Sleep dragged me under so hard I couldn’t persuade him any further. Seeing the traces of drowsiness on my face, he pressed my shoulder and made me lie back down. Saying we’d talk again tomorrow, he withdrew for the moment, tugged out the quilt from under me, covered my bare body with it, and lit a cigarette.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he smoked slowly and looked down at me. I forced my eyelids to blink so I could look at him a little longer. I didn’t want to leave him alone in that turmoil, but sleep was hauling me away with almost violent force.
A look like that of someone who, after coming to, realizes he’s done something terrible to the partner he just tangled with so fiercely—confused and complicated, with even a little fear of himself mixed in.
That was the last of him I saw before my eyes closed.
■ ■ ■
It was a phone bell. Recognizing it as a telephone bell and not a cell phone made me aware of where I was.
Before I opened my eyes, my head woke first, but my whole body ached, and I had to groan for a while, facedown. All the while, the phone bell kept patiently waiting for me.
When I opened my eyes, I was alone in the bed. With blackout curtains drawn, the room was completely dark; I couldn’t even guess the time. I needed to answer the call.
“Hello.”
I cleared my throat several times as I crawled to the edge of the bed on my elbow, but my hoarse, cracked voice was a wreck.
The caller was a hotel staff member. He had asked them to wake me and have me get up to eat even a little and then sleep again—he had requested they make sure I ate something.
I checked whether I had any appetite; I didn’t. My mouth felt parched and rough, and my insides lurched as if every organ had shifted out of place. And at the back there was still a heavy fullness, as if he were still inside me.
Even so, I couldn’t ignore his kindness, or the awkward position the staffer might be in if I refused.
We’d always gathered in his living room for breakfast—where was everyone else? We were supposed to {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} leave the hotel at eleven; what time was it now? A stack of things I needed to think about cluttered my head, but I said I understood for now.
As if they’d expected that answer, they told me breakfast in the living room was almost ready and I could just throw on a robe and come out comfortably.
The call ended, but I lay there for a while with the receiver in my hand, blank. It seemed the preparations had already been underway in the living room while I slept.
I set the receiver down and checked the state of my body first.
The more fully I woke, the clearer the discomfort grew. Not just my organs; every joint throbbed as if out of place. My body hung heavy like with a bad flu, and in particular the entrance to my anus and inside it burned. Between my legs an independent pulse seemed to throb on its own.
That vivid pain inevitably brought back last night’s sex—the passion with him going in and out of me, reaching knotting and ejaculation—so my face heated even though I was alone.
I cleared my throat and stepped down from the bed. Despite how long he had scraped me, the traces of his release he hadn’t managed to get all out slid down the inside of my thigh; with a low groan I stopped, hunched my shoulders, and bit my lower lip.
Startled by how much fuller my lips were, swollen far more than usual, I felt them with my fingers.
I’d thought lips swelling from kissing—kissing so much your lips swell—was only possible in porn videos or comics. But my lips were, to exaggerate only a little, swollen like a bee sting. That tight fullness recalled his suction and kisses that wouldn’t leave my mouth all night.
It was completely different from last time—no kisses, no penetration, nothing left in my body the next day. Every part of me was evidence of last night.
I had no choice but to wipe between my legs with my hand so nothing dripped to the floor, then head straight to the bathroom. I meant to hurry out to the living room, but there was no way I could do that without first dealing completely with what was inside.
After my shower, without even drying my hair, I put on a robe. However long ago he’d left the room, he had neatly folded all my clothes and set them on the table by the window, but the lower buttons of the shirt had all been torn off, so wearing what I’d had on yesterday was impossible.
Because I’d already been leaking pre-cum while we were kissing and touching, the front of my underwear was damp, but I had no choice except to put it back on. Even in a robe, I didn’t have the nerve to appear in front of others without underwear.
As I sorted my clothes, it hit me that he had probably noticed the wet underwear, and a sense of chagrin washed over me as if someone had found a hidden dirty book. I knew I’d done things far beyond what would make one embarrassed over a single wet pair of underwear, and still.
Trying not to show the lingering uncomfortable foreign sensation as much as possible, I left the bedroom. Seeing the fierce summer sunlight flooding the long, vertical living room, it seemed well past noon.
The middle-aged man who was his exclusive butler—the one who helped whenever we ate breakfast here—and two other uniformed staff in aprons were standing by the table.
Contrary to the suggestion that I just eat something light and go back to sleep, the table set with both Western and Hong Kong–style breakfasts had no room for even one more spoon. On top of that, other dishes had been arranged on a cart beside the table.
Rubbing my arm through the robe, I greeted them awkwardly and shuffled into a seat.
They offered fresh juice first, and I accepted orange juice with live pulp that tasted freshly pressed. I must have been thirsty; I emptied the glass in one go. Since I didn’t have much appetite, they asked whether congee with shrimp or wonton soup would be better; I said I’d have wonton soup. The moment the words left my mouth, a lidded bowl of wonton soup was set on the empty white plate.
Next they asked if I would like a short call with Mr. Lau before eating, and I said I would.
I suddenly found it funny that I was moving exactly as the gentleman suggested, like an obedient child. Or perhaps I was moving as he suggested through the gentleman. He might not have specified the menu itself, but it felt as if he were relaying instructions to me via the butler.
The butler handed me the phone connected to him. Even after taking the simply designed work handset, it took me a beat to answer him.
“Yes.”
"Did you... not sleep well?"
He had started to offer the polite "Did you sleep well?" but, deciding it was a silly question, he changed course mid-sentence, a little sheepish; I could almost see him faintly furrow his brow.
“No. I slept deeply without waking once.”
"How’s your body? You can go in and be seen anytime, right away."
Assuming they probably wouldn’t understand Korean still didn’t make it any easier; talking about my post-sex condition in front of others made sweat prickle.
“I’m fine. Other than being stiff... there’s no particular injury.”
I fiddled with the warmed porcelain spoon beside the wonton bowl and lowered my head to hide my reddened face. It was embarrassing enough to talk in front of the three people around me; soberly telling him the state of my body now was just as mortifying.
He let out a long sigh, as if he didn’t like my saying there was no need to go to a hospital, but he seemed to accept it for now.
"I switched the flight to evening. The butler will guide you through the plan. Rest a bit more and get ready slowly. I had to step out first because something urgent came up to handle... but I’ll take you to the airport myself."
He added that because of the "urgent matter," his own schedule had changed so he would be returning home tomorrow.
“What about the others?”
"They left on the original schedule. So don’t worry about what excuse to give or anything—just rest well."
As before, this time too he must have covered for me appropriately. Probably the same excuse as last time, that I wasn’t feeling well. This would solidify me within Phantom as a sickly weakling prone to ailments. It wasn’t an image I wanted, and the taste was bitter, but I understood there wasn’t any other pretext. It wasn’t an illness, but I truly didn’t feel well.
I told him he didn’t need to see me off since the hotel ran a shuttle bus, but he shifted the topic and said he needed to end the call. He told me to be sure to fill my stomach even if I had no appetite.
I tried to empty at least the wonton bowl, remembering what he’d said last time—to eat a little for myself even if I had no appetite—but eating alone with strangers watching, plus the discomfort below, made it harder and harder to sit there.
After finishing just enough to soothe my stomach lining, I excused myself, took only a cup of coffee, and got up.
The butler suggested I get a massage. He said that too was his idea. A massage would make my body feel much lighter. He explained they could call a therapist from the hotel spa to the room so I could receive it comfortably, but there was no way I would feel comfortable in that situation.
It was enough that he had anticipated my condition and cared in advance.
Or rather—yes, I was grateful, but being given this kind of luxurious treatment after a night with him made something feel off, as if things were running with a squeak.
It was my fault I’d slept through the alarm, but after a night with him, to be waited on and fed in his hotel room, and for him to have the schedule changed in advance considering my physical state—that much consideration wasn’t necessary. If this was the kind of kindness he habitually and evenly bestowed on partners he spent the night with, then I needed it even less. I hadn’t sacrificed myself to his desire in expectation of payment; I had wanted it too and agreed to the sex.
The luggage from the room I’d stayed in had been completely packed, and the carry-on suitcase I’d borrowed from the manager had been moved into the entry corridor. Staying here and resting until he came to pick me up seemed to be, most likely, his final directive.
Leaving them to clear away a meal I’d barely touched, I went back to the bedroom with a not especially easy feeling.
I started to open the curtains but stopped and instead turned the lights up a little.
Looking around the room anew, various things of his remained where they were. Files of fair-related materials stacked on the cabinet, a tablet on the nightstand, even a robe draped over the sofa, probably taken off right before going out.
And on the table by the window, cigarettes and a lighter sat neatly.
He must have smoked while I was asleep; five or six stubbed-out butts were bent in the ashtray. I’d been sleeping so deeply that I hadn’t noticed him smoking that much, finishing getting ready, and leaving the room. Or he’d moved carefully so he wouldn’t wake me.
After I fell asleep, had he managed to close his eyes at all?
The fragile look in his eyes I’d last seen before closing mine—a tangle of confusion, futility, and fear of himself—came back to me, and on top of my body’s noise, my head grew messy too.
If I turned on my phone, there would probably be worried messages from Yuni, from Juhan, from the manager, and I needed to contact Morae and my brother about having dinner together after flying home this evening. Even trivialities felt burdensome now, as if they were far too complicated for me to handle.
“Let’s think about nothing, care about nothing. Just flick the brain’s switch off. Can you do that?”
Remembering what he’d told me that night, I flicked my brain’s switch off for now.
I set the coffee on the table, sat in one of the two single armchairs, and picked up the pack of cigarettes. They were the product of a common global company you could buy anywhere in the world. I took one out and lit it.
Even if it was just a single cigarette, I wasn’t the type to put my hands on someone else’s things without permission... no—having already done that, I turned out to be, surprisingly, the kind of person who, depending on the moment, can lay hands on someone else’s belongings without asking.
