WOP Ch 1.2

It was a cruel farewell. His eyes trembled. Even though he had been the one to end things, Ha Joyoon could not hide his misery. The lover who had once been kinder than anyone was now more terrifying and unfamiliar than anyone else. Biting his lip against the unbearable pain, he shut his eyes tightly.  

“…I’m sorry.”  

The added apology shattered the last remnants of his pride. Unrestrained emotions etched deep wrinkles between his brows. He had lived his life without significant emotional fluctuations, but at this moment, an uncontrollable wave of fear and sorrow surged through him. Swallowing a faint breath, Ha Joyoon closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of Kang Taejung’s eerily cold face. Only then did the frantic pounding of his heart begin to subside.  

He still couldn’t accept it. He still couldn’t acknowledge that things between him and Kang Taejung had ended. But for now, the only thing he could do was leave this cruel space as quickly as possible.  

“I’m leaving.”  

With no response to return to, he steadied his wretched heart and stepped out of the café. The soft chime of the wind bell hanging above the door was the only sound that comforted his hollow heart.  

❄  

“He was someone who caught the eye.”  

“……”  

The night breeze had turned quite cool. At the words that broke the silence, Taejung came to a stop. “There’s a lot of dust,” Seo Youngwoo added briefly before coughing.  

“The people at the café… it seemed like almost everyone passing by glanced at him at least once.”  

A peculiar tension lingered between them. As Taejung’s silent gaze remained fixed on him, Seo Youngwoo let out an awkward smile. The more he retraced his thoughts, the more one face kept surfacing in his mind. The pale, almost white skin, the indifferent aura, the delicate yet precise movements—his eyes kept being drawn to him, even unconsciously. That was why it was even more painful to look at him, why he hated it to the point of feeling sick.  

“I used to think he was just a selfish and irresponsible person because of what he did to you, but after seeing him in person… I can understand why you loved him so much.”  

“……”  

“Of course, I still don’t like him.”  

His eyes, forcing a smile, trembled slightly. The unease and turmoil were unmistakable. Kang Taejung, who had been silently watching his lover, finally spoke.  

“Youngwoo.”  

His heavy, subdued voice quietly resonated in the space between them.  

“It’s over.”  

“…He didn’t look like it was over for him.”  

The emotions reflected in Ha Joyoon’s eyes as he looked at Kang Taejung and himself—just as Ha Joyoon had sensed Seo Youngwoo’s anxiety, Seo Youngwoo, too, had felt Ha Joyoon’s turmoil and lingering feelings. Taejung’s hand, gripping his shoulder, tightened involuntarily, as if trying to anchor himself, as if refusing to waver. It was a firm, almost desperate grasp.  

“I’m done. That’s why I’m with you.”  

Kang Taejung’s long, monolid eyes twisted in pain. A sharp, cutting sorrow.  

Hyung. Do you even realize what kind of expression you’re making right now?  

Seo Youngwoo swallowed back the words he couldn’t bring himself to say. Stepping closer, he wrapped his arms around Taejung’s waist. The crisp scent of cologne mixed with his natural scent, stimulating his senses. It was a scent he loved so much. Closing his eyes tightly, he pressed himself fully into Taejung’s embrace.  

“I really love you, hyung.”  

“…I know.”  

“So please… never get involved with him again.”  

“Youngwoo.”  

“Am I being too greedy?”  

“…No. It’s not that. There’s nothing to worry about.”  

No matter what happened in the past, he belongs to me now. He is my person. He came to me. He is by my side. For so long, he had watched from a distance, always waiting for his chance.  

Since the moment he met Kang Taejung, not once had he let go of his feelings. He had stayed close, pretending to be a good younger brother, a supportive junior, but in truth, it had always been love.  

Just when he was growing exhausted from his endless one-sided love, Ha Joyoon’s disappearance happened, and at last, his opportunity arrived. Seo Youngwoo comforted Kang Taejung, whose heart had crumbled in the absence of his lover, and painstakingly claimed his place by his side. It took a full five years.  

Seo Youngwoo thought of Taejung’s ex-lover from the café. This time it had been an accident, but that person had always left Taejung behind on a whim, making him lonely. He remembered how Taejung had always waited anxiously, filled with uncertainty, every time that selfish man disappeared to capture the realities of war in some unknown country. Not once had that man given Taejung any sense of stability or certainty in their relationship. He had no intention of returning Taejung to someone like that. Love could not be sustained by one person’s sacrifice alone.  

“Hyung, love isn’t something that can last through one-sided sacrifice. I want to make you happy. And I know I can. I won’t let you feel lonely.”  

“…I know. Thank you.”  

His fingers, clutching Taejung’s shirt, trembled slightly.  

Youngwoo.  

His name was called in a voice so gentle it was almost cruel. The warmth of it made him feel both happiness and pain at the same time. Pressing his cheek against Taejung’s broad chest, Seo Youngwoo made a silent vow.  

I will cherish you more than he ever did. I will love you more. I will never make you feel lonely because of my own selfishness. One day, I will make you love me so completely that you won’t even remember your past.  

❄  

“Oh my god, Yoon-ah… Yoon-ah….”  

His parents, who had been waiting for him outside the front door, were overcome with sobs upon confirming their son’s survival after all these years.  

“I’m sorry….”  

Ha Joyoon, too, clung to them and choked back tears. His mother, now gaunt and frail, and his father, visibly aged, bore the weight of the years he had been absent. The guilt crushed him. The fragile conscience peeking out from between his broken thoughts and aching heart felt pitiful and pathetic.  

And yet, he knew—this pain, too, was proof that he was still alive.  

Even amidst the anguish and remorse, Ha Joyoon felt the undeniable reality of being given another chance at life.  

That evening, as the reunited family sat together, long-buried emotions and wounds were brought to the surface. Before his parents, who were simply grateful that their son was alive, Ha Joyoon couldn’t bring himself to confess his true feelings.  

For now, the only thing he could do was reassure them, promising that he would never leave the country again.  

Only after countless conversations did Ha Joyoon finally retreat to his room, close to midnight.

Shaking off his damp hair, he set down the still-warm mug. The footsteps of the people in the photograph on the wall felt dizzying. They were heading to a land where life and death intersected—a place where the living were as good as dead, and the dead somehow remained alive, straddling the boundary between existence and oblivion.  

Knock, knock—  

His wavering gaze turned toward the door at the sound of knocking. Through the slightly open gap, a familiar figure came into view.  

“Can I come in for a moment?”  

The midnight visitor was Ha Junghye, his older sister by two years. Having only each other, the siblings had always been close. Ha Joyoon’s usually cool gaze softened in welcome as he met her eyes.  

“You should be resting. Sorry.”  

“It’s fine. Sit down.”  

As he nudged a stool slightly forward, Junghye hesitated for a moment before taking a seat. A warm atmosphere flowed between them. Ha Joyoon, seeing his sister’s face for the first time in years, carefully took in her features. Her eyes were swollen red—she must have spent the evening crying.  

“Were you looking at photos?”  

Pushing aside a half-damp towel, Ha Joyoon stretched lightly.  

“Yeah.”  

“They’re soldiers. Which country are they from? Looks like they’re heading somewhere.”  

“They’re French soldiers. This is Nam Dinh, Vietnam, and they’re headed toward Thai Binh.”  

“It must’ve been tough walking all that way.”  

“…It must have been.”  

The backs of the French soldiers marching toward their destination. He didn’t bother explaining that this was the last sight a war correspondent saw before stepping on a landmine. Words like that would only bring unnecessary pain to his sister—something he had learned over time.  

“It’s strange.”  

Junghye, who had been staring at him intently as if trying to memorize even his smallest movements, tucked her hair behind her ear with an awkward smile.  

“What is?”  

“You being in this room.”  

“……”  

“Nothing has changed, but until yesterday, you weren’t here.”  

When she first opened the door, she couldn’t help but be startled. From the small trinkets to the scattered belongings, everything in the room was frozen in time, as if it had been preserved at the moment Ha Joyoon last left. Though he had moved into his own apartment after becoming an adult, he still visited home regularly, leaving many of his belongings behind. His parents had likely kept everything the same, waiting for him to return—never expecting it to take five years. The realization of how much time had passed so meaninglessly weighed on him, and he lowered his eyes.  

“Mom tidied up every night. She was so careful not to move a single thing, afraid you’d feel out of place when you came back.”  

“I see.”  

“The company, the Foreign Ministry… When they declared you dead, Mom and Dad refused to believe it.”  

Junghye tightly grasped her brother’s unmoving hands, smiling through her tears.  

“And so did I.”  

My little brother. The words she couldn’t bring herself to say filled the space between them. The overwhelming emotions clogged his throat. Though not much time had passed since he opened his eyes and sat here, the sheer weight of his return momentarily calmed his crumbling heart. Swallowing the grief accumulated over five years, Ha Joyoon quietly murmured:  

“I was wrong.”  

His voice carried the weight of a sigh—regret, sorrow, self-reproach, all tangled together. For so long, he had chased an intangible ideal. At every crossroads, he had convinced himself he was making the best choice. He had believed he alone bore responsibility for his decisions, never realizing how deeply his choices wounded those he loved. The consequences of his indifference were unbearably cruel.  

“As long as you understand. I’m going to have you declared legally incompetent so you can never leave Korea again.”  

Sensing the heavy atmosphere, Junghye lightened the mood with a ridiculous joke. Ha Joyoon let out a small chuckle, rubbing his chin.  

“Incompetent? That’s a bit extreme…”  

Their hollow laughter mingled in the air.  

“You have no idea how many people worried about you. Make sure you reach out to everyone. You’ll be busy for a while.”  

“Yeah, I should.”  

“Your company helped a lot. Our family couldn’t have done much on our own. Go visit them tomorrow and at least say thank you.”  

“The company? But they don’t have an office in Korea…”  

Foreign news agencies rarely maintained offices outside major cities, aside from a small team for editorial coordination. Most photographers worked as freelancers, and in Ha Joyoon’s case, being a war correspondent meant he was officially employed by the headquarters for security reasons—an unusual case.  

At most, the company might have offered standard condolences or diplomatic assistance upon his disappearance. But for a non-national like him, further intervention would have been complicated. Before he could ask what had happened, Junghye handed him something unexpected.  

“That Sunbae of yours… He helped a lot. I think he was traveling back and forth before, but recently, he moved to Korea. He gave me his business card.”  

She shrugged as she passed him the card.  

Sunbae?  

Ha Joyoon tilted his head in confusion before scanning the card. The design—white with sleek gray curves—was unmistakably from the agency he worked for.  

“…Huh?”  

A familiar face came to mind as he read the neatly printed name. Stroking the edge of the card, he let out a quiet sigh.  

Why is he…?  

His fingers lingered on his cheek in contemplation. Gratitude and surprise swirled within him, but they were soon drowned out by more pressing concerns.  

There were mountains of things to sort out.  

Where should he even start?  

Reality was finally sinking in, pressing against his skin. His forehead furrowed at the incoming headache.  

And just like that, the fragile peace shattered.

“Taejung, you know…”

At the unexpected mention of that name from Hajunghye’s lips, Ha Joyoon’s head snapped up as if struck by lightning. A silence, as deep as death, settled between them. Among their family, Hajunghye was the only one who knew about Kang Taejung and Joyoon’s relationship.

Sensing the sudden shift in atmosphere, Hajunghye let out a bitter smile and rubbed her cheek. A small gesture, but Joyoon understood what it meant. This was undoubtedly about the cruel reality he had just learned tonight.

Not wanting to face it, Ha Joyoon instinctively turned his head away. That was a name he did not wish to recall—at least not for now. A name he wanted to avoid, to run from. His hands, wrapped around his knees, trembled without him realizing it. Watching him closely, Hajunghye carefully parted her lips.

“You already know, don’t you?”

“……”

“…You do.”

“……”

“I wasn’t sure how to bring it up, but maybe it’s for the best.”

Hajunghye pushed the stool back and stood up, taking her brother’s cold hands into hers. Despite the warm weather, his long, pale fingers felt like ice. Bending slightly, she leaned in until their eyes met. Joyoon had always been hard to read, but just this once, Hajunghye could see his emotions clearly. Pain, suffering, sorrow—nothing else.

“Yoona.”

“…Yeah.”

Feeling the weight of his grief, Hajunghye carefully chose her next words.

“He missed you so much. And he waited.”

“Noona, not now. Let’s talk later.”

“Listen to me. Taejung… he suffered for a long time. He was in so much pain that it was unbearable to watch. It got to a point where I genuinely feared he might not survive.”

“……”

“Taejung loved you. He waited for you for so long, Yoona.”

Her voice, laced with both warmth and sorrow, caressed his wounds. As silent tears trickled down, his lips trembled against his will. She was right. Taejung was just as human as he was—just as flawed. He had mourned, struggled to move on, and tried to rebuild his life after being left behind. But that very normalcy, that right to heal, felt like a blade cutting through Joyoon’s heart.

“I know.”

“Yoona…”

“I know, but…”

Tears clung to his chin, falling one after another. His cracked voice barely made it past his lips.

“Noona… But Taejung… He let me go… He… He’s…”

“Yoona…”

“…He’s trying to leave me behind…”

He knew he had no right to feel this way, that it was selfish. But still…

His vision blurred until he could no longer see his sister’s face. He didn’t even bother wiping his endless tears. Ha Joyoon simply sat there, silently weeping.

“I know it’s hard. But Taejung did his best. For the past five years, his life fell apart. I just… I hope you can understand his choice, too.”

“…I’m not sure I can.”

In the end, he let go of me. He chose to bury me in the past and move forward. That was his decision.

His lips, tightly pressed together, trembled painfully. Though Hajunghye gently comforted him, it did nothing to quell the storm within. Instead, the pain he had desperately tried to ignore surged through the cracks, threatening to drown him. He knew it was shameful and selfish, but the grief in his heart sought the easiest path—it chose to resent the one who had left him behind.

Rather than acknowledge Kang Taejung’s suffering over the past five years, he succumbed to the pain of his own loss. Perhaps that was why Taejung had let him go—because, in the end, he was always this selfish.

“Yoona.” 

His sister’s voice struck his heart like a hammer. Wrapping his arms around himself, he cast his gaze toward the moonlight reflecting off the window. 

But the pain didn’t stop.  

❄  

“Only record what can be seen.”

It was the tagline for a photography exhibition by an international news agency—one Ha Joyoon had once worked for as a contract journalist. His vacant gaze traced the familiar logo until it came to a halt. The photo on the poster, featuring a rough hand holding a weathered camera, seemed to encapsulate the history of journalism.

A humid summer breeze teased his motionless frame. The sunlight pouring onto the asphalt was blindingly hot. He had no idea how long he had been standing there. Even though he knew he had to move, his feet refused to take him to the promised meeting place.

“Even in the last moment, I want to take a photograph.”

“…You love it that much? It’s dangerous.”

“It’s not about love… I just feel like I have to be there.”

“Even if I’m there? Would you still go?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“…Even in your final moments, I won’t be by your side.”

“Taejung, I—”

What could he have said to ease your fear? Should he have played the fool, quoting Higgins’ famous words? Should he have pretended that if there was no risk, there would be no reason for him to be there? Should he have puffed up his chest and scoffed that he wasn’t chasing a Pulitzer Prize?  

No.

I should have held you.  

I should not have ignored the trembling in your hand.  

I should not have avoided the darkened eyes, the stiffened lips, or the irregular heartbeat.  

Ha Joyoon was helpless against the raw, untrained emotions that overtook him. Several times a day, he was thrown between heaven and hell, drowning in waves of emotion, crying out as he sank into the illusions of memories built by longing.  

Since his mind had matured, Ha Joyoon’s life had revolved entirely around photography and Kang Taejung. Loving them both had been as natural as flowing water, and because he had always felt loved in return, he had never felt desperate. To someone like him, the sudden separation had been a pain akin to having his soul torn apart.  

Just a breakup.  

Yet, he couldn’t even endure that.  

And yet, he had lived, consumed by a self-righteous sense of duty, believing he needed to show the world the pain and reality of forgotten wars.  

Just a breakup.  

And yet, he couldn’t even endure that.  

The surface of his heart quivered like water in a shallow dish. The warmth of the wind rippled through it, only to leave it still again, as if nothing had happened. Ha Joyoon ran a hand over his feverish body, as though trying to soothe an ache, then forced himself to keep walking. He had no time to be lost in thought; time was moving far too quickly.  

❄  

Five minutes later, he arrived at the office of the foreign news agency where he was currently stationed.  

As soon as he stepped inside, the cool air seeped into his skin. The tips of his fingers, as he pressed the elevator button, betrayed a subtle stiffness—an unshakable discomfort. 1, 2, 3… The numbers on the panel climbed quickly until, at last, the doors slid open.  

[The doors are closing.]  

By the time he reached his destination, Ha Joyoon noticed the eerie stillness of the lobby. Usually, the place would be as noisy as a battlefield, filled with people shouting and talking on the phone, but now, not a single sound could be heard.  

Did everyone leave for a report?  

He caught sight of a mirror hanging on the wall and stopped to check his reflection. His appearance felt strangely unfamiliar. His expression was stiff, his complexion pale—he didn’t look well at all. He had known, ever since he woke up, that his body wasn’t in great shape, but there was no clear solution. Smoothing out his wrinkled clothing, he reached for the office door handle and turned it.  

“…Excuse me.”