Permission
Hwang Jiyoung propped her chin on her hand, looked at Hyunji with open envy, and murmured.
"You really do know how to say things so they feel good. I'm jealous. Our Hyunji."
"Right? Sira and Hwayoung are going to regret not coming."
"Tomorrow I'm bragging that I saw Hyunji's oppa."
Now that I thought about it, I did remember Hyunji having five friends. Those must have been the other two names. Jiyoung seemed to catch herself; she flicked a glance at Seolah, and Seolah gave a slow nod before she spoke.
"We're at a women's university, you know. So they brought in a few male dancers from outside, and I ended up partnered with one of them."
"Ah. That tracks. I don't know much about ballet."
"That's all right. But that danseur is incredibly particular..."
"Don't even get me started."
Hwang Jiyoung folded her arms, crossed her legs, and went on grumbling.
"He acts like Seolah's his personal slave. If it were just reasonable errands, the rest of us would tell ourselves there was nothing we could do."
"Seolah's already worn out from practice, and he has her doing every little thing. When I saw him dump his car repairs on her, I knew this had gone too far."
"...What does he make her do?"
"Car repairs. Get this—he's got a Ferrari, of all things, and a shop he always uses. The place is a thirty-minute drive away, and he tells her to take the car there and drop it off."
"Then how is Seolah supposed to get back?"
"Exactly. Oh, oppa, you actually get it."
"Even after Seolah told him she'd gotten her license and never driven once, he still made her do it. Maybe he was hoping she'd crash."
"Right? He's just bullying her."
Hyunji answered with a pout, and I nodded. She was right—it was plain harassment. Sending a brand-new driver off to an auto shop, and trusting her with a Ferrari at that, made the intent feel off. How was a college girl in her early twenties supposed to just get behind the wheel of something like that out of nowhere? It almost made me wonder what Im Seolah could possibly have done to deserve it.
"On top of that he had her doing housework. Our professor found out and absolutely exploded, but..."
"Still, that one worked out, thanks to Jiyoung sending her aunt."
The remark left me staring at Hwang Jiyoung, dumbfounded, and only then did she look away, as if she were embarrassed. She got shy in the strangest places. Helping a friend was something to be proud of, and yet she flushed over it. Maybe she was just the type to find that sort of thing awkward. I nodded at her quietly and smiled, and she fussed with her glass as if my gaze itself made her self-conscious. Hyunji, beside me, leaned in and whispered.
"The professor can't really do anything either."
"Why not?"
"Male dancers have far too much pull in the companies here. Even if we are Ewha, once the danseurs blacklist you, a national company might still be possible—but getting into a private troupe becomes nearly impossible."
"And he just started acting like this? For no reason?"
"Yeah. Oh—maybe that."
Hwang Jiyoung tilted her head, then her face lit as if something had come back to her, and she went on.
"She did ask to switch partners, but among us Seolah's the one who fits the role, so the professor refused."
"And there isn't enough time to recast and rehearse it all over again."
"It isn't even an important part, but that doesn't mean it's easy."
"...It's just because I'm the lightest, isn't it."
"Exactly. It's only a handful of lifts. If anything, we were being considerate of him."
"...How am I supposed to throw my body at someone like that and trust him."
"But why did she ask to switch?"
"He says she's heavy."
"That she's fat..."
I couldn't help tilting my own head and letting my eyes travel, quite naturally, up and down Seolah where she sat beside me. A little color rose in her face under the look, but I was at a loss for words.
"...This is fat?"
"According to him."
"He needs to start making sense before anyone takes him seriously. Honestly."
"...It's not the car that needs fixing. It's his eyes."
Hwang Jiyoung laughed as if that had cleared her chest, and Lee Miji smiled, fresh and shy. Seolah's face flushed a little deeper, but Hyunji answered for her.
"I know, right? Seolah weighs a good four pounds less than I do."
"...Less than you?"
"...Y-yeah. I-I'm not heavy, oppa."
"I know. I've carried you."
"...Ah..."
Another shriek filled the room at that, but I only grinned at Hyunji, pink to her ears. It wasn't my world, so I didn't want to speak carelessly; I just nodded and answered.
"I see."
"Yeah. Once we hit performance season, the rest of us are all down around ninety pounds. Seolah's the only one still in the eighties."
"I-it's because I'm a little short."
"We could cut more, but you'd actually die doing it. The seniors risk their lives because it's their graduation piece, but the rest of us still have to live."
"That makes sense."
The numbers kept coming out unreal. Im Seolah was short enough that I could almost understand it, but Hwang Jiyoung looked, even at a glance, at least five-six, probably taller. Under my gaze her face reddened and her eyes dropped.
"I-I'm a little tall, so..."
"Yeah. That must be rough."
"...It's driving me crazy. No matter how much I cut, the weight of my bones means a hundred pounds is the wall... and these uselessly big breasts won't shrink... hk."
She seemed to realize she'd talked about her chest without meaning to and hurried to cover her mouth, but there was no stopping my eyes. The T-shirt ran close to a loose fit, so I couldn't really tell.
"...They look even more impressive for that."
"...That's why I worry so much. Sometimes I think, once I graduate, maybe I should go back to contemporary dance."
I sat and listened to the worry, and Hwang Jiyoung spilled the rest of her complaints right after. Somewhere along the way she was treating me like an actual friend, comfortable enough to hand over her troubles, and I listened quietly and nodded along. There was no need to show off in a field I knew nothing about.
"...Still, you listen so well, oppa. It loosens something in my chest."
"Yeah. Sorry we've only been talking about ourselves."
"Don't be. I don't know any of this, so it was interesting to hear. Ah—is it rude if I say interesting?"
"Not in the least. Everyone only ever talks about what the danseurs go through. Nobody listens to us ballerinas."
"I see."
After that it ran on—complaints, grumbling, stories of school life—and none of it was boring. So this was what looks were worth. A few hours ago I'd sworn not to judge people by appearance, and already I was wavering. Voices like birds chattering, pretty faces: eyes and ears both had a fine time of it. And it struck me how hard Hyunji must have been working where I couldn't see. Art really wasn't something just anyone could do. Then a hand closed over the back of mine, and I turned.
"...Oppa, you're bored, aren't you...?"
"No. I was just thinking our Hyunji's had it rough."
"...Ah, it's not hard. It's fun. These days I'm so happy. Because of you, oppa."
Hyunji quietly rested her cheek against my shoulder and whispered at my ear.
"Since I met you, it feels like I've come to some other world."
"Me too."
"Really?"
"Yeah. For me it really does feel like another world."
"...I'm glad."
Of course my "world" carried a different shade than hers. I slipped an arm quietly around Hyunji's waist, then slowly got to my feet.
"Keep talking over drinks. I'm going to step out to the restroom."
"Okay, oppa."
I had the feeling Hyunji couldn't properly join the conversation because of where I was sitting, so I'd used the bathroom as an excuse to give up the seat. And as if she'd been waiting for it, Hwang Jiyoung brought up Hyunji, drawing her naturally into the talk. When our eyes met on my way out of the room, the look on Jiyoung's face put her closer to my side of things—Changsu's, even—than to the rest of them. Was she looking out for me because I was heading to the bathroom? She'd been quietly cute for a while now. I tipped her a small nod and left the room for the restroom.
Already this late.
I gave my face a quick wash and checked the time. It was already past one-thirty. The performance was two days away—could they really keep running like this? They'd manage on their own. They were far closer to professionals than I was, and young enough that they'd recover well. Only, if it got any later, I didn't think I'd get the night with Hyunji. I'd heard every grievance they had; I wasn't wrecked enough as a person to grind them down just to satisfy myself.
"Ah."
I was drying the water from my hands on the way out when I nearly collided with a woman coming through. The instant I saw the ankle in high heels buckle sideways, I shot a hand out and caught her before she went down.
"Are you all right?"
"Ah... I-I'm sorry..."
The face that lifted was none other than Im Seolah's. She hurried to get up at the sight of me, and I helped her, settling her back against the wall. Fat, was she. A waist I could close in one hand—where, exactly, was the fat supposed to be. She'd had a little too much; she couldn't quite hold herself steady.
"Did you drink a lot?"
"It's just... we don't drink that often."
"And you've been under some stress?"
"...Yes. Haa..."
"Two big bottles is plenty. How about wrapping up soon? You've got practice tomorrow."
"...You're right. Practice tomorrow..."
Im Seolah let the back of her head rest against the wall and let out a long sigh, staring up at the ceiling. I leaned my own back against the opposite wall and simply looked at her. She could have been a model. She was only about the width of an index finger shorter than Hyunji, but the heels made her look long and lean, like someone off a runway. Slim, with a small head, her proportions were absurd—eight heads didn't begin to cover it. And the line of her legs, sheathed in black heels and black stockings sheer enough to hint at skin, was enough to stop a breath.
"...Do I look fat to you too, oppa...?"
"No. You look good. Pretty, like a model."
"Really...?"
"Yeah. If I passed you on the street, I'd think you were a celebrity."
She must have felt my gaze. Im Seolah flushed and asked in a trembling voice—whether from the drink, or because she wanted to hear again what I'd said earlier, or because she was drawing my eyes to put her body on offer. I wasn't someone who couldn't tell the difference. I could feel, clear as a signal, that she was asking because of the alcohol.
"...Thank you."
"Don't thank me. I'm the one who's grateful. Getting to look at a body honed like this is an honor. I can feel exactly how hard you worked for it."
"...Prettier than Hyunji?"
The moment a thin tension drew itself between us, Im Seolah joked, as if the air made her awkward—after she'd been the one sending the signals. But she'd picked the wrong man.
"...I wouldn't know. I haven't gotten one of you undressed yet."
I answered by raising the stakes, and a short laugh slipped out of me at how fast Im Seolah's face went red. Then I pushed off the wall and took a slow step toward her.
"Do you actually need my honest impression?"
"Ah..."
I came in close, braced my right arm against the wall, and slowly stroked her cheek. The face looking up at me burned as if it might burst on the spot. I watched her swallow, looked into those pretty eyes, and whispered.
"If I asked you to show me, would you?"
"...Haa... That's..."
"If I undressed you, would you stay still?"
"...Hk..."
She couldn't string another word together—only a shaking breath. I watched the lovely line of her throat as she swallowed, then let the hand that had been stroking her cheek follow that jaw, sharp enough to cut, softly downward. Barely there. Touching, and not. The instant it brushed soft skin, I could see every fine hair on Im Seolah stand on end.
"Mm..."
"Your skin's really clear. Do you do something special for it?"
"N-no... I just... like the other girls..."
"Soft. Not a single blemish. Must be because you're young."
"Hnn... Th-thank you..."
"No. I'm the one who should be thanking you. A face this clean, and you don't say a word when I touch it."
"O-oppa..."
"Should I take that to mean I'm allowed to undress you?"
"Hk..."
Maybe it was the alcohol; I couldn't say. But at nothing more than this touch and this tension, Im Seolah's eyes began to glaze, dreamy and unfocused. Watching a faint Heat Haze rise near her collarbone, I let the fingers that had been tracing her jaw drift on down along her throat.
"Haaah... gulp..."
I felt the line of her neck jump as she swallowed, and followed it down to the collar of her fine silk blouse. The silk was expensive, the detailing precise—clearly a luxury piece. I looked into her eyes, her breath taking on a hotter edge, and whispered.
"But I can't."
"H-haa... O-oppa..."
"Go get Hyunji's permission first."
"...Ah, that's..."
At my words Im Seolah's eyes went round, and she tried, urgently, to say something to me—but in that instant my hand brushed the collarbone above her blouse. She squeezed her eyes shut and clapped a hand over her own mouth.