Page 13 of Scarbound

Noeul returned each greeting with a polite nod, keeping everyone at a distance.

By 9:30, after a short break, Noeul met with his direct supervisor, Mr. Anderson. They exchanged a firm handshake and briefly discussed professional expectations.

“We have several interesting projects in the pipeline, Mr. Jung. I’m confident you’ll be a valuable member of the team.”

“Thank you. I look forward to the challenge,” Noeul replied.

After the meeting, he organized his workspace with meticulous care, arranging every pen and paperclip with mechanical precision.

During lunch, Noeul sat alone in the company cafeteria, picking at his salad. The laughter and conversations around him felt distant. He pulled out his phone, debating whether to call someone. After a brief hesitation, he slipped it back into his pocket.

It was better this way.

The rest of the afternoon disappeared into work. He buried himself in manuals and technical specifications, grateful for something that demanded his full attention.

When the clock struck five, Noeul packed his things and left the office. The familiar sting of loneliness steered him away from the after-work crowds spilling into trendy bars.

He slipped into a narrow side street, drawn by the flickering neon sign of Whiskey Riffs. He had never been particularly fond of rock or metal, but years of friendship with Duri had softened him toward the genre. Maybe it was Duri’s enthusiasm whenever he spoke about music that had made Noeul listen more often.

The bar felt like a relic of another era with its soft lights, worn wooden stools, and a jukebox playing classic rock tracks.

A perfect refuge for the invisible.

Duri…

No matter how hard he tried, Noeul couldn’t push his image from his mind. One of his closest friends. One of the few who hadn’t abandoned him or blamed him.

Noeul sat at the bar, immediately aware of the cold leather beneath him. “A beer. Whatever you’ve got,” he murmured.

The bartender nodded and set a chilled glass of amber liquid in front of him. Noeul took a slow sip, welcoming the bitterness. He avoided looking at the other patrons.

He finished the first beer quickly. Another glass appeared without a word. He thanked the bartender with a nod.

As the alcohol settled in, a strange calm wrapped around him.

He glanced around the bar. A muted baseball game played on the television. He remembered watching games with his father, the smell of popcorn, and his reassuring laughter. A sharp pang of longing cut through him, quickly drowned by another swallow of beer.

By his third beer, the loneliness was still there, but its edges had softened.

He paid the bill, leaving a generous tip that earned him a smile from the bartender. Noeul stepped back onto the busy street and took a taxi home.

He unlocked the apartment, poured himself a glass of water, and made a sandwich. As he set the glass on the counter, the day replayed in his mind: the office, the polite smiles, the crushing loneliness.

He had no right to build bridges. No right to connect with anyone.

Not when they were dead.

With a quiet sigh, he turned off the light and let the familiar darkness envelop him.

The phone’s ring woke him for his second day at work. He answered with a voice rough and heavy with sleep. “Yes?”

His mother’s familiar tone floated through the line, tinged with worry. “Oh, Noeul, my sweet boy! Are you all right?”

Noeul let out a long sigh. “Yes… I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“We haven’t heard from you since you left Korea, son. Is everything okay with your new job?” his father asked, concern woven through every word.

Noeul hesitated. There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to hurt them. They couldn’t know how much he suffered, how much he longed for the void.