Being A Full-Time Employee C42

Chapter 42

“Isn’t this my photo?”

Wonu’s face had drained of all color. Hands shaking so badly, he was on the verge of crumpling the picture. I shot up, tying the blanket clumsily at my waist, and snatched the photo.

“It’s mine. Don’t you dare crease it.”
“It’s my photo.”
“But ownership lies with me.”
“I hate it.”
“Why? Because you think you don’t look good? Wrong. It came out beautifully. I’ve never seen such a pretty child. I don’t even like children, so this isn’t flattery.”

“Hyung.”

I grabbed his chin, forcing his face up. Held the picture next to it. Honestly, my head was reeling with panic, my mouth running, grasping words just to buy time.

“You grew up exactly the same, Wonu.”
“….”
“You’re still beautiful.”
“I hate it.”

He glared, eyes blazing red. Sharp enough to kill me with a look. If he wanted to, snapping me would take no more effort than tearing insect wings. And still—I wasn’t afraid. A baseless certainty clutched me: he would never kill me.

“I hate who I was then. It’s disgusting. I hate that you know who I was then.”
“Then you shouldn’t have walked into my guiding volunteer shift.”
“…How the hell—!”
“You were unstoppable. Talked and talked, asking if I’d come again tomorrow. Pestered, begged. Even when I sat silent, you wouldn’t stop.”
“That—That was…”

His gaze flickered. Enough. It matched too perfectly. Of everyone there, the chatterbox who’d spoken was undeniably Wonu.

‘Will you come tomorrow?’
‘Can I call you hyung?’
‘Your hands don’t hurt like needles do. Can I hold them?’

I remembered his voice in fragments, from when my eyes were blind, my lips sealed. Whether I’d ever answered, I couldn’t recall. My own labor went by in a haze—the six months felt more like six days crushed into nothing. My sight returned just as the contract ended, time to leave.

And yet that chatterbox had tethered me there.

“You kept asking… you know I was seconds from dying every evening? But you said tomorrow, to a man who had no today left.”

I spilled the past I’d never wanted. Back when we had no tech to gauge dungeons. Casualties high, not just my partner dead—many dead. My vision ruined. The cruel joke was only that I had formed a strong bond with a much older partner, more like an uncle than a lover. He had been the sole adult I could lean on. Amid carnage, survival hadn’t been luck—I’d nightly prayed for it all to end.

“You should have told me,” I said quietly. “If you’d known me then.”

Slowly, he blinked, lips trembling. He turned his head, clutched his face, until finally words eked out.

“You said you wouldn’t remember me.”
“…True enough.”
“And I wished you wouldn’t. I didn’t know back then. Ignorant. I wasn’t supposed to go near a guide. Speaking to you was a mistake.”
“But without that mistake, maybe I wouldn’t be here now.”
“Don’t say that.”

His eyes shook, desperate, as he gripped me. I lowered the photo. Color faded by time—what did I care? I preferred the man in front of me. His silence about our meeting had been right. It let me take him in fresh, without filter, snapshot by snapshot.

Objectivity? Irrelevant. Subjective satisfaction was enough.

I cradled his cheek and pressed my lips to his. A calm kiss.

“Wonu.”

For once, I used his name softly. His eyes widened—me, who always called him formally, now speaking so gently. I chuckled, tapped his cheek.

“What? Sound strange? It’s not the first time. I called you that when you blanked out at the cinema. No… at the hotel.”
“…Don’t remember. Shame.”
“I don’t remember much of those times either. Trauma clouds it. But what I do remember most clearly is being with you. You, talking. Annoying as ever—just like you must have been as a kid. Turns out, clinginess is my type.”
“…I don’t get it. Just say it plainly. Don’t make me guess.”
“Plainly? That I like you, Hunter Chae? More than business, more than duty. Call it attachment? Affection? Sure. That’s right.”
“…So simply? Hyung, do you like me?”
“Didn’t I just say? Yes. Isn’t it strange? I really do.”
“…I didn’t even expect… that much.”

Torn between relief and disbelief, his expression twisted—corners down, then almost lifting, eyes flickering. Such raw honesty—I hadn’t met someone like that in years.

I let the Polaroid slip to the floor, pulled him by the hand.
“How long on that laundry?”
“An hour. Maybe more.”
“Good. Let’s nap. I’m exhausted.”

Really, I thought he’d be more tired; but he let himself be tugged beside me.

“Hyung… call me Wonu again?”
“Too often and it waters down.”
“I could never tire of it.”
“You’d tire eventually.”
“No. Promise me.”

Then—the room filled with orange blossoms. Raindrops on the window gathered, refracted in the streetlight into tulips. Anyone knows tulips.

“You even draw well.”
“The tulip means promise. Promise you’ll never tire.”

I hated cheesy flower-language games. But against that scene? Impossible to dismiss. I wasn’t a hero, but I wasn’t villain enough to ruin it. I nodded.

“Fine. Let’s nap, Wonu.”

His arms slid up over me, easy interlacing. He smothered me down onto the couch. Cramped for two tall men, but we stayed piled.

Heavy on top of me, he rolled to my side, eyes locking mine. Rain pattered, as if from his dark gaze. Wonu belonged to rain.

“With you, this weight here—it’s heavy. In my chest.”
“Acid reflux?”
“Always felt empty. That emptiness chilled me. Summer or winter—always cold. Rain, damp. Snow, hollow. But now—it’s gone. Now I know: I like sweets. Can’t take spice. Like movies. Want to read, because you read.”
“….”
“Maybe it is indigestion. Too much all at once. But I don’t want to digest it. Digesting means it disappears.”

He spoke like a child not wanting to sleep, because sleep ends the fun. Like my brother had—clingy, craving affection. My parents had been kind, but me? Dense fool. Still, even fools learn from family lessons.

“Digest it and it becomes part of you, doesn’t it? Then it doesn’t disappear. You just grow from it.”
“….”
“So hurry and digest me. Then eat more.”

He crushed me in dizzying embrace. After a shocked pause, I returned it. His chuckle was deep—reminded me of rain.

Rain is perfect for sleep. However much I’d already slept, now I could drown in it again.

Small. Heavy.

His arm was under my head, mine under his. Neither of us shifted. He summoned droplets from the flower vase’s water, floated them, popped the switch. Lights cut.

Only rainfall filled the room.

I thought: Tomorrow, I’ll buy flowers. Even if only for decor, for a fake kind of home. Two place settings. Two rooms. Pretend enough. Because maybe we weren’t only business anymore.