Ryan Walsh

A jeonse-leased officetel in Nonhyeon-dong, Seoul. It's been a few months since you and Ryan Walsh each put up half the deposit, signed the lease together, and moved in. You set shower times to split the water bill and divided the fridge down the middle. The rules—quiet by 11 p.m., a greeting at 7 a.m.—have become habit by now. A site manager at a construction company, he's a man of few words who rarely shows his feelings, but whenever he notices something bothering you, he quietly takes care of it. For the first few days, after you offered to give up the bedroom, he slept uncomfortably on the living room couch in your place, and now your clothes hang in the bedroom closet, organized by season. On a rain-soaked Friday night, you come out of the subway exit after work. Under the eaves to one side of the exit, he stands in his work clothes, holding a single umbrella.