Choi Kang-Woo continued in a measured tone.
“I think that’s why my brother is so hurt. Minho’s mother remarried immediately after the divorce and had another child the very next year. No matter what, Minho is her child too, but she seems to have no affection for him. Perhaps it’s because he was born to a man she didn’t love.”
Hearing those words, Han Na-Eun thought of Han Na-Young. Han Na-Young also lacked affection for her own son, Han Jiho. But because Na-Eun believed that a child was the fruit of love, she countered Choi Kang-Woo’s remark.
“But didn’t they marry because they loved each other?”
“That’s what we thought, too. My mother opposed the union, yet they married anyway, so we assumed they must have loved each other deeply. But it seems that wasn’t the case. It looks like Minho’s mother was simply satisfied with my brother’s status; she appeared perfectly content with the alimony from the divorce. Perhaps her current man has better prospects in many ways—I don’t really know. And I don’t think Minho’s mother’s heart functions like most women’s. Can you understand it, Na-Eun?”
Na-Eun turned her head slightly. She was, after all, raising her sister’s child as her own because she couldn’t bear the thought of him in an orphanage.
“That’s why I believe Minho was so deeply hurt. You can leave it at that. When my brother returns to Korea, he’ll naturally come to the house, so you’ll be able to meet him. I’m actually curious to see how Minho will react to his father. He’s become quite close with me lately, after all.”
“That’s true. Would you like to see the picture Minho drew today?”
Na-Eun carefully unfolded the drawing. It held the typical innocence of a child’s art, yet it was distinct. While it had the form of a person, the eyes, nose, and mouth were blurry, and the hands were expressed merely as round circles.
Choi Kang-Woo tilted his head and peered at the sheet.
“This is the four of us. The uncle, the teacher, Jiho, and himself,” Na-Eun explained with a gentle smile.
Choi Kang-Woo pointed to the figures.
“There’s a slight difference in size, but the features seem to have been drawn quite roughly.”
Then, noticing the hands, he cocked his head. Na-Eun added, as if explaining, “But the hands… there are no fingers, are there?”
Choi Kang-Woo studied the drawing, knitted his brows, and sighed.
“So there aren’t. They’re just circles.”
After a moment of contemplation, Na-Eun produced a drawing Jiho had made. “This is one Jiho drew. He said it was a self-portrait.”
Choi Kang-Woo looked at it and let out a short laugh.
“He looks like a girl.”
The portrait featured a round face with large, clear eyes and pointed, puckered lips.
Na-Eun guided Choi Kang-Woo’s gaze to the hands.
“Please look at the fingers.”
In Jiho’s drawing, the hands were depicted with five distinct fingers, drawn unusually large compared to the body. Choi Kang-Woo frowned as he studied them.
“The fingers are certainly large and clear. Because they’re so prominent, they catch the eye immediately.”
Na-Eun continued softly.
“What do you think is the difference? Minho’s hands were drawn simply as circles, while Jiho expressed his fingers with such clarity.”
Choi Kang-Woo nodded slowly, his lips pressed into a thin line, lost in thought. Na-Eun spoke again.
“It must be a psychological difference. I once learned that a child’s drawing reveals their sense of self. I think Minho might be lacking confidence right now. He probably hasn’t realized yet how many things he is capable of doing.”
After hearing her, Choi Kang-Woo looked back at Minho’s drawing with a lonely expression.
“I see.”
His tone remained calm, but Na-Eun said with a pitying look, “I keep worrying about what I can do to help Minho regain his confidence.”
Her gaze remained fixed on the small figure of Minho. Choi Kang-Woo placed a hand lightly on her shoulder and spoke in his characteristically flat voice.
“Since you are by his side helping him, Minho will gradually get better. Little changes will accumulate, and eventually, the child will gain great confidence. Time will resolve it.”
Na-Eun shook her head.
“But I wish there was more active interest shown toward him. It’s not as if things just improve with the mere passage of time. That’s why I’m here, but I do think it would be good if Minho’s father spent some time with him when he comes to Korea.”
At that, Choi Kang-Woo shook his head.
“I don’t know when my brother will be returning.”
“I see. If he does, I think it would be good for them to spend time together.”
Choi Kang-Woo propped his chin on his hand. “You don’t mean living together here, do you? That’s out of the question. My brother can stay in the Main Building. You can see him every day, and we can eat together as much as possible.”
Even as he spoke, the thought of his brother eating with Na-Eun, Jiho, and Minho didn’t sit well with him. However, his brother had no plans to return for the time being, and he didn’t feel it was wise to dwell on it. Choi Kang-Woo changed the subject.
“The meal was delicious. Do you want to come upstairs today?”
Na-Eun blushed and nodded. The two tidied the kitchen and went up to the second floor. As soon as they reached the landing, a deep kiss ensued. By now, they sought each other out with a familiar, hungry rhythm. Na-Eun always tried to remain cautious, but such intentions were easily uprooted and rendered meaningless in the presence of Choi Kang-Woo.
He pressed his lips to the curve of her shoulder.
“How can you be this soft? I can’t believe you’re the same species as me.”
Na-Eun laughed.
“I can’t believe it either. We’re the same, so how can you be this solid? Are you still working out?”
Choi Kang-Woo chuckled. As he shook his head, it seemed he was managing his health well enough. Then again, given his small portions at home, it was unlikely to have much of an effect.
When he hugged her narrow waist tightly, a small moan escaped Na-Eun’s lips. The room was bathed in a warm, soft glow. Shadows swayed against the walls, catching the silhouettes of the two.
Choi Kang-Woo steadied his breathing as he faced her. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light, and a sweet, taut tension flowed between them whenever their eyes met.
Na-Eun leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “I’m afraid of getting too used to this.”
As her breath brushed against his ear, his heart surged violently.
With a faint smile, Choi Kang-Woo looked at her face and replied in a low voice.
“If you don’t get used to it, I think I’m the one who will be afraid.”
His voice was calm yet heavy with heat, making the air between them feel stifling. He took a deep breath and continued.
“It’s like you live your life always leaving a door open, ready to run away. You shouldn’t do that while dating, should you?”
Na-Eun paused, gazing steadily into his eyes. Her own were filled with emotion, but a flickering uncertainty remained. Slowly, she opened her mouth.
“That’s how dating usually is. If I give you everything I have, I’ll be nothing but an empty shell after we break up.”
Choi Kang-Woo frowned. “So, you’re saying 30% is the most appropriate?”
Na-Eun nodded, explaining quietly, “Me 70, you 30. They say it’s a proper allocation of the heart—to be able to stand on your own, both while dating and if you break up later.”
Her voice tried to sound firm, but the end of her sentence trembled. Choi Kang-Woo caught her hand and held it affectionately. At the warmth of his touch, Na-Eun’s heart ached.
He bowed his head and muttered under his breath.
“That’s too stingy. I feel like I’ve already given you everything.”
At his words, Na-Eun smiled softly. Feeling a sense of fullness welling up from within, she gripped his hand tighter. As their gazes met, a cozy feeling settled over them, as if their two worlds were finally becoming one under the warm light.
Choi Kang-Woo whispered, “I want to do anything you desire. Is there anything you wish for from me?”
Na-Eun smiled faintly and shook her head.
“No.”
Choi Kang-Woo burst into a light laugh.
“I doubt that.”
His gaze held a longing to reach deeper, and wherever that look landed, Na-Eun’s heart pounded.