I found myself staring back into her large brown eyes. From my mouth, which had been hanging open pointlessly, I somehow squeezed out words.

"Suicide...?"

At my near-whisper, Chloe's eyes darted away. Looking guilty, she slowly explained.

"We attended Alan's funeral—that's where we met Qasim too. 

Alan's father came to thank us, and he was choking up, saying, 

'Why would that boy take his own life...'"

My throat tightened with words that would never make it past my lips. 

Before I knew it, I was staring at my feet, the unsaid words hanging heavy in the air between us. 

Come to think of it, I always made sure to wear proper shoes when clients were in the office, but today I was still in my comfortable slippers.

I forced myself to stop. Thinking about trivial things when I was under pressure was a bad habit of mine.

"I also assumed he'd been caught up in some accident when I heard the news. The last time I saw Alan, he looked exhausted, so..."

At Chloe's words, I slowly raised my face. After thinking for a moment, I finally realized I had simply assumed Alan's death was murder. Thinking back, the two detectives had grilled me about Alan's relationships and intimidated me, but I didn't think they'd ever explicitly stated his cause of death.

As I fell silent, Chloe continued.

"What do you think, Mr. Potter? We just can't believe he committed suicide."

Of course, neither can I—I wanted to answer reflexively, but my throat remained blocked. That worryingly thin frame. That beautiful but shadowed face. His friends didn't know, but Alan had also been struggling with his sexual orientation.

How could I, who knew nothing about him really, say suicide was impossible?

My silence seemed to shock the four of them considerably. Even so, the eyes of the three young men—Viktor, Ethan, and Qasim, everyone but Chloe—didn't hold the same strong resistance as hers. I sensed they had some inkling. Grief, frustration, indignation—the three different expressions of the young men burned into my retinas.

I stole a sideways glance at the clock, making sure they didn't notice. Not even four-thirty yet. Astonishingly, we had apparently known each other for only about twenty minutes. It felt like I'd been listening to them for three hours.

I clenched my right fist hard enough for my nails to dig into my palm, then looked up. I decided to usher these students out as politely as possible. I felt guilty, but they were the ones who had shown up without notice. It shouldn't be considered rude.

Straightening my back, I smiled at the young people and opened my mouth with resolve.

"It seems I wasn't much help. I'm sorry, but any more than this—" Ethan's eyes, shadowed by his lashes, caught mine. Their gloomy atmosphere made the fool in me change course mid-sentence. "—want some pound cake with dried fruit?"

I nearly clutched my head at my own words. What on earth was I saying? This was exactly why I was bad at dealing with younger people. The "how to be myself" I'd finally learned after years of struggle was rapidly slipping away in just twenty-odd minutes.

My faint hope that they'd politely decline was dashed when Viktor and Chloe nodded without a moment's hesitation. Reluctantly, I returned to the kitchen and sliced the cake onto Iittala plates matching the cups. The moment I set them before the four, those poor cakes vanished in an instant. I'd wanted to collect myself before they finished eating, but my cake apparently wasn't up to the task.

I thought for a moment, then decided to share what Alan had told me—less for their sake than to calm my own heart.

"...Alan once told me about his friends. I think he was talking about you."

The students looked up immediately.

"Alan talked about us?"

"I never heard their ages, genders, or physical descriptions, so this is just my guess. First, the one who joked around about LGBT topics—that was probably you, Viktor? Alan used to sulk about it a lot."

Despite my sugarcoated phrasing, Viktor's face stiffened with a start. He'd been acting nonchalant, so this surprised me a little. Perhaps he, too, carried guilt that could never be resolved.

"You're the one who brought Alan into your group, right?" I continued as gently as I could, hoping to ease his heart. "Alan told me how much his life changed because of that. I think you were his benefactor."

"...It's nothing. I was just doing what I wanted."

Despite his words, Viktor murmured this with sadness.

"And he said one of those friends was really dependable." As I continued, Chloe's back straightened. "He said she always talked so happily about space that lately he'd started to enjoy looking up at the sky."

Chloe's eyes went wide. Immediately, large tears began spilling from them.

I placed a tissue box and a small wastebasket near her, then turned my gaze to the notably large redheaded young man.

"Also—this is about the one time I saw Alan laugh out loud."

"Laugh out loud? Alan?"

To the bewildered Ethan, I grinned.

"He called you the 'quiet one of the Red-Headed League,' so I think it was you, Ethan. He said you once lectured him at length about your personal theories on red hair?"

Viktor muttered "what horrible torture" with a drained expression, and Ethan's mature face crumbled in embarrassment, his cheeks flushing red.

Remembering Alan who had been among them, I continued.

"Apparently it got funnier the more he thought about it later. Whenever he'd suddenly smirk out of nowhere, he was probably remembering you."

"That guy..."

Ethan's expression softened into something terribly gentle.

"And... this is really just a hunch, so I'm not sure if it's you, but Qasim—was it you who spoke to Alan in high school when you were worried about his injury?"

At my question, Qasim's eyes went wide with shock.

"...He remembered that?"

So this was Alan's first love. Alan had only ever described that person as "the center of attention at school," talking instead about how special the moment had been for him. It had truly been nothing more than a wild guess.

"He said he was happy."

I conveyed just that, simply. Qasim closed his eyes with a pained expression. Beside him, Ethan clenched his fists tightly, as if enduring something. Chloe's face had scrunched up, and she was biting her lip hard, desperately trying to stop her tears.

Viktor unceremoniously swept aside the descending silence.

"You do have some idea about Alan's suicide, don't you, Mr. Potter?"

At his words, I closed my eyes and smiled wryly. I shook my head deliberately.

"Luke is fine. That other title makes me uncomfortable."

Having said that, I continued.

"I don't have anything specific in mind. But—this might be hard for you to believe—I was once his age too. I'm no Nizan, but I know what it means to be twenty. I know it isn't always bright and shining."

At my words—half truth, half deflection—the young people gazed at me solemnly. Only Qasim, alone among them, stared down at his own feet with a tortured expression.