Please, Just Move Out

The thought of my rent hit me on the way home.

Well, to be exact, something made me think of it.

The moment I stepped out of the elevator, my phone buzzed.

I stopped dead in the middle of the hallway.

I read the message once, checked the time, then read it again.

5:12 PM.

"...Fuck."

Bad premonitions are usually accurate. Especially the kind that arrive when you're broke.

I scrolled up through the chat history.

Last month.

The month before that.

Higher up still.

And right below that, my reply.

And that night, I'd smoked with the window half open.

The memory was painfully vivid.

"Well, I'm thoroughly fucked."

I punched in the door code and went inside. The moment the door swung open, I felt even more thoroughly fucked.

The room was dirty. Dirty didn't quite cover it.

Three delivery containers were stacked beside the bed, empty cans and water bottles rolled around under the desk. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠My clothes weren't hanging on the chair so much as buried it, and the glass cup I'd been using as an ashtray was piled with butts like a tiny mountain. The gacha merch box I'd torn open in a frenzy last night still sat there untouched.

Because I'd left with the window shut, the cigarette smell had soaked into every corner of the room.

I stood at the entrance and stared at it for a while. To a stranger, it might have been hard to call this a place where a human being lived. To me, it was just a normal Tuesday. That gap was the problem.

I looked at my phone again.

Why was the word for a moment so terrifying?

I dropped my bag and pulled out a trash bag first. Swept up the delivery containers. Tossed in the cans. Shoved the clothes off the floor into the washing machine—no intention of actually running a load. It just needed to be out of sight.

I picked up the cup serving as an ashtray, then gave up. Too many butts. I hid it, as-is, in the cabinet under the sink.

Threw the window wide open. Wondered if I had any deodorizer and searched the bathroom—nothing. Should I spray perfume? I considered it for a second, then decided that would just create a whole new kind of insane smell.

Thirty minutes later, the room was at least at the stage where you could see the floor. I put my hands on my hips and exhaled.

"Whew... yeah, this is livable. Human beings could live here."

The system popped up in the corner of my vision.

"Stay out of this."

"Get lost."

"I said get lost."

I swiped at the empty air with my finger. The system window vanished, but the last word stayed stuck in my head.

Danger.

Credit card. Overdraft line. Micro-loan. And now, rent. All day long, reality had been lining up politely, one by one, just to beat the shit out of me.

Ding-dong.

I froze. That was faster than expected. The clock read 6:15. I knew "this evening" meant he'd show up the second evening technically began, but still.

Walking to the door, I checked my hair first. Pink. Heart-shaped pupils. Nothing to be done about that anymore.

I turned on the little screen mounted on the door. A man stood in the hallway, his frame nearly filling the display. Black short-sleeved t-shirt. Tattoos running from his neck down past his elbows. Thick arms, thick belly, a thick neck beneath a buzz cut. Sweat beaded on his forehead and temples from climbing the stairs. Black shorts, slippers. A small file folder in one hand.

If I hadn't known him, I wouldn't have even considered opening the door.

But I knew the face. Park Daeshik. Thirty-five. The landlord of this building—or more precisely, the man who'd inherited this run-down studio building from his father and managed it himself.

The day I first signed the lease, I'd thought exactly one thing to myself: tattooed pig, loan-shark scum.

His face was that intimidating. If I'd passed him on the street, I'd have looked away first.

His actual personality, though, was nothing like his looks. He'd used polite, formal speech from day one of my lease, and when the boiler died in winter, he came up personally to check the valves before even calling a repairman. When ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a hallway light went out, he carried up his own ladder and changed it. Right up until I started falling behind on rent, he'd been a perfectly decent landlord.

Even through the intercom screen, his bulk was overwhelming. And then, at that moment, something strange happened.

My lower belly went heavy. Suddenly, for no reason at all.

The man on the screen was just standing there, holding the folder, wiping his sweat. His forehead glistened from the stairs, the t-shirt clinging to his shoulders. And my nipples were hardening inside my bra.

That wasn't all. My pussy was getting wet. I hadn't even opened the door yet. The man on the screen wasn't even looking at me. My clit was throbbing, slow and insistent, inside my underwear.

I blinked.

"...What?"

I glared at the system window. It wasn't Kang Taehyun. And yet my body was reacting.

Ding-dong.

The bell rang again. I pressed my thighs together. The inside of my underwear was already soaked through, and just clenching my thighs made my clit throb again. I gritted my teeth.

"Coming."

My voice came out lower than I expected.

When I opened the door, Daeshik froze the moment he saw me. His eyes traveled up to my hair, down to my eyes, back up to my hair.

Up close, he was even bigger than the screen suggested. I had to tilt my head back just to meet his eyes. Black tattoos crowded the forearm exposed beyond his sleeve, and a mix of sweat and soap drifted into my nose.

The moment that smell burrowed deep into my sinuses, my pussy clenched, hard. I wanted to smell more. The instant that thought crossed my mind, my lower belly pulled tight again. Every brush of fabric against my hardened nipples inside my bra sent a sharp sting through me.

I spoke first.

"It's not dye."

"That's not what I came to ask about."

"Right."

Daeshik let out a short sigh. His bulk made the hallway look narrow, and there was something absurdly mismatched about a man like that clutching a file folder to his chest with a helpless expression.

"Ms. Seo Yerim."

"Yes."

"I messaged you on KakaoTalk, didn't I."

"I saw it."

"This month's rent is still unpaid. And last month's is still outstanding too."

I looked away. Even in that brief moment, my pussy got a little wetter. Not knowing why just made me angrier.

"I have money coming in soon."

"You said that last month too."

"This time it's real."

"I heard that last month as well."

I had nothing to counter with. Daeshik opened the folder and showed me a single sheet of paper. Rent. Maintenance fees. Amounts overdue. The numbers sat there in a neat row.

The next payment date was less than a week away. I looked at the paper and licked my lips.

"Can't you just deduct it from the deposit?"

Daeshik closed his eyes. Very, very slowly.

"That's the third time I've heard that one."

"I'm just saying there's still deposit left."

"Ms. Seo Yerim."

"Yes."

"The deposit is not a fund for living rent-free."

His tone was calm. That was what made it scarier. If he'd yelled, I could have yelled back—but when a man said something that reasonable in that voice, there was nothing I could do.

I leaned against the doorframe for no particular reason.

"I have a modeling shoot next week. When that money comes in, I'll pay you first."

"How much is coming in?"

"...I don't know yet."

"Then what about your card payments?"

My head snapped up. "How do you know about that?"

Daeshik gave me a look of genuine disbelief this time. "How would I know about your card payments? I mean that if you're behind on rent, you probably have money going out elsewhere too."

"Oh."

Second time today I'd stabbed myself in the foot. I coughed awkwardly.

"Anyway. I can pay you."

Daeshik didn't answer. Instead, he looked past my shoulder into the room. His expression turned strange. I instinctively shifted sideways to block his view.

Too late.

The open window. The delivery box I hadn't managed to throw out. A pair of jeans sticking out from between the washing machine's doors. Cup ramen containers stacked beside the sink. And the cigarette smell that no amount of airing out would fully kill.

Daeshik's nose wrinkled slightly.

"May I come in for a moment?"

"Why?"

"I'd like to check the condition of the room."

"Right now?"

"A complaint came in."

"What kind of complaint?"

"Cigarette smell."

I shut my mouth for a moment. Daeshik waited at the door. He didn't force his way in. Somehow that made my conscience prickle even more. In the end, I stepped aside.

"...Take your shoes off."

Daeshik stared at me. "That goes without saying..?"

"Don't look at me like that."

"I'm not."

Shoeless, Daeshik stepped into the room. He was so big that the studio suddenly felt like it had been cut in half. Every time he moved, that soap-and-sweat smell spread through the entire space.

I closed the door and followed him in. The smell trailed behind him, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and every time it touched my nose, my pussy tightened. My lower belly pulled heavy again. Every brush of my nipples against the inside of my t-shirt was hard to endure. My underwear was already soaked through; the insides of my thighs were slick.

I took a short breath. It made no sense that just this man entering the room could do this to me. And yet my body already knew.

Daeshik swept the room in silence. Desk. Bed. Floor. Sink. Window. Then he stopped in front of the storage cabinet.

"Don't open that one."

His hand paused. "Why not?"

"Just because."

"It's cigarettes, isn't it?"

"No."

"That's where the smell is strongest."

"It's your imagination."

Daeshik opened the cabinet. The glass cup crammed with a mountain of cigarette butts revealed itself. After a brief silence, I looked away. Daeshik looked from the cup to me, back to the cup, then closed his eyes and dragged a hand down his face.

"Ha..."

"Smoke with the window open."

"Open the window and it goes straight into the neighbor's unit."

"Then where do you smoke?"

"Outside."

The answer came back far too obvious. Daeshik set the ashtray cup on the sink.

"Throw this out today."

"Okay."

"And the wallpaper."

He pointed at the head of the bed. Looking closely, the white wallpaper had yellowed slightly. "I think it was always like that."

"It was not."

Firm. "I repainted and papered it myself before you moved in."

"Then it's sun damage."

"This unit faces north."

"..."

Everyone in the world was being far too right today. Daeshik surveyed the room again, his sigh stretching long. He braced a tattoo-covered hand on his hip and said nothing for a while. From the outside, it looked like a man about to grab someone by the collar. But the words that came out of his mouth were completely different.

"Ms. Seo Yerim."

"Yes."

"I'm really going to ask you for just one thing."

I went on guard immediately. "What is it?"

Daeshik pressed his hands together. It wasn't a joke. He genuinely pressed his palms together.

"Please, just move out."

"...I'm sorry, what?"

"I don't want to go through life hating people."

"No, why all of a sudden—"

"It's not sudden. You're behind on rent. Behind on maintenance fees. The smoking complaints keep coming. I've told you about the recycling several times."

"I've been doing that properly lately, though."

"Last week there was food waste in a box, and I had to sort through it myself."

"...How would you even know it was mine?"

"Your name was on the shipping label."

My head hurt from this bizarre phenomenon of people digging my grave for me. And Daeshik looked genuinely exhausted.

"Let's settle your deposit and set a move-out date. I'll be as flexible as I can."

I shook my head immediately. "No."

"Why not?"

"I have nowhere to go."

That much, at least, was the truth. Finding another room near campus at this price would be a problem, and coming up with a new deposit was flatly impossible. Asking my parents for money had been erased from my mental list of options long ago. Leeching off Taehyun—I'd rather die. Even once the modeling fee came in, it was already spoken for by the card and the rent. If I left this room now, I had nowhere to go.

Daeshik was quiet for a moment.

"Then you need to resolve the overdue rent first."

"I will."

"How?"

"..."

"Not with next week's modeling fee. Specifically."

Specifically. I was really starting to hate that word today. I racked my brain. Account balance. Card limit. Micro-loan. People to borrow from. Things to sell. No matter how I turned it over, no answer came out.

The system flickered on in the corner of my vision.

I gritted my teeth. Zero percent again. I'm not doing nothing. I'm not just running away every time. With the system floating there, mocking me after poking every sore spot, my stubbornness flared up. I had to do something. Anything.

Daeshik opened his mouth again.

"I'm not telling you to leave today, so if we just set a date—"

"Hold on."

I cut him off. Daeshik went quiet. I looked him up and down. The thick neck. The shoulders straining the black t-shirt. The tattoo-covered arms. His forehead glistening with sweat.

Honestly, from the day I first signed the lease, his face had scared me. The kind of face that looked like he'd shove a woman around without hesitation if someone showed him a photo.

And yet everything he'd actually done was send KakaoTalk messages about rent, fix the boiler, nag me about smoking, and finally press his hands together to beg me to leave his own building.

I bit my lip. The system window was still floating there.

Fine. Let's do something. Anything.

"Um."

"Yes?"

I drew in one deep breath. Even after the words left my mouth, I couldn't believe I'd said them.

"I'll pay with my body."