F6

A joke? Could there be a reply that felt less sincere than that? The cold look in Siwoo’s eyes and the expression on his face were not something that could be taken as a joke.

The word stalker had clearly made Siwoo’s temperature drop in an instant. This time, it was definitely not an overreaction. Even someone slow and dull would be able to notice the change in atmosphere between the two of them.

As he gently pushed the man away, someone who might be a stalker, or even a murderer, Yeonho gave his final farewell. His palm touched the man’s back, firm and densely muscled. It was a sensation that was hard to let go of, oddly addictive. Strangely, the feeling was also comforting and familiar. Of course, that part was definitely just delusion.

“Kim Siwoo-ssi, it was a pleasure meeting you. Please forget the mistake I made, and enjoy the rest of your stay in peace.”

“Why do you sound like this is goodbye forever? I told you, I’m not going to kill you.”

“I must be really lucky to have met someone so considerate.”

Once Siwoo was out the door, Yeonho pressed his ear to it and focused all his attention. The footsteps echoing down the corridor soon faded. He waited another full minute before opening the door. He imagined Siwoo might still be standing there, right outside like in a horror film, but thankfully nothing of the sort happened. He carefully checked in both directions and confirmed that Siwoo was truly gone.

Closing the door, he returned to the room and took Siwoo’s business card out of his wallet again. He compared the phone number listed for Namyeon Construction’s HSE team to the one posted on the company’s official website.

The numbers matched. He saved Siwoo’s personal contact on his phone, then called the company line and asked to be connected to an employee named Kim Siwoo. The reply confirmed Yeonho’s worst suspicion.

“There is no employee named Kim Siwoo in the HSE team.”

“I see. I must’ve gotten the department wrong. Sorry for the trouble.”

As expected, Kim Siwoo had handed him a fake business card and lied about being at the resort on company business. For once in a long while, Yeonho’s intuition had been right. After constantly getting everything wrong lately, he was relieved to know he hadn’t completely fallen apart. He had been so afraid he might’ve lost the ability to function as a normal person.

Yeonho opened his suitcase and neatly packed the clothes he’d worn yesterday. He was going to switch accommodations to avoid Siwoo.

“…But why, though?”

Why was Siwoo doing any of this? Why make a fake business card and tell a lie that would be found out so quickly, just to stay here? He didn’t even seem to care that he’d been exposed as someone suspicious.

If he had really followed Yeonho here as a stalker, then Yeonho was convinced it had nothing to do with any romantic feelings. There was no way someone like Siwoo would have any particular interest in someone as insignificant as him.

Even if, by some miracle, he had liked Yeonho, there would’ve been no reason to approach this way. He could’ve just come up, shown his face, and expressed how he felt. Why go through all this trouble? So if he was a stalker, then it had to be for a specific purpose. That was the only conclusion that made sense.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Yeonho, slow and overly calm as always, quietly muttered as he packed a pouch of medication.

“I guess he really is experimenting on me. He even slept in my bed last night. Now it all makes sense.”

He had long entertained the thought that he might be some kind of global test subject, deceived by all of humanity. Now that Siwoo had shown up, it felt like that suspicion had finally been confirmed. He looked up to see if there were any cameras on the ceiling. Maybe if he opened a door that looked like part of the wall, he’d find a staff member hiding inside.

Overwhelmed by the flood of thoughts and conclusions crashing down in such a short time, Yeonho’s mind short-circuited. He lost strength and collapsed onto the floor.

If there really were viewers out there watching one human slowly go mad – sleepless, withering away, trembling in fear like an idiot – then he hoped at least they were entertained. That way, there’d be some meaning in how ridiculous and broken he’d become, constantly changing his mind and acting out like a fool.

It even occurred to him that maybe it would be better if Siwoo really was a murderer and just ended it for him. He didn’t think he had the strength to endure much longer. He was just too exhausted. But unfortunately, Siwoo didn’t seem like a killer, more like an actor hired by a broadcasting station. Hadn’t he reassured him twice that he wouldn’t kill him?

“No wonder he looked so good.”

Should he just take all the sleeping pills at once? As he seriously considered the best way to die, his grandmother’s voice suddenly echoed in his mind, the one who had once fallen deep into pseudo-science and blind belief in the Moon Sea Fairy’s prophecies.

“Yeonho might eat people, but he’ll never be the one to get eaten. So you, his mother, better keep him in line and make sure he doesn’t kill someone. He’s got it in him to take someone out.”

Back then, he’d thought those words were useless and rude. But right now, they weirdly filled up his drained will to live. Yeonho got to his feet and began calmly packing his suitcase again, as if nothing had happened.

***

He answered an unwelcome phone call. Siwoo, now back in Room 415, stared blankly out the window at the slopes beyond, mechanically replying to the voice on the other end.

“Who would want to back out now, after going so far as to make a business card?”

Even though a storm of criticism came through the phone, his expression didn’t budge.

“There’s a post on the community board saying the Namyeon Construction CEO’s son joined the company as a new hire. How am I supposed to ignore that and keep working like normal? It’s not just the internal message board, either. This is a forum used by employees from other companies too. Once it spreads, I won’t be the one it hurts most, it’ll be my father.”

It was a choice made for his father. His tone was polite, but he couldn’t quite hide the underlying threat.

“I’ll do everything he wants later. Just let me make this decision for now.”

He hadn’t expected to end up handing Yeonho a business card that had originally been his, but had since lost its purpose. It wasn’t planned. He never imagined that his meeting with Yeonho would unfold like this.

After practically being forced to end the call with his father, Siwoo checked the messenger chat he’d had with a friend the day before. In it, there was a photo of some pills that Siwoo had taken himself. He’d taken them from the bundle of tablets inside a blank white envelope when he’d confirmed the bouquet and card that Seong Junyoung had sent to Yeonho. Without hesitation, he had torn off a single dose and kept it aside.

The friend in the chat had provided a detailed explanation about the pills, their name and function. It was a type of sleeping pill known to cause side effects like sleepwalking or abnormal behavior if misused or abused. People who experienced such effects often had no memory of what had happened during that time.

After rereading the chat, Siwoo looked up the name of the drug for more information. As he scrolled, the memory of the previous night came back to him.

He had gone to Room 315, where Yeonho’s new lover’s bouquet was waiting, and returned to his room without incident. Lying in bed in total darkness, Siwoo had stared blankly at the ceiling like a zombie as night deepened. When he finally decided to head back down to the third floor, the door suddenly opened from outside, triggering the sensor light. In the glow, Yeonho stood there, looking fragile.

Still in bed, Siwoo had risen quickly and approached Yeonho, who had come to him first. One of Yeonho’s hands still had the strap of the master key wrapped around it, and the other held his phone.

Siwoo also had a master key. He felt a bit sorry to Yeonho, who had a sense of ownership over the resort his family had built, but on the flip side, it wasn’t hard for Siwoo to obtain a key for a resort being constructed by his family and stay there.

They stood silently for a moment, looking at each other. When the sensor light shut off, unable to detect movement, the space dimmed again, then the flash from Yeonho’s phone burst through the dark. He had taken a photo. His voice came sharp and clear.

“Who are you, sneaking in and hiding like this? How did you get in?”

Siwoo turned on the overhead light so Yeonho could see his face clearly and took another step toward him. As the space brightened, it felt like a more formal confrontation, and Yeonho’s tone shifted, regretful, calm, and composed.

“I’m sorry for speaking so harshly just now. I had to be firm because you might be dangerous.”

“What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?”

Siwoo shouted as he grabbed Yeonho’s wrist, alarmed, not out of mockery, but genuine concern. Under the bright light, Yeonho looked truly unwell. His lips were pale, the skin under his eyes dark. He looked like he could collapse at any moment.

There was no way that was a healthy person. But Yeonho didn’t seem to interpret his concern that way.

Instead, he recorded the interaction, filming Siwoo’s reaching hand as if it were evidence. Then he said,

“Why are you scolding me? And why are you speaking so informally?” ¹Yeonho used 그쪽 instead of 당신 or 너. It’s a polite yet distanced “you.” Siwoo used 너, more casual.

“You’re the one who’s weird, speaking formally to me right now.”

“It’s rude to use informal speech with someone you’re meeting for the first time. I said I was sorry already. I don’t want to raise my voice or say anything harsh, so please leave tomorrow morning. If you do that, I won’t report you to the police.”

He bowed his head and staggered out of the room. But after walking a few steps, he turned around and returned to Siwoo. With a face as serene as an angel’s, he asked,

“Are you staying here because you have nowhere else to go? Do you need help?”

“Are you pretending to be nice now? Because you don’t want to get involved with me anymore?”

“Why do you keep saying these strange things?”

Siwoo didn’t answer. He just stared at Yeonho for a long moment, then finally let out a resigned breath and replied in a drained voice,

“…No. I’ll leave in the morning. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“Now you speak formally. Good. Please do that, and for tonight, get some rest.”

Siwoo watched Yeonho go without another word and stood motionless in front of the closed door for a long time. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pressed his fingers to his temple, torn with intense indecision. Eventually, he stood up, determined to go see Yeonho again, and headed downstairs.

But by then, Yeonho, who had left Room 415 quite some time ago, hadn’t even made it back to 315. He had collapsed on the stairs between the fourth and third floors and fallen asleep. He was even crying in his sleep, like a dying baby roe deer.

Siwoo thought, if Yeonho was suffering from side effects of the sleeping pills, sleepwalking or blackouts, then he probably wouldn’t remember what had just happened.

And sure enough, the next morning, Yeonho could only recall fragments of the night before, and even those he wasn’t fully confident about.

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  Yeonho used 그쪽 instead of 당신 or 너. It’s a polite yet distanced “you.” Siwoo used 너, more casual.