DAH Ch 3

Rainy days always brought a strange stench. A sickening smell unlike anything he’d encountered before. Whenever Jungjoon smelled it, he remembered what the older boys who had left the orphanage used to say.

That someone had died in the boys’ room a long time ago. That fluids from the corpse had seeped into the walls, drying and remaining unnoticed until the rain came, the humidity releasing the odor.

‘The director beat him to death.’

That story held a strange power, and the children feared the director. Some would burst into tears or wet themselves at the mere sight of him raising his hand.

Twelve-year-old Jungjoon wasn’t much different. He blindly obeyed the unjust treatment, considering himself lucky if he avoided a beating.

The director was as miserly as the stench that permeated the orphanage was foul. He never hired help, preferring to exploit the children as free labor.

From minor repairs and cleaning to major construction projects – he used the orphans for everything, even for his personal errands.

Child abuse, labor exploitation – they didn’t know such terms back then. Only later did Jungjoon understand that it was abuse, that it was exploitation.

One sweltering summer day, after the rainy season had ended, Jungjoon and the other children were weeding the garden. They’d just finished a meager meal, and the midday sun beat down mercilessly.

Sweat poured off him as he pulled weeds. It dripped from his scalp, blurring his vision. He wiped his eyes and upper lip repeatedly, but the sweat kept coming. His breathing became labored, and then everything went dark. He collapsed in the middle of the garden.

He woke up lying on a futon in the boys’ room. His shirt was off, a towel was on his forehead, and a small water bottle sat beside him.

No one was in the room, but there was a commotion outside. He got up, dressed, and opened the door, drawn by the noise. He was met with an unexpected scene.

“…….”

The director and a pastor were talking in the hallway. A young boy Jungjoon had never seen before stood beside them. Flustered, Jungjoon bowed awkwardly, and the director’s expression turned cold.

“Oh, Jungjoon.”

It was the pastor who recognized him and greeted him warmly.

“Perfect timing. Jungjoon, come here.”

The director glared at him as the pastor beckoned him over. Wary of the director’s gaze, Jungjoon reluctantly approached the pastor.

“Let me introduce you. This is Yoonhae, Lee Yoonhae. He’s seven, so you’re quite a bit older, Jungjoon. Right?”

The seven-year-old looked at Jungjoon. Jungjoon looked back. He felt no warmth towards the boy because of his eyes. Large and wary, they stared at him like a frightened animal.

“You’ll be family from now on, so you need to get along. Okay? Yoonhae, this handsome boy will be your older brother, so you have to listen to him, alright? If you listen well, he’ll take care of you like his own little brother.”

“…….”

A brief silence hung in the air as the pastor smiled.

“Why don’t you show him around?”

The director interjected abruptly. Jungjoon reacted instinctively to the thinly veiled command. He took the boy’s hand, for reasons he didn’t understand. “Let’s go,” he said, gently tugging him along.

The director and the pastor headed towards the director’s office, continuing their conversation. Jungjoon led the boy down the long hallway.

His hand, touching Yoonhae’s, quickly became sweaty. He glanced back and then let go of the boy’s hand.

“…What was your name again?”

The boy didn’t answer.

“…….”

There was a dark aura around the boy. Feeling strangely intimidated, Jungjoon didn’t press him further. They stood awkwardly for a moment until the other children returned from their chores, filling the hallway with noise. The commotion around the new boy died down as quickly as it had started when the director reappeared. The boy’s name was announced again, as if for official record.

Lee Yoonhae.

Yoonhae’s arrival was the only event of that summer, but the children, exhausted by the heat, quickly lost interest in the quiet, withdrawn seven-year-old.

From the day he arrived, Yoonhae lived a quiet, almost invisible existence. He was wary and sensitive like a cat, opening up to no one, not even speaking.

A rumor spread that Yoonhae was mute, and the children began calling him “Mute” instead of his name. “Hey, Mute.” Yoonhae would simply stare at them with his unsettling gaze. His pale skin, his dark eyes, his unreadable expression – he had an unnerving quality, unlike other children. Psycho. Ghost. Spook. The nicknames followed.

August brought a relentless heatwave and stifling nights.

“…Ugh, I’m going to die.”

Jungjoon lay listlessly beside the complaining children, too exhausted even to grumble. He drifted in and out of a shallow sleep, barely breathing.

As the endless afternoon wore on and the ceiling began to waver before his eyes, he remembered a story about hell he’d heard at church. A fiery hell where people burned eternally, unable to die.

He also remembered the boy who had supposedly been beaten to death by the director in their room. Maybe he hadn’t been beaten to death, but had died from the heat. Jungjoon wondered where he had gone after death. If he’d gone to hell, was he still suffering in the unbearable heat? The thought was a testament to how oppressive the heat was. Hungry, hot, and sleep-deprived, his mind was hazy.

‘I wish school would start again….’

He longed for the air-conditioned classroom, the delicious school lunches, the kind teachers. Only kids with parents enjoyed summer vacation. For orphans, it was hell. The workload increased, and the food became even worse. Instead of nutritious school meals, they subsisted on tasteless vegetables from the garden and cheap frozen nuggets.

Almost as unbearable as the hunger and heat were the insects. Centipedes and cockroaches, especially, drove Jungjoon half-mad. He wished he could sleep somewhere, anywhere, even if it was smaller or smellier, as long as it was free of insects. His visceral disgust had morphed into a phobia, fueling his longing for a clean space.

Jungjoon began cleaning their room obsessively. He swept and mopped day and night, taking over the chore that was supposed to be rotated among the boys.

He killed insects relentlessly. Every time he saw one, he swallowed his revulsion and fear and crushed it. He repeated this ritual twice a day, almost compulsively, before he could finally sleep at night.

Someday I’ll live somewhere without insects. I’ll sleep in clean, disinfected sheets. I’ll breathe fresh air, not the stale breath of others.

He clutched his grimy pillow, his body trembling, and made these vows. They weren’t hopes, but rather a rotten lifeline. But without even that flimsy support, he wouldn’t have survived.

He struggled through the grueling summer. During that time, the newly arrived Yoonhae remained quiet, submerged like a shadow, and Jungjoon sometimes forgot he even existed.

One early morning, after a nightmare about insects crawling in his ears, he woke up and went outside. He encountered Yoonhae in the front yard, near the old seesaw.

They sat there for a while, watching each other from a distance. That was the most memorable encounter he had with Yoonhae that summer. His days were so hazy, his mind and body so disconnected, that he couldn’t even be sure if that encounter had been real or a dream.

Yoonhae’s presence gradually became more pronounced. Things started to change after the agonizing summer break ended and the long-awaited school year began. As Jungjoon slowly regained some energy with the return to school routine, unsettling rumors about the quiet Yoonhae began to circulate.

‘You know the money that went missing from the director’s office? They say Mute stole it. And the older boys’ missing game console? He apparently stole that and sold it.’

‘Did you know that creep stares at the other kids while they’re sleeping? Kangjin saw him trying to strangle someone.’

‘They say his parents abandoned him too. He was adopted, but he killed their biological child out of jealousy, so they got rid of him. I would’ve done the same. He’s so creepy.’

‘But don’t kids that young get sent to juvenile detention, even for murder?’

‘Probably not. That’s why he’s here.’

The rumors, originating from unknown sources, spread quickly among the children. They aligned with Yoonhae’s unsettling demeanor, adding to their credibility. Soon, everyone believed the stories and ostracized Yoonhae even more openly.

But Jungjoon didn’t believe the rumors. He knew they were just that – rumors, nonsense made up by the other kids. Yoonhae might be a bit strange, but he was small and thin, just a seven-year-old boy. Jungjoon couldn’t imagine him killing anyone.

Besides, even if he had committed murder, his situation would be different. Jungjoon didn’t know much about the law, but surely such a serious crime would have resulted in some kind of action, some kind of punishment. He would be in a more secure facility, a place befitting someone who had committed such a heinous act.

… A secure facility.

Jungjoon looked around at their dilapidated surroundings and shook his head. Rumors were just rumors. New kids, or kids who were outcasts, always attracted negative attention. The only difference with Yoonhae was that he had no one to defend him.

As expected, the rumors intensified over time, and Yoonhae became increasingly isolated. Although his own situation had slightly improved, Jungjoon was still struggling just to get by. His only solace was the few hours after school when he could play with his friends in the yard.

During those brief moments, Jungjoon felt like a normal kid. He laughed and felt the same emotions as the other children. He even experienced fleeting moments of freedom. It was the only time he could be ordinary in an extraordinary situation.

One day, when there were no chores to do at the orphanage, Jungjoon spent a longer time than usual playing outside. He returned to the orphanage as the sun began to set. Covered in dust, he washed himself with cold water and then ate dinner with the older boys – rice, kimchi, and bean sprout soup.

By the time they finished washing dishes and cleaning up, it was already bedtime. The children returned to their futons, each claiming a pillow. It was only after everyone had settled in that Jungjoon noticed an empty space. And that the owner of that space hadn’t been seen for quite some time.

It was Yoonhae’s space.

Click.

The lights went out, and no one asked about Yoonhae. Jungjoon stared at the empty space for a moment, then lay down without a word. A few boys whispered amongst themselves before falling silent. Snores and the rhythmic sounds of breathing filled the room.

Sometime later, Jungjoon got out of bed and slipped out of the room.

He checked the hallway, the bathroom, the dining room, the playroom, the auditorium. He searched the front and back yards. He looked everywhere except the girls’ dormitory and the director’s office on the third floor. He couldn’t find Yoonhae anywhere. Just as he turned to go back to his room, he suddenly remembered the storage shed.

As he entered the shed in the backyard, something caught his eye. A dark shape huddled in the furthest corner.

It was Yoonhae.

“…Hey, what are you doing here?”

“…….”

He approached the motionless figure and knelt down. He saw cuts and bruises on Yoonhae’s arms and legs. He’d probably been beaten by the older boys and had hidden here, or maybe they’d dragged him here to beat him.

“Lift your head.”

He gently lifted Yoonhae’s chin and saw more bruises on his face.

“…Are you okay?”

“……”

Yoonhae’s eyes were blank in the dim light. His expression and demeanor were strange. He wasn’t crying, but he seemed dazed.

Jungjoon helped him up. He brushed the dirt off his clothes and led him outside, supporting him with an arm around his shoulders. He washed Yoonhae’s wounds at the outdoor faucet in the front yard before taking him inside.

They tiptoed down the hallway, past the sleeping quarters, and into the playroom. Jungjoon sat Yoonhae down and retrieved the first-aid kit in the darkness. He squeezed out some dried-up ointment and applied it to Yoonhae’s wounds. The boy remained unresponsive, as if he couldn’t feel anything.

Jungjoon started to leave, then stopped. He remembered that Yoonhae hadn’t eaten dinner. Was there anything left in the kitchen? He felt he had to give him something to eat. He led Yoonhae back to the dining hall, sneaking in like stray cats. But the rice cooker and soup pot were empty. He checked the refrigerator, but there was only some old kimchi.

“…Wait here. Don’t go anywhere.”

He left Yoonhae in the dining hall and climbed the stairs. He went up to the second floor, and then to the third. The third floor was off-limits to the children. It contained the director’s office and his private rooms, and they were forbidden to go up there unless summoned. But Jungjoon, emboldened by some unknown force, was doing something he would never normally do.

He entered the director’s room and saw shelves stacked with boxes. He’d heard that the donated snacks and supplies were kept there. Things the director hoarded for himself, never sharing them with the children.

“…….”

Jungjoon stared at the high shelves, then dragged a chair over. He climbed onto it and reached for a box he could barely touch. Click. The sound of the door opening made him freeze. His eyes darted to the door, but thankfully, it was the director entering from the hallway. He heard him talking on the phone. Jungjoon held his breath, fearing discovery. The director’s voice faded as he moved away.

His heart pounded. If he was caught, a few slaps wouldn’t be the end of it. Panicked, he grabbed whatever he could reach and climbed down.

He put the chair back and slipped out of the room, making sure everything looked undisturbed. He peered up and down the hallway before tiptoeing back downstairs.

He had stolen two red bean buns. He took one out from under his shirt and gave it to Yoonhae, who was waiting patiently. The boy just stared blankly at it, so Jungjoon peeled off the wrapping. Yoonhae finally took the bun.

He took a bite, and then his demeanor changed completely. He devoured the bun ravenously. Jungjoon watched him silently and then brought him some water. Yoonhae gulped it down as if he hadn’t had a drink in days, like a stray dog or cat.

“Is it good?”

Yoonhae nodded. It seemed like the first time he’d responded so readily, without any hostility. With his cheeks puffed out, he finally looked like a normal child his age.

“Here, have this one too.”

He gave Yoonhae the other bun, which he snatched eagerly. Jungjoon watched as Yoonhae held the bun in both hands and munched on it. He finished it quickly, burped, and blinked. As if finally coming back to himself, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at Jungjoon.

“…….”

He seemed gentler now, somehow. The vacant look in his eyes was gone. He looked at Jungjoon shyly. Jungjoon wondered if something was wrong, but he didn’t seem distressed.

Thinking it was time to go back, Jungjoon carefully led Yoonhae out of the dining hall. He put a finger to his lips, signaling for silence, and looked around cautiously as they walked down the hallway. Yoonhae’s hand, sticky from the red bean paste, gripped Jungjoon’s tightly.

Thankfully, no one noticed when they returned to their room. Everyone was fast asleep. Jungjoon tucked Yoonhae into his futon and returned to his own.

“Phew…”

He finally lay down, letting out a sigh. As he shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, he felt a strange stickiness on his palm.

It was the red bean paste from Yoonhae’s hand. Remembering the feeling of the small hand gripping his, Jungjoon chuckled softly to himself. He’s just a kid, no matter how tough he acts. And, he thought, he’s kind of cute. His eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted off to sleep.

After that night, Yoonhae, who had followed no one, began following Jungjoon everywhere.

“Do you know him? He keeps staring at you.”

Jungjoon’s friend pointed towards the edge of the yard as they played after school. Jungjoon followed his gaze and saw a familiar face. Lee Yoonhae.

“…….”

Jungjoon felt awkward seeing Yoonhae there, lurking around the school. He ignored him the first day, but the same thing happened the next day, and the day after that.

“Who is he? Your little brother?”

“…….”

Under the persistent gaze, Jungjoon finally gave in and brought Yoonhae over. When his friends asked if Yoonhae was his brother, he simply nodded. It was easier than explaining they were from the same orphanage.

“He looks kind of like you.”

The comment about them looking like brothers made him feel strange. Yoonhae was clinging to the back of his shirt. Jungjoon, who’d inadvertently acquired a younger brother, couldn’t bring himself to send Yoonhae away. He let him stay and play with them.

The sky was a brilliant blue, and a cool breeze was blowing. Playing tag with his friends and Yoonhae, Jungjoon paused for a moment, lost in the beautiful weather. He stumbled, and as he turned around, he saw Yoonhae, holding onto him, smiling.

“Got you!”

Yoonhae’s voice rang out across the yard. Jungjoon was surprised to see him smiling so brightly.

So he can talk.

And he can smile.

He felt a surprising surge of emotion. He realized then that Yoonhae could speak, and that he had a stutter.

After that day, Yoonhae began speaking more at the orphanage. He couldn’t speak fluently and stuttered frequently, so the other kids started calling him “Stutterer” instead of “Mute.” But Yoonhae was visibly brighter. Now that he could express his feelings and needs, the other children didn’t ignore him as much.

It became routine for Jungjoon to have Yoonhae trailing after him. They were together after school, on the way home, and at the orphanage. Taking care of Yoonhae had somehow become Jungjoon’s responsibility. The other children began to see them as a set. In the blink of an eye, Yoonhae had truly become like Jungjoon’s younger brother.

‘…This is a pain.’

Even that thought became less frequent as time went on. Jungjoon gave up on keeping his distance and began taking care of his clingy, five-years-younger brother. He didn’t mind that the boy, once so closed off and wary, had become docile and attached to him. It was annoying at times, but he didn’t dislike having someone to look after.

“B-Brother Jungjoon. W-Wait for me!”

Yoonhae was inseparable from Jungjoon, following him everywhere, even to the bathroom. Like a chick following its mother, he only had eyes for Jungjoon.

At night, he would abandon his own futon and crawl into Jungjoon’s. Jungjoon initially disliked sharing the already cramped space, but he eventually got used to it, giving up on trying to get Yoonhae to stay in his own bed.

“J-Jungjoon… hyung….”

Yoonhae snuggled into Jungjoon’s arms as he tried to fall asleep, wrapping his arms around him and mumbling his name.

“…Yeah?”

Jungjoon responded, and Yoonhae looked up, still clinging tightly to him. His small chin pressed against Jungjoon’s chest.

“G-Good night…”

He finished his greeting with a stutter and a wide smile.

“…….”

What makes him so happy?

Jungjoon looked down at him impassively and patted his small shoulder. “You too,” he murmured, closing his sleep-heavy eyes.

Yoonhae’s small, warm body filled the space between Jungjoon’s arms, against his chest and between his legs. Feeling the familiar pressure and weight, the now-familiar feeling of being held captive, Jungjoon fell into a deep sleep.

⟡˖ ࣪

“Dad. What are you doing?”

A voice startled him back to the present. He realized he had been lost in thought, holding Ian tightly. He quickly loosened his grip.

“Oh, sorry. Dad was just thinking about something.”

“Thinking about what?”

“Um… Ian smells so good. It made me think about the old days.”

“Oh, I smell good?”

Ian smiled shyly, and Jungjoon smiled back, filled with love for his son.

“Of course. Our Ian smells wonderful.”

He pulled Ian close again, showering his head, cheeks, and neck with noisy kisses. Ian burst into giggles.

The sweet, soft scent of caramel enveloped Jungjoon. He nuzzled Ian’s nose and planted kisses on his cheek, then checked the time. The school bus would be arriving soon. He stopped playing and hurriedly gathered Ian’s bag and supplies, then they left the apartment.

After dropping Ian off, Jungjoon started his commute. Before turning on the ignition, he habitually checked his phone. His expression hardened as he read a new message.

Are you free this evening?

I know a good Korean restaurant that specializes in grilled fish.

Bring Ian too.

His fingers hovered over the screen, stiff as if he’d received devastating news, before finally pressing the close button.

“Ha…”

He sighed heavily, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. His neck and shoulders already felt tense, and the day hadn’t even begun.

He remained slumped over the wheel, lost in thought. How can I refuse without seeming rude? How can I avoid him without making it obvious? He replayed these futile thoughts until the need to get to work forced him to lift his head and start the car.

He continued to agonize over how to refuse the invitation throughout his drive. Even during his workday, meeting clients and conducting consultations, the pressure to reply hung over him like a thorn in his throat.

Finally, after a late lunch, he typed out a reply.

Sorry, just saw your text. Would love to have dinner tonight, but Ian has a bit of a fever…. It’s not serious enough for the hospital, but I need to stay home and look after him. Let’s do it another time.

He sent the painstakingly crafted message, but instead of relief, he felt a lingering unease. He’d used his son as an excuse a few days ago, and now he’d done it again, lying about Ian being sick. He felt disgusted with himself, not only for lying, but for lying about his son’s health.

…Pathetic.

Is it really something I need to avoid this much? He chided himself, but he couldn’t deny the truth. He wanted to avoid Yoonhae, even if it meant going to these lengths. If possible, he never wanted to see him again. He regretted giving Yoonhae his number that day, swept up in the moment. He cursed his own actions, acting as if Yoonhae was just an old friend from back home, casually suggesting they have dinner sometime.

He didn’t want to have dinner with Yoonhae. He didn’t want to dredge up any fragments of the past. No matter how much time had passed, those memories wouldn’t soften into nostalgia. They weren’t the kind of memories he could revisit over drinks and food, forcing a smile.

It was better to leave them buried, as they had been all these years. What good would come from digging them up? They would only release a putrid stench.

“Haa…”

He let out another weary sigh, then his phone buzzed with a new message. He picked it up from the table and stared at the screen, his expression hardening.

I’m sorry to hear Ian is sick. I hope he rests well and recovers quickly. We can have dinner anytime, so don’t worry about it.

Another message arrived a moment later.

I’ll be in touch again.

“…….”

Jungjoon read and reread the simple message several times before looking away. He had received the response he wanted, but the discomfort and unease remained.

How many more times will I have to go through this? He rubbed his temples, frustrated with the situation he’d created. He replied with a short, curt “Thanks” and ended the conversation.

The rest of his day was filled with back-to-back meetings, as usual. He managed to leave work on time for once and picked up Ian. Back at home, before he could even start dinner, he received an unexpected call. It was Ian’s grandparents, his wife’s parents.

“I thought you were on vacation. Are you back already?”

―Yes, things changed.

They had planned to be in Jeju for a few more days. Apparently, the weather and some health issues had cut their trip short. After a brief exchange, Ian spoke to his grandparents. He was thrilled to hear from them.

―Ian, do you want to come to Grandma and Grandpa’s house?

“Yes! I want to go!”

Ian, who had been video chatting excitedly, jumped up.

So, instead of making dinner, Jungjoon ended up taking Ian to his in-laws’ house. It was about time for a visit anyway; he usually took Ian there every two weeks.

“Why don’t you stay for dinner?”

His mother-in-law looked at him with concern as she walked him to the door.

“No, it’s okay. Call me tomorrow.”

Jungjoon forced a smile and turned to leave.

Back in his car, he felt a strange emptiness. The unexpected free time felt awkward. When Ian stayed overnight at his grandparents’, Jungjoon usually left him there until the following morning for school, which meant he had some time to himself, at least until tomorrow.

“…….”

After a moment of indecision, Jungjoon started the car. It was only a ten-minute drive home. For once, instead of playing Ian’s favorite children’s songs, he put on some old ballads he liked. He hummed along to the melancholic tunes as he drove into his neighborhood.

He parked and went up to his apartment, which was, of course, empty. He picked up a few of Ian’s toys scattered on the floor and put them away, then stood there, unsure what to do with himself.

What should I have for dinner?

Even something as simple as a meal felt daunting. He had planned to make Ian’s favorite, tonkatsu, but now that he was alone, he didn’t feel like cooking a proper meal. He considered ordering takeout, but the thought of choosing something felt like too much effort.

He was hungry, but everything felt like a chore. He sat on the sofa, listless, when his phone rang.

His hand froze as he saw the caller ID.

“…….”

He hesitated to answer, but ignoring it would also leave a bad taste. The timing was terrible. The insistent ringing, almost frantic, made him anxious. Impulsively, he answered the call.

“…Hey.”

A voice came from the other end.

―Are you home?

“…Yeah.”

He was alone, no sick child in sight. He felt a pang of guilt.

―How’s Ian doing? I hope I didn’t wake him.

Jungjoon hesitated before admitting he was alone.

“No, it’s okay. I just dropped him off at his grandparents’. He’s with them now. His fever went down, so it seems like he’s okay.”

―…That’s good to hear. I was worried when you said he had a fever.

Yoonhae sounded genuinely concerned, and Jungjoon felt a bitter taste in his mouth.

―So… would you like to have dinner together? I’m in the neighborhood.

“…Ah…”

He had run out of excuses.

“Sure. I was actually thinking of calling you.”

He felt a surge of self-loathing as he uttered the casual lie.

―Glad I called first then. I’ll be at your place in five minutes… three minutes, actually.

“No, just send me the address, and I’ll meet you there.”

―It’s fine. I’ll pick you up. Consider it an escort.

“…….”

Jungjoon swallowed hard, his throat constricting. He hesitated, then finally agreed. “Okay, then.” The call ended.

His hand dropped to his side, the phone feeling heavy. I shouldn’t have answered. But it was too late for regrets. Yoonhae would be at his door in five minutes.

I have to meet him eventually and get this over with. He tried to reassure himself as he got up from the sofa. He went into his bedroom and looked at his reflection in the mirror, a somber-faced man he barely recognized. He opened his closet, took off his sweat-soaked shirt, and changed into a clean one. His phone buzzed.

I’m here.

He replied, “Coming down,” and left his apartment.

Every step he took – putting on his shoes, riding the elevator down to the parking garage – felt slow and heavy, like an animal being led to slaughter.

He reached the ground floor and saw a large SUV parked near the entrance. The dark color and sheer size of the vehicle were intimidating. Yoonhae got out of the car.

“…….”

Jungjoon walked towards the car. Yoonhae opened the passenger door for him, a gesture of courtesy.

“…I could’ve done that.”

He mumbled a polite protest, but he got in. Yoonhae closed the door, walked around the car, and got into the driver’s seat.

As he fastened his seatbelt, Yoonhae glanced at Jungjoon. Noticing his gaze, Jungjoon quickly buckled his own seatbelt.

“…Nice car.”

He made a meaningless comment, looking around the interior.

The air conditioning was on, and a subtle, expensive scent mingled with the smell of leather. It was a luxurious fragrance, unfamiliar to Jungjoon, who was used to cheap air fresheners.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.”

Yoonhae smiled, seemingly relieved, and started the car. He expertly maneuvered the large vehicle out of the parking lot.

“…….”

The car ride was silent. There was no small talk, no comments about the weather, none of the usual pleasantries exchanged during a drive. Jungjoon opened his mouth a few times, then closed it again. Seeing that Yoonhae didn’t seem bothered by the silence, he looked out the window, choosing not to force conversation.

“Your in-laws live close by?”

“What?”

Jungjoon, lost in thought, turned to look at Yoonhae.

“Ah… yeah, about ten minutes from here.”

“That’s nice. Your wife must visit them often.”

“…….”

Jungjoon closed his mouth and looked away, offering no further explanation.

When he’d invited Yoonhae to his home, not knowing who he was, he’d assumed Yoonhae knew about his wife’s death. He’d sensed it from Yoonhae’s words and demeanor. But now, hearing him talk like this, he was sure Yoonhae knew nothing.

Or maybe he’s being considerate, pretending not to know. No, that’s not something you’d say out of consideration. It’s more like he’s testing the waters. Jungjoon chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking he was probably being overly sensitive and paranoid.

“…Yeah.”

He didn’t want to delve into painful truths, so he opted for a lie. He didn’t expect their paths to cross again anyway.

“It’s supposed to rain again tomorrow.”

Yoonhae said.

“…Is it? Well, it is rainy season….”

He responded awkwardly and looked out the window again. His hands clenched into fists beneath his line of sight. He’d cried pathetically in front of Yoonhae that rainy day. The memory made him break out in a cold sweat, filling him with discomfort. He felt acutely embarrassed that Yoonhae had seen him like that. Just get there quickly.

He swallowed hard, silently wishing for the drive to be over.

The restaurant was far more upscale than he’d expected. Too formal for a casual meal. But Yoonhae seemed perfectly at ease, so Jungjoon kept his thoughts to himself.

“This course is good.”

“…Okay, I’ll have that too.”

As soon as the server left, the room fell silent. They were in a private room, enclosed on all sides. We could’ve just eaten casually out in the open. Jungjoon already felt suffocated by the confined space and the face-to-face seating arrangement.

“…….”

He wiped his hands, pretending not to be bothered by the silence. As he meticulously cleaned between his fingers with the wet towel, he wracked his brain for something to say.

“You haven’t changed at all.”

Jungjoon looked up. “Huh?” he asked, then, “Oh,” as he realized what Yoonhae meant.

“…You can’t mean my face. I’m a father in his thirties.”

He chuckled wryly, and Yoonhae smiled quietly.

“I know. I’m surprised you look the same, even though you’re a father in your thirties.”

“…You’re being silly.”

Jungjoon took a sip of water.

“You, on the other hand… you’ve changed so much I didn’t recognize you.”

Yoonhae seemed to sense that Jungjoon was justifying his inability to recognize him, and a hint of amusement flickered in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t have recognized myself either.”

Still smiling faintly, Yoonhae took a leisurely sip of water.

“You’re right. You’ve… you’ve grown a lot.”

“…I’ve grown a lot?”

Jungjoon’s eyes flickered at the seemingly unnecessary confirmation.

“Not just a lot… you’ve become a… well, a very handsome adult.”

He stammered slightly, adding, “You’re so much bigger, and your speech…”

He stopped himself from mentioning that Yoonhae no longer stuttered. Sensing his hesitation, Yoonhae responded casually, as if it were nothing.

“My speech is much better now?”

“…Much better? It’s perfect. You must have worked hard. That’s amazing.”

Yoonhae didn’t reply to the compliment. He simply stared at Jungjoon, his expression strangely changed. Why is he staring at me like that without saying anything? Jungjoon looked away, feeling uncomfortable, and reached for his glass of water.

“If you still spoke the way you used to, I might have recognized you right away.”

“…….”

Would I have? Maybe he would have recognized him a little sooner. But could he really have connected this man with the Yoonhae of his childhood based on that alone? It was an almost evolutionary change, with no trace of the boy he remembered. And between then and now, a vast expanse of time stretched.

He hesitated, unable to answer, just as the server returned. As the appetizers were served with a brief explanation, Jungjoon felt relieved that he had ordered the course meal. The breaks between courses would provide some respite.

“This is good.”

“It is. Very tasty.”

Jungjoon agreed after sampling the small dishes of appetizers, secretly longing for a simple bowl of ramen at home.

“…So, what do you do? Seems like you don’t even take weekends off.”

He casually inquired about Yoonhae’s work, partly out of genuine curiosity, partly not. It was a standard question for people reconnecting after a long time.

“I run a small business.”

“Wow… that’s impressive. So you’re the owner?”

“I don’t really like that title. ‘CEO’ sounds too grand. People usually call me ‘Director.’”

“Ah… so people at your company call you ‘Director’?”

“Yes.”

He lifted his glass of water to take a sip, and the watch on his wrist glinted. Even to Jungjoon’s untrained eye, it looked expensive.

Come to think of it, everything he wore seemed expensive. The summer knit shirt he had on was a simple design, but the material was high quality. His simple, casual clothes looked sophisticated because of their inherent value. His hairstyle, swept back to reveal his forehead, added to his polished appearance. It all combined with his handsome features to create the image of a successful young entrepreneur, or perhaps an actor.

‘He’s… successful.’

The thought struck him. Yoonhae was different from ordinary people. His clothes, his speech, his mannerisms, his aura. Everything about him exuded an air of wealth and ease.

“When did you get married?”

“…What?”

Jungjoon had expected him to talk more about his business, or ask Jungjoon about his work. Taken aback by the unexpected question, he composed himself and answered, “Ah, when I was thirty.”

“Can I ask where you met?”