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"That's funny, because you certainly don't sound like a sick person," Theo said from the other side of the line. He dragged his words like he was being suspicious.
"Not me, it's him. I'm asking for carer's leave."
"Who, your boyfriend?" He laughed.
"For a millionth time, he is not my boyfriend, but you know who I mean," Tenka growled.
"Right. By the way, you do know that caring for your grown-up partner for a mild case of flu doesn't qualify you for a carer's leave, yeah?"
"Cut the bullshit. I'm not coming in today anyhow." Tenka hissed.
Another laugh came through. "Fine. You're not much of help in the office anyways." Then he hangs up.
The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. Tenka looks over his shoulder, standing in the middle of their small, untidy apartment. Everything is crammed in that small space. It's even smaller than Simoon's place in Seoul. Small, untidy, and old. Simoon always complains of being too cold in the winter, for the lack of "proper" heating system, but Tenka knew that he liked the place for all the sunlight they get. The windows in the sitting room face south and every morning pale rays of sun crash in like waves in high tide. He likes to find Simoon sitting on their sofa, a mug of coffee in the hand, reading newspapers with a dictionary open on the coffee table. His old place never had that much sunlight. He deserves it, Tenka thinks, as he deserves many other beautiful things in life.
He gets a glass of tap water then hurries back into their room. Simoon is still in bed, curled on his side and coughing.
"I've called in for a day off," Tenka says. Wordlessly, Simoon takes the glass of water. The fingers touching his hands are burning up.
"I'm fine," He croaks. "You don't need to hang around. Just get me some pills."
"You had them three hours ago, and I'm hanging around."
"It's not a big deal," Simoon protests.
In fact, it is a big deal. Tenka's brows furrow. He straightens up. "Not for another six hours. Watch your dosage."
"For fuck's sake, don't be an ass-"
"Too bad, you're stuck with an asshole. Suck it up and go back to bed."
Simoon groans, but doesn't argue. He is too tired to argue anything. Shivering, he curls up again and shuts his eyes. His head is banging like the night after a particularly wild night of lots of shots and loud music, except this time he had none of them.
"Just... clean the house," Simoon manages to whisper before falling asleep.
Tenka remains there for a while. The bedroom too is full of winter sun, brittle and fluttering, and when it lands on Simoon's pale face it makes him feel strange. Almost nervous, but not like getting a knot in your stomach. He leans forward and brushes Simoon's neck, then gently puts his hand on his forehead. Just the way he would have liked to feel when he was sick all those years back, drowned in cheap narcotics and nasty alcohol.
He gets a new glass of water and leaves it by the bed. Then he quietly closes the door behind him. It's early, and he can't go back to bed. Leaning against the door, he suddenly feels anxious again and decides to leave the bedroom door slightly ajar. In case he wants something. Just in case.
The fridge is empty. The cupboard is empty, too. Closing the fridge door, Tenka briefly wonders how they have been living for the past six months, then realises that neither of them cares to cook these days. Simoon rarely cooked even then, and Tenka was, according to Theo's words, a living disaster in the kitchen, so he steers clear from the stove. He finds boxes of takeout Chinese boxes and bottles of beer on the kitchen bench and picks them up to throw into the bin, but the bin, too, is full. No wonder someone fell sick. He clicks his tongue and gets a new vinyl bag out.
He turns TV on. The volume is kept at the minimum, only to fill the air with low mumbles of voices. A recap of last night's news continues. Tenka passes by the screen, paying little attention to it, and picks up his shirt from the floor. The washing basket is filled up to the brim. He shoves the contents in, trying to contain things in the basket. Then at the door, he hesitates. He looks back to the slightly open bedroom door. Simoon probably wouldn't die from flu, but something is still irking him. Then he makes up an excuse for not knowing what garments should be separate from others. Simoon knows about it, not him. He will ask Simoon when he wakes up. Perhaps later he might feel better to go to the coin laundry across the street. So the laundry basket is left by the door.
He is clumsy with these things. He knows, and so does Simoon. Theo, when he took his drug-abusing half-brother in for rehabilitation and training, outright told him to not touch anything, to not help chores because he usually made more mess out of things. Not much has changed since then. But Simoon doesn't tell him to sit still, unlike his brother. So he does his chores. Most of the times he is no good, but he still does his share. Like putting the rubbish bin out every week for the truck to empty it, or vacuuming the floor. Simoon is sleeping in the room, and the door isn't fully closed, so he doesn't turn the vacuum on. Instead, he takes the bin out, curses, when he finds the bin outside too, is full, and does his best at pushing it in.
It gets a little tidier than before. Tenka opens all the windows of the apartment, as he remembers that what his mother used to do when she cleaned the house.
'When you open one window make sure you open the other one on the opposite side as well,' She said. She was wearing a salmon pink shirt, sleeves rolled up, baggy pants, bare-footed. 'So that the air circulates and swipes the bad air out. Actually, let's just open them all.'
Tenka briefly wonders if she still does that. Then a gush of wind rushes in, wiping his messy hair back. It's chilly and it was never this cold back there.
The bedroom door slams. It jolts him out of his thoughts. Thinking that it must have woken Simoon up, he hurries to the bedroom. He wants to ask his mother what to do when there is a sick person in the bed. Do I open the windows in the bedroom as well, mother? Or is it only going to make him worse? His mother, still young and beautiful in his memories, doesn't answer.
Simoon is still asleep. His face is so pale that he looks like a corpse. It's the silent rise and fall of his chest that makes Tenka stay at ease. There were times that he thought he'd lose this man for sure. But that's all in the past.
The air is stale in the room. It's the scent of sickness, the tang of sour sweat and murky coughs. After much hesitation, Tenka decides to open the windows just a little bit. Then he puts a doorstopper at the door. Funny enough, it's a gift from his half-brother. He still wonders why Theo gave them this, out of all the small, inconsequential gifts to give. Keep them open, he said, handing Tenka the big slab of concrete with a ridiculously fine leather handle. Keep what open? The doors, he answered, and with a knowing smile, left their apartment. He now knows that even if he asked for explanation Theo wouldn't have given one.
Simoon coughs. "It's cold," He grumbles into his pillow.
"I opened the windows," Tenka answers and puts a cold hand on his burning forehead. "Any better?"
"No... Water."
Tenka hands him the glass of water by the bedside. Simoon takes a couple of sips then lays down again. His barely open eyes glance at Tenka. "Are you cleaning the house?"
"You told me to do it." Shrugging, Tenka says.
"Out of all times, this is when you actually do your chores."
"When have I ever not done my chores?"
"All the time."
Well, he couldn't argue with that because that was, in fact, true. Sniggering awkwardly, Tenka gets up. "Go back to bed."
And for once he doesn't protest. Silence blankets the room once again, and soon all Tenka hears is Simoon's breathing. This is good, he thinks, not good that Simoon is sick, but good in a sense that the stick-in-the-mud just doesn't argue with him. Most of the time he has good reasons to argue because most of the times it is Tenka being ridiculous. He knows that. They know that. It's what they have been playing all these years.
The sun sets, slowly, and the living room glows in gold. By then all the windows are closed, the apartment is cleaned, the pile of dishes is gone. The air is crisp. Tenka wanders the flat for a while before going back into the room. Simoon is still sound asleep, and his breathing sounds little better.
Quietly he slips into the bed. Curling against Simoon's back, he tries to remember when was the last time he felt this ill. He closes his eyes, resting his head on the warm shoulders.
Simoon stirs up. He turns, and Tenka carefully slips an arm under his head. "You'll get sick," Simoon croaks.
"Doesn't matter." He answers.
He wakes up a few hours later. Silence is still lingering. Windows are now dark, with orange dots of streetlights and distant cries of siren. Tenka checks Simoon's temperature. It's almost broken. Once he sleeps it off he will be fine, Tenka thinks and quietly tip-toes out of the bedroom.
He looks into the pantry again. He manages to salvage half a packet of medium grain rice. He is still going through the half-empty pantry when Simoon walks out with a yawn.
"Look all night if you want, but you won't find much," Simoon says.
Tenka looks over his shoulder. Simoon's black hair is a mess and his eyes are slightly swollen. He's not a sight for a sore eye now, but it makes him feel strangely happy to see him like that. Sick, vulnerable, and not so presentable. "Stay in bed." He says.
"I can't."
Then Tenka hears him turning his laptop on. He shrieks and rushes to take the laptop out of Simoon's hands. "Hey!" He protests.
"No work today," Instead Tenka hands him the television remote. "Watch something. No news channel. You talk like that bloody news presenter with crooked mustache."
"And what's wrong with that?" Simoon scoffs. Don't play mother hen simply because I'm sick, he grumbles, but settles on a quiz show. He still doesn't understand half of it.
He dozes off again.
In his dream, he is in his old flat. Or is it their new place? It's a bit of mix-up, and Simoon sees him hunching over the gas stove. He's talking to someone on the phone. He mumbles, slowly and quietly, and Simoon thinks he likes how the voice rumbles, like distant thunder, heavy, steady, and soft.
"What," Theo answers the phone after a few rings. He sounds irritated, stressed, but Tenka doesn't care.
"How do I make porridge?"
"Beg your pardon?"
"Porridge. With rice."
The office sounds busy on the phone, and Tenka hears his brother letting out a sigh. "I can drop by after work. I'm almost done for the day."
"Don't need to. Just tell me how it's made."
Theo almost says; google it, but he holds his impulse. The tip of the pen rests on the paper. "Rice. Water. In a pot. Put it on the stove, strong heat, bring it to boil, check how much it's cooked every ten minutes, then reduce the heat. Check the density and add more water if you need, and put it on low heat until it... you know, taste like porridge."
"Just rice and water?"
"And make sure you rinse the rice in cold water before putting in on the heat. You sure you don't want me to make it?"
"No, I'll be alright."
Tenka hangs up. Rice and water. How hard could it be?
Simoon wakes up to the smell of something burning. When he realises that it's not a dream, he jolts awake and turns to the kitchen. Tenka was standing there, hiding the gas stove behind him, looking like a child who just has made a mistake.
"...What have you done?" Simoon asks, his eyes narrowing.
"Nothing," Tenka answers too quickly.
"Bullshit."
"I, uh, made porridge," He stammers, "It's just a little burnt. I didn't burn anything-."
"You'd better not," Simoon strides into the kitchen and checks the saucepan. The edge is burnt to black and so it the bottom. The plastic handle is a little melt. It smells awful. Simoon checks the content and finds most of it looks fine, but the smell of burnt rice is all sipped into it. He puts it down and eyes him again.
Porridge. He tried to make porridge. Suppose it was for Simoon because he hasn't eaten anything since last night. The windows are dark now and the street lights glims through the thick window glasses. A headache is still there, lingering, and Simoon feels mellow. He made porridge.
"...Did you use all of it?"
Fidgeting, Tenka answers, looking away. "Ugh, no."
"Throw this out and clean the pot." Simoon hands the saucepan to him and sits down on a dining chair. "I'll tell you what to do."
It takes them ten minutes to make porridge, and this time, it's edible. Simoon wonders how exactly he has managed to burn simple porridge while standing in front of the stove the whole time, but he has seen stranger things.
'Don't ever let him in the kitchen.' Theo told him once when they have just moved into their new flat. It was Christmas Eve, they all had a glass of wine or two, and that was after the work Christmas party. None of them were fit to drive anywhere, especially Theodore, so Simoon was bringing out spare blankets and pillows to the lounge sofa. 'Excuse me?' Simoon asked. It caught him off guard because his words were all slurred.
'I mean, Henry. Never let him in the kitchen, if you want to keep it.' Theo said again, his words equally slurred as Simoon's.
'Why?'
'Oh, you don't want to find out.' Theo chuckled and emptied the glass before heading to the bathroom. Simoon was left there, a little confused and somehow offended.
So they both sit at the table and eat rice porridge. It's bland and doesn't have much taste, but that's how it's meant to be. Tenka keeps glancing at the other man as if he's waiting to be scolded which is the usual thing that happens. But Simoon doesn't. It doesn't feel right to do so.
Tenka knew who he'd find at the door even before he opens it.
"What are you doing here?" He asks.
Peaking into the flat, Theo says, "Just checking in to make sure you didn't burn yourselves to death." Once he realises that the kitchen is still in good shape, apart from the faint smokiness lingering in the air, he stares at his half-brother. "I'm impressed."
"Bugger off," Annoyed, Tenka tried to push him out, but Theo quickly let himself in. "Hey!"
"Who's at the-" Simoon looked away from the TV. "Oh. Theodore."
"No, don't get up. I gotta be off soon." Says Theo as he hands a plastic bag full of groceries to Tenka. He seems surprised, almost impressed, at how intact the place looks. "The kitchen. Did you intervene?"
Simoon shrugs. "Sort of."
"Well, still, that's a first. Last time I let him in my kitchen has of it was lit on fire."
"I can hear you!" Tenka shouts in the kitchen, putting the groceries away.
They both blankly stare at the TV. Neither of them really watches it.
"Feeling any better?"
"It was just a cold."
"That's not what he said."
"He likes to exaggerate."
"...I'm glad to see him like this, you know," Theo says softly.
Simoon looks at him and finds his face softened, like someone whose burden has been lifted off his shoulders. Burden. That's perhaps what Tenka has been to him for years. A risk. A nuisance. Someone to look after. He still is, in some ways, but Simoon probably couldn't make the same face as he is making now once he lets him go.
"Yeah, well," Simoon eyes him over his shoulders, his back busy at putting things away. "as am I."
By the time Tenka chuck everything in the refrigerator, Theo was off.
"Will you just give up?" Tenka groans at the laptop on Simoon's lap. He even got his glasses on.
"I gotta finish this."
"I spent the whole day looking after you and you're pulling an all-nighter."
"I feel fine now, and you didn't spend the whole day looking after me. I slept it off. You just cleaned the house because you didn't want me to nag at you."
Huffing with disproval, Tenka rolls the other way and turns the light off. "Suit yourself. I'm not taking another day off for you."
"Suits me."
He says that, but that's not true. Tenka will take another day off if Simoon is still not well in the morning. And Simoon will stay in bed, all day, pretending that he is asleep and hear how he walks around the flat, cleaning, talking to himself softly, and occasionally sneaks into the bedroom to check on him.
The laptop is turned off not long after Tenka falls asleep. His soft snore fills the silence of the night. The sky rumbles and the air dampen slowly. When the rain starts to fall and the noise fills the world, Simoon sits up again and turns the lamp on. He looks at the man fast asleep next to him and snuggles against his back.
All is well, at last.