Eighteen’s Bed

The puffiness on Han Junwoo's face after staying up all night was reminiscent of a blowfish, so, feigning irritation, I tossed a cold soda can onto his desk. Without fail, I always handed him a cold drink on the days he indulged in his hobbies. Amusingly, it was solely because Han Junwoo's face was prone to swelling.

"Stop sitting there looking ridiculous and get rid of that swelling."

"Thanks."

"Didn't your father scold you this morning?"

"Not thanks to you."

Han Junwoo shrugged his shoulders, speaking with pride. I simply smirked and pursed my lips at his behavior. Then, as I turned to take my seat, I noticed a large newspaper spread out on the desk next to Han Junwoo. My gaze lingered on that spot.

Han Junwoo’s neighbor wasn’t me—it was Go Yohan. I was a handspan shorter than Han Junwoo, and Go Yohan was half a handspan taller than him. So naturally, Go Yohan ended up sitting beside him. I often cursed my short stature, clinging to the small comfort of sitting in the second-to-last seat simply because Han Junwoo was right behind me. It was my only solace.

Burying even those feelings of jealousy deep inside, I shamelessly pointed at Go Yohan.

"When did he get here?"

"No idea. He was like that when I showed up."

"Why does someone who went home early last night look like this?"

As soon as I finished speaking, there was a rustling sound. The newspaper fell, revealing Go Yohan’s half-lidded eyes. His narrow gaze swept over me and Han Junwoo before he opened his mouth wide, yawning.

"…I told myself I’d just play a little more before sleeping, and, well."

It’s true what they say about yawns being contagious. Han Junwoo followed suit, stretching his mouth wide before scrunching up his face and grinning smugly.

"This bastard. Looks like a delinquent but acts more wholesome than Ahn Jisoo."

"Yeah, fuck off."

"Got it, dumbass."

Whether Go Yohan realized Han Junwoo was mocking him, he casually leaned back and let out a hearty laugh. I watched him for a moment, and our eyes met. He turned his gaze to the window, then back to me. Feeling a strange tickle under my skin, I scratched my shoulder and turned my attention to Han Junwoo.

The atmosphere in the classroom early in the morning was relatively pleasant. Conversations like these often set the tone for the day. Soon, classmates like Choi Donghwan and Park Dongchul would saunter over, looking up to Han Junwoo with admiration as they eagerly listened to his stories. The usual routine would unfold: chatter, laughter, and, eventually, the homeroom teacher’s arrival to kick off the day’s class.

For boys considered the most popular in school, it was a surprisingly wholesome start to the morning.

But at the end of the day, we were still just eighteen. Stories of wild, messy relationships from the night before, especially when Han Junwoo was involved, left a bad taste in my mouth. Still, I played along, pretending to be entertained.

Despite it all, I thought these mornings weren’t too bad. But everything changed a month and a half ago. And the reason was entirely Han Taesan.

"Hey, Han Taesan’s here."

"Shit. Gross."

"Does that asshole even consider not coming to school after getting his ass kicked like that?"

Choi Donghwan openly mocked Han Taesan, pointing at him with exaggerated disdain. At the tip of Choi Donghwan’s finger stood Han Taesan, awkwardly stepping into the classroom, hiding his face behind his bangs. He shuffled toward the desk in the front row, placed his tattered bag on top, and immediately slumped over. Watching his hunched figure, I let out a sigh laden with irritation.

Han Taesan was utterly pathetic. His voice was thin, his frame small—a pitiful excuse for a person. As the murmurs of the class swelled, Han Junwoo glared daggers at Han Taesan’s back, muttering curses under his breath. I hated it. That sensitivity of his—it drove me crazy.

Snatching the newspaper that had previously covered Go Yohan’s face, Han Junwoo balled it up in one hand. Then, with a light toss, he hurled it at Han Taesan’s head. Thud. With a soft sound, Han Taesan’s head slumped onto his desk.

"Fucking hell. Don’t parade that disgusting face around first thing in the morning."

Han Taesan placed his arms on the desk and buried his face in them, doing exactly as Han Junwoo had told him. Yet, Junwoo watched this with disdain and kicked his own desk.

"Hey! Aren’t you going to answer me?"

When Junwoo abruptly stood up and yelled, Han Taesan, still hunched over, stammered in a trembling voice.

"Y-yeah."

"Lift your head, look at me, and say it properly."

Did Junwoo even realize the nonsense he was spouting? The sheer absurdity of his demands made me let out a bitter laugh.

Whether or not he noticed, Junwoo got up and approached Han Taesan. With every step he took, the unpleasant feelings inside me grew more vivid and raw.

Junwoo was closing the distance between himself and Taesan. Just that alone made me feel like I was losing control over the emotions I’d worked so hard to suppress.

This wasn’t the same kind of jealousy I felt when Junwoo grew close to Go Yohan. Instinctively, I knew. Deep down, I harbored something just as sinister as Junwoo did. That’s why watching Junwoo with Yohan eventually became bearable, but his interactions with Taesan unsettled me more and more. My hands started trembling, and I clenched them tightly to hide it.

Junwoo kicked Taesan’s desk hard. The desk shook violently, almost toppling over, and Taesan jolted upright in alarm, his voice still unsteady.

"S-sorry."

Junwoo stood there, silently looking down at Taesan’s face. Taesan’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, on the verge of breaking down. Yet, in that moment, I felt like I was the one who might burst into tears.

Junwoo didn’t make Taesan run pointless errands, but he always kept his eyes on him. If Taesan went to the bathroom during break, Junwoo would still be watching his retreating figure, even while talking with us. I knew because I never stopped watching Junwoo.

To be honest, my first impression of Han Taesan was that he wasn’t particularly remarkable. His skin wasn’t the clearest, but his youthful features gave him a face that was easy to look at. When he smiled, it felt genuinely happy, and even his neutral expression carried a certain brightness.

Before Junwoo started tormenting him, no one really disliked Taesan. He seemed like a kid who had grown up in a warm, loving environment. While he wasn’t exactly sociable, preferring to spend time alone, there was no trace of worry or discomfort in his demeanor.

Most people thought of Taesan as a decent guy. Since he never flaunted the affection he’d received growing up, he earned even more praise. Humble, quiet, bright, and inexplicably pleasant to be around—that was Han Taesan.

But I didn’t particularly like him from the start. I didn’t hate him either—I just didn’t care. To say he wasn’t even on my radar would be more accurate. Yet, whenever I was talking with my friends, Junwoo, or Yohan’s group, and Taesan’s name came up, I would find myself casually lying, saying, "Oh, him? He’s alright. Nice enough."

Junwoo, like me, hadn’t paid much attention to Taesan at first. Junwoo was never the type to care about school affairs. After Taesan transferred in May, he and Junwoo didn’t exchange a single word until June. That was how things originally were.

But one day, something changed. A small, sharp deviation formed in the mundane flow of events. It happened right after lunch, and looking back, I don’t think I’ve ever regretted something I did as much as I regret what happened that day.

Taesan, as usual, had taken a corner seat during break to read. He was the kind of person who loved burying himself in books. On the other hand, I had a habit of being overly friendly toward people with good reputations.

That’s why, when I stumbled upon Taesan by chance, I struck up a conversation about the book he was reading. I wasn’t much of a reader myself—pretending to be cultured was more my style.

"You must really like books, huh?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess."

At the time, Taesan and I were still distant acquaintances. Maybe that’s what made approaching him easier.

"Have you finished that one?"

"Well, I’m almost at the end."

"Then just close it now. The ending will disappoint you. It’s one of those books where the ending ruins everything."

"You’ve read it before?"

"Yeah, a while ago."

To satisfy my intellectual vanity, I always sought out reviews and critiques of the books I read, making sure I had something to say in future conversations. Drawing on those memories, I offered a critique—not a real one, just enough to sound informed—and Taesan smiled brightly, looking genuinely pleased. It caught me off guard.

"You're the first person I’ve met who’s read this book besides me."

"Oh… really?"

"Yeah, but I’m still going to finish it. Thinking about why the ending turned out the way it did is part of the fun."

"Well, sure. Everyone’s opinions differ."

"Hearing you say that makes me look forward to it even more."

That smile still lingers as an uncomfortable memory. Was it some instinctive unease I felt back then?

After that day, Han Taesan started seeking me out frequently. Though I found it a bit annoying and often wondered, Why me?, I didn’t outright reject him. Taesan, with his good reputation, wasn’t the worst person to keep close.

After all, books—outside of textbooks and workbooks—were practically off-limits for people our age. Even if someone had the time, books were little more than glorified pillows to them. For Taesan, I was probably the only person around who could talk about such things.

That day was one of those routine encounters, but it also happened to be one of the most ill-fated days among them.

Go Yohan was to blame. To this day, I can’t fathom why I acted the way I did. Why I, someone who never meddled in others’ business, chose to stick my nose where it didn’t belong. Why Yohan, of all things, had left his mock Korean exam paper wide open for everyone passing by to see.

I, someone who hated having my own grades revealed, naturally assumed Yohan wouldn’t want his exposed either. So, I flipped the paper over to hide it. That’s when I saw it: his score. 81 points.

I blinked in disbelief and checked again. It was definitely 81. Considering the high grade thresholds for this test, it would barely scrape into the 4th tier. But still, it was on the higher end of that tier.

It was the first time one of my preconceptions was shattered. It was a small shock to realize Yohan wasn’t as much of a lost cause as I’d thought. Naturally, that made me think of Junwoo’s grades. Now, he was the real garbage. A guy who’d mark every question with a "2" and sleep through the rest of the exam, Junwoo had never once managed a respectable score.

Maybe that’s why I felt such a mix of emotions—like I’d found recyclable trash among the garbage. A guy I’d once loathed turned out to be more salvageable than the guy I liked. That strange realization must’ve thrown me off, because I did something I normally never would’ve done.

It wasn’t anything grand. I just grabbed a nearby pen and scribbled a short note at the top of Yohan’s paper.

"Focus on the nonfiction questions. You’ll hit the 3rd tier soon enough. Good job. —Kang Jun.
P.S. Sorry for looking at your score without permission. I just flipped it over to cover it and happened to see it."

The arrogance of evaluating someone’s grade and offering unsolicited advice made me feel a bit embarrassed, so I rambled to justify myself.

I can’t say why I even wrote it in the first place. At the time, I must’ve been out of my mind. Looking back, it was clear this was the first mistake in what would become a series of entanglements. Every mess starts with a poorly fastened first button.

If I hadn’t written that note, I wouldn’t have run into Han Taesan carrying a book down the hallway. If I’d just let him pass, nothing would’ve happened. But I had to butt in like an idiot, pointing out the book he was holding.

"That one’s pretty good," I said.

As if he’d been waiting for someone to notice, Taesan’s eyes lit up, and he replied, "You’ve read this one too?"

"Yeah."

"Wow…"

"It’s shorter than it looks. You’ll finish it in no time."

I don’t know why I wanted to seem knowledgeable. Maybe it was just my need to show off. That’s the kind of person I am, after all.

"If I finish this, can I come find you? Actually, I’m almost done. I just have a little bit left, and I’d really like to talk about it with you."

"I don’t really mind. Anytime."

Why did I say that? It was my biggest mistake. Walking away from Taesan, who was beaming with excitement about the time we’d spend together, and heading to find Han Junwoo was yet another mistake.

Han Junwoo loved indulgence. He thrived on rebellion and hedonism. Anything his parents despised, he embraced wholeheartedly. Whether that was an act of defiance against them or just his true nature, I couldn’t tell—not in the year and a half we’d been friends. But whatever the reason, everyone agreed it seemed plausible enough. Junwoo was far more brazen than other kids our age.

Naturally, Junwoo smoked.

He smoked half a pack a day, sneaking off for a cigarette every three hours or so. His usual times were after first period and right after lunch. After first period, I’d feel restless, always turning to ask as soon as the bell rang.

"Junwoo, are you going out for a smoke again?"

"Yeah, my hands are shaking like crazy."

"Then let me come with you."

"What’s a non-smoker like you tagging along for?"

"The smell of cigarette smoke is better than the rank, sweaty stench in this classroom. Seriously, it makes me want to puke."

"You're so sensitive."

"Are you going to the incinerator?"

"Yeah, come if you want."

"Hold on, wait for me."

But Junwoo rarely waited. He’d grab his lighter and leave before I even had my jacket on. Honestly, I didn’t even like the smell of cigarettes. It was nauseating to the point of dry-heaving.

Now, though, I could tolerate it to the extent of standing next to Junwoo and watching him puff away. I liked the sleepy look in his eyes when he smoked. I liked the soft curve of his nose. I endured the discomfort for this time alone, for the chance to openly gaze at him.

While I was engrossed in watching Junwoo, Han Taesan showed up.

"Kang Jun!"

What now?

It felt like being forcibly yanked from a cherished moment. A bit flustered, I looked up and asked, "What are you doing here…?"

"I finished it!"

Holding up a book, his face was glowing, as if proving he’d been searching for me. It was the same face that had charmed everyone. Then, as if just noticing Junwoo, Taesan said something that made the air freeze.

"A student shouldn’t be smoking. Especially not next to a friend."

That unmistakably kind tone of his—neither accusatory nor resentful—carried through the air.

"Your friend probably doesn’t like this kind of thing."

Junwoo furrowed his brows and flicked the cigarette from between his fingers to the ground at Taesan’s feet.

"And who the fuck are you?"

"But you’re still cool."

"…"@@novelbin@@

Taesan smiled warmly. Junwoo, meanwhile, stared at him in silence, his fingers twitching slightly. Thin smoke rose from the discarded cigarette on the ground, and for a moment, I found myself oddly captivated by the curling tendrils.

Looking back, I think that might have been the moment Junwoo truly noticed Taesan for the first time. The boy who had been hiding in a forgotten corner of the classroom filled with stale air. From that moment, Junwoo began to keep his eyes on the back of Taesan’s head. I’m sure of it.

But Taesan, always quiet and disinterested in forming close relationships, paid no attention to Junwoo. He had no intention of getting closer to him. That indifference must have grated on Junwoo’s pride.

About two weeks later, Junwoo tripped Taesan as he walked through the middle of the classroom.

"Ah! Ow…"

Taesan winced as he fell, his face scrunching up in pain. Despite being the one tripped, he brushed off his pants and stood up with an apologetic smile, saying, "Sorry about that."

I was stunned. Why? Why had Junwoo done that out of nowhere? Frozen, I could only watch as Taesan stood up. Junwoo, unconcerned with my shock, ran a hand through his light-colored hair and drawled lazily, his words searing into my memory.

"Fucking hell. Watch where you’re going. You wouldn’t trip if you paid attention to what’s in front of you."

When I think about those words now, they sound like the whiny complaints of someone upset about not being noticed. It makes me scoff sometimes at just how childish Junwoo can be.