SPW 67

“Tear it.”

What was thrown onto the table was a photo taken with Colin. It was the only picture taken with Colin, who had been so reluctant to have his picture taken that he seemed to be afraid of cameras. That same Colin had held Sarang’s hand tightly and appeared at airports and stadiums, where camera flashes went off everywhere and at all times, and at the few official events they attended. Colin’s face was beyond white, almost pale.

“Tear it and prove it, Sarang.”

A younger-looking Colin than the Sarang of the present was holding a 7-year-old Sarang in his arms and smiling brightly. Sarang, staring down at the crumpled photo with empty eyes, reached out his hand. Florian was not unaware. He knew this was the only picture Sarang had left of Colin.

That’s why he was doing this. He was a truly cruel person.

Rip, rip, rip—.

Sarang picked up the photo, tore it into several pieces, and looked at Florian.

“Do you believe me now? Rian.”

“No, I can’t believe Sarang over something so trivial.”

“…”

“Yes, I was taking my anger out on you, Sarang. Still, I cannot shake this feeling of humiliation.”

☀️

Waking up, Florian checked on Sarang, who was asleep in his arms, then fumbled on the bedside table and grabbed his wristwatch. He squinted his eyes and waited for them to adjust to the darkness before checking the time. 3:23 AM. It was an hour when one should be deep in sleep.

Sarang, who had been worn down by biased calls and rough fouls throughout the match and had even been sent off, came home completely drained from crying. The whole way home, Florian pretended not to notice the large, cool hand that held his own tightly and wouldn’t let go. No, he simply let Sarang hold his hand all the way into the bedroom.

After washing up and eating dinner, while resting on the drawing room sofa, Sarang watched TV, and Florian watched the side of Sarang’s face as he watched TV. The program being broadcast on the TV was the very match from which Sarang had been sent off. Sarang just stared at the TV with his two hands clasped tightly together.

After the rerun ended, the scene where Sarang was fouled and the scene where Sarang and the opposing player clashed were replayed countless times. Florian, unable to watch Sarang listen intently to the pundits barking about the bad call, the direct red card, and additional disciplinary action, turned off the TV.

Without much resistance, Sarang was led by Florian’s hand and lay down in bed. At some point, Sarang fell asleep without a sound, and Florian, who had unwittingly used Sarang’s quiet breathing as a lullaby, also fell into a deep sleep.

Florian had rarely ever fallen asleep easily, but it was different when he was with Sarang. It was probably because of the pheromones.

“…”

Florian’s gaze as he looked down at him was endlessly gentle, as if he could feel Sarang’s breath tickling his forearm. He still didn’t know what Sarang was thinking, monitoring the game like that. Confronting what had happened that very day must have been no easy feat. Sarang did not take his eyes off the TV from beginning to end, until after he was sent off and the match concluded.

He wasn’t just staring blankly with his eyes open, either. Sarang watched the match with concentration. Even when the Rhinos lost 2:1 and had their points taken away, Sarang only let out a soft sigh.

‘We can’t lose today’s match…’

And yet, he said he didn’t regret it.

‘Rian, soccer is the only thing that has been by my side since the day I was born.’

And yet.

Florian, who had been staring down at Sarang, carefully pulled his arm out. He placed a pillow under Sarang’s head instead and got out of bed. The bedroom they had slept in together was the one Sarang used. He had only meant to put him to bed and leave, but he had dozed off.

Sarang, thoroughly saturated with pheromones, purred like a newborn puppy in his sleep and didn’t even toss and turn once. Sarang was a heavier sleeper than he looked. Florian had thought he would be a sensitive sleeper because he was an athlete, but he slept well right on time, and once he fell asleep, he didn’t wake up easily. He was truly like a child.

This child.

Florian, looking down at Sarang with a troubled expression, put on his robe. He quietly opened and closed the door, then headed for his own bedroom. He grabbed his cigarettes and a lighter and went out onto the bedroom terrace.

The lighter’s flame caught the end of the cigarette, bringing the ember to life. Florian took a deep drag, and soon the smoke scattered before him. The wind blew and stole the sparks away. The fickle weather was merciless even in the early dawn of April, a new month.

The cigarette filter between his lips, smoke scattered before Florian a couple more times. Soon, he took out his phone and found a document in a category.

Colin Debussy.
Recessive Omega.
White, of mixed Asian descent.
Kim Sarang’s adoptive father.
Commonwealth citizen, died suddenly in July when Sarang turned 17.
Studied abroad in Korea for 3 years. Living expenses covered by omega allowance.
At 23, returned to the Commonwealth holding Sarang, who was not yet 50 days old.
Adoption process unconfirmed. Possibility of illegality.
Return process confirmed. No possibility of illegality.
No distinct occupation. Made a living through various part-time jobs.
Involvement in sex industry unconfirmed.
Participated in clinical trials at a Kaia-affiliated research institute.

Kaia-affiliated research institute.

Florian, looking down at the familiar name, put down his phone and repeatedly blew out cigarette smoke. Suddenly, he felt a cautious presence and turned his head to the side, his blond hair fluttering in the wind. There was a pair of eyes staring, as if mesmerized, at Florian, who was standing in the faint nightlight that illuminated the terrace, facing the wind and letting out cigarette smoke.

Sarang was standing on the drawing room terrace, which was adjacent to the bedroom terrace. Florian stared intently at Sarang, who was gazing at him blankly with a face still heavy with sleep, his black eyes nevertheless shining like jewels. He then pressed the lit end of his cigarette to extinguish it.

“Did I wake you?”

“…Rian, are you smoking again?”

Florian tidied up the cigarette pack and gave his robe a flick as if to shake off the smoke, then looked toward the adjacent terrace.

“I’m surprised you knew I was quitting, Sarang.”

“Since you became my guardian. The faint smell that used to be mixed in with your scent disappeared.”

“…I can’t win against Sarang.”

“I smelled it again when we first reunited.”

“Yes, Sarang. I started quitting again after we reunited.”

“Why?”

“…”

Florian was a little troubled by Sarang, who pressed forward honestly even though he knew he might get hurt.

“Because Sarang is an athlete.”

By then, Sarang had approached the railing that separated the bedroom and drawing room terraces, dressed in thin pajamas.

He should have at least put on a robe before coming out.

Sarang, as if reading Florian’s displeased thoughts, smiled like cotton candy.

Calling a grown kid cotton candy. I must be well and truly crazy.

Fortunately, Sarang did not read his inner thoughts this time. He placed his folded arms on the railing and rested his chin on them.

“Many of my teammates smoke too.”

“The important thing is that Sarang is a non-smoker.”

Florian took off his robe, draped it over one arm, gathered his things, and left the terrace first. Sarang, who had been watching Florian disappear into the bedroom, soon vanished from the terrace as well.

Sarang, who had been pacing in the drawing room, sat down meekly on the sofa before rising to his large frame again. Click. Florian appeared through the opening door. He had just showered. He smelled of bath products, not pheromones.

“Rian.”

“I don’t particularly like the smell of cigarettes clinging to my body.”

“You’re going to do your morning workout too, aren’t you?”

“Yes, thanks to you, I’ll be taking two showers this morning, Sarang.”

“It’s fine with me.”

“It’s not fine with me. It’s just past four o’clock. A time when Sarang should be fast asleep.”

“What?”

“I’ll wake you at seven, so go back to sleep.”

Sarang hesitated in front of Florian, who was ushering him to go, and asked.

“You’re not going to put me to sleep this time?”

“Sarang.”

“Yes, Rian.”

“I think I may have spoiled Sarang.”

“What do you mean, Rian? Did I do something wrong?”

Florian’s deliberation over Sarang’s question was not long.

“No, Sarang did nothing wrong.”

“Then?”

If he pointed out Sarang’s tendency to constantly seek confirmation and reassurance, he would surely try to fix it. But Florian, who suddenly met his black eyes, swallowed his inner thoughts.

“If I weren’t going to share a bed with Sarang, there would be no need to shower.”

“Rian.”

“Yes, Sarang.”

“Thank you.”

Florian slightly furrowed his brow at the out-of-the-blue thanks, then raised the corners of his mouth.

“You’re supposed to smile at a time like this, Sarang.”

Sarang, trying to understand the meaning of his words, parted his lips with an, “Ah.”

‘When you’re truly thankful, you can just smile without saying a word, Sarang.’

It had only been four years, but it felt like a very old memory. Sarang, who had recalled that memory without difficulty, looked at Florian and smiled without a word.