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There’s a lot of perks for being nocturnal. It’s quiet. No people and no people means no talking and working in news department of a national channel, everyone naturally likes talking, including me. But once in a while . . . okay, maybe forever, I would love it if people could shut up and leave me alone.

It’s also dark. With the only single light comes from my computer. I like darkness. It’s a symbol of mystery. From darkness, there’s shadow. Shadow often is related to heroism, or a villain. “He comes in a shadow . . .” those tales say, or “it’s lurking in the dark . . .” for the horror. You’d never know what you could expect from the dark. Dark is awesome. Dark also makes me extra awesome. Because I can see in it.

I’m also nocturnal because I just . . . am. I can’t sleep. I don’t sleep. Even if I do, it’s just for the pretenses. To blend. When other nights I have girls sleeping over, I don’t want them questioning. Question annoys me. And it’s hypocritical for me to say, considering it’s my job to question. But my work is also a pretense. To control.

I’m not a vampire, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m also not giving you Clark Kent’s vibe, though I could be Superman if I want to. But I can’t. I’m partially evil. I also have no time to save people. I’m not busy. I’m just not caring enough. I’m really not that human.

...

...

...

Okay, I’m just not a human to begin with.

My name is Kim Jongin. I’m an alien. Our species called Oxe and we came in a bunch, travelled actively in lights to earth since almost a century ago. Our planet is a mess. Whoever escaped came here. Our real form doesn’t look like this—like human. In fact we don’t look like anything at all. We are translucent, recognized only by outlines. When we came here, we picked our bodies. We started young and we didn’t pick randomly. We came in a group and we would like to stay that way. So we chose to grow and assimilate in the bodies of kids in orphanage. Which is fitting, considering we’re also technically orphans.

It’s too long if I go into details, and I would like to mentally shut up. So I can work.

My work is; I proof-read whatever is going to be reported the next day. I pick which news is worth babbling about in the morning and which is only going to be reported in a line. I got firsthand news. It’s like I know something ahead of everyone. And that gives me power to control.

See, our species is unknown to the public. To the government, we do. There’s an agreement made by the previous batch of Oxes, that ruled out that we cannot ever showing our true form or else.

Government got something from it. There are our people working in their space agency. I don’t really know what’s the deal. It’s not my job. My job is here, to conceal public awareness as much as I can. There was a call we received one time, reporting about seeing a man moving like lightning. That’s one of us. The idiot one. But I took over the call and told the caller to go to sleep, silently implying he’s delusional. So, there. That’s my job. To control. And sometimes being an while at it.

It’s not much. But at least I’m contributing to my kind.

There’s nothing for me to contribute now though, so I work with ease. I lean back on my chair, reading a report in the dark. We can read in the dark. Our vision will turn a little blue-ish. It’s one of our things.

By the time I read the third report, I’m getting bored. I put away the report—I have all night for it—and raise my hand where I know my phone is. I give a little wave of my finger and it flies right into my hand. Another one of our things. Pretty awesome, huh?

I click on Instagram app, almost missing the small intake of breath sounding from my door. I look up. It’s the new staff. Nayoon or Nayeon something. Her table is right in front of my room. I still haven’t talk to her. I’m really not that caring.

She’s dressed in a blouse, but completely mismatched it with sweatpants. Her light brown hair is pulled into a loose ponytail. No one comes to work like that.

“What are you doing here? It’s . . .” I look at the clock on top of my screen, “almost one.”

She’s still staring blankly at me, as though trying to see if I’m real or not. If anything, I should be the one to stare at her like that. Nobody works at this time of the night. It’s like she came out of nowhere.

It’s lurking in the dark . . .                                                                                                                                 

“I work um, overtime.”

“Nobody works overtime here.”

“It seems like you do.”

“I’m different.” I’m really different.

She looks like she’s still confused. “I thought it would be just me.”

I’m annoyed now. I really don’t want to talk to anyone at this time of the night. It’s my favourite time of the day. I supposed to have this big space all by myself. “Same.”

She turns to her table with nothing more to say. I can see her perfectly well through the glasses.

It’s still dark, but when she turns on her computer, I can see her more clearly. Like she’s the only thing I can see. Which is weird, because I can see everything just fine.

I pick back the report. I’m distracted now. My routine is distracted. I glare at her; blaming. She looks up at me and blinks, three times. And then she frowns and turns back to the screen of her computer.

What’s with that?

I try to focus back on my report. I can’t. . This space is all mine at night since almost three years ago. I don’t do well with sudden changes. I hate it knowing I didn’t see it coming.

I glare at her again. I don’t hate her but I really don’t like her now. And since I’m technically one of her bosses, she should get an idea that she’s not welcomed by my hostility. That’s how I got scurry assistants to quit the job sometimes. I work best alone. Assistant maybe needed by organization. But I don’t. So I have to make them quit by themselves. At least I don’t fire them.

Her eyes are going back and forth between a document and her calculator. The tip of her tongue is between her lips. Her brows furrowed. Her face is glowing—considering her computer screen is facing her. Somehow, at this moment, she looks like she’s one of us. Lights. But she’s not. I would know in a hundred meter radius if my kind is close by. She doesn’t give me that prickly awareness. She’s totally human.

And being human is why she makes a lot of noise. Tap tap tap goes her calculator. Mmm mmm, she hums. The most annoying is; sss sss, the sound of her fingers tracing the papers.

It’s no big deal, but I’m an alien. My sense of hearing is insane.

I slam my reports on the table. I check table phone number. I don’t feel like talking, but we need to talk. She grabs the phone without looking up.

“Just hold the ing paper, you don’t have to feel it.”

She looks up. “Huh?” She flattens her palm on the paper and makes a circular motion. “You mean like this?”

She’s ing with me. “You shouldn’t be here.” I can’t help but strain the words. I sound very mean, but that’s the attitude I want to achieve.

She squints determinedly at me. And suddenly . . . suddenly, I’m nervous. I don’t know why. It’s like I’m about to be bewitched or something. “I really thought about ignoring this, Mr Kim, since it’s not my business. But you seem like you want to fight me so I have to point it out.” She pauses and for some reason, my hands get clammy. We sweat too, alright? It’s still human body we live in. “I saw your phone flies to you.” Oh . . . . . . “And now, your eyes are blue.”

I drop the phone.

I’m the one who leave right away.

I totally forgot then that when we get nervous or having too many emotions at once, our eyes showing. I felt too much last night. Nervous, angry, infuriated. I should have been calm.

As calm as her.

“Who is she?”

That’s not me who asked. That’s Chen by alien, and Jongdae by human. My kind. My brother. Not by blood because we don’t have blood (we have glossy silver fluid we called xyde that functioning better than blood), but brother. Jongdae is also our leader in our group of twenty. Twenty of us came at the same time. We grew up together twice. In both our form and human body. The concept is annoying, but that’s why we are tighter than family.

“She’s a new staff. If she doesn’t occupy the table in front of my room, I wouldn’t notice her.”

“Did she freak out?”

I recall the night. Except than her small gasp in the beginning, she’s all calm. “That’s the thing. She didn’t. She freaked me out instead.” I start pacing again. I can’t help it. I’m restless.

Jongdae exhales, sounding relief and walks to his work-out bench. There, he sets himself by his pointy fingers. When he talks, he slowly lifts his entire body to a vertical line. He’s a work-out freak. The human body needs maintenance. “Either she knows our kind or she is just . . . not caring.”

“How does she know?”

And now his legs are a wide V. “Our rules are not showing our true form and power, but Kai,” (that’s my alien name, by the way,) “our kind has been here for eighty years. We’re many and we’re generally not humble. Who’s to say none of us hasn’t show-off yet? She might be one of the human who’s aware. She’s just . . . not caring.”

Not caring. Kind of like someone I know. Oh, wait. That’s me myself.

Jongdae is now making a move like he’s walking, still suspended on his fingers. “You know what?”

I just have to say this. “You look ridiculous.”

“Because I can.” He drops his body and is now full of sweat. He chugs on his water and his towel hovers beside him, waiting to be grabbed. “Anyway, try to go to work like usual. See if she acts any different towards you.”

Chances are, it’s me who can’t act the same around her anymore.

Chances are, I’m right. Like I usually am.

“P-photocopy this. I-it’s impor-t-tant.”

“I’m not your assistant.” Nayoon or Nayeon or Nanana-I-don’t-care really has the guts to put me in my place. Her gaze shows she’s not the type to back away.

I’m nervous again. “D-Do. Just do it. Go. Now.” Just go away.

When she sends her photocopies, she stands there by my desk. Staring.

I squirm. “Uh . . . go.”

She’s expecting something. “Thank you?”

I nod, busying myself. “You’re welcome.”

She narrows her eyes.

“W-what?”

She’s not moving. I have to do something. She needs to go. She might try to shed my human body to reveal my true form. She has that full of hidden motives look.

It’s lurking in the dark . . .

“I have a phonecall. Go.”

The phone is not ringing.

“I-I’m making a phonecall—I mean.” Why of all power, I don’t have the power as measly as making a phone rings? “Go.”

She rolls her eyes. When she takes her seat again, I’m still looking at her. Next hour, I’m going to install a blind so I don’t have to look at her anymore. She scares me, and it’s supposed to be the other way round.

But it’s weird. She doesn’t ask. It’s like the revelation last night is only a figment of my imagination and I’m just freaking out for nothing.

She’s just . . . not caring.

It’s only been a day. I have to give her more times until she demands and by then, I have to get rid of her.

It’s been a week. Nobody sniffs around me and try to poke my flesh. She’s still as calm as ever. I think I’m safe.

By being safe, I’m channelling my inner dark lord. I’m evil again.

Since she’s safe, she has to quit. I don’t want to feel like I’m being scrutinized, even if she doesn’t do it. She still needs to go.

Especially now. When it’s midnight—my time of the day.

I dial her. When her phone rings, the only sound in the quiet night, it almost sounds eerie. “Where’s the report I asked you to write?”

“I’m. Not. Your. Assistant. I’m not even an assistant. I’m in finance.”

“You sit right outside my office. It’s my assistant table.”

“It’s the only available table for now. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

This is my first time seeing her losing her and raising her voice. This is so fun. I step up my game. “Now, Namu.” I think her most hated word is now so it becomes my favourite word.

“My name . . .” her grip on the phone tightens, “is Naeun.”

Honestly, I like her name. I especially like it when she says it. Don’t ask why. I hate questions. “Your name can be Queen of Muffin Universe for all I care. My report, now. Now now now.”  You would think growing up twice would make me far mature than my age. Guess not.

Her face is getting so red. I want to laugh. I want to laugh so bad. No wonder The Joker always laugh. Being evil is fun.

I don’t know what pep-talks she just had, because then she looks resolved. She sighs. “You know what, Mr Kim? The reason why I’m still putting up with your is because I really want to be friends with you and I don’t even know why because you’re awful.”

“And being friends with you is a picnic? My report. Now.”

“ you with a garbage truck.”

“Excuse me?”

She hangs up and she moves her chair until she’s in front of her computer, completely hidden from my view.

Why am I trying to peak?

And why do I feel guilty?

. . . But then I realize I’m evil and I’m not caring. So I continue my work.

​​​​​​​

By half an hour, she dials me. “Take it, you power tripper.”

“Email it.”

“I printed it, bonehead.”

“Send it in.”

“You want it, you take it, freakwit.”

Why do I keep talking to her anyway? She infuriates me.

She peaks away from her computer. And then raise the printed report in the air.

I freeze. Suddenly, I get her game. She’s testing me. She wants to see me doing it again—the telekinesis.

“Do it.” She challenges in a wicked tone. I hear various kind of her tone tonight. It was fun. Now it’s freaky.

Maybe she’s a witch.

“Who are you?”

“Who are you?”

I hate question. I shouldn’t have asked. She seems like the tit for tat kind of person.

“Do it. Come on, my hand is tired.” She looks almost bored.

I can’t show my power. I know there are no consequences, unless I’m destroying cities. “You know who I am, do you?”

“I think I am. So, do it. I don’t care, Mr Kim. Either you take this by yourself, or you’re not getting this from me because I’m not going to walk to you.”

If that so . . . I take a deep breath. With an unnecessarily dramatic slowness, I gesture my palm open. The document flies to me. Her eyes are following it. I don’t look away from her. She looked tired earlier, now she looks . . . astounded. It’s a good look.

I have the document. We stare at each other. I’m nervously waiting for questions. I know what she’s going to ask. Once she knows, she’ll ask for more. And then she’ll report it. It’s convenient. She’s working in news as well.

For ten seconds there, we just stare at each other. It’s dark. And dark is when you can’t expect anything. That is why . . .

When she smiles . . .

I feel like . . .

I’m expanding . . .

And bursting.

I don’t expect myself to like a smile, much less hers. I don’t expect myself to like anything delicate in all my evilness.

Dark do that. Dark is a mystery. Dark is . . . dangerous.

“Thank you.” She’s still smiling.

I hope this little twitch happening to the muscle of my face is not me smiling back. “Thank you.” I don’t know why I say it, but it seems like the only thing I can say.

She smiles wider.

And my face moves.

I smile too.

​​​​​​​

“She doesn’t care,” I tell Jongdae telepathically. No choice, because he’s flying. From the bottom stair, to ten steps ahead, and then twenty. For a leader, he can’t even try to look normal.

“She’s harmless.” He’s almost at the top. I don’t know why we have to go hiking if he’s doing it with no purpose to sweat.

I climb the steps two at once. I can do seventeen. I just don’t feel like showing off. Unlike someone. “How do you know? It’s always the quiet one, you know.”

“She knows you, for, what? Almost three weeks now? She still keeps it to herself.”

I nod, though I know he doesn’t look at me. Naeun annoyingly asked me to fly things every night. She asked to borrow stapler. She asked to borrow a pen. One time, she asked me to fly her around the office. It’s ridiculous. It’s . . . adorable. Everytime gaped as she watched the object flew to her, my chest hurt. When my chest hurt, I smiled. When she said thank you, I laughed. It’s crazy.

But I still don’t know her. It’s always the quiet one we can’t trust.

It’s lurking in the dark . . .

​​​​​​​

To control, I have to know. To know, I have to talk.

Talking is . Especially at nights. But I have to do it. To control.

“So, you live with your stepfather?”

“Yeah. He raised me since I was five. I feel bad for him. He married a woman who’s not capable of loving. When she died, he had to take me. He’s awesome though. The best man I know. But I’m not supposed to be his responsibility.”

I spin in my chair. We don’t talk on phone anymore. She works right in front of me, on the same table. I asked her to since last week. Don’t question me.

“Maybe he wants to. Does he have anyone?”

“He does seem like he has other kids though. But they are not his kids. Like me.”

“Seems to me he’s a nice man.”

She nods. I by making a round with my finger, spinning her chair too. She giggles and that’s all I want to hear. When her chair slows, she asks, “can I ask you something, too?”

That’s one of the thing I like about her. She always asks before asking. She doesn’t have to—seeing as I don’t—but she does anyway.

“Tit for tat.”

“Do you have parents?”

Until now, she still doesn’t ask what I am. Why I can fly and move things. Why my eyes turn blue. Why I don’t sleep.

Sometimes, I wonder if she has any idea at all. It seems like she accepts me as human who just developed power.

“No, we don’t.” One of the things I hate most about myself is; I’m honest. I never lied.

“We? You have siblings?”

“Yeah. I have nineteen.”

She blinks at me. “Um . . .”

“We grew up in orphanage.” And in a planet, one time.

She nods. She nods a lot. Everytime she does, I spin her chair. Her laughs ease the tension I have for talking, especially about personal matter.

“My turn.”

“I don’t realize we’re taking turns.”

“Tit for tat, Noah.”

“My name is Naeun.”

“Why you don’t sleep?” Now I really hate myself. Why am I asking the very same question I don’t want her to ask me?

“I sleep. I just don’t sleep much. But when I do, I prefer to sleep in daylight.”

“Why?”

“I love dark. Dark is my thing.” She keeps talking like she didn’t just take my breath away. Mine too, baby, mine too. “There’s not a lot of things at nights. But the only few are better than what daylight can offer. Mystery things . . . I discovered it when I was fifteen, if I stay awake, I can figure it all out.”

“What have you discovered so far?”

“For criminals, dark offers safety. For ghost, dark is revealing. For human, dark is scary. Fascinating, isn’t it? The different shades of dark.”

I lean forward. I want to keep listening. “What else?”

She stares at me with a meaning. She leans forward as well. Our hands almost touch on the table. “For alien, dark is awesome.”

I almost fall from my chair and that’s bull. Aliens don’t fall from chair.

I squint at her scrutinizing, but calm face. She knows.

“Who are you, Naeun?”

“It’s my turn, Jongin. Who are you?”

I’m honest, but I also feel like she hypnotized me. I’ll tell her what she wants to know without her putting too much effort in probing.

“I’m an alien.” There’s no turning back. It’s either over, or a new beginning.

She nods. I don’t spin her this time. “I know.” And then she smiles.

To say I’m freaking out is an understatement. Even though, I appear composed. “Who are you?”

“I’m just human.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. I just know about alien.”

“What else do you know?”

She shrugs, appearing dismissive. “Nah, just some.”

“Do you want to know more?”

“I don’t care, Jongin.”

But why do I have a feeling she does? She cares. I just don’t know to what extent.

She suddenly perks up. “Oh wait, I do want to know something.”

“What?”

“You really can’t fly me, or you just don’t want to?”

Of all questions. I laugh. “I will if you wear Wonder Woman costume. Or Superwoman’s.”

“You actually just want to see me wearing an underwear.”

“Well, it’s a bargain. I need entertainment too while you’re flying around.”

She grimaces but not for long, because she wants something from me. “Spin me again.”

Now that I can do for free.

While I watch her spinning, I realize the night doesn’t really get to my objective. Instead of getting to know her, she knows all about me. But she doesn’t ask questions. She doesn’t freak out. She takes it like a champ.

She’s amazing.

And it scares me.

Because the more I learn about her, I feel like I know her less.

​​​​​​​

Another month passed by. When I see Naeun in daylight, I feel restless. Even though she’s in my sight, it’s not enough. I want her in the dark. I want to be the only one who can see her.

“You should move in into my room.” I’m so restless that when I say this, I accidentally move the keyboard on her table by the jerk of my chin.

She looks up at me blankly from the paper she’s reading. “Is that you trying to be romantic?”

“This is not your table.”

“So as your table.”

“I don’t mind sharing. We could work together like every night. We could play feet under the table.”

She grimaces.

So, that doesn’t impress her. I thought girls like that.

While I’m still plotting to get my way, she leans forward and puts her chin in her palm. I like it when she does that. When it comes to her, I’m very easy to please.

“Why are you so restless? We still have all the nights.”

It’s not enough, I want to say, but smartly, this time I decide not to be honest.

​​​​​​​

“Can you freeze time?” She asks one night. I’m still typing;