Temperature Difference
Ah, this was making me anxious.
It hadn't even been that long since that whole thing happened. The second those three condoms ran out, he'd gone and bought two more packs, and there was no way I could just ignore that. The thought that there had to be a reason he'd stocked up on two whole packs—especially after already going for it once when we'd completely run out—made me nibble at my nails. I chewed them steadily, checking the time, every nerve on edge for any sign of someone coming in.
Fortunately, no unwelcome visitors showed up through the night. He'd told me to help myself to some snacks and grab a drink from the fridge if I wanted, but it was hard to take that as pure goodwill.
Just in case, I slowly stepped into the darkened living room. The rules said we were supposed to leave our doors open, but my room was shut tight. He usually left it open—so what was he doing in there with it closed all of a sudden?
Tense, I edged closer, even rising onto my tiptoes so no one would hear, and pressed my ear to the door. I closed my eyes and focused every scrap of attention on sound alone. Still nothing clear enough to make out. I tilted my head.
Is he actually asleep?
It was late enough for bed, sure, but I knew perfectly well a freeloading shut-in wasn't about to be bound by something as trivial as bedtime. Half-convinced, half-doubtful, I slowly took hold of the doorknob.
I had a solid enough excuse ready. I was just heading to the bathroom or the fridge, saw the door closed, and opened it to check. Most of the house rules had been Song Haneul's idea anyway—rules that never would have existed if he hadn't been so damn pushy about them. If I threw that back at him, he wouldn't have a leg to stand on.
Like something out of a spy movie, I eased the handle down.
The light was on. Song Haneul sat in the chair, headset on, staring at something in a complete trance. A rhythmic thwap-thwap sound was coming from below the waist. It hadn't carried well through the closed door, but the moment I opened it, it hit me loud and clear.
Ah. He really was doing it.
It was a pretty grim sight, but if that was how he was burning through the supply, I didn't exactly have room to complain. I carefully shut the door again and went back to Song Haneul's room, pretending I'd seen nothing.
I barely slept. The shock of watching Song Haneul jerk off in my body the night before was no small thing. On top of that, there was the constant worry that he might come into my room at any moment and jump me.
Once you start fretting about something, there's no end to it. I was starting to realize that it wasn't just Song Haneul holding a body hostage—I was in the exact same position. Anything could happen to me, and I'd still have to keep my mouth shut to protect the image of "Song Hamin."
That was the miserable part: even if something awful happened, there was nowhere to report it, no one I could tell. So I had no idea how or when I was supposed to handle things. My conclusion was that even if he came at me while Dad was home, I'd probably just have to clap a hand over my own mouth and take it.
You need answers before you can do anything at all. The day I screamed was the day Song Hamin got struck off the family register.
"Ah, shit."
I'd come out to take out the trash, and there sat two used condoms, just sitting there in plain view. Seeing that first thing in the morning turned my stomach. Face twisted, I yanked out a wad of toilet paper and carefully wrapped them up—because if I just dumped them on top, Dad might catch sight of them.
Even so, touching them made me feel disgusting. It was only through a layer of tissue, but few things were more unpleasant. Maybe the revulsion hit twice as hard because I hadn't produced them myself.
"Haaah—what are you doing with the trash can first thing in the morning?"
I clicked my tongue at the sight of him yawning casually and scratching his stomach. I couldn't exactly raise my voice with Dad around, so I pinched them between my fingertips, flashed them at him, and stuffed them away. When I mouthed at him to ask whether he couldn't clean up after himself properly, he seemed to realize his mistake and rolled his lips inward.
"Sorry."
"If you know, then do it right."
It was a good thing I'd found them first. If Dad had seen them, what would he have said? Ah, so you jerked off with a condom on? No—more like, Nobody left the house last night, so who the hell were you with?
Whether he was careless or just not thinking, it had been a close call. Once I'd barely managed to dodge the crisis, my eyes squeezed shut of their own accord. A sigh of pure relief slipped out.
"It feels good and all, but it starts getting boring somehow."
"Back up."
"No, that's not what I meant."
"How is that not what you meant?"
I tossed the line at him out of sheer disbelief, and he still managed to look genuinely wronged. Even with a look of pure contempt on my face, he showed no sign of backing off, so I just stared at him. He edged a little closer and whispered so it wouldn't carry to the master bedroom.
"If I keep going, the sensation starts getting weaker…"
"Ah. That's because you're wringing it dry. Take it easy."
"Got it."
It was my body. Was this going to be okay? I had no sense of what it would feel like when we switched back. We were already past the two-week mark, and the way something so uncomfortable was also becoming familiar felt strangely unsettling.
"Let's do it just one more time."
"Get lost."
"Just once. I'll pay you."
"Am I a prostitute? Get lost, already."
I shoved him off with my elbow, but he still clung on. Only when I pulled back with a faintly disgusted look did he finally take a step away.
Of course the thrill was gone—he was milking it dry every chance he got. Keep stimulating something and eventually all you get is watery nothing, and whether he knew that or not, the way he just kept at it was almost funny.
But the condoms had looked like they held a decent amount. He wasn't comparing it to me as a baseline and calling the stimulation weak… was he? Comparing a person to a sex toy didn't even make sense.
"Don't pull that in front of Dad."
"I know, I know."
Watching him grumble made me want to hit him. It wasn't like I was some free service he could call on whenever he got bored. What a piece of work. Being able to go to town on your own body like that was a talent, I supposed. Not a good one, though.
I'd just put a step of distance between us when the master bedroom door opened.
"—Ah, good morning, Dad."
I gave a small bow as Dad walked out slowly, tablet in hand.
"Mm."
He came out without much ceremony, sat on the couch, and sniffled. I shot Haneul a look, and he reluctantly put some space between us and headed back to his room. Not that there was much to do with Dad sitting in the living room anyway.
"Haneul."
"Y-yes?"
My shoulders jerked at being called so suddenly.
"Could you make me some coffee?"
The gentle tone—so different from what I was used to hearing—left me feeling strangely off-kilter. It was definitely warmer, more affectionate than usual. Was this a side of him that only came out when he was dealing with Song Haneul, not Song Hamin?
Well, it wasn't like I'd ever cooed or fawned over him. Even as twins the same age, a blunt son and a daughter who laid on the charm were always going to get different treatment. Right now I was Song Haneul, so I had to match the vibe as best I could.
"Is green tea all right instead?"
"Mm, green tea's fine."
"Here you go."
Drop the leaves in, pour the water the moment the kettle boiled, give it a gentle stir—that was all there was to it. Coffee or green tea, the process was the same, but the scent was definitely different.
"Just leave it there."
"Yes. …Dad?"
His eyes, still on the tablet, flicked toward me. Looking up over his glasses, his gaze was a little sharp. Kind and severe at the same time—it was honestly intimidating. That was why I lived under such a tight rein in this house. Still, he was fairly loose with money, so that was something.
"Is there anything you need? A massage, maybe?"
"Need some allowance?"
"Ahaha, not just that, exactly…"
"All right. Give it a try."
Song Haneul kept going on about money this and money that, making me do things I should and shouldn't, so out of pure spite I figured I might as well earn some myself. Just asking for a raise in allowance would only benefit Song Haneul, and I wasn't about to hand him that win. Once our bodies switched back, he'd be the only one reaping the rewards on a regular basis.
Honestly, I barely went out, so there wasn't much to spend money on—but I'd still dropped a non-trivial amount trying games here and there, and I wanted to make up for it. Mom and Dad had given me cards, sure, but having my own cash mattered. The way every charge sent a text notification made certain hours of the day… inconvenient. Late-night drinking had made that a habit of mine.
I never would have dared offer a massage if I hadn't been in Song Haneul's body.
"How is it?"
"That hits the spot."
Even ten minutes in, my arms felt ready to fall off. I let my shoulders droop and snuck a look at him. Dad huffed a quiet laugh and gave a little flick of his hand.
"My wallet's on the desk in the bedroom. Go get it."
"Wow! Thank you!"
I made my reaction extra big on purpose when the money came. If Dad liked this kind of response when he handed out cash, maybe he'd keep giving it. Sure enough, two fifty-thousand-won bills from the wallet found their way into my hands.
"I'll put it to good use."
"Sure."
On my way back to the room, a text came in.
I snorted a laugh and glanced toward the room. Song Haneul was peeking through the crack of the door, looking utterly incredulous. It was pretty funny. Originally, Song Haneul would have been the one padding her allowance like this. Using it myself was almost too sweet. I almost wished I'd pulled this more often before.
Lunchtime rolled around, and Song Haneul texted again.
And a little while later:
I cackled in my room. My abs were so weak that I laughed until I got a cramp in my stomach.
"Idiot."
Still snickering, I buried my face in the pillow.