Swallow Hunting

His ankle was healing smoothly. Even to Haejun, who didn’t know a damn thing about X-rays, the bone in the image looked better than before. The older doctor chuckled, saying that since he was young, recovery was bound to be fast.

Haejun sat on the living room sofa, staring blankly down at his cast. The doodles Yohan had left on it had faded. Enough time had passed for the permanent marker to lose its color.

His leg was almost fully healed. The doctor said he could probably take the cast off in a week. That also meant he could finally say goodbye to the crutches that had been digging into his armpits this whole time.

...But.

Once his leg healed, he had no idea where he was supposed to go.

Lee Kangjoo hadn’t told him to leave. He hadn’t given any instructions for what to do after the cast came off, nor had he said anything about continuing whatever this arrangement was. He’d just... left Haejun alone, as if he might generously let him stay in a spare room, as long as Haejun got his head straight and looked at him without all that messy emotion.

Haejun hadn’t asked either. He was scared of what kind of answer would come out of Kangjoo’s mouth. Afraid it would stab straight into his chest, calm and clean, just like that night it snowed.

“......”

Ever since that half-assed complaint he’d let slip, he couldn’t keep up the act of being fine anymore. The thick skin he’d built up as Hajin had completely peeled away, leaving only the awkward, timid Cha Haejun from his younger days. He talked less. He didn’t smile unless he forced it.

At least one thing was fortunate—Lee Kangjoo seemed to take his quieter behavior as a sign of effort. Sometimes he’d look at him like he didn’t like what he saw, or grab him hard enough to hurt when Haejun avoided his kisses, but he didn’t push him to be more proactive or anything like that.

Mrs. Jeong had left early today for personal reasons. Which meant Haejun had been alone all afternoon. He tried everything to snap himself out of the haze—doodling, turning on the TV—but the cold that seemed to seep into his bones wouldn’t go away. He even checked every window in the house, wondering if there was a draft somewhere.

Outside looked warmer, even with dusk settling in around the time Kangjoo was supposed to come back.

All of a sudden, the house felt suffocating. Like the air had thinned out, making it hard to breathe. Even opening the window didn’t help. Haejun dragged in a sharp breath and went looking for his coat. Even then, he didn’t forget to text Kangjoo that he was stepping out to a café nearby.

Only after he got outside did his chest finally loosen. Taking deep breaths, Haejun made his way slowly to the café. It wasn’t crowded, so he found a seat right away.

After ordering coffee, he idly fiddled with his phone. Kangjoo had read his message but hadn’t replied. Haejun stared at the chat window for a while before switching to his conversation with Yohan. Their messages from earlier that day stretched up the screen—what they’d eaten, what had happened at work, Yohan rambling on about every little thing.

You good?

Yeah, I’m fine

Your ankle?

Almost healed

That guy treating you well?

Haejun hesitated before replying. After letting a bit of time pass, he finally tapped out an answer.

Yeah, it’s really comfortable here

It was a lie. He couldn’t tell Yohan that he’d basically been dumped, that once his ankle healed he’d be like some stray with nowhere to go. No point in making him worry for nothing.

Once things settled down... no, more like once Lee Kangjoo told him to get out—which would probably happen sooner anyway—he could tell him then. Maybe it was just instinct, trying to delay getting his ass chewed out by Yohan for as long as possible.

He was about to ask what Yohan was doing when he noticed the battery icon at the top of his screen. It was flashing red, warning him it was about to die. He stood up to ask the counter if he could charge it, but before he could, he heard murmurs spreading through the café.

People’s attention was turning this way. For a second, he wondered if he had something smeared all over his face. But their gazes slid past him, toward the window. Haejun turned his head too.

“......!”

His breath stopped.

The man shading his eyes with his hand as he peered through the glass—there was no mistaking him.

Choi Manseok.

For a second, Haejun wondered if he was having a nightmare. He clenched his fist and dug his nails into his palm. The sharp sting told him it was real.

Choi Manseok tapped on the glass like he found Haejun’s shock amusing, then swaggered inside. He came straight over, dropped into the empty chair like they were meeting up on purpose, and took a sip of Haejun’s coffee like it was his own.

“Long time no see?”

“......”

“Sit down, you little shit. You’re making my neck hurt.”

With that thick gold chain, the dense tattoos crawling up his neck—anyone could tell he was a gangster at a glance. People in the café started sneaking looks at them, some even hurrying their companions out, not wanting to get caught in the fallout.

“Let’s talk outside.”

“Haven’t even wet my throat yet and you’re already trying to kick me out? You’re still rude as fuck. Sit.”

Manseok grabbed him and yanked him down. His good leg gave out, and Haejun dropped back into the chair.

“Ah—fuck. You know how hard I had to run around trying to figure out where you live? You flea-bitten little bastard. You really think you can hide somewhere and I wouldn’t find you? I told you—I know where you piss.”

“Why would I hide? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Haejun kept his voice low. Not the kind of conversation you wanted other people overhearing. He acted calm, but his palms were slick with sweat. He wanted to believe Manseok wouldn’t start something in a place this public—but he couldn’t be sure.

“What do you want?”

“Our VVIP client hasn’t been in touch, so I came to see if you were still breathing. These days people are so damn fragile. The moment they can’t pay, they start talking about dying. Had one guy send me nothing but his obituary the other day.”

Not surprising. It happened all the time. Haejun had seen it himself—Manseok showing up at a debtor’s funeral and turning it into a complete mess.

It wasn’t like Haejun had gone willingly. He’d refused, and Manseok had beaten him like a dog before dragging him there, saying he needed to see what happened to people who didn’t pay up.

“I’ve never missed a payment.”

They weren’t on friendly terms, sitting around laughing over coffee. At his reply, Manseok let out a greasy grin, leaning forward, those snake-like eyes gleaming.

“Some people eat tongues like meat. Heard it’s a real delicacy.”

“......”

“Even if you can’t talk, as long as you can work your ass, you’ll still make money. Right?”

Threatening to cut out his tongue—yeah, that was exactly Manseok’s style. The scar carved into the inside of his thigh throbbed again. Haejun shoved a hand into his pocket and leaned back in his chair, trying to put even an inch of distance between them. Manseok took it as fear and chuckled.

“I came all the way here because you wouldn’t fucking tell me where you live. If you move, you report your address right away. You didn’t know that?”

“I never heard—”

A flash of light exploded in front of his eyes before he could finish. Then came the burning pain.

Manseok, who had stood up and smacked him across the head, dropped back into his seat like nothing happened. It all happened in an instant.

“......”

Haejun straightened his head and roughly brushed his hair back into place. The side of his head throbbed, but he didn’t show it. Manseok was the kind of bastard who got off on other people’s pain, and Haejun had no intention of giving him that satisfaction.

“Customer, I’m just stopping by for a routine check, so don’t be too scared. Please continue using Good Thinking Capital like you have been. We’re doing our best for your happy life.”

Spitting out that bullshit sales pitch, Manseok stood up. Still wearing that filthy smile, he looked Haejun over and started slapping his cheek with his palm.

“Interest. On time. On time.”

Each word landed with another sharp smack.

“Stop.”

Even when Haejun shoved him away, Manseok just snorted like it was cute and grabbed his cheek, shaking it. People were openly staring now.

“What the fuck are you looking at, you bitches?!”

Manseok shouted loud enough to shake the whole café. Then he spat on the floor and finally strolled out, tossing out a casual “see you again.”

A complete nuisance.

Manseok was the one who caused the scene, but Haejun couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the one at fault for bringing him here. Like all of it was somehow his responsibility. He bowed his head apologetically to the manager and hurried out of the café like he was running away.

* * *

He didn’t know how Manseok had found out where he lived. Maybe someone told him. Maybe he’d set someone to track him down.

But what did it matter?

Manseok knew how to squeeze the air out of people. And most of the time, he succeeded. He didn’t even need to make a scene—just showing that snake-like face and adding a light threat was enough to make debtors crawl.

Haejun was no different. There was a time when he could laugh it off, throw something back at him... but that kind of nerve was long gone.

He was tired. In every possible way.

...He wanted out.

Sitting on a park bench, Haejun lowered his head.

Life had never been easy, but lately it had been one thing after another. Getting hurt in an accident, confessing and getting rejected, and now that nightmare Choi Manseok showing up out of nowhere with that fucked-up face of his.

He should’ve just spent the money and gotten a talisman from a shaman back then. Things had been going so badly he almost wanted to cling to superstition.

The cold was starting to creep in, but he didn’t want to go home yet. Because Kangjoo wasn’t there. Even if he was, right now it felt easier to stay outside.

Still, just in case, he pulled out his phone. He pressed the button a few times—nothing. The power was dead. Not surprising, considering he hadn’t charged it for two days. He’d kept telling himself he would, but even something as simple as plugging it in had felt like too much.

He couldn’t even check the time, couldn’t see if anyone had tried to contact him. He could go back to the café and ask to charge it, but after what just happened, going back in felt... wrong.

That left only one option—go home.

Haejun stared blankly into the air for a moment before pushing himself up using the bench’s armrest. Then, leaning on his crutches, he started moving one step at a time.

He didn’t know when Lee Kangjoo would be back, but he didn’t want a repeat of what happened last time. The conversation they’d had in the snow was something he didn’t want to relive.

Even though it had been time spent with Lee Kangjoo.