Three months in.
Seokjun's days had settled into a pattern. A truck at six in the morning. The job site. Wiping things down, carrying materials, helping with cutting, practicing with scrap film. Coming back in the evening and practicing again in the small room at his aunt's place. Sleep.
The thing that had changed was his hands.
The angle at which he held the utility knife was different. At first, he held it like a pencil. His uncle corrected him. He had to lay the knife flat and push with his whole arm, not his wrist. It took about two hundred repetitions before Seokjun finally stopped putting so much force into his wrist.
His squeegee work had changed too. Forty-five degrees. At first, he had to consciously push while thinking about the angle. Now his hand found the angle on its own. There were fewer air bubbles. He could now apply film to flat surfaces with almost no bubbles.
That day, the job site was an officetel in Bundang. They were replacing and installing the doors in twelve studio apartments. His uncle, Hyungsik, Seokjun, and one hired technician. The four of them had to finish within two days.
They got through six units that morning. Seokjun was in charge of removing the door panels and preparing their surfaces. He unscrewed the hinges, took down the panels, wiped the surfaces with alcohol, and applied primer. His body remembered the process now.
Before lunch, his uncle called him over.
"Seokjun, you do the bathroom door panel in 702."
Seokjun looked at his uncle.
"Me?"
"Yeah. It's a flat surface. You can handle it, right?"
Hyungsik nodded beside him. It meant, Give it a shot.
Seokjun went to the bathroom in 702. The door panel was lying on the floor. The film had already been cut. Seokjun picked it up and slowly peeled away the release liner. Carefully, so it wouldn't fold. No rushing.
He laid the film over the door panel. He aligned the upper corner and picked up the squeegee. Forty-five degrees. From top to bottom. Slowly, pushing the air out.
His hands didn't shake.
Around the middle, one air bubble got caught. Seokjun didn't stop. He lifted the squeegee slightly and pushed diagonally toward the bubble. It escaped toward the corner.
It was a movement his uncle had never taught him. Seokjun had figured it out himself while applying scrap film in the early morning.
He pushed all the way to the bottom corner. Then he trimmed the excess with the utility knife. The sound of the blade passing over the film was clean.
Seokjun stood the door panel up and looked at it.
No bubbles. No wrinkles. No lifting at the corners.
It was the first time he'd finished an entire door panel on his own.
His uncle came in. He looked at the panel. He ran a finger lightly along the corner. Then he examined the surface at an angle, eye level. He was looking for bubbles.
"...That'll do."
Two words.
Seokjun's heart pounded. It was the first time in three months his uncle had said, "That'll do."
As his uncle turned away, he said,
"Do 703 too."
"Yes, sir," Seokjun answered. His voice cracked. His uncle had already left for the hallway.
Hyungsik happened to pass by and looked at the door panel in 702. He stopped to inspect it. Then he gave Seokjun a thumbs-up.
"Hey, that's clean."
Seokjun smiled. It felt strange to smile like this. Was applying film to one door panel really something worth smiling so much over? But he couldn't stop.
703. 704. 705. Seokjun spent the entire afternoon applying film to door panels. One at a time. His speed wasn't even half his uncle's. But there were no bubbles.
That evening, inside the truck.
"Uncle."
"What?"
"Can I try a curved surface tomorrow?"
His uncle glanced at Seokjun while keeping his hands on the wheel.
"Curved surfaces are still too soon for you."
"Even just for practice?"
His uncle looked ahead. The traffic light was red.
"Use scrap film. If you use the good stuff, I'll dock it from your paycheck."
Seokjun smiled. His uncle did too—just for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting.
That night, Seokjun called Doeun. It had been a long time. He hadn't kept in touch since his discharge. Because he hadn't had anything to say. Because he didn't want to talk about failing the police exam. Because he was embarrassed to say he was doing interior film installation.
"Hello?"
Doeun's voice hadn't changed. It was the same voice she'd had since middle school.
"It's me, Seokjun."
"Oh, Seokjun! It's been forever. How have you been?"
"Good. You?"
"I'm good too. What have you been up to lately?"
Seokjun hesitated for a moment.
"Interior film installation. I'm learning under my uncle."
"Oh, really? That's cool."
That's cool. Seokjun couldn't tell whether she meant it. But there was no empty politeness in Doeun's voice. It was simply, That's cool.
"I applied film to a door panel by myself today. For the first time."
"No way. Nice job!"
Seokjun held the phone to his ear and looked at the ceiling. The fluorescent light trembled. He had looked at this ceiling three months ago too. Back then, there had been nothing he could do. Now—he could apply film to one door panel.
"Doeun."
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
"For what?"
Seokjun didn't answer. Doeun didn't ask again. She just laughed.
Listening to that laugh, Seokjun ended the call. He looked at his hands. Cuts from the utility knife, adhesive stains, cracked skin.
With these hands, he'd applied film to one door panel.
Tomorrow, he'd apply film to two.