The last thing I remembered was his hand.
It was on a bridge. It was night, and the car was going too fast.
In the passenger seat, I asked while turning down the radio volume.
"But why are you so quiet today?"
"Just because."
Dongmin answered briefly and kept looking straight ahead. It was the same as always, so I thought nothing of it and looked out the window.
"...The brakes aren't working."
Dongmin said quietly. For a moment, I thought he was joking.
"What? You can't be serious right no—"
"Hold on tight."
It wasn't a joke. He kept stepping on the brakes over and over, but the car wouldn't slow down. The bridge railing ahead kept getting bigger and bigger.
"...This car was assigned by Manager Seongho."
Dongmin muttered under his breath. I didn't know what that name meant then.
With one hand gripping the wheel, Dongmin wrapped his other arm around my head.
"Close your eyes."
"Dongmin, we're..."
"It's okay."
The one saying it was the least okay of all. He was trying to smile, but his eyes weren't smiling at all.
That was the last face of his I saw.
There was a deafening crash. Glass shattered. My wrist slammed into something on the steering wheel, and the watch crystal cracked with a sharp snap. After that, there was nothing.
*
My breath burst out in a gasp.
Like someone who'd fallen into water and barely made it back up, I sucked in a huge breath.
Fluorescent lights, stainless steel walls, a display panel blinking the number 4.
I was in an elevator. And right beside me, Dongmin was standing there.
Black jumper, messy hair, a face still half-asleep. A perfectly fine face, with not a single wound on it.
My breath stopped.
'...Wasn't I dead?'
Just a moment ago, I had definitely been in the car with him. The brakes hadn't worked, he'd covered my head, there'd been that crash, and then nothing.
But now that hand was right here beside me, perfectly fine, as if nothing had happened.
I seized his arm in a panic.
"Dongmin! Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"
He looked startled and pulled his arm away a little.
"...Excuse me? Why are you acting like that, all of a sudden."
It was polite speech.
That tone snapped me awake. The person who had just been holding me like he was about to shield me with his whole body was now cautiously pushing me away like I was a stranger.
"...Sorry. No, it's nothing, just..."
I quickly let go of his arm and took a step back.
There was a click from my wrist. It was the old watch my dad had left me. The second hand, which had been stopped for ten years, moved one tick and then stopped again.
Ding.
The door opened.
"...Aren't you getting out?"
Dongmin, keeping the door open button pressed, turned back and asked as he was about to get off first. The face that had just looked at me strangely was already gone, back to its usual indifferent expression.
'What was that, just now.'
I lowered my head and walked past him into the hallway.
*
The 4th-floor hallway was quiet. On the left was our accounting office, and on the glass door to the right was the sign 'BND Research.' I knew nothing about them except that they were a bond investigation company.
I glanced at his hand without thinking.
There were scratches on the back of it. Two lines, slanting across it.
'...Oh, I know this.'
The moment I thought that, he noticed my gaze and hid his hand behind his back.
I knew he'd do that. More precisely, that action was already in my head before he even made it.
"Your hand..."
"...I'm fine."
Before I even finished speaking, the answer came out. And that answer, too, I already knew.
Last time, I had held out a bandage here.
After saying "I'm fine," he'd pulled back, then eventually taken it, and his ears had gone red.
"...Thank you." In a small voice.
"......Why."
Dongmin's voice pulled me back to myself. His hand was hidden behind his back, and he was watching me with wary eyes.
"Did I get something on me? My face?"
"No! It's nothing."
He looked at me a little longer, then silently pushed open the glass door and went in.
Alone in the hallway, I stood there for a long time.
It was too exact to be called deja vu.
*
I turned on the cold water at the bathroom sink in front of the mirror.
The me in the mirror was fine. My forehead, my arms, even the ribs that should've been broken. Even the shirt I had ironed and worn yesterday was the same.
I splashed cold water on my face. It was so cold my fingertips stung. The sensations were too vivid for it to be a dream.
'Yeah, it's aftereffects from the accident. It's just deja vu.'
But deja vu doesn't tell you the next line in advance.
That's when I noticed my wrist.
There was a sharp crack in the watch crystal.
The exact same crack that had formed when it slammed into the steering wheel at the moment of the accident.
'...Why is this still here.'
If it was a dream, this crack shouldn't exist. Right now, before the accident had even happened, this watch should've been perfectly fine.
"...No way."
The me in the mirror let water drip in silence instead of answering.
*
The moment I opened the office door, I felt like I already knew everything that was about to be said.
'Everyone's here, right? The deadline's been moved up by two days.'
"Everyone's here, right? The deadline's been moved up by two days."
The manager said, waving a stack of papers. Not a single word was different.
'Jiyeon! How about gimbap for lunch today? My treat.'
"Jiyeon! How about gimbap for lunch today? My treat."
Jiwon unnie said, waving her hand. This was exactly the same too.
But when she saw my face, her expression stiffened.
"...But why is your face so pale? Is something wrong?"
That was the first time I'd heard that. Well, there was no way a face that had just died and come back to life would look normal.
"......No, it's fine. Gimbap sounds good."
I sat down and turned on the monitor. The client ledger from yesterday was still there. Recovery amount: 3.2 billion won, deposit amount: 2.96 billion won.
There was a 240 million won gap. Yesterday I'd just brushed it off, thinking it was probably a typo.
My eyes moved to the wall calendar.
The manager had circled a date eight weeks ahead in red. Beside it, in crooked handwriting: 'settlement.'
I had died beneath that circle.
My fingertips went cold.
I'd come back.
