Between Earth and Elsewhere

Would it have been better if it were as unbearably hot as it had been a couple of months ago? Yeomyung wondered if suffering through that kind of weather, like someone on a grueling journey, might have made him feel more at ease.

But today was perfect—the kind of day meant for picnics and endless hours outdoors. And somehow, that made everything worse.

He watched ants marching in a line across the ground. They paused at his slipper before finding their way around it, creating what looked like a dotted outline. He could crush them with the slightest movement. The thought tempted him.

Kill or let live?

Startled, he rose from the bench, leaving the ants untouched.

In the distance, Daeun emerged from the sandwich shop carrying an overstuffed trash bag. She disappeared behind the building, returning empty-handed moments later and heading back inside.

Yeomyung watched her, struggling to justify his presence here to himself. No, that wasn’t quite right. He knew why he was here. He just couldn’t explain it in a way that would make sense to anyone else.

He’d fled the house, unable to bear another moment there. It was his day off, but home felt suffocating. He couldn’t face his dad or Hyeonmyung. So he’d walked, directionless, because standing still made his chest tighten.

And then there was Daeun. Not that she’d suddenly crossed his mind—she’d been there all along, like an image behind frosted glass. Thoughts of her had lingered in the background since morning, through every moment at home, through his escape, through his aimless wandering.

Gradually, those thoughts became clearer.

No, Daeun hadn’t just crossed his mind; his awareness of her had intensified until he felt compelled to see her. Not because he wanted to, exactly, but because he had to.

He had no plan, no words prepared, no idea if this was right. He just needed to see her.

That’s how he’d ended up here, standing in this spot for hours. He only caught glimpses of her when she came out with trash or ran errands, but that was enough. Just knowing she was inside the shop, being able to look at the building that contained her. Like the Little Prince imagining his sheep inside a box.

When he thought of her there, the tightness in his chest loosened. His racing thoughts settled. Like a magnet responding to a magnetic field, he felt steadied by her nearby presence. Life became a little more bearable.

He knew he shouldn’t allow himself this comfort. But like a whale surfacing for air, he kept coming back. Maybe he hadn’t truly convinced himself of his guilt. Maybe he was just pretending to feel troubled while still doing what he wanted, hiding behind a facade of inner turmoil out of shame.

He looked up at the setting sun.

Had he started to like Daeun?

He wasn’t sure.

The sun sank lower as Yeomyung grappled with his thoughts. Maybe he sought out Daeun not because he liked her, but because she made him feel better about himself—like an overweight person finding comfort next to someone heavier, or someone in a cramped apartment feeling fortunate compared to those on the streets.

Was that it? Was he using Daeun to ease his own conscience? Or maybe he wanted her to keep telling him everything was fine, that he’d done nothing wrong.

“You’re not a saint. How could you not have even a moment of doubt in that situation?”

“But I don’t understand why you’d be sad.”

“Even if you had called right away, would she have really survived?”

It reminded him of a thief being told: This isn’t your fault. Society forced your hand. Those rich people won’t miss what you took, but you needed it to survive. Were you supposed to just starve? They’re the real villains for suggesting you should die rather than steal.

Even if the thief knew these were just excuses, words like these would ease their guilt. Their anxious mind would settle, if only a little.

Wasn’t that what Yeomyung wanted from Daeun? To hear her say: You did nothing wrong. Who could blame you? Your grandmother would have passed anyway. You might have even saved lives…

He wanted to bear his guilt properly if he’d sinned. But maybe he wasn’t capable of that. Maybe humans were designed to chase comfort over conscience, peace over proper penance. That was certainly true for him.

The sun touched the horizon. Things like sunsets, cool breezes, and clouds didn’t discriminate between saints and sinners. These simple beauties were given freely to everyone, even someone like him.

Daeun emerged from the shop empty-handed, heading straight toward him. Had she known he was there all along? He hadn’t tried to hide, but he hadn’t made himself obvious either. Maybe she’d spotted him during her trips outside.

Or maybe, somewhere deep down, he’d wanted her to notice. Wanted her to come over, ask why he was here, understand without him having to explain, and say what he needed to hear.

She approached with the setting sun at her back, her figure dark against the light. Like a demon coming to offer salvation.

“Are you waiting for me?” she said.

A sudden surge of resentment rose in him. He wanted to be angry with her.

Why did you do that? Why didn’t you let me report it right away?

Even if his grandmother would have died anyway, at least he wouldn’t be left with these feelings. He could have known he’d done everything possible. Could have lived with a clear conscience.

It was all Daeun’s fault. Everything… was her fault.

At least, he wanted to believe that. It would make things simpler.

She pulled a key from her pocket. “Do you want to go to my house? I’ll be done soon.”

He stared at it. Since that day, he’d realized the good things inside him—joy, happiness—had become trapped in thorns. Whenever those feelings tried to grow, they were pricked and retreated. When they dared emerge again, the thorns caught them once more.

Looking at that key, he felt the familiar sting.

“I don’t think so,” he said, turning to leave. But Daeun caught his hand.

“Go inside. I’ll be there soon.”

She pressed the key into his palm and ran back to the shop.

Yeomyung stared at the key in his palm, frozen. Despite his thoughts about the thorny snare, he felt tempted. The key was already in his hand—what else could he do but use it? He tried to justify it to himself.

Had Daeun known he would waver like this when she gave it to him?

So what if he did go? Who would know about his inner struggle? Who would care if he flipped his decision like turning over his hand? This pathetic conflict existed only in his mind.

His feet started moving toward her place, each step slow and hesitant.

Was this okay? What would happen when he got there? They’d probably have dinner, talk about nothing important. He’d feel like he could breathe again, forget everything for a while. That small room would become a separate world. He’d feel his chest expand, floating above it all.

It would feel good. Really good.

But wouldn’t he start craving more? Like chasing stronger drugs. The thorns would dull. He’d pretend the pain didn’t exist.

Would he keep chasing that feeling until he found happiness?

He already knew the answer. No. The emptiness would return. Reality would crash back, and all those thorns he’d ignored would tighten around him, cutting deeper than before. The longer he avoided them, the sharper they’d become.

His steps slowed to a stop. He felt adrift.

“Hello, Director Song. This is Seorin Joo, the manager from last time… Haha, yes, that’s right. How have you been? …Of course. I was just telling my mother about visiting after Chuseok. …Oh, Director, don’t say that. I’m not just saying it, I really did mean to visit…”

Yeomyung turned toward the familiar voice.

There was Seorin, sitting on a playground bench in her office clothes and holding one high heel in her hand. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her here. Each time, they’d exchanged brief nods before hurrying away.

He knew why she came—to see Daeun, the part-timer who looked like her dead sister.

Every time he saw Seorin, it felt like a needle in his gut. Her presence made him uneasy and eager to leave.

The smile vanished from Seorin’s face the moment she ended the call, like an actor dropping character after leaving the stage. Her expression went blank, almost cold, as she stared at her phone. Then suddenly, she looked up. Their eyes met.

Yeomyung instinctively hid the key behind his back. He gave a small bow and turned to leave.

“Yeomyung,” she called out.

He turned back.

“Let’s talk.”