One Day, A Gangster… Chapter 6.2

Pilsung, who had been gazing with a dazed look at the way Wooyoon’s usually timid and subdued eyes curved beautifully and sparkled, chewed on the spicy gum and let out a small chuckle. He’d been on edge, thinking the smile he’d seen yesterday might be the last, but even if it was a case of a cow stumbling backward and catching a rat, it seemed Wooyoon’s heart had softened, and that was a relief.

They arrived at a board game café by car, had a simple lunch, and played some games. YouTube had said it was the perfect spot for an indoor date. Pilsung didn’t want to drag Wooyoon—who lived every day in a sweltering basement room, clinging to a rickety fan—out for an outdoor date in this scorching midsummer heat.

Plus, when it came to games, Pilsung was confident he’d “Pilsung” (win). He wasn’t particularly into gambling, but he had a natural gambler’s instinct. No matter the game or fight, Pilsung always came out on top.

Having discarded all his number cards up to “13” faster than Wooyoon, Pilsung grabbed the toy hammer from the table and stood up abruptly. Looking down at Wooyoon, who was still fumbling with five remaining cards, Pilsung tapped his own palm with the toy hammer, making a playful “boing, boing” sound.

“You’ve got to be quick with numbers if you’re going to play money games.”

“What’s there to brag about…”

“What?”

Pilsung, swinging the hammer with agile, threatening flair despite his hulking frame, shouted back. His rough voice drew the attention of the other customers huddled around tables playing board games. Wooyoon, his nape flushing red, muttered with his head lowered.

“It’s embarrassing, so just hit me and sit down already…”

“Hold your head steady. Dodge, and you’ll get double.”

“Fine, just do it quick. Or at least speak softer…”

Glaring at Pilsung’s shadow looming over the table, Wooyoon closed his eyes. Imagining Pilsung’s thick forearms as he awaited the penalty made his heart pound hard. Even if Baek Pilsung was as big as an alpha, it was just a toy hammer—worrying about a concussion or a cracked skull was probably overthinking it, right? Recalling the grip that had seized his arm at their first meeting in the morgue, Wooyoon clenched his teeth.

“…….”

Silently staring down at Wooyoon’s trembling crown with his eyes squeezed shut, Pilsung smirked and set the toy hammer back on the table.

“Hey, forget it. Even if it’s a toy, how could I hit your head with a hammer?”

Peeking up cautiously, Wooyoon looked at Pilsung, who plopped back into his seat with an anticlimactic air, with a relieved gaze. Pilsung raised his left hand, gold ring glinting, and snapped his fingers in the air.

“I’ll switch to this instead. Oh, but my left hand’s weak…”

“…….”

Staring intently at Pilsung, who kept tilting his head and practicing finger snaps, Wooyoon brushed back his bangs and confidently bared his forehead. It seemed like a light option—Baek Pilsung wouldn’t hit him that hard.

Baek Pilsung… likes me, after all.

Expecting Pilsung to go easy on him deep down, Wooyoon lowered his gaze obediently.

“Ah, will this work? It’s my left hand, so…!”

With a dubious look, Pilsung aimed at Wooyoon’s rounded forehead and, without warning, flicked his middle finger hard. Instantly, a sound like a New Year’s bell rang through the café.

Once again, all eyes turned their way. But the sharp pain concentrated in the center of his forehead was so intense that embarrassment didn’t even register. Too stunned to scream, Wooyoon let out a low groan through his teeth.

“Ugh… hng…”

“Hahaha!! Hahahahaha!!”

Tears welled up involuntarily as Wooyoon looked across at Pilsung, who was laughing heartily, showing off his loud voice. Meeting Wooyoon’s gaze, Pilsung finally covered his mouth, snickering. Glaring at the sunglasses where Pilsung’s breath fogged and cleared between his fingers with each chuckle, Wooyoon snapped,

“You said you’d go easy! Why’d you hit so hard?”

“When did I? I never said I’d go easy.”

“You… you…!”

Trembling, Wooyoon grabbed the toy hammer beside him. Standing up, he swung it wildly. He was done holding back—he’d show this thug what happens when you mess with someone who’s decided to fight back. With the fluorescent pink hammer, he struck Pilsung’s head, shoulders, and arms indiscriminately across the table. Each hit against Pilsung’s bulky frame made the toy hammer squeak with a “boing, boing” sound.

Pushing up his slipping sunglasses, Pilsung shouted, his mouth full of amusement.

“Hey! Boss Nam, you’re playing this game dirty!”

Infuriated by the teasing tone, Wooyoon gritted his teeth and swung harder. Thanks to whoever had whipped out that grotesque dick in front of him yesterday, he hadn’t slept properly all night. Did dragging his tired self here on the mart’s day off and hitting him that hard finally satisfy Pilsung? Wooyoon couldn’t figure him out. Saying he liked him yet pulling annoying stunts, acting like a thug but not entirely bad, seeming decent only to turn around and…

Exhausted quickly, Wooyoon flopped back into his chair, panting heavily. He shot a displeased look at Pilsung, who muttered toward the whispering other tables, “Fuck, should I gouge their eyes out…”

The indoor fishing spot was dimly lit, likely due to the habits of fish that bit better at night. Around the large central tank, most customers—except solo hobbyists—were couples.

Wooyoon, unsure what was fun about fishing, propped his rod on the table and stared at the glowing float. Back when he’d wait endlessly for his brother at home, no matter how bored he got, he’d never watch fishing channels. The fish hooked through the mouth and pulled out of the water felt pitifully like himself. Seeing them tossed into a cramped bucket always soured his mood.

Then Pilsung, lounging beside him, grabbed Wooyoon’s hand and kneaded it. Glancing over from staring blankly at the water, Wooyoon watched Pilsung stroke his hand slowly and cautiously asked about yesterday’s lingering concern.

“At the BBQ place… what did the cops say?”

“Yesterday? Told us alphas gathering like that causes unease and to go home.”

Pilsung answered casually. Recalling the mart staff praising Jinwoo for secretly reporting them, Wooyoon frowned.

“That’s overreach…”

Pilsung snickered at Wooyoon’s sulky tone, finding it cute.

“Arguing just gets us all hauled in—pain in the ass. Saying we’d play quietly and leave wouldn’t convince them anyway.”

“You’re a beta—didn’t they listen to you?”

Pilsung let go of Wooyoon’s hand at the naïve question, replying with a scoff,

“I’m a thug.”

“So… why do thug stuff then…”

Wooyoon grumbled softly.

If Baek Pilsung weren’t a thug dealing in loans or organ trafficking, Wooyoon might’ve thought—despite his rough words and actions—that someone who bought him food, helped him, and was the only person in the world to say they liked him could be a good person.

“Why? There’s no reason. You just live how life turns out.”

“…….”

“This is the only way I could live.”

“…….”

Feeling that same kinship from yesterday again, Wooyoon’s heart eased. Pilsung wasn’t so different from him. Focused on surviving, life had led them here. To others, it might look worthless or ruined, but it was the only way they knew to survive. People like us.

“…….”

Pilsung turned from watching the quiet Wooyoon, lost in thought, and cast his gaze to the fishing rod’s tip.

“What’ll you do when you catch your brother? I’m gonna beat thirty million won out of him. Want me to cover your share too?”

“…….”

“Don’t want me touching your brother?”

No reply came. Propping his chin on the table, Pilsung offered advice born of experience.

“You can’t go easy because it’s family. Family makes it worse.”

“…….”

“When you’re betrayed, friend, family, whatever—don’t think about that shit. Just one thing: ‘What the fuck did this bastard take from me?’ That’s all you think about to pay them back.”

Putting down the phone he’d picked up to call an ambulance as his father clutched his chest was a smart choice. Even naïve, gullible Nam Wooyoon would face that moment. Pilsung hoped Wooyoon could make the same smart choice he had as a kid. If he hesitated, Pilsung would step in without a word.

“I spread word that some guy showed up in Incheon with cash looking for your brother. Now we wait for a bite. Waiting’s the key in fishing—then the hook. Once he bites, I’ll reel him in, so you just think about what you’ll do with him.”

“…….”

What my brother took from me…

Wooyoon’s gaze grew distant. Without his brother, would he have gone to school with friends, laughing, chatting, studying like normal? What experiences might he have had? Learned emotions TV and books couldn’t teach? Grown into a stronger twenty-year-old?

His vision blurred. He’d planned to ask his brother why—why he’d done it, why he’d hated him so much. But then what? He’d never thought past that. Would he cry, resent, then forgive after hearing the answer? Stupid. Had he wanted a reason just to forgive?

Pathetic…

He rubbed his eyes with his forearm. Sniffling quietly so no one would hear, Pilsung’s voice came from beside him.

“Fuck, they’re not biting. Let’s grab some sashimi instead.”

For the first time, Pilsung’s food talk didn’t annoy him, and Wooyoon nodded meekly.

By the time they reached the basement, it was dark out. Following him to the door, Pilsung grabbed both Wooyoon’s hands for a goodbye.

“I’ll have Gidong send food early tomorrow, so eat before work. What do you want?”

“…Meat.”

“Fuck, of course I’ll include meat. Dumbass.”

The dumb reply was so cute it killed him, but seeing Wooyoon pout obliviously instead of taking it as praise tugged at Pilsung’s core. His kneading of Wooyoon’s hands grew impatient. Just as he worried he’d get hard again and stage a farewell jerk-off show, a cold stream poured down like a waterfall from above.

“…….”

Reflexively raising his hands—still held by Pilsung—to shield his face from the splash, Wooyoon cautiously looked up at the now-silent Pilsung. Soaked from head to toe, shoes included, he looked like he’d just walked out of a pool.

Lowering his head slightly, Pilsung took off his sunglasses. Water droplets clung to his deep brow bone, dripping down to wet his sunken eyelids and lashes.

Shaking his head briefly to flick off the water trailing down his nose and jaw, Pilsung looked up at the source of the sudden deluge. No sign of life atop the wall—just a red bucket with “rag” scrawled in marker left behind.

“Ha, fuck…”

Too absurd to be mad, he figured it was a blessing his twitching groin had cooled off completely.

While Pilsung stared at the bucket and let out a hollow laugh, Wooyoon frowned, scanning around. He was searching for the culprit—the landlord—who’d caused this dry-sky downpour. The bucket matched one his brother had borrowed from the landlord during last year’s rainy season when the basement flooded. Without the writing, he might’ve doubted it, but the marker confirmed it was the landlord’s doing.

Why would the landlord…

Was it revenge for rudely saying he’d move out? Wooyoon hadn’t realized the man was still this angry.

I apologized so many times. He even slapped me…!

After propping their wet sneakers and dress shoes diagonally in the shoe rack, Pilsung disappeared to the outdoor bathroom to wash up. Wooyoon had suggested it first. Pilsung said he’d just leave, but the stench—possibly from rag water—was unbearable, and Wooyoon felt bad sending him off after getting soaked because of him. It was almost certainly the landlord’s spiteful act.

Opening every drawer to find clothes for Pilsung, Wooyoon froze as Pilsung entered the room with a “fuck” after his shower. Turning, Wooyoon clamped his mouth shut so tight his lips vanished and widened his eyes.

Wrapped in just a towel around his waist, Pilsung’s body radiated anger. His frame, imposing even in a suit, looked colossal bare. Massive muscles—straight out of TV—bulged across his arms, chest, abs, back, and legs; bumping into him might mean multiple fractures.

Wooyoon felt a twinge of tension—maybe from yesterday.

Glancing at Pilsung’s chiseled pecs and abs, like a fighter from a UFC match, Wooyoon’s gaze drifted lower. Below the dark hair sprouting on his lower abdomen, the tightly knotted towel looked precarious.

Plopping down in the middle of the room, Pilsung turned on the fan and shook out his wet hair. Each time the short towel fluttered in the breeze, the space between his shamelessly spread legs teased visibility.

“Fuck, Nam Wooyoon. Come here.”

“W-why… why?”

Unable to tear his eyes from the towel swaying over Pilsung’s thick thighs, Wooyoon flinched and frowned. Lifting his head from bowing toward the fan, Pilsung leaned back, turning to Wooyoon.

“The bathroom’s so fucking cramped I bashed my head on the faucet washing my hair. Check if your boyfriend’s got a hole in his skull.”

“…….”

“What’re you staring at? Hurry up. One, two…”

Unable to ignore Pilsung counting, the hesitant Wooyoon crawled over slowly on his knees.

“Look. It’s red, right?”

“…….”

Reaching cautiously for Pilsung’s head as he showed his crown, Wooyoon brushed the wet strands with his index finger. Touching the thug’s head—usually just something he looked up at—felt strange.

His timid prodding couldn’t peek inside, but Pilsung kept asking if he saw the red spot.

“Dunno…”

Muttering softly, Wooyoon pulled back from the large body shoving its head closer. Leaning toward him with one arm on the floor, Pilsung looked up.

“…….”

Staring silently at Wooyoon with fierce eyes, Pilsung asked in a low voice,

“Did you hate me today too?”

“…….”

“You hate me, don’t you? Did you hate me today too?”

Meeting Pilsung’s direct gaze without beating around the bush, Wooyoon thought back. Moments spent with Pilsung today—different from laughing and chatting among the mart staff—surfaced. Recalling the carefree laughs Pilsung’s antics drew, Wooyoon spoke slowly.

“Today…”

Today was kind of fun.

Just as he was about to say it, the precariously fluttering towel flipped over. Before he could look away, the cock resting casually between Pilsung’s solid thighs waved at him. Familiar yet foreign in its unerect state, Wooyoon grimaced and yelled,

“I hate it so much!!”

Pilsung’s face fell at Wooyoon’s near-hysterical reaction. Clutching his left chest as if stabbed, he cursed, “Fuck.”

“Even if we started off wrong… how can you despise me to my face? I’m fucking trying my best to keep my temper and do right by you, but how…”

As Pilsung hung his head in defeat, the fan’s breeze shifted, and the flipped towel slid off. The cock that had been grossly greeting Wooyoon vanished beneath it. Sighing in relief, Wooyoon tried explaining to the shaken Pilsung.

“No, it’s not that…”

“Not that?”

Pilsung looked up, and the towel flapped again in the fan’s wind. Meeting the long cock’s gaze, Wooyoon shook his head.

“Get out! Go! Leave!”

“Ha… fuck… you really…”

Covering his face with a large hand, Pilsung stood, grabbed his clothes off the wall, and glanced back at Wooyoon. Head buried against the wall, refusing to look his way—it was cold as hell.

Cruel bastard.

Sure, he’d messed up yesterday, but today Wooyoon had smiled at him often. Was it foolish to hope even 0.1% of the hate had lessened?

“Hoo…”

Sighing deeply, Pilsung began dressing in his dripping clothes.

Love was killing Baek Pilsung’s true self. Cruel Nam Wooyoon. Cruel love.

Flinging open the iron door, Pilsung stepped out of the tiny room, pulled a cigarette from his wet jacket, and lit it. Climbing the stairs, he exhaled smoke with a sigh. Like his insides, the hazy smoke drifted into the night sky. Of all the cigarettes he’d smoked over the years, today’s tasted the bitterest.