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Gubo gently smoothed out his rumpled coat and the messy slicked-back hair he always took such care of. Even he, who was usually meticulous about his appearance and cleanliness, didn’t have the energy to fully fix himself up. His favorite scarf… it had gotten dirty, so he had no choice but to try wiping off the other stains and throw it in the trash.
These occasional tasks were part of the compensation the director had offered him in exchange for continuing to protect his friend she deemed rather worthless. Sometimes, Gubo himself was directly involved in such matters with her.
Unlike when he was treated as a pawn in her business negotiations, the director never did anything that made him feel unclean, impure, or filthy. Instead, she inflicted every kind of pain on him. She broke his fingers, tore off his nails, cut his tongue, and beat him until his vision went white and his stomach emptied.
Though, she never broke his arms or legs, and strictly forbade the use of ampoules.
These were not punishments but methods of pain used to discipline him.
For Gubo, when asked which was worse, having his body desecrated or his dignity trampled, he'd say both were equally unbearable. But on the brink of torture, he always believed that enduring humiliation was better than suffering the pain. And when facing humiliation, he’d rather endure the pain. Nevertheless, out of everything, being used as a pawn after being hurt by her hands was the most unpleasant.
It wasn’t a matter of moral discomfort--it was physical.
His consciousness blurred, he couldn’t stop vomiting, and the bruises still ached, making people misunderstand and treat him harshly because of the visible marks from restraints. Seeing his own blood, bodily fluids, and vomit staining the white bedsheets made him feel like he was truly being defiled.
Just wanting to rid himself of the discomfort in his private room, Gubo took a quick shower, pulled out the first-aid kit, applied gauze to his nail-less right hand, wrapped it in extra bandages, and slipped his gloves back on. His left eye was still bleeding when he looked in the mirror, probably from the severe blows to that side, and his ears were still ringing. The headache was gone, but the nausea remained. He had already vomited so much that even when he gagged, nothing came out. He figured it was better to skip the meal he’d missed and eat later, since he’d likely throw it up anyway. He washed his glasses to remove the dried tears that had overflowed reflexively, and since his bruises would be covered by clothing anyway, he lightly disinfected them and closed the first-aid kit.
Gubo walked his way unsteadily down the brightly dimmed white hallway, turned a 90-degree corner, then another. The endless white hall made him dizzy, and his already poor mood worsened. He paused, took a deep breath, then knocked on the open door and entered.
Yi Sang remained unchanging, staring at the mirror with the same hollow expression as always. Gubo felt a sense of relief at his unchanged presence and sat in the chair. There was still some time before mealtime. He thought he’d just take a quick rest… but before he knew it, he’d fallen asleep from exhaustion. When he woke, he could smell Yi Sang’s nearly scentless presence and realized he was lying on Yi Sang’s bed, wrapped in Yi Sang’s lab coat.
“Oh my…! How long have I been asleep? You could’ve woken me.”
“I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s been that long… You should probably check your watch.” He’d forgotten there was no clock in this room. Looking at his watch, only about thirty minutes had passed. He sighed in relief.
“If you’re feeling unwell, you should rest here as long as time allows.”
But Yi Sang’s meal and medication hadn’t been prepared yet. Gubo thought it best to get them ready and then return to his own room to rest, but then he noticed the bloodstained bedsheet under him. He’d have to wash them… No, since it was someone else’s blood, maybe it would be better to just throw them out. Should he get up first? He tried to stand, but blood dripped from his nose and added to the stains. Frowning, Gubo tried to wipe it, but Yi Sang beat him to it, wiping the blood with his finger and smearing it on Gubo’s crooked glasses.
“It suits you well, doesn’t it?”
Gubo, now unable to see through the smeared lenses, protested, “Don’t get them dirty!” But Yi Sang only smiled apologetically and said, “Just leave it for now. We’ll wash it later.”
Reluctantly, Gubo followed his friend’s advice and returned into the blankets.