* * *
Jinwoo sat with his head bowed for a long time, unable to speak.
Jingyeom didn’t push him. If Jinwoo wanted to talk, he would; if not, they would just carry on as if nothing had happened.
He didn’t want to make things harder for Jinwoo, who was already struggling.
‘…Or maybe I already have.’
By unearthing something that could have stayed buried, Jingyeom knew he had caused Jinwoo pain.
After placing the photo back into the album, Jingyeom lingered on an image of his younger self, smiling brightly.
It was easy to imagine how happy they must have been back then—innocent and carefree.
It was bittersweet that he wasn’t truly Baek Jingyeom and couldn’t recall those memories.
‘Jinwoo must’ve been so adorable as a kid.’
The photos were enough to make him wonder just how endearing Jinwoo must have been in person.
Looking again at the album, Jingyeom noticed details he had missed earlier: the legs of their parents in the background, Jinwoo’s tiny figure, and his own little arm.
Despite its age, the album was in excellent condition—no dust, no significant damage.
‘Jinwoo must’ve taken such good care of it.’
After closing the album and placing it back on the shelf, Jingyeom sat on the floor and watched Jinwoo.
Even though he could see Jinwoo trembling, he couldn’t bring himself to reach out.
Ever since they started living together again, Jingyeom had avoided unnecessary physical contact.
Jinwoo even dried his own hair now, a task Jingyeom used to help with.
Normally, he would have comforted Jinwoo without hesitation, but now he couldn’t.
“Should I… leave?”
“…No. Stay, Gyeom.”
Jinwoo lowered the hand covering his face and looked up.
His words, meant to buy himself some time to think, seemed to open the floodgates.
He looked as though he was about to cry, his reddened eyes betraying how hard he was trying to hold back tears.
Watching him, Jingyeom’s own emotions swelled, and he had to blink away the tears threatening to spill.
“…I’m sorry I lied about losing the album. I… I was scared.”
“…”
“I love the way you are now. I was terrified that if you saw the album, you’d remember everything. And then…”
Jinwoo hesitated, the words coming with difficulty.
“…You’d go back to the way you were before. That you’d stop looking at me the way you do now. That scared me so much.”
Turning his head sharply, Jingyeom tried to hold back his tears.
He could only imagine what Jinwoo had felt lying about the album and living in fear every time the topic of photos came up.
The weight of that realization hit him hard.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Jingyeom finally spoke.
“I understand… You don’t have to explain anymore. I get it.”
“…But why don’t you look at me anymore?”
“I’m afraid I’ll cry if I see it. I can’t look.”
Jingyeom pressed his trembling lips together, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from drooping.
Clenching his hands tightly, he eventually gave up and buried his face in his arms.
Every time Jinwoo asked if his memory had returned, Jingyeom would deny it, feeling guilty and ashamed for lying.
Even when Jinwoo asked if he truly hoped to regain his memory, the answer remained the same, and so did the guilt.
And now, he finally understood that Jinwoo, who kept asking those questions, must have struggled just as much.
‘We’re both such fools.’
But their secrets were too heavy, too overwhelming to confess.
Jinwoo couldn’t reveal his feelings, and Jingyeom couldn’t admit that he wasn’t really Baek Jingyeom.
This wasn’t anyone’s fault.
It was simply the best choice they could make given the circumstances.
“I’m sorry for deceiving you… I’m so sorry, Gyeom.”
“You don’t have to keep apologizing. I was the one who said I didn’t want to regain my memories. Look, even after seeing this, nothing came back. …It’s like I really erased them.”
Jingyeom had to lie again.
Every moment he spent with Jinwoo required another lie, a lie he would have to repeat for the rest of his life.
The only way out of this cycle was to tell the truth, but that wasn’t an option.
And so, today, Jingyeom lied once more.
“Then, let’s leave it at that. …I’ve heard your reasons, I said I’m fine, and we have the album back. It’s a decent ending, isn’t it?”
But even as he spoke, tears streamed down his face.
He had tried to hold them back, but they refused to be contained.
Sniffling, Jingyeom roughly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Ah, I should wash my face.”
He forced a cheerful tone and headed to the bathroom.
Left behind, Jinwoo gripped the edge of the bed with trembling hands, unable to steady them.
He had been forgiven so easily.
So why did his heart feel so hollow?
A hollow laugh escaped him as he clutched his chest.
It felt suffocating, as if he couldn’t breathe.
The tears he had held back finally fell to the floor.
“…Ah.”
There was no way he couldn’t notice Jingyeom’s deliberate distance.
Even in the hospital, Jingyeom had hesitated to make physical contact unless necessary.
Back then, it had been bearable.
But over the past few days, Jingyeom had noticeably changed.
As if he was preparing to leave Jinwoo behind.
“…Hic.”
No matter how hard he clenched his jaw or gritted his teeth, the sorrow welling up inside threatened to burst out.
If not for the sound of running water from the bathroom, Jingyeom might have heard him.
His vision blurred with tears, his eyelids trembling.
Feeling he couldn’t stay there any longer, Jinwoo rushed outside.
He thought the cold air might help, but instead, the tears flowed even more freely, spilling over like a dam breaking.
Jinwoo sank to the ground, pressing his hands to his eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop.
He was the one who said the album didn’t matter, the one who had been forgiven.
So why was he feeling so heartbroken?
“…Hah.”
Looking back, it all started when he first asked Jingyeom if he wanted to regain his memories.
At the time, Jingyeom’s denial had brought him relief.
And so, Jinwoo had spoken honestly, baring his heart.
“Then let’s not look for them, okay? Let’s leave it behind.”
What followed was a lie.
When Jingyeom began searching for the album, Jinwoo lied for the first time.
He hid it, using the excuse that he had lost it during a move.
It was a selfish lie born from his fear that Jingyeom might regain his memories—a lie that may have placed their fragile relationship in jeopardy.
Seeing how much Jingyeom had changed, Jinwoo grew more possessive, binding him with familial ties and concealing his true feelings.
Without his memories, Jingyeom could only rely on Jinwoo, and perhaps Jinwoo had taken advantage of that.
He believed that as long as Jingyeom didn’t regain his memories, they could stay together forever.
That was why he feared those memories so much.
Perhaps Jingyeom had sensed his feelings and, out of consideration, decided not to pursue them.
It was always a precarious balance, destined to collapse sooner or later.
If Jingyeom’s memories ever returned…
‘…He wouldn’t have stayed.’
Jingyeom might have left, despising him for everything he had done.
‘I should’ve been honest from the start…’
If he had, things might have turned out differently.
Jinwoo covered his face with his hands, his trembling chin and quivering shoulders betraying the flood of emotions he had suppressed for so long.
Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Jingyeom was no better off.
Still, he splashed his face with cold water and quickly composed himself.
When he realized Jinwoo wasn’t in the room, he paused at the faint sound coming from outside.
Jinwoo’s muffled sobs were heart-wrenching. It would have been easier to bear if he had cried openly, but the way he stifled his pain made Jingyeom’s chest ache.
Approaching the front door, Jingyeom pressed his hand against the cold metal.
The chill seeped through his palm, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside him.
‘…I’m sorry, Jinwoo.’
Though he wasn’t touching Jinwoo’s back, Jingyeom stood there for a long time, as if he were.
Much later, when Jinwoo finally returned inside, he was met with a spoon held out to him.
“…What’s this?”
“This is how you do it. You need to reduce the swelling.”
Jingyeom even demonstrated, showing him exactly how to use the spoon.
Seeing this, Jinwoo let out a small laugh, and Jingyeom, holding the spoon to his own eyes, smiled in return.
“I left some in the fridge for tomorrow morning.”
“Just for me?”
“I already did mine. See? Looks fine, right?”
Jingyeom’s eyes were still visibly swollen, but his endearing expression made Jinwoo chuckle and nod.
Watching Jingyeom laugh along with him, Jinwoo knew.
A wall had formed between them, and they could never return to how things had been.
Even so, outwardly, nothing would change.
After all, Jinwoo was still the only family Jingyeom had.
* * *
Nc
Uwu