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Juwon had always known he was second.
Not in skill. He was a phenomenal dancer, his body moving like liquid gold. Not in love, He adored his twin brother, Jey, in a way only twins could understand, an unspoken chain binding them together.
But in everything else , he was always second.
Jey had been born fragile. A heart condition that made every breath a careful measure, every moment a fragile thing. Weak– Prone to fevers, to exhaustion, to spells where he could barely stand. Their parents handled him with the utmost care, like he was made of glass, while Juwon was left to fend for himself. It was never spoken, never intentional, but it was there . The weight of their parents' worry always tipping in Jey’s favor, always pulling them further from Juwon.
Juwon tried to understand. He tried so hard . Jey was sickly. Jey needed them more.
But understanding didn’t stop the ache. It didn’t stop the nights he spent lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what it would feel like to be held as tightly as Jey was. Wondering what it would take for his parents to see him too .
Their parents were always watching over Jey, always making sure he was safe, warm, and comfortable. Juwon never asked for much–not really. He just wanted to be seen. To be acknowledged beyond being “Jey’s twin.”
He was talented too. He had dancing, just as Jey had his music. But no matter how hard he worked, no matter how many times he perfected his routines until his bones ached and his muscles screamed, he was still second place. Because Jey needed more attention. Jey needed to be taken care of. Jey was weak.
And Juwon…Juwon was strong. Juwon could take care of himself.
At least, that was what he told himself over and over again.
But even strength had its limits.
And then came the breaking point.
Juwon had finally won.
A national dance competition, the kind that took years of sweat, pain, and sacrifice to achieve. He had poured everything into it, bled for it, believing– hoping that this would be enough.
He had rushed home, breathless, the medal clutched in his hands, his heart racing with anticipation.
But no one was there to greet him.
Instead, he found his parents by Jey’s bedside. He was sick again, just a fever, nothing serious but their mother was smoothing his hair back, their father murmuring, “You scared us again, Jey.”
Juwon stood there, his medal cold in his grasp, watching.
Watching as his father squeezed Jey’s hand, whispering,
“We can’t lose you.”
Watching as his mother pressed a kiss to Jey’s forehead, her eyes brimming with relief.
We can’t lose you.
The words rang in Juwon’s skull, loud and hollow.
Had they ever feared losing him? Had they ever held him like that? Had they ever looked at him the way they looked at Jey…like their whole world would shatter if he was gone?
Juwon felt something inside him crack .
The argument had started over something small. Something stupid.
Jey had skipped another one of Juwon’s performances. He’d promised he would come, said he’d be there front and center like always, clapping the loudest. But when Juwon finished his routine, out of breath and heart hammering, Jey’s seat had been empty. Again.
He found Jey at home, hunched over the piano, lost in his own world. Like always.
“You said you’d be there.”
Jey glanced up. His expression faltered. “Juwon–”
“Don’t.” Juwon scoffed, shaking his head. “You always say you’ll come, and you never do.”
“I was going to–”
“No, you weren’t! Just say it, Jey! You don’t care.” His voice wavered, cracking in a way that embarrassed him. “You never did.”
Jey stood up, brow furrowing. “That’s not true.”
“It is.”
Juwon clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. He hated this. Hated how easily Jey could dismiss him with those tired, pitying eyes. Hated how the world seemed to revolve around him, how everyone treated him like he was made of glass while Juwon was just expected to deal with it.
Jey sighed. “Juwon, I-”
“Just say it,” Juwon snapped, stepping closer. His throat burned. “I was never important to you, right? You never had to try because I wasn’t the priority. You had everyone’s attention. Mom and Dad’s, the doctors', the whole damn world–”
“That’s not fair,” Jey interrupted.
“No, what’s not fair is that I’ve spent my whole life chasing after a brother who never even looked back at me!”
Silence.
Jey’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
That was the last straw.
Juwon turned on his heel, storming toward the door. “You know what? Forget it.”
“Juwon–”
But Juwon was already gone.
The streets were blurred with neon lights and the glow of passing cars. Juwon wasn’t sure where he was going. He just knew he needed to leave.
His chest ached, his breaths were shallow. The cold night air bit at his skin, but he barely felt it.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Jey: Where are you? Come home.
Juwon scoffed. Now he cared?
He hailed a taxi, barely registering the driver’s bored mumble as he climbed into the back seat. His hands were shaking, his vision tunneling. He didn’t know if it was from anger or exhaustion, but he didn’t care.
His hands trembled on his lap as he sat in the backseat of the taxi, staring blankly at the passing lights. His own heartbeat was erratic, chest tightening with something raw and suffocating.
They don’t see me. They never will.
The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror. “You okay, kid?”
Juwon swallowed, forcing himself to nod. “Yeah.”
The lie tasted bitter.
Somewhere behind him, another set of hurried footsteps pounded against the pavement.
Jey.
Jey had chased after him.
Panting, desperate, ignoring the burning in his chest as he pushed his weakening body forward.
“Juwon!”
But Juwon didn’t hear him.
Jey reached the road just as the taxi started pulling away from the curb. His fingers twitched at his sides, hesitation flashing in his eyes then he made the reckless decision.
Another taxi had just stopped a few feet away. Without thinking, Jey yanked the door open and slid in.
“Follow that car,” he gasped.
The driver barely had time to react before Jey shoved a handful of crumpled bills into his hand. He didn’t wait for permission, he just needed to get to Juwon.
His chest ached. A deep, gnawing pain bloomed beneath his ribs, but he ignored it.
He had to reach Juwon.
The taxis moved down the street, weaving through traffic, but fate had a cruel sense of timing.
A drunk driver, unseen and reckless, ran a red light.
The impact was instant. Hitting not only one car, but multiple.
Juwon never saw it coming.
The world slammed sideways.
One moment, he was sitting in the backseat, drowning in his own self-loathing. The next—
A violent force tore through the car.
Glass exploded like a thousand tiny stars, shards slicing through the air, embedding into skin, into fabric, into the trembling night.
The violent jolt of his body slamming against the door.
His head cracked against the window. A flash of white–pain blooming, spreading, devouring.
The taxi spun. A horrible screeching filled the air as it collided into another vehicle.
Juwon’s body lurched. The seatbelt bit into his torso, but it wasn’t enough to stop the impact.
He felt himself being thrown.
His body slammed into something hard. Air punched out of his lungs. His vision swam, blurred, darkened.
Then…
Stillness.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Then came the pain.
It hit all at once–a raw, searing agony spreading through every nerve, every limb. Blood. He felt it warm and sticky beneath him, pooling, soaking into his clothes.
His fingers twitched. His body was heavy, his eyelids heavier. The world tilted, his senses swimming in and out of focus.
Distantly, the sound of another car door being thrown open reached him.
Someone stumbled onto the pavement.
“Juwon!!”
The voice was barely a whisper.
Jey.
Jey had been in the crash too.
But his steps were unsteady. His body wavered, his breathing labored and blood dripped fro his head to the pavement.
The pain was there. He felt it in every movement, in every sharp inhale but worse than the pain was the pressure in his chest.
A squeezing, suffocating weight that made his vision flicker, his pulse stutter.
Still, he forced himself forward.
He dropped to his knees beside Juwon, hands shaking as he pressed down on the bleeding wound on Juwon’s side.
“No, no, no,” Jey whispered, voice cracking. “Stay awake, Juwon. Please stay awake.”
Juwon’s lips parted, a weak exhale slipping out. “Jey…?”
“I’m here,” Jey choked. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling. “You’re gonna be okay. I promise–”
But the pressure in his chest was growing. His breath hitched, something cold settling in his bones.
His heart.
He knew this feeling.
The ache that had plagued him since birth. The sickness that had never let him go.
Not now. Not now. Not when Juwon needs me–
The sirens wailed in the distance. Flashing lights filled the night.
Jey gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay conscious. He refused to leave Juwon’s side until the rescuer came.
Juwon needed blood. He had lost too much.
Jey didn’t hesitate.
Even as he was wheeled into the hospital, even as doctors tried to stop him, even as his own body begged him to stop .
“I’m donating,” Jey gasped out. “Take my blood.”
“But your condition–”
“I don’t care!” Jey snapped, voice raw. “Take it! Take as much as he needs!”
No one could stop him.
No one could save him from his choice.
And just like that–
The moment the blood left his veins, Jey sealed his own fate.
And Juwon never even knew.
When Juwon opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the sterile white of a hospital ceiling.
The first thing he felt was the hollow ache deep in his bones, the phantom pain of something he didn’t remember losing.
And then…
Jey.
Jey sat beside him.
His twin’s face was pale, his hands folded neatly on his lap. His posture was stiff, his expression unreadable, but his eyes— his eyes —were lost, like he was stuck between two places at once.
Relief crashed through Juwon’s body, almost painful in its intensity. “Jey…”
Jey exhaled shakily, his lips trembling into a wobbly smile. “You’re awake.”
Memories slammed into Juwon all at once. The argument. The taxi. The crash.
“You… you were in the accident too?” His voice was hoarse.
Jey nodded. “I followed you.”
Stupid. So stupid.
Juwon tried to sit up, but a sharp pain lanced through his torso. He hissed. Jey immediately reached out, but his hand hovered uncertainly. As if touching Juwon might break him.
Juwon swallowed, trying to gather his thoughts. “You...how-” His words faltered as he took in Jey’s appearance.
His clothes were spotless. Not a single scratch marred his skin. His hair was perfectly in place, untouched by the chaos of the accident. It didn’t make sense.
“You were with me,” Juwon murmured. His brows furrowed. “You were in the accident too.”
Jey’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Juwon’s stomach twisted.
The last thing he remembered was pain . Blood, so much of it. And Jey... Jey had followed him. He had been there.
Jey exhaled shakily. “You lost a lot of blood,” he said softly. “I… I gave you mine.”
Juwon stiffened.
Something inside him screamed .
There was something wrong .
Before he could say anything, the door swung open.
Their parents rushed in. Their mother looked exhausted, her eyes swollen from crying, her hands trembling as she covered her mouth. Their father wasn’t much better, his usual composed face crumbling as he tried to hold himself together.
Juwon felt the air shift. The weight of the room changed.
His heartbeat stuttered.
And then
His mother’s voice broke.
“Juwon…” Her breath hitched, and her legs nearly gave out as she reached for him. “Jey… Jey is gone.”
Juwon’s whole world stopped.
Juwon shook his head violently. His chest caved in on itself. “You’re lying,” he choked. “He…he was fine, he was fine, I saw him–”
His ears rang. His vision blurred.
No.
That–
That wasn’t right.
That wasn’t possible .
He turned his head, eyes darting to Jey, desperate for reassurance, for anything .
But the moment he looked–
Jey’s hands were turning translucent.
His fingers, once solid and warm, flickered like a dying ember, the outline of his palm dissolving into the air.
Juwon’s breath caught in his throat. His lungs refused to work.
“Jey–” His voice broke, a sob clawing its way up his chest.
Jey just smiled. Soft. Resigned.
“Ah,” Jey murmured, lifting his hand and watching as it faded before his eyes. His fingers curled slightly, as if trying to hold onto something that was already slipping away. “I guess… that’s my time.”
“No,” Juwon choked, his body trembling violently. He tried to grab him, tried to touch him but his hands passed through nothing. Nothing.
Panic gripped him, drowning him.
This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.
“Jey, please,” Juwon sobbed, reaching for him again, again, again but Jey was slipping faster, his form barely holding together, his outline fading into the cold, sterile light of the hospital room.
“Juwon,” Jey whispered.
Juwon’s breath hitched.
Jey’s gaze softened, as if he was looking at something precious.
“You always thought I never looked back,” he murmured.
A tear slipped down Jey’s cheek.
“But I never stopped looking at you.”
Juwon let out a sound that wasn't human, a wretched, shattered noise as Jey smiled one last time.
And then he was gone.
Just like that.
Gone.
Juwon’s body collapsed forward, his arms falling onto the now empty chair. He let out a strangled gasp, his chest caving in, his vision burning.
“Jey,” he whimpered, voice cracking, breaking, bleeding. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head frantically.
No, no, no
His fingers curled against the sheets, gripping nothing. His breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, his whole body trembling violently.
A hollow, gut-wrenching sob tore its way out of him.
His parents were saying something–calling his name, trying to reach him but all he could hear was the deafening, suffocating silence where Jey used to be.
Juwon opened his mouth, to scream, to beg, to plead for this to be a nightmare.
But nothing came out.
There was nothing left in him to give.
Jey was gone.
And Juwon had never felt so alone.