Even a Lonely Squirrel Has Its Burrow - Chapter 64

Chapter 64

Garam cautiously approached him, watching his reaction carefully.

Sa Muheon’s eyes moved sluggishly, following Garam’s movements. Though his eyes were open, he didn’t seem to be fully awake.

Garam, who had cautiously moved close to his face, let out a small cry.

“Squeak…?”

‘Are you okay…?’

At the same time, the small hand of the squirrel touched Sa Muheon’s cheek. And at that moment, his half-open eyes widened in surprise.

“Squeak…!”

“What the…”

Before Garam could say anything out of relief, Sa Muheon suddenly sat up, and his cold voice fell over Garam’s head.

“Why are you here?”

“Squeak…”

‘You looked unwell.’ That’s what Garam wanted to say, but all that came out of his mouth were the cries of a squirrel. Of course, Sa Muheon couldn’t understand a word.

Sa Muheon frowned, shaking his head.

“Ha, this is frustrating…”

Garam felt the same way, but hearing Sa Muheon say it out loud stung, as if sharp thorns had pierced his heart.

Garam clamped his mouth shut, and Sa Muheon didn’t press him further for an answer.

Then, as if he had just realized his body felt hotter than usual, he raised a hand to touch the back of his neck and frowned even more. Sa Muheon stood up, and Garam’s gaze followed him.

“…Sleep alone tonight.”

Without giving Garam a chance to respond, Sa Muheon opened the door and left the room.

Left alone on the wide bed, Garam stared at the open door for a long time.

It was Sa Muheon who had initially suggested they share the same room, worried that something might happen to Garam while he was in this form. And yet, he had just left with such a cold remark, telling him to sleep alone.

Garam clamped his mouth shut. He was careful not to let any cries escape, listening closely to the sounds outside.

It wasn’t that he expected Sa Muheon to return. He was just worried that the man, who looked so unwell, might collapse.

Fortunately, there were no sounds of anyone collapsing. In the distance, he heard the sound of another door closing. It seemed Sa Muheon had gone into the guest room.

Only then did Garam finally take his eyes off the open door. Slowly, he turned around and trudged across the bed with heavy steps.

He hopped onto the nightstand and curled up on his little bed, pulling his small body into a tight ball.

His heart felt both hollow and prickly, as if filled with needles. Pain and nausea washed over him simultaneously.

Garam pulled his tail close, hugging it tightly. Whenever he felt empty or overwhelmed, he would hold onto his tail. The soft fur gave him a sense of comfort, making him momentarily forget that he was all alone in this world.

But today was different. No matter how tightly he hugged his tail or buried his face in the fluffy fur, his heart refused to feel any fuller.

Instead, the emptiness grew, to the point where even his insides felt hollow.

Though he found it strange, Garam held his tail closer and forced his eyes shut.

As he closed his eyes, Sa Muheon’s unusually cold voice and actions replayed in his mind. The emptiness in his heart only deepened.

Though tears threatened to spill from his closed eyes, Garam held them back.

‘This is only temporary,’ he reminded himself. But even as he repeated those words, memories of Sa Muheon’s past kindness kept surfacing, interrupting his thoughts. And when the memory of his cold words from earlier resurfaced, the tears almost spilled over.

He could tolerate Sa Muheon avoiding him, even if it hurt more than he liked to admit. But he had to keep convincing himself that it was okay, as though brainwashing himself into believing it.

The kindness Sa Muheon had once shown had cushioned Garam’s heart, allowing him to endure the pain of being avoided.

But as it kept happening, Garam’s heart felt worn and depleted. Today, Sa Muheon’s words and actions left Garam visibly wounded, his pain too obvious to hide. A faint groan escaped his lips.

“Squeak… ee…”

The sound slipped out involuntarily, but Garam didn’t even realize he’d made it. He just curled himself tighter into a small, round ball.

And at some point, darkness descended.

—

In the guest room, Sa Muheon lay on a bed that showed no signs of use.

He wasn’t feeling well, so falling asleep quickly would’ve been ideal. But being quite particular about his sleeping arrangements, the unfamiliar bed provided him no comfort.

“Sigh…”

In the end, Sa Muheon let out a sigh, moved the arm that had been covering his eyes, and sat up.

Sa Muheon, born with a sensitive nature, would occasionally fall ill when he couldn’t control his temper. Today seemed to be one of those days.

Recently, starting with the stray kitten lingering nearby and the stress of Garam having to stay in his true form, it all contributed to his frustration. On top of that, being mindful of maintaining a distance from the small and young squirrel seemed to have played a decisive role.

Even though he thought he should keep a reasonable distance, he found himself repeatedly stopping his hand from reaching out to the tiny squirrel. While now he only flinched occasionally, getting to this point had required an unprecedented level of self-restraint for Sa Muheon.

He had succeeded in maintaining that distance, but today, when the squirrel suddenly appeared right before his eyes, he had been startled.

Moreover, as the squirrel came right up to him, he couldn’t help but worry if something had happened. He quickly scanned the squirrel from head to toe, but there didn’t seem to be anything visibly wrong.

When the squirrel couldn’t respond to his question about why it had come to him, he felt a surge of frustration. Surely, it had approached him because something was wrong, but not being able to communicate made the situation all the more exasperating.

At that moment, his head spun. Only then did Sa Muheon realize that his condition was far worse than he had initially thought.

He had noticed earlier in the day that he wasn’t feeling well. Though it was rare for it to get this bad, it wasn’t entirely surprising. At the same time, another worry began to surface.

He knew his illness stemmed from his inability to manage his temper, but what if it wasn’t just that? What if he had caught a cold and ended up passing it on to this tiny squirrel? The thought was absurd, yet it lingered.

As soon as the idea crossed his mind, Sa Muheon immediately got up. He figured that spending at least one night apart would be better for both himself and the little squirrel.

But the unfamiliar bed didn’t allow him to fall asleep. Eventually, he decided he might need to take an extra sleeping pill, fully sitting up.

Creak—

The sound of the door opening wasn’t particularly loud, but Sa Muheon opened it cautiously, worried that the squirrel might wake up.

Once out of the room, he headed straight to the kitchen and began rummaging through a drawer.

“Tsk…”

But he couldn’t find the medicine he was looking for. Only then did he remember that the sleeping pills he occasionally took on restless nights were stored in the drawer of the nightstand. Of all times, why now? Clicking his tongue lightly, Sa Muheon carefully moved back toward the bedroom.

The squirrel couldn’t have closed the door, so it was still left ajar, just as he had left it. Sa Muheon cautiously pushed it open. The familiar sight of the bedroom came into view as the door silently swung open.

Sa Muheon’s gaze bypassed his bed and immediately landed on the nightstand. There, on the small bed atop it, the squirrel lay under a blanket.

It seemed odd that the sensitive squirrel, easily startled by the smallest sound, hadn’t woken up yet, but he brushed it off as a sign of exhaustion.

Sa Muheon stepped carefully into the room. Even as he reached the nightstand, the squirrel remained motionless in its sleep.

“……”

The squirrel lay under the blanket, hugging its tail tightly. While there was nothing particularly unusual about its posture, an inexplicable sense of unease began to creep over him.

Noticing his hand trembling, Sa Muheon clenched it into a fist, then slowly relaxed it. He reached out carefully and placed his hand on the squirrel’s back.

The squirrel still didn’t move. When Sa Muheon lifted its small body, its arms, which had been clutching its tail, fell limply to its sides.

Even though Sa Muheon’s palms were hotter than usual due to his own fever, the squirrel’s body felt even warmer against his hand.