Under the flickering fluorescent light, Luca stared blankly at his reflection a while longer, wondering when exactly life had become so damn complicated — when love, obligation, and pride had all tangled together into knots he couldn't undo no matter how hard he tried.
After showering, before leaving the bathroom, his eyes went to the cell phone he'd left on the wall cabinet near the faucet. Maybe, he thought, it wouldn't hurt to ask his mother for a little help. His mother had long since moved abroad after marrying a businessman — happy in her new life, content, and far removed from the children she'd left behind. Especially him, the son she had always neglected.
Luca picked up his phone and scrolled briefly through recent texts before his thumb hesitated over her name. It been months since their last conversation. Her messages were always polite, but cold — like something written to a stranger. Still … she was his mother, wasn't she? Shouldn't that still mean something? And he really was desperate right now.
With a quiet sigh, he pressed "dial."
Once. Twice. Three times. Then the line clicked.
"Hello?" A cool, formal voice — so unfamiliar it almost didn't sound like her.
"Mom," he said carefully, the word tasting strange in his mouth. "It's me."
There was a pause — long enough to sting — before she replied, as though she had to search her memory for who he was.
"Oh … Luca," she said finally, tone still distant. "This is unexpected. Is everything alright?"
He swallowed, regret already creeping in. "Yeah, just … checking in," he lied. Then, gathering what was left of his courage, he continued, "Actually, I was wondering if—"
"Luca." Her voice cut through his words, sharp and practiced. "We've talked about this before. You're grown now. Your stepfather and I have our own responsibilities to manage without…"
She stopped — but the meaning was obvious. Without you.
For a few seconds, all he could hear was the quiet hum of the phone line. Then a dry, bitter laugh escaped him.
"Right. Silly me — forgetting that part."
He didn't wait for her to respond. The call ended with a sharp click, and the phone landed on the bed like it had burned him. Truth was, the conversation had gone exactly the way he expected.
From the doorway, Seo-in watched quietly. She had heard enough to understand without needing to ask. After a moment's hesitation, she crossed the room and sat beside him, where he stood staring blankly at the wall, trying to collect what was left of his composure after yet another rejection from someone who was supposed to love him unconditionally.
She reached out, resting a hand gently on his shoulder — a silent comfort, no questions, no empty reassurances he wouldn't believe anyway.
When he finally turned to her, his eyes were glassy, but his jaw was set — determined not to break over something so painfully predictable. All she could do was pull him close and hold on until the trembling stopped.
Because some wounds never really healed, no matter how much time passed.
Luca stood still in her arms, the weight of his mother's dismissal pressing heavy on his chest. Then, all at once, exhaustion — and frustration built up over years — crashed through him like a wave.
His breath hitched before he buried his face against her shoulder with a broken sound — not quite a sob, but not not one either.
"Fuck," he gritted between his teeth, fingers clutching her shirt like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
Seo-in said nothing. She just held him tighter as the tremors shook through him. Because sometimes, no words were needed when the person you loved most in the world was breaking right in front of you.
And if holding his pieces together until he could rebuild himself again was all she could do — then so be it.
Even if it meant ignoring the phone buzzing across the room — his mother's eventual callback going unanswered.
***
The next day, after class, Seo-in and Ye-rin settled into a small café near campus. The place was warm, quiet, harmless — or at least it was supposed to be.
Then a woman near the cashier began shouting at her boyfriend, loud enough that half the café nearly choked on their drinks. All because he'd asked to split the bill.
Ye-rin snorted so hard it almost counted as a laugh. "와, 봐라. 지가 서울 여왕이라도 된 줄 아나 봐."
Seo-in watched the couple uneasily. "She's … really going at him."
"He should run," Ye-rin said without hesitation. "If my boyfriend talked to me like that, I'd dump him on the spot. Actually—" she pointed casually with her straw, "—if my boyfriend acted like her, I'd dump him too."
Seo-in pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. "Splitting costs isn't a big deal."
"Exactly!" Ye-rin waved a hand. "It's 2018. What, does she think her face is enough to pay electricity bills? Please."
The woman stormed out. The boyfriend stayed behind, staring at the floor.
Seo-in's chest tightened. Something about the scene made her stomach twist.
Ye-rin clicked her tongue. "People like that exhaust me. Making a whole drama out of nothing. If she didn't want to split, she could've just said, '오빠, 나 돈 내기 싫어~' Boom. Done. Why humiliate the poor guy?"
Seo-in didn't respond right away. Her gaze softened, distant.
"Ye-rin," she said finally, voice lowered. "Can I … ask something a bit personal?"
Ye-rin eyed her suspiciously but leaned in. "What now? You're making that face. The 'I'm thinking about something emotional' face."
Seo-in sighed, stirring her coffee. "Do you think someone might … be scared their partner will resent them for not having enough money?"
Ye-rin blinked. Then shrugged — blunt but not cruel. "Yeah. Sure. People get weird about money. Pride, insecurity, trauma — take your pick."
Seo-in bit her lip. "But … if the partner doesn't care about money at all?"
"Well, you don't," Ye-rin said, matter-of-fact. "But not everyone believes nice things about themselves that easily. Especially men. God forbid they feel 'less than' for two seconds."
Seo-in went quiet, guilt blooming beneath her ribs.
Ye-rin watched her for a moment, then softened — only a little. "Hey. Whoever you're talking about—" she raised a brow, "—and don't tell me, because I don't want to accidentally insult him—"
Seo-in almost choked on her drink.
"—just know this," Ye-rin continued. "You're not exactly the type to lord money over someone. You buy a guy a sandwich and you apologize five times. If he can't see that … well." She clicked her tongue again. "He needs to grow up."
Seo-in let out a small, tired laugh. "It's not that simple."
"It never is," Ye-rin said, swirling her drink. "Feelings are messy. People are stupid. That's life."
Seo-in snorted. "진짜 어이가 없다."
Ye-rin smirked. "그래도 나 좋아하잖아."
Seo-in clinked her cup against hers. "불행히도."
Ye-rin raised her cup proudly. "천만에."