His Scarf | taekook ✔️

t w o

It was still snowing the next day.

Maybe it would've been easier if Jeongguk chose to ignore the stranger's act of kindness. But as he stepped out of his afternoon shower, he couldn't help it when his gaze lingered on that scarf that draped over the back of his chair. With one hand toweling his wet hair, he picked it up and felt the soft texture caress his fingers.

Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of gold— gold letters threaded into the material, writing Chestnut Nursing Home in cursive so elegant and minuscule that Jeongguk had to squint to make out the words. His mind fogged with puzzlement.

With one quick motion, Jeongguk plopped himself down on the swivel chair (that he bought only because the idea of rolling around excited him) and wheeled himself to his desk, hands flying up to hover over the keyboard.

Chestnut Nursing Home, he typed into the search bar.

It was indeed a home for the elderly, all the way across town. In fact, Jeongguk was familiar with that town. It was well-known for its Christmas festivities and lights.

Now why on Earth would he be at a nursing home?

Jeongguk wondered if it would be the right thing to do— returning the scarf to the rightful owner. Chances are, he might not even be there.

He huffed, knowing that his mind was already made. The idea of adventures never really sparked joy in Jeongguk. That handsome brunette, however, sparked curiosity. It was almost funny— how he ignored his family's texts and missed calls, but chose to pay this stranger a visit instead.

"What do you think, meatball?" He asked as if he'd get some kind of answer from his cat.

Meatball lifted its petite head from the kitchen counter and looked at him. If she had eyebrows the same way humans do, they would've been raised.

"I guess I'm going, then."

Every step felt like a choice he'd live to regret. Soon he was on the bus, shifting uncomfortably in his black skinny jeans as he took his usual seat near the driver. Jeongguk kept his eyes out the window, occasionally looking down to study the directions to the nursing home on his phone screen. The scarf laid on his lap.

Just hop off, charge into the building, hand him the damn scarf and you'll be free to go.

"Papa."

Jeongguk peered over his shoulder and spotted the little girl perched on top of her father's lap.

"Look at those lights." She pointed with her dainty little finger at one of the heavily decorated houses around the block. "They're so pwetty."

Her father laughed. "Yes, sweets. But is it better than ours?"

The toddler shook her head.

"Mhm. All we gotta do is go downtown and find you that star for the tree."

Jeongguk squeezed his eyes shut like those words physically hurt him. It reminded him of something he hasn't fully grasped, something he found too painful to accept. He'd developed a deep hatred for this time of year.

Apparently his stop had arrived sooner than Jeongguk thought, because the bus jostled to a halt and prompted the boy to get off. The soles of his boots printed patterns onto the snow as Jeongguk let his feet lead him along the pavement. He made it into the parking lot of this small, white tiled building that blended impeccably into its surroundings.

Jeongguk huffed as he approached. Every exhalation fogged the air with an ephemeral white cloud. It had barely dissipated before the next warm breath condensed into another misty plume.

He pushed open the glass doors, feeling warmth creep in.

The reception area was neat. Pens in penholders and stacked up paperwork. Jeongguk could feel his confidence diminishing the closer he made it to the front desk.

"Hi there," The receptionist said brightly, "Our visiting hours just opened. Do you have an appointment?"

"Oh, no." Jeongguk shook his head, rubbing his nape in a timid manner. "I'm actually looking for someone." He presented the scarf in his hand. "Someone lended it to me and I felt like returning it."

The lady blinked at it. "Oh! Well, to be honest with you, there are a lot of people who owns one of these. We give them out when the winter season starts... I'm not sure if I can help you," She said apologetically.

Jeongguk nodded in understanding, scanning the room as if he could find some—

"Wait," He spoke, pointing at the gifts piled onto a foldable table. "The ones wrapped in red and gold. Who dropped them off?"

"Oh, is Tae who you're looking for? Of course he'd lend strangers his things," She let out a laugh. "He's currently in one of the intensive care rooms... Would you like me to go fetch him?"

"You can just... point me in the right direction," Jeongguk suggested, "I don't want to be a bother."

The lady gave him the room number and pointed him down the corridor to the elevator. The walls were decorated with handmade ornaments, tinsels and strings of popcorn and beads instead of cranberries.

Life serves as a random string of beads; a chaotic sequence of sparkling, monotonous, ostentatious and revolting. Each one linked to the next by string— by time, but we cannot predict what comes next.

Jeongguk's beads were dull. Walking down that corridor was discovering new colors and patterns, especially when he did not fathom how this stranger was about to turn his world upside down.