Being A Full-Time Employee C33

Chapter 33

“It might’ve been better if I hadn’t met you like this, Hunter Chae.”
“…If that were the case, we’d never have met at all.”
“Do you even like me?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t like me too much. Or too long.”

Because it might just be confusion, born of me being your first partner. That’s a common trap. Obsession, attachment, spiraling jealousy—many guides and hunters had their first partnerships end that way.

“It’s not because you’re my partner.”

I tried to push him off and stand, but the oversized, sulky kid pressed back against me, grabbing the thread of my words in a huff. He was completely naked, and that caught me off guard for 0.1 seconds—long enough to miss replying before he thundered on.

“I didn’t like you from the start. At first they just told me—‘treat him well if you want a long partnership’—so I tried… but then…”

I froze momentarily, pressing my chest at the odd jolt of shock. Soon enough I recovered—well, it happens—and went searching for the robe. As I tied it, he spoke again, stubborn, facing me now.

“But if over time I like you more, doesn’t that mean it’s just you I like?”
“…Asking me that isn’t the best idea.”
“Then who am I supposed to ask?”
“…See? That’s exactly the kind of thing I mean.”

I had no kids, never wanted them, never experience babysitting—but at that moment, I understood why parents often feel disarmed in front of children thirty years younger.

Luckily, salvation came: his phone rang.

“Probably the delivery. Off you go, Hunter Chae—the same one who, contrary to my first impression, actually manages to look cute these days.”
“…Tch!”

He leapt up, shoulders shaking with indignation. For one second I worried—what if the bottled water on the table exploded under his power? But it didn’t.

“You said that on purpose! Just so I wouldn’t know what to answer!”

His ears flushed red, and his lips trembled on the verge of a reluctant smile. Already lost: people born with smile-shaped mouths only need one twitch.

I swung an arm toward the door as if bowing him out. He stormed off theatrically. As soon as he disappeared, I burst out laughing.

“Shit—he only wore the robe!”

“They scolded me.” He confessed when he came back.
“Said next time bring the clothes back to your room? Right, right.”
“…You forgot, didn’t you.”
“Guilty. Sorry.”
“Every time—it’s really annoying. And cute, you know?”

“…Cute?” That word shocked me. I’d been called handsome, sure, but cute? Not for decades.

The bell rang again—the delivery staff. Poor person, risking being scarred by us.

“I’ll get it! The cute one, me!”

Through the mirror by the entry I saw his face—probably expected me to flinch. Too bad. I smiled at the staff as I accepted the McMorning.

“Sorry for the mess—we sent our clothes to laundry service.”
“No problem.”

Who could criticize someone grinning cheerfully? I carried the food back.

“You only act different with me.”
“How?” I munched a fry on the way, delighted by taste.
“You don’t smile at me like that. But everyone else, you do.”

Hotcakes, muffins laid out on the table, still warm enough to drizzle syrup on. Needed to eat plenty; after all, our “workout” was exhaustive. I set fork and knife near him. He automatically tore off wrapping for the coffee and slid it to me. Our teamwork looked smooth as anything.

“Would you rather I treated you the same as everyone else? Or differently, special?”

I handed him a muffin. He frowned in thought, then nodded slowly.

“I can’t win against hyung.”
“Lost in words? I already let you win physically. Still bitter?”
“…Every time you say things like that, I feel like crying.”
“Then cry.”

Honestly, I was too busy devouring pancakes to hear him properly.

“Hurry. Eat up. Our clothes come soon—we’ll eat another meal after.”
“True. This barely counts.”

I caught him watching me chew quickly—my habit.

“You’ve really never dated before?”
“No.”
“…What a waste.”

He scoffed softly, ketchup spilling. For a second I startled—the way he sneered looked exactly like me. Proof I’d rubbed off. Parents were right—kids absorb everything.

“I think I remember something… Asking you if I was your first?”
“Oh, God. That zero-point question?”

I balled up paper wrap and lobbed it into the trash. Clean shot. Unexpectedly, Bureau training came handy in daily life.

“Yes. But I don’t care about your past anymore.”
“Smart. What are we even to each other, anyway?”

I said it deliberately. His eyes narrowed, sharp with disapproval.

“But I will care from now on. So don’t get close to others.”
“…For comfort: you’re the first I’ve been this close with. We even saw a movie together.”
“Liar.”

That word chilled the air. His eyes said it clearer: I already know something.

I stirred my iced coffee with a straw. The tritest question perched on my tongue: have we met before?

But just then, the bell saved me. Laundry delivery.

He rose, snatching my coffee before heading to the door—yet not breaking his gaze from mine, even while drinking, even while dampening my knee with his cold hand. His husky murmur hung between us like a challenge:

“Just wait. I’ll be back.”

For a heartbeat his voice rasped, husky. Something in it hit me with déjà vu.

I sat stunned, blank. By the time he returned with clothes on his arm, I still hadn’t pieced the meaning.

“Hyung? You okay?”
“…Yeah. Zoned out.”

Just zoning. Except for this sticky unease I couldn’t name.

Back at Bureau, we reported first at the lab. I clinically summarized his status, cool voice, efficient detail.

A moment ago, what had been good—very good—turned back into something I didn’t want to re-live, just from cataloguing it as “report.” Between guide and hunter, mandatory guiding—nothing more.

Recording our data, the researcher remarked casually:
“Wonu had his first time, huh?”

I looked away, leg bouncing, internal fury chewing me raw. I should’ve been used to it by now. But I wasn’t. Relief? Not at all. Wonu, though, should have answered easily, “Yes.”

He didn’t. Minutes passed.

“…Wonu?”
“…Don’t want to say.”

Flat voice. He might babble mismatched nonsense sometimes, but this was new. Not wanting to speak at all. Even the researcher blinked awkward.

“Well, all ended fine. That’s what matters, right?”
“Yeah. Stabilization rates are actually decent.”

The researcher, for once, sounded uneasy. Compared to his erratic graphs before, this curve was much smoother. Not perfect, but promising. Wonu rose.

“Then may I go?”

The researcher looked to me, SOS in his eyes. Partnership was supposed to bring warmth, mutual support. But not every pair did. I shrugged into advantage. My out was always present.

“Any problems, call me. I live nearby anyway.”

I smiled bright. He shot me a glance—unhappy. I only mouthed silently: special treatment. He glared. And yet his lip twitched, almost smiling’ anyway. Hell—funny, cute bastard.

“…Why pick fights you never start before?” I asked him once the door closed behind us.

He sneered.

“I don’t want my first time to be joked about. Nothing funny about it.”
“Hm.”

I found it funny. That memory of “Hyung, am I your first?” could probably make me chuckle even at sixty.

“You’re fine with it being like this?”
“…If not, what are you gonna do. Claim privacy? You really don’t remember what I told you. Ah, that’s right—you don’t. Between hunter and guide, there’s no such crime as ‘rape.’ And no such thing as privacy. We’re national property. Not assets on paper—but real estate.”

Movable, but treated like immovable.