6. A Sense of Distance
...What time is it?
In my hazy state, my flailing hand snagged a wristwatch worth 40,000 won. 1 a.m. Had I napped too much earlier? I tried to close my eyes again, but my eyelids refused to cooperate. If only I'd been this alert during night watch duty.
I nudged the computer on with my toe, but there wasn't much to do. Worried about waking her with keyboard clicks from the next room, I just fiddled with the mouse, which only made it worse. I scrolled for a decent movie but gave up. Anything worth streaming, I'd already binged in the army.
Wandering aimlessly online, it hit me. ...Inevitably, staying up like this leads to one obvious end. It'd been ages since I'd held back at base, so the temptation was real. At least on principle, I wanted to hold off for a while.
I tossed the earphones aside and rummaged through the bookshelf. Half of it was decor, stocked with famous novels. I picked the one in best shape. This one... yeah, I remembered a party photo with a wine glass, but the story sucked. I shoved it back and pulled out a tattered one next to it.
Our neighbor country's most famous author, their masterpiece. Fun enough to reread multiple times, but right now... maybe not? In terms of stimulation, it's above videos or photos.
After digging around, I settled on a German classic. Turns out it has that title effect too. ...Spoiled the ending before even starting.
Quick impression: No clue. Maybe because I've never dated. It's not like I lacked interest from the opposite sex, or vice versa. Just never escalated to love. Picky eyes? I wouldn't mind meeting a heroine like in novels, or someone loving me like the protagonist.
Ah, not loved by a guy, obviously, and definitely not wanting to become a girl. My type's tall and slender. Taller than me? No way. Big breasts a must, of course.
Finishing the book left me starving. Body and soul are one—feed the mind, nourish the flesh. But with everyone asleep, I couldn't clatter in the kitchen, so I figured a quick fruit would do. I eased the door open and slipped into the living room.
Grabbing a half-bunch of bananas from the sink, I turned to head back—when the bathroom door opened.
"Not asleep?"
"...Move."
Backlit, her face was hard to make out. But the shampoo scent wafting over. Strands of hair clinging to her cheek. The dampness on my slightly stepped-on toe. She'd showered in the dead of night.
"Studying's great, but get some sleep. First day back."
"Got it, so move."
I'd barely squeezed in one nagging line when she slipped past. The soft brush of her pajama sleeve against my arm lingered. Maybe I should get some too.
Door slammed shut behind her as I returned to my room. ...Yeah, our schedules have been wrecked lately. I sat on the chair, hearing the hairdryer through the wall. Munching a banana, I thought, no coffee for her today. Then my door creaked open.
"...What."
"Can't sleep."
"Can't sleep, so why my room?"
"Tell me something boring."
"...Boring?"
"You're good at that, oppa."
A little hurt. Sure, I get called a no-fun nerd, but I'm way more social than her. Okay, post-discharge, I saw her friends first, but that's on her—canceled plans, her friends. Shouldn't she take responsibility? ...Blame the witching hour; my head's off.
"...Army stories?"
"Nah, pass."
She shook her head vigorously, then slyly climbed onto my bed and flopped down sideways. ...Fine, lie down, but dry your hair properly first? Pillow'll soak.
"You asked for boring."
"Sounds fun, rejected."
"Would put me right to sleep; no clue what you're saying."
"...Who do you think I called all those times?"
Back then, nothing to say, no shared interests—just me rambling daily life. Turns out she's a high school girl with solid army trivia. Send her as an officer? Steady pay, pension, housing—if I'm homeless, I could crash. Trash mindset?
"Uh... boring, like that book I read?"
"Which one."
"This."
I handed her the green hardcover from my desk.
"This is fun."
"Read it?"
"Super famous novel. Of course."
"Knowing it kills the story. Isn't that perfect?"
"...Do what you want."
I dragged my chair closer to where she lay clutching the blanket. Flipped the book open, fanned the pages... ...But if she knows it, what do I even say?
"...Why so quiet?"
"Dunno what to say."
"Stuff like character choices. Emotions."
"Couldn't get why they did that."
"That's why it's boring. Romance novel. No grasp, no fun."
"...You talk like you know."
"More sensitive than you. Despite no dating."
"...So you've dated?"
"...Girls' middle and high."
I went to boys' high, but guys dated fine. Excuses. All excuses.
"You went to college, still solo."
"Planned army after freshman year; how to get a girl?"
"A year's not short."
"...Why so dense? Body apart, heart follows."
"Would've broken up anyway. Real connection waits."
"I'd have dated if worth it."
"See? Couldn't."
Her rolling around, hair tousled, irked me. Too much? Facts hurt more than hits.
"...When I get a girlfriend, I'll eye-terror you silly."
"Doubt it happens, but hope it does."
"...Watch me."
Her sly grin fueled revenge. I'd make her pay for teasing someday.
After our chatter, my throat parched. Gulped cold water, brushed teeth. Door handle turned, but no light seeped—odd. Opened to darkness.
"...What, asleep?"
Phone screen lit her face-down, steady breaths, metronome chest. 100% out.
"...Wake up, go to your room."
"...I'm sleeping..."
"No joking, bed."
"...No, just about to drift off."
"...What am I supposed to do."
"Sleep in mine."
She lifted her face, eyes cracking open, mouth muffled in pillow.
"Mom sees swapped rooms morning, great explanation."
"Then sleep here."
"You leave, I will."
"Bed's big anyway."
"...At our age, together? Mom'd be so proud."
"Ugh, shut up. Set early alarm."
She burrowed under the blanket. ...Not listening, whatever. Yanked half away.
"...Stealing again?"
"Mine originally. You stole. Pillow too."
"Nothing left."
"Hug one, head one. Pick."
She pondered, lifted to slide my pillow over. Hid in blanket, folded hers half, turned away.
My room, seriously.
"...Sleep. School tomorrow."
"...Yeah, you too, oppa."
I turned back, whispered. Shampoo filled the air by my head. ...Damp. Dry properly.
...Woke up. Phone: alarm minutes away. Naps always do this. Headache.
"...Hey, up. Time."
"Mmm... few more..."
"Call Mom now—who's in trouble, me or you? Up."
"...Okay..."
Mom scared her straight; she wriggled. Watched—thought sitting up? Nope, knees folded, nose in pillow.
"...What the hell."
"Ah... can't get up..."
"Eyes first, please."
"...Hand."
Deep breath, flopped, extended one hand. Tugged hooked fingers—no will.
"...For real?"
"...Heehee, sorry."
Grinning sideways, I snorted too. Released fingers; she gripped handshake-tight. Pulled firm—she slid off hugging pillow.
"...Hand."
"To your room."
"...Baby?"
"Sleepy, might bump."
Yawned big, rubbed face with our arms. Too tired to argue, dragged to her room, tossed on bed.
"Going."
"Yeah, see ya soon."
"...Sure."
Left her waving lazily from bed, closed door. ...Back for more sleep? Turned—pocket classical chime. Jumped, silenced phone, dashed to room.
Wiped cold sweat, lay down, realized. ...Pillow stolen. Sigh.