Han froze for a moment, but he didn't look back.
Seungmin didn't rush.
Didn't shake.
He simply picked up the knife with a steady hand and stepped forward.
Chaewon instinctively moved between them.
Then Seungmin pressed the blade to his own neck—slow, precise.
"Don't leave," he said quietly.
Not pleading.
Not crying.
Just stating it like a rule.
"If you walk out that door, I'll kill myself."
Han stepped forward, but Chaewon grabbed his wrist.
"Hyung—don't," Chaewon warned.
Han pulled away and moved toward Seungmin.
Seungmin watched him approach, eyes calm, focused.
"You don't get to walk away," Seungmin said. "Not after everything."
"Put it down," Han replied. His voice wasn't harsh—just tired. "You're doing this on purpose."
A small, cold smile touched Seungmin's lips.
"You finally understand."
Han's jaw flexed.
"You never cared," Seungmin continued softly. "It was only me who always worried about you and took care of you even now when I'm standing in front of you holding this knife on my neck. Han! Do you care?"
"I do," Han said. "And that's why I'm ending this."
Seungmin tilted his head slightly, almost amused.
"You're ending it?" he asked. "After everything I've done for you?"
"You lied to me my entire life," Han said. "I'm allowed to walk away from one lie."
Seungmin didn't flinch.
But his grip on the knife tightened—controlled, deliberate.
A thin line of blood appeared.
Seokmin stepped forward cautiously.
"Seungmin… put the knife down."
Seungmin didn't even glance at him.
His eyes stayed glued to Han, sharp as the blade.
Han took one slow step.
Seungmin's attention snapped to him immediately—like Han was the sun in a storm.
"Look at me," Han said quietly.
Seungmin did.
Calm.
Unblinking.
"You're hurting yourself because of me," Han said. "Seungmin don't you dare to put your death on me.."
Seungmin's voice stayed soft.
"You are responsible for my every action. In the past, today and tomorrow. All I ever did was to keep you close. All just because I love you."
"That's not love," Han said.
For the first time, a tiny crack appeared in Seungmin's composure—barely visible, but there.
"It's possession," Han said. "You know it."
Silence.
A deep, heavy silence where Seungmin simply looked at him—measuring, adjusting.
Then—finally—his body betrayed him.
A slight sway.
A faint tremor—not emotional,
but physical exhaustion from holding himself for to long.
Han stepped closer.
"Give me the knife," he said.
Not asking.
Not pleading.
Just done.
Seungmin's fingers loosened.
Not out of surrender.
Out of pure, unsteady fatigue.
Han reached out—not for the knife—but for Seungmin's cheek.
Barely a touch.
Seungmin inhaled sharply.
Not broken.
Just worn out.
"I'm here," Han said. "Now put it down."
Seungmin's fingers finally released the knife.
His shoulders slumped—not emotionally, but because the act was over.
The body had reached its limit.
Then his knees buckled.
Han caught him right before he fell.
Seungmin didn't cry.
Didn't collapse emotionally.
He just fainted—like a puppet whose strings finally snapped.
Han lowered him carefully and walked out.
Chaewon stayed close behind him, tense and alert.
Han walked fast—trying to escape the weight pressing on his chest.
He went straight to his room and started tearing it apart.
Not from rage.
From urgency.
The passport wasn't where he left it.
Seungmin had rearranged everything.
Han dug through drawers, bags, closets—breathing hard, jaw clenched.
Chaewon appeared in the doorway, worried.
Han finally unzipped a bag and found his passport buried deep inside.
He exhaled sharply and slammed the bag shut.
"Hyung… are you going back?" Chaewon asked.
Han didn't answer.
Chaewon stepped closer.
"…I'll go with you."
He froze.
Because the truth hit him:
If he left Seungmin here,
Seungmin would turn towards him.
"Okay," Han said. "Pack. We will leave together."
Chaewon nodded and turned—but Han called him back.
"Chaewon."
He looked at him.
"Why did you step between us when he aimed the knife at me?"
Chaewon blinked—caught off guard.
"…Because I didn't want you to die," he said. "Why else?"
Han looked away, chest tight.
He looked away.
"Isn't it strange," he whispered,
"We don't want our loved ones to die…
While we ourselves don't want to leave.."
The room fell silent.
A heavy, suffocating silence.
Chaewon moved closer, his voice barely audible:
"Maybe it's like we don't really want to die, we are just tired of life and the people we love help us to carry on. But if something happens to them, we will lose our only hope to live."
Han's breath caught.
But he didn't answer.
Chaewon smiled—just a small, tired one—and they left to get his luggage.