Episode 50: The Remaining Season

‘Why the field all of a sudden….’

The truck carrying the two men was currently heading toward Yunhwan’s aronia field. He had been momentarily flustered when Seonghye claimed the place they absolutely had to go was his field, but he figured driving was better than continuing to face Seonghye’s heavy sincerity head-on.

Yunhwan chose this “escape drive,” and Seonghye, sitting in the passenger seat, watched him with a characteristic smile that seemed to say he knew exactly what was going on.

They drove for another ten minutes. As Yunhwan stepped out onto the field, he frowned, wondering if he was seeing things.

“…This is….”

Like magic, everything had been restored. The traces of the flood were nowhere to be found, and the field was once again densely packed with aronia saplings. As Yunhwan stood speechless at the sight of the neatly organized furrows, Seonghye nudged his arm with his elbow.

“I’m sorry for planting them fully grown. It takes away the fun of watching them sprout.”

The aronia berries were already somewhat ripe; it was at a stage where they just needed to be cared for until harvest. Yunhwan’s brow narrowed strangely as he stared at the field.

Seonghye wore a picture-perfect smile at the sight of the lush greenery stretching out before them.

“I did it because I wanted us to harvest them together.”

“…….”

“The first time always holds a special meaning, after all.”

His voice sank slightly. Seonghye stopped talking and observed Yunhwan, who had kept his mouth tightly shut for a while.

Only after several dozen seconds did Yunhwan, clutching his sweaty palms, finally speak.

“Why… are you going this far…?”

“…….”

“…Why?”

He brushed his hand over his dry lips, his words coming out in fragments.

“I already took the money from the manager. You don’t need to do all this.”

“My answer might make you feel burdened.”

Despite the warning, Yunhwan continued.

“No. There’s no need to go this far. …Aren’t you too busy thinking about leaving once the treatment is over and your memories return?”

“And where exactly am I supposed to go?”

“To where you used to be. To the place you wanted to go so badly. So why—”

Seonghye’s gaze pinning him down felt as hot as a branding iron, causing Yunhwan to look away instinctively. Because he had forced himself to stop mid-sentence, shallow breaths kept escaping his lips. He bit his lip hard, hating that even that was visible.

His chin was caught in a gentle grip, and Seonghye occupied Yunhwan’s vision once again. He quietly and calmly dyed Yunhwan’s pupils with his own reflection.

“Manager Park told you once, didn’t he? To go check on the field.”

As the grip on his chin slowly loosened, Seonghye explained in a steady tone.

“Because you’ve been staying by my side so well, Manager Park cleaned up the field without telling me. If it bothers you that he touched your land without permission, I’ll apologize on his behalf.”

When Yunhwan’s expression wavered, Seonghye let out a hot breath and brushed away a bead of sweat from Yunhwan’s forehead.

“There’s no excuse for the aronia, though, since I was the one who told him to plant them.”

In the middle of the field, where a sweetness so thick it made the nose tingle hung in the air, Yunhwan stood facing Seonghye. This was the exact scene Seonghye had wanted, but seeing the confusion in Yunhwan’s eyes made his chest ache. His mouth felt bitter.

As his hand fell away from Yunhwan’s shoulder, it looked lonely. The brown eyes watching the retreating hand wavered like small ripples.

“I’m sorry.”

“…….”

Yunhwan stood still and stared at him.

“But I hope you aren’t afraid.”

Seonghye’s voice seeped into Yunhwan’s ears. Surrounded by the fresh, green life, Yunhwan looked like a completely different person from the “withered tree” Seongphil had described. Seeing the man become a part of the landscape just by existing in front of him gave Seonghye immense joy.

“As you know, my head is filled with nothing but you, Hyung.”

“…….”

“I don’t care if every other b*stard turns their back on me, but I can’t let you do that.”

Seonghye murmured lowly while looking at Yunhwan standing next to the firmly rooted saplings. It wasn’t pleasant to see the other man take two steps back for every one step he took forward, but he knew now was the time to retreat.

Seonghye lowered his gaze even more quietly. Watching the man lower himself before him again, Yunhwan’s throat tightened.

“I know you lost your memory, but….”

Yunhwan’s voice trembled slightly as he spoke.

“Since you lost your memory, you really seem like a different person.”

“…….”

“Of course, your memory did return briefly in the middle. But—”

“…It’s me.”

Seonghye cut him off and looked up. His dark pupils seemed unfathomably deep today.

“Do you think I wasn’t curious about my own memories?”

“…….”

“Every time I think about that pathetic b*stard who couldn’t even manage to properly imprint on you, I want to laugh my head off.”

“…….”

“What if I’ve found him so pathetic that I no longer feel he’s worth remembering?”

After a short pause, he asked lowly.

“Are you still thinking about the Min Seonghye of the past?”

The voice that cut through the hot air caught Yunhwan’s gaze. Matching his eyes calmly with Yunhwan’s, Seonghye spoke again.

“What should I do? I’ve said it every time, but I’m not curious about my past anymore.”

“…….”

Looking at Seonghye, who had so easily torn down his own past with words, Yunhwan fell silent again. Because he, too, had been conscious of Min Seonghye’s memories.

One night, when Seonghye’s memory had briefly returned, Yunhwan had asked Junseong a somewhat impulsive question.

‘Uh, …what happens to Seonghye’s current memories if his past ones return?’

When the curiosity he had been intentionally ignoring burst out like a sneeze, Yunhwan was surprised at himself. It was because he had shown a lingering attachment to Seonghye’s memories for the first time.

The current memories Min Seonghye was steadily accumulating would be of no help to the imprinting treatment, nor to Min Seonghye himself in the future.

Despite knowing that, the reason he left a question about Seonghye’s memories was that, much like how the man in front of him separated his past self from his present self, Yunhwan was absurdly doing the same.

He had taken a person who should be accepted as a whole and split them into two entities based on the thin criteria of memory.

The moment he became conscious of that, the roles in this game of hide-and-seek—drifting between existence, reality, and disappearance—seemed to have swapped, making Yunhwan the next one “it.”

“Even if my memories return, I won’t disappear; I’ll remain. Always here, in Sanghee-ri, by your side.”

Seonghye curled one corner of his mouth into a smirk. The man, who had thoroughly separated the pre-amnesia Min Seonghye from his current self, didn’t stop there.

“So, Hyung, why don’t you try letting go of that d*mn sense of responsibility? Are you seriously still feeling guilty about the accident? If so, toss it.”

His face, which had turned ice-cold despite the sweltering heat, was chilling. As always, Seonghye looked straight at Yunhwan and revealed his inner thoughts, making no effort to hide his intention to scrape away every last bit of guilt remaining in Yunhwan’s heart.

“…….”

And Yunhwan looked at that version of Seonghye. He could see that the patience the man had exerted over the past few days to seep into his heart had worn thin.

His eyelashes trembled as if facing a storm, his pupils lost their light and turned cloudy, and his lips were twisted from suppressing his emotions. These were things Yunhwan only realized after accepting the changes in the other man and reflecting on himself.

Yunhwan’s gaze settled calmly on Seonghye.

“You’ve been holding back quite well, haven’t you….”

“What?”

Seonghye immediately scowled at the cryptic remark. His fingertips, which had been tensed as if to snatch Yunhwan, trembled slightly.

Reaching out between the saplings, Yunhwan stared intently into the greenery and spoke.

“Seonghye, why… aren’t you using kind and polite words today?”

Yunhwan laughed lowly as he spoke. Every time he reached further into the plants, the sweet scent of the fruit about to be harvested wafted through the air.

“Has your patience already run out?”

Leaving behind a stunned, speechless Seonghye, Yunhwan pulled his arm out from between the saplings. His hand returned as a fist, hiding something, but as he opened his palm, its identity was revealed by its sweet fragrance.

Soft light-brown eyes looked at the freshly harvested fruit.

“The harvest season for aronia is from late July to mid-August. You said you wanted to harvest the fruit together, right? …From what I can see, late July is already out of the question—”

Then, the plump berries dropped into Seonghye’s palm like raindrops.

“Now all that’s left is August.”

“…Hyung.”

Seonghye’s Adam’s apple bobbed heavily. He cupped his palm deeper to ensure he didn’t miss a single berry.

In the middle of the plants that were almost blindingly green, a thick voice that didn’t match the scenery escaped Seonghye’s throat.

“I don’t know what you mean when you speak in riddles like that.”

His eyes burned red at the ambiguous words that didn’t easily reveal Yunhwan’s intent.