Seojun was lying curled up on the bed in the far corner of his room, his arms wrapped tightly around the pillow as if holding on to something that might keep him from falling apart. His face was buried so deep into the fabric that he could barely breathe, but it didn’t matter. Breathing hurt anyway.

His eyes were swollen and raw, the skin around them puffy and warm from hours of crying. His body felt drained, like someone had reached inside and pulled out everything that once held him together. The pain didn’t come and go anymore. It had settled deep in his chest, constant and full, pressing down on him with no relief.

The lights were off, the curtains drawn, and the room was quiet. He had closed the door behind him but hadn’t bothered to lock it. He didn’t think anyone would come in, and if they did, he didn’t care. He was sure no one could hear him through the thick stillness of the house. No one ever did.

But someone did.

Footsteps moved softly through the hallway and came to a stop just outside his room. They stayed there for a moment, quiet and uncertain, like whoever was standing there wasn’t sure if they should come closer.

It was his mother.

Mi-yeon had been walking past when she heard the sound of him crying, and it had stopped her where she stood. Something in her chest tightened as she realized how broken his voice had sounded, how small. For a long moment, she simply stood there, not speaking, not moving, just listening to the sound of her son falling apart on the other side of the door.

Then, slowly, she stepped forward and reached out. Her knuckles touched the wood, and she knocked quietly and carefully, as if not to scare him further.

“Seojun?”

There was no answer at first. The only sound in the room was his unsteady breathing, rough and shallow against the pillow. His body remained still, curled up tight like he was trying to make himself smaller.

After a moment, her voice came again, softer this time.

“I’m coming in.”

From the bed, she heard him sniff quietly, like he had just pulled in a breath through his nose to steady himself. His voice was small and muffled.

“Okay.”

When Mi-yeon stepped inside, the first thing she saw was her son, curled up on the bed like something had shattered inside him. His back was tense, his body still shaking slightly from all the crying he had done.

“My son,” she said quietly as she walked across the room. Her voice was calm, but there was warmth in it, something that held him gently even before she touched him.

She sat beside him, leaned in close, and reached out. Her fingers moved slowly through his hair, soft and careful, as if trying not to startle him. Then she took his hand in hers and held it without saying anything else.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“If you don’t tell me what’s hurting you, I won’t be able to help.”

He hesitated for a moment, fear and uncertainty warring inside him. But somewhere deep, a small spark of courage flickered. The truth had been weighing on him, and maybe, just maybe, telling her would ease that burden.

Reluctantly, Seojun sat up, wiping his tear-streaked face. His eyes were swollen and raw, lips trembling.

“There’s someone I like at school, but someone else began dating that person today.”

Mi-yeon’s face softened. She looked relieved that it wasn’t something worse.

“Oh, my son… You’re only fifteen. She’s not the only girl in the world. You’ve got so many years ahead, high school, college…”

“It’s a boy.”

Everything stopped. The air, the room, her thoughts. It was like time had paused for a moment, holding everything in place.

Mi-yeon didn’t speak right away. She took in a breath and let it sit in her chest. Then, quietly, she asked,

“What?”

Seojun looked up. His eyes met hers. He looked scared, but he didn’t back away. His voice was clear now.

“The person I like is a boy.”

He didn’t look down. He kept his eyes on her, like he was telling her he meant every word.

Mi-yeon said nothing at first. She stood completely still, caught in the moment. Her mind felt full and empty at the same time. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t disappointed. She was shocked. But under that shock, something else was growing quietly. She found herself looking at her son in a way she never had before. There was something steady in the way he faced her. He was only fifteen. He had come to her in pieces, but now he sat there and told her the truth with no hesitation.

And she couldn’t help it. A soft breath escaped her. She was in awe of him. Not because he was perfect. Not because he knew how to say things the right way. But because he stayed. Because he looked straight at her and told her who he was. And because, in that moment, she felt like she was seeing him clearly for the first time.

She stood. Slowly, without rushing, she walked to the door. Her hand rested on the knob.

“Come out to the garden,” she said softly. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

***

As Seojun made his way toward the garden, Mi-yeon turned to the housekeeper without changing her tone.

“There are cigarettes in the drawer in the study… Also, bring me a glass of Glenriver, fifty-five year old. Make it a double. And some juice for Seojun, please.”

The housekeeper paused.

“Would you like ice with that, ma’am?”

“No.”

Then she stepped barefoot through the open veranda doors, out into the night.

The moon hung high and pale in the sky, casting silver light across the garden. Cicadas hummed steadily from the trees, the air rich with the deep quiet of night. Seojun was sitting by the edge of the pool, head bowed, arms loosely wrapped around his knees.

Mi-yeon lowered herself beside him, folding her legs under. She glanced sideways, but said nothing. Her son was still crying, softly now, as if trying not to disturb anything beyond the water in front of him.

“Tell me,” she said gently. “Is this the first time you’ve liked a boy?” Her voice held no judgment, only genuine curiosity and a careful softness that tried not to press too hard.

Seojun sniffled and drew a shaky breath.

“I’ve never really liked girls,” he admitted, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Not once. I think I’ve only ever liked boys. “Don’t you think boys are nice too? You like boys, right? I don’t know why, but… they just feel right to me.”

Mi-yeon couldn’t help it. She laughed.

“Yes, I do like boys. You’re absolutely right,” she said, still smiling.

Then she fell quiet for a moment, her gaze drifting across the surface of the water.

“Now tell me about the boy you like,” she said softly. 

“My seatmate… He’s such a sweet boy. I’ve liked him since the beginning of the year. We were really close. Sometimes I even thought he liked me back. But today, he started dating a girl. I have no chance anymore…”

Then, just like that, the tears returned. Hiccuped sobs escaped from his chest, quiet but sharp, as though something inside him was splintering.

“It hurts so much, Mom,” he said, burying his face in his hands. “I can feel it in my chest, like something’s gripping my heart and won’t let go.”

Mi-yeon’s expression softened.

“Aigoo¹… You really are in love.”

Just then, the housekeeper arrived with a tray. Mi-yeon accepted it silently.

“Thank you. You can go to bed now.”

The woman nodded and left.

Mi-yeon took the cigarette from the tray, lit it with a quiet flick, and brought it to her lips. Her first inhale was slow and deliberate. She took a sip of the whiskey next, letting the warmth settle in her chest. The wind stirred through the grass, making soft crackling sounds beneath the trees. A single leaf drifted into the pool, creating widening circles that shimmered in the moonlight. The cicadas’ song rose again, filling the space between them. They sat like that for a while, just breathing.

His next words came out shaky, broken by tears. He didn’t lift his head. His voice was soft and unsteady as he asked,

“Are you mad at me?”

¹아이구 (aigoo): A Korean exclamation expressing sighs, sympathy, frustration, or emotional weariness. Comparable to “oh dear” or “geez” in English, it often reflects genuine concern or heartfelt emotion, especially in older or parental speech.