Homeboy

Chronicles  

Unhappiness has its cycles. It wasn’t something that fit perfectly like the answers 0 or 1 derived from a complex formula. Yet, like the unchanging law where winter inevitably follows spring, it would creep up on me and violently disrupt my life. The cycle of my unhappiness was every five years. Having lived only twenty-three years, I experienced three rounds of misfortune, starting with the first one:  

First misfortune: At 8 years old, abduction and kidnapping.  
Second misfortune: At 13 years old, my father’s sudden death.  
Third misfortune: At 18 years old, dropping out of school due to being outed.  

My misfortune was sinister and cunning. It always pushed me to the brink of death, cutting me deeply until I was about to give up. It would mock and torment me as I spat blood like a fountain and gasped for breath in agony. Yet, just before I surrendered to life, it would hand me a sliver of hope, barely patching up the wounds it had inflicted. And so, I lived on. I waited for time to mend the scars left by misfortune’s attacks. Sometimes, I even found seeds of hope amid the chaos, most often brought to me by Cha Jung-in. I would carefully place those seeds over my wounds, covering them with soil and tending to them gently.  

When I desperately accepted the seeds Jung-in brought me, I often felt a sense of solace and tranquility. It was as if I became a piece of a shipwreck, drifting on the gentle waves of lukewarm seawater.  

‘Thank goodness.’  

I groped with trembling hands for the foundation of this emotion I was feeling. As the overwhelming sense of fullness surged in my parched mouth, my body shuddered.  

‘I want to live.’

Gazing at the lingering attachment to life that I had once carelessly cast aside, I couldn’t resist the rising desire and clung tightly to it. Exhaling a sharp breath, I shouldered the heavy emotions pressing down on me.  

‘I want to live well.’

I repeated this to myself like a mantra as I took my first hesitant step forward. But just then, misfortune returned, this time as a massive wave that swallowed me whole. Already fragmented and shattered, I broke into even smaller pieces under its merciless grip.  

Misfortune was an endless repetition of such events.  

After the three blows swept through my life, I was left with aftereffects, proof that I was thoroughly broken. Initially dormant, these aftereffects would suddenly emerge, piercing through my raw flesh with sharp fangs. Once again, I bled, drop by drop, and absorbed every bit of it.  

1-1. Aftereffects of the first misfortune: Anxiety and fear of rainy days.  

2-1. Aftereffects of the second misfortune: Emotional deprivation.  

3-1. Aftereffects of the third misfortune: Mild obsessive-compulsive tendencies.  

These aftereffects, as byproducts of misfortune, didn’t shake the very roots of my life, but they made me harsh and irritable. On rainy days, I had to battle nightmares. I clung to Jung-in with irrational obsession. Before bed, I meticulously organized my schedule in a diary and had to follow it to the letter to feel a sense of relief.  

Despite these flaws, I was considered ordinary. My relationships with others were harmonious. The reason I could maintain an ordinary life, even while exceeding the bounds of normalcy, was also thanks to Cha Jung-in. The seeds he tirelessly brought me bloomed into flowers and bore fruit, even amidst chaos. Consuming the sweet fruit greedily, I would momentarily offset my rough nature, like a full and lazy beast.  

Thanks to this, I was mostly docile except on rainy days, and I desired nothing besides Jung-in, which made me generous in other aspects. My compulsions, though inconvenient, were not severe enough to cause significant concern. After obtaining my diploma through a GED and enlisting in the military immediately, I even found comfort in the regimented lifestyle of the army.  

Thus, with the scars of misfortune’s aftereffects and the sweetness of its fruits hanging all over my flawed body, I grew into a perfectly imperfect human.  

—

The irregular sound of raindrops hitting the car window woke me up. As expected, it was raining. Even after I fell asleep, the rain had turned into a nightmare and stirred through my dreams. Though it seemed like morning, the room was dim, its blackout curtains tightly drawn. Cha Jung-in was lying beside me, asleep on his side with his back to me. Without moving, I glanced at his sleeping figure. He was wearing a thin white knit shirt and checkered pajama pants—his own clothes. He must have come over to my room after waking up to the rain.  

After my first misfortune, Jung-in became deeply concerned about my movements and when I came home. On rainy days, this concern intensified, and he needed to have me within his sight all day to feel at ease. At night, he would reach out as if I might suddenly disappear and pat my chest as if to reassure himself. It was a habit born of guilt and had become second nature to him over the years.  

Sure enough, in the darkness, Jung-in’s long arm suddenly reached over. Feeling mischievous, I wiggled closer to the wall, pressing myself against it. His hand groped the empty spot where I had been, gradually slowing until it stopped completely. After a moment of silence, Jung-in called my name in a hoarse voice, ‘Yeo-il-ah,’ and sat up. His face, still half-asleep, scanned the room with a hint of urgency. But that didn’t last long. Spotting me pressed against the wall, he raised his eyebrows and showed a displeased expression. With a thud, Jung-in flopped onto his side and reached out his large hand toward me. 

“Did you have a dream?”

Cha Jung-in asked in his still-hoarse voice as he brushed my sweat-dampened hair back with his dry hand. I surrendered myself to the familiar touch and felt the nightmare completely dissipate. A tiny fruit rolled into my mouth. As I bit into the plump, juicy morsel, the sweet flesh spread through my entire body, sending tingling waves. Ah, Cha Jung-in, Cha Jung-in. With just a single word and an ordinary action, he fills me so completely that my chest aches.

“Cha Jung-in.”

He let out a faint, incredulous laugh as if finding it absurd that I’d call his name without any context. His cool lips curved into a pleasant arc. His shapely mouth and neatly upturned corners of his lips were captivating. Feeling an impulsive urge to press my finger against his plump lower lip, I was suddenly overcome by a sense of urgency.

“Hyung. Hyung-ah!”
“What?”
“I really like you. Date me.”

At my abrupt confession, Jung-in chuckled.
“Why? Is it because my face looks sexy when I wake up?”

His tone, as if nothing about this was unusual, stung a little, but it was true that such confessions were routine for me. And yes, his face was undeniably sexy when he just woke up. I nodded once and continued.

“You’ll regret it if you let me go.”
“That’s too cliché to work. I’ve heard it more than ten times already.”
“This is the last time I’m confessing.”
“You said the same thing last week.”
“I’ll treat you well.”

At my earnest response, Jung-in tilted his head back and laughed out loud. His now fully awake eyes gleamed like those of a predator in the dark room.

“And how will you treat me well?”
“What?”
“Specifically, how are you going to treat me well? Don’t tell me you confessed without even thinking about that?”

I hadn’t thought about it. Specifically, how or in what way. I’d never considered it. His pointed question hit the mark, making my chest tighten with embarrassment. Still pressed against the wall, I rolled my eyes to gauge his mood. Jung-in, now clearly amused, began teasing me in earnest.

“I had my suspicions when you said my face was so sexy you were turned on the moment you woke up. Are you just after my face and body?”
“What? No, absolutely not!”

At my frantic denial, Jung-in raised an eyebrow playfully as if daring me to explain myself. I felt wronged. While I might have confessed frequently, I swear I’d never been insincere, not even once. And I was especially frustrated that ‘your face is sexy when you wake up’ had somehow morphed into ‘I’m turned on the moment I see you’ like some kind of perverted remark.