A Handful of Leisure Amid the Grind of Busy Days
Even in the relentless cycle of a packed daily routine, a handful of leisure always exists.
Heartwarming messages arrived from friends far away.
On the morning of his one day off each week, without fail, Woojin opened his laptop for script analysis—and there, unexpectedly, was a gift waiting.
An email from across the ocean.
“To Woojin…”
Woojin scrolled slowly, murmuring the contents aloud.
The sender was Anne.
WMAC. Short for Westend Musical Assemble of Company, it was the largest production company and musical actor agency in the West End. Most of the connections Woojin had made in England, including Lily, were affiliated with it, and given the team-based nature of musicals, it even housed many staff members.
Anne's bright voice seemed to ring in his ears. She must have been bouncing with excitement. Peter too, probably. It was a leap closer to their dream stage.
He hoped with all his heart that things would go well for them.
A grin crept uncontrollably across Woojin's face as he read on. Closing his eyes quietly, he recalled standing in the heart of Trafalgar Square.
It wasn't a formal stage, but so what? Wherever an actor's feet touched became the stage, and if there were people gathered to watch, they were the audience.
He had always been curious about stage acting, thirsting to try it. But he didn't know how, and amid the onslaught of film and drama schedules, that desire had faded.
Then he met Anne and Peter, and through them, he gained conviction. When he returned to Korea, he would challenge himself to stage acting.
Just as they kept thanking him, he was grateful to them too. They had shown him the thrill of the stage.
The letter from England soothed Woojin's heart that early morning.
Tap, tap, tap. The keyboard clicks were light, almost buoyant.
They called it 'give and take.' Good news deserved good news in return. He should tell them he was preparing for his first stage role in his acting career, thanks to them.
Bodies apart, but hearts aligned. To friends running toward higher dreams in different spaces.
He poured his sincerity into every word and hit send.
He asked after their well-being, shared about the project he was preparing, expressed his thanks, and mentioned his contact with UTA.
Joy multiplies when shared, doesn't it? Anne and Peter would surely be thrilled.
It was a morning filled with genuine gratitude for being able to share such welcome news.
Tap.
After pressing 'send,' Woojin closed the laptop.
His original purpose wasn't email, but it didn't matter. He wanted to savor this peace that had slipped into his breathless routine just as it was.
If he pulled up the script now, this gentle happiness would flit away. His mind would fill with the character.
So, he just closed it.
A moment later, “……”
A bit later than usual, Woojin opened the Diary.
* * *
As always.
He entered the virtual world. Or rather, it was more like slowly sinking into it.
The virtual world manifested through Saw the Pheasant? was a young person's realm—and at the same time, the purest, most untainted space among the six he had experienced or was experiencing.
He stepped into it very carefully, slowly, and quietly.
“…You came?”
The small figure reacted to the presence.
“Hi?”
“…Come, quick.”
Woojin waved, and the child urged him closer.
He strode over and scooped the child up effortlessly.
The child grinned in satisfaction, “Hehe—”
“Were you waiting for hyung?”
“…Yeah. Why, so…”
“So…?”
“…late, coming?”
The young child fidgeted with his hands, mumbling hesitantly. His outward timidity belied his clear articulation of what he wanted to say.
It was tremendous progress. For days, even gestures in response to questions had been rare, let alone speech.
Now, the child openly showed he was waiting for “me.”
To the young child, Woojin was no longer a stranger but a friend. That was Woojin's thought.
“Shall we go draw?”
“…Drawing, no.”
“Then just look again today?”
“…Yeah, have to.”
Woojin carried him toward the massive wall.
Now he could clearly see where the child pointed: a tiny empty space slightly right of center in the panoramic cityscape drawing. The interior of some high-rise officetel.
Everything else was meticulously detailed, yet that spot alone was blank. Why? He always pointed there, as if wanting to fill it, yet insisted it couldn't be drawn—a contradiction that furrowed his brow in regret over the unfinished whole.
What was this “thing” hidden in the young child's psyche that made him hesitate? Woojin couldn't contain his curiosity.
“…Closer, go?”
“Yeah.”
At the child's words, Woojin rose on tiptoe. His body slowly lifted into the air, like swimming upward in deep water or astronauts floating in zero gravity.
Of course, only when the child in his arms clearly willed it toward the wall.
Today, the child's desire was strong, so Woojin floated toward the perennial unfinished spot.
Soon, the sole undrawn area was right before his face.
“……”
The child fell silent, pondering something.
Woojin waited, giving him time to think.
But, “Hyung has a question—can I ask just one?”
Woojin asked promptly. He had realized it: the child's silence couldn't linger too long.
Wait patiently, but don't abandon. The child wanted Woojin to notice and ask. That was “interest” and “affection”—proof the other thought deeply about “me.”
‘Autism patient,’ ‘savant syndrome,’ ‘intellectual level 6-8 years’—the blatant keywords were traps. Woojin had fallen for them at first.
He thought facing the youth in the virtual world meant endless patience. That ‘endurance’ and ‘consideration’ were paramount.
Learning otherwise through Seung-hoon had flipped his thinking. Now he knew: give “interest” and “affection.”
“…What?”
After days of waiting for the child to sort his thoughts, it was time to ask.
Woojin continued, “Can you tell me why you say you can't draw here?”
“……”
The young child's eyes widened, flicking between Woojin's face and the blank space.
Woojin waited.
The child spoke. “…Noona.”
A short word. His little mouth mumbled on.
“…Noona, hates it.”
“Noona does?”
“…Yeah. Noona, doesn't like.”
The child nodded. Woojin gently stroked his head.
It was something he'd known from the script. No surprise.
* * *
Midway through Saw the Pheasant? After the youth is hospitalized in the old man's room.
The lonely old man, starved for human connection, keeps trying to communicate with his new roommate(?).
But the youth doesn't open up easily, often ignoring him.
‘This insolent kid…’ The old man swallows his rising anger. Having missed his chance to mend family ties, long regret has made him cautious, even late in life.
One dawn, the old man wakes to find the youth sitting on his bed, staring blankly out the window.
What's with him? Watching silently, he overhears a murmur.
“…Want, to draw.”
Aha! The next day, he approaches with a different gift.
Nothing fancy: pens and paper from who-knows-where.
The youth's eyes widen; the wall between them crumbles at this small act.
Unable to draw properly with his injured right arm, the old man draws for him.
Naturally, “Hey! Draw a circle?”
“…No.”
“This punk, so curt?!”
“……”
“So, what then?”
“…Square.”
“Alright. Like this?”
“…No. Perfect square.”
The old man asks, the youth answers. Their clumsy bond takes proper shape through back-and-forth talk.
One day, two… Time passes. They're together constantly—nearly all day.
Friendship builds inevitably. The old man's gruff banter softens; the youth's sudden silences vanish.
In less than a week. Their shared hunger for connection binds them tightly.
* * *
But the joy didn't last.
“Grandpa, what the hell are you doing?!”
On Sunday of the week the youth was admitted, his older sister burst into the room shouting the moment she entered.