Eighteen’s Bed

Chapter 28.4

However, contrary to my certainty that Go Yohan’s subtle expression would brighten up, it only turned into something even more complicated to explain. As a result, I found myself equally confused.

Why? What was there to react like this about?

“The person who sold me this ticket was Kang Suhyeon.”

Unfortunately, his reaction steadily worsened. The more I spoke, the deeper I sank into the swamp. My words started taking on a hesitant, uncertain tone.

A line formed between Go Yohan’s brows, and his sharp jawline tilted slightly to the side. His gaze, which had been fixed on me, gradually shifted away until it landed somewhere in the empty space beside me. And then, as if lost in thought, he didn’t move an inch.

“……”

“……”

A slight chill ran down my spine.

What the hell? Did I say something wrong?

I tried to retrace my words but still couldn’t figure out what mistake I had made.

…No way, was he jealous?

I couldn’t even entertain the possibility. There was no logical way Go Yohan could feel jealous over Kang Suhyeon. The difference in their status was too vast. The only things they had in common were their height and their academic performance. If someone’s going to be jealous, it should at least be over a worthy rival. I was someone who never even acknowledged the lower ranks of the social pyramid, so I decisively rejected the idea of jealousy. It was the first possibility I ruled out.

That left only whatever had happened between Go Yohan and Kang Suhyeon. But that was something I didn’t know. Even when I tried asking about it, neither of them ever gave me an answer. Kang Suhyeon always avoided my questions.

What was I supposed to do, then?

I didn’t know what to say, so I ended up stammering out an explanation that wasn’t really an explanation.

“It didn’t mean anything. Honestly, Suhyeon gave me this ticket so I could go with you.”

Finally, the eyes that had been fixated on nothing but empty air slowly shifted toward me.

The moment our gazes met, his pale-colored irises blatantly questioned me:

‘Why?’

The atmosphere was colder than midwinter, darker than the dead of night. And I was always, always weak to that kind of atmosphere.

A monsoon in the middle of winter.

Not snow, but damp, clammy rain.

White breath melting into the rain.

Moisture invading the air, even in winter.

Go Yohan was someone who embodied all the most miserable conditions that made my body tremble.

How could a person feel like a monsoon in the middle of winter?

And yet, that was exactly what Go Yohan was.

I felt a surge of urgency.

I didn’t want to let him misunderstand.

Because, in the end, I was the kind of person who wanted to hold an umbrella over Go Yohan as he stood alone, drenched in the rain of monsoon season.

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