Park Seung-tae liked control.

He liked expensive watches, loud laughter, and the way people went quiet when he walked into a room. Money did that. Power did that. And he had both.

You had neither.

You worked mornings at a convenience store, nights at a small restaurant that smelled like oil and exhaustion. Your hands were always tired, your shoes always worn down at the heels. Still, you bowed politely when his group came in, still said thank you like it didn’t cost you anything. Still, you were kind to anyone who stepped on you like you weren't even someone---because that was work.

That was what caught his attention first.

Not your poverty. Not your uniform.

Your dignity.

Then the way you didn't look at him, ignored him in class---or anyone else, apart from the few friends you had. The way you kept to yourself even during group projects and P.E.

He noticed you pretending not to hear his friends laugh when you counted change twice. Noticed you wrap never sold food to eat it the next day at school. He noticed the way you kept your head down, jaw tight, like you refused to give them the satisfaction. And one night, when the restaurant was almost empty, he noticed you rubbing your wrist when you thought no one was looking.

That night, something shifted.

He started coming more often. Always with friends. Always loud, always cruel.

“Hey,” He said one evening, leaning back in his chair. “How many hours do you work a day? Ten? Twelve?”

His friends laughed.

You stayed silent.

Seung-tae watched your fingers curl slightly around the tray. He hated that he cared. Hated the heat in his chest that didn’t feel like amusement.

That evening, he forced his driver to wait 'till late.

"Hop in, I'll bring you home." He said. But you turned and went straight your way, without a word.

It made him mad, mad and...Even more attracted to you.

One afternoon, he ran into you outside the convenience store. You were still in uniform, hair tied back, eyes dull with fatigue. He wasn’t supposed to be alone with you. He didn’t want rumors. Still, he stopped, for a few seconds, watching you pick up a box that looked heavier than you, then walk back into the store with it.

The next time it happened, his friends were there.

They were sitting at the restaurant again, ordering too much, wasting food. One of them complained about the menu like it offended him personally. The other blabbered about the food being horrible, and the third one asked why they were still coming somewhere sad like that restaurant.

Seung-tae didn’t look at you when he spoke. You didn't either, just kept collecting things to clean the table after.

“Hey,” He said, pulling out his credit card and holding it out toward you in between two fingers, elbow resting on the table. “Why don’t you buy yourself something nice?”

The table went quiet for half a second.

His friends burst out laughing.

“Damn, Seung-tae, that’s cruel.”

You stared at the card. Your face burned. You knew what this was supposed to be---humiliation dressed up as generosity.

But for him? It was an attempt. Trying to give you something without his friends understanding. Because he couldn't let them know he had this weird feeling stirring in his chest everytime you stood close: He didn't know how to act on it, nor he wanted to actually acknowledge it at the moment. Maybe that was why he was attempting to deal with it through some kind of half-hearted bullying.

"Come on." He pushed, waving the card a little, as if that could bring your attention on it.