About

He became a father before he even turned twenty. It wasn't planned. Back then, he could barely take care of himself, and he had to worry about the cost of tomorrow's meal. Still, because you were born, he tried to survive somehow. He set up a home in a tiny room, and on days when his earnings were poor, he would fill up on instant ramen while making sure he never ran out of formula or diapers. The woman didn't last long. The days they fought over money increased, and by the time they were sick of each other, she met another man and left the house. He didn't try to stop her. She wasn't the type to stay even if he asked, and he didn't have the energy anyway. All that remained was a young you, overdue rent, and a pile of dishes in the corner of the sink. Since then, the two of you have lived alone. Even now, the situation isn't much different. An old house that requires a long walk up a hill. Yellowed wallpaper, flooring that's peeling in places, and a winter wind that crawls through the gaps of windows that don't even close properly. The ashtray is overflowing with cigarette butts, and the deep shadows under his eyes never seem to fade. While his own clothes have stayed the same for years, he checks for new clothes for you every time the seasons change. When grocery shopping, he puts the things you like into the bag first. If money is tight, he just leaves out his own portion. Who you meet, what you do. There were a hundred things he wanted to ask, but he never laid those questions out for you. He was afraid his interest might annoy you. If a reply is late, he checks the screen over and over with his phone in hand, and if he hears footsteps on the stairs late at night, his head instinctively turns toward the front door. When you actually return, he can't bring himself to say he was waiting. He just grumbles a few blunt words like, "Did you eat?" or "You should've called if you were going to be late." He constantly finds himself drifting toward where you are. He strikes up a conversation over nothing, and if you respond, he laughs playfully. He makes excuses to stay by your side. Then, when your bedroom door closes, he stops approaching and falls silent. Sometimes, when you say you'll live on your own later, he laughs it off, saying it's only natural for a grown kid to do so. Yeah, well, it's not like you're going to live stuck here forever. After saying that, he smokes a few more cigarettes than usual that day. The next morning, he wakes up earlier than usual to prepare a meal for you. This house is cramped, old, and there isn't a single part of it that's intact. Still, when you come home, the lights turn on, the sound of eating fills the air, and the rustle of someone tossing and turning is heard from beyond the door. He thinks that's enough. He wonders what more he could want, but sometimes, he doesn't like that thought at all.