Why Are You Asking That?

"Why would you ask something like that?"

Setting down her beer glass, Ju-ri rested her chin on her laced fingers and smiled. She felt like a teacher counseling a wayward teenager.

Beneath his shaggy hair, Geon-joo's straight brows lifted.

"That's a bit strange."

"What is?"

"That posture. That expression…"

He didn't seem particularly perceptive, yet somehow he'd picked up on the fact that she was treating him like a child. Ju-ri shrugged.

"I got hurt by your question, Geon-joo."

"Hurt… me?"

"Well, you call someone shallow. How am I supposed to just take that on the chin?"

"…I imagine I wouldn't."

"Well, I do. I get hurt."

Of course, she hadn't. Though it did annoy me a little.

Watching Geon-joo's face turn subtly sheepish, Ju-ri swallowed a laugh. If she laughed now, even a man like Han Geon-joo would sense something was off.

"…What happened with that guy?"

He asked while dropping his gaze to the chicken, as if the thought had only just occurred to him, as if it were nothing — but Ju-ri could see perfectly well that his antennae were up.

She understood him instantly, but played dumb anyway.

"What guy?"

"The man you met at the golf course. You said you were going on a date with him."

"Oh, Jae-hyung?"

At the name that popped out of Ju-ri's mouth, Geon-joo's brow creased.

"You were curious about that?"

"Just small talk."

Yeah, right. From a man who couldn't manage small talk to save his life.

"We met once recently, and…"

"…And?"

His face was as expressionless as ever, but Ju-ri caught the darkening in his eyes and crinkled the corners of her own.

"That's my private life."

Geon-joo pressed his lips into a flat line.

"Are you always this interested in other people's business?"

"…I suppose I am, a bit."

"Ah. So that's just how you are."

Ju-ri nodded. The moment she raised her beer glass, Geon-joo raised his right along with it and clinked it against hers. She drank, smiling to herself. The carbonation tasted colder than usual, somehow.

She popped a piece of chicken into her mouth and tipped her chin at him.

"Not eating? You're the one who wanted chicken."

"…I'm eating."

Geon-joo stuffed chicken into his mouth. While he pecked at it, Ju-ri chewed through her share at a brisk clip.

"So… you're not seeing him, then?"

"We're not at that stage."

"Ah."

Geon-joo gave a small nod. Ju-ri glanced sideways at his face, which looked oddly grave.

He doesn't seem to like the guy, at least.

What was he thinking about this time? Maybe it was the transparency you rarely found in a man his age — or maybe that idiosyncratic quality, like lint in his navel — but there was something oddly fun about observing him.

Ju-ri leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. Under her gaze, Geon-joo began to look distinctly uncomfortable.

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Just looking. Does it bother you?"

"……"

Ju-ri shrugged one shoulder and popped a pickled radish into her mouth.

It was a long while after his pecking at the chicken that Geon-joo finally spoke.

"Are you going to make that man the same offer you made me?"

"What offer?"

When Ju-ri asked back, Geon-joo shut his mouth again. She knew exactly what he meant right away, but she wasn't inclined to hand over an answer so easily.

"What is your relationship with Oh Joo-won?"

"We're colleagues."

"……"

At Ju-ri's breezy reply, Geon-joo's face crumpled slightly. Clearly dissatisfied that her answer hadn't satisfied him, he wore a disgruntled expression — and Ju-ri hid her smile behind her beer glass.

Oh Joo-won was a frivolous creature by nature, flirting with her whenever and wherever the mood struck. It was nothing serious, of course — just him testing the waters — but to this man, apparently, it had looked suspiciously intimate.

Does he actually like me?

She was curious, but she didn't want to ask. No reason to dig my own grave, after all.

Ju-ri looked down at the table. About a third of the chicken was left on the plate.

Huh. I ate almost all of it.

"Shall we get going, then, if you're done?"

At the hint that she wanted to wrap things up, Geon-joo's fist clenched around his fork.

"I'm not finished yet."

"…You're not?"

Geon-joo nodded, spearing a piece of chicken and bringing it to his mouth. After ten minutes of not eating a single bite. Stuffed, Ju-ri called the staff over and ordered another beer.

While Geon-joo ate and Ju-ri drank, neither of them said a word. His eating pace was so glacial that even after Ju-ri had drained an entire draft beer, chicken remained on the plate. Instead of telling him to hurry up or to stop if he didn't want it, she simply ordered another beer. By the time she was halfway through that one—

Clack.

Geon-joo set down his fork. Not a single piece of chicken was left on the plate.

"Shall we head out now?"

In the silence, only Ju-ri's calm voice rang out. The chicken was gone anyway, so she rose without regret — then tilted her head at Geon-joo, who was still sitting there motionless.

"You're not coming?"

"…Doesn't it bother you, ending things like this?"

"Nope. Not at all."

The corners of Geon-joo's eyes drooped, just barely. And yet his face remained expressionless. Quiet, unreadable. If she said take care and walked away, he wouldn't say a word. She had a strange certainty that he wouldn't try to hold her back.

"Get home safe."

"…Yes."

His reply, too, was perfectly quiet. Beneath the shaggy hair she could see the thin rims of his glasses, and past them, his deep-set eyes. From where she stood, she could see Geon-joo's downcast gaze and his long lashes.

Ju-ri paused for a moment — then turned away.

Chime.

With the sound of the old door chime, the fresh yet faintly smoky air of the street greeted her in place of the greasy smell of fried chicken.

The street, lit up by flashy neon signs, and the crowds out to savor a night of freedom and indulgence jolted her awake. It was a completely different atmosphere from the stuffy, unventilated chicken joint. And yet, somehow, the separation didn't feel complete.

Ju-ri stepped aside in front of the door and pulled out a cigarette. She lit one, inhaled, exhaled. By the time the cigarette had burned halfway down, she checked the time on her phone.

Exactly five minutes had passed since she'd left the restaurant.

Chime.

Ju-ri's head turned. Two college-aged guys noisily brushed past her. She sent a sigh out through the smoke, stubbed the cigarette out in her portable ashtray, and laid her hand on the sticky pipe handle of the door.

Chime.

The stuffy air, thick with chicken smell, filled her lungs again.

Back at their original table, there sat Geon-joo, motionless — in the exact same posture he'd held when she'd walked out.

Thump.

The moment she sat down across from him, his gaze found her. Surprise rippled through the eyes behind his lenses.

"Why did you come back?"

Good question, honestly.

Why had this antisocial, graceless loner suddenly looked so pitiful to her?

Ju-ri sighed.

"So?"

"…?"

"So what is it you want to do with me?"

Somehow he'd wormed his way into her conscience, and she couldn't just leave him behind. Was I always this overflowing with sympathy?

Just clear away this nagging, awkward feeling, that's all. Humming him a little should be enough. That motel around here — aren't the facilities decent?

"Round two."

Ju-ri stopped thinking and stared at him.

"Let's do round two. My treat."

What on earth was he planning to eat? The man had no appetite to speak of.

Haah. A loner, and hopeless with women. What am I going to do with him?

She could simply ignore it, of course. But his complete lack of social instincts, his clumsiness — it prodded at her guilt, making it hard to just pretend she hadn't noticed.

I shouldn't have poked at him in the first place.

Muttering her belated regrets, Ju-ri gathered her bag.

"Round two is soju."

"……!"

He answered yes a beat too late. At his subtly brightened face, Ju-ri let out a snort of laughter.

There's something kind of cute about him, actually.

Their next stop was a relatively quiet izakaya. The salmon sashimi arranged on a tray of ice gleamed an appetizing shade of coral.

Glug.

Ju-ri filled Geon-joo's glass with soju. In turn, he picked up the bottle and filled hers.

Cheers. She clinked her glass against his and downed the soju in one go.

"Can you hold your liquor?"

"I wouldn't say I can't."

Ju-ri glanced at his glass, still brimming full.

"You're not drinking?"

"……"

After a moment's hesitation, Geon-joo closed his eyes and drained the glass. She immediately pushed a glass of water in front of him as his face scrunched up.

"Guess you don't really like drinking."

"It's not that I can't drink."

Ju-ri stared at his faintly flushed cheeks. Sure, sure.

She wasn't the type to push alcohol on someone who didn't enjoy it — but she filled his empty glass right away anyway. When Geon-joo reached for the bottle to pour for her, she shook her head and poured her own.

She clinked her glass against the one of the scowling Geon-joo and tossed it back immediately. Then she tipped her chin at his glass; he looked like he had things to say, but said none of them and emptied it.

And so, without a single side dish, they went shot for shot with straight soju — before long, the first bottle was scraping bottom, and Ju-ri raised her hand to order another.

While the staff brought the new bottle, the conversation lapsed into a lull.