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Hongbin first notices the stranger's hair, too perfectly fluffed in all its wavy glory as he dozes off in the early morning bus. Then his long, pretty fingers clutching onto a shiny leather briefcase that doubles as a chinrest, preventing his head from lolling to the side and potentially messing up his hair. His face is delicate and sharp, with high cheekbones and eyes slanted slightly upwards, and his sun-kissed skin glows under the golden morning sunlight.
He’s gorgeous, Hongbin muses, then suddenly realizes how underdressed and out of place he feels in his ratty t-shirt and pajama pants and rubber slippers. His hair is messy and oily and it’s taking all of his self-control to hold back from scratching his scalp. It can’t be helped, though—he’s run out of shampoo and various other household items, which is why he’s on an early grocery run in the first place. It feels good to finish a chapter after sleepless nights, but he also feels so, so tired, and the only things stopping him from crashing for three days straight are his growling stomach and grimy skin.
Even in his current state of exhaustion, Hongbin can’t help but stare and study the man’s features one by one, carefully engraving him into his memory. It’s a little creepy, if he does say so himself, but he can’t help it—he’s always been somewhat of a romantic, a believer of intertwined fates and love at first sight, even though he’d rather die than admit that to anyone. In the secret recesses of his mind, Hongbin crafts a storyboard of a love story lasting no more than a minute, a coincidental encounter that would never lead to anything more otherwise.
This is probably the only time their paths will cross, anyway. Seoul is large, too large, and Hongbin lives the life of a manhwa artist whose schedule is packed to the brim with no free time to spare for romance. Besides, he reasons, the man is beautiful, and looks like he jumped out of some manhwa. Who is he to not admire the visuals of someone like that? Maybe he can slip him in as a side character in his current serialization, even if his drawings could never do justice to this beautiful stranger.
Hongbin’s mind wanders off, already crafting side plots where he could fit in an extra character for his own self-satisfaction without sacrificing the quality of his work. The man would fit well in an office setting, judging from his freshly pressed dress shirt and slacks, perhaps as a secretary, or an executive who’s climbed up the corporate ladder with his silver tongue. He wouldn’t have a major role that would affect the plot—Hongbin would draw him in a panel or two, make him into a glorified background character, someone who could have been a part of the faceless masses in Seoul but has somehow stood out to him.
A loud ding resounds in the bus, then, and Hongbin is pulled back to reality with a start. The blinking strip of red LED screen placed near the front of the bus shows that the next stop will be his. Sparing one last glance at the man—he’s yawning while blinking sleepily up at the sun, and oh, how his fingers itch at the thought of snapping just one photo—Hongbin quickly hops off the bus when the door opens. The supermarket is one block away and he’d have to walk a little to get there, but he supposes that some exercise once in a while would be good for his aching bones.
Just as he lifts his arms in a slow, languid stretch, he feels a light tap on his shoulder, accompanied by a sweet voice that reminds him of honey.
“Excuse me?” The voice says, and Hongbin turns around—and there stands the beautiful stranger, right in the flesh. Hongbin stares dumbly at him until he finally sees the familiar, worn out faux leather monstrosity the man is holding out.
His wallet.
Oh.
“Thank you. I didn’t—I didn’t realize I dropped this.” Hongbin could feel the heat creeping up his cheeks, and he scrambles to snatch the item out of the stranger’s hands. How embarrassing, he just had to drop his shabby little wallet in front of someone so prim and proper and clean, looking like a slob (untrue—Hongbin is anything but, he spends nearly every second of his days drawing his chart-topping manhwa) who hasn’t showered in weeks (also untrue—it’s just been four… five days, maybe).
“Lee Hongbin, huh?” The man murmurs, almost more to himself than to Hongbin. He feels naked under the stranger’s probing eyes, flicking up and down as if he was a fox stalking its prey. “I had to open the wallet to see who owned it. I apologize.”
“No problem. There’s nothing much inside.” Hongbin shrugs, laughs awkwardly. He’s never been good at dealing with pretty people who speak well. That’s part of the reason why he became a manhwa artist—he's the one creating the pretty people, and he has his drawings and his editor to do the speaking for him. All he has to do is sit in a room, stare at a screen, and move his hands. “Thank you, um…”
“My name is Cha Hakyeon.”
Cha Hakyeon. Even his name has an elegant ring and suits him perfectly, somehow. Hongbin files the information away, relieved to finally be able to put a name to the face. His relief, however, slowly turns to dread as Cha Hakyeon glances at him from head to toe again and finally, starts to rummage through his briefcase.
“Is there something wrong?” Hongbin tries to smile. He's almost certain that he's cringing instead.
“Nothing… it’s just, Lee Hongbin-ssi,” Is that pity in his eyes? “If you are ever in need of financial assistance, don’t hesitate to contact me, alright? I work in the bank over there—” here, Cha Hakyeon points to a skyscraper on the other side of the street that must be at least fifty stories tall, “—and this is my name card.”
Dumbfounded, Hongbin could do nothing but accept the proffered piece of paper, watching Cha Hakyeon straighten his beautifully knotted necktie after taking said name card out of his briefcase.
“I’m running a little late, so I’ll be going now. It's been nice meeting you, Lee Hongbin-ssi.” Cha Hakyeon shoots him a charismatic smile before turning away with the grace and poise of a swan, back straight and chin raised up in a display of confidence as he walks down the street. Left alone and shocked into stillness, Hongbin just stares at his retreating back, Cha Hakyeon's name card resting in his hands being the sole proof of their encounter.
Oh my god, Hongbin could only think, he even acts like a manhwa character.