Closer Than Expected

Less than an hour after I sent that text, the bell rang outside. I checked through the intercom, and sure enough, there was Muk Ha-neul standing there. I hurried out and opened the door. Now she was definitely taller than me.

"You got here quick."

"Uh, um…?"

"What're you doing? Come on in."

"Um, isn't this Seol-guk sunbae's place…?"

"Yeah."

"Then… who are you?"

I let out a long sigh. Was she seriously unable to figure it out even with this hair color, or was she in denial? Her casual speech, assuming I was younger, was getting on my nerves.

"Who else in this country would have hair like this right now? Just come in."

I guided the flustered Muk Ha-neul inside to the sofa and poured her a cup of water. She set down the basket she'd brought with an awkward motion and asked,

"S-sunbae, is it really you? I mean, are you really Seol-guk sunbae…?"

Her awkward mix of casual and polite speech made it seem like she still hadn't grasped the situation. I couldn't blame her—it was hard to believe even for me. That her once-taller male sunbae had suddenly turned into this tiny kid.

"Yeah, it's me. Seol-guk. The rude one with a filthy temper and a sharp tongue. The same Seol-guk who made plans with you to see that play last weekend."

"It's… really you…?"

"You think it'd be fake?"

Her face had been confused just moments ago, but now it was pure shock. And it was shocking. I'd lived my whole life without knowing such a disease existed. Muk Ha-neul looked just as stunned.

"You've gotten… way smaller than I thought. Your face kinda looks similar, though."

"Does it?"

It was an unexpected comment from her. Similar? I hadn't noticed much in the mirror, but maybe. The idea that some trace of my past self lingered in this body lifted my mood a bit.

"Yeah, but the hair color… it's wild how it bleached out like this all of a sudden. But why's your hair like that?"

"Like what."

"It looks like a mouse chewed it up. Did you cut it yourself?"

Sharp as ever, this one.

"It was longer before, but it was annoying, so I hacked it off. Can't exactly go to a salon, so I did it myself. That weird?"

"It's weird. Want me to fix it up a bit?"

"You can do that?"

"Not really, but I can make it way better than this."

There was a fierce determination in her voice, like she had a mission to fix this atrocity. Since my self-cut had its limits anyway, handing it over to her seemed fine.

"Alright, cut it. Can you make it super short?"

"Huh? Even shorter?"

"Yeah. Long hair's too girly."

Her face stiffened at my demand to chop it all off. What, offended by that? I'd tossed out lines like this without breathing back in the day. No reason for her to get upset now.

But her stiffness came from something else.

"It's a shame… Isn't cutting it that short a waste?"

She just hated the idea of a short cut.

"Not a waste. Just cut it."

"B-but long hair suits you a bit better…."

"None of your business. Don't care."

"Still, a little styling goes a long ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠way socially. People like it."

"If I wanted people to like me, I wouldn't talk like I do."

"But it's really a shame…."

"Don't be annoying."

She tried to persuade me, but my mind was set. Sure, I'd become a woman, but my head hadn't changed. No way was I dolling up like one. The short hair was part of that. Nothing she said would sway me.

~ …or so I thought back then.

She finally gave up and took the kitchen scissors I'd grabbed to trim it.

"Then sit here…."

I sat in the chair as instructed. To keep clippings off my clothes, I draped a towel around my neck. All good so far—until she spoke up out of nowhere.

"Come to think of it… we had a lot of sunbaes in our department with short hair."

The type that immediately came to mind? The ones I hated most. The so-called talco, talcorset crowd. Feminists. They claimed to reject society's demands for femininity, but really, they were just ugly pigs giving up on looks altogether—a total dead-end movement.

Of course, they infested the Creative Writing Department too. I'd been openly disgusted by them, refusing even to associate.

This wasn't about that movement, obviously. But rejecting femininity and ditching grooming? Similar enough. What if people saw me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that way? Being mistaken for a feminist was the most absurd thing imaginable, and I wouldn't tolerate even a hint of it.

So, to Muk Ha-neul, who was still hesitating with her hands on my head, I muttered softly,

"…Let's not cut it after all."

"Huh? Really?"

"Kinda ruined my mood."

"Good call! I'll make it pretty for you."

No need for that much. In the end, she tidied it up neatly. The jagged mess looked way better now.

"Thanks."

"No problem. I was worried the bleaching damaged the texture, but it feels fine. I fixed it for now, but next time, go to a proper salon."

"Can't hide forever. Once the buzz dies down, yeah."

Since I was ground zero for publicizing TS syndrome, it'd take time. But Korean scandals fade fast. Two weeks had passed already; two more, and it'd be old news.

"This place feels kinda empty, huh."

"Sudden move. Not even my doing—the NIS helped."

"The NIS? So the identity laundering thing is real?"

Her face tensed as she asked. I shook my head.

"Nah, not doing that. They suggested it, but I didn't do anything wrong. No running."

She relaxed, relieved. Then,

"Kinda reassuring you're the same old sunbae."

"Good."

Her calling me the "same" eased me too. She had limits as a woman, but she'd always seen me for me.

But her thoughts veered elsewhere.

"Still, your looks changed a lot. So tiny now."

She sat on the chair behind me and gently gripped my shoulders. It tickled oddly.

"Hey, let go…."

I tried shaking her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠off, but she held firm. I had to tell her to stop outright. Only then did she release.

"Sorry. Gripped too hard? Hurt?"

"It's not about pain…."

Sigh, whatever. No point explaining manners to this clueless idiot.

"Speaking of, you picked super casual clothes. Like something a guy would wear."

"I'm a guy. And I didn't pick 'em."

"…Who did?"

"NIS agent bought them. Underwear too, all of it."

"U-underwear too?"

"Just this one set."

"Was the agent a woman or a man?"

"Woman. Why?"

"Oh, nothing."

Weird question.

"So… are you wearing proper underwear right now?"

"Doesn't seem like a question for your four-years-older male sunbae."

"You brought up underwear first."

Had I? The snug triangle panty sensation must've slipped my tongue.

"Anyway."

"So, are you?"

"What'll you do with that info."

"It's important, especially in puberty. Might sound weird, but."

"It is weird, so drop it."

"Still, proper fitted stuff is key during growth spurts."

Suddenly, it felt ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like she wasn't hearing me at all. I had zero interest in fitted whatever. Irritation built, but yelling at her like old times felt harder now. Partly because I was sitting, but her height loomed intimidatingly. I'd adjusted to this view, but facing a familiar face amplified the dissonance.

"Mind if I check your closet?"

"Nothing to see."

"Huh?"

"Just this one outfit. Underwear too. NIS agent got this and that hat over there."

I pointed to the hat tossed on the sofa.

"They said skip outings for now, but if unavoidable, wear it to hide my hair. Wore it coming here. Clothes? Just this one set. Can't go out yet, so planning online orders."

Her face hardened—the most serious yet.

"…Sunbae."

"What."

"Let's go buy clothes."