WOP Ch 5.4

Dear Philip,

I received your last reply. Thank you for contacting me as quickly as possible despite the difficult circumstances.

The news that my young friend is safe is a great relief to me. He was a precious friend I made while reporting, so I was very worried when I heard about him on the news. News related to Aleppo is frequently reported in my home country as well. I worry about you and my young friend every day.

I often hear stories about you from Eddie. It’s interesting how the you I knew seems different from the you Eddie remembers. I often experience in daily life how memory works so differently depending on the person.

Philip, you were a great role model for me. The rational values and beliefs toward the greater good that I learned from you have greatly influenced my work. Through this accident, I realized that I can’t have everything I want within the frame of life. Finding a compromise between reality and ideals was very difficult, and in the process, I questioned our work. There are still negative views and prejudices about my work, and I may have to constantly explain the justification for this work to them, as I have in the past, and probably will in the future. However, as you once told me, I want to contribute, even in a small way, to ensuring that as many people as possible don’t turn a blind eye to the injustices that occur in very dark, lonely, and neglected places, at least not out of ignorance. The time I spent with you has greatly influenced this mindset, so I always express my deep gratitude to you.

Philip, my health is good. I worked for a while, but now I’ve completely stopped and I’m focusing on rehabilitation and treatment. I expect to be able to return to the field as early as the second half of the year, or at the latest, the first half of next year.

I recently heard the news that government forces have retaken the entire northeast. I’m very worried that this will lead to another large-scale refugee crisis. I’m curious about the actual situation in Greece regarding the influx of refugees. Also, I understand that there are hardly any proper hospital facilities left in Aleppo, so my heart is heavy. I don’t know if you’ll stay in Aleppo until I return, but, Philip, if possible, could you please check on my little friend while you’re there? I would be even more grateful if you could tell him that I’ll see him again.

This letter has become long. I can only hope that things will improve, even a little, when you finally read this. I always wish you good health and good fortune.

Your old friend, Yoon.

Click.

With the click, the letter, painstakingly written over a long time, finally left his hand. The departing ship, embarking on a long voyage, carried his longing heart, bobbing on the waves. Joyoon prayed that his letter would reach its desired destination, that it would go where it needed to go.

❄

The cold winter was finally drawing to a close.

Monday mornings, the start of a new week, always had a strange coexistence of busyness and leisure.

Kang Taejung stared at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling for a moment, then covered his eyes with the back of his hand. He hadn’t slept properly for several days, so his mind was hazy like fog, and his thoughts were sluggish. He didn’t even remember how he spent the weekend.

Much had changed, and yet nothing had changed. Despite experiencing a separation that felt like a part of his life had been carved out, he still breathed, ate, worked, and engaged in trivial conversations with his colleagues. Just when it seemed like life was quietly flowing, he would find himself drowning in an unbearable sense of loss whenever he had time to think alone.

His closed eyes fluttered with anguish. As if in a dream, his consciousness reached the apex of a certain memory. Clenching his trembling hands, Kang Taejung buried his face deep into his fists. A weary sigh escaped his lips.

A day passes, two days pass. Ten days pass, a month, a year, and then several years pass. Will this pain disappear? Just like the process of slowly forgetting you over the past five years. Since I’ve already forgotten you once, I might be able to forget you again.

“Hey, Kang. What are you thinking so hard about in the morning?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Section Chief.”

At Kang Taejung’s awkward rising from his seat, the man laughed more heartily and shrugged.

“What’s there to be sorry about? More importantly, the team leader was looking for you.”

“The team leader? What for….”

“Well, it can’t be anything bad, right? He’s in the meeting room, so go quickly.”

Following the gesture toward the meeting room across the hall, Kang Taejung’s gaze also drifted away. “Thank you.” After a brief nod, he hurried to the half-open meeting room. His steps, mixed with complex thoughts and feelings, felt heavy despite the short distance of only a dozen meters. Suppressing the emotions that had been tormenting him for days, he knocked on the meeting room door.

“Come in.”

“You called for me?”

“Have a seat.”

Pointing to the empty chair opposite him, Team Leader Han slightly pushed up the end of his glasses.

“Is the work manageable these days?”

“Yes?” At the unexpected question, Kang Taejung tilted his head and asked back as he pulled up a chair. The man, resting his chin on one hand, tapped the document in front of him lightly with the tip of his pen and sighed.

“Lately, you look like a workaholic, Kang. There has to be a limit, but do you realize you’re at the level of self-abuse?”

“…….”

“I’m not scolding you, so don’t look so gloomy.”

Smiling faintly, the team leader slid the document towards the person sitting opposite him. Startled by the sudden offer, he looked at his superior with bewildered eyes.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about a capable employee under me running like a runaway train, trusting only his youth. Still, I’m also bound to the company, so I hope you’ll use your abilities for the company’s benefit, Kang. Meanwhile, the higher-ups are clamoring for us to recruit capable employees.”

His eyes moved busily as he read the proposal. As he familiarized himself with the contents of the paper, various emotions gradually began to mix on his face. Team Leader Han, who had been silently watching him, put down the pen he had been playing with and straightened his posture with a somewhat serious expression.

“I called you here because I think this is a really good opportunity.”

“…….”

“I’ll explain the details now, but simply put, I want to ask for your opinion, Kang. To be blunt, are you interested in working abroad?”

Unconsciously, his grip tightened on the document. His aching heart trembled subtly. Fixing his gaze on the text, Kang Taejung swallowed a groan. Each breath he took was tinged with moisture. Faced with another crossroads, he crumpled the paper and began to list his complex thoughts and feelings one by one.

“Team Leader, I….”

His attempt to speak, however, was interrupted by a hand reaching out to him.

“I think I know just by looking at your face, so listen to my explanation first.”

“…….”

“I wish you were a little more ambitious, Kang.”

With a now serious face, the team leader began to explain the new overseas line order plan listed in the report. Kang Taejung’s expression, as he sat upright and listened to the team leader’s explanation, began to change subtly over time. He didn’t know how to describe the true nature of this churning emotion. Painful, joyful, sad. It was a flicker that couldn’t be expressed with such simple words.

He was acutely aware of his younger days, when there hadn’t been enough time to love each other, and the reality that had changed everything. You must have felt the same way. Amidst the various problems of reality that you had to choose from, you made your own choices and tried to protect our love. The decisions you made, which I resented as selfish and irresponsible, must have been choices made by overcoming some kind of pressure at every moment.

Taejung squeezed his eyes shut and tried to hide his burgeoning emotions. Even in the midst of unbearable pain, time flowed, and so did his feelings. The unbearable longing and regret also flowed endlessly, endlessly along with that current.

❄

“What happened to you?”

At his counterpart’s surprised face, Ha Joyoon awkwardly touched his own face. As he fumbled with his cheeks and neck, Song Jina let out a breathless laugh, but didn’t take her worried gaze away. His colleague, whom he was meeting after several months, looked unwell at a glance.

“You look like you’ve lost more weight.”

“My weight’s the same.”

“Maybe it’s because you look pale?”

“I think it’s the same….”

Responding in a similarly worried tone, Ha Joyoon checked his face here and there with his phone. He had already heard the same thing from his mother and Ha Junghye when he left the house this morning.

“No, your face looks really bad. Are you sick?”

“Maybe I’ve been doing rehab exercises too hard….”

To shake off the emptiness and depression that washed over him thousands of times a day, Joyoon had recently been volunteering for rehabilitation therapy almost every day. Of course, even that was kept within reasonable limits at the discretion of the medical staff, and he couldn’t just receive more treatment as he pleased, but therapy was one of his few escapes. Recovering a once-broken body was more tedious and difficult than he thought.

“You need to do everything in moderation… What’s with your face? You look sicker than the last time I saw you.”

“…Is that so?”

Letting out a sigh filled with frustration, Joyoon listlessly pressed his eyes. During the time when unresolved emotions stormed within him, his head, which had to bear all the stress, complained of headaches that became increasingly difficult to handle. At some point, even painkillers didn’t work properly, but it wasn’t a problem that could be solved simply with medication.

“Rehab or whatever, shouldn’t you just sleep for a month?”

Trying to hide her worry, Song Jina lifted her cup. Joyoon smiled silently and wrapped both hands around the still-warm cup. He had heard similar words from Lim Dohyun, whom he had met during his last visit to the hospital.

‘Your headaches are continuing? That’s strange. The medication I prescribed isn’t that weak… Taking stronger medication won’t do you any good. For now, it’s best to keep it as it is and record the level of pain. There were no particular abnormalities in the last test… Let’s take another one before you go today. It’s not really good to take them too often though. Psychological factors also have a considerable influence. Just stay home for a few days, eat, and sleep, man.’

The price of not being able to control the gap between youthful ambition and ideals, responsibility, and reality was greater and more painful than he had anticipated. He hadn’t known that controlling himself so he could do what he wanted for longer was more difficult than just blindly rushing in. He wanted to be a candle that gently illuminated his surroundings for a long time, not a flame that flared up brightly and quickly burned out. There was still a long way to go before his wishes could become reality.

“But Jina, I’ve built up some muscle. I’ve been working out hard lately… Look.”

He rolled up his shirt sleeves to mid-forearm and flexed, or at least tried to. Seeing only a bony forearm and wrist with no muscle in sight, Song Jina burst out laughing, her chin resting in her hand.

“Are you kidding me? Want to see my trapezius muscles?”

“Uh— uh, uh…?”

Joyoon lowered his head and pointed near his shoulder. Seeming genuinely curious, Jina craned her neck closer. Seeing the way Joyoon’s eyes darted around, as if actually searching for muscles, Song Jina finally yelled.

“Do you want to die? I was joking!”

“I thought you might actually have some.”

“I’ll kill you and then myself.”

Light, trivial jokes were exchanged for a while. Not immediately jumping into the main topic was Jina’s consideration for Joyoon, who was afraid to show his vulnerability. Thinking that Joyoon resembled a herbivore afraid of human touch, Song Jina smiled with narrowed eyes. The real conversation began after their tea had cooled down considerably.

“I’m planning to transfer to the social affairs department.”

“Social affairs?”

Surprised by the unexpected news, Ha Joyoon widened his eyes and put down his cup.

“I want to do it properly. I want to get into the central office, but it’s not easy to snatch a spot. I’ve been applying for a transfer since last year, but the department head keeps blocking me. They used me as a substitute for everything, but when I actually try to leave, they start going on about ‘women’ and their ‘pureblood’ nonsense… I almost grabbed them by the collar.”

“That’s harsh. That side is a bit blocked off….”

“I’m going to break that glass ceiling. It’s ridiculous. Isn’t it absurd that I have superior reporting skills but don’t even have a fair chance to compete? I’m going to become the chairman someday. Just you wait and see.”

“You’ll do well. You’re capable and smart.”

“Of course!”

Believing that with Jina’s personality, she would actually achieve it, Joyoon nodded his head. Song Jina, sipping the remaining coffee, stretched her legs out long. “Ugh.” A groan tinged with fatigue escaped her lips.

“So, you’re taking this leave of absence to properly prepare to return to the field, I see.”

“…Mmm.”

Letting out an ambiguous groan that was neither a yes nor a no, Joyoon leaned back fully in his chair, just like Jina, and stretched his body. The feelings he had been trying to suppress wandered aimlessly through a maze.

“I don’t know whether to call you crazy or amazing.”

“Haha.”

“Will you be alright? Isn’t your family strongly opposed?”

“I’m not going right away… I’m continuing to persuade them while receiving treatment. I have to prepare, too.”

“Are you going to Aleppo?”

“For now, I’m planning to go to Turkey or Greece first… I don’t know. I don’t know how the political situation will change by then. Nothing is decided for now.”

“If you want to go, you’ll go. Who can stop you if you’re determined….”

The words Jina was about to say disappeared into thin air, formless. It wasn’t easy to maintain her composure amidst the scattered problems. It was a path Joyoon chose even if it meant leaving someone’s feelings behind. He shouldn’t have any regrets, but he wasn’t sure if this decision was truly the right one. There’s no such thing as a choice without worry. He knew that. It was just that since it was his own problem, there were many things to consider.

His heavy eyelids drooped. In the sudden darkness, Ha Joyoon recalled someone’s hand, filled with strong will. The touch of their palm against his skin was always cool, yet that hand never let him go until the very end.

Curious, yet unwilling to know. Wanting to speak, yet burying it deep in his heart. Someone might think it foolish, but it was all the consideration he could offer right now. The person was gone, but the memories and afterimages remained. A pain that shook his entire head arrived. It was a headache more familiar than breathing. He was pressing his forehead with a cold hand and letting out a deep sigh when—

“Yoon-ah, Yoon-ah!”

Joyoon’s eyes snapped open at the rough cry. His blurred vision cleared quickly, and he saw Song Jina awkwardly standing next to him with a shocked expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? You’re having a nosebleed! Block it with this.”

A handkerchief pressed against his entire nose. The scent of perfume wafted over him, followed by the sensation of something warm pouring out. Only then did Ha Joyoon sit up straight and grip the handkerchief tightly. With a slight dizziness, the metallic taste of blood surged into his throat.

“Are you okay?”

“I think I exercised too much today.”

“Hey, don’t joke around.”

“No, I did overdo it a bit. I pushed myself longer than usual because I was feeling impatient, and I guess it was too much.”

A faint blush colored his pale cheeks. Seeing Ha Joyoon awkwardly clearing his throat, Song Jina finally relaxed and slumped back into her chair.

“You’re going to be the death of me. I was so surprised, thinking something was seriously wrong….”

“I’m sorry. What about your handkerchief… It’s a mess.”

“Don’t even think about washing and returning it. Buy me a new one. That one cost three hundred thousand won. The brand is Landy. For your information, I only use genuine products.”

At the unfamiliar brand name and the absurd price, Joyoon’s composed face immediately fell.

“What kind of handkerchief costs… It doesn’t look that expensive.”

“Do you want to die?”

“I’m kidding. I’ll go to the restroom for a bit. I need to wash up.”

The tense atmosphere slowly eased with the breathy laughter and jokes. Song Jina, with a relieved expression, rubbed her forehead and shook her head. After checking on Jina, Joyoon firmly held his nose with the handkerchief and headed straight for the restroom.

Whoosh——

Cold water quickly soaked the blood-stained handkerchief. Staring blankly at the bloody water draining away, Ha Joyoon wiped his numb nose. It didn’t seem to have stopped completely, as blood still stained his fingertips.

“Haa….”

The breath he’d been holding back burst out. As the tension eased, his stiff body began to tremble slightly. In the restroom mirror, the complexion of the man with his face and bangs soaked was far from good. The way his hand fumbled with his nose and cheeks was unusually awkward.

His eyes wavered as he looked down at the gradually fading red water. Joyoon buried his face in his wet hands and choked back a sob. It was frustrating and suffocating that no matter how hard he tried, the situation didn’t improve. Even though no one was rushing him, every day felt urgent and fast-paced, as if he had anxiety. The accompanying stress was immeasurable.

A hollow laugh escaped his lips. Beyond the restroom mirror, an unbearable loneliness and isolation flooded the man’s face.

The breakup was a choice for the other person, and he didn’t regret that choice. Therefore, this desolate loneliness he was feeling now wasn’t the result of judging right and wrong, but simply his own private feelings.

Suddenly, a desert mirage unfolded vast and wide. It was a place where moonlight reflected off white sand grains, spread like a carpet of stars; a place where the tears, blood, and lives of countless people had settled; a place where someone’s life, dreams, and beliefs scattered in the wind.

Love and friendship were no longer emotions that existed by his side.

Loneliness is a fundamental human emotion. Even surrounded by family, lovers, and friends, a part of the human heart remembers a primal, ingrained longing and loneliness. He knew this feeling couldn’t be resolved by love or companionship alone.

Even knowing this, he couldn’t help but wonder… what if? What if he could share his dreams with someone?

What will remain for me at the end of the path I’ve chosen? When I press the final shutter of my life, will I be able to tell you that my life was happy despite everything?

Who decides what constitutes a happy life, anyway?

The days were gradually getting longer, one of the many changes heralding the return of spring. Joyoon tightened his coat collar, remembering this winter, when the north wind had made his heart particularly cold. Thud, thud. The sound of his weary footsteps echoed sporadically down the alley. The ground was frozen in patches from the snow and freezing temperatures that had persisted for days. He nimbly avoided the small icy patches, trying to move his heavy body quickly.

As he passed the intersection and neared the final alley leading home, his listless pace quickened slightly. The change was subtle, almost imperceptible to him, but comparing the beginning and end of his walk revealed a definite shift. Just before the last corner, before turning, Joyoon paused, holding his breath, and quelled the unease in his heart.

Maybe he’s gone today.

Yesterday could have been the last time.

As each day passed, as the date edged closer to the end of the month, he tried to convince himself of this. He had deliberately avoided any contact from the office, spending his days detached from any information about Shin Kwonjoo. The thought that today might be the last time was just…

…….

He turned the corner, his gaze darting around. The street across from him was quiet, empty of passersby. The sedan usually parked in its regular spot was gone. There were no cigarette butts under the streetlight in front of his building either.

They hadn’t met. Hadn’t spoken, hadn’t contacted each other. He’d simply noticed signs that the man had been visiting this place every few days since their last meeting at the officetel. The other man didn’t seem to be particularly hiding or making his presence known; it was just the car parked in its usual spot, or the occasional cigarette butt discarded under the streetlight where he often waited for him. He didn’t find these signs every day, but as the time for Kwonjoo’s departure drew near, days like today, when there were no traces of him, inevitably led him to wonder if he was finally gone. Joyoon scanned his surroundings once more before giving up the search and continuing his walk. Desire is a bottomless pit. It was never easy to expose the raw, vulnerable face of desire, usually masked by social niceties.

Joyoon consciously clenched his jaw and wiped his nose. It was freezing, as if the nosebleed from a few days ago, when he’d coughed up a mouthful of warm blood, had been a lie. The memory of that morning brought a sudden wave of fear.

“…….”

He hesitated for a moment before pulling out his phone. The time on the screen neared nine o’clock. His fingers absently swiped across the screen, pausing on a contact name. Should he mention the symptoms from a few days ago? When they started the treatment, Lim Dohyun had insisted he contact him directly whenever he experienced anything unusual. He hadn’t actually called yet, but he knew it was special treatment, not usually afforded to a regular patient.

He’d barely spoken to Dohyun during their school days. He felt both grateful and apologetic for the doctor’s concern.

Looking back, not everyone around him had found him strange or uncomfortable. Many people had approached him with kindness, but trapped in his narrow world of photography and his lover, he hadn’t truly seen them. He didn’t regret it, but he idly wondered if he would have been more aware of those around him if he could go back.

After a moment of consideration, Joyoon put his phone away. He decided the symptoms weren’t serious enough to warrant a call at this hour. He could just see the doctor during outpatient hours tomorrow.

His breath plumed white in the cold air. He was sniffling and reaching for his doorknob when—

“Ha Joyoon.”

A few meters, perhaps. Joyoon estimated the distance between them by the resonance of the man’s voice. He looked up, and there, as if conjured, stood Shin Kwonjoo. He looked unusually pale under the moonlight, like a frozen winter lake.

“…Sunbae-nim.”

The honorific, unused for so long, felt strange on his tongue. Joyoon blinked, staring as Shin Kwonjoo slowly approached. Haa. His frozen breath dissipated into the night air. The man’s jet-black hair stirred in the wind. Forgetting even to open the door, Joyoon froze, all his attention focused on Kwonjoo.

“Where have you been?”

Kwonjoo closed the distance between them in just a few long strides. As he got closer, his gaze intensified. His demeanor, as if they’d seen each other just yesterday, betrayed no hint of the month-long separation. Joyoon responded curtly, as he always did.

“I had an appointment.”

“An appointment? You have friends?”

Kwonjoo’s expression was neutral, his question seemingly innocent, but Joyoon found himself frowning. He’d actually been out taking pictures alone, but he didn’t want to admit that.

“…I have some.”

At his curt reply, Kwonjoo seemed to realize how his question had been interpreted, and he chuckled, running a hand through his hair. Even that simple gesture was laced with a longing that made Joyoon’s nose sting.

“I was just curious. You’ve never mentioned having friends.”

“Is that so….”

“Well, we haven’t really talked much about anything personal outside of work.”

A hint of bitterness colored his words. He rubbed his cheek self-consciously and took another step closer.

Joyoon, still gripping the doorknob, tilted his head back, staring intently at the other man. Kwonjoo looked even paler than usual in the moonlight, but his eyes, reflecting his strong will, still held their usual intensity.

Joyoon felt a strange sensation, as if all his emotions were being sucked into a void, a rift torn in the fabric of the night. Kwonjoo, equally unable to break their shared gaze, winced, a flicker of pain in his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“…….”

“You’ll just get the wrong idea again.”

Understanding his meaning, Joyoon quickly lowered his gaze. A shadow of pain crossed Kwonjoo’s face as he watched him. He looked past Joyoon, his gaze lingering on the houses across the street, before speaking.

“It feels like everything I said to you is coming back to haunt me.”

A slow, crushing ache rose in Joyoon’s chest. He remembered Kwonjoo’s harsh words from when he’d been reeling from his breakup with Kang Taejung, unable to accept it. None of it had been kind, and Joyoon gave a faint, bitter smile.

“Isn’t it ironic? You’re the one who begged me to end it, and yet I’m the one who can’t let go.”

Kwonjoo smiled wryly and shrugged. His words were blunt, but lacked their usual edge. A chill seeped into Joyoon’s hair. “No,” he murmured, his face half-hidden in his coat collar, shaking his head slightly.

“I thought about it a lot.”

“…….”

“A lot, but…”

A brief silence fell, as if time itself had paused. It was a quiet night, not even a stray cat stirring in the stillness.

“I couldn’t give up.”

A sense of déjà vu washed over Joyoon, reminiscent of the night Kwonjoo first came looking for him. He bit his lip. Lately, every encounter seemed to leave a new wound on the other man. The thought that he was somehow responsible for breaking down Kwonjoo’s strong, seemingly impenetrable walls was a constant torment.

Rustle.

His endless train of thought was abruptly interrupted by an unexpected sound. It came from Shin Kwonjoo’s coat pocket. Kwonjoo pulled something out and took another step closer. Now, barely a step separated them.

“I’m leaving this weekend.”

His calm, low voice hung heavy in the air. The impact of that short sentence was so profound that Joyoon froze, his gaze fixed on the ground. The asphalt seemed to ripple and dance before his eyes.

“I’ve finished the handover, so I probably won’t be back in Korea. This assignment was temporary, covering for someone at the Asian branch.”

“…….”

So, he’s leaving.

A lump formed in his throat. When he remained silent, unable to respond, Kwonjoo chuckled and extended his hand. His fingers, long and thick, were just as Joyoon remembered them.

“Joyoon.”

He wanted to cry.

He wanted to tell him that it was strange for him to use that tone. So familiar, so comfortable. It wasn’t like him. This sudden shift in their dynamic after just a few months felt jarring, almost comical. But all he could do was hold back his tears. Joyoon bit his lip, staring silently at the paper in Kwonjoo’s hand.

“Take it.”

“…….”

“Why are you so stubborn?”

With a soft laugh, Kwonjoo reached out and grasped Joyoon’s wrist, pulling him closer. His relaxed body offered no resistance to the gentle tug. Before he could protest, Kwonjoo pressed the slip of paper into his hand. A moment later, Kwonjoo released his grip. The winter air stung his skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

“This is…”

Joyoon’s eyes scanned the note, confusion clouding his features. Kwonjoo watched him, then inclined his head slightly. Haa. His breath plumed white in the cold air.

“My address.”

“…….”

“I lived in Washington D.C. for quite a while.”

Kwonjoo’s expression was calm, almost serene, as if he didn’t expect a response. Joyoon’s gaze drifted over the elegant cursive script, his eyes stinging. His gaze slowly trailed down to the number written below the address, and his grip tightened on the paper.

“That’s the entry code.”

Sensing his silence, Kwonjoo offered a brief explanation. Joyoon understood the implication. Kwonjoo’s gaze was intense, his emotions so clear that Joyoon couldn’t bring himself to respond.

“I’m taking one last shot.”

“…….”

“I’m not the best person, but I’m asking for a chance to rewrite our story.”

A low chuckle filled the silence. Despite discarding his usual pride, Kwonjoo didn’t appear diminished in the slightest. It was paradoxical.

A dry laugh caught in Joyoon’s throat, leaving a sharp, lingering sting. Kwonjoo lowered his gaze, took a deep breath, and slipped his hands into his pockets. He’d asked if he seemed ridiculous, but Joyoon simply shook his head. He wasn’t in any position to judge another person’s feelings. A brief silence settled between them.

“No one can predict the future, and I can’t promise you anything for certain.”

“…….”

“But if you use that code and the door opens, it means I haven’t found anyone else.”

Joyoon’s dry lips parted involuntarily. A burning sensation prickled at his eyes. A fierce heat flared within him, threatening to consume him. But he clamped his jaw shut, refusing to let his emotions spill over. He understood the unspoken meaning behind Kwonjoo’s seemingly casual words.

“If that happens, you can come in and make yourself at home. Anytime.”

“Of course, if I meet someone else, I’ll change the code immediately.” Kwonjoo added this with a shrug, his tone light. But his eyes were heavy, dark with unspoken emotion.

A sharp pain pierced Joyoon’s head. His tightly pressed lips trembled uncontrollably.

“Why?”

“…….”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

Love.

You called it love. But…

Crinkle. The paper in his hand crumpled beyond recognition. Ugh. A choked sob caught in his throat. A primal urge to scream, to weep uncontrollably, pulsed through him. He wanted to release it all, to let the torrent of emotions wash over him and carry him away.

“Well…”

Despite the seemingly absurd question, Kwonjoo didn’t laugh. He simply tilted his head, a look of genuine curiosity on his face.

“Just like you couldn’t let go of him, even though you knew it was foolish.”

He paused, and then continued, as if speaking to himself. The moon, the stars, the wind – all seemed to hold their breath, listening.

“Perhaps… it’s for the same reason.”

A faint smile touched Kwonjoo’s lips. He was admitting that his feelings mirrored Joyoon’s own agonizing pain from that terrible summer, when his soul had been ripped apart and his world shattered. A pained sigh escaped Joyoon’s lips. He knew he couldn’t ask any more questions, couldn’t demand any more answers. He understood, better than anyone, that the heart couldn’t be controlled by willpower. And yet…

“Sunbae-nim… I can’t promise you anything.”

“I know.”

The flickering streetlight cast long shadows on Kwonjoo’s sculpted features, now etched with invisible scars. Joyoon’s breath hitched. This wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. He repeated this to himself, a silent mantra against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

This isn’t love, this can’t be love, I can’t…

Kwonjoo watched him, his expression unreadable, and took another cautious step closer.

“I won’t wait forever, and you don’t have to feel obligated to reciprocate my feelings.”

“…….”

“If the timing isn’t right, then it just wasn’t meant to be.”

“…….”

“But if it is…”

Joyoon buried his face in his trembling hands, unable to bear the weight of Kwonjoo’s whispered words. His body shook as he choked back sobs. The paper in his hand crumpled further, but neither of them spoke. Silence, silence, silence. The familiar quiet that always settled between them. The comfortable, shared silence stretched on.

Wasn’t there nothing left?

No.

Or was it that he was trying to see nothing?

The unanswered questions echoed endlessly in his mind. The cold winter air nipped at his cheeks.

The cold, harsh winter was finally coming to an end.

❄

Despite his resolve to go to the hospital immediately, it took him several more days to return. Fear was a significant factor. And as he’d expected, the test results weren’t good.

“We need to admit you right away. Your condition isn’t good.”

Lim Dohyun’s ultimatum came after he reviewed the test results. Since the first episode, Joyoon had been experiencing nosebleeds almost every other day. He knew the worsening headaches and persistent bleeding weren’t good signs, but he hadn’t expected it to be this serious.

“Haa…”

His breath plumed white in the cold air. Joyoon left the hospital, his face pale, sighing softly.

He’d thought he was getting better…

He remembered Lim Dohyun’s somber expression as he explained the results. Everything felt terrifying. He’d even broken down and cried by the roadside after leaving the hospital, overwhelmed by fear. He was terrified that the ticking time bomb in his head would forever hold him back. Swallowing his rising anxiety, he opened the front door.

“Yoon-ah, you’re home.”

“Yes.”

Hearing him at the entrance, his mother hurried to greet him. Joyoon, his face half-hidden by his scarf, simply nodded.

“Did you go to the hospital?”

He stood there, frozen, trying to figure out how to break the news. She would be devastated. He felt responsible for everything.

“What did they say?”

“…That it could be due to stress…”

“Is anything else wrong?”

Avoiding her earnest gaze, Joyoon closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again. He saw his mother, smiling gently at him. She would be the first to crumble if he showed any weakness. He didn’t know how to tell her about the hospitalization, but he desperately needed rest.

“They said it’s not that serious. Let me wash up first, and then we can talk.”

“Alright. Should I make you a snack?”

“Yes, please. I’ll be right down.”

Masking his strained voice, he quickly turned and started up the stairs. Just then, his mother’s words stopped him in his tracks.

“Oh, Yoon-ah, Taejung is here.”

His grip tightened on the banister.

“He’s talking with your father in the living room. Go join them.”

“…….”

Just then, his father and Kang Taejung emerged from the living room. Taejung, who had been responding to his father with a smile, also stopped abruptly upon seeing them by the stairs.

A pained smile flickered across Taejung’s kind, gentle face. Joyoon stared at his former lover, a strange ache in his chest. When did you learn to smile through your sorrow? Regret for lost time and faded memories gnawed at him. He bit his lip, a dull ache spreading through his head.

“Yoon-ah.”

“…Yeah.”

“…Shall we go upstairs?”

The words were spoken with careful consideration. Joyoon recognized the thoughtful gesture and slowly nodded. After a brief exchange with his mother, he and Taejung headed upstairs to his room.

Click.

His mother had turned on the heater a few hours earlier, and the room was filled with warmth. Soft footsteps followed him in.

“What happened?”

Joyoon paused, his hand halfway to unwrapping his scarf. He turned to Taejung, who gestured to his own eyes with a faint smile. “Oh…” A soft groan escaped his lips.

“A little something.”

“Your eyes are puffy.”

“Are they that bad…?”

“You’d be surprised if you looked in the mirror.”

Their conversation was natural, yet cautious. They both knew, perhaps better than anyone, that the past and present were different, that they could never go back. Taejung’s gaze drifted around the room, a wistful look in his eyes, before he walked over to the bed and sat down.

“Can I get you something to drink…?”

“It’s okay. Your mother gave me plenty while I was waiting.”

“Oh, right.”

Joyoon turned away, self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck.

He’d seen Taejung from a distance several times since that day. Passing on the street, entering his house, glimpses of him through the window – each fleeting image was etched in his memory, as vivid as a photograph. A sudden pang of longing cast a melancholic shadow over him.

“Yoon-ah.”

Taejung watched him, his expression hesitant, before speaking. Yoon-ah. The sound of his name, spoken in Taejung’s warm, gentle voice, made Joyoon’s heart ache. He met Taejung’s gaze, a subtle tension hanging in the air. Taejung’s next words sent a jolt through him, shattering the fragile peace.

“I’m being transferred overseas.”

Overseas. The weight of those two words made his pupils dilate.

“Overseas?”

“Yes.”

“Where… No, wait, why so suddenly…?”

While Joyoon struggled to process the unexpected news, Taejung remained composed, sitting with his hands clasped in his lap.

“Germany. Our company is collaborating with a German research institute on a new product development project. A few of us are going, and my team leader recommended me. I accepted.”

“I see…” Joyoon murmured faintly, nodding slowly. Leaving. Kang Taejung was leaving. It was something he’d never considered. His face stiffened, a coldness spreading through him, his heart plummeting with a dull ache.

His lips trembled slightly. He imagined Taejung must have felt this countless times, sending him off to war zones. One by one, he retraced the remnants of their past relationship, all the moments he’d missed. He’d believed that even through the hardship and pain, it was all necessary for a better future.

“When are you leaving?”

The tremor in his voice was unmistakable. Taejung’s gentle eyes crinkled slightly at the corners.

“Today.”

“…Today? That soon?”

He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. Taejung sighed, looking at Joyoon’s open, vulnerable expression.

“The project officially starts next month, but I applied to go early to prepare. Everything’s packed. I stopped by before heading to the airport. I was afraid I’d miss you if I waited any longer… I’m glad the timing worked out.”

Just a few hours. That was all the time they had left. Joyoon swallowed hard, his eyelids fluttering. He knew what Taejung must be feeling, calmly recounting his last moments in Korea, and he fought to control the turmoil within him.

“I see.”

“I debated it for a long time…”

Taejung sighed, turning his face slightly away. His sharper jawline hinted at the stress he’d been under.

“I felt like I’d been… living in too small a world. Trapped in my routine, my house, my work, my family and friends… like my perspective had narrowed. I wanted to be more ambitious in my career. And this was a great opportunity. They practically guaranteed a promotion if I accept… Who knows.”

He forced a cheerful smile and continued.

“I still don’t fully understand your choices, but I thought maybe if I broadened my horizons, things might look different.”

“…….”

“Maybe then I could truly understand why you made the decisions you did.”

A wave of dizziness washed over Joyoon. Everyone was choosing to leave, to find their own place. As if their journeys to find their place in life were just beginning.

He looked at Taejung. He was thinner, his features sharper than he remembered, but his kind nature and warm heart still shone through. Joyoon’s gaze lingered on Taejung’s handsome face, memorizing every detail. He clasped his hands together and spoke softly.

“I’ll be rooting for you, wherever you are.”

“…….”

“You’ve always been someone who gives his all.”

Taejung’s gentle eyes crinkled with pain at his tender words.

“Have I really?”

His jaw tightened. Joyoon smiled sadly at his former lover’s vulnerability. Taejung had worried that he had clipped his wings, but perhaps he was the one who had broken them.