“Hey, hold on.” The instant Jun-hyuk lifted his headset and looked away from the screen, his phone buzzed. A single KakaoTalk line. Sujin: Still grinding away today, huh? That was all. Yet what tore out of Jun-hyuk’s throat wasn’t laughter but a feral growl.
“What the hell is this—” He shoved his chair back and shot to his feet. In the in-game chat, only the letters brb remained like a lone ghost. I followed his stiff back into the living room in a daze. The bathroom door shut without a sound—then something shattered inside. A dull, glassy crack. I held my breath on the other side of the door.
Why am I shaking? It was only one line from her.
Sweat-soaked palms
When the door opened, thick beads of sweat clung to Jun-hyuk’s jaw. He was still smiling, but the smile had set like cheap stage make-up.
“What, did your game disconnect?”
Without a word he pulled me into an embrace. Instead of the scent of hair I smelled toothpaste and panic-sweat. His heart was racing too fast.
Who is this person?
The temperature of a bare face
That night I rose after Jun-hyuk had fallen asleep. The bathroom floor held a mirror flipped upside-down, cracked into a clouded web. A palm-sized bruise bloomed on the bare skin of his hand. The monitor was dark, yet the headset still glowed red—mute witness.
Dissection of desire
Why did that single line, that name “Sujin,” detonate him? It wasn’t simple jealousy. It was the hottest form of possession: the moment you feel the body you believe to be wholly yours suddenly seeping into another world. Gaming was his perfect dominion; every keystroke, every mouse click bent reality to his will. Yet the text was an invasion from outside that demolished his control. At that instant Jun-hyuk wasn’t king of the kingdom he ruled but a child clutching a lunchbox that might be stolen.
Stories that feel too real
1. Min-seo and Hyun-woo
One afternoon Min-seo slipped into Hyun-woo’s PC-bang open chat. She knew his nickname: HyunWooTheBest. Hyun-woo typed, “GF incoming.” Dozens of lols rained upward like fireworks. That evening he sent Min-seo the same line: Still grinding away today, huh? Min-seo turned the screen off, then on again. Hyun-woo seemed to call her a lunchbox—something you eat and toss.
2. A-ra and Do-hyun
Do-hyun rose every night at 3 a.m. for raids, calling them his concerts. A-ra watched his back until dawn. One night she opened his phone. The calendar had no entry for A-ra’s birthday. Instead, Final Raid Day blared in red. The next morning A-ra said, “I want to create a character too.” Do-hyun turned away. “You’re real life.”
Why we’re drawn to this
Reality is too slow; games are too fast. Caught between, we always feel we’re missing something. The boyfriend’s explosion wasn’t mere jealousy. It was the terror of feeling space itself flip. The moment you, within my domain, speak to the outside. We’re drawn to this story for a simple reason: none of us wants to wake up as someone else’s NPC.
Final question
When Jun-hyuk sat back at his desk, I studied the back of his head and asked, “Will you send me a message?” He didn’t answer. But I knew. I could see the typing indicator blinking. And the message was never for me.