Unfair Bargain
Even if I hated him, even if I loathed him, it didn’t matter at all—he’d said. Yet here he was, already changing his tune and asking me to treat him kindly again, even if it was fake. It was almost funny. After all, I hadn’t shown him the rotten underside I kept hidden. Still, I couldn’t laugh. Not when Cha Jun-jae’s eyes were dimming like a candle guttering out in regret.
He seemed startled by his own impulsive words. The emotion vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and he went back to tormenting the cola glass. Now that only ice remained, even the glass looked pitiful.
Words spoken when your guard is down tend to reveal the truth. Even if it was an act, he wanted me to treat him the way I used to. Then, in a tiny voice, he delivered the predictable line: “No, I said it wrong.” After that he slumped there like a man with nothing to do, clinking the ice in his cola. Was that so bad? Was it disgusting? He had it all wrong.
Cha Jun-jae doesn’t want to be hated. If he ever became the target of someone’s hatred, he’d probably roll on the floor crying. Wounding the Cha family’s only son was as easy as chewing gum. How lucky that I wasn’t the kind of psychopath who enjoyed watching others suffer.
“Cha Jun-jae.”
On our first day on the island, he had played the part of a gentle, mature man. It turned out Cha Jun-jae was just as capable of putting on a front as I was. In truth he was moody, cold, and often acted like a painfully shy boy. It didn’t feel like acting. The first impression I’d ever had of him was exactly that. His school days had simply been unusually bright.
“You said I was allowed to hate you. That even then, seeing each other once a month would be enough. How can you flip your words after just one day?”
“Yeah.”
“Is that a ‘yeah, I understand’ or a ‘yeah, I don’t like it’?”
“It’s ‘yeah, I understand.’ I won’t say anything like that again.”
“Look, Jun-jae. I’m seriously going to lose my mind…”
The beer glass I snatched up was far too light. Confirming it was empty, I set it down with a loud clack. Cha Jun-jae didn’t even blink; he simply stared at his cola. I reached over and stole the glass from him. At this point I might as well chew the ice.
I was crunching away at the stolen cubes when he fixed me with a dead-serious stare that bordered on comical.
“What? Do I have tomato sauce on my face?”
“You’ve always been like that.”
“…I’ve always been like that?”
Thinking he meant I’d always stolen his ice, I swallowed the half-melted piece in one gulp. With an expression that was somehow chilly and somehow dreamy, as if he were lost in a dream, Cha Jun-jae continued.
“You’d eat the sandwich I was eating without a second thought, drink from the same glass, and smile with your mouth even while your eyes said no.”
The ridiculous statement sent me tumbling back through old memories. The snacks my mother prepared for him, the meals Aunt Su-young bought. He was a picky eater and always left food behind; I vacuumed it up like a human garbage disposal. I’d thought I was being sneaky about it, so I cleared my throat in embarrassment. Aunt Su-young used to say she liked how heartily I ate compared to him, and I’d liked hearing it. I’d even licked the bottom of the health drink he left behind, pretending to be casual about it.
“I won’t steal your food anymore. Wait, it’s not like I was stealing it. I’ll just focus on my own things from now on.”
“That’s not what I disliked.”
“Then…”
Cha Jun-jae took a slow, careful breath before answering a beat later.
“I’ve just realized how cruel it was.”
“…I don’t think it’s cruel enough to call it that. It’s not like I snatched it away so you couldn’t use your spoon.”
“It is cruel.”
His earnest counter threw me off. I closed my mouth and folded my arms. I had no desire to get dragged along at Cha Jun-jae’s insane pace. I’d only wanted to probe his real feelings; I was starting to worry we’d end up holding hands on the way to a psychiatric ward. He dropped his head gloomily and muttered.
“That’s why you buy me pizza.”
“What do you mean, ‘that’?”
“So you can tell me to eat this and leave.”
It wasn’t that the line had never crossed my mind. But instead of pursuing it, I decided to peel back the layers of Cha Jun-jae’s onion heart one by one. He let out a small laugh, his face full of clear misunderstanding.
“I’m not leaving, Eun-dam.”
“…I figured as much.”
“Not until you say you’ll see me at least once a month.”
He wasn’t joking. He really meant it. I pulled his gaze—fixed somewhere beyond the window—back with my words.
“Fine.”
His interest snapped back instantly. In a voice so soft it was barely there, he asked, “What kind of fine?”
“I accept your proposal. That kind.”
A few conditions would be added, of course. There was an old saying: know yourself and know your enemy, and you will win every battle. I figured I should at least understand the reason we weren’t meant to live life alone but to share it.
The moment I opened my mouth to list my conditions, my lips sealed shut again as if coated in honey. Again. Once again Cha Jun-jae had his hand over his mouth. He was smiling like he couldn’t control it, the corners of his lips lifting gently, his eyes drenched in laughter. Watching a man smile like a flower bud bursting open somehow made everything in the world feel absurd.
I had always assumed that to me he was an indelible stain I could never erase, and that to him I was nothing more than an easy mark. Yet what exactly was I inside that head of his? That radiant smile lifted me toward a past that felt like a ball of thread pierced by hundreds of needles. It made me wonder if I had missed something, sent me rummaging through antique memories stored deep in the warehouse of my mind.
Wearing a smile so soft it looked touchable, Cha Jun-jae reached for the pizza. He transferred the cooled slices to his plate, cut them with cheerful strokes of the knife, and ate. He consumed the slice topped with fake cheese with genuine relish.
“When does your vacation end?”
“When are you leaving?”
I had given him one concession, allowed him one thing, and now he was boldly aiming for both. I slammed the table, stunned.
“I’ll leave when the extended visa runs out.”
“I’ll go around the same time.”
“You said once a month would be enough.”
“Mm. When we get back to Seoul.”
“Look at you. Hey, Cha Jun-jae.”
“I’m on vacation too. The pizza’s good. The accommodation’s nice.”
Shyly spoken, the words made him blow air through his lips as though something were terribly funny. Then he cut the pizza into neat squares and popped them into his mouth. I rode the wave and ordered another beer. By now it was deep night; the darkened alleys of Dalos used the moon and stars as streetlights. Most regular restaurants, except for pubs and a few bars, were about to close.
“Cha Jun-jae.”
“Yeah.”
“There are conditions. You need to hear them too.”
At the word conditions his knife paused mid-cut. Cha Jun-jae lifted his head with palpable tension. His eyes held disbelief and the resignation of someone who had expected this. His chewing slowed, and eventually he set the knife down completely. I leaned forward, adjusting to the shift in him.
“You said I could hate you. That it was fine if I loathed you.”
“Yeah.”
The answer came quickly, but his face looked like it needed an entire pack of cigarettes. Cha Jun-jae had never been good at lying. The irony was that he could act so convincingly while being like this.
“It’s true that I dislike you. But that doesn’t mean the genre is revenge or making you suffer. My principle was simply to live without seeing you.”
“I know.”
“Don’t just know it. There should be compensation for me, too.”
At the word compensation he finally met my eyes. I copied his smile and extended my hand as if for a handshake.
“Let’s try a different approach. Let’s turn the time we spend together into something good, even if it takes every bit of effort we have. I won’t act anymore, and if you get tired and fall away, you can just leave. How about it? Can you do that?”
I had expected an immediate “okay” or “how would I even do that,” but Cha Jun-jae’s eyes trembled. He bit his lip out of habit, then released it. The moment of hesitation stretched on. When I thought he was refusing and began to withdraw my hand, his own came forward—slowly, almost timidly—and gently cradled my palm. It was too ticklish a touch to call a handshake.
“Okay, Eun-dam. But…”
“But?”
“I don’t really know what a good time is.”
Seeing his surprisingly innocent expression, I let out a soft snort. It was simple. We were trapped together on this island; we would come to know each other. Who would eventually leave with a smile—we’d find out when the time came. I squeezed the hand I held, turning it into a challenge.
“I’ll teach you. What a good time really means.”
There was nothing left but laughter. Cha Jun-jae took my hand without the slightest suspicion. Our dramatic agreement was sealed on a moonlit night inside a failing pizza shop.