Seo Cyan had always been a lonely and a sad person. It wasn't his fault, though. His father had died of lung cancer when he was nine, and his mother had to take up a job to take care of their finances. She couldn't handle a job and a child all at once, so she left Cyan in care of his grandmother while she worked hard, only to spend the weekend with him. 

Cyan's grandmother was a bitter woman. She blamed Cyan for his father's death. 

"Are you happy, eating all that?" She would mock and taunt Cyan at every little action he did. "Are you happy sleeping at night knowing that you killed my son?" 

Cyan couldn't say anything to her. All he could do was spend the day in school and the nights in a study hall. He graduated top of his class from his countryside school, and managed to get into Seoul National University, department of graphic design. He was always good at drawing, and wanted to pursue that as a career, but no one had told him that graphic design and drawing were two different subjects entirely. 

The man took a leave of absence to complete his military training as soon as he enrolled in college, so that he wouldn't have to leave his job in future for the same. Cyan was twenty three when he returned back to college. 

Things had changed a bit. His hair was shorter, for starters; and the debt kept piling up. Cyan took up a lot of part time jobs to ease the weight of his study loans. While working in a department store as a salesman, he met Park Haesun. 

He didn't know he would fall in love so quickly with her. She was rash, wild, loved partying, and their first time was in the changing room of the department stores Cyan worked in. He was fired from his job the day after, but for the first time in his life, he had felt such a thrill. Like he was flying in air and there was no harness to hold him back. 

Haesun lived her life like she wasn't going to live it again. It was easy to fall for her heart shaped face, deep kohl lined eyes, her red lips and her fiery spirit. Cyan forgot everything when he was with her. His father's death, his mother's absence, the abuse he faced from his grandmother. Even the loans that he would have to pay when he graduated college. But Cyan didn't give a dime about them. He used to lay beside Haesun was watch the stars in the open sky at night, their hands held and their heads lying on the carpets of grass. 

Park Haesun was a chaebol daughter. And Cyan wasn't. He had forgotten the fact that even if Haesun was a complete moron who flunked her grades, she still had her family to back it up. The Yoonsei Parks were filthy rich. 

"I don't care about my family," she said and Cyan believed. "They suffocate me sometimes." 

"I understand," Cyan said. "Mine does too." 

"Our child will never be like that, would they,  babe?" 

"No," Cyan smiled, "they would be the happiest person in this universe." 

Lies. Nothing but lies. Haesun's family snatched Haesun away as soon as Lala was born, and they said they didn't want to do anything with Cyan. Seo Cyan was just twenty five. And he had a daughter, for God's sake. The little bundle, wrapped up in a blanket, left with a mere intern to fend for. 

Initially, Cyan's mother helped him with Lala. But she was old, and she passed away when Lala was two. By then, Cyan had a stable job in a big company. He could buy a house, food, clothes, toys, and pay off a large amount of his loans. He had also begun to start saving his daughter's future. He thought he was finally stable. Happy. 

Until one day, he picked up a newspaper and read about Song Taemu and Park Haesun getting married. One of the sons of the Daehan family and the third daughter of the Yoonsei family were getting married. It must have been a happy occasion for them and their families. 

That night, Cyan cried. He sat by his daughter's bed and cried as much as he could. From then on, Cyan didn't ever try to look back at Haesun. She never contacted him. Not once. Maybe she realised that he was her mistake, after all. 

That chaebols like her didn't belong to someone like Cyan. She was smiling in that picture. Her bright red lipstick was toned down to a neutral shade of light pink, and her wild curls were pulled back into a bun. She held the arms of someone, and they were both looking away from each other, smiling to the reporter's camera. 

Cyan wondered if she was happy. He often wondered if she wondered how her daughter was doing. And he wondered if she cried at nights secretly when no one was looking. 

"Would we have been happier?" Cyan asked, his voice choked and tears rolling down his face. "Could… Lala have been happier?" 

Joon had no answers to that story. But he was happy. As much as he pitied Cyan, he was happy that the woman had left him. Broken, shattered, maybe. Joon could pick up the pieces and try to join them again. 

"That's why Joon," Cyan wiped his face and chuckled, "don't like me. You saw today how hard it is to raise a child." 

"No, today I saw how hard it is to raise a child alone. You need me, Cyan. Both of you need me." 

"I can't just drag you down into my world!" Cyan raised his voice, and then slumped down. The invisible cards holding him together snapped. "I can't… you have a future, Joon. You'll find someone who you can be happy with, enjoy life with. Not someone like me who already has so much to deal… you can't like me, Joon." 

"I can't, or I can't?" Joon seethed. "Stop giving me useless excuses. Just say that you are repulsed by me and don't want me around you." 

"No, it's not that…" Cyan whispered. 

"Then what is it!" Joon cried out in agony. "What is it about me that you hate so much?" 

"I…" Cyan's hands shook as he covered his face. Joon hated that he couldn't see Cyan's eyes at that moment. "I like you too, you know. It's hard for me as well." His shoulders shook. "But Lala shouldn't… I don't want her to listen to the mockery of our society. She's already out casted by the adults, and kids would tease her at school… no, she can't have a gay father." 

"So that's your problem." Joon wanted to laugh at the absurdity of Cyan's thoughts. Damned society. Who were they to dictate what someone wanted, what someone wished for.