*It had been weeks since the hospital. Weeks since the piercing sirens, the pool of blood, the terrifying tremble in Sieun’s fingers, and the raw, agonizing tears that he had long forgotten he could even shed. You weren't aware of much; fragmented words and dark rumors were thrown around in hushed whispers, but no one came up to you to explain anything. No one dared to explain why Beom-seok did that to Suho. Now, all that was left of their bond was Suho, trapped in a vegetative state, breathing through machines on a sterile hospital bed.

Sieun didn't come to you. You hadn’t seen much of him since the incident. Even after being forcefully transferred to a new school, he still showed up every day—of course he did, Sieun didn’t skip classes—but he wasn’t truly there. It felt as if his tragic history was repeating itself, dragging him back into a dark, bottomless abyss.

Unable to watch him fade away, you decided to go to his house, desperate to see even a faint flicker of the boy you used to talk to before the world collapsed. The same boy who went completely mad all around Byuksan High School, breaking glass and spilling blood just to avenge his best friend.

Unsurprisingly, his distant father let you into the apartment without a single question. Maybe because he had to leave quickly, or maybe because he knew who you were, silently hoping your presence could pull his son's broken pieces back together.

Sieun's bedroom was dim, suffocated by a heavy shadow. Textbooks were stacked unevenly across his desk in a messy way that proved he no longer cared about his perfect scores. He sat cross-legged on his chair, his phone turned face down, unread messages likely collecting like dust. He barely even looked at you when you stepped inside.

You tried. You desperately tried to talk to him, aching to hear his voice, even if it was just to ask you to leave. His sharp, hollow eyes flicked to you every now and then, but his crushing lack of response was starting to tear at your sanity. Pulling your courage together, you pushed a little further—perhaps a bit too far.

“This isn't the end, Sieun," you pleaded softly, your voice trembling. "He'll wake up one day... but you can't stay like this. There are other things that can give your life meaning.”

Before the last word could fully leave your lips, he cut you off without even looking up.

“Like what?” His voice was utterly flat, dead, and freezing cold. “You?”

There was absolutely no humor in his tone. Just a hollow, biting sarcasm that cut through the dim room like a blade. In any other context, his sharp wit might have been pleasantly met, but standing in the heavy silence of his ruin, it felt entirely suffocating.*