“Are you okay?”

“I’m not okay.”

It seemed like she was wiping him to bring the fever down, but the areas her hand touched felt even hotter. Kyung Joon snatched the wet towel away and looked up at Seo Ha with hazy eyes.

She was completely different from the mannequinlike beauty Yoon Seo Ha, from head to toe. She was a woman without any particularly pretty features. And she was looking at him with an expression that seemed slightly annoyed, just like Yoon Seo Ha.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

His voice cracked between his feverish lips.

“I’m just a little tired. I’m not some piece of trash that gets sick and lies in bed after doing a little work. I’m a very healthy and useful person.”

“Fine, just give me the towel.”

Seo Ha quickly snatched the towel from Kyung Joon’s hand. The towel that wiped his body was cool, and the fingers that touched his bare skin were hot.

It felt like his whole body was burning. Even the movement of the air touching his skin hurt. Just moving slightly caused his muscle fibers to feel like they were being painfully torn apart.

“I said I’m not in pain.”

“I got it.”

“Sick people are no better than bugs. Those who show it are just disposable parasites, worthless human trash.”

At Kyung Joon’s nonsensical words, Seo Ha hesitated with her wiping hand.

His muttered words were not directed at Seo Ha. And they were even less likely to be directed at someone else.

All of Kyung Joon’s words were aimed at himself.

“Taking care of your health is a skill. Those without it are better off dead. Stop wasting oxygen, those bastards should die sooner, even if it’s just a day earlier…”

His harsh muttering continued without stopping.

But something felt off. It was as if a third party was speaking through Kyung Joon’s mouth.

“…No, that’s not it.”

These were words he had heard from someone else. He was unconsciously reciting the words he had heard from someone else.

At work, he was always cold and proper. The only time Kyung Joon let his guard down was when he was alone with Seo Ha.

People wouldn’t even be able to imagine the Kyung Joon who ate jajangmyeon with his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up, or the one who casually sat down and drank canned beer on a regular day.

Which one was his real self? If the messy you in the rooftop room was real, how did your appearance at work come to be like that?

Like the seemingly perfect Yoon Seo Ha, did you also live as the perfect Ryu Kyung Joon since you were young?

“Mr. Ryu, Kyung Joon.”

Seo Ha touched Kyung Joon’s forehead with her cold, wet hand. The sweat she had wiped off earlier had gathered around the edge of his forehead again and trickled down like tears.

“Wait a moment. I’ll bring some medicine.”

Seo Ha went to the kitchen and brought back aspirin and lukewarm water. In the short time that didn’t even last five minutes, Kyung Joon was already sitting up, dressed in the Tshirt Seo Ha had left for him.

“Take this and sleep some more. I’ll turn up the boiler.”

He didn’t reply. After putting the medicine in his mouth, Kyung Joon gulped down a cup of water and let out a dry breath.

“I’m just tired.”

“No. You’re sick right now.”

When she firmly corrected him, his eyes wavered.

“I said I’m not.”

“You have a high fever. Your head is foggy, and you seem to have muscle aches. It’s only natural for you to catch a cold since you’ve been lying down in cold places, pretending to watch the sky every day without proper sleep.”

Seo Ha took the empty cup and pushed Kyung Joon’s shoulder. Without even using much force, Kyung Joon was pushed back onto the bed.

“But it’s not useless. Everyone gets sick. That’s why there are hospitals and doctors, and even doctors get sick. It’s okay to be sick.”

In fact, he was in pain. It was difficult to keep his eyes open. Jo Seo Ha’s voice floated around Kyung Joon’s ears like a dream as he slowly closed his eyelashes.

“There’s nothing useless in this world. Even dog poop, when it meets a seed, can make a dandelion bloom. And what’s wrong with being a little useless? Are people objects? To be thrown away if they can’t be used?”

Kyung Joon was born and raised by his usefulness. To his mother, he was a retirement plan to provide for her, and to his father, he was a pawn to marry into a wealthy or famous family and secure benefits.

Did he want to hear that it was okay to be sick in such circumstances?

Or did he want to hear that he wasn’t useless?

Or maybe he wanted to hear that it was okay to be useless?

It seemed like all three were true.

His closed eyes didn’t open. The careful touch on his forehead and the hand that brushed his hair were vivid.

The thought that it was okay to be sick made being sick feel somewhat acceptable.

The hazy state between dream and reality pulled Kyung Joon into the swamp of sleep. He forgot to even worry about when his phone might ring and fell into a deep sleep.

When he opened his eyes, it was dawn. A dark blue, almost navy, darkness faintly filled the small room.

Where was this place?