"Leaving,

Leaving into the night."

That night she sleeps only for a few hours and waking and turning over in her bed she lies awake listening to the distant ringing of a bell and laughing out there in the world knowing it is no siren world but her world, and true. No dreams come to her. The dark feels claustrophobic, almost as if the walls of her bedroom are slowly closing in around her. And it’s been that way for years, wherever she goes. She thinks briefly about Yerim and Sooyoung and her new job and then of Seungwan and briefly of her parents and then she tries in vain to remember the woman in her dreams and soon enough she’s almost crying.

The next morning she’s in for work half an hour before her shift starts and she decides to take a look around the office. There isn’t much to it at all. A breakroom down the far end on the right and the toilets behind them and a couple offices beside Sooyoung’s and little else. The offices are already half full. She finds Yeri in the breakroom, idly turning a wooden stirrer in the dark of her coffeecup on the table. It smells of freshly pressed coffeebeans and there’s a strangeness to that because nothing about her coffee is freshly pressed, or even appetising. She’s leaning on the counter and still stirring when she see Seulgi in the doorway.

‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Morning, Seulgi.’

‘Morning.’

‘You want a coffee?’

‘Sure. Black, please.’

‘Wouldn’t make it any other way.’

Seulgi sits at the table on the left, under the watchful eye of the clock ticking just above her head. She’s acutely aware of her surroundings – the clock, the coffee machine whirring away, the microwave nestled under the cupboards on the counter, a plastic bottle of milk left out on the side by someone earlier. It’s something Seulgi does whenever she steps into a room for the first time. As if all eyes are on her. And if these walls could talk surely they would converse about her in hushed tones and among themselves they would mention how strange she is, how much of an outcast in a world she has never belonged to.

Seulgi’s frustrations are twofold in this – that she feels like such an outsider in the first place and secondly because everything points to her having no business belonging to that group at all. Seungwan has told her as much. Young, pretty, funny. A penchant for kindness rarely found in anyone. And perhaps it’s that. Or perhaps not. The paradox of this has made Seulgi cry many a time. And many more to follow. She looks up at Yeri offering her coffee in a Styrofoam cup and takes it with a smile and says thank you.

‘So,’ Yeri says, sitting opposite.

‘So?’

‘How did you find your first day?’

‘It was okay. About what I expected. Honestly it just felt good to get out of the house again.’

‘Yeah? Why? You been at home a lot?’

‘Something like that. My job before this was a work-from-home sort of thing. I still technically do it.’

‘What?’

‘I’m freelance,’ Seulgi says, the coffee burning in her trembling hands. And still she’s cold. The walls want no part of her anymore. Nothing does. ‘Well, I was freelance. I don’t know about now. I think maybe it’s on hold for the time being.’

‘Freelance what?’

‘I’m an illustration. So, digital artwork, things like that.’

‘Oh, . That’s so cool.’

‘Well, it’s something.’

‘It’s cool,’ Yeri says again, as if encouraging her. ‘Seriously, that sounds cool. I wish I had a talent like that. I’m just good at, well…nothing.’

‘I bet you are. Everybody’s good at something.’

‘I don’t think so. I think that’s something people tell people to make them feel better. Normally it’s teachers. Kids have gotta have something to hold onto, am I right?’

‘Guess so.’

Yeri makes a gesture that says: I know I am.

‘How long have you been here?’

‘About nine months,’ Yeri said. ‘You get used to it after a while.’

‘It seems like quite a chill place.’

‘I guess it is. Sooyoung’s about as chill as you could hope for in a boss. She’s pretty swell, honestly.’

‘She seems it.’

‘You want a refill on that coffee?’

‘I’m good,’ Seulgi says with a smile. When Yeri is by the coffee machine she shifts in her chair and says, ‘It’s good to be back again.’

‘Back where? Working.’

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi says, and is silent again. Is it the truth? Is it a carefully structured lie to put Yeri at ease, to break down the walls between them and provide a modicum of comfort, to let her know that Seulgi is normal? Seulgi doesn’t know. There is nothing careful or crafted about it. So she sits there and she’s silent all the way until Yeri nods at the clock on the wall and says, ‘Time’s up.’

Seulgi turns to the clock. Eight fifty-nine. Tick tick tick. Thinking: You’re more right than you could know.

Her hand flutters over the Send button. It takes her far too much effort to press it. It’s a simple text to Seungwan that says:

Wanna come round and get drunk?

Seulgi waits. The silence is stifling. There’s no music to play and the traffic outside has disappeared and there’s no clock to keep her company either. She sits there thinking: What if she’s annoyed at me? What if she’s talking to her friends about how annoying I am right now? She might be. I wouldn’t be surprised. And I’d understand.

It’s her worst quality and she knows it. The worst part is the awareness of how debilitating her own mind can be when given free reign to worry her over the smallest of actions. She sits tapping her fingers on the desk and chewing her bottom lip – another bad habit picked up over years of similar anxiety. Her phone reads eighty thirty-seven. She’s sat beginning to think it might already be too late or Seungwan is too busy when it buzzes twice on the desk. It’s two new messages from Seungwan. The first reads:

That sounds like a plan to me!

And the second:

When do you want me over? Or whenever?? I can come now 😊

She thinks about a reply. Then she types: Whenever.

Seungwan is outside her door half an hour later, two bottles of wine in a plastic bag with a box of playing cards and a couple cans of pear cider. ‘Late?’ she asks.

‘Right on time.’

‘I got us this. And I figured maybe you wanted to play some card games or something. I dunno.’

Seulgi can only laugh at that. It’s just like her to think of everything, insignificant or not. She sits down on the couch and Seungwan sits beside her and tips out the contents of the bag on the floor – the wine and the cider, the playing cards, two plastic cups, a set of red dice with the numbers printed on in white.

‘What are the dice for?’

‘I dunno,’ Seungwan says with a shrug. ‘I just put a bunch of stuff I had in my drawers in, in case we wanted them or something.’

Seulgi laughs. It isn’t quite a laugh that stops Seungwan worrying about her, but it’s as good a try as she can muster. And it isn’t until they’re half a bottle of wine each down about an hour later that Seungwan sets down her hand of cards and leans against the back of the couch and says, ‘Do you wanna talk?’

‘Kind of.’

‘Thought so. Not that I mind coming round. You know that.’

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi says quietly.

‘I’m here, whatever you want to talk about. I’m here for you.’

‘I know. Thanks. For everything, as always.’

‘What are friends for, right?’

‘Guess so.’

Seungwan is quiet, attentive, as she always is. It takes Seulgi a lot of courage to work up to saying anything at all. Her head throbs and the room is spinning and she’s a slight too hot and there’s surely a blush high on her cheeks. ‘Can I ask you a question?’ she says.

‘Sure.’

‘If you could live in a different life, in a different world somewhere – if you could make a new life for yourself there – would you do it? Or would you stay?’

Seungwan doesn’t laugh or . She just sits there, deep in thought. Eventually she says, ‘I don’t know. I think maybe I’d stay.’

‘But what if you could glimpse this other life and you liked it more than your own? What then?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. Would it still be me? My life? Or would I just be taking over for somebody else? Would I just be a placeholder?’

‘I don’t know,’ Seulgi says. ‘Either, I guess.’

‘If it was still me, then I guess I would. But how could it be me? Only I know what I am. Only this is me. Anything else is just, well…not me. An imitation, I suppose. So I don’t think I would. Why?’

‘Was just thinking.’

‘Where’s this come from?’

‘I don’t know,’ Seulgi lies. Then, with a touch of hesitance, she says, ‘I wish I could remember. There are things that I keep forgetting and I wish I could remember them but I can’t. And I don’t know why. They just refuse to come to me. It’s like no matter how hard I try, it keep eluding me. Like a shadow or something. Like something I can never truly touch or have again. And it’s making me slowly lose my mind.’

Seungwan nods, brows furrowed a slight. She glances down at her plastic glass and finishes the rest of her wine with a sigh and says, ‘I dunno what you’re talking about. But I do know this – you remember what you need to remember.’

‘You really think so?’

‘Yeah. I do. Things you forget can’t be that important. Can’t be necessary.’

Seulgi only nods and smiles. Thinking: Please don’t let that be true. I don’t want it to be true.

‘Well,’ says Seungwan.

‘Well.’

‘C’mon. It’s your turn to be dealer.’

‘What are we even playing?’

‘I dunno. Whatever you like. Blackjack, maybe?’

‘I guess so.’

It’s a dozen full games and the rest of the wine later that Seulgi realises she’s a lot drunker than she thought. The room refuses to sit still. She can taste the last of the wine lingering in and there’s a sweetness to it that makes her want to vomit. Seungwan isn’t much better, sat there swaying a slight, as red as the day she was born, empty bottle in hand. She glances down at her cards. ‘I think that’s enough for me,’ she says.

‘Me too,’ says Seulgi.’

‘What time is it?’

Seulgi checks her phone. ‘Just gone eleven,’ she says.

‘I should probably go. Before I fall asleep here.’

‘You’re more than welcome to.’

‘I know. But I’ve got work tomorrow. I should go.’

‘Sure.’

When she’s by the door with her bag in hand Seulgi calls out to her. She stops and turns and looks at Seulgi. Or looks past her. The difference is something Seulgi isn’t quite sober enough to comprehend. Seungwan giggling a slight. ‘Thank you,’ Seulgi says softly. ‘I mean it. For coming around tonight. For just talking to me.’

‘Whenever you need it,’ Seungwan says. For a moment however brief she looks strikingly sober again. ‘You just tell me if you ever need anything, yeah? You know I’ll be here for you, you big idiot.’

‘I know. Thanks. Oh, hey.’

‘What?’

‘What about these?’ Seulgi asks, pointing to the dice on the couch.

‘Oh, keep them.’

‘You sure?’

‘They’re only dice. I don’t even know where I got them.’

‘Alright. Thanks.’

‘For the dice?’

‘For being here.’

‘Right,’ Seungwan mumbles, half asleep, modestly drunk. She waves with her eyes hooded and says, ‘See you ‘round.’

‘Yeah. Thanks.’

In the silence following Seulgi pulls herself up and stumbles into the bathroom. It’s here she realises just how drunk she is – the world seems much smaller, more immediate. She can’t smell anything at all. She wanders back over to the couch and throws herself down. The lights outside seem to be calling to her, small pale glints flashed across the distant windowpanes like bokeh. She rolls half over on the couch and holds up the red dice and turns them in the cone of moonlight with a curious sort of smile. Then she stuffs them idly into the pocket of her jeans and closes her eyes and tries to stop the ceiling from spinning and cannot do so.

‘Thanks,’ she says to nobody. ‘Thank you Seungwan.’

The change is so sudden it should be dizzying but it isn’t. It feels like nothing at all. It comes so naturally that under any other circumstance or perhaps in a time of loneliness Seulgi would think about the truth of this with a sort of wary circumspection but instead she starts walking without looking back behind her. As if perhaps the world there is no world at all. Just an empty canvas, exposing the secret, animating it. And as ludicrous as it sounds Seulgi isn’t so sure it’s entirely wrong.

The walk along the avenue is with a smile on her face. There’s a joy singing in her heart that has her hands trembling. The pale dogwhelk sun lies like cored silver to the west and it’s a warm and hazy afternoon and it’s snowing. It takes a while for Seulgi to notice this. She holds out her hand and a single cold snowflake falls into her palm and melts and is lost. A thin film of snow blankets the sidewalks, the frost staining car windows. Glass shopfronts quiver in the warp of snowfall like water partially disturbed by a ripple.

Irene is there outside the restaurant. The green sign hanging just outside the vestibule entrance glows a neon green that has Seulgi wincing, the hue of it almost alive. Irene isn’t looking her way. When she turns around the first thing she does when she sees Seulgi is break into the widest and purest smile Seulgi thinks she’s ever seen. She’s dressed down in a casual look – an oversized white sweater and black jeans and with her hair tied back neatly. Seulgi is in a jacket she’s sure she’s never seen in her other life but her jeans look the same and perhaps there’s something to that, but there’s no time to think on it.

‘There you are,’ Irene says. The dappled snow in her hair looks like jewellery. ‘I thought maybe you’d gotten lost or something.’

‘Sorry,’ says Seulgi. ‘The bus took forever.’

‘Yeah?’

Seulgi nods. She knows it’s true but she doesn’t know why or how it became true. Or for what purpose. ‘You should’ve gone in,’ Seulgi says. ‘Why are you still out here?’

‘I kinda like the snow,’ Irene says, and the glimmer in her eye has Seulgi’s heart doing flips. ‘I’ve always liked it.’

‘It’s a bit early, isn’t it?’

‘What is?’

‘Well, it’s September. Have you ever seen it snow in September before?’

Irene is quiet a moment. Then she says, ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. I guess I just didn’t think about it.’

‘Nor me. Well, until now. You look cold.’

‘I’m fine. I am hungry, though.’

Seulgi smiles. It’s just the act of standing there that puts her at a sort of ease she hasn’t felt since her childhood. It’s snowing in the warm early days of fall and the lights are pulsing as if they’re alive and sugar is that bit sweeter and salt sourer and up might not be up and down might not exist at all but none of it matters because Irene is there, and Irene has to be real. Their table is at the back of the restaurant, away from the windows, the snowfall, the rush of everything. It’s a quiet booth with two plush couches and a small incandescent bulb quivering in the ceiling just above them. It smells of Seulgi’s favourite smells – candy, lavender, the strong aroma of fresh leather. And Irene, warm sandalwood and a hint of jasmine that is utterly intoxicating.

The waitress sees to them immediately. It takes Irene a while to order. Seulgi watches her pore over the menu, studying the options with the care a student would take over an assignment. The way she does anything is so perfect to Seulgi it almost hurts to witness. Knowing what she knows. What is true and what is not. Irene folds up the menu and smiles politely at the waitress.

‘I’ll have the pork ribs with the coleslaw and chips, please,’ she says. The waitress takes her menu and tells them it’ll be twenty minutes or so. When she’s gone Irene sits with her arms resting on the table and says, almost wistfully, ‘Been a long time since I’ve done this. Just been out with a friend, I mean. Just enjoying myself.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. I don’t get chance to do it often, with work and all. I suppose it’s just one of those things, really. What’s crazy is how different it all felt to me when I was younger, in my early twenties. Seems like time is all you have until it passes you by, and then it’s gone so quick you wish you’d had the foresight to sit and appreciate it more when it happened.’

‘That’s…wow.’

‘What? Did I sound too pretentious or something?’

‘No, not at all. It’s just…that’s kind of what I’ve been wanting to put into words for a long time. I’m sure there’s a term for it.’

‘There is. Kinda. It’s “mono no aware” in Japanese. Means the awareness of the passing of time. The transience of things. I’ve always liked that. Less so now that I actually understand why it’s often thought of as so melancholic, but still. It’s good to reflect sometimes.’

‘Yeah. I’m the same.’

‘Sometimes I do wish I’d done something else with my life. I do.’

‘Well.’

‘I mean, I know I’m still young. I’m twenty-eight. But when you’ve dedicated, what, eight, ten years into something, into a certain path, certain friends, hobbies, jobs, career paths, everything else, it all begins to feel like it’s hard to alter that course. Maybe even impossible. Maybe it’s too late.’

‘Well,’ Seulgi says again. She glances at Irene over the table, pale and redlipped and utterly gorgeous. ‘I think the same a lot,’ she manages to utter.

‘Guess we’re more alike than I thought. Very alike.’

‘Guess so.’

‘Can I ask you a question?’

‘Sure.’

‘Is it my eyes, or my lips?’

‘What?’ Seulgi mutters. ‘What do you—’

‘Have I got something on my face?’ Irene says, with just enough of a smirk that Seulgi has to fight down the blush rising to her cheeks. And just when she’s about to eke out a reply Irene shifts in her seat and says, ‘Just kidding. God, I’m so hungry.’

‘I—’

‘Thanks for coming to dinner tonight. I meant it when I said I don’t get to do stuff like this often. I don’t have that many friends. Very few, actually. And my family are so distant at times it’s as if they’re not even there. Maybe that’s why I was so excited about meeting you again, even if you were a stranger to me about a month ago. Maybe I just wanted someone to talk to. Sad, I know.’

‘It’s not sad.’

‘No? I think maybe it is.’

‘I don’t think it’s sad at all,’ Seulgi says. ‘We all crave human connection. I think on the basest of levels it’s one of the things we require to survive. Or if not survive, at least thrive. Be the best of ourselves. I think without that connection, we’d all go a little insane.’

‘I think you might be right.’

‘I’m the same. Not many friends.’

‘Gets lonely, doesn’t it?’

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi says, dropping her gaze. ‘Yeah it does.’

There’s a silence that feels oddly comforting. For once there’s nothing that feels as if it’s being forced on Seulgi – nothing to draw her to action, or keep her dwelling in inaction, to push her to speak when she feels least comfortable doing so. Irene is the soothing balm besides which she can be herself, silent or otherwise, judgement free, momentarily at peace. She’s about to say something else when her hand drifts idly to the pocket of her jeans and she freezes. It’s so sudden and so misplaced that even Irene notices it. ‘What?’ she says. ‘Is something wrong?’

Seulgi pulls them out of her pocket. For a minute she just holds them there in her palm – two ruby-red dice, the numbers printed on in white.

‘That’s where I left them,’ she mutters to herself.

‘What? Seulgi? Are you okay?’

She looks at Irene. All the colour has drained from her face and Irene’s eyes burn with a deep worry. ‘Seulgi,’ she says.

It takes all the energy she can muster to force out a reply. ‘I’m fine,’ she lies. ‘Sorry. I got distracted for a minute.’

‘Why have you got a pair of dice in your hand?’

Another false smile, a brief façade. ‘I must’ve forgotten about them,’ she says at last, voice drifting in and out of coherence, world rapidly receding. ‘I don’t know how they got here.’

‘Well. Okay.’

‘They shouldn’t be here.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ Seulgi croaks. ‘Sorry. Forget I said anything.’