Chapter 16: The Warmth of the Ointment

After the final announcements, the classroom split rapidly into two groups: those packing their bags to bolt out the door and those changing clothes to play basketball or soccer. And then, if I had to add a category, there was Song Yun Jae and me, staying in our seats for no particular reason.

Going home early only increased the probability of having to exchange words with the woman or my father. I could still see her clearly, standing in my doorway on the first day of exams. I knew she came into my room when I wasn’t there—the faint lingering scent of her perfume and her “confessions” about things I’d never told her were proof enough. I’d tried locking the door some days, but it was her house, after all. It was a futile gesture.

Whether she entered while I was there or not, it all felt like sh*t, but seeing her traces was still slightly better than facing that woman’s actual face.

While the kids in gym clothes grabbed their towels and water bottles and trickled out, my gaze naturally drifted toward Song Yun Jae’s back.

The odds were high that he was staying here because he also hated the idea of going back to his own hellhole of a home. I knew he was a relentless worker who would crack a book open the moment any exam ended, but choosing the classroom over his house had to be intentional.

The ointment I hadn’t handed over yet felt like it was scraping against my thigh. When I heard the sound of the last student closing the door and running down the hallway, my throat hitched. It felt like I was holding something back.

“Did you get hit yesterday?”

The start of a conversation held back like an itch is always bound to be abrupt.

Ha.

Song Yun Jae slowly turned his head toward me and let out a quiet, dry laugh. His sharp eyes and slightly parted lips formed an expression of disbelief.

“You’re really strange.”

“What is?”

“You’re not a son of a btch, but you are a son of a btch.”

“What?”

“You are a son of a b*tch, but you’re also not.”

“Have you lost your mind? Just swearing to my face now?”

He shook his head. Then, he moved to the seat directly in front of mine and sat down backward to face me. Whoosh. His scent wafted over. Suddenly, his face and his fragrance were close. It was an unexpected development.

Resting his arms on the back of the chair and leaning his chin on them, he met my eyes with a blank stare.

“You don’t actually pity me.”

“…What’s this all of a sudden?”

His voice was quite firm. It seemed he was determined to offer a rebuttal or an answer to what I’d said that other day. He’d been silent then. Had he been suppressing this the whole time?

Whenever I applied the ointment, all I saw was his back. I had no way of knowing what his expression was on the other side, how hard he was biting his lip, or with what kind of heart he had said “thank you.” Come to think of it, I don’t think I’d ever tried to find out.

“Answer me. Do you pity me?”

A cloud must have been passing by, as a shadow momentarily drifted into the classroom. Watching his pupils glint darkly in the dimness, I chewed over that ambiguous emotion.

Pity…. I’d thought about it at home that day too, but who is in a position to pity whom? It wasn’t even funny.

“I don’t have the time to pity you.”

“…….”

“Do you want me to look at you with sympathy?”

“…No.”

He straightened his upper body. The distance between us widened slightly.

“Then that’s that.”

“Exactly.”

“Don’t play word games with me.”

“You don’t think of me with sympathy. So… that means I can keep asking you to apply the ointment, right?”

Where did this boldness come from? What was this guy’s deal?

Normally, I would have felt frustrated or irritated, but this time, I felt a genuine sense of curiosity.

Imitating him, I leaned forward over my desk, resting my chin on my right hand as I stared at him. I watched him sitting there with perfect posture, meeting my gaze. As I shifted, the fabric of my trousers tightened, and the ointment in my pocket made its presence known. The level of its persistence was exactly like Song Yun Jae.

“Song Yun Jae.”

“…….”

“Are you lonely?”

I’ll grant that I was the perfect candidate to apply the ointment—fine. And that the bruises were ones he couldn’t show his mother because he’d taken the hits for her—fine, I’ll grant that too. But why was a guy who’d never had anyone to ask, a guy who’d stubbornly hidden everything out of pride, suddenly looking for a place to lean?

“Even if you’re lonely, you shouldn’t get attached to someone you called a ‘son of a b*tch.’ Or did I look similar to you?”

He might be lonely, but I wasn’t some great person who could make him feel less so. Or maybe I gave off a certain scent? That specific smell of people who keep their hearts closed and stay bitter because the world is sh*t.

The absurdity of the thought made a short laugh leak out of me. I felt him flinch slightly.

“Did I offend you?”

Even in this situation, he was checking my reaction. I stared at him for a long while, not understanding why he was asking, so he added a few more words.

“What I said about you being a son of a b*tch… did it offend you?”

“Is my mood really that important? And why aren’t you asking about the second part?”

“…Because I’ve never thought of you as being similar to me.”

“But you have thought of me as a son of a b*tch?”

“Yeah.”

His answer came so naturally that I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Haha, this kid really has no fear. This ridiculous situation wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it was certainly interesting.

Wiping away the light laughter, I met his eyes again; they were open wide. I could almost see his white teeth through the small gap in his lips.

“What?”

When I asked indifferently why he was staring so hard it was becoming awkward, he slowly raised his hand.

Tap.

His finger touched the corner of my mouth.

“…Oh. It’s my first time seeing you laugh like that.”

“…….”

“The corners of your mouth… they go up well.”

Slowly, awkwardly, his finger pulled away. It had only touched me for a second, but the spot where he’d poked felt tingly. It was a strange sensation, like being burned by fire or touched by ice. Despite the odd feeling, I couldn’t look away from his retreating hand or his eyes, which were still filled with tension.

I pushed my chair back and stood up abruptly. The screech echoed through the room. Song Yun Jae seemed a bit startled, but he didn’t look up at me. Ah, f*ck. Why did I stand up?

“Where are you going?”

“……This.”

Call it reflexes, sh*t.

What I handed him—almost throwing it—was the ointment I’d been carrying for days. The one Song Yun Jae had noticed first, the one for bruises that I hadn’t been able to give him until now.

He followed the ointment with his eyes and then looked up at me. ‘Giving it to me now?’ he mumbled, almost inaudibly. I pretended not to hear him and stood there awkwardly with my hands shoved in my pockets. I wondered if I should pack my bag now; I didn’t want to go home. Just as those thoughts crossed my mind—

He gripped the ointment and his lips curled into a loose smile. Smiling silently, he whispered:

“The ointment is warm.”

I had to pack my bag immediately.

“Are you really just leaving?”

“Don’t follow me.”

“You’re leaving without applying the ointment?”

“I told you not to follow me.”

I packed my bag in a hurry and practically bolted from the classroom, but Song Yun Jae stuck to me. As we crossed the playground and headed down toward the school gate, he kept using the ointment as an excuse to stop me.

The path leading down from the gate was lined with lush trees whose branches fanned out to block the sky. Thanks to that, it didn’t feel as hot as it did while crossing the playground. But that was just my experience in a short-sleeved shirt; it would be different for Song Yun Jae, who was wearing a cardigan in this summer heat.

I stopped walking and glanced back. He’d been following closely, because he jumped back a few steps in surprise.

“Aren’t you hot?”

I scanned his face as he hesitated to answer. I could see the ends of his bangs starting to get damp. It didn’t look like he was sweating on his temples, neck, or upper lip yet. Was he holding up well?

“…I am hot.”

After he forced the words out, a long breeze blew. I turned my gaze away as the wind arrived at the perfect time. I’d been staring at his usually pale face and noticed it was quite flushed from the heat, which felt unfamiliar. The sound of leaves rustling spread softly before falling quiet again. Perhaps because of his slightly disheveled bangs, he lowered his head and brushed through his hair.

I watched him, then roughly brushed back my own bangs and started walking again. His voice caught me urgently.

“Are you going home?”

“Where else is there to go?”

In this secluded neighborhood.

Aside from the convenience store near the school, there weren’t any fast-food joints or restaurants good for sitting down. There was a snack shop, but I’d seen it swarmed by elementary and middle schoolers a few times, so I never felt like going.

It was hot, I needed a seat, and I didn’t want to go home. In times like this, sitting in front of a blast of air conditioning with a hamburger would be great, but Sodong wasn’t exactly the right environment for that. Surrounded by low mountains, it was less hot than the neighboring city and had nice scenery, but it wasn’t a place modern kids would like. I felt like I understood the woman’s reason for choosing this place. This was a form of isolation, too.

He went quiet, seemingly discouraged by my blunt answer. Inevitably, my attention drifted to what was happening behind my back. It was funny—I could hear the occasional sound of his shoes scuffing, letting me know he was still following. Like a kid, seriously. Did he really want to show me how much he hated going home?

I spoke up, acting as if I hadn’t noticed.