PS | Chapter 2.10

The tempered glass screen was utterly destroyed, and the call screen disappeared.

Yieon, who had hurried over, picked up the phone and examined it carefully before speaking in a troubled voice.

“What should we do? It’s completely broken.”

Looking at Yieon’s apologetic expression, Jehyuk didn’t even have the presence of mind to say it was okay. Instead, he snatched the phone from Yieon’s hand.

“Hold on.”

His fingers frantically tapped the screen, but nothing showed up on the dark display.

He held it up to his ear, but there was no sound.

Even pressing the power button did nothing.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

When things start to go wrong, they really go all the way, huh?

Right now, even if he apologized to Sihoo a hundred times, it wouldn’t be enough. And yet, it would seem as if he had just hung up on him.

His head was a complete mess.

Would it be better to borrow Yieon’s phone and call?

No.

That would just be another mistake. Not to mention, it would be an inconvenience to Yieon too.

Fighting back the rising panic, Jehyuk spoke.

“Sorry, but I need to go. Something came up. Can you let the others know?”

Walking back in like this would only ruin the mood further. He wasn’t in a state to sit around either. He needed to go home.

First things first, he needed to sober up and sort this mess out.

“Sure, I’ll tell them.”

Maybe it was because Jehyuk’s expression was so serious, but Yieon didn’t try to stop him.

Still hesitating slightly, Yieon called out just as Jehyuk was about to leave.

“Sunbae, can I get your number?”

“…Why?”

Yieon gave a sheepish smile.

“You know, sunbae, you’re kind of adorable. You look all cool and composed, but you’re actually pretty naive. I’ve only known you for a short time, but I like you.”

Jehyuk stared at him blankly.

He wasn’t sure what Yieon meant by that, but it didn’t seem to carry any bad intentions.

He was too drained to get into another conflict today, so he just gave in.

“…I don’t know what you mean, but I’ll give you my number. My phone’s dead, though, so you won’t be able to reach me until I get it fixed.”

“That’s fine with me.”

Yieon quickly handed over his phone.

Jehyuk took a deep breath and keyed in his number.

Watching him type, Yieon grinned and asked,

“You sure you don’t want me to walk you home?”

“I’ll go alone. See you later.”

Jehyuk didn’t even have the energy to notice Yieon’s disappointed expression.

He walked straight toward Sinnonhyeon Station to catch a bus.

There was an express bus that went directly to campus, and it was faster than the subway.

As he trudged through the crowded streets, he eventually reached the central bus lane.

The roads were packed with red express buses, and people were everywhere.

Jehyuk observed the mass of people for a moment before retreating to the least crowded spot.

Now that he finally had a moment alone, his mind grew even more tangled.

So now he had to buy a new phone.

The damage didn’t look repairable—he’d probably have to get a new one.

Whether he paid for it outright or got it on an installment plan, it would be another monthly expense to worry about.

I can’t even take on more tutoring sessions anymore.

He barely had time as it was.

He’d already put his tutoring jobs on hold, so there was no way to make extra money.

And it wasn’t like he had anywhere to turn for financial help.

The weight of it all bore down on his shoulders.

For a brief moment, his aunt’s face flashed through his mind, followed immediately by the image of his uncle.

Stop thinking of her like she’s your real mom.

A familiar voice echoed in his head.

It was his cousin, Choi Ina.

Unlike Jinyoung, who openly tormented him, Ina never actively interfered.

But she had said that to him once.

It was probably on the day their aunt skipped Ina’s festival performance to attend one of Jehyuk’s soccer matches.

Am I just a selfish bastard?

A deep, sinking feeling dragged him down.

He tried not to think about Sihoo or Choi Ina, but no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept circling back.

The bus finally arrived, and he quickly got on.

It must have been the last bus of the night, because as soon as he boarded, the route number disappeared from the display.

He pulled out his wallet and tapped his transit card.

Beep.

A sharp, ominous sound rang out, followed by an automated message.

“Insufficient balance.”

He didn’t even have 2,000 won left.

I should’ve recharged it.

Jehyuk glanced at the bus driver’s expectant gaze and the people waiting behind him. Without a word, he stepped off the bus.

Frantically, he searched his pockets.

Nothing.

He had completely forgotten that they had collected money at the start of the meeting.

To make things worse, he hadn’t brought anything other than his transit card.

His debit card was at home.

It was a habit—he intentionally left it behind to avoid unnecessary spending.

Now, though, it left him completely broke.

A dry, humorless chuckle escaped him.

Ji Jehyuk brushed past the people around him and sat down on the long bench at the bus stop. Perched lightly on the edge, he stared blankly into the air.

There was one solution. He could go back and borrow money from Rina or one of the others.

But just thinking about it made him feel pathetic. It was exhausting, suffocating. He was so sick of everything that he just sat there, unmoving. Even though his mind kept repeating, I should go home. I have to go home, his body refused to listen.

Everything’s a mess.

He didn’t think of himself as pitiful. There were plenty of orphans in the world, and countless people lived in far worse conditions than him. It wasn’t that he was trying to compare himself to them, but he knew he had been lucky. Just having the chance to do what he wanted was proof enough of that.

Still, sometimes being alone was overwhelming. If he’d never had a family to begin with, maybe it would have been easier. But Jehyuk had known happiness once—his childhood had been full of it. If he had never experienced it, maybe he wouldn’t miss it, but he couldn’t just pretend it had never existed.

He hadn’t shed a single tear since his parents passed away. And yet, he could feel the sting at the corners of his eyes now, the heat creeping up. His eyes felt dry, sore. His lips pressed together tightly as he bowed his head.

Why the hell am I getting so emotional?

“Ji Jehyuk.”

Just before the tears could fall, a familiar voice called his name from above. Slowly, he lifted his head, and when he saw who was standing there, his eyes widened in disbelief.

“Why are you sitting here crying all alone?”

There stood Yoon Sihoo, his hair a mess, looking like he had sprinted to get here.

“…Huh?”

That didn’t make sense. There was no reason for Sihoo to be here. He hadn’t been at the bar, and of all the bus stops in the city, there was no way he would have found him by coincidence. Was he hallucinating? Was this real? Jehyuk blinked, trying to clear his vision, and in that moment, a single tear slipped down his cheek.

Sihoo, who had been watching him with a serious expression, furrowed his brows. His deep, conflicted gaze swept over Jehyuk before he let out a quiet sigh. Then, he crouched down to meet Jehyuk’s eyes. His long, well-built arm stretched out toward him, and his hand landed gently on his cheek.

“Don’t cry.”

Sihoo looked like he had just come from home, dressed comfortably in a plain white t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. And even in this moment, he somehow looked effortlessly cool.

That realization suddenly hit Jehyuk—how mismatched they were as friends. I’m a complete mess, and Sihoo always looks good no matter what.

“…I’m sorry for getting mad. I didn’t mean to make you cry. So please, don’t cry, okay?”

Jehyuk should have been the one apologizing, but somehow, the roles had reversed. Maybe it was because it had been so long—since childhood, in fact—since someone had comforted him like this. But for some reason, he couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

The moment Sihoo told him not to cry, another tear rolled down.

Alcohol really was strange. It had a way of amplifying emotions that were usually kept locked away. If he were sober, he never would have cried like this. But now, Sihoo’s gentle voice was making his defenses crumble.

Jehyuk had only ever been this drunk three times. Once, during his freshman welcome party. The second time, when he drank with Sihoo the other night. And now, tonight.

Unlike last time, he wasn’t falling asleep—his emotions were riding out in deep, uncontrollable waves. Fueled by alcohol, he finally let out the words he had been wanting to say.

“…I’m sorry, Sihoo. It was my fault. So… can you stop being mad at me now? I promise it won’t happen again.”

Sihoo’s thumb brushed against his cheek, wiping away the tear before it could trail down any further. The touch was so soft, so warm—it felt like it could melt him.

Sihoo comforted him as if they were something more than just friends.

“No, it wasn’t even something to be mad about. I was too sensitive. I overreacted. So… can you forgive me?”

“What are you even apologizing for? I’m the one who… acted like an idiot.”

No matter how he spun it, this was completely his fault. He knew that. But still, if Sihoo could just understand his situation a little bit, it would mean the world.

“I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. It just happened that way. A classmate was watching when she asked for my number, and with the rumors going around about my breakup with Rina… I just—” Jehyuk sucked in a breath, clenching his hands into fists. “I’m so tired of people talking about me. I hate getting caught up in drama. But I regretted it the second I gave her my number.”

Sihoo simply listened, letting Jehyuk ramble on.

His tears had already stopped, but Sihoo’s hand was still resting against his face. The warmth of his palm was a soothing contrast against the heat lingering around Jehyuk’s eyes. His gentle touch, the way his fingers brushed over the sensitive skin—it was ticklish, but not unpleasant.

“…Who’s Rina?”

Sihoo didn’t know. They never really pried into each other’s love lives, so Sihoo had never asked about her before. After their last drinking session, he probably realized that Jehyuk had broken up with someone, but he had never bothered to ask for details.

Ijun’s words from earlier suddenly came to mind. Can you really call it a close friendship if you don’t know anything about each other’s personal lives?

“…My ex-girlfriend.”

At that, Sihoo’s dark brown eyebrows twitched upward.

“You broke up, but you still call her by name?”

“Is that weird?”

Jehyuk looked at Sihoo with a puzzled expression. Sihoo pressed his thumb against his lips, pausing for a brief moment before changing the question.

“Why is your department talking about you and that girl?”

The question made Jehyuk’s chest tighten. Avoiding Sihoo’s gaze, he muttered, “People love making up rumors. They think spreading gossip is fun.”