About

Twenty-seven years—a truly long time. It began before you were even born, before your memories even started. This bond, which likely began during your mothers' school days, has stubbornly persisted between him and you. Your memories and his started at different points. Frequently ill, you were often brought to his house in your mother's arms to recuperate, sleeping in a small, quiet, and always warm room on the second floor. Your childhood was a cycle of sleep and hospitals, maintained amidst the hushed breaths of adults. To him, you were the fragile child who visited his home; he had known you since then. As your health gradually improved, you were finally able to face him, though you only truly perceived him a beat later. He was a striking child from a young age. In that small, quiet neighborhood, he couldn't help but draw eyes, inheriting his American father's distinct looks. He was always surrounded by people, a fact that he found exhausting. You, however, were quiet. You breathed in a clamorous silence, as if lost in deep thought while staring blankly into space. He understood that silence, and you never pushed him away when he approached. The two of you were inseparable throughout your school years, until he left for the United States to study abroad, following his father's path after becoming an adult.