Chapter 20 : The Meaning of white (4)

The calendar had shed a layer, revealing a new month.
April, springtime in full bloom.

On this beautiful day, I was stuck in Park Saeron’s gloomy apartment, lamenting my fate.

“Ugh, the weather’s so nice, and I’m stuck here because of you.”
“Be quiet. You’re distracting me.”
“Should I just leave?”
“Go ahead.”
“Really?”
“If you can beat me in a fight, I’ll let you go.”

I was halfway out of my chair, then thought better of it and sat back down. I looked at Saeron, who was typing away at his computer.

“You don’t use a typewriter? That would be more…romantic, don’t you think?”
“As a responsible citizen of Earth, I’ve decided to embrace technology and contribute to environmental conservation.”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, striking a pose.
I smirked, unimpressed by his excuse.

“You know one less writer using paper isn’t going to make a difference, right? And you use so many disposable products, how can you even talk about the environment?”
“Of course, I know that. I’m just building up my defense for when I go to the afterlife. I can say, ‘Hey, at least I tried.’”
“Wow, your honesty is even more repulsive. Try saving some face.”
“Humans are inherently ugly when you peel back the layers.”
“I agree.”

Most acts of kindness were performative, hiding ulterior motives. These motives were often too shameful to admit, so they are masqueraded as politeness. Outright malice was, in a way, more honest.

“So, how are the play preparations going?”
“Great. We’ve finalized the blocking, now it’s just endless rehearsals.”

Saeron swiveled in his chair, smirking.

“Have you read the script I gave you? How is it? Think you can win our bet?”
“…Honestly, I’m not sure. This is the most… abstract thing I’ve ever read. I’m still trying to decipher it.”

Saeron’s script was… eccentric, to put it mildly. Every scene, every line seemed to have a hidden meaning, yet there was no clear direction. It was disorienting.
He nodded, seemingly pleased.

“You’ve read it carefully, I see. What do you think of the plot?”
“The part where the male and female lead spend the summer together is good. The beginning, however, wasn’t what I expected.”
“Oh? How so?”
“The scene where Seol finds her mother’s body and cries… I didn’t find it convincing.”
“Tell me more.”

Saeron leaned forward, intrigued. Writers were always sensitive to criticism.
I gathered my thoughts.

“Seol has lost all her memories, right? Let’s ignore the fact that she can still read, for the sake of the writer’s convenience. I imagined her as almost…infant-like. In a state of pure innocence.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“In your script, she feels negative emotions in that scene. Sadness, fear, horror. But those are learned emotions, aren’t they?”

He nodded slowly, listening intently.

“So, I thought, what would a child who doesn’t know anything do when they encounter something new? What emotions would pure, unadulterated innocence evoke? The answer I came up with was curiosity.”
“Curiosity?”
“Yes. Do you know why the first words babies learn are ‘mama’ and ‘dada’? Because that’s what they see and hear constantly. They don’t know what parents *do*, so they’re curious. They mimic what they see.”

I paused, then continued,

“The first emotion Seol would feel upon seeing her mother’s body is curiosity. So, what would she do next?”

I mimicked the act of hanging oneself.

“She’d imitate it. Blindly.”

Saeron stroked his chin, lost in thought. He turned back to his computer and muttered to himself,

“Imitate… Yes, imitate…”

He tapped a key repeatedly.

“f*ck!”

He suddenly yelled and threw his keyboard against the wall.

“Eep!”

I barely suppressed a scream and scrambled backwards, my survival instincts kicking in. The cold wall against my back brought a wave of despair.

“W… What was that about?”

Saeron ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re right.”
“Huh?”
“I have to rewrite the whole thing.”

He dragged the script file to the recycle bin.

“W… Wait!”

I lunged forward, trying to stop him, but he effortlessly brushed me aside. He deleted the file and waved dismissively.

“Go home. I need to focus.”
“But… you don’t have a keyboard.”
“It’s fine. This happens often. I have a spare.”

He calmly connected a new keyboard and resumed typing.

‘All writers are crazy.’

***

I stepped outside, greeted by the cool spring breeze. Having been kicked out, I had a lot of free time.

‘Should I watch a movie or something?’

Just then, I saw a familiar face emerge from the park. I waved excitedly.

“Hey, Han Dojun! What are you doing?”
“Just jogging. What are you doing *here*?”

His tone was indifferent. I grinned.

“Entertain me.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I’m bored.”

Dojun frowned, then sighed.

“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe walk around and talk?”

We entered the park and started walking.

“Are you studying for midterms?”
“I don’t care about anything but acting.”
“You should at least try.”

As we were making small talk, it started to rain. The clouds I had seen earlier must have been a sign.
We took shelter under a pavilion.

“Looks like a sudden shower.”
“Let’s go buy an umbrella from a convenience store.”

I smirked at Dojun’s practical suggestion.

“Did you know umbrellas are actually tyrannical dictators?”
“Dictators?”
“They deprive people of their right to enjoy the rain. How evil is that?”

I extended my hand, feeling the cool raindrops. A strange impulse came over me with every drop that landed on my skin. I gave in to it.

I walked out from under the pavilion, letting the rain soak me.

“…What are you doing?”
“Come on out.”

I grinned and pulled Dojun out of the pavilion by his sleeve.

“Let’s rebel against the tyranny of umbrellas!”

Want to do some improv? Let’s call it Les Misérables.

***

Soaked to the bone, we decided to take showers. I entered Dojun’s apartment and commented,

“Nice place.”
“You can shower first.”
“Hold on. I’m thirsty.”

I opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water.

“Glasses are in the left drawer.”
“I know.”
“How do you know that?”
“Just a hunch?”

I quenched my thirst and took a shower, then changed into the white T-shirt and pajama pants he gave me. I sat on his bed, taking in the familiar yet unfamiliar surroundings. Dojun emerged from the bathroom, toweling his hair dry.

“Get off my bed.”
“You have no idea how much this place smells. Wash your sheets more often.”
“Whatever.”

I spotted a diary on his desk. Mischief sparked in my eyes, and I reached for it.

“What’s this? You keep a diary?”
“Hey, give that back!”

Dojun, looking flustered, dropped his towel and rushed towards me. I grinned. He was definitely hiding something.

“Fine. I’ll just take a quick peek.”

He reached for the diary. I dodged him easily. Now I was really curious.

“Just give it to me.”
“Why are you so obsessed with it? You must have written something bad about me in there!”
“No, I didn’t. Just give it back.”

He lunged at me, and we started wrestling on the bed.
I managed to keep the diary out of his reach.

“Oof!”

But in the struggle, Dojun’s hand brushed against my side, and I let out a surprised yelp. He found my weak spot and immediately started tickling me mercilessly.

“Ha… Stop… that’s… sexual harassment!”
“I’ll stop if you let go of the diary.”

After a few more rounds of wrestling, he won.
The diary was in his hands.

“…I lost.”

A drop of water landed on the bridge of my nose. It must have been from Dojun’s still-damp hair. I realized he was practically on top of me.

I didn’t try to move. I took a shallow breath, letting the mask fall away.

The ever-present smile vanished from my face.
There was a reason I had dragged him out into the rain and ended up at his place.

“Han Dojun, look at me.”
“…Why?”

He hesitated, then met my gaze. Those honest, discerning eyes hadn’t changed. I felt a sense of relief and spoke,

“You know, don’t you? That this… this ugly person… is the real me.”

He nodded. He must have seen it, the real me, which was why he had asked that question at the auditorium.

That’s why I had hoped, and feared, this moment. I was showing him my true self today because I needed closure.

I knew his actions stemmed from affection.

But I was insecure. A nagging doubt kept eating away at me. I wanted him to either definitively hate me or love me. Anything but this uncertainty.

No.

I didn’t want him to hate me.

I hoped he wouldn’t be repulsed by this broken person, unable to genuinely laugh or cry.
I hoped he would understand why I had to wear a mask.
I wanted his unconditional friendship, a one-sided sacrifice I expected of him.

“You’ll stay friends with me, no matter what, right?”
“…Yeah.”

His hand gently caressed my cheek. There was a yearning for warmth in his touch.

Beep-beep.
Someone was entering the code on the keypad. Lost in the moment, we hadn’t heard a thing.

“Dojun, I’m home. Why aren’t you greeting your Noona?”

A woman with bleached blonde hair entered the room and gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Oh my.”

I sighed, still lying on the bed.
“It’s not what it looks like. Really.”