EUN JAE-HYUNG
The hospital hallway was too white. Too quiet. I hated every second of it.
I sat with my head in my hands, replaying it all over and over again: the scream of metal, the thud of Min-woo's body hitting the stage, the way his hand reached for me even as he winced in pain. I had been useless. Frozen. If he hadn't moved, it would've been me.
He saved me.
He was the one lying behind those double doors now, getting x-rays and scans and whatever else they needed to figure out how badly his leg was hurt.
Jiho paced back and forth, her arms crossed so tightly her fingers were white. Hana sat beside me, crying silently. None of us spoke. There was nothing left to say.
Minutes stretched into hours.
Finally, the door swung open, and a doctor emerged, clipboard in hand. "Kang Min-woo's friends?"
We stood as one.
"He's stable," the doctor said. "No internal bleeding, but the spotlight fractured his tibia. He'll need surgery to set the bone, and then time to recover."
My legs nearly gave out in relief.
"Can we see him?" I asked.
The doctor nodded. "One at a time. He's awake."
I was the first through the door.
---
KANG MIN-WOO
The room smelled like antiseptic and lemon floor polish. The bed wasn't comfortable, and my leg throbbed in a way that reminded me I'd been stupidly heroic. But when Jae-hyung stepped inside, all of that disappeared.
He looked like he hadn't slept in years.
"Hey," I whispered.
He didn't speak. Just came to the side of the bed and sat down slowly. Then, he reached for my hand.
"I thought—" his voice cracked. "I thought you were going to—"
"I'm fine."
"You're not," he snapped. "You got crushed by a stage light, Min-woo. You might not be able to play at the showcase. You might not be able to—"
"Stop," I said gently. "Please."
He shut his eyes. I saw the tears threaten again.
"I couldn't do anything," he whispered. "You moved, not me. You saved me."
"Of course I did," I said. "I had to."
He looked up. "Why?"
Now it was my turn to hesitate.
"I just... did."
He flinched like I'd hit him. I hated myself for not saying the words. But I wasn't sure I could handle what came after them.
---
EUN JAE-HYUNG
I left the hospital room after a few more minutes, feeling gutted. Not from the injury. From everything we didn't say.
But there was no time to wallow. The showcase was still on. Professor Lim made it clear: we could pull out, but if we did, it would be seen as forfeiting the entire semester's credit. It wasn't just about pride anymore. It was about survival.
Jiho, Hana, and I gathered at the studio later that night.
"We'll have to rearrange everything," Jiho said. "Half the songs are written around Min-woo's guitar."
"I can fill in," I offered. "Not all of it, but enough. We'll change the instrumentation. Make it more acoustic."
"We need a story," Hana said. "If we're changing styles this late, it has to feel like a choice, not a disaster."
I swallowed. "We dedicate the set to Min-woo."
Jiho nodded slowly. "That's our story. We play for him."
---
KANG MIN-WOO
Recovery was slow.
The painkillers made me foggy, but when I was lucid enough, I asked for my laptop. The hospital had wifi. Barely. I watched from afar as my bandmates transformed everything we'd worked on into a new set.
They made it gentler. More raw. Jiho added subtle backing harmonies where my guitar would've driven the melody. Hana reworked the drum patterns. And Jae-hyung—
He stepped up in every way.
Watching him command the room from afar was like seeing the version of him I'd always believed in. The one who didn't need to hide behind keys or harmonies.
The one who could stand in front of an audience and make them feel everything.
---
EUN JAE-HYUNG
The night of the showcase arrived like a wave.
The theater buzzed with energy. Backstage, we were quiet. Focused.
We'd placed a single empty guitar stand center stage, with a white light shining on it.
Symbolic.
Hopeful.
When we walked out, the crowd greeted us with polite applause. They didn't know yet what this set meant. They didn't know what we'd lost.
I stepped up to the mic.
"We're Full Volume," I said. "And tonight, we're playing for someone who couldn't be here. But who helped make every note possible."
I glanced at the guitar stand.
Then at the first row—where Min-woo sat in a wheelchair, front and center, eyes locked on mine.
"We hope you listen close."
Then I played.
---
KANG MIN-WOO
It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard.
They stripped the sound down to bone and breath. And Jae-hyung—he didn't just sing. He bled.
Every lyric was a confession.
Every note, a bridge.
And when he reached the final song, a new one I hadn't heard before, he spoke into the mic:
"This last one... it's about choices. About the people who change us. About the ones we're afraid to love out loud."
He didn't look away when he said it.
And I knew.
I knew it was for me.
The lights dimmed.
His voice filled the theater.
And I cried.
---
EUN JAE-HYUNG
When the applause roared, I could barely bow. My heart was pounding too fast. All I wanted was to get offstage.
I did.
I ran.
Straight to the front row.
Straight to him.
He stood up from his wheelchair—with crutches, shaky, but standing.
"You idiot," I breathed.
"You were brilliant," he replied.
And then—
I kissed him.
Not for the crowd.
Not for the story.
For us.
Because we weren't a band anymore.
We were a love song.
Still writing itself.