Sweet and Salty
Ever since she’d connected her Bluetooth to Kwon Beom-ju’s car last time, an alert popped up automatically the moment she got in. It was a familiar mechanical chime, but Ji-eum flinched for a second anyway.
“We’re heading out. Put on some music. That song you were playing last time was good.”
Kwon Beom-ju said as he slowly turned the wheel.
“Haha…. No. I’ll put on something else.”
Are you crazy? Play that again?
Ji-eum quickly opened the music app and started the monthly best chart.
She’d already deleted the song laced with memories of Seung-jo from her playlist not long ago. Every time it reached the part Beom-ju had sung along to, the ghostly howling automatically rose in her ears.
The freshly washed blue car glided smoothly out of the parking lot.
Beom-ju didn’t even turn on the navigation, yet he drove with the easy confidence of someone who knew the route by heart. Once they left the one-room alley, skimmed past campus, and merged onto the main road, Ji-eum rolled her window halfway down.
Cherry blossoms in full bloom lined the street in an endless stretch. The whole world seemed wrapped in a spring filter, dyed in ticklish pastel colors.
“The cherry blossoms are so pretty…. It feels so good to be outside.”
The admiration spilled out of her in a rush.
“Outside really is the best…. The air’s completely different….”
“…Did you just get out of prison or something?”
Ignoring Beom-ju’s remark, Ji-eum tapped her foot in time with the music drifting from the speakers.
“Anyway, the weather’s really nice.”
“This is only the second time we’ve hung out outside together.”
The first was in Bupyeong, Beom-ju murmured, his voice lazy and warm. Even though Ji-eum didn’t answer, he kept talking.
“It’s weird, Ji-eum.”
“What is?”
“Thinking back to when we first met. Running into each other again like this is fucking crazy.”
Well… he’s not wrong. Same school, next-door neighbors—hardly an everyday coincidence.
Remembering all the overlapping chances that had piled up made a soft laugh escape her.
Fresh spring air drifted into the car. The breeze against her chest felt a little ticklish. Blame the weather.
The movie Beom-ju had booked was Blessing of Dawn, the sequel to Curse of Dawn. Same universe, but reinterpreted by a new director.
She hadn’t even looked up reviews. The original had been fun, so of course this one would be too.
Remembering the old days when they’d watched Curse of Dawn on DuduPle and held deep discussions about zombies made her giggle.
While Beom-ju went to print the tickets, Ji-eum stood watching the trailer looping on the advertising board. Unlike the original, it looked somehow profound, which quietly worried her.
The cast is all new faces too…. She was staring intently when a large hand suddenly wrapped firmly around her shoulder from behind.
“Euk…!”
Beom-ju pulled her sideways against him and swept a cold, dangerous look up and down the man who’d nearly crashed into them while running with two sodas.
Under that murderous glare the startled guy flinched, and cola sloshed out over the plastic lids.
“Watch where you’re going, yeah? You almost hit her.”
“Ah…. Sorry….”
“Sorry? Your apology’s awfully short. Do it properly.”
“I—I’m sorry.”
When Beom-ju widened his eyes, the man crumpled under the pressure, bowed hastily, and scurried away. Left alone, a subtle silence settled between them. In the rush she hadn’t noticed how tightly they were pressed together.
“Uh…. Thanks. But you can let go now….”
“Ah. Sorry.”
The spot where Beom-ju’s hand had gripped her shoulder still burned. Ji-eum rubbed it absently and changed the subject.
“Right. I’ll go grab some snacks to eat while we watch.”
“Forget it. I’ll go.”
He’d already bought the tickets, yet when Ji-eum insisted on getting the snacks herself, the questions came right back at her.
“You like nachos?”
“Yeah. Movie-theater nachos are the best.”
“Popcorn? What flavor?”
“I like all of them. You?”
“Caramel.”
His answer was completely unapologetic. Ji-eum wasn’t particularly fond of sweet things, but they decided to compromise.
“Then how about half caramel and half original mixed together?”
“Ah. Sweet-and-salty. You know what’s up. I’ll go get that.”
“N-no wait, seriously, let me buy this!”
“What are you trying to freeload off me for, hamburger?”
Looking thoroughly unimpressed, Beom-ju blocked the quickly moving Ji-eum and disappeared.
A little later he returned with an armful of snacks.
“Lee Ji-eum. Dig out the tickets for me. My hands are full.”
She’d clearly seen him tuck the printed tickets into his pants pocket earlier.
She glanced down at his pocket, then back up at his face.
Left pocket? Right pocket? Which one was it again.
“Left.”
“Ah, okay.”
Ji-eum stepped closer, bent at the waist, and slipped her hand into his left pants pocket. Up until that moment she’d been thinking nothing of it—until the sensation at her fingertips made her bite her lip hard.
The vivid memory of pulling his wallet from his back pocket at the Shingwan cafeteria flooded back: the feel of his butt. Same situation. Only this time it was his thigh….
Wait, is this even his thigh…?
Fingers fishing for the deeply buried tickets, she briefly felt something soft and hot rather than the hard muscle of a thigh, then yanked her hand out in a hurry.
Ugh, aaaah…!
“I—I got them. I’ll hold the tickets.”
“Uh…. Yeah. Okay.”
Clink. Ice rattled loudly inside the sodas gripped in his large hands. Somehow Beom-ju suddenly seemed a little awkward too.
“…Let’s go.”
“…Yeah.”
Ji-eum clutched the tickets and led the way. She had a pretty good idea what that unidentified thing wrapped in fabric that had brushed her fingers had been. A man’s… that… center…. Just thinking about it again made the blood drain from her face.
Aigo….
I think I’ve pretty much touched everything there is to touch by now….
Feeling thoroughly unsettled, she rode the escalator up. The area around Theater 3 somehow felt deserted.
“Why are there so few people in this theater?”
“Everyone probably piled into the movie that opened yesterday.”
“Ahh. That Kim Seok-hyeong director film? That was yesterday?”
“Yeah. The Don’t Turn Around or whatever one. I hate that guy’s movies.”
Ji-eum let out a startled gasp at Beom-ju’s words.
“Really? Wow…. Me too.”
Kim Seok-hyeong. A ten-million-ticket director with several hits under his belt, so most people loved him. Even Seung-jo always insisted they go see his new releases.
But Ji-eum had never liked the director’s particular sensibility.
She also hated how an animal always appeared beside the protagonist. Scenes of a puppy wandering lost in a typhoon, or a cat leaping into the ocean—unnecessary bits that got under her skin.
They claimed it wasn’t CG, so it had been filmed for real, which only made her more uncomfortable wondering how they’d done it.
Because he was so wildly popular she’d never voiced this openly, but hearing Beom-ju hated him too felt strangely welcome and nice.
Chattering away about the director, they soon reached boarding time.
They’d arrived early, yet even so the theater was empty enough to feel eerie.
“There are… way too few people?”
“That’s because we came in early. It’ll fill up soon.”
Speaking as if she shouldn’t worry, Beom-ju sat first and pulled the folded seat down for her with his hand.
“Hey. Sit carefully.”
“Uh… thanks.”
“Don’t spill the cola.”
“I won’t spill it. But are we sure we’re in the right place?”
As Ji-eum sat down hesitantly, unsettled by the deserted theater, Beom-ju tipped the popcorn bucket between them toward her.
“This sweet-and-salty mix is pretty good. Try some.”
“It’s warm and delicious.”
“Lee Ji-eum.”
“Yeah?”
“Sharing this popcorn is awkward with the armrest in the way. Want me to raise it?”
Beom-ju asked, nodding at the seat divider between them.
Is it… getting in the way?
“O-okay, raise it. I don’t mind.”
Whoosh. The armrest vanished, and suddenly the distance felt even closer, as if they were sitting on the same seat. The space between their arms was less than a handspan.
Every time she reached for popcorn their bodies brushed a little. She hadn’t noticed before, but sitting this close she could hear Beom-ju’s low breathing too.
I just want it to start already….
“Ugh.”
Beom-ju shook his head hard, trying to clear his dazed mind.
The movie was absolute garbage.
It claimed to be a zombie film, yet halfway through the runtime not even a zombie’s shadow had appeared. All that tension he’d held the whole time, worried about looking scared in front of Lee Ji-eum, felt completely wasted.
Crunch, crunch. He dug into the popcorn he’d barely touched so Ji-eum could eat most of it and shoved some into his mouth, but the sleepiness was hard to fight.
Fuck….
I’m bored out of my mind….
Barely holding back the wave of drowsiness, Beom-ju sneaked a glance sideways. He’d thought it was quiet—Lee Ji-eum was nodding off, head bobbing.