Divorce Contract C117

Chapter 117

It was hardly an outrageous wish—merely a prayer for the snow, since it had begun, to fall a little longer. Not a plea to turn back time, nor to erase memory, nor even to remain in the same space with him. Only this: let the snowfall not cease.

Only for tonight, let him remain close to Go Igyeol.

“…Ha…”

The shamelessness of it made him shudder. Leaning his back against the door, Seo Dohyeon rubbed at his forehead, then unfolded the umbrella and descended the steps. From the waiting car, Yoon Jaeseon emerged, asking if he would ride inside. Dohyeon shook his head.

“It’s fine. Wait in the car, Secretary Yoon.”

“The weather is bitter, sir. What if you catch a cold—”

“And if I did, would Igyeol worry for me?”

“…Forgive my bluntness, Executive Director, but… wouldn’t he not know, even if you did?”

How kindly he told him: fall ill, and it would be only your own loss. Dohyeon let out a hollow laugh, tilting his face up to the sky beyond the umbrella’s edge.

“I hope it snows heavily tonight.”

“……” 

“And that tomorrow the weather turns warm enough to melt it all away at once.”

Strange as the words were, Jaeseon understood. Unless it was a night like this, Dohyeon had no excuse to stay so near. It was only this—that he longed, desperately, to be close. The man’s reddened hands, clutching the umbrella’s handle against the cold, and his anxious glances at the sky, worrying the flakes might thin—pitiful. His pale face lifted heavenward, his frozen hand outstretched to catch a flake, was wretched and sorrowful.

“Secretary Yoon, check the forecast for me.”

“…They’re predicting heavy snow through the night. A blizzard warning’s already been issued here.”

“That’s a relief. …And Kang Mijin—how is she? She’s been stirring up trouble everywhere.”

“These days, she’s diligently paying her debts to the loan sharks. Her children too. The detective agency she approached to find Go Igyeol—I’ve instructed them to keep stalling her.”

Dohyeon’s gaze, which had been fixed on the dark sky, turned to him.

“Keep a close watch. To those wretches, Igyeol is more precious than to anyone else. He’s the only one who could undo their ruin, if they could just find him.”

“Yes, sir.”

He remembered the last time he’d seen her—the look of pity she had cast upon Igyeol. Was that not genuine? Each time he confirmed the frenzy with which she hunted, his mouth filled with bitterness. Of all those bound to him by blood, none truly worried for him. The only one who had ever raised her voice for his sake was Shin Eunsuk, who shared not a drop of blood.

And I, too, was his family once. Yet what did I ever do for him? Even now, nothing comes to mind. All I ever held forth was money—pathetic, knowing he resented it—believing I could solve everything with it. That past clung to me now, shackling my feet.

“Executive Director, the snow is falling harder.”

“…I see. Wait in the car, Secretary Yoon.”

Dohyeon turned away. His footsteps crunched softly through the snow as he made his way behind the pension.

There, along the back path, stood an old bench, nestled between the buildings, only a few paces from where Igyeol stayed. From that seat, the view was beautiful—especially on a night of falling snow. Perhaps Igyeol might even glance outside. He brushed off the snow and sat, his intentions as plain as the whitened ground around him.

Plop, plop—the sound of flakes settling heavy upon the umbrella echoed as he stared forward. If only Igyeol could see this too. How long he sat thus, he did not know, until at last the creak of a door reached his ears.

His head turned instinctively. Draped in only a light cardigan, Igyeol stepped out onto the terrace. He gazed blankly at the low, white hills of snow before his eyes caught on a dark silhouette.

Breath misted from parted lips, cheeks flushed pink, pale brown hair jeweled with snowflakes that melted quickly into warmth. Startled, his eyes widened. Before he could ask what Dohyeon was doing there, Dohyeon rose and drew closer. Without hesitation, he stripped off his coat and laid it over Igyeol’s thin shoulders, faster than the refusal could leave his lips.

“The view was beautiful. I thought it would be better if you saw it too.”

“……”

“Better still, if we saw it together.”

He tilted the umbrella toward Igyeol, baring himself to the snow. Flakes dusted his black hair, his shoulders, his pale, weary face. So near, after so long—the face that was striking even in ruin, and sharper now, thinned by strain. While I was broken and wretched, this man had not changed. Resentment pricked Igyeol; Dohyeon was still handsome.

“…What is it you want from me?”

“If I said what I wanted… would you let me?”

“…No. I asked so I could tell you no.”

The silence was broken only by the patter of snow on the umbrella. Meeting his gaze, Igyeol spoke with a face on the verge of tears, his breath trembling in the cold.

“I’m shaken. I’ve held on so well until now, but standing here, face to face… it all crumbles. But I don’t want it to.”

“…I know.”

“I can’t imagine us together again. I… I can’t do it.”

His voice trembled like one terrified. Dohyeon’s expression twisted. Had it shown? Had he failed to hide it so badly, his heart laid bare for Igyeol to see? He had thought his concealment tight, yet here, before the one man who mattered, it had slipped out so easily.

“I know.”

“……”

“I want to be brazen, to say let’s begin again. But I can’t either. …I’m sorry for shaking you.”

At the low rumble of his voice, Igyeol dropped his gaze.

Two more months. That was all that remained until the divorce was finalized. By law, once the reflection period passed and the new year came, the court date would confirm their intent, and it would be over. In January, a new start.

What began as a wish for snow not to end had become, in Dohyeon’s heart, a plea for this night never to end. Ah. The sigh drew Igyeol’s eyes, and knowing it was selfish, Dohyeon let it spill.

“But… is it so wrong to shake you? To hope you might waver toward me?”

“……”

“If that hope changes us—then I must be mad.”

His hand, ice-cold, lifted to touch a cheek flushed from the cold. A brief caress, and then it fell away, the warmth fleeting. He longed even for that. His lips parted; Dohyeon’s eyes fixed upon them. Igyeol swallowed.

“Even if I waver… there’s no going back to what we were.”

“……”

“You know that as well as I.”

The words returned to Dohyeon, the same he had once flung at Igyeol. Now he knew how they burned. Pressing his palm to his chest, he forced a broken laugh through a face on the verge of tears. Snow cascaded from his shoulders, falling heavily at his feet.

“How did you endure it? Even hearing it now tears me apart.”

Igyeol tilted his head back, fighting the hot sting of tears.

“You should have struck me. Kicked me away.”

“……”

“There are endless reasons why we can’t. But each time you falter, I think—perhaps there’s a chance again. And it’s absurd. …But now, truly…”

His trembling lids lowered, then lifted. Dohyeon’s eyes clung to his hand as it dropped, and he whispered, faint as despair.

“I think… I have to let go.”

It was a voice so broken it evoked pity. He laughed, unable to cry, while Igyeol turned away instead of lingering. His hand reached for the terrace door—when the coat slipped from his shoulders.

It fell into the snow with a soft thud. Kneeling, he lifted it, only to see the drops that fell upon the dark fabric were not all snow. They were his own tears. Harshly he scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand.

This time, it was truly over. A bond stretched thin, again and again refusing to break, at last had snapped. Seo Dohyeon would no longer hold him, and he would no longer waver for a man who would not stand before him again.