Yohan sprayed rice from his mouth as he grabbed Haejun by the collar. He wasn’t picking a fight—he was pissed that Haejun had kept everything buried without showing it once. Even when Yohan shook him back and forth, Haejun just took it like he deserved it.
“Fuck,” Yohan exhaled, stuffing the feelings down with a sigh before setting his spoon down. He said his appetite had dropped straight off a cliff.
“I mean, yeah, it worked out. He paid off the Mic King loan and shit, and it’s not like some old bastard’s gonna drop dead tomorrow, so yeah, I guess it worked out.”
“Right. It worked out.”
“But why does it feel so damn off? That condition of his.”
“What about it?”
“You said he told you not to see anyone else, right? I mean, sponsors setting conditions however they want is normal. But usually they just pick the day, play golf, eat, fuck—no one gives a shit who you meet otherwise. ......What, is that guy a germaphobe or something?”
“No idea.”
“Or is he just trying to fuck with you?”
“Why would he fuck with me?”
“Because you touched his woman.”
“Ah.”
He’d completely forgotten. That Han Yeonghwa was Lee Kangjoo’s lover.
Haejun scratched his chin and sank into thought. Even now, remembering Lee Kangjoo’s low, mocking laugh—You people really play cheap—made his skin crawl.
But unexpectedly, Lee Kangjoo didn’t cling to past relationships. You could tell just from the fact that he’d never mentioned Han Yeonghwa once in front of Haejun. Any normal person would’ve shown resentment, or at least grabbed him by the collar.
Either he was the type who cut things off cleanly by nature, or his feelings for Han Yeonghwa had been no deeper than a shallow creek.
“No way. If he wanted to fuck you over, he’d have beaten you half to death already and buried you in some back hill. Cut off your fingers, your toes.”
That wasn’t some movie plot. Both Haejun and Yohan knew those kinds of cases all too well.
The area where they’d grown up was notorious as a high-risk zone. Husbands killed wives, wives poisoned husbands, kids were neglected and sometimes found dead. Even in modern society, with advanced media and welfare spread like a net, there were still shadows where the light never reached.
“So,”
Haejun braced one hand on the floor and suddenly leaned his upper body toward Yohan. Whenever he had a favor to ask, his eyes always sparkled like fireflies’ tails. Yohan, drawing a walnut pattern into his chin with a frown, leaned back warily.
“Teach me delivery work.”
“You really quitting the bar?”
“They told me to quit—what else am I supposed to do? I’m just gonna do deliveries during the day.”
“You even got a license?”
Haejun flashed a careless grin. Ever since high school, Yohan had nagged him nonstop to get one, but Haejun had kept putting it off, saying he didn’t need it. And here they were.
“I’ll get it right away.”
“And without a license you think you can do deliveries?”
“I figured I’d follow you around and learn the job until I get it.”
“You miserable bastard. You really say shit like that with a straight face.”
Frustrated, Yohan pinched Haejun’s cheek hard. Only after Haejun let out a whiny cry did Yohan finally let go, looking satisfied.
* * *
He could’ve said it over the phone, but a person’s got manners. Haejun went to the bar in person and told the boss he was quitting. If he still had debt, it’d be another story—but now he was free of any shackles, so the boss let him go without a fuss.
“If we’re slammed sometime, I’ll call you—come run a shift.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Haejun appreciated that he hadn’t been forgotten. One way or another, it was still a potential money hole, wasn’t it? Maybe it was ugly affection from being around so long, but when he left the place, his nose stung a little.
The move went smoothly. Yohan had offered to help, but Haejun didn’t have much stuff, and of all times a delivery call came in, so he handled it alone.
With nothing but a backpack slung over his shoulders, he headed to the address Lee Kangjoo had given him. When he reached the entrance, he kept glancing back and forth between the pin on his phone map and the building in front of him, wondering if this really was where he was supposed to live.
“Wow.”
It was obviously a brand-new building. Right next to a station, too. There was a guard booth at the entrance, a mechanical parking system, a glass front door with a keypad.
The inside was even more shocking. A clean two-room place—washing machine, bed, desk, TV, even a two-seater sofa. The kitchen was divided by an island counter, and there was a built-in closet big enough to fit all his clothes and then some.
He’d never lived in a place this nice in his life. Haejun couldn’t close his mouth as he dropped his backpack and carefully perched on the sofa.
His ass sank right in—it was softer than a bed. There was even a single bed under the window, probably for guests. Bright sunlight poured down like grains of sand, and beyond the glass stretched an endless cityscape that made him sigh in awe.
Like a curious cat in a new place, Haejun explored every corner of the apartment. He stood by the window for a long time, clapped at the spotless, mold-free bathroom, and pressed down hard on the desk with both hands to personally test how sturdy it was.
He took a bunch of photos. He doubted he’d ever live in a place this good again. He wasn’t asking for a lifetime—just hoping Lee Kangjoo’s interest would last as long as possible.
He wanted to invite Yohan over too, stuck in his one-room dump. But this wasn’t his house—he couldn’t just bring a friend without asking. He decided to shelve the plan and wait for the right mood to ask Lee Kangjoo later.
“Oh, right.”
Lately, he’d been thanking Lee Kangjoo a lot. Figuring he might be busy, Haejun chose to text instead of calling.
[ I moved in. Thank you. ]
He picked a cute emoji from the free ones and stuck it on. He added a few photos, praising how great the place was. The little “1” next to the message stayed there, but Haejun’s cheeks flushed as he hammered the keyboard harder than when he was cursing loan sharks to Yohan.
He wanted to rest a bit in this dreamlike place, but Yohan—who couldn’t stand seeing him idle—eventually contacted him.
-You move in okay?
“Yeah. I’m in. The place is amazing. I’ll show you later.”
-Good. If you’re done unpacking, come out. Let’s work.
“Already?”
-Gotta earn even one more won. Time is money. Don’t slack off—come out. I’ll head over there.
He’d said he’d do it himself, so putting it off until tomorrow didn’t feel right. Haejun groaned as he stood up and stretched.
Maybe it was the bright sunlight filling the room, or maybe just being out of the dark, grimy places he’d always stayed—today, he felt oddly alive. For the first time, a tiny sprout of hope bloomed that maybe his future wasn’t the bottomless pit he’d imagined.
* * *
The delivery work itself wasn’t that hard. You accepted a call on the app, went to the shop, picked up the order, and delivered it. Stuck between Yohan and the cargo box on the back of the bike, Haejun got a nonstop lecture.
“This line of work’s a red ocean these days—competition’s brutal. That’s ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) why it’s important to stay on the shop owners’ good side. Be polite. Greet them properly. Some hate it when you show up before the food’s ready, so hang back out of sight and go in at the right time. You listening?”
“Yeah.”
“There are places that are fucking filthy, total disasters—but don’t show it. Your customers are the shop owners, not the people getting the food.”
“Mm.”
“If you do well, some owners will get your personal number and call you directly. While you’re tagging along with me, make a good impression. Got it?”
“Yes, sir!”
They couldn’t do a housewarming, but they had dinner at a Chinese place Yohan picked. It looked shabby from the outside, but according to Yohan, he’d never seen a place run cleaner. The food was good too. The picky owner hated broadcasts and all that noise, which was why it wasn’t famous, but around here it was known as a solid hidden spot.
The sweet-and-sour pork was especially insane. Even after finishing, Haejun stared at the empty plate with lingering regret. It wasn’t that he wasn’t full—it was because Lee Kangjoo crossed his mind. He didn’t have the money to treat him to a fancy meal, but maybe this much would be okay as thanks.
The guy was loaded—he could buy whatever he wanted. Still, half out of gratitude and half on impulse, Haejun packed up one serving to go.
Back home, he set the food on the table and collapsed onto the sofa. At this hour he’d usually be scrubbing himself raw and heading to work. Sitting around doing nothing felt strangely awkward.
Haejun slid down the sofa and grabbed his phone. The message he’d sent Lee Kangjoo was still unread.
He stared at the food sitting alone on the table. Too much to eat alone, and he wasn’t hungry anyway. Since he’d bought it, he figured he might as well say something and sent another text.
[ I had dinner with a friend—turns out the place is really good. I brought some food back, but there’s a lot. If you haven’t eaten yet, come hang out. ]
Five minutes, ten minutes passed with no reply. Propping his chin on the table, Haejun stuck his lips out.
Maybe I shouldn’t have bought it.
It felt like he’d just thrown money into the air. Wilted like dried radish greens left in the damp, Haejun flopped flat onto the floor.
