Just Twilight

Chapter 7

With a short sigh, Beomjin shot her a sharp look, his face pinched in irritation. His hair was a complete mess, as if a bird had nested in it, and he shook his head slowly.

"Your jokes really aren't..."

"Better than menstrual cramps, at least."

Junyoung grinned as she jumped down the last step with a light thud. She had her unshakable shield, after all.

Beomjin’s sharp jawline tensed as his eyes grew dangerously cold. Watching him slowly adjust his grip on the chopsticks, Junyoung caught a bad feeling and shouted in alarm.

“Don’t!”

She darted forward, but it was already too late—the egg yolk had burst, spilling into the clear ramen broth. Junyoung glared at him.

“Hey!”

“Don’t you think you should shower? You smell like sweat.”

“I’ll shower after I eat.”

Beomjin exaggeratedly leaned back and pinched his nose, pretending to shield himself from the imaginary stench. Junyoung narrowed her eyes at him before grabbing the chopsticks laid out for her on the table.

Blocking his creeping chopsticks with practiced precision, she scarfed down the ramen. As always, his cooking tasted surprisingly good.

After finishing her bowl in record time, her next target was his towel.

She didn’t need to check the state of her hair—it had to be a tangled disaster. She could wash it in the sink with soap somehow, but the only towel available to dry it was the one he had brought.

When Beomjin turned to put the empty pot in the sink, Junyoung seized the opportunity. Like a bird of prey, she snatched the towel perched on top of his bag.

By the time he turned around, she had already draped the towel around her neck and tucked its ends neatly into her shirt.

“Let me borrow it.”

She spoke as nonchalantly as possible, meeting his dumbfounded stare. From experience, she knew it was better to act confident around Kwon Beomjin than to show any fear or hesitation.

Beomjin’s gaze lingered on the towel around her neck before drifting to the slight bulge in her shirt. His brows furrowed deeply as he turned away with a sigh.

“What kind of girl...”

“And you look like you can go without washing your hair today. Not like anyone’s bold enough to comment on it.”

Her voice sounded clearer now, perhaps because of the lightness she felt after eating. Beomjin turned back to her slowly.

“Who cares about your hair? Na Seungwoon?”

Junyoung, who had been smirking half-heartedly, froze. She stammered without realizing it.

“Why would Na Seungwoon care about my hair?”

“Are you really not going home today?”

He abruptly changed the subject, letting out a short sigh as he scrubbed the pot with a soapy sponge. Watching him, Junyoung nodded.@@@@

“Yeah.”

“The water’s cold. Heat it before you use it.”

After finishing the dishes quickly, Beomjin filled the clean pot with water and placed it back on the stove.

As always, Junyoung was struck by how different Kwon Beomjin was from how he looked—so meticulous and considerate. Feeling a bit awkward, she rolled her eyes before pulling out a chair. But when she saw him stifling a yawn, she spoke up.

“Go upstairs and rest for a bit. I’ll wake you up after I’m done.”

“Don’t worry. My lips are sealed. Well... most of the time.”

“What the hell are you talking about—”

“Junyoung.”

Junyoung, struggling to move her stiff lips, suddenly stopped at the sound of a voice from behind her. Hyesoo, who had been staring at something over Junyoung’s shoulder, instantly wiped away her malice, leaving only a facade of innocence.

Junyoung heard the faint sound of a bicycle stopping nearby but couldn’t turn her head. Her fingers, cold as ice, trembled faintly.

“Good morning. Are you feeling better?”

The voice was soft, like a spring breeze, but it felt anything but warm. Especially since Hyesoo was staring at her with the face of someone holding an invisible dagger.

When Junyoung remained silent, a clean-cut face suddenly appeared in her field of vision.

“Junyoung, are you okay?”

Startled, she stepped back. As she raised her head, she met Seungwoon’s eyes. His deep brown eyes, always full of kindness, quickly filled with concern as he leaned toward her.

“If you think you need to see a doctor—”

“I told you.”

Her lips moved on their own. Hyesoo’s gaze seemed to compel her.

“Not to worry about me.”

Her voice was cold, as if it belonged to someone else. She stepped away, her movements stiff and mechanical. As she passed Hyesoo, she thought she heard the faint sound of a scoff, like a ghost in her ear.

Walking briskly, Junyoung suddenly found herself face-to-face with Beomjin, who was standing silently, watching her from a distance. He had his usual lopsided bag slung over one shoulder, his hair still a bird’s nest.

Something about the sight made her laugh, though the laughter crumbled along with her stiff expression.

Beomjin squinted one eye at her and seemed about to say something as she approached, but Junyoung simply shook her head.

As she walked past him, she felt his gaze boring into the back of her head. Her small shoulders trembled as her clenched fists tightened, the knuckles white.

***

Junyoung’s mother was not a normal person.

In truth, Junyoung didn’t know much about her. What she did know was that her mother was deeply ill—so ill that she needed to unleash her violent outbursts on her daughter just to survive.

When had her mother stopped being able to hold a proper conversation? Thinking back, Junyoung could vaguely recall a time in her early childhood when they had talked—though not in a particularly affectionate way. Still, Junyoung remembered following her mother around, eagerly trying to speak to her, feeling proud whenever she received a reply, however rare that was.

Even now, when her mother wasn’t overcome by pain, they could exchange short words. But no one would call that a conversation. Junyoung didn’t expect any meaningful dialogue at this point. Still.

What was her mother thinking about as she lived her life?

There had been a time when Junyoung worried about her mother going to work irregularly, despite her frail condition. But that worry faded after one incident—when her drunken mother returned home late one night, kicked her without reason, and trampled her for a long while. Junyoung had to clean up the urine her mother left behind, and in doing so, her concern gradually disappeared.

Her mother was emaciated, but in moments like those, she was impossibly strong. The best strategy was to endure and wait for the storm to pass.

They were poor. But not all poor people fell apart like that. Junyoung guessed that her mother had an old, deeply rooted wound, one that was eating away at her body and mind.

Of course, that understanding didn’t bring Junyoung any comfort.

Her mother...

What kind of work was she doing?

Lately, her mother had started leaving small amounts of cash—1,000 won here, 10,000 won there—around their cramped, musty apartment. The bills would sit untouched for days. One day, Junyoung asked if she could take some. Her mother, lying curled up under an old blanket, didn’t respond. So Junyoung used the money to buy secondhand books.

Her mother never retaliated over the money. Eventually, it became an unspoken rule that the cash her mother left behind was Junyoung’s allowance.