Bad Blood
"Long time no see. This feels great, doesn't it? Just like old times, right?"
She muttered that with a cackle, handing me a whiskey glass.
I was already regretting showing up at her place, so I just mustered a weak smile.
She poured herself a shot, downed it in one go, then refilled and plopped onto the sofa across from me.
"Not gonna drink? This stuff's expensive."
"You know I don't drink."
She stuck out her tongue, raised her glass in a mock toast to the air, and slammed it back again.
I must've let a look of contempt slip—unintentionally.
I caught it in her eyes, fixed on me even as she drained her glass.
I flashed a smile that wasn't sad or bitter—just numb.
Mostly because that contempt had caught me off guard.
"You sure it's okay to push it like that? You're still young, but..."
Pure lip service, obviously.
But she seemed satisfied with my flimsy excuse anyway.
"Whoa, you worried about me? That's new. Lately you barely even talk to me."
"Well... you want the honest answer?"
She jerked her chin—go ahead.
I ground my molars before spitting it out.
"You've been living like a total mess lately. Just look at today..."
Bruises bloomed under her eyes.
Traces of the brawl she'd started at the office.
Word was, she'd hurled a department head through a corn snack display.
The whole office had been tense as hell because of it.
"Yeah, impulsive, huh."
I had no idea why she'd punched her boss.
And honestly, I didn't care to know.
But she'd started it, no doubt.
She'd decided to play the problem child these days.
She stared at me blankly, then refilled her glass.
One corner of her mouth twitched up as she took a sip.
"Impulsive. Nice word. But I prefer 'unfiltered'."
"That's not unfiltered. That's just rude."
"Rude? Harsh. Anyway, really not drinking? I splurged on this for you. One glass runs about... a million won?"
She clinked her glass against the air again, then nodded at mine.
My throat tightened at the heavy aroma rising from the untouched whiskey.
She wasn't lying—it was top-shelf.
The kind our age group could never afford.
And booze wasn't the only thing out of our league anymore.
Tailored luxury suits straight out of magazines.
The sleek sports car she rolled up to work in.
And above all, this penthouse overlooking the Han River from the living room.
Where the hell did all that money come from?
I glanced at her sidelong.
She was frozen mid-air-toast.
Instead of clinking back, I said,
"You've really changed."
I already knew that, of course.
Coming here today was just to close the loop.
"Changed how?"
She tilted her head.
I realized I'd blurted it out too abruptly.
"I mean, after the promotion. Once you started climbing... you've been totally..."
"Totally? Spit it out. Why beat around the bush? Doesn't suit you."
Acting like a goddamn bully.
I couldn't force the rest out.
Fine, I'd admit it—I was feeling the pressure.
"Nothing. Forget it. You know your own antics at work better than I do."
She glared at me.
"..."
She dipped her head slightly, fiddled with her nails.
When she looked up again, the smile was gone.
Her glass tilted.
The amber liquid vanished in a gulp.
She was still glaring.
I tried another excuse-me smile.
A crack split her blank expression.
Crash!
The glass shattered.
Something off about it.
Less like it hit the table and broke—more like a crushed cola can.
But no time to dwell on the glass.
I shot to my feet.
Bright red blood seeped from her fist.
"What the hell? Hey, your hand..."
"You fucking asshole."
My body froze.
Her voice was a beast's low growl.
"Keep acting like that, and I'll kill you, you piece of shit. Say it straight. Totally what?"
"Your hand first—"
"Shut up! Say it!"
Blood dripped from her hand, staining the table.
Her tensed forearm quivered.
Plan: calm her down.
Not out of worry.
God knows what she'd demand if shit hit the fan here.
"Acting like a bully. But that's not the point right now! Your hand—do you have a first-aid kit?"
She stared at her hand, expression vacant.
"First-aid kit? Right... gotta treat it."
She looked up.
"In the liquor cabinet. I'll wash up..."
She staggered to the bathroom.
I rummaged in the cabinet.
Took a bit—stuffed in a dusty corner.
But she took longer.
Shower running.
Low humming.
Showering? Weird.
Injured, bleeding, and she's casually showering like pain's optional?
I set out bandages and ointment anyway.
Still time left, so I swept up the shards.
She emerged just as I finished the big pieces.
"...Sorry. I went too far. Shouldn't have."
A bit late for apologies.
I swept the last shard, tossed in some lip service.
"Good you know. Sit. I'll wrap it."
I looked up.
She was in a robe—nothing underneath.
I froze, words stuck.
She acted unfazed.
Sat on the sofa, legs slightly spread.
Loose tie let the robe gap open.
"...What is this?"
"That matter right now? You said you'd bandage it."
...Right. Treatment first.
And I'd braced for her antics anyway.
I knelt by her, ignored the gap, checked her hand.
Body wash scent hit me.
Faint warmth brushed my cheek.
Bleeding had stopped.
The pale line on her palm looked more like a fate line than a cut.
"Hee hee, tickles."
She murmured that the whole time I applied ointment and wrapped.
I tuned it out.
Exhausted.
And didn't want to poke the bear.
Done.
"See a doctor. Tiny shards might be lodged."
She stared down at me.
Awkward just kneeling there, so I stood.
"Leaving?"
"Yeah. Got work tomorrow. Stop drinking and get some sleep."
"...Stay over."
"We're not at that point anymore."
I stepped away, hoping she'd get it.
She grabbed my sleeve.
"Why?"
"If you're not staying, at least talk."
I sighed.
She looked ready to off herself if I bailed.
We weren't friends anymore, but saving one life? Fine.
Back on the sofa, she grinned triumphantly.
"Got a PS in the house. Game? You loved that stuff back in the day."
"Pass. You said talk."
"Then drink with—"
Couldn't take it anymore.
I grabbed the glass.
Her face lit up.
I flung the whiskey down in one swig.
Set the glass on the table—silent, unlike someone.
"We're not at that point. Right? So why the buddy act since I got here? Like nothing's changed."
I might've been pissed.
Maybe since stepping through the door.
Four years since our bond soured.
Not just her personality shift.
She'd betrayed me.
"Heard you badmouthed me all over the office? Fun stabbing me in the back? Huh? Got off on me pretending not to notice?"
"..."
"Hey, if you had any conscience, you wouldn't do that. Fine, treat me like shit—but if you're human, don't grin like it's all good."
"..."
"Why that face? Why the waterworks? That's my line. Oh, wait—is this it? Using my guilt now, you bitch?"
"..."
"Why shut up? You wanted to talk?"
I shoved up from the seat.
"Nothing to say? I'm out."
No sound until the door.
Like the gulf between us.
Exactly what I wanted.
I didn't want ties to her anymore.
That's why I came today.
Didn't plan to lose it this bad, though...
"...Hey."
Low voice. Hers.
I paused.
Curious what excuse she'd cough up.
"Tomorrow, you're getting transferred. To some Field Department no one's heard of. They'll offer a choice—agree, and it's a promotion."
Bullshit to the end.
Transfer with a 'choice'? Promotion my ass.
After trashing my rep, she still wants to play games?
"...I get why you hate me. But listen—don't agree. Whatever you do, don't. Got it?"
Fuck off.
I left her place.
The next day.
"Seongjin, congrats."
I was at work, grinding tasks, when the section chief approached with a grin.
Clueless, I just stared.
He continued.
"Not official yet, but you're getting promoted. Field Department, right?"
"Field Department?"
"Yeah. Anyway, after lunch, head to Training Room 3. Something about getting your agreement."
"...Okay."
He grinned even at losing a subordinate.
Knew my rumors weren't great.
"Do well there. Get along with the team."
He patted my shoulder and headed back.
Relief radiated from his back.
Yesterday flashed through my mind.
Maybe her nonsense held a kernel of truth.
I finished my morning work first.
Transfer or not, tasks wouldn't wait.