HMN C35

Chapter 35

Click.

A moment later, the sensor light in the corridor outside the door flickered off. But Go Chiwoo still hadn’t moved. His expression was twisted with frustration, though his body stayed rigid, unmoving. Even the faintest motion would’ve been enough to trigger the yellow light again, yet he stood there in the dark, exhaling a low, heavy sigh.

“…What the hell am I doing.”

He had thought putting some distance between them was the right choice. And he hadn’t been wrong. All week, not seeing Ahn Daeyoung had made things easier. Out of sight, his thoughts stayed quiet. His mind felt less tangled. Of course, whenever he left his apartment, his gaze still drifted toward the café on the first floor—but it wasn’t like he was some lost dog pressing up against the glass, looking for its owner.

So, he told himself, it wasn’t a big deal. Nothing more than a passing phase—something that would fade if left alone.

‘You’re gonna quit the club, right? There are enough people now—you can leave.’

‘Yeah.’

He’d joined the club not out of interest, but because of Yoo Minhye. They’d grown up together, and she’d been dead serious about becoming a film director. When she’d asked him to join just to help with recruitment, he’d agreed without much thought. He’d never planned to participate anyway, so when she later told him he could leave, he didn’t argue.

‘Got plans today?’

‘Club meeting.’

And then, the image hit him—Daeyoung drunk and collapsing into his arms the other night.

“……”

‘…Where are you going?’

‘Club room. There’s a meeting, remember?’

He couldn’t even recall what possessed him to follow, but somehow he’d ended up there. He didn’t understand why he’d wasted his evening sitting next to Ahn Daeyoung, counting how many drinks he’d had, catching the faint scent of his shampoo every time he shifted. Why he’d followed him to the restroom, imagining—ridiculously—that he might fall into someone else’s arms instead. He didn’t understand why that idiot across the table had irritated him so much, either.

But most of all—

“……”

He didn’t understand why the sight of Daeyoung’s flushed, tear-streaked face, whining like he was breaking apart, had managed to both irritate him and arouse him. That was what confused him the most. The moment Daeyoung had rolled up his sleeves, baring those pale, soft limbs—skin unmarked by a single hair, a sheen of red where he’d scraped himself—heat had surged violently to Chiwoo’s groin.

‘Did my brain fucking melt…’

If Daeyoung had heard, he might’ve thought it was an insult—but the words had been for himself.

Chiwoo stood there in the dim corridor, covering his mouth, brow furrowed in quiet turmoil. For several long minutes, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe deeply, didn’t even blink. He only stared at the closed door before him—while thinking about peeling Daeyoung’s shirt off, running his mouth along that pudding-soft, milky skin, and biting the faint pink scars that should’ve been unseemly but somehow made him even harder.

If I actually put my mouth there—if I bit him, licked him—how bad would I lose control?

And then, like a voice in his ear, came the echo of Daeyoung’s words from days ago:

‘You’re hopelessly drawn to Ahn Daeyoung.’

The sound buzzed through his skull.

“Fuck this… I might need to take a leave of absence.”

His low mutter filled the narrow corridor.

“Ugh… my back…”

The next morning, Daeyoung woke up right in front of the entrance door, where he’d apparently spent the entire night. It was well past sunrise, yet he still sat cross-legged in the same spot, bleary-eyed and swollen-faced—like a monk who had reached enlightenment through sheer exhaustion.

“I reek of soju…”

He forced himself upright and took a sip of water, only to gag—the plain water somehow tasted like alcohol. He scrubbed at his cheek with his palm, his face still heavy with sleep.

What even happened last night? He remembered the dinner and drinks clearly enough, but everything after that was a blur. Yeah, that’s it. I need to stop drinking.

Muttering, he peeled off his clothes and stumbled toward the bathroom.

‘Why do you always talk like that?’

“Ah!”

The memory hit him the moment hot water streamed down his head. He’d been sitting on the emergency exit stairs, crying in front of Go Chiwoo. He couldn’t recall the words exactly, but the fragmented images were enough.

“Oh my god!”

He clutched at his hair. Unbelievable. He’d made a complete fool of himself—crying in front of the one person he shouldn’t cry in front of. He hadn’t even been sad! What, did his tear ducts just have a mind of their own now?

Thud. Thud.

He punched the bathroom wall, groaning. Ugh, kill me now. His hand throbbed, but he couldn’t stop. Last time he’d vented by kicking his blanket—this time, the wall deserved it. He hit it twice more before finally catching his breath, squeezing toothpaste onto his toothbrush with trembling hands.

“Ah, right. That guy.”

As he washed, fragments of the previous night returned—the jerk who’d kept making snide remarks across the table. He couldn’t remember every word, but the disgust was still vivid.

He scrubbed himself raw under the hot water, as if he could wash the memory away. By the time he stepped out, wrinkled fingers and all, his swollen eyes had calmed a little. Only his stomach felt like it was turning inside out. After downing several gulps of water, he slung his bag over his shoulder.

It was Saturday—his usual day to visit his parents. He’d overslept and would probably be late, but still.

“…Can I even make it?”

The determination that had gotten him to pack faltered almost immediately as he collapsed back onto the floor.

“Maybe I’ll nap for thirty minutes…”

If he didn’t, he’d end up throwing up on the bus. Just thirty minutes. He wriggled under his blanket, cocooning himself.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

His phone buzzed inside yesterday’s jacket. Maybe it was fate—telling him not to sleep. Groaning, he reached for it. He didn’t even need to check the screen to guess who it was. The vibration wouldn’t stop; only one person would keep calling like that, already anticipating his sorry state.

“Yeah…”

—You alive?

As expected, it was Wonjung.

Daeyoung crawled back onto the bed, phone in hand, and lay down, pulling the blanket up over his head like a turtle retreating into its shell.

“No… drank too much last night…”

—You idiot. Nice going.

“Yeah, yeah. And where were you?”

Normally, if he got too drunk, Wonjung was the one who made sure he got home. It wasn’t blame so much as playful whining.

—I went looking for you, but they said you’d already gone home. You remember anything?

“No…”

His last clear memory was yelling at Go Chiwoo. Vaguely, he remembered walking down an alley—but that was it. Somehow, he’d made it home on his own. He usually did, no matter how drunk.

—You want to grab hangover soup?

“Man, I just got up and showered. I’m heading out to my parents’.”

—The store?

“Yeah.”

Knock, knock.

Half-asleep, he rubbed at his eyes, lifting his head slightly at the unexpected sound. Who could that be? He wasn’t expecting anyone. Maybe a delivery?

“Who is it?”

—Someone there?

“Dunno, maybe a package. Hold on…”

Yawning, he dragged himself out of bed sluggishly. Then—ding dong. The doorbell. So, not a delivery? Too lazy to think it through, he shuffled to the entrance and unlocked the door.

Clack.

Phone in one hand, he pushed open the door with the other.

“Who—”

His half-asleep eyes trailed upward.

“I told you to call when you woke up.”

“……”

…What? Was he still drunk? Dreaming? For a moment, his brain short-circuited. No, this isn’t a dream. But—why was Go Chiwoo here? How did he even know his address? What time was it? Did they plan this? No way. Had he told him his address? Did he call last night and forget? How long had he even been on the phone with Wonjung?

“…Hey, Wonjung. Hang up for a sec.”

—Why? What’s going on—

“I’ll call you later.”

He ended the call and slowly looked up again, dazed. His brain was fogged, too sluggish to process the sight in front of him.

“I stayed up all damn night thanks to someone, and you—looks like you slept real well, huh?”

“……”

He blinked, uncomprehending. His mind refused to form the connection between cause and effect—why was Chiwoo standing at his door, looking like that?

Chiwoo’s gaze swept down and back up, assessing him once before jerking his chin toward the hall.

“Get dressed and come out. We need to talk.”

“…What?”

“Or we can talk right here, if you think you can handle it.”

The weight behind his tone left no room for argument. Daeyoung’s instincts screamed—whatever you do, don’t let him start talking here.

“No, no, wait—give me a minute.”

“Five minutes.”

Thud.

The door shut in his face.

Daeyoung stared blankly at the closed door, his feet dragging across the floor as he turned back inside. What the hell…? He stood there in the middle of the room, motionless.

Did they… make plans? No way. Chiwoo wouldn’t show up like that unless he had a reason. And if he’d come straight to his door, it meant Daeyoung must’ve told him the address himself.

“…I probably blabbed while drunk, huh?”

Yeah, that had to be it. He must’ve told him last night.

Still rubbing his aching temples, he changed clothes. Normally, he’d laugh off whatever nonsense came out of his mouth drunk—but when someone showed up at his house because of it, there was no laughing it off.

What the hell did I even do last night?

Scratching his head in confusion, he pulled on a shirt and opened the door again.

Chiwoo was waiting just a few steps away, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

When Daeyoung dropped his hand from his stomach, trying to steady his queasy insides, Chiwoo pushed off the wall and started walking.

Daeyoung followed, rubbing his face hard with his palm, wishing he could wake up from whatever the hell this was.