Dozens of Kilometers

I spent the time rolling around on the bed, worrying the Post-it she'd left between my fingers.

The note that had been stuck to the beanbag was my only toy through five dull days, and the beanbag itself was the only trace of her. Break had started, and this was the fifth day of it. Yujeong was nowhere to be seen.

It pissed me off. All she'd done was show up out of nowhere, claim a spot, share a meal now and then, and sleep in the same room as me. And yet the moment she was gone, I was bored, and I felt slighted.

I won't deny it. She's that kind of creature, so of course I'd started growing fond of her. Still, in the state I was in, letting it develop any further was something I ought to avoid. Yujeong was coming and going from my room at her own risk, for reasons of her own. I had no business misunderstanding that. I couldn't turn into one of those men who got pulled under beside her and swallowed by the trap.

And yet that very thought put me in a sulk. I crawled up onto her beanbag and curled on my side.

Right on cue, the door lock clicked.

My heart started to pound. I was about to get caught looking pathetic again. My body didn't move. If anything, I felt like playing a prank whose whole point was being found. Yujeong's body wash smelled good.

"The hell are you doin'? That's Yujeong's, ain't it. Crazy bastard."

It wasn't her. Lim Tae-hoon walked in, and the expectation died on the spot.

My mood crashed. Something ached just under my heart. I got up and crawled onto the bed.

"Hi, oppa~ Hehe."

It was that girl I'd seen not long ago. Sora. No way.

"Already moved on?"

"Shut up! What the hell are you sayin'! You lost your mind! Nah—Sora. This punk's talkin' shit."

Sora tapped Tae-hoon's side, playful, and the two of them edged carefully down the hall to sit together somewhere near the kitchen. Side by side like that, I could already tell it was a done deal between them.

I was looking at something I ought to envy and ought to bless, and instead I felt the blood in my head drop straight to the floor. I asked why they'd shown up out of nowhere.

"So what's this about. Sora...? Miss? Ma'am?"

"Just call her Sora. Three years apart, what's the fuss."

"Oppa, you oughta learn. You ain't got no manners. Ah— no. I mean, learn some manners."

A slip of dialect had escaped Sora, and she corrected herself at once. That alone was enough to guess how far back the two of them went.

"Oh, that's not why, oppa. Yujeong unni told me to come give you her number."

A strange lilt had started clinging to her voice. She pulled out her phone and hunted for something.

Tae-hoon got up, grabbed a Post-it and a pen off my desk, and passed them to her. Sora opened her phone, crouched on the floor, and carefully copied the number down before handing the note back.

"Catch!"

Tae-hoon pinched the Post-it between his fingers and flung it at me like a throwing star. It spun, fluttered, and dropped weakly in the middle of the room.

"Seriously, what are you doing!"

Sora brought her palm down hard across his back, then turned to apologize. The smack rang clean and satisfying.

"Sorry, oppa. I just put on a lot of perfume. You said it was hard on you because of your 'allergy,' right?"

Tae-hoon rolled around beside her, playing dead. Sora looked at me with a sorry little face. She already knew everything. Pretending she didn't—that was a considerate girl ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for you.

"Aight, we're out! Let's go, Sora. Gonna be late for the movie. I'll swing by again!"

Tae-hoon shot to his feet and pulled her up by the hand. Still bickering, they waved at me and headed out the door.

His brightness lifted my mood for no good reason. At the same time, just seeing a relationship like that was enough. That night began to unfurl from the back of my skull like heat haze.

I drew a deep breath and settled my chest, then picked up the Post-it Sora had written. Yujeong's name and number were on it. I stuck it to my phone on the desk anyway, went back to the bed, and returned to worrying the memo from her beanbag between my fingers.

My eyes, though, kept flicking toward the phone.

Two days later.

I'd just come back from a dawn expedition to take the trash out, the first in a long while. Maybe it was the openness after a lap around the building, the hush of a college neighborhood on break keeping me company. Some emptiness I couldn't name was circling the room.

No. It wouldn't be polite, not at this hour.

I lifted the phone on the desk and set it back down. After hesitating, I picked up the beanbag memo again. The ink that had bled across the note—creased and crumpled now—seemed to be fading the way my situation was. Hold out a little longer, and it would thin away like fog. As if the two weeks Yujeong had been here had never happened at all.

I was afraid to turn the phone on, so I made excuses to the heart knocking around in my chest. Even if she did come back, she'd understand. She'd said she wanted to help me. My thoughts spun in circles, measuring everything by no one but myself.

I didn't want to be eaten away any further. I shoved Yujeong's beanbag back against the wall where it had first settled. It was nothing, really, but I clapped my hands anyway, dusting my heart off the way you'd dust your palms. I meant to end the day like that and go back to bed.

I was supposed to go back.

Then, all at once, I felt an invisible line between the middle of the room and the space nearer the kitchen. I paced forward and back. There was nothing there, and yet it felt like I was passing through a wall. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I closed my eyes and tried splitting myself in two—left and right—against an imaginary wall.

I let out a long sigh.

Slowly, for the first time in a while, I pulled the phone off its charger, climbed onto the bed, and crouched there. My face stared back from the black rectangle. My hands began to shake.

I want to move forward. That's why I'm about to ask her for help.

I pressed the power button and watched, blank, as the boot logo came up. It finished starting. The signal connected, and a flood of notifications rose over the lock screen. Carefully, I dragged a finger across the glass.

Please. Don't open.

It betrayed me. A notification pressed in, and a voice I didn't want to hear began to play from the other side of the phone.

Cold sweat poured off me like rain. I couldn't breathe.

My body wouldn't move the way it should, and when the recording ended, the next one started on its own.

Every time one played, my body locked up like I was being tortured, and my head went dizzy. My stomach pumped like mad, and I started to dry-heave. I almost laughed at myself for thinking it was a mercy I hadn't eaten anything since evening.

I endured it, barely, and cleared the notifications in the messaging app. The number inside the red circle might as well have been a tally of curses aimed at me. All I'd done was flick my finger a few times, and it wrung every drop of strength out of me. My will was folding.

The badges were gone, clearly, and still both the phone app and the messages felt as if someone had packed them full of curses. I couldn't take any more.

I was about to throw the phone, my heart still nowhere near calm, when it started to vibrate.

My heart slammed. Tense, I lifted the screen. It wasn't that damned woman's number, the one I had saved. The digits were familiar, though.

I answered on speaker.

A slightly hoarse voice came through the speaker in the small hours.

"...Why... weren't you asleep... How do you even... know this number..."

Her words were heated, but she was whispering, and the tension from a moment ago began to drain out of me at the sound of her voice.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

My throat closed. I couldn't make myself answer.

Words from someone who knew nothing became a comfort instead. I held back the tears that nearly spilled, but a little of the crying got out anyway.

I sniffled and cleared my throat.

"Forget it. What. You're the one who said to call."

Through the speaker, Yujeong's voice seemed to tremble, just a little.

"No. I was only going to save the number and call you tomorrow."

"Forget it. When are you coming back?"

I asked her that without even noticing I was doing it.

She chattered on, voice bright and flushed, until her mother scolded her. Noise followed. Cloth brushing. A door shutting. Then the sound of wind, soft.

"Yeah, I get it, so go have fun. Be careful."

She said it like she was needling me.

"Haa. Do whatever you want. I'm hanging up."

This time her voice sank, calm. It felt like she'd gotten hold of a weak spot, and I didn't like it, but I answered her anyway.

For a long moment, all that came from the far side of the black screen was Yujeong's playful laugh. Then she drew a deep breath and spoke.

The end-of-call tone drifted around the room. The emptiness that had followed me home from the dawn run was gone.

Maybe it was the emotional roller coaster. I was wrung out, and I dropped onto my back. The phone buzzed again.

Still her, thankfully.

"You called back just to say that. ...Yeah. Sleep well, you too."

She heard me, and the call cut off without so much as a goodbye.

I stared blankly at the phone, back on the home screen. At least the phone app wasn't a box of curses anymore. I opened it and saved the number under her name.

I wrapped both hands tight around the phone.

The memo that had been on the beanbag stayed behind on the desk.