NHL 16

“I just saw it now. It was too chaotic after the game ended. I hurried home and went straight into the shower, so I checked it a little late.”

—I understand. It’s nothing special; I just contacted you because I wondered if I could see you for a moment.

“Aren’t you tired?”

—Me? Not at all. My condition is top-notch.

“I guess my worrying about your injury was unnecessary.”

—Obviously.

Dylan’s voice, seeming to be still intoxicated with the joy of victory, was more excited than usual and full of confidence. It even felt like I could sense the arrogance of someone who had survived competition between males and seized the pinnacle. Joeon was the type of person like an herbivore who had never survived in such a pack by his own strength. For some reason, feeling intimidated, I became uncomfortable dealing with him.

—Um, so, regarding that.

While Joeon was gauging the timing of how he could hang up the phone, a bolt from the blue hit his ears.

—Can you spare a moment? There’s something I have to give you.

“Right now?”

Perhaps noticing his hesitation, Dylan hurriedly canceled his words.

—It’s too late, isn’t it? I know. I’m sorry. It’s not an important matter, so let’s forget about it.

“No, wait….”

—I’ll leave it with the concierge, so go pick it up.

“Pardon?”

Saying he would leave it with the concierge meant he intended to stop by Joeon’s condo.

While Joeon hesitated in bewilderment, the sound of Dylan getting out of his car was heard. He seemed to be walking somewhere, then stopped and was silent for a long time. Putting the phone that hadn’t been disconnected back to his ear, he muttered in a dejected voice.

—Now that I think about it, I can’t leave it unless you tell me which unit it is. I’m not asking you to tell me. I’ll give this to you when we meet later.

As he said, would there ever be a day when we meet again later? That was in doubt from the start. I was also curious as to what on earth he intended to give me that he came all the way here after finishing the game. My soft-hearted nature wouldn’t allow me to be so cold-hearted as to send someone who had come all the way to my neighborhood—not even close to the stadium—on a wasted trip.

Touching his head with his palm, Joeon let out a sigh-filled answer.

“It’s fine. Look up my name and press the call button. I’ll open the lobby door for you.”

Joeon finished the call and sent his unit number via message. Not long after, a call came through the lobby intercom. After opening the door, Joeon waited for Dylan nervously, arranging his hair—which was puffed up like a chestnut burr from just drying it—with his fingers.

Telling him the building he lived in last time was a coincidence that happened while riding the flow, and at that time, there was no hesitation since over 500 households lived in the same condo. Because I had never anticipated a situation where Dylan would come to visit.

However, this time, having accidentally told him the unit number as well, the smoke screen of 500 households was meaningless. That being said, if Dylan were a suspicious person, that wasn’t the case either.

Isn’t he a person whose name and face are widely known? And he had been good to me, too. The strange feeling of rejection and anxiety currently enveloping Joeon was of a different kind than the wariness one sets up against an unspecified stranger.

While he was lost in thought, the sound of the elevator arriving was heard from afar. At the presence of someone approaching the door, Joeon froze, only then noticing he was still in a bathrobe.

It felt like it would appear impolite to welcome a guest like this. Well, as far as being impolite goes, Dylan was more applicable in that regard.

Either way, Dylan didn’t look like he would stay for long. Thinking that Dylan would understand since we are both men, Joeon opened the front door as soon as he heard the knock. In front of the door stood Dylan, looking as if he had just rushed over after finishing his shower post-game, in light attire.

“You’re here?”

“Sorry for the late night….”

Dylan paused for a moment, then covertly scanned Joeon from top to bottom, and with his eyes fixed on Joeon’s flushed, reddish cheeks, he showed a sociable smile.

“…I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Joeon, who had been glancing around, couldn’t just leave Dylan standing alone in the empty hallway, so he slightly opened the door. It was an excessively quiet night to stand someone in the hallway to hold a conversation.

“Come inside for now.”

Dylan, who had seemed lost in thought, soon muttered, “Excuse me,” and cautiously stepped inside.

The house was quite warm, with the heat from the heater pouring out through the vents, and the faint smell of soap and humidity hovering in the air as if he had just finished showering.

Dylan’s body, which had been cooled by the chilly winter air, heated up in an instant. While he took off his shoes and changed into guest slippers, Joeon guided him to the kitchen.

“Aren’t you cold? You’re in short sleeves in this weather.”

“I train on ice every day, so this much is nothing.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

Joeon showed a faint smile at Dylan’s bluff-filled chatter. Since it was quite a valid point to be more than just empty boasting, he didn’t feel any room to refute it.

“Still, if you’re okay with it, shall I get you a cup of warm tea? I only have one kind, though. It’s a tea that Koreans enjoy drinking in winter. The taste is similar to lemon tea, but a bit sweeter and….”

Joeon, finding the silence awkward, began to chatter and explain the tea. Dylan, on the verge of saying it was fine, kept his eyes on Joeon’s back as he put water on the kettle and nodded as if bewitched. He wasn’t even interested in the tea.

“Then, I’ll take you up on it.”

Because the bathrobe’s waist tie had loosened and draped over his shoulders, Joeon’s white, straight neckline was exposed beneath the hair on the back of his head.

Even the slow and relaxed movements—pressing the switch of the electric kettle and then opening the drawer to take out the glass bottle containing yuja-cha (citron tea)—blended into a somehow mysterious atmosphere.

Inside the shelf he looked into after opening the upper cabinet door, there weren’t any decent teacups to use for serving, perhaps because he had never invited a guest before. While he hesitated, embarrassed to serve him with mugs received as free gifts during university or company events, Dylan’s presence approached closely behind his back.

“I’ll help you.”

His looming shadow covered Joeon completely. The moment he flinched, an arm reached out long over his shoulder. It was a distance so close that even taking one step back would make him touch the other’s torso.

Dylan’s hand took out a white cup with the University of Toronto’s name plastered on it. A strong scent of perfume, as if newly sprayed, came from him, having washed cleanly after stretching out immediately after the game.

“Two cups, right?”

This time, his hand reached for a cup with a tacky company logo. It was something distributed to employees as a souvenir when a new product was launched.

After taking those out, the shelf looked empty. Much like a narrow and superficial human relationship, or a short and miserable life without anything significant, only dust remained.

“I can reach it too, you know.”

At the words spat out while expressing dissatisfaction, Dylan, having put down the cups, laughed as if sorry for bruising his ego and spread his palms out in the air. It was a sign of surrender.

However, instead of stepping back or looking around the house, he watched Joeon’s process of scooping the citron tea into the cups quietly from right behind him. His face grew hot for some reason at the explicit gaze felt near his ear.

“This is citron preserve, and you just have to mix it in hot water.”

Joeon, who mistakenly thought he was showing curiosity about the tea, began an explanation he wasn’t even asked for.

“I think it’s good for colds because it contains a lot of Vitamin C. That’s why many people drink it in winter.”

While waiting for the water to boil, Joeon moved his eyes stealthily to check Dylan’s movements. Although he was standing facing him, Dylan’s gaze was touching the path going a little lower than Joeon’s face, further down than his collarbone.

“And we drink ginger tea as well.”

Joeon said, firmly closing the collar that had slipped open while he was off guard for a moment. After that, he turned around and looked at the dining table. It was a basic, small-sized island bar, embarrassing to even call a dining table.

“Why don’t you wait sitting down? It’s almost done.”

“Ah, sure.”