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Summary
Seongil swallows the spit pooling in his mouth. He’s gone at least ten minutes without thinking about needing a drink. Seokjoon might be the answer to all his prayers.
Seongil’s palms itch. His fingers twitch, trying to dull the ache. It’s not a good thing— the beginnings of curiosity. Knowing he shouldn’t, but wanting to anyway. He’s never been good at telling himself no.
This man— this kid— who must be at least twenty-one, given the nature of his job, but can’t be much older than that. Seongil is old enough to be his father. A young father, sure, but a father. Seokjoon is probably closer in age to Seongil’s niece than to him.