WOP Ch 4.5
by soapa“…The person who said he was waiting for you.”
The words he spoke wounded him the most. He knew better than anyone what they signified. He tightened his grip on his fists, his whole body trembling.
“…….”
For the first time, Joyoon didn’t answer Taejung’s question. He simply stared at him with an unreadable expression. The unspoken affirmation, conveyed through silence and his body language, made Taejung swallow the bile rising in his throat.
“You seem close to this ‘Sunbae-nim’.”
“…Yes.”
He wasn’t actually curious. More pointed questions swirled in his mind. Questions that went beyond the simple nature of their relationship, delving into something deeper, more intimate. Dark, festering questions gnawed at him like a cancer. But he couldn’t bring himself to ask them. He wasn’t sure he could bear the weight of the answers.
“…He’s not… bothering you, is he?”
“No, he’s not. It’s just his way of speaking. He has a bad personality, but he’s not a bad person.”
“He seemed to be treating you disrespectfully.”
“He’s not. He just talks like that. He takes care of me, looks out for me. He’s soft in unexpected ways…”
A hint of intimacy, impossible to conceal, colored his brief reply. The change in his expression, the tone of his voice, his gestures—all these subtle cues revealed that the aggressive man from moments ago had somehow found his way into Ha Joyoon’s world.
“…I see.”
At this moment, the fact that he knew Ha Joyoon so well was agonizing. But the thought of letting him go was equally painful. Forcing himself to appear calm, Taejung changed the subject.
“Are you more comfortable around people now?”
“Yes.”
“…I heard you even go to company dinners now. Junghye noona told me.”
“Yes. But not often… I’m not very good at fitting in.”
Taejung pictured Joyoon, who used to follow him around like an imprinted chick. A sharp pain, like a hammer blow, struck his chest.
You could have soared through wider skies, but I caged you, forced you to see only me. I tried so hard to keep you hidden from the world, to make sure you weren’t curious about anything beyond me, to ensure all your senses were focused solely on me. Who would dare call you indifferent or unresponsive? It was me who isolated you in your small world, who gave you everything even if you didn’t want it.
“You can’t hold your liquor.”
“…Yes, but I’m better now. I’ve gotten used to it.”
“It’s not…uncomfortable?”
“I’ve gotten closer to my colleagues… It’s not uncomfortable anymore.”
“That’s good…”
With each question, Joyoon’s head dipped lower. His voice, hesitant and soft, like him, made Taejung want to pull him into a hug. He shoved his trembling hands into his coat pockets and continued, his questions skirting the real issue. So. His voice was tight, strained.
“What was that about earlier?”
“…….”
“Did something happen with Youngwoo?”
At the mention of Seo Youngwoo’s name, Joyoon’s smooth brow furrowed slightly. Taejung, catching the fleeting reaction, pressed on, the image of Youngwoo’s increasingly unstable and hysterical behavior flashing painfully through his mind.
“Did something happen with Youngwoo?”
“No, nothing like that.”
Joyoon shook his head. Even that simple gesture caused a pang in Taejung’s chest. His clenched fists and parted lips trembled.
“If nothing happened, why would he say that?”
Joyoon’s steady gaze made Taejung hesitate, unable to continue. He looked away, his lips moving soundlessly before he finally spoke.
“You furrow your brow when you lie.”
“…….”
Joyoon’s calm facade crumbled. Taejung hadn’t meant to say it, but the words, drawn from his broken heart, spilled out like blood, staining the ground beneath their feet. Joyoon had been the kind of lover who remembered and catered to his every little quirk. The thoughtfulness that had once filled him with gratitude now felt like a fresh wound. Accepting the breakup didn’t mean he was immune to the pain.
Joyoon rubbed his cheek and jaw with a trembling hand.
“Don’t remember things like that.”
“Yoon-ah.”
“Don’t remember…”
Joyoon shook his head again, his voice tinged with a quiet desperation. His clumsy denial was unbearable. It was just a small gesture, but it somehow rooted Taejung to the spot, unable to move. He repeatedly clenched and unclenched his fists, but the tension refused to ease.
“I…heard from Youngwoo.”
His voice was rough. He cleared his throat, but it didn’t help. Avoiding Joyoon’s gaze, he continued slowly.
“He said you’re working together now.”
“…….”
“That you’re…participating in his photo exhibition. …That he’d met you.”
“Yes.”
“Did he treat you badly?”
The restless tapping of his foot against a small pebble on the ground stopped abruptly. Ha Joyoon, hands clasped behind his back, stared down at the ground before slowly shaking his head.
“Nothing happened. He didn’t say anything strange.”
“Yoon-ah! No, I didn’t mean… ”
“He didn’t… say anything to interfere between you and him. I was a bit mean, though…”
“…….”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry to you, but I couldn’t treat him normally. I tried to keep things professional… but it didn’t work.”
“…….”
“I tried my best not to be mean to him, though.”
His voice, drained of all energy, trailed off. A puff of white breath, devoid of any expectation, dissipated into the cold air. Taejung’s face creased with confusion at the unexpected response. He waved his hand dismissively.
“That’s not what I meant. I was just worried that something had happened to you. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
“Nothing like that would happen…”
“…….”
It sounded as if he were saying that nothing existed between them anymore. His eyes, meeting Taejung’s directly, were as clear as ice, yet they reflected everything back, like a mirror, impenetrable.
Ha Joyoon spoke quietly, watching Taejung awkwardly rub his dry throat.
“Taejung-ah.”
“…Yes.”
“Did you know Sunbae-nim?”
“…….”
“How do you know Sunbae-nim?”
The way he kept calling Kwonjoo “Sunbae-nim,” his eyes fixed on Taejung, was painful. A tightness gripped his chest. He bit his trembling lip, trying to hide his distress.
“Just…because.”
“Just because?”
Taejung had tried to brush it off, but Joyoon, unusually persistent, pressed him. Taejung rubbed his face roughly, trying to hide his grimace. A painful piece of his past was forcibly dragged from the depths of his memory.
“…I got to know him while I was making calls and asking around about you.”
The time he’d barely endured, the absence of the person he loved, the agonizing despair and pain. And himself, running away from it all.
“…….”
“I just…contacted various people…”
He’d avoided the uncomfortable topic, giving a clipped, incomplete answer, but even those few words painted Joyoon’s pale face with anguish.
‘He misses you a lot, and he’s been waiting for you.’
‘…He’s been in a lot of pain. It’s been difficult for those around him to watch. I was worried he might actually die.’
‘Taejung loves you very much, and he’s waited for you for a long time, Yoon-ah.’
He had already heard countless times about Kang Taejung’s broken life over the past five years, from his family and from Song Jina. But hearing it from others and hearing it directly from Taejung himself were two entirely different things. The weight of it now was almost unbearable.
How terrifying, how agonizing must that time have been for you?
The pain and despair his former lover must have endured for five years, the image of him desperately searching for any information, struck Joyoon with painful clarity.
An unbearable weight of guilt settled upon him.
“Taejung-ah.”
His voice, thick with regret and pain, called out Taejung’s name. But the cry in his heart remained unspoken.
“I’m sorry.”
The apology, finally uttered after a long silence, was so paltry, so inadequate, that he couldn’t even meet Taejung’s eyes. Taejung-ah. His name, laced with unshed tears, escaped Joyoon’s lips.
“It must have been very hard for you.”
“…….”
Consumed by his own pain, he had never properly apologized to Kang Taejung. His previous apologies had been nothing more than a desperate attempt to hold on, a flimsy hook to snag Taejung’s retreating foot. That guilt had lingered, a persistent shadow.
He wanted to apologize properly, just once. That’s why he had chosen to talk to Taejung, even though he knew it would hurt him. It was the least he could do for the man who had waited for him, who had stayed by his side for so long.
“I’m sorry.”
“…Yoon-ah.”
“I was only thinking about myself. I was so desperate to hold onto you that even when I apologized, I was still blaming you… That’s what I did… Shamelessly… I didn’t even realize how disgraceful I was…”
“…….”
His voice trembled, his lips quivering uncontrollably. His eyes burned, but he didn’t want to cry. Tears would only be a self-serving way to alleviate his guilt.
“Taejung-ah. I’m truly sorry…”
Every consequence was preceded by a choice. A choice made for one person could hurt another. He hadn’t understood that. He had been too young, too naive. He knew that apologizing now wouldn’t bring back the lost time or mend their broken relationship. The person he had loved was too exhausted. He would only cause more pain. He could no longer be Taejung’s comforting shadow.
“I’m sorry…”
“…….”
Even without him explicitly stating what the apology was for, Taejung had no trouble understanding the regret and self-loathing it contained. He stood there, silently watching Ha Joyoon repeat those words, “I’m sorry,” over and over again. As if there was nothing else he could do, as if that was all there was.
“You’re late. Were you working late?”
His mother, sitting on the sofa, turned her head as the front door opened. The bright fluorescent light seemed to pierce through him, exposing the vulnerability he kept hidden deep inside. Taejung hurried inside, shielding his face. Ha ha ha ha— his father’s laughter, echoing from the living room, reached him. The rapid-fire banter of a talk show host and celebrities filled the air.
“Yes.”
“Did you eat dinner?”
“I ate already. I’ll come down after I shower.”
He nodded in response and hurried up the stairs. Even those few steps left him breathless. His chest felt tight, his throat burning. Reaching his bedroom door, he opened it with a trembling hand.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and was enveloped in a heavy silence. He tossed his briefcase aside and lay down on the bed.
Taejung covered his forehead with his hand, his eyes closed. After a while, he slowly opened them and shifted his gaze.
“…….”
His footsteps, heavy as lead, carried him to a corner of the room. A large box sat there. His foolishness, his stubborn refusal to open it, dragging it back and forth between his parents’ house and his apartment, suddenly struck him as pathetic. Just looking at it made him feel as though his heart were being scraped with a knife.
He’d thought breaking up would be so easy. He’d believed that ending things and sorting out his feelings would be the end of it. He’d dismissed the lingering feelings, the regret and longing, as secondary issues, trusting that time would heal all wounds. He’d believed that the feelings he’d carefully packed away over five long years would simply dissipate like a wisp of memory, leaving only faint scars.
So easily, so simply.
‘I’m sorry…’
The words he’d heard repeatedly from Ha Joyoon since their reunion. Words that had only burdened him. Apologies he’d processed intellectually, but never truly absorbed. Now, those three words crashed over him like a tidal wave.
It really…is the same…
A pained smile twisted his lips. Ah. A groan escaped him.
The pain was sharp, laced with self-recrimination. The lines on his forehead deepened. His eyelids trembled. He blinked slowly, then his expression hardened, his jaw clenching with a new resolve.
Nothing would change if he stayed like this.
He could neither move forward nor retreat.
Clinging to this thought, a thought he’d replayed hundreds of times, Taejung reached for the box. He pulled it slightly forward, and the contents shifted inside, a dull thud echoing in the silence. He hesitated for a moment, then sat down and carefully opened it. And finally, the door to someone’s long-hidden heart opened.
“…….”
His eyes fell on the object that lay on top, and he forgot to breathe, his entire being focused on it. After a long moment, he reached out with a trembling hand and lifted it from its protective wrapping.
“Ha…”
His head slowly bowed, as if weighed down by iron. Unable to withstand the onslaught of emotions, he slumped to the floor.
Traces of time, but more than that, traces of a long-held affection.
…The origin of my love.
“Ha ha…”
A lonely laugh drifted through the empty room like a whisper of wind.
The black camera, slightly larger than his palm, was pristine, save for the inevitable marks of time, not a single scratch or blemish marring its surface.
His fingertips, tracing the contours of the camera, trembled with a mixture of pain and tenderness. Even he, someone who knew little about cameras, could tell how carefully it had been handled, how precious it had been. It felt as if the camera itself had been cherished along with the feelings it represented, feelings that stretched back to a time he could barely remember. He held it to his chest, unable to move.
He finally understood who he had let go of, who he had abandoned.
The time they’d spent together, the feelings they’d shared, flowed through him like a relentless current.
His past love, his present detachment, everything was swept away, tumbling down a rushing river. Taejung couldn’t imagine what awaited him at the end of this journey.
Tears slipped down his dry cheeks.
The image of Joyoon on that hot, humid summer night, his voice filled with longing as he chased after him, flashed through his mind. The memory of his flushed cheeks, his hurried footsteps, his desperate grip on Taejung’s clothes, played on repeat, threatening to drive him mad.
What have I done to you?
Regret washed over him. He recognized the deceit he’d buried deep within his heart. He realized that his arrogance, his belief that he could control his emotions, had led him to commit another sin, a sin he now had to atone for.
He thought of the other person he had to hurt, the other person he had to let go. He knew he couldn’t love someone new, not with this heart, not with this emptiness inside him. Why hadn’t he realized it sooner?
When this winter ends.
When this winter ends, we…
The unspoken thought remained submerged, unspoken. He realized he needed more time, much more time than he could possibly imagine.
❄
The room was dark, the floor littered with discarded clothes—a coat, a jacket, all thrown carelessly aside. His tie was half undone, his shirt crumpled, a stark contrast to his usual impeccable appearance. Shin Kwonjoo sat on the sofa, his hands clasped, his body slightly hunched, as still as a statue. He’d been sitting there for hours. His phone buzzed incessantly with incoming messages, but he ignored them. He couldn’t bring himself to care.
‘Sunbae-nim, I need to sort things out…’
The voice had been as quiet and still as the snowflakes falling on his cheek. He tightened his grip on Joyoon’s hand, the tendons in his hand standing out. His gaze dropped to the ground, lost in the darkness.
Expending excessive energy on something unattainable was inefficient. He loathed inefficiency, both in his work and personal life. If the outcome was likely to be the same, it was always best to choose the most efficient path. However…
“…….”
A stifled groan escaped his lips.
A defeated dog.
That’s exactly how he felt. A dry chuckle escaped him, echoing the hollow ache in his chest. The image of Joyoon turning his back on him, walking away, haunted him. The deep furrow in his brow betrayed his inner turmoil.
He had to admit his arrogance. He’d always believed that he held all the cards. He’d taken that unfounded assumption for granted, and his actions, based on that fallacy, had yielded disastrous results. All the external advantages he’d possessed, all the things he’d prided himself on, were now useless.
Self-disgust twisted his features. Searching for some semblance of control amidst the chaos, Shin Kwonjoo replayed the time he’d spent with Ha Joyoon, trying to pinpoint the origin of this turbulent feeling. But a hollow laugh escaped him.
…As if I didn’t know.
The flickering light above cast long shadows, obscuring part of his impassive face. A silent despair seemed to cling to him, a dark cloud against his sharp features.
To say he hadn’t realized it was a lie.
The feeling had been so clear, so distinct in its form and color. He couldn’t have missed it. In fact, he might have known long before he’d consciously acknowledged it. His subconscious had simply suppressed it. It wasn’t due to any external factor, but his own internal struggle.
The feelings he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. The desire to protect his wounded pride. All those carefully constructed layers were now peeling away, revealing the raw truth beneath.
He’d acted arrogant and aloof, but he was the one who was truly clinging on. He’d acted cruel and indifferent to hide his unfamiliar vulnerability. He’d been spiteful, rude, and selfish, yet he hadn’t been able to let go. It was a contradiction.
A bitter laugh escaped him again, and he lowered his head. The air around him was cold, still, a stark contrast to the burning heat of his emotions. Caught between these extremes, Shin Kwonjoo finally saw his true feelings, stripped bare of all pretense.
He cared.
He was bothered.
He’d noticed Joyoon because he found him annoying.
He was attractive, and despite his clumsiness, there was a certain resilience that Kwonjoo found appealing. He liked Joyoon’s quiet, low voice, and he was drawn to his strangely captivating eyes.
He’d started interfering in Joyoon’s life, little by little. He’d become concerned with more than just Joyoon’s outward appearance.
He’d found Joyoon’s self-destructive tendencies frustrating, wishing he were more pragmatic, more assertive. But while Joyoon seemed pliable, easily led, he always made his own decisions in the end.
Eventually, even that had become endearing. He found himself captivated by the way Joyoon’s eyes lit up when he talked about photography. He often thought about the small, almost imperceptible smile that played on Joyoon’s lips when he was doing something he loved.
The more time they spent together, the deeper his feelings became, slowly seeping into his very being. He hadn’t realized that the icy pillars that had held him up for so long had melted, transforming into a warm sea. The change had been slow, almost imperceptible. By the time he’d acknowledged his feelings, it was too late to escape.
…He hadn’t wanted to admit that he’d fallen for someone who didn’t love him back.
He knew Joyoon’s heart was filled with someone else, that there wasn’t much room left for him. So instead of trying, he’d chosen to push Joyoon away, to deny his own feelings. He’d told himself that he didn’t love Joyoon, that it didn’t matter if Joyoon didn’t love him back. It was a pathetic defense mechanism.
He’d always minimized unfavorable and inefficient situations in his life.
This was the consequence.
The person he’d carelessly tried to tie down had walked away, his face free of any burden. His arrogance, his belief that he could dictate the terms of their relationship, had backfired. The uncertainty in Joyoon’s eyes, the flicker of something more, had been extinguished by Kwonjoo’s constant rejection. The end of their relationship had been inevitable.
And now, the memory of the person he’d tried to forget resurfaced.
Kang Taejung. Everything about them, their connection, the time they’d shared, the feelings between them—it was all a disaster. Witnessing their lingering affection, their shared regret, Kwonjoo felt his own foolishness, his arrogance, his stubborn pride, shatter and crumble to dust.
He took a deep breath, repeatedly clenching and unclenching his fist, staring down at his empty palm.
He’d lived a smooth, easy life, believing he had everything, yet he felt nothing but an empty coldness.
Ha Joyoon.
He spoke the name, a name that had become so familiar, so ingrained in his very being.
The simple act of saying it unleashed a torrent of emotions.
He realized he had several paths before him. He knew, with cruel clarity, what each path represented, the consequences of each choice. Pain contorted his handsome features. He took a deep breath, his dark eyes, mirroring the night, slowly sinking, reaching out for the feelings he kept hidden.
Hours passed, his phone buzzing incessantly, but the name he longed to see never appeared. Time crawled by, agonizingly slow.
It was going to be a long, cold night.
❄
「If you’re free, I’ll come over after work.」
He didn’t know how many times he’d clenched and unclenched his fists. He wiped the sweat from his palms on his pants, his eyes blinking rapidly with anxiety. He couldn’t remember the last time Taejung had initiated contact. He stared at the screen, frozen, as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. The message had arrived during work hours, but he’d read and reread those few words dozens of times since then.
“What is it?”
Anticipation and anxiety warred within him, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyelids fluttered nervously. He had to say something. Even amidst the fear, a seed of resolve began to sprout.
He would be honest, and he would ask for forgiveness.
Repeating this like a mantra calmed his racing heart. Yes. He would be honest, completely honest. Wiping his damp eyelashes and sniffing back tears, Seo Youngwoo stood up abruptly. He knew Taejung had said he’d be at the station, so he should be arriving soon. He suddenly remembered his disheveled appearance and rushed to the bathroom.
“…I can’t do this…”
He reached for the faucet, then hesitated, stopping to look at his reflection in the mirror. His face was pale, his eyes dark and bloodshot. He didn’t look well, his appearance a reflection of his emotionally exhausted state. No. Not yet. I can’t. I can’t do this yet…
He stared at the unfamiliar face in the mirror, his eyes unfocused, then shook his head roughly. He turned on the faucet, the water gushing out. He stared blankly at the stream of water, lost in thought, until the sound of the doorbell jolted him back to reality.
♪♩————
Seo Youngwoo rushed to the door. He knew it was ridiculous to expect it to be Kang Taejung, but his hand trembled with anticipation and urgency as he reached for the doorknob.
And then.
“Hyung.”
The sight of his lover’s face as the door slowly opened made Seo Youngwoo’s knees buckle.
“Youngwoo-yah.”
At the sound of Taejung’s voice, tears welled up in Seo Youngwoo’s eyes. He grabbed Taejung’s hand, pulling him inside and quickly closing the door.
“…You must be cold. Come in.”
Taejung, pulled inside by Youngwoo’s urgent grip, straightened up and looked at his lover.
Youngwoo’s gentle eyes, filled with a mixture of complex emotions, were fixed on Taejung, his large pupils reflecting only him, as always. Taejung smiled sadly at this unwavering display of affection. He’d found comfort and solace in the sweetness of Youngwoo’s love. He’d wanted to bask in the warmth of this one-sided affection. The realization of his own cowardice and weakness made his broad shoulders tremble.
“Hyung?”
Youngwoo’s gentle hand tugged at Taejung’s arm, urging him further inside. But Taejung didn’t move. What’s wrong, Hyung? Youngwoo’s anxious hand fluttered against his arm. Hyung, Hyung. The repeated calls of his name triggered a sudden sense of déjà vu, reminding him of a stiflingly hot day.
‘Taejung-ah, Taejung-ah.’
Taejung closed his eyes tightly, the memory of a distant face and voice fading as the harsh reality of his current predicament crashed over him.
“Come in. Please?”
Youngwoo tugged at his arm again, more insistently. Unable to ignore the desperation in his touch, Taejung finally lowered his head. This was the person who had stayed by his side, who had supported him through his breakdown, whatever the reason.
“Youngwoo-yah.”
His voice trembled, his face contorted with pain. The sight of Youngwoo’s eyes filling with tears filled him with guilt. He stared at Youngwoo, crumbling before him, disgusted by his own selfishness, his clumsiness, his naiveté. He could have just kept it hidden, couldn’t he? He could have just endured it, and it would have been fine, wouldn’t it? Even now, two opposing forces clashed within him. Even after all this.
“I thought I shouldn’t keep you waiting any longer.”
“No.”
Sensing what Taejung was about to say, Seo Youngwoo shook his head frantically. Taejung looked at him, a sad smile playing on his lips. It was a self-deprecating acknowledgment of his own selfishness.
“Come inside first. Okay? Come in, Hyung.”
“I’ll just say it here.”
“Hyung, Hyung…”
Youngwoo’s frantic movements caused Taejung to drop his briefcase. It landed on the floor with a thud, papers scattering everywhere. But neither of them noticed.
“Hyung…I’m sorry, your briefcase…”
Tears finally spilled down Youngwoo’s cheeks. A premonition of something terrible washed over him.
“I’m sorry, Youngwoo-yah.”
Taejung’s voice was dry, devoid of any emotion. He closed his eyes, unable to look at Youngwoo’s face. An overwhelming guilt pressed down on him. His attempts to hide his true feelings had ended up hurting not only himself but also an innocent person. He sank to his knees, the hard floor digging into his bones. His hands, braced against the ground, trembled, as if struggling to bear the weight of his guilt.
“Why are you kneeling? Hyung, what’s wrong?”
“Let’s…end this.”
He spoke the words he’d once spoken to someone else. The same words, yet the weight and meaning behind them were vastly different. The irony wasn’t lost on him. How could they be the same when they were so different?
“…That’s not possible.”
Anguish filled Youngwoo’s voice. He collapsed onto the floor in front of Taejung, his fists clenching spasmodically.
“I can’t continue this relationship with you, not feeling the way I do.”
“…Hyung.”
Youngwoo’s unfocused eyes slowly lifted to meet Taejung’s. His lower eyelids trembled with barely contained emotion.
“Did you ever even like me? Did our time together mean anything to you?”
The question, buried deep within his heart for so long, finally slipped out.
“Did you ever like me, even a little? Or was it all just guilt?”
“…….”
“Are you saying that everything we did—meeting, sleeping together, talking—was all driven by guilt? Answer me, Hyung. Please?”
It was a desperate question, wrung from the depths of his soul. It was Seo Youngwoo’s last shred of pride. His voice was weak, and he couldn’t speak for a long moment. Kang Taejung grimaced, his heart aching as he watched Youngwoo crumble before him.
“How could I have…done all that just out of guilt?”
“…….”
“It wasn’t…only that.”
“Then, Hyung…!”
“But it wasn’t love either.”
The finality of his words stopped Seo Youngwoo in his tracks.
A deathly silence descended, broken only by a choked sob. It would be a lie to say that his feelings for Seo Youngwoo were solely based on responsibility and guilt. He had been drawn to the comfort and stability Youngwoo offered, opening his heart and accepting someone other than Ha Joyoon for the first time. He’d wanted to lean on Youngwoo, to find solace in their perfectly matched relationship. He’d believed his feelings were genuine. Youngwoo had been everything he’d ever wanted in a partner—someone who comforted him, someone who made him feel safe.
He’d enjoyed sharing the things he couldn’t share with Ha Joyoon, the selfish thoughts he couldn’t confess to him, finding comfort and understanding in Youngwoo’s empathy. He’d mistaken that for love. All his previous emotions had been so focused on one person that he hadn’t known how to connect with someone else, how different it could be. He had liked Youngwoo, to a certain extent, but that was all. It was the consequence of believing that love could be manufactured through effort, of trivializing emotions. But he couldn’t bring himself to confess the raw, ugly truth.
“How can you say that…?”
“I’m sorry, Youngwoo-yah. I’m truly sorry.”
“Hyung. This isn’t right. Ten years. I’ve liked you for almost ten years, I’ve always been there for you. And this is the result? That’s not right… It shouldn’t be like this…”
“I’ll spend the rest of my life atoning for what I’ve done to you. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. Whatever you want…”
“That’s not what I’m saying…!”
Seo Youngwoo shook his head again, large tears streaming down his face. But Taejung couldn’t answer. He knew that anything he said would only hurt Youngwoo more. A sense of déjà vu, triggered by the sound of Youngwoo’s heartbroken sobs, gnawed at him.
“Then let’s just try. Let’s try harder.”
Youngwoo’s voice trembled, his thin shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. He wiped his nose and gripped Taejung’s arms.
“You said you’d do whatever I want. What I want…”
He couldn’t finish his sentence. A warm hand covered his own. Taejung gently removed Youngwoo’s hand and bowed his head lower, his straight nose pointing towards the ground, his soft hair falling forward.
“We’ve tried enough.”
“…….”
“…I’m sorry.”
His voice, heavy with despair, was carried on the cold night wind. The mechanical repetition of his apology made Seo Youngwoo whisper, his voice hollow,
“Are you doing this because you want to get back together with him?”
“Youngwoo-yah…”
“You’re breaking up with me because of him, aren’t you? That’s why you moved back home!”
His voice cracked with bitterness, his forced smile trembling. Backed into a corner, Kang Taejung finally lifted his head and met Seo Youngwoo’s gaze. Youngwoo’s eyes, filled with resentment and sorrow, stared directly at him.
“That’s not it.”
“Don’t lie.”
“It really isn’t, so don’t think that way about Yoon.”
“What…did you say?”
“This is between you and me. It has nothing to do with Yoon.”
Taejung shook his head, trying to escape the overwhelming guilt. His voice was flat, devoid of any emotion.
“I don’t deserve to go back to him.”
He couldn’t even bring himself to say Ha Joyoon’s name.
He’d witnessed the moment Joyoon’s gaze, once solely focused on him, had shifted to someone else for the first time, someone other than his family or photography. He had no right to be jealous, yet the memory of that moment, the way his heart had stopped, his blood turning to ice, would likely haunt him for a long time. And that was only a small part of the price he had to pay.
“Hyung, right now…”
Despair darkened Seo Youngwoo’s eyes as he looked at Taejung. This was the second time. The words, “I can’t go back,” were more cruel, more piercing than any breakup could ever be.
“Is that…really what you want to tell me?”
“…….”
“Are you really telling me this…now?”
“Youngwoo-yah.”
“Are you…really saying this to me…Hyung…?”
Seo Youngwoo hit Taejung’s chest, his voice thick with resentment. He’d put all his strength into the blow, but Taejung didn’t even flinch. He simply sat there, accepting the blow as a form of penance. This lack of reaction, however, only served to highlight the fact that he’d never truly reached Taejung, that he’d never left a mark. The realization made him push Taejung away with renewed force.
The precious feelings he’d cherished, once so bright, had long since faded. Yet, he couldn’t accept that their relationship was truly over.
A cry, almost a scream, escaped his lips. His thin shoulders shook with violent sobs. Taejung could only offer meaningless apologies, unable to even comfort him. As if that was all he could do, as if that was all he had left to offer.
It was a breakup that had finally surfaced after a long, agonizing period of hesitation and self-reproach. The apology, delivered without a trace of doubt or hesitation, reflected the length of his internal struggle. As he severed this precarious, decaying relationship, a relationship poisoned by deceit, Kang Taejung thought of the other person he should have let go of long ago.
He received the call from the editor-in-chief about the new photojournalist on Friday morning, at the peak of the cold snap.
It was well past lunchtime when he visited the branch office to collect his last remaining belongings. Fortunately, many of the staff he’d worked with over the past few months were still there. As he was packing his things into a box, Nam Hyunwoo approached, holding two paper cups of coffee from the vending machine.
“Finished packing? Today’s your last day, right? Here, have some coffee. A final cup.”
“Thank you.”
Ha Joyoon accepted the cup with a shy smile. Sweet aroma and warm steam wafted from it. He took a sip of the overly sweet coffee and warmed his cold hands on the hot cup. The temperature had plummeted in the past few days; winter had truly arrived.
“I’m going to miss you. I’ve grown quite fond of you, Reporter Ha.”
“…Me too.”
“Wow, I’m touched. Never thought I’d hear those words from you, Reporter Ha.”
Nam Hyunwoo widened his eyes in mock surprise. Joyoon waved his hand dismissively, embarrassed, but it did little to deter Hyunwoo’s playful teasing.
“Need help packing?”
“…Editor-in-chief.”
Kim Chaehwan, passing by, tilted his head and asked,
“What are you packing up so much stuff for? Making it very clear you’re leaving.”
Joyoon simply smiled in response to the teasing remark.
“Oh, Reporter Ha, are you really packing up your things?”
“Has it really been that long already? You’ve worked hard, Reporter Ha.”
With the two of them starting, people soon began to gather around. They each expressed their regret at his departure and wished him well in his future endeavors. He felt a sense of ease that belied his previous awkwardness around them.
“Looks like we’ll be having a farewell party today.”
“No, Reporter Ha has a hospital appointment today.”
“Then when should we have it?”
“We’ll have to schedule it soon.”
Feeling slightly awkward, Ha Joyoon took a step back, hands clasped behind his back, a silent smile on his face.
In the past, people other than his family and Kang Taejung had been a source of discomfort and difficulty. He’d been self-conscious about his awkwardness, his inability to fit in, and he’d wanted to avoid the attention, both positive and negative, that he attracted. It had mostly been the skewed attention of his peers, who had found him somewhat peculiar, but both then and now, he was clumsy and inept at expressing his feelings to others.
His avoidance had become a chain reaction, eventually extinguishing his desire to form any meaningful relationships. But even so, the solitude he’d chosen wasn’t enjoyable. He might have been lacking, but he was lonely. He might have been inadequate, but he yearned for connection.
Photography had been Ha Joyoon’s only way of communicating with the world. He struggled to articulate the complex thoughts that filled his mind, but through the lens, he could effectively convey his inner world, his values, to others. Photography wasn’t simply about capturing and developing images; it was his voice. That’s why he couldn’t give it up.
“It would be nice if you could say goodbye to the director.”
The editor’s words, spoken amidst his swirling thoughts, caught his attention. He involuntarily glanced towards the director’s office. He suspected that, subconsciously, the director was the person he most wanted to see.
“It’s not like you’re never coming back… You’ll have to come back to say hello.”
“Yes, he’ll be happy to see you.”
Joyoon silently bid farewell to the empty office. The regret he felt, the wish that he could have seen the director one last time, was his alone to bear.
He thought of Christmas Eve, the day it snowed so heavily. He had contacted Shin Kwonjoo that morning, but the response had been cold.
‘Sunbae-nim, I apologize for what happened that night. If you’re free, I’d like to…’
‘I thought we’d reached a conclusion. Is there any reason for me to meet with you, Ha Joyoon-ssi?’
Joyoon remembered Kwonjoo’s last words that night, how he’d said there were things he couldn’t say anywhere else. He’d considered the possibility that Kwonjoo had made a difficult decision to come see him, but the phone call had confirmed that such a thought was nothing more than his own wishful thinking. Unable to speak, he’d simply accepted Kwonjoo’s response in silence.
‘…I understand. I’m truly sorry.’
A suffocating silence followed his words, but neither of them spoke. Joyoon had been the one to hang up first. And neither of them had contacted each other since.
The gaping hole in his heart was cold and desolate, but that, too, was a pain he had to bear. He knew it was pointless to wish for another conversation. Pushing aside the emotions that had intruded upon him like a trespasser, Ha Joyoon silently shouldered his burden, as he always did.
“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”
Nam Hyunwoo, who had followed him to the elevator, asked again. Ha Joyoon, holding the box, chuckled and shook his head.
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t be so cold, it’s your last day.”
“I’ll be back for the farewell party, so what’s the big deal?”
Just then, the elevator arrived with a ding. Hyunwoo pressed the button, still looking reluctant to let him go.
“I’ll be in touch. Let’s have a drink with the editor-in-chief. And you have to give me your wedding invitation. I’m going to milk this.”
“Ha ha ha.”
Joyoon laughed at Hyunwoo’s playful gesture, mimicking a phone call. Only after receiving a firm promise to stay in touch did Hyunwoo finally release the elevator button. His farewell, a cheerful “Take care,” vanished as the doors closed.
Alone in the small, enclosed space, Joyoon stood there, lost in thought, reflecting on the past.