Off Leash

Mew.

But another sound, alien to the chorus, drifted in among the cries. Hae-soo's ears pricked up as she turned, and there beneath a wooden bench in a rarely visited corner of campus, a yellow-striped cat was curled into itself. It seemed to be one of the five cats that lived on school grounds.

Hae-soo veered off the path toward the Humanities Building and approached the bench. At the sound of approaching footsteps, the cat's hindquarters began to wiggle, poised between fleeing and staying.

So it's not without its guard, after all.

Carefully narrowing the distance, Hae-soo crouched down a little apart from the bench. Reassured, the cat curled its plump body back into a ball. It was actually keeping an eye on her all along, pretending not to care with its head cocked sideways — and the act was oddly endearing.

Then, unbidden, the image of a cat from her childhood overlaid the scene. A cat Se-bin had whined and begged for until she finally wrenched it out of her father, Chairman Park.

Its name had been Angel.

Despite bestowing such a name, Se-bin lost interest within days. She took around three hundred photos of it, showed the photos off to her classmates — and after that, her affection cooled almost instantly. Hae-soo had seen it coming from the moment the cat arrived, but all the care fell entirely to Jeong-ae and her.

Feeding it, cleaning up after it, trimming its claws, dangling a toy wand for it, taking it to the vet. Tending to it so devotedly that Jeong-ae grew genuinely attached. And perhaps the cat knew it, because it liked Hae-soo more than its own owner, Se-bin. The moment it spotted her, it would butt its head against her legs again and again, then flop down at her feet and lavish her with affection.

Naturally, Se-bin couldn't stand it. She tried to force the cat to lie down in front of her, and when it ran away rather than comply, she seized it without mercy. Until finally the cat — hissing, fur bristling in warning — put out its claws and raked them across the back of Se-bin's hand.

For a wound to mar the precious, one-and-only daughter of the family? Chairman Park was never going to let that slide. The cat was shipped off to another household that very day.

Watching it being loaded into the car without the faintest idea of what was happening, Hae-soo could do nothing at all. Living under their roof as she did, she had once dared to suggest that surely the cat could be kept "at our house," and for that she'd reaped a mouthful of Se-bin's scorn.

"Why would that be YOUR house? It's my dad's house!"

It was impossible to like Se-bin for saying things like that. But Jeong-ae, who didn't seem to know how to hate anyone, only pitied her instead. She stayed busy, clumsily but constantly, covering for the girl.

"Se-bin doesn't have a mother, Hae-soo. Think about it. How frightening and sad would you be without a mom? When someone's scared and sad, they tend to fly off the handle over the smallest things. So let's have my good daughter go a little easy on her, hm?"

Se-bin's mother had passed away before the girl could even walk — the reason, supposedly, for her sharp-edged temperament. In front of Jeong-ae saying such things, young Hae-soo always had to choke her resentment down, bite by bitter bite.

But Mom. Se-bin has a mother — you. At picnics, at sports day, at the school festival... You weren't MY mom, you were always Se-bin's mom.

Chairman Park had been far too busy to attend the small events held at kindergartens and elementary schools. Whenever that happened, Jeong-ae naturally filled in for a parent. The mansion had other housekeepers besides Jeong-ae, but what Se-bin wanted was always Jeong-ae — because Jeong-ae was the only one who could truly soothe that prickly nature of hers.

So Se-bin must never have been lonely.

Because Cha Hae-soo had to stand in for Park Se-bin's loneliness instead.

"Hello, friend."

While she'd been lost in thought, a long shadow suddenly appeared and lowered itself beside her. These days she could identify him by voice alone. An unwelcome development.

"...Don't call me that."

"Why not? We're friends, aren't we?"

"I was just going along with what an adult was saying, that's all. You and I aren't friends — what kind of friends would we be?"

"Flipping your words overnight like turning over your palm, is it?"

"Yeah, well, I've always been a bit fickle."

"Bold of you."

Moon-yeol parried her flatly, his voice without peaks or valleys. He carried himself as though he could see straight through her calculations — through her, belittling herself on her own.

When someone openly showed dislike, they usually reacted one of two ways: wounded, or furious. But Moon-yeol simply found it all faintly amusing. As if confident that everything would end up going his way anyway. Like a generous soul indulging a child's antics: go ahead, make all the fuss you like.

That composure struck her, somehow, as insufferably sly. Hae-soo pressed her lips shut and pivoted her face away from him like a sulking child. His eyes followed hers quietly.

"A cat."

At the arrival of a new figure, the cat had gone taut with alarm again. Its triangular ears lay flat against its skull as it stared fixedly at Moon-yeol's every movement, coiled to bolt at the slightest provocation. Oblivious, Moon-yeol reached out and thrust his hand straight over the cat's head.

"Hey, hold on."

I really shouldn't engage with him. Barely a minute after resolving that, Hae-soo was speaking up, grabbing his arm. He turned to her, eyebrows raised.

"What?"

"Ask permission before you touch it."

"Does it have an owner?"

"No. Not the owner — the cat. Ask the cat."

"Permission. From the cat."

Moon-yeol burst out in a short laugh. The bewilderment on his face was unmistakable — what on earth is this nonsense she's spouting? — and yet at the same time his eyes glinted, as if he found it entertaining.

"My apologies. I wasn't aware you were gifted at conversing with animals."

"Not a conversation. A greeting. You've never heard of a cat greeting?"

He shrugged. Well, fair enough — he hardly looked like someone who'd know such things. A guy who acted however pleased him with people wouldn't be any different with animals.

Hae-soo squared up to him with bravado.

"Look at its eyes. Carefully."

Moon-yeol nodded with a face devoid of expectations. Hae-soo paid him no mind and attempted the greeting. She met the round amber eyes, then slowly opened and closed her eyelids.

Blink. And blink again. After a few tries, the cat narrowed its eyes at her in a lazy squint and answered her greeting.

"Did you see that? Like... this."

Mid-gloat, eager to show off to Moon-yeol, Hae-soo's mouth snapped shut. The man who should have been watching the cat was staring at her instead, his face utterly focused. No — focused wasn't the right word. Relentless fit better. That piercing, needle-sharp gaze made her heart lurch and lose its rhythm.

"Didn't see it. Do it again."

Moon-yeol, who lied without a drop of spit wetting his mouth, leaned his face in close, as if determined to catch it properly this time.

"Hurry up."

"...No."

"Why not?"

"You already saw it."

"I told you I didn't."

"Quit joking around and back off."

"Don't be so serious, okay?"

Moon-yeol leaned in deeper and deeper toward her. Mischief clung and dangled from the corners of his curling smile. It was the expression of someone savoring the way she tensed and panicked.

She had no intention of surrendering to it. Instead of dodging him as he closed in, Hae-soo held her ground and met him head-on.

He arched one eyebrow, as if to say, oh, we're doing this? It only stoked his competitive streak. Above those imperious eyes she could feel his stubbornness — the urge to see who'd win. Crouched as she was, Hae-soo braced her heels hard against the ground, instinctively steadying the body that wanted to tip backward.

The thirty-centimeter gap between them closed, slowly. All the while neither of them dropped their gaze, locked like duelists. It took desperate endurance to fight the urge to turn her head away.

She had never held anyone's gaze this long in her life. Those eyes, deep and dark as a bog, drew out a weak regret — I should have just shaken him off and gotten up in the first place.

"You're not running. What do you think I'm about to do?"

When the distance had shrunk to ten centimeters, he spoke, all trace of laughter stripped from his face. It landed like a warning. The sight of him tilting his head slightly, lashes lowering as if about to kiss her, sent her heart plummeting straight to the floor.

"Don't."

"Then the one who doesn't like it should move."

"I said don't."

"And I said move."

"Hey, you—"

"Anyone watching would think I'm pinning you down and doing this to you by force."

His breath tickled the bridge of her nose. Her heart, which she was certain had dropped to the floor, slammed violently against the inside of her ribs. Her blood was rushing far too fast. Her vision swam and her stomach heaved.

Thud.

At the instant their noses finally grazed, Hae-soo rammed her forehead into his like a charging bull.

The crack was louder than she'd expected. She sprang up, and it felt like stars were blooming before her eyes. Maybe I hit too hard. Hae-soo shook her throbbing head a couple of times, then hurriedly rummaged through her bag and pulled out an envelope.

"Here. Walking fee."

Moon-yeol was still down on one knee. Hae-soo grabbed the hand that was gingerly touching his own forehead — his face a portrait of pure disbelief — and pressed the envelope into it.

Even glaring up at her with his brows twisted, the face was still handsome, and a little bit funny. The reddened forehead stood out all the more against skin that looked as pampered as an aristocrat's.

"I took out a hundred won. Didn't think you'd want coins."

"Cha Hae-soo."

"See? I told you not to."

Ha.

Moon-yeol laughed, a pale, breathless sound. Watching his flabbergasted expression, a quiet satisfaction bloomed in her chest. The throbbing in her forehead was worth every bit of it. Hae-soo, faintly surprised that she had this mischievous side in her at all, gave him a breezy little wave.

"See you around."

Her steps had never been lighter.