RB 111

Eunho threw the paper packet of medicine right in Ahn Jaehwan’s face. He ripped the documents to shreds and swept the table with his arm. Ragged breaths burst out through his nose and mouth.

“You people are good at turning sane persons into lunatics! You think I’ll sit here and take it? You want me to really lose my mind for you?”

Blood vessels rose in the whites of Eunho’s eyes. He lunged at Ahn Jaehwan like a beast rather than a man, hands outstretched as if he meant to tear him apart.

The bodyguards nearby pinned Eunho down immediately. Ahn Jaehwan forced himself to stay calm.

He had expected a violent reaction, but seeing Eunho’s condition this bad with his own eyes hurt more than he’d thought it would. He knew how unstable Eunho was, and he hadn’t managed to prevent this.

“Let go! I said let go! Hah! Let go!”

Even though they were only holding him to keep him from hurting himself, Eunho’s face turned deathly pale. His breathing was ragged, and cold sweat streamed down his temples. Fear filled his eyes.

“Ahhh! Let go! Don’t touch me! I’m not going back in! Don’t touch me!”

Then came the convulsions. As Eunho fell back into a panic attack, Ahn Jaehwan quickly took out a syringe. While the bodyguards held Eunho down, he pushed the needle into his shoulder and injected the sedative.

Once the concentrated drug spread through his system, Eunho’s upper body went limp. His arms and legs lost strength, his head slumped forward, and the room fell into heavy silence, everyone gasping for breath after the struggle.

That was when Choi Yeorok returned.

He froze as soon as he stepped into the room and saw the chaos. Then he quickly walked over and knelt beside Eunho. Lifting the limp body, he gently brushed the damp hair away from Eunho’s forehead, his touch careful as he checked for any injury.

“What happened?”

“I sedated him. If I hadn’t, he might’ve gotten hurt.”

Ahn Jaehwan explained the situation. What Eunho had just shown was terror, almost identical to the symptoms he’d displayed back when he was locked up in the psychiatric hospital. It must have been the same kind of suffocating pressure that had triggered his breakdown.

“……”

Yeorok said nothing. He gathered Eunho in his arms and stood, climbing the stairs. Ahn Jaehwan followed close behind.

In the bedroom, Yeorok laid Eunho carefully on the bed, pulling the blanket up to his chest. He dragged a small stool to the bedside and sat down, staying there like someone who had decided not to leave at all, just watching Eunho’s sleeping face.

“…Do you think he’ll recover?”

Yeorok’s eyes remained fixed on Eunho. His face was as expressionless as ever, but his voice was heavy.

“…This isn’t something that heals with stitches and ointment.”

Ahn Jaehwan sighed. Mental illness needed cooperation from the patient. Without confinement, no one could force him to take medication or attend therapy.

“We’ll have to make it work.”

Yeorok reached out and stroked Eunho’s forehead. A large, flesh-colored bandage was still stuck there. If only wounds of the heart could be seen and treated this way too. His inability to do anything weighed on him, knowing there was no sign of improvement.

Ahn Jaehwan watched him for a long while before finally opening his mouth.

“I saw the results from the day you both did the checkups. You know your stress index was sky-high too, right?”

“……”

“Your anxiety level’s severe. If you don’t get treatment, it’ll break you sooner or later.”

On the day Eunho had gone in for tests, Yeorok had taken a psychological assessment alongside him. It was a simple self-report survey, but the numbers showed heavy stress and acute anxiety, bad enough to need a prescription. Usually, that kind of result came with physical symptoms too.

But on the surface, Choi Yeorok looked fine. His skin was a little dry, his complexion pale, but his usual flawless appearance remained unchanged. That was because he was strictly controlling himself.

He’d always been the type who never let weakness show in front of others. But that didn’t matter, numbers didn’t lie. No matter how polished the outside looked, the inside was rotten.

“Do you even sleep? Eat properly?”

Yeorok laughed bitterly. It had been a long time since he’d slept properly. Even when he dozed for a few minutes in his private study, his thoughts drifted to Eunho behind the door. If keeping his eyes closed counted as rest, then maybe he got two hours a day.

As for food, coffee and supplements had replaced meals a while ago. His stomach turned at the thought of eating. He knew it was all from stress.

“That won’t kill me.”

He was still functional enough. There was no problem. Yeorok always focused only on what came first. His own condition wasn’t a priority.

Ahn Jaehwan set a plastic pill bottle on the table just in case. The only thing he could really offer were mild sedatives or anxiety medication.

“If it gets too hard, take these. They’re non-addictive, so don’t worry.”

He sighed again. Looking at the sleeping Sim Eunho and at Choi Yeorok, who couldn’t take his eyes off him, he found himself wondering what any of this was worth.

He had sensed it for a while now, so he didn’t need to ask to know something was going on between them. Choi Yeorok had never looked at anyone with eyes that desperate. The only question was how genuine it was.

“Why are you like this?”

“What?”

“You act like you’re in love with Eunho.”

“I am. I love him.”

A lonely smile played on Yeorok’s lips. He stroked Eunho’s cheek gently, his straight fingers tracing along the skin, unwilling to let go.

“I never told him that. He wanted to hear it, and I couldn’t say it. It wasn’t that hard, but…”

“……”

“I liked seeing him restless and anxious because of me. It made me happy that I was the only one he looked at. I thought it would last forever.”

Yeorok gave a bitter laugh.

“I changed. Why wouldn’t Sim Eunho change too? I brought this on myself.”

“……”

“He must’ve been so miserable that he had to run.”

He spoke calmly, even while ruminating on regret.

From the start, Yeorok had been someone without emotion. The feelings he had now were all unfamiliar. Like a child learning how to feel, he was only just realizing that what he’d felt for Eunho was love, and that the ache in his chest was what people called guilt.

They were feelings he could have gone a lifetime without knowing. The pain that was pressing down on his heart was unbearable.

But in a way, he welcomed it. It made him think, so this is how Eunho must have felt. He knew his suffering couldn’t even compare to Eunho’s, but at least now he could understand a fraction of it.

“…If that happens,” Ahn Jaehwan began carefully. He had been observing Yeorok’s words and behavior closely, not as a friend, but as a doctor.

The changes Yeorok was showing were the kind that would normally only be written about in academic papers. But there was something more immediate he needed to address.

“Even if we push forward with treatment, if Eunho’s condition doesn’t improve, we might have to stop. Forcing therapy on a patient who has no will to get better could make things worse. If it comes to that… maybe letting him live as Choi Yoonho could be one option.”

“That’s not possible.”

Yeorok replied without hesitation. He had considered it. If he could just let go of his attachment, everything might go smoothly.

Eunho had wanted to keep living as Choi Yoonho. Maybe that was what should happen. Forgetting everything from his life as Sim Eunho, he could start anew.

But Yeorok couldn’t let that happen.

He gripped Eunho’s limp left hand tightly, prying his fingers apart and sliding his own between them.

“I need Sim Eunho.”

Not Choi Yoonho, but Sim Eunho. He could never treat Eunho as his nephew for the rest of his life. His greed—to have what he wanted no matter the cost—was still there. Some people’s nature simply never changed.

Ahn Jaehwan muttered in disbelief.

“You selfish bastard.”

Yeorok smiled, it didn’t even surprise him. He said nothing, only kissed Eunho’s fingers. For someone like him, it was an uncharacteristically tender gesture.

The old Sim Eunho would have been overwhelmed with emotion by that gesture. But reality wasn’t kind. Even if Eunho were conscious, would he have accepted such affection? Maybe being numbed by the sedative was a kinder heaven than waking up to it.

Yeorok looked down at the sleeping face. Ahn Jaehwan let out a sigh right in front of him.

“Try not to agitate him. And if you can, make sure he takes his medication. Once a day is fine, meal or not.”

Given the situation, advice was the only thing Ahn Jaehwan could offer. He was a psychiatrist, not a prophet or strategist. How things would turn out was something only time would tell.

And he could only hope that the ending wouldn’t be ruin.