MBL 2

“I’ll go, of course. That’s for tomorrow’s me to deal with. Today’s me isn’t having it.”

We had already spent two or three hours at the PC bang.

“You know you’ve been saying that since freshman year, right? You’re a senior now. When are you going to get your act together?”

“Am I you? Studying’s pointless for me. I’m gonna swing by a hyung’s place, change clothes, and head to Hongdae.”

It was evening, the sun setting. Seokju spoke lightheartedly, his eyes sparkling. Unlike hyung, Seokju’s life always seemed carefree in a different way.

“Ugh, do whatever you want. Whatever. I’m heading out. See you at school on Monday.”

“If you’re gonna keep talking nonsense, just go already.”

Seokju gave a casual goodbye and started walking. As he headed toward the bus stop, he turned back, shouting, “Young-ahhh!” and yelling loudly to study hard, making the people around us chuckle.

I pretended not to hear, my face red, waving him off to get lost. Watching him walk away, I turned around too.

“Haa…”

I let out a deep sigh.

I had to go to the academy. Seokju didn’t attend the kind of academy that nagged you for not showing up. He went to one where anyone could enroll as long as they paid, while I went to a selective academy that managed your school record and personal statement, known for the highest college admission rates in the area.

My legs felt heavy today. Thinking about the fun I’d had messing around with Seokju made my steps even heavier.

A sense of helplessness, not wanting to do anything—especially not sit at a desk and study—made my movements sluggish.

I stopped walking and lifted my gaze from the ground, a habit of mine. The street was lined with academy signs, their threatening slogans warning that if you didn’t belong here, your life would be ruined. Illegally parked academy vans, shuttling kids, clogged the road, making the view suffocating no matter where I looked.

This place wasn’t filled with hope or passion for a better future but with anxiety and fear of falling behind in the competition.

Suddenly, breathing felt painful. I turned to look at Seokju, waiting for the bus. He was the only living, vibrant thing in this stifling place.

I ran to him. Seeing me chase after him, his expression turned puzzled.

“Huh? You didn’t leave? What’s up? Forget something?”

“I wanna go too.”

“Go where? Hongdae? I’m hitting a club.”

“I want to go too. I want to see it.”

I didn’t want to sit at a desk today, not even if you killed me. The mere fact of skipping the academy made my body feel lighter, like I’d shed a burden, and I felt alive.

“For real? You serious? No backing out, got it?”

“Can I borrow clothes from that hyung too?”

“Eh, our builds are a bit different, but there’ll be something. You’re not gonna bail saying there’s no clothes, right?”

“Nope.”

I smirked as I answered.

Seokju had been consistently urging me to break free, and I’d been consistently refusing. So when I suggested going to a club together, he got more excited than me, grabbing my arm to make sure I wouldn’t bolt, insisting I couldn’t back out.

We boarded a bus to Hongdae. The crowded bus cut through the busy city. My heart raced with the thrill of this aimless escape.

We stopped by Seokju’s acquaintance’s place to borrow clothes. That hyung was taller than me, but the pants fit perfectly. I must’ve grown a bit since last year. Seokju kept casual clothes stashed there.

Once we ditched our uniforms, we didn’t look like stressed-out exam-takers but like college students, and the feeling of being adults made us even more hyped.

We hung out at the hyung’s studio apartment for a while, then headed to Hongdae as soon as it got dark.

Friday evenings were chaotic everywhere, and Hongdae was especially crowded. I usually hated crowded places, so the thrill and freedom of skipping the academy faded quickly.

Wandering the streets, mixed in with people noisily seeking fun, I started to feel annoyed and pathetic about my actions.

There was nothing to gain from loitering and giggling on the streets. Regret hit me within an hour, wishing I’d memorized one more English word or solved another math problem instead.

I was pathetic, unable to even rebel boldly or enjoy it. Studying didn’t bring peace, but neither did playing. My anxious, indecisive state was perfect for breeding self-disgust in my teenage self.

We roamed around Hongdae and entered a club past eleven. It was a club where Seokju’s acquaintance worked as an MD.

We descended the stairs into the darkening basement. The faint EDM from outside grew louder as we approached the club, pounding through my body as the door opened.

Seokju led me to the lounge bar. He bought me a cocktail, saying he’d recommend the first drink. I took the glass from the bartender, fidgeting with the wristband and glancing around.

“Stay here for a bit.”

Spotting his friends, Seokju pressed my shoulder, spoke loudly despite the noise not requiring it, and disappeared toward them.

The club’s music hit like overwhelming noise. The longer I listened, the more it felt like it was draining my energy. It was a sound I doubted I’d ever get used to, no matter how long I endured it.

Being in such an unstable place made me dizzy, and what I hated most was the lack of personal space, with strangers pressed close together. There were people behind me, beside me, and in front of me.

Physical contact with others made me feel bad. It was the same on packed buses or subways, and being in a club didn’t suddenly make it enjoyable.

I deliberately stayed still, not wanting to touch anyone, especially those swaying carelessly to the flashy lights and music, ignoring others’ gazes. I swung my elbow to signal the person behind me to stop crowding me. The figure stepped back briefly but soon pressed close again. With so many people in such a tight space, there was no room to keep distance. The heat and presence of someone right behind me were intensely irritating.

I hunched my shoulders and stiffened. While awkwardly watching the excited crowd, a small glass appeared in front of me. I turned at the deliberate sound.

“Here alone?”

“…Sorry?”

“I asked if you’re here alone.”

“No. I came with a friend.”

What’s this? The thing I’d only heard about?

The person offering me a drink and striking up a conversation was dressed and looked perfectly suited to this place—but it was a man, not a woman. A light, charming smile hung on his lips.

I’d occasionally had women ask for my number, but a smiling man approaching me first was a complete first. It was incredibly awkward.

I stared at him blankly, wondering what he was up to. I had zero interest in doing anything with a guy.

“I’m buying this. It’s not strong enough to get you drunk, so try it. It’s good.”

“…”

“It’s fine. No drugs or anything.”

A complete stranger was urging me to drink again.

His smile, encouraging me to try it, carried a seasoned ease.

I hadn’t even considered drugs, but his insistence that there were none made me even less inclined to drink, and I didn’t want to engage with his interest. I suddenly felt annoyed and made my displeasure obvious.

“No thanks.”

I said “no thanks” with the same weight as “get lost,” shooting a warning glare that I’d punch him if he said one more word.

Ignoring him, I turned my head as if looking for my group. Seokju’s laughing figure flickered in and out of the lighting. I wanted to head his way if our eyes met, but he was too busy laughing and having fun to even glance at me.

“High schooler, right? How’d you get in? This place is off-limits to minors.”

I got in because Seokju’s hyung introduced us as his friends, and we slipped in while the entrance staff was distracted.

“Who let a high schooler in?”

When I didn’t look at him, he leaned in close, asking in a tone that felt like an interrogation, as if I’d done something illegal.

“You’re not drinking this, right? I’ll take it then.”

He took the glass back. I lifted my face toward him. He raised and lowered the glass, as if to show that an adult who belonged here could handle it easily.

I didn’t want to look like a teenager who shouldn’t be here just because I refused a drink, nor did I want to be kicked out for being a minor, but above all, I didn’t want to seem intimidated by his words.

I snatched the glass from him and sniffed it briefly. The clear brown liquid smelled of alcohol. I wasn’t a dog; I couldn’t tell if anything shady was mixed in just by smell.

“Wow, you’re taking forever. You won’t die from it. I promise. It’s clean.”

He gestured impatiently, urging me to hurry up.

I handed him a coupon for a free drink and downed the alcohol. He laughed in disbelief, glancing behind me.

The bitter taste made me wince, and I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

It was an unpleasant taste that made my brows furrow.

“It’s bad. You said it was good.”

“I thought it was good. You’re in trouble, Joonwon. He just drank.”

The man spoke over my shoulder to someone.

Hearing the name Joonwon, I whipped around, startled, and nearly fainted from shock.

“…!”

Hyung was standing behind me.

The irritating heat pressed against my back, refusing to give me space, was none other than my hyung, Kang Joonwon.

Even when I swung my elbow to push him away, he stood firm like a wall, making me uncomfortable and trapping me—it was him.

“He really drank just because someone told him to. Fearless.”

The man mocked both me and hyung, waving the coupon. Hyung’s brows twitched slightly as he looked at me.

“I, uh, Seokju said to come. So…”

The sharp smell of the alcohol I’d just swallowed lingered as I opened my mouth. I started to explain but stopped.

Hyung always gave me that uncomfortable look. I hated that expression, which made me spew pathetic excuses. I was the one labeling myself as lesser than him, and he was the one making me feel that way.

“What about the academy?”

His question felt so out of place here. Like a scolded child, I couldn’t meet his eyes and looked away.

“I didn’t go.”

“…”

“I didn’t feel like going today.”

“…”

Hyung didn’t ask further. His silence implied it was all my fault. He just stood beside me, looking down at me. I felt trapped, surrounded by walls.

“Another drink?”

The man, who seemed to be hyung’s friend, offered another drink. Hyung didn’t stop me. As I held the glass and glanced at him, the man said,

“If you’re gonna play, play hard. Why care what he thinks? Your hyung does worse things than this.”

The man said something cryptic. It seemed hyung hung out with people like this in places I didn’t know about.

Trying not to care about hyung’s silence, I drank. The hot liquid made my head spin as I swallowed. My throat felt like it was burning.

When the man shouted for another round, hyung finally took the glass from me. I stared at the veins on his hand. Maybe because the glass was taken, my hand and chest felt empty.

“Go home.”

“…”

Hyung spoke. Some defiance rose in me, and I didn’t follow his words. I approached the lounge bar, calling the busy bartender. The loud music was pounding my back.

I pulled money from my wallet.

“Give me drinks for this much.”

Hyung’s friend burst out laughing, mocking him. The bartender looked at me in disbelief.

“I said, drinks for this much.”

The loud music didn’t stop, but I pressed her firmly. Hyung must’ve signaled something, as she ignored me and moved to another customer.

I turned to hyung.

“What?”

“Go home while I’m asking nicely.”

His flat tone carried the kind of disregard only possible between brothers.

“Don’t act like my hyung only when it suits you. You don’t even care about me.”

“…”

His incredulous eyes shifted from me to his smirking friend, who quickly dropped the mocking expression under hyung’s blank stare.

“Fine. I’m going. I’ll go.”

Tired of the staring, the man slipped away to avoid hyung.

I wasn’t angry about being bossed around as the younger one. I was angry that while he was away from home, he was hanging out in places like this.

If he was my hyung, Kang Joonwon, he should’ve been doing something constructive, profitable—studying all night in a library, gaining experience for Father’s business, something productive and moral.

I never imagined he’d be in a club like this, wasting time in a place even a kid like me found trivial and empty. It felt like catching my parents in an affair, a sickening betrayal.

I thought he was off doing something great, not coming home, but he’d been wasting time in these pointless places, leaving me behind.

The expectations I’d built for him crumbled, and disappointment hardened my expression.

“Want me to take you home?”

“No need. I’ll rest when I want to.”

“Rest? With three second-tier grades, you’re resting?”

I answered defiantly, then froze at his words, looking up.

Father hadn’t checked my midterm report card, where I got three second-tier grades for the first time. They weren’t the first-tier grades hyung always got, so it wasn’t worth his attention, but I’d been nervous in case Father suddenly asked to see it. And now hyung was bringing it up.

“…How’d you know?”

“Know what? I saw it.”

“Why’d you look at it?”

“Why can’t I?”

Humiliation made me bite my lip hard, my fist clenching.

“I’m not like you.”

“…”

My tone came out cold.

Hyung was silent. The longer his silence stretched, the more miserable I felt.

I’d exposed my own flaws. Maybe it was the alcohol or the embarrassment, but my face burned with heat.

It was as good as admitting I was jealous of him and felt inferior.

“If you know you’re different, try harder.”

That was what he said after a brief silence.

He’d read my inferiority and victimhood perfectly, yet said that. It was infuriating but undeniable.

“…This is my first time doing this. I’ve never been to a place like this. I can’t study, I’m tired of thinking, I hate memorizing, I hate books. I need a break too.”

“Keep rationalizing like that, and you’ll be the one losing out.”

Hyung, as if done lecturing, grabbed a glass and downed it. He looked too natural, even cool, drinking.

I didn’t expect him to offer to tutor me now that my grades were slipping. But I hoped for at least some cliché encouragement—try harder, keep going. Instead, he was coldly saying do it or don’t, fail or don’t.

That’s who Kang Joonwon is. He says what he wants without hesitation. Some saw it as refreshing honesty; others felt it stabbed them in the chest. For someone weak like me, unable to hold a grudge, it just left another scar.

“Whether I fall behind or not, what’s it to you? Stay out of my business.”

I snapped in an agitated, rapid tone.

Hyung stared at me, then turned his eyes to the lounge hall, where everyone was dancing wildly. He glanced at his watch and said,

“Have fun then. Go ahead.”

“…”

“If you’re not good at studying, at least be good at having fun.”

His challenging gaze fixed on me. Knowing what his look was provoking, I couldn’t move. I wasn’t good at studying, and I was even worse at having fun.

I was the kind of person who’d never master showing off or rebelling in front of him, no matter how much I tried later.

He looked at me silently, caught in my pathetic in-between state.

“…”

“Let’s get out of here.”

He spoke quietly and turned. His tone seemed to pity my stubbornness.

My childish actions felt pathetic. I felt a bit guilty for snapping at him when he was probably worried.

With mixed feelings, I followed him out of the club.

Friday night in Hongdae was a mix of chaos and excitement. Everything was disorderly, yet the debauchery felt like it danced in its own massive order.

He walked ahead through it. I scrambled after him, anxious I might lose sight of his back in the crowd.

How long did we walk? Past a deserted playground, through crowds shouting loudly, crossing several alleys, we were no longer in a place where chaos looked like order.

Everything was quiet, everything asleep. It was well past midnight.

Hyung, walking far ahead, suddenly turned back, as if just realizing I was following.

“You’re still here?”

“What? Where am I supposed to go? You’re telling me to go alone?”

“Haa…”

While I was anxiously chasing after hyung’s back, worried I’d lose him in the crowd, he seemed to have forgotten I was even following him.

Assuming I’d gone home on my own, he sighed as he noticed me trailing behind. Ignoring the bewilderment on my face, hyung quickened his pace again.

I thought he was finally acting like a proper hyung. I’d hoped he’d take me out and offer some words of comfort or a consoling drink. All along, as I followed him, I’d been expecting something like that, but he poured another scalding insult on me instead.

“Fine, I’ll go.”

“This is the place.”

My declaration and his words came out at the same time. He ignored mine, and I listened to his.

The building looked shabby and rundown. The walls were dark and dirty, as if painted with a gloomy hue. It was a good thing it was night. If it were broad daylight, I would’ve hesitated to even step foot in a place that looked like it could host a murder scene without anyone batting an eye.

Hyung descended first into the basement of the building, where years of dust seemed to have accumulated, washed down by rain. I followed him hesitantly.

He went down a few steps and unlocked the door. A basement entrance that looked like a cell opened, and he stepped inside, flipping on the light switch. The surroundings lit up.

“Where are we? Don’t tell me you live here?”

“I got it to practice and study.”

The fairly spacious room had a small wardrobe, a single bed for quick naps, a sofa, and a desk. On one wall were stacks of CDs, his books, an audio system and amplifier that seemed out of place, and a guitar.

Hyung’s guitar.

I slid onto the sofa and ran my fingers over his guitar. Holding his acoustic guitar to my chest, I plucked the strings—diriring. It was perfectly tuned. It must still bear the most traces of his touch.

It felt like stumbling upon a forgotten memory in an unexpected place, somehow joyful and moving.

Hyung started playing the guitar as a hobby when he was young. We listened to the same songs, lying in bed, singing along. My taste for band music was something he shaped. His influence over me was that absolute.

As his playing improved enough to provide basic accompaniment, I started singing along to his music.

When hyung played the guitar, I’d hang onto his neck, humming songs into his ear while he laughed, saying it tickled. Memories of him flooded back all at once. The realization that those memories weren’t just ordinary sibling moments but something lovers might do made my ears burn suddenly.

“It’s been a while, the guitar.”

I tried playing the chords he first taught me.

C G Am FM7 C G F C

I slowly worked through The Beatles’ Let It Be.

My playing was awkward and clumsy, but he sat beside me, watching silently. When I hit a wrong chord or got stuck, he gently moved my fingers to the right spot on the fretboard.

Even after years, my hands seemed to remember. Without consciously trying to recall, my fingers naturally moved to the next chord.

When I finished Let It Be, hyung murmured,

“Your head’s not completely useless. So why are your grades like that?”

“I thought you’d given up on it. The guitar, the music—I thought you’d never touch them again.”

I got excited. I’d assumed that just as he’d changed, he’d abandoned music too.

“If I kept doing music, they said they’d send you to our grandfather in the States.”

“…Huh? Father? Me? Not you?”

Hyung, lost in thought, looked elsewhere as he continued.

“If I kept at it, they said they’d send you to the States, saying Grandpa wanted to see you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

There was no reason for Father to use me to threaten hyung.

Around the time hyung started adding finesse to his once-clumsy guitar playing, we began to drift apart, no longer the close brothers we once were.

Hyung had no reason to listen to Father, but Father, thinking hyung still cared for me deeply, issued that absurd warning.

“So if you kept playing music, Father said he’d send me to the States?”

I asked, puzzled, and he met my gaze.

“He said he’d kill me if I did it again. Said he’d break my fingers if I touched the guitar. No reason to be stubborn. I just do it in secret. Keeps Father happy, keeps me happy.”

He let go of his sentimental expression and spoke with a calm smile. His nonchalant, almost arrogant tone made me laugh involuntarily.

I thought that just as he’d changed, the music he loved so much had transformed too. When he played chords, his expression was more serious and sharp than ever.

I used to watch his focused demeanor and rapidly improving skills with admiration and longing. I could barely recall when that was—it felt so long ago.

“Why wouldn’t you keep doing something this good? Give it here.”

He muttered to himself, almost inaudibly, and took the guitar from me into his arms.

He held the guitar lovingly, like embracing a partner, and started playing a melody I only vaguely knew. It wasn’t just sound—it felt like an appeal. The simple yet lyrical notes swelled in my chest.

He didn’t need such talent on top of everything else. I knew the world was unfair, but seeing him made it hit home.

I watched his playing, entranced. Only when his hands left the fretboard and the melody stopped did I let out an “Ah.” In a deflated voice, I asked,

“Do you perform at that club?”

“Why don’t you just keep thinking I’m drinking and wasting time in a dump like that?”

“…”

“If you’d come an hour earlier once a week, you might’ve seen how cool your hyung is.”

“You never told me that.”

“Should I report everything to a high school senior? To you, already stressing over bad grades?”

I glared at him resentfully for bringing up my grades again, and he smiled with his lips, saying he’d stop.

“Remember the song I taught you?”

“Huh? Uh… yeah.”

His fingers began to play. As the rhythm flowed, he signaled for me to sing.

The notes from his long fingers felt like tender caresses. The melody wrapped around my back, urging me to let out sound.

I hadn’t forgotten the song he taught me. Despite the long time since I’d sung to his playing, the lyrics and notes came back naturally, flowing from my lips.

Maybe it was the memory of warmly hugging his neck while singing, but I suddenly wanted to wrap my arms around him again. Like before, I wanted to hold his neck and whisper songs into his ear.

But we’d both grown up, and it was an age where such things felt awkward.

His playing stopped first, and my voice gradually faded. He stared at the guitar’s fretboard, murmuring with a slightly heavy gaze,

“It drives people crazy.”

“…”

“Music does…”

He’d never praised or mentioned it, but he liked my voice. I could tell without him saying it. Embarrassed by how clearly I sensed it, I quickly changed the subject.

“Do you sleep and eat here too?”

“…”

He didn’t answer. He put down the classical guitar and picked up an electric one. Plugging headphones into the amp, he started playing. When he got into that stance, it’d take at least an hour before he stopped.

I left him be and slowly explored the studio. The books and CDs, seemingly haphazard but organized by genre, and the clothes felt very much like him.

Then I noticed something transparent under the sofa and flinched.

“…”

I was stunned. I glanced at hyung.

He was frowning, fully focused on his fingers. I looked back at the trash under the sofa. I’d never seen one in person, but I instinctively knew. It was a used condom.

The person who used that filthy thing was my hyung.

I naturally recalled his masturbation. The excited breathing as he gripped and touched himself under the desk, where I’d hidden, echoed in my ears.

After seeing his masturbation as a kid and finding it repulsive, I’d come to view masturbation as shameful. The guilt that followed made it take a long time to try again.

When I’d hide under bed sheets to do it, I’d think of him. The trajectory of his breathing came back vividly. Until I could fully forget that unpleasant, repulsive feeling, I didn’t touch myself.

I stared at it, hesitating but unable to look away.

The thin latex, deflated like a balloon, was soaked with slimy residue. Should I praise him for using protection?

I was shocked, dumbfounded, and most troublingly, my mind kept picturing two naked bodies entwined.

Sensing my unease, hyung suddenly stopped playing and looked at me.

I was too young to skillfully hide my discomfort. He followed my gaze to the object, then looked back at me.

“…”

“…”

I awkwardly turned my head, pretending not to notice. I wanted to say something to escape the awkwardness.

“Hyung, aren’t you hungry?”

“…”

He just quietly watched my flustered face.

It was getting hard to bear. There was no reason, but the air felt hot, and breathing felt difficult. I didn’t want to share this uncomfortable connection with him.

Beneath this indescribable, hard-to-express unease always lay his masturbation.

“Aren’t you hungry? I’m starving.”

“…”

“…Why are you staring like that?”

Asking that might’ve been instinctive self-defense.

It wasn’t just awkward or embarrassing—his piercing gaze was frightening.

He slowly looked away, gesturing with his chin toward a small kitchen.

“There’s ramen somewhere in there.”

“Is there a stove?”

“There’s a burner. Cook it yourself.”

I fled to the kitchen, filling my un-hungry stomach with instant noodles. When I returned, the condom that had unsettled me was gone, cleanly removed without a trace.

∞ ∞ ∞

Since that night at the club, hyung’s attitude didn’t change much. He was still distant. But I wasn’t as hurt by him as before.

I knew his secret hideout. I shared a secret Father didn’t know. Knowing his secret made him no longer smell like a stranger. I could almost forget how he’d treated me like an outsider.

Knowing his private space felt more comforting than any promise to treat me better. If there was a chance, we could go back to how things were.

Like before…

“You not changing?”

Seokju, in gym clothes since morning, asked me during break, as I lingered.

“Sungyu borrowed it and hasn’t brought it back.”

“That guy always comes back from the bathroom different. Bet he won’t bring it till the bell. Just go get it.”

“Haa.”

I sighed irritably and stood up, heading out to retrieve my gym clothes from Sungyu.

The hallway was chaotic with running students. I waited in front of Sungyu’s class when someone tapped my shoulder and spoke.

“Why didn’t you call yesterday?”

I turned to see who it was. Both of us were startled.

I’d never spoken a word to this guy.

He was Heo Kyungmin, a notorious delinquent even teachers avoided eye contact with. Rumor had it he’d been scouted by Gangnam gangsters, securing his post-graduation path faster than those awaiting college results.

I was shocked because I knew who he was; he was shocked because he didn’t know me. He’d mistaken me for someone else.

“…Thought you were someone I knew.”

“…”

His tone shifted abruptly, his usual fierce expression offering a curt explanation.

I just nodded once. Heo Kyungmin scanned me from head to toe before turning away.

“You know Heo Kyungmin?”

Sungyu asked excitedly, shoving my gym clothes at me. I shook my head no.

“He must’ve mistaken me for someone else. Dude, if you borrow something, you’re supposed to return it.”

“Hurry up and change. The bell’s about to ring.”

Sungyu pushed my back, trying to brush off his guilt, and I grumbled, rushing back to class.

Opening the classroom door, I froze at the sight of two figures, slowing my hurried steps. Most had gone to the field. Only a few remained in the near-empty classroom.

The class monitor was slumped over a desk, probably having missed the timing to leave.

Whispering closely were Heo Kyungmin and, practically in his arms, Im Juho, our class’s top student.

It was as shocking as witnessing a secret affair. Too awkward to leave, I rustled into my gym clothes with a strained expression.

“So, like I was saying…”

Their whispers echoed clearly in the quiet room. As I pulled on my gym shirt, I glanced at Heo Kyungmin and flinched.

He was staring at me with snake-like eyes, an odd expression as if encountering a strange creature.

“I mistook that guy for you.”

“…”

Im Juho looked up at me. I avoided his gaze, pretending not to hear.

I didn’t know Heo Kyungmin and Im Juho were that close. They were an unlikely pair.

A third-year delinquent, not even in the strong group, and the top student who snapped at anyone interrupting his study.

Trying not to look at them clinging and touching stickily, I hurriedly changed and left the classroom.

“…”

It was unpleasant.

My back itched like bugs were crawling on it. I shoved my hand under my clothes, scratching hard.

I ran to the gym. My classmates were already paired up, lazily playing badminton.

I approached Seokju, who was hitting a shuttlecock alone into the air, carefully counting. He looked at me, missing the shuttlecock, then picked it up, dragging his slippers.

“Why’re you so late?”

Glancing at the PE teacher, Seokju scolded me.

I shook my head, trying to forget the classroom scene. The dirty feeling still lingered.

The image of two grown guys—not girls—pressed close, leaning on each other, was revolting just to think about. An unbearable disgust surged.

Seeing my increasingly distorted expression, Seokju passed the shuttlecock, his playful face turning serious, asking what was wrong.

Not wanting to think about it, I shook my head, saying it was nothing, then stopped and looked at him. The shuttlecock he hit fell far off with a thud.

“You ever… I mean, like…”

“You ever what? What’s up? Did I catch something?”

“No, not that. Did you know Heo Kyungmin and Im Juho were close?”

“…Oh.”

It was a vague response. Seokju turned his head vaguely, frowning vaguely. It wasn’t like him to be so unclear.

“Are they into something weird? Did you know?”

“You didn’t know?”

Raising one eyebrow slightly, he asked if I really didn’t know.

“Are Im Juho and Heo Kyungmin really like that?”

“I thought it was a rumor, but it’s true. They’re like that.”

“What’s ‘like that’?”

“Im Juho and Heo Kyungmin are, you know, together.”

Seokju smacked his fist against his palm twice. I didn’t understand the gesture and looked clueless.

Clearing his throat, he lowered his voice dramatically, shaping his lips as if no one was listening.

“Those two are dating.”

“What?”

“Damn it, they’re dating. They even hooked up at school. Bold bastards.”

Tap tap, his fist hit his palm twice again.

“What do you mean, hooked up?”

“They’re homos, those guys.”

Seokju spat on the ground with a ptoo, as if saying something filthy, and rubbed it with his slipper.

Acting dirty while calling something dirty.

Homos, those guys.

My heart sank with a thud.

The image of Heo Kyungmin nearly trapping Im Juho in his arms and Im Juho’s cold gaze staring at me flashed in my mind.

It’s weird.