Each Their Own Room, One House
— Spring 2026, Eungam-dong, Eunpyeong-gu, Seoul
Chapter 1. The Geometry of Isolation
Park Jae-hyeon's morning in his room always began with the same sounds. The toilet flushing upstairs, then the gurgling noise in the pipes, and finally the sound of a delivery motorcycle in the alley outside. The order never changed.
Gyeongnam Villa, Eungam-dong, a semi-basement. The room was three meters wide and four meters long. Half the window was buried underground, so he spent all day watching only ankles and shoes pass by. Five hundred thousand won deposit, 450,000 won monthly rent. Around this time last year, he'd thought it wasn't worth the money. Now he wondered how many months he had left to pay that rent.
These days, Jae-hyeon slept twice a day. Four hours in the morning, three or four in the evening. In between, he sat in front of his monitor with job listings open, but he actually submitted applications less than once a week. He'd stopped updating his portfolio last October. That was the month he'd been let go from a Nexon subsidiary.
The entire team was laid off at once. They were called into a meeting room and handed a single sheet of paper. The HR employee's voice explaining the severance calculation was astonishingly calm. Jae-hyeon still heard that voice sometimes. An unavoidable measure due to organizational restructuring. Nine years. He'd joined right after college—from junior developer to team lead, nine years.
As of today, his bank balance equaled two months' rent.
On the second floor of the same building lived Kim Se-yeon.
It had been three months since she moved out of the goshiwon. She thought it was better than the goshiwon. There was a window, a bathroom inside the room, and she no longer had to hear someone snoring through the wall. But that afternoon when she'd called her parents to scrape together the two-million-won deposit still lingered somewhere in her body. Her mother hadn't said anything. She just asked for the account number. That weighed heavier.
Se-yeon was getting by as a freelancer. Her contract position had ended last July. A startup design team. The Series B investment fell through, and labor costs were the first to be cut. Se-yeon left without receiving her last month's salary. She filed a complaint with the Ministry of Employment and Labor and got it back three months later. In the meantime, she used credit card loans.
Now she took on logo work through Kmong. Fifty thousand to 150,000 won per job. Three or four jobs a month. Combined, it was less than 400,000 won. She made up the rest with unemployment benefits, but this month was the last.
In Se-yeon's room was a small IKEA desk and a monitor. And next to the refrigerator, three plants. A snake plant, a Sansevieria, and one succulent she didn't know the name of. Even when she had no money, she bought plants. If asked why, she could hardly explain.
Across the alley from the building, in a space better called a basement than a semi-basement, lived Oh Dal-su.
Strictly speaking, it was a room with no window at all. The landlord had said "there's a ventilation window," but in reality it was a 30-centimeter wire-mesh hole. At first, he thought about complaining. But the words "no deposit, monthly rent 350,000 won" made him shut his mouth. Dal-su had made that kind of choice many times. The choice to keep his mouth shut because he had no leverage to protest.
He'd left the auto parts factory in Gumi last spring. The factory itself hadn't closed. They brought in an automated line and laid off twelve skilled workers at once. Dal-su was one of them. He'd worked at that same factory from age twenty-two to forty-four—twenty-two years.
He came to Seoul because of his brother-in-law. "There are jobs in Seoul," he'd said. Half right, half wrong. There were jobs. Just none that Dal-su could do. Construction sites, logistics warehouses, convenience store night shifts. He went to interviews and they saw his age. No one said it outright. Just "We'll contact you," and the contact never came.
Now he collected waste paper. He woke up at 4 a.m. and pulled a handcart. More than the embarrassment, what came to mind was how long he would have to keep doing this. No one in this neighborhood knew Dal-su.
Choi Su-bin lived in the rooftop room of Gyeongnam Villa.
She was originally from Seoul. Junggok-dong, Gwangjin-gu. But when she started preparing for employment, she couldn't afford the deposit for a studio apartment, so she came here. Eunpyeong-gu was a little cheaper. The rooftop room was hot in summer and cold in winter. Now it was spring, so it was bearable.
Su-bin was twenty-eight years old. She wanted to work in performance planning. She majored in Cultural Contents Studies at university. She did two internships at small theaters and a three-month contract at a small agency. After that, a gap. She watched thirteen YouTube videos on how to write about a "career gap" in a resume. Even though she knew the real problem was not how to write it, but why the gap existed.
Lately, the phrase "preparing for employment" felt increasingly awkward. "Just staying home" was more accurate. She'd start writing an application, stop in the middle of the cover letter, eat, watch YouTube, fall asleep, open the application again the next day, then close it. That routine had been going on for months.
Her bank account had 470,000 won. Next month's rent was 400,000 won.
Chapter 2. Broken Things
On the first Wednesday of April, a note appeared on the bulletin board next to the first-floor entrance of Gyeongnam Villa.
"The roof drain is clogged. If you know about it, please contact me. — Room 601"
Room 601 didn't exist. Gyeongnam Villa was a four-story building. It seemed someone had described the person living in the rooftop storage room that way. Su-bin knew the note was referring to her, but she pretended not to. She knew the drain was clogged. When it rained, water pooled. She also knew the standing water seeped through the cracks in the wall. She knew what would happen if she left it.
But if she told the landlord, she felt it would lead to pressure to move out. So she kept her mouth shut.
The next afternoon, when Su-bin came down to the first-floor common area to do laundry, a man came out of the semi-basement entrance. He was carrying a pile of laundry. Their eyes met. The man lowered his head first.
"Were you going to use the washing machine?"
It was Park Jae-hyeon.
"Go ahead."
"No, I'm not in a hurry."
That was the entire conversation. For the twenty minutes the washing machine ran, the two sat apart on the first-floor staircase, each looking at their phones. But before that, Su-bin added one more thing.
"Excuse me, about the clogged drain... Do you happen to know how to unclog it?"
Jae-hyeon thought for a moment.
"If a wire hanger can do it, I'll give it a try."
That day, Jae-hyeon went up to the roof. He straightened a hanger, stuck it into the drain, and twisted—a clump of hair came out. The water drained. Su-bin said thank you. Jae-hyeon said it was nothing. That was it.
The same week on Saturday, Oh Dal-su was sitting on a bench in the small park in front of the complex. He was on his way back from selling waste paper. Today's earnings were 8,000 won. He stopped the handcart and sat down for a moment, when a woman who looked to be in her thirties sat down next to him. It was Kim Se-yeon. Se-yeon had come out for air after the client's revision request came in for the fifth time.
Dal-su didn't speak first. Neither did Se-yeon. But then Se-yeon noticed a broken bicycle wheel hanging from Dal-su's handcart.
"Are you going to throw that away as scrap?"
Dal-su nodded.
"The axle seems intact. Wouldn't a new tube fix it?"
Dal-su looked at her.
"Do you know bikes?"
"No. I just saw the structure."
Se-yeon was a designer. She had a habit of noticing the structure of objects.
Dal-su thought about the bicycle repair tools he still had at home. Things he'd used since Gumi. He'd sold most of them when he came to Seoul, but he couldn't bring himself to throw away the basic tools.
"I don't know where to buy a tube."
"A bike shop would sell them... But I don't really know this neighborhood either."
That day, the two of them searched for a local bike shop on their smartphones. There was one nearby. Dal-su bought a tube. It cost 8,500 won. He spent five hundred won more than today's waste paper earnings.
Se-yeon stood next to him, looking at the structure and saying, "This might work if you do it this way," and Dal-su fixed it with his hands. It took about an hour. The bicycle rolled again.
Neither of them thought it was the start of something.
The trigger came in the third week of May. The landlord distributed an official notice to the entire Gyeongnam Villa.
Notice of Lease Termination — The building is scheduled for remodeling as of June 30. All existing tenants are requested to vacate by June 29.
Jae-hyeon read the notice twice. Three times. Then he opened his bank account. There was no way he could find a room in this neighborhood where the remaining money would cover a deposit.
He ran into Su-bin on the stairs.
"Did you see the notice?"
Su-bin nodded. Her eyes were a little red. Either she'd been crying or hadn't slept.
"What are you going to do?"
Su-bin didn't answer. It meant she didn't know.
The door on the second floor opened. Se-yeon came out carrying a garbage bag and saw them. She understood the situation immediately.
"Me too."
The three of them stood in the hallway.
Just then, the door to the basement floor opened and Dal-su came out. Dal-su wasn't in the same building. He was across the street. But somehow his steps led him here.
"Did you all get the notice to move out?"
Jae-hyeon said yes.
Dal-su was silent for a while. Then he spoke.
"Our place has the same landlord."
Chapter 3. Calculations
Se-yeon found an old house near Jeongneung-dong.
While browsing the internet for Kmong work, she stumbled upon the listing. It wasn't in Eunpyeong-gu but on the border of Seongbuk-gu, two bus stops away. It wasn't a villa but a multi-family detached house. The listing said: "For 4+ occupants, deposit-free, monthly rent negotiable."
The landlord was a woman in her seventies. Her children lived in Suwon. She didn't want to sell the house, couldn't manage it, and entrusting it to a real estate agent meant paying commissions. So she was finding tenants herself.
Jae-hyeon called on behalf of the group. He tried to keep his voice calm.
"There are four of us, and none of us have a steady income. Could we discuss the possibility of paying the rent in installments?"
The old woman thought for a moment and said she wanted to see them in person.
The house was bigger than expected. There were five rooms. A small yard. On the roof, some soil had accumulated. It had that old-house smell—a mix of cement, dampness, and wood. Se-yeon thought the smell wasn't bad. Dal-su's eyes traced the parts that could be fixed with tools. The faucet, window locks, front door lock.
The old woman looked at each of them in turn.
"What do you all do?"
Jae-hyeon spoke honestly. He was a developer but currently looking for a job. Se-yeon also spoke honestly. She was a designer getting by as a freelancer. Dal-su spoke briefly. He left factory work. Su-bin spoke the shortest. She was preparing for employment.
The old woman was silent for a moment. Then she pointed to the lettuce growing in the yard.
"I can't tend to that anymore. Can someone do it?"
Su-bin raised her hand.
"I can do it. Even if I have to learn."
The old woman looked at Su-bin. Su-bin didn't look away.
The contract was signed that Friday. Each of the four would pay 500,000 won per month, total rent 2 million won. One of the five rooms would be used as a shared workspace. If they added up the monthly rents from Gyeongnam Villa, the amount was almost the same. But this house came with a kitchen, a yard, and a rooftop.
On the night they finished moving, Jae-hyeon bought five cans of beer. Including one for the old woman.
June arrived.
Needs arose among them inside the house.
Su-bin still couldn't write her resume. She was stuck on the cover letter. Jae-hyeon asked to see it. He was a developer, but he'd been to over twenty job interviews. He read her resume and pointed out two things: she was trying to write too much, and she needed to first understand what the job required. Su-bin made notes.
In return, Su-bin took care of the yard lettuce every day. She called the old woman to learn how to tend it. By the end of June, the lettuce had grown enough to eat. Dal-su made doenjang jjigae. They picked lettuce from the yard and made wraps. No special ingredients. Just rice, doenjang jjigae, and lettuce.
Dal-su fixed broken things around the house. Faucets, window locks, the bathroom exhaust fan. Se-yeon helped him look up the necessary parts—what kind of screw, what specification—on her smartphone. Once, Se-yeon asked Dal-su.
"What did you make at the factory?"
"Suspension parts. For under cars."
"Isn't that hard?"
Dal-su paused, then answered.
"Yes. Because I learned it for 22 years."
Hearing that, Se-yeon thought about what she had. Photoshop, Illustrator, brand identity. That's hard too. Things she learned. But now she was selling them for 50,000 won per job.
Se-yeon made a proposal to Dal-su.
"Want me to make you a blog? Post before-and-after photos of repairs. If people in the neighborhood know there's someone who fixes appliances, you might get work."
Dal-su said he didn't know how to write a blog.
"I'll do that part. You do the repairs."
That was the agreement.
A week later, a neighbor lady called Dal-su because her refrigerator motor was making a strange noise. She said she saw the blog Se-yeon had made. Dal-su went and found that dust was blocking the compressor area. He cleaned it and left. The lady gave him 10,000 won. Dal-su tried not to take it, but he did.
That evening, Dal-su handed 10,000 won to Se-yeon.
"For writing the blog post."
Se-yeon laughed. It was the first time he'd seen her laugh.
"This is a time bank. Paying in money feels weird."
"What's a time bank?"
"Just... you give as much as you receive. In time."
Dal-su thought for a moment.
"Then what do I owe you?"
"Check my computer when it breaks next time."
Around that time, Jae-hyeon started preparing for employment again.
Not in game development—he was looking to broaden his scope. Fintech, logistics, healthcare. He thought about where the skills he'd built over nine years could be used. Checking job listings in the morning felt less heavy than before. It was hard to explain why. When he came down to the kitchen in the morning, someone was there. Dal-su brewing coffee, or Su-bin looking at the yard. Those people were there, and the day began. When he was alone, the days just continued.
In July, Jae-hyeon had an interview at a fintech company in Seoul. The result was a final rejection. On the day the notice came, Jae-hyeon went into his room and sat blankly for about an hour. Then he came out to the kitchen. Dal-su was there. Jae-hyeon spoke.
"I got rejected again."
Dal-su opened and closed the rice cooker and said.
"I see."
There was neither comfort nor encouragement in those words. Just an acknowledgment. Strangely, Jae-hyeon found that comforting.
Dal-su said.
"Have you eaten?"
"Not yet."
"Let's eat together."
Chapter 4. An Incomplete Map
In August, the old lady landlord called.
She said her children were pressuring her to sell the house. She herself was getting older and couldn't manage it. She was planning to sell within the year. She wanted to give them advance notice.
Jae-hyeon ended the call and sat at the kitchen table. Se-yeon looked up from her work. Jae-hyeon explained the situation. Se-yeon closed her laptop. Su-bin came in from the yard. Dal-su put down his tools.
For a while, no one spoke.
Su-bin was the first to speak.
"Can't we find another place?"
No one answered. They all knew now how hard it was to find a multi-family detached house in Seoul for four people with no deposit. The fact that such a house existed in the first place was a stroke of luck.
Dal-su said.
"When's the deadline?"
"By the end of the year."
"So we have until December."
That was the start of a new calculation.
Jae-hyeon opened his laptop. He tallied up the amount they'd saved in this house. Food, utilities, water, repair costs. Compared to when they each lived separately. Over four months, they saved an average of 230,000 won per person per month. For four people, that was 920,000 won per month. Over four months, 3.68 million won.
That was enough for a deposit now.
Still. If they saved for two more months, maybe.
Se-yeon said.
"What if we go for a smaller house? Four rooms. We don't need a yard."
Dal-su said.
"The yard was for growing lettuce."
"We can use the rooftop."
Su-bin chimed in.
"There are people who do rooftop gardens in Seongbuk-gu. I'll reach out."
In September, Jae-hyeon got a job.
It was a logistics startup. The salary was 70 percent of his previous one. But the job allowed two work-from-home days a week, the benefits program was simple, and there was no forced overtime. When he passed the document screening, Se-yeon fixed the layout of his portfolio. Su-bin helped with interview practice. The questioning skills Su-bin had developed while studying performance planning turned out to be surprisingly useful.
On the day the offer came, Jae-hyeon bought a cake. A convenience store cake. All four of them cut it without candles.
Se-yeon said.
"Don't you have to treat us big time?"
"Later. Right now I need to save for the deposit."
Dal-su laughed. He was a silent laugher.
In October, Su-bin had an interview for a contract position at a performance planning company.
It was a small agency running a small theater. A contract position. Six months. Jae-hyeon didn't tell her not to go. Se-yeon didn't stop her either. Dal-su said, "You won't know until you try."
On the morning of the interview, Su-bin got up early and tidied the yard. The lettuce had already passed summer and grown woody stems. In its place, the chives Dal-su had sown were coming up.
Su-bin returned from the interview in the afternoon.
Se-yeon poured coffee and asked.
"How was it?"
"I'm not sure. I think I did well, but maybe not."
"That's usually the case."
She said she'd hear back in a week. Su-bin waited, but unlike before, she didn't space out. She watered the chives the way the old woman had taught her. She asked Jae-hyeon how to write the next version of her resume. She just prepared.
In mid-November, the old lady landlord called again.
She said the sale had been postponed. The real estate market wasn't good, so she would wait until next spring. She said there was no need to rush moving out. But she had one favor to ask. Could they check the boiler once in a while during the winter?
Dal-su said he would.
The four of them sat in the kitchen that evening and ate dinner. Nothing special. Fish cake soup, egg roll, kimchi, rice. Things Dal-su had cooked. Se-yeon had tried to make the egg roll, but the first two failed and looked misshapen. Su-bin picked one up and ate it, saying it tasted the same.
Looking at that table, Jae-hyeon thought about something. Something that didn't quite take shape. He didn't know how long this house would last. He didn't know when he might be laid off again. Se-yeon's freelancing had no guarantees. Su-bin would face another crossroads when her six-month contract ended. Dal-su had picked up a few local repair jobs instead of collecting waste paper, but it was still far from making a living.
Nothing had been resolved.
But Jae-hyeon ate. The fish cake soup was warm. Se-yeon was making another egg roll, and Dal-su was telling her to adjust the heat. Su-bin got up saying she'd wash the chives.
Outside the kitchen window was the November sky.
The acceptance notice came ten days after Su-bin's interview.
In the evening, a KakaoTalk notification arrived. Su-bin was in her room reading the message, then came downstairs. Se-yeon was working, Jae-hyeon had his laptop open, and Dal-su was studying a boiler piping diagram.
Su-bin said.
"I got it."
Se-yeon looked up.
"The performance planning company?"
Su-bin nodded. A six-month contract. She said she didn't know about after that.
Jae-hyeon said.
"You'll figure it out after six months."
Without looking up from the boiler diagram, Dal-su said.
"Congratulations."
That night, Su-bin stepped out into the yard for a moment to look at the chives. They should be harvested before winter. Dal-su said the day after tomorrow would be fine.
The sky was clear. The late autumn sky on the Seongbuk-gu border was darker than she'd expected.
Su-bin stood there for a moment, then went inside. She had to prepare for work tomorrow. Actually, not tomorrow—starting next week. But she wanted to start preparing today.
The kitchen light was on.
A Note in Place of an Epilogue (November 28, 2026)
Things written on the whiteboard in the shared workspace:
→ This month's utilities: 41,200 won (split 4 ways) → Mr. Dal-su's repair log: 3 refrigerators, 1 washing machine, 2 bicycles → Se-yeon's blog visitors: 1,340 this month → Yard chives: harvested. Next: garlic? → Housing after next spring: Undecided → Mr. Jae-hyeon: 2nd month at work → Su-bin: first day of work D-5
On the bottom right of the whiteboard, in Dal-su's bold handwriting:
"For now, we are here."
The End