Eighteen’s Bed

Kim Minho raised his fist slightly, as if to threaten him, but before he could do anything, Go Yohan landed a solid slap on Minho’s thigh, ending the fight before it even began.

Just like that, Minho’s weak attempt at bravado ended in complete defeat.

The loser flailed and let out a bizarre screech like a strangled duck, and as Kim Seokmin and Park Dongchul burst into laughter, Minho turned on them.

"Oh, you think that’s funny? Huh? You laughing?" he sneered, punching Dongchul’s arm.

After that little commotion, the three of them stormed out of the classroom.

Before leaving, Park Dongchul turned and waved at me. Since I had no reason to refuse, I waved back. Then, settling into my seat, I pulled out my textbook.

I had just wrapped my fingers around my mechanical pencil when, before solving the first problem, I lifted my head and let my gaze sweep over the cubic concrete walls of the classroom.

Then, I lowered my head to the desk.

I was on the third problem, absentmindedly tapping my pencil against the paper, when I suddenly looked up.

Outside the window, ginkgo trees were turning yellow. The sharp, pungent stench filled the schoolyard. In contrast, the sky was a crisp, vivid blue.

"A girls' high school would be way better than this."

The old head teacher, who taught history, always used to say that.

"It’s like a goddamn jungle. A jungle. Boys always try to establish a pecking order first. By May, things settle down a bit, and it gets a little easier. But until then? It’s just fight after fight, kids showing off, testing the teachers, trying to crawl their way up. Jesus, my head hurts. And I have to see this all over again when next year’s freshmen come in. Let’s see… what year are they born under again?"

Then, he would spread out his palm and count the knuckles one by one, muttering under his breath.

"Ja, Chuk, In, Myo, Jin, Sa, O, Mi… Let’s see, that means—"

I tried mimicking the motion, stretching out my hand and counting the joints on my fingers.

But I couldn’t figure out the pattern, so I gave up and flipped my hand over, counting the raised bones on the back instead.

1, 31, 2, 28, 3, 31, 4, 30, 5, 31, 6, 30, 7, 31, 8, 31… 9.

I never would have guessed, back in early summer, that late September would feel like March all over again.

"Boys are nothing but savages. Irrational, emotional, impulsive idiots."

I stared at the bone sticking out of my middle finger and absentmindedly tapped the desk like a piano.

The raspy voice of the teacher, probably hoarse from a cold, droned on, accompanied by the sharp screech of chalk against the blackboard.

I glanced at the empty seat near the front.

For a moment, I thought I saw the imprint of a head on one side of the desk—one side pressed down, the other floating.

My fingers stopped tapping.

I turned my head.

Go Yohan was sitting there, hunched over his workbook, his face half-buried in the pages.

His eyes were half-closed.

He would fix his gaze on a problem like he was about to devour it, only to suddenly give up and slump forward again, pressing his forehead against the book.

I watched as his nose got squished between the pages and his head.

Then, I turned away.

"…Did I doze off for a second?"

I didn’t feel like I was fully in my right mind.

I put a star next to problem three and moved on to number four.

Lunch was curry and yogurt.

Go Yohan finished his yogurt first, then suddenly asked,

"Right, you’re second in class, right?"

"Huh? Yeah."

"Then what about school-wide?"

"Also second."

"Jesus."

"What?"

"So that means the top student in our class is the top student in the whole school?"

"You didn’t know? I’ve never been first in class because of Ahn Jisoo."

"She’s even busier than you, isn’t she?"

"Yeah. She finishes academy classes at one in the morning."

"Shit. That’s hardcore."

"She works hard."

I had no intention of continuing that conversation, so I scooped up a spoonful of rice and stuffed it into my mouth.

Luckily, Yohan didn’t press further. He just nodded.

"Aaah—"

The timing felt off. The conversation had cut off too abruptly.

I debated whether to say something else.

I hated awkward silences, so, without thinking, I blurted out,

"What about you? What rank are you?"

"……."

His chopsticks stopped midair.

I found myself staring at his hand.

He had good chopstick etiquette.

If there was one thing Go Yohan did right, it was that—holding chopsticks properly.

"In class…"

"Yeah?"

"Ninth."

"…What?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

I quickly looked away from his hands.

Was he serious?

Not lying?

I was so caught off guard that I almost asked aloud, but thankfully, I managed to stop myself.

Shit. That was close.

If I slipped up and offended him, I’d have to deal with his temper.

I hesitated.

Would he prefer if I praised him? Or would he rather I act indifferent, as if it was expected?

My brain, wired for survival, was already weighing the best social response.

He didn’t seem to like his friends all that much.

Then, the latter option was safer.

"Huh. You’re doing better than I expected."

"What? Expected? How dumb did you think I was?"

"I didn’t think you were dumb, it’s just… I thought you struggled with Korean?"

"Korean’s the only subject I suck at. Only Korean."

"You don’t even go to an academy."

"Not going to an academy doesn’t mean I can’t study. Jesus, did you seriously think I was an idiot?"

"No, no, not at all."

I quickly waved my hands.

"It’s impressive, though, considering you’re doing it without an academy."

"…Really?"

"Yeah. It’s impressive."

For some reason, Yohan suddenly started mashing his spoon into his rice.

And—was he blushing?

I caught a glimpse of the tips of his ears turning red.

Now that I thought about it, Han Junwoo had ranked thirty-second.

And that was only because there were others who did even worse.

Thirty-second out of thirty-six.

Thinking back, I realized I never really paid attention to anything about Han Junwoo outside of the things directly related to him.

And with that realization, it hit me.

I had been drowning in exactly the kind of pathetic, obsessive infatuation I used to despise.

Meanwhile, Go Yohan, completely oblivious to my existential crisis, had clearly gotten a confidence boost.

His tone was completely different now—brimming with self-satisfaction.

"Oh, right! You probably didn’t know—I’m good at English."

"Yeah? How good?"

"Perfect score. I’ve never lost a single point in English."

"Khhkk!"

I choked.

The second he said that, I spat out my water.

Yohan scowled and yanked his tray away from me.

"What the hell? What kind of reaction is that?"

"I just… wasn’t expecting that."

"It’s that shocking?"

He frowned, pouting slightly.

"Yeah. My Korean score is shit, but whatever."

There was an odd hint of self-deprecation in his voice.

So I joked back.

"Try reading a book once in a while."

"What are you talking about? I’m totally a literature kid."

"Literature kid? I’ve never seen you read a book."

"That’s because I read in secret at home."

"Why the hell would you need to hide it?"

Go Yohan’s eyes, which had been curved in amusement, drooped slightly as he scooped a spoonful of food into his mouth. Then, he casually pressed his lips over the spoon’s edge.

Something about that image unsettled me. I bit the inside of my cheek.

Go Yohan met my eyes as he pulled the spoon away, then lowered his gaze and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the tip of it.

"Erotica is still literature."

That was definitely a joke. Son of a bitch.

My face burned.

To hide it, I grabbed the crumpled napkin next to my tray and threw it at his face.

It hit just below his long, narrow eyes and dropped harmlessly onto the table. One of his eyes twitched slightly.

Not that I cared, but just in case he was actually pissed, I pretended to feel bad.

"Don’t pull that nasty shit. Especially in an all-boys’ school. It’s fucking gross."

"Oh? You mean this? You mean Junwoo’s thing?"

"I don’t care whose thing it is. Just knock it off."

"Isn’t this, like, trending among us now?"

"……."

I stared at him, trying to figure out if he was joking or serious.

I was sleeping less. That was a sure sign that my body was comfortable.

Mornings, which had been dry and sluggish, now felt strangely crisp and refreshing. It was a welcome change—after all, in my mind, the worst sins at eighteen were complacency and oversleeping.

"Ah, fuck—"

My jaw clicked painfully as I brushed my teeth.

Ever since Han Junwoo had hit me, my jaw made an odd grinding noise whenever I opened my mouth too wide.

Other than that, today was a good day.

But even in my newfound peace, there were sudden moments of irritation.

The cause was always Han Junwoo.

Or rather, the incidents that stemmed from him.

Most of those happened at school.

"Oh, right. I saw Han Junwoo last night."

Lee Seokhyeon spoke as he bit into a convenience store hamburger, the kind that supposedly used ground-up chicken heads and leftover meat scraps.

Kim Minho, who had been smacking Seokhyeon’s ankle and making fake knife-hand strikes, suddenly perked up.

"Holy shit—that’s right! You just reminded me! I was totally about to bring this up. I heard something through the grapevine—y’all know Seungwan hyung, right? Right? That wandering gay? I heard Junwoo’s crashing at his place."

"Seungwan hyung? That dumbass Park Seungwan?"

Go Yohan, rummaging through a plastic bag, asked casually.

When he pulled his hand out, he was holding two small lollipops.

And for some reason, he handed one to me.

"……?"

I stared at it, confused.@@novelbin@@

"……What’s this?"

I looked at him questioningly, but Yohan just gave a slight nod, as if that was explanation enough.

The one who reacted most was Minho, whose bag of snacks had been raided.

"Fucking hell. I bought those! Why the fuck are you guys eating all my shit, you assholes?"

"Oh, like you’ve never stolen mine, pig."

Seokhyeon made another fake knife-hand strike at Minho’s throat.

Minho instantly spun around, grabbed Seokhyeon’s collar, and swung a mock punch at his face.

Of course, he wasn’t actually going to hit him.

That was just how they were.

I ignored their stupid bickering and looked down at the lollipop in my hand.

The wrapper had a little lemon split in half printed on it.

I peeled the wrapper, popped the candy into my mouth, and lifted my head.

"What do you think? The taste of first love?"

Go Yohan grinned.

"I don’t like lemon."

My answer wasn’t just about the candy—it was my evaluation of his joke, too.

And more than anything, I didn’t find first love amusing.

That sticky, bitter feeling clung to the back of my throat. It killed my appetite.

In the end, I couldn’t even finish the candy. I tossed it into the trash.

"Oh no, such a waste," Yohan mocked, cupping his cheeks with both hands.

Ignoring him, I reached into Minho’s bag to find a different lollipop.

It was all lemon or lime.

Lime was the lesser evil.

I unwrapped one and put it in my mouth.

"Anyway, Seungwan hyung, huh? Sounds just like Junwoo."

"What, ‘cause they’re both sluts?"

Yohan’s words were sharp.

Uncomfortable, I turned to look at him.

He was sucking on his lollipop expressionlessly, twirling the white stick between his lips.

I pulled mine out of my mouth.

Something about this felt wrong.

Yohan didn’t seem to care.

He tilted his lollipop in the air like a little sword and started making random jabbing motions.

"He plays around with clients—doesn’t matter if they’re men or women. And when he finds someone decent, he sends them straight to Junwoo. It’s a whole rotation. Fucking each other, passing each other around."

"So Park Seungwan’s gay too?"

Kim Minho suddenly cut in.

Whether he had finished his playful scuffle with Seokhyeon or had simply halted mid-fight to eavesdrop, I wasn’t sure.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as if actually processing what he’d just heard.

Next to him, Seokhyeon burst into laughter and stretched his arms out dramatically.

"He’s not exactly gay—more like, you know, he and those guys just share everything."

"Yeah, basically. They’re passing their dicks around like a fucking relay race."

Kim Seokmin chimed in with a snort.

And just like that, Minho and Seokmin launched into their usual back-and-forth routine.

"Let’s be real—Han Junwoo totally got fucked. Dumbass. Kid paid for the hotel, too. Like, who the fuck does that? A normal dude would just take them to a motel, right? But noooo, this dumbass books a hotel and serves up his fresh little ass on a silver platter. And what did he get in return? Not a damn thing! He’s basically a high-end escort at this point."

"Guy got eaten alive by older women."

"Exactly! Straight-up devoured. Man, fuck—what a lucky bastard. Not only did he blow through his money, he got his balls completely drained. By the time he gets married, there won’t be anything left for his wife."

"Wife?"

A sharp crunch.

Go Yohan had bitten into his lollipop, the impact sending the white stick flying out from between his lips.

The end of the stick was crushed and mangled, its original shape ruined.

For a second, it seemed like it would keep bouncing upward—but then, it plummeted to the floor.

"Are you talking about Han Taesan?"

What had been a mindless joke suddenly turned toward Han Taesan.

I looked away from the fallen stick and glanced at Go Yohan.

He stuck his thumb into his mouth, pressing it against one of his canines.

Go Yohan had sharp teeth.

His canines were practically fangs.

Now, he was pushing his thumb against the point of one, as if testing how sharp it really was.

He had these moments—childish, attention-seeking fits.

Whenever the conversation wasn’t centered on him, he would darken the mood.

Immature bastard. He never grew up.

And, as always, he got what he wanted.

The first to catch on was Seokhyeon.

He scooted forward and snapped his fingers together, making a sharp, crisp sound.

"Oh, right! That guy was a homo too, wasn’t he?"

Go Yohan smiled.

Then, out of nowhere, he turned to me.

"Let’s grab another snack. Hand me that bag."

"Hey, hey! Wait a second, you little shits—Yohan! Kang Jun! Don’t fucking do this! Didn’t your teacher ever tell you that stealing gets your damn hands cut off? Jesus fucking Christ, you guys have no sense of morals. No morals!"

"What a fucking joke. Minho, you’re the dumbass for taking your eyes off it. I’m taking a sausage bun."

Seokhyeon joined in, blatantly grabbing the plastic bag from my hands and pulling out a sausage bun.

At some point, the bag ended up in Yohan’s hands.

But Minho wasn’t even mad about the bag anymore—he was seething over the fact that Seokhyeon had taken his sausage bun.

"HEY! Seokhyeon! If you eat that, I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill you!"

"Oh, thanks. Appreciate it."

While that chaos unfolded, Yohan calmly peered into the bag.

Then, without a second thought, he pulled out a chocolate bun and a small pack of crackers—

—before chucking the rest of the bag onto the floor.

Unbelievable.

That bastard was the most selfish one here.

"Fucking hell! I told you not to do that!"

Minho shouted at the sight of his food scattered across the floor.

Then, like he was playing soccer, he kicked at the snacks, herding them between his legs.

"Minho, just let it go. Look at them. They’re hungry."

"Shut the fuck up, Seokmin. If they’re so hungry, they can buy their own food! And you, Go Yohan, you shameless fuck—give me back that damn lollipop you and that nerd ate!"

Minho reached a hand toward Yohan, but Yohan just widened his eyes, rolled them in a slow, exaggerated circle, and smirked.

Then, as if to rub it in, he held out the chocolate bun—

—to me.

"Here. This is yours."

"……."

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Nothing. Thanks. I’ll eat it well."