Ji-Bok came home like he always did—hands in his pockets, posture loose, expression half-bored like nothing in the world could really touch him.
But it was fake.
Anyone who knew him well enough would've seen it.
The slight pause at the gate.
The way his eyes flicked instinctively toward Ji-Soo's room window for a second longer than necessary.
Then he clicked his tongue softly and walked inside anyway.
"Home again…" he muttered under his breath. "What a joy."
The house was quiet, but not peaceful.
Just controlled.
Maids bowed slightly as he passed.
"Welcome back, young master."
He gave a lazy wave without stopping.
"Yeah, yeah."
But as he moved through the hallway, one of the maids exchanged a quick, tired look with another.
Like they already knew what kind of mood was waiting upstairs.
And they were right.
"Ji-Bok."
His steps slowed instantly.
That voice.
Mr. Choi.
From the study.
Of course.
Ji-Bok didn't even turn around fully.
"…What now?" he asked, already tired.
Mr. Choi walked out with calm authority, tie slightly loosened, eyes sharp.
"You came home late again."
Ji-Bok shrugged.
"I'm alive, aren't I?"
"That's not the point."
Mr. Choi's voice hardened slightly.
"You keep wasting your time. Photography, friends, nonsense. You should be focusing on something useful."
Ji-Bok finally turned his head slightly.
"Oh? Useful like what?"
Mr. Choi stepped closer.
"Take over the company's automotive division. Learn responsibility. Stop acting like a child playing with a camera."
A faint smile tugged at Ji-Bok's lips—but it wasn't amused.
It was tired.
"I don't want your cars," he said simply.
"You don't 'want' anything serious," Mr. Choi snapped. "That's your problem."
Ji-Bok exhaled slowly through his nose.
Then walked past him.
Not rushing.
Not reacting.
Just… passing.
Like the conversation wasn't worth stopping for.
Mr. Choi's voice followed him.
"You think life will wait for your hobbies?"
Ji-Bok lifted a hand slightly without turning back.
"Life doesn't wait for anyone," he said. "I just choose what I'm doing while it happens."
And kept walking.
The study door shut behind him with a sharper sound than usual.
Silence returned to the hallway.
But Ji-Bok's jaw tightened slightly as he climbed the stairs.
Not from anger.
From something heavier.
Worry.
Ji-Soo.
That was still sitting somewhere under his thoughts, even while everything else tried to push in.
When he reached his room, he closed the door and leaned against it for a second.
Quiet.
Then he pushed off and walked inside.
His room was dim, warm in that lived-in way.
He dropped his bag carelessly on the chair and walked straight to his desk.
There, among scattered papers and a few old camera parts, was a framed photo.
He picked it up.
Paused.
It was him as a kid.
Much younger.
Sitting slightly awkwardly, holding a small camera almost too big for his hands.
Beside him—his mother.
Smiling softly.
Not forced.
Not careful.
Just… real.
She had always been like that.
Always patient when he asked to take "just one more photo."
Always adjusting her posture like she was part of his little world instead of outside it.
"You're getting better," she used to say, laughing when he got excited over a blurry shot. "Keep going, Ji-Bok."
His grip on the frame tightened slightly.
"…You were the only one who got it," he muttered.
He placed the photo back down gently.
Then his eyes moved to another picture on the desk.
Ji-Soo.
Taken without her fully noticing.
He remembered that day clearly.
The trick.
The distraction.
Her annoyed voice halfway through realizing what he was doing.
And then—
her expression softening anyway when she saw the result later.
Not perfect.
Not polished.
But real.
Ji-Bok leaned back in his chair slowly.
A faint, tired smile appeared on his face.
"Life is hard," he said quietly to the empty room.
His eyes stayed on the photos.
"But there are things that make it easier."
A pause.
His expression softened slightly.
"…Even if they don't stay the same forever."
Outside his room, the house remained loud in its silence.
But inside—
Ji-Bok stayed still.
Just holding onto the things that made sense for as long as they lasted.
---
Ji-Woo sat in the kitchen in soft pajamas, sleeves slightly too long covering part of her hands as she wrapped them around a warm cup of water.
The house was quiet in a comforting way.
Not the heavy kind.
Just… still.
Mrs. Han was beside her, calmly washing a few dishes, letting the silence exist without rushing to fill it.
Ji-Woo stared into her cup for a long moment.
Then her voice came out low.
"…I feel like everything is going downhill."
Mrs. Han slowed her movements slightly.
Ji-Woo's fingers tightened around the cup.
"It feels like something is going to tear apart soon," she continued. "Like it's all going to collapse."
A pause.
Then softer—
"And I feel guilty."
Mrs. Han turned slightly toward her.
Ji-Woo looked down at her lap.
"Ji-Soo is out there…" she said quietly, her voice tightening. "Suffering. Bad people around her. Bullying. That mother… that environment… everything is just—bad."
Her breath shook slightly.
"And I'm here…"
She hesitated.
Then admitted it.
"…living her life."
A faint, painful laugh escaped her.
"Good friends. A good home. Someone who actually cares. Beautiful places. Smiling. Acting like everything is normal."
Her grip tightened.
"Min-jun is always there for me," she said softly. "Always. But Ji-Soo…"
Her voice broke slightly.
"She's not okay."
Silence filled the kitchen.
Mrs. Han walked over slowly and sat beside her instead of standing.
She gently placed her hand over Ji-Woo's.
Warm.
Steady.
Ji-Woo flinched slightly at the contact, then relaxed.
Mrs. Han spoke gently.
"Ji-Soo is stronger than you think," she said.
Ji-Woo shook her head immediately.
"That's what everyone says," she whispered. "But she's still alone in all of this."
Her eyes lowered.
"And I'm here pretending to be her."
Her voice cracked again.
"What if this never fixes itself?"
Mrs. Han squeezed her hand slightly.
"She can come back," she said softly.
Ji-Woo looked up quickly.
But her expression was uncertain.
"We all know the truth," she said quietly. "If people find out… if they find out everything…"
Her breath caught.
"I'll lose both of us."
Silence again.
Heavier this time.
Mrs. Han didn't interrupt immediately.
Just stayed beside her.
Then she spoke carefully.
"Ji-Woo…"
Ji-Woo shook her head.
"No," she said quickly, almost firmly now. "That's what I'm afraid of."
Her voice steadied slightly as she forced a small smile.
"That's not going to happen."
But even as she said it—
her eyes didn't fully believe it.
And Mrs. Han could see that.
So she didn't push.
She just stayed there.
Holding her hand.
Letting Ji-Woo sit in the quiet fear without forcing it away.
Because sometimes, even pretending life was stable… was the only thing keeping everything from breaking all at once.
Min-jun came in first, like he always did—careful not to make noise, as if the house itself might startle Ji-Woo if he wasn't gentle enough.
Fah followed right behind him, holding a stack of food containers balanced in both hands.
"Okay," Fah announced brightly, breaking the soft kitchen atmosphere without realizing it. "I brought food. Proper food. Not your sad fridge snacks."
Min-jun sighed lightly.
"You call everything sad."
"It is sad," Fah replied immediately. "This house needs seasoning."
Ji-Woo gave a small, tired smile despite herself.
They all gathered around the kitchen table. The containers were opened—warm rice, simple dishes, comforting smells filling the room slowly, pushing away some of the heaviness.
Fah was already talking as she arranged plates.
"I swear, school is exhausting me. People act like I'm supposed to have my life figured out already."
Min-jun handed Ji-Woo a plate quietly.
"You don't?" he asked.
Fah gasped.
"Excuse me? I have a plan. A loose plan. A vibe-based plan."
Ji-Woo let out a soft laugh.
It was small.
But real.
For a moment, it felt normal.
Fah leaned forward suddenly, chewing happily.
"You know what I think?" she said. "Life is just… messy. Like, everyone's pretending they're fine, but nobody actually is."
Min-jun gave her a look.
"That's deep for someone who almost burned toast this morning."
"Hey!"
Ji-Woo smiled again, but this time it was weaker.
Fah kept talking, completely unaware of the shift in Ji-Woo's expression.
"But seriously," Fah continued, softer now, "you can't carry everything alone, Ji-Woo. You always look like you're thinking too much."
That sentence hit differently.
Ji-Woo's fingers paused on her cup.
Min-jun glanced at her immediately, noticing the change.
Fah, however, just kept going, clueless as ever.
"And honestly," she added, "whatever you're worried about… it's not the end of the world. You're allowed to breathe, you know?"
Ji-Woo's breath caught.
Slowly.
Like something inside her cracked just a little.
Her eyes lowered.
"…I'm trying," she whispered.
Fah smiled brightly, still not sensing the weight behind her words.
"Good. That's all anyone can do, right?"
But Min-jun wasn't smiling anymore.
He was watching Ji-Woo carefully now.
Because he could see it—
whatever she was holding in, it was reaching its limit.
Ji-Woo set her cup down slowly.
Her hands trembled slightly.
And then, without warning, she stood up.
The chair scraped softly against the floor.
Fah blinked.
"Huh? Did I say something wrong?"
Min-jun also stood slightly, alert now.
"Ji-Woo?"
But Ji-Woo shook her head quickly, forcing a smile that didn't fully hold.
"No," she said softly. "I just… need air."
Her voice cracked at the edges.
She turned toward the hallway before anyone could stop her.
Fah leaned back in confusion.
"…Did I kill the vibe?" she whispered.
Min-jun didn't answer immediately.
His eyes stayed on the direction Ji-Woo left.
Because Fah didn't know.
She didn't see it.
But Min-jun did.
The way Ji-Woo's shoulders shook just slightly as she walked away.
And how carefully she was trying not to fall apart in front of them.