Beyond Expectations
In the morning, we played in the water. We rented a paddle boat, and Mom splashed around in the shallow sea. Su-young’s family, who hated the ocean, spent their time lying on sunbeds. The parents had reserved a separate place for dinner. My presence had gone beyond faint—it was like I was the perennial odd one out, the kkakdugi that used to sit on the edge of every playground game when we were kids. I was there merely for the sake of participation.
After that came the clothes shopping with Cha Jun-jae. He bought mostly short-sleeved pieces that could be worn lightly, without bothering to haggle over prices. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how. Given his personality, he simply found the whole process too annoying.
Having finished shopping in short order, Cha Jun-jae took me to a restaurant as if this had been his true intention all along. It was a second-floor outdoor place with a sea view. Online reviews called the food mediocre at best and the prices eye-wateringly expensive, calibrated for tourists. I’d visited a few times myself—only when I was really craving someone else’s cooking and felt like splurging.
We sat at a railing table overlooking the sea, as though it had been reserved. Cha Jun-jae set the shopping bags down carelessly on the floor, took off his sunglasses, and looked like he could finally breathe again. He rubbed the bridge of his sharp nose and drained a glass of water in one go. He had underestimated the heat and paid for it.
“When did you find out about this place?”
There was no way he had, yet I got the distinct feeling that Cha Jun-jae had been researching the island. It had been the same three hours earlier when we went to rent the paddle boat. He had walked straight to the representative restaurant like a local and paid the rental fee on the spot. He must have known in advance that you could rent them there.
Just as Cha Jun-jae wiped his mouth with a tissue, apparently about to answer, the employee bringing the menus called out.
“Eun-dam!”
It was an island resident I’d exchanged simple small talk with while jogging. He was twenty-two, I think. A cute, fresh-faced young man who said he wanted to visit Korea someday. He had asked me to call him Yunho. I vaguely remembered him mentioning that he worked here. This was the first time we’d met as employee and customer, though.
“Those clothes look good on you.”
“Right?”
The young man gave a playful smile and set the menu down between us. It was perfect timing; things had been unbearably awkward with Cha Jun-jae. My tension eased and I smiled back, opening the menu.
“Boyfriend?”
“Um, no.”
“But he’s handsome?”
I let the familiar compliment slide and kept flipping through the menu. The only new item since last time was a seafood platter. The reviews for the signature steak were overwhelmingly terrible. Seafood platter and a pizza seemed safest. Since Cha Jun-jae was definitely paying, I would fill my stomach with the expensive, expensive, expensive options.
“Jun-jae. What do you want to order?”
I was scanning the menu with fiery eyes, preparing for battle, when the sudden silence in front of me caught my attention. I looked up to find Cha Jun-jae sitting there like a wooden statue—expressionless, lips pressed into a straight line, waiting. He showed no intention of even glancing at the menu, simply killing the mood. Unable to speak to him, I handed the menu to the employee, Yunho.
“If you’re not ordering… should I just order for you?”
This was difficult. Even at the moment I had resolved to have it out with Cha Jun-jae today—no, to lay my true feelings bare—I was shrinking back. I don’t want to say I got cold feet, so I’ll call it being weak instead. Without his usual gentle smile, Cha Jun-jae looked like a villainous fox. His agency must have known it too; that was why they packaged him as a quirky, warm-hearted young man.
“One seafood platter, one margherita pizza, and two glasses of this.”
“Got it.”
I ordered a wine so expensive it made you gasp, then folded my arms. Even after the employee left, I stared blankly at the sea as if we were mortal enemies. Cha Jun-jae didn’t seem to have any desire to talk to me. It was as if he was challenging me to guess why he wasn’t speaking first.
In the morning he had played porter, given me flowers, acted as guide—like he’d received a divine calling for filial piety. Yet now that we were alone, he was sulking. Why?
“Eun-dam!”
Yunho returned with a kind smile and set down two glasses of wine. A basic nacho-like appetizer came with them. This was the kind of restaurant where delays were guaranteed—at least twenty minutes. I would have to ease my hunger with the unlimited-refill appetizers.
“Aren’t there other staff?”
At Cha Jun-jae’s words, both the employee and I—who had been laughing—froze with stupid expressions. He tilted his head at an angle, treating the employee like he was invisible.
“Other staff.”
The ever-positive employee quickly recovered and stepped back, but I, now an accomplice in his rudeness, was left stunned. Cha Jun-jae, face unchanged, took a sip of wine. Then he said coldly,
“This place sucks.”
He didn’t touch the nachos. The only thing disappearing was the wine I had ordered out of necessity. He kept staring at the night view without the slightest intention of relaxing his expression. The atmosphere was so dead it overwhelmed me. I wet my dry lips with wine just as he had. Hadn’t I been furious that he’d arbitrarily booked the same accommodation? Wasn’t that why I had planned to pour out all the uncomfortable feelings I’d been holding and finally put an end to things?
As expected of a popular restaurant, evening customers were starting to fill the place, yet none were seated at the four good-view tables around us. I sipped my wine carefully and observed the surroundings. Taking a deep breath at the possibility, I asked,
“Jun-jae. Did you reserve all the nearby tables too?”
“Yeah.”
Cha Jun-jae answered in a hoarse voice, short and clipped. Then he immersed himself in the wine as if in defiance. One glass was already empty. At this rate it didn’t seem like food would go down, so I slammed my wine glass onto the table with a loud clack.
“Hey, Cha Jun-jae.”
A strange light gathered in Cha Jun-jae’s eyes as he gazed at the sunset sea. The wind that blew at that moment tousled his annoyingly handsome hair. He stared straight ahead intently, as if inviting the wind into his eyes. He pressed the empty glass to his lips and stared.
“If you’re in a bad mood, we can talk tomorrow. That’s fine too.”
“Why would I be in a bad mood?”
My mood had hit rock bottom. A scoff escaped me. Was this twenty questions or thirty? I wanted to be heavily sarcastic, but he looked quite serious. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, as they say. He had always been very dull about his own emotions since we were children.
“You are in a bad mood. You asked to switch staff right in front of the person. He didn’t even do anything wrong.”
Yunho must have had his own thoughts; he began serving the tables on our opposite side first. The people here were simple and positive, but tender-hearted. I pressed more directly into his feelings.
“If I’m not mistaken, you look like someone who’s jealous of me and Yunho.”
No matter how much I thought about it, that was the only reason. The guy who smiled even when told not to—why would he suddenly show his displeasure the moment I acknowledged Yunho? It had to be because he couldn’t stand the sight of others laughing and chatting without him.
Unbeknownst to himself, Cha Jun-jae had Protagonist Syndrome. Using that as a stepping stone, he had secured every position—class president, student council president, movie lead. And in every single one of those roles, without fail, he had dragged me along. At his core, he hated it when others paid attention to anything but him. That was why he would go out of his way, in a spirit of service, to take along even friends who didn’t need looking after.
But was that Cha Jun-jae’s true heart? I didn’t think so. If it came from a kind nature, he should have remained calm even in moments when he showed no interest in me.
My long-dormant hostility had found its moment. And Cha Jun-jae, who had read my gaze, set down his wine glass. He leaned back comfortably in his chair. He stroked his dry lips with his thumb, looked at me, looked away, then looked at me again. His busy fingers, which had been scratching at his lips, suddenly stopped.
I was surprised. Could a person’s eye area turn that red without makeup? A blush as if painted on shamelessly colored his cheeks and the hollows beneath his eyes. With his reddened face, Cha Jun-jae spoke in a quiet, careful voice.
“Did it show that obviously?”
This time it was my turn to turn blue. In the span of one night we had become patriots, each claiming a color from the Taegeuk flag—Cha Jun-jae red, Song Eun-dam blue. The pitch-black night swallowed the sky and sea whole. The sound of waves rising through the silence felt more intimate than ever.
This was beyond my expectations.