FBF chapter 1 part 1

5×5 Volume 1

Prologue

There are days when everyone in the world should come face to face, but not Lee Jihoon.

Especially on the tough days, his was a presence I should avoid. Unlike those who immediately wanted to share good news with a loved one, I thought of Lee Jihoon more in the face of bad news. The day I heard my grandfather’s test results, or on days when everything went wrong at work. On days like these, standing in front of Jihoon in a ragged state made me want to throw everything away.

For someone like me, who had something that could never be discovered, it was a dangerous thing. In that sense, the sudden appearance of Jihoon, without any warning, felt closer to poison at this moment.

“You’re late?”

I swallowed a sigh as I watched him casually scratch his belly. He had already changed clothes, indicating he had been here for quite a while. My eyes traced around the living room, each item planted with Jihoon’s presence. The house, which I hadn’t managed to clean due to a hectic few days of night shifts, was unnaturally tidy. It meant that it was touched by Jihoon. It was no surprise to me, having known him for almost 15 years, that after finishing his flight he would choose first to clean his friend’s house.

The last place my gaze landed was the display cabinet. In the otherwise bare living room, the only thing that stood out was the cabinet lined with strange items. I was a fool counting each item in there, but it didn’t take long to realize that Jihoon had added a new piece to his collection.

The 26th flight souvenir. Since his first flight, he had collected items, and due to my own keeping of things he never even requested, the number had only grown over time. There was no need to ask the reason anymore, nor to hear an answer, so I turned my eyes away from the storage closet and asked gruffly.

“Food?”

“Ordered chicken. Wash up and come out. We’ll eat together.”

Seeing him lounging on the sofa made me wonder if the owner of the house was him instead. A thought that was usually disregarded felt particularly bothersome today, possibly because of three overlapping bad conditions.

It had been a long, long day. Even seeing Jihoon’s face after three weeks didn’t bring me any joy.

“We’ve done everything we can for him. In reality, further medical intervention is meaningless.”

How long must one hold onto a comatose person to not be seen as regretful? That I could manage to have my grandfather admitted to the best and most expensive hospital in Seoul felt like something from a distant past. Meeting with the renowned specialist took three months. The relief I felt while watching my grandfather undergo various tests is now nowhere to be found.

When I returned to the hospital room after the consultation, my grandfather’s hand felt warm. I was paying for that warmth, but without the life-supporting machines clinging to him so tightly, it felt ephemeral, like vapor that would vanish instantly. Just then, a nurse who’d just returned from the bathroom caught me as I tried to leave the room. She hinted she was looking for another caregiver and said she might not be able to continue taking care of him as his arms and legs had been particularly troublesome lately. She was the one who had been looking after him since I brought him to this hospital. As I looked at the deepening wrinkles by her eyes, I didn’t know what to say other than to apologize. I accessed an online café to find caregivers on my way home.

75 years old / Male / Unconscious State

Just writing that much made me drop my head in defeat. The blinking cursor felt as if it were mocking my grandfather’s life. I closed my phone without posting anything at all.

It felt like everyone was telling me to stop. My grandfather would have no chance of returning to consciousness, and holding onto that slowly dying old man was only my burden. If I just let go, everyone else could be relieved, so I felt a push to shed my attachment.

Even my grandfather, who was extending his life only with this life-support system.

“I want to go home.”

My grandfather had been a man of few words, which is why I still remembered the few he spoke long after. Before he lost consciousness, the last words he spoke while in the hospital were that he wanted to go home. He’d rather die at home than in the hospital. I couldn’t bear it when he said that. I even lost my temper. I asked him what the plan would be when he got home, telling him not to say something so easily about dying. After seeing me lose my temper, my grandfather didn’t say it again. However, without saying a word, I knew he still hoped for the same thing. The silent old man often gave an impression closer to certainty.

Only when I heard the doorbell did I wake from my reverie. I remembered Jihoon was still in the living room and that I’d have to see him if I went out. My condition was so poor I had to keep reminding myself of the situation I was in. Though I knew facing him wouldn’t bring any good, I also couldn’t muster the courage to push the kid who had just returned from a flight away for no reason.

This too was something I had come to learn painfully well. Shaking my head, I averted my gaze from the messy expression reflected in the mirror.

“You could have just come out casually. Why bother getting all dressed up? I waited, and it’s all cold now, dumbass.”

Jihoon threw that reprimand at me the moment he saw me come out of the bathroom. He seemed to have been waiting to eat together because there was no trace of him touching the chicken on the table. As soon as I sat down at the table with my hair still damp, Jihoon handed me some chopsticks. I turned my gaze away from his torso right in front of me as I accepted them. I didn’t know whether I should feel happy that I was able to casually ignore his bare torso, or if I should feel sad about it.

[Yes. They’re coming in with the bases loaded.]

The television that had been on since I got home was still showing a baseball game. Jihoon, biting into a chicken leg, muttered aimlessly.

“It pisses me off that these guys earn more than I do….”

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I glanced at him as Jihoon pointed the bone at the screen. His expression made it clear what he would say next.

“Is this Inception? They were losing before I left and still are after I got back. The score is the same, what the hell.”

“I told you it would be quicker to change the team you’re rooting for.”

As I answered, I suddenly burst out laughing absurdly. It was only then that I noticed the name of the chicken shop printed on the bag. How could his stubborn taste not change even a little bit? Jihoon, who stuck to ordering from that same chicken shop since the first day he visited this house two years ago, was one of a kind. It oddly felt like my mood dropped, considering that there would be one more magnet to stick to the side of the fridge, just like the things in the display cabinet.

Jihoon would leave, but the fridge magnets would remain. The one who sticks them on and the one who removes them are different. Much like the difference between someone who buys souvenirs and someone who cherishes them.

It was tiresome. I wondered what I expected from someone who wouldn’t even change a baseball team with a disgraceful record and insisted on the same chicken place for two years. Regardless, I felt the same about not changing. I could just let go of this newfound realization and move on, but it felt particularly arduous today. Just in this moment, I found myself thinking only about the things Jihoon would leave behind.

Fortunately, the beer I grabbed was already flat. The excuse to avoid Jihoon’s gaze, however brief, was a relief as I immediately stood up, but his line of sight followed me.

“Where are you going?”

“Getting a beer.”

“There’s none there? You’ll have to buy some.”

“Didn’t you lose them?”

“No way. I even cleaned out the fridge.”

What?

Cleaning a friend’s living room was one thing, but cleaning out the fridge was strange. But when our eyes met, it was apparent that there was no playfulness on his face.

“There wasn’t much to organize. Looks like you’re still making skipping meals a hobby.”

“…”

“While I’m at it, take care of your meals. Neither you nor I am getting any younger. We’re just wasting away. Wake up and manage your health.”

As I only half-listened to his nagging, I opened the fridge to check, but instead confirmed that there was no beer, and it looked like Jihoon thoroughly rummaged through it. Returning to my seat in frustration, Jihoon asked.

“Want to watch something else?”

Sitting there clutching my flat beer, I nodded absentmindedly. At almost the same moment, the screen changed.

[I don’t know. I don’t know, but if it’s not because I like you, then it makes no sense. Just thinking about you with someone else drives me crazy; if that’s not love, then what is? So, listen to me. Believe me. I’m telling you I like you.]

I inadvertently lifted my gaze. The face on the screen, the scenery behind it, and the conversation were all familiar; it was one of the few movies I’d seen in theaters.

“Hyung, the director of this movie told me to go see it. He even assigned it as homework. He asked for a reflection paper.”

Remembering the person I watched it with suddenly made me pause. Memories began to flood back. I remembered it was an omnibus-style film. It depicted five couples starting and ending their romances in various ways in parallel. Among those five couples, only one was a same-sex couple. Statistically, that’s one out of five. You might think the percentage might increase to over 20% if you included those who don’t openly display their orientation, but considering we were the only two men in the packed large theater in Yongsan late at night, it felt oddly reflective of reality.

The content was, in its own way, realistic. Normally, Jihoon would’ve glanced at me periodically, but ever since that couple appeared on screen, he was completely fixated on the movie. In the film, all couples began and ended their stories in the same location, and the same was true for the same-sex couple. The only difference was that they went from the place where they met to where they broke up. It was a breakup just like any other, with the same struggles to be the slightly lesser of the two evils in the face of parting, until all that remained before them were melted drinks. I wasn’t the only one to realize that, as the drinks in front of the couple had only slightly clouded while they spoke.

I thought the breakup was the end, but the movie showed that after they agreed to part ways, one left while the other stayed behind. The reason became clear when a new character appeared. A male customer at the cafe they had been in since they entered went up to the remaining man and asked for his number. The man, who had almost instinctively shook his head, hesitated and glanced back and forth between his ex-boyfriend who was walking past outside and the woman standing in front of him. In the end, he changed his mind and handed his number to the woman. He was someone who had given his boyfriend unnecessary anxiety throughout their relationship due to his past with a woman. Did he think that by doing this, he could revert to the beginning? After all, when he had broken up with the woman, there hadn’t been anyone who approached him for their number right away.

After the movie ended and as we were getting into the car, we didn’t say a word, as if we had made a promise. But it was easy to tell we were both thinking about the film we’d just seen. “I’m not writing that reflection paper.” The words with which Jihoon ended the conversation came without question, and I simply nodded without asking for a reason.

Watching a movie with someone seems to carry more weight than I’d expected. After this much time, it’s easy to recall more about the person I was with than the film itself. As I thought about the next scene, I absentmindedly picked up the remote that I had been avoiding and switched the channel.

“Why? Are you looking at me?”

It was unexpected when Jihoon snatched the remote and switched the channel.

[How can you be so sure that you’re not mistaken?]

[What, you want me to prove it? Tell me how I can prove it, and I will.]

[Hey.]

[I’ll do it your way.]

Had we ever had such childish conversations? It felt like a heartfelt scene, yet perhaps because I already knew how trivial their ending would be, it made me laugh. My chuckle seemed loud enough to make Jihoon turn to me. He looked at me, confused. I turned my gaze downward to avoid his.

“Just…”

Suddenly, I thought this situation was ridiculous.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? Two men doing that.”

There are two reasons a person gets defensive.

First, when they need to protect themselves. Second, when they need to protect someone else.

In that moment, both of those merged. Additionally, I was someone who would lightly hide my own possibility of being one of the two men so as not to talk about these kinds of things with Jihoon. It was also a moment when the life skills I had naturally acquired living in a place full of men for half my life came into play.

“Give me the remote.”

I reached out to Jihoon to change the subject alongside the channel, but I couldn’t reach it. Jihoon was looking intently at my face. He seemed to be thinking about what I had just said. It was not unusual for him to look at me, but abruptly stopping the conversation like this ruffled my nerves. For the first time since something had happened between us at twenty years old, we had not discussed such things implicitly. I didn’t know what had changed in his mindset, but Jihoon suddenly acting this way annoyed me. It seemed my condition was not well. Today, something I usually could have easily brushed off felt particularly laborious. Truthfully, I wanted Jihoon to eat that chicken and leave right away.

“Let’s watch something else. This is boring.”

Again, my attempt to grab the remote failed. Jihoon threw it to a place where I couldn’t reach it, and his gaze was fixed not on me but the television. The scene displayed two male actors creating an odd atmosphere. I saw Jihoon’s jaw moving slowly. After his throat moved once, he asked, empty of words.

“I still don’t get what’s funny. Is it wrong for two men to do that?”

I found myself speechless. Not having a reply seemed to unsettle Jihoon as he turned his head. We stared at each other like we were strangers. Jihoon felt unfamiliar. I wondered if he thought I also seemed strange.

“…What’s with the sudden comment? Are you drunk?”

Even as my heart sank, my body continued doing what it had to. While attempting to brush off his words as casually as possible, I was hastily searching for a way out. If even a hint of my feelings became evident, I had to make a quick escape.

“…”

“…”

Our abrupt silence widened the space filled with outside noise. Hearing the loud sounds of a motorcycle driving through the night, I focused on somewhere between Jihoon’s eyes and nose. The breeze entering through the living room window playfully fluttered Jihoon’s unstyled hair. The daytime felt like summer, but the night had a hint of fall. The lukewarm wind brushed through his hair beautifully.

It was a scene I had seen countless times. I mimicked someone who felt nothing, blinking slowly as if to prove that I too was oblivious.

“Geez, you idiot.”

The one to break the silence was Jihoon. He tossed the chopsticks in his hand away as if he found it absurd. A momentarily complicated expression cleared from his face, which then appeared deflated, much like when one gazes at the lackluster performance of a perpetually disappointing baseball team.

“It’s hard, you know.”

“…”

“If you’re not ready to talk, then fine. Just eat the chicken.”

Seeing him clearly taking a step back left me with an eerie chill at the back of my neck. The uneasy feeling I had when Jihoon snatched the remote from me was coming to fruition.

I felt as if I was stepping into a place that clearly indicated something strange and suspicious was occurring, much like in a horror movie. But I opened my mouth. Even if the depths were an unknown darkness, if Jihoon was there, then I had to go there.

“…Hey.”

It had been a long time since Jihoon and I had not talked about our love lives. Starting from when we were twenty, it had quietly settled into an unspoken rule. It was a relief for me; for someone who had to find time to see a friend, talking about dating felt like a subject I should never bring up first.

At least with Jihoon, I could never bring up such topics. Whatever I said would be far from sincere. I had failed every time to hide Jihoon’s shadow during our relationship; how could I possibly talk about dating with him? Moreover, if I were to discuss dating a man, I had to first reveal the reasons I was dating one.

The reason was tied to Jihoon himself, which is why I’d rather not say anything at all.

But if Jihoon had concluded that the reason we avoided conversations was because I was gay, and that he had already suspected I was dating a man, then perhaps that’s why I chose to overlook the subject rather than delve into it, like now.

“What do you mean?”

Then what happens to us? This relationship we’ve kept so foolishly safeguarded?

I asked the question calmly, but my mind went blank. Even the few lingering questions that rose seemed to be entangled chaotically.

“I’m asking what you mean when you say you’re ready to talk.”

Seeing Jihoon, who had been chewing on his chicken leg, lose focus in his jaw made me spit my question out like a thorn.

“I didn’t know I had anything to say to you.”

Even to my ears, my voice felt heavy. The moment I asked it, I realized the opportunity to brush it off had already passed. Jihoon stared at me intently, as though trying to discern what I was thinking. The moment our gazes met lingered.

“…”

“…”

With the expression I usually wore while interrogating a suspect, I didn’t avoid Jihoon’s gaze. I kept my eyes steady and swallowed my breath. It was a tactic used when you were testing the waters, making sure not to let the other party in on it. The moment I realized I was consciously acting out what I usually did out of habit, I became aware of how tense I felt.

This night was aiming for an entirely different place than we had anticipated. Whether Jihoon was leading it that way or if some unseen force was misdirecting the arrow towards us, either possibility felt like a dangerous gamble.

Jihoon opened his mouth first.

“Ugh, damn…”

He scratched his forehead and leaned back against the sofa, a look of difficulty on his face; it was the first hint of trouble since we began talking. For a brief moment, I thought perhaps we could end the conversation here, but as he turned his head with resolve to explain, my hope faded without a trace.

“Hey.”

Strangely, I felt a sense of dread. I instinctively feared what was coming. I knew I would get battered by the words Jihoon was about to spill, even as I stood there mindlessly thinking I could simply take the hit and deal with the consequences later.

A strong intuition is built on the foundation of shared time. Jihoon had never been one to hesitate in his words; it was hard to see him struggle during the years we’d known each other. The options in his mind were quickly dwindling. Whatever words Jihoon was about to utter would inevitably cut through something.

Whether it was our memories, our relationship, or our feelings. Or perhaps all of it at once.

“We met when we were fifteen, and by next year we’ll be thirty. The time we’ve spent together has already exceeded the time I lived before I met you.”

Once the conversation had been precariously balanced, it had begun to flow uncontrollably toward an unmanageable direction. Only after Jihoon laid out the line could I understand that I’d thought all along we were traversing this path together when in reality, we had each been hiding something behind us. It had become a tangled line with no end in sight. That’s why we could manage to deceive one another, claiming it was better to pretend we didn’t know.