Aftermath
874 Words
Ha-Jun woke up feeling like s**t.
His head ached. The bruise on his cheek had settled into a deep, ugly purple. Worse than the physical discomfort was the memory that slammed into him the second he opened his eyes — last night, his own hand, the unwanted images of blonde hair and a perfect ass, and the soft creak in the hallway right after he finished.
He heard me. He f*****g heard me.
Heat rushed up his neck. He dragged a pillow over his face and groaned into it.
Downstairs, the coffee machine was already running.
Ha-Jun considered staying in the room until Arnold left. The idea of looking him in the eye after last night made his stomach twist with a mix of shame and defiance. In the end hunger and the need for caffeine won.
He went down wearing the same black hoodie as the day before, hair still messy, expression locked into something carefully blank.
Arnold stood at the counter in another white compression shirt, pouring coffee into two mugs this time. He didn’t look up immediately.
“Morning,” he said, voice completely even.
Ha-Jun grunted something unintelligible and took the mug Arnold slid toward him. Their fingers didn’t brush. The silence between them felt thicker than usual, charged with everything neither of them planned to acknowledge.
Arnold drank his coffee while scrolling through something on his phone. The picture of calm. No knowing glances. No smirk. Nothing that confirmed he had stood outside the door last night.
Maybe he didn’t hear. Maybe the floor just creaked on its own. Maybe you’re losing your mind.
Ha-Jun clung to that possibility while the hot coffee burned its way down his throat.
They left for the complex in the same black car. The drive stayed quiet. Arnold’s hand rested on the gear shift exactly like the previous morning. Ha-Jun kept his gaze fixed on the passing trees and tried very hard not to remember what that hand had looked like in his head the night before.
At a red light Arnold spoke without turning.
“Your timing was off on the breakout drills yesterday. You were forcing the pass instead of waiting for the lane.”
Ha-Jun shot him a sideways look.
“Didn’t ask.”
“I’m aware.” Arnold’s tone stayed mild. “I’m telling you anyway. The Swedish defensemen are reading you.”
Arrogant prick.
Yet the comment was accurate, which only made it more irritating. Ha-Jun stared out the window and said nothing for the rest of the ride.
---
Practice did not improve his mood.
Coach Werner paired him against Arnold for a long stretch of one-on-one defensive coverage. Every time they collided, Ha-Jun felt the solid weight of him, the controlled strength, the faint trace of clean soap that somehow cut through the usual rink smell. It was distracting in the worst possible way.
During one extended battle along the boards Arnold’s mouth ended up close to his ear, voice low enough that only Ha-Jun could hear.
“You’re slower today.”
Ha-Jun shoved him off harder than the play required.
“f**k off.”
Arnold’s lips curved the smallest amount — not quite a smile, more like private amusement — before he skated away to reset.
Do-hyun appeared at Ha-Jun’s side during the next water break, squirting water into his mouth.
“You’re staring at his ass again.”
Ha-Jun choked.
“I am not.”
“You are. It’s okay. It’s a nice ass. Objectively speaking.” Do-hyun wiped his mouth with the back of his glove. “Just try not to get caught. The German looks like the type who’d notice.”
Ha-Jun gave him a murderous look and skated away to the opposite end of the ice.
I’m going to kill my only friend. Slowly.
---
That evening the house felt smaller.
Ha-Jun ate leftovers standing at the kitchen counter while Arnold reviewed footage at the island with noise-cancelling headphones on. The domesticity of it set Ha-Jun’s teeth on edge. He finished quickly, rinsed his plate, and headed for the stairs.
Arnold’s voice stopped him.
“Kang.”
He turned.
Arnold had removed the headphones. Those blue eyes were steady, unreadable, but something sharper sat underneath the usual calm.
“The walls in this house are thinner than they look,” he said quietly. “Just so you know.”
The words landed like a precise cut.
Ha-Jun’s face burned. For a second he couldn’t find a single reply. Arnold held his gaze for one more beat, then slipped the headphones back on and returned to the tablet as if he hadn’t just detonated a bomb in the middle of the kitchen.
Ha-Jun took the stairs two at a time, locked the guest room door, and leaned against it with his heart slamming against his ribs.
He knows. He definitely knows.
And the worst part — the part that made him want to put his fist through the perfect wall — was the low, traitorous heat that curled through his stomach at the thought of Arnold standing in that dark hallway, listening.
Ha-Jun dragged both hands through his hair and let out a long, shaky breath.
Tomorrow was going to be hell.
- Writer
