He figures he can call social workers to pick the man on his house even though he still can't figure out why he brought him to his place in the first place. He doesn't look like a crazy beggar, at least, but he can't say he is sure about the crazy part since he saw the man , after all.

He is dripping and is scared to catch pneumonia but he checked the stranger's temperature first before his own. He has no fever, not even a cold. But even so, seeing a stranger inside your apartment is not appetizing at all. He has not eaten anything since his breakfast of rice porridge without real chicken. How will he eat dinner with a stranger lying on his couch?

Cursing without a clue who it is directed to, he grabs a clean shirt and shorts from his cabinet. He isn't comfortable sharing his underwear with an unknown man.

He expects the now clothed man on his clothes to wake up soon even if he still doesn't have a damn clue why he is lying on the bushes at the park, unconscious and . Perhaps he has been violated and left there? 

But there are no signs of struggle, he muses to himself while picking a piece of free pickled cucumber after a piece.

The man's body is clean, if not for the dirt because of the mud in the park. There are no wounds or scars, not even scratches on his pale skin. Perhaps he was robbed and knocked unconscious?

But again, there are no signs of struggle and he can't think of a reason why would someone rob a person on the street and strip him of everything, even his clothes. That will just increase the robber's chance of being caught in the act.

He eats his noodles as he stares at the man lying on his old couch. He is still in the middle of pretending to be a detective, deducing possible explanations why the man is lying, unconscious and , when he almost spits everything on his mouth as the man suddenly opens his eyes, staring back at him like he is seeing the oldest memory he has forgotten himself.