The days went by, and Siwoo increasingly began to believe that his overzealous mind might finally find peace. Although he did not yet feel completely comfortable in his own skin—especially not in Junho’s presence—he firmly thought that what he felt, or was feeling, was entirely normal. Hyunshik had told him so too, and if he looked at things more closely, it was understandable that a heart in love would evoke such intense reactions; in fact, Siwoo didn’t even understand how he hadn’t noticed the signs of his own psyche, when he had read so many books on the subject already.  Perhaps he was even a little hurt that he had been so foolish, unable to properly handle the raging emotions within himself, and then, unable to reasonably reckon with the consequences of his actions—but still, he forgave himself this mistake, for everyone makes mistakes sometimes; it is part of life. Junho wasn’t angry with him, so why should he be angry at himself? Of course, he regretted how events had turned out (especially that he had hit the one he loved), but he no longer considered it a deadly sin; he began to believe that the best thing would simply be to move on from what had happened, just as Junho had suggested. He tried to enjoy Christmas with his family, and between the holidays—when he wasn’t studying—he spent as much time as possible with his beloved.

By the last day of the year, nearly everything had returned to normal—or at least, that was how Siwoo felt. In his heart, there was only excitement and the sweet, burning sensation of love, for Junho had invited him over for New Year’s Eve, saying the whole house would be theirs alone for the occasion. He was overjoyed by the opportunity, yet a little nervous and restless too, since he had never spent the night with his lover before.
He thought about it all day, his face involuntarily breaking into a smile every half a minute: he could think of nothing else but Junho’s beautiful, wonderful being, his delicate scent, his soft words, his sweet kisses, and he could hardly wait to finally spend a longer stretch of time together with him. He was in love—hopelessly in love. He had never felt anything like this for anyone before, and he thought he never would. From the very first moment he had trembled for Junho, and instead of this intense feeling subsiding, it only grew stronger and stronger with each passing day. No one was as beautiful, as good-hearted, as charming as Junho—and Siwoo nearly went mad at the thought that such a perfect angel showered him with love day after day.

It was around seven in the evening when Siwoo arrived at his lover’s home, and to his surprise, it was Junho’s mother who opened the door for him. He was a little taken aback, for although he had run into the woman a few times before, they had never exchanged more than a few words, and he wasn’t even sure if she knew that he and her son were actually together. Luckily, his doubts disappeared instantly when the woman immediately pulled him into a warm, affectionate hug right there on the doorstep. Siwoo awkwardly, clumsily wrapped one arm around her short, slender frame—he understood nothing.

“Hello, sweetheart, don’t worry, I’ll be leaving right away, I’m already running late,” Junho’s mother babbled with a gentle laugh, and after releasing him a few seconds later, she immediately busied herself in the entryway: first stuffing all sorts of feminine items, unrecognizable to Siwoo, into a neat black handbag, then slipping on her pre-laid-out patent leather high heels with a somewhat hasty, clumsy motion.

Siwoo stepped distractedly further inside, carefully closing the door behind him, making sure not to dirty anything with his slightly muddy boots. As he shed his outdoor clothes, he kept watching his lover’s bustling mother. Although he couldn’t know what Junho’s father had looked like, he was certain the boy had inherited all his outward charms from his mother. The woman was strikingly youthful and beautiful, especially with that elegant makeup and the modest yet chic cream-colored dress she was wearing.

“Oh, it’s been such a long time since I went out with my friends for some fun,” the beautiful woman remarked, fussing with her long, wavy hair in the gold-framed mirror hanging on the entryway wall. “Until now, Junho and I have always spent New Year’s Eve at home, just the two of us, but now I can finally go out and party with a light heart. But perhaps I’m too old for this, don’t you think?”

The woman laughed heartily, and Siwoo was charmed by how direct her tone was. It felt as though he were conversing with a lifelong friend, and he couldn’t help but think of how different she was from his own mother, who always behaved reservedly and cautiously with strangers.

“Well then, have lots of fun, watch out for the dog, and don’t be too loud, or the neighbor will get annoyed,” the woman rattled off, but before she could even finish her sentence, Junho appeared from the direction of the living room. Siwoo’s face immediately lit up when he saw him.

“Mom, you’re so embarrassing,” the beautiful boy said, shaking his head, his face displaying a mock frown.

“What is it, honeybun, am I embarrassing you in front of your friend?” she laughed, casting an amused glance at Siwoo.

“Well, if you call me ‘honeybun,’ then yes, very much so,” Junho rolled his eyes, but as soon as his gaze met the boy standing a few meters away, a sweet smile curved his lips.

The young woman laughed softly, then lovingly leaned toward her son to give him two goodbye kisses. Siwoo, for his part, wondered what Junho might have said about him to his mother for her to treat him so naturally and kindly; on the other hand, he couldn’t help but notice how striking their resemblance was up close. Junho’s mother had the same gentle face, arched nose, and large eyes as her son.

“Well, I really must go now,” the woman patted her son’s cheek one last time and was just about to head toward the door when she suddenly added with slightly furrowed brows: “I see that nasty bump on your head is already healing, sweetie. How could you be so silly, running into that darn doorframe like that?”

The blood froze in Siwoo’s veins. He felt the air in the room suddenly grow unbearably heavy, and his whole body stiffened—only his lips trembled violently. He lowered his gaze to the white-tiled floor, yet still felt Junho’s uneasy eyes on him. Those were terribly long, agonizing moments until the mother finally said her last goodbye and closed the front door behind her. Only then could Siwoo completely collapse inward. He felt his lover’s gentle caress on the nape of his neck, but he could think of nothing else except that it had been entirely pointless to wonder what Junho had told his mother about him—for whatever it was, it wasn’t the full truth. No matter the goodwill and kindness, if the boy’s mother ever learned who Siwoo truly was, and what he had done to her only child, she would surely see him in a very different light.