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Just Conversation________________________________

Inside a room without any girls.

What do you call being alive? Is it just a person or a dog inhaling, exhaling, moving, and eating—this mechanical cycle of survival? I doubt it. Breathing alone doesn't define life. What about your unreliable car? That ancient doll sitting on the shelf? You call them "he" or "she" like they're one of us, even though they neither move nor breathe. Why do we insist on treating the inanimate as if it's alive? 

Maybe being alive is simpler. Maybe it's just existing. Being here. Seen. Known. Like Albert Einstein. The man's been dead for ages, yet people still speak of him, with admiration or hatred, as if he's somehow still alive. Despite being a distant memory your great-grandmother recited before bed, isn't he… dead? Isn't he is not alive? Yet, he's still here, lingering in our thoughts, our textbooks, like a ghost in the machine of history.

So, is your doll alive? Or is dead Einstein alive? 

Whichever answer you choose, it doesn't matter now. I'm supposed to be the only living thing in this room, but the table, couch, window, and walls are all watching me. Judging. Asking, with an air of condescension, *What is the tutor doing here?* Not a single student is present.

"Even Sohee isn't here yet," I mutter, answering the unspoken question.

"Why not give her a call?" the table seems to suggest.

"One, she's probably busy, and two—fuck you, table," I snap.

The window snickers. "Still mad at the table for tripping you last week, huh?"

"Which leg?" the table retorts, smugly.

"Enough," I sigh, rubbing my temples. "I'm not sulking. I'm just… confused about what to do." If this keeps up, Life's knife will find its way into my chest again. Maybe I should track down the girls. Did they die somewhere? Even Shizuka's not here, and she's always on time. It's odd.

Shizuka—the only student besides Sohee to actually attend my lessons these past days.

As if summoned by my thoughts, the door creaks open, and Sohee, with all the grace of a boulder, slumps into the other couch. I swear her ass jiggles in sync with the springs for a moment.

She groans in relief. "This is the best. Resting. Finally free from that suffocating student council." She glances at me with a sheepish smile. "Forgive me, Sunbae. I just... needed this."

It's rare to see Sohee so relaxed. I don't think I've ever seen her without her blazer buttoned up tight, revealing the crisp white blouse beneath. The casual way she says "again" doesn't escape me—it's never for me.

"I'm not complaining," I say, leaning back. "You look sexier when you're relaxed."

Our eyes lock, a silent conversation we both pretend not to notice. Her cheeks flush, and for a moment, the air between us thickens.

She quickly turns away, fumbling for words. "The girls… they're not here yet."

"Shizuka isn't here," I correct her.

Sohee shakes her head. "Don't worry, Sunbae. They'll come around. They probably just need some time."

She shifts uncomfortably, her gaze darting everywhere but me. "A-anyway, are you planning to teach today?"

I pop open a can of soda and take a slow sip, stalling for time. The flavor is off, metallic, like it's trying to be sweet but failing miserably.

Weird. Almost as weird as Sohee's behavior today. Her face is rosier than usual, and her legs swing slightly in the air, childlike. She's fidgety, her eyes flitting about as if she's trying to stop time, to escape from something that isn't even here. 

I put the can down, finally speaking. "Honestly, if you're not busy, I'd rather you take the lesson."

Sohee blinks, surprised. "Oh. Okay." She smiles, though it's a little forced. "I've never seen you in action, Sunbae."

There it is—her indirect question. She's wondering why I'm avoiding my role, pushing the responsibility onto her like a senior who dumps paperwork on a new hire's desk. 

"I was in action all the time while you were teaching, Shizuka," I say, trying to keep my voice casual.

She tilts her head, confused. I have to sell this. I have to lie. I have to be an asshole.

I stand up and walk over to the couch, sitting dangerously close to her. Our faces are just inches apart, her confusion palpable. I gesture toward the empty space beside her. "Is this spot taken?"

She quickly tucks a stray pink strand behind her ear, flustered. "N-no."

"Sorry," I murmur, feigning guilt but sitting down anyway. "Back to the point. I have a different approach to teaching these girls."

Sohee fidgets with her sleeve, waiting for me to continue, clearly curious. She's about to speak when I cut her off with a question.

"Have you ever wondered why no tutor here lasts more than a week or two? Why no one makes any significant progress?"

Her eyes widen slightly, but I don't give her a chance to answer.

"It's not about who's the best tutor or who has the right method. It's about who can adapt to cover the girls' flaws."

"Their… flaws?" she echoes.

I nod, my voice softening. "You've seen it yourself. Mei is always anxious, constantly on edge. Shizuka goes out of her way to make others miserable. Carrie—well, she's so self-absorbed that no one else exists in her world. And Claire? She just doesn't care about anything."

I pause, letting my words sink in before continuing. "That's what I've observed so far, but it's not enough. I need to see more. I need to understand why they can't improve."

I know I won.

Sohee's eyes meet mine, and for a moment, something unspoken passes between us. I take a breath. "I'm not here to help the school, Sohee. I'm here to help them."

A small smile tugs at her lips. "Idiot," she says softly. "Saying something like that… Who wouldn't have a crush on you?"

…

Was that supposed to be a whisper? A thought? It didn't sound like it.

Her face turns bright red as she inches closer, her lips slightly parted. Her fist rests on her chest, over her heart, which is racing just as fast as mine.

I lean forward, just an inch, barely crossing the invisible line between us, but Sohee surges forward, her lips locking onto mine like she's reaching for something she can't put into words.

Her tongue is dancing inside my mouth.

Her hands press against my chest, fingers trembling as they trail along the fabric of my shirt. She lingers there, like she's searching for a pulse, an answer, something deeper than the moment. Her breath hitches slightly, warm against my skin, and I can feel the unsteady rhythm in her fingertips—a fragile connection she's afraid might break if she lets go.

When we part, our breath tangling in the space between us, I realize both of my hands are already halfway through pulling her clothes down, fingers brushing the bare, soft curve of her shoulder. Her skin glows faintly in the dim light, and for a moment, all I see is her—her vulnerability, her hesitation, her want. It hits me like a wave, flooding every part of me with an uncontrollable hunger.

Lust courses through my veins, tightening its grip, threatening to unravel everything I've worked to control. If I let this take over, if I lose myself to it, I'll shatter the image she has of me—the dependable Sunbae, the one she's looked up to, will crumble.

"Sohee..." My voice comes out strained, foreign even to me, as if I'm watching myself from a distance. Her eyes flicker, meeting mine, wide and uncertain. There's a glow in them, something between curiosity and fear. The tension thickens, twisting around us like an invisible thread, pulling tighter with every second.

She's waiting. Waiting for something—for me, maybe, to take the next step. Her breath is shallow, brushing against my lips, but my hands stop her, freezing in place. I can't move forward, not yet.

"I…" Her voice breaks the silence, barely a whisper. Her gaze falls to the floor, and I can see the conflict in her expression, the battle between want and restraint. "We shouldn't have…"

Before I can speak, she pushes herself away from me, her hands retreating as if she's just touched something dangerous. Her fingers curl into tight fists, resting on her lap, trembling. She's still, but I can feel the tension radiating from her body—an invisible storm raging beneath her calm surface.

"This is..." She whispers, her voice trembling. "I am...sorry."

The words hang heavy in the air, and I feel them wrap around me, suffocating in their weight. I rake a hand through my hair, trying to catch my breath. "Sohee, don't feel bad."

The silence between us feels louder than her apology. She doesn't respond, but her eyes are locked onto mine, holding something unspoken, waiting for me to fill the void.

Only I can fix what she thought she's done wrong.

So I will.

I lean closer again, feeling the weight of every inch, and my voice softens, laced with something deeper. "Sohee… you don't have to hide. Not from me."

"Sunbae?" Her voice is barely audible, but her eyes search mine, looking for reassurance, for understanding.

"You can be yourself with me," I say, my words deliberate, slow. "Whether you're in control or not. I'm not here to judge you. I never will."

"But I was—"

"Sohee." I interrupt her, my hand brushing against hers, grounding her at the moment. "We need each other. Just like I helped you back then, you'll help me, one day. We're in this together."

I didn't bite my tongue or anything. My words flow perfectly as if it was never made up.

For a long moment, she's silent, her breath shallow, as if she's weighing my words. Her gaze flickers, softening just enough for me to see the vulnerability hidden beneath the surface.

Finally, she nods. It's subtle, almost imperceptible, but I catch it. Her eyes meet mine again, and for the first time, there's no hesitation. Just understanding.