Eighteen's Bed

Chapter 7.2

Han Junwoo keeps pissing me off. Damn it. Stop mixing me and Go Yohan into your dirty relationships. What if Yohan starts suspecting something? I don’t want to be dragged down in this pyramid like you. I need to walk the high road at the top of this structure, you bastard.

“What’s the use in denying it? The way you two stick together says it all.”

“Ah, I hear poverty speaking. Sounds like a beggar.”

Yohan lifted his hand from my shoulder and jabbed his finger forcefully into Han Junwoo’s shoulder. Junwoo’s body staggered slightly from the push. "Beggar." I laughed without realizing it at that word.

“Whether we're close or not, mind your own business, loser. Worry about your dad in prison, please. Right?”

“Yohan, watch what you say. There are ways to silence you.”

“Please grow up. Can you imagine how much your dad is crying while eating his cold prison meals? You’re broke. Having a son like you is worse than having none. Your life’s a total mess, really.”

“...Do you really want to die?”

Han Junwoo’s face lost all its composure. Yohan blatantly sneered down at him.

“What, like you could do anything after the beating I gave you?”

“Pfft!”

His expression was so ridiculous that I burst out laughing. I quickly covered my mouth with my hand as I turned pale, looking up at Junwoo, but I couldn’t stop laughing. His face turning red and blue was just too funny. The suppressed laughter crept through my lips again.

“......”

As I couldn’t stop my laughter, Junwoo seemed even more infuriated. Knowing it would be better not to provoke him further, I struggled to close my mouth and tugged at Yohan’s clothes, pointing towards the road. Yohan, understanding my gesture perfectly, waved his hand.

“Yeah, go be a good son while you can. We’re leaving.”

“Hey. Yohan!”

“Yes. It’s Yohan.”

His mocking demeanor was so amusing. But fearing a fight might break out, I desperately held back my laughter.

“Let’s just ignore him and go.”

At my words, Yohan curled his lips into a smile and lightly tapped my arm. Although we could hear Han Junwoo cursing our names from behind, what’s there to fear from the barking of a defeated dog? It was just funny.

Suddenly, I looked back at Han Junwoo. His eyes, which I thought were lethargic, held a look of inferiority as he glared at us. Unable to rush at us, he just trembled while clenching his fists.

Han Junwoo, whose father went to prison. Han Junwoo, who became a beggar overnight. Han Junwoo, who was ostracized in the class. His situation was so laughable that I couldn’t help but smile. Now that there’s no need to watch this beggar anymore, I slowly turned my head to face forward. It felt exhilarating. Han Junwoo. You're finally cursed.

****

Yohan sometimes takes my side. His unpredictable nature does make me wary, but at least I’m not abandoned for hanging out with Han Junwoo’s group, thanks to Yohan. Therefore, it’s only natural, not rationalizing, to express gratitude to him. With that thought, as soon as we left the school alley, I said to Yohan.

“Hey, are you going to eat lunch at home?”

“It seems I must.”

But Yohan’s expression wasn’t great. He doesn’t want to go home.

I remembered the moment Yohan said he hated his father. Why does Yohan hate his father? The thought was brief. I concluded that it wasn’t important to me. Instead, I decided to show him a little kindness, which felt strangely liberating. My voice lightened.

“How about eating at my place?”

“Your house?”

“I’ll ask my mom to make tteokbokki. My mom's tteokbokki is really good.”

“Oh, tteokbokki.”

Yohan’s arm came closer around my neck. I looked at him with slight anticipation, and Yohan smiled brightly.

“Sure.”

I smiled back in response. The recent scuffle seemed like a distant past to us. Han Junwoo's pathetic figure became the butt of our jokes as we ate the tteokbokki.

After lunch, we hung out in my room. Though we said we were playing, we just lazily sprawled out and chatted about nothing important. The emotions I felt when I first let Yohan into my room were tormenting me now. I definitely used Yohan as a side dish back there. A guilty heat bothered my stomach. I didn’t even look towards the neatly arranged tissues on my desk.

I pulled out my English vocabulary book, and Yohan took out a comic book from his bag.

“Faraway Neighbors.”

“Studying world history.”

Yohan turned slightly, lying on his side on the sofa, propping his head up with one arm. His narrow eyes fixated on me. It was the same feeling I got when I first met him in our freshman year of high school. Those snake-like eyes.

“...Y-Yeah.”

“Then does that mean you like me?”

“What?”

What the hell is he saying? How does "thank you" turn into "I like you"? My heart pounded from the sudden leap in logic. Those narrow eyes, that sharp nose, that dark, unreadable face—everything about him was provoking me.

I— Like—

I almost let it slip.

At that moment, my head turned cold. The dilemma that had been festering inside me finally found its answer in that instant. My vision spun, and at the same time, despair sank in. I tried to smile naturally as I answered.

“Of course. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Ah. Friends.”

At my words, Yohan simply smiled silently. Then he picked up his book again and continued reading. The conversation we had just shared passed as if it were nothing more than an ordinary exchange. The conversations that followed were much the same. The only thing that wasn’t normal was me. My workbook remained on the same page, untouched.

We continued talking about trivial things until dinner. After eating, Yohan grabbed his bag, saying he should start heading home. I quickly got up.

“You’re leaving now?”

“Yeah.”

He answered while checking his phone screen. His response felt indifferent, which left me unsettled. The moment I recognized what that feeling was, a dull headache set in. All I wanted was to get away from this situation. Pressing my heated forehead, I muttered,

“Alright, see you.”

“What’s with you?”

But his voice, stuffing his phone into his pocket, sounded full of dissatisfaction.

“Aren’t you going to put on a coat?”

“...Why would I?”

“You need to walk me home.”

“What kind of guy walks another guy home? You live nearby anyway.”

“...Nearby?”

The excuse sounded reasonable—at least to me. Avoiding his gaze, I scratched at my neck for no reason and stared at the floor. Yohan stayed silent for a long time before suddenly letting out a chuckle.

“Don’t go around telling people we’re friends.”

“...What?”

That was an odd thing to say at this moment. I immediately flared up.

“What, just because I’m not walking you home, I can’t call you my friend anymore?”

“For a friend, you don’t seem to care about me at all.”

Yohan tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. Unbelievable.

“...Yeah, right.”

His soft, muttered words hit me harder than expected, making me feel both indignant and guilty. It was like he was accusing me.

“Why? Not walking you home means I don’t care about you?”

“That’s not it, but you really don’t care about me.”

“I do.”

“Really? Then tell me, which idiot doesn’t even know that their friend lives next door?”

...What?

My mind blanked out completely. On reflex, I lifted my head and looked at Yohan’s face. The corner of his lips curled upward, mocking me. It was such an ambiguous expression that I wasn’t even sure if he was actually smiling. His light laughter brushed past my ears and disappeared into the air.

“I mean, yeah, I did lie a little for fun. But seriously, how have you not figured it out until now?”