BW Ch 2.1: Phone Call

Every time he walked down the hallway, he became accustomed to the stares that brushed past him indifferently, only to fix themselves on him again within half a day. Lee Shinwoo, who had spent the night in Kang Tae-eon’s room after the evacuation was in no condition to be described as even remotely alright. His face, which had looked unusual from the moment he buried it in Kang Tae-eon’s groin and opened his mouth had become indescribably wretched during the brutal night.

After several ejaculations achieved solely through oral stimulation, Kang Tae-eon simply released Lee Shinwoo without further action. However, Lee Shinwoo’s situation was different. Even lying on a bed far more plush than the one on the second floor of the old building, he could not easily fall asleep. Only a numb sensation remained in his shoulders and even with his eyes closed, they did not feel closed. He was aware that he would need to apply ice to properly open his eyes the next day but he could not so much as twitch a finger.

He felt as though he had been thrown into a corner and thoroughly beaten. While Kang Tae-eon had not laid a hand on him after the initial slap, Lee Shinwoo’s entire body ached. It ached so intensely that he wanted to rip his whole face off. Even the air conditioning breeze that grazed his burning skin was agony, further preventing sleep. He felt cold and tried to pull up the blanket but he remained immobile. Unable to even form a coherent thought, he simply endured the pain in a daze until he finally collapsed into a sleep resembling unconsciousness late in the early morning.

It was Kang Tae-eon’s voice that woke Lee Shinwoo.

His voice, distinctly imprinted after just one night was no longer strange. This realization briefly left Lee Shinwoo stunned.

“Tonight. There’s no need to overthink dealing with those useless lackeys. Make an example of one, and the rest will fall in line.”

A voice laced with a certain satisfaction lazily filled the silent space.

His mind felt sluggish. Lee Shinwoo, still grappling with the unfamiliar fog in his head, finally processed the previous night’s events. The sudden evacuation, the onslaught of irrational violence and the correlation between play and rape, as foreign to him as the connection between enemas and condoms had left even the normally obtuse Lee Shinwoo in shock.

Would it be alright?

It would be alright.

Kang Tae-eon had framed the acts to come as play, not rape, performed with Lee Shinwoo’s consent. The implicit expiration date on this arrangement was roughly three months. The remaining time until graduation, excluding vacation. It was not unbearable. He wasn’t confident he would enjoy it but Kang Tae-eon likely did not expect that either. He had understood the unspoken command to submit quietly and without complaint.

In this narrow, constricted world, crossing Kang Tae-eon, who had absolute dominion over his territory would guarantee a turbulent remainder of the school term. He might even be expelled, forever barred from this place. Even without the violence, Lee Shinwoo would not have resisted. He would have readily agreed through conversation alone. While puzzled, Lee Shinwoo, listening to Kang Tae-eon’s voice as he woke, understood the reason for the violence.

An example. It was Kang Tae-eon’s cruel method of crushing even the slightest hint of defiance.

He held the leash firmly and Lee Shinwoo was utterly subdued.

If he complied obediently, at least it would not be like… yesterday. Probably not.

Though uncertain, Lee Shinwoo consoled himself. He tried to avoid more frightening thoughts but his sluggish mind wandered uncontrollably in realms beyond his reach.

He recalled the large hand that had crushed his throat the night before, the smile lurking in those dark, intense eyes, and quickly banished the images. For a moment, he had truly believed he would die. He did not want to dwell on it further but his mind raced unchecked. He tried to open his eyes but his swollen eyelids refused to part, so he remained lying there.

Even after hearing Kang Tae-eon leave the dormitory after his phone call, he remained immobile. After some time, he finally managed to rise from the bed. With eyes barely open, he fumbled through his bag and retrieved a heat pack, one of the items he habitually used to soothe overworked muscles. He sat motionless for a moment, then began to move gingerly.

He opened the freezer and placed the ice pack inside. Normally, He wouldn’t have even considered using something that belonged to someone else. But a casual thought – it’s just the freezer – led his body to move first. He turned his aching body around, feeling no unease about his actions.

Lee Shinwoo stood speechless in the bathroom where he had gone to wash. His reflection was far more unsightly than he had anticipated. Unable to tear his gaze away from the mirror, he slowly regained his composure. Aside from his face, nothing else seemed particularly problematic and he refused to miss early morning practice over something like this.

I should probably put some ointment on the broken skin.

The ointment he kept in his bag had run out. The school infirmary and the pharmacy across from the school would both be closed at this hour. He examined his injuries more closely with eyes that were difficult to open. Fortunately, there were no lacerations severe enough to warrant stitches or a similar commotion. He decided to postpone applying the ointment.

A sharp pain shot through him as he changed into his practice clothes, causing him to bite his tongue. A low cry escaped his lips as a more intense wave of pain made his head spin. The pain itself was bad enough but his body felt incredibly heavy. Lee Shinwoo left the dormitory, duffel bag in hand, and unknowingly let out a soft sigh.

 

Lee Shinwoo was born in Seoul.

After his parents’ divorce, he moved to a small provincial city and was subsequently sent by his mother, who ran a small dance academy to a rural village within that city. His childhood memories were quite warm. The small farming village with a total population of fewer than thirty people, consisted mostly of elderly residents.

His maternal grandmother, who raised him in place of his parents was the oldest person in the village. She was a woman of few words, often offering a smile in lieu of a greeting. Lee Shinwoo, who rarely acted spoiled or threw tantrums, one night found himself suddenly longing for human contact. He snuggled into his grandmother’s embrace and she wordlessly held him as he drifted off to sleep.

His grandmother’s body weathered by time was darkened and rough to the touch. Despite her frail frame, thin enough to reveal the bones beneath her skin, her embrace on those nights was unfailingly warm and generous.

‘Shinwoo, dear. Smile. Your cheeks are so sweet. So beautifully sweet.’

He remembered one time, though he couldn’t recall the reason when he had cried inconsolably. His grandmother, who had been preparing a meal in the kitchen, came out leaning on her cane and sat him down on the floor. She soothed him endlessly, murmuring those words. She always said his dimples which deepened when he smiled, were sweet and lovely. Even though young Lee Shinwoo rarely smiled, she continued to say so.

A child slow to develop, slow to act, slow to speak. Because his speech was delayed, he developed a habit of keeping his mouth shut. He found comfort and joy in the company of his equally quiet grandmother. He cherished their shared trait of reticence, their only commonality despite having nothing else in common. The warmth of her embrace, offered by that thin, withered, tree-like body, was unparalleled.

After his grandmother’s passing, Lee Shinwoo was brought back to the small provincial city by his mother. It was a city where time seemed to have stopped a decade prior. A city where development had stagnated, where new construction and buildings were rare. His mother, who ran a dance academy there, always seemed to be looking elsewhere, her gaze fixed on something distant.

The other children who attended the dance academy, children with exceptional talent who were said to be moving to Seoul soon, children with charming smiles. A world viewed through a different lens. As she searched for a day in the distant past, a day that didn’t include Lee Shinwoo, he was never reflected in her eyes.

One day, as he watched his mother’s dazzling movements, her white feet leaping gracefully, he unconsciously mimicked her jump. For the first time, his mother’s gaze truly landed on him. Her eyes, startled, seemed to have discovered a child she hadn’t known existed, a child who suddenly appeared before her, shining brightly.

---

“Who beat you up like that?”

I thought no one was there, but Donghwa was in Room 304 of the old building. Instead of an apron smeared with paint, he wore a neat school uniform. No matter his attire, he always smelled of oil paint. Lee Shinwoo didn’t mind that.

“Why are you here?”

“Who are you to ask?”

Donghwa’s curt reply was unexpected. He would normally be in the art studio with a brush at this hour.

“It’s not even your room anymore. What gives you the right to come and go so freely?”

“I was looking for some antiseptic. I think I had some here last time.”

“I don’t have it. I gave it to Jaekyung. He cut himself peeling an egg. Besides, there wasn’t much left. Doesn’t your department have any?”

“Only an assortment of adhesive bandages.”

Jaekyung was Donghwa’s friend, the sculptor. Lee Shinwoo, who answered simply, looked embarrassed. He rubbed the back of his neck absently then belatedly looked at his neat uniform and asked another question along the same lines.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

“Poetry competition.”

Lee Shinwoo understood why Donghwa, who always won when he participated, would dress up. A poetry competition meant multiple photo opportunities with city officials. Donghwa, while complaining about Lee Shinwoo’s constant questions, still answered him and tossed over a box of disposable bandages.

“I do have these.”

“I don’t need these.”

Well, that’s a lie.

Donghwa frowned and quickly scanned Lee Shinwoo’s body. His sharp gaze stopped at the dark handprint bruising Lee Shinwoo’s neck.

“All you have is your body to show off.”

Donghwa’s tone suggested he was less concerned for Lee Shinwoo’s well-being than for the damage to his physique.

“Wouldn’t it be a sight to see you in a unitard, too?”

Donghwa trailed off, suddenly staring at Lee Shinwoo with a strange expression, his gaze slowly traveling down his body again, as if assessing something. It wasn’t a new look but it was odd in this context. Lee Shinwoo looked puzzled. Donghwa, having finished his appraisal, abruptly spoke.

“What happened to the t-shirt you always wear?”

“It’s because of this.”

Lee Shinwoo, who spent most of his waking hours in the training room, wore practice clothes even in the classroom. His practice clothes consisted of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Today, because of his injuries, he wore a zipped-up jersey over his t-shirt. The collar was short, revealing his bruised neck, but it was better than nothing.

Donghwa, who had often used Lee Shinwoo as a model, had told him to thank his parents for his good bone structure which gave him such an aesthetically pleasing physique. Donghwa, who had once sketched Lee Shinwoo’s collarbone beneath his loose t-shirt with pure admiration, suddenly brightened.

“Take that off and stand there for a moment.”

“I’m busy.”

“I’ll buy you some adhesive bandages.”

“There are less than twenty minutes left until lunch.”

“I’ll buy you the odorless, colorless kind.”

“Later. I really don’t have time.”

“Then let me take a picture.”

Donghwa, no longer arguing, pulled a camera from his bag. He glared at Lee Shinwoo, as if asking why he hadn’t already removed the “tacky” jersey.

“I’ll draw you looking dashing.”

Donghwa grinned and focused. Taking off his jersey wouldn’t take long, so Lee Shinwoo obediently unzipped it. Knowing Donghwa preferred the loose t-shirt, he left it on and expertly posed. He privately wondered what good would come from drawing his bruised and battered body.

“Have you never drawn someone who’s been beaten up?”

“Uh? Uh… well, no.”

“Hurry up and take the picture. I have to go.”

Donghwa, who had once claimed any picture of Lee Shinwoo’s body was art, now responded distractedly, adjusting the angle several times as if dissatisfied with the composition.

Lee Shinwoo leaned back against the desk, then tilted his head slightly, noticing an unfamiliar book on Donghwa’s desk. The shutter clicked but lost in thought, Lee Shinwoo didn’t hear it. He absently flipped through the book, wondering how to broach the subject then spoke with difficulty.

“Where do I buy an enema? Do they sell them at pharmacies? I need one of those, too.”

I don’t need to go to a hospital for that, do I? He asked casually, then, feeling awkward, looked at Donghwa just as the shutter clicked again. Donghwa, finally satisfied, checked the photo with a pleased expression, then looked up as if just registering the odd question.

“An enema? Are you constipated?”

As beautiful as your body is, your heart is just as lovely. What’s with the sudden buzzkill?

“Are you done?”

Can I go now? Lee Shinwoo gathered his clothes and put them on without waiting for a reply. Donghwa stared after him, scratching his forehead. He was eager to sketch the photos, but he was also bothered by Lee Shinwoo’s strange request.

“At best, he barely scrapes by picking up bits of grass to eat. What kind of constipation is that?”

“I suppose that’s why.”

Donghwa’s reaction was incredulous. Lee Shinwoo, avoiding his eyes for some reason, added in a forced, even tone.

“I’m going to the pharmacy. Do you need anything?”

“No.”

“Think carefully.”

Don’t say anything else later.

Only then did he take a close look at Lee Shinwoo, who was speaking slowly and awkwardly, as if his face was swollen more than usual.

“Why didn’t you go to the nurse’s office? It’s overflowing with medicine.”

“Uh…”

It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered it.

Quick-witted Donghwa realized from that single syllable that Lee Shinwoo’s objective wasn’t ointment. Having only ever heard of enemas in the context of appendectomies, Donghwa couldn’t stretch his imagination further, settling on a bewildered expression.

“Is it that bad?”

“Uh? Yeah.”

“You can probably buy it at a pharmacy without a prescription.”

It was like thinking of an my older sister, who had constipation, was debating buying some.

Lee Shinwoo nodded at the additional comment, a quiet “I see,” and finished zipping up his pants.

“Oh, I moved rooms yesterday.”

He suddenly blurted out the long-overdue news, as if just remembering. He seemed to have forgotten the scolding he’d received for barging into a room that wasn’t his.

He’s so dense.

“I saw the note.”

“Who is your roommate?”

“I don’t know.”

Lee Shinwoo readily accepted this, recalling the housekeeper who paid no attention to the dormitory beyond basic duties.

“It’s Kang Tae-eon, right?”

“Huh?”

Lee Shinwoo flinched, startled by the name that suddenly popped out of Donghwa’s mouth. Donghwa, oblivious, packed away his camera and added.

“Your new roommate. I asked the housekeeper.”

“Ah,”

That.

For a moment, Lee Shinwoo had been terrified, thinking Donghwa was about to ask, “Did Kang Tae-eon do that to you?” He breathed a sigh of relief and nodded in confirmation. He felt it was unfair that he was the one who had suffered so terribly, yet he was also the one anxiously trying to hide it. But deep down, he understood.

Before questioning why he had suffered such violence at the hands of Kang Tae-eon, Lee Shinwoo was terrified of the nature of the violence being revealed. He wasn’t sure he could handle the repercussions that would follow, and above all, he was deeply afraid that he might never be able to dance again. Lee Shinwoo, who had come to realize once again that play was better than rape, let out a shallow breath.

“Is he as handsome as the rumors say?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, how would you know after just one night?”

“What about the facilities?”

To the repeated question, he simply answered, “Good,” and returned the disposable bandage to Donghwa.

“I told you to use it.”

“I’m going to buy that while I’m at it.”

Well, he would figure it out.

The horrific sight, enough to make one wince, lingered, but it was ultimately someone else’s problem. Unless Lee Shinwoo asked for help, there was no reason for Donghwa to get involved. And even if he did ask, whether Donghwa would offer help was a separate matter.

Preoccupied with transferring the photo – acquired for the price of a few odorless, colorless pain relief patches – onto canvas, Donghwa paid little attention to the real Lee Shinwoo. His face, as he slung the carelessly discarded bag and paint box over his shoulder, was already lost in the world of the canvas.

The teacher in charge still couldn’t hide his alarm every time he saw Lee Shinwoo. Constantly subjected to this reaction, Lee Shinwoo had taken to rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Why were you taking a walk in the middle of the night?”

Upon first encountering Lee Shinwoo’s appearance, the teacher had immediately scolded him for his carelessness. Unable to tell the truth to those who asked in alarm about his condition, Lee Shinwoo had opted for a fabricated explanation.

“I went for a walk and ran into some thugs.”

Half of those who heard the excuse believed it; the other half quickly lost interest.

“Will it heal before the festival?”

“Even if it doesn’t, please let me perform.”

Lee Shinwoo replied with an easy smile, his hair slightly ruffled.

“What are you talking about?”

As if to represent the reputation of the Taerok Foundation, which spares no effort in supporting not only academics but also the cultivation of culture and the arts, the highlight of the Taerok Festival held every October was undeniably the dance festival, the crown jewel of the event.