BITM Ch17

“Oh, so that’s why you’re wearing gloves. Got it. I’ll keep my distance.”

“And… sometimes I experience seizures.”

“Do you have a chronic illness?”

“Something… similar.”

“Just let me know the protocol for handling it, and there won’t be any issues.”

Since being hired, Han Naeyung had only suffered seizures three times. The first was when an unstable man had attacked him. The second occurred the day after receiving a shipment of formalin. And today… there wasn’t anything unusual.

The young man who occasionally visited with his girlfriend seemed familiar with the doctor.

“Are you feeling better?”

The rustling sound of the plastic bag gradually subsided. Han Naeyung nodded faintly toward Lee Seolhwa, who was standing nearby with a serious expression. Her first impression of him was that he was a handsome, delicate man—a fussy doctor with germophobia. Of course, that image shattered within days of her starting work.

Contrary to his refined appearance, he often came off as awkward, and he always pressed his lips tightly together when being scolded.

Picking up the restless Nari, who was wandering around nervously, Lee Seolhwa carried the dog to the sofa. However, Nari wriggled out of her arms and jumped down, scurrying to sit protectively at Han Naeyung’s feet. The little dog puffed out its chest, standing guard as if to shield him.

“Doctor, let’s wrap up for today.”

Han Naeyung removed the bag from his face.

“You should… go home too.”

His words were slow, his lips barely moving. Without a word, Lee Seolhwa nodded. The first rule of handling his seizures, as he had explained, was to leave him alone afterward.

Initially, she had stayed nearby out of concern, but her presence only seemed to heighten his anxiety. It wasn’t until he was left alone that he managed to regain his composure.

“Should I get you some medicine?”

He mouthed “yes,” though no sound came out. Opening a drawer, she retrieved a sedative and placed it on the table with a glass of water. Then, she glanced at him as he turned toward the back of the sofa, curling up into himself.

It was hard not to notice how fragile he looked, huddled in such a vulnerable position.

The usually stoic Han Naeyung had only started behaving like a human being after Jin appeared in his life. He even cared for Nari in Jin’s stead and would sometimes stay late, waiting for him to arrive.

For someone who was known for cutting others off with cold precision, the change in Han Naeyung was nothing short of remarkable to Lee Seolhwa.

Back at her desk, she hesitated over whether to call Jin. If he was coming to pick up Nari, she didn’t want him to make the trip for nothing. However, her call to his number went unanswered, likely because he was busy.

Left with no choice, she wrote a note on a sticky pad and carefully affixed it to the glass door before stepping back to check on the doctor once more.

Through the slightly ajar door, she saw that Nari had curled up in Han Naeyung’s arms, the little dog’s eyes darting about protectively. Noticing her presence, Nari glanced at the door, visibly relaxed upon recognizing her, then rested its head again.

Leaving the door half-open, Lee Seolhwa gathered her things and walked out carefully, mindful of the sound of her heels. After locking the door, she glanced back at the note she had left.

“Doctor, I can’t help but wonder… Is being alone really comfortable for you? Everyone feels lonely sometimes…”

She muttered quietly, her eyes lingering on the clinic.

* * *

Aromatic candles, warm orange lighting, and the soothing voice of a therapist. Sitting across from them was a high school boy in a uniform, his face emotionless.

It was a familiar scene in the counseling room. Han Naeyung had been a long-term patient, attending sessions for five years. Other than his adoptive father, Han Sungwon, only the therapist knew of his past.

“Naeyung, where did we leave off last time?”

“Breathing…”

“Ah, that’s right.”

The distance between the therapist and the client was noticeable. With their hands resting on their knees, the therapist listened attentively as Han Naeyung spoke.

“When people breathe, there’s a smell. As a kid, I’d classify them as pleasant, unpleasant, or bad smells.”

Sixteen-year-old Han Naeyung spoke cautiously.

“Being able to identify people by their scent—what a unique ability!”

“Still… scientifically, they said it wasn’t proven.”

“Just because it’s unproven doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

The therapist smiled gently.

“It seems like you have a keen sense of smell, Naeyung. So, what does my breath smell like?”

Closing his eyes, Han Naeyung inhaled deeply.

“Kind… It smells kind.”

“You’re not talking about the scent of the candles, are you?”

The therapist chuckled softly.

“No.”

“Thanks for saying that. It makes me happy. How have you been feeling recently?”

“…Good.”

He fidgeted with the gloves on his hands.

“Not having nightmares anymore?”

“No.”

He lied. The therapy sessions, initially helpful, had become a waste of time.

“I feel much… better now.”

“May I ask you something, just one thing?”

“…”

“Your father mentioned that you once refused hypnosis.”

After being adopted, Han Naeyung had visited multiple hospitals for therapy but showed little improvement. Instead, his wariness grew.

Believing that his son was burdened with unbearable pain, Han Sungwon had urged him to lock away those memories.

Placing hope in the words of the hypnotist—that unwanted memories could be transformed into mere nightmares—was an option. Under hypnosis, the child would wake up and be told, “It was just a nightmare. None of that actually happened.” The goal was to help the child perceive traumatic memories as nothing more than bad dreams.

Hypnosis was said to be more effective on younger children, so Han Sungwon wanted to try it as soon as possible.

However, the ten-year-old child adamantly refused hypnosis. Despite repeated attempts, the sessions only worsened the child’s condition.

“Can you tell me why you refused?”

Han Naeyung answered calmly.

“Because I’m the only one who remembers Jaemin. If I forget, there’s no one left to remember him.”

The counselor’s eyes immediately reddened. Closing them, she took a long moment to calm herself, unwilling to let her emotions show. She had conducted countless counseling sessions before, but this boy’s past was an unbearable burden even for her. What kind of monsters could have done such things to this child? A deep anger brewed within her.

“Don’t cry. I… I’ve made this harder for you, haven’t I? I’m sorry.”

Han Naeyung pulled a tissue from the box and placed it on the table. It was the most considerate gesture a boy with obsessive tendencies could manage. The counselor’s face twisted, and tears flowed freely.

Years ago, a notorious child prostitution ring had dominated the headlines. Among the rescued children was a nine-year-old boy, whose older brother died in the process of capturing the perpetrators.

When the counselor first read about the case, she had cursed those criminals as vile butchers. Later, she learned that Han Sungwon—her close friend—had adopted one of the victims: the boy from that very case.

Every detail of the truth had to remain a strict secret. Even Han Sungwon’s colleagues didn’t know that his adopted son was a victim of that tragedy.

“Bangul is… doing a lot better now.”

Bangul was the name of the Jindo dog, who only had three legs. The counselor composed herself again. Though she was supposed to comfort the boy, it was he who had changed the subject to console her.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I’m thinking… maybe I’ll become a veterinarian.”

“A veterinarian?”

“I want Bangul to live a long time. That’s why.”

The counselor had suggested getting a pet to fill the void in Naeyung’s heart. To him, Bangul was almost like a stand-in for Jaemin.

“That’s a wonderful idea. Have you told your father?”

“Yes.”

Han Naeyung gazed at the flickering candlelight. It emitted a warm, comforting glow and a kind fragrance, unlike the suffocating smells from past doctors. Though the “kind” scent didn’t make him feel fully at ease, it at least prevented his anxiety from worsening.

“Do you like the candle? Would you like to take one home?”

“Doctor, I know. This can’t be fixed. It’s something I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life. But… I’ll endure it. Until the end.”

He glanced at the counselor, silently asking if he could leave. She realized her role was nearly over. As Naeyung had said, unless someone could forcibly strip him of his past, the trauma would follow him forever.

Han Naeyung stood and bowed deeply to the counselor, who had supported him for so long. Though she tried to decline his gesture, he refused to leave without showing his gratitude. She gifted him an aromatherapy candle.

At home, Naeyung lit the candle repeatedly, staring at its warm light. It gave off a gentle warmth and fragrance. His hand reached out as if to steady the flickering flame. Across from him sat Bangul, Jaemin’s unspoken replacement.

He missed Jaemin desperately. Wrapping his arms around the dog, Naeyung began to sob.

“My other half. Without you, I’ll never be whole again. I’ll have to live the rest of my life incomplete.”

The candlelight, trembling warmly in his tears, eventually went out. In the deep darkness, Naeyung curled into himself and cried quietly.

* * *

When he opened his eyes, his cheeks and the edges of his ears felt damp. Nari was whimpering and kneading the sofa with her paws, unsure of what to do. Sitting up, Naeyung soothed the dog gently.

“It’s okay.”

It sounded like he was talking to himself. The treatment room was dimly lit, probably because Lee Seolhwa had adjusted the lights on her way out.

Naeyung picked up scattered books and placed them back on the treatment table. Then he used a tissue to press against his eyes, wiping away the last traces of his tears. It was well past closing time. Naeyung left the treatment room with Nari in tow.

The waiting room was fully lit, almost glaringly so. Squinting, Naeyung turned to the glass door. A man stood outside, his back to the door, surrounded by a faint white mist.

Recognizing his owner, Nari darted to the door, licking the glass with her tongue. When the man didn’t turn around, she barked, as if pleading to be noticed. Finally, Jin turned, and his gaze shifted from Nari to Naeyung.

Naeyung slowly walked over and unlocked the door. Jin stepped inside, greeting him.

“Did you sleep well?”

Naeyung remained silent.

“Seolhwa texted me. She said you were asleep and left this for me.”

He held up a sticky note written by Lee Seolhwa.

“You could have called.”

If the hospital phone had rung, he would’ve woken immediately. Feeling slightly apologetic, Naeyung redirected his emotions into a reprimand.

“I just got here.”

But the cold seeping from Jin’s coat said otherwise. Scooping up the bouncing Nari, Jin gently patted her rear to settle her.

Naeyung walked over to the water dispenser, prepared a cup of warm green tea, and handed it to Jin. Seeing Naeyung without his gloves lifted Jin’s spirits immediately.

“Doctor Han, seeing you clears away all my exhaustion.”

Jin gestured for Naeyung to sit closer on the sofa.

“You didn’t suddenly take the day off because you were tired, did you? What happened?”

“…”

Han Naeyung sat across from Jin with Nari between them, watching him carefully. He focused on Jin’s breath, searching for its scent. A faintly sweet aroma lingered in the air.

“Don’t want to talk about it?” Jin asked.

“I was just… tired, so I slept,” Han Naeyung replied.

What was he hiding so stubbornly? Jin’s smile carried a bitter edge.

“Prosecutor…”

Han Naeyung hesitated, his voice faltering. Jin didn’t press him, letting the younger man take his time. The slow, deliberate tone reminded Jin of someone he once knew, making Han Naeyung’s voice oddly comforting.

“Could I ask a favor?”

“What’ll you give me in return if I do?” Jin teased, though he had no intention of enforcing some equivalent exchange. He merely wanted to see Han Naeyung’s flustered expression. As expected, Naeyung hesitated, struggling to respond.

“I don’t… really have much to offer,” Naeyung murmured.

No money, no special skills—that’s what Jin could see running through his mind.

“Just tell me what you need. I owe you plenty already, so think of this as paying you back.”

Naeyung stood from the sofa and walked to the consulting room. The quiet rustling of paper echoed through the clinic before he returned with several documents. Jin accepted them and studied them intently.

At the bottom of the pages were seals from a certified orphanage, and above them were personal details of individuals. As Jin read through the files, his neutral expression made Naeyung feel as though he were glimpsing the prosecutor in action.

“I’ve been volunteering recently, and the kids there… they’ve run away from home,” Naeyung explained.

“And?”

“I have a feeling something’s wrong. I’d like to know how they’re doing.”

“Have they been reported missing?”

“Yes.”

Jin skimmed the reports. “Judging by the dates, it’s been a while since they disappeared. Some of them are adults now. All right, I’ll look into it.”

Though he kept his tone casual, Jin clicked his tongue inwardly. His questioning had sounded more like an interrogation—a bad habit from his job.

“Thank you.”

Han Naeyung didn’t seem to mind, though.

Each year, nearly 20,000 reports of missing youths were filed. The actual number was likely much higher. While the introduction of systems like Code Adam had reduced missing child cases, most reports involving teenagers were categorized as runaways. Jin folded the documents and spoke again.

“What makes you think it’s not just a case of running away?”

“I… don’t know. It just feels like there’s more to it,” Naeyung replied.

“That may be true, but it’s unusual for you to get involved like this,” Jin commented, his voice trailing off.

He reflected for a moment. Orphaned children often vanished without resolution. He’d been deeply involved in such cases before and had never stopped searching for two individuals dear to him. Yet, when it came to others, he’d grown indifferent.

Was he any better than an officer who ignored petty crimes until their own home was robbed?

“Are you okay?” Naeyung’s voice broke Jin’s reverie.

“It’s nothing,” Jin replied with a faint smile. “Just some old memories.”

As Nari sniffed curiously at the papers, Jin lifted a hand to ward her off.

“Will you take her home today?”

“Of course.”

The words Jin really wanted to say remained unspoken: Want to come to my place tonight? Naeyung’s request had taken precedence, but Jin had something else he needed to ask.

“Dr. Han.”

“Yes?”

“The area you’ve been going to—it’s not very safe. Maybe you should attend a bigger church instead.”

“…”

“I didn’t investigate you or anything,” Jin quickly added, his tone defensive.

“…A church?” Naeyung’s voice wavered.

“Nuri Church, near the five-way intersection.”

A piercing noise seemed to ring in Naeyung’s ears, drowning out everything else. His pulse quickened, and his gaze fell to the floor.

“I came across some CCTV footage while investigating a case,” Jin continued. “I happened to spot you there. Just a coincidence.” He emphasized the word “coincidence,” unsure why he felt the need to.

“You’re devoted, and that’s admirable. But it’s a high-crime area. There was even a murder nearby.”

Naeyung’s thoughts spiraled as he recalled the footage. He had entered and exited the church, retched several times, and… what else?

“Dr. Han?”

His chest ached, cold sweat forming on his brow as heat surged from his stomach. Jin reached out to lift Naeyung’s chin, but the younger man quickly shifted away, standing unsteadily. His pale complexion looked almost ghostly.

“Are you feeling unwell?” Jin asked, his hand hovering hesitantly.

Naeyung avoided his touch once more, his voice faint. “I’m still… not fully recovered.”

He staggered, gripping the sofa for support. Even his hands were drained of color.

“Shall we go to the hospital?”

“No, it’s not that bad.”

I just need to rest upstairs.

Han Naeyung’s crimson lips moved silently as he spoke the words to himself. Removing his lab coat, he didn’t even bother grabbing a jacket before searching for the hospital keys. Jin quietly watched him.

What could have been so painful that he needed to sleep? Or had Jin said something wrong just now? Before he could say anything, Han Naeyung beat him to it.

“Let’s leave.”

The usual inclusion of “together” was missing. Han Naeyung went outside first and waited for Jin to follow.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Resting for a bit will make it better.”

Han Naeyung had regained his composure by then. Yet something about his calm demeanor sent a chill through Jin. Beneath that feigned nonchalance, his eyes carried an intricate turmoil.

It was still Han Naeyung, the same person Jin had come to know, but it felt as though a mask had been layered over his face. A mask Jin was all too familiar with—Hyung-tae used to wear the same one.

There was no doubt he was hiding something. Jin’s fingers twitched before slipping into his pocket.

“Are you really just unwell? Nothing else?”

He probed further, but Han Naeyung only nodded faintly in response.

“I’ll be going now.”

The strained voice made it impossible for Jin to hold him back. His pale, exhausted face betrayed a profound fatigue.

“If anything happens, call me. I’ll be waiting.”

Han Naeyung’s eyelids trembled briefly, but he turned away and headed toward the door.

“Nari.”

Only after Han Naeyung disappeared did Jin call out to Nari. The dog tilted its head quizzically and scratched at its face with a paw.

“Why’s Dr. Han acting like that? Do you know something?”

Nari began to pace in place, snorting in frustration as if eager to share something it couldn’t.

Of course not. There’s no way Nari could understand him.

Jin turned his gaze toward the animal hospital, its blinds still raised. Simultaneously, Han Naeyung’s words echoed in his mind:

“God exists, just not on my side.”

It was the second unsettling feeling Jin had experienced that evening after the discarded can earlier.

* * *

It was careless. He admitted that.

Han Naeyung lay sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The flickering neon sign outside seeped through the curtains, casting chaotic stains of light across the ceiling. Reaching for the lukewarm soju bottle and sleeping pills on the floor, he swallowed them down together. Curling into a ball, he pulled the blanket over himself.

“I like you, Dr. Han.”

He had been captivated by that soft, sweet resonance, letting his guard down for someone who shared the same breath as Jaemin.

When everything was said and done, and the truth about Jin was revealed, that tender gaze would surely turn to disgust. You used me to your advantage, he’d say, resenting and condemning him, leaving behind nothing but wounds.

It’s a trap. Jin was a trap for him, just as he was a trap for Jin. Ever since that day, he hadn’t been able to accept anyone’s touch—but Jin was different.

Jin carried the scent of someone precious, like Hyung had. That sweet smell, like candy on the breath, belonged to those who had loved him.

So Jin must have loved him, just like they did. That’s why he couldn’t turn away. Jin was the last remaining sweet breath in the world, the only one left after Jaemin was lost.

I don’t want to grow weaker.

The rage and thirst for revenge clinging to his back were still as sharp as ever. If left unchecked, that blade would eventually pierce him instead. To survive, he had to destroy.

But he didn’t want Jin’s breath to change. Jin had found him drifting in the suffocating depths of the ocean and reached out a hand.

Though he grasped that hand and rose to the surface, he now had to let go and sink back down.

At last, he understood why it had to be Jin and no one else.

Perhaps… Jin’s breath mirrored his own.

From beneath the cocoon of blankets, uneven breathing spread damply into the air.

* * *

It was an exceptionally cold day.

“Hyung, it’s so cold my… you know, down there is going numb.”

Jaemin shivered violently, while Woomin’s face turned a bright red.

“This won’t do. Let’s go back,” Gyo Jin declared.

“But if we go back, we’ll get in trouble,” Jaemin whimpered, tears welling up. “Director will kill us. My legs might even break.”

“Woomin has a really high fever!”

“Hyung, are you sick?”

Jaemin’s small hands cupped Woomin’s face. Forcing a smile, Woomin said, “I’m fine.”

“If we go back, they’ll separate us. I can’t live without Woomin Hyung. Don’t get sick, okay?”

“Then stay here and wait. Don’t go anywhere. Stay right here. I’ll get medicine.”

“Okay, we won’t go anywhere. We’ll stay right here.”

Gyo Jin left the children behind, running across the snow-covered streets.

His tattered sneakers soaked through as he frantically searched for a pharmacy, completely unaware. His pockets held only 500 won.

After being turned away from one pharmacy, Gyo Jin eventually resorted to holding out his frostbitten hands to strangers. Or, more precisely, to the people in the red-light district.

He darted away from people brushing him off and made his way to the bustling city center. No one spared a coin for a scruffy-looking child.