Hwang Nari appeared at the entrance to the living room, standing tall and trying to look calm, though she was clearly surprised to see him sitting there. The light behind her showed her pretty face and hair. She was Yeonjun’s father’s young wife and the mother of Yeonjun’s little sister.

Yeonjun nodded.

“Hello, Nari-ssi.¹ I was nearby and thought I might see Ji-won. I’ve missed her.”

Nari paused for a moment, then walked into the room with slow, careful steps.

“You didn’t miss us? We miss you all the time.”

“I missed everyone,” Yeonjun said quietly, without looking at her.

Nari gave a short, mocking smile, her eyes still on him. Then she turned her head and called down the hall.

“Ji-won! Come here!”

A door opened, and a little girl with messy hair and bare feet ran toward them, arms swinging.

“Oppa-yah!²”

Yeonjun crouched just in time to catch her as she launched into his arms. She wrapped herself around his neck, and he pulled her close. For the first time that day, his expression softened into something real.

Nari stood a few steps back, watching silently with a tight-lipped smile. Yeonjun didn’t acknowledge her. His arms stayed around his sister.

The only person I’m still sure loves me is this little girl.

“Did you miss me, Oppa? I thought you couldn’t carry me anymore. But you can!”

Yeonjun smiled.

“You’re still five, Ji-won. I can carry you for a long time.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the couch. They sat together, and she started talking non-stop. She told him about the pink flower at preschool, her teddy’s scratched ear, the neighbor’s silly dog, and how she dreamed of flying like a fairy. Yeonjun listened, nodding and smiling, letting her voice fill the empty parts inside him.

A few minutes later, the housekeeper came in with a tray and set down two cups of coffee. Nari, already across from them, pushed one of the cups closer to Yeonjun without a word.

“Oppa, can you sleep here tonight?” Ji-won asked, tugging gently at his sleeve. “I want you to stay.”

Yeonjun turned his head slowly and met her eyes. His own expression had gone cold again. He didn’t say anything.

Nari stepped in, her tone smooth but distant.

“Oppa probably has things to do. Don’t bother him too much.”

Ji-won held onto his arm tightly and wouldn’t let go.

“But just for tonight. Please, Oppa? Stay with us.”

Nari stopped for a moment, then let out a quiet sigh, looking like she didn’t want to agree.

“All right. Just for tonight. It would be awkward if you left right after dinner.”

But Yeonjun had already made up his mind.

“There’s a school gathering tonight, Ji-won-ah.³ I can’t stay over. But I’ll visit again soon. That’s a promise.”

He gave himself fifteen minutes to leave that house and check into a hotel for the night.

---

Seojun sat alone in his studio. From the outside, it looked like part of the house’s simple, flat design. Pale walls, a low roof, and a plain steel door gave it an unremarkable look. Beyond the wide glass wall inside, the backyard was lined with perfect grass, a few ornamental trees, and trimmed hedges. It looked more like something from a brochure than a real home.

But inside the studio, everything felt alive. Paint-stained canvases leaned everywhere, some blank, some half-finished, others full of bold colors. A steel table overflowed with paint tubes, dirty jars, brushes stuffed into mugs, and open sketchbooks. The white walls and clean floor only made the mess stand out more.

A large oil painting stood against the far wall, still unclear and raw, like something waiting to break free.

Seojun stood in front of it in a faded black T-shirt and denim apron, holding a brush in one hand and a wine glass in the other. He took a sip, stepped back, and looked at the canvas with his head tilted slightly. It still resisted him.

Fast, loud music played from a corner speaker. After a few seconds of staring, he changed it to something slower. Then he dropped onto the couch against the wall and lay down.

Three quick knocks sounded at the garage door. He stayed still, eyes on the clock across the room. It was already past midnight.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and a tall man stepped inside. He was well-dressed, as if coming from a late dinner meeting, his sleeves rolled up and blazer draped over one arm. He moved with quiet confidence, like someone always in control.

“The music caught me off guard,” he said casually as he looked around the room.

Seojun smiled from where he was lying.

“Hi, Dad.”

His father stepped fully inside and closed the door behind him. He looked over the open paint tubes, the wine glass, the fresh canvas, and his son still wearing his apron.

“How was your first day back?”

Seojun looked down at his wine, took a slow sip, and shrugged.

“It was alright. There’s not much to say.”

His father kept his eyes on the canvas for a moment.

“Your mom told me something. Is it true? ”

Seojun slowly nodded.

“You should’ve done this a long time ago. You know that, right?”

“I know. Actually… today was kind of strange, Dad.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Seojun looked back at the painting. 

“Not yet. But I hope someday I’ll be able to.”

His father didn’t say anything else. He stayed where he was, quiet, while the soft music filled the space between them.

---

The hotel room was quiet except for the low sound of the TV. Gray walls, crisp white bedding, and pricey but impersonal furniture made it feel sterile, like no one had ever stayed there.

Yeonjun lay on the bed in a hotel robe, one leg stretched, the other bent. A half-full glass of wine sat on the nightstand, the nearly empty bottle leaning in its silver holder. The TV flickered with late-night shows he wasn’t really watching.

His phone buzzed on the chair beside the bed. He reached over and picked it up. It was a message from Ji-a.

Why aren’t you coming home?

He stared at the screen for a few seconds before typing his reply.

We broke up, Ji-a.

Her next message arrived almost right away.

You know it’s not that simple.

Yeonjun let out a breath through his nose and gave a short, bitter laugh.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered.

He typed again.

You hit me.

There was a longer pause this time. Then her reply came.

I’m sorry. Please just come home.

Yeonjun didn’t respond. He turned off the screen, powered down the phone completely, and tossed it back onto the chair. He looked at the TV again, but none of the images made sense to him.

I haven’t been truly alone in so long. Even this quiet feels like it’s pushing down on me.

He took another sip of wine and settled deeper into the pillows.

I’ll have to go back for my things at some point. And I need to figure out where to stay next.

Then the memory came rushing back. The courtyard. Ji-a’s voice yelling. Her hand swinging. The sting of the slap. People staring. The burning heat in his face.

His body stiffened. He sat up quickly and reached for the glass. His elbow knocked it off the nightstand. It fell to the marble floor and broke, dark wine spreading everywhere like blood.

“Damn it…”

He stared at the mess on the floor for a long moment. Then, out of nowhere, he laughed. Not because it was funny, and not because it meant anything, but because the whole thing felt ridiculous.

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and laughed quietly. And then, without expecting it, the face of the punk kid from school appeared in his mind. Yeonjun’s smile disappeared. He covered his eyes with one hand.

“What the hell…”

He stayed like that, completely still, while the TV kept flickering and the wine slowly spread across the floor.

¹ -ssi (씨) is a Korean honorific suffix used after a person’s name. It is a polite and neutral way to address someone, typically among acquaintances, colleagues, or when showing respect to someone of similar or slightly higher status. It can be translated roughly as “Mr.,” “Ms.,” or “Mrs.,” though it’s less formal and gender-neutral.

² oppa-yah (오빠야) is a childlike, affectionate way of calling an older brother, with “-yah” (야) adding familiarity and emotional tone.

³ -ah (아) is a vocative suffix in Korean, added to names when calling someone in a familiar or affectionate way.