The hospital discharge was a quiet, fragile procession. Halmeoni fussed with the edges of the thin blanket tucked around her husband’s legs in the wheelchair, her hands still trembling, but now with a cautious relief. The nurse recited a long list of instructions—medication schedules, dietary restrictions, signs of distress to watch for—that Y/N committed to memory with a solemn focus. Taehyung stood ready, his presence a steady constant, taking the weight of the small bag of belongings and the grandfather’s frail arm as he was helped into the car.

The hanok, which had felt so empty and silent, seemed to sigh as they crossed the threshold. It was no longer a place of waiting dread, but a sanctuary once more, filled with the soft, raspy sound of her grandfather’s breathing and the warm, earthy scent of the healing soup Halmeoni immediately began to prepare. He was paler, thinner, a little more translucent, but he was home. He was alive.