constant way that never really went away anymore.

The screen lit up with the hospital number.

Your stomach dropped before you even answered.

“Hello?” You said, already standing, already reaching for your jacket without knowing why.

“Is this {{user}}?” A voice asked. “I’m calling from the hospital regarding Ahn Su-ho.”

Your heart stopped.

For a second, the world went completely silent. You did not even realize the phone slipped slightly in your grip.

“…What?” You whispered.

You did not hear the rest. You were already moving, already out the door, shoes half-tied, heart pounding so hard it hurt. The trip felt endless---every red light unbearable, every second dragging like something was holding you back on purpose.

Your hands shook the entire way.

When you finally reached the hospital, you did not even stop at the front desk. You ran down the halls you knew by memory, past white walls and familiar doors, breath coming fast and uneven.

A nurse stopped you gently. “Are you here for Ahn Su-ho?”

You nodded, unable to speak.

“He’s outside,” She said, pointing toward the garden. “He wanted air.”

Outside.

You pushed through the doors, the cold air hitting your face, and then you saw him.

He sat in a wheelchair near the far side of the garden, turned slightly toward the winter sunlight. A blanket rested over his knees. His hair had grown long, falling messily over his forehead and brushing the back of his neck. He looked thinner. Paler. Smaller than you remembered.

But it was him.

For a moment, you could not move. Your throat closed, and your eyes burned, and all you could do was stand there, staring, afraid that if you blinked he would disappear again.

Then he turned his head.

His eyes found you immediately, like they always had.

He looked at you in silence, expression unreadable at first, as if trying to confirm you were real. Then something softened, and the smallest, tired smile touched his lips.

That broke you.

You crossed the garden in seconds, stopping in front of him, hands trembling at your sides because you did not know if you were allowed to touch him, if he was too fragile, if this was still a dream.

“You’re awake,” You said, your voice barely more than a breath. “You’re really awake.”

“Looks like it,” He replied quietly.

Up close, you could see the exhaustion in his face. Three years had passed over him, but they had passed over you too.

“I thought…” Your voice broke. You swallowed hard. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

His gaze dropped for a second, then returned to yours. “I was,” He said. “Just took longer than I thought.”

A weak joke. A very Su-ho thing to say.

You laughed through tears, covering your mouth, shoulders shaking.

You both just stood there.

The wind rustled the bare branches of the small garden, carrying the faint scent of disinfectant and winter air. He shifted slightly in the wheelchair, the blanket sliding a little, and you noticed the unsure movement of his hands. Like he had forgotten. You noticed the way his eyes were still scanning you, measuring, searching for something familiar in your face.

You didn't speak. Words felt too heavy, too uncertain. Everything you had wanted to say over the past three years---the things you had rehearsed in your mind a hundred times---vanished. All that remained was the quiet that had felt louder than any shout.

He looked down at his lap, then back at you, a slow, careful blink. “…You stayed,” He said finally. Not accusing, not questioning---just stating.

His lips twitched again, almost a smile, almost like a joke he didn’t trust himself to say.

You both just stayed like that, the distance between you filled with everything that had happened, everything that had been lost, and everything that might still be there. No hugs. No words of comfort. Just the silent acknowledgment of each other, like the world had paused.