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Episode 5
MINYOUNG
Minyoung’s life was perfectly lit — or at least, that’s what she told herself while angling her phone toward the window for her morning vlog.
Her room in Building B was the brightest in the villa, flooded with soft sunlight that made her matcha latte look extra aesthetic.
She filmed the pour twice because the first one didn’t swirl enough.
Behind her, the courtyard was alive with weekend chatter.
She liked the noise — it gave her videos “authentic ambiance,” as she called it.
Still, the villa had one flaw: no one respected her content schedule.
She hit record again. “Good morning, everyone! Today I’m spending the day editing, relaxing, and maybe hanging out with my neighbors—”
A loud thump cut her off.
From upstairs came the sound of Dabin running, followed by Soojin’s shout: “No ball inside!”
Minyoung sighed, stopping the video.
The day hadn’t even started, and her “peaceful villa morning” already had bloopers.
Still, she smiled. The chaos was kind of charming.
Ever since Honey moved in, the building felt livelier — warmer.
She scrolled through her messages, hovering on Honey’s name before typing:
Minyoung: you free today? feel like escaping the rain hangover lol
The reply came fast.
Honey: coffee in the courtyard? i’ll bring the muffins 🍓
Minyoung grinned. “Perfect.”
She grabbed her camera, lipstick, and a sense of purpose.
If nothing else, it would make good content.
HONEY
The rain from earlier in the week had rinsed everything clean.
Puddles still glistened between the two brick buildings, reflecting strips of sky.
Honey had set up two folding chairs under the crooked courtyard tree. A thermos sat on the table, still steaming; a paper bag of strawberry muffins waited beside it.
Mandu circled lazily around her ankles, tail flicking against her calf.
Minyoung appeared in wide-leg jeans and a cropped cardigan, umbrella tucked under her arm, camera already recording.
She waved, voice bright. “Morning content, don’t mind me!”
Honey smiled. “Are you ever off the clock?”
“Never,” Minyoung said, lowering the camera. “But today’s casual — no sponsors, just vibes.”
“Then I guess I can be in the background?”
“You?” Minyoung laughed. “You’re main character content.”
Honey rolled her eyes but blushed. “You’ve mentioned me on your channel?”
“Obviously! My subscribers adore ‘the teacher from B-2.’ You have this quiet, cozy energy that screams healing lifestyle vlog.”
“I feel more ‘grading essays and surviving on caffeine,’ but sure.”
They sat, poured coffee into enamel mugs, and let the morning hum around them — the drip of leftover rain, the rustle of laundry lines, Mrs. Park sweeping somewhere nearby.
For a while, they talked about everything and nothing.
Minyoung’s subscriber count, Honey’s students, Mandu’s rumored secret family in Building C.
“I feel like you always know exactly what you’re doing,” Honey said. “All your videos look effortless.”
Minyoung sighed. “That’s the trick — nothing effortless ever is. Lately it’s felt like I’m filming my life instead of living it.”
Honey turned her mug slowly. “Maybe you just need to change what you’re looking at.”
Minyoung smiled faintly. “That’s deep. Should I quote you?”
“Only if you tag me.”
They both laughed, the sound carrying lightly between the buildings.
The villa was alive again after days of rain.
Mrs. Park bustled out with a tray of pastries. “Eat before you gossip too much,” she ordered, leaving without waiting for thanks.
Jiho leaned over his balcony. “Building B influencer squad! Are we getting royalties for featuring in your videos?”
“Not unless you sign a release form,” Minyoung shot back.
Jiho crossed the courtyard at that moment, heading toward the gate in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms.
He paused just long enough to nod politely. “Morning.”
“Morning!” Honey answered, maybe a little too fast.
Minyoung caught the small spark in her friend’s expression — a flicker that vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.
She smiled behind her cup.
When he disappeared down the street, she asked casually, “You seem pretty friendly with C2 these days.”
Honey shrugged, her cheeks beginning to feel warm. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“So…?”
“So….what?” Honey laughed awkwardly. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, nevermind.” Minyoung said lightly, hiding her grin. “It’s nothing.”
They moved upstairs to Minyoung’s apartment when the sun grew hot.
Her space smelled faintly of vanilla candles and hair products — chaotic yet curated.
While she set up her laptop, Honey crouched beside the tripod, fascinated.
“So you layer everything?” she asked, watching the screen.
“Yep. Clips, audio, text. Every second you see is probably fifteen minutes of editing.”
“It’s like building a story,” Honey said thoughtfully. “Except with colors instead of words.”
Minyoung paused, surprised. “Exactly. Though sometimes I wonder if I’m just repainting the same story over and over.”
Honey tilted her head. “What story?”
“That everything’s perfect. That my life looks like my feed.”
She hesitated, eyes on the timeline. “Truth is, it’s just… ordinary. Same coffee, same courtyard, same me.”
Honey smiled gently. “Ordinary can be beautiful. You just have to stop retouching it.”
For a moment, Minyoung said nothing. Then she laughed softly. “Teacher wisdom again.”
“It’s involuntary,” Honey said. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Minyoung leaned back in her chair. “You make it sound possible — the idea that just being could be enough.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon half-editing, half-chatting.
Topics drifted from fashion to favorite students to whether Mandu had a boyfriend.
Each pause between laughter felt comfortable, like they’d known each other longer than a month.
By sunset, the villa glowed gold.
Neighbors lingered outside again, hanging laundry, trading leftovers.
Honey headed down with her empty mugs. Minyoung followed, camera slung at her side but turned off.
They stopped beneath the tree where they’d started the morning.
“It’s prettier without filters,” Honey said.
Minyoung nodded. “And quieter.”
Across the courtyard, Jiho returned, a grocery bag in hand.
He waved briefly; Honey lifted her mug in return.
Minyoung watched the exchange and smiled knowingly.
When he’d gone inside, she whispered, “You like him.”
Honey blinked. “What? No. I—he’s just—”
“You like him,” Minyoung repeated, amused. “Don’t worry, I won’t post it.”
Honey laughed, cheeks pink. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” Minyoung said. “But I’m right.”
They sat together until the lights flickered on above them, moths circling the bulbs, the air still damp and sweet.
MINYOUNG
Later, alone in her room, Minyoung reviewed the footage.
Most of it was unusable — too much laughter, too many unflattering camera shakes — yet she couldn’t bring herself to delete it.
On screen, Honey smiled mid-sentence, hair lifted by a breeze, eyes bright.
The image looked so genuine it made Minyoung pause.
She turned the camera toward herself one last time.
Her reflection in the dark lens felt different now — less performed, more real.
“Sometimes,” she said quietly, “the prettiest things aren’t filmed. They just happen while you’re not paying attention.”
She stopped recording.
HONEY
The sunset always hit Dawon Villa like it was in slow motion.
The brick walls caught the light and turned the whole courtyard honey-colored; even the laundry lines seemed to glow.
Honey leaned on the railing outside her apartment, a mug of barley tea cupped between her palms. Below, Minyoung rearranged the folding chairs they’d used that morning, muttering to herself about angles and reflections.
“Still working?” Honey called down.
Minyoung looked up, shielding her eyes. “Not filming! Just thinking. You coming down?”
Honey shook her head. “Too comfortable up here.”
“Fine, then I’m coming up!”
A few minutes later, Minyoung appeared at her door holding two popsicles she’d fished from the convenience-store freezer downstairs.
“They were buy-one-get-one,” she said. “So technically free friendship.”
Honey laughed and moved aside to let her in.
They sat on the floor by the window, knees drawn up, the evening breeze cooling their skin. The villa’s lights flicked on one by one outside, soft squares against the deepening blue.
“It’s weird,” Minyoung said quietly. “I used to hate this kind of quiet. It felt like I was missing something.”
“And now?”
“Now I feel like I’d miss this if I left.”
Honey smiled. “That’s the trick, isn’t it? The moment you stop trying to chase excitement, life sneaks up and gets beautiful on its own.”
Minyoung tapped her popsicle stick thoughtfully. “I think I used to fill silence with noise because I was scared people wouldn’t notice me otherwise.”
“You’re hard to miss.”
“That’s not the same,” she said, turning toward her. “Being seen on a screen isn’t the same as being known. You can film every detail of your life and still not feel like anyone actually gets you.”
Honey watched her friend’s reflection in the window. The bright, practiced version of Minyoung was gone; what remained looked softer, almost shy.
“I get it,” Honey said after a moment. “Translation can do that too. You spend all day being other people’s voices and forget what your own sounds like.”
They sat in silence, listening to the quiet thrum of insects outside. Mandu jumped onto the railing, tail curling like a question mark.
Minyoung reached out to scratch her chin. “See? Even the cat’s calmer when we’re not filming.”
“Maybe she’s waiting for her close-up,” Honey teased.
“Maybe she just likes you more.”
Honey smiled. “Doubtful. She’s a diva.”
“Then she and I have that in common.”
They both laughed.
When the laughter faded, Honey asked, “Have you always lived here?”
“Three years,” Minyoung said. “I kept thinking I’d move out when my channel grew, but… I never did. Maybe it’s the rent. Maybe it’s everyone here. Maybe it’s Mrs. Park feeding us like we’re her stray children.”
“Maybe it’s because you belong.”
Minyoung looked surprised, then nodded slowly. “Maybe.”
A scooter passed in the distance, the sound fading into crickets. Someone in Building C started strumming a guitar; the faint melody floated through the air.
“You ever miss home?” Minyoung asked suddenly.
Honey tilted her head. “All the time. But I think missing it keeps me grounded. It reminds me that I can build small pieces of it wherever I go.”
Minyoung smiled. “You should write that in your next post.”
“I probably will,” Honey admitted.
They talked until the popsicles melted and the mug of tea went cold. The conversation meandered—about the students who made Honey laugh, the subscriber who sent Minyoung fan art of Mandu, the strange comfort of hearing rain on the roof.
At one point, Minyoung leaned back against the wall, eyes half-closed. “You know,” she said softly, “you make it really easy to be myself.”
Honey looked at her. “That’s all I ever want for people.”
Minyoung smiled without opening her eyes. “That’s why you’re good for this place.”
The words lingered in the air, quiet and sincere.
When the streetlights clicked on below, Minyoung gathered her things. “Okay, sentimental hour’s over. If I cry, my eyeliner will sue me.”
Honey laughed and walked her to the door. “See you tomorrow?”
“Probably before you’ve even had coffee.”
“Then I’ll make extra.”
After Minyoung disappeared down the stairs, Honey returned to the balcony. The villa looked peaceful again—windows glowing, curtains shifting in the wind, the faint clink of dishes from Mrs. Park’s apartment.
She leaned on the railing, heart full and strangely light. For the first time in a while, she didn’t feel like an outsider looking in.
Later that evening Honey lay sprawled across her bed, one arm draped over her eyes.
The window was still cracked open, and the hum of the courtyard drifted in — faint voices, the clatter of dishes, Mandu’s muffled meow somewhere below.
Her laptop waited on the desk, blank document open, cursor blinking like it was asking, Well?
But she couldn’t write yet.
She just wanted to replay the day.
She thought about the way Minyoung had looked in the morning light — all polish and confidence, every gesture practiced like choreography.
And then, later, the version of her that emerged once the camera was off: hair messy from laughing too hard, makeup smudged just slightly, words spilling out without filters or hashtags.
That version had felt real.
And Honey hadn’t realized how much she’d missed real until that moment.
For years, most of her friendships had been polite but distant — colleagues, acquaintances, people who liked her but never really knew her.
Back home, her best friend from college had moved across the country, and they’d drifted to the kind of check-ins that started with “We should catch up soon” and never did.
She’d told herself she was fine being alone.
But today, when Minyoung started laughing halfway through editing and said, “Wait, don’t cut that part — it’s too honest,”
something inside her had tugged in quiet recognition.
It had been easy, being with her.
No need to translate herself, no worry about saying the wrong thing.
She rolled onto her side, watching shadows move across the ceiling.
Maybe this was what she’d been missing — not romance or excitement, but simple companionship.
Someone to share muffins with under a crooked tree.
Someone who made the villa feel a little more like a home instead of a stopover.
Honey smiled to herself, soft and tired and content.
She reached for the laptop, fingers hovering over the keys.
Outside, the air smelled faintly of rain and coffee.
She started typing.
Villa Notes #5 — “The Perfect Post”
It’s been a quiet week at Dawon Villa — the kind of calm that feels like a sigh after too much noise.
The rain finally stopped, the courtyard smells like wet earth, and the sky looks newly washed.
This morning, I had coffee with Minyoung under the tree in the middle of the courtyard.
She says every good moment needs a perfect photo, but sometimes I think the imperfect ones are better.
We balanced coffee cups on our knees, shared muffins that fell apart in our hands, and laughed until Mandu decided she wanted crumbs too.
A few neighbors passed by — Mrs. Park with her pastries (again), Jiho yelling from his balcony, Soojin chasing Dabin with a towel.
It was loud, but not in the way that bothers you. It was the kind of noise that means life is happening all around you, and you’re part of it.
Minyoung filmed a little, then stopped halfway through and said she just wanted to enjoy it.
That made me happy.
I think sometimes we forget that moments don’t have to be perfect to matter — they just have to be real.
When the sun got too strong, we went upstairs to her apartment and she showed me how she edits her videos.
She said that editing gives her control, that it makes things look cleaner, calmer, easier.
I told her she doesn’t need filters to make things worth seeing.
Maybe that advice was for both of us.
Later, we sat on her balcony, watching the sunset turn the villa gold.
Nothing happened — no drama, no surprises. Just another soft day that somehow felt important anyway.
Sometimes the best parts of life aren’t the ones you plan or post.
They’re the in-between moments, like coffee with a friend or the quiet hum of a courtyard that finally feels like home.
#villalife #quietdays #softmoments #theperfectpost
Comments:
@balconyqueen: I’m in the background AGAIN 😭 where’s my cut of the royalties
@breadmom: this sounds like a scene from a drama 💕
@walkslowly: I love the friendship between you and Minyoung so much 🥹
@minyoung.b: next time tag me properly, teacher 💅🏻
MINYOUNG
Minyoung lay on her stomach, scrolling through her phone in the dark.
Her room smelled faintly of hair oil and vanilla candles. The day’s chaos had settled into a peaceful hum: the far-off rumble of traffic, a television murmuring somewhere in Building A, Mandu yowling faintly in protest because someone had shut a window too soon.
She should have been editing — deadlines always hovered a day too close — but her mind kept circling back to the courtyard, the coffee, the easy laughter she and Honey had shared.
It wasn’t content. It was connection, and that difference still surprised her.
Her phone buzzed with a notification:
Villa Notes #5 — The Perfect Post
Her thumb hesitated before she tapped.
The familiar pale-blue banner appeared, and she began to read.
Honey’s voice — calm, reflective — filled the screen in short paragraphs, the way she always wrote: like conversation without the noise.
Minyoung says I’m too camera-shy, but maybe she’s right…
Minyoung smiled. Her name on the page looked strange, tender even, stripped of hashtags or filters.
Honey wrote about the muffins, the laughter, the imperfect moments that still felt right.
Halfway through, Minyoung stopped reading.
Her throat tightened in that odd way that meant something small but real had reached her.
She’d spent years turning feelings into frames — capturing, correcting, uploading — until sincerity felt foreign.
But here it was, sitting quietly on her screen: her day, unedited, turned into something meaningful just because someone else had seen it that way.
She read the post twice.
When she reached the last line —
Sometimes the best parts of life aren’t the ones you plan or post.
she let out a slow breath, eyes stinging for reasons she didn’t want to name.
Outside, a breeze swept through the window, carrying the faint smell of detergent from the courtyard.
She imagined Honey sitting by her desk, still awake, probably overthinking whether the post was too long or too sentimental.
Minyoung typed a quick comment:
@minyoung.b: next time tag me properly, teacher 💅🏻
But then she opened a private chat and added a message she’d never send to her followers.
Minyoung: your post was beautiful. thanks for today. felt like… a day off from pretending.
She watched the typing bubble appear for a moment, then vanish — maybe Honey had read it, maybe not. Either way, the words were out there, and that was enough.
She set her phone down and turned onto her back, staring at the ceiling.
The villa creaked — old wood, shifting pipes, the sound she used to complain about but now found comforting.
For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel the urge to film it.
Her eyes drifted to her camera sitting on the desk. The battery light blinked red, waiting for attention.
She reached over and flipped the switch off.
The lens clicked shut, plunging the room into perfect stillness.
For a long time, she lay there in the dark, listening to the faint patter of leftover rain outside and the soft, steady rhythm of her own breathing.
Tomorrow she’d film again — that was her job, her craft, her way of seeing.
But tonight, she just wanted to exist in the unrecorded space Honey had written about.
Maybe, she thought, that’s what friendship was:
someone reminding you that even the quiet, unposted parts of your life were still worth keeping.
Her phone buzzed once more.
Honey: me too 💕 sleep well
Minyoung smiled, rolled onto her side, and whispered into the dark, “Goodnight, teacher.”
Outside, the villa sighed — pipes settling, wind brushing the tree leaves, someone closing a window with a soft thud.
The day folded in on itself like a finished page.
And across the courtyard, two small lights glowed in the night — one from B-2, one from B-3 — warm, steady, and perfectly unfiltered.
Author’s Note
Thank you for reading Episode 5 of Dawon Apartments.
This chapter was a softer one — a quiet reminder that friendship can shift the way we see our own lives. Minyoung and Honey aren’t just neighbors anymore; they’re discovering the calm, unfiltered moments that make this villa feel like home.
I hope this episode made your day a little lighter, a little warmer, and maybe a little more hopeful.
Read with: Your favorite slow morning playlist
withluv
5화
민영
민영의 삶은 언제나 ‘완벽한 조명 아래’ 있었다. —or 적어도, 아침 브이로그를 찍기 위해 휴대폰을 창가 쪽으로 기울이며 스스로에게 그렇게 말하곤 했다.
B동에 있는 그녀의 방은 빌라에서 가장 밝았다. 부드러운 햇빛이 가득 들어와 그녀의 말차 라떼를 더 ‘감성 있게’ 비춰주었다. 첫 번째 촬영에서는 라떼가 예쁘게 소용돌이치지 않아, 그녀는 두 번째로 다시 따랐다.
창밖 마당에서는 주말의 수다가 살아 움직이고 있었다. 그 소란함이 좋았다—영상을 찍을 때 ‘진짜 분위기’가 난다고 그녀는 말하곤 했다. 하지만 이 빌라에는 단 하나의 단점이 있었다. 그 누구도 그녀의 콘텐츠 촬영 스케줄을 존중하지 않는다는 것.
녹화를 다시 켰다. “굿모닝, 여러분! 오늘은 편집도 하고, 쉬기도 하고, 이웃들이랑—”
쿵!
소리가 그녀의 말을 끊었다. 윗층에서 다빈이 뛰는 소리와 이어진 수진의 외침.
“공 가지고 놀지 말랬지!”
민영은 한숨을 쉬며 녹화를 멈췄다. 하루가 시작되기도 전에 ‘평화로운 빌라의 아침’에는 벌써 NG가 가득했다.
그래도 그녀는 미소를 지었다. 이런 소란도, 사실 꽤 매력적이었다.
허니가 이사 온 뒤로 건물은 더 활기차고—더 따뜻해졌다.
메시지를 스크롤하던 그녀는 허니의 이름에서 손가락을 잠시 멈추었다.
민영: 오늘 시간 돼? 비 온 뒤 멍한 기분에서 도망치고 싶음 ㅋㅋ
허니: 마당에서 커피? 머핀 가져갈게 🍓
민영은 활짝 웃었다. “완벽해.”
카메라, 립스틱, 그리고 오늘의 목적을 챙겨 들었다. 어찌 됐든, 좋은 콘텐츠는 나올 테니까.
허니
며칠 전 내린 비는 모든 것을 말끔하게 씻어냈다. 두 벽돌 건물 사이에 고인 물웅덩이는 하늘 조각들을 반사하며 반짝였다.
허니는 삐뚤게 자란 마당의 나무 아래에 접이식 의자 두 개를 펼쳐 두었다. 테이블 위에는 따끈한 김이 나는 보온병, 그 옆에는 딸기 머핀이 담긴 종이봉투.
만두는 그녀의 발목 주위를 느릿하게 돌며 꼬리를 휘적거렸다.
그때, 와이드 팬츠에 크롭 가디건을 입은 민영이 등장했다. 우산을 팔에 끼고, 카메라를 켜둔 채였다.
“아침 콘텐츠! 신경 쓰지 마요~” 밝게 손을 흔들었다.
허니가 웃었다. “언제는 쉬는데?”
“없어,” 민영은 카메라를 내리며 말했다. “근데 오늘은 캐주얼 데이. 협찬도 없고, 그냥 분위기만.”
“그럼 나는 배경으로만 나올까?”
“너는?” 민영이 웃어버렸다. “넌 메인 캐릭터지.”
허니는 눈을 굴렸지만 얼굴이 붉어졌다. “내 얘기… 너 영상에 했어?”
“당연하지! 내 구독자들, ‘B-2의 선생님’ 완전 좋아함. 말하자면… 힐링 브이로그 그 자체래.”
“나는 그냥 에세이 채점하고 카페인으로 버티는 선생님인데…”
둘은 앉아, 법랑 머그에 커피를 따라 마시며 남은 비의 물방울 소리, 빨래가 살랑이는 소리, 박 아주머니의 빗자루질을 들었다.
한동안, 별 얘기 아닌 얘기들을 나누었다. 민영의 구독자 수, 허니의 학생들, 만두가 C동에 비밀 가족이 있다는 루머까지.
“넌 항상 뭐든 척척 해내는 것 같아,” 허니가 말했다. “네 영상은 다 effortless해 보이잖아.”
민영은 길게 숨을 내쉬었다. “그게 트릭이지. effortless로 보이는 것ほど 노력 많이 들어가는 거. 요즘은… 찍으면서 사는 느낌이 아니라, 사는 척하면서 찍는 느낌이야.”
허니는 머그를 돌리며 말했다. “그럼… 보는 걸 바꿔보면 어때?”
민영이 미묘하게 웃었다. “깊다. 인용해도 돼?”
“태그만 해.”
둘은 웃었다. 웃음소리가 건물 사이를 가볍게 지나갔다.
며칠 만의 햇빛에 빌라는 다시 살아난 듯했다.
박 아주머니는 빵 트레이를 들고 나타났다. “수다 떨기 전에 먹어!” 감사 인사도 기다리지 않고 사라졌다.
지호가 발코니에서 몸을 내밀었다. “B동 인플루언서 스쿼드! 우리도 영상 출연료 받아야 되는 거 아님?”
“출연 동의서에 사인부터 하세요!” 민영이 받아쳤다.
바로 그때 지호가 손에 장바구니를 든 채 마당을 지나갔다. 하얀 셔츠 소매를 접고, 단정한 모습.
그는 고개만 살짝 숙였다. “안녕하세요.”
“안녕하세요!” 허니의 목소리가 아주 살짝 빨랐다.
민영은 그 미세한 반짝임을 놓치지 않았다. 순간 스쳐 지나간 감정의 조각.
지호가 사라지자, 민영이 무심하게 물었다. “요즘 C2랑 좀 친하네?”
허니는 얼굴이 따뜻해지기 시작하는 걸 느꼈다. “…아닌데.”
“그래…?”
“그래… 뭐?” 허니는 어색하게 웃었다.
“아냐, 됐어.” 민영은 숨은 미소를 감추듯 말했다. “별거 아냐.”
햇빛이 뜨거워지자 둘은 민영의 집으로 올라갔다. 반바지와 향초 냄새가 섞인, 정돈된 듯 어수선한 공간.
허니는 삼각대를 만지작거리며 감탄했다. “이걸 다 겹쳐서 하는 거야?”
“응. 클립, 오디오, 텍스트… 1초에 15분은 쓴다고 보면 돼.”
“음… 스토리 만드는 거네,” 허니가 말했다. “단어 대신 색으로.”
민영은 손을 멈추었다. “…맞아. 근데 가끔은 그냥 같은 스토리를 반복해서 칠하는 것 같아.”
“어떤 스토리?”
“모든 게 완벽하다는 스토리. 내 삶이 피드처럼 예쁘다는 스토리.”
잠시 망설이다가 이어 말했다. “사실은… 그냥 평범해. 같은 커피, 같은 마당, 같은 나.”
허니는 조용히 웃었다. “평범한 게 예쁠 때도 있어. 자꾸 손대지만 않으면.”
민영은 잠시 말을 잇지 못했다가, 부드럽게 웃었다. “또 선생님 명언 나오네.”
“습관이야. 미안.”
“미안할 거 없어.” 민영은 몸을 기댔다. “너랑 얘기하면… 그냥 있는 그대로도 괜찮을 것 같게 들려.”
둘은 오후 내내 반쯤 편집하고, 반쯤 수다 떨었다. 주제는 패션에서 학생 이야기, 만두의 남자친구 가능성까지 닿았다.
웃음 사이의 공백마저 편안했고, 한 달밖에 안 됐다는 사실이 믿기지 않았다.
해가 질 무렵, 빌라는 금빛으로 물들었다. 이웃들은 다시 밖으로 나와 빨래를 널고, 반찬을 나눴다.
허니는 빈 머그를 들고 내려갔다. 민영도 카메라를 끈 채 뒤를 따랐다.
아침에 앉았던 나무 아래에서 발걸음이 멈췄다.
“필터 없어도 더 예쁘다,” 허니가 말했다. “그리고 조용하고,” 민영이 고개를 끄덕였다.
건너편에서 지호가 장을 보고 돌아왔다. 가볍게 손을 흔들자 허니도 머그를 들어 보였다.
지호가 건물 안으로 들어가자, 민영이 속삭였다. “너… 좋아하네.”
허니는 눈을 크게 떴다. “뭐? 아니야. 나—그냥—”
“좋아해,” 민영이 다시 말했다. “걱정 마. 영상엔 안 넣을게.”
“진짜… 너 못 말려.” 허니는 얼굴이 붉어졌다.
“그래도 맞지?”
둘은 불빛이 켜지는 마당에서 한참을 더 앉아 있었다. 불빛 주변에는 나방이 날고, 공기는 촉촉하고 달았다.
민영
늦은 밤, 민영은 엎드려 휴대폰을 스크롤하고 있었다. 방 안은 은은한 머리 오일과 바닐라 향초 냄새가 섞여 있었다.
편집해야 했지만, 마음은 자꾸 아침의 커피와 웃음으로 돌아갔다. 그건 콘텐츠가 아니라—연결이었다.
그녀의 휴대폰이 진동했다.
Villa Notes #5 — The Perfect Post
잠시 손가락이 멈췄다가, 화면을 눌렀다.
허니 특유의 부드러운 문장이 화면을 채웠다. 대화 같은 글, 소음 없는 진심 같은 글.
스크롤을 내리다 민영은 멈췄다. 목이 살짝 아려왔다.
그녀는 오랫동안 감정을 ‘프레임’으로만 다뤘다— 담고, 다듬고, 올리고. 그래서 진심이 이렇게 조용하게 다가오는 건 오랜만이었다.
글 끝부분을 읽으며 숨을 길게 내쉬었다.
가끔 인생의 가장 좋은 순간은 계획하거나 올리는 순간이 아니라 그냥 스쳐 지나가듯 일어나는 순간이다.
그녀는 눈을 깜빡였다. 알 수 없는 따뜻함이 가슴을 지나갔다.
잠시 후, 그녀는 댓글을 달았다.
@minyoung.b: 다음엔 나 태그 제대로 해요, 선생님 💅🏻
그리고 팔로워에게 절대 보내지 않을 말을 허니에게만 보냈다.
민영: 글 진짜 예뻤어. 오늘 고마워. 간만에… 꾸미지 않는 하루였어.
타이핑 표시가 잠시 떴다 사라졌다. 허니가 읽었는지, 뭐라고 쓰려다 지웠는지 모르겠지만— 그냥 보내진 것만으로 충분했다.
카메라의 빨간 배터리 불빛이 책상 위에서 깜빡였다.
민영은 손을 뻗어 전원을 껐다. 렌즈가 닫히며 방 안이 조용해졌다.
오랜만에, 그녀는 아무것도 찍지 않은 채 그저 조용히 숨을 들이쉬고 내쉬었다.
잠시 뒤, 휴대폰이 울렸다.
허니: 나도… 💕 잘 자
민영은 미소를 지으며 속삭였다. “잘 자요, 선생님.”
창밖에서 빌라가 천천히 숨을 쉬는 듯했다— 파이프 소리, 바람 소리, 누군가 창문을 닫는 작은 소리.
그리고 건너편—B-2와 B-3의 작은 불빛 두 개가 밤 속에서 조용히 반짝이고 있었다. 따뜻하고, 변함없고, 필터 없이.
작가의 말
다원 빌라 에피소드 5를 읽어주셔서 감사합니다.
이번 편은 조금 더 차분하고 따뜻한 이야기를 담았어요. 민영과 허니가 서로를 통해 자신의 삶을 다시 바라보게 되는 순간들, 그리고 빌라가 ‘집’처럼 느껴지기 시작하는 마음을 담아보았습니다.
이 에피소드가 여러분의 하루를 조금 더 포근하게, 조금 더 밝게 만들어주길 바랍니다.
읽기 좋은 음악: 잔잔한 아침 플레이리스트
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