[Chapter 26]
“Do you want to sleep in my room?”
Thirty minutes earlier, after successfully stashing Lee Gyeom and Ho-sik in separate rooms on the second floor, Tarim and Baekmo collapsed onto the sofa.
As they kept groaning about how exhausted they were, Koo Baekmo claimed he didn’t even have the energy to walk to the store and sprawled out on the living room sofa at Hwaran’s house.
“Ugh, just go home already!”
No matter how much Tarim urged him, Baekmo wouldn’t budge from the sofa. In the end, he ended up crashing at Hwaran’s place for the night. Tarim headed to the third-floor attic, and Muru went to her room on the first floor.
But how did it end up being Joo Muru and not Baekmo who slept on the sofa?
Muru had only asked once — really, just once. She kept thinking about Baekmo’s weak heart and offered out of courtesy.
“Baekmo oppa, do you want to sleep in my room? You drank, and you even carried Ho-sik here. If I sleep on the sofa…”
She didn’t even finish the sentence before Baekmo shot up, as if he’d been waiting for it, and marched straight into her room.
“Oh, I feel so bad. But really, how could I let you sleep in the living room? Sleep well, Muru.”
And then the door shut. No hesitation. She stood blankly outside her own room when Baekmo peeked out just to toss her a blanket, then shut the door with a thud. So yeah — she’d definitely been kicked out.
Muru curled up uncomfortably on the sofa, wriggling around trying to find a good position and brainstorming ideas for her next novel.
Not this one — the next one. The next novel would definitely be about a handsome psychopath. And lucky her, she had a perfect reference model… very close by.
Uncomfortable, wide awake, and with nothing better to do, she searched for some ASMR videos on YouTube. That’s when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
She’d been living at Hwaran’s for a few weeks now — long enough to recognize people just by their steps. Heavy but careful, and no dragging of slippers — clean, neat footsteps. Tarim’s footsteps.
“You… why are you sleeping out here?”
Tarim approached with surprised eyes and turned on the standing lamp in the living room, stretching his legs toward where she lay.
That’s when Muru suddenly felt her emotions well up.
“…I got scammed out of my room.”
“Agh, that guy seriously…”
Tarim immediately started to get up, ready to drag Baekmo out, but Muru quickly pulled him back down.
“No, it’s okay. Just leave him. He went through a lot today too.”
To be fair, they’d gotten some valuable intel at the bathhouse farewell party thanks to Baekmo. Tarim gave the door a long, hard stare, then said “Just a sec” and went back upstairs. A few moments later, he returned with a bundle of bedding in his arms.
“Huh?”
“I’ll sleep out here too.”
Tarim set up his bed on the L-shaped section of the sofa and even brought Muru’s pillow. Somehow, he’d even found a candle and lit it on the coffee table before turning off the living room lamp.
Luckily, the sofa was made of two 3-person couches pushed together. They could lie with their heads close in the middle. Muru lay on her side, staring quietly at the softly glowing glass candle.
The scent was lovely — musky, with a touch of herbs.
“This smells really nice.”
“It’s one of my favorites.”
“What’s it called?”
“Park Tarim.”
Just like that — in that brief moment — Park Tarim made Joo Muru smile again.
“Haha, no. I meant the candle’s name.”
“‘Midsummer Night.’”
Somehow, even the name of the candle seemed to fit this night perfectly.
She was glad the room was dark. Her ears must have turned bright red.
Feeling awkward, she changed the subject.
“Who gave you your name?”
“The head nun.”
“It suits you.”
“‘Ta (他)’ meaning other, and ‘Rim (林)’ meaning forest.”
“So it means ‘an unusual forest’?”
“Something like that… When I was a baby, I was left at the orphanage gate.”
“…”
“The head nun and some of the other teachers were watching their evening drama when they suddenly heard a baby crying during the most important scene. They went outside and found me, all bundled up in a blanket just outside the gate — in a really pretty basket, like a gift. The main character of the drama they were watching that night was named Park Tarim. So that’s what they named me.”
“A pretty basket…”
“Whoever left me must’ve wanted me to be seen as a pretty baby. I still have that basket and blanket, you know.”
“…Can you… keep talking?”
“Hm?”
“I want to hear more. Unless it’s hard for you to talk about…”
Why was that?
She just wanted to hear more of Tarim’s calm voice telling his story.
“It’s not hard. I’m okay. The nuns treated me well. Strict, but you could tell they cared. I know not all orphanages are like that… It was a boys’ home, but I got along fine. Sometimes we fought, sure — even with fists.”
“You? Fistfights?”
“Of course. We were all struggling in our own ways.”
“I can’t picture it.”
“It was mostly just shoving, nothing big. But I did get into one major fight. I don’t even remember what it was about. I got into it with a kid my age, and we went at it so hard one of us ended up with a nosebleed. I got hit more, but since he was the one bleeding, I got scolded more. So unfair.”
The two of them giggled, tucked up under their blankets.
“There were two older nuns in charge of cooking. I don’t know why, but I got really attached to one of them. Maybe because she was warm and grandmotherly. She always had wrist and arm pain from cooking for all those kids, so I’d sneak into the kitchen whenever I could.”
“Is that when you learned to cook?”
“Nah. What can a little kid really do? I probably just got in the way. But she’d always find something for me to help with and praise me for it. One day I peeled two potatoes, another day I mixed eggs. Maybe that’s why I ended up liking cooking. When I came to live here with my mom at age 10… I don’t know. I felt grateful to her. So I started looking up recipes and making her things. And since she praised me, I worked even harder.”
“Right. You made amazing pancakes. You’d pour syrup and cut strawberries to put on top. Even back then, you were basically a chef.”
She didn’t realize right away that she’d said something odd.
Even when Tarim lifted his head and looked at her, she was still lost in the memory of how delicious those pancakes were.
She only realized when Tarim sat all the way up on the sofa.
“…Wait, what?”
“Muru… you…”
She jolted upright as if shocked. Beyond the candlelight, the kitchen loomed in the distance.
Like a lens blurring everything else, her surroundings faded, and a sudden memory of the past began playing out against the backdrop of the kitchen.
It was bright — midday. A buttery scent lingered in the air. A boy stood on a kitchen chair, wearing an apron and holding a silver spatula. He turned around with a smile.
And she — a little girl watching him — smiled too.
Young Tarim. Young Muru. Her little white-stockinged feet dangled from the chair.
Sizzle— the sound of batter cooking, the smell of warm butter.
“You stood on that chair and made pancakes.”
She remembered thinking how sweet his little back looked.
“And I sat and watched you.”
And then it ended.
The vivid memory vanished like someone had flicked off a switch. The kitchen returned to darkness.
“Just one scene. That’s all I remember. But…”
Tarim’s warm hand covered the back of hers.
“Even at the bathhouse earlier, I felt something strange.”
He gently nodded as if to say, take your time.
“What kind of strange feeling?”
“The bathhouse owner… remembered me. Said my mom used to bring me there a lot. He said he gave me milk… and without thinking, I looked toward the fridge. You remember, right? The one near the bath entrance.”
“Yeah. I remember.”
“…I had this image of someone taking out two packs of milk from there…”
“…”
“I thought maybe I was just imagining it after hearing his story. But still — why was it two packs of milk?”
Tarim quietly helped her lie back down. All she could see was his kind face and the orange glow of the candle.
“Just let it come naturally.”
Tarim gently tapped her shoulder.
“That way, the memories won’t be shocked.”
“…Tarim.”
“Yeah, Muru.”
“I’m… a little scared.”
He nodded deeply, as if truly understanding. Her anxious eyes met his steady, dark gaze.
A person who stayed by her side like a mountain, putting aside his own pain.
Would there ever be someone like this again?
Overwhelmed with guilt, and unable to hold it back anymore, emotion filled both of their eyes—
🎵 “Doma-baem, doma-baem! I can handle anything at all!” 🎵
Muru’s phone ringtone blasted through the silence. She scrambled to turn down the volume.
The timing was just ridiculously bad.
“Oh my God, who the hell is calling at this hour?!”
The curse slipped out automatically. Tarim, who had been suppressing laughter since the second “doma-baem,” bit down hard on his cheek to keep from laughing out loud.
It wasn’t even an alarm. It was a call. And at 1 a.m., the name flashing on the screen was:
Kim Bong-pal.
