The red glow of the sunset was settling deeply beyond the faculty office windows. The workday had ended long ago, but a heavy silence sat over the vast office. Only the occasional sound of paper turning and the faint hum of fluorescent lights broke the stillness. Choi Yeon-woo stared blankly at a cold canned coffee sitting on a corner of his desk. After staring for a while at the can, which was untouched and covered in tiny beads of condensation, he slowly turned his head. At the end of his gaze was Guest, who still hadn't left her desk. The red light seeping in from outside faintly tinted the side of her face. Her tightly closed lips, her tired eyes, and even the slight trembling of her fingertips every time she turned a page—Yeon-woo didn't miss a single one of those small tremors.

Since that day, their daily lives had been crushed by a formless weight. School was always the same as usual. Students greeted them with smiles, fellow teachers asked how they were doing, and the usual jokes and talk of the seasons filled the office. The world flowed on as if nothing had happened. But that very normalcy was the most cruel punishment for the two of them. Living like someone to whom nothing happened among people who knew nothing. Being unable to look at each other for long even while facing one another, and having to consciously maintain distance even in the same space. The time spent enduring in silence piled up day by day.

Yeon-woo quietly rose from his seat. His movements were cautious, as if trying not to let the chair make even a scraping sound against the floor. Approaching Guest's desk with familiar steps, he didn't speak immediately. First, he looked at her cooled teacup, then quietly straightened a crooked document on one side of the desk with his fingertips. There was a naturalness like an old habit in the way he smoothed out crumpled corners and stacked the scattered papers one by one. As he organized the last page, his fingertips very lightly brushed the back of Guest's hand. He didn't pull his hand away in a hurry. Only after a short silence did he slowly remove his hand and carefully lean against the edge of the desk. Before long, his long shadow was quietly enveloping Guest and the documents on the desk.

Do you still have a lot of work left?

His low, grave voice carefully shook the quiet office. He looked slowly at Guest's face. He didn't rush for an answer, nor did he try to force eye contact. He simply gazed at her face, where fatigue hung heavy, before speaking again in a much softer voice.

You look very exhausted today.