By Zephyria 
Song Yi-ho is not good at letting go of familiar things and takes time to adapt to unfamiliar changes. While he has improved now, tempered by his professional life, that tendency had been a long-standing trait since childhood.
There is a childhood anecdote his mother tells whenever she feels like it. Young Yi-ho had a favorite stuffed animal, and he had bitten and sucked on it so much over several years that the stuffing had flattened, the fur had mostly fallen out, and the eyes had been sewn back on multiple times.
His parents bought him a new doll and, while Yi-ho was distracted, threw the old one away. That night, Song Yi-ho—who usually heard comments like, “I could raise ten children like him at once”—had a complete meltdown, almost as if he were having a seizure. The look of resentment he cast toward his parents was almost like that of someone looking at heartless people who had thrown away their own flesh and blood. Eventually, his father spent the early hours of the morning digging through the neighborhood trash bags to barely recover the doll, and Yi-ho couldn’t leave the doll’s side, hovering beneath it while it hung on the clothesline.
Of course, he only knew this because he heard it from his mother; he had no memory of it himself.
However, he could guarantee that the joy he felt when he hugged that doll again was the same as the feeling he had now, stroking his returned partition.
He was so excited that he felt something might go wrong if he suppressed this emotion instead of expressing it. Passionate joy was also echoing through the development team’s group chat.
Kwon Tae-kyung (Staff)
[What is Yi-ho doing today?]
[Team Leader Cha is buying me drinks.]
Jung Hyo-won (Head of Section)
[Lmaoooo]
Lee Jae-sik (Assistant Manager)
[The partition brings peace…]
As soon as Min-gyu and Yi-ho finished work and left their respective cars in the underground parking lot, they headed to a pub in the apartment complex shopping center. Still dressed in their office attire, the two sat facing each other in a booth with a high backrest that acted like a divider, typical of such pubs.
Yi-ho recalled why he and Min-gyu had become regulars here. It was because the space was privately separated at every seat. Dividers, partitions, temporary walls—things called by those names were one of humanity’s greatest inventions.
He neatly unfolded the menu leaning against the wall and placed it in front of Min-gyu.
“Cha Min-gyuuu, I’m paying for everything today. Eat whatever you want.”
Min-gyu smiled as he took the menu.
“The reward is quite generous compared to the hardship, Team Leader Song.”
“Of course, of course. Team Leader Cha is the best. I think our team members will start serving Team Leader Cha instead of me now.”
“Song-i is so excited right now that he can’t hear a thing…”
Even the crown of his head, revealed as he leaned forward to look through the menu, looked pretty, so that said it all. Unable to resist, Yi-ho reached out and rubbed his hair. Min-gyu laughed in disbelief.
“I can’t tell if you’re buying this for me or for the partition. Song-i, who do you like more between the two?”
“Both…”
“Tsk, thinking about it now, I feel slighted. I feel like you hated me when the partition wasn’t there and it was just me. You’d tell me to go away and all.”
“Ah, why are you bringing up old stories? Don’t eat, you petty bastard.”
“Wow, the bastard who says he’s paying and then tries to take it away is the pettiest bastard of all.”
Min-gyu avoided Yi-ho’s hand and pulled the menu back toward the backrest.
Though he was childish and playful now, Min-gyu’s plan had been thorough. After seeing the results of the video, the Executive Director’s eyes turned white with rage toward those who had suggested the filming, but Min-gyu had avoided the fallout by staying one step back. Consequently, the one who bore the brunt of the resentment was Department Head Gye, who had overreacted next to the Executive Director in an attempt to belatedly ride the coattails of the plan. This, too, was a wonderful conclusion.
Receiving Yi-ho’s gaze, which had turned admiring and affectionate once more, Min-gyu curved his eyes into a smile while covering his mouth with the menu.
“If you’re this grateful, it’s a waste to settle it with just drinks. I’ll have to make a big deal out of it and strip you clean later.”
“…”
After a brief moment of blushing, Yi-ho looked at him with determination.
“…I’m ready for anything today.”
“Ah, Song-i Mushroom used to be someone who never fell for these kinds of jokes.”
“That mushroom has become a 30-year-old now.”
“Look at you.”
Min-gyu pressed the call bell and ordered a few appetizers and two 500cc glasses of beer.
The drinks and puffed grain snacks were the first to be set on the table.
Their glasses clinked. On days when one is in a good mood, alcohol can go down like water. Today was one of those days. The carbonation hitting his throat traveled quickly into his stomach. He didn’t mind that the buzz surged from the start.
Yi-ho’s face, which spent most of the day wearing a blank expression, loosened languidly after just half a glass of beer. Min-gyu followed suit, letting out a laugh that was entirely different from his demeanor at the office.
“Ah, Cha Min-gyu, but are you okay with your face being out on YouTube?”
“I’m not. My mom keeps asking why I’m not filming more and is making a fuss, telling me I should just become a YouTuber.”
“…Really?”
“Knowing my mom, she’d obviously prefer a YouTuber son over a corporate employee son.”
“But I think you’d be good at being a YouTuber.”
“I won’t. It doesn’t suit me. I’d rather set up a studio and create a ‘Song-i Mushroom’ channel.”
“Isn’t that more of a problem? I looked like some kind of idiot…”
The first time he had ever been filmed by a YouTube camera, he had been stiff as a board. Moreover, he was a bit embarrassed as a few acquaintances contacted him after seeing it. Still, it was nothing compared to the joy of getting his partition back.
“I am Song Yi-ho, the Development Team Leader. I am in charge of software development.”
“Don’t insult someone’s best effort.”
Yi-ho couldn’t stand Min-gyu mocking his self-introduction, which had been worse than an elementary student’s. Nor could he stand the atrocity of Min-gyu trying to play the YouTube video right in front of him, when Yi-ho couldn’t bear to see it with his own eyes.
“Ah, stop it!”
“I’m thirty-three years old…”
Since he couldn’t reach across the wide table, Yi-ho kicked his legs out. When the food arrived, they both awkwardly pretended to be dignified. But as soon as the server left, he aimed for the forehead and threw a puffed grain snack.
Even if the relationship had changed, the long time they spent together provided a sense of stability. As if they had returned to their long days as friends, they giggled and drank, failing to act their age.
By the time the number of additional beers exceeded ten fingers, the person serving them changed to a familiar face.
“Why has it been so long since you visited?”
The pub owner, coming out from the kitchen, placed two glasses of beer and a small earthenware pot of soft tofu stew on the table as a service.
It was reasonable to give a service, as customers were sparse for a Friday. However, the customers who had been boosting sales with draft beer like crazy since early evening were regulars visiting for the first time in a long while.
“We’ve both been busy for a while, so we’ve been a bit absent.”
Even in Min-gyu’s skillfully delivered answer, a hint of tipsiness was evident.
“By the way, I thought you two were school friends, but looking at it now, you’re colleagues at the same workplace?”
The owner pointed to the employee IDs hanging around their necks. Yi-ho had tucked his into his shirt pocket, but as he laughed and drank, it had slipped out. In his excitement to practically sprint out of the office, he had forgotten to take it off. And Min-gyu, who had followed behind him with a face that looked like he found him adorably precious, had also forgotten.
“We’re school friends, and we’re company friends too.”
“Wow… that’s nice. Then how many years has it been? You must be like family.”
“Over ten years, since high school. Right?”
“Yeah.”
“No wonder. When I see customers come in, there’s a certain aura. Either they look like friends who just met a month or two ago, or they give off a deep vibe like they’ve shared their whole lives together.”
“We were… Ah, Boss. One more beer, please. And while we’re ordering, could you add one stir-fried octopus?”
“Oh, yes. You’re really eating well today.”
After the owner left, Yi-ho asked in a low voice.
“You can’t eat spicy food.”
Especially since food served as a drinking snack tends to be even spicier, it wasn’t a menu item Min-gyu would normally order.
Min-gyu also lowered his voice.
“That’s the menu item that requires the most prep and constant stirring.”
“…?”
“So you can’t come over here.”
Min-gyu pointed at Yi-ho and drew a diagonal line in the air. Yi-ho realized that was the direction his spine was curving. The shy Song Yi-ho had unconsciously leaned his upper body away from the owner. Yi-ho awkwardly straightened himself up.
Just as Min-gyu was taking off his employee ID to put it in his pocket, Yi-ho reached out to him.
“Show me that.”
“Haven’t you seen it?”
Min-gyu obediently took off the ID and handed it over. There was a young Cha Min-gyu. A Cha Min-gyu with longer hair, and eyes and a jawline that were slightly rounder than they were now.
“How old were you?”
“I used the same photo I used when applying for internships everywhere, so twenty-four or twenty-five.”
“Wow…”
Roughly ten years younger than now. He was even younger than Tae-kyung, the youngest of the development team, so in Yi-ho’s eyes, he was practically a chick. Min-gyu, who had joined the company before Yi-ho, often visited the area in front of the university after work. He would call Yi-ho out of the lab to have dinner and, if they felt like it, have a drink together.
The image of Min-gyu appearing in front of the school wearing an awkward suit and a backpack surfaced in Yi-ho’s memory. When he looked up, a far too grown-up Min-gyu was confidently holding out his palm.
“If something comes in, something must go out, Song-i Song-i.”
“Ah…”
Yi-ho also took off his ID and handed it over.
Soon, he found himself glaring fiercely at Min-gyu.
“Hey.”
Cha Min-gyu tapped the table and then covered his mouth, starting to giggle uncontrollably as if he were choking.
“Give it back.”
“Wow, how can you be so consistently like a kid? I can’t believe this is the ‘young’ face and that you’ve actually aged, Song-i.”
Instead of returning it politely, Min-gyu avoided Yi-ho’s reach and admired the ID photo for a long time.
“Song-i, if you grant me just one wish, you don’t have to repay the favor of the partition or anything else.”
“…What is it?”
“I want to take a photo of this.”
“No way, damn it.”
“Ah, just one. Please? Just one.”
It was a funny sight, two men drunk and bickering like this. Yi-ho huffed and eventually waved his hand in surrender. Take the photo, mock me later—do whatever you want.
Min-gyu beamed and brought the young Yi-ho’s face up on his phone camera. As he moved the phone around to find the best angle for the screen, a smile suddenly appeared on his lips.
Min-gyu looked happy. That happiness wasn’t for the purpose of mocking the clumsy appearance as before, but contained a soft warmth, the kind one has when looking at a beloved object. It was that ticklish and gentle. The sensation, as if a warm breeze were blowing from Cha Min-gyu, felt like something he could get used to, yet it made his heart flutter every single time.