Hard fingertips landed lightly on his temple. The signal that started there wiped Yieum’s thoughts clean.
In the blank white of his mind, there was no reason — only his senses, thrown wide open. Chaehyeok’s fingertips sliding slowly toward the corner of his eye, the low hum of the air conditioner, the amber-tinged afternoon light.
And then the man’s dark eyes swallowing even that light whole.
Hoooonk —
A sudden blare of a horn shattered the tension inside the car. Chaehyeok’s hand snapped back to the wheel. The light had already changed, and his face returned to its expressionless default.
But to Yieum’s frozen eyes, he didn’t look quite the same as usual.
The car moved off smoothly, as though nothing had happened. Whatever had lingered in the air for that brief moment evaporated cleanly.
Yieum turned to face forward as well and wiped away the strange unease.
He had always been the type to touch people. The very first time they met, he’d put the cigarette Yieum had asked for directly into his mouth, and tapped his cheeks besides.
That and this weren’t so different. Yieum easily settled on the conclusion that the feeling just now had simply been his own nerves.
“You heard the precautions from Geumbyeon.”
Sure enough, Chaehyeok’s manner was entirely unchanged. Yieum swallowed a quiet breath of relief and answered shortly.
“……Yes.”
“Do you actually remember them?”
“I only knew you as my stepfather’s friend, and there’s no need to force a title that doesn’t come naturally.”
“And?”
“He said it’s better to keep some distance outside of what we’ve agreed on. That if we try to lie our way through it, it’ll all come apart.”
“Judges can see right through that kind of thing.”
The lawyer had said something similar. Yieum couldn’t understand why they’d bother with an in-person hearing when the parties had nothing more to say.
When the exchange ended, silence settled through the car. No music, no radio. The tires rolled with unusual quiet. Even the air conditioner that had hummed so loudly before made no sound now.
Chaehyeok followed traffic laws with unexpected strictness. He kept his eyes on the road, held precisely to the speed limit. Even at a yellow light he came to a smooth stop at the line.
He did hurl profanity at a motorcycle that cut in front of him — but the motorcycle rider was the one in the wrong, so……
Anyway. He was, contrary to expectations, a quite practiced driver.
“Don’t you use a driver? You’re a CEO.”
“Only when I need to. The back seat makes me carsick.”
“Carsick……”
A reason he’d never imagined. When Yieum murmured it softly, Chaehyeok answered as though it were nothing.
“I bleed when you cut me too, kid.”
He seems like someone who’d sooner kick the driver’s seat and tell whoever’s driving to do it properly, not someone who gets carsick. The Chaehyeok in Yieum’s head didn’t fit the image.
Yieum had looked into Cheonma Construction recently.
Chaehyeok had said he built the company through gangster work — but the company had been founded far earlier than that would suggest. By simple math, it was impossible unless he were over sixty.
“When did you start the gangster business?”
“Eighteen.”
“So how old are you now?”
“You little — if you’re going to die, die alone!”
Another car had cut in, and Chaehyeok let loose a string of curses at it.
It’s not like they can hear you……
It might have seemed excessive on the surface. But remembering that the reason Yieum was here at all had to do with a traffic accident — his edgy reaction wasn’t entirely incomprehensible.
“You didn’t show me any documents.”
Chaehyeok’s fingers, fixed on the road ahead, tapped lightly at the steering wheel. Tap, tap. Unhurried, like keeping a beat. His face had settled back into its clean, expressionless state. It was hard to believe this was the same person who’d been hurling curses moments ago.
“Younger than you.”
“What are you talking about.”
The absurd answer knocked the formal speech right out of him before he could stop it. Yieum’s eyes went wide and he clapped both hands over his mouth — but it was already too late.
Chaehyeok snapped his head around. The dark eyes looking directly at Yieum glinted. It wasn’t amusement. It looked closer to displeasure, or anger.
Yieum stumbled through an apology before it could get worse.
“S-sorry……”
And then a short, dry laugh escaped from Chaehyeok.
He turned his gaze back to the road soon after, but a faint trace of something remained at the corner of his mouth. Contrary to expectations, he didn’t look offended. If anything he seemed to be enjoying it……
The unexpected reaction let Yieum’s nerves slowly unwind. Considerably more at ease now, he shifted his gaze to Chaehyeok’s profile.
From the jawline where it met the neck, along the smooth line of his nose, up to his forehead. A persistent sweep, searching for any clue to his age.
He kept his mouth shut, wary of another slip.
Whether it was ten years older or twenty, to Yieum’s eyes he was simply an older man either way — so why wouldn’t he say? A pointless stubbornness rose up in him. A desire to dig it out precisely because it was being hidden.
Chaehyeok still kept his gaze fixed ahead, seemingly focused only on driving. But every time the car stopped, his fingertips tapped at the wheel.
The steady intervals grew shorter and faster.
He deliberately didn’t let even his eyes drift to the right. Even so, the weight of a gaze pressed to his cheek was apparently too much to ignore. And to make it worse, traffic had started to back up.
Looking restless, he tugged his tie knot loose — and then the driver’s side window slid down.
The acrid air of the road and the sharp noise of the city pushed into the car and broke the quiet.
Chaehyeok bore the intrusion for a while, and in the end gave in with an unconcealed sigh.
“What’s so curious.”
“You’ll be managing my assets for a while…… and looking after me too, I suppose. But……”
Yieum couldn’t find the words to follow. His assets might all go toward repaying the debt, and knowing Chaehyeok’s age wouldn’t change much of anything. It was simple curiosity, and he had no way to persuade Chaehyeok with something like that.
The trailing silence grew. When nothing more followed, Chaehyeok closed the window back up. Whatever hesitation had been hovering in the air settled quietly with the return of stillness.
The car ahead moved off slowly, and Chaehyeok’s car followed. But they didn’t get far before a red light stopped them both.
Chaehyeok answered with the detached air of someone who thought Yieum was making a fuss over nothing.
“Once my business is done, I’m stepping back. If you need anything, contact Geumbyeon — I’ll help up until that point.”
Once his business is done, he’s stepping back. The words left a cold draft through one corner of Yieum’s chest. The line had been drawn clearly. Yieum was nothing more than a tool he needed to collect his debt.
Whether finding a place to live on his own, or finalizing the inheritance — having a lawyer was more reassuring than almost anything. He was saying he’d fulfill his responsibilities through him. And yet Chaehyeok felt irresponsible to Yieum.
Even though his circumstances were considerably better than they’d been before.
He’d always known this connection had an expiration date. It was because of a debt Yieum didn’t even need to repay — and yet Chaehyeok had been the one to step forward about the guardianship matter first. Which meant, if anything, Yieum should be the one offering thanks.
And yet resentment welled up toward him anyway.
Yieum sank his water-soaked-sponge of a body back into the seat. It felt as though the lock he’d kept firmly bolted had swung open the moment his mother died. He reined in the urge that wanted to run wild — and squeezed his eyes shut like closing a door and turning the key.
It was time to get used to being alone again.
He thought he might have dreamed. A while later, heavy eyelids slowly lifted. What came into view was the dim light beyond the window and rows of concrete pillars. He startled and tried to sit up, only to be stopped by the seatbelt.
“You’re up.”
Chaehyeok’s voice. He was looking at his phone screen. Yieum looked through the windshield at the cars parked side by side and realized they were in an underground parking lot.
“……When did we get here?”
His voice came out rough with sleep.
“Just now.”
He answered without lifting his eyes from the screen. At least thirty minutes had passed from the last thing Yieum remembered. He stole a glance at the driver’s side — the engine was already off, and Chaehyeok’s posture had the ease of someone who’d been sitting there for a while.
“You could’ve woken me up.”
“I was about to.”
Chaehyeok pulled his eyes from the screen and chinned toward the exit, then opened his door and got out first.
Yieum fumbled half-asleep for the door handle and caught the seatbelt again. With slow, uncoordinated hands he undid the buckle. He stepped outside, but his legs didn’t quite cooperate. He grabbed the car door to stand, closed it, took a few steps, and stumbled.
“Careful.”
Chaehyeok had already closed the distance and gripped Yieum’s arm firmly. When Yieum looked up at him with a still-drowsy face, Chaehyeok’s brow furrowed sharply.
“Anyone watching would think I drugged you. Can you not look like that.”
“How am I supposed to change how I look…… it’s not like my eyes.”
Yieum muttered, voice still thick with sleep.
He’d almost felt grateful for the steadying hand, but Chaehyeok really did have the worst way of putting things. Yieum shook off the firm grip, walked past him, and kept moving. The air underground was stale and stagnant — but it was still outside air, and the last of the drowsiness slowly lifted.
Chaehyeok followed after him at a leisurely pace without much reaction. He’d just snapped at him in a way that was practically sleep-grumpy, and now that he was properly awake, regret came washing in. But it was too late to bring up an apology now, timing-wise — so he settled for watching Chaehyeok’s expression in the reflection of the elevator doors. He was relieved to find it didn’t look as bad as it did when Chaehyeok was actually annoyed with him.
The elevator was filled with nothing but silence. Yieum racked his brain for something to say. Nothing came, and in his anxiety, he ended up picking uselessly at the dry skin around his fingernails instead.
