Why Are You at My Place?
Early morning.
The harsh sunlight pouring through the window forced my eyes open.
"Ugh... my stomach's on fire."
I'd used today's free schedule as an excuse to drink myself stupid last night, and now my head felt ready to split while my guts churned in revolt.
I dragged myself upright and shoved my face into the fridge. Cold air brushed my skin, followed by the sharp sting of old side dishes. Weeks-old leftovers mixed with half-eaten delivery food into a single nauseating stench that filled the tiny kitchen.
I pulled out a bottle of water and drank. The chill sliding down my throat registered with perfect clarity.
"Hah. Feeling human again."
Last night flickered through my mind. I'd poured drinks with the guys until I blacked out—who paid the bill, how I even made it back to my studio, none of it remained. The only scraps that surfaced were fragmented memories of grinding against some underclassmen girls at the karaoke place.
As long as I didn't screw up... or wait. Did I screw up?
I squeezed my temples, but nothing else came.
"Ah, whatever."
I pulled out my phone, opened the delivery app, and tapped the single-serving Korean menu that might soothe my ruined stomach. Order placed, I tossed the phone onto the desk and flopped onto the bed.
I sprawled out and closed my eyes for a moment. My head still buzzed, but the hollow emptiness that always followed a night of heavy drinking settled in.
Already a junior in college...
Day after day of drinking, putting off assignments, skipping class like it was a joke. Freshman year I'd burned with ambition—lining up at dawn for library seats, glowing over a single word of praise from a professor. Back then I'd dreamed of a proper college life, not this alcohol-soaked mess.
I pulled the blanket over my head and muttered,
"Eh, life's short. Might as well enjoy the one I've got."
—Whoosh.
The toilet flushed in the bathroom.
In my studio apartment—where I lived alone—someone who wasn't me had just flushed the toilet. A jolt shot down my spine and every hair on my body stood on end.
A... burglar?
—Click.
The bathroom door opened and a long-haired girl stepped out, tying her hair back as she came.
"Oh my, Minwoo-oppa, you're awake?"
"Ju... Juhyun?"
My brain went blank, as if someone had cracked me over the head with a hammer. The alcohol blackout left me with zero context; I could only stare at her with wide, empty eyes.
"Juhyun, why are you... in my place? No, how? Wait—why?"
"Hehe, what's wrong, oppa? Still half-asleep?"
Juhyun finished tying her hair in the mirror beside the desk as she spoke.
"Last night you were the one who dragged me here, saying we should have one more drink at your place."
"I... did? To you?"
That couldn't happen. Juhyun was the girlfriend of my friend Gyumin, who'd shipped out to the military last month. She was a year below us; she and Gyumin had been together about six months and sometimes let me tag along on their dates. When Gyumin left, he'd made me swear to keep other guys away from her.
She watched my dazed face and laughed.
"Hehe. Just kidding. Honestly, you could barely walk last night, so I brought you home safely."
"Ah... r-right? But why didn't you go home?"
"You were clutching your head and groaning. How was I supposed to just leave you like that? I gave you hangover medicine, watched over you, and ended up falling asleep under the bed myself."
The heart that had dropped into my stomach climbed back into place. Internally I screamed,
Holy shit. Thank god.
"Looking at how your face just lit up, if something had happened between us last night it would've been a real disaster, huh?"
Juhyun pouted as she watched my expression brighten.
"N-no, it's not like that, just haha."
"Oppa must hate me. The second you hear nothing happened, your whole face brightens up."
"It's not that I hate you. You're my friend's girlfriend—if something happened it'd be a huge problem."
Juhyun stared at me like she found my face entertaining. The moment her eyes locked on mine, my heart nearly stopped. Her round eyes held a mix of curiosity and mischief, the corners catching the sunlight from the window and glittering softly.
"Disaster, schmisaster. Gyumin-oppa's in the army and it's just the two of us here."
"Huh? Th-the two of us?"
My mouth went bone-dry. I tried to speak, but nothing came out—my lips just twitched.
"Oppa, I'm joking. It's a joke."
She laughed at my frozen expression. I felt equal parts ridiculous and flustered, wanting nothing more than to dive under the covers.
"R-right? Haha... I knew it was a joke."
"Hehe. I just wanted to scare you. But is your stomach still hurting?"
"Oh crap, I already ordered delivery—I should add another portion."
I scrambled for my phone, remembering the food I'd just ordered.
"No need, oppa. I don't eat much. Just share a little of yours."
"You sure you don't want me to order more?"
"Really. I never eat a lot—just a little is fine."
Looking at her this morning, Juhyun seemed even prettier than usual. Just that playful smile made her eyes tilt up slightly, the sparkling irises somehow erasing all the mess in the room. She wore a white T-shirt that showed off her figure, short shorts, and nude stockings. Long hair spilled over her cheeks, catching the morning light like silver, and a tiny dimple appeared whenever the corner of her mouth lifted.
Every time she turned her head, the sweet freesia scent from her hair made something twitch low in my body.
If she weren't my friend's girlfriend, I'd be hitting on her right now.
It was a shame.
—Ding-dong.
"Oh. Delivery's here."
I took the food at the door. By the time I returned, Juhyun had already unfolded the portable table. I didn't have a real dining table, so I usually sat on the edge of the bed and ate—or drank beer—at that little fold-out.
"Oppa, we eat on this, right?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Juhyun."
I set the food down and we sat side by side on the bed.
"Wow, sundae soup? Looks amazing."
Juhyun wasn't picky. Even when I tagged along on their dates she preferred Korean food over pasta, and she'd rather sit on a riverside bench with convenience-store coffee than go to some trendy café.
I opened the lid; thick steam rose in fragrant clouds.
"I'll scoop some into a bowl for you—hang on."
I started to get up, but she caught my arm.
"Oppa, just eat together. Why bother scooping it out?"
"Eat... together?"
She casually plunged her spoon into the shared bowl.
"It's fine, right? Come on, eat."
My hand froze. Sharing a single bowl of rice was something only couples did. When I hesitated, she nudged the spoon toward me. I cleared my throat awkwardly and scooped up hot broth like it was nothing.
Warm soup slid down my throat and soothed my stomach.
"Damn, this place makes good soup."
She smiled, picked up a piece of meat with her chopsticks, and dropped it onto my spoon.
"Right? Hangover food has to be soup."
Our eyes met. An indescribable current shot through me, stopping my heart for a beat. Sitting side by side at the narrow table, our shoulders brushed and our arms lightly touched. Each contact sent a sharp, electric thrill through my nerves.
One bite for her, one for me. Every time the spoon dipped into the bowl, our saliva mixed. Background noise faded; under the table our knees kept bumping. Because I was wearing shorts, the texture of her stockings against my bare skin felt even more vivid.
Her body heat, the way she never quite pulled away—it all turned the air thick and sticky.
With nowhere left to retreat, she spoke.
"Oppa, aren't you going to the army?"
Right. Almost all my friends had already enlisted or were about to.
"Me? Mm... next year, probably."
"...I see."
"Oh yeah—Gyumin's hundred-day leave should be coming up soon, right?"
"Yeah. Let's all hang out then."
"Together? Nah, you two should go on a proper date. Why drag me along?"
"No way. I like it better when you hang out with us."
She pouted.
"Fine. We'll see how it goes and maybe hang out together."
"Okay, oppa."
She beamed. Most girlfriends would want their boyfriend all to themselves on leave, but she kept insisting I join. We'd always hung out as a trio before, so I let it slide.
—Ding.
A message tone chimed from my phone.
It was Jaehun, a friend from school. The guy was a professional atmosphere-killer. Irritation flared, but I answered right away.
I'd been over to Jaehun's place a few times. His dad had passed away, so his mom doted on him fiercely. Stay close with your friends. If you're living alone, at least eat properly, she'd say, always sending me home with side dishes. The food itself was good, but more than that, the warmth she packed into every container made even a lonely studio meal feel less empty.
"Who is it?"
Juhyun asked, curious.
"Jaehun. Checking if I'm awake."
"Ah, Jaehun-oppa. Did he get home okay last night?"
"Dunno. Probably. Didn't ask."
The sticky atmosphere had already evaporated. A small regret lingered, but I spun the positive circuit in my head: getting that kind of vibe with a friend's girlfriend was a bad idea.
"Ack! What time is it?"
"Nine-thirty."
"Oppa, I have a ten o'clock class!"
"You've still got thirty minutes. If you run you'll make it in ten."
My studio sat right by the main gate; a sprint got you there fast. When I first looked for a place, proximity to campus had been non-negotiable. Looking back, that was the smartest decision I'd made.
"Oppa, I'll call you after class."
Juhyun grabbed her outerwear and bag and bolted for the door.
"S-sure."
—Bang.
She slammed the door hard enough to nearly break it. The strange pink atmosphere left with her.
What the hell was I even thinking?
Embarrassment hit first, then a quiet sense of loss right behind it.
I finished the leftover soup half-heartedly, grabbed a towel, and headed into the bathroom. After a quick shower I stood naked in front of the mirror.
Not bad, actually.
Even at the public baths with the guys, I was the one most confident about what I was packing. Their teasing—"monster," "King Geon"—always carried a flicker of envy that felt like real recognition.
I picked the freshest of my few colognes and sprayed my wrist once. Soft woody and musk notes drifted up, and the air in the room seemed to shift.
The reason I always dressed carefully when I went to Jaehun's was his mother. She'd married young in her early twenties, had Jaehun, and still worked as a career woman. Other friends' stay-at-home moms looked like typical ajummas, but Jaehun's mom—early forties—kept a slim figure and a hairstyle sharp enough to rival celebrities. The first time I met her I'd actually said, "Hello, noona," thinking she was his older sister.
I put on the cleanest clothes I owned and headed for Jaehun's house.