Loveboat in 서울

𝟙𝟠

"Where's Joohyuk?" Sohee tugs impatiently at the skirt of her orange dress, which shows off cleavage to the point that it's distracting even me. We are standing on the lowest step outside Yonsei, as the driver loads her suitcase into the back of Aunty Yumi's Mercedes van. She wrinkles her skirt in a nervous gesture. This weekend means so much to her—and as for me, the Bae Rules are taking a back seat to supporting her. Anyways, I've only got No Boys/No Kissing Boys left, and at this rate, that one's going nowhere.

"Aunty Yumi's waiting." She climbs into the van as Kang climbs in from the other side, setting an orange backpack on the floor. I avoid looking at him. "Joohyuk better hurry."

"I'll go find him," I offer.

She grabs my hand and tugs me close to whisper in my ear. "Please. Joohyuk needs to come. Uncle Gongyoo will give Kang the third degree if he's not there to run interference."

"I'll drag him by his hair if I have to." I set my dance bag at her feet, but when Kang reaches for it, probably to add it to the baggage pile, I snatch it back as though he were trying to steal it. Sohee is too busy dialing her aunt to notice.

"Suzy," Kang begins, but I head off, glad to put distance between us while I can.

It's funny to be going into a weekend not devoted to sneaking out clubbing. Almost a relief, if I'm honest. The lobby swarms with kids and backpacks headed to visit families, with as many gathered to stay, gearing up for the talent show at the program's end. Two guys toss yo-yos. Another pair performs magic tricks with a man-sized rubber balloon.

"Have you seen Joohyuk?" I ask Sulli and Krystal as they strum on guitar and zither.

Sulli's fingers dance on her strings. "Sorry, no."

"Maybe upstairs?" Krystal sweeps her loose hair from her eyes.

Five minutes later, I knock on Joohyuk's door. It opens with a soft click. Joohyuk's desk comes into view: hosting a blue retainer case, a half-used tube of acne medicine, and a bar of soap, separated from a mountain of Korean and American snacks he's stockpiled—bags of dried fruits, nuts, suncakes, a can of Pringles, six-packs of Arizona tea. Kang's half of the room is more spare: a hamper of laundry, blanket barely dented, as if Kang's trying to pretend he's not here.

"Please calm down," Joohyuk says. "I told you. My phone's still broken. The time zone threw me off."

Joohyuk stands at his window over the burlap sack of rice he bought for weights. His black hair, damp from a shower, darkens the collar of his navy blue shirt. He presses his landline phone to his ear. His thumb rolls along the scar inside his fingers in that gesture of tension I've come to recognize.

Even from here, I can hear the girl on the other end:

"I'm sick of your stupid excuses! You and your whole family's—"

"Rosie, I said I'm sorry. If you could fly out here—"

"If you want to fuck with me, Joohyuk Nam, then you never should have gone to Korea. You could have done that right here in my own bedroom."

I cringe. Try not to let her words paint images in my head that I don't want there. I half expect him to explode at Rosie—but I'm dreading it, too.

"Rosie, I know it's hard to be apart. I need you to be patient. Please. Rosie? Rosie—wait!"

Joohyuk swears and drops the phone, his easygoing stance replaced by a body webbed with stress lines. I want to go to him and siphon it off.

Then he slams his fist through the center of his rice sack. Rice grains rattle as they pour from the split fabric onto the floor.