“Is it an urgent call?”
“…Something like that.”
“It’s Gi-hyeon, isn’t it?”
Jo Yeon-oh neither confirmed nor denied it, but the woman seated across from him seemed to know the answer already. She let out a soft sigh.
“You should bring Gi-hyeon with you next time. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen him.”
Without replying, Yeon-oh raised his teacup to his lips.
The rich scent of twice-roasted green tea drifted gently through the room. It was pleasant enough, but compared to the fragrance he had breathed in at So Gi-hyeon’s apartment the night before, it felt faint.
…What had that scent been?
It had been unbearably sweet—so rich it almost made the back of his tongue ache.
“Spacing out while your elder is talking to you… you and Gi-hyeon really are alike.”
“…We’ve known each other too long. Maybe we’ve started picking up each other’s habits.”
Whenever Gi-hyeon’s name came up, Yeongwon noticed the same thing. Her usually taciturn son suddenly became talkative, though his face would harden with irritation all the while.
The table between them was lavishly set: thin slices of raw sea bream, monkfish liver stew, fried cherries, soy sauce blended with dashi, and warm rice wine steeped with dried sea bream tail. The alcohol had been prepared entirely for Yeongwon.
Yeon-oh disliked drinking. Ironically, the one who used to sit with her and empty bottle after bottle had always been Gi-hyeon.
Yet somewhere along the way, Yeon-oh had stopped bringing him around altogether.
As the only thing her late friend had left behind, Gi-hyeon was precious to her. She had wanted to care for him, to fuss over him properly, but Yeon-oh blocked every attempt she made.
“How has Gi-hyeon been lately? Is he doing well?”
Yeon-oh briefly considered mentioning that they had slept in the same bed the previous night, but decided against it. His mother was delicate in ways she herself didn’t realize.
Instead, he silently picked up a slice of sea bream with his chopsticks.
“Will you answer me? I asked how Gi-hyeon is doing.”
Watching him close himself off again, Yeongwon shook her head with quiet exasperation.
If she had to have a son, she had once hoped for an Omega. Or at the very least, someone warm and affectionate like Gi-hyeon.
Instead, she had given birth to a son who was cold, silent, and seemingly indifferent to everything around him.
And yet there was one person capable of tearing down every wall Jo Yeon-oh had built around himself.
“You seem awfully interested in him.”
Dragging the tip of his chopsticks lightly across his lower lip, Yeon-oh answered in a deliberately guarded tone.
Realizing he had shut himself off again, Yeongwon sighed.
Still, considering how terrible his adolescence had been, the fact that he even had a close friend at all felt like a miracle. Back in middle school, Yeon-oh had reacted to Beta men with near-hostile sensitivity.
…I failed to give him a stable home.
That guilt had never left her.
And Gi-hyeon—who had been discharged early from military service after the accident that ruined his ankle—was another constant source of worry.
“You really do this every time. The moment I mention Gi-hyeon, you get defensive. You aren’t my only son. Gi-hyeon is my son too.”
Yeon-oh said nothing.
When he finally set down his chopsticks altogether, Yeongwon sighed once more.
“Don’t misunderstand. Your grandfather is worried because you show no interest in marriage. Are you seeing anyone?”
“No. And I don’t plan to.”
He leaned back slightly.
“Is he saying he won’t hand over the Chairman’s seat unless I get married?”
“It’s not quite that simple, but…”
“But he still expects me to marry, cheat on my wife, and parade all of it in front of my children like the men in this family always have?”
His voice turned colder.
“That kind of thinking should’ve died out a long time ago. People actually try to keep their families together now.”
Startled by the sharpness in his tone, Yeongwon’s chopsticks slipped from her hand.
Even now, years after divorcing his father, the guilt she carried was still something her son could cut open with frightening precision.
“How can you say something so cruel?”
“Then why force me to sit here until I do?”
Yeon-oh stood, lifting a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth.
“When I see my mother, I’d rather say pleasant things. Like a normal son from a normal family.”
“…”
“You should travel somewhere. Nice. Sicily. Somewhere far away.”
Without another word, he turned and walked out of the private room.
Manager Yoo, who had been waiting outside the sliding door, wore an awkward expression the moment Yeon-oh passed him.
Left alone, Yeongwon lowered her head in silence.
No matter how much time passed, she would always remain guilty in her son’s eyes.