The Weight of Expectation

Lee Heeseung defiantly settled herself onto the chair Seungjun had just vacated, her gaze challenging as she looked up at him. Without so much as a flicker of an eyebrow, Seungjun strode over, gripped her shoulders from behind, and hauled her to her feet. Despite Lee Heeseung’s desperate struggle to cling to the armrests, he lifted her—chair and all—and made straight for the door. If it meant dragging her out, he would do it. There was absolutely no reason not to.

“Ugh, seriously!”

Clutching the doorframe to avoid being expelled, Lee Heeseung shrieked. Seungjun, with an almost dismissive ease, peeled her hand—barely half the size of his own palm—from the frame, much like stripping the skin from an orange, and shoved her into the hallway. As a furious Lee Heeseung abruptly shot to her feet, the sound of the ownerless chair rolling away reverberated through the corridor.

“Is this how you’re going to act? Really, at your age?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Oh, stop being so exasperating!”

Lee Heeseung, with her fiery temper, finally seized Seungjun by the collar. Seungjun, with a delicate flick, dislodged her small fist, then firmly propelled her entirely out of the doorway. After that, he leaned against the editing room door, patiently awaiting the calming of Lee Heeseung’s agitated breathing.

Once he ascertained she had somewhat composed herself, Seungjun issued a warning, his expression dead serious to leave no room for misunderstanding it as a jest.

“I can’t even stand the sight of you, so take tomorrow off.”

“Why are you acting so childish? Do you really think I’m doing this solely for my own benefit?”

“I’m serious. If you cross my sight, you’re dead.”

As Seungjun turned to close the door, leaving a grumbling Lee Heeseung behind, a man at the far end of the corridor snagged his attention. Clad in an orange long coat, he was utterly impossible to overlook.

Nam Yiwon stood observing them from afar, his eyebrows arched in an expression of puzzlement, yet still appearing utterly delighted by the spectacle.

*Bang.* Seungjun slammed the door shut with considerable force.

****

Seungjun’s gaze drifted indifferently up at the hospital building. Each time he sought it out, the structure seemed to exude a profound sense of melancholy. Rather than having simply aged naturally, the decrepit edifice conveyed an unmistakable impression of being terminally ill itself.

Perhaps, of course, it was only he who perceived it so—through the eyes of a son whose father had been confined to a hospital bed for six long years.

Without hesitation, Seungjun made his way to the hospital room. He mused that he might well encounter his younger sister, who faithfully visited every day. His sister, Seungji, despite her undoubtedly packed schedule, never once failed to stop by the hospital. He had once fretted that she might be overextending herself out of a sense of duty, but she had confided that she found a strange comfort by their unconscious father’s bedside. It seemed that after unburdening herself of every hardship and joy, believing her father heard her, she would feel a profound sense of relief.

His father’s bed occupied the outermost corner of the room, the spot furthest from the window, untouched by sunlight. It was still too early for his sister to have finished work, so she was not yet present.

Seungjun stood at the foot of the bed, his gaze fixed upon his father. As he contemplatively watched the dark, withered hands, the distinct, creeping scent of a dying person began to waft subtly, infiltrating his nostrils. Little, if anything, had changed since his visit a few weeks prior.

‘Solace,’ he mused.

His lips, which had parted with the faint notion of attempting to mimic that solace, twisted into a grim line. So much had transpired in the intervening time, yet not a single word managed to escape him. What earthly comfort, he wondered, could possibly be found in this place?

After a protracted period of silent vigil, Seungjun finally turned on his heel.

****

“Haah… such is life.”

The moment the front door clicked shut behind him, an involuntary sigh escaped Seungjun’s lips. Kicking off his shoes, he stepped into the entryway and glared at the full-length mirror positioned beside the door. It reflected the image of an ordinary man returning home, having just downed a cup of ramen and a bottle of soju at the neighborhood convenience store. A designated garbage bag, laden with instant meals and ramen, swayed idly from the man’s hand.

Seungjun put away the groceries he had brought home, then shed his shirt first. It had become his ingrained habit to take a scalding hot shower the moment he arrived home. He relished the sensation of the accumulated fatigue from snatching brief naps at the broadcasting station dissolving completely in the intense heat. Washing with water so hot that it completely fogged the bathroom mirror and shower stall, then watching the mirror gradually clear, always brought a sense of profound relief. It was a ritualistic act, a fervent wish for the day’s stresses to dissipate with the rising steam.

‘And while I’m at it, I wish that irritating fellow who had been loitering nearby and grating on my nerves all day would vanish with it too.’

Seungjun stripped off his shirt, redolent with the lingering scents of soju and the night air, and tossed it into the laundry basket. He was restless, itching to conclude this unusually protracted day as swiftly as possible. Was the single bottle of soju already beginning to take hold? A noticeable heaviness settled over his eyelids. Just as he was absently rubbing his eyes to dispel the nascent tipsiness, his cell phone vibrated persistently on his desk.

He briefly considered ignoring it and heading straight into the bathroom, but a flicker of ‘just in case’ prompted Seungjun to check the caller ID.

Professor Park Chan. Upon seeing the familiar name, Seungjun let out a sigh. He had, in fact, been replaying the professor’s words in his mind repeatedly of late, so the abrupt contact wasn’t particularly startling. After the uproar of the past few days, the professor would undoubtedly have caught wind of the news. He cleared his throat and accepted the call.

“Professor. Hello. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

As he spoke on the phone, Seungjun positioned himself before the mirror. He intended to scrutinize his complexion, determined not to betray any hint of intoxication to the professor. While his alcohol tolerance was high enough that a single bottle of soju wouldn’t faze him, he loathed presenting any vulnerability to his esteemed mentor. The professor, an advisor who had highly esteemed Seungjun’s talent since his undergraduate years and never stinted on guidance, was not someone he wished to speak with while inebriated, especially at a juncture when rumors of a joint production with Nam Yiwon were rife. Regardless of public perception or the exact viewership ratings, he yearned to remain a student who had never disappointed his professor. Seungjun’s fingers traced the round tan line on his neck, where his T-shirt collar had been. As he rubbed the skin near his collarbone, peeling away a thin layer, a reddish patch of flesh emerged. He bit his lip, bracing himself for the professor’s next words.

–My apologies for contacting you so late. I’ve only just finished my work.

“Not at all. I, too, have only just arrived home. Have you been keeping well?”

–I’m much the same as always. But on another note, I heard the news. You’re collaborating on a drama with Director Nam Yiwon.

Perhaps due to the lateness of the hour, the professor inquired directly. Though it was precisely what he had anticipated, Seungjun found himself at a loss for how to respond. It proved challenging to give a flat refusal, as he had consistently done with everyone else until now. Suddenly, Lee Heeseung’s voice reverberated in his mind.

[If you persuade PD Baek carefully, without hurting his pride, he’ll eventually agree to it. I can’t bear to watch you make such a mess of things, senior.]

The professor, too, would undoubtedly offer advice in the same vein. Seungjun hesitated before finally responding.

“…It hasn’t been finalized yet.”

–While I’m not oblivious to your reluctance, I believe giving it a try wouldn’t be such a terrible idea.

Seungjun found himself smiling, almost unconsciously. Amidst everyone else’s assumption that he was merely being arrogant and failing to grasp the situation, he had never realized how profoundly comforting a single acknowledgment of his underlying reasons for reluctance could be. He closed his eyes, lending his full attention to the professor’s subsequent remarks.

–You’re at an age where life will bring many changes. You’ve made your debut, and you’re filming dramas just as you desired, so you might assume that your career trajectory or personal relationships won’t undergo significant shifts from here on. However, reflecting on my own past at my current age, I can tell you that your age was by far the most tumultuous.

The word “tumultuous” brought a smile to his face. He could vividly picture the professor’s younger days, his thirties undoubtedly marked by a certain flamboyant charm. The professor chuckled in response, then continued.

–Keep all possibilities open in your considerations. Instead of merely treading the safe path, take some calculated risks, and dare to challenge yourself with endeavors you can barely envision yourself accomplishing. Opportunities once passed, and time once elapsed, can never be reclaimed.

“Professor.”

Seungjun, who had been silently absorbing the kind, gentle voice, finally broke his silence. He lifted his gaze, meeting his own reflection in the mirror. Had the alcohol taken hold so quickly? His face, perfectly composed just moments prior, now bore a tell-tale flush. Consciously lowering his eyebrows, which had been tense and raised, he posed the question that had gnawed at him since he first saw the caller ID—no, since Nam Yiwon had abruptly re-entered his life.

“You told me once, didn’t you? That I had something to learn from Nam Yiwon.”

–Indeed, I did.

“Do you still believe that?”

A soft, measured breath emanated from the other end of the line. The faint sounds of ambient noise bled through, suggesting the professor was walking outdoors. Just before he spoke again, Seungjun heard a distinct, deep intake of breath. After releasing a long sigh, the professor finally posed a question.

–Why else do you think I would have called?

Unable to witness his own expression at the precise moment he heard the anticipated words, Seungjun tore his gaze away from the mirror.

Even his respected mentor, who had observed him more closely than anyone throughout his university years, was calling him amidst a busy schedule to persuade him. If everyone was speaking with such a unified voice… The conviction he had once considered an unwavering belief began to waver, and doubt started to bloom. Was it truly just pointless stubbornness?

–In any case, think carefully and make your decision. Let’s have a meal together soon.

“Yes, Professor. Thank you for calling. Please take care.”

Seungjun politely bade farewell, then ended the call. Lost in thought, he stood there for a long while, staring at his toes. Piercing the tranquility of his empty home in the late night, Nam Yiwon’s voice, cheerfully greeting him, echoed in his ears. A subtle tinnitus mixed with it, ringing.

[Senior, it’s really been a long time, hasn’t it?]

His attire was far more flamboyant, his gaze much more intense and scrutinizing. A pure white face concealing a dark interior.

Seungjun stepped into the bathroom and turned on the water. Hot water cascaded noisily over his head. He stood under the running water for a long time, until the unpleasant voice was completely washed away, until his vision blurred in the rising steam.

****

Nam Yiwon had been Seungjun’s antithesis since their undergraduate days. So much so that Seungjun often thought if there was anyone in the world he was completely incompatible with, it would be Nam Yiwon.

Sharing only the same major, they had no other points of contact and were never meant to be intertwined. Seungjun had little interest in departmental activities and thus few junior acquaintances. Nam Yiwon’s rumored good looks also held no particular appeal for Seungjun, who preferred petite and cute types. All Seungjun ever did was occasionally mutter to himself, ‘What kind of college student walks around with that slicked-back hairstyle?’ whenever they crossed paths.