Read Beneath the Static :: Chapter 10: Recharge

"OMG! I can't believe you have a boyfriend now!" Dae gushes for the fifth time, her voice bouncing off the windshield.

"He's not my boyfriend," I refute, though the denial feels thin.

Dae won’t stop teasing me; it’s infuriating, but underneath the annoyance, a strange thrill buzzes in my chest. I’ve never had a yeochin or a namchin—people try to get close, but they always drift away once they see the "baggage" I carry. I still don’t understand why Dae and Hoon have stuck around, but I’m grateful. In my world, some people love you for who you are, and some don’t. That’s the only rule that makes sense.

What does Jiwon feel for me, I wonder, to let me touch him like that?

"That was so hot!" Dae continues, "Did you guys kiss already?"

“Stop,” I mumble, sinking lower into the passenger seat, wishing I could disappear into the leather. My cheeks are burning.

“What was that, huh? So intense! Undressing, touching... You two were vibing so hard!”

“It wasn’t like that,” I protest, voice flat, but my heart is still racing. “I was just… looking at his tattoos.”

“Touching them, more like,” Dae winks.

“I was curious. The patterns, the story. It was beautiful. It wasn’t... sexual,” I insist, then hesitate, remembering the way Jiwon’s breathing hitched, the sudden heat of the skin beneath my fingertips. “I think he was turned on a little, though.”

Dae lets out a delighted squeal, drumming her hands on the steering wheel. “Daebak! This is so good. I’m so happy for you, Jay. Seriously.”

I try to scowl, but the memory of tracing those intricate ink lines across Jiwon’s chest makes my heart flutter. I press my palm to my sternum, trying to steady the rhythm.

“So, when’s the next date?”

“Date?” The word feels foreign, too heavy for my mouth.

She laughs. “You guys are totally a thing! Do you want me to call him for you? I can set it up, just say the word—”

“No!” My voice comes out sharper than I mean. “I need to process this. Please, Dae.” My hands are shaking, so I press them together.

Dae’s face softens. “Oh. Okay. Sorry, Jay. I’m just excited.” She turns down the music, her energy dialing back.

Guilt twists in my stomach. “Sorry,” I say, voice small. I reach out, awkwardly, and squeeze her hand. “This is all so sudden. I don’t know how I feel yet.”

She squeezes back. “I know. Just take it slow, no pressure." There's a minute of quiet.

"But you and Jiwon make such a cute couple. Uuuuhhhhhhh!” She squeals, shaking dramatically.

I sigh in feigned annoyance and slip on my noise-canceling headphones, facing the window. The city lights blur past—a river of neon. A smile crept onto my lips, small and secret, as I replayed the way he'd looked at me—like I meant something.

Dae drops me off at a little past 10.00 pm. As I enter the foyer, the house staff stands in a silent, disciplined line. I move to the designated spot where they wait for me. They approach with practiced grace, swapping my shoes for house slippers without a word. Mom is already up from her seat in the lounge, her silk robe trailing behind her.

"Hi, Mom."

"Hi, Baby." Her voice is soft, but her eyes are sharp. "Oh dear, are you okay? You look flushed." She presses a cool hand to my forehead as the staff retreats into the shadows of the hallway.

"You aren't warm," she says, frowning.

"It was Dae," I mumble, pulling away. "She wouldn't stop teasing me."

"Oh? About what?"

Lying is almost impossible for me, but the truth is stuck in my throat like a swallowed stone. "Nothing. I’m going up."

I retreat toward the grand staircase. "Well, I’ve seen it all," she calls after me, a hint of maternal amusement in her voice. "Now my baby is keeping secrets."

In the sanctuary of my room, I take a scalding shower—the heat is a physical anchor reeling me back into my body. Afterward, I fix five Rubik’s Cubes. Click-snap. The colors align. The patterns soothe. I crawl into bed, calm, pulling the duvet to my chin, and turn on a predictable K-drama to drown out my thoughts.

My phone buzzes. Foreign number.

"Hello?" I say, voice flat.

"Hi, it’s me, Jiwon."

"Oh." I sound small, breathless. “What number is this?” I ask, failing to keep the irritation out of my voice.

"Er.. My Swiss line. Did you get home safe?"

"Yes."

"Okay.” A long pause. I listen to the static of his breathing. “I had fun today, hanging out with you," he says finally.

"Oh..." My response is inadequate.

"I mean it," he presses, his voice dropping an octave, sounding more intimate through the speaker. "I want to do it again."

Do what again exactly? Hang out? Let me feel his tattoos?

"Why?" I ask, blunt and unfiltered.

"Because I like you, Jay-ah."

Sensory overload hits me—flowers bursting, bubbles popping, a kaleidoscope of saccharine images. It catches me off guard, and my heart flutters too fast. I bite my lower arm, hard, using the pain to ground myself.

"So, what do you say?" Jiwon presses. He sounds hopeful.

I eye the reddening teeth marks on my skin. "I... I will call you back," I blurt, needing to escape the intensity.

"What? Wait—"

I end the call mid-sentence. My mind is scrambled. Why had he called with his Swiss number? Why was he so chaotic? I hate this feeling. I hate how he can dysregulate me so fast after all the effort I put into calming my body and my mind.

I toss the phone to the edge of the bed, bury my face in my pillow, and scream into the fabric.

My phone buzzes again, it rings once, twice, then stops.

I don’t move.

Then another vibration.

A text lights up the screen.

Jay-ah. I’m sorry if I upset you just now.
I just wanted to let you know I had a good time.

My chest tightens.

I stare at the words until they blur.

Another message follows.

I meant what I said.
I like you.
And I’m not going anywhere.

My fingers hover over the screen.
Shaking.
Unsure about whether or how to respond.

Another buzz.

Please say something.

Before I can decide, the phone starts to ring again.

Jiwon’s name fills the display. At least he’s reverted to his Kakao line.

I don’t answer.

Not because I’m angry.
Because I’m feeling much more than I’m accustomed to, and I don’t know where to put it.

My thoughts stack on top of each other. His voice. His skin. His words. I like you. Each thought presses down until my head hurts.

I open the chat instead.

I type a message. Delete it. Type it again.

Can we talk tomorrow? My brain is full.

I send it before I can overthink.

The phone goes still.

I exhale for the first time in minutes, staring at the dark, heart beating too fast, too loud.

Wanting him.
Needing space.

Both at once.

Two hours pass, and I'm still staring. I need to go there. Where I don't like to go, to settle my mind. A skill that grueling years of therapy had built.

Recalling therapy made me feel slightly queasy, but I push against it. I tell myself that some good had come out of it.

I turn onto my back and start counting hash values.

Eight bits.
Sixteen.
Thirty-two.

I picture them lining up. Clean. Predictable.

My breathing syncs with the sequence.

Sixty-four.
One hundred and twenty-eight.
Two hundred and fifty-six.

The numbers double.
The pattern holds.

Five hundred and twelve.
One thousand and twenty-four.

I pause to picture the shift.
Bit flipping.
Order restoring.

Two thousand and forty-eight.
Four thousand and ninety-six.

My thoughts finally thin out. Breathing slows.

His voice slips in.
Soft.
Uninvited.