Chapter Text
Sunlight.
Warmth spread over Inho's face, the bright light chasing away the never-ending darkness. He was finally waking up from what felt like a long dream, but couldn't remember what the dream had been about.
His eyelids struggled to tear apart from each other, as if his lashes had been crusted over, glued shut. Then came the struggle to remember how to breathe, and his body was fighting against his will. The warm voice of comfort that had been inside his head was replaced with the mechanical beeping of a monitor, a sound that drudged up Inho's most harrowing memories.
Had he died and was finally going to Hell? Inho never thought he would deserve that fate; he thought he would at least receive fair judgment in death, if not from the living.
Inho's chest was heavy, his heartbeat a slow, unsteady and faint thrum. Something was stuck inside his mouth offering him oxygen, and Inho wanted to rip it out to gulp in the air around him but his body was paralyzed. Once his brain caught up to his physical form, Inho took in slow breaths to try and calm himself. He reminded himself that he could still breathe, both through whatever apparatus was helping him and through his nose as well. The monitor was a steady beat and instead of trying to block it out, he used it as a rhythm to count time, to know he wasn't just floating in an abyss.
He was able to wiggle his fingers and toes, and soon realized there was something attached to his hand. His thumb traced over it, and he was glad to at least feel something tangible, now that the sunlight had gone away. Now that he could gather he was in a hospital, he knew the source of that light couldn't be what he had seen in his dreams.
His thumb found a circular piece sticking out from the remote in his hand, and he pressed it. Inho was still unable to move, yet fought against the urge to drift back into sleep, or unconsciousness. Although as reality slowly began to hit him again, he wished he had just remained asleep, feeling that sunlight.
"Mr. Hwang, your brother is here."
Inho inhaled sharply, feeling like he was experiencing the same horror all over again of hearing that heart monitor and not being able to move his body, but he came to his senses quicker this time. A wet warmth gently grazed over his eyelids, and he found he could blink them open finally. The ceiling was tilting over and over again above him, the feeling similar to waking up in the middle of the night after passing out drunk.
"Take your time, Hyung," Junho's voice said softly in the distance. "I'm here. You're okay."
Inho closed his eyes again, swallowing down the nausea and taking in deep breaths, grateful there wasn't a tube in his mouth anymore. He licked his lips, tasting recently applied vaseline, and grimaced at the dry, unpleasant taste in his mouth and throat.
"Do you want water?" Junho asked.
"What…" Inho's voice came out hoarse, and he hardly recognized the sound of it in his head. It was more like a deep vibration inside of him than a real human voice. "What happened to me?"
He could only mumble; it took too much effort to even move his lips. All of this was enough to gather that he had been in this bed, unconscious for a long period of time.
Inho opened his eyes and let his gaze flicker to his bedside where Junho sat; he couldn't really make out his features yet, but Inho knew it was him. He almost thought Junho had left, or that Inho had imagined his presence, since he didn't respond. Maybe he just couldn't hear or understand him right now.
"Here, drink some water."
Junho positioned a straw against Inho's lips, and he was grateful to take a sip.
"Slowly, Mr. Hwang," a woman's voice chimed in. The doctor, Inho assumed.
Maybe this really was Hell. From what Inho had gathered, they were all already in Hell anyway.
He closed his lips around the straw and relief flooded him as he drank, although his throat stung and a deep ache within his chest followed.
"It's probably better if I sit with him alone for a bit. Is that all good?" Junho's voice sounded. The rest of the conversation was muddled while Inho drifted away from it again. He knew the doctor had likely already poked and prodded him everywhere, he was just thankful he couldn't remember it.
"When can I get out of here?" Inho asked in a monotone voice.
Junho sighed. "Not sure. When I woke up from my coma, I stayed in the hospital for a few weeks, it was a long recovery process."
Inho furrowed his brow, managing to tilt his head ever so slightly to get a better look at Junho. He saw the way Junho's face dropped a little, and his gaze wavered, lips parting as if he was struggling to search for words.
Inho didn't remember Junho ever being in a coma.
Junho looked like himself, although he had a dusting of stubble over his upper lip when he remembered Junho always being clean shaven, hardly ever growing much facial hair between shaves, just like Inho. He had more visible lines of aging on his face, the youthful fullness of his cheeks gone; his features were a little sharper. He still wore the same ensemble of simple clothing as usual.
Inho was beginning to worry about how long he had actually been unconscious.
"But you remember me, right?" Junho asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Inho blinked at him, trying to discern if he was joking or not. But he looked desperate for an answer, his brow quivering.
"Of course. You're my brother."
Junho's shoulders lowered in a breath of relief.
"Will you help me sit up?" Inho asked after a short silence; laying back like this made him feel panicked and caged more than relaxed.
Junho muttered out a tiny 'sure' and pressed the control for the bed to raise Inho into a slightly upward position, and helped adjust his pillows.
"I'm not paralyzed, am I?" Inho remarked more harshly than he meant. "I'd appreciate an explanation. I can't remember what happened to me. I don't know how long I've been asleep."
He managed to finally lift his arms and looked down at his hands, the call button still taped to one of them, and an IV drip attached to his forearm.
"You're not paralyzed."
The ache in his chest came back again; Inho managed to bring his left hand to the spot that hurt, just to the left of his heart. There was a tender spot there under the fabric of the hospital gown.
"Careful," Junho blurted, reaching for Inho's hand but stopping himself. He reeled back and ran his hands over his thighs, breathing out.
"Junho," Inho spoke low. "Answer my questions."
His brother scrubbed at his face with his hands before lowering them to his knees again; Inho glanced at the ticking clock on the wall ahead to see it was not yet 5AM. No wonder he looked so weathered and exhausted.
"What do you remember?"
Inho clenched his jaw in frustration, but was too weak to argue or demand his answers first. His stomach lurched unpleasantly.
Now that he was faced with recalling what he remembered about himself and his life, he realized how much of a blur it all seemed to be, especially the last year.
"She's really gone, isn't she." Inho found himself stating, as if there was still some faint thread of hope that their fates had been reversed. But if Iseul was somehow alive in this universe he had woken up in, she would be here at his bedside now.
"Who?"
"You know," Inho shot back. "Don't make me say her name right now."
"Okay," Junho breathed out. "Yes, but she passed away about ten years ago."
Inho's entire body ran cold.
"Hyung?" Junho's voice broke through Inho's sudden dissociation.
"Did I just wake up from—"
"Hyung, listen. Try to stay calm."
Inho's chest swelled, and he traced over the tender spot across his chest again. He cocked his head slightly, allowing Junho to speak.
"You've been in a coma for six months, not ten years," Junho said hurriedly. "But they said you suffered brain damage and might experience amnesia. From severe blood loss."
Inho managed to huff out a laugh. "From being stabbed in the chest? I assume it happened on the job."
Junho's eyes flashed wider for a moment, his throat bobbing. "Do you remember your job?"
The realization hit him in that moment. "Right, I was fired. I remember that."
He remembered how everyone abandoned him and left him for dead when he was doing anything he could to raise funds to help Iseul. Even their families couldn't do anything for her.
Now Inho was wondering which memories could be missing; it seemed like his worst ones were still in tact. Just his luck.
The faint memory of sunlight and a warm voice was there too, but Inho couldn't place whether that had been a coma dream or not.
"Who stabbed me, then?" Inho asked. "Who tried to kill me?"
Junho shifted uncomfortably, lowering his gaze.
"It was you. You did it to yourself."
Indifference. Inho took a moment to contemplate that, searching for a memory he couldn't place. He raised his brow ever so slightly, wondering how he managed to find the courage to actually harm himself in such a way.
Then something new came back to him, the feeling of fighting for his life. A new memory began to unlock: the games.
The games he played for money to save Iseul, the people he killed to win. By stabbing them to death. Maybe driving a knife into his chest did make sense.
"I found you bleeding out in your apartment," Junho continued. Inho inhaled sharply, once again forgetting his surroundings and that Junho was even there. "Thank god you missed your heart, but I really didn't think you'd ever wake up."
His voice broke a little as he struggled not to cry. Inho just stared ahead at the wall. He knew where to stab someone to kill them effectively. Maybe he had harmed himself with the faint hope that someone would save him.
It was a punishment for all he had done, and a cowardly escape. Maybe there weren't any happy memories for him since 2015 after all.
"What time of year is it?" He asked, his voice slurred as he felt the pull of sleep again.
"It's April 2025," Junho said, and placed his hand on Inho's shoulder, gently shaking him awake. He reeled back his hand when Inho peered at him from the corner of his eye.
"Sorry, Hyung. I should let you rest. I'm just worried that if you go back to sleep, you…"
Junho trailed off with a sigh, rubbing at his eyes. "Nevermind. I'll call the doctor back in, you rest."
Inho couldn't keep his eyes open; the sound of the monitor drowned out all other noise, and the ache in his chest was subsiding for now. He tried to make sense of the fact that he couldn't remember what happened in the last ten years, that his most recent memories seemed to be of playing the games and losing Iseul.
His body and mind were still weak, and even thinking and speaking took its toll. Yet when Inho drifted off again, he found himself searching for that sunlight and warm voice again.