Flashback
The room was small, dim, and quiet, the kind of quiet that didn't soothe, but suffocated.
Soo-min sat on the edge of her bed, knees pulled to her chest, eyes fixed on the door. Her phone lay beside her, screen dark, untouched. The clock ticked softly, each second a reminder that time was moving and Ji-woo still hadn't come back.
She had sent him a message three days ago.
"Come back soon. I miss you."
No reply.
She had called twice. Left a voicemail. Then stopped.
She told herself he was busy. That he was working. That he'd walk through the door any minute now, smiling, apologizing, holding her favorite drink like he always did.
But the silence kept growing.
She hadn't eaten. She hadn't slept. She just waited.
The curtains were drawn, the air stale. Her sketchbook lay open on the desk, half-finished drawings of Ji-woo scattered across the pages, his smile, his eyes, the way he used to tilt his head when he was thinking.
She whispered to herself, voice thin and trembling.
"Where are you?"
She didn't know he was dead.
No one had told her.
And so she waited.
And waited.
Until the waiting became unbearable.
Present
Eun-woo sat in his apartment, the lights low, the air heavy with memory. A photo rested on the table, Ji-woo, smiling, arm slung around Eun-woo's shoulder, both of them younger, brighter, untouched by the weight of what would come.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then whispered, "I'm sorry."
He didn't know what he was apologizing for.
For not protecting Ji-woo?
For not seeing the signs?
For surviving when Ji-woo didn't?
For getting involved?
He didn't know.
But the guilt sat in his chest like a stone.
He reached for the photo, traced Ji-woo's face with his thumb, then set it back down.
Outside, the rain began to fall.
__________
Joon-ha woke with a gasp, sweat clinging to his skin, breath ragged. The nightmare had returned, the same one, always the same.
He was standing in a hallway, endless and dark, doors on either side, all closed.
He heard footsteps.
He turned.
No one.
He called out.
No answer.
Then a door creaked open behind him.
He stepped inside.
And found himself staring at a mirror.
But the reflection wasn't his.
It was Ji-woo.
Eyes hollow. Mouth stitched shut.
Joon-ha tried to speak, but no sound came.
Then the mirror shattered.
And he woke.
He sat up, heart pounding, the room too quiet, too still.
His manager knocked gently on the door. "You okay?"
Joon-ha didn't answer.
He just stared at the wall, the echo of the dream still clinging to him.
__________
Kim Ara sat in her office at the law firm, the city stretching beyond the glass like a map she'd memorized. Her desk was immaculate, files stacked neatly, laptop open, coffee untouched.
She was dressed in black, her hair pulled back, her expression unreadable.
She reviewed a case file, eyes scanning quickly, fingers tapping lightly against the desk.
Her assistant entered, placing a folder beside her. "The Kang estate documents you requested."
"Thank you," she said, without looking up.
She opened the folder, flipping through the pages, her gaze sharp, focused.
She paused at a photo, Joon-ha, standing beside President Kang, both smiling for the press.
Her fingers lingered on the image.
Then she closed the folder and set it aside.
She wasn't here to reminisce.
She was here to work.
And the work was just beginning.