“Sorry doesn’t cut it. Hey. Go Taeling.”
So he tapped the crown of Go Taerim’s head lightly with his fingertips. And once again, those eyes flew wide open in startled surprise.
In that moment, Seon Eunhu felt like he understood what all of Go Taerim’s reactions had in common.
Maybe this male beta was like this because…
Seon Eunhu gently tipped Go Taerim’s chin up with his fingertips.
“Ah….”
Go Taerim let out a small sound and, head lifted, had no idea what to do with himself. He wasn’t restrained by anything, yet he couldn’t move an inch — held only by a thumb and forefinger.
Why?
Instead of asking, Seon Eunhu looked into Go Taerim’s eyes. His long lashes trembled pitifully, like the eaves of a house on a rainy day. The eyes beneath them, irises sharply defined, were laying his inner thoughts completely bare.
…If you’re going to be angry, just be angry — why do you have to get this close and touch me on top of it… like yesterday…. Making a person uncomfortable….
Yesterday?
Seon Eunhu caught on to that one word inside Go Taerim’s head. Now that he thought about it, he’d witnessed a similar reaction yesterday too.
It had been when he’d brushed the plaster off Go Taerim’s fringe.
Go Taerim had gone stiff as a board, muttering internally about having no immunity to physical contact, that it was too close — and Seon Eunhu had assumed he was having indecent thoughts again….
Could it be that physical contact was simply difficult for him regardless of who it was with?
Having identified Go Taerim’s weak point, Seon Eunhu narrowed his eyes. Abruptly, he felt the urge to squeeze his grip and pinch — or even twist — that jaw. He suppressed it, released his hand, and Go Taerim immediately took one large step back as if he’d been waiting for exactly that.
Seon Eunhu looked down at the junior who stood a full hand shorter than him, dissatisfied.
“So. How are you going to make this right.”
Go Taerim’s lips moved soundlessly at Seon Eunhu’s sharp question. When Seon Eunhu prompted him with an “Hm?”, only then did a slow voice slip out from between those deep red lips.
“I’m sorry. I’ll do my best to fix it somehow.”
“You? Do you even have any idea how to fix it?”
“…….”
“When a senior is talking to you, look them in the eye. What are you looking at?”
The cool reprimand made Go Taerim lift his head back up. The aftershock of his earlier turmoil still lingered in those jet-black eyes.
“…….”
“…….”
An awkward current passed between them as their gazes met.
Seon Eunhu was caught in an emotion he couldn’t name.
Go Taerim had always been like the base of a candle flame — no matter how much he swayed, he found his footing again right away. Seeing him this shaken was like witnessing the rare spectacle of a clean, pristine candle having a single stream of wax run down its surface.
“Haah.”
Unsettled in a way he couldn’t quite place, Seon Eunhu left Go Taerim where he was and moved in close to his work piece. He examined the cross-section of the cracked plaster mold carefully. Just as he’d seen at a glance, the break was clean — sticking it back together with adhesive should do it. For Seon Eunhu, who had tackled more difficult repair jobs more times than he could count, this was nothing.
But.
“What a headache. This shouldn’t have cracked like this.”
He had no desire to ease Go Taerim’s guilt.
He murmured it like an aside, and Go Taerim’s head dipped. The agitation that had shown itself at the touch of his hand was nearly gone now, and he had settled back into his composed self.
“Top drawer of my worktable — there’s adhesive in there. Get it.”
“Okay.”
Go Taerim hurried to retrieve the adhesive and came to sit beside Seon Eunhu.
As the adhesive was handed over, a sweet body scent followed with it. It was the faint scent he’d caught when he’d put his arm around Go Taerim just a moment ago. It had a sweet, soft quality to it — reminiscent of gummy candy — and was surprisingly fresh.
For someone who isn’t an omega, he has quite a pleasant scent, Seon Eunhu thought, and worked quietly without a word. The process of piecing the broken section back together was delicate work, and besides, he was hardly saintly enough to walk the person who had put his work in this state through each step of the repair. They could figure it out by watching. The blue-clad figure visible in his peripheral vision was observing with great diligence from what was almost a comically wide distance.
Seon Eunhu was about to tell him to come closer, then closed his mouth.
Seon Eunhu was someone who, by nature, craved recognition through effort more than through innate talent. He knew he was that sensitive about his work, and so he also knew his reaction right now was different from usual.
Normally, the moment his work was broken, he would have thrown Go Taerim out of the studio. Rather than asking how he intended to take responsibility, he would have lost his temper with something more juvenile — threatening him never to come near the place again.
But now, having identified Go Taerim’s weak point and tasted a brief flash of something like satisfaction, what Seon Eunhu felt more strongly was the desire to keep him close a little longer.
It wasn’t affection. It was closer to the urge to rattle him — something almost sadistic.
He simply wanted to see again that moment when those dull, opaque eyes had cracked.
Seon Eunhu gazed quietly at the plaster mold and turned it over in his mind, again and again — the fact that Go Taerim had been shaken by him.
“Is there anything you want to eat?”
When he asked that, Go Taerim had answered, “Anything’s fine. What about you?” But inwardly he was picturing a steaming bowl of sundae soup, and Seon Eunhu didn’t miss it.
“Want to go get sundae soup?”
“Sure.”
He’d expected Go Taerim to be pleased that it was something he’d been wanting — but Go Taerim’s reaction was flat. His inner thoughts were the same.
It was only after they arrived at the restaurant and Go Taerim immediately looked at the menu and began calculating prices in his head that Seon Eunhu’s curiosity was piqued. Go Taerim swallowed once and finally let slip an inner thought he hadn’t shown before.
I’ll pay for this, so order whatever you want. I’ll just have one regular-size sundae soup.
“I’ll pay for this, so order whatever you want. I’ll just have one regular-size sundae soup.”
“You’re going to pay for this?”
He asked, hardly believing his ears, and Go Taerim nodded deeply. Changed out of his loud work uniform and into a plain grey hoodie, Go Taerim looked unusually guileless.
“Yes. I feel terrible about what I did, so I at least wanted to pay for this. My mistake messed up your whole work schedule. It should have been finished by now….”
“True. If things had gone to plan, I’d be out eating grilled meat right now, but because of you I’m having rice soup and going back to the studio.”
“…….”
Go Taerim visibly deflated at the sharp retort.
He was originally planning to go eat meat….
He was so genuinely sorry about it that even his inner voice trailed off meekly. All that grief over missing out on one meal of grilled meat.
Seon Eunhu leisurely looked over the menu as if he had no idea.
“Don’t think handing over one bowl of sundae soup is going to clear your conscience. And don’t try to make it up to me — just sit there and reflect quietly. There’s a limit to how lightly you should take me.”
“…….”
“I’ll pay. Even if I can’t stand you, you still did work as my assistant and that deserves something.”
“Okay.”
“…….”
He’d expected a subdued response, but even to words meant to sting, Go Taerim just answered meekly — and Seon Eunhu, who had been looking at the menu, furrowed his brow. His mood was still sour and he’d wanted to land a blow on Go Taerim, but with no real reaction coming back, it only turned into a kind of self-directed disgust.
Even if that’s what he’s saying out loud, surely he’s cursing me out inside.
A moment later, Seon Eunhu quietly shifted his gaze to Go Taerim. But contrary to expectations — that he’d be muttering sly, unpleasant things about Seon Eunhu — Go Taerim was quietly watching out the window.
…There he goes again.
Even with the busy street scene full of passersby, what caught Go Taerim’s eye was the roadside trees and greenery, or the clouds in the sky. He seemed to have no interest in people, or perhaps he did — it was hard to tell — but the way he saw the world was different from others.
His perspective on death in particular was out of the ordinary. Go Taerim was probably the only person alive who looked at clouds and thought of crematorium smoke.
Did Go Taerim know that connecting everything to death was a symptom of depression?
“…….”
Just then, Go Taerim’s gaze, which had been fixed on the street outside, drifted up to the sky. Following it, Seon Eunhu saw a flock of around ten birds flying in a V-formation.
It was a rare sight in the city. Seon Eunhu watched for a moment, then — out of habit — looked at Go Taerim again. From those dark eyes, focused far away, came Go Taerim’s unhurried voice.
Did the bird at the very front know a whole flock would follow when it first took flight? What if it had just meant to shift slightly to the side, and the others misread it and followed, so now it’s ended up on a journey it never wanted? Ugh… that sounds so stressful. It’d feel like it has to fly somewhere really worthwhile now.
…The things he thinks up.
Seon Eunhu called over a server to hide the laugh threatening to escape. Even as Seon Eunhu ordered, Go Taerim couldn’t take his eyes off the window.
The endless stream of his thoughts was a far cry from the sly fantasies Go Taerim supposedly entertained about Seon Eunhu. Was it those thoughts — constantly flowing like this — that gave his manner such stillness? Go Taerim, who looked precarious yet harmless and then suddenly and extremely calculating, was not easy to read.
The dark eyes that had lost the flock of birds now found the plants scattered here and there. When he looked at flowers, what he thought of wasn’t their shape or variety — it was his dead parents.
Go Taerim looked like he needed something to interrupt him.
“What are you thinking about?”
