8. Chapter Eight #2
After that, it’s a steady stream. Neighbors, friends of neighbors, people from the next town over who heard about the kid who can fix cars for cheap.
Ryowoon spends his evenings after his shift at the store crouched beside engines, his hands perpetually stained with grease, his clothes smelling like oil and gasoline.
I sit with him sometimes, doing homework while he works. Watching the way his brow creases in concentration. The way he looks quietly satisfied when he solves the problem, when the engine turns over and purrs to life.
He’s good at it, and I watch him every time he gets that happy shine in his eyes, thankful for it with all I am.
The house is dark and quiet when I slip out my window, my sneakers already tied so I don’t have to fumble with them outside. Mom’s been asleep for an hour, worn out from her double shift, and I feel a little guilty sneaking around behind her back, but not guilty enough to stop.
I drop down from the low roof over the side porch, landing softly in the grass, and jog toward the crossroad where Ryowoon and I always meet. It’s not fully dark, more the deep blue that comes right before summer nights turn black, the cicadas going nuts in the trees around us.
I don’t see him until I’m almost on top of him, a shape peeling itself off the wall by Mr. Han’s fence, and we both yelp and stumble back from each other.
“Shit, watch it,” Ryowoon hisses, grabbing my arm to keep himself from falling over.
“You watch it, idiot, why are you just standing there in the dark like a ghost?”
“I was waiting for you, dumbass, that’s the whole point of a meetup spot.”
I shove him, and he shoves back, and it turns into one of those pointless little scuffles that never really hurt, just an excuse to get our hands on each other and grumble under our breath.
I get a good kick in on his shin and he yelps, hopping on one foot, cursing me out in a whisper because we both know better than to be loud this deep into the night.
“You’re gonna wake up the whole damn street,” he mutters, rubbing his shin.
“You started it.”
“I did not.”
“You did too.”
He flicks my ear hard enough to sting and I swat his hand away, and then we’re both grinning, all of it already forgotten as we start down the hill together, stepping quietly past the sleeping houses, laughing under our breath every time one of us nearly trips over a curb or a stray cat darts out from behind a trash can and scares the hell out of both of us.
By the time we reach the harbor the sky’s fully dark, stars blinking overhead, the water black and glassy below the dock lights.
We climb down the rocks carefully, feeling for footholds we already know from memory, and find Jinwon, Haeil, Sihyung, and Yoohan already settled below, sitting on a flat stretch of rock with bags of snacks between them.
“About time,” Haeil says, tossing a bag of shrimp chips at Ryowoon’s head. Ryowoon catches it without flinching, dropping down beside him.
I settle in next to Jinwon, who passes me a bag of dried squid, already halfway through his own.
The talk starts easy, drifting from a teacher who got caught napping during class to the rumor about a fight that happened by the school gates that none of us actually saw firsthand but all have an opinion on anyway.
During a break in conversation after Sihyung’s done telling the story about his older cousin nearly getting arrested for jumping a fence at the naval base Haeil reaches into his bag and pulls out a few bottles of soju, holding them up with a proud grin.
“Where the hell’d you get those?” Yoohan asks, already reaching for one.
“Don’t ask if you don’t want to know.” Haeil pops the cap off one and pours it into a stack of paper cups he brought, passing them around.
I take mine without thinking much of it.
We’ve snuck sips before, at festivals, at family gatherings when the adults get too drunk to notice, so it’s not exactly new.
But when I glance over at Ryowoon my stomach clenches, because his face has turned to stone, his jaw locked tight, eyes fixed on the bottles of soju.
The others don’t seem to notice, too busy passing cups around, laughing. Haeil turns to Ryowoon last, cup already poured, holding it out toward him.
“Here.”
Ryowoon knocks his hand away, soju splashing over Haeil’s fingers. “Get that shit out of my face.”
Everyone goes quiet, the easy chatter dying fast. Haeil blinks, shaking his wet hand, more annoyed than hurt.
“Don’t be an ass about it,” he says.
“I’m not touching that shit,” Ryowoon hisses with an edge that makes me hold my breath. “And you of all people should know better.”
My eyes cut to Haeil. Everyone knows that Haeil’s house isn’t much different from Ryowoon’s.
That his dad has a temper that comes out of a bottle same as Ryowoon’s does, that Haeil shows up sometimes with mysterious bruises sometimes, same as Ryowoon does.
It’s probably half the reason they get along so well, why they’ve drifted closer, cutting class together, smoking behind the school building.
But no one ever says stuff like that out loud, not once, not even between the two of them as far as I know, and I’m surprised Ryowoon’s the one to say it so bluntly now.
Haeil doesn’t look hurt though, just rolls his eyes, more exasperated than anything. “Whatever, man. Don’t drink then.” He pours himself a cup instead, tips it back in one go, then glances at me, lifting the bottle. “You want some?”
I look at Ryowoon. He’s staring out at the harbor now, jaw still tight, shoulders drawn in.
“I’ll pass,” I say, shaking my head.
Haeil shrugs and passes the bottle on to Sihyung instead. The others go back to talking, easy again, the moment sliding past them. Ryowoon doesn’t say anything else about it, but he sits there with his knees pulled up quietly, which isn’t like him at all.
The soju keeps going, and the other boys get louder with every round.
Sihyung nearly topples off his rock at one point, windmilling his arms to catch himself, and the rest of us lose it, laughing so hard my ribs ache.
Yoohan’s cheeks are flushed pink, grinning wide as he tries to tell a story that keeps getting derailed because he forgets what he’s saying halfway through it.
I’m grinning, caught up in the chaos of it, my stomach hurting from laughing at Haeil trying to demonstrate a fight move he swears he saw in a movie and nearly kicking Sihyung in the face in the process.
The whole thing’s a mess, all of them slurring their words and stumbling over each other, and I’m still sober enough to think it’s funny as hell.
But Ryowoon’s not laughing.
I glance at him and see his shoulders drawn tight, his hands fisted against his knees. He stares out at the water, his jaw locked, and the longer we sit here the more tense he gets, like every laugh and every slurred sentence is pulling him tighter and tighter until something’s going to snap.
Then he stands up, movements sharp and abrupt.
No one else notices. Sihyung’s trying to pour himself another drink and missing the cup entirely, Yoohan’s cackling at him, and Jinwon’s sprawled out on the rocks with his eyes half closed. Haeil glances up when Ryowoon moves, but he doesn’t say anything, just watches him go.
Ryowoon climbs the rocks without a word, not looking back, his back rigid as he heads up toward the street.
I watch him disappear over the edge, torn between staying and following. Haeil turns his head, watching Ryowoon’s retreat for half a second, then shrugs and goes back to laughing at something Yoohan just said. No one else cares.
I get up quietly, brushing off my jeans, and start climbing the rocks after him.
By the time I reach the street Ryowoon’s halfway up the hill already, his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched.
I jog to catch up, breathing hard by the time I’m close enough to see him pulling out a cigarette, flicking his lighter open with one hand.
The flame flares in the dark and he cups it, lighting up and exhaling smoke before I reach his side.
I don’t say anything as I reach over and pluck the cigarette from his fingers and take a drag. I hold it in for a second before blowing it out, then hand it back.
Ryowoon glances at me, mouth curving into a faint smirk, and takes the cigarette back without comment, putting it between his lips.
“You okay?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
He exhales smoke, watching it curl into the night air. “Yeah. Just not interested in that shit.”
I shrug, falling into step beside him. “Alright. Let’s go find something else to do then.”
Ryowoon grins at that, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. He throws an arm over my shoulder, pulling me in close.
We walk up the hill together, aimless, just moving because sitting still feels wrong.
That summer is peaceful in a way I don’t think any summer has been before.
Ryowoon’s out late most days, working on cars for neighbors or covering evening shifts at the store, and somehow he seems to have gotten smarter about avoiding his dad.
He goes weeks without any new bruises appearing, and when I see him in the mornings he looks lighter, like he can breathe properly.
His shoulders sit easier, his jaw relaxes when he talks.
He busies himself with work, with the guys, with late nights at the harbor where we sit on the rocks and watch the fishing boats come in.
I see him every day and he’s mostly the same old Ryowoon.
Scrappy and quick to pick fights with anyone who looks at him wrong, but also the version of him who grins wide when he fixes something broken, who brings me stolen snacks from the market and tucks flowers behind his ears just to make me laugh. The version I like best.
But it doesn’t last forever.