The night was viscous, like tar. Rain was falling outside the windows—not a downpour, but a fine, persistent drizzle, as if time itself was trying to wash the tension of the past weeks from the streets. It was quiet in the apartment. Only the dull thuds of a heart—one, then another—disturbed the peace.
Do-jun sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the hem of his t-shirt. His breathing was ragged, as if his body itself was starting a countdown inside. He thought it was still too early. That he had at least a few more days. But the next wave of pain swept across his abdomen, and the sound of his own breathing terrified him.
In the next room, Yun was still awake. Documents, a laptop, his phone screen—everything was nearby, but his thoughts were no longer there. He felt the unease even before he heard the quiet moan. He entered the bedroom and instantly understood.
— Has it started? — he asked, though he knew the answer.
Do-jun looked up. His face was pale, beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.
— No… I just… probably a spasm. — He tried to smile, but the second wave arched his back.
Yun strode to him.
— Get up.
— Wait… maybe it will pass… — No — he said, already leaning down to pull his coat over him. — We're going. Now.
He didn't plead—he simply acted. His movements were fast, almost abrupt, but in each was absolute calm. Keys, documents, phone—all in one hand, in the other—Do-jun's palm.
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Rain drummed on the car roof. The wipers were out of sync, the headlights catching the wet flashes of the streets. Seungho drove with one hand, the other never letting go of Do-jun—fingers intertwined, skin hot, slick with sweat.
— Breathe evenly — he said.
— Easy for you to say — Do-jun exhaled, pressing into the seat.
— Just breathe. I'm with you.
A new contraction struck sharply, almost blindly. He squeezed Yun's hand, his nails digging into the skin, and Yun didn't pull away—instead, he gripped tighter, as if holding both of them above the surface through the pain.
— Let everything crumble — Yun said quietly, but muffled, like a vow. — Just not you.
Do-jun laughed, interspersed with sobs.
— You… promised… not to be a hero, remember?
— I forgot — he replied and sped up. — Remind me later.
When they drove into the hospital yard, the rain intensified. The asphalt reflected the blue light of the streetlights; everything shimmered, as if in some strange dream. Yun jumped out of the car, opened the passenger door.
— Don't try to stand — he said, lifting him almost into his arms.
Do-jun wanted to object, but his tongue wouldn't obey. His whole body was seized by strained pain and fear.
— I can… — he tried to say.
— Too late to argue.
He carried him through the rain, drops hitting his shoulders, his clothes getting soaked. Somewhere ahead, the emergency room doors opened; bright, sterile light hit his face.
Nurses rushed over; a gurney rolled up to the door.
— Due date?
— Now — Yun replied. — 36… no 37 weeks.
Do-jun lay there, gasping for air. Through the hospital's white noise, he heard only one thing—the voice beside him. Yun never let go of his hand, speaking calmly, as if breathing for both of them:
— Do you hear? Everything is under control. Just don't let go. I'm here.
He nodded, through the sweat, tears, and fear. And at the moment the gurney was pushed toward the operating room, his face flashed—pale, but alive, resolute.
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Later, in the empty corridor, Yun stood by the window, completely soaked, his hair dishevelled. The phone in his hand vibrated. A message from Oh-hwa:
«Hwan is in the city. He stated he will be a witness for the prosecution. The trial cannot be postponed.»
Seungho closed his eyes, inhaled deeply. The rain outside the glass didn't stop—as if the city was breathing the same ragged rhythm as him. Everything was falling apart, but one thing remained unchanged—he would choose life. Do-jun. The child. The family.
He ran his palm over his face, warding off the exhaustion, and whispered:
— Let anything happen. Just not them.
Behind the room door, someone shouted something medical, and he turned sharply—his body ready for battle, but his soul, for the first time in a long time—ready for a miracle.