Chapter 5: A Sudden Interruption

Min-hyeon couldn’t bring himself to leave easily, as if he still had lingering attachments.

“I really wish I had more time—I wanted to watch the documentary videos too. It’s such a shame.”

“Do you want to go back in? We can finish watching them.”

“No, to see all of that, we’d need at least another three hours. I can’t stay that late…”

“Why not? Don’t tell me you have a curfew at 7 PM or something?”

His tone and expression were clearly teasing, but Min-hyeon couldn’t deny it. Because back home, there was someone who truly acted as if the sky would fall if Min-hyeon didn’t return before sunset. Min-hyeon smiled with a slightly reluctant face.

“Something like that. Anyway, the exhibition was really, really great! Oh, look—they seem to sell merchandise over there. Let’s go check it out.”

Min-hyeon quickly changed the subject and tugged at Jun-ho’s arm. Thanks to the constant conversation they’d shared while viewing the exhibition, he felt much more at ease with Jun-ho than before. In that short viewing time—barely two hours at most—it felt like the distance between them had shrunk considerably.

Near the exhibition hall exit, there happened to be a stall selling related merchandise. Letting go of Jun-ho’s arm, Min-hyeon approached the stand.

“Hmm… It’s in French. I guess they didn’t provide a translation since it’s a photography book?”

Flipping through the pages of Henri Cartier-Bresson’s photobook The Decisive Moment, which seemed to be a sample copy as it wasn’t wrapped, Min-hyeon spoke with a hint of disappointment.

“What does an explanation matter when you’re enjoying photography? You just look and feel it. So the French probably doesn’t matter much, does it?”

“I suppose you’re right. Besides, there were no titles on the works from the start anyway. But why do you think Bresson didn’t give titles to his works?”

“If there were titles from the beginning, viewers might understand more easily what the works are about… but sometimes they actually get in the way of truly understanding the work. A title can block the path that viewers could have freely imagined and explored on their own—forcing them to imagine only within the frame the title sets. Maybe Henri didn’t like that aspect?”

Min-hyeon nodded in admiration at Jun-ho’s words.

“I understand what you mean. Wow, hyung, you’re really good at explaining things. I think you’re better than the Photography Aesthetics professor.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Honestly, the professor just reads the PPT line by line, so I don’t really get what he’s saying and it just makes me sleepy. But when hyung explains things, it’s interesting and much easier to understand. Earlier too, when you were explaining the photos, it felt so vivid—like you’d actually lived in that era. Hyung, have you ever thought about becoming a professor after you graduate?”

“Me, a professor? Hmm.”

Jun-ho’s reaction was rather lukewarm. Min-hyeon added with a hint of ulterior motive.

“I’m not just saying that. I really think hyung would be popular as a professor. You’re handsome, you explain things in an interesting way, and you’re kind.”

“I’m not kind to just anyone, though.”

That remark sounded as if he were saying, ‘I’m being especially kind to you.’ Min-hyeon tried to calm himself, even as he wanted to interpret it that way.

Afterward, feeling that it would be a shame to leave after only seeing the photography exhibition—their original purpose—Min-hyeon had coaxed Jun-ho into also visiting the contemporary art exhibition on the second floor. Yet even after coming out, lingering regrets remained.

As they headed toward the underground parking lot where the car was parked, Min-hyeon’s eyes fell on the cafes that were still open for business.

‘Should I be a little greedy just one more time?’

It was almost time to go home for real now, but Min-hyeon decided to indulge himself just one last time. When else would he get another chance to spend time like this with Jun-ho?

“Hyung, let’s have one cold drink over there before we go. I’ll pay for this one.”

Min-hyeon pointed to the cafe farthest from the underground parking lot entrance. Unlike the quiet exhibition hall, the underground cafes were packed with customers at every table—only that remote cafe, situated a little out of the way and farthest from the entrance, had some empty seats left.

Proudly carrying two cups of coffee he’d paid for with his own card, Min-hyeon returned to the spot Jun-ho had saved—only to find him standing up as if to switch places. Min-hyeon’s eyes went wide. Still holding the tray, unable to even set it on the table, he looked at Jun-ho in confusion. Jun-ho gestured.

“Go ahead and drink first. I’ll be right back—I need to take a call.”

“Yes, go ahead.”

While Jun-ho was away, Min-hyeon also pulled out his phone from his pocket.

‘Ah! That’s right!’

He’d completely forgotten to turn off airplane mode after leaving the exhibition hall. He’d sent a message in advance, but over three hours had already passed—Min-woo’s worry must be immense. This was the longest he’d ever been out of contact, aside from when he took the college entrance exam.

‘Our hyung must be having a meltdown again.’

Sure enough—the moment Min-hyeon disabled airplane mode, alarms went off like crazy, with endless notifications of missed calls flooding in. Along with a feeling of guilt, there was also a slight sense of exhaustion.

He’d expected Min-woo to worry, but he hadn’t expected it to be this much. Maybe he’d get scolded even worse than he’d thought.

The missed-call notifications kept coming without pause. Alternating between Min-woo’s cell phone and the store’s landline, the missed-call alerts had already surpassed a hundred.

‘Why are they coming in endlessly like this? Did something happen to hyung during that time?’

Min-hyeon was extremely flustered. Up to twenty or so calls, he could understand given Min-woo’s personality—but this was beyond that level.

He wanted to contact Min-woo right away, but the parade of missed-call notifications didn’t seem like it would end anytime soon. Min-hyeon bit his lip.

Just then, someone grabbed his wrist with force.

“Hyung!”

It was Min-woo, with bloodshot eyes.

“Choi Min-hyeon.”

His complexion was dreadful. Was this what a corpse’s face looked like? Pale as lead, Min-woo wore a terrifying expression that Min-hyeon had never seen before.

“What is it… Hyung, did something happen?”

He knew Min-woo would have been worried since he’d been out of contact for over three hours. But his current state was beyond mere worry. The maddening flood of missed-call notifications, too—there must have been something else going on.

Rising awkwardly, Min-hyeon reached out his free hand toward Min-woo. His hand carefully touched Min-woo’s pale, blue-tinged face. Only then did Min-woo release Min-hyeon’s wrist, which he’d been gripping painfully tight.

“What happened, hyung? Are you okay?”

Min-woo’s face, touching Min-hyeon’s fingertips, was frozen stiff. The stiff, cold texture, devoid of any life, sent chills down Min-hyeon’s spine. He stroked Min-woo’s cheek with trembling hands.

After calling his name just once, Min-woo’s tightly sealed lips refused to open afterward. Instead, the muscles in his jaw twitched violently.

“Hyung, are you sure you’re okay? Please answer me. When you stay like this without saying anything, I’m starting to get scared. Hmm?”

He’d meant to speak as calmly as usual, but his voice trembled slightly.

Min-hyeon pulled Min-woo’s hand toward him. After letting go of Min-hyeon’s wrist, Min-woo had been clenching his fist tightly instead—Min-hyeon wrapped it in both hands, and slowly felt Min-woo’s tension release. He rubbed Min-woo’s cold hands, trying to share his warmth.

Looking down at that, Min-woo’s lips twitched. Even though he couldn’t hear the words, Min-hyeon answered “Yeah” and nodded repeatedly.

After a few more lip movements, and a long, drawn-out sigh that he couldn’t suppress, Min-woo’s mouth finally opened slowly. Distracted by his ghastly pallor, Min-hyeon hadn’t noticed until now, but Min-woo’s voice was also abnormal—rough and scratchy, as if strained.

“You… the phone…”

He’s worried sick about what happened, and the first thing out of his mouth is about the phone. Before things could drag on further, Min-hyeon apologized quickly.

“Ah, sorry. I turned on airplane mode when I went into the exhibition earlier, and I just turned it off now. After the photo exhibition, we went to see another exhibition too, so I couldn’t turn off airplane mode right away. I’m really sorry. You must have been so worried.”

Of course, it wasn’t entirely an excuse. Still, he felt a bit guilty that he’d been so absorbed that over three hours had passed without him noticing. Min-hyeon subtly watched Min-woo’s reaction and rubbed his hand a little more diligently.

Min-woo pulled his hand away. His body temperature was slowly returning to normal, so Min-hyeon let go obediently.

“Let’s go home first. We’ll talk there.”

Naturally picking up Min-hyeon’s bag draped over the chair, Min-woo urged him. Min-hyeon quickly grabbed the bag.

“No. I can’t go yet.”

“Why?”

“The senior—the senior I’m doing the group project with—stepped out for a moment and hasn’t come back yet.”

Whatever had happened, since his brother Min-woo was safely in front of him now, Min-hyeon felt he could relax a little. Unless it was an urgent matter, he wanted to at least say goodbye to Jun-ho.

“Where did he go?”

“To take a call. Even if I leave, I should at least say goodbye, right?”

Though clearly displeased, Min-woo silently sat down where Min-hyeon led him.

“How much more of the group project do you have to do?”

“The deadline is the week after next, so… Ah! Hyung’s back.”

Jun-ho, entering the cafe with a paper bag in hand, spotted Min-woo next to Min-hyeon and paused for an instant. It was a fleeting moment, but Min-woo, who had been watching Jun-ho closely, didn’t miss it.

As Jun-ho approached, Min-hyeon, who had been fidgeting restlessly, quickly introduced Min-woo.

“He’s my brother.”

“Hello. I’m Kim Jun-ho.”

“I’m Choi Min-woo.”

Unlike Jun-ho, who smiled gently, Min-woo’s expression was icy. Before the atmosphere could grow more awkward, Min-hyeon quickly interjected.

“Hyung, I’m really, really sorry, but I think I need to go now.”

“Sure. See you at school.”

Even though Min-hyeon was leaving suddenly, Jun-ho accepted it remarkably readily. In fact, he bowed to Min-woo and left the cafe first himself. Strangely, Min-hyeon felt a little disappointed by that.

“Be careful.”

“Huh?”

“I have a bad feeling about him.”

“Ugh. Our hyung is saying weird things again.”

“I’m not joking. I’m warning you seriously.”

“Hyung. Do you remember when you said the same thing the first time you met Heon-jae?”

“…This time it’s real.”

“Anyway, let’s just go home. Your complexion is still really bad.”

Min-hyeon gave Min-woo’s back a gentle push. It seemed his brother’s chronic habit—suspecting anyone who approached Min-hyeon—had flared up again.

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