BBK Ch 3

‘That guy’s the one, isn’t he? The bat.’

A long time ago, he was a man who’d voluntarily brought information from a rival company. They’d thought the job was cleanly wrapped up and they’d parted ways without issue. But for someone like that to suddenly show up in front of Minho’s office, throwing a fit over some grudge—it was baffling. Still, before they could even figure out what was going on, it fell to Gyuoh to kick the guy out of the building.

‘Oh, right.’

‘But why’d he come all the way here to act like that? What’s he threatening to spill?’

‘…’

Standing in front of the mirror, Gyuoh examined the area near his tattooed nape. The man had scratched at it with his nails while thrashing, leaving red lines streaking through the ink.

‘That was settled ages ago. What info could he even have to spill?’

He muttered to himself, slowly rubbing the swollen skin. A brief, awkward silence hung in the air, but Gyuoh didn’t mind. He hadn’t expected an answer anyway.

‘…It’s not info. He’s saying he’ll spread that I’m seeing men.’

‘Men see men, sure. So he’d meet a woman…’

Gyuoh’s casual reply, spoken while inspecting his neck with downcast eyes, came to an abrupt halt.

Did something just come out wrong? He slowly lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Minho, who stood a couple of steps back, arms crossed, staring into the mirror.

‘He’s throwing a tantrum because I slept with him and ditched him, apparently.’

If you pieced together the confusing words, there was only one conclusion.

‘…Hyung, you dated that guy?’

‘No. Just slept with him once.’

Minho’s eyes, reflected in the mirror, were as calm as ever, though there was a faint hint of tension beneath the surface.

Since when? Had he always been into men? Were there others besides this guy? Gyuoh had a million questions, but all that came out was a short:

‘Why?’

‘When I can’t sleep, I do that. Sometimes even booze doesn’t cut it.’

Minho answered, stretching his stiff neck side to side.

‘…’

Gyuoh prided himself on being perceptive, but it seemed he was clueless when it came to this.

‘I didn’t really want to talk about it. But that bastard might show up again.’

‘…Oh.’

‘Better you hear it from me than someone else.’

With that flat explanation, Minho shrugged and turned away. He’d probably been sitting in a chair all day, yet there wasn’t a single wrinkle on the back of his shirt. Gyuoh stared at it, racking his memory.

Come to think of it, had Minho ever introduced a girlfriend? He couldn’t recall hearing about anyone Minho was seeing. It wasn’t that he didn’t have time for romance because of work—it was this.

Gyuoh was rattled, no doubt, but he adapted to the situation pretty quickly. Another colleague they worked with had gotten a boyfriend, and Gyuoh figured Minho was just experimenting out of curiosity, influenced by that.

But the day he found out Minho had been seeing men even before that colleague, he couldn’t sleep a wink. It was that shocking. How did a guy who worked all day find the time? That he’d been meeting people and even hooking up while Gyuoh was right there, wide-eyed, was mind-blowing. And why he only did one-night stands instead of dating was beyond comprehension.

And so, Gyuoh ended up sharing Minho’s secret. He tried not to dwell on it, but from then on, he couldn’t help fixating on Minho’s every move. When Minho left the office, Gyuoh wondered where he was going. When he mentioned plans, Gyuoh wanted to know every detail—who, why, what for.

Of course, he fought to keep those feelings from spilling out or acting on them. As always, his role was to be the good little brother—close like family, but never crossing the line.

“What are you doing? Not leaving?”

Minho’s gaze turned toward Gyuoh, who was standing there dumbly. Gyuoh grumbled, half-whining for no reason.

“What’s it to you? Whether I freeze to death or die of boredom here, you don’t care, right?”

He couldn’t outright say, Don’t go meet some weirdo, so he just spouted nonsense. But this was Cha Minho. Cheap tricks like that wouldn’t work.

“Wear your helmet when you ride that motorcycle.”

“…”

If only Gyuoh could express his worries as easily as that. He was stuck, unable to step over the line Minho had drawn or pull back entirely.

“I’m heading out. Lock up when you leave.”

Once Minho said no, that was it—no second or third chances to ask. So him saying that also meant he had no intention of canceling his mysterious, last-minute plans.

Gyuoh knew he had no right to meddle in someone else’s private life. But every now and then, when he had to let Minho go like this, a strange feeling crept in. Was it because Minho was always on his side, always looking out for him? Suppressing the odd, churning emotions he couldn’t quite place, Gyuoh spoke up.

“…I’m coming in at 7 tomorrow, so don’t be late, hyung. If you are, I’ll flip this place upside down.”

He shouted nonsense at Minho’s retreating back. Staying up until 7 was one thing, but coming in then would be brutal for Gyuoh—and Minho knew it.

“Yeah, right, you’ll show up at 7.”

“I will. 7 sharp. Don’t be late.”

“You first.”

Minho shot back curtly and left the office without hesitation. Left alone in the spacious room, Gyuoh kicked the desk in a petty fit of frustration.

About five minutes after Minho left, Gyuoh walked to the wide window and peered down. A black car sped out of the underground parking lot.

“…Should I just mess it up?”

Maybe he could say the pizza he ate earlier was bad and ask Minho to take him to the hospital. Or that his motorcycle ran out of gas and beg for a ride home. No—Minho would see through that in a second. Lame tricks wouldn’t fool him. Maybe just flat-out saying, Stop meeting weirdos…

“He’d hate that.”

And since meeting someone or getting drunk was Minho’s way of dealing with stress—since Gyuoh knew he couldn’t sleep otherwise—it was hard to stop him outright.

“…Guess I’ll hit the gym.”

Sweating it out for a few hours might loosen the grip Minho had on his nerves. It was one of the coping tricks Gyuoh had picked up since learning Minho’s secret. With a destination in mind, his steps felt a little lighter.

‧₊🍒˚✮

On nights like this, sleep wouldn’t come. He couldn’t focus on the hookup, and even alcohol wouldn’t go down. After showering, he left the hotel, leaving his already-passed-out partner behind. An unfamiliar scent clung to him, and his lower stomach ached.

“Ugh, my stomach’s off.”

Maybe the scent just didn’t suit him—his insides were churning. He rolled the car window all the way down and sped up.

Buzz. Buzz. His phone, tucked in his pocket, had been vibrating nonstop. It started when he’d gone up to the room, buzzing through the brief encounter with a guy he’d only met a couple of times, and it hadn’t stopped since.

A glance at the screen showed “Viper” plastered across it. Years ago, when Gyuoh was undercover at a gambling den for a redevelopment gig, that was his nickname. It fit him so well that Minho had saved it and never bothered changing it.

“…Does Won Gyuoh not sleep?”

He’d always been clingy, but lately, it’d gotten worse. Was it since he found out Minho was casually sleeping with guys? Or maybe after seeing some jerk they’d worked with hit on him a couple of times? Either way, even on the 20-minute drive to his apartment, Won Gyuoh’s attention grated on Minho’s nerves.

He didn’t bother checking the messages after getting home. They’d just be about some game he didn’t care about or a YouTube link with animals—pointless stuff.

After another shower, a familiar scent finally settled around him. Dragging the untied belt of his robe, he shuffled to bed. His body felt heavy, like it was soaked in water. He flopped onto the mattress and closed his eyes.

Even as he slipped into unconsciousness, a faint buzz lingered in his ears. In his hazy state, a recent call with Gyuoh after wrapping up a job came to mind.

—All cleared up?

—You still at the office, hyung?

It was a perfectly ordinary conversation, so why did it keep replaying? The familiar voice, the sound of wind in the background, the scrape of steps on dry dirt, the echo unique to an abandoned factory, the sharp clang of a metal door piercing his ears. Maybe it was because those sounds felt like a signal, threatening to dredge up a nightmare he’d just managed to bury.

“Haa.”

Minho forced his eyes open. They were bloodshot and dry, but sleep wouldn’t come.

“Did my job, had sex—what’s the problem?”

Was the partner just that bad? Not like he could call him again.

“Ahh.”

His voice cracked with exhaustion. Minho buried his face in the pillow, groaning. The dull, constant headache showed no signs of letting up.

After lying there for a while, he finally dragged himself to the fridge. It was packed with bottles of liquor, all different kinds. He didn’t even enjoy drinking, but he kept them stocked for one reason: to knock himself out, even for a few hours.

He chugged straight from the bottle, no snacks. His stomach rebelled, and his mouth soured, but he forced it down. After a while, a faint heat spread through him.

“Ugh…”

Buzz. Won Gyuoh’s attention still wouldn’t quit. He should reply to keep him from sulking, but Minho didn’t bother holding onto his slipping body or mind.

The pitch-black void of unconsciousness pulled him into a nightmare. A moment he desperately wanted to shake off but could never erase.