The sky felt different than it had in Seoul, and yet it appeared completely the same. Perhaps it was just that I was a different person now than the last time I had sat here, staring up at the same stars.
I looked down at my watch for what felt like the hundredth time and saw with some combination of apprehension and impatience that it was finally 10 pm.
Once I’d realised I’d been attempting to call Jihoon in the pre-dawn hours, I’d stopped, letting my phone complete it’s charge.Since then, I’d been waiting for a more palatable hour to call. Joon was now nine hours ahead of me.
Living in the future.
I checked I was connected to the WiFi before hitting call on KakaoTalk.
It took a moment to go through; the call hanging on a precipice before the ringtone sounded.
He answered almost immediately and when he did – his face filling the screen – it was so reminiscent of the first few months of our relationship that a feeling not unlike vertigo seemed to press me deeper into the cushions.
For a brief moment, I was back in my little bedroom in LA. It was like Seoul never happened.
I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to banish the feeling of erasure.
“Ky?” His normally smooth voice broke through my attempt to push the thought down. He sounded like he had just woken up.
I opened my eyes, locking onto his, trying to ignore that weird disconnect that came from two people staring at a screen – never quite able to make eye contact.
“Joon,” I breathed. His name was an exhalation of relief, and my lips quirked up at the way it felt to say it.
His coffee brown eyes softened as he grinned and I felt the corresponding tug in my belly. I already missed him so much.
Then, I noticed his surroundings. I recognised those sheets. And though it was irrational, I couldn’t deny the way my heart thumped painfully to see how he was back in his own apartment, and not the one we’d shared.
“You’re in your own bed.” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral.
“I moved my things when I got back from the airport,” he said. “I didn’t want to stay there without you.”
It made sense. Hell, I probably would have done the same thing. But despite the sense it made, the thought of the downstairs apartment being empty now made me feel hollow.
I remembered the day we’d gone to see it for the first time, before I’d known who it belonged to, before I’d known we’d be living there – however temporarily. I remembered how it had echoed in the way that empty places do, even when they’re full of things.
I wondered how long it would take before it would settle and sound like that again. Maybe it already did.
Echoes of the past, of the life we’d made there, the vibrations of our lives reverberating through the still air until they fell to the ground, undisturbed like dust motes.
Everything was going back to the way it was, except me. I had moved away and the life I’d left behind was shrinking, going back to the shape it had been before I’d ever been there.
“How's youreomma?” Jihoon asked, shaking me out of my morose thoughts.
I took a steadying breath.
“Dad says she’s doing okay. Her surgery went well. She might even be home tomorrow.”
He nodded, his hair falling in his eyes. It was getting long. “And how are you?”
I shrugged. It felt selfish to think about myself in the face of such overwhelming, life-changing events. I felt so many things, but none I’d stopped to really examine. Instead, they manifested in my bitten nails, and the constant twist in my gut.
“I’m not sure,” I said honestly.
A moment of silence fell between us, full of the last goodbye we’d shared.
“And you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “How are you doing?”
My question sounded so trite. It was like I was asking how he felt after I’d punched him in the gut. The words were weighed down with guilt. A part of me thought this was worse for him, because it had been my decision to leave.
