Being A Full-Time Employee C45

Chapter 45

The dust was so thick I couldn’t tell if it was a picture frame or a trivet. I brushed a hand across it and blew; a little white cloud rose and vanished.

From behind, rummaging through other belongings, Wonu leaned his head to ask:
“What is it?”
“The obvious kind.”
“Obvious?”
“In movies, there’s always that one prop in a scene like this. Oh, right—you said you’d never seen any.”

I stretched my arm, looking at the frame, and laughed bitterly. Even the cracked glass was clichéd. My life truly did feel like some bad, predictable movie.

“A family photo.”

Because Wonu had never watched a movie or drama, the moment didn’t strike him as trite at all. He eased against me, slipping a hand inside my shirt to rub over the sharp ridge of my hip bone.

I stared at my parents’ faces and snorted: Mom, Dad. Your son has grown into a national asset who sleeps with a man.

“Your brother?” Wonu jabbed the glass with a finger. I only nodded. His voice was heavier, deeper than his delicate face suggested.
“Why are you wearing a tie?”
“It’s a school uniform.”
“Ah, I thought you looked younger.”
“Really…? Sounds like an excuse.”
“No—it’s real. You looked younger than me.”
“Of course. High school uniform. Taken for entrance photo.”

Before long, both school and daily life were shattered. Family gone, too. All that remained: a uniform never graduated in, and this photo.

I pulled the picture out of the frame and tucked it into my notebook. Honestly, it was the only thing among my possessions I needed. Everything else was scavenged junk.

“Not taking this?” He held up a filthy stuffed bear.
“That’s the neighbor kid’s.”

I brushed it off—and froze. Sudden dread. I dashed down the pile, sought out the landlord waving at workers amid rubble.

“Excuse me.” My voice shook ridiculously.
“Yes?”
“My next-door apartment. What happened to them?”

No answer needed. Too many ways to read a response without words. Expression, gesture, silence.

I already knew before he said it. The neighbor’s child was gone. And the bear reduced to abandoned waste.

“Wonu. Want to drink?”

I asked as we walked. My pack held barely a backpack of belongings. We walked in silence through streets that looked the same as any other, but not the same. No street where collapsed houses and dead neighbors were routine could ever be normal.

“Okay,” he agreed simply. Maybe because he sensed how wrecked I felt, he stayed there without crowding but never leaving either.

“I used to frequent a bar. Don’t know if it’s still standing. Might be smashed.” I tried to joke. Already knew the script.

Watching me, he dug in his pocket—then pulled out a sealed pack of cigarettes. As if waiting for this moment.
“Want a smoke?”

In that instant, he didn’t look like a boy. Maybe just the sunset, shedding melancholy over his face, making him older.

I thought of the Little Prince’s planet. Of watching the sunset 183 times out of sorrow. I wanted that today. Couldn’t—so ruin myself with cigarettes and alcohol instead.

I ripped the seal, lit one. His lighter struck first, flame wavering. My hand rose to block the wind and he covered mine. Streetlamps flickered, then died. Only lighter flame glowed between us.

He looked only at me as he lit his own. And I realized: even if I hadn’t led him, he would have done the same. He followed where I walked. Only my back filled his view. If I hadn’t noticed, I’d either be an idiot—or already dead in a dungeon.

“Before the bar.”

Impulse made me speak.
“Let’s take a picture together.”
“Sure.”

He didn’t even say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ He said “I’d like to.” For one second, I thought: even if I said die with me, he’d answer the same. Terrifying. I laughed, smoke rushing out, covering the thought.

“Funny thought, never mind.”

Before he could ask, I cut him off:
“Use your powers. Something harmless. Pretty.”

He didn’t even ask why. From a broken tree branch nearby, droplets welled up like dew, then fell like rain. Harmless. Beautiful.

“Now I need to stabilize you.”

I flicked my ash, grabbed his head, pulled him into a kiss. He lifted his chin and our lips locked. His always-drowsy eyes closed. My lashes brushed his as my own eyes sank shut.

Our tongues twisted, quiet, bitter. Perfect for the sunset.

I’d never truly dated anyone. And this was as close as I’d come. A business contract, skinship needed for survival, boundaries we kept breaking—this was my love. Bitter, not sweet. That fit.

The cigarette fell from my fingers. I tangled a hand in his hair and moaned low.

To be blunt, no—we never made it to the bar. It too was half collapsed by dungeon emergence. Half the seats gone. But the tap was intact. The owner remembered me, poured beer in paper cups.

Paper cups of beer. Pathetic. But sitting on rubble, drinking without side dishes—it wasn’t so bad. When the beer turned flat, we kissed again.

Wonu made excuses for his water tricks—smoothing leaves, sprouting grasslike fronds. What had been crude energy grew delicate. He had real talent.

“You’d have been a fine artist.”
“In this age? Art?” snorted the bar owner, shaking his head.

Maybe he was right. Still I kept laughing. Too much, though I wasn’t drunk. Each time I looked, Wonu’s irises seemed a different color.

In front of that blunt but kind man—who didn’t care what two men did, so long as we were customers—we held hands.

I dare not speak it aloud, but I liked holding hands better than sleeping with someone. I held on long.

Not whole, not healed—but better than alone. If I’d been alone hearing of the neighbor’s kid, I would’ve drunk until blackout, passed out in the street, missed curfew, landed in punishment cells.

That kid, she liked strawberries, was chatty, going to start grade school next year. Parents too busy, she already used the microwave on her own. That’s all I really knew. And because that was all I knew, I could bear it.

But Wonu—I knew far more. That was why he had to survive. Because if I ever lost him, I wouldn’t just cry. I’d break.

“Wait.”
“Wait? Why?” he panted.

We had finally stumbled back late at night. No taxis ran inside Red Zones, so the bar owner had driven us to the outer barricade. From there, another five minutes by car before we could call a cab.

Even the whole return trip, hand in hand, never letting go. In the taxi, I traced a line in his palm. He squeezed tighter in reply.

I don’t know how we’d restrained ourselves climbing to the dorms. Thank god we hadn’t kissed in the elevator, with CCTV watching. But the moment we were at the door, all restraint ended. Entering the passcode, we were already clinging like one body.

CCTV in the hall probably recorded only: two drunken degenerates stumbling home. At least, that’s what I hoped.