??????
Outside, frost climbed the windows. Inside, the heater hummed like a low pulse.
Haneul felt it first—the absence.
The booth was empty. No suit, no red tie, no low-voiced greeting.
He exhaled, long, through his nose, told himself it was better that way.
But his hands kept brushing the counter, slow circles, tracing where condensation had been.
When he left for the night, the doorman handed him a small paper bag.
Brown. Folded neat.
Inside—one walnut mooncake. Still warm.
He didn’t eat it.
But he carried it home.
??????
Chapter 14 – No Vacancyfor the Moon
The eviction notice wasn’t even taped straight. It fluttered on his door like something ashamed of itself.
Demolition Scheduled. Unit Condemned. Final Entry: Midnight.
He stared at it with the dead-eyed clarity of someone who couldn’t afford to panic. The hallway smelled like boiled instant noodles and mildew. Downstairs, a child screamed in laughter—or maybe frustration. He couldn’t tell.
Inside: his mattress on the floor. A rice cooker. A chipped mug full of pens. He picked up the mug and slipped it into his backpack like a relic. The rest he left. What was he supposed to do—carry his entire failure on his back?
He didn’t even try to call Minseok. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
He spent three nights at Junseo’s. That’s how long he lasted.
The couch was too soft. The air too warm. The bathroom smelled like seven different expensive soaps clawing for dominance. But none of that was what drove him out.
It was the joy.
The kind of joy that echoed off bathroom tiles and into his gut like nausea. Moans. Laughter. Shared showers. He’d sit rigid on the couch, earbuds jammed in, counting heartbeats and cursing himself for being there at all.
Not envy. Not loneliness.
Something closer to revulsion. A kind of bone-deep bafflement—how could people make themselves that open, that loud, that soft? The smells and sounds of people happily and consensually enjoying sex made his stomach twist with confused disgust, like the world was mocking him for not understanding what joy was supposed to sound like.
He left before sunrise on the fourth morning. No note. No bag. Just walked out while the city still yawned. The neon was too loud, the dawn too bright. He walked until his ears stopped ringing, until the snow crept into his socks and the weight of not knowing where to go pushed him toward Velvet.
??????
Yul found him curled like a stray on the black leather couch upstairs. College backpack for a pillow. Eyes open, not blinking. Tension humming off his spine like static.
Yul just grunted, turned off the hallway light, and said, “You snore, you’re out.”
Haneul didn’t say thank you, as usual.
The next morning, the office smelled like old coffee and lavender cleaner. Haneul left a paper bag of mini-croissants dangling from the door handle like an apology someone had beaten all the words out of. He didn’t knock.
