Running to You | Park Han + JL + Steven | Haneulz + Stejay AU

Chapter 83: Even Those Who Are Broken

"The nerve damage is extensive," the doctor said, holding up the scans like they were just pictures, not the architectural blueprints of JL's entire future collapsing. "The response tests show no conductivity below the L4 vertebra. I'm sorry, but at this time, we see no indication of recovery in the lower extremities."

Han watched from the doorway as the medical terms accumulated and saw the exact moment JL stopped listening. Just a slow turn of his head toward the window, like a flower following the sun except there was no sun, just Seoul's gray afternoon, and JL's eyes weren't seeing that either. They were seeing nothing. Or maybe they were seeing everything that would never be again -- every race never run, every morning never spent lacing up his shoes, every future that had just been methodically and clinically erased.

Steven leaned forward in his chair, reaching for something that wasn't there anymore. His hand stopped inches from JL's arm, hovering in that terrible space between comfort and intrusion. Because JL hadn't just turned away from them. He'd turned away from himself, retreating so far inward that his body seemed like an abandoned house -- lights off, doors locked, the owner gone without leaving a forwarding address.

"JL?" Steven's voice cracked on just two letters. "Hey. Look at me. Please."

But JL was already somewhere else. Somewhere that didn't have doctors or diagnoses or friends who looked at you like you were breaking in real-time. His face had taken on that terrible smoothness of deep shock, the kind that made Han think of death masks, of bodies present while souls went wandering. The kind that made Steven's desperate kindness feel like shouting into a void.

The team stood in their various poses of grief -- Woongki with his mouth slightly open as if words had died there, Shuaibo carved from stiff marble, Kyungho's hand heavy on Juwon's shoulder like he needed to anchor someone, anyone, to keep them all from floating away. Chih En's steady, ruthless gaze, taking it all in, and understanding what was happening with a brutal clarity. They were watching JL disappear in real-time, and the horrible thing was how quiet it was. How simple. How someone could be right there and completely gone at the same time.

Han's voice broke the quiet like a whip crack. "What are his options? Surgery? Rehab? Anything?"

The doctor hesitated, his eyes softening just slightly, acknowledging Han's desperation. "Surgery wouldn't be effective. The injury is severe; nerve regeneration is -- " He paused, gathering himself. "Minimal. Recovery chances are... slim. Almost negligible."

"Almost," Han repeated, clinging to the smallest, faintest thread of hope.

The doctor sighed, reluctant to give false promises. "Any meaningful recovery would require extensive therapy. Painful, grueling, relentless. Even then, it's uncertain."

Steven exhaled slowly, his eyes bright with the ache of unspoken grief. He'd already begun preparing himself to accept this -- to hold JL exactly as he was now, broken but still infinitely loved.

Han, though, stood straighter, his expression hardening with stubborn determination. He knew JL better than anyone; a life without running was no life at all. He was willing to endure anything -- JL's anger, rejection, hatred -- if it meant dragging him back from the abyss.

The doctor's voice softened further, sympathetic yet honest. "He'll need support. He'll need to find new ways of living. But, if you pursue recovery -- it will hurt. It will break him again before it heals him, if it heals him."

Han nodded once, sharply. He knew exactly what he was asking JL to face.

Steven watched Han's profile, seeing clearly what this would demand from them both, and his heart fractured further. He would love JL through anything -- wheelchair, broken dreams, and all -- but Han would push, fight, and claw until JL stood on his own again.