The Taste of Lies Chapter 11

He was about to feel bad again, but the adult, who had been so generous to him, desperately tried to accommodate his mood, pretending otherwise, and Sangtae’s mood lightened. That didn’t mean the lingering resentment had completely melted away.

“You sure like ethics. What, you thinking of becoming an ethics teacher? You’d look great in a modified hanbok, you know.”

Sangtae grumbled spitefully. Youngmin tilted his head, not understanding what he was talking about, and then realized belatedly that it was a joke and let out a soft laugh.

“I didn’t go to education college, so I can’t be a teacher.”

The joke, made with his best effort, was utterly unfunny. Sangtae forced the corners of his mouth, which wouldn’t curl up, into a smile out of politeness and let out a “ha ha.” White breath rose from his mouth in the late-night cold.

“It’s cold. Let’s go inside.”

Youngmin said, pulling the zipper of Sangtae’s jacket all the way up to his neck. Spring in the mountainous region came late. Even in mid-April, the nights were almost wintry. As his heightened emotions cooled, the cold seeped into his very bones.

Youngmin’s clothes were thin too. Yet, as if he didn’t feel the cold, he tried to offer his outerwear again, and Sangtae waved his hands in refusal. He had endured even colder days in just his school shirt. He wasn’t a child to be coddled.

“Hurry up. You’ll catch a cold.”

Youngmin urged, looking back. Sangtae, who had been walking beside him, kept falling behind. Wondering why, Youngmin followed his gaze and saw it fixed on the feed placed under the car. Youngmin placed a hand on Sangtae’s shoulder.

“He’ll come back to eat it.”

“Will he? How can you be sure?”

“Because he’s hungry.”

“…”

“He’ll only come out to eat when we’re gone. Let’s go.”

The shoulder wrapped in his arm turned around. Right now, he’s wary, but hunger will force him to eat. There was a strange magnetism in those words that made Sangtae keep looking back.

Back home, despite Youngmin’s dissuasion, Sangtae forced the cold samgyeopsal down his throat. It wasn’t Youngmin who thought his situation was like a stray cat’s—it was himself.

Whether it was just that, or some calculation was hidden behind it. When hungry, he had to chew and swallow whatever he could put in his mouth, without refusal. Because if he spat it out, an unbearable hunger would come.

The floor was sizzling hot, and the newly bought mattress and blanket were fluffy. Plus, they smelled new. It was a scent he hadn’t experienced in years.

“Sorry. I forgot to buy a pillow. Want to use mine?”

Youngmin said, placing a pink towel over the white pillow. His words were a suggestion, but the way he laid out the towel was simply permission to use it without reservation.

Refusal was impossible. Before he could decline, Youngmin had rolled up another towel into a bundle and made it his own pillow.

The lights were turned off, and the two lay down in the same spot. Sangtae felt the quiet sound of breathing from beside him like thunder.

That was understandable—it was the first time he had slept with anyone else since his grandmother passed away. And on top of that, a young man with a high body temperature.

“Can’t sleep?”

Sangtae nodded in the darkness. Though he couldn’t tell if Youngmin’s eyes were open, he replied in a sleepy voice, as if he could see him.

“Want a sleeping pill?”

“You have those at home?”

“In the kitchen sink drawer. Take one out and eat it. You’ll sleep well.”

“No thanks. I don’t want to take medicine carelessly.”

Declining the offer, Sangtae wrapped himself in the blanket. As if the sleeping pill talk hadn’t been brought up for nothing, Youngmin began to breathe rhythmically as soon as the conversation ended.

Sangtae also knew how to fall asleep when he couldn’t. Breathe in for two seconds, out for three. Repeat that thirty times, and sleep comes. His father had taught him that.

“Hsss, hooo. Hsss, hooo.”

But it only made him more uncomfortable.

The floor was too hot, the pillow too high. To make matters worse, his stomach ached and his lower abdomen gurgled. Eating rotten potatoes would have been less painful than this. He absolutely could not sleep.

Careful not to wake Youngmin, he raised himself up. Tiptoeing out to the living room, he sat down against the wall. The cool air gave him a little relief.

But it was only temporary. Once his stomach became upset, it didn’t easily settle. His stomach churned as if he’d swallowed a volcano. His breath grew shorter, and Sangtae tried to breathe slowly through his open mouth.

…He felt like he was going to throw up.

How long had it been since he’d had meat! It would be a waste to throw it up, and he’d be too ashamed to face Youngmin. Sangtae clamped his hand over his mouth. He didn’t want to waste the kindness of a man who didn’t even seem to have much money.

He tried to hold back the vomit rising in his throat, but it was beyond his control.

“Hurrrk!”

Sangtae ran to the bathroom.

What a waste.

And he was going to get scolded.

Holding onto the toilet seat, Sangtae thought. Fear and sorrow welled up in him again.

∞ ∞ ∞

Youngmin woke up because of the noise.

Due to frequent shift changes, he often took sleeping pills. Their effect was strong. Fifteen minutes after taking them, he would fall asleep and not open his eyes once for eight hours. But today was an exception.

Because he had laid someone in the spot beside him, which had been empty for about 360 days out of the year, and for that someone, he had turned up the boiler temperature from its usual slightly-less-chilly setting to 30 degrees.

It was hot, and the mere presence of two hearts beating in a room that had always been his alone was noisy. Still, Youngmin kept his eyes closed. Even if real-world problems, dozens or hundreds of times heavier than an excessively high room temperature, were piled up, he was the type of person who sought sleep. And after that, he did his best to solve those problems.

The sound of someone retching painfully caught his ear. He felt beside him—the person who had caused his light sleep was gone. His drowsiness vanished instantly.

He flung the door open.

Light was spilling from the bathroom.

Sangtae was bent over the toilet, his head nearly buried in it, vomiting up food. The sour smell of gastric juice, the stench of pork, and the bleach scent peculiar to a clean bathroom mixed into a stench that would make anyone pinch their nose. Youngmin was shocked. Not by the smell, but by his own mistake.

For someone who hadn’t had a proper meal in a long time, a normal meal is difficult to digest. Even the prisoners rescued by Allied forces after World War II had their single loaf of bread taken away by medics. Meat—especially fatty samgyeopsal—was too much for Sangtae.

Setting aside his efforts to cheer him up, the priority was to give Sangtae some mild porridge first. He knew the theory, but having no experience caring for anyone, Youngmin hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“Want me to rub your back?”

His shoulder blades twitched convulsively over his spine, which jutted out prominently. The shirt haphazardly draped over the towel rack suggested urgency, as if worried about vomit splattering.

Though he said he’d rub, Youngmin’s movements were closer to stroking.

“I don’t… know why I’m sick.”

Sangtae said in a voice that sounded like it was about to break. His face, looking up, was glistening with tears. Youngmin paused his breath for a moment, then gathered Sangtae’s disheveled hair together and held it so he could vomit more easily.

“It’s my fault.”

“Because of you, Mister?”

“I made you sick by suggesting we eat meat.”

Sangtae didn’t answer. He seemed to be suppressing the rising nausea while trying to figure out the connection between the meat and the vomiting. Hair slipped through his fingers. It was cold and soft. Youngmin adjusted his grip on the hair to keep it clean of mess and explained.

“Some people get sick if they eat meat suddenly after not having it for a while. Don’t worry about it, just throw up. You’ll feel better once it’s all out.”

“…”

“After you’re done, I’ll make some barley tea. And tomorrow morning, let’s have porridge.”

“Is this out of obligation too?”

Thwack—!

Sangtae knocked Youngmin’s hand away and snapped.

“Liar, right? You’re just giving me charity because you feel sorry for me, aren’t you?”

His ragged breath carried unease, reeking of anxiety. This is habitual suspicion. Youngmin grasped Sangtae’s psychology. He was angry because he was anxious. Because he couldn’t make sense of the cause and effect of the situation with his own reasoning.

How should he react in times like this?

“No.”

“What do you mean no? You’ve got that look on your face like you’re so sick of this right now! You think I can’t tell?”