Swallow Hunting

Lee Kangjoo was ruthlessly cold, whether it came to work or relationships. Even when a lover once grabbed a knife and started cutting himself, screaming that he’d rather die than break up, Kangjoo had just said his piece and walked away. Out of basic decency, he paid the hospital bill—but that was it. No matter how much someone cried, begged, or tried to threaten him with their life, he wouldn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow.

And yet, the only person he had ever reacted to differently was Cha Haejun. He’d done things he’d never done before—personally taking care of him when he was sick, even bringing him into his own home. He’d even gone as far as telling Yang Seokho to buy bread, offering extra money just to make him run some trivial errand.

The reason Lee Kangjoo actually hesitated after being confessed to by a man—why he even bothered trying to crush those feelings—was probably because that person was Cha Haejun.

Beating him senseless and throwing him out might not be the right answer this time. It was just a gut feeling, but Yang Seokho was certain there had to be another way.

“...Do you really have to make him give up?”

“Mm.”

“If it’s not going to cause you any trouble, maybe you could just leave him be.”

“It bothers me.”

“It... bothers you?”

“......”

Lee Kangjoo said nothing. He simply lowered his gaze, lost in thought.

Awkwardly scratching the back of his head, Yang Seokho recalled that kid he’d seen before—the one who looked at Kangjoo with eyes that sparkled like a puppy’s whenever his name came up.

Cha Haejun was strange. Even to someone used to throwing punches, he stirred up a sense of pity. Maybe it was because of those eyes—no matter how brightly he smiled, there was always a layer of gloom piled up underneath, like fallen leaves.

Yang Seokho had always thought of himself as just as cold as Kangjoo, but even he found himself easing up around Haejun.

Maybe that innate trait of his was what had softened Kangjoo’s diamond-hard nature. That was probably why he didn’t just throw him out without a second thought.

If possible, Yang Seokho wanted to give advice that would actually help Cha Haejun. He didn’t want to see that kid looking so miserable. Call it pity, call it sympathy—it didn’t matter.

“If he were just after your money, it’d be easier.”

Kangjoo pressed his thumb and index finger to his temple like he had a headache. The crease between his brows deepened.

“Then how about giving him some time? Let him sort himself out.”

“I’ve waited long enough.”

“Is he... pretty young?”

He already knew the answer, but asked anyway. Kangjoo gave a small nod. Just looking at the age gap alone, Kangjoo’s rejection could almost be called the more decent choice.

“If he’s young, it might take him longer to get over it. Still, shouldn’t the older one be a bit more generous? A little patience wouldn’t hurt.”

“......”

Apparently, that wasn’t the right answer either. Was it that Kangjoo didn’t want to wait that long—or that he didn’t actually want Haejun to move on? The latter seemed more likely. He just hadn’t realized it himself yet.

Still, Yang Seokho couldn’t just start pounding his chest in frustration and tell him to treat the poor kid better. That wasn’t his place. Boundaries had to be kept if you wanted a relationship to last.

“Ah, what about Song Jaewook? He showed up unannounced and is waiting outside.”

He deliberately changed the subject, as if it had just come to mind. Song Jaewook had been acting as an informant on the corporate side Kangjoo had been working on. Now that Baeksong had completely swallowed them, his role was basically over.

There was no reason to meet him anymore, but Song Jaewook was desperate to see Kangjoo. The reason was obvious. Yang Seokho just pretended not to notice.

He didn’t like Song Jaewook. Always sticking his nose into everything, always scheming. And for someone like him, he was way too open about liking men—Yang Seokho had lost count of how many times he’d wanted to wash his ears after overhearing things he didn’t want to hear. Still, the guy was competent, so at least he’d done his job as an informant well enough.

“Get off work.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll head out.”

Yang Seokho gave a respectful bow and left, muttering to himself that he’d done his best—for Cha Haejun, who didn’t know a thing.

After Yang Seokho left, Lee Kangjoo stared down at his motionless phone. No matter how long he waited, there was no message from Cha Haejun.

Before, his phone would buzz more than a dozen times a day. But today, the last message had been the one sent in the afternoon—and even that had been half-assed.

That annoying change ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) had started right after he rejected the confession. Maybe, in his own way, Haejun was trying to get over it.

Fine. He should just let it slide generously—but at the same time, it pissed him off.

Was simply rejecting his feelings really enough of a reason for him to flip his attitude like that?

As he’d said before, no matter what happened, Cha Haejun was supposed to do his job. That was what Kangjoo was paying him for. It was what Haejun was supposed to do.

This was clear negligence.

Maybe he needed to pick a day and properly discipline him.

If he did, Haejun would definitely start crying. For someone born with a dick, he was surprisingly soft. Easily scared, easily brought to tears. Maybe that was why he was always so wet too—but he rarely didn’t cry in bed, and whenever he felt fear, no matter how hard he tried to keep his expression in check, his face would turn pale and his eyes would shake.

Crying did suit him.

Cha Haejun had a face that stirred up sadistic urges. The fact that he’d made it this far in life with that kind of face was honestly a miracle.

If he’d been like that as a kid, there would’ve been plenty of perverts who wouldn’t have left him alone. There would’ve been no shortage of bastards who’d kidnap him to some remote mountain villa and keep him all to themselves.

Even his smile was pretty.

When he smiled with his eyes, the soft flesh beneath them puffed up, and his cheeks rounded out—it was annoyingly cute. In those moments, there was always a fierce battle between the urge to grab those pale cheeks and pull until he cried, and the patience to just let him keep smiling like that. More often than not, he ended up doing neither, letting it slip past like an idiot.

He opened the chat window. Scrolling up, he saw the messages and photos Haejun had sent—little updates about what he’d eaten, what he’d been doing at home, where he’d gone. He’d chatter endlessly, sending pictures in between—strange-shaped clouds, plants he was growing, food.

And yet, not a single photo of himself.

It wouldn’t have been strange for him to send at least one.

“......”

Kangjoo tapped the now-dark screen before opening his desk drawer. From the stack of thick files, he pulled out the one about Cha Haejun.

Inside were a few photos. In every single one, his gaze was directed somewhere else, as if he’d never even considered the possibility of being photographed.

He still didn’t understand why Cha Haejun had confessed to him.

He didn’t remember ever treating him particularly well. The kind of ordinary sympathy a normal person might feel—pitying a young guy struggling to survive—was not something Lee Kangjoo possessed.

Was it because he hadn’t hit him?

Up until now, whenever a man confessed to him, he’d ignored it. If they kept pushing, he beat them until they backed off.

But he couldn’t do that to Cha Haejun.

Making him cry was fun—but he didn’t want to see him covered in blood. And he had no desire to throw punches at that small, fragile body.

Leaning back slowly into his chair, Kangjoo let his thoughts drift to the past.

At first, it had just been simple curiosity. Han Yeonghwa doted on him, so Kangjoo had wanted to see what kind of guy had caught her eye.

She’d worked in the entertainment industry before, and as expected, she had a sharp eye. He’d thought she’d gotten herself tangled up with some cheeky little swallow—but it turned out he was just a clueless kid.

That kept man, claimed by Han Yeonghwa, smiled stupidly, completely unaware of his own situation. His clear eyes were drowning in gloom, and yet he still greeted customers with a bright smile.

It left an impression. The kind that stuck with you after just one glance.

His life had been so dull it bordered on suffocating—he figured it wouldn’t hurt to use him as a bit of entertainment.

So he reached out first. Getting tangled up in messy emotions was a pain, so he kept things casual, just going along with whatever Haejun wanted.

He went to see boring movies, went hiking, ate food that wasn’t his taste—just matching his pace. It was tolerable. Even a little amusing. Not because of the activities themselves, but because of Cha Haejun’s changing expressions—how he’d grow restless depending on Kangjoo’s response, or suddenly puff his chest out proudly, looking pleased with himself.

But the confession—that, he hadn’t expected.

He knew there were feelings there. But Haejun knew his place. He didn’t think he’d actually say it out loud.

He thought he’d keep it hidden until the end—but maybe because he was young, he got swept up in his emotions and spilled everything without thinking about the consequences.

Cha Haejun needed to understand something.

That Lee Kangjoo had been going incredibly, unbelievably easy on him.

Compared to how he treated other men, the fact that he hadn’t beaten him half to death was already an enormous privilege.

And yet, not knowing that, he’d snapped at him—acting irritated, shifting all the blame onto Kangjoo, who had only offered to carry him on a cold day.

‘It’s your fault for being so nice to me. If you were just an asshole, it’d actually make things easier—but you keep treating me well like this, every single day...!’

The finger tapping his phone tightened. The muscle beneath his jaw tensed, his expression faintly twisting.

Just then, a knock on the door cut through his thoughts. Only then did he remember—Song Jaewook was waiting outside.