There are a few topics I avoid like the plague: pineapple on pizza, Bo-ra's constant humming, and... my family.
Unfortunately, only two of those can be dodged successfully.
"Yul," Bo-ra said, nudging me with her elbow. "You've been spacing out for five minutes. Are you broken?"
We were sitting in the empty company rooftop garden, sipping convenience store banana milk and pretending we didn't have deadlines looming over our heads like guillotines.
"I'm not broken," I said, blinking. "Just buffering."
"You buffer a lot these days," she teased, squinting up at the sky. "Is it the new project? Or... is your brain just allergic to peace?"
"Maybe both."
She chuckled and leaned back, letting the breeze lift her hair slightly. It was annoying how effortlessly pretty she looked even in her worn hoodie and messy ponytail. She looked like... someone you'd accidentally fall in love with.
Not that I was falling. Definitely not. (Shut up.)
"Hey," she said, suddenly more serious, "can I ask you something?"
I stiffened. "You just did."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
"Yul."
The way she said my name—gentle but firm—was unfair. She had this annoying way of making even the coldest words sound warm.
"Okay," I muttered. "Ask."
Bo-ra turned to face me, hugging her knees. "Why don't you ever talk about your family?"
Ah.
There it was. The forbidden F-word.
I looked down at my hands, fiddling with the plastic straw. "They're not very interesting."
"I doubt that," she said softly. "You don't even mention them. Not once."
I stayed quiet.
Bo-ra didn't push. She just waited—patiently, like someone who knew the walls would crumble if she waited long enough.
And I hated that it worked.
"My mom left when I was nine," I finally said, voice flat.
She blinked. "Oh."
"Yeah," I said. "Took her bags, her heels, and half my dad's record collection. Left a Post-it on the fridge."
Bo-ra winced. "That's... wow. That's cold."
"Colder than my morning espresso," I muttered, forcing a smirk.
She didn't laugh this time. Just looked at me, eyes soft. "I'm sorry, Yul."
I shrugged. "It was a long time ago."
"Still."
I took a long sip of banana milk, stalling. "She said she wanted to 'find herself.' Whatever that means. I guess I just wasn't part of the map."
"Yul..."
I waved a hand. "Don't go all pity eyes on me. I survived. I had my dad. And Grandpa. And the company."
"Sounds lonely."
"It was," I admitted. "At first. But then you get used to it. Like… background noise. You stop noticing."
She leaned her head on her knees, watching me. "Do you still talk to her?"
"Not really." I paused. "She popped up last year. Sent me an email. Said she was in Paris. Attached a photo of a croissant."
Bo-ra blinked. "A... croissant?"
"Yup. Not even a 'how are you' or 'sorry for ruining your childhood.' Just... pastry."
"That's insane."
"Right?" I scoffed. "If she wanted to reconnect, she should've at least sent a baguette. More effort."
That made her laugh.
And weirdly, I felt lighter.
Bo-ra reached over and gently tugged my sleeve. "You're... more human than I thought."
I raised a brow. "Were you expecting a cyborg?"
"Honestly, yes."
"Tch."
We sat in silence for a while. The wind rustled through the leaves. Somewhere below, traffic buzzed like a white noise machine set on "urban chaos."
"Do you ever wish she'd come back?" Bo-ra asked.
I was quiet.
Then: "I used to. When I was younger. I'd stare at the door on birthdays, thinking maybe she'd show up with balloons or something."
She nodded slowly.
"But now?" I sighed. "I don't know. Part of me wants answers. The other part... just wants her to stay gone."
Bo-ra reached into her bag and pulled out a crumpled bag of chips. "Here."
"What's this for?"
"Emotional support snack."
I stared at her.
"Don't look at me like that," she said. "This is how I cope with emotional trauma in dramas. Cry? Eat chips. Heartbreak? Eat ice cream. Unexpected family trauma dump on the rooftop? Chips."
I took the bag, cracking a small smile. "You're so weird."
"And you're secretly soft," she countered, poking my cheek.
"Don't ruin my reputation."
She laughed and leaned back again, hands behind her head. "For what it's worth, I think you turned out okay. Despite the whole... abandonment trauma and emotionally distant exterior."
"Thanks," I said dryly. "Such high praise."
She grinned. "Hey. I like you. That says something."
My heart did a weird little flip.
I cleared my throat and looked away. "You have questionable taste."
Bo-ra leaned closer. "Do I?"
Her face was so close I could see the gold flecks in her eyes.
I froze.
"Y-yeah," I stammered, "clearly. You eat chicken feet."
"They're delicious."
"You're a monster."
She burst out laughing, loud and unrestrained. "You're such a dork."
"Says the girl who brought banana milk to a rooftop therapy session."
"It's a vibe!"
I smiled despite myself.
And for the first time in a long while, I didn't feel like that abandoned nine-year-old kid anymore.
I felt... seen.
Understood.
Maybe even liked.
By someone who didn't need me to be perfect. Just honest.
Even if it was messy.
Even if I was still figuring it all out.
Bo-ra nudged my arm again. "Hey."
"Yeah?"
"If your mom ever shows up again and gives you another croissant, I'll help you throw it at her."
I looked at her.
Smiled.
"Deal."
"Just kidding. Haha."
To be continued...