Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A heart pounds with wicked resolve, twisting and contorting into a resentful instrument of righteousness. Haejoon’s father has reentered his life for no longer than a month, and everything he’s known has already gone to shit. The hope that he can retain a semblance of familial normalcy has perished. There will never be anything like a “normal” family to him. He grew up an outcast in his neighborhood due to his mother's reputation, and now he discovers that the only parent he has left is someone unworthy of his trust. The reality of his family's past has been upended– and now all he knows is the truth. The truth is the rug pulled out from underneath him, the hand around his throat, and the truth will be the nail in his coffin. 

Haejoon Goh knows he is no better than his father– the only ghost his mother was afraid of. He misses her. He misses her so much it sends a primal ache surging through his bones every time he wakes up, knowing she’s gone. She was so kind, so warm and loving. She knew of rectitude and justice. His mother didn’t deserve the fate she met. Haejoon didn’t mean to kill her. But is that any different from what his father said, that he didn’t mean to hit her, too? His abuse had malicious intent, meant to demean her and put an intelligent wife in a place of subservience. But what does the difference matter if she’s dead nonetheless? She died thinking she was unwanted, didn't she? Her husband hit her while they were together, her relationship with her family was nonexistent, and her son wanted to escape her at any cost. She was abused. She was killed. She was unloved.

It’s only fitting that the perpetrators of such crimes face punishment.

He bolts upright, breaking into a deranged sprint towards the roaring street. Guilty feet move forward one after another, every footstep the bang of a gavel announcing his sentence. His body moves by itself, entirely on an impulse that mindlessly obeys his malformed sense of justice. There’s a loud honking, a deafening screech, and his final prayer— that in this way, he will be more like his mother.

A loud yell cuts through the bustling traffic.

“Haejoon! Get your fucking ass over here, you stupid bitch!!”

The boy snaps out of his daze, bright lights flooding his vision as he whips his head in the direction of the voice. His mouth drops open, the words he would say dying on his breath as– 

The sudden force of a mountain strikes him, knocking the air from his lungs; He loses all control over his body for an impermanent eternity, rolling over cold, hard metal, useless limbs flailing about. His head crashes against solid ground, the ringing in his ears growing louder, fingers twitching as he groans pointlessly on the asphalt. Something within him snapped. Whether it's his inhibitions or his bones, he doesn’t know. Earth is spinning twice as fast as usual. A looming white object streaked in red catches his attention. What does that remind me of…? The thought is fleeting as he feels something warm and sticky drip down the back of his head.

A blurred figure Haejoon can’t quite make out runs and kneels beside him. The person's hand reaches towards his cheek but abruptly stops. “Fuck,” a soft whimper. The hand hovers and begins to quiver. “Fuck… Fuck!! Shouldn’t have left you alone, should’ve known you’d do something this stupid, should’ve…”

It’s… familiar, somehow. That voice… He’s…

“God, oh God, what the hell… It’s– it’s gonna be okay. Keep your eyes on me, okay? It’s gonna be okay, it’s okay…” The shivering hand darts to his face, fingers trembling harshly on Haejoon’s cheek. The boy sounds so unsure of himself, his desperate words meant to convince himself more than anything. Haejoon’s vision wades in and out, the face above him hazy save for mesmerizing golden eyes… How could he ever look away?

The boy’s blonde hair messily frames his face from his erratic movements. His desperate calls for help echo through the streets, attracting the attention of passers-by who only stare in shock. His eyes never leave Haejoon for long, and each time he focuses on the boy he mutters something under his breath. Though his eyes may dart away from Haejoon from time to time, his hand remains on his cheek. He brushes it with his thumb, hoping to give him even an ounce of comfort.

Haejoon tries to reach his arm out and shoo the blonde away, but finds it’s gone numb. Attempting to speak, a sharp pain shoots through his chest. Instead, all that escapes is a shuddering gasp. His body felt wrong.

“No– shit, don’t push yourself, just stay still! You’ll be okay, I’m gonna get help, you just gotta stay awake for me…” The boy cries, caressing the side of Haejoon’s head with his knuckles. Blood slowly trickles down and makes its way to the tips of his fingers, and he looks upon it with horror. He’s not supposed to be so worried about him. It’ll be alright soon– it just hurts now.

Haejoon didn’t think it would happen this way. It was supposed to be immediate, painless. The numbness from his arm spreads outwards to the rest of his flesh, ejecting him from control over his body. He’s restricted to his head, forced to remain a barely conscious observer. It’s better than suffering within his weighty flesh. He tries to shift his head slightly to the side, but the effort alone is strenuous enough to make his head fall limp. His cheek touches wet asphalt. A streetlight in the distance draws his attention; A tiny moth dances and flutters around it. No better than an insect, he’s mesmerized by the white glow, unblinking gaze fixed on it despite the strain on his eyes. Did she also see a bright light before she left? Did it carry her home? His eyes start to water as he squints. The moth rests in the middle of the lamppost, enveloped in a thick halo of light. Did she also feel it? This overwhelming insignificance before the end of all things? His vision warps and blurs as the tears fill his eyes. Forced to shut them, a green-blue afterimage jumps from place to place in the darkness like a lonely, bored child connecting dots.

A loud slam pulls Haejoon out of his thoughts as he rips his eyes open once more, blinking away teardrops. Another person runs to stand by his side, their hands clutching their head.

“You motherfucker— ARE YOU GONNA TRY AND HELP OR JUST FUCKING STAND THERE?!” The boy yells at them, his whole body starting to shake. It’s loud, so loud.

“It’s not… fault… idiot … my car!” The other person yells something back, but Haejoon’s brain fails to process all of it. The boy shouts in return, all his fear and rage now directed elsewhere. What comes out of his mouth is shapes and lines, an incomprehensibly abstract roaring. Haejoon’s vision fills with noise, the world around him breaking down into simple forms and colors that unendingly dissipate and return. There’s just a back-and-forth. The two are mad at each other, and his mind begins to recede. He has no energy to stop their bickering, much less even to understand what they’re upset about. Fine, it’ll all be fine.

The muscles in his face are the last thing to go numb, and he closes his eyes with the last of his strength. This must be it, then. The weightlessness of his body is satisfying, and his senses slowly dull. The last thing he hears is an elegy of muttering and yelling, worried words intangible to the cochlea. He has nothing left, no family to ground him, so he floats. He floats away, and away and away and…

The goal is reached, and the ribbon is cut. 

Hark! A pure nothing. A beautiful, sweet, nothing. An all-encompassing absence of sensation that is the hug of a mother and the song of her lullaby. Grief and misery are unknown here. This is where those things, along with justice and righteousness, go to die, to get absorbed into other concepts, devoured whole until only love remains. There is love here, and this is love, and you are loved. Love is the embrace, the last thing a mortal feels before the clock chimes. An infinite pool of warmth, free to dip one’s toes into, then to dive fully, immersing the soul into the depths of the other side. To revel in this, to swim in it so freely… It can be yours, too. But do you want to?

Do you want to die, Haejoon?

I don’t know.

Answer. Do you want to die, Haejoon?

I miss her.  

Some decisions are too difficult to make. This love– it is as pure as freshly fallen snow, but similarly delicate. It can be trampled upon, pissed on, tarnished. There are times when it can be rejected altogether, the air devoid of moisture needed to make the clouds form. When there are no more tears left to cry. But that is okay. Purity is not a necessity. Love can be found in the oxygen returning to a pair of lungs and the blood that carries it through the body. Love is biological, organic. It is what keeps you alive. 

I want to see her again.

Love does not mean you get what you want.

I want–

To feel better. To feel something, anything, as long as it is better, as long as the aching wound is gone, as long as he is no longer sinful, as long as he is no longer the facsimile of his father. Such desired betterness will not happen, not for a long time. He has agonized for an infinite year, persevering through an ancient clutching and clawing at the strings of his heart with every inhale of his lungs and each blink of his eyes. When a being made of love is not surrounded by its own material, it feels empty. This perceived lack of love is enough to corrupt the mind. But doesn’t he know? That I love him? That I miss him too? Grief is a mutual endeavor. The living does not understand the pain of the dead– to depart so soon, to not be there to witness the rest of all the little joys life has to offer. Oh, if only he knew how proud I was. If only he knew that I do not want him here. This type of love can wait until the right time. For now, his clock keeps on ticking.

Tick.

Tock. 

Tick. 

One moment, he was blissfully unaware, drifting along a painless void of darkness.

In the next, a weak throbbing pain began to awaken parts of his body.

Sensation returns.

His lungs constrict and expand, filling with air and releasing it in rhythmic movements. Every inhale invites a knife in between the ribs. Eyes dart underneath closed eyelids. Where is he? Where is he? Is he unconscious? Comatose? He needs to speak. Tell someone something. Say anything, anything, anything,

He opens his dry mouth. “… Aaagh.”

Yeah, okay, sure. That’s something. A nearby object screeches, presumably a chair, and the person who once sat on it breathes a heavy sigh of relief.

“Oh, fuck, you’re awake. Motherfucker, you had me freaking out for a second. How you feeling?”

Haejoon takes a moment to tune into the instrument of his body. It does not sound good. He’s lying upright in a bed, and any attempt to move his body yields no result– he’s too exhausted. Something is folded around his head– a soft cloth, wet on the back. Gauze. His chest feels tight like a famished boa constrictor has wrapped itself around him, strangling its next meal.

“... Aches bad. All over. I’m… Really tired.”

“Unconscious for hours, and that's all you’ve got for me?”

“Mmh. Sorry.”

The person sighs. “No, I’m not actually … Just rest up some more. It’s late. I’ll probably be bumming it out here until morning cause I missed curfew for you and your, uh, stuff. I already got the all-clear.” He scooches the chair back into place before sitting on it again, evidenced by the squeaking of rubbery friction on the floor and rustling fabric.

“Okay.” Haejoon fights to open his eyes. He needs to look at the guy that just saved his life. 

Ah, shit. 

“It’s Eunyung.”

“Well, yeah? Hi, yes, that’s me, that’s my name. Christ, how bad is your concussion?” Eunyung tilts his head and grimaces. He’s bouncing his leg rapidly, sitting in a chair off to the side, bags heavy under his eyes. He’s holding his head in his hands, fingers clutching tightly at his messy hair. Wild golden eyes shine at him through the worried furrow of his brow. Haejoon doesn’t know how long he’s been here for, but…

He takes in his surroundings. The walls are a sterile crème color, with drawn curtains separating the rooms near the back. Thin metal uprights support black railings on both sides of his bed. Nauseatingly bright lights on the ceiling make him wince in pain, so he stares at the sparkly tile floor that seems obsessively cleaned. A quiet beeping is heard from a heart rate monitor to his left, and two thin wires protrude from it that attach to the back of his hand and a clasp on his finger.

They’re in an emergency room. 

Eunyung looks absolutely wrecked.

Fuck– that means they’ve been here for hours. If that's true, it's likely early morning, before sunrise.

“Have you been here the whole time…? The one calling for help… Was it you? Why are you here?” Haejoon asks, his voice a tired rasp.

Eunyung glowers, his eyes shifting quickly between the foot of the bed to Haejoon’s face. “Are you serious?”

“I’m sorry. Head hurts. Wait, concussion?” Haejoon squints, half confused and half wincing. To say it hurts is an understatement. It’s as if someone plunged his brain into the dark abyss of the ocean, atmospheres of pressure squeezing at his skull. Every limb is a log attached to his torso, too heavy to lift. He sinks deeper into agony.

“Just go back to sleep, man. I’ll be here again tomorrow.” Eunyung sighs.

“Right. Okay. Thanks.” Haejoon gives him a weak smile and closes his eyes again. Maybe the headache will subside if he just goes to bed.

Waking up the following morning, Haejoon discovered his headache was not subsiding anytime soon. The nurse removed the gauze around his head, revealing a gnarly red scrape that was scabbing over. It was expected to heal in two and a half weeks, which he found tolerable. Too bad for the guy that sits behind him in class, though. He was given painkillers that felt less effective than they should’ve been for the dose and was pleasantly surprised by the quality of his hospital food. The hours passed, devoid of meaning or fulfillment.

Later in the day, Eunyung kept his word and visited again. He did a better job masking his mannerisms than the night before, but he couldn’t hide how his weary eyes blinked heavily with the desire for rest, a silent indicator of his prior sleepless night. Considering how Eunyung looked the past two days, it didn’t take much for Haejoon to conclude that Eunyung was there when he got hit. He was the one kneeling over him while he slowly lost consciousness and assumedly the one who called the ambulance for him. Haejoon’s shoulders tighten. Eunyung shouldn’t have to worry about this. He shouldn’t have even been there to witness something so gruesome. The injured boy tries to avoid making eye contact, as he doesn’t need another pool of guilt to drown in.

“You feeling any better?” Eunyung asks, bouncing his leg again. He says it so sincerely, without any hint of blame. He cares, and that’s the worst part. All Haejoon has ever done is hurt the people who care about him.

“Not at all. I'm awake enough to hold a conversation now, though, so can you fill me in? On why I'm here?”

Eunyung stares at him grimly.

“You tried to kill yourself and got hit by a car.”

“Well, yes. I know. I was there. I mean what I'm diagnosed with.”

“Dude, you…” Eunyung groans and shakes his head as his eyes stare toward the ceiling. “Broken arm, but you already know that. Concussion. Rib fuckery, I don't know, I forgot. Want me to call over the nurse? She can probably tell you more.”

“Yeah, uh, sure.” Haejoon nods, looking down at himself. His left arm is in a cast. “It’s pretty fucking hard to get used to this thing. It’s itchy as shit.” He attempts to turn his wrist to get to the itchy part as if on autopilot. A pain sharper than a knife shoots up his arm, making him bite down and groan.

Eunyung hovers his hand over Haejoon’s shoulder. “Don’t try to move it! Are you stupid?”

“Stupid? I just tried to kill myself— the fuck do you think? It’s not gonna be easy for me to remember I can’t use my arm when it’s been broken for less than two days, Eunyung.” Haejoon mutters. His gravelly voice is dark and bitter, his head tilting downward to restrict Eunyung to his peripheral vision. A hot rush shoots through his body. “Who else knows?” His mind was too clouded to even think about the possibility of his survival– and now he has to deal with the aftermath. His friends will all find out eventually, but for the sake of damage control, he needs to know who’s aware of the situation right now. 

Eunyung sighs, rubbing his head and scowling. He’s already trying (and failing) not to irritate Haejoon, meaning he can’t spit back the way he’s used to. Even so, it wouldn’t be fair to him, not after everything he’s been through the past few days.

“I told Juwan that you got hit by a car. Didn’t tell him why, and I asked him not to tell the group chat until you’re okay with it. He’s very worried and hopes you recover quickly. He also says to eat a lot and get some rest.”

Haejoon nods. “That’s nice of him. Hope he doesn’t freak out too much when I come back.”

“Best to kill that hope now, man. You know he’s going to lose his shit.” Eunyung looks Haejoon in the eye. “By the way, your father called you.”

“What?” Haejoon lurches forward, his stomach sinking. It was a stupid decision– the movement caused a sharp pain in his chest. He bites down hard and winces. “W-what’d he say??”

“I don’t know. I didn't answer– I texted him on your behalf that you were asleep.  Looked like he wanted to confirm plans with you or something? Seemed very last minute.”

"The hell…? I didn’t do that. Why the fuck would I make any plans with him now? "

"That so? Then, I guess he wanted to make some, I dunno…" Eunyung shrugs. "Maybe you did and just don't remember?"

Haejoon rubs his forehead. "No, no, I'm sure. If it's about him, I'd remember. Fuck, what did I forget, then?" 

Attempting to remember anything about his mother, his head begins to pound harder. He can’t forget those. Memories are all that’s left of her. He can sense Eunyung saying something to him and gesturing to somewhere else from outside the dregs of his perception, but he doesn’t care. He’s too absorbed in his failing mind, trying to reach within his thoughts for any memory he can cling onto to keep himself afloat. 

"My mom… No, I couldn't have…" What's there? He remembers her doting on him with stories of ghosts. He remembers she had short hair. She… what about her face? He strains himself, trying to remember, but he just can’t. Why can’t he remember something so crucial, the face he saw every day and night for so many years? He’s clueless about the color of her eyes, the size or roundness of her nose, the shape of her lips, or if her teeth showed when she smiled. Dread creeps down Haejoon’s spine. He can’t… He can’t… No…

"Oh, God, I don't know anything."

The suffering from being the child of the ghost house remains in his heart. He’s not sure if it’s something he’ll ever rid of. But he is sure about one thing—there was more to his 17 years spent with his mother. It wasn’t all ghost stories. He won't deny that the supernatural was a formative aspect of his childhood, but it wasn't the only thing that defined his relationship with his mother. He remembers she was considerate, compassionate– a gentle and beautiful person, from the embers of her soul to the warmth of her fingertips. What proof of her kindness remains? What decorations adorned the house shelves, and what secrets were kept in the cracks between the kitchen cupboards? What stories were told in the wrinkles of her face? Besides the sight of Haejoon’s turned back, what was left for her at the end of her life?

The Earth continues to rotate at 1,000 miles per hour, tilted on a 23.5-degree axis from the sun. People go to work and school in the dawn and retire at night, and life breathes on. Dogs bark, as cats meow, as birds sing. The seconds pass as the clock ticks and everything continues to function like it did before, uncaring of Eunju’s nonexistence. He rejects this notion, disagrees with how the world has forgotten his mother. He refuses to understand how everyone else but him can seem so acceptant of the way such a light was allowed to get extinguished the way it did. The burning of the candle was blown out before the wax could fully melt. He rejects himself.

Haejoon has already failed to serve his only remaining purpose as her son. He has failed to carry on her memory. There is no such memory to carry on.

"I can't remember shit about my mom." Haejoon gasps. Snapping out of his daze, he feels a delicate hand on his right shoulder– the nurse.

“Haejoon Goh?”

“Yes, that’s me.” He nods. The nurse’s eyes are dark, and her complexion looks unhealthy, presumably from exhaustion. She smiles upon hearing his voice, and the pink fullness of her cheeks gives off a kindhearted impression. It’s sickeningly nostalgic. Haejoon tries to maintain his composure.

The nurse takes a pen from her breast pocket and readies a clipboard. “Okay, good. I’m just making sure! Your hubae called me over because you had some questions, right? I attended to you when you first came into the hospital, so I’ll be able to answer anything.”

“Thanks, ma’am. Eunyung mentioned something was up with my ribs– what’s the deal with that?”

“Right, about that... According to your chart, you have a rib contusion. Nothing is broken or fractured, but you’ll be experiencing pain in your chest for four to six weeks. Ice and rest will help, and we’ll prescribe you painkillers before you get discharged.”

“ Shit … Ah, sorry for the foul language.” Haejoon bites his lip. “When will that be?”

“You’ve been here for about two days, so… You’ll likely be here for three more, maybe two if your progress is good. We’ve already done x-rays and know what you’re diagnosed with, so the only reason you’re staying is so you have time to recover and get used to your situation.”

Haejoon swallows and nods. “Alright. Thanks again, ma’am. I’d prefer to leave sooner rather than later, if that can be arranged. I don’t want to miss too much school.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Your only contact is your uncle, right?” She nods at Eunyung. “Your hubae told me that was the case. We can ask him to come and pick you up when you’re ready.”

“That’s alright with me, yes.” Haejoon nods, giving her his uncle’s phone number.

The nurse writes it down on her clipboard, smiles at Haejoon, and then leaves. Haejoon gives his attention back to the other boy, given free rein to continue his breakdown.

“I think I’m fucked, Eunyung.” He mutters.

“You’re only now realizing?”

“No, dumbass, I’m being serious. I can barely remember anything about her!” Haejoon wails, tugging at his hair, his panicked panting growing quicker. “My mom, I don’t… They’re all I have– I- I don’t know, fuck, I don’t— Why am I so…”

“Hey, hey, chill the fuck out.” Eunyung kicks the black handrails and holds back a pained wince. “You’ve got the photobook back at the dorms, remember? Look through those before losing your shit about how your memory’s gone.”

The rattling of the banisters shocks Haejoon out of his spiraling thoughts. With wide eyes, his head snaps up to face the blonde, trembling hands releasing the tight grip on his hair and falling limply onto his lap. Eunyung’s words reach him, pulling him back within reasoning and soothing him enough to calm his panicked breath. Even though those words held weight, doubt still lingered within Haejoon’s mind.
“Shit, that’s true. I just don’t know what to do if that doesn’t work, either…”

“It’s a good thing that hasn’t happened yet, then. Just focus on recovering so you can get outta here.”

Haejoon groans, rubbing his forehead. “You’re right.”

“Well, yeah– when am I not?”

“Nevermind. Shut the fuck up.”

Eunyung chuckles, then grabs his bag.

“Speaking of getting outta here– I think that’s what I’m gonna do, too. Theater club is getting really busy with practice and stuff, plus I’ve got work, so my schedule might be too tight for me to come by again… Call me if anything, though.” Eunyung nods at Haejoon, slinging the bag strap over his shoulder.

“If you have time, can you bring me my textbooks?”

“Hell no.”

“... Seriously?”

“This bitch is really gonna study from a hospital bed? Nah, man. You’re crazy. You can go a few days not glued to your studies– I’m sure it might get that massive stick out your ass.”

“You’re the fucking worst, Eunyung.” Haejoon rolls his eyes.

Eunyung clutches his chest. “I save your life, and this is how you repay me? Wow, Haejoon, I’m hurt. Maybe I should’ve just called the ambulance on you and ditched your sorry ass.” He jokes, his laughter settling down into a disconcerted pout. It's a couple of days too soon to say such a thing.

Haejoon doesn’t take it seriously. He's inclined to agree– but he can't tell that to him.

“Oh, don’t say that . Go home. Get out of here. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do, anyway.” He snickers.

“You’re right– can’t miss work again. Gotta get that bag,” Eunyung turns and walks away, waving goodbye. “See ya. Text me when you get out.”

His hand abruptly tightens on the door handle mid-swing, body freezing in the middle of the doorway. Golden eyes hesitate as they steal one last glance at the boy in the hospital bed. After a few too many seconds, his eyes widen a fraction and his spine straightens. A soft, gentle smile paints his face, and he throws a peace sign before taking his haste exit. 

Haejoon is now alone.

The atmosphere, full of lighthearted retorts and ripostes just a moment ago, has fallen eerily silent. The world, entirely contained within this suffocating space, feels a dozen times emptier without Eunyung’s presence. It’s pathetic, but Haejoon wishes he didn’t have to leave. It’s commonly regarded as a bad idea to leave someone with suicidal ideation alone, right? He huffs at his own question and exasperatedly throws his head back on the hospital pillow, too fluffy to support his neck. The quietness means nothing is there to distract him but the colorless ceiling above and its garish lights that occasionally dim and flicker. Things are getting dire. Things are getting so fucking dire that he’s genuinely missing Eunyung Baek. Though, he misses everyone, really. He misses Juwan’s nasally voice, how he always called him “sunsaeng.” It was a special nickname he reserved just for Haejoon. He misses Marie’s humor, how Minju always tried to get on her nerves, and shit , he wonders what’s keeping Hara so busy these days.

Haejoon never imagined a day would come when Eunyung would be included in the list of friends, too. He can’t complain. Eunyung has done a lot for him, even if he really shouldn’t have bothered. It’s funny to think that all the times he’s gone to the hospital in recent years, it’s been because of Eunyung in some way. The boy stabbed him and ended up ripping the wound wide open again when they met. At what point did it shift? He called the ambulance when he got assaulted by those money-extorting wastes of oxygen, and now…
How does one go from trying to kill somebody in the fiery heat of the moment to desperately trying to save that same person a year later?

“Things have really changed, haven’t they…” Haejoon sighs to nobody in particular, closing his eyes as he shifts around, trying to get comfortable in bed.

He might as well try and go to sleep. There’s nothing better to do here, anyway. Multitudes of worries enter and exit his mind– what did his father want? What will everyone think? Why is he so fucking stupid? Why does he still want to die so badly? Why didn’t it work? Why is he still ali–

Haejoon seizes his pillow and throws it over his face, breathing into it through bared fangs. He’s used to living in his head. In the past, he could take control of it, tame it until the explosive chains of thoughts that threatened to detonate through his head had completely diffused. But now, with both his physical and mental state being on such rapid decline, it's as if he never once knew how to pacify himself. Every minuscule anxiety and every little question runs wild with abandon, and there is no hope for him. They cannot be stopped. He cannot be calmed. It’s never been so over. 

Soon enough, Haejoon is allowed to leave. It’s been an agonizingly long two days of doing nothing but lazing around and fretting over what’ll happen once he gets out, witnessing time pass through his body while he’s stuck somewhere else in his head. If only Eunyung gave him his textbooks– he laments the missed days of productivity. He’s a third year, meaning life-defining exams, so he can’t afford to spend much time out of school. Truthfully, he just wanted something to do to distract himself from his thoughts. It’s easier for him to toss himself into his studies and focus on a reality that’s proven and factual than to pay his illogical, unpredictable emotions any mind. Before he readies his belongings to leave, the nurse gives him a pamphlet detailing how to get used to life with the cast and a prescription bottle of 20 mg morphine, with enough pills to last a month.

Haejoon sits near the front desk, wearing a cheap polyester shirt, uncomfortable sweatpants, and the same shoes he was admitted with. His blood-stained clothes lay in a plastic bag he clutches near his chest, the pamphlet and prescription tucked inside it as well. It's still midday, and the weather is bright and breezy, befitting a Sunday. Thank god he’s getting out of this fucking place. No longer the exciting one-off adventures they once were in his youth, hospital trips have come to mean nothing but misery. Four visits in one year is a personal record high he's not a fan of.

His phone vibrates– it’s his uncle texting him to say he’s outside. Haejoon grits his teeth, trying to ignore his body screaming at him as he rises from his seat. The automatic door of the exit opens as he approaches it. He leaves the building without so much as a glance backward, already planning out his next steps. First, he must find the car, and then, he has to remember to text Eunyung. He had left the dorm two days before without thinking to bring his keys, and if anyone were to greet him at the door, he’d rather it not be Juwan. The poor guy would flip his shit, and Haejoon was much too tired at the moment to deal with such commotion.

His uncle pulls into the entrance in his gray sedan. It looks like it’s not been washed in a good few weeks, and the driver inside also seems worse for wear. His uncle’s eyes are dark and gaunt, with sloppily combed-back hair. A small, oily lock graces his forehead.

Haejoon enters the backseat. It smells vaguely like beer, the type used to drown remorse until it resurfaces as bile at the bottom of a toilet.

“Hi.”

His uncle nods at him, not saying another word. Haejoon clutches at the fabric of his pants, leaning his head against the window and staring out as they drive off. He told his uncle in advance that he didn’t want to stay over at his apartment and would rather go to the dorms, which his uncle solemnly respected. There was an undercurrent of tension in the car, intensified by both parties’ shared quietness. It was awkward on Haejoon’s end– he didn’t know what to say, how to start a conversation. He didn’t even know if he wanted to talk at all. Surely, though, his uncle would at least say something?

He quickly glances at Haejoon through the rearview mirror. A saturnine expression adorns his face, lip quivering as he stares fixedly at the road. He sighs and glances over his shoulder to make a turn, his breath shaky and frail. He blinks hard, tight, trying to hold back tears from forming.

“Are you alright?” Haejoon asks.

He remains silent. Haejoon swallows, a sliver of shame seeping into his mind. Perhaps he spoke too soon?

“… How?” His uncle whispers after a spell of stillness.

“How what?”

“How did you get hit? Shouldn’t you know to be careful about these things? Haven’t you learned…?”

Haejoon is too stunned to form a proper sentence.

“It… Well, it just sort of happened that way. He– the driver, he was running a red light.” He lies.

“You have to be more careful, Haejoon. You could’ve died. ” Haejoon’s uncle sniffles. “After her… After Eunju… I don’t…”

He chokes up. Haejoon opens his mouth but doesn’t have the bravery to speak. Instead, the air gets caught in his throat, the only sound he utters being an imperceptible choked gasp.

“I just don’t know what I’d do with myself. I’m getting old, you know. It’s not good for my heart when I worry about you like this.” 

“Sorry.”

“… I can’t lose you too, Haejoon.”

Haejoon slumps, drawing his hand closer to his stomach. Glassy eyes stare out the window, the visual information he receives going unprocessed. The world outside is gray and bleak.

“I’m sorry.”

“Is that all you have to say to me?”

“No, I– I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to say… I’ll be more careful. I promise.” 

He keeps stumbling over himself, apologizing more than necessary.

His uncle sighs wearily.

“Your life is too valuable to be thrown away like that, Haejoon.”

“I know.”

“I understand what happened wasn’t your fault, but… don’t play with it like it’s nothing.”

“I won’t.”

Haejoon doesn’t have the heart to tell his uncle the truth. He looks so shaken that he knows it’ll break him if he finds out. As it stands, Haejoon walks a tightrope between being thankful he's alive and believing he should've remained left to die on the pavement. The two aren’t mutually exclusive. He has no plans on attempting again, but he doesn’t know how long that'll last. He knows he's still vulnerable. He's barely above rock bottom– it won't take much to knock him down again.

“I don’t say this often, but considering the circumstances, I really should now… Just so you know.”

“Hm?”

“I love you, Haejoon.” His uncle wipes his nose. “I know it’s not been long since I entered your life, but… We’re family, okay? And family loves each other.”

Haejoon’s mouth parts in surprise. He’s… God, how long has it been since he’s heard those words? His uncle says it so softly, like it’ll kill him if he announces it to the rest of the world. It’s the first time Haejoon’s heard that since his mother died a year and a half ago. He holds his chin in his hand and shuts his eyes.

“... I love you too, Uncle. Thanks for caring about me.”

His love is a curse that drags his soul down to hell. What a fool he is to make the only family he has left suffer like this. It’s just one more added repentance to the insurmountable mountain of regrets. He won’t reach the summit in this lifetime. 

“Again– it’s what family does.” He smiles.

They go quiet again. Haejoon takes the opportunity to text Eunyung to let him know he’s on his way. The second-year replies with a thumbs-up emoji and the word "cool."

“Do we know who hit you? Do you remember the license plate?” His uncle asks.

Haejoon shakes his head. “No.”

“Ah, so it was a hit-and-run, that bastard…” He clicks his tongue. “Well, I’m sure a camera caught it somewhere. Especially if you got hit near a storefront.”

“It– it’s fine, Uncle, pursuing legal action is a bit much…”

“What do you mean?! He almost killed you!”

“But a lawyer costs money and all that, right? It’s fine! We don’t need to do anything.”

“What if he hits another person, Haejoon? We can’t let him get away with this! You should understand!”

“I said it’s fucking fine!” Haejoon yells. His uncle purses his lips. “Shit, I– Sorry to, uh, I didn’t mean— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you.”

“No, no… It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pressed, especially since you’re fresh out of the hospital– but please do consider it.”

“I’ll think about it.” Haejoon nods. “Thanks.”

They spent the rest of the ride in a thick, tense silence. Haejoon clenched and unclenched his fists as yet another surge of guilt coursed through his veins. Talking to a member of his family that isn’t his father has hit him with the reality that shit, he’d be missed if he left. It doesn’t make him mourn his mother any less, it doesn’t make him want to reunite with her any less, but… Fuck. His lack of self-control can ruin shit so effortlessly. Maybe he’s just incapable of doing anything right. The only thing he’s ever been good at is hurting people, getting his hands dirty– perhaps he’s destined to hurt everyone he’s ever loved. Haejoon quietly groans to himself. What does he even deserve anymore? Do people think he really deserves to— his thoughts are interrupted as the car pulls to a standstill. He’s quickly growing tired of how spiral-prone he’s become.

“Here’s your stop.” His uncle points at the door.

“Ah, yeah, it is.” Haejoon wraps the plastic bag around his hand, putting his fingers on the door handle, then looks back at his uncle, who’s smiling at him. His grin is large, the wrinkles around his eyes intense as he squints. 

“Stay safe out there, okay? If your grades drop a bit, I’ll understand.” He chuckles. “You’re a good kid. Come over sometime soon. It gets a bit lonely when you’re not around.”

Haejoon smiles softly at his uncle. God, he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry that it’s taking him all his strength not to prostrate on the floor and let apologies spill out of him like vomit. Only now has he realized his wish to join his mother is selfish– he would’ve left his uncle with the same desolate isolation, and he’d have to live with it knowing he's the last one left. Thinking about it, it wouldn’t be the same at all. It'd be something worse, an unimaginably deep sorrow that Haejoon has the privilege of being a stranger to.

“Thanks, Uncle. I’ll come by in a couple of weeks.” He mumbles, opening the door. When his body is midway through, he’s interrupted.

“And… don’t worry about your father.”

“Huh? What about him?” He whips his head around to face his uncle.

“He’s going to be very concerned, hearing what happened… But I want you to know that he… He cares about you. I haven’t let him know about the accident. You should tell him if you haven’t already.”
He looks down, unable to bring himself to face Haejoon. The reluctance is apparent in his uncle’s voice– he doesn't seem to like his father much either.

“I’ll do it eventually. Sometime soon. Don’t worry.” Haejoon exits the car and nods farewell, unable to use his other hand to wave. “Goodbye, see you again soon! Thanks for driving me.”

He closes the door. Haejoon’s uncle gives him a thumbs-up before driving off.

Haejoon sighs and wipes his brow, turning his back to the road. A turn on the sidewalk leads to a path into the woods, where the dormitory lies deep inside. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be walking back home. A pulsating feeling rises from the back of his head, reminding him of the pain he’s going to endure over the coming weeks. His brain, his chest, and his arm will all work in tandem to make his life a living hell. Perhaps this is retribution. Instead of being granted the freedom he desired in death, he remains grounded to Earth, where he suffers for his hubris.

Is it such a crime to give in to this temptation– to go back to someone you’ve lost? He remembers that is why Eurydice was bound to Hell, why Lot's wife turned into a pillar of salt. He knows another truth now: For those who wish to gaze upon the visage of someone they've loved and lost, there shall be nothing but pain.

He trudged down the weathered path, brown leaves crunching beneath his heavy footsteps. The path is lit by lampposts the faculty installed late last year. His body guides him through the light in an almost trance-like manner, the luminescence like small spirits dancing in the air beside him. Once he walks past them and the light completely fades, his body stills and his head lifts expectantly. A warm wave of relief flows through his body at the sight of the dorm and its tall, wooden frame. Despite everything he’s been through in the last four days, he’s finally home. No more bright lights and stiff beds, no more missing his friends– now, he can just flop on his bed and rest peacefully. Despite himself, he grins, unable to fight the feeling of gratitude rising within him. He’s happy to be alive, if just for this one moment.

He has to try to cling to that feeling and hold it as tightly as he can. There has to be something that makes his day-to-day existence worth it, and maybe… Maybe it'll be the people inside this dorm, the friends he cares about. If love can be found in the littlest things, like the restless leg of a visitor or the quivering hand that clutches firmly at the wheel, then perhaps Haejoon isn't as unloved as he knew himself to be. It raises the question as to whether he deserves that love, but that can wait for tomorrow when his head is clearer. 

For now, he's home. He's alive and breathing. The sun feels warm on his skin, and blackbirds chirp amongst the canopy, and in just a few moments, he will greet the two people he's grown to trust the most. After that, the days will pass, and he doesn’t know how they will go. All he can be sure about is that they will be difficult to endure– but he has to live to see it through. He’ll be a worse burden to others dead than he is alive, and that thought alone is enough to keep him standing. 

Haejoon steels himself, pulling out his phone and gathering the courage to call Eunyung. Once he enters that door, he’s in for an earful from Juwan, but that’s alright. As unfortunate as it is, he cares, and Eunyung does too. He can’t say with certainty whether things will be easier to endure if they're by his side, but he’s glad he has them by his side regardless. An unsteady breath escapes his aching chest, his hand trembling as he taps the call button.

Staring at the door to the dormitory and all the vast nature surrounding it, he wonders; maybe one day he’ll come to understand the value of his own life like he understands the value in everything else. Perhaps he could see what everyone else sees in him.

The phone rings.

Chapter Text

Eunyung’s heart hadn’t stopped racing, each forceful beat of blood flowing through ventricles loud and frantic inside his rib cage. It’s been hours since he witnessed Haejoon get struck by a car and lose consciousness shortly after, a self-imposed attempt on his life that Eunyung was too late to prevent. The only thing he could do for the other boy was wait for him to open his eyes with renewed life in that emergency room, where the walls seemed to close in on them with each passing minute, each tick of the clock. Haejoon, somehow, did not die. The blood never drained from his face in pallor, his limbs never stiffened in rigor– but he was nonetheless reborn in that bed as Eunyung watched the rise and fall of his chest and every slight twitch of his cracked lips in dreamless sleep. Eunyung thinks he was reborn too, even if he never tore his eyes away or closed them long enough to fantasize about difference, a day in which they honored a promise with a banquet for two. Instead, he’s been gifted with a difference intrinsic to his very being. The person he was a day ago is a version of him that no longer exists.

The two of them will never be the same again. He knows too well that the next time they see each other will be through the lens of mutual understanding gone unspoken, with a meaning forever unplaced, unidentified.

This understanding does not mean he’s accepted it. On his long walk back to the dorm, his body simply moved on autopilot. His mind, typically full of useless thoughts and nonsense, said nothing. He could only feel— the fear and anger, the pain in his gut, the stinging of his eyes. His legs and feet knew not to ache, for something rotten in his chest already did.

By the time he first made his way into his and Haejoon’s shared room, he could see the earliest glow of sunrise crest the horizon through the window, swaths of orange cutting through the autumn clouds to swim between sapphires. The morning alarm was soon to ring, bringing with it the threat of a scolding from the supervisor. If he fell asleep now, he’d just be woken up. Eunyung, with his hand still resting on the cold doorknob behind him, sighed. His lungs filled with all the air they could muster, then pushed it out, slow and exhausted. He dragged his palm from the doorknob to his face, rubbing it as he tried to remember how to function. Firstly, he scolded himself for forgetting to call the supervisor and inform him of Haejoon’s condition. Then his hands ran to the collar of his shirt, ripping the bloody fabric off his body and tossing it to the far corner of the room right beside his closet. He stumbled there haphazardly, passing by the intangible assortment of brown rectangles that composed the bunk bed, and put on the only shirt in the closet. Facing the door, his eyes scanned the rest of the room. It took a few blinks for his vision to sharpen and his brain to comprehend the objects and textures he was looking at.

Everything looks the same as it was before Haejoon left the house yesterday. Logically, this is unsurprising. Emotionally? Eunyung glowered at the lower bed, still made, and the black backpack he haphazardly tossed beside the leg of Haejoon’s halfway pushed-in chair. His eyes drifted to that bed again as he walked beside it, knowing there was a dangerously real possibility that Haejoon would have never slept there again. If this were any other morning, he’d be lying on his back underneath the covers, comforted by the watchful gaze of that ghost he cherishes.

But today, he’s gone. And he will be tomorrow, and the day after that, and Eunyung doesn’t know when he’ll return. Uncertainty crept into his soul through the sockets of his eyes, yellow and pointed at the mattress, trying to envision Haejoon asleep there like he should’ve been. Like it’d bring any comfort. He squeezed his eyelids together and quickly turned to face the table and shelves, trying to keep it at bay. Uncertainty isn’t something he’s ever been fond of.

When it had been a few minutes too long of a call and Haejoon didn’t come back inside the house, Eunyung ran back to the room and put his belongings there, turning the photo album on its side and shoving it into the shelf before chasing after him. He has no need to look through it again–  the rough leather texture stays lingering on his palms from when he held it in the kitchen, burning every image into his memory. All those pictures could’ve turned into ghosts, flashbacks of two lives cut short, a mother and son held to the scythe by heartache.

Haejoon’s calculus workbook rests on his side of the table. His progress is marked by a mechanical pencil tucked between the pages. Eunyung places a gentle hand on the cover, running his fingers slowly over its paperback surface. His shoulders twitch with the impulse to open it and view the page Haejoon was working on before everything happened, but he swallowed it down, thick in his throat. This book, presumably the last thing he touched before preparing his belongings to leave, must remain unchanged. Thinking back to the circumstances behind Haejoon’s absence, he finds himself consumed with the need to place himself in the other boy’s shoes and act out every action, line, and breath up to the point he left. Maybe then, through method acting, he could come to recognize the weight of all that guilt and grief Haejoon carries upon his back. But he shouldn’t– needless extravagance without an audience is merely extravagance wasted. Those belongings will remain in the same space, stuck in the same instance of time until the owner’s inevitable return.

He should do something else. Anything else besides ruminating on the “what-ifs” that never came to fruition. There’s no use in pondering drastic possibilities, but how could he not? 

Opting to instead relax his mind, he pulls himself up the wooden ladder and crawls to his pillow, resting his head on its plush surface. He yanks the winter blanket up to his chest and checks the time. His phone reads 6:25 a.m.– five more minutes until the alarm rings. Plugging in his earbuds, he closes his eyes and melts under the weight of the fluffy blanket, planning on drowning out the noise until he has to get up and make excuses for himself to whoever asks.

Remaining still as the blaring alarms resound throughout the dorm, he finds himself feeling lucky for having a ghost as a third bunk-mate. The supervisor has routinely steered clear of checking room 202 because of his incredibly convenient fear. It’s not like that matters now, though– Eunyung is still in for an earful when he leaves the room to make breakfast. Ah, shit, right. Breakfast. The realization dawns on him that he hasn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. All but his stinging chest had felt numb and heavy when he was walking to the dorms, and now that he’s swaddled within the comfort of his bed, every neglected sensation screams for attention. Eunyung’s body trembles as hunger sends intense pangs through the empty cavern of his stomach. He needs to cook something simple to fill it as quickly as possible. Something like gyeran bap would probably do him good– a simple dish of eggs over rice.

The doorknob rattles loudly, startling Eunyung, who lurches up and glances over his back.

“Is anyone here yet?” The door swings open, and Juwan stands small in the middle of the doorway, still in his pajamas. “Oh, Eunyung, you’re finally back!.. Where’s Haejoon?” His cheerful tone turns puzzled as he stares at the empty bottom bunk.

Eunyung’s exhausted sigh slowly transitions into a loud yawn. “I’ll tell you over breakfast.”

Juwan furrows his brow. “Why?”

“... Cause I’m fucking tired and would rather eat before having a conversation?”

“Is he at his uncle’s or something?”

“I said I’ll tell you during breakfast!” Eunyung raises his voice, and Juwan backs away. “Shit. My bad. Just… Lemme go brush my teeth first.” 

“... Alright.” Juwan nods once and returns to his room. Eunyung could spot the pursing of his lips as he walked away. It doesn’t surprise him. Nobody appreciates an attitude first thing in the morning.

Eunyung tears the blankets off of his body and rolls his neck, a cracking noise coming from his vertebrae. “Fuck, I need to shower.” He thinks out loud, then hops down the ladder and makes his way to the kitchen after brushing his teeth. He’ll shower after he eats, and after his shower, he’ll knock out. Skipping a day of school never hurt anyone.

Eunyung toasts a slice of bread golden brown and lathers it in butter, preparing himself a quick snack before his main meal. If he’s to talk to Juwan, he needs to have at least something in his stomach before he flips out. With his free hand, he grabs a small rice cooker from a cabinet beneath the sink and tucks it against his chest, hoisting it onto the counter. He remembers he bought this for himself once he received his third paycheck– Zojirushi brand, on sale for 20,000 won less than the usual retail price. It’s an investment he’s proud of, but one he’ll have to stress over once his graduation comes around and he has to leave the dorms. He’s never been one to plan ahead, and the rice cooker was bought almost on impulse, with his only thought process being whoa, that seems convenient and cheap! before making his purchase. Haejoon had once asked him what he’d do with it after graduation, to which Eunyung waved it off and said he’d simply figure something out. He’s been getting better at that recently, coming up with ideas for things he’d do later down the line, though he doesn’t really know why. Is it hope? Does he find himself hoping, these days?

Refusing to entertain these questions any further, he forces them to the back of his mind. He’s too hungry to waste precious brainpower on asinine inquiries that’ll leave him thinking in circles. Hope or not, he still has not yet figured out what to do with the rice cooker once he leaves the dorms.

As he chews his last bite of toast, he turns the rice cooker knob to the cook setting. A waft of cold air blasts across his face upon opening the fridge to get a carton of eggs and a stick of butter. Upon setting the eggs and butter on the counter, he reaches into a cabinet to grab sesame oil and seeds from a selection of condiments and seasonings he purchased the week before. He then grabs a cast-iron skillet from a nearby shelf and walks back to set it on the stovetop. The strange distance between the stove and everything needed for cooking has always been annoying, and he curses whoever had decided to make it so that the pots and pans are on an entirely different wall from the stove, consciously deciding to ignore the fact he could change that whenever he wanted to. He sets the stove to low heat and begins gliding the butter over the pan, hearing it sizzle.

He’s in the middle of cracking two eggs into the pan when he hears scampering down the stairs. Juwan shortly appears at the bottom, fully dressed in uniform.

“Eunyung! You said you were gonna tell me where Haejoon went. I’ve been calling him, but he hasn’t picked up.” Juwan sweats, resting his arm on the back of a dining table chair.

“Shit, right!” The blonde’s eyebrows rise to attention before settling into a conflicted expression.

“Juwan… Everything I say after this, you tell nobody. Keep it quiet from the group chat.”


“Um?.. I won’t tell.” Thorns prick at the lining of Juwan’s stomach at Eunyung’s command, the air around them thickening with tension. “I promise.”

“Great, thanks. Now since that’s out of the way… He’s, well… How do I put this lightly?” Eunyung, leaning against the stovetop, pauses and puts his hand over his mouth in contemplation, prompting a worried glance from the brunette. “He got… Into an accident. With a car. And he’s in the hospital, asleep. His phone is also cracked as hell, so– no calls.”

“WHAT?!” Juwan yelps, his body instinctually slamming his hand firmly on the table out of shock.

“For fuck’s sake, not too loud— don’t go airing out our business to everyone else. But yeah, I… Shit, man, I don’t even know what to say. It hasn’t really set in yet. I called 119 quickly enough so he should be fine, he just… They did some X-rays while he was knocked out. He’s got a concussion and a broken arm. There’s also rib shit that sounded fancy– which means they’re probably fucked up somehow. Not like they’re broken or jutting out or anything, but… they’re in bad shape.”

“Huh???” Juwan whines. “You called 119? You were there? His arm is broken ?!”

“I wanted to pull him out of the way, but I was too late. Calling the ambulance was the only thing I could do.” Eunyung avoids Juwan’s gaze, grabbing a spatula hanging above the stove.

“Oh god...”

“It’s not like we were walking together or anything. If that were the case, he’d be fine. But… Shit hit the fan. I left him alone when I shouldn’t have,” Eunyung mumbles, circling the eggs with butter and pushing the oil so that it sizzles against the whites, ensuring the edges come out crispy. His body stiffens as he realizes he’s said too much. “I still had stuff to take care of, and I thought he’d be fine getting back on his own— and he was– he was going to be, but right when I saw him again, the driver ran a red light.”

He’s supposed to be a better liar than this.

Juwan shakes his head in disbelief, starting to pace circles around the kitchen table.

“Oh god. Y–you watched it happen. How bad did it look? His concussion isn’t too bad, right?!” His voice grows louder with each inquiry, catching the attention of other students about to leave.

Eunyung clicks his tongue and sucks in a sharp breath.

“Quiet the fuck down!” He shushes Juwan with the wave of his hand. “That motherfucker almost croaked it in front of me, and you want me to think about how bad it looked? There was blood, Juwan! It was messy! Is that enough for you? Are you satisfied?!”

Juwan gulps and nods his head, meekly planting himself in a chair. “Got it, yeah. Sorry.” The word messy rings in his head. It conjures an image of Haejoon’s body, sprawled on black concrete, skin torn from friction burn and blood dripping from his temples. A mangled arm lying twisted and snapped unnaturally beside him. He tries to remind himself that the imagination is an unexpectedly powerful thing, and that surely, the reality couldn’t have been that drastic.

Eunyung sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “When he woke up, he was able to speak. He wasn’t making long sentences or talking how he normally would, but he asked me a few questions. So at least there’s that– no lasting brain damage.”

“Thank goodness,” Juwan pauses and leans back, bringing his forehead to his hands. “It’s not as bad as it could’ve been, at least… You– You said his phone was broken, right?”

“Not entirely broken. Just cracked to hell and back.”

“Maybe… If I ask my mom, we can pay to get it repaired. I don’t want Haejoon to worry about managing his allowance for that right after he gets out of the hospital. That’d really suck. When’s he getting out, anyway?.. Soon, right?”

“Yeah, soon enough. Within the week.” Eunyung confirms as he slices off a small portion of the butter stick and mixes it into the rice. “You know how he is. He feels all guilty whenever someone goes out of their way for him with money stuff. He’ll probably refuse you no matter how hard you press it on him.” 

“It’s okay. I’m a master of persuasion,” Juwan laughs weakly. “I’ll get him to work with me.”

Eunyung raises his eyebrows. “Good luck with that. He’s one stubborn bitch.” It’s almost comforting to talk about Haejoon so casually. It makes everything seem a little less real.

Juwan swallows and shuffles in his seat while running a trembling hand through his hair. The chair beside him is still pushed in, its wooden surface cold to the touch when there should be warmth.

He’s unused to Haejoon’s absence. 

The boy took up a lot of space– standing at a tall 184 cm with broad shoulders and a muscular, endomorphic build, his presence never went unnoticed. Whenever they were together, Juwan always kept him tucked away in some corner of view, observing him with fond admiration. They ate breakfast in the morning side by side and walked to school like that as well, Juwan carrying conversation as he rambled away about one thing or another. Haejoon simply responded with nods and hums, chiming in only when he felt he had something of substance to say. Juwan had long since gotten used to his methods of operation. He learned to pick up on Haejoon’s small grins and fond stares, to parse meaning behind his cut-and-dry text messages, and to detect the tactics he employed in avoidance of questions he dreaded to answer. All this knowledge was the snap of a thread away from being made irrelevant, applicable only to the ashes in an urn. It’s good Haejoon is as sturdy a man as he is, woven with kindness and constitution, rough to the touch and firm when necessary.

Juwan knew Haejoon was able to take serious hits and dish them out with twice as much power, but he had never witnessed it for himself. He didn’t need to. Perhaps it was hard to believe to anyone else, he knows it was for him at first— but this dog doesn’t bite. Not while Juwan is around, at least. And those two perceptions, wild and tame, which would normally clash at odds like two snakes eating the other’s tail, are harmonious. That harmony is what provided Haejoon his strength, and his survivability in the face of adversity. But that doesn’t mean he’ll escape everything unscathed. Though the shadow that haunts him is that of a canine, he’s only human, after all. A sensitive one, at that.

Juwan slowly shakes his head. “For some reason, I seriously thought he was invincible. I couldn’t imagine anything like this would’ve happened to him. It’s so… strange .”

“Bad things happen all the time.” Eunyung shrugs, his voice dry and bitter. “Sure, he’s cautious around cars. That didn’t get him anywhere. You might think he’s smart or strong. Both, even. But he’s not special. Shit hits rock bottom regardless of whether it’s deserved or not. Welcome to the real world, Juwan.”

He rests his cheek on his palm. “... I know. You don’t have to be so rude about it.”

“Rude? I’m just being real with you.” The blonde yawns, hovering his hand over his mouth as he checks the underside of the eggs. Nearly done.

“It’s not as if I don’t know what life is like. I know nothing horrible has happened to me or my family, but it’s not like I don’t have friends with families of their own, you know? I’ve heard stories.” Juwan says. Eunyung thinks back to the night he first heard about the death of Haejoon’s mother. It was far from the first time he heard about such a tragedy happening to somebody he knew, but it completely changed the way he saw Haejoon. The knowledge recontextualized his every action, all of his inflammatory words and behaviors— it was obvious from the beginning that he harbored a deep sickness, the same kind that Eunyung has, too. Even if their causes couldn’t be any more different. 

Juwan continues. “But it’s different when it’s someone I’m close to. When you’re close to someone, you don’t think about all the bad things that could happen. You’re just happy they’re there. And with Haejoon, well…  It was like that. So now that he’s in the hospital, it doesn’t feel right to have him gone, knowing what happened.”

“Hm.” Eunyung lifts the eggs and puts them in a bowl, above the hot butter rice. He seasons it with soy sauce and sesame oil, drizzling freshly-bought sesame seeds on top. “Makes sense. Here, your plate’s ready.”

The eggs are seared golden on the edges and the yolk is still slightly runny, the sesame seeds adorning the meal like a delectable wreath. Unfortunately, Juwan’s stomach feels weighed down with hot coals, burning and sinking and bubbling in an acid sea. A dish that would be usually devoured without hesitation only brings nausea and a tightening of the throat.

He opens his mouth as if to speak, but he instead takes a small and uncertain breath before gathering his words.

“Eunyung, I… I’m not really that hungry anymore. It looks good, but…” His brown eyes meet golden, apologies hidden in forlorn shine. “My appetite’s all gone. I’ll eat it for lunch, though, so… No worries. Thanks.”

Eunyung looks at him, devoid of any emotion. “Ah. Yeah, that’s okay.” His eyebrows raise as the brunette’s words click together in his mind.

“Well, who knows? Maybe I’ll feel better once I get to school. If I’m lucky, I’ll have time to eat during homeroom.”

“Don’t force yourself.”
Eunyung promptly opens a cabinet to find a medium-sized box of Tupperware, then raises the seasoned eggs with his spatula and uses his other hand to tilt the plate and empty out the rice. Laying the eggs inside the clear plastic box and closing the lid, he hands it to Juwan. He doesn’t blame the bespectacled boy for losing his appetite. He looks up to Haejoon like he would a role model and a best friend– and like he’s the center point his world revolves around. To hear the news so suddenly in the morning is to tilt that world askew over a hot cup of coffee. Who would be able to stomach anything at a time like that?
“Eat what you can. If there’s anything left over, give it to someone else. Just don’t waste food.”

“Don’t worry about that. I won’t leave even one grain of rice!” Juwan hums, struggling to fit the Tupperware in the front of his backpack. His act drops to a natural face of frustration, an upset growl falling from his throat as his brows knit with anxiety. Once he forces the front pocket closed, he sighs and tries to regain his composure. “So, um… Are you gonna stay home today? You’ve been kinda snappy. Though– I mean, I would be too if I were you. You should get some rest if you can! Take the day off!”

“No, yep, that’s the plan.”

Juwan tries to smile, but he’s unhappy at the thought of having nobody else at school with which to talk about what he just heard. His lips stretch widely across his face, but Eunyung sees it as what it is– a pained grimace.

“Good to hear!” The brunette lies, scooching his chair and promptly stumbling out of it, hand shooting to the table to steady himself. “Ack—! You s–saw nothing. Rest up, Eunyung!” Nervous laughter leaves his mouth as he rushes away.

Eunyung watches the dark oak door open and close behind him. Then, he sighs and stares at the ceiling.

He should’ve cooked for himself first.

He makes himself a serving of gyeran bap, accidentally dousing it with more sesame than is ever necessary. Nonetheless, he wolfs it down at an unusual speed, his stomach quickly feeling uncomfortably full from being filled so suddenly after being empty for an entire day. It doesn’t help that he used three eggs this time around. He allows himself a minor overindulgence– he usually rations himself to using two on any given day. (If Haejoon were here, Eunyung would have given one to him and the other to Juwan. If either of them asked why he wasn’t making himself breakfast, he’d simply say he was waiting until they finished so he could eat in peace. Then, they’d give him a strange look, and he’d turn his back and cook his meal– without any eggs, of course.) The last time he ate so ravenously was winter break, and things were different back then. These days, three eggs aren’t anything he can’t easily buy back.

He rises from his seat to wash the dishes, plates and silverware clinking against each other, acting as the only stimulation for his blank mind as he stands in the empty kitchen. The supervisor emerges from his room, about to start his final patrol of the morning to ensure that the students who hadn’t already left were preparing to make their way out.

“Hey, you. Eunyung Baek.” The man barks. His tone is slightly accusatory.

Eunyung looks over his shoulder and acknowledges him with a nod. “Hello, sir.” His tone is steady and affirmative, responding the way a soldier would when confronted with the scowling face of his sergeant.

His brows furrow as squinting eyes lock onto the young boy. “Why didn’t you and Haejoon return to the dorms last night? You said you’d call again if anything happened, and Haejoon still isn't here. What were you two up to?”

“We weren’t up to anything. He got into an accident on our way back,” Eunyung answers without hesitation. “I was so caught up in bringing him to the hospital that I, uh, forgot to call again. I stayed the night overseeing his condition. He’ll come back in… Probably less than a week. He’s fine, he just broke his arm.”

“Oh.” The supervisor sucks in through his teeth, wrinkles forming on his forehead as he raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I’m sorry that happened. That must’ve been difficult. I’ll let both you and him off the hook. It’s a special circumstance– if you have no valid excuse next time, don’t expect me to be so lenient… Do his pare– I mean, does his guardian know? Are there any calls I have to make?”

Eunyung grabs a napkin and dries his dripping hands. “His uncle knows. I’ve got his number.”

“I see…” His gravelly voice softens as he lets his disciplinarian mask slip for only a moment. “If you plan on visiting again... tell him I wish him well.” He nods politely and proceeds to the hallway that connects each room on the second floor.

Eunyung had mentally tapped out of that conversation the minute he finished talking. Whatever the supervisor said, it sounded nice, but only as a jumble of noise wearing the mask of a coherent sentence. Scrunching the damp napkin up into a ball and tossing it overhand towards the trash like a basketball, Eunyung feels his annoyance come slower as he watches it miss and fall to the floor. His sleepless brain chugs along with as much ease as a steam engine out of coal. He blinks at it twice before rolling his leaden eyes and picking it up, putting it in the bin like a normal person.

The last few students on the second floor come scurrying out of their rooms and past him like mice as he drags himself up the stairs. He hears the ceiling creak under the supervisor’s heavy footsteps, surely to kick the students dwelling there out as well. The confrontation between them was surprisingly easy. It’s something he should’ve expected. Not like he had anything to hide. Eunyung seems to be functioning far below standard capacity, thinking in worst-case scenarios and perceiving sounds and sensations much slower than he usually would. A full day has passed since he last slept, and it was an extra exhausting one at that. It dulled his edge.

Quickly grabbing clean clothes from his closet, he heads over to the communal bathroom to take a shower. The blessing of bathing on his lonesome is something he’s not experienced since the dormitory opened its doors to other students. He missed it.

Eunyung stands underneath the running water, set so hot it steams as it hits the floor. While the bathroom renovations fixed the issue of irregular temperature, a water pressure problem decided to substitute it. There are now only two modes: bullet rain or light drizzle, alternating at random. It was the former this time, his body pelted with heat by each individual drop. He closes his eyes and runs his hands across his scalp as he tilts his head to face the torrent that washes his cheeks red. The burning sensation wakes him up and provides an adequate distraction from his thoughts. Droplets run down his body and bind onto each other during the journey, pooling into the drain at his feet, rusted and green.

He feels no cleaner than he was before he stepped into the shower, even as he lathers himself in soap and shampoo and rinses it away. He doesn't understand. The pain is there. His brain is off. But his chest is still heavy, muscles weighed down with something indiscernible and strange. It's a newer sensation raising alarm through his nervous system. Regret? It couldn’t be. He’d never admit it, not even to himself, but he’s become quite intimate with such a thing in the past two years he’s spent struggling to navigate Haejoon’s judgment and meet his standards, confronting scathing reminders of his own faults in the process. It has to be something else. Something he thinks he’s immune to. He’s deeply disgusted with himself, but what is the root of that? At this surface-level disgust, what runs underneath in a layered, complex tangle and twine of emotion?

Could it be guilt?

Faced with the threat of loss, holding a fading life in his hands, is he now familiar with it? Does he deem himself guilty?

Eunyung grabs the hot metal shower tap and turns it to the right, ending the barrage. Grabbing his toiletries, he leaves to dry and clothe himself.

Once finished, he escapes to the room. The door creaks shut behind him.

Haejoon is, of course, still absent. 

He expected it this time but he knows he will never get used to it, not in the short time he's gone, and perhaps even after he graduates. The silence unsettled his nerves, his hair standing on end as he climbed into his bed once again. It shouldn't make him feel this way; Haejoon’s already a naturally quiet person. Perhaps it isn’t just the silence that unnerves him, but all the vacant space that should be occupied. This morning, Haejoon should’ve been lying on his bed, getting his clothes from his closet, reviewing workbooks on his chair, crouching on the floor and packing his bag, and eating beside Juwan at the kitchen table. There’s no rustling clothes or stomping footsteps or idle conversation– only the soundless note of desolation.

Eunyung plugs his phone into a long, thin charging cable that rises from an extension cord dangling above the floor by Haejoon’s bunk. He curls up in his bed, digging a hand underneath the pillow and holding the other to his chest. Emptiness is only temporary. This specific case of it was also very, very preventable.

Putting in his earbuds and blasting whatever mediocre playlist his music app curated for him this week, he shuts his eyes tight. Whatever this is, it’s unfamiliar. He’s used to feeling empty when sleeping on a park bench, his only company being the moon, as the stars that should hang in the sky are strangled dead by light pollution. Emptiness becomes strange when he’s tucked safely into a warm bed, with a clean blanket over his body and a fluffy pillow to rest on. This room, which had become such a pillar of his day-to-day existence, has crumbled and suffocated him underneath its debris. He makes no effort to struggle and rid himself of his plight. Guilt's residuals aren't so easily washed away. It lingers, permeating the skin and bone and all earthly things, and seeps into the soul, where it infests. It takes hold inside, clinging like a parasite.

And it does not let go.