Chapter 10: The Choice Between Pity and Ointment

Ha. What kind of a question was that? Just as a harsh retort was about to fly out, he beat me to the punch.

“I want you to keep applying the ointment for me. Is that… a huge hassle?”

It was a completely random, out-of-the-blue statement. I looked down at him with a crooked gaze.

“Am I your ointment shuttle?” “You’re my friend.”

The word came out without a hint of hesitation, making me feel like I was the one who had been struck. Before I could even chew over the meaning of that absurd word, he continued.

“…I want to be friends.” “You have friends. That guy who talks too f*cking much and a few others. Just hang out with them.”

I thought of the guy who had been sitting at Song Yun Jae’s desk this morning, blathering away. Even if they didn’t hang out constantly, I could see a certain lack of formality in the way he spoke to Song Yun Jae. There was no reason for “status” to exist between classmates, but that overtly comfortable atmosphere rubbed me the wrong way for some reason.

“Not that kind of relationship. A real friend.”

I really didn’t like this. I didn’t like his blank face that suppressed all emotion regardless of the topic, I didn’t like the word ‘friend’ he brought out so calmly, and I didn’t like how his clenched fingertips had turned white. I disliked every bit of it.

“You’re funny, wow.” “…….” “Acting all pathetic and alone until now, and only now you’re talking about ‘real’ friends and ‘fake’ friends.” “…….,” “Is it because you think this is fun, too?”

Despite my sharp words, his expression remained stoic. The problem, for me, was Song Yun Jae.

He was clear about what he wanted. He wanted me to keep applying his ointment, and he wanted to be ‘real friends’ with me. I wondered if his definition of a ‘real friend’ was just someone who could apply his ointment. What was so great about that? It made me want to gag.

As I let out an irritated breath, he took another step closer. As the distance closed, he—being shorter than me—had to look up.

“Why are you so angry?”

It wasn’t a mocking tone. It was a question asked with genuine innocence. That actually caused a bigger ripple because the question pierced right through to the heart of the matter.

Exactly. Why was I feeling so sh*tty?

Because you’re a hassle. Because I was the one waiting for the very chore I’d been tolerating. Because it’s ridiculous that I’ve grown used to you, and to this routine. Because this whole thing is f*cking childish, yet I’m seriously pissed off.

Would that be the answer? Unlike him, whose desires were clear, the cause of my irritation was vague.

I chewed on the tender flesh inside my cheek until I tasted the metallic tang of blood before I realized the silence had stretched on quite a while. His voice, now smaller than before, echoed louder through the classroom.

“I don’t have anyone else but you who can apply my ointment.” “…….” “You don’t look at me with pity.”

My mind went blank. Why me? The question I hadn’t even voiced suddenly found its answer.

“I think you’re a son of a btch, too, but I don’t see you as that much of a son of a btch.” “…I’m f*cking honored.”

His gaze dropped. As his eyes roamed the empty air for a moment before looking back up at me, I pushed my chair back under the desk. I picked up my fallen bag and turned my back; Song Yun Jae didn’t say a word.

I felt like I had to leave before that silence broke.

No one asked why I was home early or if I had eaten, which was quite comfortable. It meant I didn’t have to force an expression while locking my door and lying on my bed.

I sprawled out on the bed without even changing my clothes, covering my eyes. I felt a slight heat.

It made sense. I hadn’t looked at a single thing today without a glare. Since nothing was comfortable, there was nothing to look at comfortably. Perhaps that was why the back of my neck felt stiff and a dull headache was creeping in.

I stayed like that for a long time. Then, his words—the ones that had left me speechless—surfaced.

‘I don’t have anyone else but you who can apply my ointment.’ ‘…….’ ‘You don’t look at me with pity.’

Did he just need someone who would look at him without sympathy? How could he be so sure it was me? Why?

Then… what about me? What do I want to do?

I hated hassles. Everyone has a story and a wound. I’d never taken care of anyone. I wasn’t used to being taken care of, either. Friends? People called everyone in the same class or academy “friends.” The meaning behind the ‘real friend’ he spoke of was something only enjoyed by the types who liked to soak in sentimentality. I had no reason or energy to play along with that.

But… The problem wasn’t Song Yun Jae; it was me.

I could have just cut him off and said no. I don’t want to be friends, I don’t like you, I don’t want to apply your ointment. If I had said that, he wouldn’t have said another word. It might have ended with a few more milk cartons hitting my back.

The fact that I couldn’t say anything was the ridiculous part. Being swayed like this because I couldn’t speak up was a sh*t-show that wasn’t like me at all.

‘You don’t look at me with pity.’

I recalled his clear eyes on that blank face. Those eyes wouldn’t be discouraged by being treated like cold leftovers. Instead, they were the type to crumble easily under the weight of a kind pity.

I remembered the countless eyes that had looked at me with pity.

‘Hyun Uk, it’s been hard lately, right? It must be tough adjusting to the new school… I know everything. I’m just so grateful you’re doing well.’ ‘Hey, Cha Hyun Uk. My mom said if you don’t have a lunch box, we should eat together.’ ‘Hyun Uk, you can ask me for anything. Just say the word if you need something, okay?’

I remembered my younger self, crushed by that double-edged warmth. Memories of how unpleasant and belittling that gap was—memories I’d had to suffer through—flashed before me.

Then, into those unwelcome but unforgettable memories, the image of Song Yun Jae throwing a milk carton shoved its way in.

‘What’s so funny and interesting to you that you feel the need to just flip over someone else’s wounds?’

What did his eyes look like then?

‘I don’t know why you’re suddenly acting like this after not saying a single word for three months, but don’t mess with me just for your own amusement.’

His voice echoed like fragments through the night. It felt like his voice had been trembling here and there.

My head was heavy. The biggest reason was the lack of sleep. I felt like I’d been tossed around by the fragments that filled my room all night.

I’d opened the window to air the place out and intended to lie down for just a second, but I’d fallen straight asleep—that was another problem. I massaged my throbbing temples and checked the time.

7:01 AM. I still had time.

I left the house before everyone gathered at the dining table. They probably vaguely knew that I left early whenever I didn’t want to face them. They didn’t say anything because they knew it took a considerable amount of time to walk from the house to the school.

I had fired the driver who used to help me get to school before we moved to Sodong. He was the man who had been with me for four years, from 7th to 10th grade, but the parting was short and hollow. It happened the moment we moved.

Quietly, without standing out. I hope you graduate after living a quiet school life.

It was my own reinterpretation of my father’s sly words. Who I was, who my father was, who my father’s woman was, and who was behind that woman—I didn’t want those stories spreading as far as Sodong. My father had simply remained silent at my words.

That silence was an agreement, and from the first day I started school in Sodong, I began walking this path.

It was better than I expected. The commute took twice as long as before, which gave me a valid excuse to spend as little time as possible at home. The things I saw along the way were quite old and small, but they seemed to suit Sodong. A supermarket where someone swept the front starting in the early dawn; a snack shop with bright lights and a sign for kimbap and sandwiches; and a pharmacy that opened at dawn and kept its lights on until late at night.

“…….”

My steps stopped in front of the pharmacy. The heavy, throbbing headache was worse than I thought. It was a place I had intended to stop by, but for some reason, opening the door was hard. Sensing something, the pharmacist inside—who had been unfolding a newspaper—glanced at me. I saw him begin to get up. It would be silly to linger any longer. I pulled the door open and stepped inside.

“Are you sick?” “I…” “Yes?” “…….”

I frowned at the ringing in my head. “Does your head hurt? Looking for a headache pill?” “…No.”

The pharmacist tilted his head. A sense of embarrassment suddenly made me irritable. F*ck, what is this even?

“Give me some ointment. …For bruises and things.” “Bruises? Where are you bruised?” “Just, here and there….” “Hold on, let me see.”

The pharmacist scanned me up and down. He seemed to be looking quite carefully, perhaps trying to check my uniform. Soon, he turned around and scanned the medications filling the shelves.

How did Song Yun Jae avoid the radar of people like this? I was thinking the kid was quite something for hiding it while the pharmacist held out a few products.

One of them—the one Song Yun Jae used—caught my eye. I pointed to it before the explanation could even begin.

“Give me this one.”

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