The hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptic and quiet fear.
Mrs. Han sat upright in the bed, pale under the harsh white light, her hands folded over the blanket.
Mi-Ju sat beside her, one hand resting gently over hers.
He didn't speak at first—he just let her feel his presence, steady and warm.
She turned her gaze toward him, eyes soft but tired.
"I don't… I don't want to be a burden," she said quietly, her voice cracking only slightly.
"You're not a burden," Mi-Ju said firmly.
His thumb brushed lightly across the back of her hand. "You never were. You're just… you. That's enough."
She looked at him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "You've always… treated me like I mattered."
"Because you do," he said simply. "Always."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, filled only with the hum of machines and the distant footsteps outside the room.
Then the doctor stepped in, holding a clipboard.
" I've told Ji-Soo. I'm afraid the tests show advanced-stage lung cancer," the doctor said gently.
"We can try treatments, but it's aggressive. The prognosis… is limited."
Mrs. Han's hand tightened around Mi-Ju's.
He felt her tremble, but she didn't speak.
"It's serious," the doctor added. "We need to prepare emotionally and medically for what's ahead."
After the doctor left, the room felt impossibly still.
Mi-Ju leaned closer, his voice soft but unwavering. "I'm here. I won't leave your side. You're not alone in this, okay?"
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I… I know. That's why I feel safe with you."
They stayed like that for a long moment, Mi-Ju quietly holding her hand, letting her lean on him, letting her let the fear out in small, silent waves.
He didn't need her to speak—he just needed her to know she wasn't facing this alone.
Meanwhile, Ji-Soo sat on the edge of the hallway chair, her phone in hand.
She'd dialed Ji-Woo's number, her thumb hovering over the call button, ready to tell her sister what had happened.
Her fingers froze.
She thought of Ji-Woo, of how much this news could shake her.
How fragile the family already felt.
And yet… she couldn't shake the weight of the hospital room, of seeing her mother pale but leaning on Mi-Ju, of the quiet strength between them.
She swallowed hard, finally lowering the phone.
"Not yet," she whispered. "I'll tell her… later."
Her eyes drifted back toward the door of the hospital room, and she could see Mi-Ju and her mother's hands entwined—a simple, small gesture, but in that gesture, the world felt whole, even as it threatened to break.
--
The evening air was soft, carrying the faint scent of flowers from the garden.
Ji-Woo and Eun-Woo sat on the low stone wall outside, legs dangling, the last light of sunset painting the sky in pinks and golds.
Ji-Woo peeked over at him and noticed his head tilted slightly, eyes closed, as if he were listening to something only he could hear.
"Who is it?" she asked, curiosity sparking in her voice.
Eun-Woo opened one eye, a teasing smirk forming. "Guess."
Ji-Woo tilted her head, squinting. "Who?"
He grinned, voice soft and playful. "An angel."
Ji-Woo blinked, then let out a laugh that rang like little bells in the quiet evening.
She swatted at his hand. "Stop being ridiculous!"
He leaned slightly, still grinning, and gently pulled her cheeks with his fingers.
Ji-Woo yelped, surprised, but couldn't stop giggling.
"Hey! What are you doing?!" she protested, her laughter filling the garden air.
"I'm fixing your face," he said with mock seriousness. "See? Perfect now."
Ji-Woo rolled her eyes, still smiling, and lightly tapped his hand again, playful and gentle.
Eun-Woo leaned just a little closer, tugging her cheeks again, careful and small, as if holding the moment between them.
The sunlight faded, leaving them in soft twilight, the sky stretching wide above them.
--
The wind cut across the hospital courtyard, sharp and cold.
Ji-Soo's coat fluttered, but she barely noticed. Her hands gripped each other so tightly her nails dug into her palms.
"I… I'm sad," she said, voice breaking. "You don't even know…"
Min-Ju's gaze was steady, hard with quiet pain.
"I loved Mrs. Han," he said. Each word landed like a stone. "She's… like a mother to me."
He reached for her, tilting her face toward his.
Their eyes met, raw and unguarded, carrying the weight of all the things they couldn't say.
A small, sad smile flickered across his lips.
Then he pulled her in.
No hesitation.
Firm, but gentle.
His arms held her like they could keep the world from breaking them.
"Everything's going to be alright," he murmured, voice low, fragile, and certain all at once.
Ji-Soo let herself lean in.
The wind, the cold, the harsh hospital lights—they disappeared.
For a moment, there was only this: the silence between them, the warmth of his arms, and the unspoken promise that somehow, somehow, they could survive this together.
--
The set was winding down, voices fading into background noise.Eun-Woo slipped his coat over his shoulders, movements easy, practiced. He was still smiling, still half-listening as Ji-Woo said something beside him—something light, something normal.
He reached for a bottle of water from the table, twisting the cap loose.
The first sip was cold, grounding.
Then his phone vibrated in his pocket.
He didn't rush. Just glanced down, distracted, casual.
Mi-Sook:[Photo]
He opened it.
The bottle paused mid-air.
Ji-Soo and Ji-Woo.
Not reflections. Not confusion. Two of them. Real.
One with long hair—fierce, unflinching, her gaze sharp enough to cut through the frame.
The other with short hair, bangs soft against her forehead, eyes gentle, almost kind.
One bare-faced and bold.
The other delicate, quiet.
Both unmistakably stunning. Both unmistakably real.
The water spilled slightly over his hand.
He didn't notice.
"It… must be true," he whispered, the words barely leaving his mouth.
Another vibration.
Mi-Sook:I'm going to end this.
His throat tightened. The studio lights felt too bright now, the air too thin.
And then a memory surfaced—uninvited, cruel in its timing.
"If I had a twin," Ji-Woo had once asked, half-laughing, eyes curious, "how do you think it would feel?"
Eun-Woo closed his eyes for a second.
When he opened them, he looked back at Ji-Woo standing beside him—real, smiling unaware.
The bottle slipped from his hand, rolling softly across the floor.
No one noticed.
But something had already broken.