The woman rushed in, her heels ferociously beating against the white floor tiles.
As soon as she saw the state of the room, her eyes widened in horror. The sink was full of dirty dishes, and the kitchen counter wasn’t cleaned. The trashcan hadn’t been emptied in a while. The air slled stale as if the windows hadn’t been opened in days. And the man whose na she was screaming had dark circles under his eyes. It was clear he hadn’t been sleeping well.
"What’s going on?" she asked, rushing to his side. "Are you alright? Why haven’t you been answering my calls or ssages?"
Hurriedly, she glanced over the state of his body. Other than his complexion, he looked healthy enough. But there was sothing subtle about his bearing. Even the smallest of his movents seed attractive and sophisticated. Every detail—from the parting of his lips to the tilting of his head—made him extrely photogenic.
His usually tired amber eyes held a mysterious gravity. It was as if they were coals on fire. They held an insatiable thirst for sothing. It was as if he could see through anyone. It was as if he had seen what others couldn’t.
The lady shook her head. That’s right, she couldn’t be so easily dazed. She wasn’t here to admire her dearest friend. She was here to ensure his well-being.
"You are fine, right?" she asked again, her anxiety pacified.
"Yes," answered Averie with a faint smile. "I am fine."
He was studying the woman just as she studied him.
She wore a khaki dress suit over a white shirt and matching heels. Exhaustion was evident on her small face. She was rather thin with full lips, single-lidded eyes, and straight black hair.
’Finally feels like the East,’ Averie thought.
Unlike himself, the girl looked very Asian. Surprisingly enough, she spoke fluent English, which was good as Averie couldn’t speak a lick of Korean.
His little research earlier indicated that most major cities of the world spoke either Spanish or English. Due to the Arican influence, Korea had long integrated English into their culture. This seed to be a problem that the Korean language had to endure, as more and more youth spoke English more often than Korean.
This also ant the Korean film and TV industry often created English-language productions.
"Do you know how worried I was?" Holding her head in her hands, she slumped down on the floor. "My superiors wouldn’t allow to leave early, so I rushed here as soon as I left work."
She looked up at him, her eyes damp.
"I feared I would never see you again."
’You were right,’ Averie thought. ’You will never see him again.’
"Stupid, right?" she smiled, wiping away tears.
Averie didn’t answer. He appreciated what few tears the woman shed. For the young man whose identity he had stolen, that was all the comfort he could offer. It didn’t feel right that no one mourned his loss.
"So, what happened? Why did you go silent on ?"
Averie wasn’t sure how to handle this situation. He didn’t know who she was. He didn’t even know her na. Was she a relative of his? His lover? Or a friend?
In thought, he got up from his seat.
"Sit," he said, offering her the only chair in the room.
Swiftly tapping on his phone in one hand, he walked up to the kitchen counter. With his back towards the girl, he opened one of the apps. The woman who had been constantly sending him ssages was indeed the lady currently in his room. Hyerin seed to be her na.
"What would you like, Hyerin?" Averie asked, heating a cup of milk for himself.
Hyerin looked aghast. "Are you mad at ? It doesn’t sound right when you call by my na."
’Don’t make it more difficult, girl.’
"Sorry, I haven’t slept in a while," he whispered, reading the previous ssages sent between them as quickly as he could. "So, what would you like—Rin?"
A thin smile blood on Hyerin’s face.
"Anything is fine," she said, suddenly getting up. "I’ll be in your washroom."
She didn’t seem one bit hesitant as she said that.
As the bathroom door closed behind Hyerin, Averie rushed towards the girl’s belongings, which were a plastic bag with Tanishq’s Tandoor printed on it and a black tote bag.
Averie hurriedly searched the tote bag, paying attention to every little sound coming from the bathroom. He did not touch the money but ferreted around for sothing that may help identify the person currently in his apartnt. It was clear that they were close, but he needed to know more.
Rummaging around, he found a driver’s license.
’Hyerin Lim,’ it read. ’Birth date: 12th of March 2002.’
"A year older," Averie whispered, continuing the search.
Most of the items were either unknown to him or too ordinary to be of any worth. Other than the A4-size envelopes that kept attracting his gaze, there was one more item of interest. It was a card that shone silver and grey even in the dark of night.
’Sartre Entertainnt Ltd.’
Suddenly, the sound of raging water forced Averie to put everything back in its place with little precision. He traced his steps back to the kitchen counter, while Hyerin appeared after washing her hands in the basin.
’So, you have a spare key to the apartnt,’ Averie thought, ’and you definitely do not shy away from using its facilities.’
"I bought Butter Chicken from that Indian restaurant you like," Hyerin said, taking out dishes as if it were her own ho.
’Averie was born in England, so Butter Chicken makes sense,’ he noted, studying the girl from head to toe. ’She knows the cabinet more thoroughly than .’
As he sat on the edge of the bed to eat, the girl sat beside him. She offered him a can of beer, but Averie shook his head.
"I don’t drink," he said.
"Since when?"
"Since recently," he lied.
It had been around seven decades since he last drank. He believed that good actors should not drink. Red wine now and then might do, but that was about it. Alcohol and nicotine were best kept far away from the bodies of actors. Great performances were a sort of recreation in Averie’s philosophy. Those who could not adhere did not enjoy a long career.
Hyerin shrugged, chugging her beer like there was no tomorrow. Averie’s instincts—honed in the degeneracy of Hell—scread at him to whistle and throw money at her. But this wasn’t Hell, so he held back.
"Yeah, this is what comforts ," Hyerin sighed, lowering her head. "Work is killing , and my closest friend does not even answer my calls."
’Your closest friend is dead, dearie.’
"Did you resign from your latest job—is that it?"
"Yes," Averie said.
He had no idea what she was talking about. But even if the previous Averie hadn’t resigned, this new stud was certainly going to. Acting was the only profession for him.
"Because you were bored again?" she asked, stuffing her mouth with Butter Chicken and rice. "How do you get bored of jobs so often, Averie?"
"They are not fun."
"They are not supposed to be fun," she exclaid. "So, what are you going to do now? You know what—do whatever you want, chase your dreams and whatnot. But please, keep in touch. You were always quirky. I get scared when you stop replying."
"I understand, Rin."
"Good," she smiled.
It was midnight when the two finished eating, watching a heist film together. Every now and then, Hyerin would comnt on its direction and carawork. She had a good eye. It was apparent that she was an avid moviegoer.
"I need to finish so work," Hyerin muttered after finishing the film. She took out several envelopes from her bag. "These scripts won’t read themselves."
With a single word, she had all of Averie’s attention.
’I can read them for you,’ he nearly blurted out.
As he was contemplating how to naturally broach the subject, one of the scripts caught his eye. It was far more worn than the rest, and attached to it was a yellow sticky note marked urgent.
Averie felt as if he was being pulled towards it. It was as if it was calling for him to pick it up—as if it was daring him. He peered at the title written in English.
’Binsfeld’s Seven Princes of Hell.’
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