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It's only fair, Woojin thinks, that the whole issue remains his own personal problem to handle; Gunwoo has been through enough in the past few years they've known each other and even longer than that, and besides, he deserves all the rest he can get. He doesn't let it show, but the upcoming tournament is stressing him out perhaps more than it should. Woojin can see it written over the tight line of his shoulders or the slight frown that has permanently etched itself between his brows. It smooths out at times, thankfully, either when he's asleep or not lost in thoughts.
Currently, it's a normal summer evening. The sun has set some hours ago yet the chill is nothing but pleasant, even after a soft earlier drizzle, and Woojin relishes as the cold air washes over his face when he steps out of the house for a second to throw out the trash. His jacket still smells faintly of barbecue smoke where he stood by with Gunwoo earlier. Everything is peaceful, almost too much. The street is empty and quiet, the soft orange glow of the streetlamps giving it a warm, cosy feeling. Woojin's not sure if he wants to give into the tranquility of it all.
He startles when he hears his phone buzzing in his pocket, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. Woojin stares at it for a beat. It could be a scam call, sure, but who makes a scam call at ten in the evening on a Saturday night? Butt dial, then?
Woojin looks over his shoulder when he hears the front door open.
"Everything okay?" Gunwoo pokes his head out, a small, relaxed smile on his face.
"Yep," Woojin smiles back and declines the call, then heads back inside.
Scam caller or not, the person is very insistent. Copying and pasting the number into search engines doesn't provide any reasonable results, and Woojin's made sure that all his friends and family are safe and accounted for, but the anxiety and fear that he's ignoring something important is starting to have a hold on his every waking hour. He's distracted, mulling the possibilities in his head, more frequently forgets to focus on what is being said to him. That's why, one afternoon, when he's sprawled on the couch watching some program on cooking or baking with Mom and his phone rings again, he excuses himself and steps out for a second.
His thumb slides over the green button, then immediately presses the mute option. He brings his phone to his ear.
"Hello?" A familiar voice says. "Fuck me, I can't believe someone finally picked up their phone."
"Shit," Woojin hisses, glad that he muted himself earlier, and promptly ends the call before the other person has a chance to say something more. Then, he does what any sensible person would do: he blocks the contact. He should probably change his own number as well, but that seems a little excessive.
"Who was it?" Mom asks as soon as he steps back inside and plunges back on the couch. She doesn't look too troubled, her eyes not leaving the television, engrossed in a footage of a chef fighting to save their burnt sponge biscuit. She giggles a bit at the hosts commentary.
Woojin studies her out of the corner of his eye. Dressed in a light blue sweater and a pair of sweatpants, leaning back against the pillows, and covered in a blanket with a floral pattern, she looks like a paragon of relaxation. Her hands rest calmly around a cup of a steaming, camomile tea. She looks peaceful. More importantly, she looks happy, and Woojin would rather renounce boxing for the rest of his life than ruin this impression. Especially with something that should be his own to deal with.
When he takes too long to answer, Mom finally turns her head to look at him, a question in her eyes.
"Um," Woojin mumbles, shaken out of his reverie. "Just a scam call. Unless you wanna buy a vacuum?"
Mom snorts and smacks his knee playfully, then turns her attention back to the screen. Woojin tries to follow along, but he's pretty sure they've seen this episode before, and besides, he can't stop sneaking glances at his phone to see if he's received any new notifications. When the screen lights up with another call, this time from a different unknown number, he silences it immediately and turns off his phone completely; if anyone of importance can't reach him, he'll just say it died. The judges on the television screen rate the meals and Mom complains when she doesn't agree with their assessment, while Woojin calculates in his head how much money and effort it would cost him to get a new phone; a new SIM card, at the very least.
"Hyung?"
Woojin locks his phone so fast that Gunwoo can't see the missed call he's been staring at for the past minute. It looks so comical that it's immediately suspicious; he can tell that Gunwoo's starting to get a bit curious. He's also pretty sure that Gunwoo's too trusting and respective of his privacy to say anything unless it gets to a point.
"I don't think we should be getting this much," Gunwoo looks down at their shopping cart, filled to the brim with ingredients and snacks and drinks. Even the harsh, fluorescent lights of the supermarket don't manage to wash him out, his cheeks still flushed after their morning workout. "We don't know if I'll even win."
It's clear Gunwoo's stress is growing bigger the closer they get to the tournament. His runs get longer, his sleep shorter, his answers more clipped and absent minded. Woojin feels bad enough, so that's why he doesn't mention the reason he's been silencing his phone more often than usual. Besides, Woojin is not stressed at all. He's seen Gunwoo fight, he saw his performance during every training they completed together. He knows Gunwoo is better than your average boxer, but apparently the man himself doesn't realise that.
"Well," he pockets his phone. "We can eat it regardless."
Gunwoo smiles at him and puts another product into the cart.
"So, who are you texting?" He asks, seemingly innocent, sneaking him a sidelong glance.
"Huh?" Woojin finds himself suddenly fascinated in the ingredient list of a protein yogurt. Is twenty-six gram of protein per serving enough for a high performance athlete or his coach? They'd have to eat at least four. "What do you mean?"
"You keep looking at your phone." Gunwoo plucks the yogurt out of his hands. "So, who is it?"
Well. Woojin knew that Gunwoo noticed his shift in behaviour, because he usually notices everything that's going on with him, but he did not expect to be confronted about it so directly. In the middle of the supermarket's dairy aisle, of all places.
With no yogurt left to stare at, Woojin pretends he's deciding on a milkshake. It may come off like he's shy about the topic and doesn't want to explain. It's partially true, at least. He'd rather have Gunwoo believe that he's hiding a silly text message rather than an unfortunate and not necessarily welcome blast from the past.
"Just an old friend," he explains to the strawberry milkshake bottles, not wanting to indulge in too big of a lie. Gunwoo lingers somewhere in his peripheral vision without making a sound. "We're not really close."
When the silence stretches out, Woojin finally turns to look at his friend. He can't tell if he's been convincing enough, but now he finds himself staring at a slightly smaller smile.
"I see," Gunwoo finally replies, then reaches for a bottle of a strawberry milkshake himself.
Some things need to be faced head on without blinking, and you can't keep running away, his father used to say, between the boxing trainings and the long drives home from the gym. It seemed that that was his solution to most of Woojin's issues before Woojin learned that it was his solution to all issues; a very confrontational man, body and mind shaped by years of relentless training himself and others, his father never backed down from a fight—verbal or physical—or kept his mind to myself. Eventually, he drilled this mindset into his own son's head permanently, with little to no room for any logical reasoning.
Woojin tells himself it's because of this he changes his tactic and finally picks up the phone.
"Stop calling me," he says even before he brings his phone to his ear. "And how on earth do you have so many numbers?"
"Jesus, I just want to talk," the voice answers, feigning offence. "Is it so absurd that I want to reach out to an old friend?"
"We're not friends."
"Yeah, but we used to be. You worked for me a few times."
Woojin glances back at the bedroom door to make sure it's closed. Gunwoo and Mom are downstairs in the kitchen preparing dinner, and he would hate it if his conversation would be overheard by any of them, so he needs to make sure he's keeping his voice down.
"Okay, great," he answers, pacing around in circles. "Now leave me alone. I'm not interested in whatever you have to say."
"Sure, sure. So you'll pay me back the money you owe, right?"
Woojin stops pacing, dead in his tracks, his stomach dropping to his feet. He stares a hole into the opposite wall recalling memories of the time he'd rather not remember, running around at someone's word and beating innocent people just trying to make a living. The mind can be a cruel place, and unfortunately, sometimes this is what he remembers most vividly, fuelling his guilt and eating away at his conscience.
This part, however, he does not recall.
"What money?" he asks, still frozen in place.
"Oh, how convenient," the person snarls. "Listen, the interest grows a lot and all that, wouldn't wanna make you go bankrupt, so we'll call it even if you run a small errand for me."
Woojin has never wanted to hang up a phone more in his life. "Uh, no? I'll pay you back, but I'm not doing any of that shit again."
"Yeah, you are. Let's talk the details soon, okay? I'll text you the address."
Even when the phone call ends with a soft beep, Woojin can't really move from where he's still standing next to the bed. When he focuses really hard, he thinks he can remember borrowing a small sum for something he can't even recall buying. He has no idea how he forgot about that. Debt or not, he's not doing any favours anymore, no matter how small, because it always follows the same pattern: one errand turns into two which eventually turns into three, and then at this point, he might as well change his entire career path, name, and address.
Gunwoo quietly opens the door without knocking and Woojin almost huffs at him for that before he remembers it's his room as well and he can enter whenever he damn pleases.
"Dinner's almost ready," Gunwoo stays where he is, leaning against the doorframe, one hand on the doorknob. He seems suspicious, if not needlessly concerned. "You okay?"
Woojin sits down on his bed with a sigh, phone already silenced and placed on the nightstand face down. He doesn't need to bring Gunwoo into this. Doesn't want to.
"I'm great," he says with an easy smile. "What's for dinner?"
"Because you know," Gunwoo ignores his question, maintaining intense eye contact like he does whenever he gets serious about something and wants his message to come across. "You can tell me anything. I'll help."
Of course Woojin knows that. That's why he doesn't say anything. Gunwoo will drop everything and go out of his way to help him, and right now he has more important things to worry about. "I know."
Gunwoo nods once, twice, like he's trying to convince himself. When he finally lets go of the door and steps closer, Woojin welcomes his hug with open arms.
"Mom wanted to make extra rolled omelettes," Gunwoo mumbles into his hair. "But we're out of eggs. So."
Woojin snorts, tightens his grip around Gunwoo's middle. "That's fine."
At first he wants to pretend he hasn't seen the text with the designated meetup spot and time, but his old acquaintance has proven himself to be quite adamant at renewing their unfortunate relationship. So Woojin makes up some lame excuse to Gunwoo and Mom about how he forgot something at the store, that he needs that particular thing right now, at nine in the evening, and that it's totally fine if he goes alone.
He's a grown adult, after all. He can go out of the house whenever he wants for whatever reason. Besides, he doesn't intend on being out long; he'll decline the offer, pay back what he owes in cash, then drive back home and forget about all of this in more or less a week, when Gunwoo's match will become his main worry.
"What the hell is this?" the guy asks when Woojin hands him the bag with cash. Now that they finally meet face to face, Woojin thinks he looks older, as if even more worried and troublesome than those few years back. That's probably what years of obsessively counting money and looking over one's shoulder do to a person. "I don't want this. I need you to do a job, remember?"
"Fuck no," Woojin replies, his arm holding the bag still outstretched until it's slapped away. "I don't do that anymore."
The guy laughs, a throaty, unpleasant sound. "You're in my debt, moron, you don't make the rules. It's not that deep. Just go, beat a guy up, leave a message in my name. That's it."
When he hands out a piece of paper with a name and an address scribbled on it, Woojin doesn't budge in a silent refusal. It's not even a matter of pride or proving a point. It's just that he knows well enough what happens to the people who were on the receiving end of such treatment, how deeply it affected them and their families and scarred them all for life. He can't do that anymore; not after what happened to Mom and Gunwoo.
"So stubborn," the guy tsks and steps closer to tuck the paper into the bag Woojin is holding in a clenched fist. "Well, you don't really have a choice. I heard you help out at a really cute cafe, no?"
That shakes Woojin's headstrong attitude. "You asshole. Leave them out of this."
"Oh, boo-hoo," the asshole mocks, frowning in a fake, condescending manner, then waves a hand as he starts walking away. "Work for me, and I won't involve the Kim family. Okay?"
"This is between just you and me," Woojin yells after him but the man doesn't even turn around. So much for being unyielding and adamant. With nothing left but a bag full of money and a crumpled note, it would probably be best to rein in his pride and admit he needs more help than he initially assumed.
Gunwoo lingers closer more than normal.
Not that it's unusual; they're already pretty much joined at the hip. They workout together, eat dinners together, go shopping together, watch TV together, sleep in the same room. Recently, Gunwoo even accompanied him to fetch a bag they had left in the car even though it was parked in the driveway. It may seem overwhelming, but the truth is Woojin just doesn't get bored in Gunwoo's presence, ever. They could be sitting for hours doing nothing but watching paint dry and he'd still have fun if it meant spending time with Gunwoo.
All this aside, Gunwoo does go out of his way to linger closer. He shifts on the couch until their sides are touching, he stays up until Woojin emerges from his evening shower just to tell him goodnight, and insists on doing the dishes together even though they have a perfectly well functioning dishwasher. Even Mom shoots him a confused look when one evening he makes a fuss just to accompany Woojin to the corner store.
"What're you thinking?" Woojin asks as they make their way down the street. He keeps his eyes on the pink-tinted clouds of a late sunset. The match is only three days away now, and even though he doesn't want to, Woojin can't help but be a bit stressed as well.
"Not much. I don't think this store has your favourite chips."
"About the competition, I mean. And I don't care about the chips."
Gunwoo shoots him a bewildered look as he bursts out a disbelieving laugh. "You don't?"
"Okay, don't change the topic," Woojin smacks his arm playfully then huddles his hands in the pockets of his jacket against the evening chill. "Are you nervous? Do you feel well-coached?"
"I feel perfectly coached," Gunwoo answers, his voice serious again. "But I'm still a bit anxious."
The store is mostly empty at this hour, so only few customers linger in the narrow and cramped space. Woojin dutifully picks out first Mom's favourite soda, then Gunwoo's, then his. They don't really need to buy much. Truth be told, it was supposed to be an excuse for him to get some air and think for a while, but he doesn't mind the company. Ever since he met with his former employer and received a request he has no intention fulfilling, he hasn't received any other phone calls; still, he blocked the number again, just out of spite. He's not sure what will happen once the guy realizes the job hasn't been done. He doesn't think that this will escalate as much as it did with other loan sharks or with Smile Capital, simply because he knows damn well this one doesn't have the manpower. If he did, he wouldn't be making twists and turns and weird made-up rules just to get Woojin's help.
Maybe he gave up. Understood that he can't force Woojin back into the business again, will simply accept the money back, and everything will be okay again. That's what Woojin tells himself will happen when they start making their way to the register.
"Oh, hyung," Gunwoo drags his attention back to the present as he enthusiastically reaches for something on the bottom shelf. "My bad. They must've restocked."
Woojin catches the bag of his favourite crisps when it's tossed to him with a wide smile. Everything will be fine, he's sure.
"Listen," he starts, shifting uneasily while he waits for Gunwoo to unlock the door. "About the phone—"
"No, no," Gunwoo shakes his head and Woojin immediately stops speaking. "I shouldn't have pried. You have a right to some privacy.""
"Well, it's just that—"
The door swings open and Mom steps out to take the bag from his hands, effectively cutting him off. He doesn't dare to bring the topic back up later, when Gunwoo and him are laying in their beds with the lights off, both pretending to be asleep.
Gunwoo wins the match and the first thing he does is turn around and grab Woojin in a crushing embrace. Woojin doesn't mind, really. He spins happily with Gunwoo in his arms and laughs loudly as the people in the stands cheer and doesn't mind anything at all. Sweat clings to his brows and gathers under his nose but he's so absorbed in the celebration that he doesn't have half the mind to wipe it off. Gunwoo goes to chat with his opponent and congratulate him on the good fight and receive the reward for winning first place. It wasn't an easy win, and Woojin knows how hard Gunwoo fought for this, so he lets him cool off and pretends to make himself busy by packing the towels and the bottles and even closing one of the folding chairs.
Someone sits there, in the stands, in the row second to last, that keeps staring at him intently. He felt the sharp prick of a lingering stare at the back of his neck for a while now, but he chalked it up to the anxiety and excitement over the fight. Now, however, when he has a moment to take a few deep breaths and calm his mind, the feeling of being watched lingers uncomfortably, like a dark shadow blocking the sunlight.
He pretends to stretch and risks a glance at the seats to try and see who this person is. He doesn't notice anyone suspicious at first, the crowd still dense. Then, he locks eyes with a man, who smiles and waves at him, slow and unassuming, and Woojin swears he feels his blood go cold.
He'd been an idiot for assuming that blocking a number and pretending a problem doesn't exist will make it go away. His father taught him that a long time ago, after all.
When the man begins descending the stairs towards him all Woojin can hope for is that Gunwoo will not see them interact. He's tempted, for a moment, to run. It's a cowardly instinct and a childish choice, not to mention it would simply be too suspicious but he can't help the initial reaction. Besides, running won't change the mess he got himself into.
"Congrats on the win," the asshole says, hands in pockets, the picture of semi-nonchalance. "Looks like you're good at only one of your jobs."
A quick glance over the shoulder, just for Woojin to make sure Gunwoo isn't anywhere near. "What are you doing here?"
"Just as a reminder. Did you forget I gave you a job?"
"And did you forget I said I'd never do it again? Now piss off."
"Or what?" the man snorts and steps closer, uncomfortably so, but Woojin refuses to budge from where his feet have seemingly fused with the linoleum floor. From anger or fear, he doesn't know. He hopes it's not the latter. "You'll send your little champion after me?"
Woojin snaps his mouth shut, determined on not involving Gunwoo at all.
The man raises his eyebrows and gestures a lazy hand between them. "Or better yet. I bet he doesn't know about our beautiful past together. Want me to tell him? I wonder—"
"Hyung," Gunwoo calls as he begins to approach them, although the smile on his face fades as he reads the expression on Woojin's face. He slows to a stop a good two meters from them. "Is everything alright?"
"Yes, sorry," the man answers and summons the most charming smile Woojin has ever seen on his face. "I'm an old friend, we're just catching up. Right, Woojin?"
Woojin clears his throat when Gunwoo stares at him, waiting for confirmation. "Right. Sure."
"Okay," Gunwoo drawls, still unsure. "Well, I'm heading back to the showers, then Mom and I are ready to go. We'll wait for you by the exit."
The man's stare burns into Woojin's face as he scrambles for a reply. There's nothing more he wants to do than end the conversation right here and now and return happily home. But if the guy will keep appearing everywhere, following him like a shadow, then there's a high risk that he'll eventually appear in Mom's cafe; or worse, at their home. Woojin can't bear the thought of someone else invading their space like that again.
In this moment, he feels brave and confident enough to confront the man once again. He doesn't imagine he'll get very far, but if it comes to it, he's not afraid of a fight.
"Actually," he tells Gunwoo and smiles with an assuredness he doesn't really feel. "You guys go ahead. I'll grab a taxi later."
The guy smiles and nods to himself, satisfied. Woojin doesn't care. All he can stare at it Gunwoo's lost expression as he once again regards them standing close and leaves with a small bow.
This was the worst decision of Woojin's life.
And he's made many bad ones, all ranging from not-quite-great to truly despicable. He regrets being mean to Gunwoo that first time they met, both on the ring and right after that, when he found him sitting outside the locker rooms. He knows it's been long forgiven, but he can't help but cringe at the attitude he treated someone with. Then, they are the ones he'd rather not talk about, the ones that truly keep him awake at night, the ones he'd pay millions just to go back in time and fix, like getting black-out drunk that one evening at President Choi's house and losing almost everything they had.
Woojin supports himself on a wall of a nearby building with a shaking, bloody hand. It's probably not wise to stop, not when the asshole and his thugs may change their minds and go back to finish the job. Because he's been walking for the past five minutes, blood rushing in his ears and his vision swimming, he can't stop looking over his shoulder and jumping at every small noise. He doesn't even recognize the neighbourhood he's in anymore. The street signs look alien to him, the houses unfriendly and unfamiliar. Not many people outside, too, at this time of night. Perhaps that works to his advantage, Woojin thinks as uses his sleeve to further smear the blood on his face.
Things started going to shit the moment Gunwoo walked away from them.
"I'd rather talk outside," the man smiled apologetically. "If you don't mind."
Woojin did mind. He didn't voice that discomfort.
When outside, in a small, cramped alley filled with trash and bins, it became clear that this conversation would be nothing like their previous ones. Soon enough, three huge men entered after them, their faces betraying nothing but apathy.
"Don't worry, they're just here to make sure things go smoothly."
Woojin did worry. Maybe back in his prime he would've been more confident, but now he'd rather avoid any type of fight where he was this outnumbered. "What things?"
"The job," the man lit a cigarette and blew the smoke right in his face. "You paying your debt off, or not?"
"I already told you. I can pay you in cash."
"Not really what I had in mind."
The thugs' presence was increasingly unnerving, their features partially covered by the shadows where the light of a distant streetlamp couldn't reach.
"I'm not doing any jobs," Woojin declared, grateful his voice carried strong. "Don't think about asking me again."
The cigarette got extinguished on the sole of an expensive-looking shoe, and the man sighed like he was the one being hounded. "Shame. But I thought you'd say that."
A rat scrambles from a nearby gutter and Woojin almost stumbles over his own feet from freight. He's not that badly injured, not bleeding from anywhere besides his face where one of the thugs landed a particularly nasty jab. He retaliated with a left hook to the liver, and he's pretty sure he cracked some of those ribs. Still, he's a bit shaken up. It soon becomes evident that he stumbled far enough from the gym that he can't either find his way back or walk this far, and no taxi will take him anywhere in this state.
He shuffles further down the road, away from the windows from which someone could spot him, and collapses on a nearby bench. He really doesn't know what to do. He'll have to clean himself up, somehow get rid of the dirty, stained clothes, then come back home and lie straight to Gunwoo's face just to keep up the illusion that nothing is happening.
Holy fuck. Gunwoo.
The man's words ring in his head like a bell when he scrambles for his phone. Work for me, and I won't involve the Kim family. Surely, those thugs are on their way to his home right now. He pictures Mom and Gunwoo, huddled in the kitchen, keeping the dinner warm as they wait for his return; then happily opening the door just to be faced with another fight.
He can't let that happen. Woojin curses himself for not thinking of this earlier, then curses again when his fingers shake as he tries to dial the right number.
"Oh, hyung, are you on your way?" Gunwoo asks after he picks up on the first ring and his voice is so cheerful Woojin almost sobs. "Or should I come get you?"
"You need to get out of there," Woojin sniffles. "He may be on his way, don't open the door—"
"He— who? Are you okay?" there is a shuffle in the background and he thinks Gunwoo is putting his jacket on. "Where are you?"
"Be careful," Woojin ignores his question and tries not to cry, but hearing his best friend's concerned voice only stirs a more tender feeling in his heart. He wipes his nose with his sleeve and winces at the sight of blood mixed with snot. Shame. He really likes this jacket. "Or just pretend you're not home, and call someone, call the police—"
"Hyung," Gunwoo's stern voice interrupts him again. "Woojin. Where are you?"
"You need to get out of the house."
"Send me your location and I will."
Jesus, there's just no negotiating with this guy. Woojin can't help but sigh. "You have my location. I don't turn it off."
There's silence for a few moments, stretching for long enough Woojin glances at his phone to make sure the call is still connected. He turns up the volume. He thinks he can hear some distant murmuring in the background, presumably Gunwoo talking with Mom. Hopefully they are leaving the house and going somewhere safe.
"Stay where you are," Gunwoo speaks again and Woojin startles when the sound is too loud this time. "I'm dropping off Mom at Mr Moon's, then I'm coming for you. Alright?"
Woojin sniffles in reply, then settles further into the bench.
Gunwoo stumbles out of the car and Woojin has half a mind to somehow turn all of this into a joke. Now that he's calmed down a bit, reassured by the knowledge that he alerted his family in time and hopefully saved them from being jumped in their own home, he can feel himself get agitated with restlessness. He tries to tell himself it's the adrenaline wearing off, but deep down, he knows what he's really feeling. Besides all his fear and anxiety, Woojin can't help but be embarrassed; about his past, about the company he used to keep and the jobs he used to take. About the present, too, how he allowed them to lead him into a trap, to put him in this situation.
It's the embarrassment that keeps his eyes glued to the ground, even when Gunwoo finally stops in front of him, but the effort is futile; Gunwoo immediately squats down before him to hold his gaze. When strong, warm hands grasp his forearms, Woojin loses all disposition to laugh.
"I'm sorry," he sniffs once, just to get rid of the feeling of a stuffed nose, but then his brain gets the wrong message and he suddenly finds that he can't hold back the tears anymore. "Is— is Mom safe?"
"Yes, she's safe, I also called Gangyong," Gunwoo gently thumbs the tears away, then leaves his hands cupping Woojin's face. "What happened?"
"I lied. To you. About the phone, about that man."
Gunwoo shakes his head, as if for him being lied to was the world's most forgivable offence. "The man you talked to at the gym?"
"I used to work for him, as a bloodhound," Woojin cries, "Before you and I met, and recently he started calling me, over and over again, saying I should work for him again—"
A tissue magically appears in Gunwoo's hands, softly wiping away the blood and tears on Woojin's face. "I think we should go to the hospital. Come on, I'll drive."
Woojin refuses to budge when Gunwoo finally stands up and tugs at his arms, which earns him a confused look. "What are you talking about?"
"You're bleeding and you keep shaking, Woojin, I don't think this bench is a good place to talk."
No, he's not. The bleeding, yes, but shaking? Not really. Maybe he's a bit cold, but that's all.
"Are you listening to me?" Woojin asks, bewildered enough to stop crying for a second, although fresh tears still gather in his eyes. "I've been lying. To you."
"I've heard. Can you stand?"
"I— aren't you angry? At me?"
"No? I'm not. Really."
Woojin sniffles pathetically.
"Listen," Gunwoo crouches again and frowns in that typical way of his that makes it impossible to look away from the pleading look in his eyes. "We'll talk about this, I promise, but maybe not here. It can wait."
"But I—"
Gunwoo squeezes his hand even tighter and Woojin swallows down the protest he meant to voice. "Listen. I'm not angry. We'll sort it out. I love you."
"But I fucked up."
A dog, barking somewhere in the distance, the noise carrying over with a distinct echo through the quiet, summer night. Someone's car backfires on a highway far away. The low, humming sound of cicadas. Gunwoo's hands are steady, compared to Woojin's shaky ones, when he smiles a small, sincere smile. "I love you anyway."
This time, when Gunwoo moves to stand up, Woojin follows.
A phone buzzes when they enter the house and Woojin's heart drops before he realizes it's not his, so he resolves to leave it and use his remaining strength to stumble his way to the kitchen table and sit in one of the chairs. The house is so quiet that he swears the humming of the fridge is harmonizing with the slow and steady thrumming of blood in his ears, heartbeat marking out a strong but hasty rhythm.
The ride home had been quiet; Woojin's been too focused on stuffing tissues on his face, careful not to get any blood on the leather seats of Gunwoo's car, anyway. Try as he might, the postponed conversation has to take place sooner or later, but he'd rather not snort blood all over the place while he's at it.
Gunwoo finishes typing out a reply to someone and hurriedly puts his phone onto the sofa, not even paying attention to whether it lands well or not. A bit reckless, Woojin would say, but he's not been exactly an epitome of caution himself, so he lets it go. Winces a bit when Gunwoo brings a wet washcloth to his face, trying to clean up the blood that's mostly dried by now and is sticking uncomfortably to his skin.
"Why didn't you say something?" Gunwoo asks in a soft voice, tone not exactly accusing nor demanding an explanation, but still, it's enough to make Woojin feel guilty. "You were in trouble, I could've helped."
The cut near the bridge of Woojin's nose stings when the cloth swipes over it and he's grateful that Gunwoo's other hand is holding his head steady with a soft palm cradled near his jaw.
"I don't know," he says at least. "I thought he was bluffing. That's how I remember him, all bark and no bite."
"Still," Gunwoo moves down to his neck where some of the blood dripped down. "You were upset."
"Yeah, but it's different."
"Different how?"
"You weren't— It wasn't actually your problem this time. Just some guy from my past catching up with me."
Gunwoo stares at him as if he's grown a second head while he fetches a glass of water. It lands on the table with a bit too much force. "But it was happening now."
"But I'd rather leave it in the past," Woojin groans, then winces. "Don't tell me you don't mind. That I was a bloodhound long before I met you. After all that happened to us. To you."
He doesn't look up when Gunwoo takes a bit too long to reply. But he does glance over his shoulder when Gunwoo, still silent as if deliberately choosing his next words, heads over to the stairs to disappear in their room.
So he is angry. Not exactly a surprise. Woojin wants to bury his face in his hands in despair before he remembers about the cuts and bruises, so he resolves to do it mentally while staring a hole into the floor. He flinches when a moment later a small pile of fresh, clean clothes appears in his line of sight.
"You should put these on," Gunwoo says, not angry at all, still holding onto the clothes. "There's some blood on your shirt."
"Okay," Woojin agrees immediately, trying to casually blink back the tears that started gathering in his eyes again. "Goodness. You're so sappy, it's almost gross."
"I'm the sappy one." Gunwoo hands him a tissue. "Obviously."
"Yeah," Woojin wipes his nose then grabs the clothes and stands up to head to the bathroom. "We'll be catching criminals together again. Just like the old times."
"Well."
"Well, what?"
"Sorry," Gunwoo rubs his hands sheepishly. "It slipped my mind. But I called Gangyong earlier, and he texted me that they already caught the guy. Got the CCTV footage, and everything."
Woojin blinks, then blinks again. He tries not to swoon with relief, and decides to try for a joke this time. "Oh. So no need to delve into my shameful, embarrassing past anymore, huh?"
The joke doesn't land, just like he expected. Either Gunwoo's sense of humour changes according to the phases of the moon or something, or Woojin has to work on his timing.
No matter. He smiles to himself, glad despite it all. Now, it feels a bit silly for him to be keeping anything from his best friend.
"Woojin," Gunwoo's voice stops him on his way. He stands straight, like on duty, like a soldier under an oath. His overly stiff posture would be funnier than all of Woojin's jokes combined if the words that left Gunwoo's mouth next didn't make him almost burst into tears. "Hyung. I'd happily help you even in the most inconvenient, uncomfortable situation possible, than be too late to help at all."
He lets the silence sit for a bit, warm and meaningful, as the words sink in.
"Yeah," Woojin snorts, "You're definitely the sappy one."
He thinks Gunwoo's grin is the best thing he's seen all week.