FRAGILE TRUTH | Kwon Jiyong

15

Y/n couldn't stop replaying the night at the gallery. Not just the moment she saw Jiyong — but the way he looked at her. Like he wanted to say everything, but didn't know how.

He hadn't moved on. That much was clear. But something still held him back.

And this time, she refused to be left in the dark.

She called him. Once. Twice.

He didn't answer.

So she did something she hadn't done in a year — something she promised herself she'd never do again.

She messaged Seunghyun.

Seunghyun

Hey. I know this is random. Can I ask you something about Jiyong?

The reply came faster than she expected.

Seunghyun

Hey. I know this is random. Can I ask you something about Jiyong?

Are you sure you want to know?

Her stomach flipped.

Seunghyun

Hey. I know this is random. Can I ask you something about Jiyong?

Are you sure you want to know?

Yes.

They met the next evening at a quiet café outside the city — one of those discreet little places where no one would recognize them or listen in.

Seunghyun arrived first, already sipping an Americano.

When she sat down, he didn't smile. Just looked at her with tired eyes.

"He's not okay, is he?" Y/n said quietly.

"No," Seunghyun replied. "He's not."

He didn't tell her everything. Just enough.

There was a health scare. Something neurological. Jiyong had been in and out of the hospital. He kept most of the details to himself — even from the group.

"He disappeared from us, too," Seunghyun said. "Not just you. We saw the changes. The distance. I confronted him a few months ago. He said it was medical. Serious. That's all I know."

Y/n's throat tightened. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"Because he was scared you'd stay."

She blinked. "And that's bad because...?"

"Because he doesn't want you to watch him break down. He doesn't want you to suffer with him."

Y/n laughed bitterly. "I already suffered, though. Just not in the way he thought."

"I know."

She stared down at her untouched coffee.

"Is it... is it terminal?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't think even he knows for sure," Seunghyun said. "But whatever it is... it's serious. He's not getting better."

─── ⋆⋅ ❤︎ ⋅⋆ ───

Later that night, Y/n drove straight to Jiyong's place. She hadn't been there in a year.

She rang the bell.

No answer.

But then — the door creaked open.

Jiyong stood there in a hoodie and joggers, barefoot, blinking like he wasn't sure if she was real.

"Y/n...?"

"Don't shut me out this time," she said softly. "Please."

He stepped aside.

Inside, the place was silent except for the low hum of an air purifier.

She noticed the prescription bottles again. More than last time.

She picked one up. Read the label. Set it down.

"You're sick," she said. "You've been sick all this time."

Jiyong didn't deny it.

"I found out from Seunghyun," she continued. "I had to ask someone else what you wouldn't tell me."

"I didn't want to put that on you."

"You already did," she said, her voice shaking. "When you left without telling me why. When you made me think I wasn't enough."

His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry."

She stepped forward. "What is it? What are you facing?"

Jiyong hesitated.

Then finally, softly: "They think it's a neurodegenerative condition. Possibly early-onset Parkinson's. Some symptoms have started... tremors, fatigue, memory issues. It's progressive."

Y/n's breath caught. "So you don't know how long you have until..."

"Until I can't write. Can't hold a mic. Can't recognize people. Could be years. Could be sooner."

Her eyes welled with tears.

"And you thought I'd walk away?"

"I thought you should."

She closed the space between them, hands trembling.

"I don't care how long we have. I care that you didn't trust me to stay."

His lip quivered.

"I was trying to protect you."

"You don't get to make that choice for me."

He broke. The wall around him cracked, and he pulled her into a trembling hug, burying his face in her shoulder like a man who had been holding in a scream for far too long.

Y/n wrapped her arms around him. Tight. Certain. Unmoving.

That night, they didn't talk much. He fell asleep on the couch with his head in her lap, like he used to — only this time, his hand stayed curled tightly around hers the whole time.

And Y/n knew then, no matter what happened next... She wasn't going anywhere.

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few more chaps to go :)