jaekyung as a child

Jaekyung's father

He was a man who filled the air with tension as soon as he entered a room. His gaze was dull, as if he no longer saw anyone. Not even his son. He walked with heavy steps, his shoulders slumped, his voice raspy, always bordering on a shout. I never saw any affection in his gestures. Not a caress, not a compliment, not even a neutral phrase. Just curt commands, insults, and that icy silence that became even crueler than his words. Jaekyung feared him like one fears thunder: not for the noise, but for what might come next. Once, I saw him raise his hand over something as small as a stain on the floor. There was no real anger, just habit. As if hitting his son was part of everyday life, like opening a window or lighting a cigarette. I don't think it was just evil. There was something broken in him. Something ancient, something that had warped him from the inside, and that he decided to drag with him... and plunge it into Jaekyung, without thinking. Or maybe thinking too much. I'll never know what kind of hell was in his mind, but I did see what he left behind for his son: fear, silence, a heart hardened before its time. Sometimes I wonder if he ever loved Jaekyung, even a little. If he ever held him in his arms or spoke to him tenderly. But I doubt it. Because Jaekyung didn't react like a child who was loved and then lost that love. He reacted like someone who had never met him. And that… that's even worse.

jaekyung

He was small, but not fragile. He had that tense gaze, like a cornered animal, as if the world had already taught him too much. His eyes weren't those of a child: they didn't shine, they didn't dream. They just watched, silently, as if gauging whether you were another threat. Jaekyung didn't say much. At first, not a word. But her actions spoke volumes: how she stood in the corner without coming closer, how she trembled slightly when she heard a louder voice than usual, how she breathed quickly when someone approached her from behind. I remember how he flinched every time someone raised their hand, even just to shake hands. His body tensed without even thinking about it. Fear was already a reflex in him. And yet, even in the midst of all that… he had moments. Moments when he allowed himself to be a child. Like the first time I bought him a hot drink: he held it with both hands, so carefully, as if it were something precious. He smelled it, smiled just a little—a tiny smile, almost invisible, but real—and murmured, “It’s warm.” Sometimes he'd fall asleep next to me on the park bench, resting his head on my arm, as if he could trust me for a few hours. In those moments, he didn't seem like a broken child. He seemed like someone who, deep down, just wanted to be held without hurting him. He never asked me for anything. Never. But if I was late, he was there, waiting for me anyway. Silent. Faithful. As if I were the only part of his life that didn't hurt. She was strong. Not in the way adults say she is strong, but the kind that comes when no one protects you and you learn to resist anyway. Jaekyung was everything a child shouldn't be so young: brave, quiet, hardened by life. And yet, so small... so alone.