After the office lights died, hot breath still wandered in the dark. Between Sujin’s strands of hair drifted a soap scent that belonged more to someone else’s clothes than to our bed. Jin. The name seared my throat like acid. New hire. Shoulders fevered, a child whose body heat was soaked in sweat. When the door shut, only a black cardigan remained on the chair. Inside its sleeve lingered the ghost of an armpit—Sujin’s skin had brushed it there. Now that scent was also the scent of Jin’s fingertips. I lifted the cardigan and pressed it to my nose. He was here. At the junction where her flesh and his heat had mingled.
On the night bus, his hair touched Sujin’s shoulder. One strand, then two; beads of sweat glimmered on his crown like glass. I watched from the seat behind. Sujin tilted her head, and Jin’s skull slipped into the hollow of her neck, sliding like scent between layers of skin. At home I touched her armpit—sticky yet dried sweat. The instant my fingertip met it, the humid air of the bus returned. Who had breathed here? I brushed it with my tongue. Salt. Salt upon another salt.
Company dinner, beneath the table. Sujin’s knee and Jin’s brushed. Or pretended to. In 0.3 seconds, the temperature of a layer of skin painted them both. I was holding a beer glass; the foam burst and liquid ran down the back of my hand to my forearm, not cold beer but hot sweat. Sujin came to me and said, “I ate tteokbokki with Jin today. The place we always used to go.” My breath stopped. That shop had been ours every Saturday at the start of our love. The day we complained the sauce had changed, she must have first laughed with Jin. When that smile reached her armpit, the scent had mixed.
For two days afterward I burrowed deeper into Sujin’s armpit. Each morning, after her shower, I buried my face in her still-damp hollow. There was soap, but beneath it another scent—sweat and the body heat of whoever had drunk it. He is still here. The certainty slid down my throat like a stone. At lunch, in the corridor, Sujin and Jin met. For 0.1 second they looked at each other, nodded. In that sliver, a smile passed. The smile struck my chest too late. He was there. Sujin’s armpit, Jin’s gaze.
In the company cafeteria Sujin spilled soup. Jin was the first to offer a napkin. Sujin smiled through clenched teeth; Jin could not take his eyes from that smile. And I could not take mine from his. The instant the napkin touched her, Jin’s warmth soaked into her armpit. He was here. The scent rising from the napkin.
Each night I pressed deeper into Sujin’s armpit. I lay over her body on the bed and drew the air in sharply. Is someone else’s scent still soaked here?—a terrible hope. The point where sweat, scent, and heat merged. I brushed it again with my tongue. Salt. Salt upon another salt. These days Sujin eats tteokbokki with me, ordering it spicier than before. Sweat beads on her laughing lips, and I cannot stop Jin’s breath from rising there. Since that day she has come closer; his heat still lives in her armpit.
Beside the bed, in darkness, I scented Sujin’s armpit once more—sweat, scent, heat entwined. He was here. I held my breath. Unable to sever that scent, I melted into silence.