SPW 9

White puffs of breath scattered before Florian’s eyes as he stood leaning against the car.

After a stormy summer had passed and Canton City entered the beginning of autumn, an early winter arrived in the evenings. Florian, taking a piece of candy from his coat pocket and putting it in his mouth, looked around.

Canton City’s 97th Street.

The area located in the northern part of Canton City was underdeveloped and declining, having become a slum overall. Groups of people wearing snapbacks backwards or dressed carelessly in baggy clothes loitered around, looking this way as if spying. Reading Florian’s attire and atmosphere, which did not fit the city, they were just about to close the distance as if to surround him.

“Mr. Wellington?”

Florian, who had been watching Sarang turn the corner in his club uniform with a duffel bag on his shoulder, smiled faintly and straightened his posture.

“It’s been a while, Mr. Sarang.”

Sarang, who had been walking with his eyes fixed on the ground and hadn’t noticed Florian, came to a dead stop. He looked at Florian with wide, surprised eyes, then approached with a worried expression.

“It’s dangerous for you to come here like this.”

“Only for me?”

“Uh…”

Sarang was at a loss for words at the question of why this place was dangerous only for him, and he looked around needlessly. Mark, whose eyes met his, subtly gestured with his chin and stood up from the stairs of the old apartment building.

“You okay, Kim?”

“Yeah, Mark. I’m fine.”

“Who’s he?”

“Uh… He’s a club official.”

Mark, who couldn’t possibly not know Florian but asked with a straight face, had eyes that glittered under the dim streetlight.

“Heard you scored again? You’re playing the Pink Bunnies next week, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You’d better flatten those b**t**ds’ noses!”

“Yeah, I’ll try.”

“Call me if anything happens.”

“Yeah, Mark.”

As if to block Mark’s glancing gaze, Sarang took a step to the side and only then, a long while later, did he relax.

“This neighborhood must be quite dangerous, huh?”

The crowd that had been slowly gathering since Florian’s appearance had, with Mark leading the way, already vanished one by one.

“They seem like your friends, Mr. Sarang. Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“They aren’t the kind of people who are friends.”

“Then?”

Sarang, turning to look at Florian who was asking despite knowing everything, ended up taking a step back at the same time. It seemed that in moving to shield Florian, the distance between them had become too close. After coming face to face with Florian from less than a hand’s breadth away, Sarang, who had jumped back in surprise, had slightly flushed cheeks. Their lips had almost touched. From that moment, his heart started to pound, and afraid the sound would be heard, Sarang took another step back. His hair was slightly damp.

“Looks like you came after a shower?”

“What? Yes…”

“Now that I see you.”

“…”

Florian strode forward, closing the gap Sarang had just created, and measured the height of his own head and Sarang’s with a white hand. Sarang’s height had increased a little since last summer.

“You seem to have grown taller than last time, Sarang.”

“…Ah.”

“Well, you are in your growing years, after all. But Sarang.”

“Yes, yes?”

“How long are you going to keep your guest standing outside?”

Now that he thought about it, it had already been five minutes since they started talking. And Mr. Wellington must have arrived even earlier and waited.

“Let’s go inside and talk.”

Florian, not forgetting the purpose of his visit, started walking first. The collar of Florian’s neck was vaguely visible under a thin muffler as he led the way. The nape of his snow-white neck looked particularly cold. Sarang hurriedly caught up to Florian’s steps.

Opening the lobby door a beat faster, Sarang looked back at Florian. Florian, who had been walking at a leisurely pace, smiled faintly at the unexpected kindness and stepped inside. The lobby door, having let in the still-growing boy and the quite tall man, creaked shut behind Sarang’s back.

“The house is a bit cold.”

“Yes, it is.”

Sarang, who had set his bag down by the door, began to move busily. Whether it was because he was naturally a neat person, there was nothing to clean, but he tidied up the interior and even turned on the radiator before finally turning to Florian, his face full of bewilderment. He seemed more troubled than pleased by Florian’s sudden, unannounced visit.

His skin, which had been coppery in the summer as if he had tanned, had since become fair, with soft, downy hair visible. Florian, who had been standing in the entryway looking around the old, cramped apartment, slowly followed Sarang’s busy movements with his eyes, and upon meeting that youthful face, he smiled with his eyes.

“May I come in?”

“Ah, yes. Yes, Mr. Wellington.”

The interior, just over 280 square feet, consisted of a living room that doubled as a kitchen, a small room, and a bathroom. Sarang pulled out a chair from the dining table pressed right against the kitchen wall and offered the seat. He then belatedly put water on to boil and rummaged through the cupboard. Soon after, he looked back at Florian with an embarrassed face.

“I only have tea bags, is that alright?”

“Yes, Sarang. I didn’t come here to drink tea.”

“…”

Ah, that’s right. Mr. Wellington is busy.

Florian, looking at Sarang whose inner thoughts were completely exposed, offered him a seat.

“Sit.”

“…Yes.”

It was a situation where the owner and guest seemed to have switched roles, but Sarang, not even aware of it, was about to sit in the chair, then turned off the stove, and sat in his place.

“It’s very cold.”

“The radiator is old… so.”

Florian, who deliberately looked around the interior slowly once more, agreed with that statement.

“Sarang gets cold easily, and this house doesn’t even have proper heating.”

“…”

“Why do you keep being so stubborn, Sarang?”

The tone was gentle, but the content was not.

How does he know that I… get cold easily?

It seemed Florian had a keen eye for detail. But Sarang was a little more concerned about something else.

“How long do you intend to stay here, Sarang?”

“…”

“Sarang?”

“…”

“Have you now decided to ignore my words completely, Sarang?”

“…”

“Sarang, answer me.”

“That…”

“Yes, Sarang.”

“…My name.”

Sarang’s face was bright red as he struggled to open his mouth. Even that was not very visible, hidden by his large palm, but his ears, which had turned as red as his face, were very easy to see. Florian, who had been narrowing his brow, asked with a look of disbelief.

“You mean your name, Mr. Sarang?”

“…Yes.”

“Is my pronunciation wrong? I practiced it quite a bit, Sarang. Is it very uncomfortable to hear?”

“No. It’s not that…”

Sarang, peeking out his bright red face from under his palm, shook his head, saying it really wasn’t like that.

“It’s a problem because it’s too perfect.”

Belatedly thinking that it was rude to cover his face in front of someone, Sarang lowered his palm. His black eyes sparkled clearly. A warm temperature could almost be felt from his still-red cheeks.

“Not in Korean, Mr. Wellington. No, I mean… please call me by my last name, not my first name.”

“Hmm.”

Translated, ‘Sarang’ meant ‘Love.’

Florian, who understood Sarang’s request perfectly, thought for a moment and then shook his head.

“I can’t do that, Sarang.”

“Why, why not?”

“No one calls their own ward by their family name, Sarang.”

“…”

“At least, not as far as I know, Sarang.”

Florian looked at the face that clearly showed he hadn’t expected to be refused, and added another word.

“Since we’re on the subject, why don’t you fix how you address me too, Sarang.”

“What?”

“Not Mr. Wellington, but Florian.”

“…”

“Call me Florian, Sarang.”

“Don’t… tease me.”

The face, full of downy hair, was entirely rose-colored. Florian, who deliberately added his name even more, laughed lowly and did not deny that he was joking.

“If you really can’t do it, shall I give you a reason?”

“…”

“If you keep calling me Mr. Wellington, people will suspect our relationship.”

“Suspect?”

“As it is, many people think the guardianship is a smokescreen. You watch the news, so you must know, right, Sarang?”

“…Yes.”

Even if Sarang didn’t want to, the things the media babbled about kept reaching his ears. The words tossed about by the townspeople, the club staff, the coaching staff, and his teammates were varied, but the context was the same.

“They’re gossiping that I’m going to raise you and then devour you, so there’s no need to create an opportunity for them to find fault, is there.”

“Mr. Wellington.”

“Yes, Sarang.”

“You’re not going to do that, are you, Mr. Wellington?”

Sarang asked, staring into Florian’s deep blue eyes with his pitch-black ones.

“You’re not planning to raise me and then devour me, like people say?”

Florian calmly met the clear eyes, which played a large part in making him look younger than his age, and smiled faintly.

“No, Sarang. I have no intention of doing that.”

Then why.

Sarang couldn’t bring himself to ask why he was being so kind to him.

Somehow, he was afraid of that answer.

Florian was always gentle, but not all the words he spoke were kind.

“I’ll wait until this weekend, Sarang.”

Florian, who had taken off his jacket and muffler, stood up as if to leave. Watching Sarang rise to follow him, Florian glanced inside. A small picture frame hanging on the living room wall was the only decoration in this house. In that frame, a much younger Sarang and a man who was clearly Colin were smiling brightly.

They looked more like close brothers than father and son.