The One Made Comfortable by My Presence Is You

My hand kept drifting toward my phone. Every time it did, I had to stop and remember what it was I'd been about to do.

There was a routine I used to keep at this hour. If Dogyeong was running late, I saved him a seat in the back row; if Yuna missed something in the lecture, I snapped a photo of my notes and sent it over.

Today I did neither. And with nothing to do, my hand had nowhere to go.

While the professor moved on to the syllabus, I stared straight ahead from my seat by the window in the back. Yuna sat in the third row, taking notes. The way she swept her hair back with her left hand while writing with her right — that posture hadn't changed at all.

I'd watched that posture for a long time.

Never once said I liked it, of course.

The date had come back with me — so why hadn't this?

I turned my eyes to my notes. Three times during the lecture. The page was completely blank.

About ten minutes in, Dogyeong slipped in through the back door. He cut across the aisle, dropped into the seat beside mine, and let his bag slump to the floor.

He'd come straight from the bench, and his face said the earlier conversation was far from over.

"Why'd you leave first?"

"I had first period."

"Are you mad?"

"No."

"Then let's talk about that thing again."

Up front, the professor was explaining the grade distribution, but only half the people in the back were listening; the rest were on their phones or asleep.

"I really don't think I should be the one asking directly. If I ask now and she says no, it gets awkward for all three of us."

Soon it would be four. Haram wouldn't attach herself to this circle until the following semester — and from then on, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠there'd be one more person left feeling the awkwardness.

"Dogyeong."

"Yeah?"

"No."

-Click.

Dogyeong set his pen down.

I'd never seen that expression on him before.

He didn't pick the pen back up, either.

Until the day of the wedding, I'd believed the world revolved around those two.

It hadn't looked that way at all, in truth.

I was the one who'd set it spinning that way.

The chair beside me creaked once.

For whatever reason, when I opened my eyes, it no longer looked that way.

What had come back wasn't just the date. A word that had brushed past me that morning crossed my mind again.

Protagonist.

Pin it on Dogyeong, and it's not wrong.

Except I'm the one who made him that.

Dogyeong opened his mouth to say something more, then closed it again.

Up front, the professor had moved on to the junior-year major tracks. It wasn't something you chose until second year, and yet a few students in the front rows had already started copying it down.

Beside me, Dogyeong glanced over twice. Both times, I didn't look back.

When the lecture ended and I stepped into the hallway, Yuna caught up from behind.

"Jung Woojin."

"Yeah."

"About earlier."

Adjusting her bag strap, Yuna fell into step beside me. Even her habit of matching my stride hadn't changed.

"I keep thinking I asked you for something way too fast. We'd just run into each other again after so long, and the first thing I did was ask for a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠favor."

"You didn't."

"Right? But when you cut me off like that, it kind of……."

Her sentence trailed off, blurry at the edges. Yuna isn't the type to start talking before she knows what she's trying to say. Right now, she genuinely seemed not to know.

"The interview is next week."

"……"

"Just once. Could you really not look it over, just once?"

I'd spent three nights on it. Five essay questions; Yuna had gotten stuck on the third, and in the end I'd written a fresh draft myself. The day she got in, she bought me the dining-hall pork cutlet.

"No."

"…Why not?"

"I'm behind on my own assignments."

It wasn't a lie. I had simply never once used my workload as a reason to refuse her before.

Had never refused a request from someone I loved, either.

It was less of a big deal than I'd expected.

Yuna stopped walking.

Light from the hallway window fell across half her face. The hand gripping her bag strap rose and fell twice.

"…Then maybe I'll ask Dogyeong."

Dogyeong can't write. I wrote one for him back in senior year of high school — all twelve of his sentences ended with "I think that…"

That was something Yuna would find out on her own.

"Sure."

"…What?"

"Go ahead. Try him."

She must have expected me to talk her out of it. Her face went stiff.

"…But other than you, I don't really have anyone I could……"

Yuna stopped mid-sentence.

She looked like someone hearing her own words a beat too late.

"…Never mind. Okay. Sorry for bugging you when you're busy."

Yuna turned away first.

I was leaving the lecture building when the group chat lit up. Lunchtime.

And then one more came — not to the group chat, but as a private message.

Dogyeong was waiting at the bottom of the lecture-hall stairs.

"Why no reply?"

"……"

"You got plans or something?"

"……"

"You don't, though."

He said it with a smile. Saying it, he gave my shoulder a light tap.

I didn't have plans. I never had. Not once.

"Jung Woojin."

Dogyeong smiled again. This time, his eyes didn't.

"What's with the sulking? Did I do something wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then what's the problem? What's so hard about eating one meal together?"

"……"

"Things are easy when you're around."

Students filed past the foot of the stairs. The smell of stew drifted up from the direction of the back gate.

"Dogyeong."

"Yeah?"

"The one who's comfortable with me around — that's you."

Dogyeong's mouth hung half open, and stayed that way.

"…What's that supposed to mean?"

"Go, just the two of you."

"Hey. Jung Woojin."

"I'm not angry."

As I headed down the stairs, Dogyeong called something after me. I didn't catch it, and I didn't stop to try.

My hand was already on the door handle, pressed hard against it. It took me a few seconds to push it open.

Three refusals today. All three times, my voice had come out perfectly steady — it was only afterward that my hand went strange.

I had no intention of cutting things off all at once. That much I couldn't do, and if I tried, it would show.

Slowly, piece by piece, was enough. Whether it took ten days or a whole semester.

I bought a triangle kimbap at the convenience store across from the back gate and tore the plastic open standing beside the register.

Sitting on the bench, eating and chewing it over, I tried to recall how long it had been since I'd eaten lunch alone. I couldn't remember. Even after Dogyeong started dating Yuna, the three of us ate together — and in the weeks they were fighting, we ate separately, which meant I ate twice a day.

A meal eaten alone finished quickly, and fifteen minutes were left over. I'd never once had fifteen minutes left in a lunch hour.

The department office sat at the far end of the third floor. A recruitment notice was pinned to the board out front.

The TA held out a sign-up sheet with the name column still blank.

"Freshmen rarely apply, you know."

"Am I allowed to?"

"You're allowed, sure. You'd be working with third- and fourth-years, though."

I wrote my name. Eleven years later, my name was the first thing I wrote.

One name was already at the top of the sheet. Third-year, Oh Sera.

The TA took the sheet back, then asked again.

"Are you seriously going to do this? You'd have to read a whole paper before the first week."

"Which one is it?"

A printout of twelve pages came across the desk — all of it in English.

Sitting on the stair landing with the rest of the lunch hour, I read the first page. Eight words I didn't know. By the time I'd looked up all eight, the bell for class rang.

I got back to my room, spread the paper out on my desk, sat down — and the messages came almost at once.

Ten minutes later, another one arrived. I left that one unanswered too.

I read it and set the phone down. A little later, a different name lit up the screen.

I didn't answer. I turned the screen off. It was something I'd never done before — and today I'd been doing it all day long.

All this time, I'd been the one holding that seat. When Dogyeong got tangled up, I steered the conversation elsewhere; when Yuna looked uncomfortable, I cracked a joke; when one of them went to the bathroom, I quietly fed the one who stayed a compliment about the other.

Today, for the first time, I saw what happened when I stopped.

The eight unknown words on the first page had grown to eleven on the second. I sat with the dictionary open, chasing them one by one, and two hours were gone before I noticed.

The phone had rung four times in that stretch. I didn't check.

Before, the rule had been to look within thirty seconds of a ring. I'd honestly believed that was a rule.

It was the same every morning. On days when Dogyeong had first period, I called to wake him — all four years of college, and even at my job on the days that mattered.

Today, even though they'd been the ones reaching out first, my hand kept drifting that way.

I was on page six of the paper.

-Ding-dong.

The clock said eleven at night.

When I opened the door, Dogyeong was standing there holding a convenience store bag with two cans of beer inside.

"Can I come in?"

"Sit."

Dogyeong settled onto the floor, pushed one can across to me, and cracked his own. He took a sip, then sat silent for a long while before finally speaking.

"You were off today."

"……"

"From this morning."

"……"

"At lunch I seriously thought I was going to die."

The can tilted in Dogyeong's hand. It was nearly empty.

"Yuna just kept staring at her phone, and I had no idea what I was supposed to say. We finished in ten minutes and left. She didn't even touch the broth."

"……"

"And on the way out she goes, does Jung Woojin have something going on lately?"

"……"

"How should I know? I don't know either."

-Clunk.

The sound of the can hitting the floor.

"I'm honestly hurt."

Condensation beaded on the can's surface and transferred to my palm.

"I don't say this kind of thing to you, you know that. But today, I felt like I had to."

"……"

"We've been friends since first year of high school."

"I know."

"Then why are you acting like this?"

I had nothing to say back.

"I've never once had a hard time asking you for anything."

"……"

"And that's a good thing. It's because you're Woojin."

"……"

"So you be comfortable with me too. Whatever it is, just say it."

Had I ever asked him for anything? Nothing came to mind.

That I gave my entire twenties to you. That at thirty-one I emceed your wedding. That while I was matching the amounts on the gift envelopes, not one person looked for me.

If I said it, Dogyeong would be genuinely sorry. And the following week, he'd make the exact same request.

Once you've accepted someone's apology, refusing what comes next becomes impossible.

"If you're hurt, then stay hurt."

"…What?"

"That's how I've always done it."

Dogyeong froze, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠can in hand. He wasn't angry, and he wasn't aggrieved — the sentence just didn't seem to reach him at all.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I can't explain."

Dogyeong's eyes, which had been wandering the room, stopped on the stack of papers on my desk.

"What's that. English?"

"A paper."

"What paper?"

"For the study group."

"Oh……"

Then he lowered his gaze to the can. He didn't ask what study group.

I started to wonder whether he'd ever asked to see my class schedule, then gave up. There wasn't enough there to recall.

We sat another ten minutes or so before Dogyeong got up. One can — unopened — he left behind.

-Click.

I understand being hurt. I would have been too.

But I saw today, for the first time, what kind of face those words come with.

Yesterday I was thirty-one; today I'm twenty. I'm the only person alive who knows about the distance between those two — so whatever I say, nothing lines up.

I left the can where he'd left it. Sitting down at my desk, I spread out next week's schedule.

Yuna's student council interview — and that same afternoon, the first meeting of the thesis study group.

I don't remember what I did that day. All that's left is the memory of waiting for the interview to end.

The call came at ten that night. The news that she got in was the second thing she said; the first was that she was having dinner with Dogyeong. I told her it sounded delicious.

That dinner was where it all began. This time, I wouldn't be there.

I didn't know what would happen without me, and I had no intention of finding out.