The Exception
"I'm here about the part-time job. I saw the hiring notice outside."
Standing at the gym's front desk, Harin swallowed a sigh. Maybe things had been headed this way from the very moment she'd laid eyes on that recruitment paper.
"Ah, yes."
The bald man seated at the desk answered flatly, then disappeared into the office.
The sound of heavy bags and jump ropes, the rubber mats, the faint smell of rosin—the familiar air settled her nerves.
A short while later, a middle-aged man with graying hair emerged from the office.
"Ahaha! Welcome. I'm the director of Cheongrim Gym."
Harin awkwardly accepted the hand he thrust out with a hearty laugh.
"It's a closing shift, so you'd be finishing up late. Will that be all right?"
The director pushed his half-rimmed glasses up his nose and asked, probing her.
"Yes, that's fine."
The truth was, time meant little to her. She just felt she'd breathe easier with a roof over her head somewhere—anywhere.
"Sparing ring, stretching area, heavy bags, showers, lockers..."
The director, working himself into a fever of enthusiasm, gave her a tour of every corner of the gym, even explaining where the cleaning supplies were kept and how to use them.
"You've trained before, haven't you? I felt some solid calluses on your hands."
He was referring to the calluses he'd felt on her palm during their handshake.
"I did a bit of boxing back in middle and high school."
At her evasive answer, the director grew disproportionately excited, declaring her an experienced hand and marveling at his good luck.
After that interview in all but name, Harin started work the very next day. From three in the afternoon until nine at night she manned the front desk, and once the members had filtered out, she handled the closing cleanup.
The director clocked out the moment she clocked in, and the bald staffer vanished without a word at eight.
Following the director's instructions, Harin tidied the showers and lockers, wiped down the heavy bags, and was pushing a gunny sack across the floor when—
Thud.
A heavy bag bumped against her back.
A strange conflict flickered through her fingertips where they gripped the sack.
"Hah..."
With a small exhale, Harin set down the rag and faced the bag.
Left foot forward, knees bent, chin tucked. As she raised her fists, her breathing deepened.
Thud—a light tap of her left glove against the bag.
Taking small, tentative steps, she watched the bag recoil, then reached out long with her right hand.
Wham!
The clean, solid impact rang through the silent gym.
"Tch..."
But almost immediately, a current seemed to race through her shoulder, leaving it tingling.
Even knowing she could never go back, her body still craved that moment.
She stared blankly at the swaying bag, then caught it with a hand that lingered, reluctant to let go.
Just then—
*Ding-a-ling—.*
The bell over the entrance chimed.
Harin's shoulders jumped in startle, and her head snapped around on reflex.
The door swung open and a man strode casually inside.
He was dressed in a tank top and loose shorts, but that handsome face was one she recognized.
The moment their eyes met, she found herself taking an involuntary step back.
He'd spotted her too—his eyes went wide.
"Oh—?"
A finger rose and pointed at her across the room.
"Chainsmoker."
Harin's eyebrows twitched.
...*Chainsmoker*?
He was the man she'd run into by the cigarette butt bin in the smoking zone a while back. She'd never imagined their paths would cross again.
"We're closed. Come back tomorrow."
The man hadn't exactly left a favorable impression on her, and it was already past ten—nearly time for the last train. So Harin issued her dismissal.
But the man, listening with about half an ear, walked right into the gym.
"I'm the exception."
He muttered it half to himself with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Didn't the director tell you?"
He plopped down onto the bench by the front desk, setting his sports bag beside him.
Then, unhurried, he began rummaging out a water bottle, hand wraps, and a jump rope.
Seeing he truly intended to make himself at home, Harin hurriedly snatched up his bag.
"Leave."
As a polite-but-firm *please get out*, she gestured toward the door with her hand.
The man looked up at her with a bored expression. Then he gripped the lower end of the bag strap she was clutching.
"You're making a mistake right now."
A veiled threat ran beneath his tone.
Harin drew a short breath. She wasn't the type to roll over, either.
"The director never mentioned anything about exceptions. So get out."
The man gave a brief snort, then yanked hard on the strap caught in her grip.
"Hk—!"
The sudden pull threw her off balance, and she stumbled forward—straight into his chest.
In the space between their shallow breaths, a sweet, heavy scent seeped in, oddly thickening the air around them.
Harin blinked several times, trying to process the situation, but the body heat pressing closer scrambled her thoughts.
Thud.
She felt the bag slip free of her grasp and settle on the floor beside the bench.
And in that instant, the large hand that had been bracing her back slid up along the ridges of her spine and gripped her shoulder.
Heat trailing up her vertebra made her flinch and curl in on herself without meaning to.
Her choppy breathing and flushed cheeks felt strangely foreign, even to her.
"Why are you so wobbly?"
He grumbled the words, tightening his grip on her shoulder before peeling her off his chest.
"What the—"
She'd been about to give him a piece of her mind for that rude manhandling when it occurred to Harin that without him, she might have cracked her head right on the bench. She faltered.
Even as she thought herself lucky, it snapped her back to her senses that none of this would have happened in the first place if not for him.
She quickly got to her feet and picked up her phone, searching for the director's number she'd saved, about to press the call button.
"You're really going to make that call?"
He peeked out from behind her, eyeing the phone screen.
"Calling your boss at ten at night?"
"......"
"What kind of screwed-up part-time job is this?"
With a mocking *suit yourself* shrug, he stuck his earbuds in. Then he ambled to the center of the empty gym and started with jump rope.
Harin watched him for a while, then slipped the phone back into her pocket.
That boundless confidence of his didn't seem to come from nowhere.
"He could actually know the director, for all I know."
Just in case, Harin decided to leave him be—but she soon realized that had been the wrong call.
*This guy... don't tell me he's forgotten I'm even here.*
After their brief standoff, the man threw himself into his workout for nearly an hour, then headed for the showers.
The creak of the faucet, the sound of water cascading down—every detail carried plainly through the air.
Harin stood frozen in embarrassment, not knowing what to do with herself, until the shower door clattered open and the man walked out ruffling his hair with a towel.
Did he even remember there was someone else in the gym—a woman, no less? His shirt was tossed aside, and he wore nothing but a pair of boxers.
Compared to the immaculate suit he'd worn the day they first met—so pristine he'd looked almost ascetic—this was recklessly, shamelessly casual.
Water still clinging to his hair trickled down past his temple. Droplets beaded across his broad shoulders and collarbone, sliding slowly down the expanse of his chest.
She'd spent her whole life around athletes; she'd thought a man's upper body held no novelty for her. But somehow, her gaze kept snagging.
Was it because he was handsome?
The thick brows, the sharp, foxlike eyes, the faint double lids, the straight bridge of his nose...
The expression on this creature who looked flawless from the outside seemed indifferent, almost idle—yet there was something in those deep-set eyes that pressed down on people, strangely and powerfully.
Judging by his behavior so far, his personality left something to be desired, but that face alone was the kind that had probably made plenty of women cry.
He came over toward the desk where Harin sat and started digging through his bag for a change of clothes.
With his impressive pecs and sharply carved abs drifting in and out of her field of vision, Harin had no choice but to duck her head.
And even when she forced her eyes away, there was no stopping the heat burning all the way to the tips of her ears.
"See you, Chainsmoker."
Only when it was nearly eleven—long past the last train—did the man finally finish his shower and stroll out of the gym.
"Hah..."
She let out a tired sigh and picked the gunny sack back up, only to find him poking his head through the gap in the gym door. She'd thought he'd left.
Harin glared at him.
*Just get lost already.*
He snickered at her expression, then said his piece anyway.
"No smoking when you're working. Work and nothing else."
The moment Harin's face twisted into something vicious, the man giggled as though her scowl was the most entertaining thing he'd seen all night—and vanished.
"Ugh...!"
She scrubbed a hand down her dry face and stared blankly around the gym, quiet at last.
The floor and the showers needed mopping down again. The last train was long gone, and taxis were scarce in this neighborhood.
No help for it. She'd just have to camp out at the gym...