Between Earth and Elsewhere

“Hm-hmm— Hmm-mm— Hm-mm—”

Daeun hummed a tune, walking half a step behind Yeomyung. She alternated between walking, hopping, and skipping to her own rhythm.

Her behavior radiated a victor’s satisfaction. Her whole body seemed to say, “I’ve proven my life is shit. But you haven’t, right? You can’t push me away now. You’ve lost. My depression, my unhappiness, is superior to yours…”

Yeomyung walked in silence like a war prisoner, bound by the shame of wanting to live.

Daeun skipped ahead and blocked his path. When Yeomyung looked at her, she said simply, “Let’s go somewhere.”

Yeomyung mustered a weak defense. “I have to go to my logistics job.”

Even to his own ears, it sounded like a timid excuse.

“I know you have some free time. I won’t keep you long,” Daeun said. She added with playful menace, “I won’t ask you to jump off anything.”

Her expression was that of a schoolchild who’d discovered a classmate’s weakness—teasing, but with an edge of threat. Follow me, or I’ll expose and shame you.

Yeomyung kept silent and followed as she led them through increasingly shabby streets to a goshiwon district. The buildings were old and run-down, originally meant for students but now housing anyone who could only afford enough space to put a bed.

They stopped at a building that seemed caught between a goshiwon and a villa, packed with tiny studio rooms. Daeun’s hands trembled and slipped with sweat as she fumbled with her key. While she struggled with the lock, Yeomyung noticed an old woman watching them from outside—her hair messily tied up, wearing a baggy dress and slippers.

“Come in,” Daeun said, finally opening the door. When Yeomyung hesitated, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside.

Her room revealed itself in a single glance: a folded blanket in one corner, a small wooden nightstand topped with a coffee pot, toilet paper, water bottle, and cup. A mini-fridge stood against the opposite wall. The wallpaper grew increasingly yellow from top to bottom, with cat-like scratch marks near the floor.

Daeun turned to him. “Have you ever been to a woman’s place before?”

“…”

“Is this your first time?”

“…”

“Then are you feeling nervous?” Daeun giggled, amused by his discomfort.

Yeomyung thought such a shabby room might kill any spark of desire. Then again, thinking of Hyeonmyung who never missed a day of masturbating, maybe that wasn’t true…

While he stood lost in thought, Daeun unfolded a low table that had been leaning against the wall. “Take off your shoes and come in. I called you here to make dinner.” She grabbed two instant rice packages from the top of the fridge.

With no clear boundary between entrance and room, Yeomyung removed his shoes as close to the door as possible.

“There’s a microwave in the shared kitchen,” Daeun said, passing by him. “I’ll heat these up there.” She disappeared into the hallway.

Yeomyung sat hesitantly on the floor. For someone who drank soju packets daily at the convenience store, her house was surprisingly clean—no dust bunnies or scattered clothes. Shabby but tidy.

When Daeun returned, she carried both the rice and a pot. “Can you take this?”

Yeomyung automatically took the pot, setting it on the table. Daeun placed down the rice and retrieved side dishes from the refrigerator: dried shredded squid, rolled omelette, soy-braised meat. Steam rose from the pot when she lifted its lid, releasing the aroma of soybean paste stew.

Seeing such homestyle food in this tiny room felt oddly jarring. She must have prepared this specially. It didn’t seem like her usual fare.

“Try it,” Daeun said, placing chopsticks before him. She unwrapped her disposable utensils and took the first bite of rice. Following her lead, Yeomyung began to eat.

It tasted ordinary. The soybean paste stew tasted like every other soybean paste stew, the dried squid like dried squid, the braised meat like braised meat.

Somehow, that felt remarkable.

They ate in silence until Yeomyung asked, “Where is your family?”

“They’re dead. All of them,” Daeun answered between bites, then continued eating.

Yeomyung felt a stab of envy. Daeun only had to feed herself. She could choose not to work—after all, she’d only be starving herself. Maybe that’s why she could so easily decide to die.

Of course, being alone meant loneliness. Maybe she felt nothing could prove her existence. Whether she lived or died wouldn’t affect anyone—a crushing tragedy for some, but…

That was exactly the tragedy Yeomyung wanted. To neither affect nor be affected. To face solitude daily. That was his desired unhappiness.

“Why are you doing this for me?” he asked.

“Just because. I was going to eat dinner anyway. It’s just a matter of setting one more spoon.”

“Do you like me?”

“You really want to know that, don’t you? You’ve asked me that before.”

“No one does this without a reason. You know that.”

“Hmm. That’s true.” Daeun nodded without committing to an answer.

“There’s nothing good for you in getting involved with me.”

“Well, you never know.”

“How can you not know?”

“Wouldn’t it be good for you to be with me, Yeomyung? I even cook dinner for you like this.”

When Yeomyung didn’t reply, Daeun added, “Don’t you think I’m doing pretty well for myself? I’m not leeching off anyone. I take care of myself. You wouldn’t lose anything by being with me.”

“…Are you lonely?” he finally asked.

“Just wanted to know.”

“Do you want to sleep with me?” Yeomyung said aloud before he could think about it.

Daeun didn’t answer.

Instead, she smirked and said, “I’ll give you dessert.”

She stood up and went outside.

Was she hurt? Even if she was, it couldn’t be helped. Better for her to realize quickly that Yeomyung wasn’t suitable for her romantic games of loneliness.

Getting hurt by someone you’re attracted to, he thought, was like watching a sad movie. The sadness feels real but remains romantic, enjoyable even. Outwardly painful but inwardly satisfying.

For Yeomyung, real sadness couldn’t be enjoyed. It was worrying about tomorrow’s meal, parents’ hospital bills, overdue rent… Any sadness that didn’t involve the struggle to survive was fake—just sadness worn like a coat.

Bzzzz bzzzz

Bzzzz bzzzz

A loud vibration cut through his thoughts. The sound came from a box beside the fridge.

Yeomyung walked over and looked inside. Among the canned food, ramen, and instant rice was a smartphone—the latest model he’d seen being advertised these days. It rattled against the cans as it vibrated.

Why would there be a smartphone here?

He picked it up. The screen displayed the caller: Mother.

Yeomyung stared at it until Daeun returned with yogurt. Her eyes flickered when she saw what he held—or did he imagine that?

“I thought a friend had left their phone,” she said. “So it was in there.”

“…”

She handed him the yogurt and took the smartphone, then pulled a flip phone from her pocket while sipping her drink.

“How should I tell them I found it…?” she muttered, as if to herself.

A friend. Daeun has a friend…

That fact felt as foreign as the ordinary dinner they’d just shared.

***

“Oops. I made a mistake with the order.”

Yeomyung told his boss they were out of pickled radish.

After checking the inventory and order form, his boss said, “It’ll take at least three more days for a new order to arrive.” He handed Yeomyung a card. “There’s a food supply store past that sandwich shop. You’ll have to buy some there.”

“Okay.”

“You know the big ones we use, right? Get five packs.”

“Alright.”

Without the bicycle’s cargo space, Yeomyung had to walk. He rarely passed through this area before lunch. Daeun would probably be there, making sandwiches at the counter like any other day.

He felt an urge to peek inside but didn’t want to risk making eye contact with her. As he walked past, he glimpsed a familiar silhouette in the distance. For a moment, he thought it was Daeun, though nothing about the figure actually resembled her.

As the person drew closer, he recognized Seorin.

She carried a bag from Daeun’s sandwich shop. When she noticed him, she stopped abruptly, surprise crossing her face.

Yeomyung stood before her. Seorin glanced between him and the bag in her hand.

“Do you work around here?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She held up the bag. “Have you been to this place?”

“…Yes.”

Seorin nodded. “Then you must have seen her. That girl who looks exactly the same…”

“…”

“They’re so alike… so identical it’s like she’s been reincarnated… I keep finding myself coming here…”

The word ‘reincarnation’ brought back their meeting at the bus stop.

“How’s your sister doing?”

“My sister…”

He remembered her expression then, her lack of answer. His eyes wavered.

Seorin lowered her gaze. When she finally spoke, her voice trembled.

“I should stop coming now. She’s not my sister after all…”

With a slight bow, she brushed past him.