later that night, joohyun takes her dinner perched on the floor, avoiding the mahogany table by the window with chairs in hopes to feel less lonely, but careful enough to not make a mess. the television is on, and she entertains herself with the evening news; vaccinations are finally ramping up after a slow start in many countries.

the strange, out-of-place moment slowly dissolving every time she takes a bite of the prepared meal for her.

the tray is an absolute picture, bright and warm and definitely gives off an impression of expensive with the intricate set of dinnerware and how the dishes are presented. watered, and her stomach growled angry sounds, reminding her that her lunch had been too many hours ago. but the note clasped against the plate gives her that strange sensation which have managed to swell up inside of her; sensations washing through like waves against the shore, crashing and receding, over and over again every time her eyes falls on it, and so, she places it under her covers for the meantime.

she’s starving, yet her heart keeps on thumping, her stomach fluttering with nerves and joohyun chastise herself for feeling like this- of what, she doesn’t know as well.

when she takes back the tray by the door, hands washed up and face covered with a mask, there’s a silhouette of someone and she’s undoubtedly sure it’s not seulgi.

surreptitiously, joohyun tries to linger by the doorframe, and it’s silly. she’s silly for not abiding the rules of isolation, but her curiosity is already piqued, eager to put a face to that voice- oh, what the hell. joohyun dismisses the thought. she shuts the door for good.

she thinks about what to reply instead, unaware how it took her long, but when she finally comes peace with focusing on expressing her gratitude, writes it down at the back of the same paper and pushes it on the gap below her door, she frowns at the seemingly high temperature on the thermometer afterwards.

later that night, joohyun sleeps a little late than her bedtime. she had to wait. nope, she’s not going to make a fool of herself by telling seulgi that her temperature is a deviation from normal the first time she takes it when she’s perfectly aware how her nerve ending fizzles once she pushed that note under the door.

“hello, landlord-nim,

thank you for the wonderful meal and by your thoughtfulness, i now have a place to stay. the pillows, blanket and this whole arrangement is more than i could ask for.

p.s. i'm okay with whatever landlord-nim cooks."

formal. curt. short. because that’s how it should be. joohyun didn’t actually know this woman.

but oh, how she wants to.

the next time she wakes, the sun stands high against a stark-blue sky, and joohyun blinks against the white glare, arches her back and stretches her arms and legs out across the sinfully comfortable mattress. she feels detached and lost, considers for a moment to curl back up, and snooze a while longer, in hopes to push and delay those unwanted feelings for a moment, but the blaring reminder that she hasn’t done anything remotely productive for herself plagues every inch of her skull, so she swings her legs off the bed instead.

she figures it must be the unfamiliarity of the place, both inside and outside; how the past few months has been unstable, with each day, the vague, untethered restlessness grows. and what she has right now feels surreal. this bed, this room, her kindness- it’s too good, too easy. it comes along with a spank of truth; all the things she’s used to be so sure of in her path, now isn’t too clear anymore.

for a large part of this year, she’s been failing to make peace with herself over a lot of things, and it feels awful, leaves a resentful taste in every time she sees herself in the mirror, indulge in hopeful dialogues that this is a new day, today might be better- only to hear the same tired, bitter tone in herself when she tries to sleep at night. you’re stuck in the same loop.

but she’s getting kind of used to it. joohyun thinks it’s not sad, but just numb like a television caught on static, numb like nothing works but she can’t be bothered to fix it. that’s not sad. that’s everyday stuff. everyone feels like this, feels like they’ve been shut off.

in such a manner that the white folded paper she sees by the door feels foreign. she’s not used to this and she doesn’t know which word to use to sum up the building but of its own volition, her body reaches for it, eyes