The end

Alive.

His blonde hair glowing beneath the warm apartment light.

San looked at him and remembered that first night.

Three hundred seventeen meters.

A rifle.

A crosshair.

A voice.

Shoot.

Come on, shoot.

And his finger…

had never moved.

Maybe that had been the first decision he'd ever made for himself.

Not killing.

Not obeying.

Choosing.

Choosing a stranger.

Choosing a life.

Choosing to put the weapon down.

And perhaps, after all those years of being paid to decide who deserved to die.

San's greatest act of courage had been learning that he wanted someone to live.

Wooyoung reached for his hand.

San took it.

Neither of them said anything.

They didn't need to.

There were some things words could only make smaller.

So they stood together in the quiet.

Breathing.

Alive.

And this time, when San closed his eyes, he didn't see the crosshair.

He saw blonde hair beneath the moon.

And he smiled.

Because Wooyoung was still there.

And San had finally learned how to stay.