Sasha tilted his head, his smirk fading slightly as he studied Beom. "And what if I do know?"
Beom raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the unexpected response.
Sasha shrugged, his usual arrogance replaced by something quieter, almost reflective. "Love doesn't always come wrapped in a pretty package, Beom. Sometimes it's messy. Sometimes it's… different." He paused, his lips curving into a faint, enigmatic smile. "But you're right about one thing—I don't love the way you do."
Beom leaned back, his gaze drifting to the window as the snowy landscape blurred past. "That's not surprising," he muttered, though his voice lacked the bite it usually carried.
In his head, he thought about Sasha's words. What did he mean by "different"? Was there a story hidden behind his smug smirks and arrogant demeanor? Beom wasn't sure if he cared enough to dig deeper, but a part of him—however small—wondered.
"Anyway," Sasha said, breaking the tension as he leaned forward to grab a cigarette from his jacket pocket. "Don't get all mushy on me now, Mommy's boy. We've got a mission to focus on."
Beom shook his head, letting out a dry chuckle. "And you say I'm the annoying one."
Sasha lit the cigarette, taking a long drag before exhaling the smoke toward the ceiling. "Oh, you definitely are," he said with a smirk, the tension in the room easing slightly.
The room settled into an awkward stillness after Sasha's teasing about Beom's love for his mom, but, as always, Sasha couldn't let a quiet moment last. He tilted his head, that telltale mischievous grin spreading across his face as he leaned back casually. "So," he began, voice dripping with mock innocence, "what's your body count?"
Beom's eyebrows shot up, his face a perfect picture of confusion and irritation. "What?" he snapped, the question catching him completely off guard.
"You know," Sasha said, his grin widening as he dragged out the explanation. "The number of people you've slept wi—"
"Of course I know what body count is," Beom interrupted, his tone clipped, clearly unamused by Sasha's antics. He shifted in his seat, arms crossed, before muttering, "It's five."
Sasha's grin turned into a smirk as he raised an eyebrow. "Five, huh?" he repeated, clearly savoring the answer.
Beom shot him a glare. "What, you think I'm some kind of man-whore like you?" he said sharply, his annoyance evident in his tone. Then, unable to resist, he fired back, "What about you, huh?"
Without missing a beat, Sasha shrugged, his expression as smug as ever. "Fifty."
Beom froze. For a moment, he thought he hadn't heard Sasha correctly. "Fifty?" he repeated, his voice rising in pitch. "Fifty?!" His jaw hung slightly open as his brain scrambled to process the sheer absurdity of the number.
"Yeah," Sasha replied nonchalantly, as though he'd just mentioned the weather.
Beom blinked at him, dumbfounded. "What are you, running a brothel on the side?" he blurted, his tone laced with disbelief. "Fifty? How do you even... when do you even have time for that? Do you pencil them into a spreadsheet or something?"
Sasha chuckled at Beom's reaction, clearly amused. "What can I say? I'm popular."
Beom was far from done. He threw his hands up, shaking his head as if trying to physically dislodge the thought. "Popular? Dude, fifty isn't popularity! That's a Guinness World Record! What are you, Sasha the Sex Olympian? Do you get a medal for that?"
Sasha only laughed harder, clearly enjoying Beom's escalating rant. "Relax, Beom. I'm careful," he said, waving off the concern as if it were a minor inconvenience.
Beom stared at him, utterly incredulous. "Careful?" he repeated, his voice tinged with both disbelief and horror. "With fifty people? Sasha, I'm careful crossing the street, and even that's less risky than whatever you've been doing! Honestly, I'm surprised you haven't caught something that glows in the dark."
Sasha leaned back, unbothered, his smirk firmly in place. "Don't worry about me, I'm clean."
Beom narrowed his eyes, pointing at Sasha like he was solving a crime. "You say that now, but wait till something starts itching, dude. You're probably one bad fling away from inventing a new disease. They'll name it after you. 'Sash-itis.' And guess what? I'll be laughing."
Sasha let out a loud laugh, clutching his stomach. "You're just jealous, Beom."
Beom scoffed, crossing his arms again and leaning back with a glare. "Jealous? Please. If that's what being 'popular' looks like, I'll take my boring, STD-free life any day. Fifty… seriously? Dude, that's not a body count. That's a fan club."
Beom shook his head again, muttering under his breath. "I'm stuck on a mission with a walking, talking biohazard."
Sasha let out a low chuckle, his sharp eyes darting toward the book in Beom's hands. The air between them was casual, but there was always a spark of competition whenever they spoke. "So," Sasha began, his voice carrying that familiar teasing lilt, "where'd you get the book from?"
Beom didn't even glance up from the pages, flipping one lazily as he replied, "Someone."
Sasha leaned forward slightly, curiosity piqued. "Someone?" he echoed. "Who's 'someone'? Come on, don't be vague."
Beom's lips twitched in a smirk as he turned another page. "None of your business, boy." The word came out deliberately, with just the right amount of condescension to rile Sasha up.
Sasha's eyes narrowed, his smirk fading into an unimpressed frown. "'Boy'? Boy? Do you even know how old I am?" He shifted forward, his elbows resting on his knees as if preparing for a showdown. "And you're calling me boy?"
Finally, Beom closed the book with a soft thump, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You don't even look twenty-five," he said, leaning back and crossing his arms. "You're definitely, what... twenty-three? Tops."
Sasha's jaw dropped slightly, the audacity of Beom's words hitting him square in the chest. "Twenty-three?!" he exclaimed, gesturing to himself dramatically. "You think I look twenty-three? And what about you, Mr. Maturity? How old are you, then?"
"Twenty-nine," Beom said simply, leaning back against his seat with a smug expression. "I saw the world before you even showed up, Gen Z kid."
Sasha scoffed, leaning forward again with an incredulous laugh. "Gen Z? You're barely a millennial. Don't act like you're some wise old man."
Beom shrugged, pretending to inspect his nails. "Hey, I've got six years of life on you. That's six more years of wisdom, six more years of experience, and six more years of not being a walking TikTok stereotype."
Sasha rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Oh, please. What kind of 'wisdom' does a twenty-nine-year-old have? That's still young."
"Yeah, but unlike you, I've lived through real history," Beom said with mock grandeur. "When I was your age, we didn't have kids doing dance challenges for likes. We had real problems, like floppy disks and dial-up internet."
Sasha snorted, shaking his head. "You're acting like you grew up in the Dark Ages."
"Hey," Beom shot back, pointing a finger at him, "I'm just saying, you Gen Z types wouldn't last a day without Wi-Fi. I, on the other hand, know how to survive without Googling everything."
Sasha smirked, leaning back. "Okay, Grandpa. I'll keep that in mind next time my internet goes out."
Beom rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a grin. "Laugh all you want, but when the apocalypse hits, you'll be begging me to show you how to write an actual letter or, I don't know, read a map."
Sasha chuckled again, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile, I'll just be over here, thriving."
Beom smirked, picking up his book again. "Thriving with your fifty body count and your inability to tell time without a phone. Real impressive, Sasha."
Sasha opened his mouth to respond, but Beom held up the book as a barrier. "Conversation's over. Grandpa's reading now."
The room was calm, the hum of the train serving as white noise as Beom immersed himself in the book he'd picked up earlier. He could feel the occasional shift of the air as Sasha moved, his presence unmistakable even when silent. But it wasn't long before that silent presence became something else entirely—intense, lingering, and unsettling.
Beom's eyebrows twitched as the weight of Sasha's gaze bore down on him. He tried to ignore it, flipping a page with exaggerated patience, but the sensation wouldn't go away. With a heavy sigh, he snapped the book shut and looked up, his annoyance thinly veiled.
"Don't you ever get tired of staring at me creepily?" Beom asked, his tone sharp but tinged with mockery. He tilted his head slightly, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
Sasha didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned forward with his usual nonchalance, the smirk tugging at his lips as his long legs stretched toward Beom. Their thighs brushed, the unexpected contact making Beom stiffen.
"If you got a buzz cut," Sasha said smoothly, his voice carrying an irritatingly playful tone, "it would suit you." His smirk deepened as he tilted his head, pretending to inspect Beom like a piece of art.
Beom's eyes darted down to where their legs were touching, then back up at Sasha, his expression a mixture of disbelief and irritation. "Buzz cut? Seriously?" he scoffed, leaning back slightly to put more space between them. "Nah-uh. No buzz cut. And while we're at it, how about you move back before I accidentally set you on fire with my sheer annoyance."
Sasha's smirk didn't waver. Instead, he shrugged lazily, making no effort to pull away just yet. "It's not my fault my legs are long," he said, as if that explained everything.
Beom let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head as he crossed his arms. "Right, and it's not my fault you have no sense of personal space. Do they not teach boundaries wherever the hell you grew up?"
Sasha chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the banter as he finally pulled his legs back, giving Beom a bit of room. "You're awfully touchy today," he teased.
Beom didn't let it slide. "Touchy? Oh, I'm sorry, is it weird for someone to want to read in peace without being stared at like a zoo animal? My bad, let me just rearrange my entire personality for you, Your Majesty."
Sasha let out a genuine laugh at that, leaning back into his seat with an amused shake of his head. "You're fun when you're annoyed, Beom."
Beom rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh, I'm so glad my irritation is entertaining for you. Maybe next time, I'll charge for it. You know, get something out of this weird roommate arrangement."
Sasha only grinned wider, clearly unfazed by Beom's sarcasm. "What can I say? You're good at keeping things interesting."
Beom groaned, reopening his book and flipping a random page, though it was clear he wasn't entirely focused anymore. "Yeah, well, you're good at keeping things annoying. Congrats, Sasha. You're officially the king of being a pain in the ass."
"Flattered," Sasha replied with a wink.
Beom muttered something unintelligible under his breath, probably an insult, as he tried to bury himself in his book again, though he couldn't quite shake the smirk tugging at his own lips.