“Ah, well... I bumped into something a bit while doing a delivery.”
“Where.”
“A car. I was making a left at an intersection and... yeah. The other driver was a mom. She said her kid was sick and she was on the way to the hospital. So she was in a hurry, and then—thud.”
Haejun lightly knocked his fist against his other fist. It wasn’t even his fault, but his voice kept shrinking anyway.
“It made sense she was speeding. The kid had this huge piece of gauze stuck to his head. When it fell off, you could see the wound, and—ah.”
Lee Kangjoo cut him off mid-sentence, sliding an arm under his thighs and lifting him up in one swift motion. He set him down on the sofa, then crouched in front of him and carefully examined the swollen ankle.
Under the bright light, it looked worse than expected. More swollen than before he’d washed it, a purplish bruise spreading all the way to the ankle bone. It was warm to the touch, too.
When Lee Kangjoo pressed down with his fingertips, it felt like his ankle was about to shatter. Haejun’s shoulders trembled as he barely managed to swallow a scream. Still, the pain was impossible to fully hold back, and a single tear clung to the corner of his eye.
“It wasn’t this bad earlier.”
“Just a simple accident?”
“Just a small one... I think it got caught between the bike and the bumper or something. I was planning to go to the hospital tomorrow.”
“Not today.”
“Today is the day you’re coming over, so...”
Haejun smiled faintly. This level of pain was nothing. Spending time with Lee Kangjoo mattered more to him.
Lee Kangjoo, however, seemed to think differently. He stood up and looked down at Haejun. The shadow cast over him felt unusually dark.
“Is this how you handle everything?”
At the low voice, Haejun flinched. The room seemed to turn cold in an instant. He hunched his shoulders at the sudden chill.
“...What?”
“Jumping into the sea, now this. I didn’t realize your business methods involved self-harm, Mr. Cha Haejun.”
“What are you—”
He couldn’t grasp the meaning right away. He just stared up at him, confused.
“If it’s always like this, fraud by self-injury would suit you better than being a prostitute.”
His brain lagged behind. Only after about ten seconds did the meaning click.
Was he saying he hurt himself on purpose to get sympathy?
Haejun shot to his feet. But the moment his injured foot touched the ground, a sharp pain shot through him.
“Ah—!”
He collapsed back down. Afraid Lee Kangjoo might leave, he grabbed at the hem of his clothes first and shouted urgently.
“That’s not it!”
“......”
“My leg—this isn’t self-harm, and I’ve never worked like that. This was just... an accident. I wasn’t trying to inconvenience you, ever.”
He struggled to swallow down the emotions surging up inside him. It wasn’t exactly hurt—more like something heavier, something hollow.
Yeah, he sold his body for money. That made him a prostitute. He’d never denied that.
But hearing it directly from Lee Kangjoo... it hit differently. Like something heavy slamming straight into his chest.
“...And no client has ever pitied me just because I got hurt.”
His voice came out weak as he added that. Without realizing it, his hand rose to press against his aching chest.
He couldn’t understand why the spot under his hand hurt more than his burning ankle. He didn’t even want to understand.
The ankle would heal. But whatever this was in his chest—it didn’t feel like something that could be treated.
Lee Kangjoo didn’t respond.
Haejun wanted to cling to him, to repeat over and over that it wasn’t true, that he’d never done anything like that. But his mouth wouldn’t open.
Even when loan sharks beat him, tore at him, tortured him, the only thought he’d had was a vague wish to die.
This was different.
This felt closer to humiliation. Unfair. Miserable. Pathetic.
It was the first time he’d ever felt something like this—like his whole body might crumple up like a sheet of paper.
He couldn’t hold onto Lee Kangjoo anymore.
Haejun squeezed his eyes shut, forcing back the tears, and let go. The fabric slipped from his fingers.
A brief silence followed.
He kept his head lowered. He was afraid Lee Kangjoo might end everything right here.
A vague dread crept in. He just wanted to hide somewhere no one could see him.
To calm himself, he started picking at the skin beneath his thumbnail with his index finger. Soon the skin split, and blood welled up.
He didn’t feel the pain.
The dull ache in his chest swallowed everything else.
“...Can you walk?”
After what felt like an eternity, Lee Kangjoo finally spoke.
Haejun nodded. He grabbed onto the sofa and stood up, and Lee Kangjoo supported him by the arm.
“Let’s go to the hospital.”
“Now? Is there even a place open—”
“There are plenty.”
Haejun looked at him blankly, tear stains still visible on his face. He sniffled, looking a complete mess. When he rubbed his cheeks, his swollen eyes narrowed slightly.
“Let’s go.”
With a deep sigh, Lee Kangjoo picked him up.
He had no intention of waiting forever for Haejun to limp along behind him. Haejun weakly protested that he could walk on his own, but once he realized it wouldn’t work, he quietly settled into his arms.
* * *
At a 24-hour orthopedic clinic, they took X-rays. The swelling had been suspicious, and sure enough, it turned out there was a hairline fracture in his ankle.
Bones that had stayed intact even when loan sharks beat the hell out of him had cracked from just lightly hitting a bumper. Haejun clicked his tongue, blaming it on that damn shaman’s curse.
His foot was wrapped thickly in a cast, and he sat in the waiting area. Crutches were placed beside him. The doctor had warned him sternly that putting weight on it would delay healing.
It was his first time using them, and the way he tried to wedge them under his arms and walk felt awkward as hell. If Lee Kangjoo hadn’t been holding onto him from the side, he would’ve rolled down the hospital corridor several times already.
Even late at night, the waiting room was fairly crowded. Every single person there looked half-dead.
Some clutched their lower backs, others lay sprawled across chairs like corpses, groaning. A few had casts on their arms or bandages wrapped around their fingers.
He wasn’t any different from them.
Watching them—each one broken somewhere—Haejun idly wiggled his casted foot. Maybe it was the painkillers, or maybe it was the tight compression, but the pain from earlier was gone.
Soon, Lee Kangjoo returned after paying.
Haejun had said he’d pay, but it hadn’t even been acknowledged.
He met his eyes, carrying a mix of embarrassment and guilt.
Lee Kangjoo’s face looked expressionless at first glance, but there was a faint trace of disdain in his eyes.
Lee Kangjoo extended his hand.
As Haejun reached out to take it and stand, Lee Kangjoo’s gaze dropped to his fingertips.
“What happened here.”
He grabbed his hand.
A scab of dried blood had formed under his thumbnail. He’d picked at it earlier without realizing, unable to endure the silence, afraid Lee Kangjoo might leave for good.
“Ah, I was picking at it earlier... It’s nothing. Stuff like this heals if you just put some spit on it.”
“......”
Lee Kangjoo let go of his hand. There was a hint of irritation in the movement.
It didn’t feel like a situation where he could ask for help, so Haejun gave an awkward smile and tried to stand on his own, wobbling.
Using the crutches, he managed—barely—to lift himself off the chair.
“Uh—”
But then his footing slipped, and his body pitched forward.
So I’m falling at least once, huh—
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Instead of the floor, his forehead hit Lee Kangjoo’s chest.
He’d expected to be shoved away immediately, but surprisingly, Lee Kangjoo held him steady without complaint.
“A wheelchair would be better.”
“It’s just because it’s my first time. I’ll practice from now on. I don’t think I need a wheelchair...”
It wasn’t like both his legs were useless. It was just a small crack in one ankle. Using a wheelchair like some seriously injured patient didn’t sit right with him.
But Lee Kangjoo ignored him and made him sit in one anyway.
He tried to protest, feeling uncomfortable, but it was useless. And with Lee Kangjoo pushing him, the embarrassment only deepened.
“Thank you.”
After being helped into the car, Haejun bowed his head slightly toward him.
Either way, he’d ended up owing him again.
Because of him, he’d gotten to the hospital quickly and received proper treatment. He hadn’t even paid for it. If he’d been alone, just getting to the hospital and learning to walk with crutches would’ve been a whole ordeal.
Lee Kangjoo, hands on the steering wheel, stayed silent no matter what Haejun said.
His face, staring straight ahead, seemed more rigid than usual.
The heavy atmosphere kept Haejun from speaking carelessly.
Normally, he would’ve filled the silence with pointless chatter or turned on the radio. But now—just a random accident, bad luck—yet judging by Lee Kangjoo’s attitude, it felt like everything was somehow his fault.
The car exited the underground parking lot and soon merged onto the main road.
Pretending to look out the window, Haejun stole glances at Lee Kangjoo’s reflection in the glass.
The way the lights slid across his eyes. The slow, dull tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel. The deep line that occasionally carved into his jaw.
He tried to read meaning into all of it.
But it wasn’t enough to understand what Lee Kangjoo was thinking.
And even if he did guess, there was no way to know if he was right.
Haejun gave up trying to interpret him.
