Chapter Text
"Is Martin coming over for dinner tonight?" Julia asked. The person who had to answer was, of course, Juhoon, who was still staring at the silhouette of his friend next door.
"I don't know."
Juhoon spoke and got out of the car, entering the house. Banana had been sitting behind the wooden door for who knows how long. He lunged up to hug the boy. Juhoon buried his face in the soft fur, sighed, and whispered: "Only you are good to me. I teased Martin a little and he sulked and went home." After a pause, he added, "He even took my backpack to his house."
The only response was a small whine from Banana, who seemed to understand, patting the boy's shoulder several times with his paw.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Julia was preparing ingredients. She opened the fridge and realized they were out of chicken wings and pasta. Left with no choice, she grabbed her keys and headed out. Passing through the living room, she paused to talk to Juhoon about safety when being home alone. The boy nodded, saying he understood. Still, she wasn't at ease and cautioned him once more:
"I’m going to the supermarket for a bit. You two stay home and be good to each other. Juhoon, don't open the door for strangers. Banana, protect your brother."
The engine rumbled to life. Julia cursed the stubborn old car, but having no other choice, she drove it out of the garage.
Juhoon turned on the TV and leaned against Banana. He stared idly at the animals flashing across the screen; it seemed he had turned to the wrong channel without realizing it. Banana whimpered; he didn't want to watch this. He wanted to see the dancing donuts. Banana scratched the carpet, making a rustling sound.
"I forgot. Don't scratch the carpet, Banana."
He patted the plump back behind him, signaling the dog to stop. Juhoon grabbed the remote and changed the channel. Now Banana stopped bothering him, focusing intently on the dancing donuts on TV, his drool beginning to flow.
"You're not allowed to..."
Halfway through his sentence, he heard the doorbell ring repeatedly. Juhoon’s curiosity was only as small as his palm. He didn't go to open it because there was no voice calling from outside. Usually, delivery men would call his mother’s name loudly. No one stayed silent and rang the bell so rudely.
Juhoon waited until the ringing stopped completely. He slowly walked toward the front door, dragging a chair from the dining room all the way there. He set the chair down and climbed up to look through the peephole. The view was pitch black, like late at night. At the very least, Juhoon couldn't see a single ray of light.
Suddenly, light reappeared. Now, the image Juhoon saw was a magnified eye. A brown iris replaced the blackness, filling the tiny hole. Juhoon gasped and instinctively backed away, falling off the chair with a loud thud. Banana ran over immediately, standing beside him and staring with wide eyes. Juhoon heard Martin’s voice outside. He suppressed the pain, climbed back up, looked out, and saw Martin clearly. Reassured, he opened the door.
Martin had been ringing the bell but no one answered. He didn't believe no one was home, so he had dug up the stool Banana often sat on from the thick snow. Martin used it as a ladder. He grabbed the door handle and pulled himself up to peer inside. At first, he stood in the wrong position with his back to the peephole. Later, he adjusted himself. After just a few seconds of looking, he was startled by a noise inside, lost his grip, and fell. It hurt enough to make his vision blur, but he struggled to stand up and called out:
"Juhoon!"
The lock clicked. Martin successfully entered the house. He saw Banana hovering behind Juhoon’s back. Worried, he said:
"Did you just fall, Juhoon? I have ointment at my house. Let me go get it for you. I’m sorry for startling you."
He shut the door behind him and helped Juhoon—who was hunched over like an old man—into the house, ignoring his own aching waist. Juhoon said nothing. He leaned his full weight on Martin; more accurately, Martin both pulled and dragged him inside.
Juhoon lay face-down on the sofa. He let Martin lift the back of his shirt. Truthfully, it didn't hurt that much; there was always a large, soft rug in front of the door. Juhoon’s fall hadn't been painful; the sound had just been a bit loud.
"I don't see any bruises. Does it hurt when I touch here?" Martin carefully felt his back, rubbing it.
There was no cry of pain. Juhoon lay still, treating everything like thin air. He didn't answer and, aside from leaning on Martin, hadn't looked him in the eye for five minutes.
"I’m sorry. I just wanted to tease you a bit earlier."
"I'm sorry, Juhoon."
"There’s chicken for you today."
The response had nothing to do with the apology, but Martin understood that Juhoon wanted to talk. He continued his clumsy attempt at conversation.
"I’m going to eat the drumstick; it’ll be delicious."
"There are only wings. I’m not eating chicken; I want pasta today," Juhoon spoke at length, feeling a bit guilty for teasing his friend.
"I’ll eat well." Martin tugged at Juhoon’s shirt, not quite knowing what he was doing. He wanted Juhoon to look at him, to lean on his shoulder and sleep like he had earlier today. He didn't give up. Martin ran over to sit facing him. No one said a word; Juhoon wouldn't hold eye contact for long. He buried his face in a pillow.
"Gufetto mio. Can you hear me?"
"I hear you," Juhoon’s voice came out in a tiny whisper.
"I was a bit cross with my gufetto today. I don't want to be touched on my back in front of everyone. Do you understand, Juhoon?" He thought he should remind Juhoon of what he had said the previous week.
"I understand," Juhoon’s voice sounded like he was on the verge of tears.
"Then can my gufetto look up? I’m afraid you’ll suffocate." Martin didn't wait for an answer; he hauled Juhoon up by the armpits to sit straight.
"I know."
Only then did he notice the TV program. The screen was repeating the scene of dancing donuts, and Banana was sitting on the floor drooling. Martin pressed a random button on the remote. The channel changed. Banana was dazed for a moment, then turned to glare at Martin, baring his sharp teeth.
Martin flinched as Banana growled. He saw Banana tensing up to lunge and bite him. Martin quickly pressed the numbers to return to the dog's favorite channel. Banana remained focused, showing no sign of being distracted by the donuts on TV until Martin threw the remote on the floor. Only then did the dog turn back to the screen.
"Goodness, did you see that, Juhoon? This guy was going to bite me. I was scared to death." He covered his face, pretending to be terrified.
"You were teasing him," Juhoon said, tired of Martin’s daily antics.
Martin began to explain the real reason why he liked teasing Banana so much: because he couldn't tease Juhoon back, he couldn't prank adults because that was disrespectful, and he wasn't crazy enough to tease himself. So, the target shifted to Banana, the third closest being to him (Martin considered himself first, then the parents).
"You talk too much."
"That's because you won't talk back to me!"
Feeling slighted, Martin pulled his legs up and sat huddled on the sofa, burying his face in his arms to show utter disappointment. Juhoon couldn't bear it. He tried to make Martin laugh with a bag of their favorite snacks, but it failed; Martin didn't seem swayed by good food.
He tried several times, bringing Martin various items he liked. On the third attempt, Juhoon made a funny face, and only then did Martin smile brightly. Out of habit, Martin pulled his own chubby cheeks down and stuck out his tongue to tease Juhoon back.
The two looked at each other for a few seconds and then rolled on the floor laughing.
Martin stopped scowling. Now he was sleepy; his eyes were drooping. He let out a massive yawn and rested his head on Juhoon’s lap to sleep. But Juhoon was just as sleepy; his head was nodding like a chicken pecking at grain. Martin was afraid they would bump heads. He slowly walked upstairs and slowly dragged Juhoon’s giant pillow downstairs.
"Come down here and lie with me."
"Okay."
Juhoon agreed. He slid from the sofa to the floor like liquid out of a container. He lay on one side of the pillow, leaving the other for Martin. Before long, Juhoon fell asleep. Martin had fallen asleep before his friend, but the pain in his back made him sleep fitfully. He couldn't lie straight and couldn't turn on his side comfortably. Martin didn't sleep soundly; during his afternoon nap, he talked a lot in his sleep.
The sound of the TV drowned out Martin’s mumbles, so Juhoon didn't wake up.
The two woke up when they heard Mrs. Julia calling them for dinner. Martin woke up first. He rubbed his eyes and reached over to tap the sleeping Juhoon. Juhoon said something, but it wasn't clear. Martin didn't bother leaning in to listen; he trudged toward the dining table where hot fried chicken was laid out. He pulled out a chair and climbed in. Martin was still nodding off. He watched Mr. Barrett carry Juhoon to the chair beside him. He used a spoon to poke his friend's cheek.
Juhoon’s eyes flew open when he felt the coldness on his cheek. He saw the culprit was a half-asleep Martin. He didn't hold a grudge and sat properly, waiting for his pasta. Tomato pasta was distributed to everyone, as was the fried chicken. His mother had also made a medium seafood pizza and placed it in the center of the table. Juhoon didn't care about that; he ate his portion and the chicken meat Martin shredded for him.
Martin had a larger stomach; he tried everything on the table. The chicken was very tender and juicy inside. The sauce—a perfect blend of sweet and sour with chunks of tomato—allowed him to finish a plate and a half of pasta. Pizza wasn't Martin’s favorite; he ate one slice and stopped. After that, he seriously sat and shredded chicken for Juhoon.
Martin and Juhoon finished first. He waited for Juhoon to finish his water and then dragged him to watch TV. A few days ago, he had seen his dad on TV in a movie called "Heartbroken." His dad didn't look like the prince from comic books anymore; in the movie, his skin was pale, he always looked exhausted, and there was a long scar on his chest. The innocent Martin touched the TV screen, thinking he could soothe his father’s wound. Mom said Dad was very busy and loved his work. Martin thought so too. And sometimes, he thought Dad didn't love him and Mom as much as his work.
This hurt a five-year-old’s feelings. Martin used to hate his dad but still couldn't help throwing himself into his arms whenever he came home for holidays. Martin didn't like his dad when he left him and Mom alone in the big house for months, but then he’d smile brightly with Mom whenever they video-called.
Martin knew Dad loved his work, but he also loved him and Mom. Every day, he wrote letters to his dad and kept them in a box under his desk. His mother had explained his father’s job to him one autumn afternoon while they were having a home barbecue. Martin was unhappy because Dad had broken a promise to come home. His mother patiently sat by him and explained the reason on his father’s behalf. Martin had asked her:
"Mom, why did you and Dad get married?"
"Because your father is very handsome, right?"
"Yes."
"Do you love beauty, Martin?"
"I do, Mom."
"Everyone loves beauty and beautiful people, Martin. I do too. I loved your father because he was the most handsome of all the men who courted me back then."
Martin didn't remember what she said after that because, by 11 PM, he had fallen asleep with an empty stomach.
"There’s your dad!"
Juhoon tapped Martin’s shoulder when he saw him spacing out just as his father appeared on screen after a warehouse explosion, carrying a child in one arm and a gun in the other. Juhoon thought Martin’s eyes were identical to his father’s, especially when staring at something—sparkling like stars. Juhoon liked Martin’s appearance, and he liked his voice too.
He knew Martin’s dad was famous. According to his mom, he was a very talented actor who had won many awards. Martin’s mom was a famous broadcaster. Martin had inherited genes from both. But very few people knew about Martin’s parents.
Juhoon didn't know much, nor did he want to get involved in adult matters.
"My dad is really cool." Martin looked at the special effects on TV and whispered, "This looks so dangerous."
"It really does. Look at the fire surrounding the screen."
Juhoon rested his face on his arms over his knees. Being full had made the sleepiness return. But he didn't show his exhaustion because Martin’s eyes were glowing as he watched the TV. Juhoon had overheard things about Martin’s family while his parents were talking: a famous actor married to a broadcaster with an angelic voice. Juhoon let his thoughts drift away from the movie and the person beside him.
"Juhoon, let's go brush our teeth and sleep. My mom is busy with work, so I’m staying here to play with you today and tomorrow."
"Uh-huh."
Juhoon looked through the window as they left the living room. The neighbor's house was pitch black, and the snow in the yard was as high as the doorstep. He didn't understand how Martin could get out of his house—did he use a shovel taller than his head to clear the heavy snow or just push through it? Juhoon shook his head, not wanting to think about it anymore. Martin couldn't wait for the dawdling Juhoon and pulled him upstairs.
"Hurry up, I’m sleepy."
Martin pushed Juhoon into the en-suite bathroom. He pulled over a stool and stood on it, filled a white cat cup with water, squeezed toothpaste, and handed it to him. He did the same with an orange cat cup and his own brush. Martin stood on the left, holding his brush in his left hand; Juhoon stood on the right, holding his brush in his dominant hand. They stood so close that if one turned, both would fall. Understanding this, Martin behaved himself.
"Let me read you a story to sleep tonight!" Martin whispered as they climbed down from the stool and onto the bed.
"I don't want to."
"You always fall asleep while reading."
"I want to read!"
"I don't want to listen!"
Hearing the determination in Juhoon’s voice, Martin pouted but couldn't argue. He did always fall asleep mid-read. Who told his books to be so thick? That red-covered one could be used as a pillow; the blue one was too heavy to lift; the thin yellow one wasn't interesting. Martin wasn't going to admit he was just making excuses because Juhoon had hit the nail on the head.
"Wait for me a moment," Juhoon said quickly, putting on his slippers and running out. Martin didn't like being alone in someone else's house. He lay on his side waiting for his friend to return. He waited so long that he accidentally fell asleep.
When Juhoon returned, he saw his neighbor sleeping soundly. He debated whether to flip Martin over, wake him up, or wait until tomorrow to apply the medicine. The first option wasn't feasible, the second wasn't good, and the third seemed okay. He put the ointment on the cabinet and climbed into bed under the covers. Martin’s body temperature was always high; standing next to him, one never feared the cold. Sleeping with him, one never feared freezing hands.
Juhoon was very tired. Ignoring the wind and snow rattling against the window, the two boys in the room breathed steadily, showing no signs of waking.
And so the night passed. The light from the nightstand lamp never went out. It cast a gentle glow, softly touching the cheeks and soft hair of the two children. Over the years, the nightlight was always kept on, so that even in the nights to come, should Martin wake up, the darkness could no longer threaten him.