Eighteen's Bed-Chapter 14.1: Han Taesan’s Intuition (1)

Amid the bustling crowd, I gave a small nod. There was no longer any reason to feel guilty about getting closer to Shin Jaehyun. I wasn't an outcast anymore. On the surface, the war between me and Go Yohan was as good as over, so there was no need to be cautious.

Why did I end up making peace with Go Yohan in the first place? All for this safety.

Somehow, even from that distance, Shin Jaehyun caught my nod. With his usual breezy smile, he stood up. I pulled the key from my pocket, ready to hand it over as he approached. The yellow key, pinched between my index and thumb, was embarrassingly lukewarm—like the seat someone had just gotten up from. Disgusted by that unpleasant warmth, I shook the key in the air. It wriggled like a bug, only to be snatched mid-air by Shin Jaehyun's hand.

"Finally getting it back. You have no idea how much trouble you caused by suddenly taking it."

Didn’t he lend it to me to use? I blinked, confused, my eyes flicking between the key and Shin Jaehyun, who was already slipping it into his pants pocket.

"...I forgot. Sorry for the delay."

"It’s fine. It was just an accident."

"Thanks for letting me use it. I appreciate it."

My curt gratitude didn’t faze Shin Jaehyun. He just shrugged with that same easygoing face. Hard to tell if he was brushing it off or genuinely accepting it. His expression said he didn’t mind, but for some reason, I kept second-guessing him. It’s all because of Go Yohan. That bastard made me suspicious of everything.

"You two made up, huh?"

"Huh?"

"With your friend."

Shin Jaehyun jutted his chin toward the direction Go Yohan had left. Ah— The sound escaped my mouth, dopey and dumb.

"Yeah. Something like that, I guess."

"Good. Now you can live a little easier."

"Live easier?"

"I was worried, you know."

Scratching his chest lightly with a finger, Shin Jaehyun continued:

"Thought something bad might happen."

That much? Hearing that he’d lumped me together with someone who refuses to make friends out of some weird ‘no discrimination’ principle left a sour taste in my mouth. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me.

"Mmh." A muffled hum slipped out, hesitation caught in my throat. Shin Jaehyun seemed to notice my mood—no surprise, it wasn’t a flattering thing to hear.

Then he did something—spread both palms before me, empty and open. Even that simple gesture reeked of his ‘foreign’ air. Something about him always felt... different.

"But, y’know," he added, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face, "it wasn’t exactly what I expected."

"What wasn’t?"

"There’s... a feeling I can’t quite put into words..."

With a soft phew, he blew out a puff of air, lips pursed. Then, just as quickly, he pulled back his hands as if sealing his mouth shut.

"Forget it. I’m probably just being biased."

Biased. That word set off alarms in my head. I have a habit—when something smells fishy, I pounce. It’s a defense mechanism, sharpened from experience. Sometimes you know you can’t let something slip, that there’s meaning buried underneath. It’s the kind of gut feeling I get before trouble.

So, I switched tactics—dropped the edge from my voice, softened my expression, played dumb. I’d seen idiots work people like this before. Feigning innocence lowers defenses.

"Biased? What do you mean? C’mon, tell me."

I threw in a sly little grin and shifted forward, butt lifting off the seat like an eager fool dying to hear gossip. That’s how idiots do it, right? The people on the receiving end usually can’t help but blabber. Hell, they want to. I waited, eyes expectant.

"Well—"

"Yeah?"

"Mm..."

Shin Jaehyun’s lips parted, hesitation cracking through his usual breezy demeanor. My eyes locked on them, waiting. But instead of a juicy reveal—

"Never mind. Forget I said anything."

My whole body, primed for his answer, nearly lurched forward and toppled over. Goddamn it. If you weren’t going to say it, why’d you even bring it up?! Baiting me like that only to snatch it back—coward.

But I wasn’t about to let it slide. I needed to know, especially if it was about me. It would drive me insane otherwise.

"Ohhh, was it something bad about me?" I tilted my head, acting all nonchalant as I leaned back. I wanted it bad, but I played it cool, like I couldn’t care less. A trick I’d mastered when some idiot started talking shit but then clammed up.

"Alright, fine. You don’t have to tell me. I won’t snitch to Go Yohan anyway."

A blatant lie, a loaded trap. Framing it like I could tattle to Yohan if it were something nasty. People tend to panic when you imply their words might cause trouble. They scramble to explain, to clear their name—usually spilling the whole truth in the process.

It worked like a charm in this school. Back in freshman year, I pulled the same trick, but with Han Junwoo’s name. Got results, too. I was expecting the same play from Shin Jaehyun—so I laid it on thick, voice dipped to a conspiratorial whisper:

"You’ve helped me a lot. I owe you."

Then I softened my eyes into a subtle, almost sly smile. Come on. Just say it.

But—

"Hey," he said.

"Yeah?"

"I didn’t tell you to forget it because of Yohan."

Shin Jaehyun’s face, still friendly, suddenly felt... firm. It wasn’t a scolding. More like a statement—clear and certain, like he was settling something within himself.

"I know you’re not the type to go running your mouth."

"...Oh. Yeah."

"But," he added, "this... isn’t something I’d want anyone repeating. Anyway, I gotta go."

"Huh?"

"See you back in class."

"Wai—wait!"

My hand shot up, but all it caught was air. He was gone, slipping through the tables near the canteen without so much as a backward glance.

I could’ve chased him—he wasn’t even running. Just walking, like a damn gazelle putting on a show of false leisure before a predator. Proud and graceful, like some alpha of the herd.

"...What the hell."

The bell hadn’t even rung. What made him bolt all of a sudden?

As I wondered, something cold touched my cheek. The icy shock made me flinch hard, my body jerking involuntarily.

"Ah—cold!"

"Scared you?"

I whipped around.

Go Yohan.

I instinctively leaned back, escaping his touch, but my eyes darted toward the path Shin Jaehyun had vanished down. Yohan had come from the same direction.

Did he see him?

Did Jaehyun leave because he saw Yohan coming?

Then—

"Ow! Hey!"

A sharp pain lanced through my ear. My head whipped to the side. It took a moment to process—Yohan had grabbed my ear and forced my head to turn.

"Ow, ow—what the hell?!"

"What?"

"What do you mean, what—why’d you grab my ear?!"

"Aaah—"

Go Yohan wiggled both eyebrows playfully, acting like a fool.

"Just a joke."

"A joke?"

A joke, huh? Well, I wasn't laughing. It felt like I'd been scolded like a pet by its owner. My face, no doubt burning red, didn’t escape his notice. Go Yohan covered his mouth with his fingers briefly, as if troubled by my reaction, then dropped his hand with a mock show of resolve.

"Hey, but let’s get something straight."

"What? What is it?"

"We didn’t just make up."

His lips, flushed a soft pink from sucking on that damned strawberry ice cream, jutted forward petulantly. His narrowed eyes, filled with something like reproach, stayed locked on me. His cold fingers still clamped around the curve of my ear, refusing to let go. It didn’t hurt, but the sheer humiliation was unbearable. He kept toying with my ear, flicking it lightly, his cold fingertips brushing the edge repeatedly—until I finally raised my hand to grab his arm. Only then did he let go, his frigid fingers trailing off my earlobe as if reluctant to part.

"I’m the one who let you make up with me."

"What?"

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Yohan gestured between us with his hand, face pulled into an expression of exaggerated grievance.

"If I hadn’t decided to reconcile, you wouldn’t have been able to do anything. You know that, right?"

"..."

I opened my mouth to argue but clamped it shut when he continued—because, goddamn it, he was right.

"You know, I’ve noticed something... You tend to forget important facts. Actually, more often than you should."

Go Yohan’s self-centered worldview was the apex predator to my so-called rationality. His logic, if you could call it that, revolved around himself. The entire world was his stage, and he, its king. Even with the weapon of my ‘weakness’—that I liked men—he stood tall and unshaken, born to rule and destined to die a king.

And that’s what stung the most—he was right, and I had no retort. I lost to his bullshit logic.

Seeing me go silent, Yohan pressed his palms together, like a prayer, and spoke in a voice soaked with mock sympathy:

"Don’t take it too seriously. Me messing with your ear—it didn’t mean anything. No malice intended. You know how I am. I always play around like this."

And this time, he wasn’t lying. Go Yohan was always worse with others—grabbing them in headlocks until they nearly passed out or dragging his friends into humiliating pranks, using them like props in his cruel little games. Compared to that, this? Just another one of his everyday amusements.

I was no different—just another piece in his playset.

Yohan spread his hands with a light smile.

"So, we’re good now, right?"

And nothing had changed. I was still just another mid-level pawn swimming inside Go Yohan’s little ecosystem.

"...Yeah."

Yeah, that’s how it is. Yohan had handed me a victory—but only the kind that looked like one.

This was his deal—win-win. Unlike Han Junwoo, who thrived on dominance and destruction, Go Yohan preferred negotiation—trading pride for something bigger. He was a damn good broker, too. And as I felt a bitter smirk curl on my lips, I realized what this was: He was letting me keep my pride. At least on the surface. But that was only because he wanted something else—something more valuable.

Yohan was a natural-born businessman.

I knew it from the start—he was a devious bastard. But I was just a pitiful middleman, stuck too far down the chain to refuse. What choice did I have? I could only survive by clinging to whoever would have me—flitting from side to side like a goddamn bat.

Because for someone like me, this trap was too sweet to resist.

With my answer given, Yohan brought his palms together slightly and flashed me a radiant smile. On his pale wrist, his ever-present rosary beads swayed.

"Yeah. What’s so great about being alone? It’s boring as hell."

"..."

"Right now, this is perfect. Don’t you think?"

His blunt fingertip tapped against the grimy surface of the table—once, twice. It must have been bright white when new, but now it was a canvas of dull stains and grime. Every tap left a whisper of that filth clinging to his skin, sticking, pulling—like something desperate and needy.

"...Yeah."

He was right. I’d finally started blending into the class. People still whispered ‘Mama’s boy Kang Jun’ behind my back, but no one dared say it to my face anymore. Im Yoon-gi and Park Ha-on had started talking to me. Even Shin Jaehyun was speaking to me again.

Wait.

Shin Jaehyun.

Come to think of it... Didn’t he start talking to me right around when Yohan started pulling this ‘we made up’ act?

"...No way."

I turned my head back toward the path where Shin Jaehyun had disappeared.

And then it clicked.

So, he did run off the moment he saw Yohan coming.

A hollow disappointment settled in my chest. Guess saints don’t exist in this world after all.

A sudden click—the sharp, snapping sound of fingers colliding—startled my focus. My fogged thoughts shattered into clarity as I snapped my eyes to Yohan.

There he was—leaning forward, grinning like a fool, his face filling my vision.

"Jun-ah?"

In the pale haze clouding my mind, only Yohan remained—sharp, vivid, and undeniable.

That was Yohan’s talent. He knew how to stand out. He couldn’t stand being ignored, especially by someone he cared about. If he wasn’t the center of your attention—especially yours—he’d crumble into something desperate, pathetic, and dark.

And watching him squirm like that... felt good.

Because I was his caged little canary.

Most people would’ve begged for freedom from this prison. But me? I had decided to be content.

Because I knew—I knew—what it was like outside that cage.

I knew what it was like to be crushed beneath the weight of scorn and isolation.

And I knew I’d rather rot in this cage than lose the power that Yohan gave me.

Yes. I understood now. The power I’d had until now wasn’t mine—it was a bat’s power. Not a predator’s. Not a ruler’s.

A parasite’s.

And Go Yohan?

He saw right through me.

"...It’s nothing."

If that’s the case, then I’ll sing sweet songs for my master—just the right pitch, the perfect tune. Close enough to a friend to feel familiar. But never close enough to threaten his reign.

My eyes met Yohan’s, catching the twitch of his brow—waiting, anticipating.

"I was just... thinking."

"Thinking?"

"Yeah. Just..."

My gaze flicked, and so did my lips—toward his ear.

I wanted Yohan to remember something.

That I’m the son of a businessman, too.

"...About you."

Not a lie. Not entirely.

A flush bloomed faintly at the tip of his ear—faint, but unmistakable.

For the briefest second, Go Yohan’s perfect composure cracked. His hand lifted in a swift, casual motion to brush through his hair, hiding the tell-tale pink.

I felt the corners of my mouth curve upward, bitter and amused.

What a fool I was—thinking that the one who blushes first loses.

Love makes you weak? Maybe for me.

But not for Go Yohan.

"...Ahem."

He cleared his throat awkwardly, a rare break in his rhythm, and then—settling himself—dropped heavily into the seat beside me. The plastic chair wobbled under the sudden weight, rattling me slightly.

Cheap-ass school. They never replace these shitty chairs.

Maybe I should’ve gone to a private school. Could’ve if I pushed harder.

I lowered my gaze—down to Yohan’s thigh.

His leg.

It was shaking.

"Bell’s about to ring. Wanna head up?"

His voice—just the slightest tremor.

Still watching that leg, I replied,

"Yeah. Let’s go."

The moment I agreed, I felt a long arm drape over my shoulder. The cold skin wrapped around the back of my neck, sharp and chilling, like I’d been hit by a draft of winter air. The scent of Go Yohan filled my nose.

A caged bird.

That’s what I thought, trapped in the span of his arm.

But then—my thoughts flicked back to Shin Jaehyun. And in that instant, I realized his mistake.

My body tensed with the sudden clarity, and of course, Go Yohan caught it immediately.

“What?” he asked.

“Huh? Oh, nothing. Just... something came to mind,” I replied.

“What kind of something?”

His hand, which had slipped lower from our casual half-embrace, gave a light tap against my chest. Playful, effortless—so natural I couldn’t tell if it was a tease or a test.

Once again, I curled my lips into a lie.

“Just... I was thinking we should head back to class.”

Total bullshit. My thoughts were on Shin Jaehyun.

Jaehyun had dodged my questions like a pro. But the pieces of his words, once I stitched them together, left no room for doubt.

So he did talk shit about Go Yohan.

Wait—so my bluff...

It was true?

The realization hit me harder than expected: I had cast a far bigger lure than I knew. And it had hooked something real.

****

A true viper hiding behind honeyed words.

This disgusting gray building was nothing but a shady prison where betrayal and backstabbing ruled. The Bible says humans suffer on this earth as punishment for their sins. Then high school boys are nothing but repeat offenders—dumb, unrepentant fuckups. Especially the broke, ignorant ones. No common sense whatsoever.

And if I had to rank the most brainless assholes in my life:

First—Han Junwoo.

Second—Go Yohan.

Third—Kim Minho.

Yeah, Kim Minho deserves his spot.

Whenever I ate with Go Yohan, a certain pack would hover nearby—mostly Kim Seokmin and Lee Seokhyeon. Occasionally, Kim Minho and Park Dongcheol would tag along.

Yohan wasn’t lying when he said he ate with whoever was around. But come on, the guys around him were always the same—Kim Seokmin, Lee Seokhyeon. Obvious, really. The only reason I didn’t catch on sooner? I didn’t expect them to be such fucking shameless losers.

Especially Kim Minho and Park Dongcheol—pathetic. Is Go Yohan’s approval that goddamn precious?

But then I realized—

How the fuck am I any different from them?

I came crawling back to Yohan, too.

Self-loathing hit me like a fucking brick. So, what—people see me as the same kind of bottom-feeder trash as Kim Minho and Park Dongcheol?

"Hey, Kang Jun!"

Speak of the devil. Park Dongcheol greeted me with an awkward grin and a wave, like we were buddies.

I froze, mouth slightly open from the shock.

Holy shit. Am I really the same as this guy?

Before I could process the full horror, Kim Minho slid into the seat next to me.

What the fuck is he doing here?

"Yohan, you bastard, wandering off alone again. You’re a real pain in the ass to find."

This wasn’t a casual seat choice. No, he wanted to sit here. He circled the damn table to plant himself beside me, straight across from Yohan—like we were part of the same clique.

And then—

"Fuck, there’s so much kimchi. You see this shit?" he griped casually, like we were friends.

Wait a second—wasn’t this the same Kim Minho who got publicly humiliated by Yohan not long ago? And now he’s latched on again, clinging like a piece of shit stuck to a shoe.

So, what—he and Kim Seokmin just decided to pretend their beef never happened?

"...Yeah. A lot," I muttered stiffly, forcing my face into something neutral.

No. Hell no. Minho’s the type to never let shit go. Guys like him remember every fucking slight.

And yet—here he was, playing it cool.

With a screech of metal against tile, Minho adjusted his chair, the grating noise slicing through the air.

"Hey, don’t you think the kimchi here tastes like metal? It’s got that weird sharp taste."

"It’s probably because it’s imported," answered Kim Seokmin from Yohan’s other side, stuffing his mouth with rice. "You think the principal spends money on local produce? Nah. It’s all in my pocket, right into his wallet."

Typical Seokmin—always the peacemaker.

"Seokmin, you pretentious fuck. What’s with that English bullshit? ‘In my pocket’? Speak fucking Korean, dumbass."

"It means he’s pocketing the cash, you illiterate fuck."

"What the fuck? Illiterate? You wanna compare grades, motherfucker?"

A squashed lump of rice shot from Minho’s mouth, landing on the table with a sticky plop. My face twisted in disgust. Nasty bastard.

But instead of reacting, I scanned the table—their positions, their spacing.

Where people sit says everything.

Go Yohan lounged like he owned the room—arm slung over the chair, one hand idly playing with his chopsticks. And without breaking a sweat, he reached across and stole a sausage straight from Kim Seokmin’s tray.

"Yo! Yohan, what the fuck?" Seokmin barked.

"You weren’t eating it," Yohan replied smoothly, flashing his teeth in a grin. "Figured you didn’t want it."

His eyes, sharp and predatory, flicked next to Lee Seokhyeon’s sausage.

"Hey! What the fuck, I didn’t say you could take that!" Seokhyeon snapped.

Yohan’s grin widened. "If you wanted it, you should’ve eaten it faster. Too late now."

"You greedy bastard. All you ever eat are sausages. You’re a fucking thief."

"I hate brown rice," Yohan said simply, snapping up Seokhyeon’s sausage in one swift motion. And without pause, his chopsticks darted right back toward Seokmin’s tray.

"Jesus, it’s like we’re at a fucking buffet," Seokmin grumbled through gritted teeth, cursing Yohan’s chopstick skills as he tried—and failed—to guard his plate.

With a grin, Yohan grabbed Seokmin’s wrist and twisted it backward, making him yelp.

"Ah! Fuck—shit! That hurts!"

"Well, don’t shove your dirty-ass hand in my face, dumbass," Yohan teased, his voice syrupy.

"My hand? Motherfucker, you haven’t even touched your rice. What appetite are you even talking about?"

And that—

That’s when Yohan pulled the most fucked-up move of the day.

"Oh? You’re right."

His smile sharpened. And without warning—

Yohan scooped up a clump of his untouched, clumpy-ass rice—

And hurled it onto Kim Minho’s tray.

A heavy, wet splap rang out as the rice crashed into Minho’s lunch, splattering everywhere like a goddamn grenade.

A long, loaded silence.

Then—

"Shit. Looks good. Kinda suits your tray, don’t you think?" Yohan said, his grin razor-sharp.

"You motherfucker—!"

Minho’s scream shattered the pause. The impact of the rice had sent soup splashing across the table—hot droplets spattering onto my hand.

"Fucking hell—"

I jerked my hand up, hot broth dripping from my skin. My eyes shot to Yohan, my face twisting in annoyed protest—

But he didn’t even look at me.

The bastard barely glanced my way before turning back to Minho, his voice soft but laced with venom:

"Enjoy your meal, Minho. Yeah?"

"You—you fucking piece of shit—" Minho’s voice cracked into a seething mess, curses tumbling out in a tangled snarl. "You wanna fucking die, you—"

"Minho," cut in Kim Seokmin, voice casual, almost amused.

"...What?" Minho spat.

"Just let it go. Be cool."

.