Page 262 of Scarbound

No.

This paper was white. Ordinary. His name was written across the front.

Noeul hyung.

Duri’s handwriting.

He crouched carefully and picked it up. Inside were only a few words.

Water. Food whenever you want it. I’m in the living room. You don’t have to come out.

Noeul read it twice. Then a third time. He didn’t know why his eyes burned. He folded the note again and carried both it and the water back inside.

Later, hunger came. Not much. Just enough to make his stomach ache differently from everything else. Noeul opened the bedroom door. The apartment seemed too large. He stood there for a moment, one hand gripping the frame. Duri was sitting on the sofa with headphones around his neck, laptop open across his knees. He noticed Noeul immediately but didn’t stand.

“Hey.”

Noeul looked toward the kitchen. Duri followed his gaze. “Eomma made too much food.”

A faint sound came from the kitchen. “I heard that,” Yujin called.

Duri smiled. Noeul didn’t. But something about the exchange felt familiar. Normal.

Yujin appeared a moment later. She stopped when she saw him. “Good afternoon, Noeul.”

Noeul looked at her. “Kang…”

She waited.

“Yujin.”

Her smile softened. “Yes.”

He remembered.

Yujin pointed toward the kitchen. “There’s rice, soup, fruit and juk. Pick whatever looks least offensive.”

Duri glanced at her. “Excellent sales pitch.”

“I raised you. Clearly I know nothing about persuading difficult young men.”

Noeul’s mouth moved. For a fraction of a second, it almost became a smile. Duri saw it. He wisely said nothing. Noeul walked toward the kitchen. Yujin stepped aside to give him space.

“What do you want?”

He stared at the food. Too many choices. His thoughts slowed. Rice. Soup. Fruit. Porridge. His chest tightened. “I don’t know.”

“Then don’t choose.”

Noeul looked at her.

Yujin took a small bowl from the cupboard. “I’ll put a little of everything on the table. Eat what you want. Leave what you don’t.”

Noeul nodded.

He sat. Duri remained in the living room. Yujin placed the food in front of him and then returned to whatever she had been doing. No one watched. No one counted bites. No one asked whether he’d finished. Noeul ate some rice. A little soup. Two pieces of fruit. Then stopped. He stared at the remaining food. His stomach was already turning.

“Enough,” he whispered.