After two days of driving with barely any rest, Seojun went straight to the hospital without even going home.
His clothes were wrinkled, his eyes tired and red, but he didn't care.
The moment he entered the hospital building, the usual sharp smell of disinfectant and the quiet echo of footsteps in the corridor made his chest tighten.
He walked quickly to the intensive care floor, his steps growing faster without realizing it.
When he saw his mother sitting outside the room, he almost didn't recognize her. She looked exhausted, her hair messy, her eyes swollen from crying.
The moment she saw him, she stood up quickly.
"Seojun…" she whispered, and before she could say anything else, he hugged her tightly.
"I came as fast as I could," he said. "How is he?"
She shook her head slowly, her eyes filling with tears again. "He's still unconscious. The doctors said the head injury was serious. They don't know when he will wake up."
For a moment, Seojun said nothing. He had always known his father as someone unshakable—someone who filled a room just by standing in it.
Seeing him like this… it didn't feel real.
He stepped closer and looked through the glass window into the room.
His father lay on the hospital bed, motionless, machines surrounding him, a monitor beeping steadily.
Tubes and wires ran across his body, and the man who had always seemed so strong now looked fragile and small.
Seojun pressed his hand lightly against the glass, his jaw tightening.
"…He'll wake up," he said, almost under his breath. "He has to."
His mother wiped her tears.
"It was a bad car accident… really bad."
Seojun's expression hardened. "The driver…?"
"He's alive," she said softly. "He came here to apologize. He said he didn't see the light change… he kept saying it was his fault."
Seojun didn't answer. His hands slowly clenched into fists.
A few days later, Seojun saw the man in the hospital corridor.
He was standing near the nurses' station, asking quietly about his father, his voice unsteady, his posture tense with guilt.
Seojun recognized him immediately from what his mother had described, but he didn't approach him right away.
For a moment, he just watched.
The man turned and noticed him. His face stiffened, and he gave a small, nervous bow before quickly looking down.
Later, near his father's room, the man approached him hesitantly.
"I'm very sorry about your father… I didn't see the red light. I tried to brake, but it was too late. I'm really sorry…"
Before he could finish, Seojun grabbed his shirt collar and pushed him slightly against the wall.
"Sorry?" Seojun said coldly, his voice low but trembling with anger. "If something happens to my father, your apology won't fix anything."
The man looked terrified. "I know… it's my fault. I didn't mean for this to happen. It was an accident—".
"Then why are you apologizing to me now?" Seojun cut him off sharply. "I saw you earlier. I didn't come to you because I don't even know what I'm supposed to feel right now."
A nurse quickly approached them. "Sirs, please! Keep your voices down. This is a hospital."
Seojun held the man's collar for a second longer, his grip tightening, before slowly letting go.
"Pray that he wakes up," he said quietly. "Because if he doesn't… I won't be able to forgive you."
For a moment, it sounded like there was something more he wanted to say—but he stopped himself.
He turned and walked away, his hands still shaking, the anger in his chest mixing with something heavier he couldn't push away.
That night, Seojun left the hospital and went home, after making sure his mother had finally gone to rest.
With him there, she seemed a little calmer, no longer completely alone.
The house felt too quiet when he stepped inside. No lights except the faint glow from the hallway.
No sound of his father's voice, no movement, no presence.
Slowly, he walked to his room.
He grabbed a change of clothes without really looking, then went to the bathroom.
The warm water from the shower ran over him, but it didn't ease the tightness in his chest. His mind felt blank.
When he finished, he stood in front of the mirror, drying his hair slowly with a towel. His movements were automatic, distant.
Then he walked back into his room.
He sat down on the edge of the bed.
And for the first time since he arrived… he stopped moving.
The image of his father lying motionless in the hospital bed came back all at once. The machines. The stillness. The uncertainty.
His grip tightened on the towel in his hands.
"…Dad…" he whispered, his voice breaking slightly.
He lowered his head, trying to steady his breathing.
Please wake up.
But the thought didn't hold.
His shoulders tensed, and he pressed a hand over his eyes, as if he could stop it—but the tears came anyway.
Quiet at first.
Then heavier.
He bent forward slightly, elbows on his knees, the towel slipping from his hands as he tried to hold himself together.
"I'm here…" he muttered under his breath. "So… don't leave…".
His voice broke completely.
The room stayed still around him as he cried—soft, restrained, but real—everything he had been holding back since the moment he got that call finally breaking through.
And in that moment, with fear for his father filling his chest.
He forgot everything else.