ACJY C14

Taeheun’s gaze drifted down to the man’s legs. He’d changed into shorts, revealing both legs, which, contrary to Taeheun’s expectations, were straight and long. The left one seemed to be the problematic leg. Slightly thinner and a bit bowed compared to the right, it didn’t appear significantly disabled.

Embarrassed by how long he’d been staring, Taeheun coughed and headed to the bathroom. It was clean. A toilet, shower, sink, and small cabinet – the most basic style. The tiles were old and cracked, but diligently cleaned, free of mildew or grime. Naturally, there was no unpleasant smell.

The water was ice cold. Taeheun winced involuntarily each time it touched his wounds, yet he also felt a thrill. Crazy bastard, he thought, laughing to himself as he meticulously washed the sweat from his body and around his injuries. The towel was stark white compared to the one the man used, likely the newest one he owned.

The cold water brought a flush to his pale face. So handsome, he thought, preening as he shook the water from his hair. He turned this way and that in front of the mirror. Have I lost some muscle? His meager diet was undoubtedly taking its toll. Such a waste, he grumbled, drying himself off.

He then put on the clothes the man had given him: a black cotton t-shirt and black shorts, identical to the man’s. They smelled of cheap laundry detergent, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He nuzzled his face into the fabric, inhaling. Not bad, actually pretty good, he decided.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he felt a wave of heat emanating from the kitchen. The man, having already prepared anchovy broth and boiled noodles, was busy making a late lunch and hadn’t noticed Taeheun emerge.

“Jihye, could you get the yeolmu kimchi from the fridge?”

“Yes.”

Taeheun responded. The man startled and turned around. An awkward moment was averted as a child, hearing the man’s voice, came running out.

“Whoa.”

The child looked up at Taeheun in admiration. Taeheun, puffing out his chest, struck a model-like pose with his hands on his hips. The child stuck out their tongue, then dashed to the refrigerator to retrieve the kimchi, handing it to the man.

The man stroked the child’s head, saying, “That’s not very nice.” But his tone was not at all reprimanding. He was truly gentle. For some reason, this annoyed Taeheun.

When Taeheun was that child’s age, he’d never received such treatment from his mother or father. Forget gentleness, he’d barely even been scolded. He’d tried cursing, shouting, and crying, but was met only with indifference. He was treated like an invisible man.

His appetite vanished. He should leave, he told himself, questioning what he was even doing there. Oblivious to Taeheun’s inner turmoil, the man busily prepared a late lunch for three.

“Sir, please have a seat. I hope it suits your taste.”

“My dad’s noodles are really delicious!”

The man and child spoke simultaneously.

It was too late to refuse. He sat down at the table. The man carefully arranged the noodles in a large bowl, topping them with sliced cucumbers and yeolmu kimchi. Then, he gently ladled chilled anchovy broth over it all.

Yeolmu noodles. One of the few summer dishes Taeheun could say he enjoyed.

“Thank you for the food!”

The child exclaimed, picking up their chopsticks first. The man, unlike many parents, didn’t chide the child with the usual “adults first” platitude. Instead, he looked at the child with a warm smile.

He hadn’t noticed in the sunlight, but indoors, the man didn’t look like the child’s father at all. He could pass for an older brother, or at most a young uncle. This youthful-looking man was diligently fulfilling his role as a father to his child.

Taeheun felt a sudden pang of emotion. He wasn’t an adolescent, and the idea of being jealous of someone else’s fatherly affection was absurd. He must be nearing his deathbed. He picked up his chopsticks to compose himself, doubting he’d regain his lost appetite. He planned to eat a bite or two out of politeness and leave.

Surprisingly, it was incredibly delicious. So delicious it made him furrow his brows. The anchovy broth was rich but not fishy, and perfectly seasoned. The yeolmu kimchi was among the best he’d ever tasted – crisp, tangy, and sweet.

Taeheun looked up at the man.

“Is it alright?” the man asked cautiously. The child, engrossed in their noodles, glanced up at their father as if asking, “What kind of question is that?”

“It’s fantastic!”

Taeheun’s enthusiastic response, mimicking an advertising slogan, made the man smile shyly.

The child, as if to say “I told you so,” glanced at Taeheun and then returned to their bowl. The little one ate with gusto. Before Taeheun, a grown man, had even finished half his portion, the child was asking for seconds.

“I’d like some more, too,” Taeheun added quickly, slurping down the last of his noodles. The man gave Taeheun the same gentle look he’d given his child.

The noodles and broth were replenished, topped again with cucumbers and kimchi. The man efficiently prepared another bowl and placed it before Taeheun and the child.

“Eat slowly. There’s plenty.”

Despite the man’s words, Taeheun devoured his food.

He couldn’t remember ever eating with such abandon. He’d always been a picky eater, and even then, exercised restraint. He’d sooner starve than fill up on carbohydrates, adhering to a strict diet.

He wasn’t a martial artist, but he trained in martial arts, a necessary precaution in a world teeming with thugs. He was always cautious, taking care of his body, exercising restraint.

Fuck that. What good had it done him?

Taeheun lifted the bowl and drank the last of the broth.

He offered to wash the dishes, but the man insisted otherwise.

“Please, sit down. Let me treat your foot.”

At the man’s urging, Taeheun sat on the living room floor, obediently extending his legs. The child knelt beside him, examining the wound intently.

“Is it rotten?” the child asked.

“It’s not rotten. It’s just a blister.”

“It’s red.”

“That’s because of the antiseptic.”

“Looks rotten to me.”

The child was quite serious, and Taeheun chuckled. The man appeared and said, in his usual slow, gentle voice, “That’s not very nice.” Words that would surely fall on deaf ears.

The fan whirred loudly, blowing a steady stream of air. Taeheun felt drowsy.

The man gazed at Taeheun’s foot with concern.

“This might sting a bit.”

“It’s okay.”

The man dabbed antiseptic onto a cotton ball and gently applied it to the wound, simultaneously bending his large frame to blow on it.

Taeheun was flustered by the man’s actions – treating the foot of a complete stranger as if he were a child, even going so far as to blow on it. He blushed to his ears and wiggled his toes.

“Does it hurt?” the man asked cautiously, assuming Taeheun’s reaction was due to pain.

“Yes. A little,” Taeheun lied. It didn’t hurt at all.

At his words, the man practically prostrated himself on the floor, blowing even more vigorously on Taeheun’s foot. The child, witnessing this, pursed their lips, glancing sideways at Taeheun and mouthing the word, “crybaby.”

Taeheun was astonished by the man’s behavior. When he was Lee Seonjae, countless people had groveled and fawned over him, men and women, young and old. They all wanted something, and to get it, they’d discard their dignity. They’d offer anything: money, their bodies, alcohol, their children, even their own lives.

But this man was different. Taeheun had nothing to offer him. He hadn’t promised anything in return. Yet the man willingly humbled himself, tending to his injured foot. He lowered himself with pure intentions, for Taeheun, who was neither family nor friend, not even a neighbor. The man’s actions felt almost sacred, leaving Taeheun speechless. He could only fidget with his toes, unsure how to react.

After disinfecting the wound, the man applied ointment with his fingers, gently massaging Taeheun’s foot. He was so careful that Taeheun felt ticklish and wiggled his toes again. The man, mistaking this for discomfort, blew on the wound again. For some reason, this made Taeheun’s entire body flush with heat.

The man asked if he was alright, blinking his large, gentle eyes as he looked up at Taeheun.

“…Yes. I’m fine,” Taeheun squeaked, his voice cracking from nervousness. The child snorted.

The man covered the wound with gauze and wrapped it with a bandage.

“Put on a sock,” he said, offering a thick white sock.

“I don’t know if it’ll fit. My feet are rather large,” Taeheun said as he slipped his foot inside. It fit perfectly.

The man gazed contentedly at Taeheun’s foot in his sock.

“Rest for a bit.”

Bored of watching Taeheun, the child had already sprawled on the living room floor, working on their homework. The man went to the kitchen to clean up, and Taeheun sat in the living room, enjoying the breeze from the fan. His eyes drifted closed.

He didn’t even realize he’d fallen asleep. It was the first restful sleep he’d had in months. It was so deep and peaceful that Taeheun thought he might be dead.