2008

Jongdae wouldn’t really say he “woke up.” I mean, he figures that’s what had to have happened, but he never really actually awoke. He just sort of…appeared?

                Occurred?

                Started existing?

                He doesn’t know, but the last memory he has (the only memory, if he thinks of it) is of standing on some street in some city that makes something pull at his thoughts but he has no memories of this place. Just a vague nagging that he should.

                But he doesn’t.

                So he frowns, looking down at himself. He’s dressed in black dress pants and a bright blue collared shirt. He finds it a bit odd he’s in such nice clothes while standing on some street so early in the morning, but he’s got other problems. When he reaches into his pants pocket he finds a wallet, with money and an ID that reads Kim Jongdae, DOB: March 6, 1985.

                85, huh? he thinks, surprisingly calm. So that makes me… but he doesn’t know, because he doesn’t know what year it is now.

                “Excuse me, what’s today’s date?” he asks the nearest person. There are few people out, and the sun is just peaking up into the sky, so he figures it’s very early.

                “It’s the 12^th of November,” the woman tells him, giving him a small smile and nod.

                “And…what…what year is it?” Jongdae presses.

                “The year?” the woman asks, now looking at Jongdae a little odd. “It’s 2008,” she informs him, speaking a bit slowly.

                “Ah, thanks,” Jongdae nods, quickly doing mental math in his head.

                23. I guess I’m 23, he finally realizes. He’s not quite sure what to do with that information, though.

                When he tucks his wallet back into his back pocket he’s startled to feel something else in there. He pulls the small slip of paper out of his pocket, his eyebrows rising when he realizes it’s a phone number.

                “Who the hell is A...Reum?” he mumbles softly, sounding out he name written in small, neat letters.

*

                “Areum, Areum.”

                Areum winces when she hears her name, squinting one eye open to look at her friend.  “What?” she asks, her voice hoarse and her head pounding.

                Her friend laughs loudly, making her head hurt more. “Geez and to think you were such a light drinker before.”

                A small smile slipped onto Areum’s face. “Just had to build a tolerance,” she mumbles sleepily.

                “Yeah, whatever,” her friend agrees, rolling her eyes.

                The night before they had celebrated a friend’s birthday. They had done the usual, met at someone’s apartment, went to a club, danced the night away. Areum hardly ever drank but at times like that she liked to let loose and blow money on bitter alcohol.

                “Anyways,” her friend continues, throwing Areum’s purse at her head. “Let’s go get some advil, you’re my ride home and I have to get to work soon.”

                Areum nods, yawning and getting up slowly, steadying herself on a desk as she rises. “Okay, okay,” she mutters.  “Let’s get breakfast while we’re out, too. Something to wash out my systems.”

                “Yeah, sounds good.”

                They gather their things from around their friend’s apartment before quietly exiting the home, making sure the door is locked on their way out. Areum instantly puts her sunglasses on while she drives to find a drug store and something to eat. She chats with her friend idly, pulling into a row of stores in Downtown Seoul.

                “Hyoji went home with someone else,” her friend explained, yawning halfway through the story. “Some foreigner. She probably won’t go to work today.”

                Areum laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me at all,” she commented dryly as they exited the car. Suddenly, her phone is buzzing in her pocket, and with a start she pulls it out. “I think this is a payphone number,” Areum murmurs as she looks at the screen.

Her friend shrugs. “Pick it up. Might be Hyoji asking for a ride if her foreigner friend turns out to be a thief,” she reasons with a laugh.

“Oh don’t even joke about that,” Areum scolds, but she’s smiling herself as she accepts the phone call with a slide of her finger. “Mm hello?”

                “Hi. Er- Is this…um Areum?”

                Areum frowns at the caller. It’s not a voice that she recognizes yet it’s somewhat…familiar. Or maybe she’s just deluding herself into thinking that the hesitantly smooth, attractive voice on the phone is someone she knows.  “Yeah, I’m Areum. Who is this?”

                “Well…my name is…” there’s a slight pause and Areum can hear small sounds on the other end. “Uh Jongdae. I’m Jongdae.”

                “Ookay…”

                “Well, you gave me your phone number. I-I think.”

                Areum frowned. Despite frequenting clubs more often in the past few months than before she wasn’t really one to just hand out her number. And she can’t remember giving it to anyone that hadn’t already contacted her within the past few weeks… “I’m sorry I think you may have the wrong person.”

                “Well... I don’t…think so. Who are you?”

                “Sorry, I really don’t remember giving anyone my number…” her friend in snickering in the background and Areum sends her a glare.

                “It- it might have been a while ago!” Jongdae hurries to explain. So maybe this is just some random girl, but she’s the only clue he has about the memories that don’t exist to him.

                Vaguely Areum remembers her friend’s last birthday at a different club, a stranger that approached her twice in one day and a hurried exchange of numbers before she was dragged off. Her cheeks flush at the embarrassment she felt at never receiving a call. “Sorry,” she spits out hurriedly. “I don’t think so,” and she hangs up quickly, shoving her phone back into her bag.

                “And what was that about?” her friend asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

                Areum crinkles her nose at her. “Nothing,” she replies shortly, walking into a little grocery store.

                “So who’d you give your number out to, huh?”

                “No one! It was a wrong number. Just…some weird guy that got his numbers mixed up,” Areum hurries to explain, not wanting to address the subject any further.

                Her friend laughs, obviously not believing her. “Ookay but that is a story I want to hear eventually…”

                “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Areum insists with a final shake of her head.

*

                Jongdae frowns down at the sticky note in his hand, finally hanging up the payphone with a distasteful wrinkle of his nose.  “Great. Now what am I supposed to do?”’

                He sighs as he walks away from the payphone, racking his brain for any other memories he has. But he truly can’t think of anything, and his head is starting to hurt.

                “Weell I might as well find something more comfortable to wear,” he finally decides aloud as he walks by a row of colorful stores. But as much as he’d like to get into jeans a tshirt he’s pretty hungry, too. Spotting a bakery on the other side of the street he decides the clothes can wait and he might as well make use of the money in his wallet.

*

                “Was it worth it?” Joonmyun’s partner asks abruptly, tearing his attention away from the screen. “To lose almost everything just to see 6930278 get shut down by 6830192. Over the phone no less?”

                Joonmyun shrugs. He glances at the screen. “Just wait,” he murmurs softly, a smile lingering on his lips. “She’ll be happy yet.”

*

                It’s nighttime, and Jongdae has a strange feeling that this is the end. That when he wakes up next it’ll be in the same confused, lost state he was in this morning. The post-it note is still in his pants pocket (now fitted jeans instead of dress pants), and he pulls it out again.

                “She has to be something…to mean something…” Jongdae can’t shake the feeling.

                But the post-it note does spark an idea, and he hurries into the department store at the end of the block he’s standing at.

                He’s forced to wander the store, searching for the right area, until he finally spots an employee.

“Excuse me!” Jongdae calls, and the man stops, turning around with a smile. “Do you have any small pads of paper?” he asks. “Something that can fit in my pocket?”