Chapter Text
Sleep was weighing down on him. He shifted with discomfort on his own bed, limbs laced with fatigue. In the haze of semi-slumber, Dowoon could inevitably feel a hard object poking through his ribs and vibrating against the tousled sheets.
He grouched unhappily, brows pinching into a frown. Although the sound was muffled, the object kept vibrating under his side in an aggravating determination to wake him up.
Peeling his lids open had never been done with as much difficulty. It took him a few minutes to gather his bearings and recognise the worn poster of Marriah Carrey fixed at the back of his bedroom door.
Once his blurry sight cleared, Dowoon swiped around his bed in lethargic search of his phone. The tangled sheets made the easy job unnecessarily more laborious. A few of his strewn homework that had been ignored for the past three hours fell to the ground and joined the various piles of neglected laundry.
The phone had stopped vibrating by the time Dowoon found it. Squinting through his messages, he suppressed a sigh of exasperation when he examined the 7 missed calls from his friend. He briefly envisaged calling back before tossing the device away in favour of reaching for his homework on the floor.
He was only a few drowsy seconds into his math assignment when his phone went off in bursts again. Not without cursing lightly under his breath, Dowoon picked up.
“What do you want?” he sighed.
“You have to see this bro,” the voice on the other end told him. Dowoon rolled his eyes, already regretting putting up with his friend’s idiotic desideratum. He didn’t bother with an answer, but he didn’t need to; his friend forwarded a link to his messenger.
“It’s like, super viral. The whole school has seen it, and since I know you barely care about shit, I might as well send it to you,” his friend’s tinny voice said. He sounded proud, like he was doing Dowoon a service.
“I don’t want to deal with your bullshit right now,” Dowoon emotionlessly responded, setting his phone on speaker and entering the messenger app nonetheless.
“You’re not going to regret this,” his friend promised, “it’s this week’s full course meal, and probably this whole month’s.”
Wondering what his friend meant by that, Dowoon tapped on the link that was sent to him. It lent itself to an anonymous Facebook page with only one video made public. No other information was given away.
Without much thought, Dowoon played the footage, not noticing the absence of a thumbnail. Immediately, he frowned. His ears began to burn against his will.
“What the fuck, Sungsoo?” he said, on the brink of exiting the application.
“Just keep watching it,” were the mirthful words that stopped him.
He unenthusiastically obliged, regardless of morals. The more he observed the footage, the less he could believe that he was actually witnessing a guy’s bare clavicles being sucked by a ripped guy that looked like he spent a vast measure of his time working out. The video played in low-quality pixelation, but anyone with working eyes could tell what was going on.
“Are you at the good part yet?”
“You’re sick,” Dowoon replied. Despite himself, he hadn’t yet tore his eyes away from the screen. The fit guy’s back flexed in a sign of exertion, and underneath his mass, the leaner boy threw his head back in sheer delight. Indistinct sounds resounded from his phone.
Two guys were involved in the footage: one with broad shoulders but with his back facing the camera. Nothing about his identity could possibly be revealed. The other boy, though, was completely in the nude, exposed to the world’s eyes. In fact, the camera’s focus was settled almost undividedly on him. It was much like watching porn, Dowoon would know, but narrowed down to a much subdued format.
Eventually, he came to know which part was the good part that his friend mentioned. Not finishing the video, Dowoon whispered to his friend how dumb it was and ended the call. He found himself hovering over the video for a second too long before closing all tabs and once again flinging his phone to the other side of the bed.
A way into his abandoned homework, he was shortly interrupted by his mom invading his personal territory to pat his cheeks and tell him how committed of a boy he was. Dowoon assumed a pretense of said committed boy in her presence, and dropped his head between his elbows atop his stack of papers, drifting off once she flaked out of sight.
All thought of the video had hereby been forgotten.
—
In the passing, Dowoon involuntarily learned that one of the two boys’ name was Kim Wonpil. He didn’t need to watch the video past half of it to know that he was the unfortunate one that lugged all the weight of shame on his shoulders when the beginning of the week unfurled. The resemblance was pretty straightforward. Broad Shoulders , however, had yet to be pegged to a name and face.
He lazily chewed on the last remnant of his gum’s flavour as he inspected Kim Wonpil’s back. It was the first time Dowoon had seen him in the flesh since the video had been leaked.
As a matter of fact, it was the first time he’d ever taken notice of Wonpil period . He’d fleetingly heard some vulgar input being spread about the poor boy around the school, but essentially regarded very little consideration towards the issue.
Wonpil was seated at a picnic table, seemingly reviewing some notes and eating late lunch in tandem. A book was split open between his thighs, white earphones pinned in his ears. The afternoon was too bright for a lonely day in autumn, the bleak sun pouring down on him in a smooth line. It was a sight so innocuously simple, but there was nothing pleasant about being shunned.
In his position under a tree, Dowoon shook his head. They were both supposed to have class. Though Dowoon had no legitimate reason to skip, he couldn’t take that freedom away from Wonpil.
“That’s him,” Sungsoo said in a low voice next to his ear.
“You’re too close,” Dowoon steered backwards and shrugged him off, biting back a conscious I know .
“Did you hear me? That’s Kim Wonpil.”
“I don’t care,” Dowoon monotonously droned, closely spying Wonpil stretching his neck and leaning his face into the sunrays. Wonpil’s auburn hair and earphones swayed along the breeze, and if Dowoon didn’t know better, he would have branded him as the type of person who had their life perfectly whipped into shape. That obviously was a feeble semblance.
“Is he also from here?” he asked in the stream of his daze, genuinely wondering if their remote, tiny town really did spit someone like Wonpil into existence.
“So do you care or not?” Sungsoo stabbed an elbow into his ribs, lips curled into the badgering grin Dowoon itched to wipe off with a fist. He elbowed back in a subtle form of menace.
Dowoon ignored his friend out of spite, which strangely dragged an answer out of him, “no he’s not. He’s from Busan. Apparently came here only a few months ago.”
“That’s sad,” Dowoon said as he believed.
“Huh,” Sungsoo unsympathetically griped, “he sleeps around a lot, that’s all he does. His grades dropped so low he had to move. Can you imagine that for a highschool student? That’s messed up.”
Dowoon had recurrently heard this rumor phrased in the same exact words the past few days. He was not surprised in the least to hear it from Sungsoo. Indifferent, he sorely thought of his shift at the convenience store later today. It engineered a sigh out of him.
Sungsoo mistook it as a sign of interest. “Yeah, I know right, he’s supposed to be a year older than us, which means he’s supposed to have graduated. Is it even possible to have so much sex to the point of not graduating?”
Dowoon blinked, asking himself why Wonpil’s head was still tilted forth in a questionable attempt at photosynthesis. He couldn’t help but pick up on the long slope of his neck, pale like he’d dropped bleach on himself.
“Dowoon?”
“Hm? Oh, that’s sad,” he listlessly claimed.
“Not sadder than your entire existence, bro, I mean look at you. Do you even have a soul?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” he said. In the distance, Wonpil buried his head in his arms and seemed to have faded into another reality. Dowoon couldn’t blame him. The past week would be insufferable for anyone in his shoes.
“What happened to you bro? You used to be more lively than this.” Silence, and then a nudge to which Dowoon reacted with a disgruntled shake of his shoulder. “Hey, Woon.”
“What?” Dowoon hummed around his bland gum, completely distracted from the response.
Sungsoo heaved a sigh, scratched his head, and got to his feet. “Nevermind. You want to get some food? I'm hungry.”
Dowoon emulated his friend’s actions and dusted himself off when he stood. Before following Sungsoo to the cafeteria, he threw one last glance over his shoulder, just as Wonpil lifted his eyes to meet his gaze. Dowoon let his stare linger for a moment longer, and disappeared into the hallway.
—
The school’s restroom bore a distinctive smell of javel as it usually seemed to at this time of day. As the final bell had just dismissed all classes, a clutter of students loitered around in the toilet for reasons Dowoon didn’t care to find out.
Most of them were on their phones, and the rest that were not passively watched behind their friend’s shoulders. Sure enough, everyone was involved in the same predictable activity. It didn’t take Sherlock’s puzzle-solving magic to know what they were gossiping about.
“Oh my God, did you see that?”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Oh! That’s nasty!”
“What’s he doing now?”
“That looks like it hurts!”
Amidst the obnoxious chatter, Dowoon zipped up his pants and shouldered his way through the crowd, uncaring of whose foot he might step on.
As he lathered his hands with soap, he chanced a glimpse at a random student’s phone. He rolled his eyes in disdain when he spotted a fragment of Wonpil’s face, and decided four minutes was too much time wasted in a highschool restroom.
He threaded his way out, wiping his hands on the fabric of his shorts. He still had quite a long way ahead of him before today would end, and in that moment of frustration, Dowoon inwardly wished he could pay the huge debt he owed to sleep.
The classroom in which his collective tutor lesson took place was quiet and vacant. Dowoon pinned his hopes on the seat at the rearmost row tucked in a peaceful corner. He tossed his backpack in a slovenly display of complete loss of responsive wits and threw himself on the chair. Folding his arms over the table, he ensconced himself into the self-made pillow.
Semi-slumber seemed to be the exclusive form of rest he’d ever procure. Partly awake, he became faintly aware of the sound of a geography course being lead and some jibber jabber he found meaningless.
The next time he picked his head up and opened his eyes, it was like the classroom had never been filled with anyone other than himself. The room was significantly darker, no longer illuminated by natural light from the window. Just as he hadn’t bothered with pulling out a book, nobody had bothered waking him up and had all gone home.
A lone janitor was dusting the teacher’s desk, whistling to himself, completely unconcerned about Dowoon’s presence.
Sluggish, he came to a raise and trailed his backpack behind him. Although the janitor had earphones jammed in his ears and eyes fixed on the already clean surface of the desk, Dowoon still waved goodbye on his way out.
The sun had long disappeared below the steep horizon when Dowoon stepped out of the school’s enclosed space. With a sigh, he dragged his feet to the bus stop, quiescent under a moonless raven sky.
When he stepped upon the demarcated pavement, a girl he thought was in one of his classes greeted him with a smile, and Dowoon wasn’t very troubled in responding adequately. Soon enough, her bus pulled over and she drifted off with it, leaving Dowoon utterly, faultlessly alone.
He found company in his phone and the empty bench as he waited for his ride, idly scrolling through the little social media resource he had access to. The night was somewhat breezy and damp, darker than any. Not even the screeching crickets made the area feel less hollow.
“Sorry,” a voice interrupted his investigation. Dowoon reflexively flattened his phone against his thigh and lifted his gaze. For one reason or another, he was hardly surprised to be met with Wonpil’s level eyes hammering him in place.
“Yeah?” he replied.
Wonpil fixed him with a look of total detachment, as though lost in contemplation. Then, he spoke in a resigned manner, “what bus should I take to get to Magnolia district?”
Dowoon briefly recalled the area before realising that it was a stop away from the convenience store he worked in.
“No. 4,” he concisely answered and narrowed his eyes.
“Alright.”
Wonpil’s lips twitched into what would normally be a smile, but judging by the state of his black-rimmed eyes and unfocused scrutiny, Dowoon would rather call it a pathetic excuse of an attempt. The constipated look on his face told Dowoon he'd more willingly ask for advice from a wall than face another human being.
Approximately 5 dreadful minutes passed in ghost-like silence, Dowoon drumming his fingers on his knee, and if they hadn’t talked, he wouldn’t even have known that Wonpil was sitting to his right. The crickets did not relent in their chanting.
Their designed bus pulled over the curb. Dowoon scurried inside to find a seat, which took a few seconds considering the time of the day and the general population of their town.
Wonpil followed like a shadow, quiet and almost imperceptible. To Dowoon’s best knowledge, every single seat but his was available for use, but Wonpil obstinately remained standing, finding support on the handle. He missed it a couple of times before properly hooking his hand in the loop.
Dowoon snorted and looked away.
He’d nearly nodded off to sleep, but Wonpil slicing his way in front of him to the exit pulled him back into a thorough state of awakeness.
“Not this stop,” he grouched. Wonpil froze in the middle of his tracks and pursed his lips.
“Okay,” he mumbled, retracting himself to where he stood.
“Next two stops,” Dowoon clarified.
“Okay.”
Two stops later, Wonpil got off the bus, towing with him his dispirited element. His figure withdrew into the night, the pink backpack slung over his shoulder the only indication that he really was walking the worn streets of Magnolia district.
The bus stuttered forward with only Dowoon and the driver on board, putting more distance between Wonpil’s receding silhouette and the vehicle.
Later, as Dowoon finally clocked into his shift, he was struck with the sudden recollection that Magnolia district prevailed with whorehouses and strip clubs. As a customer entered the store at such an ungodly hour, Dowoon shrugged and forgot everything about Wonpil for the rest of the night.