Client 11: Kim Gaeul

You signed up to Rent-a-friend out of boredom. It's as simple as that.

….nah. That’s not quite right. It went more like this:

You'd been staring at the same corner of your apartment for weeks, organising your big bottles of acrylics while thinking about absolutely nothing and everything at once. You barely made it for competitions, and your bills pile up incessantly.. Your canvases sales took a toll due to supply and demand, barely keeping you afloat (something about modern art that you refuse to follow), and pessimistic thoughts clouded your mind when you were alone in your apartment. That's when you heard some murmurs from your friends. "Bro, Rent-a-friend." They advertised, "You hang out, and you get money. Simple, eh?" and "Stop clinging to the past, man. Maybe you can find someone else here."

It is so fucking ridiculous, right? What kind of people will just pay you to just….hang out? Just exist in someone else's days without actual commitment? But with a few more nags, you sign up belatedly. Curiosity and desperation really does make a hell of a cocktail.

Which is how you ended up here. In the middle of your messy studio. 

As a painter, working with acrylic tends to let the medium have its way of getting everywhere if you let it be — plastic sheets taped to the floor, accidental paint smears dried onto the wall, neglected brushes soaked in cloudy unchanged water. With one hand braced against the wood, you are currently scrubbing at a stubborn streak of beige on the table.

And right in the middle of it, the bell rings. Oh look, your client has arrived.

Pushing yourself up, you quickly trudge towards the kitchen sink and rinse your hands until the paint fades. Looking down at yourself, all that greets you is a concoction of madness — a wrinkled and paint-splattered shirt, and an even more paint-splattered old pair of jeans. You run your fingers through your hair, putting not much thought into it as you push the strands back. Your face freshens up with a quick rinse, ignoring the tired eyes. Yeah, good enough.

It stops being good enough the second you open the damn door.

The guest is a girl who stands a little too straight, most likely trying to match up to your height (she probably remembers your profile). White cardigan that is definitely bigger than her petite frame, she clutches her tote bag close to her chest. She has this long and luscious black hair that she lets down freely, but you catch a glimpse of a hair tie on her wrist. Her eyes then flick up, meeting yours for a moment, before giving you a warm smile.

"Hi," she says hesitantly. "I'm Gaeul. I, uh….I booked for the rent-a-friend service."

Wow, she really has quite a soft and gentle voice. But you are certain that she is anything but weak. Careful sounds more like the right term, which is fair.

Regardless, you step aside. "You're at the right place. Come in."

"Oh- okay." She slips past you, already apologising under her breath even though she hasn't bumped into anything. She takes her shoes off neatly, and lines them up against the wall next to your paint-covered slippers that are anything but neat. And of course, like any other client, Gaeul has her gaze drifting immediately to the mess you're still in the middle of cleaning up.

"Wow, you actually paint?" "I wouldn't put it on my profile if I don't."

She hums quietly, eyes darting to the scattered brushes, the canvases leaning against the wall, and then the mess that definitely shatters the vivid imagery of an artist. Her attention lingers on the small canvases mounted neatly, mundane objects, fruits, a woman sitting on a chair, then back to the mess.

You gesture her towards the table instead. "Have a seat."

She sits on the edge of the chair at first, but then decides to scoot in properly when she realises how silly she looks. You sit across from her (duh. This isn't an escort service, what the hell) and slid the contract to her.

"I'll explain it first," you clear your throat. "I assume it will be better to hear it from me directly than just through DMs. You can read it if you want as I talk."

She looks relieved immediately. "Appreciate your consideration."

'No worries." you give her an assuring smile. "So, first and foremost, you are renting me as your company." Your voice is clear yet casual. "The transaction applies only face-to-face. So that includes hanging out, drinking, whatever you want to try, as long as it's legal, doesn't cross boundaries, and hurts no one." You point at the clauses on the paper. "The max is seven days. It doesn't have to be consecutive, nor do you have to use all of them."

She nods slowly, eyes fixed on you.

"But don't worry, messaging and calling are free, frankly because it is too annoying to quantify those. So you can send me memes, reels, or complaints at 2 a.m., that's fair game."

Her lips twitch. "That's…good to know."

You keep on explaining every little detail in the contract — no obligations after the contract ends, you are simply just there to accompany her, not setting her straight. Luckily, she listens attentively, nods at the right moments, and asking questions that tell you she read the website twice.

"And the…item?" she gets quite hesitant.

"Ah, so about that," You scratch your head as you smile sheepishly. "Something not exactly valuable but with some high emotional value. I can assure you that it is nothing nefarious."

She hesitates (which is understandable), then opens her bag. Her fingers move automatically, digging through everything inside, displaying them on the table — lipstick, lip balm, the forgotten snack, and more. But then she stops rummaging, looking at the hair tie on her wrist. She removes it from her and then places it on the table carefully.

"I use it all the time, well because I have long hair, but also—" she reasons herself a tad too quickly. "Whenever I work. When I need to focus. I don't know…to feel confident, maybe?"

You glance at it. The hair tie is slightly stretched. And soft from use.

"I'll take it." And you hear the exhale from her like she has been holding her breath for so long. You give her a pen. She signs. Her hands are steady.

And the ink dries. Just like the uncleaned streak of beige on the table.

Gaeul is an angel at first glance. Soft voice. Polite smile. Harmless energy. Then she grins, and somehow it scares the shit out of you.

Let’s rewind. 

You’re currently walking with her. She holds herself a little too straight, fingers constantly fiddling with the strap of her tote bag. Her eyes dart around the street, alert, like she’s mapping out an escape route in case this whole thing turns out to be a scam. It’s almost endearing, if not painfully obvious. So…you decide to break the ice, searching for a decent one in your head. 'So…what do you do for work?"

Ok, you already know. Background checks exist for a reason. But you don’t want this hang out to be just as awkward as your first time in a relationshi—

“I work in retail,” she replies. “Sales assistant. Clothing store.”

Phew. Something to work with.

She goes on about her days at work, that every morning she always wears her tight black skirt and matching waistcoat (she looks really cute when she shows you the photo) to spend the day serving customers and working behind the till. She admits she was lucky to get the job six months after graduating from junior college.

“The store’s nice,” she adds quickly.

But then she exhales.

“It was the only offer I got,” she admits. “After so many rejections, I just… accepted it immediately. Even though it was in Seoul.”

She tells you that she lives quite far away from Seoul. It is admittingly funny to see her cheeks puffing up when she rants about the nearest convenience store being a fifteen-minute drive away, and even that is just one lonely shop all by itself on a main road. Magazines always go on sale a few days later than they do anywhere else. There are no cinemas or fashion stores. Nothing she could call a restaurant either; the closest things are the small local diners with set menus.

To sum up her little rant: dying of boredom. Which is far more relatable than someone you have spent your late teens with. And hence she's here now. In Seoul. Renting you.

"So…" you try to sound casual, "what made you actually look this up?"

Gaeul gives you a sigh. "Well…I don't have anyone who I can just try things with. I mean, I have friends here, obviously. But they would definitely judge me for doing things out of character. I’m not exactly that close with them." She glances at you, probably testing whether you'll judge her. "So I was quite relieved that you guys' service is providing someone who isn't going to tell me off."

To be fair, you might judge in your head, but you don’t tell her that. "Well, that's what we do."

She laughs softly (albeit a bit embarrassed) and then tugs at a strand of hair before tucking it behind her ear. "Although, it is still quite weird, talking to someone I basically hired."

"It's supposed to feel weird, I don't blame you." you chuckle. "Kind of like you're wondering when you’ll get the character you want in a gacha game. Half of the thrill is seeing whether it will be a terrific pull or a terrible pull."

"…huh?" "Don't worry about it."