Chapter Text
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It happened in the space between one heartbeat and the next.
One second, they were laughing in the car — Dong-ju fiddling with the playlist, teasing Jong-hyeon about his old-school music taste — and the next, there was a blinding set of headlights slicing across the road from the left. The laughter turned into a half-formed gasp. Time seemed to snap in two.
The sound came a split second later — a screech of tires, the scream of twisting metal, and then the deafening crack of impact.
Everything tilted.
The world spun violently sideways as the car jolted off course, skidding across the asphalt before crashing into the shallow ditch at the edge of the road. Glass exploded into the air like shattered stars. The steering wheel jolted beneath Jong-hyeon’s hands, wrenching his shoulder painfully. His head slammed against the side window, momentarily blanking his vision in a bright white flash.
Then stillness.
The only sound was the groaning creak of the engine, the distant whine of a dying song still playing through the speakers — something cheesy from the early 2000s Dong-ju had put on just to annoy him. Then it cut off, the phone knocked from the dashboard, the connection severed.
Jong-hyeon blinked against the sting in his eyes, his heart pounding erratically. He felt like the wind had been knocked out of his chest, but when he touched his ribs, nothing seemed broken. His shoulder throbbed from where the seatbelt had yanked him back, and blood ran from a shallow cut on his brow. But he was alive.
“Dong-ju…”
His voice was hoarse, too quiet. He turned sharply to the passenger seat, a new surge of adrenaline punching through the haze.
Dong-ju was slumped sideways, his body crumpled against the crushed door. The metal on that side had taken the brunt of the impact — folded inward like paper. Shattered glass glittered in his hair. Blood streaked down his temple from a deep gash above his brow, pooling fast on the collar of his hoodie.
“Dong-ju-yah?!” Jong-hyeon’s voice cracked as he reached across the console, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him gently. “Hey—! Look at me. Come on, talk to me.”
A low groan escaped Dong-ju’s lips, and for a terrifying second, he didn’t respond — didn’t move. Then his eyelids fluttered weakly, opening just a sliver.
“I…” His voice was faint, slurred. “Hyung…?”
Relief flooded Jong-hyeon — brief, sharp, quickly replaced by fear again when he saw the unfocused panic in Dong-ju’s eyes. They weren’t tracking anything. Not the movement of his hand. Not the light.
“I—I can’t…” Dong-ju’s fingers twitched at his sides, then raised shakily in front of him. He blinked again. “I can’t see…”
Jong-hyeon froze.
“What…?” Dong-ju’s breathing hitched. His fingers moved faster, searching the air in front of him, grasping at shadows. “Why… Why can’t I see anything?”
“Dong-ju,” Jong-hyeon said quickly, gently gripping his hand. “You’re okay. We were in an accident — the car— the side got hit, but it’s okay. I’m right here. You’re safe.”
Dong-ju’s voice broke, panic rising like a wave crashing too fast. “Hyung—? I don’t understand—why is it dark?! I opened my eyes but—” He gasped again. “Where are you?!”
“I’m here,” Jong-hyeon said, his throat tightening. He reached over and cupped the side of Dong-ju’s face, feeling how clammy his skin had gone. “You’re not alone. I promise. I’m right here, okay? You’re going to be fine. Just hold on.”
Dong-ju was still blinking rapidly, eyes darting around even though they clearly couldn’t see. “Hyung, I can’t—! It’s not just blurry—I can’t see anything. It’s just… black. I’m awake but it’s like someone turned off the lights…”
He trailed off, his hands shaking. He wasn’t crying — not yet — but his body had gone rigid with fear.
Jong-hyeon knew the symptoms. Knew the name. Punch-drunk syndrome. Not from literal punching, but from the trauma. A head injury, likely swelling or damage to the optic nerve. Maybe temporary. Maybe not.
But now wasn’t the time for that knowledge. Dong-ju wouldn’t be able to think through the logic right now. His mind was scrambled. He needed grounding.
“Dong-ju,” he said again, firmer this time. “Stay with me, okay? We’re going to get out of here. We’ll get you checked. It’s going to be okay.”
But Dong-ju’s breathing was getting faster, shorter. Panic rising like he was drowning in it. “Don’t let go,” he gasped, reaching out, grabbing blindly for Jong-hyeon’s arm. “Please—don’t let go. I’m scared.”
“I won’t,” Jong-hyeon said, squeezing his hand. “I’ve got you.”
Smoke began curling from under the hood — faint, but enough to make the hairs on the back of Jong-hyeon’s neck rise. He looked around quickly. No fire. Not yet. But time was running short.
He turned to the passenger door and tried to shove it open. It wouldn’t budge. Crumpled in the crash, bent inward too far. He rammed his shoulder against it. Once. Twice. Metal groaned but held.
“Damn it…” he muttered under his breath.
He yanked his phone from the dashboard, thumb trembling as he dialed emergency services.
“119,” he said the second someone picked up. “We’ve been in a collision — two people — the car’s half in a ditch, the passenger’s injured. Head trauma. Possible vision loss. I can’t get the door open.”
The dispatcher spoke fast, calm. Jong-hyeon confirmed their location, the cross street, any nearby landmarks. As soon as he hung up, he ran around the car, slipping on loose gravel before catching himself against the frame.
Dong-ju’s voice came again — broken, scared. “Hyung? I heard you—where did you go?”
“I’m right here,” Joon-hyeon called, leaning into the door, prying at the jammed frame. “I just went around the car to get to you. I didn’t leave. I won’t leave.”
The door gave a little — just a few inches. Enough to slide in a hand.
Jong-hyeon shoved his body through the gap, ignoring the glass that sliced his side. He reached for Dong-ju again, cupping his face gently, guiding his forehead to his own.
“Hey. Breathe with me. Just like that. You’re doing so good.” His voice cracked. “I’ve got you.”
Dong-ju gasped, a shudder going through him. “It’s so dark, hyung. What if it doesn’t come back?”
“It will,” Jong-hyeon said, even though he didn’t know. “You hit your head. Your brain just needs time to reset, that’s all. You’ve always been a little scrambled anyway, haven’t you?” He tried to smile, even though his throat felt like it was closing up. “This is nothing you can’t get through.”
Dong-ju let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “Liar.”
“Yeah,” Jong-hyeon admitted softly. “But I’m a good liar.”
He looked down at the blood staining Dong-ju’s hoodie — spreading slowly. He couldn’t tell if it was still actively bleeding or if it just looked worse than it was. Either way, he knew they didn’t have long. If something internal was wrong…
He pushed the thought away.
Focus.
Dong-ju’s hands had found his again. They were still trembling, but less wildly now. The touch grounded them both.
“I’m scared,” Dong-ju whispered, his voice small.
“I know,” Jong-hyeon said. He brushed the hair gently back from his face, his fingers feather-light against the blood. “But you don’t have to be. I’m with you. That’s not changing.”
“What if…” Dong-ju swallowed hard. “What if this is it? What if I never see again?”
Jong-hyeon’s heart broke a little at the question — not just the fear in it, but the quiet resignation beneath the words. He leaned in and rested his forehead against Dong-ju’s again.
“Then I’ll just have to be your eyes, won’t I?” he whispered. “But you’re going to be okay. No matter what happens. We’ll deal with it. Together.”
Dong-ju nodded faintly, and this time, a tear slid down his cheek. Jong-hyeon caught it with his thumb.
“You’re not allowed to give up,” he said again, softer this time. “Not now. Not when we there’s still so much waiting for us ahead.”