ephemera 一 baek dohwa.

viii

‘How old are you?’

You know nothing about Dohwa, and none of the rumours you’ve heard about him seem true, anyway. You’ve heard people saying he lives in Riverview Palace, but that’s in the complete opposite direction to your bus route. You also think he was genuinely running low on cash that day at the convenience store.

He replies readily this time. ‘Eighteen. You?’

‘I’m turning eighteen the day we finish midterms,’ you say. ‘The perfect stroke of luck. When’s yours?’

‘October 28th.’

You’ve also heard how he hates people infringing on his personal boundaries, whether physically or in conversation. Whilst people speak of his alleged wealth, you recall that he’s never hosted any party of any kind 一 whether at his own home, or at a rented venue. You wonder if he tells his friends when his birthday is at all.

You ask more hesitantly, ‘Does anyone else know?’

His silence tells you enough.

‘How did you celebrate it?’ you ask.

‘I didn’t. I worked overtime delivering food. Life gives me no lemons.’

You were prepared to grow serious at his initial sentence, but when he adds the second half, it's hard not to start smiling, and your stare becomes incredulous.

You look at him. He looks at you.

‘I’ll celebrate mine with you,’ you say. It’s phrased more like a question than a statement, and you wait for him to reply.

He hugs his bag closer to his chest, resting his arms on top of it, then his head on top of his folded arms.

The sunlight streaming through the bus window is dappled and warm, casting a gentle glow on his hair and skin. At times it catches in his eyes like flickering candlelight, turning them into molten gold, and you can’t look away.

‘When?’ he says at last, and your heart skips a beat.

‘Are you free the Saturday after midterms?’

He nods without taking the time to think.

‘That’s good,’ you say.

He rescues the conversation before it can die away completely. ‘Are you good at studying?’

‘I guess.’ You’re trying to get into one of the top three universities in South Korea. ‘I一 um. SNU. Maybe. I want to study English Literature at university.’

He chuckles. ‘You guess? Your head is always buried in a book when I see you.’

‘I don’t have high hopes,’ you say.

Dohwa is grinning, now. It's a boxy sort of smile and lights up his eyes. ‘Well, you should. At least you’re not registered for and failing supplementary classes for the stupid.’

‘Which subjects?’ you ask.

He winces. ‘Mainly Maths and English.’

You want to reach out and play with his hair, but you don’t. Instead, you say, ‘Want some help?’

There’s four weeks until midterms. There aren’t as many get-togethers with your friends anymore, because you’re a fairly academic bunch and are all beginning to study religiously.

Dohwa smirks and says without shame, ‘Gladly.’