Work Text:
November 2025, Seoul, South Korea
Kim Kiin sat in the practice room, his fingers absently tracing patterns on the armrest of his gaming chair. It was late, past midnight, but sleep felt impossible. His phone sat face-up on the desk beside him, the screen dark and silent. Jihoon should have texted by now.
Jeong Jihoon, his mid-laner and, although only a handful of people knew, his boyfriend of four months, had left earlier that evening to visit his family. It was a quick trip, just overnight, but Jihoon always texted when he arrived safely. Always.
Kiin glanced at his phone again. Nothing. He tried to push down the anxiety creeping up his spine. Jihoon was probably just caught up talking with his parents, or maybe his phone died. There were a thousand reasonable explanations. But something felt wrong, a nagging sensation in his gut that he couldn't shake.
When his phone finally did ring, it wasn't Jihoon's name on the screen. It was an unknown number.
"Hello?" Kiin answered, his voice tight.
"Is this Kim Kiin?" a professional, clinical voice asked.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"I'm calling from Osan Medical Center. You're listed as an emergency contact for Jeong Jihoon. There has been an accident."
The world tilted. Kiin's grip on his phone tightened until his knuckles turned white.
"What kind of accident? Is he…"
"He's stable," the voice reassured quickly. "But he was involved in a serious traffic collision. You should consider coming to the hospital as soon as possible."
Kiin didn't remember grabbing his jacket or rushing out of the building. He didn't remember the taxi ride or how he managed to give the driver directions when his mind felt like static. All he could think about was Jihoon, his brilliant, infuriating, and beautiful Jihoon, hurt somewhere and worse than everything else, alone.
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The fluorescent lights of the hospital were too bright, too harsh. They made everything feel unreal, like Kiin was moving through a dream or a nightmare. A nurse led him through the white hallways that all looked the same, until they reached a private room.
"He is awake," she said gently. "But please be aware that he has suffered a head injury. The doctor will explain more."
Kiin nodded, even if he had barely heard her. He pushed open the door to the sight of Jihoon sitting up in bed, his head wrapped in bandages, his face pale but miraculously unmarred except for a few scrapes. When he looked up and saw Kiin, his eyes sparkled with recognition, and relief.
"Kiin-ah," Jihoon said, and his voice was hoarse but it was him, he was alive, and Kiin felt something loosen in his chest.
"Jihoon." Kiin crossed the room in three strides, stopping just short of the bed. He wanted to throw his arms around him, to feel the solid warmth of him and confirm that he was real and whole, but the bandages and the medical equipment made him hesitate. "Are you okay? What happened?"
"I'm fine… Well, mostly." Jihoon offered a weak smile. "There was another car… I don't remember much about it, honestly. The doctor said I hit my head pretty hard."
As if summoned by the mention, a doctor entered the room, clipboard in hand. She was middle-aged with kind eyes, but her expression was serious.
"Kim Kiin? I'm Dr. Park Hyejin, I've been treating Jihoon since he was brought in."
"Please tell me he is going to be okay," Kiin said, and he hated how his voice cracked.
"Physically, he is recovering well. No internal injuries, no fractures. However, the head trauma has resulted in retrograde amnesia. He has lost some memories from the recent past, specifically, approximately the last four to six months."
The world stopped.
"Four to six months?" Kiin repeated numbly.
"It's not uncommon with this type of injury. The memories will most likely return on their own with time. We will monitor his progress, but I wanted you to be aware, and maybe inform your team."
Four to six months. Their entire relationship. Every moment: the first time Jihoon had kissed him after a particularly brutal practice session, breathless and laughing; the quiet mornings when they would steal time together before anyone else woke up; the secret touches under the table during team dinners; the way Jihoon said his name like it was something precious. All of it, gone.
When the doctor left, Kiin forced himself to meet Jihoon's eyes.
"Do you... do you know who I am?"
"Of course I do." Jihoon looked confused by the question. "You're Kiin. My top-laner. We've been playing together for over a year now."
"Right… Of course." Kiin managed a smile that felt like glass. "Just... just teammates."
But he saw it, the way Jihoon's cheeks flushed slightly when their eyes met, the way his gaze lingered just a moment too long. The way his fingers fidgeted with the edge of his blanket, a nervous habit Kiin had learned meant Jihoon was feeling flustered. The love was still there, Kiin realized. Buried, perhaps, but not gone. Jihoon's heart remembered even if his mind didn't.
It was that realization that sparked something in Kiin's chest. A determination, fierce and unwavering. If Jihoon's heart could remember, then maybe his mind could too. And Kiin would do whatever it took to help him.
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Jihoon was discharged from the hospital two days later with strict instructions to rest and avoid stress. The team manager had been understanding when Kiin asked for a few days off, citing Jihoon's recovery. He didn't mention the rest, that felt too raw, too personal to share.
On the first morning after Jihoon returned to the team house, Kiin woke up before dawn. He dressed carefully, trying to remember exactly what he had worn on their first date four months ago. A simple black cardigan, jeans. Nothing too formal, but not sloppy either. Jihoon had teased him that day, said he looked like he was trying too hard. Kiin had blushed and stammered something about wanting to look nice, and Jihoon had kissed his cheek and said he always looked nice. Now that memory ached.
He stopped at the flower shop that was just opening, the same one he had visited that first day. The owner, an elderly woman with warm eyes, remembered him.
"Back for more roses?" she asked with a knowing smile.
"White roses," Kiin confirmed. "The freshest ones you have."
White roses had been an accident the first time, he had meant to buy red ones, traditional and romantic, but he had gotten flustered and pointed to the wrong bouquet. Jihoon had laughed so hard he had cried, and then he had kissed Kiin breathless and said white roses were better anyway. Pure and honest, like them.
When Kiin knocked on Jihoon's door back at the team house, flowers in hand, he heard shuffling inside before the door cracked open. Jihoon looked sleepy, his hair sticking up at odd angles, and Kiin's heart clenched.
"Kiin? What are you…" Jihoon stopped when he saw the roses. His eyes widened, and that flush appeared on his cheeks again. "What is this?"
"I thought you might want to get out for a bit," Kiin said, keeping his voice steady through sheer force of will. "The doctor said you need to rest, but some fresh air might be good. We could... we could grab coffee?"
He watched Jihoon's face, saw the confusion, the hesitation, and then, crucially, the curiosity. "Okay," Jihoon said slowly. "Just coffee?"
"Just coffee," Kiin lied.
They took the subway, just like they had the first time. Kiin watched Jihoon take in the familiar sights, the streets covered of leds and banners, the indie shops, the buzz of youth and creativity that made this neighborhood feel alive. He wondered if any of it felt familiar to Jihoon, if somewhere deep down, his body remembered this journey even if his mind didn't.
The café was exactly where Kiin remembered it, tucked between a vintage clothing store and a tiny bookshop. Euros Coffee Roster, the first time they had come here, Jihoon had joked that it was fate, Euros, Europe, their first Worlds tournament together, the first time he had noticed Kiin’s beautiful traits.
"This place is nice," Jihoon said as they entered, and Kiin had to bite back the urge to say, You said that last time too.
"Yeah, I like it here." Kiin guided them to the same corner table, the one with the view of the street. "What do you want to drink?"
"I'll come with you…"
"No, it's okay. You should rest, I'll order." Before Jihoon could protest, Kiin was at the counter, ordering the same drinks they had had that first day. A vanilla latte for Jihoon, his favorite, though he didn't know Kiin knew that yet, and an iced americano for himself.
When he returned to the table with the drinks, Jihoon was staring out the window, the white roses lying on the seat beside him. He looked peaceful, contemplative, and beautiful in the soft morning light filtering through the café windows.
"Vanilla latte?" Jihoon said, surprised, when Kiin set the cup in front of him. "How did you know that's my favorite?"
"Lucky guess?" Kiin's heart skipped.
"You're weird, Kiin-ah." Jihoon's eyes narrowed slightly, but he was smiling.
"Yeah," Kiin agreed softly. "I know."
They spent two hours in that café, talking about everything and nothing. Jihoon told stories from before the accident, team dynamics, funny moments during scrims, his thoughts on the current meta. Kiin listened and laughed in all the right places, even though he had heard most of these stories before. He was watching Jihoon's face, the way his eyes lit up when he was passionate about something, the way he gestured wildly with his hands when he got excited.
He was falling in love all over again, with the same person, in the same café, at the same corner table. And it hurt so much he could barely breathe.
When they finally left, Jihoon clutched the white roses to his chest.
"Thanks for today," he said as they walked to the subway station. "I don't know why you did all this, but... it was nice. I felt like myself for the first time since the accident."
Because you are yourself, Kiin wanted to say. Because this is who we are together. But instead, he just smiled.
"I'm glad."
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Kiin bought white roses again. The flower shop owner didn't comment, but her eyes were sympathetic.
Jihoon answered his door faster this time, as if he had been expecting the knock. When he saw the flowers, he laughed, startled and confused.
"Again?"
"They're your favorite," Kiin said, and it wasn't a question.
"I don't remember telling you that." But Jihoon took the roses, his fingers brushing against Kiin's. The touch sent electricity up Kiin's arm, the same as it always had.
"You didn't have to tell me, I pay attention."
Something flickered across Jihoon's face, surprise, maybe.
"Where are we going today?"
"Coffee?"
"The same place as yesterday?"
"Is that okay?"
Jihoon studied him for a long moment. Kiin felt exposed under that gaze, like Jihoon could see right through him to all the desperate hope he was trying to hide. Finally, Jihoon nodded.
"Yeah. That's okay."
Kiin ordered the same drinks. Vanilla latte for Jihoon, iced americano for himself. They sat at the same table. They talked about different things this time, Jihoon asked about Kiin's family, about their family dog who had been sick eight months ago, but Jihoon didn’t remember him passing away. Kiin answered honestly, even though they had had these conversations before, months ago, lying in bed together in the dark.
"You're easy to talk to," Jihoon said at one point, wrapping his hands around his latte cup. "I feel like I can tell you anything."
"You can," Kiin said, and he meant it with every fiber of his being. "Always."
When they left the café, Jihoon didn't immediately head for the subway. Instead, he turned to Kiin, his expression serious.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"This. The flowers, the coffee, spending all this time with me. Geonbu and the others asked if I wanted to hang out, but I said I had plans with you. Plans I don't remember making." Jihoon's eyes searched his face. "What's going on, Kiin-ah?"
Kiin's throat tightened. He wanted to tell him everything, he wanted to lay his heart bare and explain that they were in love, that Jihoon was the most important person in his world, that losing him to this amnesia was like losing a part of himself. But would that help? Or would it just overwhelm Jihoon, pressure him, make him feel obligated to remember something he couldn't?
"I just want to spend time with you," Kiin said finally. It was the truth, even if it wasn't the whole truth. "Is that okay?"
Jihoon's expression softened.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "It's more than okay."
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White roses. Euros Coffee Roaster. Vanilla latte. The same corner table, the same gentle conversation. Kiin was starting to feel like he was trapped in a time loop, living the same day over and over, always hoping for a different ending. But today felt different. Jihoon was quieter, more thoughtful. He kept looking at Kiin like he was trying to solve a puzzle, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"Have we done this before?" he asked suddenly.
Kiin's heart leapt.
"What do you mean?"
"This. All of this." Jihoon gestured around the café. "The flowers, this place, these drinks. It feels... familiar. Like déjà vu, but stronger."
"Maybe it's a good café," Kiin offered weakly.
"It's not just the café." Jihoon's eyes locked onto his. "It's you. Being with you feels familiar. Like..." He trailed off, shaking his head in frustration. "I can't explain it."
"You don't have to explain anything."
"But I want to, I feel like there's something I'm missing. Something important." Jihoon reached across the table, his hand hovering near Kiin's. "Something about us."
Kiin's hand moved on instinct, closing the distance, his fingers intertwining with Jihoon's. The touch felt like coming home.
"Jihoon..."
"Tell me," Jihoon said, his voice almost pleading. "If there's something I should know, tell me."
But Kiin couldn't. The words stuck in his throat, heavy and impossible. Because what if telling him didn't help? What if it made things worse? What if Jihoon felt pressured to feel something he didn't remember feeling?
"There's nothing to tell," Kiin said, and he hated himself for the lie. "I just care about you. As a teammate… as a friend."
Jihoon's face fell, just slightly, and Kiin knew he had said the wrong thing. But before he could take it back, Jihoon was pulling his hand away, nodding, his expression shuttering.
"Right. Of course, friends."
The word felt like a knife between Kiin's ribs.
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Kiin woke up on the fifth day and didn't buy flowers. He had failed. Four days of retracing their steps, of recreating their first date down to the smallest detail, and Jihoon still didn't remember. Maybe the doctor was wrong. Maybe those memories were gone forever, locked away behind walls that Kiin couldn't break down no matter how hard he tried.
He stayed in his room, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of defeat pressing down on his chest. Maybe it was time to accept that the Jihoon who loved him was gone. Maybe it was time to move on.
The knock on his door was unexpected.
"Kiin-ah? Are you in there?"
Jihoon.
Kiin dragged himself off the bed and opened the door. Jihoon stood there, and he looked different somehow, more alert, more present. There was a brightness in his eyes that hadn't been there before.
"We need to talk," Jihoon said.
Kiin's stomach dropped.
"Okay."
Jihoon pushed past him into the room, and Kiin closed the door behind them. When he turned around, Jihoon was holding something out to him, a small bag from a shop Kiin recognized, a store that sold novelty keychains and trinkets.
"What's this?" Kiin asked.
"Open it."
Kiin opened the bag with trembling fingers. Inside were two keychains, both shaped like tiny swords, one gold and one silver. The exact keychains Kiin had been eyeing for weeks, rare collectibles from a game he loved. The same ones he had mentioned once, in passing, to Jihoon.
"How did you..." Kiin's voice trailed off.
"And this." Jihoon pulled out his phone, showing Kiin a food delivery app. In the cart was Kiin's usual order from his favorite restaurant: spicy beef stew, extra rice, no vegetables. Down to the exact specifications Kiin always requested. "I already ordered it, it should be here in twenty minutes."
Kiin's heart was pounding so hard he thought it might burst out of his chest.
"Jihoon, what…"
"Don't." The word came out sharp. "Don't tell me you asked Geonbu about what I like. Don't tell me you're just trying to make me happy because you feel bad about the accident."
"I wasn't going to…"
"Because that's what I thought at first." Jihoon stepped closer, and Kiin could see the emotion swimming in his eyes: confusion, hope, fear, all tangled together. "I thought maybe you were just being nice. But then I woke up this morning and I couldn't stop thinking about you. About us. About white roses and vanilla lattes and the way you look at me like I'm something precious."
Kiin couldn't breathe.
"I remember," Jihoon whispered. "Not everything, it's still fuzzy, like looking through frosted glass. But I remember enough… Because I remember us."
"Jihoon…"
"I remember our first date. The café, the roses, how nervous you were. I remember you spilling your coffee and apologizing like the world was ending." Jihoon's laugh was watery. "I remember kissing you for the first time and thinking that I never wanted to stop."
Kiin's vision blurred with tears.
"You remember."
"I remember loving you. I remember being loved by you." Jihoon reached out, his hand cupping Kiin's face with infinite gentleness. "And I remember that you were my last thought before everything went dark in that accident. Not my family, not the team, not League of Legends. You. I thought, 'I hope Kiin isn't waiting up for me.' And then nothing."
"You were my first thought when I got the call." Kiin's voice broke. "My first, my last, my every thought. You're everything, Jihoon. You're…"
Jihoon kissed him, and it felt like the first time all over again. Desperate and sweet and full of promise. Kiin's hands came up to clutch at Jihoon's shirt, holding him close, afraid that if he let go, this moment would shatter and he would wake up to find it was all a dream.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Jihoon rested his forehead against Kiin's.
"I'm sorry I forgot us… I'm sorry I put you through that."
"Don't apologize… It wasn't your fault."
"I know. But I'm still sorry." Jihoon's thumb brushed away a tear from Kiin's cheek. "Thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for trying to make me remember, even when it seemed impossible."
"I would do it a thousand times over," Kiin said fiercely. "A million times, however long it took."
"You only needed four days."
"I would have kept going. Every day, for the rest of my life if I had to."
Jihoon's smile was radiant, the same smile that had made Kiin fall in love in the first place.
"Well, good thing you don't have to. Because I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you. We're in this together, okay?"
"Okay," Kiin agreed, and he kissed him again because he could, because Jihoon remembered, because they had been given a second chance and he wasn't going to waste a single moment of it.
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What Kiin didn’t knew, was that the night before, Jihoon stood outside Jaehyuk's door, his hand raised to knock. He hesitated. Part of him wanted to just go to bed, to let the questions swirling in his mind remain unanswered, but the bigger part, the part that couldn't stop thinking about white roses and vanilla lattes and the way Kiin looked at him like he was the most important person in the world, needed to know the truth.
He knocked.
"Come in," Jaehyuk's voice called from inside.
Jihoon pushed open the door, and found that Jaehyuk was sitting at his desk, headphones around his neck, mid-game VOD paused on his monitor. He looked up, and his expression immediately shifted from casual to concerned.
"Jihoon-ah? What's wrong?"
"I need to talk to you," Jihoon said, and his voice came out smaller than he intended. "About Kiin."
Jaehyuk's eyes widened slightly, and then he was pulling out his phone, typing quickly.
"Give me two minutes."
Jihoon sat on the edge of Jaehyuk's bed, his hands clasped between his knees, trying to ignore the way his heart was racing. Two minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and Geonbu and Minkyu filed in, both looking sleepy and confused.
"What's going on?" Geonbu asked, rubbing his eyes.
"Jihoon wants to talk about Kiin," Jaehyuk said simply.
The room went silent. Geonbu and Minkyu exchanged a look, and Jihoon's stomach twisted, that look told him everything he needed to know. There was something they weren't telling him, something important.
"Tell me," Jihoon said. "Please, I need to know what I'm missing."
Jaehyuk sat down on the bed beside him, and Geonbu pulled up Jaehyuk's desk chair, turning it around to straddle it. Minkyu leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression sad.
"Okay," Jaehyuk said slowly. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything. Why is Kiin acting like this? Why does he keep taking me to that café? Why does he look at me like..." Jihoon trailed off, unable to put the feeling into words. "Like he has lost something."
"Because he has," Geonbu said quietly. "He lost you."
Jihoon's breath caught.
"What do you mean?"
"You and Kiin," Minkyu said, pushing off from the wall. "You were together, you know, dating, for four months."
The words hit Jihoon like a physical blow.
"We were... what?"
"The café," Jaehyuk said. "That was your first date. The white roses, the vanilla latte, the corner table. Kiin has been trying to recreate it, hoping it would help you remember."
Jihoon's mind was spinning. Dating, he and Kiin had been dating. And he couldn't remember any of it.
"But... in front of everyone, we were always..." He struggled to find the words. "We were always bickering. Always arguing about strategies and…"
"That was the front," Geonbu said with a small smile. "You two were good at hiding it, but we noticed. Little things, at first."
"Like what?" Jihoon's voice was barely a whisper.
"Like how you would always clean Kiin's glasses before matches," Minkyu said. "You would make a big show of refusing to clean mine or Jaehyuk's, but Kiin's? Always spotless."
"Or how you would share drinks," Jaehyuk added. "Always from the same cup, same straw. That's when we really started to suspect."
"And then we would catch you in the kitchen," Geonbu said, his expression softening. "Late at night, when you thought everyone was asleep. You qould be hugging him from behind, your head resting on top of his. He would be making tea or washing dishes, and you would just... hold him. Like he was the most precious thing in the world."
Jihoon's throat felt tight. He tried to picture it, tried to imagine himself doing those things, but his mind remained frustratingly blank. No memories surfaced, no flash of recognition, just emptiness.
"When you had the accident," Jaehyuk's voice was rough now, "Kiin broke down on the phone, I've never heard him like that before. He was terrified, Jihoon-ah, absolutely terrified."
"Here." Geonbu pulled out his phone, scrolling through his camera roll. "I took these without you guys knowing. I was going to show them to you as a joke one day, but..."
He handed the phone to Jihoon. The first photo showed Jihoon and Kiin on the practice room couch, Jihoon's head on Kiin's shoulder, both of them asleep, Kiin's arm wrapped protectively around him. The next showed them in the kitchen, exactly as Geonbu had described: Jihoon's arms around Kiin's waist, chin resting on Kiin's head, Kiin's hands stilling over the dishes he was washing. Another showed them on the balcony, Jihoon adjusting Kiin's scarf, both of them smiling. And another, and another, and another. Jihoon scrolled through them all, his chest growing tighter with each image. They looked happy, in love. And he couldn't remember a single moment.
"Wait," Minkyu said suddenly. "I have something too."He pulled out his own phone, tapping through until he found what he was looking for. "I took this a few weeks ago. You guys thought you were home alone."
He hit play, and Jihoon watched as the video showed their living room. Music was playing from somewhere off-screen, something soft and slow. And then Jihoon appeared in frame, except it wasn't the Jihoon sitting here now. This Jihoon was lighter somehow, his smile easy and unguarded. He was tugging on Kiin's hand, trying to pull him into the middle of the room.
Come on, hyung, video-Jihoon was saying, laughing. Just one dance.
I don't know how to dance, video-Kiin protested, but he was smiling too, letting himself be pulled along.
Neither do I. That's what makes it fun!
And then they were slow dancing, if it could even be called that. It was clumsy and awkward, both of them stepping on each other's feet, laughing every time they stumbled. But video-Kiin looked at video-Jihoon like he hung the moon, and video-Jihoon looked back with equal adoration.
You're terrible at this, video-Kiin said, but his voice was fond.
You love me anyway, video-Jihoon replied.
I do, video-Kiin agreed softly. I really do.
The video ended. The room was silent except for the sound of Jihoon's ragged breathing. He felt like he was drowning, like the weight of all these lost memories was pressing down on his chest, suffocating him.
"I don't remember," he said, and his voice broke. "I don't remember any of it. How could I forget something like that? How could I forget loving someone?"
"The doctor said it might come back," Jaehyuk said gently. "That's why Kiin has been trying so hard. He is hoping that if he recreates your first date, if he shows you the things you used to do together, maybe it'll trigger something."
"But it hasn't," Jihoon said miserably. "Four days, and I still don't remember."
"Give it time," Geonbu said. "These things don't happen overnight."
"What if they never come back?" Jihoon looked up at them, his eyes wet. "What if I never remember loving him?"
"Then you will fall in love with him again," Minkyu said simply. "From what I've seen these past few days, you're already halfway there."
Jihoon thought about the way his heart raced every time Kiin smiled at him, the way he found himself looking forward to their café visits, the way Kiin's presence made him feel safe and warm and right. Maybe Minkyu was onto something.
"Thank you," Jihoon said quietly. "For telling me."
"Of course," Jaehyuk said. "We've got your back, both of your backs."
Jihoon left Jaehyuk's room with his mind spinning. He walked back to his own room in a daze, closing the door behind him and sinking onto his bed. The photos, the video, the stories, they all swirled together in his head, painting a picture of a relationship he couldn't remember but desperately wanted to.
He lay back, staring at the ceiling, and tried to force the memories to surface. He thought about white roses, about vanilla lattes, about the way Kiin's hand felt in his. He thought about hugging Kiin from behind in the kitchen, about slow dancing in the living room, about cleaning Kiin's glasses before every match. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to remember, to feel something, anything. But there was nothing. Just emptiness where those memories should be.
Hours passed. The sky outside his window began to lighten, shifting from deep black to navy to the soft gray of early morning. And still, Jihoon couldn't remember. But as he lay there, exhausted and frustrated and heartbroken, an idea began to form. A terrible, wonderful, desperate idea.
What if he lied?
What if he told Kiin that he remembered, even though he didn't? What if he pretended that the memories had come back, and used that pretense to get close to Kiin again? Maybe if he was actively in the relationship, living it day by day, the real memories would surface. Maybe his brain just needed a push, a reason to unlock what it had hidden away.
It was risky. If Kiin found out, he would be devastated, but the alternative was watching Kiin break himself trying to help Jihoon remember something that might never come back, and that seemed worse. At least this way, they could be together, and Jihoon could try to be the boyfriend Kiin deserved, even if he couldn't remember being that person before.
And the truth was, even without the memories, Jihoon wanted it. He wanted the relationship that the photos and the video had shown him. He wanted to be the person who made Kiin smile like that, who Kiin held onto like he was precious. He wanted to fall in love with Kiin, or maybe fall in love with him again, properly this time, with both of them aware of what they were building.
So as the sun rose, Jihoon made his decision. He would lie, he would tell Kiin that he remembered. And he would use that lie to rebuild what they had lost, one day at a time, until maybe, hopefully, the lie became the truth.
He spent the early morning hours preparing. He looked through the photos Geonbu had sent him, memorizing the details. He watched the video Minkyu had shared over and over, studying the way he and Kiin had moved together, the way they had looked at each other. He thought about what Jaehyuk had told him, about the bickering, about the hidden affection, about Kiin crying on the phone when he heard about the accident.
And then he crafted his story, well, his lie. It had to be perfect, believable enough that Kiin wouldn't question it but vague enough that Jihoon wouldn't contradict something he should know. He would say the memories were fuzzy, like looking through frosted glass. He would focus on feelings rather than specific moments, and he would be honest about the fear and the confusion, because those were real, even if the memories weren't.
By the time he went to find Kiin that morning, Jihoon had his story straight. He had the keychains, he had the food order, he had the carefully crafted explanation. And when he saw the hope bloom in Kiin's eyes, when they kissed and it felt both foreign and familiar at once, Jihoon knew he had made the right choice.
Even if it was built on a lie. Even if he was terrified of being found out. Because the look on Kiin's face, the relief and joy and love, that was real. And Jihoon would do anything, lie about anything, to keep that look on Kiin's face. He would fall in love with Kiin all over again. He would make new memories to replace the ones he had lost. And maybe, along the way, the old memories would surface. But even if they didn't, even if he never remembered their first date or their first kiss or their first "I love you," he would make sure that their second chance was just as beautiful.
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Two weeks later, they were back at the café. Not because Kiin was trying to help Jihoon remember, his memories were coming back steadily, pieces falling into place day by day, but because it was their place. Their café, their corner table, their vanilla latte and iced americano.
"I'm thinking of buying you flowers every day for the rest of our lives," Kiin said casually, watching Jihoon over the rim of his cup.
"White roses?"
"If that's what you want."
"I want whatever you want to give me." Jihoon's hand found Kiin's across the table, their fingers lacing together naturally, easily. "But maybe we can mix it up sometimes. The flower shop owner is probably getting suspicious."
Kiin laughed, the sound free and unburdened for the first time in weeks.
"She definitely knows something is up. She keeps giving me knowing looks."
"Good, everyone should know." Jihoon squeezed his hand. "I don't want to hide this anymore."
"Are you sure? The team knows but the fans…"
"I almost lost you. Lost us." Jihoon's expression was serious now. "Life is too short to hide the people we love. I want everyone to know that Kim Kiin is mine and I'm his. If they have a problem with that, then that's their problem, not ours."
Kiin's heart swelled so large he thought it might burst out of his chest.
"You're really okay with that? You are okay with being stoned to death by Korean society?"
"More than okay, although I would like to avoid the stoning. But I'm done living in fear of what other people think. The accident taught me that much." Jihoon raised their joined hands, pressing a kiss to Kiin's knuckles. "I love you, I remember loving you. And I want to keep loving you, openly and proudly. Is that okay?"
"It's more than okay," Kiin whispered. "It's everything... But maybe let’s just tell people who we know will be supportive, yeah?"
Outside the café window, Seoul bustled with life: people rushing to work, students laughing on their way to class, street vendors setting up for the day. The city moved forward, relentless and uncaring, but inside, time felt suspended. It was just the two of them, two boys in love, holding hands across a table, drinking their favorite drinks, and building memories that neither of them would ever forget.
"Hey, Kiin-ah?" Jihoon said after a while.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for reminding me who I am. Who we are."
"Always," Kiin promised. "For as long as you will have me."
"Forever, then." Jihoon's smile was soft and sure. "I choose forever."
"Forever," Kiin agreed, and he knew, deep in his bones, that this was a promise they would both keep.
The accident had stolen Jihoon's memories, but it couldn't steal what they had. Their love had proven stronger than amnesia, stronger than fear, stronger than the uncertainty of what the future held. And as they sat together in their corner of the world, hands intertwined and hearts full, Kiin knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.
Because some memories might fade, but the love behind them, the real, bone-deep, soul-touching love was forever. That was the kind of thing that transcended memory, that lived in the body and the heart even when the mind couldn't quite grasp it. And that was the most beautiful thing of all.
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Kiin never found out.
Not when they celebrated their one-year anniversary of Jihoon's "recovered" memories. Not when they moved in together officially, leaving the dorms behind for a small apartment in Gangnam. Not when they won Worlds together, holding the trophy high while their teammates cheered and Jihoon kissed him right when they made it to the backstage.
Not even years later, when they retired from professional play and opened a small gaming café of their own, with white roses always fresh in a vase by the register.
Jihoon carried the secret carefully, like something precious and fragile. Some of the real memories had come back eventually, fragments and flashes: the warmth of Kiin's hand in his during that first walk home, the taste of vanilla on Kiin's lips during their first kiss, the sound of Kiin's laugh when Jihoon had first called him "hyung" in private. But not all of them. Maybe not even most of them.
The difference was, it didn't matter anymore. The memories they made together after that lie, those were real, theirs, built brick by brick, moment by moment, with full awareness and intention. Every kiss, every fight, every quiet morning, every victory, every defeat. All of it was authentic, even if it was built on a foundation that wasn't entirely true.
Sometimes, late at night when Kiin was asleep beside him, Jihoon would think about telling him. The guilt would rise up, sharp and insistent, and he would open his mouth to confess. But then Kiin would shift in his sleep, reaching for Jihoon even in unconsciousness, and Jihoon would remember why he had lied in the first place.
Love, real love, wasn't just about the past. It was about the choice you made every single day to stay, to fight, to build something beautiful together. And Jihoon had chosen Kiin every day since that lie. He would choose him every day for the rest of their lives.