Chapter 17: The Strawberry Latte Strategy

“Is that person at home if you go now?”

“Huh?”

“The one with the sh*tty habit of using their hands.”

“I don’t know. He comes and goes as he pleases.”

Even more of a piece of sht.*

I barely swallowed the curse that threatened to fly out. After hearing that, it felt even weirder to tell him to go home. Knowing the situation, I couldn’t easily tell him to walk back into that hell early. My pace naturally slowed as I deliberated. Then, the sound of footsteps behind me stopped with a soft thud. I turned around to find Song Yun Jae looking up at me, his face even redder than before.

“Hey, what’s with your face? Did you get heatstroke?”

“No.”

“Your face is cooked, though?”

“It’s not.”

Why does he keep saying no?

I took a few steps toward him to close the distance.

“It’s my first time seeing you get heatstroke.”

“I told you, it’s not.”

“Want me to take a photo and show you? Your face is gone.”

“…Then buy me something cold.”

Song Yun Jae curled the corners of his mouth up sheepishly. It was a different kind of curve than the smiles I’d seen before. I missed my timing to respond while staring at that awkward yet surprisingly fitting arc. And as always, Song Yun Jae snatched the moment back for himself.

“Thanks, I’ll enjoy it. Let’s go.”

This was a first for me.

The place Song Yun Jae led me to was a tiny private cafe tucked deep into an alley, quite a distance from the school. Seeing me hesitate at the entrance, wondering what kind of out-of-character move this was, Song Yun Jae just walked right in. While I’d spent time in fast-food joints or convenience stores to grab a meal during cram school breaks, I’d never sat in a cafe to kill time. Especially not with another guy. I figured if you were going to drink coffee, you got it to go—since you usually drink it while studying or in class anyway, that seemed most efficient.

Just as I was cycling through useless thoughts—like how he looked so at home in a place like this, why his image didn’t match his order of a strawberry latte, if he actually had the palate of an elementary schooler given his snack bar habits, how he even knew about this place, and if a cafe in an alley like this even made enough to pay rent—Song Yun Jae made a slurping sound with his straw.

“Is it good?”

“Want a taste?”

“You enjoy that yourself.”

“Strawberry lattes are great when you’re hungry and your blood sugar is low. Your blood starts circulating the second it hits your tongue.”

You should drink one too if studying gets hard. His voice as he added that was innocently young. Among the dark, gritty eighteen-year-olds at school, Song Yun Jae stood out in a way that was impossible to ignore. There was a reason he caught the eye with that ivory cardigan and pale face. With looks like that, how could he not? Yet, seeing that I didn’t feel any disgust or annoyance toward him made him a truly strange fellow.

As my thoughts reached that point, despite the surge of irritation and frustration, I recalled the many nights I’d spent thinking about fragments of him. Feeling the tips of my ears heat up for no reason, I hurried to pick up the glass in front of me.

“How can you get energy from drinking something like that?”

He muttered it like a monologue, referring to the Americano in my hand.

Come to think of it, he’d been enduring the afternoon without lunch. It was a time when anyone would be hungry, and in this weather, Song Yun Jae’s outfit would have made his sugar drop even if he hadn’t been doing anything. I remembered his “cooked” face from earlier. It seemed like the problem was that his blood was circulating too well.

“Your blood seemed to be moving fine earlier.”

“Is it because of the caffeine?”

“Earlier, I thought if your blood circulated any more, your face might explode.”

“…Hey.”

Song Yun Jae glared at me and slowly turned his head. As the eye contact we’d been maintaining broke, the fact that we were sitting face-to-face suddenly felt awkward. I don’t know what I was thinking when we chose seats opposite each other upon entering. Though, sitting side-by-side would have been even more ridiculous.

“Is it not bitter?”

Song Yun Jae suddenly pushed up his cardigan sleeves while scraping the strawberry jam at the bottom of his glass with his straw. Even as he folded his sleeves, he stole a glance at the glass in front of me.

“If this was bitter, why would I come to a cafe?”

“Because they have things other than Americanos.”

“I’m not a kid; that stuff is just sweet.”

“You eat sweet things because you’re not a kid.”

Kids get cavities. I was flabbergasted by his follow-up. He really wouldn’t give an inch.

I glared at him as he sat there expressionless, just biting his straw. He obviously felt my gaze, but he didn’t react. My eyes naturally landed on the glass beneath his chin. He’d been making noise with the straw for a while, but the volume of the drink hadn’t decreased much since we got it.

“Are you rationing it?”

“…Ah.”

“If it’s not enough, just order another one.”

He pulled the straw out of his mouth.

“Are you rich?”

“Do I look rich?”

His round eyes turned toward me. Song Yun Jae was quite good at looking at people. Staring, specifically. His pupils were deeper than I expected, so meeting his gaze when he stared like that made me feel strange. As I looked away at an appropriate moment, he continued.

“You’ve been letting me shake you down since a while ago.”

“So you were aware you were shaking me down.”

“I thought you were rich.”

“In your eyes, do I look like I come from money?”

Song Yun Jae let out a short, airy laugh. It wasn’t even a particularly funny comment, yet he laughed. I was the one taken aback by the unexpected reaction.

“Is that funny?”

Ignoring my remark, his face softened significantly. It was a smile that made me wonder what he’d look like if he laughed even wider—just a hint of a smile left after the laughter subsided. It suited him quite well.

“You look more like a delinquent than a rich kid.”

“First a son of a b*tch, then a delinquent. What’s next?”

“You smoke, too.”

I felt a sting of surprise but shrugged it off as if it were nothing. I’d never put them on my desk or pulled one out in the classroom since it was school, after all. How did he know? Even if he did, did it matter?

“Want one?”

I gave a mock-casual tilt of my chin.

“Later.”

He shot back with a blank face, not backing down. The possibility of rebellion coming from such a pure-looking face had quite an impact.

“Stop bullsh*tting, seriously.”

“You’re the one who offered, so why are you getting mad at me?”

“You’re drinking a strawberry latte because coffee is bitter, and yet you’re talking about cigarettes.”

“…….”

He’d certainly gotten better at talking back just to avoid losing.

I was the one who poked him, yet I was the one feeling the heat rise. He bit his straw again with a sulky expression. This time, the pink liquid began to disappear much faster. Then he paused again, eyeing how much was left. Was he really rationing it?

“I told you, just order another one.”

“…No, I don’t want to fill up on liquids.”

“Then why are you rationing it?”

“Because I don’t want to go home early, why else?”

When he put it like that, I had nothing to say. Did he say it with that clear face knowing I’d be speechless? Taking advantage of the silence, I took a large gulp of my Americano. Instead of soothing the frustration, the coldness sliding down my throat felt like it was freezing my chest solid.

Because I don’t want to go home early. His honest words lingered in my mouth.

“Everyone feels that way, I guess.”

It was a clumsy attempt at comfort, or perhaps a cheap bit of empathy.

The words felt awkward as they left my mouth.

“What about you?”

“Why me? How would it be any different? It’s the same sh*t.”

His eyes quietly scanned me.

I found it interesting—the way he watched me, knowing he couldn’t ask for more. I let him look, deliberately avoiding his gaze, and at some point, his stare began to dig deeper.

What are you so curious about? Why are you so curious about me? What are you trying to find in me?

I remembered the night I got hit by the milk carton he threw. His eyes, which had been so sharp, had actually relaxed in the face of my harsh words. The afterimage of his wavering eyes when I said there were no “normal” bastards was vivid. What was so great about that kind of solidarity? It wasn’t like it would solve the situation.

Silence fell over the already quiet cafe. It was the moment the background music paused before the next track started. I happened to see the condensation on his glass touch his fingertips.

Vrrr—

The phone in my pocket vibrated shortly.

Suddenly, words I hadn’t planned on saying burst out, like a suppressed cough.

It was an impulsive choice.

“Where have you been?”

That was the result of ignoring the continuous phone vibrations. I’d switched to airplane mode on the walk home. So, it wasn’t surprising that a sharp, angry voice met me at the front door. Thinking it was my own fault, I headed for the stairs, but the shrill voice caught my ankle again.

“I’m asking you where you’ve been.”

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