Chapter 5

The air was thick with smoke—disgusting, noxious. It clung to everything, a murky veil steeped in grief, frustration, and every emotion from the same poisoned family. Haneul instinctively slowed his breath, trying not to inhale too much as he arrived and leaned against the railing, beside the blonde man who flicked out another cigarette and offered him a place in the mess he was making.

A cloud of grey rose into the already overcast sky, the fumes weaving into the gloom like it belonged there. The heaviness of it mirrored the weight in the man’s chest—the man who exhaled it with such practiced weariness.

“Have one,” Leonis muttered, nudging Haneul. The younger man didn’t turn his head. His eyes simply shifted sideways, studying his friend—someone who felt both familiar and alarmingly changed. His hair, more ragged than before, clung to his temples. His shoulders slumped beneath wrinkled clothes. He had clearly stopped trying. And yet, despite the disarray—his bloodshot eyes, the hollow look—he still looked unreasonably good. Like a model accidentally inventing a new aesthetic.

Haneul shook his head. Not in refusal, but to shake off his own thoughts. The sudden solemn transformation had made Leonis feel like a stranger —yet one whose face was still achingly recognisable.

“Sorry it took me a while to get here from class. And no, no thanks. I don’t smoke, Leon,” Haneul said gently. They had spent nearly the almost an entire year together, even after their oil painting elective ended. Their friendship had carried on with shared laughs, long talks, quiet creation. But today, you look so pitiful.

“You should try it,” Leonis said, pushing the cigarette toward him again. He took a drag from his own and released another cloud that smelled like sorrow.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Leon.” Haneul lightly pushed Leonis’s hand away, eyes fixed now on the snarl of traffic below. “I know it wasn’t easy. I just… I wish I could do more.”

But he said no more. Some words only deepen the wound. Like they always say: too much of anything—even sympathy—can do more harm than good.

Leonis’s mother had passed away recently, just as he was sitting for his exams. Haneul remembered how their meeting that day was suddenly cancelled—how Leonis bolted from the exam hall when he got the call. The school gave him a make-up exam and a week off to grieve and for him to prepare the funeral arrangements.

But something else had departed with her.

Leonis had dulled. The light in his eyes, the flush in his cheeks, all the colours that once lived in him seemed drained. His mother had been his world. No one else in his family had ever loved him like she did.

His father attended the funeral—but that was all. The real work fell on Leonis, as it had for years. Since being laid off, his father had become a shadow of himself: angry, volatile, desperate for respect and soaked in liquor that only fanned the flames. Leonis spent most of his time at the hospital, not just caring for his mother—but escaping. Escaping a house filled with shouting, demands, and door-slamming need. When he wasn’t at the hospital, he was at one of his part-time jobs, scraping together enough for food, rent, and medical bills.

It hadn’t been easy. And despite the smiles Leonis used to wear, today Haneul saw the truth clearly. Just one look, and he knew.

Leonis, you left the world the moment your mother did.

He turned his head toward Haneul abruptly, his shackled bangs brushing against puffy eyes, their dark green reflecting the other’s quiet presence. He smiled faintly.

“Let’s get dinner together.”

The year was winding down. He hadn't expected his mother to leave—should’ve, maybe—but he hadn’t allowed the thought to settle. He didn’t want to think about it. That much, at least, he had admitted to Haneul as they waited for their food. So when Leonis suddenly shifted the conversation, Haneul blinked in surprise.

“You know you can—”

“No. Remember the last time we ate here?” Leonis didn’t want to carry his grief to the table—not tonight, not with Haneul.

“Yeah. Food here’s really good… so was the drink you spilled all over me,” Haneul teased.

They both laughed—an easy, familiar rhythm. Leonis had always been animated, almost theatrical, especially when telling a story. His hands flew with excitement, and inevitably, so did something from the table. Haneul had learned to anticipate it. Still, he failed more often than not.

“You know…” Haneul grinned, shaking his head, “sometimes I wonder if you do it on purpose.”

The beeper rattled across the tabletop, pulling their attention. They got up to collect their trays.

Even at odd hours, this fast-food joint—especially their favourite burger stop—was always buzzing. Haneul went for his usual: mala crispy chicken burger set, corn salad, bottled water. Leonis opted for the corn dog combo with mashed potatoes and a Coke.

Back at the table, they talked about upcoming electives and their busy exam period between bites.

“Is that actually good?” Leonis asked, eyeing the corn salad with a skeptical brow. He pointed at it like it had personally offended him.

Haneul always ordered that side, unlike Leonis, who cycled through fries, mashed potatoes, or chocolate cake but never touched the greens. He’d eat vegetables when he had to—but not outside, and certainly not when fries were an option. The corn salad baffled him. This time, he had to settle it.

“What? It’s good!” Haneul stabbed his fork into the cup. Creamy dressing oozed up as he pierced through the corn and imitation crab. “You should try it. It’s like... a cold dessert. Sweet, tangy, savory—it works. I swear. Try it!”

He shoved the cup across the table, daring Leonis to contradict his lived experience.

Leonis took it, skeptically, and nudged a forkful to his lips. Then another. And another.

“…It’s actually not bad. What the heck. I shouldn’t have known. I can’t believe this…”

The chewy crab and crunchy corn made an oddly satisfying pair, tied together by rich, tangy mayonnaise. It was surprisingly addictive.  Leonis was stunned—not because it was that good, but because he’d been mocking Haneul’s quirky food choices all along.

“You’re unbelievable,” Haneul muttered, passing the rest to Leonis while biting into his burger.

“I guess your taste isn’t completely that tragic after all!” Leonis mumbled through a mouthful, smirking.

Haneul elbowed Leonis with a mock glare. Leonis nearly choked on his laughter, letting out a groan followed by a laugh—not a forced one, but a real, sudden laugh, full-bodied. Free.

Haneul hadn’t heard that sound in a while. It caught him off guard.

And it made him smile.

He missed this.

Missed him.