Sok-joo
By the time I finally got home, I felt completely drained.
My shoulder still hurt from hitting the pavement.
My palms were scraped.
My head throbbed every time I moved too quickly.
Honestly, it had been one of the worst days I'd experienced in a long time.
The missing files.
The whispers.
The supply room.
The accident.
Everything seemed to have piled on top of me at once.
I kicked off my shoes, dropped my bag near the door, and collapsed onto my bed without even changing clothes.
For a few minutes, I just stared at the ceiling.
Too exhausted to think.
Too exhausted not to.
---
Unfortunately, my brain had other plans.
The moment the silence settled around me, memories from the day started replaying.
The staff members.
The rehearsal disaster.
Charlie in the hallway.
The car.
The hospital.
And finally...
Junhoo.
The stranger who had saved my life.
I frowned slightly.
Something about him felt familiar.
Not familiar in the sense that I knew him.
I would've remembered him if we'd met before.
At least, I thought I would have.
No.
It was something else.
The way he listened.
The way he paid attention.
The way he sat beside my hospital bed as though leaving had never even crossed his mind.
There was something oddly comforting about him.
Something that reminded me of...
Myself.
The realization made me laugh softly.
Maybe that was why I'd felt comfortable around him so quickly.
Maybe people recognize certain kinds of loneliness in each other.
---
My phone suddenly vibrated beside me.
I glanced at the screen.
Then froze.
Charlie.
For several seconds, I simply stared.
Maybe my concussion was worse than the doctors thought.
Because there was no reasonable explanation for Charlie calling my personal number at ten o'clock at night.
Yet there it was.
His name.
His number.
His call.
The phone rang again.
And again.
Finally, I answered.
"Hello?"
---
"Kim."
Charlie's voice immediately filled my ear.
Calm.
Warm.
Familiar.
The same voice that had spent years living inside my headphones.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
Then I remembered I was supposed to act normal.
Very important.
Extremely professional.
"Hi."
Brilliant response.
Absolutely flawless.
---
Charlie either didn't notice my awkwardness or politely ignored it.
"I wanted to check on you."
The words caught me off guard.
"What?"
"The accident."
His voice softened slightly.
"I heard what happened."
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
All day I'd felt invisible.
Ignored.
Blamed.
Forgotten.
And now Charlie was calling just to make sure I was okay.
The contrast was almost painful.
"I'm fine," I said quickly.
"Really."
"You don't sound fine."
I laughed despite myself.
"Okay. Maybe not completely fine."
"There we go."
Something in his voice sounded amused.
The realization made my face heat up.
Thankfully, he couldn't see me.
---
A comfortable silence settled between us.
Not awkward.
Not forced.
Just... easy.
Which was strange.
I'd spent years imagining what it would be like to talk to Charlie.
None of those imaginary conversations had included discussing traffic accidents while lying half-dead on my bed.
Life was weird.
---
"Get some rest."
Charlie's voice broke through my thoughts.
"You've had a rough day."
That was probably the understatement of the century.
"I'll survive."
"I know."
The words reminded me painfully of our conversation in the hallway earlier.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then Charlie cleared his throat.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
A ridiculous amount of warmth settled in my chest.
The kind that made absolutely no sense.
"Okay."
"Goodnight, Kim."
My heart immediately betrayed me.
Because there was something about the way he said my name.
Simple.
Casual.
Yet somehow gentle.
As though saying it actually mattered.
"Goodnight, Charlie."
---
The call ended.
The room became quiet again.
I lowered my phone onto my chest and stared at the ceiling.
A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth before I could stop it.
The day had been terrible.
Objectively terrible.
Yet somehow, it didn't feel quite as heavy anymore.
Not after the call.
Not after someone had taken the time to check on me.
Not after Charlie had gone out of his way to make sure I was okay.
---
Then a thought appeared.
Small.
Quiet.
Suspicious.
I blinked.
Wait.
How did Charlie get my number?
I sat up slightly.
Immediately regretted it because my head protested.
Still.
The question remained.
We'd never exchanged numbers.
I'd never given it to him.
So how exactly had he gotten it?
The answer was probably simple.
Maybe another manager gave it to him.
Maybe the company records had it.
Maybe there was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
Yet something about it stayed with me.
A tiny unanswered question lingering at the edge of my thoughts.
---
I meant to think about it longer.
I really did.
But exhaustion had finally caught up with me.
My eyes felt heavy.
My body felt heavier.
Slowly, sleep began pulling me under.
My last thought wasn't about the accident.
Or the bullying.
Or even Junhoo.
It was about Charlie's voice.
About the way he'd said my name.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, that unanswered question continued waiting patiently.
How did Charlie get my number?
At the time, it seemed unimportant.
Later, I would realize it was anything but.