The Double

𝒯𝓌𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓎

Happy New Years! Cheers to 2024!

I'm riding high on my success of the other night and muttering along to my Korean app as I sit on the couch drinking coffee. How I took this language in university for three years and not a thing has stuck in my memory, I don't understand. I was never close to fluent but now I even need to refresh my numbers. Korean Counting—hana, dhul, sehtt, nehtt, da-seot. Sino-Korean Counting—il, i, sam, sa, o. Korean counting is for counting, and Sino-Korean counting is for date, time money, address, and numbers above 100. Why are there two? I have no idea, but I got to know when to use these numbers.

I think Malcolm Gladwell might have written about how it's logic makes for easier math, and I'm about to Google search when I decide that's procrastination and return to learning the numbers instead of learning about them. I wish Eomma has spoken Korean to me at home, but she refused. Until her dementia hit, I'd rarely heard her speak it at all. The past in the past and all that.

Taehyung and I have an event tonight and I've already decided to divide my day between learning about the mainland Korean film industry—background research, I should know the main players—and working on Eppy. Last nigh as I was falling asleep, Taehyung texted me a thought that launched a series of increasingly good ideas and I'm itching to get them organized.

That's right. Taehyung texted me about Eppy. He's been texting me off and on over the last few days and not only when he's worried about Duna. I do my best not to read into it but it's hard. Seeing a text from Taehyung makes my heart thump and I wish I could past this reaction so I can be the neutral friend he's clearly decided I am. Friends is better than nothing, and far easier than adversaries.

My phone lights up with a message and again my heart bangs because it's from Taehyung.

I'm in the hall.

At least he didn't simply stroll in like usual. I need to get that key, though. I do an emotional check and am happy to note my heart rate has subsided and I don't have any quivers or interferingly strong feelings. I have accepted that this is a job. Good for me, very reasonable.

This lasts as long as it takes me to open the door and see Taehyung channeling casual dojo, with loose pants and slides matched with an oversize T-shirt. His outfit could cost anywhere from $100 to $10,000 and I wouldn't be surprised. I step aside and comes in.

"I thought you were busy today."

"We're going for a walk," he says.

"No, we're not," I say. "Duna is out at an appointment and I can't be seen with you at the same time." Even if I go with him without my Duna disguise, I resemble her too much to not cause questions if caught by a photographer.

"Right." He goes to the window and stares out. "I want to see the city. My skin itches to get out of here."

Taehyung changed toward me since our talk about Duna, and it's a relief to be able to let down my guard around him. "We have a film premiere tonight." I already had to practice going from standing to sitting in the dress, which is a stunner.

He makes a rude gesture. "Being stuck in a theater."

"Aren't you busy?" I repeat the question since he hasn't answered.

"Finished early." He doesn't turn around but rolls his neck as if trying to get rid of a kink.

"Did something happen?"

"No."

I walk over to him at the window. He smells good, that same chipped-tone fragrance. It's a cool,. overcast day and the wind has whipped up small white-tipped waves on the surface of the lake/ I open the sliding balcony door to let the breeze drift in and Taehyung closes his eyes.