Haon stood frozen in front of the massive display cabinet, peering closely at each and every frame.
Inside the eight small picture frames were portraits of a young child with a small build. They weren’t group photos taken with others, but solo shots.
At first glance from afar, he’d assumed they were childhood photos of the man. But upon closer inspection, he realized the framed pictures were of children the man was sponsoring. Kids with dark skin and clear, shining eyes. Having seen similar public service ads encouraging sponsorships on TV, Haon immediately recognized what kind of photos they were.
Some of the kids squinted as if the sunlight was too bright, while others had radiant smiles so pure it was easy to imagine the sound of their laughter. On the shelf where the frames were placed, there was also an album embossed with the logo of the sponsoring foundation. It was slightly ajar. Unable to resist his curiosity, Haon carefully flipped open just the first page. Inside were updated pictures of the same children, now older.
It looked like the foundation sent new photos each year as the kids grew up. And the man kept them all, neatly preserved in the album. Sponsoring as many as eight children was admirable enough, but it was the care with which he stored their pictures that left Haon truly moved.
He felt it often, but today especially—this man was truly a good person.
Haon gently wiped the dust from around the frames once again, locking eyes with each child in the photos. How’s the weather over there? I hope it’s not too hot. He spoke to them silently in his mind, a somber expression on his face.
Even after deciding to live in the man’s home, that lingering sense of confusion hadn’t completely gone away. Even while carrying over his things from the goshiwon, he had kept sneaking glances at the man, wondering for a long time if it was really okay for things to be like this.
Just how much does he like helping people that he’s willing to go this far? He couldn’t begin to understand why someone would be willing to take care of even his shameful heat cycles.
But not anymore.
Looking at these picture frames, the tangled emotions in one corner of his heart slowly began to untangle. It felt like, to the man’s eyes, there wasn’t much difference between the children in the frames and himself. The kindness he was receiving was just that—pure kindness.
After glancing around the house again, still unable to fully adjust to how spacious it was, he thought to himself: Someday, I want to donate too, and help people who are struggling.
Haon wanted to become like the man. A wonderful adult, someone who could repay the kindness he had received, no matter what it took. He wasn’t sure yet what exactly he could do for him—but whatever it was, he wanted to do it all.
Growl.
Startled by the faint sound from his own stomach, Haon dropped the rag in his hand. Rubbing his dry belly with a flustered look, he tried to listen for another sound. Thankfully, his stomach remained quiet.
He bent down and picked up the rag from the floor, letting out a sigh of relief. Even the slightest grumble from his stomach made him react sensitively.
It wasn’t necessarily during a heat cycle that hunger struck. But now, even a hint of an empty stomach left him on edge. Is my heat about to start again? The thought made his mouth go completely dry.
“…Not yet.”
At the very least, things should be fine for the next month. He couldn’t say for certain, but Haon had never experienced a second heat within a single month before. Or had he? Maybe he had.
Letting out a deep breath, Haon closed his eyes and rinsed the rag thoroughly, reassured by the sudden loss of appetite. His hunger had started to stir around dinner time, likely because the meals the man cooked were just too delicious. For Haon, that wasn’t a welcome sign.
Seo Inho, who was desperate to put some weight on him, would’ve been thrilled—but Haon certainly wasn’t. The moment he felt even slightly hungry, his heart would start to race. To avoid that sensation, he always made sure to eat something, even if he wasn’t hungry—usually soy milk. And when even that felt unbearable, he drank water. A lot of it. Enough to make his stomach feel full.
“Oh.”
At that moment, the electronic door lock sounded from the entryway, and the gloom on Haon’s face instantly lit up. After spending the entire day alone in the house, hearing someone else enter was such a relief.
“Welcome home!”
He dashed toward the front entrance, calling out brightly. With the house being so spacious, he worried his small voice might not carry, so he intentionally raised his volume. The man who stepped in through the inner door greeted Haon’s cheerful welcome with his usual gentle smile.
“Yes, I’m home.”
***
Lately, Inho had been in a good mood. Though “lately” only amounted to about a week or so, having this many consecutive days of contentment was a rare occurrence for him.
Had this ever happened before? He tried to think, but nothing came to mind. Probably not—it must be the first time.
Inho’s mood had always been lukewarm. The people and circumstances around him were always intense and sharp, yet Inho himself lived as though submerged in tepid water, indifferent and numb.
Neither hot nor cold—an ambiguous temperature. Except for when he was very young, that had always been the state he existed in.
“Should we stop eating now?”
Inho, who had been enjoying his perfectly cooked pasta, set his fork down not long after with a satisfied look—though the food on his plate hadn’t even gone down by half.
Even though he’d cooked it himself, the steak, pasta, and salad were all flawless. The steak was cooked just right, the pasta was perfectly seasoned, and even the homemade salad dressing was excellent. But the problem lay in the dining companion sitting across from him.
“Are you full…?”
Haon blinked as he chewed the beef—meat that should have melted in his mouth—like it was rubber. He’d only taken a bite-sized portion of pasta, small enough to count the number of noodles. A few chews should have been enough, yet once in Haon’s mouth, the food seemed to swell, stubbornly refusing to go down his throat.
It looked like today wasn’t a good day for eating.
“Yes. I had a late lunch.”
It was a lie. Inho had skipped both breakfast and lunch, looking forward to having dinner with Haon.
Sure, he usually didn’t eat much in the mornings, but skipping lunch had been intentional—so he’d be able to enjoy dinner properly. He thought that if he ate with a hearty appetite, it might encourage Haon to feel hungry too. That was the effort he’d made.
“Haon-ssi, do you want to eat a little more?”
But no matter how deliciously he ate or how perfectly he prepared the food, Haon’s appetite didn’t seem to respond. It was affected solely by his physical condition. Or perhaps by his mood.
“I…”
Haon trailed off, his hand loosening around the fork he’d been holding. His gaze dropped to the beautifully prepared dishes laid out across the table.
“But there’s still a lot of food left.”
“I tasted everything once, so it’s fine.”
Inho figured that if the cook said it was fine, Haon would also set his fork down without worry. But Haon’s response went against Inho’s expectations.
“I’ll finish it and clean up. You should go up and rest.”
“…You’re going to keep eating?”
“Yes, it’s delicious.”
That’s what he said, yet he still hadn’t even swallowed the piece of meat in his mouth. He didn’t have to force himself to eat like this.
“You’ll end up with indigestion.”
Without thinking, Inho picked his fork back up to follow Haon’s lead and took the biggest cut of steak from the platter onto his own plate. His stomach still felt empty, so he could eat more without issue.
“I don’t get indigestion easily.”
He almost added, because I eat slowly, but his voice faltered, like something had caught in his throat. Lowering his head, Haon gulped hard to force down the food stuck midway, and Inho quickly pushed a glass of water closer to him, worried he’d said something distracting while the other was trying so hard to eat.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I think I swallowed it wrong.”
Even after all that chewing, he still had more to go down? Inho gave Haon a worried look, mentally deciding to eliminate steak from future meals.
“I eat kind of slowly,” Haon added, reaching toward the plate again. And of course, since the steak was right in front of him, he went for another piece—despite the struggle he’d just had.
Inho quickly slid the salad plate closer, encouraging him to eat some of that instead. He regretted placing the meat so close to Haon just because he’d been proud of how well it turned out.
I shouldn’t have told him to eat a lot, he thought. What if Haon felt pressured and was forcing himself just to show an empty plate? That concern made Inho glance at the generous portions he’d enthusiastically prepared, letting out a long sigh. Just yesterday, Haon had eaten fairly well, so Inho hadn’t reduced the amount tonight—he’d made exactly two full servings.
“If you’re full, don’t force it. You don’t have to finish everything.”
“But… did you learn to cook?”
Haon asked as he slowly chewed and swallowed a bite of the salmon salad.
“No, I never really took lessons.”
“I just assumed you had.”
“Wow…”
Haon parted his slightly moistened lips and stared at Inho again.
Inho, long used to having others’ gazes linger on his face, accepted the stare in silence. But no matter how accustomed one might be to attention, there were limits—and this was crossing the line. It was awkward, even for him.
“Haon-ssi.”
When the dazed stare stretched on without end, Inho finally broke the silence. He’d received plenty of looks throughout his life, but never from someone who seemed to get lost while just staring at his face.
“What do you think tastes best?”
At first, he’d assumed Haon was just staring intently at his features, but after a moment, he noticed the other’s eyes were slightly unfocused. He seemed to be zoning out in the middle of looking. If you’re going to stare, at least focus properly.
“Of the three, which one do you like the most?”
Inho repeated the question as Haon’s gaze finally sharpened again. After a moment of cautious consideration, Haon pointed at the salmon salad he’d portioned onto his plate. Inho had already guessed the answer based on how Haon was eating.
“Do you normally like salad?”
“I’ve never gone out of my way to buy it, but… it feels easier to eat. And it digests better too.”
So he liked food that was easy to eat and digest. Got it.
It wasn’t surprising, but Inho filed it away in his memory like it was a fresh discovery. He already had a decent grasp of Haon’s personality—now he was starting to learn his preferences, one by one. There was still a lot he didn’t know yet.
“Wanna watch a movie after we eat?”
He was intentionally taking things slow. Making sure not to overwhelm Haon. The younger man was probably already feeling enough pressure—so at the very least, Inho wanted to keep the distance between them gentle and gradual.
They had plenty of time to grow closer, after all. They were going to be living under the same roof for a year and a half.
“Sure. Let’s definitely watch one tonight.”
Haon’s long, often-downturned eyes curved into a lovely smile. Because his mouth was full, he covered it with one hand and let his eyes smile even more—just to make sure it showed.
Watching that, Inho found himself holding his gaze a bit too long, caught off guard by how contagious that expression was. Realizing he’d been staring, he quickly took a sip of water.
“Eat a lot—well, moderately.”
He finished the conversation while clearing away the rest of the steak and pasta. Truthfully, he wanted to keep chatting through the whole meal, about anything and everything. But knowing Haon couldn’t focus on more than one thing at a time, he held back as much as he could.
Once again, Inho realized how much attention was required when spending time with Haon.
He had to adjust portion sizes based on his condition, be careful when speaking during meals since Haon seemed prone to choking, and—since Haon would always say something was fine even when it wasn’t—he needed to read his facial expressions carefully.
He really was someone who required a lot of care.
And yet, strangely enough, Inho never found it tiresome.
Resting his chin on one hand, he hid a soft smile as he secretly watched Haon chewing diligently. Every little act of looking after him brought Inho a curious sense of joy.
He sincerely hoped this interest would last a long time.
