How to Talk to a Guy (2)
Times like this, when the hours just float, there's nothing in particular to do. Maybe I ought to sign up for a gym I can drop into whenever the mood hits.
"Haa..."
Sunday afternoon. I was drying my hair with a blow-dryer, staring at my phone, and the sigh came out light. The cause was a dog sticker, prostrate in a full apologetic bow.
I'd meant to call Lee Hayun out, but today she already had plans with friends. The apology had arrived with the dog sticker.
...Shame.
I'd been planning to treat her to something worth eating and, light as a slip of the tongue, ask how yesterday had gone—out and about with Jiyoon. Ask that over text alone, and my pitch-black intentions would show straight through.
Nothing for it. Not everything in the world turns the way I want. I'll catch a better moment next time.
"So is Lee Jiyoon home alone right now?"
Lee Hayun was out with her friends, which meant Lee Jiyoon was probably home by herself, gaming. What to do. Dropping by to give her a little scare could be fun. So could leaving her to simmer until she was the one who brought it up. Both sounded delicious. Hmm.
I was still drying the damp roots of my hair, turning it over, when the phone I'd just set on the table gave a light buzz.
"......?"
The moment I tilted my head, a familiar name filled the screen.
Crazy Bitch.
And a Crazy Bitch who looked more than a little drunk, at that.
"......"
I'd seen this scene countless times over the past ten years, so it barely registered. Yesterday, eight bottles at a minimum. No—closer to ten. That was as far as the guess went.
Setting that aside, Han Sua had contacted her. Why was she reporting every little thing to me? Had she gotten so wasted she'd forgotten even the persona she'd set for herself? Or had she remembered me telling her, last time, to bring Han Sua to the bookstore?
...Well. Whichever it was, it had something to do with me, so of course she'd reach out.
Sizing up Yozora's condition, I finished drying my hair in a hurry and picked up the phone.
What the hell was I supposed to do with that.
A second ago she'd been going on about Han Sua contacting her, and now it was some random manga talk. Reading Yozora's drunken, squiggling texts, that familiar revulsion I'd built up over ten years began to crawl up from somewhere deep inside me.
I'm the adult here. I'll endure it. Endure.
"...Dumbass."
I muttered it under my breath and chugged mineral water. Once she sobered up and pieced her memory back together, she was going to come running to me, wasn't she? Ah—she'd drunk more than usual this time, so she might actually black out for once...
"......"
More importantly. Hold on.
A present?
Before I could properly parse what that meant, Yozora's texts kept coming.
"........."
...Crazy bitch.
Han Sua had never once in her life asked her liver to process alcohol, but this much she could tell for certain. Writing that had unmistakably been done by hand was giving off the smell of alcohol.
Tidy up the mess of sentences Yozora had sent, and they'd probably look something like this.
Han Sua, scarf pulled up over her lips, let out a sigh as she looked at her phone.
Visiting a friend's house, in itself, was fine. A friend you only greeted in passing was of limited use; the more memories you stacked up, the more help they'd be to Hansol Group. Even if it was a hassle, carving out little pockets of time to plant the impression of a decent friend all around was work done for the Group.
That much was the assessment of Han Sua, the public face of Hansol Group.
She'd sighed because the assessment of Han Sua the person was a little different.
No, but listen. In the middle of talking about dirty manga, she just tells you to come over and keep the conversation going?? Is this something that can actually happen in real life? Not inside a manga—for real?? Does this make any sense??
Of course, she was worried about just how much Yozora had drunk to end up like that. And the one calling her was the widely popular Yozora, so maybe popular kids simply didn't sweat that sort of thing. That, too, was part of why she'd left the house without much protest...
"Ngh..."
The more I learn, the less I understand. The way of the popular kids. If I want to make a lot of friends, maybe I have to try to think like that too...
Han Sua's head nodded, heavy.
"Is this the place?"
Before she knew it, she had arrived at the destination the map had given her. She cross-checked the map against the surroundings one more time, then pressed the bell firmly.
The building standing before Han Sua was, surprisingly, a far more luxurious officetel than she had expected. Of course, set against the "reasonably expensive" officetel she herself had bought, it still felt a tier below.
Well... she'd heard last time that Yozora had come to Korea because of her parents' work. She didn't know exactly what they did, but the family clearly had money. Something trade-related, maybe. Probably that.
"......"
Surely not something illegal...?
...Hm. Not a funny joke.
Cutting short the idle speculation, Han Sua stepped into the elevator. Seventh floor. Then, in front of unit 702, just as Yozora had told her, she pressed the doorbell firmly.
No response.
"......?"
Wondering if she'd gotten the unit wrong, she checked the text again. No. Unit 702. Tilting her head, Han Sua pressed the bell a second time. The same. No response.
The lobby door had opened just fine, so why was there suddenly no answer? Had she passed out drunk?
Not wanting to run into someone from another unit for no reason, she leaned against the wall and drew her scarf higher. About a minute later—beep—the lock disengaged.
"Suaaa..."
"......"
What poked its head out from inside was a zombie.
"You came... guuuh..."
"A-are you okay? There's nothing there. Did you trip over something?"
"Slippers..."
"......"
It reeked of alcohol. And it was a zombie that looked quite a lot like Yozora.
From the outside it had looked like a very large officetel, but the inside she actually saw was narrower than she'd expected.
No. She would take that back immediately.
The place was as spacious as she'd thought. It only looked cramped because of the clutter scattered through every corner. Trash that anyone could tell was delivery boxes sat brazenly in the path people needed to walk. That... that was... a massager? A Japanese-style massager she had once seen in a manga was rolling around on the floor.
And that wasn't all. Liquor bottles packed tight across the little table gave off a visually suffocating sense of blockage.
Haa... should I praise her for lining them up so neatly while drunk? Couldn't she just leave that kind of thing on the floor?
"Hm...?"
She was briefly flustered by Yozora's bare face, which she had never seen before. Then something wriggling against her hair and her back made Han Sua turn.
Whether it was because she was so drunk, there was Yozora, cheek pressed firmly to Han Sua's back, acting cute.
...So this is what alcohol really smells like. And yet the apartment itself doesn't smell much at all. Does the smell only come out if you drink it?
Having learned one more thing today, Han Sua nudged Yozora's forehead away with her elbow.
"Hey, Yozora."
"Mmnn..."
"Did you drink all of this by yourself?"
"Mmnn..."
I see. She only half believed it and let it pass. How could a person drink all of that alone? You couldn't drink that much even if it were water. She'd probably been drinking with the health teacher and sent him home partway through. And the reason a man and a woman would drink like that was, well... obviously that. Right. If there were strange marks on the bed, she would have to pretend she hadn't seen them.
Having roughly sketched out how things must have gone, Han Sua carefully started clearing the empty bottles in front of her. The moment a staggering Yozora bumped them, the mess would be inevitable.
"I'll set these bottles on the floor for now? Over in that corner."
"Mmnn..."
"The delivery boxes... hold on. The housekeepers usually fold them like this when they deal with them."
"Hnnngh..."
Languid, catlike eyes that made it hard to address her carelessly. A voice that snapped off cold unless she made a point of speaking brightly. The outside of her sat a little far from kindness, but the core was nothing more than an innocent, shut-in romance-manga otaku. And so, forgetting even why she had come, Han Sua cleaned with the diligence of a mother who had just witnessed the disastrous state of her daughter's apartment.
"And..."
The small massager rose in her hand. Had alcohol gotten on it? Somehow it was a little sticky all over.
"Where should I put this? The massager."
"Aaah... wait a sec... thaaat one..."
Seated on the sofa, Yozora turned a blank gaze this way. She'd headed for the sofa looking crestfallen after being told that having her around wouldn't help. Then she stretched a finger straight out to the right. Whether the strength had simply drained out of her in that pose, she flopped naturally onto the sofa, and at the tip of her finger there was a door of uncertain identity.
"There?"
"Yeah..."
Is this the bedroom door? Curious, she opened it carefully. It was just the bathroom.
"This is the bathroom?"
"Yeah... that, I gotta wash it..."
"You have to wash it? Ah. Because alcohol got on it."
"Mmnn... that's not it..."
If that were the case, I could just wash it and leave it somewhere sunny. Checking where water shouldn't get into the massager, Han Sua headed for the sink.
Her feet stopped.
"I used that when I masturbated yesterday... before it starts to smell, yeah, I gotta wash it good..."
"......"
Not for any other reason. Her brain had simply stopped for a moment.
"...M-masturbated..."
"Mmnn..."
...She's lying.
...Masturbating with this. How, exactly? Don't tell me she puts this tip in—
No, no. This is absolutely not a thickness you could insert. How would this even go into a woman's body. Then how...
Flustered by Yozora's words, Han Sua stared hard at the massager, and step by step she drew toward the truth of why it was sticky.
"......"
...Even so, I can't just throw away someone else's things.
Han Sua quietly set the massager down beside the sink. Next to her, the squeak of hands being scrubbed echoed for a long, long time.