Morning Court
Monday morning, 6:30 AM. I opened the front door holding a bag of trash. I was about to take down the recycling bags I’d tied up last night to the collection bin on the first floor, taking advantage of the fact that I’d woken up early. Normally, I took them down around seven before Haeun arrived, but today, my alarm had gone off by mistake at five-thirty, waking me up.
The hallway. The fluorescent lights flickered on. It was a quiet hour when only the sound of dragging slippers could be heard. I took a couple of steps toward the stairs, then froze. Right in the middle of the staircase leading down from the third floor to the second, Chaewon was standing there.
She didn't look like her usual self. She wore a black suit jacket and a crisp white blouse, her hair tied back neatly. In one hand, she held a briefcase; in the other, a single black pump. She was frozen in the middle of putting it on. It was the attire of someone heading to court. At six-thirty in the morning, was she leaving early?
"…Siu," Chaewon spotted me first. Her face registered surprise, her usual calm expression catching up a beat too late.
"Are you heading to work at this hour?"
"Yes. I have a court appearance. I need to leave before seven."
"What about breakfast?" I asked out of habit, immediately regretting it. Up until now, the unspoken rule with Chaewon was to never pry. If she didn't volunteer the information, don't ask.
Chaewon lowered her gaze briefly. "…Not yet." Her reply was short. But very subtly, she lingered for a beat longer in the exact spot where she would normally have cut things off with a polite, "I'm fine." I recognized that as her signal.
"It'll only take five minutes. Just a slice of toast," I offered first.
Chaewon hesitated. One second. Two seconds. Normally, this was the window where she would have declined. She was the type of person who would have politely refused, stepped back into her own apartment for a moment, and then gone to work on an empty stomach.
"…Would you mind?" she said instead. It wasn't common for her to ask for favors. She knew it, too—that she was taking a step forward.
"Come on in." I set the trash bag back down next to the entryway.
Chaewon followed me inside and sat at the dining table. Her posture was perfectly straight. Back erect, legs together, hands resting on her knees. It was the posture of someone preparing for court—already in battle mode. She was different from her usual self. It was hard to believe she was the same person who had sat on the stairs in the middle of the night, accepting a glass of milk.
I was still in my pajamas—gray sweatpants and a worn-out t-shirt. My hair was uncombed, and my eyes were puffy. I had been up until dawn last night as well. Chaewon looked at me for a second, then averted her gaze.
"Is warm milk alright? I have barley tea, too."
"…Milk, please."
I took out some bread and popped it into the toaster. It was bread I’d bought yesterday. The jam was strawberry, straight from the fridge. "Chaewon, would you like some butter on it as well?"
"…Yes, please."
I poured milk into a small pot and set it over low heat. I heated it just until tiny bubbles began to form at the edges; boiling it too much would give it an unpleasant, fishy smell. Sitting at the table, Chaewon watched the steam rise. Her back remained straight, but her shoulders dropped slightly. The rising steam was melting away her tension.
The toast popped up. I spread the butter, added a dollop of strawberry jam, and placed it on a plate. Then, I poured the warm milk into a mug and set it all down in front of her.
"Thank you." Chaewon took a sip of the milk. She closed her eyes for two seconds, then opened them. "…It's warm."
"I'm glad."
Chaewon began to eat the toast, cutting it into small, neat pieces with a fork and knife. She was the first person I'd ever seen eat toast with utensils.
I brewed some pour-over coffee, poured myself a cup, and sat across from her. Two people at the table. One with milk, one with coffee. The morning sun was still weak; the light at six-thirty was faint. The light filtering through the window illuminated half of Chaewon's face. Shadows fell across her white blouse. The sharp lines of her jacket lapels stood out. A stray strand of hair that had escaped her neat ponytail clung to her temple.
"What kind of case is it today?"
"A civil appeal. I'm representing the plaintiff," Chaewon said, cutting her toast. "We lost the first trial, so we absolutely have to win the appeal."
"You must be under a lot of pressure."
"…Yes." Chaewon didn't elaborate further. It was client information, so it wasn't something she could casually discuss. I simply nodded to show I understood.
"You're a bit different, Siu."
"In what way?"
"You don't pry." Chaewon cupped the mug with both hands. "When people find out I'm a lawyer, they usually ask a lot of questions. What kind of cases do I handle, who are my clients, how much are my fees... But you never cross that line."
"I figure if you don't bring up your clients, it's not my place to ask. I was just asking Chaewon, not the lawyer."
Chaewon looked at me. Straight on. Beneath her cool exterior, something wavered. For a split second, her eyes trembled.
"…Thank you." Her voice was low, laced with suppressed emotion. That was her way.
Silence fell between us. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but a quiet morning stillness filled with the aroma of coffee and buttered toast. A quiet moment of two people sitting at the same table, sipping their drinks.
"Siu."
"Yes?"
"This is nice."
"This?"
"Eating breakfast with someone." Chaewon cradled the mug in both hands. "I've eaten alone for a very long time. So this... feels unfamiliar."
"I used to eat alone, too."
"And now?"
"Now..." I looked at the table. An island dining table that could seat four. The spot where Haeun usually sat. The spot where Seojin sat. The spot where Dain sat. And the spot where Chaewon was sitting now. "Now, I eat with others quite often."
Chaewon nodded. Her eyes looked as though she wanted to say more, but she swallowed her words. She always swallowed them. She was the kind of person who only let out thirty percent of what she actually wanted to say.
Time ticked by. Seven o'clock. Chaewon stood up. "I should get going."
"Alright."
Chaewon adjusted her jacket and buttoned the top of her blouse. She stood before the mirror to check her hair, then picked up her briefcase. The final checks of someone heading to court. I followed her to the entryway.
Chaewon slipped on her shoes—black pumps with high heels. Adding heels to her already tall 172-centimeter frame made her nearly 180 centimeters tall. She stood up and looked at me. With her shoes on, her eyes were higher than mine.
Chaewon reached for the very top button of her blouse—the one right below her throat. It was unbuttoned. She tried to fasten it by feel, without looking in the mirror. Her fingers fumbled with the button. At that exact moment, our eyes met.
Her fingers rested on the button just below her neck. Through the gap in her blouse, her collarbones were visible—long, elegant, and sharp. Below them, the fabric parted slightly, revealing a glimpse of pale, fair skin.
Chaewon froze. Her fingers remained still on the button, our eyes locked. One second. Two seconds. Her earlobes flushed a deep red, rapidly. Then, she lowered her gaze and fastened the button securely. The blouse rose to her throat, hiding her collarbones from view.
"Excuse me." Chaewon's voice was slightly higher than usual, up half an octave from her normally low, calm tone.
"Oh, no. It's fine."
"..." Chaewon adjusted her grip on her briefcase. She averted her eyes, looking toward the door. "Thank you for today. For the milk and the toast."
"Come by again. Whenever you want breakfast."
Chaewon opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. One step, two steps, then she stopped. Without turning around, she spoke. "Siu."
"Yes?"
"I didn't know... hearing someone say 'come by again' before going to work would feel like this."
Leaving those words behind, she walked up the stairs. The click of her heels faded as she moved from the second floor to the third. I heard the door to room 301 open and close. A brief silence. Then, the door opened again, and the sound of her heels descended the stairs. First floor. Front entrance. The sound of her leaving the villa.
I closed the door and walked back to the table. Chaewon's mug was still there, half-filled with milk. There was no lipstick mark on the rim. Perhaps she didn't wear lipstick before work. Or maybe she preferred a more natural look before heading to court.
As I washed the mug, the scene from earlier replayed in my mind. The button on her blouse. Her collarbones. Our eyes meeting. Her flushed earlobes. That exact moment. I didn't know what Chaewon had felt, but I knew what I had felt.
I had stared at her collarbones. I had seen the bare skin peeking through her blouse. And my heart had raced. I shouldn't be doing this. Chaewon was the person reviewing my contracts. She was the neighbor upstairs whom I occasionally ran into on the stairs in the dead of night. She was the person who had once slept on my sofa for two hours on a rainy night. Injecting "I stared at her collarbones" into that relationship felt like it would break something.
I dried the mug and placed it on a towel. It was just before seven. Since I'd woken up earlier than usual, I had a bit of free time. I sat at my desk and turned on my tablet. Opening the background rough sketch I'd been working on yesterday, I drew the exterior wall of a building. Straight lines. Clean, straight lines. Yet, in my mind, the line of Chaewon's collarbones lingered. A curve.
Seven o'clock. The doorbell rang. It was Haeun, carrying an eco-bag filled with carrots, onions, and eggs.
"Hey. You're up early."
"Chaewon stopped by this morning."
Haeun's eyebrow twitched upward. Just a millimeter, but I caught that millimeter. "Chaewon? Upstairs?"
"Yeah, to grab some toast before heading to court."
"..." Haeun set her eco-bag on the table and sat down, crossing her arms. "Make food."
"Sure."
"Omurice today."
"Omurice??"
"Yeah. Make it."
I took some leftover rice from the fridge. I finely chopped the onions, minced the carrots, and whipped up some fried rice. Then, I beat some eggs, fried them into a thin omelet, and draped it over the rice, finishing it off with a drizzle of ketchup. I served it to Haeun.
Haeun sliced into the omurice with her spoon and took a bite. "It's good."
"..."
"What are you looking at?"
"Nothing."
"You were looking."
"I wasn't."
It was déjà vu—this exact conversational pattern. Haeun spoke as she ate. "Hey."
"Yeah?"
"Is having women drift in and out of your place in the morning a routine now?"
"It's not a routine. Chaewon just occasionally—"
"Seojin comes over, Dain comes over, and now Chaewon too." Haeun set her spoon down and looked at me. "You're quite popular."
I couldn't tell if there was any emotion behind her words. Her voice was as dry as usual, but "popular" wasn't a word I ever expected to hear from Haeun.
"I'm just cooking for them."
"Cooking." Haeun snorted. "Is that all it takes?"
"What?"
Haeun stood up, placed her empty plate in the sink, drank a glass of water, and turned around. "I'm heading to the gym."
"Alright."
"Don't be late for our ten o'clock PT session."
"…Got it."
Today was Monday. The usual Monday-Wednesday-Friday PT schedule remained unchanged. Life went on as normal. However, her back was a bit stiffer than usual as she walked away—the back of someone who had just tossed out the words "You're quite popular." It was a sign that she was highly conscious of what she had just said.
Haeun left, the door clicking shut behind her. I sat down at the empty table. This morning, Chaewon had come by for warm milk, and Haeun had come by for omurice. The only thing connecting the two was this dining table. Yet, the events unfolding around this table were growing increasingly heavy. Hands brushing beneath the table. Blouse buttons. That single remark: "You're quite popular."
As I washed the dishes, I looked out the window. It was spring. The cherry blossoms had already fallen, and the leaves were deepening in color. Late spring. The shadows cast by the roadside trees were growing darker. A season where four different women took turns sitting at my breakfast table. What would be left once this season ended? I didn't know.
Rinsing the sponge, I tried to organize my thoughts. Chaewon and Haeun had sat at the exact same table just an hour apart. They had been together at the rooftop barbecue, and they had sat across from each other during Sunday brunch. But this was the first time they had sat here individually, one after the other. Their tones were polar opposites. Chaewon maintained a distance of formality, while Haeun kept a distance of bluntness. Yet, both were people who valued their distance. If they had a commonality, that was it. And both had taken a single step toward me across that distance. That was the dangerous part. If they hadn't stepped in at all, they would just be neighbors. If they had taken two steps, things would have been settled. Having them take just one step each was the most complicated scenario of all.
Nine o'clock in the evening. A message arrived.
“If that's all it takes, I can make it for you anytime.” Even though I was the one who said it, the words felt heavy. A warm drink every morning, anytime. A routine where Chaewon came downstairs every morning to drink milk, eat toast, and head to court. That was practically— No. I stopped myself.
The moment our eyes met as she buttoned her blouse this morning. Her flushed earlobes. My racing heart. And Haeun's "You're quite popular." I pressed a hand to my forehead. Things were getting complicated. And the real problem was that the speed at which they were complicating was accelerating.
Right before I moved here, there was no one. Even just two weeks ago, the four of them were like four parallel lines drawn far apart. This morning, two of those lines had overlapped and unraveled at the exact same table, just hours apart. What would happen next week? I had no idea.
But my phone didn't vibrate again. At least, not tonight. And the fact that I couldn't tell whether that brought me relief or disappointment was yet another problem.
On the table, the spot where Chaewon's empty mug had rested now overlapped with where Haeun's empty plate had been. Different people's empty dishes, placed in the exact same spot at different times. A time difference. That was the key. What would happen if they sat there at the same time?
It would be one thing if it were a crowded gathering, like the rooftop barbecue. Chaewon and Haeun had shared a table then, too, but that was outdoors, surrounded by people, and Dain had kept the atmosphere light. But what if Chaewon came by tomorrow at dawn, and Haeun arrived at seven, and their visits overlapped? What would happen then?
Let's not think about it. There was no point in trying to find answers to hypothetical scenarios. I would deal with it when the time came. That was the most I could do.
I went into my bedroom, turned off the lights, and lay down. The ceiling was dark. When I closed my eyes, I saw Chaewon's collarbones; when I opened them, I saw the afterimage of the fluorescent lights. It was strange how both were soft, elegant curves.
A month ago, the sound of someone knocking on my door would have instantly irritated me. Now, it felt natural. The pace of change was fast, and it carried weight. It was heavy, but I didn't dislike it.