Episode 7
Beomjin let out a short sigh and frowned, shooting a look at her. His hair was a complete mess, and he shook his head. “Your jokes are seriously…” “Better than menstrual cramps.” Junyoung grinned as she lightly jumped off the last step. She had an invincible shield after all.
Beomjin’s sharp jaw tightened, and a dangerous look flashed in his eyes. Junyoung, watching him readjust his grip on the chopsticks, tensed slightly and suddenly cried out. “Don’t!”
She ran toward him, but it was too late—the yolk had already burst and was spreading through the ramen soup. Junyoung glared. “Hey!” “Aren’t you going to shower? You reek of sweat.” “I was going to, after eating.”
Beomjin pinched his nose dramatically, and Junyoung, scowling, grabbed her chopsticks from the table. She quickly fended off Beomjin’s sneaky attempt to steal a bite and wolfed down her ramen. As always, it was delicious.
Once she devoured her bowl, her next target was Beomjin’s towel. She didn’t need to check to know how tangled her hair must be. She could manage washing it at the sink with some soap, but the only towel in the house was the one he brought.
Seizing the moment as he carried the empty pot to the sink, Junyoung snatched the towel from his bag like a bird of prey.
By the time Beomjin turned back, she already had the towel draped around her neck and tucked under her shirt. “Let me borrow it.” She spoke nonchalantly, meeting his stunned gaze with cool composure. Experience told her that acting confident worked better than looking nervous in front of Kwon Beomjin.
Beomjin’s eyes dropped from her nape to the lump hidden beneath her shirt. He frowned and turned away with a sigh. “What kind of girl are you…” “You don’t need to wash your hair today anyway. It’s not like anyone’s brave enough to say anything to you.”
Junyoung’s voice came out more clearly now. Beomjin slowly turned toward her. “Who cares about your hair? Na Seungwoon?”
Junyoung froze, her half-smiling face going blank. She stuttered without meaning to. “Why would Na Seungwoon care about my hair?”
“Are you really not going home today?” He abruptly changed the subject with a sigh as he scrubbed the pot. Junyoung nodded. “Yeah.” “The water’s cold. Boil it first.”
Having quickly finished the dishes, Beomjin filled the clean pot with water and set it on the stove again.
Despite his appearance, Kwon Beomjin was unfailingly meticulous and considerate. Feeling awkward, Junyoung fidgeted with her chair before speaking as he yawned. “Go up and sleep for a bit. I’ll wake you when I’m done.”
He hesitated, then sighed deeply and slumped into the chair. “How am I supposed to sleep with the smell of sweat everywhere?” “It’s not that bad!” “Whatever. I’m sleeping. Don’t talk to me.”
He crossed his arms, leaned his head against the wall, and closed his eyes. Junyoung made a face and turned to the sink. She bent over and washed her hair, dried it with the towel, and throughout it all, Beomjin never opened his eyes.
If he focused on studying like he does on sleeping, my spot might be in danger. Now that she thought about it… how were Beomjin’s grades anyway?
She was chuckling to herself when she clicked her tongue. Off to the side, Hyesoo and her group of friends were approaching.
As soon as their eyes met, Hyesoo raised a hand in greeting with a sharp upward curl to her eyes. “Yoon Junyoung. Are you feeling better?”
Why is she asking that like she cares? This feels off. “Thanks for asking.”
Junyoung tried to walk past, but Hyesoo blocked her path. The ribbon in her glossy hair sparkled in the sunlight.
“You look fine. Disappointingly fine. Honestly, I’m surprised. I didn’t think you would pull such a childish stunt.”
“What stunt?” Junyoung usually ignored Hyesoo’s remarks, but this one stuck. She frowned.
Hyesoo scoffed and flipped her hair. “Fainting in front of Seungwoon just to get his attention? That was too much. You were hilarious yesterday.”
A shallow sigh escaped Junyoung as she looked at Hyesoo. “Why do you think I want Na Seungwoon’s attention?”
“Why ask me? You really think we don’t know?”
Hyesoo let out a mocking laugh and raised her voice. “You like Seungwoon. You always stare at him like that. What, acting uninterested didn’t work so now you’re switching strategies? Embarrassed now that you got caught?”
Her face burned like it had been stripped bare. She wanted to laugh it off, but her face refused to move.
Me? Like Na Seungwoon? No way. I only watched him because he was—different. He stood out, and it annoyed me.
Suddenly, Beomjin’s voice echoed in her mind: Who cares about your hair? Na Seungwoon?
Even if she retorted with a sneer, Hyesoo wouldn’t back off. And she didn’t miss the flicker of hesitation in Junyoung’s eyes.
“You’re really twisted, you know that? If you like someone, just say so. Though, I guess I understand why you can’t.”
Hyesoo’s eyes gleamed cruelly as she leaned in and whispered. “It’s not your fault your mom is… what she is.”
“…What?” Junyoung’s shoulders went rigid. Not just her shoulders—her whole body froze like roots had grown from her feet.
Hyesoo smiled in satisfaction as she tapped Junyoung’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m good at keeping secrets. Usually.”
“What the hell are you talking about—”
“Junyoung.”
Junyoung’s mouth shut at the sound behind her. Hyesoo’s smirk vanished like a cloud dispersing. Her expression turned innocent.
Junyoung heard a bike stop nearby, but she couldn’t turn around. Her fingertips trembled in the chill that had suddenly gripped her.
“Good morning. Feeling any better?”
It was a warm voice, soft as spring air—but it didn’t feel warm at all. Hyesoo watched her like a snake with venom hidden in its fangs.
A clean-cut face suddenly filled her vision. “Junyoung, are you okay?”
Startled, she took a step back. She met Na Seungwoon’s gaze—his warm, brown eyes filled with concern.
“If you think you should go to the hospital…”
“I told you.” Her lips moved on their own, pulled along by Hyesoo’s stare. “Don’t worry about me.”
Her voice was cold, like it wasn’t even hers. She pushed past Hyesoo, who let out a scoffing chuckle that echoed like a ghost.
As she walked, Junyoung spotted Beomjin watching from a distance. His long bag slung over one shoulder, his messy hair still a disaster.
She laughed—and with that laugh, her stiff face finally crumbled.
Beomjin squinted one eye and opened his mouth to say something, but Junyoung shook her head silently.
As she passed him, she could feel his gaze following, burning into her back. Her clenched fists trembled slightly.
—
Her mother was not a normal person.
Junyoung didn’t know much about her mother. Only that she was desperately ill, and that sometimes, to endure it, she had to release her pain in violent, uncontrollable outbursts—sometimes directed at her daughter.
When had she stopped speaking properly? If Junyoung thought hard, she remembered vague conversations from when she was very small. It wasn’t heartwarming, but she had followed her mother around, babbling. Once in a while, her mom would reply, and it had made her oddly happy.
These days, when her mother wasn’t suffering, she could manage a few words. But no one would call it a conversation. Junyoung no longer expected one either.
Still—what was her mother thinking about all the time?
There was a time when Junyoung had worried about her mother, working while sick. But that worry faded the night her drunken mother kicked her and stomped on her until she had to clean up her urine with a rag.
Her mother was dried-out and fragile, but in those moments, she was terrifyingly strong. The best Junyoung could do was survive.
They were poor. But poverty doesn’t break everyone like that. Her mother, Junyoung suspected, had a deep and very old wound that was slowly eating her alive—body and soul.
But that thought didn’t comfort her.
What does Mom even do?
Lately, her mom had started leaving crumpled bills in the corners of their dingy room—a thousand won here, ten thousand there. They sat there for days. One day Junyoung asked if she could take some. Her mom, lying under an old blanket, said nothing.
So Junyoung used it to buy used books.
Her mom never punished her for it. So it became an unspoken rule—those scattered bills were Junyoung’s allowance.
TO be continued…
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