A/N: For hbgo31 whose poor soul just wants to see the end. Thanks for the kick up the bum! Here's a very, very rough, untouched draft. It'll probably go through some serious revisions, but it'll give some resolution for now. The story will conclude in 2 more chapters!!  Keep pushing me to finish. I really want to!! 

Additional note: For hbgo31, I've added a snippet confrontation to the start of this chapter that'll answer a bit about Mr. Kim. I'll weave it into the story properly in the next editing round, but if I keep dwelling on how to fit it into the last two chapters, I'll never finish it xP it's just a scribble draft (equivalent of a stick figure drawing) but I hope this is okay for now. I'll get to work on the next chapter now! 

***

"Father," I said through the phone. "Mr. Kim has proven his guilt and attempted to run. Please have your men ensure he cannot leave this city."

"Of course, son."

"Also, father, did you find out how he could pull this off all this time? His motivations?"

My father cleared his throat, a deep grumble meeting my ears through the speaker. "Mr. Kim is not at all who he led us to believe. His age, his working history, even his qualifications. Everything was set up as soon as they learned you were taking a position connected to the hospital. As the only person closely connected to Haneul Bom, you were at the highest risk of recognizing him. That's why they set Mr. Kim on your tail. They kept him alive to minimize the risk of a murder scandal, but I guess they didn't bet on him waking up."

"But we were both apprentices," I said. "We worked our way up, together."

"I can't answer that one," Father answered. "But what I know is that he isn't much younger than me, although he looks closer in age to you, if not younger. Who knows if it's plastic surgery or good genes, you know? Anyway, Mr. Kim will probably try to call you. You can get the answers you need from him then."

The line ended, and I leaned back in the chair, running my hands through my hair. My return flight was delayed by an hour, forcing me to sit in wait in the VIP lounges. While it was inconvenient, causing unnecessary stress that I could not be with Haneul any earlier, it did give me sufficient time to lay the groundwork for both resolution and retribution.

After some phone calls, one of the lounge doors opened, and someone came running inside, their shoes clicking against the polished tiles.

"Chanyeol!" Mr. Kim's desperate voice cried out. "Chanyeol, you're here, aren't you? Please speak with me. Let me explain everything."

I stood up, bringing his attention straight over to me. He dashed across the lounge before stopping in front of me, recklessly pulling my hands in his.

"Chanyeol, please, I'm sorry. I'll turn myself in, just... I wish you would forgive me."

I paused, my back still turned, tension seizing my body. Without looking at him, I demanded, "Explain yourself, Kim. Tell me everything."

Mr. Kim's voice was low and hesitant as he began. "I'm forty-seven... I've been in this industry long before Haneul came. My job... I'm connected to the military, to Haneul's father, and it turned into keeping his records hidden. I had to stay close, make sure no one found out."

"Then how did you fake your identity? Was it the military?"

Mr. Kim nodded; his face ashen. "They set me up with everything I needed to join you from the beginning. As soon as they learned there was a risk of you being affiliated with the hospital, I was assigned to keep you from learning of his existence. I'd been a working professional for years before we met, but they saw to me that I approached on the same level as you."

"So why didn't you get the promotion instead of me?" I asked. "If you had such powerful connections, why did I fill the highest position while you remained as my assistant? Wouldn't it have been easier to keep me in line from a place of authority?"

Mr. Kim shrugged. "You earned that position fair and square. I convinced Haneul's father that if he were to interfere by pushing for my promotion, that it would look suspicious and draw more attention. You were more fit for the role. Anyone could see that. And I was so happy working under you, having your support and protection."

His words made me sick to my stomach. I had become so fond of him over the years while he proved his loyalty time and time again, to where I began wishing I could heal just to give him a chance. Just to give myself the opportunity to warm up to loving him as much as he seemed to love me. It was a blessing that my heart was so stubborn. The idea of giving this man my heart before learning of his betrayal hurt me to the point of being nauseating.

"And your relationship with me?" I asked, piercing him with a gaze I wished would stop his heart.

"That was me straying from my job," he admitted. "The connection we shared... even while you swore you could never love me... I know what we had was real."

I scoffed. "You expect me to believe that? How could you live with yourself?"

He murmured so quietly I almost didn't hear. "I don't know if I can anymore. Not if you throw me away after everything we've been through."

"Then," I said, closing the distance between us, I whispered, "If you hate yourself so much, and you are truly, truly sorry, then I hope you will willfully suffer for the rest of your life. Just as Haneul will. Just as I will. I hope the guilt will eat you alive, Mr. Kim, causing you so much agony in your heart that you just want to end your life. But you must endure it, Mr. Kim, because I will not accept you taking the easy way out. Once I hear you have died of old age, miserable and filled with regret, only then might I forgive you."

Mr. Kim's eyes widened, shimmering water making them red and glassy. His lips trembled while his head lowered, clearly defeated.

"As you wish," he murmured. "You know... I came from a time when people like us could not love openly. Before I knew it, I had already grown this old without somebody who could proudly love me. And while you swore you never could, you still treated me so tenderly in our most intimate moments. It made me feel all the love I could never feel in my lifetime. For that reason, I had to hold on to you, even while I betrayed you. I will not run away from my punishment. Whatever makes you feel better, Chanyeol, even if it means suffering for a hundred lifetimes. I'm sorry."

Mr. Kim's head cast down to the floor. He turned and retreated through the glass doors as he exited the airport lounge. My heart hammering, I clutched my chest and sighed as I slumped back into my seat. I couldn't allow my emotions to blind me to the cruel and callous betrayal he inflicted on me and Haneul both. Too many things had turned out to be a lie, so far out of my control that I felt so helpless. It made me want to clutch onto the things I found familiar, ignoring the harshness of reality. I had to admit that if Mr. Kim hadn't betrayed me, the decision to cast him out of my life would have been so much harder.

Through the crackling intercom, a muffled voice alerted me that the gates for my flight were open, and it was time to embark.

***

Based on the evidence collected over these past few weeks, a warrant for Mr. Kim's arrest had been issued, and arrangements had already been made into official investigations relating to his crimes. I would see for sure that he would not see the light of day for another twenty years once I was done with him. My resolve hardened after he walked away, my weakness for our past connection tightening into an impenetrable weapon meant only to strike and bring him down. His grievance was unforgivable.

Things were slowly resolving over the course of a few days, but in that time, Haneul still never woke. His eyes appeared to blink rapidly behind his lids, the faintest of frowns coursing its way over his features.

As I spent hours watching him lying in repose, it dawned on me how time had preserved much of his youth, treating him gently, more tenderly than I had since we reunited. With just a few harder lines around his mouth, slightly coarser skin, and traces of stubble that he could not grow during his younger years, I realized just how little he had truly changed all these years. My heart still struggled to accept that he had been confined to a hospital bed for years, but looking closely at him reminded me that no man who had lived his life would come out with so few changes.

Time robbed him of his life, but not his youth.

My heart couldn't bear the waiting, so I bid the time by continuing investigations with my father. I would leave Haneul's room only for short periods to see my father next door, to search for clues, or to compile evidence that would expose the team behind Haneul's kidnapping and the subsequent airstrike.

Then, by the third day, the news had already revealed everything. From the Korean military airstrike and the proceeding earthquake that, by coincidence, aided them in covering their crime, to the destruction of all of Haneul's records. My father worked tirelessly and to no end to try shutting down the broadcasts of the 2002 geopolitical scandal, but reporters continued crowding the hospital grounds, forcibly entering, and finding various ways to sneak into the room I reserved for Haneul, directly beside my father's.

Amid the chaos of the living, Haneul returned to sleep, oblivious to the retched actions of the heartless and wicked. Among them was Jaemin, a journalist so tenacious in her desire for a life-changing scope that she helped to keep his existence secret for eight years. I wished more than anything in this world that I could shield his heart from the hurt he would feel as soon as learned of this truth. If only I could protect him from the inevitable, I would gladly lay down everything to ensure that it happened for the rest of my life.

The nurses at the hospital had been so familiar with Haneul, having treated him for years, and were stunned to see him back in here again as if he had never left. As if he had never woken.

For years, they cleaned his body, moistened his lips, changed his clothes, cut his nails, and turned him on the mattress to ease the pressure on his skin. These things I learned from the team caring for him, I carried out myself, refusing to let anybody touch him or see him intimately with any job I could do myself. I shaved his growing stubble, moistened his lips and the inside of his mouth, brushed his teeth, changed his clothes, washed his skin... cared for him in all the ways I could. I crawled into his bed at night and held him in my arms, burying myself against his chest, weeping, begging him to wake.

On the fourth day, I pleaded with the doctors for answers. What if he were to fall into another eight-year coma? What if he would never wake from this? What were the chances that he would wake up in a vegetative state, never to recognize our faces, nor his own mind or heart again?

They had sent in every neurological and neuropathological specialist to see to his safe treatment and recovery, sparing no resource, nor expense. Every time I questioned them, they told me everything had been done in their power to help him.

The rest was up to Haneul.

On the sixth day, we received word that his father had been found and apprehended, with enough evidence collected to take him to trial. With so much power and protection behind him, we knew this would be no easy feat, but we were prepared to go to war. I was prepared to watch the world burn if it meant Haneul could find peace again.

Then, by the seventh day, Haneul's eyes flickered open. It was only for a few moments as his irises strayed to the ceiling before closing them again. It was all I needed. I yelled for the hospital staff, ringing the bell and calling for them to come to him. I took his hand and squeezed it, begging for him to squeeze it, to let me know he was with me again. There was the slightest twitch, so soft and subtle that I might have almost imagined it, except that I was so hypersensitive to everything about him that I knew it was real.

I plastered kisses down his forehead, unable to stop the tears from spilling just below his eyes. One might have been fooled that those tears came from him instead. The nurses came, checked his vitals and eye activity, and confirmed he was finally beginning to wake. We had to step back and give him time to rouse out of his dream state. Minutes passed as we watched in tension, waiting for him to join us again in consciousness.

Soon, his eyes opened again, slowly this time. Deliberately. A few blinks to clear his vision. I tried to stay calm so as not to stress or startle him, but took his hand in mine, bringing it to my lips. It brought his attention to me, but as he tried to lift his head, it rolled back and he let out an agonized groan.

"Chanyeol," he croaked, trying to squeeze my hand. "It hurts. Everything hurts."

He cried out, plastering his hands over his face and wailing with terror. "Chanyeol save me. I don't want to die like this. Please, I'm scared. Where are you?"

I crawled onto the bed beside him and pulled him into my arms where he sobbed, clutching his ribs, and continuing to wail. "I can't breathe. My chest... it's crushed... the pain... I can't..."

"I'm here," I kept whispering, rocking him back and forth in my arms.

The nurses stood back, allowing me to comfort him in his obvious distress. I looked at their worried expressions, wondering if this was how he behaved when he woke. When I stole a glimpse of his eyes, I saw them widened with terror, like he had experienced unimaginable horror. It made me wonder if he remembered everything.

I continued holding him until his wails turned to whimpers, and he eventually exhausted himself back to sleep. At first, I was terrified that he had slipped back into another coma and cried for the doctors to wake him up and check him, but they assured me he was just exhausted. We discussed his mention of pain, and a psychologist soon arrived at my request.

"Mr. Han," she greeted me. "I have been provided with a detailed overview that includes his, as I understand, previously destroyed medical files. His mentioning of his chest seems to correspond with his original condition upon reentering Korea, which included severe compression injuries and traces of white phosphorous in his tissue."

It took months of specialized care to remove the traces, and all records were being continuously destroyed, making his initial care increasingly difficult. He received ongoing physiotherapy over the years, despite his unconscious state, at Jaemin's expense. It was my suspicion that she wanted him in his best health so she could get all the information she needed upon his awakening.

Too bad for her. He woke up with nothing.

Then, just in the last few days, I had called in teams of digital forensic experts to retrieve what destroyed files they could and reconstruct all those they couldn't. Based on the outcome of these files, the psychologist predicted Haneul had just re-experienced this trauma, as if it had just happened, and he awoke immediately after. He might experience phantom pains; that his brain might remember the pain he experienced then and feel it now as he did then.

My heart twisted at the thought of him enduring this pain, to be exposed to something so dangerous and lethal, to be deliberately targeted and intended to kill. That he was alone, scared, hurt, and that his first word then might have been his first word again this time.

My name.

The thought was unbearable, and a wave of nausea washed over me. I had to pull myself away from Haneul and tuck him beneath the covers before excusing myself to the bathroom. My face had drained of color, and I felt my skin grow clammy and hot. With so much anger burning within me, this unyielding helplessness pulling me into the depths of despair, my fist hit the mirror before I realized what I was doing.

"Son of a bitch!" Letting out a blood-curdling scream, I unleashed another forceful punch. The image of Haneul being crushed by something, being attacked in a war crime, being pawned and betrayed by his own father... and all the while, I was sleeping with Mr. Kim. I would never forgive myself. I would never make peace with our past.

All I could do was spend every day doing what I could to make up for the years Haneul lost. To let him experience the world the way he should have. To let him learn and grow, to explore and make his own choices. I would give him every dollar, every amenity, every avenue, and every moment of my time until my dying breath. And even if he chose not to venture into the world with me, if he was too hurt by the way I treated him since his return, then I would give everything to him so he could make his way safely through the world, never worrying about food, a roof over his head, or where his heart would take him next.

I would give him everything, even the shirt off my back. And I would wish him well, wholeheartedly, as he made his way through the world without me.

And it would still not be enough.

Staring at the disgusting, vile, self-centered, vindictive beast in the mirror, I gritted my teeth, watching beads of sweat trickle down my face in a hot sweat. My hands and body trembling, I slowly picked up a shard and squeezed it in my fist. The sharp edges seared into my flesh, tearing through me with ease. I felt blood trickle through the palm of my hand, and I squeezed tighter, until I knew it would scar.

A damaged piece that even kintsugi would deem irreparable. Once this wound healed, I would be reminded of the past. My mistakes, my failures, and shortcomings. That no matter where life took us from now on, I would have to own all of those things and respect his decisions going forward. A lifetime would not be enough for me.

I heard Haneul's voice calling my name again. Wrapping my hand in a towel, I watched blood seep through its white material, painting it a vivid red. I tied it into a fast knot and exited the bathroom, pushing away the nurses who immediately noticed and tried checking me for injuries. Haneul was sitting up, holding his face while he cried out my name. I returned to him, climbing onto the bed and pulling him into my arms.

"Shh," I whispered, kissing the side of his head as I stroked his hair. "It's okay now. I'm here."

"Chanyeol," he said, clutching my arms as if he couldn't quite believe it. "...Water."

A nurse promptly retrieved a glass and handed it to me. I continued holding it, even while Haneul clutched it with both of his trembling hands. He sipped it; the cup shaking in his hands as he struggled to swallow. His face grimaced in obvious pain as he clutched his throat. It must have been the phantom pains he was experiencing, burning sensation from inhaling the white smoke.

"You're here?" he asked, letting go of the glass. "I thought I was dreaming. Something went wrong in Afghanistan. My father, he... and something hit the shack and buried me. I thought I died." He looked around, noticing the room full of medical staff who were assigned to him either this time or during his eight years in the past. "Who are these people? How did I get here so fast? How long was I asleep?"

I looked at the doctors, watching their careful expressions. One met my eye, then pointed at his temple, and I understood his message loud and clear. Haneul had remembered his past, and in turn, had forgotten that he had already woken up.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head towards the ceiling, a sorrowful smile playing on my lips as the irony was not lost on me.

Cradling his head against my chest, I murmured, "Am I being handed a second chance, or is this my punishment?"