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Chapter 09
“Ah, ngh, aaah!”
Yeonwoo trembled like an animal dragged to the slaughterhouse, unable to move. Each time Jungwoon’s arm swung up and came down, it brought with it pain so sharp it felt like his bones were shattering.
“You fucking bitch!”
Every time he spat a curse, the dull thud of impact grew heavier. Sparks burst in front of Yeonwoo’s eyes like lightning. His legs buckled, his stomach churned.
“Hff, hhhk…”
“No, ngh, no…”
For the first time, Yeonwoo struggled, scrambling on his knees across the wooden floor of the side room as though wiping it clean with his own body. Each time, his hair or shoulder was seized and dragged back.
Cursedly, he thought of Woo Jungha. He wished the boy would suddenly appear and rescue him. But the annex was silent, as though not even an insect would crawl through, and the only sounds that spread with the dust in the air were those of violence.
As Yeonwoo’s vision blurred, his eyes caught through the half-open door the gaze of his aunt, staring back at him in fear.
“……”
The sound of Park Jungwoon’s heavy, ragged breaths filled the silence. The coppery stench of blood pierced Yeonwoo’s nose. With a dull thud, his body collapsed against the side of the room like a broken doll, unable to support itself. Curses rang out again, followed by the scrape of a lighter and the hiss of a cigarette being lit.
From his split lips, laughter spilled out in spite of himself.
“…Ha, haha… fuck.”
The curse muttered under his breath was exactly like Jungwoon’s. Of course it was, since that was all he had seen and learned—but even so, the realization made Yeonwoo shudder and furrow his brow in disgust.
At last, the beating seemed to end. Crawling toward the sliding door on aching knees, every bone and patch of skin felt like it might crush into dust at any moment.
That night, he lay groaning in pain, bedridden for over two days. At some point, his aunt pressed money into Jungwoon’s hand and sent him away. Then, past midday, she slipped into town and returned with medicine.
She even insisted on bathing Yeonwoo in hot water before tending to his wounds with ointment. Not a single word passed between them during the process.
That was simply the kind of person his aunt was. She would sometimes try to stop Jungwoon, and yet never when it truly mattered. She cursed the cost of raising Yeonwoo, but even after his mother’s death, she had not abandoned him.
“The young master seems to go out exercising every day.”
It was four mornings later when she finally broke the silence.
Yeonwoo looked up from where he had been rinsing green onions in cold water. His aunt’s sudden mention of Woo Jungha baffled him. Especially since Jungha had just come to mind because of their promise. Pretending to focus on peeling an onion, he listened closely.
“It’s already February. School starts in less than a month. Shouldn’t someone at least tell the young master where to get his uniform tailored? Madam hasn’t even asked.”
“…He’ll figure it out.”
His curt answer made her narrow her eyes.
“He was looking for you while you were laid up, you know?”
“Looking for me?”
“The young master. He said he heard you were top of the class at the school he’s transferring into, and he wanted to ask you something.”
So that was it. That was why she kept dropping ‘young master’ and ‘madam’ into conversation—because of that stupid label stuck to him: first in the entire school.
Maybe she was delighted, imagining it would be the perfect chance to press down that haughty madam who had treated her like a servant while flaunting a cashmere coat on their first meeting.
Transparent as glass, as always.
“…If he needs me, he’ll come again.”
“You shouldn’t be like that. Living under the same roof makes you family now.”
“Since when does family cook meals and serve them up like offerings? That’s from a time when tigers smoked pipes.”
“Ugh, that temper of yours. …Hurry up and eat, then put on some ointment. I bought it.”
“Ointment?”
“……”
When Yeonwoo asked, puzzled, she clamped her mouth shut and turned her head away sharply.
She was embarrassed.
And that—those small moments—were the reason Yeonwoo couldn’t truly hate her, even if he wanted to. Sometimes she was hopelessly in love with Jungwoon, but other times she was undeniably his aunt, Seo Yeonwoo’s.
“……”
Still, he hadn’t kept his morning promise with Woo Jungha, so the boy must have realized something had happened. Yeonwoo’s half-healed lip twisted downward.
He stared for a long time at his reflection in the water he had drawn into a red rubber basin. Onion skins floated on the surface, but his face was still clear enough.
…Hideous.
He had avoided blows to the most visible spots as best he could, but reddish welts streaked his face and neck all the same.
The water stung against his skin; no doubt the sight looked even worse. He quickly turned away, a burning shame gnawing inside him, as though Jungha were watching.
He didn’t want to show himself like this. Dying in some reckless way was one thing, but not this. Especially not after crying his heart out and screaming like a child in front of Jungha that day. At the very least, he wanted to appear intact.
“……”
He couldn’t explain why the sight of his bruised red neck suddenly reminded him of a pink scarf.
He began avoiding Jungha altogether. Maybe his aunt was right—living inside the same walls did make them like family—because every time Yeonwoo stepped outside, Jungha seemed to emerge from the main house, and Yeonwoo would dart back inside the annex.
“…What’s with him.”
After dodging him several times, Jungha even came by during breakfast hours to ask after Yeonwoo’s whereabouts.
The repetition of the same scene eventually clued in even his clueless aunt: Yeonwoo was deliberately avoiding Jungha.
“If it’s because of something Jungwoon said, you don’t need to worry. He hasn’t come home in days anyway… The young master is the one looking for you.”
“That’s not it.”
The scabbed-over wound on his lip still looked ugly, no matter what.
Maybe it would be easier to avoid him if he simply wasn’t at home. One day, Yeonwoo told his aunt he was going to a used bookstore and slipped out.
“……”
But halfway down the sloping road, he saw him—Jungha, standing below with one leg propped up carelessly, waiting. Their eyes locked.
Yeonwoo’s face flushed hot red. His heart pounded like a child caught stealing pocket money.
Thump, thump. The uncontrollable pounding nearly made his head split. Then Jungha’s long strides closed the distance, and suddenly he was right there in front of him.
“…So that’s why you’ve been avoiding me?”
“…What? Nothing happened.”
The lie leapt out as easily as a snake slipping over a wall, but his face, unaccustomed to deceit, burned even redder.
Jungha’s dark eyes scanned the bruises mottling Yeonwoo’s neck and face. His gaze, always dangerously captivating, seemed even deeper now.
Whether he was worried or angry was impossible to tell; his expression didn’t change. Only his lips were pressed tighter than usual, and his clenched fist showed the strain of his grip.
“You… fuck.”
At that sight, Yeonwoo instinctively stepped back. Not because he thought Jungha would hit him, but because his body bore the ingrained reflexes of long years of violence.
His head dipped low, long hair falling like heavy curtains to hide his trembling. Even so, Jungha noticed the faint shake of that small frame, and a sigh escaped his lips.
“Come on.”
“…W-where to?”
“You’ll see.”
He knew instinctively that what Yeonwoo needed was not words, but warmth. His hand brushed past Yeonwoo’s chapped fingers and carefully closed over his sleeve. Then, tightening his grip until the fabric was bunched between his fingers, he held fast.
Strangely, Yeonwoo’s trembling stopped. Instead, his heart began to pound again.
“……”
Nothing was exchanged in their gaze, and yet Yeonwoo’s body followed Jungha’s lead as though by nature.
