He hadn't planned it. It all started accidentally, like most of his mistakes. Now, Kang Jihwan stood before the neon facade of an old club, hidden in a side arch of Varen street. The sign had neither a name nor symbols—just a dim light and a barely visible engraving: "Orchid". Only regulars knew the place. «Safe. No one will get hurt. Minimal risk,» he repeated mentally. Almost two weeks had passed since Ryu Seonyeong promised "not to show up." He hadn't contacted him once. Didn't text, didn't call, didn't intercept him in the alleys. But Jihwan sensed him—somewhere on the edge of hearing, like the sound of breathing through a thick wall. So, if he couldn't catch him with words—he had to provoke him with instinct. He circled the block, as if casually—at the intersections where street cameras stood, he always slowed down slightly. He knew: if Seonyeong was watching, he wouldn't miss it. And then—he simply walked inside. The bar was unexpectedly cozy. Warm light, a wooden crescent-shaped counter, the smell of alcohol, cheap tobacco, and something sweet—perhaps peach syrup. Jihwan sat at the counter, ordered a martini, and took his first sip. The bartender smiled:
— New face. Did someone bring you here?
— A friend, — he answered briefly. — A foreigner.
— Then tell him thank you. Guests like you are rare here.
When the glass was half empty, a man approached him—tall, with a neat hairstyle and a flawless jacket. An ordinary office clerk, too confident in his smile.
— Is this your first time here? Let me buy you a drink, — he said, sitting down next to him.
— As you wish, — Jihwan replied lazily.
He wasn't listening to what the man was saying. He only watched the door. For every sound, every step behind the glass. But no one entered. «Maybe he really will keep his word?» he thought with annoyance. The bell at the door jingled. The entire room turned around. And the air instantly changed. Ryu Seonyeong stood at the entrance—in a long coat, bare-headed, as if the rain and cold didn't touch him. His gaze lingered on Jihwan for a moment, then on the glass in his hand. He didn't move towards him—he just walked past and sat in the opposite corner. «Are you kidding me?» Jihwan mentally exhaled. Seonyeong sat, as always: relaxed, but as if the world revolved around him. His posture—leg over leg, hand on the back of the sofa—drew glances. Within a minute, a group had gathered near him: a guy with dyed hair, another—athletic type, another—with a piercing. They were talking, laughing. And he just listened. Jihwan gripped the rim of his glass, feeling something annoyingly warm rising in his chest. «What are you trying to show? That you don't care?» The bartender refilled his drink. And at that moment, someone clumsily dropped a glass near that far sofa.
— It's alright, — he heard Seonyeong's voice.
It was even, but metal trembled within it. A few minutes later, one of the men at his table asked:
— Mr. Son, what's your type?
Silence. Even the music seemed to quiet. Ryu slightly tilted his head, his lips twitched.
— Those who are younger than me, — he said, — but look older.
Jihwan felt heat rush to his ears. «Bastard.» At that moment, the man sitting next to him spoke again:
— You'd better watch out for people like him. The kind with the face of a saint and the hands of an executioner. Can't you see it? Used to seducing.
Jihwan burst out laughing. A real laugh, short and sharp.
— Thanks for the advice, hyung.
He stood up.
— Let's go. It's noisy here.
The guy beamed, deciding he had won, and hurried after him. An icy wind was blowing outside. The air smelled of wet concrete.
— It's cold here, — the guy said, shivering.
— But quiet, — Jihwan replied, looking into the darkness of the alleys.
He felt it: Seonyeong followed. Not immediately, not close—but the shadow of his step was right behind them. «There you are.»
— Maybe we should buy some beer and go to a motel? — the guy suggested, his voice rehearsed hundreds of times.
— Fine. But you go get the beer, I'll wait.
The guy nodded and ran across the street. Jihwan, lighting a cigarette, searched for the familiar silhouette. Empty. Only the light of headlights and snow, falling in rare flakes. Ten minutes later, they entered a cheap motel. The room with a mirror on the ceiling and pink curtains looked like a cheap stage. The guy was talking about "wine, snacks, and a warm evening," but Jihwan barely listened. He felt the presence—strong, but distant, as if Seonyeong was standing somewhere behind the wall, at the edge of audibility. When the guy tried to put his hand on his shoulder, Jihwan looked up. His pupils glowed scarlet.
— Touch me again—and I'll tear out your heart, — he said calmly.
The guy paled, backed away, got under the blanket, and didn't utter another word. Jihwan turned off the light, opened the beer, and began watching the news on the old TV. Forty minutes passed. Nothing. Not even a shadow stirred. He crumpled the empty can, threw it into the trash can, and got up.
— A waste of time, — he muttered.
The street was quiet. Neon flickered on the wet asphalt. He took a couple of steps toward the construction site where the wind was blowing, and then he felt it. Warmth. Presence. He turned around. Ryu Seonyeong stood by the concrete wall, hands in his coat pockets, head lowered. Snow was falling on his hair. He didn't move. Even when Jihwan approached.
— Hey, you... — he began.
Seonyeong flinched, straightened sharply. For a moment, their gazes met. Moisture gleamed in Seonyeong's eyes. And then he turned around and quickly disappeared into the darkness. Jihwan was left standing in the middle of the alley, with a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers. The snow fell slowly. The air smelled of salt and ash. He chuckled silently.
— Crying, huh?
And for some reason, his chest felt strangely heavy. As if he himself had done something wrong.