Archive of Our Own

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.