Chapter 13

What does he mean, the three of us? Is he telling Shin to meet up with that ancient ex-girlfriend again? How long ago was that anyway? Nearly ten years, wasn’t it? Ten years is enough to forget someone’s face completely. Clearly, Se-woong could never be friends with Shin. When even an ex-girlfriend from ten years ago could rankle him this deeply, friends my foot.

While Se-woong stood there scraping his fingernails against the innocent folder, the senior turned around and spotted him first.

The senior’s face lit up in pleasant surprise. “Oh? Se-woong!”

“Good to see you, sunbae-nim,” Se-woong replied.

“Hey, I heard through the grapevine you were assigned to JCS,” the senior remarked, stepping closer. “Transferred up from Gyeryong, right? I’m stationed in Gwacheon now—Counterintelligence Command.”

Had Se-woong possessed even a modest knack for workplace socializing, hearing that the man belonged to Counterintelligence would have prompted a smooth shower of flattery. But empty pleasantries were entirely foreign to him; his sole response was a dry, perfunctory nod of acknowledgment. Fortunately, much like his ease in using honorifics with his junior, the senior showed no sign of taking offense.

His attention, however, was anchored not on the senior chatting beside him, but entirely on Shin. The slightly crooked slant of Shin’s gaze made it unmistakable that he was waiting for him.

With easy camaraderie, the senior continued, “Still, it’s great running into you now that you’ve come up to the capital area. Ah! Se-woong, are you seeing anyone? If not, want me to set you up?”

Se-woong promptly shook his head. “No, thank you, sir.”

“Don’t be like that—give me a call sometime and I’ll buy the drinks,” the senior insisted. “Seriously, I have someone great in mind.”

The senior rubbed Se-woong’s forearm in an affectionate gesture. While civilian men might seem exclusively rough-edged with one another, casual physical touch was far from uncommon among soldiers. As such, it could hardly be construed as anything intimate. Of course, that perception depended entirely on who happened to be watching.

Assuming it was merely polite chatter, Se-woong offered a casual response.

“Yes, I’ll reach out sometime, sunbae-nim.”

“As if you ever will,” Shin chimed in dryly.

Shin had closed the distance without making a sound. Pressing closely up beside Se-woong, he effortlessly inserted himself into the conversation. His handsome features wore a smooth smile as he tattled on his classmate’s notoriously unresponsive habits, yet he stopped short of actually scolding Se-woong to be better about keeping in touch.

The playful lilt in Shin’s voice brightened the senior’s face. Shin’s demeanor was a world apart from the stiff, forced cadence of their earlier conversation.

“I see Major Lee and Se-woong are just the same as ever,” the senior chuckled reminiscently. “You two fought like hell back at Hwarang Hall. When was that again? You even hurled blankets and God knows what else into the hallway, didn’t you?”

Shin laughed softly, “Ah. I was furious back then.”

He gave an understated chuckle. For an exemplary cadet who had never once lost his temper throughout his academy years, Shin had raised such an uproar that day that their peers had buzzed with questions about what terrible offense Cha Se-woong had committed. Even after that incident, whenever Shin threw a fit, it almost invariably revolved around Cha Se-woong, leading the other cadets to believe all the fault lay with Se-woong.

“Se-woong rarely answers calls, so if you ever need him, contact me instead,” Shin remarked. “I’ll pass along the message.”

The senior let out a booming laugh. “Ah, should we? It’d be even better if we all met up! …I mean, sir! Hahaha!”

The senior laughed heartily, making no effort to conceal his delight at that prospect. In his excitement, he had unconsciously dropped into casual speech before hurriedly checking his surroundings and tacking on the honorific ending. To cover his fluster, he even kneaded the shoulder of Se-woong standing beside him. Watching this with an unblinking gaze, Shin smoothly stepped between them with his body, intercepting the contact as he took the document folder from Se-woong’s hands.

In a lowered tone, Shin asked, “By the way, Se-woong, didn’t you bring the press release? You’re already behind schedule. If you’re stalling on purpose just to screw over the ministry, let me in on it.”

“…I was waiting for you to finish speaking, sir,” Se-woong muttered defensively.

Shin smirked. “Seemed to me your conversation over here lasted quite a bit longer.”

Flipping open the folder, Shin erased all amusement from his face. The senior, who had momentarily forgotten the ongoing crisis in favor of personal chatter, swiftly excused himself. Using honorifics with a former junior who outranked him was one thing, but enduring a reprimand from him was quite another.

While Shin reviewed the draft press release, Se-woong aimlessly surveyed the interior of the command and control room.

Having an ex-boyfriend for a superior was terrible in more ways than one. Shin had chatted to his heart’s content, yet Se-woong had to suffer sarcastic barbs just for exchanging a brief greeting during a lull. Not that Se-woong lacked a counterargument, but his position did not afford him that luxury. He felt tempted to earn a promotion if only out of sheer spite. No—putting distance between himself and Shin ought to be the true priority.

The room that had bustled with personnel only moments ago now felt conspicuously deserted. Off in the distance, Sergeant Kim could be seen tidying power cables alongside a few others. Striding about on his tall frame, he looked precarious, as though he might stumble at any second. Watching him more attentively because of what Hee-chan had mentioned earlier, Se-woong realized that whatever Sergeant Kim Tae-jin did lacked any sense of stability.

Shin snapped with sudden sharpness, “Where are you looking now?”

At the sharp snap of the folder closing and the irritable edge in his voice, Se-woong pulled his wandering gaze back. What is it this time?

“Major, I have eyes of my own, sir,” Se-woong protested.

“…The Chairman cleared this, right?” Shin muttered, scanning the page once more. “Let’s send it as is. Checks all the bureaucratic boxes while saying absolutely nothing of substance. Perfect.”

“…Yes, sir. I’ll transmit it immediately.” Se-woong took back the approved draft.

Taking a seat at the adjacent table, Se-woong opened his laptop to upload the file. The moment the transfer completed, a notification pinged to confirm receipt. It was while he was staring at the monitor awaiting a response on the internal messenger that it happened.

“Captain Cha is remarkably loose.”

Those unbelievable words spilled from Shin, who was perched on the edge of the table with folded arms. It was an accusation Se-woong had never heard once in his entire life.

What kind of bullshit is this? Se-woong had known only one man for nearly ten years, yet whom was he calling loose? If anyone was loose, it was the man giving false hope to his ex-girlfriend from a decade ago.

Se-woong demanded in utter disbelief, “Are you referring to me, sir?”

“Is your forearm some kind of bus strap?” Shin scoffed, narrowing his eyes. “Any random guy grabs it, touches it. Your eyes are loose too. Your boyfriend must have suffered quite a bit of heartache.”

“I’m asking if you’re talking about me, sir,” Se-woong repeated through gritted teeth.

Se-woong darted a rapid look around the room to see if anyone might be within earshot. Shin’s murmuring tone was low, and with the heavy sound-absorbing materials throughout the room, words spoken here could hardly carry to the far corner. Even the loud voices over there had not reached them. If anyone were nearby, Shin would have noticed first.

Yet every now and then, Shin behaved as if none of that mattered. Regrettably, his face wore that exact expression right now.

Shin’s jaw set in a hard line. “Why are there always so many people pawing at your shoulders? I’ve found that fucking infuriating since way back when.”

With his head bowed low, Shin dug his palm into the nape of his own neck, kneading the tense muscle firmly. With every surge of pressure, thick veins bulged across his forearm.

“When I’m not even allowed to touch you anymore,” Shin muttered under his breath.

Despite the charged content of the words, his voice was utterly nonchalant.

Was it a ghost who wrapped an arm around my waist and slept beside me last night?

Yet when examined closely, Shin’s words were not entirely baseless.

Even granting that casual physical contact—patting a shoulder or massaging the nape of a neck—was fairly common among male cadets at the military academy, Se-woong was exceptionally prone to being touched by others. It stood in stark contrast to Shin, whom no one dared lay a fingertip on so easily.

Not that Se-woong was especially warm, inviting, or easygoing with everyone either. On the contrary, his introverted nature kept him from mingling easily in crowds, and as an earnest model student who was neither entertaining nor particularly flexible, he had few classmates he could call truly close friends. Even so, people somehow frequently reached out to touch Se-woong at the close of a conversation.

While Se-woong himself had remained completely oblivious to this tendency, Shin had once picked a fight over it. It happened during a period when first- and second-year roommates had abruptly dropped out or taken leaves of absence in succession, leaving the two of them alone in their Hwarang Hall quarters. In other words, back when they were mere roommates.

That day had been much like today. Se-woong had chatted briefly in the corridor of Hwarang Hall about nothing in particular with a senior whose face he could no longer recall, and before parting, that upperclassman had apparently stroked the back of Se-woong’s neck a few times. It had likely been an encouraging gesture. Even if not, it was something along those lines. What was certain was that Se-woong barely retained any memory of the moment.

Claiming to have witnessed it while passing by, Shin had started making snide, baseless remarks at Se-woong that night.

“Do you leave your neck exposed like that on purpose?” Shin had sneered across the room. “So people can paw at it?”

“M-my neck?” Se-woong stammered in bewilderment.

He had spoken in an utterly casual tone, as if asking, Do you prefer olive drab or khaki? It sounded so deceptively gentle at first that Se-woong only realized it was a hostile jab after thinking it over.

He hadn’t known where to begin refuting it, or whether to be angry. Shin’s expression had been so fiercely severe at the time that Se-woong had first second-guessed whether he had actually committed some grave wrongdoing. Otherwise, such caustic sarcasm was impossible to fathom.

Shin glared, “I’m asking if you walk around in a stretched-out T-shirt so any random bastard can paw at you.”

“P-paw at me?” Se-woong repeated, stunned.

No one had pawed at him. Not a single soul.

A tilted head, an expressionless face, a flat, monotone voice. Se-woong had blinked several times, wondering if the man before him was somehow an entirely different person. He simply could not comprehend this sudden provocation from a roommate with whom he had maintained a respectful distance, observing proper boundaries without major clashes or unnecessary discomfort.

It was the very moment a fissure fractured the quiet peace of their room.

Shin tilted his head with a cold gleam in his eye. “Or do you just enjoy it?”

“Look, whatever fight you’re trying to pick…” Se-woong snapped, finally losing his temper. “Are you picking on me because my shirt stretched out, or do you just hate the sight of my neck?”

“Both,” Shin flatly answered.

Sharing quarters with Shin, Se-woong had secretly admired him. Shin never flaunted the fact that his father was a three-star general, diligence marked both his academics and physical training despite already maintaining stellar grades and fitness, and his unfailing courtesy toward everyone was something Se-woong considered worthy of emulation.

Perhaps that was why it had stung so sharply. To have a man like that pick a fight with him without an ounce of rhyme or reason.