GBH 118

When the thing he feared most was about to happen, Choi Myung-hyun could no longer act forcefully as before.

He felt like he had deprived Se-kyung of opportunities to form genuine relationships with others by being too oppressive. Was that why his son couldn’t form trust-based relationships with others, and ended up kissing and clinging to a boy in his class?

No. Homosexuality is not wrong. It can’t be used as a measure to judge Se-kyung’s right and wrong. Choi Myung-hyun steadied his wavering heart. If he further damaged their relationship, his son would leave for good.

“Time… give me time, Se-kyung.”

“…”

“It’s too sudden, and… I need to talk to your mother too…”

However, no matter how prepared he tried to be, a father couldn’t help but feel confused in the face of his son’s unexpected sexual identity.

Se-kyung may not realize it now, but Choi Myung-hyun would take time to accept his son’s homosexuality.

Even if eons of confusion shook Choi Myung-hyun, he wouldn’t express negative reactions like violence or condemnation. He didn’t want to hit his beloved son or lose him.

“… I’ll get up first.”

But Se-kyung was uncomfortable in this situation. Having controlled and monitored him for almost his entire life, Choi Myung-hyun’s sincerity in saying he did it because he didn’t want to lose his son failed to inspire trust. His broken, weakened appearance also only made Se-kyung feel awkward, as if he was shifting blame.

Empathy was lacking in their one-sided relationship, and Se-kyung looked at the confused Choi Myung-hyun like a stranger before getting up.

Even as Se-kyung picked up the tray with fever medication and left, Choi Myung-hyun couldn’t lift his bowed head as he held his forehead. Choi Myung-hyun’s voice caught Se-kyung as he was about to go upstairs.

“I wanted you to be happy. Just as I was happy meeting your mother and having you, I wanted you, Se-kyung, to live happily.”

Did he mean for him to meet a woman? Even after saying all that, Se-kyung didn’t know how to deal with his father who seemed to be trying to control his life again. His violent nature surged, making the veins on the back of his hand holding the tray stand out.

“Se-kyung, isn’t the world tedious?”

Se-kyung half-turned at the question that seemed out of context. His eyes met Song Yi-heon’s, who was smiling as if he had given up.

“So tedious that you want to tear apart the faces of people smiling stupidly. It’s an easy thing, isn’t it? There are plenty of things around to use as weapons, and private property to take care of the aftermath. You just need to cross one line. The line between being an ordinary person and a murderer.”

Se-kyung couldn’t help but be surprised when his upright and righteous father revealed he had such imaginings. Choi Myung-hyun, who had been watching Se-kyung’s reaction with amusement, soon lost his smile and was overtaken by deep frustration.

“For me, it’s hard not to cross that line.”

Choi Myung-hyun confessed to the urge that had tormented him his whole life.

“I always want to cross it.”

“…”

“Even knowing that crossing that line once will ruin everything, I still want to.”

Committing murder, lying to hide it, killing those who suspect, the blood spatter raising his wife’s suspicions… Even knowing it would ultimately ruin everything, Choi Myung-hyun had fought the urge to cross the line his entire life.

“I worry that you might fight the same urge to cross the line as I do. I didn’t want you to experience that pain. I thought it would be better if I kept you far from it.”

Choi Myung-hyun didn’t want Se-kyung to live fighting the same urges as him for his whole life. Even if it meant earning Se-kyung’s resentment, he wanted to keep him far from that line. So he monitored and oppressed Se-kyung. Giving up on embracing his proud and admirable son, Choi Myung-hyun acted strictly to keep Se-kyung far from that line.

Even though today’s situation was the result, Choi Myung-hyun couldn’t gauge whether it was a success or failure.

He just felt that Se-kyung looking down at him was too distant. When did he grow so big? The shoulders of the child who seemed like he was still 6 years old were broad even from a distance. 

Se-kyung, who had been listening silently, opened his mouth with a cold expression, “I thought I was strange.”

Choi Myung-hyun’s mouth twisted as if stabbed by a knife.

“Until now, I wasn’t sure if I had killed that girl when I was 6 or not. I didn’t kill her, but because you said I did, I thought I really had. But now I know for certain. I didn’t kill her.”

Choi Myung-hyun worried about his son who resembled him, but while Se-kyung resembled his father, he was not Choi Myung-hyun. Unlike Choi Myung-hyun who lived precariously straddling the line between a normal person and a murderer, Se-kyung was safely on this side of the line.

Ironically, hearing Choi Myung-hyun’s confession, Se-kyung was able to be certain of where he stood. Unlike his father who was on the line, Se-kyung knew how to control that line.

“I didn’t kill anyone. And I won’t kill anyone in the future.”

Se-kyung knew how to distinguish the line, and he would never cross it.

* * *

Song Yi-heon, who had run in the rain in subzero temperatures, eventually caught a fever. Even though Se-kyung changed his fever patches and wiped his sweat all night, his high fever made him delirious.

The doctor who came after being contacted put him on an IV, and it wasn’t until after noon that his fever went down enough for him to move around. The first thing Song Yi-heon did was borrow Se-kyung’s phone to call the housekeeper from Seosan.

“Yes. I’m at Choi Se-kyung’s house.”

His own phone, which he had inexplicably brought with him last night, was waterlogged and wouldn’t turn on. It was a miracle he had called Se-kyung in the first place.

He couldn’t quite understand why Se-kyung would have saved the phone number of someone else’s housekeeper, but it came in handy since he didn’t know the Seosan housekeeper’s number. 

Song Yi-heon glanced at Se-kyung, who seemed to be expecting praise, and made excuses to the housekeeper who was scolding him on the other end of the line for disappearing without a word.

“I had an urgent meeting last night.”

When she woke up in the morning, the front door was open, the bed was empty, and to make matters worse, Song Yi-heon’s phone was off, driving the housekeeper to panic. If Se-kyung hadn’t called early, she would have reported to the police long ago.

“No, I’ll be home today.”

He could hear the housekeeper sighing in relief. Ever since the incident with Lee Mi-gyeong, she would get anxious whenever Song Yi-heon wasn’t home.

“Um… No.”

Song Yi-heon, who had been chewing his words as if wanting to ask something, swallowed his words and ended the call. Instead of taking back the phone Song Yi-heon was returning, Se-kyung intertwined their fingers.

“Stay longer.”

He gently squeezed Song Yi-heon’s hand, not wanting to send him away when he still looked so ill.

“I can’t. Mo… Song Min-seo has a hospital appointment today.”

Song Yi-heon tried to get up, undoing their fingers, but corrected his form of address. He had called his mother in public, but he no longer wanted to call Song Min-seo that. It felt like pretending to be Song Yi-heon had contributed to the real Song Yi-heon’s departure, weighing heavily on him.

Looking at the floor, Song Yi-heon murmured after a long silence, “I won’t be able to bring him back, will I?”

Se-kyung silently peeled off the edge of the fever patch on Song Yi-heon’s forehead. Se-kyung didn’t know. But Song Yi-heon instinctively knew. Just as Kim Deuk-pal’s burned body couldn’t be regenerated, Song Yi-heon’s departed soul couldn’t be brought back. As long as Song Yi-heon’s body didn’t die, he had to keep living.

But the body that child had given him was like a scarlet letter marking his sin.

Every morning when he looked in the mirror, every time he suddenly looked at his hands during daily life, he had to live with the guilt of having stolen the real Song Yi-heon’s body. Thinking of the days that would repeat like this, he felt short of breath and his chest tightened even just sitting still.

He was sorry to Se-kyung, but he didn’t want to live on in Song Yi-heon’s body.

* * *

Song Yi-heon put on his own clothes that had been taken out of the dryer and borrowed Se-kyung’s padded jacket that smelled strongly of him to head home. Se-kyung’s sneakers kept slipping off his heels with every step, slowing his pace, but he didn’t want to go quickly anyway, so he dragged his feet until he arrived home.

The housekeeper, who was pushing a vacuum cleaner, greeted him cheerfully. Not knowing what had happened the night before, she was opening all the windows to air out the house, saying the air was clear after the rain.

“You’re back? Madam is almost ready.”

“…Yes.”

He sank into the sofa. It was time to go upstairs and change clothes, but he sat motionless on the sofa. He didn’t want to enter that room. That place is full of traces of the real Song Yi-heon.

“Haa…”

Tilting his head back over the sofa, Song Yi-heon stared blankly at the white ceiling.

Shouldn’t Song Min-seo know too? That the child she gave birth to is dead. Pretending to be Song Yi-heon any further would be deception. There was a difference between borrowing the body while waiting for the real Song Yi-heon to return someday, and completely taking over the body.