The Sleeping Nuna
On the day she was coming over, Minjun noticed the insulated bag in Eunju’s hand the moment she reached the front door. He had known since morning that she was packing something in the kitchen, but the sight of her actually carrying it out drew a quiet smile from him.
“Going to see the kids?”
Eunju, slipping on her shoes, turned to look at him. “Yes.”
“I figured you’d head to the workshop.”
“I keep wondering if they’re even eating properly.”
Minjun asked nothing more. Instead he let his gaze drift over her outfit—a comfortable knit sweater, jeans, low-heeled shoes. The kind of look that seemed both put-together and effortless. Yet he knew. Even dressed so casually, the moment Eunju stepped through that door, Hyeonwu and Doyun would see her in an entirely different way.
“Be careful.”
Eunju gave a small laugh. “I’m only going to feed them. What’s there to worry about?”
“That’s exactly why I’m saying it.”
At his answer she studied him for a breath. She was beginning to recognize what lay beneath the words: permission, caution, and the excitement that inevitably trailed after. She understood it a little better now.
“I’ll be back.”
Carrying the insulated bag, Eunju left the house.
When she reached the workshop building she paused for a moment. Her heart didn’t tremble quite as violently as the first time, yet she was far from relaxed. The password Hyeonwu had given her rose to her fingertips first. She climbed the stairs. The hallway was dim even in daylight, and a tattered scrap of flyer clung to the door. After a brief hesitation, she entered the code. A soft beep, and the lock released.
The instant the door opened, game sounds spilled out.
“Behind you! Behind!”
“I know, I know. Hang on.”
The moment Eunju stepped inside, both young men froze.
Hyeonwu was half-reclined on the fold-out bed, phone in hand, wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and loose shorts. His hair was flattened on one side and one sock had slipped off. Doyun sat on the floor staring at his laptop; he too was in nothing but a thin T-shirt and training shorts. They were exactly as they looked when no one was expected.
“N-Nuna?” Hyeonwu bolted upright. His phone tumbled onto the blanket. Doyun glanced around in panic and reached for the shirt hanging on a nearby chair.
Eunju closed the door behind her, watching their flustered movements. Their obvious embarrassment made it hard not to laugh.
“What are you trying to hide?”
Hyeonwu’s hand stopped mid-reach. Eunju lifted the insulated bag. “You’ve already seen everything. No need to cover up now.”
The words made Hyeonwu’s face flush crimson in an instant. Doyun, still clutching his shirt, cleared his throat softly. Eunju kept her expression deliberately neutral. The remark had been playful, yet beneath it lay the shared memory of those photographs—something only the three of them knew.
Hyeonwu finally draped the shirt over his shoulders but didn’t bother with the buttons. Doyun tugged pointlessly at the hem of his own T-shirt.
Eunju glanced at the workbench: empty cup-ramen containers, half-drunk cans of coffee, tangled charger cords, scattered memory-card cases.
“Are you two really living like this?”
“No,” Hyeonwu said quickly. “It’s just today—”
“It’s pretty much like this every day,” Doyun muttered beside him.
Hyeonwu shot his friend a glare. Eunju smiled and set the bag on the workbench.
“Come here.”
They approached with sheepish faces. She took out the lunch boxes one by one—gimbap, rolled omelets, stir-fried meat, a small container of fruit. Nothing extravagant, yet inside the workshop that reeked of convenience-store meals, the food looked strangely refined.
For a moment neither young man could speak.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Eat.”
She held out the chopsticks. Hyeonwu accepted them with both hands. “Thank you.”
Doyun’s voice was low. “Really… thank you.”
Eunju didn’t sit. She simply leaned against the edge of the workbench and watched them eat. At first they were self-conscious, stealing glances at her. But after the first bite, then the second, their expressions softened.
“It’s delicious,” Hyeonwu whispered.
“It really is,” Doyun agreed, nodding. “Did you make this yourself?”
“Of course. Would I claim I made it if I’d just bought it?”
At her gentle scolding Hyeonwu smiled and ducked his head. In that moment he looked exactly like a younger brother. A tender place inside Eunju warmed, even as the strangeness of the situation lingered. These two boys eating the food she had prepared would one day want to place her in front of their cameras. That knowledge sat quietly somewhere in the room.
Even after the meal, the atmosphere didn’t shift abruptly. Hyeonwu sat on the edge of the bed and opened a school assignment file. Doyun scrolled through photographs on his laptop, tweaking colors. Eunju looked around the workshop, then walked to the window.
“Don’t you ever ventilate this place?”
“We do,” Hyeonwu answered quickly. “Sometimes…”
“Sometimes isn’t enough. Do it every day.”
She opened the window. Cold air rushed in, carrying away some of the stale coffee and ramen smells. Without thinking she began to tidy—clearing the empty containers, dropping cans into a plastic bag, pushing lens caps and cables to one side of the desk, shaking out and folding the blanket on the bed.
At first the two tried to stop her.
“Nuna, we’ll do that.”
“You’ve eaten, so study. Or look at your photos like you said you needed to.”
When she spoke so matter-of-factly they could only fall silent. Yet neither studying nor editing seemed to hold their attention. When Eunju bent to pick up a paper cup from the floor, the hem of her sweater rode up, revealing a brief flash of skin at her waist. Hyeonwu’s gaze caught there for half a second before he jerked his head away. Doyun noticed and quickly looked back at his screen.
Eunju pretended not to see. But she felt the subtle change in the air against her back. She knew they wanted to look. She knew they were fighting not to. The realization sent a strange, tickling warmth through her. It wasn’t the stripping gaze of middle-aged men. It felt more like fingertips that almost brushed her skin before pulling back.
Brushing dust from the windowsill with her palm, she said, “If you keep living like this, I may have to come more often.”
Hyeonwu’s head snapped up. “Really?”
The speed of his response made Doyun snort with laughter beside him. Eunju looked at Hyeonwu.
“If you’re going to starve, yes.”
Doyun closed his laptop. “Even if we’re not starving, we’d still like you to come.”
Hyeonwu glanced at him but said nothing to stop the words this time. Eunju didn’t answer immediately. The remark had sounded like a joke, yet it carried more than humor.
“I’ll think about it.”
She went back to cleaning. Little by little the workshop began to feel like a place someone could actually live in. Wind from the open window stirred the edge of a thin backdrop cloth; dust floated lazily through shafts of light.
Hyeonwu kept his assignment open but kept fighting the urge to glance at her. Every time Eunju moved, Doyun’s hand would pause for the briefest moment over his photos. She noticed all of it and still pretended she didn’t. Strangely, that pretense made her feel at ease.
Some time later the room grew quiet. Hyeonwu lifted his head from his file.
“Nuna?”
No answer. Doyun looked up from his laptop as well.
Eunju had leaned sideways on the small sofa. She must have sat down for a moment after finishing the cleaning; at some point she had fallen asleep. The hem of her sweater had slipped, and one hand dangled loosely toward the floor. A few strands of hair stirred gently in the breeze from the window.
Both young men lost their voices at the same time.
The sleeping Eunju looked nothing like the scolding Nuna of minutes earlier. She was quiet. Defenseless. And for that reason she looked even more like a woman.
Hyeonwu’s gaze drifted for the briefest second from her profile to the line of her neck. Doyun sensed the movement. Without a word they looked at each other. Hyeonwu turned away first. Doyun followed suit. They both knew they shouldn’t look at a sleeping person that way.
Doyun rose quietly and picked up a thin blanket. Hyeonwu asked in a low voice, “Will she wake up?”
“Be careful.”
Doyun approached slowly and unfolded the blanket, laying it gently over her shoulders and waist. Eunju’s eyebrows twitched once but she didn’t wake. Hyeonwu held his breath as he watched.
When Doyun stepped back, neither of them spoke for a long time. Only the sound of wind through the window and the low whir of the laptop fan remained.
Hyeonwu whispered, almost too softly to hear, “She really does feel like a Nuna.”
Doyun kept his eyes away from the sofa. “That’s why we have to be even more careful.”
Hyeonwu nodded. They returned to their places, yet neither could focus on the screens in front of them. On the sofa lay Eunju, asleep. The woman they had once dreamed of placing before their cameras. Today she had been the Nuna who packed lunch for them, fed them, opened the windows, cleaned their mess, and then drifted off. The knowledge that both versions belonged to the same person quietly thickened the air inside the workshop, making everything feel far more complicated than before.