On Friday evening, Han Tae-ryeong came home around sunset and slipped into a nap.
And he dreamed.
The boy had been appearing less often lately. It had been a long time since Han Tae-ryeong had last seen him. But in the dream, Han Tae-ryeong could neither speak nor move. He could only watch, a spectator standing just beyond the scene.
It was a memory from childhood.
One December day, when he was eight years old, he had been building a snowman in the biting winter wind. The young Han Tae-ryeong laughed brightly, his expressions changing from one moment to the next as he bounced around in excitement.
He was nothing like the person he had become.
Beside him sat a boy whose features were blurred beyond recognition. The boy listened to Han Tae-ryeong talk. He laughed, clapped, sighed, and answered him in every way he could. But whenever the cold became too much to bear, he would fidget in silence, unable to say a word.
Each time, Han Tae-ryeong delighted in draping his coat over the boy’s shoulders. Even when the boy resisted, he stubbornly insisted, pleased by the expression he made.
Of course, that stubbornness had earned him more than a few terrible colds.
Even now, he did not regret it.
It had felt good.
Warm.
Comforting.
He wanted to see that boy again. He wanted to find him—the boy who had vanished in an instant and never appeared before him again.
The dream always ended the same way.
The more Han Tae-ryeong longed to find him, the more desperately he tried to make out the boy’s face. But the features remained blurred, like a mosaic. No matter how hard he squinted, no matter how close he leaned, the face never came into focus.
And before he could see it, he would wake.
Han Tae-ryeong forced himself through the lingering drowsiness and sat up. One by one, he sifted through the memories he had never been able to forget. Nearly ten years had passed, yet he remembered every detail with painful clarity.
Everything except the boy’s face.
No matter how hard he tried, he could not recall it.
The only thing he remembered was the color of the boy’s eyes.
Han Tae-ryeong raked a frustrated hand through his hair.
That boy.
His name was—
He drew a sharp breath.
For no reason, Min Yu-un came to mind.
Min Yu-un… He’s been acting strange lately.
He no longer glared at people with that filthy look in his eyes. He no longer hurled insults at Yoo Si-eon every chance he got. No, more precisely, he seemed to have lost interest in Han Tae-ryeong and the other two altogether.
As if the matter had already been decided.
As if he had made up his mind never to involve himself with them again.
Still brooding in irritation, Han Tae-ryeong suddenly remembered something from earlier that day.
The dazzling sunlight.
The green grass, swaying as if the brightness did not bother it at all.
And, most of all, the small clusters of clovers.
Min Yu-un had been crouched in front of them, pointing at the clovers.
And he had been rather…
Cute.
At that exact moment, an alert chimed in the minds of the two Yu-uns, announcing that Quest 3 had been cleared.
Han Tae-ryeong’s heart gave a soft, traitorous flutter.
A beat too late, he clenched his teeth and dragged himself out of that foolish sentiment.
“What the hell am I thinking…”
He muttered the words coldly and got out of bed.
He needed to wash his face with cold water.
But no matter what he did, Min Yu-un kept creeping back into his thoughts.
Before he went to sleep.
After he woke and went about his day.
Through Saturday.
Then Sunday.
The reason was simple.
Whenever he ate, whenever he looked in the mirror, even when he sat still doing nothing at all, Han Tae-ryeong always found himself thinking about that boy.
That boy used to do this.
What would that boy have done?
It would have been nice if they could have done this together.
For Han Tae-ryeong, recalling that faint image and clinging to those happy memories had always been his only comfort. His only peace.
That, in itself, was nothing new.
It was simply the way he had lived for the past ten years.
The problem was that every thought that began with that boy now ended with Min Yu-un.
Not once or twice.
For two entire days.
I’m seriously disgusting.
On Sunday evening, Han Tae-ryeong rubbed a hand over his face in frustration.
He had despised Min Yu-un. He had suspected him.
And yet here he was, unable to stop thinking about him.
Ding.
A notification appeared, announcing a new message.
Cursing under his breath, Han Tae-ryeong picked up his phone and glanced at the sender’s name.
“Min Yu-un?”
The message contained only an address.
Min Yu-un’s house, as far as Han Tae-ryeong knew.
His hesitation was brief. As if something were pulling him, he quickly changed clothes and left the house.
And that was how he ended up here, looking down at Min Yu-un, who was sleeping soundly.
As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Min Yu-un’s figure gradually became clearer.
He’s thin.
The thought passed through Han Tae-ryeong’s mind.
The thin blanket traced the outline of Min Yu-un’s frail body. He had always seemed so restless, always flitting around with too much energy, that Han Tae-ryeong had never noticed how skinny he was.
His slightly unkempt hair was long enough to fall over his eyes. The back had been trimmed unevenly, sticking out here and there.
Every so often, Min Yu-un’s lips moved in his sleep.
His face looked even more lifeless than before, as if quietly informing the world that he might die at any moment.
It was absurd.
Why did Han Tae-ryeong even care?
Why was he standing here, studying Min Yu-un as if any of this mattered?
And yet, seen up close like this, without his usual anger or loudness, Min Yu-un was different from the person Han Tae-ryeong had imagined.
“Ha.”
With a quiet scoff, Han Tae-ryeong turned away.
He had not insisted on spending the night at Min Yu-un’s place just to stare at his face.
Moving soundlessly, Han Tae-ryeong scanned the bookshelf. It was filled with classic fairy tales, each volume decorated with elaborate illustrations.
Then his gaze stopped on an album tucked into the far corner of the top shelf.
He reached up and pulled it out.
Even if Min Yu-un stood on tiptoe, Han Tae-ryeong doubted he could reach that high. For Han Tae-ryeong, it was no trouble at all.
He glanced at Min Yu-un from the corner of his eye before opening the album.
The room was too dark to see clearly, so he narrowed his eyes and relied on the moonlight.
The first page.
Then the second.
He flipped through them one by one, then let several pages slide past in quick succession.
Han Tae-ryeong’s eyes narrowed.
Not a single childhood photo?
Something was wrong.
This was not a graduation album or a yearbook. It was an ordinary family album. And yet every photograph showed only Min Yu-un in his later elementary-school years.
Min Yu-un in middle school.
Min Yu-un starting high school.
There was not a single picture of him as a small child.
It was as if everything before the age of ten had been neatly erased.
What is he hiding?
A cold gleam entered Han Tae-ryeong’s eyes.
*****
Han Tae-ryeong neither lay down nor slept.
He simply sat there in silence, watching Min Yu-un sleep.
He stayed awake the entire night.
Before he knew it, dawn had come. The black sky had softened into a faint shade of blue.
The clock struck exactly 7:00 a.m.
Min Yu-un showed no sign of waking.
Even when Han Tae-ryeong made noise as he moved around, Min Yu-un did not stir. He did not make a sound. His sleep was almost absurdly deep.
Someone could kidnap him, and he wouldn’t even notice.
Min Yu-un was hated by almost everyone.
If anyone was likely to be kidnapped, it was him.
Stretching his back, Han Tae-ryeong pressed a palm against the floor and stood. At last, he tore his gaze away from Min Yu-un and walked to the laundry room.
After taking his clothes from the dryer, he stole another glance at the sleeping figure.
Then, instead of getting dressed, he stayed in his bathrobe and headed for the kitchen.
His face was bright red yesterday. That was quite a sight.
It was not as though Han Tae-ryeong had never seen Min Yu-un’s face turn red before.
But yesterday had been different.
It had not been the flush of anger swelling in his cheeks.
It had not been irritation heating his face.
No, yesterday, what had seized Min Yu-un from head to toe had been pure, unguarded embarrassment.
A strange satisfaction bubbled up inside Han Tae-ryeong.
Standing in front of the refrigerator, he pulled the door open.
As he looked over the contents, his expression twisted into a grimace.
“What the hell?”
The words slipped out before he realized it.
Freezing in place, he glanced toward Min Yu-un.
Fortunately, Min Yu-un was still fast asleep. He showed not the slightest sign of movement.
Feeling ridiculous for being so careful, Han Tae-ryeong curled his lips into a crooked smirk before glaring back into the refrigerator.
There was barely anything to eat.
Only water, drinks, and a few convenience-store pastries.
No wonder he’s so thin.
At least there were eggs.
But that was all.
Still, it was better than nothing. Surprisingly, the inside of the refrigerator was tidy. Most people who bought food and never touched it ended up letting it rot past the expiration date, but Min Yu-un’s refrigerator had been maintained properly.
There should at least be cooking oil and salt.
Han Tae-ryeong turned away and took out a frying pan.
*****
When I was a child, I used to love the story of The Snail Bride.
Maybe it was because I wanted, just once, to eat a meal someone had made for me with genuine care.
I snapped out of my thoughts and simply blinked.
“Oh, you’re awake?”
Han Tae-ryeong noticed me and greeted me as casually as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
“There wasn’t much to eat besides eggs, so I made scrambled eggs. Come eat.”