FBF chapter 14 part 1

Lee Jihoon

Police Uncle 10:02 PM

It’s good that you’re working, but you should sleep at home. 10:03 PM

This is the third night shift this week, buddy. 10:05 PM

You don’t want to be leaking nosebleeds again. 10:06 PM

I scrolled up a bit more and saw a few more messages I hadn’t checked.

Lee Jihoon

You’re working on the 28th, right? 2:29 PM

I want to leave Seoul before 6 PM, but I don’t know if you can make it. 2:30 PM

Rejected? 5:29 PM

From 2:29 PM to 12:29 AM. I didn’t intend to keep him waiting for so long. Recently, whenever he thought he might be working late or coming home late, he would always tell me in advance. It started when I mentioned I would leave him hanging, but at some point, it became natural for us to inform each other. Sometimes I would ask, and sometimes he would be the one to say it first. But today, because there was no contact, I couldn’t help but wonder if something was wrong. It was unimaginable that he had started to live with me after pushing through. Of course, there wasn’t much time left for that now.

I pulled my gaze away from the calendar in front of me and stood up.

“Are you going in?”

I paused when I saw the new recruit looking at me happily as I pushed in my chair, then awkwardly nodded in response.

“Yeah. I thought I was going to have to wait….”

“What’s going on? I thought you’d be later.”

Upon hearing the sound of the door, Lee Jihoon peeked his head toward the entrance. As soon as our eyes met, I let out a shallow sigh. Knowing he had waited for me to get home instead of sleeping made it even worse. As if to support that assumption, the coffee table in the living room was cluttered. The TV was off, and the only light in the house was coming from the lamp beside the sofa. It looked like he had been doing something in the living room while he was waiting for me. He placed what he had in his hand on the table and looked up at me as I approached, curious about why I had come back earlier than expected.

I avoided his gaze and tossed my coat onto the sofa. Instead of saying I was worried he might be doing this, or that I was concerned about his sleep pattern and condition since he had to fly again in a few days, I changed the subject.

“… I finished work earlier than expected. What are you doing up this late?”

The table was littered with random stuff. The only commonality among them was that they were all objects, making it difficult to categorize them. Documents, items, photographs… The act of scanning the table as if to show off that I had just come from work stopped abruptly when I noticed a box right under the table.

“I thought I should take a proper look at it.”

Upon realizing what the box was, it was Jihoon who broke the silence.

“When you gave it to me back then, I couldn’t really look at it. I didn’t even understand what was what.”

It felt just like that time. Back then, I had been busy talking, while Jihoon had been stiff like I was now.

‘Let’s not contact each other anymore.’

The box, which I thought would only end with a simple handover, was now sitting at my feet. The memories I had stuffed in there were now spread out on the table in reality. It seemed that Jihoon was in the process of taking them out and inspecting them one by one.

I stood there frozen, unsure of what to do, simply staring at Jihoon. I couldn’t understand what he was thinking. Jihoon, silently receiving my gaze, gave me a slight nudge to get my attention.

“Wanna sit down? Let’s look at them together.”

I should have told him I didn’t want to sit down. No, I shouldn’t have been able to do that in the first place, but my tongue wouldn’t move. Instead of me, Jihoon raised his body slightly and grabbed my arm. In an instant, I found myself plopping down beside him. My stiff back was cushioned by the soft fabric of the sofa. Jihoon did not let go of my left arm, which he held while sitting. The grip was gentle, wrapping around the shirt’s hem, making it even harder for me to shake it off. Jihoon, who had showered, dried his hair, and changed clothes long before I arrived, emitted warmth that I was unable to manage, given that I hadn’t completely shaken off the outside conditions. My arm, loosely gripped, and my leg that brushed against Jihoon’s while sitting radiated warmth as if it hadn’t dissipated from the contact. I paused for a while, realizing that this couldn’t be a burn, and folded my left leg closer to avoid another collision with Jihoon’s right leg. Just then, Jihoon presented a rectangular piece of paper in front of my eyes.

“I never imagined you’d still have this. I thought you’d have thrown it away long ago.”

What Jihoon offered was a ticket— a yellow ticket printed with English text. However, it was easy for me to recognize what it was without needing to translate the words. The only performance Jihoon and I had ever seen together in our lives was the musical we had watched in New York back then.

THE LION KING

THU DEC 24, 201X 8:00 PM

“That’s the one we watched together, right?”

Jihoon asked as if checking, scrutinizing my expression. His words, as well as his tone, were oddly uncertain, as if he couldn’t fully recall the past. It was my first visit to New York, and Jihoon had lived there for years, so I figured he must have seen it with someone other than me. He could have gotten confused. I slowly nodded, keeping my gaze on the ticket.

“… Yeah. It was just the two of us.”

Jihoon’s gaze returned to the ticket. Though he hadn’t often taken it out, the ticket had faded a bit over time. As Jihoon ran his fingers over the worn edge of the ticket, he suddenly began to speak.

“That day….”

“…….”

“It was freezing as hell.”

However, Jihoon seemed to be contemplating things that weren’t part of the ticket. He chuckled to himself, as if something had come to mind.

“But you came without a scarf on. Your face and ears were all red, but when I asked if you were cold, you said ‘not really.’ And when I asked if you wanted me to buy a scarf, you said ‘no, it’s fine.’”

Jihoon turned to face me. As our eyes met, his cheeks formed rainbow-like dimples.

“And then you went into the café in the theater and ordered a warm latte. You had never done that before. You always ordered iced americanos when we went to cafés.”

Jihoon’s excited voice breathed life into the faded memories. Standing in that crowded street where you’d bump into or step on more than three people on average just by standing still for a minute, I recalled Jihoon’s stubborn face when he was insisting on covering me with a scarf and the hot dog vendor with a grimy display window he passed by a while ago, and the lost faces of unknown passersby whose eyes met mine, only to forget each other immediately.

“It really was that cold. Once I sent you off, I regretted it a lot. I thought I should have just told you to come in summer. Then I could have shown you around better….”

Jihoon abruptly stopped talking and fiddled with the ticket. A look on his face reflected something I couldn’t perceive from my own restored memories. I hesitated, noticing him sip back a term of bitterness for reasons I didn’t know.

That was the face Jihoon had when he was looking at me at the airport. After gazing at me silently for a while, it was only when he finally wrapped the scarf tightly around my neck that he managed to smile even just a bit.

Memories repeated themselves, and Jihoon hesitated like before sending me away.

“But still….”

‘But still, I’m glad to see you like this.’

Feeling it was my fault to have been watching his prolonged hesitation, I finally couldn’t hold it and spoke.

“… It was nice.”

I knew what Jihoon wanted to say. Though the ticket had faded, the memories it brought back were still vivid. I had been next to you, and you had been next to me.

Looking into Jihoon’s eyes, who seemed to have lost his words, I finally shared the words I had been able to say now.

“I enjoyed being with you.”

So on that cold day, I had been watching you. In the noisy airport where the announcements about flights to Korea were blaring loudly, I stood firm, seeming as if I couldn’t hear anything at all as I looked at you. I struggled to imprint that moment in my memory perfectly, so that even after years, I could remember it just like this.

Although back then, I loved you, and you were just grateful to me. Nevertheless, it was good to be together.

Jihoon didn’t say anything. It was clear, however, that he was listening intently to my breathing. Only when he realized I had nothing more to say did Jihoon move. He stayed leaning back on the sofa as he tilted his head back. His neck was going to get messed up pressing against the back of the sofa, but he didn’t seem to care at all, letting his chin jut out. Lost in thought, Jihoon stared at the ceiling, and it was only when I peeked at him, he finally broke the silence.

“I thought about why it’s hard for me to believe you like me.”

Even while he continued with his calm tone, Jihoon’s eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, but it didn’t take much to realize he was imagining things beyond that. Unlike me, who had just begun to understand his thoughts, Jihoon, who had continuously denied my confession, may have been struggling with this thought all along.

“I think it’s because I’ve never seen you express your likes.”

“…….”

“So I always guessed and presumed.”

Had he spent time in this house alone, often wondering those things? Digging through the memories we remembered differently, trying to guess, and sometimes trying to grasp the meanings contained within those sent objects? Despite the inability to know anything, did he only take those memories out during the moment I delivered my humble confession? Staring at each piece that held traces of my love for him with the same detached expression as if examining evidence.

I drew energy from my desperation not to leave behind any proof. However, just like how countless pieces of evidence lose their meaning from the moment the perpetrator confesses, countless moments proving that I loved someone else were meaningless once that person acknowledged their feelings.

I met Jihoon’s gaze upon returning to him. The serious expression he wore was rare, and I came to realize once again how difficult it was to shake off that intensity. Just witnessing Jihoon’s lips slowly move held all my nerves at the tip of my toes. Jihoon was aware of that and continued speaking without interrupting, as if reminding me that there was no escape and no room for Kang Youngsoo between us.

“I’m finally saying this now….”

It felt like a breath was being exhaled like a sigh.

“It was… difficult.”

“…….”

“I didn’t know well, so I just tried not to do anything you disliked. I thought that way, I could at least stay next to you.”

Jihoon wore an expression that was neither a smile nor a frown.

“But now seeing you say you actually like me makes me realize.”

“…….”

“The two feelings are completely different.”

A heavy silence fell between us. Jihoon didn’t try hard to break it. After a while, he slowly turned his head back to face me, muttering.

“It’s fascinating how you only feel something when you stop trying to prove anything.”

I stopped tightening my grip on the frayed edges of the ticket and raised my gaze. Jihoon and I locked eyes, and the words I had just heard lingered in my ears for a long time. It was surprising to realize that Jihoon, too, had been feeling the confusion I had been sensing, and at the same time, I felt guilty about it. Remembering the words Jihoon had whispered to me on that moonlit night, when he had embraced me from behind, my mouth opened on its own.

“There’s no need to….”

“…….”

“To go this far.”

Making an effort to come to my house during leave, trying skinship he had never attempted as friends, and bringing up stories we had never discussed before in the past. Since my confession, Jihoon had been trying hard. As he said, it was an act of proving our friendship.

I had to refute every time. I tried to reject him in every possible way. I tried to come home late as much as I could, threatening him to avoid such skinship again, and I would either avoid or hide any questions related to dating.

To manage that, now, I had to face emotions I didn’t care to see. Now, it was like Jihoon was no longer proving our friendship but rather trying to understand my love, which I could finally feel. It scared me. I had never imagined that he would put in that much effort. I felt as if what I had drawn countless times and envisioned for us was beginning to blur. To prove that, the milestones that had been behind Jihoon were no longer visible, as if they had never existed.

The two months of holding back were coming to an end. Jihoon knew that, so he must have gone this far. It was nothing new that we were discussing this deadline while avoiding the mention of it, as we were both paying attention to it more than anyone else. However, we couldn’t pretend not to know that in nights like this while looking at these things. I opened my mouth to remind Jihoon of that reality. I knew better than anyone that he wouldn’t be unaware of it.

“I didn’t confess to change what can’t be changed. Not back then, nor now….”

“I know.”

“…….”

“I’m not trying.”

I drew in a sharp breath at Jihoon’s final words. His gaze was unwavering, instilling even more anxiety. That was also proof that he was being sincere. Only after he allowed me some time to read that evidence did Jihoon slowly extend his hand.

“It just exists. With you. Doing what we want to do.”

“…….”

“Let’s see what else we can do.”

The edge of the ticket in his hand was lightly tugged. I let Jihoon take it. As he idly followed the letters on the ticket with his eyes, he tilted one side of his mouth upward. I heard a teasing tone in his voice.

“Hey, do you want to hear a story that I was too embarrassed to tell?”

Even though I didn’t answer, Jihoon began his story.

“I can’t remember what musical we watched together, but I remember the price of this ticket.”

Glancing down at the ticket, Jihoon chuckled as he flipped it back and forth. The realization struck him that, compared to the weight of the memories packed into that one piece of paper, the paper itself was far too light.

“Back then, I was broke. I had never been that poor in my life.”

“…….”

“But you know what? It was okay. If you don’t have it, you make do without it. You just eat less, buy less, walk more. What’s so big about that? More than half the international students living in the same apartment lived that way… I thought it was more important to stick to my promise not to ask for help when I said I would be independent instead of quitting school. Looking back, it seems like I was half joking about that too. But still, I thought it was manageable.”

I remembered Jihoon during that period as well. The tuition at the American flight school was exorbitant, and Jihoon’s school didn’t invest as much as providing full tuition for students in the newly established program. Jihoon had to cover all living expenses, including rent, by himself from the moment he enrolled until he graduated, living in Manhattan with its exorbitant cost of living.

Jihoon didn’t elaborate on those stories. I only knew through the details I picked up from conversations. Every time we called, even taking the time difference into account, he always sounded exhausted, perfectly illustrating his schedule, which had him working for over two years without returning to Korea even once during the holidays.

“But when you came, that was the first time I felt… ah, this is kind of fucked up.”

“…….”

“When you came out of that performance and said you enjoyed it, I kept thinking about how I should have immediately asked you if you wanted to see another one. Traveling all the way to New York isn’t easy, and I wish there were other performances for you to see before you left.”

“…….”

“When I want to tell you to come back later, I should at least be able to buy you a plane ticket to say that, but I couldn’t do that either.”

The stories I knew and the stories Jihoon had known mixed together. I felt as though I understood the heart of the twenty-three-year-old Jihoon who had gazed at me with an unknown expression for a long time before finally wrapping his scarf around me. Just by conveying that feeling, Jihoon seemed to be unable to hide his lonely face, anxiously biting his lips multiple times. Letting out a shallow sigh, he finally revealed the words he had been holding inside.

“When you were leaving, at the airport… I felt so sorry and embarrassed.”

“…….”

“But I couldn’t say such things, so I just told you to come again next time, when I could do everything for you.”

Jihoon tossed the now crumpled ticket onto the table. Like a forgotten memory, I stared at Jihoon in silence. Jihoon met my gaze playfully, raising one eyebrow.

“That was six years ago, and now I’m ready, but you’ve still never been on the plane I’m flying.”

I couldn’t pass by the light jab, stopping dead in my tracks because I just realized it was true. I remembered Jihoon’s expression when he had told me that at the airport, but I had completely forgotten about that promise. Of course, I had my excuses. My grandfather fell ill again the year after my trip to New York, and I had to go to the military even while working as a police officer. After I was discharged, I was busy working. Since Jihoon mostly flew international flights, it wasn’t easy for me to hop on a flight he took without taking long breaks. Though he sometimes asked if I wanted him to secure tickets for me, I was too wrapped up in shaking my head back then.

If I had known he was paying that much attention to my trip to New York, would it have been better to make time to visit even somewhere nearby? Regret came too late, but it wouldn’t change anything. As if following Jihoon’s lead, I tried to bring up the subject, feeling a little awkward.

“It’s just hard to take vacation….”

“Sure you have it rough. You’re doing it all alone as a police officer in South Korea.”

Jihoon shook his head, his expression indicating he already knew the answer.

“Looks like the guy who’s got it rough could only wait for his flight.”

Leaving behind ambiguous words, Jihoon stood up from his seat. He smiled as if to lighten the burden of my gaze.

“You look really tired. You should hurry home and wash up and sleep.”

Jihoon, wrapping up the conversation, began putting things back into the box one by one. The table quickly cleared, thanks to Jihoon’s swift movements. After thoroughly checking around to see if anything was left behind, he bent down and found something. Following his action without thinking, our eyes met. Jihoon, tilting his head, offered me the item he found.

“Hey, why do you have this? Didn’t I give it to you when I came to America?”

Jihoon had in his hand a white MP3 player. It was exactly the same model he gifted me. It was a thing I had planned to give him but never actually did. I had bought one thinking of giving it to him, but I ended up only handing over my MP3 when I returned.

Knowing I had wiped all the files from the MP3 on the way back to Korea, my heart tightened for a moment, fearing he might have seen something of my heart in there. I stood up as naturally as possible and took the MP3 from his hand. Jihoon, who handed it over willingly, waited for my response. I pretended to examine the rectangular sound device in my hand while giving it a cursory glance.

“Oh, I just needed one after you gave that to me back then, so I bought a new one. I didn’t realize this was in there.”

It seemed that Jihoon hadn’t examined its contents, as he mistook it for mine. Of course, even if he had, there would be nothing left to find. Over six years, the MP3 had become a neglected item for us. Not just for us, but for everyone. In a world where new products are released daily, interest in something that lost its practical value long ago was limited.

“Really?”