After dinner time passed, the café grew crowded. Haon returned to the hospital room after returning his barely touched coffee to the counter.
Inho was still fast asleep. There was not the slightest sign of him waking.
Creak. Sitting down on the metal chair, Haon quietly gazed at Inho’s profile. Now that he looked closer, Inho appeared even more gaunt. His jawline had sharpened drastically, and faint shadows had formed beneath his eyes. Even his lips, which had always carried a soft reddish hue, had lost their color. Before he had gone to the café, Inho hadn’t seemed this sick.
Just a short absence, and yet his complexion looked so different. It couldn’t have changed in such a brief moment. It was simply that his own dull senses had failed to notice before.
While Inho had been wasting away like this, Haon had been steadily regaining his strength, gaining weight and growing healthier. The only one improving was himself. Without realizing that one side was festering, he had naively basked in a peace that belonged to him alone.
Haon blankly took in Inho’s figure, the exhaustion plain to see even at a glance. His palms, resting on his knees, were still damp. As if he had been holding a sweating water bottle, beads of sweat had gathered in his hands.
Rubbing his wet palms against his thighs, Haon looked back down at Inho. The surroundings were oppressively quiet. It felt as though even the sound of steady breathing was absent.
Haon moved closer to the bed, leaned forward, and pressed his ear to the left side of Inho’s chest. Thankfully, Inho’s heart was still beating with a steady rhythm. When he listened more closely, he could also hear the sound of his breathing.
Matching the timing of Inho’s exhalations, Haon gently straightened out the blanket that had become disheveled because of him. Then, he laid his lips softly over Inho’s dry ones.
After a silent kiss, he rested his cheek against Inho’s pale neck. His body felt even cooler than before.
“Inho-ssi,” he whispered, pulling the blanket higher to cover Inho up to his chin.
“I’ll just go home for a little while.”
He said he would change his clothes and bring an outfit for Inho to wear when he was discharged. As always, Haon quietly accepted the lack of response, pressing a kiss to Inho’s neck as well.
“Don’t be alarmed if you wake up and I’m not here.”
The cold, heavy silence pressed down hard on Haon’s heart.
After checking Inho’s heartbeat one last time, Haon stood up. Instead of leaving right away, he picked up a notepad and pen that were placed on the low side table near the bed.
He intended to leave a note explaining he had stepped out for a moment, so that if Inho woke up alone, he wouldn’t be startled.
The moment the pen tip touched the thin notepad, he froze. Haon’s brown eyes began to tremble slightly.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Haon looked at Inho once more, then pressed each letter onto the paper carefully, deliberately. The memories of childhood that brushed through his mind were quietly hidden within the written words.
***
As soon as Haon got into the taxi, he fell asleep as if he’d passed out. After giving the driver the address and leaning against the dark window, he was quickly overtaken by deep sleep.
The taxi driver, checking on him through the rearview mirror, drove more carefully than usual. The kid looked so young, like a student, yet his hollow face seemed as weary as that of an old man who had lived a long, hard life. Seeing him come from a major hospital, the driver figured he must have a heavy story behind him, and a pang of sympathy stirred in his heart.
When Haon buried his face in his palms before dozing off, the driver thought he might burst into tears. But Haon only dragged his hands down his face without crying. Judging by the redness around his eyes, he had probably cried plenty already.
“We’ve arrived,” the driver said, glancing back at the rear seat while gently bringing the car to a stop.
Surprisingly, Haon’s deeply sleeping face stirred almost immediately, and he opened his eyes.
“Thank you,” Haon said, bowing his head politely as he took back the card he had used to pay the fare.
Yet he didn’t get out of the taxi right away; he hesitated for a moment.
“Um… sir,” he spoke carefully, and the driver, who had been watching him closely, asked what was wrong.
Haon opened his mouth slightly, then suddenly gave the address of his rural hometown.
“I was wondering… is it possible to get there by taxi?”
The driver clicked his tongue and tilted his head thoughtfully, then entered the address into the navigation system.
“Ah, that’s way too far. You should take the train. Almost no taxis go that far down.”
As if he had expected that answer, Haon only offered a dry thanks for checking.
Even after Haon stepped out, the driver didn’t immediately pull away. He watched Haon’s figure walk off slowly, shuffling down the street.
If he happened to collapse, the driver was ready to take him back to the hospital. That was how bad Haon’s condition looked.
However, contrary to the driver’s concern, Haon managed to walk all the way to the elevator without stumbling once. His stomach ached a little, but he wasn’t dizzy or nauseous.
Haon told himself he was fine. He tried to believe it.
“Hello,” came a sudden voice.
While waiting for the elevator, a small child approached him and gave a polite bow.
The mother, holding the child’s hand, also gave Haon a nod of greeting.
Following the child’s example, Haon gave a small bow of his upper body in return.
With a cheerful ding, the elevator doors opened. Listening to the child chirping like a sparrow, Haon stepped inside.
“Mom, when’s Grandma coming?” the child asked.
“She’ll be here around lunchtime tomorrow,” the mother replied.
“Not today?” the child whined, sounding disappointed.
Pouting like a little fish, the child’s antics drew a small, helpless smile from Haon.
Looking at the child, who scrunched up his face as if he couldn’t wait to see his grandmother, Haon could tell he had grown up surrounded by love. His clothes and shoes were all clean and well-kept.
It looked luxurious.
The child, locking eyes with the smiling Haon, quickly pressed closer against his mother’s leg. After stealing a curious glance up at Haon, the child followed his mother and stepped out of the elevator first.
Bye.
This time, Haon was the one to wave first. He mouthed the words just for the child, who had been staring at him intently. The child, his eyes wide, eagerly waved back at Haon.
After entering the house, Haon headed straight to Inho’s bedroom. Relying on the sensor lights, he climbed the long staircase step by step, leaning his weight against the railing.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the bedroom, which was already ajar, and instantly, the chaotic traces of last night flooded into view.
Dried blood was crusted onto the dented wallpaper. The overturned nightstand and broken lamp bore dark, brownish-red stains. The bedding was no exception.
Haon took it all in, imprinting each detail into his mind, then quickly began cleaning up.
He bundled the bloodstained blanket together with the shattered lamp and broken lightbulb, tucking them away in a corner. He set the nightstand upright and rubbed the punctured wall with a towel soaked in water.
The red bloodstains refused to come off easily. After scrubbing for a long while, a sudden dizzy spell hit him.
Haon swallowed a sigh and leaned against the nightstand to steady himself—only for it to topple over with a loud crash.
Apparently, one of its legs had been broken; even the slightest pressure had caused it to collapse.
As he moved to right the nightstand again, his gaze was drawn to the bottom drawer, which had been left ajar. From inside, he heard the sound of a plastic container rolling around.
Compelled by the sound, Haon opened the drawer as if drawn by some invisible force.
Inside, he found a pile of medicine bottles—easily as many as had been in the car’s console box, if not more. If anything, there seemed to be even more.
As expected, the labels were all in English. Haon picked up each bottle and checked the contents. Some were completely empty, others half-filled.
There were already far too many, but somehow, he had the ominous feeling there might be even more hidden away.
He opened every drawer, searching deeper into Inho’s hidden world that he had never truly known before. But the medicines were only in that bottom drawer of the nightstand.
‘Was this really all?’
Haon scanned the wide bedroom and slowly pushed himself up, bracing on his knees. He opened the wardrobe, which held his own pajamas along with Inho’s clothes, and checked under the bed, inspecting every nook and cranny.
But just like Inho’s outward appearance, the room was immaculate. There wasn’t really anywhere to hide anything.
Inho had never brought much furniture into the house. Before, it had seemed clean and sophisticated. Now, it just felt barren.
As Haon looked around, a deep loneliness pressed in on him.
In just a single day, everything in the house seemed different.
Rubbing his throbbing forehead, Haon leaned against the wall for a moment. Catching the smell of sweat from his body, he briefly debated whether he should take a shower.
But the thought that he needed to get back to the hospital quickly made him opt to simply change his clothes.
He carefully folded the bloodstained clothes and placed them into the laundry basket behind the bathroom door.
As he did, his gaze was drawn—almost involuntarily—to the large mirror above the sink.
In the spotless mirror, without even a trace of a water stain, Haon’s reflection appeared. His face, drained of all color, carried no emotion whatsoever. It was an expression unreadable, impossible to guess what he was thinking.
Haon reached a hand toward the mirror.
Gripping the sharply angled edge, he applied a bit of pressure, and the sliding cabinet opened effortlessly.
Inside, there were far more medicine bottles than what he had found in the console box and the nightstand combined. Seeing this, Haon silently pressed his gaping lips closed.
