ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴡʜᴇɴ [ᴇɴ- ᴘᴏʟʏ]

Chapter 121

A glass bottle rolled down the pavement. The continuous clink and screech were becoming annoying. The man picked it up and dumped it into the nearby garbage fill. The obnoxious smell from the overflowing cans was burning through his nose.

He could go back to the rest house. Or Dharam whatever it was. The huge building he had been staying in for the past few days wasn't bad. If anything, he'd say those people were the sweetest beings he had ever met. And if times were different, he would've struck up a friendship with those men.

If there was one thing be had learned about people here, it was that the men wearing turbans were the most outgoing and helpful. The man who allowed him to work at that diner wore one. All the people here in the rest house wore them.

But he didn't want to go back. He didn't want to get comfortable yet. This old street where stray dogs roamed every corner, nitpicking through the bins and growling at him if he came any closer, reminded him of the pure bad luck he was going through. And he needed that reminder to fuel up his anger. Anger was the only thing he had left in him.

From a respectable job earning enough to indulge in a little comfort, he was here in this dark street past midnight. Stranded, hungry and hopeless. Unable to get a job, unable to make enough money for food, and unable to go back home.

His lip curled back menacingly. His passport was gone. He had no one that would help him get back home. If he even tried to contact any officials, they would arrest him for charges of sexual harassment.

Those snobby assholes. He thought.

A low crunch on the muddy pavement alerted him of someone's presence. He saw a figure approaching. His first instinct of flight fizzled away. He squinted his eyes to see a man younger than him. But that wasn't what made him stay. It was the pale skin like his own.

The other man approached him. He was better dressed than him. Compared to his old and grimy t-shirt and jeans, the other guy wore a hoodie and faded jeans. The latter stopped in front of the bench he was sitting on.

"You don't look so good." The latter commented in Korean.

A short laugh escaped him. Hope filled his veins. That was his kin alright.

"You think?" He asked.

"I thought I was doomed. Stranded so far away from home. But at least I got a job and a roof above my head. Your condition is worse."

The man narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

The other man looked surprised. "You don't know me?"

"Except that you're Korean. No."

"I'm Seon. Marketing team. Well, Ex now." He said.

The man squinted his eyes to get a good look at his face. He had seen him before.

"I know you." He stood up. "You were the first one to be kicked out."

Seon chuckled. But it was dark and humorless. "Yes. That's me."

"Junhwan." The man held out his hand.

Seon shook it. "I know. The infamous cameraman who harassed Enhypen's girl."

Junhwan's face hardened at the mention of Leah. That girl was the sole reason for his suffering. If only the psychopath wasn't there. A few more minutes and he could've pushed her off the bank. He had begged her to not tell anyone but that cold-hearted bitch had not only told Enhypen but also led him to his misery.

"If I ever see your face again, you'll wish you were locked up instead."

Heeseung held Junhwan's collar. He pushed the latter away, who hit the table behind him.