Yeonjun clasped his hands together, finally noticing Soobin's eyelashes flutter. He stroked his chest and mumbled a prayer. Soobin opened her eyes.
“Hey Subin!”
“…the smell of disinfectant.”
Soobin spoke softly. Yeonjun immediately grabbed Soobin's bandaged hand tightly. His hand ached from the unusual grip, but he endured it, thinking he must have been worried while he lay sick. The first thing Soobin asked when she opened her eyes was the situation in Gwangju. The militia hadn't been completely destroyed. There was a sole survivor. And that was Soobin.
“Choi Soobin, you really…….”
But his body wasn't in good shape. Yeonjun remembered the night before, his hands trembling, the surgery he'd done. Choi Soobin had come in with burns on her arms and legs and a gunshot wound to her thigh. It was Choi Yeonjun's work that had transformed the wheezing corpse into a lifelike human form. Only then did Soobin realize her own limbs were wrapped in bandages. "Wow," he said softly. "I almost died."
“Do you know that now?”
"ouch."
Yeonjun deliberately pinched Soobin's cheek. Rubbing it, Soobin suddenly realized there wasn't a single colleague beside him. Soobin straightened up, his body still not fully recovered, staggering. Yeonjun, startled, supported Soobin. "Hyung... Hyung... Why is no one here?" Soobin asked. His voice trembled. Yeonjun bit his lip.
“It’s… better, right? I woke up late, didn’t I…?”
“……”
“Why aren’t you answering, hyung… I’m feeling anxious….”
“……”
“Why…why on earth….”
Soobin trembled, clutching Yeonjun's arm. He wanted to comfort her somehow. Yeonjun had never agreed with the militia's cause, but he felt sorry for the lives lost for justice. But his mouth wouldn't open. If he were himself, he would have said something. He could have told her something trite, told her not to be sad, or even opened his mouth to reveal his true feelings, to offer some kind of sympathy. But Yeonjun just held Soobin tightly, his mouth gaping helplessly. Selfishly, truly selfishly, Yeonjun could only think that he was glad Soobin was alive. He was glad Soobin didn't die like those people. The sound of tanks rolling through Gwangju rang out in the distance.
“……Brother, how am I supposed to live?”
“……”
"Why does everyone die? Why does everyone die, as if it were a foregone conclusion, with no one left? Why is doing the right thing so hard? Why is there nothing left? Why is there no survivor?!"
“Hey, Choi Soo-bin, you barely survived the night before. Calm down.”
Soobin blankly looked at Yeonjun.
“If it’s you-”
"If you were my brother, how could you say something like that? Don't say something so obvious. You're a patient right now, and patients need stability."
Yeonjun, speaking so bluntly, felt a certain distance from her. Was he always like this? Yeonjun's face, clad in a pristine white gown, was difficult to decipher. Yeonjun felt the same way. Was he really this selfish? Was he the kind of person who could calmly say, "I just need you to live," even in the face of countless faces he couldn't save? His mind raced. Yeonjun left Soobin behind and left.
"hey."
"why."
It took less than a week for Soobin to recover enough to read a book and take a short walk. Everyone admired his monstrous resilience, but Yeonjun couldn't be more pleased. He leaned against the door, watching Soobin flip through the pages. Then he pulled a chair on wheels and sat right next to Soobin's bed.
“Are you going to go on a hunger strike?”
Soobin's eyes widened as she stared at Yeonjun. Yeonjun accepted the tray the nurse had brought and held it out in front of Soobin. "You haven't eaten anything since lunch yesterday?" he said. Lunch was bibimbap with soy sauce, sesame oil, and various vegetables. Yeonjun quickly mixed the rice in a small bowl with his hands. "Okay, ah, okay."
"that is “What is it?”
“Thank you for giving it to me. You should eat it quickly, you rascal. You talk too much.”
Soobin rolled her eyes and took a spoonful. It was a bland liver, but strangely, tears welled up in her eyes. Snatching the spoon from Yeonjun, Soobin continued to shove rice into her mouth despite her choking sensation. Yeonjun watched silently. Soobin, who had been stuffing herself with rice for a long time, choked on it, slowly chewing it. Then, like a child, she burst into tears. There was no way the hospital could have known that the bland vegetable bibimbap without gochujang was the lunchbox for a poor student preparing for the college entrance exam whose father was a taxi driver.
“The rice… the rice is bland…”
Subin started to cry.
“Eat while crying. Tears are salty.”
The Fed said.
Subin'sWhen the tears had somewhat subsided, Yeonjun left the hospital room, taking his empty tray with him. His heart ached. He kept thinking about his grandmother's words, that the country was strange, that the higher-ups were strange, and that they only cursed the precious youth. The one who stood firm behind all of this, behind all the deaths, was none other than his father. Murderer, murderer, murderer! Yeonjun shouted at the top of his lungs toward Seoul, where his father must have been. But would that really work? All the money Yeonjun had came from his father's pockets. Yeonjun just ran blindly. He just ran without looking ahead.
Was there no way to stop it?
Was it the best thing to run away to Gwangju because I was scared and didn't want to see my father?
Was there nothing I could do but watch those deaths quietly?
Do I have the right to scold him and spout nonsense?
Was it right for me to act like I was doing something great by treating people?
How is it any different from a father who hates you so much to just stand by and watch?
What if all of this was my father's big, cruel game to catch me from the beginning?
Is it all my fault that the unjust deaths in Gwangju continue endlessly?
Only when the taste of blood reached his throat and nausea surged did Yeonjun stop to catch his breath. He'd been running, panting for breath, until he found himself in an unfamiliar neighborhood. The evening glow was fading. Summer was approaching, and the days were getting longer. In the middle of the deserted road, a single morning glory, trampled by military boots, swayed in the withered breeze. Yeonjun collapsed, buried his face in his knees, and sobbed like a child.