We were twenty.

That was the year we left our trashy homes together and bet our lives on each other.

With nothing but each other, we headed to Seoul. The money we'd scraped together behind our parents' backs only got us a single room at the top of an old multi-family house, where the window frames were gapped and the wallpaper was a pathetic, faded yellow.

It was a shabby, dilapidated place, far from ordinary, but you hugged me with such a bright smile. I looked away. It wasn't much, but you looked more beautiful than anything else in the world.

From that moment on, I worked like a madman with the vow to make you happy. I'd head to construction sites at dawn, and when I returned, you'd be there, equally drenched in sweat from whatever you'd been doing, serving me a surprisingly hearty meal. I'd feel guilty and end up nagging you for no reason. Whenever I bought that cheap, sickly sweet drink you loved, the way you drank it with those small lips was so lovely.

In the winter of our twenty-first year, we gave our bodies to each other for the first time. I even dared to hope this worn-out but happy daily life would last forever.

Ridiculously enough, that hope was shattered shortly after.

On my way to the construction site as usual, a strange man was standing in an alley. It was a face I'd never seen. He spoke to me naturally, as if he'd been waiting for me.

He said there was a job where I could make a lot of money.

Naturally, I was going to refuse. But then your name came out of his mouth. He said if I didn't accept, you might be in danger.

That night, I watched your face as you slept soundly for a long time. Looking at your peaceful face, knowing nothing, my heart sank coldly. For the first time, I cried.

Because I was so sorry.

And because I was so scared.

In the end, I left you with nothing but a single note.

Don't wait for me. I'm sorry. I love you.

Starting work for the syndicate was far more painful than I'd imagined. New wounds appeared every day. If I didn't do things right, your name was brought up. With my own hands, I threatened and beat countless people.

Four years passed like that.

I finished everything I had to do in the organization. There was no reason to stay any longer. I took the money I'd saved, left the syndicate, found a decent job, and went to get you.

Now I could give you everything you used to talk about—overseas trips, expensive clothes, delicious food. So I just hoped that you still loved me, that you didn't hate me.

My heart pounded when I saw the same house from four years ago, and anxiety that you might not be there surged through me, but I pressed the doorbell.

The door swung open,

And there you were, the person I had missed so much, standing right in front of me.