CHAPTER 42
He woke to the faint light of his bedroom, the pillow wet beneath his head. He knew he was home, but after sleeping for so long, it took him several seconds to place the day.
Fragments of the drive flashed through his mind like pieces of a dream. Then the office returned. Chung-Hee’s voice. His hands. The floor beneath Noeul’s knees.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
I did nothing wrong.
The thought came back from the night before, quieter now, less certain in the safety of daylight. Noeul looked down at himself. He was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. His mouth felt dry, his face sticky with tears. Outside, daylight spilled through the curtains, but he couldn’t tell the hour.
When he finally reached for his phone, he discovered he had slept well over half a day. It was noon. He was already late for work.
For a moment, panic struck him out of habit. Then something almost bitter rose inside him.
Let Chung-Hee complain. Not after what he had done.
Noeul pushed himself out of bed and walked slowly toward the kitchen.
His body felt heavy, disconnected from him.
He prepared his usual strong Americano and stood at the counter while the machine worked, concentrating on ordinary sounds: the grinding beans, the water, the quiet click when the coffee was ready.
He called Ji-Woo later that afternoon. He didn’t tell him what had happened.
He only needed to hear his voice, the familiar complaints about university applications, his portfolio, his art teacher who apparently believed seventeen revisions were still insufficient. Noeul listened more than he spoke.
After they hung up, his gaze fell on the drawer where he kept his art supplies.
Kija.
The thought immediately brought Chung-Hee back with it. Noeul stared at the drawer. He could cancel the lessons. It would be easier. Safer.
The idea made something inside him recoil.
Why? Because Kija had spoken to him? Because someone had complimented him? Because Chung-Hee had decided another man touching his shoulder gave him the right to punish him?
No.
Noeul opened the drawer. He took out his supplies and placed them carefully across the table. His hands were still not completely recovered, and after some time his wrists began to ache, but he continued. Slowly at first, cautiously, then with increasing confidence.
For the first time in a long while, he wanted to paint. So he did.
Hours disappeared. His breathing steadied. His thoughts quieted. He became absorbed enough that he didn’t notice daylight fading from the windows or the city lights appearing beyond them.
Then the intercom sounded.
Noeul froze, the brush stopping against the paper.
“Noeul?”
Noeul stared toward the door.
“It’s me, Han Jun. I came to see how you’re doing.”
If Jun was here, it could mean only one thing. He knew. Heat rushed into Noeul’s face. Shame came first, followed quickly by anger. Chung-Hee had told him. Or perhaps Jun had seen enough himself.
“Please… open the door,” Jun called.
Noeul held his breath as his chest tightened. There was someone else outside. He knew before asking.
“He’s with you?”
A brief silence followed.
“Yes,” Jun finally answered.
Noeul stared at the door, eyes wide. Don’t open it. His fingers curled around the fabric of his trousers. Don’t open it.
“Then please leave,” he said. “I’ll see you Monday at work. I’m sure you understand why I need the rest of the week off.”
After a brief pause, Jun answered carefully. “We’ll only be here for five minutes… I brought you something to eat. You don’t have to talk about anything. Just let me leave it with you.”
Noeul said nothing.
Jun waited. Then Chung-Hee stepped closer to the door.
“Noeul.”
Every muscle in Noeul’s body tightened.
“Please open the door,” Chung-Hee said softly. “I just want to talk.”
Noeul’s nails dug into his jeans.
“Not tonight.”
“Noeul.”
“No.”
The word surprised even him. He wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to push away the memories that came with Chung-Hee’s voice, the accusations, the bruises, the humiliation.
“I can’t be without you,” Chung-Hee said from the hallway. Desperation had begun to creep into his voice. “We belong to each other. You know that.”
Noeul pressed a hand over his mouth as a sob threatened to escape. Something inside him answered before the guilt could.
No.
He didn’t belong to Chung-Hee. He didn’t belong to Duri. He didn’t belong to Haneul. He didn’t belong to the dead. He belonged to himself.
At least he wanted to.
Jun’s voice came through the door. “He said no.”
Chung-Hee ignored him. “Noeul, just open the door.”
Noeul stared at the handle. For one terrible moment, his hand moved toward it. He imagined opening the door. Chung-Hee stepping inside. An apology, perhaps. A touch. A kiss. Then another accusation. Another punishment.
His hand stopped.
“You should go.”
Silence.
Then Chung-Hee’s voice changed. The tenderness disappeared.
“You needed to learn your lesson.”
Noeul closed his eyes. There it was. No apology. No remorse.
“What lesson?” Jun demanded.
Chung-Hee’s jaw tightened. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“It concerns me when one of our employees is terrified to open his own door because his CEO is standing outside.”
“Jun.”
“No. Look at what you’re doing.”
The silence that followed was unbearable. Noeul remained on the floor, listening. A minute passed. Perhaps two.
Then footsteps moved away. Relief began creeping through him. They were leaving.
But another sound came from outside.
Metal against metal.
The familiar click of a key.
Noeul’s blood ran cold.
The spare key.
His heart seemed to stop.
“I’m coming in,” Chung-Hee said.
Noeul sprang upright. His legs were weak, but panic carried him across the apartment. He reached the door just as the key entered the lock and twisted the interior lock hard.
The door moved. Stopped.
Chung-Hee tried again.
“What the hell, Noeul? Open this door!”
Noeul pressed his entire body against it, one trembling hand still gripping the lock. Jun said something outside, too low for him to understand.
“I will not open it.”
His voice was quiet.
Chung-Hee struck the door once with his palm.
“Noeul!”
“I said no!”
The words tore from him before he could stop them.
Silence.
Noeul stood frozen. He had shouted at him.
And nothing had happened.
The door remained closed. Chung-Hee remained outside.
Jun’s voice came next, firm and unmistakable.
“We’re leaving.”
Another silence. Then footsteps. This time, they faded completely.
Noeul remained pressed against the door long after the hallway became quiet, his body shaking with silent sobs. He didn’t know whether five minutes passed or thirty. He stayed there listening, terrified that the key would enter the lock again.
It didn’t.
Eventually, his legs gave way. Noeul slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor. His gaze drifted toward the unfinished painting, then toward his phone.
Throughout it all, only one person had filled his mind.
Duri.
Was it wrong to want him? Not sexually. Not even romantically. At least, not now. He wanted his voice. His ridiculous bluntness. The way he could sit beside Noeul without demanding anything from him. The way silence around Duri never felt like punishment.
Noeul picked up the phone. His thumb hovered over the familiar name. For a moment, Chung-Hee’s words returned.
We belong to each other.
Noeul pressed call.
Duri answered before the third ring.
“Noeul hyung?”
Just hearing his voice loosened something inside him. Noeul closed his eyes.
“Duri?”
There was a pause. Then Duri’s voice changed immediately.
“What happened?”
Noeul tried to answer. Nothing came out. He pressed his trembling hand against his mouth.
“Duri,” he whispered again.
“I’m here.”
No demand. No accusation. No punishment.
Noeul finally began to cry.