Archive of Our Own

Joonghyuk’s voice was distant but warm the first time Dokja heard it. “Hey, leave him alone.” 

He had come to his rescue, fists clenched, eyes blazing like the light Dokja never knew he needed. He was crouched on the ground as bullies towered over him.

It wasn’t just the bruises that hurt; it was the shame of being weak and powerless. But then, like a protagonist and hero in one of his books, Joonghyuk appeared, bravely fighting off his tormentors and threatening them to never show up again.

That day under the cherry blossom tree, the ten-year-old Dokja looked up at his savior and felt his heart flutter for the first time. And Dokja’s heart, unbeknownst to him at the time, was claimed.

That was the beginning.

Years passed, and Joonghyuk became the center of Dokja's world. Joonghyuk, oblivious to the depth of Dokja’s devotion, became his closest friend and companion.

Dokja stayed by his side, helping him with schoolwork and was always there to listen and comfort him when his family problems became too much. And in return, Joonghyuk did the same too, serving as his anchor when his mother was sentenced to prison—as his bestest friend.

When Joonghyuk fell into trouble due to his short temper, Dokja was there. When Joonghyuk skipped classes due to his gaming tournaments or his sick sister, Dokja made sure to take notes for him. Each act was a quiet declaration of love, even if Dokja never dared to speak it, and Joonghyuk never seemed to realize that it was stemming from feelings beyond friendship.

“You’re too kind, Kim Dokja,” Joonghyuk would say with a smirk, ruffling his hair. But Dokja wished for more—a glimmer of something that would tell him his feelings weren’t one-sided.

However, Joonghyuk’s world revolved around Seolhwa—the pretty, smart and soft-spoken girl in their class. The day Joonghyuk’s head turned and laid his eyes on her as she walked in, with those flowing silver hair and angelic face, was the day Dokja knew he had already lost him.

How could he ever hope to compete with someone like that? But rather, how could he even hope to stand beside someone as perfect as Yoo Joonghyuk?

Dokja is not blind, he is aware of the reality, of his shortcomings—that despite being the bestest of friends, there’s a wall between them, a chasm indicating that they live in two different worlds. He knew that even daring to hope for a little affection from Joonghyuk would be definitely stupid.

And so, Dokja smiled through it, even helping Joonghyuk impress her.

His mask never wavered, even as Joonghyuk proudly showed him his homemade lunch for Seolhwa. “You made this for her?” Dokja had asked, his gaze falling on the meticulously-arranged bento box. Every piece was carefully crafted—even a rose-shaped carrot adorned the center, making it look like a bento straight from a five-star resto.

Joonghyuk nodded. “Think she’ll like it?”

“She’ll love it,” he said, forcing a grin as he raised a thumbs-up.

He watched Joonghyuk light up for her, and in the shadows, his heart wilted.

So when Joonghyuk asked for help writing a love letter for Seolhwa, Dokja complied, pouring all his feelings into the letter.

“I’ve loved you since we were young, when I saw you under the cherry blossom tree,” he wrote as he sat at the corner of the library, imagining Joonghyuk reading those words for himself.

He poured his soul into the letter, writing as if it were for Joonghyuk—knowing that it’s the only way he could secretly express his repressed feelings.

He wanted to wish him the best, hope this letter would work—he really wanted to. But the ache in his chest tells otherwise.

The library was meant to be his refuge. The quiet shelves, the soft hum of the air conditioning, the scent of old books—it was supposed to be his escape.

But today, nothing could calm the storm raging within him, his chest tightening with each passing moment and his throat growing uncomfortably dry.

He sat at a table in the farthest corner, trembling hands clutching a book he wasn’t reading. He just finished writing the letter, but his mind replayed the words Joonghyuk had spoken earlier that day, words that pierced his chest like knives.

“Dokja,” Joonghyuk had said, his tone unusually gentle, almost hesitant. “Can you help me with something?”

Dokja had smiled, like he always did when Joonghyuk asked for anything. “Of course. What do you need?”

Joonghyuk hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, he looked at Dokja with sincerity that made Dokja’s heart ache. “I… I need your help writing a letter for Seolhwa. I want it to be good, something that would really touch her heart. You’re better with words than I am, so…”

For a moment, Dokja forgot how to breathe. He stared at Joonghyuk, his pulse pounding in his ears. And then, as if on autopilot, he forced a smile.

“Sure,” he said, his voice steady despite the pain spreading through his chest. “I’ll… I’ll work on it.”

Joonghyuk’s gratitude was like salt in the wound as he patted his back. “Thanks, Dokja. I owe you one.”

The moment Joonghyuk left, the facade began to crack. Dokja rushed to the library, desperate to focus on anything but the growing ache in his chest, so he started writing the letter. He thought the silence would help, that being surrounded by books would distract him.

But instead, his thoughts spiraled further.

Joonghyuk wanted to confess to Seolhwa. And Dokja—stupid, pathetic Dokja—had agreed to help him.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he gripped the edges of the book, his knuckles turning white. The weight of his unrequited feelings, the impossibility of them, crushed him. His vision blurred, and he dropped his head onto his folded arms, the tears spilling freely now.

His body shook with silent sobs, but the longer he cried, the harder it became to contain. A broken, stifled sound escaped him, drawing the attention of others in the library.

Whispers began, soft and uncertain.

“Is he okay?”

“What’s wrong with him?”

That’s when Anna approached, her concerned voice cutting through the haze of his pain.

“Dokja, are you okay?” she asked softly, crouching beside him.

He lifted his head slightly, his face streaked with tears. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Anna frowned, clearly unconvinced. “You’re not fine. You’re crying. Please, talk to me. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’ll understand.”

For a moment, Dokja hesitated. But the sincerity in her eyes, the softness of her voice—it broke through his walls. He was desperate for someone to understand, for someone to listen.

“It’s about Joonghyuk,” he finally admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

Anna didn’t interrupt, waiting patiently for him to continue.

“He… he asked me to write a letter for Seolhwa,” Dokja said, his voice cracking. “He wants to confess to her. And I… I said yes.”

Anna’s expression softened, but it only made Dokja feel worse.

“I love him,” he confessed, tears streaming down his face. “I’ve loved him for years. And now, he wants me to help him tell someone else how he feels.”

The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, as he poured his heart out to Anna. “It hurts so much. I know he’ll never feel the same, but it doesn’t stop. I can’t stop,” his voice broke and his lips quivered, as tears continued to fall.

When Dokja finally stopped speaking, he felt a strange mix of relief and vulnerability. He had shared his deepest secret with someone. Surely, Anna would understand, right?

Anna smiled sympathetically, her expression soft and understanding as she reached out to place a comforting hand on Dokja’s trembling shoulder.

“Dokja,” she said gently, her voice soothing, “you’re so much stronger than you think. Carrying these feelings for so long, knowing they might never be returned—it takes a lot of courage. I’m so sorry you’re going through this.” Her words were kind, and her tone was warm, but something in her gaze flickered—something unreadable that Dokja, lost in his own pain, didn’t notice. 

“You’re not alone,” she continued, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “Even if it feels like no one understands, I’m here for you. Always. You can tell me anything, and I promise, I’ll never judge you for how you feel.”

Dokja let out a shaky breath, the tension in his chest loosening just a bit. Her words offered a fragile comfort, enough to make him nod weakly. “Thank you, Anna,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I just… I needed someone to hear me.”

Anna smiled wider, her expression as kind as ever. “Of course, Dokja. You can trust me.”

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Dokja went home quite late that night, as he had to gather the strength to walk. The streets were dark, lit only by the occasional flicker of an old streetlamp. He clutched his bag tightly, his steps hurried as he made his way back to the small dorm room he called home. His chest was tight, and the familiar ache was beginning to spread, making it harder to breathe.

He barely noticed the cold as memories gnawed at the edges of his mind. His life had always been complicated, marred by things most teenagers wouldn’t dare to imagine.

When he was younger, his home wasn’t a sanctuary—it was a battlefield. His father, a volatile man with a taste for cruelty, had made life unbearable. His fists left bruises on Dokja’s skin, but the emotional wounds ran deeper. His mother wasn’t spared either, bearing her own share of pain in silent endurance, until one day she snapped.

Dokja remembered the sirens blaring that night, the flash of red and blue lights reflecting off the cracked walls of their tiny home. His mother stood in the kitchen, trembling, a bloodied knife in her hands. His father lay crumpled on the floor.

Social services intervened, but instead of salvation, Dokja was thrown into a different kind of torment. His aunt and uncle reluctantly took him in—not out of compassion, but because they felt obligated.

To them, he was a burden, a nuisance, an unwelcome disruption on their otherwise peaceful lives. Meals were sparse, conversations colder than the winter air. They never hit him, but their disdain cut just as deep.

The only solace during that time came from Joonghyuk. He was the one person who consistently checked on Dokja, offering quiet gestures of care.

Joonghyuk had been the first to suggest reporting Dokja’s father, and when Dokja moved in with his aunt, Joonghyuk would show up with homemade food or invite him to sleep over, giving him brief moments of warmth and safety. Dokja often felt ashamed for relying on him so much, convinced he was just adding to Joonghyuk’s burdens. But Joonghyuk would always dismiss his protests, his voice firm yet gentle. “Don’t worry about it. I just wish I could do more,” he’d mumble. How could Dokja not love him?

When Dokja was accepted as a scholar at his current high school, it was his lifeline. The scholarship offered a dorm room and a meager allowance, just enough to cover school lunch and projects. But for someone with no family to fall back on, it was barely enough to survive.

His dorm room was tiny, a single bed pushed against one wall, a desk crammed into the other corner, and a wardrobe with a broken handle. The only sound that greeted him when he entered was the faint hum of the refrigerator, which contained little more than a carton of eggs, a few cans of cheap tuna, and a packet of ramyeon. If anything, he’s just grateful that Joonghyuk cooks him lunch from time-to-time.

Most days, he stretched his allowance to its limits, buying rice and eggs in bulk, supplementing his meals with whatever odd jobs he could pick up. Sometimes, he worked late-night shifts at a nearby convenience store. Other times, he wrote essays, especially book analyses—his forte—for classmates willing to pay.

But tonight, there was no time for work or food.

By the time Dokja reached his dorm, his chest was burning. He fumbled with the key, his hands shaking as he unlocked the door and stumbled inside. The attack hit him the moment he closed the door behind him.

The first sign came quickly—a faint tickle in his throat. Kim Dokja ignored it, chalking it up to exhaustion or the oppressive weight of the day. But as the seconds passed, the sensation grew, spreading like a wildfire through his chest.

It was then followed by a cough, sharp and dry, but quickly escalated into something far worse. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest as pain shot through him. His vision blurred as he hacked violently, each cough tearing through his throat like broken glass.

And then they came—the petals. Dokja stared at the petals in horror, but before he could process what was happening, another wave of pain hit him like a tidal wave.

This time, it wasn’t just petals.

Stems, gnarled and thorned, clawed their way up from deep within his chest, tearing through his flesh as if determined to punish him for the love he harbored in silence.

Delicate yet cruel, the flowers that spilled from his lips were a mix of yellow and purple tinged with blue, their edges jagged like shards of regret and unspoken words. Purple and yellow hyacinths, symbols of sorrow, longing, a desire for forgiveness, and most of all, jealousy, mixed with thorny stems that tore at his throat.

The pain was excruciating. Tears streamed down his face as he clawed at his neck, desperate for relief. But the attack didn’t stop. More petals came, followed by stems, their thorns raking his insides. His breathing was ragged, each inhale shallow and agonizing.

Hanahaki Disease—a condition born from the agony of unrequited love. Dokja had heard of it countless times before. He’d read about it in books, seen it dramatized on TV, and occasionally caught reports of rare cases on the news. But to him, it had always seemed like a myth, a creation of vivid imaginations rather than reality. He never once believed it could be real—let alone that it could happen to him.

The cramped dorm room felt like it was closing in on him, the walls pressing tighter with every labored breath. The air seemed too thin, offering no relief as he doubled over, his trembling hands catching the delicate petals he coughed up. Their fragile beauty was cruel, a mocking contrast to the unbearable pain wracking his body.

Then, the sharp chime of his phone pierced the silence. Weakly, he glanced at the screen, where a preview of Joonghyuk’s message lit up: “Where were you earlier? I was looking for you. I thought we’d walk home together.”

He tried to reach for his phone, weakly muttering a “Joonghyuk…I’m so sorry,” but the world tilted, his vision swimming as the pain overwhelmed him.

He felt the cold floor beneath him as his strength gave out, and the last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was a smear of blood on the petals scattered around him. 

When he awoke hours later, his throat raw and his body aching, the room was silent. The flowers were still there, wilted and stained with his blood. Dokja stared at them for a long time, the weight of his reality pressing down on him like an unmovable stone.

He was alone. He had always been alone. And in that moment, as he lay on the cold floor of his dorm room, he realized he always would be.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The next day, he learned how gravely wrong he had been to trust Anna.

The whispers in the halls, the stifled giggles, and the cruel, pointed stares all converged on him like a tidal wave of humiliation.

Each step he took through the corridors felt heavier than the last, the walls seeming to close in as if the entire school was conspiring against him.

He quickened his pace toward the classroom, desperate to avoid the growing storm of ridicule, but fate had other plans. His childhood bully, Song Minwoo and his lackeys loomed ahead, blocking the path.

Minwoo deliberately bumped into him, his sneer practically dripping venom. "Oh, look who it is—the fagg*t," he jeered, his voice carrying enough volume to ensure everyone nearby heard.

"Dude, I always knew you were weak, but I didn’t know you were gay too. Where’s your “knight in shining armor,” huh?" He mockingly smirked, raising his hands to emphasize the phrase with sarcastic air quotes. "Probably absent again, right? Getting special treatment for being a pro-gamer because he's popular. Unlike YOU."

Laughter erupted from his lackeys, their derision echoing down the hall. Dokja stared at the floor, his hands clutching his bag strap tightly.

Minwoo leaned closer, his tone dripping with condescension. "You know, once Yoo Joonghyuk gets a girlfriend, where would that leave you? Don't get too confident just because he's on your side for now."

His words cut deeper than any punch could, but Dokja kept his gaze down, swallowing the words he wanted to say. He knew it wouldn’t matter.

Minwoo’s laughter faded as he gestured to his friends to follow him. “Let’s go,” he said, throwing one last condescending look over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

Shaking, Dokja made it to the classroom and froze when he saw Anna sitting with Jiwon, laughing. She seemed carefree, her laughter blending into the chorus of chatter. But as Dokja stood there, watching her, the realization hit him like a freight train.

She had told them. She had shared his secret.

When lunch break came about, he confronted her outside the library.

“You told them,” Dokja said, his voice trembling with anger and betrayal.

Anna blinked, caught off guard. “Told who? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Dokja snapped, his voice rising. “You told Jiwon, and now everyone knows. I trusted you, Anna. I thought you were my friend.”

Anna crossed her arms, her expression defensive. “Look, I didn’t mean for it to spread. I just told Jiwon—”

“Jiwon?” Dokja’s voice cracked with fury. “You knew she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. You knew, and you told her anyway.”

Anna’s gaze hardened. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. But, Dokja, you needed to hear it: Joonghyuk will never like you. He’s not gay.”

The words struck Dokja like a physical blow. He stared at her, his chest heaving as tears filled his eyes.

“You don’t understand,” he said quietly, his voice thick with pain. “This isn’t about whether he’ll like me or not. I trusted you. I let myself be vulnerable, and you threw it all away.”

Anna rolled her eyes, as if his pain was an inconvenience. “You’re overreacting. People were going to find out eventually.”

Dokja shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I hope it was worth it, Anna. Because you’ve lost my trust forever.”

He turned and walked away, leaving her standing there. But the wound she had inflicted stayed with him, cutting deeper with every whisper, every laugh, every reminder of her betrayal.

And still, even through the pain, his thoughts returned to Joonghyuk. To the love he couldn’t let go of, no matter how much it hurt.

Throughout the confrontation, Dokja hadn’t noticed that Sooyoung and Sangah were standing nearby, quietly watching.

“Dokja! Are you… okay? You look pale,” Sangah asked as she approached him, her face filled with concern.

“I’m fine… Thanks, Sangah,” Dokja replied softly, forcing a small smile.

“You shouldn’t let that bitch treat you like this, squid. Want me to kick her ass for you?” Sooyoung snapped, only to have Sangah gently hold her back.

Dokja gave them a grateful but melancholic smile. “It’s okay. She’s right. Joonghyuk will never like me. He likes Seolhwa.”

“Aish! Don’t listen to her!” Sooyoung exclaimed, her fists clenched. “Sangah still likes me even when she found out I was gay for her. Who cares what society thinks? What matters is that we’re happy!”

Sangah smiled apologetically at Dokja for her girlfriend’s brashness.

But Dokja’s thoughts betrayed him. ‘The thing is, I’m not happy,’ he realized bitterly.

“It’s different, Sooyoung. But thank you. I really appreciate it,” he said, his voice tinged with sadness. “It’s just… getting harder to trust people these days.”

With a wistful smile, Dokja waved and turned to walk back to the classroom. Sangah and Sooyoung watched his retreating figure, their expressions full of concern.

The day passed in a haze, each moment bleeding into the next as Dokja forced himself to endure the whispers that followed him like a shadow. Moving as if on autopilot, he buried the pain deep within, determined to make it through the day.

His body went through the motions—answering questions in class, jotting down notes for himself and for Joonghyuk, pretending not to notice the condescending stares and muffled laughter.

If there was one small solace, it was the absence of Joonghyuk. He had been excused for the day to represent their school in a gaming tournament. Dokja silently thanked fate for sparing him the humiliation of facing the person at the center of the rumors.

At least, for today, he didn’t have to endure Joonghyuk’s gaze—one that he wasn’t sure he could meet anymore.

It wasn’t until he was alone in the silence of his dorm room that it overwhelmed him once more.

The tickle turned into a sharp, unbearable pain that clawed at his lungs, dragging him to his knees. He clutched his chest, his fingers trembling as he gasped for breath, but the air wouldn’t come. Then he felt it—a foreign pressure rising in his throat, forcing its way out.

He choked violently, his body convulsing with the force of it. The petals spilled from his lips, fluttering to the ground in delicate agony. Purple hyacinths once more, the petals bruised and curled at the edges, the color a deep and sorrowful hue that seemed to mirror the anguish in his heart. The stems followed, thick, thorned and unrelenting, coiling around his ribs and pressing against his heart like a vice.

Blood mixed with the petals now, staining them crimson as they spilled onto the floor in a grotesque mosaic of love and suffering. His hands grasped at his chest as if he could rip the roots out, but the more he struggled, the tighter they seemed to grip him. Each movement sent a new wave of pain crashing through his body, sharp and unyielding.

He tried to stifle his sobs, to keep quiet as the world spun around him. But the tears came anyway, streaming down his face as his body betrayed him, wracked with pain and despair.

Images of Joonghyuk flashed in his mind: his rare, fleeting smiles, the way his voice softened when he spoke to Seolhwa, the warmth in his eyes when he wasn’t putting up his walls.

Dokja had always known Joonghyuk couldn’t love him back. But knowing didn’t make the pain any less unbearable.

As another wave of petals and thorns forced their way out, Dokja curled into himself, his hands trembling as he clutched the bloodied flowers. The scent of the hyacinths was overwhelming, sickly sweet and suffocating.

He coughed violently, his body spasming as more flowers burst forth. His vision blurred with tears, and for a moment, he thought the pain might swallow him whole.

“Joonghyuk…” he whispered brokenly, his voice hoarse and barely audible. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

But no one was there to hear him.

The sharp crackle of thorns scraping against his lungs seemed to echo in the silence. Each breath felt like inhaling shards of glass, the flowers tearing him apart from the inside out.

Yet, even through the pain, his thoughts lingered on Joonghyuk. On the love he could never express. On the letter he had agreed to write, sealing his fate with his own hands.

The Hanahaki was relentless, feeding on his sadness, jealousy, and heartbreak. It was a cruel, living manifestation of his love—beautiful and deadly all at once.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the attack subsided. Dokja collapsed onto the floor, trembling and drenched in sweat. His chest ached with every shallow breath, and his hands were stained with blood and petals. He stared at the scattered flowers around him, their blue petals stark against the crimson smears. The sight was hauntingly beautiful, a cruel mockery of his feelings.

Dokja pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the faint pulse of the roots still coiled around his heart. The thorns hadn’t left—they never would.

As tears continued to stream down his face, he whispered to himself, broken and defeated: “How long… How long can I survive this?”

And yet, even through the excruciating pain, the image of Joonghyuk lingered in his mind, burning like a flame that refused to be extinguished—as he weakly reached out for his phone, his vision blurring as he scrolled through the multiple messages Joonghyuk had sent, each one asking why he hadn’t responded since yesterday.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The next day, Dokja didn’t go to school. Everything is just too much, and he’s afraid he’s not ready to face Joonghyuk, knowing the rumors spreading even to other classes, so he went to the hospital instead to have himself checked.

His chest still ached from the previous evening's violent attack, the blood-stained petals still haunting his memory.

The doctor, a middle-aged man with tired eyes, sat across from him, reviewing his chart. He sighed deeply, placing the file on his desk.

“Mr. Kim,” he began, his voice soft but grave. “You have Hanahaki Disease, a rare condition stemming from…unrequited love. And I’m sorry to tell you that your condition has progressed to a critical stage.”

“The roots have spread far into your lungs, and the thorns are causing severe internal damage. Without intervention, I’d estimate you have three months at most.”

Dokja blinked, his face unreadable. Three months. How long have these flowers been growing? The words settled over him like a heavy weight, yet he felt… nothing. No fear, no urgency, just a hollow acceptance.

“There is a solution,” the doctor continued, adjusting his glasses. “We can perform surgery to remove the Hanahaki entirely.”

“However, you need to understand—this procedure will eliminate the feelings tied to the condition. Any love or affection you feel for the person will be gone.”

The words felt like a slap, even if Dokja had prepared himself for them. Losing his feelings for Joonghyuk… It was unthinkable, yet wasn’t that what he had wanted all along? To stop loving someone who could never love him back?

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to his hands. They were pale and cold, trembling slightly as he gripped the pen.

“What happens if I don’t go through with it?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

The doctor’s expression softened. “If you don’t, the condition will worsen. You’ll continue to cough up petals and blood, and the roots will suffocate you entirely. It won’t be a painless death.”

Dokja swallowed hard, his throat burning at the thought of enduring more attacks. The pain, the humiliation, the whispers behind his back, and most of all, the possibility of losing Joonghyuk’s friendship all because of these feelings—it was all too much.

He forced himself to nod, staring at the form in front of him. His hand shook as he picked up the pen, hovering over the dotted line.

“It’s only causing me pain,” he murmured to himself. “And it’s a burden to him.”

He thought of Joonghyuk, how distant yet close he felt, like a star he could never touch. Joonghyuk deserved better than someone weak and pathetic like him, someone who couldn’t even control their own feelings.

Dokja exhaled shakily and pressed the pen to the paper, signing his name. The act felt final, like closing a door he could never reopen.

The doctor took the clipboard and nodded. “The surgery is scheduled, but as you know, this is a public hospital. We’re dealing with a backlog of lung-related cases—cancer, tubercolosis, severe infections, you name it. Your procedure is set for a month from now.”

A month. Dokja nodded again, his mind numb.

“You’ll need to hold on until then,” the doctor added. “And I must remind you, signing this form means the hospital isn’t responsible for any complications.”

“The procedure itself carries risks, especially given the extent of your condition.”

“I don’t mind,” Dokja replied flatly. “I don’t… really have anything to lose.”

The doctor frowned but didn’t argue. “Very well. Take care of yourself, Mr. Kim. If you experience another severe attack, come to the ER immediately. We might have to do...an emergency surgery. But let’s hope it doesn't come to that.”

Dokja stood, his legs feeling weak as he left the office. The form was signed, his fate sealed.

As he walked out of the hospital, the sun glaring down on him felt almost cruel in its brightness.

He thought about the month ahead, the pain he’d have to endure, the whispers he’d have to ignore, the looks of pity and disdain he’d have to pretend didn’t exist.

But none of it mattered. Whether he made it to the surgery or not didn’t matter either.

“If I die, I die,” he muttered to himself, his voice hollow. “It’s not like anyone will miss me anyway.”

His chest ached again, but this time, it wasn’t just the Hanahaki. It was the weight of an existence he no longer cared to hold onto.

As he walked down the crowded street, blending into the faceless masses, Kim Dokja felt a quiet resignation settle over him—a numb acceptance of whatever might come next.

He glanced down at his phone: 37 missed calls from Yoo Joonghyuk. Dokja laughed wryly. He’s probably back at school by now, and he’s probably heard the rumors already. Fear twisted in Dokja’s gut.

He wasn’t ready—for the questions, the possible disgust, or the accusations of betrayal. 

Yoo Joonghyuk had trusted him, offering him a safe haven when they were younger, letting him stay over from time to time to escape the cold indifference of his uncle and aunt.

‘But what if he thinks I took advantage of him? What if he believes I had hidden motives all along?’ The thought was suffocating. Dokja wasn’t sure he could survive hearing those words.

Without hesitation, he pressed the power button, shutting off his phone—and, for now, the world.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Joonghyuk first heard the whispers in the hallway during lunch break.

“Did you hear? Kim Dokja has a crush on Joonghyuk.”

The words made him stop mid-step, his body freezing as the statement registered in his mind.

“Yeah, apparently, he told Anna, and she let it slip to Jiwon. Now, everyone knows.”

Joonghyuk’s brow furrowed. Kim Dokja? He couldn’t believe it. Dokja, his kind, reserved, dependable and oftentimes silly friend—his best friend—have feelings for him?

He wanted to brush it off as just another baseless rumor. But as he made his way to class, he heard the way some girls from the other class talked about Dokja, the way they snickered or whispered about him as he passed.

“Ugh, he really is so handsome. No wonder he turned Dokja gay!” A group of girls giggled.

The sight made Joonghyuk’s chest tighten. He glared at the group, and they immediately dispersed. Is this why Dokja was absent?

He found himself getting worried, wanting to check up on Dokja. Unfortunately, he wasn’t answering his phone. He’s been calling for 37 times now.

When Hyunsung approached him later that day, his expression grim, Joonghyuk finally asked, “Is it true? About Dokja? You’re kind of…pretty close to him too.”

Hyunsung hesitated before nodding. “I don’t know how much of it is true, but… I heard from Jiwon that Dokja likes you. And people are talking, even the ones from the other classes.”

He told himself it wasn’t real.

"That’s ridiculous," he muttered, more to himself than to Hyunsung. "Dokja wouldn’t—he doesn’t see me that way."

Hyunsung gave him a long, confused look but said nothing.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

That evening, Joonghyuk sat in his room, the soft glow of his desk lamp illuminating the cluttered space. The rumors he’d overheard that day refused to leave his mind, looping endlessly like a song stuck on repeat.

He leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling, as memories of Dokja played unbidden in his head. He remembered the early days of their friendship, back when they were just kids. He had always been the quiet, serious type, but Dokja had a way of drawing him out without even trying.

Dokja’s smile—gentle and fleeting—had always made something warm unfurl in Joonghyuk’s chest, a sensation he couldn’t name but never wanted to lose. Being around Dokja had always made him happy in a way nothing else could, like the world felt lighter, less suffocating.

He remembered the way Dokja used to follow him around, small and fragile but always determined. How Joonghyuk had instinctively wanted to protect him, to shield him from the harshness of the world. 

It wasn’t a conscious decision—it was just something he did, like breathing. Back then, he had thought it was normal. Isn’t that what friends did? But now, looking back, he wasn’t so sure.

He thought of the countless moments they’d shared: Dokja waiting for him after class, Dokja leaning on him when he was tired, Dokja laughing at his dry jokes despite his stoic expression, when no one else seemed to get them. 

And then there were the quieter moments, the ones that lingered the longest in Joonghyuk’s mind—like the time Dokja had fallen asleep beside him during a study session, or the time he’d surprised Joonghyuk with a clumsily wrapped birthday gift.

He then remembered how Dokja always lingered by his side during group projects, the way his face would light up whenever Joonghyuk praised his work—how his smile, rare but warm, made Joonghyuk’s chest tighten in a way he never dared to examine too closely. And how Dokja always listened, not just with politeness but with an attentiveness that made Joonghyuk feel as if every word he said mattered.

Joonghyuk clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. “No,” he muttered to himself. “This doesn’t change anything. I like Seolhwa. I’ve been chasing her for months. My parents like her too, and they’re expecting me to date her.”

“They’ve been good friends with her family, too. Dokja is just my friend. My bestest friend.”

But the words felt hollow even as he said them repeatedly.

He picked up his phone, his thumb hovering over Dokja’s contact. He wanted to text him, to ask why he had been absent, to confirm that the rumors weren’t true.

But more than that, he wanted to hear from him—to hear that familiar voice, to know that everything is still the same between them.

But the more he tried to convince himself, the more his chest ached. A quiet voice in the back of his mind whispered doubts, questions he didn’t want to face. Why had Dokja’s smile always made him feel warm, like he’d finally come home?

Why had he always felt this need to protect him, to be the one Dokja could rely on? Why did the thought of Dokja liking him make his heart race? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about it?

‘Because it’s not true,’ he told himself firmly. ‘It’s not true. Dokja doesn’t see me that way. He never has.’

Dokja was even helping him impress Seolhwa, right? The last time they talked, he had been writing a love letter for her—at Joonghyuk’s request. There’s no way—

He set the phone down on his bedside table, and shook his head. He shut his eyes tightly, as if doing so could silence the questions clawing at his resolve.

“I’ll just ask him tomorrow,” he told himself, his voice resolute but his heart anything but. He sat on the edge of his bed, gripping the pillow tightly, as if grounding himself could keep him from falling into a truth he refused to face.

He thought of Seolhwa then, clinging to the idea of her like a lifeline. She was what he was supposed to want, wasn’t she? The kind of person who made sense to everyone—including to his family and their expectations—as well as to himself.

Maybe if he focused on her, the confusing, persistent thoughts about Dokja would disappear. Right?

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The next morning, Joonghyuk was about to look for Dokja, but he spotted Seolhwa with her group of friends under the large acacia tree near the school courtyard.

The sunlight filtered through the branches, casting a golden glow on her as she laughed softly with her friends. Her smile was warm, serene—like the gentle morning sun.

He hesitated for a moment before approaching, a small smile tugging at his lips. As soon as the girls noticed him, they started whispering and giggling among themselves.

“Look, Seolhwa, your admirer!” one of them teased, nudging her playfully.

Joonghyuk gave a casual wave. “Seolhwa…” he began, but before he could say more, one of the girls, Uriel, grinned mischievously and piped up.

“Joonghyuk-ssi, is it true you and Dokja-ssi have something going on?” she asked with a giggle, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Her friends burst into laughter, hitting her lightly on the shoulder as if to scold her for being cheeky.

Joonghyuk froze, his smile faltering for just a split second. The unexpected question struck a chord deep inside him—one he wasn’t ready to confront.

But Seolhwa was watching, her curious gaze soft yet expectant, and he felt the need to prove himself.

“No,” he said quickly, his tone firmer than intended. “I’m not interested in men.” He crumpled his face into an exaggerated look of mock disgust, trying to play it off as irritation.

The girls burst into laughter at his exaggerated reaction, nudging Uriel once again for being so cheeky.

Unbeknownst to him, Dokja stood nearby, half-hidden behind one of the benches beneath the tree, clutching the letter he’d written for Seolhwa. He had only meant to stop by briefly, unsure whether to hand over the letter he’d written for Seolhwa or avoid Joonghyuk altogether and just quietly leave.

But then he heard it—the question, the sharp denial—and finally, he saw it: Joonghyuk’s face twisting into an expression of disgust, and the laughter that followed.

Dokja’s chest tightened, a hollow ache spreading through him as his breathing became labored. Of course, Joonghyuk would say that. Of course, he would laugh it off in front of her. Dokja swallowed hard, his lips curling into a sad, knowing smile.

He took a shaky step back. 

Without a sound, Dokja turned and retreated, the letter trembling in his hand. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

‘I should’ve known better,’ he thought, his heart aching with each step as Joonghyuk’s laughter rang in his ears, more distant and painful with every stride.

Meanwhile, Joonghyuk had spent longer with Seolhwa and her friends than he intended. Their laughter and banter had distracted him momentarily, but something about the conversation lingered uncomfortably in his mind.

He replayed his words, the ones he had said to impress Seolhwa, and the discomfort twisted deeper. It felt wrong. It felt empty.

That was when he remembered.

Dokja.

A pang of guilt hit him. He had been looking for Dokja before he ran into Seolhwa’s group. He checked his phone, scrolling through unread notifications. Still no reply.

Joonghyuk frowned, hesitating for a moment before dialing Dokja’s number. The call rang and rang, but there was no answer.

Frustrated and unsettled, Joonghyuk began retracing his steps. It didn’t take long to find him. Dokja was in their usual classroom, seated at his favorite spot by the window, scribbling quietly in his notebook.

For a moment, Joonghyuk wanted to approach him, to say something—but then the teacher entered, cutting off the opportunity.

Throughout the morning class, Joonghyuk’s gaze kept drifting toward Dokja. He wanted to speak to him, to ask why he hadn’t responded, to... to what? His calls and messages? He wasn’t sure. But something in him wanted to bridge the growing gap.

Dokja noticed, of course. Joonghyuk’s glances didn’t go unnoticed. Each time, Dokja would shift in his seat, his shoulders tensing, his head ducking lower. It wasn’t long before the unease in Joonghyuk’s eyes was mirrored by the fear in Dokja’s.

By the time the lunch bell rang, Dokja was already halfway out the door, his bag clutched tightly as he headed straight for the library.

At that moment, Joonghyuk finally realized he had been avoiding him. Quietly, he followed him.

The library was quieter than usual, the gentle hum of the air conditioning filling the silence. Joonghyuk spotted Dokja immediately, sitting at his usual spot. His head was down, his frame hunched as he read a book, as if trying to disappear into himself.

Joonghyuk’s steps faltered. For a moment, he considered walking away. But something inside him—a mixture of guilt, frustration, and something he couldn’t quite name—kept him moving forward.

“Dokja,” Joonghyuk said, his voice breaking the silence.

Dokja flinched. Slowly, he looked up, his face pale and his eyes rimmed with red.

“Joonghyuk?” His voice was soft, hesitant, almost afraid.

Joonghyuk sat across from him, his expression unreadable. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

Finally, Joonghyuk broke the silence. “Is it true? What people are saying about you and me?”

“What’s true?” Dokja asked, his voice barely audible.

“That… you like me.”

Dokja’s breath hitched. He looked away, his fingers trembling as he clutched the edges of the book. “Who told you that?”

“It’s all over school,” Joonghyuk replied. “People are saying you… like me.”

Dokja’s shoulders trembled, his face a mask of quiet anguish. For a moment, Joonghyuk thought he might deny it. But then Dokja looked up, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and resignation.

“I’m sorry,” Dokja whispered. “I didn’t mean for you to find out. I never wanted you to know.”

“Dokja…” Joonghyuk began, but Dokja shook his head, cutting him off.

“I never wanted anyone to know,” Dokja continued, his voice shaking. “I don’t… I don’t expect anything from you, so don’t worry. I’m about to get rid of these feelings. It’s not true anymore. It’s not.”

Joonghyuk’s chest tightened at the words.

The pain in Dokja’s voice was sharper than he expected, and it unsettled him in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Dokja, it’s fine,” Joonghyuk said, his voice quieter now. “I may not… feel the same, but it’s okay. You don’t have to—”

“Stop,” Dokja interrupted, his laugh bitter. “You don’t have to say anything else. It doesn’t matter. I know you’ll never feel the same way. I know you’re disgusted. I know you like Seolhwa. You’ve always liked her. I didn’t want to ruin what we have, Joonghyuk.” He paused, biting his trembling lip as he fought to contain his tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. If only I kept my mouth shut, you wouldn’t have been involved.”

Joonghyuk felt a lump rise in his throat. “Wait, I’m not disgusted, Dokja! Who told you that—”

“I heard you talking to Seolhwa and her friends. It’s alright, it’s understandable. I understand.”

“No, you misunderstood—”

“It’s okay, really.”

“Dokja, please. I… I don’t want things to change between us. I don’t want to lose you. You’re my… You’re my bestest friend,” Joonghyuk begged, frustration evident in his trembling voice.

“They won’t,” Dokja said, forcing a faint, bitter smile. “We’ll always be best friends. Nothing’s going to change.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Dokja reached into his bag, pulling out a neatly folded envelope.

“Here,” he said, handing it to Joonghyuk. “It’s the letter you asked me to write for Seolhwa. I... don’t really have any experience in writing love letters, but I tried my best to make it romantic. I hope she’ll like it.”

As he handed the letter over, his hand lingered for a fraction of a second, as if reluctant to let go. 

Joonghyuk stared at the envelope, his hands hesitating before taking it.

He patted Joonghyuk’s shoulder lightly, his smile warm yet distant, a fragile mask that couldn’t quite hide the pain in his eyes. “Good luck, Joonghyuk-ah. I really mean it. I wish you the best.”

Joonghyuk was speechless, he didn’t expect that Dokja would still follow through with the request, that all he could do was to mouth a “Thanks, Dokja,” barely above a whisper.

“Anytime,” Dokja replied with a sad smile.

As Dokja stood and walked away, Joonghyuk sat frozen in his seat. The weight of the envelope in his hand felt heavier than it should have.

And as Dokja’s figure disappeared through the library doors, Joonghyuk couldn’t shake the feeling that something between them had already shifted—something he wasn’t sure they could ever get back.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Kim Dokja walked back to the classroom, his steps slow and heavy. His heart ached with every beat, as though it carried the weight of the universe. The folded letter, the one he had painstakingly written for Joonghyuk’s sake, was no longer in his possession.

His mind replayed the scenario over and over—he had handed it over with trembling hands and a forced smile, watching as Joonghyuk took it almost without a second thought.

He didn’t miss how Joonghyuk’s eyes widened when he received the letter, how speechless he was for a brief moment. ‘Probably thinking of Seolhwa,’ he thought. It wasn’t meant for Dokja, nor would it ever be.

The hallways seemed unbearably long, the murmur of voices around him a dull buzz that barely registered. But then, the whispers reached his ears.

“Did you see what happened in the library awhile ago? Kim Dokja gave Yoo Joonghyuk a letter.”

“He’s so desperate, he made Joonghyuk raise his voice. Can you imagine confessing like that? What a loser.”

“Joonghyuk would never go for someone like him. It's embarrassing.”

Their words cut deeper than any thorn. Dokja’s vision blurred as he fought to keep his composure, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. They didn’t know the truth. They didn’t know he was only doing what Joonghyuk had asked. They misunderstood.

He quickened his pace, trying to outwalk the humiliation and heartbreak clawing at his chest. “Don’t let it get to you. Don’t listen, you know that isn’t true,” he repeated to himself like a mantra.

But the lump in his throat grew heavier, and the pain in his chest turned into something unbearable.

Then it hit him, sharp and sudden. A familiar, suffocating ache spread through his chest, worse than anything he had ever felt before. He staggered, clutching at his ribs as the air was stolen from his lungs.

His throat burned, and he felt something rising, something foreign and cruel.

Dokja broke into a run, his vision narrowing to the nearest restroom. He barely made it through the door before the pain consumed him.

Collapsing to his knees in front of the sink, he gagged violently, clawing at his neck as the first wave of flowers and stems forced their way out.

Purple and yellow hyacinths with thorn-ridden stems spilled from his lips, a grotesque and bloody mess that splattered against the sink and floor.

The stems were thicker this time, their thorns sharper and unrelenting as they scraped and tore their way through his throat. The pain was indescribable, as though his body was being ripped apart from the inside.

Tears streamed down his face as he gasped for air, but his lungs refused to cooperate. The roots coiled tighter around his chest, crushing him under their weight. Each breath was a struggle, shallow and ragged, and every cough brought more flowers and blood.

“Stop… Please, just stop…” Dokja choked out, his voice hoarse and broken. He dug his nails into his neck in a desperate attempt to alleviate the pain, but it was futile.

The whispers from the hallway echoed in his mind, cruel and mocking. The image of Joonghyuk holding the letter burned into his memory. The unrelenting ache of unrequited love, jealousy, and heartbreak consumed him, feeding the Hanahaki until it felt like it would tear him apart completely.

Another wave hit, harder than the last, and Dokja’s body convulsed violently. He retched, blood and petals staining his uniform and pooling around him. His vision blurred, and the edges of the world grew dark.

His strength gave out, and he collapsed onto the cold, blood-soaked tiles, face down in the crimson mess.

Time passed, though he was barely aware of it. The world faded in and out, his body trembling and weak.

It wasn’t until a pair of hurried footsteps echoed in the restroom that someone finally noticed.

“Oh my god, Dokja!” Hyunsung’s voice was sharp with panic as he rushed to the crumpled figure on the floor. He crouched down, carefully turning Dokja onto his back, his face pale as he took in the sight of the blood and flowers.

“Help! Someone call an ambulance!” Hyunsung shouted, his voice trembling.

A few classmates entered, their gasps of horror filling the air as they fumbled for their phones. Hyunsung stayed by Dokja’s side, pressing a hand to his chest as though it could somehow ease the pain.

“Stay with us, Dokja. Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

But Dokja didn’t respond. His breathing was shallow, his face pale and streaked with tears. The blood continued to seep around him, staining the petals that had once been beautiful.

When the paramedics arrived, they wasted no time, lifting Dokja onto a stretcher and rushing him out. Hyunsung followed closely, along with Sooyoung and other classmates who are genuinely concerned—their heart pounding with fear as they silently prayed for Dokja to survive.

As the ambulance sped toward the ER, the flowers remained on the floor—purple and yellow hyacinths, stained with blood, a haunting reminder of a love that had never been returned.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Meanwhile, Joonghyuk headed straight to the cafeteria after his conversation with Dokja, eager to distract himself from the lingering emotions swirling inside him.

His fingers tightened around the letter Dokja had written for Seolhwa, and he decided that perhaps now is the perfect time to surprise her with it.

Maybe focusing on Seolhwa—on what he thought was the right thing to do—would help him regain a sense of clarity.

Joonghyuk spotted Seolhwa in the cafeteria, carefully balancing a tray of food. Without hesitation, he walked over and gently took the tray from her hands.

“May I help you?” he asked, his voice deep but gentle.

Before she could respond, he reached into his pocket, pulling out the letter. Handing it to her in place of the tray, he added softly, “I think you should be holding this instead.”

Seolhwa gasped, her eyes flicking from the envelope to his face. A faint blush rose to her cheeks as she accepted it.

Her friends, who had been watching from nearby, erupted into excited squeals. “Oh my gosh, Seolhwa, what is it? Open it!” they urged, crowding closer.

Seolhwa hesitated for a moment, her hands trembling slightly, before carefully unfolding the letter. Her eyes scanned the neat handwriting, her expression shifting from surprise to a tender softness.

By the time she finished reading, her eyes glistened with emotion, a teary smile breaking across her face.

“This is… so beautiful,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over her friends' squeals of excitement.

Her friends nudged her playfully, giggling. “He really wrote you a love letter! How romantic!”

Joonghyuk stood there, feeling a pang of guilt despite their laughter and teasing. He watched as Seolhwa carefully folded the letter, holding it close to her chest.

“Thank you, Joonghyuk,” she said, looking up at him with a warm, sincere smile. “This means so much to me.”

He nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. “I’m glad you loved it.”

The afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over the school cafeteria as Joonghyuk sat with Seolhwa and her friends. Laughter and lighthearted teasing filled the air, their voices blending with the soft hum of chatter from other students.

Seolhwa held the letter delicately in her hands, her eyes scanning its words once more. Tears shimmered at the corners of her eyes as a smile spread across her lips. She was happy—smitten even—and the sight of her emotional reaction made Joonghyuk breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

The letter—that Dokja poured his heart into—had worked.

As her friends crowded around her, asking to read it and teasing her endlessly, Joonghyuk sat silently, his face calm.

But in his mind, he offered a small, private thanks to Dokja, who had written the words that had clearly touched Seolhwa’s heart. 

They ate together, the mood cheerful as Seolhwa kept sneaking glances at Joonghyuk, her cheeks flushed with joy. Joonghyuk responded with his usual quiet demeanor, feeling oddly restless amidst the lighthearted atmosphere.

However, moments later, the conversation took an unexpected turn.

“So, Joonghyuk,” one of Seolhwa’s friends began with a teasing grin, “how long have you liked Seolhwa? Was it love at first sight?”

Another one of her friends joined in as she nudged Seolhwa, “You live close to each other, right?”

Joonghyuk stiffened slightly but kept his composure. “I... noticed her in high school,” he replied simply, glancing at Seolhwa. “She was kind and beautiful, and I—”

“But your letter said otherwise,” Seolhwa interrupted, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Didn’t you say you’ve liked me since we were kids? Something about seeing me under the cherry blossom tree?”

Joonghyuk froze. His mind raced, the question catching him off guard. He could feel the curious stares of her friends, but all he could think about was the truth he had buried—the truth that he didn’t write the letter, and he had no idea about its contents.

The cherry blossom tree.

His throat felt tight as the memory surfaced: Dokja handed him the letter, wishing him luck. 

The beautifully crafted words weren’t his. They were Dokja’s feelings—feelings that he had unknowingly claimed as his own.

Seolhwa’s questioning gaze lingered on him, her confusion deepening. “Joonghyuk?”

He swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in his throat. “I—I must’ve misremembered,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

But the unease in Seolhwa’s expression didn’t fade, and the teasing smiles of her friends grew more awkward. Joonghyuk didn’t say anything more, his mind too preoccupied with the weight of the lie he had perpetuated.

Joonghyuk froze. His face paled, and his stomach churned.

Once the lunch break was about to end, Seolhwa lingered behind and called out to him. “Joonghyuk, can we talk?”

He nodded, his throat dry.

They stood by the empty sidewalk, the lively noise of the caféteria fading behind them. Seolhwa’s eyes, usually warm, now held sharp clarity.

“Tell me the truth,” she started, her voice firm. “You didn’t write that letter, did you?”

Joonghyuk hesitated. “I... I—”

“Don’t lie to me, Joonghyuk,” she interrupted, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and disappointment. “It wasn’t yours. Dokja wrote it, didn’t he? I remembered something. He tends to write essays for our classmates, for a small amount. Surely, he wrote this letter too?”

Seolhwa teared up, her expression hardening. “You deceived me. I thought you were sincere, but you didn’t even know what you were saying. How could you use someone else’s words and pretend they were yours?”

“I’m sorry. I am not good at writing so I asked for Dokja’s help. I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” she cut him off. “I cannot like someone who isn’t honest about their feelings. Someone who DOESN’T EVEN KNOW their own feelings.”

She pulled the letter from her bag and shoved it into his hands. “How could you say you love me when you can’t even express YOUR OWN feelings to me in writing? This isn’t yours. It never was. And you don’t love me at all.” She paused, her breath unsteady, as if the weight of her own words had just sunk in. “I guess you only love the idea of me,” she added, her voice trembling as tears welled up in her eyes. “Or maybe it's your mother's praises when she teased you about me,” she continued, a mix of heartbreak and  bitterness spilling through each word.

Joonghyuk stared at the crumpled letter in his hand as Seolhwa turned and walked away, her shoulders shaking with suppressed tears. Her words echoed in his mind, each syllable striking a nerve he didn’t know he had.

He felt like he had been stripped bare, exposed for what he truly was—someone who didn’t even understand his own heart.

Her parting words had been a wake-up call, pulling him out of the fog of confusion he had unknowingly wrapped himself in. Perhaps he did like Seolhwa—a little. She was kind, gentle, and came from a family his parents adored—a family of doctors, wealthy and respected. His mother had often teased him about her, nudging him toward the idea of a perfect match. And with his sister’s illness hanging over their family like a shadow, he’d felt the weight of their expectations bear down on him even more. He was their hope, their future, the one who would carry the family forward. Seolhwa had fit into that vision so seamlessly that he’d convinced himself he loved her.

But now, as he stood in the middle of the cafeteria, clutching the letter Dokja had poured his heart into, he realized something he’d been too afraid to admit. His crush on Seolhwa wasn’t love. It was admiration mixed with his parents’ desires, a convenient distraction from the truth he couldn’t face.

He had pursued her not out of genuine attraction but out of obligation, out of fear of disappointing everyone who counted on him—and out of fear of society’s judgment.

And, perhaps most of all, out of fear of confronting the feelings he had buried so deeply that he could barely recognize them anymore—feelings for Dokja.

It hit him like a tidal wave, crashing into him with an intensity that left him frozen. He wasn’t just afraid of losing Dokja’s friendship—he was terrified of losing Dokja himself.

The quiet moments they shared, the way Dokja always listened to him, always smiled at him, always seemed to see through his walls. It wasn’t just friendship. It never had been.

But he had buried those feelings, denied them, and poured all his energy into chasing Seolhwa because that was easier than admitting the truth.

Joonghyuk looked at the letter in his hand, now wrinkled and torn, and felt a pang of guilt so sharp he wanted to cry. Dokja had written this for him, despite knowing his own feelings.

He had written it because Joonghyuk had asked him to, because Dokja always put him first, even when it hurt.

And what had he done? He had hurt them both. He had hurt Seolhwa with his dishonesty, and he had hurt Dokja by refusing to see what was right in front of him.

As the cafeteria noise buzzed around him, Joonghyuk’s resolve and desire for reconciliation hardened. He couldn’t leave things as they were—not with Dokja, not with himself. He didn’t know what he was going to say or do, but he knew he had to start somewhere.

His hands trembled as he unfolded the letter, his eyes scanning the familiar handwriting:

Dear Seolhwa,

I’ve loved you since we were young, when I saw you under the cherry blossom tree. You carried quiet strength and beauty, drawing me in like nothing else ever could. That day, without me realizing, my heart has been captivated.

You seem cold and distant to others, guarded, but I’ve always seen the warmth beneath your facade.

Knowing you has been both my greatest joy and my greatest sorrow. With every conversation, every shared moment, I found myself falling deeper. You carry so much light, even if you don’t realize, and that light has brightened the darkest corners of my life.

You were my savior, Seolhwa. In moments when I thought I would crumble under the weight of my own struggles, it was you who pulled me back, like a heroine in one of my favorite books, even without knowing it.

Your rare smiles, your presence, your quiet understanding—those were the things that reminded me to keep going. You gave me strength when I had none. 

You were the reason I could find hope, the reason I could dream, and look forward to another day.

I’ve kept these feelings locked away for so long, out of fear, out of uncertainty. But I think you deserve to know, even if I have no right to burden you with this.

I know you don’t feel the same way, and I don’t expect you to return my feelings at all. But know that I’ll always love you. Always. I love you more than life itself.

Thank you, Seolhwa, for being you. For your kindness, for always caring when no one else did, and the way you’ve touched my life in ways I can never repay.

No matter where life takes us, no matter what paths we walk, I want you to know that my heart will always carry you within it.

I will love you, silently and even from afar, for as long as I live.

And if there is anything beyond this life, I will love you there too.

Forever yours, through life and death,

Yoo Joonghyuk

The paper shook in his hands. The cherry blossom tree. The quiet strength. Every word, every detail.

It wasn’t Seolhwa.

It was him.

His knees felt weak as memories resurfaced—memories of the boy under the cherry blossom tree, bruised and scared, whom he had stood up for all those years ago.

The boy who, in return, never faltered in standing by him, even when Joonghyuk didn’t ask for it, even when he didn’t deserve it.

Joonghyuk’s heart sank, a heavy realization washing over him like cold water. The feelings Dokja poured into that letter—they had been there all along. And he had been such a fool to not notice.

It wasn’t just admiration. It wasn’t just a silly, fleeting crush.

‘He loves me. Dokja loves me.’

And with a clarity that sent his heart racing, Joonghyuk realized the truth he had been running from, denying for so long. 

‘I love him too.’

The world seemed to lurch beneath him as if reality itself had shifted.

Clutching the letter tightly, he turned and walked out of the cafeteria, his heart pounding in his chest. This time, he isn’t running away. This time, he isn’t going to let fear dictate his actions. He isn’t going to run or hide behind excuses. He is going to face the truth. He would fight for what truly mattered—no matter how terrifying it was—no matter how terrifying it might be.

His heart raced as he ran through the hallways, his sharp footsteps echoing through the walls. His thoughts were a tangled mess, emotions surging with every step.

Lunch break was almost over, and he had convinced himself that Dokja would be back in the classroom by now, sitting quietly in his usual spot by the window.

He had planned it all out in his head—he would approach him, lay everything bare. He would tell him about his feelings—his real feelings. He would apologize, beg for forgiveness, and admit that he had been a fool. That he hadn’t meant to reject him. That he wasn’t disgusted by him. That every hurtful word had been a lie, born from confusion and fear. He would tell Dokja that it was all a mistake—that his clouded judgment had blinded him to the truth.

But when Joonghyuk burst into the classroom, Dokja wasn’t there.

Instead, the room was in chaos. Students whispered in frantic tones, their faces pale with worry. Their Literature teacher stood in the middle, trying in vain to calm the rising panic.

Joonghyuk’s stomach twisted into knots. Something was wrong—terribly wrong.

Sangah and Heewon were hurriedly packing their bags, their expressions grim. Joonghyuk’s stomach churned as he approached them, his voice unsteady.

“Dokja? Where’s Dokja?”

Sangah looked up, her eyes wide with worry. “You didn’t know?” she asked, her voice trembling. “He was brought to the ER!”

Joonghyuk felt his breath hitch. “What? What happened to him?”

Heewon, her face pale, answered, “Hyunsung found him… face down in a pool of blood, surrounded by torn stems and flowers in the men’s restroom. He had scratch marks on his neck too.” She paused, lowering her gaze. “He and Sooyoung went with him in the ambulance, along with Sir Pildu, since they couldn’t reach his emergency contacts.”

Blood. Flowers. The words echoed in Joonghyuk’s mind like a haunting refrain. He staggered back, his legs suddenly weak. “Which hospital?” he asked, his voice desperate.

“St. Gabriel’s, I think,” Uriel replied, her own voice filled with concern.

Around them, the classroom fell eerily silent. The students who had tormented Dokja—the ones who whispered cruel rumors, who sneered at him for his feelings, who tore him apart with their words—looked down in shame. Anna clenched her fists, her face pale with guilt.

Joonghyuk didn’t wait another second. He turned on his heel, ready to run.

“Where are you going?” Heewon called after him.

“To the hospital,” Joonghyuk replied without looking back.

“We’re going too,” Sangah said firmly, zipping up her bag. Uriel nodded in agreement, her usual warmth replaced with steely determination.

Their teacher hesitated, his brows furrowed with worry. “This is an emergency… but please, all of you, be careful,” he said, his voice heavy with concern.

Joonghyuk barely registered the teacher’s words as he bolted out of the room, the others close behind. His mind was consumed by the image of Dokja, broken and bleeding, lying on the cold bathroom floor.

His classmates’ description of the scene haunted him—blood, flowers, torn stems, and scratch marks on his neck.

The details gnawed at him, each one a dagger to his chest. He thought of Dokja’s quiet resilience, the way he always hid his pain behind a fragile smile. And now, this…

As they ran, Seolhwa’s voice broke through his racing thoughts. “Based on the description… I think I know what it is.” Her tone was heavy with sadness, her expression troubled.

Joonghyuk didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His mind was spiraling, consumed by a single desperate thought: Please, let him be okay. Please, let me make it in time.

They pushed through the school gates, their feet pounding against the pavement as they rushed toward the waiting car. Joonghyuk’s chest tightened with every step, his breath hitching.

He wouldn’t feel at ease—not until he saw Dokja, not until he knew he was safe.

Sooyoung's driver stood by, looking concerned, the door already open for them.

“Miss Sooyoung told me to take you all to St. Gabriel’s,” the driver said firmly as he ushered them in.

Joonghyuk slid into the back seat, his heart pounding, the fear gnawing at him with every second. Sangah sat beside him, her hands trembling as she clutched her bag tightly. With voice breaking, she whispered, “He has to be okay. He has to be.”

As the car sped off, the tension inside was suffocating. Joonghyuk stared blankly out the window, his mind racing faster than the vehicle. ‘What if I’m too late? What if I never get the chance to tell him?’

Uriel, seated in the front, turned around to face them. “He has to make it,” she said, her voice shaky but determined. “He’s strong, right? Dokja’s been through so much… he’ll pull through.”

Sangah wiped at her eyes, her voice breaking as she whispered, “His condition looked really bad… There was so much blood. His uniform…” Her voice trailed off, but her expression said everything.

Heewon, sitting on Joonghyuk’s other side, gripped on her skirt, trying to keep her composure. “Yeah, when Hyunsung found him… his uniform was soaked. There was blood everywhere.” Her voice cracked, and she quickly cleared her throat. “He was…already unconscious when Hyunsung got to him.”

Joonghyuk clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he stared out the window. The city blurred past, but all he could picture was Dokja—lying pale and in pain, surrounded by blood and flowers. The memory of the description made his stomach churn.

No one answered immediately. The silence that followed was heavy, filled only with the sound of the car speeding through traffic.

Uriel broke it softly. “We’ll get to him in time. We will. And when we do, he’ll be okay. Sooyoung and Hyunsung are with him, and you know they won’t let anything happen to him.”

Sangah nodded, her lip trembling as she held back tears. “He’s not alone. That’s what matters.”

Joonghyuk swallowed hard, his throat tight. His hands shook as he gripped his knees, his mind screaming with guilt and desperation. ‘Just hold on, Dokja. Please… I’ll make this right. I swear.’

The car jolted as the driver swerved sharply to weave through traffic, but Joonghyuk barely noticed. His knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the seat, his mind consumed by a single, desperate thought: I can’t lose him. Not now. Just hold on, Dokja. Please. I’ll tell you everything—everything I should’ve said sooner. Just hold on.

Yet, despite the speed of the car and the urgency in his heart, an unbearable fear gnawed at him—the fear that he might already be too late.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

When they arrived at the hospital, the air felt heavy with tension and dread. Joonghyuk’s heart pounded in his chest as they were directed to the ER. They reached the waiting area, where a large glass panel separated them from the emergency room. Through it, they could see Dokja lying unconscious on a hospital bed, hooked up to machines, his pale face partially obscured by an oxygen mask. The sight was like a knife to Joonghyuk’s chest.

Sooyoung and Hyunsung were standing nearby, watching over Dokja with grim expressions. They turned as Joonghyuk and the others entered. Sooyoung’s eyes were sharp but tinged with worry, while Hyunsung’s face was filled with sadness.

“How is he?” Joonghyuk asked, his voice hoarse.

Sooyoung sighed. “The doctors are doing what they can. His condition… it’s bad.”

Before Joonghyuk could respond, the doctor approached them, pulling down his mask. “Are you the patient’s friends?”

“Yes,” Joonghyuk replied urgently, stepping forward. His voice was strained, desperate for answers. “What’s wrong with him? Is he going to be okay?” His eyes searched the doctor's face, heart pounding as the weight of his fear settled in. “Please, tell me he’s going to be alright...”

The doctor nodded solemnly. “He’s suffering from advanced Hanahaki disease. It’s caused by… prolonged unrequited love, and his condition has deteriorated significantly. I’m sorry but, surgery is the only option now.”

Joonghyuk’s heart sank. His hands trembled as he turned back toward the glass, staring at Dokja’s fragile form. ‘This is my fault, he thought bitterly. I did this to him.’

“Surgery? Will he… will he be cured?” He asked the doctor, voice filled with hope and desperation.

The doctor hesitated. “The surgery will remove the flowers and stop the progression of the disease, but there are risks. It’s invasive, and considering how advanced his condition is, there’s a chance of complications. Furthermore…” He paused, glancing at the group. “The procedure will erase all feelings of love he has for the person who caused the disease. Those emotions will be gone completely.”

Joonghyuk felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him. “He won’t… love them anymore?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

The doctor nodded. “Yes. It’s the only way to save his life.”

Uriel, Sooyoung, and Sangah looked down, their faces shadowed with sorrow. Heewon crossed her arms tightly, her jaw clenched. Hyunsung placed a steady hand on her shoulder, but even he couldn’t mask the sadness in his eyes.

Joonghyuk then remembered Dokja’s unwavering support, and the countless times he put Joonghyuk’s happiness above his own. Dokja had endured so much pain for his sake. Now, it was his turn to do the same.

“It’s okay,” Joonghyuk said, his voice breaking. He looked at the doctor, his eyes filled with desperation. “Anything that could save him. What matters is that he lives. Please, save him,” he pleaded, his grip tightening on the doctor’s sleeve. Tears finally flowed down his face.

The doctor nodded solemnly. “We’ll begin the surgery shortly. He already signed the consent form earlier, actually...”

Joonghyuk’s eyes widened. He stepped back as the medical team rushed into the ER.

Through the glass, he watched them wheel Dokja toward the operating room, his heart heavy with guilt and heartbreak.

Dokja's words during their confrontation at the library replayed in Joonghyuk's mind, each sentence cutting deeper: “I don’t… I don’t expect anything from you, so don’t worry. I’m about to get rid of these feelings. It’s not true anymore. It’s not.”

He wasn’t lying. It wasn’t just simply moving on. Dokja had signed the consent form. He was really about to get rid of his feelings for Joonghyuk—feelings that had been buried deep in his heart for so long, feelings that Joonghyuk had never fully realized until it was too late.

As the doors to the operating room swung shut with a soft thud, Joonghyuk sank to his knees, his chest tightening with an unbearable weight. He sobbed, his heart breaking for what could have been, for the love he hadn’t understood until now. For the boy who had silently loved him, who had suffered in silence while Joonghyuk had been too blind to see.

Sooyoung, Sangah, Hyunsung, Heewon, and Uriel stood around him, confusion and concern on their faces. They had no idea why Joonghyuk was reacting this way, but they assumed it was just his worry and guilt over Dokja’s condition.

“It’s okay,” Sooyoung said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. The surgery will work. He’s strong.”

“He’ll pull through,” Hyunsung added, trying to reassure him.

But Joonghyuk could barely hear them. His mind was consumed by the image of Dokja, the quiet strength in his eyes when he had spoken those words. “I’m about to get rid of these feelings.”

A part of him wanted to believe it was all just a misunderstanding, but deep down, he knew—Dokja had truly let go.

And now, the person who had always been there for him, the one who had silently loved him without asking for anything in return, was gone from him in a way that could never be undone.

“I’m sorry, Dokja,” Joonghyuk whispered, the words more a plea than a confession.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The wait that came after felt like an eternity. The waiting room had been unbearably quiet since the surgery, and Joonghyuk's mind had been spiraling with thoughts of what would come next.

His legs bounced nervously as he anxiously waited for the doctor to come and give them some answers. He could barely breathe as he sat in silence. Every second felt like an hour, his heart pounding in his chest with anxiety and hope. He couldn’t stop thinking about Dokja—the boy who had loved him so deeply, and who was now fighting for his life.

Finally, the door to the waiting room opened, and the doctor stepped in. Joonghyuk’s heart skipped a beat as he stood up immediately, his eyes burning with anticipation.

The doctor’s expression was solemn, but there was a hint of relief in his eyes.

“The surgery was a success,” the doctor said, his voice calm, though there was a slight edge of confusion in his tone.

Joonghyuk’s breath caught in his throat, unable to fully process the words. Success? He let out a shaky breath, his body already relaxing just slightly, but the doctor wasn’t finished.

“As we were operating, we noticed something unusual,” the doctor continued. “Some of the roots seen in the x-rays... they disappeared during the procedure. This kind of thing only happens when the feelings of the person were reciprocated. It’s not typical for this to occur in cases of Hanahaki disease unless there is mutual love.”

Joonghyuk’s chest tightened, the words settling into him like a shockwave. Reciprocated feelings...? His eyes softened, realizing the meaning behind the doctor’s words. Some of the roots had disappeared because he finally understood. He loved Dokja too—he had loved him all along. But it had taken him far too long to realize it.

He glanced at Sangah, Sooyoung, Uriel, Heewon, and Hyunsung, all of them frozen in shock, trying to process the doctor’s words. 

Uriel looked over at Joonghyuk, her eyes wide with confusion but also hope.

Sooyoung’s face softened, a quiet understanding settling between them, while Heewon, Hyunsung and Sangah exchanged uncertain glances.

“Is it really...?” Hyunsung started, trailing off as he looked at the doctor, unable to fully comprehend what he had just heard.

The doctor nodded, but his expression darkened. “Yes, but the extent of the damage was already severe. The thorns and flowers had already bloomed, and Dokja lost a significant amount of blood.”

“We had no choice but to remove everything entirely. It was the only way to ensure he survived.”

Joonghyuk's heart shattered at the thought of Dokja’s suffering. The image of the flowers blooming, of Dokja silently enduring everything, filled his mind. He had never realized just how deep the pain went. And now, the cost of that silence was the loss of everything Dokja had felt for him.

Sooyoung stepped forward, her voice trembling. “Is he going to be okay? Can he really recover from this?”

The doctor gave a small, reassuring nod. “He is stable for now. But the road to recovery will be long. His body will need time to adjust, and we will need to monitor him closely in the coming days.”

Sangah, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, her voice soft but filled with concern. “What happens now? Does he... does he still remember anything... about the person?” She asked, glancing at Joonghyuk.

The doctor hesitated for a moment. “It's hard to say. The surgery has removed the physical effects of the disease, but it may have affected his memory as well, aside from his emotions. It could take some time for him to process everything.”

Joonghyuk’s heart clenched in pain. He couldn’t help but think of the cruel irony—that Dokja had sacrificed his love for him, and now, there was a possibility that he might not even remember the depth of those feelings.

He couldn’t bear the thought of Dokja waking up, not remembering the moments they shared together—or worse, him—not knowing that he had always loved him too.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “Thank you,” he said quietly, looking the doctor in the eye. “Thank you for saving him. I’ll be here for him, no matter what.”

The doctor gave a soft smile, then nodded and walked out, leaving the group in a heavy silence.

As soon as the doctor was gone, Sooyoung spoke up, her voice gentle but full of concern. “You need to be there for him, Joonghyuk. He’s going to need you more than ever now.”

Heewon placed a hand on Joonghyuk’s shoulder, offering him a small but supportive smile. “You’re not alone in this. Dokja may have the tendency not to realize that people cares for him, but we’ll all be here for him too. We’ll make him realize that.”

Hyunsung nodded in agreement. “He’s going to make it through this.”

Joonghyuk nodded, his voice shaky. “Thank you. I never realized how much he’s been suffering. I never realized how much he loved me. Now, I’ll make sure he’ll realize that…I do.”

The weight of everything felt suffocating. He had so much to make up for, so much to apologize for. But for now, all he could do was wait, wait until Dokja woke up and hope that he could finally give him the love he deserves.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Dokja had been moved to a quiet recovery room, and the faint smell of antiseptic filled the air. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above them as the door opened, allowing Joonghyuk and the others to enter. 

The doctor had just left, his words still echoing in Joonghyuk's mind. “The surgery may have been a success, but he’s not out of the woods yet,” the doctor had explained. “He's still under a heavy dose of anesthetics, and we had to remove the stems from his heart and lungs. It’s a very deep surgery. His body will take time to recover, and I can’t say when he’ll wake up.”

Joonghyuk nodded numbly, his thoughts heavy as they entered the room. Dokja was hooked up to machines, the steady beep of the heart monitor and the rhythm of his breathing offering some small comfort in the otherwise sterile silence.

They all silently hoped and prayed for Dokja’s recovery, united by a shared bond and a quiet understanding through their kind, mutual friend.

But as night fell and the silence of the hospital room settled, his classmates and friends—Sooyoung, Sangah, Uriel Heewon, Hyunsung, and Heewon—already had to leave.

Their Homeroom teacher, Sir Pildu, had excused all of them from class, understanding the situation and ensuring all the necessary documents were taken care of. He had been the one to accompany Sooyoung and Hyunsung when Dokja was rushed to the ER, offering support as they navigated through the chaos.

And so Joonghyuk found himself alone with Dokja. He couldn’t bear to leave him, not when he had been the one to cause so much pain. He sat by the bedside, not knowing how long he would stay or if he’d even sleep, but for the first time, he didn’t want to leave him.

He had already informed his parents that he wouldn’t be coming home tonight, or possibly for the rest of the week, reassuring them that he had been excused to ease their worries.

The quiet hum of machines and the steady rise and fall of Dokja’s chest were all that filled the room. Joonghyuk reached out, his hand trembling as he brushed a stray strand of hair from Dokja’s forehead. He took in every detail—Dokja’s pale face, the softness of his features now unmarred by the pain he had been carrying for so long.

“Dokja…” Joonghyuk whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you carry this all by yourself?” His voice cracked, the weight of those unspoken words between them suffocating him. “If only you had told me sooner… maybe I wouldn’t have turned to Seolhwa. Maybe I would’ve realized my feelings before it was too late. I’m so sorry.”

His gaze fell to Dokja’s hand, now bandaged and resting beside him. Joonghyuk’s heart clenched at the sight. “You’ve done so much for me… too much. And all I ever did was take you for granted.”

His emotions swirled—guilt, regret, love, and the ache of wanting to turn back time. Oh, if only he could turn back time.

Joonghyuk leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and covering his face with his hands. “I’m sorry, Dokja. I’m so sorry for everything. You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to suffer alone.”

The room remained silent except for the soft beep of the monitor and the steady, rhythmic sound of Dokja’s breathing. Joonghyuk lifted his head, the tears that had been threatening to fall now free. His eyes shimmered with unshed sorrow.

“I don’t care if you don’t love me anymore. I don’t care if you forget all of it.” His voice was shaky, but he spoke with every ounce of sincerity. “Just... just come back to me, Dokja. That’s all I want. I just need you to come back to me.”

He wiped at his eyes, the tears mingling with the exhaustion that had settled deep in his bones. His gaze lingered on Dokja’s still form, hoping for a sign, for some sign that he would wake up and hear him, understand him.

He sat there for hours, his heart heavy with guilt and longing, his thoughts consumed with the future that now seemed uncertain. He didn’t know what would happen next, or when Dokja would wake up, but once again, all he could do was wait.

He wasn’t sure anymore how long he’d been sitting there, but as the soft hum of the machines filled the air, he whispered again, “Please, Dokja... please don’t leave me... not like this.”

With tears streaming down his face, Joonghyuk eventually succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep, his head resting on the edge of Dokja’s hospital bed as he sat beside him, clutching his hand tightly.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Joonghyuk had spent weeks by Dokja’s side. Day after day, his body exhausted but his resolve unwavering. Every other day, their friends would also visit after class. As time passed, he became more afraid, afraid of what kind of Dokja would greet him once he woke up.

Would he still remember him? Would he recognize their bond, their past? Or would he be cold, distant—resentful of everything Joonghyuk had let happen? The uncertainty gnawed at his heart, having no choice but to just wait.

And wait he did. He never left the hospital, his days and nights blurring together as he stayed beside Dokja’s bed, barely sleeping, barely eating, just watching, hoping.

His parents had started getting worried about him, so they began sending him food and a bag of clothes.

Sometimes, Joonghyuk passed the time by reading books—stories Dokja had once recommended and cherished, but that he had never bothered to pick up before. Now, he read them not just to fill the hours, but to feel closer to Dokja, to understand the things he had loved.

When those weren’t enough to occupy his restless thoughts, he delved into books about Hanahaki Disease, desperate to understand the condition that had brought them here. 

Through his reading, he learned that Hanahaki wasn’t always straightforward. The disease often depended on the mindset of the afflicted person—on what they believed.

There are two ways to cure it: the first is surgery—removing the person's feelings, and the second is for their feelings to be reciprocated.

However, even if the feelings were reciprocated, if the person didn’t know, or doubted it, the disease could persist.

What happened with Dokja was almost unheard of. The roots disappearing when Joonghyuk realized his feelings is a rare phenomenon, a miracle even. Usually, such connections didn’t happen at all.

Hanahaki was a lonely battle, rooted more in the afflicted person’s perception than any tangible reality. And yet, somehow, their feelings had aligned just enough to create that fleeting moment of relief—before it was too late.

Joonghyuk had never felt more unsure of anything in his life. He held onto the hope that when he finally woke, it would be like the old days. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t going to be that simple. The doctor’s words still echoed in his mind: the feelings Dokja had once carried for him—his love, his devotion—had been erased. Joonghyuk had feared this moment, yet he couldn’t bring himself to just give up. He would try. He would try to make him fall for him all over again.

And then, the day came.

One quiet morning, after weeks of agonizing waiting, the moment finally came. Dokja stirred. His eyelids fluttered open slowly, and Joonghyuk's heart skipped a beat.

He immediately leaned closer, relief flooding through him at the sight of Dokja waking up. His hand brushed Dokja’s, feeling the warmth of his fingers. His breath caught in his throat, unsure whether to call the nurses or just watch.

Dokja’s eyes, still clouded with sleep, shifted slowly to meet Joonghyuk’s. For a moment, they both just stared at each other in silence. 

But as Dokja's eyes focused on him, Joonghyuk noticed the confusion, the distance.

“Who are you?” 

Dokja’s voice was quiet, but his gaze was steady, searching.

Joonghyuk’s heart shattered in an instant. He froze, his stomach sinking at the question. His throat tightened, and for a moment, words failed him. He hadn’t prepared himself for this—hadn’t fully allowed himself to face the reality of what might happen.

The question, the emptiness in his voice—it was too much. His thoughts flashed to what the doctor had said, about the feelings being removed entirely. He had loved Joonghyuk before, but now, it seemed all of that had been erased.

The doctor did tell them that the feelings that Dokja once felt for the object of his affection would be wiped away completely—like a memory that had never been. It made sense. It made sense that Dokja didn’t remember him anymore, because Dokja had already loved him since the first time they met, under the cherry blossom tree. Of course, it made sense.

Joonghyuk’s lips trembled, and he forced the words out, despite the tightness in his chest. “I’m Joonghyuk… your best friend. You got really sick, you… had to undergo surgery.” He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself. “I’ll be here to take care of you. I won’t leave you alone, Dokja.”

Dokja blinked a few times, and his eyes searched Joonghyuk’s face, still filled with confusion. Joonghyuk felt a sharp pain in his chest. He wanted to reach out, to say more, but the distance in Dokja’s eyes told him all he needed to know. The feelings were gone.

“I’m sorry,” Dokja said weakly after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t remember... I don’t think I know you.”

Joonghyuk’s breath hitched. The emptiness, the confusion in Dokja’s eyes—he could hardly bear it. His hand trembled as he pressed the nurse button, the motion frantic, desperate.

Within moments, the nurse arrived, followed closely by the doctor. Joonghyuk stepped aside, his heart pounding as they checked Dokja’s vitals. “He woke up,” Joonghyuk said hastily, his voice unsteady. “But… he doesn’t remember me. Isn’t there something you can do? Can it… can it be fixed?”

The doctor sighed, his expression apologetic as he turned to Joonghyuk. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “This is likely a result of the surgery. The memories tied to those feelings—those emotions—may have been affected as part of the removal process. It’s not something we can reverse.”

“I see…” Joonghyuk murmured, his voice breaking. He forced himself to smile, no matter how much it hurt. Turning back to Dokja, he said gently, “It’s okay. Don’t worry about anything. Just focus on getting better.”

But as the doctor’s words echoed in his mind, Joonghyuk couldn’t stop the thought that pierced his heart like a dagger: ‘He loved me once, and now he doesn’t even remember.’

Dokja blinked weakly, confusion written across his features. He looked at the IV connected to him, and then peeked inside his hospital gown, checking the stitches on his chest, and smiled sadly. Joonghyuk’s heart twisted painfully.

“I… don’t understand. Why are you here?”

He smiled through his tears, holding Dokja’s hand tighter. “Because I care about you. You’re not alone, Dokja. You’re not. I’ll be here, I’ll take care of you.”

His heart ached, the consequences of his own selfishness crushing him, but he couldn’t let himself break. Not now. Not when Dokja needed him to be strong.

He thanked the doctor and then they left, excusing themselves—leaving the two of them alone once more.

Dokja looked at him silently for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he gave a small, almost hesitant smile. It wasn’t the warm, familiar smile Joonghyuk had hoped for—the one full of affection, of the love they had shared—but it was a smile nonetheless. A small piece of reassurance.

“Thank you,” Dokja said quietly. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but... I appreciate it. You’re a good friend.”

Joonghyuk’s chest tightened. A good friend. That’s all he is to Dokja now. No more. Or rather, a stranger, actually. His heart broke a little more with each word, but he nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You are my best friend, Dokja,” Joonghyuk said, his voice cracking despite his efforts to remain steady. His eyes glistened, but he held his emotions in check. “You are... important to me. And I’ll always be here for you.”

He wanted to tell Dokja everything. He wanted to tell him about their shared memories, the way they had been there for each other through everything, but he knew that would come later. But for now, he just needed to be there, for as long as it took.

He knew he couldn’t overwhelm him, not now. He had to tread carefully—slowly, patiently—one step at a time. After all, to Dokja, he was just a kind stranger, someone who had stayed by his side and been called a “good friend.” He shouldn’t scare him off. He would be there for Dokja, not to force the memories back but to create new ones—to remind him, gently, of the bond they once shared. And maybe, just maybe, one day Dokja would look at him not with confusion, but with the warmth he once had.

“You are loved, Dokja,” Joonghyuk said softly, squeezing his hand. “Our classmates have been here—Hyunsung, Heewon, Sooyoung, Sangah, Uriel… they’ve all been visiting. And I’ve been here, because I care. Because I want you to be okay.”

Dokja’s eyes shifted, blank yet somehow thoughtful. “I’m sorry for the trouble,” he said softly. “I don’t remember much, my head hurts… But I’m grateful to all of you. I don’t really have anyone.”

Joonghyuk swallowed his pain and smiled, though it was strained. “It’s okay. You don’t have to remember now. I’ll make sure you understand when you’re ready. We’ll take it slow. You’ll be okay.”

As Dokja gave him an empty smile, Joonghyuk turned away, tears streaming silently down his face. He was the only person Dokja thought he had before, and he hurt him. He left him alone. He had realized too late.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Days passed, and Joonghyuk kept his promise. He stayed by Dokja’s side, helping him through the haze of confusion and recovery. He fed him, read to him, and reassured him whenever the doubts crept in. Slowly, Dokja’s health improved. His strength returned, little by little, and with it, his clarity. He remembered everyone, Sooyoung, Hyunsung, Sangah, Heewon the rest of their friends who visited—except him.

He helped him through his physical recovery, but it was the emotional one that proved difficult. Dokja didn’t remember their shared moments, their common interests, their late-night talks, the way they had supported one another through everything. He always believed he was alone. He had no recollection of the love that had once existed between them, no recognition of the bond they had built over the years.

Butm he accepted Joonghyuk as the best friend he couldn’t remember. That much was a significant progress. It wasn’t the love Joonghyuk had wanted, but it was something.

When Joonghyuk finally had to go back to school, it was hard leaving Dokja behind for even a few hours, but he made sure to visit after classes ended. He brought books, fresh fruits, and snacks, just like he used to.

His sister, Mia, who had regular checkups at the same hospital due to her asthma, helped him bring them over. It wasn’t much, but it made Dokja smile a lot.

One afternoon, Joonghyuk returned to the hospital, a bouquet of fresh flowers in hand—not hyacinths, but sunflowers, bright and hopeful.

When Joonghyuk entered the room, Dokja’s gaze shifted to him, a mixture of guilt and gratitude in his eyes. “You didn’t have to visit every day,” he murmured, his voice faint and tinged with shame.

Joonghyuk moved closer to the bed, pulling a chair beside him, his voice trembling. “Don’t say that. Of course I had to.”

Dokja hesitated, his hands gripping the blanket weakly. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his words almost swallowed by the stillness of the room. He looked away, his expression clouded with sadness. “It must’ve been tiring for you. I didn’t mean to trouble you. You should focus on your studies,” Dokja said weakly, his voice laced with guilt. He avoided Joonghyuk’s gaze, staring at the blanket instead. “I’m sure I can get out of here soon. Don’t concern yourself with me just because I don’t have any relatives who visit.” His hands fidgeted with the edges of the blanket, his expression apologetic. “I’m grateful to you, really. And to our friends who visit from time to time. But you don’t have to do this, Joonghyuk. You’ve already done so much.”

Joonghyuk’s heart clenched at the sight of him, so small and full of misplaced guilt. He pulled the chair closer to the bed, his voice steady but warm. “Dokja, stop saying that. I’m here because I want to be, not because I feel obligated. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Joonghyuk interrupted firmly, meeting Dokja’s hesitant eyes. “You’re not a burden, and you’re not alone. I’ll make sure you get through this.”

For a moment, Dokja simply stared at him, his lips parting as if to protest again, but then he stopped. Instead, he let out a soft sigh, a faint smile flickering across his tired face. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a mix of gratitude and resignation.

Joonghyuk reached out, placing a reassuring hand over Dokja’s. “I’ll always care,” he said softly. “Always. So stop apologizing, Dokja.” He paused, thoughtful. “Also, someone needs to make sure you eat properly,” he added.

Dokja opened his mouth, as if wanting to say something, but didn’t argue. 

Joonghyuk stood, carefully setting the flowers on the bedside table before settling back into his seat beside Dokja’s bed.

As Joonghyuk sat by Dokja’s side, a soft smile tugged at Dokja’s lips. He looked at the sunflowers, and then to Joonghyuk, his gaze steady but still somewhat distant. “They’re beautiful.”

“Just like you.”

“H-hah?”

Joonghyuk chuckled. “Just kidding. But it's true though.”

Dokja stared at him for a long, awkward moment, his expression a mix of confusion and disbelief. “You must be blind.”

Joonghyuk sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the situation. “I’m not blind, Dokja. I have 20/20 vision.” He paused, then gently peeled an orange, offering a piece to him. “Anyway, just eat this.”

Dokja hesitated, then coughed as he tried to take a bite. Joonghyuk quickly reached for the water, handing it to him with concern. “Are you okay?”

Dokja took a sip, his eyes softening. “Y-yeah,” he muttered, his tone quiet but sincere. “It’s sweet.”

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Dokja’s health improved, and finally, the day came when the doctors gave Dokja the go-ahead to leave the hospital. The  doctors told Joonghyuk it was time for Dokja to go home, and a wave of bittersweet relief washed over him.

The news spread quickly as he messaged everyone, and their friends Sooyoung, Sangah, Uriel, Hyunsung, Heewon, and other concerned classmates rejoiced.

They gathered and visited Dokja, bringing various fruits and snacks, their smiles bright, and Joonghyuk’s heart felt warm—happy for Dokja, finally receiving the love he deserves.

As they helped Dokja with his papers and belongings, Joonghyuk remained quiet, lost in his thoughts. He wasn’t sure what this new chapter would mean for them.

It wasn’t just the end of Dokja’s recovery—it felt like the start of something entirely different. Something fragile, still in the process of taking shape. Joonghyuk could only hope that, over time, it would slowly rebuild itself, piece by piece, just like their bond.

As Dokja stood up, supported by Joonghyuk, he glanced back at the hospital room one last time. His expression was quiet, uncertain, but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes—a flicker of recognition. Joonghyuk caught it and held onto it, even if it was just a faint trace.

Sooyoung gave him a wide grin. “Look at you, all healed up. You’ve made it through, Dokja!”

Sangah, always the warm and supportive presence, nodded and added, “You really are strong, Dokja. We’re so glad you’re okay.”

Uriel clapped him on the back. “Good to see you up and about, Dokja-ssi. Can’t believe it’s finally over, yay!”

Hyunsung nodded with a smile, his voice gentle. “We were all so worried. But now, you’re back, and that’s all that matters.”

Heewon, with her usual thoughtful demeanor, stepped forward next. “You’ve made it through something difficult, Dokja. We’re all proud of you. Take it slow, okay?”

Dokja smiled weakly, his heart warmed by their kind words. “Thank you, all of you. Really.”

Joonghyuk quietly watched them as he supported Dokja, a quiet sense of gratitude in his chest.

As their friends helped Dokja gather his things and bring over the gifts they had brought, Sooyoung suddenly turned to Joonghyuk with a mischievous grin.

“So, are you bringing him home?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

Joonghyuk froze, his face flushing red. “What?”

Sooyoung chuckled and shook her head, waving it off. “Ah, I mean... he’s still recovering. He should be with someone, right?”

Dokja chuckled softly, though his voice was still a little unsure. “I can manage it...”

“No, you can’t,” Joonghyuk immediately shot back, his tone persistent. “You can stay over for a while, just like the old days. My parents know you anyway.”

Dokja hesitated for a moment, a frown tugging at his lips. The old days? He couldn’t remember them, but he could tell it meant something important to them. “I… I don’t remember those days. But, uh… I’ll stay, I guess. Thanks.”

Heewon gave him a gentle smile, then turned to Joonghyuk. “Take care of him, okay?”

Joonghyuk nodded, his expression softening as he glanced over at Dokja. “I will.”

The group helped Dokja as they walked through the hallways, toned down laughter and lighthearted conversation filling the space as they left together.

“Thank you for everything, Joonghyuk,” Dokja finally said as they stood outside the hospital, ready to go home. He looked at Joonghyuk with soft eyes, but there was nothing more behind them. The affection had faded, and Joonghyuk felt the absence of it deeply.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Joonghyuk replied, his voice steady despite the ache. “I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

Dokja nodded, his eyes thoughtful. “You’re a good person, Joonghyuk. I can see that now.”

It was a simple acknowledgment, a quiet appreciation, but to Joonghyuk, it felt like both a relief and a heartbreak. It wasn’t the same as before, but it was something.

As they left the hospital and parted ways with their friends, stepping into their car, Joonghyuk stayed close to Dokja, never once letting go. He knew that what had once been—what he had taken for granted—might never return.

He had lost his chance at love with Dokja, lost it to his own selfishness, his own hesitation. He knew, deep down, that Dokja might never love him the way he once had. The love he had taken for granted might be gone, lost forever.

But Joonghyuk wasn’t going to give up. He would love Dokja, care for him, and support him, hoping—just hoping—that one day, maybe, the feelings would return.

His mind drifted back to the letter—Dokja’s letter, the one where his heart had been laid bare, ending with those words of selfless love:

“I know you don’t feel the same way, and I don’t expect you to return my feelings at all. But know that I’ll always love you. Always.”

Now, as he sat beside him, with nothing but quiet space between them, Joonghyuk knew it was his turn. His turn to say those words, to offer the love he had carried silently for so long, no matter how much it would hurt.

And maybe… someday, he’ll earn the right to see Dokja smile lovingly at him again. Not as a friend, but as someone who loves him, too.

END.