Chapter 19

“Then, please let me know when you’re ready.”

The head hairstylist stepped back with an awkward smile, sensing the tension. Gyuyeon was about to lose his mind. He couldn’t fathom why someone—who wasn’t a child—would outright refuse to enter a hair salon.

He pulled Naru out of the shop and down a quieter corridor. He didn’t want to bicker at the entrance with people staring. If anyone they knew spotted them, it would be humiliating.

“Hey, why are you acting like this all of a sudden? Can’t you just come along quietly? Huh?”

“Gyuyeon, you’re mean. Are you punishing me because I like you?”

“…What are you talking about now?”

“It’s true! You know I’m scared of that, and you’re trying to punish me.”

To Naru, the hairdressing scissors weren’t tools—they were weapons. In his dog form, he had once been dragged to a pet grooming shop. He’d resisted so fiercely that he ended up with a deep cut from the scissors. That fear had never left him.

But Gyuyeon didn’t know that. He simply stared, baffled.

‘Why the hell would a grown man be scared of scissors?’

He’d suspected it before—Naru was definitely lacking in some ways. That made it harder to lash out directly.

“It’s not like that. Calm down.”

“Liar.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t.”

‘Fuck. He sure answers fast.’

Normally, when someone you liked asked that, you said you trusted them. Gyuyeon closed his eyes and massaged the back of his neck. He couldn’t blow up here—he had to keep himself in check.

Naru, watching warily, kept his guard up, prepared to bolt if Gyuyeon tried dragging him back into that “awful place.”

Drained already, Gyuyeon’s eyes went flat. They hadn’t even been in the department store for thirty minutes, and he was exhausted.

“You plan on living with that shitty hair forever?”

“…”

“I don’t know what you’re worried about, but you won’t get hurt. Just go in quietly.”

“…”

Even with his coaxing, there was no answer. Naru only fidgeted, glancing at the salon door, twisting his fingers. It was infuriatingly slow, but Gyuyeon forced himself to wait.

Five minutes dragged on. Finally, his patience snapped.

“Enough. That’s it. I’m embarrassed just being seen with you. Do whatever the hell you want.”

“Huh…?”

“Don’t ‘huh’ me. Move. Don’t cling to me.”

“I—I’ll go in.”

Shoving Naru aside, Gyuyeon gave up. He’d thought things through, brought him here, and for what? To be resisted at every step? Not worth it.

But the moment he turned cold, Naru clung tightly to his arm. Enduring his fear was better than being abandoned.

“It’s already too late.”

“No! It’s not too late—I’ll go in!”

Trembling, Naru finally walked into the shop on his own feet. His hand clutching Gyuyeon’s arm shook visibly. For the first time, Gyuyeon realized—this wasn’t just stubbornness. It was trauma. He shifted Naru behind him, shielding him from sight.

“Are you ready? Then I’ll show you to your seat.”

The stylist led them over, and Naru sat down carefully. Things moved quickly after that: a stylist dampened his hair, brushed it, and finally, the dreaded scissors came out. Each time the cold edge touched him, Naru flinched. Watching from behind, Gyuyeon pressed his fingers to his temple.

“If you feel uncomfortable, let me know,” the stylist said gently.

“N-no…”

The designer smiled and resumed cutting. Naru shut his eyes tight, unable to look at the mirror, trying to blot out the metallic flashes.

The stylist couldn’t help smiling at the sight. His frightened, fidgety actions looked more cute than troublesome.

Sitting with his legs crossed, Gyuyeon frowned. ‘Why does he look cute even like that?’ From anyone else, the same behavior would seem ridiculous. But with Naru, it only pulled people in. It was annoying—and enviable.

“You’re all set. Do you like the style?”

“O-oh, yes…”

Naru cracked his eyes open. The neatly trimmed back and arranged bangs made him look tidier than usual. Blow-dried into shape, his reflection felt strange—almost unfamiliar.

“Do you know actor Yoon Seoin? I styled it like her cut. It really suits you. Your round, cute face makes you look even younger than she does!”

The compliment was over the top. Naru didn’t know who the actor was, but hearing it still made him flush happily.

Leaving him entranced by the mirror, Gyuyeon went to the counter. Naru didn’t move until payment was done, staring like he’d fallen in love with his own reflection.

‘He refused to enter like his life depended on it, and now he won’t leave? Ridiculous.’

“Come out.”

“O-okay, let’s go together!”

Gyuyeon snapped his fingers and walked off without hesitation. Naru hurried after him, bowing politely to the stylist on his way out.

Next came clothes. Gyuyeon eyed him up and down and clicked his tongue.

“What’s the point of fixing your hair when you still look like a mess?”

“I—I’m not a mess…” Naru muttered as they rode down the escalator. For him, the escalator was more fun than the elevator—he could watch people, peek into shops.

They reached the fourth floor, a foreign brand store for casual menswear. Naru, unfamiliar with shopping, stood stiff as a scarecrow while staff and Gyuyeon picked clothes.

A pale sky-blue knit, a cream jacket, a light pink cardigan—colors Gyuyeon himself would never touch, but that looked strangely perfect on Naru’s fair skin.

“That suits you so well! Pastels flatter your complexion beautifully!” the staff gushed, clapping.

Compliment after compliment left Naru floating with joy, as if it were his birthday.

Meanwhile, Gyuyeon picked clothes with an indifferent face, well aware it was mostly performative.

Store to store, bag after bag, card swipe after card swipe—until suddenly he paused.

‘…Why the hell am I doing all this?’

When he came back to himself, Naru was sitting on a corridor bench, people-watching, completely uninterested in the new clothes.

“Get up. We’re leaving.”

“Already?”

“We bought the clothes, fixed that shitty hair of yours. What else do we need here?”

“…I want to eat.”

Naru clutched his stomach, looking up at him with pitiful eyes. Clothes never interested him, but food always did.

Gyuyeon checked the time. No wonder—well past lunch. He led Naru to a fusion Italian restaurant on the 12th floor.

It was quiet, not peak hour. The savory scent of pizza made Naru follow the attendant like a baby chick.

“Please call when you’re ready to order.”

“Yes!”

Naru answered first, opening the menu eagerly.

“Pick what you want.”

“Uh… hmm…”

The problem: the menu was entirely in English. He could read, but not enough to understand. He pointed randomly.

“You want that?”

“Ah—then maybe this?”

“That’s spicy.”

“Ah! Then this one.”

He landed on a tomato pasta with hot peppers. Gyuyeon, unconvinced, chose something more suitable.

When the server returned, Gyuyeon began ordering.

“One Bolognese spaghetti and a linguine like this—”

“Pizza!”

“…”

“Also pizza.”

Naru shouted mid-order, eyes locked on the brick oven in the corner. With a sigh, Gyuyeon added a Margherita pizza.

Before the food arrived, he leaned across the table. His tone sharpened.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t like you.”

The words cut through Naru’s excitement. His fork stilled.

“…So what?”

Defiance. That was new.

“What? What did you just say?”

“…”

“Don’t play dumb. Song Naru. Answer me.”

Naru kept his mouth shut. Gyuyeon’s jaw tightened. His blood pressure surged.

Just then, the food arrived—pasta and pizza steaming.

“Your meal is ready. Enjoy.”

Naru’s eyes lit up. This wasn’t the time to argue; good food was right here. He reached for pizza.

But Gyuyeon wasn’t letting go. He grabbed Naru’s arm roughly.

“Ha, fuck. What the hell am I supposed to do with you?”

“…Let go, fuck.”

“…”

“…Shit. Let go. I’m going to eat this.”

Gyuyeon froze. Naru—mimicking his own foul mouth—had cursed right back.

‘They say if you treat people rough, it comes back around. Guess they weren’t wrong.’

Naru hadn’t even realized how harsh it was; he’d only picked up the words from Gyuyeon. But hearing them in his voice was unsettling.

‘This crazy bastard…’

Still staring in disbelief, Gyuyeon let go.

Naru bowed slightly, muttered thanks, and grabbed a slice of pizza.

He stuffed it into his mouth, smiling brightly. Innocent as always—but today, the smile carried an edge, almost manic.

Gyuyeon turned his gaze away. He couldn’t face that expression head-on.