(Latest Chapter) Read All My Firsts Are You - Chapter 43

“I’ll look at your screenplay first. You keep forgetting, I’m the director. The one in charge of this project.”

Jun pressed my forehead gently. It didn’t hurt, but I blinked in surprise, catching a glimpse of Jun’s eyes softening.

Then, after a moment, a seriousness seeped into his gentle eyes.

“Iharu. Honestly, I’m embarrassed too. I don’t know how you, who left and ran away, will feel, but this screenplay, to me, it’s like a love letter I never sent. It contains all my heartfelt emotions I never got to show you, like baring my heart. It’s something I can’t easily reveal.”

The solemnity in Jun’s voice, and the deep hurt lightly veiled within it, made me shiver as if exposed. His words pierced me like being pricked on bare skin.

“Don’t look so serious. So, Iharu, now show me. Your sincerity. All of it, even those parts you never revealed to me. I’ll do the same.”

Jun, for 9 years, must have spent time unable to question why the person who left without a word had gone, unable to openly resent them. So perhaps, in a way, Jun’s request now was entirely justified.
To Jun, who never had a moment of insincerity, I had to show what seemed like my deepest, most disguised feelings. To reassure and confirm to him.

There was no trace of coercion in what Jun had just said. Yet, I could no longer show any refusal or hesitation. I finally realized, from his gentle words, that showing him this screenplay was not a matter of choice.

As always, I realized this too late. Only after Jun had tenderly conveyed his persuasive words.

Eventually, I nodded slightly.

“So, I’ll finally get to see Iharu the writer’s screenplay?”

Jun leaned back deeply in his chair, interlocking his hands and placing them on the table. Every little action, the relaxed look on his face, reminded me again that he was a professional in this field.

I had written a fair portion of the screenplay. The reason my answer to Jun’s question about its completion was always a vague “somewhat,” was different.

It wasn’t just because I hadn’t filled in the narration as much as Jun wanted. In truth, the screenplay was halted, not reaching its most crucial part – about the time before our lengthy separation due to my ridiculous mistake.

Caught off guard by Jun suddenly mentioning a meeting, I hadn’t brought a printed copy. I pulled out a tablet from my bag and repeatedly tapped the screen. It lit up white, and soon the familiar first page of the pre-written screenplay appeared.

“Ah, it’s so embarrassing…”

Before I knew it, I buried my head over the tablet displaying the first page of the screenplay. The thought of showing it to you, and then having you read it in front of me. Ah, I want to disappear right now. Just take this tablet and vanish into thin air.

“But, I appear in it too, right?”

I lifted my head at the sound of his voice, tinged as if he were playfully shaking my shoulder. Jun was resting his chin on the table, looking down at me as if he had prepared for a long battle.

“Of course, you do.”

“Then what’s so embarrassing? After all, it’s about us, both of us. Even if it’s embarrassing, it’s our conversations and actions. I should be the least embarrassing person for you to show your screenplay to.”

Hearing him, I unwittingly nodded. His words had a strange persuasiveness. It didn’t sound like a sloppy argument put together just to get the screenplay.

It’s about us, both of us. The person who should be the least embarrassing to show it to first.

“You seem convinced.”

Embarrassed, I pressed my cheek with the back of my hand and said,

“Why do you always observe my expressions so closely?”

“Your face often tells more truth than your words.”

For a moment, I was speechless.

“Kind of like a habit. Checking to see how much your words match your expressions, or if they differ.”

I couldn’t ask when that habit started. Since Jun, even after 9 years, spoke of it as an old habit, it seemed unnecessary. That made my heart ache even more.