Oreum cried almost every day right after he and Yoonhyeok broke up. He cried while working, cried while sleeping, and walked to the lab crying endlessly. There were only sad thoughts in his head, so crying at every turn had become a habit. A wet fallen leaf brushing his toe, a line of frost on the window, the afterimage of the breakup clung to his ankle and held him back.

Even while chewing grainy rice like sand, there was a time when he would bury his face in the table and cry. Sadness was no longer a metaphysical feeling. It had become a physical weight and pain pressing down on the pit of his stomach. He gasped, then wailed because it felt like his chest would tear apart. His body could not take it and always shook. Even at that point, he somehow still went to the lab, did overtime, and ran errands for the professor.

That was not only because Oreum was diligent, but also because it was a mechanical inertia created by the fear that if he stopped, he would sink forever. If he stopped thinking for even a moment, Yoonhyeok’s voice sounded like an auditory hallucination, so he drove himself to exhaustion and numbed his consciousness.

He cried on the day he was told they were breaking up too. He could not make sense of what Yoonhyeok was even saying. Wearing the face of a man more moral and rational than anyone else, Yoonhyeok held Oreum’s hand tightly and told him. His tone was as everyday and plain as if he were adjusting next semester’s seminar schedule. The veins in Oreum’s eyes burst red, and transparent tears poured out all at once.

Oreum, you can’t cry. You don’t have the right to cry. While you were dating me, you always worried about your parents because you were afraid our relationship would be found out, right? But Oreum, if you want to be happy, sometimes you have to turn your eyes away from someone else’s misfortune. But Oreum, you... you never once made up your mind to be a bad son for my sake. That cowardly goodness of yours ended up driving us here. So, Oreum, don’t cry in front of me.

Those words shattered Oreum completely. He had not known that trying to live well would become a crime. Yoonhyeok blamed Oreum’s fundamental deficiency with the utmost gentleness. And then he finally shook Oreum’s hand off. Only then did Oreum realize. At the very least, Joo Yoonhyeok had found the cruel courage to sacrifice others, Oreum, for his own happiness.

The one who lost things while hesitating was him. The one who would not be able to enjoy freedom no matter how far he ran was him. That was probably why Yoonhyeok abandoned Oreum. Because of his colorless, scentless goodness and the weakness inside it.

It was about a month before the semester started. The bone-deep chill of a late cold snap was in full force. The sun hastily disappeared beyond the western hill, leaving only a short twilight behind. On the north side of Life Sciences Building A, Oreum sat on the bench under the old zelkova tree and fiddled with the paper bag he had brought. Somi, sitting beside him, kept a hand lightly on her swollen stomach and watched the scene of bare branches clawing at the air. Oreum carefully took the contents out of the bag one by one.

‘I bought a few things said to be good for pregnant women. And... the car smells like lemon.’

Inside the bag were things Somi could safely eat, tucked in neatly. Unsweetened yogurt, finely prepared pear purée, whole wheat crackers, lemon honey tea bags, roasted sweet pumpkin sticks, oat snacks to make up for her iron deficiency. It was a thoughtful gift. Oreum added to Somi.

‘If you eat them and they taste good, let me know. I’ll buy more for you.’

‘Thank you.’

Somi took the bag. The wind blew through both of their hair. In step with that, Oreum suddenly cried. There was no explanation or omen. The tears came before the words.

‘...Teacher, are you okay?’

Somi did not ask any more. She only left Oreum alone for a moment, then hugged him. Oreum apologized to Somi even while crying. Somi shook her head, saying there was no need. Only after a long while did the two of them get up from their seats. Somi walked ahead. Oreum looked up at the sky. It seemed as if only gray outlines remained, with no hope, no future, no clear color at all.

And after Somi and Oreum, someone far away pulled themself off the wall. It was Eom Itae.

Itae was chewing gum with his arms folded. He was alternating his gaze between Somi and Oreum’s backs. A look that was suitably arrogant, suitably skilled, suitably aware of how to handle people.

A pregnant woman wandering around a university campus was not a common sight. Neuroscience students knew, at least roughly, the name Kang Somi and the rumors swirling around her. Itae was no exception. Kang Somi. Was she my age? But....

After his thought ended, his gaze naturally settled on the man beside her. The man who went around with Kang Somi. The one with his tiny face covered by a scarf, sniffing and crying, then being comforted.

Annoying.

Itae tapped the wall with the tip of his foot.

Oreum, crying like a child, played in Itae’s head. Still, annoying. Why had I never seen him before? I still don’t know whether he’s a bastard or a patient. Itae tilted his head just slightly, then after finishing something he had calculated, turned his body the opposite way from them.

Figuring out the man’s identity was unexpectedly simple. One afternoon, in a corner of the central library, Itae was smoking with two friends when he casually brought it up.

‘Do you guys know any guy from the College of Life Sciences, about your height? Your height, but his face is ridiculously tiny. He’s white. He looks kind of nerdy. Anyway, do you know who it is?’

‘Huh? Who was that? I think I’ve seen him. Cute-looking?’

‘Yeah.’

‘That guy isn’t a student, he’s an adjunct lecturer. I took a general education class from him in my third year.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Seok...? It was Seok something.’

‘Seok?’

‘Yeah. His surname was insanely unusual.’

Seokdal Oreum. The moment Itae confirmed that name on the course registration list, he felt a strange thrill as if the blood in his veins were boiling hot. It was similar to the desire to conquer something when handling a difficult game. Itae narrowed the distance to Oreum as if manipulating a lever. Calculating distance and timing, he slowly, but intensely, invaded Oreum’s field of vision instead of rushing in at once.

***

Full-time professors each owned security cards and enjoyed comfortable private lounges. But for Oreum, a part-time lecturer, the school was like a wilderness. He had no office, no access authority. Other than borrowing a classroom for a short while, there was nowhere Oreum could rest his body. Nominally he was faculty, but in reality he was no different from a transparent human being.

In the crowded shared lounge packed with students, only a sense of exclusion washed over him. In the end, the refuge Oreum found was the old lounge room at the very end of the third floor hallway in Life Sciences Building A, abandoned with its remodeling postponed indefinitely because of budget shortages.

The dusty space was so deserted it was almost barren. The professors did not even know it existed, and the students did not bother climbing all the way to the third floor. Oreum would spend time there, letting his body sink into the old sofa.

Oreum, who suffered from insomnia, still could not easily sleep even after the semester started. The weight he had lost in the aftermath of the breakup had no intention of returning after years, and even the smallest task quickly exhausted him. Then, on the sofa in the lounge room, he finally fell asleep after a long time.

The third-floor lounge had a structure similar to an airport lounge. Wide picture windows. Glass doors. The central space, where tables and sofas were placed in a scattered arrangement, felt like a cross section of stopped time, and light and shadow curled around each other as if eating each other away.

In the dream, Oreum was that bench under the zelkova tree. Somi was not there. The bag was not there either. It was a black-and-white world where all color had faded. The wind blew as it had back then. Oreum no longer cried. The scene changed, and Eom Itae appeared, looking down at Oreum quietly.

It was a fairly vivid dream. Right in front of him. A clear gaze. Itae was observing Oreum, who was sleeping in the chair, with chilling calm. The gloomy light entering through the window caught on Itae’s sharp jawline and nape, creating shadows.

Not a single word passed between them, but even in the dream it was uncomfortable. Oreum did not know what he should do. His throat was locked, and he could not do anything. Itae was staring only at the Oreum right in front of his eyes, while Oreum fidgeted. That look was full of the nuance of a young god who had already possessed enough and looked down on everyone without caution.

If they had not been student and teacher, they would never have had anything to do with each other. An intimidating build, expensive clothes, and a face full of baseless confidence. The two faced each other as if they were exploring each other’s territory. At that moment, Itae pointed to his lips with a finger. His mouth slowly moved.

More,

care,

ful,

you,

should,

have,

been.

It felt like his breath had stopped. With the pressure of suffocation, Oreum made a gasp and opened his eyes.

“......”

Oreum looked around here and there. There was only silence in the lounge room. He covered his face with a trembling hand.

Sleep was always dangerous. While your sight was taken away, you became so defenseless. Was I that tired, to even dream? His gaze drifted toward his feet. The bag. It looked no different on the surface. Nothing had changed.

Really?

Do you really think so?

A strange self-question seized Oreum. Something very minor, but something that absolutely should not be overlooked, a discomfort. The angle of the bag seemed different. The laptop he had left on the table was also slightly shifted to the right.

Most of all, what was stranger was the chair. Oreum always pushed the chair straight, aligning it with the center of the table. But now the chair was very slightly askew, with about a third of it sticking out. It was the kind of difference other people would not even notice, but Oreum was more sensitive to things like that than anyone else.

Did someone come and touch it?

No way, that kid, Eom Itae?