Chapter 10 : When the World Stops Turning
Yeri woke to pain.
Not sharp—no, this was different. A deep, throbbing ache that pulsed beneath her skin like it had made a home there. Her eyes opened slowly, vision blurry, white lights blinding. Her lips were dry. Her throat burned.
She tried to move.
Her body didn't listen.
Then came the beeping—the steady rhythm of machines keeping track of a life she barely felt connected to. And warmth. Not from the blanket, but from a hand, wrapped around hers like a tether.
A voice broke through the haze. Soft. Cracked.
"Yeri?"
She turned her head. Slowly. It took all the strength she had.
And there he was.
Yunjun.
Slouched in a chair that had clearly become his second home. His clothes wrinkled. Hair unkempt. Dark circles sat heavy under his eyes.
But the way he looked at her—it was like she was the only thing keeping him breathing.
"You're awake," he whispered, breath catching in his throat.
She blinked once. That was all she could manage.
He leaned forward, brushing her hair back from her forehead. His touch was light. Careful. Like she might shatter beneath it.
"You're safe now," he said, voice raw.
Tears welled in her eyes without permission. Her chest ached in more ways than one. She remembered hands. A dark room. The sting of a belt. Blood. Screams.
And she remembered thinking of him.
Thinking, *Please. Please come find me.*
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
"I'm sorry," Yunjun said suddenly, his voice cracking. "God, I'm so sorry. I should've been there. I should've protected you."
She wanted to speak, to say *it's not your fault*—but her throat refused to obey.
Still, her fingers moved. Just a little. Squeezing his hand.
And that was enough.
**The days blurred.**
Nurses came and went. Machines beeped. Painkillers dulled everything.
But Yunjun stayed.
He read to her. Awkwardly at first—stumbling over words, using silly voices for the characters in her favorite old fairy tales. She smiled weakly at the effort, and he'd smile back like it was a miracle.
Sometimes he just talked. Told her about his day, about Soojin arguing with the doctors to bring her food from home, about the business he no longer cared about. His voice filled the quiet, pushed back the fear.
Every night, he slept in that same chair. His hand always in hers.
Sometimes, she'd wake in the middle of the night to find him whispering apologies when he thought she couldn't hear.
"I shouldn't have let you walk out that night. I should've told you what you meant to me sooner."
She'd keep her eyes closed, listening, because she wasn't ready to face the weight of his guilt.
Not yet.
**One afternoon**, a week later, Yeri managed to sit up on her own. Her body still screamed in protest, but she was stubborn.
Yunjun came in carrying a bouquet of sunflowers and nearly dropped them when he saw her upright.
"You're sitting," he said, eyes wide.
"I'm trying," she whispered, her voice a rasp.
He hurried to her side. "You shouldn't push yourself."
"I need to," she said, managing a weak smile. "I'm tired of being helpless."
His expression shifted—something like admiration, something like heartbreak.
"You were never helpless," he said quietly. "Not even for a second."
Their eyes met. And for the first time since that night, neither of them looked away.
**Later that evening**, as the sky outside turned a soft purple, Yunjun sat at her bedside, his thumb brushing gently over her bandaged wrist.
"I need to tell you something," he said.
Yeri glanced at him, curious.
He took a breath. "That night... I was going to tell you everything. About how I felt. About what you mean to me. But before I could—" He swallowed hard. "He took you."
Yeri's eyes darkened. Jack.
"I keep thinking," he went on, "if I'd said it sooner... maybe things would've been different."
"You can't blame yourself for what he did," she said softly.
"But I do," Yunjun whispered. "Because I should've protected you. From him. From Soojin. From... everything."
"You came for me," she said. "That's what matters."
He looked up, eyes glistening. "I thought I'd lost you."
"I thought I'd never see you again," she whispered.
And just like that, the air between them cracked—quietly, beautifully.
He reached for her hand.
This time, she didn't flinch.
**That night**, Soojin arrived.
She stood awkwardly in the doorway, holding a small orchid plant in a white ceramic pot.
Yeri blinked in surprise.
"I didn't come to argue," Soojin said quickly. "I just... I wanted to see you."
Yunjun rose, clearly wary. "Soojin—"
"I'm not here to hurt her," she said, looking at Yeri. "Not anymore."
Yeri studied her. The usually sharp, proud girl looked... small. Tired.
"I brought this," Soojin added, setting the orchid on the windowsill. "It's supposed to symbolize strength. Thought it was fitting."
Yeri didn't speak.
Soojin fidgeted with her bracelet. "I was awful to you. I let jealousy eat me up. I thought you were taking him away from me."
"I wasn't," Yeri said quietly.
"I know that now," Soojin said, voice trembling. "And I know an apology won't fix it. But... I'm sorry. Truly."
Yeri looked at the orchid, then back at her.
"I forgive you," she said, surprising even herself.
Soojin's eyes widened. "You do?"
"I don't have room for more pain," Yeri said simply. "And I think... you're trying."
Soojin nodded, eyes glassy. "I am."
They sat in silence after that, and it wasn't tense.
It was healing.
**But healing wasn't linear.**
Yeri still had nightmares.
Sometimes she'd wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, fingers gripping the blanket like a lifeline. Yunjun would be there, every time—hands warm, voice soft, never asking, just waiting until she came back to herself.
Once, she broke down completely.
"I was so scared," she sobbed into his chest. "I thought I was going to die, and the worst part was... I thought you wouldn't even know."
He held her tighter. "I knew. I felt it. I just didn't get there fast enough."
"You did," she whispered.
"I'll never let you feel that fear again," he promised, kissing her temple.
And this time, she believed him.
**In another corner of the city**, Jack stared at a bulletin board, photos and strings connecting targets and plans.
"She's alive," one of his men reported, hesitant.
Jack didn't flinch. "She was a message."
"Message for who?"
Jack lit a cigarette. "Yunjun."
He blew out the smoke slowly. "And he heard me loud and clear."
**Back in the hospital**, Yeri took her first steps without help.
One shaky foot in front of the other.
Yunjun stood nearby, arms out, just in case.
She made it five steps before collapsing into him, laughing through the pain.
"You're incredible," he said, awestruck.
She leaned against him, sweaty and breathless. "I know."
He laughed, forehead resting against hers.
In that moment, everything else—Jack, pain, fear—faded.
There was only this.
Only them.
Hey 🦋
Stay tuned for the next part,...