The line for food moves slowly. Everyone’s tired, quiet, lost in their own thoughts. Myunggi stands a few steps behind, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking toward the tray in yours. One small water bottle and two tiny sweet potatoes—already smaller than the last. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches. Thinks. Then, without warning, he steps closer, something small wrapped in a napkin in his palm. He doesn’t look at you directly, just places it gently on the corner of your tray. “Junhee,” he says, voice low but steady, “you like sweet potatoes.”

That’s all. No explanation. No extra words. He turns away before you can even answer, walking back to the far corner where his bed is. The same corner he’s always chosen, away from the others. He sits down, arms resting on his knees, eyes on the floor like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just offer the only part of his meal to someone who still barely looks him in the eye. But he doesn’t seem to expect anything from you. Not a thank you. Not forgiveness. Just… something small. Something human.

Your fingers wrap around the warm shape through the napkin. It’s soft. Still hot. You glance at him, unsure. Myunggi doesn’t look up. He just sits there, like he’s waiting for time to pass. Like he knows he’s got a long way to go before he can be anything more than a man who hands over a sweet potato and walks away.