So in the end, the only second-best option he’d settled on was that. …When he missed him, when he’d held out as long as he could and couldn’t stand the not-knowing anymore, he would secretly go to see him every now and then. Feeling like he could only breathe again if he at least saw his face, he would watch from a distance and then turn away alone — he’d already lost count of how many times he’d done it. Too many to tally.
But of all things, not only had he been caught — he’d gone and fallen flat on his back right there in the process. Haejeong glared at his scraped palm with a furious expression and raked his hands through his hair in irritation.
Had he recognized him? It seemed like he had. It had been far enough away that you could barely make out a face. But even from that distance, it felt like their eyes had met — and Haejeong, like a thief with a guilty conscience, had stumbled backward trying to flee and ended up face-first on the ground. Him. Of all people, Yeon Haejeong.
“God damn it…. What a mess.”
The embarrassment shot heat straight to his head and he muttered under his breath, full of grievance. He smacked the innocent sofa repeatedly, taking out the frustration burning in his chest. Though only for a moment. Haejeong flopped face-down on the sofa, still in his mud-soaked clothes. Then, with a somewhat blank expression, he stared quietly at the black sheets of rain lashing against the window.
Even through the downpour that fell as if it couldn’t tolerate a single speck of dust, Munyeong’s image was vivid in his eyes — as if lit up by a spotlight. So vivid he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Just as he always did, he was working diligently with his composed face. He’d been on his feet for hours without a break and yet showed no sign of fatigue. No matter how irritably a customer snapped at him, Im Munyeong always bowed the same way, with the same practiced ease. As though lowering himself was something he was far too accustomed to.
Each and every one of those moments seeped into his eyes and hollowed something out in his chest. He shouldn’t have to be treated like that. I could make sure he never is. Why is he standing there like that. He could have everything, living well within his world.
He’s mine.
That same thought kept looping through his head, and he wanted to stride over right then, grab him by the wrist, and drag him out. Every single time he went to see Im Munyeong, that urge repeated itself dozens, hundreds of times — and the fact that he still couldn’t bring himself to act on it was so maddening that he spent every night drowning it in alcohol. Alcohol, cigarettes, even marijuana he rarely touched — he lived in ruin, reaching for all of it. Without that, he felt like he wouldn’t be able to suppress the urge, so he lived morning, noon, and night all the same as darkness.
Mine. Mine. He’s mine. He’s mine. Mine. Mine. Damn it, he’s mine. The same words churned and cycled through his mind on endless repeat. Like someone who had gone mad, if anyone could see inside.
Haejeong lay in the darkness, listening to the sound of rain, his gaze fixed on the droplets clinging to the window. He hated that he had to keep watching from a distance like this. And as if to reflect the wretchedness of that feeling, the apartment was an absolute disaster. The glass table was in pieces. The whisky and brandy that had been in the display cabinet were all empty bottles scattered across the floor. And that wasn’t all — the potted plants placed throughout the apartment for decoration had all been smashed, soil scattered and spread across the floor, and the artworks that had hung on the walls were either broken or torn. It was a complete ruin, as though a typhoon had swept through.
And lying in the middle of it like a corpse, Haejeong was no different. There wasn’t a trace left of the man who had lived and died by his image and his edge. He looked like a complete wreck — like someone who had given up on everything, who had let himself go entirely.
In the empty space where all that could be heard was the sound of rain, a vibration rang out loudly. It was so quiet that the vibration rang through it as clearly as a thunderclap. The repeated vibration finally went silent after a long while. Haejeong didn’t so much as twitch, whether he heard it or not. He was visibly sunken — past gloomy, past downcast, into something darker entirely.
Rrrr.
But the vibration that had stopped started up again. Haejeong ignoring it seemed persistent enough, but the vibration that refused to stop was just as persistent. Haejeong turned a sharp glare toward the direction of the buzzing, like someone being disturbed from something important. Then he sluggishly pushed himself up and pulled his phone out from inside his soaked jacket. The sheer stubbornness of it made him figure someone in the family must have died.
“What.”
He answered without even checking who it was — recklessly, carelessly — and he looked profoundly depleted and listless. A low current of irritation was already running underneath everything.
— Why? Whyyy?!
Unlike the languid Haejeong, the person on the other end was wound up with agitation. Haejeong, however, didn’t react at all.
— Why won’t you answer your phone! Are you actually insane?!
The person on the other end of the call was none other than Yeon Juhyeok. Yeon Juhyeok’s reaction — more worked up than Haejeong had ever heard him — wasn’t strange at all. Haejeong had already been absent without notice for an entire month. He’d stopped coming into the company as deliberately as if staging a protest. He had absolutely no intention of doing a single thing that would benefit his mother. If he couldn’t kill her or beat her, he intended to deploy every other means available.
“If that’s all you’ve got to say, I’m hanging up.”
Haejeong shot back, merciless, without a single flicker of damage on his face. The company and all the rest of it meant nothing. It wasn’t like he was going to inherit it, it wasn’t like the company would collapse if he didn’t show up, and there had never been a reason or any satisfaction in going to begin with. There was no purpose whatsoever. The only reason he’d ever managed to show up with any regularity was because running into Im Munyeong at the company had been interesting — and later on, because he’d genuinely enjoyed it. Now that he thought about it, that was the only reason and the only purpose there had ever been.
— Does it make sense to disappear for a whole month?! Do you even know how much talk there is inside the company right now?!
“Let them talk.”
— And didn’t I tell you to watch your behavior! It’s all about you everywhere. You! Do you have any idea how much Chanyeong and I suffered trying to suppress that footage?!
Yeon Juhyeok, unable to hide the agitation that seemed to flare even higher at Haejeong’s composed non-reaction, let it all spill out. Only the one listening remained calm.
“So what do you want me to do about it. Go drop to my knees?”
It was turning his stomach, and having to sit here listening to this nagging on top of it felt like a complete waste. He needed a method. How to get back to… how he could get back to Im Munyeong. Whether he could turn things back.
— ……You’re really not right in the head, are you.
Haejeong didn’t even listen, tipping his head back listlessly. He was clearly somewhere else entirely.
— You’re really okay with getting fired?
At the counter question, Haejeong let out a sigh laced with irritation and snapped back.
“Do whatever the hell you want. Stop pestering me.”
Haejeong vented his temper at the wrong target and hung up. And just as he let out a deep sigh as though everything was too much of a bother, the vibration rang out again. Infuriatingly persistent. Haejeong scrunched his face with every ounce of displeasure and picked up again.
“What, what the hell do you want now!”
He was already seething, already furious enough to lose his mind, already drowning in a rage that wouldn’t let up.
— …Is this about that person?
“…….”
— I heard everything from Mother.
“Don’t you dare call her that. If you’re going to bring that woman up, I’m hanging up.”
— She was a bit petty about it, but the approach wasn’t wrong. It doesn’t make sense to begin with. A janitor? Haejeong. No matter how immature you are—
“If you’re going to run your mouth without knowing anything, I said hang up. Hang up!”
The veins at Haejeong’s temples began to flush red one by one. His voice only rose higher with the bottomless, directionless fury. But the person on the other end responded as calmly as they could manage.
— ……Ha. Just come out for now. Father is really worried about you.
Yeon Juhyeok set the anger aside for the moment and continued, his tone shifting to the patient coaxing of someone trying to talk sense into a younger sibling who had lost the plot.
— You know there’s a family gathering this week. It’s the anniversary of our uncle’s passing. All the relatives and cousins will be there, so stop by even just for a little while.
At that, Haejeong’s eyes narrowed slightly.
— I know you’re frustrated and furious, but staging a protest like this isn’t going to fix anything. Do you still think you’re a teenager or in your twenties?
“…Everyone’s going to be there?”
Haejeong’s eyes opened with a meaningful weight as he asked quietly.
— Yes. Just come and sit down with the family over a meal and talk it out properly. Properly.
“…….”
— If you keep living like a recluse, Father might come find you himself. Show up before that happens. He’s someone who kept saying let’s wait and see even while watching you fall apart at work like that. You know how much Father cares about you, don’t you?
Haejeong was only half-listening to Juhyeok’s long stream of nagging, his mind somewhere else entirely. And then, slowly, the corners of his mouth curved upward at an angle.
“…Fine.”
— ……Fine?
“Yeah. I’ll go.”
— …Really?
He had apparently expected Haejeong to dig his heels in and refuse — Juhyeok asked again, caught off guard.
“Send me the address, date, and time. I’ll be there.”
Haejeong dropped what he had to say and hung up without ceremony. Then he rolled his tongue along the inside of his mouth, draped his arm over the back of the sofa, and tapped his fingertips against it at a steady rhythm.
With eyes sharpened by a resolve that left no doubt as to what he was thinking, he turned his gaze back to the rain-streaked window and ground his teeth quietly. He had to do something. To make it easier for Munyeong to come back. So he could come back. So things could be turned around — he had to do something. He had to be the one to pave and polish the road home, to make it even just a little easier to return to him.
