IA Chapter 1.1

There are rules to online dating.  

First: Filter out guys who take profile pictures in the bathroom.  

Second: Skip past body shots plastered in flesh tones as fast as you can.  

Third: Pass on profiles that start by bragging about height or money.  

Fourth: Obviously, ditch anyone who posts an infuriating photo thinking it’s witty.  

Fifth: Oh, and if possible, steer clear of profiles that seem overly desperate.  

 

Jin-han learned these rules from his one and only friend, Eun-hyeong. 

Eun-hyeong drilled these precautions into him, adding that he shouldn’t meet anyone ugly or broke either. As Jin-han scrolled through the app following his lengthy explanation, he finally voiced a fundamental doubt.  

“Then it feels like I won’t be able to meet anyone at all?”  

 

The expression Eun-hyeong made when he heard Jin-han’s question still lingers vividly in his mind.  

“That’s exactly it. Don’t meet anyone through an app. Go to a club instead.”  

 

That was Eun-hyeong’s philosophy on online dating. With his pale face scrunched up, he laid into Jin-han with a sharp rebuke.  

“Why bother looking there when you can just meet someone in real life? It’s weird from the start. What if the guy you meet turns out to be a scammer? You’re so overly positive, you’d probably give away everything you own. Think about it—since forever, you’ve never properly dated anyone, just given everything away and ended up with nothing.”  

 

Maybe because he’s always treated Jin-han like a little brother, Eun-hyeong worried about him a bit too much. Listing off terrifying scenarios as if they’d happen any second, he continued.  

“Kang Jin-han-ssi, who gets taken advantage of even in real life, meeting someone online? You’re practically begging to take out loans from shady lenders or get your organs harvested. So don’t do it, got it?”  

 

Eun-hyeong’s forceful tone was so overwhelming that Jin-han just nodded silently. He’d only downloaded the app because all his coworkers were raving about this new dating app called “A,” but it clearly struck Eun-hyeong as some sort of misdeed.  

 

Before he could get scolded more, Jin-han pocketed his phone and acted like he had zero interest in online dating. Truthfully, he was losing interest fast anyway. Barely scraping by with work to support himself, where would he even find time for romance?  

…Though, come to think of it, he might have a little spare time.  

 

His income was tight for just one person, sure, but his annoyingly good stamina meant he couldn’t fall asleep right after work. He’d end up spending hours bored out of his mind. Even on workdays, this was the case—on days off, it was worse. Movies or dramas were hard to focus on alone, and exercising got boring after six hours max.  

 

You might say, “Why not hang out with friends?” But that wasn’t easy for Jin-han either.  

He did have one childhood friend, Eun-hyeong, but Jin-han was now living in Seoul while Eun-hyeong stayed in Jeonju. With their busy schedules and Eun-hyeong’s popularity keeping him occupied, they rarely saw each other.  

 

Life in a new city was lonely, and making friends here was harder than he’d expected. Coworkers were just coworkers—rarely did they become real friends. For an average guy, it might’ve been simple, but sadly, Jin-han was a little different. Maybe a lot.  

 

Jin-han is a man who likes men.  

 

Saying “What era is it that sexual orientation’s still an issue?” sounds like something out of a movie. People aren’t always tolerant of uncomfortable changes, and if it doesn’t affect them, they don’t care how others are treated. Most of the world still finds same-sex relationships uneasy—a fact unrelated to how many people actually share that orientation.  

 

On top of that, Jin-han works in the security industry, a field dominated by men among men. It’s conservative, full of old-school types, and if they found out he was gay, he’d be ostracized and gossiped about in no time. His career would collapse, he’d lose his income, and becoming a penniless drifter would just be a matter of time. For someone like Jin-han, with nowhere to go even if he hit rock bottom, that couldn’t happen.  

 

Other gay men might manage social lives and friendships just fine, but Jin-han was a bit oblivious, prone to verbal slip-ups. In the past, he’d casually called a passing guy handsome, got asked if he was gay, and couldn’t deny it convincingly, earning suspicion. When asked if he’d dated anyone, his vague answers nearly gave him away. After such close calls, he decided it was better not to make friends in society.  

 

Going to meetups or clubs to find like-minded people wasn’t an option with his frequent night shifts. Even on rare days off when he visited a gay bar, he couldn’t easily connect with anyone. Back in college, he’d had a few almost-flings, but they always fizzled out at the “almost” stage.  

 

So, after seeing Eun-hyeong off and returning home, Jin-han decided to skim the app one last time before deleting it. He swore it’d just be a quick look. After all, “A” was modeled after the famous foreign app “T,” a cutting-edge dating platform that catered to all orientations with tailored categories.  

 

It’s not like he’d meet someone, but you never know!  

That’s how dating apps work, right? Maybe it’s all a marketing trick, but Jin-han couldn’t shake the delusion that “maybe my soulmate’s out there.”  

 

He wasn’t expecting anything. Just a quick browse. If he followed Eun-hyeong’s advice and filtered out the mismatches, he’d probably end up with no one anyway—so it’s not like he was doing anything risky, right? With that lighthearted thought, he opened the app.  

 

That’s definitely how it started…  

 

Recalling half a year ago, Jin-han stared silently at his phone. The sleek red “A” icon sat discreetly in the corner of his screen. Tapping it cautiously, as if someone might see, he went straight to the messages. The app’s four-tab layout popped up, and clicking the rightmost one revealed several chat windows—but Jin-han only used one.  

 

A chat with a Hello Kitty profile.  

 

A photo of a pink-ribboned cat doll sitting in a café didn’t fit any of Eun-hyeong’s rules for people to avoid. Since his friend never warned against someone with this kind of profile, Jin-han had pressed “like” on a whim.  

 

After that casual tap, he’d diligently liked others who didn’t match Eun-hyeong’s red flags. Some were jaw-droppingly handsome, others had absurdly impressive specs.  

‘Is it okay for me to be on their liked list?’  he wondered, diving into a liking spree that lasted all night—right before a workday, no less. He ended up pulling an all-nighter.  

 

What a reckless mess!  

For Jin-han, who’d normally sleep like clockwork before midnight unless on night duty, this was unthinkable. Sacrificing precious sleep, all he got were dead-end chats. Plenty of the guys he’d liked messaged him, but after a few words, they lost interest. Specifically, after his greetings.  

 

For example: 

 

↪🗨 [“Hi~?”]  

↩🗪 [“Yes, hello. I’m Kang Jin-han.”]

↪🗨 [“Lol, your way of talking is unique. Do you always speak like that?”]  

↩🗪 [“Pretty much.” ]

 

And that’s usually where it ended. He couldn’t get past two lines before silence hit. Even stretching it further, three or four lines was the max. Thinking the new app must be buggy, Jin-han was about to delete it when a message popped up.  

 

↪🗨 [“Hello.”]

 

A polite greeting. Jin-han replied in his usual, unremarkable way.  

 

↩🗪 [“Yes, hello. I’m Kang Jin-han.” ]

↪🗨 [“What’s your preference?”]

 

A question he’d never heard before threw him off. He understood the words but had no clue what answer fit. After some thought, he gave his best shot. 

 

↩🗪 [“I don’t think it’s common.”] 

 

At least not in Korea, right? Pleased with his dodge, he waited quietly, and thankfully, the chat continued.  

 

↪🗨 [“Then, it seems (that) it’s not a non-preference.”]  

 

The “non-” part sounded negative somehow. Denying negatives usually worked in his favor, so he jumped on it.  

 

↩🗪  [“Yes!”] 

↪🗨  [“Are you a sub?”]  

 

‘What the hell. This was too hard. He had no idea what that meant.’ 

Jin-han decided to lean on a trick from his social life: when in doubt, nod and move on—it always got him through decently.  

 

↩🗪 [“Yes, yes.”] 

↪🗨 [“Then we won’t clash.”] 

 

The test-like questions eased up, and the chat flowed smoother. Hello Kitty, after some rigorous screening, started asking trivial things. Maybe because it’d been so long since he’d talked to someone outside of work, Jin-han found himself absorbed in the conversation.  

 

That day marked the start of a six-month exchange with Kitty. The chats weren’t long—the other guy seemed busy, replying only around dawn. It was more like trading letters than chatting, but the connection held. When topics ran dry and the conversation risked fizzling, Jin-han scrambled to keep it going—small talk about weather or food. Kitty-ssi always responded.  

 

After half a year, Kitty became something of a close friend in Jin-han’s mind. Sure, they’d met on a dating app, but now he was a cherished part of Jin-han’s daily life. Though sometimes it stung not knowing the real him. In friendless Seoul, Jin-han wished for someone to casually hang out with.  

 

And then, miraculously, as if sensing that wish, Kitty asked a few days ago:  

↪🗨 [“Do you have any free time next month? I’ll be done with some busy stuff.”]  

 

Jin-han replied diligently, offering up his entire new work schedule. Kitty studied the blurry photo for a while before picking a time.  

↪🗨 [“Friday works.”] 

 

Friday, 6 p.m., Gwanghwamun Station, Exit 3.  

That was right now.  

 

Jin-han swallowed dryly. Despite it being evening, the sudden heat made the air thick. Warmth clung to his skin. He’d barely stepped out, yet his black short-sleeve tee was already sticking to his muscled frame. Shaking the collar lightly, he scanned the area. Though late, the sky was still bright, making faces easier to spot.  

 

Easier, sure, but…  

He didn’t know Kitty’s face.  

 

It hit him then—a fact he’d forgotten in his excitement. Drunk on the joy of meeting, he hadn’t realized he had no clue what Kitty looked like. Staring at the crowd in the simmering heat, dizziness struck. His hand stopped flapping his shirt.  

 

A faint unease crept in late. Eun-hyeong’s venomous whisper clawed back into his mind.  

“What if he’s a total creep? He might act normal in chats but turn weird in person—how would you know?” 

 

Honestly, Jin-han wasn’t scared for his safety. For one, he was a tall, sturdy guy—above average—and worked in security. He’d majored in taekwondo, even competed once. Now in the bodyguard business, he wasn’t easily rattled.  

 

Calm returned quickly. He didn’t overthink, and his tendency to see the bright side meant the unease didn’t linger. Instead, he focused on something practical: how to find a guy whose face he didn’t know.  

 

He surveyed the scene. Maybe his years in security could help spot someone, he thought.  

‘Okay, maybe he’s cute?’ Someone who’d use Hello Kitty as a profile pic might give off a cute vibe. Soft features, maybe calm too. Glasses, perhaps? Height… around my chin?  

 

Jin-han tilted his head to gauge it. People always called him tall, so Kitty was likely shorter. He could count the times he’d met someone taller on one hand.  

 

As Jin-han pieced together his guesswork, his phone buzzed. The vibration jolted his palm, and an alert popped up.  

↪🗨 [J: Where are you? I don’t see you.]  

 

Jin-han whipped his head around. Just then, a wave of people spilled from the subway stairs. Another buzz.  

↪🗨 [J: I’m in a white dress shirt and jeans. You?]

 

Jin-han, who’d never met a stranger like this, marveled at the simple fix. He typed back fast.  

↩🗪 [Kang Jin-han: Black short-sleeve tee and black pants. I’m in front of Exit 3.]  

 

Once the “read” mark appeared, excitement kicked in. He craned his neck, eyes locked on the stairs, searching for a white shirt and jeans. Then he spotted a gentle-looking guy matching his image in the crowd. Dark hair softly over his forehead—Jin-han felt a spark of certainty.  

 

“Hey…!”  

About to call out “J-ssi” and raise his hand—

 

“Kang Jin-han-ssi.”  

 

A deep, resonant voice pierced his ears from behind. It was polished, almost like a voice actor’s—calm yet clear. Startled, Jin-han turned, expecting a lower eye level.  

 

But what he faced was an unrealistically beautiful man.  

 

A towering figure forced Jin-han to look up. Broad shoulders—imposingly so—caught his eye first. A slightly loose white shirt, top button undone, tucked neatly into jeans that seemed twice the length of a normal person’s.  

 

The sheer presence overwhelmed him, and when their eyes met, reality slipped. Long, drowsy eyes sat under thick brows, a sharp nose and chiseled jaw defying description beyond “gorgeous.”  

 

Stunned by a sight he’d never encounter in daily life, Jin-han lost his words. ‘An actor? A model? Here for a shoot?’  Forgetting the guy had said his name, he scanned around. Passersby stared or snapped discreet photos, but no film crew was in sight.  

 

As Jin-han blinked in confusion, the man gazed down at him, expressionless. Even for oblivious Jin-han, it was clear this guy had business with him.  

“Uh… can I help you with something?”  

 

His voice cracked from shock as he asked tentatively. The man silently studied him, his unchanged expression lingering for seconds. Jin-han stiffened under the awkward scrutiny.  

 

“Kang Jin-han-ssi, right?”  

 

Just as he considered bolting, the man spoke. That impossibly perfect voice sent chills down his spine—though what chilled him more was how this guy knew him.  

“Yes, that’s me… Who are you?”  

 

His mind raced. Someone this out-of-place calling his name? Luckily, the mystery didn’t last. The man held out his phone, showing a familiar chat window—the one with “J.”  

“Oh…!”  

 

Jin-han’s eyes widened.  

“Hello Kitty?”  

 

The man’s silence confirmed it with a stoic nod. Jin-han finally processed it: this jaw-droppingly handsome guy was J. The Hello Kitty profile didn’t match, and his looks were so striking it was intimidating—but he didn’t seem shady. That was enough.  

“Hello!”  

 

Shock faded fast, replaced by joy at meeting a friend. Beaming, Jin-han extended a hand for a shake. But instead of taking it, J glanced at it briefly before returning his gaze to Jin-han’s face.  

 

Up close, those long eyes—seemingly single-lidded—had faint double lids. Slightly upturned corners and thick lashes looked painted on. Jin-han stared, dazed by the captivating face, when J spoke.  

“Didn’t you clearly say that you were the person on the left?”

 

The random question threw him.  

“Huh?”  

“The photo.”  

“Photo?”  

 

J’s brow twitched faintly at Jin-han’s parroting—an emotion, however small, finally showing.  

“Your profile photo.”  

 

A strange unease stirred. Jin-han cautiously glanced at the chat. There was his profile pic: Eun-hyeong grinning boyishly, Jin-han standing blankly beside him.  

“I’m pretty sure I asked you clearly the first day we talked.”

 

Selfies weren’t his thing—he hated taking them—so the only photo he had was with Eun-hyeong. He’d posted it and forgotten, but yeah, J had asked long ago which one was him, left or right.  

“Which one of the two in the photo is you?”  

 

Too far back to check now, but it clicked: J had thought he was Eun-hyeong. Wondering if it mattered that much based on their chats, Jin-han racked his brain for why he’d said what he did. Only one reason came up.  

“Uh… in the photo, I’m on the left…?”  

 

J clamped his mouth shut. A soft sigh slipped through his pursed lips. Rubbing his jaw with his thumb, he muttered curtly,  

“Let’s move somewhere else for now.”