HMN C39

Chapter 39

Maybe he’d only dreamed it while drunk—the confession, the “I fell for you.” The guy in front of him was back to his usual blank-faced self. But there was no time to dwell on that; work came first. Shrugging his shoulders, Daeyoung rolled up his sleeves higher.

“…But didn’t our opening event end already?”

What he really meant was—why were there still so many customers? Muchang nodded while his hands moved swiftly across the POS system.

Just earlier, when Daeyoung had gone to put on his apron, it hadn’t been this crowded. But by the time he came out, a small line had already formed at the counter. Seeing the pile of order slips growing thicker, Daeyoung moved quickly to start on the drinks.

‘I heard the staff there are all good-looking.’

Wait. Could this actually be because of that mascot bastard? The thought hit him mid-espresso shot, and his brow furrowed. No way. No way, seriously.

He turned, and sure enough, there was Go Chiwoo—fresh out of the storage room, standing at the counter in place of the owner, helping customers. Well, “helping.” He was the type who only did what he was explicitly told, and now he was just poking around the register, pretending to know what he was doing.

Honestly, wouldn’t it help him more if Chiwoo just didn’t show up and the number of customers dropped instead? But he couldn’t say that—not when the guy was the owner’s nephew. If someone had to go, it’d be him. With part-time jobs already scarce, getting kicked out would mean ending up in some late-night pub washing glasses.

While those thoughts grumbled in his head, another order slip was completed, and he moved to the next one.

“Boss, I finished this batch—I’ll go clear some tables.”

“Mhm.”

Leaving the boss by the espresso machine, he turned around. The endless stream of customers had been chaotic. He’d been stuck making drinks for so long that cleaning tables felt like a luxury. Determined, he grabbed a tray with a spray bottle and rag from the lower shelf, but as soon as he straightened up—something brushed against the back of his foot.

“Ah—!”

Thud.

He lost his balance instantly, knees buckling—but a firm hand caught him by the waist before he could fall flat. His heart pounded wildly. That was way too close; he could’ve cracked his skull. Turning his head, breath hitching—

“…Huh.”

On second thought, maybe falling would’ve been better than this.

Right in front of his eyes was Go Chiwoo’s chest—broad, solid, close enough to feel the warmth through the air. The last time he’d seen it this near was outside that bar bathroom.

When had he even gotten here? He’d been at the register just a second ago. Was he a ghost or something? The thought made Daeyoung jerk upright, brushing his hands against his apron. The hand at his waist fell away quickly too. He waited for the usual scolding to come.

“What are you doing? You’ll hurt yourself. I’ll go.”

“What…”

…You’ll hurt yourself? I’ll go?

Daeyoung’s expression contorted. What the hell did he just say? Normally, Chiwoo would’ve spat out something like, “You blind or what?” or “Falling again, seriously?” But instead, he sounded—concerned? The hell was that supposed to mean?

Still frozen like a freshly carved statue, Daeyoung just stood there while Chiwoo walked past him, carrying the tray, heading toward the tables. His gaze lingered on his retreating back longer than he wanted.

“……”

“……”

And from that day onward, they stopped talking—almost as if by mutual, unspoken agreement.

Chiwoo was the same, and yet… not. He acted as indifferent as he had that first day they met at the café, but something had changed—subtly, unmistakably.

The biggest difference was—

Prickle. Prickle.

Daeyoung rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe it was the awareness of being watched, but his exposed skin tingled constantly.

Whenever there was a lull in customers, whenever he wasn’t rushing through orders, Chiwoo’s gaze would find him. Always.

At first, he thought it was his imagination—and desperately tried to convince himself it was.

“You two fight or something?”

But that illusion shattered when the boss leaned over and whispered it in his ear.

“Ah, no, no, nothing like that…”

He quickly denied it, but didn’t dare turn around. He’d been trying to ignore it, pretending not to notice, sneaking only the occasional sidelong glance—but every time, Chiwoo’s expression was… hard to read. Annoyed? Frustrated? Irritated? Whatever it was, Daeyoung knew what it all stemmed from—that so-called confession.

So it hadn’t been a dream.

Glance.

He was staring again—this time with his brows furrowed. Luckily, there was a brief lull between customers, and Daeyoung took the chance to grab his tumbler and take a drink. Seriously, if even the boss can tell, how obvious are you trying to be? It wasn’t like he wanted rumors spreading about them.

“Daeyoung, looks like we’re done for today. Wanna head out early?”

“Ah—really? Are you sure?”

“Sure am.”

His eyes slid past the boss—just in time to see Chiwoo undoing his apron strings too.

“…And you’re doing what?”

“I’ll go too. It’s dead anyway.”

The owner sighed, exhaling deeply. Truth be told, he’d been surprised Chiwoo had even shown this much consistency.

“Fine, fine. Go on, both of you. Daeyoung, too—off you go.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Bowing politely, Daeyoung untied his apron and headed toward the storage room.

Creak.

The place where they hung their uniforms was in the same cramped little storage room where he’d once taken that infamous spill. It was barely the size of a closet once you accounted for all the stacked supplies—small enough that even breathing felt confined. As he neatly hung up his apron, the door opened again.

Chiwoo stepped in.

The space shrank instantly, along with the air inside it.

“……”

The only sound was the rustling of fabric as Daeyoung fussed with his apron, doing everything in his power not to brush shoulders. His arm was already starting to ache from holding it so tensely.

“…You’re leaving now too? Gonna leave the boss alone?”

It was nonsense, really—Muchang wasn’t a child, and he owned the place. But in that suffocating silence, he needed to say something.

“Daeyoung.”

His name came instead of an answer. Halfway through pulling his jacket off the hanger, he grunted, “What.”

“You came back to Seoul. Why didn’t you call?”

“……”

What? He shoved his arms through his sleeves.

“Did I ever say I would?”

Without warning, Chiwoo took a step closer.

What the hell’s his problem now?

Caught mid-motion, jacket half on, Daeyoung stumbled back instinctively—but only managed one step before his back hit the locker.

Thud.

“…What, what now?”

Maybe the guy had been too drunk when he said all that before and didn’t remember? That was the only explanation that made sense. He scrambled mentally to recall every detail of that café conversation—but no, he was sure he hadn’t said anything about calling.

Meanwhile, Chiwoo’s expression, clearly irritated, darkened even more as he lifted a hand—cupping Daeyoung’s jaw firmly in his palm.

“You told me to wait till you got back to Seoul. If that’s not a promise to call, then what is?”

It didn’t hurt, but Daeyoung’s lips puffed out like a sulking goldfish. His eyes darted.

‘Don’t tell anyone about this until I get back to Seoul, okay?’

Oh.

Oh, that’s what he meant.

He yanked his chin free, exasperated.

“Hey! How’s that the same thing? I meant don’t talk about your damn ‘I fell for you’ nonsense—not that I’d call you!”

“If you said ‘until you’re back in Seoul,’ it means you’d call once you were.”

Daeyoung stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. How could someone be this bad at reading tone? If you turned Chiwoo into an RPG character, his social skills stat would be a crater—and his morality score probably wouldn’t fare much better. The only thing maxed out would be his looks.

He was about to argue again, but froze mid-sentence when he noticed where Chiwoo’s gaze had landed. Not on his eyes. Not even his face—lower. His lips.

Flutter.

It felt like his neck caught fire.

“…H-hey! What—what are you staring at?”

Chiwoo’s answer came quiet but clear.

“Your mouth.”

Not even “lips”—just mouth. Somehow that was worse. Daeyoung frowned, confused.

“My… mouth? Why?”

“I want to kiss it.”

“What?”

Thunk.

His back hit the locker again, eyes wide as his face went scarlet. Did he seriously just say that?

He’d never heard anything like it in his life. And with Chiwoo’s height, his shadow blocked out even the dim overhead light, leaving him half-swallowed in a haze of disbelief and heat.

Blink. Blink.

His wide, shocked eyes trembled.