Swallow Hunting

Lee Kangjoo’s warning had been brutally effective. Haejun couldn’t even bring himself to say that he liked him anymore. Even when the words rose unconsciously to the tip of his tongue, the moment he remembered the blood-soaked man and the metallic stench in the air, it all sank right back down his throat.

Meanwhile, Kangjoo acted no differently than before. Still gentle. He took care of Haejun’s meals, morning and night, and they fell asleep in the same bed. He kissed him when leaving for work and when coming home, scooped him up into his arms, pressing his lips here and there along Haejun’s cheeks, even patting him lightly when he stiffened up. Sometimes he seemed lost in thought, as if dissatisfied with the change in Haejun’s behavior, but he never raised a fist or told him to go back to how things used to be.

And in front of him, Haejun could do nothing but quietly watch.

Realistically, he had no choice but to stay by Kangjoo’s side. Even with loan shark interest draining his bank account, he didn’t go hungry, didn’t have his water cut off, didn’t have to worry about heating bills or electricity. He could rest in a warm room without fear. It was a kind of peace he had never once experienced in his life.

But.

Only his body was comfortable.

His mind was hell.

It wasn’t just the frustration of not being able to confess. That did choke him from time to time, sure—but there was something else tightening around his throat like a rope.

Whenever he looked at Kangjoo, his heart pounded violently. Before, it had only been because he hadn’t been given permission. Now, something else had mixed in. Something impure.

Fear.

Terror.

The image of that blood-splattered scene, the man collapsed half-dead—it flickered in his mind constantly. And every time the thought struck that he could end up the same way, his entire body went ice cold, from head to toe. Like death itself had crept right up to him.

By now, his feelings should have broken.

But this damn emotion moved completely separate from reason—he still liked Lee Kangjoo.

If anything, it burned even more painfully than before.

Back then, before the confession, his feelings had been red. Now they were blue. A freezing, bone-deep cold that gnawed at him from the inside.

He could endure everything else.

But the one thing—the thing that hurt more than anything—

Was the fact that, to Lee Kangjoo, his feelings were nothing more than rotten flesh that needed to be cut out.

He couldn’t stand the humiliation of how he’d once let the words “I like you” spill out so carelessly, brimming with hope. It was like he’d shoved something disgusting in front of Kangjoo and said, look at this.

The disgusting thing was himself.

And the one looking at it with contempt—was Lee Kangjoo.

How pathetic must he have seemed?

To someone who only needed his body, he’d gone and offered up something useless, something ugly.

When Kangjoo had said his confession was laughable, there probably hadn’t been even a trace of a lie in it.

He’d been humiliated and looked down on countless times by clients before, but it had never bothered him. That was just how it was. Whether they poured alcohol over his head or made him do things no one should be made to do, it meant nothing. They were faces he’d forget by morning.

But Kangjoo was different.

Even the slightest coldness in his gaze made Haejun’s chest drop.

And if Kangjoo treated him like some cheap whore, it felt like the ground gave way beneath his feet.

Like he’d been left alone in a dried-up world, the earth split and cracking all around him.

Haejun stopped chasing sunlight. Even during the day, he kept the curtains drawn, lying on the dark living room sofa. Until Mrs. Jeong arrived. Until Kangjoo came home from work. He lived like an animal holed up in a cave, refusing to come out.

After seeing Kangjoo off, Haejun had dozed off and only woke when the doorbell rang. Without even thinking to open the curtains, he went straight to the door.

“Oh my, were you sleeping?”

Mrs. Jeong smiled as she bustled in, heading straight for the curtains and pulling them open. The sudden sunlight made Haejun wince, raising a hand to shield his eyes. But she didn’t notice, already focused on the potted plants by the window.

“Look at these. When did they get this wilted? They need water.”

He’d completely forgotten about them lately. The once lush green leaves had dried out, brittle and lifeless. Some had even curled inward, shriveled.

He skipped meals half the time—how could he possibly take care of plants?

Still, it felt wrong to neglect something he’d brought in himself. Haejun slowly approached them. Maybe they were dying because they hadn’t gotten any sunlight. He reached out, touching the dry leaves. The back of his hand and his wrist, reflected in his vision, had taken on a faint bluish hue. He hadn’t seen sunlight in a long time either.

Right then, Mrs. Jeong came back with a watering can. “I’ll do it,” Haejun said, taking it from her. She shrugged and turned away, then suddenly seemed to remember something.

“Oh, right. That friend you told me about before—how’s it going with him?”

“...Pardon?”

“You know, the one who got dumped. Said he was trying to move on.”

“...Ah.”

Haejun gave a bitter smile. He remembered—how he’d talked about his own situation as if it were a friend’s.

“No. Not yet.”

“Has he tried meeting someone new?”

“No. He’s... trying a different way instead.”

Lee Kangjoo had helped him.

In a very kind, very cruel way.

Just thinking about that day made a chill crawl up his spine while his chest throbbed painfully. It felt like he couldn’t stay here any longer—that he needed to run away immediately, disappear from Kangjoo’s sight. Even sleeping on the street felt like it would be easier on his mind.

“He’ll get better, little by little. ...Your friend too.”

“Of course. Time heals everything.”

Humming to herself, Mrs. Jeong disappeared into the kitchen. Haejun watched her small figure for a moment before turning back to the plants. Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the water overflowing past the edge of the pot, spilling down.

“....”

If you don’t water them, they dry up and die. If you water them too much, they rot and die from overwatering. The leaves, weighed down by the long-awaited drops, drooped heavily downward—just like him.

Confess to Lee Kangjoo, and he dies.

Don’t confess, and he withers away.

Just like this.

* * *

Yang Seokho lifted the lid off his second bowl of rice and glanced at Cha Haejun sitting across from him. The way the kid picked at his food, barely eating before just absentmindedly stirring his soup, was getting on his nerves.

“....”

He’d gotten noticeably thinner. Not that his looks had faded—if anything, the sharper lines of his neck and the way his clothes hung looser made him look even more striking—but it was enough to make you wonder if he was sick.

No wonder Lee Kangjoo was concerned.

‘Why does he keep losing weight.’

Seokho hadn’t been surprised when Kangjoo had said something that vague. It was obvious who he was talking about.

Still, it was good manners to pretend not to know until it was said outright, so Seokho had just pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and played dumb.

‘Who are you referring to?’

‘Cha Haejun.’

‘...Ah. At that age, skipping just one meal makes them lose weight right away. They’re hungry again the moment they turn around.’

Guys around Haejun’s age that Seokho knew would start whining for more food before they’d even finished their first plate. Compared to those bottomless pits, Haejun had seemed normal. But to Kangjoo, he must’ve looked like some frail little chick.

‘Find a housekeeper. Someone who’s good at cooking.’

‘Yes, understood. ...But is the current one not to your liking? I picked her because she’s known for her cooking.’

‘Guess it doesn’t suit Cha Haejun’s taste.’

Looking at Haejun’s empty soup bowl, Seokho ordered another serving. He added boiled pork on top of that. The kid needed something nourishing. Though, judging by how little he was eating, it was questionable whether he’d even be able to swallow meat.

“No appetite?”

He asked casually. Haejun shook his head and took a spoonful of soup. Even that seemed hard to swallow—he held it in his mouth for a few seconds before finally forcing it down.

Originally, Seokho had never intended to sit down and eat with him like this. He’d nearly gotten beaten by Kangjoo just for being called “hyung” by the kid once—sharing a meal at the same table was practically asking to die.

But today, he had an excuse.

A direct order from Kangjoo.

“If you leave him alone, he’ll definitely skip meals. Go make sure he eats.”

Kangjoo himself couldn’t come—he had another engagement. He hadn’t seemed pleased about it, but apparently decided this was better than leaving Haejun unattended.

“I ordered meat, so at least eat that.”

“I had a big breakfast earlier...”

“Don’t lie about useless shit. I don’t care, but kid—if you say that kind of thing in front of the boss, you’ll get yourself in serious trouble.”

Seokho warned him, deliberately stern. It was his own way of looking out for him. Lee Kangjoo wasn’t a forgiving man—especially not with people who tried to lie to him.

Haejun wouldn’t be an exception.

He might treat him gently, but there were still lines that had to be respected.

Haejun shook his head again.

“I won’t do that.”

“Good.”

The staff set the boiled pork down on the table. Haejun picked up his chopsticks, hesitated, then set them back down with a reluctant expression. After covering his mouth for a moment, he picked up his cup and took a sip of water.

“Stomach bothering you?”

“...No.”

“Then eat a bit more. If you don’t, I’ve got nothing to report back with. I was sent here to make sure you eat.”

At that, Haejun froze.

His eyes, as he looked at Seokho, reddened slightly. Then he suddenly lowered his head, sniffing quietly.

“What’s wrong?”

“The soup... it’s spicy.”

Spicy? The pale broth wasn’t spicy at all.

It was a lie.

But this time, Seokho didn’t call him out on it.

Because that wasn’t really a lie—

Just an excuse to hide the tears that had come out of nowhere.