The Taste of Lies Chapter 17

“…Haah. You’re back?”

Sangtae raised his hand in greeting. Then, suddenly wondering if his hand—which had been blowing his nose until just a moment ago—was dirty, he wiped it on his shoulder. Youngmin’s gaze swept over his hand, his shoulder, his other hand still buried under the blanket, his bare legs sticking out from under the covers, the wads of tissue scattered across the floor, the roll of toilet paper, his red-rimmed eyes, and finally his fever-flushed cheeks. Turning his wide eyes away, Youngmin said.

“So, so you were sleeping. Sorry for waking you.”

“No… I…”

He tried to say he hadn’t been sleeping, that he’d been awake, but Youngmin gave him no chance. Stuttering uncharacteristically, he hurriedly closed the door. Even a suppressed groan came through, as if he’d stubbed a toe or a finger somewhere.

What’s going on now? Why is he acting like this all of a sudden?

Sangtae was dumbfounded.

He couldn’t understand why Youngmin was behaving this way. Sangtae raised his dizzy body to follow him out. As he drew closer to the door, he could hear sounds from outside.

Youngmin was clattering around in the living room, banging and thumping, searching for something. What on earth is he doing? Sangtae stood still with his ear pressed against the door.

Knock, knock.

After a moment, Youngmin knocked.

It was the first time since they’d started living together.

Forcing his tight throat open, Sangtae answered.

“What is it…”

“Can I open the door for a second?”

“It’s open.”

The door opened silently. Sangtae stood behind it, watching to see what would happen. Through the gap, barely more than a handspan wide, came a freshly opened tissue box.

“…Use some good tissues.”

With a voice somehow laden with embarrassment, Youngmin quickly withdrew his hand. The door closed quietly. Silence followed.

What in the world is he talking about?

Pondering it, Sangtae suddenly flushed red. Already flushed from fever, it grew even hotter. Like a perfectly ripe summer tomato, or a dashboard gauge after the self-destruct button had been pressed.

Youngmin was greatly mistaken.

He had misunderstood that Sangtae was pleasuring himself!

Youngmin had been on duty, and Sangtae was home alone. When it came to sex, Sangtae was like any other teenager, and when his grandmother was away, he had naturally masturbated too.

But, but! He wasn’t so shameless as to be living off someone else’s kindness and, on top of that, jerking off in the master bedroom—not even the bathroom—while covered in the blankets they both used every day. And he didn’t even have any particular girl in mind.

No matter that he’d left the tissues there because he planned to throw them away later, this misunderstanding was going too far. The fact that the tissue box happened to be pink made Sangtae even more heated.

“Arghhh!”

Letting out a howl, he yanked the door open. Youngmin was sitting at the table, fiddling with a mug in both hands, and as if seeing and hearing nothing, he brought it to his lips. The mug was empty—without even water.

“No, no, no! It’s all not that!”

“What, what is…?”

Your misunderstanding—the very assumption that I was stroking my dick with my own hand—is completely wrong. He wanted to say that, but he was so mortified he couldn’t bring himself to utter it.

“It’s not that anyway! You use it, Mister!”

He snatched up the tissue box lying near the door and hurled it. Youngmin caught it in midair with a bewildered expression.

“Are you sure… you don’t need it?”

“I have a cold! It’s a stuffy nose, I was just blowing my nose!”

“…”

“Don’t believe me? If you catch it from me, will you believe it then?”

Sangtae strode up to Youngmin. His bare legs in loose shorts settled between Youngmin’s legs, still in his police uniform. Sangtae snatched off Youngmin’s cap, threw it to the floor, and cupped his face with both hands.

“What are you doing right now?”

“Stay still. I’m going to give you my cold now.”

Startled, Youngmin looked up as Sangtae’s shadow fell over him. Youngmin’s lips were, contrary to appearances, soft, and it felt as though his entire body was being enveloped.

Sangtae was stunned.

It was just a childish trick—like rubbing his eyes with a hand that had touched an infected eye to get conjunctivitis and skip school with permission—but Sangtae couldn’t breathe. In Youngmin’s hand, the tissue box crumpled with a crackle. Sangtae was afraid to open his tightly shut eyes.

What should I do?

Why am I doing this?

If his goal was just to pass on a cold, one sneeze in front of him would have sufficed. There was no need to lick his lips, sweep his palate, or push his tongue deep into his mouth.

It was too much.

He knew it was excessive, but he couldn’t pull away.

If he pulled away, he’d have to face Youngmin.

Just as he was about to loop his arms around Youngmin’s neck and turn his face away, his chin was caught. Facing those sharp-edged eyes, Sangtae pretended to be nonchalant and acted cocky.

“Haha. All passed on.”

“Ha… If you had a cold, I could have just told you to take your temperature—what is this…?”

“This is the surest way.”

“You’re such a tease.”

Youngmin wasn’t angry. He took it as a reckless act done in a fit of temper, just as Sangtae had intended. He pushed Sangtae’s knees off his thighs without realizing they’d been there, and pressed his hand to Sangtae’s forehead.

Sangtae felt relieved by the calm reaction, but at the same time, he felt a pang of disappointment. So then, why, exactly?

While Sangtae stared blankly, Youngmin returned with a thermometer and Tylenol. The thermometer in his ear read 38.5 degrees. It wasn’t a terribly serious level, so Youngmin simply took out one pill and placed it in Sangtae’s hand.

“You snot-nosed kid, take your medicine and sleep. I’m going to wash up.”

Patting his shoulder, he turned and headed to the bathroom.

“If you catch my cold, you owe me an apology!”

Sangtae shouted at the bathroom door, from which the sound of water could be heard. No answer came. He took the medicine, gathered up all the tissue wads lying around the floor like enemies, threw them in the trash, and washed his hands at the sink.

He sat at the table and waited for Youngmin to come out. He planned to go into the room together and sleep once Youngmin came out, but Youngmin didn’t emerge for a long time, and the sound of water continued.

Eventually, Sangtae got into the bedding first. By the time he was drifting back into a daze, Youngmin still hadn’t come.

∞ ∞ ∞

The taste of that tongue was sweet.

It melted softly, like a spoonful of sugar placed on the tip of his tongue after days of hunger, and a nasal hum escaped him naturally.

Sangtae closed his eyes. His eyelids were heavy, and the mucous membrane where his lashes grew was so terribly itchy that he simply couldn’t open them.

Sangtae was certain he felt the itch. Yet somehow, two people came into his field of vision.

Himself and Youngmin.

The two were pressing their lips together. Youngmin wasn’t holding a tissue box—he was holding Sangtae’s waist. He lightly stroked Sangtae’s waist with his thumb. Whether because it tickled, Sangtae slightly twisted his shoulder.

Even his ghost-like self, floating in midair, could taste it in his mouth and felt his whole body tremble—though he couldn’t understand why. His face grew hot, and he felt like he might make strange sounds. The floating Sangtae clamped a hand over his mouth.

It was what had happened earlier.

Looking at the two, Sangtae recalled it.

It was exactly the same, except for the small detail that Youngmin’s hand was on his waist instead of on a tissue box. Added to that, he realized he was dreaming.

What a pity. And he was angry. He clenched his fist.

…!

Sangtae was startled by the emotion that had instantly overtaken him.

It was just a dream—he rarely dreamed at all, so this was probably his first in years, a silly nonsense dream—so why was he getting worked up? Was it because the one kissing Youngmin down there wasn’t the floating Sangtae, but the physical shell?

The shell that had been kissing Youngmin glanced up. Its gaze met the ghostly Sangtae’s exactly. As if it had known all along he was watching, the shell’s eyes curved into thin crescents.

At that moment, Sangtae recognized the source of his feelings.

The dark desire writhing deep in his gut was named jealousy. Desire was born from Sangtae, who wanted Youngmin.

Sangtae liked Youngmin.

‘I told you so.’

The shell’s voice echoed in his head.

He was shocked.

The being he’d thought of as a shell had, before he knew it, become himself. The vaguely sensed feelings crashed over him like a tidal wave.