JUN-OH WAS still asleep, lying with his back against my stomach. I ran my finger along the line of his shoulders. The alarm rang. He turned it off, moaning. His breath smelled of soju. We’d had too much to drink, my head felt heavy. My arms around him, unreal. He reached out for his Polaroid at the end of the bed and framed me in the viewfinder, he wanted an image of me to take with him. I pulled the sheet up to hide my face. He took the picture. When I looked up, he was tightening his belt. He’d lost weight, muscle. He pursed his lips in concentration as he buttoned his shirt. Like a child, I thought, feeling irritated. When he came back from the bathroom he kissed me on the forehead, picked up his bag, gave me his keys to keep until he returned from the capital, and left.

I waited for the sound of his footsteps on the stairs to die away before getting up. He’d left the photo behind, on the bed. I turned it over. The colors were still developing. Portrait view. The curve of my hips in the foreground, a wasteland of ribs and shoulder blades receding into the distance. My bones sticking out. I was surprised at how much. But I never saw myself from behind, so it made sense that I didn’t recognize myself in the image. I dressed hurriedly, without taking a shower.

Jun-oh lived in a studio flat in the city center, a good distance from the guest house. I had enough time to walk back, it was still early. On the beach, snow was melting on the sand in a shaft of sunlight. I thought I saw the outline of a man hunched over in a wool coat, like a willow in the wind.

There was no one there.

IT STARTED RAINING when I got back. Park usually covered the outdoor furniture with a tarpaulin he kept on the roof terrace. I went to fetch it. The trap door was open. Kerrand, leaning against the railing, under an umbrella. He greeted me with a nod and went back to looking out at the city.

“Looks like it’s made of Playmobil,” he said as I began to head back down clutching the tarpaulin.

“Sorry?”

“Those little bright-colored toy characters—”

“I know what Playmobil is.”

“They always come with extra pieces when you buy a box of them, little buildings with brightly colored roofs. That’s what Sokcho reminds me of.”

I’d never really looked closely at Sokcho. I’d never thought of it as particularly interesting. I walked over to join Kerrand. Before us, a jumble of orange and blue corrugated roofs, the burnt-out ruin of the cinema. Further off, the port and fish market. Kerrand was casting me a sidelong glance. He thanked me for doing his room. I nodded without really looking at him.