Do You Still Like Me?

His breath slipped through his lips and fell against Yeon-jae in uneven waves. Even without seeing him, she could tell from the warmth traveling down her back — pressed flush to his chest — just how tightly they were fitted together.

Yeon-jae went rigid from head to toe. It should have been only her ten fingers that had frozen, and yet her entire body locked up as if she had looked upon Medusa.

Why?

The question — why was he playing the piano — rose to the edge of her throat. He had hated it so much. If he had lost his memories, he should have hated it even more. So why?

Yeon-jae lowered her gaze as the melody raced toward its close. With a gentle resolution, the fingers that had been rippling across the keys came to a stop. Then the man's body, which had been pressed against her back, slowly drew away.

Only then did she let out a ragged breath. She hadn't even realized she had been holding it all this time.

A heavy silence settled over the practice room once Je-heon's playing had ended. When that silence stretched on for an unnaturally long time, the man standing behind her moved.

"Jeong Yeon-jae. You too?"

At the low rumble of his voice, Yeon-jae lifted her bowed head. Her eyes met those of the man standing with his hand resting on the curve of the piano.

"Did you quit the piano because you got sick of it?"

The unexpected question made her pupils tremble. The sight of her standing before him was the answer itself. Because of you, I couldn't play — she bit her lip, unable to say it. The muscles that had been locked tight loosened, and strength returned to her frozen fingers.

"No comment. That feels a little too personal."

She answered as she rose from the bench.

"You used to love it. The piano."

She had thought she'd cut the question off firmly, but the conversation circled straight back. Je-heon's eyes, now meeting hers, shimmered with something — whether pleasure or curiosity, she couldn't tell. Feeling as though she were being reeled in, Yeon-jae pressed her lips together.

"The kids' class is almost over, so I should go. I'll be heading out."

A glance at her wristwatch showed it was already approaching eight. After covering the piano and tidying up, Yeon-jae tried to use Ji-woo as an excuse to leave. But she hadn't gone far before her steps were caught.

The question landed like an air raid, and this time Yeon-jae's heart dropped. Her eyes wavered, unable to find their footing. But there wasn't the slightest tremor in Je-heon's gaze as he looked at her. It ended with a question mark, yet it was as decisive as if he already knew the answer.

"Is that why you keep picking ridiculous fights and opposing the foundation over Ji-woo?"

That, apparently, was the conclusion he had reached over the past week. You still like me. But your heart won't do as it's told, so you get angry and lash out even though you like me. Isn't that it? His two eyes seemed to say exactly that.

Yeon-jae clenched her trembling hands into fists. Unlike herself, who was shaking as if the world were tilting, Je-heon remained perfectly calm. At the sight of him, her reason gradually returned.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't like you."

A composed voice flowed out, at odds with her pounding heart. She was grateful. At the very least, she didn't want to look shaken in front of him. The man standing by the piano moved.

"Are you sure?"

He closed the distance in an instant and asked quietly. His locked gaze was unwavering, as if there were a different answer he wanted to hear. Yeon-jae tried to dodge his eyes.

"......Yes."

"Then why can't you look at me?"

He seemed to have sensed, with uncanny precision, that she was avoiding him. Even as she spoke, her conscience pricked at her. Because she really was.

"I'm not. When did I ever do that?"

Still pretending otherwise, Yeon-jae dropped her gaze. The wristwatch she looked down at had already passed eight. The timing was good. Now she really did have to go pick up Ji-woo.

"I have to go. It's already eight......"

She hadn't even finished speaking. A sensation wrapped around the tip of her chin, and her lowered head was drawn upward. The gaze she had so carefully avoided was forced to meet his. Je-heon was even closer now than in the moment she had tried to escape. Faced with those black eyes looking straight into hers, Yeon-jae's heart clenched tight.

"......"

"You are avoiding me. That's why you came in here with some ridiculous excuse."

Yeon-jae's lips trembled. If he knew she was avoiding him, he could have just pretended not to notice — but this was a man without a shred of flexibility.

"You still haven't forgotten me?"

As the question drove in like a wedge, Yeon-jae's smooth brow furrowed deeply.

"I said no! I forgot you."

The emotions she had been holding back surfaced, one after another, across her face. Displeasure, and a nameless self-reproach — her expression was stained with a tangle of feelings.

"It's been five years. Why would I still like you, Director?"

"Strange. Because to my eyes, it looks like you never forgot me."

He released the force from the hand that had been holding her.

"If you're Ji-woo's mother, you ought to welcome it. The foundation's offer, the autumn concert — other kids would be dying for those opportunities."

"......"

"I just can't make sense of it, that's all."

There was even a leisurely ease in the faint smile that lingered at the corners of his mouth.

"No matter how I look at it, you're in a position where you should be accepting my proposal. Not picking a fight with me."

"......"

"So if it's not because you like me, then tell me. Why you're avoiding me, and why you came into a closet like this."

Yeon-jae rolled her lip and bit down. It may have become nothing more than a fragment of the past in your memory — but it isn't for me.

"It was a coincidence. I came in because I wanted to play the piano. And I haven't been avoiding you."

"......"

"And I'm that child's mother. You think I still haven't forgotten you, Director? It's all just coincidence."

Instead of the words she had swallowed, she offered coincidence as a cover and tried to look away.

"With a face like that, I'm really supposed to believe you."

A grip closed around her wrist, and Yeon-jae's body was pulled toward him. The distance between them shrank in an instant — a closeness of an entirely different order from the way they had been pressed together moments before.

"You keep doing this, so I want to check."

Check what?

She didn't even have time to ask. Je-heon's large hands cupped both of Yeon-jae's cheeks. Her eyes flew wide. She realized, too late, what he meant by checking, and tried to push him away. But she was no match for Je-heon, who held his ground with unyielding firmness.

As his lips drew so close they were about to touch, Yeon-jae's heart plummeted. And just as she squeezed her eyes shut, so dizzy the world went white —

Hye-gyeong poked her head through the open door.

"Ji-woo's mom, you were in here? I've been looking everywhere. Ji-woo, Mom's right here!"

Just before their lips met, Yeon-jae shoved Je-heon away.

"What are you two doing? Ji-woo's mom, are you hot?"

"Ah — no, I'm not."

Hye-gyeong asked, looking back and forth between Yeon-jae's face — flushed as if it might burst — and Je-heon. While Hye-gyeong and Je-heon talked, Yeon-jae hurriedly gathered Ji-woo's things. All she wanted was to get out of there as fast as she possibly could.

Having finished saying goodbye, Ji-woo took Yeon-jae's hand. On the way out of the hall, her eyes met Je-heon's.

"Mister, are you coming on Thursday too?"

However they had gotten close, Ji-woo spoke to Je-heon with a bright, sunny smile.

"Well. I'll have to check my schedule. Would you like me to come?"

"Yes!"

Ji-woo tried to keep chatting affectionately. Yeon-jae led the child by the hand. Reading it as a sign that it was time to go, Ji-woo quickly offered his farewell.

"Mister, goodbye."

"Alright. Take care."

She could feel Je-heon's gaze on her until they were out of sight, but Yeon-jae pretended not to notice.

All the way to the car, Ji-woo chattered about today's practice. No matter what the child said, Yeon-jae could barely focus on the conversation. Giving halfhearted replies, she started the engine and took the wheel.

The hands gripping the steering wheel trembled faintly. Even after that storm of a moment had passed, she still felt as unstable as if she were caught in a gale. It would probably be like this until the concert was over. All she could do was hope this time would pass quickly.

As the car began to move, Ji-woo seemed to be looking out the window. A hush settled inside. The encounter with Je-heon had been so intense that Yeon-jae didn't even realize she had forgotten to put on music.

"Mom...... um."

At the small voice that brushed her ear, Yeon-jae's gaze turned to Ji-woo. The child who had seemed to be looking out the window was now looking at her.

"Ji-woo did something wrong."

"Hm?"

Yeon-jae's eyes went round at the sudden confession. It seemed to be something he had thought about at length; his fidgeting lips parted with difficulty.

"That time...... I lied."

He had known it wasn't practice at kindergarten, but he'd said it was. He'd done it because he wanted to play the piano so badly, Ji-woo began, bringing up what had happened. It went on at length, but the gist was that he had done something wrong.

Ever since that day, Yeon-jae had been wondering how to bring it up with him. It had been his first lie, after all. Children this age often exaggerated or made things up. And so, while she had been deliberating, quite some time had passed.

"I know why you did it, Ji-woo. Mom's sorry she didn't understand how you felt."

"......"

"But like you said, lying isn't a good thing. Still, coming forward and saying you were wrong first — that's a wonderful thing. Our Ji-woo is so brave. From now on, instead of lying, just tell me honestly, okay?"

Yeon-jae's car stopped at a red light. Ji-woo, who had been blinking as if he expected to be scolded, nodded his head vigorously. The tension that had filled the child's face brightened. And with it, the tightness that had been coiled around Yeon-jae's own heart loosened a little.

"Ji-woo, did your teacher teach you that?"

At Yeon-jae's softened question, Ji-woo shook his head.

"No! The mister said so."

"......."

"He said if you want to be a cool person, you have to know how to say sorry when you do something wrong."

At a name she had never expected, Yeon-jae's eyes wavered. She had assumed, of course, that he had gotten a talking-to from his kindergarten teacher. The teacher's position in the middle of it all had been awkward, after all.

"Mom, I want to be cool like the mister too."

"......Why?"

"Because I like him!"

The child's purity, unmixed with even a speck of anything else, pressed down heavily on Yeon-jae's heart.

"He's cool, and also, um...... handsome, ah I dunno. But I just like him, I think!"

Watching Ji-woo say he liked Je-heon, Yeon-jae's heart stung. It hurt that the first adult man the child had opened his heart to happened to be Je-heon. Because he was not someone they could always be with. Ji-woo could not stay by Je-heon's side.

If he stayed by Je-heon's side, Myeong-hee would eventually learn of Ji-woo's existence. And then the fact that he was Yeon-jae's son, too. Someone as sharp as Myeong-hee would realize that Ji-woo was Je-heon's own blood. And she was a woman who would stop at nothing to take her one and only grandchild.

A father-and-son relationship that could never be. The reality that carved itself into her bones was simply painful.

"You'll grow up to be a wonderful person too, Ji-woo. I'm sure of it."

"Really?"

"Mm. Of course."

The child, smiling happily, drifted off to sleep. Looking at Ji-woo in the rearview mirror, his head drooped in sleep, Yeon-jae found her mouth dry and bitter.

Perhaps because she had thought of Myeong-hee even once, the anxiety would not easily subside. The foundation wasn't the only problem. Before Ji-woo's encounters with Je-heon stretched any longer — before they became any more deeply entangled — she felt she needed to end this connection.

On the way home, her heart was as heavy as if hundreds of weights had been hung from it.