Mi-ra is slightly more stable now. The shock of her mother passing away has settled in, and now, it is just grief. Currently, on her way back home with her father, she realizes that she is not in her own car -- it belongs to a man named Yang Jeongin, who claims to be her father's friend, along with two other men. Her father sits beside her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, and she can see from her peripheral vision that he is shedding silent tears. 

"Dad?" she speaks, her voice hoarse. 

"Yes, sweetie?" Jisung asks, slightly sniffling. 

"Are you okay?" 

"Yes, yes, Mi-ra," he hugs her close, his voice breaking as he replies, "We're okay." 

As she hugs him, she hears a sniffle from the front seat, where Minho sits. She looks into the rearview mirror, watching him cry silently, suffering by himself. 

"Uncle Minho, are you... alright?" 

"Oh! Yes," he says, attempting to look strong by hastily wiping off his tears, "I'm good." 

It does not take long for Mi-ra to understand that every single person in the car is grieving; battling a kind of grief that they choose not to talk about. But why? How did they know Su-na?

"Our house is on the right," Jisung utters, and Jeongin takes the turn, the car stopping by the house her father tells him to stop at.

Mi-ra gets off the car, and so do the rest. It seems as if these men invited themselves to their place -- or maybe her father told them to come along and mourn, if she missed that part while she was drenched in her grief. She is not quite certain.

Jisung unlocks the main door, and as he enters, he experiences a whirlwind of emotions: the teakwood door opens to the sight of a young Su-na welcoming him as he comes home from work, the oakwood flooring knocking with the clicks of her sandals on it as she walks toward him, the once-fresh odour dissolving into her perfume as she embraces him, the feeling of her skin on the palm of his hands almost softening them, previously calloused. All that now is a memory, a sensory nostalgia etched into the walls and doors and floor and every room of this house, burnt into his body as wildfire that would only flame him up, embedded in his heart and mind as the sole token of Su-na's love.

But he isn't alone.

"Su-na's... really gone," Jisung speaks, "I can't sense her around anymore."

"Jisung," Minho says, keeping a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it, "Just because you can't see her doesn't mean that she is gone."

Chan nods, ignoring the memories that threaten to spill his tears.

Mi-ra walks in silently, staggering to her parents' room. The door closes behind her, and Jisung sits on the couch with a plop, burying his head in his hands, "I lost her...!"

"Jisung..." Jeongin sits beside him.

"After all that I did to keep her alive, all that we did to keep her alive, why did it have to end so... abruptly?"

"That's not fully true," Chan speaks, "She saved us as much as we saved each other."

"And this is going to sound wrong, but... the time we all spent together was the best period of my life. Even if... out of the eight of you, three came alive," Minho sighs, placing his hands on his knees.

Meanwhile, inside Su-na and Jisung's room, Mi-ra goes through the picture albums that her mother had stored. She remembers her mother to be a keeper, a collector of all things that could mean the smallest of somethings to anyone. And as she rummages through Su-na's drawers, she finds books with worn-out spines, with yellowed pages and torn edges; she finds little notes that she tries to infer, but fails progressively; and then, she finds a video camera.

She wipes her tears, opening the camcorder in hopes of finding some moments of her parents. However, she sees an unfamiliar face, looking rather youthful, his eyebrows scrunched.

"Is this shit working?"

"Language, Hyunjin."

"My bad. The camera quality is pretty shitty-"

"Hey! That's my camera!"

Mi-ra's eyes widen; that sounded like her mother. She watches further, and sees her mother seizing the camera from a guy, probably her age, and then pout.

"Yeah, yeah, your ages old camera that probably recorded the first World War."

"Alright, meanie."

"Felix, stop stealing my chocolates!"

"Just one, Changbin, please!~"

"Those are for Seungmin!"

"Minho, help!"

"I don't think I can control these brats, Chan. We need your advice."

"I think we should stay up toni-"

"Forget I asked you that."

Mi-ra watches in astonishment and wonder all at once. She barely wraps her head around the amount of people chaotically speaking when a person shrieks in the video:

"You didn't charge your camera? It's dying!"

"Before me?"

"Seungmin, please!"

"This fuc-"

And the screen turns black.

Mi-ra stops the next video before it commences, and having heard the names she encountered previously in the hospital, now at her house. She jumps off the bed, scurrying to the living room, where her father is being comforted by his friends. She hesitates, but biting her lip in anxiety, she continues her way to him anyway, and then asks, "Dad? I found something from mom's drawer."

All the men turn to face her, and Jeongin catches the sight of the camcorder in her hands. Gasping lightly, he points at it, "Hey, it's that camcorder!"

Jisung, who was too exhausted emotionally to attend to anything, now has his attention diverted. Chan stands up, the barest of smiles on his face, "Su-na's camcorder. I remember."

"You all... knew my mom?" Mi-ra finally questions them, walking over to the couches and sitting beside her father, and Jisung instinctively holds her close.

"We witnessed them fall in love, Mi-ra," Minho eases, "And it was wonderful."

Jisung tenses up.

"Really?" she asks, interest piquing at his words. Although her heart is still in her mother's chest, beating no more, she has her mind full of her memories. And she is willing to take in more; to absorb as much as she can before her mother's touch fades away from her skin.

And Jeongin does exactly that,

"Ah, your parents were so in love! Maybe they are the reason why we sustained."
 
(a/n: 1k+ words woohooo~~

HAPPY CHANNIE DAY!! I mean I'm late as per KST to post this, but it's only 9:30 PM here sooo-

And I'm down with a flu. Idk why but every creative streak strikes me when I'm sick.

How was this??

Thanks for reading! I love you!)