Chapter Text
TAEHYUNG
An insistent chime awakes me. I blink and focus until the ceiling above me shifts into focus and try to work out what happened last night. I remember walking with Grandma to the pharmacy to buy COVID tests because I wanted to be safe, and I remember her almost pleading with me to let her come with because she was sick of staying inside her room. I remember reluctantly giving in and remember feeling oddly peaceful having her arm around mine and walking past the same stores I did earlier that day. I also remembered bumping into Andrew and how he tagged along on the walk home, despite neither Grandma nor myself inviting him.
I didn't think I'd be able to sleep after his dramatic exit, but I must have drifted off. I don't feel rested though. My whole body aches like I was tensed the whole night. I feel like a turtle coming out of its shell when I stretch, my neck and limbs making popping sounds.
I sit up in bed and reach for my phone on the ground, which displays the time of six-thirty. And alarm for work. I swipe the dismiss button and sigh. That's another thing that I suddenly remember. I don't have a job anymore.
An uneasy feeling grows in the pit of my stomach.
I walk out into the main living space and spot the mess of envelopes scattered around the legs of the dining table. It could have been a breeze. It could have been anything.
But then my gut reminds me of the thump from last night, how it felt so near I thought it came from my room, and then I remember Andrew's face when I told him to get out.
Andrew Martin was one of my best regulars at Cafe Flores. He came in four to five times a week, and while he's a big tipper, he's also the most obnoxious. He'd want to talk with me for what felt like hours about his newest breakthrough in his humanity studies. I was the only waiter that was patient enough to listen, and for the most part, he took the hint when I needed to get back to work.
But yesterday, as Grandma and I were on our way home, Andrew appeared out of thin air, and I could tell something wasn't right. There was a glaze to his eyes that wasn't normally there. I ignored it, because I was focused on getting Grandma back home, and like I said...normally he takes the hint.
So even when he was getting pushy for me to let him come inside, I pushed the feeling aside and reminded myself he was harmless.
That was a stupid move.
I remind myself that I apologized to Grandma for his behavior and try to move on. As I pick up the fallen letters, I spot something I definitely didn't see last night. There's a pile of colorful paper like deflated confetti on the floorboards only a few feet from the front door.
I walk toward it, crouch down, and realize it's not any colored paper. It's euros. Money thrown on the floor like a puddle of greed. The numbers range from two digits to three digits. I collect the euros and count, then lift them to the light, then read the small encryptions and fine print. It's as legit as far as I can tell.
But that's impossible. I've never carried this kind of money on me, and I know Grandma is too warry to be carrying anything valuable on her. This kind of money doesn't make sense; it's not ours.
Think, I tell myself. You locked the apartment when you left for the pharmacy. Nobody comes up here.
I know my neighbors fairly well, and I've probably only exchanged twelve words with each of them, but I know them enough to make the assumption that they wouldn't suddenly feel charitable when they know I pay the rent late.
I sweep the room, wondering whether I'd notice if anything else had been tampered with. My canvases are in the same spot against the wall, and none of them are missing. All of my art supplies are still here. All of my sketches.
And I was with Andrew last night. I saw him leave and enter my apartment.
I press hard on my temples, grasping at memories. I can't live like this, terrified and paranoid.
I take several deep breaths, trying to slow down my heartrate. The euros sit on the countertop, as if they're waiting for me.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I storm through the bedroom and into the kitchen, gunning straight for the cash. I pick it up, count it, then curl it in my fists. It's got to be an insult. From Andrew.
I'm seething now.
I don't like someone thinking I'm on standby for them whenever they need human interactions. And I especially don't like someone making me feel useless when I have nothing to support myself.
And then to have the audacity to leave me money like I'm needy? As if it's that obvious that I'm running back and forth to provide for Grandma and myself? Every fiber of pride in me is screaming to rip the thin papers apart, to tear them in my fingers and let the value be wasted.
Sighing, I glance down at the euros, count them again, and pocket them.
"You look pretty," I say to Jimin. On my phone screen, he's tied his hair up into small sporadic ponytails. The one in the center near the crown of his head looks like the start of a unicorn horn, and the bright pink elastic band makes the look complete.
We set the Zoom meeting up as our way to connect and catch up. Since we split at the gallery, I have no idea what Jimin's been up to, and I could use a friend.
He tilts his head to the camera and poses. "It's been weird living alone. My roommate flew back to his parent's house in the States, and now I've had too much time on my hands." He lifts a finger to his hair. "Hence the new fashion statement. It'll be trendy."
"Right," I smirk, then I glance down. "Is the expensive Chanel hoodie also a part of the trend?"
Jimin lifts his eyebrows, then lets out a light chuckle. Skepticism runs through my mind as I analyze his quick movement in his eyes. Down. Left. Up to me. Down again. He's definitely hiding something.
"Spill," I tell him.
The corners of his mouth lift in a grin as he turns his head away, blushing. "Okay, so I was with Yoongi at the gallery, right?" When I nod, he continues. "We were talking about art and stuff, when I made the off-hand comment that it was a little cold. And then he took off his jacket and let me wear it! When I told him he didn't have to, he said it was fine, and then---" Jimin goes off screen for a second before coming back with a note. "He sent me this and the hoodie saying he didn't want me to get cold while quarantining. Can you believe it?"
I narrow my eyes. "How did he get your address?"
"Who knows," Jimin shrugs. "But it's not about that. It's about receiving a gift from Min-freaking-Yoongi!"
"So you guys are a thing now?"
At that, Jimin pauses. All of his energy deflates as the sparkle in his eyes dulls. And I can't help the sudden guilt in my chest when I realize I was the cause of that.
"Well, I mean, we're not, like...official," Jimin murmurs. "Maybe I'm reading too much into this. Anyone can give anyone hoodies. It's not like he's actively flirting or anything..."
I watch Jimin's expression fade back into neutral, and my stomach knots. I'm not good at these kinds of things. I don't mean to ruin his fantasies, but I've never been one to throw caution to the wind. Everything has a purpose for a reason. Everyone in this world has their own motive. Good or bad. It's not cynical to prepare yourself for the bad side of people.
It's just being realistic.
So that's why I open my mouth and cut past this topic. "I'm pretty sure someone broke into my apartment last night."
"Hold on, what did you say? Someone broke into your apartment?" Jimin repeats.
"Yep," I say. "The front door was unlocked when I got back with Grandma and Andrew."
"Wait, you were with Andrew last night?" he asks sharply. If it wasn't for the pink ponytails, Jimin could pass for an intimidating guy. "What happened?"
"Well, we ran into each other after Grandma and I were coming back from the pharmacy. He was trying to ask me out, and when I tried telling him no, he offered to pay me. He was being a total dick. He was in the middle of pushing me against the wall when someone pounded on the neighbor's wall next door. And I mean, like hard. He left after that, and I found money by the door. I'm assuming it's his way of staying true to his promise."
"What the fuck?"
I go on to explain the rest. Andrew's asshole behavior---I got hung up on complaining about that just a bit. Then his biting words and dramatic exit.
"I'm coming over. Don't do anything yet. Wait until I get there," Jimin orders. His screen moves too fast and swings until I'm looking at what seems to be Jimin's ceiling. "Hold on, let me find my shoes."
"No. Stay home. Social distancing, remember?"
Jimin grumbles and returns in a sitting position on his bed with the camera facing him. "I'm starting to feel like a dog who's dying for a walk. I miss the outdoors. I miss you and your grandma." He pauses for a moment, as if figuring out something in his head. "Why were you guys at the pharmacy last night anyway?"
I feel a pang of guilt hit me in my chest, but I know I shouldn't have to worry. It was a run to get COVID-19 tests to take at home. A safety precaution. It doesn't mean anything. When I explain this to Jimin, he reacts neutrally, but I've known him forever and he does not have a great poker face.
"Well, if you need anything, I'm always around," Jimin says earnestly. Then he drags the camera up to his face, where I get the view of tiny pores sprouting on his skin. He whispers into the camera like he's in a horror film. "I'm always around."
"Very funny," I roll my eyes. "You should send an audition of that face. It'll be the new scare of the century."
Jimin laughs and we end the call, and all I can think of now are those COVID-19 tests still sitting on the counter.