Chapter 21

Gyu-yeon didn’t notice Geon-hyuk. He didn’t have the presence of mind to look around—so out of it he couldn’t even register the man standing in front of him.

He hadn’t felt this even after breaking up with his first girlfriend, nor when his third, longer-term relationship ended. Those regrets had been short-lived—he’d moved on—so he couldn’t understand why Naru, someone he wasn’t even involved with, had hit him so hard.

At the department store entrance the automatic doors slid open. People brushed past him, but Gyu-yeon stood frozen, not taking another step.

If he walked out that door, he might never see Song Naru again.

Countless passersby shot him odd looks, as if asking why he stood there while the doors stayed open. Gyu-yeon—proud and loath to lose face—found himself unnaturally tolerant of their stares, refusing to move.

What are you doing standing here like an idiot? Go out.

Even after deciding to leave, he lingered a long time before finally stepping outside. The air was cool compared to the warm interior; it wasn’t too cold for late autumn, but his hands felt oddly empty.

The car on the ground level was still where he’d left it. Hoping against hope, he peered into the passenger seat, then shook his head and slid into the driver’s seat.

It took him five full minutes to start the engine—seconds would have been enough, but he’d spent them hesitating. He pulled onto the road and, normally a stickler for the speed limit, crawled along as slowly as possible.

Late afternoon traffic was a nightmare—especially in central Seoul, where jams sprang up at the drop of a hat. He braked at every light, then glanced once more at the passenger seat.

The seat that had been warm on the way there was now empty. Since meeting Naru he realized he hadn’t driven alone very often.

Naru was always distracting at his side—the way he kicked the window had been kind of cute. Even while watching Gyu-yeon drive, he tried not to be a bother, and that restraint dug under Gyu-yeon’s skin. Gyu-yeon always pretended not to care, pretending not to look even as he watched Naru.

For a rich kid, Naru knew so little about the world—competent in appearance but oddly naive. Could someone like that really survive in central Seoul?

Maybe he had up until now. But Naru’s parents had been indifferent when their child went missing, as if they had wanted it. Having been cast out, he wouldn’t be treated properly even if he returned.

It wasn’t really Gyu-yeon’s problem, but now that he knew Naru’s situation he couldn’t help worrying.

“Um… you’re leaving now…?”

“I’m so, so sorry. I introduced you to my precious friends and I blurted it out. I really thought Gyu-yeon was being bullied…”

“I like Gyu-yeon… I really like him.”

“I like you. You’re really my owner now.”

“…I’d like to—if possible—date.”

Scenes of his time with Naru flashed by like a slideshow. Moments he had thought were annoying or meaningless had somehow lodged themselves in his mind and felt unlikely to fade.

He couldn’t forget Naru’s expression when he muttered that he wanted to go on a date in front of the culture hall; Gyu-yeon had deliberately ignored the comment to avoid opening unnecessary doors.

Was that necessary? Maybe he should’ve indulged him once—Naru had wanted to look around the department store more, and now Gyu-yeon felt uneasy thinking he’d only scolded him.

Then something clicked.

“Ah, the 12th floor.”

He hadn’t searched the whole store, but the twelfth floor came to mind: the hair salon Naru had used and the place they’d eaten were both there. What if Naru was still somewhere inside?

He remembered coming back from the errand service a while ago and finding Naru crying—sniffling, eyebrows drooping, a tear falling from his big eyes. The sight had been so tragic Gyu-yeon still couldn’t forget it.

What if he was still crying like that now?

Thinking of that wet face made something twist in his chest. Gritting his teeth, Gyu-yeon turned the wheel and drove back.

Yes. He could take responsibility. First, find him. Then think.

Honk—!

A sudden U-turn earned a horn blast from the opposite lane. Gyu-yeon floored the accelerator, reckless.

Did I do something stupid?

Naru buried his face between his knees and sighed. He had no sense of how long he’d been there; his legs had gone numb from pins and needles.

Every time someone approached the vending machine he lifted his head, searching, but there was no sign of Gyu-yeon. His heart dropped whenever someone in similar clothes passed by.

Slowly, reality began to settle in. If so much time had passed and Gyu-yeon still hadn’t found him, it felt like abandonment.

He had wandered the department store holding a small hope—down to the lower floors, even to the first floor—but Gyu-yeon was nowhere to be seen.

Back at the vending machine, despair flooded him. He wanted to beat the version of himself from a few hours ago and ask what confidence he’d had to act so recklessly.

He had even lost the owner he thought he’d be with forever.

Naru didn’t know where he belonged or how to live in this huge city. With Gyu-yeon the world had seemed wondrous rather than terrifying; now the unfamiliar world crushed him.

Strangers, a city too big for him, the thick air—nothing felt comfortable. For the first time in a long while, Naru thought about wanting to die.

When he was trapped in the basement, he’d thought about it many times a day. Back then death had seemed acceptable. Now the thought made his hands tremble. He had no confidence to go on, and dying was frightening. There was no answer.

A shadow fell over him. Long legs in expensive shoes. He looked up quickly, then registered disappointment—the figure was dressed similarly to Gyu-yeon, but it wasn’t him.

“Ah…”

“Long time no see?”

“…”

The man was Geon-hyuk. He’d been running into him repeatedly, and he was never welcome.

With a couple of buttons open on his white dress shirt and light-brown trousers, Geon-hyuk looked more cocky than the last time. Neat on the surface, his insolence grated.

Tears still clinging to his face, Naru hurriedly wiped his eyes so Geon-hyuk wouldn’t see. He didn’t want to look vulnerable to Geon-hyuk, though he wouldn’t have minded Gyu-yeon seeing him cry.

“We’ve seen each other a lot, so at least say hi when you can.”

“We’re not close.”

On alert, Naru coldly slapped away the hand that reached for him. Geon-hyuk, who always smiled cheekily, frowned as he rubbed the back of his hand.

Geon-hyuk wasn’t in a bad mood—he’d found something entertaining. Gyu-yeon, usually arrogant, had been completely thrown; Naru, who clung to Gyu-yeon like a shadow, sat here alone like an abandoned puppy. What an amusing situation.

And there was more. At a senior’s party the night before, Geon-hyuk had seen the so-called ‘rich kid’ who supposedly badmouthed Gyu-yeon. Why would someone who should have been at Gyu-yeon’s house be at a party? He asked around, saw the face, and laughed hollowly.

It wasn’t Naru—the rich kid looked nothing like him. So who the hell was the Naru who’d been around Gyu-yeon?

“I really wanted to see you.”

“I didn’t want to see you.”

“You’ll regret it if you keep this up. You okay with that?”

“…”

Naru’s gaze shifted. He knew Geon-hyuk always sneered, but today the nuance felt off. The way he casually treated Naru as a joke made him sick.

Geon-hyuk knelt and stared him straight in the eyes. From that low angle he looked like a thug. Naru widened his own eyes and glared back, trying not to be intimidated.

But even with a fierce stare, Naru’s gentle eyes couldn’t look threatening. Finding him laughable, Geon-hyuk let out a deflated laugh and reached out.

“Shall I guess why you’re sitting here like this?”

“…”

“Yu Gyu-yeon finally dumped you.”

The words sliced into him. He’d been stubbornly denying it, but the statement dug in and a single tear fell.

Grabbing Naru’s chin, Geon-hyuk smiled broadly—the reaction he wanted. Not the defiant, clawed-cat attitude, but submission and despair.

Though he’d acted kind around Gyu-yeon, Geon-hyuk was worse trash than Gyu-yeon—he played with people and tormented them. Unfortunately, Naru had become his plaything when things went wrong.

“No, he didn’t, he didn’t dump me…”

“Who’s saying that? That he didn’t dump you?”

“Gyu-yeon wouldn’t dump me.”

“Poor thing. Sorry, but I saw it—Yu Gyu-yeon leaving the department store alone.”

Naru, who had clung to disbelief until the end, finally broke. He could have ignored the claim, but if someone had seen Gyu-yeon leave alone…

His eyes reddened. The trickle of tears turned into a torrent. He sobbed silently, shoulders shaking.

Geon-hyuk maintained his detestable composure and stroked Naru’s hair. When Naru, unable to swat his hand away because he was crying, tried to pull back, Geon-hyuk grubbyly grabbed the back of his head and whispered.

“What should we do about this? I haven’t even gotten to the main point yet.”

“Ugh, uup…”

“Don’t cry. Listen—the backstory’s even more fun.”

His mouth smiled, but his eyes were cold and empty. Overpowered, Naru was held fast and forced to listen. Every time Geon-hyuk prowled around and picked a fight, Gyu-yeon had always stepped in to protect him; now he couldn’t, and that sting cut deep.