#29 Sunflower and Signpost (2)
He woke up and glanced at the clock. It was already late morning, well past 11 a.m., and the sight alone induced a pleasant lethargy. The habit of rising at dawn, which he'd maintained rigorously for nearly three years amid a packed schedule, had crumbled completely in just two days. Sometimes, this isn't so bad.
Since he planned to stay here for the time being anyway, he'd rented a camper van out of necessity. Choosing a camper over a pension or other lodging was likely due to Yuchan's peculiar aversion to mingling with others. Pretending to be oblivious while rubbing shoulders with people inevitably brought stress. Above all, he wanted a spot with a view of that lighthouse. Among the rundown scenery of an island once famous as a tourist spot, only that lighthouse was worth seeing.
To handle his late breakfast, he fiddled with the camper's cooking utensils. Though sparsely populated, the island had a small town since it doubled as a tourist area with a dormitory-style high school. Not keen on cooking in a camper lacking proper gear, he'd stocked up on instant side dishes. He microwaved a packaged eel rice bowl and opened the vent window for air. Placing the sides and rice on the desk at the center of the living room–cum–bedroom, he sat on the opposite side. Beyond the vent window stretched a gentle grassy hill overlooking the lighthouse. He felt a swell of pride in his choice—better view than any pension.
The parking hill was vast enough that from afar, the camper looked like it was bobbing lightly on the pale green sea. Suddenly, he recalled the girl he'd met at the lighthouse the evening before. What an odd girl. She'd seen right through him with unnerving ease—what she was thinking was impossible to pin down from her actions or expressions. Her mirror-like eyes revealed nothing. Yet, despite the unease and discomfort she stirred, there was an irrational, powerful pull. Not obsession, stubbornness, or greed. Just curiosity. The fierce impulse that always drove him.
Then, in the distance, he spotted a faint, flickering human shadow. It was her, the girl from yesterday. Carrying a box, her gait was awkward, her upper body half-obscured, but the silhouette alone confirmed it was the same girl he'd greeted. He had no guess what she was hauling. Curiosity piqued—what was she moving? He stepped out of the camper at once and headed for the lighthouse.
"We meet again."
Wiping beads of sweat from her forehead with a polka-dot handkerchief, the girl turned quietly to the approaching Yuchan. She wore a wide-brimmed round hat in addition to her sleeveless sundress and thin cardigan, both unchanged from yesterday, looking cool and comfortable. The sea behind her scattered painfully bright sunlight. Shielding her eyes with one hand, she replied.
"Yeah. Nice hat."
"Oh! Thanks."
The girl stood at the base of the lighthouse. Yuchan followed, stepping up slightly from the grass into its shade. Even in the morning, summer sun burned hot.
"Actually, I spotted you coming from pretty far off."
"I always come around this time."
She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled. It wasn't entirely accurate, but he let it slide.
"You always here?"
"No."
She shook her head lightly, her white hat swaying with the motion. Only then did she realize she still wore it, removing the now-unnecessary shade and cradling it to her chest. The large round hat didn't fit entirely, covering her whole upper body. Even for such a big hat, that was only possible because she was so tiny.
"About an hour, then I go. Mornings, evenings, nights—it all looks different here." She added softly that she didn't come to the sea at night often. Apparently, she visited the lighthouse around noon and evening, excluding nights. In a world dominated by TVs and computers, a student maintaining such refined hobbies was a surprising find on multiple levels. Conversely, imagining this girl buried in mass media or rampant info-floods felt even harder.
Idly drifting thoughts kept surfacing. With no real response from him, she changed the subject.
"But you're different from yesterday. Like a whole other person."
Yuchan touched his mouth absentmindedly. The half-unconscious smile he always wore around people was gone. Not because he'd noticed her words, but her pointing it out cracked the mask he'd deemed perfect. Mimicry meant nothing before her. He hated inefficiency.
"Weird?"
"No, much better. A smile would make it perfect... but you're too old for that, huh?"
Her confident tone sparked defiance, but he had no retort. He swallowed another surge of irritation.
"Fine, I could fake an expression, but not the kind you want."
He tested her, meeting her eyes. Unchanged from yesterday—no hesitation, no flicker, no intimidation. They seemed a clear surface reflecting her inner self directly. Two thoughts arose. One: he wanted eyes like hers to view the world. Two: if this girl were raped and her spirit crushed, could she keep those eyes? He questioned why such a thought even crossed his mind.
"Sorry to say it, but that stiff face makes you look about five years older."
"You told me to act natural. Gotta take the good with the bad."
"True... and you're not ugly enough to be unwatchable. I'll let it slide generously."
His eyes caught something mid-conversation. Ahead of what seemed a lighthouse storeroom stood a wooden bookshelf, barely waist-high.
"Bookshelf?"
The box she'd carried wasn't large, so probably books from there. Tearing his gaze from them, he asked reflexively. For now, his goal was to close the distance. She might teach him something he didn't know. Yuchan prided himself on his reading; shared topics built rapport effortlessly.
"Like books?"
"Not really, but thinking of starting. Feels wasteful just killing time here. Books are good for the soul, right?"
"Reason to read here? Must've been heavy."
"Hmm, not really."
She grinned mischievously. Scanning the shelf casually, his eyes snagged on her bag atop it. A medicine packet caught his drifting gaze. Following it, she picked up the packet before he could ask, showing it off.
"Oh, meds from the hospital."
"What kind?"
"Painkillers, sleeping pills, antidepressants, they said."
The packet was thick. He'd thought it just bulky paper, but it sagged heavily, clearly full.
"You take all that?"
Even for an adult male, it was daunting; a week's dose would've been excessive. Just looking made his stomach turn.
"Nah, hardly ever."
"Then?"
"Fish food."
The absurd answer delayed his reaction. For normal people, he'd discern joke from truth easily, but this strange girl might mean it literally. Seeing his serious face, she hurried on.
"You didn't actually believe that, right? Looked like you did for a sec."
He flinched inwardly—read that easily? She seemed guileless at a glance, but piercingly sharp where it counted. Her sense of humor, though, was off.
"What about the unused ones?"
"Seagull food."
"Enough already. Not funny."
Consecutive nonsense grated; his voice rose unconsciously. Instantly, embarrassment hit. Even with moody types like Harin, he'd smiled to win favor. Overreacting to childish teasing? Absurd. But she showed no fear, just smiling and piling on what she'd know he'd hate.
"First real expression today. Congrats."
He had no comeback. How brazen. He prided himself on thick skin, yet she already had him off-balance.
"Ow, my legs hurt."
Apparently tired of standing, she perched on the bookshelf in the lighthouse shade. Patting the empty spot beside, she gestured for him to sit. He ambled over slowly and did. She showed no wariness, not even minimal—like perfect prey.
"I toss the uneaten ones. Keep the sleeping pills proper-like, though. Want some?"
Rummaging the packet, she handed over a few. Her transparent, rose-glass hands were beautiful. Useful stuff—he took them gratefully.
"Why not take 'em? Bitter?"
"Huh?"
Her eyes widened sparklingly, then she laughed a beat late. First impressions confirmed: pretty dim in some ways.
"No way, I'm not that childish."
He swallowed the retort that she already seemed plenty so.
"Then why?"
An odd silence. They'd been facing the same direction, so the delay in noticing hit ten seconds later. Turning, he met her gaze—she'd been staring at his profile, eyes twinkling with curiosity or something akin. Brighter than sunlight on sea, he squinted reflexively. She giggled that "ajusshi" laugh.
"Don't you think you're asking too many questions?"
"Sorry. Ask whatever you want, go ahead."
"Okay, first—we don't even know each other's names."
Only then did he realize. Such a basic slip. He'd been too swept up.
"Yuchan. Doubt you're curious, but it's the shining chan (燦)."
"I'm Seohae. Both single syllables. A few more questions okay?"
He nodded; she met his eyes prettily. Always straight-on stare. Then, a question mismatched to her earnest gaze.
"Got a girlfriend, ajusshi?"
"Had something like that, but got dumped recently."
Embellishing truth as lie, she made a strange face. Then the tactless follow-up.
"So, got dumped and came moping on a pity trip?"
"Something like that."
Sharp tongue. Unlike her innocent first impression, she was blunt, borderline rude. Yet she had a disarming aura. Everything but her piercing gaze that saw through his displeasures.
"Makes sense why she dumped you."
Her hair swayed as she nodded sagely. Tiny face serious—surprisingly cute.
"You don't treat other people sincerely. They don't notice at first, but stick around and it shows—how genuine they are with you."
"New take. Others never caught on."
"Nah, I'm not super social, but fools get duped to the end. Wasn't it awkward? Pretending not to notice?"
Despite barely meeting, her frank opinion hit. Was he that unnatural? He'd thought his mask superior to his father's.
"Surprisingly sharp tongue."
"You won't get hurt by this much. Or should I apologize properly?"
"Nah. My turn: why not take them?"
Seohae hesitated, playful vibe vanishing into calm, gentle tones. The sudden shift was hard to adjust. Where went the pushy attitude? Now shy confession tinged with embarrassment.
"Wanna stay sharp-minded as possible."
Unexpected.
"Painkillers and such dull the mind—3, 4 hours fly by. Too wasteful. If this pain's part of my reality, denying it feels wrong."
Her words seemed meant for him, prepped for one who'd ignored his own voids. Like saying, I wouldn't have ignored it if I were you. Naturally, he sneered.
"Foolish. Self-inflicted suffering."
She smiled. He always sneered; she always smiled. Self-mockingly, she twirled her hair lightly.
"I know it's dumb."
"What's wrong?"
"Heart gets weak and stops, they say."
"That so? Tough."
Her confession stirred no waves in him, naturally. Gauging his nonchalance, Seohae leaned from the shelf, sprang up grabbing her bag.
"In a way, we're alike, ajusshi."
Absurd again. Her next words left him frozen; only her footsteps toward the hill sounded.
"My heart hurts; yours is the mind."
Only later did he realize it was her petulant jab at his lack of empathy.