“Agh, no, it’s not like that. Park Yohan just jumped to conclusions on his own.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Still—since I used to work in the same line of business, let me stick my nose in for a second... Yohan’s not wrong.”

“.......”

“Feelings are nasty things. Once they latch on, they snowball fast. Be careful.”

His voice carried a hint of self-mockery. Haejun draped his jacket over the curled-up Yohan and glanced sideways at the boss.

“By any chance...”

He was about to ask if it was something the man had experienced himself, but he missed the timing when Yohan started whining behind him and then toppled over onto the floor.

Haejun tended to Yohan first, writhing like an earthworm. Muttering that the kid’s alcohol tolerance had turned to trash when he wasn’t looking, the boss clicked his tongue and called a taxi.

“Come hang out again next time.”

“Yes. Thank you for today.”

“Get home safe.”

Haejun bowed low enough that his forehead nearly touched the ground, then helped Yohan into the taxi. Just as they were about to pull out, the boss stopped him and shoved a yellow bill into his hand, telling him to use it for the fare. Refusing was pointless—adults’ money was to be accepted without backtalk, that was manners.

With no choice, Haejun took the cash, got Yohan home, and then headed back himself. The buzz hit him late as soon as he stepped out of the taxi. He staggered along, then decided that if he passed out like this, tomorrow’s hangover would be hell, so he stopped by a convenience store and bought some hangover medicine.

Before going inside his building, he detoured to the smoking area and lit up. He hadn’t touched a cigarette once since moving into the new place, but tonight it felt necessary. Even after good meat and alcohol, the bitterness still clung to his tongue.

‘Don’t give your heart to a client.’

Those words bent like a fishhook and snagged hard in his chest. His solar plexus felt clogged, like he’d overeaten, and he pounded his fist against his chest.

Yohan was annoying—no matter how many times Haejun insisted it wasn’t true, the bastard wouldn’t listen. Maybe he should’ve grabbed him by the collar right there and told him to shut ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) his useless mouth. Repeating a meek no over and over just made him feel stupid.

Liking Lee Kangjoo.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Sure, maybe he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, maybe he wasn’t particularly savvy—but he was someone who drew a clear line between business and personal. There was no way he’d like Lee Kangjoo. He didn’t like him. He was just a client with a big wallet and good sexual compatibility, someone worth holding onto as long as possible.

‘Feelings are nasty things.’

“I said I don’t like him......”

His muttering sounded drained of all strength. Haejun stubbed out the completely burned cigarette in the ashtray. With heavy steps, he trudged toward home.

At the end of the hallway, the trash was still piled up like a tower. Boxes, bags of regular garbage, half-eaten food waste, scraps of metal—everything was strewn everywhere.

It’d be nice if someone cleaned it up, but it didn’t look like anyone had the slightest intention of doing so. The pile had grown day by day, and lately bugs were a common sight. The buzzing flies were thicker-bodied than ordinary fruit flies.

Haejun waved his hand to shoo the gnats clinging to him and reached his door—then stopped.

[Male whore bastard, fucking dog, insane bitch cursed by heaven for having sex with men, shut up, I’ll kill you.]

The front door and surrounding walls were plastered with bright red spray paint. Most of it was crude abuse and threats.

The color drained from Haejun’s face. A moment later, bang—came the sound of a door slamming shut from next door. They’d been watching for his reaction.

“This fucking....”

Rage surged up in an instant. He’d put up with enough. Clenching his fist, Haejun bolted for the neighboring unit and pounded on the door like he meant to smash it down.

“Come out, you piece of shit! Come out!”

It had to be the neighbor. There was no one else it could be. He’d planned to let it slide since it was late, but the anger had hit his limit and he completely lost it.

Click—then click, click, click. The sound of multiple locks being undone rang out. Haejun ground his teeth, ready to drive his fist straight into the bastard’s face the moment the door opened.

The man didn’t undo the last latch. He stared at Haejun through a narrow crack. His eyes were slick, the black pupils unfocused. His lips were covered in white flakes of dried skin, and a foul, rotting stench of mixed garbage wafted out through the gap.

“You’re the one who scribbled on my door, right? If it was noisy, you could’ve said something or filed a complaint—why the hell are you vandalizing someone else’s place?!”

“Y-you got proof I did it?”

“There’s CCTV right there. Let’s go check it together. Come out right now!”

Haejun kicked the door. The man flinched violently, then scuttled away on all fours into the pile of trash inside. In less than a few seconds, he reappeared with something in his hand—a rusted kitchen knife.

“Y-you male whore, selling your body, screaming like a pig, squealing so loud I can’t sleep—where the hell did a crazy bitch like you come from...!”

As he spoke, he shoved the blade through the crack, clearly aiming to stab. If Haejun hadn’t jumped back in time, his arm would’ve been slashed.

Even as Haejun stared at him in disbelief, the man acted like he’d done nothing wrong, glaring back while his knife hand shook violently. The way he looked at Haejun was chilling, like he was about to bury the blade straight into his gut.

Other apartment doors cracked open at the nighttime commotion. Someone shouted that they’d called security, told them to keep it down. The man’s eyes darted around frantically.

“One more, one more time you’re loud, I swear I’ll split your belly open and kill you. I’ll slit your throat and kill you like a p-pig!”

The man slammed the door shut. Haejun stood there, frozen stiff. Last time he’d brandished a knife too, but he hadn’t really tried to stab him. This time was different. Someone that unhinged could genuinely kill him. His fingertips went icy cold.

“Um... are you okay?”

A cautious voice snapped Haejun back to himself. Turning around, he saw a woman peeking out with her door barely open, looking at him with concern. Worried the lunatic might burst out again and attack, Haejun quickly moved away.

“By any chance... is the noise from my place really that bad?”

He whispered the question. The woman, clearly wary of the crazy neighbor too, cupped her hands around her face like a makeshift sound barrier.

“No. Not at all. This building’s famous for having no floor or wall noise—it was such a pain to even get a place here. But seriously, ugh, what are we going to do about all that trash?”

She waved away some gnats and closed her door. Left alone in the hallway, Haejun stared blankly at his own door, covered in grotesque graffiti.

How he was supposed to clean that off, whether he could even live safely here—his head spun, a throbbing headache blooming at the back of his skull.

* * *

The police weren’t the kind you could trust. Even when he’d reported being beaten by his father, they’d just given a polite warning to “not do it again” and left. It had happened more than once.

The father who’d bowed and scraped in front of the cops would beat Haejun to within an inch of his life the moment they were gone. Calling him a rotten bastard for reporting his own blood, screaming that this piece of shit wasn’t a son, telling him to die—he’d hurled every filthy insult imaginable.

In truth, his father had never fed or clothed him. When his mother was still alive, the man at least crept around on eggshells. Once she was gone, he turned into a runaway colt, roaming every gambling den in the country. He’d show up once in a while in a good mood, toss a thousand won or two like it was allowance, then disappear again.

What raised Haejun were the occasional handouts from neighbors—and Yohan’s grandmother. Only after meeting that kind, warm-hearted old woman did Haejun learn how to live like a human being.

Anyway, even if he called the police now, they’d just say there was nothing they could do unless there’d been physical harm, and leave. That wasn’t a solution.

Haejun crossed his arms, leaned his head back, and looked up at the sky. It was dark and heavy, like rain might start pouring any second.

“Fuck, I’m dying.”

Yohan clutched his stomach and collapsed onto the convenience store table. He’d left half of the cup ramen he’d bought for lunch untouched. Normally that pig would’ve licked the bowl clean, even the broth. This hangover seemed too much for him.

“Where’s the hangover drink?”

“If I drink that, I think I’ll puke. Shit....”

True enough, it’d been a while since he’d seen Yohan go down from alcohol. His face was deathly pale, gagging like he was about to throw up any second—it was pitiful.

Haejun went back into the store and bought some hangover pills and honey water. When he popped the cap and handed it over, Yohan caught the smell and bent over, head dropping under the table. He opened his mouth like he was about to lose it, but thankfully didn’t end up causing a scene in front of the part-timer.

“Hold your nose and drink it. If you don’t take this, the hangover’ll last till tomorrow.”

Gagging nonstop, Yohan barely managed to swallow the honey water and pills. Only after finishing the drink did his complexion look a little better.

“How’d you even ride your bike here?”

“I puked a few times on the way.”

“You drink that much?”

“No. I just... I’m not like I used to be. Maybe I had indigestion? Or my liver’s starting to go to shit.”

It was an early worry for someone in their early twenties. Still, Haejun couldn’t help agreeing. With the way they drank nonstop, there was no way their livers would survive. There was a reason people didn’t last long in this industry. Before age or weight caught up to you, your insides rotted first. He’d seen guys puke up mouthfuls of blood right onto the waiting room floor more than once.