WOP Ch 3.2
by soapa“Didn’t we both agree to enjoy this, and isn’t that why Ha Joyoon accepted?”
His steps forward paused momentarily. The myriad of emotions that had been swirling on his pale face like a canvas vanished in an instant. With his hand awkwardly lowered, Joyoon stared blankly at Shin Kwonjoo’s face as he continued speaking.
“If you’re not feeling well, you should say so. I didn’t think I was low enough to force a relationship on someone who’s not in good condition.”
“Sunbae.”
“Why do you keep enduring it? I don’t understand.”
His tone of genuine bewilderment brought warmth to Joyoon’s pale cheeks. Shin Kwonjoo’s words, treating their relationship strictly as one between partners, were colder than winter’s icy wind, making Joyoon unconsciously hug himself.
So, it was because of last night’s commotion after all.
It was the same as any other dawn. When they were both lost in each other’s bodies, an unexpected visitor arrived – headaches and nausea that sometimes surfaced when his medication didn’t agree with him. His condition had deteriorated rapidly, but he didn’t want to break the flow of their languid intimacy where their skins touched and their breaths mingled.
However, regardless of his efforts, his selfishness to continue the act couldn’t overcome the wave of nausea that came over him. He vividly remembered Shin Kwonjoo’s look of disbelief as he watched him, naked, throw up after rushing off the bed. The argument between them, with one wanting to rush to the hospital in the early hours before dawn and the other refusing, lasted until morning when they had to go to work. In the end, Shin Kwonjoo, bowing to Ha Joyoon’s stubbornness, vented his anger all the way to the office, discussing his foolishness.
“The medication was quite strong…”
Muttering with dry lips, he offered a pathetic excuse. However, the sharp gaze directed at him remained icy. Even knowing it wasn’t the whole story, Ha Joyoon felt a twinge of resentment as he stammered on. The man glanced at him with a look of irritation.
“When I take the medication, my condition isn’t great. But it’s not always like that; there are times it’s fine and times it’s not, so I couldn’t know if I’d feel bad yesterday. And since it’s not a daily medication, I can’t predict how I’ll feel every time I take it.”
“Then shouldn’t you speak up the moment you feel that way?”
“I just wanted to stay in that moment. Was that wrong?”
Shin Kwonjoo’s expression hardened more with each clumsy expression of emotion and even clumsier excuse. Despite trying not to, resentment seeped into his words. To him, Joyoon’s effort to stay and endure seemed like stubborn, reluctant endurance. His manner of speaking was also quite harsh. Couldn’t he say it more gently? In the end, his suppressed anger burst out.
“Do you have to speak like that?”
“What?”
“I understand even if you speak kindly. If you follow what Sunbae says, should I just quit since I’ll always be in bad condition?”
“Why does the conversation turn that way?”
Surprised by the unexpected response, Shin Kwonjoo frowned, holding his forehead. Ha Joyoon stood there, motionless, staring deeply at Shin Kwonjoo seated before him. He sighed in displeasure, tapping his nose, but Ha Joyoon felt oddly relieved by Shin Kwonjoo’s response, which prevented the conversation from escalating. The man, touching his forehead and cheeks in frustration, met Joyoon’s gaze directly and asked bluntly.
“What kind of medication is it?”
“…”
At the penetrating question, Joyoon held his breath for a moment. Hesitating to answer, he met the fierce gaze that seemed to pierce through him.
“Tell me properly. As your superior, I need to know this, not just as your partner. If it affects work, it’s problematic. If it’s serious, quitting might be the right choice. We’re not so short-staffed that we need to keep someone who might be sick any day.”
His determination to remain silent wavered with the mention of not wanting disruptions in work. Despite Shin Kwonjoo’s harsh tone, his words were not wrong. Joyoon finally revealed the part he had been hiding for months.
“I have some post-surgery complications.”
“What kind?”
The man’s expression, asking sharply, was as hard and emotionless as steel. Joyoon took a deep breath to calm himself before explaining cautiously.
“It’s not serious. The inflammation levels are ambiguous, not severe enough for surgery, just treatable with medication.”
“You say it’s not serious? Are you a doctor, Ha Joyoon?”
“If you don’t believe me, I can bring a medical opinion.”
With his firm reply, Shin Kwonjoo’s eyes narrowed. He was looking for signs of clumsiness or deceit in his tone. After a long moment of scrutiny, he tilted his head away.
“Fine. If it doesn’t affect work, then I don’t care.”
“…”
“If you say you’re okay, then it’s not for me to interfere. You can go.”
Shin Kwonjoo cut him off coldly, waving his hand. It was clear he didn’t want to delve deeper into someone else’s matters. With a slight press and release of his heavy chest, Ha Joyoon exhaled softly.
Familiarity can be frightening. Without knowing when, he had gradually grown accustomed to his scent, like water dripping drop by drop.
A sudden fear arose that even his relationship with Shin Kwonjoo might become taken for granted. It was a subtle change, yet one too significant for him to handle at this moment. He knew when this change started, but his heart couldn’t face the reality it couldn’t bear.
The moment he first thought Shin Kwonjoo was lovable. He thought it was a feeling entirely different from love, but it changed the direction of their relationship nonetheless. Strictly speaking, it was a one-sided direction from him. However, the relationship between him and Shin Kwonjoo was an unhealthy one. Despite knowing this, he had often forgotten it recently, intoxicated by that cold kindness. It was foolish. Steadying his complacent heart, Ha Joyoon concluded the uncomfortable conversation.
“Then I’ll be going.”
“Yes.”
Pressing lightly on his head where a headache lingered, he stepped back. Shin Kwonjoo, indicating there was nothing more to discuss, turned his attention back to the documents he had been reviewing. His slightly bowed figure showed no emotion. The chill in the air seemed to warn that even the small comfort he felt from Shin Kwonjoo on a late autumn night might have been just a dream. Slowly scanning the cold, unyielding figure, Ha Joyoon turned away completely. The sound of his low-heeled shoes echoed lonely in the office. Just as he was about to turn the doorknob…
“…Did you say Han River University Hospital?”
“What?” Joyoon asked, taken aback.
“It’s amazing how quickly people can become ridiculous,” Shin Kwonjoo replied flatly.
Joyoon paused, surprised by the cold tone. He turned around to see Shin Kwonjoo staring at him expressionlessly. His eyes were devoid of emotion, yet there was an underlying feeling that Joyoon couldn’t quite decipher.
Shin Kwonjoo sighed repeatedly, clearly displeased with what Joyoon had said. The deep furrow in his brow showed no sign of easing. An awkward silence filled the space between them. Shin Kwonjoo stood up from his cluttered desk, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“I was too harsh,” he admitted.
Joyoon remained silent, surprised by the rare apology.
“You know I’m not good with words,” Shin Kwonjoo added, his voice softer than usual.
It was the first time Joyoon had heard anything resembling an apology from him. He looked at Shin Kwonjoo with wide eyes, trying to gauge his sincerity.
“When’s your next appointment?” Shin Kwonjoo asked abruptly.
“Tomorrow,” Joyoon replied.
“I’ll go with you,” Shin Kwonjoo said.
“Where?” Joyoon asked, confused.
“Where do you think? The hospital. I need to hear it for myself,” Shin Kwonjoo explained.
“But why the hospital…” Joyoon started to ask, but Shin Kwonjoo cut him off.
“I have to see it with my own eyes,” he insisted.
Joyoon was confused by the sudden change in topic. Before he could ask what Shin Kwonjoo meant, the man pushed his chair back and stood up. He checked his watch and let out a frustrated sigh. He sent a quick message on his phone before turning his attention back to Joyoon.
“What’s your schedule for the afternoon?” Shin Kwonjoo asked.
Joyoon shook his head, trying to recall his plans. “I have a shoot in Yeouido,” he replied.
“Call me when you’re done,” Shin Kwonjoo said, grabbing his coat and briefcase. He walked towards the door, clearly not interested in further discussion.
Joyoon hesitated, wanting to ask why Shin Kwonjoo insisted on going to the hospital with him, but he couldn’t find the right words. “I have a shoot this afternoon,” he said instead.
“Where?” Shin Kwonjoo asked.
“Yeouido,” Joyoon replied.
“Call me when you’re done,” Shin Kwonjoo repeated, already heading out the door.
Joyoon watched him leave, still confused. He called out to him, “I might be too tired today. Maybe we can reschedule…”
Shin Kwonjoo laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t make excuses. Just call me when you’re done,” he said, walking out the door.
Joyoon stood there, embarrassed and confused. He had misinterpreted Shin Kwonjoo’s intentions, and now he felt foolish. He watched as Shin Kwonjoo paused in the doorway, turning back to look at him.
“I’ll be waiting. Come even if you’re late,” Shin Kwonjoo said, his voice softer now.
“But I don’t know how long it will take…” Joyoon started to protest.
“No excuses. Just come,” Shin Kwonjoo insisted.
Before Joyoon could respond, Shin Kwonjoo leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips. The kiss was brief but intense, leaving Joyoon breathless.
“No more excuses,” Shin Kwonjoo murmured against his lips.
Joyoon closed his eyes, savoring the moment. He didn’t want to think or worry about anything right now. He just wanted to enjoy the feeling of Shin Kwonjoo’s arms around him.
Following the address Shin Kwonjoo had sent, Joyoon arrived at an old, rundown bar. The building was much more remote and aged than he had expected, and it took him a while to find it. He was already three hours late due to an unexpected incident. He hurried inside, feeling guilty for being so late.
The bar was small, but the lively chatter of customers and the bustling of servers created a cozy atmosphere. As he scanned the tables, he spotted Shin Kwonjoo deep in conversation with someone. Dressed in a charcoal suit, Shin Kwonjoo looked out of place in the modest setting. His long legs were awkwardly stretched out to one side of the small table.
Across the table sat another man, slim and dressed in a casual suit. He appeared to be the editor from Wighton that Ha Joyoon had mentioned. Ha Joyoon pushed aside his growing discomfort and approached the table.
With each step, the figure of Shin Kwonjoo, engrossed in conversation, became clearer. His gaze was sharp, and his expression serious. Watching him, Ha Joyoon wondered what kind of photographs Shin Kwonjoo would capture if he were still taking pictures, and how he would frame the current reality.
“You’re here,” Shin Kwonjoo acknowledged.
“Yes, I’m a bit late,” Ha Joyoon replied.
“I didn’t expect you to be on time. Let’s introduce ourselves and sit down.”
As their eyes met, Shin Kwonjoo raised his hand slightly. Simultaneously, the man sitting with his back to them turned around. He wore silver-rimmed glasses, had sharp eyes, and sunken cheeks, giving the impression of a stern individual.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Ha Joyoon.”
“Nice to meet you too. I’m Lee Haejun, from the Korean branch of Wighton Communications. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Despite his stern appearance, Lee Haejun’s tone was gentle, and his demeanor was relaxed. The awkwardness in the air dissipated, and Ha Joyoon shook his hand lightly before taking a seat in the chair Shin Kwonjoo had pulled out. Ha Joyoon placed his camera bag and documents on the empty chair beside him.
“Have you had dinner?” Shin Kwonjoo asked.
“Just a quick bite. I’m not very hungry,” Ha Joyoon replied.
“I was going to order another side dish, so let’s share that. Is that okay?”
Shin Kwonjoo asked again after getting a new menu from a passing waiter.
“I’m not very hungry,” Ha Joyoon repeated.
“Just eat,” Shin Kwonjoo insisted.
“…Okay.”
The table was filled with empty bottles and plates, evidence of the time they had already spent there. Ha Joyoon glanced at the numerous empty bottles, then looked at Shin Kwonjoo, who seemed unaffected by the alcohol.
“Did you drink all this?” Ha Joyoon asked.
“Both of us have a high tolerance, so we’re still fine,” Shin Kwonjoo replied, pointing to Lee Haejun.
As Shin Kwonjoo ordered more side dishes from the waiter, Ha Joyoon smiled and nodded, realizing that Shin Kwonjoo could hold his liquor well.
“I thought you were only ordering one dish,” Ha Joyoon commented as Shin Kwonjoo rapidly pointed to various items on the menu.
“Just eat,” Shin Kwonjoo repeated.
Ha Joyoon was about to protest when he heard laughter from across the table.
“I’ve never seen you take care of someone like this before,” Lee Haejun remarked.
“Oh…” Ha Joyoon was startled by the sudden comment, causing Lee Haejun to look surprised as well. The atmosphere became awkward again, and Ha Joyoon felt a pang of regret.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Shin Kwonjoo. We were just talking about you,” Lee Haejun apologized.
“It’s okay. I just… And I always get scolded by him,” Ha Joyoon replied with a forced smile.
“I doubt that. He’s tough on everyone, but he speaks highly of your photography,” Lee Haejun said.
“Thank you…” Ha Joyoon murmured.
“Your photos capture the essence of the subject without any artificiality. That’s quite rare, especially these days when many photographers manipulate scenes for dramatic effect,” Lee Haejun continued.
“You’re too kind,” Ha Joyoon replied, shaking his head.
Shin Kwonjoo interjected, “He’s talented but doesn’t know how to use it properly. He never listens to me, so I hope you can teach him a thing or two.”
“That’s not something you can force,” Lee Haejun replied.
“I’m enrolling him in the Foreign Correspondents’ Club next month,” Shin Kwonjoo announced.
“That’s a good idea,” Lee Haejun agreed.
“He’s shy and not good with people, so I hope you can look out for him,” Shin Kwonjoo added.
“You shouldn’t say that in front of him,” Lee Haejun chided.
Shin Kwonjoo ignored the remark and took out a cigarette case. He habitually lit a cigarette but quickly stubbed it out upon noticing a no-smoking sign on the wall. He muttered in annoyance and put the cigarette out.
“Don’t take his harsh words too personally. He only does that to people he cares about,” Lee Haejun said, handing Ha Joyoon a glass.
“Okay…” Ha Joyoon replied.
“You must be tired dealing with him. He has a way of stressing people out,” Lee Haejun commented.
Ha Joyoon smiled weakly, having heard similar comments about Shin Kwonjoo all day. He downed the glass of soju in one gulp, feeling the burn in his throat. Meanwhile, Shin Kwonjoo was preoccupied with his phone, checking messages with a frown.
“Even with his personality, he takes good care of his people. Remember this, it might come in handy someday. Put up with it for now, even if it’s tough. He’s actually quite considerate of you, more than he usually is with others.”
“Haha.”
“I’m serious. He’s not the type to look after just anyone.”
Lee Haejun poured alcohol into an empty glass as he jokingly spoke. Thinking the conversation was about him, Shin Kwonjoo, who was on the phone, glared fiercely. Lee Haejun chuckled, “He’s scary, isn’t he?” Ha Joyoon, feeling awkward, shook his head repeatedly and filled Lee Haejun’s empty glass as well.
“You were mainly in war zones, right?” Lee Haejun asked.
“Yes, I went straight there after joining the company,” Ha Joyoon replied.
“That’s unusual. Where did you go?”
“First to Iraq, then through Libya to Syria. I also spent some time in Greece and Turkey during the refugee crisis.”
“You’ve been to some tough places. I was in Libya for about a year, and I thought I was going to die. It must have been hard for you to go there in your twenties. There must have been many dangerous…” Lee Haejun’s voice trailed off as he realized Ha Joyoon knew what he was talking about. Ha Joyoon smiled awkwardly.
“It’s okay. You can speak freely.”
Lee Haejun cleared his throat, embarrassed, and naturally changed the subject. “These days, photojournalists are often outsourced or work as freelancers selling photo rights. It seems TPA really didn’t want to lose you.”
“It’s not like that. I just joined at the right time,” Ha Joyoon replied.
“I heard you’re planning to exhibit at a press photo exhibition. If it’s too much to handle alone, consider working as a team. We once won an award with the New York Times as a team.”
“I’m still thinking about it,” Ha Joyoon said.
“There’s no rush,” Lee Haejun reassured him.
At that moment, the side dishes they ordered arrived. There was a clear seafood hotpot. The waiter quickly cleared the messy table and placed a burner and a pot filled with seafood and vegetables in the center. After a few attempts, a blue flame ignited and heated the pot. The beautifully prepared seafood and various shellfish bubbled away. Soon, the numerous side dishes Shin Kwonjoo had ordered were served. Seeing the table full of food, Lee Haejun exclaimed in surprise.
“The table is full! Why did you order so much? Anyway, Ha Joyoon, let’s have another drink.”
“Sure…”
They clinked glasses lightly. The chilled alcohol momentarily calmed Ha Joyoon’s troubled mind. As Lee Haejun stirred the pot with a ladle, he glanced at Shin Kwonjoo, who was still on the phone, and muttered, “He’s the only one acting busy in the world. But he won’t be here long, so ask for his help while you can. There’s a lot to learn from him.”
Ha Joyoon stared blankly at his glass, unable to respond. Lee Haejun looked surprised.
“Did you not know? He’s going back to the headquarters soon.”
Ha Joyoon remained silent, his gaze fixed on his glass. Lee Haejun looked puzzled.
‘I’ll be moving by next summer at the latest.’
Memories that had been jumbled in Ha Joyoon’s mind began to piece together like a puzzle, forming a clear picture. On a shelf in the corner of the shop, a small pot held a vibrant yellow flower, blooming out of season.
The sound of rain tapping against the grimy window filled the air. Ha Joyoon’s eyes lost focus as he stared out at the autumn rain. Drops of water, heavy with the impending winter, slid down the windowpane, leaving trails. Shin Kwonjoo was still engrossed in his phone call.
“This is unacceptable. If you think I’ll quietly accept this division of press seats, you’re mistaken,” Shin Kwonjoo said firmly into the phone.
The conversation showed no signs of ending soon. Ha Joyoon gripped his glass tighter. He finally understood the timeline Shin Kwonjoo had given him. He hadn’t realized that their relationship had a set expiration date, and the uncertainty left him feeling adrift.
“He calls someone over and then stays on the phone the whole time. Don’t get used to this. You should say something to him later, Ha Joyoon,” Lee Haejun advised.
“…Haha.”
“Oh, it’s boiling over.”
White foam bubbled over the edge of the pot. Lee Haejun quickly stirred the hotpot with a ladle, but Ha Joyoon could only watch, unable to react. He thought that perhaps the separation he needed to learn about wasn’t just about one person but about something more profound.
The lonely autumn rain soaked the dry leaves and fell to the ground. Ha Joyoon listened to the sound of the rain and quickly emptied his glass.
“He’s a good guy. He has a clear sense of values and a good attitude.”
The man casually sipped his drink, his eyes devoid of emotion as he glanced at the empty seat next to him. He smiled calmly. Through the old window, Ha Joyoon could be seen outside, looking flustered as he talked on the phone.
“You’re not denying it, so you must like him quite a bit.”
“I neither like nor dislike him.”
Shin Kwonjoo replied briefly as he filled Lee Haejun’s empty glass. Lee Haejun laughed hollowly and quickly downed his drink. The sound of rain tapping against the window filled the quiet evening.
“Talking about this reminds me of Hyeoksu.”
“…..”
“He seemed quiet but was very passionate.”
At the mention of the name, Shin Kwonjoo paused as he was serving food. After a moment of silence, Lee Haejun looked into the distance, remembering the past.
“Hyeoksu was like that too. Reckless, passionate, and single-minded.”
“…Was he?”
Shin Kwonjoo pushed aside his half-finished bowl of soup and downed his drink. As they exchanged drinks, the number of empty soju bottles on the table increased.
“He reminds me of Hyeoksu. Isn’t it funny? Hyeoksu was much bigger than Ha Joyoon and looked completely different. But he was quite a character.”
“By the end, he looked almost like a beggar.”
Shin Kwonjoo also reminisced about their old friend with a bitter smile. He was stubborn and inflexible, yet meddlesome. He believed it was his duty to uphold justice in the world. Despite his foolishness, he left a lasting impression on Shin Kwonjoo, who often ridiculed his own pragmatism.
Shin Kwonjoo’s lips remained tightly sealed, not letting out a single breath. He slowly wiped his forehead and placed his glass on the table.
“I feel strange. Maybe I’ve become too complacent with reality. It’s good to be reminded of things I’d forgotten, but it’s also sad.”
Lee Haejun continued to empty his glass, letting out a hollow laugh. He scooped up a spoonful of the clam soup from Shin Kwonjoo’s bowl and offered it to him. After gulping down the hot soup, Lee Haejun wiped his mouth with a tissue and continued.
“By the way, you haven’t told Ha Joyoon that you’re going back to headquarters, have you?”
“What are you talking about?”
Shin Kwonjoo’s voice was low and tense. Lee Haejun shrugged, recalling Ha Joyoon’s earlier reaction.
“He seemed surprised.”
“That can’t be. I told him before, and he knows.”
Shin Kwonjoo dismissed the idea with a scoff and looked out the window. He caught a glimpse of Ha Joyoon’s round head. He stared at him for a moment before turning away. Lee Haejun, losing interest in Shin Kwonjoo’s indifferent reaction, stretched and continued the conversation.
“Speaking of which, isn’t your wife coming back soon? She must be eager to see you. When is she arriving?”
“It’s been delayed. She’ll be back next week.”
“You’re something else.”
Shin Kwonjoo’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, and his sharp eyes darkened. His face revealed a mix of complex emotions, but the silence didn’t last long. The conversation flowed naturally as they changed topics.
“It’s raining heavily. You’ll have a tough drive home.”
“Yes, it is.”
On that late autumn night, each person’s time and emotions flowed at different paces, heading towards their own conclusions.
He opened his eyes.
The sound of raindrops falling from the sky seemed to have awakened him. The faint blue light of dawn settled on his skin, making everything look paler than usual. The cool air gently touched his cheek, making its presence known.
The rain that had started in the evening continued through the night and into the early morning. The sound was more captivating than any of Jimi Hendrix’s performances. After the rain, as always, winter would arrive, preparing the way for spring.
Slowly, as if carefully crafting a rough gem, he blinked his eyes.
Ha Joyoon took in the sight of the man lying in front of him, breathing steadily with his eyes closed. He noticed the thick eyebrows, the long, monolid eyes, the sharp nose, the tightly closed lips, the slightly angular cheeks and jaw, the broad forehead, and the usually neat but now disheveled black hair. Even with his eyes closed, the man exuded a cool and stern aura. Ha Joyoon unconsciously curved his lips into a smile.
He reached out to touch the man but withdrew his hand, letting it fall onto the sheet. The slight movement made a loud rustling sound, causing the man’s eyes to flutter open. Though awake, his gaze was unfocused.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” the man asked, his voice rough. Ha Joyoon realized that they had started speaking more casually to each other. He remained silent, and the man closed his eyes and reached out his hand.
“I’m going to sleep now.”
“…Go to sleep.”
“Come here.”
“…..”
The man pulled Ha Joyoon close, their bodies fitting together perfectly. He patted Ha Joyoon’s back gently, surprisingly tender for someone so stern. The rhythmic motion slowed down and eventually stopped as the man drifted back to sleep.
Thump. Thump, thump—
Their hearts, pressed together, began to beat in sync, creating the illusion that they were beating as one. Overwhelmed by an indescribable emotion, Ha Joyoon held his breath.
“Are you asleep?” he whispered. There was no response.
“…He must be asleep.”
…Completely different face, completely different body, completely different voice, completely different feeling, completely different emotion.
Golden specks of emotion and memory mixed with the raindrops and fell. He let out a long, inexplicable sigh. He remembered their conversation at the bar, the silent drive home, the expressionless face staring out the window, and the hand that never let go until they reached the apartment.
An inexplicable, heavy emotion slowly seeped into Ha Joyoon’s heart, so gradually that he couldn’t pinpoint when or how it began. His pale cheeks trembled silently. With the weight of this realization, Ha Joyoon understood the choices and decisions he needed to make.
[Since last Wednesday’s communication, Mr. Ha’s location has been completely unknown. We will continue to…]
As Taejung heard the unfamiliar language and the words it formed from the receiver, his world came to an end. The orbits of the planets lost their direction, and the beautiful, shining nebulae crumbled under the pressure, vanishing into nothingness.
Taejung screamed in anguish. He raged at everyone speaking in official tones about documents and clung to the belongings that reminded him of his lover, writhing in pain. The agony of losing a loved one was indescribable, beyond the reach of any language. The world he had built crumbled, and the time they had shared slipped away, leaving him helpless.
After grieving to the point of exhaustion, resentment and self-blame began to creep in. Sometimes, the target of his anger was Ha Joyoon; other times, it was Kang Taejung himself.
Why did you leave without a trace? Did you never consider this outcome? Is this the result of your choices? Why couldn’t I stop you? Should I have quit my job and followed you? Should I have done something to prevent you from taking that assignment?
But no amount of blame or regret could bring his lover back. The remaining traces of their love only wore Taejung down, making him ill. The longer the absence, the harder it became to endure on memories alone. Trapped in a zero-sum game, unable to move forward or backward, Taejung experienced the terror of his foundation slowly rotting away. A dark, nameless abyss swept through like a storm, shattering all thoughts and feelings, leaving only a desolate, gray wasteland.
Days blurred into an endless cycle of merely existing, devoid of meaning or purpose. Life became a mere semblance of living, akin to being dead while alive. Then, one day, his survival instinct whispered to him.
Forget, it said.
Forget him.
Kill the love and forget him.
It had been nearly a year since Ha Junghye had visited Kang Taejung’s home. Standing at the half-open door with a large box in her hands, she startled Taejung, who rushed to greet her mid-meal.
“Have you been well?” Ha Junghye asked softly.
“Junghye, sister,” Taejung replied, his voice choked with emotion.
“I was about to ring the bell, but the door was open, so I just came in. Is that okay?”
“Of course, sister.”
Taejung struggled to speak, his throat tight with emotion. Ha Junghye smiled gently and handed him the box.
“Here, take this.”
“What is this? And why…? Come in, sister.”
Taejung’s voice was rough with emotion as he took the box. His face was a mix of discomfort and joy. The box felt heavy in his hands.
“No, I have to go right away.”
Despite Taejung’s invitation to stay, Ha Junghye declined, insisting she had to leave immediately. She had come only to deliver the box. She glanced around the house, her hair slightly damp with sweat.
“Is your mother home?”
“She went to the market.”
“I see. I didn’t know she’d be out, or I would have asked her to pass this on.”
“What is this?” Taejung asked, gently shaking the box.
Ha Junghye smiled faintly and called his name. “Taejung.”
At the familiar sound of his name, Taejung’s eyes softened.
“Ha Joyoon asked me to give this to you.”
Taejung froze at the mention of the familiar name, his hands still clutching the box.
“I don’t know what’s inside. He just asked me to be very careful with it. I thought it might be fragile.”
“…..”
“He said you might feel uncomfortable if he gave it to you directly, so he asked me to do it.”
Taejung could guess what was in the box—items related to him. Ha Joyoon was finally trying to move on, and Taejung should have felt relieved, but his emotions were not so easily swayed by logic.
His eyes, dark with pain, stared blankly ahead. Ha Junghye stepped closer, her expression filled with concern.
“You’ve been through so much. Why do you look so unhappy when you’ve found someone new?”
“…I’m sorry.”
“Taejung.”
Ha Junghye took his arm gently. Looking down at her hand, Taejung saw a reflection of all the time he had endured. Her kind eyes, so similar to Ha Joyoon’s, looked at him with warmth.
“We don’t blame you. How could we? You helped us so much. We saw how much you suffered because of Ha Joyoon.”
Taejung had never properly said goodbye to Ha Joyoon. Their last moments were cruel and heartless, leaving Ha Joyoon to bear the burden of their separation alone. Ha Junghye, who had watched Ha Joyoon suffer, offered comfort instead of blame. Overwhelmed with guilt, Taejung felt a wave of emotion.
“Taejung, thank you for standing by our family when Ha Joyoon went missing. But seeing you fall apart was too painful. So when you said you had found someone new, I felt relieved. I truly mean it.”
“…I wasn’t the only one. You, uncle, and auntie…”
“We’re family, so we couldn’t help it, but we shouldn’t have burdened you with that. We were overwhelmed… I’m so sorry for that, Taejung. Even now, I hope you can let go of Ha Joyoon’s past and live happily with the person you’re seeing now.”
“…..”
“Ha Joyoon is getting better little by little. He’s seeing people more than before. Can you believe it? He used to be so picky about people, but now he even goes to company dinners. He’s changed a lot. He’s not fully recovered, but he’s coping well. My brother is strong, so don’t worry too much.”
“Sister…”
“Taejung, one day, he’ll overcome this. And like you, he’ll be able to bury it all as a memory. When that day comes, visit us at home. Let’s have a nice dinner together.”
Ha Junghye was a gentle soul who wouldn’t hurt anyone. Kang Taejung knew her words were sincere comfort and concern. However, he couldn’t bring himself to agree, feeling awkward and uncomfortable.
As she said, eventually, everything would pass. Ha Joyoon’s feelings and his own. Just as he had been sorting out his love for Ha Joyoon over the past five years, Ha Joyoon would do the same. Their time together would fade into a distant memory, a mere figure of speech.
But…
Startled by a dull sensation, Kang Taejung looked down at the source of the sound. The box he was holding had been torn open by his unconscious grip. His eyes, filled with pain and unnamed sorrow, grew darker with each passing moment.
An obstacle to overcome. A mountain to climb.
This was a stark reminder of what he had become to Ha Joyoon. He wanted Ha Joyoon to forget him, to choose separation, yet he couldn’t understand his own feelings. An unbearable emotion surfaced, too selfish to express.
“…How is Ha Joyoon’s health?”
“He’s fine. Much better. Don’t worry and focus on your own life, okay?”
“…..”
“Take care. I really have to go now.”
“Thank you, sister.”
Kang Taejung struggled to express his gratitude, his voice heavy with emotion. The air was thick with a somber mood, his voice lower and more melancholic than usual.
How have you been? It’s been so long since we last saw each other. How’s your health? I shouldn’t have treated you that way, I’m sorry. I really…
Words with no one to hear echoed in his mind. His gaze kept returning to the box, but he couldn’t escape the haunting memories. This is just lingering attachment, he told himself. He had to think of it that way—a cowardly avoidance and fear of facing the truth.
Autumn retreated, and a bleak winter approached. In just a few days, the year would come to an end. The air was noticeably colder, drying out his cheeks.
“Where are you?”
The coldness in the short message made him hesitate to respond. Since morning, Shin Kwonjoo had been calling non-stop, and when Taejung didn’t answer, he started sending messages, demanding a response. Shin Kwonjoo was not one to wait patiently. Another message popped up on the screen.
“Ha Joyoon.”
The anger in his name was palpable. Ha Joyoon hesitated, then sighed and put his phone in his bag. He didn’t know what to say and couldn’t face Shin Kwonjoo’s harsh reaction.
What should I do?
The question with no answer swirled in his mind, causing confusion. Just thinking about Shin Kwonjoo made him feel uncomfortable, as if someone was squeezing his heart.
Ha Joyoon had been secretly attending hospital appointments and rehab sessions for weeks, avoiding Shin Kwonjoo’s insistence on accompanying him. Their relationship had changed since the dinner with the Wighton editor. They occasionally had physical intimacy at Shin Kwonjoo’s initiative, but that was all. Ha Joyoon no longer spent nights at Shin Kwonjoo’s place and avoided personal questions. He was trying to reduce their interactions and set boundaries.
Shin Kwonjoo noticed the change in Ha Joyoon’s attitude but didn’t react strongly. Instead, he got angry over trivial matters, and Ha Joyoon responded with silence. Ha Joyoon knew he was avoiding the issue, but he felt that Shin Kwonjoo’s gaze and occasional kindness were becoming toxic for him.
“…I’ll send it later.”
Ha Joyoon’s shoulder ached from the intense rehab session. He walked towards the hospital entrance to catch a taxi. Lim Dohyun’s concerned gaze followed him, but Ha Joyoon soon left it behind with the autumn breeze.
The sound of his footsteps and the cool wind harmonized, making him nostalgic for the ending autumn. With his schedule clear for the day, he could enjoy the beautiful scenery. He ignored the vibrating phone in his pocket.
Honk! Honk!
In the distance, he heard car horns. Despite the late hour, the road was packed with cars moving at a snail’s pace. There must be an event, he thought, as traffic jams like this could last for hours.
Ha Joyoon remembered a nearby park and decided to head there. He wanted to lie on the grass and soak up some sun, even if just for a moment.
The heavy and light emotions within him coexisted in a strange state. The pleasant atmosphere suddenly turned cold, and his light footsteps froze as if encountering an enemy.
…I always made sure to leave through the back door, so I hadn’t seen him in a while and didn’t think about it. I forgot that Taejung’s company was near the hospital. Ha Joyoon stood frozen, silently staring at the large building just a few meters away.
Eighth floor, no, ninth floor. Or maybe he had moved to a different department in the past five years, so it could be a completely different floor. He had no basis in reality, only relying on his last memory to assume that Kang Taejung was somewhere in that building.
‘Your search for Taejung made his life a mess. He couldn’t even go to work properly… His attendance was terrible, and he couldn’t focus on his job. As a new employee, his behavior almost got him fired, and he was demoted to a regional office. He only returned about a year ago…’
Ha Junghye’s words echoed in his mind, telling him how Taejung had struggled while Ha Joyoon was missing. He remembered how happy Taejung was when he graduated and got a job at a prestigious company. At the time, Ha Joyoon was so consumed by his own grief that he didn’t consider the pain Taejung must have endured.
You weren’t a superhero; you were just a young man in his twenties experiencing the loss of a loved one.
I was foolish and selfish. I didn’t see you for who you were and only focused on my own pain, closing my eyes and ears to your suffering. I realize now that I am not worthy of comforting your pain and moving forward together.
We walked different paths and had different perspectives. We held different views and values but failed to acknowledge those differences. We blinded each other, not realizing we were poisoning each other with our obsession. The more we loved, the deeper the wounds became. Those days were beautiful but also incredibly foolish.
Standing still, Ha Joyoon watched Kang Taejung’s company for a long time, sorting through his thoughts. Memories that were once as heavy and painful as death began to change shape and weight, fading like a distant breath. As always, time heals all wounds for everyone.
A cool breeze blew. Ha Joyoon thought he would need warmer clothes starting next week as he touched his cold face.
As he turned to find a quicker route, a wave of nausea hit him. It was sudden and unpleasant, making him feel like he would vomit, even though he knew nothing would come out.
The new medication was effective but came with side effects, including fever and nausea. Ha Joyoon sat on the sidewalk, covering his mouth with one hand. His face paled, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
He followed Lim Dohyun’s advice, taking deep breaths and exhaling slowly. His weak breaths scattered on the empty street. His closed eyes fluttered slightly. He felt his strength waning but clenched and unclenched his cold fingertips, trying to distract himself from the pain.
He needed to find a taxi and go home. As he struggled to open his eyes, his vision swam with dizziness—not a good sign. He thought he should find somewhere to lie down when he felt a strong grip on his wrist, pulling him halfway up.
“I’m… I’m okay. Just go…”
“Yoon—ah, Yoon—ah. It’s me.”
Ha Joyoon was shocked to see the unexpected figure, momentarily forgetting his nausea.
The man bending over him, breathing heavily, was someone he knew well. His soft, wavy hair was disheveled, and his clothes were a mess. Sweat beaded on his forehead, suggesting he had run a considerable distance. His gentle features still captivated anyone who looked at him.
Kang Taejung’s large hands, one of the things Ha Joyoon loved about him, were pressed against his knee. Ha Joyoon had always loved Taejung’s hands, which had held his cheeks and clasped his own, conveying all his emotions. Memories, now faded like an old movie reel, filled the gaps in his patchwork heart.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?”
“…..”
“Your face… it’s so pale.”
“…..”
“Get up. Yoon—ah, come on. Get up.”
Ha Joyoon silently watched Taejung, panting and calling his name. He thought fate was cruel. The feelings he thought had crumbled and disappeared were still there, filled with the same pain and sorrow, staring back at him.