I wake up earlier than usual for a Saturday morning only because there’s a strange presence next to me on my bed. It’s a familiar disoriented moment when you recognize the same old bed, the same old ceiling, but a brand-new feeling.

It’s Ayeon.

“Can we please go get breakfast? I promise not to leave you behind this time.” She’s lying next to me, on her stomach and with her face propped up on the heel of her palms. Across the room, her bed is already made.

Our apartment has two rooms, and because Huiryong and Ayeon had already been living in it together for a year before I moved in, someone had to give in and share the space. Huiryong is adamant that she won the solo room fair and square through the most intense rock-paper-scissors game of Contemporary Times. Ayeon has been more than welcoming. And by that, I mean to say sometimes she has this tendency to be invasive. But I can’t hate her because I look at her and think rainbow unicorns and sparkles.

I turn to my side and hide my face under my pillow. “What time is it?”

“Ten. Okay, so that’s not breakfast. Brunch?”

“Where’s Huiryong?”

“Getting ready. I’m sorry I left you alone last night. I’m a terrible friend.”

I’m used to it, is what I want to say. You probably had better fun without me anyway, is another thing I want to say. “It’s not a big deal. I didn’t even want to go out last night. Did you have a good time?”

She sighs so deeply—so giddily—it’s almost contagious.

“She had a really good time!” Huiryong yells from the other room. Our walls are so thin you’d think it’s impossible to keep secrets. But it’s actually really easy. If you were me.

“You know, it’s really hard for me to accept your apology when you’re like this.”

Ayeon falls over herself in a giggling fit. It’s a musical tinkle that reminds me of the bells on top of doors to flower shops or ice cream parlors. It’s impossible to hate her and I think she’s knowingly using this against the universe. I push myself off the bed and stumble onto the floor.

“You know I was calling you last night to check on you. But as usual, you weren’t answering or replying to my messages.”

This is one of the times my flagrant unresponsiveness to texts and calls work to my advantage. I didn’t even notice Ayeon’s calls until after I got home because…well because Sungjin kept talking and while I could have upped the whole not-interested vibe by being on my phone for the duration of the hour and something we were in transit…I didn’t. I don’t even know why.

“I went home and went to sleep.”

Grabbing some clothes, I head into the attached bathroom to get changed. Then I wash my face and brush my teeth. When I come out, Ayeon is still sitting on my bed. Inspecting Sungjin’s hoodie.

Okay. Don’t panic.

“Is this new?” she asks. “I’ve never seen it before.”

Most of my clothes are in neutral shades of black, blue…dark blue, dark green…maroon, dark maroon. Never grey, or white, or, god forbid, pastel anything. And Ayeon would know because Ayeon helped me unpack the day I moved in. She sat on my unmade bed and smiled at me and said, “I’ll help you with your stuff.” And it was too much too soon that I had to excuse myself for the bathroom and not-cry. I wish I had an explanation for it now, but all I have is that some days are worse than others.

“It’s nice,” she continues. She presses the fabric to her cheek and closes her eyes. “And warm. This is really warm.”

“Really?” I hold on to the door so I don’t end up doing something stupid with my hands. “You haven’t seen it before? It’s been here forever, like, at the bottom of my drawer. Should we go? I think Huiryong’s ready.” I turn towards the direction of Huiryong’s room. “Huiryong, are you done putting on your makeup?”

“It’s not makeup!” she yells back. “It’s just mascara and gloss!”

“She’s ready. Let’s go. I’m hungry. Let’s go get breakfast. We don’t do that anymore. Most important meal of the day.” Ayeon looks at me weird, and I hope it’s not because I was talking too fast or because I’m trying not to focus on the hoodie which in effect only makes me look at it even more.

“Okay? Let’s go then.”

I only breathe as soon as Ayeon gets up and leaves the hoodie behind.

I don’t remember the last time I had a proper meal with someone but breakfast with Ayeon and Huiryong seems like a step towards the right direction. It’s not like I have to do anything. I just have to sit there and listen to them talk. I can be normal enough to do that.

***

Wonpil bumps the side of his chair against mine as soon as Music Tech lab is dismissed. The room is arranged in parallel rows of computers each attached with their individual synthesizers, MIDI pads, and audio mixers. The best part about it is the swivel chairs. It’s not unheard of that when you’ve run out of ideas, the only  thing left to do is spin around until you fall over.

“Are you doing anything after class? Do you have radio?”

This morning, I received my email from Dr. Choi’s office for our weekly appointment. Her assistant, someone who signed the email as Chaeyoung, sounded too chirpy in her email, I felt no remorse moving her message to the trash. I’m supposed to meet with the good doctor this afternoon, but there really isn’t anything for us to talk about. “Not until really late tonight. What’s up?”

“I need a second opinion.”

“For what?”

“Do you know Yoon Dowoon from percussion?”

I shake my head, not recognizing the name.

“I’m gonna go see if he’s any good. Will you come with me?”

I nearly drop by backpack. “You know how I am with new people…”

“You don’t even have to talk to him!” Wonpil says, pushing our chairs back into place. “He doesn’t talk much, I’ve heard. And anyway, I’m not even going to talk to him until after I’ve heard him. Please? I just need to hear him bang around a bit and you have a really good ear.”

So we do that. The practice rooms and music labs are always fully booked all hours of all the working days, I’m impressed this guy has managed to get a slot at a decent hour. I don’t even bother signing up for a room unless absolutely necessary. The manic rush just isn’t worth it.

“Are you preparing a demo?” I ask on our way up the stairs. “Why do you need a drummer?”

“It’s a secret project,” Wonpil says, but he’s teasing and it’s as obvious in his face as it is in his voice. “I’ll tell you all about it when there’s something to tell. His practice room’s at the end of the hall on the fourth floor.”

“How did you even hear about this guy?” Drummers weren’t exactly the rockstars of the College of Music, but they had a charm of their own and people made it their business to know who’s who. I’ve never heard of Yoon Dowoon, but if Wonpil is interested in him then he must be good.

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