Maybe it was thanks to Lee Kangjoo taking care of him, but the cold and body aches cleared up quickly. By the next day, Haejun was well enough to go back to work. Kangjoo didn’t look pleased about it, but when Haejun whined that he might get fired if he kept missing shifts, he reluctantly let him go.
No matter the reason, he’d still taken several days off. Carrying a pile of worries, Haejun showed up, bracing himself for scolding. The delivery company boss glanced at his gaunt face and only said,
“If you skip out like this again, I’ll cut you loose.”
It seemed he was more annoyed that he’d heard the reason for the absence from someone else.
Standing at ease like a scolded recruit, Haejun obediently answered, “Yes, sir.” The boss overlooked lateness, overlooked delayed absence notices—just like Yohan said, his mouth was rough but his heart was soft as tofu.
At the restaurant they often went to for lunch, he ran into Yohan. The moment Yohan saw him, he let out a hollow laugh.
“You crazy bastard.”
And started with a curse right away. He looked genuinely hurt that Haejun hadn’t called him while he was sick.
Up until now, they’d always helped each other when one was ill. This time, that role had gone to Lee Kangjoo. Yohan had every right to feel slighted, but it couldn’t be helped—Haejun had literally collapsed unconscious.
“I was going to call you, but it just......”
“But what.”
The way he cut him off made it clear no explanation would work. No matter how pleading Haejun’s eyes were, Yohan’s sulky expression didn’t budge. His lips stuck out a good inch, arms crossed tight. He wasn’t just a little upset.
In the end, Haejun changed tactics—looped his arm around Yohan’s and rubbed his head against his neck, acting cute. Yohan snapped at him to get off, called him disgusting, but the corners of his mouth gradually softened. He must’ve found the thinner, paler Haejun pitiful.
“You lost a fuck ton of weight.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Bullshit. Your clothes are hanging off you.”
...Was that true? No wonder Kangjoo had been so serious about stuffing food into his mouth.
Haejun touched his own face. What if he’d gotten so thin he looked awful?
Checking his reflection in the bike mirror, the hollows under his eyes made him look almost skeletal. His already pale face had drained of what little color it had.
“Let’s eat first. I’m starving.”
Yohan hooked an arm around his neck and dragged him inside. Haejun still didn’t have much appetite, but he needed to force food down and get back to normal.
Without asking, Yohan ordered a meat-loaded gukbap. With the milky broth and extra meat and noodles added, it was more than Haejun could finish. He looked at it helplessly.
“Don’t leave a drop. Scrape the bowl clean.”
Yohan practically ordered him, voice bordering on a threat. Maybe it was punishment for not calling.
“Anyway, what happened to that guy? Your junior.”
“Ah, Eunjae?”
“Yeah.”
“Since when do you care about other people?”
Yohan jabbed his empty rice bowl with his spoon and snapped irritably. It didn’t seem like positive curiosity.
“He’s been all over social media, commenting on everyone’s posts from that day.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Then he suddenly cut off. The others were asking if something happened.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Not exactly a lie. Since that day, No Eunjae had grown distant. When they’d run into each other in front of the elevator, he’d said he’d started another job and was swamped.
And honestly, after all the talk about him sucking someone’s dick—and worse, the fact that Lee Kangjoo had overheard it—it was awkward facing Eunjae. So the distance wasn’t a bad thing.
After shoving down food that didn’t want to go down, Haejun managed to finish a bowl of rice. Proud, he patted his bloated stomach as they stepped out. Yohan insisted snacking was best for gaining weight and bought an armful of chips from the convenience store, cramming them into Haejun’s mouth.
“Hey, wasn’t this Grandma’s favorite?”
The sweet grain-syrup flavor and crisp texture felt familiar. It was the only snack their grandmother, who didn’t like sweets, ever asked for. Yohan hadn’t even realized what he’d grabbed. He leaned over to look.
“Damn, habits are scary. Just picked it up and it’s this. ......Grandma loved these.”
His gaze turned distant. Then he suddenly looked at Haejun.
“You know her memorial’s coming up.”
“Of course. Next Thursday.”
He might forget his own birthday, but never the day she died. Just thinking of her wrinkled face and warm hands made his nose sting.
This longing would probably never fade. Yohan’s expression carried the same ache.
“When are you free?”
“In the evening. Got deliveries in the morning.”
He couldn’t forget the boss’s warning about firing him if he skipped again. He couldn’t lose a good job and a boss who cut him slack.
“The boss treats you well?”
“An angel. An angel.”
Compared to his old boss who used to smack him in the back of the head and threaten to cut his ankles off if he didn’t repay his Mic King loan, this delivery boss practically needed checking [N O V E L I G H T] for wings. Haejun showered him with praise, thumb up. Yohan snorted.
They shared a cigarette and parted ways. Starting his bike late, Haejun checked his reflection again. Maybe the meat soup had worked—there was a bit of color back in his face.
* * *
Whenever deliveries popped up near Lee Kangjoo’s office, Haejun grabbed them. Even if the distance wasn’t worth the pay, he accepted. Just in case he might run into him. He’d even lingered outside the building a few times, hoping for a lucky accident.
Today, luck was on his side. A delivery order appeared for the building where Kangjoo’s office was.
Haejun pounced on it. The distance meant the gas cost would outweigh the fee, but if he could see Kangjoo even once more, it was worth it. Besides, the fuel wasn’t his expense.
“Ah.”
Stopped at a red light, he noticed a familiar bakery logo nearby. The same logo that had been on the unbelievably delicious bread Kangjoo had bought him once. A famous place, judging by the long line.
Had Kangjoo stood in that line?
It was hard to picture him waiting idly outside a popular bakery. He’d probably sent someone else. That made more sense.
But even so—the fact that he’d chosen a famous place, that he’d bought that bread for him—hit harder than it should.
His heart thudded loudly. Louder than the city noise.
Moments like this made him realize it again.
He liked Lee Kangjoo. If anything, his feelings were deepening day by day.
The man had hurt him, tormented him—yet in the end, with awkward, gentle hands, he’d taken care of him. How was he supposed to hate someone like that?
He wanted to at least pretend indifference, but his heart kept swelling on its own. It went beyond liking—sometimes his whole body ached with it. Just looking at him made greedy desires rear up without knowing their place.
Haejun had never been materialistic. He hadn’t grown up in an environment that allowed it. Used, discarded, secondhand—it didn’t matter. He’d been grateful just to be given anything at all.
Then Lee Kangjoo had dropped into that life. A gem bright as sunlight, noble as moonlight. So precious it felt wrong to even touch. Even harboring feelings felt like an indulgence beyond his worth.
And yet he wanted him. Wanted to hold him so badly it drove him mad.
“......”
He wished these feelings would just collapse inward. That he could clean everything up on his own before Kangjoo noticed.
A horn blared behind him.
Haejun jolted. The light had turned green.
He parked his bike by the curb and entered the building. After handing over the food in the lobby, he didn’t leave immediately. He lingered, glancing around. He even took off his helmet, hoping the receptionist might recognize him and send him upstairs to Kangjoo’s office—but she was busy and didn’t look his way.
“Um, I came to see CEO Lee Kangjoo......”
Approaching timidly, he finally caught her attention. But recognition alone didn’t earn him special treatment. She called Kangjoo’s office, received permission, and then escorted him up.
Haejun used the elevator wall as a mirror to fix his hair. He’d been eating meat with Yohan at lunch every day, but his complexion still hadn’t improved much.
He slapped his pale cheeks lightly to bring out some color. In the dull metal reflection, they looked faintly flushed.
“Welcome. The CEO is in a meeting at the moment. Please wait a moment.”
Inside the office, a staff member greeted him. This wasn’t unusual, so Haejun nodded obediently and sat on the sofa.
Time passed. Longer than he expected. Growing anxious, he stood and wandered toward the aquarium. The arowana swam gracefully, twisting its long body as if greeting him after a while.
“......”
He’d barged in fueled by the single desire to see Kangjoo—but this was prime time for delivery calls. He couldn’t wait forever.
He glanced at the clock. Ten more minutes and it would hit the hour. He decided to wait until then, eyes returning to the fish.
Click.
The door opened.
Hearing familiar footsteps, Haejun turned with a bright smile—only to freeze when he saw the guest standing beside Lee Kangjoo.
“Then I’ll relay that to our chairman.”
The man stood too close to Kangjoo. It felt different from Yang Seokho. Especially the way he looked up at him. His hands were clasped behind his back, cheeks faintly flushed—as if he were facing someone he admired, not conducting business.
Haejun’s gaze shifted to the man’s face.
He looked pure, like a flower coaxed into bloom with difficulty. Neatly styled black hair, flawless skin, gently drooping eyes, a sharp jawline. Elegant.
His clothes were high-end. Haejun didn’t recognize the brand of the watch on his wrist, but it certainly wasn’t cheap. A subtle fragrance drifted over.
He was the embodiment of a rich young master from a world Haejun had only vaguely imagined.
Haejun tucked his hands behind his back and pulled at his sleeves. His worn jacket, frayed jeans, hair flattened by a helmet, skin still rough from being sick—suddenly, all of it felt painfully embarrassing.
