MYFL | Chapter 3.1

Beomchan arrived at the dojo earlier than usual and headed straight to the office. He hung his coat on the wall, sat down, and turned on the computer. While waiting for it to boot up, his fingertips rhythmically tapped against the desk.

Tap, tap.

His gaze landed on the desk calendar sitting at the edge. It was marked with the taekwondo dojo’s schedule. His eyes naturally drifted to the event written on next Saturday’s date.

Open Class.

This was why he had come in earlier than usual. Open classes were scheduled on weekends to maximize parental attendance. Though notices were sent home with the kids, many of them were too young to properly relay the message. To prevent any mishaps, Beomchan made time—like today—to personally follow up with a courtesy call after sending out the notices.

After a brief pause, he picked up his phone and clicked on the group he had saved as the Guardian Contact List. He dialed the first number at the top, and soon, a familiar voice answered.

“Hello, ma’am. This is Beomchan from Taekwondo. Yes, how have you been?”

Balancing his phone in one hand, he entered the password on his now-booted computer with the other.

“I just wanted to check if you received the notice I sent through Boyoon last week. Ah, I see. Then please fill out the application and send it back through Boyoon by Wednesday. Yes, I’ll see you next week. Take care.”

He repeated the same short conversation several times. Now, only one name remained.

[Teacher Joo Seungjae]

Beomchan stared at the name saved in his contacts. Calling was easy—he had done it so many times today. Yet his fingers wouldn’t move.

Because of that night.

Eventually, he placed the phone face-down on the desk and leaned back into his chair, closing his eyes. The moment his vision darkened, the voice that had haunted him all night surfaced once again.

— Is that something you really want to know?

He could’ve brushed it off. Just laughed and said he had asked without much thought since Seungjae’s noona had been watching Woojoo. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Because Seungjae’s eyes had already seen through him.

There was no warmth, no kindness—just a piercing gaze that stripped away all his pretense. And in that moment, he forgot how to make excuses. If anything, he should’ve babbled some nonsense to cover up his slip-up, but instead, he had frozen.

No matter how drunk Seungjae had been, he wouldn’t have missed it.

Beomchan had braced himself for a reprimand. Even as he pulled into the parking lot of Seungjae’s apartment, he kept repeating in his head: I’m so screwed. Like a criminal awaiting a verdict.

But his fear had been for nothing.

By the time they reached the apartment, Seungjae was back to his usual self. He smiled and thanked Beomchan for the ride—just like always.

That was when Beomchan learned that a smile could be scarier than anger.

Yet he didn’t dare ask if it was genuine or just a well-crafted mask. So instead, he swallowed down the uneasy feeling and stepped out of the car.

Maybe I should’ve helped him up.

That thought hit him as he watched Seungjae walk toward the building. His steps weren’t exactly unsteady, but recalling how drunk he had been at the bar made Beomchan hesitate.

Still, what could he have done?

If he had gone up with Seungjae, he might have run into his husband. And for someone he had never met—whose name and face he didn’t even know—Beomchan harbored an unreasonable dislike.

The last thing he wanted was for Seungjae to get caught in an awkward situation because of him.

With a deep sigh, Beomchan opened his eyes. The fluorescent light overhead stung his vision. He grabbed his phone again and opened his chat with Seungjae.

The last message exchanged was from Saturday—right before he had arrived at the bar. Almost there.

Even after dropping him off, Seungjae hadn’t sent another message.

Beomchan had debated sending a text the next morning—something casual, like Did you get home okay? Something anyone would ask.

But in the end, he hadn’t.

No matter how much he pretended to be indifferent, he knew himself too well.

Just because he hadn’t outright said anything didn’t mean he wasn’t feeling it. And he wasn’t shameless enough to bury that truth under feigned ignorance.

⋆˚🐾˖°

He needed to make the call.

On Saturday afternoon, he had thought, I’ll just mention the open class when I see him tonight. But by the time he got to the bar, he was too busy keeping an eye on Seungjae’s condition to remember. Even if he had brought it up, there was no guarantee it would have registered.

Beomchan hesitated for a long time, fidgeting with his phone, before eventually shoving it into his pocket. I’ll run into him when I drop off Woojoo in a few hours anyway. That gave him a temporary reprieve.

He stood up abruptly. Sitting here any longer would only make him spiral deeper into his thoughts. Instead, he busied himself—cleaning, skipping rope in the corner of the office, anything to keep moving.

Maybe if I keep my body busy, my mind will settle.

But even as he sweated through a round of exercise and went about his usual classes, his thoughts kept circling back to that night.

And before he knew it, the time he had been trying to postpone arrived.

After dropping off all the other kids, he returned to the dojo parking lot with only Woojoo in the car.

“… Master.”

The soft voice from the back seat snapped him out of his daze. When he turned, he found Woojoo looking at him with concern.

“Master, are you sick?”

His voice was still childlike, yet he spoke with the proper courtesy of a student who had learned taekwondo. That, more than anything, made Beomchan chuckle.

“Sorry, master was just lost in thought. Let’s go.”

He got out of the car and picked Woojoo up with one arm. Was the parking lot always this close to the café? He even tried walking slower, but there were only a few steps to take.

No more delaying.

With a small sigh, he pushed open the café door.

“Oh, you’re here?”

Yeonji, who had been wiping down a table, greeted him. Beomchan nodded back before setting Woojoo down and glancing around.

“Where’s teacher?”

“Oh, oppa went to make a delivery next door. He’ll be back soon.”

This is my chance!

Beomchan, seeing an opening, rattled off his words as fast as he could, barely taking a breath.

“When teacher gets back, please tell him Woojoo has an open class next Saturday, so he should check the notice I sent with Woojoo’s bag last Friday, fill out the application, and send it back by Wednesday—”

“Wait, hold on! Say that again.”

Yeonji hurriedly cut him off, overwhelmed by the flood of information. She pulled out her phone from her apron pocket and opened her notes app, ready to type.

“Next Saturday—”

Just as Beomchan took a deep breath to start over, the café door opened with a clear ring of the bell.

Seungjae.

“Oh, oppa’s here. You can just tell him yourself.”

“…”

Yeonji, relieved to pass off the responsibility, quickly stepped aside.

Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone with him.

Beomchan wanted to grab the edge of her apron, to hold her back, but he barely managed to keep his hands still. Instead, he lowered his gaze.

In front of him, Woojoo had already spotted Seungjae and was tilting forward, looking ready to bolt toward him. Beomchan, acting on instinct, placed his hands on the child’s shoulders, massaging them lightly. Woojoo hesitated, shifting in place but unable to shake off his master’s hold.

“…What were you talking about?”

Joo Seungjae approached Beomchan and asked, but he neither avoided him nor demanded the answer he hadn’t received that day. His voice was the same as always, making Beomchan momentarily wonder if everything that had happened that day had just been a dream—or if the uncomfortable air he had felt in the car had simply been his imagination.

Maybe Seungjae had drunk too much and didn’t remember anything. Beomchan wanted to believe that. Of course, it could also be because Woojoo was right there, or because they were in a place where other people could see them. But despite knowing that, he couldn’t help but mix a bit of hope into his assumptions.

Beomchan lightly pushed Woojoo’s small back with his palm. Only then did the child run toward Seungjae, clinging to his leg and rubbing his cheek against it. Seungjae took the bag Woojoo had been holding and ruffled the boy’s hair gently.

“Did you get home safely that day?”

Beomchan asked.

“Yeah,” Seungjae nodded briefly in response.

“I owe you again. Thanks for taking me home.”

Beomchan couldn’t tell if Seungjae genuinely didn’t remember or if, like him, he was pretending not to know. Either way, he had no desire to dig into it. Acting like nothing had happened was exactly what Beomchan wanted, too.

Following Seungjae’s lead, Beomchan smiled casually and teased him.

“Why did you drink so much? You should’ve paced yourself.”

“I don’t know, everyone was just having so much fun. It’s been ages since I had a night like that. I ended up drinking too much without realizing it.”

Seungjae gave an awkward smile, ruffling Woojoo’s hair again and again. The child’s glossy hair flattened against his round head, but Seungjae’s hand kept moving.

“But what were you going to say earlier?”

He brought up the question again. Was it just Beomchan’s imagination, or did it feel like Seungjae was deliberately changing the subject?

“There’s an open class next Saturday. I wanted to ask if you’d be able to come.”

“Oh, I saw the notice. Of course, I have to go and see how Woojoo’s doing. There was a form to fill out, right? I just have to submit that?”

“Yeah. Just hand it in by the day after tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Seungjae replied briefly. That was the end of any conversation about that night. They only exchanged a few meaningless, trivial remarks.