Instant Answer
I was never much of a student.
So I hunted down a major most people didn't bother applying for. I'd studied Korean history, sure, but Eastern Philosophy had never really been my thing, and more than once I wondered if I should've just gone for Western Philosophy instead.
It was a reach school for me, and I barely scraped in. Still, I was pretty satisfied with the result. Being able to drop the name of a decent university when people asked was good enough.
Once I actually got there, though, I found more people genuinely passionate about Eastern Philosophy than I'd expected — and just as many people like me. The department split roughly in half: those who were all in, and those who weren't. Naturally, I drifted toward the latter. Philosophy, to me, just felt like a bunch of difficult word games.
I half-assed it. I couldn't handle alcohol, so I avoided it as much as possible. Even a single drink went straight to my head, and once the group started pushing me to keep going, I'd end up nursing a soft drink until I could slip away. Over and over.
"Come on, at least play along with the mood."
"Wait, you're skipping this? Seriously?"
The quiet pressure from everyone around me to drink was overwhelming. If I refused a pour, or accepted one and left it sitting full in my glass, the atmosphere turned cold in a hurry. I couldn't stand that chill, so I started ducking drinking parties altogether.
I wasn't serious about studying, and I wasn't out having fun either, so of course I ended up on the fringes. Group projects mattered, but I had nowhere to fit in — I just floated. I managed to hang around with the studious kids somehow, but the gap in ability made me feel guilty more often than not.
"Hey, Haneul. You free for a bit?"
A senior one year above me approached me casually. I had no idea what he wanted, but turning him down felt awkward, so I went along.
"You remember me, right? We've run into each other at drinking parties since the freshman welcome party."
He pointed at himself and asked if I remembered. Well. All I really remembered was the constant pressure to drink, and how refusing turned a loud room ice-cold and drew every eye to me. Not exactly fond memories.
Even when I told them I couldn't hold my liquor, it didn't matter. They'd say it was fine not to drink if I didn't want to — then change their faces the second I actually didn't take a glass. I knew exactly what they were after. That only made me less willing to hear them out.
"Yes, I remember."
"Oh, yeah?"
Just play along a little and they light up like animals. On the street, at school — I knew the type well enough. One look in the mirror was all it took to judge the situation objectively. Compared to other girls, my chest was big enough that my body stood out. I could feel how blatantly people stared.
"Want to go out with me sometime?"
His eyes flicked downward for just a second, and a chill ran through me. Were all men like this? I was developing a disgust I hadn't even had before. It never quite became familiar enough to ignore, which only made the stress worse.
The stares the moment I stepped outside. I'd thought maybe it would be better away from campus, but people still came up to talk whenever I was alone, and it got exhausting. Being with a guy didn't even work as a deterrent. And if I did hang around a guy, the second we looked a little close, he'd decide we were in some kind of mutual flirtation and start closing the distance. Then there were the rumors floating around campus that we were dating — gossip I never even heard about until it was already everywhere. Headaches on top of headaches.
All the same men. All the same stares. It was annoying. And it was exhausting.
I decided to quit school. I hadn't had any real affection for the major itself, and a diploma had never been that important to me, so walking away was easy.
My parents were rarely home. In a house left to me alone, there was no interference, no watching eyes. After I started ignoring the occasional phone call, things grew quieter and quieter. Talking would only lead to the same old conversations anyway.
That was how I was living when Song Hamin came home on leave one day.
He seemed a little different. Having some guy suddenly occupy a room in a house that had been so quiet put me on edge.
"Shouldn't you be at school?"
"What's it to you?"
"Did you skip your own free period or something."
He muttered to himself like it wasn't his business and stalked off into his room.
That was the Song Hamin I knew. The indifferent attitude he always showed me was a relief. Maybe it was just natural, being twins and siblings — but I couldn't help wondering if life would've been a little easier if everyone else had treated me the same way.
It was all in the past now. No point hypothesizing.
Looking back on it now, I understood. Without this experience, I never would have gotten it in a lifetime — but now I knew.
My body was the kind of filthy-sexy body that made you react just from looking at it. I'd felt it firsthand after becoming a man, so that fact wasn't going to change. I'd experienced it in Song Hamin's body, which meant Hamin wouldn't be much different.
It put me in a bit of a foul mood. The way she was acting like nothing had happened after what we'd done, and on top of that, that attitude of hers — saying she didn't need it, that I didn't have to put out — rubbed me the wrong way. Making it sound like I'd been the one fretting and waiting up all night out of worry.
Well, I'd pushed things too, and I'd been pretty rough about it. First time or not, there was nothing special about any of it — pain was something you could just tough out. I'd been Song Hamin. I knew there was no way she wouldn't react.
Listening to the rush of water, I timed it on pure whim. I grabbed the doorknob hard and shoved my way inside.
"Ah — what the hell!"
Song Hamin flinched, startled, curling in on herself.
"I-I was gonna wash with you."
"What are you even saying? Get out, now!"
The corner of my mouth twitched. It was lucky she hadn't locked the door — but now that she was actually kicking me out, I had no idea what to do next.
Whether the bodies swapped or not, something about Song Hamin always felt the same, and that was strange. How could she act so calm, so completely unbothered, even after going through all that? No matter what I did, no matter what situation came up — did she just treat me like me?
"Why… why! We did it together yesterday…"
It was a little embarrassing. I'd never done anything like this when I was myself, so I was weirdly self-conscious about it. I stripped my clothes off in a rush and dug in, refusing to leave.
Song Hamin stood there dripping wet, looking completely at a loss. But the second I got naked, she'd get hard for sure — that much was certain. If she just went ahead and fucked me, maybe we'd be even. A selfish little wish to scrub out the guilt that had sunk its roots deep into my head.
Maybe that was why the shame didn't really register. No — it registered, but I could handle it. I'd done the same thing to her, after all. Was I really going to refuse to return the favor? Other men were all the same. Looking at a body and getting turned on was just how it worked. So. So…
"Get out."
"Eh."
"If we start something again and the bodies swap, I seriously can't deal with it."
I'd stripped completely naked, and she still shoved me. I stumbled out of the bathroom and landed hard on my ass. Song Hamin locked the door behind me.
I couldn't believe it. I just sat there staring at the floor like an idiot.
"…Huh?"
That was weird. I'd gotten hard just looking at my own body. Was it because it had felt like someone else's? I'd experienced Song Hamin's body myself — there was no way that sensation was wrong. I wanted to believe that.
Whether the problem was in my head or not, the gap between what I'd experienced and what I was facing now hit hard. I gathered up the clothes I'd just peeled off, crumpled them in my hands, and chewed on my lip.
"Maybe it's because it hasn't even been a day?"
Maybe it was the leftover alcohol. Or maybe something I just didn't understand yet. For now, I decided to leave it at that.
"What the hell is she thinking?"
We still didn't even know why the bodies had swapped in the first place, and yet Song Haneul had barged in saying she wanted to shower together. I had to hand it to her — that took something. She was like a hyena lunging in, desperate to swap the bodies back.
I clicked my tongue.
"Hey. Song Hamin."
When I came out of the shower, Song Haneul was waiting again. He was wearing clothes I used to like and stare at me intently.
"…What."
I tensed a little, not knowing what he'd say next. I hadn't done anything wrong. But in front of a wild animal, that didn't matter. The thought that he could lunge in any direction at any moment froze me up a bit.
He'd called me over and then said nothing, which was already weird. His ears went red on their own, and then he started stammering.
"I-I'll put out, you bastard! You think I can't even keep my word on that?"
He planted a hand on his chest and huffed. I couldn't figure out why my earlier comment would make him this angry.
"Have you lost it?"
"I fucked you, so…! I'm saying I'll let you fuck me too. Huh! Guys like that kind of thing, right?"
"…No. I'm fine."
"……."
Song Haneul froze solid. His eyes darted around like things weren't going the way he'd planned, unable to stay still. His mouth worked open and shut, and then he spat out something even weirder.
"Y-you're not impotent. You seemed healthy enough."
"Ah, for fuck's sake. What's wrong with you? The sun's coming up. Go to sleep already."
"Shit… so I was the only weird one."
"You're only figuring that out now?"
Being able to stay this calm after everything that had happened — maybe it was just because I felt more at ease now. Getting pregnant after all that would be a problem, sure, but there hadn't been any particular reaction since, and we'd been consistent about condoms, so it didn't seem worth fretting over. All I had to do was be careful not to get mixed up again, now that I knew I had this bizarre constitution I could barely even talk about to anyone.
"Fine, I'm going. I'm out."
"Yeah. Go to sleep."
The door to Song Haneul's room shut. Closing my own door for the first time in a while and settling in to sleep felt strangely peaceful.
Come to think of it, those rule papers and everything didn't really mean much anymore, did they? Whatever — I could toss them when I had time.
I was exhausted. Now that I actually had a routine, pulling all-nighters felt brutal. If my days and nights had still been flipped like usual it might've been different, but I couldn't even game, so living like a well-behaved kid had left me in roughly the same shape as a guy fresh out of the military.
"Ugh, fuck. I'm dying."
The drinking, the sleep. Song Haneul, too.
I stretched my sore body out on the bed and picked up my phone. I traded a few messages with friends, then closed my eyes right there.
When I woke up, it was three in the afternoon. Realizing how long I'd slept, I pushed myself upright right away. I'd clearly gone well past eight hours, and my body still felt heavy. It wasn't from drinking after so long — so what was it?
I blinked blearily, yawned, and got out of bed. Scratching my stomach, I wandered out to the living room and found Song Haneul watching TV.
"Oh, you're up?"
"…Yeah."
He greeted me out of nowhere, and ignoring it felt too awkward, so I answered halfheartedly. Yesterday still left a faint residue of discomfort. Haneul seemed to know it too — he looked embarrassed and glanced away.
"About yesterday… can you just forget it?"
"Yeah. Sure."
Holding onto it wouldn't do either of us any good, so I answered right away.