By Zephyria ■
My body, heavy and limp like a waterlogged cotton ball, was lifted into the air.
The movement of being lifted was incredibly careful and deliberate. As if even the slightest accidental scratch was something to be deeply feared.
Baby. Yes, it was imbued with such profound affection, as if a parent were holding their first child. Though I had no memory of being handled with such care by my parents, I knew what the touch of typical parents was like.
From the very first thread of memory, poverty was a natural environment, like air, sunlight, or wind, and my parents’ irregular income made the household even more unstable. My siblings, a considerable four of us, grew up haphazardly amongst ourselves, neglected by our parents. My older brothers often used me as an outlet for their frustrations, and my younger sibling was not exactly gentle. None of my siblings, nor I, were able to build the strong, solid relationships of affection, social skills, or basic rules for self-protection that would serve as a foundation for our future lives, as we passed through childhood and adolescence.
I was the child who got scolded for not doing homework, the child who was warned for not bringing the proper supplies. I was the child who drew with a torn sketchbook page and a few borrowed crayons of as many colors as I could sneakily gather during art class.
The child wasn’t happy in that situation either. But they didn’t even have the thought that it needed to be overcome. They simply believed it was their role, their place. Because no one cherished them, the child didn’t know they were precious.
Like the nickname ‘glycol’ later given by fans, thanks to a placid disposition with a low boiling and freezing point, the child somehow accepted the given environment as it was. My siblings who resented, raged, and rebelled seemed to have a harder time in my eyes. I just closed my mouth and stayed in a corner. If at least one person remained silent, the household was less noisy. The child learned that.
That doesn’t mean there wasn’t a yearning for affection and care within the child’s heart. They had simply given up long ago, so they didn’t whine to ask for it.
I think it was the first or second year of elementary school.
There was a classmate who had the opportunity to give a presentation in English in front of the entire student body. They were always neatly dressed, had good bags and stationery, and were popular with friends due to their cheerful personality. When the teacher asked a question in class, they always eagerly raised their hand, and they weren’t embarrassed even if they gave the wrong answer.
That child was particularly good at English, so the homeroom teacher would often call them to the front of the desk and have them say a few words in English in front of their classmates. Choi Hong-seo would always stare, mesmerized, at the teacher’s pleased and proud expression as they looked at the child. It felt like the most enchanting taste in the world. If I received such a look from my parents or teachers, it might taste like eating chocolate milk, strawberry milk, ice cream, and cake all at once. The child vaguely imagined.
‘Teacher, I’m so nervous! I can’t do it! I don’t want to! Call my mom!’
Before the presentation in front of the entire student body, that friend seemed unusually nervous. It would have been a daunting task for a first or second grader. The friend clung to the teacher, bursting into tears. I envied the friend’s innocence, their ability to act spoiled even with the teacher. It was a privilege only for children who were accepted. A privilege only possible for a child who didn’t know the pain of rejection.
‘Once you start, you’ll do great, just like you practiced! You’re just nervous about the waiting time.’
The teacher lowered their body to meet the child’s eye level.
‘When this happens, let’s fold your fingers one by one and count slowly. Don’t think about anything else, just focus on counting. You can do that, right?’
The friend nodded, and the teacher, holding the child’s small hand, folded each finger one by one. The simple child focused only on the fingers being folded, their eyes still glistening with tears.
For Choi Hong-seo, standing in line with classmates and watching the scene unfold, it was a magical moment.
Throughout childhood, teachers and parents were saviors, heroes, and like gods who knew everything. Each secret of the world they revealed wielded absolute power over the child.
It was perhaps the only thing that remained as a ‘result of education’ for Choi Hong-seo throughout his childhood. Even that was something overheard from someone else, not something given to Choi Hong-seo for Choi Hong-seo’s sake. Nothing was given to me for me.
Yet, Choi Hong-seo leaned on that habit. Whether it was when his turn to run came up in gym class, before starting in a new classroom at the start of a new school year, on the day he made his first, reluctant visit to the host club, or on the day he refused a second round with the ‘Gucci customer’ who claimed he’d hang himself if he couldn’t sleep with me…
After his debut, he always counted before going on stage. And it always worked. Or so he believed. In reality, he knew it wasn’t thanks to counting, but the result of practice and effort. Yet, he couldn’t break the habit. Because he didn’t feel safe alone. He wanted to believe that a method taught by an absolute someone would save him.
It wasn’t magic prepared for me from the start.
In the embrace that held me so preciously, Choi Hong-seo felt like he had returned to being a child. Back to that time, he was being protected, cared for, and cherished in boundless affection that the Choi Hong-seo of that time had never received.
I didn’t have to take responsibility for anything, nor be the target of any frustration or exploitation. In the safety of strong arms and a tender embrace, I could fall into a deep sleep.
A comfortable smile spread across my lips with a sense of fulfillment I had never felt before, yet hot tears welled up from deep within my eyes. That deep place might be the distant past. As something filled up, it seemed to push out the tears that had pooled there. If so, these tears flowing now must be the pus that had gathered in the very depths.
As far as Choi Hong-seo knew, there was only one person who could give such absolute affection.
On the blurry boundary between dream and reality, I tried hard to see him. Blinking slowly several times, I struggled to lift my eyelids. My exhaled breath was burning hot.
Lee Hae-sung, who was sitting on the edge of the bed where I was lying, came into view. I smiled at him, but he didn’t notice because there was no sound.
He was applying ointment to my arm. Even though he knew the prescribed medicine was having no effect, he didn’t give up. After showering, he diligently and carefully applied ointment to all the spots, twice a day, morning and night.
I had told him it was okay to stop. I had dissuaded him several times, but now Choi Hong-seo also passively allowed it. He knew that the act itself was a comfort to him. Like the habit of counting fingers.
“…Ajusshi.”
My lips, mouth, and throat were so dry that it was difficult to speak. At my hoarse voice, Lee Hae-sung turned his face towards me. Upon seeing me with my eyes open, he first, more than anything else, stroked my cheek with his palm, accompanied by a reassuring smile. Then, he quickly moistened my lips and mouth with a wet gauze cloth.
“This is our home. It’s okay, so sleep a little more. You still have a high fever.”
“We… have a bakery.”
Thanks to the moisture, speaking became much easier.
Lee Hae-sung smiled as if he had heard something nonsensical and tilted his head slightly. He felt my face and neck with his hands to gauge my fever, and concluded it was likely a feverish delusion.
“Why, does our Hong-seo want to eat bread? I’ll buy you as much as you want when you wake up after sleeping more. If you want a bakery instead of bread, you can buy that too. It doesn’t matter what it is, just get well soon.”
Lee Hae-sung cupped Choi Hong-seo’s right hand in both of his and kissed the hand he held.
“You said we should go to Mauritius and open a bakery, Ajusshi.”
“……”
As his lips lingered on Choi Hong-seo’s fingers, the smile slowly faded from his face. His eyes, looking at me, trembled with rare intensity. It was always like this when he heard about the past, about the time before I died. He was thrilled once again to confirm that this person before him was truly his lover.
Because no one cherished me, the child didn’t know they were precious. But now, I had learned one thing. That to him, I was an incredibly, painstakingly precious being.
This time, I would not make a foolish choice. Confessing everything to him and running away together was better than leaving him alone.
“Yes, that’s right. Our Hong-seo remembers well. But Hong-seo-ya, that’s for when something bad happens to you.”
Lee Hae-sung clasped my hands tightly as if in prayer and smiled warmly.
“Nothing bad will happen, so why would we run away to Mauritius?”
He kissed the hands he held within his own several times.
“Hong-seo just needs to sleep soundly and let the fever drop quickly. Okay?”
“……”
“Nothing bad will happen. I promise.”
I think I understood. What happened in that private room at the Nox Hotel, who had appeared. Lee Hae-sung must have known it all.
Just as Choi Hong-seo had never called him ‘Ajusshi’ when he called Lee Hae-sung at Chairman Jo’s command. Lee Hae-sung also never uttered the name ‘Hong-seo’. This thought occurred to me. He called me ‘Baby’ far more often than ‘Hong-seo’. He must have known then.
I wanted to say more, but the fever was too much. As he tidied my blanket and stroked my face, I blinked, trying to look at him longer, and then sank back into a deep sleep.
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