[Sang-Wook watches her the entire way, before placing the hammer on the dresser. He doesn't approach just yet — just listens to her speak her mind with his hands finding his pockets. He's never been very good at comforting people. He's never been very good at even touching people, let alone being near them. But. He's trying. He's always trying these days, even while its haunted him since bleeding out against the backside of a car door.

He approaches and sits on the edge of the bed. Aches for the cigarettes on the nightstand, far out of reach, but disregards addiction with pointed indifference to it.]

... A doctor keeps their patient alive as long as they can. But everyone has to die. Whether it's the next day, or sixty years later.

It's not on you to invent immortality.