Gift Wrapping
The cosmetics sprawled dizzyingly across the floor now flitted through the air from hand to hand.
Song Gaon's young-looking face sat stiff, scrunched as if mid-frown — being made up like this was a first for her, today of all days. But unlike a college freshman fumbling through her very first attempt, she'd had the good fortune of an artist's touch: a soft application, one that hid none of her beauty, settled gently over her face.
Under Han Yeji's skilled hands the colors bloomed prettily, and Gaon stole sidelong glances at them in the mirror. She couldn't quite bring the admiration past her lips, but inwardly, she marveled. Still thrown by the fact that a girl pretty enough to have walked straight out of an illustration was actually her, Song Gaon fluttered her bangs as the beauty blossomed under Han Yeji's fingers.
"There we go... I think that's enough for color. I'll finish up with the lips, so... pucker up just a little for me, like pu~."
Prettier, yes — she was definitely getting prettier. But it was taking so long she thought she might die of old age, and that single thought had drowned out every word Han Yeji said. As Gaon sat there drifting, Han Yeji playfully called her by the one title guaranteed to make her flinch.
"Madam?"
"Ah—mmph!"
Whether she'd remembered the warning to hold still or not, Gaon let out a short breath, halfway to a groan, and clamped her mouth shut.
Watching her, Han Yeji began to worry that the Madam was slipping into outright narcissism. She rested a hand on Song Gaon's shoulder and called her back to earth.
"Ah, right — while I apply the lip, just go oom-pa, oom-pa like this."
No answer came; her lips stayed pressed stubbornly together. Han Yeji gave her a second little shake and pressed her again.
"You can move now! It's only because your base is already so pretty — just don't go falling head over heels for yourself."
"Ah... yes..."
Perhaps flustered at being caught red-handed spacing out, Song Gaon stammered and pushed her lips slightly forward. They weren't scarlet, but there was life in them. Keeping the look consistent from top to bottom, Han Yeji simply swept on a light layer of balm.
"Oom... pa... oom..... pa..."
"Pfft — what are you doing?"
Watching Song Gaon work her lips in mechanical little pumps, producing noises like a malfunctioning robot, Han Yeji finally lost the battle and burst out laughing.
There she was, dazed, staring into the mirror and going oom-pa oom-pa. The sheer absurdity of it, set against all that beauty, was unbearably cute. Maybe this was why the CEO had gone so far as to stand up to his own father to bring Song Gaon home, she thought.
"Ah..."
"Now, since this is just balm you can skip this part — but if you ever wear a colored lip, you'll need to blot like so afterward."
Han Yeji folded a tissue in half, held it between her lips, and pursed and pursed, like a goat chewing on paper. Gaon watched blankly and nodded. The tissue, flecked with color, went into the trash, and Han Yeji stepped back to survey her work.
Brows thin and straight, drawn so as not to overpower. A lower lash line sketched just far enough to frame the thick lashes without stealing their thunder.
Excellent. Simply excellent.
Song Gaon, radiating a quiet, understated beauty precisely as intended, was a triumph.
A soft pink blush that seemed to have summoned spring all on its own; lips touched with dewy life that broke none of the whole's harmony.
I wonder if the CEO can hold out through the whole day?
Setting aside Song Gaon, who appeared thoroughly bewitched by her own reflection, Han Yeji was so worried about what the CEO would do when he saw a Song Gaon this pretty — pretty even by another woman's standards — that she very nearly reached for a cleansing wipe right then and there.
Such was the trouble with ASCS: appearance, physical age, even the functional elements that came with one's sex — everything realigned itself to match the newly changed gender.
One careless slip, and Song Gaon, no doubt about it, would end up arm in arm with Lee Suho, that pretty face of hers riding above a rounding belly.
Ten months from now, there would be three people in the photo...
On humanitarian grounds alone, that's the sort of thing that ought to be prevented...
And so Han Yeji's imagination galloped on, unbridled — should she ask what names they'd picked for the children, or simply offer a few suggestions? — until a small vibration from her phone rang her back to her senses.
—Bzzz.
"Oh, it's the CEO. One moment, Madam. Yes, CEO."
Lee Suho's voice came through the receiver in a low murmur, and Gaon pricked up her ears, desperate to eavesdrop — but it was far too faint. Unable to catch a single syllable, she simply stood there with her lips stuck out in a pout.
The short call ended, and Han Yeji turned to Gaon, pout and all.
"Madam, the CEO asks whether there's anything else you need to do at home, besides the dishes and the fridge."
"No. At most I'd be rereading my old work. Oh!"
Song Gaon jolted as though something had just surfaced in her memory, and Han Yeji tilted her head, watching her.
"One of the things I promised Suho was to put up a notice by end of day... There's no computer here yet, so I was thinking of doing it from my phone... Hmm. Other than that, I don't think there's anything. Everything on my at-home list is done."
"Perfect timing, then. How about coming by the office? I'd like to head back myself and get ready to clock out... and the CEO asked if I could bring you over."
It wouldn't do to stand between a person and their quitting time, Song Gaon decided, and nodded. Han Yeji smiled warmly, picked out from the cosmetics strewn everywhere the few products Gaon was actually using, arranged them on the desk, and sorted them into tidy little groups.
—Click.
Gaon found it strange that the woman was suddenly photographing the desk and spoke up.
"What are the pictures for?"
"You'd only get confused staring at them anyway. I'm going to jot down which product goes where and how, and send it all to you."
"Oh! Thank you."
For Gaon — who had been so far gone she remembered nothing but blinking and turning her face this way and that — it felt like meeting an angel all over again.
In hindsight, she probably should have recoiled in horror at her own behavior, this eager practice at getting used to makeup. But looking at the finished piece, the pretty face of the present moment had stamped itself into Song Gaon's mind like a full-color illustration.
It would be rather pleasant, she thought, to grow even prettier from here on. Flushed with color, Song Gaon thanked Han Yeji once more.
"Shall we be off, Madam?"
"Ugh... I really don't think I'll ever get used to that word. Madam."
"Then shall I call you Unnie instead?"
"......"
That one didn't sit right with her either, Song Gaon thought, and sealed her lips tight.
Saying nothing, but rolling her eyes every which way in silent protest, she was observed for a long moment before Han Yeji offered a compromise.
"In formal settings, around other people, I'll call you Madam. The rest of the time, I'll call you Unnie."
"Ah..."
"You like them both so much you can't possibly choose between them. Isn't that right?"
I hate them both — and I'm pretty sure you know it...?
If shamelessness came in grades, this was the purest, most concentrated kind on the market. But realizing the window for negotiation had long since slammed shut, Song Gaon gave up on diplomacy altogether and nodded.
Being jerked around by Lee Suho was absurd enough; now Han Yeji had her wrapped around her finger too, and the vertigo was starting to set in.
Somehow, it'll all work out. Telling herself that, Song Gaon followed Han Yeji out the door and glanced around at the space beyond it.
The house had felt spacious, yet so few of its rooms saw any actual use that it had seemed small. And that was exactly what she'd believed — never suspecting that a single floor of this place amounted to an entire home. So there stood Song Gaon in front of the elevator, patting the spot where a pocket ought to be.
But unlike men's clothing, blouses and skirts were never blessed with pockets. Clutching at the hope that Han Yeji might have taken her car keys after all, she asked.
"Yesterday my car keys were on the desk, I could've sworn... but this morning they were gone. Did you take them somewhere?"
"You mentioned this morning, on your way out, that you'd left them with the security office — so they'll be at the ground-floor security desk."
"Right. But what about the insurance...?"
The driving coverage from her old policy, along with a whole tangle of paperwork, would all have to be sorted out. Making no effort to hide her unease, Gaon spoke to Han Yeji with something close to a groan, stepped into the elevator, pressed 1, and turned to look at her.
"It's still valid for now, so you're fine. You will have to stop by city hall eventually and take care of it in person... but I'll help with that too, so don't worry."
"Ahh... at this rate I'm going to do nothing but leech off you."
"Just take good care of the CEO and my workload will shrink by half. Don't carry it like a burden."
"By the way, these heels are genuinely miserable."
"Those are about as low as heels come — that's why it's only this bad. You'll get used to them soon enough, so don't fret."
Song Gaon had essentially dragged her feet the whole way to the elevator, and two steps after stepping out of it, she felt like a toddler relearning to walk.
"Tighten your toes, and don't let your heel hit first — plant your toes down with each step instead, and it'll be much easier on you."
"Aha..."
Unable to simply watch, Han Yeji offered the advice, and Song Gaon — who until that moment had looked like she was starting over from her very first baby steps — began, at last, to resemble something like a walking human being.
—Srrrk.
At the ground-floor entrance of the luxury apartment, beyond a small sliding window that glided open, sat an elderly gentleman who looked to be well along in years.
The security guard cast a sidelong glance at the two young ladies on the other side of the window that had just slid open, then smiled at the one he half recognized.
"Ah, miss, uuuh... you're the secretary from unit 2301, the CEO's place, aren't you?"
"Yes, yes. She should have left a set of car keys with you, I believe..."
From inside the security office, its little window the only thing ajar, came the clatter and jingle of keys, then a hand shot out through the window along with the guard's voice.
"Here you are. Though — doesn't the CEO not have a license? That's why I don't recall there ever being a car in his designated spot..."
So it really is my car... Good grief. That Lee Suho bastard lies so much I've grown suspicious of everything.
Looking down at the car key sitting on top of the pile, Song Gaon's expression brightened a touch.
"Excuse me, sir. Yesterday I couldn't drive myself, so I had a hired driver handle the parking and all — would you happen to know where it ended up?"
"Now, let's see... it was the designated spot on basement level one... Take the elevator down and turn left. Are you the CEO's older sister? Don't believe I've seen you before, heh heh."
"Oh, this is Madam. The CEO's fiancée."
Song Gaon's head whipped around to stare at Han Yeji — and her expression froze solid.