Ima | Lee Jihoon |Seventeen

1

warehouse creaked like a tired soul, its walls scarred with rust and time. Outside, the wind mourned the dead, carrying the hollow echo of lives lost too soon. Inside, Jihoon’s voice hummed a melody—soft, alThemost fragile, as though he feared even sound could break what little we had left.

“Do you think the sky remembers the color of sunlight?” I asked, staring at the cracks in the ceiling.

Jihoon’s fingers paused on the strings of the broken guitar. “Maybe,” he said after a moment. “But I think it’s tired of pretending.”

His words sank into me like a stone dropped into deep water, rippling through the silence. He didn’t look at me, but his shoulders sagged under the weight of truths he didn’t know how to share.

---

Days blended into nights, each one shorter than the last. The flickering candle between us burned down to its stub, just like the fire in our hearts.

“You’re quieter today,” I murmured, watching him wrap his hand around the metal pipe we’d named ‘hope’—because that’s all it ever was.

“I’ve run out of words worth saying,” he replied, not looking at me. “They all feel like lies now.”

I reached for him, my fingers brushing against his. “Then lie to me, Jihoon. Tell me we’ll make it. Tell me this isn’t the end.”

He flinched, pulling his hand away like my touch burned. “You deserve a truth I can’t give you.”

❄️

The joy of tomorrow's encounters after today's journey
This whole feeling is so lovely