Yoojun had some money left in his pocket from the watermelon. It was only when his eyes opened in the middle of the night, that he noticed his heavy pockets.
Both the old man and him had fallen asleep. The cleaning took a heavy amount of time. It seemed like the old man was losing weight with each thing that was getting arranged.
And soon slumber caught the two.
But Yoojun woke up.
He checked the game screen.
It did not work.
Held himself in his arms by bringing his legs closer to his chest. His chin settled on his knee. The room was dark. He took the money from his pocket.
He may have been a mage in the game, but his dressing was still like any common NPC.
He chuckled at that thought.
Maybe he was an NPC.
Was he even real? Was everything about this life being a game—-a dream? Was he just in stupor right now?
He looked around the room which he could not see clearly.
It might have been a tad too real for it to be a dream. The roughness of the mats, the feeling of the wall against his back, the watermelon that had filled his stomach—it all felt far too real.
He opened the sliding door to the outside. He wore his shoes and stood outside. The wind nipped at his open body. He could see the orange, yellow and pink of the sun mixing with purple and blue.
He stood there. Until he walked out of the gate. He walked and walked, the celestial star making the path brighter, but surely taking its time.
He went to the market. The very place all of this had started, at least meeting the man. The people were reading newspapers that were still warm. The shops were opening. The world was moving at its pace, even if they were not real.
He was the only real person in the whole wide field of Adventure Sword.
But he doubted the old man's love was any less than his. He doubted his could ever reach those heights.
The men and women talking about their yesterdays and drinking tea or coffee—none of that seemed any less real than him.
A world is only as real as the one that experiences it—a quote he had heard someone once say. It was full of grandeur and bullshit that he didn't understand a word of.
He was good with his hands, not his brain.
But he guessed, he assumed ever so slightly, that this was what his sister meant.
Whenever he felt like a fake, she told him that.
But he did not want to remember her.
He does not want to remember anything. He just wanted to farm his life away. His cows and chickens must have started fighting to death by now, as he stood in a corner, under a tree. Wondering some useless poetry.
He saw the flower shop that he had bought the flower from at the funeral. It was a wooden shop. The flowers kept out, basking in the sun's glory.
There was a woman, short and old. Her face was buried in wrinkles, but she had legs that carried her everywhere. She stood there with a smile. Plenty bought her flowers. It made sense with how active the person was.
And he neared closer and closer—
"Do you want something, young man?" She smiled like he was her own son coming back from a long day of work.
"Dahlia…and sunflowers?"
"A bouquet?"
"No, I don't have that much money." Yoojun mumbled, his cheeks flushing. Yet again he was at the same point he was just yesterday.
"You bought one yesterday too, any occasion?" The woman walked with the happiness of a person who had received all in life.
"Someone I know whose wife died is letting me stay in their home?" Yoojun mumbled, unsure of how to phrase the point.
"Oh my who?" The woman's eyes widened, it was not something sad—just curiosity.
But not all curiosity was good.
"Um…can I get my flowers?" Yoojun looked down, he realized humans were the same regardless of which place they breathed in.
The woman quickly tied the two flowers together, "Sorry, that was rude of me."
She bit her inner lip and Yoojun just bowed and walked away.
He wanted to go home.
[NOT WORKING]
Damn it—he mumbled under his breath.
When he reached the quiet house, he realized the old man had not woken up yet. Yoojun decided to let him rest. He kept the flower next to the woman's grave.
He prayed for a soul that did not exist.
He walked to the back of the house. Somewhere he never had been at. He saw Posie moo at him. Hewent over to her and caressed her head.
She seemed to like that.
She looked fuller than yesterday, the hay in her shed half eaten and full dry.
He felt tired.
"There you are!" The old man came with soft footsteps that echoed in the emptiness.
"Weren't you asleep?" Yoojun asked.
"I was, I was, but I woke up." The old man's eyes glimmered like those dresses that Yoojun had seen with his sister on the fashion walks.
His sister loved anything that sparkled.
"Did you need anything?" Yoojun asked without much care.
"No, no." The old man shook his head.
"Okay."
"Thank you." The old man suddenly said and then he walked back to the entrance.
Yoojun did not understand why he thanked him. But he felt annoyed. A thought–why is he so happy when I am not—slipped in.
But he felt like the man's happiness was a good answer to not ask.
He never really understood people as well as other people believed they did. He did not think anyone understood anyone, they were just lying.
Hell, he did not understand his own feelings.
And maybe that was the hardest part of everything—being understood.
But he decided it was time to cook food rather than think.
So he went inside, just to find the old man cooking.
"Is this too salty? I can't taste it?" The old man took the soup or whatever he was cooking in a small dipping bowl.
Yoojun tasted it. He scrunched his nose as his tongue felt numb.
"Too much." He groaned.
"Oh…I'm sorry I suddenly could not taste and added too–."
"Because you are old, let me cook before you end up killing me." Yoojun rolled his eyes and his sleeves as the old man looked down.
"You don't have anything to thank me for." Yoojun mumbled to himself.
"Maybe you think so." The old man grumbled.
Then they were silent.
And the silence persisted for a whole month. Only interrupted by small talks that the old man would try to make.
Yoojun ignored him.
For the next few days, Yoojun boughat flowers, cleaned the house, checked if he could go home, took Posie for rounds, and bought groceries.
The old man was always just looking at the grave. Since Yoojun did not allow him to do anything else.
Yoojun tried to do everything.
But on the twenty-seventh of the month, there were no flowers.
It had been exactly one month since Yoojun couldn't go home.