CATALYST

DAVID

      Twenty minutes later, I let myself into the beautiful three-bedroom brick house I'd purchased a few years ago when I'd been about to propose to my then-girlfriend. I thought we'd be married by now. I thought we'd have a family by now. I thought I'd feel complete by now.

None of it had happened.

I turned off all the lights and trudged upstairs, feeling every step of my twenty—eight years. In my bathroom, I frowned at my reflection in the mirror, running a hand over my slightly scruffy jaw. Jesus, look at all the gray bags under my eyes. For a while, it had only been a light shade but now it became clearer. At the temples, too. Was it normal to have lines at this age? Was that from frowning? I quickly relaxed my face, and they mostly disappeared. But not entirely. Gone are those days when I was known to have the freshest and baby face in my circle of friends.

Goddamn, I was getting old.

At least I was still in good shape. I slipped my coat off and hung it and my shirt in my closet, tossed my T-shirt into the laundry basket, then stood in front of
the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, eyeing myself critically.

No paunch yet. No flab. No "handles" anywhere. My stomach was still hard and flat, my six-pack still lingered, my chest and arms were still muscular. I might not have all the sculpted lines and bulges I'd had a few years ago, but I worked hard to maintain my physique. I'm not fond of working out religiously, but I find time to do it. It made me feel relaxed and gratified to have at least lose some sweat and felt in control of my body. I commanded it to do something, and it obeyed. Run those miles. Lift a few weight. Punch that bag.

      Easy.

      Same reason I kept my house so immaculate. My family and friends teased me endlessly about what they called my "obsession" with neatness. I didn't get it—who wouldn't want to come home to a house where everything was clean and organized? It wasn't a germ thing; it was just an aversion to chaos and mess. No clutter on the counters, no dirty laundry piled up anywhere, no dishes left in the sink. And I always knew exactly where a thing was because after I used it, I fucking put it away. What was so weird about that?

      I got ready for bed and turned out the light, feeling a little pathetic since it wasn't even ten o'clock on a Friday night, but telling myself I'd get a good night's sleep and hit the gym early. I hadn't even closed my eyes when my phone buzzed on the nightstand. Picking it up, I squinted at the screen in the dark. My sister, Sowon.

      "Hello?"

      "Hey, it's me."

      In the background, I could hear muffled bar noise—music, voices, the clanking of plates and glasses. "What's up?"

      "I need a favor."

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