The Shape of a Friend

Things were already in an uproar on the actor-management side of the industry. Some unheard-of rough gem had appeared in a public broadcast drama without passing through a single agency, casting manager, or acting academy.

As the old saying goes, even a hedgehog thinks its own babies are soft — and parents who had lost all objectivity pounded on agency doors every other day. Some children arrived blankly, towed along by their parents' hands, and burst into tears on the spot; others performed triple-layered aegyo designed to look adorable to exactly one audience: their own parents. Unless you were a major company, a mid-sized agency with no luxury of being picky was forced to hold auditions like that several times a day, spending weary afternoons wading through children's sobs.

And what all of that never yielded was the one thing they actually wanted: a usable actor.

Then along came a kid with a face that didn't get buried even standing next to Lee Jeonghyeon — and on top of that, his acting wasn't bad. People could talk all they wanted about ad-libs, but between industry folks, that level of hype was common courtesy to overlook. With a face like that, even if all he did was chew up his lines and spit them out, he'd have more than enough plausibility.

In other words: first come, first served.

Calls flooded in asking for Lee Yeonjae's contact information — to the PD, the writer, and the cast of Tail: Tracing the Traces, to the crew, and at the very least, to the day laborers. As agreed in advance with the orphanage director before the shoot, not one of them gave away a single thing about him.

But nothing on earth could beat the attention-seeking power of the elementary schoolers who attended the same school as Lee Yeonjae. The moment it leaked onto the internet which school he went to, a remarkable spectacle unfolded: agency representatives staking out the front gate of that elementary school.

"Hello there. You're Lee Yeonjae, the kid from Tail, right? I'm with XX Entertainment, and—"

"Yes. Please leave your card. I'll contact you if I'm interested. Thank you."

I accepted the business card with a polite bow and a quick greeting. The rep opened his mouth to press further, but Noh Bihyeok and I were already walking away.

Shoving the card carelessly into my pocket with a small sigh, I caught Noh Bihyeok squinting at me, grinning.

"'I'll contact you if I'm interested'? You know that's crueler than just saying no, right? You should've told them flat-out you weren't interested."

"It's not like this is the first or second time. How am I supposed to explain myself every single time?"

"Fair point, I guess. But hey — are you really not interested? I'd kill for that stack. I'd at least hear them out."

His gaze brushed past my bulging pocket of business cards like it physically pained him. I could see why this version of me would be baffling to a kid whose dream was to be famous.

"I'm not planning to, so what is there to hear out? I've never even taken an acting class."

"Then take one now. Bluntly? A face like yours not going into showbiz is the thing that makes no sense."

"Nothing about it doesn't make sense. Ah — let's go this way today."

Angae had told me I'd be drenched by a bucket of water out of nowhere today if I took our usual alley. Noh Bihyeok followed my sudden detour without a word of complaint.

He was the one who'd whined his way into walking home together after I'd told him a hundred times I wanted to go alone, so if he had a shred of conscience, he owed me this much whim.

"Weren't you saying you're preparing to be an idol?"

"Yep. Once I'm in middle school, I'm auditioning everywhere. The day I get in, it's over for everyone. My face is already a Free-Pass Visual, remember."

"Sure, whatever you say."

"You could at least curse me out. That dead-eyed expression hurts more, you know?"

I'd learned recently that Noh Bihyeok was taking the idol thing quite seriously. He never said it outright, but he seemed to have every detail of the plan mapped out. Call it a defense mechanism or whatever, but he'd taken to keeping "eh, if it doesn't work out, it doesn't" permanently parked on his lips — and yet for all the breeziness of the words, his eyes were dead serious.

So serious it didn't suit him at all. I still couldn't forget the genuine look on Park Haeun's face when she said that just catching that look in his eyes these days made her want to gag.

"If you're gonna act, come to the same middle school as me. Considering attendance requirements, an arts middle school's the better bet."

"I told you, I'm not thinking about it."

"Ugh, you're such a tough sell. Anyway — even if you go somewhere else, don't forget me. At least hang out on weekends."

Noh Bihyeok threw a grin over his shoulder at me. When I just stared back without answering, he abruptly declared he was craving dumplings and changed the subject. I ignored him and kept walking in silence, and he threw a tantrum like he was about to lie down in the middle of the street. The moment I sighed and nodded, he darted straight into the snack shop by himself.

Trailing after him at a leisurely pace as I watched his back, I kept sighing at an unease I couldn't put into words.

Why does he keep hanging around me?

Objectively speaking, I was not a particularly entertaining person to talk to. Actor Lee Jeonghyeon had said teasing me was its own reward, but that was an adult's standard; a peer would experience something entirely different. I kept refusing him, kept pushing him away, and he stubbornly latched back on every time. It was strange. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠He was popular enough — why bother?

And if the explanation were simply that he liked me, then the way he occasionally looked at me was too odd to square with it. Especially when he flashed that grin of his, it felt almost polished. Refined, like a face arranged to hide what was underneath.

I don't get it.

And even if I wracked my brain over it, there was nothing I could actually do about it.

I took my seat and cut across his order — "Ma'am! Three plates of meat dumplings, two of kimchi dumplings, and tteokbokki and fried stuff—!" — asking for a single plate of meat dumplings instead.

Get him fed quickly, then head back to the orphanage.

"Yeonjae!"

"Hey."

The moment I opened my eyes, I flopped down onto the bed where Angae lay, in the grip of some listless mood. These days, Angae conjured up chairs, beds, and all sorts of furniture the instant I arrived. The pieces had piled up neatly in the not-so-spacious room until it carried the smell of a place where people actually lived.

Now, when I thought of the black space, the image that came to me naturally was Angae waiting in a rocking chair for me to arrive.

Today, too, Angae — still wearing Noh Bihyeok's shape — smiled at me.

"Angae. Could you change your appearance?"

"Huh? Why?"

"Just… I'm tired."

When I mumbled it in a voice more drained than usual, Angae's face ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flickered with open panic for a moment. But the instant I thought — that expression… that was one Noh Bihyeok would never, ever make — the tension drained right out of my body.

"Never mind. It's fine. You can stay as you are."

"Mm-hmm."

I'd stopped it out of a sudden, hollow feeling, and Angae awkwardly lay back down against the bed.

I was staring blankly into nothing when I felt Angae stealing glances at me.

"Yeonjae, did something happen? Nothing happened today though! You dodged all the bad luck, every bit of it!"

"Nothing happened."

Angae knew perfectly well I didn't mean it, but only looked at me with the face of someone who had no idea what to say next. We both went quiet, and the sudden silence left Angae fidgeting, utterly at a loss.

And yet… strangely, calm began to seep into me at the sight of it. Maybe because it was just so very Angae.

I lay face-down on the bed, quietly watching that face, and slowly opened my mouth.

"Hey."

"Yeah!"

"Why does Noh Bihyeok keep coming up to talk to me? Isn't something off about it?"

Angae tilted his head at my question, then answered with easy brightness.

"What's off about it? I keep coming up to talk to you too."

"You only do it because there's no one else here to talk to… He's got plenty of people around him."

"Really? But even with lots of humans around, maybe Yeonjae is still the most fun of all! I think Yeonjae's the most fun!"

Angae laughed, letting out a voice as soft as a bun fresh out of the steamer. Whether he meant it or not, it landed like a genuinely decent piece of comfort, and a laugh escaped me.

"Thanks. But it feels like there's something. He must want something from me — that has to be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠why he keeps talking to me — and I can't figure out what it is."

"Hmmm~ Didn't you say that human's dream is to get famous?"

"I think he wants to be an idol, not famous."

"Same thing! And either way, Yeonjae's already famous, isn't he? Maybe he's sticking around you so he gets famous too!"

For all the innocence of Angae's laughter, the substance of it was startlingly pragmatic.

He was right — why hadn't I thought of that? For a celebrity, recognition was lifeblood. Of all the ways to get your name out there, being known as a friend of someone famous was the most standard route there was.

But I wasn't going to keep acting for the rest of my life, and my entire résumé amounted to one extra appearance. Would that even mean anything?

Though if I looked at it that way, the occasional sense of obligatory clinginess explained itself rather neatly. He had been conspicuously friendlier lately than at the start of the semester.

"Okay. That could be it."

I accepted Angae's explanation without protest. It wasn't certain, but knowing the most plausible reason put my mind at ease.

The transfer of misfortune factors had been gnawing at me all along — but if that was his intent, then he'd have to shoulder some of the consequences himself, wouldn't he.

Some corner of my chest still felt oddly stuffy, but I decided to leave it there.

I drew in a long breath, let myself go slack, and sprawled across the bed — and Angae looked at me with a happy little laugh.

"Do you feel a bit better, now that you've talked it out?"

In that instant, my mind snapped wide awake. Angae's words came flying in and pierced straight through me, lodging themselves deep in my heart.

So that's what it was. I… wanted to talk to someone.

I lifted my head and looked at Angae again.

Whatever shape he happened to wear, there was a softness to him — an edgeless, gentle presence that belonged to Angae alone — and it made me feel at peace. The only being for whom I had no need to worry about misfortune factors passing over, no nagging unease about things being hidden from me, no guilt to feel just for being glad that he kept stopping my accidents.

And a being I might lose sight of at any moment, never to see again.

Is this what it means… to think of someone as a friend?

Just for that one moment, I thought it was a very good thing, indeed, that Angae couldn't read my mind.