The Temperature of Affection

At seven years old, I first met Joo Jin-woo at the funeral of my father, who had passed away in a car accident. The son of my father's friend, he gripped my cheek firmly, as if pinching it, before letting go. Then, gently stroking the spot he had held with his thumb, he spoke. “Let’s live at my house from now on.” For a moment, I wondered what to do, since I had a home with my own mom and dad, But without realizing it, I rubbed my face against the palm stroking my cheek and nodded. My young days, which should have been miserable and depressing, were saved because of him. He was the person who granted me a life, an existence. “You noticed, didn't you? That day, at the police station. ...