Eighteen’s Bed

A jungle of wooden floors, this quiet expanse is home to about thirty beasts.

Everywhere, beasts form hierarchies and gather into groups. In this jungle, every beast has lived for exactly eighteen days, their lives teetering like a taut string pulled to its limit. Tension runs high every day, and survival is a delicate dance.

For me, this constant tension began at twelve years old when I learned the art of forming a group. This daily balancing act has been my routine ever since—and likely everyone else's too.

A cubic jungle concealing a pyramid. That’s what the classroom of eighteen is.

“Ah…”

My arm, numb from poor circulation, tingled as I shook it out. I tapped my tightly wound stomach lightly with the side of my fist. Letting out a weak breath, I looked at the slumped backs in front of me. Green chalkboards, peach-colored napes. At the teacher’s podium, our Ethics teacher sat reading a crumpled newspaper he’d folded in half. The students, meanwhile, were busy solving the problems he had assigned or, having given up entirely, were slouched over and asleep.

“Wake up, those of you who are sleeping,” the teacher called out loudly as he turned another page of the newspaper.

It was already fifth period. I had been working through the fifteenth problem and stopped to scratch my head with my index finger before setting my mechanical pencil on the desk. My eyes wandered to the empty seats. Two in particular caught my attention.

As expected, neither Han Junwoo nor Han Taesan had come to class. They probably wouldn’t show up tomorrow either, unless Junwoo had one of his unpredictable mood swings or something happened between the two of them that I wasn’t aware of. Whatever that something might be, I had no idea.

I lowered my gaze back to the complicated problems in front of me. My eyes filled with the intricate strokes of Hanja characters.

There was a time when I thought I knew everything about Han Junwoo. I’d convinced myself that I was the one who knew him best in this entire classroom. I had taken pride in that, even when comparing myself to Go Yohan, who was closer to Junwoo than anyone else.

In truth, that pride had helped me endure watching Yohan and Junwoo get along so well. Deep down, I relished the quiet knowledge that I had the upper hand in understanding Junwoo better.

I propped my chin on my hand. The fact that I was capable of thinking this way disgusted me.

What would people think if they knew these thoughts were swirling around in my head? The answer was obvious. I’d be pushed to the very bottom of the pyramid, occupying its widest and lowest plane.

The thought was chilling. A terrifying prospect. This kind of insidious desire, unique to a scheming high schooler, had to remain hidden at all costs. I had to bury it deep, so deep that not even the object of my desire would sense it. Ultimately, I needed to hide it so well that even I forgot it existed.

But Han Junwoo hadn’t done that. Everyone in the class knew about his desire.

I glanced around, lifting my head slightly. Everyone was still hunched over their desks. Pressing my lips tightly together, I looked ahead.

Lying forlornly between the rows of desks was a dusty textbook, its cover marked with footprints.

Suddenly, as if someone might have noticed me staring, I buried my head in my desk like the others.

Then I turned my neck in a different direction. My gaze fell on the back row. There lay a face partially hidden by an arm, as if the person had fallen asleep mid-collapse. The face looked delicate and sorrowful, almost as if it belonged to the dead.

“…”

I found myself staring at Go Yohan’s face before my gaze drifted to his arm. Had the already tall Yohan grown even more? The uniform that had fit him perfectly at the start of the year now left his wrists fully exposed. Around one of those wrists was a brown beaded bracelet—a rosary that stood out vividly. It was a heavy, unmistakable symbol, an integral part of Yohan’s identity.

Before hearing about him, I’d assumed Yohan lived on the other side of town, the same area as Han Taesan.

Despite his intimidating aura, Yohan didn’t look particularly wealthy. His sunken eyes were always shadowed by his eyelids, and his faded irises gave him a perpetually haunted look. The way his thin sclera showed beneath his pupils added to his sharp and gaunt appearance.

Yohan’s overall atmosphere was one of grim intimidation, though it lacked the refinement associated with wealth. Instead, his face seemed marked by a profound sense of deprivation, exuding a kind of melancholic heaviness. Combined with his large build—he was undoubtedly the tallest student in the school—it made him doubly imposing.

Fortunately, unlike Han Junwoo, Yohan’s sharp features included a classically handsome symmetry. Without that, people might have actively avoided him. Even so, Yohan’s face was unsettling, intimidating, and full of nervous energy.

But Yohan’s personality couldn’t have been more different.

It wasn’t just that he seemed indifferent to everything; it was as if he actively erased events from his memory, whether intentionally or not. He had an air of “detached ownership of nothing,” a trait that ironically added to his mystique.

Most notably, Yohan didn’t care about money. He never paid attention to how much others spent or how much they asked for. If the mood struck him, he’d casually toss money to someone nearby without a second thought, as if the concept of currency didn’t exist for him. Sometimes he lent money and forgot about it entirely. There were even stories of people returning borrowed money only for Yohan to ask, puzzled, why they were giving it to him.

Still, he didn’t lend money to just anyone. He’d indulge random requests when in a good mood but coldly refuse those who were truly desperate.

Even with friends, Yohan could be harsh. I once heard a story about how Kim Minho, upon seeing Yohan’s prized motorcycle—a vehicle he rarely showed off—excitedly tried to hop on the back seat without permission. Yohan kicked him off on the spot, sending him sprawling on the street like a startled frog.

At the top of the social hierarchy, people like Yohan and Han Junwoo shared one thing in common: a complete lack of concern for others’ opinions. This indifference, in its own way, was what allowed them to sit at the pyramid’s peak.

Why do we, with our own hands, hand over the keys to our world to these uncontrollable predators? No matter how much I think about it, I still can’t understand.

And yet, Go Yohan calls himself a devout Catholic.

He’s the type of delinquent who sleeps with a Bible under his head, but he still claims to follow the teachings. He doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, abstains from sex, and doesn’t steal or extort money from other students. Yet the doctrine he follows is flawed—anyone could tell from the alcohol and tobacco rules alone. I’ve heard that Catholicism permits both.

They say the religion views homosexuality as a sin. Is that why Han Junwoo’s actions disgust Go Yohan so much? I licked my dry lips.

I felt a strange sense of relief that I hadn’t been caught. If I had been, I would have ended up like that textbook, lying trampled on the floor. And yet, even in that moment, I wondered—if Junwoo and I had remained close, as we were just a few months ago, would Junwoo have protected me?

The thought surfaced against my will, dragging with it memories I desperately wanted to forget. I took a deep breath, trying to suppress the wave of nausea that rose in my chest, as though the lunch I’d eaten earlier were threatening to come back up.

No, of course not.

How laughable, that I had once been so arrogant as to think he would. To Junwoo, I was nothing. Just a convenient high school friend to pass the time with. I know this now because of the way he looked at me when he beat me to the ground. His eyes said everything. I hadn’t wanted to know the truth, but it had been staring me in the face.

Junwoo sins openly. I, too, am a sinner—but I hide it. And so, Junwoo is punished by God, while I am spared.

A faint laugh escaped my lips, so soft it was only audible to myself.

“…So, as long as I don’t get caught, that’s all that matters.”

Maybe God has a personality like Go Yohan’s.

My gaze shifted to the desk near the teacher’s podium. This is unusual, but today, I felt a pang of pity for Han Taesan. Poor soul, caught in the clutches of the devil. You lacked the strength to resist that monstrous, seductive power. Fragile, helpless Taesan, unlike the towering figure of Taesan. You should have run the moment I warned you, fool.

I know I’m not a good person. I’m selfish and self-serving, and that’s why I’ve been punished. Sometimes, I even think this: If you’re going to like men, why not pick someone sly and deceitful like me? At least then life would be simpler. Why fall for someone so innocent and earnest, only to end up suffering for it?

These days, I think differently.

Yeah. Of course no one could ever love someone like me. I know myself too well to believe otherwise.

There was a time when I thought I could have it all. Arrogant, conceited Kang Jun. Kang Jun, who thought he understood the world at eighteen. Wicked, vile Kang Jun. Pitiful Kang Jun, who had no one to comfort him, so he endured everything alone.

That day, I couldn’t get past the fifteenth question. I used my supposed illness as an excuse to lie slumped over my desk, thinking to myself: Well, at least I’m not as ruined as Junwoo or Taesan.

Rumors about Junwoo and Taesan spread like wildfire. Whether they were exaggerated or grounded in truth, no one could say for certain. There was no way to find out either. Junwoo’s group had vanished from the school, as if ripped out by the roots. The few who remained were too preoccupied with forming new alliances to worry about anything else, inadvertently fueling the rumors even further.

“Jungwoo, sorry, but who’s closest to Junwoo?”

“Han… No, Go Yohan.”

I overheard this as I passed by on my way back to the classroom before dismissal. The homeroom teacher had asked, and one of my classmates had answered. Pretending I hadn’t heard, I walked into the room. The teacher glanced nervously between me and the empty seats, drumming his fingers against the podium. Then, as if giving up on some unspoken thought, he announced:

“Let’s wrap up.”

The moment dismissal ended, I grabbed my bag. As I slung it over my shoulder, Go Yohan tapped me on the back.

“Hey. Let’s hang out after school.”

I looked at his face.@@novelbin@@

I knew. I had always watched Junwoo and Yohan’s every move, so I knew that the person Yohan most frequently invited to hang out was always Junwoo. After a brief pause, I waved him off.

“Can’t. I’ve got cram school.”

“What about after that?”

“Studying. Just go hang out with one of your friends.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Getting too close to a loser just drags me down.”

“They’re your friends.”

“Life’s about maximizing gain. Clinging to trash only ruins your own life.”

“Ha.”

I let out a short laugh at the absurdity of it.

Right. This was why I’d been able to get along with Yohan better than expected. Our twisted values seemed to align in strange ways.

“So, Minho, Seokhyun—they’re trash? Even Kim Seokmin?”

“If you put it like that, then yeah, pretty much. But you’re different.”

The backhanded compliment left me feeling uncomfortable.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re awful.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re so awful.”

“Hmm. It’s in the Ten Commandments. ‘Thou shalt not lie.’ I’m just being honest, Jun.”

Honestly, Yohan’s worse than I am. At least I don’t blatantly treat my delinquent friends like garbage.

“That’s why I’m a good person.”

“…Sure.”

“Since I’m such a good person, can I come over to your house?”

Go Yohan blinked twice. I looked at his face for a moment before nodding.

“Sure, why not.”

As long as he didn’t interfere with me, there was no reason to refuse. To secure one’s place in the hierarchy, there was no need to make enemies with someone bound to rise to the top.

When I got back from cram school, Yohan had already arrived and was lying on my bed, reading a manga he’d brought in his bag. I frowned without even glancing at the cover. Something odd caught my eye as I glanced at Yohan’s half-open bag—a few workbooks. Yohan and workbooks.

Yohan is strange.

Back in the day, whenever Junwoo would boast to Yohan about his nighttime escapades, panting and all, Yohan would smile, tap Junwoo’s forehead or shoulder, and say, “Thou shalt not commit adultery.” It sounded like he was chastising Junwoo, but I always thought it was just their way of joking around.

And yet, now Yohan’s hostility was palpable. He had turned on Junwoo as quickly as flipping a coin. A friend’s change of heart is always more jarring than the criticism of strangers. That’s why, as I pulled two ice creams from the freezer and handed one to Yohan, I asked cautiously:

“Hey, Yohan.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you planning to cut ties with Junwoo?”

Yohan, sharp as ever, would know I wasn’t talking about a trivial falling-out. But he simply tore open the wrapper without hesitation, shoved the ice cream into his mouth, and smiled with one corner of his lips curling up. After biting off the tip of the ice cream and chewing it, he swallowed and finally replied.

“Why would I stay friends with someone whose life is already ruined?”

“Really?”

Is liking another guy such a ruinous offense? A pang of guilt hit me.

“You agree, don’t you?”

Still focused on his manga, Yohan spoke around the stick of his ice cream. His tone was muffled, but the words were clear. I hesitated for a moment, then forced a response, sticking out my lips in mock disapproval.

“Of course.”

That marked the end of any conversation about Junwoo. I knew this was as far as Yohan would go, so I deliberately avoided pushing further. Yohan stayed at my house until late evening, even eating dinner with us.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, slipping on his shoes as he prepared to leave.

I hesitated before blurting out a small piece of unsolicited advice.

“Don’t walk home. Take a taxi.”

Yohan made a strange face, then let out a short laugh as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Yeah, sure.”

After he left, I lay on my bed, mulling over Yohan’s words.

Junwoo’s judgment is completely broken. Did he really think that by acting this way, he could make Taesan see only him? Love is terrifyingly grotesque. It makes people lose all sense of reason, twisting everything to fit their own narrative. And when you start to believe those twisted interpretations, irreversible mistakes happen.

Dying for love, living for love—it’s all the same. The only way to avoid such a fate is to think the worst and move as little as possible.

I collected my thoughts. The moonlit night drifted into dawn, and just as I thought I’d finally fall asleep, my phone rang. It was Junwoo.

He told me to come over.

Hearing his short words, I inhaled sharply, my mind racing with dozens of thoughts. Finally, I answered.

“I’m not coming.”

-…

“What, you think I’m an idiot? Go to hell, you bastard.”

Did my voice tremble at the end? I wasn’t sure. But I probably handled it well. I’m good at most things—except for unrequited love.

My refusal, something Junwoo would have never expected, wasn’t rebellion. It wasn’t jealousy or anger, either. Sure, those feelings were there, but what truly restrained and controlled me was the cubic jungle.

I knew all too well what would happen to me if word got out that I had met with Junwoo at this time. I’m that kind of person.

And I used that fact as an excuse to protect myself. Because that’s who I am. My love for Junwoo was too timid, too calculated to ever truly prioritize him over myself.