-16-
Bunhong silently watched the elevator numbers going up. Damn it, because it was the same floor.
In the faintly visible form, in his blurry profile, Kim Bunhong meets the Jeong Ido of the past.
“Brilliance is only temporary.”
“…”
“In the end, we can’t become anything.”
Until now, Jeong Ido’s prophecies had never been wrong even once. Though they were sharp daggers, the points they pierced rarely missed their target.
As a prime example, despite struggling so desperately, with one regression, all the efforts Kim Bunhong had made truly became nothing and uselessly turned to bubbles. Like a lie, all the time that had passed between them became things that never happened.
Ding. Arriving at the destination, watching him turn away without even a shred of lingering attachment, Bunhong smiled soundlessly. It was a self-deprecating smile.
“…”
After watching the retreating figure endlessly growing distant, he too turned his head. Though the direction was the same, their destinations were different from each other. It couldn’t be helped.
Oh Hangeul’s studio had a double lock system.
At the name of the studio written on the door, something he never could have imagined, Bunhong almost burst into laughter like sobbing, then sent a text saying he had arrived.
The door opened quickly. Though they hadn’t met many times, Hangeul greeted him warmly as if an old friend had visited, saying:
“Fortunately, you found it well?”
“Yes.”
“I was worried because it seemed like time was being delayed.”
“…”
That’s because I was laughing a bit in front…
Kim Bunhong, who couldn’t confess that fact, just kept silent. Moreover, as if he had genuinely been worried or was about to come greet him directly, Hangeul in his white turtleneck put down the jacket he was about to put on and smiled as if deflated, making it even more impossible to say.
Hangeul, who had been observing Bunhong closely, shrugged his shoulders.
“I was going to come get you if you had gotten lost.”
Following that, perhaps because he had been working for a while, when Hangeul rubbed his slightly bloodshot eyes tiredly, their gazes that had met scattered.
Though it was brief, Bunhong felt strange at the lingering atmosphere and scratched his head.
“He really stares at people to the point where it feels strange.”
Hangeul, who had walked to the front of the studio equipment, urged Bunhong who was still standing at the door.
“Come sit here quickly.”
After confirming that Bunhong carefully sat in the chair he had pulled out for him, Hangeul plopped down in the seat next to him.
While looking at the brown guitar being pulled up from the floor onto Hangeul’s lap, Bunhong looked around the interior of the studio while sitting awkwardly in his seat.
No matter how much personal fondness he had developed for Hangeul, visiting someone else’s studio was still an unfamiliar thing for him, though it had only happened a few times even counting before regression, so he felt slightly awkward.
Since it was the space where he spent the most time, it inevitably contained a lot of personal tendencies, so it felt exactly like peeking into that person’s diary.
His difficulty adapting was brief – just from a very quick look around, Bunhong could immediately understand why Hangeul had named his studio that way.
“Cat dolls here too. Cat dolls there too.”
The interior was in dark gray tones, but the contents inside were really cute. There was a display case along the wall, and cute animal figurines were lined up and exhibited inside, most of them cats.
“He must like cute things.”
After laughing inwardly for a while without showing it at all, his tension easily relaxed. There was one overturned picture frame in the display case, and since it was the only decorative item existing inside the studio excluding figurines or dolls, it sparked his curiosity.
“There must be a reason it’s turned over.”
Trying hard to turn his interest away from that place, Bunhong directed his gaze back to Oh Hangeul, the owner of this space. Idle fingers were fidgeting over the guitar.
He sat quietly blinking his long eyelashes as if waiting for the tour to end quickly. Thanks to that, his interest in the picture frame was quickly forgotten from Bunhong’s mind without effort.
Bunhong quickly asked Hangeul:
“What were you working on?”
At that one question, Hangeul beamed like a child as if happy to receive interest, pulling the guitar closer to himself and answering. He held the guitar in his arms just like hugging a doll and carefully stroked it as if treating something precious.
“I do arrangements and, um, various things? I’m quite interested in instruments. Recently I’ve been working with guitar, but I’m having big concerns because even the chord progression doesn’t satisfy me.”
“…”
“The guitar’s pretty, right? I even gave it a name.”
At that absurd statement, Bunhong couldn’t help but burst out laughing inwardly, having held it in for so long. Then Hangeul, who had been laughing cheerfully along, belatedly added that it was a joke, but Bunhong didn’t believe it. For it to be a joke, starting with the studio name already…
Eventually Hangeul suggested to Bunhong:
“Want to listen? It’s a song I wrote lightly, so don’t expect too much.”
Was that really true? Bunhong still didn’t let go of his suspicion.
“I thought he was someone honest every moment.”
With thoroughly bloodshot eyes, with fingers all scratched up from guitar strings, if he said he actually made it lightly, anyone other than himself wouldn’t have believed those words, Bunhong thought.
However, wanting to make Hangeul happy, who seemed to be expecting something, he didn’t voice this and said something else instead.
“Good. Please play it.”
At those words, strength went into the wounded fingers that had been caressing the guitar strings as if bouncing. He had already set up one base beat on the studio monitor. Over that, a plausible melody drawn by Hangeul’s guitar was layered.
At the humming that reached him sweetly like waves, Bunhong slowly closed his eyes.
But why? As the song progressed, Bunhong’s face gradually became paler. His fingers trembled involuntarily, so he clenched his fists. His nails dug into his palms.
Though this was only the second time hearing a song the man had directly created, it felt even more so because the feeling was completely different from the previous song.
When Oh Hangeul sang the first song, he sang of being alive. Not just the lyrics, but the atmosphere at that time was like that. The audience’s heat, and the voice full of excitement that cut through the air – everything sang of ‘life.’
However, this song was different. It was exactly the opposite. The voice he had thought was sweet pathetically spat out melodies as if cursing birth.
Hangeul, who had finished singing, laid the upright guitar flat on his lap and said:
“It’s a song about love.”
“…”
Goosebumps rose for a moment. At the innocent voice, Bunhong unknowingly opened his eyes wide and met his gaze. The glassy, gleaming pupils felt strangely out of place. They looked exactly like a doll’s.
So, just like when looking at a preserved butterfly, they seemed like they might fly away at any moment but were pretty enough that they didn’t feel alive.
Hangeul urged the silent Bunhong and asked:
“How is it?”
Bunhong noticed. Though he still didn’t know exactly what kind of person Oh Hangeul was, what environment he had grown up in, and what kind of music he made, this one fact was certain:
“He doesn’t believe in love.”
And Oh Hangeul seemed to have no intention of completing the song from the start. Otherwise, there was no explanation for why the middle part of the melody was completely empty. He had only sung along with the beginning and end, while in the middle, only the ownerless beat was left playing alone and lonely.
Since he had played an originally incomplete song and Bunhong didn’t know what kind of reaction he expected from him, he pondered briefly, but since he had listened anyway, he felt he should give his impressions, so he forced a smile.
“The song…”
“…”
“Is really good.”
When Bunhong haltingly shared his impressions, Hangeul was already resting his chin on his hand and looking elsewhere.
“…?”
That was exactly where the picture frame was turned over. Oh Hangeul’s voice that came out again was locked away.
“…You say it’s good.”
After tapping the guitar with his fingers making tak, tak sounds, he eventually turned to look at Bunhong, smiled, and said:
“Then would you like to sing too, Bunhong-ssi?”
“What?”
“Like a response song?”
Bunhong, who had frozen at the unexpected request, muttered. Naturally, the memory of running away unable to sing on the street came to mind, and he shifted his bottom, wanting to escape this place immediately.
“Sing. You want me to sing.”
“Yes.”
“…”
“I want to hear it. I’m curious. What Bunhong-ssi’s singing would be like.”
“…”
“Don’t you want to?”
Bunhong hesitated.
“I…”
“…”
He was afraid that after hearing his words, he might laugh at him. He knew he wasn’t that kind of person, but he was still worried. Because that’s how Kim Bunhong’s life had always been. He only knew how to hide weaknesses and conceal scars. That was his best.
Nevertheless, the reason Bunhong opened his heart to this man was because of the song he had played for him. His unadorned passion about the stage led Kim Bunhong to be honest and further inspired him.
“Actually, I’m afraid. Of singing in front of people.”
“…”
“…I don’t even know if singing itself, or whether such things suit me… I’m really a person who’s nothing at all, so would there exist audiences in this world who would want to hear this voice of mine?”
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
