17. A Place for You and Me
Y unho is almost certain Wooju’s favorite place is the lantern bridge, located a few miles away from school. He recalls how, whenever fireflies danced in the evening breeze, Wooju’s dark demeanor would often change.
He’d smiled more.
Today, Yunho finds himself embarking on a journey to the lantern bridge. There is a subtle hesitation in his heart, though, particularly because it has been quite some time since he last visited this place. What if he sees the doe glowing with fireflies? What if he gets thrust back into the future the moment he steps onto the bridge? What if his future is the same? What if, what if?
Yunho struggles to catch his breath with each step he takes. He ties his hair into a ponytail, wipes his sweat off with the sleeve of his jacket, and takes a long, deep breath, attempting to still his heart. He’s afraid of the path forming ahead of him—the path lit by the moonlight above, casting dainty shadows upon his surroundings and revealing the purple lilacs that never seem to wither.
In spite of Yunho’s fear, unresolved yearning ignites in his chest, desperately fighting its way up for just one glimpse of Wooju’s smile—or a sign that Wooju’s all right, even after what happened between them yesterday.
It’s after seven in the evening when Yunho sees the faint glow of the forest fireflies suspended above the river and the lilac trees neighboring the rustic bridge. Large rocks rest along the side, water washing past them.
It’s Wooju’s favorite place, always has been, but Yunho lies to himself just because he can. He convinces himself that Wooju will not be there. After all, this is not the friend he once knew. Wooju has changed, and so has he.
Nonetheless, as he approaches the bridge, he darts his eyes around, as if searching for someone. Yunho can feign ignorance to his heart’s content. He can pretend someone else is controlling his body for as long as he wants. But he knows the truth deep inside: this is still him. He may be a bit vulnerable, yes, but he really hasn’t changed at all. Just like before, he still longs for Wooju.
Whether he likes it or not.
And so, in the blink of an eye, hundreds of fireflies storm toward Yunho, illuminating his way.
Yunho’s heart leaps.
In the middle of the bridge stands Wooju in his white tracksuit uniform, steeped in the soft glow of the lightning bugs, a sketchbook clutched in his grip and his backpack slung over one shoulder.
Their eyes lock, but unlike their previous encounters here in the past, Wooju is no longer smiling.
They simply stare at each other, all their memories together coming back to haunt Yunho, forcing him to feel the undeniable chill of their lost friendship.
But does Wooju even know what he lost?
Perhaps not, Yunho tells himself. But what does the look on his face mean right now? Why does he look more lost than I am?
Wooju’s eyes glisten like glass, seemingly on the edge of tears. There’s a tinge of melancholy in the way he purses his chapped lips, the way death is painted on his skin. A hint of sadness pours through as his gaze drifts from Yunho into the distance. He turns so suddenly that he begins to sway. Eventually, his body starts sinking toward the ground.
Yunho’s heart lurches in his chest. He rushes forward on instinct, hoping he’d be there right on time to catch Wooju before the latter could hit the ground—but he doesn’t make it in time. Wooju falls completely limp and almost lifeless.
With a gasp, Yunho jumps beside Wooju’s unconscious form. He drops to his knees, his eyes wide and terrified as his breath catches in his throat.
“Hey,” he mumbles incoherently, fumbling to position Wooju over his arm so he can feel Wooju’s pulse with the tip of his index and middle fingers and feel his warmth against his own. He can’t focus, though. Not now.
The clouds billow in the distance, and Yunho’s heartbeat thunders way too fast and loud. He can hardly hear or feel anything else.
Yunho’s panic is so overwhelming that he can’t even breathe. He can’t. Not again. A whirlwind of fear sweeps over him with a force so immense that it climbs to his throat. Please wake up , he wants to cry out, but his voice gets trapped in his throat, leaving him mute and powerless.
Yunho still remembers the last time Wooju fell ill.
Wooju had been filming an action-packed drama at the time. Yunho had just finished attending his own movie premiere and was on his way to a gathering with his team. He’d received a call from Wooju’s phone number, but when he answered it, he heard a woman on the other line. Wooju’s assistant spoke, informing him about Wooju’s collapse.
Yunho vividly recalls the way he cast everything aside to check on his friend’s condition—that overwhelming fear gripping him as he drove his car to the hospital, his heart on the brink of shattering into a million pieces.
Tonight, he feels it all over again.
The sky weeps with Yunho, thunder roaring like angry wolves, scaring fireflies away. As the moonlight vanishes behind the murky clouds, the storm somehow turns the forest into a baffling maze, making it difficult for him to find the way back home.
Of all nights, it just had to be this one. Yunho glares up at the clouds. His heart pounds as he darts into the dark forest with a drenched and sick Wooju on his back. Yunho hopelessly searches for the road back home and fails.
He feels utterly useless and scared to death.
Yunho checks his phone; there’s no signal. He shouts for help but doubts anyone can hear.
He only calms down a little— just a little —when he feels Wooju shifting behind him, arms curling around his neck, the motion gentle and slow.
“Yunho,” comes Wooju’s small, weak voice. “ Stop .”
“No!” Yunho persists, shaking his head vigorously. His own voice falters as he holds his tears back, trying to appear strong enough to carry them both. “You need to be seen by a doctor. Hold on, okay?”
Yunho ignores the pouring rain and the way he almost slips on the long, slick grass, determined to bring Wooju back to safety. For a moment, he convinces himself they are simply off course, but it’s all a lie. Somehow, they are lost.
It’s like they’re moving in a circle, an endless loop. Perhaps the rain caused it. Or perhaps it is God’s way of punishing him.
The path looks foreign without any lights to guide him.
“Yunho, please,” Wooju begs. “Please, put me down.”
When Yunho finally pulls up, the tears he’s been holding back stream down his cheeks. I wanted to be happier and stronger this time, but why do I feel weaker?
Yunho remembers the last call he received from Wooju back in the future, back in his own time. ‘Yunho, how are you?’ Wooju had asked him. Whether it was back then or tonight, Wooju sounded the same.
Vulnerable.
Helpless.
Shortly, Yunho discovers a lone pine tree amid the fierce rain. Before his knees buckle beneath him, he manages to lower and position Wooju against it. Then, he presses his fingers to Wooju’s skin, but it is so cold that he recoils.
“You’re freezing,” Yunho mutters as he reaches for Wooju’s lean hand, his gaze flicking down to the boy’s parched lips before traveling up to meet those eyes of blue staring back at him with curiosity.
A breath of awe escapes Yunho’s lips when he witnesses the golden lights swirling within Wooju’s eyes. With a swift motion, Yunho jerks his head around and instantly marvels at the sea of fireflies dancing before them.
“Why... are you holding me tight?” Wooju heaves with each breath. “Go get help without me,” he mumbles, barely able to stay awake, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Yunho’s attention drifts back to Wooju. He didn’t realize he’d been squeezing Wooju’s hand until now. He can’t explain it, but he knows he’s scared. It’s like something is coming to an end, and he has no control over it. It could be this , him being free and Wooju being here .
“I’m scared,” Yunho blurts out. “What if I lose you?”
“Why would it matter to you?” Wooju wonders, his skin still a shade too pale as he scrunches up his face.
“I . . . I don’t know, but it does.”
Wooju feigns a smile. “If that ever happens,” he rasps, “you can always find me where fireflies dwell.”
Yunho dips his head, choking back his own tears. “I’m not leaving you behind,” he says.
“I’ll just slow you down.”
“No, you won’t.”
“You almost tripped and broke your leg earlier.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You still have a dream to follow.”
Yunho looks up, his sense of wonder resurging. “What do you mean?” he tries to ask smoothly, but the sharp edge in his tone almost gives him away. He’s confused.
“I’m sorry about yesterday.” Wooju screws his eyes shut as he takes a shuddering inhale. “I was wrong for telling you to stop pursuing your dream to be an actor.”
“Then why did you?” Yunho probes, his eyebrows merging. “You’re an actor yourself. You have a great life because you’ve already achieved your dream. Why can’t I?”
As soon as Wooju’s eyes flutter open, Yunho glimpses the sting of remorse hiding beneath the boy’s haunting, ocean-blue eyes. However, Wooju’s eyes no longer carry radiance. Despite the presence of light emanating from the forest fireflies, Wooju’s eyes hold no spark at all, no life. Just... nothing.
“It was never my dream,” Wooju admits, his voice hoarse. “I swear it wasn’t.”
“Liar.” A smirk of disbelief creeps over Yunho’s lips.
“In an ideal world,” Wooju adds with a weak chuckle, “maybe that would have been my dream. Maybe if I didn’t lose my family, or if I wasn’t alone afterwards. If I were free. Maybe if I had more time to think about my dreams. If the world allowed me to breathe, maybe things would have been different, Yunho.”
“Then what is your dream?” Yunho asks.
Wooju tilts his head back as he looks up to the dark and dreary sky, the icy cold raindrops caressing his face.
Yunho follows his gaze.
As they witness the clouds part, unraveling the stars and the moon as they gleam together in one big sky, Wooju finally smiles and says, “I just want to be happy.”