Chapter 8
I was sweeping and cleaning the house when a familiar figure stood beside me, drinking beer. He was the man who had raised me since I was young. My colleagues and I called him Hund—German for “dog.” No one knew his real name, and it seemed even he had forgotten it. At first, I called him Hund, but after learning what it meant, I didn’t want to call him that anymore. Instead, I’d address him vaguely—over there or sorry to bother you—when I needed to speak to him.
“Why don’t you ever go outside?”
“Should I?”
I wiped a stain off the wall as I answered.
“Don’t you have a woman you’re seeing?”
“No.”
“Then what the hell do you do with your life?”
“You’ve been living with me almost 24/7 for years. You never leave the house either.”
He had no response.
At some point, as he aged, he was no longer violent or impulsive. Because of that, I had even less reason to leave his side. Living with him, cleaning up after him, running errands for cigarettes or alcohol, and reading books in my spare time—it wasn’t a bad life. We lived like the dead. He used to torment me in every way possible, but after I turned twenty-five, he stopped even speaking to me. When it was time to eat, he’d take out whatever I had prepared. When the cigarettes or alcohol ran low, I’d restock them. We lived without ever acknowledging each other’s presence.
“Hey.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sick of looking at your face. Get out and live somewhere else.”
“Yes.”
I nodded without argument. He rummaged through a drawer and tossed me a bankbook and a card. When I cautiously opened it, I saw it was an account under my name. I didn’t know when he had opened it for me, and I had even less of an idea why he was giving it to me now. As I stared at him in confusion, he set down his beer and sat on the sofa.
“I’m sick. I don’t have the energy to take care of you anymore. So take this money and go live somewhere else.”
“I see…”
He hated backtalk, so even though I had questions, I just said, “Okay.” Then I packed my things to leave the house. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much that belonged to me. The books, furniture, and other items—none of it was mine. They were all things he had given me. So in the end, I had nothing truly my own.
After I finished packing, I turned to see him watching me.
“Ishen.”
He called my name. I had assumed he had forgotten my real name long ago, but the fact that he still remembered it made me blink in surprise. He seemed like he wanted to say something. But I couldn’t hear what it was. He was growing distant. Ah, it seemed like I was waking up from the dream.
After burying Hund’s body, I turned away. As I boarded the train to Paris, I looked exhausted. Had I really lived with that expression all this time? What kind of person had I been back then? The memory was fading.
“Teo.”
At that moment, it felt like Woosang was calling me from afar—calling the name I had created, as if it had always been mine. I had to go.
***
When I opened my eyes, I was, as expected, in my own room. It had been a long time since I’d dreamed of the past, and my body felt strangely sluggish. I washed my face absentmindedly, then lay back down to stare at the ceiling.
There was a presence beside me.
Startled, I turned my head and saw Woosang lying on the bed, watching me. He was shirtless, just like in my dreams, and his strange gaze swept over me. I reached out to touch his cheek, wondering if I was still dreaming. But the sensation was too real, and I jolted upright in shock.
Woosang sat up slowly, matching my movement. It felt like my breath had stopped. I needed to say something to make sense of this.
“W-Why are you here?”
“Don’t you remember? Last night, we were both so drunk that you told me to stay over.”
Had that happened? I tried to recall the night before, but nothing came to mind. I remembered eating at a restaurant near my place, then going to a bar for a light drink. Woosang, knowing I wasn’t much of a drinker, had insisted I try whiskey. I had a few glasses—more than I ever had before. After that, everything was a blur. I thought Woosang’s gaze had been sharper than usual last night, but I couldn’t tell if that was real or part of the dream.
I vaguely remembered him silently taking my wallet from my pocket and checking my ID.
“Did I… do something wrong? You could’ve slept in the guest room, but I made you sleep here…”
I glanced over Woosang’s body, trying not to be obvious. Fortunately, it didn’t seem like I had done anything to him. But the fact that I couldn’t remember anything at all made me wonder what had happened.
“No, nothing happened. In fact, it was me who insisted on sleeping together when you said you’d take the sofa.”
Woosang got up from the bed and casually headed toward the door. I grabbed a T-shirt from the closet and followed him, handing it over. He smiled lightly, as usual, and put it on.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah, surprisingly fine…”
“Mind if I use the kitchen?”
“Of course not.”
He acted as if he were perfectly at home, filling the coffee pot with water and rummaging through the cabinets. He seemed to know his way around this place—impossible, but I kept wondering if this was still a dream.
Woosang started searching through the kitchen, but since I rarely stocked groceries, the fridge and cabinets were empty. After checking a few times, he opened and closed the fridge repeatedly, looking almost shocked.
“W-What’s wrong?”
“…Hmm.”
When our eyes met, he looked at me suspiciously. I averted my gaze. But soon, he found something—honey—and mixed it into hot water before handing it to me.
“Just honey?”
“Yeah. I always drink hot water with honey the morning after drinking.”
“Oh… I see.”
I took a sip of the warm water he offered. It really did warm me up. He watched me drink, then sipped his own and checked the fridge again, scratching the back of his neck. Even though he was fully dressed, the gesture made it seem like he was trying to seduce me. I felt a pang of embarrassment.
“Looking for something?”
“Breakfast. But all I found was butter and some expired cheese.”
Expired… 12 days ago.
He muttered.
“I usually wake up early and just buy bread for the day… I’ll go get some now.”
“You just eat bread with butter…?”
“No, with honey too.”
Woosang looked utterly shocked as he opened and closed the empty fridge again. Then he went into the bedroom, put on the thin cardigan he had worn yesterday, and said to me:
“Teo, let’s go to the supermarket.”
“Now?”
“Right now.”
His expression was more determined than ever, so I couldn’t ask why. I slipped into my room, grabbed my wallet, changed clothes, and followed him out, my hand holding a shopping basket I’d never used before. I had intended to go empty-handed, but Woosang insisted I bring the basket since we’d be buying a lot. His solemn expression didn’t change until we reached the supermarket.
I wanted to ask about last night, but the timing never felt right. Once we arrived, Woosang took a cart and moved through the supermarket like he’d been there before. I, unfamiliar with the place, just looked around, but he confidently picked items and placed them in the cart.
“What fruits do you like? Apples? Or berries?”
“…Apples.”
He asked about other fruits and vegetables I liked, then added things I hadn’t even mentioned—yet somehow, everything he picked was something I enjoyed. When we reached the salami and ham section, he asked me seriously:
“Do you have a favorite cut or brand?”
“Uh… no. I didn’t even know there were different kinds…”
“…Teo, honestly.”
Woosang seemed shocked again and recommended some brands his French friends liked. After spending an hour shopping, we returned home with our hands full of groceries. Since I didn’t even have basic spices at home, he earnestly picked out a few essentials, explaining how important they were.
Back at the house, Woosang busied himself preparing breakfast and served me a surprisingly elaborate meal.
“You’re a good cook.”
“When I’m home alone, cooking becomes a pretty good hobby.”
Woosang smiled slightly, looking pleased as he watched me eat. After we had eaten a fair amount, he casually asked:
“Teo, are you seeing someone?”
“Huh?”
“Last night, after you fell asleep, you kept calling out for someone named Hund.”
“…Oh.”
So I had called out that name. The fact that he had asked if I was seeing someone was less surprising than the realization that I had said Hund’s name. It had been years since Hund died, and in all that time, I had never once dreamed of the man who raised me. But when Woosang was here, I dreamed of him.
I was too confused to define what Hund had been to me. What had I been to him?
“Hund—that means ‘dog’ in German, right? What a cruel nickname.”
Woosang seemed to know German, so he must have recognized the meaning instantly. He was right—it was a cruel name. Now that I thought about it, if I had to define my relationship with Hund, I had been his dog. A bitter laugh escaped me.
Woosang, seeing my expression, stared at me with an unusually cold gaze, devoid of his usual smile.
“Cruel, isn’t it? After I found out what it meant, I didn’t want to call him that anymore. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that name.”
“…”
“It was the name of the person who raised me.”
“…I see.”
Woosang looked startled and set down the fork he had been holding.
“So… Teo isn’t seeing anyone, right?”
“Huh? No. And lately, I’ve been too busy meeting up with you.”
As I mentioned my recent schedule, Woosang looked momentarily flustered. I wondered if I had said something wrong, but he quickly returned to his usual expression and just nodded.
