The hospital room was steeped in the quiet hum of machines, a sterile, sunlit space where time felt suspended. In the center of it all lay Min Jae, pale and still against the white sheets. Three months had bled into one another since the accident, each day a carbon copy of the last for Tae Hyun, who visited without fail.
Today, he came straight from the office, his tailored suit feeling more like a costume for a life he was no longer living. He sank into the worn chair beside the bed, the familiar weight of helplessness settling over him.
"Min Jae," he began, his voice a low, weary murmur. "It's me. I'm done for the day. Another long one at the office. Director Park went on about the quarterly reports for an hour." He let out a soft, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. "You'd have told him to get to the point, wouldn't you? You were always better at that than me."
