No Eunjae dumped the beer and snacks he’d brought onto the table in a loud clatter and added, “Back then.” He tore open the dried snack packaging, picked the biggest piece, and handed it to Haejun. Haejun took it without hesitation.
“Fun?”
Setting aside whether the job suited him, it was hard to call it fun. He had to cater to customers’ moods, pour liquor down his throat until his stomach burned, and live every day under storm clouds of anxiety about how to pay off private loan interest and Mic King debt.
He’d stayed upbeat, positive, smiling in front of clients, sure. But compared to then, now was far more comfortable—physically and mentally.
The corner of Haejun’s mouth lifted faintly. A memory flashed through his mind—what he’d done on that bed in broad daylight just days ago. The act that had started under the noon sun and only ended when dusk settled in.
“Yeah. Free drinks, hanging out with customers. It was fun.”
He lowered his gaze and fiddled with his phone. He wanted to text Lee Kangjoo, ask what he was doing. He wanted to hear his voice, though a call would probably be difficult.
“I wanted to grab a drink with you, hyung. Good timing. You’re not working at the bar anymore?”
“No. Doing deliveries.”
“Does delivery pay as much as the bar?”
As if. Per table, per hour, including second rounds—the money wasn’t even comparable. Delivery just barely loosened the noose around his neck. It couldn’t be his main income.
But Haejun didn’t have the energy to explain all that. And honestly, he couldn’t be bothered.
“Eh. More or less?”
“My friend does delivery too. Says it’s pretty decent. I might try it next time. Though the bar’s not bad either.”
“Why’d you quit the bar?”
“Oh, that... because of a crazy customer.”
“Got yourself a psycho?”
“Yeah. Kept calling me, asking me to date him, stalking me. I put up with it, but it got unbearable, so I quit. You ever had that happen, hyung?”
Haejun shook his head. He’d never had a customer like that. For a moment, Han Yeonghwa came to mind, but she hadn’t acted like a stalker. She’d just dabbed her tears with her sleeve and pushed him forward, telling him to go ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ clear up the misunderstanding with Lee Kangjoo.
If that hadn’t happened, he wouldn’t be tangled up with Kangjoo like this. Strangely enough, he felt grateful to her.
“You’re this cute.”
“What?”
“You were popular with customers, hyung. Always got picked. Hard to believe no one stalked you.”
Eunjae grinned like a big dog bringing back a ball. It was a harmless smile, no hidden agenda.
Cute? From someone younger than him? Figuring he must’ve misheard, Haejun casually scratched his ear.
“But seriously, why’d you quit? Paid off your Mic King? Didn’t you say it was a lot?”
So many useless questions. Haejun didn’t feel like answering. And he didn’t want to explain that the debt had been transferred to Lee Kangjoo.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
He cut it short and drank. Eunjae pouted slightly but shrugged it off when Haejun just stared blankly elsewhere.
After bringing a few more cans of beer, Eunjae finally hauled himself up about an hour later. Whether he left or not, Haejun was already nodding off against the sofa.
“Hyung, sleep on the bed. I’m heading out.”
“Mm.”
Haejun crawled across the floor on all fours and climbed onto the bed. Watching his wobbly backside, Eunjae covered his mouth with the back of his hand and cleared his throat softly. The inside of Haejun’s thighs, visible through the loose pant legs, looked unusually pale.
“Let’s drink again next time.”
Haejun mumbled something and waved a hand weakly from under the blanket. Between the alcohol and sleepiness, his mind was already halfway gone.
“So defenseless.”
Eunjae shook his head and turned off the lights before leaving. The thud of the door closing made Haejun snap his eyes open. He was still drowsy, but he couldn’t waste this moment now that the interruption was gone.
He raised the phone he’d been clutching to his chest. In the darkness, only his face glowed in the screen’s light. He typed and erased repeatedly before finally settling on a sentence that was plain and unimpressive.
[How was your day today]
[I met a junior and had a drink after a long time]
[Good night]
There was no way he was drunk from just beer, but in that slightly tipsy mood, he gathered the courage to send it. He didn’t expect a reply. If one came, it would be short—or he’d only see it in the morning.
He was just about to fall asleep when his phone vibrated in his hand. Haejun jolted upright.
Lee Kangjoo’s name lit up the screen. Without realizing it, Haejun knelt neatly on the bed. Afraid it would disconnect, he quickly pressed the call button.
“H-hello...?”
“Why are you still awake.”
Kangjoo’s voice flowed through the receiver, making Haejun’s whole body itch. Like fine sand pouring softly over his skin.
He collapsed back onto the mattress. The soft bed accepted his weight easily.
“I was... having a drink with a junior.”
“Which junior?”
“From when I worked at the bar. Ran into him by chance.”
“Did you drink a lot?”
“No! Just a little beer.”
“Cha Haejun, you’re a lightweight.”
“Me? Come on.”
He’d downed straight liquor as punishment shots at the bar and survived just fine. Maybe his liver had given up since then, but he wasn’t the type to get plastered from a few beers.
“You were drunk last time too.”
That day he’d been drunk on the atmosphere more than the alcohol. The memory of lying on the dining table, insisting on sucking him off, remained one of Haejun’s greatest humiliations. Even if he went back in time, he’d probably do the same thing—but it still embarrassed him that he’d come even while nearly suffocating.
He cleared his throat loudly. A quiet chuckle came from the other end.
“Be careful when you drink with juniors. Don’t spread your legs for the wrong person.”
“Never. I only serve you, sir. I don’t even let anyone else touch a finger.”
“Good.”
There was a brief pause. Haejun lay on his side, pressing the phone against his ear. He didn’t want to hang up. He wanted to listen to even just his breathing until he fell asleep.
“And you... how was your day?”
He knew if he let silence linger, the call would end. So he asked, trying to stretch it out.
“Same as always.”
Haejun giggled. After observing him for a few days, he could picture Kangjoo’s dry, routine mornings vividly.
“Found a hobby yet?”
“Not one as good as Cha Haejun.”
He hoped he never would. He wanted Lee Kangjoo’s hobby to be Cha Haejun himself. But that selfish wish was pressed down beneath his throat.
“There’s nothing more fun than me.”
“Is that so.”
“You’ll always find me the most interesting. You won’t get bored.”
“Sounds like you’re promising to work hard.”
“Yes. I’ll do anything you want.”
Another laugh spilled through the line. It was contagious. Haejun grinned too, curling his knees and slipping his hands between his thighs.
“Sir, will you sing me a lullaby?”
“A lullaby?”
“The one you said you’d sing before. Even the national anthem would be fine.”
It had probably been a passing joke, but Haejun remembered. Someday, he’d wanted to hear a lullaby sung by Lee Kangjoo himself.
“Wasn’t Cha Haejun the one who said he’d do anything? You should sing.”
The counterattack came swiftly. Haejun rolled onto his other side, rubbing his toes against the dry blanket as he thought.
“If you’re not going to sleep now... I’ll sing next time.”
“Sing now.”
He’d dug his own grave. He couldn’t refuse that firm command. The only lullaby he knew was the one his grandmother had sung to him and Yohan. It wasn’t like he could sing “hush, little baby” to Lee Kangjoo.
Thankfully, one song popped into his mind. He cleared his throat softly.
“Sleep well, our... sir?”
The word baby absolutely did not suit Lee Kangjoo. Like when inserting someone’s name into a birthday song, he replaced the word at the end with “sir.” A low laugh sounded from the other end. Haejun smiled too. Whenever Kangjoo laughed, Haejun’s lips melted upward like a kid showing off in front of someone he liked.
“In the front yard and the back hill...”
At the bar, he’d prided himself on his singing. Maybe not dancing, but singing—he was confident. He sang softly, low and gentle, fitting for the late hour. Morning birds chirp bright and quick; night birds sing long and far. Haejun’s voice belonged to the latter.
“The moon through the window bars...”
His eyelids fluttered slower and heavier as he sang. The sound slipping from his lips grew fainter. The clicking of a mouse and faint keyboard taps drifted through the phone occasionally.
In the end, Haejun couldn’t finish the song. Fast asleep, the phone remained perched at his ear like a quiet bird, the call still connected.
