As If Waking from a Dream
A noisy clamor reached my ears.
There was a smell that felt somehow nostalgic. If you'd asked whether it was a pleasant smell, I don't think it was — but the longing mixed into it was unmistakable. That particular scent was something you never got to smell again once you left that time and place behind, so it was almost welcome.
"There's a fight in the next class!"
At that single sentence, the kids inside the classroom poured out in a rush.
"Boys, always fighting over nothing."
"It's probably some pointless crap again."
The girls who'd stayed behind with me looked thoroughly disgusted. I'd never been the type to enjoy that kind of violent behavior — someone hitting someone else. Besides, going out into the hallway just to gawk and getting crushed in the crowd was uncomfortable enough on its own.
"Who's fighting?"
"Song Hamin and Lee Jeonghu!"
But the moment I heard that name, I had no choice but to look up.
"…Song Hamin?"
"Isn't that your older brother?"
"Ugh, what older brother. We're the same year."
That was another thing I couldn't stand. Same age, same grade. Being sorted into "older brother" and "little sister" over a difference of a few seconds — or a few minutes — was a nightmare. If they were going to treat us like that, we shouldn't have gone to the same school in the first place. But it was already too late for that.
"Why are they fighting?"
"How should I know? Am I supposed to read his mind?"
I clicked my tongue, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. A fight that had gone all the way to fists, after all.
"You kids, get over here!!"
A large frame swept past the window. Whether someone had gone and reported it, or the noise had reached the teachers' office on its own, a teacher came straight over. The crowd that had been blocking the hallway like a siege scattered in a panic. Through the gaps, the main characters — Song Hamin and Lee Jeonghu — were hauled off to the teachers' office by the ears.
From a seat in the classroom next door, I caught only the barest fragment of the scene.
After school I slipped over to the class next door, where Song Hamin was. Normally I just went home with my friends and left it at that, but today it was bothering me, so I came looking for no good reason.
His face was plastered with bandages — maybe he'd been to the nurse's office. The look of someone still seething after a fight was still sitting on his features.
"Hey, cool it. …Wanna go play soccer today?"
"Haa. Maybe."
"Oh — your little sister's here."
"What? Ah."
Following the finger his friend pointed, Song Hamin's head turned. I'd been peeking through the front door, and now I felt awkwardly exposed. He was going to play soccer — maybe I shouldn't have come staring. I should've just gone home with my friends.
"I'm heading out today. If Lee Jeonghu starts shit again, tell me."
"Y-yeah. But are you okay?"
"Yeah. Doesn't matter."
He tossed the words out, stepped through, and strode toward the back door. He came out with a sharp turn, grabbed his shoe bag, and stared straight this way.
"What about your friends? Get dumped?"
"…I went out of my way to worry about you. Why'd you fight?"
"He was just being a piece of shit."
"What are you, a thug?"
The answer was so absurd it left me speechless. I never did get a proper explanation of why they'd fought.
I had a vague sense of why I'd been worried. When we went home there was no one there — the thought that there wasn't a single person who'd worry about him made me feel so sorry that I'd ended up pitying him without meaning to. I'd gotten carried away with my own sensitivity and projected onto him, and I didn't know what to do with that. Maybe it was because we were young — getting swept up in emotion like that.
"You gonna fight again tomorrow?"
"Why?"
"You told them to tell you if he starts shit again."
"…Dunno. If he brings his mom, there'll be another round, I guess."
Even back then, the way he'd been living since elementary school — full of that hard, bitter edge — his eyes were never simply gentle. At the time I'd just thought, Oh, he's a boy, so he's acting tough. Showing off his pride in front of the girls. Looking back now, I don't think that was it.
It felt like raw emotion, expressed without filter. You could tell from that cynical air, from his eyes, from the way he carried himself. It wasn't something he was forcing out because he was in a bad mood — it showed through quietly in his gestures and expression, which made it hit even harder.
Thinking of Song Hamin now, though, it doesn't quite feel like the same person.
"They told you to bring your mom?"
"No. I said she wasn't around."
"…Ah. Why would you say it like that?"
"She's not around, so I said she's not around."
"It's not like she doesn't exist at all!"
"I told them she couldn't come. You think I said I was an orphan?"
"Oh — that was it? You should've said so from the start!"
I squawked at him, but Song Hamin stayed perfectly calm.
"My ears hurt. Go away."
"Honestly. Boys, always fighting over nothing. Is it about looking cool, or what? Ranking each other like idiots. What's so great about being good at fighting?"
"It's not like that."
"Then what is it?"
"Why do you need to know?"
"You're unbelievable. I was worried about you and this is what I get?"
"I never asked you to worry."
With that, Song Hamin turned on his heel and went into his room. Beyond the door that slammed shut, there was no will left to keep talking, so in the end I gave up too.
The next day. One day after the fight, the rumors had already spread everywhere in an instant.
Yesterday, everyone had been focused on what had happened and on the fight itself. Today, the conversation centered on why that fight had happened.
Among the boys, the focus was on how the fight had gone — who had beaten whom, and in what way. Being in the next classroom, I might have seen it if I'd run over fast enough, but I hadn't. I only half-guessed from listening to the boys talk about how the fight had gone.
From what I heard, Song Hamin seemed to have won, which I was glad about — but knowing he'd gotten that banged up even in victory only made me hate fighting more.
"Haneul, did you hear?"
"Hear what?"
"Apparently Lee Jeonghu from the next class was talking shit about you yesterday?"
"What? Why me?"
My eyes went wide at the words that made no sense.
"He was saying you were, like, deficient or something. So Song Hamin beat the crap out of him, I think."
"Wow, really playing the big brother, huh. But who does that guy think he is, suddenly going after our Haneul? He's in the next class, right?"
"What big brother…"
I never did hear the full story properly. It just drifted along in the shape of something like that happened, and it turned out like this.
"So why'd he say I was deficient?"
"I dunno. I guess people kept talking about how you two always hang out together, asking if you liked each other or something, and it went that way from there."
It was a rumor passed along secondhand, so the accuracy was low — like a photo that had been downloaded over and over until the quality was garbage, nothing sharp about it. Even so, the words grated on me badly at the time.
"Just for hanging out together, I have to hear stuff like that?"
I scowled hard. We didn't even hang out that much anymore — why did I have to put up with that kind of talk? It was ridiculous, and retorts kept rising to my tongue, but I held them back.
When you're young, rumors get spun out of nothing and people pile on. One letter different in a name and suddenly you've got a nickname; even going to the bathroom could draw stares. That says it all.
"Hey. Song Hamin."
"…What."
"I heard you fought because of me."
"Ah. Who told you that?"
The atmosphere was so sharp I flinched, half-expecting him to go find them and hit them right then.
"No, the rumor just spread everywhere?"
I couldn't name my friend, so I hedged. Song Hamin clicked his tongue and jerked his head away.
"I told you it's not like that. You're gonna believe the weird rumors those idiots spread?"
"Well, you never tell me anything, so."
"He was just being a jealous asshole. You don't need to care."
Song Hamin shut his mouth as if to say he was the mature one here. That attitude of hiding things because he could handle it alone made me furious. If it involved me, couldn't he at least say one word to me about it?
"Honestly. What's so hard about just telling me that."
"Sometimes it's better not to know."
"Hey. Don't act all superior for no reason. You're not getting a big head because your friends keep calling you 'older brother,' are you?"
"No? You call me 'you' and 'hey' anyway. You use my name. Did I ever tell you not to?"
"Well, no, but."
True enough — he'd never told me to treat him any particular way, so I had nothing to say.
After that, watching him fight once or twice more wore me out. Wondering if it was because of me, I applied to a different middle school. Being at the same school and constantly getting sorted into "older brother" and "little sister" had worn me down, too.
After that, middle school and high school split us apart, and aside from briefly crossing paths at home, there wasn't much chance to talk closely. Still — thinking about where we are now — we never drifted that far apart, which I suppose is something to be grateful for. There was a stretch where things had gone vaguely quiet between us, and it wouldn't have been strange if they'd just stayed that way.
"…Why."
I blinked after waking from the dream. I wondered why I'd suddenly dreamed of the old days. You can't control your dreams, of course — but being confronted with an old memory so vivid left me a little unsettled.
After waking, I couldn't remember what that name had been. But I vaguely recalled that later on, after I'd put real distance between myself and Song Hamin and we'd stopped hanging out together, there had also been a confession. Thinking about it now, I don't know whether someone fought to tell me to stay away from Song Hamin because of that, or whether Song Hamin was the one who stepped in and stopped it at the time. The details — Song Hamin would know those, I suppose. It wasn't a story worth asking about now, so I just let out a sigh. It's probably something I'll never know, even if I live my whole life.
"……."
The dream had left me curious for no good reason. If I ever got a boyfriend, what kind of reaction would he have shown? And the other way around — if Song Hamin suddenly showed up one day with a girlfriend, how would I feel? I'd never thought about it before, so even imagining it was hard.
The way things are now — with me having this body — neither a boyfriend nor a girlfriend is really something either of us could bring home. But if he goes back to school, meeting women wouldn't be that difficult, so it's something worth considering. I think he mentioned going on a department blind date before, too.
With January drawing closer, I seemed to be getting restless right along with it. If I don't give it back, I'll catch hell for it — but if I do give it back, this will end as if waking from a dream, and that leaves me stuck. It was never mine to begin with. Even so, I'm reluctant to return it.