The Café, the Coffee, and...
Tapping my foot to the bus's juddering rhythm, I watch the clouds drift by beyond the window. Spring is in full swing, and its warmth comes riding the sunlight right through the glass to tickle my eyes. Mmmh, I let out a low groan as I lace my fingers together and stretch both arms high above my head. Even for a weekend morning, the bus is nearly empty—just me, the driver, and two or three other passengers. Not that I mind. I like this kind of lazy, unhurried atmosphere.
Over the hill, through the forest path, wherever my light footsteps may lead
I hum along with the song playing through my earphones. What are the odds that the one song fitting my situation perfectly would come on right now? Maybe today's fortune is a good one. Today is the day I'm meeting Lee Sooin. I'd gotten up early, prepared everything with care, and now here I was, riding the bus to our meeting spot.
🚌 This stop is Sinchon, Sinchon Station. The next stop is...
How long had I been riding? The announcement announcing our arrival at Sinchon Station chimes through the speakers. I press the stop button and wait for the bus to pull over. Hiss—the doors fold open. I offer the driver, who bids me to take care, a small bow in return, then step out into the sunlight. Where did last week's cold snap go? The flowers blooming along the roadside sway in the breeze as if to welcome me. I cup both cheeks in my hands and give them a little squeeze. Yep—still nice and squishy.
Glancing at Google Maps, I make my way slowly toward the destination. Five leisurely minutes, I figure. It's twenty minutes before our appointed time—comfortably early. As I follow the tree-lined side street, I try imagining what kind of person he—or rather, she—might be. His profile photo had a movie-star quality to it. Only his face was visible, but even at a glance you could tell he was handsome.
A woman who bought a man's skin... how fascinating.
Most TS fiction deals with men turning into women, after all. And isn't it true in real life too, that there are far more men who want to become women than women who want to become men? I'm not sure, though. Well, I'm hardly in any position to call someone else strange. To an ordinary person's eyes, it's all the same thing anyway. Lost in these pointless thoughts, I somehow found myself standing in front of the café. 10:48 a.m.—twelve minutes before we were due to meet. I send a message from my phone.
A reply arrives a short while later.
Someone who'd already saved a seat telling me you're early—was that his idea of a joke? I push open the glass door with its little wind chime, and a clear ring spreads through the air. The café is on the small side, but the solid-colored furniture arranged in every corner lends the room a comfortable sense of ease. A single rose in a glass vase sits on each table, and a quiet violin melody drifts from an old record player beside the counter. One wall is lined with shelves packed full of books. It's a little old-fashioned, but the calm, peaceful atmosphere wins me over completely. So a place like this existed—I've been to Sinchon plenty of times, and I never knew.
When I turn my gaze toward the window, someone is waving at me. The backlight keeps his face in shadow, but that has to be him. With every step closer, the shadow lifts and his outline comes into focus. Dark brown hair, a neat suit, a man whose face was made for a gentle smile. Exactly like his profile photo.
"You're Park Yerim, I take it? It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Lee Sooin."
When I reach the table, he rises from his seat and offers me his hand. He's got to be a hundred and eighty centimeters—no, closer to a hundred and ninety.
"The pleasure's mine. I'm Park Yerim. I'm really glad we could meet like this today."
I take his outstretched hand and give it a light shake. His soft hand wraps around my fingers and the back of my hand, and before long the warmth spreads through my whole palm. His hand—it's warm.
"You know some good cafés. I've been around this neighborhood plenty of times, but I had no idea a place like this existed."
"The exterior's nice, sure, but the coffee here is what's really good. I'm especially fond of their espresso."
"Oh, I'm not great with bitter things... I'll have the green grape smoothie, then."
"Of course. Today's on me. Excuse me—Master!"
At his call, a white-haired man who looks to be in his early sixties makes his way over from the counter. But more to the point—Master? What on earth is that?
"One espresso, one green grape smoothie, and one plate of tiramisu cake, please."
The old man gives a slight nod and disappears into the kitchen. Sensing my puzzled stare, Sooin offers an explanation.
"He runs this place all by himself. Calling him 'sir' felt too stiff, and 'hey, you' felt rude, so I just took to calling him Master on my own. Haha, he doesn't seem to mind, at any rate."
A little later, the drinks arrive first. A teal-green smoothie in a clear glass, and an espresso, dark and fragrant, in a tiny cup. I take a sip, and along with the cold ice I feel little green grape pearls popping between my teeth. So the coffee really is delicious—that wasn't just lip service.
"How is it?"
"Good. It's sweet—I like it."
"I'm glad it's to your taste."
For a while, the two of us simply sip our drinks in silence. I have plenty of questions, plenty of things I want to talk about—but maybe it's the café's atmosphere? Right now, I don't feel any particular urge to speak first. A silence that isn't awkward—calm, quiet, unforced—settles over the table.
"May I ask you one thing?"
The stillness breaks.
"Of course. What would you like to know?"
"This may come across as rude, but I'd like to know why you bought the skin."
I lift my head and look at him. The gentle smile still hangs at the corners of his mouth, but there's something serious in his eyes.
"Hm? And why is it you want to know?"
"Fair enough. I think... a skin reveals the heart of the person who wears it."
"A person's heart?"
"Desire, longing, wishes... no, it would be more accurate to call it some abstract purpose. Most people don't believe in 'a skin that turns you into someone else the moment you put it on,' do they? Even if such a skin really existed, they'd never even try it on."
I suppose that's true. After all, I'd assumed it was a prank at first and nearly let the whole thing go. And besides, actually trying something like that on would feel a little creepy, wouldn't it?
"But you did buy a skin, Yerim. Judging by how you look now, you seem to have written in quite a lot of extras?"
He lets out a soft heh of laughter—before immediately adding, "Of course, I'm no different myself."
"I believe people buy skins because 'something they desperately want to do with it' burns that fiercely inside them. It could be any number of things, couldn't it? Dissatisfaction with their appearance, or a longing to experience a body of the opposite sex. When it comes to understanding a person, I believe that grasping the desire buried deep in their heart is the very first step toward becoming friends."
"So allow me to ask you once more. Why did you buy your skin?"
I cross my arms and think it over. I have a vague idea of the reason, but putting it into words is another matter entirely—it's embarrassing, for one, and no fitting words come to mind anyway... After turning it over and over, I finally manage to gather myself. The whole time, he'd simply been watching me with that smile on his face. That gaze of his is a bit much, you know!
"I... wanted to try playing someone else."
"Acting, you mean?"
"Yes. It's a little hard to explain, but, um, becoming not-me—becoming someone else and showing everyone a side of me completely different from the person I've always been, and I just think that would be incredibly fun... Aah, I'm rambling, aren't I. You didn't understand a word of that, did you?"
"No, I understood perfectly."
Really? You got all that from that? You're not just humoring me, are you?
"Really?"
"Really."
Right on cue, the tiramisu cake arrives. I pick up my fork and pop a piece into my mouth, chewing it over.
"Then what about you, Lee Sooin..."
"Sooin is fine."
"Ah—okay. Then, Sooin, why did you buy your skin?"
He blinks at me for a moment, then answers with a faint smile.
"That... I'll tell you a little later. It doesn't feel quite like the right timing to say it just yet."
Timing? What's that supposed to mean? I study him a little longer, but there's no sign of an answer forthcoming, so I give up before long.
"That citrus scent—you didn't put on perfume before coming out, did you?"
"How did you know? When I sent the email, I wrote that I hoped my body would smell of fruit—and it turns out the skin gives off a scent like this."
"Actually, same here. I smell like strong coffee."
"Huh, really?"
"I do. It's hard to tell in a café, but... would you like a sniff?"
"Then pardon the intrusion... Oh wow, it's true! This is..."
"The smell of americano. I wrote it in without expecting much—who knew it would actually work?"
"Hehe, right? As for what I wrote in..."
From there, the conversation never left the subject of skins. What we'd each written in our emails, the mortifying incidents we'd stumbled into outside while wearing them, that sensation from the very first time we put them on, what on earth that son of a b— of a seller actually does for a living...
It was so much fun. As much as I'd hoped for—no, more. These were the kinds of stories you can't easily tell just anyone, so I poured out everything I'd been wanting to say. Masturbation and the like were, naturally, no comment. But it felt like the frustration that had been sitting in a corner of my heart simply blew away.
"...And so when I got home, my friend was waiting there for me! You have no idea how flustered I was. What would you have done in my place, Sooin?"
"I probably would've insisted I'd walked into the wrong house. You're bolder than you look, Yerim."
"Hey, 'than I look'? I was a man to begin with, you know~"
"Hahaha, fair enough. I do forget I'm a woman sometimes too, you know? Just the other day I caught myself walking into the men's room without a second thought—and I wasn't even wearing the skin..."
...
"I really enjoyed today."
"Same here. I never imagined I could talk about skins so openly, so happily, with another person. Is this fate, I wonder?"
"If you call it fate, then fate it is. Hehe. So, what now? We've finished our coffee, and there's still plenty of time before dinner."
"About that—there's a proposal I'd like to make to you, Yerim."
"A proposal?"
"Would you like to come to a motel with me? Right now?"
Huh, huh? A motel? At this hour? And wait—a motel? What is that supposed to mean?
"Th-the motel—as in, the motel I'm thinking of, right?"
"Yes. To put it a little more simply... I want to have sex with you, Yerim."
EHHHHHHHH?????