Episode 15
Soaked to the bone, Junyoung stood frozen in the doorway, clutching the handle. Her shoulders trembled as she glared down at the floor. Beomjin couldn’t make sense of it—he could only call her name.
“Why are you half-naked, you pervert?”
Her sharp words trembled at the end. Beomjin stared blankly at the back of her head as she stomped past him. She climbed the stairs with fierce determination.
She didn’t even seem to notice she was wearing a skirt—rainwater clung to her pale thighs, which were slowly revealed as she ascended. Beomjin quickly turned away, then reached to close the door against the rain.
Junyoung’s screams soon echoed through the house as she dove into the bed and buried her head under the covers.
“Aaaaaaagh! I hate it! I hate everything! I’m so pissed I could explode! Rich bastards are the worst! Privileged assholes, all of them! Just let it all burn! Aaaaagh!”
Her body thrashed under the covers. Beomjin, brushing back damp bangs from his forehead, silently chuckled.
“Yeah, go ahead and dirty it. It was time for a wash anyway.”
“Argh! ARGH!”
Beomjin washed off some sweat at the sink and pulled on a t-shirt, then sat down in Junyoung’s chair. He looked up and occasionally saw a leg or arm flail above the upstairs railing. He rested his chin on his hand, unaware how soft his own expression had become.
Just when he worried her voice might go hoarse, her screaming stopped. She suddenly sat up and stomped down the stairs. Beomjin had to clench his teeth not to laugh—her hair was a disaster.
Then, with a frown, he stood.
“Never seen that outfit before.”
Junyoung flinched at his words, her hands clenching the hem of the oversized shirt hanging awkwardly over her skirt.
“I got it at that house.”
“…What?”
“I spilled some juice on myself, and they told me to change. Gave me one of the shirts their house staff wears. On purpose. Just to look down on me.”
Beomjin froze in place, having been about to pull a towel from his bag. He slowly turned around.
“So why are you still wearing it?”
Junyoung scowled, running a hand roughly through her soaked hair.
“What, you want me to walk around naked? I left in such a rush I didn’t bring anything else.”
Even before she finished, Beomjin had already pulled off his t-shirt and tossed it to her. She glared at him.
“Put up with the sweat smell. That thing’s soaked anyway.”
Muttering, Junyoung accepted the shirt. The first time is always the hardest.
She gave him a quick look, then climbed the stairs again. Her gesture said: “Turn around.”
Understanding, Beomjin turned to face the sink.
What kind of host sends a guest away soaking wet? No umbrella? No decency?
Fury surged without warning. Looking at his clenched fist, he saw a thick vein bulging across the back of his hand.
“What are you gonna wear? Got anything else?”
Junyoung peeked down in his shirt, which hung on her like a sack. Beomjin nodded.
“Toss me the shirt.”
“So you can wash it again? Do you like doing laundry or something?”
He prayed she wouldn’t say thank you and just shut up. He caught the shirt she tossed, then ripped it down the sleeves in one quick motion, tossing the torn fabric into the trash.
“Hey!”
“What?”
“Why’d you rip it? That was wasteful!”
“…It was wasteful?”
“I was gonna fix it and wear it again!”
Her face, poking over the railing, looked crestfallen. Beomjin sighed.
“I can’t tell if you have any pride or not.”
Junyoung’s face wavered. She looked down and muttered:
“I’m just being practical. The fabric was decent.”
He looked up in disbelief. She had already regained her spark.
“Showing off your strength now? Just put something on, will you?”
“Why? You like staring at me.”
“What kind of freak—!”
As Beomjin smirked shamelessly, Junyoung covered her ears with both hands and shouted.
“I don’t want you catching a cold! The air’s chilly from the rain. If you don’t have clothes, at least wrap up in a blanket!”
Totally unexpected. Sometimes Junyoung’s kindness hit him where it hurt.
Beomjin gave a crooked smile and climbed the stairs. She was sitting on the bed, holding out a blanket. He shoved it back at her.
“You wrap up. I’m fine.”
“You forget? Your t-shirts are long sleeves on me.”
She waved the sleeves, which reached her wrists. At times like this, she looked like a child who still needed protecting.
He sat silently as she draped the blanket over his shoulders.
Maybe his body was still hot from the earlier workout. Whenever her shampoo scent brushed past his nose, the nape of his neck warmed.
Should he ask what happened?
Or about her mom?
If he didn’t say something, she might retreat downstairs again.
While he debated, Junyoung’s voice came quietly:
“Your neck’s still healing.”
Turning, he saw her resting her chin on her knees. Her hair, damp and tangled, clung to her pale face. He could see the shadow of her eyelashes.
He tore his gaze away and sighed.
“Stop hitting people.”
“When do I hit people—”
“Your mom’s got a heavy hand. Guess it runs in the family.”
She blinked. From the corner of his eye, he saw her shake her head.
“Your jokes are so weird. You know that?”
“They match yours.”
“Wanna see if I really take after my mom?”
“How often do you get hit?”
Junyoung froze, her small fist still raised. Beomjin took a breath and looked her way.
Her clear eyes trembled beneath long lashes.
He asked quietly:
“Is it serious?”
“No.”
Her voice cut him off quickly. Her expression stiffened.
He saw her flicking her fingers nervously. Just as he worried she’d shut down completely, she muttered with a pout:
“It’s like a seizure. You wait for it to pass. Just gotta be careful when she throws things.”
Seeing her bite her lip made his chest ache. He’d expected it—but the way she seemed ashamed of something that wasn’t her fault made his insides twist.
“Your turn.”
Suppressing his rising emotions, Beomjin scowled at her sudden demand. Junyoung stared back with wide eyes, completely unaffected.
Which somehow made him angrier.
He hid his face with his hand.
“What.”
“Tell me something like I told you. About your mom or whatever. It’s only fair.”
Typical Junyoung solution: if I showed you my scar, show me yours. But it meant she wanted to keep this thing between them going. That mattered.
He rubbed his lip with his thumb and said lowly:
“My dad was a gangster. Died a few years ago.”
He didn’t look at her, but saw her lips part in his peripheral vision.
Regret hit almost immediately. Still, a part of him felt oddly lighter.
Junyoung had her mom. He had his dad. Unwanted presences that left deep marks.
Maybe it wasn’t just her offer. Maybe, deep down, he wanted someone to know. And it had to be her.
Even when his dad was alive, school life had been rough. After his death, it was chaos—violence disguised as revenge chased him relentlessly. He fled and hid until he found this place. He didn’t plan to share all of that, though.
Silence lingered. He couldn’t look at her. Afraid her eyes might show fear.
He muttered:
“Got your answer. Regret asking yet?”
“Not really…”
She hesitated, then quickly added:
“At least he’s gone. That makes you better off than me, maybe.”
Beomjin’s eyes involuntarily met hers. No fear. Her calmness threw him off.
He raised an eyebrow and added in a low voice:
“I don’t mean some neighborhood thug.”
“Still. He’s dead. Dead kings aren’t scary. It’s the corrupt ones still living who are.”
What are you even saying?
TO be continued…
Comment