L*st and Death

“His dad hasn’t looked at Baekgyeong’s face since then. I mean, I wouldn’t forgive him either.”

Choi Seongmin clicked his tongue as if the thought had just come to him, rambling on about the falling-out between Baekgyeong and his father. Seongmin often gossiped about his younger cousin when Baekgyeong wasn’t around.

Siron let his words wash over him, distracted. A message from a theater club friend had just arrived, and it was stressing him out. They were planning to rent a ten-seater limo for prom, and the cost per person was $170. Given his current financial situation, it was an absurd amount to pay—and on top of that, he’d have to rent a tuxedo too.

“His dad was the one who cared about Baekgyeong the most in that family. But he got completely sick of him.”

Siron looked up from his phone with a disinterested expression.

“Sounds like Baekgyeong had a pretty rough case of puberty.”

“Ha, puberty? Well, I guess you could say our dear Baekgyeong’s been stuck in puberty for eighteen years, with no end in sight.”

“But aren’t you still a student? Don’t you study?”

“I’m doing something way more important than studying.”

“...Huh?”

“I take care of Baekgyeong. Better to keep him inside playing around than causing trouble out there, right?”

It sounded like a reasonable point at first glance, but Siron still didn’t like him. It felt like he was exploiting the black sheep of the family, controlling and manipulating him to his own taste. His hypocrisy was crystal clear, but Siron, a mere guest in this mansion, held his tongue, thinking it wasn’t his place to interfere.

“Wanna smoke?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Siron turned his head sharply without even glancing at the marijuana being waved in front of his nose. The sharp, bitter, and aggressive scent made his eyes sting and drew a sudden cough from his chest. Watching Siron’s reaction with half-lidded eyes, Choi Seongmin gave a strange smile.

“You think Baekgyeong swings both ways?”

Siron rolled his eyes and pretended not to understand.

“...What?”

“I mean, I do.”

What a fucking creep.

Siron’s face turned red like heated metal. He had no intention of brushing off this disgusting man’s uncomfortable advances. Just as he was about to lash out—

“What the hell do you think you’re—”

Baekgyeong suddenly appeared behind Siron and kicked Seongmin square in the chest, sending him flying.

“I told you not to smoke that shit in front of him.”

Seongmin sprawled on the ground in a sorry heap, clutching his chest with a pained expression.

“Fuck, that hurts like a bitch!”

“Why the hell were you looking at Yoon Siron like that?”

“Like what?! Come on, that’s not fair. I know I’ve got a sleazy face, but—”

“Shut up. You’re loud.”

Even as he clutched his bruised chest, Seongmin couldn’t talk back to Baekgyeong’s rude command. He quickly ground out the joint in the ashtray and, as if nothing had happened, put on a cheerful face.

“How about a yacht next week?”

“No thanks.”

“No? Not a fan of the ocean? Should I rent a club instead?”

“Just leave.”

“...What?”

“Take all your friends and get out of my sight. Right now.”

Seongmin’s expression twisted for a brief moment, but he recovered instantly, forcing a smile.

“Ah, yeah, guess it’s about time to wrap up. I’ll get everyone out so you can rest.”

Siron was stunned by how quickly he changed his tune. No matter how many scraps might fall from someone’s table, Siron couldn’t imagine ever selling his pride to curry favor like that.

Shouldn’t someone like him be the one acting?

Siron had always dreamed of becoming an actor through the theater club, but he couldn’t lie or feign emotion in everyday life like Choi Seongmin did. Seongmin gathered the friends who’d been sipping cocktails at the bar and left the mansion, leaving only Siron and Baekgyeong by the pool.

Siron usually had no trouble making friends, but something about Baekgyeong made him hard to approach. Whenever they were together, Siron lost his usual ease. He became hyper-aware of every move he made. Since coming to stay at the mansion, the easy, casual atmosphere of their first meeting had vanished. Now, a constant sense of tension and discomfort filled its place, making him wonder if that initial warmth had all been a lie.

There was something in Baekgyeong’s gaze that repelled him. When Siron turned his head, he could still feel that gaze trailing down the back of his neck like sticky liquid. It was heavy and obsessive, like a prison of invisible eyes pressing in on him, making his world feel smaller and tighter. And it was completely different from the sleazy, lustful looks others gave him—those who figured, “Even if he’s a guy, Yoon Siron’s worth a fuck.”

Baekgyeong’s gaze carried a kind of fanatic curiosity. As if he desperately wanted to understand what Siron was thinking, what interested him. Maybe that was why—even though Baekgyeong’s stare made Siron uncomfortable—he couldn’t say he hated it. The attention was excessive at times, but it stirred something strange inside him. Something that wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

Siron looked up at him with a bright smile, trying to figure out what to say that wouldn’t piss off this temperamental new friend. But before he could think it through, something inappropriate slipped out of his mouth.

“Your dad’s really handsome. He looks like an older version of you.”

Baekgyeong frowned faintly at that. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, he stared down at Siron and asked in a flat tone:

“You saw a photo?”

“Yeah, I just searched Bile Group online.”

Nodding in understanding, Baekgyeong rubbed the bridge of his nose and scrunched it slightly.

“Yeah, my mom married him for his face.”

“He could’ve been an actor, honestly.”

Without a trace of humor, Baekgyeong continued.

“That’s new. You’re the first person who’s ever brought up my dad in front of me.”

“Why? Is it a forbidden topic?”

Siron feigned ignorance, acting like he’d never heard anything about their relationship. But his bluff was easily seen through.

“No one brings that shit up unless they’re insane. Did Seongmin tell you? That I tore up my dad’s paintings?”

“What?”

“I doubt that blabbermouth could keep it to himself. What else did he say?”

Siron blinked at him in surprise, then hurried to deny it—he didn’t want to be mistaken for someone who spread rumors. Baekgyeong scoffed. Regardless, Siron held his ground and kept his tone consistent, as if this was all news to him.

“You tore up paintings? What do you mean?”

Baekgyeong, someone who had always expressed his anger freely and without filter, didn’t seem to understand Siron’s instinct to stay on good terms with everyone in this household. Staring at him like trying to solve a riddle, Baekgyeong finally gave a reluctant answer.

“I slashed his paintings. Right before his exhibition. He was pretty fucking pissed about it.”

“...Can I ask why you did that?”

Siron asked cautiously, watching Baekgyeong’s face.

“He tried to crack open my skull and dig out the tumor in my brain.”

Siron winced at the bizarre statement, then slowly started to grasp what he meant.

“You mean... he wanted to operate?”

“Yeah. Said all my problems came from the lump in my head.”

Siron interpreted that to mean Baekgyeong had a brain tumor. He knew Baekgyeong sometimes suffered from severe headaches, and regular painkillers didn’t work—he had to take prescription-grade stuff, possibly opioids. So it was all because of that tumor. Siron was curious about the exact condition in Baekgyeong’s head, but couldn’t bring himself to ask.

“I don’t know... you seem more like your personality’s just messed up.”

“Hah. That so?”

Siron worried he might’ve crossed a line, but Baekgyeong didn’t seem to mind the honesty. Relieved, Siron decided to go a little bolder.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“What favor?”

Siron hesitated before speaking.

“The tuxedo you wore before... can I borrow it for one day?”

“Tuxedo? Why?”

“For prom. There’s a dress code for guys. I just need it for one night.”

“Ah, prom.”

It was obvious that wearing a tuxedo tailored for Baekgyeong would make Siron look like a kid in his dad’s clothes, but he still didn’t want to waste money renting some used tux from a shop. Baekgyeong leaned forward with interest, sitting on the low table in front of Siron.

“Do you have a date?”

“No. I don’t have one. I’m going with my theater club friends.”

“Why? Not popular?”

He asked half-jokingly.

“Eh, I’m not just unpopular—I’m invisible.”

That was a lie. American beauty standards may have leaned heavily toward white features, but Siron still got glances wherever he went. Girls at school and in his club had shown open interest in him. But he’d never felt romantic attraction toward anyone—he wondered sometimes if he was asexual. More importantly, he planned to go back to Korea right after graduation. He didn’t want to start a relationship that was doomed to end.

He also hated the idea of wasting so much money on a one-night prom memory. It turned out to be way more expensive than he’d expected. Once he realized the costs were beyond what he could manage, he decided to skip most of the events.

“I’ll take good care of it. I’m just gonna be out for a bit and come right back.”

“That thing’ll be big on you.”

“No, it won’t!”

Baekgyeong was only half a head taller than Siron. Flustered, Siron shot back, and Baekgyeong openly gave him a once-over, head to toe, with a smirk that said he didn’t buy it.

“Let’s go.”

“...Where?”

Baekgyeong got up and said:

“To get you a tuxedo fitted.”

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