Gu Jaewook isn't afraid of him.
But Kwanghee isn’t afraid of Gu Jaewook, either.
Jaewook has a mature face, wide at the jaw and nose, his eyes as sharp as Kwanghee’s mother’s—intimidating but alight. Kwanghee stands as tall as he can, chest thrown out, and glances at the colored cuff of Jaewook’s short-sleeved uniform. Green. He’s a year ahead, then.
“Why don’t you explain to me why you’re beating on a kid in the grade below you? Slim pickings in junior year?”
The girls on Jaewook’s flank giggle and whisper to each other. The bitter, sour taste of resentment grows in Kwanghee’s mouth. This better not be about impressing them.
Gu Jaewook leans down, bringing his face close. His looks over the name tag again. "Lee Kwanghee? Wow—you two look exactly alike. Even if you’re identical, this is freaky. You sure nothing’s wrong with you two?"
"Answer the question."
"Lee Taehee is my friend." Jaewook shrugs and leans away. "He buys me food when I ask him too, does my homework, nicks your dad's cigarettes, and he doesn't complain when I hit him."
"Doesn’t sound friendly to me."
His lips split into a grin as wide as his face. "So? Taehee is a total outcast. He tries too hard to be perfect and happy, to make people laugh. It pisses me off, so I slap him around a bit."
Kwanghee seizes the front of Jaewook’s t-shirt, stretching the fabric. He yanks the taller boy close, so close he can smell his breath. "Stay the fuck away from him. Got it? If you ever fucking touch Taehee again, I will beat you within an inch of your life."
"Wow," Jaewook chuckles. "I think I might let you."
"Oppa," one of the girls whines, "I think I can hear the teacher coming!"
Kwanghee shoves him away, sparing him no backward glance as he stalks down the hall to his own classroom. He never wants to see that bastard again, but it seems he might not have a choice.
Gu Jaewook's face is burned into his memory.
For the first time in two months, Tae comes to the photography club meeting after school. He’s apprehensive, tired, but smiling. Kwanghee sets his camera down, eyes scanning his skin for fresh discoloration, hidden pain, if even a hair on his head is out of place.
"Hi, Hyung."
"Tae, you’re here."
Tae chuckles, bringing a hand to the back of his neck, a shy smile on his lips. "My...friend can't hang out today. So I thought I'd come."
“You’ve been hanging out with this friend pretty often.”
“Yeah, well… We might not hang out as much, these days. He, ah, told me he’s busy. Studying, probably.”
Jaewook must have listened. By some miracle, this whole nightmare might be over. Kwanghee is overwhelmed with relief, surprised to feel tears sting his eyes. He exhales, puts his arms around his brother, holds him close.
"Hyung?"
"I'm glad you're here, Taehee-yah. Let’s go to the front office tomorrow—I want you to transfer to my class, after all."
Taehee perks up. “Really?”
“Yeah. I miss you.”
No one will hurt you again.
Namsook clears her throat, camera hanging from her neck. She adjusts her round glasses. "Lee Taehee. I'm glad to see you back, but you've got to take club more seriously, okay? Promise me."
"I promise, sunbae!"
The door to the club room slides open. Tae’s smile dematerializes. The color drains from his face. Kwanghee turns to the door.
"Excuse me, is this the photography club?"
It's Gu Jaewook, alone, hands in his trouser pockets. He’s fucking grinning.
"I know I'm late by a few months, but can I still join?"
Namsook rolls her eyes, beckons him inside. "If I'm letting Lee Taehee back in, you may as well join, too. For the love of god, please tell me you have a camera?"
He withdraws a convenience-store disposable wind-up from his pocket. "Low budget."
"That's better than nothing, even if looking at it offends me. Come on in, I was about to announce something important."
Kwanghee sees the smallest tremor ripple through his brother, quivering his chin, his eyes wide, unblinking. Kwanghee puts a hand on his shoulder on instinct, hoping to calm him. Their eyes meet.
Tae’s face twists—it hits him like a ton of bricks, like a knee to the stomach. He didn’t want Kwanghee to know he’d been bullied. Jaewook enters the club room, leans against the wall, his pupils stuck on Kwanghee the whole time.
Namsook claps her hands together. "Okay, everyone, listen up!"
Namsook’s red sleeve cuff is the only one of its color in the room—she’s the sole senior in the club, and when she talks photography, she means business. Her voice demands attention, and not a soul dares to talk over her.
"I've heard from Mrs. Kim that there's a district-wide photography contest accepting entries on Monday."
Kwanghee’s heart leaps in his chest.
"It's open to thirty schools across the district, and there are no grade requirements. That means anyone can enter. First place prize is a five-million won scholarship to Seoul University's photography program. It's a start, and you get exposure as an artist."
Five-million won scholarship.
That will cover a whole semester.
Holy shit.
“Look, everyone,” Namsook goes on, adjusting her frames again, “I know a lot of you would kill to get that scholarship. There are a lot of strong photographers in this room, and even if you aren’t planning to win, I still want you to enter. If Mrs. Kim sees we’re taking initiative with the club, she might expand our funding to include a proper dark room by the end of the semester.”
And what a relief that would be. Kwanghee’s already salivating at the idea of money to cover a whole semester of university, but the incentive to enter continues to grow. His parents have plenty of money—they’re prepared to put Tae and him through four years of higher education, regardless of the cost, but Kwanghee hasn’t yet told them he doesn’t want to go to school for math or science.
And that secret could be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
A scholarship, and a win under his belt, could help prove he’s serious.
“I want you to take your entry photos in pairs,” Namsook announces, and the room groans. “Oh, grow up. We can all benefit from friendly critique and the opportunity to use a model, if you don’t want to take a nature shot.”
A student calls out from the back. “Sunbae, are there are rules?”
“Glad you asked. The only rule is your shot has to be interpreted by the theme something you can’t live without.”
It’s vague, if cheesy. Then again, Kwanghee thinks, it’s just a district contest.
“Have a partner by the end of club, today. The deadline is two months away, so you’d best start brainstorming.”
The room erupts into chatter and laughter. Kwanghee’s brain whirs with possibilities, ideas, strategies. Who else would he choose to be his partner than his own little brother, the one person he’s closest to in all the world?
He begins to turn, opening his mouth to ask the question.
"Lee Kwanghee!"
The chatter dies. Jaewook steps forward with purpose, his footsteps echoing in the room. Tae tenses, and Kwanghee steps in front of him, fists clenched, ready to swing.
Jaewook stops, and slides his hands in his pockets. He's smirking again.
Jaewook smirks. "Be my partner."
--- --- ---
"What's your game?"
They’re behind the school, the fresh air filling their lungs. The other club members are at the opposite side of the landscaping, testing lighting and angles with their cameras. Tae, standing near the fence with his own partner, shoots them what must be the fiftieth nervous glance of the last twenty minutes.
Jaewook holds his disposable camera to his eye, swiveling toward Kwanghee. There's a flash of bright light, along with a click, and he reaches down to wind up the next shot.
"My game?"
"I thought I was clear. Stay away from my brother. And turn off that flash."
"Someone's jumping to conclusions. I'm done with Lee Taehee, he was boring—besides, I don't bully kids for fun. If I did that I wouldn’t pick A-students like him."
"You're full of shit. I won’t ask you again, Gu Jaewook—what's your game?"
Slowly, Jaewook raises the camera to his eye, and clicks.
The flash is blinding, but Kwanghee refuses to blink, won’t lose in this moment. Not to an asshole like him. Jaewook licks his lips, shrugs.
"I find you interesting. Not at all like I thought you’d be, if I’m honest. I heard Taehee had a twin—I thought looking at your face would be just as annoying as looking at his, but it’s not. It’s a totally different feeling.”
He grins.
“Weird, huh?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you find interesting. Stay away from him.”
“Protective,” he chuckles. “Okay—I won't bother Taehee anymore.”
Kwanghee begins to sigh.
“But, in exchange, you have to help me with this contest.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope, help me. Then Taehee won’t hear another word from me. Not a peep." Jawook extends a smooth hand, palm open, inviting. "Deal?"
Something doesn't feel right about it. The whole situation is strange, forced, and there must be another layer to why he’s doing this. But, when Kwanghee weighs the option of potentially jeopardizing his chance for a scholarship and Tae’s wellbeing, his brother wins by a landslide.
Kwanghee is startled by his animosity for Jaewook, the depth of his capacity for hatred. Two months. It’s just two months, then the contest results will be announced, and Gu Jaewook will be out of his life forever.
Kwanghee take Jaewook’s hand, squeezes.
"Don't go back on your word, or I'll seriously kill you. And turn off the goddamn flash."
"I'm going to live forever, Lee Kwanghee, but you're welcome to try."
Tae gets a full night's sleep for the first time in weeks. He wolfs down his whole breakfast, and when Kwanghee sees him at lunch or between classes, he's upbeat again, if a tad wary. The droves of giggling girls that once followed him are still absent, but he smiles and waves at their classmates in the halls, cheerful.
That bastard must actually be keeping his promise.
Tae hasn’t asked Kwanghee about his partnership, and Kwanghee hasn’t mentioned it—the less Tae worries, the better.
It’s not even a second after the bell signaling the end of the day that Kwanghee gets the texts.
lee kwanghee
buy me soondae
He snorts.
Kwanghee’s thumbs are poised above the smooth screen, about to tell him no, that he wouldn’t spend a single won on him. He remembers what’s at stake. He grits his teeth, punching in a reply.
Where do you want to eat?
Jaewook is waiting for him by the school gate, leaning casually against the stone wall, rolling a lollipop in his teeth. Tae stops dead by Kwanghee’s side, knuckles turning white on the strap of his messenger bag.
“Taehee-yah,” Kwanghee murmurs, “go home first. Okay? I have to work on my contest entry.”
Tae swallows, smiles, but it’s painful. The bruise on his arm hasn’t started to fade yet, and seeing it reignites the fire in Kwanghee’s chest, the anger, the unbridled rage.
Tae whispers, “Thank you, Hyung,” and sweeps through the gate, never once looking back.
Jaewook watches Tae go, his wide face expressionless, bored. His eyes snake to Kwanghee; he waves.
Kwanghee opens his mouth to speak.
A gust of wind, sudden and strong, swims around them, stirring the fallen leaves and last of the spring blossoms at their feet. They dance delicately into the sky, like a pattern of fine, pink lace, mystical.
Kwanghee is caught off-guard by the beauty of this moment—the way Jaewook's eyes never leave his, how the color of his lips is so similar to the petals swirling in the air, a snowstorm, a canopy of blossoms.
Unconsciously, Kwanghee reaches out to catch one.
Jaewook lifts his disposable camera to his eye, pauses.
Click.
No flash, this time.
"Wow," he breathes. "How can a man be so pretty among blossoms and leaves?"
Slowly, he lowers the camera, and for a second, suspended, they’re alone. There’s a lump in Kwanghee’s throat that won’t dissolve, a beating in his chest that he despises himself for, a tingling in his fingertips that he wishes he could misinterpret.
But, he can’t.
He’s felt this way before, and it’s unmistakable.
Fuck.
"Lee Kwanghee," Jaewook says, "if you really buy me soondae, I might just fall for you."
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