NHL 9

Dylan pushed Joeon toward the counter while he went to find a table and sat down.

Feeling a bit guilty about using such cheap drinks to pay for an expensive lesson, Joeon ordered a large size and added a box of ten Timbits with a mix of assorted flavors. Even then, the total didn’t exceed ten dollars. It was a meager treat for the tutoring received from a professional athlete.

As he was returning with the drinks and the box of Timbits, a hand appeared from behind him and snatched the cups.

“I’ll handle this, so go and sit down. Did you buy Timbits?”

“Yes. I wanted you to take them home and eat them.”

“In that case, let’s just eat them together.”

“I’m fine. I’m going to go home and eat dinner anyway, and…”

“Same here.”

Joeon checked his watch and muttered in a low voice, “Ah, that’s right.” It was just approaching seven o’clock. Since he said his parents’ house was nearby, he could probably just go home and have dinner there separately. Joeon felt sorry, as the Timbits he’d bought with such effort now seemed like a burden.

“Then why don’t you take them and eat them in the morning?”

As he lifted his head while holding out the Timbit box, he made eye contact with Dylan. Dylan was watching Joeon intently with his chin resting on his hand.

“…Why?”

“What you just said—what does it mean?”

Dylan imitated Joeon’s pronunciation. It was a self-muttered phrase in Korean.

“I said it like this, right?”

His expression was serious, but to Joeon’s ears, it sounded incredibly cute. As Joeon laughed before he knew it and explained the meaning of “that’s right,” Dylan worked hard to purse his lips and imitate him.

“Aha…. ‘Geu-ro-chi.'”

“Correct. You’re good at it.”

“Really? I guess I have a knack for it. Tell me something else. Is there a curse word I can use against guys who pick a fight during a game?”

“Excuse me? That’s a bit…”

While they were sharing these trivial conversations, the box of Timbits had emptied. Without realizing it, they had been picking at them one by one. Dylan, noticing it late, laughed in surprise as well.

“We ended up eating them all.”

“I know. Tonight’s dinner is ruined. The donut and the hot chocolate are both so sweet that even if I go home, I can’t eat anything else. Though it is a relief that I don’t have to cook.”

Joeon’s hand was swift as he closed the lids, looking embarrassed by the empty cups. It was a bit of a shame to have solved dinner so carelessly, but it was a relief not to have to worry about what to cook.

“I found it delicious. Thank you, John.”

“Not at all. I should have treated you to something better as tuition…. Shall I buy you a proper dinner next time?”

“Dinner?”

Dylan swept his lips, where sweetness still lingered, with his tongue. It was a taste of sugar dumped into a donut and hot chocolate.

“Hmm, that sounds like a date proposal.”

At Dylan’s joke, Joeon looked at him in confusion and then waved his hands dismissively.

“No, I mean, lunch would be fine too.”

After saying that, he felt like that wasn’t right either, and he became flustered, saying, “Just… I mean… I wanted to give you a better reward as a coach…” Dylan just tidied up the empty paper cups with a nonchalant expression.

“Maybe next time.”

After disposing of the trash and coming outside, the two walked until they reached the front of Joeon’s condo, which was not far from Tim Hortons. When Joeon, who had been lost in thought and keeping quiet for a long while, suddenly stopped walking, Dylan turned around from a few steps ahead.

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, anyway, do we have a next lesson?”

Dylan didn’t answer right away, smiling quietly while sparing his words. He appeared calm on the outside, but his mind was busy trying to figure out the other person’s intentions. It was a conventional greeting he had offered unconsciously out of habit, but if mentioning it specifically was an intentional act, the other person was no amateur either.

“Dylan, about that day. Why did you help me? It must have been annoying.”

Dylan’s gaze slowly moved down from Joeon’s cheeks. Joeon has a youthful face, but he is certainly not a child. He isn’t naive, and he is quite suspicious. Evasive tactics didn’t work on him.

At first, he had just helped because he thought he was a young student, and after that, he had lent a hand because he was a beginner, regardless of the fact that he was an office worker. In any case, that day, his body had been itching, and he felt like he would go crazy if he didn’t do something.

Today, he hung out with him because it was fascinating to meet again a connection he thought had passed by like that. There was no harm done to him, either. And it wasn’t annoying—it was actually quite fun.

“You must be busy if you’re an athlete. It’s the season for hockey around this time of year. Ah, I went to watch it with my colleagues at work a while ago. I don’t know what league Dylan plays in, though.”

Dylan, who had stepped a pace closer, pulled up the bag strap that was barely hanging off Joeon’s shoulder and said.

“I’m injured. So I can’t play in games for the time being.”

The mention of an injury reminded him of Tyler, who had to leave behind the sport in which he had even held a championship trophy in his hands. How painful must it be to have to forcibly quit the team that filled his hot teenage youth with dreams, against his will? To an athlete, an injury is an experience that should absolutely never happen.

Because Dylan on the ice looked so limitlessly free, like a bird with wings, he hadn’t noticed at all. For a pro athlete, both the injury and the reality of not being able to play because of it must be frustrating and bleak, yet the other person’s voice was calm, as if it were nothing. Joeon lowered his gaze from his shadowed face.

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Dylan subconsciously lifted his hand toward Joeon’s head, looking dejected, and then quietly lowered it. The habit of treating Lucas had become ingrained in his body. However, except for their light brown eyes, Lucas and Joeon didn’t resemble each other at all in personality.

‘In that case, I guess he resembles Mack, not Lucas.’

While Dylan was thinking of his parents’ adorable big dog, Joeon asked with a puzzled expression.

“Dylan?”

“Yeah?”

“Excuse me, but where were you injured?”

Joeon threw out the somewhat sensitive question and watched his reaction. Dylan hesitated, then grabbed Joeon’s arm and pulled him closer. He quickened his pace along the path he was walking and said.

“That’s for the next lesson.”

Since he didn’t intend to probe into a subject the other person didn’t want to talk about, Joeon obediently followed him as he moved forward.

“This is it. The condo where I live.”

When they arrived at the entrance of the tall building, Joeon stopped walking first.

“It’s a nice building. Do you live alone?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

Muttering, Dylan pointed to the front with his finger. It was the direction toward the subway station.

“I’m going that way. My parents’ house is in that direction. My condo is next to the arena.”

The arena was the stadium located right next to Joeon’s company building; it glowed with red lights when the Toronto Tyrannosaurs had a basketball game and blue lights on days when the Polar Bears had a hockey game. Along with the two teams, it was one of the major symbols of downtown, also used by the AHL (American Hockey League) second-league team and a lacrosse team.

If you stood by the window in the breakroom, the arena’s sign was clearly visible, so even Joeon, who had no interest in sports, would occasionally check the color of the lights.

It was perfect for use as a small-talk topic when chatting with other employees, especially when talking to superiors who liked sports—just throwing out who had a game today was enough. People crazy about sports would blather on about their strategies and records on their own if you just gave them a hint about who was playing.

Not only that, but because the home stadium of the Bluebirds, a Major League Baseball team, was not far away, the employees’ interest in any sport was high. On the day the basketball team won the league, the employees had sat by the window and watched the game broadcast on the electronic display board all together.

If his condo was next to that, it would take Joeon only 3 minutes to walk there from his company.

“That’s close to the company I work for. It’s right in front of it.”

“Then we can meet downtown now, too.”