Japan comes around in the summer, the year at its hottest, the sun its brightest. The cherryblossoms turn and fall in the gentle wind like pink confetti and the maples are so very orange in the sundappled light and there's the smell of lavender and lemongrass in the air. Seulgi stands by the hotel balcony overlooking the streets beyond and squints in the light. Suzuka race track is about two miles away. She can hear a couple of the cars warming up even from there, distant cracks broken in the otherwise quiet morning. She checks her watch. Three hours until free practice begins. Enough time to try and find Irene.

It's a stupid and childish and frankly quite an obsessive thought but it's been eating away at her. Even Wendy's mentioned it. In Germany and France Irene was gone before Seulgi got back to the garage. In Russia and Azerbaijan she couldn't find her anywhere at the hotel. In Barcelona she caught up with Irene at the hotel and Irene blew right past her as if she had not seen her at all and climbed into a cab and disappeared before Seulgi could utter so much as a word in apology. She listens again. The dim rumble of the V6s on the track in the mist. Maybe one of them is Irene. Or maybe not.

She goes back inside and sits on the bed and takes a moment to relive the past five months. The maelstrom of it all. Country to country, hotel to hotel with so little rest. She sits and remembers winning in Bahrain and remembers the elation they all felt in the garage and what Wendy had said to her. Then she remembers the crash in China and how disappointed they'd all been and still were. But her most of all. The season has been strange. She hasn't won a single race since then but she's been on the podium almost every time and yet it isn't enough. She's third in the points rankings but something feels so very wrong. Even Wendy feels it, though she's too nice to say anything. The concern is that the Apexes are fast enough that she should be a good forty or fifty points clear of fourth place, not six points. Not in danger of trailing to Yeri. Even the Renaults are catching.

She sits there and thinks about that with her head in her hands. Outside the V6 roar breaks across the morning sky again and again. Third in the points rankings. The problem isn't that Irene's won four of the last five races in a row to take first place. It's that Joy's in second, and that can only mean one thing. Either she shows up, or she's second best on the team. And there's too much at stake to let them race freely for much longer.

No team orders, Wendy had said. But that was five months ago, and a lot has changed since then.

On the way down to the parkinglot to find her driver she stops and looks around for Irene again but she's nowhere to be seen. Not that Seulgi expects any differently, but the lump in is there again. The awful guilt. The truth is that it was one crash among many crashes and Irene is still top of the leaderboard but the truth is often mired in misery and regret and Seulgi sits in the back of the car and wallows on her way to the track. The look on her face must be dreadful because the first thing Wendy does is ask if she's alright.

'I'm good. Just a bit tired, is all.'

'Couldn't sleep?'

'Something like that.'

'Well.' Wendy nods toward the car. 'Not a lot else to say at this stage. You've got this.'

'Yeah,' Seulgi says. She goes out and looks for Irene but Irene's already out there on the track. Wendy puts a hand on her shoulder and guides her back into the garage. Joy's nowhere to be seen either. Most of the other drivers are warming up their tires and it's time to go. 'This is a big one,' Wendy says. 'For about a billion different reasons.'

'I know that.'

She sits Seulgi down on one of the spare chairs and looks about to make sure they can't be overheard and then she speaks in a soft voice, barely audible over the chatter of the mechanics and the growl of the engines. 'The difference between you and Yeri is—'

'Six points. Yeah. I know.'

'It's all to play for. And at this stage, you've got to be on your absolute best form.'

'I know.'

'It's not just that.'

Seulgi looks at her. There's hesitation in those eyes, an obvious desire to both spill it all to Seulgi and to keep shut. 'If you don't finish well today,' she says, 'and Joy does, that could be it for you. I'm not supposed to tell you this.'

'I'll finish well.'

'I know you will. You have to. Because I know I said no team orders at the start of the season, but I'm gonna be honest with you here. Joy's been faster than you ever since Bahrain. Not by much, but she has. She's had the faster lap times in every GP since you spun off and binned it back in China.'

'Don't remind me. Please.'

'I know you've got it in you. You've just got to believe in yourself. These guys look at performance before anything else. You've got to remember, this isn't just about you and her. There's the team's championship at stake here. They can't just have you going wheel to wheel with Joy in every race from here out. Especially not after what happened when you tried that in China. Sooner or later they're gonna close up and realise that if you can't get first and second every race, one of you's gonna have to be sacrificed for the other. And if she's faster, well, you get the point.'

'Team orders,' Seulgi says, fiddling with the straps on her helmet. The word Dynamite jumps out at her in bright red lettering like a mordantly cruel epithet.

'I'm sorry,' says Wendy. 'It's just the way this sport works sometimes. It's a team effort at the end of the day.'

'So all I need to do is go out there and show them I'm the best driver on this team.'

Wendy smiles at her with pride. 'Bingo,' she says. 'Exactly that.'

'Well then. Wish me luck.'

On Saturday she finishes qualifying in second place on the grid but back at the hotel she isn't thinking about it all, because Irene's there in the lobby when she steps in and Irene sees her and turns away and it takes all of Seulgi's energy not to break down and tell her just how sorry she is. Instead she goes over and stops her short of the elevator. Irene turns to her. The impatience written all over her face is intimidation at its finest.

'Can I talk to you?' Seulgi asks. 'Just for a minute.'

Irene studies her for a long time. That gaze makes her feel so small, so insignificant. She doesn't even bother with a response. She just nods. For Seulgi, it's enough. They go up in the elevator in silence and Irene shows her into her room on the fourth floor. While she's in the bathroom fetching a glass of water Seulgi takes a minute to absorb everything. A lone suitcase on the floor by the bed. All three trophies lined neatly on the cabinet by the back wall and memorabilia everywhere, old F1 postcards and signed autographs and a framed photo of Alain Prost on the bedside dresser and a coffeecup with the Samsung Racing colours printed on it. Like her entire room is a motorsport museum. Her entire life.

She comes out and stands in the doorway watching Seulgi on the bed. She sips her water in silence and Seulgi takes it as a sign to speak. 'Listen,' she says, 'I don't know how to say this so I'm just going to come out and be honest. I'm sorry.'

'Sorry.'

'For what happened in China.'

'For costing me the race, you mean. On the first lap.'

'Yes.'

'You're sorry.'

'More than you could ever know.'

Irene looks at her over the rim of the glass. 'You're sorry,' she says.

'Yes. If I could take it all back, I would.'

'You shouldn't have done it.'

'I know.'

'Then why did you?'

'What?'

'Why did you do it.'

'I didn't mean—'

'Is that why? Really?'

The silence that follows is testing. Seulgi catches her breath. In the pale windowlight Irene's inquisitive eyes glint wickedly. 'You said you were going to be honest,' she says. 'So be honest.'

'Okay. I did it because of what you said that night we talked in the hotel in Bahrain. I remembered you telling me you need to take risks sometimes in this sport if you want to get ahead. I kept that with me. I thought I was taking a calculated risk to get ahead. I thought I could really do something with the car on that turn. I wanted to impress you. Guess I was wrong on all accounts.'

'Impress me?'

Seulgi nods hopelessly.

'Why me?'

'I thought maybe you'd respect me.'

'And that's what you want, is it? You want my respect?'

'Yeah.'

'How about the championship? Do you want that? Or is it just my respect?'

'Of course I do.'

'Then stop acting like an idiot.'

Seulgi looks at her again. She finishes the water and puts the glass on the bedside table next to the Prost photo and stands in the doorway with her arms folded again. 'Stop racing for other people's respect and start racing for your own. Being flashy gets you nowhere but the safety wall. I was mad at you for what happened in China. I still am. It shouldn't have happened, and you ruined my race because of it. You threw off my entire strategy. But you know what I did? I got back into it. I got my head sorted, I knuckled down, I brushed it off. And now look where I am. Then look at where you are, and ask yourself which of us had the better recovery. I'm sure you know the answer.'

'I thought you were ignoring me because of what I did.'

'See? That's what I mean. Stop thinking about me, or what I think of you, and start thinking about the race. Start thinking about what you're going to do to try and claw back that lead. Because where has thinking about me gotten you so far? Third place. That's where.'

'Why are you telling me all this?'

'Would you prefer if I kept ignoring you?'

'No, but—'

'Then listen and take it onboard.'

She looks at Irene like a lost puppy and Irene sighs. She runs a hand through her hair and her face catches the light in just such a way that Seulgi has to fight the hitch in . 'Look,' she says, voice so low and airy. 'I wasn't ignoring you. Not fully, at least. I was just busy trying to get myself back on track. What I said to you that day in China, when I was talking about how much this means to me, about how much it's taken over my life, that was all true. Still is. It's taken everything out of me, and I wouldn't give it up for the world. But sometimes that means I've got to make sacrifices and that was one of them. Sorry if I made it look like that.'

'That's okay,' Seulgi says. 'Sorry that I crashed into you.'

Irene laughs. It's a laugh that instantly puts Seulgi at ease again, a disarming giggle in the base of that's involuntary and oh so pleasant. 'So you don't hate me, then?' Seulgi asks.

'No, I don't hate you. Not at all. I like you an awful lot more than most of the other drivers. Hell, probably all of them. You're the only person that's ever apologised to me like this after a crash. Even when it hasn't been my fault.'

'Really?'

'Yeah. That's a rarity in this sport these days. Sadly.'

'I just figured I was doing what was right.'

'Well,' Irene says. She looks everywhere but at Seulgi with an awkward sort of apprehension. 'Do you want a drink or something? Just a glass of champagne.'

'Sure.'

She gets the opened bottle from the minifridge and two glasses from the cabinet at the back of the room and pours about half a glass for Seulgi. She pours a full one for herself and leans against the wall with her legs crossed, sipping slowly. The night sinks away. Seulgi tips back the champagne and winces at the sharp dryness of it.

'Congrats on second today,' Irene says.

'Thanks. Congrats on pole.'

She toasts in the air with a smile.

'I thought I'd catch your time in the last few laps but I guess not.'

'You drove a lot better today than I saw you drive last week. And before that.'

'I needed to,' Seulgi says. 'With Joy in second and everything.'

'Team orders?'

'Yeah.'

'Tough times.'

Seulgi nods and drinks. Tough times indeed. She finishes the last of the glass off and hands it to Irene. 'Thank you,' she says.

'For what?'

'For hearing me out. For being reasonable and not despising me even though you have every right to. For giving me sound advice even when you probably shouldn't considering I'm your rival.'

Irene giggles again. Maybe it's the champagne, maybe it's Seulgi. 'A rival already?' she says.

'Rival team, then.'

'Better.'

'Thank you.'

'Don't mention it. I look forward to tomorrow. Just don't—'

'Crash again. I won't. I promise. Thanks for listening.'

'Any time.'

'Yeah?' Seulgi says, and shares a silent glance with Irene that asks more than she ever could. Irene swills the champagne in the bottom of the glass and drinks and avoids answering. 'I should go,' Seulgi says, the heat stirring already in her cheeks. 'Should get to bed.'

'Sure.'

'Good luck tomorrow.'

'You too, Dynamite.'

'How'd you know that?'

'It's on your helmet. And they're all calling you it.'

'Even now?'

'They don't lose faith that quickly, you know? Trust me, I've been in your shoes before.'

'Dynamite,' Seulgi says, playing with the way the word sounds. She grins. 'Dynamite. Time to live up to that name, I guess.'

The words she prayed all morning to hear come through on lap thirty-eight, when she's six seconds behind Irene and keeping the pace.

'Seulgi,' Wendy says in her ear. 'You there?'

'Yeah, talk to me. What's going on?'

'Okay, so.'

There's silence on the other end. Static. Then Wendy cuts in again and says, 'Got some good news. Some real good news. Irene's already pitted ahead of you but her tires are shot. They messed up with the timing, must've overdone it on the mediums too early, which means she's going to have to come in for a second stop in the next three or four laps.'

'Holy . Are you serious?'

'Yeah.'

'So what are we doing?'

'You've got second on lock,' Wendy says. As Seulgi rounds Dunlop Curve she glances in her mirror and sees how true that statement is. Yeri and the Renaults are nowhere to be seen. She can barely even hear them. The crowd are on their feet at Degner as she soars by and flattens out across the apex and gains about a tenth of a second on Irene.

'So what's the plan?' she asks again.

'It's risky but here's what we're going to do. We're going to box you the same lap she comes in. Maybe a lap earlier depending on when that is. I know we agreed on a one-stop strategy but we've got a serious shot here. All the chips have fallen into our lap. So we're gonna bring you in and put you on the softs and hope they last long enough.'

'Hope?'

'Yeah.'

'Hope I don't wear them down, you mean.'

'That's the plan.'

'And if I do?'

'Well,' Wendy says.

'You've not filling me with much confidence here.'

'Look, Irene's coming in. She has to. And they've got no more soft sets to put her on, so she'll be running on old mediums from qualifying. Like I said, they expected to finish on the tires she's got now, so they're having to scramble. And if you keep the pace you're at, you've a serious chance of snatching first in the next ten laps or so.'

She has to seriously think about it for a moment on the straight. DRS kicks in and she goes for the overtake and Irene cuts her off with reaction timing and decision making so expert it looks inhuman, the car swerving effortlessly and slowing at the pinpoint right moment for the first corner and barrelling away again. 'Okay,' Seulgi says. The crowd are rabid along the grass banks down at the S Curves. 'Okay. Whatever you say.'

Three laps later and she's in the pits. She spots Wendy in the garage but there's no time to give a thumbs up because the mechanics are fast today and the pit time is just over two seconds. As if they're all aware of what's on the line. She rejoins the race in P2, still a good fifteen seconds ahead of third place and a solid six or so behind Irene. The new soft tires feel like they have less grip than she would have liked but the speed is so noticeably different it doesn't matter. Five laps later and she's closed the gap to just over two seconds and the crowd are loving it and so is Wendy in her ear. The white and blue paintwork on the Samsung dances in the summer sun. On lap forty-five the gap is about a second.

'Wendy,' she says.

'Yeah, I'm here.'

'I'm going to go for it.'

'The overtake?'

'Fastest lap.'

'Don't ruin your tires.'

'I'm going to do it. I want that extra point.'

'It's not worth it.'

What was it Irene said again? Something about risks. They come off Casio Triangle and Irene's back end veers madly across the racing line and slips about and slows just enough for Seulgi to slide past her without ever even having to use DRS. She takes a moment to catch her breath and fix her gloves on the straight. All she can hear is the crowd, the mayhem of it all.

'P1,' Wendy shouts. 'Holy , you're P1!'

'And I want that extra point.'

She pushes it, really pushes it. The tires won't last much longer but they don't need to. With three laps to go she's pulled out the lead to a good five or six seconds and Irene is slipping and struggling for grip just as Wendy said she would and even Yeri and the Renaults are catching her. Seulgi pulls further and further away. Everything feels so right again. She thinks of Irene and Irene's smile and it's strange the effect it has on her, the confidence it imbues her with, the strength to squeeze those extra couple of kilometres an hour out of the throttle when she's in eight gear on the main straight. The daring it gives her to tackle the corners a fraction of a second later on the brakes, not quite reckless but not quite safe either. As if Irene's unlocked something inside her she didn't know existed.

It's two laps from the end when Wendy pipes up and says, 'Well, I'll be.'

'What? Talk to me.'

'Fastest lap of the race.'

She gives a little fist pump in the air.

'Forget that,' Wendy says. 'You just set the all-time track record.'

'Are you kidding me?'

'Two more laps, kid.'

'Kid,' Seulgi laughs. She glances the mirror and can't see Irene at all and part of her is a little disappointed but a greater part tells her to keep going, keep going, and she does. On the final corner at Casio Triangle she waves to the crowd and they wave back. They're still waving when she crosses the finishing line in first place, a second win of the season.

She pulls the car into the garage after the parade lap and gets out and hugs Wendy immediately. Her helmet's stuck to her hair and it takes her an awkward minute to get it off and Wendy giggles and tosses it to the side and hugs her again. The mechanics in the back are clapping. Seulgi takes a moment to thank them and looks at Wendy and laughs. 'Are you crying?' she says.

'No. Alright, maybe a little. But with good reason.'

'How's Joy?'

'Third. Third is good. But let's talk about you.'

'I didn't think I had it in me today.'

'I told you you're a superstar, didn't I?'

Seulgi bends down and kisses the rear wheel. It tastes exactly as it is - hot, burnt rubber. 'I love these,' she says. 'I love these so much.'

'Thought you might lose it in the last few laps but you proved me wrong. Again.'

'Fastest lap of the race?'

'Of all time. No wonder they love you so much.'

Seulgi breaks into a grin. There's something else on her mind and she doesn't quite know how to admit it to Wendy so in the end she gives a shy nod of the head and says, 'I'll be back in a minute.'

'Where are you going?'

'There's someone I need to talk to.'

She finds Irene loosening the velcro on her overalls and unfastening her helmet in the Samsung garage when she walks in. Yeri looks at her and nods and disappears into the back. At first Irene doesn't notice her, which is fine because it gives Seulgi ample time to appreciate how great she looks glistening with sweat and out of breath and a little tired. Then she glances at the garage entrance and sees Seulgi and nods to her with a smile so small it's almost unnoticeable. Almost.

'Hey,' Seulgi says. 'I just thought I'd come and say hi. And well done.'

'Well done yourself. Really good drive today.'

'Thanks.'

'I mean it.'

Seulgi beams. She's not quite sure how to take a compliment like that, one that isn't loaded with cynicism and spite and a little hurt. It's almost unnerving how sincere Irene sounds. They share a silent glance that has Seulgi turning away and blushing a slight. She doesn't even know why, but it's enough that when she looks at Irene again all she can say is, 'I'll see you on the podium?'

'Yeah.'

'And maybe back at the hotel tonight? For a drink or something. You know, to celebrate.'

Irene smiles. 'Alright,' she says. 'Sure.'

She's sat at the bar for a good half an hour before she realises she never asked Irene when or where to meet her. Just: Tonight.

The bartender asks if she wants anything else and she orders a strong strawberry Daiquiri with an extra shot of rum and no lime. She thinks about going up to Irene's room but that might be a little too eager. As if she's been waiting for her. The truth is she has, and it's a little embarrassing how much Irene is in her head, but Irene doesn't need to know that. She's better not knowing it. Seulgi sips at her Daiquiri slowly. There are a couple others in the lowlit lounge but nobody she recognises. The other drivers are probably out enjoying themselves elsewhere. She knows for a fact Joy and Wendy are. It doesn't even occur to her to wonder why Irene isn't with them all.

It's almost ten when Irene walks in and spots her and goes on over with a smile. She's dressed in a casual black jacket and jeans and the bartender doesn't seem to notice or doesn't care about the dress code. She sits by Seulgi and orders a Martini and takes off her jacket and puts it over the stool next to her, and it takes all Seulgi's available willpower not to stare at her, the alabstrine sculpt of her collarbones, the paleness of her forearms, just how good she really looks. Maybe she's blushing. She sips the Daiquiri as if to distract herself and it's impossible. The fact she's just won a Grand Prix is lost somewhere in her head and it won't be back for a good few hours.

'You look distracted,' Irene says.

'Oh, no. I mean, no. I'm not.'

'You sure?'

Seulgi nods.

'Sorry for not saying more when you came to the garage earlier. I was a bit busy.'

'It's okay. I shouldn't have come over just after a race. Kind of made me look like a bit of a sore winner, you know?'

Irene laughs. It's a nearly soundless laugh, a gentle hum and an exhale of air through her nose. So delicate, Seulgi thinks. She swills her glass and drinks and turns to face Seulgi better on her stool.

'Sorry about what happened to you today,' Seulgi says. 'Your race strategy, I mean.'

'It's okay. happens. You've just got to get up and get over it.'

'Yeah, but I really wanted to race you.'

'You did race me.'

'But not properly. Even I could tell you didn't have the pace today because of the tires. I wanted to properly race you, you know? I just wish you had the grip.'

'You probably shouldn't wish that if you want to win any more races,' Irene says with a smirk.

'I know. But I do.'

Irene looks at her with a tilt of the head. It's the way a casual observer might study something at a zoo, with curiosity and a little awe. 'You know,' she says, putting her glass on the desk and folding her hands, 'nobody's ever wished I had a better car before. Or better strategies. Usually it's the exact opposite.'

'Why?'

'Because they want to win.'

'So do I. I don't want to rob an empty field, though.'

Irene giggles. Seulgi thinks she could get lost somewhere in the sound of that giggle. In the daintiness of it. 'You know,' Irene says again, 'the confidence is charming.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah. As long as you're not cocky about it, I think confidence is always a good thing. How can you ever hope to succeed if you don't believe you've got the capacity to succeed? Doesn't make sense to me. But that doesn't mean you should underestimate everyone else. I think that's even worse, potentially speaking.'

'For a rival driver, you sure do give a lot of good advice.'

'I'm like you, I want good competition. It's better for the fans, better for the other drivers, better for the sport. And it's better for me.'

'How is it better for you?'

'It gives me something to aim towards. Pushes me to a better version of myself. Every time I'm out there on that track I tell myself that if I'm not improving, there's no point. And if there's someone there to force me to improve, it's all the more easier.'

'I guess you're right.' Seulgi looks absently at the bottom of her glass. Her hands smooth out the stem and push it across the counter and back again. That's one of her idiosyncrasies. The shakiness of her hands when she doesn't know what to do with them. 'Where's Yeri?' she asks.

'Out with some of the others. The Mercedes guys. And I think the guys from Ferrari. I'm not sure.'

'Partying?'

'Presumably.'

'How come you're not with them? Not a fan of it?'

Irene shakes her head. She looks almost wistful for a moment. Then it's gone, and she says, 'Not my sort of thing. It just distracts me from what I really want to do.'

'Racing?'

'Yeah. Everything about racing. What I said about this being my life was true. Still is. To me, I feel it has to be. I'm scared to know what I'll end up feeling like if I'm ever not the best anymore. I don't know how I could cope with that.'

'Well,' Seulgi says, 'you're thirty points ahead of everyone else. So I think you can relax a bit there.'

'Relax?'

'Relatively speaking.'

'I wish. All it takes is one bad race. One car failure, one retirement. Then it's right back to a level playing field. Thirty points isn't as massive as it first sounds. Trust me.'

'Still though. Must be nice being at the top.'

'You should know. You were there after Bahrain.'

'Yeah, for like, a week. And that didn't really count.'

'Why not?'

'Because you had car issues. I don't think I'd have been first if not for that.'

Irene smirks and toasts and Seulgi holds up her empty glass and toasts back. 'I'll drink to that,' Irene says. They sit a while in silence. It's a comfortable silence, a quiet that Seulgi feels breaching in any way might shatter something irreparable between them. She plays with the stem of her glass. Turns it and turns it again. The bartender asks if she wants another and politely she declines. By midnight they're still there. Irene's two drinks deep and Seulgi's the same and in the orange ceilingglow the pink flush high on Irene's cheeks is hypnotic and a little sordid.

'What's your favourite Grand Prix?' Seulgi says, modestly emboldened.

'Of the year?'

'Sure.'

'Monaco,' Irene says without hesitation.

'Yeah? Why?'

'Are you kidding me? Have you ever been?'

'I'm not that rich.'

'That's why.' Irene laughs. 'Don't get me wrong, I've got a soft spot for Korea. Doubly so because it's the last race of the season. It's the big one, the finale. But Monaco is Monaco. You just can't beat it. The scenery, the atmosphere, the history behind it all. Not even the track itself. I mean, it's the narrowest thing I've ever seen but I don't really care. Just the whole experience of it is once in a lifetime. You honestly can't get better than that.'

'I hope I enjoy it as much as you do.'

'You need to try the Chateau at the Hermitage when you're there. Believe me, it's insane.'

'The what?'

'Chateau. Like the wine.'

'No, I meant, what's the Hermitage?'

'The hotel.'

'Oh,' Seulgi says. She looks at Irene, the spark in her eye, how comfortable she looks. And how strange it feels listening to her talk about something other than racing, even for just a moment, even if it is just her favourite expensive wine. Seulgi sits there and studies her and thinks: She was right. This is her whole life. This is her everything.

She spends a long time trying to formulate a way to describe what she's feeling that doesn't sound awful or strange or stupid. A way to tell Irene how reassuring her friendship feels, even more so than Joy or Wendy or any of the other drivers on the grid. Or anyone she's spoken to across the globe since jetting off from Korea in December and never looking back. Maybe it's the suddenness of it all. Maybe it's the Daiquiris. Whatever it is Seulgi knows only that it's there, and it's real, and there's nothing harder than trying to make coherent sentences out of it because what even is it? Admiration? Respect? Attraction? She's sure there's some attraction, at least on a superficial level, but anything beyond that is like a world seen underwater, mired and lucid and forever in flux.

Eventually she does speak, but all she can manage to say is, 'I think I should get to bed. I don't want to miss my flight out tomorrow.'

'What time are you going?'

'Just before ten.'

Irene checks her watch. 'Good idea,' she says, sounding a little disappointed.

'What about you?'

'About midday. I've got a meeting with the mechanics in the morning that I need to be at.'

'You're back on it already?'

'I never switch off.'

Seulgi nods in understanding. Her hand taps the glass two, three times. 'Well,' she says with a smile. 'I'll see you in Belgium.'

'I look forward to it.'

'Thanks again. For speaking to me. For listening. For not hating me.'

'Thanks for being you,' Irene says.

'What's that supposed to be mean?'

She's quiet, and the quiet fills the room. She tilts her head and frowns as if playing with the meaning of it in her head and then she smiles at Seulgi and says, 'I don't really know. It's just something I wanted to say.'

'Right.'

'Maybe I'll catch you in the morning?'

'Yeah,' Seulgi says with a smile. 'Sure.'