Chapter 22
The night air was cool against Jaeyel’s skin as he sat on the maru – the raised wooden platform just outside the house.
Crickets chirped lazily in the field beyond, and the breeze tugged gently at his hair.
He leaned back against the wooden post, knees pulled up slightly, his gaze fixed somewhere distant.
The stars weren’t particularly bright tonight, but they were there – steady, quiet.
He didn’t notice the footsteps until something cold touched his cheek. He flinched slightly, eyes snapping toward the hand.
Ric stood beside him, holding out a cold can of soda. “You looked like your brain was melting,” he muttered. “Thought you could use something to cool it off.”
Jaeyel blinked, then took the drink wordlessly.
Ric sat down beside him, setting a small plastic bag between them. The sound of bottles clinking inside was unmistakable.
“Soju?” Jaeyel asked, his voice soft.
Ric gave a half-shrug. “Thought about it. But then I remembered you’re still technically in recovery, so-”
He reached into the bag, about to pull one out, then stopped. “Yeah, maybe not.”
Without warning, Jaeyel reached forward, plucked one of the green bottles out of the bag, and cracked it open with ease.
Ric blinked. “Yah- seriously?”
Jaeyel tilted his head, his expression calm as he poured a shot into the paper cup… “Just one. I’m not made of glass.”
Ric stared for a moment, then sighed – but the corner of his mouth lifted, almost proud.
“Fine. But only one or two. If you pass out, I’m not dragging your bony ass to bed.”
They drank under the moonlight, slow and quiet.
Ric talked more than usual, maybe because Jaeyel listened without interrupting.
They talked about part-time jobs, their favorite meals, strange hospital stories, and dumb things Ric had done in school that he tried very hard to sound cool about.
At some point, Ric stopped mid-sentence and just stared ahead.
“You don’t talk much,” he said suddenly.
Jaeyel poured himself another half-shot. “I used to.”
Ric glanced at him, curious.
Jaeyel didn’t elaborate.
Instead, he leaned back on his palms, letting the breeze graze his face.
Ric didn’t push.
Maybe for once, silence was enough.
…
After another few minutes of idle talking and shared silences, they finally stood.
“I’ll put the bottles away,” Ric offered, bending down to gather them.
Jaeyel moved toward the door first, stepping up onto the porch-
His foot slipped.
“Ah-!”
Before he could hit the ground, two arms shot out and caught him, one firmly around his waist, the other braced against his chest.
There was a pause.
Jaeyel found himself leaning back against Ric, steady now, but still mid-stumble.
Ric’s grip had tightened instinctively – too tightly, maybe.
His fingers pressed against the lines of Jaeyel’s waist, and suddenly, the moment felt… different.
“I’m good,” Jaeyel said quietly, not moving away just yet. “Wasn’t the alcohol. Just misstepped.”
His voice was calm. Completely unaware.
But Ric…
Ric was frozen.
His eyes were wide. His hand was still on Jaeyel’s side. And his brain? Absolutely not functioning.
“Thanks,” Jaeyel said softly, straightening.
He stepped away, brushing his shirt down without thinking.
When he turned back, Ric was standing stiffly, face turned away.
“You okay?” Jaeyel asked, tilting his head. “Are you drunk? You didn’t drink that much.”
Ric didn’t respond.
Jaeyel narrowed his eyes just a bit, then smirked faintly. “Didn’t know you were that weak with alcohol… ”
That snapped Ric out of it.
“I’m NOT drunk!” he snapped, voice jumping an octave higher than he intended.
“And it’s not about- ugh, just shut up and go inside already.”
Jaeyel chuckled softly. “Alright, alright.”
He turned and headed toward the hallway, waving lazily behind him. “Night. I’ve got early duty tomorrow.”
Ric stood there alone, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket now, watching Jaeyel’s silhouette disappear into the house.
He exhaled slowly.
Then muttered to himself:
“What the hell was that…?”
His hand lifted to brush over his own chest, like trying to erase the feeling Jaeyel’s body left behind.
It didn’t work.
And worse – he didn’t want it to.
Ric turned to face the night sky, cheeks still warm.
“…He’s just a guy,” he whispered to no one. “It’s just… a guy.”
But even as he said it, his hand lingered against his hoodie pocket – right where Jaeyel had leaned into him.
…
Morning sunlight spilled into the small kitchen as the old woman fumbled with a paper bag, carefully slipping in an apple and a ripe banana.
“He’s got a straight shift today,” she mumbled to herself, tying the bag shut. “Poor boy’s barely had a break. He probably hasn’t even fully recovered yet.”
She moved quickly, tossing on her cardigan, grabbing the fruit bag and heading for the door. She was already a few minutes behind schedule.
But as she stepped outside, her feet came to an abrupt stop.
Standing just beyond the gate were several men. Tall, uniformed.
Their jackets bore rescue team insignias, boots muddied, their expressions sharp from hours of searching.
Something about their presence instantly unsettled her. She clutched the bag tighter.
One of the men noticed her and approached.
He looked calm but serious, respectful in the way people are when they’re about to ask something heavy.
“Ma’am,” he said gently, “we’re looking for someone.”
She didn’t move, only nodded once.
“There was an accident,” he continued. “near the forest. We received a lead… Someone said a young man might’ve been seen around this area.”
The old woman’s breath caught. Her heart began to beat faster.
Silence.
The man studied her reaction for a moment, then seemed to catch on. He slowly reached into his vest pocket, pulling out a photo.
“This is him,” he said quietly, handing it over.
Her eyes dropped to the picture.
And her hands trembled.
There he was.
Jaeyel…
Slim, refined, but unmistakably him.
The boy who’d been sleeping under her roof. The boy who called her ‘granny’ with a warm smile.
All the color drained from her face.
…
Jaeyel was tidying up the room, adjusting the trays and folding a spare blanket.
Every so often, his eyes flicked toward the window. His brows slowly drew together.
“She’s thirty minutes late…” he muttered under his breath.
The old woman was never late. She usually came by to check in, sometimes with extra snacks or just to fuss over whether he was eating enough. But today, nothing.
He tried to shake it off, going back to his task, but his mind kept drifting.
A soft clearing of a throat pulled him out of it.
He turned.
The cold man was sitting up in bed, eyes fixed on him with that usual unreadable expression.
“I’m going to need more books,” the man said flatly.
Jaeyel blinked, then smiled faintly. “Already finished the ones from yesterday?”
The man raised a brow. “What do you expect? I just sit here all day.”
A short, amused breath escaped Jaeyel.
He nodded. “Alright. I’ll pick out a few more later.”
The man leaned slightly back against the pillows.
“You’d think they’d want me out of here quicker. But no, they keep fussing. As if I’m going anywhere.”
“You should,” Jaeyel replied lightly.
“Get better soon. Let the nurses take care of you properly so you can get out of here. Hospitals aren’t the best places to live.”
The man’s gaze drifted toward the window.
His next words came low, quieter than usual.
“Even if I get better… I don’t think I should go back.”
Jaeyel froze for a second, surprised by the shift in tone.
There was something weighed down in that voice, something that hit a little too close.
He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at the man… really looked, and for a second, he saw it.
Not the cold exterior, not the blunt words, but someone who felt trapped.
It mirrored what he was feeling.
The man turned, caught Jaeyel staring, and his face cooled again.
“What are you looking at me like that for? I don’t need pity.”
Jaeyel’s voice was quiet. “Who said I’m pitying you?”
The man narrowed his eyes slightly.
Jaeyel added, “I’m in the same place as you, Sir. I don’t think I should go back either.”
That made the man pause.
He stared at Jaeyel.
And then, the sharpness in his expression softened.
“I see,” the man said.
It was only two words, but Jaeyel felt them.
Not judgment. Not dismissal. Just… understanding.
And somehow, it made the silence that followed feel a little less heavy.
…
Yang ended the call with a curt,
“Handle it. I’ll be out of reach,” not giving his secretary a chance to reply before lowering the phone and tossing it aside on the passenger seat.
He unbuckled his seatbelt with a slow exhale, his body heavy with fatigue from days of travel and restless nights, but none of it dulled the sharp focus in his eyes.
They’d been searching the area for days, following every lead they could chase down.
If nothing came up today, they would have to move on to the next town. He looked out through the windshield, jaw tight.
He got out of the car, the cool air brushing his face. He stood there for a moment, looking at the hospital in front of him.
…
Then, without hesitation, he started walking toward it.
…
Yang walked up the gentle slope toward the hospital, his footsteps steady but unhurried.
The midday sun filtered through the thin canopy of trees, casting a gentle light over the hospital park nearby, a quiet space where patients wandered or sat for fresh air.
He barely gave it a glance at first.
But then-
He stopped.
His steps halted mid-stride, eyes locked ahead.
His entire body went still.
Something, no, someone had caught his attention.
A figure seated alone on a bench under the shade, the side of his face half-lit by the sun.
Yang’s breath caught in his throat.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Just stared, frozen in place, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
The figure turned slightly.
Yang’s eyes widened, a silent storm gathering behind them.
Disbelief.
Recognition.
A person that had no business appearing here.
Then he whispered, voice low and stunned.
“…Father?”
…
