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Summary
"I—I work here. At the bakery," Wooyoung managed, the words shaking slightly. He desperately wanted to sound normal and helpful.
"I know," the guy replied. He finally stood up, his back still facing Wooyoung. He was impossibly thin, even hidden under all the bulky clothes. "You always throw away the good stuff."
Okay.
Okay. The defense rests, the mystery is solved. Mr. Meowgi is, officially, innocent, people. Not the culprit.
Wooyoung was a hot mess of immobility. He looked like an idiot, standing there with his eyes wide, his clothes still dusted with the tell-tale white of the bakery, and a scrappy stray cat bundled in a scarf plastered to his chest. Did he seriously have time to worry about his current fashion statement right now? Apparently, yes.
"My name is Wooyoung. Jung Wooyoung," he managed, the words feeling foreign and heavy on his tongue.
The guy, still half-hidden by the poor lighting, seemed just as startled by the simple introduction.
"San. Choi San."or, san is a street fighter and wooyoung works at the bakery. he finds his only real bright spot in wooyoung, who has no clue what kind of messed-up chaos san's night life is.