Warm Milk
Friday, two in the morning. I wake up. There's no reason. I just did. I stare at the ceiling. It's dark. A thin sliver of streetlight filters through the gap in the curtains.
I submitted my deadline yesterday before midnight. I even received a confirmation email from the client. Normally, I should feel a wave of relief, but now that my hands have nothing to do, sleep has abandoned me as well. Having spent the last few days of the deadline entirely in night-owl mode, my body refuses to let go of that rhythm. I stand up and head to the kitchen for a glass of water.
I pause just as I'm about to turn on the kitchen light. Upstairs. I think I hear footsteps coming from somewhere beyond the ceiling. Very faint. The sound of slippers dragging against the wooden floor. It might be an hallucination. But once you hear it, your attention inevitably drifts toward it.
Chaewon. I've seen Chaewon in the early hours of the morning twice before.
The first time was the night we first introduced ourselves, when she was sitting on the villa stairs in her pajamas. I brought her a warm glass of milk. "The stairs are more comfortable. If I stay in my room, I just end up staring at the ceiling." That was the very first thing she had ever shared about herself.
The second time was a rainy night. She had come down to pick up some madeleines, ended up drinking a cup of chamomile tea, leaned back against my sofa, and drifted off to sleep. A woman who claimed to suffer from chronic insomnia slept soundly on my sofa for two hours. Even she looked astonished when she woke up.
That was it. Just twice. There was no regular pattern of Chaewon coming down to my place. She was someone who fiercely guarded her personal space. But tonight—
Footsteps sound from upstairs. I pull out a small pot, pour in some milk, and place it over low heat. I add a spoonful of honey and stir slowly. Tiny bubbles begin to form around the edges. I turn off the stove and pour the milk into a mug.
I'm not waiting for her. I just heard footsteps from upstairs, so I'm going to check the stairwell. If she's there, I'll hand it to her; if not, I'll just drink it myself. That much rationalization is easy enough.
Holding the mug, I open the front door. The hallway fluorescent lights are dimly lit. Shuffling in my slippers, I take a couple of steps toward the stairs.
She is there. Chaewon is sitting on the landing between the second and third floors, hugging her knees. She's wearing silk pajamas under a thin cardigan, with slippers on her feet. It's the exact same scene as the night we first met. Except back then, everything was unfamiliar, and now we know the contours of each other's lives.
Chaewon looks up. "...Siu."
"Can't sleep?"
"Yes."
I hold out the mug. Chaewon stares at it for a moment. Steam rises from the warm liquid.
"I wasn't waiting for you," I say first. "I just heard footsteps from upstairs and decided to step out."
Chaewon takes the mug with both hands. Her fingertips are cold. Every time I've touched her hands, they've always been cold. "...Thank you."
She takes a sip. Her warm breath mingles with the steam from the milk.
"May I sit?"
"Yes."
I sit down on the stairs, leaving a single step between us. Chaewon in her space, me in mine. A distance that preserves our boundaries.
Chaewon rests the mug on her knees, cradling it with both hands. "Tonight... sleep is being especially elusive," she says. She doesn't elaborate further. This woman rarely lets out what is inside her. It was the same the night we first met. "The stairs are more comfortable." That was all.
So I don't ask. I know that prying won't help her. I only know that as a lawyer, she works in the morning and works through the night. And that occasionally, the dark circles under her eyes grow deeper. Beyond that, unless she chooses to share, I will never know.
"Should I add another spoonful of honey?"
"...No. It's perfect just like this."
Chaewon takes another sip. The steam disperses. The stairs at two-thirty in the morning—a time when no one else is awake. The dim fluorescent light casts a soft glow over her profile. I can see the dark circles under her eyes. They are deeper than usual.
"I heard your deadline is over," Chaewon says. Changing the subject. It's her classic defense mechanism.
"Yes. I sent it over last night."
"What kind of project was it this time?"
"Three game character illustrations. Dain helped me with the villain's background."
"Dain did?"
"Yes. She's an art major, so she matched the tone perfectly."
"...Is this the first time you've let someone else work on a client project with you?"
"Yes. First time in three years."
"Weren't you worried?"
"Of course I was. But Dain knows Siru's art style inside out. She wasn't drawing in her own style; she was mimicking Siru's, so there was very little risk of things clashing."
Chaewon nods. Perhaps because she's a lawyer, her expression is incredibly precise when she listens. It's not just polite nodding; I can tell she is truly absorbing my words.
"I'm glad it turned out well."
"Me too."
The corners of Chaewon's lips twitch upward slightly. That is the absolute maximum of her smile. "...It's nice to hear. That you drew it together."
"Thank you."
Silence falls between us. It isn't uncomfortable. It's the same familiar silence we've shared since that very first morning. In the early hours with Chaewon, there is no need to fill the void with words.
About three minutes pass. Chaewon finishes the milk. Holding the empty mug in both hands, she looks down the stairs.
"Do you think you can sleep now?"
"...I don't know. I think I need to sit here a little longer tonight."
"You'll catch a cold."
"We're indoors."
"May mornings are colder than you think."
Chaewon looks at me briefly. Then, she pulls her cardigan a little tighter around herself. "...Alright."
I step down to take the mug. Our hands brush briefly as she hands it over. As always, her skin is cold.
"Are you going back up?"
"Yes."
"...I'll head inside then."
"Yes. Goodnight, Siu."
Chaewon stands up. She climbs the stairs one step at a time. The sound of dragging slippers. On the third floor, the door to room 301 opens and closes.
I walk back into room 201. I place the mug in the sink. A warm cup of milk. A staircase in the early hours of May. That was all. There was no lap pillow, no sleeping Chaewon, no deep, soul-baring conversation. Falling asleep to a lullaby in my apartment like that rainy night wasn't something that would happen every time. Chaewon's night belongs to Chaewon. At most, a cup of warm milk can occasionally slip into it, but anything more would be an uninvited intrusion.
I sit on the sofa. Three in the morning. It's hard to fall back asleep. Maybe her insomnia is contagious. Or maybe it's just the aftereffects of having empty hands after a major deadline. The moment a deadline ends is always like this. The nerves that had been hyper-focused on night shifts for days suddenly lose their destination. When my hands aren't holding a keyboard or a pen, my mind searches for empty spaces to fill.
When I lived with Lee Sua, I filled these empty hands with the person beside me. In the three years after our breakup, I learned how to leave them empty. Just as I was getting used to that pattern, I moved into this villa. It's been a little over a month since then. Now, my hands are still empty, but my mind is far from it. That is the change.
I look up at the ceiling. Chaewon's dark circles were deeper than usual. I wonder if I did the right thing by not asking. Prying into things that Chaewon, a professional lawyer, chose not to voice would be rude. The first rule she had casually let slip on the night we first met: "The stairs are more comfortable. If I stay in my room, I just end up staring at the ceiling." She endures in her own way. I will respect that rule. I won't pry. But the next time she's out there, I can at least warm up another cup of milk. That is the limit of my domain.
Four in the morning. I finally fall asleep.
Seven in the morning. The doorbell rings. I open my eyes. My back aches. I slept on the sofa, lying flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. I stretch my back as I stand up. A loud pop echoes.
I open the door. Haeun is standing there, holding an eco-bag. Today's ingredients: tofu, green onions, and pork.
"Hey, did you just wake up?"
"...Yeah."
"You look like absolute shit."
Haeun hands me the eco-bag while peering inside. She looks toward the sofa. One of the cushions is flattened. And then, her eyes land on the mug sitting on the dining table. A one-second pause. Then her gaze snaps back.
"Just cook."
The same words as usual. But today, her tone is different. Shorter, drier.
I stand in the kitchen and start making tofu stew. I tear the tofu into chunks by hand, slice the pork, and chop the green onions. Chili flakes, soybean paste, garlic.
Haeun sits at the dining table in her usual posture. But today, she is silent. She was quiet yesterday too, but today she's even more tight-lipped. Ever since that night, she has been growing increasingly quiet. Her frequent visits remain the same, but her words are dwindling.
And then I notice the slippers. They are my slippers, but they're oversized. A pair of men's slippers sitting right in front of the sofa. I have no idea what Haeun might have deduced from that.
"The stew is ready."
I place the earthenware pot directly on the table. Two bowls of rice. Kimchi.
Haeun begins to eat in silence. I join her. Steam rises from the tofu stew, drifting across the table and briefly forming a hazy barrier between us.
"Hey."
"Yes?"
"You look exhausted."
"I went to bed a bit late."
"Because of your deadline?"
"...Yeah."
It's a half-truth. I submitted the work last night, and waking up in the early hours was because my body hadn't adjusted from the deadline rhythm. And then I ran into Chaewon on the stairs. I omit that part.
Haeun scoops up some stew, mashing the tofu. The steam settles for a moment. Her eyes dart once more toward the mug on the table. Within a second, they snap back to her stew. It's the practiced gaze of someone trying very hard to pretend they aren't looking.
"It's good."
"Thanks."
"I should've brought more tofu. There's barely any."
"I'm keeping your stomach light because of the barbecue tomorrow."
"...K."
She takes another bite instead of replying. Her lack of reaction to the word 'barbecue' is a reaction in itself. It's the tone of someone who still has yesterday's "K" text lingering in her head. Pretending she doesn't want to go, even though her mind is already made up.
Haeun finishes her rice and stands up. "I'm heading to the gym."
"Okay."
As she slips on her sneakers at the entryway: "Hey."
"Yes?"
"Get some sleep."
She doesn't look back as she says it. The door clicks shut.
Get some sleep. Haeun is worried about me. It's so like her. She tells me to sleep instead of asking if I'm okay. An imperative. But beneath the command lies genuine concern.
I look at the mug in the sink. The mug Chaewon had cradled in her hands. The last sip has cooled, leaving a thin film around the rim. I wash the mug. The memory of the early morning lingers on my fingertips. The brief brush of Chaewon's cold fingers when I handed it to her.
"Tonight... sleep is being especially elusive." A woman who left only those words and kept the rest locked away. She has been the exact same since the night we first met. She handles her own burdens. Still, if I hear footsteps from upstairs again in the dead of night, I'll warm up some milk. That is the limit of my domain.
After finishing the dishes, I sit down in my studio. I check my upcoming schedule. A book cover commission from a publisher in two weeks. I have plenty of time. What should I do for the next two weeks? I'm terrible at resting. When my hands are idle, my mind starts to wander. And when my mind wanders, their faces appear. Seojin's warm hands. Haeun's blunt commands. Dain's bright laughter. Chaewon's cold fingertips. The four of them.
I look out the window. The morning sunlight streams in. Friday. The weekend is coming. Maybe I should buy some meat and host a barbecue. On the rooftop. Inviting everyone.
I pick up my phone. Haedam Villa Meal Buddies. The group chat Seojin made. Near the end of our Sunday brunch together, someone had suggested, "Should we eat together every Sunday?" I had given a vague "I'll think about it," and after that day, the weekly Sunday plans had fizzled out. Even so, Seojin had gone ahead and created the group chat. Me, Seojin, Dain, and Chaewon. Haeun had been invited but never joined. Since its creation, the chat had been practically dead. Seojin would occasionally post a photo of Yuri, Dain would react with heart emoticons, and Chaewon would just leave it on read.
A group chat destined to remain buried unless I took the initiative. The creator of the chat and everyone in it knew this. So, I make the first move.
I open a private chat with Haeun to message her separately.
A conditional OK. Classic Haeun. She's joining, but she needs the excuse of not actually looking at it. Still, the key is that she's joining. Five minutes later, a notification pops up in the group chat.
Five people in a once-empty group chat. For the first time, everyone was here. I put down my phone and smile. Sunday. Barbecue. Five people. No, six, including Yuri.
I need to go grocery shopping. Beef ribs, pork belly, king prawns, wrapping vegetables, beer, charcoal. Mentally listing the items, I grab my coat. The image of grilling meat on the rooftop the day after finishing a deadline floats through my mind. It's a picture I never would have imagined a month ago.