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“So a kiss is out of the question?”
Hyeongjun looked at the boy sitting at the high-top, staring back at him with mischievous eyes. He had said it with a wolfish grin, head cradled in both hands as he leaned over and rested his elbows on the counter.
“We can’t touch,” Hyeongjun reminds him sternly.
“Not even a hug?” Jooyeon asks, always one to push boundaries to their very limits.
Hyeongjun crossed his arms and considered the choices he made that brought him to this very moment – choices he would make over and over again, if he had to.
The facts were these: Hyeongjun could touch dead things and bring them back to life. It was a gift given to him, but not by anyone in particular. There was no box, no instructions, no manufacturer’s warranty. It just was . Hyeongjun’s random gift came with a caveat or two. It not only gave – it took.
Hyeongjun discovered he could only bring the dead back to life for one minute without consequence. Any longer, and someone else had to die. There was one more thing about touching dead things that Hyeongjun didn’t know. And he learned it in the most unfortunate way. First touch, life. Second touch, dead again. Forever .
He had gained this burdensome knowledge the hard way – an unfortunate mishap causing the untimely demise of his beloved childhood pet, Kkito. Kkito had sprung back to life at his gentle touch – only to pass again the next time he reached out to pet him.
That was the moment Hyeongjun realized he wasn’t like the other children, nor was he like anyone else for that matter. Hyeongjun does not like to discuss the details beyond that. The events of his early childhood left Hyeongjun avoidant of social attachments, and an aversion to touching anyone . He shied away from most people after discovering the peculiar brand of magic he possessed, fearing what he’d do if someone else he loved died.
The facts were also these: When Hyeongjun was only nine years, eleven weeks, seventeen hours, and twenty-three minutes old, a boy his age moved into the house next door. Jooyeon .
Young Hyeongjun had found himself inexplicably infatuated with his new next door neighbor. Watching him curiously through his own window, he found Jooyeon to be all the things he was not – loud, vibrant, free-spirited. Hyeongjun found himself fascinated by the boy who opposed him in so many ways.
Jooyeon would knock on his door fearlessly, asking Hyeongjun’s mom if the boy who lived here wanted to come out and play with him.
Whether out of curiosity or Jooyeon’s own persistence, Hyeongjun allowed Jooyeon to befriend him. They would play together, acting out whatever outlandish game Jooyeon could imagine that day. Some days they were pirates seeking hidden treasure, other days they were space explorers encountering aliens. In their imaginations, Hyeongjun and Jooyeon conquered the world.
Hyeongjun and Jooyeon soon found themselves inseparable. They practically lived in the treehouse Jooyeon’s dad had built in the backyard. It was their own little world, where the two shared countless sleepovers, countless snacks, and countless secrets. Where one went, the other followed close behind. Hyeongjun and Jooyeon came to know everything about one another, devoted to each other in ways only two young people can be.
For the next three years, seventy-eight days, and fourteen minutes, everything was good – everything was right .
Until Hyeongjun and his family had to move away.
Seemingly to never see each other again, the two had met one last time in Jooyeon’s old treehouse. Dizzy with grief, curiosity, and hormones, young Hyeongjun and Jooyeon had their first – and only – kiss.
Ten years, eleven months, and two weeks later – heretofore known as now – Hyeongjun has grown up to be the polite but slightly reclusive owner of a small bakery. Uncomfortable with the unpredictability of humankind, he felt comforted by the methodical nature of pastry making. The reliable rules of baking made sense to him in the disorderly world. While he had grown to live a mostly solitary life, he never stopped thinking about his childhood friend that had lived next door years ago.
He leaned heavily on the reliability and predictability of his daily routine. He woke up at 6:00 AM every day, washed his face, and brushed his teeth. He cooked himself breakfast, read at the table as he ate, and headed downstairs to the bakery below to begin his work.
He lost himself to his systematic prep work. Gingerly washing fruit, measuring out ingredients, and rolling out dough. Cutting and twisting and crimping until something pretty was in front of him. The repetition of the work soothed his mind and kept his hands busy.
At 8:00 PM, he would close the shop down. He would carefully clean up, wiping everything down and making sure everything was in its place for tomorrow, where he would repeat it all.
Hyeongjun stuck to this routine religiously – clung to it like a lifeline – until the day he did not.
Hyeongjun was twenty-two years, four weeks and fifty-four minutes old, Jooyeon re-entered his life in the most dire of circumstances; he was dead. He had come to find this out by sheer coincidence. Hyeongjun wasn’t one to regularly read the obituaries, but the paper had mentioned his hometown. The description of the deceased felt too familiar – he felt haunted by it. He read on, morbid curiosity and anxiety building. His heart stopped when he read the name:
Lee Jooyeon, Age 22
The facts were these: Jooyeon was twenty-two years, sixteen hours, and thirty-two minutes old when he was in an accident. Hit by a bus on a rainy night. It had been quick, almost certainly painless. Reading about it left a lump in Hyeongjun’s throat regardless.
He felt compelled to go and pay his respects to his long-lost friend. He didn’t know if it was out of curiosity or a selfish desire for closure of some sort. That’s how he found himself breaking his routine one cold autumn morning, on a quiet bus ride back to his hometown. He also found himself reminiscing about his childhood with Jooyeon. It felt bittersweet.
When he sees Jooyeon for the first time in over a decade, Hyeongjun’s mind halts, his breath catching in his throat.
He’s suddenly overcome with the realization that this is not the Jooyeon he knew. He feels silly for only realizing this now. Of course Jooyeon had changed. It’d been ten years. Hyeongjun had changed, too.
The present Jooyeon is lying peacefully in his casket, long, dark hair creeping down his neck. Thick eyebrows and dark lashes framing his closed eyes. He’s grown to be devastatingly handsome, Hyeongjun notes solemnly.
Hyeongjun looks at him again, looking for traces of his friend in the person lying before him now. This Jooyeon was a mess of gangly limbs the Jooyeon he remembered was just starting to grow. He looks harder, starting to see fragments of Jooyeon’s childhood visage in the face before him. His chin is the same. The corners of his lips are still slightly upturned – just as Hyeongjun remembered them to be.
One stark difference, most importantly, the Jooyeon of his precious childhood was full of life. That’s one thing the present Jooyeon before him did not possess.
Hyeongjun felt his heart ache. He didn’t want his last memory of Jooyeon to be like this .
Despite himself – despite the risks – Hyeongjun makes the choice. He can’t give up the opportunity to reunite with Jooyeon, if only for a minute. It was selfish, but he wanted to let Jooyeon know what he meant to him, though Hyeongjun doubted his ability to convey this in under sixty seconds.
He reaches out to touch Jooyeon but hesitates, putting too much thought into where to touch him. The lips – too forward. The cheek? Familiar, but not overly intimate. The cheek , he decides. He reaches out, hand trembling, and places a gentle tap on Jooyeon’s cheekbone.
Instantaneously, Jooyeon’s form springs back to life. Color rushes back to his lips and cheeks and his eyes open wide. He gasps for air as he jolts upward.
Jooyeon scrambles out of the casket and across the room, away from the man he presumed to be a stranger. “Who are you?!” he shouts panickedly, his arms up for protection. His eyes are wide and residual adrenaline courses through him.
“Do you remember the boy that lived across the street from you when you were nine?” Hyeongjun responds, flustered. The words come out too fast and too squished together. Nevertheless, recognition instantly floods Jooyeon’s face.
“Hyeongjun?” Jooyeon gasps, eyes wide and sparkling. He smiles devastatingly bright, “Oh my god! Hey, how are you!”
“Good,” Hyeongjun starts, “You look great–” he stops himself, shaking his head to get himself back on track. “Do you know what’s happening right now?”
“I had a dream that I was hit by a bus.” Jooyeon says matter-of-factly.
“You were hit by a bus.” Hyeongjun is mildly panicked, the rashness of his impulsive decision catching up with him. “That’s probably a weird thing to hear but I wasn't sure how to sugarcoat it.”
“Oh.” Jooyeon says, looking puzzled. He looks at the casket again and realizes, “ Oh. ”
“You have less than a minute left.” Hyeongjun informs him apologetically, gesturing to his watch.
“What can I do in less than a minute?”
“You can let me thank you. For being my friend,” Hyeongjun starts, mouth starting to go dry. “You always made me feel… normal. ”
Jooyeon melted at that, hand clutching over his chest. Hyeongjun looks at his watch, hating the hand for counting down the seconds so quickly.
“Is my time up?” Jooyeon asks. His voice sounds small.
“Almost. Sorry.” Hyeongjun says quietly, almost a whisper. He means it. In his eagerness to see Jooyeon one last time, he forgot to think about how difficult it would be to have to say goodbye again.
“Well, thanks for coming to see me one last time,” Jooyeon says sincerely, “That’s really nice.”
“I used to…when I lived next door to you,” Hyeongjun stumbles over the words he wants to say, not quite able to get them out. Jooyeon waits patiently, as he always did, looking fond as Hyeongjun clenches and unclenches his fists nervously.
Hyeongjun tries to continue, “I had a cru- I was in-” He stops and exhales shakily. “You were my first kiss.”
“Yeah?” Jooyeon smiles brightly at him, nose scrunching. Hyeongjun is taken with the way that has remained very much the same. “You were my first kiss too.” He takes a tentative step towards the man in front of him – towards his long-lost childhood friend.
“You want to be my last kiss too?” Jooyeon suggests casually, stepping closer still, “First and last? Or is that… weird ?”
“That’s not weird,” Hyeongjun reassures him with a small smile, despite knowing to anyone else it would be. He takes his own step closer, voice going softer, “It’s symmetrical.”
Jooyeon’s minute of life was nearly over. The two move to close the distance between them. Mere millimeters away, Hyeongjun’s lips went as far as they would go. But, despite knowing the consequences, he couldn’t will them to go any further.
He let the minute pass – consequences be damned .
Jooyeon’s eyes flutter open at the lack of contact, cheeks tinted pink. “If you don’t want to kiss me, it’s okay,” he laughs gently.
“No, I want to!” Hyeongjun rushes to explain, finding it hard to focus when Jooyeon is looking up at him through his eyelashes, “I do–”
He leans away as Jooyeon tries to close the distance between them again. Hyeongjun swallows nervously, steeling himself for what he’s about to do next.
“What if you didn’t have to be dead?” Hyeongjun whispers. In the silence that follows, the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears is deafening to him.
“Well,” Jooyeon starts, blinking up at him, “That would be preferable.”
Feeling physically exhausted from digging up Jooyeon’s casket, and mentally exhausted from the implications of this action, Hyeongjun collapses onto his couch with a sigh. He loosens his tie, not able to muster up more energy to change out of the formal clothes he usually can’t stand to wear.
The adrenaline of bringing his childhood sweetheart back to life had worn off on the bus ride home, replaced instead with anxiety that someone would recognize Jooyeon. From the seat across from him in the very back of the bus, Hyeongjun had explained the most basic rule to the boy who was supposed to be dead: they could not touch. Knowing Hyeongjun’s touch was what brought him back to life in the first place, and being a little disoriented from the time spent deceased, Jooyeon easily accepted this rule as unbreakable. At least for now.
Relief washed over both of them as soon as they entered the threshold of Hyeongjun’s little apartment. Hyeongjun handed Jooyeon some pajamas and showed him to the bathroom to let him wash up. That left Hyeongjun alone with his thoughts, of which there were many. Anxious about all the things that could go wrong with this arrangement, but happy to be in it regardless.
Hyeongjun’s musings are interrupted when Jooyeon emerges from the bathroom, freshly showered and wearing Hyeongjun’s clothes. The sight of Jooyeon wearing his old sweatshirt evokes something palpable in Hyeongjun. He feels it warm in his chest, and it calms the storm in his mind.
“I’m gonna sleep here. You can sleep in my room,” Hyeongjun informs the boy standing before him, eyes feeling heavy. He struggles to keep them open.
“Are you sure?” Jooyeon’s head tilts slightly to the side when he asks.
“Very,” Hyeonjun says decisively, eyes already closing before Jooyeon can try to persuade him otherwise. Exhaustion creeping in, it’s not long before he drifts off to sleep.
Hyeongjun wakes to the sight of Jooyeon sitting on his living room floor, perusing his bookshelf and humming to himself quietly. Hyeongjun blinks at the sunlight filtering in through the blinds, painting Jooyeon gold. Hyeongjun smiles fondly and thinks about how nice it is to wake up to someone else.
Hyeongjun stretches out, trying to shake the last remnants of sleep away. He feels an ache in his back and memories of the rest of yesterday’s events come rushing back.
“Good morning!” Jooyeon greets him once he notices Hyeongjun’s awake. He smiles at him, warm and genuine.
“Morning,” Hyeongjun mumbles back, rubbing his eyes. “Did you sleep?” He can tell from the look of him that Jooyeon has been up for a while – if he even slept at all.
“A little. I wasn’t very tired,” Jooyeon explains, “Probably from being dead and all.”
“Whatcha got there,” Hyeongjun asks, voice still thick with sleep. Jooyeon raises the comic in his hand, showing off the cover.
“I wanted to read this the week it came out,” Jooyeon explains, “But then I died.” He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Hyeongjun supposes it’s easy to be casual about death when you’ve come back from it.
“Are you hungry?” Hyeongjun asks suddenly, carefully breaking the silence that had fallen over them.
“Yeah,” Jooyeon nods with a big smile.
Eighteen hours and forty-six minutes after Hyeongjun had decided to touch his childhood sweetheart back to life, he finds himself standing behind the counter of the bakery he runs, eye-to-eye with the object of his affection and perplexion. Evidence of their ongoing breakfast eaten in between conversations litters the counter – paper napkins with coffee ring stains, used silverware gathered on a small plate, and a piece of toast with a single bite taken.
“I really can’t even hug you?” Jooyeon all but whines, returning Hyeonjun’s attention to their conversation. “What if you need a hug? A good hug can turn your day around.”
“I’m not a big fan of the hug,” Hyeongjun admits, rubbing at the back of his neck.
“Then you haven’t been hugged properly. It’s like an emotional heimlich,” Jooyeon chatters animatedly, “Someone puts their arms around you, they give you a squeeze, and all your fear and anxiety come shooting out of your mouth and you can breathe again.”
“That’s fine for someone else to do if I'm choking on something other than emotion,” Hyeongjun says, “But you can’t touch me.”
Jooyeon all but pouts, taking another bite of his breakfast.
“How long have you been thinking about this?” Jooyeon asks, gesturing between the two of them. “Did you come to my funeral to do this ?”
“It wasn’t premeditated…” Hyeongjun exhales, struggling to find the right words. “I was musing on the idea. Not, you know, dwelling. There were times I did dwell on you–” Hyeongjun rambles again, “I wasn't seriously considering it till the exact moment I did it.”
Jooyeon nods, in understanding. Hyeongjun always felt Jooyeon knew what he was trying to say, even if he couldn’t always find the words.
“I always wondered if I’d see you again,” Jooyeon says, mostly to himself, “I guess you came back just when I needed you.” He looks at Hyeongjun with marvel, who squirms under his attention.
“Deep down I know I was being selfish when I did it.” Hyeongjun looks resolute now, “I did an unselfish thing for selfish reasons.” His face softens and he continues, “I just thought the world would be a better place if you were in it.”
Jooyeon’s cheeks start to turn pink at that, smile spreading over his face slowly like honey. As long as the benefits outweighed the costs, Jooyeon himself believed an act of charity outweighed the consequences.
“I guess I’m a little bit like a zombie now, huh?” Jooyeon thinks aloud, “Or would I be un -dead?” Jooyeon swings his dangling legs slightly from his spot at the high-top, considering the semantics of his current state. Hyeongjun watches as Jooyeon brings a mug that contains a little bit of coffee and far too much milk and sugar up to his lips and takes a sip. He sets it down with a satisfied smile.
“Let’s avoid using the word zombie. It’s a little…” Hyeongjun grimaces trailing off, “And Undead? Nobody wants to be un-anything.”
“How about living dead?” Jooyeon offers, attempting a compromise.
“You’re either living or you're dead. When you’re living youre alive, but when you’re dead then you’re not, you’re alive again,” Junhan tries to reason. “Can’t we say alive again ? Doesn’t that sound nice?”
“Well, thank you for making me alive again Hyeongjun,” Jooyeon thanks him, sincerity in his expression. “Staying dead would have really sucked. But dying is as good a reason as any to start living.”
“Of course,” Hyeongjun says simply, even though this was anything but.
“If I could hug you right now I–” Jooyeon cuts himself off. “I know that I can’t. Just know that I want to.” He exaggeratedly stretches his arms around himself, wrapping himself in a hug. He blinks up at Hyeongjun, trying to silently convey that he wishes it was Hyeongjun he was holding. A smile tugs at Hyeongjun’s lips and a chuckle escapes him.
They carry on with eating their breakfast, silence finally washing over them. Hyeongjun becomes preoccupied with finishing the coffee he’d been nursing since they found themselves downstairs. Jooyeon finishes his first, sliding the mug away from himself slightly. He leans forward, and Hyeongjun looks up to meet Jooyeon’s steady gaze.
“Yesterday you almost said you were in love with me.” Jooyeon says this as a fact, because it was.
Hyeongjun’s ears are burning red as he looks away, averting his eyes from Jooyeon’s. Jooyeon throws his head back, laughter filling the air. Any remaining tension between the two of them floats away with it.
“Hyeongjun, you really haven’t changed at all!” Jooyeon exclaims. He has to stop himself from reaching out and playfully pushing his shoulder – an old habit of his that wanted to resurface.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Jooyeon assures him, eyes crinkling mirthfully, “I was too.”
Their lazy morning slowly bleeds into afternoon, with Hyeongjun deciding against opening the bakery in favor of spending the day with Jooyeon. He had taped up a note on the glass door – closed for personal reasons . He and Jooyeon had a lot to work out, and time to make up for, after all.
“We haven’t seen each other in a decade,” Jooyeon points out, voice raising in excitement, “I want to know everything about you!”
Jooyeon’s eyes are shining now, seated on the middle of the couch, across the living room from Hyeongjun’s own seat on the floor. They face each other. Hyeonjun suddenly wanted to tell him everything. Pet peeves and favorite foods. His fears, his dreams, and all the pure joy he had brought into his life. Instead, he offers a noncommittal shrug.
“I bake pie and I raise the dead. I live a very sheltered life.” Hyeongjun says simply, rubbing at his neck sheepishly. That makes Jooyeon grin, heart-shaped and perfect.
Jooyeon found himself immensely interested in the life Hyeongjun had been living for the past ten years. He wondered how much he had changed, what had stayed the same. His mind produces masses of questions for Hyeongjun – so he asks them.
“Pie, huh?” his eyebrow raises. “I don’t remember you being very into sweets.” Hyeongjun shrugs again, shy smile forming.
“I ended up going to pastry school,” Hyeongjun explains, “I liked the technicality of it – the repetition. It’s like science.”
Jooyeon observes him for a moment – imagining him in patisserie school. He wears the pristine chef’s jacket, sleeves rolled up carefully. It makes him giggle.
“You got taller,” Jooyeon sighs. There’s something tangible in the way his eyes trace up Hyeongjun’s long form. Hyeongjun exhales a laugh, cheeks pinkening.
“You haven’t seen me since we were twelve ,” Hyeongjun points out, a smile forming. He wishes he could reach out and elbow Jooyeon’s side playfully – an old habit of his that wanted to resurface.
“Can I meet your friends?” Jooyeon exclaims suddenly, leaning forward.
“Yeah, but my circle is pretty small.”
“I figured,” Jooyeon laughs lightly, endeared by Hyeongjun’s constancy. “I was kind of your only friend back in the day.”
Hyeongjun looks upward, thinking. “There’s Jiseok from the guitar shop.”
“The guitar shop?” Jooyeon questions, voice lilting with intrigue. “You play guitar?” He leans back in his chair, eyes softening.
“Took it up after I moved away,” Hyeongjun explains. He contemplates the other people in his life for Jooyeon to meet. “My parents drop by now and then,” Hyeongjun adds, brows knitting together. “Obviously they can’t know you’re alive. There would be issues of morality, how come he’s not dead anymore. It would be a disaster.”
Jooyeon nods solemnly, understanding the need to keep his life a secret.
“There’s also my neighbor Seungmin. He’ll probably want to know who you are if you’re going to be living here.”
Jooyeon bites his lip, trying to hide a smile.
“Only if you want to, I mean–” he flusters, “You don’t really have anywhere else to stay right now, so…you can stay with me. If you want to.”
“I think that would be perfect,” Jooyeon beams, “I’ve never had a roommate before.”
Jooyeon’s rapid-fire questions and comments pause, giving way to something warm buzzing in his chest. A feeling of excitement. At only twenty-two, Jooyeon had still been looking for his path in life to no avail. Now dead, and free of any expectations placed on him, he felt he had the chance to live . With his Hyeongjun at his side.
Hyeongjun finds it’s easy to invite Jooyeon back into his life, despite the years of not seeing one another. In many ways Jooyeon had remained the same as the boy he knew ten years ago – just as loud, just as vibrant, and just as free-spirited. He’d changed in quieter ways, becoming more contemplative. Moments of peaceful quiet were not as rare as they had been in his youth.
Jooyeon was enamored with the way Hyeongjun had stayed more or less the same as when they were young – he found him just as fun to tease, just as easy to get a rise out of. Hyeongjun had, however, acquired a certain air of confidence in the past ten years which Jooyeon found equally beguiling. It came in moments Jooyeon never expected, and it made him feel lightheaded in the best way.
As they navigated this life together, they learned new things and rediscovered old things about one another. Hyeongjun rediscovered Jooyeon still didn’t like to eat his vegetables, where Jooyeon discovered Hyeongjun quite liked to dance.
Hyeongjun learned Jooyeon still sleeps like the dead. Across the bedroom where they had set up his own bed to sleep in, Jooyeon would lay unmoving for hours, sleeping deep and peaceful. Hyeongjun found it mesmerizing to watch him wake up in the morning, eyes fluttering open. It was like watching him come back from the dead again.
Jooyeon rediscovered Hyeongjun’s love of rabbits. It was something he had never outgrown, and Jooyeon found his love for them charming. He delighted in the members of Hyeongjun’s plush bunny collection he was familiar with – recognized from childhood – and joyfully met the acquaintance of the new ones.
Jooyeon fit so nicely into Hyeongjun’s life as he carved out a space for his own. Seungmin and Jiseok had taken an immediate liking to him. Seungmin had clapped Hyeongjun on the back, saying it would be good for Hyeongjun to have someone around that would challenge him.
Jooyeon found he liked manning the counter of Hyeongjun’s little bakery. It kept him busy, gave him purpose, and his social tendencies an outlet. He liked the chance to meet new people every day. He liked the way he could brighten up a patron’s day with a compliment or even just a smile. He liked making himself useful to Hyeongjun – liked lifting burdens from him.
Likewise, Hyeongjun found he liked having someone work in the shop with him, though it went against everything he had believed about himself. It seemed Jooyeon was the exception – and always would be. Jooyeon kept him entertained when business was slow, telling him long winded stories and coming up with games to pass the time. He made hard days bearable, and good days all the better.
The facts are these: It has been two months, sixteen hours, and fifty-eight minutes since Hyeongjun brought Jooyeon back from the dead. They find themselves on a walk in a nearby park, as they often find themselves on Monday evenings. Jooyeon was talking animatedly about the comic he had read the night before, his nose and cheeks turning pink from the cold of late autumn fading into early winter.
As Hyeongjun stared at Jooyeon, he felt himself smile. A rush of warmth washed over Hyeongjun. He would later describe this feeling as delight. He reached around his back and held his own hand, pretending he was holding Jooyeon’s. And at that very moment – when one’s life stops being measured in days, hours, and minutes but instead in the immeasurable quantity of life events – Jooyeon was pretending to be holding his .
END.