Chapter Text
“Check today’s to-do list on the calendar!”
“You have a memory disorder from an accident. Check your journal on the computer!”
“When you wake up, your memory resets to before the accident.”
“Check your notes and journal every morning.”
“Park Jeongwoo, High School Junior, Class 5, No. 28.”
“Always keep the notebook in your bag.”
“Always write down everything you need to remember.”
Park Jeongwoo opened his eyes to a wall of unfamiliar handwriting.
For a split second, he thought he was in the wrong room. Sticky notes covered the board beside his bed—bright yellow, pale pink, harsh white—each screaming instructions at him like desperate reminders from a stranger.
Except the handwriting was his.
His chest tightened.
Slowly, as if approaching something fragile, Jeongwoo pushed himself upright. The sunlight filtering through the curtains felt normal.
He swung his legs off the bed and walked to his desk. The note above the monitor read: “Open your journal first.”
His fingers trembled slightly as he powered on the computer.
The document was already pinned to the taskbar.
He clicked it.
February 22, 2025
You were in a car accident.
You survived, but you were diagnosed with anterograde amnesia.
When you fall asleep, your memory resets to the day of the accident. Every morning, you wake up believing it just happened.
The only people who know are Mom, Dad, Junghwan, and your teachers.
You have been writing in this journal every single day since then.
Trust what you’re reading. It’s you.
Jeongwoo stared at the words.
Anterograde amnesia.
The term felt clinical. Distant. Like something from a textbook, not something living inside his own head.
He scrolled.
Entries. Dozens of them. Each written in his voice. Each describing days he could not remember living.
Frustration. Small victories. Jokes about forgetting homework he had technically already done. Notes about classmates. Warnings to himself.
You’ll feel scared every morning. That’s normal.
Junghwan knows. He’ll help if you get confused.
You’re stronger than you think.
His throat tightened.
There was no dramatic breakdown. No screaming. Just a quiet, sinking understanding.
This was his life.
After finishing the entry dated yesterday, Jeongwoo closed the laptop gently. He stood up and began getting ready for school, moving on instinct. Muscle memory, apparently, still worked.
Uniform. Tie. Comb through his hair.
Before leaving his room, he grabbed the small notebook from his desk—the one specifically mentioned in at least five different sticky notes—and slid it carefully into his bag.
Always keep the notebook with you.
Downstairs, his parents greeted him like any other morning. Their smiles were just a little too careful. A little too watchful.
He wondered how many times they had already watched him relearn his own life.
At the bus stop, cold morning air brushing against his cheeks, Jeongwoo pulled out the notebook.
Inside were neat summaries of yesterday.
- Math quiz postponed.
- Junghwan bought strawberry milk again.
- You promised to study Chapter 4 tonight.
- You felt okay. Not great, but okay.
He read each line slowly, trying to stitch together a version of himself from bullet points.
Yesterday’s Jeongwoo had laughed. Had studied. Had waited for this bus.
And tomorrow’s Jeongwoo would wake up and forget it all.
A strange determination flickered in his chest.
If he was going to lose every day… then he would just have to live each one well enough to leave himself something worth reading.
The bus arrived with a hiss of brakes.
Jeongwoo slipped the notebook back into his bag, holding onto it a second longer than necessary.
“Okay,” he murmured softly to himself.
“Let’s do this again.”
As usual, Haruto walked into the classroom with a book tucked under his arm and his headphones hanging loosely around his neck.
And as usual, his deskmate was being bullied.
It was almost routine at this point—the chair kicked slightly out of place, a notebook snatched and tossed between snickering boys, laughter that carried just a little too sharply in the morning air.
Haruto paused in the doorway.
He didn’t hate people. He just didn’t particularly seek them out. Most days, he preferred the quiet company of printed pages to the noise of his classmates. He never went out of his way to make friends, but he also never went out of his way to avoid them.
Still… he couldn’t stand watching a decent guy suffer right in front of him.
He slid his bag onto his desk.
“What’s the point of doing that?” Haruto asked calmly, his voice cutting through the laughter.
Silence.
The entire classroom froze as if someone had pressed pause.
The ringleader slowly turned around, a crooked sneer spreading across his face. “Oh? You got something to say?”
And just like that, the target shifted.
Figures, Haruto thought, expression unreadable.
Up until then, everything had been manageable. He didn’t care about childish pranks, baseless rumors whispered behind his back, or the mocking jeers thrown his way. He ignored them, and eventually they grew bored.
For a while, it worked.
But boredom breeds creativity.
The bullying became quieter. More discreet. Harder to catch. Haruto heard rumors that they’d started extorting money from his deskmate. Not long after that, the boy stopped coming to school entirely.
That was the first time Haruto felt real anger.
“Cut it out,” he said one morning, standing in front of the ringleader. His voice wasn’t loud—but it was sharp.
The ringleader studied him for a moment, then grinned.
“Fine. Do one thing for me, and I’ll stop.”
Haruto knew it wouldn’t be simple. Still, he nodded. “What is it?”
The boy leaned closer, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Go confess to Park Jeongwoo in Class 5. Tell him you like him. Today.”
Snickers rippled through the group.
Haruto blinked.
That was it?
It sounded like something a middle schooler would dare someone to do. Embarrassing, sure. Public. Ridiculous.
But harmless.
“…Fine,” Haruto said.
During break time, Haruto found him easily.
Park Jeongwoo was sitting alone on a bench near the field, sunlight catching in his soft brown hair as he watched the soccer team practice. There was something quiet about him—something distant but not cold.
Haruto stopped in front of him.
Jeongwoo looked up.
Their eyes met.
For a brief second, Haruto forgot this was supposed to be a punishment.
“Hey,” Haruto said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I like you. Do you want to go out with me?”
Jeongwoo blinked.
He stared at Haruto for a long moment, studying his face as if searching for something.
Then—
“Okay.”
Haruto’s brain short-circuited.
“…Wait. What?”
Behind him, the group of boys watching from a distance went just as silent.
Jeongwoo tilted his head slightly. “I’d love that. Let’s go out.”
The words were simple. Casual. Completely sincere.
Haruto opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.
Before he could recover, Jeongwoo stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his uniform.
“Let’s meet after school,” he said with a small smile.
And just like that, he walked away—leaving behind a stunned Haruto and a group of very disappointed bullies who had clearly been hoping for a public rejection.
The last bell had rung nearly 10 minutes ago, and the classroom of Class 2 was slowly emptying, one desk at a time. Afternoon sunlight spilled through the tall windows, turning the dust in the air into flecks of gold.
But Watanabe Haruto was still sitting at his desk.
His bag was packed. His hands were folded. His heart was absolutely not calm.
He was waiting.
The door slid open.
“Hi.”
Haruto looked up so fast he nearly knocked his pencil case off the desk. Park Jeongwoo stood there, school bag slung lazily over one shoulder, expression unreadable as always.
“Hi,” Haruto replied, voice betraying him with a slight crack.
Jeongwoo walked over and sat down in the seat directly in front of him, turning the chair around so they were face to face. Up close, he looked unfairly composed.
“You are Watanabe Haruto, right?”
“Yeah. That’s right.”
“Give me your phone.”
“Huh? Why?” Haruto hesitated, fingers tightening around the edge of his desk. But even as he asked, he was already pulling his phone from his pocket and handing it over.
Jeongwoo took it without another word and began typing.
Haruto watched the way his brows furrowed slightly in concentration.
Jeongwoo handed the phone back. A new contact number was saved.
Then he pulled out his own phone and began typing in his Notes app.
“Watanabe Haruto, Class 2,” he muttered as he typed.
Haruto blinked. “Why are you writing that?”
Jeongwoo didn’t look up. “My boyfriend is a man of few words.”
Haruto’s brain stopped functioning.
“Boyfriend?? Me??”
“Yes,” Jeongwoo said calmly. “You asked me out first.”
“Oh. Right. I did.” Haruto felt heat rush to his face.
“You see, the thing is…” Haruto leaned forward, panic rising. “I was trying to explain earlier, but—”
Jeongwoo looked up at him.
Haruto swallowed. “Some kids were bullying my deskmate. They said they’d stop if I dated you. I couldn’t just sit there and watch. That’s why I did it. I’m sorry.”
Silence settled between them.
Jeongwoo hummed thoughtfully. “You’re a good friend.”
Haruto didn’t know whether that was praise or rejection.
“Well,” Jeongwoo continued, slipping his phone back into his pocket, “I don’t care what the reason is.”
Haruto’s heart skipped.
“Do you not want to go out with me?”
“No, I—”
“All right, then.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to!” Haruto hurriedly corrected. “But… do you like me?”
“No.”
Haruto’s shoulders dropped. “Then why?”
Jeongwoo stood up slowly, adjusting the strap of his bag. “I want to try something new. Otherwise, life gets boring.”
He glanced down at Haruto.
“You’re on board, right?”
Haruto felt like he was being swept into something far bigger than he had prepared for. Still, he nodded.
“Y-Yeah.”
“Good.” Jeongwoo turned toward the classroom door, then paused. “But I have a few dating conditions.”
Haruto stiffened. “Conditions?”
“First, don’t talk to me until after school.”
“Second, when we contact each other, keep it short.”
“And third—” Jeongwoo looked over his shoulder, eyes sharp but oddly playful. “Don’t fall in love.”
The air felt heavier.
“Can you do those three things?”
Haruto opened his mouth—
But before he could answer, Jeongwoo started walking.
“Let’s go.”
“Huh? Where?” Haruto scrambled to his feet, grabbing his bag and nearly tripping over his chair in the process.
Jeongwoo didn’t look back.
“Boyfriends walk home together, don’t they?”
And just like that, Haruto found himself chasing after him.
The late afternoon air was cooler than the morning, the streets washed in soft gold as they walked side by side toward the bus stop.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Haruto kept glancing over, unsure what to do with his hands, his posture stiff like someone waiting for instructions he didn’t know how to follow.
Jeongwoo, on the other hand, looked oddly calm.
Then, as if remembering something important, Jeongwoo broke the silence.
“So… do you mind if I ask you some questions?”
Haruto blinked, then shook his head once.
Jeongwoo’s lips curved faintly.
“Okay.”
He pulled out his phone immediately, opening his Notes app with practiced ease, thumbs hovering like this was something he’d done a hundred times before.
“When’s your birthday?”
“April 5.”
“April 5,” Jeongwoo repeated, already typing. “Got it.”
Haruto watched him, the way he didn’t hesitate, the way he treated each answer like it mattered.
“Can I ask about your family?”
“I live with my dad,” Haruto said after a pause. “Just the two of us.”
“I see.”
Jeongwoo nodded slowly, eyes flickering down to the screen.
Haruto frowned slightly.
“Why do you look like you just figured something out?”
Jeongwoo glanced up.
“Because you seem like you have your life together,” he said simply. “For someone our age.”
Haruto let out a quiet breath, almost amused.
“Do I?”
Jeongwoo hummed like he didn’t believe him.
Haruto hesitated, then added, almost against his will—
For a second, the air between them settled into something gentle.
Then Haruto spoke again, almost as if he couldn’t stop himself.
“When I was in my last year of middle school,” he said, “I used to come to school with a whole pack of wet wipes and tissues in my bag.”
Jeongwoo’s eyebrows lifted.
“…Why?”
Haruto looked away, embarrassed.
“Because my classmates were always asking for them. Someone spilled something, someone needed tissues, someone forgot to bring anything…”
He paused.
“…After a while, everyone started calling me Mum.”
Jeongwoo stared at him.
Then, suddenly, his whole face brightened.
“That’s adorable,” he said, warmth spilling into his voice. “A middle school kid whose nickname is Mum.”
Haruto’s ears turned red.
“…You’re seriously writing that down?”
“I am,” Jeongwoo replied simply, already typing.
Haruto stared at him, incredulous.
Jeongwoo’s thumbs kept moving.
“Blood type?”
“AB.”
Jeongwoo nodded like it was expected.
“Makes sense.”
Haruto narrowed his eyes.
“…And what about you?”
Jeongwoo hesitated, just barely.
“…AB.”
Haruto blinked.
“Makes sense.”
Jeongwoo’s mouth fell open.
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m not,” Haruto said, far too serious.
Jeongwoo squinted, then continued anyway.
“What sports do you like?”
Haruto paused.
“…I don’t.”
Jeongwoo tilted his head.
“Huh? You look like someone who’d be good at them.”
“It makes me sweaty.”
Jeongwoo stopped walking.
Then—
He burst out laughing, sudden and bright, like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Haruto stiffened.
“Why are you laughing?”
Jeongwoo covered his mouth, still shaking with quiet giggles.
“Are you a germaphobe or something?”
“I’m not a germaphobe,” Haruto muttered. “I just care about cleanliness.”
“You care about cleanliness,” Jeongwoo repeated fondly, typing it down as if it were the most important fact in the world.
And the questions didn’t stop.
Hobbies.
Favorite movies.
Celebrities.
Places he wanted to go.
Cats or dogs.
What he did on his days off.
Favorite foods.
Haruto answered most of them, though he didn’t know why he was letting Jeongwoo collect these pieces of him so easily.
Maybe because Jeongwoo looked like he needed them.
Like he was building something he was afraid to lose.
Haruto asked a few questions back, quieter ones.
Jeongwoo liked dogs.
He liked beaches.
And he had an embarrassing weakness for sweets.
By the time they reached the bus stop, the sky was still pale with daylight…
But the moon was already visible, hanging faintly above the rooftops.
Jeongwoo stared at it for a moment.
Then he said, softly—
“Let’s do something people who are dating would do.”
Haruto blinked.
“What?”
Jeongwoo looked at him like it was obvious.
“Take a picture.”
Haruto’s breath caught.
“A picture?”
Jeongwoo nodded, already pulling out his phone.
“Just in case,” he added, quieter.
Haruto didn’t ask what he meant.
He didn’t need to.
They stood awkwardly close as Jeongwoo held the phone up.
Jeongwoo smiled easily, flashing a peace sign.
Haruto, on the other hand, looked like someone awaiting execution.
The camera clicked.
When Jeongwoo looked down at the result, something softened in his eyes.
“It’s funny,” he murmured.
He sent it to Haruto immediately.
“You should use it as your home screen.”
Haruto stared at the photo like it might burn through his screen.
“That’s… too much.”
Jeongwoo only smiled, like he expected that answer.
Soon after, the bus arrived with a hiss of brakes.
They sat next to each other, shoulders almost brushing.
Jeongwoo went right back to typing, asking questions even as the city rolled past the windows.
Then, unexpectedly, Haruto spoke again.
“Oh. There’s this song I like.”
Jeongwoo looked up.
Haruto tilted his phone toward him.
On the screen was the title:
I Don’t Know What To Say.
Jeongwoo’s gaze lingered.
“Okay,” he said gently. “I’ll listen to it.”
“You don’t need to,” Haruto muttered, eyes flicking away.
But Jeongwoo’s voice was quiet, certain.
“I want to.”
That evening, on the bus ride home, something quietly began—something neither of them was ready for.