Ihyeon glanced up at the sky — was it going to rain? It was gray outside.
His knuckles and the base of his fingers ached, so he clenched his left fist and opened it again, over and over.
“Sorry about this, Ihyeon… We’ve had a big drop in sales this year, so I don’t think we can advance your pay….”
Behind the counter, a faded sticker that read Mujin Sundaeguk hung large and worn; the owner lowered the corners of her eyebrows apologetically.
He hadn’t expected them to be able to help, so there was no great disappointment. When he bit his lip and nodded, she looked even more sorry.
“I’ll try to get this month’s pay to you a bit early. I feel bad — you never asked for anything before. Is something wrong?”
He smiled faintly and shook his head at the owner’s question. He had almost finished buttoning his coat and wrapping his scarf, ready to leave.
“No, it’s fine. I just asked on the off chance. Don’t worry about it. I’m okay.”
“Right… if we were back to the sales we had the year before last, none of this would be a problem. You know how the shop’s been lately… If there’s anything else you need, tell me. Oh — did you finish the side dishes I brought last time? Want me to pack you something new?”
He stopped the owner as she stood to rush into the kitchen and stepped out of the shop. The bell jingled and, the moment the door closed behind him, a cold wind crept into his collar.
He hurried his step so she wouldn’t call him back, but he had nowhere in particular to go.
Losing a destination, he trudged on until he dropped onto a nearby bench. A cold shot through him a beat later. He took out his phone and brought his mother’s contact up on the screen.
He told himself he’d say he didn’t have that kind of money, that he couldn’t help.
But when he reached to tap to call, his finger wouldn’t move. Staring blankly at the phone, something landed on the bridge of his nose. Looking up, snowflakes were drifting down.
Wiping the wetness from his nose with a fingertip, he opened his hand into the air. The drifting flakes seemed to avoid him, until one landed squarely in the center of his palm.
The clumped grain melted clear the moment it touched his skin. He watched the white fleck disappear like wool dissolving. Then his eye caught a long scar where his little finger met his palm.
It had been aching since morning — a sure sign snow was coming.
He traced the slightly raised, fully healed scar with his fingertip. The melted crystal spread thin and clear across the scar.
It was a wound from the time after his discharge, when he couldn’t return to school right away and was working two or three part-time jobs to pay tuition. He’d been trying to break up a fight at the bar where he worked, and a shard of glass cut his hand badly.
They said the glass had nicked a nerve and he needed surgery right away, but he didn’t have the money. While the other part-timers came with him and sobbed helplessly, he sat dazed and tried to decide what to do.
He’d thought it through dozens of times back then. Should he call people who didn’t even know he’d been discharged and beg them for money? Should he ring the loan shark on the street who advertised twenty-four-hour loans?
His only sister was abroad for an important appointment, and Eunho was in the military. There was only one option left.
He sat in the corner of the emergency room chair, gripping his bleeding arm until his head swam, and called his father. It had been exactly three years since he’d left home.
As the call rang, his mouth went dry as dust. Bile rose in his throat and he felt choked. He imagined his father’s shouting face again — the man who had hissed that a devil had entered the house. He’d been miserable and frantic at the thought of hearing that voice again.
Blood dripped from his fingers onto the floor as he waited for the call to connect. Just when he worried the white tile would stain, the line answered.
Even if you’re cast out by your family, they might still be moved to act when they hear you’re in the ER, he’d thought. It wasn’t asking for surgery money — just enough to get through the emergency. That felt like something even acquaintances would consider helping with.
But only silence came back. He hesitated while explaining, haltingly, what had happened at the bar and where he was now, but it did no good.
He could still feel the warm pulse crawling across the back of his hand. He had begged that one time — promised he wouldn’t trouble them again — and after the call was cut he had sat for a long time in a daze.
Those who had rejected him when he needed them were now the ones he could not explain why he should borrow from.
He felt a bitter injustice. If they had any shame, they shouldn’t have called him.
Even if they said they’d take it back in six months, that meant giving up returning to school right away. To grant his mother’s request he’d have to cash in his savings and borrow more. It wasn’t a wise decision no matter how he cut it.
Still, instead of calling his mother back, he opened a maps app and searched for nearby banks. He checked his wallet for ID and stood up.
There was only one reason: to prove something to them.
To show them I can stand on my own without parents. To show them I can be enough to help them in times like this. So maybe liking another man isn’t as dreadful as you think.
Some might ask if he’d give up returning to school for so small a thing, but for him this mattered more than enrolling next semester.
He’d gone to the graduation alone, forced himself into university, served in the military and worked — all to prove his existence. The people closest to him denied that proof, so he had to do it himself.
On top of that, he wanted his father to regret his own actions. He wanted his father to feel shame and remorse at the thought that he was keeping himself alive with the money of the son he despised. If, in the process, his father showed any sign of reflection, if he apologized, Ihyeon might even try to reconcile.
He closed his eyes and breathed slowly. The biting cold felt like it cleared something inside him; his racing heart slowed back to normal. Resolve ended the brief debate: he would find the money somehow. He thought he could hear the soft patter of snow landing on his hair and shoulders.
He rose from the bench and headed straight for the nearby bank. The loan officer’s awkward smile was the only answer to his question about borrowing.
“Sir, sorry, but your credit is low, so this loan product will be difficult. Are you currently employed?”
“I had a job, but I quit recently….”
The woman typing furiously with her brows furrowed shook her head with a sympathetic face. He swallowed and accepted his ID back with a flat expression.
“You didn’t receive any severance when you left?”
“Severance…?”
“If you had some length of service, your severance could be a decent amount. You could use part of that.”
Severance. He murmured the word and nodded, then stepped outside. Sitting on a nearby bench and searching on his phone, he found pages of explanations from labor consultants.
[If you worked more than 15 hours a week for over a year you’re entitled to severance pay. For details call below!]
Legally, he should be owed that money — but these people didn’t play by the law. He bit his lip until it hurt and jumped up.
He might as well risk it.
Once he’d decided, there was nothing to hold him back. He caught a bus and went straight to Nexus. The staff spotted him and looked surprised. He pushed past them and went straight to the manager’s office.
“— No, that can’t be. I’ll check again—”
He knocked; there was no answer, so he opened the door and stepped in. Mr. Kim covered the phone’s microphone with his hand, face contorted. Mr. Kim looked up as Ihyeon approached.
“Ah? No, not at all. I’ll look into that matter and get back to you—”
“I’m here about severance pay.”
“What? No, Manager— no, that’s not to Manager. I… there’s an emergency, I’ll call back—”
“I think I’m owed severance for working three years without issue.”
Still holding the phone to his ear, Mr. Kim mouthed silently with a stunned face. His lips formed either Are you crazy? or You idiot.
“No, Manager, I can handle it myself… ah, well… yes, that’s true….”
Mr. Kim, who had been trying to cut the phone off a moment before, straightened and listened to the voice from the other end. Ihyeon opened his mouth again.
“If severance isn’t possible—”
“Yes, yes. I’ll handle that immediately. Go in, damn it….”
“If you could at least give me something like a consolation payment—”
“God damn it, really. Everyone’s just talking at once, aren’t they? All they do is talk, damn them.”
Just as he was about to speak, the manager snapped the phone shut and glared at Ihyeon. He bit his lip hard and forced his eyes to lock on Mr. Kim.
“Hey, don’t you see he’s on the line? Christ, if Manager Gu Seunghyeok hadn’t been in a good mood we’d both be dead!”
At the sudden mention of Gu Seunghyeok’s name, Ihyeon froze. If the person on the other end of the phone had been him, he would have waited until the call ended. It wasn’t a major issue, but the thought that his voice might have been heard made him uneasy.
“Shit, that was close. I’m already shaking.”
The manager glanced between Ihyeon and the phone and jerked his chin toward the sofa. Ignoring the gesture to sit, Ihyeon stepped up to the desk and the manager sighed, eyes rolled upward.
“All right, speak. Damn it. What do you want? Severance? Consolation?”
“…I believe it’s something companies owe after a year or more of work.”
At that, the manager made a face like he’d heard everything. But instead of refusing, he clicked his tongue and checked his phone.
“That’s not for me to decide. Go and talk to him directly.”
“…Who?”
“Who else but Manager Gu Seunghyeok.”