Chapter Text
"Honestly, it's the least I can do," you reassure him, leading the way back to your car. "You practically saved my life today."
"Well, I don't know about that," he trails behind you. "You did all the hard work! With the feather... and the needle."
You open the door for him, and walk round to the trunk, rummaging through until you find your old first-aid kit. Upon opening it, it doesn't seem to be missing anything. Hopefully there's still a few plasters left. You return to the driver's seat, beside him.
"Yeah, about that," you start, sheepishly. "I am so sorry. I don't know... I guess I just got carried away. But that's no excuse. I must look like a total psycho, huh? Who just goes around stabbing people? With needles?"
"Don't even worry about it," he smiles again, that same cheerful expression he's kept up all afternoon, since you first wandered towards his stall. "I've had far worse."
"Oh, really?" you ask, intrigued, as you search through the contents of the first-aid kit.
"Sure. There's been plenty of knives, scissors, even matches before," he chuckles uneasily at the thought. "Though, I suppose you come to expect that sort of thing, in my line of work."
"Of course, but, that's still awful," you finally locate the plasters, and place the box on the dash. "Taking advantage of someone trying to do something so helpful, like you are."
"Well, no good deed goes unpunished!" his grin seems somewhat forced this time, but you can't help but notice a hint of blush on his cheeks. "I try not to let it get me down."
"You're a stronger man than I," it's your turn to smile, as you hand him a few of the small bandages. "For the cuts. On your hands."
"Oh!" he seems almost surprised at the simple gesture. "You're sure?"
"Yes I'm sure! I don't want you bleeding out in my car, Harvey."
He nods seriously at that, and sets to bandaging up all the pinprick wounds you inflicted as you drive away. You glance over at him, every now and then. To check on his progress. Although you can't place it exactly, you can't ignore the fact that there's something odd about him. The overly cheerful demeanour, how casually he reacted to what you did to him. Hurting him. And of course, the stall. Practically giving money away for free, yet it was still so quiet... Even then, you had to pry him away from it. You ponder, idly, as you drive, hardly paying attention to the directions you're taking. You know this route like the back of your hand.
When you arrive at your destination, your favourite cosy independent café, you turn to look at him once again. Multicoloured, pastel plasters now cover his hands and lower arms, unintentionally matching his outfit. You notice he's missed some of cuts on his face.
"Look over here for a moment," you instruct, and he obediently turns to face you. You take two of the leftover plasters from the dash, and place on his cheek, and one on the side of his chin. He blinks in surprise.
"That's better," you grin at him, and he finally smiles back. "Come on, then. I could kill for a coffee right now."
You wander inside, greeted by the familiar, wooden building. You've become a regular here by now. After much careful deliberation, you decide on a simple black coffee. Not the most interesting drink in the world, but it's your favourite all the same. Lost in your own thoughts for a moment, you don't even hear what he's ordered. It seems to contain more milk than actual caffeine, but you're not one to judge. You're still digging through your pocket for your wallet at the counter when you notice him handing over the money for your order himself.
"Hey! What happened to this being my treat?"
"You need the money more," he states, plainly. There's not a hint of malice in his eyes. "For the operation."
You can't fight his logic. "In that case... Fine. Thank you. Again."
He just smiles, again. Turns back to the counter. You hesitate for a moment, wanting to say something more. To somehow thank him, properly, for all he's done to help you. But you still can't quite find the right words. So you decide to let him do the speaking instead. He's very easy to nudge into conversation, and you're more than happy to sit at your favourite seat by the window, just listening to him talk. It revolves mainly around his pet gerbil. Eventually, though, you have to ask.
"Not to pry, or anything," you begin, carefully. "But I can't help but wonder. Why did you set up the stall?"
"It's just a good thing to do, really," he seems to think this over further. "And Eun-Mi wanted me out doing something too. I haven't had the most successful track record with other jobs." he admits.
"Fair enough," you nod, stirring your coffee. "But how does it work? Like... How would you make money from it?"
He stares at you blankly. You stare back. Waiting for a response that never arrives.
You're beginning to worry that it was too personal a question, that you've offended him, when he starts chattering idly once again. Moving past the conversation as if it never happened. You take a last sip of coffee, and look down at your now empty mug, thinking it over. You notice scars on the side of his hand as you do. Healed, but visible. Perhaps from one of the incidents he spoke of earlier? Yet you don't think to mention it. He doesn't.
You do hug him though, when the afternoon is coming to an end. He hesitates for a moment, but reciprocates the action. He smells like vanilla. You breathe it in, wanting to keep it close for as long as you can. You know you won't forget him, not after everything he's done for you. But you have the uneasy feeling you won't see him again. Not like this, anyway. You look up at him, really look at him when you finally pull away.
"I hope the operation goes well," he says.
"I do too," you reply. "And thank you, for everything. You're a good man, Harvey."
He smiles at you, for the last time before you part ways. You smile back.