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Kim Euigyeom's bloodied shirt hisses and foams in a basin in front of Yoongi. Well-groomed female hands in YouTube tutorial explain how hydrogen peroxide breaks down the hemoglobin in blood, then take a toothbrush and start scrubbing away the remnants of the stain.
With all the respect he's gained for the owneress of these well-groomed hands over these fifteen minutes, he'll try to skip this stage. He's not too keen on tearing apart a shirt that costs twice his mom's monthly salary– he googled it.
He drips a bit more peroxide. Euigyeom is actually a cool guy. Even with a hint of rich-kid vibe. No, with a big ol' spoonful of it. All that arrogance, bespoke suit, and the white Airs, but still cool.
Yoongi has between fifteen and thirty minutes according to the recommendations of the well-groomed female hands from the tutorial. He hops off the stool, walks down the hall to his room, and then to the computer, maneuvering almost spy-like around dumbbells and other potentially dangerous sharp objects.
But he makes it, climbs onto the chair with his feet tucked up – just in case something in the garbage bag has evolved into a new life form over its third month of lying, like, there.
He checks Instagram first, of course. There is five Kim Euigyeoms in the search results. Of the three with profile pictures, one is bald, the others just don’t look like him. That leaves two. One has a private account.
The last one, @kimeuigyeom111, is public and completely empty. It has three followers—magic cream shops—and aside from them, he’s mutually following @sygueomkim123, @Kim_Seoktae, and @Da_Bin_Myung. Yoongi quickly clicks through each. Kim Seoktae is some kind of important, wealthy businessman; his profile has those "I gave a talk here" type photos, where he's standing at a podium with projector light plastered over half his face, or "they talked about me here" photos, where he's standing in the center of a group of people in similar suits. Yoongi might have mistaken Myung Dabin’s account for his mom’s if not for the price tags jumping out of nowhere in every picture. Where Myung Dabin and Kim Sugyeom stand with the peak of Mount Fuji towering behind them, Yoongi and his mom are goofing off in front of the Boseong green tea fields.
Kim Sugyeom’s last update, six months ago, is about getting into Seoul Medical University, with thirty likes. And there, in the kaleidoscope of photos, Yoongi’s feet bounce on the spot when he sees Kim Euigyeom.
Well, it’s Kim Euigyeom only by the face, wearing a shirt and tie, Kim Sugyeom is being hugged by a boy with a huge smile and tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. That same boy leaves a fire emoji and a thumbs-up in the comments, then adds in a second comment: "fighting!". Definitely not his Kim Euigyeom.
Yoongi follows anyway, and Kim Sugyeom too, just in case the brother suddenly feels an urge to post new photos.
He does a little grateful dance in honor of the owneress of the well-groomed hands while rinsing the shirt. He gives it a final wring and leaves it on a hanger, clean and untouched by violence.
By the time Yoongi finishes his analysis of the Kim accounts, his watch already reads half past three in the morning, and then he lies in bed for another extra hour. Before Kim Euigyeom, Yoongi never had trouble sleeping. It came quickly and painlessly; exhaustion would knock him out the moment his head hit the pillow.
But now, well, his shoulders ache, and his neck, and it's boring just lying there. He throws one leg over the other and lets his left foot dangle in the air as it pleases. The jiggling, Yoongi thinks, will shake the memories of the beaten faces of Choi Hongil and Kim Seungjun from his head, and all the fantasies about the beaten faces of others. The list of those he wants to see on their knees is quite long, but Yoongi tells himself not to rush things. It's not that he has a lot of patience, but he needs to exhale—he exhales—and approach everything with a clear head, a cold heart, and clean white socks, dress only with style, it just can't be the other way.
A pleasant, tickling feeling stirs in his chest. Yoongi throws both arms behind his head. Hope still feels foreign to him. It's been so long since he last felt it.
It's around then that Yoongi thinks he understands how Sonny Vaccaro felt when he bet Nike's money on Michael Jordan.
*
Yoongi watches the sullen Kim Seungjun across the court, hunched on the 1-2 class substitute bench with his right, gimpy knee propped out in front of him, hiding his envy under his beanie. Yoongi watches not without malicious joy. It seems like tickling his heel just a little would make him burst, but Yoongi doesn’t pursue the thought. Turns out, it’s not the only amusing sight here.
Turns out, because for the first time in three years, Yoongi is actually paying attention to what's happening in P.E. class. And turns out, it’s truly a good, relaxing, educationally motivating process. The sun warms his face, the teacher scratches his head over a new message on his phone and doesn't look at all as Yoongi's classmates rough up the boy shielding the ball with his body.
A full-scale five-on-five seven-point streetball game with the only rule being "play until your hands are intact" – a Yeonseong special. They lifted the boy and positioned him to run the play, and those few seconds of dribbling and passing would have been worth a couple of fouls and a heart attack for even the most mediocre basketball enthusiast. Come to think of it, there’s no point in them even blocking each other if there's a tried-and-true strategy: crowd around the one with the ball and hope his fingers are easy to break.
"Young Luka Dončić." Yoongi leans back, turns his head to the right, and gets nothing. Absolutely no reaction. Euigyeom isn't answering him; he's breathing heavily through his parted lips, and his bangs are frizzing where the hair touches his sweaty skin.
This is not good. Euigyeom has strength and speed, but he's geared toward passing standard tests with top marks, not toward sports, and doesn't know how to breathe properly. And if he keeps his mouth hanging open like that, he might even get sick, which is the last thing either he or Yoongi needs.
"They're very bold today, you know, last semester they couldn't even hold the ball," Yoongi leans back again and stretches his legs out full length, pointing the toes of his favorite black-and-green first-edition Jordans toward the ground. "They're going hard, huh? Or they drafted some extra-ticked-off ones..."
The attempt to get Euigyeom's attention feels like trying to shift the Titanic off the loading dock using just hands. Emphasizing with his voice no longer works, tilting his head doesn't either. Euigyeom has been staring at the asphalt in front of them for the entire seven minutes they've been sitting there, so Yoongi pokes with his finger – and nudges Euigyeom's shoulder.
Choi Hongil and Lee Jinu are standing on the other end of the court in two similar ugly Adidas Adizero. Yoongi catches the gaze of Lee Jinu's chameleon-like eyes. Just for a second, then Lee Jinu shamefully shrinks back.
"Why being so annoying in, like, PE game, tell me? It's like those idiots trying to get revenge. Or, you know, hinting at..."
Euigyeom lifts his head. "I'm not going to fight."
In the sunlight, his eyes look like glass marbles from childhood game. Shiny, brown-tinged, and empty. Yoongi laughs.
"Nah, no need to fight yet. You beat up Seungjun so bad their tails are between their legs..." Euigyeom looks like he's about to retreat back into his gargoyle-like posture, so Yoongi adds, to keep him from getting the wrong idea. "But I wouldn't relax just like that. Remember when I told you about Choi Jihyeok? Well, that's their hyung..."
Euigyeom has already grasped some of the rules of Yeonseong School. For example, that they fight without weapons, just fists, or with legs, elbows, knees, or holds—depending on what martial arts each person practices. But Choi Jihyeok brought his bamboo sword from kendo club, and that's not the same as bringing brass knuckles or a stun gun to school, so technically, he's not breaking any rules.
Actually, it's a good order of things. If it didn't follow that hierarchy of bullying and mob ganging, Yoongi would have just ignored it.
A whistle blows. Shift change. Thirty seconds in which their teacher is actually does his job.
"Alright, I'll tell you later," Yoongi says, slowly and demonstratively pulling his arm back as a test, intending to slap Euigyeom's shoulder, but Euigyeom stands up faster. Fine, not now. Yoongi snorts and follows Euigyeom back onto the court.
Their team's play is run by some scrawny boy, while the opposing team's point guard is Choi Hongil. Yoongi knows typology pretty well, and one look at Choi Hongil is enough to paint a complete portrait of a LeBron James fanboy, with all that entails. He jumps up, naturally steals the ball, and fueled by his own ego, gets to the three-point line in a few bounces. But LeBron James wears Nikes, and he's two meters tall. There's a thirty-centimeter height difference between LeBron James and Choi Hongil. Between Yoongi and Choi Hongil? Ten centimeters. So, the steal is simple. Like taking candy from a baby.
Yoongi dribbles the ball back toward center court, with two defenders immediately trailing him. He sidesteps Lee Jinu on the right, easy, and keeps going. His dribbling is on par with a player from a girls' basketball team from a middle school on the outskirts of Busan, and fortunately, that's enough for him to drive to the hoop.
The boy on their team is waving for a pass. He's right under the hoop, pretty tall, completely unguarded. Yoongi gathers the ball. He and that boy could have finished the game in about two minutes, but Yoongi turns away from him.
Euigyeom isn't rushing to join the general huddle strategy; in fact, he's keeping his distance, there's a whole court between him and Yoongi, and Euigyeom’s face shows zero interest. Although that last part isn't strange. Yoongi's pass flies straight into his hands.
And he, a genius, of course he catches it. A second later, he dodges Choi Hongil, who comes flying at him from the side.
The crowd shifts onto Euigyeom, and Yoongi steps aside for a better view. If he's right, and the Kim Euigyeom breed is raised to rely only on themselves, then he won't be passing to anyone either.
Euigyeom needs to be shaken up somehow, and since Yoongi can't make him jump rope or something like that, Yoongi has to resort to somewhat questionable methods. But it's fun— well for him only.
*
They win the match because Euigyeom is a genius, sinking two three-pointers in a row without giving Choi Hongil's pathetic blocks a chance. Also, Euigyeom gets hit on the back of the head with a stick by Kim Seungjun, shows up at school right after, and defeats Choi Ji-hyuk.
And after all that, he looks completely normal. Well, as normal as usual, in his typical, spaced-out manner. Yoongi can glance at him throughout the entire class, but he always misses the moments when those orange retro Sony Walkman headphones appear on Euigyeom’s head.
– Euigyeom-ah, let's eat.
It feels like a breath of fresh air after two years of lying flat on his desk, a great feeling. Now Yoongi awaits the day just as eagerly as he awaits the night. At night, he watches NBA games; during the day, he watches Euigyeom. Dunks surprise him even less than knowing that Euigyeom barely blinks when he is focused on a test.
Walking to the cafeteria together is interesting too, because Euigyeom doesn't rush or speed up in the flow of hungry students, yet somehow Yoongi finds that they always end up in that perfect middle part of the line where they can make it back to class before the bell, even if they eat slowly. A rich kid's superpower, or endless aura, or maybe both.
Talking to Euigyeom is so entertaining.
"So, what's your hobbies? No, wait, let me guess, listening to music?"
Euigyeom glances at him and tosses out a quick "yes" before moving forward.
There's a certain charm, even, to Euigyeom listening to music through a broken player. A mystery. A style. He probably wouldn't agree to fight bullies with headphones on, but if Yoongi tries really, really hard...
"Cool, cool, I listen to music too." Yoongi moves his tray along like a little train. Takes rice, omelet, vegetables, kimchi, glances at Euigyeom’s tray: banana milk. Yoongi prefers the regular kind. "But you're good at everything, huh? Studying, socializing, and sports too! What kind of straight-A student these days plays basketball like a pro?"
Yoongi puts his wallet in his pocket and waves to the whispering boys from class 1-1. One of them, as Euigyeom goes to find seats, points hesitantly.
Of course, people are staring. By shaking the system, breaking Choi Hongil’s arrogance – and Kim Seungjun's knee joint – Euigyeom, without even realizing it, has sparked a widespread uprising. The smokers in the bathrooms are now more willing, without fear of getting beaten, to pass news to Yoongi about how Choi Ji-hyuk ran to the music room to whine to Nam Seungsik, and the boys who have already been on the Persian carpets describe jiu-jitsu moves in detail. Nothing Yoongi doesn't already know, but before a fight, you need up-to-date intel. He's a good assistant.
"Want some advice? As a fan, not a coach."
The way Euigyeom impassively holds his spoon and chews rice could equally mean interest or complete disinterest. Yoongi is just beginning to figure out how teenagers on the autism spectrum work.
"Those three-pointers you sank at the end, remember? Insane, I was legit in shock! But." Yoongi casually slides his tray closer. "Shooting the way you shoot won't always work. See, you unleash everything, right?" Euigyeom stares at him in surprise as Yoongi carefully scoops as much omelet as his spoon can hold, piled high, and deposits it onto the other tray. "And it might work once or twice, I just remembered I have a terrible cabbage allergy, Euigyeom, don't argue," Yoongi snorts at the protest as the kimchi and veggies also land on Euigyeom's tray. "but not more than that, because you're not Steph Curry. Even if you really want to be, no one can be like Steph Curry."
Extending the analogy between Michael Jordan – Euigyeom, Yoongi realizes Jisung could have been Steph Curry, but he shelves that thought because his throat suddenly goes too dry. You shouldn't think about that in the cafeteria. Jisung resembles Steph Curry because he's also short, not because Jisung is funny, smart, and absolutely revolutionary in everything he does. Fuck no. No no no.
"I don't know any Steph Curry."
Euigyeom looks at him, uninterested completely.
"You don't? No problem at all. You've got the greatest expert on the basketball league right here, the best you'll find in this whole school…"
Euigyeom finishes their portion twice as fast as Yoongi expected and puts his spoon down just as Yoongi is getting to the most important part.
"… Do you know which position is the best? Shooting guard – that's Michael Jordan's position. Have you heard of him? Like, the sneakers..."
"Haven't heard of him."
"That's sad... But all you need to know about him, is that he's a le-e-gend. The GOAT, you know, just the best, the greatest of all time," Yoongi pauses and leans across the table towards Euigyeom. "he was number one."
Yoongi's eyes lock onto a tiny, flickering spark, the same one that was there yesterday on the roof when Euigyeom called out to him, holding Choi Jihyuk's bamboo sword. Yoongi also adds his own apple to Euigyeom's, and Euigyeom reacts to it instantly. Heh.
"I mean, he still is number one, but there are so many dissenters now…"
"Kang Yoongi."
"What? We want to overthrow the school's top dogs, for that we need to be strong. And apples are a natural source of fiber."
*
The results are obvious, given Euigyeom's talent, you don't even need to wait. He's can copy material arts! That's insane. Yoongi speed-runs "Lookism" after school as a study guide, but it's not much help, and also after dealing with Nam Seungsik, and then Kim Namhyeop, a whole heap of work lands on Yoongi's shoulders.
"Let's just hope no one knocks over this teeny-tiny, unnoticeable little camera." Yoongi adjusts the phone and checks the time. Ten minutes until the kids from Wonmuk School show up.
The setup for the phone isn't the most convenient, but he doesn't really have a better spot. The bullies have claimed the space under the railway bridge, near the pillar by the fenced-in parking lot, scattered liquor bottles around, and even dragged in some chairs for themselves. It takes three tries to hook the phone in place properly. Awkward. Better to film in portrait mode right away so the quality isn't garbage when they upload it to reels.
Euigyeom stands guard, looking completely unsuspicious. Yoongi waves to get his attention.
“Got the plan? We'll hide over there, behind the cars, and they'll be right here” Yoongi flicks a cigarette butt with his toe and draws a metaphorical cross. If he calculated everything right and the camera catches focus, the video will be absolute fire. “They bully right on this exact spot. Want to know how I know?”
Euigyeom turns toward Yoongi's cross, then to the cars behind the fence, and looks as if he'll be the one who'll have to clean the one-hundred-percent cotton blue IAB STUDIO hoodie from ash and dust later. Doesn't want to know then. Euigyeom is easy to understand if you immerse yourself in his comfort zone and spend enough time there to learn to ignore the spikes he occasionally puts out.
“It'll be fine, I thought it through. They'll shove him around for a bit, then you and I will hop the fence – and go at them. Like Spider-Man– Two Spider-Men.” To be honest, Yoongi doesn't know which Spider-Man Kim Euigyeom would be, but he makes a mental note to think about it later.
Euigyeom's eyebrows draw together again, and Yoongi is already considering how to explain the entire cinematic universe in two minutes, but Euigyeom points at the camera.
“From this angle, it won’t be visible that we’re climbing over the fence.”
He likes a lot of things about Euigyeom, especially how quickly he picks things up, and how, once he gets into it, he can come up with his own ideas – way cooler and more thought-out than Yoongi's. He'd never really considered it, but straight-A students are the best for vigilante work.
“You get it!” Yoongi grunts with satisfaction and crawls behind the pipes to adjust the phone so everything, absolutely everything, is in view.
In the end, Yoongi will have to wash not only the IAB STUDIO hoodie, but along with it, Euigyeom's pants too. And it'll be a miracle if Euigyeom doesn't ask to swap—Euigyeom's pants are shorter than his, and at night, having your ankles exposed isn't just cold, it's also not stylish.
“Everything's good, only the mask is annoying me.”
Euigyeom keeps intently scouting for passersby from behind the corner of the car, his knee in particularly acrid, nasty dust.
“Mine always slides off somewhere,” Yoongi scratches his nose under the mask. “and something keeps poking me. Dammit, do the seams around your mouth not get all frayed?”
And that's what happen when they fight.
Euigyeom executes a perfect tornado kick and, without straightening up, turns his head toward where Yoongi has his phone hidden, looking straight into the camera, the bully in the background collapsing exhausted. He pulls off such fan-servicey fan service that Yoongi almost misses the enemy rushing at him in his delight. Karate guys, damn.
“We're gonna break the internet, bro.” Yoongi bumps his shoulder against Euigyeom's, the mask at his waist bouncing with every step, and Yoongi wants to bounce too. So, he does. His Converse spring off the asphalt of the empty street in the Chungnam district. “That head turn you did? Freaking badass! I thought I was gonna drop dead on the spot, seriously!”
Euigyeom laughs.
Yoongi is ready to swear he knows two Euigyeoms – one in a school uniform, whom he sees every day, and his twin brother who jumps out and replaces the old grumpy one while they're being heroes. You know, the one from Kim Sugyeom's Instagram photo.
“Wha– what are we gonna break?”
“Reels recommendations. You mean you're not following the High School Heroes hashtag on Instagram?” Yoongi wags his finger as sternly as possible. “That's not cool, come on, I'll follow it for you.”
They stop under a streetlight, and Euigyeom doesn't even grumble about how close they're standing as he pulls his phone from his pocket. Euigyeom nods along to everything Yoongi says, types in the tag, and hits 'Follow'. Euigyeom scrolls through the feed, and his lips part slightly.
“Is this all us?..” Euigyeom swipes his finger, pointing first at one, then the other– they only have two posts so far.
“Yeah, we just started! Did you check the comments?”
Euigyeom shakes his head, and they both lean in over the phone. Euigyeom is perfect for him. For everything he wants to do.
*
Persuading Euigyeom to eat is getting easier, but Yoongi never quite reaches the goal. Still, they successfully progress through the stages. Euigyeom interrupts his Dragon Ball monologue.
“I have read it,” as if it's the most obvious knowledge in the world.
At the school gates, Yoongi hands him the bag with the freshly washed blue IAB STUDIO hoodie.
“IAB sponsors you or something? How many more do you have?”
“I have a white one, a black one, a dark green one...” Yoongi laughs so long that he misses the other five shades.
And some things Yoongi just can't leave alone.
“A bit lower... Why are you smearing it? Look how I do it...”
“You missed a spot right here. Be more careful.”
Yoongi doesn't believe his indignation is real. At half past ten at night, they're back to scrubbing bloodstains off Nike Air Force One, Euigyeom working on the left one with his socked feet resting on Yoongi's bag, Yoongi on the right.
*
Before visiting Jisung, Yoongi stops by the courtyard of Taehan School. Choi Gisu has shaved his head, hasn't grown a single centimeter, swapped Kim Namhyeop and Pi Doil for a couple of burly, dimmer friends, but apparently remained the same fucking asshole. In the alleyway, a boy who nervously lunges at him is kicked back against the wall. Choi Gisu's sparse audience of about ten people guffaws loudly. Even when the boy's ankle crunches under a brick being dropped on it.
At the hospital, Yoongi laughs because Jisung is laughing, and he can't even remember what they were talking about before.
It's easy – when Jisung hits Yoongi's shoulder and leaves his hand there, or when Yoongi scoots over on the bed and they watch a game pressed together as if nothing happened.
The first year, he had this weird feeling, when Yoongi was sure Jisung would lose his memory when he woke up. He was ready to wait as long as it took, to work, to go through any rehab programs together, but the very possibility that Jisung might forget everything felt so solid, and it drilled a hole in his chest along with the guilt.
He was afraid and waited so long that by the end of the second year, he almost started to believe Jisung would lose his playfulness and agility. Every time he leaves the hospital room, he remembers this, and it makes him furious.
Yoongi needs Euigyeom to grind Choi Gisu's skull into the asphalt. Beat him until his pulse stops. Knock his teeth out and shove them down his throat along with his tongue so the bastard never opens his mouth again. But it's too early. Later. He and Euigyeom will definitely get the revenge.
*
Yoongi is lucky that Euigyeom doesn't stay mad at him for long after Pi Doil reveals everything about revenge plan. And they go to Sejong.
Why Sejong? First and foremost, the boy from Yeonseo, Minu. Second – an unreal, beautiful 360-degree spinning kick from the Yeonseo bully, which Yoongi really wants Euigyeom to learn. How to get to Sejong? By anything, really. Right after Minu's first message, Yoongi goes to buy bus tickets. For the way back, they figure they can take the train. How do they end up where they finally end up?
“Are you asleep?” Euigyeom presses the phone to his ear with both hands and turns back toward the bus stop. “I'm done. I'm at the Yeonseo Middle School bus stop in Sejong. Could you come pick me up? I'll send you the location.”
So he does have a personal driver after all. That's promising. Yoongi waits, huddled in Euigyeom's stained white IAB STUDIO hoodie, under a streetlight, sitting on the asphalt, holding the branch on which they hung a red mask for visibility. He thinks, glancing back at Euigyeom dozing on the bench, that it'll probably be an Audi that comes. Or a Mercedes. A long one, comfortable and warm.
The outcome of the fight isn't bad.
They're just a bit beat up.
They were shown the spinning kick, and Euigyeom learned it, and then got punched in the nose. Then Yoongi got punched in the nose. Then there was somehow too much blood to continue. The problem was, the Yeonseo guys didn't fight like regular bullies; it was like they were backup dancers for Twice or something, landing such coordinated and precise hits. In the moment, Yoongi felt like a ball being tossed back and forth between them.
But they sort of won, and later, when they came out after changing, they got surrounded again, as if by an even bigger crowd, and in their surprise, the nose plugs flew out – at least from Yoongi's nose.
The school uniform was done for. Even worse than the hoodies. That kid from the lady with the well-groomed hands on her channel had a case like that once, the nosebleed just would not stop at all.
You can't ride public transport looking like this, and when they crawled out to the bus stop, they found that the only notable landmark around was a small, modest Buddhist temple. No 24-hour convenience store like a GS25 to charge their phones was to be found either.
Yoongi is calculating how much a new shirt will cost him when a bright, strong light shines right in his face. He scoots over so the motorcyclist doesn't hit him, but the bike slows down, the engine cuts, and the rider jumps off and heads straight for Euigyeom, taking off his helmet. Kim Seungjun, disheveled and with eyes as big as two enormous radishes.
“Kim Euigyeom!” Seungjun fusses, turning his head, yet looking completely out of his depth. Yoongi has never seen him like this. “Are you okay?”
“I'm okay.”
“Were you stabbed?” The hesitant hand gesture Seungjun makes is as if he wanted to check Euigyeom for wounds but changed his mind. Naive. Doesn't know yet that Euigyeom always sleeps curled up and huddled like a bird in winter.
“I wasn’t.”
“Can you walk?”
“Are you going to carry him in your arms if he can't? Give it half an hour, wait 'til I leave, hi, Kim Seungjun.” Seungjun turns around as if scalded, and Yoongi swears his face turns to stone. Not like it freezes into one expression forever, as if by Medusa's gaze, but like all possible emotion drains from his face in a second.
And Euigyeom's too. The hand that grabbed Seungjun's jacket sleeve remains still, but his eyes go blank and his face takes on that familiar, impenetrable expression. Wow.
“He's with you?”
For some reason, Euigyeom decides that stupid questions deserve answers. “Yes.”
Seungjun states flatly: “I don't have a helmet for him.” And after a momentary, wordless exchange with Euigyeom, he mutters: “I'll get fined for that.”
“Don't worry, we will cover it for you. Right, Euigyeom?” Euigyeom doesn't look back at him in reply; Euigyeom gets up and walks toward the motorcycle. Yoongi follows his lead. “Tha-at's right. We'll even pay for gas and buy you coffee. Come on, let's go.”
And that's how they ride. Probably a scowling Seungjun even under his helmet; Euigyeom pressing his whole body against the warm Seungjun; and Yoongi, holding onto Euigyeom, but bracing his lower back against the delivery freezer box strapped to the back.
Honestly, Yoongi would gladly bury his face in the backrest and doze off, and he doesn't care one bit about Seungjun or the jealous glances he shoots at him a couple of times in the mirror. But he respects Euigyeom, firstly, and secondly, Euigyeom might glance too. And probably would. He and Seungjun are on the same possessive, monogamous moral plane.
There's something between them. Yoongi knows it but can't prove it yet, and it drives him crazy. Yoongi is not a homophobe. He's probably the most progressive friend Euigyeom could find in Yeonseong, or even in the whole district. And Yoongi wouldn't have a problem if Euigyeom was into a boy from class 1-1, or from the swim club, or a cute university student – fine, the object of Euigyeom's affection could be anyone except Kim Seungjun. And Choi Hongil, that would be seriously messed up.
Kim Seungjun is a total fucking idiot. Objectively. Poser, and stupid, and boxer—but the last two are practically synonymous. Normal, cool people should find it cringe to date someone like that. Euigyeom is definetly cool, but he's not normal.
*
He's glad that his dislike for Seungjun is mutual. Yoongi can't imagine what you could even talk to him about, since Kim Seungjun's typical sentences max out at five words. What do people even think about when, having a clear, specific goal, they still wander around a store with such a dumb look on their face?
Yoongi feels sick, whether from the concussion or from laughing, but he has to watch Seungjun's every step so he doesn't miss the moment if he decides to somehow sabotage Yoongi's ramen.
Yoongi himself can't go inside. Seungjun left them on the sidewalk by the gas station. "They'll call the cops on you freaks, and I still need my license." That's what he said.
Seungjun almost throws the Buldak onto the asphalt in front of Yoongi, but carefully hands it to Euigyeom. They're not even trying to be subtle.
Yoongi manages to peek under Euigyeom's protective film before he starts mixing. Their servings seem the same – noodles, a melted slice of cheese, and tteokbokki. Seungjun mutters something else and goes back to charge their phones.
The intensely spicy, boiling-hot mixture burns the roof of his mouth and his tongue.
“We did good, right?” He scoops up another forkful of noodles for himself. His stomach growls. In these four hours, he hasn't thought about food once.
Euigyeom turns his head, and Yoongi feels the treacherous trickle of blood threatening to leak from his nose again.
“Yeah, good.”
*
Euigyeom definitely aren't just on autistic spectrum; maybe something in between, a human-controlled variation of psychosis, or rage, or all of it together.
@kimeuigyeom111: [image]
@kimeuigyeom111: Yonin High School, Busan.
@kimeuigyeom111: We have to go tomorrow and show them fan service.
And separately, he attaches a fire emoji sticker. Yoongi smiles; he didn't know they had gotten this close.
Euigyeom's father smooths over the incident with Choi Gisu, and Euigyeom doesn't even get transferred. Somehow, miraculously, Yoongi doesn't either.
Everything settles down, and they still friends, but now Yoongi feels the rope that tied Euigyeom to the normal world has grown dangerously thin. It's unclear when it will snap—there's a feeling it could happen at any moment—but Yoongi is ready to accept him with all his demons. After all, Yoongi started all this. He needs to take responsibility.