You've Changed

The knock came at my studio apartment in the evening.

-Thud thud.

I opened the door and Yuna was standing there. She'd draped her suit jacket over her arm and her makeup was already washed off. Her eyes were puffy, and the breath from climbing the stairs hadn't settled yet.

This was the fourth time I'd seen her cry. The first three times, I was the one who stopped it.

Something pressed down under my sternum, and this time it lasted a while. My hands started to rise on their own, so I shoved them into my pockets.

"Can I come in?"

"Sit down."

She came in and didn't sit. She kicked off her shoes, walked two steps into the middle of the room, and stopped there. I'd pushed the desk chair out for her, but she didn't even look at it.

"I failed."

"I heard."

"...From who?"

She tightened her grip on the phone in her hand. She hadn't put it down since she walked in.

I didn't answer, and Yuna didn't ask again.

"I got stuck on the third one."

"......"

"...The one you pointed out. That's the only part they asked me about."

She stumbled exactly where I'd predicted she would. It was the passage I'd flagged for her that morning.

The jacket on her arm slid down, then climbed back up.

"Dogyeong passed."

Here it was — the thing I'd guessed at from her expression at the front door that morning.

"I told him congratulations. I really meant it. But after I said it, I couldn't stand to look at his face."

So she came here.

"You knew about this, didn't you."

There it was again — blaming someone else. Still, there was no reason to lie.

"I knew."

Yuna's shoulder lifted once, and then didn't come back down as far as it had gone up.

"...What?"

"I knew you'd get stuck on the third one. You always do."

"Then why didn't you fix it?"

"......"

"One sentence would've done it. That kind of thing takes you thirty minutes. ...And I did ask you, remember."

Her voice swelled, then died down of its own accord.

The jacket slid off her arm completely and dropped to the floor. Yuna looked down at it, but didn't pick it up.

"...Never mind. Sorry. You did help me."

"......"

"But it really would've taken one sentence."

"If I write it for you, you'll get cut at the next round too."

"......"

"Because the interview isn't going to end with just that one passage."

Yuna opened her mouth to say something, then closed it.

"I can't ask Dogyeong. If I ask him for a favor, he actually worries about it."

"......"

"But with you, it's fine, isn't it."

The moment the words left her mouth, Yuna froze. She seemed to realize what she'd just done.

"Oh, no, that's not what I—"

"You're right."

"...What?"

"I was fine. Until now."

Yuna drew a breath. Even after choosing it, the next words didn't come right away.

"Can I get angry at you?"

"......"

"...I know I did something."

"What did I do wrong?"

"......"

"...I'll apologize. Even if I don't know what for."

She asked, I obliged, and because I obliged, she asked again. That was the whole of it.

"You didn't do anything."

"Then why are you like this?"

"I told you. Nothing."

The shout came out before I could stop it. I hadn't planned to raise my voice — it just happened.

Yuna took half a step back. The phone she'd been holding slipped from her fingers and hit the floor.

"...Jung Woojin?"

"You did nothing wrong. Neither did Dogyeong. Nobody did."

"...Why are you bringing up Dogyeong?"

There was nothing to answer with, and Yuna didn't press further.

"That's the problem. Nobody's at fault, so there's nobody to apologize to."

The breath left me in a rush. The room was small, and the sound of it hit the walls and came back.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd raised my voice. Not once, in front of these people. Not ever.

"I'm angry right now."

"...I'm sorry."

"Not at you. At myself."

Yuna's eyes went wide. She was wearing the expression of someone facing a total stranger.

"All I had to do was say I didn't want to. I couldn't even do that. And that's how I became the person you could take for granted."

"......"

"That part's my fault. But I'm still angry."

"......"

"What I want always came last. This time, I'm trying to put mine first."

"...And what is it you want?"

No answer came. I couldn't exactly say there were four sentences sitting in a document, and that those four sentences were everything.

It took a while to find the words.

"So give me some time. Right now I don't know what to do either."

"......"

"It's my first time."

Only then did Yuna pick up the jacket and the phone from the floor.

She hooked the jacket back over her arm. It took two tries before it hung right.

At the front door, she stepped into her shoes, took hold of the handle, and looked back.

"You've changed."

"I haven't changed."

I hadn't expected her to deny it. For a moment, Yuna's eyes wavered.

"...What?"

"I'm just doing what I wanted to do all along. Starting now."

"......"

"...Seriously, what is going on with you?"

The handle turned halfway. The hand on it slipped once, then gripped again.

"And Yuna."

"......"

"Don't come here at night anymore."

"...What?"

"This is the apartment of a man who lives alone."

"...You're the man."

"That's right. I am."

This was not the face that had stood in front of me that morning holding a stack of printouts.

The door closed. The sound of her going down the stairs stopped one floor below, then started again, and faded out somewhere around the third floor.

I stood in front of the closed door for a long time before I locked it.

-Click.

It was the first time Yuna had ever looked at me with disgust. You don't get looked at that way by someone who finds you comfortable.

It was also the first time I'd been resented by someone I loved.

It hurt more than I expected. I'd known it would hurt — I just hadn't known it would be like this.

I sat down at the desk and covered the printouts with my notebook. As the laptop screen came on, a single file sat waiting on the desktop.

I double-clicked the document I'd made in the winter and never opened once since.

Four sentences. That was all of it. Below them, the white screen ran on to the bottom of the page.

Now I understood why I'd stopped there. To write the next sentence, I would have needed the answer — and back then, I didn't have it.

Now I knew what it meant.

The cursor blinked at the end of the paragraph. I rested my hands on the keyboard and left them there for a long time.

If I wrote the next sentence, the one after it would come. And the one after that was Dogyeong, and Yuna, and at the end of it — me.

My fingertips were cold. I didn't type anything, and I didn't close the window.

Late that night, a message came from an unknown number.

I flipped the phone face-down on the desk.

But on the laptop screen, the cursor was still blinking.

The first time this kid ever spoke to me, in the old timeline, would be in the summer. She'd come to ask about Dogyeong.

This time, what she'd sent for was the papers — three months ahead of schedule.

-Shhhhhhh.

Class ended and I walked out of the building.

The sky had been overcast all morning without committing to anything, and then it burst all at once — the rain ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠slammed into the pavement at the bottom of the steps, throwing spray up to my ankles.

The students without umbrellas hoisted their bags over their heads and started running.

People crowded under the eaves, staring up at the sky, and through the gaps in them, groups broke for the main gate all at once.

I opened my umbrella. The drum of rain hitting the canopy sounded directly overhead, and the noise of the world fell one layer further away.

The path around the back of the building was empty.

The roof over the bike rack ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was half torn off, and the bicycles lined up beneath it stood out in the open, taking the rain as it came. From under there, a sound.

-Mrrroow.

A thin cry, stretched long at the end, nearly swallowed by the rain.

It came once and cut off, then came again.

-Myaow.

By the second cry, I was already walking toward it.

Beneath a spot where the vines on the low wall had grown slack and drooping, a cardboard box sat on the ground.

The rain had soaked through the corrugated cardboard until one side of it sagged. A plastic sheet lay half over the top, its end caught by the wind, letting the rain drive straight inside — and the sound was coming from in there.

A cat was curled up.

Not a kitten. A half-grown black cat, its fur soaked so it looked smaller than it was, and as it cried at me again its whole body shook along with the sound.

I'd expected it to bolt, but it didn't. It held my gaze and stayed where it was.

An animal that has known human hands does not freeze when a person comes close.

The box was open on top.

If they'd folded it shut, the cat couldn't have gotten out. Leaving it open meant they were telling it to go — and yet it stayed.

A little kibble was scattered on the bottom, and a blanket was laid down, soaked dark with water. Whoever had left it here had done something, right up to the last minute. Hadn't closed the box, had left it food, had covered it with a roof.

That was what made it worse.

I tilted my umbrella toward the box, and one of my shoulders was wet within moments. The cat crept a handspan out, then ducked back in.

"She's been there since yesterday."

The raindrops that had been falling on the back of my neck stopped. I looked up, and there was another canopy above my head — yellow.

Two umbrellas overlapped, set at different heights, so neither was really covering either of us properly.

"She won't come out."

The girl crouched down beside me. The hem of her pants hit the muddy water and soaked through instantly, but she didn't shift her stance. Her shoulder hung a handspan from mine.

The yellow umbrella kept tilting toward my side, and her left shoulder had been catching the rain this whole time.

"You were here yesterday too?"

"Yesterday I just passed by. Today I came to look."

-Tatak, tatatak.

The rain drummed dully on the wet cardboard alone, half a beat out of sync with the sound it made hitting the bare dirt.

"I put the food down."

The hand holding her umbrella dropped a little lower.

"But that's all I could do."

"......"

"I'm still in the dorm right now. I move out soon, though."

It wasn't whoever had abandoned her who'd left the food. At the very least, the kibble had been this girl — who had seen her yesterday and come back today.

"I called around, too. The animal hospital by the school, the district office. The shelter says they're full."

"......"

"She said if she goes there, they keep her for ten days and then put her down."

Her voice didn't waver at the edges. She delivered it calmly, straight through to the end. Words you're saying for the first time don't come out that steady.

"Could you keep her for just one day?"

"......"

"I'm not asking you to adopt her. I move out of the dorm next week."

"......"

"If it's one day, I can handle the vet myself."

The cat crept out another handspan. This time, she didn't retreat.

"Why won't she come out? She already ate. What I left yesterday is gone."

"She's waiting."

"...For who?"

The answer left my mouth before the meaning caught up to me.

Rain had gotten in through the sides of my shoes, and I couldn't tell when it had happened.

"...No one."

"I'll take her."

The umbrella wavered.

"...Sorry?"

"I said I'll take her."

She lifted her head, making no effort to hide her surprise.

"Really?"

"I live in a studio."

"......"

"It's better than this, isn't it."

I laid the umbrella down on the ground. The handle rolled off toward the muddy water and I let it go; the rain landed square on my back.

I put both hands into the box. The cat shrank back, then touched her nose to my knuckles — cold at the very tip — and gave a short lick between my fingers. Her tongue was rough.

Instead of grabbing her by the scruff, I slid my hands under her forelegs and lifted. She was lighter than I'd expected, her whole frame of bone caught in my palms, and inside those bones she was hot.

The wet fur was cold, but what was under it wasn't. Her heart was hammering, and I could feel every beat rise straight into my hands.

When I tucked her against my chest, the damp soaked through into my shirt. I braced for her to squirm, but the tension holding her body drained all at once, and she went loose against my shoulder.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd held anything.

The rain hitting my back stopped. The yellow umbrella had drifted further over me than before.

"I only asked for one day."

I stood up with her held in one arm. When I scooped the fallen umbrella up with my free hand, dirt came off on the handle.

"I know."

"......"

"I'm taking her because I want to."

For a few seconds after I said it, nothing came back.

"......"

"I'll buy the food too. That part I can do."

She got up as well and adjusted her grip on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the umbrella. One of her shoulders had darkened with rain.

We left the box behind. It looked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like the bottom would give out if it was lifted, and the blanket was soaked anyway.

"Do you know where the vet is?"

"Out the back gate, then left."

"Right."

"...Should we go together?"

"I'm fine. You have a lecture, don't you?"

"So do you."

I almost asked her name, then stopped. If I asked, she'd ask for mine, and then we'd be people who knew each other. And once we knew each other, there would be a next time.

"One hour is all I need."