Ha Joon woke to gray.
The ceiling.
Same as always.
He stared at it.
His back hurt.
Each vertebra pressed into the thin mattress like something trying to break through.
He sat up.
Swung his legs over the side of the top bunk.
The metal frame groaned.
He dropped down.
Landed soft.
Crouched at the foot of the lower bunk.
The sheet was mounded.
A shape underneath.
A shoulder.
A head.
"Eun Byol."
Nothing.
"Eun Byol. Wake up. Come on."
Still nothing.
He reached out.
Grabbed the sheet.
Pulled.
The pillow fell.
Hit the floor.
Soft.
Anticlimactic.
He stared at it.
Behind him—
"Boo."
Ha Joon startled.
His face hit the wooden bed frame.
Hard.
A sharp crack.
He spun around.
Hand pressed to his cheek.
Eyes wide.
Eun Byol stood behind him.
Arms crossed.
Shoulders shaking.
She laughed.
Low.
Genuine.
It filled the room.
Made it smaller.
Warmer.
"You actually fell for that," she said. Still laughing. "You actually did it."
Ha Joon straightened.
Pressed his fingers against his cheekbone.
Testing.
One eye squinted.
Jaw set.
"Fell for what. There was nothing to fall for."
"You went face-first into the bed."
"I was checking the structural integrity."
She laughed harder.
"Come on," she said. "Let's hit the showers."
She pushed her hair back.
Looked at him.
The laughter was still there.
But softer now.
Quieter.
"That's enough games for one day."
Ha Joon looked at her.
Even in the dim light, he could see her hair.
Brown.
Deep.
She'd cut it recently.
He hadn't said anything until now.
"I like the hairstyle," he said. "The new one. It's different."
She touched the back of her neck.
Automatic.
"I know," she said. "My neck is breathing for the first time in years. It's strange. I don't know if I like it yet."
She turned toward the door.
"Stop fooling around. Showers."
"Right behind you."
---
The shower room was white.
Tiles floor to ceiling.
Chrome pipes catching the weak overhead light.
Everything new.
Clean.
Sterile.
The water came hard.
Hot.
Steam rose fast.
Thick.
Within a minute, the white room turned soft.
Formless.
Ha Joon stood under the water.
Eyes closed.
Face turned up.
"You're not going to believe this," he said. His voice bounced off the tiles. "I think I actually tasted salt yesterday. On the rice."
A pause from the other side.
"You tasted salt."
"On the rice. I'm telling you, something is happening with my palate. Some kind of evolution."
"There is no salt in that rice," Eun Byol said. "There's no anything in that rice. It's a gray blob. You can't taste a gray blob."
"I know what I tasted."
"Ha Joon."
"I'm telling you."
"You tasted nothing. You imagined salt because your body is desperate for any sensory information that isn't suffering."
Ha Joon turned the water off.
Stood in the cooling air.
"Actually," he said, "I think I know how to cook that. The blob."
"What."
"I know the recipe. I could give it to you right now."
The water on her side went off.
Then—
"Okay," she said. "Tell me."
"First," he said, "you go to the superstore."
"The superstore."
"Yeah. And you buy yourself a blob. They sell them there. In the blob aisle."
"What's a superstore."
"It doesn't matter. Then, once you have your blob, you go buy the color gray."
She appeared around the partition.
Towel in hand.
Wet hair dark against her temples.
Her face carried the slow-building expression of someone deciding to see where this goes.
"The color gray."
"Yeah. You need the gray. That's the key ingredient. Most people skip it. That's why their blobs are inferior."
She looked at him.
"Why are you laughing."
"I'm not laughing."
"You're laughing right now."
"I'm describing a recipe."
"You're laughing while you describe the recipe."
"I'm passionate about cooking."
She turned away.
Reached for her clothes.
Her shoulders moved.
She was laughing too.
"We've been in here too long," she said. "The steam's getting in everything. Let's go."
"Yeah," he said. "You're right."
---
They dressed.
Black tracksuits.
Black shoes.
Stood before the bunks and made the beds.
Tucking corners.
Smoothing fabric.
No words.
Just routine.
The room was still dim.
Then the overhead light came on.
Sudden.
No warning.
The room lost its texture.
Became just a room.
Four walls.
Two bunks.
Two people.
At the far end of the long hallway, the elevator doors opened.