BITM Ch8

Seon Wookjae asked Jin, who was about to leave first.

“Yes, I’m just stopping by somewhere,” Jin replied, waving as he walked toward his parked car.

He entered a small, old-fashioned convenience store, a rare sight these days, and bought gum to erase the lingering taste of cigarette smoke. The gum was dry and crumbly, almost devoid of sweetness, like chewing on modeling clay.

Chewing the flavorless gum, Jin climbed into the driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel. As soon as he started the car, he turned on the heater, which blew out a stream of dry air. The gum made his mouth even drier, so he downed some water to soothe it.

“I do have experience, after all,” Jin muttered.

His grip on the wheel tightened. He had never been in a relationship but claimed to have experience. Who could that have been with? It was natural to wonder. After all, Dr. Han Naeyung was famously germophobic, flinching at the slightest touch.

This left one possibility: someone must have meant enough to Dr. Han to overcome that phobia. Jin spat the gum into a piece of paper and began driving down the narrow road.

After passing the main road and turning right at a large intersection, Jin arrived at Han Naeyung’s veterinary clinic. Knowing he’d work late tonight, he decided to drop by the clinic before heading home.

It was an unusual hour, neither lunchtime nor the evening rush, so the parking space in front of the clinic was miraculously empty. Jin grabbed his wallet and stepped out of the car. As he approached the entrance, he spotted Lee Seolhwa at the front desk, deeply focused on something.

“Hello,” Jin greeted her as he stepped inside.

“Oh! You’re here, Nari’s dad!” she exclaimed, her tone as if she had expected him.

Jin glanced around and then shifted his gaze to the closed consultation room.

“You mentioned asking Dr. Han about shampoo, right? This one’s pretty good,” Lee Seolhwa said as she stepped out from behind the desk and presented the product with a flourish.

Jin gave a strained smile. “Is Dr. Han inside?”

“Why? Are you here for a consultation? But wait, Nari’s not with you.”

Lee Seolhwa glanced down at his feet and smiled knowingly.

“Well, since you’re here, I’ll give you a 5,000-won discount!”

Jin felt uneasy, especially as she subtly positioned herself between him and the consultation room.

“Thanks for the discount. I should at least thank the doctor, don’t you think?” Jin said, turning toward the consultation room.

“The discount is from me, though! Nari’s dad!”

As Lee Seolhwa hurried to block his way, Jin became certain of it: for some reason, Dr. Han was avoiding him. Had he done something wrong yesterday? Or had he pressed too hard on a sensitive topic? Regardless, he thought, I should at least apologize.

Jin knocked on the consultation room door.

“Oh, I can’t stop him. Dr. Han, I’ve done all I can,” Lee Seolhwa muttered toward the door.

Jin waited. When the door didn’t open, he glanced at the shampoo ingredients to pass the time. Just as he began reading the label, the door clicked open.

Jin immediately noticed not the usual white gloves but Han Naeyung’s reddened eyes.

“You’re here,” Han Naeyung said quietly.

Jin stepped inside and closed the door.

“Is something wrong? Your face looks…” Jin hesitated, the memory of another day flashing in his mind. He didn’t finish the sentence. Han Naeyung, holding a grave expression, glanced at Jin and the shampoo he carried.

Without realizing how he appeared, Han Naeyung averted his gaze. Jin, thinking to apologize for any possible mistake the previous day, reconsidered. Han Naeyung’s demeanor held no hostility.

“So, what brings you here?” Han Naeyung asked. He assumed Jin had come for the shampoo but seemed puzzled about why he had entered the consultation room.

Jin stepped closer, and Han Naeyung instinctively took a step back. His eyes flickered momentarily with discomfort.

Without Nari present, Jin couldn’t reasonably ask for a consultation. If future visits would always require an excuse, then perhaps…

“Dr. Han,” Jin said firmly.

“…”

“Do you have any friends in the neighborhood?”

“…?”

Caught off guard, Han Naeyung blinked. Jin’s eyes shifted to his gloves, the meaning behind his question becoming clear. With his extreme germophobia, it was unlikely that Han had close friends, either locally or otherwise. There was no reason to lie.

“No, I don’t,” Han Naeyung admitted simply.

Jin smiled faintly. “Then how about we become friends?”

What do you think, Doctor? Jin asked, his tone calm. Han Naeyung fell silent.

Friends? The only connection between them was Nari, and even that was tenuous. Nari was healthy and rarely needed to visit the clinic. Their brief overlap as jurors wouldn’t repeat for another five years.

Why was Jin suggesting friendship now? An unsettling thought crossed Han Naeyung’s mind, but he dismissed it. Surely not.

“That’s just an excuse,” Jin murmured.

“What?” Han Naeyung asked, confused.

“I’m interested in you,” Jin confessed softly.

This time, the words left no room for misinterpretation.

“Interested enough to use shampoo as an excuse,” he added, holding up the bottle.

Han Naeyung’s breath hitched.

Jin’s boldness was striking, but Han Naeyung could no longer pretend not to understand. From Jin’s earlier question about his preferences to his persistent interest, everything pointed to this conclusion.

Han Naeyung said nothing. Though Jin had been honest about his feelings, Han Naeyung had given him nothing in return.

“Why… is that?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“How much do you even know about me to say you’re interested… I don’t really understand.”

“Is it something that requires knowing everything about a person first?”

“…”

Han Naeyung knew he stood no chance of winning an argument against Jin.

“Then how about trying to get to know me instead?” Jin said with a smile, stepping back slightly as Naeyung instinctively retreated. “I’m a decent person, you know. Aren’t you curious?”

“I know you’re a good person. That’s why…”

“Why what?”

Jin took a step toward Han Naeyung, whose gaze had been fixed downward, but just then, Jin’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Checking the caller ID, he clicked his tongue softly so Naeyung wouldn’t hear. It was an urgent call.

“You should answer it,” Han Naeyung said calmly, as if expecting it.

Jin hesitated—saying he’d call back later might earn him a look of disdain, as though he were shirking his responsibilities. He sighed inwardly and gestured for a moment of patience before picking up the call.

“Yes, Jin speaking.”

“Prosecutor, you need to come quickly!” Lee Inyeong’s voice was tense, just as Jin had expected.

“What’s going on?” Jin asked, glancing at Han Naeyung.

“Well… it’s hard to explain over the phone. You’ll need to hear it in person.”

“Understood.”

Jin ended the call and tucked the phone back into his pocket. He turned to Han Naeyung, who was now meeting his gaze for the first time since the conversation began. Jin made no attempt to hide his disappointment.

“I’ll come back after I’m done with work—if that’s alright with you, Dr. Han.”

Before Han Naeyung could respond, Jin added, “I won’t be long.”

He placed the shampoo and some money on the consultation desk.

“I’ll pick this up later.”

With that, Jin left the consultation room, leaving behind yet another unilateral promise. Han Naeyung exhaled slowly.

A good man, an easygoing person, someone who extended warmth even to someone like him who lived behind barriers. Yet also someone who embodied the law he loathed so much. Jin was all of that.

And he? He was someone who spent his time hiding hands that reeked of rot behind gloves, trying desperately to avoid the world’s touch.

Hadn’t Jin once described him as being like tofu? He must think of Naeyung as soft and fragile. But if Jin were to glimpse the venom that lay within, the calculated coldness he used to ensure that even Jin couldn’t find fault with him, would he still feel the same way?

Would he still see him as “tofu” if he knew about the scars etched across his back? Scars that spoke of survival, not softness. The froth atop the sea is always white, but what lurks in the depths is something else entirely. When Jin looks past the froth, he’ll surely be disappointed.

Han Naeyung covered his pale face with a trembling hand, the faint smell of cigarettes lingering like an unwanted memory.

* * *

Han Naeyung stood at the bus stop.

With half his face buried in a black scarf, he waited for the bus. Although there was a direct route to his destination, he deliberately chose one that required three transfers, paying all the fares in cash.

“Hey, we need to go straight home. Do you know what time it is?”

“You said you’d buy me tteokbokki!”

“At this hour? You’re dreaming!”

“You’re such a liar, hyung!”

Two brothers stood bickering under the electronic timetable. The younger one, ironically taller, glared up at his older brother, who tilted his head toward the timetable.

“Hyung, did bus 72 already pass?”

Han Naeyung glanced at the shorter boy.

“Not yet.”

The long wait times at night made the schedule unpredictable.

“Thank you,” the boy said with a polite nod, fiddling with his phone, likely checking the route.

“Hyung, call Mom. Ask her to bring some tteokbokki!”

“She’s already waiting for us at the stop. Stop whining.”

“Then let’s just buy some ourselves!”

“And what if something bad happens on the way? What then?”

“Then we’ll call the police!” The taller boy waved the phone hanging from his neck triumphantly.

“Geez, just eat it tomorrow. You’re going to pass out and start snoring the second we get home anyway.”

“No way! I’m not sleeping!”

In the distance, bus 72 appeared, its headlights cutting through the night. The boys were too busy arguing to notice.

“Your bus is here,” Han Naeyung said quietly.

“Shut up!” The older boy’s shout drowned out his words, so he pulled his scarf down to repeat himself.

“The bus.”

“Oh, right! Thank you!”

The boys waved at the approaching bus. Han Naeyung watched as they boarded before checking his watch. 11:05 PM. It was late for kids to be out, but their parents were waiting at the next stop. Probably no problem there.

Still, he tugged his scarf back up and bit his lip.

I miss you. I miss you so much. This loneliness is unbearable, Jaemin.

The warmth of those tiny hands was now a distant memory, but the image of them writhing in pain remained vivid, blurring his vision every time it surfaced.

“The harvest is excellent. Creeps with peculiar tastes have a thing for twins. From now on, you’ll have to make the pretty noises instead of your brother, won’t you?”

“My brother is sick. Let me go alone today.”

“Do you want your tongue cut out too? And how many times have I told you? If you think you’re about to get caught, jump out the window no matter what. If you’re caught, your lives are as good as over. Adults will torture you in ways that make this life seem like a joke.”

A lie. If we got caught, you’re the one who’d be in danger. I knew that the ones who asked for help kept disappearing, one by one.

“If you do a good job, I’ll give you ramen—your favorite.”

“Hyung…”

His little brother’s voice was faint, his pronunciation clumsy. A small hand clung tightly to his worn shirt. I’m scared, Hyung.

“It’s okay. What’s there to be scared of when I’m here?”

I’m scared, Jaemin. I prayed the person today would be kind. The man last time even gave us chocolate. I wished it was him again. At least he didn’t hit us. Gripping my brother’s hand tightly, I followed.

Creak. The door opened, and a man with a gentle expression smiled at us.

“You’re both adorable. Come on in. There are gift sets in the room.”

Creak. Slam!

The moldy room was left behind as we took the elevator up. There were soft beds and delicious drinks.

And a man taking off his clothes.

* * *

“The next bus is arriving soon.”

The announcement from the display snapped Han Naeyung out of his thoughts. He wiped his eyes. Something damp was on his gloves. His chest felt tight, a knot of unease cutting off his breath.

He hadn’t said it. He hadn’t told his brother that everything they were told was a lie. He had assumed his brother already knew.

Yet in the end, his brother’s desperate attempts to escape worse pain by complying fully had been etched into Naeyung’s memory. He hadn’t told him the most important truth. If anyone deserved to have their tongue cut out, it was him.

* * *

Han Naeyung boarded the bus and gazed out the window. The imposing courthouse loomed briefly before the bus passed it. Sitting in the very back, he pulled a yellowed piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it.

“The individual under surveillance following release is searching for Lee Kyungchul’s whereabouts.”

A faint smirk hid beneath his scarf. Don’t mock the tragedies of others. That was the philosophy of his father, Han Sungwon.

But just this once, Naeyung couldn’t help it. Even the gods couldn’t blame him for this. The corners of his mouth twitched faintly as if struggling to maintain the shape of a smile.

* * *

“I won’t be late.”

Despite the promise, he had returned later than expected. He’d kept the clinic open until 9 p.m. as agreed, but Jin had not come. Perhaps, he thought, he’d been relieved by that.

* * *

“Prosecutor Jin, do you believe in God?”

Prosecutor Park exhaled bitterly through a cigarette, his expression sour. Likely, the recent case that had shaken the office was the reason for his mood.

“God? There’s no such thing. Only the law exists.”

“To be honest, Jin, no offense, but I’m relieved I didn’t get that case.”

Prosecutor Park also handled violent crimes.

“You remember this from back in the academy?” Park mimicked holding something in both hands. The gesture was enough for Jin to guess what he meant—the statue of Lady Justice that stood in their academy library, holding a double-edged sword and scales.

“So?”

“You used to say Lady Justice was supposed to be blindfolded.”

The academy’s statue had open eyes. There’d been debates about it at the time, though Jin didn’t recall the details. Lighting another cigarette, he gestured for Park to continue.

“I thought it was wrong, too. If she sees the crime, she might feel personal bias. Say a close friend committed a violent crime. You’d want to believe he had his reasons. But in this case, keeping her eyes wide open feels right. Why didn’t that guy trust you?”

“He said no matter what punishment the perpetrator receives, his son won’t come back.”

“…He’s not wrong.”

A few days earlier, Yoo Jihyung’s father had killed Lee Wootae.

The original case had dissolved with the perpetrator’s death, replaced by a new murder charge. Jin tossed his empty cigarette pack into the trash.

If Lady Justice had been blindfolded, this would’ve been an open-and-shut juvenile murder case. But the circumstances made it more complex—this was a father avenging his son.

Jin hoped he would at least hire a capable lawyer, someone who could secure a reduced sentence, as had been done in high-profile cases before.

He thought briefly of the recent murder trial involving a missing mistress. The wealthy defendant had hired top-tier lawyers, appealing repeatedly until he was acquitted. Justice for the rich, punishment for the poor.

“Drinks later? My treat.”

“I’ve barely caught my breath. I’ll head out.”

“To where?”

“To pick up some shampoo.”

“Shampoo? You’re skipping drinks for that?”

“Yeah. It’s the only excuse I have. See you.”

Ignoring Park’s skeptical look, Jin walked away.

* * *

Had Dr. Han waited for him that night? The Yoo Jihyung case had required him to pull an all-nighter. He’d called, but Han hadn’t answered.

Strangely, though Han Naeyung had refused him before, Jin didn’t find him cold.

Maybe Jin had a masochistic streak, but even if Han pushed him away harder, he felt he could endure it. Of course, he wouldn’t mind if Han showed a bit of interest in return.

His instincts were sharp—he’d always been able to discern people’s preferences. From Han Naeyung’s demeanor, he was certain the man wasn’t straight.

While alone at the clinic with Lee Seolhwa, observing how unbothered he seemed, Jin couldn’t help but wonder if his feelings weren’t entirely one-sided. Of course, it might be a ridiculous leap of logic—perhaps it was merely wishful thinking on Jin’s part, hoping Han Naeyung might harbor some interest in men.

Either way, tonight was one of those nights when Jin wanted nothing more than to share a drink with Han Naeyung.

* * *

Han Naeyung quietly stared into the mirror. Occasionally, when he gazed at his reflection like this, it felt unfamiliar, as if it weren’t his face. The long, sharp eyes and firmly closed lips—if his younger brother were still alive, they would have been identical. The only thing that distinguished them in the eyes of others had been their height.

“Hyung,” he whispered softly.

He had no choice but to search for traces of his younger brother in his own face. With not a single photograph or lingering warmth left to remember him by, looking in the mirror was the only way. Even that, he couldn’t do for long.

His gaze shifted to the bottle of shampoo sitting on the counter. It was a purchased item, paid for in full. He had hurried out that day, leaving it behind, and it had stayed there ever since.

Looking at the wall clock, Han Naeyung picked up the shampoo and returned it to its spot on the shelf. Whenever Jin came back, he could simply retrieve it then. But why had he set it aside in the first place? Saying he “set it aside” wasn’t entirely accurate—it had remained untouched where Jin had left it.

After putting the shampoo back, Han Naeyung switched off the heater. Though his home was just upstairs, he pulled his coat tightly around him.

He placed the “Closed for the Day” sign on the door and locked it as usual. He glanced at the flickering neon sign across the street. The failing light had been blinking unsteadily for a few days, signaling the end of its life.

The sign caught his attention because of his bedroom. The light from the late-night bar often seeped into his room, disrupting his shallow sleep. It was probably why his insomnia had worsened recently. Someday, they’d replace it—or so he thought as he turned to leave.

“Doctor.”

The voice that greeted him was cool and clear, contrasting with the cold wind. Jin stepped out of his car, wearing a gray coat, and approached him, slipping on black leather gloves.

“You’re here,” Han Naeyung remarked as he reached for his keys, only to have Jin stop him.

“I can get the shampoo next time.”

“No, please take it now.”

Han Naeyung shook his head, unlocking the door and retrieving the shampoo from the still-warm clinic. He handed it to Jin, their gloved hands briefly brushing.

“Dr. Han.”

“Yes?”

“Do you have any plans for later?”

Jin’s gaze lingered on the “Closed for the Day” sign as he continued.

“If you’re free, I could use some company tonight—for comfort.”

At the word “comfort,” Han Naeyung hesitated, looking slightly troubled. It was rare to see him show even a hint of vulnerability.

“Don’t you have… friends?”

“Only neighborhood acquaintances.”

Han Naeyung stared at him silently for a moment.

“So… is that a no?”

Jin offered a bitter smile, ready to drop the matter.

“Let’s go to a street bar.”

Without further ado, Han Naeyung slipped his hands into his pockets and began walking. Jin stood stunned for a moment before quickly catching up, his strides matching Naeyung’s. Feeling his heart race from the unexpected turn of events, Jin couldn’t suppress his grin.

“To be honest, I’ve been waiting in the car since 8 PM.”

Han Naeyung blinked calmly before turning to Jin.

“Why didn’t you come in?”

“I felt bad—for breaking my promise, among other things.”

“That’s not a big deal.”

“Then, why were you still here so late tonight?”

“…”

Han Naeyung paused to think. Why had he stayed late? Not just tonight but for several nights, even after sending Lee Seolhwa home. Since when had this become a habit?

“Was it because of me?” Jin teased, his tone lighthearted. He smiled playfully as Han Naeyung turned to look at him, slightly parting his lips.

Now that he thought about it, the first day he stayed late was because Jin might come back. The next day, too. Even tonight. The realization startled him, but he nodded.

“Yes, I suppose it was.”

Jin stopped abruptly. He ran his gloved fingers over his lips, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Han Naeyung glanced at him with a puzzled expression.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve told you I’m interested in you.”

“…”

“Was my approach too subtle? Do I seem like someone who would think, ‘I only kind of like you,’ or ‘Let’s see how far I can push this’? Is that what you thought?”

The words flowed out like a playful stream, making Han Naeyung furrow his brow slightly.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you’ve just set my heart on fire.”

Jin chuckled mischievously. Han Naeyung briefly recalled his own expression in the mirror earlier. Unlike his unreadable demeanor, Jin seemed to exude light and vitality from every pore. Jin was undeniably handsome, and perhaps, in his own way, even beautiful.

From Han Naeyung’s perspective, Jin seemed to lack nothing, and perhaps that’s why he could smile so freely.

Unable to find the right words, Han Naeyung remained silent.

“It’s cold. Let’s go,” he finally said.

After speaking, Jin took the lead this time. The street bar Jin had recommended was one Han Naeyung liked as well. Although he rarely went out, he had stopped by this place alone not long ago, sitting in a corner and quietly drinking before leaving.

The owner had muttered something about how pitiful he looked but didn’t press further, which made Han Naeyung appreciate the place even more. Jin held the vinyl flap of the bar open and stepped inside.

Being the weekend, the place was bustling with people. Thankfully, the corner seat was unoccupied. The owner, busy with the crowd, didn’t even notice them. Just as before, Jin offered the seat by the tent wall. Han Naeyung sat where he had when he last drank alone.

“What do you want to eat?” Jin asked, handing him the menu.

“What we had last time is fine.”

“Not the adventurous type, are you?”

Han Naeyung wasn’t one to try new snacks or dishes, as he didn’t have a particularly hearty appetite.

“Do you have any food preferences?”

“No.”

“Then how about the stir-fried bean sprouts here? It’s pretty good. Let’s try that.”

After placing the order, a bottle of soju and a small plate of sliced cucumber and carrots arrived as appetizers. Jin bit into a long cucumber slice while Han Naeyung opened the soju bottle, pouring some into Jin’s glass before filling his own.

Han Naeyung drank first, while Jin didn’t bother with a “cheers.”

“But what about Nari?”

After taking a sip of soju, Han Naeyung asked. If Jin was too busy to even pick up the shampoo, he probably didn’t have time to care for his dog either. Concern flickered across his face.

“She’s staying at my hyung’s place for a few days. I’ll pick her up tomorrow.”

“You have a hyung?”

“Yeah, just one older brother. How about you, Dr. Han?”

“I’m alone.”

Most people would say they were an only child, but the way Han Naeyung said he was “alone” carried a trace of melancholy. Jin refilled his glass, noticing that Naeyung’s was already empty. Despite having only shared drinks a few times before, it was clear Naeyung could hold his liquor just as well as Jin.

“Thanks to you, Prosecutor Jin, I might have a new regular customer!”

The owner, delivering a bowl of puffed rice snacks, said this as he placed it on the table with a thud. Ignoring the owner’s odd choice of words, Jin caught onto something else.

“A regular?”

“Yeah, just a few days ago, this guy sat here drinking three bottles of soju all by himself. You should keep an eye on him, Prosecutor Jin! Coming!” The owner left quickly, responding to a drunken customer’s call.

“Did you come here alone before?” Jin asked after setting down his glass, the sound of leather gloves brushing together faintly audible.

“Yes,” Han Naeyung replied.

Jin imagined him sitting in the corner, quietly sipping soju alone. It was an oddly fitting picture, but it didn’t make him smile. Instead, it tugged at him—what could be troubling Han Naeyung, something Jin didn’t know about?

“Call me next time. What’s the point of having a neighborhood friend if you don’t use me?”

“…Wouldn’t you find it suffocating?” Han Naeyung deflected the suggestion with a question of his own.

“What, these?” Jin raised his hands, showing off his gloves. While Han Naeyung himself was wearing thin cotton gloves that didn’t restrict movement, Jin’s leather gloves looked cumbersome.

“They don’t bother me. Besides, they let me do this.”

Jin suddenly clasped Han Naeyung’s hand as he reached for the soju bottle. Startled, Han Naeyung’s hand twitched but didn’t pull away. All he felt was the rough, lifeless texture of leather against his thin gloves.

“I’m good at taking risks, you know,” Jin said playfully, releasing his hand. Han Naeyung poured the soju himself, his hand steady despite the moment. A thought crossed his mind: What would it feel like if neither of us were wearing gloves? Would the warmth of someone else’s hand make me lose my grip on the bottle?

“I didn’t realize it until now,” Han Naeyung murmured, “that it’s fine when we’re both wearing gloves.” The unspoken words lingered in the air, understood without needing to be said.

By the time they ordered another bottle of soju, the stir-fried bean sprouts arrived, piled high on a plate, their texture just right.

“Did something happen?” Han Naeyung finally asked as Jin picked up his chopsticks. Jin had mentioned wanting comfort, and while dealing with people was taxing for Naeyung, staying silent felt wrong after coming this far. He thought about how much he preferred not getting involved with others and how his actions contradicted that.

“You keep surprising me today, Dr. Han,” Jin remarked, a faint smile on his lips.

“Do I?”

Jin downed a shot of soju.

“I’ve been thinking about Lady Justice since this morning. You know her, right? The goddess holding scales and a sword.”

“Justitia.”

“Yeah, called Dike in ancient Greece and Justitia in Rome.”

The word “justice” itself derived from Justitia.

“Work stories are the worst, I know, but just once, let me vent. This case I’m handling is enough to make me want to quit. The scales inside me have tipped.”

Jin’s tone was frustrated, though his expression remained calm—an effort to prevent his troubles from worrying anyone else. Glancing around the noisy bar, Jin finally spoke plainly.

A victim of school violence had died, and the victim’s father had sought revenge against the perpetrator. The case was now Jin’s responsibility. While he didn’t go into detail, it was clear what was weighing on him.

Han Naeyung took another drink. The bitter soju matched the taste of the somber story.

“Does he regret it?” he asked quietly.