I smiled as I stood by the curb. Four twenty in the morning. But you know what? I wanted to go somewhere, but not home. Only one place I could think of: Itaewon.
Like destiny, an orange cab slowed down in front of me. I climbed in and yelled, “Hey Mister, Itaewon Fire Station.” Had the streetlamps and neon signs always been this spectacularly bright? Why was Seoul so beautiful all of a sudden? Everything that was once nothing seemed special and amazing somehow. And wouldn’t you know it, the taxi fare still was more than 10,000 won, even when the surcharge period was over. Only 20,000 won left on this card, how was I going to get home later? Eh, whatever. I’d survive. The traffic began getting bad at Hannam-dong. I hopped out in front of the CJ Building and ran the rest of the way to G—. As I stood there, catching my breath, he came up out of the entrance, carrying a gigantic, full-to-bursting trash bag that was as big as he was. He didn’t see me as he grunted with effort toward the parking lot where the bins were. I followed him. As soon as he dropped the bag, I hugged him from behind. I hadn’t planned that part.
—Ah!
—Why are you so surprised?
—Ah ssi, gaejjolahn.
—Are you talking cutesy to me?
—My dialect pops out when I’m surprised.
—Incheon has a dialect?
—I’m not from Incheon.
—Then where?
—Jeju Island. It’s only been a year since I came up on land.
Bwahahaha. “Came up on land”? It was rude of me, but I burst out laughing. His face read, What did I say? Look at that expression, all perturbed. Cute.
—Are you here with your friends?
—Nope. Alone. To see you.
—My God.
—You don’t have to be so dramatic. I was drinking in Hongdae, but I could have another drink or three. The sun keeps trying to rise, I keep on thinking of drinks, and I kept wanting to come here. You guys mix a pretty strong drink, right?
He grinned and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I was a little surprised at this sudden bodily contact but didn’t let it show. I could feel his breath near my left ear. We walked like this to the club entrance, where the bouncer let us in with zero fuss, and he took me directly to the smaller bar. Then, he took out a double shot glass and filled it with a drink that was a color I hadn’t seen before. I knocked back the whole thing: Hell, it tastes like peaches, this isn’t alcohol, it’s fruit juice. He poured me another glass. I’d asked him for a drink, not juice. But I slammed it back anyway.
Weird how I felt so much like dancing right then . . . the lights were bouncing off the forehead of his smiling face and it was strange how that felt like Seoul to me. Beautiful Seoul, loud music. Dark eyes, closely cropped hair. I wanted to dance with you and slide an arm around your waist and hold you against me. I wanted us to be close enough to feel each other’s warmth. But why did my eyes keep closing? It was too hot and too smoky in there. My eyes were drying out. I wanted them to put on louder music. I wished they would turn on the mist machine. Anything to stop my eyes from closing . . .
When I woke, the fluorescent lights were on and all the clubgoers had disappeared. A few part-timers were left, cleaning up the unbelievably messy floor. Was this place really so small? The club with its lights on looked so different from the club at night, all tattered and dingy. And the most tattered and dingy thing about it, of course, was me. Me, sitting on a sofa in the corner. And there was Gyu-ho, sitting next to me.
—Sir, we’re closing.
I bowed in apology to his smiling face and started to put on my coat, which had been put in my hands. Quickly making my way up the steps, I began to feel nauseous. Dear God, how much did I drink? It was proper daylight outside when I came out, one hand supporting me against the wall. A Paris Baguette part-timer was sweeping the street outside their storefront, and I sat down on the steps of the club entrance. My breath came out in puffs. But at least I hadn’t fallen asleep on the street—it was so cold I would’ve died from exposure. Such a long way to the bus stop from here. I didn’t have the strength to make it that far. I wet my dry lips and brushed the sleep out of my eyes as stragglers emerged from the club and scattered into the dawn. And here was Gyu-ho standing in front of me again, asking me why I wasn’t on my way home.
—Uh, I’m sorry, but I haven’t got the taxi fare?
And there we were, taking a taxi home together. Gyu-ho told the driver to take us not to Incheon but to the Daehak-ro district. The radio was playing Yang Hee-eun’s ballad “Morning Dew.” Gyu-ho spoke into the light music:
—Did you know this is our third time meeting each other?
—You were counting?
—I don’t think you need to be counting to know that.
—Well, I was counting. Up to our third time.
Words disappeared. I swallowed, loud enough to be heard, and our knees were touching. I covered our legs with my coat. We held hands underneath it. Soon, we were stroking each other’s thighs. Each looking in the opposite direction. We passed the Ambassador Hotel, Cheonggye Stream, and Ewha Wedding Hall, then the little theaters of Daehak-ro as we approached my house. Passing a firm and hot grip back and forth through our linked hands.
?
We managed to keep the three-meeting rule once we were inside. Not that it was very successful.
Gyu-ho whispered, in informal Korean, “Can I take it off?” And I shook my head. Gyu-ho became shy.
—I’m sorry. It sometimes goes down if I wear one.
—(A common excuse for those with erectile dysfunction.) It’s OK. Do you want me to do it?
—Well . . . I’m not so great at that.
?
When I opened my eyes, I saw Gyu-ho standing in the kitchen. The rice cooker I hadn’t used in at least half a year was on, and my soy sauce was out on the counter, along with all sorts of spices I didn’t even know I had. Something was boiling on the stovetop. Staring into the slight steaminess of my studio apartment, I had the feeling of being in a dream. Gyu-ho, seeing I had woken up, told me he would make me breakfast in exchange for putting him up. I took out a low, foldable table from under the bed and wiped the dust with a wet wipe. No matter how much I wiped, there was still dust—how very much like everything else in my life. Gyu-ho, in the meantime, set down udon soup and some banchan I’d never seen before on the table. When I asked where the side dishes had come from, he said he’d bought them from the supermarket nearby. I suddenly noticed that there was a food-waste bag hanging by the sink and a bath mat I had never seen before in front of the bathroom. He was built for survival! Not even dandelion seeds could take root so quickly. I quietly ate up the soup he made me. It tasted of artificial seasoning. Gyu-ho said:
—You must’ve just moved here. No time to have gotten curtains.
—I moved here two years ago. I bought some curtains along with a bunch of sheets but they’re stuffed away in some corner somewhere. I just couldn’t be bothered to hang them.
—How could anyone live like . . . ? Wow.
—Can I ask you something too?
—Sure.