The Taste of Lies Chapter 10

Stuffing a large wrapped bite into Sangtae’s mouth, Youngmin said. It was his own way of consoling the deflated Sangtae. With a dissatisfied expression, Sangtae chewed his bulging cheeks. Then his eyes widened and he suddenly nodded.

“You’re right. It’s delicious.”

“See?”

Wrapping his own bite, Youngmin replied. The meat disappeared at a rapid pace.

Youngmin held the tongs and scissors, and the meat went into their mouths as soon as it came off the pan. One-third went to Youngmin, two-thirds to Sangtae. By size, Youngmin should have eaten more, but he willingly gave up his share.

Whether it was a company dinner or anything else, he’d have another chance to eat, but Sangtae wouldn’t—unless it was from him. Besides, he’d collapsed on the street. Despite being so thin for his surprising height, he needed to put on some weight. He was still growing, after all.

“Eat slowly. No one’s going to take it from you. It’s all yours.”

Putting down his spoon, Youngmin rose from his seat. Sangtae stopped chewing and watched him warily. Had he eaten too much? Not knowing when he’d get meat again, he’d shoveled it in first, but he worried Youngmin might kick him out for being a pig. The thought suddenly made him anxious.

“Mister, you eat too.”

“You sure change your tune fast.”

Leaving his meal unfinished, Youngmin suddenly put on his jacket, and an anxious gaze clung to his back.

“Where are you going?”

“To feed the cats.”

“The cats?”

Sangtae doubted his ears. There were only the two of them in this house.

“Yeah, the cats. Dinner ran late, so it’s gotten late. Cats may not read clocks, but they know mealtime. They’ll be waiting.”

Youngmin wasn’t lying. A bag of cat food really was sitting by the shoe rack. It was strange to have cat food in a house with no cat hair in sight. While Sangtae looked bewildered, Youngmin grabbed a bottle of water left at room temperature and a clean plant saucer.

“Keep eating. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

“I, I want to go too!”

The moment he said he was leaving, Sangtae lost his appetite. The taste of meat lingering in his mouth felt like chewing on scrap paper all day, and he couldn’t touch the food. The pungent kick of garlic stung his tongue, and the rank kimchi turned his stomach.

“Fine.”

“Wait ten seconds. No, five!”

He threw on Youngmin’s jacket and Youngmin’s cap, and slipped his feet into the sneakers Youngmin had bought.

“I’m just coming right back.”

“I want to see the cats too.”

He snatched the water bottle from Youngmin’s hand.

Sangtae wanted to see the cats.

He desperately wanted to see the cats that were loved enough by Youngmin for him to abandon his meal and get up.

“Tsk tsk tsk tsk.”

“Do cats really come to a sound like that?”

“Shh, quiet. You’ll scare the cats away.”

Kneeling on one knee on the ground, Youngmin pressed his index finger to his lips. A food bowl and water bowl were placed under a van that had clearly been abandoned for a long time.

It wasn’t like calling a dog. Sangtae folded his arms and stared suspiciously under the dimly lit vehicle, wondering if a cat would really come to that sound.

Mew—

A thin sound came from the darkness. Two yellow eyes blinked from among the sparse branches in the roadside flower bed.

“Cat—”

“Shh.”

Youngmin pressed his finger to his lips once more. The small creature in the flower bed didn’t move, just stared at Youngmin. Sangtae also held his breath and watched the cat.

A cat with a chaotic mix of black, brown, yellow, and white blinked its large eyes. Then, with a long, languid meow, it approached and rubbed its head against Youngmin’s leg. It seemed to be complaining about why he’d come so late, and Sangtae felt his mood sour.

“You come here too.”

Youngmin gestured over his shoulder. Suddenly, Sangtae felt a lump form in his throat. He wasn’t sure what word fit, but it was a feeling similar to when his mother brought a man and said she was going to marry him. Still, Sangtae didn’t show it; he crouched beside Youngmin and held out the back of his hand as Youngmin had done.

The cat hesitated for a moment, sniffed his hand, then closed its eyes and rubbed its head against it. The fur was softer than he’d expected. Fascinated by the small, purring vibration, Sangtae met Youngmin’s eyes.

“Go on, you should eat now.”

Youngmin pushed his arm forward. The cat with its head against his hand slid along and was pushed away.

“Go on, eat.”

Pointing with his chin at the food placed on the ground, Youngmin said again. The cat meowed in dissatisfaction and crawled back under the van. As the small, soft head disappeared, Sangtae felt oddly disappointed.

“What’s its name?”

“Ma Youngmin.”

“Ha, who asked for your name, Mister? I meant the cat. Not you.”

The absurd wrong answer became an opportunity for Sangtae to feel closer to Youngmin. Casually dismantling the wall built by formal speech, Sangtae asked.

Realizing his slip, Youngmin adjusted his glasses with an embarrassed face. Watching the cat eat with a crunching sound, he answered.

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know?”

“I never gave it one. I don’t know what other people call it either.”

“Why didn’t you give it one? It’s cute.”

Youngmin seemed to feed the cat regularly. The food and water bowls by the door, and the cat running up to greet him, were proof. The cat with all sorts of colors was cute, and even if he couldn’t take it home, he could have given it a name.

Calling by a name is better than calling with tongue clicks. Even a name like Butterfly would have been fine. But Youngmin’s following answer was shocking.

“I don’t know when I’ll leave. So I don’t get attached.”

“…”

Just then, why, of all things, did those words echo in his head?

…It’s not like I’m saying I’ll take you in forever. At most, a year. By then, you’ll have to find your own way.

The words Youngmin had said when proposing they live together. Those words that confirmed their parting pierced Sangtae’s heart like thorns.

A poorly defined emotion surged forward. Sangtae stood up and shouted.

“Is that why you brought me along too? Because you felt sorry for me, like that cat?”

For Sangtae, whose only remaining asset was his shallow pride, pity was a fatal blow. He’d never once pitied himself, thinking he was unfortunate—just a bit unlucky. Taken aback by the sudden outburst, Youngmin blinked.

“Because I couldn’t eat and collapsed on the street? Who asked you to worry? If you hadn’t butted in, I could have earned eighty thousand won!”

Startled by the loud noise, the cat ran away. More than half the food remained. A flicker of guilt crossed Sangtae’s face. Even as he raged, he kept glancing at the cat’s trail. Then, feeling like tears might well up, he deliberately widened his eyes.

Gazing silently at his flushed face, Youngmin too dusted off his hands and stood up.

“I’ve never felt sorry for you.”

“Then what? What’s the reason you asked me to live with you?”

“I thought I shouldn’t leave you as you were. I don’t know the reason because I didn’t think it through.”

No reason.

That meant no intention, and therefore no calculation. Translating it into words Sangtae understood—

“Just because?”

It was just because.

“Yeah, just because. I did it because it felt like the right thing to do.”

“That…”

Sangtae couldn’t understand Youngmin. He’d never met anyone who gave him a room, bought him clothes and shoes and even dental floss, and fed him meat just because it felt right. Even blind hatred always had a cause—different appearance, or something mixed in besides Korean blood.

Even if he couldn’t accept it, there was always a reason. If even hatred had a reason, how could goodwill have none?

He was about to press for an answer, demanding how that made any sense, when Youngmin—who had been running his tongue inside his mouth until his cheeks puffed out—cut him off.

“It’s not pity. If it were pity, I’d have brought the cat instead of you. They can’t talk. …If you really need a reason, let’s call it a matter of ethics.”

“Ethics?”

“Yeah, ethics. The way these people treat you is so unethical that I couldn’t just stand by.”

It made even less sense. Youngmin had cleverly twisted the conversation with difficult words, but the conclusion was simple: he’d proposed living together because he felt sorry for me, Kim Sangtae, who was being treated unfairly.

So, it meant he’d been swayed by compassion.