My wife is on a business trip.

Ikhyeon’s right eyebrow ticked upward as he typed. With quitting time drawing near, his mind drifted back to the night before last, when his wife had announced the trip.

He had been gripping her slender waist, right on the edge of finishing. She suddenly pushed against his chest, sat up, and pulled a robe over her sweat-damp body. Then she tied the robe’s sash tight around the same thin waist he had just been holding and spoke.

“Tomorrow. Business trip. With the director.”

“All of a sudden?”

“Yeah, all of a sudden.”

“Where to?”

“Kyoto.”

“How long?”

“About a week… or so?”

A week is a week. What’s this “or so” business?

“Morin.”

In that moment, Ikhyeon’s need for his wife’s body far outweighed any concern about her trip. He wanted to push himself into that warm, slick heat and come as greedily and freely as he pleased. He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him, reaching to part the robe, but she shook him off with a cold snap. Both of them froze for a moment.

“Sorry. I’m a little tired.”

She turned away, avoiding his eyes.

Ikhyeon stared at his rejected hand. Not some stranger, but his own wife. Morin, who had always come willingly into his arms, had turned him away.

“Gu Morin.”

He called her name, but she walked to the bathroom without looking back. He glanced between her retreating figure and his own pathetically throbbing *rection. It felt strange and absurd.

6 p.m.

Just before his PC shut off, Ikhyeon hit save on the report and looked at the photo postcard he had stuck to his partition board with a magnet. It had been nearly three years since he put it up, but the red of the lighthouse in the photo was still vivid.

He let out a low sigh, shifted his gaze, and stared down at his phone sitting quietly on the desk. His wife had left his messages unanswered, both the one wishing her a good trip and the one asking if she had arrived safely. She wasn’t picking up his calls either. Until yesterday, he had brushed it off, figuring she had forgotten to turn off airplane mode, but today it wasn’t so easy to let go.

It wasn’t her first business trip, but this was the first time it had gone like this. Even for a short overnight workshop or seminar, his wife was the type to chatter about where she was headed, what she had eaten, what the view from her room looked like. Listening to her go on like that, he would sometimes think of the canary his aunt had kept years ago. The little thing had flitted busily back and forth all day long, singing prettily with its yellow br*ast without ever stopping.

“What time’s your flight? Are you heading straight to the airport?”

“Hurry up. Traffic’s going to be bad.”

On the morning she left, his wife handed him a shoehorn and rushed him out the door. Come to think of it, the goodbye kiss had been perfunctory somehow. Instead of meeting his lips, her mouth had landed on his cheek, and it was cold. She hadn’t patted his back and told him to have a good day, either.

Ikhyeon ran a hand down the cheek where her lips had touched and spread his palm open. He still couldn’t name the feeling that had flashed through him the moment she pushed his hand away. He clenched his fist, trying to catch that feeling hovering just out of reach, but it still escaped him.

He spun his chair around and looked out the window. Whether it was the spring rainy season or just the fact that his wife wasn’t in Seoul, the rain had been falling in a damp, gray drizzle since yesterday. He snatched up his phone and checked the weather in Kyoto. Fortunately, Kyoto was clear. He pictured his wife gasping in delight at the red plum blossoms, and a faint smile slipped out. She was the kind of woman who marveled at the smallest things. Even a new leaf sprouting on one of her plants could send her into raptures.

Hearing his quiet laugh, Ahn Heungsoo, a research officer one cohort below him, raised his head over the partition and looked at Ikhyeon.

“Why are you grinning like a wet monk?”

Heungsoo, fancying himself Ikhyeon’s senior from their LSE days, dropped all formality the moment work hours ended.

“Gwon Ikhyeon, you’re absolutely loving this, aren’t you? My mom was the same way. Whenever my dad went on a long business trip, her face would light right up. She’d put on her makeup, leave a fat stack of cash on the table, and practically float out the door. We’d take that money and go somewhere like TGI Fridays or Tony Roma’s, and if we couldn’t be bothered, we’d play games and order pizza and chicken. Dad was probably having his own fun too, in his own way. A win-win for everyone, you could say.”

Heungsoo’s words pricked Ikhyeon’s conscience. After his wife had left on her trip, a handful of words had flashed through his mind.

All That Jazz. League of Legends. Night ride. Drone.

None of them were things his wife had ever told him not to do, but after getting married, they had all drifted to the far edges of his priorities. Just yesterday, after getting home from work, he had checked the tires and brakes on his Alle Sprint, which he had been neglecting for months, and oiled the chain. He had played games by himself for the first time in a while and picked out a few OTT series he had been meaning to watch.

“What’s a night ride in this rain. How about some spicy octopus and drinks? Or should we tear into some five-spice pork trotters?”

Heungsoo flicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and mimed throwing back a shot of soju. Ikhyeon had been planning to go to All That Jazz if the rain kept up, or ride out to Jahamun Gate for a night ride. Now even the desire for both the ride and the music had gone cold and flat.

“Didn’t your matchmaker tell you to lose weight? Stop chewing on pork trotters and go beat up some fat at the gym.”

Ikhyeon quickly cleared his desk and grabbed his jacket.

“Where are you going?”

Heungsoo looked up at him, the fun drained from his face.

“Home.”

“Your wife’s not even there.”

“Hyung, would it be weird to call my wife’s boss?”

Ikhyeon pushed his glasses up with his index finger as he asked.

“What? I’m not even married yet, and you’re already dreaming of an affair?”

If she kept being unreachable like this, maybe he should try contacting Director Eun, Morin’s boss. He probably still had her business card somewhere. Or would it be better to just quietly call the museum instead?

Ikhyeon stared at the thin patch on top of Heungsoo’s head and turned it over in his mind.

***

The entryway sensor light went out, and complete silence greeted Ikhyeon. He stood in the middle of the dim living room and looked around. The monstera leaf they had received as a housewarming gift seemed to droop, and the marimo, his wife’s longtime companion plant, had sunk to the bottom of its tank. It was clearly the same space as yesterday, yet somehow it didn’t feel like his home. He had come home before her and waited plenty of times, but tonight the apartment without her felt strangely still. The unfamiliar quiet her absence left behind slowly seeped into him.

He tossed his jacket and briefcase onto the sofa and called his wife. Her phone was still off.

His throat was dry.

He opened the refrigerator, drained a 500ml bottle of water in one go, and was about to close the door when he spotted the neatly stacked meal-prep salad containers and let out a small laugh. He had asked her to leave out the beans, but she had tucked the lentils and chickpeas under romaine leaves to hide them. Even now, her little trick made him smile.

How stubborn.

He closed the fridge, loosened his tie, and headed to the dressing room. His suits, shirts, and ties hung in a row on the rack, sorted by day of the week. Just beside the dressing room, he went into the laundry room and dropped his socks into the hamper. Inside were only the towels and underwear he had put in yesterday; none of his wife’s laundry was there. He hadn’t noticed the day before, but the bathroom cabinet was also neatly stocked with fresh white towels.

She did all this before leaving on a business trip?

A crease formed between Ikhyeon’s brows. He went back to the dressing room and opened his wife’s wardrobe. Her familiar scent brushed past him. He ran his fingers along the clothes hanging in neat rows and felt a small measure of relief. Then it occurred to him that he had never once looked inside her wardrobe before, which meant he had no way of knowing whether this was normal or not.