Just Bring Yourself

Night had drawn down into a deep, still darkness, and Yeon-jae paced restlessly where she stood. The car's headlights cut bright through the gloom, and her gaze lingered on Je-heon as he settled Ji-woo into the back seat. Exhausted from throwing up all evening, Ji-woo never even stirred as he was transferred from Je-heon's arms into the car. Perhaps that was a blessing. A good night's sleep, and he would be better.

Only after buckling Ji-woo in did Je-heon close the door. Then he walked over to where Yeon-jae was standing.

"What happened?"

"We had dinner, and then he suddenly started throwing up."

The sound of retching from inside the bathroom stall still rang vividly in her ears. The image of her child barely standing, clinging to the toilet, still made her dizzy — dizzy enough that the world had gone white. A tension stirring back to life made Yeon-jae clench both fists tight.

"What did he eat?"

"Well... we had tteokbokki from a street stall."

"Ha."

A sigh slipped from Je-heon's lips.

"You said you had plans. Those plans were street food?"

"Ah — it was a real estate appointment. We were going to look at a house."

Before coming up from Daejeon, she had made an appointment with a realtor to look at listings she'd found online. With Ji-woo, she couldn't easily come and go from Seoul, so it had seemed better to look around while she was already here. At her quiet additional explanation, Je-heon pressed a hand to his forehead.

"I went through the trouble of booking a restaurant, and you blew me off to go to a realtor? Why the hell would you even go there?"

The tip of Je-heon's nose wrinkled.

"We'll need a place to live if we're staying in Seoul."

"Why are you looking for a house. I told you I'd find one for you."

Yeon-jae's words died in her throat, and she closed her mouth.

"Don't you know it's written in the contract?"

"I know."

She had seen it when she reviewed the contract, and it had come up once when they discussed the foundation agreement as well. It covered not only piano education but overall living expenses. She knew that would be the easier path, but she didn't want to depend on the foundation for everything. Her life had not been a good one when she had.

Old memories rose unbidden, and the corners of Yeon-jae's mouth drooped. When she had walked out of that studio apartment, she had left behind everything the Gu-il Foundation's hands had touched. She had packed only what belonged to her, and it had amounted to a single suitcase. The hollowness she had felt then. The emptiness. The fact that if you took Gu-il out of Jeong Yeon-jae's life, nothing remained — that had been devastatingly vacant. So as much as possible, Yeon-jae wanted to stand on her own rather than rely on the foundation's support. That was the path for Ji-woo, too.

I never meant to make Ji-woo sick like this.

In the end, everything she had done for Ji-woo had only made the child ill, so she had nothing to say. Yeon-jae chewed her lip, then lifted her head. Je-heon's face was rigid. And at the expression of a man who had something to say but was holding it back, Yeon-jae swallowed hard.

"Are you... angry?"

"Me?"

His eyebrows twitched and twisted as he threw the question back at her.

"Why would I be?"

He said no, but the face looking back at her seemed somehow uncomfortable. Your face says you are angry, though — the words she couldn't quite add lingered in her mouth. It wasn't as if she'd only known him a day or two. After ten years of unrequited love, she could see it — but she didn't force the words out.

"Get in the back with Ji-woo. I'll take you home."

Yeon-jae sat in the back seat and rested Ji-woo's head on her lap. The child was already deeply asleep, his breathing soft and even. Inside the car, it was quiet save for the occasional navigation prompt telling them which way to go. Yeon-jae watched the scenery sliding past the window, then stole a glance at Je-heon. Whether it was the child's even breathing, or the drowsiness that came as the tension finally drained away, her eyelids gradually fell shut.

And when she opened her eyes again, a familiar scene filled her vision. A three-story red-brick house and a silver iron gate. They were in front of the Daejeon house — the home she and Ji-woo shared. Startled, Yeon-jae's eyes flew wide. She looked around, and then a familiar back came into view: Je-heon, leaning against the driver's side door, working his phone. Yeon-jae gently eased Ji-woo's head down and got out of the car.

Sensing her presence, Je-heon turned around.

"I must have dozed off. You could have woken me when we arrived."

The watch on her wrist already pointed to two o'clock.

"Thank you for today. After we missed the train, I had no idea how we were going to get back."

"......"

"Honestly, I was so glad when you called. I mean that. I'll wake Ji-woo myself."

Whether it was because she was still half-asleep, or because of the hazy atmosphere of the small hours, she didn't know. Having said thank you so honestly, Yeon-jae turned away. And just as she approached the side where Ji-woo was sleeping and opened the door—

"Don't wake a sick kid."

In a voice meant only for her, Je-heon whispered, then lifted Ji-woo into his arms. He passed Yeon-jae, pushed open the iron gate, and started up the stairs. The child's arm hung limp in the air. And watching the man climb, holding that child so securely, a strange feeling seeped through Yeon-jae.

This old, shabby house did not suit Je-heon. She had never even imagined that this man would step into the home the two of them shared. She had thought it would feel utterly alien, uncomfortable. And yet — the sight of the man holding the child, of Je-heon walking into their house, was not entirely a bad one.

Yeon-jae came forward and opened the front door. She went in first, found the living room light switch, and turned it on. From in front of the shoe cabinet, Je-heon's gaze seemed to sweep through the house for a moment. Then he disappeared into the master bedroom.

"Would you like something to drink?"

There was juice, or something like it. Yeon-jae hurried to the refrigerator and looked inside, but unfortunately there was nothing she could offer Je-heon. Come to think of it, she hadn't been grocery shopping recently. She was trying to remember whether they had any tea bags in the house.

Then she sensed a presence, and a low voice sounded behind her ear.

"Never mind that."

A hand reached out and shut the refrigerator door she was holding. She turned, and her back met the closed refrigerator. The distance between them was less than a handspan — they were pressed close. She had known he had come near, but she hadn't realized they were standing this close. Yeon-jae's eyes flew wide.

"Jeong Yeon-jae."

The low voice calling her name settled over her. From a distance so close they might touch at any moment.

"Don't look for a house. I'll decide where you're moving."

The breath slipping from his lips tickled the bridge of her nose. It was so ticklish she flinched every time it touched her.

The Je-heon facing her did not back down.

He remembered sitting on the emergency room bed the day they had gone up to Seoul. But when he opened his eyes, it was morning, and Ji-woo was lying in the bed at the Daejeon house.

"Mommy, did we take the train home?"

"The ahjussi brought us home."

"Really? Did the ahjussi carry Ji-woo?"

At Yeon-jae's words that the ahjussi had carried the sleeping Ji-woo all the way home, both of Ji-woo's cheeks flushed. And from the moment he arrived at kindergarten until lunchtime, the ahjussi kept flickering through his mind. He should have woken up in the middle. No — Ji-woo should have opened his eyes even for a second! He had felt, in his sleep, as if someone were holding him, but the medicine had left him too groggy.

It feels so nice when the ahjussi holds me.

The child's cheeks puffed round, as if filled with air. Unable to shake the disappointment, Ji-woo sat on the bench swinging his feet back and forth.

"Jeong Ji-woo!"

At the familiar voice from behind, Ji-woo lifted his head. And at the round face that suddenly appeared in front of him, the child's eyes went as wide as fists. It was Seo-ha.

"Let's play piano at my house this weekend!"

She grinned and planted herself in front of Ji-woo.

"I found sheet music that's not Salut d'Amour! This one's easy, so even a beginner like you can do it."

Ji-woo gazed quietly at Seo-ha, who stood with both hands on her hips, speaking so proudly. Over that face of hers, the memory of visiting Seo-ha's house last week suddenly surfaced. In the small room she had introduced as a former study, there had been a piano and a violin, and all kinds of instruments. And soundproofed walls, so they could play anytime.

"My dad made it for my birthday, you know?"

Seo-ha's sparkling eyes seemed to ask, You're jealous, right? The room she had presented as a birthday present was truly the space Ji-woo had always dreamed of. Because he could play the piano as much as he wanted.

"If your mom comes and we play together, she'll buy us a yummy lunch."

The old Ji-woo would have jumped at it. Just like last week. Being able to play piano, plus a delicious lunch — even better. But Saturday snagged in Ji-woo's mind. They had to move to Seoul on Friday.

"I can't go."

"Why? Do you have another plan? Who are you playing with?"

Seo-ha's questions tumbled out one after another.

"Ho-jun?"

"Nooo, I'm not playing with other friends."

Ji-woo shook his head.

"Ji-woo can play piano now!"

"Really? Did your mom buy you a new piano? Or are you going to an academy?"

Curiosity rippled through Seo-ha's eyes. Looking at her, Ji-woo stood up from the bench. This was Seo-ha, who had been pestering him every day to learn piano.

"I'll match you really well! I've been learning longer than you, so you should hurry up and learn piano too!"

She had said it while telling him to start piano soon so they could keep playing duets together. If he said he was joining the foundation, she would be shocked. And if he said he was going with the ahjussi, she would be so jealous she wouldn't know what to do. Imagining Seo-ha sticking out her lip in that signature sulky expression of hers, Ji-woo went on.

"It's not like that. I'm learning piano at the foundation. So we're moving to Seoul, and I can't come on Saturday!"

He had thought those big eyes would go twice as wide. But the corners of Seo-ha's eyes, which had been sparkling brightly just a moment ago, drooped. The corners of her mouth, which had been so excitedly lifted, quietly fell with them.

"You're... moving to Seoul?"

Seo-ha's shoulders sagged like a waterlogged sponge. The reaction she was showing was completely different from what Ji-woo had expected. Slowly, teardrops welled at the corners of both eyes. The tears that had gathered in those large eyes spilled down in streams.

"Waaaaaah!"

At the heartbroken wailing, the teacher who had been at the playground ran over to the two of them. The teacher looked at Ji-woo and Seo-ha in surprise and asked,

"Seo-ha, what's wrong? Ji-woo, why is Seo-ha crying?"

"Teacherrr."

Gathered into the teacher's arms, Seo-ha began to cry as if she had lost the whole world.

"Ji-woo is... hic, Jeong Ji-woo says he's moving. Is he really moving?"

"You heard, then. Yes. Ji-woo is only coming until the end of this week."

When the teacher confirmed it so readily, Seo-ha burst into wailing all over again.

"Seo-ha doesn't want to say goodbye to Ji-woo, I guess. That's why she's sad?"

At the teacher's words as she patted Seo-ha, Ji-woo blinked both eyes. She doesn't want to say goodbye, so she's crying? That Jang Seo-ha?

"Ji-woo, why don't you give Seo-ha a hug. You two should enjoy the time you have left."

Ji-woo went over to Seo-ha as the teacher guided him. The teacher had told him to hug her, but his hands wouldn't quite reach out.

"Jang Seo-ha, why are you crying?"

At the somewhat blunt question, Seo-ha's shoulders shook. Why am I crying? You don't even know that? Swallowing the words, Seo-ha wiped her tears.

"I can just come visit."

At the voice that reached her ear, Seo-ha lifted her head.

"You will? Really?"

When Ji-woo nodded, Seo-ha sniffled. And in the eyes looking at Ji-woo, a small hope began to bloom.