Come Looking for Flowers Chapter 6.2 - Falling Petals

“I came to deliver something. Is this a good time?”

“…What’s this about?”

The quiet voice asking the purpose sounded even weaker than usual.

“Take it first. I’ll explain as you look through it.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Yoonjo slowly reached out and took what Manager Jung handed him. The envelope rustled. Swallowing a heavy sigh, he carefully opened it.

A stack of white papers slid into Yoonjo’s hands. It was quite thick. With emotionless eyes, Yoonjo began reading through the documents slowly. That was how it started.

With each page turned, Yoonjo’s face crumpled. Manager Jung, watching him quietly, cautiously spoke.

“It’s a debt repayment confirmation and a contract termination notice. The debts under Lee Jooho and Lee Yoonjo have been fully settled, and the contract between Lee Yoonjo and Hwayudam has also been terminated.”

“…”

“Since Hwayudam unilaterally requested the termination, Lee Yoonjo can demand appropriate compensation for it. Anything you want.”

“…I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

“To put it simply, you no longer need to repay any debts or be bound to Hwayudam.”

Yoonjo stared at the documents in his hand with a coldly hardened expression.

Was it really that simple? In those few months, he had been utterly broken, and now a piece of paper was supposed to resolve everything?

A sense of emptiness drained the strength from his hands. The documents scattered across the blanket. Injustice and sorrow quickly welled up.

He had to repay money he never saw or used, and in the process, he completely collapsed. He lost his family, and his future vanished. What good were these papers now that he was reduced to rags?

The silence stretched on. The expression on Yoonjo’s face, staring at the words on the documents, had long since faded. The papers crumpled in his hands with a rustle.

“Why?”

“Pardon?”

“What changes with this?”

His body trembled as he suppressed his emotions. Tear-filled eyes turned to Manager Jung. Staring straight at the wavering Manager Jung, Yoonjo added.

“You said anything, right?”

Tears rolled down his cheeks. The empty space was filled again with something transparent.

“Call him.”

Yoonjo no longer called Won Kangho “Sir.” From this moment, or perhaps even earlier, they were nothing to each other.

“Tell him to come and hear it himself. About that compensation or whatever.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Manager Jung’s face, but only briefly. He quickly masked his expression and gave a slight nod.

Yoonjo didn’t look at him. Fixing his gaze on the documents, he tightly gripped what he held. His lips, bitten to stifle his sobs, turned white.

Even after Manager Jung left, Yoonjo remained in that position for a long while. The debt-related documents still lay scattered on the bed, and his thoughts stretched endlessly.

No more repaying debts. No more pushing his body to the limit or shedding painful tears under that man.

Why?

Why had Won Kangho suddenly cleared all his debts? Why was he unilaterally terminating the contract with Hwayudam?

Was he feeling sorry now?

“No way.”

His muttering face held no expression. His thumb brushed the sharp edge of the paper.

It couldn’t be. Not the man he knew. He was certain of it.

Then why?

The man’s incomprehensible actions only stirred anxiety. A snake-like fear coiled around his ankles, slowly creeping upward.

Overwhelmed by the dreadful sensation, Yoonjo threw everything he held onto the floor. He hurriedly buried himself in the blankets, pulling them over his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

It’ll be okay. He tightly hugged himself, arms crossed. His curled-up body trembled like a frightened child. The trembling continued long after the world darkened and took on a blue hue.

“Yoonjo, want to go for a walk?”

Yoonjo, staring blankly out the window, turned toward the voice. The caregiver smiled brightly and nodded toward the outside.

“It’s still a bit chilly, but if you dress warmly, it’ll be fine.”

The caregiver was a beta woman about the age of Yoonjo’s mother. She had been assigned by Won Kangho.

“Not feeling up to it?”

It had been nearly two weeks since Manager Jung’s visit. It had been just as long since he last saw Won Kangho. At some point, Won Kangho stopped showing his face. Yet his pheromones always lingered in the air. If he had truly stopped coming, they would have vanished.

As always, traces of Won Kangho were scattered throughout the hospital room today. Seeing the fragments of blue pheromones, Yoonjo shook his head as if to shake off his thoughts.

“No, I’ll go.”

“Great. Hold on, let me grab some clothes.”

The caregiver’s face lit up at Yoonjo’s agreement. His gaze, watching her bustle about, turned back to the window.

The late winter world was hazy. The sky looked like it might snow, but there had been no news of snow lately. The world was simply tinged with gray.

Dressed in several layers, Yoonjo sat in a wheelchair with the caregiver’s help. The outermost blanket carried a cool scent.

Everything Yoonjo used in the hospital bore the man’s pheromones. Even his patient gown was no exception.

Once, he asked for a different gown because he hated it. But when he woke up, the pheromones were even stronger, and he quickly gave up.

Though he didn’t want to admit it, the man’s pheromones undeniably eased his anxiety and shortness of breath. That was an undeniable truth.

“If you get cold, let me know. I’ve got a heat pack in my pocket, so keep your hands in there.”

“Okay.”

So it was unavoidable. Yoonjo tried to steel himself. The hatred was too vast to subdue easily.

They passed through an empty corridor and took the elevator. The rooftop garden was, as expected, deserted.

“You can lean on me more.”

In recent rehabilitation, Yoonjo diligently followed the therapist’s advice to take light walks.

But for Yoonjo, who had lain like the dead for months, a “light walk” was far too difficult. Just standing and taking a step left him breathless and his legs trembling.

Sweat beaded on Yoonjo’s forehead as he took one step at a time with the caregiver’s help. White puffs of breath escaped his lips.

He walked a bit, stopped to rest, walked a bit more, and rested for a long while, repeating the cycle. By the time he completed one lap around the garden, his body was drenched in sweat, unseasonably so.

“Yoonjo, have some water.”

“Th, haa… thank you.”

His trembling hand took the tumbler from the caregiver. Barely catching his breath, Yoonjo gave a slight nod of thanks.

“It’s tough, isn’t it?”

Steam rose faintly from the tumbler. Instead of answering, Yoonjo stared at it. The caregiver continued.

“I don’t know if I should say this, but for some reason, seeing you reminds me of my son.”

“Oh…”

“He was very sick too. He spent a long time in the hospital.”

Startled by the sudden story, Yoonjo blinked several times. His fingers fidgeted with the tumbler.

What should he say? His lost gaze wandered in the air. The caregiver let out a soft laugh.

“Sorry. This must be uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“I just wanted to cheer you on. My son took a long time, but he got backソー back up and recovered. You’re working much harder than him, so I’m sure you’ll be discharged soon. I’ve seen many patients in this job, but I’ve rarely seen anyone as dedicated as you.”

The caregiver gently took Yoonjo’s hand, enclosing it between her weathered hands. Warmth spread through his skin.

“So keep pushing a little more. You can do it.”

Her gentle smile touched something in his heart. Yoonjo bit his lip to hold back a surge of emotion.

“I’ll always be by your side.”

His mother’s voice from the dream suddenly brushed his ear. His head dropped heavily.

“I may not have much strength, but I’ll do my best to help you. Let’s try living with all we’ve got.”

He tightly clenched his free hand. Digging his short nails into his palm, Yoonjo struggled to swallow his sobs.

“…Okay.”

The brief response was his best effort. Any more words, and he might cling to her hand and sob uncontrollably.

No longer bound to that man, he now had a future. Wasn’t that immense luck? He wanted to believe so.

You can do it. She said you can.

This was what he wanted. A single word like this should have been enough. But the man’s past words flashed through his mind, amplifying his sorrow.

“Oh no, did I say something wrong?”

As Yoonjo finally broke into tears, the caregiver hurriedly handed him tissues. He couldn’t stop crying until the handful of tissues was soaked.

When he returned to his room after crying for a long while, he faced an unwelcome figure.

He sensed the pheromones before the door even opened. With no time to escape, the caregiver opened the door, and his eyes met Won Kangho’s.

“Oh, you’re here?”

The man didn’t respond to the caregiver’s cheerful greeting. He simply stared down at Yoonjo.

“We just went for a short walk. He’s been diligent with his walking exercises lately.”

Unlike the cheerful caregiver, both men remained silent with stern faces. The man approached slowly.

As the distance closed, the pheromone scent grew stronger. Yoonjo clenched his fists under the blanket to hide his agitation.

“Leave.”

“Pardon?”

“Go home.”

Having said his piece, the man lifted Yoonjo from the wheelchair. As his view suddenly rose, Yoonjo instinctively wrapped his arms around the man’s neck before quickly pushing him away.

“P-put me down…!”

The man ignored his faint plea. Instead, he held Yoonjo tightly, as if to make a point, and headed to the bathroom.

Thump, thump. His heart raced anxiously. A fleeting thought choked his breath. His helpless hands flailed in the air. His frightened eyes sank into darkness.

Won Kangho carefully placed the body he was carrying into the bathtub. As Yoonjo scrambled back, the man let out a mocking tone. A hand reached out and firmly grasped his patient gown.

“I won’t touch you.”

“…”

“So stay still.”

Releasing pheromones, the man began unbuttoning Yoonjo’s gown. Yoonjo grabbed his hand urgently, his eyes filled with panic.

“Y-you said you wouldn’t touch me…”

“With clothes on?”

“…”

“Fine, then.”

The man complied too easily. His hand dropped from the buttons, and standing up, he grabbed the showerhead instead.

As he turned on the water, warm water poured over Yoonjo’s body. The gown quickly soaked, and water slowly filled the tub from the bottom.

Yoonjo curled up, hugging his knees, silently letting the water hit him. The man’s sudden strange behavior sparked fear.

What was he thinking? The sight of the man abruptly showing up to wash him filled Yoonjo with uncontrollable fear. Even though the touch wasn’t rough, it still frightened him.

“Tell him to come and hear it himself.”

The conversation with Manager Jung from days ago flashed through Yoonjo’s mind as he tried to make sense of the man’s actions.

I called him. His impulsive words brought belated regret. Unable to overcome his anxiety, Yoonjo tried to evade the man’s touch, but a large hand grabbed him firmly. His body was pulled into the man’s embrace.

“Stay still.”

Holding Yoonjo tightly, the man returned to the buttons. His skillful hands unbuttoned with ease.

He said he wouldn’t touch me. Resentment filled his throat but didn’t escape. His now-naked body trembled.

The man, still holding Yoonjo, lathered a shower sponge. The strangely gentle touch lathered his body without looking.

“Y-you’ll ruin the clothes.”

Unable to bear the discomfort, Yoonjo stammered and pushed the man. Their eyes met as the man was pushed back. His movements froze. His reflection in the man’s eyes was painfully vivid.

“Worrying about me now?”

“…”

“You must be feeling relaxed.”

A soft chuckle made Yoonjo quietly lower his eyes. The man, watching his wet eyelashes, continued lathering silently.

Clear water poured over Yoonjo’s body again. The man wrapped a large towel around the wet body and lifted him as before. Yoonjo no longer asked to be put down.

Placing Yoonjo on the bed, Won Kangho grabbed a hairdryer. The loud whirring and hot air tousled his hair. The gentle hands drying his hair were soft.

Yoonjo desperately hoped the noisy machine would drown out his racing heartbeat. He feared the man could hear it.

His dried hair felt soft. The man, gently running his fingers through the light strands, quietly put away the used items.

“Do you resent me?”

The question was sudden. Kneeling by the bed, buttoning the patient gown, the man looked up at Yoonjo.

There was a time when they faced each other at this eye level. Yoonjo looking down, the man looking up. The posture was similar now, but the feeling was different.

Yoonjo saw his face trapped in the man’s dark eyes. His pale face looked like that of a dead man, but he was undeniably alive. His still-beating heart was proof.

“…What if I do?”

His voice cracked slightly. Swallowing hard, Yoonjo continued.

“What changes if I resent you?”

“Nothing changes.”

The reply came instantly. The man, having neatly dressed him in the gown, put a cardigan on him and buttoned it up. The large buttons found their places one by one.

“I just did my job.”

It was such a typical response. And it wasn’t the answer Yoonjo wanted. The cardigan sleeve curled into his small fist.

“Don’t expect an apology from me. I don’t plan on giving one.”

“I know.”

His faintly trembling eyes steadied.

He felt a surge of emotion. Biting the inside of his mouth, Yoonjo forced down the rising feelings. He didn’t want to cry in front of the man anymore.

“Speak, now.”

“…”

“You called me here. Like a bastard.”

His downward gaze lifted. As always, Won Kangho looked at Yoonjo with an impassive face.

His dry hand tightened. Yoonjo gripped the cardigan sleeve, struggling not to tremble. He couldn’t stop his eyelashes from quivering.

Honestly, he didn’t expect him to come. He had forgotten about it. It had been a while since he told Manager Jung, and Yoonjo assumed his words were ignored.

Yet the man showed up. Calling himself a bastard. His lips, twitching, barely spoke.

“…When can I leave here?”

“When you’re fully recovered.”

A flicked fingertip brushed Yoonjo’s shoulder. It wasn’t strong.

Yoonjo knew better than anyone that his body wasn’t healed. It was his body, after all. He knew it was too soon to talk about discharge. But he asked because he wondered what would happen to him once he left.

“Why did you pay off my debts?”

“I can bring them back if you want.”

“…”

“I could even dig up more to fill them. Is that what you want?”

Yoonjo’s face crumpled instantly.

He knew that wasn’t it. He was doing this on purpose, knowing full well. The man was still acting on his own terms. Yoonjo’s barely opened mouth shut tightly again. The man spoke instead.

“Baby, Yoonjo.”

The man’s hand, slithering up like a snake, gently stroked Yoonjo’s neck. The hand, caressing the back, suddenly pulled him forward with force.

The distance between Yoonjo and the man closed in an instant, becoming uncomfortably close. At a distance where their lips might brush, the intense alpha pheromones made Yoonjo flinch and tremble.

“I’ll give you all the time you need.”

The man’s image filled Yoonjo’s wide-open eyes completely. Won Kangho took in every movement and change in Yoonjo without missing a single detail. Resentful lips let out a sound.

“Think carefully.”

“…”

“This will be your last chance.”

The sleeve of the cardigan crumpled messily. Won Kangho’s fingertips tapped the back of Yoonjo’s neck in a steady rhythm, tap, tap.

“There won’t be a second one.”

The man briefly claimed Yoonjo’s lips and gently lifted him, laying him on the bed. Light-colored hair scattered across the white bedding.

Yoonjo’s amber eyes remained submerged in confusion. The man, gazing at his reflection in them, fully released his pheromones.

At first, it felt like his breath was caught, but soon it became calming. At some point, Yoonjo had grown accustomed to the man’s pheromones.

The tension that had stiffened his entire body softened, and his eyes relaxed slightly. All that came through the slightly parted lips was a faint breath.

What was it about this man that made him feel this way? The man’s face wavered slowly in his fading vision. The drowsiness that began to pour over him weighed his body down heavily.

“Sleep well.”

“…”

“See you again.”

It was the first night without a sleeping pill.

As rehabilitation continued, Yoonjo’s condition improved. He could now walk two laps around the path with ease, and he was slowly breaking free from insomnia and nightmares.

During that long time, Yoonjo tried hard to think. He didn’t want to let what might be his last chance, as the man had said, slip away meaninglessly.

One day passed, then two, a week, a month. As time went on, his thoughts settled calmly, and his anxiety fell asleep.

Yoonjo instinctively knew that the day he would leave this hospital was not far off. And so was that “chance.” It was time to speak.

Staring blankly out the window, Yoonjo reached to the side. He opened the drawer of the bedside table and carefully took out what was inside.

The contact list on his phone now held only one number. Yoonjo cautiously pressed it.

The monotonous ringing sound made his palms sweat. Rubbing his damp hands on his clothes, he waited for the other side to answer. His heart pounded loudly.

Finally, the ringing stopped. The other side answered but said nothing, as if waiting for Yoonjo to speak first.

“…It’s me.”

— I know.

The reply came as if he had been waiting.

Yoonjo’s lips twitched with hesitation. Whether to speak or not, his throat finally produced a sound after a long pause.

“Where will I go when I’m discharged?”

— Hmm.

A rustling sound of pages turning came from behind the man’s voice. The phone grew warm in his hand.

Another long silence followed. Yoonjo only moved his lips, unable to speak. He opened his mouth and closed it several times, swallowing his words.

How should he start? The man wasn’t even in front of him, yet his palms sweated from nervousness. But he had to speak.

“…I don’t want to go back there.”

Yoonjo’s head dropped heavily. His voice, holding back tears, was hoarse.

The man remained silent. The speaker only carried the faint sound of pages turning and a pen moving across them.

— Is that all?

The hand nervously picking at the blanket’s threads froze. The man asked again.

— Is that all you want?

“…”

— I told you clearly it’s your last chance.

“This will be your last chance.”

The man’s voice from before filled his mind. The hand gripping the phone tightened. He did want something. From the moment everything started to fall apart, Yoonjo had wanted only one thing.

“…Please let me go.”

The sound of pages turning stopped. Silence became a large hand, tightly gripping Yoonjo’s throat.

Was speaking so difficult? He forced the words out as if chewing and spitting them.

“I want to stop now.”

— …

“Please, let me rest.”

Freedom from the man. That was all Yoonjo wanted.

A nice house, a nice car, nice clothes—what good were they now?

He didn’t need anything else, just freedom. That alone would make everything okay. If he could escape the man, anything would be fine.

— Alright.

The man’s reply was far too simple. And that single, concise word shattered the tension that had built up to his core.

It was that easy? Yoonjo checked the phone screen to confirm it was Won Kangho. The three characters of Won Kangho’s name were starkly clear.

— Anything else to say?

“…No.”

— Rest, then.

The call ended without a trace of hesitation. The conversation ended so easily that Yoonjo froze, staring blankly into space for a while.

It couldn’t be this easy. Given everything the man had done, he should have responded with mockery or cold rejection, not permission.

Anxiety surged. Even though he got what he wanted, fear crawled over his skin for some reason.

His hand instinctively went to his wrist. The short nails didn’t leave scars but marked his wrist with red streaks.

It’s okay. It’ll be fine. Yoonjo comforted himself with the familiar phrase. His eyes, gazing out the window, trembled faintly. Dark clouds were rolling in.

Freedom came sooner than expected.

Dr. Choi gave the approval for discharge. Without hesitation, Yoonjo expressed his intent to leave immediately.

“It’s clearly good news, but why do I feel reluctant?”

The caregiver, helping with packing, murmured fondly. Yoonjo’s gaze turned to her as he packed his few belongings.

The caregiver’s eyes drooped downward. Yoonjo faintly lifted the corners of his mouth.

“Thank you for everything.”

“Oh, I’m the one who’s grateful. If only the world had more kind people like you…”

Unaccustomed to compliments, Yoonjo quietly lowered his eyes to avoid responding. A warm smile spread across the caregiver’s face.

“But I’m glad you’re getting healthy. You look so much better with a brighter face.”

“…Thank you.”

Though assigned by the man, the caregiver was like a savior to Yoonjo. He wouldn’t have survived this hellish hospital life alone.

He wished he could have prepared a gift, but sadly, Yoonjo lacked the means. He couldn’t even leave this room on his own.

“I wanted to prepare a gift, but I’m in no state to do so.”

Yoonjo smiled awkwardly, fidgeting with his wrist. The caregiver’s eyes briefly lingered there before pulling away.

“A gift? Your recovery is the best gift.”

“Still…”

“And, this might sound funny, but no one pays as well as you do.”

“…”

“So don’t worry about gifts.”

Her playful tone didn’t make Yoonjo smile. The lifted corners of his mouth settled, and his amber eyes darkened slightly.

With a small shopping bag that could hardly be called luggage, Yoonjo left the hospital. The caregiver accompanied him to the lobby for a final goodbye.

“I always say something to patients when we part.”

“What’s that?”

“Let’s not meet again.”

Her weathered hand gently held his twig-like hand. Warmth transferred fully. To the dazed Yoonjo, she continued.

“Maybe it’s fine to meet by chance on the street, but let’s not meet in a hospital again.”

“…”

“You have to live well. Got it?”

Her hand gently stroked his wrist, marked with red streaks. A sharp sting pricked a spot that no longer felt sensation.

Yoonjo swallowed hard to suppress the surge of emotion. Biting his lower lip, he steadied his breath.

He looked back at her, avoiding her gaze briefly. Hoping his smile and voice weren’t awkward, he repeated the same words.

“…Thank you.”

The caregiver carefully hugged Yoonjo as he bowed deeply. He felt he’d never forget her warmth.

Partings were always bittersweet but a necessary step to move forward.

Leaving the caregiver behind, Yoonjo exited the hospital. His eyes, scanning the surroundings, were tinged with anxiety.

No one was there. The dark-suited men who followed him everywhere, the car that clung to him for every move, and even Won Kangho, their leader, were nowhere to be seen.

The man couldn’t not know Yoonjo was discharged. Yet he didn’t come. He was truly free.

Standing there for a long while, Yoonjo slowly took a step. His steps didn’t sink as before. They weren’t light enough to soar, but he could move forward.

He took a taxi, giving a somewhat hazy address. The taxi started without question, cruising steadily along the road.

Yoonjo took in every passing scene through the clear window. It was his first view of the world free from the man.

“Thank you.”

He paid the fare with cash from an envelope in the shopping bag. After taking the change, Yoonjo stepped out and stood there, slowly looking around.

Everything was the same. The faded building with old paint, the worn security booth and adjacent recycling area, the sparsely filled parking lot.

He was finally home. To a house where no one waited. White breath slipped through Yoonjo’s lips as he looked up at it.

All Yoonjo had left was the shopping bag in his arms and this house before him. Nothing among them was alive.

He slowly walked into the apartment complex. Nothing had changed, yet it felt so unfamiliar. Perhaps it was he who had changed.

“14th floor. The door is opening.”

Even the elevator’s familiar, tedious voice sounded strange. It hadn’t been long in terms of time, but it felt like decades had passed.

Yoonjo habitually reached for his back pocket, only then realizing the key was missing. His gaze fell to a flowerpot near the door.

His mind forgot, but his body remembered. Lifting the small pot by the entrance, a key greeted him.

Who would’ve thought he’d use the key hidden for his father, whose return was uncertain? With a slightly bitter heart, Yoonjo pushed the small piece of metal into the lock.

Creak— The door opened with a strange sound. Even his own home felt like entering someone else’s, awkward.

“…It’s the same.”

The small house hadn’t changed at all. It remembered all the time that had passed. Picking up a syringe cap that rolled on the floor, Yoonjo closed his eyes tightly with a trembling breath.

Regretting the past wouldn’t change anything. All Yoonjo could do was live today and tomorrow.

“…Let’s clean.”

There was no time for self-pity. To live today and tomorrow as his mother requested, he first needed to tidy his haven.

Yoonjo grabbed a rag and crawled around the house, wiping the floor. The rag dirtied quickly. The neglected house was like a ruin.

Cleaning kept his mind blank. His body ached, but it was better. The physical pain and sweat were far more bearable than a tangled mind.

“Haa…”

When the house roughly resembled its former self, the sun had already set dimly. A long sigh filled the quiet house.

Water dripped from Yoonjo’s hair after a shower. His eyes blinked slowly, as if about to close.

A familiar silence filled the house. Even before the man took him, the house was always quiet when he was alone. But this silence was different.

The doorbell would no longer ring, nor would he meet or talk to anyone. His broken body couldn’t work, and Yoonjo lacked the strength to meet or converse with anyone.

What did he do before? Sitting blankly, Yoonjo quietly recalled the past before the man.

He worked overnight loading and unloading deliveries, came home in the morning to nap, went to a convenience store job past noon, then to a bar in the evening. At dawn, he repeated the cycle.

Back then, studying and dreaming were luxuries for Yoonjo. He had to earn money for today’s meals, tomorrow’s interest, and next month’s rent.

Looking back, he lived fiercely. As if paying for not knowing the word “misfortune,” he experienced every kind in a short time.

What should he do now? Nothing came to mind.

There was no reason to earn money. No debts to repay, no family to wait for, no desires.

Sitting blankly, Yoonjo pulled over the shopping bag he’d tossed on the sofa. He rummaged through it and took out an envelope.

It was thick with crumpled bills. Money from the man. Money earned by selling his body and shedding blood.

This money could cover ten years of rent for this house. Earned through two near-death experiences in just over six months, it was a substantial amount. Even after paying overdue rent, a significant sum remained.

With this, did he need to work? The thought crossed his mind. No, could he even work? Who would hire someone too weak to lift heavy loads or stand for long?

The more he thought, the lower his mood sank, and self-loathing soared. The future was as dark as his closed eyes.

He’d gained the freedom he longed for, but didn’t know where to go. A heavy sense of emptiness enveloped him like thick liquid.

Unable to find answers, Yoonjo reached for sleep again. He hugged his frail body, escaping reality.

He didn’t want to wake for a long time. As long as possible. If God allowed, he’d be fine never waking.

As the moon set and the sun rose, people began their day. Yoonjo was the exception. While others moved toward their destinations, Yoonjo stayed still.

In the early morning, neatly dressed workers hurried along. Later, children with backpacks gathered to head to school. As time passed, people lived their daily lives.

Yoonjo was the only one stagnant. Leaning against his balcony window, head against the glass, he watched it all.

He knew he should do something, but his body wouldn’t listen. Waking at dawn before sunrise, he naturally went to the window, crouched, and watched the daily scenes like a movie.

Should he go outside? The thought came a week after returning home.

The winter sunlight was dazzling. Yoonjo grimaced, zipping his old padded jacket to his chin and burying his face in it. The outside, after so long, was still cold and sharp.

The chilly air smelled of winter. Though spring was near, winter’s scent lingered strongly.

“…It’s cold.”

He tucked his hands into his pockets and hid his face, but the old jacket couldn’t keep him warm. His exposed skin reddened.

He walked aimlessly. With no destination in mind, he just walked and walked. When tired, he rested on a nearby bench for a long time before moving again.

The world was noisy with the sounds of living. Only Yoonjo was silent, like a flower trapped in a glass dome.

What should he do? He had money and time but no desires or ideas. The time he let slip away didn’t feel wasted.

“Hey, just check the dashcam, and it’ll be clear!”

His blank gaze followed the sound. Three cars, including a police car, were lined up on the road, as if there had been an accident.

“Look, raising your voice won’t solve anything…”

Yoonjo saw someone in the troubled policeman’s face.

Yoon Chaemin. Recalling someone he’d completely forgotten darkened his already lifeless face.

He never asked the man about Yoon Chaemin. He couldn’t. He feared his questions might harm Yoon Chaemin again. He’d already caused enough trouble.

Thoughts of the man naturally hardened Yoonjo’s face. He closed his eyes tightly, rubbing them with his hand. A heavy sigh escaped.

Whenever the man’s face and image appeared in his mind, his chest tightened painfully. It was an unfamiliar sensation. Perhaps not a sensation but an emotion.

The man had ruined his life, yet a corner of his heart still held remnants of the past. The small candy pieces given like charity, the voice offering encouragement that wasn’t quite encouragement.

Love-hate was a scarier emotion than hatred. Yoonjo hated the man to death but couldn’t fully despise him.

A foolish person longing for the future while looking back at the past. Yoonjo hated this paradoxical self. He knew dwelling on the past wouldn’t help, yet he kept digging into buried memories.

He shouldn’t have come out. He’d hoped going out might improve things, but it only brought unnecessary turmoil. He felt worse than when he stayed home.

The return felt longer than the way out, even without stopping. The longer it took, the greater his anxiety surged.

“Haa, haa…”