Rent-a-friend
Client 11: Kim Gaeul
Tags: Fluff
(5.3k words)
You signed up to Rent-a-friend out of boredom. It's as simple as that.
….nah. That’s not quite right. It went more like this:
You'd been staring at the same corner of your apartment for weeks, organising your big bottles of acrylics while thinking about absolutely nothing and everything at once. You barely made it for competitions, and your bills pile up incessantly.. Your canvases sales took a toll due to supply and demand, barely keeping you afloat (something about modern art that you refuse to follow), and pessimistic thoughts clouded your mind when you were alone in your apartment. That's when you heard some murmurs from your friends. "Bro, Rent-a-friend." They advertised, "You hang out, and you get money. Simple, eh?" and "Stop clinging to the past, man. Maybe you can find someone else here."
It is so fucking ridiculous, right? What kind of people will just pay you to just….hang out? Just exist in someone else's days without actual commitment? But with a few more nags, you sign up belatedly. Curiosity and desperation really does make a hell of a cocktail.
Which is how you ended up here. In the middle of your messy studio.
As a painter, working with acrylic tends to let the medium have its way of getting everywhere if you let it be — plastic sheets taped to the floor, accidental paint smears dried onto the wall, neglected brushes soaked in cloudy unchanged water. With one hand braced against the wood, you are currently scrubbing at a stubborn streak of beige on the table.
And right in the middle of it, the bell rings. Oh look, your client has arrived.
Pushing yourself up, you quickly trudge towards the kitchen sink and rinse your hands until the paint fades. Looking down at yourself, all that greets you is a concoction of madness — a wrinkled and paint-splattered shirt, and an even more paint-splattered old pair of jeans. You run your fingers through your hair, putting not much thought into it as you push the strands back. Your face freshens up with a quick rinse, ignoring the tired eyes. Yeah, good enough.
It stops being good enough the second you open the damn door.
The guest is a girl who stands a little too straight, most likely trying to match up to your height (she probably remembers your profile). White cardigan that is definitely bigger than her petite frame, she clutches her tote bag close to her chest. She has this long and luscious black hair that she lets down freely, but you catch a glimpse of a hair tie on her wrist. Her eyes then flick up, meeting yours for a moment, before giving you a warm smile.
"Hi," she says hesitantly. "I'm Gaeul. I, uh….I booked for the rent-a-friend service."
Wow, she really has quite a soft and gentle voice. But you are certain that she is anything but weak. Careful sounds more like the right term, which is fair.
Regardless, you step aside. "You're at the right place. Come in."
"Oh- okay." She slips past you, already apologising under her breath even though she hasn't bumped into anything. She takes her shoes off neatly, and lines them up against the wall next to your paint-covered slippers that are anything but neat. And of course, like any other client, Gaeul has her gaze drifting immediately to the mess you're still in the middle of cleaning up.
"Wow, you actually paint?" "I wouldn't put it on my profile if I don't."
She hums quietly, eyes darting to the scattered brushes, the canvases leaning against the wall, and then the mess that definitely shatters the vivid imagery of an artist. Her attention lingers on the small canvases mounted neatly, mundane objects, fruits, a woman sitting on a chair, then back to the mess.
You gesture her towards the table instead. "Have a seat."
She sits on the edge of the chair at first, but then decides to scoot in properly when she realises how silly she looks. You sit across from her (duh. This isn't an escort service, what the hell) and slid the contract to her.
"I'll explain it first," you clear your throat. "I assume it will be better to hear it from me directly than just through DMs. You can read it if you want as I talk."
She looks relieved immediately. "Appreciate your consideration."
'No worries." you give her an assuring smile. "So, first and foremost, you are renting me as your company." Your voice is clear yet casual. "The transaction applies only face-to-face. So that includes hanging out, drinking, whatever you want to try, as long as it's legal, doesn't cross boundaries, and hurts no one." You point at the clauses on the paper. "The max is seven days. It doesn't have to be consecutive, nor do you have to use all of them."
She nods slowly, eyes fixed on you.
"But don't worry, messaging and calling are free, frankly because it is too annoying to quantify those. So you can send me memes, reels, or complaints at 2 a.m., that's fair game."
Her lips twitch. "That's…good to know."
You keep on explaining every little detail in the contract — no obligations after the contract ends, you are simply just there to accompany her, not setting her straight. Luckily, she listens attentively, nods at the right moments, and asking questions that tell you she read the website twice.
"And the…item?" she gets quite hesitant.
"Ah, so about that," You scratch your head as you smile sheepishly. "Something not exactly valuable but with some high emotional value. I can assure you that it is nothing nefarious."
She hesitates (which is understandable), then opens her bag. Her fingers move automatically, digging through everything inside, displaying them on the table — lipstick, lip balm, the forgotten snack, and more. But then she stops rummaging, looking at the hair tie on her wrist. She removes it from her and then places it on the table carefully.
"I use it all the time, well because I have long hair, but also—" she reasons herself a tad too quickly. "Whenever I work. When I need to focus. I don't know…to feel confident, maybe?"
You glance at it. The hair tie is slightly stretched. And soft from use.
"I'll take it." And you hear the exhale from her like she has been holding her breath for so long. You give her a pen. She signs. Her hands are steady.
And the ink dries. Just like the uncleaned streak of beige on the table.
-
Gaeul is an angel at first glance. Soft voice. Polite smile. Harmless energy. Then she grins, and somehow it scares the shit out of you.
Let’s rewind.
You’re currently walking with her. She holds herself a little too straight, fingers constantly fiddling with the strap of her tote bag. Her eyes dart around the street, alert, like she’s mapping out an escape route in case this whole thing turns out to be a scam. It’s almost endearing, if not painfully obvious. So…you decide to break the ice, searching for a decent one in your head. 'So…what do you do for work?"
Ok, you already know. Background checks exist for a reason. But you don’t want this hang out to be just as awkward as your first time in a relationshi—
“I work in retail,” she replies. “Sales assistant. Clothing store.”
Phew. Something to work with.
She goes on about her days at work, that every morning she always wears her tight black skirt and matching waistcoat (she looks really cute when she shows you the photo) to spend the day serving customers and working behind the till. She admits she was lucky to get the job six months after graduating from junior college.
“The store’s nice,” she adds quickly.
But then she exhales.
“It was the only offer I got,” she admits. “After so many rejections, I just… accepted it immediately. Even though it was in Seoul.”
She tells you that she lives quite far away from Seoul. It is admittingly funny to see her cheeks puffing up when she rants about the nearest convenience store being a fifteen-minute drive away, and even that is just one lonely shop all by itself on a main road. Magazines always go on sale a few days later than they do anywhere else. There are no cinemas or fashion stores. Nothing she could call a restaurant either; the closest things are the small local diners with set menus.
To sum up her little rant: dying of boredom. Which is far more relatable than someone you have spent your late teens with. And hence she's here now. In Seoul. Renting you.
"So…" you try to sound casual, "what made you actually look this up?"
Gaeul gives you a sigh. "Well…I don't have anyone who I can just try things with. I mean, I have friends here, obviously. But they would definitely judge me for doing things out of character. I’m not exactly that close with them." She glances at you, probably testing whether you'll judge her. "So I was quite relieved that you guys' service is providing someone who isn't going to tell me off."
To be fair, you might judge in your head, but you don’t tell her that. "Well, that's what we do."
She laughs softly (albeit a bit embarrassed) and then tugs at a strand of hair before tucking it behind her ear. "Although, it is still quite weird, talking to someone I basically hired."
"It's supposed to feel weird, I don't blame you." you chuckle. "Kind of like you're wondering when you’ll get the character you want in a gacha game. Half of the thrill is seeing whether it will be a terrific pull or a terrible pull."
"…huh?" "Don't worry about it."
You walk in silence for a few moments (because that was so cringe). The faint sound of crows laughs at you. The air smells like hazy afternoon rain and warm asphalt. People pass by, each of them moving like they already know where they’re headed.
"So," you clear your throat. "I can assume this is the first time you're renting a friend?"
She shakes her head. "No, I did book a few before, actually. I was desperate to find something, I guess. I was nervous, and…uh, bored." She bites her lips. "Curiosity too. I don't want to stay in this routine forever. I mean, it's fine, I'm fine. I'm happy that the job is fine, but…"
"You don't want to just turn old and grey in your work uniform?"
"…huh, that's a witty way of saying it." "I do have my thunder. Thank you, Gaeul."
She smiles. "So…" she stretches out her world. "you're willing to follow me to do whatever dumb stuff I want?"
"For seven days." You inadvertently lift the corner of your mouth up. "We do whatever you want to try."
And you do indeed.
First stop? A photo booth. You know, one of those pop-up ones tucked between restaurants, with pastel curtains and stickers slapped everywhere. You barely have time to protest before she's already dragging you into it (reasons: just because). The photos come out poorly framed and awkward. One picture, you're mid-blink. In another, you made a terrible joke that made Gaeul laugh so hard her head tilted out of frame.
"Gosh, why did you make me duck my head?!" "Don't blame my joke, come on!"
Accessories stall is the next stop. She tries on sunglasses that are far too big for her face. A bucket hat that she immediately rejects. Hair ties she picks up one by one and, for reasons unknown, starts trying on you instead.
“Wait what th— I barely have any hair to tie?” “Shush, it’s funny.”
You just let her be since it’s easier than questioning it.
Down a few streets later, she buys a drink she's never had before. A dessert she's unsure about. She insists on trying your order and lets you try hers without hesitation. Some items fit both your tastes, but some aren't so great that Gaeul pushes them away for you to finish it.
The little moments do hit you quietly in your heart. Something about the small detours. The ‘fuck it we ball’ approach in trying everything. Rewinds you back when you are still with 'her', and you always wonder if she manages to get more free time for herself.
But you don't get to linger on the thoughts as Gaeul slows down at a particular block.
Her eyes lock onto a sign ahead and you follow her gaze. The restaurant sits wedged between a phone repair shop and a convenience store. The sign is loud and modern, adorned with bold letters that promise a tad too much confidence. "Mystery Curry Challenge here! Free if you finish!" You read the bold letters, and then the smaller text below. "Special Flavour only. Wait, special how?"
She presses her lips together, suppressing a laugh. "Well they say it is shitty."
"That's never a good sign."
You push the door open. A small bell jingles overhead, a bit too cheerful for the unknown flavour ahead that you are about to taste. Inside, it's bright and loud — . LED warm lighting, Gen Z music, tables packed close together. A giant screen on the wall loops promotional videos, and something about challenges.
The waitress looks at you two. "Are you guys here for the challenge?"
Gaeul hesitates, then nods. "Yes, for two, please."
You're led to a long communal table. Gaeul sits across from you, smoothing her skirt, then tying her hair up without even thinking about it.
You blink. “When did you get another hair tie?”
She just shrugs.
"Also, why is everyone watching us?" "Well, we're talking about this infamous challenge, can't blame them."
"…Ok you’re right."
The plates arrive on sleek black trays, and the curry looks…intentional (and that is polite, for you). Thick and glossy, with the texture that is very wrong. The smell hits a second later, and it smells bitter, spicy, and oh yeah, very wrong. And guess what? The staff member cheerfully advertises them as poop-flavoured curry.
Ugh. It is literally shitty.
Gaeul leans forward slightly. "Gosh, it smells worse up close."
"At least this will do numbers on Tiktok." You fight the urges to gag.
When the staff member puts their hand on the small timer and lets you know when to start, you both pick up the spoons.
"See you on the other side, Gaeul." "See you too."
The timer clicks. You take a bite.
It is so shit.
Not even joking, it is so bad.
It's the kind of bad that feels so deliberate. With each bite, you are so flabbergasted at the fact that no one stops during the brainstorming process to think: Why? Seriously? Who the fuck would think of this abomination?
To describe the taste in whatever words you can conjure up, the first hit is…bitter? It's not a good kind, either, it's a weird mix of cocoa powder combined with bitter melon (wow, genius observation right there) from what you can point out. Then comes the spice slap to your face, which Gaeul points out it is coming from minced chicken, yam, and the motherfucking fish guts. What? How does she even know what fish guts taste like? Oh don't even start about how the aftertaste creeps in immediately, with the rush of the curry powder crouching from the back, and proceeds to cling and linger to the back of your throat.
Tl;dr: It's dense. Stagnant. Worse than wet cardboard simmered with whatever they can find in the trash can.
And it looks like Gaeul is not taking it well either, even though she suggested this place. Across from you, she goes completely still. Spoon hovering mid-air. A mouthful filling up her cheeks, eyes wide with most likely regret. A single syllable escapes from her, "Oh", and that sums up the whole experience. As expected, someone nearly laughs, a phone camera tilts your way, but both your focuses are on how to survive the literal shitshow in your mouth.
She takes another bite. "I can't believe this isn't a safety hazard."
“Well,” you croak, “it attracts curious idiots like us.”
You don't finish it. Well, neither of you does. The free meal sounds tempting, but sanity is far more valuable. Eventually, she sets her spoon down too, laughing, eyes watering, even.
'I'm sorry I dragged you into this." Gaeul claps her hand, apologising.
"D-don't worry about it." You cough, the lingering taste of shit staining your throat. "But I might break the rules and judge you for whatever you're cooking up next."
She laughs it off and smacks you on the shoulder.
-
"You ate literal shit?"
Sakura's voice crackles through your phone, loud enough to fill the quiet hum of your apartment. You pause mid-stroke, acrylic hovering just above the canvas. A muddy brown smear already stains the corner, which is unintentional yet fitting to the conversation.
"Poop flavoured, Sakura," you correct, as if that remedies things. "Poop flavoured."
"Tomayto, tomahto, same shit," she fires back immediately. You can hear her scoffing, probably pacing around, or whatever she is doing (most likely gaming). "Why would you do that voluntarily?"
"...I get paid to do it?" "You're not that broke, damn it."
You smile, eyes drifting back to the half-finished painting, but it's not anything concrete yet so far— still shapes and blobs.
"So," Sakura continues, her voice picking up a more curious tone, "what's she like? The girl who convinced you to eat shit."
"Please don't say shit, far out. I’m about to get PTSD with how many times you repeat that word." You groan. "And her name's Gaeul. She works at the retail store three streets away. Doesn't like the city but hates the inconvenience of the countryside more."
"That sounds….tiring." "Guess so, yeah."
You dab more paint onto the canvas, dragging it forward. "Interesting girl, though. Cute face, small, having unexpected yet funny points about her."
"Yeah, eating shit really is a charming point." "Sakura."
"Anyway, is she better than that girl you used to—" "Shut it, Kkura."
Her annoying ass is still the same as when you first met…by accident.
It was a day out at the café, a drink on the side and staring at the front page of Rent-a-friend on your laptop. You could've done this at home at the comfort of privacy, but free wifi was too tempting. You snort at the slogan: "Accompanying services. Friendships without the need to impress.", yet your hands are busy flying across the keyboard and filling up the application.
You should've noticed how Sakura was eyeing your screen from the next table. "Is that…Rent-a-friend?"
You almost dropped your drink halfway through. "Were you spying on me?"
"You're in public, that's on you."
You were so ready to snap, until she tilted her phone towards you and would you look at that, the exact same page, already half-filled. "Hey, I need money too, and this sounds tempting."
Somehow, you two ended up sitting together and helping each other out filling the forms. Comparing details. Laughing at certain application questions. Two strangers bonding over mutual financial ruin and curiosity, pretty much. Now she's your coworker, the one who knows you well enough to roast the living shit out of you.
"So…" Sakura drags out the word, "How long until she asks you to eat something worse?"
As if summoned, the phone buzzes loudly on the table. You check at the screen, and it's an incoming Facetime from Gaeul.
“Oh?” she says. “Speak of the devil.”
“I’ll call you back.”
“Don’t die,” she replies. “Or worse, don’t eat more shit. Let me know at the end if she is better than you-know-who~”
You hang up and swipe to answer Gaeul. The screen fills with motion immediately. The camera shakes, accompanied by loud clangs — metal against ceramic, something sliding aggressively across a counter, and Gaeul groans at something. Probably something bad.
"Hiya Gaeul," you peer into the screen. "Why does it sound like a mess?"
"I'm cooking." "Oh damn."
She shifts the phone, and her kitchen comes into view. Clean. Modern. Clearly unused. She reaches up and ties her hair without even thinking. Again.
"Oooh, nice. Whatcha making?"
"The poop-flavoured curry."
"Wait, why?" You drop your brush. "I mean, it's funny as hell, but why?"
She keeps stirring the pot with her wooden spoon. "It tastes really bad—”
“Truly bad.”
“...and I just want to understand how it goes that wrong…and maybe see if I can make it good."
"Gosh, now that is a challenge." You pick up your brush from the ground and clean it up. "I sure hope you can find the pot at the end of the rainbow."
"I don't remember the contract saying you can use sarcasm." "Jeez, forgive me, Miss Gaeul."
You two laugh for a moment before resuming your respective activities while on call — you with another brush stroke on the canvas, mixing the blues and greens, while Gaeul pours the blended bitter melon down to the pot, stirring the (admittingly atrocious) contents. She tells you that she searched for the recipe online — the curry originated from this experimental restaurant in Japan. And as you two expected, the recipe calls for onion, carrot, minced chicken, bitter gourd, cocoa powder, Japanese green gentian tea (for more bitterness, because why not), the damn fish gut, and curry powder. Of course, you two aren’t sure if it is one ingredient that fucks it all, or the combination of all of them that is the cause. But for a lack of better phrase: pretty much a shitty combination.
It feels natural, you realised, about the situation right now. Just doing your own things, and Gaeul doing hers, connected only by a phone call. You've had clients before, sure, with plenty of conversations. But this back-and-forth feels new. Probably because it is something you longed to do with ‘her’ back then. Instead, all you get is rushed calls, unanswered messages, always too busy, always somewhere else, and always promising later until it's not.
And yet you still cling to the thought that she still thinks about you at rare chances.
The call goes on. You can hear the knife thudding unevenly. She tries the first option today for improvement — a combination of honey and natural sugar. You're halfway through the distressing call before she puts it in.
It's not that hard to picture her expression from the noise that follows.
-
She doesn't give up after that night. Or the next. Or the other next. (Why….?)
The whole fiasco slips naturally into your days with her, wedging between walking aimlessly through the city, sitting on convenience store steps after her shifts, and sometimes asking you interesting questions that rivals the topic of "do we have one butt or two butts?". Sometimes face-to-face, and sometimes through calls that stretch out till late night because neither of you hangs up.
And another quality to learn from her is that she is persistent. No wonder she has big dreams.
"Okay," she exhales one afternoon. "I reduced the cocoa powder."
"And…?" "Bad idea, the cocoa powder made it more bearable."
Another day, another call.
"I replaced the melon with apple this time."
"Wait, why?"
"Sweetness of the apples is better than bitter melon, you think?"
"Uhuh…sure…" your squint. "And?"
"…did not help at all. It still tastes like shit."
You laugh so hard you almost knock over the jar of muddied water.
She reports everything in detail, and soaks every single bit up, because you're way too deep into this very important matter. Too bitter. Too sweet. Sometimes she tells you about a weird aftertaste that is akin to coconut lotion. Sometimes she scrunches her nose and makes you listen to her gag. Other times you see her stop herself, spoon hovering mid-air.
By the 7th, and final, allowable day in person, she texts you when you're pulling out the pans for dinner.
Gaeul:
Can you come over tonight? I made food for you as a thank you.
Huh. It does warm your heart a little.
When you arrive at her place, the smell that greets you the moment the door opens is — oh god. Putrid sounds too light to describe, it overrides the thought that this is your first proper look at her place beyond the video calls. Small. Cozy. The timber patterned vinyl panel contrasts with the white wall. And, yep, the smell brings you right back to the situation.
In the middle of the warzone was Gaeul with her hair already tied up, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. On the table is a pair of plates of curry. Wait, no, two pairs?
Ah shit, poop-flavoured curry.
"I made four in total." she announced. "One with the remedy I thought it's the best, and one exactly like the restaurant."
"You're insane." "And we're having one each."
"You're beyond insane." "Yep."
You sit at the chair while she cleans up the kitchen — wiping the counter, and throwing and soaking the used pots in the sink. You, on the other hand, can only stare at the identical plates in front of you and freeze, unsure if it's the visual or the smell that comes to knock on your funeral.
Fuck, you forgot to write your will before you left home.
"Ready?" Gaeul hands you your spoon and sits across you.
"Fuck it, we ball, I guess…?"
"Pff. See you on the other side."
You both take a bite. One from the original plate, and one from the improved.
It is so shit, still. Both of them. Like not even joking, it's still so bad. Ok, but the two versions are slightly different, sure. But it feels far more insulting, knowing the efforts that went into this.
Gaeul, across from you, freezes mid-chew. She swallows slowly, and in a very disgusted way. "…Holy shit."
"Literal shit, indeed. You cooked this, may I tell you."
"Don't remind me!" she protests weakly, tasting both plates again, hoping that maybe the second time will be kinder to her. The way her shoulder slumps down tells you everything.
You put your spoon down, still feeling the after effects. "Hey."
She looks up, cheeks as red as a tomato.
"It's good, you know?" You gesture at the plates. "That you're able to question how you can improve yourself and take your time AND putting effort into it. Look at this? You made literal shit?"
She stares at you for a second. Then she lets out a loud and genuine laugh, head tipping forward and not even covering her mouth. "Ya! You're so awful!"
"You're the awful one here! You made me eat this!"
You don't finish the curry. Neither of you does, because it will be a death sentence if you both continue. Gaeul pokes at hers once more with a spoon, blubbing out if different ratios will help, or swapping the stock instead, or removing some ingredients. You, however, just beg for her to stop.
The conversation afterwards becomes more mundane. Gaeul tells you about customers today who already know what they want but still ask for advice. About how one of the two fluorescent lights above her reception desk fused and annoyed her. You tell her about these painting commissions for your frequent customer from a well-off family with a background in ballet that goes back for quite a long time. But then the conversation takes a U-turn back to the damn fucking curry again, and you two can only laugh at the inevitable.
"Let's not make this curry again, Gaeul." "Don't worry, I will slap myself if I do again."
She smiles at you, fingers fidgeting with a few strands of her hairs. "So…um…" her voice is casual, "if…after this, would you maybe want to hang out again? Not—" she rushes on, "not like with the contract, I mean. Just—"
It really doesn't take a genius to see it. You can see it. Clear as day. Especially how she sheepishly looks away. But the memories still chain you back to the past and cling to a sliver of hope that you knew would not happen, yet you still cling onto it like a madman.
And so, you start. "Gaeul."
She looks up.
"You're great," you say honestly. "I had fun with you, I really do."
Her shoulders relax.
"But," you continue, choosing your words carefully. "I'm not really in a place fo—" you sigh, realising that beating around the bush won't do, especially for Gaeul. "Truth to be told, I'm still hung up on my ex. It's hard to forget your first love, you know?"
And you just end at that.
"Oh," she exhales. You can see the disappointment flashing on her face, but she reins it in almost immediately. She nods. "Yeah. That's understandable."
"Sorry about that."
"No, don't worry." she smiles again. "I like guys who are honest."
You stand to leave not long after helping her clean up (and a mutual gagging at the plates later). She walks you to the door, hands tucked into her sleeves.
"Thank you," she says again, standing behind you. "For taking up my request. For not judging me. And for eating with me."
"Trauma bonding," you give her a thumbs up. That gives her a good laugh.
"I'll probably still message and call you. If that's okay…good friend."
You chuckle. "Anytime, good friend."
-
The apartment is quiet as you open the door. Just another night.
You wash your hands first, because the curry smell still clings faintly. The sink gurgles, water running over your knuckles, until it finally goes clear. Only then do you return to the corner of the room where your nearly finished canvas waits.
And the hair tie rests beside it. Plain, black, and slightly stretched out from overuse. It is halfway through the painting that you come to appreci– ah no, notice the softness to it, the one that comes from being pulled and released a hundred times a day, wrapped around a wrist, twisted into place without thought. Yet it is that same mundane object that can lift Gaeul’s spirit and determination up that easily. You wonder if it does anything to yours for a brief moment…or at all.
You shake the thought off and pick up the large brush to resume the painting.
Firstly, the background — just the beige wall behind the hair tie. Nothing extravagant. Nothing loud. You let your wrist loose and allow the strokes to go whatever. A simple loop at first, and then you pause to add a brown to the paint mix. Darker tones this time. Shadows behind the object. You give it a few more layers until it is adequate enough.
Next, the thinner brush.
The bristles drag gently across the pencil outline, leaving clear ridges behind. You keep on layering, one after another, until you can't see the white underneath the grey layers. You add a few faint highlights where the light would catch. Your fingers smudge the edge absentmindedly, blending while you can still feel the wetness of the paint. You never chase perfection anymore — because that’s her habit, and it cost you too much once. Even thinking about her name feels dangerous, too much like opening Pandora's box. So you just kept it shut and let the apartment stay quiet.
The phone beside you lit up. Seems like a message from Gaeul: Thanks for the past few days, good friend. Love to hang out with you even after today :)
Fuck, the guilt hits immediately. You still vividly remember how her voice dropped when you told her straight on that you weren’t really available for anything more. No excuses about the contract nor any other convenient lie. Hell, you didn’t even tell her who you were still hung up on, only that you were. And most of all, you hate how relieved you felt when she just accepted it without asking for more.
You step back when the last stroke lands.
The painting of her hair tie is done.
Your phone lights up again. No, not Gaeul again, and certainly not ‘her’. Never ‘her’. Just notifications waiting to be cleared, or Sakura shit talking about her clients again, or someone has placed an order for your painting or another client has been assigned to you just as usual. You will look at it, confirm it, and prepare contracts for another assignment as usual. To just move on with life.
But for tonight, you just stare at the finished painting, and remember the shitty curry, wallowing in your old memories once more, and a girl named Gaeul who tried her best.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note:
Woooo time to kickstart the series with IVE's resident gremblin, Gaeul! This series comes to be from me reading a book named "What You Are Looking For Is in the Library" by Michiko Aoyama. It's such a heartwarming book and I recommend you to check it out later.
Writing a series is definitely much more difficult than my usual things, but I'm excited to see where Rent-a-friend goes. Special thank you to @okaylikeschaewon for greenlighting the idea and give me suggestions, and also appreciate both @autumnyacorn and @mysonesecret for betareading <3
If you have seen the Rules page, you noticed that there is a mystery person. Have fun guessing guys, I wonder how long will it take to get the correct answer lol.
(HINT: 4th Gen Idol)
Anyway, thank you for reading! Love yall ducklings~ See ya in Part 2!
