Sublimation(101)

“I’m really sorry,” Soyoung says. “But wouldn’t you rather know the truth?”

White-hot anger. Like her question is an attack. Like you deserve things happening to you because of how you feel.

“That’s not the point—the point is that I am trying to help you, and helping you is ruining my life—and, are you fucking him?”

“What?”

“I saw the pictures on his phone,” you say. “Is that how you found out? Are you fucking him? Does he tell you things because you guys are—”

“He took pictures of us?”

“Of you,” you say. So there is an “us.”

“That’s not—Yujin,” she says.

“What does he have that I didn’t?”

You don’t even really care about this. You don’t love her. Maybe this would make sense, in a world where you loved her. Where you had been waiting in the wings to swoop in at the moment of romantic distress, but you didn’t, because you aren’t a creep. And it makes you mad that YJ would try for that thing.

“Yujin—” she says, and she sounds so sad. You don’t care.

“Soyou—”

“I kissed him once,” she says, all a rush. “I like him. I like him differently than I like you. Sorry. I didn’t tell you. Nothing’s going to happen, because all of this is temporary, okay? So I didn’t tell you. I don’t tell you everything.”

“You mean he kissed you,” you say, wiping the sweat from your forehead. She doesn’t say anything to that. You stand up.

“I know him,” you say. “He’s probably in love with you. We fall in love stupid.”

“Yujin—”

“I don’t want to be in love with you,” you say. “I liked what we had.”

You walk into the convenience store. The door does its little chime. The air-conditioning hits you like a delicious truck. You still mostly feel numb. Fine. Whatever. In some ways, this is the relief of forgone conclusions. Of course he doesn’t want to reintegrate. Of course this has come to pass. Of course you get broken up with. Hell Joseon.

“I guess I won’t be,” you say. “He won’t reintegrate with me, so this isn’t my problem.”

You walk over to the water. You pick up the closest bottle. Soyoung is very quiet. You guess this is all over. You guess you aren’t going to reintegrate now.

“This isn’t how I wanted to ask. And I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’m not always a good friend. I take you for granted. I don’t tell you enough. I ask you for too much. I could have told you about YJ not wanting to reintegrate weeks ago. But I didn’t, because it felt like it wasn’t my secret to tell. It was yours. His. I felt like whatever problems existed between the two of you were your problem. Either he’d tell you or he wouldn’t. And I guess, I’m only telling you now, because I want something from you. I shouldn’t tell you this. This is terrible of me. But if you help me with this, I’ll never ask you for anything again.”

“Why should I help you?”

She’s quiet for a long moment.

“Do you want the house?”

“What?”

“My grandfather’s house. If you help me with this one thing, I’ll give you the house. You can pay me like, a thousand won or something.”

You almost put the phone down. You sit heavily on the steps leading to the river and stare at the horizon, the other side of the riverbank, the apartment complexes, the rolling hills, the stores and offices and houses and all the people working, living, eating, breathing in them.

“Are you crazy?”

“I’m serious!”

“What is this actually about?”

Soyoung loved that house. That’s the thing. You don’t know how Rose felt about it, but Soyoung had loved that house. She wouldn’t have sold it to a friend. To family, maybe. But not to you. It’s serious, then. It’s not kiddie romance bullshit. There’s actually a problem.

“I can’t talk about this over the phone,” Soyoung says.

You could do a lot of things with a house. You could sell it. You could live in it. You could give it to your parents. You could raze it and put a little apartment complex there. You could run a restaurant. You could use the house as fuel for a future that doesn’t include YJ.

“I don’t need your house. What’s the favor?”

She takes a deep breath.

“I need you to call YJ and distract him, at a predetermined time. I need you to distract him so badly that he doesn’t respond to anything from work, any notifications, nothing. You could accuse him of not wanting to reintegrate with you. You don’t have to say that, but I think it’d get his attention—”

It would get his attention. If he knew that you knew, if you raised a fuss. If you argued with him. He’d argue back. This is what you are for each other, sometimes. A safe punching bag, except this one would be a real fight. Knuckle to knuckle. Skin to skin—you could touch him. Your flesh on his. You could reintegrate, if you were physically pressed against each other. Skin. Physical touch. You realize—what’s stopping you from going to New York? Just your life here. Just the fear of instancing. But you wouldn’t instance now, no, you know that in the deep black pit of your soul. This wouldn’t be permanent. You know how the Mitosis machine works now. You know that every leave-taking can be temporary.