GBH 34
by Emerlyn“Song Yi-heon! Let’s play soccer!”
The boys from the same class called out to Kim Deuk-pal as he came out sucking on an ice pop he bought from the school cafeteria for dessert after lunch. They were heading to the playground to play a game of soccer during the remaining lunch break, waving their arms above their heads.
“Hey! Didn’t you hear us?”
When Song Yi-heon didn’t come, they ran over to put their arms around his shoulders and tried to take him to the playground, but Kim Deuk-pal, who had always been the first to dash out, avoided their sweaty armpits.
“I’ll pass today.”
As they say, even a dog that hangs around a temple for three years can recite Buddhist scriptures. Having picked up quite a bit from spending time among teenagers, Kim Deuk-pal could sometimes use typical teenage speech.
“Aw, why!”
Disappointed cries erupted as Song Yi-heon, the best soccer player, said he wouldn’t join when the game was most fun with him.
“I’m busy. Got something to do.”
“What, you’re gonna study? You already flunked your exams. Just give up and come job hunting with me.”
A male student who knew about Kim Deuk-pal’s midterm grades tried to put his arm around his neck to drag him to the playground. But he soon let out a scream.
“Aargh! Hey! Hey!”
In an instant, Kim Deuk-pal had grabbed the arm around his neck, and twisted the joint behind the boy’s back. The boy swung his fists trying to break free, but Song Yi-heon’s thin wrists didn’t loosen their grip. Laughter erupted at the sight of the stocky boy struggling in the grip of the smaller Song Yi-heon.
Only when released did the boy break free, his face red as he panted.
“That fvcking hurts!”
“Say that kind of thing one more time.”
“Are you looking down on me for getting a job?”
Even as the boy raged, Kim Deuk-pal just sucked on his ice pop. He even added the middle finger gesture he’d learned from kids these days.
The boys in the class, who hadn’t yet seen the toned muscles on Song Yi-heon’s body as they were still wearing spring uniforms, found this Song Yi-heon just small and cute. His handsome face added to the effect. They freely messed up Song Yi-heon’s hair, which was easy to pat due to his short stature. Enjoying the soft feel of his short, silky hair against their palms, they took his side.
“Yi-heon wants to go to college, how can you say such nonsense?”
“Yeah, let Yi-heon study. Song Yi-heon, let’s get you into a Seoul university.”
But soon they found themselves rolling on the ground, kicked by the small and cute Song Yi-heon.
Kim Deuk-pal entered the school infirmary, swinging a black plastic bag hanging from his wrist. He instinctively became polite in front of teachers, so he put his hands together wondering if the school nurse was in, but only the silence of the infirmary greeted him.
He peeked between the partitions and, seeing a figure under the blanket that looked like the person he was looking for, pulled back the covers. Choi Se-kyung, who had been lying down and was startled by the sudden intrusion, squinted at the light and looked up.
“Aren’t you hot?”
Kim Deuk-pal tossed the black plastic bag onto Se-kyung. Choi Se-kyung propped himself up on the bed. Bread and drinks rolled out of the black plastic bag that slid to the side. Kim Deuk-pal pulled up a movable stool, sat down beside him, and said:
“I’ve tried all the bread from the school cafeteria, and this is the tastiest.”
Choi Se-kyung didn’t eat the bread but opened the drink. Kim Deuk-pal was displeased that he only sipped the drink and didn’t eat the bread, which he had bought because he was worried about Se-kyung skipping lunch and going to the infirmary.
“A person should eat three meals a day properly. How are you going to feed a wife and kids if you can’t even eat properly yourself, boy?”
Kim Deuk-pal lectured while sucking on his ice pop. Se-kyung leaned back against the bed frame, his chest rumbling as if he’d heard something amusing. His eyes twinkled mischievously, as if his mood had improved.
“Why don’t you feed me then?”
“Are you talking nonsense after eating a hot meal?”
“My family hates me.”
“Why do they hate you?”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
Kim Deuk-pal, who had been taking him somewhat seriously, deflated and continued sucking his ice pop as he said:
“You’re such a baby.”
When Choi Se-kyung frowned as if he’d heard something he shouldn’t have, Kim Deuk-pal ruffled his hair. Even as Se-kyung tried to avoid it, he kept messing it up, causing his thick hair to quickly become disheveled.
“And here I thought something serious was up since you’ve been so out of it lately. Fine, an idiot calling himself an idiot, what can another idiot say? Just live diligently. I’m going.”
Having finished his ice pop, he stood up as if his business was done, but Se-kyung grabbed his wrist. It seemed to be a reflexive action as he let go immediately, but Se-kyung’s earlobes turned red as he turned his head away. Kim Deuk-pal sat back down on the stool, saying he’d let it slide because Se-kyung was cute.
“You really are the biggest idiot I’ve met since coming here.”
As Se-kyung tidied his messy hair, Kim Deuk-pal messed it up again in a whirlwind pattern.
“Did you think I was going to comfort you?”
“No.”
It was just a bit of whining from someone who knew better. The kids in class often confided in Kim Deuk-pal under the guise of complaining about their lives. Though not eloquent, Kim Deuk-pal was a good listener, making him an ideal confidant. These consultations, which took place while walking around the school grounds, usually ended at the school store. He gave Se-kyung the same advice he gave the other kids while buying them snacks at the store.
“Do you think your parents do this because they hate you? They’re doing it all for your own good.”
Choi Se-kyung, who had laughed at this textbook consolation, suddenly thought of Song Yi-heon’s mother and sat up. Realizing belatedly that he had been whining, Se-kyung’s expression hardened.
“Sorry. I really acted like a child.”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind. Well, from what I hear, you do have reason to be stressed.”
He had mentioned before getting scolded by his father for giving in like a pushover when the boys wanted to study in the study room, and given the curfew and his inability to fight properly at his age, it seemed his father’s influence was no small matter.
Kim Deuk-pal began tidying Se-kyung’s hair that he had messed up. The fluffy hair settled easily, but with his double crown, it was difficult to part it as he usually wore it. Trying to recall Se-kyung’s usual hairstyle, he ran his fingers through Se-kyung’s hair this way and that, advising:
“You haven’t done anything wrong. Don’t feel down for no reason.”
“……”
Unable to fix the hopelessly messy hair, Kim Deuk-pal gripped Se-kyung’s head from both sides to hide it from him, and asked the dazed Choi Se-kyung again:
“Do you understand?”
“…Yeah.”
“Good, that’s a good boy.”
Kim Deuk-pal continued to try and fix the unmanageable hair while Se-kyung closed his eyes, feeling the touch. Kim Deuk-pal didn’t know, but no one had ever told Choi Se-kyung that it wasn’t his fault. Nor did he know that Choi Se-kyung had taken his words to heart not just for the moment, but for his entire life.
It’s not my fault. Choi Se-kyung’s long eyelashes trembled with joy behind his closed eyes.
The surveillance and oppression from Choi Myung-hyun might not be Choi Se-kyung’s fault. Se-kyung felt saved just by this possibility.
Se-kyung committed to memory the feeling of the hands messing up his hair, as if engraving it.
The study desk was cluttered with workbooks, pens, and post-it notes. The adjustable lamp, which could be set for different subjects, cast a bright light. At eye level, visible when looking up from the desk, were post-it notes with motivational quotes:
However, despite setting up this optimal study environment, Kim Deuk-pal couldn’t read a single word and just groaned. He pressed his knuckles hard against his temples, biting his lips. His lips were ragged with teeth marks from trying to suppress his groans.
Ah, this won’t do.
Kim Deuk-pal closed the workbook.
“Hey, I’m leaving.”
“Already?”
Choi Se-kyung leaned over the partition, puzzled. It was only 8 PM. Kim Deuk-pal usually went home at 11 PM, matching Se-kyung’s curfew. While he sometimes stayed late to study, he had never left early before.
“Are you sick?”
Noticing Kim Deuk-pal’s pale complexion in the desk lamp light, Se-kyung reached out to turn on the room light. The room, which had been dimmed for concentration, brightened up. Just the increased brightness seemed to release the compulsion to be quiet, and Kim Deuk-pal, unusually, let out a groan.
“Ugh, my joints are killing me.”
“Your joints?”
“What’s with arthritis at this age?”
There was a hint of self-pity. Experiencing pain similar to the arthritis he had only known in his 40s, but now in a teenage body, made him feel like he’d drawn a defective product in a lottery.
“Which joints?”
“Knees, elbows… just aching all over. I think I might have a cold too. I’m tired and keep getting sleepy.”
Kim Deuk-pal rubbed his haggard face. He indeed looked unwell, fitting for someone suffering from pain. Choi Se-kyung slightly narrowed his eyes. While the middle-aged Kim Deuk-pal thought of arthritis when his body ached, the teenage Choi Se-kyung thought of something else. The symptoms Kim Deuk-pal described were similar to what he and his friends had experienced a few years ago.
Se-kyung pulled his chair from the desk and tugged on the armrest of Kim Deuk-pal’s chair. Sitting face to face, their knees overlapped.
“Give me your leg.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll massage it. You said it aches.”
Choi Se-kyung took Kim Deuk-pal’s calf and placed it on his thigh. Although Kim Deuk-pal exercised regularly, Song Yi-heon’s body wasn’t naturally built for bulky muscles, so the muscles felt firm and smooth without any knots.
Choi Se-kyung massaged his calf, running his hands from the ankle to the knee over the uniform pants.
Kim Deuk-pal, initially surprised and stiff but soon relaxed into the chair and closed his eyes as Se-kyung’s strong hands worked out the muscle tension.
“It sounds like growing pains.”
“Ah… growing pains.”
It had been so long since he’d heard the term that it felt unfamiliar. He melted into Se-kyung’s touch, which soothed his aching muscles like scratching an unreachable itch.
As Kim Deuk-pal visibly relaxed under his touch, Se-kyung gently rubbed his knee in circles.
“You’re such a baby.”
“…Watch it.”
Kim Deuk-pal narrowed his eyes and glared when Se-kyung threw back the words he’d heard in the infirmary. But seeing Kim Deuk-pal becoming defenseless under his touch, Se-kyung felt an indescribable elation and gave a mischievous smile.
“Only now getting growing pains.”
Song Yi-heon hadn’t grown much due to poor nutrition, but with Kim Deuk-pal’s soul eating heartily, the body was growing rapidly like a well-nourished sprout. The accompanying growing pains from this sudden growth spurt were severe. When he thought it was arthritis and plastered his knees with pain patches, it had no effect. But now, the pain subsided under the touch that relaxed the muscles taut from growth.
“The other side.”
Se-kyong moved the massaged calf to rest comfortably outside his waist and spoke, indicating for Kim Deuk-pal to lift the other leg. But when there was no response, Se-kyung looked up. Kim Deuk-pal had fallen into a light sleep with his arms crossed.
Unable to support his head in his sleep, his slender neck was bent, highlighting his sternocleidomastoid muscle. His jawline and cheek, drawn in a single stroke, looked small enough to be covered by one palm. Soft breathing sounds escaped through his thin lips.
After staring for a while, Se-kyung took the other leg and placed it on his thigh. However, his hands, about to massage the calf, hesitated before slipping inside the uniform pant leg. Bare skin met his palm. The skin, with little body hair, felt soft yet elastic.
His hand couldn’t go up past mid-calf due to the tightness of the uniform pants. Choi Se-kyung gently cupped the lower part of the calf. It was just skin contact, sharing body heat. Yet he felt feverish and his mouth went dry. This ordinary touch awakened unfamiliar sensations. It was an clumsy yet intense heat.
Se-kyung’s eyes wavered as he looked at the sleeping Song Yi-heon.
He was confused. He couldn’t understand the nature of this sensation. Or who it was directed at. Was it for Song Yi-heon, or the person pretending to be Song Yi-heon?