I need to get home. My boss. She needs this paper yesterday. What am I to do? This is so stressful. I don't understand what's going on right now. Oh, goodness! Have I forgotten a page? Oh, no . . . Please no. No. Just no. Dear Lord no.

        What was that? Creepy rustling in the bushes equals death. Immediate, painful death. Just death. So why am I going to investigate?

        I put down my file and bag. A second red flag shoots up. I take a step toward the bush. Third flag. I take two more steps. Fourth. It was probably just a caught rabbit in the bush. I put my hand on one of the branches and push it to the side. A pair of large, round eyes stare up at me, full of fear and desperation. A pair of human eyes.

        I trace the lines of the gaunt, pale face without touching them. High, sharp cheekbones; full lips; a prominent hook in the nose; a sharp, well-defined chin. The person looks like an alien. A very beautiful alien.

        "Good evening," I say. People sure do have a strange way of acting totally calm in strange situations.

        The person blinks. "Good evening," the person says. His voice is low and smooth, and his words slide from his tongue easily, almost slurred together. I can almost feel the vibrations in my gut, as if I were laying on his chest as he spoke. He clutches a large bag to his chest.

        "What's in the bag?" I ask politely. He moves his head back in surprise.

        "It's very special to me. It's my most prized possession." He holds the bag even closer. His thin arms are covered by an equally thin jacket. He looks cold.

        "That looks like quite a squeeze into that small space, especially with your bag. Do you want out?"

        He nods slowly, turning around and crawling out of the bush on the other side. I offer to hold his bag, but he politely declines. I help him brush the dirt and sticks from his clothes. He straightens up to his full height, a whole head and a half taller than I. He pulls his phone from his pocket and turns it on, then back off.

        "Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?" I ask.

        He sighs. "Uh, no." He slides his phone back into his jeans pocket.

        I move my mouth for a bit, choosing my words carefully. "My dad owns an apartment company, and I live in one of the buildings. I can let you stay in one of the apartments until you get settled."

        "You would do that?" he asks, completely surprised. "You wouldn't get in trouble?"

        "Uh, yeah," I nod, holding my head. "I mean no. Wait; let me think about this. Ok: I can let you stay in one of the apartments, and I won't get in trouble. Yeah. That's what I meant. I'm sorry; I'm really tired today." I remember I had dropped my things on the ground and gather them quickly. "Would you mind riding with me over there?"

        "You trust me?" I look up at him, most likely pulling some weird face in my confusion.

        "What do you mean? Should I not?"

       "It's just . . . You don't seem leery of me at all, given my circumstance. Why?"

       "My conscience isn't telling me to run away from you, so it's ok." It's true. Anyone else and my heart would be beating like crazy and I would feel sick to my stomach. "God says that you're ok. I trust his judgement."

        He smiles. "He is certainly the best judge of character."

        I walk back to my car, tugging nervously on my pigtail. Why do I even wear my hair like this? I'm twenty-three. I unlock the door for him, get in, put on my seatbelt, and drive home. I space out, paying just enough attention to the road so I don't crash. I put him as far as I can from my mind. This has been a strange evening.

        "Is this it?" he asks. I look up, realizing that I had stopped the car in front of my apartment building.

        I tuck my bottom lip in between my teeth. "Uh, yeah," I laugh lightly. "This is it."

        "Miss? Are you all right?" I don't answer. What's wrong with me? He unfastens my seatbelt, unlocks the doors, gets out, opens my door, turns off the car and puts my keys in my hand, helps me out of the car by my arm, and hands me my files. I lock the car after he shuts the doors. I walk to my door and open it. I dig in my pocket for the key to the empty apartment.

        "Where is it?" I mutter. "Do I still have it? Oh, no . . ." I squint into my pocket, thinking it will help me find the key. It doesn't. My hand finds it for my eyes and I get my chance to pull it out triumphantly. 

        "Here it is!" I announce. He smiles, readjusting the bag on his shoulders. "I think the one across from me and down the hall a short way is open. It's a bit messy, but nothing I can't fix in--" The key doesn't go to that one.  I try the other seven apartments, and the key finally works. It works in the one to the immediate left of my house. Well.

       "I guess it's this one," I say casually, trying to play off my confusion and calm my shot nerves. Well.

        This apartment is cleaned immaculately, free of a tenant, and spacious yet comfy. I let him in and let him walk around to inspect it. I find myself watching him walk: straight back, pelvis slightly tucked under, knees never fully straightening with each advancing footfall, chin lifted to place the head in a level position, steps taken barely noticeably pigeon-toed, arms swinging lightly. He walks like a model. Can he be? He turns from the doorway of the bathroom, a large, pale hand on the frame. His sharp eyes are soft; they gaze into mine, questioning, probing. What am I doing? They ask why I'm staring at him.

        "Is everything to your liking?" I ask.

        He nods. "Yes, thank you." He walks past, placing his bag on the floor in front of the couch. He bows a full ninety degrees. "Thank you for helping me, miss."

        "Ah, it's nothing, really. I'm glad I could-- Ehehehehehehe . . . Awwww!" He cuts me off, taking my hand in both his own and kissing it, hence the nervous giggling.

        His lips linger over my hand, his eyes holding contact with mine again. His lips are soft like a newborn's skin, the only splash of color in his pale skin save for the rosy wind in his cheeks. He lets my hand go, carefully guiding it down to my side. I pretend to be interested in my chipping purple toenail polish. He tugs on my pigtails, cranking them like dirtbike handlebars.

        "Vroom vroom," he says. The tall man standing before me becomes a toddler playing with a noona's hair. I laugh and he smiles sweetly.

        "May I get your name?" he asks.

        "Lee Chaerin," I nod.

        "Lee Hyuksoo. Nice to meet you, Miss Lee Chaerin."

        "Likewise, Mr. Lee Hyuksoo." We bow to each other. I remember something.

        "May I have your number? You know: in case you need anything or run into any trouble." I hand him my phone for him to type his number in, and he hands it back to me. "I'm also right next door. I didn't do that on purpose! I promise you I didn't!"

        "It's all right!" he laughs. "Again, thank you for your help."

        "Anytime! Rest well!" I awkwardly strike a Hwaiting pose and he copies my action.

         "Rest well, respected benefactress!" he announces loudly.

        I leave with a weird smile on my face. He's pretty cool. My text alert gave me a small scare. My dad. I ignore it for a moment, firing a quick text to Lee Hyuksoo.

        It reads as follows: It's Lee Chaerin. I am texting you so that you can get my number. If you have any concerns, please do not hesitate to call me.

        He responds quickly: I'm going to add you as a contact.

        Are you hungry? I can bring some food over in a few minutes. Hang tight for a while.

        I put together enough food for a few days for him and run it to his room. I knock on the door and hand him the storage container full of food. He takes it from me gratefully, we exchange bows, goodnights, and I shut the door and go back to my own apartment. I flop down on my couch, nearly missing the seat. I lay there for a minute, my head hanging over the arm, left leg on the floor. This hurts my back. I let myself slide to the floor and get up from there. I put my left knee on the floor to get up and--

        "Great googly moggly!" I scream. "That is more than a little bit painful! Gol-ly!" I had tripped earlier today, landed square on my knee, and slid across the floor on my belly a few feet. I couldn't help but laugh at my clumsy action. Now it just hurts. Well, at least it's Friday! Maybe they'll forget over the weekend. Hopefully . . . ?

        "I'm hungry," I say to no one in particular. "I did miss lunch today . . . I should eat." I pick myself off the floor, avoiding my swollen knee, fix myself a quick dinner, and eat slowly at my small kitchen bar.

        I wonder how he's doing. He looked really tired. He might need to go to the store for food and other things. Should I tell him now, or wait until tomorrow? It's late, but not too late for the stores to be closed.

        Eh, I'd better wait. I don't want to scare him or anything. I'll just let him call me if wants any more of my lame help.

        I shake my head and clean up after myself.

        What a weird day.

        I close my eyes for a moment, but loud chimes send me dashing across my apartment to my phone.

        "H-h-hello?" I stammer, more than a little bit flustered 

        "Baby!"

        "Appa! How are you?"

        "Better than ever, my darling girl!" I can hear my father's smile on the other line. "I feel . . . a disturbance. There's someone in your apartment building."

        "Wow! You're good!"

        "I haven't lost it, have I? Whatever 'it' was, I suppose."

        We chuckle at his goofiness.

        "What's the situation like?" he asks.

        "I'm lending them the house for a day or two, just until they get really settled."

        "That's why I gave you the spare key. God told me to give it to you when you first moved in. I can't believe you wanted to live somewhere associated with me. You were always so independent, but you weren't crazy about it. I was shocked, honestly."

        "Even with my independent upbringing, my heart wouldn't let me be too far away from you or Umma."

        "I'm ruffling your hair through the phone, Chaerin-ah."

        "Appa," I fake whine.

        "Sorry, sweetie!" he apologizes. "Take good care of him, by the way."

        My heart is in my throat, as still and as solid and alive in death as a glacier. How did he know that? "Excuse me?" My voice cracks. My blood is running from my heart to my brain as fast as it can.

        "Your phone accidentally called me while you were talking to him," he explains.

        "Oh." I slump in the chair, relieved but still quite embarrassed. "What did you hear?"

        "It was just a few seconds, really. You were wishing each other good night. He sounds really cute. He speaks like a child almost."

        "Oh," I repeat. I don't know how to respond! Should I even? Oh.

        He laughs, trying to fill the silence that has fallen between us.

        "I think it's because I dropped it and it cracked," I say tentatively. 

        "What? Already?

        "In my defense, someone ran into me really quickly and knocked it out of my hand while I was checking my texts."

        "So, is the screen malfunctioning?"

        "Yeah."

        "Ah, yikes. Be careful with that phone!"

        "I'm glad it just called you instead of my boss or something."

        "No kidding! Well, dearest, I'd better let you go. Enjoy the rest of your night, and rest well over the weekend, all right?"

        "Yes, thank you. I will. You, too, Daddy. Thank you for calling me. I love you."

        "I love you, too."

        He makes a little kissy noise and hangs up. I smile to myself. If I can't hug him, I at least want to hear his voice.

        I crawl into bed finally, completing my nightly routine.

        What a weird day.