Second chapter

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Lies not solidified out loud, but short-term comforting

 

 

"If I had forty-six billion won… "

 

"… I'd stop pretending because I wouldn't have to hide how chaotic my life is."

 

 

The routines are accompanied by an expiration date that is sometimes impossible to visualize. As the hands of the old cuckoo clock slide and announce an hour less of existence, the unforeseen awaits to enter the scene and sweeps away the customs we long to cling to.

 

Because nothing can go wrong if we comply with them to the millimeter, right?

 

They give us false hope, a fleeting security that dissipates through our fingers before we even allow ourselves to try to retain it. And then the changes kick in and force us to adapt.

 

There are changes caused by harmful events, hurricane storms determined to prolong their stay and mark in a unique way. Normally, they persist over the years, hidden in those holes between bones, muscles and organs.

 

But they aren’t necessarily linked to anguish. Sometimes they just rely on being unpredictable. They approach with an unusual subtlety to maintain the surprise factor until the last moment and deprive their victims of reaction. No, they are not bad at all. Not directly. They are just difficult to assimilate.

 

It was in my last years of high school that the dreaded leap into adulthood arrived and began to haunt me at night. Ironic on the mouth of a Seoul slum dweller who boasts of being trained to deal with eventualities. No. It was quite far from the truth. I, Jung Wooyoung, am aware of the value of those who matter to me, that’s why I feared being abandoned by my best friends.

 

I was also terrified because of having to choose a path to follow.

 

Each person is carried away by the weight of their own choices. In the art of gambling, only those with a critical and tenacious eye reach the top of their goals. I have always kept in mind that my decisions carry worse consequences than those of the majority, that mine weigh more than they should. For this reason, years ago I gave up feeding impossible dreams.

 

Rough fantasies that, if ever wielded of meaning, were stripped of it as soon as another mouth appeared at home to be fed.

 

“HEY! You, bastard! What are you doing!?”

 

However, it is a human mistake to forget that distance becomes ridiculous for those who do not wish to be separated. That forgetting is not a valid option when the ties burn even more intensely than the first day. That’s why my group of friends and I will remain together until our last breath.

 

When we were still seventeen years old, if my future self had shown me a preview of Jongho laughing at my side like a psychopath, my insecurity would have wavered. The one who had once red hair and now has returned to brown, is resting against the wall near his bed, trying to keep my character out of the game. The only sounds that surround us are the buttons being pressed fiercely, my repeated complaints and those laughs that give me goosebumps.

 

"At this point, I doubt you'll stop being a ing loser, Woo." He wants me to lose my concentration, but my desire to be the winner is still there. “Eight years. Eight. And you still don't know how to play Call of Duty, pitiful.

 

Jongho swallows his own words as soon as a stab in the back gives me the game. Only then does he drop the controller with an annoyed and unwilling expression to let me savor success. He prefers to throw at me what he has within reach; cushions, teddy bears and slippers.

 

Like old times.

 

I guess some things never change, they just adapt or evolve in each situation.

 

"This is how you pay me back my hospitality?"

 

"You were the one who wanted my company, I was fine in the library." I know he is not serious, because the only way to make him angry is to let him win. But that doesn’t prevent him from hitting my shoulder again before I lie on the mattress. I'm addicted to Jongho's bed, walking on it must be like stepping on a cloud.

 

"You spend your days in there, it can't be healthy."

 

If he knew that it is my only way to do the assigned works or to obtain the materials I need, he would understand my frequent visits. If I told him that the time we had internet at home was thanks to that neighbor whose network I was illegally connecting to, he wouldn’t try to know more about me. If only Jongho was aware that what awaits me when I return to that place called home is nothing more than a choking handful of meters and constant screams of a two-year-old, I have no idea how he would react.

 

But Choi Jongho is unable to guess what happens in my day to day. For this reason, he also does not know that I am not studying at one of the most prestigious universities in Seoul, but at the one for which they offered me a scholarship.

 

It is so complex to navigate between two waters of different course that sometimes, even I hesitate distinguishing the limits between truth and lies.

 

"Damn, I already told you my computer is broken. I have no choice but to study there.” I am not aware of how lucky I am that my best friend is not one of those who show up at places without warning. Our busy schedules allow us nothing more than to set intermediate meeting points. "And my brother never lets me focus. He's almost as unbearable as you are when you sip the ing juice."

 

Before he hits me, I leave my place to walk around his room. Jongho's bedroom is ordinary; more than I have always had and all I wanna have one day. He lives with his family in a medium-size apartment with five bedrooms and two bathrooms. And best of all, he doesn't have the need to be woken up because of a stranger's sneezes or a poorly oiled door sliding down.

 

"Why don't you stay for dinner? if I don’t ask you, mom will.” According to him, she’s as fond of me as she is of his own son. I wonder if that’s even possible.

 

“You know that I don't refuse food.” because for the rest of the world it may not mean anything, but for us, Jung, it means that no one will go hungry tonight.

 

"I didn't expect you to refuse it, Woo."


 

 ೋ•୨✿୧•ೋ

 

When I was eight years old, I thought I had found my passion for the first time. In the middle of the anguishing autumn, between blizzards that made my skin crawl despite wearing several layers of clothing. No matter how far I was from the stand, the strong aroma of roasted chestnuts was cunning, prompting me to swarm near the old man who sold them to be able to take the first one that rolled to my feet. It wasn't the taste or the cloying texture that led me to yearn to become a chestnut seller, but the comforting sensation that came with it. The memory of catching a glimpse of my parents coming home from work as soon as the owner of the booth closed.

 

At fifteen, I replaced that trivial dream with a spray can of red paint that Jongho and I found under dry leaves. The prelude of some artists who lay immersed in a deep lethargy and who waited patiently to be awakened. Great painters discover their inimitable skills by surprise, but we were lucky not to spray paint at our eyes by mistake. Our new hobby ended up broken against a brick wall that we previously smashed with irregular and misshapen .

 

It was at the end of high school that I decided to check the dangerous waters of Law. For enthusiasm? No. Maybe out of passion? Either. Neither my closest friends nor I expected this unusual turn of the tables. While it is true that at that time I entertained myself by devising scenarios to decorate and beautify my future home, it was nothing more than a temporary happiness that would lead me to lose what I had achieved. And I cannot give up my family for a satisfaction that will not feed me in short term.

 

So in my twenties, I’m a second-year Law student, hoping to become an ordinary lawyer while I refill the shelves in a convenience store. The only part-time job that is compatible with my studies. Thus, I earn just enough to cover my own expenses and contribute a small sum of money at home. Kyungmin, my younger brother, is as capricious as I am stubborn, but unlike what happened with me, I can still offer him a better life.

 

Mine, anyway, has already been spoiled.

 

The supermarket is located a quarter of an hour from my real university and less than an hour from home. About thirteen minutes if I still had those wonderful skates with me that ended up broken in pieces days before our graduation. My work here is one of the few things about myself that I don't keep a secret, most of all, out of fear that someone I know will end up finding me. Now my friends use any excuse to visit me.

 

"Oh! It's my favorite cashier!" As soon as the bell suspended over the door indicates the arrival of new customers, the familiar voices reach me in the distance. "Have I already told you how cool that shirt is?" And that's the star phrase that Mingi repeats relentlessly. At this point, I don't know if he's doing it on purpose or if he has a severe memory problem.

 

"Every time you come, actually. It would be nice if you went off to annoy someone else from time to time.”

 

With them here, I can't get ready for dinner. In ten minutes, at twelve in the night, those precooked dishes on the verge of expiration will officially belong to me, one of the biggest gifts to give to my family. The job may not be the best in the world, but it gives me free food and allows me to continue studying when I have no customers to attend to.

 

"We've come to buy beers." Jongho explains, settling on the counter while he waits for Mingi to return with the pack of twenty-four cans. The cheapest ones.

 

"Let me guess... you're going to drink in the park like homeless people."

 

"Who do you take us for? A guy from your university celebrates a nice party and you know that we are not like those who attend empty-handed.” It's funny how he tries to convince himself of something like that when he doesn't give a about appearances. “And you're coming with us, Woo.”

 

"My shift isn't over yet." I only have half an hour left, but they don't know that.

 

"And your plans are… studying all night?" Mingi intervenes, reaching out to close one of my notebooks. "No ing way, Wooyoung, every time we meet you're glued to one of those books and the exams are supposed to have already ended."

 

Even if I'm dying to confess reality, I can't stop biting my tongue. How are they going to know that my continuity depends on the A's? Or that I survive thanks to food that is about to waste? For someone like me, getting drunk is not synonymous of solving problems, but of being involved in a false freedom. Because the next morning, everything that is forgotten returns to claim its place but with a terrible migraine.

 

"Anyway, I can't leave until my replacement arrives." As if the universe was trying to teach me some kind of lesson, the only person I intend to use as an excuse appears with a singsong voice.

 

"My, my, what do we have here? I see you are in good company, Woo.” Naoko, my co-worker, is another university student a year older than me. Her ability to be timely is as amazing as Mingi's to screw it up every time he speaks.

 

"If Wooyoung doesn't want to come, we'll take Naoko instead. So you can keep studying for as long as you want.”

 

"You're a bastard. You just threw seven years of friendship in the trash.”

 

"And that's why I'm still his favorite." Jongho adds while putting the change in the front pocket of his jacket. Then he grabs the pack of cans with one hand and stares at me. "Well, are you coming then?"

 

Doubt surrounds me because I know it's not a good idea, but a part of me yearns to stop holding back. Nothing bad can come out of breaking the rules one night, right? After all, surrounding myself with music, cheap alcohol and mindless games is another way of feeling like belonging to the crowd.

 

"Of course he will, unless..." Naoko nimbly withdraws one of the volumes that remains in a corner of the counter, the one I must return to the library soon. "...you want me to confiscate these annoying books. Ugh, who in his right mind chooses to study Law?”  Her grimace looks incredibly nice to me. “Promise me, boys, that you will prepare a well loaded rum and coke for him to forget so many laws and to skip a few rules.”

 

"Where you see him now, a couple of years ago he was the most chaotic one of the group." Mingi seems more than interested in continuing to steal a few minutes from Naoko, but he ends up following Jongho to the exit.

 

I am not in favor of leaving her with something that does not even belong to me, but I know that she’s trustworthy and that she will return my books intact the next day.

 

"Where are the others?" I ask once we venture down the street onto the main avenue. Jongho is happy, overly smiling on my left. I have the impression that the beers have been nothing more than a premeditated move to end up dragging me with them.

 

"Yunho will come over later, something of last minute has come up." Yeah, an unexpected girl with a name and a fire-colored hair. His current girlfriend has him completely head over hills, and, in addition, she has already been accepted by the entire group.

 

"Yeo and Hwa are picking up Hongjoong, they said he's been stranded at the bus stop." Kim Hongjoong is our newest addition, a slightly older student who became close to Yeosang in college.

 

The very idea of ​​being able to see them all in a fun-filled environment excites me more than I want to express.

 

"And as for San..." his name has been on my mind the whole time, but hearing it from Mingi's mouth doesn't soften the impact. "What... the hell?" He doesn't finish speaking because he is staring at the screen of his phone. “Well, if you check the group chat you will see that San is already at the party and quite drunk”.

 

"It doesn't even surprise me, he's been waiting all week for Friday to go out for a drink." explains Jongho. "His exams ended yesterday."

 

"Poor boy."

 

“Yeah.”

 

 ೋ•୨✿୧•ೋ

 

It stinks of pure alcohol, sweaty feet and a powerful perfume cocktail capable of destroying even the most resistant nose. Although I may have a small chance of survive, courtesy of the garbage truck that visits our street more than is stipulated.

 

I'm resistant against stink bombs.

 

The last party I attended was held in the middle of a forest near Jongho’s University. The organizers managed to build a small stage in which a band whose name I do not remember would perform. Music, drinks, and big tree roots that I dodged like a pro on the natural dance floor. A couple of intense hours in which I ended up sticking my tongue down the throat of one of Hongjoong’s friends.

 

The second part of the night… well. Perhaps it is better to delete it.

 

Losing my head in a feral exchange of kisses made me forget that it wasn’t San's mane the one that slipped through my fingers, nor his arms that held me in place. I inhibited the sight and the smell, wanting to get away from reality. I configured my ears and taste to imagine that the taste of our mouths joining and the sounds enveloping us belonged to the owner of my thoughts. I forced myself to believe that those hands weren't rough and impatient but smooth and passionate.

 

However, all fantasies end when the truth gains ground. I wish I hadn't opened my eyes for air in order to eliminate Choi San's curious face staring at us in amazement. His dilated pupils gave away his drunkenness, but other than that I couldn't figure out anything else.

 

I was aware of my luck in seeking human contact without unleashing hurricanes along the way. I must have been elated that my insane actions didn’t harm anyone, and yet I would have sold my soul to Satan for a glimmer of disappointment. Jealousy, maybe. Whatever. Anything but fascination and acceptance.

 

Because as long as we belong to the same group of friends, I am destined to continue to sink into a feeling that cannot be reciprocated.

 

After descending the forest we looked for San for more than two hours, trying to locate him. If I had not thrown myself a second time into the arms of the stranger, would I have seen him leave? If I had been by his side keeping him company, would he have stayed with us until the end? There were many choices I made that night, and none of them were satisfactory. I confirmed it when San emerged out of nowhere walking on his own feet with tousled hair, puffy lips, and an expression full of joy.

 

Never before has something that he did not express with words hurt me so much. He turned the minutes of disappearance into a secret, an enigma that, however, anyone was capable of solving just by holding his gaze for more than two seconds in a row.

 

Two months later, in the home of a stranger, the atmosphere turns different. It's a tight space with fewer guests. As soon as we enter, Mingi throws the twenty-four beers into the arms of a guest to get rid of them and make our way inside.

 

"Whose party did you say it was?" I repeat a couple of times to Jongho until he understands me, Mingi has gone ahead to the kitchen island to start preparing our first vodka drinks.

 

"Ah! The guy's name is... Baekhyun? He's in your same degree, Woo."

 

Without me looking for it, the room turns into a suffocating mousetrap that threatens to begin to narrow. How likely is it that the host and I will come across? What are the chances of all the lies that I have kept to myself for so many years being revealed tonight? I want to believe that just a few.

 

At least, less than finding an excited San by mistake in the next room, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. It is that kind of San capable of laughing as if life depended on it. He’s so noisy that I think I can hear him in the distance.

 

Because I'm stink bomb proof, yes, but not to outlast someone like him. Or the way those around him seek innocent contact in an invasion of his personal space. San, like the rest of us, studies at a university an hour from here, so he has made new friends and also has become a popular student among the others.

 

Maybe it wasn't very smart of me to come. I have the feeling that at the end of the night I will once again be invaded by the disappointment of something that cannot be, but I always wait for.

 

In the first rum and coke I drown the despair of not being able to stand up to him and get him out of that circle of people. With the second, I torment myself by sneaking glances in his direction with every sip I take. And the shots that come after, end with the little intact reasoning that I have left.
 

"SAN, YOU, BASTARD! THAT’S WHAT YOU CALL WAITING FOR US?” Mingi has no idea how timely his intervention is, because the anger accumulated in me would have led me to behave like an unhinged man in need of attention. Mingi's reactions do not raise suspicions and they are also effective because San says goodbye to those strangers and walks towards us.

 

"I'm not the one who took four hours to get here." His tipsy gaze is unable to fixate on any of us for more than five seconds at a time. "Let me guess, Wooyoung didn't want to come, hm?"

 

The funny way in which he leans on my shoulder is as forceful as it is calming because I don't remember the reason for my previous anger, I am only able to focus on his excessive closeness, he still uses the same perfume from years ago.

 

"I doubt you missed me anyway, you were busy with those guys" In my mind the words carry less reproach and more fun, but I'm not sure of the interpretation they are going to give it.

 

San tsks.

 

"Next time, take it easier and come sooner so I don’t have to find new friends to entertain me, Woo."

 

His answer should have relieved me, but it leaves me kind of astounded. If you add to that the hyena laughs coming from Jongho and Mingi, I have a hard time camouflaging the consequences of the blood pooling on my cheeks. 

 

"Mingi and I still don't have enough beer in our bodies to endure one of your married couple fights."

 

" you, Choi Jongho." I reply with lightning speed.

 

In the eyes of my friends, everything that comes from me should not represent more than unimportant entertainment. But again, I am more of a lie than a person. More disappointment than hope and a professional in the art of deception. So when San decides he's had enough of chatting, he interrupts the moment by grabbing my wrist as if he has the right to caress my skin.

 

"Let's find something to have fun with, come on."

 

 ೋ•୨✿୧•ೋ

 

The concept of "fun" varies depending on each person. While for Jongho and Hongjoong it amounts to playing jokes on a drunken Seonghwa who thinks he has lost his glasses that are still on his head, for those like Mingi it consists of throwing raw sausages out the window with a bunch of brainless students. If I didn't give a about my position, I'd make them pick them up off the street with their tongues. But given my determination to keep my mouth sealed, I have no other choice but to digest that lack of respect.

 

When Choi San is looking for entertainment, I hardly know what to expect from him because he is a box of surprises. Sometimes he chooses to get away from the crowd to find serenity under the starry sky. Others, he looks for someone to sleep with. He also likes dancing, to torture us with bad jokes, or laughing at stupid anecdotes.

 

Today, he has decided to drag Yeosang, Jongho, and me into one of those “Truth or Dare” games where I don’t plan to be honest. At the moment, luck seems to be on my side because the plastic bottle has not pointed me out yet. And since the latest victim has been challenged to clean the sole of someone else's shoe, I want to stay out of it.

 

"San!" I almost winced when someone called out his name. "Truth or dare?" That's when I return to a reality distorted by noise. I don't need to turn my head to see him stir in place, although I know it's not nervousness, but the impatience of someone who has nothing to lose.

 

“Dare.”

 

The previous player looks at him maliciously, ready to take on the hard time that they have put her through. The impression of ending up regretting playing this game is now more powerful than ever.

 

"I dare you to kiss one of your best friends."

 

My jaw would have grazed the surface below me if it hadn’t been perfectly attached to the skull. The girl seems to believe the rumor of San only being intimate with women, thinking that by forcing him to experience that with us would make him uncomfortable. It’s not surprising, I  am curious to find it out too. While it is true that he dresses as a hunter to hang out with his flirts, none of us have ever seen him act in the same way with men before.

 

Yet now, here, in an unfamiliar house with half a bottle of vodka dancing through my veins, I'm not looking forward to find out what will happen, because San's inscrutable face worries me more than the challenge itself. Perhaps because I expected an immediate grimace of repudiation at the proposal, not the possibility that he’s choosing among the candidates.

 

I want to be the only one who verifies if his lips are as silky as they seem, even if that means my absolute ruin. What difference would it make? I'll be screwed anyway, so at least I deserve the chance to try them just once. A miserable kiss that provides some comfort to these twenty agonizing years of existence.

 

As if he's been able to probe the thoughts in my stunned mind, San turns to me, still indecipherable.

 

Our gazes intertwine, mine full of confusion against a neutral that does not give rise to theories. Connection that is interrupted by someone rushing on him. Song Mingi sits awkwardly next to San as he pushes him away in obvious annoyance.

 

"What the hell…!? Mingi!?

 

“San!?”

 

The scene looks like something out of one of those terrible comedies with few fans. Neither of us understand what exactly has happened.

 

Mingi ignores the way curious glances fall on him, holding San by the shoulders and bringing his face impossibly close, until their noses touch. From the way I watch him sharpen his eyes, I avoid jumping to conclusions about what Mingi is trying to do, although it is difficult when they are basically sharing the same air.

 

"Damn, yeah it’s you."

 

"You're too drunk, . Did one of those ing sausages get into your brain or wh...? , Min.”

 

It is his voice fading that alerts me to pay attention to the rest of the things taking part on stage. There is an extremely important component that has been overlooked; the alcohol left in the glass of whatever Mingi was drinking finds a canvas on San's white tank top.

 

“Was it me?”

 

"And who the hell else could be the one showering me with their vodka? Go off with Hongjoong and tell him to make you drink water before I come back to rip your head off.”

 

I see San end the conversation the moment he gets up to leave the game and go elsewhere, I soon follow his steps, not wanting to finish the game.

 

If I had to describe it, I would compare it to a reflex action, to a need that I cannot control. I have become one of the satellites condemned to hang around Choi San for all eternity, attracted by his gravity, by that very magnetic personality. This is why my feet will chase after him of their own free will, even before getting permission from the nervous system.

 

I can see how quickly he enters a room that cannot be anything other than the bathroom. Before he closes the door, I put my foot in. The technique works because from one moment to the next, I am inside with him.

 

My nonexistent expectations betray me again when almost absolute darkness hits me. At this point, I am able to anticipate any disaster and not be surprised by it. But there is no way to be unmoved by the lack of electricity.

 

We are surrounded by five wretched candles.

 

“Why is there no light?”

 

"Apparently... some idiot thought it was fun to burst the light bulbs." he murmurs, lighting the ceiling with his phone. I struggle to pay attention to him, because the muscles in his contracting are a work of art I want to admire. If he knew the kinds of thoughts he provokes in me, I am sure he would never speak to me again.

 

If I think about it coldly, candles are not a good idea. Having pieces of wax lit in a space that will be accessed by students too drunk to piss right into the toilet, has all the chances to trigger a horrible accident.

 

Although right now there is no greater threat to my body and mind than San a few inches from me. He seems immersed in his own universe, as if he has stopped working for an instant, and I need to distract myself with something before I go crazy.

 

"Give me that." His messy T-shirt will do for now. Wasting energy by scrubbing it with soap and water sounds better than ending up drooling on his shoulder or giving myself away.

 

"I can do it myself, Woo. I still have two arms and I am not as drunk as it seems.”

 

"I'm not sure about that last one."

 

He sighs a second time, determined to make it difficult for me. 

 

"Then I'm going to piss."

 

In a desperate attempt not to focus on it, I try to occupy my mind with questions that I will not be able to answer and that I am not really convinced I want to answer either. I soak the cloth as if it is going to be of any use to remove the stain, when the truth is that he won’t be able to put it on once it is cleaned. Unless he wants to catch a cold.

 

"I missed this, you know."

 

I do not know when he became a diabolic creature with the ability to teleport up to my ear and settle there as if the space belonged to him. And indeed, it does, because there is no cell in my body capable of resisting him.

 

“What? Pissing like a rhino?” The most logical strategy is to continue the conversation by feigning indifference and, if possible, adding a dash of humor.

 

"Idiot. I'm talking about you.” If he wants to be the death of me, he's about to get it. "You always do this… you know, help me with whatever I need. You worry too much about me and I miss it now that we don’t meet that much.”

 

"Does it mean that you like it when I take care of you?"

 

Answering with another question is not playing fair, I know. But I am on the verge of sending it all to hell to unleash my impulsiveness. The hint that I just dropped is already a clear representation of the little control I maintain over my actions. And the strangest thing of all is that San never speaks again, he just leans into the mirror and spits on a candle.

 

Big mistake.

 

The saliva thrown is not enough to turn it off, so it increases in size, becoming a flare, fueled by a natural reaction that forces us to step back so as not to run out of eyelashes.

 

“! What is that made of, boiling oil?” he blurts out with a ragged breath.

 

“San…”

 

"Hm?"

 

"YOUR ING HAIR IS ON FIRE!"

 

He does not manage to understand why I’m yelling at him because I grab him by the neck to submerge his head in the sink where I am washing the T-shirt. As soon as he releases it, he breathes like crazy and looks at me with his black strands stuck to his face.

 

"Was that your way of helping me or a frustrated desire of murdering?"

 

“.”

 

"Tell me something I don't already know, Wooyoung."

 

Like the afternoon we met, the lack of response brings silence. One in which the shadows take the opportunity to project themselves in different directions and dance on our faces. The drops sliding down each curvature caressing the perfection that is San, cease in their attempts when he removes them with a towel. There is nothing in him that does not cause me to suffocate; not the way he breathes, not the remains of that familiar cologne.

 

"Who?" I blurt out. The only brilliant idea that comes to my mind to hide my nervousness is to take off my own sweatshirt and give it to him. That way, at least, his abs will stop distracting me.

 

"Who what?"

 

"Who… you know." It's not too late to retract and change the subject. But curiosity beats me, alcohol is the owner of my vocal cords and I know that if I don't ask now, I will lose this opportunity. "Who would you have chosen for the challenge?"

 

For an instant, I detect strangeness in his eyes and my stomach turns at the possibility of having taken a wrong step capable of ruining everything. But actually he seems to be thinking about it and I'm no longer sure I want to find out because whatever he says, this moment will be etched in my mind for posterity.

 

"It was just a stupid game, Woo," he says, disinterested. "It didn't matter, nor was I going to throw a tantrum over having to kiss a friend. Contrary to what many of you believe.”

 

Does that mean that he does like boys or that his closeness with us escalates to the point where he doesn't care at all? We have never talked about this before and the increasing pressure of my belly prevents me from leaving it halfway. I need answers, but the truth is that they terrify me.

 

"Even so, I want to know it. As you said it's a stupid game, but I'm curious."

 

San thinks about it and then smiles, narrowing the distance between us a little. If his presence was already suffocating, now I don't even remember how to breathe.

 

"I would have chosen you, Wooyoung."

 

 

"Tell me, what would you do if you had 46 billion won, hm?"

 

 

The space around me is distorted, causing San's sharp figure to lose its distinctive conciseness. Is there a possibility that my drunken ears have transformed his confession into what I longed to hear? Maybe it is a dream. Maybe I was the one hit by Mingi and who is still unconscious on the velvet rug.

 

 

"If I had…"

 

 

"What's wrong with you now? Does it bother you that much? Because it's you who wanted to know it.” He excuses himself, backing up a bit to allow me to catch a breath. I follow his actions, watching him take the forgotten wet cloth to wring it out. "Like I told you, it doesn't mean anything, Woo."

 

 

“If I had 46 billion won, I'd get more comfortable mattresses than Jongho's, a Play Station, two computers, and non-second-hand books. I would go to the college I pretend to be in and save the scholarship money for my little brother. "

 

 

"Why me?" He turns with a raised eyebrow.

 

"Are you really going to ask me that, dude?"

 

"Is it because I like boys?"

 

"What the hell does that have to do with it?" Now he's turned in my direction completely, like at the beginning. "In those kinds of games with alcohol in between, nobody gives a about what you like or don't like. So no. It's not because of that.”

 

"So?" A withdrawal is still tempting, unfortunately, my mouth has a will of its own and is willing to delve into the subject until it hits an impenetrable rock wall.

 

 

"If I had forty-six billion won, I wouldn't be afraid to expose myself during a party, I'd bring good alcohol and mountains of food to waste. But most of all, I wouldn't let Choi San get away with it  because I would have crossed every boundary of our friendship. I would have sneaked into his thoughts as he has done with mine for years. "

 

 

San snorts, but he's not mad at me because the warmth in his eyes is still present as usual. Suddenly, he seems to have a hard time visualizing me well because he returns to lean forward with that crooked expression that hides so many enigmas.

 

 

"If I had that amount of money, I would pay to forget what happened tonight because I know it will only bring me headaches."

 

 

"I'm not telling you. How about this? You will be left wanting to find it out because I am not going to tell you, Jung Wooyoung.”

 

"Idiot." I manage to say before he smashes his wet T-shirt in my face and opens the bathroom door.

 

"Oh, and thanks for lending me the hoodie, I'll give it back to you the next time we meet."

 

 

"If I had forty-six billion won and I didn't despise my life so much, maybe Choi San would have regretted choosing me in that stupid, petty game."