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junghwan stares at the half-reflective windows, rocking with the rhythm of the train, the steadfast ta-dang, ta-dang of wheel against rail. his hand has a numb grip on the strap above him, a zombie-like lock of the joints that never has to run by the brain. small muscles work silently to keep him upright when he swings. he bumps a little into the people around him.
outside, the outskirts of the city sweeps by, duller and duller by the minute. there is no bright neon here, no glass facades or sleek polished chrome. in gaps between the passing buildings he can see the dark towers of tenancies grouped together in lines and blocks, stretching away in waves, taller beyond taller, and taller yet.
night is falling.
junghwan watches himself in the window. his shape is blurry under the blunt tube lamps in the ceiling, and slouched and bulky in his coat. he taps the outside of his pocket, and the melody streaming through his earphones changes. again, again. there. it's an analog demo, played by real people with real instruments, real voices. it's rare by now but he knows how to find them. there are groups for stuff like that in trulife.
he listens to a tender acoustic guitar and feels it starting to drown out the sounds of work still stuck in his brain, the beeps and the boppings, the wubs and untzes, pip pap pop, zips and zioooongs. the nasal, high-pitched tappings of a digital woman's voice, tweet tweet, bing bing. that's the fashion now. sounding like a cartoonized toddler. that's what sells. junghwan doesn't complain. seoltang is one of the biggest trulife stars right now, and she is what pays junghwan's bills.
he saw her in concert once. got a free entry code from the company. before that, he hadn't really grasped the extent of her popularity. there was a participant counter in the corner. it kept blinking, blinking, as more and more people joined. the crowd roared, painted in bright flashing strobe-lights, the music pumped and seoltang danced, danced and danced, never getting tired, never catching her breath, her synthetic voice always equally perfect and clear, her pink ponytails bouncing.
it was weird, hearing your songs like that, known by heart but still so foreign. it was a far ride from junghwan's office, the white-walled booths and the whirring computers where he and the other programmers sit, typing out music sound by sound, fitting them together like brightly colored bricks, drawing seoltang's voice with levers and curves.
nowhere is his name ever credited.
through the guitar cuts a gentle beep. junghwan takes out his phone from his pocket. one new message.
hey
junghwan smiles. he sweeps the tiny keyboard up into frame. on the train. be there in ten
he stands in front of the mirror as the elevator snails up the twenty-five stories. the face in front of him is rather round, cheeks a bit loose. the eyes look small under the big glasses, and they droop down at the corners. above, the eyebrows sit like two thick, straight marker lines. there is an unassuming nose and a pair of lips with some volume to them. he pokes at his hair, pulls the bangs back and into a fashionable curve over his forehead before they fall down again. it's not a bad face.
it's an okay face.
he has to sweep the lock card of his door thrice because it jams again. gets inside finally, kicks his shoes off, drops the card and drops it again when he's picking it up, throws it on the counter. puts the plastic box with his dinner in the fridge and throws his bag on the one kitchen chair, facing the wall where the counter juts out. he has a one person apartment, since he lives alone, standard size - one multi-functional room, everything you need in life squeezed into a box that he can cross in five paces.
he zips into the bathroom by the door without taking his coat off, zips out again one minute later with wet hands before the toilet has even finished flushing, fumbling with his belt. he stumbles over to the black, plain box in the bookcase next to his bed and presses the pad of his finger under the small red lamp in the upper corner. it blinks and turns green. some text appears on the shiny surface. junghwan taps in a code. slowly takes off his jacket and puts on the foot end of the bed. the box beeps and junghwan reaches out to put on the black helmet sitting next to it on the shelf.
his avatar does look like him. it's based on a scanning of him. they do them at the service centers. he booked an appointment when he registered his account. the waiting time wasn't bad, just a week or two. they put a big cylinder over his head and made him talk, smile, laugh and make faces. next up was putting on a skin-tight grey bodysuit and walk and run on a flat treadmill in a cylindrical room. they had him sit, squat, lie down, jump, lift his arms and be lasered out of every angle.
he might have stiffened at that part because they told him to be natural. it was important, they said, to capture the base components of his natural pattern of movement. from them they can replicate it, and digital junghwan will be able to do anything junghwan's physical brain might want him to do, in the way that physical junghwan would do it. yes, junghwan knew the slogans from their commercials. leading in human digital replication. so accurate, so personal and individual, that it's practically true to life. (hence the name.)
then junghwan went home and started on the modifications. everybody modifies their avatars. and everybody knows that everybody does it. it's no big deal. a little taller, a little slimmer, a little firmer. eyes a bit bigger, cheeks a bit smaller, mouth a bit fuller and showing a little bit less gums when it laughs. hair a bit browner, a bit shinier, and styled in those cool curves and sweepings that junghwan never bothers to do in real life.
junghwan lies down on his bed and flips through the panels glowing on the inside of the opaque visor. he browses his favorites and decides what curve and sweep he wants to don today. considers a hat, but decides against it. he picks a pair of jeans and a shirt and a pair of trainers. he chooses how to smell - just faintly, of neutral cologne and fresh laundry. his eyes move deftly around, shifting sliders and pressing buttons.
when he's done he hits enter and pages chanshik.
tall, stylish junghwan stands smiling at him on the inside of the black visor, waiting patiently. soon he will start shifting around and point to the menus on his sides, but junghwan ignores him. he closes his eyes and lies back for a minute, feeling the soft bed under him and the edge of the helmet digging into the back of his neck, until he hears a familiar voice in his ear, warm and prickling and with laughter playing just under the surface;
"hey, hyung."
junghwan grins. "the usual place?"
"yeah."
trulife shines in white letters against the black while the screen loads. then the world opens up, and chanshik stands smiling in front of him.
junghwan sits on his exercycle and skates. he has never stood on a physical skateboard in his entire life but he's starting to get the hang of this - the feeling of the hard board under the soles of your shoes, the small tilts and leans to keep your balance. the speed, the jumping, the landing. he can feel the wind on his face and through his hair, though it does not cool his wet forehead under the VR helmet. he lets his legs spin on and balances on the edge at the top of the half-pipe. it's tall. it could be the height speaking but he knows that real-life pipes aren't this big. everything is bigger here - higher, deeper, stronger, better.
beneath him chanshik zooms like a blur over the flat bottom and up the opposite wall. he flies vertically off the edge when it ends, lifts five or six meters, does an intricate spin high in the air and then slides down the wall again, the board like glued to his feet. his t-shirt flutters wildly in the racing wind. he flips up and lands easily next to junghwan, his hair standing right up.
"i can't do that," junghwan says, panting.
"try it," chanshik grins, touching his shoulder.
junghwan glances down the precipice, unconsciously pedaling a bit faster. finally he shifts his weight to his right foot and lets himself fall.
the air streams hard and cool against his warm face. he feels himself accelerating. the wheels roll smoothly against the curved wood. down, and then up again, up, up, and then the surface disappears beneath him.
he knows the movement, he has seen chanshik and sunwoo do it loads of times. he uses the momentum to pull his body around, twists up and sideways, but doesn't get far enough, or the angle is wrong, he doesn't know, all he knows is that he's upside down, he doesn't know where his board is and the wall of the pipe is approaching at neck-breaking speed.
the next second he crashes. he sees it more than feels it, and since the helmet automatically mutes the impact it's eerily quiet. his body sags against the wood, folds over like a ragdoll and slides down to the pipe floor. junghwan sits back on his saddle and stops pedaling. there is a light pressing sensation at his head and his shoulder where his body met the ground. he realizes he's lying on his back, and then sees his board slowly roll down the wall and dutifully stop at his side.
cackling loudly, chanshik slides down the other wall on his feet and jogs up to him.
"are you okay?"
junghwan sits up and brushes himself off. "yeah, of course."
"you should have seen yourself," chanshik says. he bends his knees and makes a distressed face, frantically flapping his arms. then laughs loudly again and junghwan groans. he grabs chanshik's extended hand and pulls himself up. he's not dizzy, but the world spins a little when he gets upright.
"i think i'm gonna take a break."
chanshik stops laughing. "okay. i can come with you." his hand touches junghwan's elbow.
"no, it's fine. you keep going."
chanshik's fingers linger around his wrist for a moment, but then he smiles and beams himself up to the top of the pipe again, board in hand. junghwan deletes his board that is still sitting in the middle of the pipe and heads off to the bleachers at the side where dongwoo is sitting squinting at him with a big annoying grin on his face.
"shut up", junghwan tells him and sits down next to him.
"i wasn't saying anything," dongwoo says.
junghwan slowly starts pedaling again, reaches for his water bottle and takes a drink both physically and virtually.
"have you seen that app," dongwoo asks, "that simulates realistic accidents? your brains would have been spread all over that pipe by now." he grimaces.
"and then i just walk away?" junghwan asks. "that's awesome."
a couple of other skaters have joined chanshik in the pipe. junghwan checks their profiles. it's nobody he knows. they're even better than chanshik, but junghwan still follows chanshik with his eyes.
chanshik has barely modified his avatar at all. junghwan thought that he had, when he first met him, probably quite a lot, thought that maybe chanshik even was one of those custom bodies you can buy, but there's usually something off about them. junghwan soon noticed little details about chanshik that told of realness. like the scar on his one single eyelid, and the little wrinkles that form around his eyes when he laughs. or his laugh - wide and free, scratchy like a hyena.
chanshik looks almost exactly the same in digital and physical form. he sends junghwan pictures sometimes, taken at arm's length or in the mirror. he likes quirking his brow deep and make weird faces. sometimes they're taken by a friend, showing a lanky kid with a straight back striking poses on fences and rocks. he sent a video, too, once, when he was on vacation in seoul. junghwan was actually struck, then, by how well he knew all the little expressions and things chanshik's face did. it wasn't all marketing talk, after all. it is as good as real life.
junghwan's favorite pictures are the ones chanshik takes in bed some nights, when they're talking before falling asleep. when his face is soft and his smile small and his eyes almost closed. he takes them lying on his side with his face half buried in the pillow, like junghwan is actually lying next to him, looking at him for real. junghwan looks at those pictures so long that he still sees them when he closes his eyes.
junghwan has sent chanshik a couple of pictures as well. face-shots, where he thought he looked good. chanshik told him he was cute.
dongwoo jolts next to him on the bench. "oh."
"what?"
"sunwoo's on."
"tell him to come over?"
dongwoo doesn't answer. he stares blankly in front of him for a while, mouth half open, then laughs suddenly. "he's setting up a team for no-grav basketball. he's wondering if we want to tag along."
"the three of us?"
"yeah."
junghwan looks up and pages chanshik. chanshik's speeding along the curve of the pipe so quickly he's hard to focus on. he soars up above the wall, starts flipping over, and then disappears into thin air. in the same moment he blips into existence next to junghwan on the bench, breathing through his mouth.
"what's up?"
"i'm heading out to play basketball with sunwoo," dongwoo says. "you two wanna come?"
"now?"
dongwoo nods.
chanshik takes a drink out of junghwan's water bottle. he looks at junghwan, and junghwan looks at him back.
chanshik wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "we have plans."
"oh." dongwoo grins his annoying grin again. "okay," he says, and gets to his feet. "are you still up for RP tomorrow?" he asks, pointing two finger-guns at them.
"yeah, of course."
"cool. later, then." he raises a hand at them and blips himself out.
chanshik puts his chin on junghwan's shoulder. it's sharp, but junghwan feels the warmth of chanshik's body against his side more. "kinda hungry," chanshik declares in one of his gross cutesy voices. it's gone as quickly as it came. "you wanna go eat?"
junghwan pokes at chanshik's stomach with his elbow. "yeah. i'm just gonna shower first."
junghwan pulls on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and puts the helmet over his still damp hair. he sets the visor to half transparency and pulls the fridge open to put his dinner in the microwave. while it's whirring softly he digs for a pair of socks in his drawer and browses through the list of his bookmarked digital dishes. enriched noodles give your body everything it needs but they don't taste much. you get more out of it if you sync it with a virtual meal.
"i want pizza," says chanshik's voice in his ear.
junghwan laughs. "you always want pizza."
"whatever. i'm not actually eating it."
"fuck you, now i also want pizza."
"let's share one."
"what do you want on it?" junghwan asks, shifting forth crusts and toppings.
"anything's fine. just take something custom, none of that base game shit."
"domino?"
"yeah, that's good."
junghwan ticks some boxes and presses some buttons, then connects his avatar and enters chanshik's homeroom.
chanshik's crib is not big and luxurious, like some people make them. sunwoo's is a minor palace, decorated according to sunwoo's poor idea of what looks grand and expensive, and dongwoo's always teasing him about the fact that he only ever uses one or two rooms of it anyway.
chanshik's is just one room, comfortably furnished but not bigger than junghwan's real life apartment, and has a fleeting air of college dorm room about it. there is a plain couch with a fold-out bed inside, a coffee table that usually has a couple of empty glasses standing on it, some posters on the walls, and an old tv on a wooden crate in the corner.
chanshik stands with his back to junghwan in the middle of the room, facing the far wall that is missing. outside, a vast field is stretching out as far as the eye can see. smooth sunny hills billow up and down through the landscape. here and there big, lush trees rise against the clear blue sky. a couple of fat white clouds sail slowly over it. gusts of wind move through the tall grass like waves on green water. one of them sneaks inside and tugs softly at chanshik's hair.
chanshik sweeps his hand in the air and the scene changes with a blink. people are standing just outside the threshold of the wall, as tall and real as chanshik and junghwan themselves. they're half turned away and don't see the room. they're happy, jumping and dancing to a beat junghwan can't hear. beyond them there's more people, and more. a thick, massive crowd extends beyond, each person like a single blade of grass, all moving and floating together. their hair and skins are tinted in pink and lavender and electric blue, some with lines and patterns drawn over arms and legs. their clothes and jewelry glow neon and their skins glitter in the pulsating light that is somehow dark and bright at the same time.
chanshik switches again. the wall blinks away all the people and colors, the world goes empty. they're on the brink of an ocean, grey and bare, separated from a soft, overcast sky by a line of horizon far, far away. small waves cluck up and spill out over chanshik's floor.
again. a city spreads out beneath, the intersection of two busy streets. people and glossy vehicles stream through like the constant water of a river, whirling when someone changes their mind and direction. skyscrapers shoot up from the tarmac, their facades lined with big blinking logos and shining advertisement screens. junghwan catches something pink and sees seoltang flashing by on one of the buildings, smiling at him, before being replaced by something else.
junghwan comes up behind chanshik and puts his arms around his waist. chanshik puts his right hand on top of junghwan's both and sweeps his left in the air again.
the wall turns black for a moment, and then lines start drawing themselves over the surface, beginning in the middle and spreading out like rings on water till the whole wall is filled. the room has turned dark and the lines send pale, stretched reflections of themselves on the surfaces of the rest of the room, weaving a thin web on chanshik's cheek. the pattern expands slowly until it stands out from the wall and appears to stretch beyond it, an abstract, three-dimensional grid of thin, faintly colored lines crossing each other back and forth and with small glowing dots constantly moving along and between them. it's like an anthill, you don't see them at first, and then you do.
"why do you like looking at stuff like this," junghwan asks.
he hears chanshik exhale, like he does when he grins.
"i think it's good to be reminded," he says, "of what it really is." he moves his fingers quickly in the air, and the view sweeps around and zooms in. it focuses on one small, lonely intersection, just three lines crossing, one x, one y and one z. there are no dots moving through here, just two small ones sitting right at the crossing, unmoving and so close that they're almost touching.
junghwan has seen it before, but it still gives him a sinking feeling in his stomach. that scanning, the thousands of gigabytes, all the details of junghwan's pattern of movement, all his collected data, all his downloaded and bookmarked content. everything junghwan has done online, everything that he is in this body, his entire virtual life - all concentrated in one shitty little dot. and all the wonders of trulife, just pale lines in a pitch black void.
junghwan's not interested in being reminded of what it really is.
he presses his palms against chanshik's stomach. "weren't you hungry?"
"yeah," chanshik says.
the wall becomes a wall again. chanshik turns around. "let's watch tv."
they pile together in chanshik's couch, eating steaming pizza-slices right out of the box with their hands, watching a rerun of a sitcom that ran of real-life tv ten years ago.
junghwan sits curled up on his bed and eats protein noodles that taste of mozzarella and pepperoni out of a plastic box.
junghwan stands on a vast stage and sings for a roaring audience. rows of spotlights centered on him paint him blue and shining and make the world seem to glimmer before his eyes. his fingers curl snugly around the microphone, grip relaxed but steady. they like so much to hold it, it fits so well in his hand. his voice flows strong and smooth through the speakers, filling the air and echoing off the walls of the arena.
the lyrics of the song are projected in gigantic letters on the opposite wall, far away over the sea of heads and waving arms. the words change color as he's supposed to sing them, from white to light blue in time with the music, so he'll always know where he is. he stumbles on the syllables sometimes, but it doesn't matter. he doesn't stop singing. he feels it in his whole body, when he sings, every word and every tone.
the soft notes he lets trickle gently out of him, the strong ones he seizes and presses his entire force into. he enjoys the contrast. he enjoys getting to choose how to present them. he follows the melody faithfully but twists all the details further, makes them his own. the soft even softer, whispered, caressed. the strong almost too forceful, loud and harsh.
it's his decision. he's in control.
when the last note is over he just stands for a minute, in the light, absorbing the applauds. then, gradually, the audience dies away and there's only chanshik, clapping and grinning broadly, coming towards him on the stage.
junghwan blinks once or twice, as if coming to. then he grins as well.
"that was great!"
"i cracked on the high note," junghwan says.
"i didn't notice. it was great anyway."
"thanks."
junghwan reaches out the mic to him. chanshik stops in his tracks, a couple of meters away. he suddenly looks small. his straight back has shrunk.
junghwan laughs gently. "come on," he says. "it can't be fun just listening to me belt the whole time." he waves the microphone in chanshik's direction.
chanshik wears a sheepish smile. "i can't," he says.
"try it."
chanshik stares at the mic for a long moment. then he comes closer and fingers at junghwan's outstretched wrist. "together," he begs. "together."
they do a duet - an old tacky ballad, over-emoted to the max, both falling to their knees at the end and clutching their chests in lament of lost love and broken hearts. that's what they usually do. chanshik doesn't like to sing unless junghwan sings with him.
they flop down on their butts when they're done, giggling, tangling their legs on the big empty stage.
"have you decided what you're gonna sing on that open mic night?" chanshik asks, picking at the hem of junghwan's shirt sleeve.
"i think so," junghwan says. "jinyoung said i could use one of his songs."
chanshik puts his hand on junghwan's thigh and looks into his eyes. "sing it for me?"
"i have no music," junghwan says.
"do it anyway," chanshik says. "i like hearing your voice."
junghwan disables audio track and audience and summons his microphone. chanshik sits with his legs crossed at the edge of the stage, smiling at him. he glimmers blue against the depth of the empty arena.
junghwan stands in the middle of his small apartment and sings into his hand curled around nothing.
chanshik kisses his cheek, his neck, his shoulder. junghwan draws his fingers through chanshik's hair and wonders how this would feel if this junghwan was real junghwan, and the chanshik with him the real chanshik. he thinks about electric signals and indirect stimulation of the brain. would it feel different, if chanshik's lips were pressing directly on his skin, and not just producing an impulse filtered over the internet and translated through the helmet shooting rays into the right neurons in junghwan's head? would it feel better? or is trulife always better, stronger, prettier?
little blossoms of touch fold out on his skin.
"have you thought about," chanshik's voice drifts into his ear, "what we talked about?"
"what?" junghwan murmurs into the receiver.
"about meeting. in real life."
junghwan is quiet.
suncheon is just some forty-five minutes away with the new expressway that was built a couple of years ago. junghwan went there a couple of times when he was younger, when they still had the old steel rails and sleepers and the electric wires running over-head. it was a nice place, from what he remembers of it, but he supposes it's more crowded now, just like busan. everywhere is more crowded, the buildings higher and squished tighter together, the streets busier, every space smaller to fit more people in. it's strange, isn't it, that the more people there are, the more you isolate yourself, the more lonely you feel.
junghwan looks down at the two bodies extending below him. they're almost exactly the same in size and shape. one is a little tanner than the other, the other a bit more muscular. long slim legs tangle on the fold-out mattress that never feels as thin as it looks. junghwan wiggles his toes. the toes on one of the feet wiggle. chanshik sees it and laughs. they play footsie for a minute.
chanshik's body is warm against him, skin smooth and silky. he puts his face at chanshik's neck and breathes in. the air is hot but only smells of junghwan's own cologne and laundry. junghwan quickly expands his avatar panel at the side of the visor and unticks the scent box. he tries again, but chanshik doesn't smell of anything. they haven't found a way to replicate personal smells yet. maybe they're working on it. chanshik brushes his nose against junghwan's cheek and slides his fingertips over junghwan's flat stomach.
junghwan closes his eyes and thinks about the body lying still under the covers of his bed in his apartment. it is shorter but bigger than the other two, not as tight over the skin, more undefined. it has a pair of stout calves, bony knees and a pair of strong round thighs. wide hips support a short, thick trunk. the stomach is soft and curved slightly outwards. two arms come down from shoulders that are neither broad nor narrow, with sharp elbows and some flesh on the underside that you can pinch.
it's not a bad body. it's an okay body.
for a short moment junghwan wishes that this was the body chanshik knew, not the other one, the one built and carved with all those tiny lies. then the thought is gone, and all junghwan feels, remembers, is how safe he feels in that other body, how free. his mind clutches to it, like someone is going to take it away. a small flash of fear passes through his belly.
besides, says a small voice deep in the back of junghwan's head. if he hadn't had that body, who knows if chanshik would have been lying next to him right now?
junghwan takes a breath. he thinks of what dongwoo told him once, leaned close in and murmured in junghwan's ear; you know that he's fucking in love with you, right?
it cuts somewhere inside of him, warm and sweet and tempting, but too deep, like pressing on something that is red and sore. he's torn between wanting to press it closer, and wanting to push it away.
"hyung," comes chanshik's voice, as if from far away. "hey, hyung?"
junghwan opens his eyes. chanshik's face is in front of his. it has a wrinkle between the brows, but now softens and melts into a smile.
"where did you go?"
"sorry," junghwan says. he must have accidentally disconnected and gone slack. "i'm here now."
chanshik studies him quietly, face blank in that way where junghwan doesn't know what he's thinking. finally junghwan rolls them over and kisses him.
chanshik's hand comes to his neck and there is a hard pull in the pit of junghwan's stomach, making it suck in. warmth spreads inside of him, like he's bleeding. it hurts, but it also feels good. chanshik's lips are soft. chanshik feels good. junghwan presses closer.
he wants to know what chanshik smells like.
"yes," he says, resting above chanshik on his elbow.
chanshik's fingers play slowly at the back of junghwan's neck. "yes what?"
"i have thought about it."