F18

Yeonho had started living on his own in a two-room apartment near campus at the beginning of the month.

His mother had urged him to live in the dorms like other students, or at least rent a small one-room place, but it was his oldest brother, Seong Junhee, who insisted on putting him in this apartment.

Junhee was twelve years older than Yeonho. When they first met, Yeonho was seven and Junhee was nineteen, so he was more like a father figure than a brother. He used to work at the Seoul headquarters of their parents’ resort business, but since last year, he had transferred to an on-site position. Because of that, Yeonho hadn’t seen him as much lately.

Still, Junhee would come home about twice a month to visit the family.

His second brother, Seong Junyoung, one year older than Yeonho, had gone abroad for language studies earlier this year.

In the bathroom, Siwoo stood behind Yeonho, supporting him by the waist as Yeonho washed his hands. His eyes naturally scanned the space, checking if the place was safe for someone with a sprained ankle.

“The floor looks slippery after a shower.”

“It’s fine. If I slip, I’ll just fall. If I hit my head, I can’t go to school. If I sprain my wrist, I can’t hold a camera. I’ll just live like that.”

“I’m not going to help you shower.”

“I never asked you to.”

Yeonho smiled and gently wiped the water from Siwoo’s hands with a towel.

Siwoo found himself smiling in disbelief. He started thinking about installing non-slip mats before he left. It made no sense to be investing this much of himself into someone he met only yesterday. And yet, he didn’t want to stop these feelings.

It was fascinating to awaken a part of himself that had been dormant. He wanted to follow his impulses and observe this version of himself. Kim Siwoo, who had never been kind to anyone beyond basic manners, was curious to see just how far his kindness could go for this person.

It was, in a way, a rebellion. A delayed act of defiance against his parents.

While Yeonho limped over to the kitchen and brewed coffee, Siwoo opened the fridge to check its contents.

“Do you eat properly, Joo Yeonho?”

Inside, he found a few packs of chicken breast, untouched fruit, and some sparkling water. That was it.

“I don’t really know what I live on. But somehow, I survive.”

The place wasn’t particularly clean, but it wasn’t a mess either. It was average. Still, Siwoo noticed a lot that concerned him.

The heating had made the apartment dry, but there was no humidifier. Plates sat awkwardly in the drying rack, one of them about to fall and break. The layout wasn’t friendly to someone with a sprained ankle.

Living alone without anyone to look after him, Yeonho seemed more like a baby than a college student. With his injury, he felt even more fragile. Siwoo even wondered if he might fall getting out of bed, or whether the apartment was secure enough.

He stood close behind Yeonho, afraid he might burn himself or drop a cup. When Yeonho turned around with the coffee, their faces and chests almost touched. Their breaths mingled in the narrow space. Sensing the tension, Yeonho spoke again, shyly.

“…I live alone.”

“…Right.”

Siwoo had a new question to wrestle with, where does the desire to be good to someone, without expecting anything in return, come from?

***

Siwoo woke up at the same time every day, had breakfast with his parents, and left the house. The school library used to be his destination. Now it was Joo Yeonho’s apartment.

Somehow, this ordinary college student who’d ended up knowing another man’s door lock code would arrive at Yeonho’s place by 8:20 a.m., quietly clean the apartment while Yeonho slept.

He tidied things up, vacuumed the living room and closet, wiped the dust, cleaned the bathroom, and folded the laundry from the dryer.

He didn’t mean to notice anything, but starting in March, he’d occasionally find short black hairs in the bathroom drain. Yeonho’s hair was light and thin. Judging by the time and texture, they weren’t his own.

At a glance, nothing seemed different in the apartment, but from March to the end of May, Siwoo had spotted traces of another man coming and going. He hadn’t gone out of his way to look, it just became obvious while cleaning.

Sometimes, the bathroom wouldn’t be fully dry in the morning, like someone had showered at dawn. On those days, there were always a couple of black hairs left behind. Sometimes they’d even appear in Yeonho’s bedroom. On those days, the sofa cushions carried a strong cologne scent, one that only adult men would wear.

Siwoo never asked. He had no right to. No reason. He didn’t even try to imagine who it might be. He just forced himself to think, So there’s someone like that in Yeonho’s life, and shut the thought down.

But every time he noticed traces of someone else, a hot ache simmered in his chest.

After cleaning, he’d rinse the rice and press the cook button on the rice cooker. It would be exactly 9 a.m.

Absurd as it was, Siwoo had been living this life for three months. It just turned out that way. And surprisingly, he was satisfied with it.

At 9 a.m., he would go to Yeonho’s bedroom and gently wake him in his arms.

Yeonho was not a morning person and never attended first period. Half-asleep, he would cling to Siwoo’s neck, and Siwoo would gently pat his back and ask,

“Were you scared sleeping alone again last night?”

“Since last week, the people upstairs keep stomping around at dawn. It’s scary. When can you sleep over at my place again, hyung?”

As always, Yeonho had stayed up gaming until dawn and then collapsed into a deep, coma-like sleep. By morning, he was already wagging his metaphorical tail, lying with practiced enthusiasm.

“Sorry. You can’t sleep over, hyung.”

Siwoo, holding Yeonho in his arms, stood up without a word. Of course, he was pretending to fall for the lie. Yeonho often channeled his artistic energy into acting, but he didn’t have much talent for it.

Talking while hugging like that, they would easily pass thirty minutes. At 9:30, Siwoo would lift Yeonho and carry him to the bathroom, where Yeonho, rubbing his eyes, would walk in and grab his toothbrush.

While Yeonho washed up and woke himself properly, Siwoo cleaned out the fridge and started preparing breakfast. Lately, the skill he’d been focusing on most in his personal development was cooking. If Siwoo’s parents ever found out that their son was scoring sausages and rolling omelets in someone else’s kitchen, it would probably cause a family crisis.

While awkwardly cooking at the sink, Yeonho would appear with lotion on his face and clean clothes, wrapping his arms around Siwoo’s waist.

After feeding Yeonho and even doing the dishes, only then would Siwoo head to school with him.

After morning classes, Yeonho would return home and begin a personal war in the kitchen. Regardless of Siwoo’s opinion, Yeonho was adamant that he had to feed Siwoo lunch. However, his cooking skills were clearly inferior, which limited his ability to offer variety.

He tried different dishes every day but failed repeatedly. The only things that turned out edible were kimchi fried rice and pasta. So for three full months, he alternated between those two dishes.

Siwoo, arriving home right around the time Yeonho finished cooking, ate kimchi fried rice and pasta for lunch for ninety days straight. The impressive part was that the type of pasta changed every time.

Siwoo preferred the days when it was kimchi fried rice. Yeonho would always fry an egg to put on top and draw a wobbly heart with ketchup. Before he knew it, his phone gallery was full of crooked ketchup-heart photos.

After afternoon classes, they’d each go about their daily routines. In the evenings, they either went out to eat something nice or spent time together at Yeonho’s place. Then, at 9 p.m., Siwoo would go home.

Yeonho insisted on walking Siwoo to the front of his neighborhood. When Siwoo tried to return the favor, Yeonho would just walk him back again. It was pure kimchi fried rice–level stubbornness. In the end, Siwoo gave in and let Yeonho be the one to see him off.

Siwoo had never imagined he would adopt such a single-minded, amoeba-like thought process. Like someone under a spell, he spent the whole day thinking about Yeonho.

What food to make for Yeonho. What clothes would suit Yeonho. What gifts would make Yeonho happy. What words and gestures would brighten Yeonho’s day. His textbooks and notebooks were filled with Yeonho’s name, scrawled unconsciously. Luckily, they shared the same name, so he didn’t have to hide it.

It was all Yeonho. Yeonho. Yeonho. Yeonho…

It wasn’t hard to admit that he liked Yeonho. There was nothing to deny. Kim Siwoo liked Joo Yeonho.

***

When the unusually giddy spring, so unusual for someone like Kim Siwoo, had passed, a classmate from the architecture department, who took the same elective as Yeonho, approached him and spoke in a hushed tone.

He held up his phone with Yeonho’s SNS page open and asked,

“Hey, Yeonho. You’re close with this guy, right? I think I’ve seen you hanging out together a few times.”

“Yeah, we’re close. His name’s Yeonho too.”

“Right, Joo Yeonho. He’s in my elective.”

“Oh, cool.”

Siwoo wasn’t curious. It was none of his business. He didn’t want to hear whatever came next.

“This is just between us, but… I’m kinda seeing him right now? Like, we’re talking. Has he said anything to you about it?”

Siwoo finally looked up from his book and stared at him. He studied him from head to toe, trying to guess Yeonho’s type, but quickly gave up. The guy didn’t seem worth analyzing.

“No, he didn’t mention it. First I’ve heard of it.”

“Really? By the way, how does he afford a two-room apartment? Do you know anything about his family? What do his parents do?”

It was the first time someone other than Yeonho had made him uncomfortable. He tried to maintain a neutral expression as he asked,

“…Have you been to Yeonho’s place?”

“Yeah. He told me I could sleep over. I stayed the night at his place.”