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The monitor’s beeping repeated with a regularity that, without Jaekyung realizing it at first, had gradually imposed itself over everything else. It wasn’t particularly loud, but it was steady enough to hold his attention and keep his mind from drifting toward thoughts he would rather not face.
He shifted his gaze away from the device and back to Dan.
Nothing seemed to have changed.
The mask fogged up with each uneven breath. The movement was minimal, almost imperceptible, yet there was something in the intervals -in those pauses just slightly longer than normal- that compelled him to keep watching. He had been doing so for hours, to the point that he couldn’t remember the last time he had blinked.
At the side of the stand, among the IV lines, a blood transfusion bag was slowly draining, drop by drop. Jaekyung had noticed it the moment he arrived, and every time his eyes lingered on it, an uneasy discomfort twisted in his stomach. He didn’t need anyone to explain anything-this alone was enough to understand how serious it had all been.
He tightened his grip on Dan’s hand.
He didn’t remember taking it, but he didn’t consider letting go either. The gesture had become necessary, almost functional, as if confirming that contact were the only way to make sure everything was still in place.
He moved his thumb over his skin.
There was no response.
He frowned slightly before lowering his gaze to his own knuckles. The skin was split, inflamed, stretched tight. The pain was constant, but he registered it distantly, as if it belonged to another layer of his body, irrelevant compared to the rest.
It was to be expected.
The blows had been relentless, one after another, without time to think. The noise of the crowd had pierced through him, and yet he had still felt far away, as if everything had happened behind an invisible barrier that separated him from everybody. There had been no real pain, no doubt, no conscious decisions.
Only movement.
Only pushing forward.
That urgent need-to get back to the hospital, to get back to Dan-had been the only thing keeping his body upright in the ring, pushing him beyond what he thought possible.
Everything wrapped in a kind of spell.
When it ended, it did abruptly: the referee stepping in, the noise rushing back, the crowd roaring his name.
He didn’t stay.
“JAEKYUNG! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”
He paused just long enough to turn his head slightly.
“I’m leaving.”
“WHAT? But-!”
“I don’t want to stay,” he cut him off. “I have to get back to the hospital.”
His coach watched him for a few seconds more, assessing him. But then his expression shifted, as if he understood something Jaekyung himself hadn’t quite sorted out yet.
“…Alright,” he relented at last. “Go on. I’ll take care of everything here.”
Jaekyung nodded.
And he left.
He returned to the present with a deep inhale.
His fingers tightened more firmly around Dan’s hand, this time consciously, almost like a belated check.
Time had passed.
He didn’t know how much.
The beeping was still there. The uneven breathing, too. And that stillness that was beginning to feel like too much.
Until he felt it. The hand that he held slowly returned his embrace.
Jaekyung reacted immediately.
“Dan…?”
The breathing changed, becoming shallower, faster. His eyelids trembled slightly before opening slowly, as if it took effort to keep them up. His eyes took a moment to focus, lost and disoriented.
He was paler than Jaekyung remembered.
Jaekyung leaned over him, glancing at the monitors out of the corner of his eye.
“Easy,” he said, adjusting his tone. “Don’t be scared.”
Dan looked at him confused and tried to speak.
Jaekyung shook his head.
“Don’t talk yet.”
Even so, he insisted.
“W… wha… what… happened…?”
His voice was barely a thread, rough and hoarse.
“You had surgery,” he said. “It went well. You were asleep for quite a while… but it’s over now. You’re here.”
He adjusted the oxygen mask carefully.
“Breathe slowly. Don’t strain yourself.”
Dan’s gaze dropped to their hands.
Jaekyung followed it.
He hesitated for just a second.
“Ah… this,” he murmured, lifting his hand slightly. “It’s nothing. I didn’t have time to take care of it.”
It wasn’t exactly an excuse, but it wasn’t the whole explanation either.
Dan held his gaze for a few seconds longer.
Jaekyung understood the question.
“Yeah,” he added. “I won.”
He didn’t have to say much more.
Dan closed his eyes for a moment and a faint smile appeared on his face.
“C… congra…tulations…” Dan murmured, with effort.
Jaekyung let out a breath.
“Thanks.”
The silence that settled afterward was awkward.
Jaekyung swallowed slowly. He could feel it clearly: that need to explain things to him, to not let the chance pass again.
“Dan…”
He took a moment-not for lack of words, but because this time he wanted to say it right.
He ran a hand through his hair, nervous.
“I… for a long time, I thought I knew what I wanted.”
He glanced away briefly.
“My whole life revolved around the same thing. Fighting. Winning. Making a place for myself. Because if I didn’t… I was nobody.”
The words came out without emphasis, almost like a statement of fact.
“Everything I was in my past…” he went on, “was something I wanted to leave behind. So I kept going. One match after the other… until I stopped thinking about anything else.”
His fingers tightened slightly around Dan’s hand.
“I never thought about living or what came after.”
The silence absorbed the words.
“And then you showed up.”
He shook his head faintly, correcting himself.
“But nothing changed at first. I dragged you into the same thing. I made you part of it. Of something that was useful to me.”
He frowned, this time at himself.
“I used you.”
He didn’t soften the word.
“I knew it was wrong. I knew there were things that had no justification… and I did them anyway.”
His gaze didn’t waver.
“Thinking only about myself. Never caring about what you wanted.”
He stopped.
“No…” he corrected. “It’s not that I didn’t care about you. It’s that I acted like I didn’t. Like if I didn’t want you to stay… when in reality there was nothing I wanted more.”
Dan was looking at him differently now—something between pain and understanding moving in his eyes.
“And even then, I pushed you to leave. Like you were replaceable. And you’re not.”
Jaekyung’s shoulders tensed.
“Not long ago… I realized something.”
He cleared his throat.
“That I didn’t just want to win… I wanted to live.”
The air hung between them.
“And I want to do that with you. I want to stay with you without there being a match waiting for us after, without having to prove anything.”
Silence filled the room again.
“I’m sorry.”
The word came out rougher than he intended.
“I’m so sorry… for everything. And for not telling you sooner that I didn’t want you to leave.”
He lifted his chin slightly.
“Because I don’t. Not now. Not later. Not ever. If you’ll let me… I want to be with you. Spend the rest of Christmas by your side, the birthdays, the holidays… everything that exists on the calendar. I want to make up for everything I did wrong. Show you… and show myself that I can do it right this time.”
He paused.
“Only if you’ll let me. If you give me a chance.”
Dan took a moment to respond.
His breathing faltered for a second before evening out again. Then, with an unsteady motion, he tried to move aside the oxygen mask. Jaekyung helped him without a word.
“Since I… started working with you…” he began, settling his breath.
He paused longer than necessary.
A ray of sunlight suddenly filtered through the window, cutting across the room and falling over the bed, lighting his face.
“I knew that… nothing would be the same.”
His voice was still weak, but steady.
“I came for other reasons… yeah.”
He downplayed it with a gesture.
“But I stayed…”
He paused again, searching for the words.
Jaekyung was certain that even if the world had collapsed at that moment, he wouldn’t have been able to move from where he stood.
“Because it mattered to me. Because you… mattered to me. At first, it wasn’t easy…”
He breathed carefully.
“But then… every time you won… I felt proud.”
He smiled softly.
“Of you… and of me.”
His eyes closed for a moment.
Silence returned, sustained by the uneven breathing.
“And after… what happened between us…”
There was no need to explain it. Just thinking about it was enough to make it feel as though something sharp were dragging along his ribs—a memory that still hurt too much to mention again.
“It was hard. But when you came back… you weren’t the same.”
His expression softened.
“And neither was I.”
He shifted slightly, with effort.
“I had never… felt like this.”
Dan squeezed his hand more tightly this time, and the gesture made him feel as though he had suddenly swallowed a swarm of bees.
“There’s nothing… left to forgive.”
He said it without hesitation.
“I just… want to see you do it. To tell to the world…”
A beautiful smile lit up his pale face.
“That you won… that what you fought so hard for… is finally yours. And I want to be there… to see it.”
Jaekyung squeezed his eyes shut, as if he needed to hold those words inside him before they could fade. They hit him hard, cutting through him without leaving any room to avoid them.
He rested his forehead gently against Dan’s, measuring the gesture as if even that minimal contact could hurt him.
There was something overwhelming in everything he was feeling-a mix too intense of relief, fear, and something else he couldn’t quite identify.
“I promise” he murmured. “I’ll do it. I’m going to do all I can… so you’ll be there. Front row. Always.”
From that closeness, he could see Dan’s eyes filling with tears of joy.
When he lifted his hand with difficulty and Jaekyung helped him to guide it to his face. His cold fingers brushed his cheek.
The gesture was so slight, and yet he felt it with disproportionate intensity, as if it unsettled everything inside him. Relief, an almost disbelieving happiness, and a lingering fear that hadn’t fully disappeared… all building too fast.
It’s not impossible. I can still fix this. I can still make things right.
He pulled back just enough to see him better.
He didn’t break the closeness.
Neither of them seemed in a hurry to.
And then Dan spoke.
“So…” he murmured, his voice still rough, “have you ever… thought about getting a dog?”
Jaekyung didn’t hesitate.
“Whatever you want.”
The answer came out more serious than he intended.
Dan let out a broken laugh, which turned into a faint grimace of pain before fading.
Even so, he looked at him again with the same warm expression.
And for a moment, everything seemed to fall into place.
Dan seemed to settle more comfortably against the pillow, his body more relaxed than before.
“How… was it?” Dan finally murmured. “The match…”
His voice was hoarse and unsteady.
“It was good,” he said, shrugging slightly.
Jaekyung helped him adjust the oxygen mask again.
“When we get out of here…” he added, calmer now, “I’ll show you the recordings. I’ll tell you all the details.”
Dan nodded.
“And… the team…?” he insisted, the question coming out slower. “Did they say anything… about how to celebrate?”
Jaekyung hesitated for a second and flushed slightly.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I didn’t stay.”
Dan gave him a soft smile.
“Could we… eat something… very much off your diet… when we get out of here…?”
Jaekyung laughed.
“Of course,” he replied. “Whatever you want. We’ll find the worst possible thing.”
Dan didn’t answer.
Jaekyung was about to say something else when he felt the vibration in his pocket. He pulled out his phone without letting go of his hand.
His coach had sent him a message.
“We’re on our way. They told us he woke up.”
“The team is on their way,” he said, turning his attention back. “They want to see you.”
And that was when he noticed.
“…Dan?”
His eyes were still open, but something in them had changed. They weren’t completely absent, but they weren’t focused like before either. As if his processing had slowed, as if each stimulus took an extra second to register.
Jaekyung frowned slightly.
“Hey…”
He placed a hand under his chin.
“Do you feel okay?”
Dan reacted, but the movement was minimal. His eyelids fluttered faintly, and his fingers tensed in a strange way.
A grimace crossed his face.
“Does something hurt?” Jaekyung asked, more alert now.
Dan tried to speak, but only a small, pained sound came out.
Suddenly, the monitor beside him shrieked, signaling that something was wrong.
“…No.”
The grimace deepened. His breathing grew shorter. His fingers, which had been holding onto his, began to loosen gradually.
“Dan.”
There was no response.
Suddenly, Dan let out a low cry and squeezed his eyes shut, bringing both hands to his chest, pressing directly over the wound.
The monitor’s pattern worsened.
Jaekyung reached with his hand toward the panel beside the bed and hit the emergency button with blinding speed.
The alarm went off immediately.
“SOMEONE!” he shouted. “HELP!”
The alarm had barely begun to sound when the door burst open, and within seconds the room filled with doctors and nurses.
Orders started flying back and forth, while multiple hands worked on Dan at once: one stabilized his head, another partially removed the mask to assess his airway, a nurse adjusted the oxygen flow while someone else pressed firmly against the left side of his torso.
Jaekyung barely had time to react before he felt a firm hand on his shoulder forcing him back.
“You need to step out.”
He took a step back.
But he didn’t look away.
“What’s happening…?”
No one answered.
The movement around the bed intensified. One of the doctors tilted Dan’s body slightly to one side while another checked the monitors, and a third worked quickly on the IV line. There was coordination, but also urgency. That wasn’t the same rhythm as before.
“Saturation dropping.”
“Blood pressure falling.”
“I detect internal bleeding.”
Jaekyung felt as if something in his heart splintered.
“Is he going to be okay?” he insisted, louder now, stepping forward. “Is he?”
No one looked at him.
He tried to get closer. This time they stopped him more firmly, grabbing him by the arm.
“Sir, you need to step out now.”
“No!” he snapped immediately. “Let me-!”
He pulled free just enough to try to move forward again, but he didn’t get far.
Things kept escalating.
“Left lung compromised!”
“Prepare a drain!”
“No time-do it now.”
The monitor no longer followed a stable pattern; the lines rose and fell erratically, marking an irregular rhythm that didn’t match what he had seen minutes ago.
“What’s happening?” he repeated, his voice breaking. “Tell me what’s happening!”
He tried to break free again, harder this time, more desperate, completely out of sync with the order that dominated the room.
“Let me through! I need to see him!”
Two of them held him back.
But the doctors' movements didn’t stop, and something had changed. There was no longer any response from Dan. No clumsy attempt to move, no tension like before. Just a body no longer keeping up with what was happening around it.
“He’s crashing-fast.”
“Bring another machine!”
“No response.”
The words began to overlap.
Jaekyung kept watching, but he wasn’t processing it clearly anymore.
“No…”
The word barely came out.
He tried to move forward again.
He couldn’t.
“DAN!” he shouted, his voice breaking. “DAN, WAIT! PLEASE!”
Dan didn’t say anything back. And that was what finally unraveled him.
Because just minutes ago… He had been conscious, he had spoken, smiled.
And now he wasn’t.
Now his body wasn’t responding.
As if he were slowly falling asleep, as if everything else kept moving without him.
“No…” he repeated, shaking his head. “Please no… I HAVE PROMISES TO KEEP, DAN! PLEASE!”
He tried to break free again.
That was when he felt someone reach him from behind.
His coach arrived first, followed by team members, surrounding him.
“JAEKYUNG -listen to me-we need to-”
“NO!” he snapped immediately, struggling. “Let me go!”
He tried to wrench himself free again, more violently this time.
He couldn’t understand what they were saying.
“Calm down!” he insisted, louder now, gripping his shoulders. “You can’t be here!”
“I have to go!” he choked out, completely overwhelmed. “I have to tell him!”
Everything else blurred.
“I haven’t told him yet!” he shouted, breaking apart. “I haven’t…!”
He tried again, just to move a little closer. Just to reach him.
“No…” he whispered, barely audible. “he can’t… he can’t go like this…”
Then the monitor changed.
The sound was different. No longer irregular. No longer unstable.
But continuous, flat.
Jaekyung froze.
His gaze remained fixed, searching for a reaction that didn’t come.
“Why…?”
The sound didn’t change.
It didn’t come back.
Something inside him gave way.
He took a step forward—but his coach stopped him.
“No… no…” he shook his head, struggling to breathe. “let me go, I have to-”
The sentence fell apart.
He lunged forward again, clumsy, as if his own body no longer matched the urgency.
“I have to tell him…” he repeated, his voice breaking.
His coach tightened his grip, holding him as his legs began to fail.
“Jaekyung…”
“Let me go!” he burst out. “I didn’t tell him!” he shouted, completely shattered. “I couldn’t tell him…!”
The rest of the team stood a few steps away, silent. One of them covered his face and another looked away, jaw clenched.
Jaekyung stopped resisting all at once.
His hands trembled, clutching his coach’s clothes like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
“NOOO!”
The scream tore out of him, ripped from deep in his soul.
“DAN! I DIDN’T HAVE TIME, DAN! I COULDN’T...!”
His words broke something in the room.
“I LOVE YOU!”
The confession came too late.
“I LOVE YOU, DAN!” he cried again, completely undone. “I LOVE YOU!”
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Only that sound… constant, relentless… filling everything.
The sobbing came without warning-violent, disordered-shattering his breathing with every attempt to inhale.
His coach didn’t let go. He held him there, as everything else seemed to stop around them.
Jaekyung didn’t try to break free anymore.
He didn’t try to move again, because there was nowhere left to go back to.
He stayed there, drained of strength, barely held up by the others.
His heart breaking with every cry torn from the depths of his chest.
And that sound…
Repeating.
Unstopping.