Years back when they were little
Ajin found herself in a dimly lit room, lined floor-to-ceiling with packed bookshelves. It was silent and cool, a welcome retreat from the summer heat, and she had just pulled a book from a high shelf when a voice startled her.
"AJIN!"
She turned to see Junseo, his face slightly sweaty and his hair tousled, standing in the doorway with a basketball tucked under his arm.
"What are you doing in here? I've been looking for you everywhere," he said, slightly exasperated. "Come play basketball with me."
Ajin held the book closer to her chest. "It's a bit hot outside to be playing basketball… I just wanna read."
Junseo scowled, a deep "Hmph" escaping his lips. He walked a few steps into the room, kicking at the corner of a rug. "This was my dad's study. That book is my dad's," he grumbled, casting a protective look around the room.
Ajin knew she wasn't supposed to be in there, but she held her ground. "I know, Junseo. But no one said anything when I came in here."
She looked at him, a genuine smile replacing her slightly defensive expression. Junseo was caught off guard by her bright eyes and a blush began to creep up his neck.
Why is he being so childish? Ajin wondered, the faint memory of their first meeting resurfacing. Is he trying to tell me I'm not supposed to read these books? He couldn't even look me in the eyes when we first met...
Junseo shuffled his feet, then scratched his cheek with his free hand. He was still holding the basketball, clearly wanting to be anywhere but this silent room.
"Gonna hang out here?" he asked, softening his tone. Then, out of nowhere, curiosity seemed to hit him. "Are books fun…? What are you reading? Should I read one too?"
Ajin looked at the book she held. "For you…? Why?"
Junseo looked genuinely interested now, his eyes sweeping over the vast collection of intimidating, heavy-looking tomes. "All the books in here are super hard. Will you pick an easy one you've read before?"
A slow smile spread across Ajin's face. "If I pick it out, will you really read it? If you promise to read it, I will."
"Of course I will! I'll even write a review!" he said, his enthusiasm palpable.
"Okay, then…" Ajin walked past a few shelves and pulled out a small, maroon book. The title on the cover read, Poems By Charles-Pierre Baudelaire. She held it out to him.
"HERE."
Junseo took the book, inspecting the cover with a thoughtful squint. "Wow… poems… are they fun?" He flipped it open briefly, then closed it again with a small shrug. "Aww, I don't wanna read poems."
"Yeah, I thought they were pretty fun," Ajin said, looking at him with a twinkle in her eye. "I've never read them before." She then held up the book she had been reading.
"Y-yeah… I-I just wanted to tell you. That's all," Junseo mumbled, the blush returning to his cheeks.
"Is that so? Okay, then." Ajin glanced at him, then back at the book in his hands.
Junseo just stood there, holding the ball and the book, staring at her.
"Why are you just standing there?" Ajin asked, tilting her head. "Are you going to read something?"
He didn't answer. Junseo simply looked down at the book, then at Ajin, then down at his socks. He was still too shy to meet her gaze for long, but he hadn't left, and the basketball in his hands felt suddenly heavy.
The hot afternoon air outside faded away, and for the first time, Junseo felt like this quiet room with all the serious books might be a fun place to be after all.
Ajin gave Junseo a bright, slightly mischievous smile. "O-oh, okay, thanks, Ajin," he stammered, holding the poetry book in one hand and his basketball in the other. He was a mix of pride at her attention and embarrassment over his sudden, forced commitment to literature.
"You promised you'll read them all, right?" Ajin's unspoken words hung in the air, but her slight smirk suggested a more cunning thought: Maybe he'll leave me alone while he reads those!
Junseo retreated to the sanctuary of his room. A small, simple sign on the door read: JUNSEO'S ROOM. He flopped onto his bed, the basketball resting by his pillow, and the poetry book in his hands.
He opened the book and began to read. After several agonizing minutes of attempting to decipher the dense verses, he groaned, tossing the book onto the bed face-down.
"Jeez… I have no idea what any of this means…" He pulled his knees up to his chest. "Who the hell is this Baudelaire guy? I don't think he and I get along."
Just as he was about to wallow in his literary misery, a familiar knock-knock came at his door.
"Junseo, it's me, Mrs. Kim. I made sujebi, your favorite! Why don't you come downstairs and have some?"
The promise of the hearty, doughy soup was all the distraction he needed. "SUJEBI? AWESOME! I'M COMING!" He scrambled off the bed, pulling on his slippers. As he hurried out the door, he paused to ask his mother, "Oh, where's Ajin?"
"She's just washing her hands," his mother replied.
Junseo rushed down the hall, leaving the room momentarily unattended. A small WHOOOSH of air from the half-open window fluttered the pages of the open book on his bed. The wind found a specific poem, "Le Masque" (The Mask), and the words seemed to loom large on the page, the lines speaking directly to his inner confusion and the conflict of his outward persona:
"Why no! It's but a mask, a lying ornament...
...that visage enlivened by a dainty grimace...
And look, here is, atrociously shriveled,
The real, true head, the sincere countenance
Reversed and hidden by the lying face."
- Charles Baudelaire, Excerpt from Le Masque
The words hung in the silence of the room, a profound truth waiting for the boy who had just left. The brave, basketball-playing exterior he presented to Ajin—the 'lying face'—hid the younger, shyer boy who was deeply intrigued by her.
Epilogue: Goodbye Dear X
Years later, the poem and the memory of that summer day still lingered. The difficult lessons of childhood—the masks we wear and the sincere countenances we hide—had paved the way for something real.
A picture captured a moment in time: a cheerful selfie of Junseo and Ajin as young adults, standing beside an unknown third person, perhaps their mutual friend or a past romantic interest. They were older, their expressions confident and warm, having shed the timid shyness of their youth. The words below the image served as a final farewell, a poignant closing to their story:
Goodbye Dear X
Chapter 62 - Epilogue [END]