Chapter 32

Far from resolving his turmoil, it felt like it had only worsened.

Gyuhan sat inside his parked car for a long time. Had Gong Jio returned home? He had checked his phone throughout the drive, but there was no reply from Jio.

The sun had set hours ago.

He checked the time again. It was already close to 9:00 PM. Unable to just send Gyuwon off after he’d taken such good care of the place, Gyuhan had treated him to dinner, which brought him to this hour.

“Aaargh, damn it. Should I go work out or something first?”

Part of him wanted to push his body to its absolute limits and clear his head completely, but doing that would likely push him past midnight. Shouldn’t he get back before midnight so Gong Jio wouldn’t feel awkward, feel like his captivity had been worth the effort, and keep their mutual trust intact?

“Crazy bastard. I knew you had good taste, but you gotta know where to draw the line. Knowing what my dream is, who falls for whom? What, are you gonna become my wife or something?”

Gyuhan’s muttering voice grew slightly husky from the ache in his chest. As expected of his closest friend, a guy he cherished like a brother, Jio’s standards in picking people were top-tier—yet the fact that Gyuhan couldn’t reciprocate those feelings genuinely hurt. Gyuhan possessed pure devotion. Pure devotion to his future wife. Loyalty to his future family. Granted, he had neither wife nor kids at the moment… but still, wasn’t pure devotion what mattered?

Letting out a deep sigh, Gyuhan stepped out of the car. For a grievance born of heartache, his self-assured monologue continued, “He’s got an eye for quality, that’s for sure. Hah, but even so. Why go after a tall, handsome, built, loaded bastard like me…. Whoa there, your hands are full! Hop on in. Which floor?”

Shaking his head with another sigh, he reached the elevator as it arrived on the first floor. The moment the doors slid open, he saw an elderly woman and quickly stepped aside, chattering away. “Ah, eighteenth floor? Got it. I’ll press it for you. Good grief, noona, it’s not even a holiday—why’d you buy so much stuff? Your grandkids are visiting? Aw, come on. That’s a lie. They’re probably your babies, not grandkids. How could a noona like you have grandkids? Ah, me? I’m on the top floor. Penthouse level. I live there. No, seriously, how come I’ve never seen you around before? If I had, there’s no way I’d ever forget such a gorgeous noona.”

Gyuhan laid on the charm without a single pause. Chuckling heartily at his slick banter, the eighteenth-floor resident tilted her head and asked, “Still, I really haven’t seen you around. If I’d seen a handsome young bachelor like you sooner, I would’ve set you up with my daughter in a heartbeat.”

“Whoa, your daughter… isn’t she in middle school? Minors are strictly off-limits, noona.”

“Oh, stop it with the nonsense! Middle school, my foot! Her baby’s the one visiting today. What a shame, what a shame. But you really are handsome…. Yes, truly good-looking. Come to think of it, I heard a young man who looks like a celebrity lives on the top floor.”

Gyuhan knew instantly who she meant. People who looked like celebrities didn’t grow on trees. Gyuhan puffed up with pride. “I’m heading to his place right now. He’s my buddy, my friend.”

“Aha. I see. Birds of a feather really do flock together… hanging out with someone just like yourself. Anyway, you’re awfully handsome. It brightens my eyes just looking at you. You’ve shaved years off me today.”

Before long, the elevator reached the eighteenth floor. Grinning, Gyuhan carried her bags all the way to the front door of Unit 1803. Saying she couldn’t possibly send him off empty-handed after being treated to such charming banter and neighborly kindness, the resident told him to wait a moment, stepped inside, and returned with a bag full of bright orange persimmons.

“These were sent from our family home in the countryside, so take some. Since I’m giving you the first harvest, it’ll bring you good fortune too.”

“Whoa. Giving me something this nice? Man, thank you so much, I’ll enjoy them!”

“Alright. See you around.”

Gyuhan waved until her door clicked shut, then caught the elevator—which had dropped back to the ground floor in the meantime—and rode it up.

By the time he stood before the penthouse door, it was well past 9:00 PM. Scratching his head, he punched in the passcode and stepped inside. A cold, desolate chill enveloped Gyuhan, as if the warm, friendly banter he’d shared with the neighbor moments ago had been nothing but a dream. Yet he strode forward without hesitation, acting as though he didn’t feel the dim interior or the icy draft that felt like windows had been left wide open. It was a familiar atmosphere—and even if it hadn’t been, he walked with no hesitation, as if ready to deflect any gloomy aura in his path.

Seeing the dress shoes kicked aside in the entryway, Gyuhan already knew Gong Jio was home.

Walking down the dark hallway, he entered the living room. On the sofa, Gong Jio lay sprawled like laundry pulled from the dryer before it had finished drying. Damp, limp, and crumpled.

With his arms and hands dangling limply and his head tilted back against the sofa cushions, Gong Jio slowly turned to look at Gyuhan. He scanned Gyuhan from head to toe before finally fixing his gaze on the duffel bag he carried. Then, Jio let out a dry smirk.

“You actually came.”

“Why wouldn’t I? Told you I’d come.”

“Why come back? You knew all along that I hid your phone and car keys. There’s no way you didn’t know what that meant, you gangster bastard.”

Gyuhan didn’t bother pointing out that his family had stepped away from the mob life two generations ago. Just as the tattoo carved into his back hadn’t been for gang affiliation but purely to accompany his little brother who had fallen in love with that art style, Gyuhan knew Jio had thrown those words out knowing full well they weren’t true and wouldn’t sting.

“Because it seemed like that’s what you wanted,” Gyuhan replied calmly.

“So if it’s something I want, you’ll play along—even if it’s confinement?” Jio sneered, chuckling under his breath. His laughter was thick with mockery and cynicism, but its target was unmistakably himself, not Gyuhan.

Gyuhan’s heart stung. “Because that’s something I can at least give you.”

Jio was smart. Far smarter and quicker on the uptake than Gyuhan. There was no way he didn’t understand the meaning behind Gyuhan’s words.

As expected, Jio slowly pulled himself up. Approaching Gyuhan with a stride that seemed somewhere between a stumble and a swagger, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. There were countless things Gyuhan needed to ask and verify. If Jio hadn’t been at the office, where on earth had he gone in such a rush? Was he digging some backdoor escape behind his back?

Put simply, the questions were clear. Do you really have feelings for me? It’d be better if you just wanted to fuck me once and get it over with, but are you really trying to cut ties with me completely?

From the multitude of questions swirling in his head, Gyuhan voiced the most crucial one that had consumed his thoughts all day long, “Did you have your sunglasses? Did you wear them while you were out?”

Jio didn’t answer for a long time.

Tilting his head back, Jio exhaled a Haaah that could have been a laugh or a sigh. His Adam’s apple bobbed in a slow, deliberate motion. When he brought his head back down and looked toward Gyuhan—his gaze angled just a fraction below center—Jio’s pale eyes had cooled to a dead chill, unlike moments ago. Or rather, they had settled into a thick, suffocating stillness.

“Is that important?”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“It is, to me.”

Gyuhan also kept his hands thrust in his pockets, looking at Jio without a flicker of wavering as he answered.

Jio stared at Gyuhan. “So… after I tied you up, jumped you, refused to let you go, and planned to strip you bare and eat you up every single day—no, not just planned it, but actually did it—you’re telling me that’s the only damn thing you’re curious about?”

“I’ll ask about other things besides that.”

Jio’s eyebrow twitched.

“I need to be given the chance to talk, don’t I, Attorney Gong?”

“…”

Jio glared at Gyuhan, while Gyuhan simply watched him with a calm, steady gaze.

Yet that was only on the surface; deep down, Gyuhan too wished this moment would pass quickly.

That itchy sensation prickled again. The soles of his feet, inner thighs, flanks, nape of his neck, around his eyes, his cheeks. He felt hyper-aware of every inch of his body, making him want to writhe on the floor. It wasn’t the powerful shock he’d felt when he first saw Gong Jio’s tears. But this relentless, low-frequency prickling that surged endlessly like waves tormented Gyuhan far worse. As if proving that the intense lightning strike he’d waited for his entire life was merely a flash that struck and vanished in an instant.

Gong Jio was changing him.

Physically, he could handle it. Or rather, even if his body wasn’t okay, he could have managed.

But changing him like this was dangerous.

Gyuhan scratched his eyebrow.

“I wore sunglasses. Bought a new pair.”

Only after hearing Jio reply in a choked, strangled voice did Gyuhan ask his next question. “Since when?”

Even without spelling it out, Jio understood what he meant, and indeed he did. One look at his tightly clamped mouth made that obvious.

Jio was the first to turn away.

“Go back to your own place now.”

Gyuhan didn’t act childish by saying things like, I just walked through the door? I even packed a bag? It’s enough for a whole month? And you’re telling me to leave? He merely tucked in his lips, drew in a deep breath, and let out a heavy Phoo through the seam of his mouth.

“Jio-ya.”

A heavy voice escaped him, reflecting the suffocating knot in his chest.

“Wouldn’t it be better for us to stay friends…?”

For the first time, Gyuhan felt frustrated by his shallow eloquence.

He should have been able to put it better. He should have explained more. But with nothing coming to mind, no words came out.

Yet he soon gave up, realizing that explaining in detail wouldn’t change his point, and no matter how he phrased it, Jio wouldn’t like it. Jio would feel hurt and offended. Right now, at least. But maybe someday the time would come when he’d understand. No, that day would definitely come. A day when they would attend each other’s weddings like normal people and offer simple, sincere congratulations. Even if they couldn’t be as comfortable and close as before….

Then, Gyuhan encountered yet another bolt of lightning.

It was completely different from the lightning that had struck through Jio’s tears, the kind that stiffened his entire body, sent his heart racing wildly, and made his blood gallop. This one clamped down on his chest like a heart attack, suffocating him like severe indigestion. His head clouded over. His simple brain grew messier and messier, but having never experienced this before, he couldn’t tidy it up—leaving him despondent, like staring at a room that only got messier every time he tried to touch something. Gyuhan barely managed to open his mouth when..

“Who says that lasts forever?” Jio replied, slumping back onto the sofa. His voice was faint and hazy, like someone talking in their sleep. “And who says it has to end if we cross the line?”

“So you want us to date? Jio-ya. What’s going to change, what’s going to get better if the two of us date? Relationships always start and end, and I’m not cool enough in that American style to play buddies with an ex.”

“It’s hilarious hearing that come from you.”

“…”

“When you’re the one who’s spent your entire life searching for forever.”

“…Weren’t things plenty good when we were friends? How do you know how I’ll turn out if I do what you want?”

“What about you?” Jio picked up the remote and turned on the TV. A home shopping channel flickered on. The screen, which neither of them watched or listened to, merely cast a tired glare across the dim room. “You haven’t dated me either.”

Bathed in that harsh glow, Jio’s face looked all the more pale.

Gyuhan felt a burning anxiety gnawing at him. Talking any more right now will only make things worse, let’s take some time, let’s talk about this when we meet later, it’s already late—practical advice whispered from a corner of his mind, but his body moved on its own accord.

“I can’t,” Gyuhan answered in a low voice. “Because family can’t break up. I’m keeping you as a friend who’s like a brother. You need a family, Gong Jio.”

Gyuhan suddenly felt as if he had traveled back to age ten, saying these exact words to a ten-year-old Gong Jio.

And ten-year-old Gong Jio, resting his empty gaze on the television screen, answered cynically just as he had back then, “Cut the bullshit. So you’re saying you’ve been searching for an ephemeral love all this time while blabbering about a lifelong spouse? I knew you were an idiot, but this makes so little sense it’s ridiculous.”

Right. You were always an abrasive bastard like this. A bastard who speaks in the nastiest tone while spitting nothing but pure facts.

In Gyuhan’s life plan and romantic devotion, there had always been a version of himself who loved a faceless partner for all eternity. Even if that partner’s feelings changed and tore his heart to shreds, he believed his own feelings would never waver. Gyuhan wryly wondered if that wasn’t just like swearing an oath of loyalty to the mob bosses, but then he realized that the reason he’d had nothing to fear in his worldview was because he didn’t know how agonizing it was when an oath was broken by one side.

In truth, he was terrified. Of loss. The moment the thought of losing Gong Jio crossed his mind, Gyuhan felt a massive chunk of his life vanishing, and only then did he realize that his life hadn’t needed a missing half to begin with—it had already been complete. And now, that might no longer be true.

He had no more cards to play. How could he ever beat Gong Jio in an argument?

His head dropped on its own. Gyuhan turned around to leave. Behind him, Jio’s words clamped onto his ankles like iron shackles.

“It’s been a long time. Maybe from the very beginning. So pretending this never happened? That’s impossible. If I’d kept it buried forever, that might be one thing, but now that it’s out in the open, I don’t know any way to shove it back inside me.”

Gyuhan looked back at Jio with wavering eyes.

With his pale, haggard face and light-colored irises, Jio looked as though he might melt away into the light at any moment. He looked young enough to be the ten-year-old boy Gyuhan had first met, or perhaps like someone who had already died.

If it were anyone else—yeah, if it had been someone else, he might have just shut his eyes and given dating a shot.

But he couldn’t do that to Gong Jio. Precisely because it was Gong Jio, he couldn’t. Entering a relationship with an attitude of ‘humoring’ him, or leaving him with the prospect of ending up all alone again—both choices were cruel to Jio. That he, of all people, would present such options was completely unthinkable.

At last, with a crushed heart, Gyuhan spoke, “If your feelings don’t change… hand in your resignation tomorrow and go.”

His steps toward the front door felt impossibly heavy.

The moment he opened the sliding inner door, a voice reached his ears, sounding like a ten-year-old boy whose voice hadn’t broken yet.

“You make good ramyeon.”

The incomprehensible word that had woken Gyuhan that morning was ramyeon. He never imagined it would come up again, especially not at this timing.

Gyuhan turned his head, but Jio wasn’t standing there. Even with the television blaring so clearly, that muttered whisper—barely more than a sigh—had pierced straight into his ears with crystal clarity.

“That was the beginning.”

The voice that had sounded like ten-year-old Gong Jio shifted back into the present Jio’s voice, the one Gyuhan had heard for most of his life.

“I said, that was the beginning.”

Yet what it meant remained completely incomprehensible.

Gyuhan held onto the inner door and stood frozen for a long while before finally leaving the apartment. Sitting in his car, he rested his head against the seat with his eyes closed for a long time before turning the ignition.

Tingle, buzz, ache, throb.

Angels ringing bells in his ears, an electric shudder vibrating through his entire body as if the world were splitting apart. The immature senses that had previously stopped at that level were now awakening all at once. Having lived a simple life for as long as he could remember, such a multifaceted sensory overload was bound to trigger a system crash.

From the moment he left Gong Jio’s apartment, Gyuhan began alternating between sudden coughing and sneezing fits; by the time he arrived at his own place, washed up, and threw himself onto the bed, he was already burning up with a raging fever.

He had boldly—no, feebly—told Jio to hand in his resignation, but Gyuhan could hardly stomach the reality of it.

What am I supposed to do? What should I have done? Did you already submit your resignation? Where are you gonna go if you quit? Are you really not gonna see me anymore? If I say it’s over, does it just end like that? Can you really toss away feelings you struggled so hard to lay bare right in front of my eyes? It’s not just tossing them away—you’re disappearing, so what the hell am I supposed to do?

Gyuhan’s mind flooded with thoughts. His head throbbed, heavy and aching. If even a single answer emerged, he might find the will to untangle the rest one by one, but not a single thread came loose. Even though he could check tomorrow whether Jio had submitted his resignation, he already predicted he wouldn’t be able to.

Whether according to that prediction or due to an unforeseen mishap, Gyuhan remained unable to go to work the next day. The unpacked duffel bag sat right between the living room and master bedroom; whether he lay down or sat up, it kept catching his eye, making him tingle, buzz, ache, and throb all over again.

“Ah, fuck.” Gyuhan sniffled and shouted weakly, “Did I catch a cold just ’cause of the season change?!”

He shouted as if such things happened all the time, but it was purely bravado. Gyuhan didn’t want to admit he’d been laid low by pathetic heartbreak, so he tossed and turned restlessly; acknowledging that seeing the duffel bag made him hurt even more was so embarrassing that he deliberately refused to move it. All while completely unaware that inside the bag, the persimmons he’d received as a gift were throbbing and bruising until they crushed into mush and burst open.

At dawn, Gyuhan finally felt alive enough to stagger out into the living room. The pounding headache and the body aches that had made moving almost impossible had finally subsided. His limbs still felt sluggish from the aftermath, but a monstrous hunger drove him out of bed.

Feeling as though he’d lost all his muscle mass during his fever, Gyuhan grabbed instant ramyeon packets in a hurry. To ease his empty stomach without shocking it, he boiled two packets and cracked in eggs. He tossed in generous handfuls of scallions, red pepper flakes, and bean sprouts, hoping the spicy broth would clear out his insides.

Ramyeon again. Even after being so disappointed by it at Gong Jio’s place not long ago, he had no other choice. He lacked the energy to cook a proper meal, and he didn’t have the patience to wait for delivery. Gyuhan hoisted a mouthful of noodles, let them cool briefly in the bowl, and shoveled them into his mouth.

“Ah, damn it. Why does this taste so good?”

Perhaps because it had been a while, it tasted completely different from the batch at Gong Jio’s apartment.

Gyuhan chewed relentlessly, wondering whether he’d been out of his mind back then or out of his mind right now.

After polishing off about one packet’s worth, Gyuhan realized something while chewing on bean sprouts. Unlike that time, he’d tossed in every ingredient he could find in his fridge.

—You make good ramyeon.

And that was when Gong Jio’s words surfaced in his mind.

I said, that was the beginning.

“You make… good ramyeon.”

What the hell did that even mean? Isn’t that the kind of compliment anyone could give?

Rarely one to get sick, Gyuhan felt bashful, awkward, and embarrassed that the reason he’d been bedridden for days was Gong Jio, making him primed and ready to grumble about anything remotely related to Jio.

“It’s not even ‘Do you wanna stay for ramyeon?’, it’s ‘You make good ramyeon’? What is that? Is there anyone alive who’s never heard a compliment like that?”

There was. Namely, Cha Gyuhan himself.

Yet still sulking, he finished his meal and kept grumbling as he carried the pot to the sink. Working up a rich lather with the sponge and scrubbing each dish, he vented his lingering resentment toward Gong Jio, who had slammed the door in his face after Gyuhan had gone out of his way to pack extra underwear.

Then, his hand took hold of the kitchen shears.

The shears he’d used to snip scallions directly over the boiling pot because he couldn’t be bothered with a cutting board and knife.

Gyuhan raised the foam-covered shears and gazed at them intently.

Come to think of it, roughly snipping scallions with scissors wasn’t a trick he’d learned at home. His father was a renowned master of blades (he sliced sashimi brilliantly), and his younger brother Gyuwon’s culinary skills spoke for themselves. Their pride in knives and ingredient prep was so immense that half-assing food prep with scissors was utterly unthinkable in the Cha household.

Then who was it? Must have been one of his buddies. Let’s see…. Gyuhan remembered that he’d been cooking ramyeon this way for longer than he realized. Even back when Gyuwon used to cling to his leg throwing tantrums, Gyuhan had made ramyeon just like this.

Then he had to trace back quite far into the past.

“These eggs are old. I don’t remember when I bought them. Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Yeah. My stomach doesn’t get upset even if I eat stuff past the expiration date.”

What surfaced was a boyish voice that hadn’t yet broken.

“Then don’t regret it later….”

Mildewed wallpaper where old eggs were the least of the problems; linoleum flooring warped and peeled back enough to trip over, revealing mold-covered concrete beneath; a shaggy, overgrown mop of hair that almost looked like a bob cut; and peering through those messy bangs, very pale, light-colored eyes….

“Ah.”

With Gyuhan’s soft gasp of realization, a dollop of lather dripped from the shears with a plop.

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