The house was small.
Two rooms, thin walls, a kitchen that barely fit a table for two—but sunlight spilled through the window like it had nowhere else to be. The kettle whistled softly, cutting through the quiet of early morning.
Hye-jin stood at the stove, apron tied neatly around her waist.
"Joon-woo," she called, cheerful, "if you sleep any longer, breakfast will turn into lunch."
From the bedroom came a groan.
"Five more minutes…"
She laughed. A real laugh. The kind that surprised even herself.
Joon-woo shuffled out moments later, hair messy, wearing an old hoodie with faded letters. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the table.
Seaweed soup. Fried eggs. Rice still steaming.
"You woke up early again," he said.
She shrugged lightly. "Habit. The cart opens late today anyway."
He pulled out a chair and sat. "You don't have to cook this much. I'm fine with bread."
She placed the bowl in front of him with a firm hand. "Eat properly. You work with your body."
He smiled—small, but genuine.
They ate together in comfortable silence, the sound of spoons against bowls filling the room. Outside, a dog barked. Somewhere down the street, a radio played an old love song.
Hye-jin glanced at him. "How's your back?"
"Still attached," he said casually. "That's a good sign, right?"
She frowned. "Don't joke about your body."
"But you joke about mine all the time."
"That's different. I'm your mother."
He grinned, and for a moment, it felt like nothing bad had ever happened.
A sudden knock echoed through the house.
Three fast knocks. Too loud. Too familiar.
Before either of them could respond, a voice followed.
"Good morning! I smell seaweed soup! Auntie, are you feeding him properly or is he surviving on pride again?"
Joon-woo sighed, but there was already a hint of a smile.
"Min-jae."
The door opened without waiting.
Park Min-jae stepped in like he owned the morning itself—same age as Joon-woo, broad-shouldered from construction work, hair slightly messy, wearing his work jacket half-zipped. His grin was effortless.
"Ahhh," Min-jae said dramatically, breathing in the air. "This is what real life smells like."
Hye-jin laughed. "Come in, Min-jae. You're early today."
"Early shift," he replied, stepping inside and slipping off his shoes. "Someone has to make sure your son doesn't accidentally drop a steel beam on his foot."
"I've been working longer than you," Joon-woo muttered.
"Yes," Min-jae said seriously, pulling out a chair, "but I'm more handsome. That makes me the team leader."
"You carry bricks."
"I carry them with confidence."
Hye-jin poured him a bowl of soup, shaking her head fondly. "Eat before you two start fighting."
Min-jae took a spoonful and closed his eyes dramatically. "Auntie, if you ever stop selling tteokbokki and open a restaurant, I'll quit construction and become your manager."
"With what money?" Joon-woo asked.
Min-jae grinned. "With charm."
"You can't pay rent with charm."
"I've survived so far."
They ate together like this often now—three bowls, three spoons, steam rising between them.
"So," Min-jae said between bites, "today we're lifting beams on the east side. Foreman said it'll be heavy."
Joon-woo nodded. "I heard."
Min-jae glanced at him, tone softening just slightly. "Don't overdo it."
"You're the one who tries to lift everything alone."
"That's because I'm impressive."
"That's because you're reckless."
Min-jae pointed at him with his spoon. "You see? He cares about me, Auntie. He just doesn't know how to express it."
Hye-jin laughed warmly. "You two really are like brothers."
The word lingered for a second.
Min-jae's smile gentled. "Then I'll protect him like one."
Joon-woo didn't respond, but his jaw tightened slightly—not annoyed, but moved.
After breakfast, the two men stood at the door, putting on their boots.
"Ready?" Min-jae asked.
Joon-woo nodded.
As they stepped outside, Min-jae leaned closer and lowered his voice.
"Hey."
"What?"
"You're doing well."
Joon-woo glanced at him. "Doing what?"
"Living."
The teasing tone was gone now.
For a moment, the morning felt still.
Then Min-jae slapped his shoulder lightly. "Alright, enough drama. If we're late, the foreman will make us carry double."
They walked down the street side by side—two men in work boots, heading toward the harbor construction site, sunlight stretching ahead of them.
Inside the small house, Hye-jin watched from the window.
For the first time since everything fell apart…
She wasn't afraid of the future.