Through the small bathroom window, he saw flurries of white falling from the sky.

The first snow in Seoul...

The tiny blossoms fall around him as he shivers, haphazardly dressed in only jeans and a t-shirt. The fluffy white snow no longer caresses his skin gently before melting; the cold ice bites and pinches before streaking down his face like bitter tears. His hands and feet are beginning to numb, and each breath saturates the air before him with mist. He gazes out over Seoul, a city bright with harsh lights and and cloaked in the cold, black night. Dropping his head down and leaning against the frosty railing, his gaze drifts aimlessly down the empty street below until it stops on a small group comprised of a middle-aged woman, a man around the same age, and two teenage boys.

As he watches, the woman gestures frantically as she says something to the taller of the two boys. Her face is distorted in anger, and her red-painted lips are pulled down in an ugly frown. In response, the boy grasps her hand in both of his, bowing his head and dropping to his knees. However, the woman slaps him across the face viciously and wrenches herself away from him. The middle-aged man does not hesitate to kick the boy and then follows the woman, but not before throwing a sneer in the direction of the second boy.

He can see the boy’s shoulders shaking from his vantage point on the roof; he wants to go comfort him. Immediately after the thought crosses his mind, the shorter boy runs to the other and drops to his knees beside him, embracing him tenderly. They cling to each other with the same desperation he remembers clinging to his leader, then the other members earlier. Holding on as if the other will disappear the second he lets go.

The second boy lays a hand on his companion’s cheek, leans in, and kisses him gently. He pulls him off the ground and into his arms again, leading him away from their unseen spectator and away from the towering building of the hospital.

He watches them enviously, wishing he had somebody to comfort him as he waited for his Sunggyu-hyung to wake up if he ever did. A hand lands on his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. The man beside him murmurs, “Don’t make that face. I know what you’re thinking, but he is going to be okay. The doctors said so.”

Sighing, he gives the other a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and the two make eye contact.

It’s our fault, hyung.

The unspoken words hang in the air, and the feelings of self-reproach grow stronger.

Sungjong turns back to the street, looking away.

It’s our fault, Dongwoo-hyung. He always had time for us, but we were never there to listen to his troubles. Why did we take him so much for granted?

It wasn’t his fault he overdosed just like how it wasn’t the pills that almost killed him... We are to blame. It was Infinite. It was us.

Thank you all soo much for reading, subscribing, and commenting. I wasn't expecting much when I started this story as a sequel, so thank you again. I'll do my best not to disappoint and to update, but I hope you'll be understanding since I have a lot of schoolwork.