Fear Ballooned Uncontrollably

Fear ballooned beyond all control. Any second now that tall man would come charging over, seize her by the hair, and start raining punches. Just like Dad, he would drive a kick into her stomach with a solid thud. Every time it happened Woo-yeon would go flying, bouncing off the bathroom door. So if this man—so much bigger than Dad—ever laid into her, she would definitely sail through the air like an intercontinental ballistic missile. Lukewarm tears plopped onto the tips of her dirty sneakers.

Yet something felt strange. The interrogating voice had stopped. Trembling, she lifted her head and found the eyes that had been glaring at her now wide open. His gaze traveled carefully over her swollen eyes, her face cracked raw and scarlet from the cold, her bare legs without stockings, and the thin school uniform.

“……Oh no.”

The man clicked his tongue, shook his head, and began walking toward her. Woo-yeon scrambled backward in panic. For every step he took closer she took two back. His stride seemed roughly twice hers. Another step, then another. She bolted three or four steps farther away.

He stopped and awkwardly raised a hand. Okay. I’m not trying to scare you. Just stay right there. The awkwardly outstretched hand said as much.

Oh, oh god, no!

A silent scream tore through her. He had bent down, picked up the sketchbook, and opened it. No, please don’t look! Woo-yeon stamped her feet, both hands clamped over her mouth.

The thought of anyone else seeing her drawings terrified her. The sketch of the man she had just done was still only a rough study, but the pages before it held dozens of drawings she had made over time. Most were portraits rendered with photographic precision, yet the grotesque compositions and depictions had earned them names like “a psychopath’s drawings” and “drawings that provoke hatred.” Friends who had modeled for them would furrow their brows and end their comments with a muttered “Crazy……,” while Mom and Dad would openly tear the pages apart in rage.

Ah, right!

Woo-yeon screamed inwardly once more. Besides the drawings, there were the words she had left for Mom and Dad just now. Believing she would never see them again, she had poured out every bitter thing she had held back. What do I do. I don’t know. Her vision swam yellow.

If I’d known it would turn out like this I never would have written it. Even if I died I shouldn’t have written it.

While Woo-yeon alternately bit her lips and her nails, the man flipped through the sketchbook searching for his own drawing. Fortunately he seemed uninterested in the rest; the pages turned quickly.

At last his hands stilled. He had found the sketch of himself.

Without blinking once he stared for a long time at the rough study of himself leaning against the railing.

After a while he closed the sketchbook and raised his head. His expression remained stiff, brows still furrowed. But when he took in Woo-yeon’s tear-streaked, swollen wreck of a face, he quietly swallowed whatever he had been about to say.

Then a careful voice slipped from between his lips.

“Aren’t you cold, student?”

“Ah? Yes?”

It was so completely out of left field that Woo-yeon was utterly flustered. Even if the man’s arm had stretched like rubber and slapped her across the cheek she would have been less startled.

“It’s minus twelve degrees today and your clothes look far too thin. And the wind is this strong.”

“Ah, I’m not cold. I-I’m fine. Not cold at all, not……”

“Is something the matter?”

Damn it. He’d noticed. She felt as if she had been stripped naked in front of Sejong Base. Woo-yeon had never imagined that actually speaking the hidden story aloud would feel this shameful.

“……I’m really fine! Today’s graduation so I just came once to commemorate it. I-I’m perfectly fine, totally normal.”

“Well, for such a young student, on such a cold day, with a face like that…… coming to the Han River instead of school on graduation day…… it’s a bit difficult to call that completely normal……”

He seemed to choose his words with care. The fact that he did not ask whether her parents knew she was here suggested he was thoughtful and considerate.

Yet being judged normal or abnormal still hurt. That was Woo-yeon’s Achilles’ heel, and the words of Mom, Dad, and her friends had already been more than enough. She raised her voice like a cat pricked by a needle.

“I’m not that young. I’m short, that’s all—I’m a high school student.”

“Hmm, wasn’t it middle-school graduation? Sorry. Still, high-school students are usually considered young, aren’t they?”

His light laugh sent irritation surging through her. Looking down on her for being young? Uncles and aunties always seemed ready to start lecturing the moment they spotted a student in uniform.

“No, I’m absolutely not young. Today’s my graduation, and I’m an adult just like you, mister. I don’t know how old your kids are, but if you treat anyone in a school uniform like a little kid no matter what, people will call you a condescending old fogey.”

His mouth opened slightly. His lips twitched, then a short dry laugh escaped.

“Student, I’m not that old. No kids—no, I haven’t even married. Still young. Just thirty-two.”

What, young? At thirty-two? Seriously shameless. Woo-yeon blurted the thought before she could stop herself.

“See? You’re middle-aged.”

“……Huh.”

He rubbed his mouth with a gloved hand and turned his head aside. That gesture probably meant he was flustered. But why? She had only spoken the truth—why that reaction?

Ah, does he not realize he’s middle-aged?

……Ah, no—maybe saying “middle-aged” right to someone’s face is rude?

Fear seized her at once. Whenever she talked to anyone she always tensed up, never sure whether she had answered in a way that fit the mood. Dad’s reactions had never been consistent; the same words sometimes made him laugh and call them funny, other times he would raise his hand and snarl that she was spewing whatever came out of her mouth. He got angry if she didn’t answer right away. Would this mister explode like Dad? Woo-yeon hesitated, gauging his face, then carefully conceded.

“Then…… since you’re older, mister, I’ll count myself as the young one……”

“Hey, student.”

The title “student” somehow grated as well.

“Mister, I’m not a student anymore. I graduated today.”

“Then what should I call you?”

“My name is Jin Woo-yeon.”

“……Alright, Miss Jin Woo-yeon.”

He paused, looked down at her while blinking a few times, then gave a short smile. Calling her that seemed to feel a little awkward once the words were out. But Woo-yeon accepted the new title by smiling wryly back at him. The feeling of a complete stranger addressing her as Miss Jin Woo-yeon was so special and good.

“Alright, I’m Han Lee-won. I work at a company in Yeouido.”

Having forgotten whatever he had originally called her over for and suddenly exchanging names, the man smiled awkwardly a beat too late. Lee-won. Han Lee-won. Woo-yeon bowed her head and mouthed the name several times as if she had learned some great secret. A name that rose gently to the lips and seeped softly across the tongue—pretty and kind-feeling. Just knowing the name made the distance between them seem to leap closer.

When she looked up she saw Lee-won smiling. Warmth blossomed in her chest. Come to think of it, the color of his irises was unusual. Sepia—a dark, soft brown that called to mind chocolate, the color Woo-yeon found sweetest and warmest of all.

……Somehow his smiling eyes looked especially soft and warm.

“Just a moment.”

He approached carefully, removed the coat he was wearing, and gently draped it over Woo-yeon’s shoulders. He had clearly been waiting for a chance to do this since earlier. The coat, lined with fur inside, felt more heavy than warm, and it was far longer than she expected, reaching all the way to the ground. She felt like a scarecrow.

When the black scarf that had been around his neck wrapped around her face as well, Woo-yeon panicked. She could not get tears and snot on something that looked so expensive.

But no matter how she shook her head he insistently wound the scarf around her. It still held a little of his body heat and a sweet, languid scent. Woo-yeon stretched her neck and tipped her face toward the sky so she would not dirty it. Ha, haha, it’s fine. He laughed again.

“Give me your hands.”

The breath from his mouth brushed her cheek. Mixed into the white vapor was a light mint scent—clearly the fresh smell of toothpaste or mouthwash.

When Woo-yeon slipped her hands into the coat sleeves and held them out, he knelt on one knee and rolled up the dangling cuffs that hung like a scarecrow’s. Then, as if dressing a small child, he buttoned the coat all the way up to her throat one by one and even pulled off his own gloves to put them on her. The insides were lined with soft white fur; when he firmly clasped both her hands the sensation was strange—warm and somehow painful at the same time. She wriggled her fingers but he did not let go. It seemed he was afraid she might suddenly vault over the railing.

At last Woo-yeon gathered the courage to meet his eyes and ask.

“Mister, ah…… earlier when you saw your drawing…… weren’t you angry?”

“I wasn’t. The drawing was cool—why would I be angry?”

“People hate my drawings. They say they’re drawings that provoke hatred, that they’re not normal drawings.”

His brown pupils half-vanished beneath his eyelids as a low “hmm” of a sigh slipped out.