EPILOGUE #2
“I know.”
Noeul studied him for a moment. Hearing those words from Chung-Hee still felt strange.
“I don’t think I ever would. Contact you, I mean. Anyway, I couldn’t stay away forever,” he continued. “My life is here too. I wanted to fix things with my family. With my friends. I wanted to be there for Ji-Woo.”
“And did you?”
Noeul smiled. “I’m trying.”
Chung-Hee nodded. Another silence stretched between them.
Then he asked the question Noeul had known would eventually come. “Did you ever think about us?”
Noeul’s fingers tightened slightly around his glass. “Of course.”
Chung-Hee looked up.
“There were good memories,” Noeul continued. “I won’t lie and pretend there weren’t. There were moments when you made me happy.” His gaze remained steady. “And there were many painful ones.”
“Mostly painful,” Chung-Hee said.
Noeul didn’t contradict him.
Chung-Hee stared into his glass for several seconds before pushing it away. “I’ve imagined this conversation hundreds of times.”
Noeul waited.
“Every version sounded better in my head.” A humorless laugh escaped him. “I’m sorry.”
Noeul remained still.
Chung-Hee forced himself to meet his eyes. “Not for ‘treating you badly.’ Not for losing my temper. Those words would make what I did sound smaller than it was.”
Noeul’s heartbeat quickened.
“I hurt you,” Chung-Hee continued. “I controlled you. I frightened you. I used your guilt against you because I knew it was the easiest way to keep you close.” His voice became rougher. “And when you tried to leave me, I kidnapped you.”
Noeul’s fingers went cold around the glass.
Chung-Hee saw it. He stopped.
For several seconds, neither man spoke.
“You don’t have to continue,” Noeul said.
“I do.”
“No.” Noeul’s voice remained calm. “You don’t get to decide what I need to hear.”
Chung-Hee went silent. The words hurt more than anger would have.
Noeul took a slow breath, then nodded once. “Now you can continue.”
Chung-Hee swallowed. “I raped you.”
The restaurant continued around them. Someone laughed several tables away. A waiter carried a tray past them. Glass touched glass. Ordinary life continued while the ugliest truth between them finally existed in words.
“I knew you didn’t want me,” Chung-Hee said. “And I did it anyway.”
Noeul looked down. For a moment, he was somewhere else. A bedroom. A handcuff. Blood.
Then he felt the smooth glass beneath his fingers. The restaurant. The voices. His feet against the floor.
Duri waiting for him.
He was here.
“I spent a long time blaming Haneul,” Chung-Hee continued. “Then Gong. Then you. Anyone I could blame except myself.” His jaw tightened. “But nobody made me do what I did to you.”
Noeul slowly raised his eyes.
“I did it,” Chung-Hee said, his voice shaking now. “And if you ever choose to report me, I won’t fight you. I won’t use my money, my company, my lawyers, or my name to make it harder for you. I’ll tell the truth.”
Noeul stared at him. Of all the things he had imagined hearing that night, this had not been one of them.
“Why now?” he asked.
“Because saying I love you doesn’t excuse anything.” Chung-Hee looked away. “If anything, it makes what I did worse.”
They fell silent.
Something shifted inside Noeul. It wasn’t forgiveness and it wasn’t affection.
“Thank you,” he said at last.
Chung-Hee looked at him again.
“Just hearing you call it what it was matters more than you know.”
His phone buzzed.
I’m downstairs. Are you okay?
Noeul smiled before typing his reply.
Yes, my love. I’ll be there soon.
He set the phone down gently and looked back at Chung-Hee.
“To be honest,” Noeul said, “it took a long time and a lot of work to heal the wounds you left behind. There were moments when I believed you cared for me. I won’t pretend they never happened. But they don’t balance what you did.”
He paused.
“I haven’t decided whether I’ll report you.”
Chung-Hee looked at him.
“Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. But that decision belongs to me. Your apology doesn’t buy my silence, and it doesn’t require me to act before I’m ready.”
Chung-Hee lowered his gaze.
Their soup had just been cleared when the main course arrived, rich aromas filling the space between them.
Chung-Hee asked hesitantly, “Is there someone who makes your life happier?”
“There is,” Noeul said. Then he smiled faintly. “Someone who waited until I was ready, but I was already happy before him.”
Chung-Hee already knew.
“And you?” Noeul asked.
Chung-Hee drank again. His expression remained controlled, but his voice cracked.
“When you left, I lost control. I hurt the people who stood by you. For a long time, I waited for you to come back.” He looked toward the windows, at the city stretching endlessly beyond them. “Then I understood that you weren’t coming back. At least, not to me.”
Noeul said nothing.
“I started therapy,” Chung-Hee continued. “I regret what I did to you. I won’t walk that path again. No one has entered my life yet…” A faint smile touched his lips. “But I still hope.”
Chung-Hee’s eyes closed briefly.
“Is Kaiser Duri the person who sent you the message?”
Noeul’s eyebrows rose. “How did you know?”
“He loved you from the beginning.”
Noeul smiled.
There was no guilt in it.
“I hope you continue therapy,” Noeul said. “But I won’t be part of your recovery.”
Chung-Hee lowered his gaze.
Noeul stood and reached for his coat.
“Noeul.” He paused. “I am sorry.”
Noeul looked at him one last time. “I heard you.”
Then he left without looking back.
As planned, Duri was waiting at the hotel bar, a Seoul Sour in front of him. Noeul saw him immediately. Before Duri could even stand, Noeul hurried over and wrapped his arms around him from behind, pressing his cheek against his shoulder.
“There you are,” he murmured.
Duri’s hand immediately covered Noeul’s.
No hesitation. No careful testing of whether touch was welcome.
He simply knew.
“You’re late,” Duri complained, turning in his arms.
“By seven minutes.”
“I counted.”
“Brat.”
Noeul laughed and kissed his cheek.
“I’m okay,” he said.
Duri looked at him.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Duri said nothing more. He simply opened his arms. Noeul stepped into them.
“I always knew I felt safe with you,” Noeul whispered against his chest. “I just didn’t realize how deeply.”