The Cotton Ball Who Followed Him
Hwi-young left the dining room with his face carefully blank. Behind him, the argument flared up all over again, but he strolled down the hallway at his own unhurried pace.
The room he entered lay still and dark, the shadows settled deep.
He didn't bother with the light. A few more steps and he unstrapped his wristwatch, setting it on the nightstand, then perched on the edge of the bed and quietly let his gaze wander around the room. He'd used it for nearly ten years, all the way through high school, but after several years living away at university it felt strangely unfamiliar now, somehow awkward.
It was the family home he visited out of sheer habit every weekend, and every time he came, the only thought in his head was how quickly he could get back to his own place.
With no particular feeling, Hwi-young flopped backward onto the bed. The house was well soundproofed—the moment the door clicked shut, the voices from the dining room faded to almost nothing.
He dragged a rough hand down his face, worn raw with fatigue.
The truth was, he'd been half out of his mind ever since the moment Som-i told him she was pregnant yesterday. His head was such a tangle of thoughts that he hadn't slept a wink all night.
It was the same on the express bus, too—all he could think was, if it really is a baby, what am I supposed to do then?
And through it all, the faint, soft scent of Kwak Som-i sitting right beside him had drifted at the tip of his nose. His chest had tightened in a way that made no sense. At the same time, his brain had gleefully dug up every impure memory it had sealed away, and tormented him with them.
In the end he couldn't take it and shut his eyes. His insides were already churning loudly enough without any help. He hadn't been trying to sleep. He'd just wanted to stop thinking, even for a single minute.
When he came to, the bus had already pulled into the terminal.
He couldn't have been more disgusted with himself in that moment. And it was even worse when he thought of Som-i, who unlike him—dead to the world as if she'd fainted—must have worn her heart ragged soothing herself through every jolt and rattle of that bus.
So at the hospital he had made a point of acting even more casual than usual. Deadpan and composed at all costs. Smiling like always, tossing out silly jokes. That was the full extent of what he had to offer her there.
Only now, alone with himself, were all the emotions he'd held down all day beginning to lift their heads.
A little while later, arms folded behind his head, staring blankly into the empty air, an image surfaced in his mind.
It was Kwak Som-i's face as he'd seen it that afternoon. The small shoulders fidgeting as she looked at him, the eyelids and lips trembling visibly.
And yet through all that shivering, those remarkably steady eyes, and the words she'd forced out with such grit.
Hwi-young closed his eyes slowly, then opened them again. Before eyes grown used to the dark, the memory of that day spread out like a panorama.
Early August, about a month before the semester began. A day so brutally hot and humid it clung to the skin.
The short film shoot he'd joined at the persistent pleading of his directing-track classmates had been an ordeal from the very first take. Shuttle back and forth between the school studio with its lackluster air conditioning and an outdoor set under a punishing sun, and by day one he was completely drained.
"Sunbae, please, have this."
Hwi-young turned toward the shy voice at his elbow. A girl stood there, clutching a paper cup of iced coffee in both hands.
The first thing that caught his eye was her hair—brown curls swollen fluffy with the humidity. The fine stray strands catching the sunlight and sticking out every which way looked exactly like dandelion seeds.
Then the light freckles scattered like powdered sugar across the smooth bridge of her nose, lips pressed together neatly with nerves, and round brown eyes. Overall she was pale and airy, like someone had shaped a ball of cotton into the form of a person.
Hwi-young watched her slender fingers tremble for a moment, then accepted the coffee.
"Thanks, Som-ah."
Her eyes went wide. Apparently it astonished her that he knew her name.
How could he not?
Kwak Som-i, top-scoring entrant of the Class 62 in Hankook University's Department of Theater and Film. She looked like she'd blow away with one good huff, yet the moment she stepped on a stage she transformed, radiating a presence that filled the whole room. She herself seemed entirely unaware of it, going around with a face like she might burst into tears if anyone so much as poked her.
Her transparent reactions were entertaining, so Hwi-young gave her his usual easy smile. And sure enough, the little herbivore's perked-up ears went pink in an instant.
……This is fun.
That was where it started. From that day on, whenever he felt a gaze on him from somewhere and turned his head, there she was at the end of it, every single time. She'd come running with a handheld fan to blow air at him, offer him water, and circle around nearby like a puppy looking for anything she could help with.
Each time, Hwi-young would deliberately tilt his head down to meet her eyes and curve his gaze into a smile. Watching her jump and fuss in her fluster was honestly rather enjoyable.
Usually this type was nothing but a nuisance, but strangely, Kwak Som-i wasn't. If anything, he kept wanting to see how she'd react next.
At last came the day the week-long shoot wrapped, and a torrential rain had been pouring since morning.
Barely had the clapperboard sounded to mark the wrap than everyone made a beeline for a shabby samgyeopsal joint in the busiest part of town.
Hwi-young swept his hair back and checked his watch. I'll sit for exactly ten minutes, then leave. He was in terrible shape—probably heat exhaustion. He'd only come because they'd begged and begged, what would they do if the lead bailed, but he'd downed pills on top of the inexplicable chills—air-conditioning sickness, body aches, who knew.
Just then the phone lying face-down on the table buzzed insistently. Hwi-young checked the caller and his brow creased. Bae Ye-ri.
Her blowing up his phone with calls and texts at this hour meant she was drunk, no question. Even though they were already finished—as of right before break—she would still hound him through the night, over and over, until he picked up or replied.
Hwi-young clicked his tongue softly and pulled the drink in front of him toward himself. He'd taken it for cider and gulped it down—
"Ugh!"
What slid down his throat was the harsh bite of alcohol. Hwi-young whipped his head aside and spat the liquid back into the glass. He'd taken cold medicine not long before; the revulsion was pure instinct.
"Who the hell pours soju into a cider glass?"
At his look of pure disbelief, his so-called friends just snickered.
These lunatics. Probably a game of who-dares-dies gone wrong, and he just happened to be the one who drew the short straw.
Swallowing a hollow laugh, Hwi-young shoved the still-whining phone into his back pocket. He might as well head out. He felt like garbage, and he wasn't having any fun anyway.
"I'm heading out first."
"Aw, why? It's just getting started—"
He was tuning out one friend's whining with half an ear, just starting to push himself up, when the sliding door of the restaurant—the kind with SAMGYEOPSAL painted across it in big letters—rasped open.
The one who slipped through it was Kwak Som-i. And she wasn't alone. She came in chatting cheerfully with one of his own classmates, a guy whose name he could barely recall, both of them laughing about something.
…What, they're that close?
Without quite meaning to, Hwi-young settled his half-raised body back into the chair.
Som-i's gaze, sweeping the interior of the restaurant, soon landed on Hwi-young. Their eyes met. Startled, she nearly dropped the umbrella she was holding, then squeezed the poor innocent handle tight and stood there fidgeting. Through the gap of her bowed head, her fluttering lashes were plain as day.
Her transparent reaction nearly set off Hwi-young's laughter. With a read that easy, honestly.
Even after that, he kept sneaking sidelong glances—at Som-i pulling out her chair, at her wiping her hands with a damp towel—and then, just as his eyebrow twitched at the sight of her setting down utensils in front of his classmate, the phone in his back pocket buzzed again.
A strange, sudden clarity came over him.
What am I even doing right now?
Let's get up before I linger any longer for no reason—and Hwi-young rose quickly.
"I'm off."
The words were barely out before he felt a gaze latch onto him from clear across the room, but he turned his back with perfect composure.
"Whoa, seriously? Hey, Kwon Hwi-young!"
Hwi-young gave a vague wave over his shoulder and left the restaurant. The rain had stopped at some point. Breathing in the damp night air as he walked along the wet road, he heard the sliding door rasp open and shut behind him.
He had a pretty good idea who it was. But Hwi-young didn't look back. Stepping lightly over a puddle in front of the restaurant, he actually lengthened his stride beyond its usual easy gait.
"Um, sunbae?"
The quiet voice reached him, and he pretended not to hear. Then the voice, grown desperate, caught at him again.
"Excuse me… Sunbae Hwi-young!"
Only then did Hwi-young stop. He knew perfectly well who it was, but he composed his expression as though he didn't, and turned around.
Kwak Som-i, standing there in a pale dress, looked even smaller than usual today. His gaze slid downward of its own accord. The ankles showing above her sandals were remarkably slender.
Those ankles that looked like they'd snap at the slightest twist, and beneath them, small feet that would fit inside his palm with room to spare.
Hwi-young, who had been staring down at her feet without meaning to, blinked quickly and shook off the stray thought.
Fit in your palm, my ass. Since when are Kwak Som-i's feet fitting anywhere near your hand, you idiot.
With his usual relaxed expression, he arched an eyebrow.
"What is it, Som-ah?"
At the sound of his voice saying her name, the tips of her ears flushed red yet again.
"I… have something I'd like to say to you."