The air in the cafe grew thick, the cheerful clatter of cutlery fading into a dull roar in Seo-jun's ears. His eyes were locked on Min Jae, a silent, desperate plea screaming from the depths of his soul. Look at me. See me. Remember me.
Min Jae, feeling the weight of a stare, glanced up. His brow furrowed slightly in vague annoyance. Why is this stranger looking at me like that? His eyes, the same eyes that had once held constellations for Seo-jun, now held nothing but impersonal curiosity. They swept over Seo-jun's face, over the familiar curve of his jaw, the lips he had kissed a thousand times, and registered absolutely nothing. No shock. No guilt. No flicker of a shared, painful history.
It was the final, brutal confirmation. He was truly a ghost.
"Father? Father!" Ha-ru's small voice, insistent and sweet, pierced through the static in his mind. "I want spaghetti! The one with the little meatballs!"
