Three Eight-Chapter 66

As they arrived in front of the house, both of them took out their phones at the same time. Hongju did it to double-check if his phone was still off; Mu-gyeong did it to receive a call from someone.

“Yeah.”

A loud voice came through the receiver. Maybe because he had just stepped close to Mu-gyeong, the pronunciation came through fairly clearly.

—About what you asked the other day. Around that person...

Right as it reached that point, Mu-gyeong parted his lips and cut the other person off.

“I’ll call you back later.”

Even though the other side started shouting something loudly, he ended the call without hesitation. Both of their gazes turned at the same time toward the phone screen where the numbers had stopped.

“What are you staring at? Just get inside.”

Mu-gyeong snapped and pushed at the small of Hongju’s back. Hongju, faltering under the nudge of that hand, stepped through the front gate first.

Was it a call I wasn’t supposed to hear? Maybe I should’ve gone in first. With that pointless sense of having become a burden, Hongju—who had been crossing the yard—came to a halt.

“You don’t have to worry about it.”

“What?”

“You wouldn’t understand it anyway.”

A short scoff, like a hollow laugh, sounded behind him as Hongju started walking again. Every time he moved, the envelope he had stuffed awkwardly into his pocket crinkled.

Except when eating or going to the bathroom, Hongju stayed holed up in his room the whole time. He’d been here for several days now, but still couldn’t get used to the house. Hotels were uncomfortable, too, but he’d at least been able to let his guard down a bit. Maybe the difference was Mu-gyeong being here or not. As he sat in the large room, tangled in useless thoughts, a knock came at the door. Before he could even get up from the bed, the door opened.

“Wanna have a drink?”

Maybe he had just taken a shower—he was only wearing pants, leaning askew against the doorframe. He was someone who always went around perfectly styled from head to toe. Seeing him like this, so casual, felt strangely unfamiliar. Perhaps sensing the stare that swept over him, Mu-gyeong's lips curved in a smooth arc.

“What, are you expecting something again?”

With a faint laugh, the muscles caught in his shoulders twitched subtly. Realizing he’d been watching Mu-gyeong with his guard down, Hongju quickly averted his gaze. Out of habit, his hand went to his right ear, and thud, thud—his pulse pounded noisily just behind it.

“If I asked you to drink beer twice, I’d probably end up fucking you.”

“......”

“I asked if you’re gonna drink.”

He didn’t particularly like or enjoy alcohol, so he was going to say no. But then the expression Mu-gyeong had worn in the car came to mind. It had looked like the face of someone who needed a drink.

“I’ll drink.”

He’d managed to drink with Doksu just fine—surely he could do the same with Mu-gyeong. Hongju got up from the bed.

At first, everything he ate here gave him indigestion and had him vomiting all night. His stomach had ached and his throat had burned from the acid, but now, drinking and swallowing something had become a bit more familiar. Maybe he was finally starting to accept that this place wasn’t the House—and that this man wasn’t Guppping.

As he brushed past Mu-gyeong standing in the doorway, a scent the same as the one that clung to his own hair wafted up.

“You gonna nurse that one can all day?”

While Mu-gyeong cracked open several new cans, Hongju hadn’t even finished his first. He was only barely wetting his lips, sipping slowly.

“Who taught you how to drink?”

Had he ever been taught? The first time he’d had alcohol, Yang Siljang had forced it into his mouth—he couldn’t really call that learning. Hongju shook his head. As his vision wavered and blurred, he pressed his palm to his forehead and closed his eyes for a moment.

“No wonder you’re like this.”

At the laughter-tinged voice, Hongju forced open his dry eyes. He quietly studied Mu-gyeong, who was sitting with one arm stretched along the back of the sofa. His forearms, usually hidden beneath coat sleeves and suits, were muscled like small hills. The line from his chest down to his lower abdomen was sharply defined. A long scar ran across it. Hongju’s gaze dragged lazily over Mu-gyeong’s body. The muscles in his throat rippled slowly up and down as he swallowed beer. Hongju’s eyes traced up his jawline, a little higher.

“......”

Their eyes locked suddenly—Mu-gyeong had been drinking with his eyes half-lowered. Hongju had been staring, not realizing the gaze was directed at him.

Gulp. Hongju’s eyes dropped again to his throat. He thought Mu-gyeong would only drink expensive stuff like whiskey or wine, but it seemed like he drank at least one can of beer nearly every day.

As he toyed with his own can, shaking it lightly, a large hand suddenly entered his vision. Mu-gyeong snatched the half-empty can from him and downed the rest in one go.

“Ah...”

He’d been robbed of his drink in an instant and belatedly reached out, dumbfounded. But by then, Mu-gyeong had already drained it and was opening the last can.

“Judging by the way {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} you look, you were pretty drunk that time too.”

“When?”

“The day we opened the temporary House.”

Could just half a can have soaked through his brain? As he tried to piece together the words Mu-gyeong had spoken, his recall felt sluggish—slower than usual.

“Oh, you mean the whiskey?”

Sitting on the floor instead of the sofa, Hongju leaned forward. He propped his elbows on the low table and rested his chin in his hand. It was a memory from just a few months ago, yet he recalled it as if it had happened ages ago.

“I don’t think I drank that much, but I felt dizzy. It was kind of scary. I thought I might fall asleep from being drunk.”

Mu-gyeong’s hand, mid-pour, paused for a beat. His gaze dropped faintly. Hongju, who was always tense and sitting ramrod straight, was now slouched and relaxed. The words he once said at the House—that he couldn’t even drink a sip of water comfortably—suddenly came back to him. Not long ago, he wouldn’t even take water from Mu-gyeong’s hand. But now, it seemed the wariness had faded somewhat.

“So I guess it’s okay for you to get drunk in front of me.”

Well, yeah. He’d sat across from Doksu and drank like it was nothing—so it made sense he should drink in front of me too. This time, Mu-gyeong’s jet-black eyes swept over the boy’s slender, disheveled body. The oversized shirt collar, the neck so thin his bones jutted out. Messy hair, thighs exposed beneath shorts, covered in scars. A sudden thirst welled up.

Only empty cans were rolling around on the table now. Should he bring more? As Mu-gyeong absently shook the barely half-full can and glanced toward the kitchen, a small head suddenly lifted.

“How old are you?”

At the random question, Mu-gyeong raised an eyebrow and met his gaze. His black pupils were focused, but the skin above his eyes and across his cheeks was flushed. He seemed to be barely holding onto his senses, but couldn’t quite stop his mouth from moving.

“You don’t seem that much older.”

Hongju pressed again, like he was urging for an answer. It wasn’t the kind of question he’d have asked while sober. Mu-gyeong had always wondered what the hell went on in that kid’s head—so this is the kind of thing Gu Hongju had been curious about?

Lips tinged with amusement parted without hesitation.

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“Thirty-one.”

“Oh.”

Thirty-one. I’m twenty-three. So he’s eight years older than me. As he folded down his fingers one by one, counting the years, Hongju gave a little nod.

“I thought you’d be younger than Choi. He said he’s thirty.”

Yeah, depending on how someone dresses, it really does make a difference. Hongju pressed a palm to his heated eyelids. He didn’t even notice how Mu-gyeong’s gaze had begun to take on a different color.

“I know.”

“But is your surname Mu?”

He thought he might’ve asked before, but couldn’t clearly remember what the answer had been. With unfocused eyes, he stared at Mu-gyeong. The corner of Mu-gyeong’s mouth, visible over the edge of his tilted beer can, quirked up slightly.

“Since you’re drunk, should I tell you?”

“I’m not drunk yet.”

Hongju shook his head, and his hair fell messily across his forehead. His lowered lashes cast long shadows over his cheeks. After swallowing the lukewarm beer, he reached out unconsciously and brushed a hand over Hongju’s dry cheek. Feeling the soft texture under his fingertips, Mu-gyeong wet his bottom lip.

“Now that the bruise is fading, you kinda look like a peach.”

Beer was still alcohol—maybe even just a few sips were enough. What the hell was he saying? Mu-gyeong kept chuckling quietly to himself, like even he found it ridiculous.

“Sung Mu-gyeong.”

“...Ah. So Mu-gyeong’s your given name. Your surname is Sung.”

Wet lips moved again and kept muttering. He looked like the type who’d forget all this once he sobered up. Mu-gyeong slid out his red tongue and moistened his drying lips. Straightening from his lean toward the table, he sat down on the floor. Their knees bumped. Maybe because they were sitting so close together—there was a warmth there that didn’t feel like either of theirs alone.

“Have you thought about what to do with your allowance?”

“Allowance?”

Hongju mouthed the word a few more times, then shook his head. As saliva pooled under his tongue, Mu-gyeong moved even closer.

“Use that money on me.”

“...How?”

Mu-gyeong, eyes fixed on the lips that dumbly repeated the question, leaned in and whispered low. The space between them shrank further, and a deep shadow fell over Hongju’s face.

“Let’s see if Gu Hongju’s worth paying for.”

He shoved Hongju back against the table. Hongju grabbed onto Mu-gyeong’s thick forearm and tried to hold out, but the force pressing down on his shoulder left him no choice but to topple over.

“Ah!”

Reaching behind him, Mu-gyeong shoved the table aside. One of the empty beer cans rolled off and hit the floor with a clatter, spilling cloudy liquid. Mu-gyeong didn’t even glance at it.

“You said you don’t have anything to spend the money on, didn’t you?”

He slipped his hand under the oversized top. Maybe it was because they’d both been drinking—every place their skin touched felt scalding. His hand skimmed up Hongju’s side and started teasing over his chest. Hongju scrunched his face in discomfort and let out a whimper.

“Oh, boss.......”

Clinging to Mu-gyeong’s arm as it gripped and slowly kneaded his chest.