Chapter 3: Why Did You Close Your Eyes?
While Muru was busy just shifting garbage and household items from one place to another, Park Tarim spoke to her in a sweet, friendly tone.
“Hey, Muru?”
“Hold on, hold on. I can make a place to sit.”
“Well, this is your house, but don’t you think the person who’s better at something should handle it?”
“Y-yeah, just a sec, just a sec.”
“I’m really good at tidying and organizing. I even have a professional certificate for it.”
“Mhm, mhm.”
It seemed Muru’s eardrums were no longer in any state to process sound.
This won’t do.
Tarim took off his shoes and confidently stepped into the chaos.
“Ah! The floor’s dirty! Wait, wait!”
“Muru, sit down. Sit!”
It sounded like he was training a puppy—but it worked. Muru sighed in defeat and plopped down at the edge of the bed, looking sulky. Tarim almost said “Good boy.”
Meeting Muru’s eyes—no, meeting the puppy’s eyes—Tarim spoke kindly.
“First, I’m sorry for touching your stuff. But would it be okay if I gifted you a manpower service?”
Good looks, and even better words.
“What kind of service?”
“I run a share house in Junsan. I still live in the ‘Hwaran House.’”
“Hwaran House?”
At that moment, an image popped into Muru’s mind.
Hwaran House.
Three unfamiliar syllables. She didn’t even know what it meant, but a vivid image flashed before her eyes: A neat three-story Western-style building, with a triangular roof and circular windows under it. A tidy house finished in grey stone standing tall amidst a green lawn.
Muru swallowed dryly.
“I cook for the housemates too. I’ve got Korean cuisine and organizing certifications. I’m high-level manpower. Just like gifting a friend a coffee coupon, I’d like to give you a one-time helper service. As a reunion gift.”
More than touched, Muru was impressed.
“I can’t stand your trash heap, so shut up and sit while I clean” was basically what he said—but said it so beautifully.
Muru pushed down the image of the house that had suddenly appeared in her mind.
“T-then… I’ll gratefully accept.”
“Thanks for letting me.”
“But my place isn’t usually like this.”
“Mmhm.”
“I’ve just got so much work lately. I work from home. There’s a deadline…”
“Just sit right there. Okay?”
Tarim took off his suit jacket and handed it to Muru. He rummaged through the kitchen cupboards, put on an apron and rubber gloves.
Muru hadn’t even known there was an apron in her house. Though his intention was to make her feel comfortable, Tarim still chatted as he diligently scrubbed and tidied.
“What do you do from home?”
“I write novels.”
“Wow. You became a writer?”
“A web novelist…”
“That’s awesome. Seriously cool. I always thought you’d do something like that.”
“Something like what?”
“Something special.”
“It’s… not that big of a deal…”
No one had ever admired her job so specifically before.
She had few real-life friends who said things like that. No group she belonged to ever really supported her—mainly because she’d been dating Kim Bong-pal since freshman year.
She had ignored all warnings about dating within her class. After eight years of being attached at the hip, only going to events he liked, the end result was a lonely mess.
“You’re still so free-spirited. That’s so cool.”
Tarim avoided calling it a trash house and instead left that thoughtful comment.
Flustered, Muru glanced away—and that’s when she noticed the idea board taking up an entire wall.
Meanwhile, Tarim had already organized her books, started the laundry, and was now washing used instant ramen cups and delivery containers in a sink that looked tiny compared to his frame.
“Writing’s tough. No wonder your place ended up like this.”
The cork board Muru had installed herself—200cm by 200cm—was filled with the plot, notes, and celebrity look-alike references for her current web novel. That would’ve been fine, except…
There were also notes like: “Kiss in this chapter,” “Another smooch here,” “Wall-slam kiss here,” “Bed scene here”—very detailed.
No, no, no.
Muru lunged at the wall.
“You really need to improve your eating habits too. No matter how busy—”
Tarim didn’t finish the well-intentioned advice.
It all happened at once.
The moment he turned toward Muru—
The moment Muru yanked the entire board off the wall in a panic—
A flying metal hook launched like a rocket—
And smacked him right in the forehead.
“AAAH! TARIM!”
Muru screamed, even though Tarim was the one who got hit. He crouched down, clutching his forehead with his gloved hand.
“Are you okay? Is it bleeding? Oh my god! Let me see!”
“What… what just happened…?”
Tarim, struck square in the forehead, had no idea what had hit him.
Muru held his face up in her hands. His smooth forehead was swelling up to the size of half a plum.
“Muru, what… what happened to me?”
“There’s no blood! No blood! But, but—!”
“But…? Aaagh, why does it hurt so much?”
He pulled off the rubber gloves and instinctively touched the wound. Muru grabbed his hand.
“Don’t! Don’t touch it!”
“Why? Is it stuck in my forehead?”
Pfft!
Muru bit her tongue to stop laughing. And then the word salad began.
“It’s not that, it’s just… I bought that board off Coupang, and plastic didn’t seem sturdy enough, so… yeah, it’s my fault… I bought a super solid metal one…”
“What, did you buy a gun off Coupang? Did I get shot or something?”
Puhahaha!
She couldn’t hold it anymore.
Muru burst out laughing, rolling on the floor holding her stomach.
“Hahaha! A gun, he says! Ahahaha!”
“You think that’s funny?! I’m asking you what happened!”
“Ahahahaha! No, it just swelled, that’s all. Now it looks like a walnut pastry, haha, a walnut—!”
Everything was funny now. She couldn’t stop once she started. Tarim moved in, showing her his forehead.
“Just look properly! How bad is it?”
…Too close.
His scent hit her. Deep wood notes, with a bit of tobacco and pepper, and a hint of freesia shampoo. Most of all, it was the warmth of his skin—
His face was too close. Barely 15cm between their noses. Tarim must’ve felt it too—that he was looking down at Muru, still holding her hand tightly, and both of them were staring at each other’s lips.
It had been a deeply emotional day for Muru. She was already fragile. And now, her first love—whom she didn’t even remember—was here. Tarim tightened his grip on her hand. Muru slowly closed her eyes.
She didn’t remember, but for once, she was going to follow her instincts—
“Why are you closing your eyes?”
Wait, what?
Muru opened her eyes again. Tarim was looking at her, his face full of question marks.
“Huh?”
“Why are you closing your eyes? The floor’s not clean yet. If you’re going to lie down, use the bed.”
Then he gripped her hand and pulled—“Heave-ho!”—and lifted her up with ease.
So the hand-holding wasn’t for a kiss—it was to help her up.
Muru, like an idiot, just muttered, “Mmhm, yeah, you’re right…” and Tarim went back to the sink, humming a dishwashing tune.
*
It was a miracle: 9-part pants turned into 5-part shorts. After showering, Tarim looked down in dismay at his lower body.
Muru had simply given him the training pants and T-shirt that Kim Bong-pal used to wear when he visited.
The pants were too short, the shirt too small. Muru realized how terrible Bong-pal’s proportions had been, and how blind she’d been for 8 years.
“How tall are you?”
“Hmm… about 189?”
Out of that 189 cm, at least 159 cm had to be legs.
Tarim folded up his long limbs and laid down on the freshly cleaned floor. The lights were off. Muru was in her now-clean bed; Tarim on the now-clean floor.
“Were you that tall as a kid too?”
“When we were little, I was the same height as you. Back then…”
Then he suddenly shut his mouth.
One of the most annoying things in the world: when someone starts a sentence and doesn’t finish it.
“Back then?”
“Ah… when we did… shoulder hugs… our heights matched.”
Ah. Shoulder hugs?
Muru’s writer instincts caught on.
“Oh, you mean your heights matched when you kissed?”
It was a kiss she didn’t remember—she was just teasing.
But Tarim… really looked flustered.
