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← Have You Eaten?

Ep. 1

Untitled

2026-06-16

Cast: Junseo

The warmth of that clinic still won't leave my shoulder.

The rain had no intention of stopping before I reached home.

Every day. The same fingers. The same spot.

Cold coffee. Beneath it, the smell of antiseptic.

Yesterday, that clinic. Right here — the breath catches a beat too late.

For now. For now, it's still manageable. 'For now.' That word, used twice.

It's raining. Take at least something warm. …take it with you.

I have to return this. It's someone else's cup. But five days is too far away.

The fact that five days felt too far — that's what made me stop cold.

The next morning. The worn mark… I couldn't erase it.

What was in my bag felt like an egg. The umbrella… I knew I'd forget it again.

Deep in an alley. First floor of a low building.

The scent I'd known from the cup — here, it was the source.

Oh, do you have a reservation today…? No. You left a cup yesterday. I came to return it.

Ah, the director's cup. This one — the director really treasures it.

A cherished cup. Coffee still half inside. For me.

I caught that half-beat pause. "You didn't have to."

"…How could I not." "You said you use it every day." That's right—

$A grey rabbit that wasn't there yesterday. "Is it admitted?" "Came in yesterday. A fracture."$ Untitled #24

Rabbits have light bones — they break much more easily than people think.

Not a hand reaching out to touch — but one waiting to be approached.

He told the rabbit everything... But cut me off at 'Did you eat—'

Yesterday — you cut off right at 'Did you eat—'

That was— ...I was going to ask if you'd been eating properly.

For the rabbit to take its medicine properly, the guardian needs to be eating too. ...Professionally speaking. That's all.

...You skipped again yesterday. Not asking. That was a diagnosis.

Then do you ask all your other clients that too?

That silence was the answer. A habit that surfaces whenever he's at a loss.

The ground beneath me tilted to one side.

I've returned the cup, so I'll be— Going?

Like someone who wrapped 'don't go' in different words.

But I just returned it. I know. …It's raining again. You came without an umbrella.

An empty cup can't become an umbrella. As if pressing a reason to return into their hands, with my own.

Beyond the door, the next customer. The bell rang.

Next appointment is in five days. Keep the cat's medication on schedule. And you too — don't skip meals.

A back that looked like it was trying hard not to look back.

If I think about it any more, those five days will feel even farther away.

Because of this person, I've been caught in the rain twice now. But the strange thing was — I didn't mind.

The moment I stepped under the eaves, one vibration.

Before you go to sleep, could you count the cat's breaths for me? If it goes over thirty, let me know.

Precise. No fluff. This was a doctor's message.

The breathing count was about the cat. But I kept thinking of a different rhythm.

I wonder — how many times is my heart beating right now.

Yes, I'll count before I sleep. Thank you for letting me know. Maybe I should've written more.

Without realizing it, I'd memorized the place where he used to be.

Twenty-four. Under thirty. Still passable, for now.

They say he's the one who reads her pain. Then who reads his?

It was eleven at night. Did you count them?

Yes. Twenty-four a minute. That's a relief. After that, a long silence.

And you. Again — it stopped right there.

Even the tail of that simple question — I couldn't bring myself to finish it, not even in text.

I don't think I need to count mine. Though it does feel a bit fast. Too much?

That's… not something I can check for you.

He noticed — and chose to play dumb. In just that one line, I was completely seen through.

I'll come pick up the cat in five days, then. Sure. Please keep track of the breathing rate every day.

…Good night. This time, the call didn't drop. You too, Director.

I put down my phone and lay in the dark.

One excuse to return — held in my hand. One ending left to fill — on the screen.

It was clearly an empty cup. Something like warmth that hasn't cooled yet — still lingering here.