The hand-holding scene between Yoo Sangah and Kim Dokja (and the official art for it by BB-nim) are both nods to the upcoming major theme of Impossible Communication being expressed early on. ORV is a story whose themes (represented in the 5 pieces of the Wall) are interwoven throughout the narrative, but get their own big moments to explore those themes. Impossible Communication becomes a central theme in Arc 2, but the hand-holding scene is representative of it here in Arc 1.
Kim Dokja decides to open up his heart a little bit and tell some of his story, but he does it in a way where even he himself feels like he's telling someone else's story. He can't quite grasp why he's bothering. But he's nevertheless writing on the wall and hoping that someone might read and at least process and connect this story to him. He doesn't expect Yoo Sangah to understand him. In fact, he doesn't think she will at all. He sees her as someone who grew up in a comfortable and happy home. It would be impossible for someone to understand the type of hardship he'd gone through. Maybe she'd understand intellectually, but not in the way that he wants. At the same time, he doesn't want pity. He doesn't want Yoo Sangah's usual kindness and sympathy. He does, but he doesn't. Again, he doesn't know why he's telling her this.
He tells himself that he's telling her to hurt her. He's lashing out in frustration and upset and embarrassment both because of his conversation with his mother, but also because someone had seen past his walls and had witnessed such a scene between him and his mother. He's being cruel here, and it's intentional. Like when someone feels hurt, they'll scream at you. It's an animalistic and very human response. He knows that forcing someone like Yoo Sangah into this position of realizing how she had seen too much and now would need to suffer with the social taboo of poking their nose in where they shouldn't, and knowing that she's hurting Kim Dokja by prying where he neither wants nor needs her, will only serve to hurt her. And the worst part is, he'll gain no comfort for it. Again, he doesn't expect nor want her to understand. It plays into how people treated him in the past, and how Kim Dokja has shut himself away from the world for the violence it has done against him. He expects nothing of anyone when it comes to himself, and it's both painful and reassuring whenever he's proven right time and again.
This is the wall that is between them. Kim Dokja is speaking, but he doesn't expect to truly be HEARD, you know? That's why he's speaking in this disconnected way. He's telling part of his story, but he's dissociating himself from it. It's like a side story to the narrative his mother put out about his own life. This is a story of Kim Dokja, but when Kim Dokja's "reality" has been turned into "fiction", is it even really his "true" story anymore? It's just another novel on the bookshelf. A story for other people to talk about. And after he comes to an end and he finishes lashing out, he doesn't feel any better. He just feels bad for attacking someone who didn't deserve it. So, he backtracks. He tries to say it's all a joke. He pulls his shell back together to close the door. He tries to wash away the words he'd written on the wall between them.
But Yoo Sangah doesn't let him. Rather, she doesn't try to communicate with him through words. What can you possibly say in this situation? She's well-aware that everything Kim Dokja is thinking (that she's not someone who can understand due to her upbringing) isn't entirely incorrect. Yoo Sangah, as she says, is someone who can never judge nor fully understand Kim Dokja's choices and actions. His feelings toward his mother are nobody else's. He doesn't need to justify himself, nor will he be able to have someone who understands truly because there's nobody but him who has experienced that story. Nothing Yoo Sangah can say in this moment will help Kim Dokja. Words are trite, he doesn't want to hear them, and this is proven by the fact that every time Yoo Sangah does attempt to respond, Kim Dokja just barrels over her without really listening. He doesn't want her words.
So, Yoo Sangah doesn't use words. When he tries to backtrack, she simply touches his hand. It's a small, so very human gesture. A simple comfort. Human touch runs deeper in our psyches than language. Touch can communicate so much without a single word. The message that is passed along is one for the receiver to interpret. It says a lot, and yet nothing at all. And it's the perfect "response" that Kim Dokja is looking for. Touch is comfort. It says "I'm here". It doesn't force any trite words on him. It doesn't demand anything. It's Yoo Sangah simply saying "I'm here." And as she holds that hand it says "Don't push me away. I'm with you." And whatever Kim Dokja receives from that is only for him to know. Because some things can't be put into words.
And despite this "Impossible Communication", Kim Dokja receives that message. He, who is trapped in a world that is neither reality nor fiction, that is behind a wall that nobody can cross or comprehend, receives a message from the outside. Up until this point he's felt nothing but cold (literally and metaphorically within the scene which signifies his isolation and his numbness to his reality. This dissociation he feels from his own tale, and this current moment he's in with Yoo Sangah. But Yoo Sangah's hand feels warm, and it feels real to him. And in this little moment, Yoo Sangah reaches a hand past that wall.
She cannot fully understand him, but she doesn't need to fully understand to let him know that she sees him and hears him and that she's here and that he doesn't need to pull away. This is even shown more in the description. Neither Yoo Sangah nor Kim Dokja are looking at each other, and yet they can still touch. They still have each other's presences. And they're both very real.
BB-nim's art reflects this as well. The image has three rectangles with the first two being upright and side by side shots of Kim Dokja and Yoo Sangah's faces, neither looking at each other. There is a line separating the two of them from each other, symbolizing this wall between them. But then a horizontal rectangle below joins the images together as their hands touch, invariably crossing that wall. It's a beautiful scene.
