NLFSD Chapter 75

Chapter 75

What should today’s menu be… hmm. Wait, didn’t Taecheon already have grilled salmon with brown rice at the company cafeteria for lunch with executives?

Because Team Leader Song had buried him in work, Jiwoon had had no lunch himself, but Min mentioned she’d seen the Director eating with the board. Knowing the menu, Jiwoon wanted to prepare something hearty but different—not repeating the salmon.

Opening the fridge, he found crisp salad greens, cherry tomatoes, and oriental dressing. That reminded him of the cold pasta Taecheon once made—a memorable dish.

Maybe I’ll try salad pasta? With cherry tomatoes and greens, shredded chicken breast on top… Easy enough, right? I can do this.

He eagerly began. But immediately, an obstacle: what dish to serve it in? The fridge had all the ingredients, yet no proper plate—wide but deep enough—to hold pasta.

Strange. I swear I saw one before.

He crouched to open a lower cabinet. There—perfect. But as he stretched for it, a sharp pain ripped through his abdomen. His body temperature spiked as though fire ignited inside, like someone tugging hard downward in his gut.

“Hhk—!”

He lost balance—crash! The ceramic plate slipped, exploding into fragments. But Jiwoon cared not; curled on the floor, clutching his stomach, drenched in cold sweat.

“Huuh… huuh…”

He tried deep breathing against the cramps. The torment slowly ebbed, after ten long minutes his temperature easing.

What was that…? Why such pain?

Confused by symptoms he’d never known, he staggered upright, still shaken. Just then, the front door opened. Seo Taecheon stepped in and rushed to the kitchen to find Jiwoon pale and leaning against the counter.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

“N‑nothing. I just… broke a dish.”

Since the pain had passed, Jiwoon thought no reason to burden him. Perhaps just stress manifesting physically.

“Careful, the shards—”

He stooped to pick them up.

“Don’t. I’ll take care of it.”

“No, it’s fine, I can—”

They bickered gently until Jiwoon began gathering broken pieces with a rag.

“Where’s the broom…”

But as he rose, Taecheon caught his wrist.

“Wait. Why’s your face like that?”

“…What?”

“You’re white as a sheet.”

Startled, Jiwoon touched his own cheeks. Taecheon stared, concern etched. Jiwoon knew if he admitted anything about abdominal pain, Taecheon would whisk him to the ER without hesitation. So he forced a half‑smile.

“Maybe I’m just exhausted. Tomorrow’s trekking will refresh me.”

“…This isn’t nothing. Let me call the doctor. Or have him visit tonight.”

“No, really! I’m fine. And—we’re going trekking early tomorrow. No time for hospitals.”

“Hm.”

Taecheon’s large hand brushed back his hair—gentle and warm—the tenderness making Jiwoon’s throat tighten with emotion.

“You’re sure it’s not serious?”

“Really.”

“Promise me this: even a little discomfort, tell me at once. Don’t hide it.”

That earnest gaze wiped away both the memory of pain and the stress of Song. Like taking vitamins, Jiwoon felt instantly re‑energized.

“Yes, I promise. Anyway, I was fixing dinner… Just give me a minute.”

“No. Dinner—we’ll go out.”

“…Eat out?”

“Wouldn’t it be better, someplace good?”

“Deal!”

Home food had been plain lately, and today he’d skipped even lunch after harassment. A restaurant outing with Taecheon would feed his stomach and lift his mood.

“Grab a warm coat. Night air is cold.”

“Yes. But what shall we eat?”

“I know a place. It’s in Gyeonggi, a bit of a drive. Is that alright?”

“Of course. It’s Saturday eve tomorrow. No rush.”

Jiwoon put on the elegant coat Taecheon had gifted, warm even in the chill.

“Let’s go.”

Together they crossed the garden. Taecheon drove smoothly, heater warm. Radio played a gentle carol, the season near Christmas.

Warm, drowsy… comfortable.

Soon Jiwoon’s eyelids fluttered shut.

“Sleep, if you’re tired. I’ll wake you when we arrive.”

“…Okay.”

Guilt tugged—sleeping in the car feels rude. But weariness claimed him.

And suddenly, he dreamt again—the field. He jolted, déjà vu crawling over him.

Again… I’ve dreamt this.

There, far away, stood his dream‑self. Arms cradled not just loneliness, but again that infant—so tiny, only months old, fragile. He whispered to it, something sad, words carried away across distance.

What is he saying? And where is Taecheon? Last time, he was here. Why only me and the baby?

The dissonance disturbed him. Suddenly, he woke—Taecheon lightly shaking his shoulder.

“Jiwoon. Dream? You looked troubled.”

“N‑no, just… nothing.”

“You’re truly run‑down. A hospital visit is needed.”

“I told you, I’m fine. And… is this the restaurant?”

Forcing brightness, he glanced outside. They had arrived at a traditional Korean house‑style restaurant, a wide garden with sculpted pines. Staff in hanbok‑like uniforms greeted them politely, leading with small lanterns styled after cheongsachorong¹.

“Charming place,” Jiwoon breathed.

“Glad you like it.”

Guided to a secluded annex pavilion, only one wide room waiting, no other guests.

“Here, we can eat in peace.”

“It’s wonderful!”

Food came instantly—course after many side dishes, neat and elegant.

“Amazing. I was starving.”

“As long as it suits you.”

“I even skipped lunc—… I mean, it’s perfect for dinner.”

Careful! Almost admitted I didn’t eat today. He’d fret endlessly.

Feigning cheer, Jiwoon devoured jeon pancakes, bulgogi, skewers. His appetite soared, each bite divine. Normally a big eater, he surprised even himself tonight.

“You ate three bowls of rice. Excellent appetite.”

Approving, Taecheon heaped more side dishes into his bowl, even feeding him water at intervals.

“I’m stuffed. I feel like I ate for five.”

Patting his belly, Jiwoon smiled blissfully. On the drive home, they chatted about the past week, planning eagerly the forest trekking at Mt. Chukryeong the next morning.

Footnotes:

1. 청사초롱 (cheongsachorong): Traditional Korean lantern, a red‑blue silk lamp carried at celebrations; here, restaurant staff use replicas for charming ambiance.