The dorm was quiet unnervingly so. The usual muffled laughter from the game room, the faint guitar strums from the youngest member, even the rustle of snack wrappers was absent tonight. The silence pressed against his chest, and Hyunjo could feel it in every corner of his small room. He sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the floor. The city lights from Seoul were far behind him now; he was in Tokyo for a two-week promotional tour, yet his mind hadn't left that hospital room he had never entered. The accident replayed in his head over and over again — not just the screech of tires or the sickening thud, but the moments that led up to it. The arguments, the unanswered messages, the hollow look in her eyes the last time they met in person.
He had been so wrapped up in rehearsals, interviews, brand shoots, the endless schedule that came with being one of the nation's most beloved idols, that he didn't see her slipping away. Or maybe he did and just told himself she'd understand. That she'd wait. But love didn't work like that, and now… she couldn't even remember him.
Hyunjo's hands were trembling before he even realized it. He buried his face in them, his shoulders shaking. He wasn't someone who cried easily, not in front of others, not even alone, but this was different. This was grief mixed with guilt, and it was eating him alive. The knock on his door was soft, almost hesitant.
"Hyunjo?"
It was Minjae, their main vocalist and his roommate during this overseas trip.
"Yeah," Hyunjo croaked, trying to sound normal.
Minjae opened the door just enough to peek inside, then stepped in and closed it behind him. His eyes softened instantly when he saw Hyunjo's red-rimmed eyes.
"You're crying," Minjae said quietly, not as an accusation, but as if acknowledging a truth Hyunjo had been trying to deny.
Hyunjo quickly turned away, rubbing his face with the back of his hand. "It's nothing. Just tired."
"Tired doesn't make you look like that," Minjae said, sitting beside him. "Is it… her?"
Hyunjo's throat tightened. He couldn't say her name. Couldn't push the sound of it into the air without breaking.
"Yeah," he whispered.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The hum of the heater filled the silence.
"You haven't even called to check on her, have you?" Minjae asked gently.
"I can't," Hyunjo said, voice cracking. "What if she doesn't want to hear from me? What if she's angry? What if hearing my voice makes her hate me more?"
Minjae sighed. "Or… what if she's been wondering why the person she cared about most hasn't even tried?"
Hyunjo stared at him. His bandmate's words hit harder than he expected.
"You're in another country for a show, but your heart is clearly somewhere else. Call her. Even if she doesn't remember everything, at least she'll know you care."
Hyunjo hesitated, staring at his phone on the nightstand like it was a bomb about to go off. His hands were shaking again as he picked it up.
The call tone rang in his ears, each second stretching into eternity until a warm but cautious voice answered.
"Hello?"
It wasn't her, it was her mother.
Hyunjo swallowed hard. "Ma'am… it's Hyunjo. I… I wanted to check on Seo yun. Is she… is she doing better?"
There was a pause. "She's still recovering," her mother said carefully. "The doctors say her memory will return gradually. But she's walking around, eating well."
Relief flooded his chest, but it was quickly replaced by longing. "Can I… can I talk to her? Just for a moment?"
Another pause, shorter this time. "Hold on."
He heard muffled footsteps, then the rustle of movement. The next voice that came through was lighter, softer, but unfamiliar in the way it spoke to him.
"Hello? Who is this?"
Hyunjo's grip on the phone tightened. "It's… Hyunjo. How are you feeling?"
There was a beat of silence. "Hyunjo? Sorry, I don't know anyone by that name. Are you a stalker or something? Why are you insisting on hearing from me?"
His chest constricted. He could almost laugh at the absurdity, if it didn't hurt so much.
"No… I'm not a stalker. I just… wanted to make sure you're okay. You… you mean a lot to me."
Something in his voice made her pause. "Hmm. Your voice… I don't know. It's kind of familiar."
Hyunjo closed his eyes, holding onto that tiny thread of hope. "Maybe… one day you'll remember."
"Okay," she said simply, as if the word was just a polite end to the conversation.
And just like that, she was gone, the line handed back to her parents, who spoke briefly about her condition before saying goodbye. When the call ended, Hyunjo stared at the phone for a long time, his hands frozen in place. Minjae had been watching the whole time, quietly. When Hyunjo finally set the phone down, his friend reached over, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze.
"She's still healing," Minjae said gently. "Don't push it. Take your time. When she's ready, she'll remember who you are and what you were to her."
Hyunjo nodded, though his eyes were glassy again. He didn't know if Minjae was right, but for now, it was the only hope he had left.