〈V.I.G. Fitness Club. Grand Opening Event. First 30 people only〉
A sheet plastered with garish lettering scraped across his white, cracked fingertips. The passerby who bumped Ihyeon with his body shoved down the subway steps without even apologizing.
The driving wind had chilled him through long ago. His whole body felt numb; the fingertips that had gone dull now stung. Looking down, a bright red bead of blood was seeping from the scratch on the paper.
“…Ah.”
Ihyeon made a belated sound, pressed his lips shut, and roughly wiped the blood off so it wouldn’t stain the remaining flyer. He held the paper out toward the crowd spilling back into the station, but people hunched their shoulders, shoved their hands in their pockets, and avoided looking as they passed.
“Ugh… Ihyeon, let’s stop here. I can’t do this in this cold.”
Around then he was jolted by a sudden weight from behind.
Turning, he found a man in a black long padding coat leaning against him as if to rest on him. The man, still shaking from the cold, pressed a hot pack against both of Ihyeon’s ears with a hiss.
“…Man, you said we had to hand these all out today. I saw a bunch left behind the desk earlier.”
“Ah, I don’t know. If it’s really bad, we can give them to the vendor out front. Let him use them as pancake tongs. Fuck, I can’t do this anymore, it’s too cold.”
The man grumbled that posting a single body-profile on SNS would be more effective than this. As he reached for the flyer in Ihyeon’s hand, his eyes widened at the long cut on Ihyeon’s tidy fingers.
“What, you hurt yourself?”
“Ah… it’s just a scratch.”
“Your hands are all chapped too. I told you to take the gloves.”
Frowning faintly, the man fiddled with Ihyeon’s hands. Embarrassed, Ihyeon tried to pull his hand away with a clenched fist, but the man interlaced his fingers and kept tracing the soft skin between Ihyeon’s fingers, so he couldn’t.
“Look, they’re all red from the cold.”
The man smiled at the obedient figure with heavy lashes staring down. He shifted his hand toward Ihyeon’s reddened ear, made pink from the cold.
Ihyeon flinched at the ticklish feel of down against his skin, and the man’s smile deepened. He already knew that spot was one of Ihyeon’s sensitive places.
“Hey, Ihyeon. It’s cold — want to go to my officetel for a daytime drink? You said you won’t be going to work at night anymore anyway.”
With that suggestive tone, his heavy hand clamped the shoulder.
Ihyeon glanced up briefly at the man, then lowered his eyes and pressed the sore spot on his fingertip. No blood, just a stinging ache beneath the skin.
…Should I go?
He’d sent Subin a few messages the past few days without reply; once he realized Subin was avoiding only him, he stopped trying.
He’d thought he should put distance between them, but when the one you lean on disappears, the silence and loneliness hit hard.
He didn’t particularly want alcohol, but he didn’t want to go home to an empty apartment. That was why he’d agreed to help hand out flyers and wandered around. After years of nights at the club, the empty predawn apartment was unbearably quiet.
Buzz.
He was about to ask how far the officetel was when a short vibration came from his pocket. A message lit the phone screen.
[Kwon Ihyeon — I heard you quit the club? What are you doing now? If you’re free, come out for a bit. I’m near your neighborhood on business; should be quick.]
The name on the screen — Ye Eunho — made him snort without meaning to. He’d always been selfish, the same as in high school. After a moment’s thought, Ihyeon answered the man.
“Sorry, man. I’ve got plans today.”
“Really? Who with? If it’s someone I know, let’s all go. I’ll buy the drinks.”
“It’s a high school friend. Near here. Let’s do drinks another time.”
The man looked disappointed but accepted it and took a flyer from Ihyeon. He offered the usual parting line — “Have fun and be careful. Keep in touch.” — and Ihyeon gave only a faint smile.
After parting, Ihyeon slipped into a café near his home and took a corner table, ignoring the barista’s dry greeting.
The big potplant drooped and half-hid him. Cold air seeped in through the large glass wall beside him.
He’d arrived before the appointment. Several minutes passed as he watched people outside. The vibrating pager gave a loud trill, and a warm Americano was set before him. He picked up the tray and, instead of the cup, held the receipt.
Toying with the thin receipt, he came to the conclusion that quitting the club might actually be for the best. Resetting his nights back to school hours in the middle of a hectic semester would be hard, but possible.
Money was the problem, but he figured he could cover living and material expenses with part-time work during the semester. It would be tough to juggle assignments, but he thought he could manage. The idea of going back to school made him feel like he could do anything again.
He folded the receipt into a little note and left it on the tray. Looking back out the window, the sky was an unusually clear, rare blue. A faint lift in his mood fluttered up.
I should tell Ye Eunho I’m returning to school. He’d be happy to hear it.
He had once refused his friend’s offer to loan tuition money, unable to take it from him, but Eunho kept bringing it up on nights they drank — maybe he still felt bad about it.
Tap, tap, tap. While idly tapping the mug with his fingernail and staring out, his phone buzzed loudly. Narrowing his eyes, Ihyeon froze when he saw the name on the screen.
[Mom]
“……”
The phone rattled against the tray with an unpleasant sound. Someone at a distant table glanced around to locate the noise, but Ihyeon sat frozen.
Vrrr, vrrr, vrrr.
The vibration kept coming.
Staring at the bright screen, the pleasant little feeling a moment ago collapsed in his chest like a dream. He felt as if someone was squeezing his sternum — breathing became shallow.
[Mom]
Seeing that name, Ihyeon unconsciously chewed the inside of his cheek. Mom. How could a simple two-syllable word, the kind a toddler would easily speak, feel so unbearably awkward?
The call ended and the background returned. Before he could even draw a deep breath, the phone indicated another incoming call.
He couldn’t ignore it. He pursed his lips and hit the answer button.
“…Hello?”
His hoarse voice sounded odd even to him. The caller hesitated, cleared their throat, and finally managed a single line.
“- Ah… Ihyeon. It’s Mom.”
He answered “Yes” briefly, and an awkward silence flowed through the line. She hesitated again, then offered a perfunctory greeting.
“- It’s cold. Are you eating properly?”
Instead of answering, Ihyeon blinked slowly. The soft voice over the phone felt especially unfamiliar after years. He picked up the folded receipt and replied in a barely audible voice.
“Yes.”
“- Ah… okay. That’s good.”
He waited for more, but the caller fell silent again. The awkward quiet settled under their breathing.
She didn’t call just to ask if he’d eaten. Swallowing, Ihyeon forced the question out.
“What is it?”
“- …Ihyeon.”
She sighed as if she’d been waiting for him to ask. She sounded troubled. Ihyeon said nothing and toyed with the receipt; the rustling seemed louder than usual.
“- Your father told me not to say anything, but I think you should know….”
“…….”
“- Ihyeon, your father is in the hospital right now.”
“…….”
“- He has liver cancer.”
The unexpected words stopped his fingers fidgeting with the paper. The silence between sentences over the phone felt heavy.