Eighteen's Bed-Chapter 15.1: Vacation, Rainy Season, Revenge (1)

The sound of fabric brushing against fabric reached my ears—the only noise breaking the silence.

I lifted my head, striving for nonchalance. As expected, Go Yohan was lying beside me, propping his chin up with his hand, watching me.

"What are you staring at?"

"Early leave slip."

My lips moved, weaving a lie with surprising ease. I folded the small slip of paper, barely the size of my palm, even smaller, and shoved it into my pocket—narrow and tight—just in case Yohan’s curiosity flared.

“You’re really giving that early leave slip a good look.”

“Can’t I?”

To Yohan, a carrot and a lie. To myself, a chance to slip out of a trap. I said my piece, but I couldn’t even meet his eyes. I fixated instead on his uniform, tangled with my blanket. His face was cheese. Rotten bait, sitting in a mousetrap.

I just needed him to buy my act.

"Jun, what are we playing now?"

"Playing? I’m studying."

"An hour won’t kill you."

"The college entrance exam is coming up—"

"You’ve been dodging me a lot lately."

Luckily, Yohan didn’t seem interested in the sly plan hidden inside my pocket. I was a little tense, I won’t lie. With those long legs of his, he could’ve easily crossed the distance, slipped his hand into my pocket, and snatched the folded paper away.

His feet, stretched out from the bed, nudged the air lazily. Long and careless, tipping just over the edge of the mattress.

I watched the slight, twitching movements. I wasn’t focused on them for any particular reason—just avoiding his eyes.

“...You’re so fucking petty.”

Tsk. Yohan clicked his tongue softly.

He had this uncanny ability—drawing eyes without trying. Like now. My gaze snapped to him, reflexive.

"Jun, I’m bored."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and through the slight parting, his sharp canine flashed. The sight brought an absurd thought to mind—people with pronounced canines are supposed to be carnivores. Predators.

"I said, I’m bored."

The rosary bracelet on his wrist dangled, swaying with every shift of his hand under his chin.

Ssss—

The sound of air slipping between his teeth. I looked up—again, like a goddamn fool. His stare, unreadable but unsettling, pinned me in place.

“...Fine. One hour.”

Just get out. Leave my room. Now.

But I couldn’t say it. I swallowed it down and gave in.

It’s always the same scale, the same fucking balance.

Hold onto Yohan and keep my school life smooth, or let him go and salvage my peace of mind.

"...I feel kinda bad."

"For what?"

"For always getting in your way."

Oh, you bastard. The urge to cuss him out was immediate, burning at the back of my throat. But I bit it down. Smile. Just smile.

Push it down—boiling resentment smothered beneath cold logic.

"It’s fine. I... I have fun hanging out with you too."

I forced the line out. My lips trembled from the strain.

When I felt the cracks in my expression, I lifted a hand—casual, easy—to cover half my face. No need to let him see me straining to fake this shit.

Hanging out with Yohan was fun.

But not fun.

I never thought I’d understand what irony felt like before hitting twenty.

But Yohan—Yohan saw it another way.

"You’re cute when you get shy."

Cough. I choked.

Yohan sprawled across my bed, head tilted toward me with a dry chuckle. Then, he turned his face away. His hair, a messy tangle, slid loose across his nape—one thin strand falling, soft and careless.

And you know what I thought, staring at the back of his head?

What a fucking bastard.

*****

After the mess with Hong Hwijun, my parents started video-calling me every damn day—checking every inch of me, not just my face but my arms, my legs, scanning for bruises. Their verdict?

"It’s jealousy, sweetheart. You’re too brilliant. Those kids are just idiots making mistakes. They should be trying to impress you, not hurt you. Losers. If anything happens—

Call.

Immediately.

Stop bottling things up. We worry because you’re too damn good for this world, okay? You’re our perfect boy."

“I’ll call right away, I promise. And... I’ll be more careful. You know I’m good at that. I won’t mess up again. Don’t worry too much.”

I lied through my teeth. With a smile.

Once they hung up—once the act was over—I hit the bathroom.

The water ran too long, and by the time I turned off the tap, my fingers had gone wrinkled and pruny. The sight annoyed me. I grabbed a towel, shutting the faucet hard.

Fresh pajamas hung ready by the door. I threw them on, towel-drying my hair as I stepped onto the cold marble floor, slippers tapping soft against stone.

The bedroom lights were bright, casting shadows over the wreck Yohan left behind—rumpled sheets and his phone on the table.

I stared, flicking my gaze between the bed and the phone.

Then—

Without thinking—

I bent low, pressing my face into the sheets. And I—

I inhaled.

Hard.

The fibers carried the ghost of fabric softener. But beneath it—cold and unfamiliar—something sharp, something clean.

A scent that clawed its way down my throat—like winter air—freezing, burning, filling my lungs until they felt bruised from the inside out.

Cold. It should be cold.

Then why the hell did it feel so hot?

"...Haa."

The exhale scraped raw from my throat.

Only when the sheets had nothing left—when I’d sucked every trace of that phantom scent into my skin—did I finally lift my head. I smoothed the blankets with trembling fingers and reached for his phone.

The shattered screen reflected me.

And a number surfaced in my head—like instinct.

‘Shin Jaehyun.’

I tucked my lips in, biting them from the inside. The screen glowed under my thumb.

Swipe. Scroll. Swipe. Back. Forward.

Like a nervous tick, my thumb danced, flicking through the empty screen before finally tapping into messages.

My other hand curled into my hair. A sigh leaked free.

How the hell did it get to this?

"...I’m so fucking pathetic."

My fingers, stiff with hesitation, froze—

Then moved.

Once they hit the keyboard, it was easy. No second thoughts. No emotions. Just the cold rhythm of text—quick, mechanical.

The message read:

[Shin Jaehyun, right? It’s Kang Jun. Sorry, but can I ask you a favor? I might be late to school tomorrow.]

Good enough.

Half-assed intentions lead to half-assed actions.

But hey—starting from zero’s still better than being in the negatives.

I tossed the phone back onto the table.

Now all that was left... was to wait.

After I dried my hair and returned, I checked.

No reply.

****

Why isn’t he replying?

I bit down on my thumbnail, eyes fixed on the screen in my hand as the taxi rumbled toward school. The time at the top of the screen told me I was almost there. At this point, three breaks should’ve passed already.

“Doesn’t he check his phone that much?”

My patience was wearing thin. I thought the reply would come any moment, but still nothing. A bit of anxiety crept in.

This means I didn’t have to go through the trouble of pretending my wrist was hurt and making a trip to the hospital. It’s annoying. I feel like I wasted my time, and maybe I was just being too cautious about what Yohan would think. I’m not some goddamn cheating husband.

“Ugh, this is so frustrating.”

It wasn’t that I was upset Shin Jaehyun hadn’t replied; I was pissed off that I’d wasted my time. I was angry with myself for not taking a more reliable approach. But once something’s done, there’s no going back.

I cracked open the window to cool my head and looked back at my phone. My fingers moved quickly. I didn’t care enough about the recipient to craft a delicate sentence. There was no effort, and the text felt just as detached as my thoughts.

[Sorry for sending it twice, I didn’t get a reply. Do we have homework today?]

Straight to the point. He couldn’t ignore that. I sent it, then immediately turned off the screen, shoving the phone into my pocket. The slightly open window swallowed the season. Summer was creeping into the small taxi. Another trial was coming.

As I watched the dark clouds gathering in the sky, the driver finally spoke, seemingly unable to stand the silence anymore.

“Are you a senior?”

I sank deeper into the fake leather seat, glancing at the driver’s name tag. When I lifted my eyes, they met his in the rearview mirror. The photo on the tag was too faded to make out clearly. His eyes met mine through the mirror, and I quickly looked away.

“Yeah.”

The conversation ended there.

When I reached the school, I paid and watched the black taxi speed off into the distance before moving toward the entrance. The school was quiet, no signs of any ruckus. It seemed like the fourth period had already started.

Usually, the only ones wandering around at this hour were the delinquents.

I wasn’t even sick, and here I was, wandering around outside, looking like some punk. I scoffed to myself, grabbing the staircase railing and climbing, step by step.

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Then, halfway between the first and second floors, I spotted someone unexpected. They looked up as I passed, and I froze in surprise. It was Kim Minho.

“Hey, you bastard!”

“Huh?”

Minho jumped, hastily brushing himself off as if he hadn’t just been caught. How the hell did he get there? Curious, I stepped closer to the window, pressing my face against it. To my surprise, there was a small roof over the central entrance just beneath the window.

“...Didn’t know there was a space like this here.”

“Of all people to catch me, it’s you, Kang Jun. Fucking awful timing. Shit.”

I leaned in further and spotted cigarette butts scattered across the ground. I figured it out.

“You been sneaking smokes here?”

“What, you gonna snitch?”

“No.”

It didn’t matter to me if Kim Minho smoked here. I wasn’t about to get involved. I just shook my head and turned away, climbing another step as I heard him mutter curses behind me.

Yet, as I moved, an unexpected flicker of pity rose in me. Why? Maybe it was because of what happened in the computer lab a few days ago. Or maybe it was the “Deposed Queen Kang” written in the science room.

“...Right, I wasn’t supposed to care.”

Only the person who’s been humiliated knows how it feels. I was sure—certain—that “Deposed Queen Kang” was Yohan’s doing. My sharp senses told me so.

What they did was like a claw machine. When they couldn’t pick on one, they moved to another. In first year, it was some random kid I never even noticed. In second year, it was Han Taesan. In second semester, Han Junwoo. Now it was my turn, but somehow—somehow, Kang Jun survived. So, who would they pick next?

My body slowly turned toward Minho, still on that ledge, acting like the biggest pain in the ass.

“What the hell are you looking at? Keep your mouth shut, or I’ll beat your ass.”

“....”

I didn’t have to help. I didn’t owe him anything. I hadn’t helped in first year. In second year, sure, I’d helped a little, but I had my reasons. I never thought I’d be the target in third year. But it was fine. I had barely escaped.

My lips parted slowly.

“Park Dongcheol’s a worse guy than you think.”

That’s as far as it goes.

I knew exactly what happens when you help a victim in this messed-up world. You get hurt. That’s it. My sympathy ended right there.

Man, I’ve really changed. Kang Jun, what the hell. I shook my head at myself and climbed up a step. Then I suddenly realized I hadn’t even said hello to Minho.

I adjusted my bag and turned around.

“See you later.”

Minho’s face, heavy with something deeper than just his usual scowl, didn’t budge. He didn’t seem like he was going to acknowledge me, so I left in a hurry.

When I arrived at the classroom, I didn’t feel like going in. I didn’t want to sit through another lecture. The door would open, all eyes would be on me, the teacher would start talking, I’d apologize, sit down...

It was all too much.

So, I leaned against the doorframe, listening to the muffled class beyond the thin wall, and pulled out my phone. Still no reply from Shin Jaehyun. Just a bunch of unread messages from one person.

‘Go—’

I didn’t even bother reading more. I turned the screen off.

Sitting down, I pulled my knees up and buried my face between my arms.

The class carried on quietly. A small vibration buzzed in my right hand. There was no way it was Jaehyun. He didn’t seem like the type to send texts during class. But still, a glimmer of hope sparked inside me.

Then—just like that—the hope died.

[Hey, I think there’s something wrong with my phone.]

Go Yohan. That bastard.

What the hell is he doing texting in the middle of class? I chuckled bitterly and got another buzz.

[Your texts aren’t coming through.]

Plink. Plink.

Raindrops started tapping the window. The smell of wet earth filled the air as the sky grew dark.

And then—

The rain began.

The rainy season has begun.

****

The hardest thing to hear from Yohan might be "I'm sorry."

Does Yohan really not feel any guilt? Or is it that he recognizes his mistakes but refuses to admit them? Since I’ve never lived as Yohan, I don’t know. But when I look at his life from my own perspective, I always imagine a scene.

Like something you see on TV or a small phone screen. People on those screens often say things like that. They spout excuses, but there’s no apology in their words. Why? If you ask, the answer is obvious. The moment you say "sorry," the mistake becomes a fact. I’ve experienced the benefit of this way of thinking, so I know it a little. It’s the mindset of those who hold power. So the only time the privileged ever apologize is when they’re in deep trouble.

In other words, Yohan has never been in real trouble.

“...Asshole.”

I mean it. Yohan doesn’t think he’s in any deep shit, even now.

I looked at the bastard sitting above my head with my cold fingers. My mind clashed, torn between two choices. Write a pretty reply to Yohan and try to become a special friend? No, no. Think about your life. Look closely at the bright future ahead of you.

But there’s no place for a gay person in that future. However, there’s also no bullying.

Yohan will give Kang Jun, who’s tormenting him, a nice gift. Of course, only to the extent that he enjoys it. Yohan’s personality has always been this way—scratching at his own wounds while enjoying the thrill.

Why does he do that? If you ask, I don’t know. I’m not Yohan. And likewise, Yohan can’t understand me either.

I ask myself. So what are you going to do? Are you going to send a reply, or what?

The decision is taking longer than usual. Unlike when I’ve contacted other people I know. I kept pressing the button to turn the screen on, again and again. As the battery drained and the screen flickered, the lunch bell rang.

"Run, you bastards!"

"Charge!"

"God, what’s wrong with these guys?"

Downstairs, hungry demons stomped their feet and rushed. The sheer force of it made the entire building tremble slightly. It made my head spin, too. I felt like my brain was shaking. From inside the 3rd-year, 1st-class room, the teacher’s hurried voice was heard, trying to end the lesson quickly.

“Alright, kids! I’ll just explain this and wrap it up! It’ll only take a minute!”

Yeah, balance is important in everything.

I took a slow breath and gently massaged my left arm with my right hand.