Swallow Hunting

“There’s a way to find out.”

Ding—the elevator doors slid open, cutting off any chance to press him further. Yang Seokho slowed his pace to match Haejun’s. Even the way he opened the car door felt practiced, like second nature to someone used to serving a higher-up. So the whole “man at Lee Kangjoo’s side” thing wasn’t bullshit after all.

“Decided where you’re going?”

“Just... the flower market.”

“You hungry? Let’s eat first. Oh—mind if I drop the formal speech?”

“...Yeah.”

Judging by looks alone, Yang Seokho was way older than him. Haejun nodded without hesitation.

“Then food first. Gotta have energy if you’re gonna shop. Anything else besides shopping?”

“I need a haircut.”

“Okay.”

Yang Seokho immediately called someone. A bright voice on the other end named some kind of shop. He even requested a specific designer—looked like a place he went to often.

“A regular neighborhood barber would be fine...”

“If you’re cutting it anyway, might as well go somewhere decent. Plus, they give you sandwiches and soup while you wait.”

Even while driving, Yang Seokho didn’t shut up once. No need for the radio.

“Nothing beats food first,” he said, and the place he picked turned out to be a handmade burger joint. Funny—he looked like the type to down a bowl of spicy gukbap, but his taste leaned Western. Haejun let out a quiet snort. Maybe it was all the chatter on the drive, but the distance he’d felt toward Yang Seokho had eased a bit.

“The boss is all about Korean food, so if you suggest stuff like this, he hates it. Only get to eat this when he’s not around.”

“He doesn’t really eat breakfast either. Bread and stuff like that. I don’t think he likes flour.”

Haejun chimed in. Just having someone to talk to about their boss seemed to make Yang Seokho light up.

“Everyone thinks he’s easygoing, you know? He’s not. I know. I’ve never met anyone pickier than him in my life. Food, taste, everything.”

At the word “taste,” Haejun’s ears perked up. He swallowed his fries and leaned forward.

“His taste?”

“Yeah. If something doesn’t meet his standards, he won’t even glance at it. That’s how damn picky he is. People think he’s just tolerant because he lets things slide? No. He just doesn’t give a shit. If it’s not related to him, he doesn’t bother. You have any idea how cold that man is?”

Haejun listened but shook his head.

It meant two things. Lee Kangjoo was cold, sure—but not heartless. Just looking at how he treated him... the things he’d given him, the things he’d done... you couldn’t just call him a cold man and be done with it.

“If I died, he wouldn’t shed a single tear.”

The other day, Lee Kangjoo had described Yang Seokho as someone who’d “stick a knife in my back the moment he got the chance.” They were similar in that way—both kept their expectations of each other brutally low.

Haejun let out a small laugh, and Yang Seokho got even more talkative. But Haejun’s mind was stuck on one word.

Taste.

“Do you know what kind of things he likes? Clothes, movies... people?”

“More or less.”

“He said he doesn’t like romance.”

“Really? Didn’t know that.”

Even someone like Yang Seokho, who’d been with him for years, didn’t know everything about Lee Kangjoo. A strange sense of victory filled Haejun—then deflated just as fast. No matter what, he still knew less.

“...Do you know his ideal type?”

“Ideal type, huh.”

Holding his third oversized burger, Yang Seokho looked straight at Haejun.

The kid’s eyes were practically sparkling—must’ve been the thing he was most curious about. Despite crawling through hell for so long, he still couldn’t hide what he was thinking.

Most people in this line of work were cunning. They’d screw someone over without hesitation if it meant getting ahead. Stab you in the gut and run. Crack you in the back of the head and disappear. Sweet-talk money out of you and toss you aside—that barely even counted as a crime. Threats, extortion, violence—slimy bastards everywhere, dodging the law like eels in filthy water.

Compared to them, Cha Haejun was a clear stream.

Yang Seokho remembered looking into him. Just another pitiful life you could find anywhere in this world. Crushed under illegal loan debt, no real education, bottom-of-the-barrel job. Debt his father had made. There’d been a note saying he’d tried to fix it, but failed.

Photos came with the file—him bowing to see off customers, him with a cigarette that didn’t match his young face. Even with the shitty quality, his looks punched right through the flat paper.

Lee Kangjoo, too.

Whatever else Han Yeonghwa lacked, her eye for beauty was insane.

“The boss’s ideal type is...”

Cha Haejun was the kind of guy photos couldn’t capture. In person, he was softer, cleaner, prettier.

When he smiled with his eyes, he looked like a fox with soft white fur. When he was still, he was like untouched snow—pure, delicate.

And there was something melancholic about him. The way his gaze lowered made it seem like he carried something heavy inside, something he couldn’t tell anyone.

His voice matched, too. Not loud, not forgettable. Like birdsong—easy on the ears, slipping in naturally. The way he spoke, quiet and gentle, had a way of putting people at ease.

Haejun didn’t seem to notice people staring at him. Even now, in the slow lull after lunch, the few customers in the place kept sneaking glances, whispering about how damn good-looking he was. Maybe his hearing was sharp—Yang Seokho had been catching those comments all day.

Lee Kangjoo had never openly talked about his ideal type. The people he’d passed through didn’t have any pattern either. Short hair, long hair, good bodies, average ones, elegant, smart, mature, childish, gold-diggers, people who didn’t care about money—completely random.

And none of them lasted.

Lee Kangjoo didn’t let people get close.

Han Yeonghwa had just been one of them.

That day at the hotel, she’d been thrilled, thinking his jealousy meant he liked her. Total delusion. He’d just been waiting for a chance to cut her off cleanly—she wouldn’t stop clinging to him, even after he cut contact.

...But Cha Haejun—

“Hard to say. He doesn’t really talk about personal stuff.”

Haejun’s shoulders visibly slumped. It was a little pitiful, but if Yang Seokho kept talking about his boss, it might come back to bite him. He played dumb and focused on finishing his burger.

* * *

Even when he worked nights, Haejun had never been to a place this fancy. Back when every coin mattered, he’d just get his hair trimmed at some neighborhood shop when it got too long.

Now he sat stiffly, lips pressed tight, eyes darting around. Despite having demolished three burgers, Yang Seokho was still going at the sandwich the shop had given him, casually commenting on Haejun’s hair.

“Not too short. Those trendy styles don’t suit you. Keep the length moderate, show off the ears. This guy’s got nice ears.”

“Not just his ears—his face too. Is he an idol trainee or something? How is he this pretty? Look at his skin.”

Like he was bragging about his own kid, Yang Seokho puffed up under the praise. Haejun just sat there awkwardly, staring at his reflection.

The head stylist circled him, marveling, then suddenly turned to Yang Seokho.

“By the way, what’s the boss up to these days? Isn’t it about time for him to get his hair done? I miss seeing him.”

“Come on, you think he’d walk into a place like this himself? Maybe if you went to him.”

“You think he’d even meet me? I’d be lucky not to get kicked out at the door.”

“True. He’s busy.”

Snip. Snip.

Haejun narrowed his eyes. Damp strands fell in front of his face, blocking his view in the mirror.

“Anyway, does he have a new lover yet? I heard rumors he broke up with the last one...”

“What rumors?”

“You know, the one who went around telling everyone she was his girlfriend. Apparently, she went crying her eyes out at a host bar, saying it was all over.”

The stylist laughed, finding it hilarious. At the mention of his “previous lover,” Haejun’s ears perked. Sounded like Han Yeonghwa.

He stared at the mirror, watching both of them, hoping for more.

The stylist pushed his bangs back and clipped them up. His view cleared instantly. Yang Seokho glanced at him through the mirror and shook his head.

“No idea.”

“If you don’t know, who would?”

Yang Seokho just chuckled it off. The unspoken message was clear—he wasn’t going to say anything. The stylist dropped the subject and focused on cutting.

Haejun’s lips pouted slightly, disappointed.

Yang Seokho lounged on the sofa, flipping through a magazine, then looked over at Haejun. With his eyes closed, he looked like a polished jade bead.

“....”

The boss hadn’t given any specific instructions, but—

After all these years, Yang Seokho had a pretty good sense of what he’d like.

He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of Haejun dozing off. The mirror caught both his face and the back of his head mid-styling. The white cape around his neck reflected the light, making his skin look even paler.

He sent it to Lee Kangjoo and waited.

The man wasn’t the type to reply, but he kept staring at his phone anyway. Sure enough—someone who usually only skimmed messages in preview checked it much faster than usual.

That was new.

“Look at him, doing something he never does.”

Yang Seokho grinned.

Even a drop of ink stands out on a blank page. When someone who never changes suddenly does, you notice—whether you want to or not.

For the first time, his boss—who found everything in the world boring—had something that caught his interest.