Traces and Storms

xxxiii

People weren't too fond of my parents. I at least knew that much. Having a congressman for a father, and a charity trustee for a mother, most of the questions the public threw at them involved monetary issues.

Funnily enough, although I knew we weren't poor, I wouldn't say I lived an extravagant life, either. What kind of child born with a silver spoon in her mouth would have green tea and a bowl of cereal on most days, anyway? We could afford helpers, but for the most part, only a caretaker would drop by our house several times a month to do some general cleaning. The rest of the maintenance was up to me.

There were many assumptions coming from strangers—most aroused scandals here and there. I suppose that was one reason why I wasn't into watching the news that much. Some were convinced Mom's profession was nothing but a front—that the organization Mom directs is actually a safe where Dad's slush funds are kept. It is quite vague to me now, but it was difficult to recall whether I had a peaceful childhood or not. If I were to speak of my first memory, I wouldn't be able to reply. I suppose it would be easier for me to lie about that one. Perhaps, I had chosen to forget. And on some days, I'd think my parents preferred to stay away from me while they worked just so I could lead a life of normalcy.

My mind began to wander, and I could only scoff when my thoughts began to revolve around Myungsoo. What were the jobs of his parents? It was rare to see him alone in the house. They owned a café, sure, but I found it more of a sideline than their actual business. What was it, then? Mrs. Kim had a green thumb, and I wouldn't be surprised if her profession involved plants. Mr. Kim, on the other hand, usually drove away while wearing an office suit. I shook my head to help me focus. I was back in the café. Woobin and Sunggyu were still staring at each other. Sungjong stood at the far end of the building, clearing the tables. It was obvious, however, that he was keeping tabs on the situation. The adamant tension between them was something they didn't mind concealing.

"Are you really working here?" Woobin cocked his head; a boyish smile graced his lips. It looked lighthearted, but the strain was still there.

"The pay's good," Sunggyu replied. "The same one? From ten years ago? Or did your preference change?"

"You're really something else," the other muttered. "That brazenness of yours—to even show up in this place and stay—"

"Should you really be saying that to me?" Sunggyu interrupted. A certain sharpness was in his eyes. Even his words sent daggers flying from his mouth. "You, of all people?"

"W-Woobin," I called out. He responded by craning his neck to face me. "If you aren't comfortable here, we can leave."

"How will I be uncomfortable?" he returned. "An old friend is here."

I bit my lower lip. It was my first time, seeing him like that: sarcastic, menacing, and intimidating. It felt like if I pushed harder, I would suffer the consequences.

"Old friend," Sunggyu repeated. "But of course. We were quite a mischievous bunch back then."

"Mischievous wouldn't even cut it," Woobin said, and I felt he meant something more than that. "I would love to talk more, but I have matters to attend to."

But I heard it as: I want to see you squirm, but Suji is here.

Just then, Sungyeol walked in, wearing a red shirt and a pair of jeans. My eyes slightly widened upon seeing the purple bruises on the corner of his mouth and left temple. He met eyes with me, and slightly nodded before approaching Sunggyu.

"Your shift's over," he said. "Go."

Sunggyu gave a slight nod, and without a word, retreated to the staff room.