HMN C2

Chapter 2

Drizzle.

“Daeyoung, hey, are you okay?”

“Hey, come on—are you kidding me? Not yet….”

Daeyoung gently swirled the shot glass in his hand. In time with the motion, soju slid over the lip of the clear glass and chilled his fingers. No way a bunch of brash, freshly returned students would see that sight with any generosity. A friend seated beside him thumped his lower back.

“Ah, this punk’s putting on a whole act just to spill his drink.”

“Ow! That hurts, damn….”

Even drunk, the smack stung enough that Daeyoung straightened his back and twisted about. Over his shoulder, the hand of the friend on the other side rose and began to rub his lower back. The touch was gentle.

“Hey, what kind of ‘act’ would Daeyoung be pulling?”

At that, Daeyoung snapped his head up with an expression brimming with gratitude.

“Wonjung….”

Hearing his awed murmur, Wonjung smiled kindly again, took the glass from Daeyoung’s fingers, and downed it in one go.

Clack.

“Scheming’s for people with enough brains to plot.”

“Hey.”

The three who usually shared his table were teasing him, yes, but the gathering itself had been thrown for him as he prepared to return to school. Still smiling, Wonjung fetched a napkin and wiped the alcohol from Daeyoung’s fingers. The warmth of it seemed to melt his fresh grievance, and Daeyoung soon beamed, his drunken eyes dull and soft at the corners.

“By the way, what are you going to do about that gen-ed you couldn’t register for?”

“I don’t know….”

At Wonjung’s worry, Daeyoung shook his head weakly. He and Wonjung—friends since freshman year and drafted around the same time—had planned to match schedules, but he’d slipped on one popular general elective and ended up with a weird hole in his timetable.

“I’ll just wing it.”

“Come on, that’s not your biggest problem right now, is it? Didn’t you get turned down at three part-time gigs?”

Since the night was meant to welcome him back, talk kept circling his recent life. He was applying for part-time jobs as he returned to school, but somehow he’d been rejected across the board. The PC bang near campus, a convenience store, a pub—he’d even tried the dawn shift at the “hellish” bakery—and been refused one after another. Now the semester loomed and his feet felt like they were on fire. Given his excuse—that he had to cool his scorched feet with alcohol—his friends opted for consolation over scolding, at least for tonight.

“Honestly, at least a bar should’ve worked out. Did you upload the wrong photo on your résumé or something?”

Clicking his tongue, Wonjung tilted his head and slid over a glass filled to the brim with water. Gulping it down, Daeyoung shook his head.

“Guess there are just too many applicants. I tried to be smart about it—factoring in distance and days of the week, only applying to places that made sense. I can’t work every day; I’ve got assignments and exam prep. I looked for somewhere close so I could go straight after class on weekdays….”

“Why didn’t the convenience store take you?”

“No clue. Said the owner’s son decided to work there, sorry.”

That one sounded like pure luck—bad luck. Wonjung clicked his tongue with a mournful look.

“Have you told your parents?”

“Ugh, no. The second I call, they’ll tell me to come straight home.”

In truth, he didn’t strictly need the extra income. His parents ran a restaurant back in the provinces, and it had gotten so popular over the years they’d bought up neighboring lots and expanded—money wasn’t tight. The problem was their mindset.

“I want our Daeyoung to learn the business… Isn’t Seoul too far?”

From the beginning, his parents—his father especially—hadn’t liked him moving to Seoul. The thought of handing a thriving shop to someone else or selling it pained him, so at every chance he prodded his son to chuck it all and come home.

Of course, once he’d declared he was college-bound, they’d funded private tutoring and online classes, and if he asked now, they’d probably relent again—but it felt like debt, and that made him uneasy. He planned to pay back the tuition as soon as he got a job; if he took living expenses too, it would feel like a bind, like he’d be obliged to move back after graduation and inherit the place.

“Must be nice. Color me jealous. If it were me, I’d drop college and start prepping to be the owner of a famous joint.”

Across the table, Haegyeom muttered with eyes gone languid from drink. He’d heard that tune since childhood, so he just rolled a shoulder and let it pass.

“Stop drinking. You’re drunk.”

He lifted the shot Haegyeom had just poured, but Wonjung blocked him. Daeyoung immediately drooped his brows in a pitiful look.

“I’ve got nothing tomorrow… No shift… Nothing to do….”

When he tipped his head onto Wonjung’s shoulder and moped, Wonjung gave a helpless laugh and let go of his wrist. Seizing the chance, Daeyoung tossed back the soju and chased it with water, hissing with pleasure. Across the table, Haegyeom exploded.

“See? This bastard, Koo Wonjung, always circles the wagons around Ahn Daeyoung. Hey! I’m the one who has to clock in at dawn!”

“So what? Put the spoon down and talk like a human. You’re gross, you lunatic.”

“Gross? I’m gross? Huh? I’m gross?”

Watching them bicker without a pause, Daeyoung shook his head and lifted his glass in silence. Not an animal, but close enough; they shut up and lifted theirs too. Clink. A handful of soju glasses touched and then emptied without ceremony.

“Semester’s starting. When I return, I’m going full-on power insider.”

His eyes, swimming with alcohol, still shone like stars. Across from him, his friends shook their heads: that again.

He’d been chanting that goal since he filed his return paperwork. Freshman year, he’d stumbled through, then gone to the army. Now, it was his time. He’d done his best then too, socially speaking, and made close friends like these. The next goal was to build good word-of-mouth, layer by layer, and become someone everyone liked.

“Hey, these days, being an insider isn’t about character. Huh? Look at the Pepper Prince.”

Playing the wise old soul, Haegyeom started to sermonize, and Ahn Daeyoung snapped his head up, eyes suddenly sharp.

“Don’t bring that bastard up.”

Even at the venomous retort, his friend just chuckled and tossed back another shot before continuing.

“Let’s be objective. Even with trash personality, everyone in our department knows him. Why? Because the face is a pass. I mean, you too—”

“I said don’t talk about him.”

With Daeyoung’s jaw clenched and his hand beginning to tremble, Wonjung finally stepped in.

“Hey, hey. He’s gonna smash the glass. Drop it and drink.”

“I’ll drink till I die. Don’t stop me.”

Eyes screwed shut, Daeyoung barked it out and swallowed the soju. He could feel the cold alcohol burning down his esophagus.

“…Hey, get a grip… Ahn Daeyoung. Hey.”

Nod. Nod.

A chill breeze seeped into his coat. Shiver. His shoulders shook. This time, his head kept listing to the side. One friend’s voice drifted into his ear, fading in and out.

“…Young-ah, I’ll—taxi… for this punk….”

“Mmm….”

He flapped a hand, swatting away the nuisance. But he finally raised his head because the world had gone quiet.

Blink.

The blackness parted. He forced his eyelids up and levered his torso upright. A karaoke room. He could’ve sworn they’d been in a bar. On the table: the remnants of instant ramen, and four more bottles of soju.

“Ugh….”

When did they move to karaoke? He scrubbed at his nape and stood. Looked like his friends had already ditched him and gone home.

Not that his head had fully cleared. He grabbed a water glass off the table, gulped, and staggered to his feet. A dull ache spread as if he’d taken a blow to the head.

“Bad friends… Leaving me behind….”

Mumbling words meant for no one, he bumped his thigh on the table corner a few times, opened the door, and shouldered his way out. No matter how careless his friends were, they weren’t the types to abandon someone mid-binge—but that thought never pierced the alcohol-fogged circuitry of his brain.

“Brr, cold….”

If the semester was upon him, spring should be here, but the air hadn’t gotten the memo. He drew a deep breath. Tugging his hoodie up over his head, he yanked the drawstrings tight. With the wind blocked from his ears and neck, it felt better. He jammed both hands into his parka pockets and set off.

“…Ugh.”

Bad friends. They went home without me, and I’m drunk too. He grumbled as he walked, then stopped dead after five steps. After pouring one out for the first time in ages, his stomach lurched.

“Hup.”

Eyes half-lidded in the dizzy blur, he hiccuped a couple of times. God. Not like last year. He scrubbed under his nose with an index finger. He vowed to walk straight, kept his stride firm—and the world canted sideways anyway. He felt more drunk by the minute. At least home wasn’t far.

Past a noisy strip where even the asphalt smelled like liquor, the street turned into the familiar lanes near a college: office-tels and villas lined up in rows. By then, no one else was around, and with relief he let his eyes drift shut, loosened his ankles, and trudged along. His pleasantly sodden brain held no thoughts.

Rustle.

Apparently not entirely alone. He popped his eyes open and spotted a neighborhood cat crouched by a utility pole. A black one he’d greeted now and then.

“…Come here, you. Why are you alone tonight?”

Usually it trailed with a yellow cat; tonight it was solo. Is your friend doing well? He muttered the question and wandered closer.