OLP 10

I hate losing. I’ve never lost before, but I hate even the thought of it. I hate it even as a hypothetical, so I practice every day. It’s because I can’t stand the thought of the person I love—myself—losing to someone else. I must always give the person I love the best position. I only love and cherish myself. An egoist. No, an individualist. I am somewhere in between.

I have no interest in other people. I’ve been like that since birth. The kind of person who, even in the nursery, would have looked only up, never at the next crib. That was me. My only interest was myself. The only being I paid attention to was me, the only being I cared about was me, and the person I loved the most was me. I only do things that the person I love wants to do, things that benefit the person I love, and I don’t give a glance to anything else. It’s an unlikable persona, but I don’t even care about that unlikability. Because ‘unlikable’ is the evaluation of others. It has nothing to do with me.

Whenever the Korea Institute of Sport Science conducted psychological evaluations on national athletes, my results were always the same. No anxiety, overflowing with a competitive spirit. I only think about myself. It was the optimal personality for an athlete. There was only one situation in which I would take an interest in others. When competing. It was purely because I liked winning against others. Because I liked the moment when I won against others and proved that I was, indeed, the best.

That’s why I was more interested in ranking competitions than record competitions. Even if it was the same first place, I preferred being first place by ‘beating’ others rather than being first place for being ‘faster’ than others. That was also the reason I chose short track instead of long track, commonly called speed skating. It didn’t matter that I was tall enough to be at a disadvantage in short track. Wouldn’t it be more amazing to get first place despite the disadvantageous conditions? ‘You guys are born with the physical conditions and still get second place, but I only get first place.’ Even I thought it was an abnormal level of self-love.

To a person like me, Lee Yeojun was a fascinating existence.

He caught my eye from the first moment I saw him. When was it? It was at a National Winter Sports Festival that I can’t even remember. I was bored during a race where there was no one who could beat me, and I looked back. A kid who looked like a really pretty figure skater was approaching with his goggles in his mouth, and I was so surprised that for a moment, I couldn’t control my expression. I was so mesmerized by his face that I didn’t even see that he was wearing a leotard. I couldn’t even tell if he was a girl or a boy, or how old he was. Only after he stood next to me did I barely realize he was a fellow athlete. And I was conscious of him throughout the entire race.

He stood at the starting line, biting his lip until it was tattered with nervousness, and even after being subjected to a precarious contact that bordered on a foul—to be honest, I did it half on purpose. I have no right to curse that Canadian guy. I was the one who first did the immature thing of bothering someone I was interested in—he didn’t protest once and just backed away with a weak smile, holding his injured ankle. Just holding his ankle, like a person abandoned by everyone. Just chewing on his lip.

I wanted to take my finger and pull out the lip he had bitten a mark into, but I knew I’d become a pervert if I did something like that. Instead, I approached him and touched his ankle. Even your ankle is pretty. I spoke to him in admiration. Even though a skater he had never seen before approached him and meddled in his business, he just widened his eyes and accepted it. It seemed he had a fundamentally gentle personality.

Lee Yeojun. That was the name of the pretty kid I learned that day.

As soon as the race was over, I looked him up. And as soon as I did, I understood why I hadn’t known Lee Yeojun. He wasn’t the kind of athlete I would have known. He wasn’t overwhelmingly skilled enough to be on top even while being considerate of others, yet he kept thinking about others. He tried to go together, not step on others to get ahead. If an opponent in front of him faltered while rounding the track, he would support him—I would never do such a thing unless I was sure I wouldn’t get swept up myself—and whether on the inside or outside, even when attempting to overtake, he would hesitate for a split second if it seemed the opponent might fall because of him. That split second snatched away his opportunity. I never hesitate unless there’s a risk of getting a penalty.

A short track race is brief. Even the longest 1,500-meter race shows its result in two minutes. Lee Yeojun’s tendency to be overly considerate of others didn’t suit sports, especially short track, though it might have been fine for a civic group or a religious organization. But I couldn’t just send a delicate kid like this to long track either.

Even in Jincheon, where we finally got to be together, I didn’t like it. He kept thinking about the team and worrying about the harm he would cause the team. He said it would be great if everyone did well, but if that was difficult, he was okay with being pushed back a bit for the sake of someone on our team who was better than him. At the end of every sentence, he would worry about causing harm to ‘our team,’ and honestly, I couldn’t understand it. What team is there? We have the same nationality and train together, but in reality, we’re competitors. I was dumbfounded when his face turned pale, saying Song Seonho fell because of him. I don’t fall, but even if a Korean athlete were to fall because of me, I wouldn’t care.

The problem is that I amどんどん falling for that very disposition, which is the complete opposite of mine.

Like a person who has only eaten fried dumplings for 15 years falling for the charm of silken tofu tasted for the first time.

“You’re doing a photoshoot?”

“Yes. They told me not to eat anything the evening before. Because my face will swell.”

The smell of lotion wafted from Lee Yeojun’s freshly washed face. There were only the two of us in the room. Even though the only person watching was me, who had seen everything between his legs, he was sitting with his knees pressed tightly together. He was pale, thin, and quiet, so at a glance, he didn’t look like an athlete at all. He looks even more innocent when he’s naked. Because his lower half is clean and fair.

“With whom?”

“You’ll know him too, sunbae. That ice hockey player who won a bronze medal this time…”

Ice hockey? Don’t photoshoots usually happen between people from the same sport? We are roommates. We even became a hot topic for openly kissing in front of the camera. Why are they pairing him with some random ice hockey guy instead of calling the two of us? Just the thought of the tender Lee Yeojun standing next to a beefy ice hockey punk made a surge of anger rise up in me. My brow furrowed on its own.

Perhaps my expression was fierce, because Lee Yeojun was watching me cautiously. He’s so shy he only looked at me during the interview—I only found out later that he has a habit of looking at me when he’s flustered. When faced with a difficult question or an unfamiliar situation, he looks at me without fail. Isn’t that just too cute?—When on earth did he agree to do a photoshoot like this?

He’s doing it on purpose. To make me jealous.

“Maybe they didn’t call us because we’d be compared if hyung and I were together. Everyone says that… that hyung is a trendy kind of handsome man.”

This is the kind of thing he says while trying to gently butter me up. The one saying that, Lee Yeojun himself, had the kind of face Koreans love. Droopy eyes, good skin, puppy-like. Girls like him and boys like him. Older women like him and older men like him.

I like him, too.

Lee Yeojun’s soft voice continued.

“But in my opinion, I think you look like a Hwarang. You would have been popular even if you were born in the Joseon Dynasty.”

Hwarang are from the Silla Dynasty.

“Have you ever seen a Hwarang?”

“Not really, but.”

“If I were a Hwarang, my nangdo would be you.”

I would have made you my retainer, never let you get married, and harassed you all day long. And if you insisted on leaving, I’d tie you up somewhere in the bedroom. Human rights awareness was a bit lower back then, so it would probably be okay for someone in power like me to do that. You should be grateful I’m not a Hwarang.

“Huh? I want to be a Hwarang too…”

The way he mumbled was unbearably cute. Unable to resist, I grabbed his hand. I lifted his hand and kissed his fingers. He laughs, curling his fingers as if it tickles. No matter what I do, he just lowers his eyes and smiles. A being who can’t help but be cute.

I brushed his cheek with the back of my hand. I stroked his hair and traced his earlobe. I caressed his body here and there and smelled him. I buried my nose in the nape of his neck as he tilted his head back. Like Oh Dae-su in the movie ‘Oldboy,’ who, upon meeting a person for the first time in 15 years, confirms their presence by touching their face, smelling them, and mimicking the sounds they make. More like a sniffing beast than a human. Like a blind man who uses his other senses because he has no sight. I bit down hard on his parting, sweet lips. I kissed him, inserting my tongue. I know what my expression is right now without even looking. I must be smiling.

If he’s this cute in my eyes, the eyes of someone who only thinks of himself, how cute must he be in the eyes of other, normal people! The ice hockey guy, the Canadian guy who has already pissed off back to his own country, and Song Seonho. Even the high school kid who will soon be rising through the ranks. I must be wary of every single one of them.

“I want to marry you.”

“Pardon?”

“I want to get married quickly and keep you by my side. I want to be with you all day. And share a bed.”

“We already share one now.”

“And I want to be able to legally beat up anyone who hits on you.”

Lee Yeojun has no idea how popular he is. Nor does he know that clips of his face turning red and looking shy during interviews, or the way he looks like he’s about to cry when asked a difficult question, or the way he smiled brightly after winning a medal, are circulating on the internet with titles like ‘sunshine something.’ I got Lee Yeojun’s middle school graduation photo, which I couldn’t find before, by joining a chat room made by Lee Yeojun’s fans.

Every time an unheard-of photo was posted—especially when that photo was a recent one taken while I was away—I was tempted more than once to post a picture of the back of Lee Yeojun’s head as he slept next to me. A picture of him right after we’ve finished having sex, with my hand fiddling with his earlobe also in the shot.

Between us, Lee Yeojun is the one who’s outwardly restless, but in reality, I’m the one who’s having all sorts of thoughts inside. He seems to be able to carry on with his daily life, but I’m thinking about Lee Yeojun 24 hours a day. He probably has no idea why I’m so anxious.

“Hitting people isn’t legal even if you’re married…”

“Ah, I really want to get married!”

I hugged him and shouted, and he looked up at me with wide eyes. That, too, was so lovely that I quickly stole a kiss.

Ironically, it was Lee Yeojun himself who taught me his way of thinking, which I could never understand. I, who had only known myself, skated together with him for his medal. I shared know-how I had never told anyone and skated my heart out more in the relay than in the individual events. For the team. For Lee Yeojun, who belonged to that team. My heart dropped when Lee Yeojun fell, even though it wasn’t my race, and I got angry when he didn’t do well. I want to go with him. I want to tell him that regardless of the result, the drops of sweat you shed were precious, and that you are already a great athlete just for coming this far.

I remember what Lee Yeojun mentioned about me in the interview. That I was the person who helped him up when he was exhausted and about to collapse, and shared my water and food with him. When I heard those words, a corner of my heart felt a pang. The fact that someone else could stand up because of me. It felt like I had finally learned a little about the value of ‘togetherness,’ which had never resonated with me no matter how much people talked about it.

When an egoist who only thought of himself falls in love.

“If we get married and have a kid, what should we name him?”

“Pardon?”

I still can’t agree with your racing style or your values entirely, but maybe it’s because of athletes like you that the Olympic spirit is maintained.

The first person I want to win with.

The only being in the world that I, who love and cherish myself the most, like and cherish more than myself.

I always wanted to shine alone, but if I’m with you, shining all together is okay too.

Let Everyone Shine.