The morning began quietly. The sun shone lazily outside the window, and the apartment smelled of cleanliness—detergent, fresh sheets, milk on the stove. Do-jun sat on the floor among boxes filled with folded tiny items—onesies, toys, swaddling blankets. He smoothed the fabric, carefully folding, as if afraid to crease the future itself.
Yun stood by the window, talking on the phone. He was wearing a suit, but his jacket was off—shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, collar unbuttoned. He looked tired, but composed. With every phrase, a contained irritation could be heard in his voice, and only his gaze softened when he turned to look at Do-jun.
— Yes, tell the legal department: the document packages are ready — he said finally, putting down the phone. — They will be looking at the flash drive today — he added, looking at him. — If everything matches the dates, we can file for a case review and have the video declared a falsification.
Do-jun nodded, holding a tiny sock.
— So, the trial for Park is tomorrow?
— Morning.
Seungho walked closer, knelt beside him, and took his wrist.
— And I want you to stay home.
Do-jun smirked.
— I know. But you'll come back anyway and tell me every detail, even if I don't want to listen.
— That's called care — he replied. — Sometimes annoying, but still care.
They both smiled, and for a second, it was peaceful. The silence between them—not awkwardness, but a respite.
⋆⋆⋆
They were at the office by noon. The legal department greeted them with the smell of coffee and paper. The investigator, a man in his forties, with glasses and a gentle but attentive gaze, entered without knocking.
— Found it — he said, placing the flash drive on the table. — The real dates. The recordings were gathered from different periods. Some scenes were filmed two years before the described events. Hwan and Park didn't just lie—they prepared this in advance.
Yun squeezed the flash drive in his fingers.
— So, it can be proven?
— Not just can. It must be.
The investigator looked at him a little longer.
— I saw you carry him out of the fire. You are not a monster, Mr. Yun. Now there will be a chance to prove it officially.
Do-jun stood by the window, listening to the coffee drip from the machine. He was slightly dizzy from exhaustion, but he didn't show it. The contractions were not strong, just gentle waves beneath his ribs—like a reminder that time was passing. He pressed his palm to his belly and quietly exhaled.
— A little longer. Wait a little longer, baby.
When they left the department, Yun noticed the paleness on his face.
— You look pale.
— I'm fine — Do-jun replied. — Just tired.
He smiled, and that "tired" sounded almost convincing. Almost.
⋆⋆⋆
They returned home in the evening. The city outside the windows was already smoldering with lights, and the rain began to softly drum on the glass again. Do-jun sat on the sofa, clutching his knees. Yun walked over, settled beside him, ran his fingers through his hair.
— What are you hiding? — he asked, not taking his eyes off him.
— Nothing. — He smiled, slightly strained. — Just… everything's fast.
Seungho didn't argue. He placed his hand on the stomach, felt a slight movement.
— He's worried.
— Or she — Do-jun corrected. — I don't want you going to the trial with your head filled with fear.
— I wasn't going to — Yun whispered, leaning closer.
And he kissed him—quietly, calmly, without haste. The kiss flowed into a touch. Palms found skin, breathing softened. There was no passion—only the calm needed to survive the night before the storm. Do-jun leaned back on the sofa, his breathing hitched, but his eyes remained open—he looked at Seungho as if memorizing his features.
— Tomorrow it will all end — he said.
— No — Seungho replied, kissing him again. — Tomorrow everything begins.
Late at night, the light in the study was still on. The flash drive lay on the table—small, almost unnoticeable, but it held salvation. And in the other room, Do-jun was already sleeping, hugging a pillow. His breathing was even, and somewhere between the breaths, a new life stirred faintly.
Yun stood by the door, looking at both of them, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to think:
— Maybe it is possible to live without hiding.