Earthquake

1:34 am

jeemin!

bang bang!

bang jeemin

:cumby:

i know ur awake

im studying

whatttt but its so lateeeeee

so?

boring

ew

yucky

:DDDD

im not a genius like you sarang

im no genius

but im 

flattered

and a lil bit moist

gross

but u looooove me

<3

fuck do u want

nothing

lets go out

u just said it was so late

for studying, not for hanging out

ive put this off too long alr

bring ur dumb book then jeez

its so nice outttt

and the air so so clean and fresh

not tonight sarang

and the moon is so pretty

what why notttt

:(

just not tonight ok

u hate me :(((((((((

right now, yeah

oh

ok sorry

im gonna have eepytimes then

nightnight bangbang

kith

And I set my phone down.

You asked me to tell truths. I have. What do I want? Understanding. Exchange. Victory. A game—hiding and discovery. You’re a swift opponent, Blue. You play long odds. You run the table. If we’re to be at war, we might as well entertain one another. Why else did you taunt me at the start?

Yours,

Red

PS. Cochineal! I get it now.

Sigh.

get your coat

no its ok

im sorry

shut up and get your coat

I cursed. I threw my face into my hands. I groaned, probably the loudest I’ve ever groaned my entire fucking life. And once it was over, I sighed. Again.

:)

oh gosh im melting

if ur not ready in 2 mins im going home

fym

btw hurry

its cold out here

Sure enough, there she was. Ryu Sarang stood right outside my window, in a coat that wrapped around her frame sloppily, looking up and searching every single window, and with every turn, the moon she said was so pretty that night shone on a smile that would only ever be Sarang’s to give. Once she saw me, she raised a hand up high, waving left and right, before switching to the other one while she shoved the first right into her pocket. Now how in the fuck—I rushed to my closet, grabbed a coat of my own, and practically threw myself down the stairs. On finding her right outside the dorm lobby, I was floored.

“Hi, Jeemin,” she said, somehow more out of breath than me, “doorman said he couldn’t let visitors in, but he said he was making sure I was safe out here.”

“And what the fuck are you doing here?!”

“We’re hanging out, right?” She flashed another smile, a gummy one, reaching her eyes and ears, finding her fingers in between mine. “Let’s go?”

And how could I have said no? I couldn’t send her away in the wee hours of the night even though I wanted to. I mean, she came all this way—”How… how long have you been out here? What time did you get here?”

It should’ve been obvious with the way her eyes dropped. It should’ve been so obvious. “Just now…?”

“Bullshit, Sarang.”

She threw her hands up in defeat, “Fine, I was hanging out by myself for a little while.”

“What?!”

“Just taking a walk! And you know it’s a safe neighborhood. There’s security everywhere.”

“But that doesn’t mean—”

Just like her smile, she flashed a sheath for a combat knife—her combat knife—from under the coat, along with a pepper spray bottle clipped to her belt loop. “And I can fight, you know.”

I did. I still had the scar to prove it, and so did Sarang.

I pulled her coat back around her, zipping her up halfway. It was the fluffy kind of coat, but one she’s since somehow or other gotten rid of or relegated to some drawer in her childhood home than hung up in her closet. But it kept her warm in days when the sun fell short, and in nights when nobody else could.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She placed a hand on my cheek, rubbed it with her thumb. I knew then that she was stronger than she looked, in more ways than ten, but there was always that one strength she could never build herself.

I sighed. “Where are we off to?”

That damn smile.

“—and so I was just there, staring out the window, when all of a sudden, the wheels screeched and the bus swerved to the side! What were the chances that it was my side facing forward, so I saw what made the whole thing go down. Guess what.” She placed her hands on her hips, looking all proud of herself like she’d just had a thrilling once in a lifetime experience. I hoped it was. 

“Was that the day you were late to second period and completely missed first?”

She frowned, crossed her arms, looked away to the side and out the window and deep into the night. “You’re no fucking fun.” But even then, once I got back to my book, she dipped her french fry in mayonnaise and put it right up against my lips. 

I take it. 

Absent from your mention of food—so sweet, so savoury—was any mention of hunger. You spoke of the lack of need, yes—no lion in pursuit, no “animalist procreative desperation,” and these lead to enjoyment, certainly. But hunger is a many-splendoured thing; it needn’t be conceived only in limbic terms, in biology. Hunger, Red—to sate a hunger or to stoke it, to feel hunger as a furnace, to trace its edges like teeth—is this a thing you, singly, know? Have you ever had a hunger that whetted itself on what you fed it, sharpened so keen and bright that it might split you open, break a new thing out?

It felt like a sort of rough silk, the cream page against my fingertips. Sarang fed me another while I read. 

Sometimes I think that’s what I have instead of friends.

“What’s that book about?”

“Dunno.”

“How far along are you in it?”

“Chapter seven.”

“You’re seven chapters in and you don’t even know what it’s about?”

I hope it isn’t too hard to read this. Best I could do on short notice—hope it reaches you before the island breaks around you.

I shot her a look once a particularly mayonnaise-y fry hit my nose. “Hey—” but then our eyes met, and I caught her staring at me like I was some ghost. 

“Tissue.”

“Oh, right.” She reached over the table, nearly dipping her sleeve in the lidless soda cups, and I had to hold them up for her while she wiped it off my nose. 

“There. Now you look all grumpy again.”

I chuckled. “So, what's up with the sudden urge to hang out? It's not like you to be up this late.”

Shrugged, feigning innocence, “It's a nice night out. Sue me.”

For a moment, all the world around us was was only harsh fluorescent lights, the tinny creaks of exhaust fans with grease in the housing, and the scent of cheap brewed coffee for God-knows-who, certainly not us. She fiddled with her fries some more, took sporadic bites of her burger. The streetlights outside shone like UFOs against the inky deep blues of the sky behind, and Sarang pointed to each one counting, paying special attention to the blinky one. 

“Sarang.”

She turns, not exactly whipping around but I could tell she was a little surprised. “Jeez, you scared the bajabbers out of me. Yeah?”

“Sarang… you know you can tell me things, right?”

And she’s still for a moment, with that look about her: lips pursed a bit more tightly than usual, twiddling her thumbs underneath the table—she knows I know it’s her tell—avoiding eye contact like the plague. “Can I really, Jeemin?”

I nodded.

“Are you upset with me?”

“Why would I be?”

“You seemed pretty mad about… I dunno.” Sarang looked down at half her burger, half her fries. She dipped another one in mayonnaise, and brought it up to her face for a little while, only to stare. “About tonight.”

Returning to my book, “I think anyone would be miffed at getting dragged out of their dorm on a Thursday night.” 

Write to me in London next.

Sarang whispered something. I wish I had caught it.

Croaking all around. Frogs always freaked me out. And yet I sat with her there, right by the water’s edge, with mud slathering the outside of my shoes, the river seeping into my socks. I held her; she snuggled her head into my shoulder, watching the ripples and bubbles from the surface of the water play around with the reflection of the moon she said looked so pretty that night.

“This set,” says Blue, adjusting, softening her eyes into kindness, her grip into a caress, “is mismatched.”

“I'm sorry.”

I tried making it seem like it wasn't a big deal. I turned the page, hoping she didn't notice, knowing she did. “For?”

Her turn to sigh now, slumping deeper against my side. She was usually so warm—enough to replace pocket warmers around the time before the semester starts in late February. She fits like a glove around me, her coat like a rag around her. But it's not the same kind of warm. She's still, hesitant, the way she is when she thinks she's made a mistake. Though at the time, I couldn't tell what.

“For… dragging you out here. You're busy studying and I'm getting in the way.”

“Wouldn't be the first time.”

Silence, save for the croaking frogs and bubbling river and crickets somewhere in the trees. I couldn't tell why or how I knew, but Sarang closed her eyes at that moment. “You suck at lying, by the way,” as the only way to eke the truth out of her. Sarang knew it was bait, with the way she leaned into me, scrunched her nose against my shoulder, but took it anyway.

“Be honest with me, Jeemin,” she prods, “you'd rather be in bed right now, or reading your weird-ass book in your cozy dorm room, or literally anything else.”

“You don't know that.”

Sarang chuckles at it, like a preschooler does at a weak retort, “Yes I do, Jeemin. You know how I know?”

Briefly she wonders if the hardness in her throat is poison, her inability to swallow around it anaphylactic.This does not frighten her.

She closes her eyes against the alternative, which does.

It's then that I had to force the book closed, committing the last few words of the passage to memory. I looked her in the eyes, and I still regret it. “How?”

“Because,” and she spots a water strider shoving off from the riverbank into a grassy patch where it’d have found its next meal, “because I'm Ryu Sarang.”

“So?”

“I'm Ryu Sarang, who's all needy and annoying and can’t just fucking go to bed. I'm Ryu Sarang who gets scared of being alone and left behind and runs off in the middle of the night because running is better than staying still.” Sarang wrapped her arms around mine, clung to me like I was the only thing keeping her afloat. She held me close to her chest, tight as ever, but it felt like there was no way in hell she could fuse herself onto my sleeve. “Ask me what I did, Jeemin. Come on,” she nagged, bouncing with each, “come on, come on, come on!”

That smile again.

“Wh-what did you do, Sarang?” I stumbled. Only for a little bit, but she knew. She always knew.

“I… took a little walk. I brought my knife with me, you know I can take care of myself,” she sighed, “sort of.” For a moment it was all still, but she went on, “I actually don't know if I can take care of myself.”

Croaking, and bubbling, and cicadas in the trees. The slight chill of the night against the billowing of cherry blossom leaves somewhere far off. Fresh and living mud hanging in the air, along with the itchiness of pollen brought by the rush of airs from upstream. Blood in my ears, heat in my cheeks, heart aching as it thumps once against my chest.

“And you're collateral. I'm a mess and you're here before sunrise with a girl you haven't even known that long when you could be sleeping or studying or—”

“I just wasn't busy.” I had to stop her. I had to stop.

I wonder, in that light, how much of your work has helped me, and the other way round—a question beyond my calculative capacity. I’d ask the Chaos Oracle, but I have enough trouble with the higher-ups at present. I had to step fast after your last letter caught me napping. Commandant wanted explanations, as Commandant tends to, after the sinking island took so many treasures with it. A brief lapse in efficiency, according to the Agency’s models, but well within tolerance considering my track record. But added to the inroads your side’s made against our more exposed deep-cover teams—well, I shouldn’t talk shop. What a bore, your tea salon pals would say.

“Jeemin.”

“Yeah?”

“Let's go home. I'm cold.”

I received suggestions: philosophy textbooks, meditation guides, offers of practice and alliance. They crowded round. Whispers in my ears: Are you okay? Do you need help? You can talk to us. You always can.

She left from my neck, rubbed her eyes, yawned a tiny little yawn. Rubbed her eyes some more, against my shoulder that time. Still clung to my arm. Shivered.

“Let's go, Sarang.”

She plays a tenuous game, this strand. As she knots and thinks to herself, she decides she would describe it using terms from Go: You place each stone expecting it may do many things. A strike is also a block is also a different strike. A confession is also a dare is also a compulsion.

Sarang woke with a start, “Where are we?” still groggy, head whipping around and trying her best to regain her bearings. 

I patted her hair down, eased her head back onto my shoulder, “Five minutes away.” 

Red’s hands slip on the knot. She is not thinking to herself. She is explaining.

And to whom is she explaining? Well.

She looks out to the meeting of sky and sea.

Stands up.

Walks away.

She snuggled back into my neck, sighing a breath of relief as the bus shook and swayed around us. She still clung, hard, even though I never once tried to struggle free. The slow softening of her fingers against mine, grip releasing steadily, the warmth of her palms leaving mine. Even the engine was quiet, along with the world around us. The sun was fighting hard to rise; its corona was breaking through the horizon with the beginnings of a semi-pinkish shade against the deep blue that reigned over the sky. The air around us was stale, recycled, familiar. Too familiar. 

She feels observed. Might Commandant be watching her? And if so, for what? She has been so careful. She does not even think the sky’s name, often.

I looked over, and I wished I hadn't. Ryu Sarang—eyes shut gently, snoring lightly, dimple buried somewhere deep in her cheek. She was tired; all she was was tired. I placed my arm over her shoulder, gave her just a bit more comfort where I could and when and how. Right away, she came in closer, and the moment she did, the last few wisps of her shampoo entered my senses.

She mumbled, “You always look after me, Jeemin,” yawned, “I don't know what I'd do without you,” relaxed her grip. “Whoever you're gonna end up marrying is really fucking lucky.”

Ryu Sarang, who asks to hang out at 1:30 am, takes it back, and shows up anyway. Ryu Sarang, who stares out of windows in the dead of night. Ryu Sarang, who apologizes for God-knows-what. Ryu Sarang, who was asleep on my shoulder before sunrise as the bus took us home.

I stirred, and the sunlight immediately hit my eyes even through the drawn curtains—good thing it was me facing them. Surely thirty minutes isn't enough, but I made do. I was careful as I ever was, than I'll ever be. I slipped out of the blanket, got dressed, got ready. 

8:15. Five minutes to campus, fifteen to class start. I packed the book. Nothing forgotten. 

Ryu Sarang, who misses first period and will be late to second. Ryu Sarang, who stays up all night trying desperately to not be alone. Ryu Sarang, who sleeps in my bed, under my blanket, on my pillows, because her own are too cold. 

Sleep well, Ryu Sarang.

11:01 AM

i owe u an explanation

shut up im in class

please?

you dont owe me anything sarang

:(

are you mad at me?

theres a waffle snack on my desk

eat it before you go

please stop skirting around the question jeemin

are you mad at me

im sorry

I stopped. And thought about it a little more.

why would i be mad at you?

Stopped again. Why can’t I say it?

you didnt do anything wrong

And she saw right through me.

yes or no

are you mad at me?

ykw dont answer, ill just

i think im happier not knowing

thank you for wasting your time on me jeemin

i couldnt ask for a better friend than you

text me when you get home

Typing…

She stayed like that for a while, seeming not to be able to decide what to say, and I was just as tongue-tied. What could I have said?

Sigh.

ok?

Typing…

I cursed. I threw my face into my hands. I groaned, probably the quietest I’ve ever groaned my entire fucking life. And once it was over, I sighed. Again.

:)

Typing…

It disappeared for a moment, but it seemed to be exactly that that gave her the needed push.

ok jeemin

:D

i also took this water under ur bed

love ya buddy

kithkith

you better text

Coward.