beth

And he didn’t let go.

From the second they stepped outside, Jun-ho clung to him, arms wrapped around his waist like he was afraid he might disappear. In-ho chuckled, ruffling his hair before pulling him in as tightly as their shared scar allowed.

“You’re not a kid anymore, you know,” In-ho teased, though he made no move to let go.

Jun-ho just held on tighter. “Yeah, well. You’re stuck with me, hyung.”

As if he could ever want anything else.

Eventually, he sighed, loosening his grip just enough to step back, hands firm on Jun-ho’s shoulders. His little brother looked better – still pale, still thinner than he should have been, but stronger. Healing.

And taller.

At some point, without In-ho realizing it, Jun-ho had outgrown him. It wasn’t by much, just a few centimeters, but it was enough to make In-ho tilt his chin ever so slightly to meet his eyes.

He huffed. “Since when did you get taller than me?”

Jun-ho smirked, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. “Been like this for a while, hyung. Guess you were just too busy being old to notice.”

“You know we’re gonna have a conversation about your medication, right?”

In-ho rolled his eyes and gave him a flat look, refusing to take the bait. There was one more important thing they needed to talk about.

Jun-ho groaned immediately, rolling his eyes. “Hyung –“

“I’m serious.” His voice hardened, leaving no room for argument. “You have to take it. Every dose, every day, no forgetting, no skipping.”

Jun-ho scuffed his shoe against the ground, mumbling, “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” In-ho said, his grip tightening. “We can’t afford for you to reject the kidney. We won’t. You end up back in that hospital, and I swear –“

“You’ll what?” Jun-ho challenged, lifting his chin. “What are you gonna do? Take it back?”

“Don’t tempt me,” In-ho deadpanned.

For a second, they just stared at each other. Then Jun-ho cracked first, snorting. In-ho smirked.

But beneath the teasing, he was serious.

Jun-ho saw it. Felt it. And after a long moment, he nodded. “I’ll take them.”

“Every day.”

“Every day,” Jun-ho repeated.

That evening, the house was quiet.

Jun-ho had insisted he wasn’t tired, had grumbled something about being “sick of resting” when Yuna tried to send him to bed. But it wasn’t long before he ended up on the sofa, arms crossed stubbornly, eyes drooping with exhaustion.

Now, he was fast asleep, one arm tucked under his head, the slow rise and fall of his chest the only sign of movement.

In-ho watched from the doorway, sipping his tea. It had been a long time since he’d seen Jun-ho this at peace.

Then, as Jun-ho shifted in his sleep, his shirt rode up just enough to reveal the scar.

The same one In-ho had.

The sight of it sent something sharp through his chest. He exhaled slowly, fingers ghosting over his own side, feeling the familiar ridges beneath his shirt. They matched now.

A mark of what they had been through.

A reminder of how close he had come to losing his little brother.

Setting his mug down, he walked over and grabbed the nearest blanket, shaking it out before draping it over Jun-ho’s sleeping form. Jun-ho barely stirred, just let out a quiet sigh and curled into the warmth.

In-ho hesitated for only a second before brushing a hand through his hair, just like he used to when Jun-ho was small.

“You better keep your promise,” he murmured softly.

No skipping meds. No more hospitals. No more near-misses.

They had matching scars now. That was enough.

He sat down beside him, letting the exhaustion creep in, his body aching but his heart steady.

Jun-ho was here.

That was all that mattered.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ○△□ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜