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Kyle paced just outside of Eugene’s office at the American Consulate. The news of the missionary’s death (Joseph, he corrected mentally- he was Eugene’s surrogate father, after all) had broken out three days ago.
He could not forget that day; the scene kept playing on his mind like the twisted melody of a music box that would never stop working. Even the weather had seemed aligned with the gravity of the scene, as if heavenly powers had refused the sky any other colour than grey and the air, biting and unforgiving wind. He could still see his friend walking slowly - stumbling - towards the cart, his glassy eyes fixated on the hand poking out of the jute blanket.
And then the cries.
Kyle Moore had never seen Eugene Choi cry. Not when fellow soldiers had laughed at his features at a training camp, not even when they had humiliated him or when they had lost countless brothers in the Spanish wars. Hell, he had barely made a sound when he had come down gravely injured during a battle. The Korean man was a man of few words and he had proven it in all the years Kyle had known him.
Yet he had cried - to everyone’s surprise.
The American knew. His younger friend had told him once- a late drunken starry night years ago - who Joseph Stanson was, what he had done. His friend’s tone had been softer, his eyes warmer and, for the first time, it felt he had truly been himself, not hiding being stoicism and self-control. That night, Kyle had promised himself to move heaven and earth for this man, should he ever ask. If the missionary’s letters were a comfort, Kyle could fill up the place the rest of the time.
He wished he had met the man before. To know him and thank him for Eugene, for the man he had helped shape; for the best friend he had ever had. He had entertained the idea of sending him a letter once; the opened envelope scattered on Eugene's bed in his quarter. He had decided against it, unwilling to pry on his friend’s privacy. But now, he wished he had.
Commander Moore would never forget.
He would never forget how he had put a hand on his friend’s trembling shoulder, the muscle slouched, almost frail and fragile despite his strong build. He would never forget the liquid black eyes that looked upon him, cheek caressed by blood that was not his- marked forever by the missionary’s gentleness and warmth. Kyle had not missed the fire burning behind the tears, though. It was the same fire he had seen in the woman’s eyes, the one Eugene kept convoking; it was the same fire he had seen in some of the people he walked by everyday. Although he knew next to nothing to Joseon, he was not as blind as people thought: he saw the hurt, he saw the growing resentment. It only made him doubt the necessity of the American presence here. So when Eugene had left the consulate, his heart had sunk.
Eugene had been relentless and the American had barely been able to catch sight of him. He kept an eye on him to prevent any harsh decisions should they arise but the acting consul knew better. Yet, there wasn’t an hour spent without a worried thought of his friend. Whenever he tried to catch him, Eugene was either out still or barely had time.
It was Do-mi, however, who convinced the commander to act. The boy was smart and weaved his way in and out of the consulate to know the whereabouts of one and everyone. He had approached Kyle, unsure and shy. Apparently, the acting consul would come back to his office in the middle of the night, spending long hours awake, pacing like a caged lion. Kyle had thanked Do-mi, promising him everything would be alright soon and offering him a sweet. The boy’s face had lit up and he had bowed profusely until he ran away to his occupations at the consulate. For a moment, Kyle had considered the boy and wondered if his friend had been so carefree once, running through the bushes and people alike.
And so here he was, still pacing outside his friend’s office, debating how he would approach him. For once, he was not sure how the consul would react. After pacing some more, he decided to simply enter, or else he would grow mad. True to Do-mi’s words, he found Eugene at his desk, dark circles under his eyes, barely able to keep them open.
The sight sickened Kyle.
“Alright, that’s enough. Come with me, Eugene.” He said with authority.
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve barely slept for the last couple days. Go to sleep. Whoever did this won’t run.”
He marked a pause.
“I won’t allow it.”
But again, the American was met with the same stoicism he knew by heart.
“I’m fine, Kyle.”
That’s what he always said. The commander knew that refrain like the back of his hand, having heard it so many times before. As blood gushed out of ugly wounds, he was fine. As fellow soldiers spat at his feet, he was fine. As he was saving Kyle’s life while risking his, he was fine. The commander had come to hate the phrase.
“You’re not!” He exclaimed, raising his voice. “And no one expects you to be.” He whispered softly this time.
Eugene looked up to him but did not say a word, prompting Kyle to sigh. He wanted to do something for his friend but he couldn’t go far if the consul was unwilling to cooperate.
“Please, Eugene… Let me help you.”
The words, a plea; his thoughts a silent prayer for his friend to listen to him. He had not realised he was crying until a single tear escaped his eyes. He quickly wiped it but Eugene had noticed and he opened his mouth. But before he could say anything, Kyle went on:
“Rest tonight. Catch the bastard tomorrow.” He gulped and added in a lower voice “Allow yourself to grieve, my friend. I don’t want you to risk your life. Or worse… And Joseph wouldn’t want you putting yourself in danger because you’re blinded by rage and grief.”
Kyle stopped with his mouth agape, and cast his eyes away remorsefully. He had talked without meaning to reveal his deeper thoughts, his inner worries. He had not planned to mention Joseph like this, probably knew this would not sit well with his friend. So he braced himself for whatever Eugene would throw his way.
But nothing came.
“You’re right. He wouldn’t.” The younger man croaked.
He stood up and yet, he suddenly looked so small- like the scared and sad kid who had set foot in the States so many years ago. The circles under his eyes seemed bigger and his shoulders suddenly slumped, weary. The commander sighed in relief and made a mental note to pray in the morrow to thank whoever or whatever made Eugene surrender.
“Come on.” Kyle told him, wrapping an arm around his friend’s back and grabbing his arm to put it around his shoulders.
They staggered in the consulate until they reached Kyle’s office. It was similar to Eugene’s although it was smaller and decorations adorned the furniture. Lazily lying on the desk, his poetry notebook, pages filled with scribblings and verses to his adventure in Joseon. Further down the left, there was a dark wooden door leading to a small bedroom- more like a bed and a nightstand. The American barely used it, renting a room at the Hotel Glory, but tonight it would serve its purpose.
He made Eugene sit on the bed and helped him get out of his tight and stifling uniform. He expected resistance but for once, his friend let him. A second look made Kyle realise the younger man was almost asleep already- no wonder. The adrenaline of the last few days had probably left his body. Kyle continued to undress Eugene until he was in his undershirt and more comfortable pants - a pair he had left here just in case.
He tucked the blanket under Eugene’s chin. His breathing was already slow and Kyle assumed he had finally succumbed to a deep slumber. However, when he made to leave, Eugene grabbed his wrist suddenly.
“Stay. Please.”
His voice was barely above a whisper and Kyle almost didn’t hear him. He stopped and sighed. Eugene rarely asked anything of him. If anything, Eugene was a giver: his loyalty, his comradeship. His friendship. But demands- they were so few and far between and most likely to benefit someone else rather than Eugene himself. Grand and noble one, indeed.
“Rest with me.” He resumed, tightening his grip on Kyle’s wrist.
There was probably nothing in the world Kyle could refuse to his friend and so he simply nodded. He took off his vest and made himself comfortable before he slipped into bed next to Eugene, making sure not to take too much space. He closed his eyes, hoping his friend would find rest.
Around them, there was only silence, the capital resting in peace; living at night, suffering by day. It was so strange to hear the healing silence when the city was bustling during the days. Something, however, was troubling the apparent peace. Kyle felt Eugene’s hands fidgeting under the covers, rustling the fabric and even though he was stiff, Kyle could hear him like he was screaming. Under any other circumstances the American would have found that odd but as the night was unfolding, nothing could surprise him.
“What is it, Eugene?” He finally asked, putting an end to his friend’s torment.
The younger man stayed silent, fidgeting still and Kyle thought he would not get an answer. He breathed heavily and turned on his side to keep an eye on Eugene just in case and tried to sleep. After long minutes, though, he felt the mattress move and upon opening his eyes he saw his friend had turned to face him as well. Black eyes bore into brown ones and they remained still until Eugene finally spoke.
“Could you…” His accent, usually impeccable, suddenly sounded raw, etched with traces of korean. “Could you hold me, please?”
Kyle’s eyes widened in the dark. He sounded and looked so much like a child at that moment, the commander’s heart broke. He had never asked for physical comfort like that, not even in his hardest days. Kyle figured Joseph had probably been the only one to show the boy kindness and warmth, the sole pillar in Eugene’s life after his escape from Joseon. He wondered how often he must have craved an embrace, just to reassure the boy he must still be at times; the boy who had run for his life and never looked back once.
Kyle said nothing, simply scooted closer, wrapped an arm around Eugene’s midsection and brought him to his chest. Held him tight, his chin above his friend’s black hair.
And Eugene cried.
The tears kept coming and traced a wet pool on Kyle’s undershirt.
And Eugene clutched to his only friend.
(His only family).
His hands fisted in the white undershirt, creased the soft cotton.
(Soft like Joseph’s coat around his shoulders on the trip to New York).
“It’s alright. Let it all out, my friend. I’m right here.”
Kyle slowly ran his hand up and down Eugene’s back, tracing gentle circles in the hope the motion would soothe the crying consul. He let him cry himself to sleep, let him abandon his body to a deep slumber, exhausted. Kyle placed a soft kiss on Eugene’s forehead.
“Rest easy, Eugene.” he whispered to the night. "You're not alone, I'm right here."
His hand was still caressing his friend’s back and alternated with caressing his hair soothingly. With Eugene asleep in his arms, Kyle could protect his friend’s dreams. That he could do. He could help. And once the sun would be up, he would help him too.
Because that’s what friends are here for.
Help.