Everyone in the village adored Gong Chansik. My grandmother used to say that a face like his only turned up in our village once in a thousand years. So our last Chansik could have lived in the Joseon era. 

Everyone called him Gongchan, because an American Peace Corps volunteer who’d grown fond of him when he was just a kid had called him that, thinking Sik was his family name. He’d laughed hard at this, fang-like teeth and all, pretty eyes crinkled at the corners. 

The sea-breeze was strong here, and the smell of fish too. The houses were a little run down, but they were good enough. The landscape painted soft yellow with the barley we grew. The sky was often grey where we lived, but the grass was lush green, peppered with the rain that fell the night before. Some days it would rain hard, the scent of it seeping into our skin, thundering down on our tiled roofs like the bullets we hadn’t heard since the war. Sometimes it wouldn’t stop, not until the lights went out. Other times it would fade into a drizzle and the sun would slowly come into consciousness, gifting us the rest of the day. 

On days like that, Gongchan would often run up the hill that led to my house and slide open the door, looking for me. The sound of his voice calling, ‘Sandeul-hyung!’ into the house was enough to wake me from whatever I was doing. He was always a little out of breath — the pathway was steep, uneven and winding, full of moss and cracks in the cement. His thin chest puffed; his frame delicate but lanky, as if he hadn’t quite finished growing into it. But he was always smiling in those days. And my mother, who cherished him too, encouraged me to leave her to cook so I could go with him, so long as we were back before curfew.

One day we took our bikes and rode long outside the boundaries of our village. The wildflowers were in full bloom, dotting the road with bundles of lily-white. Tired from the long ride, we flopped down on the raindrop-covered grass, just near a small creek, trickling near our feet. After a bit, I reached into my satchel and took out my camera. 

“Oh!” Gongchan exclaimed upon seeing it. “You brought it!” 

I had the only high-quality camera in the area. I’d won it in a lottery a couple of years ago. I’d wanted the beef set, but Gongchan persuaded me to keep the camera rather than sell it. It had a telephoto lens, and I was often asked to document festivals by the townsfolk. Gongchan was endlessly fascinated with it.

“Would you like me to take pictures of you?” I asked him, fiddling slightly with the focus. A shy grin spread on Gongchan’s face.

“Could you?” he answered, but then his eyes drew downcast, and a slight pout formed on his red lips. “Only I’m not sure I’ll come out well. I’m getting pimples these days and I haven’t washed my hair.” 

I made a large scoffing sound that expressed how ridiculous I thought this all was. I was used to it, because he was always fishing for compliments one way or another.

 “You’ll look handsome like you always do, Channie,” I re-assured him, though it may have come out a bit accusatory. “Even as I guy, I can see it. I don’t know why you worry all the time. You don’t even need to do anything special and every picture comes out like a photoshoot. You make us normal guys feel bad.”

“Sandeul-hyung is handsome too,” was his only reply. His voice was softer than usual. “Maybe I could also take photos of hyung?”

“The camera likes you a lot more,” I told him.

And I was right; he looked perfect. The light caught on his features in just the right way. Seeing him through the viewfinder, I was reminded of just how envious I could be of him sometimes. Back then I often had the strange idea that, had I been born with his looks — if I was tall and slim like him, straight nose, and cheekbones like a sculpture —my life would have been infinitely smoother than it was. I could glide through existence with the sort of nonchalance only he seemed to possess. 

I took photos of him dipping his tiny ankles in the shallow water of the creek, of the sunset as it melted across the sky. We stood in the creek with our jeans rolled up and talked about anything we could. I could go on for hours, but I never really remembered about what afterwards. Gongchan always listened to me patiently, interjecting with a well-timed comment every now and again. He laughed a lot that day. While wandering barefoot in the long grass, he caught an abnormally large cricket and ran after me for a substantial distance with the creature clasped between his palms, threatening contact. 

I should’ve known it was coming. He’d gotten that sly gleam in his eyes. Overly innocent, with his head tilted to the side, a bashful smile on his lips, eyes wide. It was the same expression he had whenever he tricked me, which was often. Like when he made me eat a whole chili, believing it was a piece of meat. Or when he told me we were going to see a comedy, and it ended up being a horror film.

“I never knew you could scream so loud, hyung!” Gongchan said as the hapless cricket hopped away (It’s funny, those were the same words he used after the horror film). Though the insect’s very existence disgusted me, I did feel sorry for it. After all, it had come very close to being swallowed by me.

I narrowed my eyes. “I’ll get you one day Gong Chansik. Sleep with one eye open from now on.” Unfortunately, my exhaustion showed in my voice, and I didn’t come off as very threatening at all.

Gongchan practically cackled. 

“You? Our village’s Gentle Breeze? You’d never do anything to hurt me.” 

Maybe it had been a case of famous last words because just as he’d finish saying that, a large piece of mud landed on his face. I’d never seen him looked so shocked in my life. I was never able to one-up him before. It was probably the most I’d ever seen his pretty face distort. If only I hadn’t left my camera with the bikes. 

“Hyung!” he shrieked after a moment of stunned silence. He seemed beyond furious, but I could see a faint smile twitching on his lips. Gongchan wasn’t the type to go ballistic over a little mud. “How could you? After all I’ve done for you! I even cooked for you! That could’ve been a cow pat!”

As if on cue, a faint mooing was heard in the near-distance. I lost it at that. My body bent in half as the laughter wracked my frame, Gongchan prodding me in an attempt to get me to shut up.

“So the tables have turned!” I yelled dramatically. Still somewhat hysterical, I brought my hand to his face and before he could react, smeared the dirt in a such a way that it resembled a bread. “Don’t be sad!” I said, mock-comfort in my voice. “Look, I’ve turned you into a Mongolian war lord!”

“Oooh, if you weren’t my hyung, you don’t know what I’d do to you,” Gongchan grumbled, attempting to wipe the mud off with his sleeve. 

“But I’ll always be Gongchan-ah’s hyung,” I informed him, now a little out of breath from laughing so hard. “You ought to see things from a positive perspective: with your new facial hair, you can finally make it into that 19 plus film you’ve always wanted to see.”

“As if you could get in! You might be 19 already but from your looks to your behaviour you’re so childish!”

I was the youngest at home so I was always being coddled. And I did have a baby face. But I was glad. I didn't want to grow up. Though I was trying to ignore it, the harsh reality of being almost 20 was beginning to sink in. A decade of work, responsibilities, independence and taxes stretched ahead of me, like a dark cloud. But in this moment, I couldn't have cared less. Hanging out with Gongchan was keeping me young. Before I could playfully retort, a voice interrupted us.