"Has Yohan ever done anything strange to you?"
"Something strange?"
"Never mind."
What exactly did he mean by something strange? I wanted to press him for details but held back.
"Still, it seems like being around a smart kid like you is having a positive influence on him."
Influence? What a strange choice of words.
"Let him stay for now, but send him back later. If anything happens, let me know immediately. Could you send me your number, just in case?"
"Oh. Yes, of course. I’ll text it to you."
"Alright."
I hesitated for a moment before saying something that would probably please Go Yohan’s father the most.
From the way he talked—using words like influence, burden, not all sons are the same, and even that kid to refer to his own son—it was obvious that he saw Yohan as abnormal.
If Yohan wasn’t normal, then what the hell was?
But for now, I played along.
"Sir, I’m not sure if I should say this, but... Yohan is actually a good kid. I don’t know what happened, but whatever it is, I’ll make sure to set things right—as his friend."
A small chuckle came through the receiver.
"I really like you."
And with that, the call ended.
It was such an abrupt ending that it left me feeling empty.
Go Yohan’s phone screen returned to the lock screen.
I turned it back on.
The fingerprint I had already registered easily unlocked it.
I hesitated, about to check his contacts, but then stopped.
If his father mentioned to him that he had gotten my number, Yohan might figure out that I had gone through his phone.
It would be better to ask for his permission later.
I was about to turn off the screen when my eyes drifted toward the bathroom door.
It was still shut tight.
Yohan’s absence.
The sound of water running.
And then, suddenly, a thought struck me.
Isn’t this my chance?
The moment I had been waiting for.
It had finally arrived.
"......"
I swallowed hard and stared at the bathroom door.
Still silent.
I quickly turned my attention back to the phone and opened the photo gallery.
"...Here it is."
I tapped the top of the screen, scrolling back to the first photo.
Slowly, I scrolled down.
Surprisingly, Yohan’s gallery was almost empty.
Not a single selfie.
Just pictures of sunsets, a stray cat on the street, and a fire hydrant that seemed to have no reason to exist.
"No, this isn’t what I’m looking for."
I was searching for something else.
That mechanical sound I had heard at dawn.
The fact that he lived next door.
My mind was overflowing with suspicions.
But no matter how much I scrolled, I couldn’t find any photos from dawn.
Then, suddenly, I saw a familiar figure.
Between a blurry photo of a messy bed and a shaky landscape shot, there was a school uniform I recognized.
And the person wearing it—
The same face I saw in the mirror every day.
Me.
Sitting on the bleachers, eating ice cream.
......
Wait.
Why the hell am I here?
My hands started trembling.
Judging by the angle, it wasn’t taken from the front.
It had been taken in secret.
Middle school, maybe?
In the photo, I was wearing sneakers I had gotten for my birthday, the ones I threw away in my second year of high school.
That meant the picture was from my first year.
The ice cream in my hand was my favorite—green tea.
I flipped to the next photo, my fingers shaking uncontrollably.
The classroom floor.
The trees along the school road.
The cafeteria.
Something felt off, so I zoomed in on one of the images.
Right in the center—
Me.
Resting my chin on my hand, smiling.
My fingertips went cold.
I fumbled, swiping at the screen several times before I managed to move to the next photo.
A hard-boiled egg.
A cat, creeping along a sidewalk.
A cup of green tea ice cream.
A spoon digging into green tea ice cream.
A green tea ice cream bar.
A dandelion.
Chocolate.
The school incinerator.
And someone sorting recycling at the incinerator.
An all-too-familiar back.
"What... the hell is this?"
I looked down at the sneakers again.
The ones I had worn in my first year of high school.
Even after that, my younger self kept appearing in these photos.
Always from a distance.
Sometimes, I was hidden in the background of what seemed like ordinary pictures.
But whenever I zoomed in—there I was.
My hair grew shorter in the photos.
I recognized myself leaning against a window in the hallway, from late in my first year.
I had cut my hair short back then.
I was biting into a chocolate pastry.
Two, three similar photos in a row—like someone had taken them in sequence.
And then, a fire hydrant.
I scrolled again, hands trembling.
"What the hell is all this...?"
A photo of me heading home.
Judging by the location, the third floor of the West Wing.
My backpack was visible—one I had thrown away.
That must’ve been right before my second year started.
And then, nothing.
No more photos of me after that.
The next pictures—bricks, a manhole cover, a bicycle, clouds—
And then, at dawn—
My hand froze.
A familiar street.
A familiar road.
A familiar front gate.
And me.
My back, right in front of my house.
A tight grip clenched around my chest.
I could barely breathe.
Heat surged to my head, while my fingertips went ice-cold.
Now, even my hands were visibly shaking.
I hurriedly closed the gallery, fumbling.
My fingers kept missing the power button, accidentally pressing the volume buttons instead.
Questions filled my head.
Why?
There was only one possible answer.
But it was too insane to be real.
A tingling sensation crawled up from my toes.
A spark of panic flared in the pit of my stomach.
I had no idea if this realization was poison or medicine.
I desperately tried to think, but—
The bathroom door opened.
I heard the sound of wet feet stepping onto the floor.
Slowly, I turned my head.
My neck made a stiff, cracking noise.
In my vision, I saw a damp T-shirt clinging to a body.
White fabric sticking to defined muscles.
Go Yohan walked toward me, towel-drying his wet hair.
Black strands, heavy with water, swayed under the towel.
"What are you doing?"
I forgot to answer.
I just stared at him.
His long, narrow eyes.
His thin irises.
His sharp nose.
His cold, almost vicious-looking face.
And yet, his voice—low, quiet, unexpectedly gentle.
His thin pupils rolled downward, landing on my trembling hands.
His voice dropped even lower.
"...What are you looking at?"
I followed his gaze.
His phone, neatly resting in my shaking hands.
I needed to say something.
Your dad called.
He asked for my number.
But before I could, Go Yohan’s long legs stepped forward.
My eyes flickered downward.
His sweatpants barely covered his ankles, exposing his prominent bones.
Long fingers reached toward me.
His shower-warmed hand touched mine, and he took the phone.
His fingers tapped the screen.
The gallery would open.
And he would see exactly what I had been looking at.
"Uh—"
"......"
Slowly, he lifted his head.
Our eyes met.
The phone’s bright screen lit up his cold expression.
Hic.
My face burned as a hiccup escaped.
Go Yohan’s gaze darkened.
Heavy. Silent. Despairing.
His body tensed.
"...No."
Hic. Hic.
I flinched as my body jerked on the bed.
And then, Go Yohan suddenly screamed.
"No. No. No! It’s not! It’s not! It’s NOT! NO! NO! NO! IT'S NOT!"
His hands clenched the phone so tightly they turned pale.
His face, too, was completely drained of color.
Panicked. Terrified.
I had never seen him like this before.
Then, as if possessed—
Go Yohan threw his phone to the ground—
And started stomping on it.
“No. No! It’s not. No! No! No!”
“Hey, what’s wrong with you?”
What the hell am I supposed to do in a situation like this? I’ve never dealt with anything like this before. The only thing I can tell is that Yohan is scared—and that I can’t just leave him like this. I’ve always been weak when it came to people I cared about, and Yohan was the one I had been in unrequited love with.
“T-There must’ve been something there... that I wasn’t supposed to see.”
What a ridiculous lie. And yet, I even thought that saying, “It’s okay. I didn’t see anything.” would only make it more obvious that I had seen something. What kind of stupid strategy is this? It’s already too late. But still, I kept up the act. Yohan wasn’t thinking straight right now—maybe this would actually work on him.
“I just picked up the call because your father was looking for you.”
Yohan, who had been screaming “No” like a man possessed, suddenly stopped dead at my words.
“When I hung up, the screen unlocked... I panicked and pressed something by accident. Did I mess something up?”
The only sound in the room was the harsh panting of Yohan’s breath. He glanced back and forth between me and the phone. Did it work? I had even forgotten my hiccups had stopped as I gave him a small, fake smile—just to reassure him.
Yohan’s expression looked awkward. It seemed like it had worked. I kept an eye on the shifting atmosphere. But then, out of nowhere, Yohan reached out and snatched my phone.
“What—what are you doing?”
Yohan swiped his thumb across the screen a few times before abruptly stopping. That’s when it hit me—my passcode. 2580. I had never changed it since I got the phone. Turns out, I wasn’t the only one who knew it. Yohan had intentionally remembered it. I could only stare dumbly as it all unfolded.
Then, he looked at me. At the same time, his phone started ringing. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly answered the call. Then, he ended the call on my phone and checked his own screen. A sinking feeling settled in my gut. His phone was locked. Yohan lifted his head again, staring straight at me. In the deep darkness of the room, the only thing illuminated was Yohan’s cold gaze. That blank expression met mine.
“It won’t unlock.”
A chill ran down my spine. I hadn’t expected him to go this far to check. My hands were clammy. Without thinking, I wiped them against my thigh. There was no escape now. My legs trembled, weak and unsteady. I couldn’t even stand. In the end, I chose to face it head-on. The last resort I had hoped I’d never have to take.
“You.”
I wet my dry lips. The words wouldn’t come out. The sentence stuck in my throat, crawling up my esophagus like something alive. Should I say it? Or should I keep my mouth shut? Was this the right choice? My mind wrestled with itself, battling back and forth. But in the end, my final decision won out.
“...Are you gay?”
Yohan’s breath hitched.
His trembling hand pointed at me. Even without looking closely, I could tell he was shaking all over. His face grew paler as his eyes followed the direction of my finger. The phone in his grip started quivering violently. And then, everything plummeted to the floor. Crack. The sound of glass shattering rang through the room. In the end, I forced out a trembling voice.
“Don’t tell me... you like me?”
“No.”
“...Liar. I saw everything. Your photo album.”
I tried to sound as casual as possible. I know everything about how you feel.
Honestly, who secretly takes pictures of a classmate for a whole year? Especially back in our first year, when we weren’t even close? The way our eyes had met strangely. How Yohan had always expressed an unusual hatred toward gay people. His father, who despised him. Yohan, isolated from his family. Everything was starting to make sense.
Yohan’s pupils wavered as he looked at my face—one filled with certainty. And then, he spoke words I hadn’t expected.
“You’re the same.”
His voice was laced with mockery. The corner of his lips curled up in a smirk, strangely relaxed. Or maybe he was just pretending to be. Mockery? What was there to gain from mocking me?
“Don’t act so shameless. I know everything. And you’ve seen my photo album, so you should know too.”
Yohan’s trembling lips stretched into a thin line. His gaze was always directed downward, looking at me from above. My mind replayed the last thing I had seen in his photo album—an image taken at dawn. Overwhelmed by helplessness and humiliation, I shut my eyes tightly and bit my lip.
In the end, the witness that night had been Yohan.
I let out a silent sigh and opened my eyes. I couldn’t make any excuses. Yohan had the evidence. I was nothing more than a condemned man waiting for his sentence. Yohan twisted his pale lips—an almost pitiful smirk. But I didn’t cry. I didn’t beg him for mercy. I just silently watched the eerie curve of his mouth.
“To be honest, I kind of suspected for a while now. Since last autumn? No... maybe near the end of summer? It’s been a while. I’m pretty sharp, you know? But I wasn’t entirely sure until a few months ago.”
What a bluff. Yohan was squeezing out every last ounce of defiance to launch this attack. Not to hurt me—but to protect himself.
“...What.”
That’s what was strange. I clenched my sweat-drenched fist even tighter. Yohan had a hold on me just like I did on him. This was an embarrassment that made me want to die. No way in hell was I going to let it show. I glared back at him so hard my eyes dried out, tears welling up as a result. My mind reeled, replaying every word Yohan had spoken, flashing by like a film reel.
The day after Junwoo hit me for the first time, Yohan had suddenly shown up at my house. And the words he had said to me back then, in that strange atmosphere—
“I’ll keep it a secret.”
A shiver ran down my spine. That bastard. He had known everything when he said that. He had said that knowing everything.
Then why was he so scared right now? He held my secret in his hands.
Yohan, who had been rambling, suddenly fell silent, his breath growing rough. He hesitated, as if there was something he was struggling to say.
What was he about to reveal? I bit my lip. Finally, Yohan parted his lips, the slightest hint of hesitation lingering in his voice. I let out a slow breath and braced myself for the final judgment.
“...You like Han Junwoo, don’t you?”
What?
The conclusion was utterly ridiculous. My glare, locked onto Yohan, immediately contorted. Without even realizing it, my words tumbled out in a dumbfounded tone.
“No?”
“Liar.”
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“I said I don’t.”
“As if. Don’t bullshit me, fucker!”
Yohan yelled, hurling the phone in his other hand. The thin device bounced off the floor and crashed against the drawer. Finally, he buried his face in both hands, gripping his bangs tightly. His whole body wavered slightly as he lost balance.