??????
Haneul sat curled in a corner booth, arms crossed, one knee drawn up. The light above him flickered, staining his pale hair gold, then white, then shadow. His lip had stopped bleeding, though the crust was dark against his pale skin. His eyelinerwas mostly gone, smudged into something feral. His eyes were half-closed—not in rest, but in defense.
He didn’t look up when Seungho approached. Only shifted slightly, like an animal waiting to see if the shape coming closer meant harm or heat.
Seungho stopped two steps away.
He placed the paper bag on the table.
Haneul’s gaze flicked to it, wary. “You feeding strays now?”
“It’s from a bakery I used to like,” Seungho said quietly.
That was all. He didn’t add that it used to be her bakery, that it was still warm, that the scent of walnuts and honey reminded him of something that should have been tender but never was. He didn’t say that the act of offering it felt strange—like trying to hand someone a piece of home when he wasn’t sure he still had one.
He just stood there.
Haneul stared at the bag for a long time. Then reached out, tore a piece off the top with his teeth, chewed slowly. Crumbs scattered across the table. He didn’t say thank you.
Seungho didn’t expect him to.
Half the pastry disappeared. Haneul wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes, though tired, were sharp again. Awake.
“You’re a strange man, skyscraper,” he said. “Most people call the cops when they see a mess like that.”
“I’m not most people.”
“Clearly.”
Hetore another bite. “You’re not gonna lecture me?”
“Would you listen?”
“No.”
“Then I won’t waste either of our time.”
For a moment, silence pressed between them. Heavy, but not hostile. The hum of the broken neon outside painted the booth in uneven color. The smell of snow and sugar lingered.
Haneul looked at him—really looked—and the corner of his mouth twitched, not a smile, not quite, but something like surrender. The kind you give when you’re too tired to keep every wall upright.
Seungho glanced at the smear of red still drying along Haneul’s cheek. He wanted to reach for it. Wipe it away. But he didn’t. He’d done enough. Too much, maybe.
??????
Later, outside, the city cracked with cold. Fireworks shimmered faintly in the distance, fireworks for people who believed new years meant clean slates. Seungho didn’t. He stood under the awning of the building, watching frost curl up the glass.
His car waited. He didn’t get in.
Yul stepped out briefly, coat over his arm. “He’ll be fine,” he said, nodding toward the club. “Junseo’s staying with him tonight. That boy may look breakable, but he bites back harder than he bleeds.”
Seungho’s eyes flicked toward the door. “Good.”
Yul studied him for a moment. “Jaewan was right about you.”
“In what sense?”
“The kind that makes people nervous.”
