Transmigrated as the Side Top used as an Emotional Trash Can

He hesitated and clammed up. I didn’t urge him. Instead, I moved my arms and pulled myself smoothly out of the pool. The inside of the pool building was already being kept warm and humid, but it was still a little chilly once I got out of the water.

“Wow, look at these goosebumps.”

I jokingly stretched both arms straight out in front of me. He smiled too and handed me the wet towel beside him.

“What are you doing this weekend?”

As I took the towel and pressed it firmly against my hair to dry it, Cha Gwonhyeok asked about my weekend plans.

“Saturday? Sunday?”

“Saturday.”

“On Saturday, I’m going to Chuncheon. There’s a swimming competition.”

Only then did he make an ‘ah’ expression, as though he’d been so distracted that he’d completely forgotten.

Cha Gwonhyeok wasn’t the type to forget things.

“Then next week….”

“Hm? You’re going to wait another whole week?”

I asked back, wondering what on earth he was trying to say that he was willing to wait two whole weeks. Cha Gwonhyeok made a complicated expression.

“Sorry, the schedule was decided really suddenly. I’m a little overwhelmed too.”

Then he apologized. It wasn’t anything he needed to apologize for, so why?

I watched the hesitant Cha Gwonhyeok for a moment and considered asking whether something had happened. But if he still couldn’t say it after I’d waited this long, I figured asking probably wouldn’t change anything. Then maybe I should just give him the right setting for it. There happened to be a good opportunity.

“Then do you want to come with me?”

Cha Gwonhyeok reacted to my question a beat late.

“Where?”

I stepped across the damp pool floor with wet slapping sounds and picked up my phone as I spoke.

“I’m saying we should go to Chuncheon together.”

If we traveled out of town together, wouldn’t it be easier for him to open up?

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* * *

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―The ITX-Cheongchun train bound for Chuncheon is now arriving. Passengers, please stand behind the yellow line.

Along with the announcement, I could see the train approaching from a distance with a cool mechanical hum.

“Why the fuck aren’t these bastards here? Did they die on the way?”

“Should we buy dakgangjeong? Ah, I’m hungry.”

“Ugh, fuck, I’m dead tired. I’m gonna get on and sleep right away. The second floor’s mine.”

The Swimming Club kids looked half excited and half exhausted from waking up early on a weekend morning.

“I’m glad there were seats left.”

I said to Cha Gwonhyeok, who was dressed in casual clothes.

“Yeah. We got lucky.”

He opened a bottle of water and swallowed some with his motion sickness medicine as he answered. I tilted my head when I saw him.

“Gwonhyeok-ah, you get motion sickness?”

“A little on long trips. It’s not bad.”

“You’re not pushing yourself for no reason, are you?”

“No, I wanted to ride one too. A train.”

Did that mean he’d never ridden a train before? I guess his range of activity was narrower than I’d thought.

When I lifted my head to look at the train, it had come to a complete stop and the doors were opening. We watched people get off for a moment, then once it looked like most of them had exited, we went inside and sat down.

“Hanrim, were you supposed to be sitting next to me?”

He asked when he sat down and saw me naturally take the seat beside him.

“Hm? Of course I switched seats. You’re my friend, so I should look after you.”

I was the only person he knew in the Swimming Club. It would be a little awkward to just leave him alone, wouldn’t it?

“You get motion sickness too, so it’d be uncomfortable sitting with kids you barely know.”

Even as I said it, I wondered why I had to explain something so obvious. It wasn’t anything special, and I even felt a little embarrassed, like I was making a big deal out of nothing.

“So that’s how it works.”

But Cha Gwonhyeok reacted as though he genuinely hadn’t known, like it was something unfamiliar to him. Looking at him like this, Cha Gwonhyeok sometimes gave the impression that he didn’t know things that should have been obvious, or that he had never experienced them before.

Of course, differences in knowledge and experience were natural when people grew up in different environments. But he visibly stumbled over simple interpersonal relationships and trivial parts of everyday life.

“Gwonhyeok-ah, you have to take your shoes off when you ride a train.”

“I know that’s not true too, Hanrim-ah.”

“Haha, you caught me-.”

Looking at Cha Gwonhyeok felt like looking at a loosely detailed sweater. From a distance, it seemed neatly knitted, but up close, there were conspicuous holes where the things people naturally picked up by mixing with others should have been. Things you might call social experience or unspoken rules.

“Hanrim-ah, is it okay that we didn’t book return tickets?”

Cha Gwonhyeok asked about the one-way train tickets we’d booked.

We didn’t know when the competition would end, and the next day was Sunday, so I had deliberately not bought round-trip tickets. It seemed to bother him.

“It’s Chuncheon. What does it matter?”

I answered carefree as I rested my chin in my hand and looked out the window.

“We can come back whenever we feel like it.”

Even while looking outside, I could feel Cha Gwonhyeok’s tension just outside my field of vision.

What in the world was he planning to tell me in Chuncheon?

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* * *

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“I’m going to America next year.”

My question about what in the world he planned to tell me in Chuncheon didn’t last long. Cha Gwonhyeok suddenly spoke while watching the preliminary heat for the boys’ high school 400-meter freestyle.

I took my eyes off the lanes where the swimming race was in full swing and looked at Cha Gwonhyeok’s profile. He was facing forward, but he wasn’t watching the race. He looked at nothing so completely that I almost wondered whether his eyes were even open.

“I probably won’t be able to come back to Korea for quite a long time.”

The blue light reflected off the competition pool and washed over us. The heat rising from the heated pool in winter was humid.

“Can I use my wish ticket?”

Cha Gwonhyeok was still facing forward without looking at anything. But even beneath the blue lighting, the tips of his ears were flushed red, looking so clumsy and young. I could feel his nervousness so clearly, with his ears practically turned wide open toward me as he waited for my answer, that it made me nervous too for no reason.

“Yeah, the wish ticket’s yours anyway.”

At my permission, Cha Gwonhyeok made a strange wish.

And I accepted it.

Because it wasn’t anything particularly difficult.