PTT - 23

“Yoo Raon?”

A fleeting look of puzzlement crossed Baek Siheon’s face, as if questioning why she was standing there at that moment. Unable to hide her discomfort, Raon descended the stairs and stood awkwardly before him.

“...I arrived earlier than expected. I thought it would be rude to call before the agreed time, so I decided to wait for a bit.”

“You could’ve called. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“No, it’s fine... I saw that you had a guest with you anyway.”

“Ah, you mean Director Kwon.”

It was obvious she had witnessed everything. Though slightly flustered, Baek Siheon’s expression remained largely unchanged, as unreadable as ever—whether in the past or present.

“Come inside. You must be tired from standing around for so long.”

“I’m not sure if I should go in...”

“It seems there’s been a big misunderstanding. Let me explain everything to you.”

With those soft-spoken words, Siheon gently took hold of her wrist and gestured toward the entrance. At the same time, Raon’s stomach churned with hesitation. Even if she went in and had dinner with him now, would anything really change?

Still, she felt compelled to hear him out. Since their reunion, she had consistently avoided having deep conversations with Baek Siheon.

“Alright. Make it quick, though.”

“Sure. Let’s talk while we sit.”

Siheon let out a brief sigh of relief as he entered the password into the door lock. The sound of the lock disengaging echoed, and the door swung open. Stepping inside first, he spoke in a low voice.

“A man living alone doesn’t need much. I usually eat out and only come home to sleep. This place is just for washing up and resting.”

Raon neatly placed her low-heeled loafers in the shoe rack and cautiously moved toward the living room. As Siheon had said, the interior lacked many personal touches.

Perhaps because there weren’t many large pieces of furniture occupying the expansive space, the living room felt even more spacious—and emptier. The walls were painted in dark gray tones, and most of the interior seemed devoid of color. Instead of a multi-seater sofa, three suede one-person couches were arranged in an L-shape, suggesting infrequent visitors.

‘It feels like a hotel.’

The lack of lived-in warmth gave her a sense of alienation. Her own home, shared with her grandmother, was filled with traces of life, but this apartment carried no such memories.

Placing the paper bag containing the sun catcher on the couch, Raon watched as Siheon moved toward the kitchen.

“You haven’t eaten yet, right? You must be hungry. Shall we start with dinner? I haven’t prepared much, though.”

“No, I think it’d be better to hear what you wanted to say first. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

Her indifferent tone slipped out despite herself, and Siheon responded with an imperceptible bitter smile. After a brief silence during which he prepared something, he returned to the living room holding two cups of coffee.

“You still like lattes, right? Back then, you couldn’t drink Americanos because they were too bitter.”

“...I can drink anything now. I’m not the same kid I used to be.”

“That’s true. A lot has changed in five years. I never imagined time would pass so quickly.”

At his gesture, Raon sat down on one of the single couches. Warmth spread through her palms as they wrapped around the mug. Soft wisps of steam rose alongside the gentle aroma of coffee.

“Just a moment. There’s something I need to bring.”

With that, Siheon disappeared into the study and returned with a framed photograph, taking a seat on the couch opposite her. Facing him directly, Raon inhaled deeply.

“I figured you’d have a lot of questions. I wanted to clear things up today, but it seems I’ve only added to your doubts. It wasn’t intentional—you showed up without notice.”

“...Director Kwon and you… Are you personally close?”

“The word ‘close’ doesn’t quite cover it.”

With a bittersweet smile, Siheon handed her the photo frame. Upon seeing it, Raon’s lips parted slightly in surprise. Unconsciously furrowing her brows, she blinked.

“...Have you known each other since childhood?”

The photograph depicted a young woman and a boy. The woman, appearing to be in her mid-thirties, gazed affectionately at the boy, gently stroking his hair.

‘...That’s Senior Baek.’

Even without confirmation, the boy in the photo was unmistakably a young Baek Siheon. His soft smile, double-lidded eyes, and height taller than his peers all matched. Aside from a slightly chubbier build due to baby fat, he looked remarkably similar to how he did now. He couldn’t have been older than ten, clutching a toy robot and smiling adorably enough to warm anyone’s heart.

As Raon and Siheon both stared at the photo together, he spoke in a calm voice.

“This is me as a child... and Director Kwon Jung-ah of the National Intelligence Service. To be precise, my mother.”

“...Director Kwon is your mother?”

“Yes. Don’t we look alike? We used to resemble each other quite a bit when I was younger, but these days, she’s changed her style, so the resemblance isn’t as strong.”

He chuckled softly, resting his chin on his right hand. Raon stared intently at the photo, disbelief etched across her face. His mother. She felt ashamed of herself for jumping to strange conclusions instead of considering the possibility that they might be family.

In the photo, Director Kwon exuded an entirely different aura from her current self. Long straight hair cascaded past her chest, paired with a frilly blouse and a long skirt. Far removed from the sharp charisma she wielded like a cloak these days, she seemed like a completely different person.

‘So she’s his mother...’

Baek Siheon rarely spoke about his family. Given his position at the National Intelligence Service, it was understandable that he avoided such topics. However, back in their college days, Raon had found it perplexing.

Looking back now, she realized he had always deliberately steered conversations away from the subject. Knowing his mother was also affiliated with the NIS made his avoidance seem inevitable.

“Even I was surprised when she suddenly showed up today without notice. She said she wanted to bring over some side dishes since it had been a while. When she heard you were coming tonight, she left in a hurry—but here we are, and now you know.”

“...I’m shocked. I never imagined Director Kwon and you were personally acquainted, let alone family.”

“I planned to tell you everything during dinner anyway.”

Siheon took a slow sip of his now lukewarm coffee and gazed at Raon. His obsidian-black eyes carried a weighty seriousness.

“Five years ago, when I left you... it was because of my mother.”

At those words, Raon felt her body stiffen slightly as the long-buried topic resurfaced. Her fingers slowly rubbed the tense muscles along her neck. She furrowed her brows and absentmindedly stroked the back of her right hand. An inexplicable tension pricked at her heart like sharp needles.

During college, the time Raon spent with Baek Siheon lasted only a month. Their fateful meeting in a stalled elevator had quickly drawn her into his orbit. They dated two or three times a week, steadily progressing through the stages of a budding relationship: watching movies, exchanging small tokens of affection, even sharing a passionate night together. She believed they were following all the steps toward love.

It was her first experience of harboring feelings for someone, so she went as far as preparing a bouquet of flowers to confess her feelings. But on the much-anticipated D-day, Baek Siheon never showed up. Raon waited at the café where they’d planned to meet, ordering drink after drink she didn’t intend to consume, hoping he would arrive.

The unanswered calls piled up, and the bouquet meant for him wilted in her trembling hands. That’s how Yoo Raon fell ill with the fever of her first heartbreak at twenty-two.

Now, five years later, was she ready to hear why he had vanished without a word? Silent, Raon met his gaze.

“It may sound like an excuse, but I had to protect you.”

“...What do you mean?”

Swallowing a bitter smile, Siheon stared into the distance and set his mug down on the coffee table. His deep, velvety voice carried a stark desolation, reminiscent of a winter tree stripped bare of its leaves.

“If you had stayed by my side any longer, you would’ve been in danger.”