Chapter 23
Yang stood frozen, his mind still trying to catch up with what his eyes were telling him.
The man in the wheelchair – his father – sat in the soft afternoon light, the same stoic profile etched in Yang’s memory.
Crunch
Gravel shifted under Yang’s shoe as he took a slow, deliberate step forward.
Crunch.
Another step, echoing louder in the heavy silence.
He parted his lips, ready to speak-
…but a voice sliced through the quiet before he could.
“Sir, it’s time to eat.”
Yang stopped cold.
Frozen in place.
It wasn’t just any voice.
It was a voice that had lived in his head.
A voice he’d been chasing through forests, villages, and nameless roads.
His chest tightened.
From the far side of the park, a young man approached, carrying a tray with casual ease, his expression calm, unaware.
And when Yang saw his face-
For a moment, Yang’s expression didn’t move, carved in stone.
Only his eyes betrayed him, fixed and unblinking, as the world seemed to narrow to the boy standing there.
It was him.
Jaeyel.
The man Yang had sworn to find, no matter the cost… now standing right there, beside his father…
As if he’d never disappeared at all.
…
For what felt like forever, Yang stood there, his eyes locked on Jaeyel.
He barely breathed, afraid that even blinking might make him disappear.
Yes… this time.
Because ever since the search began, he’d seen Jaeyel countless times – in strangers’ faces, in dreams, in moments where hope blurred with delusion.
But now… now he was real.
The way the sunlight caught on Jaeyel’s hair. The calm curve of his smile.
That smile told Yang what his heart already knew – he was here.
Yang’s body moved on instinct, ready to close the distance between them, to say his name, to hold him and never let go.
But then, a thought rooted him in place.
Why didn’t he come home?
Why is he here?
Why hasn’t he called?
Silence.
His hands clenched, knuckles turning white, every muscle in him fighting against the urge to run.
…
Slowly – too slowly – he forced himself to step back.
One last look, letting his gaze take in every detail of Jaeyel’s face, as if to memorize it again.
Then Yang turned away and walked off, each step heavier than the last.
…
Jaeyel was outside, hanging his freshly washed clothes on the line, the evening air cool against his skin. The fabric swayed gently with each breeze, carrying the faint scent of soap.
The old woman came up beside him, wiping her hands on her apron. “You should’ve told me,” she said, half-scolding.
Jaeyel smiled faintly without looking at her. “It’s just a few clothes. No big deal.”
They lingered in comfortable small talk, how the weather was cooling, how the chestnut harvest was coming along…
Until the old woman’s words shifted, slower, more hesitant.
…
“There… were people looking for you this morning.”
Jaeyel’s hand froze mid-motion, clothespin paused above the line. His throat felt tight as he swallowed, his shoulders stiffening.
Sensing his reaction, the old woman hurried to speak, her voice warm but firm.
“Stay here as long as you like. No one’s chasing you out. This is your home now too.”
Jaeyel glanced at her, the tension in his eyes softening just slightly, as if he truly appreciated the words.
“I don’t know what you’ve been through,” she went on, “and I won’t pry. But I can tell… you’re carrying someone in your heart. Someone you miss.”
Jaeyel blinked at her, startled. The truth of her observation hit deeper than he expected.
The old woman smiled kindly, almost like she didn’t mean to dig too far, and patted his arm.
“Take your time. Process things slowly. You’re always welcome in our small, humble home.”
She shuffled toward the door, calling back over her shoulder, “When you finish up, rest a bit, hm? Tomorrow will be another long day.”
Jaeyel stood there, alone now, the last of his laundry swaying in the fading light, her words still lingering in the quiet air.
Clothespin in hand, but his mind was miles away, replaying the old woman’s words again and again.
“Yah-”
A sudden whisper brushed against his ear.
“Ah!” Jaeyel jolted, letting out a quiet shout of surprise, nearly dropping the shirt in his hand.
It was Ric, grinning like a kid who’d just pulled the perfect prank.
Without hesitation, Jaeyel slapped him across the chest with the wet shirt.
Ric stumbled back with an exaggerated groan. “Ahh! That hurts!”
“Shut up,” Jaeyel muttered, turning back to the laundry.
Ric smirked as he leaned against the wooden post, watching him work.
“…You’ve only got a few clothes to hang. Why’s it taking you all day?”
Jaeyel ignored him.
Ric tilted his head.
“… At least you’re not thinking so hard anymore.”
That made Jaeyel pause mid-motion. He glanced at Ric, suspicion in his eyes.
“…Sometimes you act like a human.”
Ric’s brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe you’ve stayed in the forest too long,” Jaeyel teased, “you’ve started turning into one of the wild things out there.”
Ric made a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest.
“Excuse me? I’ll have you know, I’ve spent plenty of time in Seoul. Big city, bright lights, fine food, women who-”
“Spare me,” Jaeyel cut in, shaking out another shirt.
“Oh, you’re just jealous I was popular,” Ric shot back. “Back in Seoul, I was practically-”
Their voices overlapped, quick jabs turning into easy laughter, the kind that lingered in the air long after the words faded.
The sound carried over the quiet yard, brushing against the stillness of the small neighborhood.
…
But…
Neither of them noticed the way the air seemed to shift.
From somewhere beyond the house, a shadow stood still.
Unmoving.
Watching.
Up in the dim outline of a building not far from the yard…
A man’s figure was barely lit, yet his presence cut sharply through the night.
Yang.
His hands curled into fists so tight the knuckles blanched, jaw locked as though holding back words that burned to be spoken.
His eyes didn’t leave them.
Not once.
And with every soft laugh Jaeyel gave, every playful glance toward Ric, Yang’s gaze only grew darker, heavier – until it was almost a weight pressing against the scene below.
