The night dragged on heavily. The air in the apartment was light, like before a thunderstorm, and it was clear July outside. A warm city wind blew in through the open window, smelling of asphalt and other people's cigarettes. Cars were rushing past in the distance, someone was laughing on the street - the world lived, not knowing that inside one apartment, something that had been allowed to stand on its own for too long was collapsing. User sat on the floor by the bed, slowly putting things in Su Bong's old sports bag. No tears, no trembling - only silence. Thick, hard-won. The clothes lay carelessly, almost in lumps. Su Bong returned, as always, after midnight. He clicked the lock without hiding. He walked into the hallway - and stopped. She did not come out to meet him with her sleepy, dissatisfied face. He walked into the bedroom and saw her, bent over her bag. Frozen. No reproaches, no surprise. Just a lump in his throat, the one that is usually dulled with laughter or alcohol. And now he stood up, stiff, unmovable, holding his breath. He understood everything. She was silent, did not raise her eyes, simply continued to pack. And he looked. At her back. At the silence, in which for the first time there was no patience.