Craving for Change

I don't know why I came here.

It wasn't a decision made by considering the outcome and consequences in a normal state of mind. My steps toward this place, which I had visited only once before, were driven by my subconscious.

Like an ant or a moth that instinctively turns toward safety upon sensing the approach of a cruel finger trying to crush it. I walked frantically, desperately, and this is where I ended up.

It hadn't even been two hours since I left the bus stop across from the church, and I only realized he must be fully enjoying his second round with others once I arrived before the heavy, firmly shut gate.

I went under the brick roof above the gate, set my umbrella down in a corner, and hugged myself, brushing my trembling, wet body with my arms. Even though I had carried an umbrella all the way here, my entire body, including my hair, was drenched. I had only instinctively held onto the handle, never once making a proper effort to shield myself from the rain.

I took my phone out of my jeans pocket and made a call. If I were in my right mind, I wouldn't have come to this house in the first place, but even if I had, I wouldn't have dared to call after showing up unannounced.

Yet as I wiped my wet face with my palm, my fingers — the same ones that had dialed the Director's number — held none of their usual hesitation or regard for polite formality. When cornered, people omit courtesy in order to survive, capable of acting completely unlike themselves.

Neither courtesy nor the personality I believed myself to possess was a solid structure or substance that defined me.

That wasn't the only vulnerable or flimsy part of me.

I wanted to brutally mock and curse myself for the social and mental fragility that made me inevitably falter whenever my safety and peace were threatened by outside intervention, no matter how much I pretended to be stoic.

I had mistaken the dry emptiness where nothing happened for peace.

Growing numb was also an entirely different concept from growing strong.

I hadn't known until now.

I had thought I had chosen to be defensive rather than aggressive, but I had only been hiding myself away in a vacuum where aggression couldn't even occur. How could I defend myself if there was no attack?

My daily life was based on a paper-thin, infinitely unstable glass floor that could only be maintained if absolutely nothing happened.

I hadn't changed at all from the sixteen-year-old me who had been left defenseless, exposed to external attacks, and marked by them. The metallic coldness of the heavy iron gate against my back was chilling enough to freeze me to the bone.

I don't know how much time passed. It felt like maybe five minutes, but it also felt like an awfully long time had gone by.

A beam of light, illuminating the rain, approached from down the alleyway that met the main road. Before the car could properly stop in front of the gate, I heard someone hastily jump out of it.

I slowly lifted my head.

Before I could even fully raise my head, a figure jumped under the eaves and immediately draped his jacket over my shoulders. He did this before even asking a question or offering a greeting.

His thin summer jacket covered my wet shoulders, and he pulled me into an embrace without a word.

His presence, undeniably clear and free of any uncertainty, held me. The solidity and warmth of his chest and shoulders, pulling me away from the coldness at my back, spoke of his strength — different from mine, the condensation of his solitary time spent forging himself.

While he opened the garage door with the remote and asked the designated driver to park the car, nestled in his arms, I repeatedly mumbled that I wanted to paint, that I needed his help. Like an unknown actor who enters an audition with only a single line prepared, filled only with desperation and no talent.

He tightened his jacket around me several times, holding me even more securely. His arms, wrapped around my waist and across my back to hold my shoulders, felt like a taut rope cinching around me, preventing me from sinking further into unproductive self-loathing and sentimental self-pity.

He pressed the back of my head down, burying my face against his shoulder, and I felt the torrent of anxiety that had been ready to overflow subside just from the sound of his low, cursing murmur. I squeezed my eyes shut.

He must have been surprised to be called out suddenly when he was already waiting outside my house. He had so many questions, I was sure, but instead of asking anything, he simply used the warmth of his body to drive the coldness out of me.

Still holding me close, he paid the designated driver and pulled me inside the gate, tightening his jacket around me even more securely. I noticed the driver glancing at us with curious eyes, but I didn't care.

The dark garden, battered by the downpour, smelled thick with air and moisture, like a deep forest. It felt like a different place from the garden on that day when I enjoyed a picnic with Yuni nuna and Juhan hyung — a picnic that brought to mind the tea party of the March Hare and the Hatter.

As we walked through the desolate garden, where it felt like a figure in a raincoat might leap out from behind the shadowy bushes at any moment, we stepped inside the front door, where the air instantly felt soft and distinctly different from outside.

He frowned, scrunching his brows with a look of dawning realization, and lightly bit his lip.

"Wait here for a moment."

I thought I understood what he was worried about as he hurried toward the living room. At first, I thought he might be getting a towel, but the look of sheer panic on his face told me otherwise. The painting. He was clearly trying to hide Alienation.

I grabbed the side of his shirt near his waist as he tried to step up into the entryway hall and shook my head.

The painting itself wasn't the problem. My reaction at that moment was entirely due to all the past events that the painting had brought to mind, as I was completely unprepared to confront it.

"It's okay. It really is okay now."

"......"

Even though my whole body was soaked, my voice sounded dry and raspy.

He stopped and looked down at me. Then, with a touch so gentle it seemed cautious, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder again, speaking as if comforting a child.

"Then let's go to the study. It will be warmer in there."

Water was dripping steadily from his t-shirt and jeans, and his wet socks left marks on the clean wooden tiles, but he pulled my shoulder, signaling me not to worry about it.

He went upstairs to the second floor and led me not to the study, but to the bathroom — the one attached to his bedroom, which I had used once before.

Standing stiffly at the bathroom entrance, he spoke to me as I clutched the hem of the jacket he had draped over me. "Warming up is the first priority."

"You don't need to soap up; just soak in the warm water for a bit."

After saying that, he leaned over, lightly stirring the water filling the tub with his fingertips as if testing the temperature, then turned back to me and added,

"Your body temperature dropped and it won't come back up quickly unless you do this."

I didn't want to impose any further, nor did I want to worry him. I nodded.

He poured bath salts with a subtle scent into the tub instead of a bubble bath product, adjusted the dimmer to lower the bathroom lighting, and then carefully removed the jacket I had been gripping as if it were a lifeline from my shoulders.

As his gaze swept over my soaked figure, I couldn't help but notice how my drenched clothes were clinging to my body. When I tugged the front of my t-shirt away from my skin, he let out a small chuckle.

"Make sure your head gets properly warm too," he said, lightly ruffling my wet hair, and then went outside, closing the bathroom door.

I was bewildered, as if a section of my memory had been cut out — I couldn't recall how I ended up standing in his bathroom — but for now, it seemed best to just follow his instructions. I couldn't even begin to imagine solving this situation without help, no matter how much foolish pride I tried to muster.

I awkwardly peeled off my wet clothes and hesitated before stepping into the tub. As my frozen body sank into the lukewarm water, my skin tingled uncomfortably. It was a sensation I usually only felt in the dead of winter.

I scooped up some water with my palm and splashed it onto my face and head. My body was beginning to relax wearily, but it couldn't melt away the rigidity in my mind. As I braced myself against the resurfacing threat and tried to straighten up, there was a brief knock, and the door opened about half a hand's width.

"May I come in?"

The door was set to open toward the shower stall, opposite the bathtub. Only his voice could be heard; his face was not visible.

I was conscious of my nakedness, but I couldn't make a fuss and ask him to leave.

"Yes..."

He entered carrying a change of clothes and a mug. After setting the clothes down on the shelf mounted on the wall next to the door, he approached me. As I awkwardly pulled my knees up to cover myself, he let out a low chuckle from above my head.

"What's the big deal now..."

"......"

Feeling my earlobes heat up at his amused tone, I took the mug he offered. It was warmed milk.

"Drink some. It'll warm you up and help you calm down."

"Thank you..."

I wasn't sure if he had intentionally warmed the mug as well as the milk, but the ceramic surface felt delightfully hot in my hands.

After I wrapped my hands around the mug and took a sip or two of the milk, I looked up at him, as he was still standing his ground.

He stood looking down at me with his hands on his hips, his expression the same as an owner greeting a dog who had run out of the house without permission, causing worry, only to finally return after sunset.

His face looked as if he had been rolling around in the mud, digging through trash heaps, and even fighting with another dog — angry at its filthy, wounded appearance, yet at the same time, filled with such pity that he couldn't bring himself to scold it. If I had to make a comparison, that's what his expression was like.

Feeling like a truant dog who had run away, with no words to defend myself even if I had ten mouths, I instinctively lowered my gaze again. He let out a long sigh.

"Come out when you're warm enough. And change into clean clothes."

My initial negative impressions and harsh judgments of him seemed distant now. Though perhaps not as much as Yuni nuna or Juhan hyung, he had gradually begun to show me kindness too, at some point. I wasn't sure how much our physical intimacy had influenced things, but it was clear that his current kindness wasn't solely because we had slept together.

After taking a long bath until the warmth of the mug had faded to lukewarm, I stepped out of the bathroom clutching the damp towel I had used to dry myself. He was sitting on the armchair in the bedroom, drinking whiskey. The situation felt remarkably similar to the first day I came to this room, and it left me tongue-tied.

He noticed my presence, stood up, and approached me. He rubbed the ends of my wet hair with his fingers and told me I should dry it. I complied meekly, worried he might offer to dry it for me himself if I didn't.

While I sat in front of the mirror by the bathroom entrance drying my hair, he leaned against the wall behind me and watched me through the mirror.

When I thought my hair was completely dry, I set the hairdryer down on the vanity and looked up at him in the mirror. He uncrossed his arms, walked over without a word, turned the hairdryer back on, and meticulously dried my scalp by running his fingers deep into my hair. I must not have done a good enough job for his liking.

After setting the dryer down, he placed his right hand on the crown of my head and gazed at me in the mirror for a moment. When our eyes met, he pressed down on my head once, applying a little pressure with his fingertips, before disappearing from the mirror first.

It was the kind of touch one gives to a wayward puppy that comes back home, acting completely normal as if nothing happened — eating, playing with toys — making you annoyed enough that you can't help but give it a little pinch.

I rubbed the spot on my head where his hand had been, then followed him, standing up from the mirror.

We moved to the study.

Even though it was the height of summer, the floor radiated a faint warmth, as if the boiler had been running. Yet I couldn't feel any warmth in my own body. I had no sense of how long I had been trembling from tension and fear, or what time it was in the early morning.

His study, furnished with heavy mahogany built-in bookshelves and weighty colors and furniture, felt traditional but not imposing. It seemed less like a space solely for reading and intellectual pursuits and more like a small reception room used for enjoying discussions and socializing with acquaintances.

After inviting me to sit in a high-backed, deeply cushioned chair, he walked over to a small bar setup, switched on the kettle to boil water, and poured whiskey and tonic water into glasses.

I sat awkwardly in the chair, staring at the dehumidifier humming with a low, droning sound, and finally mustered the courage to speak toward his back as he stood facing away from me.

"I'm... sorry."

He only turned his head to look back at me.

"For calling you out here so suddenly... You must have been surprised."

He approached me holding a teacup resting on a coaster and a glass of liquor on the rocks. Instead of responding to what I had said, he told me he wouldn't be giving me a drink and handed me the white teacup, from which a pale green tea was subtly steeping.

"I need to talk to you while you're sober."

He added this sternly, with a hint of playful severity, before sitting in the chair opposite me. I had actually wanted a little help from the alcohol, but since I was in the position of a naughty puppy right now, I simply nodded and wrapped my hands around the warmth of the teacup.

After taking a couple of sips as if savoring the drink, he slowly swirled the glass in his hand and spoke in a softer tone.

"I was surprised that you called so suddenly, but deciding to come home after receiving your message was my choice, so you don't need to apologize. If I hadn't wanted to, I would have told you to go back."

The person I was getting to know through direct experience wasn't like that, yet he judged himself to be quite cold-blooded.

"I'm glad you want to paint, but... I didn't expect you to show up looking like someone being chased by a ghost and expect me to listen to you surrender like that."

He set the glass down on the small table next to the chair. His gaze, which had been angled toward my shoulder, slowly traced upward until it met my eyes.

"You asked for help, didn't you?"

"......"

"How can I help you? Tell me what kind of assistance you're looking for."

That's what I had clearly said at the front gate. That I wanted to paint, that I needed his help. Though the words had slipped out unconsciously, I knew why I had said them.

He watched me fuss with the teacup and repeatedly purse my lips, unable to open them, and let out a slight sigh.

"I'm no god, but I can probably solve most practical problems that arise in the secular world. Probably. So, tell me, and trust me."

The truth was, I trusted his capabilities even more than he thought. It was an absolute faith, almost like a child's blind belief in an animated hero, so much so that I was surprised myself the moment I recognized it. If I hadn't vaguely believed that there was no practical problem he couldn't solve, I wouldn't have rushed here like a mad person, scrambling through the rain and into this place.

The hesitation stemmed from the fact that I would have to reveal other people's stories, not just my own, in order to ask for his help.

I took a deep breath, exhaled, and began speaking, my voice trembling slightly.

"I'm being chased. I have to stay hidden."

"......"

His eyes flickered, narrowing slowly, as if he hadn't expected me to bring that up.

"To be precise, it's the situation of the hyung and nuna I was living with, not mine."

From what I knew from working together, Manager Han and he, who had been connected since Hong Kong, shared a relationship that was almost like family, something beyond mere business partners. Nevertheless, the two of them never shared details about other people's secrets.

Even when requesting special consideration because I had a somewhat complicated situation while becoming an employee at Phantom, the Director hadn't told him the specifics of that situation, and he, in turn, hadn't demanded an explanation, arguing he couldn't hire me without knowing the detailed background.

Perhaps he wasn't asking about my reaction to Alienation for a similar reason.

It was clear he didn't want to bring up certain difficult topics concerning others, and he wouldn't, even if he held genuine interest, let alone mere shallow curiosity.

If I wanted him to know about myself, if I needed him to, I had to open my mouth myself.

It wasn't easy to speak, like forcing the stiff, rusted spring of a clock that hadn't been wound in a long time.

"I realized today... that everything could just end."

In the dark shadow of the umbrella, the moment I recognized my uncle standing stock-still like a phantom, I intuitively knew that everything up to now had just been child's play on the palm of their hands — at least on Morae nuna's father's.

Morae nuna's prediction was correct.

They already knew where we were staying; they had simply backed off to wait for the right moment.

I had grabbed my uncle's hand and run down the stairs without thinking. He didn't have the money to have someone tail us. It was obvious my uncle was just a messenger bringing word from Morae nuna's father.

When we entered the old skewered meat stall, just two or three minutes from the bus stop, the dim, pale lighting — made even worse by the grimy lampshades — revealed my uncle's face clearly enough for me to realize that the relentless harassment hadn't stopped after we left.

This wasn't unexpected. Though they never said it aloud, Yeehan hyung and Morae nuna were acutely aware that they had made this choice by hurting and sacrificing many people, and they were prepared for the lifetime of guilt that would follow. I anticipated the pressure her family would put on our household after we left, but according to them, they had proceeded with their "selfish choice" while pretending not to know the consequences.

When we took over the boat, our family, like every other household in the village, had taken out a loan from Mr. Lim's household. There had likely been smaller debts piled up even before that. My uncle bit his lip hard as he recounted how the debt collection began about a month after we left, culminating in a final notice received just last week, deepening the lines around his mouth.

"You have one month to repay the debt, or you must bring Seo Yeehan, who ran off with my daughter, to me so he can kneel and apologize."

That was Mr. Lim's demand — no, his order.

Just like me, whose hair was dripping water droplets despite having used an umbrella, a drop of water pooled at the brim of my uncle's pulled-down hat — though he too had an umbrella — and fell heavily onto the table.

My uncle, who had switched his draft beer order for soju, downed two glasses in quick succession before rubbing his wet face with his thick, calloused hands. Those hands, which seemed impenetrable even by nails, looked utterly helpless before the relentless task of sustaining their lives and daily routines.

Or rather, had my grandfather or my uncle ever had the opportunity to truly consider the concept of "life"?

For them, who had clung to merely dragging each day forward, didn't the very word "life" — which required a comprehensive, three-dimensional understanding rather than a partial one — seem like an extravagant philosophy?

My uncle hadn't come to us because he desired to steer his life in a preferred direction; he had come out of sheer necessity just to ensure their minimum daily survival.

"As long as the debt remains, our family cannot be free from his house. And as for being able to live without debt... your uncle's situation is not good."

As he mumbled this while looking down at the third glass he had poured but hadn't dared to touch, I sensed no resentment or anger toward Morae nuna or Yeehan hyung from my uncle. Instead, his face looked pained, as if he had been forced to participate in something he disagreed with. I could easily surmise the tense exchanges he must have had with Morae nuna's father before coming to see us, the hours he spent agonizing over his own helplessness, unable to sleep, and tilting back soju glasses.

Everyone did what they felt they had to do. But since they were all coming from different places, their choices didn't match. Over time, this pushed them apart until the distance between them felt impossible to fix, no matter how much they tried to understand each other.

I told him everything about the situation, except for the fact that Morae nuna was an Alpha.

The stark difference in the circumstances of our two families, leading to opposition and confrontation, pressure and threats, and the extreme choice of rebellion and severance. And then, the repeated pressure and threats because that choice could not be accepted.

That was the simple summation of the history between the two people I love.

I worried that perhaps the only concrete reality of Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung had vanished, leaving only the cliché of a foolish young couple running away for love. My own inadequacy at storytelling, unable to convey the uniqueness of someone's life in just a few minutes of talk, left me resentful.

I fell silent for a moment, feeling as if I had done something terrible to Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung.

"Hmm." He crossed his arms and let out a long breath, his eyes seeming to review the details.

"So, you came here immediately after stopping your uncle from meeting them? Seo Yeehyeon-ssi was trying to resolve this without the couple knowing?"

It wasn't a question laced with criticism that what they had done was foolish.

"...Yes."

Driven by some strange nerve, I had promised my uncle that I would definitely find a solution by tomorrow and contact him, begging for just one day without the couple's knowledge, and then rushed straight here as soon as I left him.

"So, you're saying you want to prevent them from returning to the village."

He didn't show surprise at hearing something unexpected, nor did he seem annoyed that he had to listen to such messy, private details just because he was sizing up the situation.

Like the director of a private investigation firm who regularly encounters such stories, he approached the core issue immediately, excluding unnecessary sentiment or curiosity, and I was the one who felt flustered by his demeanor.

But his point was correct. That was the essence of it.

Morae nuna's father had begun to make his move, so the priority was to send the couple away to a safe place as quickly as possible. I felt sorry for my uncle, but securing that extra day ultimately depended on that very situation.

"I don't... want anyone to get hurt."

I rubbed the cooled surface of the teacup, which I had only been holding without taking a sip, with my thumb as I said that.

He picked up the cup he had set down, took a drink, and glanced at me with a smile.

"Why? Do you think I'll solve things by hurting someone?"

"......"

His faintly smiling face seemed to convey that it wasn't that he couldn't do such things, but rather that he chose not to — that he could easily approach the problem that way if he only decided to.

It was the same look he had when he warned me about life with Manager Han, saying, "I hope she can live safely, peacefully, and securely, right? Seo Yeehyeon-ssi."

"Well, yes. In any case, money will be needed."

I toyed with his on-the-rocks glass, looking down toward where my feet were, legs crossed at the ankle. Then I mumbled, almost to myself.

"I'm going to paint. Help me. That's what I meant by it."

"......"

My resolution to try painting again had solidified a little earlier than this, but his interpretation of my reasons wasn't entirely off.

The only painting of mine he knew was the single piece I completed several years ago, and I couldn't assert anything definitive about my art right now. For someone in my position to ask for his help through painting, as if my ability held some sort of value... I knew how much of a disadvantage that request must have been for him. But I had no other move left. I couldn't just rely on his kindness for no reason and ask for his help.

He set his glass back down on the table, resting both arms on the armrests and loosely clasping his hands together.

"I'll pay you an advance on the contract fee. Seo Yeehyeon-ssi, you are someone I persuaded because I wanted you, and I can certainly offer you that level of special treatment."

It was an answer refreshingly free of hesitation.

I had expected some degree of questioning, deliberation, and the presentation of conditions, so I could only stare blankly at his face in surprise. In response, he asked me how much money was needed to set things straight.

It wouldn't be a fundamental solution, but then again, there was no fundamental solution possible for the current situation anyway. The harsh days for my uncle and grandfather would likely continue a bit longer because of the enraged Mr. Lim, but getting nuna and hyung to flee to a safe place came first. I had to prevent this escape from ending in a half-baked act of rebellion.

His expression subtly contorted when he heard the amount, thirty million won. It was the look of someone doubting their own ears, or perhaps someone who had just heard something deeply unpleasant.

"Are you saying that Seo Yeehyeon-ssi's family is being tormented like that because of a thirty-million-won debt?"

"Ah... that's not it."

I explained that the priority was sending nuna and hyung to Bali. I wanted them to be able to leave Korea as soon as possible, within the next few days if possible, because the plan had already been delayed enough because of me.

The light from the floor lamp, positioned between him and me instead of the ceiling fixture, cast a long, distinct shadow of his eyelashes across his cheek. After briefly tapping the rim of his glass in thought, he shifted his gaze to look at me.

"Rather than just that, let's eliminate the root cause entirely. If we pay off Seo Yeehyeon-ssi's family's debt, at least the direct cause of the threat will be removed to some extent, won't it?"

"But, even that is too much money...."

To him, sums like seventy million or one hundred million won might not be a large amount. They probably weren't. The very idea that someone's daily life could become miserable and their existence manipulated by others over that amount of money might be incomprehensible to him — and perhaps even infuriating.

But that was the reality for Grandpa, my uncle, and many others. From dawn till dusk, every single day the weather allowed, they were out on boats, never free from the fishy smell clinging to their hands, yet Grandpa and my uncle lived in poverty their entire lives. If they hadn't taken out loans to buy a boat, things would have been even worse. The debt to Mr. Lim wasn't their only burden. Needs for money kept piling up one after another, like pouring water into a bottomless jar, and taking in my father and me as dependents was just one piece of the misfortune that had swarmed in behind the others.

"There is also a way for them to completely escape the influence of that family and start over in an entirely new place. If it's within the country, about three hundred million won; if abroad, five hundred million won should be enough to lay the foundation for a fresh start."

He brought up a topic that went beyond simply repaying the debt.

Three hundred million, five hundred million.... Like when I heard that the Director's apartment was worth at least 1.5 billion won, these were figures that felt completely unreal.

Hyung and Morae nuna would leave Seoul entirely, and grandfather and uncle would live somewhere Morae nuna's father's influence couldn't reach... Of course, doing so might solve every problem except for incurring Morae nuna's father's wrath. That was the simple logic. But I shook my head.

"I don't have the confidence to repay an amount like that."

"You can repay it slowly over time. I have no intention of rushing you until Seo Yeehyeon-ssi decides to stop painting."

"I truly appreciate your words, but... grandfather and uncle probably won't agree to leave that village."

There are countless other places under the sky besides that single village, and perhaps some people would see repaying the debt and moving elsewhere as the solution to the problem. However, not everyone in the world actively tries to solve life's problems in such a proactive way.

Just as mountains don't uproot themselves and move seats because they dislike the bleakness of the scenery or the chill of the approaching wind, some people endure life by quietly holding fast to the very spot where they've always been. They persist not through the assertiveness of fighting back, but through sheer stubborn endurance.

Even if it seemed foolish to someone else, that was the way his grandfather and uncle lived.

He took a few more slow sips of the liquor in his glass, lost in thought, before finally speaking after a long pause.

"What I want is an environment where Seo Yeehyeon-ssi can fully concentrate on his art without any further distractions. Moving the family elsewhere might be too much to ask, but at the very least, the debt needs to be settled for that to be possible."

"......"

He couldn't deny it.

"I will arrange for Seo Yeehyeon-ssi's hyung and nuna to move to their desired location via an untraceable route within five days. And I will also settle the debt for Seo Yeehyeon-ssi's family. One hundred million won. That ties things up nicely."

After saying that, even managing a faint smile, he stood up to refill his empty glass before waiting for my reply.

There was money tied up in the security deposit for the rooftop apartment. His initial plan was to send Morae and Yeehan away first, and once he got that money back, he intended to repay the debt. However, that plan only accounted for Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung. If he could pay off the family's debt as well, it would indeed alleviate some of the worry he felt for the family left behind in Donghae. While the seventy million won debt wasn't the reason Mr. Lim was pressuring them, removing that debt would certainly weaken the immediate pretext for the pressure.

It wasn't an insurmountable amount like three hundred or five hundred million won, which felt overwhelming. If his painting didn't take off, he could return to the moving company, save diligently for three or four years, and eventually manage to pay it off. When calculated that way, it became difficult to refuse the offer.

He returned with two glasses served on the rocks, having promised not to give me any alcohol. He took the now-cold teacup from my hand and handed me a whiskey diluted with a high ratio of tonic water, giving it a lighter color. His own glass was a deep amber.

"If you put it nicely, it's an advance payment, but since it's an amount that needs to be recovered by selling Seo Yeehyeon-ssi's artwork, it's practically the same as a loan, isn't it?"

As he sat down across from me again, he leaned back loosely against the armrest. Although there was no tension in his crooked gaze, I straightened my back, gripped by an inexplicable tension.

"I know."

"Are you alright with being so complicatedly entangled with me?"

"Honestly, I'm terrified whether I can actually repay such a large sum... But if it doesn't work out with the paintings, I promise I will repay you by doing other work."

He stared at me blankly for a moment as I spoke. His expression suggested that I had said something harsh, or perhaps that my words had wounded him. But it was only for the briefest instant.

He quickly composed himself, shaking off any disturbance in his gaze, and then, as if remembering something, he picked up a cigarette from the side table and lit it.

"This is an advance for the paintings you're going to create; it's not a loan where I pressure you like a loan shark. So, once this matter is resolved, don't worry about anything else and focus entirely on your art. If you neglect your painting, then Seo Yeehyeon-ssi will be seen as failing to meet his obligation."

I nodded with the utmost caution.

He exhaled a long breath and muttered this, then quickly, almost nervously, flicked the ash into the ashtray and glanced over at me.

"May I ask just one thing."

This time, he faced me directly and asked in a flat tone.

"I understand that the two people, your hyung and nuna, are important to Seo Yeehyeon-ssi... but still, why is Seo Yeehyeon-ssi so afraid that their relationship will be threatened that he would tremble like this and come to me asking for help?"

I thought it would be a question about the information needed to solve the problem, but it was unexpectedly about his personal curiosity. He probably wouldn't press me for an answer even if I didn't give one. Whether I answered or not was entirely up to me.

Across the slowly rising smoke, I looked into his blue-gray eyes, which held a sense of puzzlement as he asked the reason why I was so terrified of this situation — a situation that, strictly speaking, was not a direct threat to me.

Perhaps he simply didn't know the terror of love.

When one of two people who loved each other deeply disappears. When they can no longer be together due to outside interference. The consequences that follow are not limited to mere sentimental sadness or a few days spent weeping while drunk.

Their humanity would be destroyed and corrupted, rendering them incapable of existing as themselves any longer.

I was not strong enough now to endure seeing Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung end up like that. If that experience were to repeat itself one more time, perhaps I, too, would be destroyed beyond recovery. This time, it wouldn't end with simply giving up painting.

I took a large gulp of the alcohol in my hand. The rain continued to batter the window, wailing outside. It felt like a malevolent spirit determined to claim a sacrifice before this night was over.

"The reason I fear those I love is probably because their lives can directly affect me as well. If they start to suffer, then seeing them in that state will cause me pain too."

Even knowing how ridiculous this might sound, I couldn't help but be honest: perhaps for him, love was nothing more than a fleeting feeling that rose briefly to the surface of his emotions before fading away with time.

This was not only the story of my mother and father, Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung, but also my own story as I hesitated before this feeling that had just begun for him.

"So maybe... maybe I'm doing this because I'm afraid of suffering. No... it's probably that."

Perhaps this was a struggle for my own sake rather than for Morae nuna or Yeehan hyung. But regardless of who it was for — whether driven by good intentions or selfish motives — it didn't matter. I was determined not to let their escape be dismissed as the momentary rebellion of an immature young couple, no matter the cost. On that point, I was firm; the strength that allowed me to survive, to take a human form like this, had been given to me by those two, so I wouldn't begrudge paying the price.

He remained silent. Holding the cigarette in his hand, he only looked at me with eyes deep in thought, as if savoring the meaning of my words.

I decided to suppress my desire for special affection from him not just because he was someone beyond my station in many ways. If it weren't for my fear of love itself, I might have allowed myself to be greedy, using my age of twenty-two as an excuse.

But I was afraid.

I was afraid to look at him, knowing he couldn't return my feelings, but I was even more afraid of what would happen when this feeling — still fragile and soft — grew heavy, immense, and solid, taking complete control of me. Compared to the terror of that potential power over me, the fear of the former was nothing.

Because I myself was a work created by, or rather, ruined by, the destructive force of love.

Finally, he withdrew his gaze from me and uncrossed his legs. He took one last deep drag before crushing the cigarette out in the dry ashtray.

"I think I understand."

Having said that, he didn't say any more about it.

"I think I understand." That was an unexpected response.