The sun dipped low, spilling orange and gold through Sof's glass walls, turning the greenhouse into something almost unreal. Light refracted through leaves and petals, shadows stretching long across the tiled floor. The air shimmered warm and heavy, alive with the quiet hum of wings. Butterflies drifted lazily between the flowers, a byproduct of the cocoon enclosure tucked deeper within the shop.
One caught his eye. Blue.
It moved freely, unafraid, wings flashing a perfect, impossible shade. The same blue as his own.
Sof paused mid-motion, a damp cloth frozen in his hand as he cleaned the pots. His broad frame cast a long shadow over the flowers, dark and still, as if he didn't quite belong among them. The butterfly lingered for a second longer than it should have, then fluttered away.
He glanced toward the door. The bell above it hung motionless. Outside, passersby moved along the street, familiar silhouettes wrapped in familiarity that made his chest tighten. He recognized them without knowing them. Faces he had never spoken to, names he had never learned, yet something in him insisted they mattered.
But none of them came in.
Further down the street, children ran past, laughter echoing as a ball bounced against the pavement. Sof watched absentmindedly until his gaze snagged on one child in particular.
Faceless.
No features, no eyes, no mouth. Just the shape of a child where a child should be.
And yet Sof knew him.
The recognition hit deep, lodged somewhere beneath thought and language. His tongue felt heavy, useless. His mind tangled itself, like it was reaching for a memory buried too far down.
Five-thirty crept up on him without warning.
His hands trembled as he locked up early, an unease settling into his bones. He told himself it was nothing. A headache. Fatigue. Too much sun through the glass.
Instead of heading straight home, he walked.
Not his usual route. Not any route at all. Just forward.
The neighborhood thinned out the farther he went, houses giving way to narrow alleys and quiet corners. That's where he saw the kid.
Crying. Curled in on himself near a wall.
Beside him lay a cat.
Dead. Blood dark and tacky against the concrete, fur matted, body twisted wrong.
Sof stopped.
He waited for something to hit him. Shock. Revulsion. Fear.
Nothing came.
His gaze lingered on the blood, on the stillness, and there was only a distant, dull acknowledgment. Like he'd seen this before. Like it was familiar.
That should have scared him.
The child lifted his head.
It was the same faceless boy.
Sof's breath caught. The air felt thick, pressing in on him. The world tilted, just slightly.
The boy stared at him, and for a heartbeat, Sof was certain he heard something. A voice. A name.
Then the child vanished.
Gone. No sound, no trace, just empty space where he had been.
But the name remained.
"Wohyoon."
It burned its way through him.
Sof staggered back, his throat tightening as if hands had closed around it. Cold sweat slid down the back of his neck. His vision blurred, tears spilling before he understood why.
"Huh…? Who…? Hu—?"
He couldn't breathe.
His back hit the wall, the narrow alley suddenly too small, trapping him between brick and decay. The dead cat lay at his feet, the smell sharp and wrong. His chest hitched, lungs refusing to cooperate.
Run.
He tried.
His legs barely listened, knees shaking, threatening to fold. Every step felt stolen. His palm slapped against the wall, fingers digging in as he hauled himself forward through sheer force, muscles screaming as he dragged himself home.
The street betrayed him with its calm. Lights glowing softly. Windows warm. Normal.
He collapsed at his doorstep, strength finally gone, body giving up before his mind could.
Darkness crept in.
Before it took him completely, the faceless child appeared once more. He moved slowly, gently, crouching beside Sof like this was something he'd done before.
A smile bloomed where a face shouldn't be. Warm. Familiar.
He brushed a damp curl from Sof's forehead, fingers light, almost affectionate.
"Silly Wohyoon…"