Like a phone low on battery, for hours and hours I lay in bed, curled up and unmoving.

A slight throbbing in the head made me stir, until I awoke to the rays of sunlight that pierced through the partition of my curtains. Groaning, I fought my way through the persistent lethargy and wriggled out of the blanket, feeling a little more groggy and exhausted than usual.

For how long was I asleep?

My hand reached over the side table for a bottle of water, and I gulped it down and down, my head reeling as the cold liquid coursed down my parched throat. I walked across the room and drew the curtains back. A breeze found its way in as the windows were thrown open, and my brain whirred through thoughts. 

I’m lukewarm...—

As I swallowed the last of the water, my handphone suddenly lit up, showing a bunch of overlooked reminders and notifications that filled up the lock screen. I scrolled down most reminders that told me to never skip my medication and review whatever language lesson I'd left off months ago, and was about to swipe everything left when one particular message caught my attention.

I bit the inside of my lips.

Hello. This is Kim Seokjin.

I tapped on the message, which directed me to my inbox. The timestamp read yesterday, 09.11 AM, the morning after we'd bidden goodbye to each other. It was then that I realised for how long I had escaped from the harsh reality, my dear heart wishing I would have always remained—because despite the illusory nature of it all everything at least had felt a little better and I had not been such a selfish, all-around messed-up being.

The absence of response prompted another message, sent a few hours after the first.

The sky is so clear it’s a waste not to go outside. Would you care to show me around?

I bit down harder. I stared at the text long enough the characters jumbled up and appeared to make no sense anymore, but it was just my mind zoning in and out of focus—the switch finally breaking when a noisy flock of seagulls flew against the light blue sky and scattered specks of faint shadows.

”Do you know what you are?”

I could almost hear the long-forgotten yell, the unbridled fury snapping me back to the moment.

I turned the screen back on in the end, then unlocked it and tapped on the text box. The keyboard popped up, and with trembling fingers I began to type a reply. I typed a new message, then deleted everything, again and again the cycle repeated to the point where my fingers frantically pressed on everything and the inbox view suddenly shifted to a call screen.

And that was when I lost it.

I screamed at the top of my lungs although no sound was coming out, gripping at the phone so tightly I hoped it'd crack. I felt so angry and frustrated at the incessant dread that had anchored itself in my life, transient yet ever omnipresent—constantly plaguing the sense.

In the seconds that seemed to last a lifetime, the call rang several times... and then there was a click.

I could hear my voice shake. “Hi.”

“Seungwon-sshi,” said a voice I recognised as his, “Hi.”

The stiffness of his tone suggested weariness, but maybe I overthought this—maybe it's my mind playing the usual tricks. I had to rely on my instincts more, and *really try* to stop the need to second-guess, triple-guess what was really going on with what I thought was going on.

But I could make out the restrained manner in which he was speaking, and almost picture him talking through clenched teeth at the other end of the line, and it unnerved me.

“You’re not calling me now to apologize, are you?”

My mouth felt dry, and my voice was barely a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be.” His answer was clear and immediate. A heavy silence ensued, and unsure of what to say I waited with bated breath instead. He continued then. “It’s alright, really. You probably needed to rest—”

“No, it wasn’t.” I cut him off quite abruptly, because otherwise I’d hate myself even more for allowing him to compensate—to always be the one tolerating my faults and inadequacy. “And I’m very sorry it took me so long to respond...”

I choked on my words, finding it difficult articulating them for a variety of reasons.

“Believe me, it’s alright.” He consoled me. “I mean, there’s always another time. Like now.”

I furrowed my eyebrows. “Now?”

“I mean, obviously not this very instance.”

“In an hour, then?” My reply was out before I had the chance to think it through. Another pause, but this time far more bearable, until he was merciful enough to break the stillness.

“Yeah, sure.” He said with a low chuckle, and a tinge of cheerfulness was audible. “In an hour, then.”

The faintest trace of his laughter remained even as an empty silence followed shortly afterward, and as the light from the screen went out, I knew deep down that voice would ultimately bring on a violent storm.

*

Seokjin jogged towards me, a black scarf wrapped high above his neck.

“I didn't realise this was the entrance!”

He looked around, seeming a little lost.

“Lucky you're with a local.” I said with a strange aftertaste. He grinned from ear to ear, his face pale, his round eyeglasses fogged up in the chilly weather. I reached into my pocket to take out my purse, but Seokjin beat me to it with a few notes in hand, which he exchanged with tickets to the museum.

“I guess I am.”

“Why Ojukheon, though?”

I asked that not out of curiosity, because even though it felt atypical for a first-time tourist to visit the tranquil museum instead of other more well-known attractions that dotted around the coastline, typicality’s ultimately just a construct. I felt somewhat nervous and under-equipped, so I just blurted out whatever had come to mind.

“Because I feel obliged to learn about our country’s invaluable history.” He said. We walked past the gates and proceeded down the way that led to the statue of Yulgok Yi I.

“Of course you do.”

“I mean, seriously,” Seokjin took out his wallet to put the stubs inside, a quirk I’d noticed from our previous encounter, “One day I just happened to look through the contents and it crossed my mind that Ojukheon House was the birthplace of these two esteemed figures—you know?”

I gave him an I-know-it-all-too-well look, and together we walked through the curved concrete pathways that encircled the statue. Snow-covered zelkova and pine trees lined the road, at the end of which was a spacious stone courtyard with stairs that went to the main gate. Side by side, hands stuffed deep inside our coat pockets, we climbed the steps quietly, marvelling at th