~[Chapter 14] Coincidental~
The office was winding down for the day.
Alex sat at his desk, reviewing files that blurred together after too many hours of staring at screens.
His mind wasn't on the reports. It hadn't been all day.
He kept replaying the phone call from last night. Moon's voice through the listening device.
The pauses—long silences where someone on the other end was speaking, probably giving orders Alex couldn't hear.
I know, sir,
no. I'm not,
i'll handle it.
That last one—the hesitation before it. What was he going to handle? What the hell was Moon hiding? Who he really was?
Alex's jaw tightened.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"Come in."
Moon entered, tablet in hand, posture perfect as always. But there was something in his expression—a careful neutrality that felt more guarded than usual.
"Sir," Moon started. "Is there anything else you need before we close for the day?"
Alex studied him for a moment. Moon's face gave nothing away.
"No," Alex said finally. "I'm tired. That'll be all."
Moon hesitated. "Actually, I wanted to request permission to leave early today. There's somewhere I need to be."
"Somewhere... where?"
The question came out more unfiltered than Alex intended.
Moon's expression didn't change.
"It's personal, sir."
"Personal." Alex leaned back in his chair. "this personal place doesn't have a name?"
Moon lowered his gaze, and said nothing.
Silence stretched between them for some moments before Alex spoke.
"Fine. Go."
"Thank you, sir." Moon bowed slightly and turned to leave.
"Moon."
He stopped, and turned.
"Don't wear yourself out," Alex said. "We have gala preparations for this weekend."
"Of course, sir."
Moon left.
Alex sat alone in his office, staring at the closed door.
Something suddenly snapped inside of him.
He stood, grabbed his keys, and followed.
Moon took a cab from the office, sitting in the back seat and watching the city blur past the window.
The drive was long—over an hour out of the city center, through neighborhoods that grew progressively less polished, more worn at the edges.
The cab finally stopped in front of a small local hospital. Modest. Clean but clearly underfunded.
Moon paid the driver and stood on the sidewalk for a moment, staring up at the building.
He exhaled slowly. Then walked inside.
The reception area was quiet. A few nurses moved through the halls with practiced efficiency. Moon approached the desk with a small smile—familiar, expected.
"Kim Moony," he said. "I'm here to see Da-on."
The nurse smiled warmly. "She's been talking nonstop about you all day. Room 214, same as always."
"Thank you."
Moon headed down the hallway, past rooms with open doors, the quiet beeping of monitors, the smell of antiseptic and exhaustion.
Outside, Alex's car pulled up to the hospital gate. The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror.
"Sir?"
"Park somewhere out of sight," Alex said. "I'll be right back."
"Yes, sir."
Alex stepped out and moved toward the entrance. He kept his head down, posture casual, unremarkable.
Inside, he approached the same reception desk Moon had just left.
"Excuse me," Alex said. "I'm looking for someone who just came in. Tall, dark hair, grey suit."
The nurse looked up. "Oh, Mr. Kim? He went down that way. Room 214, down that hall."
"Thank you."
Alex moved quietly through the corridor, following the room numbers.
210. 212. 214.
He stopped.
The door was open.
Inside, Moon's voice—softer than usual, gentle in a way Alex had never heard before.
"Ready to go?" Moon asked.
A young woman's voice responded—weak, strained, but warm.
"You're late."
"I know. I'm sorry. Work ran long."
"You're always working."
"Well someone has to work hard so you'll get to live a decent life."
A soft laugh.
"That's not supposed to be your job. Besides I'm older. But I appreciate it anyway."
Alex risked a glance around the doorframe.
Moon was crouched beside a wheelchair, adjusting the footrests. In the chair sat a young woman—early twenties, thin, dark hair.
Her skin was mottled with terrible burn scars that covered most of her visible body.
An oxygen tube ran beneath her nose. Her hands, resting on the armrests, were twisted and scarred.
But her eyes were bright. Alive.
Moon stood and moved behind the wheelchair, gripping the handles.
"Alright, let's go see them," he said quietly.
Alex pulled back as Moon wheeled the girl toward the door.
They passed within feet of where Alex stood hidden.
Moon's expression was unguarded—tired, sad, but filled with something Alex had never seen on his face before.
Love. Pure, uncomplicated love.
Alex waited until they turned the corner, then followed at a distance.
Moon wheeled Da-on through the hospital corridors and out the front entrance. They waited a few moments outside the gate before a cab pulled over.
"Mr. Kim," the driver greeted with a respectful nod. Clearly familiar with the routine.
"Thank you for coming fast," Moon said.
Together, Moon and the driver carefully helped Da-on into the back seat, collapsing the wheelchair and storing it in the trunk.
Alex watched from behind a pillar near the entrance.
The cab pulled away.
Alex moved quickly to his own car.
"Follow that cab. Keep your distance."
"Yes, sir."
The cab drove for fifteen minutes before pulling off the main road into a small cemetery.
Moon and the driver helped Da-on out, supporting her weight between them as they moved slowly through the rows of headstones.
Alex followed on foot, staying far back enough to remain unseen.
They stopped in front of a modest grave marker.
Alex was too far away to read the names, but he could see Moon crouch down beside it, one hand on Da-on's wheelchair, the other touching the stone.
Da-on said something. Moon responded, voice too low to hear.
They stayed for several minutes—silent, still, heads bowed.
Then they returned to the cab.
The next stop was a riverside park—quiet, nearly empty at the hour.
Moon set up a small picnic on a bench overlooking the water. Simple food. A few wrapped gifts.
Da-on smiled as Moon handed her a small package. She opened it carefully—a book, from what Alex could see.
They talked quietly. Da-on laughed at something Moon said, the sound bright and clear despite her frailty.
Then Moon sat down beside her on the bench and rested his head gently on her lap.
Da-on's scarred hand moved to his hair, petting it slowly, tenderly.
They stayed like that for a long time.
Alex watched from behind a tree several yards away.
This was Moon.
Not the perfect assistant. Not the lying Moon Alex had been witnessing. Not the scheming Moon that had been making him question everything he thought he knew.
Just... Moon. An exhausted, grieving, human Moon.
Alex turned and walked back to his car.
He didn't go home.
Instead, he returned to the hospital and approached the reception desk again.
"Excuse me," Alex said. "Uh... no offense, but... the young woman the man who just left was with—in Room 214. Can you tell me anything about her?"
The nurse looked uncertain. "Are you family?"
"A friend. I'm... concerned."
The nurse hesitated, studying him, then her expression softened.
"I can't give you medical details without consent, but..."
She glanced around, then leaned in slightly.
"Her name is Da-on. Kim Da-on. The young man who was with her—that's her younger brother, Moony."
Alex's chest tightened.
Sister.
The woman on the phone had been his sister.
"What happened to her?" Alex asked quietly.
The nurse's expression grew somber.
"She and her brother survived a terrible fire about fourteen years ago. Their parents didn't make it. Da-on's been in and out of hospitals ever since—burn treatment, reconstructive surgeries, respiratory complications from smoke inhalation. It's been... difficult."
"And her brother?"
"Moon? He used to come regularly, but recently..." The nurse shook her head. "It's been months between visits. I don't know, I think he's been working—trying to cover the medical expenses, probably. Though there's been someone else helping with the bills."
Alex straightened slightly.
"Someone else?"
"An anonymous benefactor. The payments come through regularly, have for years now. We don't know who it is—the family doesn't know too, I think. But without that help..."
She trailed off, the implication clear.
"When did this happen again?" Alex asked, voice carefully controlled. "You said fourteen years ago?"
"Yes. February 6th, 2012." The nurse's voice dropped. "I think that's why he's here today—it's their parents' death anniversary. They always go to visit the grave, spend time together. It's become their tradition."
February 6th, 2012.
Alex's blood went cold.
His mother and younger brother had died February 15th, 2012.
Nine days apart.
Different tragedies. Different causes.
But the same month. The same year.
"Are you alright?"
the nurse asked, concern creeping into her voice.
Alex forced himself to breathe.
"Yes. Thank you for the information."
He turned and walked out of the hospital, each step measured and deliberate, even as his mind spun.
He got into his car and signaled the driver to move.
But his mind was already racing toward answers he wasn't sure he wanted to find.