There was a pause, and I stayed in my seat, frozen. I heard Dahyun sigh, not out of exhaustion, I noticed, but of relief. She placed the tray she was carrying on the coffee table, and Sundae followed her motion with its head. Dahyun turned her Bluetooth speaker on, and seconds later, an acoustic song began playing. It was in English.

   “Are you finally interested in getting to know me, Kim Namjoon?” she teased.

   “I have always been interested in you,” I said. “I’m just being vocal about it now.”

   She smiled, and took a sip from her tea. “I already told you my story before, so let’s move on from there. I only remember bits and pieces about Jeonggeuk. These memories may not even be reliable. Are you willing to listen, nonetheless?”

   I nodded.

   “When he first arrived, he did nothing but draw,” she began. “And it was always the same. He kept on drawing seven boys. Whenever I asked who they were, he would just smile. That was all he ever did. Smile.”

   “Who do you think they were?”

   “I found out years later,” she replied. “They were the people he was close with while he was in the orphanage.”

   “Have you ever met them?”

   Dahyun shook her head. “Still, I know they were very important to him. Was it when we were in fifth grade? Hm…” she trailed off, and shrugged. “There was a time when we thought he was in the academy, attending classes. But we found out later that he would save his allowance to buy train tickets just to visit his friends. Our parents never reprimanded him for that, and one day, he just stopped going. Maybe he had no reason to visit anymore.

   “Then I began to notice he stopped drawing those seven boys. And then, he abandoned drawing altogether.”

   “Do you know why?”

   She looked down, and wistfully shook her head. “We were physically close at the time, but I was emotionally distant from him. I regret it now, though. I should have asked.”

   “I’m guessing you had your reasons,” I muttered.

   “Are those reasons enough, though?” Dahyun glanced at me. “Now that I’m older, I think I’ve finally realized that even if the people around you love you unconditionally, if you think you don’t deserve that kind of affection, then you’d just push them away. I think at one point in my life, I began to project my insecurities towards the ones who actually cared about me. I thought they were avoiding me, when in truth, I was the one avoiding them.”

   “You don’t seem to be that kind of person.”

   “It’s because I learned,” she concluded. “To trust others, and to not chase my feelings.”

   “Was it easy?”

   “It was scary.”

   A pause.

   “Namjoon.”

   “Hm?”

   “Are you scared?”

///

   I dropped the grocery bag I was holding when I saw a man, wearing an orange hoodie and a pair of black jogging pants, sleeping on Suji’s couch.

   “Uncle,” Haneul called out from the open kitchen. “You’re here.”

   I pointed at the man, dumbfounded. Exactly, Suji emerged from the bathroom, patting her already dried hands against her thighs. She was wearing an oversized, purple shirt and a pair of gray yoga pants. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun.

   “You’re finally here—oh, that’s my convenience store buddy,” she said, without missing a beat.

   “Kim Myungsoo?”

   Her eyes widened, and then she shrugged. “So that’s his name. I don’t have to introduce you to one another, then.”

   “How’d he end up here?”

   “Mom’s friend drank too much,” Haneul filled in. “He was such a mess last night.”

   “Is that even something you should be saying, Haneul-ah?” I spluttered.

   “Did you get the things I asked you to buy?” Suji intercepted.

   “Y-Yeah,” I said, lifting the bag again and handing it out to her. “No wonder you wanted ox blood. Do you need any help?”

   “Just keep Myungsoo company. Haneul-ah, do you want to rinse the chives for me?”

   “Yes.”

   I sighed, and sat down in front of Myungsoo. His hair was a mess, and his breath still smelled of liquor. I poked his cheek, and he furrowed his brows as he stirred at the slightest. I looked at the coffee table, and sure enough, his trusty DSLR was there.

   “How did he end up getting this drunk?” I asked.

   “I don’t know,” Suji answered. “He was okay when I had my break, but after my shift, he was outside the convenience store, utterly smashed. I couldn’t get his address out of him, and sending him to the hospital would be too much. So he ended up here. How’d you end up knowing him, anyway?”

   “He’s a colleague of mine.”

   “That’s a surprise, really. When I first met him, I thought he was a student studying for the public service examination.”

   I scoffed. “That’s actually the best description I’ve heard about him.”

   Just then, Myungsoo groaned, and he slowly opened his bloodshot eyes. He looked around and sat up straight, before groggily asking, “Where am I?”

   “Take a freaking guess,” I replied.

   With eyes half-closed, he did a onceover of the room, and stopped upon seeing Suji and Haneul, who were already looking at him.

   “Thank you for your presence, Myungsoo,” she began as a sort of greeting. “I’ve never seen a startled Namjoon until today.”

   “Namjoon?” Myungsoo shifted his gaze at me, and I raised my arm lazily.

   “Yeah?”

   “What are you doing here?”

   “I should be asking that,” I said.

   “Is this your house? Do you live with…I’m sorry, but what’s your name?”

   “Bae Suji. I actually live in this house, and Namjoon lives in a different neighborhood. You’re welcome,” she said. “Haneul-ah, are the chives ready?”

   “Yes. Mister, do you want a lot of chives in your hangover soup?”

   Myungsoo seemed stunned at being asked, but he was able to muster a tentative yes.

   “Suji, seriously,” I said. “How can you teach Haneul to cook that kind of soup?”

   “He has to learn. He’ll need it when he grows up anyway.”

   “But I don’t want to drink.”

   “Honey, that’s what they all say.”

   “Haneul…” Myungsoo muttered. “Ah! Is he your prince?”

   “The one and only,” Suji confirmed, smiling.

   Myungsoo stretched and yawned before finally standing up. Exactly, Haneul emerged from the kitchen, carrying a glass of water. He handed it to Myungsoo before taking out a coaster and placing it on the coffee table.

   “Th-Thank you.”

   The child beamed at Myungsoo. “No worries. And your camera’s over there, too. Please make yourself comfortable.”

   Haneul bowed his head slightly before retreating to the kitchen.

   “He’s only eight, how is he so capable?” Myungsoo muttered. “Namjoon, were you like that when you were eight? I wasn’t.”

   “I think a more important question that should be answered is: why did you get wasted?”

   It wasn’t like him at all. Although I never attended dinner parties at the company, Myungsoo was famous for not getting drunk easily. He was always the designated driver—the very person who would ensure everyone got home safely.

   Myungsoo fell quiet. He bit his lower lip, and in a rush, scrambled for his camera. He checked the slot for the memory card, and cursed under his breath.

   “They took it,” he said. “Those dogs really play dirty.”

   Haneul looked into our direction, eyes flickering with curiosity. I cocked my head, trying to put the pieces together. And then, it all snapped into place.

   “You didn’t pass out because you were drunk, did you?”

///

   A warm meal, shower and phone call later, Myungsoo left Suji’s house. He promised to pay her back for her kindness, but she merely brushed it off with nonchalance. When he was gone, Suji sighed, and remarked, “The enigma of my convenience store buddy’s gone.”

   “Isn’t that a good thing, though?” I asked.

   “Who knows?” she returned. “You tend to be drawn to a person because of their potential, not their reality.”

   I didn’t respond.

   “But Namjoon.”

   “Yeah?”

   “How long has Myungsoo been working there?”

   “Longer than me,” I said. “But he’s pretty famous. Despite how he dresses, he gets the work done.”

   “He’s a pretty interesting character,” she admitted. “He can write, you know?”

   “Well, he works with journalists, so—”

   “No, Namjoon,” Suji cut off. “He can write.”

   Just then, we heard Haneul go upstairs. She stared at the banister for a moment before turning her head to look at me again.

   “He’s beginning to look more and more like him,” she said. “I’m scared.”

   “Why?”

   “What if he begins asking about his dad?”

   “It’s…” I began. “It’s instinctive, I think. To ask about your origin. Or how you came to be. It’s something you shouldn’t withhold from him…or even be afraid of. It’s a good thing you’re there to answer when the day comes when he’d start asking.”

   Suji looked at me, and smiled. The apologetic kind.

   “I can live with not knowing who I am and where I’m from,” I said. “But there remains this empty space that hurts.”

   “Is feeling empty considered as living, then?”