??????
Later that day, Haneul smoked on the balcony.
Still in boxers and the same shirt, this time unbuttoned, fluttering in the wind like a scandal. His hair was tied up messily with a shoelace. His feet bare on the heated tile. He waved at a rich neighbor two floors down who looked up and blanched.
Then blew a kiss.
Seungho, watching from the living room, simply sipped his tea.
The next morning, the couch was occupied again—but this time with Haneul sprawled across it like a cat, one leg thrown over the back, head dangling halfway off the cushion. He’d kicked the blanket to the floor in his sleep.
Seungho picked it up and draped it back without a word.
Haneul didn’t stir. But when Seungho walked away—
“Mmm. No entering after midnight or I’ll castrate you,” he mumbled, half-asleep.
Seungho paused. “I didn’t.”
“Good.” A pause.
“…But if I’m having a nightmare or vomiting again, you can come in. Once.”
??????
That afternoon, he disappeared.
Seungho came out of a Zoom meeting to find the apartment empty. He texted. No reply. He called. Nothing.
Two hours later, the elevator dinged. Haneul walked in holding a plastic bag, windblown and flushed, eyes distant.
He dropped the bag on the counter. Inside: two manhwa volumes, three packs of dried squid, a bottle of iced coffee, and a new toothbrush in neon blue.
He didn’t say anything. Just walked to the couch and flopped face-first into the cushions.
Seungho stared at the toothbrush for a long time.
Then opened the iced coffee and placed it silently on the low table.
Haneul didn’t lift his head. Just gave a small, muffled grunt.
??????
By day five, the apartment had changed.
There were little signs of life scattered like feathers: a mismatched mug left near the sink. Socks hanging off a chair. A slightly broken hair tie around the shower knob. A halved foxmask on the hallway mirror. Open books. One (1) seagull sticker on the fridge . The smell of sesame oil lingering.
Seungho didn’t move any of it, nor recognized it as unwelcome:
He adjusted.
Like the mountain shifting around the storm.
On day six, the ice broke.
Haneul stood by the window at sunset, arms folded, gaze distant. He hadn’t spoken in hours. Just watched the river bleed gold into the dark.
Seungho approached slowly, mug in hand.
