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The first time Seongje meets the Eunjang wimp, the kid looks like he’s three seconds away from pissing his pants. Shoulders hunched, watery eyes averted – shit, he couldn’t look more pathetic if he tried.
Seongje hardly spares him a glance before he returns his attention to Go Hyuntak, who looks remarkably cleaner than when they last met. Granted, that might be because it was when Seongje beat him black and blue for Baekjin... who then stomped Gotak’s knee into needing a swift trip to the hospital and a graveyard for his hopes of a career in competitive taekwondo. But still. The fucker looked better with a broken nose. Oh well. There’s plenty of time yet to break it again.
Baku’s lackey knows there’s no hope for an escape. It’s in the turn of his mouth, in the slump to his shoulders. He tries anyway. Bleeding heart on his sleeve, an order repeated as a shout, he tells his wimp of a companion to bolt – and so he does, rocketing out of the underpass like a gazelle fleeing a pride of lions.
Seongje laughs.
What a fucking mess. It doesn’t matter how fast the kid runs; he can’t escape the Union. Someone will catch up to him soon enough and when they do, they’ll rough him up a bit for making them waste their energy on the chase. He’s proven right not an hour later when the wimp is dragged to the rooftop Seongje hauled Gotak up to and is forced to watch his friend get punched into over and over again. Seongje scarcely notices him then either.
But the third time –
The third time makes him pause.
The Eunjang wimp is alone this evening. Punched to a pulp and in the middle of getting his ribs kicked in by a bunch of Union assholes who can barely tell their right foot from their left. Their efforts are loud enough to drag Seongje out of his nap in Daesung Motorcycles’ backroom. When he emerges, it’s only to tell them to hurry the fuck up. Then he takes another look at the unlucky soul who’s pissed off the Union, recognises the baby face beneath the dried blood and swelling, and decides he’s feeling generous tonight.
“Hey Eunjang,” he advises. “Just do as these guys say. Or else you really will die.”
He meets the kid’s eyes from across the room and watches as they harden like steel.
“No,” he says. Quiet. Sure. And then again, when Seongje questions him – because what the fuck does he mean by no – he spikes the word into a shout. “NO.”
The Union members stare at him like he’s insane. Seongje does the same.
Yet Eunjang doesn’t waver. Bruised, bloodied, facing the prospect of being beaten to death for getting on the wrong side of Na Baekjin – because there’s no way Baekjin isn’t involved in this somehow, not if it concerns one of Baku’s precious boys – he stares back with a defiance that should be alien to him. Incongruous.
One second. Two. Three.
Seongje should break every bone in Eunjang’s body for his insolence. On another night, maybe he would. But it’s like he said: he’s feeling generous today. Sentimental.
How interesting. Too weak to fight back, too stubborn to back down. To be so loyal to his friends that a loser like this would look his demise in the eye and refuse to give in, even though he knows he can’t possibly survive this, even though Baku and the rest of his pathetic crew are nowhere to be found – it’s gutsier than anything else he’s seen spat out of that fuck-ass school. Stupid. Idealistic.
“Okay,” Seongje murmurs. “Hats off to the romantic.”
He swings for the nearest Union member not one moment later.
Taking a step back from the Union mostly means he no longer has to suffer the company of the numerous subordinates who used to report to him. Sure, he didn’t necessarily mind the task before, since such responsibility was yet another marker (among many) of his status within the gang and of Baekjin’s corresponding value of him. But fuck could it get tedious. Especially when people would trip over their feet to stammer their way through sweat-stained excuses of why they were disappointing him in one way or the other. Patience is not a virtue Seongje has ever been fond of.
Despite the break from Union business, he still stays within the loop. Regardless of whether he’s fallen out with Baekjin, he’s embedded deep enough in the syndicate to have his ears in all of the right places which means that very little happens that he doesn’t catch wind of. He’s also made enough of a mark in their district that only the most brainless of punks thinks they can have a pop at him while he’s on hiatus. He may not be at Baekjin’s right hand anymore and yeah, if he’s spoiling for a fight, he now has to seek one out of his own volition, but he isn’t exactly a defenceless lamb either, not by any means.
Really, he’s just gaming a lot more.
“Aish, this fucker again,” he mutters as his headphones erupt with the sound of gunshots. “Does he really have to be up my fucking asshole like this?”
Gritting his teeth, he navigates his avatar into a safe spot before he turns and unleashes hell on the bastard that’s been stalking him since Seongje logged onto the damn server. Blood splatters onto his PC screen. Seongje notes it impassively, unblinking, until his opponent finally drops dead.
The haunt he’s chosen for that night leaves much to be desired. Seongje picked it on a whim, only deciding to kill some hours by gaming when he spotted its sign during his walk. Cramped and outfitted with musty furniture, it looks as though it’s been forgotten by time entirely. But it was cheap and it was there and he didn’t care enough to hunt down any place better. So here he is.
When his stomach eventually sends up a reminder of its existence, growling like nobody’s business, the PC café’s food counter is already closed – another marker of its uselessness – so Seongje has to call it a night. He pushes back on his chair, the wheels squealing from disuse. Next stop on his list: whatever the nearest convenience store happens to be.
Cup ramen, an energy drink and a smoke: dinner as a seventeen-year-old delinquent doesn’t consist of much. That is, until he turns the corner to where the store keeps its microwave and hot water machine and comes across a familiar figure.
“Eunjang! What a coincidence!”
Squeaking like a trodden mouse, the Eunjang wimp whirls around to face him. Hands wrapped around his backpack straps for dear life, his eyes as large as an owl’s behind his glasses. He looks rough as hell. The swelling from the Union’s assault has gone down, but his bruises are yet to fade. All anyone has to do is glance at him to know what happened.
Except they wouldn’t know the full story, would they? They wouldn’t know how Eunjang refused to break, even as his bones were being kicked in. They wouldn’t know that Seongje decided to honour his bravery by taking on the Union members for him. They wouldn’t know that the two of them kept each other company until Baku and Gotak sprinted into the garage, slipping and sliding in their haste to reach their precious boy.
“Geum Seongje,” he stammers.
It’s as far as his greeting goes, though Seongje isn’t offended. A little disappointed that his previous fire is nowhere to be seen, sure, but this isn’t the first time he’s scared someone into tripping over their own tongue by the mere sight of him. And it definitely won’t be the last.
“Looks like you’re up and walking,” he replies. He doesn’t hide the way he rakes his eyes up and down Eunjang’s frame in an inspection. There isn’t much to see. Damn. It’s a miracle he’s managed to survive for this long, even before he got mixed up with the Union. “What a shame. I thought being a pack mule quite suited Go Hyuntak.”
Whatever fear glossed Eunjang’s eyes dissolves as soon as Gotak is mentioned. His hands remain fixed around his backpack, but the tension in them is all anger now instead of trepidation. It matches the sudden jut of his chin, the steel that lines his soft jaw. Looks like that fire of his has returned. “What are you doing here? I told Na Baekjin not to mess with me and my friends.”
“Oh you did, did you?” Seongje grins, delighted. He can’t imagine that went down well.
Eunjang’s chin lifts a fraction higher. “Yes. I did. So it doesn’t matter what you guys want from me now, you won’t be getting it.”
His defiance is cute. Charming. If Seongje actually had been sent here on Union business, he might’ve found it exasperating, but he has no such obligations now. Stepping closer, he cocks his head to the side and continues to study the specimen before him.
Again, Eunjang doesn’t waver. He meets Seongje’s eyes for far longer than the three-second grace period he usually grants people before he makes them regret looking his way.
Shit. There really is something so fucking romantic about it all. He’s never seen someone so determined to take on a Union member, never mind one of Seongje’s calibre, yet so ill-equipped for the task. Eunjang would probably die for his friends if it came down to it. It’s kind of cool of him. Certainly far more impressive than anything Baku’s ever done and he’s supposedly their dumbass school’s top dog.
He can’t help but want to prod Eunjang further for it, see how far that loyalty of his really goes. So he takes another step closer. And then another one after that. When the tips of their shoes are close enough to meet, Eunjang finally falters and tries to move away, but Seongje doesn’t allow it. Inch for inch, he moves back with him until he has his prey pressed up against the counter. Behind them, the microwave whirs.
Bracing a hand on the counter on either side of Eunjang, Seongje bends even closer yet, aiming for a proper look at his face. Head cocked to the side, their lungs sharing the same pocket of air.
“Who’s to say I won’t just take it anyway?” he asks at last. Low. Inviting a challenge.
Eunjang swallows, so audible that Seongje can catch it. “I won’t let you,” he maintains.
Despite his clear trepidation, his voice doesn’t waver. He sees Seongje’s invitation for what it is, accepts the gauntlet and follows through with the same recklessness he used to defy Baekjin.
Seongje breathes a laugh, impressed. “Do you really think you can stop me?”
“I can try.”
Another laugh. Aish, this guy. He must have a death wish.
“Yah, Eunjang, you really are something else. So ready to sink your teeth into me, even when you’re on your own. Like a fucking chihuahua or something.” An unflattering comparison, though an apt one. The insult is registered and then compartmentalised in Eunjang’s answering frown. It deepens when Seongje taps two fingers against the side of his cheek and straightens up, adding, “You can stand down, big boy. I’m not here on Baekjin’s business. I came for the cup ramen.” As if on cue, the microwave dings. Seongje nods over to it. “I believe that’s for you.”
It takes Eunjang a few seconds to compute the words. Only when Seongje steps out of his space does he jump to action, yanking the microwave door open to retrieve his food. Stifling his amusement, Seongje starts to assemble his own dinner as the smell of processed noodles reminds him once again of exactly how empty his belly is. He’s just slotted his own cup ramen into the microwave when Eunjang lets out a small oh.
Seongje glances over at him. “What.”
“N-Nothing,” he says. Now that he’s not attempting to be Baku’s guard dog, he’s back to pretending as though he’s a meek little thing. “I just needed the microwave again, that’s all. But I can wait.”
Damn right he can wait. Seongje is already fucking starving as it is.
“It’s a little late for you to be out, isn’t it, Eunjangie?” he says, turning to study him again while he waits for his food to heat up. “Shouldn’t you be snuggled up under your blanket, all safe and warm?”
“I’m seventeen,” he mutters petulantly.
“What?”
“I said I’m seventeen,” he repeats, loud enough to be heard this time. “Not seven.”
“Really? You’re so fucking small, I thought you were an eighth grader.”
“I’m just short, that’s all,” he huffs. “And if you must know, I was at cram school.”
“Ah. A learned man. How admirable.”
To that, Eunjang says nothing at all. Seongje makes a face. How boring.
The microwave dings again and they swap places, Seongje stirring his ramen while Eunjang keeps vigil beside the machine. As soon as his meal is ready, he leaves for the tables outside, slipping away silently as though he hopes his departure will go unnoticed.
He hopes in vain. Moments later, Seongje drops into the chair opposite him, firing across a cheery smile when Eunjang pauses, mid-bite. He blinks, rodent-like, and then stares.
“Is something wrong?” Seongje asks, his grin widening.
He can practically see the cogs in Eunjang’s brain turn. Does he push back against Seongje’s presence and risk a fight? Does he interrogate him on what he wants? Does he shut up and hope that Seongje wolfs down his meal and leaves soon? In the end, he settles for the last of the three options.
“No,” he says. “I just – “
“Just?”
“I just didn’t expect you to sit with me. Since the rest of the tables are also free.”
A shrug. “Guess I wanted the company.” When Eunjang continues to sit there, lost, he rolls his eyes. “Yah, do all of you shitheads at that school have a staring problem or what? First that lunatic Yoon Sieun, now you. I told you, I’m not here on Union business. So you can stop looking at me like I’m about to jump over the table and beat you up.” He jabs his chopsticks in the direction of Eunjang’s food and commands, “Eat. Before your food gets fucking cold.”
That finally gets him to move.
“Sorry,” he mutters as he retrieves his own set of chopsticks. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”
Seongje laughs. What a funny guy.
They eat their dinner in silence, Eunjang’s eyes trained on his meal and Seongje’s on the boy opposite him. He’s unexpectedly fascinating. So small. So unassuming. Seongje could probably snap him in half if he tried. Eunjang would probably let him if it meant he’d save his friends by doing so. A sacrificial lamb of a companion for Baku, clad in a fluffy coat to match his role. How fitting.
But lambs go bleating in terror to their slaughter, do they not? Whereas Eunjang faced his demise in nothing but silence. So perhaps he is no lamb after all. Just a plucky boy who’s stupid with bravery and all the more intriguing for it.
He watches Eunjang in between gulps of his own food, inhaling and then looking, inhaling and then looking. Eunjang is much politer when he eats, covering his mouth as though he’s being broadcast to the nation. Never looking up, even when Seongje finishes his food with a satisfied sigh and leans back to light a cig. His legs deliberately collide with Eunjang’s under the table. Aside from a small flinch and the careful removal of his own limbs from the situation, Eunjang gives no sign that he noticed.
Inhale and look. Inhale and look. He steadily makes his way through his cigarette while Eunjang eats up, shovelling in his food behind his palm. Polite fucker that he is, once he’s done, he gathers all of his rubbish into one neat pile for the bin before he rises.
Then, a pause. For the first time since he started his meal, Eunjang deigns Seongje with his attention.
“I’m finished eating now,” he says awkwardly.
Seongje takes another drag. “I can see that.”
“R-Right. Of course. Well, I’ll be off then. Uh. Th-thanks for the company. I think.”
Stubbing the butt of his cigarette onto the ashtray, Seongje stands too. “I’ll walk you back.”
“Huh?”
“You heard me the first time. Come on, let’s go.”
Eunjang doesn’t move. “I, uh. I don’t think that’ll be necessary. The bus stop isn’t far from here.”
“Doesn’t matter. You never know who could be out at this time of night. Plenty of people roaming around, looking to cause trouble.”
He flashes a grin and watches, satisfied, as Eunjang suppresses a shudder. Stubborn as a mule, he insists on remaining right where he is, however. Seongje heaves a sigh and throws him a look as if to say: are you being fucking serious right now? It’s not as though he can escape the inevitable by staying in place. Seongje can wait him out any day.
Again, Eunjang makes a valiant effort to dissuade him. “Why bother? I’m sure you have better things to do with your time than escort me to the bus stop.”
“Why does anyone do anything? Because I want to, obviously. Why else?”
“Even so.”
“Yah, are you always this rude to your hyungs? Can’t you see I’m trying to be a fucking gentleman here?”
“Um. You’re not my hyung. We’re the same age and we're in the same grade...”
“Ah, right. I didn’t know. Anyways who cares about all of that? Let’s get going already. Walk off the food and all that bullshit.”
He gestures impatiently to the pavement until Eunjang finally, finally, admits defeat and starts to walk. They fall into step beside each other, Seongje slowing from his usual pace so he can match Eunjang’s ungainly shuffle.
Silence settles over them, thick and humid. It’d be awkward if Seongje cared about that sort of thing. He doesn’t, but he figures it’d be funny to exacerbate whatever tension Eunjang must be feeling, so he breaks the quiet anyway by taking up a jaunty whistle. Hands in the pockets of his windbreaker as they slope through the streets together, casual as can be. Eunjang, on the other hand, maintains his mute act, even when they finally reach the main road. Cars roar past by the dozen, though no buses rattle through, so Seongje decides to be generous again and keep him company for longer.
He comes to a stop when Eunjang does, claiming a seat at the shelter while his companion remains standing. Defeat scrawls all over his face as soon as he realises that Seongje intends to stay. Yet he says nothing. By now, he knows better than to waste his breath on a protest that’ll lead nowhere.
In the meantime, Seongje fishes for another cigarette. “You live far from here then, Eunjangie?” he asks.
His answer is as reluctant as the rest have been. “The journey’s not too bad.”
“Doesn’t it get annoying in the mornings? Who can be bothered to travel all that way for a shithole like Eunjang High?” Cigarette between his lips. A spark lit by a well-placed thumb. Seongje takes a drag and then laughs. “Oh, but you look like the type to have perfect attendance though? Probably even have some lame ass position like classroom leader and all.”
Colour dusts along Eunjang’s cheeks. “I am my classroom leader,” he admits which sets Seongje off into another laugh, a proper one that sits in his belly and shakes its way up past his chest.
“You’re funny, Eunjang.”
“I don’t see how,” he says stiffly.
“What’s so hard to see? You make me laugh. That means you’re funny.”
“If you say so…”
He turns his gaze back towards the road, angled towards the intersection further down as though he’s attempting to manifest the arrival of his bus. Seongje keeps his own focus on Eunjang, once more drinking in the sight of him without shame. Only the rigidity in Eunjang’s shoulders reveals his awareness of Seongje’s attention.
No matter which angle he looks at him from, the kid’s still interesting. Or maybe Seongje’s just bored. The distinction is one he doesn’t care to waste his time on demarcating.
He takes a final drag – the better to stain his lungs with another hit of tobacco – before he chokes the life out of his cig with his sneaker. “Yah, Eunjang.” He waits for the guy to turn his head before he continues, “So are you gonna tell me your actual name or what?”
Eunjang blinks. “What?”
“Wrong answer. Try again.”
Shifting on the balls of his feet as though he’s about to bolt – just like he did that day in the underpass when Gotak yelled at him to flee – Eunjang delays his compliance for as long as he can. “Why do you need to know my name?”
“Who the fuck said anything about needing it? I just want to know what it is, that’s all.”
“But why?”
A prickle of annoyance crawls up the backs of his hands. On another night, with another guy, Seongje would relieve the sensation by slamming it against the unfortunate fucker’s face. Today, he settles for a scowl.
“That word comes out of your mouth every few seconds; I’m getting fucking sick of hearing it. I told you, I just want to know. I don’t see why you’re so acting shy about it either, don’t you think we’re already past that stage? We’ve had dinner together and everything.”
Again, Eunjang digs his heels in. “I just don’t see what use you’d get out of it, that’s all.”
“What are you, part of the secret police or something? Why can’t you answer a simple question?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
It’s so brazen, so plainly uttered, that Seongje can’t help the way he trips over his reply, taken aback as he is. He blinks. Eunjang blinks back. Bug-eyed, slightly horrified, as if he’s only now registered what he said and can’t believe how he could be so suicidal. The longer their stare drags on for, the more his mouth wavers, tremulous and incapable of taking shape around any words.
When the silence breaks, it’s at the hands of Seongje’s laugh, low in his throat and appreciative despite it all.
Looks like the little bastard is as insane as Yeon Sieun is. Who would’ve thought? Is Baku starting a new collection of them or something? A ragtag army of tiny lunatics poured into bodies that are too weak to hold them in – what a fucking concept.
He's still mid-laughter when the bus pulls in. Like a desperate foal, Eunjang darts away to safety before Seongje can recover and go after him. Not that he makes much of an effort. Ass firmly parked on his seat, he watches the bus roll away from him, still grinning.
The next time Seongje sees Eunjang, it’s because he seeks him out. The sentiment sounds weirder than it is. It isn’t as if Seongje follows him around Yeongdeungpo like a pervert, hoping to catch him at his most vulnerable moment. In fact, aside from some lingering amusement whenever he remembers their conversation, he doesn’t think about the guy much at all.
Until one evening, when he’s on another one of his aimless solo walks, he realises, all of a sudden, that he’s on the same road that Eunjang’s bus passes through, not too far from the stop they waited at last time. Once he remembers that, he figures that he might as well hang around to see if he can catch the guy again. He has nothing better to do after all. By the time he gets home, his parents will have already turned in for bed so it’s not as though he’s spoiled for company otherwise.
Dropping down to the steps of a building set a little further back from the road, Seongje sits and waits.
Eunjang doesn’t turn up for a while, though he scarcely notices, thumbs too busy flying across his screen. Really, he catches sight of him by chance, happening to look up from his game at the same time that Eunjang plods up to the stop. Exhaustion clings to him like a second backpack, tangible even from this distance. At this point, Seongje doubts Eunjang would notice him unless they were nose to nose.
Even so, he waits until he sees the bus turn in from the intersection before he makes his move, darting across the road with little care for the cars that squeal towards him. By the time he boards, Eunjang is already slumped against a window, eyes closed and ears plugged shut with a pair of wired headphones. Seongje drops into the seat next to him, making no effort to avoid their legs knocking together, and promptly steals one of the earbuds.
“What is this, fucking Japanese?” he asks once the peppy beat morphs into something discernible.
Whatever exhaustion was weighing Eunjang down flies off into the horizon. Squeaking, he jolts up to gape at him. “Geum Seongje,” he says in a perfect imitation of his greeting from last time, down to the very inflection. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
“Listening to some old as fuck music apparently. When was this shit recorded? It sounds ancient.”
“Uh. 1992. I think.”
“So it is old then.”
Eunjang pauses the song. When he notices that Seongje’s eyes are on the album cover art, he hastily locks his phone, but not before he registers the cartoon blondie in an equally preppy outfit to match the song. Figures. He should’ve known the guy would be a weeb.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says. “I mean why are you sitting here next to me?”
“Of course.” Seongje rolls his eyes. “Why, why, why. It’s your favourite word. I’m here because I want to sit next to you, Seo Juntae. Is that such a crime?”
“No, but–“
The moment his brain catches up to his ears, Juntae cuts off.
Seongje breaks out into a grin. The kind that usually has people shitting their pants in anticipation of whatever mania is yet to come. Brave though he is, even Juntae isn’t immune to its effects. He swallows hard like there’s something stuck in his throat.
“H-How–“
“How did I find out? Did you honestly think I wouldn’t? It didn’t even take me long.”
“Well, no,” he says, flushing, “but I didn’t think you cared enough to do it.”
Seongje shrugs. “What can I say? I like to know my fellow lunatics by name. Makes me feel real close to them, you know?” He punctuates this with a bump of their knees and another grin. “So are you on your way back from cram school then?” A reluctant nod. “Wow, so dedicated. The CSAT isn’t until next year.”
“There’s a lot of content to learn,” Juntae says. “I need all the help I can get.”
“Really? I had you pegged as a smart guy. Proper nerd-like.”
“I’m not that smart,” he refutes quietly. “That’s Sieunnie.”
Ah, that’s right. The newbie is another fiend for cram school. Aside from Eunjang High and the hospital, it’s pretty much the only place he visits in his free time – according to the research conducted by the Union anyway. It’s why it was so easy to track him down when Baekjin demanded it. Maybe that’s the real reason why he’s fucking insane; it can’t be good for anyone’s mental health to spend that much time buried in textbooks.
Then again, people say that Seongje’s also out of his mind and he isn’t exactly one to hunker down over homework. So maybe Yeon Sieun is just built that way, the same as the rest of them.
He takes another look at the ball of tension next to him. ‘Do you go to cram school every day?”
“I don’t think anyone but Sieun is capable of doing that,” Juntae says, a soft smile teasing the corners of his mouth. It disappears as soon as he remembers who he’s speaking to. “Why are you asking?”
That fucking question again. If Juntae says it one more time, Seongje might punch something.
He opts to roll his eyes again. “Are you always this paranoid? I’m just making conversation with you, idiot. Don’t overthink it, it’s not that serious.”
Juntae flushes. “Oh – sorry. But you never know. It’s not exactly like you have a good track record.”
“That’s a little harsh,” he says. “We’ve only met, like, four or five times. And I wasn’t even the one roughing you up when we did. Kind of the opposite actually.”
Daesung Motorcycles hangs over their heads. The pinkness in Juntae’s head deepens. He shifts, their legs colliding once more, and looks down, as if in shame.
“Oh. Right. Yeah, I-I suppose you weren’t.”
The air starts to feel a little too sentimental for his tastes. Seongje slouches back in his seat and thumbs open the game he was playing earlier.
“Play some music again,” he commands. “Something that was made in this century this time.”
Juntae’s earbud is still tucked snugly in Seongje’s ear. After a couple of minutes of scrolling through his playlist – probably in search of something that isn’t ripped out of an anime soundtrack – music oozes out of it once more. Japanese again from the sounds of it, although this time Juntae opts for a pop-rock anthem that isn’t half-bad. It accompanies Seongje on his quest to reach the next level of his game until Juntae reaches over to press the STOP button and quietly retrieves the other half of his earphones.
Tapping to pause the screen, Seongje looks up in inquisition.
“Have a nice evening,” Juntae murmurs, as awkward as he was when he tried to leave him behind at the convenience store.
He jerks his head a little, as if he was about to offer Seongie a bow before he thought better of it, and stumbles towards the exit. As he does, the bus rolls to a gradual halt.
Seongje follows his progress from his seat, his thumb still hovering over his phone. He could go after him. Follow him off the bus and see where the night takes them, revelling in the knowledge that Juntae would rather he didn’t. He could poke and prod him like a kid might stick pins into a ragdoll, test how long it takes before he uncovers some more of that fire that Seo Juntae tucks away inside of him for safekeeping.
He kind of wants to beat this level more though. So he stays put. Watches Juntae step off the bus, his backpack almost swallowing him whole, and then turns back to his game before the doors even close.
Hissing like a snake, the bus eases away from the stop and Seongje leaves along with it.
Metal creaks beneath him as he clambers up the stairs to his apartment. Steps heavy with exhaustion, the coolness of the night air does little to keep slumber’s summons at bay. It’s with a yawn that he rummages through his pockets for his keys. He finds them in his school trousers at the same time that he closes his other hand around his phone. The time is 23:47, it informs him as he shoves the key into the lock and jiggles the door open, and his battery is at 7%.
“It’s me,” he calls in a habitual monotone as he steps inside and kicks his trainers off.
He doesn’t expect an answer but finds one anyway in the form of his mother in the kitchen, bowed over the table.
“Oh, Seongje-ah?” she says upon his entrance, sounding as worn as he feels. “You’re home already?”
“Mm.”
“Good. Try to go to school on time tomorrow if you can. That teacher of yours called to complain again.”
Seongje grunts in acknowledgment. His homeroom teacher makes it her life mission to try and attain perfect attendance for her classroom. It’s a shame that Seongje couldn’t give less of a fuck.
Making a beeline for the fridge, he retrieves the water filter from the top shelf and pours out a glass, leaning against the counter to take a much-needed sip. From this position, it’s only natural that his eyes fall on his mother again. She looks washed out under the dim kitchen light: her hair appearing more grey than silver, her skin sallow and the dark circles around her eyes bruised like pits. Old. Fragile.
“Why are you up so late? You look like you’re about to collapse.”
“It’s too warm,” she says. “I’m finding it difficult to sleep. I thought some hot milk might help.”
Another grunt. Seongje tips his head back, drains his glass until there’s nothing but droplets left and heads to his bedroom, accepting her explanation for what it is. Elsewhere in the apartment, his dad snores like a chainsaw, oblivious to the heat and to the fact that he sounds like an asshole. Seongje closes his bedroom door and smothers it into background noise.
Tonight’s bedtime routine is straightforward. With no injuries to speak of, Seongje doesn’t have to clean up, nor is he inclined to delay his sleep with a shower. That can wait until tomorrow. He steps out of his clothes and slides under the covers, pausing only to jam the charger into his phone.
23:50. When he unlocks the screen, he’s greeted by the same game he played earlier that evening when he was on the bus with Seo Juntae from Eunjang High. He wonders briefly whether the nerd managed to make it home in one piece as well before he rolls over and promptly falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Saturday. A little after lunch – or rather, after breakfast in Seongje’s case since he’s all but comatose until noon. When he rolls out of bed, his parents are already out of the apartment and down at the community centre where all the oldies spend their retirement playing Go or gambling their loose change away. He wolfs down a bowl of leftover kimchi fried rice, shoots off a few texts to figure out his plans for the day and then sets out.
He’s almost at the PC cafe when Hwangmo calls.
“What.”
“Seongje-ah,” Hwangmo says, tinged with just enough self-pity to clue him into what he’s about to come out with next. “Sorry to do this so last-minute, but I won’t be able to make it today. I’m getting dragged down to Daegu by my parents, apparently my grandma’s not doing so good.”
“You couldn’t have told me this any earlier?” he says, coming to a stop at the street corner. “I’m already on the way there, asshole.”
“I only found out now myself. She broke her leg falling down the stairs or something, I don’t know.”
“You’re lucky I don’t break yours as well to match her.” He kisses his teeth and sighs. “Alright. Whatever. See you on Monday, I guess.”
“See you then,” Hwangmo says.
The words are barely out of his mouth before Seongje hangs up. Shoving his phone into his pocket, he leans back against the building beside him and surveys the street, thinking. He could go to the PC cafe anyway since it’s right around the corner, but he was in the mood for a multi-player campaign instead of soloing it today. Of the Ganghak crowd, Hwangmo is the only one who’s decent enough to depend on for support. He could rally the rest of the troops to replace him, but he doesn’t know if he has the patience to deal with their incompetence.
He sucks his teeth again. Damn it. You really can’t rely on anyone these days.
PC cafe it is. He’ll figure the rest out when he gets there.
Hands in his pockets, he peels away from the building and slouches in the direction he was already heading.
Right decision. As soon as he turns left at the next intersection, he spots a familiar figure on the other side of the crossing. It takes him a moment to recognise him out of uniform, especially because he doesn’t have that dumbass, fluffy jacket on, but the lost deer look is unmistakeable. Grinning, Seongje doesn’t bother to wait for the traffic lights to switch before he darts across the road to catch up.
“Yah, is today my birthday or what?” he calls as he draws closer. “What are the chances of us meeting like this?”
Juntae’s surprise lasts only a moment before it melts into resignation at the sight of him.
“Seongje,” he says with a degree of familiarity that’s new. “It’s you again?”
He cracks a smile as they fall into step with one another. “You say that like you’re disappointed.”
“Just wasn’t expecting to see you today, that’s all.”
With it being a Saturday, Juntae has no backpack to cling onto as a tether so he settles for pushing his hands into his hoodie. A nonchalant stance, if not for the hint of tension in his shoulders and the way his head bends to keep his eyes on the ground, taking care to avoid trouble.
“I’m not stalking you if that’s what you think,” Seongje says. “It really is a coincidence. Running into you, that is. Must be my lucky day.”
“Lucky,” Juntae echoes.
He hums.
Each step they take moves him further and further from the PC cafe yet Seongje makes no effort to break away. He hasn’t seen Juntae during the daytime since their first encounter in the underpass by his school, and he’s almost forgotten what he looks like in proper lighting. Still small. Still scrawny. Less of a goody two shoes now that he’s out of his perfectly formulated uniform yet still undoubtedly someone who wouldn’t dare to breathe near a delinquent like Seongje of his own volition. His bruises have faded almost entirely. Only the faintest hint is left, visible solely to those who know what to look for.
All of a sudden, Juntae breaks off from his side and heads into a convenience store they’re about to pass by. He doesn’t look surprised when Seongje follows him in, nor does he acknowledge him. Not until he’s grabbed a packet of pocky, strawberry-flavoured mochi sweets and is skimming over the drinks aisle.
“Do you prefer strawberry, banana or chocolate?”
Seongje grunts. “Huh?”
“Milk flavours,” he says, looking up at him, all owl-eyed. The effect is exacerbated by his glasses. “Which one do you like best?”
He has to laugh. “Who the fuck still drinks flavoured milk at our age?”
Juntae frowns. “Um. A lot of people do actually. At least they do in Eunjang High.”
“Explains a lot,” he says. No wonder the school is full of softies who have all the power of an elementary school kid. When all Juntae does is frown harder, he shrugs. “Banana, I guess. Why?” He grins as Juntae grabs a banana milk carton from the shelf, alongside a strawberry one with an equally cheery design. “Are you treating me to a drink, Eunjangie?”
“Yes,” he says. “Unless you’d prefer to choose something different? Like a soda or something?”
His grin widens. Honestly, this guy never fails to surprise him. Buying a banana milk of all things. Him. Seongje. Banana milk. What are they, seven years old and making friends on the playground?
“Banana milk works. You gonna split some of that mochi with me as well?”
Juntae shrugs. “If you want it.”
He pays for the snacks at the counter which is honestly sort of a novelty for Seongje; most of the time, he doesn’t bother to fork over cash for something so inconsequential. He likes the thought of Juntae splurging on him though, even for something as benign as this. It’s kinda funny.
It stops being so amusing when they leave the shop and Juntae hands over the milk and mochi, saying, “Here. Will you leave me alone from now on after this?”
Seongje’s smile drops.
It seems to take Juntae most of his effort, but he looks away from Seongje’s hands, now loosely wrapped around the snacks, and meets his hard look. Nervous yet unwavering.
“What is this, a fucking bribe?” Seongje scowls. “You think you can bribe me with, what, fucking banana milk and mochi?”
“It’s what guys like you want,” Juntae says. Despite how fragile his voice is, he squares his jaw as though it’s lined with titanium. “A way to establish your place in the pecking order. Easiest way to do it is to get people to buy stuff for you. So here I am.”
The explanation only serves to irritate Seongje further.
“See, that’s where you’ve gone wrong. There are no guys like me; only me. So whatever you think you know is wrong. I don’t need you to buy me crap so I know where I stand.”
Yet his explanation only seems to exasperate Juntae too.
“So then what is it?” he asks. “What do you – what do you even want from me? You say it isn’t for the Union, but what else could it be?”
Fuck, this guy is so exhausting. Like a needy girlfriend almost, tugging on his sleeve and begging for reassurance. Seongje assumes that’s what a girlfriend would be like anyway; he doesn’t have first-hand experience with it, never having possessed the patience or interest to suffer through such a thing. He doesn’t know why he’s chosen to suffer through Juntae either. All he knows is that he saw him on the other side of the road and felt a rush of childish glee as soon as he did – and Seongje has never been one to deny himself of whatever brings forth his pleasure. Life is too short to do so.
He blows out a gust of air and cocks his head to the side, studying the boy before him. Again, Juntae refuses to back down.
Shit. As annoying as he is, he’s also so, so interesting. The longer they stare at each other, the more he wants to crack Juntae open and have a rummage around to see what lurks inside.
“Are you any good at gaming?” he asks instead.
Juntae blinks. Once. Twice. So quickly it looks as though he’s caught something in his lashes.
“Uh. A little, I guess? I play Minecraft and Animal Crossing sometimes.”
“You ever played Helldivers?”
A shake no.
“That’s fine, I’m sure you can pick it up quickly. Let’s go.”
He jerks his head in the direction of the road and pivots, shoving the convenience store loot into his windbreaker as he does. He already knows that Juntae isn’t going to move with him. Sure enough, when he looks over his shoulder, it’s to a perplexed gape. Damn. The kid could catch flies with that trap of his.
“Y-you want to game with me? Like. Right now?”
“I said so, didn’t I?” And then, before Juntae can whip out his favourite word, he adds, “Don’t ask me for the reason behind it, it’s just because I do. Nothing more to it. C’mon. PC room’s not too far from here.”
“I, uh... I’ll be honest, I don’t think I’ll be of much help to you...”
“I don’t care.” He does care somewhat. If Juntae’s going to be completely hopeless, he might end up punching through his PC screen or something. “The asshole I was meant to be gaming with flaked out on me last-minute. His granddad lost his arm or something in an accident–“
“Oh my god,” Juntae says, alarmed. “Is he okay?”
“He’ll survive. Anyways I’m down a second player now because of it. So are you coming with me or what?”
Again, Juntae hesitates. It isn’t so much of an offer as a demand, but Seongje lets the guy have his moment. If it helps him sleep at night to know he waited a whole five seconds before he sagged in defeat, then fine. It works out the same way in the end.
“Okay,” he concedes at last. “I’ll come with you for a little while. But please don’t expect anything much from me. I’m really not that great at video games.”
Correction: Juntae turns out to be terrible at video games.
Seongje has never known someone to flail around so much while they’re sitting at a computer. Sometimes, he pairs it with exclamations of horror and anguish whenever things go wrong – which they do more often than not when Juntae’s factored into the equation. Seongje might as well be playing this game alone, for all of the good that Juntae’s doing. Some fuckin’ back-up he is. If his hopelessness didn’t sound so damn stupid – and all the more amusing for it – Seongje would’ve told him to fuck off already and stop forcing him to witness this train wreck.
“Yah, this is too much, don’t you think?” he says after Juntae’s latest fuck-up plays out on their screens. He tugs off his headphones and swivels around to face his sheepish partner, now studiously avoiding Seongje’s eyes. For once. “How the fuck did you manage to mess that up? All you had to do was not die.”
“I-I know, but I couldn’t help it. They attacked me!”
“So dodge.”
“I tried! It’s hard to navigate this.”
“It’s a bunch of keys on a computer.”
“It’s hard,” he complains again. “I told you I wasn’t that good at it.”
“You’re worse than not that good. You’re fucking awful.”
Juntae turns as pink as a slab of meat on a grill. He looks over at his dead avatar, shamefaced. “I’m not that bad.” He is. He really fucking is. “Y-Yelling at me when they start to shoot doesn’t exactly help. It keeps distracting me.”
“I wouldn’t yell if you knew how to play,” Seongje points out.
“Well, maybe I’d learn how to play if you didn’t yell so much.”
Seongje can’t help his laugh. Once again, Seo Juntae does what few people wouldn’t even dare to dream of doing and insists on arguing back when Seongje scolds the shit out of him. The Ganghak squad, Hwangmo included, usually mumble apologies whenever he snaps at them to play better. But Juntae? Juntae has excuses. Juntae has audacity. Juntae has a spine in him that Seongje wants to press each knob of, notch by notch until he’s mapped out exactly where it starts and ends.
“It’s called constructive criticism,” he says. “You’re grown, you can handle it.”
Juntae sighs and sends another forlorn look at his avatar. Then, all of a sudden, he bolts upright. “Oh gosh, is that the time? I have to go.”
“Go?” Seongje’s laughter dies. “Where are you running away to? We’re still in the middle of this game.”
Juntae doesn’t let up the frantic energy as he hurries to gather his things. “I can’t stay, I’m supposed to be meeting some friends soon.”
“I didn’t say you could leave. Sit back down.”
“I have plans,” he reiterates. “I’m already going to be late.”
Time to change tactics.
Spinning on his chair to send Juntae a cold smile, he proposes, “Maybe I should go with you then. Say yo-yo to Gogo and the crazy newbie. It’s been a while since we last caught up.”
“That’d be a bit difficult,” he replies, “since they’re not who I’m hanging out with.”
Oh. That’s unexpected. Seongje sits up, genuinely surprised. “You have other friends?”
“Yes,” Juntae says testily. He pauses and then adds, slow with reluctance, “I’m, uh. I’m meeting some friends from a school club. We’re going to start a new anime together.”
Seongje blinks. “Shit. You really are such a weeb.” Juntae doesn’t say anything in his defence, just turns ruby. Sighing, Seongje dismisses him with a wave and turns back to his computer. “Go then. Enjoy your nerdy little cartoons with your nerdy little friends.”
Less frenzied now, Juntae packs away the rest of his things with the energy of a human being instead of a rodent scurrying around underfoot. As Seongje navigates to a new game, he peers at Juntae from the corner of his eye: watches him log out of his computer, wrap his headphones into a neat pile and slide the last of the strawberry mochi sweets to sit by Seongje’s banana milk. The pocky, he takes with him.
“Okay then,” he says, soft again. “Goodbye.”
Before he can go too far, Seongje shoots out to grab him by the wrist. Their eyes meet. Brown on brown, startled on steely.
“Do you have cram school on Monday?”
Juntae hesitates. Seongje doesn’t back down, his grip firm.
“Yeah,” he admits in the end. “I do.”
“Okay.”
He lets go and turns back to his game. Juntae lingers for another moment, watching, before he rushes off. In his haste to leave, he crashes into the doorframe and squeaks an apology to no one in particular. Then he runs off again, as ungainly as a baby deer on ice. Seongje doesn’t bother to hide his smirk at the fiasco.
Just like that, he makes up his mind. Come Monday, when Juntae trudges up to the bus stop after cram school, Seongje will be laying in wait for him, ready to barge into his life for another evening. He wonders what layers of steel are still yet to be discovered beneath the deceptively wide eyes and Juntae's fluffy winter coat. Maybe Seongje can unlock them all.