By Zephyria 
“I like you, Chi-young. …No, if I say I ‘like’ you, it might sound too arrogant. I like you. I mean it in the general sense, but I like you, and I want to know you for a long time. Like the few friends I truly cherish.”
Jang Ui-geon paused for a moment. After a silence that felt like a lapse in memory, he slowly continued.
“But I’ve never stayed long with someone who has feelings for me beyond that meaning. It always ends up distorted one way or another. Because they want something I cannot give. Or because they mistake something trivial for something significant.”
Listening to the calm voice, Seo Chi-young suddenly thought back to a time long ago. Since then, Jang Ui-geon had looked only at one person who never looked back at him. Even while he mingled with countless people to the point of being a constant topic of gossip and was always embroiled in scandals, his eyes were fixed on only one person—and Seo Chi-young probably wasn’t the only one to notice.
Among those said to be in a deep relationship with Jang Ui-geon, no one’s name was heard for long. At most a few weeks, or very rarely a few months, and then they would vanish from his side.
Because they wanted something Jang Ui-geon could not give. Or because they mistakenly thought something held a certain meaning when, to Jang Ui-geon, it meant nothing at all, creating a gap between them.
Perhaps Jang Ui-geon was recalling the same time Seo Chi-young was. After a while of silence, he whispered like a sigh.
“That’s why I did it. I want to continue knowing you as we are now for a long time, but I felt that as things stand, you wouldn’t be able to.”
“………”
“I’m sorry.”
Jang Ui-geon spoke quietly and bowed his head. Seo Chi-young gazed blankly at Jang Ui-geon, who remained silently with his head lowered.
After some time—not very long—the clatter and rumble of railway tracks grew louder from a distance.
A train was approaching from the other side of the bridge. Perhaps it was the last train or close to it; the train, carrying almost no passengers, swept past them in a long streak.
A strong wind blew. The rattling sound that echoed in the ears drew close like a train and then receded.
Seo Chi-young watched the train cross the bridge and vanish from sight. Even after the train was gone and the sound had faded, he did not turn his head for a while.
It’s been a long time, the thought suddenly occurred to him.
Looking in the direction the train had disappeared, Seo Chi-young suddenly spoke.
“A long time ago—back when I was still in school—I liked this bridge. I liked that cars, people, and trains all pass through it together, so I used to walk across it sometimes. Not that often, but still.”
Jang Ui-geon looked slightly puzzled by the abrupt change in topic, but he waited silently for Seo Chi-young to continue.
Seo Chi-young revived an old memory. It was somewhat far from home, but not too far to walk. So, whenever he felt uneasy or was leisurely and bored, he would walk back and forth across this bridge as if taking a stroll. That was the case until high school. Until his family collapsed just before graduation.
“But toward the end of my third year of high school, my father’s business went bankrupt. We ended up with debts so large that we’d be paying them off for a long time, and we were barely scraping by. I had to work without a single moment’s rest during the hours the trains ran, so I didn’t have the luxury to leisurely cross the bridge. Even if I thought of it and dragged my exhausted body here, it would be midnight, so unless I was crossing for work during the day, I couldn’t cross the bridge during the time when trains, cars, and people all passed together.”
Still, he came sometimes at night. Since it was a period when he suffered from constant sleep deprivation, it would have been better to catch some sleep during those hours, but sometimes, even with a mind so hazy he felt he might faint, recalling old memories was more important than rest. When it was so hard and bleak that he wanted to die, or when he felt he wanted to close his eyes and never open them again.
In the dead of night, after finishing work, how many times had he dragged his exhausted legs here and wept silently? Alone, without any family, crushed by a burden far too heavy for a child of that age to bear, to the point where he couldn’t even breathe.
“Back then, I can’t tell you how desperately I wanted to just once walk across here leisurely, during the time when the trains, people, and cars all passed. It was such a trivial thing. But I really wanted to do it. …And then, I came to see it. At dawn. I threw away my dawn work and everything, because it was too hard and I really couldn’t bear it anymore…”
Seo Chi-young fell silent.
Yes, because he couldn’t bear it, because it was so hard he couldn’t breathe, he had come to die. At the time, it felt like there was no other way. So that dawn, at a time when he should have been rubbing his heavy eyes and heading to work, he had come here.
“…….It was so fascinating to see all three passing the bridge together that I just kept staring. From the time the trains started running until the sun rose. I’d seen it so many times I was sick of it, and there was nothing fascinating about it, yet it felt so wondrous. So I sat down right around here and just stared blankly.”
Seo Chi-young laughed unconsciously. What was so fascinating about that? But at the time, that’s truly how it felt. Every time a train passed, cars passed beside it, and he was there watching them; Seo Chi-young was entranced, as if watching the most amazing movie in the world.
People reading newspapers leaning against the train doors, people dozing off on the bus, someone in a tracksuit running across the bridge at dawn, people crying, laughing, sad people, happy people…
“While I was staring blankly like that, a thought occurred to me. Everyone is walking their own life, and everyone has their own given share… It seems unfair at first glance, but I thought that after a long time, when I look back at my own single life, I might consider it a reasonable weight within that life.”
Looking at the tracks where no more trains would pass today, Seo Chi-young fell silent, like the silent rails.
That dawn, in the cold air, Seo Chi-young had cried for a long time.
The people on the bus, the people on the train, and the people walking—they all saw Seo Chi-young’s tears within their own lives. Just as he saw them within his.
After staring at the tracks in silence for a while, Seo Chi-young turned his gaze. Jang Ui-geon was looking at him. There was no way to know what he was thinking, having listened to Seo Chi-young without a word for some time. But one thing was certain.
“…..After that, I’ve never wished for something that wasn’t my share.”
He neither coveted nor desired what was not given to him. Seo Chi-young knew exactly how far the things given to him in his life extended, and he did not greedily ask for more.
And so, with this man too.
Seo Chi-young had never been greedy.
“……”
It seemed Jang Ui-geon’s lips twitched. But just as he seemed about to say something, he closed his mouth again, and only a quiet gaze returned to Seo Chi-young.
“I like you.”
It was the same when Seo Chi-young said that quietly.
His eyes widened slightly, his jaw tightened, and he seemed to want to say something, but Jang Ui-geon did not answer immediately. Only after a long silence did he speak heavily.
“I like you too, Chi-young. I want to know you for a long time. But I don’t like you the way you like me.”
An answer had returned to the feelings he had carried for over a decade. Though the answer contained a rejection, Seo Chi-young nodded calmly. Yes, as if he had expected it, he nodded.
It would be a lie to say he didn’t feel any regret. However, the feeling that a single chapter had finally closed was not as difficult or as novel as he had imagined.
Seo Chi-young let out a quiet sigh.
“I see. …Yes.”
Muttering to himself as if convincing himself, Seo Chi-young lifted his gaze from his feet. And he looked at Jang Ui-geon standing before him.
“That’s fine. That’s what I hoped for too. For a long time to come… I look forward to your kindness.”
Seo Chi-young gave a polite bow. For some reason, it felt very formal and a bit awkward, but when he lifted his awkward gaze and glanced at Jang Ui-geon, Jang Ui-geon was looking at him with a strange expression. As if it were unexpected, amusing, or perhaps a relief.
The corners of his mouth, where smiles had been absent for a while, curved softly, and he bowed back politely, saying, “I look forward to yours as well.”
After the formal bowing, Seo Chi-young felt a bit embarrassed and blinked awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. The air that had been frozen stiff between them finally seemed to flow softly again.
Jang Ui-geon had his usual face, but he wore a smile that, while hard to pinpoint, seemed a bit brighter than usual, and Seo Chi-young, feeling inexplicably shy, kept his head down.
“Shall we go then? The river wind is strong, so you must be cold.”
Eventually, Jang Ui-geon showed signs of moving and spoke to Seo Chi-young. As he said, it was cold, and Seo Chi-young, feeling a bit awkward, quickly answered “Yes” and followed behind him.
This time, Jang Ui-geon walked ahead. And Seo Chi-young followed. However, the distance between them narrowed to a step or two, and by the time they crossed the bridge and entered a familiar alley, that distance had narrowed even further.
The weather had seemed cloudy since evening, and as night fell, it began to rain. Since it had been clear until late afternoon, many people who hadn’t brought umbrellas might have been caught off guard, but fortunately, the rain started just as Seo Chi-young was preparing to close the shop.
Thinking it was a relief that the rain fell after most people had returned home, Seo Chi-young took out the cleaning tools from the cupboard and also took out a plastic umbrella he had kept as a spare.
Those two didn’t seem to have umbrellas either; they’ve probably gone home by now, Seo Chi-young thought, looking at the clock which had passed 2:00 AM. Since Yoon Jun-young and Jang Ui-geon, who had stopped by late tonight, left around midnight, it wouldn’t be strange if they had already arrived home, washed up, and fallen asleep.
Since it was Saturday—or rather Sunday, given it was past midnight—the last customers, who had stayed later than usual, had left a short while ago. Once Seo Chi-young finished cleaning and went home, he would finally have a long-awaited holiday tomorrow. Normally, every Sunday dawn—in a few hours—he would go to the factory and work for several hours, but since the last Sunday of every month was a day off, he could go home and rest today.
It was good to be able to rest comfortably for once, but still, now wasn’t exactly the time to be resting… Seo Chi-young let out a quiet sigh, thinking of his bank balance. He decided he should look for a local classifieds paper on his way home.
Listening to the sound of fairly thick raindrops pouring down, just as he had placed the chairs upside down on the tables and was about to start sweeping, a strange sound echoed in the shop, mixing with the sound of rain.
It was a cell phone ringtone that wasn’t Seo Chi-young’s. A customer must have left it behind. It happened occasionally.
Stopping his sweeping and turning toward the sound, Seo Chi-young discovered a phone lying inconspicuously next to the seasoning bottles on the counter and muttered, “Oh.” The plain black phone without a strap looked familiar. It was Yoon Jun-young’s phone.
The ringing stopped while Seo Chi-young was retrieving the phone, and no further calls came. Thinking he should return it when the man came back for it, Seo Chi-young put the phone in his pocket. Normally he would have kept it in the shop, but since the shop wouldn’t open again until Monday lunch after closing today, he had to take all valuables home.
…But it was rare for Yoon Jun-young, who hardly ever made mistakes, to leave a personal belonging behind.
Seo Chi-young thought that since he didn’t seem well earlier, he must have been quite sick.
Lately, Yoon Jun-young’s complexion had been poor. As if he couldn’t eat or sleep well, his face grew paler by the day. On top of that, he said he had a cold and a fever today, and he looked unwell even to the naked eye.
Then again, there must have been other reasons. There was no way only Seo Chi-young remembered that the date on the wedding invitation he saw previously was tomorrow—or more accurately, today.
Perhaps that was why Jang Ui-geon, who usually spoke in the same tone while sitting beside the nearly silent Yoon Jun-young, was also subtly less talkative today.
‘It’s been almost twenty years since middle school, since you, him, and I all started hanging out. …Time flies. I thought only old people said that.’
When Jang Ui-geon said that with a smirk, Yoon Jun-young nodded after a short pause. “Twenty years…” Yoon Jun-young murmured, his lips twisting bitterly in something that wasn’t quite a smile.
‘It’s been a long time… too long.’
As Yoon Jun-young muttered to himself, lost in thought, Jang Ui-geon glanced at him from the side. However, he said nothing more and simply tilted his beer glass.
Twenty years. Seo Chi-young thought about that long span of time.
What did it feel like to carry a one-sided heart for such a long time that it made one sigh?
With that thought, he shifted his gaze to Jang Ui-geon.
Looking at him hiding a bitter smile beside Yoon Jun-young, he thought about the heart that must have been kept inside, knowing better than anyone that it would never be rewarded, occasionally letting a word or two slip under the guise of a joke.
Tracing the feeling of having to treat one’s sincerity as a joke, Seo Chi-young’s heart grew heavy, and he ended up dropping his gaze from Jang Ui-geon.
“……Aren’t you going? Kang-hee said you have to come.”
After a pause, Jang Ui-geon asked Yoon Jun-young. Seo Chi-young remained silent. Since Kwon Kang-hee had made that call when Jang Ui-geon had visited the shop alone a while ago, Seo Chi-young vaguely knew about it. He had said that Yoon Jun-young must come, and if he didn’t, he would even go pick him up by car in the morning. At that time, after Jang Ui-geon hung up the phone, he had simply tilted his glass in silence for a while.
Yoon Jun-young remained silent before murmuring, “I don’t know…”
‘It’s not necessarily because it’s that guy’s wedding, but I don’t think I can move tomorrow. I’m really not feeling well.’
Yoon Jun-young, who was quietly wiping his forehead, sat as if nothing were wrong, but as he said, he had swallowed some antipyretic analgesics earlier as if he were sick. When Seo Chi-young asked, he answered calmly, “It’s because of stress,” but seeing him let out silent sighs as if his body were struggling, he did look unwell.
It would be better to go home and rest quickly, but Yoon Jun-young had barely opened his mouth other than answering Jang Ui-geon, as if lost in thought.
Seo Chi-young quietly stood up, took out a clean wet towel, and handed it to Yoon Jun-young. Yoon Jun-young, who had been staring vacantly toward the main road, looked up at Seo Chi-young, replied briefly with a “Thank you,” and obediently took the towel and placed it on his forehead. Even though he took the towel off not long after, it was scorching hot. Seo Chi-young silently soaked the towel in cold water again and brought it back.
Yoon Jun-young closed his eyes with the towel on his forehead. He remained silent for so long that it seemed he might have fallen asleep, and he suddenly spoke just as Jang Ui-geon finished emptying a bottle.
‘Once they get married, it’s really over.’
‘…….Why. I’ve heard that just because there’s a goalkeeper, it doesn’t mean the goal won’t go in.’
When Jang Ui-geon spoke with a bitter smile, not knowing if it was a joke or a serious remark, a quiet sigh seeped into the wet towel on Yoon Jun-young’s face. Along with a mutter to himself: “It’s been too long.”
‘It’s strange. I feel like it wouldn’t be strange if I went crazy from the hardship, but at the same time, I feel like I want them to just get married already. It’s finally ending. I even feel a sense of relief. …Even though I feel like I’m dying of agony.’