Eighteen’s Bed Chapter 8.3

Go Yohan threw himself onto the massive sofa as soon as he entered the room. I followed suit, picking up my phone from the small table next to the couch and crouching down on the spot.

Enough ti had passed that the battery had charged sufficiently. I checked the ti roughly—it was late enough that my parents might already be asleep—so I just sent them a ssage. I added a note saying I was at a friend’s place in the neighborhood.

“Ha…”

A sigh escaped my lips out of habit. Would they reply quickly? It felt awkward to go to the cram school after staying at Yohan’s place, so I decided to skip it today. I placed my hand on the sofa to push myself up. My fingers brushed against the edge of the cushion, and naturally, my gaze drifted toward Yohan.

At that mont, our eyes t.

I instinctively took a deep breath. To avoid making it obvious, I had to widen my eyes as if nothing had happened. Yohan was lying on his side, resting his head on his hand, watching .

“Aren’t you going to call?”

Even as he asked, I remained silent. Everything Yohan did was fatal to soone like , who was interested in him. Annoyingly, he grinned at .

“Are you planning to go ho anyti soon?”

“…They might be asleep right now.”

“What a filial son. Even in this situation, you’re thinking about your parents.”

Yohan’s fingers tapped softly against the smooth leather of the sofa, moving fluidly from his index to his ring finger. His long fingers created a discordant rhythm. Tap—tap, tap tap. I swallowed as I watched the slight protrusion of his knuckles.

“If you think I’ve been here too long…”

I lifted my eyes to et his gaze.

“Just lend a little money. I’ll book a hotel for the night and pay you back tomorrow.”

“Why would I?”

Yohan tilted his head slightly.

“I don’t want to.”

As I had noted before, Yohan had an unpredictable standard when it ca to lending money. Sotis he agreed, sotis he refused, and there was no clear logic to it. Apparently, my first request had failed to et his arbitrary criteria. It wasn’t sothing worth feeling wronged over. I had a good sense of self-awareness. If I had been soone important to him, he would have lent it no matter what.

In a way, this distance was perfect. Just enough to feel slightly disappointed, but not outright offended. Like a rope thrown to help escape from the trap I had stupidly walked into once again.

I didn’t want anything from Yohan. I didn’t want to expose my feelings and end up hated. I had no interest in making my already complicated life even ssier. If we ended up in different classes in our senior year and naturally drifted apart, that would be fine. The answer he gave the other day wasn’t definite, but at least it didn’t imply he wanted to cut contact completely. That was enough for .

“Alright.”

My phone was charged now, so I could find another way to borrow money if necessary. Co to think of it, there were plenty of ways to spend money without borrowing it—I just hadn’t thought of them imdiately. Accepting Yohan’s refusal, I nodded.

“Got it.”

I tapped my phone screen. The ti and battery percentage appeared: 56%. Staring at the number for a mont, I looked back at Yohan.

“I’ll leave once it’s fully charged.”

Yohan frowned. He let go of his headrest and flopped onto the bed, burying his small head deep into the blanket. Then, turning away from completely, he muttered,

“Okay.”

That was the last thing he said. I listened carefully, wondering if he had fallen asleep, and soon I could hear his faint breathing. Sitting there, listening to the steady rhythm of his breaths, my own eyes began to close. I pulled my knees up, wrapped my arms around them, and rested my head on top.

Silence settled in.

Then, sothing tapped against the floor. I thought it might be Yohan’s fingers, but it wasn’t. Before long, I heard the sound of water pouring down. Rain. In the dead of winter.

The long, lingering silence—and my resolve—was shattered by the torrential rain. Snow would have made more sense, but the forecast had predicted this winter would be unusually warm. Last year had seen record-breaking cold, but this year was the opposite. The sudden downpour darkened the entire room.

A dim afternoon. The sound of raindrops drumming against the window filled the space, mingling with the rustle of shifting blankets. I felt a gaze on . Slowly, I straightened my back.

Through the dimness, Yohan’s cold eyes erged. He was lying on his stomach now, his chin buried in the blanket. The bedding was so soft that half of his face was swallowed by it, leaving only his eyes visible. His hair, slightly puffed up, indicated he had just flopped down.

Once again, our eyes t. His sharp gaze curved slightly.

“Well, that’s just great. Now you can’t go outside.”

“Yeah.”

“You, tonight…”

Yohan’s voice cracked at the end. The sound sent shivers down my spine. Even so, I couldn’t take my eyes off his.

“You might as well just sleep here.”

“…”

I cleared my throat in a voice so small that Yohan wouldn’t hear. Otherwise, my voice would have co out hoarse.

“Okay.”

Yohan stared at for a while before finally speaking. His slightly curved eyes sank, becoming as somber as the dark afternoon rain. And then he sank, too. Staring at the window with gloomy eyes, he murmured under his breath.

“Ah, I hate this.”

He probably ant he hated that I was staying. He was serious. It wasn’t my imagination. I was sure of it. Unable to endure the suffocating atmosphere, I got up.

“Where are you going?”

As soon as I stood, Yohan lifted himself up as well. His long legs dangled off the bed. So damn long.

“I skipped cram school today anyway, so I might as well study on my own.”

“Then I’ll join you.”

Yohan propped himself up on his arms to sit up. There was no need to rush, but he did anyway. Maybe because of the sudden movent, he twisted his wrist and briefly lost his balance. I ignored it and left the bedroom.

In the living room, my bag lay abandoned.

The only books I had with were the ones I used for supplentary classes. Still, they would be good enough to kill ti. I took out a workbook from my bag and sat at the table. Yohan followed, sitting across from . When he glanced at the book I had taken out, he let out a groan.

“Ugh… Why that, of all things…”

“What?”

I looked down at the workbook in my hands. Korean language studies. Yohan’s weakness.

“Ah.”

I answered my own question.

“Just do sothing else. It’s better to focus on what you’re good at than struggle with what you can’t do.”

“No.”

At so point, Yohan had dragged his own bag over. He rummaged through it while standing, then practically threw his books and pencil case onto the table.

“I’m doing it too.”

A pen rolled across the table from the ss of scattered books and supplies. Yohan plopped down into his seat. Watching his every move, I opened my workbook. Yohan glanced at the page number. Then, he turned to the sa page.

“…”

Whenever I solved a problem, he followed. I solved another one; he followed again. But soon, he started falling behind. Eventually, unable to keep up, he clutched his head and groaned.

“Agh. This is driving crazy.”

“Yeah.”

“For sothing this hard, you sure solve it annoyingly fast.”

Yohan sneered. I glanced at his face briefly before burying my head back into the workbook. What was driving crazy wasn’t the problems—it was Yohan. If Han Junwoo was an error in my life, Yohan was an unsolvable equation.

By the ti I finished my howork, reviewed my notes, and corrected my mistakes, the sky had already gone dark. When I looked up at the clock, it was only 5:30 PM. If I had gone to cram school, I wouldn’t have been done until a little past 11. Even though I’d wasted ti here and there, I had still managed to finish everything, and the day still felt spacious. Since I hadn’t gotten many problems wrong, correcting my mistakes didn’t take long.

“I’m done—”

I quickly cut myself off. Yohan was still stuck in the trenches. The wrinkles between his brows deepened as he clicked his ballpoint pen with his long fingers. Was the problem really that difficult? The ssy black scribbles on his paper caught my eye. So did the problem itself. Ah. It was definitely a tough one.

“Is it that hard?”

“Does the answer even exist in here? This problem has to be a mistake.”

His irritated voice ca out the mont I asked. His black pen had moved on from scribbling words to scratching at the numbers in the question.

“No, there’s an answer.”

I slowly reached out. Yohan had already found it. Beneath the heavy black markings, the answer was there—he just hadn’t realized it. I placed my finger on the part that indicated the correct response. Yohan, who had been mindlessly marking up the page, shifted his gaze to my fingertip.

“It’s tough, but you can do it. You just need to avoid the trap.”

Yohan furrowed one eyebrow again. This ti, he tilted his head slightly, looking back and forth between my finger and the question. His pupils, which had been moving as he read, suddenly stopped. His expression grew serious. The pen he had been absentmindedly drawing lines with ca to a halt, pressing into the workbook. It was the sa problem he had been struggling with. After hesitating for a mont, he marked a number. Then he lifted his gaze slightly, looking at as if seeking approval.

“…Number three?”

I made an ‘O’ with my thumb and index finger. Yohan stared into the circle I had ford. Slowly, like a flower blooming on his usually cold face, joy spread across his expression. It was fleeting. But I was entranced. The happiness in his face was sothing I couldn’t ignore or pretend not to see. My instincts responded with a bright smile of my own.

That smile didn’t last long.

By the ti I snapped back to my senses, I was already rolling up my sleeves, helping Yohan correct his mistakes. When his howork was finally finished, it was already 7 PM. We leaned against the table, chatting about trivial things. Most of the conversation went like this:

“You seriously studied world history with Our Neighbors in the Faraway Land?”

“Yeah.”

“Then for Korean history, did you use The 500-Year History of the Joseon Dynasty in Comics or sothing?”

“Yeah. Why would I lie about that?”

“You lie all the ti. It’s practically a habit.”

“No, I don’t.”

Yohan frowned. I mirrored his expression. Because, seriously, he was a liar.

That petty back-and-forth ended when Yohan’s stomach growled loudly.

“…”

“…”

I turned my head to glance at the clock. 7:30 PM. I had eaten lunch late, but Yohan must be starving by now.

“Aren’t you gonna eat dinner?”

“Oh, yeah. I should.”

Yohan sucked his lips into his mouth, looking troubled. His eyes darted between and the clock on the wall.

“Are you hungry?”

“I’m fine.”

Of course, I wasn’t hungry—I’d eaten late. Yohan blinked his long eyes.

“Then I’ll eat later, too.”

“But you’re hungry.”

“When did you start caring so much about ?”

Yohan’s unusually large hand lightly tapped my arm. Right, when did I start caring so much about him? Maybe in the fall. I regretted that autumn as I put on an act.

“The sound your stomach just made wasn’t sothing I could ignore.”

“You’re so tactless.”

Yohan clicked his tongue in disapproval. This ti, his long, large hand lightly tapped the back of mine. He was tall, so his legs were long, his arms were long, and his hands were big.

Then, suddenly, a certain thought crossed my mind. A thought that was, well… inevitable at eighteen. If his hands are big and his nose is high, then…

Park Dongchul’s words popped into my head.

‘Right. Yohan’s is bigger too, isn’t it?’

Was it, though? My gaze naturally drifted downward, under the table.

“Hey. What are you looking at?”

Shit. My eyes snapped open wide. Yohan was resting his chin on his hand, watching with a serious expression. My heart plumted. Uh. Uh… Words weren’t coming out. His eyebrows arched.

“You were looking at my junk just now, weren’t you?”

“W-what? No! I wasn’t!”

“You were blatantly staring.”

“No! You’re imagining things! I didn’t look.”

Yohan’s eyebrows arched even higher. Then, suddenly, he let out a dry chuckle. He pointed under the table with his finger.

“Imagining things? You were totally staring at my stomach.”

…His stomach?

“Yeah. Fine. My stomach growled. Happy now? You’re such a suspicious bastard. You never trust anyone, always rolling your eyes around, thinking about god-knows-what. You’re doing it even now.”

“I-it’s not that—”

I instinctively waved my hands. No, no, that wasn’t it. But… what was it, then? What was I even going to say after denying it? Saying, ‘I wasn’t looking at your stomach—I was checking out your crotch’ would be even worse. I was wondering if your dick was big since your hands are huge? Goddamn it.

I quickly dropped my hands and forced a laugh.

“Ah, you got . How embarrassing.”

“Wow.”

Yohan shook his head, clicking his tongue. At the sa ti, he started clapping slowly, like so grand warlord from a historical drama.

What the hell. I scowled.

“Oh, great general, thank you for your gracious confession.”

“The hell are you saying?”

“Huh? It’s a thing. You know, like the invincible general? That’s you.”

His face was filled with mockery. Not just teasing—outright ridiculing . anwhile, my face was burning hotter by the second. I hastily brushed off my pants and stood up.

“I’m going to the bathroom. Where is it?”

“Oh, head out the door and go left.”

Yohan jerked his chin toward the air. Then, he leaned back on his hands, propping himself up. He was clearly sitting lower than , yet sohow, his gaze still felt like it was looking down on .

“Don’t go down the stairs, don’t get distracted by anything interesting, and don’t get lost wandering around. Be careful!”

“Shut up.”

I shot Yohan a glare as I closed the door behind . Once it was shut, I let out a deep sigh. Relief washed over —I had escaped the situation unscathed. Honestly, I didn’t even need to use the bathroom. I had just desperately wanted to get out of there.

But since I said I was going, I might as well go. For the sake of my perfect cri.

Left, right? As I took a step, I heard cheerful laughter floating up the stairs.

…What the hell?

Yohan’s room had been dead silent. Now, suddenly, the house was lively? Curiosity sparked. My feet veered toward the stairs instead of the hallway.

Yohan had told not to go down.

Resting my hand against the wall, I slowly descended. As I did, familiar voices reached my ears.

The dining room.

I cautiously leaned forward, peeking into the source of the laughter.

"I think I can easily get the top spot at a specialized high school, Mother. My grades are good."

"Rosa, well, of course. You’ve always been brilliant."

"But that doesn’t an I didn’t put in the effort!"

In the dining room sat a warm, affectionate family. A middle-aged woman covered her mouth elegantly as she laughed, seated beside the man I had seen before—Go Yohan’s father. Yohan’s younger sister bead brightly, as if she had never once looked at anyone with contempt. Rather, she spoke with an eager posture, as if proudly showcasing her own achievents.

"I never let myself be complacent. I work hard and never rely on my talent alone. I always doubt myself."

Is that really sothing a middle schooler brags about? Sitting next to the younger sister was a young man with glasses and a sharp nose. His smirk, with one corner of his lips raised in a mocking manner, resembled Yohan’s—but rather than Yohan or Rosa, he looked more like the middle-aged woman beside him.

"It’s a relief that you do well without being told," he said in a monotone voice, devoid of inflection.

"…"

Before them was a lavish dining table, and even as they chatted, a woman in an apron busily moved back and forth, carrying dishes from the kitchen. An odd feeling crept over . mories intertwined like links in a chain.

A father who never spoke of his son.

Yohan not attending cram school.

His sister’s contemptuous gaze when looking at him.

Yohan never speaking about his family.

And sothing Yohan once told —

‘I hate my dad.’

The links of the chain tightened. I bit my lip. Before I could get caught, I turned swiftly and moved back to the living room. Thankfully, a wall blocked the stairs, so I shouldn’t have been seen.

I scanned the living room for an obvious reason.

Families usually kept photos there.

With a sudden certainty, I quickly searched the tabletops, tables, and storage shelves. Then, I spotted a cabinet with glass doors.

"…"

Inside the cabinet were photos.

One caught my eye—a picture from a high school graduation ceremony.

The young man in it was the sa one I had just seen at the dining table.

The sign in the background read Sehan High School.

I knew that na.

The top-ranked autonomous private high school, where the most elite children of South Korea’s wealthiest families attended.

Next to it was a smaller photo of Yohan’s younger sister, Rosa, taken when she was little.

She was grinning innocently under a tree.

Another photo was a portrait of a couple.

And another—a first birthday photo.

Below it, the na was written: Go Yosep.

Then, a graduation photo from elentary school.

The subject was undoubtedly Rosa.

Yet, strangely, there wasn’t a single picture of the entire family together.

And more importantly—

There were no photos of Go Yohan.