Parting

"What are you drawing?"

I stopped the hand that had been scribbling lines across the notebook Morae had torn open for me — using a cheap three-color ballpoint pen — red, blue, and black all in one barrel — and looked up. She smiled down at me.

"Nothing. My hand was just bored."

The background — which looked like waves, or flames, or maybe a whirlpool — was dizzying even to my own eyes.

"Drink up. I'm buying — to celebrate my study abroad."

She slid a large fruit punch toward me — served in the generously-sized signature cup of "What Happened in Bali" — then moved to the seat beside me and sat down. I left the cup on the table and bent my head to sip through the straw, looking up at her. Study abroad?

"In the neighborhood, apparently I've gone abroad. More precisely — that I'm in Seoul preparing to study abroad."

Drinking too much of the cold beverage at once made my brow and nose sting sharply, and I squinted.

I had heard she'd contacted a private investigator sometime last week to find out what was happening after we left, and it seemed today she'd gotten a report.

"What about me and hyung?"

"The funny thing is, it wasn't just Yeehan and me who disappeared — it was the three of us, and the adults apparently find that somewhat of a relief. The story now is that I'm in Seoul preparing for school, and that you and Yeehan rushed off to Yeongdeok because a good opportunity to earn money came up. That's the current version. They're framing it as if our family deliberately kept us separated."

So they could frame it that way. Then again, before we ran, "Mr. Lim" had been building tension as though something was about to happen at any moment. Though in reality, Morae had been the one to strike first.

"Even so, who would believe that? Even if it were true, most people would rather write their own little story, spread it around, and convince themselves it's the hidden truth. They know no one actually believes it — but I can't fathom why that hollow pride still matters so much to them...."

She trailed off on the last words, leaning loosely against the back of the bench.

"If they come looking for us, they'll remember what I wrote in that letter — that we'd rather jump into the Han River. That's what's keeping them from moving rashly right now. But they're definitely not going to give up."

Morae brought the cup to her lips — skipping the straw — and took a few long, cool swallows of the peach punch, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and added one more thing.

"We need to leave as fast as possible before that happens."

I first met Morae when she was in her final year of high school, at the height of her conflict with her parents over college. Her parents just wanted her to attend any nearby university — even a mediocre one would do, as long as she went. She was so thoroughly ignoring them it was hard to even call it a conflict.

According to hyung, she had actually been an excellent student up through her first and second year of middle school. But because she already knew all too well what her parents expected of her, she began deliberately acting out — as if laying the groundwork for her future freedom in advance.

She intentionally ruined her grades and chose to become a problem student. Her curfew got later and later. She decorated her room with posters of bizarre, low-budget B-movies that made her look delinquent in her parents' eyes, and her clothing became loose and careless. Skipping classes to go surfing became routine.

In that way, she had gone from a daughter her parents were proud of — one who could excel at anything — to the youngest child they simply hoped would stay out of serious trouble.

Her parents believed it was teenage rebellion born from confusion over her Alpha designation — but from start to finish, it had all been her own deliberate choice.

"I'll be with the people I want to be with, and I'll be where I want to be. In the end, I was always going to live on my own terms anyway — so giving my parents false hope by acting like a model student feels like something neither side should have to go through. It's better they start understanding now. That I have no intention of living the life they want for me."

That was what Morae had said — but even when she turned twenty-four, her parents still could not accept it. They refused to acknowledge what she wanted or what kind of happiness she was seeking, insisting she was still too young to make the right long-term decisions for herself.

Morae had no interest in elite universities or so-called "good jobs" with high salaries. She also had no intention of taking a place in any of her father's various businesses, which generated tens of billions in annual revenue.

What she wanted was peace. A simple life filled with the things she loved — warm laughter, gratitude, staying true to herself day by day.

Waves, warm weather, and Seo Yeehan. A bottle of beer and a surfboard. A paperback of her favorite book. That was all she needed. She was someone who didn't need much to be happy — and that itself was a kind of gift.

Among the things the investigator had reported, one was about home.

"He says he's doing fine, same as always."

"Yeah... thank you."

Morae, who had been quietly watching the tip of my pen, smiled and reached out to gently ruffle my hair. Then she let her hand drop, wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and leaned her temple against the other side of my shoulder.

We sat side by side facing the front of the café. The folding front windows were fully open, and through the green leaves of the plants decorating the café, the street was visible outside. A relaxed, foreign melody played softly on a ukulele, and at the table closest to the alley, a group of three or four people around my age kept laughing without pause. It felt peaceful.

If hyung and Morae ever opened a café on some southern island, it would probably feel like this.

Open to anyone passing by. Not necessarily sleek or trendy, but filled with the owner's taste and life exactly as it was. A place with nothing forced about it — where on slow days, you could grab your board and run straight into the ocean right out front.

Seoul was not the final destination of their escape. From here, they could always end up returning to where they started. Thanks to Morae's letter and the agency director's reputation, they had bought themselves some time — but it wasn't safe yet.

The two of them would need to leave soon for somewhere with warm weather and waves. That had long been their dream. Since they were much younger, they had belonged only to each other, and seeing the world through one another had always felt the most natural and comfortable way to live. This escape was only one step along the path toward that dream.

And that was probably the main reason I had decided to move into the Teacher's house.

If I couldn't decide on my own path, they probably wouldn't be able to leave easily even after all their preparations were complete. And maybe, in the end, they would even suggest that I come with them again. That was likely.

We had come this far together — but I couldn't keep living as a footnote to their story, deferring every choice of direction to them in the same way. Even if I ended up leaving with them, it couldn't be simply because I didn't know what else to do. I knew that much clearly.

It was something I had resolved on that rainy dawn — the night I stepped out through the gate with hyung, leaving behind my father, who made no move to stop us.

Juhani hyung, who had been outed through the most degrading means and was effectively cut off by his family — having his most private and intimate self fully exposed to his parents in a way I could barely begin to imagine. Yuni nuna, who had fought her way to finally take one difficult step toward her dream, only to have it crushed by none other than her own parents — though I hadn't heard all the details. And Morae and hyung, the people closest to me — all of them were paying a cruel price for choices that had harmed no one.

I was not the only one who had been toyed with, thrown aside, and wounded by the senseless spite that life sometimes shows — regardless of my own will.

Even Phantom's Director — who looked as though he could pull whatever he wanted toward him with a simple flick of his finger — must have endured insults like "Satan" or "a man who sells paintings with his body" while clawing his way to where he stood now.

An attack that suddenly intrudes upon a life.

Whether to overcome it, to be dragged down and sink beneath its weight, or to accept it as part of oneself — like an eleventh finger, or a large growth on one's side. Now it was time for me to decide my own stance as well.

As far as I knew, Morae, hyung, Yuni nuna, and Juhani hyung were people who fought back against that kind of attack. Their methods and approaches differed, but they were alike in one thing — I couldn't find on any of their faces the dark marks that a hard tackle leaves behind.

But the texture of Phantom's Director was different from theirs.

From something Juhani hyung had casually let slip, I could tell he wasn't a prince who had only ever known glittering success. So perhaps he hadn't overcome life's attacks at all — but had simply absorbed them, the way someone bitten by a zombie quietly becomes one.

He often looked at me with a sharp, wary gaze — but at other times he would treat me as though I were so insignificant that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't possibly harm anyone. As though I weren't even worth acknowledging.

Each time his careless gaze or offhand words landed on me, whatever stirred in my chest wasn't sharp enough to be defiance — but it wasn't soft enough to be mere hurt feelings either.

Originally, I had always been the type to simply turn away when someone cursed at me or got angry. Had I been wrong about who I was?

"Nuna, did I used to like strange things?"

Perhaps someone else would know a side of me that I had misunderstood or overlooked. I asked Morae while continuing to fill the page more densely with my scribbles.

"You are a bit like that, aren't you?"

"Me?"

At the unexpected answer, I reflexively repeated the question. Morae lifted her head from my shoulder and looked at my face.

"You know how your favorite Crayon Shin-chan character is Maengu — the slow one. Not many people pick him. And your shirts — you always wear stripes. Short sleeves in summer, long sleeves in winter, but always stripes. You're subtly unusual. People who draw tend to be a little strange anyway."

"It's been ages since I drew anything..."

"Ah... so you're not drawing right now, you're just writing things down, then?"

Her accurate observation made me feel self-conscious. I pressed my lips together, smiled, and looked away. This is just doodling....

"Then... does that mean I'm the type who likes being bullied?"

"Where are you hearing these things? Are you talking about masochism?"

"What? Who taught you a word like that?"

Hyung, who had come out of the kitchen carrying a plate of nasi goreng, frowned at the word.

Since tomorrow was the day I was moving into the Teacher's house, Morae and hyung had called me out to "What Happened in Bali" for a small farewell. It felt strange to have a proper send-off when I wasn't quitting a job or transferring schools — but even if I pretended not to read too much into it, I felt the same quiet reluctance about this parting.

Hyung looked like he might storm out immediately to find whoever had taught me a word like "masochist" and grab them by the collar.

"What's wrong with teaching someone that? We're all adults. Whatever people do with someone they mutually agree with, in private — that's their own personal freedom."

That was Morae's defense.

No matter how much Morae and hyung thought of me as some rare species cut off from the world, I was old enough to have picked up words like "sadist" or "masochist" just from overhearing things here and there, without anyone needing to explain them to me.

Taking the spoon hyung handed me, I pressed Morae to continue.

"So, nuna... am I like that?"

I couldn't really expect an objective answer from hyung anyway.

"Hmm. It's not that you enjoy being bullied — I think you're just the type who doesn't particularly react to it. There's not much reward in picking on you because you never give a satisfying response."

I agreed with Morae's assessment. Up until now, I had lived thinking of myself as someone relatively dull, almost numb. Or at least — someone who had been worn into that shape.

But my recent reactions were unfamiliar even to me.

"I'm gay."

That brazen statement — something I never would have said until recently — was almost a provocation.

"Why? Does it feel thrilling when someone bothers you?"

Morae leaned forward, elbows on the table, just as I was about to take a bite. Her face was full of mischief and curiosity.

"No... it's not like that."

There were times it stung, like being poked under a fingernail with a needle — but it was different from a thrill. It was closer to the feeling of your whole body jolting upward when you go over a speed bump without slowing down. And sometimes there would be a childish, petty spite rising in me — a desire to take his hand and poke him back under the nail with that same needle point.

Just as his attitude toward me was inconsistent, I found it difficult to trace my own reactions to a single clear cause.

Overcome by hunger, I had no energy left to think. I began eating quickly while Morae and hyung sorted through the day's receipts beside me.

The owner — who saved up from running the place and then flew to the actual Bali to surf — had left last week. For the time being, Morae and hyung were running things.

By the time I had nearly finished my plate, hyung spoke, his voice a little softer than before.

"Even if you end up living somewhere else, come visit. Here, and home too."

"Of course. I'll come so often it'll get annoying. If not here, where else am I going to vent?"

"Funny. You're not even that talkative."

Hyung laughed lightly and teased me, and I smiled back in agreement.

"At least once a week — mandatory visits. Got it? And you have to send me at least one text every day."

This time it was Morae's demand. I knew it wasn't really about her — it was said out of concern that I might feel lonely. When I nodded firmly, she smiled.

That day we had samgyeopsal and soju at "What Happened in Bali," then went home and kept drinking. A small indulgence — the first since coming to Seoul. It was also the first time I had drunk past tipsy all the way to actually drunk.

I found out the next morning, from Morae and hyung, that I apparently become unusually agreeable and smiley when drunk. Hyung even claimed I had kissed Morae on the cheek — and on that rare occasion, invoking his rights as her boyfriend, kicked me in the rear with his knee.

It wasn't much of a proper move-out, but since it was the day I was changing residences, I had left the day free from the moving company. After we all ate breakfast together, I packed everything into one backpack, and the three of us left the house and parted ways at the bus stop. I headed south toward the Teacher's house; Morae and hyung headed west to work at "What Happened in Bali."

The rooftop room and "What Happened in Bali" were both close enough that I could visit anytime I wanted — but from now on, they would be places I had to make a conscious decision to go to.

As I boarded the bus and watched the scenery recede, I felt something strange in the knowledge that I was moving somewhere alone, separated from hyung and Morae. It didn't feel like moving at all. It felt like setting off on a trip. A very long one.