The night deepened. Seo Inho, who had gone alone to the bathroom, returned and gently wiped down Jung Haon’s body with a damp towel. Lying naked under the covers, Haon had already fallen into an exhausted sleep.
Inho carefully ran the warm towel over Haon’s pale thighs and slender stomach. Watching the slight rise and fall of Haon’s belly with each breath brought a smile to his lips.
After thoroughly wiping the chest, which still bore red bite marks, he pulled a fresh blanket over Haon. As expected, Haon was so deeply asleep that he wouldn’t have noticed even if someone tried to carry him away.
Sitting by Haon’s bedside, Inho gazed down at his porcelain-white face. He found himself thinking that if he could see this face every day, it wouldn’t matter if he never slept again. It was the sort of thought Haon would probably recoil from in disgust if he knew.
Smiling to himself, Inho absentmindedly ran his fingers through Haon’s hair before pressing a firm kiss against his rounded forehead. Then, towel still in hand, he left the room.
After dropping the wet towel off in the laundry room, Inho perched on the edge of the living room sofa. His calm gaze fixed itself on the cityscape outside the window. Despite the late hour, the world outside remained brightly lit.
Seoul, a city packed with towering buildings, never truly went dark—day or night. And yet, while living here, he had never once felt that the world around him was bright. Inho had always been submerged in deep darkness.
He slowly crossed the living room and ascended the tall staircase, step by step. Since returning home, he hadn’t once gone back to his own bedroom. There had been no reason to, not after Haon had moved all their belongings to the lower floor.
Turning the door handle, the closed door opened smoothly. Inho stood just beyond the threshold, surveying the room without stepping inside. Contrary to his memories, everything was neatly arranged. The bedding had been replaced with fresh sheets, and the broken light fixture was gone, presumably discarded.
However, the stains still marring the cracked wall vividly resurrected the memory of that day. Inho stared quietly at the lingering marks and then slowly moved forward, one step at a time.
He walked to the edge of the bed and sat down with the bright city skyline behind him. Keeping his gaze fixed on the damaged wall, he pulled the phone from his pocket.
It was well past midnight, deep into the night. Even so, he didn’t hesitate to make the call. After a long series of ringing tones, the line finally connected. The first thing he heard was a deep, heavy sigh.
– What’s going on?
Jang Eun-young asked in a strained, overly gentle voice, tinged with irritation.
Stretching one arm behind him, Inho got straight to the point.
“I don’t want you looking for me.”
There was a faint sound of slippers dragging across the floor—she must have stepped out of her bedroom. Jang Eun-young’s voice turned sugary sweet.
– Where are you planning to go?
“Far away.”
– Far away where?
“A place where none of you exist.”
A short, sharp laugh came through the phone. It was the kind of laughter that made it clear she wasn’t taking him seriously.
“Yeah. Go cool your head wherever you want.”
She was convinced that Inho would eventually come back. No matter how many tantrums he had thrown, the place he ultimately returned to had always been Korea.
Even while ignoring Jang Eun-young’s calls, he had never changed his number. He hadn’t tried to move away or disappear. Even when he was living in the U.S., where it would’ve been easy to vanish if he wanted, Inho had always stayed somewhere visible to his family.
The reason was simple: he was lonely.
Inho was a child who, even while resenting his family, still craved their attention. That didn’t change even after he grew into an adult. He remained perpetually starved for the very word “family.”
– Are you taking your lover with you?
“I’m not coming back.”
Something in Inho’s steady voice must have tipped her off, because Jang Eun-young fell silent. Even over the phone, it felt like he could hear her wheels turning. Inho gave a short, bitter chuckle and continued.
“If you try to find me, if you come after me, I’ll kill myself on the spot.”
– Seo Inho.
“Don’t test me. You know better than anyone—I’m not afraid of dying.”
It was a lie. Inho no longer wished for death, and he feared it just like anyone else.
“If I die, there won’t be anything left for you to cling to. Isn’t that right?”
Inho smiled languidly, using his own life as leverage to threaten her. It was a tactic that had never worked before. When he was younger, standing at an open window threatening to jump, she hadn’t even blinked.
– Inho, why are you upsetting your mother like this?
But it was different now. He was no longer a worthless existence in her eyes.
– Can you really leave Haon behind and die?
“I’ll just die with him.”
He answered lightly, as if it were no big deal. A sudden tightness at the nape of his neck made his brow twitch. Shaking his head, Inho rose from the bed.
“Wouldn’t it be better if I at least stayed alive? Just leave me alone and pray for Seo Joo-han to awaken instead.”
Relaxing his expression, Inho suddenly made his way toward the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, he habitually opened the sliding cabinet. He wasn’t planning to take any pills. He only wanted to take one last look.
– Let’s meet and talk. Tomorrow, I’ll come to wherever you are.
Inho’s jet-black eyes absentmindedly scanned the inside of the cabinet. A slow, dark smile spread across his lips.
– You don’t want to stay at home, right? Where should we go?
Ignoring the growing urgency in her voice, Inho let his gaze roam over the colorful sheets of origami paper stacked inside, covering the pill bottles.
He laughed aloud, picturing the small, round head that had folded those animal-shaped papers.
There was no one else but Haon who would give him such an adorable gift. It had always been that way, and it always would be.
“Mom,”
Inho said with a blissful smile, his fingers brushing his lips as he gave his final warning.
“If you hit Seo Joo-han one more time, I’ll make sure the whole world finds out you slept with Secretary Jung.”
Jang Eun-young fell silent. She hadn’t expected Inho to have something to hold over her head.
“You should fix that nasty habit before you get any older.”
Inho whispered sweetly, adding that he even had a video. When he casually asked, Should I send it?, the call abruptly disconnected. Jang Eun-young never contacted him again after that.
Inho, staring down at his phone, smiled even brighter. It was because he had locked eyes with the photo displayed on the lock screen.
In the picture, he and Haon were smiling, their fingertips pressed together to form a heart. With a fluttering heart, he quickly hurried back downstairs.
He missed Haon. Even the briefest separation left him parched with longing—to see him, to touch him.
The moment he stepped through the door he had deliberately left ajar, he saw Haon, just waking up and looking around groggily. It seemed Haon had woken because Inho wasn’t beside him. Inho, feeling an overwhelming tenderness toward Haon for noticing his absence, quickly crossed the room.
“Where did you go?”
“Just went to get some water.”
Haon yawned widely, and Inho swept him into a tight embrace, pulling him back down into the bed.
“Sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep.”
“You should sleep too, Inho-ssi.”
Haon, snugly nestled in Inho’s arms, quickly drifted off again. Then, after a moment, his fluttering eyelids opened once more, and he turned to face Inho. He stayed awake, waiting until Inho closed his own eyes.
“Let’s meet in our dreams.”
His drowsy, slurred voice melted through the air. It was so sweet that it made Inho’s chest tighten with affection. Eyes still closed, he pressed soft, continuous kisses to Haon’s face.
If they fell asleep together like this, he really felt like they would meet in their dreams. Clinging to that foolish, tender hope, Inho nuzzled his cheek against Haon’s, breathing in his warm, soft scent. Haon, as if by habit, inhaled Inho’s familiar scent in return.
Together, they surrendered to the deep pull of sleep.
***
It had been back when Inho was living in America.
At the time, he lived each day just barely managing not to die. He couldn’t endure even a few hours without alcohol—he was so far gone that if liquor didn’t touch his lips, he couldn’t even speak properly.
And around him, there were always people just as wasted. That night, like every other, he drank until his body went numb, lost in a crowd of similarly intoxicated souls.
But for some reason, that night, the world around him felt especially vile. So much so that he had to dash to the bathroom and vomit.
He threw up in the stall next to a couple having loud sex with the door wide open, then stumbled out of the club. Normally, he would have kept drinking until the sun came up, but that night, inexplicably, his body moved on its own toward the exit.
Unlike the stifling, heated interior, outside was a cutting winter cold.
Inho wandered the frozen streets without even a coat. Passersby, bundled up in thick coats and scarves, frowned at the sight of him. Some openly shook their heads in disgust.
A heavy stench of alcohol clung to Inho as he staggered down the street. After walking for what felt like forever along the endless stretch of road, he finally collapsed in front of a darkened storefront. His legs gave out beneath him, leaving him unable to take another step.
‘Ah… I’m gonna die.’
His lips, frozen stiff from the cold, trembled violently, causing his voice to shake just as much. His whole body shivered like a leaf clinging to the end of a branch.
A creeping thought struck him—if he stayed like this, he might really die. And he probably would have. The warmth from all the alcohol he had poured into himself had long since been devoured by the merciless winter air.
Blinking at the empty street, Inho slowly closed his eyes. For some reason, a strange sense of peace began to settle over him.
Just before his consciousness faded completely, someone draped a wool scarf around his neck.
Inho managed to crack his eyes open and looked up at the figure standing before him. It was a child—so small, the top of his head didn’t even reach Inho’s waist.
The boy mumbled something as he handed over his own scarf. But Inho’s alcohol-blurred hearing couldn’t make out a word of the angelic child’s voice.
Then the boy turned around. Not far away, his parents stood waiting for him. It seemed the child had gotten their permission to give the scarf to Inho.
They didn’t know who he was, didn’t know what kind of person he might be. Yet that family had chosen to show kindness to a man sprawled out drunk on the street, with no reason, no obligation.
Inho couldn’t tear his gaze away from the retreating figures of the family. The image of the little boy slowly walking away, hands held tightly between his parents’, burned itself into his mind.
‘I want that, too.’
The longing rose up, sudden and sharp.
Maybe it was because of the warmth left behind by the scarf. Inho buried his face into the scarf that smelled faintly of powder and, for the first time, allowed himself to admit it. He wanted a family, too.
Strangely, even as time passed, the warmth embedded in the scarf didn’t fade. The more he clutched it close, the warmer it seemed to grow.
Drawn by that comforting heat, Inho slowly opened his eyes.
“Inho-ssi, you were dreaming, weren’t you?”
There was Haon, greeting him with a bright smile. The warmth from the scarf had been Haon’s touch all along. While Inho had slept, Haon had been playing with his hand, kneading it gently as he watched over him with a clear, tender smile.
The two of them were sitting side by side inside a fast-moving train. They were on their way to Haon’s home.
“Did I snore?”
“No, you were sleep-talking in English.”
Haon crinkled his nose and laughed like a little kid. His excitement was obvious; he had been bouncing with energy since they left the house.
“You’re really good at English, you know.”
Haon’s fascinated reaction made Inho’s smile deepen. A soft flush of excitement still lingered faintly on his face as well.
“What did I say?”
“Uh… English stuff.”
Haon shrugged his shoulders sheepishly, looking embarrassed. He had realized Inho was speaking English but hadn’t understood a single word.
“You were smiling while you talked in English, too.”
Haon asked if Inho had had a good dream. Inho met his eyes and nodded.
“Aren’t you hungry? How much longer do we have?”
“We still have a bit more to go.”
Haon rummaged through the shopping bag at his feet, looking for a snack. Despite promising to live out the rest of their lives in the countryside, they didn’t have much luggage. Just Haon’s old backpack and Inho’s large Boston bag—and plenty of gifts for the villagers.
“Let’s have some cake.”
After checking to make sure the gifts were still safely packed, Haon pulled out a small cake. It was a fresh cream slice they’d bought at a department store. There had been countless extravagant cakes to choose from, but Haon had picked the simplest fresh cream cake. Even when Inho asked if they should buy more, Haon had said this was enough.
While Haon carefully unwrapped the cake, Inho peeled the plastic covering off a fork and waited, his gaze gentle as he watched Haon’s rounded cheeks puff slightly with concentration. Then, cautiously, he spoke up.
“Are you sure you don’t want to see your mother before we go?”
Haon had once mentioned that his mother lived in Seoul, which was part of why he had come to the city. Yet even after deciding to return to the countryside, he hadn’t brought her up once.
“It’s okay now.”
Smiling softly, Haon peeled away the clear plastic film covering the cake’s surface. He didn’t look flustered at all by the sudden question.
Haon had been thinking about his mother too—since the moment he woke up that morning. That was why he’d bought the cake, even though they hadn’t really needed it.
“Give me that, please.”
Reaching out to Inho, Haon took the plastic fork wrapper from him and neatly tucked it into a black trash bag, along with other bits of waste. After glancing once at Inho, Haon pulled an old, worn note from his pocket. He looked at it for a brief moment, along with the cake, before slipping it into the trash bag as well.
“It’s really okay now.”
Haon picked up the fork with a light heart after discarding the note his mother had left behind. It was a scrap of paper he had obsessively checked whenever he could, afraid his forgetful nature would cause him to lose the last trace of his mother. He had lived for so long, anxiously clinging to it.
But not anymore. Now, Haon had chosen to let it go with his own hands—a note that had already been so deeply imprinted on his heart that he no longer needed the physical reminder. He decided to keep it only in his memories from now on.
“Haon-ssi, have some more.”
“No, Inho-ssi, you eat it.”
The two of them playfully bickered over the last bite of cake, insisting the other should have it. In the end, Inho tricked Haon, pretending to eat it himself before sneaking it into Haon’s mouth. Haon lost the battle.
He tried to act angry, but the sweet cream spreading inside his mouth made it impossible. The flavor was too good to pull off a frown. It tasted a hundred—no, a thousand times better than anything he had ever eaten as a child.
Meanwhile, the sun continued to set. The fading glow of the twilight soaked into both Haon and Inho’s faces. Smiling, they lightly teased each other with playful nudges, basking in each other’s warmth.
As evening fell, Inho checked the time and asked if Haon wanted to eat anything else. Shaking his head, Haon leaned lightly against Inho’s shoulder and answered softly.
He wasn’t hungry.
— The End.
