18. A Confession
“ H is lab tests came back normal. He will need some fluids and a lot of rest, though,” the silver-haired doctor updates him. “And a friendly reminder to take it easy.”
“Are you sure that’s all?” Yunho questions, a quizzical look flickering in his eyes. “How about the bruises on his body? Did you take a look at them, Doc?”
“I did.”
“And?” Yunho exclaims, his arms spreading wide in exasperation. “Any broken bones?”
“Fortunately, no.” The doctor pauses briefly, studying Yunho as he tucks his maroon clipboard against his chest. “But do you know if he mentioned anything about feeling unsafe or being harmed, either at home or at school?”
Yunho glances over his shoulder to find Wooju still asleep on the hospital bed. Then he flicks his gaze back to the doctor. “I don’t think he’d appreciate me talking about it, but he did mention he was robbed a few days ago,” he says, “and they beat him up pretty bad.”
“Does his family know?” the doctor inquires.
Yunho swallows the lump in his throat. “He only has his manager and me. I don’t know if he told his manager about it.” His chest suddenly feels heavy, as if the pain in Wooju’s heart and body is also his to carry. “I really don’t know anymore. I couldn’t even do anything to protect him.”
The doctor gives his head a rueful shake. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You did great, kid. He’s lucky to have a good friend like you. On the other hand, it’s important that I personally speak with your friend Wooju here as soon as he’s able to do so. That way, I can assess his situation properly. Would you mind calling me when he wakes?”
“Sure,” Yunho answers absently.
The silver-haired doctor makes his way out of the steel-framed sliding door.
Yunho leans against the bed rail, his fingers coiling with Wooju’s cold ones as he longs for a trace of the special bond they once shared. He fixes his eyes on the unconscious boy, recounting the traumatic hours from last night. They were lucky a group found them in the woods and came to their rescue. The thought of something worse happening to Wooju would haunt him forever.
At the same moment that Yunho’s eyelids threaten to close, Wooju stirs. Yunho bolts upright, his body stiffening almost immediately upon hearing Wooju groan.
“Yunho?” Wooju’s delicate gaze lingers on their linked hands. “Didn’t I tell you I’m not going anywhere?”
“You did,” Yunho replies quickly, his voice as brittle as cracked ice, but he feigns his composure to stave off a potential breakdown and goes on, “but it felt like a lie.”
A lengthy pause falls over them.
Wooju tears his gaze away from Yunho, looking vacantly through the window. “How would you know?” he asks.
Yunho sucks in a deep breath. He can tell Wooju everything he knows about him right here, right now. Or he can bottle it all up inside like he always does.
“You said you were okay,” Yunho bites out, sliding his hand off the sick boy and into his pockets. “I just realized now that when you say those words,” he continues as he studies Wooju’s unreadable expression, “it’s often a lie.”
Whenever you’re in pain, your face doesn’t show it. It’s like you’ve gotten used to hiding it.
“You sound as if you’ve known me long enough to see through me.” Wooju chuckles, his attention back on Yunho.
I have .
“I can tell you’re faking that laugh, too,” adds Yunho, his voice a little louder now, and yet, he still feels as though he’s not being heard. “When I look at you, all I see is a boy silently crying for help—a boy who just wants to be happy, but is too obsessed with his own pain to see a way out.”
For a moment, Wooju’s face remains a carefully crafted guise of stoicism. It’s like he’s trying his best to keep his mask in place, but as soon as he dips his head, his smile falters. Yunho catches sight of that.
“Have you ever seen me laugh without faking it?” Wooju inquires. “If you haven’t, then how would you know what’s real and fake? You don’t know anything about me.”
Yunho’s chest clenches, torn between the truth he’s known his whole life and this whole new world, this new timeline—the only place he would rather be, the only place that would allow him to make a different choice and change his future. Why is he even bothering with Jo Wooju if he’s only going to keep on lying and repeating every wrong decision he’d made before? Just why?
Yunho doesn’t want to say it.
But Wooju is playing with his patience.
His heart.
And now, here he is. Emitting a deep and sharp sigh before confessing his truth. “Yes,” Yunho says, biting back the urge to cry, “I do, actually. I know you.”
Surprise dawns in Wooju’s eyes. “What?”
Yunho’s fists tighten as he hesitantly begins, “I don’t know whether it was from a parallel universe or another timeline. If it was all just a bad dream, I don’t know. I just know we’ve already met before. We held important roles in each other’s lives until you...” His voice trails off, his eyes turning glassy. “You abandoned me.”
Wooju struggles to sit up, his chapped lips parting in an attempt to speak. Yunho doesn’t let him.
Now, it’s Yunho’s moment.
He’s been waiting for this. Whatever has been building up inside him feels like a virus slithering in his veins, and he has to let it all out. Yunho allows the words to pour out of his mouth without a pause. Tonight, it doesn’t matter which Jo Wooju is in front of him.
“I thought you would come back for me,” Yunho croaks as he recalls the heart-wrenching memory of himself being dragged away by the cops, him looking over his shoulders to find an emotionless Wooju just standing there doing nothing as the rest of the world crucified him. “You know, to help me understand why you did that to me. To tell me everything’s gonna be okay, but you never did.”
Yunho turns his head away from Wooju, his gaze distant and haunted as he clamps his mouth shut with his hand.
Two years have passed, and the potency of that incident is still fresh—he still lives in that very moment.
“You pushed everyone aside,” Yunho whispers with a sniffle, his knuckles white from clenching his fists so tightly, “but you pushed me away the furthest, and when you left me alone, I just felt... lost.”
“Yunho.”
“I should be mad at you.”
“Yunho.”
Yunho’s intense gaze pins Wooju back in place.
“This is ridiculous. Why am I not mad at you?” Yunho asks, his tone miserable as tears well up in his eyes, and gradually trickle down his face.
Wooju shakes his head ever so slightly, his face a portrait of something akin to regret.
When Wooju fails to form even a single word, Yunho lets out a small, bitter laugh.
For him, Wooju’s silence speaks volumes.
“Oh right,” Yunho realizes, his voice laden with resignation, cutting through the sick boy. “You’re not him.”
With a heavy heart, Yunho rises from his seat, and as his footsteps carry him toward the exit, he utters, “I’m sorry,” before disappearing from Wooju’s sight.