HMN C45

Chapter 45

“Well, well. What’s this shamelessly sweet atmosphere I’m witnessing…”

Leaning lazily against the counter, Muchang muttered under his breath, eyes glinting with curiosity. Ever since yesterday, the two had been arriving at work together, leaving together, and now Go Chiwoo seemed incapable of staying three steps away from Daeyoung for even a minute. Worse, the brat had started snapping at him—the boss—over the smallest things.

“If you’re only paying crumbs, don’t expect more than crumb-sized work,” or, “You seriously want him scooping ice when his wrists are falling apart?”—nonsense like that.

Overnight, Muchang had apparently been recast as a villainous, overworking boss. All he could do was blink in disbelief. It wasn’t until Daeyoung had yelled, “He’s paying double the standard rate, so shut your mouth!” that his overly affectionate nephew finally stopped his crusade. Even so, every time an order came in, Chiwoo’s scowl returned like clockwork.

“No matter how I look at it, this has romance story written all over it,” Muchang murmured, voice full of smug amusement. “If it’s not that, I must be getting old enough to start hallucinating before I die…”

Honestly, it didn’t matter to him whether his nephew’s affection was for a woman or a man. What mattered was that, after all these years of choosing isolation, Chiwoo had finally found someone who stirred his heart. That alone was worth something.

“Hmmm…”

He hummed thoughtfully as he watched the pair bicker over a single pair of rubber gloves. Daeyoung tugged; Chiwoo refused to let go. Their ridiculous little scuffle played out behind the counter, childish and strangely domestic. Muchang couldn’t help but smile.

Bzzzt.

Just as he was settling in to enjoy the show, his phone vibrated on the counter. He picked it up and glanced at the screen—and the energy drained from his face.

It was about her.

Chiwoo’s grandmother—Muchang’s mother—had disappeared years ago. For Chiwoo, whose relationship with his father was practically nonexistent, she had been the only family member who’d ever shown him unconditional love. It wasn’t surprising that, the moment he became an adult, he’d been obsessed with finding her.

Muchang understood that. But as his uncle, he wished the boy would stop chasing ghosts and start living his life—here, now, where warmth existed.

“Ah, damn it! Boss! Why doesn’t your nephew listen to anyone?”

Daeyoung came storming up, breathless and fuming. Muchang, pulling himself out of his thoughts, chuckled quietly and folded his arms, ready to play referee.

“What happened now?”

“The salon upstairs just ordered twelve drinks, and he insists on carrying all of them himself! It’s literally a five-minute job if we go together, but he’s being stubborn again!”

“You want those delicate wrists of yours to snap clean off? Stop whining and sit still. How hard is that? You deaf?”

It was such a trivial thing. Whether one person went twice or two people went once—it made no difference. But somehow, they managed to turn it into a full-blown argument.

“Ah… to be young,” Muchang sighed, smiling faintly as the two continued to squabble. Daeyoung muttered indignantly, Chiwoo nagged about the brace, and between them, youth burned bright and foolish.

While they bickered, Muchang typed a quick reply to the message. He didn’t want to tell his nephew he hadn’t given up searching for their mother yet; no sense in reigniting old wounds. Chiwoo had finally started to seem like a normal twenty-something, living a little. There was no need to drag him back into the darkness.

Clatter.

Setting his phone down, Muchang unfastened his apron and quietly slipped into the storage room. It was better to give them space than to interrupt their… lovers’ quarrel.

And just as he’d predicted, it took the two of them nearly ten minutes to realize the boss had disappeared.

“Let’s go… come on.”

It was closing time, and the boss was long gone. For the last hour, Daeyoung had been forced to wear his wrist braces under strict supervision. He fumbled with his apron strings, slow fingers clumsy against the knots.

Meanwhile, Chiwoo had taken out the trash, wiped the counters, cleaned the tables, stacked the chairs, and was now scrubbing down the coffee machine. It was… progress, shockingly.

“Since when does the prince enjoy doing peasant work?”

“Guess I’ve become a slave to love.”

“Say one more word like that and I swear—”

Daeyoung sighed, sounding utterly drained. He’d always preferred doing things himself—fast, efficient, clean. Watching Chiwoo, who had clearly never worked a day in his life, move at a glacial pace was torture. But since he couldn’t use his hands properly, all he could do was hover behind him and mutter complaints like a backseat driver.

They finished later than usual, but eventually, the lights went out and silence settled. Even then, Chiwoo’s eyes followed Daeyoung’s every movement.

“Don’t you know how to take it easy for once?”

“Why are you picking a fight again? You did all the work today.”

Locking the back door, Daeyoung flipped the sign to closed and started toward the storage room. Chiwoo, of course, trailed right behind.

“So, where’s your next volunteer shift?”

“Still deciding.”

As Daeyoung reached for his coat, Chiwoo picked it up first, holding it open so he could slide his arms through. He fumbled a little—clearly not used to the gesture—but it was service nonetheless. Daeyoung gave a quiet, incredulous laugh and slipped his arms in.

“Try picking somewhere that doesn’t require heavy lifting.”

Thwap.

Leaning against the locker, arms folded, Chiwoo watched him intently, like he was studying an art piece. Daeyoung arched a brow, zipped up his bag, and continued.

“You’ve got that club meeting Friday, right? Guess it’ll have to wait till next week.”

“You’re going?”

Of course he knew. Being the vice president, even in name only, he was bound to. Daeyoung nodded.

“You’re not?”

Chiwoo tilted his head, expression sly.

“If you’re going, I’m going. I told you—I miss you when you’re not around.”

“…Be careful what you say in front of people. Especially at the club. You didn’t tell anyone, right?”

“What, that I got hypnotized and fell for someone? Who’d even believe that?”

“Fair point.”

As Daeyoung slung his bag over his shoulder, Chiwoo finally untied his own apron, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it aside. Together, they switched off the lights and stepped out into the alley.

The street was empty, but Daeyoung still glanced around before exiting the glass door.

“Why do you care so much about what people think?”

“Because it matters.”

The answer came instantly—firm, unflinching. Chiwoo clearly didn’t get it, but Daeyoung wasn’t about to explain. He locked the door, turned to leave—and felt his wrist caught.

“I’ll drive you home.”

“Are you insane? It’s a ten-minute walk.”

“Yeah. I’m insane for you.”

Daeyoung’s face went pale. “Ugh.”

“Do you even hear yourself?”

“Perfectly. Not like I’m lying.”

“You’re going to regret this someday.”

“If you don’t get in, you’ll regret it.”

The audacity. The sheer theatrics of it all. If he acted like this with someone he genuinely loved someday, would they even be able to breathe?

Why am I even thinking about that?

He shook his head and turned down the alley, ignoring the open car door. Ten long strides later, still no footsteps behind him. Maybe he’d finally given up.

Then—

“Baby! Let me give you a ride!”

The shout rang through the quiet alley, loud enough to shake the sky.

“HEY!”

Every hair on Daeyoung’s body stood on end. He spun around, mortified, sprinting back toward him.

This was a college town—where even whispers spread faster than wildfire. If rumors started that Ahn Daeyoung had a man calling him baby in public, he’d be socially executed by morning. Meanwhile, Chiwoo just looked pleased.

Daeyoung slapped a hand over his mouth, rising on his toes to glare directly into his eyes.

“Do you have a death wish? Who the hell are you calling baby? If anyone heard that—”

Smack.

Soft lips brushed against his palm.

He froze, eyes widening, before jerking his hand back and shaking it like it’d been burned. But Chiwoo caught his fingertips easily, curling them gently into his own.

“Told you you’d regret it.”

Was he out of his mind? Completely, irreversibly?

Face flushed bright red, Daeyoung could only stare, speechless. Chiwoo leaned casually against the car, one hand still holding the open passenger door, smiling like the devil himself.

“Damn it… you enjoying yourself?”

He was grinning—openly, brightly, the dimples at his cheeks deep and maddeningly perfect. This was the same man who used to walk around expressionless, blank as stone. Ever since that hypnosis, though, he’d been smiling like this—radiant, unguarded, alive.

“Yeah. I am. I’ve been losing my mind all day worrying about you—thinking your wrists might hurt again, that you might spill hot water, trip, or get harassed by some jerk. So let me take you home, peacefully, for once.”

“…”

“Or fine, wear a body cam. I’ll just track you that way.”

Was that even human logic? Before Daeyoung could respond, Chiwoo tapped his fingers lightly against his knuckles.

“What’s the holdup? You want me to yell baby again?”

He should’ve been furious. Should’ve shouted that he was being manipulative, that this was insane, that it made his skin crawl. But when Chiwoo chuckled softly, swaying his joined hands side to side like a teasing child—honestly—Daeyoung just couldn’t muster the anger.

God, I really am going crazy with him.

Groaning, he rubbed a hand down his face and finally shoved Chiwoo away, slipping into the passenger seat. Chiwoo placed a hand above his head, careful not to let him bump it, before closing the door gently and walking around to the driver’s side.

The car door clicked shut.

And inside, the air hung thick with something warm, frustratingly tender, and far too close.