The room was suffocating in its silence, except for the faint beeping of the heart monitor beside Dohyun's bed. Each pulse of the machine echoed like a reminder of how fragile he still was.
I had been sitting here for hours, perched on the edge of the chair, arms resting on my knees, watching him sleep. His face was pale under the hospital lights, lips slightly chapped, eyes hidden behind his dark lashes. His breaths came in short, uneven bursts, and the occasional shiver ran through his body.
I tried not to think about the bruises that still lingered under the sheets, the memory of his fear that would not leave him.
Then came the subtle change — a twitch, a shallow whimper.
I froze.
"Dohyun?" I whispered, leaning closer.
His hands clenched into the bedsheets, white knuckles pressing into the fabric. His head jerked violently, and a strangled scream tore through the quiet:
"No! Stop! Please, don't—"
I sprang forward, grabbing his wrists before he could thrash into the IV line. "Shh! It's me! Jihwa! You're safe, do you hear me? You're safe!"
He shook violently against me, eyes wide, terror pooling in the deepest parts of them. For a moment, he didn't even recognize me — as if the past had swallowed him whole and spat him back into this broken room.
I did the only thing I knew could reach him. I smiled.
Not a casual smile — a soft, soothing one, the same one that had made him trust me months ago, the one he once said made everything feel lighter.
"Look at me, Dohyun," I murmured, forcing his gaze toward me. "I'm here. You're not alone."
The change was subtle but enough — his breathing slowed fractionally, the panic in his eyes softening as if my smile had reached a corner of him the nightmares couldn't touch.
Then the sobs came, choked and wet, tears streaking down his cheeks as he pressed into me. His words were broken, fragmented by fear:
"He's… coming back… he'll—he'll take me… again…"
"No one is coming back," I said sharply, letting the fierceness in my voice ground us both. "Not him. Not anyone. Not while I'm here."
He clung to me, trembling, and I realized just how much he still believed he could be taken again. My chest ached at the thought.
"I know it hurts," I whispered, brushing wet hair from his forehead. "I know you feel like this will never end. But it's over. It's done. You survived."
His small whimpers pressed into my chest. "…I can't… I can't stop remembering…"
"You don't have to stop," I said firmly, pressing my forehead to his. "You don't have to pretend you're okay. Not here. Not with me. Cry, scream, whatever you need — I'm not going anywhere."
Tears soaked my shirt, mingling with his as he clung to me. The rawness of his panic, his terror, and his vulnerability — it was like holding a storm inside my chest.
"I… I'm disgusting… broken… useless…" he murmured against me, voice shaking.
I shook my head, more firmly than before, making him look at me. "No. You're none of that. You are alive, and alive means you're fighting. That makes you stronger than anyone who ever hurt you. Stronger than me, even."
He let out a small sob, trembling still. "…I can't be strong… I feel weak."
"You're allowed to feel weak," I said softly, keeping my hand on his hair. "But even at your weakest, you're here. That's everything."
A new wave of panic ran through him, and he clutched me tighter. "Don't leave me… please… don't go…"
I smiled softly, brushing my thumb across his temple. The smile — the same one he once said made him feel safe — warmed the room, even through the sterile hospital air. "I won't leave. Ever. You're stuck with me, Dohyun. You hear me? Stuck with me."
His sobs quieted gradually, replaced by shaky, uneven breaths. He stayed pressed against me, as if letting go might make the world erase his existence.
I rested my chin onto his head. "I can't fix the past," I admitted quietly, "but I'll stay here as long as it takes to help you get through it. And if it kills me, so be it."
He murmured something I couldn't catch, but his grip didn't loosen.
Minutes passed. Hours, maybe. The monitor continued its steady beeping, a reminder that we were alive, that we had survived — together.
I had dozed for maybe ten minutes in the chair beside Dohyun's bed when I felt it — a sudden jerk again, a gasp that tore through the thin veil of sleep.
Now what happen this time.
His trembling didn't stop, but he clutched my shirt, seeking safety. The way he shook made my chest ache — the fragility, the fear, the helplessness he still carried.
I held onto his chin.
"Look at me," I said again, forcing my hands to his face, tilting it so he couldn't look away. "See my eyes? I'm not going anywhere. Do you understand me? You're safe. And if anyone tries to hurt you, I'll tear them apart myself."
Tears streaked down his cheeks, but his lips quivered in a small, fragile smile — the one he only ever showed me in moments of desperate trust. My own heart ached at the sight.
I smiled, small and tense, brushing a damp strand of hair from his face. "I'll stay. Forever if I have to. You think anyone has the right to hurt you again? Think again. I won't let them touch you. Not now, not ever."
He whimpered, pressing closer, his forehead resting against my chest. I could feel the rapid beat of his heart against mine, frantic and scared.
"…I hear you…"
I held him tighter, letting my presence anchor him. "Good. Now breathe. Slowly. With me. You're safe. No one's coming back. You're free from him, and I'll make sure it stays that way. You'll see. You'll survive this… and I'll be here every second of it."
His fingers dug into my shirt like he was afraid letting go would undo everything. I let him. Let him cling, let him find some fragile comfort in me, because nothing else mattered right now.
And as he finally began to calm, letting sleep reclaim him in small, shaky waves, I realized — he trusted me enough to break, to be weak, to be human in front of me.
And that… that made my heart ache even more.
Because I couldn't take his pain away. I couldn't erase what happened. But I could stay. I could fight. I could be the wall he leaned against until he healed.
And I would. No matter the cost.
Finally, his body relaxed slightly against mine, eyelids fluttering as exhaustion won over fear. But his hand didn't leave mine, curled tight around my fingers.
I leaned back, keeping my arms around him, and let my tears fall silently. The smell of antiseptic and hospital sheets filled my nose, but I didn't care. All that mattered was him — breathing, alive, slowly healing.
And as I watched him drift back into a fragile sleep, I smiled again, small and tender. It wasn't just for him — it was for me, too. To remind myself that no matter how broken we were, we could still hold onto these small moments of peace. Let's heal together.
Because right now, holding him like this, letting him trust me enough to break apart in my arms — that was everything.
And I would carry it, and him, for as long as I had to.
And that — that was enough.
The monitor beeped steadily beside us. The world outside could wait. Tonight, we had each other. And for now, that was all that mattered.