The Color of What Was Never Said

On the morning of my discharge, Mo-young came to the hospital room.

At that time, I was completely out of it.

They said I’d be discharged in a few hours, yet there were endless test results to check and an overwhelming number of medications to sort through.

By the time they started explaining the warning signs of the heat cycle and how to respond to each stage, along with which medications to take depending on the timing, my head was spinning.

So when Mo-young showed up and broke the flow, I couldn’t have been more relieved.

“Hyung!”

Mo-young strode into the room and immediately ruffled my hair, unable to hide how glad he was to see me.

“You looked like you’d spend your summer vacation rotting in the hospital, but I guess you’re getting discharged after all.”

“I can’t live in a hospital forever. I want to go to a real park, not just the rooftop garden. And the hospital bills must be insane. A private room isn’t cheap.”

“Why are you worrying about money? Your hyung has more than enough. Worry about your body and eat properly instead.”

It sounded harsh at first, but it wasn’t.

Even as he spoke bluntly, Mo-young carefully checked my complexion and even organized my medication instructions after receiving them from Dr. Jang.

“Looks like hyung isn’t here yet. I saw his car in the basement.”

“He’ll be up soon. He’s taking a call from the vice chairman.”

“Vice chairman, my ass…”

Mo-young pouted slightly at Gamja’s answer and immediately started nagging.

“Listen carefully, Yoo Sowon. You’re not getting discharged because you’re fully recovered. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Take your meds properly, don’t wander around outside for no reason. Be home before sunset, and if you go out, call Gamja hyung or Hobi hyung.

Actually, just don’t go out unless you have to. Don’t follow strangers.

If you feel your heat cycle coming, call someone immediately. Be careful around unfamiliar alphas. Got it?”

He spoke so fast without taking a breath that I ended up laughing.

“Hyung, I’m not a kid.”

“Exactly.”

Mo-young frowned and shook his head.

“Honestly, I’d feel more at ease if you were a newborn. I could just wrap you up and leave you in the corner of my studio.”

“You should never have kids…”

His nagging was a bit much, but somehow, it felt nice.

Even if his kindness came from his relationship with the original ‘Yoo Sowon’…

‘Hey, let me borrow it a bit.’

If I considered it compensation for ending up in this ridiculous situation, it was a cheap deal.

Once everything returned to normal, I’d give this body back anyway, so it worked out for both sides.

Fix my body, keep good relationships with the people around me—where else would you find a deal like this?

Mo-young set down the things he brought and examined me again.

His slightly upturned eyes and tightly pressed lips gave off a cold impression, but the way he adjusted my clothes and smoothed my messy hair was incredibly gentle.

Watching him move around busily, I suddenly sniffed.

“…What is that?”

Mo-young, who had been texting someone, turned to me sharply.

“What?”

“Hyung, can you come here for a second?”

Lately, I had been checking whether I could sense pheromones whenever I was around Woo Jaeyoung, and because of that, I’d started paying more attention to scents.

And from Mo-young, who came closer, I caught a sharp, slightly stinging smell.

Mo-young was a dominant omega like me, so even if I could sense pheromones now, I shouldn’t be able to smell his.

Then what was this smell…?

“Hyung.”

I asked cautiously, my expression serious.

“Do you… sniff glue or something?”

“What are you talking about?! No?!”

Mo-young jumped in place.

“No, it smells like paint or something.”

“Oh, this? Probably gesso. I was stretching a canvas. Came straight from the studio.”

“Canvas…”

“I’m an art student. You are too, you know? My junior by one year.”

“…Me?”

“Yeah. You’re good at drawing.”

An art student.

I rolled the unfamiliar word around in my mouth.

Until now, this small hospital room had felt like my entire world.

I hadn’t had the space to think about anything beyond recovery.

Could I start finding pieces of ‘Yoo Sowon’s’ life… and my own?

My chest stirred with both anxiety and anticipation.

“Jaeyoung hyung.”

Woo Jaeyoung, who had just arrived, leaned against the door and tilted his head.

“They said I’m an art student.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you seen my drawings?”

“A few times.”

“Were they good?”

“I’m a thug with no eye for art.”

“……”

“They were good. But…”

After confirming everything was packed, Woo Jaeyoung bent down and lifted me easily into his arms.

Holding me with one arm, he reached out with the other and took the medicine bag from Mo-young.

“Now that I think about it, they were exactly like you—tiny and strange.”

“…What?”

While I stared at him blankly, he turned to Mo-young.

“Did you move everything?”

“Yeah, it’s at the office. Left a few urgent things in the studio.”

“Hang in there a few days. I’ll get you a new place nearby.”

“What about Sowon’s things?”

“I’ll pick them up now.”

Leaning against his shoulder, I chimed in quietly.

“Now? The studio?”

From what I gathered, they had been sharing a studio, and for some reason, they were moving.

“Yeah. I’ll show you. You used it for about a year—maybe seeing it will bring something back.”

Memories not directly covered in the original story would probably be hard to recover.

Still, I was grateful he was thinking of me, so I quietly thanked him.

Then suddenly, I caught a faint unfamiliar scent from him and sniffed again.

“Hyung, you smell too.”

He stopped walking in the hallway.

“…What? What kind of smell? Be specific.”

His voice turned urgent, and I hesitated before answering.

“It smells like cigarettes…”

“……”

“Did you smoke?”

After a brief pause, he let out a dry laugh.

“Ah, yeah. I smoked and came straight up. You don’t like it? Want me to put you down?”

“No, it’s not that.”

It was a bit surprising.

He was a heavy smoker, and when we first met, he always carried that bitter, smoky scent.

But since I’d been hospitalized, he had cut down.

At least around me, he was careful, and rarely came in right after smoking.

“It’s a habit.”

A habit.

For some reason, I wondered if it had something to do with the ‘vice chairman’ Mo-young and Gamja mentioned.

“I’m fine. I’m not a kid.”

To prove it, I buried my nose against the back of his neck and inhaled again.

“But I thought all cigarette smells were harsh, but yours is a bit different. Do they mix flowers into cigarettes these days?”

He laughed softly and adjusted his hold on me as he carried me to the car.

“Smoke is smoke. What’s different about it? Fasten your seatbelt.”

“It is different…”

If I had thought more about that faint scent and tried to describe it better, would something have changed?

Before I could dwell on it, Woo Jaeyoung moved away, and I got caught up in the excitement of finally being discharged, forgetting about it entirely.

“Try something.”

Out of nowhere, Woo Jaeyoung jerked his chin toward the easel.

I had been looking around the studio, surprised by how bright it was despite its size, and turned to him in confusion.

“Try what?”

“What you’re good at. There’s plenty of materials here.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

The art supplies that filled half the studio were all apparently mine.

Canvases of various sizes, sketchbooks, brushes, paints—and things I had no idea how to use—were scattered everywhere.

‘I’m not the art student. Yoo Sowon is.’

If I was a college student, I was probably on leave right now.

At this rate, even going back would be a problem.

This wasn’t something I could brush off as “I changed a bit due to amnesia.”

‘And I don’t even remember my own life before this!’

Realizing I had to recover not just ‘Yoo Sowon’s’ memories but my own made my chest feel tight.

Unaware of my inner turmoil, Woo Jaeyoung picked up a sketchbook and flipped through it.

“You used to get so excited whenever you came here. Once you picked up a brush, you’d disappear—ignored my calls more than once. When I asked if you liked Mo-young more than me, you’d argue back seriously. It was kind of cute…”

As he flipped through the pages, his hand suddenly stopped.

A pitch-black sheet seemed to swallow all the light.

Looking closer, it wasn’t black paper—it had been painted black.

From one corner to the other, completely filled.

When he brushed over it, black pigment stained his fingertips.

“Now that I think about it, I don’t think I ever really understood your drawings.

I knew painting was the only thing you truly liked, but I never understood why—or what your work meant.”

“……”

“So draw something. Anything. If I watch you…”

His dark eyes rested on the black painting, almost mirroring it.

“Maybe then I’ll understand why you filled this entire page with nothing but black.”