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Oddly enough, the split in her life into Before and After doesn’t come from escaping the games; it comes from the press of a gun to the head of a girl she barely knows.
Before the gun were cold mornings and even colder nights, both inside and outside the game halls.
And after, is Ji-yeong.
Ji-yeong who follows her like a lost puppy. Ji-yeong who doesn’t ask to stay or offer a reason for why she should. Instead, she falls in step beside Saebyeok like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Saebyeok doesn’t get it, but refrains from saying so. For as much as Ji-yeong’s presence unsettles her- both because she’s not used to being in such close proximity to someone who’s basically a stranger and because that stranger happens to be a girl she cried over just a day ago- an equal, if not bigger part of her wants for Ji-yeong to stay.
At least for now. At least until she gets her feet back under her.
Is that selfish? Maybe. But Ji-yeong doesn’t seem put out by their unspoken agreement. After all, she’s the one who initiated it by refusing to leave Saebyeok's side.
“I don’t know how you can drink that,” Ji-yeong says, sticking out her tongue.
It’s 6am on a Tuesday, an hour and time that Ji-yeong thinks is “wretched,” which isn’t saying much, since she seems to think that most things are, especially Saebyeok’s straight black coffee.
Ji-yeong had ordered an iced tea with so much sugar that it turned into a white slush at the bottom of her cup. She idly stirs it around with her straw, watching Saebyeok like she’s the most interesting thing in the world. And maybe she is, because apparently drinking straight black coffee is one of the most despicable things Ji-yeong has ever seen.
“I mean really,” Ji-yeong continues. “If I didn’t know you were such a softy, I would’ve run for the hills by now. Definitely a red flag."
Saebyeok bristles slightly. She’s not a softy, and she’s done nothing up until this point to give that impression. Except, of course, for crying in front of Ji-yeong and begging for her to just throw the marble again, to at least put in an effort before throwing her life away for no reason.
No. Not for no reason. For Saebyeok. Which is close enough.
But she would've reacted that way if anyone had been in Ji-yeong's position, wouldn't she? Despite everything, they’re still strangers. Not even friends. Just two people who met by chance and happen to know the most torrid details about each other.
So maybe they’re something worse than strangers, but definitely nothing better.
“I’m not a softy,” Saebyeok says, choosing to focus on Ji-yeong’s gross misreading of her rather than anything else. “And you’re free to go.”
“Oh totally, because I’d love to walk out into the rain alone. I wonder if some old homeless boomer will adopt me and teach me martial arts. Would be a pretty sick backstory, don’t you think?”
Saebyeok just shakes her head, trying not to think of Ji-yeong’s actual backstory that she absolutely should not know about, and stares out the window.
The sky is overcast and earlier, when they’d been unceremoniously dropped off in the damp, colorless streets of Seoul, it had smelled like rain. It’s not raining now, but Saebyeok doesn’t doubt that it will be soon.
“So,” Ji-yeong says as she stretches her arms out over the table like a pampered cat, unbothered by Saebyeok’s lack of a response. “Where to next?”
The pit stop for coffee had really just been an excuse to prolong going home. Not that her shoe-box apartment is much of a home. If she’s being completely honest, it barely qualifies as a place to sleep. The futon sucks, the AC doesn’t work, and the neighbors are loud. But it’s the only thing she has, and that has to count for something.
Ji-yeong doesn’t offer an alternative. Doesn’t mention a house or someplace else for her to go, which makes sense, considering she spent the past few years behind bars, and the few years before that cowering in a house that was probably less of a home than Saebyeok’s apartment.
What a pathetic pair they make.
But, even more pathetic than that, is a question she’s been trying not to ask. Where would Ji-yeong end up if Saebyeok didn’t want her company? Where would she go?
It’s not that Saebyeok is necessarily planning on tossing her out. But she assumes that whatever threads are still tethering them together- trauma, necessity, the fact that neither of them has anything better to do than be with each other- finally fray and eventually snap, they’ll go their separate ways.
“You don’t have to stick around,” Saebyeok says, taking a sip of her coffee.
“I know,” Ji-yeong says. “But I want to.”
“Or do you have to?” Saebyeok asks. She can barely take care of herself, let alone anyone else. That's how it's been for years, and without the prize money, she sees no reason for that to change.
The thought of someone else being dependent on her fills her with dread. But the thought of being alone right now- with her thoughts, her memories, the sound of gunshots still ringing in her ears- is somehow worse.
Another selfish reason for Ji-yeong to stay.
What's less selfish, but significantly harder for Saebyeok to acknowledge now that the adrenaline high from the past few hours has subsided, is that she feels bad for Ji-yeong. Whenever she looks her in the eyes for too long, the world around her fades and she's back in that dull orange neighborhood with her hands fisted in Ji-yeong's shirt, searching her eyes for something- anything- other than the horrible acceptance of her own impending death.
Ji-yeong had said she didn't have anything to live for. That she was just continuing on because she didn't know what else to do. She's been through so much, probably hasn't caught a break for years, and has nothing to show for it but a tacit acceptance of her own premature death. Now that might be the biggest tragedy since the Korean War. But she's not dead, and she'll have to figure something out to keep herself going. For some reason, Saebyeok wants to be there when she does.
“I have an Uncle,” Ji-yeong says. “In the States. He smells bad but he'll do in a pinch. You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“Okay,” Saebyeok says, feeling slightly lighter. Ji-yeong has options. Not much one of one, but still someone in the world besides Saebyeok that she can turn to when the threads tethering them together inevitably snap. Which makes their current arrangement a choice rather than a necessity.
Saebyeok sighs and glances out the window again. "Come on. I want to get home before it starts raining."
They don’t make it back to Saebyeok’s apartment before it starts raining, though they never really stood a chance- it started raining almost as soon as they stepped outside the cafe.
Ji-yeong whines about how they should go back inside and wait it out, but Saebyeok has done enough waiting. She needs to get on with her life, even if that means Ji-yeong will have to get a little wet. It’s not her fault that Ji-yeong has such thin skin.
Despite her protests, Ji-yeong follows her into the rain, shivering so hard that Saebyeok suspects she’s playing it up just to get a rise out of her. Cheol used to do the same thing, and Saebyeok had quickly learned not to give in to his complaints unless she absolutely had to. If she did, he would get emboldened, which only meant more trouble.
But Saebyeok is tired, wet, and cold and really doesn’t want to listen to Ji-yeong complain any longer, so she roughly shoves her windbreaker in Ji-yeong’s direction, not looking back to see if it falls into Ji Yeong’s hands or onto the ground.
“See,” Ji-yeong says as she shrugs on the windbreaker. “You’re a softy.”
This time, Saebyeok ignores her.
She’s made this trek dozens of times, but she’s still disoriented from everything that’s happened in the past few days, and the rain makes everything look the same.
They end up backtracking a couple of times before stumbling into an all-too-familiar alley. Her apartment building is an old, grey thing protruding from the earth like a rotten tooth. All the windows on the ground floor are covered with bars, and all the ones on the higher floors are fixed shut, as if the entire place is allergic to the outside world, content to fester both inside and out.
“You never told me you lived in such luxury,” Ji-yeong says. “You were holding out on me.”
“There wasn’t a good time to mention it,” Saebyeok sighs.
“I think planning our trip to Jeju Island would’ve been a great time,” Ji-yeong smiles again, slightly tentative. "A point of comparison."
Saebyeok winces. Despite having happened just a day ago, that whole conversation feels like a distant memory, eclipsed by what came after (and what didn't, but she doesn't want to think about that). But what she can clearly remember, more than anything else except for the gun being pressed to Ji-yeong’s head, is the fantasy of going to Jeju Island. It was the only thing that made their time together during the game bearable- the thought that maybe, somehow, they could escape and do something they were both in desperate need of.
But now, having been spat out by the very same people who had been so eager to gobble them up just days before, that fantasy feels even less realistic than it did yesterday. Saebyeok glances at Ji-yeong, sees her smiling brightly for what might be the first time since they got to Seoul, and she can't bring herself to do anything other than nod.
Saebyeok fits her key into a door tucked away behind a few steaming pipes protruding from the wall and steps inside, only pausing for a moment to hold it open for Ji-yeong.
The hallway is cold and colorless, lit only by a few fluorescent bulbs that would be more at home in a morgue than an apartment complex. But if nothing else, it’s familiar, as are the stairs that spiral up to the fifth floor and to a hallway nearly identical to the one they came through, save for the fact that this one leads to Saebyeok’s apartment.
“Luxury,” Saebyeok mutters. Yeah right. She’s glad Cheol and her Mom don’t have to see this, and heat creeps into her cheeks when she realizes that she doesn't want Ji-yeong to see it either.
Like the rest of the building, her apartment isn’t anything special. There’s a futon against one wall, a desk without a single item on it save for a dusty old lamp beneath a window that has long since gone foggy with age, a small box TV in the corner that barely works, a cramped bathroom, and a kitchenette.
Ji-yeong whistles, hands in the pockets of Saebyeok’s windbreaker, as she takes it all in. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Very homey.”
“You can stop teasing me now,” Saebyeok says, as if she ever gave Ji-yeong permission to do that in the first place. Though putting up with it for all this time may as well be. A life-or-death situation does that to a person, she supposes.
“But the way your nose scrunches up whenever I do is just too cute,” Ji-yeong flops onto Saebyeok’s bed without asking for permission, which Saebyeok definitely wouldn’t have given her because she’s soaking wet and now the sheets are probably damp.
But she’s momentarily distracted from her irritation by Ji-yeong’s words. Her nose scrunches when she’s upset? And it’s… cute?
More teasing.
She mentally shakes herself. Ji-yeong just likes to get a rise out of her. Out of everyone, really. She’s not special, and she definitely doesn’t need to entertain the other girl’s antics.
“I’ll sleep on the floor tonight,” Saebyeok says, pointedly ignoring Ji-yeong’s comment.
“No you won't,” Ji-yeong says, though she makes no move to peel herself from the bed. “I’m going to be a good guest and sleep on the floor, and you’re going to sleep in the bed and finally get some rest.”
“It’s wet now anyway,” Saebyeok says flatly. “I don’t want to sleep in it.”
Ji-yeong laughs, cheeks red with amusement.
“And I’m perfectly well-rested,” Saebyeok adds.
“You’re a bad liar, you know that?”
“And you’re a bad guest,” she says. “Now get off so I can dry the blanket.”
“I thought you already gave up on the bed?” Ji-yeong asks innocently.
“I did,” Saebyeok grunts as she heaves the blanket from under Ji-yeong’s surprisingly light body, causing her to tumble to the floor with a soft thud and a groan. “But I don’t want to have to deal with you complaining about being cold later.”
“So chivalrous,” Ji-yeong says, not moving from her place on the floor.
Saebyeok hangs the blanket from the hook on the back of her door and begins searching for her hair dryer. It’s crude, but she doesn’t have the money to waste on an extra trip to the laundry machine downstairs.
“I can’t move,” Ji-yeong says suddenly.
“You’re seriously that cold?” Saebyeok isn’t worried, really, but if something’s wrong with Ji-yeong- God forbid she caught a cold- then that’s just one more in a long list of things Saebyeok will have to deal with.
“Nope,” Ji-yeong says, clearly trying and failing to sound flippant. "The floor just likes me so much that it doesn’t want to let go.”
Saebyeok stares at her expectantly, waiting for her to elaborate. But Ji-yeong just stares at the ceiling as water from her hair begins to dribble down her cheeks and neck.
After a moment, Saebyeok returns to the task of cleaning up Ji-yeong's mess, content to let the other girl contemplate whatever it is that has her so unsettled. She'll either talk about it or she won't. But before Saebyeok can turn on the hair dryer, Ji-yeong speaks again.
“I should be dead.”
Saebyeok’s heart swings into her ribs. “Stop it,” she says, harsher than she means to. “You shouldn’t be and you’re not.”
Ji-yeong just purses her lips. “I accepted it, you know. Didn't really mind it. Except you definitely did," she pauses. "And it would’ve been a totally kickass death. But I dunno. It’s just weird to think about.”
Weird isn’t the word Saebyeok would use. "You should mind it."
“Maybe,” Ji-yeong pauses. “I guess I do now. I’m glad I got to see how much of a psycho you are.”
“Because of the coffee?”
“Among other things.”
“You need to come up with a better reason than that.” Saebyeok doesn't know why she bothers. Arguing with Ji-yeong is like arguing with a brick wall. But still…
“Any ideas?”
Saebyeok hesitates. What can she possibly say? That the whole world awaits her? It doesn't, and they're both keenly aware of that. But maybe she doesn't need the whole world. “There’s Jeju Island.”
“I guess there is, huh?” Ji-yeong says, suddenly finding the energy to sit up with a bright smile. "Now that you've said that, no take-backsies. We're going. And I'm going to teach you how to really splurge and you're gonna have so much fun that you'll forever be indebted to me."
Saebyeok rolls her eyes, but she can't help but smile a little. She doubts this little fantasy of theirs will ever come to fruition, but it’s nice to think about. And if it gets Ji-yeong off her floor then that’s a win in her book. “Whatever.”
“Take that, stupid floor!” she gaves Saebyeok a lopsided grin. “You saved me. How can I ever repay you?”
By not ever putting yourself in a position where you could die again. Or get hurt. Or get any other stupid ideas in line with sacrificing yourself for a stranger.
What comes out instead is, “Leave me be.”
“Besides that.”
“Be quiet.”
“Come onnnn, Saebyeok.”
The way Ji-yeong says her name so casually makes Saebyeok’s lip twitch. It’s not that she hates it, exactly, but it unsettles her in a way she doesn’t understand. The only people who’ve ever used her name like that are her parents and siblings, most of which are gone now. But being reminded of them, of times when they were around her so often that using her name was a fixture of every day, makes her feel warm.
“Quieter, then,” Saebyeok amends.
“No promises,” Ji-yeong says, clearly enjoying herself. “By the way, I have a self-storage unit. Can we go?”
“Why not just go by yourself?”
Ji-yeong shrugs. “Why not come with me?”
Saebyeok doesn’t have a good answer to that. She doesn’t want to go back out in the rain, and she definitely doesn’t want to listen to Ji-yeong complain about it again, but she doesn’t have anything better to do.
“There’s a crepe place near there,” Ji-yeong adds.
Yeah. She definitely doesn’t have anything better to do.
As it turns out, Ji-yeong’s self-storage unit is across town. It takes a thirty-minute walk and a twenty-minute bus ride to get to the facility and another ungodly amount of time for Ji-yeong to find her exact unit, which Saebyeok is almost positive they passed multiple times before Ji-yeong realized it was hers.
All of Ji-yeong's belongings are somehow crammed into a space no bigger than a closet. Despite having a big personality- and a big life to go with it- she doesn't own much. A few boxes filled with God knows what are stacked up in the corner, and an assortment of black trash bags are strewn on the floor.
“What is all this?” Saebyeok asks less because she actually cares and more because she’s starting to realize how much of a hassle it’s going to be to get all of this back to her apartment.
“I don’t know,” Ji-yeong skips inside like a kid on Christmas morning. “This stuff has been here since… well, you know. My Uncle chose what to keep.”
“Oh,” Saebyeok says, suddenly hit with the realization that Ji-yeong hasn’t had control over her life in a very long time.
She kneels beside Ji-yeong, and together they start going through the remains of Ji-yeong’s life: Some clothes- most of which are probably too small for Ji-yeong now- some kids' books, a couple of stuffed animals that have definitely seen better days, an entire box full of posters for boy-bands Saebyeok has never heard of, and a photo album bound in soft red leather. Inside, dulled by their cloudy plastic sleeves, are a collection of pictures.
There’s some that are unmistakably of Ji-yeong when she was younger, all chubby cheeks and wild hair, smiling in a way that reminds Saebyeok of Cheol. There’s some of her when she was slightly older, probably still in middle or high school, with a defiant glint in her eyes to prove it. But there are none of her as she is now. There’s some with other people, somtimes with Ji-yeong and sometimes not.
It’s almost always a man and a woman.
Saebyeok doesn’t have to ask who they are. She already knows based on the look on Ji-yeong’s face.
Ji-yeong stares at one of the pictures with an unreadable expression. It’s a polaroid of Ji Yeong’s family, all three of them squashed together to fit in the frame, standing in front of a white house with tacky blue shutters.
Saebyeok shivers. Is that the house where it happened?
Ji-yeong stays quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time. Saebyeok shuffles awkwardly, not knowing what to do. She has half a mind to gather whatever she can in her arms and drag Ji-yeong out of here before she gets more upset.
But then, before she gets the chance, Ji-yeong suddenly snorts. “He’s uglier than I remember.”
Saebyeok blinks, taken aback. “The ugliest.”
Ji-yeong gives her a curious look before laughing. “Does your apartment have smoke detectors?”
“Probably. Why?”
Ji-yeong shrugs. The mischievous glint in her eyes is obscured by how glossy they are, and Saebyeok realizes that she’s dangerously close to crying.
“We can make a fire when it stops raining,” Saebyeok says quickly, even though she doesn’t know where they’ll do it or with what authority. She’s pretty sure lighting a bonfire in the park is at least a misdemeanor, but for some reason that doesn't bother her. She's skirted the law her whole life, sometimes for worse reasons than this. Though she doesn't know exactly what this is. For once, she can't tell what Ji-yeong is feeling. Can't even guess.
Guilt? Longing? Anger? A combination of them? None of them?
"I didn't realize you were such a rebel," Ji-yeong says, though she doesn't take her eyes off the picture. "I like it."
"You should put that away," Saebyeok says. She may not know what Ji-yeong is feeling, but she knows it's nothing good.
"Probably."
Ji-yeong flips the page, quickly scanning it, before suddenly standing up and dropping the album unceremoniously to the ground.
"He's always smiling," Ji-yeong says. This time her expression is unmistakably angry. "You know, he never smiled like that when it was just us. He was always mad about something. Or nothing. I think he just liked to be mad."
"Why did your Uncle think you'd want this?" Saebyeok asks.
"I barely know him," Ji-yeong says simply. "And he doesn't know my Dad as well as he thinks he does."
Saebyeok frowns. "He doesn't know about…?"
"No one does. Except for the police. And my case worker. And my parole officer. You know, all the people who pretend to care but don't. And even if I could tell him, why would I? He wouldn't believe me."
"Oh," Saebyeok says. Then, because that doesn’t seem goos enough, she adds,"I believe you."
"You dont count, silly," Ji-yeong bumps her shoulder. "No embarassing encounters, remember?"
Saebyeok smiles softly. "Maybe not. But I still believe you."
"Then believe me when I say that I'm starving," Ji-yeong whines.
"You didn't want to eat earlier."
"I don't trust your taste anymore. That coffee shop was not it." she shivers. "Besides. Crepes, remember?"
Saebyeok does remember. After having spent the better part of a week eating nothing but the barest of minimums to keep her strength up, the thought of gorging herself on something sweet makes her mouth water. “Lead the way.”
Saebyeok quickly learns that Ji-yeong is hopelessly bad with directions. She might be even worse than Cheol, which is saying a lot since he's not even allowed outside the children's home without an escort.
But by some miracle or divine intervention, they arrive at the crepe place a little before 2pm.
It's small, quaint, and might even be claustrophobic if not for the smell of sweet dough sticking to every surface. It reminds Saebyeok of when she was younger- before the plague, before the gunshots, before the bodies that never seemed to stop piling up- and her Mom would surprise her with pancakes for breakfast. She didn't realize until later how much of a luxury that was, and how much she'd miss them when mornings like that became scarce and then, slowly, nonexistent.
They slide into a booth that sticks to Saebyeok's pants and toss the black trash bags onto the floor beneath the table. Ji-yeong immediately loses herself in the menu with a series of oohs and ahhs .
"How about this one?" She asks excitedly, but doesn't give Saebyeok the chance to look at it before flipping to the next one, over and over again, sounding more and more awe-struck each time.
In the end, Saebyeok gets herself a simple strawberry crepe and Ji-yeong manages to find the most over the top thing Saebyeok has ever seen- it’s practically overflowing with fruit and cream, probably equal parts syrup and batter.
"Have you ever had crepes before?" Ji-yeong asks with her mouth full.
"Once," Saebyeok says. "But these are better."
"I know all the good places," Ji-yeong grins.
"Not that you can find them."
Ji-yeong grasps her chest in mock-offense. "I got us here, didn't I? Besides, I like wandering around with you."
"You complained the whole time getting here." It had stopped raining, but the sun refused to show itself, trapping the cold moisture beneath the clouds, which Ji-yeong cared for even less than the rain.
"I just like wearing your windbreaker," Ji-yeong shrugs. Of course, she's still wearing it. Saebyeok wonders if she'll ever get it back. "We should go out later."
"We're out now."
"I mean actually go out. To a club. Or a night market. Or dancing."
None of those things sound all that appealing to Saebyeok, and she can't fathom how Ji-yeong has the energy to even think about doing any of that.
"Maybe tomorrow," Saebyeok says. Another thing she doubts will actually happen. Neither of them has money to spare, and Saebyeok is already anxious about how much the crepes are going to cost. She should be saving every cent she has- Cheol and her Mom need it way more than she does, after all.
But it's virtually impossible to deny a smile like Ji-yeong's, and Saebyeok is in a particularly influential mood today.
"Have you ever been to a night market?" Ji-yeong asks.
"No."
Ji-yeong gasps again. "Whaaat? Do you live under a rock? Are you allergic to joy?"
"I don't have the time or money for things like that," Saebyeok says plainly. "And you don't either."
"That's why it's called splurging," Ji-yeong points her fork at Saebyeok, fixing her with self-satisfied look. "Besides, I'll pay for it. My treat."
"Why not just go alone?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
Saebyeok pauses. "Why would it be fun if I came along?"
"Because you're fun," Ji-yeong says, but she must see the doubt on Saebyeok’s face because she sets her fork down and clasps her hands like they’re about to have a serious conversation. “I feel like I’ve already done everything. Which is stupid, because I haven’t, duh. I’m cool but not that cool. But I’ve done a lot.”
“Is that why you’re broke?”
“Shut up,” Ji-yeong laughs. “Anyway, I don’t have very many fond memories of the things I have done, since that pig was usually involved.”
“Your Dad?” Saebyeok asks, less because she needs to and more because she wants Ji-yeong to know that she’s listening.
“The very same,” Ji-yeong says. “So now I have to do all those things again, to make sure that I have fond memories of them. None of them count right now. But because I can’t experience them for the first time again, I want to watch you experience them for the first time, instead. I think it’ll have the same effect.”
“How do you know? We haven’t done anything.”
Ji-yeong pauses and her brows pinch together for a moment before slowly smoothing over. “I used to come here all the time. With my Mom. It was my favorite place. And probably hers to, because I liked it so much.”
Did Ji-yeong used to live around here, then? Saebyeok glances outside, trying to imagine a younger Ji-yeong skipping down the sidewalk, before everything in her life went to shit. Or was it shit back then, too? When was the fateful Before and After that set her on this horribly depressing trajectory?
“But for as much as I liked this place, I hated it too. Because I always had to go home afterwards,” Ji-yeong looks down at her plate. “And I hated going home. But that’s the thing I remember most about coming here- the dread I felt when it was time to leave.”
“Oh,” Saebyeok says. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “But I like being here with you and knowing that I get to go back to your shitty apartment later.”
“I thought you said it was luxurious.”
Ji-yeong laughs and some of the tension in her cheeks smooths over. “It’s luxurious to me. ”
“You’re insane,” Saebyeok rolls her eyes.
Ji-yeong stuffs another bite in her mouth, as if she just remembered she was supposed to be eating, before swallowing and looking up at Saebyeok with a soft, almost fond smile. “I know I’ll like this memory, later.”
For some reason, those words hit Saebyeok like a freight train. She swallows thickly, trying to come up with something adequate to say, but all she can manage is, “Me too.”
“In conclusion,” Ji-yeong says, sounding lighter than she had just moments before. ‘We’re going out tomorrow. To a night market.”
“I want to see my brother tomorrow,” Saebyeok says.
“After that,” Ji-yeong replies.
Saebyeok nods. It’s a bad idea- a very expensive, time-wasting kind of idea- but she doesn’t say no. It’ll be nice to have something to look forward to. Leaving Cheol always felt like the come-down from a holiday. Like her whole day or week or month was building to a moment that felt like it lasted only minutes, leaving her craving for more.
But afterwards, instead of that all-consuming dread and guilt she usually feels, she’ll have something else to think about. Something else to do besides feel sorry for herself.
And if that’s what splurging is, how can that be such a bad thing?
It’s only after they make their way to Saebyeok’s apartment- pockets conspicuously lighter in a way that makes Saebyeok’s stomach turn- that she realizes she doesn’t own enough of anything to sustain two people. She barely has enough belongings to make this place feel lived in, let alone like it has any personality.
All in all, she’s broke in more ways than one. But she’s still better off than Ji-yeong, who hadn’t kept anything that actually made sense to keep. She refused to leave any of the stuffed animals, saying something about how they were probably lonely and it would be horribly depressing to leave them in such a dreadful place, and she claimed that Saebyeok’s apartment was practically begging for her posters, so it would be a crime to leave them behind. But she hadn’t taken any of the clothes. When Saebyeok had pressed her on it, Ji-yeong had said, “I’ll just buy more. Or steal some of yours.”
Which is exactly what ends up happening.
Saebyeok sacrifices a T-shirt and some shorts, but she doesn’t have the mental fortitude to offer up anything more than that. Ji-yeong will have to make do with what she has for now. Maybe tomorrow, when Saebyeok is visiting Cheol, she can scrape together enough money to buy some new clothes.
Ji-yeong heads to the bathroom for a much-needed shower while Saebyeok relaxes back on the futon. It’s just as hard as she remembers, but it feels like a warm embrace compared to where she’s been. Just a couple nights ago she’d been sleeping on the floor, curled against the wall, waiting for all hell to break loose as soon as the lights shut off.
Anything is better than that.
Nothing like the end of the world to make her appreciate what she has, however pitiful.
She idly turns on the TV, flipping through channels that are static more often than not, waiting for Ji-yeong to finish. After a few minutes, she abandons the effort and turns her focus to cleaning the room.
Ji-yeong had haphazardly tossed her things on the floor, not bothering to give them a second look. Saebyeok refuses to be the one to deface her walls with the posters, but she decides that sitting the stuffed animals on her desk is a worthy compromise. As she’s reaching down to grab the last one- a stuffed bunny missing half an ear- she sees something shiny on the ground.
It’s one of the laminate photos from the album, escaped from its sleeve. Saebyeok grabs it before Ji-yeong can see. She’s in a good mood, and Saebyeok doesn’t want to dampen it with more talk about her past.
They’ve done enough of that to last them both a lifetime.
Go figure, it’s a picture of Ji-yeong and her dad. He’s smiling, with his arm wrapped around Ji-yeong’s shoulders, though her smile seems significantly more strained. Or maybe that’s just because Saebyeok knows what to look for.
She stares at the picture, trying to imagine this man doing whatever it is that he did to Ji-yeong. He looks shockingly normal, not like a monster or a demon or any other wretched thing to reflect who he truly is. And Ji-yeong… well. She looks like any kid her age, so normal, in fact, that Saebyeok wouldn’t be able to guess anything wrong was wrong if she didn’t already know. Except for the bruise on her wrist. At first, Saebyeok thinks it might just be a trick of the light or the result of some error when processing the photograph but… no.
It’s dark and splotchy, stark against Ji-yeong’s pale skin. Unmistakable, but small. So small that anyone giving this picture a cursory glance would miss it.
She bites her lip, resisting the urge to tear the picture in half.
“You’re nosy,” Ji-yeong says and Saebyeok nearly leaps out of her skin.
“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, suddenly overcome with guilt. Ji-yeong never said she couldn't look at the pictures, but it still feels like prying into something that's not her business. “It fell and-”
Ji-yeong laughs. “I don’t care if you look at it. It’s just a picture.”
But that’s not true, is it? Ji-yeong wouldn’t have reacted the way she did back at the self-storage facility if it was just a picture, and she definitely wouldn’t be planning on burning it.
Saebyeok purses her lips, searches Ji-yeong’s eyes for any hint that she might be exaggerating her indifference and, seeing none, sets the photo on the desk, face down. “I’m going to shower.”
As soon as the warm water hits her back, the tension in her muscles bleeds out of her in short, sporadic bursts, washed down the drain with all the dirt and grit that’s been caked to her skin for days. The deterioration of her body was easy to ignore when the survival of it past the nebulous tomorrow was her chief concern, but now that her survival is guaranteed- as long as nothing crazy happens- she feels filthy.
She scrubs her arms, her legs, her chest, over and over again until her skin turns red-raw.
So many people. No. So many strangers. What happened to them was unfortunate, but no more remarkable than what happened to the people who died in the plague all those years ago. A series of faces, indistict and sameish for how quickly they had passed through Saebyeok’s life. Nothing more than a statistic looming in the back of her mind, a reminder of the world’s cruelty.
And just yesterday, Ji-yeong had been one of them.
It feels impossible for that to be true. For there to have been a time so recent that Ji-yeong’s life and personality were totally unknown to Saebyeok, and therefore totally irrelevant. They may as well have not existed. She may as well have not existed. If she had died, she would’ve been nothing more to Saebyeok than one of those unremarkable faces, the marginal addition to a statistic that only ever grew.
A single conversation had changed that. A mere hour among the dozens she’d spent in that place.
If she had sat down on those steps with anyone else, would she feel the same way about them now? Would they become distinct, like her grandmother and grandfather and brother, and become another tragedy in her life if they died?
She leans against the glass, shivering at the cold clamminess, before sinking to the ground.
People. So many people. Each with their own story. Their own reason for being there, and their own reason for wanting out. Forced to die, forced to kill each other, forced to forfeit everything and more just for the mere chance at having a better life.
And what do any of them- the survivors, just a few handfuls out of hundreds- have to show for it? Saebyeok is back where she started, sulking in her dingy apartment without a reliable way to pay rent and no way to retrieve Cheol or her Mom, no better off than she had been a week prior.
But her stomach is full of crepes, a treat she hasn’t had in years, and tomorrow she’s going to a night market for the first time. It’s not much, and definitely not enough to assuage the ache of dread in her chest, but it’s something.
It’s Ji-yeong.
So maybe Saebyeok is better off than she was before, if only slightly. Maybe it’s because Ji-yeong is one of the only people in the world who understands what Saebyeok just went thorough; maybe it’s because she’s real in a way that all those other people weren’t (and can’t be, if she wants to stay even the slightest bit sane); or maybe it’s because Ji-yeong plans for the future like it’s something to be looked forward to, even if the reasons for why it should be looked forward to don't come easy to her. Saebyeok is beginning to wonder if they come easy to anyone.
Maybe she's the one that’s dependent on Ji-yeong, and not the other way around, like she originally thought. Wouldn’t that just be a cruel twist of fate?
She shudders more forcefully than she expects to, and her bare feet squeak against the tiles.
Coming back to herself, she realizes that the water is practically frigid and only growing colder with each passing second. She springs to her feet, flails for the door handle, and nearly stumbles onto the ground again, this time with significantly less grace.
Of course, Ji-yeong had used all the hot water.
When she emerges from the shower after what feels like years but was probably less than thirty minutes, Saebyeok finds Ji-yeong sitting on the futon, totally engrossed in a show playing on the TV. She looks so small in Saebyeok’s clothes, almost child-like, which definitely isn’t helped by the fact that she’s clutching the stuffed bunny to her chest.
“What are you doing?” Saebyeok asks.
“Spending quality time with Bun Hee,” Ji-yeong says, not taking her eyes off the TV. “He missed me.”
Saebyeok laughs, startling both of them. It spills out of her uncontrollably, raw and unhinged like something vital in her finally decided to snap. And maybe it has, because there’s no way in hell that this girl clutching a stuffed bunny to her chest had, just hours before, watched people’s heads burst all around her, and was willing to go the same way, just to save Saebyeok’s life. And, even more impossible than that, is the fact that Saebyeok had felt a faint inclination to do the same.
Just throw it again. Please, please, please.
People. So many people. Separated from her only by chance. Did they all have quirks like this? Prized possessions, the value of which would never be understood by anyone else? Did they all have an enduring kindness like Ji-yeong, despite the circumstances that led them to such an unkind place?
The questions compound in her head, one after another, until she’s sure she’s going crazy.
She doesn’t realize Ji-yeong is standing in front of her until the stuffed bunny is practically shoved into her face, hand forcefully outstretched by Ji-yeong’s fingers, to poke at her cheek.
“Bun Hee thinks you look upset,” Ji-yeong says.
Saebyeok blinks, staring into the plastic eyes of the stuffed animal like they somehow hold the secrets of the universe.
“Does Bun Hee also know he’s about to be smacked to the floor?” Saebyeok says. The comment falls flat. Well, flat er than she intends it to, but Ji-yeong doesn’t seem to mind.
“Why’s that?” Instead of pulling the bunny away, Ji-yeong holds its arms out so that they wrap around Saebyeok’s neck, rough from years of being well-loved. “He just wants to give you a hug.”
Saebyeok swallows thickly. For the first time since the gun was raised to Ji-yeong’s head, she feels like crying. Which is stupid, because there’s nothing to cry about. She’s safe, Ji-yeong is safe, and things are back to normal.
This is what she wanted, isn’t it? Besides the prize money, of course. But that was a pipe dream, and she knows it.
Why she can’t just be happy to be here? Just a day ago, the thought of coming home was more than enough to sustain her. But now...
“A hug?” Saebyeok is only half paying attention. “It seems more like he’s trying to strangle me.”
“Hm.” Now Ji-yeong does pull him away and tosses him unceremoniously onto the futon, turning her full attention to Saebyeok.
Her gaze is piercing, like she can see right through Saebyeok and to all the things she tries so desperately to hide. But she hadn’t tried to hide them yesterday, had she? Which somehow makes Ji-yeong’s expression all the more terrifying.
“He’s pretty bad at hugs,” Ji-yeong murmurs. “Do you want a real one instead?”
Saebyeok’s lips begin to tremble and she’s suddenly aware of how close she is to breaking down again. Not because Ji-yeong is about to die, but because she isn’t, and she sure as hell doesn’t know what to make of that conundrum.
“You’re a hardened criminal,” Saebyeok says. “How can you be good at hugs?”
Ji-yeong tilts her head, looking up at Saebyeok with half-imploring, half-teasing eyes. “That’s why I’m so good at them.”
Ji-yeong’s statement doesn’t make a whole lot of sense and might’ve caused Saebyeok to laugh under different circumstances. But right now, in the grips of what might be some early on-set clinical insanity for all she knows, a hug doesn’t sound so bad.
So she nods, giving in to her whims for the second time that day, and Ji-yeong winds her arms around Saebyeok’s waist. She’s small, barely able to peek above Saebyeok’s shoulders, but the warmth she exudes far surpasses her height or any other physical metric. She tucks herself so closely to her that Saebyeok begins to wonder if Ji-yeong needs this just as much as she does.
Tentatively, she returns the embrace, rests her chin on Ji-yeong’s head, and loses herself in the feeling of Ji-yeong’s hot and slow breaths against her neck. She thinks of Cheol and how, given just another year or two, he’ll probably be tall enough to hug Saebyeok just like this. She wonders if it’ll feel as nice as this does.
“I haven’t hugged a friend in years,” Ji-yeong whispers. “I started to think I never would.”
Saebyeok’s breath hitches. “We’re friends?”
Ji-yeong laughs, still quiet, and Saebyeok feels her chest expand and contract in rapid succession against her own. “You really are dense. I’m wearing your clothes, sleeping over at your apartment, and nearly squeezing the life out of you. I think that makes us friends. Oh,” She looks up at Saebyeok. “And we ate crepes together, which is a totally life-changing bond.”
Saebyeok thinks that eating crepes together is probably last on the long list of things contributing to this so-called life-changing bond. But it’s hard to think about those things with Ji-yeong so close, so she lets them fade into the ever-present fog in the back of her mind.
“Right,” Saebyeok snorts. “And you’re not nearly squeezing the life out of me. I doubt you could.”
Ji-yeong makes a disgruntled noise against Saebyeok’s neck before her arms tighten considerably. Saebyeok laughs, but it’s getting harder and harder to take deep breaths as Ji-yeong coils more tightly around her, groaning from the exertion. If anyone else had done this, they would've gotten an elbow to the stomach or worse. But it's not just anyone, and Saebyeok kind of owes Ji-yeong for the almost saving her life thing.
It’s a game of chicken that Ji-yeong loses. She deflates with a loud sigh and stumbles backwards, onto the futon, breathing hard.
“You suck,” she says.
Saebyeok gingerly sits beside her, looking down at Ji-yeong. Her cheeks are red, and her damp hair is such a mess that it’ll probably be hell to deal with in the morning, but she doubts Ji-yeong cares. Besides, it’s kind of cute. “And you’re weak.”
Ji-yeong suddenly whacks Saebyeok in the face with something soft- the bunny, she realizes. It doesn’t hurt, but it startles her into making an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak that Ji-yeong seems to think is the funniest sound in the world.
And instead of retaliating, Saebyeok is content to let her.