Chapter 33: Don’t Misuse sayings.

The System was stunned. "Is that so? In the original text, the Fitzgerald company was completely beaten and faced a share price crisis, and was nearly delisted within two months. How can it still be taking market share like this?"

It marveled, "Truly, a cat has nine lives. Fergal is quite the strategist."

"...I told you not to misuse sayings."

Cian silenced the chattering System and nodded to Eoin in agreement. "Indeed."

After the contract was signed, Eoin visibly relaxed. "I’ve set out all the terms clearly. If you want to buy a car, a watch, or anything for daily life, you can charge it to my account."

The contract was quite long. Cian skimmed it. It was much better than the one he had given Eoin back then. The outrageous demands, like the letters and sleeping together, were nowhere to be seen.

Each of them took a copy of the contract. Eoin, having settled a pressing matter, stood up. "I’ll go back to the dinner first. Wait for me, and we’ll leave together afterward."

Eoin was one of the centres of the dinner, and he really couldn’t stay away for long.

Cian opened the door for him like a perfect gentleman. "After you."

The little private room went quiet.

Cian took out his phone. The System hovered around him, suspicious. "Really not leaving?"

Cian flipped through the pages lazily. "Am I in the way of your next task?"

"Not really," the System muttered. "I’m kind of on holiday. Next time I look for a host, I’ll have to keep my eyes open. I’ll never find someone like you again."

Sixty points! Heaven knew how much it had done for this host, and all it got was a 60!

Cian had no time for it. He was absorbed in his phone. Curious, the System floated over to look and found the screen full of colourful pictures of fish, meat, potatoes, and spring onions, with detailed instructions on how much ginger, garlic, and spring onion to use and how to blanch the fish to remove the fishy smell.

Cian was reading a recipe.

The System: "? What are you doing?"

Cian didn’t look up. "Learning how to be a kept man."

Cian kept flipping through. "The agreement’s signed, and it’s part of my job."

The System was surprised. "You can break the agreement any time. Are you really going to stick to it?"

If Cian just said the word, he could go home right away.

Cian: "I feel like it."

Cian wasn’t a fool, and he had more or less picked up on Eoin’s feelings. But back then he saw himself as a temporary visitor who wouldn’t stay long, so he deliberately kept his distance. Now that it was really time to leave, he had started to doubt himself.

If he went back, no one would be there to look after him when he was sick.

When he admitted it to himself, it was simply that he didn’t want to go. Cian asked himself honestly. He didn’t really want to just leave. He didn’t want to give up the way he was being looked after. And even more than that, he didn’t want to upset that handsome man.

Luckily, he had always been laid back. Since he was thinking of staying, he figured he would do it properly.

The System was lost for words. "...Okay then."

Cian remembered Eoin’s taste in food. He liked light dishes, especially prawns and fish, usually steamed or boiled. Whenever they went out to eat, those were his go to dishes.

It was late, and fresh fish and prawns were hard to find. Cian found a fishmonger nearby and texted Eoin: "Heading out for a sec."

As he typed, he pushed open the door and stepped out. Meanwhile, Eoin, in the middle of the dinner, glanced at his phone, paused, and frowned.

They weren’t friends on the app, but Eoin could easily get Cian’s number. As soon as the message popped up, he knew who it was from.

Eoin quietly excused himself and opened the chat in a corner. His fingers hovered over the screen, and the anxiety he had just pushed down came rushing back.

He wanted to remind Cian about the agreement they had signed. He wanted to remind him that the share transfer wasn’t done yet, that what was his wasn’t locked in yet, and that he had just agreed to leave with him...

But before he could finish typing, Cian sent a slow reply: "The food at the dinner was kinda bad. The beef was overcooked. Wanna grab a late night bite?"

Eoin was taken aback.

Cian went on slowly: "Actually, I can cook. Would you like to try?"

After sending that, Cian remembered that Eoin was picky about food. When they first met at the hotel, he had been so particular that he even interrupted Cian’s ordering. He was hard to please. So Cian added: "My cooking is not bad, not much worse than a restaurant’s."

He stayed on the typing screen, so Eoin’s phone kept showing that he was typing. The highly sought after Mr. Brennan stood in a shadowy corner staring at his phone, his palms slightly sweaty.

He didn’t understand what Cian was trying to do.

Just a few days ago they had been cold and distant, acting like strangers. Because of one agreement, had everything changed so dramatically?

Was Cian so happy just because Eoin had agreed to buy him a car and a watch?

That’s fine, Eoin thought. He had plenty of money now.

Cian straightened his clothes and went downstairs, completely unaware of what was going on inside Eoin’s head. Eoin hadn’t replied, so he thought he hadn’t seen the message. He kept typing slowly: "What would you like to eat? I see turbot is in season and very fresh lately. Would you like to try it?"

Wild turbot is a prized fish. It’s expensive, costing well over a hundred euro a kilo. Ordinary shops don’t have it, and you have to look for it on purpose. Cian didn’t usually eat it, but today was special, and he wanted to buy it for Eoin to try.

Eoin quickly replied: "Okay."

In fact, Cian’s idea that Eoin was hard to please was a complete misunderstanding. Eoin had been brought up roughly since childhood. He wasn’t picky about food or drink and wasn’t particular about anything. When Cian mentioned turbot, he didn’t even know what it was.

So Cian, in his trainers, went to the fishmonger, carefully picked a plump, lively fish, had the owner prepare it, and carried it back in a plastic bag. He didn’t like the atmosphere at the dinner, so he went into the car park and sat cross legged in the Micra.

Cian took a photo of the bag in his hand and sent it over: "Got it, just over a kilo."

A moment later he typed again: "I’ll wait for you in the car park."

Upstairs, the big names of Dublin were seated by rank, arguing fiercely over shares, their faces red and heated. Eoin quietly lit up his phone to check Cian’s message.

It was a casual photo with no thought for composition or colour. It showed Cian in casual clothes, half his body in the frame, holding a cheap plastic bag.

It was ordinary, but warm and down to earth.

Earlier, Cian had stayed at Rathmore Court for three days, and Eoin had been in the flat next door for those same three days. At every mealtime, warm steam from the cooking drifted over from next door. The smell of fried spring onion and ginger spread through the air, and chicken or pork rib soup bubbled in pots, while Eoin ate hotel meals. Even though the ingredients were expensive, and each dish cost many times more than Cian’s, he still longed to taste what was in Cian’s pot.

He hadn’t expected that on the very first day of signing the agreement, a chance like this would come.

Eoin thought it over and then replied: "I’m staying at a hotel. There’s no kitchen, so probably nowhere to cook, right?"

The moment the message was sent, it showed that Cian was typing.

He typed slowly. The car’s heating was blowing warm air, and his fingers were curled inside his coat, unwilling to come out. Cian tapped out each word, completely unaware of the anxiety on the other side of the screen.

It felt like an instant, and yet also like a long time had passed. Cian replied: "How about coming to my place? It’s an old flat my mum bought, but the conditions are a bit poor. You might not be used to it."

Of course Eoin wouldn’t mind. He waited a moment so that the reply wouldn’t seem too eager and would look cool and reserved, then pressed send. "Okay."

The negotiation went on. After that short reply, Eoin had to put most of his attention back into it, constantly checking his watch, his frown deepening.

Looking back over the years, Eoin had always left late. During evening study at school he was the last one in his class to leave. During his degree and master’s experiments he was the last to leave the lab. Later, at Lynch Corporation, he was the last to leave the office. It was only because, after his granny was hospitalised, the house was empty and silent, like a hollow tomb at night with no sign of anyone. Rather than suffer at home, he preferred to stay longer at the office or university.

But now, remembering the rising steam at Rathmore Court, he didn’t want to waste any more time with a room full of old men.

This was the day Eoin most wanted to leave work.