NHL 10

Dylan wore an expression of happiness. Even though they had spent over two hours skating together, they still didn’t know much about each other. The moment he realized that, Dylan looked back on his ambiguous attitude thus far and decided to set a clear direction.

Taking his phone out of his pocket, he offered it to Joeon without hesitation.

“Could you give me your number? It’s not like such a coincidence as today is guaranteed to happen again.”

“Ah…. Sure.”

After a moment of hesitation, Joeon entered his number into Dylan’s phone, made a call, and saved Dylan’s number on his own phone. As Dylan saved Joeon’s name, he asked:

“John.”

“Yes?”

“Is this your real name?”

Dylan finally asked the question he had been dying to ask since he first heard Joeon’s name. Joeon shook his head with a look of understanding.

“No. My real name is Joeon. Song Joeon.”

“Song Joeon.”

Dylan muttered, “Joeon, Joeon Sooong,” to himself.

“So that’s why you go by John.”

“Yeah. Well, since it sounds similar.”

“I’m Dylan McClain.”

For Joeon, who might not have understood him right away, Dylan spelled out his name letter by letter.

“Thanks. I’ll save it as this, Joeon.”

Joeon, Jo-o-o-on. After repeating the name, which sounded a bit jarring to his ears, a few more times to himself, Dylan stared intently at the screen after saving the number. He didn’t know why, but he looked quite satisfied.

“Alright, Joeon. Thanks for your hard work today.”

“Thank you. Dylan, you worked hard too.”

“Sleep well and have sweet dreams. I’ll call you later. Bye.”

As Dylan waved his phone in greeting, Joeon blinked and gave an awkward wave in return. Dylan walked backward, watching Joeon enter the condo before turning around.

As he hurried through the residential area, he suddenly stopped and ruffled his capped hair wildly.

“Sleep well? Have sweet dreams? I’ll call you?”

No matter how he thought about it, that sounded like the kind of lines you’d throw out on a first date. Yet, Joeon had a naive face that didn’t even notice it could be heard as a pick-up line. Unless he was a cunning actor who had swallowed a demon.

Dylan bet that Joeon was far past being dense—he was on the side of being more naive than five-year-old Lucas.

It was all because of Joeon, who had nonchalantly—and unintentionally—hit on him first, saying things like he would treat him to dinner. From the moment he became conscious of that fact, his thoughts kept jumping in a different direction, as if a switch had been flipped.

“The other person is a man.”

But even if he regretted it, the words already spoken could not be taken back.

🏒🥅

It was a Sunday morning in December, with lukewarm sunlight pouring over the streets like the shadow of a faint fireplace.

When his eyes, not yet awake, turned toward the window, the snow that had piled up on the balcony railing was melting, dripping cold water like icicles welcoming the spring.

Joeon glanced at the wet floor and lifted his head toward the clear, cloudless blue sky. It was a quiet morning where you couldn’t hear even a single common car horn. Being a leisurely weekend, there was no need to be anxious about lazing around in bed.

It was a day with no neighbor’s dog barking while chasing a chipmunk on a walk, no one nagging him to get up and eat breakfast, and no appointments for Christmas gift shopping. It was just an ordinary day among the same days passing by the same way.

Joeon, blinking his bleary eyes, counted the chores he had to do in his head.

As he muttered about things to buy and things to do, he jumped up at the sound of a loud alarm. He let out a long yawn and checked the clock, but it was still early.

Joeon’s house didn’t have much furniture, as it only contained the absolute necessities. Perhaps because of that, one couldn’t really feel the vitality of human life.

The bedroom had only a queen-sized bed and a small chest of drawers that served as a bedside table; the living room had only a guest sofa-bed—which had never been used for its intended purpose—and a floor lamp. Since the house came with a built-in island bar, there wasn’t even a common dining table set. Instead, there were two second-hand stools he had bought for twenty dollars a set.

Picture frames, rugs, and cute dishes were luxuries. He didn’t have a delicate enough personality to collect such things to decorate the house.

Perhaps because he was living at a low price on the condition of not reporting taxes, he had an anxiety that a situation might suddenly arise where he’d have to move out at any time. These days, the landlord is always in the position of power wherever you go. Even more so if the terms are good.

So, even with plenty of space, Joeon was busy shrinking his world. So that whenever he had to leave this house, it wouldn’t be difficult.

Counting by the year, it had been seven years of wandering from house to house like flower seeds drifting on the wind, looking for a place to take root.

He was only protected by adults and the system while he was a minor. Since then, he had taken on a massive amount of student debt to get a college degree and had lived in dormitories and underground monthly-rent rooms. Simply coming out from the shadows into the light was a miracle of an achievement for Joeon.

Paradoxically, people doubt happiness more than they doubt misfortune. When misfortune finds them, they accept it willingly, saying they knew it would happen, but when good fortune continues, they feel anxious and afraid as if a huge conspiracy were lurking behind it.

Using the excuse that there is nothing as futile and fleeting as being deprived of what you hold in your hands, the attitude of thinking it’s better to live a life of having nothing from the start is a product of pessimism and defeatism. Anyone who has fallen into despair as much as they have hoped for good fortune will fall into that swamp.

Perhaps that was why, even though he was in his third year at a stable company, Joeon still often felt subconscious worry and anxiety, thinking, “Could I be fired from work tomorrow?” or “Could these peaceful days suddenly end?”

Fortunately, today was a day when negativity and lethargy had not eaten his soul. It was because his body ached like an old man’s, to the point where he didn’t even have the leeway to fall into such sentiments.

Perhaps because he had put too much strength into his legs to maintain his balance while skating, his ankles and calves were sore. The waist muscles that had been rigid the whole time were also pulling severely.

Joeon, who rose from his seat while groaning, surreptitiously checked his phone, which had no messages, and then opened the built-in closet next to the entrance to take out the vacuum cleaner. It was time to replenish the motivation, cleanliness, and food he had exhausted during the week.

As the heavy, antique-style wooden main door of the cathedral opened, a group of people who had finished Sunday mass poured out onto the street.

Passing by those heading toward Tim Hortons across the street to buy coffee and donuts for breakfast, Joeon entered the condo building with a large grocery bag slung over his shoulder. Inside the bag were enough supplies to last for a while.

After filling the refrigerator first, he stood blankly in front of the countertop, tethering his soul that was trying to run away, and then began his meal preparation in earnest with the news broadcast playing on his laptop.

To suit his simple palate, he chopped the salad into bite-sized pieces and placed them in a bowl, then put a piece of meat he had drained the blood from onto a pan. His eyes, bored while waiting, drifted to the laptop screen.

“As you can see, the Christmas Market has opened here in the Distillery District this year, just like always. Entry tickets are…”

A reporter with long brown curly hair and a beanie was standing in an alley full of people, conveying the holiday mood. Amidst the passing screen, happy moments of friends, lovers, and families standing in front of a giant Christmas tree were captured.

Joeon, who was watching that appearance nonchalantly, had his eyes turn toward the weather forecast screen split on the upper right. Below the ‘Monday’ display, a picture of falling snow appeared again.

“Snow again.”

Terrible, just terrible. As he sighed along with muttering to himself, the anchor began to deliver news about a shooting incident that had occurred in the downtown area. It was an incident that had occurred in a neighborhood not far from Dundas Square, where Joeon had bought his skates.