[back] viii.
Back home at the penthouse is strangely sedative. Sedative but unsettling.
The bay windows reveal that it's past evening as the Seoul skyline towers the views with traffic lights of orange, red, and yellow that pepper the damp streets. A string of traffic, construction, and life buzzes down there and can be heard if you press your ear against the the tinted glass. The red curtains that had been left drawn present the windows like a cinema. You drop into the loveseat with a sigh.
It's dark. Everything is unlit except the kitchen which sports the blue and green signals on the fridge and the soft glow of the night that's yet to come from outside. As the heater cranks up with a click of the remote, a drift of warmth begins to thaw your feet. You contemplate whether to make dinner or not.
It's been a rough day, you decide. Some frozen pizza sounds good even though homemade pizza fares better. Maybe lasagna, but this time with parmesan cheese. You haven't touched carbs in a long time...
A warm bath, a fresh pair of silk pajamas from Victoria's Secret, (nightwear and lingerie's the only time you'd want to splurge) and a plate of quinoa and baked salmon with parsley would be the perfect end to a not so perfect day. At least, it kind of was a not so perfect day. The kids back at Solar got on your nerves more than usual this afternoon. You prefer your co workers from Starbucks in terms of peace and quiet. Yugyeom, Lalisa, and Seulgi are timid and enthusiastic students, while Cheng, Minhyuk, Jihyo, and even Naeyeon are probably the type to mug kids during Halloween.
You pick yourself up, untie your hair from that pathetic excuse of a ponytail, and skip towards the master bedroom which you and Seokjin share.
Or more like used to share. Most of his wardrobe and accessories still remain as there's really no point to box so much shit if you're hardly going to live in a condo with the rest of your residents, but every little thing that you especially adored about him, starting from Dior all the way to those little Yoshi acrylics that used to sit on top of the fireplace, have vanished.
They're not gone completely. They're still there, somewhere. Probably lying on top of a counter at Jin's house or stuffed in a corner when it's Namjoon's turn to clean. When the two first decided to move in together, you'd pay visits daily to drop by food and clean up after them. Not like a housemaid, but more like a concerned wife and friend for their wellbeing. It wasn't like two men dorming together would result in utter filth--that is, if it's just Namjoon and Taehyung--but you honestly didn't trust the way Namjoon handled the bathroom. Neither did Jin.
Sometimes, things were taken care of in unspoken ways.
Your phone lays flat against the memory foam when you walk out of the shower, towel in hand, fingers tangled in damp hair. The screen's blank as you expect it to be. You haven't taken a call in a while.
Even though you trust Jeongguk to give Jin a message, you doubt he'd actually sit down and take the time to ring you. And that's okay, you guess. You don't know if it would be okay in some other place, some other time, some other situation that features some other couple, but to you it's okay. You'd just take the first step. Throw the first stone. He'll understand. He'll follow after.
The phone. It's still sifted in between the bedsheets untouched. You lean over and snatch it from under the comforters and unlock it to scroll through your contacts.
Jin was never saved under his name from the first time you me. Back in middle school, it was Glasses Enthusiast. Once you two started high school and the world was suddenly turning, it was Kylie Jinner. Junior year, things began to heat so you kept switching between Cuteass and KSJ. Once he finally asked you out to both prom and practically forever, you had it changed to a multitude of pet names, with engagement phase as the best.
You stare at the vacant screen, taking in the sight of his contact bouncing right back at you. Your finger absentmindedly clicks the phone off and soon you're staring at your lost reflection. Deciding that this is a waste of time and there's better things to be done like watch a rerun of The Royals, you're about to drop the iPhone back onto the bed if it isn't for the screen lighting up with Jin's familiar icon, a tinkling ringtone, and that contact name that makes your heart skip more than one beat.
Husband.
"Hello?" you ask tentatively. Like a timid rabbit unsure of crawling out of its peephole.
There's some shuffling on the end. At one point, you expect the line to go dead on you, but soon a soft sigh can be heard from your side. An inhale. Then a slowly drawn out breath. "Hey."
"Hi," you exhale, gripping the phone a little tighter. "Hi."
"Jeongguk said you called earlier," Jin mumbles. He sounds like he just got out of bed, given the way his voice tones down and stirs like a vibration. Tinged with weariness, but still silky like velvet. He's almost whispering.
"Yeah. A week ago. No pressure though," you add quickly, in case he can't take a joke.
But you can imagine him visibly relaxing at your response. "I was busy. Sorry. I haven't been home since Sunday. There was--well, a major accident in Incheon. They called us in as extra assistance. Some of us had to take surgeries alone."
"That's scary."
"It was. The accident, at least. A 16-runner crashing into a bus. Toppled over in the middle of a freeway according to paralegals and the police. Six people dead on the spot."
"That's scary," you repeat. "Really scary. It all sounds scary. Especially the crash. How did the surgeries go?"
"Relatively fine. Minseok took care of two, Namjoon and I shared one with our intern Jihoon. Hoseok had the last one with a whole staff of scrubs. He was traumatized to the point he nearly resigned."
"But the good thing?" you press on.
Seokjin pauses, considering whether to answer you or change the subject. It's an intimate pause. You hold your breath and release it when he says, "The good thing is the surgeries were successful. We were...we were so close to losing them."
I'm proud of you, is what you want to say. I'm proud of the fact that you're out there, saving lives in other cities. I'm so proud that suddenly, it doesn't hurt to feel the other end of the bed empty and a single pair of shoes on the doormat.
"Good. Thank God," is what you say instead. "Good job."
"Yeah. What about you? It's late. Did you eat?"
"I ate, thanks," your teeth dig into your lower lip coincidentally. "You?"
"Not dinner. Namjoon and I had lunch late. And it was fast food, so. That stuff stays for a while." Jin grows quiet again before starting over, as if it pains to ask you what you had for dinner.
"Quinoa and salmon," you say easily. "Like baked salmon and mashed potatoes with sour cream. I forgot to pick up cheese today, so that's that."
"Quinoa is bland."
"I fried it with olive oil and threw in some bell peppers, onions--you know, like fried rice? I let it simmer for a while then added a dash of soy sauce. It was. . .it was good," you explain in that specific method that the two of you love to discuss in. When it came to culinary, both husband and wife used such descriptive terms in attempt to get the other one frustrated in alleged hunger.
Kind of like phone sex, but.
"That's nice," Seokjin murmurs distractedly. He presses a palm against the receiver, judging from how the voices are muffled and there's distant yelling in the background. When he returns to you, you notice the worn down tone in his voice for the second time.
"We're going to relocate the bakery somewhere near Seoul Uni. It hasn't been decided yet and plans are still being made, but we have the gist of it down. Minhyuk has a place in mind--it's his aunt's. He's going to give me the address and then I'll explore it a bit. By the way," you add. "Some doctor came in today. Do you know anyone named Do Kyungsoo?"
"Hm?" Jin snaps back to your attention. "Yeah, I know him. Asan, right?"
"Right. He invited us to that IMC banquet thing. Remember last year? They hold it every two years. He said you already received the invitation last month."
"I did." A vague response.
You pay no mind to that. A little coaxing should do the trick. "So what's your plan? Are you coming home to attend it? It's next week, isn't it? I'll have to ask Yugyeom if he can take over again for a night--" You trail off, focusing on the pregnant pause you've been receiving for a while now. "Jin?"
"What is it?"
"Nothing. You just. Just haven't been saying much. You took a day off next week for the dinner, didn't you?"
"No."
"Wait," you pale. "You haven't? Why not?"
"I didn't say I don't have the day off--I do. Not for the banquet, though."
"You're not going?" you inquire as a grimace fills the other end. It gradually molds into something different. Something dismissive. The cold shoulder.
"You always take the day off for banquet dinners and conventions."
"Yeah. But I'm not going. I already declined the invitation this morning. In fact, I was reorganizing and checking my schedule this month to see if I could take at least one day off. By the time Minseok said OK, I looked back at the RSVP and, well. Crossed it out."
"But Dr. Do," you insist. "He kept saying how he wants to meet you. You really caught his eye, Jin. this could be a new opportunity."
"I don't need new opportunities. I'm satisfied with where I am." Seokjin does that thing where his tone evens out and grows hoarse, indicating how he's starting to get worked up.
"He said he'd love to see you there. Us there," you repeat carefully, this time rearranging your words so it won't seem off.
"Everyone says that. He's not exactly going to die if we don't show up. Everyone just says that to be polite."
"And everyone tried to at least make an effort to be polite. What's wrong with you? You've always liked programs like these. You even looked forwards to the menus."
"I've never liked the lectures. They're too forward. Blunt. Rude, even. They're a waste of time."
"The gourmet--"
"Gourmet my ass," he snaps, stiffening you on the spot. "Is that all you care about? Really? You're a fucking culinary artist, jagi, you can make appetizers yourself if you're that concerned."
You aren't given enough time to comprehend. If this were face-to-face, he would've seen the color drain off your face and your lips contemplating and your brain struggling to work up a better response.
Drawing out a slow breath, you say, "No, but it's all you care about. Believe me when I say this, Seokjin, but I've been far more concerned about these programs than you ever were. The lectures have potential and the guests give opportunities. I'm always concerned about your career and how you're doing. These help me keep up with you. They let me know what's happening besides what you tell me. Which isn't much because the last time you ever called was the last banquet we attended," your voice wavers. "Together."
The pregnant pause is strained. It's often. It's so often that you wonder whether he abandoned the call by pretending to hang up on and expecting you to figure that out halfway. He just never says anything, much less says what you want to hear. Even if you inquire--which you do--about why he's been attending gatherings like these for so long if he's not even interested, he'd give you another delay.
"I used to attend them because of you. For you," Jin admits in a manner that not only catches you off guard, but lowers your spirits in the process. "Because seeing you enjoy them was worth the shitty lectures, cardboard food, and meaningless people. But now I have no reason to attend, so therefore I won't." He hesitates. You can hear it. It pains him so fucking much to spit it out. "I called you to see how you were doing, not to talk about things that clearly aren't your business. Either we drop the subject, or we drop the call."
Suddenly taking the first step seems out of reach by now. All the conversations, all the topics you liked to discuss, all the rants you once expressed, all the secrets and sweet nothings you two once shared begin to dissipate within your fingers. At one point, they're going to vanish for good.
"We drop the call." And the line goes dead.
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