Thinking he’d be late, I took a nap in the early evening to catch up on sleep, showered properly, and waited for Lee Kangjoo. Just as expected, he showed up around two in the morning.

He keyed in the password and walked in like it was his own place. I’d never told him out loud, but he seemed to know the code anyway. Well, he was the one who’d given me the place, so I guess it made sense.

“The password. Should I leave it as is?”

I asked just in case. Lee Kangjoo shrugged. It looked like he didn’t care either way, as long as I told him.

The current password was four zeros. As low-difficulty as it got. Even a brain-dead thief could punch it in and walk right off with whatever was inside.

For a second I wondered if he wasn’t worried, since it was a place he’d provided—then I shook my head. Worried about what? There’d have to be something worth stealing first. Anyone who broke in would probably just curse at what a pathetic dump it was and leave.

Lee Kangjoo hadn’t come empty-handed. The shopping bag he brought had two bottles of wine and a platter inside. Cheese, olives, charcuterie—an assortment of things.

“Do you like wine?” I asked.

“It’s fine. What about you, Haejun.”

“I’m more of a soju guy. I can drink hard liquor too, but it always leaves me feeling like shit after. Beer fills me up too fast. All bloat.”

“And wine?”

“I haven’t really had much.”

Compared to other alcohol, I’d barely ever drunk it. Almost no customers ordered wine at the host bar, and the boss said it wasn’t profitable, so he never stocked it.

“Maybe I should’ve bought something else.”

“No! This is good too.”

We didn’t have wine glasses, so we used water cups instead. I was a little disappointed about that, but Lee Kangjoo didn’t seem to care. He poured the wine himself.

His movements were elegant. If it weren’t for the scars on the back of his hand, the calluses raised and rough, the image of him beating someone half to death in his office, you might mistake him for a gentle gentleman raised without want in some respectable household.

“CEO Lee....”

I wasn’t drunk, but my words slowed anyway. I rolled the cup between my fingers. Lee Kangjoo propped his chin on his hand, waiting for me to finish.

“How did you end up... working on that side?”

“That side?”

“Being a gangster.”

I didn’t know exactly what Lee Kangjoo did. I was just guessing, based on how comfortable he looked throwing punches. Instinct, too—the smell of blood I picked up on. I had a knack for that.

Lee Kangjoo laughed lightly, like my question amused him.

“Do I look like a gangster?”

“From what you showed me in your office last time......”

“Strictly speaking, I work in finance. Sometimes you need your fists when you’re doing business. But gangster might be a bit much.”

He took a sip and tilted his head. I quickly drained my own cup. My throat felt dry, like I’d asked something I shouldn’t have. But he smirked and looked straight at me.

“Well. I guess I could see why you’d think that. Life just kind of pushed me in this direction. This time, you answer, Cha Haejun. How did you end up a male prostitute.”

“Me? Well.”

It was long past the point where a blunt word like that could piss me off. If you sold your body for money, what else were you supposed to call it.

“I was bad at everything. Got chewed out every day. My hands are kind of slow. Same when I worked at a café. I tried construction too, but I messed up all the time, got yelled at nonstop by the old guys. Eventually even the site manager cussed me out. Then I got fired.”

I spread my palm wide and showed it to Lee Kangjoo. My fingers were long and straight, no ridges or bumps. My pink nails were neatly rounded, like polished gems, and the back of my hand was smooth, no scars. Just looking at my hands, you’d think I was some pampered rich kid who’d never touched water.

But hands like these were useless for work. Not only were they clumsy, my body followed suit—nothing about me was solid or reliable.

At the café, I’d walked past the counter and shattered an expensive glass. On a construction site, I’d been carrying a cement bag on my shoulder, stumbled sideways, and burst it. Once, I’d even dropped rebar and nearly killed another worker.

At first, employers let it slide, saying you learned by making mistakes. But when it kept happening, they started getting uncomfortable. In the end, they all fired me. I understood. I wouldn’t want to hire someone like me either—a walking accident waiting to happen.

“Debt collectors kept calling, and I had to make money. Somehow, I ended up here. My hands might be slow, but my dick’s pretty.”

I added the joke to lighten the mood. The corner of Lee Kangjoo’s lips lifted.

“Does it suit you?”

“I think so. I mess up less than with other jobs, and people treated me kindly. Said I was pretty.”

He lowered his gaze as he brought the cup to his lips, like he was scanning what lay below. I drew my thighs together neatly. His eyes felt like feathers brushing me. The inside of my legs itched. It was like thick, hot fingers were sliding up my thighs, circling near my groin.

“Let’s see, then. If it’s worth bragging about.”

“Excuse me?”

“You said people liked it. Take it «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» off.”

In private rooms, when customers told me to strip, I never asked twice. I’d peel off my clothes, pants, underwear, even put their cocks in my mouth without hesitation. So why was it that, in front of Lee Kangjoo, a shame I’d never raised before came bubbling up?

I hesitated, grabbing my waistband, then moved my hands to my shirt. I squeezed my eyes shut and flipped the hem up. Cold air hit my bare skin.

I rubbed my goosebumped arms and reached for my pants. They were elastic—just had to pull them down. I dragged my pants and underwear down slowly together. Right before exposing the root of my cock, I hesitated, but dragging it out would only hurt me. I moved my hands quickly.

When I shoved the clothes tangled around my ankles aside, I was completely naked. Like when I’d been sitting with my thighs together earlier, I brought my hands forward and overlapped them. Lee Kangjoo flicked the back of my hand with his index and middle finger. The sharp sting made me flinch and pull my hands away.

Only a single stand light was on, filling the room with a soft glow. Shadows fell over my body. A shadow along the bridge of my nose, a small hollow under my plump lips, my nipples bright where the light hit them and dark beneath.

Lee Kangjoo sat at an angle, one elbow on the table. He watched me stand there, fists clenched, like he was appreciating a painting. Then his gaze moved—down from my pale forehead to my nose, my lowered eyes, flushed cheeks, tightly pressed lips, my nape, and below.

His eyes stopped at my chest.

It was flat, nothing you could really grab. Firm enough, but not full—nothing interesting to look at. And yet, his gaze lingered. On skin the color of fresh milk, on pink nipples embedded like pomegranate seeds.

They were a pale azalea pink, the same color as my cock. With how much they’d been used, they should’ve been worn and ruined like a rag, but the color was like an untouched flower bud.

For a grown man, Cha Haejun’s body was strange. My unblemished skin looked like that of an immature boy, but my Adam’s apple, solid shoulders, long limbs leaned closer to adulthood. Like I was stuck somewhere in between.

I could see why customers doted on me. There were people who preferred elegant curves over bulging muscle.

With a playful glint, Lee Kangjoo tapped my nipple. I startled and took a step back. He crooked his finger, and I returned to my spot.

“No one ever tell you your nipples are pretty?”

I’d heard plenty about my dick being pretty, but never my nipples. No one had ever paid them any attention. I hadn’t either.

“No, nothing like that.......”

I looked down, but to me they didn’t look any different from anyone else’s. Then Lee Kangjoo’s hand suddenly entered my view. With thick, rough fingertips, he pressed my nipple in and released it. The soft nub sank in, then popped back out. I bit my lower lip, letting out a small sound.

“They’re the same color as your dick.”

I’d buried my face in customers’ chests, sucked, licked, bitten them—but no one had ever touched mine. My shoulders shrank like a mimosa plant. It was different from grabbing and jerking my cock. It was itchy, hot. When my nipple was crushed between Lee Kangjoo’s thumb and finger like juicy fruit, my toes curled.

I held my breath and swallowed the sounds. Thinking it might help, I closed my eyes. It didn’t. The sensations only grew sharper. He was touching my nipple, but my navel burned, my insides twitched. My flat stomach sucked in, then tensed, vertical lines appearing. I twisted my legs together, but my cock rose stiffly anyway, with a will of its own.

“You were born for this.”

Lee Kangjoo withdrew his hand. The nipples that had been pale petal-pink were now ripened to a deep crimson. They’d swollen too, like something soaked in water. It felt like if he squeezed them any harder, milk might come out.

“Doesn’t matter where I touch—you get hard.”