"Well ... I'm off," Himchan says. "You ... take care of yourself, alright?"

You nod slowly. Your head feels to heavy to move. "I'll see you around. Ah ... take care, too," you add, thinking maybe it's correct to repeat what he said. Without another word, Himchan gives you a tiny wave before walking down the opposite corner of the sidewalk. You stand for a few seconds, letting your thoughts devour your mind, before you step forward and pull open the door to the restaurant. 

The smell of spice hits you as soon as you enter. You can feel your senses tingle at the unfamiliar, unappetizing flavor, but your resolve spurs you to sit down and order that bowl of jjampong. You can't handle this extent of spice, but you want to at least try it. Just one sip would do. You want to be able to taste it, feel the fire on your tongue and on your lips, so you have something to tell Yongguk. "I tried it," you'll tell him. You'll express that you did something outside of your comfort zone. And he'll smile, you know he will, and that reaction would be enough to satisfy you.

You wait about ten minutes before the bowl of food arrives. You eye it warily, but after gathering up your scraps of courage, you take a tentative bite of the noodles. You close your eyes tightly as the spiciness of the food spreads across your mouth, and you can feel your throat screaming for any sedative edibles, but you swallow it down. You smack your lips, grab a cup of water, and chug it down, even though you know that the cold liquid will only temporarily relieve the taste. 

"Do you like it?" The chef asks you. 

You're about to say yes, but then you change your mind and tell him the truth. "No," you say. "But ... " you look down at your full bowl. "It was good." You're glad you tried it. The effort had nothing to do with taste and everything to do with Yongguk. "Can I just have some non-spicy noodles?" You politely request. He nods and moves away to fulfill your order, and you push the bowl aside and take out your phone. You have zero messages. It disappoints you, although you really shouldn't have a reason to feel disappointed. You're used to not getting contacted on a daily basis; your phone is practically an ornament, an accessory that stays by your side and hardly serves a purpose. But you had expected Yongguk to contact you. 

You always do that, don't you? Put your expectations too high. Raise them up with an ungrounded basis. You need to stop. 

The chef returns with your order, and you start consuming that quickly. It dawns on you that you're hungrier than you had originally thought, and you suppose that feeling had somewhat left in light of the recent events. Now that your initial hunger has returned, you eagerly down your food and relish the tolerable taste. You finish quickly and idly sit there at the restaurant, wanting to leave but making no effort to stand. Feeling generous, you place a rather large tip on top of your payment and force yourself to move. Getting up, you sling your bag over your shoulder, murmur a thanks to the general staff, and stride out of the restaurant.

It's very late now, but you still feel energetic. It could be because your stomach is full, or it could be because you simply do not want to return to an empty home. Yongguk has changed me