[Chapter 17 — Chungking Express]
They had no idea if the remaining galbijjim went down their throats or up their noses — that’s how quickly the meal ended.
The family from Hwaran House dragged a visibly pleased Oh I-gyeom away from Chief Kim Mansoo’s home, unable to hide their grins the whole way.
The group hadn’t had a single drop to drink, but retraced the same four-to-five-bus-stop distance on foot, flapping the hems of their trench coats in the night breeze — as if they had been drinking.
Hosik grumbled.
“If you really plan on doing something with Suji, I’ll throw you in jail.”
“Oh come on, what kind of person do you think I am? But hey, I am good-looking, right?”
“Ugh, I’m gonna puke.”
“What? You jealous?”
“Psycho.”
Mooroo and Tarim followed the two bickering friends from behind. Even in awkward situations, this had to be the most awkward one yet.
As soon as they’d left Kim Mansoo’s apartment, she’d explained it was just a dumb joke, but both Igyeom and Hosik laughed it off like it was the most natural thing in the world. Even so, the air between her and Tarim remained stiff. Finally, Tarim broke the silence.
“…Thanks for saving Hosik.”
“Aaaah!”
Mooroo groaned in embarrassment and dropped into a crouch right there on the sidewalk. Tarim also bent his knees and gently shook her elbow.
“It… It really wasn’t a big deal.”
With her face buried in her knees, Mooroo mumbled like she was delirious.
“I must’ve lost my mind. I just… Hosik looked like he was in trouble, so I just—”
Up ahead, Hosik somehow heard her despite the distance.
“Hey you two! Congrats on the wedding!”
“Hope you’re happy till you turn into gray-haired G-Dragon!”
The G-Dragon comment was from Oh I-gyeom. Their giggling grew fainter as they walked away.
Mooroo’s blonde wig swayed from her fingertips with every twitch of her body. Ugh. Ugh! Just as she screamed internally, the weight at her fingertips suddenly vanished.
When she looked up, Tarim was squatting right in front of her, wearing the Im Cheong-ha wig and even donning sunglasses. Passersby glanced at the two crouching in the middle of the sidewalk, looking like actors straight out of a Hong Kong film. Pfft. She couldn’t help but laugh.
“Hahaha. What the hell, Park Tarim.”
“Now I’m the embarrassed one, right?”
“Yep. Super embarrassed.”
“Excuse me, do you like pineapples?”
“What?”
“That’s the first line Takeshi Kaneshiro says to Brigitte Lin in Chungking Express. Haven’t you seen it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, but I don’t remember.”
She kept bursting into giggles, still in disbelief over what had happened that day. Tarim helped her to her feet.
“Let’s go get some whiskey.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. Now.”
“Why whiskey?”
“Because that’s what Brigitte Lin drinks in Chungking Express.”
Tarim held out a hand, and before taking it, she asked:
“As a friend? Or…?”
She couldn’t finish the question. Tarim hesitated for a second, then answered.
“As the friend I agreed to fake-marry.”
Only then could she finally take that large hand.
That night, Bongnim-dong residents claimed to have seen Im Cheong-ha and Chow Yun-fat wandering the neighborhood. Some insisted it wasn’t Chow Yun-fat but Takeshi Kaneshiro, and others said it was a tall guy with a foreign woman.
Depending on whether one had seen A Better Tomorrow or Chungking Express, the witness accounts varied — but all agreed on two things: both of them wore dark sunglasses, and both were very drunk, laughing at just about anything.
They took swigs of whiskey wrapped in a paper bag, hiding it in their coat pocket while strolling through Bongnim-dong’s alleys. Mooroo’s feet hurt from her heels, so she bought a pair of Adidas slide sandals and hooked her satin pink pumps over her fingers as she let herself get blissfully wasted.
They made a pact to only turn right at every corner. The two wandered endlessly through the alleys buried deep in Mooroo’s memory, laughing the whole way.
When they’d finished more than half the bottle, Tarim stopped in front of a villa where lilacs bloomed wildly in the garden.
“Here. This is the place.”
With his cheeks flushed from alcohol, Tarim looked up at the second-floor balcony.
“This was your house.”
Mooroo followed his gaze to the building — a standalone upscale villa, with spacious units for each household.
“So this is….”
She inhaled sharply.
“…the place I lived until I was eleven?”
A pale light glowed from within the second floor.
“I stood here every morning. Waiting to walk to school with you.”
Tarim began to piece together fragments of a memory Mooroo no longer had. She pulled the whiskey bottle from his coat pocket and took a swig.
“You only had to come by 8:30, but you always came at 8 and stood here like this. Just to hear the sound of you coming down the stairs.”
Tarim took the bottle back and downed the last few sips.
“You never made a sound. Like a cat. Just quietly appeared….”
She let out a weak laugh.
“…and without saying anything, you’d just take my hand.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. Your hand was so small. I mean, I was small too back then.”
Tarim spread his palms wide. It was hard to believe those large, masculine hands once belonged to a child.
“Why?”
“Huh?”
“Why did you wait for me here every day?”
“Because I liked you.”
“What did you like so much?”
Mooroo was smiling as she asked, teasing him lightly about a childhood crush. But Tarim didn’t smile.
“You were beautiful. Mooroo, you were the most beautiful.”
He didn’t laugh. Not at all. Mooroo blinked, her eyes heating with a mix of drink and emotion.
“…You still are. The most beautiful.”
But his belated confession never reached her ears.
Creaaak — a grating sound cut through the air as the second-floor window slid open.
The long, jarring screech of rusted metal drowned out Tarim’s voice completely.
They both instinctively looked up. A woman stood on the second-floor balcony, backlit by the living room lights. Even with the lighting behind her, her face looked terrifyingly stern.
Apparently annoyed by the noise, the drunken pair quickly apologized and bolted down the alley.
The woman on the second floor watched them with cold eyes. The lilac branches, heavy with flowers, swayed gently in the breeze. Even after the commotion faded, she stayed there, gripping the window frame.
Mooroo’s drunken laughter echoed faintly down the distant alley, carried on the lilac-scented wind.
Before breakfast, Mooroo gulped down two Tylenols. She clung to the sink, her stomach twisting in knots. She barely managed to wash her face, but every time she bent forward, her stomach flipped.
As she leaned against the wall and stepped out of the bathroom, the smell of fresh bean sprout soup tugged at her soul. The Hwaran House roommates were already gathered at the table.
Hosik spoke up first.
“Good morning! This is the man you saved last night, Kwon Hosik!”
Aaargh. Her scream stayed lodged in her throat, blocked by her nausea.
“Mooroo, are you okay?”
Even Park Tarim, setting down a steaming bowl of soup, looked worse for wear. No wonder — they’d downed a bottle of whiskey with no chasers.
“We almost reported you two missing last night. Why didn’t you answer your phones?”
Hosik grumbled, taking a spoonful of soup. “Kaaaah.”
“Seriously. One second we turned around and both of you were gone. Kaaaah…”
Even Igyeom was moved by the bean sprout soup. And he hadn’t even been drinking. Mooroo trembled silently, unable to even let out a “kaaaah.” The asparagine soaked into every cell in her body.
Tarim slurped up the soup like it was holy water.
“Where’d you guys even go?!”
Igyeom banged Tarim’s soup bowl with his spoon.
“Just grabbed a drink.”
“Just you two? Why?”
Hosik tried to calm things down, pretending to be mature.
“It’s tequila, right? Tequila! A good sign, that is.”
Both Mooroo and Tarim shouted in unison. “Ah! Come on!” The timing and phrasing were identical.
Hosik threw up his hands in mock surprise.
“Geez! You’re engaged anyway, what’s the big deal?”
“That was because we were saving your ass!”
Mooroo glared daggers at Hosik. The exertion made her eyeballs feel like they’d pop.
“Hehe. I am grateful though.”
Now that things had come to this, she figured she might as well be nosy.
“How long did you date your girlfriend?”
“Shhhhhh!”
The three guys simultaneously put fingers to their lips. Mooroo felt déjà vu. Ah yes — the same thing happened at Chief Kim’s house yesterday.
“Why?”
“Shhhhhh!”
“Is Hosik’s love life a secret or something?”
The loudest shusher was none other than Hosik himself. All three guys looked tense. It clearly wasn’t a joke.
