Archive of Our Own ^beta

There’s this cabinet at the apartment that doesn’t properly open, that you have to brute force a bit to get it to reveal its contents. And it just so happens to be the one with all the pots and pans in it. I’ve been leaving them all on the counter, despite how ugly it looks, just because of that one door. You’d think an apartment this expensive, 30th floor of a Gangnam skyscraper, would be free of faults. But it’s not, for some odd reason. 

It’s not the only odd thing about this place. Many things are, if you look around. The decor, for instance… it feels as if no one ever really lived here. It’s blank, devoid of soul, like a cursed model unit, but instead of being designed by an interior designer it was designed by a robot. Everything has this eerie sense to it, even, somehow, the magnificent views from the windows. 

I want to go home, that’s all I want. I want my one-bedroom with drafts on the walls, my purple throw blanket, my pastel rice bowls. I don’t want to be here. It feels wrong, off, like it shouldn’t be this way. I want to go back and never pick that damn phone. Do anything so as not to be looking at some pots on the counter and wishing I were dead. 

Day six, morning. Breakfast: cereal. I can’t be bothered. I sit in the window, the only place I truly inhabit (I like to pretend the rest of the house doesn’t exist and it’s just me and the glass and the concrete), and check my inbox. No one has replied yet. I have convinced one singular person to come to this party so far: Rui, a friend of V, the photographer. We got along quite well, actually. It was a good use of the semester of photography I took. 

Since him I have contacted three more, all organizations, all dubious. One of them is called People Affectionate Towards Cats. I didn’t know such a thing existed, nor that they could be useful to a charity event. But I suppose. They did tell me to convince as many as I could, so that’s what I’m doing. It’s not hard, it’s actually kind of fun. In my head none of this is real. 

Then, the chatroom. There’s this sense of giddiness that overcomes me every time I enter it, like when you see your friends from school everyday. I suppose this context is not so different. They are, after all, my only relaxation, even if a completely unfamiliar one, and extremely interesting people, all of them. They’re fun to talk to and treat me as one of their own. 

Sometimes I find myself oddly and intimately drawn to them. Perhaps it’s because I’m a complete stranger, or the first person that has come here in a while, but something gets them to lay down their preoccupations on me, and I listen. They’re not light burdens, the ones they carry. Yoosung is mourning his cousin and completely unmotivated. Jaehee hates her work. Zen is lonely. And Seven and Jumin… well, I can’t quite figure them out. 

Sometimes I ask, sometimes I don’t, but even then they seem to just simply… vent. Sometimes I know what to say, and am compelled to say it, and they always seem immensely grateful. Sometimes I don’t, so I simply listen. I would be lying if I said I didn’t like this somewhat. It’s keeping me distracted, keeping me sane, keeping me from thinking about the fact that I have crawled into a web that’ll be very difficult, perhaps even impossible, to come out of. 

My god, I know more about their troubles and complicated feelings than I know about their looks or day-to-day affairs. That’s a bit funny. I also know much more about them than they do about me. But I’ve never been one to tell my troubles to strangers. Perhaps it’s because, to them, I’m non-threatening. They haven't seen me, part of them can pretend they made me up in their head. I sometimes think I made them up in my head, to cope with the apartment mess. 

I don’t believe I did, but if it’s somehow true, then it’s working. 

The first thing I see when opening the chatroom is news about Zen having broken his foot. Well, that’s surely a way to start the morning… He swears he’s fine, that he’ll recover in two days’ speed. That sounds impossible, though. I should give him a call soon, ask him how he’s doing, maybe keep him company for a little bit. He can tell me about his plays and I could tell him about the time I broke my finger during volleyball practice. And this apartment would feel less cold. 

Jaehee panicked, because of course she did. It was a little over an hour ago that she logged in to ask if she should go visit Zen at whatever hospital he was at, and Seven decided to pull a prank on her of all things. Which is simply… mean. She was worried, for god’s sake! He should’ve left it at the calm down and wait, it’s going to be fine. 

I go ahead and express my worries, tell Zen to rest and drink water and tell us if he needs anything, although I don’t think I’ll be able to help much, in my circumstances. I tell Seven he was kind of an ass just now, and tell Jaehee to breathe and wait. 

All in all, her panic is very much understood. Zen is her favorite actor, after all, and a friend of sorts. She was looking forward to this new play of his a lot, I believe to have something to be excited about in the midst of her daily toil. Seeing how she talked about him, I used to believe she had some sort of unchecked, repressed romantic feeling for him. But after last night’s conversation on her love life, I’m inclined to believe she harbors no such feelings, and is simply heartbroken. Well, heartbreak isn’t exactly simple. 

I want to know who broke her heart. Curiosity gnaws at me now. Was there someone who hurt her so badly she turned into an anti-romantic? She reminds me, somewhat, of myself after my breakup, when I was taking refuge in the comfort of friendship, idealizing it to levels I’d never before seen, convincing myself love was irrelevant and unnecessary. I still believe it’s unnecessary, but still very much relevant. It’s pretty, but you can fend off just fine without it. She, though, thinks of relationships as purely detrimental. I want to ask her why. 

Speak of the devil. The cell phone rings with a call. It’s from Kang Jaehee. Well, this is only a little bit terrifying. 

“Hello?”

“It’s me, Kang Jaehee,” She says. 

“Hi, Jaehee,” I say. “What is it?” I wonder if there’s been an issue. Usually she calls me whenever there’s a doubt to be cleared or something I need to know about the party. 

“I didn’t have anything in particular to say, I just… wanted to hear your voice.” She says the last part a bit shyly, a bit inward. I find myself smiling. It’s cute. 

Jaehee often does things I find cute. Little laughs she has and emojis she uses, the way she introduces herself in every single call, no matter if we’ve been talking multiple times a day for almost a week, so much that now I hear her voice in my sleep. And it’s funny because, from what I notice, the other’s wouldn’t call her cute, they’d call her steely. Which, she definitely can be, but when it comes down to it… she’s cute. It stands out, on top of everything else she is. 

“Well, you’re hearing it now,” I say. It’s such a silly request, and she’s almost too shy to make it. 

“And I am very glad,” she says. “I… I enjoy talking with you a lot, Chaeyoung.” The same shyness returns to her voice, and I bring my legs closer to myself. “Isn’t that quite strange? I feel comfortable talking with you. I think about it all the time while I’m at work.”

I do not think it’s strange, actually, I think it’s very normal. “Well, that’s nice to hear… we’re talking a lot these days about the party, so it’s like, we better be comfortable with each other, because otherwise…”

“No, no, I mean– yes,” she stumbles over her words, “I feel comfortable during those as well, but I meant more… casual conversation. When we’re not talking about the RFA, that is.”

Ah, of course. Truth is, we’ve been having more of those lately. Our conversations began to slowly veer into mundane affairs as the days passed, and now it seems that we have graduated to full-on conversations with no work inquiries. This happened yesterday in particular. I swallow once I think about it. We talked of lovers, of death, of how the world tries to eat you up and society forces you to compromise. 

“Oh,” I gasp, shock clearly there in my voice. “I enjoy it too, Jaehee. I always find what you have to say so interesting.”

Really, I think it’s the way she talks more than what she says. She has this calming voice yet sharp tone, tilts up, overemphasizes. It’s personal, entertaining. I could use it for ASMR. And, it helps with the company. I always seem to lose track of time during our converstaions, and the sentiment received from them carries on. They're like a balm, perhaps more so than the others. The others seem like they want something from me that I don’t exactly understand, or think that I can give. Jaehee, though, doesn’t seem to demand anything but support, which I can definitely give. 

There’s silence for a little while. Seems like now she doesn’t have anything to say. Then, “Uhm… I hope you’re eating properly.” It’s so soft.

Something about that warms my stomach. “I’m having breakfast right now.”

“That’s good,” she says. “Even if you skip dinner to lose weight, you must have breakfast and lunch. I read an article that said that this morning.”

“You should be having all three, yes,” I say. “I personally cannot start the day without food. I always wake up starving…”

“They say that is because your body used up the nutrients from the day.”

“I guess it’s good, then.” A second later, “You should try not to skip meals yourself.”

“Ah…” a defeated sigh, “Perhaps I’m not in the position to worry about others. I skipped breakfast today.”

Called it. “Is it busy over there?” 

“Yes. Very…” her voice sounds weary. “Not only that, but…”

“You were worried about Zen, weren’t you?” I worry, for a second, that I sounded too harsh. 

She doesn’t seem to mind, is actually glad. “Yes. Yes, exactly… I felt like I couldn’t get a single bite down after reading the news…” 

“Yeah, I guessed so.”

“I keep being astonished about how you seem to know exactly what I’m thinking and feeling,” she says. 

“I read the chatroom,” I say, regretting killing her ides just a little. “I mean, I’d imagine you were worried. And what Seven did was quite… the dick move.” 

“I’d rather not talk about any of that now,” she says, a little bit distressed. 

So I take it back to before: “Then we won’t. Still, try to get some kind of nutrient before lunch,” I say. “And real food, I mean. Not just espresso.” 

She laughs. “Ah, I will try… I know how hard it is to focus when you haven’t consumed enough nutrients, so I hope you’re healthier than me in that regard.” 

I nod along. “Yeah… I am eating well, thankfully. Thank you for worrying.” 

If there is one thing that makes me grateful about the RFA is that they care, truly care. It takes me aback a little. They don’t know me. Yet they still welcome me like family. And I do care about them too, because it gives me something to focus on. I want to get away from myself. They give me the chance to do so. 

“You know, I often feel like my days are the same,” she says, picking the conversation back up, “but I’m glad to have someone to call at least once a day. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“You’re not. Not at all.” I smile. “Well, you can call me whenever.” I realize that’s not something I’d say to just anyone, but talking to Jaehee feels comforting in this monotony of grey and white and shadows. “I… am very grateful for your calls as well. They make… all of this… feel much more pleasant.” 

I try to not make it sound like the plea that it is: Please, keep me company, curious stranger. You’re one of my only tethers to sanity. 

“It’d be nice to go see a movie after the party,” she says. “I’ve never had many friends because I was always busy working.” 

“I would like to meet you in person as well…” I want to know if you’re real. “Perhaps even earlier than that. I reckon it’ll still be a while until the party.”

That seems to make her nervous. “Well, if V will allow it… that would make me very happy.” 

Yes. There’s V, and there’s Seven, and there’s strange hackers involved. I want to get this party over with just so that I can breathe easy again. Sometimes I think of running away, consequences be damned. 

“I think I would like to be your friend,” I find myself saying. And it’s true, I would. She’s easy to talk to, and her presence feels like a weighted blanket: comforting, embracing, warm, almost revitalizing too. And I want to know Kang Jaehee, besides the collared shirts and glasses, besides Assistant Kang. Because I get the impression that there’s something sensible and beautiful just under the surface that’s waiting to come out, waiting for the chance to show itself. And I want nothing more than to see it. 

Getting to know Jaehee is like digging a pit that at first looks unappealing, but once you look closer you realize there is something very special about it. The more you dig, the more there appears to be treasure inside, and a good one. 

I think I’ll like what I find inside. 

“Ah, I think someone’s calling for me,” she’s suddenly in a rush. “I’ll have to go.”

I huff, not wanting this to end. But she’s a busy woman. “Alright, we’ll be talking later, then.”

“Please don’t skip your meals,” she says. “And have a good day.”

“You as well,” I say. “Call me later.”

“I will. Bye.” 

There is silence again. The only sound is that of the elevator. I look out, it has started to get quite cloudy. Next to me, my cereal has gotten soggy. I almost decide to not eat anymore, having gotten my fill, but then I remember the words we just uttered and feel it’d be almost hypocritical of me not to finish the bowl. So I pick it up and I do, and I hope the Kang Jaehee from the RFA also gets to have a nutritious meal this morning. 

For the first time ever since this began, I am grateful for her existence, for her being here. She is, perhaps, my greatest comfort in this nebulous labyrinth.