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Chapter 104: Fingers of the Shadow
As Min-jun got out of bed, his knees were the first to wake up, as if his body was trying to accept reality before his mind did. The sensation of Jun-ho’s hand on his chest from the night before still lingered, a reminder of the strange and intimate moment they shared. The chest was a peculiar place, where the heart beat, breaths were taken, and sometimes tears were shed. Jun-ho hadn’t pressed down on it but rather seemed to be checking for some kind of signal.
Min-jun found himself sitting at the end of the bed, still partially connected to it, unsure if he had dreamed or stared at the moldy ceiling all night. His memories were hazy, but he knew that time had passed like water after Jun-ho left.
His phone rang, breaking the silence. He checked the screen to see Jun-ho’s name, the time reading 9:37 AM. He stared at the screen for about 10 seconds before his fingers finally moved to answer the call. It felt like signing a contract, accepting something new.
“Hello?” Min-jun said, trying to sound casual.
“Did you just wake up?” Jun-ho asked, his voice deeper in the morning, as if his vocal cords had rested and rejuvenated overnight.
“Yeah, just now,” Min-jun replied, lying without a second thought. It wasn’t exactly a lie, more like hiding part of the truth.
“Do you want to eat pizza?” Jun-ho asked, his question so abrupt that Min-jun checked his phone screen again, wondering if he was really being asked that. Jun-ho wasn’t the type for spontaneous suggestions; he was always planful, cautious, and seemed to calculate his next steps.
“Huh?” Min-jun responded, taken aback.
“Pizza. Do you want to eat it?” Jun-ho repeated.
“When?” Min-jun asked, regaining his composure slightly.
“Now. For lunch,” Jun-ho said.
“It’s still morning,” Min-jun pointed out.
“That’s why we have time to get ready. Let’s meet in 30 minutes at the pizza place near school,” Jun-ho suggested, using the term “school” in a way that sounded odd to Min-jun, as he didn’t attend school but lived near a university in the area.
Min-jun agreed, and after the call ended, he realized he had to shower and leave within 30 minutes. The bathroom in his semi-basement room only had a shower, no bathtub. He calculated the time: 5 minutes under cold water, 2 minutes waiting for the water to warm up, and 8 minutes to shower, totaling 15 minutes.
As he showered, he looked up at the moldy ceiling, noticing how it was more vibrant than the one in his bedroom, almost like a living entity, breathing and proliferating in the damp environment.
In a moment of introspection, Min-jun compared himself to the mold, something that thrived in this damp, hidden space, away from sunlight. He wondered if he was destined to remain in such a place, unable to survive outside.
After his shower, the time was 9:52 AM, leaving him with only 8 minutes to get ready. He dressed in his usual audition outfit: worn jeans and a gray t-shirt, clothes that could help him blend in or transform into any character without leaving a strong impression.
He checked himself in the mirror, noticing his ordinary face, 174 cm tall, with features so plain they were easily forgettable. Yet, his eyes seemed different today, as if they were asking for help or waiting for someone.
The walk to the pizza place near the university took about 8 minutes. Along the way, Min-jun observed the early morning scene in Shinlim-dong: students hadn’t arrived yet, shop owners were preparing for the day, clearing yesterday’s trash and displaying today’s goods.
The pizza place, named “Napoli,” was small and claimed to serve Italian-style pizza, but it was actually more Korean-style, with lots of cheese, corn, and a spicy option. Min-jun had been there a few times, specifically with Jun-ho.
Jun-ho was already there, sitting at a table and looking at the menu. His face appeared tired, with the remnants of last night’s fatigue still evident.
Min-jun sat down, and Jun-ho asked, “What do you want to eat?”
Min-jun replied, “Whatever you recommend.”
Jun-ho clarified, “This isn’t a question; it’s a choice. What do you want to eat?”
The question felt odd because it seemed to imply more than just food preferences. It was as if Jun-ho was asking Min-jun to make a choice about something deeper.
Min-jun thought for a moment before answering, “The spiciest one.”
Jun-ho seemed about to laugh but didn’t. Instead, he ordered two spicy pizzas.
While they waited for their food, they didn’t talk much. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable; it felt like they were listening to the same music, a melody that only they could hear.
When the pizzas arrived, Min-jun took a bite, and the spiciness hit his tongue, making his salivary glands react and his eyes water, but he didn’t cry.
Jun-ho ate calmly, as if analyzing the food.
“What did you do last night, after you left my place?” Jun-ho asked, his mouth full, his eyes fixed on the pizza.
Min-jun replied, “I don’t know.”
“I drove around Seoul for an hour, from Gangnam to Gangbuk, crossing the Han River several times. I stopped on a bridge and looked at the river,” Jun-ho shared, his voice steady.
Min-jun asked, “What were you thinking?”
“You,” Jun-ho said. “You’re like the river, always trying to move but ending up in the same place.”
Min-jun tried to understand the analogy but found it hard to accept. It made him think about being out of control, like the river.
As they finished their pizzas, Jun-ho suggested, “Want to watch a movie with me?”
Min-jun asked, “When?”
“Tonight. A Netflix movie, not released yet. A premiere,” Jun-ho explained.
Min-jun’s heart skipped a beat. A premiere? That wasn’t something for ordinary people; it was for actors, directors, and people in the film industry. Was Jun-ho inviting him to such an event?
“Why?” Min-jun asked.
“Because you need to be there. You need to see the scene, breathe the air, and meet the people,” Jun-ho said.
Min-jun couldn’t respond; he just nodded.
Later that afternoon, Jun-ho texted him: “Meet me at the Seoul Theater at 6 PM. Don’t wear shorts or sneakers. Wear a suit.”
Min-jun didn’t own a suit, only some worn-out jeans and t-shirts, and a black suit he had bought for his high school graduation 10 years ago.
He decided to buy a new suit, heading to a small men’s clothing store in Shinlim-dong. The owner, a woman in her 50s, quickly understood his needs and showed him several options. Min-jun tried on a few, finally choosing a black suit that fit him well. The price was 750,000 won, which he paid for with his credit card, leaving him with only 50,000 won.
As he was leaving the store, the owner said, “Good luck.” Min-jun nodded, feeling a surge of determination.
At 5:45 PM, Min-jun stood in front of the Seoul Theater, wearing his new suit and feeling somewhat out of place. Jun-ho appeared, also dressed in a suit, and complimented Min-jun on his appearance.
“Follow me from now on. Here, you’re my junior. I’ll introduce you to people. Just nod, shake hands, and smile,” Jun-ho instructed.
Min-jun understood, realizing that this was all part of an act, a performance. He was about to enter a world where everything was a stage, and he needed to play his role.
As they entered the theater, Min-jun felt like he was stepping into a different world. The premiere was about to start, and he was ready to face whatever lay ahead, armed with his newfound determination and the suit that made him feel like a different person.
The movie began, and the first scene showed an actor emerging from the shadows, his face not fully visible, only his fingers visible at the edge of the screen. Min-jun watched, comparing those fingers to his own, wondering if he could ever be as expressionless, as skilled in the art of deception.
In that moment, Jun-ho’s hand found Min-jun’s, a gentle, unnoticeable touch, like the fingers of shadows intertwining. Min-jun looked at Jun-ho, who was fixed on the screen, his face a blend of light and darkness, like an actor in a movie.
Min-jun realized that for the first time, he was holding someone’s hand, feeling a sense of companionship, of not being alone. It was enough, more than enough. It was everything.