Chapter 1: Sunshine on a Withered Tree

Ah.

How much time had passed?

When was the last time he had slept?

Amidst a field of vision that ran in streaks of color like paint diluted heavily with water, Yoon Heesu sank into his thoughts.

Calling it thought was generous, as any cognition in this state was nothing more than fragments or shapeless lumps.

So, how much time had passed, the time, ah…

Faint chuckles kept slipping out.

The drugs had always brought him stability and pleasure.

That is, if smothering his anxiety under a heavy blanket of rotten straw could be called stability.

Yet within his floating senses, drifting as though on rolling waves, even that straw would eventually become drenched in the mire of anxiety over time, turning into ragged trash.

‘I wish I could just die before it comes to that.’

Yoon Heesu thought as he sank deeply into the sofa.

The sofa…

It was hard.

Was it not a sofa?

He saw his limbs sprawled out across the floor.

It seemed he had rolled off the sofa onto the floor at some point without realizing it.

‘Come to think of it, I feel like it hurt.’

He also felt as though he had heard a heavy thud.

He wasn’t entirely sure.

Touching his cheek, the floor was freezing cold because the heating wasn’t running properly.

‘…Cold.’

Was there anything he could pull out to cover himself with, and when had the boiler turned off?

Even a newspaper would do.

Covering oneself with newspaper inside the house would be quite a ridiculous sight.

Giggling foolishly, he tried to stagger to his feet, but his legs gave out and he slumped right back down.

Having collapsed, he simply lay flat again.

Cover up with what, how ridiculous.

No matter how deep into midwinter it was, he wouldn’t freeze to death inside the house.

But was freezing to death slightly better than dying from a drug overdose?

Or was it not?

Would it make the news?

No matter how he died, he might end up on the news.

[Man living alone found frozen to death at home.]

[Suspected drug addiction…]

Neither sounded honorable, yet he seemed destined to achieve both.

Then again, he had no such thing as honor.

He never had, anyway.

“Haah.”

A thick, murky sigh spilled from his lips.

Suddenly, the thought struck him that he needed to wash.

It felt as though bugs were crawling out from every pore of his body and germs were spewing forth instead of breath.

Barely managing to haul his upper body halfway up, Yoon Heesu crawled on all fours to the bathroom and turned on the water.

He was still dressed, but that hardly mattered.

His clothes would get clean too, which was fine.

With hands that repeatedly fumbled, he ran the cold water to wash his entire body, brushed his teeth, and collapsed right there on the bathroom floor.

It didn’t feel refreshing at all, contrary to his expectations.

His vision tilted sideways.

He didn’t even know when he had lain down.

The half-shed clothes clung damply to his body, chilling him to the bone.

You should have turned the faucet properly to hot water before washing, Yoon Heesu.

Ah.

You didn’t turn on the boiler.

Are you really trying to freeze to death?

‘I wouldn’t mind if I did.’

Replying to the question surfacing in his mind, Yoon Heesu curled his wet body into a ball.

Fireworks kept bursting inside his head, and his vision was unnervingly vivid, like an excessively edited photo.

It was enough to make him nauseous.

The sound of his wet feet slipping against the bathroom tiles resonated loudly.

The water pooled on the floor scattered.

On the arm sprawled limply to his side, he saw needle marks.

How many times had he shot up today?

He had taken pills as well.

A lethal dose?

Could it be?

He hoped so…

He really was going to make the news.

He closed his eyes.

The world spun around.

Then, when he opened his eyes, the bathroom repeatedly lunged toward him with a thud before receding.

It was a classic symptom of being high.

The world melted, his body melted, and his mind melted too.

“Haha.”

As he always did when on drugs, Yoon Heesu let out soft chuckles.

Moments like this were practically the only times he ever laughed.

In that sense, drugs might truly be remarkable.

Because they restored the laughter he had forgotten.

They didn’t call it the powder of happiness for nothing; people really were gifted with words…

Giggling again as he squirmed against the wet floor, he faintly caught the sound of the front door.

The sound of someone punching in the passcode, then the door opening and closing.

It was probably an illusion.

Or perhaps he had already died, and the police had arrived to search the place.

He used to imagine such things.

Remaining trapped in the flesh even after death, either oblivious or fully aware of having died.

Then, his lingering consciousness would watch as his body was pronounced dead, placed into the freezing morgue cooler, washed and shrouded, and kept waiting until the funeral ended before burning fiercely in flames of a thousand degrees Celsius until only bones remained.

And he would vividly feel every step as the remaining bones were collected with chopsticks, ground into fine powder, and placed inside a small urn.

It was quite a gruesome imagination.

Still, without any sensory nerves, would there even be any pain?

Pain was felt by the brain, but the brain would have lost its function.

He didn’t even need to die to experience what it felt like for a brain to vanish, as he was experiencing it indirectly right now.

Steeped in all sorts of drugs, his paralyzed brain could no longer function properly.

Just like how blood was flowing over there, yet it didn’t hurt in the slightest…

Hm?

‘Wait, that’s blood…?’

Only then did he faintly register it.

Though it was extraordinarily dim.

At some point, blood had begun flowing across the wet bathroom floor.

He couldn’t even tell what had injured him.

Naturally, he felt no pain.

There was only a dull numbness somewhere along his arm.

Perhaps that was why he had suddenly felt the urge to wash.

Because his body was covered in blood.

Step, step.

As he stared at his bloodstained arm, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

The sound of the front door earlier hadn’t been an auditory hallucination after all.

As expected, the police?

‘I think I’m still alive, though.’

Yoon Heesu blinked his eyes slowly to signal to the officer that what needed handling was not a corpse, but a wasted junkie out of his mind.

Even then, he was merely wondering what kind of joke would be amusing to tell the officer.

Until an intensely, extraordinarily familiar face stepped into his field of view.

“…”

Even through his dulled senses, the shock was enough to send a sharp jolt through his brain.

Familiar—could he even call it familiar?

It was a face he knew unilaterally well.

It had already been a long time since they had met in person.

About two years, was it?

A man who hadn’t even contacted him during all that time.

‘Did I die?’

Such a thought crossed his mind.

Because they said the Grim Reaper came in the form you desired most…

“Yoon Heesu.”

An elegant, low voice called his name.

He felt as though a red light had flared up inside his head.

In a messy vision where everything melted and tangled together, that one person came into sharp, clear focus.

Immaculate black dress shoes without a speck of dust, long legs, a solid physique flawlessly fitted in a suit, and sleekly combed-back hair—an Alpha whose handsome appearance looked straight out of a movie.

Tilting his striking face slightly, he was looking down at Yoon Heesu.

Yoon Heesu wasn’t given much time to ponder whether the man was the Grim Reaper or something else.

For without warning, his arm was seized, and his body was hauled upward.

“…”

Fortunately, it was his uninjured arm, yet not even a reflexive groan slipped out.

Yoon Heesu moved limply as the man led him, like a rag doll.

Practically slinging the staggering Yoon Heesu over his shoulder, he took rhythmic strides with his long legs, walking with steady steps.

The Alpha’s body, brimmed with firm strength right to the tips of his fingers, stood in stark contrast to Heesu’s own, which swayed limply like a reed.

“…What brings you here?”

Words resembling actual speech barely managed to spill from Yoon Heesu’s mouth.

His voice was thoroughly hoarse.

The man furrowed his brows once, then answered curtly.

“To pick you up.”

“Since when did you become a cop?”

“What cop?”

“If I were a cop, you would be arrested on the spot.”

“Mmh… That’s true, haha.”

Finding his words amusing for some reason, he snickered and shook his head.

Going to prison would be a problem.

Because he wouldn’t be able to do drugs.

He would rather die than be unable to take drugs.

All the dark emotions spearheaded by anxiety, which couldn’t be covered even with rotten straw, were so immense and ponderous that they swallowed Yoon Heesu whole in an instant.

When he shuddered, the man glanced at him, then took off his coat and suit jacket to drape them over his wet body.

Yoon Heesu smiled foolishly.

“Aren’t these clothes expensive?”

“My body is soaked… I just washed, you know.”

“If that can even be called washing.”

“Pay attention to that blood instead of getting wet.”

Was it just his imagination, or did it sound like a reprimand?

Maybe it wasn’t just his imagination.

Grabbing whatever towel came to hand, he bound it tightly around the bleeding wound.

“What are you doing?”

Where are we going?

Why did you appear all of a sudden?

How did you open the door?

What are you doing right now?

All sorts of questions came out compressed into that single slurred phrase.

He did not answer.

The moment they stepped out the front door, a bitter cold far incomparable to the chill inside the house assaulted his body.

In an instant, his lips turned pale blue and his body began to tremble violently, but it soon subsided.

Only after getting into the car where the heater was running warmly did he realize it was because the man had wrapped him in clothes and a towel, lifting him into his arms.

The man settled Yoon Heesu into the front passenger seat and pulled the seatbelt across to fasten it.

Wrapped absurdly in expensive clothing and a towel, Yoon Heesu giggled.

“Haha, it’s a kidnapping…”

“Or is it an abduction since I followed you on my own two feet?”

“Think whatever you want.”

“You aren’t wrong, either.”

He had only been joking, but the man replied with utter seriousness.

Yoon Heesu wiped the smile from his face.

Getting into the driver’s seat, the man’s shirt was already damp from the moisture transferred from Heesu’s body, and his handsome necktie was skewed.

After fastening his seatbelt and lightly straightening his attire, he gripped the steering wheel.

Yoon Heesu gazed at him hazily.

Two years since they last met, or perhaps a little more?

How long had it been?

At any rate, it wasn’t as if the man would age noticeably in that time, so it was only natural that he looked the same.

The solid brow bone that gave him a resolute impression seemed faintly creased from his furrowed brow.

Beneath it were cheekbones and a nose bridge carved to perfection, alongside lips that, while delicate compared to the rest of his features, formed an even more flawless harmony because of it.

“Han Suyeon.”

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