Chapter 56
by GideonAnd Lee Taemo and Kang Yi-seon were right there beside him. It was all too much to take in.
Juhyeon had always returned home after his daily routine, carrying a heavy sense of loneliness. Even when he was with friends, laughing and chatting, the emptiness deep within his chest remained unfilled. So he would sit in his empty room, talking to a brother who wasn’t even there—it had become his routine.
For Juhyeon, who was so used to talking to himself, there were now people who could actually answer him. Perhaps it was because they shared the same kind of loneliness, the same habit of talking to themselves. Their individual soliloquies now meshed together, and their conversations flowed smoothly. This was probably the signal that a new chapter in Woo Juhyeon’s life was beginning.
Afraid the tears he’d barely managed to suppress would surge back, Juhyeon snatched the can of beer Taemo had just opened and gulped it down.
“See? He’s treating me like a human can opener now.”
“Well, that means he’s not a dog, at least.”
They tossed around the silly banter at Juhyeon’s expense. After drinking so much beer that his throat stung, Juhyeon set the can down and wiped his damp eyes. From behind, Taemo’s hand reached out and slowly traced the line of Juhyeon’s Adam’s apple.
“It stings because you’re chugging it like that.”
“You’re right. I guess I’m too uneducated to know better.”
Juhyeon forced a foolishly wide grin. Even though Taemo knew the beer wasn’t the reason for Juhyeon’s tears, he kept stroking his throat. Perhaps it was that touch, but the wave of grief that had threatened to overwhelm him seemed to subside.
As dawn approached, they scattered to their own beds, agreeing they needed to sleep. But perhaps the euphoria kept them awake; none of the three could fall asleep. Soon, they drifted back to Taemo, who was sitting in the darkened living room. Juhyeon leaned against Taemo’s shoulder, and Kang-i lay down with his head on Juhyeon’s lap, eyes closed. Everything was peaceful, even if sleep still eluded them.
Still, Juhyeon watched the brightening sky and looked forward to tomorrow. He was sure another sleepless night would never come.
Though the sun was rising, the air remained heavy and warm. Their long, dark night was finally over. And for someone else, the night was just beginning.
“Ah, so cold.”
Juhyeon opened his eyes to a chilling touch on his cheek. He must have fallen asleep without realizing it; he was now lying on the sofa, his entire field of vision filled with Taemo’s face.
“Your face is all swollen.”
A cold hand gently stroked Juhyeon’s swollen eyelids. His eyes already felt too heavy to open, the swelling making them feel glued shut. After basking in the touch for a long moment, Juhyeon slowly pried his eyelids open.
Taemo’s dark hair was still damp, as if he’d just showered, and his bare chest was fully exposed.
“…Did you actually go work out?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it okay to exercise without sleeping?”
Juhyeon forced his weak body to sit up, then instinctively reached out to touch Taemo’s side. The bandages had been freshly changed, feeling stiff and crisp.
“I’m more tired if I don’t. My side hasn’t burst open.”
“But it might reopen—”
Juhyeon froze as he leaned in to examine Taemo’s body. Taemo had wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a hug. A large hand cradled the back of Juhyeon’s neck, stroking it up and down with tenderness.
“Getting an infection wouldn’t be so bad.”
“…”
“I’m unemployed now, so I can’t even pay you. But if my side rips open again, I can at least keep you around out of sympathy, right?”
Lee Taemo was just like Woo Juhyeon. The way he craved affection, the way he clung to someone. Maybe that was why Juhyeon had been drawn to him.
“I don’t need any of that. I’ll go back to pickpocketing if I have to, just to support you. I’ll be the one treating your wounds if you get hurt.”
“That’s some fucking reliable shit right there, huh?”
Taemo buried his forehead in Juhyeon’s shoulder, his shoulders shaking with laughter. Though the position was awkward, with his weight leaning forward, Juhyeon completely relaxed, surrendering his body to Taemo’s embrace. Because Taemo was the only person who could accept all of him.
“It’s the perfect timing for just one round, but I can’t let you starve.”
“…”
“I’ll make you pasta.”
“That is… a really, really good idea.”
Juhyeon, who had been burying his face in Taemo’s still-damp hair, quickly lifted his head. He hadn’t eaten properly since yesterday, perhaps due to his nerves.
“I was thinking of taking you out on a date,” Taemo said. “But you’re the type who’d barely be full with a single meal anyway.”
“That’s true. It’s a waste of money to order a bunch of stuff just for me.”
“Go wash up. I just need to boil the noodles.”
Juhyeon nodded vigorously and pushed himself off the sofa. As he ran toward the bathroom, he thought he heard a soft, airy chuckle from behind. After washing his face and brushing his teeth, Juhyeon headed straight for the kitchen.
The sauce was already finished. It was packed with large, chunky ingredients—far more than any store-bought version. He wondered how he could have slept through such a delicious aroma. It was almost a miracle.
“Grab a fork.”
“Yes, yes,” Juhyeon replied, hurrying to the table after watching Taemo’s every move from right behind him. His stomach had started growling at some point. As he waited patiently in his seat, Taemo brought over a large plate of pasta.
“The presentation isn’t great.”
“This is way better. It tastes better when you make it, the portions are bigger, and it’s better because you put so much effort into it.”
Taemo just grinned at Juhyeon’s flattering chatter.
As if to reward that effort, Juhyeon practically shoved his face into the plate and started eating. His cooking skills are surprisingly good, aren’t they? Juhyeon thought the same thing today as he did every time he ate Taemo’s food. After eating the pasta with such intensity for a while, Juhyeon suddenly glanced around.
“But where’s Kang-i?”
“Took you long enough to ask. He went to clean up the karaoke room.”
“Ah…”
Everyone had stayed up until dawn, yet they’d all bounced back to their daily routines without a hint of fatigue. Juhyeon blinked, impressed by their stamina. Just then, Taemo reached toward his mouth. Rough, calloused fingertips grazed Juhyeon’s cheek. He must have had some sauce on his face.
“Let’s eat this, then go there.”
“…”
Taemo brought the index finger he’d used to wipe the sauce to his own lips. He sucked on his fingertip with a distinct, wet slurp.
“And when we come back, let’s just be the two of us, okay?”
His dark eyes remained fixed on Juhyeon the entire time. Juhyeon couldn’t bear to meet that gaze for long—it was too full of naked desire. He lowered his head again, trying to hide his flushing face.
“…Do whatever you want.”
“Eat slowly.”
A hand gently patted Juhyeon’s head a couple of times. It was hard to believe this was the same hand that had cut out Seo Jinyoung’s tongue and wiped the blood from his face.
Just as Kang-i had said, Woo Juhyeon must truly be someone special to Lee Taemo. Perhaps he was the only one, a unique existence. Whatever the case, Woo Juhyeon was more than willing to accept it.
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Beside the word ‘revenge,’ which had been dragged out for so long, a comma—shaped like a period—was placed. After all, it was now time to truly watch Seo Jinyoung’s misfortune unfold.
“…It appears the suspect fled the scene after the accident. A small amount of narcotics was found inside the vehicle, and with a confirmed flight itinerary, we suspect an accomplice is involved. A freeze order has been placed on Mr. Seo’s accounts, and a full-scale investigation is now underway.”
If things had gone according to Seo Jinyoung’s plan, he would have fled abroad and thrown Lee Taemo—whom he’d kept captive—under the bus for the murder. He probably would have framed him for the drugs, too.
But not a single thing went his way.
Shortly after the news broke that the investigation into Seo Jinyoung had officially begun, a breaking report surfaced: blood-stained evidence had been found in his office.
Calls for his father, a member of the National Assembly, and his younger brother to resign from their party grew louder by the day. The company’s stock price plummeted instantly.
The next day, Seo Jinyoung was found. He had fallen from the fourth floor of an abandoned building.
He hovered between life and death for a long time, but in the end, he survived. It seemed he was destined for a longer, more drawn-out misery. The injuries to his lower back were so severe that he would never be able to move a single finger at his will again. What’s more, the timing for treating his severed tongue had been missed; even if he regained consciousness, he would never be able to speak properly.
Caught between a rock and a hard place. That was the only way to describe Seo Jinyoung’s situation.
The drug test also came back positive for Seo Jinyoung, and the results confirmed that the substances found in his system matched those discovered in the vehicle involved in the accident. Even with Seo Jinyoung confined to a hospital bed, the investigation surged forward.
It didn’t take long for things to spiral this far.
His family had hired a lawyer, desperate to do something about the situation. Word was they’d been rejected by several major law firms before finally finding one willing to take the case. Seo Jinyoung was fired from his company, and his younger brother was expelled from the party. His father, taking full responsibility for the fallout, resigned from the party as well.
Not just Seo Jinyoung, but his entire family was rapidly crumbling.
What must Seo Jinyoung be thinking, watching everything turn into such a muddy mess? Juhyeon wondered how that ever-so-composed face would contort.
As if sensing his thoughts, Taemo got into the car with Juhyeon in the late afternoon. As always, he didn’t tell him where they were going. They drove for a long time, the surroundings gradually becoming more desolate, with vast rice paddies and mountains appearing here and there.
“Are we going to see Seo Jinyoung?”
“No. Someone you’ll be much happier to see.”
“…”
Who could it be?
His curiosity didn’t last long.
After winding through the mountain road for a while, the car slowed down before a sign. It was a memorial park.
“I brought your brother.”
“Ah…”
Juhyeon remembered Taemo’s promise to let him see Dongwoo. Taemo had mentioned that the process might be difficult since they weren’t family, but it seemed he had already resolved the issue. Taemo’s words—that he would keep his promise to Juhyeon even if it cost him his life—seemed to echo in his ears.
“Let’s get out.”
Juhyeon followed Taemo out of the car. The place was serene, the air exceptionally clear. Soft music drifted from somewhere nearby.
How many years has it been since I last saw Dongwoo?
The reality of finally meeting the real Dongwoo, not a dream, left Juhyeon utterly tense.
“You don’t look very happy to see me. Why the face?”
“I’m just… nervous,” Juhyeon replied, his voice stiff.
Taemo reached out first, and Juhyeon quietly took his hand. Despite the summer heat, he didn’t want to let go of Taemo’s warmth. Their fingers intertwined tightly as they walked carefully.
Soft music played in the background, and the heavy scent of chrysanthemums filled the air. It was a peaceful, serene space—a fittingly tranquil resting place for those who had lived such fierce and weary lives.
Even as they crossed the unfamiliar hallway, Juhyeon clung to Taemo’s hand as if it were a lifeline.
“Here.”
“…”
Taemo stopped in a section with a large window. Warm summer sunlight streamed in, and outside, lush green leaves swayed gently in the breeze.
“This is my father. And this is Kang-i, my mother.”
The people in the photograph looked impossibly young. It was as if they were still frozen in that moment, while so much time had passed.
“And this is…”
Even without the explanation, Juhyeon’s gaze was already fixed on Dong-woo’s picture. He looked exactly as Juhyeon remembered. Choi Dong-woo, who had vanished overnight at seventeen. Back then, he had seemed so mature and dependable, but seeing him now, his face looked so young. The photograph—taken with a flushed face and an awkward pose—was one Juhyeon had never seen before.
“…How did you get this photo?”
“I heard it was a resume photo. I kept a copy, so I’ll go get it for you.”
“…”
It was a testament to the struggle Juhyeon had endured to survive as a child. Perhaps it was also a fragment of his guilt and regret.
A lump formed in his throat, choking back a sob. Taemo slowly stroked the back of Juhyeon’s hand with his thumb. Then, he gently unclasped their tightly intertwined fingers.
“It’s been a long time. Go talk to him.”
“…Okay.”
The hand that had been softly caressing the back of his head withdrew. Taemo’s footsteps were still silent. Juhyeon couldn’t tell if he had gone outside or was waiting nearby. Though he wondered if Taemo might be listening, Juhyeon greeted Dong-woo.
“Long time no see.”
These were the words Juhyeon had longed to say if he ever met Dongwoo again, but no answer came. Still, he began to unspool the words he had carefully stored in his heart, one by one.
“Hyung, it must feel cramped in there. But the yard is spacious, isn’t it? Much bigger than the orphanage we grew up in.”
Dongwoo had once been Juhyeon’s life’s goal, the very reason he kept living. The thought of leaving him all alone in his loneliness filled Juhyeon with a mix of guilt and heartache.
Juhyeon raised a trembling hand. Dongwoo was there, just a little higher than his line of sight.
“…I heard somewhere that if you keep missing someone who’s passed away, they can’t leave this world. That’s why they appear in your dreams. You’ve appeared in mine sometimes, Hyung.”
No matter how much Juhyeon caressed the glass, he felt no warmth. It was as if the cold surface itself was proof that Choi Dong-woo—Dong-woo hyung—was truly gone from this world.
“Did I hold onto you for too long, hyung?”
His voice trembled, thick with tears. His vision blurred, making Dong-woo’s name, etched on the surface, impossible to read clearly. Juhyeon scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. The bandage wrapped around his wrist scratched his skin, stinging the tender area around his eyes, but he couldn’t stop. No matter how hard he wiped, the tears kept falling.
“It’s not even a nice place… just a one-room apartment with no heat, always too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer… Did I keep you here for too long?”
He had tried to hold it in. He wanted to keep Dongwoo in his sight for as long as possible after all this time. But Juhyeon finally broke, sobbing uncontrollably. He clamped a hand over his mouth, barely stifling the sound. He’ll worry if he sees me crying like this. I have to stop. But the tears wouldn’t stop.
“Dongwoo hyung…”
Juhyeon reached out again. They faced each other, separated only by a single pane of glass. Then, he began to sob like a child.
“Dongwoo hyung, you can go now. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”
Every time he appeared in Juhyeon’s dreams, Dongwoo would pace that tiny, cramped room in the hillside slum. Juhyeon’s lingering attachment must have been what kept calling him back there.
“I’m out of that room now.”
He knew it was time to let go. He had learned this truth thanks to Lee Taemo.
“You saw the guy who came with me just now, right? He’s the one… who got me out. He said he’d promised you he’d get me out.”
It would have been nice if Dongwoo had met Taemo. Dongwoo had always admired strong, mature people. They would have been the best of friends. But instead, everything had gone so horribly wrong.
“Hyung, I’m sorry I’m so late. Thank you for letting me live, and…”
Juhyeon’s voice trailed off as he quickly wiped his eyes. After catching his breath, he finally looked up. His gaze met Dongwoo’s in the photograph, where he wore an awkward smile. For a moment, Juhyeon was under the illusion that Dongwoo was truly looking back at him.
“Sleep well.”
This time, it was a true goodbye.
The weight that had pressed down on Juhyeon’s chest for ten long years was finally gone. Next time, he could face Dongwoo with a lighter heart. They would have so much more to talk about. Now, Juhyeon could finally start imagining a tomorrow with Dongwoo by his side.
After standing there until his legs grew weary, Juhyeon reluctantly turned to leave. Beneath the shade of a large tree by the entrance, he spotted a familiar silhouette. As he drew closer to the man staring up at the cloudless sky, the thick scent of tobacco wafted toward him.
“Do you cry here too, Hyung?”
Taemo didn’t look away from the sky at the sudden question.
“No. I’d just get scolded for being a man who cries.”
“He never scolded me.”
“Guess Dad liked you, huh?”
Lighthearted jokes were exchanged. It was likely because both of them knew all too well how to suppress the encroaching grief—the knowledge that you had to pretend to be okay to actually feel okay.
Juhyeon sat down on the bench beside Taemo. Though there was shade, the air remained stiflingly hot. It was the kind of weather that would dry up tears in an instant.
“I want to be here when I die someday.”
“You’re so young, and you’re already thinking about that?”
Taemo’s gaze, which had been fixed on the sky, finally shifted to Juhyeon. He let out a scoffing laugh, as if he found the comment absurd. Seeing a faint smile on Taemo’s usually somber face put Juhyeon at ease.
“It’s a long way off, but still.”
Juhyeon shrugged, returning the smile. Taemo’s dark eyes held him with an intensity that seemed to memorize every detail.
“Let’s all get together,” Taemo said. “You, me, and Kang Yi-do. When we die, we’ll meet here.”
“Is that so?”
“Let’s meet again, even after death. No matter what.”
It was as if he was promising that there would never be a permanent goodbye between them again—as if he knew how Juhyeon had always waited in anxiety for someone who never returned.
Maybe it’s because we’re too much alike, Juhyeon thought.
He threw himself into Taemo’s arms. The warmth was just right, the scent familiar. An awkward yet tender hand stroked his back.
“You’d better keep your promise.”
Though he said the words, Juhyeon trusted Lee Taemo. He had said he would keep his promises to Juhyeon, even if it meant risking his own life.
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