Fugly Casanova

“Hey, you’re not eating the carrots?” Noeul asked as he watched Jiwoo pick out the carrots from the spicy whelk noodles.

Jiwoo looked up, caught in the act. “I hate carrots,” she admitted sheepishly.

“They’re sliced so thin you can’t even taste them,” Noeul pointed out.

“Trust me, I can.”

“They’re covered in seasoning. That’s all you can taste.”

“Well, you have them, then,” Jiwoo said, pushing her pile of discarded carrots toward him.

Noeul shook his head, amused. “Twenty-one years old and still picking out your veggies? What are you, five?”

Jiwoo giggled.

“You know,” Noeul said, his tone mock-serious, “refusing to eat carrots automatically revokes your adult status. No more drinking for you.”

“Oh no,” Jiwoo gasped in feigned horror. “I guess I’ll have to go back to the kiddie table.”

As Noeul chuckled and mixed the extra carrots into his own dish, Jiwoo mused, “You know, I should find a guy who loves all the foods I hate.”

Noeul tried not to read too much into her comment, given what he’d just done. “What, so he’d subsist entirely on carrots, onions, and beans?”

“Exactly!” Jiwoo’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Poor guy,” Noeul said, shaking his head. “What’d he do to deserve that kind of diet?”

“Oh, he’d have to genuinely like them,” Jiwoo clarified. “Not just eat them to make me happy.”

“Ah, so you’re looking for a health nut with squeaky-clean arteries.”

“Precisely,” Jiwoo nodded. “And in return, I’d eat all the stuff he doesn’t like. Like, if he hated dry chicken breast, that’d be perfect—I love it. We could split a whole chicken and both be happy. What about you? Fan of chicken breast?”

Noeul hesitated for a split second. “…Love the stuff.”

“Really?” Jiwoo’s eyes narrowed. “Nah, you’re lying.”

“Why would I lie about something like that? If you didn’t want to know, you shouldn’t have asked.”

“I don’t know,” Jiwoo said slowly. “Sometimes I get the feeling you lie about the little things.”

Noeul forced a laugh, but he couldn’t quite meet her eyes. He rubbed his hands together under the table, trying to dispel his sudden nervousness.

Jiwoo continued, oblivious to his discomfort. “But it would drive me nuts if my imaginary guy insisted on ordering Hawaiian pizza. That’d be a deal-breaker.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“I’d have to ask him, ‘Who do you love more, me or pineapple on pizza?’”

Noeul rolled his eyes. “Because that’s a totally reasonable question.”

Jiwoo giggled, then caught herself. “Oh, but don’t worry. I’m not actually that type of girl.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Noeul took a bite of the seafood pancake, his mind whirling. Every word from Jiwoo seemed loaded with hidden meaning. He could take them at face value, but his brain insisted on making connections, whether he wanted to or not.

For example, her comment, “Don’t worry.” Why did it matter if he misunderstood her? What difference would it make if he thought Jiwoo was the type to guilt-trip her boyfriend? The questions made his pulse quicken, even as he tried to squash the hope they sparked.

Logically, he knew better. But logic rarely stood a chance against emotion. It was like knowing you’re mortal—it doesn’t automatically make you seize every day.

Noeul knew he had to keep his defenses up, to bury his feelings so deep that even he couldn’t fully acknowledge them. Whether Jiwoo was toying with him or not, as long as he didn’t show his hand, she wouldn’t realize she’d caught him. And maybe he could keep convincing himself he hadn’t fallen for her either.

“So, do you have a type?” Jiwoo asked.

Noeul rarely got asked these kinds of questions. In group settings, people conveniently “forgot” to ask him, afraid of how to react to whatever he might say. Noeul would playfully say, “Why don’t you ask me?” and the questioner would laugh awkwardly, as if their thoughts had been revealed. Then Noeul would declare that his type was supermodels. Of course, he would always add with a laugh, “Did I just hear someone say, ‘In your dreams’?”

That was just how these things went.

But occasionally, someone would ask him outright, as Jiwoo was doing now. There were two types of people who did this: those who enjoyed the awkwardness and wanted to see him squirm, and those genuinely curious if someone like him aimed high or settled low.

Which type was Jiwoo?

“My ideal type?” Noeul said. “Sharina.”

“Sharina…” Jiwoo repeated, her brow furrowed in thought.

Noeul braced himself for laughter or awkward silence, but Jiwoo’s reaction was different. Before he could decipher it, she was scrolling through her phone.

“What do you think of her?” Jiwoo asked, turning the screen toward him. A woman’s profile picture stared back at him from a messaging app.

Unease crept over Noeul. “What do you mean, what do I think?”

“She’s not Sharina, obviously,” Jiwoo explained, “but she’s really funny. You’re funny too, so I think you two would hit it off.”

“Oh…” Noeul’s expression hardened.

Jiwoo continued, “Want me to introduce you?”

“Why…” Noeul’s voice came out flat. “Why would you suddenly offer to set me up?”

Jiwoo took back her phone. “Hey, it was just an offer.” She scrolled through her contacts, oblivious to the stiffness creeping through Noeul’s body.

“How about her?” Jiwoo thrust the phone at him again. “She’s amazing. Seriously, the best personality out of all my friends.”

Noeul barely glanced at the screen. “If she’s your friend, I’m sure her personality isn’t that different from yours.”

“Hey! My friends are great… and so am I!” She pouted as she pulled her phone back. “I’m only trying to introduce you to good people because I think you’re great, too. You know that, right?”

“…Yeah.”

“So stop avoiding me, okay?”

Jiwoo playfully poked Noeul’s arm with her finger.

Noeul was grateful he wasn’t prone to smiling. At least now he didn’t have to fake one. “Sure,” he managed, his face a mask.

Jiwoo beamed at him, and Noeul felt his heart plummet. The realization hit him like a physical blow. He had been hoping. Truly, desperately hoping that maybe, just maybe, Jiwoo might have feelings for him.

He wanted to erase every flutter, every spark of possibility he’d felt moments ago. But this time, he couldn’t brush it aside. The shock was too raw. He couldn’t even pretend he was here solely to help Joonki and Jiwoo get together. The thought alone made him cringe with embarrassment.

“So, should I introduce you to her?” Jiwoo’s innocent question nearly made Noeul laugh out loud—not from humor, but from the sheer, painful absurdity of it all.

The fog of confusion lifted, leaving everything in stark, painful clarity. His head throbbed as though he’d been struck. Had he ever truly wanted Joonki and Jiwoo together? No, not for a moment. He’d been orbiting Jiwoo, using Joonki as a flimsy excuse, hoping she would notice him.

He had wanted her to be the one to close the distance between them, to like him despite how he felt about himself. If someone as wonderful as Jiwoo could love him, then maybe—just maybe—he could be worthy, could be wonderful too.

Had this desperate yearning for affection always been his true nature? Like a baby bird instinctively seeking its mother, was his longing for love from someone beautiful an inescapable part of him? Despite a lifetime of grappling with this harsh reality, the desire still burned.

His intelligence, his wit, his perceptiveness—none of it could override this deeply buried need. It controlled him more than anything else ever had.

How much energy had he wasted denying this truth? Telling himself he didn’t want it, didn’t care. He’d convinced himself he was different, above such petty desires of the ‘unattractive.’ He’d feigned cynicism, pretending to have people all figured out, all while drowning in self-pity.

“Noeul, are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

Noeul looked at Jiwoo.

It’s not just my expression, Jiwoo. It’s my face. If you had to live with it, you’d never feel good. If you knew what I was thinking, you’d be horrified. I actually thought you might like me. Go ahead, show me your disgust. Maybe that’s what I need to wake up.

But he couldn’t say it. He was too exhausted to even try.

Instead, he forced a casual tone. “Ah, my mood just dipped. Hold on a sec.”

“What are you doing?” Jiwoo asked as Noeul pulled out his phone.

Joonki picked up right away. “Hey, Joonki. What are you up to?” Noeul said.

Jiwoo’s interest faded as she realized what was happening. She sipped her makgeolli while Noeul gave their location and hung up.

“You called Joonki?”

“Yeah.”

“You two must be really close. It’s like you’re practically dating.”

Noeul feigned disgust. “Ugh, you’re ruining my drink. Hold on, then who’s the girl?”

Jiwoo giggled, and Noeul threw himself into keeping the mood light. He told funny stories, cracked jokes, and poked fun at himself. Anything to mask the ache inside.

Jiwoo’s laughter filled the air. “What’s gotten into you? You’re on fire tonight!”

“What’s so funny? Fill me in.” Joonki approached, grinning.

Noeul nodded to the seat beside him. “Sit over there. No room here, my bag’s in the way.”

Joonki slid in next to Jiwoo, flashing Noeul a knowing smile. Noeul returned a subtle thumbs-up.

Jiwoo pouted. “I can see you two with your secret signals. Don’t leave me out!”

“Third wheels need to stay out of it,” Noeul quipped. “We’ve got couple talk to do.”

Joonki laughed. “Since when were we a couple?”

“Darling, you’re extra feisty today,” Noeul purred, lowering his voice.

Joonki made a face. “Darling? What am I, your wife?”

“Why are you so hung up on who’s the wife?”

Jiwoo burst out laughing as Noeul poured makgeolli for Joonki. “Honey, let’s drink up tonight and see what happens.”

“Where is this coming from?” Jiwoo said, gasping from laughter. She playfully swatted Joonki’s shoulder as she doubled over.

Joonki glanced at Jiwoo with a fond smile. Meanwhile, Noeul watched them silently.