“So… you slept with your boss?” a woman’s voice pierced through the silence, its tone laced with derision. The words were almost gleeful in their cruelty, yanking Hajoon back from dissociation. His heart skipped a beat as the sting of her mockery settled in, the meaning behind her words hitting him harder than the beating he used to endure from her.

“Didn’t know after Park Byeol held you down, you’d seek company from a man.”

That again, the words flashed through his mind, she won’t shut up about Park Byeol.

Hajoon leaned against the weathered brick wall, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulled out a cigarette from the pack. The familiar click of the lighter and the first draw of smoke filled his lungs, bringing a momentary sense of calm that he had been desperately craving. 

He had closed his eyes, searching for something—anything—that would help him piece together the events leading up to this moment. But all he found was a blank void, an unsettling darkness that offered no answers. It wasn’t lonely, this darkness, but it was too serene, too unnatural. 

Even the recording in his phone was left untouched. Did Samuel know who snooped around? Or was all that acting a bluff?

“Please, Min-jee, don’t mention her.” Was the only response that came out of his lips, along with the smoke that he kept in his lungs ever since his last breath in. But no matter how strong he tried to be, the other woman, Min-jee, knew he was holding back his tears. 

The woman wore a slightly oversized hoodie with a pair of shorts that barely covered all of her ass. Min-jee had long, light-colored hair that fell softly around her face, often slightly tousled in a natural, effortless way. But those blonde locks were anything but real—they were the product of relentless bleaching, of her clinging to an ideal that her hair had long given up on. Her delicate features were accentuated by her soft, downturned eyes. She had a slender face, with a gentle, almost ethereal expression, and her lips were subtly shaped, often resting in a quiet, thoughtful manner. Min-jee's overall appearance was graceful, understated, and filled with quiet emotion, but she always looked fucked out of her mind. Her skin was pale with a cooler undertone, almost like that of a dead person. And yet her natural glass skin stayed unmatched, giving her an almost dreamlike presence.

The whimsical charm her face carried was fleeting. What she truly was—a long-time drug addict—lay beneath the surface, a reality shaped more than a decade ago when she first got high on her mother’s prescription medications.

“Goodness, you’re a fucking wimp,” Min-jee threw her head back, her hands lodged deep into her pockets. “If you can remember Park Byeol, then you can remember what happened between you and that son of a bitch named Samuel. And if you don’t, then it probably didn’t happen.”

Nothing came out of Hajoon, he didn’t even seem like he was acknowledging Min-jee anymore. He only moved his hand towards his mouth, his lips making contact with the cigarette before taking another big huff.

Teeth grinding together, Min-jee stepped forward. The butt of her own cigarette hung loosely between her index and middle digits. 

Another step forward and Min-jee was able to bring her hand towards Hajoon’s exposed neck. She let the searing cigarette stub burn Hajoon, her movement swift as if she had done this many times before.

“Awake yet?”

Min-jee's eyes locked onto his, and she saw the fear in them—wide and vulnerable, like those of a frightened child. His lips were tightly pressed together, as if he dared not speak a word. The sight made her pause, her hand instinctively drawing back, and her mean facade faltered.

“Okay, fuck, I get it. It’s serious…” Her thumb flicked the cigarette’s butt, shaking off the ashen remains from her stick. But not before she mumbled, “or whatever.”

An awkward minute passed and neither of them broke the silence. It was getting too much for Min-jee, who had started to get impatient and scratched her arm. She needed her weed. 

Hajoon’s phone rang, the sharp sound cutting through the silence. His attention shifted immediately, and he turned slightly away, pulling the phone from his pocket. As he glanced at the screen, his brow furrowed with momentary focus, deciding whether to answer.

It was a call from Iseul.

This brief distraction was all Min-jee needed. She glanced around, looking for the fastest way to get to her dealer. Her heart raced, but her expression remained calm. She slipped quietly away from their spot, the sound of her steps barely audible as she disappeared into the crowd, blending seamlessly into the bustling surroundings.

If only there was a drug stronger than anything she’d ever tried, something that could numb the ache of wanting to stay with Hajoon just a bit longer. The kind of drug that could block out the years of guilt she carried. But no substance could fix that—her shame was relentless, chewing her apart from within.

The blonde didn't get far before she noticed the low hum of an engine beside her. A sleek, dark car pulled up, moving slowly to match her pace. At first, she tried to ignore it, her heels clicking steadily on the pavement, but the car didn’t leave. It hovered close to her, drifting alongside her every step. As she turned down a quieter, more isolated street, hoping to lose the vehicle, it followed, rounding the corner effortlessly. 

She stole a glance, her heart thudding in her chest. Her eyes widened in disbelief as her jaw went slack. It wasn’t just any car—it was a Maybach 62s, its glossy black exterior catching the faint streetlights, the kind of car that radiated wealth and power. The model’s elongated body gleamed in the dim light, its silent engine purring with authority.

The back window began to roll down with a smooth, quiet hum. Through the open window, a man sat comfortably, his face partially obscured by a pair of dark, sleek sunglasses. His expression was unreadable, but there was something commanding in the way he moved, calm and confident. He didn’t say a word, but his pointer finger beckoned her, motioning for her to get in, the silent invitation feeling more like a command than a request.

“Say no more,” Without hesitation, she dove into the backseat. As soon as she was inside, the door closed behind her with a soft thud, sealing her in the lavish, silent cocoon of the car.

She sat upright with her back arched and legs closed, hands placed on her knees and her eyes wide open. Min-jee’s lashes batted, an intentional gesture that seemed borrowed from a Korean drama. She knew money would be involved, and she wouldn’t let this chance slip.

Knowing the man could come later, she wanted to make sure he would fill her pockets to the brim first.

The brunet studied her with his eyes, a soft smile remaining on his otherwise cold face. His brother, the driver, stayed quiet, driving around the block to buy the two enough time to converse. 

“I heard through the grapevine you might be affiliated with Moon Hajoon,” the man said in a voice smooth as velvet, each word carrying an unspoken weight. As he spoke, he reached up and slowly removed his shades with a deliberate motion, as if savoring the effect of his reveal. The sleek black frames slid off his face, unveiling a pair of sharp, penetrating hazel eyes that locked onto Min-jee with an intensity that made her breath catch. “It doesn’t matter what my name is, at least for the time being.”

It was painfully clear to Min-jee that next to a man like him, her insecurities screamed louder. Every detail about him seemed designed to make her feel small, insignificant. His gaze brushed past her as though she barely registered, a pebble beneath his feet. His hair—rich, naturally pigmented brown—was exactly the kind people like her could never achieve without damage or effort. Every strand looked styled with casual perfection, effortlessly catching the light in a way her own dull hair could never match. His nose, with its perfectly sculpted bridge, wasn’t just elegant—it was a reminder of her own perceived shortcomings, a feature so flawlessly aligned with beauty standards that it made her feel out of place. His flawless, pale skin radiated grace, highlighting every imperfection she was sure she had. In his presence, her flaws felt magnified, as if she was a blemish beside his glow, forever cast in his shadow.

To be him or to be with him, Min-jee couldn’t even answer her own question.

“I am his childhood friend,” she replied, her voice growing weak. “I guess.”

“I don’t want to be too direct, but what kind of person is he?” The man asked. “Is he a womanizer? Just what kind of thing will drive him over the edge?”

Min-jee bursted out in laughter. “Womanizer? He would rather die a virgin.”

“Keep talking.” A 50,000 won bill somehow slipped onto Min-Jee’s lap.

“He tried to sleep with a woman this one time, and he thought wearing two condoms was the safest option so he went with it.” Min-jee took the bill into her hands, waving it around. “I told him to let loose, maybe go on a blind date. Later that day, I got a call from his date that they didn’t get to do anything.”

The driver choked, and the brunet bit his own lips. Both were gripping onto their seats, trying to remain professional so Min-jee wouldn’t feel too comfortable with them. 

“He has a very strict ritual when it comes to intimacy; double condoms, no looking at each other, all the awkward requests of his… you can guess the rest.” Another 50,000 bill appeared on the blonde’s lap. “He will ask you not to touch anywhere, and yet, he'll lie still.

“He is the type of man who thinks children come from storks or magically appear through hand touching.” She added, her hand motioning for more money. 

And the brunet complied.

“As for what kind of person he is… I am afraid I can’t do much for you there. He is a private person for the most part, and I have no interest in prying into his life and the small things.”

“He didn’t have a girlfriend?” The man finally spoke again. “One that he absolutely hated?”

Min-jee scratched her head, the smile on her face faded. 

“Come on, how about I raise the stakes? 100,000 won?” 

“Well, she is a rather unspeakable subject for both me and Hajoon. But let’s just say, it’s for our own good.” She explained, but the man didn’t buy it.

“Give me something, and you’ll get 100,000 won.”

Min-jee didn’t budge. Her face grew grim.

“3 seconds until the deal is off…” The driver pulled over into a vacant parking lot as the man began to pressure Min-jee.

“3.” The man began to count. 

Min-jee only stared at him as she got more desperate.

“2.” He waved the two 50,000 bills around.

Min-jee snatched the bills off of his hand in a swift motion.

“His last girlfriend was his first in everything, as far as I know. I don’t know what happened between them, but I don’t want to find out. Her name is Park Byeol!” With those last words, Min-jee slipped out of the car as soon as she could. 

But the man was quicker. His hand shot out and caught Min-jee’s wrist before she could bolt. Her heart raced, and for a moment, she thought it was all over. In a futile attempt to mask her fear, she tugged at the hood of her sweatshirt, pulling it lower over her face.

To her surprise, instead of dragging her back or lashing out, he gently slipped a business card into her hand. Along with it, another crisp 20,000 won bill. 

The man turned to leave. Yet, before he walked away, he glanced over his shoulder, offering her a final parting message. 

“Let’s keep in touch. My name is Samuel.”

Hajoon's hands trembled as his phone buzzed. His pulse quickened, a knot tightening in his chest. The mere thought of answering sent a wave of dread through him. His mind spiraled, imagining the look of disappointment she’d wear if she knew what had happened between him and Samuel, the silent judgment he feared she'd pass. 

His throat tightened with guilt. 

Does it even matter what she thinks of me?

He wanted to convince himself that it didn’t. But the truth clawed at him relentlessly.

It does.

With a shaky breath, Hajoon swiped his phone, the movement feeling heavier than it should, and pressed it to his ear, bracing himself for her soft voice to etch the shame further into his heart.

“Hajoon!” The voice on the other end of the line was sharp, cutting through the white noise playing in his head. It was Iseul, his senior, and her tone was brimming with energy. “It’s Sunday. Are you packed and ready for tomorrow?”

“Nuna…” Hajoon’s response came sluggish, his voice dragging like it was trudging through mud. There was none of his usual pep, just a dull acknowledgment.

There was a pause on her end. “What’s wrong?” Iseul’s voice softened, worry sneaking into her usually composed tone.

Hajoon stayed silent, staring at his feet. The silence stretched on, uncomfortable. His throat felt tight, like the words were trapped somewhere deep down, refusing to come up.

“Hajoon?” Iseul asked again, her voice now tinged with more concern as the silence on the other end deepened. The line crackled softly, but he still didn’t answer.

“Nothing,” he finally muttered, barely above a whisper. His tone was hollow, drained of its usual warmth. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Before Iseul could press further, the line went dead with a soft click. Hajoon had hung up without another word, his thumb lingering over the end-call button for a moment longer than necessary. He stared blankly at the phone in his hand, his thoughts a tangled mess of frustration and confusion. He wasn’t in the mood to explain, and even if he were, he wasn’t sure how to put the knot of his thoughts into words.