“What are you doing?”

Si Woo froze. Even though they had only met once he recognized that voice. It was the only voice he had ever heard that had been free of condemnation when speaking with him.

And yet they still didn’t know each other’s names.

“Go away,” he whispered, not bothering to look behind him, his hands still clutching the hot bun he had purchased from a nearby vendor not moments ago. He didn’t care about the boy and yet he didn’t want the kid to see him like this.

Instead of leaving, the boy sat down beside him and opened his backpack to pull out an apple. “Does it taste good?” he asked after a moment and Si Woo finally turned to look at him.

The boy looked at the bun longingly.

Si Woo glared at him. “I don’t know because you keep talking to me.” But that wasn’t true, he had already consumed two and was now on his third. He stared briefly at the small plastic bag beside him. Two vague dome shapes protruded from its boundaries.

“Don’t mind me,” said the boy as he took a bite of his apple.

Si Woo glared again and opened his mouth to take another bite when again he felt the boy’s eyes on his hand.

Irritated, he pushed the soft bun into the boy’s arm and grumbled as he pulled another one from the bag.

The boy’s eyes lit up as he put his partially eaten apple back into his bag and with two hands took a large bite from the white pillowy bread.

For a moment Si Woo couldn’t help but watch as the boy ate with vigor. He ate nearly as fast as he did but unlike Si Woo, the boy seemed to savor every bite.

“It’s really good!” the boy said, his teeth halfway into the bun. He chewed happily, then suddenly turned to face Si Woo and grinned.

Startled, Si Woo turned away, his face for some reason warm and a strange feeling in his chest.

When was the last time he had enjoyed his food like this boy was doing? He had purchased the buns because they tasted good, but at some point he had stopped enjoying them.

He stared at the bun in his hand and the one that remained in the bag.

He turned back to the boy and was surprised to see that he had finished the food and was now licking his fingertips.

Si Woo looked at him in disgust.

“Here,” said Si Woo as he threw the bun back into the plastic bag and thrusted it towards the boy.

The boy’s eyes widened. “Really?” he asked but did not immediately take the bag. “But you didn’t eat, hyung.”

Si Woo rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I'm not hungry any more. If you don’t want them, give them to your sister or throw them away.”

“Um, are you sure?” the boy asked tentatively, eyeing the bag of treats.

Si Woo rolled his eyes again. “Fine, then I’ll throw them away.”

“No! I’ll take them,” he replied hurriedly, reaching out for the bag. “My mom and sister would like these.”

Si Woo paused, then looked at the boy. He had never once considered buying a bun for his mother or brother. And for a moment he felt a desire to retract his offering as he watched the boy longingly stare at the contents of the bag.

“Just eat them,” said Si Woo, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.

The boy looked up and his eyes were wide and drool pooled a bit at the edge of his mouth. He gulped. “Hyung,” the boy said as he wiped away the remaining drool. “They smell so good.”

Si Woo stared at him in annoyance for a moment longer before sighing. He stood.

“H-Hyung, where are you going?” the boy said as he scrambled to follow him.

Si Woo did not respond as he made his way back down the street. The boy caught up to him just as he stopped in front of an open air pastry shop.

The boy stepped up quietly beside him as Si Woo purchased half a dozen more buns.

When the lady handed him his purchase, he thrust it into the boy’s arms. “There, now you can stop whining and the pathetic act.”

The boy looked at the bag in surprise then his head shot up in an attempt to meet Si Woo’s gaze but the older boy was already walking away.

“Wait, hyung!” the boy said as he ran to catch up to him yet again. “Thank you– I uh, but I don’t know if… if I can pay you back.”

“I don’t need your money,” Si Woo responded, not bothering to look at him. “I know you’re poor and I’m not doing it out of charity. Your indecisiveness just irritated me.”

“Oh,” the boy said, noticing that he had fallen behind some. “W-wait, hyung. Let me um, do you want to come to my house? My mom bought two pocho chip bags and I haven't opened mine yet. Apparently, you can get a rare card in some. I’ll give you mine.”

Si Woo stopped in his tracks and gave the boy an incredulous look. Did he look like he collected pokemonster cards?

“It’s this way,” said the boy, taking Si Woo’s hand in his and he began to drag him toward the left.

Si Woo stared at the small hand that gripped his as he let the boy lead him through the streets. For a moment he was startled. He didn’t recall the last time someone had grabbed his hand.

“What are you doing?” Si Woo yelled, yanking his hand away from the child’s.

The boy looked up but he seemed unfazed. “We’re here,” he said with a grin and Si Woo lifted his head to gaze at a two story, rather dilapidated building that stood in a narrow alleyway on the edge of a steep hill.

Si Woo gave the boy a disgusted look. “People actually live here?”

“It’s um… the landlady is nice.”

Si Woo looked down at the boy whose cheeks had flushed red. Did he expect him to feel ashamed for pointing out the building's sad state? It’s too bad then for Si Woo simply did not care.

“Hurry up,” said Si Woo irritably. “You said you wanted to give me something as thanks.”

The boy looked up then nodded. “Come on,” he said, reaching for Si Woo’s hand again. For a strange moment, Si Woo let him take it before yanking his hand back.

“Don’t touch me.”

The boy looked back briefly then smiled. “Okay.”

He led Si Woo up a set of stairs before they stopped in front of the last door on the floor.

The boy opened the door when he paused and turned to him.

“What?” asked Si Woo as the curious expression on the boy’s face.

“What’s your name?” the boy asked.

Si Woo scoffed. “You ask now?”

“Well um, I wanted to make sure I tell my mom who it is that bought us the buns.”

Si Woo rolled his eyes and pushed himself past the boy into the house. “Si Woo.”

He smiled broadly. “I’m Dae-Ho.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Hehe,” the boy laughed brightly as he turned on the light to the small one bedroom apartment. “You always say that, hyung, but you’re going to remember just like how you remembered about the pokemonster toy in the pocho chips. Oh–” Dae-Ho stood in front of the small, somewhat yellowed refrigerator and reached up to pull down a small bag of chips from its top surface.

“Here, hyung,” the boy said with a wide smile, handing Si Woo the bag of chips.

Si Woo stared at it for a moment. It was small, meant for one child and bright images of pokemonsters littered its packaging.

He had seen the bag before at the convenience stores. They barely cost anything and yet from the sounds of it, it had been hard for Dae-Ho’s parents to purchase.

He then looked around. The apartment was clean but in an obvious state of disrepair. The white wallpaper was yellowed in some areas, there were cracks and air pockets in other sections. The floor was uneven and there were only two pieces of furniture from what he could see: a small table low to the ground fit four people and a small drawer for clothes.

He leaned his head slightly to peer into the one bedroom and saw that it was just as bare as it was outside except for a cheap looking wardrobe likely full of clothes and blankets for the family to sleep on.

“Just how poor are you?” asked Si Woo without much thought. “Does your dad not make any money at all?”

When Dae-Ho did not answer right away Si Woo turned to face him.

The boy was blushing furiously as he stood in front of the kitchen sink where he had poured two glasses of milk.

“Um—my dad left us,” Dae-Ho responded with a small voice, his face still turned toward the sink, “and his new family took our old house so we moved here but–” He looked up and smiled. “It’s really not bad since we’re all together and I have my own room too.”

For a moment Si Woo paused and stared at him. He felt a small surge of guilt, but immediately tamped it down. 

He hmp’d before sitting down in front of the table. “Hurry up then, weren't you going to serve me refreshments?"

For a moment relief flashed before Dae-Ho’s face. He set the milk down in front of Si Woo before sitting down beside him.

“Take off your coat, hyung,” he said, turning to him, his small body kneeling on the hard ground.

Si Woo shrugged off his school coat and immediately froze when he saw Dae-Ho’s eyes widened.

“Hyung, you’re hurt,” the boy whispered.

Si Woo looked down at the deep purple markings on his flesh on his upper arms where two of his classmates had held him up. And knew that the same markings were on his neck where his main tormenter had nearly choked him from throwing a book at him.

Embarrassingly, Si Woo had only gotten away because he had taken a punch to the gut and had immediately begun to heave. Fearing he was going to throw up the boys had run, leaving him sweating and gasping on the concrete floor of the empty school grounds.

He felt heat rise up into his face at the memory. Shamed at the fact that he had started the fight but had been in no shape to finish it, he shrugged back on his jacket and glared at Dae-Ho.

“What?” he hissed and Dae-Ho blinked, turning away quickly.

He was sharper, smarter than Si Woo had initially believed him to be.

“I um–,” said Dae-Ho, blinking rapidly “we can open up the bag to see what we got—” But then he paused and stood suddenly, running into the room to open the wardrobe and pull out a small box.

“Hyung, t-take off your jacket,” he said as he rushed back and kneeled in front of him.

Si Woo gave him an odd look but did not stop him when the boy pushed back the jacket until his upper arms were exposed.

“What are you doing?” Si Woo said with a glare but Dae-Ho simply pulled out an ointment and opened it, applying it onto the purple markings, the plump flesh sinking slightly at the touch of the boy’s fingertips.

Si Woo watched him in stunned silence for a moment, vaguely remembering the first time he had come home bruised and damaged.

He had received little more than cold, chiding words from his mother and strange stares from his brother. He had been eleven then and had simply gone to bed, battered and feeling desperately alone.

But as he watched the boy carefully tend to his wounds, he felt a strange warmth grow in his chest and, a moment later, he wondered why it was that he felt the need to run.