MLCD Chapter 1.5

Before even thinking, Shavonne was already in front of Room 302 when he came to his senses. Anger paralyzed his mind. He didn’t think that was ‘all’. Shavonne knew that Lewellyn was probably a murderer, and he knew that Lewellyn wasn’t reckless enough to commit murder in corridors open to neighbors to see it, such as the ones in the rooms 304, 305 and 306.

The door opened and Lewellyn appeared.

“What happened? I was just about to go to bed.”

He was telling the truth. The time Lewellyn fell asleep was different every day, because only after seeing Shavonne safely returning home to his apartment in Ira through the window did Lewellyn fall asleep. If Shavonne didn’t return home by midnight, Lewellyn would crouch between Room 302 and Room 303 in the hallway of the apartment building and wait for Shavonne or hang around the streets near the apartment building in Ira.

Of course, these are things that Shavonne wouldn’t know.

“I’ll have to turn you down if it’s a good night kiss what you want.”

Lewellyn smiled. Shavonne didn’t at all.

“You’re my stalker, right?”

Notes, juice, living next door. There were plenty of reasons to suspect Lewellyn as his stalker.

“Stalker?”

After the silence, Lewellyn asked back. Lewellyn’s mouth, that was smiling, hardened.

“Yours?”

His eyes became small.

Shavonne’s stalker?

***

Early morning the next day.

“Five rona. Pay in advance.”

Mr. Bacon raised his hand and lifted five fingers. Has replacing a door always been that expensive? Shavonne pulled out his wallet and glanced at Mr Bacon’s face. He had a good impression when asking for advice on poor construction, but now he looked like a swindler who was good at ripping off…

“It’s not a rip-off.”

Mr. Bacon raised his eyebrows. He must have a good eye for noticing it even though Shavonne didn’t mention it. Or maybe Shavonne wasn’t good at hiding his look of doubt. Shavonne shrugged and opened his wallet.

He had only 6 ronas in the wallet. After paying, he would have to hold out with bread and cheap soup for a week or fifteen days, but he had no other choice. A door with a hole. He didn’t want to have the door anymore even for a minute.

“If possible…” said Shavonne, handing over the five rona. “I want a hard door, one where I can’t make a hole.”

Replacing the door was quite a time-consuming task, and as Shavonne guessed, it would take about 30 minutes.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re changing the door?”

Three neighbors passed by like that. Having said that, Mr Bacon was busy with his work. He could ask for some water, some tools, etc., but Mr. Bacon didn’t call Shavonne. He didn’t even look back at him, let alone call.

Shavonne waited for Mr. Bacon’s work to be finished. He wandered around Mr Bacon’s side leaning in the hallway, sitting on the stairs, or looking at Room 302.

Room 302.

Last night came to his mind.

— You’re my stalker, right?

—  Stalker? Yours?

He had said as if he knew nothing about it, and Lewellyn’s firm face was clear.

You didn’t know, or are you just pretending not to? Shavonne frowned.

It’s Lewellyn. It has to be Lewellyn. A murderer and stalker. It’s impossible to say that a murderer wouldn’t stalk. He’s very likely to do it. It is easier for a person with a criminal record to repeat a crime than a person without one. Shavonne’s heart was firmly pointing at him.

— Look.

Shavonne pointed to the door of room 303. To be exact, the hole in the door of room 303.

— Didn’t you do that?

The next moment, Shavonne saw as he looked up at the door of Room 303, a smile over Lewellyn’s face just for a moment. It was clear. He was able to bet all the year’s worth of fees he earned as a ghostwriter that he wasn’t mistaken.

You’re laughing? I’m going to die and you’re laughing? Shavonne snapped back because of a voice as sharp as his face.

— Is it funny?

— Yes. No. Yes.

Yes or no? When Shavonne frowned, Lewellyn finally made up his mind.

— Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so honest I can’t seem to tell a lie.

… So, Lewellyn saw it as a ‘probation’.

When Shavonne was given that answer, he couldn’t hide his expression, and even distorted it even more, wondering what was so funny. He could hardly keep up with Lewellyn’s ‘excellent’ sense of humor. (Though Shavonne didn’t want to.)

— What thing is so funny? A man in his thirties being stalked by an unknown person? That I’m the owner of the house, but I didn’t even know if there was a hole in the door? Or…

‘That I’m interrogating you?’ did not come out of his mouth. This was because Lewellyn might be able to trick him if he revealed the fact that Shavonne was still doubtful.

— It’s not ‘thing’, but ‘things’.

Lewellyn smiled. That’s what it is. Shavonne complained with a sound. – First, there is no way to prove that the stalker in question is me.

It’s not Lewellyn? Of course, it may be a lie, but if it’s not a lie at all, then… I’m totally lost.

Lewellyn kept talking.

— The second is that the Mr. Stalker in question is very… vulgar.

He wished Lewellyn wouldn’t be like that, but he would have been better than someone vulgar if Lewellyn were the stalker. Looking at Lewellyn, Shavonne didn’t know if it was sincerity or provocation, but he thought it succeeded in winning Shavonne’s heart.

— The third… Lewellyn looked around Shavonne. Because you mistook the low stalker for me. Lewellyn’s low-pitched voice sounded hoarse. I’m telling you just in case you don’t know, but I wouldn’t be that obvious. Never.

His lips were smiling. But his eyes weren’t.

— How do I put this… they’re an insignificant moth.

“What are you doing?”

Suddenly, someone’s voice resonated into Shavonne’s mind. Lewellyn standing in front of his eyes faded away, and Lewellyn’s voice faded away too.

Bacon, who was busy replacing the door, looked back at the stairs where a voice was heard with a face that said that the obstruction was somewhat annoying. Shavonne was with him. Mr Bacon could maintain the ‘what’s that?’ look, whereas Shavonne didn’t. Shavonne’s complexion had turned pale.

No way.

“Stop it now!”

It was the head of maintenance. The maintenance officer ousted Mr. Bacon, who said ‘Huh?’ and looked at Shavonne as if asking for clarification.

But there was no explanation that Shavonne could give because it was his fault that he forgot to get permission from the building owner through the management office to see if the door could be replaced. Looking back on the scuffle between the janitor and Shavonne, he would think that Shavonne went ahead with the door change on his own to replace his work. And there’s more.

“The door had some problems, so…”

“Who cares?” The janitor cut Shavonne off. “Is this your building?”

It was a big deal. The janitor’s anger would not calm down. On Ira Street, there was no need to write a written contract when moving in or out as the clauses in the contract were often verbally conveyed. That was the case for Shavonne’s move-in.

Eight years ago, the landlord promised to take responsibility for the tenants’ living conditions. Of course, the ‘residential environment’ also included residential defects that weren’t caused by the tenant, but will the janitor care even if he recalled him the verbal contract? Wouldn’t he think that Shavonne made that up? His head was spinning while thinking, and…

“Answer me. Is this your building?”

“I’m sorry” he said while feeling something stuck in his throat. “I forgot to get permission because I thought I had to replace the door now and couldn’t wait for even a second. I was responsible for it and disposed of it without objection.”

“Move out.”

Shavonne raised his head and looked up at the janitor. His eyes were wide open as if he didn’t believe it. Maybe he didn’t want to see Shavonne’s face, so he made Shavonne caught between a rock and a hard place.

“By midnight. Today.”

Today.

Shavonne has been living in Ira for eight years and was about to be kicked out of the apartment.

He was having a bad day.

At least, Shavonne thought it was fortunate that he was informed of being kicked out in the early morning, not at night. He had time to find a bed, so if he searched throughout the morning and the afternoon, he thought he could find a place to rest.

Thinking that there must be one place for Shavonne when the world is so wide and there are so many people in the world, Shavonne left Bunch at 7:30 a.m. and realized that even if the world was so wide and there were so many people in it, there wasn’t any place for him.

The first place Shavonne went was Dr. Fakwes’ house. Fawkes lived on Redwood Street, which was called the yolk of Bunch. Dr. Fakwes wouldn’t lend him money, but wouldn’t he give Shavonne a bedroom in his mansion?

Even the attic was good if he didn’t want to give him a bedroom. If he didn’t give him the attic, the servants’ room was also good. If not, he would take a closet. He didn’t mind a closet, the basement, or a bed. He liked anywhere but the fireplace.

The Fawkes mansion was a three-floor mansion with dozens of rooms at first glance. He didn’t have to worry about the fireplace, Shavonne was briefly relieved.

Unexpectedly, there was a problem.

“No one?”

There was no one. The butler tried to close the door but Shavonne stopped him.

“When is he coming back?”

“In two weeks. ”

Two weeks?

“Where did he go?”

I went to Bosch’s Chidristadt (*the capital of a neighbor island country) for business.

He was overseas. Dr. Fakwes was the chance Shavonne had to not be homeless on the streets. What a disaster.

The second place he went was the workhouse. “There is no place left.” Shavonne couldn’t hide his bewildered look at what the director of the workhouse said. If he wasn’t accepted even there, then…

The director saw his face. “I’m sorry. Then…”

Shavonne went out of the workhouse empty-handed.**

Shall I sleep on the streets? It’s early February. If the weather is good, I can’t freeze to death even if I sleep on the streets…

A cold passes though Shavonne, who was thinking, as if it were mocking him. To make matters worse, snow started falling. It didn’t look like it would stop soon.

“Ha…”

Shavonne, who was sitting alone on a park bench while looking nowhere, empty, ran into a rolling newspaper at his foot the next moment. It was called the Daily South Bunch, and although it was February, the big headline on the front page sayed thay the number of people freezing to death wasn’t decreasing.

Shavonne had thought people weren’t on his side, but the newspaper wasn’t on his side either. Shavonne sighed. White breaths like cigarette smoke leaked through the lips.

7:30 p.m. It was getting dark. Shavonne took out his wallet and opened it. One rona. What can I do with 1 rona, he thought.

From the bar to the Ira apartment, there was only a 10-minute, 500-meter walk, but it took more than 30 minutes for Shavonne to arrive. That’s because Shavonne, drunk, was stumbling and couldn’t walk straight. That wasn’t all. He threw up behind a gas lamp three times.

There were two good things. The first was that there were no people on the streets, perhaps because of the cold and snow at night, and the second was that the regular site of alcoholics was a bar that prevented Shavonne from keeping not only his body but also his mind to cheap alcohol.

Those who are drunk are not the same as an alcoholic, but thanks to these two reasons, Shavonne was flocked as an alcoholic and couldn’t gain sympathy.

He wasn’t drunk. Probably because he wasn’t mentally depressed. The reason why he couldn’t get drunk until he blacked out was simple. He didn’t have enough money to buy alcohol. The vague drunkenness was poison. His whole body and mind were throbbing from the alcohol.

He finally reached the apartment in Ira. While going up to Room 303, the sound of dragging his feet and a strong smell of alcohol were felt wherever Shavonne’s steps were headed. He saw the door of room 303. It wasn’t the holed door but the new one that Mr Bacon replaced earlier this morning.

He had to leave by midnight, so now was the only time he had to pack his things. If Shavonne didn’t pack, he would have to be kicked out empty-handed without taking his bag, let alone buying time. He had to start packing, but… his body didn’t follow.

The awful hunger and the terrible thirst made his mouth dry. He searched everywhere, but the house was empty. He missed eating bread with cheese. Sweet fruit juice too…

Then, something flashed in front of his eyes.

『Drink me ;D』

Lemon juice. Room 302. Lemon juice.

The man in Room 302 was a murderer, Lewellyn was a murderer. Could I he ask for lemon juice?

He is a murderer, he is a murderer… but he is the only one who is kind to me, but he’s a murderer, fuck, the only kind person I know is a murderer. I’m wasted, life is fucking shit, shit…

When he was finished thinking, Shavonne was already in front of room 302.

“… Are you there?”

He asked. There was no answer.

“Of course you could have thrown it away, but if you haven’t… Can I have that juice?”

Shavonne immediately added, wondering if Lewellyn would ask ‘what juice?’. “That… lemon juice.”

There was no answer.

He must be sleeping, damn it.

Shavonne closed his eyes and dropped his forehead on the door 302. It was at that moment that a familiar voice was heard.

“Why? Did you get scurvy?”

It was Lewellyn, of course. Shavonne suddenly realized that Lewellyn’s voice had become a ‘familiar voice’.

“I didn’t.”

“Then what? Did you get a curse to die if you didn’t drink lemon juice at 11 p.m.?”

“There’s something worse than that. It’s a crisis.”

“A crisis? What kind of?”

It was like an illusion. Lewellyn’s voice was strangely vivid. Rather than a voice coming over the door, it was like a voice coming from behind his back, so he looked back, and Lewellyn was standing against the stairs of the apartment.

He closed his eyes, but Lewellyn didn’t disappear. Shavonne rubbed his eyes with his hands, but Lewellyn still didn’t disappear. Lewellyn, watching that scene, couldn’t stand to say a word.

“You’re not seeing things.”

Shavonne was stunned.

“When did you come out? I’ve been touching the door with my forehead.”

“I was standing right here from the beginning.” Lewellyn shrugged. “You just didn’t see it.”

It seems that it was right that if you are drunk, your vision will be narrowed.

When Shavonne drank the lemon juice Lewellyn brought him from Room 302, his thirsty throat felt relieved. Lewellyn said he could go into his house and drink it, but Shavonne refused. Even if he was drunk, he was sober enough to not forget that Lewellyn was a murderer.

‘What about Mr. Shavonne’s house?’ Lewellyn asked. Shavonne refused again. If they went to room 302, he will come inside a murderer’s house, and if they went to room 303, he will have invited a murderer.

After all, the place they chose was the stairs of the apartment. They were sitting side by side on the stairs. Shoulders, legs, and feet were side by side.

A sip, two sips, three sips… Soon Shavonne emptied the bottle of lemon juice. It was over, but no one left and didn’t point it out. Lewellyn didn’t know, but the reason why Shavonne was still there was simple. If he left, he would be welcomed by a helpless world.

Shavonne looked at the empty lemon juice bottle. Lewellyn was staring at Shavonne’s side face and opened his mouth.

“Don’t you have anything to say?”

That meant to confess what was “the crisis”. However, talking about that would reveal what happened to Shavonne and he didn’t want to talk about it. From the orphanage to poverty and poor relationships, being Dr. Fakwes his only friend by the age of 29.

Shavonne said, looking down at an empty bottle of lemon juice.

“It doesn’t have cyanide. Neither Strychnine.”

But Lewellyn didn’t take his eyes off Shavonne. As he needed an answer, Lewellyn was still staring at Shavonne’s side face. Shavonne added as if he hadn’t noticed.

“No onions either.”

That was it. Raising his hand, Shavonne’s hair was neatly arranged by Lewellyn. Shavonne was upset. It was a cold hand that didn’t feel human. It was a hand that made his back cold.

But… Shavonne couldn’t pull himself back. Lewellyn arranged Shavonne’s hair while touching his ear. Shavonne couldn’t take off the hand that swept through his temple and caressed his cheek. Hr might not have wanted to brush it off.

Shavonne asked himself. How long has it been since I received such a touch? None of the twenty-nine lovers I’ve met in eight years have ever given me such a loving hand. Then, is this the first time? Looking back on all the memories of my 29 years from the orphanage to now, it may be my first time to see that there hasn’t been such a touch like this before.

The thought that if Lewellyn had not been a murderer, perhaps he could have been his friend flowed through Shavonne’s mind for a moment.

“Tell me when you want to talk about it.”

A low voice said.

“…”

“I’ll wait.”

“…”

“Here.”

Having said that, Shavonne managed to remain silent. That was close. He could swallow back the words that wanted to leave his mouth.

Shavonne knew. If it weren’t for the juice that Shavonne drank, if he had only one more drop of alcohol, he would collapse and be sure to tell himself.

The more empty you are, the more likely you are to be swayed by light hospitality.

“Alright.” Shavonne replied.

Lewellyn thought: I wish Shavonne would be drunk all the time.

***

When he packed room 303, all Shavonne could take was his typewriter, a dictionary, a few clothes and two pairs of shoes. He had been living in that house for 8 years, but he couldn’t believe it. Looking down at the flimsy package, Shavonne sighed.

At that time, before the sigh was over, someone snatched the key to Room 303 that Shavonne was holding. He turned around and it was the janitor, who took out his pocket watch and tapped his finger to point to the dial. 0:03. Three minutes have passed since the promised eviction time, midnight.

“I told you to move out of the house… Did you hear what I said?”

If someone heard that, they’d think that Shavonne was three days late. They already were on bad terms, so there was nothing Shavonne couldn’t or didn’t dare to say because being polite didn’t seem to make him move in again to room 303. Shavonne decided to bash the janitor on the back of his head, who would be waiting for him to bow down and apologize saying I’m sorry.

“I don’t have a cochlea, so I can’t hear it.”

“What did you just say?”

The janitor had a faint look on his face. Shavonne smiled and continued. All right. Even ruder.

“I heard what the janitor said. I heard what the janitor said. But somehow I’m three minutes late. I’m sorry. But somehow I’m three minutes late. I’m sorry.”

“…Why are you saying the same thing twice?”

“Consideration. Consideration. Because I’m deaf, you’ll ask me what I just told you. Because I’m deaf, you’ll ask me what I just told you.”

The janitor now had a gawky face. Shavonne was proud to see it. However, for a moment, he felt proud of himself. The fact that it was the head of the management office who held the sword of the right to move in didn’t make him change.

In a flash, Shavonne was kicked out of his apartment in Ira and thrown in front of the main gate, followed by Shavonne’s poor luggage. Without protesting, the janitor shut the front door of the Ira apartment with a bang.

“Don’t even dream of coming back!”

(Both Shavonne and the janitor will find out later, but that wasn’t what the janitor would have said if he could have looked forward to the future for even a week.)

“You didn’t even give me time to say goodbye.”

Picking up his things, Shavonne grumbled inside. He didn’t have a neighbor to say goodbye to, but he should be given time to do so, whether Shavonne could do it or not, but the janitor had no manners. Thinking so, Shavonne turned around and suddenly looked back at the apartment in Ira.

Room 303.

And room 302 next to it.

Lewellyn’s face suddenly flashed through his eyes.

“By now, you’re sleeping without even knowing that I’ve left.”

He didn’t know who the new tenant in Room 303 would be, but it must be a very bad person to be that unlucky, as his house will be next door to a murderer. Suddenly Shavonne wondered. Would Lewellyn serve a main onion dinner to the new resident of room 303, put a series of notes next to their house door plate, and put lemon juice in their mailbox? Shavonne, who was staring up at the light-out window of Room 302, soon turned around.

It was a snowy winter night. As Shavonne started walking, the sound of snow crushing was heard and a deep footprint came out. The footprints were dug deeply.

“Excuse me, where should the homeless go?”

South Bunch Square. The homeless man sitting on a bench under a corner of the plaza’s information center showed no response when he heard Shavonne’s question. Had he frozen to death? Shavonne called him again, placing his hands on the homeless man’s body.

“Excuse me?”

Only then did the homeless man turn his back and lie down, muttering, “So annoying, fuck”. He wasn’t the only one who was homeless. Homeless people were nervous because they were sleeping outdoors in the cold weather, where they might not be able to open their eyes the next morning if they sleep at night. There was no kindness to the rookie Shavonne, who seemed to have just started homelessness.

Shavonne gave up on getting tips from the homeless after being thoroughly shunned, ignored and upset with him about five times. Right, who would decide to start being homeless after learning how to from the homeless? Thinking that way, Shavonne began to imitate the homeless who were resting or sleeping, glancing sideways at them.

First place. Since it was snowing, he had to go under a eave of the information center if he didn’t want to die of hypothermia. But under the information center, Shavonne was unable to have a spot because dozens of homeless people were already huddled.

Eventually Shavonne crawled under a corner of the tower in the square. The tower was a building, but its eaves were so small that Shavonne had his upper body inside the eaves and his lower body outside. Anyway, it was better to only get his lower body frozen than freezing to death.

The next thing he needed after finding a place was a newspaper. Unfortunately, Shavonne was unable to pick up a sheet because all the newspapers were used by homeless people under the eaves of the information center. It was a relief that he had a package of luggage. Shavonne was able to cover five pieces of clothing as a substitute for newspapers.

He thought he could hold out. At least a day to up to 15 days. If there’s a vacancy in the workplace, he will pick it up immediately, and if there isn’t, he’ll go find Dr. Fakwes, who will have returned home on his 15th day of being homeless.

Shavonne layed down with his eyes closed. The floor of the square, touching his back, neck and calves was hard. He was sure that he’d endure until opening his eyes. Only if he woke up in the morning, though. Shavonne thought he wouldn’t fall asleep easily because he was worried that he might freeze to death or become disabled, but he didn’t. Maybe he was tired of working all day

The snow didn’t stop falling. By the end of the night and morning, the snow was thick enough to bury the front of his shoes. The country was very snowy, and South Bunch Square was no exception.

Did Shavonne, who spent the night with his upper body in the eaves and his lower body outside, freeze to death or become crippled?

To begin with, it was neither. Shavonne was neither frozen to death nor crippled. That made Shavonne very disconcerted.

Why didn’t I become a (half) snowman? Why do I feel my lower body? Why are my legs dry?

The question was quickly solved. There was an umbrella for some reason. An umbrella spread out on the floor protecting Shavonne’s lower body, and next to Shavonne’s upper body, there was someone who must be the owner of the umbrella, and that was…

“You just woke up. It took you so much time that I was about to leave you at Bunch Hospital’s morgue.”

It was Lewellyn.

“No… Why are you here, no, since when have you been doing this?”

Shavonne’s voice trembled as he raised his upper body and asked. Lewellyn laughed with a smile.

“How much do I have to answer to make you feel burdened?”

“…”

“One hour? Two hours? Three hours?”

He didn’t mean to tell the truth.

“Forget it” Shavonne replied, looking into the snow in the square. If he had just come here, there would have been footprints, but there weren’t any. Lewellyn’s footprints were nowhere to be seen. Shavonne glanced at his side, thinking that maybe that killer had been putting an umbrella on him for quite some time.

Shavonne, who was lowering his head unconsciously, stopped, looking at the clothes on his body. When he fell asleep, he put five clothes on top, but they seemed to have been stolen as he only had one. No…, no. That wasn’t Shavonne’s.

“These aren’t my clothes…”

Shavonne mumbled as he picked up the coat on his body with his index finger and thumb. Lewellyn raised his eyebrows lightly.

“Of course, Mr. Shavonne has a fashion sense of the last century, so you wouldn’t have anything as fancy as this.”

“… So it’s your clothes.”

Lewellyn replaced the answer by nodding his head with a proud look on his face.

Ha, I didn’t want to owe you anything, but I already owe you a lot

. Not only that, he was involved with his murderer neighbour, or, well, his ex neighbor…

It was then that Lewellyn suddenly asked.

“Anyway, why are you sleeping here?” He added. “Are you looking for beggar experience, or is begging a side job?”

“…”

He was serious. He couldn’t keep up with Lewellyn’s nonchalant rant with a straight face. Shavonne wanted to hide from him the situation he was in, but that was already ruined because Lewellyn had seen him homeless. Shavonne sighed and opened his mouth.

“You know what?”

“No. I don’t know.”

Lewellyn answered like that while rolling his eyes.

For real?

Shavonne frowned and looked at Lewellyn suspiciously. Perhaps noticing what Shavonne’s gaze meant, Lewellyn explained that when he was just taking a dawn walk, he found a person with a “last century’s level of fashion sense” like Shavonne, and that he couldn’t ignore it because it turned out to really be Shavonne. Of course, whether or not Shavonne believed it was another matter.

“I don’t believe it at all.”

Shavonne said. Lewellyn looked resentful.

“It’s the truth. A century-old fashion sense like yours can be seen from 50 yards away.”

“Ha… alright, alright.”

Shavonne stopped trying to say that the point isn’t his fashion sense. There was no way to confirm whether Lewellyn’s explanation was true or not, so he had no choice but to believe it.

Shavonne was kicked out of his apartment in Ira (Lewellyn’s reaction: Oh, no…). He kindly explained that he no longer lived in Room 303 (Lewellyn’s reaction: Oh, God…) and that he no longer had any kind of relationship with Lewellyn, the resident of Room 302 (Lewellyn’s reaction: …).

“So, stop…”

“You’re wrong.”

“What?”

“You’re wrong.”

Because Lewellyn spoke so firmly, Shavonne almost thought that “so, stop” was grammatically incorrect.

“What do you mean?” Shavonne came to his senses and asked.

In response, Lewellyn’s answer was far off Shavonne’s expectations.

“That we no longer have any kind of relationship.”

What does Lewellyn think of Shavonne?

Lewellyn told him to sleep there until that day.

“This is the perfect spot for homeless people. It’s warm all year round, so it’s a legendary spot where you never freeze to death or die.”

‘There’ was an ordinary back alley, hardly thought of as a homeless spot. As it was close to the main street, there was a clatter of horse hoofs every time a carriage passed, and every time a car went around, the sound of the car engine could be heard. Of course, every time people walked by, they could hear their shoes. Shavonne never thought he could sleep there, but Lewellyn was obstinate.

“Take it.”

Lewellyn gave him newspapers to sleep and the clothes he had. He also gave Shavonne clothes to wear in layers. “Are you doing charity work?” asked Shavonne with a grin.

Lewellyn replied. “Only to Mr. Shavonne. ”

“Aren’t you going to tell me to sleep in your house?”

Last night, Lewellyn recommended his house for lemon juice, not to sleep. Shavonne didn’t want to go to a murder site (or per diem) even though he was in need of a bed. Lewellyn laughed.

“You’re too shameful.”

What?

Before Shavonne could even interpret what Lewellyn said, Lewellyn said, “I’m waiting” and tried to turn around. However, Shavonne had no choice but to hold onto the back alley.

“Wait a minute.”

Lewellyn turned around. He blinked as if there was something wrong.

“I didn’t know what you’re going to do and come back, but I don’t want to wait here. I’m…”

“I’ll give you the money. Three ronas in advance, 10 ronas later.”

“I’ll stay here.”

“Good. I’ll be right back.” Also, Lewellyn clenched his fist and said. “Cheer up, homeless! ”

It was a good spot for the homeless as Lewellyn said. That night, Shavonne didn’t freeze to death. Shavonne wondered if he could have the spirit of being a homeless spot without freezing to death, but the question would never be solved.

The next morning Lewellyn returned as promised. Until there, everything was as Shavonne had expected. Up to that point, the problem was that Lewellyn came back with something that didn’t belong to the promise.

“Take this.”

Lewellyn, smiling, said that and what came forward to Shavonne was none other than the key to Room 303 in Ira Street.

Shavonne couldn’t speak but opened his mouth like a fish and closed it. After a long time, he opened his mouth and asked.

“Does the janitor know?”

If it were for the janitor, Shavonne wouldn’t ever come back to Room 303… But to overshadow Shavonne’s idea, Lewellyn nodded. He also didn’t forget to say that the janitor agreed for him to move in. Shavonne couldn’t help but open his eyes wide open.

“No… how?”

Lewellyn smiled.

“I’m kind.”

“…”

“Handsome.”

“…”

“With lots of money.”

“…”

Sure, let’s just agree. Shavonne nodded his head.

Lewellyn rented room 303 in Ira for Shavonne, and it was Lewellyn who needed to pay 30 months’ rent at once. Shavonne didn’t know when the opportunity would appear again if he didn’t take it.

Lewellyne had a proud look on his face and nothing. Shavonne, who was looking at Lewellyn, had a word coming to his mind.

Murderer.

If only Lewellyn hadn’t been a murderer, we could have been friends. The thought of last night crossed his mind once again. What if he hadn’t been invited to that dinner that day? If Lewellyn hadn’t left so Shavonne hadn’t taken advantage of Lewellyn’s absence and opened the bedroom door, if Shavonne hadn’t seen the body…

But Shavonne was invited to the dinner. Lewellyn was away while Shavonne was eating, and Shavonne took advantage of Lewellyn’s absence to open the bedroom door and see the corpse of the bald man. It was an unchanging truth.

Shavonne started talking. But Lewellyn got ahead first.

“You didn’t have to say thank you. You’ll have a lot of things to thank me for, so call me later and say hello.”

What Shavonne meant to say wasn’t a thank you. Shavonne brought up what he was going to say.

“You’re a bad person, aren’t you?”

As a result, the proud look that Lewellyn had kept until then cooled down.

But it was only for a moment. Looking at Shavonne, who looked really serious, Lewellyn smiled as if it was nothing, saying, “I may have misunderstood. I hope there isn’t any rat hole”.

Maybe Lewellyn was pretending to smile to avoid answering, Shavonne thought.

Maybe he’s the only one in the world on my side.

For real,

A murderer?

He’s really a bad guy?

“You’re a bad person, aren’t you?”

Shavonne was determined to hear the answer.

Lewellyn slowly turned around and faced Shavonne. Shavonne was trapped in the yellow eyes staring at Shavonne as if he would never escape. Lewellyn’s voice flowing through his lips sounded in an unusual tone.

“I think so.”

Perhaps it was a mistake, but Lewellyn’s eyes seemed to eyesmile, as if that was his answer.