The Taste of Lies Chapter 9

As if severing an affection that had never even been attached, Youngmin’s words were cold. There was no trace of reluctance, making it seem as though he truly had circumstances that would only allow him to keep the boy for a year at most.

Youngmin patted Sangtae’s shoulder a couple of times and turned around. Feeling as though he might just up and leave if he stood still, Sangtae quickly nodded and followed behind him.

Whatever happened, it would be better than now.

Refusing the only lifeline that had come his way was unthinkable.

A few items had been added to the shopping list.

After changing into more comfortable, less conspicuous clothes, Youngmin tossed a jacket and a baseball cap to Sangtae. Sangtae stood there awkwardly, the corners of his mouth drooping as if he couldn’t understand why he was being given clothes.

“Put them on. We’re going to the market.”

“The market?”

“Since we’re going to live together, we should at least grill some meat.”

“Meat?”

Sangtae raised the end of the word. His drooping head lifted as much as his now-wide smile.

Meat was a cure-all. It proved powerfully effective in closing the awkward distance between them.

“We’ll buy you shoes, clothes too. Pajamas, underwear, blankets, ah, and a toothbrush—”

“What kind of meat are we buying? I like beef. Not that I’m saying you have to buy beef… LA galbi wouldn’t be bad either.”

Once he got fixated on meat, it seemed no other words could reach his ears. Youngmin belatedly realized that taking in a person was more than just setting an extra spoon on the table and let out a long sigh.

After buying everything they needed, he’d have barely enough money left to even look at oxtail. And since shopping always made him realize he needed this and that, he’d probably have to withdraw cash from the bank.

“I prefer pork.”

Opening the door of his rusted-underbelly compact car, Youngmin said. Without being told to get in, Sangtae hopped into the passenger seat and chattered.

“I like pork too.”

Both hands grabbed the seatbelt and pulled it across. With a face like a child afraid he’d be told to go home now that they were nearing an amusement park, Sangtae looked at Youngmin.

“We’re not going home?”

The belt in his hands crumpled even flatter. Settling his rear into the driver’s seat, Youngmin answered.

“I’ll buy you beef when I get paid.”

“Really?”

His gloomy face instantly brightened. As Youngmin started the engine and pulled away, Sangtae fired off questions nonstop.

“When’s payday? Were you really planning to keep me until then? What’s your favorite cut of beef? Have you ever tried ribeye? I heard it melts in your mouth… You don’t have to buy me beef, you know. I like chicken too. Do you like chicken, Mister?”

Overwhelmed by the barrage of questions, Youngmin felt his head spinning. By the time he’d conscientiously answered each one, they were already in front of the market—he didn’t even have the presence of mind to ask why he had to answer such trivial questions.

“Don’t forget to wear the cap.”

Rubbing his numb ears, Youngmin strained his voice. Sangtae tilted his head as if he didn’t understand why, but did as he was told and pulled the cap down snugly. Anyone who promised to buy meat couldn’t be all bad. The blue cap had white embroidery reading “LA.”

“It suits you. Keep it.”

Even if he couldn’t buy LA galbi, he could give him an old LA Dodgers cap that had been lying around in his closet. Youngmin patted Sangtae’s head and grinned. Sangtae lowered his gaze.

He parked in front of the bank and withdrew cash. As they walked to the market, no one paid them any attention. Flustered by the absence of stares directed at him, Sangtae looked down at the sleeves that half-covered his palms. The navy jersey jacket with three white lines running from shoulder to sleeve felt unfamiliar.

“Did a friend come to visit?”

The clerk behind the meat counter display recognized him. He was the man who always checked the cash register whenever Sangtae passed by, but today he didn’t realize that the one standing beside Youngmin was Sangtae. Youngmin draped an arm over Sangtae’s shoulder as if they were truly old friends.

“Yeah, a friend came from far away to see me. So I want to feed him something good. Give me a recommendation—something tasty and easy to grill.”

A baseball cap, a jacket, and someone acting friendly beside him. With just this thin outer shell, the clerk couldn’t even guess who Sangtae was. A mischievous, spiteful impulse surged. Sangtae chimed in.

“Give us a lot. That pork belly looks good. Don’t you think so, Ma Youngmin?”

“Yeah, for grilling, pork belly’s the best. Cheap and filling. I’ll throw in some other cuts as a bonus. Just wait a moment.”

The clerk, completely oblivious, turned his back and began humming a tune as he sliced the meat. Youngmin frowned; Sangtae was delighted.

“Getting cocky, are you?”

Holding the heavy black shopping bags, Youngmin growled.

“Are you going to kick me out? No way, at least until I’ve had Korean beef.”

Having confirmed the limits of Youngmin’s tolerance, Sangtae threw a tantrum. He wasn’t the type to get angry over just this much. From what Sangtae could tell, there were clearly things Youngmin would and wouldn’t allow.

The things he wouldn’t allow were illegal activities like glue-sniffing or compensated dating. Nagging for one more item or complaining that he didn’t like the blanket color were things Youngmin would more or less tolerate. He even gave advice when choosing sneakers, suggesting the better pair.

“We need to buy this too.”

It was around the time Youngmin was calculating his remaining living expenses in his head, mindful of austerity. Sangtae, who had been crouched in front of the toothbrush display at the grocery store, picked something out and stood up.

Dust had accumulated on the thin plastic packaging attached to the cardboard. The product that had long been ignored by customers’ hands was dental floss. Of all things, he had to buy that—Youngmin rubbed his brow.

“Do you use that?”

Thinking he’d picked it up out of curiosity, Youngmin asked. But Sangtae nodded with a surprised expression.

“Of course. I can’t live without it—it feels gross otherwise.”

His face was resolute.

“I’ll check when you brush your teeth at home.”

“Fine, do whatever.”

Tossing the floss into the shopping cart, Sangtae answered cheerfully. They’d come to the market empty-handed, but by the time they left, four arms weren’t enough—they’d crammed the back seat and trunk full of bags.

On the way back to the villa where the two would live, they passed Sangtae’s house. Youngmin asked if there was anything he needed to pick up from home. Sangtae silently stared out the window, then shook his head. And said,

“There’s nothing there.”

Sangtae had come with only his school uniform and one backpack, led by Youngmin’s hand. So his words meant the same as having nothing at all. In other words, everything that now belonged to Sangtae had been bought by Youngmin.

“Is there anything else you want? I can turn the car around.”

“…I just want to hurry home and grill the meat.”

“Alright, let’s do that.”

Youngmin stepped on the accelerator.

They arrived at the rented room quickly, but they couldn’t grill the meat right away—Sangtae insisted on putting everything away first.

Packing torn-out cabbage hearts with damp paper towels and wrapping them in plastic, Youngmin thought he’d brought back a nag, not a delinquent student. Still, he didn’t regret it. By the time the two of them set the side dishes on the table, it was already past dinner time—8 o’clock.

Thick slices of meat were laid on the glossy pan surface. Sizzle—white steam rose with the sound. As the fat melted, the meat grew even glossier.

“When will it be done?”

“Not even three seconds have passed.”

With two men standing in front of the gas stove, the narrow kitchen felt even more cramped. As Sangtae pressed close, resting his chin on Youngmin’s shoulder, Youngmin reminded him of the cold reality.

“It takes time to cook.”

“It looks done to me.”

“The blood hasn’t even cleared yet. Stop that and wash the lettuce.”

“Shouldn’t you flip it? Where are the scissors? I’ll cut it.”

Blinded by the meat, no words reached Sangtae’s ears. Youngmin sighed, stepped back from the flame, and began washing the lettuce.

If he stared hard enough, the meat might get scared and cook faster. Leaving the meat to Sangtae resulted in chunks that looked more like rags ending up on the table. It was because Sangtae had insisted on cutting it with scissors before it was even cooked.

“It’s fine. Once it’s in your stomach, it’s all the same.”