Chapter 11: Lost Things Still Breathe
The city felt louder without him.
Every horn, every distant shout, every flicker of neon made YoungBok flinch.
The streets were a blur of strangers and noise, but none of them were him.
“Maybe he just needs space,” Chris said quietly beside him, glancing at his phone again.
“He left his necklace,” YoungBok muttered, jaw tight. “He never takes that off. Not even in his sleep.”
Chris didn’t argue. He knew what that meant.
The car rolled to a stop outside the river walk — the same place Hyunjin had once taken Sherri when they’d snuck away between shoots.
The place where he’d laughed with his whole chest and dragged YoungBok onto the rocks just to watch the water.
Now it was empty.
Just a few couples.
A cyclist.
A man playing soft saxophone under a bridge.
No Hyunjin.
YoungBok stared for a moment, then turned and walked.
Not waiting for Chris.
Not listening to reason.
He checked the train stations next.
He was gone.
They were both gone.
And it was all his fault.
---
The bell above the café door jingled, and Sherri didn’t look up.
“Take-out or to stay?” she asked, fingers trembling slightly as she punched buttons into the machine.
“To stay,” a woman answered.
She nodded, barely glancing up, pasting on a tired smile.
Every day was the same. Open. Serve. Clean. Close.
Go home to the too-quiet apartment and fall asleep fully clothed.
It was supposed to be peace.
But she felt like a ghost in her own skin.
At night, she thought about them.
Heard Hyunjin’s laugh echoing from memory.
Saw YoungBok’s eyes — warm, then cold, then full of fire.
And the words that broke her still lingered.
You’re stealing pieces of him.
She wasn’t supposed to.
She never meant to.
So she left.
Gave them space.
Thought it would heal something.
But the ache hadn’t left.
It had only buried itself deeper, quietly rotting through her ribs until she stopped talking to anyone.
She hadn’t said more than three sentences to another person in four days.
---
YoungBok
He found Hyunjin’s hoodie two blocks from the last venue.
Folded neatly. Forgotten.
His heart dropped.
He asked the attendant, “Did someone leave this here?”
The woman barely glanced up. “Some guy came last nights. Sat on the bench for like three hours. Just sat there. Then left.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Nope. Just looked tired.”
YoungBok nodded and picked up the hoodie.
It still smelled like him.
He held it tight to his chest and turned away, throat burning.
Back in the car, Chris handed him a bottle of water.
“You need to eat.”
“I need to find him.”
“Bok… you can’t carry this alone.”
YoungBok didn’t reply.
He just leaned back, eyes closed, hoodie still clutched like it might disappear if he let go.
---
The manager at the café asked her if she wanted to take a break. She shook her head.
Breaks meant thinking. Thinking meant pain.
She preferred burning her hands on coffee cups.
When her shift ended, she walked home in the cold. The streets were wet from an earlier rain, her shoes soaked through. She didn’t care.
Upstairs, she collapsed onto her mattress on the floor — no bed frame yet — and stared at the ceiling.
---
The ocean looked endless under the night sky. Moonlight spilled over the sand, silvering the waves as they rolled onto shore in quiet rhythm.
Hyunjin stood there, feet bare and buried in the cold sand, eyes blank as he watched the tide.
His shirt flapped in the wind, sleeves soaked, and fingers trembling.
The silence screamed louder than any words ever could.
Behind him, YoungBok watched from a distance. He’d come again to the beach to find him.
So he followed.
But he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. Not yet.
He stayed a few steps behind, heart thudding in pain and guilt and helplessness, until Hyunjin finally dropped to his knees, hands clenched in his hair, head bowed.
Only then did YoungBok come forward.
Still no words.
He walked up, silent and slow, and gently draped the hotel blanket around Hyunjin’s shivering frame. When Hyunjin didn’t move, didn’t speak, YoungBok knelt beside him.
Close. But not touching.
Minutes passed like hours.
Hyunjin finally whispered, broken, “I don’t know what to do?…”
YoungBok closed his eyes.
And still… said nothing.
Because there were no words that would make this hurt less.
---
The ride back to the hotel was silent.
Hyunjin leaned against the van window, head turned away, body sagging under the weight of his grief.
YoungBok kept glancing at him, fists clenched.
He had no idea how to fix this.
Not this time.
---
Meanwhile…
Sherri curled into her sofa, arms wrapped around her knees, phone resting on the coffee table in front of her — powered off.
She had already changed the number.
She needed silence.
But it didn’t stop the ache.
It didn’t stop her from staring into the darkness of her apartment and thinking of the two people she’d left behind.
Hyunjin… with his soft eyes and reckless heart.
YoungBok… with his steady hands and explosive emotions.
She had loved them both.
She still did.
And walking away had nearly killed her.
But staying… would’ve destroyed all three of them.
---
A Week Later – Seoul
The tour ended.
The applause faded.
The cheers dissolved.
And reality hit.
The boys arrived at the dorm in the early morning hours, exhausted, drained, and silent.
No one spoke in the van.
Hyunjin walked straight to the bedroom and collapsed face-first onto the bed.
He didn’t even remove his shoes.
Just curled in, on himself, like he wanted the world to disappear.
YoungBok stood in the doorway, watching.
His own bag still on his shoulder.
And his heart splitting in two.
He walked in quietly, set his bag down, and sat on the edge of the bed.
For a while, he just watched Hyunjin breathe — slow, shallow, tired.
Remove his shoe, then he slid under the covers and gently wrapped his arms around Hyunjin’s waist from behind.
Hyunjin didn’t flinch.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t even breathe differently.
But YoungBok buried his face in Hyunjin’s shoulder and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
His voice cracked.
“I thought if I could keep you close… you’d forget her. That we’d be enough. That I would be enough.”
He tightened his hold.
“I didn’t want to share you,” he confessed. “But instead… I let you break.”
Hyunjin still didn’t respond.
But YoungBok felt the faintest quiver run through his back — like the last strength holding him together was slipping.
“I’ll find her,” YoungBok promised, more to himself than to Hyunjin. “Even if she hates me… even if she never comes back. I’ll find her.”
He closed his eyes.
And held on tighter.
Chris stood in the kitchen, watching the hallway.
He’d overheard it.
Every word.
And it hit him differently than he expected.
They were all hurting — more than any of them had admitted during the tour.
And he couldn’t sit back anymore.
But he didn’t rush out the door or make dramatic calls.
No.
Chris was smarter than that.
He started reaching out quietly — to staff, to old contacts, even to people Sherri used to know. He kept it low, just a few messages at a time.
“Have you seen her?”
“Any idea where she might be?”
“Please don’t tell her I’m asking.”
It wasn’t much.
But it was a start.
He didn’t want to bring Sherri back for the work.
He wanted her to be okay.
---
Later That Night
The dorm was quiet.
Hyunjin was awake again, lying on the living room floor with his arm over his face.
The ceiling spun.
Or maybe his thoughts did.
He hadn’t cried in three days. His chest felt tight. Heavy. Like grief had taken up residence and refused to leave.
YoungBok stepped out of the kitchen and sat beside him.
Silence again.
Hyunjin finally dropped his arm and turned his head toward him. “She’s really gone.”
YoungBok swallowed. “I know.”
“I can’t find her. No number. No trace. It’s like she never existed.”
“She existed,” YoungBok said softly. “We all know that.”
Hyunjin turned his face away. “But I lost her. And now…
YoungBok waited.
“I don’t want to lose you too,” Hyunjin finished in a whisper.
Something fragile flickered in YoungBok’s eyes.
But he didn’t speak right away.
When he finally did, his voice was low. “Then stop pulling away from me.”
Hyunjin closed his eyes. “I don’t know how to be here without her.”
YoungBok’s reply was quiet, honest. “Neither do I.”
They sat there in silence — not healed, not whole — but together.
Even if only just.