He really was terrible at lying. Maybe merfolk couldn’t lie — that was the concept? In some fantasy novels, fairies died if they told a lie.
A fairy who snaps off crayfish tails, wraps cabbage leaves by hand to feed you, and dives for clams at six in the morning.
If he had to give Lee Haeshin a different name, “fairy” suited him better than “merman.” Something like “Korean fairy” felt about right. Whether he was mysterious or graceful was debatable, but he did nag you to make sure you ate all three meals a day.
Hwichan snickered to himself, and Haeshin’s fist — sluggish from all the layers he’d bundled on — came thudding into him. He took the blows raining down on his coat and gave a thoroughly unenthusiastic “Ow, that hurts.”
The truth was, watching Haeshin swim yesterday, Hwichan had started to wonder if maybe he hadn’t gone into the sea intending to die after all. He’d looked less like someone wanting to die and more like someone on a beach vacation.
Like that damned blue sea otter that kept popping up in freshmen group project slideshows, drifting along without a care in the world — no matter how you looked at it, he didn’t seem like someone about to die any moment.
Of course, that didn’t mean Hwichan had put his suspicions to rest entirely. Even while diving, Haeshin would often fix his gaze on something far away. Whether he was taking in the scenery or lost in other thoughts, it was hard to say.
At first Hwichan thought he might be watching the sunrise as it flushed red across the horizon, but then it occurred to him — someone who’d spent twenty-seven years on this island would have seen that view every single day. Why bother looking again?
He seems simple, but maybe he isn’t. He’s bright and sunny, and yet somewhere underneath there’s something hollow and cold.
Hwichan waited for the boat maintenance to finish and glanced sideways at the pale, sad-looking gimbap sitting next to him.
Around the time the boat engine rumbled to life with a sputtering clatter, Haeshin turned to Hwichan and asked,
“By the way — did your power go out? You should’ve said something.”
It was a remarkably warm question from someone who’d just been taking out his frustrations on him.
“Yeah.”
He answered flatly, and Haeshin let out a loud, deliberate sigh — as if he wanted him to hear it — and smacked him hard on the back. That one actually hurt.
“You should’ve asked me to look at it! We don’t have to catch the boat until before eleven anyway. Want me to go check now?”
So this island fairy knew how to do electrical work too. Not just a fairy — a house fairy.
“It’s fine. We can deal with it later — can we please just get off the island for now? I’ve been cooped up here for days and I feel like I’m suffocating. Like a fish stuck in a restaurant tank.”
He answered with the same blunt expression as always, waving a hand through the air as if even concern was an inconvenience. At his dismissive attitude, Haeshin creased the corners of his eyes in displeasure and propped one foot up on the railing of the fishing boat. For no good reason, Hwichan’s stomach lurched like he was getting seasick.
“……Get your foot down.”
“It won’t tip over from this much.”
“Get it down.”
“……Fine, okay. Then I’ll take a look when you get back.”
“Do whatever you want.”
And so the two of them set off toward the mainland on a small fishing boat not much bigger than a motorized dinghy.
The entire way there, Hwichan kept his eyes fixed only on the floor of the boat and on Haeshin. He didn’t spare so much as a passing glance at the waves rolling right beside them.
As he quietly watched Haeshin’s light-colored bangs whipping wildly in the wind, he found himself thinking back to something Haeshin had said not long ago.
That his hair color was so washed out people said he looked like a city delinquent. To Hwichan, Lee Haeshin didn’t look like a “city delinquent” — he just looked like a sheep. A fluffy sheep with wheat-colored wool. The kind that occasionally kicked people with its hind legs, but was gentle at heart.
Watching him sniffle against the cold, Hwichan felt the tension that had wound through his body from riding the boat quietly unknot on its own.
“What, Hwichan — why are you smiling?”
“When did I smile.”
“You did.”
“Just thought you had kind of a vacant look on your face.”
“Me? Are you talking about me?”
“Who else would I be talking about.”
The lips half-hidden beneath his mask twitched, and then a faint pink flush crept across his cheeks. At the same moment, warm and gentle sunlight slowly washed over the top of his head. Once they were clear of the waters around Samsam Island, the sky was as bright and open as a spring day.
He could have sworn that when he’d first come to this island, the thirty-minute boat ride had felt so awful and nerve-wracking he’d nearly been sick. But now it didn’t seem quite that bad. Maybe because he’d been staring at water so much.
“We’re here, Haeshin. Don’t forget to pick up something for snacks on your way back.”
“Of course. I’ll get some snacks for the kids too.”
The bearded man at the helm turned to make deliberate eye contact with Haeshin and laughed warmly.
By then the mainland had drawn close. The small boat gradually slowed.
***
The harbor was quieter than expected.
Quieter wasn’t quite the right word — more like subdued. The only things moving busily here were the hands of the elderly locals slitting and cleaning the sea squirts and sea cucumbers they’d caught, and the red plastic basins beside them.
It was already a region that didn’t see many tourists, and the gray, cold weather made it feel particularly still. The sound of waves, the drone of boat engines, and the occasional shout-like voices of adults were among the few signs of life that lingered here.
Haeshin climbed off the boat with the ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times and headed toward the port market. Hwichan had figured they might wander around a bit since they’d made the trip out — but this stubborn, boring fairy — no, this sheep — went and bought exactly what he’d come for and nothing more: joint medicine, snacks for drinking, and treats.
It was obvious without even looking why Sooni’s grandmother had given thirty thousand won for seven-thousand-won medicine. It was her way of saying: buy yourself something to eat, something you want, you errand boy.
Hwichan tried to point this out several times, but the obstinate Lee Haeshin just shook his head.
In the end, Hwichan gave up too. He jabbed sarcastically, “Fine, make sure you bring back every last ten-won coin in change,” and Haeshin just grinned back cheerfully — “Okay, I will!” — without missing a beat.
Hwichan watched that stubborn profile for a moment, then shook his head in resignation. After that it stayed quiet between them, and after a long while Haeshin, apparently awkward with the silence, poked at his forearm and spoke up.
“Hwichan, did you check your phone?”
“Oh, right. My phone.”
That had been the whole point of coming out to the mainland in the first place — to catch up on messages he’d missed. He also needed to get a PDF file a friend was sending him.
He turned on his smartphone, and sure enough, the internet and calls connected perfectly here.
“What? Does it work fine out here?”
“Yeah, it’s working great.”
Haeshin, who’d been sorting through the shopping bag beside him, asked brightly. He seemed to feel the cold easily — even though it was fairly mild for winter, his cheeks were chapped and flushed red. On that pale, fair, small face, a camellia bloomed without a care, oblivious to everything. An early bloom.
Hwichan held up his smartphone screen — internet connection intact — and showed it to him. As if it had been waiting, the phone buzzed continuously, filling the screen with a stream of backed-up messenger notifications.
“What about you?”
“Hm?”
“Aren’t you going to check yours.”
“Oh.”
Haeshin fumbled his phone out from under his thick layers of clothing and held up his screen the same way, mirroring Hwichan. His phone was silent.
“I don’t have any friends.”
Was that meant to make him laugh, or was he asking to be pitied?
Hwichan let out a hollow laugh, looking at the phone that sat as still as a dummy unit. He’d said he’d lived his whole life inside that island — apparently that wasn’t a lie.
A little while later Haeshin’s phone did go off — but it wasn’t a friend, just a spam text. Instant emergency loans available.
Haeshin looked back and forth between his own screen and Hwichan’s, then asked in a voice that had gone a little deflated,
“……Do you have a lot of friends?”
“Hah……”
It was somewhere between a child throwing a fit and something pitiable, and so Hwichan snatched his phone, punched in a number, and handed it back. For someone who barely used it, he was running a fairly new model. He typed in the number and hit call — and Hwichan’s phone rang.
