MLCD Chapter 1.6

Room 303, again.

A desk, a cheap candle, a squeaky bed and a chipped closet… Except for a typewriter and a dictionary, a paperback classic novel that Shavonne read through the pages, and the absence of five clothes and two pairs of shoes, the house remained the same.

In apartments in Bunch, there was no rule for tenants to remove the household furniture when moving out, and there was no rule that the apartment management office would take care of them. As with other apartments where the poor people live, it was up to the tenant to remove them first if the people leaving left their things behind.

This was the case eight years ago when Shavonne moved in, and because the first tenant turned No. 303 into a dump, Shavonne had to spend more than five hours cleaning every day for a week.

He put the typewriter in its place, put the dictionary in its place, and put the classic novel. He had to put his clothes on as planned, but he couldn’t. The reason, as everyone knows, is that he was stolen when he was homeless. Shit. Looking back, his taste was bad.

All experiences can help people grow, but there are exceptions everywhere. The experience of clothes being stolen didn’t seem to have grown on Shavonne.

After putting shoes in their place like he did for the typewriters, dictionary, and classical novel, everything was restored to Room 303 that Shavonne knew. At least on the surface.

Shavonne felt strange for some reason. He only left Room 303 for two days, but the ‘appearance’ was weird.

“I know why.”

Lewellyn said.

Of course, Lewellyn was a mind reader, he read Shavonne’s thoughts. For a mind reader, he had no sense of incongruity, though

What happened was…

— What do you think? 

When Shavonne came out of the hallway after checking Room 303, Lewellyn rushed as if he was waiting.

— What do you think? What do you think? What do you think?

— …What do you mean?

— The house.

Lewellyn’s eyes sparkled.

— It’s Room 303. It’s the house I’ve lived in for eight years. It doesn’t make any difference if I’ve only been away for two days, right.

The uncomfortable feeling didn’t go away and he felt nauseous.

Then it came to him when he said ‘right’. He had only been away for two days, but the house felt weird. Has Room 303 changed or has Shavonne changed? Once in the square and once in the alley, he had been homeless for two days and now Room 303 looked like Arun Palace, built thirty years ago to rescue the poor.

But…

The uncomfortable feeling didn’t go away and Shavonne felt nauseous. What the hell is this? Shevon thought hard, but what should not be overlooked here is that it wasn’t a bad thing to think hard, but it was if you don’t know what the person in front is saying.

Snap.

A hand woke up the lost Shavonne. As soon as he came to his senses, he saw Lewellyn. To be exact, Lewellyn’s hand. Lewellyn literally hit his thumb and index finger in front of Shavonne’s nose. Now he was awake. Seeing Shavonne’s eyes regain focus, Lewellyn mumbled.

— Did you enjoy your out-of-body experience?

— …I’m sorry. I was thinking about something for a moment.

— Thinking?

Lewellyn looked at Shavonne.

— About what?

— …It’s nothing.

— I will decide that after I hear it.

Lewellyn was persistent. He seemed quite curious about what thought made Shavonne forget him. He hesitated for a moment. Shavonne opened his mouth because he felt sorry for being rude, that is, being immersed in his own thoughts in front of people.

— As I just said, the house hasn’t changed… but it’s strange because it feels unfamiliar.

It kind of sounded like a ‘separate thing’. He was going to add, ‘It’s probably just me,’ but Lewellyn started talking first.

“I know why.”

…and the conversation happened.

Lewellyn was smiling brightly. Shavonne frowned and let it go. He didn’t believe him (as always), but… it wouldn’t hurt to try. Shavonne asked.

“Why?”

“It has changed.”

Shavonne didn’t understand and raised one eyebrow. Lewellyn continued with a smile on his face.

“This used to be Shavonne’s house until the day before, but not anymore. It’s my and Shavonne’s house that we’re renting.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

Shavonne’s face was subtly hardened. Lewellyn continued with a smile on his face.

“But without that merit, I wouldn’t have paid 30 months’ rent instead.”

“What merit? Will you come to my house when your house becomes a dump? And will you turn my house into a dump?”

He almost said, ‘If your house becomes a morgue, will you come over to my house?‘.

Lewellyn corrected him with a still smiling face.

“It’s not my house, we’re renting it together. Now, follow me. Our, house.”

“I’m not deaf, so you didn’t have to emphasize ‘our'” Shavonne said quickly. “I don’t want to be your housekeeper nor live together.”

“I agree. We can’t live together.”

What?

Shavonne thought he was confronting him, but when he heard that I agree, Shavonne trembled. Lewellyn took the key out. It was like Lewellyn’s key to No. 303 as it had the tag reading 303. It was an extra key given by the apartment management office for the co-leaser, an imitation key that was elaborately modeled after the original.

“I like distance.”

Speaking, Lewellyn pulled a thin cord out of his pocket.

Is it for strangulation? Are you going to strangle me or something? Shavonne started thinking that, but for what Lewellyn used it had nothing to do with strangulation. It was a ribbon to decorate the key…

“That’s more exciting.”

Lewellyn handed out the key tied to the ribbon.**

What am I supposed to do?

Shavonne alternated between Lewellyn and the key with a ribbon.

“Here you go.”

“Why?”

“It’s a gift.” Lewellyn shrugged. “I thought you’d get the hunch when you saw the ribbon tied up, but I guess you didn’t.”

“Yes. I didn’t.”

“Is it because it’s not a red ribbon?”

He ignored Shavonne. Shavonne didn’t know if he was really curious or if he made an untimely joke, but he didn’t want to respond either way.

“Keep it.”

Lewellyn handed over the key again. Shavonne looked at Lewellyn with a demand for explanation and didn’t receive it. Lewellyn pulled Shavonne’s hand and handed him the key. His hands were as cold as the keys.

“Mr. Shavonne can give it to me whenever you want to.”

“…”

“Until you do so, you’ll invite me in, and when you give it to me, then I’ll go in as much as I want.”

I won’t invite you. Maybe. Determined never to return it, Shavonne nodded briefly.

“All right.”

Before leaving, Lewellyn said as if he had just remembered what he had forgotten.

“Right,”

Then he told him.

“Good job.”

He had worked hard. Finding a hole in the door, changing it, meeting the janitor in an accident, being kicked out, homeless and returning to Ira Street, the No. 303 apartment with the help of Lewellyn… It was all “hard work” that took place in just three days. Shavonne replied.

“Thank you for noticing.”

Lewellyn smiled. It was ominous to see Lewellyn smile or was Shavonne too sensitive?

“No, not you, Mr. Shavonne, but me.”

…He wasn’t sensitive, he was right.

After returning to room 303, Shavonne layed in bed and stared blankly at the key. He looked at the ribbon. A corded ribbon tied to the key. As he pulled the string, the ribbon was released as simply as if it had been tied in vain.

“I wish my life could be solved as easily as this ribbon.” Shavonne looked into the string that was shaped like a ribbon until now and thought. “But that’s not how it works.”

Shavonne’s idea shifted from the ribbon to the key. The meaning of the key flowed to him.

Contrary to what dictionaries tell us, cohabitation does not simply mean living together. Contrary to the children’s fables, exchanging keys does not simply mean sharing a house. It’s also different between Shavonne and Lewellyn.

Shavonne is a man.

Lewellyn is also a man.

Shavonne is gay. He can hug, kiss, and have sex with a man. Lewellyn also knows that. Didn’t the first meeting between Shavonne and Lewellyn happen when Lewellyn witnessed Shavonne breaking up with his boyfriend?

Does he want to have sex?

Shavonne was curious, and even if Lewellyn did want that, Shavonne, who didn’t want to be deeply involved with the killer, would reject him, but the reality was real and curiosity was curiosity.

‘Until you do so, you’ll invite me in, and when you give it to me, then I’ll go in as much as I want.’ Lewellyn said.

If I don’t return the key that means that I don’t want to have sex with him and if I do that means that I want to?

Then…

Shavonne shoved the key into the household safe under the bed. Tung. The sound of the safe closing was heavy.

That night Shavonne couldn’t fall asleep easily and tossed and turned in bed. He kept on worrying about the house… Because it was night and the lights were turned off, the house was so dark that he couldn’t see an inch ahead, but just thinking about the darkness made his muscles become stiff and his hands and feet become tense without knowing it. Toss and turn and it repeats: sleep, nightmare, and toss and turn. It was already morning before he knew it.

It occurred to him late that he couldn’t have breakfast as there was nothing to eat at home. He sighed.

I can’t help it. I just have to go to the grocery store right now.

It was hard to walk on an empty stomach. Milk, gin, eggs and cheese, bread, potatoes, onions… As soon as he left the house with a mental list of what groceries to buy, Shavonne came across a pile of onions in front of the house. Of course, with the owner of the pile of onions too.

“What are you doing here?”

“As you can see, I’m peeling onions.”

I know what you’re doing. His eyes were normal and his nose was normal, so he couldn’t help but know it. The man in room 302 was peeling onions in front of room 303. Don’t get permission from Room 303 and not even say it in advance.

Shavonne didn’t hide his displeasure. Although Lewellyn was a co-leaser on paper, the only real tenant was Shavonne. It was Shavonne who went in and out of Room 303, and Shavonne would be misunderstood as the owner of onions piled up in front of Room 303.

By saying this, Shavonne decided to let him know that what he said wasn’t “what are you doing here” but “what are you doing here“.

“So why here, not the usual staircase?”

Was he sensitive because he couldn’t sleep all night? Shavonne sounded more nervous than he intended. But Lewellyn just smiled like a child, as if he didn’t notice any problem.

“This way is closer to Mr. Shavonne.”

What was nervous was that he had to apologize, but he didn’t think Lewellyn deserved an apology as he was being rude, so making an apology could only make things worse. Lewellyn opened his mouth while Shavonne was agonizing.

“Hey. Don’t apologize. It’s better if Mr. Shavonne keeps feeling sorry.” He added with a smile. “I’m growing up on Mr. Shavonne’s guilt.”

“…I feel less sorry the more you talk.”

Sorry wasn’t entirely gone, but anyway.

Before leaving for the grocery store, Shavonne scanned the onions that Lewellyn peeled. Just seeing it, it seemed like it would take half a day to peel everything. On the surface, it looked like an onion that wasn’t much different, but that wasn’t known until he checked the speed.

Was that a real onion?

Shavonne’s eyes were curious

“Do you like onions?”

“Yes. Even a bad person can love onions.”

Lewellyn’s voice, which said that, was calm. Bad guy? Maybe it was because of Shavonne’s questioning of Lewellyn in the back alley yesterday. No way…

“Why do you like onions?”

“Even if you’re bad, the onions make the effect.”

…He thought he was right. Shavonne kept asking questions as if he hadn’t noticed.

“Does an onion work other than deodorizing?”

“It’s for various things. It clears blood, it removes inflammation, it prevents colds, it relieves fatigue.”

“That’s not bad.” Hr said, but he was not really interested. Even if it cleared the blood, it removed inflammation, it prevented a cold, it relieved fatigue, and even if it extended his lifespan, Shavonne wouldn’t eat more onions than he did now.

All Shavonne was trying to get by pretending to be interested was Lewellyn’s onion. He wanted to check whether the onion peeling by the Room 302 killer was real or not.

“If I help you peel it, will you pay me for this onion?”

Shavonne lifted one of the onions in the pile and asked. It won’t be a very dangerous curiosity. Maybe.

“Of course, there’s nothing wrong, but there’s one strange thing.” Lewellyn looked at Shavonne with interested eyes. The yellow eyes were as clear as a cat. “Why are you trying to help me?” He knew it. What a quick-witted man. Lewellyn didn’t take Shavonne’s offer for being just help.

“Why?” Shavonne shrugged, pretending to be calm. “It’s because even bad people can get help.”

Shavonne suddenly sat next to Lewellyn. “You said there was nothing impossible”. He reached out to the pile of onions.

Were they real onions?

***

I’m sure. It’s 99.9 percent likely to be a real onion.

“Uh…”

If it was a fake onion, his eyes couldn’t sting so much. He cried all the time. He should have brought goggles before telling Lewellyn that he’d peel them. Or might have asked first if he could peel them after soaking the onions in water. He couldn’t do it now because he was embarrassed to ask him late.

Turning his head, he noticed that Lewellyn was peeling the onions in one piece. Until last time, he remembered that Lewellyn was as red as Shavonne was now, but this time he didn’t know if he had developed onion immunity.

That wasn’t the only eyecatch thing. The movement of his hand was surprisingly fast and elaborated. Shavonne never thought his onion peeling skills were below average, as the students had to peel onions at least once a month at the orphanage. It was Shavonne that stood out the most in peeling onions. He couldn’t deny that a six-year-old child was at Shavonne’s same level compared to Lewellyn’s skill. He stared blankly at the profile of Lewellyn and suddenly Lewellyn opened his mouth.

“Handsome, right?”

“What?”

“My face.”

He looked at the hands that had the onions… But it wasn’t exactly wrong that Lewellyn was handsome, so Shavonne decided not to correct him. Shavonne asked a question.

“Well, I don’t know if it’s rude, but…”

“Yes, be as rude as you want. It’s not a day or two that you’re being rude to me, Shavonne.”

“…Could it be that you peel onions for a living?”

That said, Lewellyn’s hand peeling onions stopped. Lewellyn stared at Shavonne. It was Shavonne who was bewildered by the unexpected reaction. Shavonne explained it.

“It’s just that… it seems you don’t have any other work besides peeling onions, but you have a lot of money.” Instead of answering, Lewellyn stared at Shavonne. He was embarrassed. Shavonne took care of it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Again, instead of answering, Lewellyn stared at Shavonne. Even though Shavonne stepped down apologizing, he seemed to have no intention to say anything. Shavonne, who was trying to patch things up, was belatedly feeling resentful.

No, didn’t he say that I could be as rude as I wanted?

“But it’s not just a speculation. Anyone would think so if they saw you. You just peel onions, but have a lot of money.”

“Which one is better?”

“What?”

“Depending on what Mr. Shavonne prefers, I could be an aristocrat or a lucky heir who lives in luxury thanks to the inheritance of a distant relative.”

That meant he wouldn’t tell who the ‘real’ he was. From the moment they first met until now, Lewellyn was a total stranger. He looked like a good person, but he’s a bad person, just a neighbor, but he’s a murderer. He was like an old man and at the same time a child, a fool at the same time a swindler.

Shavonne decided to take his words lightly.

“Why isn’t a prince in the choices? The real prince’s name is Lewellyn and your name is Lewellyn too.”

At that moment, Shavonne seemed to see Lewellyn’s face becoming subtle. But just a moment. Lewellyn soon had a soft smile again. If Shavonne was only ten years younger, being a reckless 20-year-old, he would have been possessed by such a beautiful smile.

“That isn’t an option.”

Indeed. There’s no way the prince was peeling onions on Ira Street, which is notorious for being a slum. Thinking, Shavonne made Lewellyn’s expression disappear, which had become subtle to the word prince.

***

“How many onions did you peel?”

That was the question asked by the grocery store owner. In a musty, narrow grocery store. Shavonne blinked in amazement as he tried to pay for milk, gin, cheese, bread and potatoes.

“How did you…”

“Who doesn’t know?” The grocery store owner cut him off. “It smells so much that I can’t help noticing it.”

Smell? As soon as he smelled his hands, sleeves, and wrists, Shavonne knew what the grocery store owner said was true. Lewellyn never smelled like onions even though he peeled onions for an average of more than ten hours every day, so Shavonne didn’t think he would smell because he had only cracked an onion for about half an hour.

It was strange that only Lewellyn didn’t smell at all but Shavonne did. Come to think of it, Shavonne didn’t remember smelling anything from Lewellyn.

Mrs. Isadora upstairs smelled like goat milk, the Humphrey couple downstairs smelled like cheap perfume, and the janitor smelled like rotten eggs, but Lewellyn had no smell. Literally odorless. There was no scent and no odor.

It was strange…

“Shavonne? What’s the matter?”

The grocery store owner called. Shavonne, lost in thought, only raised his head and answered. “No, nothing…” It wasn’t a lie. Odorless. Strange but not a fatal stumbling block to call it a problem…, at least not yet.

The weird feeling didn’t go away. After calculating milk, gin, cheese, bread, and potatoes, Shavonne offered Lewellyn’s onions to the grocery store owner who was no less than a food expert. He also added a request to determine whether it were real onions or fake. Of course, he was 99.9 percent sure it was a real onion, but with a 0.01 percent chance the onion might be fake.

There might be something even if it’s not a fake onion. Some unusual element, which makes Shavonne smell and not Lewellyn.

But the next moment, Shavonne’s prediction faded away.

“It’s just like the onions I sell.”

The grocery store owner rated it that way.

Real onions. Fake onions.

Regular onions. Unusual onions.

The idea that started when he left the grocery store changed like when he returned to the apartment in Ira.

A real person. A fake person.

An ordinary person. An unusual person.

It didn’t have a basis…

“First, his eyes. It’s rare to have golden eyes, but there’s no eyes with such a bright yellow. Far from witnessing that, I’ve never even heard of it before. In ancient times it was said that the devil had yellow eyes.”

But when Shavonne claimed so, the homeless man, a former trader who had received 10 selonas if he listened and counseled him, answered indifferently. That’s because you lack knowledge. I used to go around countries, and I met people with yellow eyes three times a week in Bosch. I even saw purple eyes. Purple, can you believe that?

“What about body temperature? We should have minimal body temperature, but he’s as cold as metal. I’ve heard that the devil doesn’t have body temperature.”

But when Shavonne insisted, the homeless man replied wryly, scratching his ears. I guess his blood circulation fails. If the blood doesn’t circulate, your body will get cold. That’s common sense.

“What about being odorless? I peeled onions, and he peeled onions, so how could that happen? I’ve heard that the devil didn’t smell.”

But when Shavonne insisted, the homeless man answered lukewarmly as he scanned his ears with his fingers. I guess he’s a less smelly person… But can’t you stop talking about the devil? People might think you’re a demon worshiper.

… it’s not that there wasn’t any basis at all, it was just poor.

The hallway of the empty apartment building. Standing on the corridor railing to cool off, Shavonne suddenly looked at Room 302. The door plate engraved as 302 was visible, and the owner of the house No. 302 overlapped the thought.

Lewellyn seems like a good person, a bad person, a neighbor, a murderer, a child, an old man, a fool and a swindler.

Indeed, what kind of person is he?

***

Should I go to the square if I want to see a human image all over? Or should I go to a hospital, court, or a meeting place? If anyone asks, Shavonne would recommend an apartment without hesitation. Shavonne was convinced that there was no place to see as many human being humans as the apartment house in Ira.

Mrs. Isadora in Room 403 was charged with special robbery. The Humphreys in Room 203 were smuggling, stealing, and forging bills. Room 102 had three people, John, Emily and Charlotte, respectively. John was an escort boy, Emily was a prostitute, Charlotte was Emily’s lover and John’s friend, and her job was to meticulously manage income and expenditure.

Ira apartments have ex-convicts, currently progressive criminals (crime consultants, pickpockets, third-class brokers, and even murderers), male and female prostitutes, noble men’s mistress, and writers who weren’t popular enough to have assistants. There was no one that wasn’t like that. That is, the premise that they were not welcomed by the world.

And they weren’t indifferent enough to spread rumors that the men in No. 302 and No. 303 were peeling onions, and they weren’t polite enough to not distort the reality such as “Friendly”, ” Sweet Beans” and “Sitting together”.

In less than a week an incident broke out.

— Open the door!

One early morning, there was a loud bang on the door with a shout from a man. Although it was to Room 302 and not 303, the sound was enough to wake Shavonne up.

‘It’s not even six yet…’ Shavonne opened his eyes as he checked the clock. His eyelids were filled with tiredness and traces of the nightmare that he had just had.

— You’re not opening the door?

There was a sound of kicking and shaking the door. Shavonne didn’t know who it was, but he was so persistent. He didn’t think that person cared about the manners that he had to follow in an apartment.

Shavonne suddenly got curious. Who is it? Who are you to come and kick the killer’s door without fear early in the morning?

The scream stopped when Shavonne opened the door. He snuck my head through the door and checked the hallway. And then he noticed a drunken man who was supposed to be the owner of the shouting…

“Nice to meet you. What time is it now?”

It was Lewellyn who opened the door of room 302 and met the stranger. Saying that, Lewellyn’s face, which showed three fingers in his left hand and three fingers in his right hand, showed signs of annoyance.

“6?”

“Yes, you’re right. So the quiz is, is six a.m. a good or bad time to find a complete stranger?”

“Sleep with me.”

What did he just say? Shavonne suddenly wasn’t sleepy anymore. But, it was ‘only’ for Shavonne. Lewellyn was strangely calm. Shavonne cleaned his eyes and looked again, but Lewellyn didn’t seem to be embarrassed.

“Wrong. The only choices for the quiz is good time or bad time.”

“Oh my God, quiz or whatever.”

“If you’re not going to solve the quiz, can I go in? I’m so sleepy that I could die.”

“Have sex with me and then go to sleep. You’ll be done in thirty minutes.”

“Oh my god. Were you serious?” Lewellyn looked surprised only then. The man nodded enthusiastically. The man’s eyes were glistening as if there was hope that Lewellyn would accept the offer.

“Sleep?”

Lewellyn still had her eyes wide open in disbelief.

“With you.”

Lewellyn pointed to the man with his index finger,

“With me?”

And then to himself.

“Yes. Me and you.” The man nodded enthusiastically. The man’s eyes were shining with anticipation as he became convinced that Lewellyn would accept the offer.

Smiling, Lewellyn replied.

“No. ”

“Alr… no, what?”

“No way. It means you and I won’t be sleeping together.”

Still smiling, Lewellyn drove a wedge. The man, who was simply embarrassed, turned red belatedly at the “friendly wedge” put by Lewellyn.

“Why? You don’t answer with men?”

At first, he wasn’t very polite, but he was a nobleman compared to now. He had a rough face and a rough voice. He was ready to fight right away, with his fists clenched to the tendon and blood on his neck.

Shavonne was worried. Worried about that man in question, not Lewellyn. Shavonne remembered the physical fight at the restaurant ‘Golly’. Alan, who was strong enough to be a sailor, was overpowered in the blink of an eye, and that man, who was drunk and whose physique was below average, couldn’t be safe.

He didn’t want to see a murder. Shavonne shut the front door of Room 303 and waited. He was going to run to Room 302 to stop the fight. Fortunately or unfortunately, Lewellyn and the man were so busy that they didn’t pay attention to Room 303. They didn’t even seem to notice that Shavonne was there.

“You’re a male prostitute. Don’t you think anyone would know you’re just acting?”

Male prostitute?

His head turned around fast all of a sudden. Lewellyn was handsome enough to make anyone of any age fall in love with him, he seemed to do nothing but peel onions from morning to evening, Lewellyn, who didn’t run out of money…

No way.

Did the murderer have a side job as a male prostitute?

“A male prostitute?”

Asked Lewellyn.

“Me?”

Before hearing the man’s answer, Lewellyn burst into a suppressed laugh. Trying to grab some air and say something, he laughed to tears again. It was the first time that Lewellyn laughed like that. Shavonne’s eyes became wide-eyed while watching Lewellyn.

After a long time, Lewellyn stopped. Lewellyn’s eyes were still full of laughter that had not gone away.

“Alright. Even if I’m not a male prostitute, you won’t believe me anyway, so let’s say I am.”

Male prostitute. Not bad. It’s fresh and good. Lewellyn mumbled like he was talking to himself and smiled.

“But I don’t have sex with you.” He added. “I’m exclusive. I don’t sleep with anyone but my exclusive client.”

“Who is that?”

The man’s face was crumpled.

“Someone without money.”

That was the time. Shavonne flinched when Lewellyn threw a gaze over the man’s shoulder and looked at Shavonne.

Did he know that I was here? I thought he didn’t notice.

“A man who doesn’t have enough money to pay monthly rent for an apartment, let alone a man.”

Lewellyn added. He said it to the man, but it was actually an arrow aimed at Shavonne. The reason was that, while saying that, Lewellyn did not take his eyes off Shavonne, and winked one eye quickly briefly shortly after the end of his speech. Shavonne freaked out.

You just winked at me, right?

“No, what…”

“That’s it for today.”

Lewellyn cut off the man and pointed to the stairs of the apartment. He had a smiling face.

“The way you leave is over there.”

“What’s all this fuss?”

The man showed no sign of leaving. It was Shavonne’s turn to step up.

He turned up and asked as if he was a good neighbor who knew nothing. The man turned to Shavonne and burst into laughter. When he finished laughing, he spit on the floor with a serious face and said, “Fuck, play along with it.”.

Shavonne quickly exchanged views with Lewellyn. All right. I believe you.

“Shall I call the police?”

“Yes. Give to Chief Allium Cepa my name. He has a tough way of dealing with people. I heard that ten people had their bones broken with only his hands this month. Even if I asked him to restrain himself, because he’s a public official, he wouldn’t listen to me, but he gets the work done fast.”

As expected. It worked. The man hesitated at the word chief and prepared to leave at the point that there were ten people who had their bones broken, and by the time Lewellyn finished talking, he left the apartment without looking back. Self-reflection isn’t bad for a drunken person.

“Allium Cepa?”

Shavonne looked at Lewellyn, who laughed. “Allium cepa, the scientific name of onions.”

You should memorize that new yeer is spelled new year instead of memorizing the scientific name of onions. Shavonne thought, but didn’t say anything.

“You’re not a male prostitute, are you?”

The man had left and he knew the identity of the police chief Allium Cepa, so that was the only thing left that Shavonne cared about.

“No. ”

“I understand. Then, goodbye.”

But the next moment, Shavonne stopped going to Room 303, looked back at Lewellyn and asked.

“And an escort boy…?”

“No.” Lewellyn said firmly. “It’s not what you think, no.”

Shavonne was ashamed of himself. Scratching his back, he suddenly came up with a new question.

“What did you mean by that wink earlier?”

“Wink?”

“Yes. Wink. You looked at me. You did this.”

Looking back on his memory, he tried to wink as Lewellyn did, but it was strangely not easy. He closed his eyes and when he was about to open his eyes, he was clumsy as if he was frowning rather than winking. Damn, I should’ve tried winking before. Shavonne grumbled to himself.

“I don’t know.” Lewellyn smiled. “What do you think?”

Shavonne, trying to answer casually, paused and closed his mouth. Shavonne wouldn’t handle it if he said, “I’m trying to seduce you“, so Shavonne tried really hard to answer as if he didn’t care.

“It was probably an eye spasm.”

Lewellyn only smiled. Shavonne avoided his sight.

Since that day, there have been three or four more people who have misunderstood Lewellyn as a male prostitute. Some people went back quietly if Lewellyn corrected that he wasn’t one, but some thought he was lying because he didn’t want to receive customers, and others spat and made a fuss, so Lewellyn had to put “It’s 5,000 ronas a night” on the door for a while. And then he put a note saying ‘I don’t make discounts at all’. The note was very effective.

It was only later that Shavonne learned that the scandal that Lewellyn was a male prostitute came after rumors were distorted from ‘the men in No. 302 and No. 303 that were peeling onions’.

“Am I rumored to be a male prostitute, too?” Shavonne was surprised, but the only one affected by the scandal was Lewellyn. Shavonne wasn’t the case because the appearance of Lewellyn, who was unbelievably gorgeous for being a slum resident, was what made up that scandal.

Of course, Shavonne didn’t fall behind in appearance – but he wasn’t at the level of handsome enough to not believe he was a slum resident.

“Five thousand ronas a night.” Shavonne mumbled as he looked at the note on the door. “At that price, Mr. Lewellyn, you won’t sleep with anybody in your whole life.”

“Are you interested? Mr. Shavonne, I can give you a discount of about 4999 rona.”

Lewellyn smiled. Shavonne replied, trying not to be captivated by the face of Lewellyn, who was ‘unbelievable to be a slum resident.’.

“I don’t care.”

“You can even get a taste. It’s free.”

It was staggering. Shavonne laughed, and Lewellyn asked. “You don’t want to?”

Shavonne thought. I still didn’t know who Lewellyn is and what he does, but there’s one thing I can be sure of.

I’m sure. He wants to sleep with me.

The next day the door plate was broken. The number 303 engraved on the door plate was divided into large and small pieces and rolled around the hallway floor.

The door plate was broken. The number 303 engraved on the door plate was divided into large and small pieces and rolled around the hallway floor.

It was obvious who did it. Shavonne bit his lower lip with his teeth. He had been relieved that the stalker hadn’t appeared while he was moving out (or after changing the front door), but what he didn’t know was that he would be stabbed in the back in this way. He couldn’t just wait to see what happens. Shavonne headed to the Ira Street Police Station.

“I have a wicked stalker.”

Shavonne declared. The Ira Street Police Station was small enough to be called a patrol division, but because people were (relatively) huddled together, there were three police officers who heard Shavonne. And one of them said,

“You’re not a woman, why would they be a stalker?”

The other one said,

“You can kick him out on your own. Why did you come all the way here…?”

The other one said,

“It’s pro~bably because you’re handsome.”

They ignored Shavonne. The police officer in charge of Shavonne’s case was silent as if he had not heard anything, so he said it again clearly.

“I have a wicked stalker.”

Shavonne was asked what kind of stalker they were. He presented the evidence as requested: the pieces of the broken door plate when Mr Bacon replaced the front door.  Shavonne replied that the stalker broke the door plate after secretly peeking through a hole in his front door. One of the three cops said,

“No? What’s there to peek at?”

The other said,

“I guess it’s just a neighbor that hates you. Why did you come all the way here…”

The other one said,

“You call them a stalker just because of that. If you see a neighbor who posts a note on your door every day, you’ll call them a pervert…”

They ignored Shavonne. The policeman in charge of Shavonne was only looking at the clock on the wall, asking time to pass quickly, but when Shavonne said, “Hey,” he came to his senses and gave a belated answer.

“You call them like that, but I don’t think you know who the stalker is, so it’s a little…”

“A little?”

Shavonne asked back in a nervous voice. The police officer in charge of Shavonne shrugged.

“It’s impossible to investigate. There’s no manpower or justification for this. What if Mr. Shavonne points out the stalker and reports them?”

“So you want me to find out who the stalker is?” Shavonne shouted, pointing at the request letter and pieces of the broken door plate. “Look, it’s real damage. It’s voyeurism and financial damage.”

“Well, it’s still not a criminal. You’ve changed the front door, and now that it’s broken, you can buy a new door plate.”

Hahaha. Right? Laughing, the policemen looked around and agreed.

The cops that were listening until then, nodded enthusiastically.

Stifled by the urge to spit at the police, Shavonne returned to his apartment in Ira. Mailboxes were at the entrance of the first floor of the apartment building in Ira, and when he unconsciously looked at them, a letter was stuck in the mailbox of Room 303. The recipient was Shavonne, and the sender was…

— What can you do?

— Write.

— What have you written?

— I have ghostwritten John Gray’s book, Adam Isle’s book and so on.

— Uhm, good. We will contact you by mail after a meeting.

It was a Deck publisher.

They asked to meet. It was written that the editor would pick Shavonne up at his house and discuss the contract. The postscript at the end was the highlight.

“After eight years of ghostwriting, it’s about time you wrote your own material, Mr. writer Shavonne.”

Shavonne couldn’t take his eyes off the word Mr writer Shavonne. A ghostwriter was, of course, a writer, but in Bunch’s publishing market, he was treated as a sentence maker, not a writer. He had worked as a ghostwriter for eight years, but he had never heard the name ‘writer’. Except now.

When can I meet the editor? Shavonne quickly skimmed through the letter to confirm the editor’s visit date. Wednesday. It was tomorrow!

Shavonne turned the house upside down in a hurry. He found and took care of the books of John Gray, Adam Isle and Jane Clover that he had ghostwritten. He was not ghostwriting anymore. He would write his own. His heart skipped a beat when he thought he could publish Shavonne’s writing under the name of Shavonne. Some pieces of the broken doorplate couldn’t calm down Shavonne’s heart.

The next day, it was 10 a.m. when the editor promised to visit the apartment in Ira, but Shavonne had been awake from 1 a.m. When the editor arrived, Shavonne was red-eyed from staying up all night, and the editor greeted him with a good smile as if it was fun.

“When I met you at the publishing house, you were a human being, but now you’re almost a vampire.”

“Yes. Somehow.”

“Haha. Were you too nervous?”

Rather than being nervous, it was right to say that he was excited to hear being called a writer. Shavonne dodged the answer only by prevaricating. The editor freely turned the topic around.

“Shall we go? If we talk here… yeah.” The editor glanced at the shabby appearance of the apartment building and shrugged. “I believe you know what I’m talking about.”

It was a sunny day. The sky was blue and high without a single cloud. It was rare for the weather to be as good as it is today in Bunch, which was famous for its fog and cold that never disappeared. It was a cafe in South Bunch Square where the editor and Shavonne agreed to discuss, and the yellow sun that ran through the window was warm.

It was a perfect day. It was a day that was likely to be a perfect day at least. It was not until two unfortunate events happened.

“What’s wrong? Do you have any complaints about our terms and conditions?”

The first one was that. The terms and conditions of the contract presented by Deck Publishing were fake. To put it nicely, it’s a sham, or to put it badly, a slave contract. Shavonne wasn’t a fool. He knew the world and knew the publisher’s affairs perfectly. When Shavonne made a serious face, the editor took out two cigarettes. It was one for Shavonne and the other for the editor. Shavonne shook his head when he reached one out to him.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Take this opportunity to start,” the editor laughed. “When a war breaks out, the price rises very high, so you can’t smoke even if you want to.”

Whether a war broke out or not, Shavonne didn’t want to owe anyone a cigarette. Moreover, Shavonne wasn’t budged if he was an editor of a publishing house that accepted sub-average contract terms. Only then did the editor withdraw his cigarette, saying, “You are unexpectedly stubborn. Maybe you don’t know this world very well… This is a contract that anyone with a Shavonne position would want.”

“…”

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Are you going to let escape the chance of being called a writer?”

“…”

“You’ve been unemployed for a while, haven’t you? What about this month’s rent, this month’s living expenses, and this month’s food expenses?”

“…”

“If you want to refuse, do it. It’s alright, Mr. Shavonne, but I have a lot of people who are dying to sign this contract. Why should I wait for Mr. Shavonne? I could look for someone else. But you know, I’m doing this because I feel bad for Mr. Shavonne. What if I say no, are you sure you’ll get a chance somewhere else, not our publisher?”

“That’s… ”

Then…

“Huh, Mr. Shavonne?” He heard a familiar voice. It was the second unfortunate event. “I was  missing you, Shavonne, and now I see you here. What a coincidence, right?”

It was Lewellyn, who was so glad to see Shavonne. A coincidence involving someone who says, “It’s a strange coincidence, right?” Shavonnee was neither romantic nor sentimental enough to believe that he accidentally bumped into the same cafe on the same day. Shavonne frowned and questioned.

“Did you follow me?”

“If what Shavonne says is that I’m keeping tabs on you — in a dictionary sense — or secretly following you to spy on you, I disagree.”

Lewellyn replied with a grin.

The editor watching laughed at me. “Huh. Of course he wasn’t spying you. He followed you from the apartment as if he wanted you to see.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Shavonne shrugged his shoulders. Lewellyn still mumbled his response.

“Huh? What?”

“Hah.” Shavonne burst into laughter. He was childish. Lewellyn was acting as if the editor was invisible and he couldn’t hear him.

“I’m not invisible,” the editor said, but Lewellyn was still gazing at Shavonne. “What’s with the kid?” criticized the editor, but Lewellyn was still gazing at Shavonne. “Hey,” the editor called, but Lewellyn was still gazing at Shavonne. “…it’s over. I’m done.” As just an editor, he had no choice but to give up.

“Do you want to eat with me?”

Suddenly Lewellyn suggested. The smiling face remained as if nothing had happened.

“No.”

“Would you like some onions?”

“No.”

“Would you like some lemon juice?”

“No.”

Lewellyn thought something over and opened his mouth.

“Then…”

Shavonne raised his hand to stop Lewellyn before could say it.

“Even if it’s caviar and not onions, or Bosch red wine instead of lemon juice, no.”

“Why?”

“I’m with someone right now.”

“Someone?”

Lewellyn tilted his head.

“Yes. The one you pretend you can’t see, the one you pretend you can’t hear.”

Shavonne pointed to the editor. Only then did Lewellyn check on the editor,

“Oh, you were there. You lack presence so I didn’t know.”

And he asked for a handshake with a big smile. However, the editor’s face had already wrinkled… well, there’s no need to say it.

Q- How much time did Lewellyn need to get the editor to cry and run out of the cafe on his own?

A- 5 minutes.

Q- What weapon did Lewellyn use to get the editor to cry and run out of the cafe on his own?

A- Tongue.

“He’s a freak, but you’re also out of your mind if you want to associate with a madmad like him.”

The editor said that when Shavonne came to get him after he ran out of the cafe. The editor shook off Shavonne’s hand holding onto his arm and left without looking back. At the same time, Shavonne got to know the fact that he didn’t need to worry about whether to accept the unreasonable contract conditions demanded by the editor anymore because Deck Publishing will no longer want Shavonne.

“He’s gone.”

Lewellyn, who came to his side before he knew it, looked across the road where the editor had disappeared. Shavonne was impressed. How brazen a person can be, the limits Shavonne thought were being broken day by day by Lewellyn.

Lewellyn lowered his hand, turned to face Shavonne and asked.

“Was him your new boyfriend?”

Boyfriend?

Lewellyn kept going without giving Shavonne a chance to explain.

“He’ll cheat on you.”

And,

“He’s going to infect you with a STD.”

And,

“For sure.”

He was making such a spectacle.

Shavonne stared at Lewellyn with his arms folded. It was a sunny day after a long time. Under the sun, South Bunch Square was shining brightly, and the brightest of them was Lewellyn. Shavonne didn’t know if he was a murderer, a seven-year-old villain, or a psycho, but he still had an incomparably cool look on the outside.

‘Too much.‘ Looking up at Lewellyn’s face, who looked more handsome than usual, Shavonne thought. ‘It’s too much.’

“Mr. Lewellyn.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you date an ape like him? Do you have low standards? Why? Is it for charity?”

“Mr. Lewellyn.”

“I’m sorry, it’s my mistake. I should have exposed my face to you more… If you had seen my face for another week, you would never have dated that ape.”

“Mr. Lewellyn.”

Shavonne spoke firmly without giving Lewellyn a chance to speak.

“Why are you so mean to the one I was with?”

“Apes are natural enemies of mankind.”

“Don’t play around.”

Lewellyn closed his mouth and pretended to zip it up. Shavonne didn’t have the nerve to talk as he didn’t have enough skill for talking. Shavonne sighed and touched his forehead.

“Don’t do that again. You can interrupt a love business, but don’t interfere with a ‘real’ business. Never.”

Shavonne revealed that the person Lewellyn called “ape” wasn’t his boyfriend but an editor of Deck Publishing. It was fortunate that had offered a slavery contract, if he had been a normal editor… It was horrible just imagining it.

Lewellyn pretended to unzip his mouth. A face as usual, a voice as usual, but different words.

“But I wish Mr. Shavonne was a beggar.”

“Ha. Why? You think I’ll leave Ira Street if I earn money?”

Lewellyn confirmed that Shavonne didn’t sign the contract. Shavonne looked at Lewellyn with tired eyes. Did Lewellyn know? That Shavonne wanted to leave Ira Street.

If he had money, he wouldn’t have to live in Ira Street, he wouldn’t need to have a murderer as a neighbor, and he wouldn’t have to have a vessel full of blood around his neck and fight the janitor. He wouldn’t have to be a loner. If he had money, he wouldn’t have to live like this for once.

Right, if only I had money.

“You’re selfish.”

Shavonne’s eyes were cold.

“I am” said Lewellyn, who answered without batting an eyelid. “I’ve always been selfish.”

There was no contact from Deck Publishing Company. Even if there was, Shavonne wouldn’t have signed the contract because he was concerned about the unreasonable terms of the contract, but it was true that the aftertaste was bitter anyway.

“I’m screwed.”

It was time to admit it. Shavonne was unemployed.

Once in the morning, once in lunch and twice in the evening, Shavonne sighed. He didn’t care who saw him or not. Sneezing, love, and unemployment were something that couldn’t be hidden. Lewellyn looked closely at Shavonne’s side face and came up with an offer a few days later.

“Would you edit a personal letter?”

It was an unwelcome suggestion. A personal letter would contain personal information. He didn’t want to read someone’s private life. Moreover, a personal letter would contain the sincerity of the writer, and he didn’t want to fill it with crossed lines, annotations, and corrections.

Shavonne refused. But it was useless because Lewellyn confessed, “I’m sorry, I’ve already put the advertisement in Mr. Shavonne’s name before I proposed it.”.

It was a clear case of name theft. Shavonne deserved to be angry, but he couldn’t. He also seemed to have no idea what Lewellyn did wrong. Far from being wrong, he was glistening like a child expecting praise.

Instead of being angry, Shavonne convinced Lewellyn by saying, “There is no way there would be a client asking to edit a personal letter, and how much profit would it make?”.

The problem was this. The next day, a request to edit arrived in the mailbox.

Before opening the edition request sent by Mr. Newell (as it was written Newell y. l. l), Shavonne thought. This is not a joke, is it?

After reading the first paragraph of Mr. Newell’s explanatory note, Shavonne though. “My God, there are people who are willing to edit love letters.”

After reading half a letter from Mr. Newell, Shavonne thought. I should write a rejection letter. What should I say? I’m sorry, that was a kid’s prank? I’d call Lewellyn a kid, but his mental age is the same as one, so it’s not so wrong.”

And after reading the payment criteria of the edition request sent by Mr. Newell, Shavonne thought. It’s 30 ronas per letter. I should do it. I must do it!

Shavonne replied that he would do it. The next day, he got a reply from Mr. Newell, and when Shavonne found it, the envelope had been sealed off as if someone had secretly opened it.

It’s my letter. Did someone think it was their letter? Shavonne tilted his head.

As soon as he reached for the letter in the envelope, Shavonne felt something was wrong.

There was a piece of the broken door plate of Room 303.

He watched Shavonne from a distance. Shavonne wondered when he pulled out the sealed envelope from the mailbox. Shavonne hardened his face when he took out a piece of the doorplate of Room 303, which he had never expected.

How interesting.

A cold thought flew by.