“Ah, yes….”
He didn’t bother saying “you don’t have to.” Since yesterday, he’d talked too much and been turned down too many times.
“…Thank you.”
The name Han Jaeheon was written on the thick envelope. Eunseo carefully tucked it inside his clothes and saw Han Jaeheon off as he put on his shoes.
Taking the lone pair of dress shoes out of the empty shoe rack and putting them on, Han Jaeheon looked down at Eunseo for quite a long time. Then he gave the floor a couple of kicks with his shoe tips, looking uncharacteristically hesitant about something.
“TA is….”
It was the first time he’d ever seen Han Jaeheon start to say something and swallow it.
“You’re really strange.”
“….Huh?”
Eunseo — yesterday’s fascinating person, today suddenly a strange one — asked back, but Han Jaeheon said no more, only gave a small bow of his head, and left the funeral hall. Listening to his footsteps striding down the corridor, Eunseo stood there for a long while as if rooted to the spot.
His thesis defense was now truly just around the corner. Eunseo checked the calendar day after day, chewing his lip until it burned, and more than once glared with anything-but-kind eyes at Jin Seunghu, who kept fanning the flames from the sidelines, saying a master’s thesis was nothing you couldn’t just write up.
“Just organize what you’ve already done.”
“…I’ve already done all of it.”
“Then go show it to your advisor.”
“…I’ve already shown him.”
“Then you’re done.”
Eunseo alternated a surly look between his laptop screen and Jin Seunghu, then turned back to the blue-glowing screen. He knew a master’s thesis wasn’t really something to stress over. His advisor had only worried he wouldn’t finish the experiments themselves — he’d never raised any issue with Eunseo’s thesis itself.
“Sunbae, you already even got your paper published in a journal.”
“It’s nothing.”
“…I don’t think I can do it. How am I supposed to submit this for defense?”
“You were fine at the interim review. Don’t worry. Nobody pays attention but your advisor.”
Eunseo realized he’d been clinging to Jin Seunghu and whining without even knowing it, and buried his face, hiding it completely. Whining about a measly master’s thesis to a man writing a doctoral dissertation — how embarrassing. But Eunseo really did feel like he was doomed.
“Looks like Han Jaeheon isn’t coming today?”
“Ah, yes.”
“After being such a pain about it.”
“I have to work on my thesis too, so…”
“You told him not to come, so he’s not coming?”
Like that bastard would ever listen — Jin Seunghu’s look said it plainly. Eunseo dodged his eyes and just nodded. In fact, it was the opposite. Eunseo had asked why he wasn’t coming, and Han Jaeheon had replied, “You must be busy, TA, so you don’t have to bother with me.” The text said you don’t have to bother — but to Eunseo, it read as don’t bother.
After his father’s funeral, Han Jaeheon had suddenly transformed into a model student. For two weeks straight he’d turned in his assignments and lab reports diligently — even getting a few wrong and a few right so it wouldn’t look obvious, landing right around a B.
“Your face looks a bit brighter, thanks to that.”
“……..”
“And the bruises are all gone too.”
The bruises his frail father had left lasted two weeks. Once even those faded, no trace of his father remained on Eunseo. Having left this world with nothing but the clothes on his back, he was being forgotten by everyone remarkably fast.
“So, dinner with me today?”
“Should we go to the student cafeteria?”
“Sure.”
Jin Seunghu nodded lightly, took off his lab coat and stood up; Eunseo closed his laptop, tidied his spot, and picked up his bag.
“Ah, right.”
Eunseo rummaged through his bag and pulled out an envelope. It was the condolence money Jin Seunghu had given him.
“Sunbae, this…”
“What about it.”
“The condolence money.”
“Yeah, what about it.”
“You said you were giving me condolence money for my father’s hospital bills…”
“That was that, and this is this.”
“…You said the hospital bill was the condolence money. How can you give me more?”
It had taken Eunseo two weeks to sort through the condolence money. He’d already thanked everyone who’d signed the guest book, but somehow opening the money envelopes had taken a little longer.
“Just take it.”
“…It’s too much.”
The envelope Jin Seunghu had given held two million won. On top of the three million won he’d already covered for the hospital bill, he’d added this much more on top. Remembering how shocked he’d been when he opened the envelope — it had held two million-won checks, which at first he’d mistaken for two fifty-thousand-won bills and thought it was a hundred thousand — Eunseo held the envelope back out to Jin Seunghu.
“I thought you’d accepted it, since you were quiet for two weeks.”
“I only sorted through the condolence money yesterday.”
“Then use this to pay back the hospital bill.”
“…What?”
“Pay the hospital bill with this. You were going to pay it back anyway, weren’t you?”
“I’ll pay the hospital bill separately…”
“Enough. One more word and I’ll add to it.”
Jin Seunghu cut him off, took the envelope, and slipped it into his pocket. Eunseo thought it was a relief that he could at least return all of this money, and turned over how to pay back the hospital bill. He knew Jin Seunghu’s account number — once he got a job, he could deposit a few hundred thousand won every month.
“Don’t even think about paying back the hospital bill.”
“……..”
“I’ll just close the account you know about.”
Jin Seunghu smiled, one corner of his mouth lifting — he’d seen right through Eunseo’s little scheme. Hit where it hurt, Eunseo said nothing more and shouldered his bag.
“Eat and then head home?”
“No.”
“Then why are you carrying your bag.”
“Ah, that…”
“Another money envelope?”
Eunseo just nodded. The valuables in his bag were Han Jaeheon’s condolence money.
“Condolence money is just something you accept.”
“…It’s more than I could ever pay back.”
Han Jaeheon’s condolence money was an order of magnitude above Jin Seunghu’s. Eunseo, who had never held that much money in his life, was too afraid to leave it at home and had no choice but to carry it with him — not even knowing whether he’d get to see Han Jaeheon today.
“It’s Han Jaeheon, isn’t it?”
“…Yes.”
“That’d be pocket change to him.”
“To me it’s a lot of money.”
Leaving the lab with Jin Seunghu, Eunseo turned on his phone out of habit. An answer had come to the message he’d sent — swallowing his embarrassment — asking if they might meet today. He hadn’t even managed to bring up the condolence money.
“Sorry. I have another assignment to work on.”
Since last week, Han Jaeheon had been answering Eunseo’s messages the same way every time. Sorry, I’m busy, I have an assignment, I have plans… By now, even Eunseo couldn’t miss it. Han Jaeheon was avoiding him.
“Why.”
“…It’s nothing.”
“The cafeteria menu’s not great. Want to go to the ag school instead?”
Jin Seunghu checked the menu on his phone and jerked his chin.
“Okay.”
“There’s no soul in your answers, Eunseo.”
“Let’s go to the ag school, Sunbae.”
“Still no soul.”
Jin Seunghu shook his head and led the way. Eunseo stared quietly at his message thread with Han Jaeheon, then turned off the screen and slipped the phone into his pocket. The cold wind stung his cheeks. He could feel winter fully arriving.
***
Eunseo, who’d been carrying ten million won deep in his bag every day, finally couldn’t bear the envelope’s weight any longer and contacted Han Jaeheon directly. If Han Jaeheon said he couldn’t meet, he at least wanted to get his account number and wire the money.
“I’d like to return the condolence money. If you give me your account number, I’ll wire it to you.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s too much.”
“Think of it as compensation for all your hard work so far.”
Eunseo, who’d been about to insist it was still too much, was thrown by the messages arriving one after another.
“TA.”
“I have no intention of taking the condolence money back.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t say that anymore.”
Faced with Han Jaeheon’s uncharacteristically firm refusal, Eunseo just stared a hole through the message window for a while. Then he moved his fingers and scrolled the chat upward. Compared to just a short while ago, the gaps between Han Jaeheon’s messages had grown very wide, and his tone had turned very cold.
“Understood.”
After a long hesitation, that was the only thing Eunseo could send. No reply came after that, and Eunseo set his phone down face-down. Whether he replied or not, he knew he’d only be jerked around — and he didn’t want to watch.
“Eunseo.”
“…Ah, yes.”
Jin Seunghu, who’d come up beside him without him noticing, called his name and tapped the desk. Eunseo flinched and looked up to find him blowing warm breath into his cupped hands, smiling brightly.
“Let’s get these results organized and write up a summary.”
“Yes.”
“And should we go out for lunch today?”
“Out?”
“The ag school’s getting old, and so’s the student cafeteria.”
Their dining routine was so well-established by now that there was no need to say anything. Eunseo hesitated — did they really have to go out? — then just nodded. Jin Seunghu shared certain traits with Han Jaeheon; when he talked like that, it was best to just go along. Grinning, Jin Seunghu handed over a pile of experiment results, and Eunseo calmly began entering them into the program.
The morning passed quietly, and thirty minutes into General Chemistry 2, Eunseo did as he always did — slipped in through the back door of the large lecture hall. Scanning each bobbing head one by one, he began marking attendance on the seating chart, and his hand paused for a long while at one particular name. But as if nothing had happened, he quickly finished the checks. A few students were absent today as usual, but the owner of the name his gaze had lingered on had been attending quite diligently.
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