time.. he has a short time. left show their reaction all make it long
The hospital corridor was too bright.
Too clean.
Too quiet in a way that didn't feel peaceful—just tense, like even the walls were waiting for something bad to be confirmed.
Ji-Ho lay in the emergency ward room behind glass doors.
Still.
Unconscious.
His skin looked even paler under the harsh hospital lighting, almost translucent in places.
A monitor beside him beeped steadily, but unevenly enough that no one in the room was relaxed.
Mr. Yoo-Joon stood near the end of the bed, arms folded tightly—but not in his usual controlled posture.
This time, there was something strained in his expression.
Mrs. Park stood slightly behind him, one hand over her mouth, eyes fixed on Ji-Ho like she was trying to will him awake.
Mr. Park had arrived not long after, breathing heavier than usual, clearly rushed.
And beside him—
Hoseok.
Younger.
Silent.
Standing too still for a child his age, staring at Ji-Ho with wide, confused eyes like he couldn't fully process why the room felt so heavy.
"Is he… going to wake up?" Hoseok asked quietly.
No one answered immediately.
Mrs. Park lowered her hand slightly.
"…He will," she said, but it didn't sound certain.
Inside the room, Mrs. Posh and Mr. Yoo-Joon were seated closest to Ji-Ho.
Mrs. Posh had her hands folded tightly in her lap, leaning slightly forward like she was afraid to miss even the smallest change in his breathing.
Mr. Yoo-Joon sat beside her, closer to the bed, watching the monitor more than anything else.
Then—
the door opened.
A doctor stepped in.
Everyone immediately turned.
The doctor's expression was serious from the start.
No hesitation.
No warmth.
Just professionalism that already carried weight.
"I've reviewed his condition," the doctor said.
The room went completely silent.
Even the beeping felt louder.
"He has severe blood loss," the doctor continued. "Likely internal bleeding that has been developing over time."
Mrs. Posh's fingers tightened instantly.
Mr. Yoo-Joon's jaw stiffened.
The doctor looked down at the chart, then back up.
"And his hemoptysis—vomiting blood—indicates this has been ongoing longer than initially reported."
A pause.
Then the worst part.
"I'm afraid…" the doctor said carefully, "his condition is critical."
Mrs. Park took a small step forward behind them.
"What does that mean exactly?" she asked sharply, voice controlled but tense.
The doctor didn't avoid it.
"It means," he said, "he doesn't have much time left if this continues untreated or worsens."
The words dropped into the room like something heavy breaking.
Silence.
Complete silence.
Hoseok blinked slowly.
"…Time?" he repeated quietly.
Mr. Park turned his head slightly toward the glass window, like he couldn't look directly anymore.
Mrs. Posh's breath caught sharply.
"No," she whispered. "There must be something—surgery, treatment, anything."
The doctor shook his head slightly.
"We are doing everything possible," he said. "But the damage suggests it has been progressing for a while."
Mr. Yoo-Joon finally spoke.
His voice was low.
Controlled.
But something underneath it had cracked.
"How long?" he asked.
The doctor hesitated.
Then answered honestly.
"Short."
That single word hit harder than anything else.
Mrs. Posh's hand went to her mouth immediately.
Mrs. Park's expression tightened.
Hoseok looked up at Mr. Park, confused.
"…Dad?" he whispered.
But Mr. Park didn't answer him right away.
Because even he didn't know what to say.
Inside the room, Ji-Ho remained unconscious.
Completely unaware of the conversation happening around him.
Unaware that everyone was suddenly looking at him like time itself was running out.
Mr. Yoo-Joon stood up slowly.
His chair scraped slightly against the floor.
The sound felt too loud in the silence.
"…There must be something else," he said, voice tighter now. "Some mistake."
The doctor met his eyes calmly.
"I wish there was," he replied.
Mrs. Posh's eyes filled slightly now, though she tried to hold it back.
She looked at Ji-Ho through the glass.
Like she was seeing him properly for the first time.
Not just a quiet boy in the background.
Not just someone overlooked.
But someone slipping away.
Mr. Yoo-Joon didn't move for a moment.
Then he exhaled slowly.
Something in his expression shifted—controlled panic trying to stay buried.
He looked back at Ji-Ho.
At the steady monitor.
At the pale face behind the glass.
And for the first time—
his voice wasn't firm.
It was quieter.
"…Stay with us," he muttered under his breath.
Mrs. Park wiped quickly at her eye, turning away slightly.
Hoseok stood frozen, still not fully understanding the weight of what was being said—
only that everyone else suddenly looked like they were afraid.
Afraid of losing someone who had been there all along… without anyone noticing how fragile he really was.
Ji-Ho woke up slowly.
Not all at once.
First it was the sound.
A steady monitor beep.
Then the smell of disinfectant.
Then the feeling of something warm holding his hand.
His eyes fluttered open.
The light was too bright at first, making everything blur at the edges.
But then it slowly came into focus.
Mr. Yoo-Joon.
Sitting beside him.
Close.
Too close for someone Ji-Ho had only ever seen as "teacher" or "staff."
Ji-Ho blinked weakly.
"…You again," he murmured faintly.
Mr. Yoo-Joon didn't smile.
He just held his hand a little tighter.
"I told you I was going to stay," he said quietly.
Ji-Ho stared at him for a second.
Tired.
Pale.
Almost detached from his own body.
"…Why?" Ji-Ho asked softly.
Mr. Yoo-Joon hesitated.
Then finally—
"I've been following you," he admitted.
Ji-Ho frowned slightly.
"…Following me?"
Mr. Yoo-Joon nodded once.
"Since I found out you were at that school."
Silence.
Ji-Ho didn't react strongly.
Just closed his eyes for a moment like the information didn't have enough strength to surprise him anymore.
When he opened them again, his voice was weaker.
"…Still unnecessary."
Mr. Yoo-Joon exhaled slowly.
Then shifted slightly closer.
"Your mother—" he started.
Ji-Ho's eyes flickered.
That word.
Mother.
Mr. Yoo-Joon continued carefully.
"She missed you," he said. "So much."
Ji-Ho stared at him quietly.
Then repeated softly—
"…Used to?"
A pause.
Mr. Yoo-Joon's expression changed.
The silence that followed was heavier than any answer.
Then—
"She's gone," he said.
Ji-Ho didn't react immediately.
Just stared at the ceiling.
Blank.
Then exhaled slowly.
"…Ah."
That was all.
No shock.
No dramatic response.
Just… acceptance.
Like something he already half-knew deep down.
Mr. Yoo-Joon tightened his grip.
"Ji-Ho…" he said quietly. "Don't shut down like that."
But Ji-Ho turned his head slightly toward him.
And spoke calmly.
"…I'm leaving too."
Mr. Yoo-Joon froze.
"What?"
Ji-Ho's voice stayed soft.
Almost distant.
"I think it's fine," he said. "I'm leaving anyway."
Mr. Yoo-Joon leaned forward immediately.
"Ji-Ho—no."
But Ji-Ho gave a faint, breath-like laugh.
Not joy.
Just exhaustion slipping out.
"I'm not saying it to scare you," he said quietly. "I'm just… tired."
A pause.
His eyes lowered slightly.
"I'm actually kind of relieved."
Mr. Yoo-Joon's expression tightened sharply.
"What are you talking about?"
Ji-Ho stared at his own hand for a moment.
Then spoke like he was explaining something simple.
"I've been coughing blood for a while," he said. "Hemoptysis, maybe. Or whatever term you prefer."
Mr. Yoo-Joon went still.
Ji-Ho continued, voice weaker but steady.
"I was good in pathology," he added faintly. "I know what this means."
Silence filled the room again.
The monitor beeped softly in the background.
Ji-Ho looked back at him.
"…I never really felt worth it anyway."
Mr. Yoo-Joon's grip tightened instantly.
"That's not true."
Ji-Ho didn't argue.
Just stared.
"No one really looked," he said quietly. "Except a few people… but even they had their own problems."
His eyes lowered again.
"And that's okay."
Mr. Yoo-Joon's voice cracked slightly.
"Don't talk like this."
But Ji-Ho only continued softly.
"I don't hate it," he said. "Being sick."
Mr. Yoo-Joon looked up sharply.
Ji-Ho's expression stayed calm.
"At least it feels honest," he said. "Like it finally matches everything else."
A long silence followed.
Then Mr. Yoo-Joon squeezed his hand firmly.
"Listen to me," he said, voice low but urgent. "You're not leaving."
Ji-Ho didn't respond.
So Mr. Yoo-Joon leaned closer.
"…Tell me one thing," he said quietly. "Before anything else. What do you want to do?"
Ji-Ho blinked slowly.
Then, after a moment—
"One thing," he repeated.
A pause.
His voice softened slightly.
"I want to paint."
Mr. Yoo-Joon frowned slightly.
Ji-Ho continued.
"The most beautiful place in Seoul," he said. "Before everything ends."
Silence.
Mr. Yoo-Joon stared at him for a long moment.
Then finally—
he nodded.
"I'll take you," he said quietly.
Ji-Ho blinked faintly.
"…You will?"
"Yes," Mr. Yoo-Joon said firmly. "I will."
The door opened slightly behind them.
Mrs. Posh stepped in carefully, having heard the last part.
"I'll come too," she said softly.
Mr. Yoo-Joon didn't look away from Ji-Ho.
But he nodded once.
Ji-Ho stared at both of them for a moment.
Then closed his eyes again.
Not in defeat.
Not in fear.
Just… tired acceptance.
And for the first time in a long while—
he wasn't completely alone in the room.