The break in our dinner felt good. Skewers of grilled meat and cold bean noodles had already been devoured. I’d requested two bottles of soju and was enjoying the reckless abandon of downing them without a second thought. Saturday nights were always the best—the perfect excuse to sleep in the next day. Jimin, Yoongi, and I could handle our liquor, but Hoseok… Hoseok was a disaster after even a single drop. His drunken antics were more trouble than they were worth. Jimin decided to take him home. Yoongi, wanting to assist, announced he was leaving too.
“Jin, let’s go,” he murmured.
“What? I’m halfway through my dinner. I need at least two more servings,” I snapped. Food was essential. I lived to eat, and I wasn’t about to let a drunk guy ruin my meal.
“Please, hyung,” Jimin pleaded. I didn’t understand his persistence. There was something about Jimin I liked—a kindness that felt deeply familiar. He reminded me of my mother.
I still didn’t get it. Weren’t two people enough to get Hoseok home? The logic eluded me.
“Jin, I’m begging you. Come with us,” Yoongi whispered, his tone unusually stern. I gave in. They both needed me there, and I didn’t know why, but I agreed.
We dropped Hoseok and Jimin at their respective homes, then took a cab back to our apartment.
“I’m sorry, Jin. I’ll make you ramyeon when we get inside,” Yoongi said.
“We can still go out and eat,” I replied. I really didn’t want ramen.
“I’m tired. I’m sorry,” he repeated, his tone still sharp.
“Okay then, I’ll go alone,” I said. I ate alone all the time. It wasn’t a problem.
“Ok,” he said, disappearing into our building.
I wandered around, browsing online for new restaurants nearby. I found a place a couple of blocks from mine. I decided to check it out and then head straight home to crash.
My second dinner was phenomenal. I was glad I’d left. The restaurant was near a small, charming park. On a whim, I tried the swings. It was a beautiful night, almost eerily quiet. I stood there, breathing in the cool air, when I noticed someone emerging from the bushes. I couldn’t see his face, but he wore a horizontally striped T-shirt. He kept approaching, his head down, and I couldn’t decipher what he was doing. Surely he wasn’t doing anything illegal in such a public place, was he? He got closer, and I saw he was built—lean, muscular. He noticed my feet and finally looked up.
Ugh.
He was devastatingly handsome. If I hadn’t been lost in thought, I might have shouted “Daebak” at him. He looked like he’d stepped out of an anime. He could proudly call himself one, because no one would dare argue.
Then I noticed he was bleeding. His hands, his head—scratches on his neck and nose. He was bleeding slowly but steadily. My amused expression turned worried. He just stood there, looking at me. As soon as he saw my concern, he walked past me.
“Hey… you need to go to the hospital,” I called out, watching him walk away.
He didn’t reply, just waved. A wave that could have meant “goodbye” or “don’t bother.”
I wasn’t sure if I cared, but I knew I wouldn’t forget his face anytime soon.
Who was he?