Scattered Blueprints

“Habbang~” You drop onto the edge of the mattress, its springs groaning under you. “Numbers any kinder today?”

“Yah, how many times do I have to tell you not to dry your hair on the bed!” Hayoung pouts, sitting up and crossing her legs. She wedges the crushed pillow that’s still dented with the shape of her head between her thighs like a shield. “It’s gonna get mouldy from all the water dripping everywhere.”

She tilts her phone toward you. The banking app glows blue against your face and she mumbles. “Still nowhere near… but hey. We’ll get there.”

“Mmm.” You squint at the screen, doing the math in your head like always. “Thirty-seven percent. Five years if we stay perfect… maybe four if we get lucky.”

“Ughhh. When will we win the lottery already?” She flops backward with a dramatic thud and immediately winces. “Ow. This thing hates me.”

You stand and stretch your back, wandering over to the progress board stuck to the wall. “There. One more percent.” You twist the knob and the left dial clicks to 37, the right falls to 63. “One measly percent a month. Thrilling.”

“Sixty-three more months…” Hayoung sighs, her limbs spread like a starfish across the mattress as she stares up at the familiar water stain on the ceiling like it's her favourite cheesy burrito.

“Aren’t you gonna shower? We’ll be late.” You turn toward the kitchen — or what looks like one. The dining table functions as a stove, her makeup station, and your unofficial “dreaming zone” (aka where you balance your phone to watch home tour videos when you can’t afford the real thing). “Get up~ I’ll make us coffee and breakfast while you freshen up.”

“Ugh.” Seeing you put the water to boil, Hayoung groans as she hauls herself off the bed, shuffling into the shower. The shower door shuts with a click, and soon the muffled sound of running water soothes into your ear.

“Damn, it's the last two packs.” You throw the empty box into the trash and tear the packs open, pouring them into your mugs. “Babe! We gotta get some more coffee tonight, we're out.” You holler as you add two extra teaspoons of sugar into Hayoung's mug — she likes it a tad sweeter.

“Didn't we just stock up?” Hayoung shouts back. “They should hire us as their brand endorsers or something at the rate we're drinking.”

You pop bread slices onto the warmed pan, swirling them around until they're burnt to a nice char with a nutty toasted aroma. Removing the toasted bread slices to let them cool, you toss in last yesterday’s leftover spam and soon, the room fills with the smell of sizzling processed meat. You let the boiled water cool to roughly 83°C for about five minutes (you’ve estimated the timing based on ten years of instant coffee making), before pouring them into the mugs.

“Smells good~” Hayoung emerges from the shower, towel wrapped around her hair in a bun. She approaches the kitchen/make-up/dining table and sits down, already helping herself with the warm toast and spam. “I love the coffee you make for me~” she says with her mouth full.

“We gotta go soon, the company shuttle comes in a bit,” you remind her, before wolfing down your share of salty spam, crunchy toast, and cheap coffee. You both scroll through reels on your phones through breakfast, and she pauses every few seconds to tilt the screen toward you. “Look at this backsplash! We could do something like that.” You nod, mouth full of food, pretending not to notice how her voice lifts just a little when she talks about “our kitchen.”

You both finish and clean up, before donning the same deep blue polo tee and bottoms that fully cover your legs (company policy). Once done, you put on socks and shoes, then kneel down to tie Hayoung’s shoelaces — your daily ritual — before quickly heading down together to board the shuttle bus.

The ride to the furniture store is short, crowded, and warm with too many bodies. It's mildly suffocating, and there aren’t any windows that you can slide open. Inflation is on a rising trend, but damn the bus driver who refuses to switch on the air conditioning. Hayoung leans against your shoulder, half-asleep again, her damp hair leaving a faint wet spot on your polo. You don’t mind. You never mind. Instead, you'd give anything for a car, for air-conditioning, for a life where she doesn't have to nap on your shoulder every morning.

The bus rolls up to the backdoor of the store. “Habbang~ wakey wakey. We're here.” You squeeze Hayoung's puffy cheeks with your fingers, waking her from slumber. “Mmmm… already?” She rubs her eyes and lifts her head off your shoulders. “Ah shit, I got your shirt wet again.” Hayoung peers at the damp spot, trying to pat it dry with her sleeve.

“It's alright, I don't mind your saliva on my shirt,” you tease.

“Yah, I didn't drool at all!” She smacks your arm with a smirk. You both wait in your seats for the bus to empty out before disembarking last — no rush to clock in. You both head into Blue Prints, a furniture store that you both have been working in for the past 8 years. You have a love-hate relationship with this place: it's where you get scolded by customers and supervisors, where you feel trapped from real freedom. But it's also where you pay the bills, work toward a better future… and where you met the love of your life.

“So, where are you stationed today?” you ask, turning to stand beside Hayoung, looking at the roster.

“I'm taking dual stations today,” Hayoung groans, tucking her polo tee into her pants. “Study Blueprints and… Kids Blueprints.”

“Good thing they're side by side. Then you won't have to go back and forth across the entire floor,” you reply, stuffing your hands into your pockets. “I’ll be on customer service duty today, so I’ll be up and about. RIP legs.” You bend down and massage your calves, warming them up for the 10-hour walkathon that's about to happen.

“Take it easy. I’ll see you at lunch, my dear~” Hayoung ties her hair into a ponytail, before putting on the company’s cap with the words “Blue Prints” sewn on in a fancy italicised font. “Love you,” she says, leaning in for a quick peck on your cheek before heading off.

Work passes in the usual blur: you hauling flat-packs, helping customers who can’t decide between birch and white, fixing a display shelf that keeps tilting. Hayoung is over in Kids Blueprints, kneeling on the foam mats, building towers with a group of kids who keep knocking them down and giggling. Every time you pass by, she looks up and flashes you that quick, bright smile. You've been married to her for 5 years, but that smile still makes your chest do a stupid flip after all this time.

By closing time you're both tired but wired. The manager waves you off with the keys again (“You two never cause trouble — lock up when you’re done”), and suddenly the store is yours. “Let's tidy up quickly and head out. The mart's gonna close if we get there late,” you say.

“We need coffee,” Hayoung says as you turn off the lights, “otherwise, you’ll be a zombie tomorrow.”

You check your phone as Hayoung steps out of the employee exit, locking the door. “It's about a twenty minute walk… Great. More walking.”

She groans dramatically but links her arm through yours. “You sure you don't want to take the bus? You've been walking all day.”

“It’s alright, I do need to soak my feet in some hot ginger water later though.” You say, yawning mid-sentence. “We have some ginger left at home, might as well use it up.”

The twenty minute walk becomes thirty because of your sore legs, but you don't mind one bit. The stroll to the mart is quiet, a nice break from the chaos from the day. You and Hayoung stand before the mini mart, and the automatic doors slide open.

“Coffee~ Coffee~ Get my lovely coffee~” Hayoung hums and skips to grab a shopping cart, pulling you to her side as you both push it together towards the beverage aisle. “We gotta get some bread and spam too, darling~”

“Aight aight~”

“UHT milk… cereal and… here we ar — fuck.”

“What's wrong?” Hayoung asks, her eyes following your line of sight to the coffee boxes on the shelf. “Oh. Fuck.”

“₩16,500. That's like a 10% increase!” You reach out to grab the price tag pasted on the edge, hoping to find an error or something, except there isn't. The words are printed big and bold: “₩15,000 ₩16,500 PRICE HIKE DUE TO RISING COSTS.”

“10%... It's a lot right? Especially when we drink it so often…” Hayoung says, her voice dropping to a mumble. “I don't think… we can buy this anymore… not when rent is due soon, and when we're not even halfway through our goal…”

“...” You stay silent, gripping the box tighter than before. Your eyes dart around the shelf, trying to search for a cheaper option, but you already know that you both have been already drinking the cheapest option there is. “Maybe we can find some way?” You look at the back of the box, hoping there would be a solution spoonfed to you.

“How about we share a pack each time, and add twice the amount of water? Then the box can last twic—”

“Might as well drink muddy water at this point…” Hayoung laments. She turns towards you, and you can see the sadness in her eyes. She's on the verge of tears.

You sigh, your heart tightening as you remember how this brand of coffee was the first drink you made her, and the drink that initiated your conversation with her when you first met at Blue Prints during a staff break. She's never drank any other brands ever since. You hate how powerless you feel, that you can't even give Hayoung her favourite drink.

“Maybe we can drink something else? I guess we can still buy it, but drink it every alternate day?” you suggest, but you know how ridiculous you sound. Everyone knows that caffeine is essential for surviving the day.

“Then what are we gonna drink on those other alternate days?” Hayoung grumbles as she calms herself down from the short emotional vulnerability earlier.

“Tea, I guess?” You suggest, pointing to the shelf seated right beside the coffee’s. “Tea contains caffeine too.” You put the box containing 150 sticks of hiked coffee sachets into the cart before pushing it further down the aisle.

Hayoung peers at the shelf, her fingers trailing along the row of tea boxes. The LED lights overhead make everything look a little too bright and jarring, daunting, in fact. She picks up a box of barley tea first. It's a familiar yellow barley tea pack, 120 tea bags for ₩8,500.

“This one’s always safe,” she says quietly, turning the box over. “Caffeine-free, good for digestion, helps with bloating after all the ramyeon. We could drink it hot or cold… and it’s cheap enough that we could get two boxes and still have money left for bread.”

You nod, but you both know barley tea is what old people drink at the senior centre near your apartment. “But this is going to make us hungry throughout the day… See? It's written there ‘Diet Tea’. You're already as hourglass and as sexy as you can be,” you say. It’s comforting, sure, but it doesn’t feel like a replacement. It feels like it's gonna make your days worse.

“I’m sexy… ehehehe~” Hayoung giggles as she sets it down and reaches for the next one — corn silk tea, 100 sachets for ₩9,000.

“Corn silk is supposed to be good for detoxing,” she reads off the back. “Helps with water retention, mild diuretic, clears the system. People say it tastes sweet, like corn milk. And it’s caffeine-free too, so we wouldn’t crash in the afternoon.”

You tilt your head. “Sounds… healthy. But I don’t know if I want my morning drink to feel like medicine.”

Hayoung gives a small, tired laugh. “Yeah. It’s not exactly ‘wake me up and make me feel alive.’”