I’ve never had a relationship I could confidently call a friendship. Bonds built on friendship feel foreign to me. The lonelier I got, the more I tried to understand the nature of friendship—and maybe that’s why it always felt superficial and difficult to me.
A person who insists on keeping to their own space is bound to be lonely. That’s why we always need someone. So we won’t be alone. So the words we say don’t just echo back emptily.
But stepping out of my space into the world always meant facing a brutal reality. The world judges me through an objective, cold lens. A world where everyone relates to everyone else based on gain or loss. In such a world, the only ones who might treat me as an end, not a means, are family—or friends.
A friend isn’t someone who evaluates me from a detached, rational perspective, but someone who understands me through their own subjective view.
Maybe “friend” is the buffer zone between lonely isolation and cruel reality. Someone you want to keep close even without anything in return. That’s what a friend means to me.
And in that sense, I definitely wanted to be friends with Jung Suwon. I liked his upright personality. I liked that he would read a comic book cover to cover just to understand the person he liked. I believed that if it were him, he would see the real me—not the guy at the center of all the ugly rumors.
But the person I wanted to be friends with pushed me away. And the one who wormed into that spot instead was Park Sion.
Park Sion told me he wanted to be my friend, and I did everything I could to shove him away. I built walls and drew lines to protect my territory.
But Park Sion broke down those walls and steadily invaded the space I kept for myself. Even though I was sure I could never be friends with him, I couldn’t quite refuse the hand he held out to me—suspicious of his kindness, yes, but still unable to turn it down. That hand was sometimes overbearing, but mostly warm.
That’s how Park Sion seeped into me—rude, but warm. Before I even figured out what kind of guy he was, he had already become a part of my daily life.
“If the question involves a circle like this, you draw a line from the center of the circle to here…”
When Park Sion said he’d be coming over often, he hadn’t been lying. With the end-of-semester exams approaching, he came over even more frequently. We were already stuck together in class, so it felt like we were together all day long.
“If you connect these two points, this is the radius. And the triangles formed at this intersection are similar to each other. If this side’s length is x, then this length here is…”
His voice, explaining a problem that had baffled me even with the answer sheet, was low and sweet. As I followed his breakdown, I started to see the parts I had missed. The guy’s personality might be confusing as hell, but his explanations were always simple and clear.
“Get it?”
“Yeah. It’s clicking now.”
“Ask me again if there’s anything you don’t get.”
The time I spent studying with Park Sion was also the time I felt the least tense around him. One-on-one, he was surprisingly easy to deal with. Things only got weird when a third person joined in—like that time in the cafeteria with Kim Youngjin.
Youngjin’s a simple guy, so he acted like the whole thing never happened—but he never tried to take side dishes from me again. Not that I offered any.
Plus, with Park Sion’s habit of randomly hugging me, I always felt like I was being watched at school. It was exhausting. At least when it was just the two of us, I didn’t have to care what other people thought. And his sweet voice explaining math problems didn’t hurt either.
“Wanna take a break?”
Park Sion tapped me on the shoulder while explaining a math problem. The hand on my shoulder naturally drifted to the back of my head, and it tickled a little. I brushed him off and got up from my seat. I was getting kind of hungry anyway, so I figured I’d bring out some bread he’d brought earlier.
“Where are you going?”
“Whoa!”
He yanked my wrist just as I started to get up, and I lost my balance, landing near his knees. I felt his chest press against my back.
“Aren’t you hungry? I’ll go get the bread.”
“I’m not. Just… stay like this for a bit. I’m sleepy.”
“Then go sleep on the sofa.”
I tried gently lowering the arm he had wrapped around my upper body, but he just held on tighter. Sometimes the guy went too far with this clingy crap. It got annoying.
I whipped my head around and looked at him. He was staring at me with that same old smile in his eyes. I turned away from the pressure of his gaze and muttered quickly. He let out a soft laugh.
“Or do you want to sleep in the bed?”
“Aren’t you tired?”
What is he, a three-year-old throwing a tantrum? He nuzzled his face against my shoulder. His hair brushed the side of my neck, and it tickled. If you’re sleepy, just go to sleep and quit messing around with me.
“If you’re tired, just lie down for a bit.”
“You?”
“I’m not tired.”
“Then I’m not sleeping either.”
“Then let go of me.”
“Nope.”
“Sigh… Here we go again.”
Thank god we weren’t in the classroom. Honestly, I never know how to handle Park Sion when he gets like this. I’m not the kind of person who’s naturally affectionate. I don’t have the patience for cheesy, pretend-kindness crap like he does. If he were being childish and trying out wrestling moves, I could at least shove him off while yelling.
“Then let me borrow your lap.”
Before I could even react, he was lying with his head in my lap. He looked perfectly at peace, eyes closed, while I sat there awkwardly. His long, thick lashes were neatly lined up. Even his eyelashes are annoyingly pretty. Some dumb thought like that drifted into my head. But I’d never say it out loud. I’m not giving him any more excuses to tease me.
“My leg’s going to fall asleep.”
“Deal with it.”
He answered without opening his eyes. His closed eyelids curved slightly, and the corners of his mouth lifted too. He was smiling—actually enjoying this. This kind of cringey gesture is something people do with their lovers. At least, that’s what I thought.
Does he just feel that comfortable around me? Or is he the kind of guy who drops his guard more the closer he gets?
“Hey… do you have a sister or a brother?”
I remembered hearing somewhere that boys with sisters tend to be more affectionate. Probably some baseless rumor, but still—I asked just in case.
“Yeah. I have an older sister. Why?”
He scrunched his brow slightly, like just thinking about her annoyed him. A totally normal reaction for a younger brother.
“Are you close?”
“Not at all.”
He shook his head firmly, still with his eyes shut.
“Why not?”
“We’re total opposites. Like, from A to Z, everything about us clashes.”
“How so?”
“You know what my sister’s name is?”
He suddenly opened his eyes wide. I was still looking at his lashes when our eyes met. He blinked slowly, then opened his mouth. A faintly sharp smile played at the corners of his lips.
“Banya.”
“Banya?”
As in that Banya? The Prajna from Buddhism? I’d assumed his sister’s name would be something like his—maybe Christian, maybe just secular. I repeated the name with a puzzled look.
“You mean that Banya? From Buddhist philosophy?”
“Yup. Wild, huh?”
“And your name’s Sion? Like, Christian Sion?”
“Right. Zion, the Jewish homeland.”
He watched me with that crooked grin as I tilted my head in confusion. One sibling’s named Banya, the other’s named Sion… Did their parents convert in between? Or maybe…
“Wait… is your family motto something like ‘Religious Harmony’ or what?”
“Please.”
He let out a little laugh, shoulders shaking. I stared at his smiling face. Most people would’ve been uncomfortable under that stare, but Park Sion just smiled wider.
“My dad’s a politician.”
“And?”
“When my sister was born, he’d just gotten nominated in the Gyeongnam region. So he got her name from some big-shot monk there. Then, when I was born, he was working in Seoul and got my name from a famous pastor at a mega-church. Religious connections are important in politics, you know.”
“Ah…”
“My sister’s probably gonna change her name soon. These days, church connections matter more. Every time she gets introduced to someone, old guys start sweating bullets trying to respond.”
The laughter in his voice was faint, but it didn’t sound cheerful. Park Sion’s sharply edged smile landed like a jab right in my gut.
Mocking the way his name had been decided—based not on conviction but on political convenience—Park Sion repeated his name again and again. Sion. Sion. His dry voice sliced coldly through the air. Each time his lips moved, his bangs brushed softly against his eyelids. I reached out and gently swept the hair from his forehead to the side.
“Still, your name’s pretty. It’s unique.”
A name is just a name. How it was given doesn’t really matter. Honestly, how pretty or unique it is doesn’t matter either. What matters isn’t the name, but the person who bears it. I wanted to tell Park Sion that—however presumptuous it sounded. That it’s not about how his name came to him or what its origin is, but who he is. But I swallowed the words. It sounded like something out of a cheesy teen drama.
“Yoon Seonwoo, what about you?”
“Me?”
“Yeah. What does your name mean?”
Park Sion placed his hand over mine, which was still resting lightly on his forehead. Each time my fingers twitched, a subtle current ran through me. The crooked smile that had clung to his lips just moments ago had completely disappeared.
“My dad named me. He picked the characters for 'good' (선, seon) and 'friend' (우, woo). He said it means to be a good friend to someone.”
And yet, despite being named Seonwoo, I’ve never once been a good friend to anyone. I guess both Park Sion and I were falling short of our names.
“Seonwoo. Seonwoo. Seonwoo…”
Now it was Park Sion repeating my name. In that low voice of his, my name sounded almost tender.
“It’s a good name. Suits you.”
He gently wrapped his hand around mine. His voice, low and steady, flowed into my ears like a pleasant hum. I should’ve told him the same. That his name wasn’t just pretty, but that it suited him. That it fit.
A strange silence settled between us for a moment. Park Sion, still lying with his head in my lap, stared straight up at me. I kept shifting my eyes to avoid his gaze. My neck and shoulders grew stiff for no reason. I tilted my head to the side, hesitating—then finally opened my mouth.
“Park Sion, you too.”
“Hmm?”
“Your name really suits you, too.”
As soon as the corny words left my mouth, Park Sion grinned. It was the most boyish expression I’d ever seen on his face. So he can smile like that, huh. I stared at him again, like I was under a spell.
Zion—an ideal land on the map, a home for the exiled and the yearning.
And you, Park Sion, who approached me—someone pushed out and transferred like trash—with unexpected warmth.
Yeah. It’s a name that suits you well.
****
My chances of getting into college through internal grades were already long gone, but I still prepared pretty diligently for the finals. Because if I let my grades drop too, I’d just be seen as trash not even worth recycling.
Park Sion had always been the diligent type, and even Shin Jaeyoung had started flipping through his workbook more seriously these days. The only one still coasting was Kim Youngjin.
“Hey! Yoon Seonwoo!”
I was flipping through my English vocab list when Youngjin called out my name loudly. He swung open the classroom door and came stomping over to my desk. A few model students buried in their notes shot sharp glares at the noise source, but the simple-minded Youngjin didn’t notice a thing. He stopped in front of me with a bright grin and stretched out his arm.
“Lend me your gym clothes.”
“Isn’t it exam period? Don’t we just do self-study during PE?”
“We’re playing soccer at lunch. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up.”
I have some trauma when it comes to gym clothes. Kim Shinju and his little cronies used to “borrow” them all the time. Every time, my clothes came back shredded like rags. I don’t even know how much money I spent replacing them. Just thinking about it pisses me off again. Those fucking bastards.
“They won’t fit you.”
“It’s fine, I don’t care. Just lend ‘em, lend ‘em!”
That was a lie. My gym clothes were generously sized. It’s not that I didn’t trust Youngjin, but the bad memories made me reluctant. And, honestly, I was just a bit too lazy. I pointed with my chin toward Park Sion’s empty desk—he’d been called to the teacher’s office.
“Just borrow from Park Sion. His size should fit.”
“Yeah, like that guy would ever lend me something.”
“Still, ask. You never know.”
“He hates other people touching his stuff.”
Youngjin shuddered, like just remembering it gave him the creeps. Maybe he had bad memories too. But I hadn’t thought Park Sion was the obsessive type. He always seemed like someone who got more relaxed the closer you got. That was unexpected. I made a mental note to stop borrowing pens from his pencil case.
“Can’t you just play in your school uniform?”
“No! It’s uncomfortable! Come on, come on, come on, come on!”
Worn down by his whining, I finally stood up. I grabbed my gym clothes from my locker and tossed them at him. Watching a guy that big stomp his feet like a child was just too pathetic to bear.
“Next time, ask Shin Jaeyoung.”
“Fuck that guy! He lost my gym clothes. That’s why I’m asking you.”
“Jesus. You’re a piece of work.”
“What are you doing?”
At some point, Park Sion had come back and was now sitting beside me. His expressionless face glanced at my gym clothes in Youngjin’s hands. I answered his question like it was no big deal.
“He asked to borrow them.”
“Oh.”
“Thanks, Yoon Seonwoo!”
Youngjin waved his hand and left in a flash. Park Sion frowned slightly as he watched him go. Something seemed to bother him. Maybe he had a rough talk with the homeroom teacher. I casually bumped his shoulder as I sat down.
“What’d the teacher want?”
“Why’d you lend out your gym clothes?”
“What?”
“I said—why’d you lend them to Youngjin?”
The hand I had on his shoulder slowly slipped off.
“Well… he asked, so I lent them…”
It was a question and answer that amounted to meaningless repetition. He asked. I lent. It’s not some big deal, not like I had a special reason. I stared at Park Sion with a slightly dumbfounded expression. Normally, the second our eyes met, he’d be flashing that signature smile—but this time, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. Why did he look… pissed?
“Don’t lend them out next time.”
“Why?”
I really was curious. Just pure curiosity. There was absolutely no reason for Park Sion to be upset about this. Whether or not I lent my gym clothes was none of his business. Even if we were best friends, that wouldn’t give him a say in it. I didn’t just find it odd—I was kind of irritated.
Park Sion stared at my increasingly annoyed face for a moment, then ran a hand through his hair and let out a low sigh. But then, slowly, the tension around his mouth softened, and a faint smirk began to lift his lips.
“That’s because…”
With a faint smile, he said,
“Because if you lend it to Kim Youngjin, there’s no guarantee you’ll get it back.”
“Oh.”
“You know what he’s like. He’s probably gonna lose your gym clothes too.”
Park Sion shrugged. He wasn’t wrong. If it were Kim Youngjin, that was entirely possible. Damn it, this paranoia of mine. I must’ve overreacted to something trivial again. Embarrassed, I avoided Park Sion’s eyes, which were fixed directly on mine. He slipped his hand around my shoulder as I turned away. His fingers tapped lightly, like they were playing piano keys across my shoulder blade.
“Are you sulking?”
“What? Me? Why would I?”
“Your face changed.”
He gently pressed the area between my brows with his finger and then let go. His breath was close, too close. The next thing I felt was his forehead resting against my shoulder.
“Don’t sulk.”
“Hey, I’m not sulking.”
“You sure?”
“What am I, a kid? You think I’d sulk over something like this?”
Strictly speaking, I wasn’t sulking—I almost did. But I didn’t say that out loud.
“Still looked like a sulky face to me.”
“It’s not. I’m really not sulking. Why would I? If anything, I’d be mad.”
“Because I sounded bossy?”
“Yeah.”
Park Sion has a clumsy way with words. Even when he’s trying to be considerate, it comes out sideways. And I don’t have the kind of social intuition that lets me sift through his awkward expressions to find the sincerity behind them. My paranoia is especially skilled at twisting even the most innocent words into something else.
“I won’t do it again.”
A low chuckle drifted close to my ear. I awkwardly rolled my shoulder under his arm, trying to brush him off. He didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned in a little more. His nose wrinkled as he laughed, and just like that, I gave in and let him pull me toward him.
Maybe the reason we—who really aren’t that compatible—manage to get along is because Park Sion isn’t afraid of rejection. That thought crossed my mind.
And the next day, Park Sion’s prediction hit dead-on. After first period, Kim Youngjin came to find me. He was uncharacteristically hesitant, and the moment I saw him, I already knew what he was going to say. Obvious.
“You lost my gym clothes, didn’t you.”
“Whoa, how’d you know? That’s creepy.”
Sitting beside me, Park Sion gave me a smug I told you so look and raised an eyebrow. The way he crossed his legs made him look ridiculously arrogant.
“It’s obvious.”
“Sorry, seriously. I even washed it and everything, but it disappeared.”
“What, did the gym clothes grow legs and walk off on their own?”
“I’m serious!”
“Fine. Just get me a new one by tomorrow.”
Since finals started the next day, I didn’t actually need my gym clothes for a while. Kim Youngjin swore up and down he’d bring me a new set by next week and then rushed off to class.
“See? I was right.”
“You’re a damn psychic.”
I nodded. I already knew Park Sion was sharp, but I hadn’t pegged him as the prophetic type. His face lit up with satisfaction. Then, out of nowhere, he pulled a shopping bag from beside the desk and handed it to me.
“Here.”
“What’s this?”
“Gym clothes. I bought them. Don’t wait for Kim Youngjin, just wear these.”
A brand-new set of gym clothes, still in its packaging, landed in my lap. Apparently, Park Sion didn’t trust Kim Youngjin in the slightest. He’d anticipated that Youngjin would lose my clothes and bought a spare set ahead of time.
“Why? He said he’d get me new ones.”
“Like hell he’s gonna remember that.”
Damn. The level of trust in Kim Youngjin is zero. What kind of life have you lived, Youngjin? For some reason, I felt sorry for him. But I had to admit—I agreed with Park Sion. Even I couldn’t say with full confidence that Youngjin would actually follow through by next week.
“How much was it? I’ll pay you.”
“Don’t bother. It wasn’t that much.”
“Still.”
“Just don’t lend your stuff out again.”
His hand gripped my shoulder firmly. I tried to pull away, and my posture turned awkward. I mean, sure, Youngjin’s a bit flaky, but it’s just gym clothes. It’s not that big a deal.
“But… he’s still my friend…”
“He’s your friend?”
It sounded almost like he didn’t think Youngjin was my friend. But Youngjin was his friend, and I was his friend. We all ate lunch together. That counts as friends, doesn’t it? We even exchanged numbers. Sometimes we text—well, he texts, and I respond. Anyway, by my standards, we’re friends.
“Yeah. He is.”
“Hm.”
Park Sion’s brows creased slightly, but his mouth curled into a faint smile. Even though he was grinning, it didn’t feel like he was smiling.
“Then do what you want.”
He didn’t react as sharply as yesterday. Instead, his long arm came toward me again. I thought he was going to drape it over my shoulder, so I relaxed, letting it happen. But instead, he reached for the ends of my hair and gently ran his fingers through them. The strands slipped between his fingers, over and over. His touch was incredibly soft. If we weren’t in the middle of a classroom, I probably would’ve dozed off.
He played with my hair for a while. His eyes closed slowly, then opened again. Though his gaze was aimed at me, he seemed to be lost in thought.
It made me squirm. I turned away from his eyes, feeling awkward.
When I glanced aside, I saw Jung Suwon sitting at the end of the classroom with his friends. Our eyes met. He was watching Park Sion toy with my hair—and me letting it happen—with a strange expression.
It didn’t take long to realize that flash of emotion across his furrowed brow was disgust.
But to me, it felt like time slowed down. Suwon looking away from me, face twisted with contempt, replayed in my mind like a slow-motion scene.
Suddenly, my face flushed with shame I couldn’t explain. I dropped my gaze like I was guilty of something and glanced around quickly. Thankfully, no one else was paying attention.
But still—among all the little cliques scattered around the room, none of them sat together the way Park Sion and I did. The faces in matching uniforms only ever touched briefly—arms thrown over shoulders, then pulled away just as fast.
Their gestures were rough, casual.
No one else treated each other with the soft, sticky closeness that Park Sion showed me.