Even though it was past the weekday evening rush hour, perhaps because the road was narrow, the lane from Yeonhiedong to the Donggyodong three-way intersection was filled with a long ribbon of red taillights. It looked like we’d have to wait through another two or three signals before we could turn right at the intersection.
“It’s backing up just as we get here.”
Juhan leaned his elbow against the window and muttered, sounding bored. After delivering the artwork to a client’s home in Yeonhiedong, he and I were on our way straight home.
“You could let me off here...”
“We’re almost there. You in a rush?”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll have to wait anyway for you and Yuni to finish... I can just walk from here.”
“We’re heading that way anyway. You think you get a free meal because you were sick?”
I shrugged with an awkward smile and turned my gaze back to the window. The sun had noticeably lengthened its descent, and shop signs were just now flickering on. Outside one barbecue restaurant, a folding table and chairs had been set up on the sidewalk.
Everyone at Phantom thought I’d been ill. My body had briefly malfunctioned under emotional shock, but strictly speaking I wasn’t sick. Yet Director Ryu had been adamant. The next afternoon, he drove me to Chief Han’s house and recommended I take two more days off. It was phrased as a suggestion but left no room for refusal—he said it would be distracting if I came back before I’d fully recovered.
He’d blamed the gallery work and helping with the Old Future shoot that day for overdoing it. Yuni and Juhan seemed to think the same. I’d protested several times that it was just indigestion from forcing down a hamburger, but neither believed me.
Whether for this reason or that, I felt embarrassed as though I’d somehow earned a frail reputation. In truth, my body was as sound as ever—well, maybe not entirely. After my first sexual experience with someone else, my body might have changed. That night, on his bed, each time I revisited the unfamiliar me, I found humanity itself growing ever more unknowable.
It was my first time with another person, so seeing my own response was new, but even so the daring way I surrendered control went far beyond anything I’d expected. Me, who had always focused on reaching release as efficiently as a physiological function when I masturbated... doing that...
I sighed without realizing it and rested my forehead against the glass. I felt Juhan’s sidelong glance, but he didn’t ask another question.
Even if I harbored emotions or curiosities toward him that weren’t entirely ordinary, they were my private matter, and for the two of us the incident had settled into something like emergency first aid. That night I’d been in a state of shock, and he had taken special measures—emotionally more complex than simply offering a friend’s hand—to help me forget and rest. His composure, almost embarrassingly like any other day, had in fact helped me regain # Nоvеlight # my balance.
Sometimes, lying alone and revisiting that night, I’d rub my ear as if fooled by the heat of his breath lingering at my earlobe. Nothing remained but that—and the powerful scent that had enveloped me from start to finish.
Maybe because of those thoughts, even now, sitting alone in the back of a car, my shoulders jolted as though I’d heard his whisper urging me to speak an obscene word in my ear. I rubbed my overheated cheeks with my palm, and the phone resting on my lap vibrated.
I looked down to see an unsaved number. After silencing the vibration, I returned my gaze to the window. The car was still parked in front of the barbecue place.
“A call coming in? You not going to pick up?”
Juhan jerked his chin toward the phone and asked.
“I almost never answer unknown numbers.”
“Ah... because of your runaway love?”
He tapped the lower part of the steering wheel with his fist and teased. Then he added, “To be precise, runaway love plus Seo Ihyeon, right?”
“...”
“I’m not trying to pick at you. Don’t look so down, man.”
I knew he didn’t mean to sting me, and I wasn’t really deflated—but it was true that for our three of us to finish our trip to Seoul along with Morae and Juhan’s runaway love, I had to bow out.
“Is that still not settled? Do I still have to be careful?”
I nodded, and Juhan toyed with his lip piercing, knitting his brow.
“Most parents would forgive that much. Well, I’m still at war with mine too.”
He mentioned his own pain lightly and chuckled.
“There really are no parents who can outlast their children.”
The car in front finally moved, and Juhan released the brake. He added casually, without looking back.
I agreed. Not every parent places a child above all else. Some might draw strength from their children in an extreme crisis—and maybe most do—but some parents simply cannot. I knew that in my head. I’d even thought arrogantly that I could understand my father, if not accept him. But my reaction in his living room had shown how illusory that belief was.
I know it’s not the right phrase for this situation, but the body is honest. My body’s reaction to that vision symbolized by the painting was proof that the past had not remained sealed but continued to dominate the present.
If only two cars ahead had moved sooner, we’d have had a gap to turn right—but we had to wait another signal. This time we stopped in front of a quaint bakery.
Juhan surveyed the shops outside, remarking that the neighborhood was no longer as quiet as it used to be. His expression was as usual, but the absence of constant complaint didn’t mean he’d overcome his own wounds. A wound denied by one’s parents doesn’t vanish easily, even if you leave home and never see them again.
When the light changed and we turned right, it didn’t take long before we reached What Happened in Bali. Juhan leaned over the steering wheel to peer at the old single-story building with the café inside.
“So this is it. It wasn’t even registered in the GPS, so I wondered where it was.”
The owner, who disliked the transient customers stopping by just to post pictures on social media, hadn’t even listed What Happened in Bali on any portal site.
“If you’re up for it, do you want to go in for a bit? I can treat you to a drink.”
He hesitated, fingering his lip piercing and glancing toward the café.
“I’d like to, but I have plans with the band guys I used to play with. Maybe next time, with Yuni.”
“All right, please come. I’ll buy you dinner then. The nasi goreng is good.”
It was a narrow residential alley, so we couldn’t idle long. Juhan thanked me for the ride and hurried away down the lane.
“Seo Ihyeon!”
I turned to see Morae standing at the café entrance, hands thrust into the pocket of her apron, smiling. It had been nearly a week since we’d last met.
“Who’s that?”
Morae came over, pointing to the car Juhan had been driving. It wasn’t his car but Phantom’s company vehicle, used for deliveries or errands.
“The brother I work with at the gallery.”
“He gave you a ride? Should’ve told you to come in for a punch.”
“He did... but he had plans.”
“Next time, you both have to come. You should make a good impression on him.”
She gave my shoulder a playful shove and grinned.
On the surface everything was peaceful, but just as Juhan had said, we still had to stay hidden. I trusted the Phantom family, but when Morae urged me to invite them to What Happened in Bali without hesitation, a flicker of anxiety passed through me. Shouldn’t she be more cautious?
I said nothing about my unease. I agreed and followed her into the café. I didn’t mention the phone call from the unknown number, either.
Nothing would happen. Even if someone tried to dig up my personal details, the quick-witted Phantom family would handle it. The call was probably from a water purifier service, a phone salesman, or someone who simply dialed wrong. I buried my anxiety with that mantra.
If I gave the word, Morae and Juhan could leave Seoul soon. We only needed a little more time. Until then, I hoped this fragile peace would bear the weight of my unease.
Since it was Friday evening, the café was nearly full. The owner, who had returned from Bali in the meantime, greeted us warmly from the kitchen. Perhaps brought back by the owner from Bali, a new board had been added to one wall of the café.
It felt like another summons urging me to decide, so I pretended not to notice and slipped to my usual seat at the counter, setting my bag down.
“We’ll close at ten tonight, so hang out as long as you like. I brought back lots of fun stuff from Bali—I’ll show you.”
Morae, taking an order at another table, ruffled my hair before moving behind the bar to prepare drinks.
You think you get a meal because you were sick? Juhan had teased. But I hadn’t told Morae or him about that day’s events or the two days I’d taken off afterward. Tonight was both a team dinner for What Happened in Bali and a welcome party for the owner, and since it was Friday, Morae and Juhan had invited me to see everyone’s faces and have a meal together. There was no need to bring up something that would only worry them—and I still wasn’t ready to speak that night’s shock aloud.
Every time I came to the café, my sketchbook had been replaced with a new one. Remembering the few pages left in the last notebook, I naturally thought of the note I’d made about the surf school. It felt like another summons dropping onto an imaginary desk.
I tucked that imaginary summons into an imaginary desk drawer and flipped to a fresh page. As with all doodles, I had no plan for what I’d draw, but my hand moved unconsciously.
Inside, cheerful yet leisurely music played on strings like a ukulele, and the murmur of customers combined to form the perfect noise for concentration.
Without any underdrawing, I sketched the face outline first, then drew the torso clad in a vest, shirt, and pants. The long ears were those of a rabbit, but the proportions and line of the face were human.
I paid special attention to the ruffles on the shirt—like whipped cream on a cake—and didn’t notice the ringing phone at first. By chance I glanced over and saw the incoming call displayed on the phone resting on the table. I’d forgotten to switch it back to vibrate after silencing it in the car.
Fortunately it was a familiar number. It was Choi Inwoo.
The café was too noisy for a relaxed conversation, so I stepped out into the alley in front of the café, hiding my back against the utility pole next to the entrance, and connected the call.
[Why didn’t you answer earlier?]
“Sorry?”
As soon as the call connected, Inwoo started with his question.
[My battery died and there was nowhere to charge. I borrowed someone else’s phone and you didn’t pick up.]
“Ah...”
I realized it was Inwoo and breathed a sigh of relief, smiling. I slipped my hands into my jean pockets and rubbed the sole of my sneaker against the building’s curb.
[I heard you were sick. I wanted to see you if you were feeling better.]
He’d heard about it, too. All week long I’d been comforted by how concerned everyone was over my absence.
“I took the time off because Director Ryu told me to rest... but it was just indigestion. Thank you for worrying.”
[He mustn’t be as cold-blooded as he seems to send you home for two days off. You didn’t go to the hospital, did you? I’m a doctor. I’ll give you a free checkup if you want. Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.]
Despite my prior plans, I hesitated for a moment. There was a question I’d been holding onto for days but hadn’t known whom to ask. I thought to ask Chief Han, but it felt too sudden. I’d tried to broach it with Juhan during our delivery, but he was too perceptive. If anyone could make the topic easier to raise, it was Inwoo—our relationship wasn’t too close or too distant, and his easygoing nature could help. That thought crossed my mind.
But plans were plans. I thanked him for his concern, told him I already had plans, and ended the call with Inwoo’s disappointed farewell.
