Chapter Text
Yichan mistakes the silence for distance.
If he got closer, maybe the sound wouldn’t be so out of reach.
Except there is no real distance between him and the rest of the world. He is not in some remote desert, nor is he in a closed room. He is in a hospital bed in Seoul. Yet everything is miles away. Nothing is miles away.
It’s jarring because he sees things—the nurses chatting in the hall as they pass, the television rolling out the morning news—but can’t hear them, can’t hear his heart that he feels is pounding.
So he strains his ear and tries and tries and tries, though he knows deep down it won’t work, but it’s a new day, and it hurts not to try once more. He clenches his teeth until his jaw hurts, until the veins of his forehead nearly pop, scrambling to reach for the slightest of sounds but it’s all open air and never anything else.
The silence is so loud it becomes noise. Because it still sounds like something, at least he thinks it does. Like the world has been reduced to an infinitesimal thrum; an airy, indefinite, endless chasm.
He sits with the silence for ten minutes or twenty before the frustration flares up and he slams the side of his head against the palm of his hand. He wants to hear anything, anything but this drowning noise.
Ha Yichan has endeavored plenty of times through sheer willpower alone, but this is entirely different. The world will carry on with or without him.
He slams his head again. The wound on his head doesn’t even sting.
He wants to get used to it now. He wants to rush through the process and acclimate to this overwhelming feeling of isolation, but he knows better.
It’s years before he’s fully comfortable with the change. But now, all he wants is to die.
Halmeoni didn’t want to leave his side. He didn’t want her to leave, too, but there was no one to trust to man the guesthouse. Leaving the guesthouse all to Balsan is pure stupidity and his cousin himself would admit to that. Yichan had to watch him drag Halmeoni out, wailing, screaming incomprehensibly. The only word he could catch was the familiar shape of his grandmother calling him my child.
The sight was torture—and there it is again, the guilt. It makes a home in his stomach. It festers and gnaws.
When he met her eyes yesterday, confusion morphing into disbelief, he knew that this would hurt her like nothing else ever would. She will hurt more than he will. She will carry guilt, just like he does, because she loves him and that is Halmeoni’s way.
He has seen Halmeoni work at the expense of her blood, sweat, and tears to put clothes on his back and put him through school. Go Yang-hee is stubborn and headstrong. She will not stop trying to alleviate the situation, not until she finally confirms with her two eyes that there are no longer mountains to be moved. Until then, she will bend over backward and pay no heed to her aging joints and worn posture.
She’s always made it clear that she put him first, no matter what. Caring to a fault, if only to help those that matter to her most.
Yichan can only hope that her trust in him wins over her stubbornness. He has always kept his promises, after all, and he promised to be good. To not let this be an obstacle. Even if she won’t believe the doctors, Yichan hopes she believes in him.
She’d probably never seen him in a hospital gown before—he always made sure she didn’t. It’s usually Majoo or Balsan who takes care of him.
He wants to talk to Eungyeol again. He needed his stupid optimism, the reassurance he offered by the bucketful.
He should have tried keeping contact, asked for his pager or his address, but he let his emotions balloon too much and didn’t think much to be practical. And now he’s gone. For good, he’s not sure.
Majoo has probably heard the news. He is probably on his way here now. He waits.
Like the saint he is, Majoo appears. Wonderful, sweet Majoo.
A dire joke pops into his mind. He’s about to rat off about how spectacular it is to not hear his nagging when Majoo rushes into a hug, cutting him off. He’s shaking furiously and Yichan feels his hospital gown begin to dampen at the shoulders.
“Hey,” Yichan says, patting his back consolingly. He chooses to be generous because it’s Majoo and lets him cry as much as he needs.
But then it’s been more than five minutes and any second Majoo might use his gown to blow his nose, so he speaks again. “Oh Majoo.”
Majoo pulls back, head bowed down like he’s sinned.
“Ah, I’m all wet now. You big crybaby.” He tries, hoping his tone is light enough, wanting to dispel the crappy mood as if he hasn’t been wallowing through shit himself. Majoo doesn’t look up.
Yichan lightly slaps his cheek. Face swollen, Majoo looks at him slowly. It occurs to Yichan that he’s never seen him like this. Face so completely wrecked and at a loss for what to say.
It’s easy to catch Majoo’s first words. “I’m sorry.”
He repeats it several times and more tears spring from his eyes. He breaks down, slubbering with tears. Under different circumstances, Yichan would have laughed and called him pathetic, because Oh Majoo does not slubber, if not unironically.
But here he is.
Yichan can’t take it. He could not take it.
“It’s not your fault.” He says resolutely. “I would do it all again. I would save Eungyeol again. I would chase you down again. Which is why, you bastard, stop crying.”
His head doesn’t remain bowed for too long. He makes an effort to collect himself, shoulders shaking as he heaves big breaths of air. Yichan pours him a cup of water from the dispenser beside his bed.
Majoo downs the cup. He starts speaking, and then realization flashes across his eyes.
He pulls out a small notepad from his pocket.
The action, though insignificant, sends a prickle of apprehension down Yichan’s spine. This was his new reality.
No more of Majoo’s probing, smartass tones. He swallows the lump in his throat. He patiently waits for Majoo to finish writing.
If ever you need anything. Tell me.
He’s met with Majoo’s kind eyes. “Anything,” he catches him say.
Yichan doesn’t doubt Majoo would find a way to make it happen, no matter how outrageous his request could be.
Instead, he asks about the last person he wants invited into this mess.
“Could you… Could you check on Chungah for me?” He asks, voice small. He’s thought about her all night. Could not not think about her.
He isn’t sure if Majoo heard, but he nods. “I’ll go right now.”
~
She received no response from Yichan. She waited yesterday, assuming he’d grown busy somehow. But at this time the next day, she’ll be on the plane headed for the US, and there was no way she would leave without a word from him.
There’s a gut feeling she’s been trying to ignore the entire morning. This was so unlike him. It’s a weekend, and if she hadn’t received a reply before she slept, she would have received one right when she woke.
Yet there was no new paper hanging by her fax, and the radio silence was unnerving.
Not wanting to let this feeling ferment any longer, she decides to visit him.
Which is why it’s a surprise when she sees Oh Majoo standing across the street outside her place. Not exactly the person she wanted to see, but close.
She takes notice of his windswept hair and the brisk intake of breath. Confusion quickly turns into concern. Did he run all the way here?
His eyes are swollen and rimmed red as she approaches. Something is wrong. He must see the question on her face because he grabs a piece of paper from his pocket and shows it to her.
Her stomach sinks.
Yichan is at the hospital.
The gut feeling, a mere assumption only moments ago, stirs up in her insides at the confirmation. It’s no longer a feeling as it was a physical knife to the gut.
Majoo scribbles something. Let’s go, we can take the bus.
She shakes her head quickly, already feeling choked up. ‘Not the bus’ she signs hastily. She quickly taps at her watch for Majoo’s sake. No time. She sprints to the end of the street, not caring at the moment to wait for Majoo when panic is quickly eating away at her mind.
The relief is short-lived when she spots an approaching taxi. She waves it over. Majoo is by her side in a second and they both get in.
~
She wills the cab to go faster. Regret feels like poison in her stomach.
She should have gone yesterday. She should have listened to her gut.
Now, she barely had a day with him before she was gone for weeks.
She wanted to ask Majoo what happened, but Majoo could not sign, nor did she have the headspace to converse via pen and paper inside a moving vehicle.
She didn’t think she’d believe whatever he’d answer, either, without seeing it for herself.
They arrive and she pays without waiting for the change and exits the cab. She looks over at Majoo and he leads the way.
She reads his lips: “Follow me.” They both set off in a jog.
~
After Yichan finishes his lunch, he resumes to look out the window. There’s nothing much to do but look and think and reflect.
It’s a nice day. So nice, it feels like a jibe. He resorts to imagining what he’d be doing today if he weren’t stuck in a bed.
He would be at Majoo’s, cramming for the English test on Tuesday. Or he would be strumming his guitar while Halmeoni sorted dried anchovies, playing comedic riffs to ruffle her feathers as if he was Halmeoni’s very own comedy track. She’d yell at him and ten minutes later would be knuckle-deep in anchovies as a penalty.
Or he would fax Chungah. Ask her about her father. Ask her if she’s free today, maybe take her out on a date. It was a nice day, after all, so perhaps something refreshing and sweet.
Maybe they’d have cold buckwheat noodles or bingsu.
Sometimes, he’d stare out the window for so long that his imagination grew awfully vivid.
He could hear Majoo correcting his terrible English with his equally terrible English.
He could hear Halmeoni’s scolding coming down on him like a pile of bricks, ordering in that sharp accent for him to be a useful grandson and help her out.
He could see Chungah’s face as he picked her up from her place, just a little shy, never not ready to spend the day with him.
A hand gently grasps his shoulder, and the vision is replaced by a very real Yoon Chungah.
She’s here.
“You’re here,” he breathes.
In an instant, she’s in his arms and he’s in hers. He’s not sure who took hold of who first, but they’ve wrapped themselves in each other’s embrace, disbelief and relief locking into one.
His arms wound around her waist tighter.
It takes a moment before he realizes he’s crying.
At first, he doesn’t know why, but then he realizes it’s guilt. Guilt because he didn’t want her to see him like this. Guilt because he was not the Ha Yichan he wanted her to rely on.
Tears soak into her blouse. Chungah hugs him back just as tight, protectively cradling his head. He doesn’t know if Majoo explained anything to her, but he’s about to find out.
Yichan pulls back, wiping his snot and tears with the cuff of his hospital gown.
‘Sorry,’ he signs. He gives her a watery smile. ‘I ruined your shirt.’
She’s looking at him intently, eyebrows crossed. ‘Are you okay?’
Yichan sees now the tears she’s trying to hold back.
Majoo didn’t say. His heart begins to race.
‘I’m alive,’ is what he answers. Her brows furrow deeper. A tear slips past her eyes. She’s angry.
He can’t keep beating around the bush.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Stop apologizing. Tell me what happened.’
‘I’m sorry. I got hurt.’
Chungah’s gaze hardens.
Yichan takes a deep breath, trying to conjure a heartening smile. ‘A car was headed for Eungyeol, and I pushed him away. He’s okay.’
His fingers feel feather-light. For a moment he forgets how to sign his next words.
‘It must have been hard, living like this. I’m so sorry. I’ve never truly understood until now. I..’ He falters. ‘I can’t hear anything, Chungah.’
Seeing her stand there and process his words is all but settling. Her pupils are shifting rapidly, from him to her surroundings then back to him. Her tiny hands have balled up into fists, trembling. He’s terrified she’ll burst.
“Chungah-ya,” he calls out desperately, reaching up to her cheek.
And then the dam cracks, comprehension spilling across her face. His touch unlocks the floodgates and the tears are running. Her head begins to shake.
Her eyes, always ones to look up at him with so much affection, are blown wide with fear. Yichan’s stomach twists.
Her face contorts into an expression that feels as excruciating as it looks. No, she loosely mouths. No, no, no.
He clasps her face, forcing his lips to turn into a smile to show her that he’s fine. He’s fine. Even if he has yet to convince himself what he’s been feeling. I’m fine, Chungah. See? I’m okay, I’m okay. It does nothing to calm her.
She leans onto him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “I’m sorry.” He chokes a cry into her hair. The hold she has on him is firm and nearly suffocating—it’s the very same way his grandmother had held him.
Yichan’s heart breaks for a second time.
An ensemble of emotions sweeps through him. He goes nearly feverish with the second wave of guilt.
But there’s also surprise, because if he was yet to run out of luck, then Chungah holding onto him like this can only promise that she cares for him with the same intensity as he does.
He wants to put a name to it. He wants to say it’s love. But an instinctive fear stops the thought before it takes shape into something definite; he can’t think of anyone more undeserving, not with all the hurt he’s sent her way.
And yet she’s here, and he can’t help but allow himself just a fraction of the love he suspects is there.
Her entire body wails against his. He rubs her back and murmurs against the side of her head. “There, now. I’m okay. I swear I’m okay.”
“I promised myself I’d never forgive the person who’d make you cry. I didn’t know it’d be me,” he confesses. He fails to wipe the tears that slip from his eye. “I’m sorry. Don’t cry because of me, hm?”
~
Pain consumed her like never before.
Most of the time, if she was hurting, it was due to her enemies: her stepmother, step-siblings, or classmates who were nothing but a nuisance. Whatever pain they caused was bearable. She would let it out on paper with oil pastels and angry sketches. She knew how to bear with it.
But she hadn’t known what it felt like to hurt for someone.
It was like being locked outside a house knowing that something terrible was going on inside, and she couldn’t find the key.
In a bout of clarity, Chungah realized she could not be breaking down like this. Not when she’s supposed to be here so he could rely on her.
And yet her resolve is weak. It collapses down and betrays her while Yichan does his best to hold her together in more ways than one.
She doesn’t want his words to settle into reality, doesn’t want to believe that Ha Yichan would come to know this solitary world. He was the last person who deserved to be here.
She wanted to thrash around, at who or what, it doesn’t matter. Yichan should have never gotten hurt. Instead, she sobs helplessly because she’s rational enough to know that she can’t turn back time. She could not have known, no one could have. This was a done matter.
That thought angers her as much as it pacifies her. Right. She still had to tell him she was leaving. Her fingers loosen around his neck and she rests her forehead on his shoulder, sniffling.
He says something. She feels the words against her fingers in short rumbles between staggered intakes of breath.
She forces herself to pull away, needing to see whatever he has to say because she realizes she’s running out of time. The tearstains on her cheek grow cumbersome. She settles on the gurney and finally takes a good look at him.
He may be battered up, may have stitches and bandaids the size of her palm plastered around his face, but he’s still Yichan. All in one piece. Boyishly handsome. Alive.
Other than the scratches and wounds, she knows he’s hurting inside, too—more than a little shaken up than he presents himself to be.
Really, she should be grateful that this is the extent of it. He didn’t go and lose a limb or end up in a coma or worse, dead. He watches her study him and attempts at a smile.
’I hope it’s not my looks you’re after,’ he jokes. ‘I’m getting the feeling these might scar.’ He signs, referring to his face.
And it becomes soberingly clear that the reason why it all hurts, why she’d do anything to reverse time and keep him from hurting like this, why every emotion courses through her so fiercely and in a magnitude bigger than her body: it’s because it’s love.
She loves Yichan.
The clarity of it all feels like a window has unlocked in her heart.
‘Hey, are you okay?’ He goes first, a gentleman throughout any situation. Her eyes well up amid her realization.
Somehow, it hurts to look at him even more.
Chungah, still reeling, contemplates how to break the news of her leaving, then realizes there’s no time for contemplation.
‘How could I be?’ She responds, smiling weakly. ‘You’re hurt, and I’m going to be away for a while. My father’s bringing me along to the US for a couple of weeks.’
Yichan stares for a moment and nods slowly. A lump rises up to his throat at the thought of being separated for so long. What was he to do? Stop her from spending time with her father, who was now making the effort to act like one? Hadn’t he told him to do exactly this the other night?
They had entirely different definitions of what a good father was, so it seems. By his definition, all he had to do was be present. That was something he could accomplish at zero expense.
So the plane ticket to accompany him on the other side of the globe was overkill, if you ask him.
But then again, the guy was Jinsung’s fucking CEO, and perhaps that was his first oversight. Chaebols operated at scales he could only dream of.
Chungah was still looking at him with sad, glossy eyes. He pulls a sheet of tissue and gently dabs the wet corners. She didn’t like this as much as he did. But this was important for Chungah, and he didn’t want to act all impertinent.
‘That’s a long time,’ is what he settles for.
Chungah nods back, not knowing what else to say.
‘When are you leaving?’
‘Tomorrow.’ She signs. She sees the panic flash through his eyes. ‘It’s only two weeks,’ she reminds him, putting up a smile. ‘It’ll pass by quickly.’
It’s a lie. They both know two weeks can’t end quickly enough.
‘Can I tell you something?’ Yichan asks. She nods and prepares herself.
‘I’m scared.’ He finally admits, fingers trembling. ‘I’m so scared, Chungah.’
He looks so broken at this moment. Chungah steels herself from the tears threatening to fall.
Chungah positions his face to her. ‘Look at me,’ she signs. She’s resolute in her next words. ‘You’re strong, okay? It’s scary, I know. I’ll be with you the entire way. Not just me, but Majoo, and Halmeoni, and Sebeom and Siguk and Hyunyul, and even Mongmongi.’
His lip twitches at the mention of the dog. It’s all the encouragement Chungah needs.
‘I’m serious.’ Her gaze softens when he tilts his head up back at her. ‘You’re the strongest person I know.’
His eyebrows furrow. He looks uncomfortably at where she signed as if her declaration couldn’t have been more false. ‘Not when you’re the strongest person I know.’ He signs back, face pained.
‘I’ve got you. I’m on your side, too, you know. Wherever, whenever.’
The promise wears around his heart like a pair of warm socks. He nods and allows it to sink in, hoping it’ll calm the rush of panic in his veins. But it’s not enough. He needs to hold her.
Yichan grabs her hand and squeezes. She squeezes back with both hands, the pressure reassuring, and comes to rest her forehead against his. His eyes flutter shut, and he meets her lips in a brief, tender kiss.
For a while, they stay that way, in a world that’s theirs and theirs alone, gravitated by each other’s touch. Forehead to forehead, palm in palm. Reality is cordoned off here. The onslaught of emotions drifts away with every synchronized exhale. Soon, he matches the steady rhythm of her breaths. It’s no longer frantic.
When Yichan opens his eyes, hers are already there, waiting.
He gulps the remaining fear down his throat and prods his nose against hers. She’s all that he can see, all that he can feel. He hears the drum of his heart as he remembers it.
Chungah presses back, nuzzling her nose against his. She burrows her love into the crevices of his face, knowing she’ll find it there two weeks later bigger and brighter once they’re out of this storm. She plants a kiss on his forehead. ‘You’ll be okay. We’re in this together.’
Somehow, Yichan believes her.
He makes an effort to act like himself. ‘So, how long is your flight? Eight, ten hours?’
‘Thirteen, actually.’
‘That’s an entire day.’ His eyes go wide, although not as exaggerated as they usually would. ‘Breakfast, lunch, dinner in the clouds. How romantic.’
Chungah raises an eyebrow. He scoots closer. ‘Tell me more about your trip?’
~
From the door, Majoo watches patiently as Yichan and Chungah converse in sign. The small huffs of laughter ease some of the weight off his chest. He’s glad his friend is smiling again.
A nurse arrives and announces to the room, “Visiting hours are over.”
Oh no. He checks his pager to see if Balsan has replied. He really didn’t want Yichan to be alone when they eventually left.
The reply comes right in time. OK.
Visitors stand up to leave their loved ones, leaving family members to stay. The nurse spots Yichan and Chungah on the bed, easily the youngest ones in the room, too busy conversing in sign language to notice the people leave.
She checks her clipboard to confirm something before making a beeline toward the two.
Majoo steps in before she can interrupt them. “I’m with them. I’ll let them know.”
The nurse nods. “Please do. Thank you, haksaeng.”
When she leaves, Majoo pulls out his notebook and reluctantly nears the couple.
“Majoo,” Yichan smiles when he approaches. “What’s up?”
He shows him the note.
His smile instantly drops. Yichan nods at him. “Give me a minute.”
Chungah looks at Yichan as he explains. ‘Visiting hours are over.’
A similar sullen expression appears.
She hugs him immediately, knowing the next time she’ll set eyes on him won’t be after a while. He hugs back tighter, burying his face in her hair and filling his lungs to the brim with her smell.
Chungah is the first to pull free, standing to leave. But Yichan is stubborn and gets on his feet, hugging her again. She feels the desperation and something hot prickles at the back of her eye, so she lets him hug her until he’s ready to let go.
When he does, his eyes are glossy, but no tears slip. He kisses her forehead with all the love he can muster.
‘I’ll wait for you.’
He wanted to say that he loved her and finally put it into words, but it was too early and they had felt too much today. And, if he was being honest, he was terrified; the size of his love was, unmistakably, quite big. He didn’t want any possibility of this turning into an argument, and so keeping it to himself seemed like the best idea.
For now, at least.
The nurse returns and by the looks of it, gently reminds Majoo of the time.
Their time was up.
‘Take care, Yichan.’ She signs, using his face name. Shining voice.
He thought he was undeserving of the name then, but even more so now.
She kisses him one more time. He leans in hard and says against her lips, “You too, Chungah.”
“Majoo,” he calls. “Could you take her home?”
He gives him a look that says he doesn’t even have to mention it. Majoo wraps Yichan in a tight embrace, patting his back encouragingly.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” Majoo says slowly. Yichan understands.
Chungah lingers for a moment at the door, holding his stare, but eventually, she leaves. It’s easy to descend back into that dark place once he’s all alone.
Outside, the sinking sun paints the sky orange.
Not minutes after his best friend and girlfriend leave, Balsan shows up. It’s no doubt that he’s carrying containers of Halmeoni’s cooking.
He carries with him a small whiteboard and a marker. On it is a pre-written message:
Tonight’s menu: scallion pancakes, ginseng chicken soup, spicy dakgalbi, and your favorite side dishes. Halmeoni will be here first thing in the morning. Right now, it’s just me.
It pulls him out of the shallow pool of dark thoughts he’s subconsciously dipped in.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” Yichan says.
He can’t make out Balsan’s retort, but it’s apparent it’s in good nature. Balsan sets the food aside and makes himself comfortable. Yichan takes a peek: he’s sketching for some class.
They don’t converse much, even with the whiteboard, but he’s glad for his cousin’s company. He reaches for a pair of chopsticks and snacks on a side dish. The familiar, savory sweetness is consoling. He imagines Halmeoni stuffing the container and snapping the lid on before it overflows, and the image makes his eyes water.
Yichan takes another bite.
For the first time since yesterday, the quiet doesn’t scare him.
~
Majoo and Chungah take the bus home.
It’s hard for Majoo to look at Chungah, knowing that he’s accountable—no matter how much Yichan says he isn’t—for his hospitalization. He’s neck deep in his self-loathing, and he sinks even deeper the more he thinks about it.
His best friend nearly died. Yichan, who loved and gave his all to music, lost his hearing. His fingernails dig into his palm, bites down on his teeth.
A tentative hand on his shoulder. Chungah.
She slides her open notebook to him.
Are you okay?
He releases the tension in his jaws.
When he meets her eyes, there’s compassion he hasn’t seen from anyone else. The kindness unlocks the knot in his stomach. Before he realizes it, guilt rises to his throat, his vision blurs, and he quickly tilts his head back to keep the tears steady.
But it slips, and Majoo is tired of acting fine. Not when his best friend got hurt, not when he’ll never hear his voice again.
He blows out a shaky breath. He’s careful not to make a scene, just lets the tears fall as they will.
When Majoo calms down and dries his tears with the back of his palm, he clicks the pen and writes, I’m OK. Just overwhelmed? It hurts seeing him like that.
Chungah nods sadly. They’re both hurting for him, and Chungah realizes that Majoo must love Yichan, too. He hands over the notebook for her reply.
I have a favor, Majoo. Can you please take care of Yichan while I’m gone?
Majoo cocks his head. Are you going somewhere…?
I’m going on a trip to the US with my father. I won’t be back after two weeks. Yichan already knows.
Majoo stares at the writing. Looking back at how he acted in the hospital, it’s a surprise how much self-control he’d displayed. He knew he would have fought Chungah’s dad himself if he didn’t have all those tubes attached to him.
When it came to Chungah, Yichan was… whole. Majoo swore he’d never seen Yichan like he’d seen him when he was with Chungah. And, though he’d only known Chungah for just a fraction of time, she looked better with him, too.
Nearly a fortnight ago, Yichan had called him in the dead of the night.
Majoo whisper-screams into the telephone receiver. “Are you insane?! It’s midnight! You think we share the same stamina levels? Did you forget we’re meeting tomorrow morning at 8 o'clock SHARP—”
“Majoo. I-I got a girlfriend.”
“…What?”
The smile in his voice is loud. “Yoon Chungah is my girlfriend.”
The irritation from being denied his sleep melts off. “About time. I’m happy for you, punk.”
“I have a favor.”
“Wha–”
“Tomorrow, can you teach the guys how to greet in sign language? It’s one of the first pages in the sign language books—maybe you could pass by the bookstore on the way? I’d do it but I’m picking her up in the morning. I just want her to feel at ease with us. Please, Majoo!”
“I can’t promise you anything but—”
“You’ll do it? Thank you! You’re a saint, you know. I have to go, I have to send my girlfriend—my girlfriend! Can you believe it?—a fax. Bye!”
Chungah looked at him expectantly. He knew he had to answer well, that she counted on him. Don’t worry, he writes. I won’t let him out of my sight. He counted on her, too, and so he writes Return from your trip safely!
Chungah smiles and nods at the message.
They were approaching Chungah’s stop. Majoo points to the sign. They get off.
Majoo walks her up right to her gate even if it’s a relatively safe neighborhood. From now on, he’s done with taking chances. Besides, Yichan would have wanted him to do so.
On the way home, Majoo thinks of the hard facts. And if there’s one thing he knows is true and will remain true, it’s this: he’ll be there for Yichan, just like Chungah will. And perhaps that will be enough for everything to turn out okay.