INT Ch 7.2

Haewon bowed politely to her. Seo Okhwa gestured dismissively to the man who appeared to be one of the foundation directors, signaling him to leave. After the man exited the practice room, only the hum of the heater remained.

“You’re practicing on a day off? You’re so cute.”

“Excuse me?”

“At first, I thought, ‘How arrogant,’ but it turns out you’re a hidden gem. Do you want to enter a competition now? Oh, wait, never mind. You’re too old. If you enter now, people will just think it’s ridiculous. The mask is fine, though. What was your name again?”

The scarf wrapped around Seo Okhwa’s neck fluttered lightly in the heater’s breeze.

“Moon Haewon.”

“Your arpeggios are excellent. Your variations are unique, and your expressive power is explosive. Hmm, not bad. But still, you can’t compare to Henry Chang, can you? He won first place at the Wieniawski Competition when he was fifteen. That kid’s a genius. You… well, let’s call you semi-genius.”

Haewon wasn’t sure whether to thank her for the overly candid evaluation or to storm out in offense. Still, the way her eyes sparkled with curiosity suggested that she found his performance impressive.

“Thank you for the compliment.”

“Still, you’re sexier than Henry Chang. He doesn’t have the proportions, does he? In other words, his visuals, those visuals are lacking. Hey, have you ever been told you’re sexy? When you perform, it’s very palpable. Do you feel emotions that intensely?”

“Only when I’m possessed by the music. I’m not like that normally.”

“Musicians are always a little strange.”

“You were a vocalist, too, weren’t you?”

At Haewon’s words, she laughed heartily, saying, “Oh, right. I was.”

“My goodness, where’s my head at? Actually, I came today to figure you out because I want to get rid of you. No matter how much Woojin claims you’re his junior, I can’t stand that level of disrespect.”

Haewon bent down and placed the loosened bow into the first compartment. As he wiped the rosin dust from the violin and put it into its case, he said, “I looked you up on video, Seo Okhwa.”

“What? When?”

“A while ago.”

When he had some free time at an internet cafe, he’d searched for and watched a few clips of her performances. Not all the pieces, just highlights from one or two songs. After that, he wasted time browsing clothes he thought would suit Hyun Woojin, only to end up chased away by a police officer for no reason.

“That was Vivaldi, right? La Pace Non Trovo. Am I correct?”

“You’ve heard that?”

“Yes. It made me want to track down whoever sang it and make them sing forever. I had no idea that person was you, ma’am. If I had a voice like that, I don’t think I would’ve gotten married. Some people need to dedicate themselves to humanity, you know? Talent is like a gift from the heavens.”

Haewon was sincere. If he had such a voice and talent, he wouldn’t have married. Geniuses are gifts from the heavens and should contribute to humanity. Just like the countless geniuses before, such talents should be shared with the world. And the world should celebrate them. What enriches and beautifies life isn’t material wealth but the traces of their work we encounter.

Rachmaninoff’s concertos streaming from a café, Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam viewed with an upturned neck in the Sistine Chapel, the overwhelming beauty of Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia dedicated to the God who granted him his talent, or the 1986 live recording of Horowitz in Moscow.

Seo Okhwa said nothing. She seemed to be holding back something, as if suppressing an emotion. Fanning herself lightly, she looked flushed. For someone so gifted, she had fallen in love, had a child with him, and quit music. That child grew up, got engaged to Hyun Woojin, and passed away at the age of twenty-nine.

Hyun Woojin buried his fiancée in his heart. The number twenty-nine became etched into his memory. Haewon was now twenty-nine.

“Hey, I’m not that uptight. I’m cool. I respect people who are skilled and cocky about it. So don’t butter me up with flattery.”

“How do you know Hyun Woojin Sunbae? Sunbae’s never mentioned soprano Seo Okhwa to me. If I had known beforehand, I wouldn’t have made such a mistake.”

While zipping up the violin case, Haewon asked casually, as though passing the time, but his heart was pounding. Seo Okhwa’s heels clicked as she approached. He straightened up from his bent posture. Seo Okhwa tilted her head back to look up at him.

“Woojin is practically family. We’ve been close since childhood. His father has been a director at our hospital for twenty years.”

So they’d known each other since they were young.

That explained why they remained close even after his fiancée’s tragic death. It wasn’t Hyun Woojin’s fault, after all. He vaguely recalled hearing that both Woojin’s paternal and maternal families were doctors. At the time, Hyun Woojin lied to the police, claiming his sister was preparing for an art exam. He himself was questioned as a witness due to the number of missed calls from Taeshin. Revealing the truth about their inappropriate relationship would have been uncomfortable. Regardless, Hyun Woojin held a unique status. Taeshin had liked him, and for a while, Hyun Woojin reciprocated that sincerity.

“Did I interrupt your practice?”

“I was just planning to warm up and leave. Am I getting fired?”

“I was joking. You can’t get dismissed so easily these days for something like that. I have a reputation on the board too. I can’t just go and demand to fire someone who disrespected me, can I?”

“That’s true.”

Haewon wanted to ask about Hyun Woojin’s fiancée who had taken her own life, but he couldn’t bring himself to mention something that would reopen the wounds of a mother who had lost her daughter. Still, he hesitated because he was curious—curious about Hyun Woojin’s past.

“And you’re good too. I thought you were all talk, but you turned out to have real talent.”

“I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-nine.”

“Right, you’re not a kid. Are you heading home? Want me to give you a ride? Did you bring your car?”

Seo Okhwa linked arms with Haewon unreservedly after saying a few kind words, speaking warmly. The sudden friendliness left Haewon flustered, and he awkwardly tried to pull his arm away, but she tightened her grip as if it were nothing. The floral scent of her perfume tickled his nose.

“No, I can get home on my own.”

“Don’t be like that. Let me give you a ride.”

“I’m really fine. Honestly, it’s okay.”

“It’s not spring yet. It’s chilly outside today because of the cold snap. You can’t go out like that. You’re someone whose body is their instrument—don’t you know that? Maintaining your condition is basic for a professional.”

Despite his protests, Haewon found himself getting into a luxurious sedan, practically dragged by Seo Okhwa. She asked for his home address as they got in. He vaguely directed her to his studio apartment, and the man who seemed to be her secretary acknowledged it and started driving.

“Can I call you Haewon? Haewonie.”

“Uh, no. That feels a bit awkward.”

“Why? We’re practically on fighting terms—didn’t we almost have a spat?”

“Fighting? I was the one getting yelled at.”

“I’ll just call you Haewon. And you can call me ‘Ajumma’ if you like.”

“Have you not received compliments in a really long time?”

He’d only given her a few words of praise, but the way Seo Okhwa’s initially scornful demeanor completely shifted left Haewon bewildered. Her sudden friendliness felt like a total transformation.

“Maybe it’s been too long. Way too long… Hic.”

Out of nowhere, tears welled up in her eyes, and she began sobbing. The driver quickly grabbed a handful of tissues and handed them back. Haewon passed the tissues to her, and she spent a long time trying to regain her composure.

Her makeup smudged, leaving dark stains on the tissues. The driver glanced at the rearview mirror, clearly confused. His eyes met Haewon’s multiple times, but Haewon could only shake his head, as he had no idea what was happening either. After more than ten minutes of crying, she finally managed to calm down.

“My daughter… Hayoung said those words. She told me my voice was too beautiful, too precious, that I had to keep singing because it was a gift from God—a talent meant to be used for the good of humanity. My Hayoung said that. Hic.”

“…”

She continued to sob, nearly emptying an entire box of tissues. Though they had already arrived in front of Haewon’s apartment, he stayed in the car silently. The driver kept the engine running, respectfully avoiding eye contact.

“I’m sorry. My emotions got the better of me. Sorry, Mr. Kang.”

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

The driver responded politely. As Seo Okhwa wiped under her eyes while looking in the mirror, the layers of makeup that had washed away revealed a middle-aged woman, looking much more ordinary than her usual glamorous self.

“Your daughter must have said exactly what I did.”

“Yes, she did. Haewon, I was so shocked earlier because it reminded me of her.”

“Why not ask people to say it to you more often? It’s not a difficult thing to say.”

“I wish I could. I really wish I could. But… she’s gone now, to heaven. Even if I want to hear it, I can’t anymore.”

Her tears threatened to flow again. The secretary handed her a bottle of water, which she drank halfway down in one go. Lost in thought, she stayed silent for a while, and Haewon, too, sat quietly.

Eventually, she seemed to recover and spoke in a voice that was suddenly firm and full of energy.

“I overreacted earlier because thoughts of my daughter overwhelmed me. You must’ve been shocked. I’m not usually like this.”

“I must have said something unnecessary and touched a sore spot. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s not like you knew. And don’t call me ma’am. I told you to just call me auntie.”

She intentionally brightened her tone as she wiped away the lingering tears at the corners of her eyes. Turning his gaze away from her, Haewon looked out the car window, absently following the backs of busy passersby. Almost as if in passing, Haewon asked,

“By any chance, was your daughter Hayoung a violin major?”

“No, she was a doctor.”

“Then… did she perhaps look like me?”

“What are you saying? She took after me and was such a beauty. You and she are worlds apart. Not even close.”

“That’s a relief. It means you won’t think of your daughter when you see me in the future.”

“I’m not someone who cries easily, you know.”

Seo Okhwa said this somewhat sheepishly.

That’s good. For some reason, it was a relief. He didn’t want to become a shadow of Hyun Woojin’s deceased fiancée. Despite obtaining crucial information—that she hadn’t played the violin and didn’t resemble him—Haewon felt inexplicably melancholic.

“Thank you for giving me a ride. I’ll get going now.”

“Sure. I really enjoyed your performance today. But why don’t you participate in competitions? With your skill, you could’ve definitely placed.”

Just as Haewon was stepping out of the car, Seo Okhwa asked. Haewon turned back to her.

“Should I be honest, or give you the pretentious version?”

“Start with the pretentious one.”

“It’s not a livelihood, it’s a hobby.”

“For a hobby, don’t you try too hard? Such talent should be shared with humanity, you know.”

“Trying too hard just seems pathetic. When expectations are high, disappointment is greater. And who’s going to take responsibility for how terrible I’d feel if I tried hard and failed?”

“You’re more fragile than you seem. You do know that’s just an excuse, right?”

“I hate getting attached to things.”

“You live a pretty carefree life.”

“I don’t think that’s something you should be saying, auntie.”

“My life hasn’t been easy either. It just turned out well, that’s all.”

Her firm, mature gaze—seemingly reflective of a life that hadn’t been smooth—lingered steadily on Haewon.

“Now tell me the honest one.”

“When I was preparing for competitions, my mom was very sick. And when I was preparing to study abroad, she passed away.”

“How did that happen?”

Seo Okhwa’s expression crumpled with sympathy and she looked at Haewon, waiting for an answer.

“Cancer. It happened when my father had an affair and started a new family. Mom didn’t want to let him see her undergoing chemotherapy, so she kept it to herself and… just passed away like that. When I was grieving so much, she told me that people live only to die anyway. That we all die eventually. That I shouldn’t cry or be sad.”

“…”

Seo Okhwa appeared deep in thought. Haewon was lost in his own thoughts as well.

So, in the end, we all live struggling, just to die. There’s no need to mourn for those who go first, nor rejoice for those who come later. Living is simply a matter of whether death comes sooner or later. His mother’s final words had given Haewon plenty to think about, both then and now.

“So after that, I wasn’t sad anymore. I don’t think I’ve worked hard at anything since then.”

“I see. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked about something like that.”

“It’s in the past. No need to dwell on it. Goodbye.”

Haewon nodded in farewell and stepped out of her car.

As he walked a few steps, the white sedan carrying Seo Okhwa passed him and disappeared down the road. Though he was right in front of his apartment building, Haewon didn’t go up. Instead, he kept walking. He wandered aimlessly down the street, his steps heavy and slow.

His mother had told him, when he couldn’t accept her death and was seething with anger toward his father, that people live knowing they’ll die, and that we all die anyway. She had told him not to cry, not to grieve. And Haewon had accepted those words. Since then, he hadn’t cried much, nor had he grieved deeply.

Yet among all the people he’d met and all the emotions that had passed through him, he had encountered someone for whom his mother’s words didn’t hold true.

He had acquired more information about Hyun Woojin than he’d expected. His deceased fiancée had been a doctor, a job that, from a chaebol family’s perspective, was probably no different from a third-rate occupation. She had been someone who spoke beautifully, had inherited her mother’s stunning looks, and had been twenty-nine years old.

With so many doctors in Hyun Woojin’s family, could it be that she chose the grueling profession of a doctor because she wanted to be a part of that family? If she became a doctor just to impress her prospective in-laws, then she must have either adored Hyun Woojin, idolized him, or loved him enough to endure such sacrifices.

What about Hyun Woojin? How much did he love his fiancée? Did he love her a lot? Was it just a moderate affection? Or did he not love her at all and only get engaged because of family obligations? Countless assumptions and questions filled Haewon’s mind.

“Sigh.”

This is why obsession feels so messy. These lingering thoughts about Hyun Woojin were nothing but filth. It was all over, and it wasn’t like she was alive and Hyun Woojin was two-timing between her and him. Yet, he was curious, desperate to know where Hyun Woojin’s heart truly lay. He wanted to know just how deep their relationship had been.

Haewon took out his phone and called him. Though there were many times he wouldn’t answer, fortunately, Hyun Woojin picked up this time, and Haewon felt a sense of relief.

— Yeah.

“Where are you? At the office?”

— No, I’m outside.

It was quiet around him, as if he were on the move somewhere.

“When will you be done?”

— I’m on a business trip.

“Where to?”

— Busan.

“When will you be back?”

— I’ll be back tomorrow evening.

“Got it.”

— Why?

“I want to drink. Let’s have a drink together.”

Haewon had planned to call him out, get him drunk, and then ask about his fiancée, but his malicious plan evaporated just like that. He wanted to shake off these unpleasant thoughts. He wanted to ask him if he had truly forgotten her and if he liked Haewon more than her. The more he thought about it, the more he genuinely wanted to drink.

These pitiful thoughts were something Lee Taeshin might indulge in. Haewon had become pathetic. The idea that Hyun Woojin wouldn’t be available tonight since he was on a trip to Busan only made him crave alcohol even more. He didn’t want to return to the lonely quiet of his apartment. The thought of Hyun Woojin, pretending to like him while unable to forget his deceased fiancée, gnawed at him.

— Did you finish practice?

“I’m home.”

— Go to your place. Don’t do anything stupid.

“What do you mean, stupid? Like sitting alone at a bar drinking cocktails and acting all pretentious?”

— Yeah, that kind of stupid.

“I’m drinking soju.”

Without waiting for his reply, Haewon hung up the phone. He stopped walking and stared at the screen for a while, but the phone didn’t ring again.

Though he gave obligatory warnings, Hyun Woojin wasn’t the type to fuss over people. As he claimed, even if Haewon rudely hung up on him, he rarely called back. It seemed like he just let things go, or maybe he didn’t care. Haewon despised obsessive people, but he despised the unbothered Hyun Woojin even more.

Without realizing it, he kept walking, and before long, the surroundings grew dim. Passing through an alley full of restaurants, he stepped into a place that served dishes like grilled pork belly and kimchi stew. Since it was a holiday and still early evening, the place was empty except for one table, giving it a deserted feel. A woman sitting by a kerosene heater stood up when she saw him.

“Welcome. Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Please come this way.”

She guided him to a corner table near the restroom. Haewon placed his violin on the chair opposite him and looked at the menu hanging on the wall. Before he could decide, the waitress spoke in a flat tone.

“We don’t serve single portions.”

“Two servings of pork belly and a bottle of soju, please.”

She nodded and went to place the order.

It had been ages since he’d been to a place like this. It felt so unfamiliar and strange, almost like stepping onto a theater set, leaving him awkward and out of place.

When he wanted to drink, Haewon usually went to hotel bars. Since he found moving around annoying when drunk, he’d drink at the bar and then head straight up to his room.

Back in school, seniors had occasionally dragged him to cheap bars, but this was his first time visiting such a place alone.

When the server placed the ingredients on the table and only turned on the grill before walking away, Haewon was a bit taken aback. He picked up the tongs himself and grilled the pork belly, cutting it with scissors as it cooked and turning down the heat on the gas burner. Pouring soju into his empty glass, he took a sip, the cool, tangy liquid sliding down his throat like a refreshing sweep.

Soju is a diluted alcohol, with ethanol mixed with water and sweeteners—a cheap spirit, essentially. He took another sip of the cheap liquor. Somehow, the sensation of it wetting his throat felt sweet today. He added a piece of grilled pork to a serving of seasoned scallions and popped it into his mouth. He thought he could understand why people got addicted to this combination. He wanted to feed it to Hyun Woojin and ask him if it still counted as trash.

Grilled pork belly and a shot of soju were more satisfying than any special menu from a high-end restaurant’s head chef. By the time Haewon emptied the first bottle, more people had entered, and the place was now full.

“Would you like another soju?” asked the server as she passed his table. Haewon nodded, and she brought over a freshly chilled green bottle from the fridge, condensation quickly forming droplets on its frosty surface.

Haewon poured himself a fresh glass and filled it. Among the boisterous drinkers around him, he sat alone, tilting the bottle. His solitary figure must have tugged at the server’s heartstrings, as she kept bringing him small extras while passing by. She even gave him tips on the best ways to enjoy pork belly. Other diners seemed to glance his way, noticing the lone drinker. A woman with a ponytail at the next table made eye contact with him more than three times.

“There’s no room. You’ll have to wait,” the server said near the entrance.

“Ah, come on, ma’am. It’s freezing. Let us stay inside,” replied a man.

“There’s no space here either. It’s cramped. Where would you even stand?”

The commotion at the entrance was between a man unwilling to wait in the cold and the server insisting they couldn’t stay inside. It seemed the restaurant was a popular spot, with a queue forming even when Haewon had walked in at random. He nodded in understanding and ate his pork wrapped as the server had suggested. Just then, someone moved his violin aside and sat down at his table.

Not just one person—two people sat across from him as if they owned the place. Haewon put down what he was holding and quickly retrieved his violin case from the intruder’s hands.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re alone, right? Let’s share the table. You don’t mind, do you? It’s freezing outside, and we don’t think a spot will open up soon. Spring might be close, but it’s still ridiculously cold,” one of them said.

“I do mind.”

“Don’t be like that. Let’s sit together. It’s just that it’s a holiday, and most places are closed. We really didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Both had military-style short hair, like they’d just finished their service. Without waiting for his consent, they made themselves comfortable, ordered pork and soju, and removed the drying pork belly from the grill to Haewon’s plate, placing fresh cuts onto the hot surface.

“Have some too,” they offered, somewhat awkwardly, gesturing to the uncooked meat. If sitting alone was what drew attention, perhaps sharing a table wasn’t the worst idea after all.

Haewon stayed silent, carefully placing his violin case against the wall.

He poured himself another drink. He was halfway through his second bottle of soju, and there was still no call from Hyun Woojin. That’s just the kind of person he was. Always like that. And Haewon was no different, but still, it felt a bit disheartening.

When Hyun Woojin wanted to, he could be endlessly kind, as if he’d give up everything for Haewon. But at other times, like now, when Haewon felt lonely enough to want a drink, he didn’t even glance back. Come to think of it, after Taeshin’s death, almost no one reached out to Haewon except Hyun Woojin.

Why am I so friendless?

Haewon thought with self-deprecation. He didn’t get along with women because their goals didn’t align with his. With men, relationships quickly turned into something more than friendship. Disliking steady connections, he would sever ties if things seemed to get too serious.

Part of it was his personality, but his environment also played a role. With no pressing need for people, he made no effort to maintain or form connections. On a day like this, feeling blue, he had no friends he could call to drink with, making him a solitary figure. The one senior he used to contact frequently was now in detention, awaiting trial—indirectly because of Haewon. Only now did Haewon understand why Taeshin had called him so often.

“Are you a musician? Or do you work in the entertainment industry?” one of the short-haired men asked, looking at Haewon’s violin case leaning against the wall. The two clinked their glasses together and downed their drinks. Their similar appearances and outfits made it hard to tell them apart. The one on the right looked at Haewon with curious eyes—not sleazy, just inquisitive.

“What about you? Are you in the military?”

“Huh? How’d you guess? Is it that obvious?”

It turned out they were career soldiers. Rubbing their coarse hair with rough hands, they laughed sheepishly.

“So, what do you do? You’re in entertainment, right? You look familiar, like I’ve seen you somewhere.”

“How did you know? I’m not that famous, so people usually don’t recognize me.”

Haewon lied. The one on the right smacked the one on the left.

“See, I told you! I was right, really.”

The man on the right seemed incredibly pleased that his guess had been correct.

“I saw you in that drama. The one that airs at ten on Fridays on Channel Five.”

“Oh, that one. Thank you.”

“I really enjoyed that drama. Is Park Yeonju really that beautiful?”

“Yes, she’s beautiful. Very beautiful.”

Haewon nodded in agreement. He had no idea who Park Yeonju was, but they reacted with awed admiration as if they’d actually met her in person.

“Wow, this is the first time I’ve seen a celebrity up close. But what’s your name…?”

This time, the man on the left asked. He was fumbling to pull out his phone.

“Everyone knows Park Yeonju, but nobody knows my name. Guess I’m not famous enough.”

“It’s not that; it’s just that I have a terrible memory.”

When Haewon spoke gloomily, the man put his phone back into his pocket and waved his hands apologetically.

“I’m actually in a really bad mood today. Please don’t talk to me.”

“I’m sorry. But you really do have an aura, like a celebrity. When I saw you outside earlier, it was like there was a halo behind your head, as if five hundred fluorescent lights were lit up.”

The man on the right flattered him and nudged the man on the left with his elbow.

“Seeing you in person, your face is so small. I’m really a fan. Let me pour you a drink.”

The man on the left, who had become Haewon’s fan, poured soju into his empty glass. The clear liquid rippled gently. After downing the shot, Haewon watched as the man on the right tilted the bottle again.

“I was going to quit this line of work today, but seeing how much you two like me, I might need to rethink that.”

Haewon said this as he chewed on a piece of samgyeopsal.

“Why quit? Don’t quit. There’s no easy job in this world. You might not be famous now, but you’ll be one day. Keep going!”

The two of them kept pleading with him to continue acting. Haewon nodded as if to say he would. A woman with a ponytail from the next table, who had made eye contact with Haewon three times, took out a pen and a piece of paper from her bag and approached him.

“Excuse me, but I’m also a fan. Could you give me your autograph?”

“I’ll sign for you when I get famous. Do you know my name? You don’t, do you?”

When Haewon asked, the woman hesitated, her confidence visibly diminishing.

“I’m sure I’ve seen you before, but I’m terrible with names… But I really am a fan.”

Haewon looked up at her quietly, this woman who claimed to be a fan despite never having seen him. At this point, he began to wonder if there really was a celebrity who resembled him. Though he had never heard such a thing before, it seemed like a good idea to leave before his lie was exposed.

“I’ll sign for you when I become famous. I come here often.”

“Really? I’m a regular here too. I come at least once a week.”

“My manager’s waiting for me, so I need to go.”

Haewon stood up, leaving behind the disappointed gazes of those he’d been with. He paid for everything, including what the two had ordered. The two men shouted, saying he was amazing, thank you, and that they loved him. As people in the restaurant blatantly stared, Haewon slung his violin case over his shoulder and quickly left.

The cold wind whipped across his cheeks. He headed toward the main road to catch a taxi when his phone rang. The call was from Hyun Woojin. The timing was uncanny. Feeling melancholic, then a bit bemused and a little better after what had happened at the restaurant, Haewon picked up and immediately asked,

“Do I look like a celebrity?”

— Where are you?

“Do I look like one? Who do I look like?”

— I don’t know about that. Where are you?

“Someone asked for my autograph, saying they liked my drama. Doppelgängers must really exist.”

Though Hyun Woojin’s voice dropped a notch in sharpness as he asked again, Haewon kept talking about something else. A short sigh came through the phone.

— Have you been drinking?

“I had about two bottles, but I’m not drunk. I had something I wanted to ask you if I got drunk, though.”

— If you can’t speak without being rude, you’d even need alcohol to ask this? What is it?

There was the sound of a door opening and closing. As Haewon exhaled, white breath clouded his vision. Though his mind was clear, his steps were slowing down. His whole body felt heavy, dragging him down. Suddenly, walking felt burdensome. He stopped and leaned against the cold gray wall.

“How many people did you say you’ve dated before?”

― Not to the extent of needing to count fingers and toes like you.

“Have you never been in a serious relationship? Like someone you considered marrying or something equally serious?”

Someone so capable, who may have chosen to become a doctor to match his family’s stature. Or someone with heavenly beauty and a nightingale-like voice because her mother was a world-renowned prima donna. Or someone who had become half-paralyzed and disfigured from a car accident, yet Hyun Woojin wanted to stay with her till the end.

Wasn’t there anyone like that…?

Only now did Haewon clearly recall what Senior Choi had casually mentioned about Hyun Woojin back then.

[The pride of a chaebol’s daughter, with Seo Okhwa as her mother, her beauty couldn’t have been ordinary, could it? How could such a woman endure being reduced to that state beside a man like him? She was the one who first asked to break off the engagement, but Hyun Woojin insisted on taking responsibility. In the end, she couldn’t bear it and took her own life. Yet Hyun Woojin still insisted on marrying her, saying he would take responsibility, making himself the fool. That’s why Chairman Kim Jeonggeun still trusts and treats him like a son-in-law—because the brilliant Hyun Woojin stayed by his daughter’s side until the end.]

When a woman in such a state asked to end the engagement first, the wise choice would typically be to feign ignorance and comply. But Hyun Woojin had tried to take responsibility for her. The reason Haewon felt so melancholic was that his subconscious already knew—Hyun Woojin hadn’t forgotten that woman.

With a sigh, he inhaled the biting cold air that constricted his lungs. And as he forced himself to remember, Haewon realized once again just how deeply he had fallen for Hyun Woojin.

― You’re drunk.

“Looks like I am. Drunk. Sleepy too.”

He didn’t want to talk about it. Why would he want to share cherished memories with someone he met for a fleeting moment, like himself? Haewon wouldn’t want to either.

After his fiancée ended up like that, Hyun Woojin had lived pursuing only casual relationships—just enough to satisfy his physiological needs.

Haewon wanted to ask if he was just another person fulfilling those needs. Even he, who usually blurted out what was on his mind without thinking, couldn’t bring himself to voice that question. Haewon swallowed his question as if he were swallowing a lump in his throat.

Despite saying his feelings were important, he didn’t want to be treated as just anyone, even in a casual relationship. Haewon had treated him like just anyone, and Hyun Woojin had promised to “fix his attitude.” Had he said those sweet, once-in-a-lifetime words to him too? That this was the last time, as reincarnation was rare?

― Hurry and grab a taxi. Go straight to your apartment. Don’t wander elsewhere.

A warning tone came through the phone.

He wished Woojin were close by.

He wanted to touch his face. He wanted to press his heated face against Woojin’s shoulder and fall asleep like that. Instead of following his instructions, Haewon dragged his feet, crushing and nudging cigarette butts scattered on the street.

“Don’t be nice to me. Don’t talk like you care. What if I start clinging to you?”

― Cling to me? Moon Haewon? That’s so ridiculous even a stray dog would laugh. Now I see what you mean.

Woojin spoke as if he knew Haewon’s personality well. It sounded like he was saying he was with him because of his personality. Even if Woojin couldn’t be reached starting tomorrow, Haewon wouldn’t desperately call or beg to meet him. That was just how he treated people, how he behaved. He found serious relationships bothersome and, in the end, frightening.

He hadn’t even clung to the violin he was good at and loved. Clinging was something petty humans like Lee Taeshin did. It wasn’t that he disliked clinging because it was pathetic—it was that he had never wanted to cling to anything before. But Haewon wanted to cling to Hyun Woojin.

“Really? I’d like to do something that would make a stray dog laugh.”

― What are you trying to say?

“I like you, Hyun Woojin.”

Woojin didn’t say anything. Haewon liked the sound of his voice over the phone. It wasn’t that he disliked the other things about Woojin—they had gone beyond the point where he could simply say he liked them.

Haewon ignored Woojin’s deliberate silence. He wanted to describe his feelings for him with verbs, to attach adjectives to them. Poetic expressions he had never thought of before swirled in his mind.

“It’s not just that I want to take my clothes off in front of you; I want to give you my heart too.”

― So you didn’t have feelings before?

“It’s not that I didn’t have any feelings at all; I just didn’t know what they were. But I think I get it now.”

― What do you get?

Woojin’s tone, valuing logic and clarity, betrayed his impatience. Even after all he had said, if Woojin still didn’t understand, he was surely someone who had never experienced romance or played games of love before. Hyun Woojin was a fool.

“A smart idiot.”

― What are you trying to say?

“Forget it.”

It is unclear whether he couldn’t understand or was pretending not to.

The silence grew longer.

Haewon stood still alone, watching the people bustling along the gray streets.

“I miss you.”

He glanced at the screen, wondering if the silent man on the other end had hung up. The seconds were ticking by steadily. Holding the phone to his ear, Haewon continued speaking.

“I said, I miss you, Grandfather.”

The thought of hinting that he couldn’t forget his deceased fiancée disgusted him, yet he couldn’t bring himself to say it. If he did, Hyun Woojin might leave. He might distance himself. They had only just started—Haewon didn’t want it to end now.

“This is what I wanted to say while drinking. You shouldn’t have gone on that trip.”

— You’re right. I shouldn’t have.

As expected, he didn’t hear Woojin say he missed him too, nor did he hear his name spoken.

“Hang up. I’m sleepy.”

Even after ending the call, Haewon stared at his phone for a long time. The darkened screen reflected an expressionless face.

It wasn’t even a confession, just a few honest words, yet his chest ached. Exposing one’s true feelings was akin to falling flat on one’s face in the middle of a bustling street where people were hurrying with their shoulders hunched against the cold.

Regret for having stepped there in the first place, an intense wish that time would stop right then and there, a foolish desire to vanish into thin air, the shame of wanting to curl up and disappear rather than stand back up—all of it overwhelmed Haewon’s consciousness. That was what it felt like to like someone.

∞ ∞ ∞

Hyun Woojin’s officetel wasn’t far from Haewon’s. It was only about a ten-minute drive from the prosecutor’s office. Haewon headed there. Perhaps because of the alcohol, despite walking for quite a while, he didn’t feel as cold as he expected. The chill cleared his head, sobering him up.

Standing in front of the officetel door where he had waited for over ten hours once, Haewon entered the passcode. Woojin had said it was the same as his own. It was obvious it wouldn’t work. Haewon hadn’t been here since, and for Woojin, the place was more of a lodging facility used only for changing clothes and showering.

Back then, Woojin must have said whatever came to mind just to get his clothes off and made promises he’d forgotten himself. Yet, to his surprise, the door unlocked immediately. Haewon’s eyes widened in shock. He froze for a moment, stunned by the unexpected access, then quickly entered before the lock reset.

The officetel looked exactly as it had the last time he saw it. The bed was neatly made, and apart from a golf bag propped next to the wardrobe, there were almost no personal items visible. The suits, shirts, and ties hanging in the wardrobe—all in neutral tones and similar styles—were the only indications that this was his space.

Haewon leaned his violin against the wall.

Being in Woojin’s private space without him, Haewon felt a sense of superiority, as though he now knew him better and was closer to him than the deceased fiancée ever was.

Haewon wandered around the space as if it were his own. He put water in the electric kettle to make tea, opening the cabinet to find green tea bags and individually wrapped coffee grounds. Holding a lightly brewed black coffee, he leisurely explored the officetel.

He opened the wardrobe. The shirts, jackets, and pants were hung neatly as if they had just come from the dry cleaners. The first drawer contained underwear, innerwear, and socks, all folded precisely. Haewon picked up a piece of innerwear and sniffed it—it smelled of clean fabric softener.

The second drawer held golf wear, shoes, and gloves. In the last drawer were briefcases identical to the one Woojin often carried but in different colors, as well as a black backpack that seemed to be from his student days.

Haewon didn’t assign monetary value to objects. He bought what he liked without considering the price, and most of the time, they turned out to be luxury items.

Unlike his appearance, Woojin had a frugal personality. The watch on his wrist was a mid-priced model known for durability rather than luxury, and Haewon had never seen him wear a different one.

His suits weren’t tailored but off-the-rack. Woojin didn’t seem interested in showcasing his appearance and cared only about wearing clean, presentable clothes, regardless of brand or price. The wardrobe wasn’t ostentatious, but instead of finding it dull or rustic, Haewon appreciated the value Woojin placed on substance. If it had been filled with flashy clothes, he would have been disappointed.

Running his fingers along the books neatly arranged on the bookshelf, Haewon found they were all work-related professional texts. Not a single book reflected personal interests. The only non-specialized book was an autobiography of a Korean corporate CEO, likely handed out at a publishing event.

The books that showed signs of frequent use were related to his work or from his days at the Judicial Research and Training Institute. Titles included Constitutional Law, Civil Law, Criminal Law, Administrative Law, Civil Procedure, Legal Philosophy, Criminal Practice Records, Criminal Special Law Compilations (Revised Edition), Criminal Evidence Law and Fact-Finding Theory, Legal English Interpretations, Economic Law Codes, Fundamental Issues in Legal Philosophy, and Civil Judgments Writing Guide.

Even reading the titles of the books was exhausting. Thinking about how someone needed to study, memorize, and practically apply all this to secure such a profession was beyond horrifying—it gave a clear sense of why Hyun Woojin sometimes seemed more like a machine.

Hyun Woojin had once expressed disbelief over how Haewon could memorize and perform pieces lasting over 40 minutes, but Haewon found it even more baffling that all the content of these books resided in Hyun Woojin’s head. He genuinely appreciated his father for steering him away from academics and encouraging music instead.

Though the freshly laundered bedding held little of his scent, it lingered in his closet and on his books. Haewon pulled out a particularly worn legal text. Lying face-down on the bed, he opened it.

“…”

Haewon, someone who couldn’t even write his own name in Chinese characters, found the book utterly incomprehensible. Half the text was in Chinese characters, with Korean mostly appearing in grammatical particles, conjunctions, and borrowed foreign terms. All the critical terms were in Chinese characters.

Some passages had circles drawn in pencil or underlines—evidence of Hyun Woojin’s presence. Haewon buried his nose in the book. It was rich with his scent, the one he longed for.

He struggled to read the unreadable text before eventually falling asleep. Haewon was startled awake by the faint sound of the door lock disengaging, as if from a dream. The legal book he had been resting his cheek on was damp with drool.

Startled, he looked up just as the door to the officetel opened. Hyun Woojin, who had said he wouldn’t return from his trip to Busan until the evening, was now arriving early in the morning. It was 7 a.m. according to the clock.

Hyun Woojin must have returned earlier than expected. Wanting to surprise him, Haewon lay back down on the bed. But to his surprise, the person entering was not Hyun Woojin but a middle-aged woman. Holding a heavy-looking shopping bag in one hand and a handbag in the other, she froze upon locking eyes with Haewon, who looked as if he’d been caught red-handed.

Both Haewon and the woman paused in shock.

“…Who are you?” she asked.

Judging by her aura and attire, she didn’t appear to be a housekeeper. She seemed to be Hyun Woojin’s mother, though she didn’t resemble him. Regardless, the only middle-aged woman who could enter his officetel so freely had to be his mother.

Haewon slowly rose from the bed. Running into Hyun Woojin’s mother here was the last thing he’d expected. A flood of hurried lies came to mind, each aimed at avoiding putting Hyun Woojin in an awkward position.

Haewon silently cursed Hyun Woojin for not warning him about a mother who might drop by unannounced. Instead, he had set the door lock to match his own apartment’s code and told Haewon to come over whenever he liked.

“Who are you?” she asked again, stepping out to double-check the unit number before re-entering.

Haewon bowed politely. “Hello. I’m Moon Haewon, a junior from the same university as Hyun Woojin Sunbae. I apologize. We had planned to meet yesterday, but he told me at the last minute that he had to go on a business trip. Since I’d come up from the countryside and didn’t have anywhere else to go, he said I could stay here for the night…”

Haewon delivered a reasonable and believable lie. His casual and bold manner with Seo Okhwa was nowhere to be found. In front of Hyun Woojin’s mother, he spoke with utmost politeness and caution, surprising even himself with how courteous his voice sounded.

“I’m truly sorry for the intrusion.”

He began gathering his coat and violin case, avoiding her gaze as much as possible. Just as he was about to leave, she spoke again.

“Are you just going to leave?”

“…Pardon?”

“Didn’t you plan to meet Woojin?”

“Oh, we were going to meet later this evening. I’ll take my leave now. Goodbye.”

“Wait a moment.”

She stopped him again as he was about to exit. Surely, Hyun Woojin wasn’t so much of a recluse that a visiting junior would seem suspicious, right? Watching her with a stiff posture, Haewon flinched slightly when she reached a hand toward his face. When he instinctively recoiled, she hesitated and withdrew her hand, seemingly realizing her mistake.

“At least wash your face before you go.”

“…What?”

“You should wash your face.”

“…”

Wondering if something was on his face, Haewon touched his cheek and jaw. He found a thin piece of paper clinging to his skin—likely one of the indecipherable Chinese characters from the legal book.

Feeling embarrassed, he set down his violin and coat and headed to the bathroom. Checking his reflection in the mirror, he let out a sigh.

His hair was a mess, and a page from the legal book had adhered to his cheek and jaw perfectly. Evidently, he had drooled quite a bit while sleeping uncomfortably. Haewon quickly washed his face, returned to the living room, and discreetly replaced the book he had drooled on back in the bookshelf.

“Are you a junior from the Judicial Research and Training Institute? Or from the law school?”