Before the snow falls,
I would love to see you.”
He’d always clung to that last line.
Didn’t know why.
Maybe because the snow always came. And no one ever showed up.
Minseok never asked about the poem.
Minseok never asked about anything, really. Only what Haneul could do with his hands. His mouth. His silence.
He sat on the mattress in his underwear, bruises rising like moss along his hips, and let the page flutter down into his lap.
He thought about how they met.
About the wrist he bit. The drink he took. The mistake he didn’t know how to undo.
Minseok was the first person who looked at him and didn’t see a stray.
Or maybe that was wrong. Maybe Minseok did see the stray — and decided he liked that. Decided to keep it. Break it in.
Minseok wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened to him.
That’s how it started. That’s how he explained it to himself at first.
He wasn’t a john. He wasn’t a cop. He wasn’t a landlord who made you pay in bruises.
Minseok bought him a drink the first time they met.
Not with charm — with precision. Like he’d calculated it.
Haneul had been working nights back then. Underage and underpaid, drawing flier art for the seedier clubs, sleeping behind coin karaoke booths when his shift ended. He hadn’t eaten in a day and a half. His shirt had holes. His boots had duct tape in the soles.
Minseok had spotted him arguing with a bouncer. Called him “interesting.” Asked if he was selling.
Haneul bit him.
Just once. On the wrist.
Not hard enough to break skin — just enough to be remembered.
Minseok laughed. Bought him food. A drink. A room.
Then told him to strip.
And when Haneul didn’t flinch — not because he was brave, but because he didn’t know the rules — Minseok took that as a yes.
The first time wasn’t rough.
The second time was. Haneul thought that was normal. No one ever explained how affection was supposed to feel.
And when Minseok left bruises, he apologized with shoes. With taxis. With money on the counter and mockery in his mouth, Haneul told himself it wasn’t abuse. He’d seen real abuse. This was just… staying warm. Staying wanted.
And that was better than sleeping in the subway.
Wasn’t it?
