Jongdae would have already driven Chanyeol home, if Chanyeol hadn’t cried his eyes out for over an hour, spilling everything to Jongdae from the first time he had met Kyungsoo up to that moment of Kyungsoo collapsing at the hill in Han River.

“I couldn’t do anything,” Chanyeol sobbed. “Kyungsoo dropped to the ground and fell unconscious, and I couldn’t ing do a thing, Jongdae-yah! My brain just stopped working, as soon as I saw the scar on his chest! He had a heart transplant last year!”

Jongdae gasped. “W-What?”

“I have no clue about what was wrong with his heart, or how long he had been sick, but I wish I knew! I wish I knew he had a condition, because I wouldn’t have done anything to put him in danger! He’s my...” Chanyeol paused, not sure if he was ready to tell Jongdae that he was already falling for Kyungsoo. He couldn’t take it if Jongdae turned against him now and judged him too. “He’s my friend. I care about him!”

“I know, Chanyeol-rah,” Jongdae soothed, rubbing Chanyeol’s back repeatedly. “I know.” Jongdae glanced at the hospital building, couldn’t help wishing he could go up there and ask how Kyungsoo was doing, if he would be able to visit...

Was that why Kyungsoo had moved away from Ilsan all those years ago? Because he had a heart ailment? And a severe one, for him to undergo a heart transplant?  Jongdae remembered Kyungsoo was never one to play sports after choir practice, because he had been a little overweight as an adolescent, but would enjoy joining the other choir members eating street food such as tteokbokki and fish cakes and would eat plenty of it too.

“C’mon, I’ll drive you home,” Jongdae sighed sadly, helping his much taller friend out of the driver’s seat. He grunted as he tried to support Chanyeol’s weight, as both of them staggered, with Chanyeol’s legs hardly working towards the excruciating ten steps towards the passenger seat. “Araseo, we’re almost there.”

Jongdae opened the passenger door, and Chanyeol helplessly plopped on the seat. Jongdae even helped him with his seatbelt, since Chanyeol was still clutching an old leather journal in his chest, as he silently cried.

Jongdae then got into the driver’s side and started the engine when Chanyeol whispered, “I don’t want to go home.”

Jongdae clucked his tongue, suddenly irritated. “No, we’re not drinking tonight, Chanyeol-rah. Look at the state of you! Kyungsoo is up there, who knows what has happened to him, and you think drinking will make you—or him—feel better?!”

Chanyeol’s lower lip trembled as more tears overwhelmed him. He couldn’t blame Jongdae for thinking he would drink at a time like this because that was what he did when he first learned that Jiwon died... And he had stayed drunk for days and the pain didn’t even numb him one bit. “Aniya, I didn’t mean... I know Kyungsoo has suffered enough! He might even die!” He shook his head as he closed his eyes. “I just... I can’t go home, and have my mother and my sister see me like this. I’ll just... Can you drive me to a hotel or something? I can’t... I don’t want to see anyone right now... I have to... I have to think.”

Jongdae suddenly regretted his rather insensitive outburst, squeezing Chanyeol’s shoulder. “M-Mianhae. Don’t stay in a hotel tonight. Sleep over at my house. I’ll give Yoora noona a call later to tell her, okay?”

Chanyeol nodded instantly, tears streaming down his cheeks still. He didn’t want to be alone tonight, because he didn’t know what he would do if he was... He was afraid... he would hurt himself.

Jongdae patted his friend’s hair gently a couple of times before proceeding to drive. Thankfully, his house was only about a 15-minute drive from the hospital and Chanyeol had somewhat calmed down by then.

Chanyeol sniffed, holding Kyungsoo’s/Jiwon’s journal tightly, as he slipped off his sneakers, entering Jongdae’s humble home when they were greeted by Mrs. Kim in the living room.
 

Jongdae kissed his mother on the cheek, who appeared surprised upon seeing a familiar face after such a long time. “Omo!  Is that you, Chanyeol-rah? When have you moved back from Los Angeles?” Mrs. Kim blurted out, gasping, as she opened up her arms automatically and Chanyeol gratefully hugged the woman back. “You’re so grown up!”

“I’ve only been in Seoul for a couple of months, Mrs. Kim.” Chanyeol didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at his friend’s mother’s loving hug. “It’s so good to see you again, ahjumonie.”

Mrs. Kim pulled back, a soft smile on her face. “Goodness, how tall are you now?”

Jongdae tried to make a joke. “He’s not that tall, Omma. We’re just way shorter than he is.”

Mrs. Kim playfully slapped her son at the arm and turned back her attention to the Park heir, her happy expression suddenly changing to one of worry. “What happened with that?” She gently touched a dark purple bruise on Chanyeol’s cheek, which caused the young man to wince. And then she noticed the young man’s puffy, reddened eyes. “Gwaenchanah? Were you crying?”

“Um, I’m... I’m okay, Mrs. Kim, really,” Chanyeol lied, his heart hurting for inconveniencing Jongdae and his mother like that. “Um... I smacked my face into a door earlier and it hurt like ...” Then he clamped his hand over his mouth, instantly sorry to be cursing in front of Jongdae’s mother. “Joseong-haeyo.”

Jongdae laughed nervously, suddenly retrieving the family’s medicine kit. “You know how clumsy Chanyeol-rah could be, Omma.” He suddenly ushered his friend into his bedroom. “Anyway, it’s late and we’ll be turning in.”

Mrs. Kim looked stunned. “Wait... do you boys want something to eat? Have you had dinner?”

As if on cue, Chanyeol’s stomach made its presence known by growling notoriously. It was almost 11 in the evening and the last thing he had ingested was the bento set his own mother had bought for the soup kitchen crew for lunch.

Mrs. Kim then set the table for the two young men, with several banchan composing of vegetables, kimchi and seaweed and steamed fish with ginger and soy sauce and plenty of rice. Since it was almost midnight, Mrs. Kim bid them goodnight, kissing her son on the forehead and then fondly ruffling Chanyeol’s messy mop of hair, which only made Chanyeol want to cry even more.

Jongdae sighed as he watched his mother enter his parents’ bedroom. “Sorry, Appa is already sleeping.” He urged Chanyeol to eat, as he noticed his friend was looking at the food longingly.

Chanyeol slowly scooped a spoonful of rice and chewed on it painstakingly, as he tried not to weep at the sting of the antiseptic that Jongdae was treating his wound with.

“Did Kyungsoo’s mother hit you really hard?” Jongdae asked, putting a plaster gently over the blue and black patch of skin.

“I deserved it,” Chanyeol softly conceded, gulping some water so he could swallow the food down