Zhenya sat up straight. His hair shone a shade brighter, absorbing the light above it. It was too pale to be gold, but too golden to be platinum. It shone brilliantly even from the smallest movement. Taekjoo couldn’t help looking at it.
“I heard blond Russians aren’t as common as most people think. Your hair color, does that run in your family? Or hair dye?”
Taekjoo asked, ogling at the hair without realizing it. Zhenya suddenly leaned forward, and his platinum blond hair filled Taekjoo’s vision.
“Even among my own family, no one has this hair color. It’s a mutation. Do you wanna touch it?”
“No thanks.”
Taekjoo declined the offer at once. Zhenya, leaning back, chuckled in a good-natured manner.
It felt like they’d been talking only for a while, but the sun was already setting outside the window. A day spent in a confined space usually felt much longer than one spent outside, but not today. Today, it didn’t drag for that long. It was likely because a lot had happened since the morning, and there was also the effect of alcohol. The more Taekjoo drank, the calmer his nerves became—they had been on edge all day. Even his physical senses began to settle.
Zhenya topped up Taekjoo’s empty glass. At some point, the glass kept getting refilled and was never left empty.
“Can you hold your liquor?”
“Not sure. I’ve never been drunk, so I don’t really know my limit—but I can definitely handle this much.”
“Hmm?”
Zhenya pretended like he doubted Taekjoo to agitate him, but Taekjoo didn’t fall for the easy trick. Zhenya threw him dirty glances, but Taekjoo ignored them and drank at his own pace. He didn’t like being vulnerable when drunk. Of all people, he couldn’t afford to pass out before Zhenya. There was no reason. It was just a feeling. Maybe nothing would happen, and Taekjoo was just overreacting. Maybe he was just being paranoid. But even if that were the case, Taekjoo wasn’t about to let his guard down around someone he hadn’t figured out yet.
There was no meaningful conversation. There was only the repetition of emptying and refilling their glasses. It almost seemed like they were playing a boring game where one player would have to pass out for the game to end. Taekjoo could stop drinking, but he wanted to get Zhenya drunk and resolve the persistent unease inside him.
His tongue gradually turned numb. Taekjoo could no longer taste the bitterness of alcohol. Neither could he sense the aroma or the richness of the liquor. He felt like he was drinking water. His insides burned with thirst, and before he knew it, he had drunk so much he couldn’t even remember how many drinks he’d had. His consciousness didn’t waver easily. Kwon Taekjoo knew how to hold his liquor, and he could hold down a lot. The problem was, so could his opponent.
Somewhere down the line, Taekjoo’s sight turned blurry. Zhenya wasn’t himself either. Sometimes, the two would pour the liquor everywhere but a glass. The table, carpet, and their clothes were wet and messy. Empty bottles rolled around the floor. This was their fifth bottle, and they’d been drinking straight from the bottle the whole time. Taekjoo could tell he was drunk. He felt lightheaded. The two exchanged silly jokes, trying to out-silly each other. Taekjoo banged on the table and snickered like a madman. He would open the window and scream at it. He did things he would never have done while sober, and having lost his hold on reason, he kept doing them.
“Lim would keel over if he saw this.”
Taekjoo mumbled, smirking. He was topping off his drink when he tilted his head in confusion. It had turned silent. The only sound Taekjoo could hear was the constant noise of the train wheels rolling on their tracks. That was it. It seemed he was the only one talking. Taekjoo noticed Zhenya had fallen quiet when the liquor he was pouring had flowed over his glass, completely soaking his knees.
Taekjoo looked up and saw Zhenya. His eyes were closed, and his arms were crossed. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the deep rhythm of his breathing, and the stillness of his eyelids told Taekjoo that Zhenya had fallen asleep. Taekjoo reached out and pretended to poke Zhenya’s eyes, but got no reaction. A grin appeared on Taekjoo’s face. It was a smile of victory.
“That’s all you got? My, my, a pampered little prince.”
Taekjoo shook his head left and right, mocking Zhenya. It wasn’t a competition to see who could drink more, but still, it made Taekjoo feel good knowing that he’d outdrunk Zhenya. And even this smugness was because he was drunk.
Taekjoo raised his glass, filled to the brim with vodka, and toasted himself. Half of the content of the glass spilled, and the right arm holding it was soaking wet. His arm danced left and right as he barely managed to bring the glass to his lips. The remaining half-glass of vodka filled his mouth.
Taekjoo’s body, which had been swaying, fell forward. BAM—his upper body collapsed on the table. His hand, which had been holding the glass, went limp.
There was no movement inside the compartment for a brief while. Finally, Taekjoo began to breathe in and out in a steady rhythm. He barely got sleep the night before, and he was drunk. It was enough to knock him out. Taekjoo’s back, which faced the ceiling, rose and fell slowly.
“...”
How long had it been, no one could tell. But Zhenya, who’d fallen asleep sitting, opened his eyes. His eyelids fluttered open effortlessly, as though he had never fallen asleep. His eyes, empty of all emotion, only took in Taekjoo. It was a calm and serene gaze.
Zhenya picked up the remaining body of the cigar he’d been smoking earlier. The end was singed soot-black, and Zhenya snipped it off with the cigar cutter. He pulled out his torch lighter and relit the neatly trimmed cigar. It quickly burned itself, releasing thick smoke. All the while, Zhenya’s eyes were still fixed on Kwon Taekjoo—on his hand, to be precise, which was stretched straight, reaching out for Zhenya.
Zhenya clicked on his cigar cutter out of habit. Two metal blades snapped and clicked against each other. Zhenya caressed Taekjoo’s hand with his long fingers, tracing the curved parts and straight digits of the man’s hand before he looked away. All throughout, the cigar cutter snapped eerily—click, click—in his other hand. With his index finger, Zhenya gently lifted Taekjoo’s ring finger. A sinister smile spread across his face.