A sharpened pencil traced a shape across a large sheet of paper. In less than five minutes, the black lines were aligned exactly as they appeared in the photo hanging nearby. But the hand holding the pencil merely waved its arm, its expression devoid of interest. His face was devoid of any emotion or expression.
"You're drawing slower than last time."
"...."
"My grades are lower than last semester."
"sorry."
"Restore it to its original state."
"...."
"It would be better if you put more on it."
A middle-aged woman, seemingly the embodiment of the word "noble." Before he even realized when she'd entered, she was already spouting off a tiresome stream of words at him. She strode over, then two steps, and with fingers that looked like they'd never even held a pencil, she brushed a brush across his drawing paper before locking eyes.
"The best artist."
"...."
"That's your dream."
That's my dream. His arm, which had been stretched out straight, suddenly fell limply. A painting, illuminated by dark eyes, a nameless face standing in the center of the painting. It looked lonely. Who did it truly resemble? The noble woman left, and without hesitation, he picked up a pencil sharpener and drew a large diagonal line across the painting. The painting, which seemed to emphasize loneliness, split in two, one side tilting forward and touching the floor. His name was crudely written at the top of the still-hanging paper.
"...my dream is to be the best artist."
yunki min.
"...an artist."
His name was Min Yoongi.
"Min Yoongi is number one again."
"What's going on in that guy's head that the judges are giving him first place so often?"
"He's just a genius."
The subject of their conversation was right behind them, but they didn't care and kept bringing it up. Min Yoongi. Min Yoongi. Because it was Min Yoongi. It was like Min Yoongi. It was like Min Yoongi. Three characters now used to describe someone. It was worth giving them a glance, but Yoongi didn't raise his head. He just kept picking at the corner of the rough eraser, his face aching with hurt.
“But I think that might be my mom’s influence.”
"Mom? Our school principal?"
"Think about it. Is our school just a little big?"
"...That's true."
"He used his son to improve his school's image."
The child, lacking judgment, excitedly shook the pencil, oblivious to it. It was a stimulating sincerity. It squirmed. Yoon-gi's mind was twisted. Voices, struggling with an inferiority complex, giggled. The eraser, slowly torn from corner to body, was ripped apart, one by one. The eraser that had shown Yoon-gi's heart was torn in two with one single word, completely enraging him.
"It would be nice to have a mom like that. What would Dad think?"
Boom! An iron chair hit the wall behind where the kids with the mean voices were standing. The girls reflexively stepped back in surprise, and the boys looked at Yoongi for a moment after being startled. The culprit's prediction was wrong. In fact, even Yoongi looked sickly, and he quickly looked around to see a woman standing tall.
"I envy your parents too. They have sons and daughters who are so good at talking."
The corners of her mouth turned up in a mean manner. But she wasn't smiling. She just stared at them with venomous eyes, as if to say, "If you want to try, go for it."
"If you're jealous, then you're jealous. Is that hard to say? Are you crazy?"
"That guy."
"If this keeps up, I'm going to hit you."
"Moon Yeo-ju, you're really crazy."
"Well. If you're going to hit, hit it here."
It seems like it'll be okay since I haven't been getting hit much lately. There was no fear in the female protagonist's gesture as she tapped my left cheek with her finger. In fact, the one who raised her hand seemed to be reflecting, cursing, and backing away. She knew. How precious their everyday behavior was. How the label of "high school student" could be a turning point in their lives. She knew it all.
"it's a shame."
"...."
"If you're going to tell the teacher, be precise. I didn't hit you, I scared you. You weren't the first to strike, were you? I didn't want to end up like my parents, so I didn't strike you first."
"...."
"Hey, Min Yoongi."
"... huh."
"Come out. Let's go to the store. If you don't want to, don't worry."
As Yeoju left the class, Yoongi quietly followed her. Only voices cursing Yeoju could be heard in the class. Yoongi's name was never mentioned again.
The heroine's destination wasn't the store in the first place. It was a common back street of a school. However, the footsteps had vanished. Halfway down the back street, in a darkened spot, the heroine plopped down. "You should sit down too. This is the best place to cool down." Yoongi hesitated for a moment, but soon sat down next to her.
"Why aren't you angry?"
The female protagonist mentioned the incident from earlier, and Yoon-ki flinched at the mention. She snickered at him. Just kidding. Actually, I saw it. He tried to throw the chair. Yoon-ki stared at her with rabbit eyes, as if he'd known how she'd known. Did Yoon-ki know? His face, his expression, was constantly changing. And it was so obvious.
"I saw it all. The way the eraser shattered, the way the kids' eyes changed every time they spoke."
"...."
"So I threw it."
"...."
"Even as your gaze changes, you show fear."
"... thank you."
"Why? Throw it instead?"
"huh."
"But I don't like that."
"...?"
"are you okay."
"...."
That's what I want to hear. Are you okay? At the same time, Yoongi's chest ached. When was the last time he'd heard those words? Had he ever heard them? Those three words buzzed and lingered in his head. Am I okay? Am I okay now?
The heroine tilted her head to the side, her eyes strangely shaking violently as she watched Yoongi. "Strange." It didn't take long for her to figure out what had touched his emotional cord. "It'll be okay." It took her a long time to hear his answer. And it wasn't even "It'll be okay," but "It'll be okay." Strange. The same thought returned. "Strange." The heroine met Yoongi's eyes and asked.
"...I have a question."
"... huh."
"Do you like drawing?"
Strange thoughtsWhat a stupid question you asked.
"...."
But I can't answer.
"...I was just curious, really. You really."
"Do you like art?" Suddenly. Yoon-gi stood up and looked down at Yeo-ju. Unlike before, Yeo-ju's eyes were filled with curiosity. The image of him reflected in those two eyes. Dangerous. Of all the words Yoon-gi knew, it was the perfect one to describe his current state. "Let's stop talking." Yeo-ju remained silent, and Yoon-gi turned around, fists clenched. As he exited the shadowy back street and the sun appeared, he looked back at the place he had come from.
The more I talk to you, the stranger I feel.
I am denying myself.
My life
"The greatest artist. That's your dream."
...it makes me feel like it was all in vain.
A small brush sways in the water, splashing water in all directions across a vast watercolor painting depicting a lake. The splashes spread the colors across the watercolor. Irregular lines stretch out, disrupting the colors. It's hard to pinpoint the exact color.
"...."
Yoongi, my heart was in trouble right now. No.
difficult.
Yoongi sat alone in the empty art room, clutching his pencil tightly until the sun finally set. His desk, normally piled with reference photos and finished sketches, was neat and tidy. The white drawing paper bore only the small letters "Min Yoongi" written across it. Aside from that, it was no different from a new sheet of paper.
Perhaps because the air, the atmosphere, the room, all seemed to exude loneliness, Yoongi, left alone, seemed closer to loneliness than neatness or tranquility. He looked so lonely, as if he were looking through the window, which showed the darkening sky.
In a fit of anger, I plunged a long, sharp pencil into the paper. The sound of the paper tearing was immediately followed by the snapping of the pencil lead, followed by the loud crash of the chair tipping backward.
"...I have to draw it."
I have to draw. I have to draw today. I have to draw today too. He took a deep breath, immediately pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, straightened the chair, and picked up his pencil again. And he started drawing anything. Wherever his hand reached, wherever he could draw. He just drew like that, frantically, for hours. Only when the eraser fell limply did Yun-gi look around. Countless pieces of paper and worn-out pencils lay strewn across the floor, and most of the drawings...
"... ah."
yunki min.
It was myself.
Yoongi's breath caught in his throat. Standing alone under the spotlight. Was that figure his past self, his present self, his future self? Or perhaps all of them? One thing was certain: past, present, and future.
I wasn't happy, I wasn't happy, and I didn't think I would be happy.
He left the private art studio, his bag empty and his phone drained. Even in that moment of extreme helplessness, Yoongi took out his English vocabulary book and recited it. As he crossed the school playground and passed the gate, which was just about to be locked out, a bright light struck his face.
"...."
"It'll come out quickly."
"...have you been waiting?"
"uh."
"why?"
"Because I want to wait."
"... go."
"Yeah. I'll go. I'll take you."
Get in. Because the back seat was empty because of you. The owner of the bright light was the bike, and the owner of the bike was Moon Yeo-ju. Before Yoon-gi could refuse, a safety helmet flew towards him. ... What is this safety helmet that looks like it belongs at a construction site? I brought the one from a construction site. ... Do you work at a construction site? Oh, you're perceptive.
"... Really?"
"Then it must be fake?"
"It could be a lie."
"You know how old-fashioned people are, right?"
"....."
"If you didn't know, get on."
"Okay,"
"Okay, get on."
"You never needed my opinion in the first place."
Yeah. It wasn't there. Get on quickly. The three characters written next to the helmet. Moon Yeon-hoo. You must have stolen it. After a moment of hesitation, Yoon-gi, who put on his helmet and sat behind Yeo-ju, said nothing, and Yeo-ju also set off without saying anything. As midnight approached, the weekday evening road was empty, only the wind passing by them and the sound of their bikes. Streetlights in the same location, building lights flickering on and off. Between the countless buildings, they arrived at an unfinished construction site.
"Get down."
"Why here?"
"The rooftop is awesome."
Even as they entered the eerie building and climbed the precarious stairs, Yoongi's suspicious expression showed no sign of loosening. Yeoju glanced at him, smiled, and opened the rooftop door. The wind blew in again. It was clear. The city was clear. These were the words Yoongi spoke to the scenery coming through the rooftop door.
"...clear."
"What? A city?"
"... all."
"...."
"I didn't know the world was this clear."
"I told you I was cool."
"I know."
"...."
"It wasn't a lie."
A clear cityscape. The cityscape seen from the precarious rooftop was crystal clear, and Yun-gi felt a sense of liberation. The sky wasn't a dull, pencil-colored gray, but a cloudless, moon-colored sky. The sound of the wind rustling past the pencil, and the cool breeze replaced the eraser in his hand.
"It's especially sparkly today."
"...."
"Hey. Take a picture of me."
"picture?"
"huh."
"I don't know how to take pictures..."
"Have you never pressed a single button?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Then you know."
"...."
"You can't refute it? Okay. Take a picture."
The phone I received from the heroine was... old. I was using the most sanitized term possible. The screen was taped shut, and there were sharp shards sticking outwards, ready to pierce your hand if you were to carelessly slam it. Yeah. It was worn out. It had lost its original, perfectly good shape.
"...."
"Take it easy. Don't expect much since the model isn't very good."
But. The heroine reflected from within that phone. Her back was so vivid. Standing still amidst the glittering night lights, she seemed like the star of the world. Yoongi unconsciously pressed the shutter button repeatedly. "Did you take it?" The heroine's face, seen through the phone screen, passed by like slow motion. Slowly, slowly. Still. I wanted to see more. I longed for her clear image even more.
The things contained within the small frame were dazzling and beautiful.
Yeoju. She too. No, maybe. Yeoju Moon, you the most.
"I took a picture."
"It took a long time."
"sorry."
"Sorry, no thanks."
"...I have nothing to say, then."
"Okay then. Let me see some pictures."
"here."
"What? You're good at taking pictures? Why do you act like you don't know anything but art?
"I've never done that before."
"The former is sincere, the latter is a joke."
I got a shot of a lifetime. Please take another picture of me. "Bae-shi-shi," the corners of her lips slightly lifted. Yoon-ki smiled at the sincere expression. Not joy, but excitement. Not the sense of accomplishment, but the thrill of something new.
"I'll take the picture now."
"You're busy."
"...I'm not busy."
"Then, every Tuesday. Come out at the same time today. I'll be waiting."
I'm waiting.
You are waiting for me.
I'm waiting for the day I meet you.
Ah, I miss you already.
I miss that day already.
"And then next time. When I can't help you."
"...."
"When people, when the world, comes to strangle you."
"...."
"Just say one thing."
"You're late."
"...I just came back to get some fresh air."
"wind?"
"... yes."
"Okay. Come in."
"Well, starting next week... can I come and get some fresh air every Tuesday?"
"... okay."
"...!"
Get some fresh air in the front yard. Be home by midnight. "Crying." He almost blurted out his frustration, but he held it back. "This is strange. This has definitely become strange." Yoongi realized that he was different from before. For the first time, discomfort crept into his mind at the words of his mother, to whom he had always obeyed without question, and the word "rebellion" also surfaced.
I decided to take a picture. I decided to do that. The reason Yoongi's eyes changed was because he remembered the promise he made with her just a few minutes ago. Just one day. Just one day out of seven.
"what?"
Her brows, which seemed unwavering, furrowed. The teacup she held with an elegant gesture shook, and her gaze sharpened. But Yoongi ignored her and pressed on. "Just one day. I've never expressed my opinion to my mother in my life. This is my first opinion, my first thought, my first request. Will you not listen?"
"no."
"...."
"No. Go up there and practice standing to calm yourself down. I'll follow you soon."
"...I don't."
"... what?"
"Holding a pencil. I'm sick of it."
"yunki min!"
"Is this my sincerity, or is it a lie to avoid the current situation? Mother, you decide."
Every Tuesday. If you don't allow it, I'll have to find a way myself. Clang! A sharp sound echoed through the living room. The white carpet was dyed a crimson red, and golden shards littered the floor beneath Yoongi's feet. And on that carpet, his mother, glaring at him with a grin, was there. It was the first time she'd lost her composure.
"Don't try to test my patience any longer."
"...Mother, indeed."
"...."
"And then next time. When I can't help you."
"...."
"When people, when the world, comes to strangle you."
"...."
"Just say one thing."
"Don't try to judge my patience."
"...don't try to judge my patience."
"Before it all really falls apart."
"My life, which my mother has carefully built. Before it all falls apart."
"With this one word,"
"...Only Tuesday."
"The world can't touch you."
"Okay, go in."
"... yes."
As his mother's expression grew closer to giving up, Yoon-ki's trust in Yeo-ju also grew.
It was real, heroine.
No one can strangle me, not even my mother.
"... My homeroom teacher. I am the parent of Min Yoongi."
If you do it like this,
"I wanted to ask if there are any students who hang out with Min Yoongi these days."
In the future, I might be able to take more pictures of you.
Time passed quickly until next Tuesday. Yoongi, still sitting alone in the art room, was a lot more excited than last time. He divided A4 paper into several sections and drew figures, and he even took a picture of himself and drew it from a pretty angle. He even hummed a tune, then paused. Just as he was about to press the round button again, his smiling face was revealed on his phone screen.
"...."
His face flushed red. It was a shame, as if someone had exposed his secrets. Only then did Yoongi realize who the sketches surrounding him were for. How could he smile even after drawing so much? Even though the pencil sharpeners were piling up in the trash can? Yoongi realized that this whole situation was caused by Yeoju. Everything that had felt so tedious was now starting over again with the presence of Yeoju, and he began to enjoy it.
"... We're in big trouble."
"This is a big problem. Seriously."
"What's the big deal?"
"!!!"
"N, why are you here! I can't wait." The owner of the voice that suddenly burst out was the female protagonist, who should have been sitting on her bike, waiting for Yoongi. She was as calm and playful as usual, but bruises were visible beneath her short summer uniform. Yoongi's expression hardened in real time. An unknown anger seethed within his once empty heart.
"...What the heck is this?"
"...."
"...Where did you hit something while working at the construction site?"
"It wasn't something I bumped into while working at a construction site."
"then,"
"That's right."
"... what?"
"I sprained my hand while working at a construction site."
Who? Who touched you and why? Who is that person? At that time, when I saw Yeoju, Yoongi had a rather murderous expression. I asked, "Who are you?" "I'll stab you with that pencil. Calm down for now." The hand holding the sharp pencil fell limply to the ground. A few deep breaths were heard, and a heavy voice pierced my ears.
"Okay, that's enough."
"The person who hit me was my father. The place I was hit was a construction site."
"...."
"... Today, instead of going to the construction site, do you want to go to the beach?"
"Are you okay?"
"no."
"...."
"So, let's go to the beach. I'll be stubborn just for today."
Yoongi was overcome with an inexplicable emotion at the sight of the female lead's longing gaze, the first time he'd met her. It had only been a week since they'd properly known each other. It had only been two days since they'd spoken face-to-face. Yet, what Yoongi felt between them was...
It was a sense of kinship.
"... let's go."
"really?"
"huh."
"It takes about 3 hours by bike."
"...."
It was currently 10 o'clock. If he left, it would be dawn, and if he returned, it might be sunrise. Yoongi hesitated. If he returned home in the morning, would she be angry, calling him crazy, or annoyed, asking why he had changed so much? It was hard to predict his mother's reaction.
But when the heroine grabbed Yoon-gi and led him, he didn't refuse her hand. He simply followed her silently, quietly. Maybe he...
"Let's go. To the sea."
Maybe the heroine wanted him to catch her.
"It's refreshing." Those were the first words I uttered when I faced the sea. The three-hour journey to the sea was quiet. Both of us, lost in thought, ran forward. "Pfft." Yoon-ki followed Yeo-ju, who was sitting on the sand, and opened his mouth.
"It's what's commonly called domestic violence. After divorcing my mother, he couldn't tolerate mistakes."
"...."
"I was born by mistake. That's why we got divorced."
"...."
"But in the past, if you made a mistake, you got hit, but now you just get hit. Maybe it's menopause. It's so up and down."
"...."
"you?"
"...."
Everything I remember involves drawing, and it all started when I was five. My mother insisted on art from a young age, but of course, that was a lie. Still, I couldn't let go of drawing. Perhaps it was a waste of time.
It was too painful to say it was a waste, and he hesitated to say he wanted to leave. To Yoon-gi, if I had to sum it up in one word, it would be "painting." Holding a pencil was boring, but letting go of his fantasies left him with no idea what to do.
"It's not that I'm sorry, I'm just scared."
"...."
"You've been a painting your whole life, so you can't escape it. Now, it's like you can't live without painting."
"...."
"We've never been able to express our opinions under our parents' control our entire lives, so no matter how difficult it is, we can't escape from them."
"...."
"... Shall we make a promise?"
"promise?"
When you want to throw everything away. When you want to run away, tell each other first. And help each other. How about it? The tone was light, but the voice wasn't. She looked like she wanted to run away immediately, and she was in danger. A corner of Yoongi's heart prickled. Then he reached out to Yeoju's cheek. The red had faded, and he stroked the bruise that had turned blue. He slowly opened his mouth.
"This must be sympathy."
"...."
"It's too painful to be thrilling, and too pitiful to be pitied. It's too similar to me."
"sympathy."
"...."
"that's good."
We sympathize with each other. Yeoju closed her eyes, and Yoongi quietly caressed her cheek. Feeling the cool sea breeze, listening, feeling. Her warmth reached Yoongi, and he smiled softly. "Happy." In his suffocating life, it was the feeling he felt whenever he met Yeoju.
Lady.
Moon Yeo-ju.
If this is youth, if this is happiness.
If you are my happiness.
I guess it's right to call you my youth.
True to his word, Yoongi arrived at his house only after the sun had risen. The path, which had always felt so familiar, now felt hesitant for the first time. He could picture his home, which he would return to after just one day, and the expression on the woman's face waiting for him inside.
The door that had been tightly shut and oppressive opened, and a familiar face caught his eye. However, contrary to his expectations, his mother was calm, sending a chill down his spine.
"What are you doing? Why aren't you coming in?"
"...Aren't you angry?"
"I got off school early today."
"yes?"
"In one week, you will have to do several times what you couldn't do yesterday."
"What is that..."
"You are the one who ignored my warning."
"...."
"I gave permission. You were the one who threw a fit there."
"...."
I was speechless. It was all true. And in Yoongi's mind, the words Yeoju had engraved on him one by one yesterday flashed before him like a panorama. When he wanted to throw everything away, we decided to be each other's saviors.
These are words from just a few hours ago.
"...I hate art."
I wanted to hear those words again.
"I want to stop."
I miss you.
"You, when you were young,"
"I said I wanted art."
"...."
"My mother was always like that. She pretended to be there for me, to support me, but in the end, she just wanted me to be her clone."
"yunki min!"
I don't remember when I gave up on my dream of becoming an artist, or when I said I wanted to pursue art. But I persisted until the very end.
I have to become an artist.
I am destined to be with art.
I love photography now. I love the way people smile when I take a picture of them and say, "I did a good job." For that reason, I even drew, something I used to hate.
"Will that person open the door?"
"...."
"Don't worry about him. I'll be expelled soon."
"If you tell me to."
"...."
At that point, I think I'll really resent my mother. I feel like all the affection, both the one I had and the one I didn't, will disappear. Yoongi turned around. It meant he wanted to get away from her now. She, who had always been noble, screamed in despair the moment Yoongi left the house. Despite her voice, which was almost a sob, Yoongi held onto his bag strap tightly, picked up his phone with one hand, and opened the message window. At that moment, his body froze and his eyes shook violently.
[ Help ]
Yoon-gi had a feeling at every word and every word from the female protagonist.
[ Save me ]
The female protagonist is in great danger right now.
He had long since thrown his heavy bag to the floor, and he ran with all his might towards the construction site he'd only visited once. He'd run like hell, even without asking for the woman's location. He'd suspected she wasn't at the construction site, but for some reason, he'd been certain.
I'm sure the heroine will be there.
So Yoon-gi just ran, not knowing what he might do if he met Yeo-ju.
"I called this kid 'Dad.' Yeah."
"Where have you been?"
바다 다녀왔다고 몇 번을 말했는데. 대답해도 손을 휘둘렀고, 조용히 있어도 발이 나갔다. 그냥 윤기랑 도망갈걸. 너 남자랑 자고 왔냐? 작게 속삭인 말에 아빠라고 불리는 남자는 더 크게 분노했다. 윤기 그런 애 아니야. 더러운 년. 닥쳐. 그 애새끼는 너 어디가 좋아서 잤냐? 마지막 말에 여주는 옆에 있던 소주 병을 들어 소리쳤다.
"If you say that one more time, I'll kill you."
"You me?"
"...."
"You can't do it."
"...."
"Where is there a child who can kill his father?"
Her hands shook. He was right. Yeoju had neither the confidence nor the strength to kill her father. At that moment, what caught her eye was Yoongi, running towards her from behind his father. Yeoju didn't know why she shed tears. Was it relief, or perhaps emotion? She simply felt relieved to see his face.
"My lady."
"Is that you? The kid who slept with her?"
"...what should I do?"
"what?"
"Let's run away together."
"What should I do before that? I can do what you can't." He asked, his eyes fixed on the soju bottle he was handing her. Yeoju understood his intention, but shook her head. "Okay. Okay." Yoongi picked up the safety helmet next to him and swung it down with all his might. With a dull thud, the man called "dad" fell limply, and Yeoju ran to Yoongi.
"...How did you know?"
"Okay, I understand."
"...."
"... Let's say I repaid you for helping me last time."
"... okay."
"I thought I could hit people too."
"I guess that was really you."
"... okay."
This must be me. A photo, not a drawing. I can do anything for you.
The two smiled brightly. Until the sun rose into the sky, they leaned on each other. They confirmed their feelings. They had experienced what could be considered the most beautiful moment.
