As Kang-woo continued speaking in a trembling voice, stumbling over his words, the grip holding his arm suddenly loosened.
Seok-ho stared at him as if startled by something. Kang-woo still couldn’t properly grasp the situation.
Why was he here? How had they ended up meeting on this street? And what did that look in his eyes mean?
He couldn’t understand any of it.
“Why…”
He was about to ask why Seok-ho was looking at him like that, but the words died on his lips. Cold fingertips touched the corner of his eye.
Kang-woo blinked unconsciously.
At the same time, hot tears slid down along the edge of his eyes.
Only then did he realize. He was crying.
Seok-ho’s thick eyebrows twitched. When Kang-woo saw the frighteningly twisted expression on his face, he instinctively averted his gaze. Only then did it occur to him that he must look terrible.
To be seen crying like this—it was embarrassing. Lowering his head, he avoided Seok-ho’s hand.
“I’m okay.”
“Kim Kang-woo.”
The voice calling his name was firm.
“Kim Kang-woo, look at me.”
Kang-woo hesitated, then slowly raised his head.
His mind was still so hazy that he didn’t even notice this was the first time Seok-ho had ever called his name. All he felt was the strange sensation of being endlessly drawn into Seok-ho’s eyes.
Seok-ho stared at him for a moment with an unreadable gaze. Then suddenly, he pulled Kang-woo into a tight embrace.
Kang-woo gasped.
Instinctively, he tried to pull away from the arms around him, but Seok-ho only tightened the arm wrapped around his shoulders.
“It’s okay.”
The hand that had been about to push Seok-ho away froze.
The whispered voice sounded as dry as ever. Yet the hand slowly stroking down his back was endlessly gentle.
He didn’t ask what had happened. There were no probing questions. The rough hand simply continued to rub his back soothingly.
Kang-woo’s wide eyes blinked several times before slowly closing.
The rigid tension that had filled his body drained away all at once. His legs were so weak he could barely remain standing, but Seok-ho firmly supported him by the shoulders.
Kang-woo buried his face against Seok-ho’s broad shoulder.
Thump. Thump.
Through their pressed bodies, he could feel the steady beat of another person’s heart. Warm body heat spread into him as well. Only then did the certainty that he was safe—true relief—wash over him like a wave.
His wandering hands eventually came to rest against Seok-ho’s broad back.
“Hngh…”
A quiet sob slipped from between Kang-woo’s lips. Tears poured out as if a dam had burst. The louder his crying became, the tighter the arms around his shoulders held him.
Kang-woo didn’t try to suppress the sorrow bursting out of him. He poured out everything that had been crushing his heart.
Seok-ho’s solid body felt as though it would block the sound of his crying from reaching anyone else’s ears.
***
In life, Seok-ho had seen countless people cry.
Even in dramas and movies, scenes of people shedding tears from sadness, anger, or joy were everywhere. And in Seok-ho’s far-from-peaceful life, seeing someone’s tears was nothing unusual.
Because of that, he had never been particularly shaken by someone crying.
Even when a lover clung to him on the day they declared their breakup—crying and sniffling while trying to hold onto him—his response had always been the same: indifferent.
But this time was different.
When moisture gathered in Kim Kang-woo’s eyes as he looked at him, Seok-ho felt a strange sensation deep in his chest, like something pricking him again and again.
So he reached out without thinking.
Drip.
The moment his fingertips touched, the tears trembling beneath Kang-woo’s long eyelashes slipped down his cheeks as his eyelids fluttered.
Only then did Kim Kang-woo seem to realize he was crying. Unable to hide his surprise, his shaking gaze soon fled from Seok-ho.
Sniffling softly, Kang-woo said he was fine.
And after that, Seok-ho pulling him into an embrace had been almost instinctive.
It felt like the only thing he could do for Kim Kang-woo, who looked as though he had been cast alone to the end of the world.
It was a feeling he had never experienced before.
Why had Kim Kang-woo’s tears shaken him so deeply?
Even he didn’t know.
When he pulled him firmly into his arms, the faint resistance from the boy’s body slowly faded. Soon Kang-woo leaned fully against him. Two hands pressed weakly against Seok-ho’s back.
Then suddenly—
Seok-ho caught a faint scent drifting into his nose.
A very faint floral fragrance.
Like a flower that should have withered and died, desperately releasing the last trace of its scent to prove it was still alive.
The sound of crying gradually became clearer.
With Kang-woo’s shaking head, soft hair brushed beneath Seok-ho’s chin.
Strangely, despite the situation, Seok-ho felt his mind grow calm. The feeling that had tormented him all day vanished in an instant.
After crying loudly for quite some time, Kang-woo suddenly lost consciousness in Seok-ho’s arms. If Seok-ho hadn’t quickly grabbed his waist as he collapsed, Kang-woo would have slammed straight into the cold ground.
“Kim Kang-woo.”
Seok-ho gripped Kang-woo’s limp shoulders and cupped his cheeks. Through his palms, he could feel the burning heat of Kang-woo’s skin. When he touched his forehead, it was hot with fever.
“Kim Kang-woo, get a hold of yourself. Kim Kang-woo!”
No matter how many times he called his name or patted his cheek, Kang-woo didn’t regain consciousness.
For a brief moment, Seok-ho hesitated.
If someone suddenly collapsed on the street, the obvious thing to do would be call 119. But he couldn’t recklessly take Kang-woo to the hospital. He didn’t know what kind of situation that might lead to.
After a moment’s thought, Seok-ho lifted Kang-woo into his arms and ran toward the officetel.
“Do you think I’m your personal house-call doctor or something?”
Young-wan stepped inside the apartment with undisguised irritation. Seok-ho ignored the complaint entirely and said only what he wanted.
“He suddenly collapsed outside. I think he has a fever. His body’s hot.”
Clicking his tongue, Young-wan took off his shoes.
He was annoyed that a friend who had called him over while he was enjoying his day off at home showed absolutely no sign of apology—but in accordance with the Geneva Declaration, he decided to act professionally.
“Where’s the patient?”
“My room.”
After taking off his shoes, Young-wan followed Seok-ho. When he entered the bedroom, he saw a young man lying across the large bed.
It was a strange and unfamiliar sight.
Someone else in Kwon Seok-ho’s room. And not just anyone—an unconscious man.
(Not even a woman.)
Walking over to the bed, Young-wan examined Kang-woo’s pale face.
“When something like this happens, you’re supposed to call 119. What are you doing bringing him home? What if his condition gets worse?”
“He can’t go to the hospital. It’s not that kind of situation.”
Young-wan glared at Seok-ho with eyes full of questions he clearly wanted to ask. Seok-ho simply furrowed his brow as if telling him to examine the patient first.
Clicking his tongue again in annoyance, Young-wan pulled out a penlight. He shone it into Kang-woo’s eyes to check his pupils. Fortunately, they reacted to the light.
Next he checked the pulse at his neck. The pulse was normal.
“Did he ever mention any medical history?”
“No. Never heard anything like that.”
“What was he doing right before he collapsed?”
“He went out. I don’t know the details. I ran into him outside by chance.”
“Any other symptoms before that?”
Seok-ho thought carefully, retracing his memory.
“I grabbed his shoulder and he started moving like he was having a seizure. It was brief, but he didn’t seem to recognize me. He looked like someone who’d been terrified by something.”
After hearing the explanation, Young-wan didn’t reply and began moving.
He conducted a full physical examination from head to toe. Using a stethoscope, he checked the heart and breathing, and also measured blood pressure.
After carefully assessing Kang-woo’s condition, he set the tools down, cleared his throat, and gave his opinion.
“I can’t say anything definite right now, but judging from the circumstances, it looks like vasovagal syncope.”
“What’s that?”
“Sometimes people faint temporarily when they experience extreme stress, tension, or shock.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“It’s temporary, so you probably don’t need to worry too much. But it could happen again, so you need to take precautions. Make sure he avoids stress, and it’s not good for him to be exposed to high heat for long periods. He should eat breakfast, too. For now, since he has a fever, I’ll give him a fever reducer and an IV. If things get worse, just call 119. Don’t end up holding a funeral in your house for no reason. The most accurate thing is to take him to the hospital for proper tests.”
Speaking bluntly, Young-wan began taking out medical supplies one by one.
Seok-ho stood behind him silently, seemingly lost in thought.
“Don’t just stand there. If you’ve got another pillow, put it under his legs. It’ll help send blood flow to the head.”
At Young-wan’s instruction, Seok-ho finally snapped out of his thoughts and moved.
Meanwhile, Young-wan inserted an IV needle into the back of Kang-woo’s hand and connected the drip.
Young-wan nudged Seok-ho, who was staring quietly at Kang-woo’s face—now looking a little less pale than when he had first collapsed—and gestured toward the outside.
The two quietly left the room, careful not to make noise.
“Sit. Let’s talk.”
Sitting at the dining table, Young-wan pointed to the chair across from him with his chin.
It looked like an interrogation was about to begin. With a displeased expression, Seok-ho sat down opposite him.
“Who is he?”
Just as expected, Young-wan asked immediately.
“A younger guy I know.”
“A younger guy you know?”
Young-wan repeated the words, letting out a disbelieving laugh.
“You’re letting just ‘some guy you know’ stay in your house? You? Someone as picky as you?”
His narrowed eyes studied Seok-ho, as if ready to catch even the smallest physical reaction.
And understandably so. It was completely unbelievable.
Seok-ho hated letting anyone into his personal territory in the first place. And this was the first time Young-wan had ever seen him so shaken because of someone else. The Kwon Seok-ho that Young-wan had known until now was a man so cold it seemed like you could stab him and not a drop of blood would come out. For that kind of person to suddenly call and ask for a personal favor was surprising enough. But the subject of that favor was a young man who still looked barely out of boyhood.
“I can’t even believe you asked me for help because you’re worried about someone else—and you expect me to believe that story? What is this, really? Did you secretly end up with a son while I wasn’t looking?”
“He’s just staying at my place for a while. Don’t ask for details. There’s not much I can tell you.”
Seok-ho drew a firm line. Then he added in a warning tone,
“And don’t let Kwon Cheol-ho hear about this. Not him—and not anyone in that family.”
Young-wan let out a quiet huff through his nose.
Just seeing those two completely mismatched people living under the same roof made it obvious there was a complicated story behind it.
Of course he was curious about the circumstances. But… it was probably better to stop the interrogation here. If the person involved wasn’t willing to talk, there was no need to pry further.
“You think I want to make trouble for myself? If that side hears about it, I’ll get dragged into the questioning too.”
Crossing his arms, Young-wan leaned back against the chair.
Right. This wasn’t really his business. If he got caught between the two of them, he might end up tangled in something even more troublesome.
Choosing practical caution over dangerous curiosity, he shrugged and offered one last piece of advice.
“Anyway, what I did here today barely even counts as a proper examination. Once he wakes up, take him to a hospital.”
After a moment of hesitation, he added, trailing off slightly.
