some title
It's more volunteering than working, happens too fast for Jinyoung to complain. One moment he's being told that the moped is for deliveries, doesn't pick up the rest of what they say, and the next he's riding through Seoul with a stack of food tied to the back. The ride itself is easy, less bumpy than he'd imagined, not as smooth as he'd hoped. A white helmet covers his head, makes his body look unbalanced, too heavy—makes him think that he'll tip over at each turn, that he should have worn heavy boots or stuffed his pockets with rocks; instead he tightens his grip, guides the moped into a parking garage, ignores the pain on his bottom. Soon he's tugging off the helmet, undoing the ties, carrying the scrambled food up stairs and through doors, moped always on his mind. Then he checks the address two times, gives the wood a few knocks before he waits, lets the bag rustle as he sways.