JAE-HYUN
He couldn't breathe.
His phone lay facedown on the bed, the voice note still echoing in his head like a skipped heartbeat.
"I think I'm in love with you."
His voice. His words. His truth.
Not for Jiho.
For Minwoo.
The memories came in flashes. They weren't full yet, not like dreams, but sharp fragments cutting through the fog:
Rain-soaked hair and laughter beneath a single umbrella. Fingers barely brushing on piano keys. The sound booth. That first kiss, shaky and desperate. Minwoo crying when he thought Jae was asleep.
And the night Minwoo said, "Don't disappear on me."
Jae-hyun had promised he wouldn't.
He'd lied.
---
Jae-hyun didn't remember leaving his apartment.
All he knew was the rush of wind and the blur of lights as he ran through the campus toward the studio, rain soaking into his hoodie, feet sliding over pavement, lungs burning with something deeper than breathlessness.
He didn't knock.
He burst through the door.
MINWOO
He hadn't slept. The studio reeked of coffee and sleeplessness. He sat hunched at the mixing board, hoodie up, eyes hollow.
The loop played in the background. Their song. Half-finished. Empty without Jae-hyun's harmony.
Then the door slammed open.
He turned, startled.
Jae-hyun stood in the entryway, soaked and wild-eyed. His chest heaved. His hands shook.
"I remembered," he said.
Minwoo froze.
Jae stepped forward. "Not all of it. But enough."
The air cracked. The silence buzzed.
"Then why are you here?" Minwoo asked.
Jae-hyun swallowed. "Because I want to remember the rest… with you."
Minwoo laughed softly. Not mockingly. Like a man who couldn't believe his heart still beat.
"You left me," he said. "And I waited anyway."
Jae took another step. "Can I… can I still come home?"
Minwoo didn't speak. He just closed the space between them and touched Jae's face gently, like he might disappear again.
"Is this real?" Minwoo asked.
"I think it always was," Jae whispered.
They kissed.
And it wasn't soft.
It was everything they'd buried. The ache. The longing. The anger. The love.
Until the door burst open again.
JIHO
He stood in the doorway, but he wasn't alone.
Two men in dark suits followed behind him. And then another figure stepped in.
Jae-hyun's father.
Cold. Imposing. Arms crossed.
Jiho's eyes gleamed.
"Step away from him," Jiho said.
The board members flanked him. One pulled a folded packet from his coat.
"Due to formal complaints of favoritism, harassment, and performance sabotage, both of you are suspended from all campus activities until further notice."
Jae-hyun blinked. "What…?"
Jiho stepped forward. "I told you. If you picked him, I'd ruin everything."
"You reported us?" Minwoo hissed.
"No," Jiho said, smiling faintly. "I just told the truth in a way that finally got heard."
Jae-hyun's father dropped a manila envelope on the table.
"Withdraw," he said.
Minwoo reached for the paper. His face went pale.
It was a university withdrawal form.
With Jae-hyun's name on it.
Signed.
Dated.
Already filed.
Jae-hyun stepped back.
"You forged my withdrawal?"
"I protected your future," his father said coldly. "This place? These people? They're dragging you down."
Minwoo stood between them. "He gets to choose that."
Jiho leaned in. "And what if he already did?"
The silence exploded like static.
Jae-hyun looked at all of them. His father. The board. Jiho. Minwoo.
And he said:
"If I walk out that door right now—do I lose everything?"
No one answered.
But everyone knew the truth.
Minwoo looked at him, voice quiet:
"Even if you forget again, I'll wait."
Jae-hyun took a breath.
Then stepped forward.
Toward the door.
Toward his father.
Toward the unknown.
And right before he crossed the threshold—
---
The lights in the studio blew out.
Glass shattered.
Screams echoed.
The fire alarm wailed.
And in the chaos—
Jae-hyun vanished.