HMN C13

Chapter 13

It felt as if fate had decided to lay a monumental trial on this semester. Otherwise, there was no reason that bastard would be planted so diligently in the gen-ed, the club, and now even the part-time job.

It was easy to imagine a god’s taunt in his ear—let’s see if you can overcome this—and he pulled his trembling lips into a smile.

“Today wasn’t that busy. The boss and I can handle it on our own.”

In other words, don’t come. But across from him, Go Chiwoo seemed to read his mind; he let out a small laugh and sipped his coffee.

“My uncle says he’s busy, so I should come help. Regularly. Without fail.”

“……”

Sparks jumped between the diligent worker and the beloved nephew, and the owner chuckled awkwardly, edging away; a new customer had walked in, and besides, a clumsy attempt to mediate would only get the shrimp’s back broken.

“……”

Once the owner stepped aside, Daeyoung, who had been glowering at Chiwoo, dropped his eyes and set his laptop square. There was a purpose to this meeting; the faster he finished, the sooner he could escape.

“I’m only free on weekdays next week. Check the site and each pull a shortlist that looks feasible.”

In other words, minimize conversation.

“Do what you want.”

“Let’s pick within twenty minutes and go.”

“My line.”

At the insolent echo, he shot another glare over the edge of his reopened laptop and snapped the mouse down the list.

By the time his coffee was half gone, the list he’d compiled was about halfway full. He’d separated items they could do immediately from rolling applications and scanned the categories before glancing up.

Unlike him, who was on a laptop, the other was marking on a tablet with a pen. He’d expected reluctant going-through-the-motions, but surprisingly, the way he dug around looked serious.

Click. Click.

He saved the file and forwarded it to Chiwoo’s messages.

“Sent the list. Prioritize the overlaps. When you send the file back, note your preferred dates separately.”

In other words, leave no room for second and third rounds of messaging. He’d briefly fantasized about pretending to get friendly for a while, but that had been arrogance; in the face of Chiwoo’s talent for making people tire of him within a few lines, patience had no teeth.

He scrolled down and finished organizing the schedule he’d left halfway through. He’d finished a cup of coffee late at night, so sleep might be thin; if he was going to be up, he might as well finish tonight’s gen-ed assignment too.

Prickle, prickle. His cheekbones and forehead itched oddly as he watched the monitor. He lifted his head; Chiwoo was looking at him. Instead of speaking, he mouthed, What?

“Why aren’t you leaving?”

He blinked and glanced around before catching himself. Was that a question asking why he wasn’t clearing out? The lit phone screen suggested the file had just been opened.

“I’ll go after I review what you sent and lock dates.”

His tone dripped with, Is that even a question? Chiwoo only stared back without answering. His brow drew in slightly, as if baffled, so Daeyoung flicked a hand.

“Hurry up. I need a scholarship this term, so this matters too.”

The prickling on his crown returned; this time he didn’t look up.

“Hey. Just pick from what you chose.”

“Huh?”

Now he was the one looking doubtful. He’d expected the guy to insist on his convenience or say this one was no, that one was no—but unexpectedly, he agreed to follow along. In case there would be backtracking later, he turned the laptop to show the list he’d flagged.

“They’re all weekday volunteer slots—the tough ones. The fun stuff’s bunched on weekends.”

But Chiwoo was already shutting down his tablet and slipping it into his bag.

“I’m good at anything. Do what’s best for you.”

“……”

It felt less like consideration than pride. What the hell did he eat to be this smug? And yet, fair enough. It worked in his favor. He snapped the laptop shut and reached for his bag.

“Then I’ll narrow it to three and send them. Pick the date that suits best.”

Even at the half-hearted nod, he busied himself packing. As he shrugged into his jacket beside the now-heavy backpack, the table buzzed. His eyes followed the source without thinking. Chiwoo’s phone.

Yoo Min-hye.

“Chiwoo, why aren’t you—oh my!”

“Sorry. I don’t swing that way.”

The name alone sharpened the memory. Pretending not to see, he shouldered the bag and stood. He felt, rather than saw, Chiwoo stand too; this time, he ignored it with all his might.

“See you tomorrow, boss.”

“Aigo, well done. See you tomorrow, Daeyoung!”

The owner accepted only his farewell—nothing for the nephew—and when Daeyoung bowed and pushed through the glass door, cool wind slipped between his layers. He sensed the dark figure behind him and stepped half a pace to the side. The man entered his field of vision.

How tall was he, anyway? Over 190? Even tilted on the diagonal, he couldn’t see the crown of his head—infuriating. The broad back took half a step of distance.

“…Hey.”

The word was an impulse. Chiwoo turned his head.

“I’m really not gay.”

The topic had long since skimmed past. They’d sat at the same table for half a cup of coffee, only to open the sluice now as they were leaving. Chiwoo turned fully.

“But.”

Daeyoung let his eyes sink, and Chiwoo’s lashes came into view—black and long. He hesitated, groping some point on the asphalt, then continued in a much smaller voice.

“…If Min-hye saw and, you know, misunderstood.”

At that, he slid his eyes over; Chiwoo was calmly watching him. At this point, a normal person would say, “She won’t misunderstand.” But he kept his mouth shut, as if he weren’t a citizen of ordinary cognitive culture.

“No, I mean.”

He scratched his brow with an index finger already cold from two steps out of the warm cafe and cleared his throat.

“If she does, then, you know, set it straight. It’s your fault she got the wrong idea.”

He regretted the words the moment they left. But there wasn’t much else to do. He’d barely exchanged a few words with Min-hye; she was just a friend of Wonjung’s he’d greeted a handful of times. He couldn’t stride up and blurt, “What you saw then was a misunderstanding!” Not with his temperament.

Watching him fidget like someone with an itchy rib, Chiwoo cocked his head.

“Hey.”

A short call. His gaze followed somewhere behind the man.

“Do you like me?”

“……”

Fwoo.

The alley fell silent in an instant. The track playing in the cafe even switched in that moment, leaving a pocket of quiet. His mouth hung half open. Thump. One strap of the backpack slipped off his shoulder, perfectly reflecting his mental state. What kind of nonsensical crap was that?

“Not that I can’t understand the feeling.”

“…What?”

The man who said it wore an utterly brazen face.

“I’m not interested in men. Drop it.”

Leaving that behind, he turned and walked away. Daeyoung stood there, watching his back, chewing over the words to force them into meaning.

“……”

Since he’d been asking for a proper explanation to Min-hye, the normal response would’ve been, “Do you like Min-hye?” He absolutely, absolutely, absolutely did not—but if one had to ask whether he liked someone, the object should have been Min-hye.

Instead, brazenly, he pointed to himself at that juncture. Why, in what universe, would he like him? And if he did, why would he be asking the guy to explain things to Min-hye? The conversational leap was so wild he could only stand there, blank, for a long time. Only when the owner opened the door and asked, “What are you doing, Daeyoung?” did he bow again and trudge off.

“Wow…”

A dyed-in-the-wool lunatic. He clapped a palm over his mouth, face grave. Not just an obnoxious jerk—something was missing upstairs. Narcissism, or runaway self-consciousness—he seemed to carry every modern malaise. With a grim face, he headed home and, during his shower, smacked the bathroom wall once—hard. It was the peculiar, crawling feeling of a strange defeat.