Chung Myung woke with the weight of his elder’s voice still gnawing at his skull.
“For heaven’s sake, Myung-ah! Could you stop shoving crap in your mouth?!”
He’d been six the first time Chung Mun barked that at him. Back then, he was gnawing on the hilt of a broken sword. Now, well into adulthood, with a mouth full of shattered molars, enough bad decisions to fill a ledger, and several pieces of furniture still bearing his teeth marks. It was safe to say: he hadn’t learned a damn thing.
Still half-asleep, he jammed a finger between his molars, fishing out the soft, bitter pulp he’d just chewed to death in his sleep. It clung to his gums, tasting like dirt and resembling something between a leaf and uncooked liver. When he spat it into his palm, it was purple. Crushed. Fragrant.
He glanced at his bedding and muttered, “At least it wasn’t the mattress this time.”
With a grunt, he flung the mangled pulp out the window and splashed water on his face. The water was freezing, the sky beautifully blue — which could only mean, he was obligated to go ruin someone else’s morning. So he headed towards his favorite victim.
When he finally slid open the paper door, senior Chung Mun didn’t even look up. That was how you knew you were a professional: your patience had been dead for years.
Senior just sighed through his nose and gestured vaguely toward the edge of the table.
“You’ve got correspondence.”
Chung Myung flopped down opposite him, limbs sprawling like he owned the place. “Burn it.”
That earned a twitch. Damn seniors. They always knew exactly where to stick the knife.
“…Burn it,” he repeated. Then added, “No—chew it. Let me chew it. Bet it digests better than whatever half-truth he scribbled this time.”
Chung Mun’s lips quirked! Politely cruel, as he offered, “Shall I read it for you?”
“No. I already know what it says!” Chung Myung waved him off, slouching dramatically. “‘I’ll be off the estate for a while, no need to come over, don’t miss me, don’t follow me, don’t even breathe in my direction.’” He snorted. “Who does he think he is? An overworked constable? Please.”
