The 47th Floor

"Whoa! This is as expensive as that piano in the practice hall back in Daejeon!"

Ji-woo shot across the room toward the piano and circled it this way and that, chattering as he inspected every inch of it.

Yeon-jae knew at once which piano he meant. A black Bösendorfer. The instrument standing before him was the same brand—though the one here was something far more special.

It was the same reaction Yeon-jae herself had given, the first time she'd seen it.

The first piano that had ever been hers. She couldn't begin to count how many times she had pressed those keys in this place.

Heat pricked at the corners of Yeon-jae's eyes as she looked at it. Emotion surged up from somewhere deep in her chest, thick and sudden.

He had prepared it for her. She had assumed that five years ago, when she left, he would have cleared this place out. Or even if he hadn't—she had been certain that piano, at least, would be gone. The Je-heon of now had no memories of any of it.

A piano that could only have left him with unpleasant feelings. An object that had appeared out of nowhere. It wasn't in his nature to leave something like that sitting there.

Then... why?

Why is it still here? The words dissolved in her mouth before she could speak them. Her thoughts tangled over themselves, a skein of thread knotted beyond unraveling.

Ji-woo, unlike his mother, was radiant.

"Mom, can Ji-woo try playing this piano?"

The child's eyes shone. That gaze was so straight, so earnest, it was almost too much to bear. Yeon-jae's mouth went dry as she looked at him.

"Ji-woo. Mom isn't the owner of this place, so it's hard for me to say yes."

"Okaaay. Yeah. But Ji-woo really wants to play it. It looks even nicer than the one in the hall!"

Even a five-year-old's eyes could tell the piano in front of him was something else. Ji-woo stayed in his seat, stroking the lid of the keyboard with a look of longing, unable to bring himself to stand.

Then the thud of footsteps reached Yeon-jae's ears. Sensing someone approaching, Ji-woo turned toward the hallway. The footsteps drew closer—and when the figure rounded the corner, Ji-woo's eyes went wide.

"If you want to play that badly, then play."

"Mister!"

Je-heon stood there. Not in his usual suit, but in casual clothes. Yeon-jae glanced down at her watch. A weekday, and barely past lunch. She wanted to ask what on earth he was doing here—but seeing him with Ji-woo, her lips wouldn't move.

"Can I really play it? Mister, can Ji-woo and Mom really live here?"

"That's what I made this space for."

"You did?"

Ji-woo's eyes went wide all over again.

"Is this your house, Mister?"

"Mm. It's my house, too. I own it."

Je-heon turned from the boy. His gaze slid across the room and settled on Yeon-jae.

"Your mom wanted somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one would know about."

"........."

"A place like a secret room, where she could focus on the piano without anyone bothering her."

His eyes didn't leave hers. They seemed to ask whether she was satisfied now. She rolled her lip between her teeth and bit down.

"This is a place only I know about."

"Only you?"

"Yeah. Though a few more people will know about it now."

The man's gaze left Yeon-jae and returned to Ji-woo. Only then could she swallow the breath that had climbed all the way to her throat.

"That's... I never asked you to let us stay here."

Yeon-jae's hand, which had been pressing against her pounding heart, dropped into empty air.

"Is that why you haven't unpacked?"

He must have already seen their belongings stacked in the pantry by the entrance. Je-heon's eyes, which had been so still, darkened.

"I can't live here."

Yeon-jae clenched her fists. Those words brought it all rushing back—the day she had faced him in this very place, five years ago.

Had he lost his memories? It wasn't a misunderstanding. He was the one who had given her the master key to the residence. They had loved each other. The child in her belly was the fruit of that love—she had wanted to tell him all of it. None of it had reached him.

The day she had been so coldly driven out. That pitiless look in his eyes as he stared at her—the one that had found her pathetic, repulsive—was still as vivid as if it had been minutes ago. How could someone like her stay here, of all places? In this residence?

If she had known from the start that they would be moving here, she never would have gone along with what Je-heon said. She would have refused his offer to find them a place and somehow looked for housing in Seoul herself. Regret flooded through her so fast it wrecked her face. She had no composure left to hide behind. All she wanted was to get out of this place.

"There's no reason you can't live here. The place has been sitting empty this whole time. I was just about to get rid of it when a tenant turned up."

His voice was utterly indifferent as he started walking toward her. Before she knew it he was right in front of her, leaning in to whisper against her ear.

"You know it as well as I do. There's nowhere safer than this."

"............"

"I know why you don't want to. But you need to face reality. You think I enjoyed handing this place over?"

Je-heon caught one of Yeon-jae's hands as it drifted in the air. Before she could pull away, he closed her fingers around something.

"You'll know what that is better than I do."

With a look that told her to check, he straightened up. Yeon-jae's hand tightened around it. She thought she already knew.

Je-heon turned away from her to look at Ji-woo.

"You'll be living here for as long as you're in Seoul. Lessons start next week, and the same goes for Ji-woo's kindergarten. There's already a place lined up."

"Whoa."

Ji-woo let out a purely delighted gasp. The kindergarten didn't actually matter much to the child. What filled his head was the news that he would be taking lessons here starting next week—and that he could play the piano right now.

Ji-woo lifted the lid and began pressing the keys. Before long, a grating, discordant sound filled the living room.

"Mister! The piano sounds weird."

"A tuner's coming anyway. This thing's been asleep for a long time."

Je-heon walked over to Ji-woo, resting a hand on the piano as he spoke.

"Really? Nobody played it? Why?"

Curiosity rippled through the child's eyes at once. That no one had played a piano this fine—it was hard for a child to believe.

"Well. It doesn't have an owner."

"But it's so nice?!"

Ji-woo's eyes grew as wide as his voice was loud.

"But this is your house, Mister. Doesn't that make you the piano's owner?"

"That's just it."

Je-heon, who had been leaning against the piano with his arms crossed, uncrossed them and ruffled the boy's hair. A strange, unreadable feeling had surfaced in his eyes.

"I don't know either. Why this is here."

Then, still looking at the child, Je-heon lifted his gaze to Yeon-jae. Only she knew why the piano was here. As long as his memories didn't return.

"Huh? That's weird."

"Yeah. It is weird."

"Don't you play the piano, Mister?"

"I don't."

Je-heon answered without a trace of hesitation.

"Unlike you, I don't enjoy the piano. Looking at it, listening to it, playing it—none of it."

"......."

"Hehe, Ji-woo likes that!"

Ji-woo grinned and started pressing the keys again. The notes leapt and clashed, wildly out of tune—and still the smile never left the child's face.

Watching the boy absorbed in the piano, Je-heon came over and jerked his chin at Yeon-jae, along with a word that they needed to talk. Just for a moment.