The phone buzzed against the pillow by his head. A single, familiar chime. Her chime. Her's was custom of course. different from everyone else's yet standard all across.
He opened it. a Smirk.
"Peacoking now, are we miss?"
She'd sent him a picture of her legs stretched over a headboard. Ankle crossed over ankle. catching the shadows of the window under the bright sun. The kind of picture that looks like a careless stretch, except it knew exactly what it was doing.
Still under the covers. The same sound.
"Thought they looked rather good today. Thought I might save a life yk. 😉"
He chuckles.
"Ever the tease miss."
"Oh you loved my morning call"
"Can't argue that miss." he adds cheekily. "and you were exactly on time."
"Was I now?" He could picture it. The slight smug curl of her lips. She always enjoyed being predictable in very specific ways.
"No voice notes today, Miss?"
"I have a sore throat oppa"
Sigh, this woman. Disgruntled, he sits up at the edge of his bed, his legs feel heavy.
"Ice cream, Miss?"
The facewash smells of white tea because of course it does. He had to find special toiletries which she liked the smells of, and preferably could use if she wanted to. Sign. if she ever was around that is.
"Heheh…I was hyperfixating on it…." He could imagine her sheepish goblin impression.
"I remember reminding you last night not to overindulge Miss, when did you even get the time." Toothpaste, not gel for her sensitive little mouth. He personally didn't mind the minty burn of his older toothpaste.
"Stop overreacting. I'm just too lazy to speak."
"Sure sure, and the green toenail is because you've taken sudden interest in rotting flesh, yes miss?" He couldn't help notice the infection getting worse on her nail. She probably was too lazy to apply the ointments the doctor prescribed. He started brushing more vigorously.
"....."
He could imagine her pressing her lips. In the way she does when she feels guilty.
"It's your job anyway."
"Ah yes. The dutiful butler that I am, miss."
"Oh the theatrics."
"If only the elusive Miss didn't treat me like a foreign mistress. Kept to the side. Summoned a quarter of the year. Always oceans and timezones apart"
"So dramatic, that too, so early in the morning." He couldn't help but laugh. She was definitely rolling her eyes.
"I did learn from the best love."
"Such cheek Yong-nim".she adds "Drink a glass of water."
Ever the evader, Still he sends her a picture of an empty glass, while he refills his 3 liter bottle, he bought to meet her daily goals.
"Now pee." The leash ran deeper, she wanted control right down to his biology.
"Such a puppeteer, Miss." He obliged just the same. Sat down on the toilet, and let her commands flow through his body.
"Good boy."
"Such a controlling miss." But he can't help the smile.
She doesn't reply back for a while. He sits down with her favorite earl grey tea, it was too floral for his nostrils, tasting more like a perfume than tea, but orders were orders. Though he liked his sweet. She liked hers thick.
"How do your legs feel today?" Her reply came half an hour later.
"Unpleasant, Miss."
"Go on."
"Restrictive, stuffy, slightly sweaty. smelling faintly of carpet. Heavy, warm and irritating."
"I see." She was definitely pouting.
"Lift up your left leg."
He does as instructed.
"Want a picture Miss?"
"What do you plan on having for breakfast?"
Ah, so they'd moved on from limbs.
"Nothing in particular, Miss."
"Put it down?"
He followed her rhythm. Movement by movement. Her tether guiding his limbs like thread, dragging the outline of her into his morning as she made him walk around the apartment for a few minutes.
"How do you feel now?"
"Can't the melancholic pondering wait till I've eaten, Miss?"
He added more teasing than resistance.
"Any ideas Miss?"
"Dosa."
"Of course Miss'd want something that needed an overnight ferment."
"Sit down."
"Sat Miss."
"Stand up ^^?"
"I am standing Miss." He whines, "You don't reckon I could… order in?"
And no reply. Such a moody little miss. She definitely kept him standing on purpose.
Over the next hour, he googled fast dosa recipes, and luckily discovered dosa mixes. Finding them nearby posed a challenge, nonetheless, prime came to rescue.
"She's definitely going to complain about ordering through prime. Should I visit a grocery store? This early? Plus there's no guarantee they'll have the mixes." He started pondering while flowering the rose plant she had him adopt. And the aloe vera, and the basil plant…looking around he realized he had a mini garden in her name.
"Miss is such a selfish little brat sometimes." After sending her the slightly defiant text, he still looked up instant dosa recipes and found one that used semolina. Though he'd have to grind it first.
Such an inconvenience his little miss was.
He sent her a picture at 10:30, the caption. You can stop pouting.
Her reply came instantly.
"I never barred you from ordering in."
He gritted his teeth through the smile.
"The little demon implied it. And for some reason I can't get myself to disappoint it."
"Delightfully tragic." He could almost hear it in her sing-song voice..
He could help but play along.
"Dramatic, miss. Not tragic."
"Calling your miss a demon, oh my someone wants to be punished." Oops she noticed.
Yes, the last hour, first thing in the morning, was a praise afterall. He of course didn't bite back that much. Least he face he wrath. He had his fill of being chaos for the day.
"And as punishment your pet has been on his feet the whole hour, even having breakfast standing next to a perfectly empty dining table."
"Well done." She definitely liked that. He could see the smirk.
"Yes, miss. May I please sit, or do you plan on pulling my limbs like a marionette all day?"
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared.
He hated how she made him feel like he was being watched by her smirk behind glass.
Always half here, half elsewhere. But never far enough for him to forget the weight of her.
Then:
"Five more minutes."
"Cruel," he muttered aloud, even as he obeyed. He stayed standing, like a soldier awaiting further orders.
In the silence, his fingers traced idle circles along the rim of the empty tea cup. He wasn't too fond of the flavour. He never had. But he reordered it monthly anyway.
"Four minutes," she sent.
The countdown. He could almost hear her voice. Enjoying every second of this. His anticipation. He wanted this.
He spent those four minutes cleaning the edges of the kitchen counter. Not because it was dirty, but because she would notice. Somehow, through timezones and apps and the weight of an entire sea between them, she always noticed. He wanted her to.
At exactly minute five, the buzz came again.
"You are released."
How unfair. She's the one who ruined his morning, but even the release felt like a punishment when she put it that way.
"Thank you, Miss." He responded, like a man breaking from a trance. He took the seat facing the east window, her favorite direction. Said it made the shadows prettier.
"Now tell me how did the dosa taste"
He took a bite before replying. It was mediocre. Slightly overcooked on one side, uneven on the other. But that didn't matter.
"Like effort, Miss."
"Effort," she echoed. "I like that."
"I thought you'd like that," he said between chews.
"Effort is endearing, Puppy."
"Do I get my reward now, Miss?"
Silence.
Then,
"You drank water. You peed. You walked. You made breakfast. You spoke back only three times. Acceptable."
"Only acceptable?" He pouted. Purposefully. It was a dance, this performance. Always somewhere between groveling and goading.
"Oh hush," she typed. "You're doing so well today. I'm proud."
The phone lay warm in his hand. Like a pulse against his skin. He reread the message again. I'm proud.
"Say it again," he sent, before he could stop himself. Something in him always turned greedy when she slipped.
"Say what again?" She played dumb.
"You know."
The typing dots returned. This time longer. They paused. Returned again. Teased him.
Then:
"You're a good boy, Yong oppa."
It landed lower than his chest. Somewhere under the ribs. He swallowed. Breathed through his nose. Didn't reply right away.
When he did, the words came smaller:
"Miss, I don't think you know what that does to me."
"Oh, I do."
Of course she did.
He would like to linger more, but his work phone was blowing up. He had emails to get to.
The phone screen lit up again around noon, pulling his attention from the half-burnt dosa he'd given up on finishing.
"Don't forget your vitamins, pet."
"Yes, Miss. I live for your reminders. I wouldn't survive without them."
"Dramatic much?"
"Only moderately, Miss. I pace myself. I try not to burn through my ration of flair all in one go, gotta keep some drama for the post-lunch existential crisis. Besides, I thought I'd leave room for your usual 6 PM disappearance act. Wouldn't want to steal the spotlight from the reigning queen of vanishing acts."
He popped the tablet in anyway, chewing dryly on a piece of toast that had cooled hours ago. She hadn't messaged all morning after the breakfast exchange. Busy, probably. Or moody. Or both. Hard to tell with his miss.
He thumbed out another message.
"What are you working on today, Miss?"
"You?". poof and then she was gone again.
He walked into the living room. On the shelf, the book she made him read last winter, annotated in her chaotic handwriting, sat next to a candle she liked the smell of but never remembered the name. He lit it anyway. She'd ask later. He liked being ready.
"Miss, I know you don't believe in structure. But some context wouldn't kill you."
"Stop distracting me."
He smirked at that.
"Ah~ so I'm a distraction."
no reply.
He sent her a picture of his sad lunch, leftover chicken, slightly off-color lettuce, and a dollop of mustard.
"Gourmet. Michelin-tier. Try not to cry from envy, Miss."
A few minutes passed.
She sent him a 10 second clip from some kpop music video.
He grinned. There she was. Though he could forgo her addiction to pretty faces. Other than his that is.
"I both look and sound better, Miss."
"The audacity."
"You know you prefer my voice." To prove his point he sent that as a voice note.
"I'm outside."
Ah…that explains the disappearance act.
"I miss you, Miss." Along with a picture of him looking like a wet dog.
"You disgust me."
Such as spicy tongue.
"I was thinking of bottling the mustard and naming it after you, Miss."
"Call it 'defiance'. Bitter, inappropriate, and clings to the roof of your mouth."
He snorted, then paused.
"How's your throat now, Miss?"
She didn't reply for another hour.
He didn't mind. Well, not too much.
He sent her the song he was currently working on.
Nothing after that. Just a long stretch of absence.
He opened his sheet music, stared at it blankly. Eventually sent her a message anyway.
He sent her a random text. The kind he knew she liked.
"Do you think dissonance is resolved or endured, miss?"
"Why do I feel like this is about something else."
"It's always about something else, miss."
"What's the point?"
"I'm curious, miss."
"Curiosity rarely ends well."
"And still we live with it, Miss"
Ever the philosopher.
"Endured. Until it becomes the new key."
He smiled, just a little.
"Miss, do you think the E chord feels dishonest sometimes?"
A beat. Then,
"I have no idea what that means. But I am open to being educated, Yong sem."
He grinned at the message. "Yong sem" teacher Yong. She always called him that when she wanted to learn something and mock him in the same breath.
He flexed his fingers over the keys. Let them hover.
"The E major chord," he typed, "is too open. Too full. It pretends to be honest, but it hides things in all that brightness. Like people who smile too much at funerals."
She left him on read.
He waited. Waited some more.
Then, just as he was about to send something snarky,
"So you're saying I'm an E major."
He paused.
"Not everything is about Miss."
She knew.
"Oh." She was embarrassed.
"What I mean is not quite, Miss," he replied, "You're an F minor. Lingers after it's gone. Makes everything before it sound like a lie."
Another long silence.
Finally,
"I'm adding that to my collection of compliments."
"Miss means the list of veiled insults you've reframed to feel good about?"
"Exactly."
He laughed, running a hand through his hair. The fan spun lazy circles above him. The room was quiet except for the clack of his keyboard and the low, constant hum of her inside his head.
"Don't pander."
"Never, Miss. I'm far too arrogant."
It went quiet again. He glanced at the clock. Six. He should start prepping dinner. She hadn't said anything about food today. But she would. Eventually.
While chopping vegetables, he typed,
"What did you eat today, Miss? Please don't say bubble tea and spite."
Nothing.
He set the phone down, wiped his hands. The knife clinked against the board a little too sharply.
His house was quiet, filled with her, not loudly, but undeniably. The smell of sandalwood around his house. His pantry, filled with ingredients from all over the world. The small window of herbs and a single rose plant. Her playlist, playing in the background.
She occupied him completely. But her world? Always locked. Barbed. Polished from the outside. He liked her company for dinner. So he pouted. And sent her a picture, he knew would make her blush.
"But it's fine. I'll just go back to talking to my dinner."
That earned a reply.
"You're being bratty."
"I learned from the expert, Miss."
"Petulance doesn't suit you."
"You sure miss?."
A long pause.
Then,
"Not in the mood to be open right now."
He exhaled. Fair. But it still landed with a quiet thud.
"You know I'm here Miss."
"And?" Sometimes the smallest words hurt more than insults.
"If nothing, my handsome face should soothe your vanity." He could only meet her hurt with his cheekiness. At least for now.
"You're impossible."
"Endearing, Miss. That's the word you're reaching for."
No reply.
Hours passed. He cleaned. Finished sending emails and discussing meetings with his assistant. Rewatched half an episode of something she'd insisted he watch. The sun dipped, and still, she remained silent.
Until 9 pm.
His phone rang.
Her name. He answered on the first buzz.
"Why are you still up?" He was still happy to hear her voice.
"I can't sleep," she said. Her voice was low, hoarse. Her cats likely purring by her side.
"Lier, you just missed me didn't you princess?"
"Don't call me that. ew."
"Lies again, miss, you love being called princess by me."
"Yong oppa gaesori hajima."
"Language, Miss."
She clicks her tongue in annoyance.
"You shouldn't be up at this hour, miss."
"I'm self-employed. And a writer. Time is a suggestion."
"Noted."
"I didn't want to talk earlier."
"I gathered, Miss."
"But I do now."
And so she did. For an hour. About the current state of the word. Her addiction to coffee that keeps her sick. The state of capitalism. All the current drama in her life. And then asked about all the drama in his. The absurdity of toothpaste flavors. And a half-dream she had about living on a boat.
He listened to every word, a faint smile on his lips.
"You're very awake for someone who doesn't need structure, Miss."
"I'm choosing to be."
"If I hang up now, you'll be asleep in twenty."
"Rude."
"Factual."
"You sound smug."
"I'm always smug, Miss. That's why you keep me around."
She didn't deny it.
He heard her shift under covers.
"Are you still standing?"
"Would Miss like me to?."
"It's cool."
"Generous."
"So how does it feel?"
"What do you mean, love?"
"The ankle weights?"
"The shackles you mean?" He panthers for a bit. "Uncomfortable, overwhelming."
"Oh." She sounds disappointed.
"I like them. They remind me of my Miss you see, oddly reassuring."
She yawned.
"Alright, fine. Maybe thirty minutes."
He grinned into the dark.
"I win."
"Shut up."
"Yes, Miss."
He stayed on the line, even when her words slowed into silence.
No click. No goodbye. Just breath, faint and steady. The soft rustle of her turning in bed, a cat mewling sleepily in the background.
"Still there, Miss?" he whispered.
No reply.
She'd fallen asleep mid-call.
She'd never done that before…It made him warm inside. She was starting to trust him. Rely on him
He reached for the charger, gently placed the phone on his pillow, her breathing still close in his ear. He wouldn't hang up. Not yet. Not when she chose to fall asleep with him near.
Moments passed. The night grew quieter.
"Goodnight, Miss," he murmured, "Sleep well. love."
The silence remained.
He got up carefully, phone still on the call, and padded around his flat, turning off lights, brushing his teeth with that stupid sensitive-toothpaste she liked, changing into the oversized shirt she always said made him look "like a little victim puppy at her disposal"
Then he slid back under the sheets, the call still active. The clock blinked 11:57.
Three minutes till midnight.
Almost a new day.
And she was still with him.
Even asleep. Even miles away. Even in silence.
Still his.
His abyss humming softly through a speaker.
And he?
Her anchor.