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Between Earth and Elsewhere

24

Chapter 24

Squeak

 

Squeak

 

Squeak

 

Rusty chains ground together as Seorin swung back and forth, their rhythmic sound echoing through the empty playground. She planted her feet in the sand, bringing the swing to a halt.

 

Why was she here again?

 

This spot had started as a strategic location to catch Yeomyung’s eye—perfectly centered between his dumpling shop, Arin’s sandwich shop, and her house. Now it had become habit. Her feet carried her here whenever she had free time, whether Yeomyung appeared or not. She’d sit on the swing, listening to its protests, lost in thought.

 

The same questions always circled her mind: Could she really do this? Escape her parents’ grip? Her father was terrifying. It was exhausting. Sometimes she wanted to give up—but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t let him control her and Arin’s lives as he pleased.

 

This was the mission she had to accomplish in what remained of her life.

 

Even after sorting through these thoughts, the pressure in her chest remained. She wanted to keep swinging until it lifted, to stay in this playground forever rather than return home or to work. Endlessly, endlessly…

 

Had this place become her escape from reality?

 

A prickle ran down her spine—someone was watching. Seorin turned toward the sensation.

 

Yeomyung stood there, frozen under the streetlight. She had to suppress a smirk, knowing exactly why he hesitated. He’d spotted her but felt too awkward to approach or simply walk past. Now he was trapped, unsure what to do.

 

She didn’t blame him. To Yeomyung, she was Arin’s older sister, and he carried the weight of Arin’s death on his conscience.

 

But the real guilt lay with Seorin. She was the one letting him believe in a death that never happened, manipulating his pain to serve her own ends.

 

Seorin tried not to feel sorry for him. She’d decided that guilt was a luxury for good people—and she wasn’t good. She was deliberately deceiving others for her own benefit. She’d accepted that about herself.

 

Yet her resolve wavered when she saw Yeomyung. Their interactions weren’t entirely uncomfortable, but they weren’t comfortable either. She actually found herself wanting to talk with him. Why?

 

Maybe it was like finding comfort in a pessimist’s words—that strange peace you get from hearing everything ends with death, or that odd relief in accepting life is meaningless no matter how you live it. It was that kind of twisted logic.

 

After their eyes met, Yeomyung hesitantly made his way over and settled onto the swing beside her. She remembered what she’d told him before:

 

“It’s just… when we run into each other, could we talk like this? There aren’t many people I can talk to about my sister. Even with my parents, I can’t really…”

 

She’d said it calculating then, just wanting Arin to see them together. But Yeomyung had taken those words to heart. Now he’d often sit with her without invitation.

 

“Did you just get off work?” she asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

There was a pause, then Seorin asked, “How’s life these days?”

 

“…The same.”

 

His answers were always minimal, yet somehow perfect.

 

Seorin nodded. “What was the hardest thing for you in life, Yeomyung?”

 

“…”

 

“…”

 

“Well… I think it’s all the same.”

 

Seorin waited.

 

“Nothing stands out,” he added, his tone careful. He wasn’t being dismissive or dishonest—at least, that’s how it felt to her.

 

“If there’s something you absolutely have to do, but you’re too scared to do it… what would it be?” she asked.

 

A thought crept in: When Yeomyung discovered her deception, how would he remember this moment? Would he marvel at her audacity, sitting here asking such questions while lying to his face? Would he decide both sisters were equally insane?

 

After a long silence, Yeomyung spoke. “I think I’d decide it’s not something I absolutely have to do. There’s no such thing as something you absolutely must do.”

 

Seorin chuckled at his deflating answer, considering how long he’d thought about it.

 

“Anyway, I know I can’t do things that are too scary,” he added.

 

“Why? You might be able to do it.”

 

“I just know.”

 

“…”

 

Why was she asking these things? Was it because she’d promised they’d talk, so she felt obligated? Or was she going crazy keeping everything bottled up inside, with no one else to tell?

 

“Then… when you feel like dying would be better than living like this… what do you think you’d do?” she asked.

 

“…”

 

It reminded her of those fortune-telling books where you think of a question and flip to a random page for your answer. Was that what she was doing now? Desperate for any guidance because she couldn’t find the answers on her own?

 

Though she expected him to struggle with this question, Yeomyung answered quickly.

 

“Wouldn’t that be better then? Because you could just die.”

 

“…”

 

“But usually… no matter how hard it gets, people can’t bring themselves to die. That’s the problem.”

 

“…”

 

“So if you’ve decided to live…”

 

“…”

 

“You just have to live. Somehow.”

 

His words carried both deep resignation and fierce determination. The phrase “You just have to live somehow” echoed in her ears like the swing’s creaking. She stared at the ground, watching the gentle waves in the sand—rising, sinking deeply, rising again, and sinking—like the tide on a beach.

 

***

 

Yesterday at the playground with Seorin, Yeomyung had felt eyes on them. When he turned toward the sensation, he caught a glimpse of someone hurrying away. The darkness obscured details, but the silhouette matched Daeun’s. His suspicion was confirmed when it vanished in the direction of her house.

 

A flicker of worry crossed his mind: what would Daeun think, seeing him with a woman so late? But he pushed the thought aside. There wouldn’t be anything between him and Daeun anyway. Why should her opinion matter?

 

Would she grow anxious like he’d seen before? End up scratching at something with vacant eyes? Though he didn’t know what triggered those episodes, he doubted it would be because of him. Yet part of him hoped it would be.

 

The selfishness of that thought struck him. Then again, he’d wished for someone’s death to ensure his own safety. Sore fingernails seemed trivial in comparison.

 

Yeomyung parked his bike outside the sandwich shop and stepped inside. The door’s bell transported him back to that day—the warmth, Daeun’s grip on his hand, that faint copper smell of blood, her trembling, her face. All of it rushed back in an instant.

 

He paused before approaching the counter.

 

“Two ham and cheese sandwiches. Please wait a moment,” Daeun said with a smile.

 

Yeomyung pulled out a chair and sat. As Daeun prepared the sandwiches, his gaze drifted to her hands. She wore white latex gloves—several layers from the look of it. The thickness around her fingers suggested multiple bandages or gauze underneath.

 

“Are you worried?” Daeun asked, catching his scrutiny.

 

Yeomyung stayed silent.

 

Daeun offered a gentle smile.

 

To Yeomyung, Daeun’s smile had taken on new meaning. Some people, overwhelmed by worry and sensitivity, choose complete detachment. When they dare to look, everything becomes anxiety-inducing. So they shut their eyes entirely.

 

This can make them seem braver than they are. Yeomyung suspected Daeun was such a person. Her smile was that of someone determined to stay blind—to see nothing, hear nothing. Yet if something broke through, she’d scratch herself bloody with anxiety.

 

“Yeomyung…” Daeun said, eyes fixed on the sandwich. “Do you prefer someone who works at a proper company, or someone who does part-time jobs?”

 

“What do you mean by that?”

 

“Exactly what I said. Which type of person do you like?”

 

The question came from nowhere. Yeomyung stayed quiet, unsure how to respond.

 

Daeun looked up. “Well? Who do you like? Don’t think too deeply about it. Just say the first thing that comes to mind.”

 

“…I don’t think it matters much.”

 

“Really?”

 

“As long as they can make a living, right?”

 

She nodded. “Then, do you prefer someone who dresses up, or someone who dresses casually?”

 

The questions baffled him. Then he remembered—Daeun had seen him with Seorin last evening.

 

“I don’t think that matters either.”

 

“Come on, be more specific. There must be at least a 49-51 difference.”

 

“I guess as long as it suits them.”

 

“Suits them?” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Then…”

 

“Stop asking.”

 

“I’ve only asked two questions.”

 

“That’s enough.”

 

“Okay, just one more.”

 

“No.”

 

“Why not? Um… do you prefer ordinary people or… slightly strange people?”

 

He couldn’t answer. Giving her the response she wanted felt manipulative—pretending not to understand while letting her think he might like someone like her. But he also lacked the courage to disappoint her. So he took the coward’s path: vague avoidance.

 

Yeomyung stood silently, walked to the counter, and reached for a sandwich.

 

“Oh? It’s not finished yet,” Daeun said, startled.

 

He roughly stuffed it in a bag and headed for the door.

 

“Is it that hard to answer?” she called after him.

 

He left without a word and mounted his bicycle.

 

A rush of thoughts swirled in his mind: I can’t bring myself to say that your words, the warmth and trembling I felt that day, have left a deep mark somewhere inside me. Because I’m not the kind of person who dares to say such things. But I also can’t say that you mean absolutely nothing to me. Because I don’t want you to completely detach from me.

 

I won’t tell you what you mean to me. I’ll probably hide and run away.

 

But even if I act like an asshole…

 

Even if I do, please keep thinking of me.

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