The ceiling was pale blue and very high. Lee Yo-han stared at it for a moment before moving. His head ached as he looked around the room.

The thick windows blocked out most of Seoul's street noise. The clock on the nightstand read 9:22 a.m. His phone screen showed three missed calls from a number he recognized but didn't feel like answering yet.

He turned his head.

The boy slept with his head on Yo-han's stomach, one arm stretched across the bed and his face turned away. The sheet rested at the base of his spine. 

In the morning light, he looked even younger than he had the night before. 

What was his name? Yo-han tried to remember, but he couldn't even recall whether they'd exchanged names. 

He looked at the ceiling again and exhaled slowly.

Everything had started outside just past midnight with a cigarette.

—

Yo-han needed air and an excuse to step away from the table for five minutes, so he took both. The street outside the bar was narrow and mostly empty. 

Another guy stood by the crumbling exterior wall, already smoking. He wore crisp black slacks and a spotless, perfectly pressed white button-down, the staff uniform. Realizing he hadn't seen this guy inside, Yo-han lit his own cigarette while watching him. He took a few steps away to look out at the main street. That got boring fast, though.

He wasn't trying to stare. He was tired and two drinks past his limit. Plus, the kid standing there had a face that was hard to ignore. Strong jaw, relaxed posture, double eyelids. He had the kind of calm that comes from not having to prove anything to anyone.

They made eye contact for the first time when the boy turned his head.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" the boy asked, smiling.

Yo-han blew out smoke. "Sorry," he said. "Do I look like some creepy old guy?"

The boy looked at him for a second, then walked over. Stopping about a foot away, he took a drag of his cigarette before answering.

"Let's see," he said. He kept grinning. "You don't look that old. Are you pushing forty?"

"I'm hoping you're kidding," Yo-han said, frowning. He took a drag and blew the smoke out to the side without taking his eyes off the boy. "Thirty-five. I feel like I'm fifty-five, though."

This sudden oversharing didn't seem to surprise the boy. "Why do you feel like that?"

Yo-han tilted his head toward the bar entrance. The heavy bass from inside was easy to hear from where they stood. "Spending three hours in there with the guys at that table," he said.

"Why? Aren't they your friends?"

"More like business rivals."

The answer seemed to be enough for the boy. He looked out at the street and smoked silently for a minute. 

Yo-han looked at his profile. 

The boy was seriously handsome. He had clear skin, light brown eyes, full pink lips, and a straight nose that suited the clean lines of his face. A plain silver ring caught the light whenever he raised the cigarette. 

"You work here every night?" Yo-han asked.

"Four nights a week."

"You like it?"

"It pays the rent and the bills."

Yo-han's attention returned to the boy's neatly styled black hair, along with a sudden urge to touch it. He kept talking to distract himself. "It's cold out. Aren't you freezing?"

The boy dropped his cigarette and stepped on it. He looked at Yo-han one more time before checking the staff door. "It's December," he said. "Sorry. Break's over." He went back inside.

Yo-han stood there alone and finished his cigarette.

He went back inside a few minutes later.

His table was near the back wall in one of the curved, dimly lit booths, with a bottle of whiskey nobody wanted sitting in the middle. 

Two of his coworkers were still arguing about something Yo-han had stopped paying attention to an hour ago. They kept bringing up golf memberships and tax rates on commercial real estate. Yo-han didn't care about new property values in Gangnam or who bought out which CEO. He just wanted to go home. Sitting down, he poured himself a drink and let the conversation happen around him. 

While the others talked, he loosened his tie and pulled it off altogether, like removing a noose, before stuffing it into his jacket pocket. 

Then he found the waiter again, moving between the tables. 

Yo-han watched him closely whenever he could without making it obvious, like when his coworkers turned to each other or when someone else at the table started talking. 

The kid was fast. He didn't wander around the tables looking bored or like he was just killing time until his shift ended. He was genuinely good at his job. He was tall too, only a few inches shorter than Yo-han, and the way he carried himself definitely set him apart from everyone else in the room. 

At one point, from across the room, the boy turned his head and caught Yo-han looking. Holding the eye contact for a second, he didn't smile or greet him. He just looked, then went right back to whatever he was doing.

Another twenty minutes passed.

The boy came near their table to collect glasses from the booth next to them. He didn't look at Yo-han. As he turned to leave, something fell from his hand and landed on the floor near Yo-han's feet. Checking without letting the others notice, Yo-han saw a small, square folded piece of paper.

He let a few seconds pass before slowly reaching down, acting like his foot itched. He grabbed the paper and opened it under the table.

leaving in 10

He folded the paper and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Trying to hold back a smile, he picked up his glass and looked toward the bar. The boy was behind the counter, looking right at him.

Yo-han lifted his glass slightly in answer.

The boy turned around and walked through the door marked Only Staff without looking back. 

Yo-han sat with those boring guys for nine more minutes. Then, saying he had an early phone call, he shook their hands and walked out. Before heading out, he stopped at the register, paid the entire bill, and left a generous tip. 

—

The side of the building was a narrow alley between the bar and the parking garage next to it. A single overhead light shone over a dumpster and a few stacked milk crates. The boy was leaning against the wall, holding a newly lit cigarette, already out of his uniform. Wearing a gray hoodie, baggy Bermuda shorts, and white sneakers, he looked completely ordinary. He looked like someone's younger brother waiting for a ride.

Hearing Yo-han's footsteps, he looked up.

Yo-han walked over and took the cigarette from his hand. He put it between his own lips and took a deep drag before holding it out for the boy to take back.

"What do you wanna do?" Yo-han asked.

The boy took the cigarette. He looked at Yo-han the same way he had across the bar. Steady, unhurried, like he'd already decided on something and was just waiting for Yo-han to catch up.

"You know what I want," he said.

"Like this?" Yo-han asked, leaning close enough for their lips to touch. He stopped there, leaving the boy room to pull away. Instead, the boy closed his eyes. 

Yo-han kissed him slowly. The kiss tasted faintly of smoke, but beneath it was something warm that made him want more. He hooked a finger into the boy's pocket and drew him closer, and the boy kissed him back. 

When they pulled apart, Yo-han reached down and grabbed the boy's hand.

"Let's go," he said.

They walked toward the street together, the boy still holding the rest of his cigarette, the night going on around them like none of this was new.