Siu's Shirt
Friday night, eleven o'clock. I was in the middle of working when the front doorbell rang. Once. Then immediately again. And once more. There was only one person who would ring it like crazy in such rapid succession. Dain.
I set my tablet down and walked to the front door. I opened it. Dain stood there, clutching her laptop and tablet in both arms. She was wearing an oversized sweatshirt and short shorts, with two bobby pins in her hair. A faint trace of blue paint lingered on the tips of her fingernails. She had clearly run straight up here in the middle of working, just as she always did.
"Oppa, you have to help me."
"...With what?"
"My assignment is due on Monday, and I've only done thirteen pages."
Dain made a tearful face. Her round eyes drooped, and her cheeks puffed out in a pout.
"It's a school project. 'Twenty Figure Croquis of People in Daily Life.' I feel like I'd be able to focus so much better if I drew next to your desk."
"Can't you do it down in 101?"
"It's May, so everyone has their windows open. Since I'm on the first floor, all the street noise leaks right in. Plus, we're close to the bar district, so Friday nights are hopeless. People shouting, someone singing karaoke somewhere..."
Dain counted the reasons on her fingers. Then, she added one more.
"And Oppa, I helped you with your last deadline, didn't I? Just this once, as a favor in return?"
A favor in return. She was really using that word like this. In essence, she was demanding a return on a favor she had already been repaid for. Her way of inventing excuses was both shameless and cute.
"...Come on in."
Dain's face lit up. She slipped off her sandals and stepped inside, heading straight for the desk in the corner of the living room.
I had already been working, with the sketch for my next chapter open on my tablet. Dain set herself up right next to me. She set up a folding table, placed her laptop on it, and pulled out her tablet and stylus.
"Want some coffee?"
"Yes! Something sweet."
I made her an instant café mocha. Dain wrapped both hands around the mug and took a sip.
"Mmm... I feel alive again."
"Is it really that loud down there?"
"I can hear people singing clearly enough to name the song. My stylus kept freezing up."
Dain held out her hand to show me. It was a small hand with short fingers. A red indentation was pressed into the side of her index finger from holding her pen for too long.
"Take a break first."
"Okay."
Dain warmed her hands while sipping her coffee, and I returned to my work. The only sound filling the living room was the rhythmic tapping of two people sitting side by side, working on their respective tablets.
Midnight passed. Dain began to pick up speed. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen pages. It seemed to take her about fifteen minutes per croquis. She was fast.
I immersed myself in my own work as well. Sketching the webtoon chapter took time, especially when establishing the background. I was currently drawing rough layouts while aligning the perspective grids of the buildings.
One in the morning.
"Oppa."
"Yeah?"
"Look at this."
Dain held out her tablet. It was a croquis of a man's back as he sat at a desk, tapping away at a tablet. It was me.
"I drew you when you weren't looking."
Dain giggled. "A croquis of your back. How is it?"
The line of the shoulders, the curve of the back, the position of the fingers—it was precise. The detail was excellent. This meant Dain had been closely observing me.
"You drew this well."
"Really? Am I actually getting a compliment from Siru right now?"
"It's Han Siu complimenting you, not Siru."
Dain laughed. A bright, wide smile that carved deep dimples into her cheeks. There was no calculation in this smile. She was just genuinely happy.
"Draw me too, Oppa."
"Right now?"
"Yes! It's just a croquis, so it'll be quick."
She had a point. I rotated my tablet, opened a blank canvas, and looked at Dain.
Dain sat in her chair, holding her coffee mug with both hands. The sleeves of her oversized sweatshirt drooped down, enveloping the mug. Below her short shorts, her bare legs were exposed—slender legs stretching from thigh to knee, and knee to ankle. Her feet were slipped into sandals.
Three minutes. With rough, sweeping lines, I captured Dain's silhouette. Her posture cradling the coffee. Her slightly hunched shoulders. Her head tilted forward. Her bobbed hair spilling down from the crown.
"Done."
"That was so fast! Show me!"
I turned the tablet toward her. Dain's eyes widened.
"Wow... Is this really me?"
"It's just a quick croquis."
"A quick sketch looks like this?"
Dain zoomed in on the screen. "Your lines are so beautiful, Oppa... Look at this waistline. You drew this in a single stroke, didn't you?"
It was indeed a single stroke. The key to a croquis is drawing in one fluid motion. If you hesitate, the line loses its life.
"I want to draw like this too."
"You just need practice."
"How long have you been practicing, Oppa?"
"Hmm... Ten years?"
Dain's jaw dropped. Counting from when I first started preparing for the art college entrance exams, it had actually been over ten years. There was a time when I drew a hundred croquis every single day.
"Do you think I can do it too?"
"Of course you can."
"Really?"
"You have great intuition, Dain."
Dain smiled again. This time, it was a slightly different smile. Her eyes were moist. I couldn't tell if she was deeply moved or just sleepy.
"Are you sleepy?"
"No! I'm not sleepy at all! I still have four pages left!"
Two in the morning. Dain's head began to droop. The lines on her tablet trembled. She would draw a line, stop, rub her eyes, and try to draw again. It was a repetitive cycle.
"Dain, if you're tired, go to sleep."
"I'm not sleepy... Just two more pages..."
"Your hand is shaking so much that your lines are completely dead. You can just finish the last two pages when you wake up tomorrow. It's the weekend."
"But it's due on Monday..."
"If you draw them now, you'll only have to redo them later. If you get some sleep, you can finish them in an hour tomorrow."
Dain hesitated. Her eyes were half-closed, and her head nodded off. She stared at her own hand. It seemed she, too, could see how much her stylus was shaking.
"...Just sleep on the sofa here."
"In here?"
"I feel like you'll tumble down the stairs if you try to go down now. Just sleep."
"...Okay."
Dain stood up and stumbled. Drowsiness had hit her like a tidal wave. This is what happens when you concentrate intensely all night and finally let go. I pulled a blanket out of the closet and spread it over the sofa. Dain lay down, curling her body. Her small frame fit perfectly on the two-seater sofa. I tucked her in.
"Oppa."
"Yeah?"
"Thank you..."
"Sure. Go to sleep."
Dain closed her eyes. Within three seconds, her breathing grew deep and steady. The speed at which she fell asleep... the stamina of a twenty-two-year-old. I was envious.
I returned to my desk and continued my work. I finalized the background sketches and cleaned up the rough drafts. Time slipped away.
Four in the morning. I had reached my limit too. My eyes stung, and my shoulders were stiff. I hit save and turned off my tablet. Stepping out into the living room, I saw Dain sleeping on the sofa. She had kicked off the blanket.
Having partially uncurled from her fetal position, one of her legs dangled off the edge of the sofa. Her sweatshirt had ridden up, exposing a sliver of skin just below her belly button. Her short shorts had slid high up her thighs.
I averted my eyes and pulled the blanket back over her. Dain squirmed, clutching the fabric, and let out a soft, sleepy mumble.
Sleeping on the sofa would leave her sore. It was a narrow two-seater with stiff cushions. She only fit because she was small, but she would undoubtedly complain of a stiff neck in the morning. ...Should I move her? I hesitated for three seconds.
I scooped Dain up in my arms. She was light—incredibly light. In her sleep, she reached out and grabbed my clothes, her small fist bunching up my T-shirt. She wouldn't let go.
I laid her down on my bed and covered her with the duvet. Since it was a May night, neither the air conditioner nor the heater was on. Leaving the window open a crack let in a pleasant breeze.
I decided to sleep on the sofa. I pulled out another blanket and lay down. It was cramped, and my feet dangled off the end, but I was too exhausted to care. I closed my eyes, and sleep claimed me instantly.
Saturday morning, nine o'clock. I got up from the sofa, my joints creaking. A sofa was just a sofa, after all. I went to the kitchen and drank a glass of water. A sound came from the bedroom. Had Dain woken up?
"...Huh?"
Dain's voice. It was slightly dazed, thick with sleep. "Where am I...?"
I stopped in front of the bedroom door. "It's my room. I moved you because I thought your neck would hurt if you slept on the sofa."
"You carried me here, Oppa?"
"Yeah."
Silence. Three seconds.
"Where did you sleep, then?"
"On the sofa."
"On the sofa?!"
Dain emerged from the bedroom with a sleepy, disheveled face. Then, she froze.
She was wearing my shirt. My white Oxford shirt, which had been hanging on the headboard. When had she changed into it? Had she taken off her sweatshirt because she was sweating? She must have grabbed whatever was within reach in her half-asleep state.
The shirt was huge on her. It slipped off her shoulder, exposing a bare collarbone and the smooth skin beneath it. The hem of the shirt reached down to the middle of her thighs. Although she was wearing her shorts underneath, they were completely hidden by the shirt, making it look as if she had nothing on below.
Bare legs. Slender calves below her knees. Bare feet, her toes wiggling slightly against the wooden floor.
Morning sunlight streamed through the living room window. Since it faced east, this was the time of day when the morning light poured directly in. The golden rays illuminated Dain's bobbed hair, catching the messy, bedhead strands and making them glow.
Dain wearing my shirt. The morning sunlight. Her bare legs. Fuck. This combination was a foul.
"Oppa?"
"...Yeah?"
"I... I guess I was wearing this. I must have put it on in my sleep."
"Was your sweatshirt uncomfortable?"
"I was sweating. It's May, but sleeping under that heavy duvet made me so hot."
Dain grabbed the collar of the shirt and fanned herself. "This is your shirt, right, Oppa? It smells like you. Like your fabric softener." She brought the collar to her nose and took a sniff. "It smells really nice."
"..."
"Ah, I'm sorry! I'll take it off right away—"
"No, take your time," I said, turning my head away. "Eat breakfast first."
"Are you making it for me?"
"Yeah."
Dain smiled brightly. A messy-haired girl, wearing my shirt, smiling at me.
I turned around and went to the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator. Eggs, bacon, bread. I decided to make a simple egg toast. I toasted the bread, fried the eggs, and cooked the bacon until it was nice and crispy.
Dain sat at the dining table. The sleeves of the shirt were so long that her hands were completely hidden. She struggled, trying to grasp her fork through the fabric of the sleeves.
"Roll up your sleeves."
"I'm too lazy."
"You can't eat like that."
Dain rolled up her sleeves. Once, twice. They were still too long. Only after a third fold did her wrists finally appear.
"Your arms really are incredibly long, Oppa."
"You're just small, Dain."
"Five-foot-three isn't short, you know!"
"Compared to this shirt, you are."
Dain pouted. She was cute. Ah, I shouldn't be thinking like this.
Dain ate her egg toast. Chewing on the crispy bacon, she hummed, "So good~" Crumbs of toast clung to the corner of her mouth. Some crumbs fell onto my shirt.
"You're getting it dirty."
"Don't you have to wash it anyway?"
She was right. I couldn't argue with that.
Dain finished her food and drank some water. Then, she looked at me, her eyes conveying that she had something to say.
"What is it?"
"Oppa."
"Yeah?"
"Oppa."
"Yeah?"
"I'm going to go downstairs and finish the last two drawings. Once I'm done, I'll come back up to show you."
"...Sure. It'll take about thirty minutes, right?"
"Yes! It'll be quick if I maintain the same tone. Everything I drew yesterday is still fresh in my head."
Dain jumped up from her seat. With that movement, the shirt fluttered, revealing the curve of her thighs. The sensation of a single shirt against bare skin—
"Dain."
"Yeah?"
"Change your clothes first."
Dain tilted her head in confusion. Three seconds passed. Then, she looked down at herself. The shirt. Her bare legs. Her bare feet.
"Ah."
Her cheeks flushed red. The blush spread rapidly, reaching all the way to her ears.
"The clothes I wore yesterday... where are they?"
"In the bedroom. You left them by the bed."
The sweatshirt and short shorts Dain had taken off in her sleep were still lying right beside the bed.
"Go change."
"Okay."
Dain scurried into the bedroom. After about a minute, she emerged, dressed in yesterday's clothes—the yellow oversized sweatshirt and short shorts. She held my shirt in her hands.
"Where should I put this...?"
"Just hang it back on the headboard."
"Okay."
Dain hung the shirt back on the headboard and returned. I'd probably have to wash it because of the breadcrumbs. Dain's warmth, which had briefly lingered on the fabric, would soon fade.
Dain stood at the front door, wearing the same clothes as yesterday. She slipped on her sandals. "I'll be back!"
"Okay."
The door closed. I was left alone in the empty living room.
I walked into the bedroom and looked at the shirt. The white Oxford shirt hanging on the headboard. I didn't smell it. That would be crossing a line.
However, the image I had witnessed wouldn't fade. Dain standing in the morning sunlight, wearing my shirt. Her exposed shoulder. Her bare legs. Her messy hair. My heart had raced. Unmistakably.
Dain was twenty-two. Five years younger than me. She used to be my fan. Now, she was an art student who lived in the same building, came over to eat, and drew alongside me.
Was it really okay to introduce something else into this relationship?
I went out to the living room and washed the dishes. In the meantime, the same scene replayed in my mind twice more. Both times, I forced my gaze downward. This was daily life. It had to remain daily life. Yet, even as the shirt cooled on the headboard, the memory of that scene refused to grow cold.
While Dain was downstairs, I sat at my desk and continued my work. Cleaning up yesterday's rough backgrounds. The outer walls of the buildings. Straight lines. Clean, straight lines. Yet, the curve of Dain's shoulder as it slipped from the shirt lingered in my mind. Curves. Soft, gentle curves. I thought of curves while drawing straight lines.
About thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang. Multiple times. Dain's signature ring. I opened the door. Dain stood there, wearing a red sweatshirt and jeans. The usual Dain.
"Oppa! I finished all twenty pages!"
"...That was fast."
"It really only took thirty minutes because I kept the same flow. As soon as I went down, I sat at my desk and drew the last two pages in one go."
Dain placed her laptop on the dining table. She opened a folder to show me her work. Twenty croquis. People in daily life. A man typing on a laptop in a cafe, hunched shoulders in front of a desk, a close-up of a hand holding a pen...
The nineteenth and twentieth drawings. The last two she had drawn at her place. The tone was seamless, sharing the exact same texture as the previous eighteen.
"You did a great job. Your style didn't waver."
"It's because you were next to me yesterday, Oppa. The environment we drew in was so clear in my head that even after I went downstairs, I could picture it while drawing."
It was an excuse befitting an art student. But it also felt like the truth.
"You're the best, Oppa!"
Dain laughed again. A bright, uncalculated laugh. She pushed her laptop to the side of the table and sat in a chair. Having shown me her results, her demeanor was noticeably lighter. It was the face of someone who had just cleared a deadline.
I looked out the window while brewing coffee. The morning sun had now reached the center of the living room, casting patterns of light on the floor. The very light Dain had stood in earlier.
...I added an extra spoonful of sugar to the coffee. Sweet, just the way Dain liked it.
This was daily life. It was daily life, but somehow, it had changed. I didn't yet know in which direction it had shifted. The shirt hanging on the headboard in my bedroom would be slowly cooling down. Once its lukewarm warmth vanished, it would return to being an ordinary shirt. Body heat cools quickly. Yet, the scene I had witnessed once would never be erased. It was a little funny. And it lingered.