The year folded itself away like a cherished theatrical performance, taking its final bow beneath December's dimming spotlight. It left the stage with quiet grace, the applause of time echoing softly through the cold winter air.
Christmas had already come and gone, leaving behind gentle remnants—half-finished drinks in warm cafés, fingerprints on fogged-up windows, and echoes of laughter drifting through empty streets.
The city, ever tireless yet strangely sentimental, wrapped itself in lights and familiar melodies, as if trying to hold on just a little longer—preparing to bid farewell to 2006 with a final act steeped in memory and quiet wonder.
In the heart of Seoul, the streets brimmed with couples in matching scarves, their laughter bursting into the night like soft, human fireworks.
Families gathered. Friends held hands.
Everyone, it seemed, had someone to share this final chapter with.
Everyone—except Jihoon.
He stood on the edge of it all, or at least it felt that way—alone by the side of the Han River Bridge.
From afar, he was just another silhouette in a black coat, a snapback pulled low, a surgical mask covering most of his face.
But beneath the mask, beneath the layers meant for warmth and concealment, was someone both known and unknown—famous, yet infamous. Loved, yet doubted. A young man carrying not just a name, but every whisper, every headline, every expectation Seoul had thrust upon him in the year that was now slipping quietly into memory.
The fireworks began.
Not the small, scattered ones—but the grand finale kind.
Seoul had no intention of letting the year end quietly. The sky above the bridge exploded in waves of color: crimson, gold, sapphire, white. One after another, like blooming flowers made of light. Each burst echoing across the river, each bloom briefly painting Jihoon's eyes in color before retreating back into darkness.
The crowd gasped and cheered.
He didn't.
He stood still, a quiet observer in a scene built for everyone but him. He wasn't on a rooftop with champagne. He wasn't at an afterparty. He wasn't backstage collecting accolades or backstage kisses.
He was here.
Alone.
Not just physically, but in a deeper way—the kind of solitude that settles behind the eyes and anchors in the chest. It wasn't just the absence of company. It was the absence of something deeper—of reason, of drive, of the quiet purpose that lingers even after you've won the game.
And he understood why. His face was still a headline, his name still a conversation. Being seen—especially now—was a risk, a rumor waiting to happen.
So he watched from the margins.
The fireworks, beautiful as they were, didn't thaw the cold in his chest. They felt like applause for a play he wasn't invited to take a bow in.
But it wasn't the loneliness that hurt most.
It was the stillness.
The heavy silence that came when you'd done everything you were supposed to do—hit every mark, earned every praise—and still felt the quiet, aching sense that something was missing.
He had survived the year. More than survived—'Secret' and 'Your Name' were overseas hits.
Jeju's economy flourished because of his vision.
The same media that once cast doubt on his character now crowned him a prodigy.
He had done his part.
And yet.
There he was.
No hand to hold. No voice to whisper congratulations in his ear. No one waiting to say goodbye to 2006 with him or to welcome 2007 at his side.
He looked at the sky—not the fireworks, but the emptier parts between them. The dark spaces. The quiet stars. The places no one else seemed to notice.
That was where he felt most reflected.
When the clock struck midnight and the crowd roared, Jihoon didn't join in. He didn't cheer. He didn't reminisce, nor did he stay.
He simply turned.
With 2006 having taken its final bow and 2007 preparing to raise the curtain on a brand-new act, Jihoon stepped away—not toward the noise, but away from it, from the crowd and back to the what he comfortable at, that is at his office.
Back to what he knew the best. Back to where the noise couldn't reach him.
Into the quieter streets he went, where the city spoke in hushes and shadows. He walked with a sense of reflection, each step stirring the dust of distant memories.
Behind him, the sounds of celebration faded into silence, replaced only by the soft, steady crunch of his footsteps against the frost-kissed pavement.
Somewhere behind him, the world moved on.
And Jihoon, like a shadow slipping between streetlights, disappeared quietly into the first breath of a new year.
And in dinstance from seoul, miles south in the quiet town of Jeonju—the night unfolded differently.
Here, the stars felt closer, the air crisper, unburdened by the weight of fireworks or city lights. The streets were still, the celebrations more subdued.
On a narrow sidewalk dusted with frost, a girl walked slowly beneath the soft glow of streetlamps. In her hand, a phone she checked far too often. With every few steps, she glanced down—half hoping, half doubting.
Not for news. Not for social media.
But for a message. A call. Something.
Something that might arrive. Or perhaps wouldn't.
Still, she walked. Wrapped in a coat too big for her frame, her breath fogging softly in front of her, her pace unhurried. As if time itself had slowed in this small, star-kissed city.
She didn't know why she kept checking the screen. Only that some part of her heart was waiting.
And across the stillness of two cities—one loud and bright, the other quiet and watching—their paths drifted unknowingly toward one another.
After a heartfelt reunion with her old high school friends, Taeyeon found herself wandering the familiar streets of her hometown.
They had gathered to celebrate the end of the year—laughing over old memories, clinking glasses of warm drinks, and pretending, just for a moment, that time hadn't changed them.
When the clock struck midnight, fireworks crackled in the distance. One by one, she hugged her friends goodbye, offering soft wishes for the new year. Then, quietly, she slipped away from the warmth of the group and into the stillness of the night.
Now she sat alone outside a small convenience store not far from her home. Her breath fogged gently in the cold air. She cradled a hot drink in one hand, her phone in the other—screen blank, waiting.
She had sent Jihoon a message hours ago. Just a simple check-in. And yet, no reply.
A soft pang of guilt stirred in her chest.
When Jihoon had been buried in scandal, overwhelmed by the media and left to defend himself, she hadn't been able to do anything. Their phones had been taken away by their manager, likely under the direction of the company itself. Perhaps Lee Soo-man knew about her closeness with Jihoon. Maybe he'd been trying to protect her. Or maybe it was just business.
Still, it didn't change the way it felt.
She hadn't said anything. She hadn't reached out. Not until now.
As her thoughts began to spiral—soft regrets and what-ifs swirling in the quiet of the night—her phone lit up.
A message.
From him.
Jihoon: What's up, Singer Kim?
Her eyes brightened instantly. She sat up straighter, thumbs already flying across the button on her phones.
Taeyeon: Are you playing hard to get with Noona!? Why didn't you reply since this morning!?
A second later, the reply came.
Jihoon: C'mon, who calls someone under 5 feet a Noona?
Taeyeon glared at the screen like she could throttle him through it.
Taeyeon: I'll let you rephrase that before I jump through this phone and kill you.
Jihoon: Beautiful and kind-hearted Noona~ what brings you to grace me with your presence on this heavenly god-given rest day?
She let out a small laugh. The tension in her chest loosened, even if just a little.
Taeyeon: Just checking on you. I know I didn't help when everything went down... when you were framed by the media. We weren't allowed to contact anyone. Maybe Mr. Lee Soo-man knew we were close. But still... I'm sorry. I should've done more. I should've been a better friend.
She exhaled slowly after sending it. It felt better, saying it—even if it didn't fix everything.
A moment passed. Then:
Jihoon: Don't worry. It's not a big deal. The sky's clear now—so you don't have to worry anymore.
She smiled, a soft, silent one. It was just like him to say that.
Taeyeon: What are you doing now? Don't tell me you're still working...
Jihoon: About to. Just watched the fireworks at Han River. Now heading back to the office.
Taeyeon: Oh my god! Do you not have anything better to do!?
Jihoon: Not like you invited me out or anything.
Taeyeon: Ya! I'm not your only friend, okay? Go hang out with someone else!
Jihoon: Jaesuk-hyung's with his family. Jessica and her family flew to the States. You tell me—who else do I have?
Taeyeon: Wow… you sound so miserable. But still, I'm not even in Seoul—I'm home in Jeonju.
Jihoon: Exactly. That's how you treat your friend? Didn't even tell me you were leaving the city.
Taeyeon: Ya! What difference would it make!?
Jihoon: A huge difference. I could've bought you life insurance, made myself the beneficiary, and plotted an "accident" on your way out.
Taeyeon's jaw dropped. She could practically hear his smug voice in her head.
Taeyeon: I swear, I'm going to kill you once I get back.
Jihoon: Better jump while you're at it.
Their argument spilled over into laughter—into exaggerated threats and playful jabs, the kind only old friends could exchange without hesitation. Somewhere between the sarcasm and teasing, the heaviness of the past year began to lift—even if only a little.
The night grew deeper. Above Jeonju, stars shimmered in quiet constellations. Far away, Seoul faded into a patchwork of dim office lights and empty streets.
Somewhere between those two cities, a new year crept in softly—its curtain half-raised, watching this ridiculous pair from the wings, perhaps already bracing for the chaos they'd stir on its stage.
But it didn't interrupt.
It let them talk. Let them be loud. Let them be foolish. Let them be themselves.
It let them begin 2007 not with fireworks, not with confetti—but with laughter that echoed into the stillness, reminding them that some connections, no matter how strained or distant, always find their way back.
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe for bestowing the power stone!]