No Difficulty
The seven-person villa, which I heard had been hastily completed during the off-season, came with a large swimming pool. It was long enough for someone of Cha Jun-jae’s stature to swim laps comfortably, and it even had a slide perfect for children to play on.
The accommodation consisted of one large house with three spacious bedrooms and a small cabin across the pool that we would share. For tonight, the small cabin had apparently been designated as my personal space.
So why was I standing outside watching instead of going in?
The bungalow-style house happened to have a small bar and kitchen. I was currently perched at the long bar table, watching Cha Jun-jae pour beer. He had politely put on a plain white short-sleeve t-shirt, but his hair was still damp as he poured the drinks. I hope he catches a cold.
“Jun-jae. Didn’t you have a really hard time getting these vacation days?”
I had plenty of reasons to refuse Cha Jun-jae’s suggestion to have a drink, yet I sat down with him for one simple reason. I couldn’t let my paradise sink into Cha Jun-jae’s swamp. My parents were difficulty level one, the accompanying adults rose to level two because of guilt, but when the final boss Cha Jun-jae entered the picture, everything changed. Cha Jun-jae was no difficulty. After all, my score against him was something like zero wins and fifty losses.
“Everyone else is only staying here for a day or two because there’s nothing to do. Snorkeling and swimming get old fast, and the restaurants only serve pizza and burgers… You’re supposed to be managing your body too.”
Cha Jun-jae finished filling the beer glass with neat precision and slowly lifted his gaze. I couldn’t tell whether he had heard my thinly veiled recommendations disguised as concern. His face, which looked increasingly pleased, showed no sign of worry.
“Then what about you?”
“Huh?”
“Why are you staying on an island that everyone else only visits for a day or two—for three whole months?”
Whenever Cha Jun-jae showed that gentle look in his eyes, bad things tended to happen. Kind, good-natured, class president material, student council president material, great social skills. The things people said about Cha Jun-jae were always wrapped in fragrant flowerbeds, but the truth lay in the roots of those flowers. They simply didn’t know about the poison in those roots. The butterflies and bees that were lured by Cha Jun-jae’s flower always met the worst possible end. It was only natural that I, the one who kept putting up warning signs to beware of the Cha Jun-jae flower, looked like the crazy one.
That was why I stayed on guard against his gentleness. After all, they say even a knife cuts better when it’s smooth. That phrase perfectly described Cha Jun-jae. Just like a moment ago—he had known I was trying to push him away and had smoothly changed the subject to something completely unrelated.
“I like quiet places, that’s all. I have work to do here too. But you’re not like that, Jun-jae. How did you even get this vacation? Don’t waste it in a place like this.”
“Why would it be a waste?”
Cha Jun-jae, who had only been swirling the beer he wasn’t even drinking, asked calmly in return. The further the conversation went, the more worked up I became while he sat there like a calm superior listening to a report. Still, I had firmly resolved not to lose control this time.
“Like I said earlier, this place isn’t great for someone like you. My mom and dad will probably leave in disgust soon too. I’m busy just lounging around… and you, Jun-jae—you know how busy you are. It’s such a waste of your time. Such a shame.”
I felt like I was doing a one-man show. I’d chatter with a smile following his lead, then gulp down beer when my throat got dry, then stare at the mannequin-like Cha Jun-jae with fed-up eyes when he gave no reaction at all.
No matter how many flaws I listed—hygiene, scenery, weather—Cha Jun-jae only answered by taking a single sip of beer. He listened to my long-winded speech as if he were hearing an old friend’s life story.
“That’s right. And there’s one more thing. Didn’t I mention the horse carriage earlier? The thing that’s really difficult is…”
I didn’t want to look like someone repeating a drunken story, but I had to say it. My head was growing fuzzy, sleep was creeping in, and no matter how hard I thought, I couldn’t come up with anything that would make Cha Jun-jae look shocked or dumbfounded. When every problem had always rolled this way, was this another defeat for me? The moment I closed my eyes briefly to fight off the oncoming drowsiness, the feeling of cold glass against my cheek made sleep flee in an instant.
“Don’t fall asleep.”
A newly opened beer bottle was pressed against my cheek. I had only closed and opened my eyes, yet Cha Jun-jae was now sitting in the chair across from me. The distance between us felt uncomfortably close, so my body naturally leaned back. The hand that had been holding the bottle to my cheek withdrew as if it had never been there.
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“You closed your eyes and stopped talking, so I thought you were.”
“…Honestly, I am pretty tired. I drank too much beer.”
“Want to go inside and sleep?”
It was an infuriatingly perfect night—Cha Jun-jae’s face as he poured beer into the empty glass was too handsome. I had to persuade him. No, I had to threaten him. Those two sentences were swirling in my head when his lips parted.
“If you’re not going to sleep, then at least keep talking like before.”
Was I supposed to be the radio DJ he applied for? This was bad. If I opened my mouth, my honest feelings might spill out. My emotions regarding Cha Jun-jae were buried so deep that they sometimes escaped without permission. They would say something sharp, make an ugly face, or burst out with the truth as if shouting whatever, I don’t care anymore. The result was always embarrassment and regret.
“But you must be bored.”
“Why would I be?”
Cha Jun-jae, who had quickly emptied another glass, smiled with what looked like the haze of alcohol. Irritated, I deliberately turned my face toward the swimming pool and said,
“You’re not going to hang out with the adults, and you don’t know anyone here either.”
It was an indirect way of saying it, but Cha Jun-jae would have understood perfectly. That there was no chance I would ever spend time with him, even if I died. Seeing him trapped on this island wasting his time wouldn’t be so bad.
I let out a small snort and habitually reached for the beer glass. Then I suddenly found his silence suspicious. I turned my stiff neck slightly to check on him. My heart, which had been expecting to see him drunk and sprawled out, sank heavily. There was no trace of intoxication on his face, nor any ill will toward me—only a calm gaze and a faint smile. My eyes, which had meant to glance and leave, became fixed. At his unchanging, indifferent attention, my fists clenched tightly.
You, who always remained so quiet as if my burning heart and anger meant nothing—what exactly are you? I was desperately struggling to protect this small island, yet your complete lack of reaction, as if even that was boring, hurt me.
“Eun-dam.”
Maybe it was the alcohol, but my vision was starting to blur. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of him, so I focused all my strength into my eyes. Cha Jun-jae, caught in my gradually fading sight, had a smile that was slightly different in direction.
“Sometimes, when I listen to the things you say…”
“…When you listen?”
“It feels like you hate me.”
Rather than being surprised by his calm, sunken voice, I felt puzzled. Wanting to look like I wasn’t answering because of the alcohol, I rested my head on the table. As I closed my eyes to avoid meeting his gaze, the sound of rain wrapped around my ears. As if to confirm it wasn’t my imagination, a gentle voice settled over me.
“It’s raining.”
Of course it is. It’s the rainy season. It rains here even on days when the sun is blazing. My answer echoed only inside my mind. After quiet footsteps, a warm presence settled on my shoulder. The moment I felt the soft texture of fabric and began to drift into sleep, the persistent sound of rain summoned a long-buried memory.
“Eun-dam, sometimes…”
A boy smaller than he was now, thinner, paler, and colder. A boy in a white school uniform shirt had said the exact same words.
“It feels like you hate me.”
I admit that I hate him. But strangely, I find it unbearably pathetic to let him know that. In a world where everyone loves him, cheers for him, and envies him, I’m the only one who hates him.
It feels like an inescapable inferiority complex.