* * *
The truck driven by Dojin passed along the coastal road, crossed Jeju City, and headed toward Sagye Beach.
After driving for a long time, the old truck turned into a quiet alleyway in Sagyeri and stopped in front of a small, charming guesthouse with stone walls.
A modest wooden sign that read ‘A House Where Four Seasons Reside’ hung there.
Overall, it was a small and cozy guesthouse, but it was well-maintained and gave a clean impression.
In the stillness of the night, only the faint sound of crickets and distant waves could be heard.
Yoonwoo got out of the truck with Dojin’s help, but his mind still seemed to be somewhere else, dazed.
Like a puppet being manipulated, his body simply moved without will, merely following the lead.
Dojin watched Yoonwoo with concern, pulled the suitcase out of the back of the truck, and silently carried it inside.
Perhaps having heard their arrival, Dojin’s father walked out from the inner area.
The guesthouse was run solely by Dojin’s father.
He had the same kind eyes as his son Dojin, but his expression was gruff, and he was a man of few words.
Having received a call from Seoyeon in advance, he asked nothing about Yoonwoo ‘s extremely haggard appearance or his vacant expression, and simply offered him a small room in the annex.
His silence seemed to contain a rough but deep consideration.
“If you are tired… just rest well while you’re here.”
That was the only thing he said to Yoonwoo.
Yoonwoo simply nodded his head as a reply.
Dojin looked at Yoonwoo with eyes full of worry, as if he were watching glass that might break at any moment, and then, at his father’s signal, moved his small suitcase into the room.
The room was small and modest, but surprisingly clean and well-organized.
The boiler seemed to have been turned on beforehand, as a warm comfort enveloped Yoonwoo.
But Yoonwoo merely leaned against the cold wall and exhaled.
Neither the view of the tangerine grove faintly visible in the darkness outside the window nor the neatly organized room registered in his eyes.
He threw himself onto the bed and closed his eyes.
Not to sleep, but to turn away from the world.
A terrible exhaustion weighed down on his entire body and consumed him.
However, his heightened nerves refused to calm down easily, and he ultimately couldn’t fall asleep.
Thus began Yoonwoo ‘s time in seclusion.
Time passed, and it was nearly a month since Yoonwoo arrived in Jeju.
He spent most of his time only inside that small, dark room.
The curtains were always tightly drawn, and darkness settled in the room even during the day.
When he was awake, whether his eyes were closed or open, the scenes from that day in the hotel replayed endlessly in his mind like a terrible film: the obscene sounds he heard in the hotel room, Joowon’s cruel face as he lost his reason and shoved Yoonwoo away like an insect, and his cold back as he walked away toward the Omega.
The fragments of memory kept replaying against his will, gnawing at his nerves.
Compared to the eight years of Joowon’s affectionate presence, which had only been for him, Yoonwoo suffered even more every time he recalled the memory.
He was merely breathing, but he didn’t feel alive.
His existence was like a candle flame gradually fading away.
At night, Yoonwoo was tormented by nightmares.
An Alpha’s red eyes, having lost all reason, would glare straight at him, or the cruel words Joowon had spat out at him would sound like hallucinations in his ears.
Some nights, he dreamed of being forever trapped in that hotel hallway or room, unable to turn his head or eyes, forced to watch Joowon and the Omega passionately making love with their faces locked.
On other nights, he dreamed of desperately calling out to Joowon as he abandoned him at a restaurant, only for Joowon to not even look at him, instead wrapping an arm around the waist of the nameless Omega, kissing their lips, and leaving.
Yoonwoo would wake up soaked in cold sweat, his heart pounding wildly, unable to breathe properly, screaming silently.
And after that, consumed by fear and despair, he would stay awake all night with his eyes wide open, unable to fall back asleep.
Meals were quietly placed in front of his door by Dojin or his father, but most of them were left almost untouched.
He forced himself to take a few spoonfuls, and that was all.
Occasionally, Dojin, out of worry, brought him homemade porridge or warm tea, but Yoonwoo could not properly swallow even that.
Washing or changing clothes all felt meaningless.
His reflection in the mirror grew thinner and more desolate with each passing day, but he didn’t care.
Isolated from the world, he just endured each day, unable to die.
He sometimes stared blankly at the dust particles floating in the faint sunlight that barely seeped through the dusty window.
Time flowed by meaninglessly, and his body and mind sank deeper into the darkness.
Sometimes, very rarely, when he couldn’t bear the suffocating air in the room, he would pull his hat low and go outside.
The Sagye Beach was just a short walk from the guesthouse.
He wandered aimlessly along the deserted beach, feeling the cold sea wind.
He stood precariously on the boundary line of the beach where the cold waves broke white right at his feet.
The incoming wave wet the tips of his sneakers and washed over the black sand, but he seemed not to notice the dampness or the bleakness.
Watching his footprints appear and then be erased without a trace by the next wave, he wished his own existence would disappear just as meaninglessly.
His vacant eyes, having lost the will to live, were filled with deep despair.
Dojin watched Yoonwoo from a distance, his worry deepening.
He had instinctively sensed that Yoonwoo ’s condition was serious from the first day he arrived, but as time went on, his state seemed to worsen.
On nights when he heard faint moans or sobs leaking from Yoonwoo ‘s room, Dojin couldn’t sleep all night and lingered in front of his door.
His heart would sink with the worry, ‘What if… he’s thinking something bad?’, but since he couldn’t just open the door and enter, he would simply stand guard by Yoonwoo ’s door until dawn broke.
He felt upset when the meals he brought were returned almost untouched, and he often couldn’t even properly swallow his own food.
It broke his heart to see Yoonwoo ‘s face, which was much thinner and whose cheeks had become hollower than when he first saw him.
‘What happened to make him struggle so much…? Such a shining person…. He barely eats and doesn’t seem to sleep properly. What can I do to help him…?’
Dojin sat on the porch bench, working on his portfolio, but his gaze kept drifting toward Yoonwoo ‘s room door.
His feelings for the designer he admired had, by now, transformed into a pure compassion and protective instinct for a wounded soul.
Knowing that Yoonwoo needed time alone, instead of approaching rashly, he continued to offer small acts of kindness he could manage.
When placing food in front of the door, he sometimes left a small wildflower he had picked from the field or a shiny pebble he had found on the beach.
He hoped that this small piece of Jeju’s nature might open a tiny window in the man’s closed heart.
He didn’t know if Yoonwoo saw them or what he thought if he did, but he hoped that his small gesture might be conveyed and offer Yoonwoo even a little comfort.
The fact that he wanted to approach him more but couldn’t made Dojin even more anxious.
“Does that guest eat properly?”
One day, while Yoonwoo was still suffering, his father asked Dojin in a seemingly indifferent tone.
A faint worry was also in his eyes.
“…No. He barely eats.”
Dojin replied weakly.
“…Tsk. He looks pathetic, indeed…. It seems like he’s been through something very big…. But don’t worry too much about him. Time is the only medicine for things like that.”
His father spoke bluntly, his face showing deep sympathy as if it were his own experience, but Dojin saw his rough hand hesitate in the air for a moment.
He, too, was worried about Yoonwoo.
One month had passed, but Yoonwoo ‘s condition had not improved much.
He still spent most of his time in his room, tormented by nightmares and the repetition of painful memories.
The beautiful nature of Jeju, the quiet peace of the guesthouse, and the careful consideration of Dojin and his father were still not enough to soothe his deep wounds.
That evening, too, Yoonwoo was staring blankly at the sunset outside the window.
The silhouette of Sanbangsan Mountain in the distance, beneath the reddened sky, felt particularly lonely.
His eyes still contained nothing, and he looked like a person who had given up all hope for the world.
Behind him, Dojin, sitting on the porch bench of the guesthouse, briefly looked at Yoonwoo ‘s back through the open door of his room, then sighed softly and returned his gaze to his laptop screen.
The time of waiting and worrying continued.
* * *
