The vehicle stepped toward the hospital.
Once inside, the ambulance doors burst open and the medics quickly rolled the stretcher into the emergency entrance.
Hospital staff were already waiting with a bed.
One of the ambulance medics walked beside them and spoke quickly to the hospital team.
"Male, early twenties. Found with multiple weapon wounds. Significant blood loss before rescue. Pulse unstable, body temperature dangerously low. Wounds are deep and already infected. We stabilized him, gave fluids, and controlled the bleeding as much as possible. No confirmation yet on internal organ damage."
Seojun's stomach clenched. He followed closely, listening to every word, his heart hammering.
The hospital nurse nodded immediately. "Understood. We'll take over."
The hospital team quickly transferred him from the stretcher to a hospital bed and rushed him inside.
The ambulance medic stopped there, watching for a moment as they disappeared through the double doors, then turned and left, his job done.
Seojun followed the hospital staff as they rushed the bed down the corridor toward the operation room.
The wheels rattled loudly over the tiles, nurses moving quickly on both sides, giving short instructions to each other.
He tried to keep up, his heart pounding, eyes fixed on the motionless figure on the bed.
When they reached the operation block, the doors swung open and the staff pushed the bed inside without stopping.
A nurse turned to him quickly.
"You'll have to wait here."
Before he could say anything else, the doors closed in front of him with a heavy sound.
Seojun stood there, frozen, staring at the closed doors as if he could see through them.
Only now, standing still, he realized how exhausted he was — and how scared.
After a few minutes, a nurse approached him gently.
"Sir, could you please come with me to the reception? We need some information."
He blinked, as if coming back to reality, then nodded.
"…Yes. Okay."
He followed her down the hallway to the reception area. The hospital was small, quiet, and a little old.
The lights were bright but the walls were plain, the furniture simple. It was nothing like the large, modern hospitals he was used to in the big cities.
At the desk, the nurse handed him several forms.
"Please fill these. We need patient information, admission forms, and payment for the emergency surgery."
Seojun took the papers and started filling them quickly. Name — he hesitated for a second, then wrote Unknown, the name he had given him. Unknown family name. Unknown address. Found at sea. Emergency admission.
His mind wasn't on the papers.
It was behind the operation room doors.
What are they doing now?
Is he still alive?
Did they stop the bleeding?
Did I bring him too late?
"Sir, the payment can be done here," the receptionist said softly.
He nodded, took out his card, and paid without even looking at the amount.
After finishing the papers, he handed everything back.
"Do you need anything else from me?" he asked.
The nurse checked the papers and gave a small reassuring smile.
"No, that's all for now. Thank you. If the doctors need anything, we'll call you."
He nodded quietly and turned back toward the corridor.
Hours passed.
Seojun stood near the operation block, watching staff move in and out.
Every time the doors opened, he looked up sharply, hope and fear tightening his chest.
"…Can he not survive…?" he whispered.
He stopped a passing nurse.
"Is he… is he okay?"
The nurse barely slowed. "We almost lost him," she said quickly before hurrying away.
Seojun froze.
"Almost…?" he whispered, running a hand through his hair. "What does that mean…?"
Guilt twisted sharply inside him.
Should I have done more? Should I have brought him sooner…?
Even though he had done everything he could, the thought wouldn't leave.
Finally, the operation lights dimmed.
The door opened, and a doctor stepped out.
"Doctor, please," Seojun said quickly, stepping forward. "How is he?"
The doctor looked at him sharply. "Are you family?"
"I'm with him! I brought him here!"
The doctor gave a short nod.
"He is very badly hurt. The weapon struck close to vital organs, and the infection is severe. The wounds bled for days. He has lost a lot of blood, and his body is unusually cold and highly reactive."
Seojun's chest tightened.
"We can't tell much yet," the doctor continued calmly.
"For now, it depends on his strength and how his body responds. We will keep him under intensive care and close surveillance for the next hours. The situation is still critical."
Seojun swallowed slowly, trying to process the words.
"We've done everything we can," the doctor added. "Now we have to wait."
He then gave a small polite nod.
"Excuse me, I have other patients to attend to."
Seojun immediately stepped aside.
"Yes… of course."
The doctor walked past him and down the corridor.
Seojun remained standing there, watching him disappear at the end of the hallway, a heavy feeling settling in his chest as the reality of the situation slowly sank in.
When the staff came out of the operation room, they began pushing the bed down another corridor.
Seojun immediately followed them without saying a word.
They stopped in front of a double glass door.
The Intensive Care Unit.
As they pushed the bed inside, a nurse gently stepped in front of him.
"I'm sorry, sir. You can't enter. Only medical staff are allowed inside."
Seojun nodded quietly, taking a step back.
Through the glass walls, he could see everything.
Haejun lay motionless on the bed, surrounded by machines.
An oxygen mask covered his face, bandages wrapped around his chest and arms, tubes and wires connected to monitors that blinked with soft green lights.
The steady beeping sound filled the quiet room.
Seojun stood there for a long time, just watching, making sure the monitor kept moving, making sure the line on the screen kept beating.
"Are the monitors stable?"
"Is his heart okay?"
He asked every passing nurse.
Each answer eased him—just a little.
Only then did he finally step away.
Night fell.
Haejun remained unconscious. Stable… but fragile.
Seojun's legs ached from standing, but he refused to leave for long. He stepped out briefly.
The hospital cafeteria was small and almost empty. The smell of coffee and warm food filled the air, but he wasn't hungry.
He bought a cup of black coffee anyway, mostly for the warmth in his hands.
He returned to the ICU corridor and sat on one of the chairs near the glass wall, the coffee slowly cooling in his hands.
He looked through the glass again before taking a sip.
Then he took out his phone and called the captain.
"Hey, son. How is he?"
"Still in intensive care," Seojun said quietly. "The operation took hours… he's very weak."
"He'll be fine. Don't worry. Try to rest and eat something."
"…Yeah."
"And what are you going to do when he wakes up?"
Seojun shook his head, even though the captain couldn't see him.
"First, I need to make sure he survives. Then… I'll try to find his family."
"That's good," the captain said warmly. "I told your parents we're back. I didn't tell them everything. Just that all is fine."
"…Thank you."
"You take care, son."
"You too. Bye."
Seojun lowered the phone and leaned back against the wall, staring through the glass again.
I don't even know your name…
So you can't die.
Not before telling me who you are.
Days passed.
Haejun remained unconscious, but his condition slowly began to stabilize.
The doctor, however, started noticing something unusual. Since Seojun was the only one staying with him, he spoke to him directly.
"His body temperature is consistently lower than normal," the doctor said, glancing at the chart.
"Not dangerously low—but enough to raise concern. And… I've noticed some unusual skin reactions to certain medications."
He paused slightly, frowning. "That's not typical."
Seojun listened carefully, taking in every word, storing each detail in his mind.
Eventually, Haejun was moved to a recovery room.
He was still asleep.
One day, his eyes opened.
Only slightly.
His vision blurred, heavy, unfocused. His head felt thick, his body distant.
The air felt wrong—dry, empty.
No ocean.
No salt.
He was alone.
A nurse entered the room quietly, checking the equipment beside the bed, and glancing at the monitor.
She was writing something on the chart when she noticed a slight movement.
She looked up.
His eyes were open.
Not fully—just slightly, heavy and unfocused, as if he was still trapped somewhere between sleep and reality.
His gaze moved slowly, trying to understand again the unfamiliar ceiling, the lights, the strange smell of medicine in the air.
The nurse stepped closer, her voice gentle.
"Hi… finally you woke up," she said softly. "Do you feel better?"
Haejun didn't answer. His eyes shifted slowly toward her, half-lidded, still blurry from the medication.
He looked at her without expression, just watching, trying to understand who she was and where he was.
She paused when she saw his eyes more clearly, surprised by their color. She smiled softly, trying to sound friendly and reassuring.
"You know… you have beautiful blue eyes," she said lightly. "Do you remember what happened?"
He kept looking at her silently.
No answer.
No movement.
He stayed still beneath the blanket, only his eyes following her as she moved around the bed.
The bright lights near the equipment bothered him. His eyes narrowed slightly, uncomfortable, but he was too weak to lift his hand.
The nurse hesitated when she realized he wasn't responding at all.
She studied him for a moment, then leaned a little closer.
"Can you hear me?" she asked gently. "It's okay. The doctor will come later."
He continued to stare at her, silent, guarded, saying nothing.
After a moment, she walked to the window and pulled the curtains open so sunlight could enter the room.
Warm light slowly filled the space, falling across the bed and the white sheets.
She looked back at him once more, still unsure whether he understood her or not, then quietly finished checking the equipment before leaving the room.
Haejun remained lying there, eyes half open, staring at the sunlight, and the machines around him.
He still didn't know where he was.
After days of barely leaving the hospital, Seojun had finally gone to a small hotel nearby to shower and change.
He hadn't slept properly in days, and even a short time away made him restless.
He returned quickly.
As he reached the room, the doctor was just stepping in for a check.
"He finally woke up," the doctor said.
Seojun's eyes widened. "He did?"
The doctor gave a small nod. "You can go in."
Seojun pushed the door open without hesitation.
Inside, Haejun was already asleep again, lying still on the bed.
Seojun slowed his steps, then moved closer.
The doctor followed him in and began checking the monitors and bandages.
"The infection is under control. No fever," he said calmly.
"But his skin is still red, and his body temperature remains lower than usual."
Seojun frowned slightly. "Is it dangerous?"
"For now, no," the doctor replied. "But we need to be careful. As I mentioned before, it's not usual condition."
Seojun hesitated, then spoke, unsure.
"I think… his skin turns red when he's exposed to heat. That's what I noticed—but I'm not sure."
He paused before asking, "Can someone be allergic to sunlight… or heat?"
The doctor glanced at him thoughtfully, then walked to the window and pulled the curtains closed, dimming the room.
"We'll monitor that," he said. "It's possible."
Seojun nodded slowly, his gaze returning to the sleeping figure on the bed, his mind quietly turning over everything he had just heard.
Days turned into weeks.
Seojun watched quietly as Haejun slowly recovered. The bruises on his face had faded entirely, leaving his pale, almost fairy-like skin untouched and clear.
The small scratches were gone, and his damp hair fell lightly over his forehead, catching the light in soft strands.
There was a new calmness in his breathing, a relaxation in his shoulders he hadn't seen before. Each day, he seemed a little more himself—fragile, yet somehow resilient.
Many of the bandages were removed or reduced as the skin healed, revealing the smooth lines of his body.
But recovery brought new challenges. One day, while Haejun slept, the doctor stepped out of the room, having just checked his progress.
"When sedated, he remains calm," the doctor explained to Seojun.
"But when awake… he becomes restless. Sometimes aggressive. He struggles with his legs, or fights when nurses try to help. He doesn't respond, and tries to push people away."
Seojun's chest tightened. He watched Haejun lying there, fragile yet tense, and a pang of helplessness ran through him.
"He may have psychological issues," the doctor continued, "and he seems unable to hear properly. His mental condition should be evaluated later."
Seojun nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"I understand… Once his physical condition is stable, all wounds healed, I'll make sure he gets a proper evaluation. I'll find a good doctor to check his mental health."
The doctor gave a small, approving nod, then stepped away.
Seojun remained by the bedside, silent, lost in thought. The room felt unusually large, almost echoing in the emptiness of his worry.
He thought of Haejun— so silent, yet needing someone to protect him. The reality of the stranger's mental struggles settled heavily in his chest.
It was sad, overwhelming, and yet, somehow, he felt a fierce determination stir inside him.
He would wait. He would care. He would make sure Haejun had the help he needed, no matter how long it took.
A few days later, in his hotel room, Seojun was getting ready when his phone rang.
He stepped into the hallway and answered.
"Hello, Mom!"
At first, there was only quiet breathing on the other end. Then—
"…Seojun…"
His mother's voice, shaking, trembling with sobs.
His chest tightened. His heart sank.
"Mom? What's wrong?" His voice caught, disbelief creeping in.
"He… your father…" She struggled to speak through her tears.
The world seemed to tilt. Every sound faded, every color dimmed.
"What… what happened?" His words were tight, clipped, but his mind raced.
"He's in the hospital… unconscious…" She said: "There was… an accident…"
Seojun's hand clenched around the phone, knuckles white. His thoughts scattered, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe.
"I'm coming," he said instantly, voice low but fierce. "I'm coming right now."
"Please… come quickly…" His mother's whisper barely reached him, broken with panic.
"I will. Don't worry. I'm coming."
The call ended abruptly, leaving him standing in the hallway, frozen. His mind was spinning.
He had just spoken to them days ago, and now everything had changed in a single heartbeat.
Without thinking, he grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and dashed for the door, heart hammering with fear, worry, and urgency.