🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter 8
“I was just about to warn you that patch was icy, but you stepped on it already. Honestly, you look so fragile—like your bones would snap if someone brushed against you—and yet you always manage to fall so… dynamically.”
“I may not look it, but I’m sturdy. I hardly ever break bones.”
“Oh? So you have broken some before?”
“Who hasn’t broken at least one bone in their life?”
“Me.”
“….”
“I’ve never broken anything. I used to wonder what it would take. Turns out, falling like that would do it.”
Jung Taeheon’s lips curled, teasing.
Hiccup.
Haejoo, at a loss, mouthed like a fish before forcing words out:
“…Let me go. I—I can stand on my own.”
She pushed against his chest to step back upright, but as she nearly slipped again, his supporting arm tightened immediately.
Just as she steadied herself—
Creak.
A sickening sound scraped under her shoes, followed by the grating of metal spokes against asphalt.
Haejoo froze. She looked down to see her borrowed umbrella: its ribs bent, twisted beyond recognition. Not some cheap vinyl umbrella either—this one looked expensive, almost new.
“I-I’ll fix it.”
The shock sobered her instantly. She snatched up the umbrella, fumbling to bend the warped metal back into shape. Just as she applied force—
Hiccup.
Her hiccup jerked her grip off balance.
Snap.
One of the spokes broke clean through. The umbrella collapsed, completely ruined.
“It’s broken.”
Taeheon announced it in the same calm tone as a sports commentator, utterly unfazed, as though the cost meant nothing.
Haejoo, pale as paper, lips trembling, whispered:
“…I’m sorry. I’ll pay for it.”
“Forget it.”
“But—it was expensive. Practically brand new—”
He cut her off with an easy smile.
“Then just do me a favor sometime.”
“…I can really make it up with that?”
“You don’t even know what favor I’ll ask. Nervous already?”
His grin carried a streak of mischief. She, however, stiffened, her voice serious:
“On second thought, I should just pay you back—”
“I’ll keep it reasonable. Don’t worry. Now give me the umbrella.”
He took the wreck from her hands, folding the jagged edges inward so they wouldn’t stick out, then tossed it neatly into a trash can beside the shop.
“You on OnStar?”
“No.”
“Then give me your number.”
He held out his phone.
“…Why?”
“How else am I supposed to call in that favor?”
“…You won’t ask for anything weird, right?”
“Weird? Like what?”
He met her gaze, waiting, his eyes steady on hers.
The silence stretched. The alcohol in her system made her wide eyes shimmer faintly as she searched his face, lost for words. His expression shifted—darkening, almost pensive. Then his brows furrowed slightly. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing.
“What, you think I’d haze a freshman? Then again… guess I am a boomer, huh?”
“….”
So he had remembered. He’d been carrying her careless slip all this time.
‘What a grudge-holder,’ she thought grimly.
“…Fine. I’ll trust you.”
She typed her number into his phone and handed it back. Taeheon saved it, lips twitching upward.
Uneasy, she added quickly:
“Don’t you dare save it under something like ‘Insurance Fraud.’”
“With all the updated intel I’ve got? No need.”
He slipped his phone into his pocket, then said casually:
“From now on, when you go home, stick to the road we walked tonight. Every stretch of it’s covered by CCTV.”
So that was why he’d steered her that way. Taeheon valued his life too much to leave safety to chance. Thinking back on how he’d walked her halfway home, how well he knew this neighborhood, she realized—he must live nearby too.
That only made her guilt heavier. She’d broken an expensive item of someone in the same circumstances as her.
“…Okay.”
“Good. I’m off.”
He gave a brief wave and headed down the hill. She watched his back retreat for a few moments before turning toward her house.
Then it struck her—she hadn’t thanked him. She spun around, but he was gone.
Reaching for her phone to send a message, her hand brushed something warm inside her coat pocket. Curious, she pulled it out.
It was a canned chocolate drink, still radiating heat.
“…When did he put this here?”
The faint warmth tickled her palm.
Her house was just ahead, the night cold enough to sting. He could’ve kept it for himself, but instead… he’d slipped it into her pocket.
“This stuff costs more here than at the convenience store down the block. Typical Car Poor—spends money like water.”
At this shop, the heated cans cost three hundred won more than at the convenience store. Still, her icy hands tingled back to life as warmth seeped into her skin.
A tiny cut stung along the side of her finger—probably from the broken umbrella ribs.
By the time she reached home, the chocolate drink had cooled, watered down to a tepid sweetness.
Taeheon didn’t contact her all weekend.
Only then did Haejoo realize—she’d given him her number, but he hadn’t given his in return. With different majors, a sprawling campus, and no classes in common, the odds of meeting again were slim unless he reached out.
On Friday, she entered a general education class she’d scrambled into during course adjustment week to free up her Thursdays. She checked her phone on reflex. Still no messages.
When she lifted her head—
Her eyes locked with a familiar figure across the lecture hall.
“You’re sure you’re not following me?”
“I told you, I’m not.”
Two weeks into the semester, after course corrections had closed, fate seated them in the same general class.
