No, but seriously—this is too much. Living together’s supposed to be about mutual consideration.
“Still, this isn’t right. I have a life, too. If things go on like this, it’s not going to work.”
“Hoon, I’m paying 7,000,000 won a month to live with you. Shouldn’t you at least adjust to me on everything except your studies?”
That shut him up. Fair point—he was the one agreeing to take Bae Jung-yoon’s money. In a way, it made sense to play along with his terms.
“Fine. Let’s say I let that slide. But why do we have to eat dinner together?”
“I’m just tired of eating alone. It’s getting lonely.”
Bae Jung-yoon responded without a hint of shame—his expression not the least bit tired or lonely.
“If you’re that tired and lonely, go eat outside. I’m sure there are tons of people who’d love to have a meal with you.”
“You think I have the time or money to eat out with different people every day?”
Says the guy who’s throwing both time and money at me.
“And besides, you’d be eating alone anyway. So what’s the big deal?”
That soft, coaxing voice left him no room to argue. Honestly, having dinner with Bae Jung-yoon was more convenient than not.
He didn’t even have to lift a finger. Jung-yoon liked cooking, and he was damn good at it. No—let’s be real. He was phenomenal.
Think about it logically: Jung-yoon was offering more than what any of his previous part-time jobs paid—plus he’d be feeding him, too. From Hoon’s perspective, there really wasn’t a good enough reason to say no.
Once that sank in, Go Hoon shut his mouth. Jung-yoon seemed to take that as agreement on all three points.
“Add in the changes I mentioned and bring it back. I’ll sign it then.”
He handed the draft back with a faint smile.
“If you want, I can even get it notarized.”
Bae Jung-yoon looked downright pleased. Meanwhile, Go Hoon wasn’t exactly thrilled about being swept up in his rhythm.
“Whatever.”
Hoon grumbled, stuffing the draft contract deep into his bag. With nothing left to say, he started to get up—but then Jung-yoon threw out something unexpected.
“So that means the contract goes into effect starting today, right?”
“What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t even signed anything yet.”
“Hoon, ever heard of a trial run?”
Trial run, my ass. What am I, a sample flavor at Baskin Robbins? Why the hell would you need to try me, you little shit? Hoon stared at him, dumbfounded, while the other grinned like it was no big deal.
“Hey, you never know. Maybe I’ll try it and end up not liking it. Then I might just call the whole deal off. Right?”
In other words, this arrangement might actually work out for him, too. He knew full well that Hoon wasn’t too keen on the whole idea.
“It’s just two hours. That’s not too much, is it?”
Hoon still looked hesitant, so Jung-yoon switched gears. His smile faded, and he pressed his thumb gently under his eye.
“I was kind of hoping I’d get to sleep a little tonight… since you said you’d come.”
Hoon knew he was putting on an act, pretending to be pitiful—but still, he couldn’t bring himself to brush it off coldly. Damn bleeding heart.
After a long pause, Go Hoon finally pulled out his phone and checked the time. He still had plenty before his shift at the factory… and then let out a long sigh.
“Just two hours. That’s it.”
His tone had softened. As if he’d been waiting for it, Bae Jung-yoon gave a satisfied nod.
“Two hours. Got it.”
Then he opened his arms toward Hoon.
“Come here, Kkongddeok-ah.”
That sweet tone made Go Hoon scowl.
I really shouldn’t keep letting myself get talked into this crap. That gentle smile of his was just way too suspicious.
***
Two full weeks of midterms were finally over. Go Hoon lounged on the sofa, soaking in the lazy bliss as he watched a movie on an OTT platform.
Everything was perfect—except for one thing. The person interrupting his hard-earned rest.
Go Hoon glanced down. The guy lying comfortably on his thigh like it was a personal pillow didn’t even flinch under his stare.
“What?”
Their eyes met, and the guy asked like it was nothing. That’s what I should be asking, asshole. Why the hell are you lying there just staring at me?
It was a movie Bae Jung-yoon had suggested they watch. But the moment it started, he made himself right at home, resting his head on Hoon’s thigh like it was a natural thing to do. As if that weren’t enough, he wasn’t even watching the movie—just staring straight at Hoon’s face.
And this wasn’t a one-time thing. More than once, when Hoon had been focusing on something and happened to glance over, Jung-yoon would be quietly gazing at him. At first, he thought the guy had something to say.
But after it kept happening, he realized there was no reason. No particular thought. The guy just liked looking at him.
So Hoon would frown slightly and turn back to what he was doing.
Today was no different from the others. Go Hoon looked mildly annoyed but didn’t respond, shifting his gaze back to the TV screen. Internally, though, he was grumbling—How the hell does this guy still look good lying down like that?
It had been about a week since he quit the factory. On the same day Bae Jung-yoon signed the contract, Go Hoon had gone straight to the Factory Manager and said he wanted to quit.
To be fair, from the Factory Manager’s perspective, there wasn’t much praise to offer for Hoon’s recent performance. He’d been skipping shifts without notice, showing up hungover, and even taken nearly a month of unpaid leave after injuring himself doing something unrelated to work. And now, barely back on the job, he was saying he wanted to quit for good.
So Go Hoon had braced himself to get chewed out. Knowing the Manager’s short fuse, he figured he’d at least get yelled at. But surprisingly, the man said nothing of the sort. He just asked one thing:
“Did you find something better than this?”
Hoon hesitated for a second, then nodded. The Factory Manager stared at him for a while before giving a brief nod in return and said that was enough for him. Then he added that weaklings like Hoon weren’t needed at the factory anyway, and told him not to come in after this week.
At first, Hoon thought the Manager just wanted to kick him out of sight out of spite—but that didn’t seem to be the case. On Hoon’s last day, the Factory Manager actually organized a big farewell dinner.
He clapped Hoon on the shoulder and thanked him for his hard work, adding that if he ever felt like having a drink, he should give him a call anytime.
After that, Go Hoon officially moved into Bae Jung-yoon’s officetel. He didn’t cancel the lease on his old place, though—he decided to leave it untouched. After all, you never know what might happen. Just because they signed a contract didn’t mean things couldn’t fall apart at any time.
He did have his doubts about whether living with Bae Jung-yoon would go smoothly, but surprisingly, things were calm. Jung-yoon hadn’t done anything threatening since.
Of course, if he ever did get violent again, Go Hoon wasn’t planning to just sit there and take it. Contract or not, he’d pack his things and be out the door in an instant.
For now, though, peace reigned. Was this what people meant by a “turn of fortune”? Sometimes Go Hoon found himself thinking that this deal with Bae Jung-yoon was, to put it crudely, a total sweet gig.
After watching two movies back to back, they got hungry and ate dinner early. Then they sprawled out on the living room sofa, and before he knew it, night had fallen. After a refreshing shower, Go Hoon stepped into the bedroom to find Bae Jung-yoon sitting on the bed reading.
Jung-yoon set his book down on the nightstand and patted the empty space beside him.
“Come here.”
Every time he said that, issuing commands like he was calling a dog, Go Hoon felt… something weird. Part of him wanted to push back, but something about that lazy expression, that beckoning gesture—it all felt strangely decadent. And every time he had that thought, Go Hoon cringed at himself.
Decadent, my ass. Brushing the feeling aside, he kept a straight face and transformed into his cat form. Thunk—his clothes dropped to the floor, and he slipped out from them, bounding lightly onto the bed.
He approached Bae Jung-yoon and plopped down against his side. A strong arm curled around his waist. Soft lips brushed the top of his round head.
“Mrrmph.”
With a grumble of protest, Go Hoon tilted his head back. Jung-yoon let out a low chuckle.
Then his hand reached out toward Hoon.
Anticipating it would come straight for his belly, Hoon opened his mouth slightly and focused, ready to bite. But those pale fingers teased their approach, swerving and weaving, always just out of reach.
His bright blue eyes tracked the motion intently, darting side to side. His round head followed, turning this way and that in sync. It was pure feline instinct—reflexes honed to chase moving prey.
After toying with him for a while, Jung-yoon suddenly slid his hand in and gave his belly a playful squeeze. Instantly, Go Hoon grabbed his wrist with both front paws and kicked at him with his hind legs.
After a stretch of playful roughhousing, Jung-yoon turned off the orange-tinted mood lamp and laid down.
Being in such close contact with someone who fully recognized he was still human—it felt strange. The unease wasn’t just from the physical closeness, but from the weight of Jung-yoon’s gaze as well.
Seriously, why does he stare at me like that? Grooming himself on instinct, Go Hoon met his eyes like they were locked in a staring contest.
“Kkongddeok-ah.”
“Mrrrow~.”
He replied with a soft mewl. Long fingers reached under his chin, gently scratching. The contact melted the tension in his muscles, his eyes narrowing to slits.
“I thought I’d never find you again.”
The whisper drifted in—slow, a little dreamy, and tinged with quiet joy. He looked into those deep black eyes that wouldn’t stop staring back.
