Part 2
The restaurant had settled into its evening rhythm.
The tables around them were full now, low conversations layered over the soft clink of glasses and the distant sound of the kitchen doing what kitchens do. The warm light made everything look expensive, which in this particular restaurant it was.
Joon-Ho was on his fourth bowl.
Min-Jae watched him order the fifth with the expression of a man witnessing something that defied reasonable explanation.
"You ate before you came," Min-Jae said.
"I had a snack," Joon-Ho said, already reaching for the chopsticks. "That's different."
"You called it a snack," Min-Jae said.
"It was a small meal." Joon-Ho waved a hand. "There's a spectrum."
Min-Jae looked at the four empty bowls stacked neatly to the side of the table. Then back at Joon-Ho. He said nothing.
A server appeared at Min-Jae's elbow, setting down a plate with the kind of careful precision that expensive restaurants trained into their staff. The steak sat in the center of the plate, perfectly seared, resting beside a small arrangement of roasted vegetables and a sauce in a separate dish. The smell hit the table immediately — rich, buttery, with something underneath it that made the whole thing worth what it cost.
"Here is your steak, sir," the server said with a small bow. "Can I get you anything else?"
Min-Jae looked up at her and his entire manner shifted — the slight tension around his eyes gone, his voice easy and warm. "Thank you. This looks wonderful." He nodded once. "That will be everything for now."
She smiled and moved away.
Min-Jae picked up his knife.
"Must be nice," Joon-Ho said, eyeing the plate.
"You could have ordered one," Min-Jae said.
"On what budget?" Joon-Ho pointed his chopsticks at the steak. "Do you know what that costs? I saw the menu."
"You looked at the menu?" Min-Jae said.
"I looked at the prices on the menu." Joon-Ho leaned back. "There's a difference."
"You chose the restaurant," Min-Jae said.
"I chose it because it looked good from the outside," Joon-Ho said.
"You didn't check the prices before choosing it," Min-Jae said.
"I was going to check—" Joon-Ho stopped. Started again. "The point is we're here now and someone has to pay the bill and I'm a civil servant Min-Jae I am a civil servant in this economy—"
"You invited me," Min-Jae said.
Joon-Ho opened his mouth. Closed it.
"I invited you," Joon-Ho said slowly.
"If it wasn't an invitation I wouldn't have come," Min-Jae said. "I assumed it was your treat."
"I—" Joon-Ho set his chopsticks down. Picked them up again. "You assumed."
"You said dinner," Min-Jae said. "You named the restaurant. You gave me a time." He took a careful bite of the steak. Chewed. "What was I supposed to assume."
"That we were splitting it," Joon-Ho said, "like two normal adult men who live in the same apartment."
"Normal adult men who live in the same apartment don't invite each other to dinner," Min-Jae said. "They eat whatever is in the refrigerator."
Joon-Ho stared at him. "You are unbelievable. You know that?" He gestured broadly at Min-Jae. "Genuinely unbelievable."
"The steak is very good," Min-Jae said.
"I'm glad someone is enjoying themselves." Joon-Ho looked at the ceiling briefly like he was asking it for guidance. Then he straightened. "Fine. Next time we go out it's on me. My tab. I'll cover it."
Min-Jae looked at him. "That's the eleventh time you've said that."
Joon-Ho blinked. "No it isn't."
"It is," Min-Jae said.
"I have never said that eleven times," Joon-Ho said.
"You said it after the noodle place in Mapo," Min-Jae said. "You said it after the barbecue in Yongsan. You said it twice after the pojangmacha near the station because you felt bad about losing the receipt—"
"Okay—" Joon-Ho started.
"—you said it at your cousin's birthday dinner even though you were the one who forgot your wallet—" Min-Jae continued.
"I'm going to stop you there—" Joon-Ho said.
"—you said it at the convenience store last March which I would not even classify as going out but you counted it anyway—" Min-Jae said.
"Alright." Joon-Ho held up both hands. "Alright. I hear you." He exhaled through his nose. "I'll take you somewhere actually good next time. A barbecue place. Nice one. Good cuts. Cold beer."
Min-Jae looked at him steadily. "Are you suggesting a barbecue place because you don't have the budget for another restaurant like this one."
Joon-Ho's left eye twitched slightly. "I'm suggesting a barbecue place because barbecue is a perfectly respectable—"
"Because if that's the reason," Min-Jae said, cutting into his steak again, "you could simply say so."
"It is not the reason," Joon-Ho said, at a volume slightly higher than the restaurant required.
Two people at the next table glanced over.
Joon-Ho straightened in his chair and smoothed the front of his shirt with one hand. "The reason," he said, quieter now, "is that barbecue is enjoyable and social and I think you'd like it."
"I've been to barbecue with you before," Min-Jae said.
"Then you know I'm right," Joon-Ho said.
Min-Jae said nothing. He took another bite of steak.
Joon-Ho picked his chopsticks back up and attacked the fifth bowl with the energy of a man who had just won an argument he was not entirely sure he had won.
A different server appeared at Min-Jae's side, setting down a small side dish with a quiet bow. "Here you are, sir."
Min-Jae turned to her. "Thank you very much," he said warmly. "Please pass along my compliments."
She smiled, bowed, and left.
Min-Jae turned back to the table.
Joon-Ho was smiling. Just slightly. His eyes were on his bowl but the corners of his mouth were doing something he was clearly trying to manage and failing at.
"What," Min-Jae said.
"Nothing," Joon-Ho said.
"What are you smiling about," Min-Jae said.
"I'm not smiling," Joon-Ho said.
"You are," Min-Jae said.
"I'm eating." Joon-Ho gestured at the bowl. "This is my eating face."
Min-Jae studied him for a moment. A faint dampness had appeared at Joon-Ho's temple that had nothing to do with the food.
"Next time won't be happening this month," Min-Jae said.
Joon-Ho looked up. "What?"
"You're drowning in work," Min-Jae said. "You've been drowning in work for three weeks. Next time won't be this month."
"I—that's not—I have plenty of free time—" Joon-Ho said.
"You came home at one in the morning on Tuesday," Min-Jae said.
"That was a special case—" Joon-Ho said.
"Wednesday you didn't come home at all," Min-Jae said.
"I slept at the office," Joon-Ho said. "That was a choice—"
"A choice you made because you had too much work to leave," Min-Jae said.
Joon-Ho set his chopsticks down. He straightened in his chair and adopted the expression of a man about to make a reasonable point from a position of complete authority.
"I," Joon-Ho said, "am a detective of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Department. I manage my time excellently. I have a handle on my caseload. And I will absolutely take you to a barbecue restaurant within a completely reasonable and specific timeframe."
"When," Min-Jae said.
A pause.
"Soon," Joon-Ho said.
"How soon," Min-Jae said.
Another pause. Slightly longer.
"Relatively soon," Joon-Ho said.
Min-Jae looked at him.
Joon-Ho looked back with an expression of perfect practiced sincerity. He was not thinking about next time. He was thinking about the Busan email and the three open cases and the prosecutor's office that had called twice today and the stack of files currently occupying sixty percent of his desk. He was thinking that next month looked exactly like this month and the month before that.
He did not say any of this.
Instead he smiled. Easy and certain.
"What," Joon-Ho said.
"Nothing," Min-Jae said.
"Stop looking at me like that," Joon-Ho said.
"Like what," Min-Jae said.
"Like you know something," Joon-Ho said. He pointed across the table. "You don't know anything."
"I know you're sweating," Min-Jae said.
"It's warm in here," Joon-Ho said.
"It isn't," Min-Jae said.
Joon-Ho reached up and rubbed the side of his neck. "This restaurant has very aggressive heating," he said.
Min-Jae picked up his wine glass. "Sure," he said.
He took a sip. Set the glass down. Cut another piece of steak.
Joon-Ho ordered his sixth bowl.
Min-Jae watched the server take the order and walk away. Then he looked at his roommate. At the stack of empty bowls. The way Joon-Ho was eating, like a man who had already decided he wasn't the one paying for this dinner and meant to make it worth it in volume, if not in variety.
Something moved in Min-Jae's expression.
Not quite a smile.
Just the faintest thing. Around the eyes. There and gone.
He looked out the window at Seoul doing what Seoul did at night — burning bright and moving fast and not caring about any of it.
Behind him, Joon-Ho signaled the server for a seventh bowl.
Min-Jae did not look back.
But the faintest thing around his eyes stayed a little longer this time.