As usual, Jung Haon was walking to work absentmindedly when he caught sight of his side profile reflected in the glass of a nearby building. He subtly touched his stomach. To others, he still looked skinny, but to Haon, it felt like his belly had started to stick out a little.
Did I gain weight? Maybe it was from that huge dinner the guy had made for him last night. His body felt slightly heavier. He figured he must have put on at least two kilograms.
“Jung Haon! You’re here?”
As soon as he opened the door to the bar, Tae-hwi—who had arrived earlier than usual—greeted him cheerfully. Tae-hwi hurriedly ran to the entrance and scanned the area with hawk-like eyes, clearly looking for something. His face, which had been lit with anticipation, soon fell with disappointment.
“What the—he didn’t drop you off today?”
Tae-hwi had been looking for the man’s car. Since the guy had not only dropped Haon off last time but had even come to pick him up late at night, Tae-hwi must’ve assumed he’d be here again today.
“Is it over already? You guys not seeing each other anymore?”
Haon simply bowed his head in greeting to the visibly disappointed Tae-hwi. His mind had been elsewhere, so he hadn’t really caught what Tae-hwi was saying.
“Is it really over?”
“What is?”
Maybe Tae-hwi thought he was avoiding the question because he just shrugged and walked off toward the storage room. Haon didn’t look too cheerful today either, so Tae-hwi didn’t press further.
Ugh, what a damn shame. Tae-hwi looked genuinely upset, as if he were the one who had missed out on the guy. That fleeting glimpse he’d gotten of the man’s car last week kept flashing through his mind. If he’d gotten a look at the guy’s face, he might’ve beaten the floor in regret—despite it having nothing to do with him.
“Uh… hi.”
Haon had just grabbed a broom to start sweeping the floor when his eyes met those of Hyung-cheol, one of the kitchen staff. Hyung-cheol had just come in and was tying on his apron. Haon had heard that Hyung-cheol’s father passed away last Sunday. But contrary to Haon’s concern, the man looked exactly the same as usual.
“Haon, hand me that basket over there.”
“This one?”
“Yeah.”
Haon handed him the red basket he pointed to, making a conscious effort to avoid looking at Hyung-cheol too much. He was aware that he had a habit of staring at people sometimes. Back in the countryside, he’d usually stared at cows or trees or whatever, so it hadn’t mattered. But in Seoul, he needed to be more careful.
“Haon—! Help me out here!”
Just then, Tae-hwi called out from the storage room. When Haon rushed over, Tae-hwi was holding a box of hand towels and nodded toward another box that had fallen to the floor. He must’ve been trying to get the one on top when the one below slipped down as well.
“Are you okay?”
“I almost got smacked in the face.”
Haon quickly lifted the box and set it on top, then glanced over at Tae-hwi’s face. The cramped storage room was packed with supplies, and it wasn’t uncommon for part-timers to get hurt while trying to retrieve heavy boxes.
“No, I almost got hit. It didn’t actually hit me.”
“Still, it might’ve grazed you. Let me see.”
When Haon came at him so seriously over such a minor incident, Tae-hwi chuckled and finally brought up what had been weighing on his mind. He hadn’t meant to ask, but curiosity got the better of him.
“So, how did it end?”
“Huh?”
“Come on, tell me. What happened with Mr. Lamborghini?”
“Lamo… borghini? What’s that?”
Tae-hwi had mumbled the word under his breath, so Haon didn’t catch it properly. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have known what it meant.
Thinking Haon was messing with him, Tae-hwi narrowed his eyes and continued pulling out the hand towels from the box.
“The car you were in. The guy who picked you up last week—why didn’t it work out with him?”
“Oh, it’s not like that.”
Haon shook his head while helping unload the towels. His relationship with the man wasn’t anything that could be described as working out or not. Struggling to explain it properly, he gave the briefest explanation possible.
“I ended up… working at his place. Like a live-in housekeeper.”
Live-in housekeeper? Tae-hwi blinked in surprise at the unexpected revelation and let out a long sigh—not out of pity, but out of sheer envy.
“Wait, so you’re living with him now? With Mr. Lamborghini?”
Haon had thought calling himself a housekeeper would kill any excitement, but instead, Tae-hwi’s eyes lit up with even more intrigue. He gasped in awe, clapped his hands, and even threw a thumbs-up.
“What does he do for a living? Is the house huge? Where does he live? Don’t tell me he’s a ‘car poor’ guy?”
Before Haon could answer a single one, Tae-hwi shot off a barrage of questions, marveling at the fact that anyone who could afford a live-in housekeeper had to be in a completely different league of wealth.
Unfortunately, Haon couldn’t give an answer to any of Tae-hwi’s eager questions. Even after spending a week under the same roof, all he knew about the man was his name. And even then, he’d never actually said it out loud himself.
“So, you don’t even know what he does for work?”
Haon gave a vague nod as he finished restocking the hand towels from the storage room.
“That’s so suspicious. Why would he hide what he does? What if it’s something shady? Like, is he a gangster or something?”
“No, I just… haven’t asked him.”
Worried that it might sound like the man was hiding something, Haon quickly clarified that it wasn’t like that. Tae-hwi looked genuinely puzzled.
“Why wouldn’t you ask? I mean, it’s normal to ask the job of the person who’s paying you.”
“Uh… it just didn’t feel like the right time.”
Tae-hwi would’ve asked on day one, but Haon couldn’t bring himself to do it. Even asking for the man’s name had felt too delicate.
“What do you mean ‘not the right time’? Just ask. Rich people love talking about themselves.”
“Kang Tae-hwi, stop running your mouth and sweep the floor.”
Hyung-cheol called out Tae-hwi specifically, motioning toward the hall with a jerk of his chin. Haon, who had been chatting with him, answered instead with a polite “Yes,” and grabbed the broom. Tae-hwi stuck his lip out in a pout, but still followed after Haon and started sweeping the floor.
After that, the conversation ended as customers began arriving—something Haon was quietly grateful for, especially given how drained he felt today.
“Huh?”
Someone stepped into Haon’s path just as he was carrying a heavy tray. Focused on keeping the food from spilling, he had his eyes glued to the tray and looked up in surprise, startled.
“You’re the server here, right?”
A man with a cheerful expression had stopped in front of him. Intimidated for a moment by the man’s large frame, Haon squinted and studied the vaguely familiar face.
“…Kitchen staff?”
Tilting his head as he fished through uncertain memories, the man’s face lit up even more brightly.
“Yes! I was the youngest one in the kitchen!”
Relieved that Haon remembered him, the man quickly smoothed down his messy hair. He must’ve just come in—he was holding a motorcycle helmet.
“I saw you from the back and thought it might be you. I didn’t think I’d see you again! This is crazy!”
His loud, rambling voice was exactly the same. Hearing that booming tone again brought Haon’s hazy memory back into sharper focus.
He had been the youngest staff member in the hotel restaurant kitchen where Haon used to work. Haon suddenly recalled seeing him every morning, running around with heavy crates of ingredients.
“You work here now?”
“Yeah. Oh, but—just a sec!”
Politely excusing himself from the conversation, Haon hurried to deliver the food. His arms had started to tremble from holding the heavy tray for too long.
“Don’t worry about me—go do your thing! I live nearby so I come here a lot!”
He said he’d come to pick up a drunk friend, then slung the deadweight of a passed-out customer over his shoulder and waved energetically. Seeing how hectic the place was, with call bells ringing nonstop, he gave up trying to continue the conversation and decided to catch up another time.
“I’ll come again soon!”
Haon gave a small bow, a bit disappointed to see him go. It really was nice running into someone like this—it reminded him just how small the world could be.
“Jung Haon, come here for a sec.”
Just then, the manager at the counter motioned to him with a tilt of the chin. A brief spike of anxiety made Haon rush over, wondering if he was about to get scolded for chatting with a customer.
“You sick or something?”
But the manager had called him over for a completely different reason.
“No, I’m not sick.”
“Then why do you look so out of it?”
The manager had been keeping an eye on Haon all day. Though he hadn’t said anything, Haon’s face had been off—he wasn’t smiling like usual, and there was a weird shadow hanging over his expression. The manager had been watching closely, half-worried that the frail-looking kid might collapse at any moment.
“You sure you’re not sick?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“If you’re feeling off, say something. If you get hurt on the job, it’s a whole damn headache.”
Haon nodded and promised he’d speak up, then headed back out to deliver more food.
‘Do I really look that bad…?’
He felt a bit low on energy, but he wasn’t sick. His arms and legs were fine, and there was no headache either.
There was just one thing bothering him.
“Enjoy your meal.”
He forced a brighter smile and swallowed a sigh. It really wasn’t anything serious, and yet it kept weighing on him. No matter how hard he tried to push it out of his mind, thoughts of the night before kept creeping in, and even when he tried to stay conscious of it, his expression inevitably dimmed.
