CRAIGSLIST THERAPIST | hyunho ✔

.01

The Uber driver must've taken a wrong turn somewhere, so Hyunjin waits for the GPS to reload, grappling at the seat in fear. This building stands tall and decaying, cornered by two deserted alleyways, and at the top, an air conditioner hangs by a thread. On its front, a lone man slouches against the exposed metal wall, thumbing his phone, unaware of the looming threat above. But the driver's phone reloads, pings, and announces: "Arrived at destination," in a pitchy robot voice, so Hyunjin can only mutter Are you sure? under his breath as he gropes for money, eager to avoid the driver's thick-browed scowl.

Phone ready to call another ride, Hyunjin crosses the road to wait across the building, wary of its ready-to-fall bits and the solitary stranger. If Hyunjin looks, it's an invitation, if he doesn't, he's easy prey. His eyes ping-pong the two alleyways, only falling on the man for a few seconds before adverting his gaze somewhere else, phone like butter in his sweaty hands.

"Lix?" Hyunjin calls. "Can you send another?"

"He cancelled the ride? But it said it's been paid!"

"He dropped me at the wrong place." A peek at the stranger. "I think his GPS is screwed up or something."

"And he left you alone?" Felix's voice rises. "I'm leaving a bad review."

"Thanks." Hyunjin wipes his hand on a thigh. "But can you just send another one right now?"

It's LA, and it's expensive, but Felix murmurs something about sharing an immediate location and an inconvenient app that hasn't saved his card information.

Before Hyunjin can proceed with his newly acquired mini-ritual, the place the man once sat is now glaringly empty. A shrill violin pierces his head with frightful music. Like he's in a movie, suspense clinging to thick air. The audience clench their toes in the excruciating wait for the sudden reveal—

"Jiniret?" Hyunjin's heart leaps, a brisk bump to his chest. He palms at it, lungs shaking his body into a nervous bundle of pants. The man points a hand toward himself. "It's Soondoongdo."

It's a few seconds before Hyunjin can talk. "Right." And he'd offer a hand to be shaken — the same that held his heart — but the man already strides across the street, heading inside that dreadful building.

Inside, the wallpaper curls into snail shells, revealing its chewed interior of bricks and dirt. Meanwhile, a few steps ahead, Minho keeps his hands in his pockets. He wears outdated fashionable clothes, hand-me-downs from a much later season. This Balenciaga shirt has the same unremovable stain as the one Hyunjin donated two years ago, a life ago.

"So, Soon-don-du..." the way Minho introduced himself, his username, is paste in Hyunjin's tongue. He's never said those syllables out loud, and pronounces them differently in his head.

"Call me Minho, if preferred."

"Hyunjin."

Minho turns to him. "Not Jiniret?"

Shaken laughter. They pass a room crowded with mattresses. "Are you sure this is your office?"

"For the next seventeen minutes, it is," Minho says. "It's when the junkies grab a bowl of soup at His Shepherd Church."

A rat skips next to his foot. It's a tiny, grey thing that settles on nibbling the body of a used Q-Tip and coaches a yelp out of Hyunjin. Minho hurries his steps, and Hyunjin eagerly follows suit.

Whatever system Minho uses to choose a room is entirely lost to him. The one he barges into is not unlike any of the others. The light is faint and cracked, hanging from a mantle of wires, only enough to aid their path to twin chairs that face each other. Hyunjin's heard of stories like this: you're offered a job interview at an empty building, the interviewer comes untuxedo-ed, no suitcase, leads you into a maze of corridors before cornering you in a small room. The possibility of Felix's misguidance hangs in the air like this very light.