He slows to a halt just outside the 24-hour convenience store, hoping there aren’t any other cars on the road at this time of the night. The street is too narrow for two cars to pass simultaneously if he parks here, but he only needs to grab a couple of things and it will be really quick.

As he gets out of the car, ready to jog to the store and back (despite his penchant for avoiding exercise), he is greeted with a soccer ball straight to the forehead.

“Ouch!” he exclaims as the ball makes contact with a thud; it feels like an explosion in his brain and the colours all dance around in front of his eyes, like a kaleidoscope. Can he go blind from this?

“Oh , sorry,” someone cries. “Ahjussi, are you okay?”

The miscreants are a bunch of teenage boys playing football at the side of the street. As the first wave of crashing ache settles slightly and his vision is restored, he notices that one of them, no doubt the one who has kicked the ball, has run up to him and is watching him with concerned eyes. His friends are standing in a group farther away, ready to run away if need be.

“What do you think you boys are doing? You can’t play football in the middle of the street, that too at this hour! Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

Someone in the back shouts, “Winter vacation,” while the others try to shush him.

“Sorry, sir, it won’t happen again.” The boy in front of him bows low.

He could have lectured them a bit more but he’s tired and it’s late, his breath is rising in smoky spirals; so he starts walking towards the store without another word. He hears someone curse behind him and the next moment, there are hurried footsteps. The boy from before whooshes past him, through the door of the mart and disappears.

He frowns. Hooligans.

A ghastly neon sign announces, ‘Always open, 24/7’ at the front of the shop. He glares at it, as if rebuking it would cause it to turn off, or self-destruct in some way. When nothing happens, he sighs, blowing out a puff of smoke that dances away.

Frowning deeper, he enters the shop, only to find the boy from earlier behind the counter, hurriedly putting his arms though his K-Mart uniform vest.

Shaking his head in disapproval, he grabs a bottle of soju and 3 packets of ramyeon before heading to the counter.

In the bright fluorescent lights of the shop, he can see the boy’s face clearly. He has a handsome face, maybe one that looks slightly older than his age, but his nose is sharp, his jaw angled, his lips plump, and the way his straight hair frames his face is very…aesthetic. He has brownish highlights in his hair that look trendy. The phrase ‘handsome enough to make you curse’ is best suited for someone like him, he thinks bitterly. He’s probably already an idol trainee somewhere.

People like this annoy him. There is no particular reason; they just do. (What business do they have, looking like they have just materialized out of the pages of a manhwa?) Hmph.

“Is that all ahjussi?” the boy’s voice is surprisingly deep, especially now when he is not panicking.

Nodding, he asks, “Aren’t you too young to work?”

Shaking his head, the boy flashes him a big smile. “Nope, I’m a high schooler.” The locks of his silky hair slide over each other effortlessly, looking like a ripple. It annoys him even more. An uneasiness he can’t put his finger on. (Maybe he is overthinking this.)

“Right.”

“I need to see an ID.”

He raises an eyebrow. He has not been asked for an ID for at least 5 years now. He does have a youthful face but no one would mistake him for a minor. Especially not this kid who has been calling him ahjussi for the last 5 minutes.

“ID?”

“Like a driver’s license…” the boy explains as if he’s slow.

Groaning, he takes his wallet out of his pocket and passes him his license. The boy takes a long time to look at it.

“Kim Sunggyu ahjussi,” he finally says, his smile widening. “Here you go.”

Diligently packing the rameyon and the soju, he hands him the plastic bag and his receipt.

“Nam Woohyun,” he mumbles, reading off the nametag on the employee’s uniform.

“That’s me!” he winks with ease, catching him by surprise. “Goodnight.”

Because he is still thinking about the shameless wink, he forgets to respond. But the wink bothers him. The easy smile perturbs him. The overfamiliar tone disturbs him. Nam Woohyun irritates him.

Something tells him though that the most reasonable explanation, which is the attempt on his life earlier with the football, has nothing to do it.

(, this one might keep him awake tonight.)

--

By Saturday, Sunggyu grows tired of takeaways. He wants to eat something wholesome, something cooked fresh. Too bad his mother’s not around to make him steaming hot sundubu jjigae and rice.

When he arrives at the convenience store, it’s the same boy at the counter, playing a noisy game on his phone. Just by the sound emitting from his phone, he can tell it’s one of those games that’s mind-numbing, nauseating. As the bell atop the door jingles when he enters, the boy looks up and bows, his eyes brightening immediately. The enthusiasm throws him off a bit - does he want to dunk another ball on his head or what?

(Nam Woohyun is like a scab, he decides. Dry, itchy, makes you desperate to scratch it off. But you’re scared to do so in case you bleed.)

As he shops, the boy follows him around inquisitively, at first pretending to arrange shelves and later giving up all pretense.

“Why are you following me?”

“Ahjussi, have you moved into the neighbourhood?”

“What?”

“I didn’t hear a car outside, so you must have walked here. And it’s pretty late too, so you would only walk to a shop that’s close to your house.”

So maybe the pretty boy has some brains behind those tantalizing eyes. But he doesn’t like people who try to be clever. (He gets that a lot at work.)

Ignoring him, he goes back to selecting the flavour of the sauce. Chilli oil or garlic? (Wait, what was he planning on making again?)

“I know pretty much everyone in this neighbourhood,” the boy continues, uninvited, no enthusiasm lost at his disinterest. “I’ve worked here as a part-timer for 3 years now.” He sounds proud of himself. “I haven’t seen you before last week.”

Without replying, he brings his basket to the counter, drumming his fingers on the linoleum surface impatiently. He’s been told that he looks uninterested in the other party when he does this, and rudely impatient – that’s exactly the look he is going for right now.

Woohyun runs behind the counter, starting to scan his things but his mouth shows no sign of letting up. “Did you move into the new block of flats on the west side?” he asks. “A lot of newlyweds are moving in there, because the rent is cheaper, comparatively. Did you move in with your family?”

“No!” he slams down his card on the counter, causing the boy to jump slightly. “Do you ever shut up?”

(Sunggyu is not a feeling person; but annoyance is something he does feel on a regular basis, at work. Woohyun is not one of his - colleagues, so he shouldn’t feel anything towards him. Anything at all. And yet…this might keep him up longer than he had predicted.)

Scratching his head, he grins sheepishly. “No, but I’m often told to.”

“For good reason,” he mutters, gesturing at the boy in an effort to hurry him up.

“Oh, wait,” the boy suddenly stops mid-scan, then runs to the back of the shop.

Tapping his fingers on the counter, Sunggyu waits with gritted teeth. Does no one ever complain about this shop assistant? Just because it’s the middle of the night, do they think they can have a useless child manning the shop?

“This kimbap goes very well with the ramyeon you bought.” Woohyun returns with a transparent packet of kimbap rolls.

“Fine, just scan it.”

“It’s on the house.” And Woohyun winks at him, again. His winks are…different. Somehow intimate, not sleazy. Almost like he has just created a secret between them. The secret of the kimbap.

There is a small cut on his lip, maybe something he has sustained from playing football. For some reason, that makes him look like the tragic hero of an action drama. He is still the main character - with busted lips, grey eyebags under his eyes from staying up the night, ghastly green K-Mart uniform and all.

Woohyun makes him feel self-conscious, somehow. Without meaning to, he raises his hand to his hair, trying to flatten his fringe absent-mindedly.

“Oh, let me do that.” The boy goes on his tiptoes, reaching out to brush his fringe with his fingers. He slaps his hand away and the kid pouts. (Exactly who does he think he is, touching strangers like this?)

Grabbing the plastic bag full of his shopping, he turns around, ready to leave the shop, his mood adequately ruined, when the boy says cheerfully, “Come again, ahjussi. I like your face.”

--

He could have meant a whole host of things by ‘I like your face’. It could have been sarcasm, a gag. Given how cheeky the boy is, he wouldn’t put it past him. It could be a sincere compliment – ‘you’re handsome’. But why not just say that instead of saying I like your face?

I like your face just sounds…personal.

And that annoys him, like someone has forcefully evaded his personal space. He has a thing about personal space, both physical and mental.

Like everything, he overthinks until his head grows hot. He’s an accountant, it’s in his blood to overthink. But usually when he puts his brain to it, he comes up with a simple answer. It’s math, there is only one answer.

But as to the matter of Nam Woohyun and his statement, there is no answer. No straight answer, at least.

As much as he resists, they fall into this habit of convenience - the type that you don’t want to develop initially but it naturally seeps into your system. Sunggyu gets most of his shopping done at the convenience store, usually in the middle of the night when it’s empty and there are no queues and Woohyun just follows him around, talking to him; or talking at him would be the ideal description.

Sometimes he would say something so ridiculous or funny or both that he can’t help but answer and then it becomes a conversation. A conversation without stress or hidden meanings. It’s therapeutic in a way.

There is no doubt Woohyun irritates him. Most of the times, he blocks out things that annoy him or are unpleasant. With the boy, it’s harder than usual. He puts up his wall, like he does with everyone and everything else, but the raw force of the existence that is Nam Woohyun seems to ram it down and his wall bursts at its seams – an energy his stoic armour cannot contain.

(Part of him wonders if it is irritation that he is feeling or if he is mistaking something else for it.)

Even without asking, the boy volunteers too much information about himself. About which school he goes to, how he is the Vice President of the student council but only because he is good-looking. He hates getting wet in the rain and subways make him feel claustrophobic. He plans on going to art school and becoming an artist and holding an exhibition in Amsterdam that he would title ‘Life Worth Living’.

“Ahjussi, what do you do?”

“I’m an accountant.”

“Oh.” The boy wrinkles his nose. “No wonder you’re so moody.”

“I’m not.”

“You are though, you almost never smile.”

“What’s there to smile about?”

Cocking his head to one side, the boy says in the greasiest tone ever, “What about me?”

It’s so so direct, so dumbfounding, so self-important, that before he can stop himself, he snickers, causing the boy to beam.

“Exactly,” he says, nodding contently as if he’s just agreed with him, lips pressed together victoriously, “just like that. I like your smile.”

His breath catches. It’s like having an asthma attack, except he doesn’t have asthma.

(Is he allowed to hate someone even though they have done nothing wrong?)

--

The next time he visits the store, he realizes there has been a new addition to the checkout counter. Sitting beside the $3-flavoured gums is a rectangular cage with something moving inside it.

Screwing up his face, he points at it. “Is that a mouse?”

It’s ridiculous - there must be some sort of rules against keeping mice in a shop that sells foodstuff, even if it is inside a cage.

“Ahjussi, no!” Woohyun seems to take offence.

“A Guinea pig?”

“It’s obviously a hamster,” he huffs, poking a finger through the bars of the cage and petting the tiny orangish creature. “Come here, Gyu.”

He double-takes. “Your rat is called Gyu?”

“My hamster is called Gyutie, Gyu for short,” the boy announces unabashed. “My baby,” he coos, rubbing his finger on its furry back.

“I take offence to that.”

“Why, what’s it got to do with you?” Woohyun asks innocently, puckering his lips.

Rolling his eyes, he places his haul on the counter. “Change its name.”

“No, I won’t change my baby’s name,” Woohyun says stubbornly, starting to scan his things. “He is my little one.” He looks up to meet his eyes; they are sparkling with mischief. “Although I think he has your eyes.”

His knees do an involuntary wobble. Hands shaking, he fumbles with his wallet, while trying to process what the kid just said, and ends up dropping it, its content flying everywhere on the floor.

“Ah, ahjussi, you’re so careless.”

Between the two of them, they get most things back into the wallet, a few coins have rolled to their freedom under shelves and he doesn’t bother collecting them.

“Who’s this?”

Woohyun is poring over something, his back to him.

Checking his wallet, he realizes that the photo he keeps in the transparent compartment has disappeared.

“Give that back.”

Turning to face him, the younger asks, “Is this your girlfriend?”

“Give it here.” He extends his hand.

Hiding it behind his back with a stubborn pout, he says, “Is she?”

“Woohyun, this is not funny. Give it to me.” He takes a few steps towards the boy, who bounces on the balls of his feet, shrugging his shoulders, his lips sticking out like a child’s before it’s about to throw a fit.

“Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

Covering the remaining distance between them in a stride, he tries to make a grab for the photo behind his back, causing Woohyun to step back, lose his balance, and almost fall on his back. Thankfully, his reflex kicks in and he stops the kid from falling - a strong arm behind his back, and the other grabbing him by his collar, pulling him forward.

“Seriously!” he chides, fixing the boy’s collar. He looks red in the face. Taking this opportunity, he steals back the photo and slots it back into his wallet. “Now do your job properly.”

Stomping his feet petulantly, he returns behind the counter and restarts scanning.

“Your girlfriend, isn’t she? Why don’t you wear a ring?”

He ignores him.

“She’s not that pretty.”

Beep, beep, beep.

“That’s $35. I don’t like her.”

Paying, he says, “Thankfully, I don’t need your blessings.”

The look on the younger’s face is priceless but he makes sure he only laughs once he is safely outside the store.

--

“Do you pester all your customers or is it just me?” He asks one day, watching the younger pack a crate of eggs precariously in the plastic bag. It’s a disaster waiting to happen but Woohyun takes pride in his job, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s been doing wrong.

“No, just you, because you look so…”

“Easy to irritate?”

“I was going to say lonely.”

It feels like someone has just squeezed his heart, stopping the blood flow around his body. His hand freezes and he just turns his back to him, ready to walk out of there without a second thought.

“Wait, ahjussi, you forgot your things,” Woohyun calls but he keeps walking, almost in a dreamlike state.

“Ahjussi wait,” his voice carries over to him from a distance.

There are noises behind him, they sound urgent but his state of disequilibrium continues. Outside the shop, as his footfalls start to pick up, he feels a hand on his arm, halting his progress.

“I’m sorry,” Woohyun’s voice is way too close; he is whispering in his ear.

Sliding his hand down his arm, the younger takes a hold of his hand. Is he trying to interlock fingers? No, he is passing him a plastic bag full of his shopping.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, like a charm. “I didn’t mean it.”

“You did.”

There’s silence that almost makes him believe that Woohyun is gone. Or perhaps there was no Woohyun to begin with and it was just the wind in his ears.

(Maybe Woohyun doesn’t exist at all and this is just how his persecutory mind punishes himself.)

“What’s so bad about being lonely anyway?”

His insides shrivel. “I-I’m not.”

“If you say so,” the younger’s voice is softer, sweeter. “Trust me though, I know.”

How does he know? What would Woohyun know? He goes to school, he has friends, he has a family. What would he know about being lonely?

--

Sunggyu is lonely by choice.

He’s never been the one for making friends. He had a few friends in school - they used to be in a band. But his father was very clear that if he wants to pursue music as a career, he would have to do it from under a different roof than his. In the end, he caved. The fight wasn’t worth it. His mother’s tears, his sister’s constant pestering – none of it was worth it. When he chose to study accounting in university, they were overjoyed.

But no one, no one, confronts him about being lonely.

He’s not lost, he is not searching for meaning, he is not empty.

He’s alone. And that’s fine.

(Some people – most people – don’t seem to understand this concept. People think he is strange for choosing to be alone. He hasn’t bothered to explain it to anyone either.)

There are people who have tried to be his friends. Whether that was because they had a saviour complex or they genuinely liked him, he doesn’t know. This one kid in school called Jang Dongwoo tried hard to break through his shell; and almost succeeded. But then he moved to Seoul for university and Dongwoo stayed behind, so that was it.

In his accounting class, there was a nerdy kid called Myungsoo who was introverted himself but for some reason, he chose Sunggyu. He would sleep on his shoulder during classes and go out to bars with him so that he had someone responsible to take him home. Somehow the kid was a genius at math, so in return, he let him help with the things he struggled with. But they lost touch after they graduated – Myungsoo had a sudden epiphany and quit accounting to become a wild life photographer in Japan. From time to time, he gets a postcard or two; he never sends one back.

In the end, he cuts out people he doesn’t need. Turns out, it’s most of the people in his life. Friends who don’t really understand him, relatives he has nothing in common with, colleagues he doesn’t get along with, a girlfriend he didn’t love.

There must be something about his air – people just let him be. Woohyun is the same, a kid with a saviour complex, who has somehow clocked that he is indeed alone.

(How a kid who only seems interested in himself and whom he barely sees for 10 minutes every week has recognized something so intricate about him is a worry though. He’s never been an open book. Or is it perhaps no one has taken the time to read him, like Woohyun has?)

He avoids the mart for the next week. At first, Woohyun was just annoying. Now he is a discomfort that sits at the centre of his chest, just behind his bone, like a rock.

It’s inconvenient, to say the least. He has to drive every time he needs something trivial to a shop further away. Late night cravings are a no-no.

It doesn’t last very long. Work is particularly stressful one day, it rains on his way back home. He’s run out of food and his phone has run out of battery.

His job is stressful. He knew that when he entered this profession. But being an adult means he has no one to complain to or moan at. He must get on with life. No one would go easy on him – he’s not 7 or even 17 anymore.

Thoroughly disgruntled, he makes his way to the mart, an umbrella shielding him from the raindrops but doing nothing to block the gust that’s whooshing in his ears.

He doesn’t turn his head to see who’s at the counter. No one follows him around. Grabbing a couple of bottles of soju, he pays without raising his head up even once. But he can sense it, it’s Woohyun serving him but mercifully the boy is quiet.

Beside counter, there is a small table laden with plastic cups for people to use. He grabs one, bringing it out to the sitting space just outside the mart, protected from the rain by a canopy, with a few tables and chairs.

As he pours himself a drink, he hears the bell above the shop ring. The next moment, Woohyun takes a seat opposite him.

“Are you okay ahjussi? Why didn’t you come yesterday? Or the day before? I was worried. I don’t even know where you live…”

Clenching his jaw, he ignores him. (The overfamiliarity bothers him again – why does the boy feel the need to be concerned about him? The overlap of their circles should begin and end within the shop, with the groceries and the money.)

“Ahjussi, what’s wrong, why are you drinking here alone?”

“None of your business,” he mutters solemnly, taking a swig of the soju straight from the bottle.

Pursing his lips together, Woohyun reaches for the cup of soju he has poured out blatantly, lifting it to his mouth.  

“You can’t drink, you’re not old enough,” he grabs the cup from him, swallowing it in one gulp.

“I will be of age in 4 months,” he whines.

“Well then you can drink in 4 months.”

“Are you inviting me to have a drink with you on my birthday?”

“Absolutely not!”

And just like that, normality, or at least, their normality returns. Sunggyu was planning to drink himself to despair but instead he gets drunk on the way Woohyun laughs and how his shapely shoulders move up and down. The boy claps at his own jokes, but he wants to give him a standing ovation. When he throws his head back and the wind catches the silky locks of his hair, he wonders what it would be like to run his fingers through them.

Ah, damn, he’s tipsy.

(The boy still annoys him but he has made headway as to why this is the case. It’s not good news, sadly. Sometimes he prefers not to understand himself.)

“Does it taste good?”

“What?” he asks a bit too quickly, because he was staring at his lips and thinking about how they look to be about the same consistency as just-ripe cherries. Would they taste the same? Only one way to find out.

Only one of the ways to up.

“The soju.”

“It’s bitter, like life.”

Making a face, the boy says, “I never want to taste it then.”

“How’s your rat?” he tries to change the topic. The buzz in his head is growing and while he doesn’t have bad intentions, it doesn’t stop him from having bad ideas.

“Gyu? Now you ask about your child.”

“My child?”

“Yeah, he has your eyes,” he says, his own eyes crinkling up in a fond smile. “I told you. So naturally, you’re the dad.”

He laughs a hollow laugh because while his inhibitions are slowly being wiped out by the alcohol, his sanity is already far gone. Woohyun is to blame, of course. This feeling is so foreign, like glass but not quite sharp, like fire but not quite burnt.

Nauseated, he gulps down the rest of the alcohol.

“Gyu’s fine. He’s getting a bit fat. I need to get him an exercise wheel.”

Woohyun’s voice is soft, warm. He makes a mental note of it. Hearing that voice in his ear, his name in a broken whisper…

He is walking on very thin ice here.

“Ahjussi?”

“I wasn’t thinking anything.” Guilty conscience. The boy looks at him strangely.

“You’re so red,” he chuckles, reaching out and pressing his hands against his cheeks. “And so warm.”

His touch burns and he feels an odd tingling around his spine.

“Stop, will you?” Stop playing games, he begs inwardly.

“And if I don’t?” His voice is taunting, but, but, but…He is probably making it all up in his head right now but his guts say that Woohyun is somehow reading his throughts and is encouraging them. Or tormenting him. Either way, he won’t be the pawn anymore.

He gets to his feet, albeit a bit wobbly.

“Ahjussi wait. Please, please wait.”

He tells his legs to move but his feet are glued to the floor. The rain has let up. Woohyun runs into the store. The lights go off. Then he comes out, locking up the shop.

“Okay, let’s go now.”

“Isn’t the shop supposed to be always open? The whole point of a 24-hour convenience store?”

“I’m not feeling very well, so it’s okay for me to leave.”

“Shouldn’t you go to the hospital then?”

“It’s just a bit of cold, I’ll be fine.” He shrugs. “Walk me home.”

It’s been a long day. He is tired and semi-drunk, a bad combination. Giving up, he lets him lead. He walks a few paces behind him, hands in pockets, contemplating.

“Ah, ahjussi, you’re too slow.” Woohyun links his arm with his. “The moon is pretty tonight.”

The sky has cleared up nicely. Is this supposed to be weird? He is walking, arm in arm, with a kid that he has spent the last 20 minutes quizzing himself about? But it feels so natural, for him, for Woohyun, that he loses his mind a little.

“Is this-do you do this often?”

“Do what?”

“Let a stranger walk you home?”

“You’re not a stranger.”

“Who am I then?”

For the first time since he’s known him, he doesn’t reply; instead, he rests his head on his shoulder with a satisfied smirk.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, he will regret.

Tonight, he will bask in this strange sensation of having the weight of Woohyun’s head rest on his shoulder, pretending that the skipped beats of his heart have got nothing to do with it.

--

Sunggyu works for a big corporation – the pay is great, but the work is greater. Stress is like a shadow that follows him around. His own personal rain cloud. Everyone goes through the same thing, but he has a habit of overthinking. As a result, he ends up at the bottom of the mountain, the avalanche heading for him directly.

Sighing, he takes a drag of the lit cigarette. He is leaning against the wall, just outside the K-Mart, smoking his very first cigarette. Well, he tried once in university and almost choked on his own saliva. Today, the first few drags were awful, he coughed and spluttered helplessly, almost choked again on the ashy smell. But he’s persisted, maybe it will grow on him.

This is the only thing he hasn’t tried to relieve his stress. Most of his colleagues smoke; at lunchtime, the rooftop is filled with smoke and ash. They look happy when they smoke, like they are sharing more than just breath, or words.

“Ahjussi, you shouldn’t be smoking.” There was a queue in the shop today when he bought the packet of cigarette. Even though Woohyun had looked surprised, he didn’t get the chance to say anything or ask. Seeing that the boy is out here now, the customers must have waned.

“And you shouldn’t be out here, who’s manning the ship?” As much as he says it, he wonders if he was almost expecting the boy to come out and check on him. How else does he explain the fact that instead of going home after a weary day, he has decided to smoke here, right outside the store.

(He is showing signs of crumbling and he is not a fan.)

Woohyun raises an eyebrow. “Not really your concern, is it?”

“If you’re going to just talk back, then leave.”

“And if I don’t talk back, can I stay?”

This boy always has something to say. Annoyingly, it’s growing on him.

Taking his silence as surrender, Woohyun comes to stand beside him, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms across his chest and looking out at the star-filled sky, however much he can see through the smoke and the buildings.

“The smog is really bad you can’t even see the stars clearly,” he laments.

Sunggyu only hums in response.

“What happened ajhussi? Did you break up? Did you get fired?”

“None of your damn concern,” he chides back. Maybe if he takes Woohyun and crumple him up like a used paper, he would be able to discard him without a second thought.

Exhaling loudly, Woohyun turns sideways to face him instead. He looks at him curiously. He definitely looks like he’s about to do something. There is a purpose in his movements, and even when he is still, he can almost see his muscles contracting, ready for whatever mischief he has convinced his mind to create.

Taking a deep breath, the boy goes on his tiptoes and pecks him, right on the lips. The shock of it completely freezes his body, although his mind whispers conspiratorially to pull him in for a deeper, longer kiss. Before he can overcome his surprise or the devil in his head, Woohyun reaches for him again, this time engulfing his mouth between his lips and gently.

This time he reacts, pushing the boy away roughly.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Dunno,” Woohyun runs his fingers through his hair, unabashed, but his wandering eyes don’t quite meet his. “Experimenting, I guess.”

“I’m not one of your Guinea pigs, don’t you dare ing experiment with me!” The anger comes out of nowhere and it carries him. He drops the cigarette crushing it under his feet.

“Ahjussi wait,” he can hear the boy shouting as he walks away, getting into his car. Once inside, he clutches his hair, banging his forehead against the steering wheel. This is just not him. None of his actions today resemble him at all.

(It’s almost like he asked to be kissed by Woohyun but of course he has made no such demands. But that doesn’t stop him from feeling responsible, or guilty, even.)

When has he last felt anything?

He experiences things, but passively, like he is an unwitting participant in this game called life. A spectator. A specter.

But Woohyun makes him feel things. And that is the worst possible outcome.