Chapter 33
Michael opened his eyes. Lying still in the dark room, he blinked several times, then smiled as if pleased. With short, slender legs, he struggled to climb down from the bed and touched the curtain, revealing a glimpse of the pre-dawn sky.
Gazing blankly around, Michael suddenly lowered his head to look down at the backyard. Marsha, who was dragging a blood-soaked man, seemed to sense his gaze and slightly raised her head, meeting Michael’s eyes.
The blood-stained ground formed a curve. Alert crows had already gathered around, cawing. Michael took his hand off the curtain and flopped back onto the bed. Then, after blinking a few more times, he stood in front of the door with light footsteps.
As he was going down the stairs, Marsha opened the front door and came in. She was hastily wiping her blood-stained hands with a handkerchief. Michael, who’d been observing her closely, suddenly turned his head away. Marsha followed him into the kitchen.
“You look happy.”
Marsha said casually to Michael, who was sitting properly at the dining table.
“I had a fun dream.”
“What kind of dream?”
“A dream where Marsha smiled.”
Marsha, who was taking out a plastic-wrapped salad plate from the refrigerator, turned to look at Michael. Judging by the slight dilation of her otherwise expressionless eyes, she seemed surprised by his words.
She made no particular response. The change in her expression was only momentary—Marsha quickly returned to her usual blank face and unwrapped the plastic. Michael, who’d been playfully shaking the fork and spoon on the table, looked at the salad plate placed in front of him and said:
“I don’t like salad.”
“Then?”
“Chocolate cake.”
“Eat this.”
“Why?”
“Diet control.”
“But why?”
Marsha pondered her next answer as she washed her hands at the sink.
“So you can grow taller.”
Marsha shook her hands dry and pointed up and down at Michael with her finger. Her gaze fixed on Michael’s small feet that almost, but didn’t quite, touch the floor. Following her gaze to look at his own feet, Michael, with an indifferent expression, pierced a cherry tomato with his fork.
“Then give me cocoa at least.”
Michael said while chewing. After thinking for a moment, Marsha nodded.
“Did you know?”
As Marsha placed a cup of cocoa filled with marshmallows in front of Michael, he spoke in a casual tone.
“Actually, Hunter hates sweet things.”
Michael cupped the cocoa mug tightly. His broadly smiling lips looked mischievous.
Marsha glanced once at the cocoa cup and once at Michael, then looked away. Copycat, Michael murmured in a voice tinged with amusement. Marsha looked at Michael once more. Her gaze turned sharp.
Knock knock—
Two clean knocks sounded. Marsha and Michael froze and looked at the front door. A strange silence hung for a moment. There were no more knocks.
Marsha fingered the gun tucked at her waist. Michael shook his head at her. No, don’t. Rising from his seat, Michael scampered to stand in front of the door. Seeing Michael with a flushed face and bright smile, Marsha obediently removed her hand from the gun.
“Choi!”
When he flung the door open, Hyungoh was standing there lifelessly. Momentarily staggering from Michael’s sudden embrace, Hyungoh raised his head. His face was deathly pale.
“Welcome, Choi.”
Hyungoh showed a dumbfounded expression at Michael’s complete lack of surprise at his sudden early morning visit. Michael grabbed Hyungoh’s hand, which was hanging limply as if his soul had left his body, and pulled him into the house, smiling broadly once more.
Hyungoh opened his mouth but promptly closed it again. Michael’s innocent face looking up at him with an expression of knowing nothing seemed utterly out of place.
Hyungoh listlessly followed as Michael pulled his hand and entered the room. There was no particular reason to resist, and above all, he didn’t want to use any more energy.
The wrist that Hunter had been gripping still throbbed. It was still a mystery how such strength could come from his somewhat skinny body. Hyungoh had struggled with all his might to escape from him. The sight of Hunter following Hyungoh as he tried to flee, staggering drunkenly, was like a hideous zombie—it made it all the more impossible to keep his composure.
“Sit here, Choi.”
Michael, who’d entered the room, plopped down on the bed and patted the spot next to him. Hyungoh sat beside him without a word. Michael seemed determined not to say anything until Hyungoh spoke first, as he just sat there silently, blinking his eyes.
Hyungoh stared blankly at the pure white wall in front of him. Why did I come here?
After fleeing from Hunter’s place, his feet wandered aimlessly for a while before instinctively choosing Michael’s house as their destination. If his intention had been to seek help from his uncle who’d turned violent from drinking, it would have been faster to go to Theo, who lived right next door.
Why did he come to Michael, of all people? Hyungoh stared at Michael’s profile as he wiggled his toes and softly hummed.
“…Michael.”
“Yes, Choi.”
As soon as Hyungoh opened his mouth, Michael promptly responded as if he’d been waiting. Hyungoh gulped at Michael’s sparkling eyes.
“You knew, didn’t you?”
“Knew what?”
“That my uncle…”
Hyungoh couldn’t finish his sentence and closed his mouth. This is awkward. The corner of his eye twitched.
“Yes. Hunter loves Maria.”
Michael said with a smile.
“How did you know that?”
“Well…”
“Because you’re god?”
The sarcastic tone came out unknowingly. Feeling a pang of regret, he glanced at Michael, who was looking at him with his smile completely erased.
Hyungoh gripped the bed sheet tightly. Stop looking at me like that. I’m struggling too.
An ugly truth. It was literally an ugly truth. The confusion that came over him the moment he heard Hunter’s confession soon turned into shock, and that shock turned into lethargy that tormented him. He despaired at himself for having forgotten even his mother’s name, and felt frustrated at the thought that those missing pieces of memory could be the most important clues right now.
Everything’s a mess. Hyungoh squeezed his eyes shut.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“You wouldn’t have believed me, Choi.”
“How do you know that? I…”
“I can tell. You wouldn’t have believed me.”
“What? When did I ever… Haah.”
Hyungoh bent forward and covered his head with both arms. I’m annoyed. Today of all days, I don’t want to have this meaningless argument.
“Humans who receive a lot of love naturally shine from within.”
Michael suddenly gazed into the empty space.
“But the more love they receive, the more that light begins to consume their outer form, melting it away until it’s unrecognizable, and eventually, just a tiny, meaningless light wanders around, desperately trying to illuminate its own existence.”
In the end, even that light will wither and disappear, Michael added. His calmly resonating voice was dreamlike, like ripples awakening a still lake.
“What does that mean?”
Hyungoh frowned at the somewhat abrupt words.
“You know, love is ultimately just another form of desire, but I don’t understand why everyone thinks of it so grandly. Cherishing, possessing, caring, monopolizing, obsessing, being jealous…”
Michael, who’d been speaking methodically, suddenly tilted his head.
“I see. Perhaps Hunter loved Maria’s light.”
“…”
“Well, in any case, that light belonged to Maria.”
Hyungoh raised his head at Michael’s meaningful monologue. Michael wiped away the sweat flowing down Hyungoh’s cheek with his finger and continued.
“Choi. Why are you angry?”
Michael’s arm wrapped around Hyungoh’s neck like a snake’s tail. His warm cheek touched Hyungoh’s cool nape.
Hyungoh gulped. The atmosphere had suddenly changed. An atmosphere both strange and familiar. Stable but dangerous. His instinct was rejecting with all its might the desire to lean in, insisting that he absolutely must not lean on Michael.
No, he had to reject it.
“There’s too much I don’t know.”
Hyungoh slowly blinked his eyes. Michael’s hair tickled the bridge of his nose.
“It’s frustrating, and my head hurts…”
Hyungoh couldn’t continue. A large lump was stuck in his throat, making it impossible to make a sound.
He buried his forehead against Michael’s seemingly frail chest. The feeling of being cornered. Everything seemed dark. I can’t handle this alone. Hyungoh’s arms wrapped around Michael’s back.
“Help me.”
Michael.
Michael stroked Hyungoh’s nape. Hyungoh desperately gripped Michael’s clothes, receiving no answer.
Moving gently, Michael faced Hyungoh head-on. They were so close they could feel each other’s breath. Michael soon smiled. His blue-pupiled eyes were half-closed as he gazed at Hyungoh.
A pure smile. Hyungoh tried to lift the corners of his mouth to mimic him but stopped. He met his own reflection in Michael’s transparent eyes. I’ve been looking at Michael with such a ridiculous face. Quickly coming to his senses, Hyungoh examined Michael’s expression again.
He was still smiling, no different from before. But somehow, he looked different. His clear blue eyes, distinctly looking down at Hyungoh, seemed to hold his inner thoughts privately.
A hypocritical smile and satisfied eyes. In response to Hyungoh’s cry for help, Michael seemed to be saying:
I’ve been waiting for those words.
