By Zephyria 
he road from the southern end of Yeongdong Bridge, onto the Olympic Expressway, across Tancheon Stream, past Jamsil, and toward Achasan Mountain beyond the Han River. This route was now quite familiar to the two men.
To Choi Hong-seo. It was because they occasionally headed toward Hanam for short drives, as if practicing the route to see him.
They would park the car in the charnel house parking lot and spend time there. As if training to adapt to a new environment. At times like that, Song Hyun-soo would become talkative, and at other times, he would fall silent. He would excitedly talk about memories with Choi Hong-seo, then suddenly lapse into silence. Sometimes, he couldn’t bear even five minutes in the parking lot and would urge Yoon Joo-ho to go home.
Was it because the grief was still too great?
Two anniversaries had passed. In the immediate aftermath of hearing about his death and for the following months, it was difficult to gather his senses due to grief and shock. But the reason he still couldn’t face his death head-on was because of the injustice. Even if he accepted the death as a fact and moved forward, the injustice of that death and life wouldn’t be resolved. And because he had died, it would never be resolved.
Injustice was one of the emotions Song Hyun-soo was most vulnerable to.
“The weather’s nice,”
Yoon Joo-ho in the passenger seat said, looking at the sky ahead. As he said, the sky was clear, without a single wisp of cloud.
“It is,”
Song Hyun-soo’s voice, in his short reply, was strained.
Yoon Joo-ho turned to look at his lover. He couldn’t see his eyes because he was wearing sunglasses, but unusually, his profile was stiff.
Would it have been better if it had been raining or cloudy?
Yoon Joo-ho reached out and gently covered Song Hyun-soo’s right hand, which was gripping the steering wheel. Song Hyun-soo glanced over and gave a faint smile.
The car was filled with the scent of freesias. Flowers that Song Hyun-soo had personally chosen to give to Choi Hong-seo. Yellow and white freesias.
Once they exited the expressway at the Hanam IC, it was a short distance to the charnel house. Despite the presence of a huge shopping mall and apartment complexes just 5-10 minutes away by car, the vicinity of the charnel house, surrounded by small mountains, was eerily quiet, like another world.
Song Hyun-soo parked the car not far from the building entrance. He took off his sunglasses and got out of the car without much hesitation.
He held a flower basket in his hand. In the inside pocket of his jacket was a letter he had struggled over for days, writing and erasing, before finally completing it.
Yoon Joo-ho, who had come to his side, turned Song Hyun-soo’s shoulders toward him.
“Let me see you.”
Then he straightened his clothes.
“You look very handsome.”
“You too, sunbae.”
Both men were dressed in simple, neat suits.
“I’m glad we wore suits.”
“But he’ll laugh if he sees us. We didn’t wear things like this often.”
It was a Sunday afternoon, and there seemed to be occasional visitors to the charnel house. But not so many that they were bumping into people.
Having made a reservation in advance, the two men were guided to the VIP room. The employee seemed quite surprised to see Yoon Joo-ho but tried to act nonchalant.
After the employee left, the room was silent. Bach’s Unaccompanied Cello Suites played at a very low volume.
Song Hyun-soo slowly looked around the space.
The mountain scenery was visible through the wide, open window. Sunlight streamed in, making every corner of the space bright and cheerful, and there was even a comfortable-looking sofa set in the center. Overall, it resembled the lounge of an art gallery.
Song Hyun-soo thought he knew who had enshrined Choi Hong-seo here as a ‘VIP.’
“Shall we say hello together?”
Yoon Joo-ho, who had come up behind him, asked, gently placing his hand on Song Hyun-soo’s shoulder. Song Hyun-soo turned to meet his eyes and nodded.
Without having to search, Choi Hong-seo’s niche was easy to find. Small artificial flowers surrounded the frame, and inside, self-drawn pictures, letters, and figurines surrounded the urn as if guarding it. It was the touch of fans who still hadn’t forgotten him.
Song Hyun-soo read each of the messages they had left.
You’re still so loved.
Everything you did, never letting go of hope until the end, believing you could escape, and doing your best. It was never in vain. I was wrong.
Hesitantly, he reached for Yoon Joo-ho’s hand beside him and held it tightly. The palm that squeezed back was dry and lukewarm as usual, which reassured him. Holding hands, they stood side by side in silence for a moment, offering a silent prayer.
Unlike other urns, the character ‘deceased’ was not written before Choi Hong-seo’s name. He didn’t know why, but it comforted Song Hyun-soo. An embrace that didn’t strictly separate the living from the dead. Or, it felt like a determination not to allow him to be forgotten, even if his physical death was unavoidable.
Choi Hong-seo, you were really loved by that ahjussi.
“Sunbae.”
“Yeah.”
“We should have come sooner.”
Song Hyun-soo turned to Yoon Joo-ho and smiled. His eyes were watery, but it wasn’t a forced smile. Yoon Joo-ho also smiled softly back. And he quietly looked into his tearful eyes.
Today, Song Hyun-soo had stood in front of the mirror for 30 minutes, styling his hair himself. He had changed his clothes several times. Yoon Joo-ho lightly ruffled the ends of his hair with his fingers.
“Shall I go out and wait? Would you like some time alone?”
Song Hyun-soo nodded with wet eyes.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m okay. I wrote him a letter… I wanted to give it to him when I was alone.”
Placing his hand over his left chest where the letter was, Song Hyun-soo smiled shyly. Yoon Joo-ho took one more look at Choi Hong-seo’s face, smiling brightly in the frame inside the niche, and then left the room.
As soon as he stepped out of the charnel house gate, a long sigh escaped him. It wasn’t as if he had felt particularly suffocated inside.
A smoking area was set up away from the entrance. Yoon Joo-ho took out his sunglasses from his pocket, put them on, and went there to light a cigarette.
He thought of Song Hyun-soo’s face in front of the niche. It was an expression he had never seen on him before. Sadness, longing, guilt, tension, resentment, love, regret… all tangled together, an unusual emotion.
The grief caused by someone who died before their time may never be overcome. You just gradually get used to living with it.
A plane flies low overhead. Birds fly freely in the air. The sound of cars running on the highway not far away is faintly heard.
Yet this place, where the solemnity of death had settled, seemed to be surrounded by layers of thick silence. Like a treasure ship that had sunk to the bottom of the deep sea and rotted away.
Inside and outside the charnel house, there were obvious efforts to avoid looking bleak. It almost looked like a park. Nevertheless, the dark shadow of death could not be completely removed.
Even though the sunlight was strong enough to need sunglasses, it felt like standing in the shade.
Yoon Joo-ho took out his phone.
An interview article with Song Hyun-soo, released by a media outlet a few days ago, was displayed.
He had already read it dozens of times, but he read it again slowly, as if savoring it.
Yoon Joo-ho’s gaze lingered on one particular passage.
Beginning: What kind of actor do you want to become in the future?
Song Hyun-soo: I’m not young as a rookie, but it’s true that I’m still a fledgling as an actor. So, 10, 20, 30 years from now feels like a very distant and vague future. But at this moment, my desire to act well and improve is sincere. If I encounter a role that I think I can do better than anyone else, I will never give it up. Because I’m desperate.
‘I will never give up a role that I think I can do better than anyone else.’
Behind his sunglasses, Yoon Joo-ho blinked slowly. Song Hyun-soo as an interviewee stimulated Yoon Joo-ho the actor. Desperate, as if acting was all he had…
Yoon Joo-ho threw the cigarette butt into the ashtray provided and lingered near the gate. He didn’t want to go back to the car. He wanted to wait for him as close as possible.
As two or three groups came out of the charnel house and passed Yoon Joo-ho, Song Hyun-soo was seen walking out of the gate. Ridiculously, he seemed thinner in the meantime. Yoon Joo-ho took off his sunglasses and stopped in his place to wait for him. Emotionally exhausted and drained of energy, Song Hyun-soo steadily walked down the stairs. When he came close enough to make eye contact with Yoon Joo-ho, he smiled.
It wasn’t the relief of finishing a delayed homework assignment. Nor was it the catharsis of having overcome something.
Yoon Joo-ho wordlessly opened his arms to Song Hyun-soo, who was a few steps away. His reddened eyes curved, and he rushed into his arms with a brighter smile. They hugged each other tightly. They felt each other, ear to ear, cheek to cheek, chest to chest. There was still not a single wisp of cloud in the sky.