Sublimation(59)

You wish you could still have rolled up to Megan’s office and said, Megan, do you want to go get a coffee? And she would have said, outside or inside? And you would have said, outside. And then you could have gone across the street and asked all your questions, in a non-work location, where your fucking keylogs weren’t being tracked.

You think for a moment. Then, before you can overthink it further, you scroll to your messages with Soyoung, and ask her to meet you at your apartment instead. She texts you back quickly: No problem.

You text her your address and shove your phone into your pocket. You stand up. You’re going home to clean your place up. You have a not-date.



* * *



Instancing has historically affected populations bimodally, at least in settled societies that are not organized around migration. The lowest rungs of society in settled populations are the most likely to be transient against their will—either herded by the higher rungs or fleeing an adverse condition or sold into slavery or slavery-equivalents. The highest rungs of society, in contrast, are mobile, as they control the resources necessary for travel. In the past, kings and queens marry their offspring off for alliances. In the present, the global elite send their children to international schools in Switzerland.

In short, if you’re worried about instancing, you have been born either very lucky or very very unlucky.





SOYOUNG-ROSE


Soyoung brings dinner with her. It had seemed like a better idea when she had placed the order, less of a good idea when she had to carry a paper bag full of steaming packages four blocks to YJ’s apartment building. It’s nicer than the apartment that Yujin lives in with his parents.

The doorman gives Soyoung a side-eye. She raises the bag a bit. “Delivery for apartment 14F.”

“Sure, go ahead,” the doorman says.

YJ must have told them to let food deliveries up. Rose had lived in buildings where she’d told them that—YJ must order out a lot. Rose had ordered out a lot. Thinking about how they’re similar is better than thinking about what YJ is going to tell her. She’s trying not to read the tea leaves, but it’s hard not to speculate. Does moving their conversation to his apartment indicate that he’s more or less likely to help her?

“Thanks,” Soyoung says, and goes over to the elevator bank.



* * *



There are approximately thirty-six thousand variations of “Arirang,” which have in turn been derived from sixty versions of the song. The refrain stays the same between versions—the plaintive, Arirang, Arirang verse being included in every rendition.



* * *



Soyoung knocks on YJ’s door. It opens just a crack, and YJ’s face peeks out.

“Hey,” he says.

Soyoung can’t help but feel the ball of nervous tension in her stomach when she looks at him. So much hinges on his approval. He looks tired, serious, stoic. She can’t read disapproval or approval in his face, she can’t tell whether he’s going to lean one way or another. She thinks she should be able to: His other self is her friend. She holds out the takeout.

“Hi. I know it’s not a social call, but I brought din—”

“Let’s go to the roof,” he blurts out. “My place is a mess. You shouldn’t see that.”

And the image of him as collected, as someone in charge of her future, collapses. He’s just a man now. She can talk to him. He’s someone she can understand. Someone whose mind can be changed.

“Sure,” she says.



* * *



The plethora of “Arirang” compositions raises the question: How much can a single song change, before turning into something different? What single thread needs to be kept identical for versions of a song to remain interchangeable, for a person to hear one version and remember the other?





YJ


You take the bag from Soyoung because it feels like the polite thing to do before walking with her over to the stairwell. You’re nervous.

“Is this a bribe?”

“Only if a bribe would work,” she says, which startles you into laughter.

“I’m not going to say no to free food,” you say.

It’s only two floors up to the roof from your apartment, and the elevator doesn’t go all the way. You start climbing the stairs. You pause to see if she’s following. She is. She looks at you with clear eyes. She doesn’t look nervous at all—if it was you in her position, you would have been so very nervous.

“Is this from Sun Palace?”

“Yeah. If I’m being real—I brought food because I wanted an excuse to go there.”

“Did you get the dan dan noodles?”

You unlock the door to the roof and walk out. Dim late-summer sunset. Other rooftops, windows into other apartments. There are tables and chairs and though it might be a nice place to hang out, you mostly only came up here to smoke weed. Sometimes you came up with Petra, to drink a glass of wine. Get some fresh air and talk a little after spending a few hours tapping on your computers.

It’s a nice view. Not like the view from the Mergebreak offices, but pretty good.

“Of course,” Soyoung says, walking past you and putting the bag on the table. She has nice hands. You’ve been trying really hard to not notice how nice she looks in general, but she has nice hands and it’s just a thought you have that doesn’t need to mean anything.