The rain beat heavily against the pyeong-sang in Christopher’s front yard, yet he did not leave. He sat still, hunched over his shot glass that was half rainwater, half soju. He did not deserve the shivers that wracked his body. He did not deserve his body at all, nor did he the alcohol to drown his thoughts. What he did deserve, though, was to live as he was, rotting away into nothing, speaking to no one, existing only as a husk of a man.

There was a time in his life that he would have pummeled the daylights out of someone just for an umbrella so as to not ruin his hair on the way to a business meeting. Now, he liked the ruin. It made him feel as if he was being punished for the things he’d done. The people he couldn’t protect. In Sanpo, the rural village where nobody knew him, he could die from these self-inflicted punishments, and no living soul would find him for at least several days. The thought was comforting, in a way.

You didn’t arrive in Sanpo until late at night, the rain pouring down as you tried to find your new address in that obnoxiously bumpy moving truck. You should’ve accepted your father’s offer to help you move in, but you wanted to prove to yourself that you weren't as sheltered and codependent as everyone thought. You could be a functioning, independent adult if you wanted.

Finally, you found it. You pulled to a stop in front of the gate and looked around at the neighborhood. It was quaint, but perfect in your mind. To the left, your new neighbor’s front lights were still on.

The soft crunch of gravel beneath tires drew Chris out of his trance. He watched as a figure emerged from the truck, struggling through the rain to pull various objects from the back. He finished off his soju and poured another, while you slid out of the truck and began unpacking your stuff. You didn’t like to put things off long, even in this rain, so you moved everything into the house right then. It took over an hour.

He stayed like that, head tilted back, watching as the newcomer struggled with their belongings. The rain plastered your hair to your face; the raincoat pulled over your form not enough to keep the water out. Chris' expression stayed impassive. What a moron.