At the office dinner, the memory of his mother's death back when he was 22 years old would resurface in the mind of the now 27-year-old Ji Woo, followed swiftly by the recollection of the solace he'd found in his college crush back then. Even now, he would find himself unconsciously searching for that same comfort in the quiet moments he spends staring at So Hee. Watching her execute her duties with such professional grace and suave sends butterflies swirling in his stomach, reigniting his old crush on the most beautiful human being on the planet.
A possessive jealousy would flare in Ji Woo whenever Colin or Dong Geun would sit too close to So Hee. It peaked one day when Colin, in innocent admiration, told Ji Woo he wished for a girlfriend as beautiful and serene as "So Hee Noona," certain she must be a fiercely loyal "one-man woman." Ji Woo thundered at Colin, accusing him of sexual harassment for knowing such intimate details. The situation grew so volatile that So Hee and Dong Geun had to intervene to calm him down. Even So Hee had not found any fault in Colin's words; it was, after all, a simple and harmless wish. Had Colin possessed more nerve, he would have asked her out directly - this sparked Ji Woo's jealousy even more. Yet, beneath this irrational fire smoldered a core of absolute certainty: Ji Woo knew So Hee would never date someone like Colin, because he was convinced, with every fiber of his being, that her true feelings were reserved for him alone. Despite that, he never dared to discuss the incident on the stairs to So Hee. He only allowed himself to reminisce during office gatherings - over meals, drinks, and second rounds to the noraebang.
Specially seeing couples on the staircases would always transport him back to that near-kiss when he was about to feel the soft pink lips of his crush. His world had narrowed to the space between his face and hers. The dizzying proximity of her lips, a soft, petal pink. His gaze traced the delicate curve of her cheekbone, the skin like warm ivory brushed with a faint, flustered blush. Was it from her makeup, or was it for him? The thought alone sent a current through him. Every fine hair on his skin rose, a primal response, as if drawn by a magnetic force to her warmth. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat drowning out the surrounding chatter. A raw, possessive hunger coiled tight in his gut. If they were not in public, he would grab her by the waist and kiss like a monster sucking the honey from her petal shaped lips. He wanted to lift her, to bridge the few inches between their heights, to feel her entire body melt against his in a breathless, desperate embrace.
But the buzz of alcohol and the intimate moment with his college crush blurred into nothingness the moment his father's message arrived. There, glowing on the screen, was a photograph. Not just any picture - it was the one he kept buried, both in his home and in the deepest, most guarded chamber of his heart. His father while clearing out the old house, had unearthed it.
Drunkenness melted into pure, cold sorrow. The world around him vanished: the girl beside him, her soft breaths, the charged moment hanging between them where a kiss felt inevitable. Just moments before, he had gathered every shred of his courage, his heart hammering a confession into the quiet space between them. And then, a miracle - she liked him too. Her words should have been a balm, a beginning.
But that one image was a key, violently twisting in the lock of his past, unleashing a monster of memory that swallowed all light. It screamed a truth he could never escape: fate had no happiness in store for him. He was not meant for gentle things.
Without a word, he stumbled back, away from her startled eyes, away from the future she offered. He fled, not just from the girl on the staircase, but from the ghost in that photograph. He ran because he knew, with a certainty that carved him hollow, that he deserved none of it. He deserved only the darkness he carried within. Mindful of his past behavior, Ji Woo had since reduced his drinking when he was around So Hee to ensure he would never hurt her again.
While cleaning Ji Woo's old room, his father had discovered an old photograph from his son's time at the orphanage. He sent a message suggesting Ji Woo come and sort through his things himself, noting that the room was likely filled with such memories that he had brought along with himself into this house when he started his new life with them. Next day Ji Woo stepped across the threshold of his old house, the wooden floorboards groaning in familiar protest under his weight. Fifteen years of his life had unfolded within these walls, though it felt at once like a lifetime and only a moment ago.
He'd been adopted at seven - From the moment he had arrived, this house had become his sanctuary. For the first time since the orphanage, he had found a true home - a place where warmth wasn't just a word, but something he could feel in the steady presence of his new parents.
But it seemed he was destined to only ever hold happiness briefly. Fate, or God, or whatever cruel hand guided his life, never let him enjoy its warmth for long.
First, it took Joo Won, his first and oldest wound, the brother who vanished without a trace. Then, it claimed his mother, the radiant heart of his new world, leaving a silence that echoed through the halls. And now, finally, it was taking the very walls that sheltered him - the house itself, the last physical remnant of the family he had dared to build.
He was losing it all, again. And each loss felt like a lesson he was forced to learn over and over: that for Ji Woo, home was not a place to keep, but a moment to mourn.
The air inside was still and thick with the scent of aged wood and forgotten years. Dust motes drifted like slow-motion fireflies in the slanted afternoon light cutting through the grimy windowpanes. His eyes adjusted, and the past rushed in - not as broken fragments, but as a flood of vivid, almost painful clarity.
The moving boxes were piling up in the hall, a testament to a life soon to be packed away. Mr. Kang appeared in the doorway of Ji Woo's room, his kind eyes tinged with a weary sadness that seemed permanent these days.
"Ji Woo-ya, you are here" he said softly, his voice a gentle rasp. "Could you please clean your room? The new residents will be here tomorrow. Go clean your room fast."
"Yes Appa"
Ji Woo entered his room. He saw the two boxes in his room which looked heavier than ever. He remembered carrying them at seven, small hands gripping the cardboard. They had felt light then, filled with the simple treasures of childhood. Now, a man in his twenties, he felt their weight from across the room - a gravitational pull that was almost physical as if his sanctuary - this home does not want to let him and the boy in the memory boxes go. Ji Woo knew he could lift the boxes; their physical mass hadn't changed. But it was no longer just paper and trinkets inside that made the boxes heavy. The weight came from what they now contained: the profound memory of the memories he had so often revisited within these walls. It was the ghost of a laugh, the weight of a promise, the anchor of a loss that never faded. It was the memory within that made them impossibly, unbearably heavy, pulling not just at his muscles, but at the very core of his soul.
For years, those twin boxes sat in the corner of his room, a permanent, unspoken question. A part of him was always waiting, always listening for a knock at the door, hoping it would be a young man coming to claim his past. Had Joo Won ever appeared, Ji Woo would have handed over the remnants of their memories without a word, a final act of love for the boy who had been his other half.
He and Joo Won.
For seven years they had been inseparable, a matched set in a world of loose pieces. They'd kept everything - each small treasure given between them stored in a dedicated box: sea-smoothed stones, carefully folded drawings, candy wrappers that had once held shared sweets. The Sisters in school had encouraged the children to write letters to one another - a practice to foster connection in a place defined by loss. While other children wrote to several friends or kind teachers, Ji Woo and Joo Won's letters were only ever for each other. Their handwriting, one neat and hesitant, the other bold and sprawling, filled pages that now lived in those memory-stuffed boxes.
The Sisters used to smile and say it was no wonder they were so close. The dates of their arrival in the orphanage were almost similar, one came on 03/01/1996 and the other came on 01/03/1996. When they were just newborns, it was only Ji Woo's presence that could stop the crying Joo Won. They'd grown side-by-side, two opposites bound together: Ji Woo, loud and sun-bright, a live wire of energy and ideas; Joo Won, quiet, watchful, a calm pool of silence.
It was Ji Woo who'd always coaxed Joo Won into the light. He'd write songs - little melodies made up in his head about heroes and dragons and faraway skies and convince his shy friend to stand beside him on the makeshift stage during Christmas pageants or Children's Day celebrations. Ji Woo would sing out loud and fearless, while Joo Won's softer voice would hesitantly join in, gaining strength only when their shoulders touched.
The whole orphanage would watch—Sisters with their gentle applause, visitors touched by the pair's devotion, the other children looking on with awe. One Sister, her eyes twinkling, had once pulled Ji Woo aside and said, "You have the soul of a performer. You'll be a star one day - a real idol. You can sing, you can move... you make people feel things." And in those moments, soaked in stage-light and approval, Ji Woo had believed her. He could dream of nothing better than a life spent performing, with Joo Won always by his side.
His thoughts spiraled in a cruel loop of unanswered questions, each one a fresh wound. Why had Joo Won left behind every single gift—every carefully chosen stone, every folded drawing, every piece of their childhood—as if it meant nothing? Were their seven years of brotherhood so easily discarded? The most painful question of all echoed in the silence of his heart: Why did you never come looking for me?