Chapter Text
There were certain things Kim Dokja had expected from his first day of high school.
He had expected crowds.
He had expected noise.
He had expected teachers standing at intersections in the hallways with the hollow-eyed expressions of people who had already repeated “First-years are on the third floor” approximately six hundred times before eight in the morning.
He had expected embarrassing introductions, unnecessarily complicated classroom rules, people pretending they weren’t looking at one another while very obviously ranking their new classmates by perceived social survivability, and at least one bastard who would raise their hand when the teacher asked whether anyone wanted to volunteer for class president.
Kim Dokja had prepared himself mentally for all of those things.
He had even prepared himself for the possibility that the cafeteria food would be shit.
What Kim Dokja had not prepared himself for was divine punishment.
He stood outside Classroom 1-3 with his indoor shoes freshly changed, his bag hanging from one shoulder, and his entire future collapsing before his eyes.
The seating chart had been taped beside the door.
Kim Dokja had checked it once.
Then twice.
Then a third time, because human beings occasionally hallucinated under extreme stress and he preferred to eliminate every alternative explanation before accepting that God personally despised him.
The name remained there.
Second row from the windows.
Kim Dokja.
And directly beside it—
Yoo Joonghyuk.
Kim Dokja stared.
The paper did not burst into flames.
Disappointing.
A student behind him cleared his throat.
Kim Dokja ignored him.
The student cleared his throat again.
“There are people trying to get inside.”
Kim Dokja moved half a step to the right without looking away from the chart.
Technically, this solved the student’s problem.
It did absolutely nothing for Kim Dokja’s.
There were more than three hundred first-year students in this school.
There were multiple classrooms.
Multiple floors.
Multiple opportunities for the administration to demonstrate even the smallest amount of mercy.
Statistically, Yoo Joonghyuk should have been somewhere else.
Preferably in a different continent.
Instead, he was his deskmate.
Kim Dokja lowered his gaze.
Then raised it again.
No.
Still there.
This was ridiculous.
Kim Dokja had filled out no form requesting psychological warfare.
He had committed no serious crimes.
Not recently.
Certainly none deserving this.
Someone walked past him into the classroom.
Then another person.
Kim Dokja remained exactly where he was.
If he never entered the room, perhaps attendance could not legally begin.
Maybe he could transfer.
Was transferring schools on the first day considered dramatic?
Probably.
Was it more dramatic than spending three years sitting next to Yoo Joonghyuk?
Absolutely not.
Kim Dokja finally looked through the open classroom door.
He saw several students moving between desks, introducing themselves, comparing schedules, and awkwardly trying to decide whether friendships formed before homeroom counted as binding contracts.
Then Kim Dokja saw the second row.
Yoo Joonghyuk was already there.
Of course Yoo Joonghyuk was already there.
Yoo Joonghyuk had probably arrived forty minutes early because punctuality was apparently one of the many weapons he had chosen to use against society.
He sat beside the window in a spotless uniform, dark hair neat enough to suggest he had fought with it and won, one elbow resting against the desk while he looked outside.
He had grown again.
That was irritating.
Kim Dokja had seen Yoo Joonghyuk four days ago.
There was no rational reason for Yoo Joonghyuk to look taller four days later.
Maybe the bastard did it on purpose.
Kim Dokja briefly imagined grabbing Yoo Joonghyuk by the shoulders and demanding that he stop developing physically without prior authorization.
Then Yoo Joonghyuk turned his head.
Their eyes met.
Kim Dokja immediately regretted existing within visible range.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s expression did not change much.
It rarely did.
But Kim Dokja knew him.
Unfortunately.
There was the smallest shift around Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes.
The bastard looked pleased.
Then, without breaking eye contact, Yoo Joonghyuk reached over and pulled out the chair at the desk beside his.
Kim Dokja’s desk.
He pulled it out for him.
Kim Dokja considered turning around and leaving.
Yoo Joonghyuk spoke.
“Kim Dokja.”
Kim Dokja kept standing outside.
Perhaps if he pretended he had not heard, Yoo Joonghyuk would experience personal growth.
“Kim Dokja.”
No.
“Kim Dokja.”
A vein twitched somewhere near Kim Dokja’s temple.
The student who had previously asked him to move was still nearby. Kim Dokja could feel the stranger watching this interaction with growing interest.
“Kim Dokja.”
Kim Dokja walked into the classroom.
Not because Yoo Joonghyuk had called him.
That distinction was important.
Kim Dokja had simply decided to enter at that exact moment due to unrelated circumstances.
“Stop saying my name.”
Yoo Joonghyuk watched him approach. “You were standing outside.”
“I know where I was.”
“You weren’t moving.”
“I was considering my options.”
“You only have one seat.”
“That’s exactly the fucking problem.”
A few nearby students turned their heads.
Excellent.
Seven minutes into his high school career and Kim Dokja was already publicly arguing with someone.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at the chair he had pulled out, then back at Kim Dokja.
“Sit.”
Kim Dokja stared at him.
“I know how chairs work.”
“Then sit.”
“I don’t like your tone.”
“You’ve never liked my tone.”
“That should tell you something.”
Kim Dokja dropped his bag onto the desk.
Yoo Joonghyuk reached for it.
Kim Dokja slapped a hand down on the strap.
“No.”
Yoo Joonghyuk paused.
“That’s mine.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you touching it?”
“It’s falling.”
“It is sitting on a desk.”
“The strap was hanging off.”
“The strap has survived worse.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at Kim Dokja as if this were somehow an unreasonable position to take.
Kim Dokja looked back.
The strap remained hanging off the side.
Neither of them moved.
A girl two desks ahead slowly turned around.
Kim Dokja noticed and immediately released his bag.
Yoo Joonghyuk fixed the strap.
Kim Dokja hated him.
There.
That was the first thing Kim Dokja learned in high school.
Nothing had changed.
“Why are you in this class?” Kim Dokja demanded, sitting down.
Yoo Joonghyuk frowned slightly.
“I was assigned here.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“Then ask properly.”
Kim Dokja leaned closer.
“Why. Are you. In my class?”
“I was assigned here.”
Kim Dokja closed his eyes.
Wonderful.
Perfect.
He had forgotten one of the worst things about Yoo Joonghyuk.
Yoo Joonghyuk could turn stupidity into a combat technique.
“I thought you were in Class 1-7.”
“No.”
“You told me you were in 1-7.”
“I told you my placement results were posted at seven.”
Kim Dokja opened his eyes.
There was a pause.
“That is not remotely the same sentence.”
“You misunderstood.”
“You knew I misunderstood!”
“You didn’t ask.”
Someone behind them snorted.
Kim Dokja turned.
A girl with short dark hair had taken the seat diagonally behind him and was blatantly watching them with an expression of delighted contempt.
She did not even attempt to hide it.
Their eyes met.
She lifted her eyebrows.
Kim Dokja turned back around.
He already disliked her.
Not as much as Yoo Joonghyuk, obviously.
There were hierarchies.
Yoo Joonghyuk leaned slightly toward him.
“Did you eat breakfast?”
Kim Dokja stared at the blackboard.
“No.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice sharpened. “Why?”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“You also said that yesterday.”
“How the hell do you remember what I said yesterday morning?”
“You were eating at my house.”
Kim Dokja turned.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“You complained that Mia took the last fried egg.”
“She did.”
“She’s eight.”
“She knew exactly what she was doing.”
Yoo Joonghyuk opened his bag.
Kim Dokja immediately became suspicious.
“What are you doing?”
Yoo Joonghyuk took out a wrapped sandwich.
“No.”
Yoo Joonghyuk placed it on Kim Dokja’s desk.
“No.”
“Eat.”
“I said no.”
“You didn’t eat breakfast.”
“I’ll eat later.”
“You said that yesterday too.”
“I ate lunch yesterday.”
“At two thirty.”
“That is still legally lunch.”
“It was late.”
“Time is a social construct.”
Yoo Joonghyuk pushed the sandwich closer.
Kim Dokja pushed it back.
Yoo Joonghyuk pushed it closer again.
Kim Dokja pushed harder.
The sandwich traveled approximately eight centimeters back toward Yoo Joonghyuk.
Yoo Joonghyuk stared at it.
Kim Dokja waited.
Yoo Joonghyuk picked it up.
Victory.
Then Yoo Joonghyuk unwrapped it himself.
Kim Dokja’s eyes narrowed.
Yoo Joonghyuk held half of it out.
“I don’t want it.”
Yoo Joonghyuk continued holding it.
“You can leave your arm there all morning. I don’t care.”
Yoo Joonghyuk continued holding it.
“I’m serious.”
Yoo Joonghyuk said nothing.
Kim Dokja looked away.
Ten seconds passed.
Twenty.
Thirty.
This was stupid.
Forty.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm remained there.
Kim Dokja could see it in his peripheral vision.
Fifty.
This bastard had once held a plank for six minutes because a PE teacher told him the school record was five and a half.
Kim Dokja was not winning this through patience.
“You are genuinely unbearable.”
“Eat.”
“Give me that.”
Kim Dokja snatched the sandwich.
Yoo Joonghyuk immediately lowered his arm.
Kim Dokja took one furious bite.
It was egg and ham.
His favorite combination.
That made it worse.
The girl behind them snorted again.
Kim Dokja turned around.
“What?”
She rested her chin on her hand.
“Nothing.”
“You’re laughing.”
“I’m enjoying the atmosphere.”
“What atmosphere?”
“The domestic one.”
Kim Dokja nearly inhaled bread.
Beside him, Yoo Joonghyuk showed absolutely no reaction.
Traitor.
“We are not domestic.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You were thinking it loudly.”
The girl grinned.
Kim Dokja disliked that grin immensely.
“My name is Han Sooyoung, by the way.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I know. I’m introducing myself because apparently neither of you understand how the first day of school works.”
Kim Dokja gestured beside him with the sandwich.
“I’ve unfortunately known this one for years.”
Han Sooyoung’s eyes moved to Yoo Joonghyuk.
“How many?”
“Too many.”
Yoo Joonghyuk answered at the same time.
“Eleven.”
Kim Dokja froze.
Han Sooyoung’s grin widened.
Kim Dokja slowly turned toward Yoo Joonghyuk.
“Why do you know the exact number?”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked mildly confused.
“We met when we were five.”
“That doesn’t answer why you calculated it.”
“I didn’t calculate it.”
“That is significantly worse.”
Han Sooyoung made a small choking sound behind him.
Kim Dokja ignored her.
That was going to become a necessary skill.
Probably.
Kim Dokja took another bite of the sandwich and glared at the front of the room.
His first day had been ruined.
Not catastrophically.
There had been no fire.
No emergency evacuation.
No dramatic public humiliation.
Something much worse had happened.
Yoo Joonghyuk had followed him into high school.
Not literally.
Probably.
Kim Dokja would investigate later.
The problem was that this was not new behavior.
Yoo Joonghyuk had been following Kim Dokja for most of his natural life.
At first, Kim Dokja’s parents had thought it was cute.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s parents had thought it was cute.
The neighborhood adults had thought it was cute.
Everyone had thought it was cute except Kim Dokja, who had been the victim and therefore understood the situation more accurately.
Because Yoo Joonghyuk had not become clingy gradually.
No reasonable progression from acquaintance to friendship.
Yoo Joonghyuk had met Kim Dokja at age five and apparently made an irreversible administrative decision.
Kim Dokja could feel a flashback coming.
Five-year-old Kim Dokja was reading.
Or trying to.
Reading was difficult when someone had been knocking on the front door for twelve straight minutes.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Silence.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Kim Dokja lowered his picture book.
There was another knock.
Then a small voice.
“Kim Dokja.”
Kim Dokja stared at his bedroom door.
Maybe if he remained very still, the creature outside would fail to detect movement.
“Kim Dokja.”
Kim Dokja lifted the book again.
“Kim Dokja.”
He turned a page.
“Kim Dokja.”
The words on the page were becoming difficult to focus on.
“Kim Dokja.”
Kim Dokja climbed off the bed, marched to his bedroom door, and opened it.
His mother was standing halfway up the stairs.
She looked up.
“Dokja?”
“Why is he here?”
His mother blinked.
“Joonghyuk?”
“Yes.”
“He wants to play.”
“I don’t.”
“That’s all right. You don’t have to.”
Kim Dokja nodded.
Excellent.
Finally, an adult with authority had recognized the basic principles of consent.
Then there was another knock.
“Kim Dokja.”
Kim Dokja’s mother glanced toward the front door.
Kim Dokja stared at her.
“Make him go away.”
“I told him you don’t want to play today.”
“And?”
“He said he would wait.”
Kim Dokja frowned.
“For what?”
“For you to want to play.”
Kim Dokja was five, but even at five, he understood that this was an idiotic answer.
“That’s stupid.”
His mother covered her mouth.
Kim Dokja narrowed his eyes.
“Are you laughing?”
“No.”
She was.
Adults were liars.
Kim Dokja returned to his room.
He resumed reading.
For six minutes, there was silence.
Kim Dokja began to relax.
Then—
“Kim Dokja.”
Kim Dokja shut the book.
This was harassment.
He went downstairs.
His father was sitting at the dining table reading the newspaper.
“Dad.”
His father lowered it.
“Yes?”
“Yoo Joonghyuk is outside.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“He wants to see you.”
“I don’t want to see him.”
“That seems to be the problem.”
“Tell him to leave.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“He said no.”
Kim Dokja stared at his father.
His father stared back.
“Are you the adult?”
His father’s eyebrows rose.
“Yes.”
“Then why did you lose?”
From the kitchen, Kim Dokja’s mother made another suspicious choking noise.
His father folded the newspaper with grave dignity.
“I did not lose.”
“Then why is Yoo Joonghyuk still outside?”
His father looked toward the front door.
There was another knock.
“Kim Dokja.”
Kim Dokja crossed his arms.
His father sighed.
“Joonghyuk is very determined.”
“That means you lost.”
“Go read your book.”
Kim Dokja went upstairs with the satisfaction of someone who had successfully established the truth.
Twenty minutes later, Yoo Joonghyuk was still outside.
Thirty minutes later, Yoo Joonghyuk was still outside.
One hour later, Yoo Joonghyuk was still outside.
Kim Dokja knew because the little bastard periodically said his name like a cursed doorbell.
“Kim Dokja.”
Silence.
“Kim Dokja.”
Silence.
“Kim Dokja.”
At some point, Kim Dokja became curious.
Not interested.
Curious.
There was a difference.
He crawled toward his bedroom window and peered through the curtain.
Yoo Joonghyuk was sitting on the front step.
Just sitting there.
He had a small blue backpack beside him.
His knees were drawn up.
His black hair was slightly messy from the wind.
He looked perfectly prepared to remain there until civilization ended.
Kim Dokja dropped the curtain.
Unbelievable.
He returned to bed.
Another hour passed.
The sunlight shifted.
His mother came upstairs.
“Dokja.”
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything yet.”
“You were going to.”
His mother sat on the edge of the bed.
“Joonghyuk is still outside.”
“That sounds like his problem.”
“He brought snacks.”
Kim Dokja’s eyes lifted from the book.
“What snacks?”
His mother smiled.
Kim Dokja immediately regretted revealing weakness.
“I don’t care.”
“Of course.”
“What snacks?”
“Strawberry biscuits.”
Kim Dokja hated strawberry biscuits.
Except he did not.
Unfortunately.
“Those aren’t very good.”
“Then I suppose there’s no reason to go outside.”
His mother stood.
Kim Dokja watched her reach the door.
“Wait.”
She turned.
Kim Dokja considered his dignity.
Then the strawberry biscuits.
Dignity had never tasted like anything.
“Is he going to share?”
“I think he brought them for you.”
That was different.
Possibly worse.
Kim Dokja climbed off the bed.
“I’ll go outside for ten minutes.”
His mother smiled.
“Only ten?”
“Exactly ten.”
“Of course.”
Kim Dokja walked downstairs.
His father looked over the top of the newspaper.
Kim Dokja pointed at him.
“Don’t say anything.”
His father lowered the newspaper.
Kim Dokja opened the front door.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked up instantly.
The transformation was subtle but undeniable.
“You’re still here.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was waiting.”
“I told you I didn’t want to play.”
“You changed your mind.”
“I did not.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at him.
Kim Dokja looked back.
Then Yoo Joonghyuk reached into the blue backpack and took out the strawberry biscuits.
Kim Dokja’s moral position weakened considerably.
“I’m only coming because you have snacks.”
“Okay.”
“And only for ten minutes.”
“Okay.”
“And we’re not playing tag.”
“Okay.”
“Or soccer.”
“Okay.”
“Or anything where I have to run.”
Yoo Joonghyuk nodded.
Kim Dokja narrowed his eyes.
“What do you want to do?”
“Sit.”
Kim Dokja stared.
“You waited outside for two hours because you wanted to sit?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“With you.”
Kim Dokja looked at the strawberry biscuits.
Then at Yoo Joonghyuk.
Then back at the strawberry biscuits.
Five-year-old Kim Dokja did not possess the vocabulary required to describe how profoundly annoying this was.
He sat down anyway.
Ten minutes became twenty-seven.
Not because Kim Dokja was enjoying himself.
He had simply lost track of time.
That was unrelated.
Years later, Kim Dokja would identify that afternoon as a tactical error.
He had taught Yoo Joonghyuk that persistence worked.
From there, everything deteriorated.
There had been the incident at age six when Kim Dokja went to his grandparents’ house for a weekend and Yoo Joonghyuk asked his mother seventeen times when Kim Dokja was returning.
There had been age seven, when Yoo Joonghyuk discovered that Kim Dokja had a dentist appointment and demanded to know whether he could accompany him.
He could not.
Yoo Joonghyuk had been furious with dentistry as an institution.
There had been age eight, when their parents decided to separate them into different after-school programs because normal children were expected to develop independent social circles.
Yoo Joonghyuk lasted three days.
On the fourth day, Kim Dokja exited his reading club to discover Yoo Joonghyuk sitting on the floor outside the library.
“Why are you here?”
“My class ended.”
“Your class is in another building.”
“Yes.”
“You walked here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To go home.”
“Your house is the other direction.”
“I’m going home with you.”
Years later, Yoo Mia became old enough to speak in full sentences and immediately joined the campaign against Kim Dokja’s peace.
Yoo Joonghyuk would come over.
Yoo Mia would follow.
Not because Yoo Mia particularly wanted to see Kim Dokja.
Yoo Mia simply considered wherever her older brother went to be a potential source of entertainment.
Once, Kim Dokja opened the front door to find both Yoo siblings standing there.
Yoo Joonghyuk held a basketball.
Yoo Mia held a plastic shovel.
Kim Dokja had stared at the shovel.
“Why does she have that?”
“She wanted it.”
Yoo Mia lifted it proudly.
“I’m digging.”
“Where?”
Yoo Mia pointed at Kim Dokja’s front garden.
“No.”
Yoo Mia frowned.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at Kim Dokja.
Kim Dokja looked at Yoo Joonghyuk.
“If she digs up my mother’s flowers, you’re explaining it.”
Yoo Joonghyuk took the shovel.
Yoo Mia began screaming.
Kim Dokja closed the door.
There were some conflicts no civilian should involve himself in.
After a while, both families had given up pretending Yoo Joonghyuk required an invitation.
He still knocked.
Usually.
Kim Dokja’s mother would open the door, see him, and call upstairs.
“Dokja! Joonghyuk is here!”
Kim Dokja would yell, “Tell him I died!”
His mother would yell back, “He says he’ll wait until you come back to life!”
Kim Dokja would then have to go downstairs because apparently nobody in his household respected the dead.
When Yoo Joonghyuk learned Kim Dokja’s home phone number, it was a dark period for Kim Dokja.
At twelve, both of them got phones.
This was worse.
At thirteen, Yoo Joonghyuk discovered location sharing.
Kim Dokja disabled it within eight minutes.
At fourteen, Yoo Joonghyuk began joining Kim Dokja’s walk to school without even asking.
At fifteen, Kim Dokja’s parents stopped questioning why there was sometimes a second pair of shoes by the entrance.
Now, at sixteen, Kim Dokja had finally reached high school.
A fresh beginning.
A new environment.
An opportunity for reinvention.
And Yoo Joonghyuk was sitting twenty-eight centimeters away from him.
Bullshit.
The homeroom teacher arrived at eight thirty.
Kim Dokja had finished the sandwich by then.
Not because Yoo Joonghyuk had won.
Kim Dokja had simply been hungry.
Again, separate issue.
Their homeroom teacher was a middle-aged man named Mr. Choi who wore rectangular glasses and had the energy of someone who had been teaching teenagers long enough to stop fearing them.
“Good morning.”
The classroom gradually quieted.
Mr. Choi placed a stack of papers on the desk.
“I’m Choi Minseok, your homeroom teacher for the year. I teach Korean literature. Before anyone asks, yes, the seating arrangement is temporary.”
Kim Dokja’s spine straightened.
There was a God.
“You’ll keep these seats for the first month while I learn your names. After that, we’ll rearrange.”
One month.
Kim Dokja could survive one month.
Thirty-one days.
Actually fewer, because weekends did not count.
Approximately twenty-two school days.
Manageable.
Yoo Joonghyuk leaned toward him.
Kim Dokja whispered, “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“No.”
“Then why did you lean over?”
“You have crumbs on your collar.”
Kim Dokja looked down.
Yoo Joonghyuk brushed them off before Kim Dokja could.
Kim Dokja slapped his hand away.
“Stop touching me.”
Mr. Choi looked directly at them.
“Is there something you’d like to share?”
“No, sir,” Kim Dokja said immediately.
Yoo Joonghyuk said, “No.”
Mr. Choi looked between them.
His gaze lingered.
Kim Dokja recognized that look.
Adults had been giving them that look for years.
It was the look that preceded statements such as You two seem close or It’s nice that you’re such good friends or, in particularly offensive cases, Joonghyuk really adores you, doesn’t he?
Mr. Choi wisely said nothing.
Perhaps high school teachers were more intelligent than ordinary adults.
“Good. We’ll start with introductions.”
There was a collective shift in the room.
Kim Dokja almost groaned.
Introductions were a pointless ritual.
Everyone said the same things.
Name.
Previous school.
Hobby.
Hope we can get along.
Occasionally someone became ambitious and added their favorite food.
Nobody remembered any of it unless the person was especially attractive or said something catastrophically strange.
Students began standing one by one.
Kim Dokja listened selectively.
A tall, broad-shouldered boy named Lee Hyunsung liked exercise and history.
A neat-looking girl named Yoo Sangah liked learning languages and cycling.
A girl named Jung Heewon said her hobby was “not really a hobby, but I like trying new restaurants,” which Kim Dokja considered the first honest answer of the morning.
Han Sooyoung stood when her turn arrived.
“I’m Han Sooyoung. I like reading and writing.”
Kim Dokja glanced back despite himself.
Han Sooyoung continued.
“I also like observing interesting people.”
Her eyes landed directly on Kim Dokja.
Kim Dokja immediately looked forward.
This woman was dangerous.
Then it was Yoo Joonghyuk’s turn.
Yoo Joonghyuk stood.
“My name is Yoo Joonghyuk.”
Pause.
Mr. Choi waited.
The class waited.
Kim Dokja waited.
Yoo Joonghyuk sat down.
Mr. Choi blinked.
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
Kim Dokja covered his mouth with one hand.
Of course.
Mr. Choi looked like he was reconsidering every professional decision that had brought him to this moment.
“A hobby, perhaps?”
“Exercise.”
“What kind?”
“Several.”
Mr. Choi waited for elaboration.
None came.
“Previous school?”
Yoo Joonghyuk named it.
Mr. Choi nodded slowly.
“Anything else you’d like your classmates to know?”
“No.”
Yoo Joonghyuk sat.
Kim Dokja leaned toward him.
“That was painful.”
“You’re next.”
“So?”
“I’ll judge yours.”
Kim Dokja scoffed.
As though there were anything to judge.
Kim Dokja stood.
“My name is Kim Dokja. I went to the same middle school as Yoo Joonghyuk.”
Why had he said that?
He had not intended to say that.
It had just come out because Yoo Joonghyuk had gone immediately before him.
Several students’ eyes moved between them.
Kim Dokja felt annoyed.
“I like reading.”
Han Sooyoung made an interested noise.
Kim Dokja refused to acknowledge it.
“And that’s it. I hope we get along.”
He sat.
Yoo Joonghyuk leaned toward him.
“That was painful.”
Kim Dokja kicked his chair leg.
Mr. Choi looked up.
Kim Dokja became very interested in the syllabus.
The introductions continued.
Once they were finished, Mr. Choi explained schedules, attendance policies, school facilities, uniform regulations, club applications, classroom cleaning rotations, and several other things that Kim Dokja listened to with varying levels of commitment.
Then came the first break.
The room exploded into conversation.
People stood, turned around, exchanged names they had already forgotten, and began the complicated first-day ritual of establishing who would eat lunch with whom.
Kim Dokja took out his phone.
His mother had sent him a message.
Mom: First day going okay?
Kim Dokja typed.
Kim Dokja: No.
Three dots appeared.
Mom: What happened?
Kim Dokja glanced beside him.
Yoo Joonghyuk was organizing his textbooks.
Kim Dokja: Yoo Joonghyuk is in my class.
The response came almost instantly.
Mom: Oh! That’s nice.
Kim Dokja stared at the screen.
Betrayal.
Kim Dokja: No it isn’t.
Mom: At least you know someone.
Kim Dokja: I specifically wanted to know fewer someones.
Mom: Be nice.
Kim Dokja considered blocking his mother.
He would not.
She paid his phone bill.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked over.
“What are you doing?”
“Talking to my mother.”
“What did she say?”
“That she regrets letting you into our lives.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at the phone.
Kim Dokja tilted it away.
“Privacy.”
“You’re lying.”
“Obviously.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s phone buzzed.
He checked it.
For a fraction of a second, his expression softened.
Kim Dokja knew exactly who it was.
“Yoo Mia?”
“Yes.”
“What does she want?”
“She says she forgot her notebook.”
“That sounds like a Yoo Mia problem.”
Yoo Joonghyuk typed something.
Kim Dokja watched.
“You’re going to bring it to her, aren’t you?”
“My mother will.”
“Then why is she messaging you?”
“She wants me to tell our mother.”
“Why can’t she tell your mother?”
“She says Mom isn’t answering.”
Kim Dokja nodded.
Reasonable enough.
Then Yoo Joonghyuk’s phone buzzed again.
He looked.
“What now?”
“She says her water bottle is ugly.”
Kim Dokja paused.
“That’s not an emergency.”
“I know.”
Another buzz.
Yoo Joonghyuk read.
Kim Dokja waited.
“And?”
“She says she wants mine.”
Kim Dokja looked at the black water bottle on Yoo Joonghyuk’s desk.
“Tell her no.”
Yoo Joonghyuk typed.
His phone buzzed again almost immediately.
Kim Dokja leaned closer despite himself.
“What did she say?”
“She said, ‘You’re mean.’”
Kim Dokja smiled.
“Smart girl.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at him.
“You encouraged her.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“You told her last week that younger siblings should rebel against authority.”
“I was teaching civic responsibility.”
“She refused to clean her room.”
“Revolutions require sacrifice.”
Yoo Joonghyuk stared.
Kim Dokja smiled pleasantly.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s phone buzzed again.
He checked it.
His eyebrows pulled together.
“What?”
“She sent a picture.”
“Of what?”
“My water bottle.”
Kim Dokja blinked.
“How does she have your water bottle?”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at the bottle on his desk.
Kim Dokja looked too.
They both stared at it.
Yoo Joonghyuk slowly picked it up.
It was black.
His phone displayed a photograph of an almost identical black water bottle sitting on what looked like Yoo Mia’s school desk.
Kim Dokja leaned over.
“There are two?”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked offended.
“My mother bought a set.”
“Oh.”
Yoo Joonghyuk read the next message.
“She says hers is mine now.”
Kim Dokja laughed.
It escaped him before he could stop it.
Yoo Joonghyuk turned his head.
Kim Dokja immediately stopped.
“What?”
Yoo Joonghyuk kept looking at him.
“Why are you staring?”
“You laughed.”
“Yes. I’m capable of that.”
“I know.”
“Then stop acting surprised.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze lingered for one second too long.
Kim Dokja became uncomfortable for reasons he refused to examine.
“Your sister is robbing you. Focus.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked back at his phone.
Good.
Problem solved.
Unfortunately, Han Sooyoung had witnessed all of it.
Kim Dokja knew because when he glanced behind him, she was resting her cheek against one fist with the expression of someone who had paid for premium entertainment and was already getting her money’s worth.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You keep saying that.”
“And yet you keep asking.”
Kim Dokja turned away.
He would not engage.
People like Han Sooyoung fed on attention.
Probably.
Yoo Sangah approached their row.
“Excuse me.”
Kim Dokja looked up.
Yoo Sangah smiled politely.
“Do either of you know where the student council room is? Mr. Choi said club information would be posted there too, but I didn’t see it on the map.”
Kim Dokja had studied the school map last night.
Not because he was enthusiastic.
Because wandering through unfamiliar hallways was inefficient.
“Second floor of the main building, west side. It’s beside the faculty conference room.”
Yoo Sangah smiled.
“Thank you, Kim Dokja.”
Before Kim Dokja could respond, Yoo Joonghyuk said, “The west stairs are closed.”
Kim Dokja turned.
“They are?”
“There was a sign downstairs.”
Kim Dokja had not seen it.
That was annoying.
Yoo Sangah nodded.
“Then I should use the central stairs?”
“Yes,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“Thank you, Yoo Joonghyuk.”
Yoo Sangah left.
Kim Dokja looked at him.
“When did you see the sign?”
“When we came in.”
“We didn’t come in together.”
“You were twelve meters behind me.”
Kim Dokja stared.
“Why do you know that?”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked confused again.
“I saw you.”
“That explains nothing.”
“I'm wearing the same uniform as everyone else and carrying the same black backpack I've had for two years. How did you identify me from twelve meters away?”
“Your hair.”
Kim Dokja touched his hair involuntarily.
“What’s wrong with my hair?”
“Nothing.”
“Then what does that mean?”
“I recognized it.”
Kim Dokja narrowed his eyes.
Yoo Joonghyuk had already returned to his schedule.
Kim Dokja hated conversations with him.
They never ended correctly.
The bell rang before Kim Dokja could continue the interrogation.
Their first actual class was mathematics.
Kim Dokja took notes.
Yoo Joonghyuk took notes.
For almost twelve uninterrupted minutes, peace existed.
Then Yoo Joonghyuk moved his desk closer.
Kim Dokja stopped writing.
He looked down.
There was now significantly less space between their desks.
Kim Dokja looked at Yoo Joonghyuk.
Yoo Joonghyuk was still looking at the board.
Kim Dokja nudged his desk away.
Yoo Joonghyuk glanced down.
Then moved his desk closer again.
Kim Dokja stared.
Yoo Joonghyuk whispered, “What?”
“Why are you moving?”
“I can’t see.”
Kim Dokja looked at the board.
Then at Yoo Joonghyuk.
“You are taller than half the class.”
“The reflection.”
There was sunlight coming through the window.
Admittedly, there was a slight glare on the board from Yoo Joonghyuk’s angle.
Kim Dokja pointed subtly.
“Move your chair.”
“This is better.”
“It’s touching my desk.”
“So?”
“So stop it.”
Yoo Joonghyuk moved the desk half a centimeter away.
Kim Dokja stared at the microscopic gap.
“You’re fucking with me.”
“No.”
“You absolutely are.”
The mathematics teacher turned around.
Kim Dokja resumed writing.
Yoo Joonghyuk did not move his desk farther away.
Fine.
Whatever.
Kim Dokja could tolerate proximity.
He had endured crowded buses.
He had survived subway rush hour.
He could survive one oversized bastard occupying slightly more than his allocated share of classroom territory.
Five minutes later, Yoo Joonghyuk leaned over to look at Kim Dokja’s notebook.
Kim Dokja covered the page with his arm.
“What?”
“You skipped a step.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I did it mentally.”
“You’ll forget.”
“I won’t.”
“You forgot yesterday.”
Kim Dokja slowly turned his head.
“How are you connecting my math notes to yesterday?”
“You were doing practice problems at my house.”
“I was doing literature problems.”
“You forgot to write the citation.”
“That has nothing to do with algebra.”
“It proves you forget things.”
“You are the reason people develop stress disorders.”
The mathematics teacher turned around again.
“Is there a problem in the second row?”
“No,” Kim Dokja said.
Yoo Joonghyuk said, “He skipped a step.”
Kim Dokja’s soul left his body.
The teacher walked over.
Kim Dokja stared at Yoo Joonghyuk with murder in his heart.
The teacher looked down at the notebook.
“You did skip a step.”
Kim Dokja smiled stiffly.
“I did it mentally.”
“Write it anyway. Good habits matter.”
“Yes, sir.”
The teacher walked away.
Kim Dokja turned.
Yoo Joonghyuk was already writing.
Kim Dokja whispered, “I’m going to kill you.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“One day I’ll mean it.”
“You won’t.”
The confidence was offensive.
Kim Dokja wrote the missing step with enough pressure to nearly tear the paper.
One month.
Twenty-two school days.
He could survive.
He could.
Probably.
Lunch arrived four hours later.
Kim Dokja had already reconsidered this optimism.
Not because Yoo Joonghyuk had done anything individually catastrophic.
That was the problem.
Yoo Joonghyuk operated through accumulation.
A comment here.
An unnecessary lean there.
A hand reaching over to straighten a page that Kim Dokja had not asked to be straightened.
A quiet “Drink water” after Kim Dokja coughed once.
A completely unsolicited reminder that Kim Dokja’s shoelace was untied.
By lunchtime, Kim Dokja felt like he was being monitored by a highly judgmental government agency.
Kim Dokja stood.
Yoo Joonghyuk stood at the same time.
Kim Dokja paused.
Yoo Joonghyuk paused.
Kim Dokja sat.
Yoo Joonghyuk sat.
Kim Dokja stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
“You.”
“I’m going to lunch.”
“I know.”
“You don’t need to come.”
“I’m also eating lunch.”
“There are other places to eat.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked around the classroom.
“Yes.”
Kim Dokja waited.
Yoo Joonghyuk waited.
“That was me telling you to choose one.”
“No.”
Kim Dokja inhaled slowly through his nose.
Han Sooyoung appeared beside their desks.
“Are you two always like this?”
“Yes,” Kim Dokja said.
“No,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
Kim Dokja turned sharply.
“What do you mean, no?”
“You’re worse today.”
Han Sooyoung made a delighted sound.
Kim Dokja pointed at Yoo Joonghyuk.
“You see? This. This is why I hate him.”
Han Sooyoung looked at Yoo Joonghyuk.
Then at Kim Dokja.
Then at the empty sandwich wrapper still in Kim Dokja’s bag pocket.
“Sure.”
Kim Dokja disliked the tone of that “sure.”
Jung Heewon walked past and overheard the end.
“What’d he do?”
“Everything.”
“That’s vague.”
“He exists aggressively.”
Jung Heewon looked Yoo Joonghyuk.
Yoo Joonghyuk stared back.
“I can kind of see it,” Jung Heewon admitted.
“Thank you.”
Finally.
An ally.
Then Jung Heewon added, “But you’re also pretty aggressive.”
Betrayal.
“I’m reacting.”
“To what?”
Kim Dokja gestured broadly at Yoo Joonghyuk.
Jung Heewon waited.
Kim Dokja realized broad gesturing was not legally admissible evidence.
“He moved his desk.”
Han Sooyoung covered her mouth.
Jung Heewon blinked.
Kim Dokja corrected, “Toward mine.”
“That monster,” Han Sooyoung gasped dramatically.
“Shut up.”
Yoo Joonghyuk picked up Kim Dokja’s lunch bag.
Kim Dokja stopped.
Everyone looked at it.
Then at Yoo Joonghyuk.
“Put that down.”
“You forgot it.”
“I was standing right here.”
“You started walking.”
“I took one step.”
Yoo Joonghyuk handed him the bag.
Kim Dokja snatched it.
Han Sooyoung looked deeply thoughtful.
“Oh, this year is going to be amazing.”
“For you maybe.”
“Yes,” Han Sooyoung said. “That’s generally what I care about.”
Kim Dokja respected the honesty.
He did not appreciate being the source of it.
In the end, lunch involved more people than Kim Dokja wanted.
Not many.
Yoo Sangah joined because she had been speaking with Jung Heewon.
Lee Hyunsung joined because every other table was apparently full.
Han Sooyoung joined because Satan never missed an appointment.
And Yoo Joonghyuk joined because Yoo Joonghyuk had been joining Kim Dokja since kindergarten and apparently intended to continue until death.
They found a table near the courtyard.
Kim Dokja sat at one end.
Yoo Joonghyuk sat beside him.
Of course.
Kim Dokja took out his lunch.
His mother had packed rice, rolled omelet, vegetables, and grilled chicken.
Yoo Joonghyuk had nearly the same meal.
Their mothers occasionally exchanged recipes.
This was not meaningful.
It was merely evidence that their families had become dangerously entangled.
Lee Hyunsung looked between the lunchboxes.
“Did you buy those at the same place?”
“No,” Kim Dokja said.
“Our mothers made them,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
Lee Hyunsung nodded.
“Oh.”
A beat passed.
“Together?”
“No,” Kim Dokja said immediately.
Yoo Joonghyuk said, “They cooked together last night.”
Kim Dokja turned.
“They what?”
“My mother went to your house.”
“When?”
“After dinner.”
“I was home.”
“You were in your room.”
Kim Dokja stared.
He had been reading with headphones on.
Still.
“How do you know?”
“I was there.”
Kim Dokja’s chopsticks lowered.
“You were in my house last night?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Eight.”
“For how long?”
“Thirty minutes.”
“Why?”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at him.
“My mother was there.”
“That explains why your mother was there. Why were you?”
“I went with her.”
“Why?”
“She drove.”
“No, I mean—”
Han Sooyoung interrupted.
“I’m begging you to keep going.”
Kim Dokja looked at her.
Han Sooyoung was visibly fighting laughter.
Yoo Sangah was smiling into her cup.
Jung Heewon was openly watching now.
Lee Hyunsung looked merely confused.
Kim Dokja turned back to Yoo Joonghyuk.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were downstairs?”
“You were reading.”
“That has never stopped you before.”
“I was leaving soon.”
“You once interrupted me in the middle of a chapter because you wanted to show me a rock.”
“It looked like a face.”
“It looked like a rock!”
“It had eyes.”
“Those were holes!”
“Eye holes.”
Kim Dokja stopped.
The table was silent.
Han Sooyoung’s shoulders began shaking.
Kim Dokja closed his eyes.
He had fallen into a trap.
Nobody had set the trap.
Somehow that made it worse.
Yoo Joonghyuk calmly ate a piece of chicken.
Kim Dokja reopened his eyes.
“Give me that.”
Yoo Joonghyuk stopped.
“That piece.”
“Why?”
“It’s bigger.”
“It’s mine.”
“Our mothers cooked them together. Property is apparently communal now.”
Yoo Joonghyuk stared.
Kim Dokja held out his chopsticks.
Yoo Joonghyuk placed the piece of chicken in Kim Dokja’s lunchbox.
Kim Dokja ate it.
Then he noticed the silence again.
Five people were looking at him.
“What?”
Jung Heewon spoke carefully.
“You just stole his food.”
“He gave it to me.”
“You demanded it.”
“And he gave it to me.”
Han Sooyoung leaned back.
“This is fascinating.”
“It’s lunch.”
“No, this is sociology.”
Yoo Sangah laughed softly.
Kim Dokja decided to ignore all of them.
Lee Hyunsung looked at Yoo Joonghyuk.
Then Kim Dokja.
Then their lunches.
His expression suggested that some internal conclusion had been reached.
Kim Dokja did not care what it was.
That would later prove to be a mistake.
Lunch continued.
The conversation moved to clubs.
Yoo Sangah was considering language club or student council.
Jung Heewon was undecided.
Lee Hyunsung wanted something athletic.
Han Sooyoung said she might join literature club “if the people aren’t insufferable.”
Then attention turned toward Kim Dokja.
“Literature club,” Kim Dokja said.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at him.
Kim Dokja immediately became suspicious.
“What?”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“Why would I?”
“You tell me things.”
“Not every single thing.”
Yoo Joonghyuk frowned.
Kim Dokja felt irritation crawl up his spine.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You made a face.”
“What face?”
“That face.”
Han Sooyoung leaned toward Jung Heewon.
“Do you know which face?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
Yoo Sangah was smiling again.
Kim Dokja ignored them.
“What club are you joining?” Kim Dokja asked Yoo Joonghyuk.
“I haven’t decided.”
Kim Dokja relaxed.
Good.
There were dozens of clubs.
Statistically—
“Maybe literature.”
Kim Dokja’s chopsticks stopped halfway to his mouth.
“No.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyebrows lowered.
“No?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You don’t like literature.”
“I read.”
“You read training manuals.”
“I read other things.”
“Web articles about protein intake do not count.”
“I’ve read novels.”
“Which novels?”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at Kim Dokja.
Kim Dokja waited.
There was a suspicious pause.
“Some.”
“Name one.”
Another pause.
Han Sooyoung leaned forward.
Yoo Joonghyuk said the title of a novel Kim Dokja had recommended to him two years ago.
Kim Dokja froze.
“You read that?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
“You told me you weren’t going to.”
“I changed my mind.”
Kim Dokja stared.
That book had been four hundred pages.
Yoo Joonghyuk hated sitting still unless there was some competitive objective involved.
“Did you finish it?”
“Yes.”
“What happened in chapter seventeen?”
“Why would I remember the chapter number?”
“Because I don’t trust you.”
Yoo Joonghyuk summarized a scene from approximately the middle of the book.
Correctly.
Kim Dokja felt strangely wrong-footed.
He had spent two years assuming Yoo Joonghyuk had ignored the recommendation.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask.”
Kim Dokja’s eye twitched.
Again.
That phrase.
One day, Yoo Joonghyuk was going to say you didn’t ask at the wrong moment and Kim Dokja would become a criminal.
Han Sooyoung looked between them.
“You recommended him novels?”
“One novel.”
“Four,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
Kim Dokja turned.
“You read the others too?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked genuinely puzzled by the question.
“You told me to.”
Kim Dokja had no response.
That was rare.
He disliked it.
Jung Heewon broke the silence.
“So are you joining literature club too?”
She was looking at Yoo Joonghyuk.
Yoo Joonghyuk glanced at Kim Dokja.
“I might.”
Kim Dokja pointed his chopsticks at him.
“If you join just because I’m joining, I’ll quit.”
Yoo Joonghyuk frowned.
“I didn’t say that.”
“I know you.”
“So?”
“So I know what you’re thinking.”
“What am I thinking?”
Kim Dokja opened his mouth.
Closed it.
The irritating answer was that Kim Dokja usually did know.
Yoo Joonghyuk was not expressive, but Kim Dokja had spent eleven years being exposed to the bastard at unsafe concentrations.
He knew the difference between Yoo Joonghyuk’s ordinary frown and his annoyed frown.
He knew when Yoo Joonghyuk was hungry because his patience became approximately fourteen percent worse.
He knew when Yoo Joonghyuk was pretending not to be tired because he blinked slower.
He knew when Yoo Joonghyuk disliked somebody because he became more polite, which was deeply counterintuitive but remarkably consistent.
He knew that if Yoo Joonghyuk said “Fine” in a flat voice, he meant fine.
If Yoo Joonghyuk said “Fine” while looking away, he did not mean fine.
If Yoo Joonghyuk said nothing at all and crossed his arms, someone had fucked up.
Usually Kim Dokja.
Kim Dokja had accumulated this knowledge against his will.
Like mold.
“I don’t know,” Kim Dokja said.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s mouth moved slightly.
Not a smile.
Almost.
Kim Dokja felt immediately insulted.
“Don’t look smug.”
“I’m not.”
“You are internally.”
Han Sooyoung put down her chopsticks.
“I have to ask.”
“No,” Kim Dokja said.
“I haven’t asked anything.”
“I’m preventing it.”
“That isn’t how conversations work.”
“It can be.”
Han Sooyoung ignored him.
“How long have you two been friends?”
“We’re not friends,” Kim Dokja said.
“Eleven years,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
Han Sooyoung slowly looked at Kim Dokja.
Kim Dokja pointed at Yoo Joonghyuk again.
“He has poor boundaries and an inaccurate understanding of relationships.”
Yoo Joonghyuk ate another piece of chicken.
Han Sooyoung nodded solemnly.
“I understand.”
“You don’t.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“No, you think you do, which is worse.”
Yoo Sangah spoke.
“If you’ve known each other since you were five, your families must know each other too.”
Kim Dokja sighed.
“Yes.”
“Very well,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
Kim Dokja turned.
“Don’t oversell it.”
“Our mothers are friends.”
“That happened because of you.”
Yoo Joonghyuk frowned.
“How?”
“You kept showing up at my house.”
“When we were children.”
“You still show up at my house.”
“You show up at mine.”
“That is different.”
“How?”
Kim Dokja considered.
He had gone to Yoo Joonghyuk’s house yesterday for breakfast.
And three days before that.
And the previous weekend because Yoo Mia had asked Kim Dokja to help with a school project after Yoo Joonghyuk apparently failed to understand that a poster about marine animals did not require “optimal information density.”
Kim Dokja had reduced the text by seventy percent and added stickers.
Yoo Mia had declared him superior.
Yoo Joonghyuk had told her she was ungrateful.
Kim Dokja had eaten dinner there afterward.
Still.
Different.
Somehow.
“It just is.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked unimpressed.
Jung Heewon asked, “You have any more stories?”
Kim Dokja stared at her.
“You don’t want to know.”
“I absolutely do,” Han Sooyoung said.
“You weren’t asked.”
“She speaks for me,” Jung Heewon said.
Traitors everywhere.
Yoo Joonghyuk took a drink.
Kim Dokja looked at him.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked back.
Kim Dokja narrowed his eyes.
“If you tell them one, I’m leaving.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
Han Sooyoung’s eyes brightened.
“So there’s a lot.”
“No.”
“You just confirmed there’s a lot.”
“There are thousands of stories in the world. That doesn’t mean you’re entitled to them.”
“Did he do something embarrassing?”
Kim Dokja stabbed a vegetable.
“He cried.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s head snapped toward him.
Victory.
Han Sooyoung looked delighted.
Jung Heewon leaned forward.
Yoo Sangah’s eyes widened slightly.
Lee Hyunsung stopped eating.
Kim Dokja smiled.
Finally.
Leverage.
“You said you wouldn’t tell them one,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“I said you couldn’t.”
“That’s childish.”
“You cried because you weren’t allowed to see me.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s expression became flat.
Kim Dokja knew that expression.
Danger.
Han Sooyoung whispered, “Oh my god.”
“It happened once,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
Kim Dokja laughed.
“Bullshit.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at him.
“Once that I remember.”
“That is an extremely important qualifier.”
“How old were you?” Yoo Sangah asked.
“Five,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“Six,” Kim Dokja corrected. “You were six when you cried because your parents told you we couldn’t have a sleepover.”
“I was tired.”
“You were devastated.”
“I was six.”
“You sat under the dining table.”
“I liked it there.”
“You refused to come out.”
“You were leaving.”
“That is called going home.”
Han Sooyoung had put both hands over her face.
Kim Dokja could see her shoulders shaking.
Jung Heewon was biting her lip.
Even Yoo Sangah looked like she was struggling.
Lee Hyunsung appeared thoughtful.
Kim Dokja should have stopped.
He did not.
There were moments when revenge justified collateral damage.
“And when we were five, Yoo Joonghyuk waited outside my house for hours because I didn’t want to play.”
“How many hours?” Jung Heewon asked.
“Two.”
“Two and a half,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
The table went silent.
Kim Dokja slowly turned.
“You remember?”
Yoo Joonghyuk realized his mistake approximately one second too late.
Han Sooyoung dropped her forehead onto the table.
Jung Heewon burst out laughing.
Yoo Sangah covered her smile with one hand.
Kim Dokja stared at Yoo Joonghyuk in disbelief.
“You remember the exact amount of time?”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked away.
“Approximately.”
“Approximately? You corrected me by thirty minutes!”
“You were wrong.”
“That was not the relevant part!”
Lee Hyunsung finally spoke.
“What were you waiting for?”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at him.
“Kim Dokja.”
Lee Hyunsung nodded slowly.
Kim Dokja’s soul experienced a warning tremor.
There was something about Lee Hyunsung’s expression.
A conclusion was being formed again.
Kim Dokja did not know what conclusion.
He would later deeply regret failing to intervene.
For now, the lunch bell rang.
Kim Dokja stood immediately.
“This conversation never happened.”
Han Sooyoung lifted her head.
“It’s the only thing that happened today.”
“Forget it.”
“No.”
“I wasn’t requesting.”
“Good, because I’m still not doing it.”
Kim Dokja gathered his lunch.
Yoo Joonghyuk gathered his.
Their classmates began moving toward the building.
Kim Dokja walked ahead.
He made it approximately five steps before realizing someone was beside him.
He did not look.
“Go away.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“We have the same class.”
“I’m aware. It’s ruining my day.”
Yoo Joonghyuk walked beside him.
Their shoulders nearly brushed.
Kim Dokja adjusted half a step away.
Yoo Joonghyuk did not follow the movement.
Good.
At least the bastard possessed some survival instinct.
They reached the stairs.
Students crowded around them.
Someone moving quickly from behind bumped Kim Dokja’s shoulder.
Kim Dokja stumbled one step sideways.
A hand caught his wrist.
Kim Dokja looked down.
Yoo Joonghyuk had grabbed him.
“I’m fine.”
“I know.”
“Then let go.”
Yoo Joonghyuk let go immediately.
Kim Dokja rubbed his wrist.
Not because it hurt.
It did not.
Yoo Joonghyuk had caught him carefully.
Which was irritating in an entirely separate way.
They entered the classroom.
Kim Dokja sat.
Yoo Joonghyuk sat.
Two seconds passed.
Yoo Joonghyuk spoke.
“Your mother texted my mother.”
Kim Dokja stared at him.
“What?”
“My mother just messaged me.”
“Why did my mother text your mother?”
“She said we’re in the same class.”
Kim Dokja closed his eyes.
Their mothers had formed an information network.
Of course they had.
“What did your mother say?”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at his phone.
“She said, ‘That’s wonderful.’”
Kim Dokja opened his eyes.
“No, it isn’t.”
“She also said to take a picture.”
Kim Dokja froze.
“No.”
Yoo Joonghyuk lifted the phone.
Kim Dokja slapped it down.
“No.”
“Our mothers asked.”
“Your mother asked.”
“Your mother sent a heart.”
“That woman has abandoned me.”
Yoo Joonghyuk lifted the phone again.
Kim Dokja leaned away.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Stay still.”
“Why would I stay still?”
Yoo Joonghyuk angled the camera.
Kim Dokja covered his face.
“Kim Dokja.”
“No.”
“Move your hand.”
“Fuck off.”
“Kim Dokja.”
“Stop.”
“Kim Dokja.”
Kim Dokja lowered his hand.
“Do not start that shit again.”
Yoo Joonghyuk took the picture.
Kim Dokja stared.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at the screen.
Kim Dokja lunged.
“Delete it.”
Yoo Joonghyuk moved the phone out of reach.
“You covered half your face.”
“Good.”
“She asked for a picture.”
“She did not specify quality.”
Kim Dokja reached again.
Yoo Joonghyuk held the phone higher.
This was unfair.
The bastard had too much height.
“Give me the phone.”
“No.”
“Yoo Joonghyuk.”
“No.”
“Joonghyuk.”
Yoo Joonghyuk stopped.
Kim Dokja stopped too.
There was nothing unusual about using his given name.
Still, Yoo Joonghyuk’s attention sharpened immediately.
Kim Dokja took advantage of the distraction and grabbed the phone.
“Idiot.”
Yoo Joonghyuk grabbed his wrist.
Kim Dokja twisted.
Yoo Joonghyuk caught his other hand.
“Let go.”
“Give it back.”
“Delete the picture.”
“No.”
Han Sooyoung entered the classroom.
Stopped.
Looked at them.
Kim Dokja was half out of his chair, one hand around Yoo Joonghyuk’s phone, Yoo Joonghyuk holding both of Kim Dokja’s wrists while leaning across the gap between their desks.
There was a pause.
Han Sooyoung slowly turned around.
“No,” Kim Dokja said.
Han Sooyoung kept walking out.
“Han Sooyoung.”
“I saw nothing.”
“Get back here.”
“I value my life.”
“It isn’t what it looks like.”
Han Sooyoung disappeared through the doorway.
Kim Dokja turned toward Yoo Joonghyuk.
“This is your fault.”
“You stole my phone.”
“You photographed me without consent.”
“Our mothers asked.”
“That is not a legal defense!”
The classroom began filling.
Yoo Joonghyuk released him.
Kim Dokja immediately deleted the photograph.
Then he paused.
There was another picture beneath it.
Yoo Mia.
She was holding both black water bottles and giving the camera a thumbs-up.
Kim Dokja snorted.
Yoo Joonghyuk reached for the phone.
Kim Dokja moved it away.
“Wait.”
“It’s my phone.”
“I’m looking at Yoo Mia.”
“You just gave a speech about privacy.”
“She sent this voluntarily.”
“To me.”
“She knows anything sent to you eventually becomes public property.”
“That is not true.”
Kim Dokja swiped.
Yoo Joonghyuk grabbed the phone back.
“Hey.”
“No.”
“What are you hiding?”
“Nothing.”
“That was suspicious.”
“You’re nosy.”
“That has never bothered you when you’re the one asking questions.”
Yoo Joonghyuk put the phone away.
Kim Dokja looked at him.
There was something on that phone.
Probably nothing interesting.
Maybe training notes.
Pictures of Yoo Mia.
Screenshots of workout schedules.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s digital life was unlikely to contain state secrets.
Still.
Suspicious.
Kim Dokja filed it away for future investigation.
The rest of the school day passed with comparatively little disaster.
They received textbooks.
Kim Dokja’s stack nearly slid off the desk, and Yoo Joonghyuk caught it.
Kim Dokja did not thank him because he had not requested assistance.
They toured the facilities.
Yoo Joonghyuk walked beside Kim Dokja without being invited.
Kim Dokja attempted to stop near the back of the group.
Yoo Joonghyuk stopped too.
Kim Dokja moved toward the front.
Yoo Joonghyuk followed.
Not obviously.
That would imply shame.
Yoo Joonghyuk possessed none.
He simply remained nearby with the inevitability of gravity.
During PE orientation, students were told to pair up temporarily for measurements.
Before Kim Dokja could even look around, Yoo Joonghyuk was already standing across from him.
Kim Dokja stared.
Yoo Joonghyuk stared back.
Kim Dokja looked left.
Han Sooyoung had paired with Jung Heewon.
Yoo Sangah was with another girl.
Lee Hyunsung was already helping move equipment because of course he was.
Kim Dokja looked back.
“You planned this.”
“We’re standing next to each other.”
“You are always standing next to me.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
Kim Dokja nearly applauded.
Eleven years.
Eleven fucking years, and Yoo Joonghyuk had finally learned to weaponize Kim Dokja’s own sentences against him.
Terrible.
He was evolving.
At dismissal, Kim Dokja packed his bag with the exhausted satisfaction of someone who had survived a natural disaster.
One day completed.
Approximately one thousand school days remaining.
He refused to calculate the exact number.
It would constitute self-harm.
Mr. Choi reminded everyone about forms due Friday.
Students began leaving.
Kim Dokja zipped his bag.
Yoo Joonghyuk remained seated.
Kim Dokja stood.
Yoo Joonghyuk stood.
Kim Dokja looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you standing?”
“To go home.”
Kim Dokja narrowed his eyes.
“Go.”
Yoo Joonghyuk picked up his bag.
Kim Dokja waited.
Yoo Joonghyuk waited.
“Why aren’t you moving?”
“You’re blocking the aisle.”
Kim Dokja looked down.
He was.
Fine.
Kim Dokja stepped out.
Yoo Joonghyuk followed.
They changed shoes.
Walked out of the building.
Crossed the front courtyard.
Kim Dokja stopped at the gate.
Yoo Joonghyuk stopped too.
Kim Dokja turned slowly.
“Why.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at him.
“Why what?”
“Why are you following me?”
“We live in the same direction.”
“There are multiple routes.”
“This one is fastest.”
“Take a slower one.”
“No.”
Kim Dokja stared at the sky.
It was blue.
Clear.
Bright.
A beautiful spring afternoon.
Disgusting.
“Do you have training today?”
“Later.”
“What time?”
“Six.”
“It’s four.”
“Yes.”
“Go home.”
“I am.”
“Separately.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Yoo Joonghyuk adjusted his bag on his shoulder.
“Our mothers told us to walk home together.”
Kim Dokja’s head snapped toward him.
“When?”
“This morning.”
“My mother did not tell me that.”
“She told my mother.”
“What the fuck is this chain of command?”
Yoo Joonghyuk began walking.
Kim Dokja stood there.
Yoo Joonghyuk took three steps.
Stopped.
Looked back.
Kim Dokja hated that the expectation.
Yoo Joonghyuk never asked, Are you coming?
He just assumed.
Because Kim Dokja always did.
This realization was offensive enough that Kim Dokja almost stayed behind out of principle.
Then he remembered that going another route would add twelve minutes to the walk.
Kim Dokja valued principle.
He valued efficiency more.
He caught up.
“Only because this route is faster.”
Yoo Joonghyuk nodded.
“I know.”
“Don’t sound satisfied.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
They walked.
For the first few minutes, neither spoke.
The neighborhood around the school was busy with students, convenience stores, restaurants, academies, and buses grinding through the afternoon traffic.
Kim Dokja liked silence.
Especially after a full day of introductions and teachers.
Yoo Joonghyuk knew that.
This was one of the rare useful things produced by eleven years of forced familiarity.
Yoo Joonghyuk did not fill silence merely because it existed.
He walked beside Kim Dokja without speaking.
Kim Dokja’s shoulders gradually relaxed.
Maybe this would be tolerable.
Not good.
Never good.
But tolerable.
Then Yoo Joonghyuk reached over and took Kim Dokja’s bag.
Kim Dokja stopped walking.
Yoo Joonghyuk continued two steps before noticing.
He turned.
Kim Dokja looked at his now-empty shoulder.
Then at Yoo Joonghyuk.
Then at the bag in Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand.
“Give it back.”
“It’s heavy.”
“It contains books.”
“Yes.”
“Books weigh things.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you acting surprised?”
“I’m not.”
“Give it back.”
Yoo Joonghyuk transferred the bag to his other hand.
His own backpack was still on his shoulders.
“No.”
Kim Dokja walked over.
“Why?”
“Your shoulder hurts.”
Kim Dokja paused.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“You kept rolling it during last period.”
Kim Dokja’s mouth closed.
His shoulder did hurt slightly.
He had slept badly.
And the bag strap had been digging into the same spot all day.
That did not mean Yoo Joonghyuk was entitled to notice.
“That doesn’t mean you carry it.”
“I’m already carrying it.”
“That is not the point.”
“Then what’s the point?”
Kim Dokja opened his mouth.
The point was—
The point was—
Fuck.
Yoo Joonghyuk was looking at him with irritating patience.
Kim Dokja shoved his hands into his pockets.
“You’re annoying.”
“I know.”
“You admit it?”
“You tell me every day.”
“Because it remains true every day.”
Yoo Joonghyuk turned and resumed walking.
Kim Dokja followed.
His shoulder felt better without the bag.
This did not count as gratitude.
They reached a convenience store.
Yoo Joonghyuk stopped.
Kim Dokja nearly walked into him.
“What?”
“I’m buying a drink.”
“Congratulations.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at him.
Kim Dokja sighed.
“I don’t want anything.”
“You’ll take something anyway.”
“I won’t.”
They entered.
Three minutes later, Kim Dokja was holding a lemon soda.
This was not evidence of anything.
He had changed his mind.
People were allowed to do that.
Yoo Joonghyuk paid before Kim Dokja could take out his wallet.
Kim Dokja frowned.
“I have money.”
“You paid yesterday.”
“For snacks.”
“You paid for Mia too.”
“She ordered pancakes after I told her she couldn’t finish them.”
“She finished them.”
“Out of spite.”
“She’s related to you somehow.”
Kim Dokja looked offended.
“Take that back.”
“No.”
They left.
Kim Dokja opened the soda.
Yoo Joonghyuk took a sports drink.
“Give me my bag.”
“No.”
“You can’t carry it all the way home.”
“I can.”
“That isn’t a challenge.”
“I know.”
“You’re making it sound like one.”
Yoo Joonghyuk kept walking.
Kim Dokja drank his soda.
A terrible thought occurred.
“Did you request our class?”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked over.
“What?”
“When placements came out.”
“You think students can request classes?”
“I don’t know what you’re capable of.”
“I didn’t.”
“Swear.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyebrows lowered.
“Why?”
“Because this coincidence is suspicious.”
“We went to the same middle school.”
“So did dozens of people.”
“Our grades are similar.”
“That sounded like an insult.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Your grades are higher.”
“Not in Korean.”
Kim Dokja paused.
True.
“You still could’ve manipulated something.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Intimidation.”
“Of the administration?”
“You look threatening.”
Yoo Joonghyuk stared.
Kim Dokja gestured at him.
“You have the face of someone who could convince a vice principal to alter official records.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Neither does being assigned beside you.”
“The seats are alphabetical within placement groups.”
Kim Dokja stopped.
Yoo Joonghyuk stopped too.
“What?”
“Look at the names.”
Kim Dokja thought back.
Kim Dokja.
Yoo Joonghyuk.
Not alphabetical.
Wait.
Placement groups?
Yoo Joonghyuk continued.
“Mr. Choi said the initial seats were arranged using middle school performance bands, then randomized in pairs.”
Kim Dokja stared.
“When did he say that?”
“While you were texting your mother.”
Kim Dokja looked away.
“I was handling a family matter.”
“You were complaining about me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“She texted my mother immediately after.”
Goddammit.
Kim Dokja resumed walking.
Fine.
Randomized.
Chance.
The universe itself had done this.
That was almost worse.
A person could be fought.
Probability was harder to punch.
Yoo Joonghyuk fell into step beside him.
Kim Dokja drank his soda.
After a moment, Yoo Joonghyuk said, “I’m glad.”
Kim Dokja nearly missed a step.
“What?”
“That we’re in the same class.”
Kim Dokja turned his head.
Yoo Joonghyuk was looking forward.
His expression was neutral.
Kim Dokja knew that neutrality.
It meant Yoo Joonghyuk had said something he considered ordinary and saw no reason to elaborate.
Kim Dokja wished, briefly and violently, that he were less familiar with the bastard.
“Why?”
Yoo Joonghyuk glanced at him.
“Why not?”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I don’t need one.”
“Yes, you do.”
“We already know each other.”
“That is exactly why we should’ve been separated. Diversity.”
“Of what?”
“Human experience.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked ahead again.
Kim Dokja waited.
No explanation came.
Of course.
Kim Dokja should let it go.
Instead he said, “You seriously wanted to be in the same class?”
“Yes.”
Kim Dokja felt something strange move beneath his ribs.
Probably indigestion from the sandwich.
He took another drink of soda.
“Well, I didn’t.”
“I know.”
“You don’t sound offended.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s irritating.”
“I know.”
“Stop knowing things.”
“No.”
Kim Dokja frowned at the road.
The neighborhood gradually became familiar.
Their houses were only a short distance apart.
Close enough that their parents had spent eleven years treating the space between them as barely relevant.
They reached Yoo Joonghyuk’s street first.
Kim Dokja held out his hand.
“My bag.”
Yoo Joonghyuk did not give it to him.
“You’re coming over.”
Kim Dokja blinked.
“No, I’m not.”
“My mother said your mother is coming for dinner.”
Kim Dokja stared.
“When was anyone planning to inform me?”
“I just did.”
“You are not an official communication channel.”
“My mother thought your mother told you.”
“She didn’t.”
Kim Dokja took out his phone.
There was a new message.
Mom: I’m going to Mrs. Yoo’s after work! Your dad will come too. Just go with Joonghyuk. We’ll eat there tonight.
Kim Dokja closed his eyes.
He had been informed.
Technically.
Thirty seconds before arrival.
Fantastic.
Yoo Joonghyuk opened the gate.
Kim Dokja followed him inside because apparently his schedule had been nationalized.
The front door opened before either of them reached it.
Yoo Mia stood there.
She was still wearing her elementary school uniform.
In one hand, she held a black water bottle.
In the other, she held another black water bottle.
How the fuck.
Kim Dokja swore Yoo Joonghyuk had the other.
Kim Dokja pointed.
“Criminal.”
Yoo Mia grinned.
“Kim Dokja!”
She ran past her brother and directly toward Kim Dokja.
Kim Dokja braced himself.
Yoo Mia stopped in front of him.
“Did you bring me anything?”
Kim Dokja stared.
“Hello to you too.”
Yoo Mia looked at the lemon soda.
Kim Dokja moved it away.
“No.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You were going to.”
Yoo Mia smiled innocently.
She was terrifying.
Yoo Joonghyuk walked past them.
“Give me my bottle.”
“No.”
“You already have one.”
“This one is better.”
“They’re identical.”
“No.”
“How?”
“This one is yours.”
Kim Dokja nodded.
“Solid reasoning.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at him.
“You’re encouraging her again.”
“I support women’s rights.”
“To steal?”
“I support women’s wrongs too.”
Yoo Mia raised both all three bottles triumphantly.
Kim Dokja still doesn't know where the second one came from.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked like he regretted having a family.
Kim Dokja’s mood improved.
Mrs. Yoo appeared from the kitchen.
“You’re home.”
“Yes,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“Hello, Mrs. Yoo,” Kim Dokja said.
She smiled.
“Dokja, how was the first day?”
Kim Dokja took off his shoes.
“Terrible.”
Yoo Joonghyuk put Kim Dokja’s bag beside the entryway.
Mrs. Yoo looked amused.
“Why?”
“We’re in the same class.”
Mrs. Yoo’s smile widened.
“I heard! Isn’t that wonderful?”
Kim Dokja stared.
Behind him, Yoo Mia gasped.
“You’re in the same class?”
“Yes,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
Yoo Mia beamed.
“Then Kim Dokja can come over every day!”
“No,” Kim Dokja said.
“Yes,” Yoo Mia said.
“That isn’t how school works.”
“You come over anyway.”
Kim Dokja paused.
Yoo Mia had him there.
He hated intelligent children.
Mrs. Yoo returned to the kitchen.
“Your mother will be here around six, Dokja. Your father said maybe six thirty.”
Good.
His father existed.
His mother existed.
Both were functioning adults perfectly capable of feeding and raising their own child.
Kim Dokja felt this fact deserved emphasis, because Yoo Joonghyuk occasionally behaved as though Kim Dokja would perish in a ditch if left unsupervised for forty minutes.
“I’m going home first,” Kim Dokja said.
Yoo Joonghyuk turned.
“Why?”
“To change.”
“You have clothes here.”
Kim Dokja froze.
Mrs. Yoo froze in the kitchen.
Yoo Mia looked between them.
A long silence passed.
Kim Dokja slowly turned toward Yoo Joonghyuk.
“Why did you say that like it was normal?”
“It is.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“You left clothes here.”
“Because your sister spilled juice on me.”
“That was three months ago.”
“Why are they still here?”
Yoo Joonghyuk shrugged.
Kim Dokja looked at Mrs. Yoo.
Mrs. Yoo suddenly became extremely busy washing vegetables.
“Mrs. Yoo.”
“Yes?”
“Why are my clothes still here?”
“Well…”
Kim Dokja narrowed his eyes.
Mrs. Yoo smiled.
“They’re useful.”
“For what?”
“When you stay over.”
“I don’t stay over that often.”
All three Yoo family members looked at him.
Kim Dokja felt personally attacked.
“I don’t.”
Yoo Mia began counting on her fingers.
“Last Saturday.”
“That was because it rained.”
“The Saturday before.”
“We were studying.”
“Tuesday.”
“Your brother stole my charger.”
“I borrowed it,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“You took it home.”
“You knew where it was.”
“That is the definition of theft with extra steps.”
Yoo Mia continued.
“And—”
“Stop keeping records!”
Kim Dokja grabbed his bag.
His shoulder protested.
Yoo Joonghyuk took it back.
Kim Dokja stared.
“Seriously?”
“Your shoulder.”
“I need the bag to go home.”
“You can leave it here.”
“My house is seven minutes away.”
“You’re coming back.”
Kim Dokja opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Yoo Mia had already wandered toward the living room with both water bottles.
Mrs. Yoo was hiding a smile.
Yoo Joonghyuk stood in front of Kim Dokja holding Kim Dokja’s bag like possession had already been legally transferred.
Kim Dokja made a decision.
“Fine.”
Yoo Joonghyuk nodded.
Kim Dokja pointed at him.
“This is not you winning.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You look like you think it is.”
“I don’t.”
“Your face is annoying.”
“You’ve seen it for eleven years.”
“And somehow it keeps getting worse.”
Kim Dokja left.
He walked home alone.
For seven glorious minutes.
No Yoo Joonghyuk.
No comments.
No one asking whether his shoulder hurt.
No one taking his bag.
No one saying his name like it was a summoning spell.
Kim Dokja entered his house.
His father was in the living room, putting on his watch.
“You’re home.”
“Temporarily.”
His father looked at the empty space around Kim Dokja.
“Where’s your bag?”
Kim Dokja stopped.
“At Yoo Joonghyuk’s.”
His father nodded.
Kim Dokja frowned.
“That reaction is the problem.”
“What reaction?”
“You didn’t even question it.”
“Should I?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because my belongings should normally be with me.”
His father considered this.
“Did Joonghyuk take it?”
Kim Dokja stared.
“How did you know?”
“History.”
Kim Dokja disliked that answer.
His father smiled.
“So you’re in the same class.”
“Everyone knows before I tell them.”
“Your mother messaged me.”
“Of course she did.”
“She’s happy.”
“She shouldn’t be.”
His father adjusted his sleeve.
“Why not?”
Kim Dokja stared at him.
Why not?
Because Yoo Joonghyuk was clingy.
Because Yoo Joonghyuk had spent eleven years appearing wherever Kim Dokja went.
Because Yoo Joonghyuk remembered ridiculous things.
Because Yoo Joonghyuk stole his bags and bought his drinks and pushed food at him and noticed when his shoulder hurt.
Because Yoo Joonghyuk had apparently read four novels solely because Kim Dokja had recommended them.
Because Yoo Joonghyuk had said he was glad they were in the same class with the same casual certainty he used when saying the sky was cloudy.
Because Kim Dokja had wanted high school to be different.
New.
Independent.
His.
Instead, on the first morning, he had looked through the classroom door and found the same person who had been waiting for him since they were five.
Yoo Joonghyuk had already pulled out the chair beside him.
As if there had never been any possibility Kim Dokja would sit somewhere else.
Kim Dokja felt something deeply inconvenient stir in his chest.
He crushed it immediately.
“Because he’s annoying,” Kim Dokja said.
His father laughed.
Kim Dokja scowled.
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“Why is everyone saying that today?”
His father picked up his keys.
“Get changed. Your mother is meeting us there.”
“I know.”
“And don’t take too long.”
“Why?”
His father opened the door.
“Joonghyuk might start waiting outside.”
Kim Dokja stared.
His father laughed harder and left.
Kim Dokja stood alone in the entryway.
Unbelievable.
This was what eleven years of Yoo Joonghyuk had done.
The bastard had infiltrated both families so thoroughly that Kim Dokja could not even receive parental support in his own home.
Kim Dokja went upstairs.
He changed clothes.
He washed his face.
He stood in front of the mirror and considered the situation rationally.
One month.
The seats would change in one month.
Maybe Yoo Joonghyuk would join a different club.
Maybe their schedules would diverge.
Maybe high school would naturally introduce distance.
New friends.
New activities.
New routines.
It was possible.
Probable, even.
People changed.
Relationships changed.
Childhood habits did not last forever.
Kim Dokja looked at his phone.
There was a message.
Yoo Joonghyuk: Where are you.
Kim Dokja stared.
He typed.
Kim Dokja: my house???
Three dots appeared immediately.
Yoo Joonghyuk: You said you were changing.
Kim Dokja: yes that generally happens inside my house
Yoo Joonghyuk: It’s been twenty minutes.
Kim Dokja looked at the clock.
It had been eighteen.
Fucking psychopath.
Kim Dokja: survive
Kim Dokja put his phone down.
It buzzed.
He ignored it.
Buzz.
Kim Dokja continued brushing his hair.
Buzz.
He looked.
Yoo Joonghyuk: Kim Dokja.
Another message.
Yoo Joonghyuk: Kim Dokja.
Kim Dokja’s eye twitched.
Another.
Yoo Joonghyuk: Kim Dokja.
Eleven years disappeared.
For one horrible second, Kim Dokja was five again, sitting upstairs while a stubborn little bastard remained outside under a sinking sun.
Kim Dokja grabbed the phone.
Kim Dokja: IF YOU START THIS SHIT I’M NOT COMING BACK
The reply arrived immediately.
Yoo Joonghyuk: Hurry up.
Kim Dokja stared at the screen.
Then, despite himself, laughed.
Kim Dokja stopped immediately.
No.
Absolutely not.
This was not funny.
None of it was funny.
Yoo Joonghyuk was unbearable.
Yoo Joonghyuk was invasive.
Yoo Joonghyuk was clingy beyond reasonable medical explanation.
And now Yoo Joonghyuk was in Kim Dokja’s class.
For an entire year.
Possibly longer, depending on future placements.
Kim Dokja grabbed his jacket.
He went downstairs.
He stepped outside.
Across the road, at the corner leading toward the Yoo house, a familiar tall figure was standing under a streetlamp.
Kim Dokja stopped.
Yoo Joonghyuk had come to meet him halfway.
Of course he had.
Kim Dokja walked closer.
“What are you doing?”
“You were taking too long.”
“It was twenty-two minutes.”
“Yes.”
“You could’ve stayed home.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked at him as though the answer were obvious.
“I was waiting for you.”
Kim Dokja stared.
The evening sun hung low behind the houses.
For one brief, unfortunate instant, Kim Dokja remembered strawberry biscuits.
A blue backpack.
A five-year-old Yoo Joonghyuk sitting on a front step because apparently two hours of waiting had seemed more reasonable than simply going home without Kim Dokja.
Eleven years later, the bastard had learned absolutely nothing.
Kim Dokja walked past him.
“You’re insane.”
Yoo Joonghyuk turned and followed.
“You’re slow.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“You forgot your charger.”
Kim Dokja stopped.
He checked his pocket.
Nothing.
He checked the other.
Nothing.
Yoo Joonghyuk held out the charger.
Kim Dokja stared at it.
“When did you take that?”
“You left it beside your bag yesterday.”
“That does not explain why you had it.”
“You forgot it.”
“So you stole it proactively?”
“I brought it back.”
Kim Dokja snatched it.
Yoo Joonghyuk resumed walking.
Kim Dokja followed because they were going to the same place.
Again.
Always.
Apparently.
Kim Dokja shoved the charger into his pocket.
Fine.
He had found the first reason.
The official one.
The beginning of an extensive list.
If Kim Dokja was going to survive high school with Yoo Joonghyuk attached to his side like an extremely handsome tumor, he needed documentation.
Evidence.
A record for future generations.
Proof that Kim Dokja had been right all along.
Reason Number One Why Kim Dokja Hated Yoo Joonghyuk:
Yoo Joonghyuk was in his class.
That was it.
That was already enough.
Kim Dokja refused to consider the fact that when he had seen Yoo Joonghyuk sitting beside the window that morning, beneath all the horror and irritation and immediate desire to transfer schools, there had also been something embarrassingly close to relief.
Because at least there had been one familiar face.
Kim Dokja shoved both hands into his pockets.
Beside him, Yoo Joonghyuk matched his pace without thinking.
Kim Dokja stared straight ahead.
Still hated him.
Obviously.
There could be no reasonable dispute.
“Kim Dokja.”
“What now?”
“My mother said there’s cake.”
Kim Dokja looked over.
“What kind?”
“Chocolate.”
Kim Dokja walked faster.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s mouth twitched.
“Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“What am I thinking?”
Kim Dokja increased his pace.
Yoo Joonghyuk followed easily.
“Fuck you.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is today.”
They disappeared around the corner together.
Entirely against Kim Dokja’s will.
Probably.