Chapter Text
Mr. Jo was nothing like his daughter.
Instead of carrying a chatty, social personality like his daughter's, the middle-aged businessman felt dull. He felt lost, as if every dart of his eyes was expecting something unknown to appear from the corners.
His movements were not nearly as weightless as Ji-yoon’s; he operated at a speed that brought automated gestures and some aching pain.
Upon introduction, Gi-hun put on his best “good future boyfriend” act he could muster. He referred to the older man in the most polite titles available; he bowed with a deep grace that hurt his lower back and nodded as the man spoke, with a desperate attempt at active listening.
Their house was small and modern, the stale kitchen lights shone overhead, and an endless array of photo frames laced the walls and every available counter surface.
Gi-hun was quite surprised to see a lack of a mother in the kitchen; it’s not often that he sees men at the stove, but perhaps it’s not often he’s at other people's houses.
Besides Sang-woo’s.
The two sat at the table, and a few side portions of kimchi and rice sat on the counter. Mr. Jo plated a few more bowls of Jjamppong, the room buzzing with silence. There was a heavy weight of absence as well, drenching every corner as if it shone within the lights.
“So Gi-hun,”
Mr. Jo began, his voice bold and heavy.
“What's your favorite class in school?”
Art. It’s always been art. Yet, unfortunately, well-raised men did not achieve their high-ranking successes with art.
“I really enjoy math!”
He bit his tongue as soon as the words slipped out, and closed his eyes as soon as he noticed the subtle shift in Ji-yoon’s weight.
Quite the performer, Gi-hun has become; he just hopes the Jo’s will be a good audience.
“Ahh, yes, math is important!”
Mr. Jo joked, a level of hostility somewhat fronting itself in the man's chuckle.
Ji-yoon snapped out of her disarray of confusion, focusing instead on the food in front of her.
It was weird to see her so quiet, but yet again, Gi-hun isn’t exactly all himself either.
Mr. Jo finally sat down with a deep groan. He sat directly across from Gi-hun, the scent of cigarettes wafting off of him.
There was something so enticing about his lack of emotion.
The three began to eat, Gi-hun’s chopsticks feeling heavy in his hand with a growing tension. He knew more questions were to come, but now felt as if he were facing a test he never studied for.
“What are your parents up to tonight?”
Mr. Jo questioned in between bites; he made eye contact with Gi-hun as he reached for the bowl of kimchi placed to the side. His eyes bore some deep dissatisfaction in his pupils. Jesus, it felt like an older version of Sang-woo.
Gi-hun was not eager to explore that thought any further.
“Well, my parents are both probably eating dinner right now!”
Mr. Jo’s eyes softened with Gi-hun's enthusiastic tone.
The play was working.
In reality, his mother was probably eating shitty takeout as she listened to the radio, smoking. But good boyfriends had good parents, and good girlfriends had nosey fathers.
“Your father must be a busy man!”
Mr. Jo teased.
“Well, with a son like me, he’s always keeping busy!”
Mr. Jo’s shoulders hunched back when he laughed, and Gi-hun felt the sudden bubbling of pleasure in his stomach. It felt good to be validated by someone with such power, someone with such a lack of grace.
“Well, Gi-hun, I believe I should cut to the chase.”
The room built all of its collapsing tension back up in a second; the light above the table buzzed with anxiety. Both teenagers perked up, but while Ji-yoon leaned back, Gi-hun couldn’t help the way his body leaned closer.
“What are your intentions with my daughter?”
Ji-yoon rolled her eyes, but a lick of curiosity crept off of her. Instead of shutting down the ordeal with a groan and a waved hand, Ji-yoon seemed just as confused as her father. Now, two people stared at him with expectation.
Don’t fuck this one up.
“Well, I think your daughter is an amazing friend!”
Gi-hun complied, holding his chopsticks tightly in his hand as he picked out a piece of zucchini from his bowl, hoping to imply the end of this conversation. Unfortunately, his demands were not met. Mr. Jo continued to stare with expectation, his head tilted forward as his eyebrows raised in encouragement. Gi-hun felt a sudden bodily urge to rub his fingertips across the light grazing of stubble over the man's lip.
He instead challenged that energy into a cough to uncomfortably clear his throat.
“Ji-yoon’s so smart!”
Mr. Jo finally pulled back a bit, nodding as a proud father should. His daughter was his little genius, yet Gi-hun prayed she was not smart enough to figure everything out.
“Everything” that kept him scared of what “anything” was.
“As long as my daughter is happy, I shall be as well.”
Mr. Jo pressed a smile over his lips; the subtle discomfort of it was so incredibly captivating. Mr. Jo felt like the type of man to calculate his every move; it felt as if this smile was borne with the dearest of intentions, not a single ounce of it incomplete.
He then turned to his daughter.
“Jiyoon-a, what do you think of Gi-hun?”
Gi-hun knew that this unscripted “relationship” was not exactly something Mr. Jo was informed about. Ji-yoon has assured Gi-hun that he only saw the two as friends, and she had begged him to stay that way in the man's eyes.
Clearly, he was smarter than that. The tension told it all.
“He’s a good friend.”
She spoke as if she waited for her words to finish themselves, as if the weight was too heavy for her tongue to carry. Ji-yoon spoke as if she convinced herself, and the thought of her not falling for Gi-hun’s tall tales terrified him.
He would make it his lifelong goal to be the perfect boyfriend to her.
They would figure this out.
For her.
For Sang-woo.
And selfishly, for Gi-hun.
-
The rest of the dinner was carried on with meaningless conversation and typical father-like questions. Gi-hun was intrigued by what her mother would ask him.
Ji-yoon had always made small comments about her father's overprotective nature, and it showed itself in subtle remarks, and most importantly, in the way Mr. Jo’s eyes never strayed a second too far from Gi-hun’s own frame.
He knew.
Gi-hun was hit with a sudden, uncontrollable fear of just how much he knew.
Ji-yoon felt fluid; her energy felt as if it was drifting in parts around the room. She felt as if she wished to melt into the clock and change its time herself.
It made Gi-hun feel guilty for the space he took up.
Dinner ended, and the two began their studying.
Upon a harsh back-and-forth shushed argument between father and daughter (one that was much louder than intended), Ji-yoon and Gi-hun were allowed to relocate to her room, with the door wide open. Gi-hun felt oddly nice about it. The aspects of his need for the twos relationship to be seen were lightly soothed at the rule of a wide door, and the lack of four closed walls let any tension of teenage relationship intentions run free.
It was nice to be given a light to shine much brighter than the dimming fire of his adoration of Sang-woo.
Yet, unfortunately, the fire still burned.
Bright.
Ji-yoon’s room was simple, but still had a bit of that feminine touch. Her bedsheets were a baby purple color, a bright contrast to her room's gray interior. A few tossed away shirts adorned the wooden floor, and a seemingly bottomless heap of pillows sat on her bed.
Gi-hun walked over to her desk.
The solid brown counter was complete with a few side shelves, the wood matching the same style as her dresser that barely closed, due to the array of clothing peaking out of the drawers.
On her desk sat a few framed photos, mainly friends that Gi-hun recognized from school.
Yet, one stood out.
On Ji-yoon’s bedside table, next to the half-empty waterbottle and a stack of Italian novels, sat a rustic-looking gold frame.
And through the foggy glass, Gi-hun made out a blurry photo of a young Ji-yoon, her hair cut short and her nose straight from before she got her mysterious bump on the bridge of it. Her smile was radiant, as it still is, and her arms were clutched tightly around a woman.
Her mother.
Ji-yoon’s mother, the mysterious figure Gi-hun hears so little about and can’t wait to meet, wears black sunglasses and a beautiful floral dress in the photo. They appear to be along the bay of the Han River, a shimmering array of lights peaking out in the distance.
There was so much love in such a simple photograph.
“This is sweet. Where's your mom at now?”
Gi-hun looks back at Ji-yoon, who currently sits at her desk, removing her necessary textbooks from her backpack.
She suddenly slows, her math book almost going limp in her grip.
The air in the room has changed, a switch that Gi-hun’s high-strung nerves haven’t experienced since his night with Sang-woo. Ji-yoon’s cheeks seem devoid of color, a pale shade peaking out from under her heavy pink blush.
“She passed away.”
Fuck.
Idiot!
Gi-hun could audibly curse himself out with his sudden embarrassment. How could he not notice?!? The photos, the way she was never spoken about, and the sorrow that seemed to implant itself into the walls of this gray home,
How could he be so unobservant?
“Oh-I-I-I’m so sorry- I-”
Ji-yoon shakes her head, placing her book back on top of the table.
“It’s alright.”
Ji-yoon seems sincere about it. No, it was not alright that her mother was dead, but rather, Gi-hun’s stupidity was quite alright to live with.
She seemed to accept him in her subtle words.
“Cancer.”
Ji-yoon states.
“What?”
Gi-hun looks back at her, his eyes snapping off of the various posters layering her walls that he simply stared at to avoid the situation.
“She died of cancer. I could tell you wanted to ask.”
Ji-yoon’s usual chipper attitude slowly started to creep back into her tone.
“Yeah, I did. I’m really sorry about that.”
Gi-hun gave a slight chuckle as he moved closer to Ji-yoon.
“Thanks. What can you do?”
She gave a somber laugh back, flipping her math book open with clear intent of a specific page.
Now moved on, Ji-yoon reached back for her notebook, beginning another stream of conversation with Gi-hun.
But Gi-hun was still stuck on her unintentionally emotional words.
“What can you do?”
Not a question, Ji-yoon seemed long past those.
It was simply a fact.
Nothing.
There is nothing that he can do.
“Gi-hun, you ready?”
Ji-yoon interrupted his thoughts; her face shrivelled in confusion, a few strands of hair falling over her eyes.
“What can you do.”
-
“Now, you just divide the other variable, but make sure you still remember your exponents!”
The two now sat on Ji-yoon’s chilly floor. An hour had slipped past, into the formatting of numbers and equations, ones Ji-yoon seemed more than happy to help Gi-hun with.
She sat, her back pressed against her wall, a blue poster of flowers sticking to a few strands of her hair behind her.
Gi-hun sat to the side, his back pressed against the side of her bed. The two were out of reach from the view of the door, something that Gi-hun couldn’t help but feel was intentional on Ji-yoon’s end.
He didn’t question. He didn’t want to know.
As the time passed and the repetitive numbers became less interesting, Gi-hun’s mind drifted to an analytical point of view. He began to unconsciously analyze the contrast in teaching styles between Sang-woo and Ji-yoon.
Sang-woo provided instructions as if he were reading a safety manual. X equaled Y, simply because it did. There was no point in discussing the idea of anything else. A waste of time.
His fingers slid over paper and he stopped periodically to adjust his glasses falling down the bridge of his nose. Sang-woo helped Gi-hun finish math faster; he kept him focused on the work, or at least, focused enough on Sang-woo’s face so that he could pretend to understand the intricacies of the words that spilled from his lips.
When he received poor scores on tests, Sang-woo replied in utter confusion and self-deprecation.
Gi-hun wished he could assure his teaching styles; it was never you, it was me. I got too distracted by the way the red tint of your waterline's reflection against the light makes it appear as if your vision was blurry with tears.
Thus, Sang-woo would always tutor Gi-hun for whatever test he had next.
Sometimes, in his confident moments, Gi-hun wouldn’t need his help.
In those times, Gi-hun tried to ignore the implications of the way Sang-woo’s mood seemed so intimately affected.
When Ji-yoon helped Gi-hun, she talked at a mile a minute. She stumbled over her words, and her definitions were constantly backtracked and re-edited in the middle of her explanations. She was the type to “figure it out as we go,” she loved putting effort into making the studying enjoyable, and always had the most nonsensical of rhymes to memorise equations.
Ultimately, the two have spent far more time on problems than Sang-woo and Gi-hun ever would.
It was nice, though, Gi-hun always felt as if time went by too fast with Sang-woo.
And against his own fears, Gi-hun seemed to prefer Ji-yoon’s extravaganza of a study session, over Sang-woo’s reworded lectures.
As much as it pained him to admit.
But as fun as it was, to laugh until his cheeks hurt from smiling, and as validating as it were to spend five minutes between problems talking,
The reflection of the light against Ji-yoon’s waterline never made her eyes sparkle with some somber glint.
And Gi-hun has never felt more focused.
“You’re getting much better at this, Gi-hun.”
And that was another thing.
The compliments.
As the time went on, Gi-hun had started to pick up on Ji-yoon’s endless praise. She constantly rewarded his jokes with loud laughter, and his correct answers with a slight brush of her hand.
Now, he knew this was exactly what he was getting into.
Going over to a girls house, keeping the door fully open, and meeting her father? God, it’s everything his mother would be proud of.
But now that it's here,
Now that Sang-woo is absent,
And Gi-hun’s shoulder keeps getting brushed,
It’s all too much.
“Thank you.”
Gi-hun replied. He tried to balance the line between flirty, and reserved. Apparently, it worked, as Ji-yoon smiled a toothy grin in return.
“I’m glad you came over tonight.”
Shit.
Ji-yoon now turned her body, fully facing Gi-hun.
She pushed the math book to the side, and her eyes kept constantly glancing over at the open door behind her.
The guilt was fully there.
It always kicked at the inside of Gi-hun’s ribs.
“Thank you for inviting me!”
He bit his tongue, hoping Ji-yoon’s father would suddenly walk in.
Allas, he did not.
It was only the two of them here.
Ji-yoon stared at his facial features, as if examining every single inch of him.
Her eyes, as beautiful as they may have been, never had the type of tension that Sang-woo’s carried.
Before their lips touched, Gi-hun’s body could remember the second that Sang-woo’s tense glance melted into a delicate touch.
It was a feeling that could never be recreated.
The guilt kicked him once again.
As Ji-yoon got closer and her eyelids got heavier, Gi-hun averted his gaze.
She smelled of candy.
“I’m sorry, I need to use the bathroom!”
Gi-hun launched himself up, almost tripping over his own feet as he ran out the door.
“Oh, alright.. It’s to your left!”
Ji-yoon’s voice sounded wounded as she called out.
He knew it was rude to run away from a situation he was at fault for getting into, but what else was there to do? The regret hit him once again, he should have just listened to Sang-woo’s pleas, he should have just denied Ji-yoon’s demands.
But then, it all comes full circle once again.
What else is there to do?
He and Sang-woo’s kiss turned into something much more than just practice.
He’s graduating in a year, and teachers and students have never looked at him with the most affection.
Colleges are not too eager for him either.
What else is there to do?
Gi-hun’s head started reeling as he tried his hardest to find the bathroom. He ran down the hall, his footsteps echoing through the silent household. As he reached the end of the maze-like hallway, he still couldn’t find the bathroom. Then he realized he made a wrong turn.
“Gi-hun?”
He snapped his head, his nerves feeling tangled and hard-wired with emotion.
It was Ji-yoon's father.
He stood a few feet away, his eyes still as devoid of joy as ever, only this time, he seemed confused.
And he was shirtless.
“W-wheres the bath-the bathroom at?”
Gi-hun’s eyes slipped over Mr. Jo’s toned skin, his chest getting paler in color the lower Gi-hun’s eyes dragged, alluding to this sort of ombre effect on his skin.
He was oddly…built.
His shoulders were broad and stable. Gi-hun could imagine how wide his back must be.
“It’s down the other end of the hall, two doors down from Ji-yoon’s room.”
Now, in the empty hallway, Gi-hun could better hear how deep Mr. Jo’s voice was. The two stood there for a second, Gi-hun catching his breath, and Mr. Jo, uncomfortable and unaware, kept stuttering on his words.
“Are you alright..?”
He finally spat out.
Just then, as Gi-hun’s eyes slipped over the waistband of Mr. Jo’s tight sweatpants, did his eyes finally focus back into his head.
“Y-yes, thank you! Sorry-”
Gi-hun spit out in one breath, giving a sloppy bow before racing past Mr. Jo.
He ran past photo frames and buzzing hall lights, finally reaching the bathroom on the other side of the hall. Once inside, he slammed the door behind him, only to be greeted by more framed family photos and a shockingly spotless bathroom that reeked of cleaning products.
Gi-hun looked at himself in the mirror.
His face was flushed red, both embarrassment and the sweltering heat of some terrifying arousal.
His eyebrows hung heavy on his face with sorrow, and his body felt as if it were not his own.
Nothing was changing.
Nothing got better.
What can you do?
A seemingly harmless plan of “trying things out,” leaving him disregulated in his friend- girlfriends? Bathroom.
The guilt just kicked out more room for the confusion to fill up.
Such a disgrace.
When Gi-hun came up with his plan to kiss Sang-woo, he felt oddly giddy at the idea. Not only was he preparing himself for the first step toward the future he could perfectly prove others wrong by achieving, but also, he was managing to do so while soothing the itch inside of him.
That itch that never went away. The itch that flared up when Sang-woo exhaled breathlessly in exhaustion,
When their elbows brushed when walking, although their school uniforms covered any skin-to-skin contact,
And of course,
Whenever the light reflected so perfectly against Sang-woo’s waterline,
Making his eyes look as if they were filled with the same tears Gi-hun refused to cry.
Such an odd little thing.
“She doesn’t matter, Gi-hun.”
“You are so fucking gifted.”
The words ring in his ears, they drip like the faucet that just won’t stop-
It was never supposed to turn out like this.
The kiss was never supposed to make things worse,
It was supposed to shut them down forever.
And now, it feels as if a single spark has lit an entire inferno of destruction.
This silly teenage crush that was supposed to pass with time, one that somehow felt as if it took more time with each hour it was supposed to add, is now a lovesick realization covered behind shared secrets and drunken kisses,
Now, it's flipped into this attractive older man and his poor, poor daughter,
It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.
They were going to kiss.
Things were going to be fixed.
Everyone would get the futures they deserved.
It was never supposed to turn out like this.
Gi-hun makes eye contact with himself in the mirror once again, only this time, his eyes have swelled up with tears.
As he cries, he leans closer over the sink, tracing his fingertips over his lips in some delicate attention to awaken the ghosting of Sang-woo’s own.
As he cries, he notices that his waterline doesn’t shine the way Sang-woo’s does.
It’s simply not as beautiful a disaster as he.
As Gi-hun’s breathing began to settle itself back into pace, glimpses of the unexposed silence that has always lay untouched between he and Sang-woo flash before his eyes.
Then, the idea struck him.
If I cannot be with Sang-woo, I will make him wish he were with me.
The guilt kicked him again.
His eyes became glossy with tears.
-
“Ji-yoon,”
He walked into her bedroom, the girl now relocated to her desk once again.
All of the study materials are tucked away, besides a lone pencil on the floor.
“Can I be your boyfriend?”
Her eyes lit up.
Sang-woo’s eyes were much brighter.