(Dohyun's pov)
The afternoon air was warm as I walked down the street toward the company Jihwa worked as a director.
I had finished my shift earlier than usual, so I decided to drop by and surprise him. He'd been working too hard again — skipping lunch, smiling through exhaustion like he always did.
That smile…
The one that made my chest ache and my hands restless.
I shifted the paper bag in my hand — a box of pastries and two iced coffees. "He'll probably nag me again for spending money," I muttered under my breath, smiling a little.
The crosswalk light blinked green. I stepped forward—
"Dohyun?"
My entire body froze.
That voice.
I hadn't heard it in years, but the moment it reached my ears, it felt like ice slid down my spine.
I turned.
And there he was.
He looked older — deeper lines etched into his face, hair streaked with gray, but his eyes… they were exactly the same.
Cold. Calculating.
Like he was already measuring what he could take from me this time.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe. My throat tightened, my heart started pounding so hard it hurt.
All I could think of was a dark room, the smell of alcohol, the sound of coins clinking onto a table — and his hand, heavy on my shoulder.
"You'll be fine, Dohyun. They'll treat you well. It's for your own good."
I blinked. The present slammed back into focus.
He smiled.
"Wow… you've grown."
I said nothing. I just turned and started walking.
"Hey, wait! That's how you greet your uncle?"
I kept walking, but his footsteps followed, quick and confident — like he knew I wouldn't run.
"Still the same, huh? Always so polite, so quiet," he said, catching up beside me.
"Where are you working now? You look good — healthy. I always knew you'd land on your feet."
I stopped. Slowly, I turned to him.
"You have no right to talk to me."
His grin faltered for a moment, then came back sharper.
"Oh? Still mad about all that? You were a kid, Dohyun. You don't understand how hard things were back then."
I clenched my jaw. "You sold me."
His eyes flickered — just briefly — before he chuckled.
"Don't be dramatic. It wasn't like that. You had to pay your own parents' debt."
I stepped back, disgust burning in my chest.
"Stay away from me."
But before I could turn again, his next words froze me mid-step.
"You don't want to know about Hwan then?"
My heart dropped.
He noticed — of course he did. The smirk on his face told me he'd found exactly the button to press.
"You remember him, right? Little Hwan — always followed you around, cried when you left."
He tilted his head, watching me closely. "He still asks about you."
"…You're lying." My voice came out too soft, too shaky.
"Am I?" he said, pretending to look hurt. "Poor kid thinks you forgot him."
My fingers tightened around the coffee bag until the cardboard creased.
Images of Hwan flooded back — his wide smile, his small hands clutching my shirt, the way he used to say 'Hyung, promise you'll come back?'
It had been years. And I never did.
My uncle's voice lowered.
"You can see him again, you know. He misses you. But…"
He leaned closer, breath heavy with cigarettes.
"…not if you keep acting like a stranger to me."
I took a step back, the smell of cigarettes clawing at my throat.
My uncle grinned like he'd already won.
That same look he wore the night he handed me over — like my fear was his entertainment.
"Why are you bringing up Hwan?" I asked quietly. "What do you want?"
He raised both hands in mock innocence. "Can't a man just want to see his nephew? You make me sound like a villain."
"You are one," I snapped before I could stop myself.
His eyes hardened, but the smirk never left. "Careful how you talk to me, boy. You forget who took care of you when no one else would."
A bitter laugh slipped out of me. "Take care of me? You sold me off to strangers because you needed money for alcohol!"
People walking by slowed, sensing the tension, then quickly looked away.
My uncle glanced around and lowered his voice, his tone shifting — darker, quieter, but cutting straight through me.
"Watch that mouth, Dohyun. You wouldn't want me to tell little Hwan what you really were, would you?"
My stomach twisted. "What are you talking about?"
He smiled, that cruel little curve that made my blood run cold.
"You think kids forget? He knows I raised you. He looks up to you, still. Think how disappointed he'd be if he learned the truth — the kind of things you did to survive."
I went still. My heart slammed once, hard.
He leaned closer, his words almost a whisper.
"You think the world would believe your side? You, the runaway kid? Or me — his family?"
My throat felt dry, but I forced the words out anyway. "What do you want?"
Finally, he leaned back, that fake friendliness returning to his face.
"There it is," he said softly. "See? We can still talk like adults."
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded paper — a small card, greasy at the edges — and pressed it into my hand.
"Meet me here tomorrow night. Bring a little cash, maybe a favor or two. Help me out, and maybe I'll let Hwan see you. He's been asking."
I stared down at the card — an address near the docks, scrawled in his messy handwriting.
"You think I'm that stupid?" I said. "You'll just use me again."
His grin widened. "Oh, come on, Dohyun. Don't make me the bad guy twice."
Then his voice dropped, cruel and low:
"If you don't show up, I'll tell Hwan you're dead. And maybe that's for the best."
He patted my cheek once — casual, like I was a kid again — and walked past me, whistling.
I stood there, rooted to the ground.
The paper felt like it was burning my palm.
I wanted to throw it away, to tear it apart and forget I ever saw him.
But when I closed my eyes, all I saw was a little boy with messy hair and round eyes calling after me —
"Hyung! Don't leave!"
The ache in my chest made it hard to breathe.
By the time I realized I was walking, I was already blocks away.
The sky had turned gray, swallowing the sun whole.
The streets blurred — faces, buildings, headlights — everything melted together into one dull hum.
The card in my hand crumpled tighter with every step.
My palm was sweating, but I couldn't let go.
I wanted to throw it into the gutter, stomp it into the dirt — but every time I tried, I saw Hwan's face.
The little boy who used to follow me everywhere, clutching the hem of my shirt, saying he'd protect me when he grew up.
He must be sixteen now.
Old enough to hate me for leaving.
I stopped at the corner of an alley, leaned against the cold brick wall, and finally let the tremor in my hands show.
My heart was pounding so fast it hurt.
"Why now?" I whispered, voice hoarse. "Why can't he just leave me alone?"
A sound left my throat — half laugh, half sob.
It felt pathetic.
I dragged a hand through my hair, gripping it until my scalp stung.
The rain started soon after — slow at first, then sharp, soaking through my shirt.
It felt good.
Cold enough to numb the shaking.
I pressed my forehead against the wall and shut my eyes.
In the dark behind my eyelids, I saw everything I'd tried to bury —
the faces of the men who used me, the nights I pretended I was somewhere else, the way my uncle's voice always sounded like he was smiling when he hurt me.
"I'm not that kid anymore," I whispered. "You can't touch me."
But my voice cracked on the last word.
A shadow moved at the end of the alley — a familiar silhouette under a black umbrella.
I straightened, wiping my face quickly.
"Dohyun?"
Jihwa's voice.
Soft, careful, the way he always spoke when he was worried.
He stepped closer, eyes searching my face.
"You didn't answer my calls," he said, holding the umbrella over me. "I got worried."
I looked away.
His presence — his warmth — made the walls I'd built start to shake.
"I'm fine," I said quietly. "I just needed some air."
He frowned, glancing at my soaked clothes, the paper in my hand. "You're shivering."
I forced a small laugh. "It's just rain."
Jihwa hesitated, then reached out — slow, gentle — and took my hand, prying the damp card from my fist.
When he read the address, his expression changed.
Something flickered in his eyes — fear, confusion, maybe anger.
"Dohyun… what is this?"
I couldn't answer. My throat closed up.
He looked at me for a long time — too long — before sighing.
"Let's go home," he said softly. "You don't have to tell me yet. But please, don't face it alone."
For a moment, I almost said no. I almost told him to leave me there in the rain.
But then his thumb brushed my wrist — warm, steady — and I felt something in me give way.
I nodded once.
"Okay."
We walked in silence, side by side under his umbrella.
The paper with my uncle's address slipped from his hand, caught in the wind, and drifted into the street.
Neither of us went after it.
But as we turned the corner, I couldn't stop glancing back —
because a part of me knew that some things, once buried, always find a way to crawl back up.
And this time… I wasn't sure I'd survive it.