When Hakyeon imagined how he would die, he always thought it would be over in a second. He was wrong.

He couldn’t feel much, not after the impact, after the sudden pain in his head, but he could still see the road, the blood spreading on the asphalt—his blood. His thoughts felt like molten lead, flowing around in his mind, making less sense with every breath he took. It hurt to breathe.

When he finally closed his eyes, a blurry image managed to break to the surface. It was of five people: his best friends, sitting in a circle and laughing, laughing about a joke Hakyeon had told them, their laughter filling him with warmth despite how cold he was.

It was a memory, it had to be a memory. It had to be true.

Hakyeon could finally fall asleep.