Still a pushover, as always.
Yeon Haejeong watched Munyeong’s back as he laid out fresh sheets and found himself tracing over old memories he’d completely buried and forgotten. He kept his eyes on that busy, moving figure as he leaned against the wall, and then the words Shin Juho had said a moment ago surfaced in his mind. The part about paying off the debt. It kept circling in his head. More accurately — it was gnawing at him. Because the pushover standing right in front of him was so pathetic, so frustrating. An inexplicable anger surged up inside Haejeong and he ground his teeth before the words burst out of him.
“Are you rich?”
The sudden question made those diligent hands pause. Munyeong turned back with an expression that said he had no idea what was going on.
“Pardon?”
“I said, are you rich.”
It wasn’t that he hadn’t heard — but Haejeong repeated the question with a blatant look on his face.
“What do you mean……”
“Can’t understand me? You. Rich. Are you.”
Each syllable hit with deliberate force. Munyeong slowly shook his head, visibly bewildered.
“…No….”
“Then you’re broke?”
“…I have just enough to earn my own keep, that’s all.”
The sudden interrogation about his finances baffled Munyeong, but he answered faithfully despite the confusion written all over his face.
“And someone like that is paying off someone else’s debt?”
The question cut straight in like a blade, and only then did Munyeong understand what this was about. He exhaled — a low, startled breath. He was recalling the conversation he’d had with Shin Juho earlier.
“You live in a rooftop room that looks like it could cave in any second, and you’re out there paying off someone else’s debt. Why?”
Haejeong kept pressing, his voice thick with frustration. The tone was one of someone who genuinely could not understand. Munyeong laughed awkwardly and continued smoothing out the sheets as he opened his mouth.
“Because he’s my friend.”
“Nobody pays off a friend’s debt when they’ve got nothing themselves.”
“…Is it wrong…… to help someone who has nothing?”
Munyeong responded quietly, the corner of his mouth curving with a trace of bitterness.
“He’s my friend… so I wanted to help.”
“…….”
“He looked like he was really struggling.”
Munyeong finished tucking in the sheet and lifted the blanket over it, adding it casually. Feeling like he’d snapped back at him, he tried to soften his tone, continuing with a self-deprecating little laugh.
“Ah, when I was a kid… when everyone was saying their dreams were to be teachers, or celebrities……”
“…….”
“…My dream was to live sincerely, and become someone who could at least help one person around them…… That’s what it was.”
“…….”
“…Because just managing to live that way was already something enormous. For me.”
All done. He murmured, giving the clean blanket a few firm pats, and rose to his feet. When he turned back, his face was composed.
“The space is a little tight, but… I clean often so it should at least be tidy….”
“…….”
“…Rest comfortably.”
Munyeong gave a small bow and moved to pass him where he stood in that dissatisfied way — and in that instant, a rough hand seized his arm. The grip was crushing, strong enough that his brow knitted involuntarily. Caught by that forceful hold, Munyeong couldn’t hide his flustered look as he glanced up at him. Haejeong was staring straight ahead with a petulant expression.
“…Where are you sleeping.”
“Ah……”
Munyeong hadn’t expected him to wonder about that at all. He answered slowly, his face slightly dazed.
“…I’ll, um… be outside.”
“Outside where.”
“…In the living room……”
“What living room. There’s barely room to stand out there.”
“Still, there’s a… th-there’s roughly enough space to lie down next to it.”
Not being able to read the point of the question, Munyeong answered haltingly with a blank look, which seemed to frustrate Haejeong further — the crease between his brows deepened. Then a brief silence split the space between them. In the uncomfortable pause that stretched on, Munyeong asked carefully with the expression of someone thinking surely not, but maybe, just maybe.
“Could it be…… that you’re worried about me?”
“What…?”
Haejeong’s face twisted in an instant, a picture of outrage. An expression that said how dare you even suggest that.
“Wh-, what are you saying. Me? Worried about you?”
“No, I just thought, maybe——”
“What are you that I’d be worried about you? If there’s room to lie down, get some sleep there. I just asked, that’s all. How are you just — hah, honestly. You sure jump to conclusions fast. You always like this?”
Haejeong let out a sharp, derisive laugh and waved at him to get out, fast. He denied it with everything he had, his face incredulous, as if he couldn’t even find the words for how absurd this was. The sheer force of the denial made Munyeong feel embarrassed on his behalf instead, a faint flush creeping onto his cheeks.
“…I’m sorry. I’ll head out.”
Munyeong lowered his head once more and slipped out of the room. Haejeong watched the door snap shut behind him and let the agitation inside him slowly settle. But his uneven breathing refused to calm.
Worried. Right. Haejeong scoffed repeatedly under his breath as he stared in irritation at the closed door Munyeong had just gone through. A needless spike of annoyance rose up and he moved to kick the shelf beside the bed out of habit, then stopped himself short. In a place that looked like it would all collapse if he kicked it with full force, he couldn’t exactly throw himself around.
Lives somewhere that suits him perfectly.
Haejeong swept a disgruntled gaze across the cramped room. He hadn’t had a proper look around in the morning rush. Now that he did — it was genuinely rundown. The ceiling was low enough that it looked like it might leak the moment monsoon season hit, and if the maintenance slipped for even a moment, the walls looked like they’d be covered in mold. And the furniture — the bed was shorter than him, creaking and groaning with every movement. The clothes rack hung barely a few items, looking thoroughly forlorn. Haejeong finished his survey of the room in a matter of seconds and let out a heavy sigh. Living like this and still going around paying off other people’s debts….
He sat on the edge of the bed and dragged a hand slowly down the length of his face. He’d thought about it once in passing. That if he ever ran into Im Munyeong by chance, if Im Munyeong was still the same as before, then Im Munyeong would be living the same squalid way he used to. The reality was no different from the expectation. Living this pitifully, and yet perfectly satisfied with everything. Just like when he was young. Not wanting anything.
And then there’s that — puts on the most mild-mannered front in the world but stubborn as hell underneath it. All that innocent-looking face and yet what an impossible streak of stubbornness. Where exactly was there to sleep outside. Walk through the front door and you’re straight into the kitchen, and the tiny space next to that cramped kitchen was genuinely too narrow for two grown men to even plant their feet. It was called a living room in name only — the only real living space was this room.
“For fuck’s sake. What does it matter to me.”
Haejeong muttered to himself irritably. Then he fell backward, flat onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the useless thoughts — but Munyeong’s scent drifted in and tickled at the edge of his nose.
The scent.
In a place that looked halfway to growing mold, Munyeong’s scent was unmistakable. The sheets clearly smelled of plain fabric softener — but layered underneath was something that kept drifting, a subtle fragrance. A scent that had surfaced out of nowhere over the span of more than ten years, troubling him. One that kept rising to the surface at the most unexpected moments, in a way even he couldn’t explain.
“…Goddamn it……”
Haejeong cursed under his breath and buried his face in the pillow. It was practically radiating. It had only been once. He had only ever slept with Im Munyeong once — and yet for over ten years that scent had haunted him, surfacing from time to time to torment him. On the one hand, it would flash through his mind while he was having sex with someone else and kill the mood entirely. On the other hand, when he was high, it sometimes surfaced and sent his desire spiraling even higher.
Without even realizing it, face still buried in the pillow, he kept inhaling — again and again. Having a scent that had only ever lived in his memory now saturating the air from every direction was enough to make him feel unhinged. All because of something as stupid as this…. There had been times he’d been told he was impotent, other times that he was a sex addict, that there was something wrong with him.
All because of this one thing….
He kept muttering to himself — and he couldn’t stop what was stirring below, a strange, undeniable response beginning to take hold of him. Not only was he inhaling like a dog with his nose buried in the pillow — his breathing had started to roughen as well. Cursing through his teeth, he glanced down at himself as his lower body continued to react, and snapped at himself to cut it the hell out.
