“See?! Toldyou!!! The mountain’s crushing on you. Exclusively!”
“Go drown in perfume.”
“He only looks at you. Trust me, I tried. The man’s allergic to everyone else.”
Haneul rolled his eyes, but his pulse jumped anyway.
He blamed the music.
??????
He pretended not to notice Seungho’s patterns. The way he always arrived near closing. The way he lingered a minute longer than he should.
The way he never drank fast, never took out his phone, never so much as looked away when Haneul passed by.
It wasn’t desire.
It was—
something else.
Like recognition that didn’t have a reason.
Sometimes, when Haneul was halfway through a set, the crowd roaring under the lights, he could feel those eyes across the room. The weight of them. The patience. The quiet heat.
He didn’t know what to do with that kind of attention. It didn’t want to consume. It wanted to stay.
And that was worse.
??????
Later that week, when the last patrons had gone and the bar lights dimmed to amber, Yul leaned against the counter, phone glowing faintly in his hand.
YUL → JAEWAN: Your guy’s coming every night. Staring holes into Sky. You sure this is business?
It took less than a minute.
JAEWAN → YUL: If it were, he wouldn’t be sending mooncakes.
A pause. Then:
YUL: …He sent more?
JAEWAN: Bakery’s on his way home. He passes it now. Every night.
Yul frowned down at the message, thumb hovering, unreadable.
He looked up.
Across the room, Seungho sat alone in the corner booth, glass empty, gaze fixed on the stage even after the music had long stopped.
Haneul was cleaning up, hair tied back, the silver in his braid catching light like memory. He didn’t look at Seungho. But he didn’t turn away either.
Yul pocketed his phone.
“Trouble,” he muttered to himself, watching them both.
“The slow kind.”
