Runway Chapter 8

This made it certain. This guy has a purpose for me.

But my attention was directed toward Lee Wookchan rather than the delicious sushi and udon. Why he got so angry—that’s what I wondered.

He’s always that kind of guy, but today especially it was more so. Should I just not care. Wasn’t he always doing whatever he wanted.

“There’s something I want to ask.”

The class president put sushi topped with rolled egg in his mouth. With his cheeks puffed, he nodded and answered me.

“Why are you asking me to be friends? You saw too. I have no money, no friends. Studying… well, you’re good at it too so that doesn’t matter.”

Our school isn’t an exceptionally good school either. Just an ordinary high school in the provinces.

It was a place where kids from academically strong neighborhoods came to build their school records.

They send three or four to Seoul National University a year, but most go through early admission rather than the regular exam. Kids who build their records, fill their school records flashily, and leave perfectly packaged.

The class president is probably one of those guys. Even at a glance, he had the look.

A child who grew up pretty and loved by everyone. And a being who can’t leave me, the one who’s out of place in the class, alone.

“Seonho, you seem to keep forgetting that I transferred often.”

The class president finally put down his chopsticks.

“If I were a victim or perpetrator of school violence, if my family went completely bankrupt so I had no money and got pushed and pushed down to this area?”

“…”

“If I had no parents, or my parents refused to raise me so I came down to a relative’s house? Would you still be that prickly?”

I couldn’t say anything.

It was true. As always, I was judging people and passing evaluations as I pleased.

And if the other person didn’t meet my standards, I’d mock them inwardly and always draw a line.

Wasn’t I doing that to the class president right now too. Packaging is just a nice word for packaging—I was mocking that a rich parent had decked him out flashily.

The only ones I set the standard of ‘my people’ for are family and… Lee Wookchan.

Because we’d seen each other’s bottoms, we were the kind of relationship that could embrace each other and sink together. Would there be progress between us. No, we just think of each other as water ghosts.

The class president smiled good-naturedly. His eyes curved. Faint wrinkles settled beside his eyes.

“But it’s not that bad. My father was transferred down here.”

“…Ah.”

“And I go to church. Today they said lunch was noodles so I didn’t want to eat.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“If you ask why I want to be friends with you, well.”

“…”

“I like lonely people. I also like people who go well with solitude.”

The class president is handsome. Tall too, and thanks to his gentle impression he’s popular.

He has lots of friends too. Everyone wants to be close with him.

It hasn’t been long since he transferred but he has friends in other classes too. There were quite a few guys who followed him going, ‘Hyunwoo, Hyunwoo!’

He’s a guy who doesn’t go with solitude. This much is certain.

Rather, he was a guy like a net that bound the kids into one.

Even if he isn’t as openly delinquent as Lee Wookchan, there’s still a pyramid within our school. The class president’s status was only rising day by day.

He receives the teachers’ and students’ mischievous jokes well too. He doesn’t fear being made fun of, but he’s never been broken.

Even I, who has no interest in other guys, knew him and was paying attention to him.

Also, the class president knows how to captivate students. Just now, the words about going well with solitude—I know this isn’t insulting me.

When there’s a student with a lot of thoughts, people usually say they’re putting on airs. Once I clearly heard with my own ears Lee Wookchan say that to some guy.

‘Putting on airs, you fucking bastard.’

Like that, he openly cursed at a guy who gave a deeply contemplative presentation in class, right there on the spot.

What kind of face is one that goes well with solitude.

Of course I’m small in build. Short too. My face—well, I’ve never heard that I’m ugly, but it’s an impression that male kids don’t want to get close to.

So I couldn’t understand why the class president, who receives good evaluations at school, would want to get close to me.

My eye corners droop but look fierce—probably because my pupils aren’t big—and I’ve often heard that I look ill-mannered.

Once when I met a hyung close to Lee Wookchan, I almost got hit for asking why I open my eyes like that. It’s not that I have a complex about my face, but I didn’t particularly like my face either.

“…What do you mean by that?”

I eventually asked. No matter how much I racked my brain, there were limits. It was easier to just ask the person in front of me.

“Just….”

The class president hesitated. From his parted lips, a voice like a breath wet with sweet water flowed out.

“To say it openly, you’re handsome, Seonho. So I want to be friends.”

“…”

“It’s not like we’re meeting through a blind date or an introduction, do we have to weigh and calculate everything? If we click, we become friends.”

Is that so. Still….

“If we try being friends and it doesn’t fit, throw it away.”

This too came from high confidence. Who would confidently say to throw it away if it doesn’t fit. It must be words spoken with that much certainty.

When I sat blankly, the class president raised his chin.

“First eat. I was hungry but it was hard reading the room.”

He wasn’t even reading the room. Still, I bowed my head.

I picked up udon noodles and put them in my mouth. The noodles slurping in were plump and delicious.

The class president also started eating properly. At least it was much more delicious than cup rice.

“What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to the library.”

“Want to go together?”

Even though he came out empty-handed.

I adjusted my bag. The greeting I’d given leaving the restaurant—”I ate well”—was awkward.

Does the class president really want nothing from me. I thought while checking his reaction, but there really was nothing in it. In the end, feeling guilty, I bought drinks.

Sitting face to face in a cafe was uncomfortable, so we took it out and wandered the streets.

Sometimes I saw guys I knew through Lee Wookchan. They gathered among themselves and spat on the street or smoked.

They squatted in front of karaoke rooms or arcades and stared at me too.

I was conscious of those uncomfortable gazes as I walked the streets with the class president. There was nothing proper to do.

When I come downtown with Lee Wookchan, what do we usually do. I tried to recall but couldn’t remember easily. We didn’t really eat either. At most we’d go to an arcade, or meet people he knew.

And actually, Lee Wookchan didn’t really like taking me around downtown. Was it because he was embarrassed of me—when I was young I sometimes thought that, but now I don’t really think that way.

It’s better that I don’t go around with him either. It just drew attention for no reason.

“Is there a library nearby?”

“…There’s one near our neighborhood.”

“Then let’s go there. I don’t know the roads well anyway.”

“Yeah.”

The class president came out to the roadside again. He waved his hand and hailed a taxi.

I unfolded the three bills I’d crumpled up. It was the money left after buying drinks.

I handed it to the class president. He smiled weakly. Later. He said and didn’t take it.

Getting out of the taxi, I find myself looking around at the sky for no reason.

“Drive safely.”

The class president said to the taxi driver. How nice. If you live negatively, does your politeness disappear too. Even when I ride taxis or buses, I’ve never once easily said hello.

“This library is really nice.”

The library is two stories. There aren’t that many people.

Because it’s next to an elementary school, it’s a place where neighborhood residents or people with nothing to do on weekends come. It was different from the library near the school.

That place required going early in the morning to reserve a seat, but this place had seats sparsely remaining even though it was a little past two.

A place that could only fit four six-person desks and had fewer than ten bookshelves.

We sat by the window. I took out my study materials. The class president, sitting across from me, rummaged through the shelves and brought out a novel.

I pretended to study and glanced sideways at the novel the class president was reading. It was a novel I’d read too.