CHAPTER 6
It was ten in the morning. Sunday. Sunlight filtered through the window, breaking Noeul’s restless sleep. He woke abruptly, the familiar anxiety already waiting for him. He didn’t need to check the calendar. He knew the date by heart. Four days until the anniversary of Gong’s death.
He dressed without thinking. The silence in the apartment pressed in around him. His phone vibrated on the kitchen table. Noeul hesitated before crossing the room to answer it.
“Hello?” His voice was barely a whisper.
“Hi, sweetheart,” came his mother’s gentle reply. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing. How are you, my son?”
“Hi, Mom. I’m… okay.”
A pause followed.
“The anniversary of Gong’s death is coming up,” she said softly. “And Haneul’s as well.”
“Yes,” Noeul replied after a moment. “In four days.”
“Are you managing, my son? We’re very worried about you.”
“I know,” Noeul murmured. “It’s… a difficult time.”
“Would you be okay if we came to America?” a familiar younger voice cut in. Ji-Woo sounded tense. “We’re here for you, hyung. Or you could come back to Korea for a few days. Your boss would understand.”
“No… No, Ji-Woo,” Noeul said quickly. “There’s no need. I’ll be fine. I can’t miss work this week. We have an important project.”
A soft noise came through the line, followed by his father’s voice. “Listen, son. You’re not the only one struggling.”
“I know, Dad.” Noeul sighed. “I just… need some space.”
“You need to stop isolating yourself,” his father said firmly.
“I’m not isolating myself,” Noeul replied tightly. “I need time to… process everything.”
Another voice, muffled but unmistakable, reached him. Duri’s.
“A whole year, hyung?”
Heat rushed through Noeul, shame and irritation tangled together. Why did Duri have to hear this?
“It’s not that simple,” he snapped. “This doesn’t just get easier with time.”
“We know,” Ji-Woo said angrily. “It might help if you didn’t push everyone away.”
“Shut up, brat. What do you know? Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it. Not now.”
His mother’s voice was soft and steady. “We understand. We just want you to know we’re here whenever you need us.”
Noeul closed his eyes. “Thank you, Mom.”
“And son,” his father added. “We love you.”
“I love you too, Dad. I love you all.”
He ended the call and let the phone fall onto the couch beside him. The apartment sank back into silence.
After the call, he tried to distract himself by drawing. Page after page filled with dark, violent sketches, nothing like his usual fantasy creatures. By noon, he snapped the sketchbook shut.
He grabbed a bottle of whiskey. The memories flooded his mind with every sip.
Gong’s infectious laughter. Their childhood games.
Their first fight. Gong’s change. The day his world collapsed.
He snapped. He threw whatever he could reach, desperate to break something.
Anything. Eventually, he collapsed onto the floor.
By the time exhaustion overtook him, Noeul had already formed a plan. He curled up beside the empty whiskey bottle. When sleep finally came, it was restless.
On Monday morning, he had to force himself to vomit and swallow painkillers just to make it to work. He hunched over his computer, his fingers moving across the keyboard with mechanical precision.
A tap on his shoulder made him flinch. He looked up to see Kristie from the red team watching him with concern.
“Noeul, are you okay?” she asked. “You seem… distant. And a bit rough.”
He ran a hand over his face. “Just tired,” he muttered.
Kristie didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? You look like you need a nap and a triple espresso. Rough night?”
“Nothing serious,” he said, managing a brief smile. “Family stuff.”
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. But if you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate.”
Noeul nodded and turned back to his screen.
Every evening after work, Noeul drank. By Thursday, his manager called him into his office.
“Noeul, can we talk for a moment?”
“Of course.”
The door closed behind them.
“Please, sit.”
Noeul sat straight-backed.
“I’ve noticed you haven’t been yourself lately,” Mr. Anderson said. “You seem tired. And honestly… a bit down.”
Noeul opened his mouth to deny it, but the words died there. “It’s nothing serious,” he murmured.
Mr. Anderson didn’t press. “Even things that aren’t ‘serious’ can weigh on us. Is something at work bothering you?”
Noeul shook his head. “Work is fine. Really.”
Mr. Anderson leaned back. “We all go through hard times. But bottling things up isn’t healthy. If something outside work is affecting you, my door is always open. We also have an employee support program.”
“Thank you, Mr. Anderson.”
His manager smiled faintly. “I’ll be honest, I was hesitant when we hired you. You were young and inexperienced. But you worked hard and became one of our top employees. You’re a valuable part of this team. And we care about you.”
“Thank you,” Noeul said. Then hesitated. “There is… one thing I wanted to discuss.”
Mr. Anderson raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”
Noeul pulled a sealed envelope from his bag and placed it on the desk. “This is my resignation letter. I’ve decided to return to Korea.”
Surprise crossed Mr. Anderson’s face. “Is this related to what’s been bothering you? We can always help.”
“No,” Noeul said, a small smile appearing for the first time that day. “It’s a personal decision. My family is there. I don’t want to stay away from them anymore.”
Mr. Anderson sighed. “That’s unfortunate. We didn’t expect this, especially from you. But it’s your life.” He paused. “We’ll miss you. You were an asset to the team.”
“Thank you,” Noeul said sincerely. “I’m sorry if I’m letting you down.” He glanced at his watch. “I still have two weeks of unused leave. May I take them during my notice period? Today would be my last day in the office.”
Mr. Anderson hesitated, then nodded. “That’s sudden. But… at this point, there’s nothing more to say. Enjoy your time off and your last moments in New York.”
My last moments, Noeul thought.
How strange to hear it from a stranger. How true.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For everything, Mr. Anderson. You were a great manager and mentor.”
He did what he had planned. The first step. Now all that remained was to wait until his shift ended and return to his apartment.
He stayed late under the excuse of overtime. He wanted to leave last, without looks, without questions. He watched his coworkers laugh, work, gossip, then leave together for dinner and beers at their usual spot. He wished he could feel what they felt, but it was already too late.
On the way home, he watched the city he had come to love. The crowded streets, food carts, vibrant neighborhoods, the skyline, the hiking trails. He would miss all of it. Just as he would miss the city where he grew up. The Han River, the markets, the cafés, the temples.
The apartment felt emptier than ever. He sat on the couch, the TV on mute, a half-eaten bowl of cold food forgotten on the table. Outside, the city lights flowed like water. He reached for the bottle of whiskey hidden at the back of the cabinet.
October 24.
Gong’s death anniversary.
Haneul’s death anniversary.
The day his life shattered.
The day he was branded a liar.
A bully.
A monster.
The first sip burned his throat. He slammed the glass onto the table. Gong’s face appeared before him, his gaze cold and painfully real. His words echoed in Noeul’s mind.
You abandoned me.
You betrayed me.
Another drink. More memories. Birthday parties. Shared secrets. Gong’s unwavering, suffocating devotion.
Noeul stood unsteadily, knocking the chair over, and stumbled toward the bathroom. Locking the door felt like a pointless attempt to keep the past out.
What could be done for him now?
Who would forgive him?
Who would love him?
No one would.
He sank into the cold bathtub. Tears blurred the photos on his phone: family, friends, a life that no longer belonged to him. A sob escaped him.
Would Ji-Woo be okay? Or had Duri already taken his place?
Would his parents grieve him, or had Gong’s death already left them too numb to mourn another son?
His thoughts drifted to Gong and Haneul.
Had they felt this way?
Had they thought of him in their final moments?
Unanswered questions. Always unanswered.
He stared at his hand, transfixed by the red lines forming there.
This is how it ends, he thought.
He hesitated, not from fear but from memory. Gong’s laughter echoed. A summer afternoon. A park. A swing. Gong pushing him just to hear him curse and laugh until his stomach hurt.
The memory faded.
“I tried, Gong,” he whispered. “I really did.”
The world grew distant.
For a fleeting moment, he thought he could hear their voices calling his name.
A hand touching him.
A smile slowly spread across his face.