HMN C31

Chapter 31

Beep.

After nearly forty minutes of inching through Seoul’s congested traffic, the car finally pulled up to the front entrance. Go Chiwoo keyed in the passcode—one that had never changed since the day he first memorized it—and stepped inside. The wide foyer opened into the interior, where the housekeeper stood waiting. But instead of her usual gentle smile, her expression showed mild surprise. Though she had no blood relation to his late mother, he had always called her aunt since childhood.

“The chairman canceled dinner. Something came up outside.”

“Yes, I know.”

Still, that didn’t mean the weekly obligation to show his face was gone. Skirting past the empty dining table, Chiwoo glanced briefly toward the living room, then asked for tea before turning toward the hallway.

The routine was always the same. He rarely ventured deep into the house—entering through the foyer, dining in the formal room, then retreating to his old bedroom before heading straight back out. Tonight, the only difference was the skipped meal. He opened the door to his room.

Click.

He had never thought of this space as particularly large when he lived here, but ever since moving out, the emptiness hit him each time he returned. It wasn’t that the room lacked things—compared to others his age, it was filled to the brim—but still, it felt… hollow.

“……”

He walked further inside. Two of the room’s walls were entirely covered with building blocks. From his eye level to the ceiling stood rows of unopened or neatly stacked boxes, while below, completed models crowded every surface. But it wasn’t the kind of display meant to show off cherished possessions. The shelves had originally been built for books, and though the lower sections still held a few scattered volumes, they were woefully outnumbered by the blocks.

Chiwoo reached for one of the boxes stacked above his head and pulled it down. There was no dust—the staff cleaned and polished every day. Still, the corners of this particular box were worn, clearly handled many times. Some things simply invited repetition.

This was Chiwoo’s refuge.

After losing his mother in elementary school, all communication with his father had stopped. From then on, he had shut himself in here, cutting ties with his friends and spending his generous allowance on building sets. He collected, assembled, and rearranged them endlessly. It was comforting—no need to think, no one to criticize.

Rustle.

He stacked several more boxes onto the desk. His apartment was already full of new sets, but when his mind grew tangled, his hands always returned to the familiar. Pulling out a chair, he sat down and opened a box. Once, he had done this until his fingertips turned red and numb. He didn’t need the instructions anymore. His long fingers sifted through the bright pieces with practiced ease.

Crinkle.

‘That guy—Wonjung?’

“Ha.”

Chiwoo’s busy hands froze. He didn’t even bother calling him by name, just ‘hey, you’, while saying ‘that potato-looking one’ so casually and fondly.

It irritated him. Watching the two laugh together at the pickup counter, seeing that friend waiting for him afterward—every bit of it was unpleasant.

“…There’s no way this is jealousy. What the hell about that guy would make me—why would I even?”

His face twisted. It made no sense. Why should he care about Ahn Daeyoung’s actions, let alone feel offended by them? It wasn’t even anything Daeyoung said or did to him. If anything, it was just the coldness directed exclusively at him that stung—but even that only mattered because there was someone else for comparison. And as for that potato-faced friend—he couldn’t even stand the idea of being in the same league as him.

Yeah. His brain hadn’t suddenly short-circuited. Of course not. Don’t think about it. Chiwoo shook his head hard, picked up another block, and started snapping the pieces together faster and faster.

‘Even if someone gifted me a whole truck full of you, I’d only take the truck, so don’t worry.’

Clack.

His hands froze again. He’d said he didn’t even want the truck, out of sheer irritation—but the real problem was Daeyoung’s words in the first place.

Sure, he’d always kept people at arm’s length, but that didn’t mean others hadn’t tried to get close. Plenty had. People had confessed, approached him, persisted. Even if he disliked closeness, he wasn’t oblivious to his own appeal.

“What the hell does that even mean, ‘just the truck’?”

Scrape.

His frustration flared; the chair screeched backward as he shot to his feet. The irritation that had been slowly seeping in was now surging, too loud to ignore. He paced restlessly, like a caged animal, drawing deep, uneven breaths.

Never before had anyone gotten under his skin like this. He’d dealt with all kinds of people—attention, admiration, gossip, envy. But never someone who could make him stop building blocks. Whenever he’d buried himself here, building his miniature worlds, everything else had always dissolved into nothing.

‘Ah!’

Suddenly, the memory hit him—Daeyoung stumbling out of the bathroom and falling straight into his arms. The closeness of that face, the curve of his neck, the faint scent that brushed past him, the flutter of soft hair.

Then came the vision—teal light, a stairwell, a white door. He’d told himself it was just his imagination. His eyes had been closed, after all, and the detailed narration in front of him must’ve fueled the visualization. But if, by any chance, he really had been hypnotized—if that was why he couldn’t stop thinking about Ahn Daeyoung—if he truly had fallen for him…

“……”

He stopped in the middle of the room, arms crossed, rubbing his forehead hard. His face darkened in confusion. After pacing the large room once more, he grabbed his phone.

The earlier conversation with his uncle had ended abruptly. Scowling, Chiwoo typed a short message and hit send.

Then he sprang up again and began pacing once more. Whatever the truth was, he needed distance—immediately.

By late March, the chill of winter had almost vanished from the university district, replaced by the usual buzz of students. Yet most of them were crammed into the lounge on the second floor of the humanities building. The air outside was heavy with fine dust, and besides, the spacious tables inside made it an ideal place for late-night study sessions.

At one of those tables sat Daeyoung, flanked by two friends, surrounded by the hum of conversation and clattering keyboards.

For the past week, Daeyoung had been uncharacteristically calm. Sure, the workload was piling up, but overall, he’d been in good spirits. Humming quietly, he typed away at his laptop until a hand tapped his shoulder. Wonjung gestured toward his earphones.

“What?”

“You heading down tonight?”

“No. I don’t have work today, but there’s no ride, so tomorrow.”

“Oh, then let’s go to the club meeting.”

“What meeting?”

“You didn’t get the message?”

Daeyoung fished his phone from his pocket. The message had arrived yesterday, buried among unread notifications. He vaguely recalled missing the last gathering, since it had clashed with his volunteer shift.

“What’s the purpose this time?”

“Not sure.”

“I was planning to just work on assignments tonight…”

“They said there’ll be dinner and drinks.”

“…Maybe I’ll drop by, then.”

A student living alone never turned down free food. The side dishes from home barely lasted three meals and had to be rationed like emergency supplies.

“Do they collect membership fees for this? I’ve never paid any.”

Wonjung shook his head. Even naïveté could sometimes pass as innocence.

“Our university’s film club is famous. Lots of directors came from it. Some of them still sponsor the club, so we hardly ever pay fees. That’s why so many people try to join.”

“Huh. Then how did I get in so easily?”

“Well…”

Wonjung shrugged, meaning: connections. College was a miniature society—already mimicking the absurdities of the real one. Still, as a beneficiary, Daeyoung could hardly complain.

“But in such a big-deal club, is it okay for someone like me—a returning student—to just take up space without participating much?”

“I asked Minhye. She said if it’s all freshmen, the vibe gets too chaotic. They need someone older to ground it. That’s you and me.”

“Yeah, right. Like two awkward upperclassmen will bring balance. We’ll just make it heavier. Honestly, I don’t mind any club as long as I get time for work and study. I just don’t want to freeload by only showing up for food and drinks.”

“Tone down the guilt. You think you’re the only busy student?”

“Mm.”

Fair enough. Easily persuaded, Daeyoung nodded along. Wonjung had mentioned before that Minhye didn’t believe those weird rumors about him anyway. And it was almost dinner time. He closed his laptop and packed up.

Then, a thought. Would Go Chiwoo be there?

He froze for a moment. His peaceful week had owed itself precisely to Chiwoo’s absence. Ever since that bizarre incident when the man had suddenly shown up at the café behaving oddly, he hadn’t appeared again. The café had gone back to normal, with only the morning-shift part-timer helping out.

Maybe something happened? He pondered briefly, then shook his head. Whatever drama surrounded that pampered prince—who only showed up to work when he felt like it—was none of his concern.

When Wonjung said, “Let’s go,” Daeyoung stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. If he wasn’t working shifts, then he might as well be productive elsewhere. He stuffed his determination—to actually participate in club activities for once—along with his books into the bag, and followed his friend out.