Work Text:
winter, 2001
24 years old
“Sunoo, it’s cold!” Jiyoung kicks unwillingly at the snowdrifts that dot the clearing in the forest, the floppy bunny ears on her little beanie bouncing as she walks. “Can we go home? My cartoon comes on at two o’clock. And I don’t like the winter, anyway.”
“How could you say that!” Sunoo feigns offence, running forward as she laughs to pick the little girl up and throw her into the air. “Winter is my favourite season, Jiyoung. The flowers are beautiful at this time of the year, look!”
He leans down, still carrying his five-year-old niece, to admire a row of camellia plants. The bushes grow wild, untrimmed, the soft pink of delicate petals vibrant against the whitescape.
“Flowers are more beautiful in the spring,” she counters, back to frowning as she wriggles in Sunoo’s arms to shake off the snowflakes landing on her face. “What’s so special about these?”
Sunoo shakes his head slowly, smiling. “Jiyoung-ah, there’s a story you should hear about these flowers. Promise you’ll always remember what I’m about to tell you, okay?”
“Mhm!” Jiyoung turns back to him and nods, returning his grin. “What is it?”
“Courage is not the towering oak that sees storms come and go,” Sunoo recites, something he has recited to himself so many times through the years it’s burned into his memory. “It is the fragile blossom that opens in the snow.”
“It’s true that flowers are more beautiful in the spring,” he says, standing back up. “But flowers that open in the winter, in all the wind and rain and freezing snow, don’t you think they’re so much stronger? They bloom under the harshest conditions, yet they still bring such bright color to the coldest seasons. Despite all their hardship, they make the winter worth living for.”
“Hm…” The little girl’s eyes are downcast in thought. “It’s beautiful to be strong, right Sunoo?”
The older boy nods, letting her shift in his arms so she can rest her head against his shoulder more comfortably as they continue their walk.
“Appreciate the winter flowers while you still can,” he finishes, bending down to pick up a fallen but still fresh flowerbud to drop into his niece’s waiting hands. “I should know, Jiyoung-ah. I didn't appreciate mine.”
“What happened to your winter flower?”
“He's somewhere else now, Jiyoung. That’s the thing about winter flowers; soon enough, when the spring comes, they’ll be gone.”
Sunoo recalls a boy standing with his jacket in hand, a camellia in the winter snow, and he smiles.
─
winter, 1993
16 years old
The teachers reshuffle the seating arrangement at the turn of every season. The tables are arranged in pairs; with their odd-numbered class size, one person apart from the thirty will always be alone, and as he enters the classroom he hopes with every inch of his heart that he’s not that one.
As it is, the world is not a wish-granting factory. The new assigned arrangement is already neatly drafted out on the blackboard when he walks in, and he sighs, bidding his old seatmate Hayoon farewell before picking his bag back up. His new seat is in the upper left corner of the classroom; far enough away from his friends that he can’t possibly talk to any of them during classes, which he supposes is probably the point.
Sunoo is completely ready to proceed with brooding over his decidedly boring future for the next term, when a backpack thumping down on the chair beside him startles him from his thoughts. A boy in his uniform shirt, school blazer slung over one arm, sits down in the empty seat.
Suddenly, he remembers.
In the winter, his class becomes thirty-two. He has always wondered in passing why the boy who always sits at the back only comes to school in the winter term and disappears when the spring comes. That is the way it’s been, from junior high till now, but he has never initiated the query directly to the subject in question.
By all means, sitting next to a stranger is not exactly how Sunoo would have preferred the morning to go, but in any case he supposes it's better than sitting alone.
“Hello,” he greets politely, offering a smile. “I’m Kim Sunoo, it’s nice to meet you! What’s your name?”
The boy gives him a little friendly grin in return, draping his blazer over the back of his chair. “My name is Park Sunghoon,” he says. “Nice to meet you too.”
Their first period is English class. English is, to date, his weakest subject yet; Sunoo is happy to take an hour-long nap and let the words fly over his head as always, but the first thing the teacher announces is a project due in two weeks’ time, right before they get off school for the winter break.
“The broad theme your report should fall under is ‘Seasons’,” she begins, scribbling across the board. “Think about your favourite season, why you like it, and something special about it that others may not know. Since some of you are not so fluent at the language yet, let’s start simple.”
“Stay with your seat partners for this project,” she adds, as an afterthought. “Take the chance to get acquainted with your new seatmates.”
Sunoo opens his mouth to apologise to his new seatmate for his English proficiency, or lack thereof, but when he turns Sunghoon is already writing quickly over the paper their teacher had passed out five minutes earlier.
“Winter and its unique beauty. Winter falls in South Korea between late-November and mid-March…”
“You’re good at English,” Sunoo comments, slightly bewildered.
Sunghoon smiles, setting down his pencil and pushing the paper over so Sunoo can write on it if he wants to. “My family and I moved to Canada when I was born,” he answers. “We come back to Seoul to stay when the winter comes.”
“You migrate like geese!” is Sunoo’s first reaction, and Sunghoon gives him an odd look.
“Something like geese, yeah,” he says, smiling, disregarding the strange analogy. “We come home to stay with family in the winter.”
“Ah, then it makes sense,” the younger boy responds. “Can I talk to you in Korean, and you write it down in English? If I try to speak English to you I’m afraid we might not have more than ten words by the time winter ends.”
Sunghoon laughs, taking back the piece of paper. “I’ll write then, you talk. Go ahead.”
“Alright,” Sunoo agrees, sitting up. “So first, let’s establish that winter is the worst season of the year.”
The other boy looks mildly taken aback. “What? Why do you hate the winter so much?”
“It’s so cold!” Sunoo immediately answers. “The snow makes it hard to walk to school in the morning, the trees are bare and ugly, and no flowers bloom. Did I mention it’s so cold?” He looks to Sunghoon, still in his thin uniform shirt with his blazer off, and narrows his eyes.
“Aren’t you?”
“I’m fine,” Sunghoon says, amused by the ferocity of Sunoo’s response. “Winter is my favourite season, you know?”
Sunoo gives the most appalled look he can muster at half past eight in the morning. “Why would you like…” He can’t help casting a scathing glance towards the snowscape outside the classroom window. “...this?”
“There are a lot of reasons,” Sunghoon answers simply, not elaborating. “Let me use this project to show you why. I’ll convince you, by the end of these two weeks.”
The younger boy gives in without much protest. It’s not like he has much room for argument when Sunghoon has more or less agreed to hard carry them both. “Go ahead then,” he says, his tone still questioning. “Let’s see if you can.”
─
They compromise on ‘flowers that bloom during the winter’ as the topic for their term project. As much as Sunoo dislikes the season, he likes flowers, and he supposes it can’t be too bad.
Sunghoon asks him if he’s free in the afternoon, when school ends.
“Is there something you want to do?”
“I’d like to take you somewhere,” Sunghoon says. “For our project. Just for a while, okay?”
“Okay then,” Sunoo answers. “Let’s go.”
Sunghoon takes him on a walk after school. They take a route Sunoo doesn’t take often, across town, towards the forest that lines one edge of the city. In the spring and summer months the forest and its surrounding meadows are popular visiting grounds for picnicking teenagers and families, but when the colder seasons arrive it’s typically left deserted, as it is now.
He looks back at the younger boy as they walk. “Sunoo, are you cold?”
The tips of Sunoo’s ears are tinged with red from the sheer temperatures, and he rubs his hands together to keep them from freezing over. “Yes,” he says, narrowing his eyes at the older boy. “I can’t believe you’re not.”
Sunghoon has had his blazer in the crook of his elbow the entire day, but has yet to put it on even once. He holds out his hand, offering it to Sunoo. “Wear this, then. It’s warm.”
The younger boy accepts the blazer and puts it on over his own, pleasantly surprised to find that it’s warmer than he expected. “It really is warm,” he remarks.
“I’ve been holding it, that’s why,” Sunghoon explains vaguely, but Sunoo doesn’t see how that has to do with anything. “We’re almost there, come on now.”
He leads Sunoo a distance into the forest, stepping carefully over the patches of wet snow to mark a path, stopping at a clearing in the trees that stretches out as far as the eye can see. The whiteness of the snow all around them is dotted with starbursts of colour; soft pink and deep taffy and bright yellow.
Flowers?
“I didn’t know so many of them bloomed during the winter,” Sunoo says, stepping carefully over the snow-blanketed grass to avoid trampling on any spots of colour.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Sunghoon hangs his bag up on a bare low-hanging tree branch, swiping the snow off a rock to make space for himself and Sunoo. “Sit down, if you want. We can draw some sketches, and write down some observations for our project.”
In all his admiration of his surroundings, Sunoo had almost forgotten about the project entirely. “Right,” he says, sitting down beside the older boy. “Let’s begin.”
They take turns sketching out the airy blooms from different perspectives, waiting to catch the filtered sunlight at just the right angles. Sunoo has a better eye for drawing than Sunghoon does, but Sunghoon knows much more about the wildlife around them.
“Most plants can’t stand the lower temperatures,” he says, thinking out loud as he writes. “Those are known as annual plants, and they die in the winter, leaving seeds to sprout when spring brings warmer weather along with it. Some species of plants are stronger and more weather-resistant; they bloom during the winter, and don’t wilt even when the snow starts falling…”
Sunoo finishes his sketching and puts his notebook back into his backpack. Sunghoon finishes writing soon after him, and they leave each other to enjoy the scenery all around them.
“Sunghoon, can I ask you something?”
The older boy looks up from the vibrant plum blossoms. “Yes, what is it?”
“Is there a reason you only come back to Seoul during the winter?”
Sunghoon lets the stalk of bright flowers fall, turning to Sunoo. “I suppose you wanted to ask why I don’t wear my blazer too. Believe it or not, those are two effects of the same cause.”
“Yes,” Sunoo answers. “I did want to ask that, but I thought I’d ask one question at a time. So what is it, then?”
“When I was born,” Sunghoon begins, “I was diagnosed with something, a condition the doctors had never seen before. My body can’t regulate temperature well; I am always warm, and my body will always produce heat, no matter how warm my surroundings are.”
He doesn’t remember the months after his birth, when he’d first been diagnosed, the terrible tests they’d been forced to do to see if Sunghoon’s body could adapt to survive in the seasonal climate of South Korea. Medical technology had not yet been advanced enough in 1977 to find a cure for his disorder. The verdict had been, in the end, that he couldn’t stay, and before his first birthday came his parents had uprooted their entire family and moved to a small town in Canada, where the temperatures never rose above twenty degrees celsius even in the summer. As it was, living in a small town far away from home was the only way he could retain any semblance of normalcy in his life.
“I can’t live in Seoul when it’s not winter,” he continues. “When the temperatures are too high, I get heat injury easily. Too much of it could damage my brain. Winter is the only time it’s safe for me to return to my hometown, and when spring arrives I have to leave again.”
“That’s why you don’t wear your blazer,” Sunoo says, the pieces falling into place for him. “You’re warm, even without it.”
“Mhm,” Sunghoon nods, smiling. “Want to see for yourself?” He holds out a hand for the younger boy to touch.
Sunoo places his hand in Sunghoon’s, and he’s almost startled enough to draw his hand back. The older boy’s hands are warm and dry, comforting against his cold fingers. Sunoo wonders idly if the chill of his own hands are uncomfortable to Sunghoon, but the other boy makes no move to pull away.
“So, winter is my favourite season,” he finishes. “It’s the only time of the year I can come home. But apart from that, the flowers in winter bloom the brightest, don’t they?”
Sunoo looks towards Sunghoon as he sits, pale as the snow falling from the sunless sky as the blooms unfolding at his feet paint the empty whiteness with soft brushes of colour. The camellias are just as rosy as Sunghoon’s cheeks when he smiles.
Winter flowers are, in hindsight, more beautiful than he would have imagined.
─
Sunoo looks forward to school just the slightest bit more the next day.
“Good morning.”
Sunghoon hangs his backpack carefully over the back of his chair, sitting down beside Sunoo. “It’s quite a pity you’re at the back of the class, you know. The back row is the furthest away from the heaters.” He points out the heating vents at the front of the classroom.
“That’d be why you’re at the back every year,” Sunoo answers mildly. “Good morning. What’s the point of bringing your school blazer if you don’t need it?”
“It’s so people don’t ask so many questions,” he says, laughing. “But occasionally, it’s for people like you who get put at the back even when you can’t stand the cold so, here you go.” He offers his school blazer to Sunoo again and the younger boy takes it happily, putting it on over his own. Sunghoon’s blazer is neat and ironed, and just as warm as it was yesterday.
“Thank you,” Sunoo says gratefully. Sunghoon’s shoulders are wider than his and his blazer runs big in terms of size, which means the sleeves are long enough to cover his hands. “Also, I haven’t done the maths homework. If you’re thinking about copying mine, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
Sunghoon gives him a confused look, but he smiles. “I’ve done mine. Do you want to look at it?”
Sunoo immediately sits up and accepts the piece of paper. “You saved my life. Thank you so much.”
They settle into a comfortable pattern, as the calendar counts down the seven days left before school breaks for the holiday. The last week of school is always the best week of the year; the snow has begun to stick to the ground and the dull schoolyard undergoes its annual transfiguration into a magical whitescape, the winter mood descends upon all inhabitants of the town and spares none, which means the teachers and staff are just as merry and jovial as the students weaving in and out of the classrooms. Homework is given up on and teaching content is less of a priority than it is at any other time in the year, as everyone in the building waits with anticipation for the last bell to ring.
Time passes the slowest when you’re waiting for something, but nonetheless, it passes. The last day of school arrives. English lesson is the last lesson of the day, the final obstacle standing between them and indefinite freedom, and the class goes in a circle sharing the projects they’ve been working on. Sunghoon and Sunoo’s is arguably the best of the lot, though on a day like this, nothing could possibly matter less.
A unified cheer goes up all through the building as the final bell rings; chairs and tables are pushed away and bags are slung onto shoulders, happy reunions are made as the hurricane of students flood through the gates, dissipating into the town like water into damp earth. Some head for the nearest convenience stores, some make a beeline for the town’s local arcade, some gather in groups to congregate at a friend’s house for a jolly dinner and a sleepover.
Sunghoon and Sunoo are, of course, amongst them. They spend the rest of the day frolicking through town, eating ice cream and window shopping and simply admiring the sights of rooftops covered in a fresh dusting of white. The turn of season promises presents, family dinners and general pleasant holiday spirit, and they’re determined to make the best of the school break with each other’s company.
─
Sunghoon leaves town before winter pulls away from their small town and school reopens for the spring term. Sunoo is awoken from his slumber early one Saturday morning by tiny stones pelting against the pane of his bedroom window, and he can hardly be considered awake when he reaches for the pull-handle on his window to take a good squint at whoever the hell is terrorising him at the ungodly hours that come before eight in the morning.
“ Sunghoon? God, why are you awake? You’re insane…”
“I’m going home, Sunoo. Don’t you want to say goodbye?”
“Oh shit!”
Blue pawprint pyjamas his mother picked up at the local street market two summers ago are nowhere near warm enough for the morning chill of early spring, but five seconds after Sunoo steps past the threshold of his house it’s no longer a problem. He heads directly into Sunghoon’s arms, hair bed-mussed, eyes barely staying open, one foot shoved into his worn left sneaker and the other into his dad’s oversized slipper. The other boy stands just a bit taller, built just a bit wider, giving off just the right amount of warmth, and Sunoo almost feels like he could go back to sleep as Sunghoon wraps his arms around him.
“Already miss me?” Sunghoon’s voice is muffled where the younger boy’s hair obscures his face, but Sunoo hears him fine. “I wonder how you’re going to survive eight months.”
“Eight months is a…long time,” Sunoo mumbles. “I could give birth to a whole child before you come back, you know.”
“As opposed to a half child?” Sunghoon laughs softly, not loosening his arms. “You’re not making sense, Sunoo. Does your brain not function before eight o’clock?”
“Mm…no.”
Sunghoon successfully extricates himself from the hug at some point after the five minute mark. He sends his final goodbyes with a quick wave and a bright smile, before Sunoo is awake enough to fully register that he is really leaving. By the time it sinks in that Sunghoon is really going away, Sunghoon is already gone.
─
Dear Sunghoon,
I hope you’ve reached home safely. I don’t know how long letters take to travel from Korea to Canada, but since I’m writing this a week after you’ve left I’m sure you’ll be home long before this correspondence reaches you.
They’ve changed our seating arrangements again. Spring has come and it’s not so cold, so it’s alright for me to sit in the back row now. I’m next to Riki, whom you may not remember because he was stuck next to the class nerd last term so he spent most of his classes sleeping, but he doesn’t do his maths homework too, which means I have to suck it up and do my own. Please come back soon, I miss you for this reason.
Let me think about what’s happened since you left. Riki taught me a bunch of new games and I play with him when there’s breaks during the day. He’s fun to talk to and sit with in class, but the other day he put a beetle in my pencil case and gave me a fright. How terrible.
I think, in the end, I still prefer you.
Scores came back for our project. We did well, 95/100. I went back to the forest after school today. It looks different when the snow has melted away. It’s pretty regardless, but the camellias were more beautiful when you were here with me.
Was that weird? I’m sorry if it was. Anyway, I think you were right in the end. Some flowers are more beautiful in the winter. I still refuse to agree that winter isn’t a terrible season, but I’ll give that to you.
Yours,
Sunoo
07-04-1994
Dear Sunoo,
Do you only miss me for my maths homework? You can be very scathing when you want to be. I’ve reached home safely, thank you for your concern. This was received on the 24th of April, so I suppose it took about 17 days to get here. 34 days without me is a long time, I hope you don’t die from missing me too much.
School has started here, as it has for you. Where I live it’s a little different from our school in Seoul, that’s for sure. City schools have so many students, it appalls me. There are just two hundred students (give or take) here, but it’s a small town. You would hate it here, though. Everyone speaks English.
You and the back row are a terrible combination. I’m surprised Mr Kang hasn’t realised by now that he has put you in the perfect position to SLEEP IN CLASS. On a lighter note, good to know you’re having fun, but I’m glad you still prefer me. The question is, do I have to worry about being replaced while I’m gone? Don’t answer this, my ego is fragile.
The weather back home is comfortable for me. I carry a jacket as always, to avoid questions, but unlike in Seoul, I don’t have anyone to give it to every day. Also, you left something in the pocket of my blazer the last time you wore it.
Take care, until I write again.
Yours,
Sunghoon
25-04-1994
P.S. It wasn’t weird. Don’t worry so much about things like these.
─
Dear Sunghoon,
I left something in your pocket? What did I leave?
I NEVER sleep in class. I can’t believe you could accuse me like this. On a completely unrelated note, I am now relocated to the front row. I got separated from Riki because he made me laugh so hard I fell off the chair and rolled on the ground in the middle of maths. Sorry Mr Kang. Now I’m next to this girl you’ve probably never spoken to either, her name’s Jiyeon. I didn’t talk to her the whole of last year because she’s quiet, but she’s nicer than I thought. She helps me with my English.
Yours truly,
Sunoo
P.S. There have been many people asking me if I’m single recently, or if I’d like to be their boyfriend. I suppose it’s because Chuseok is coming soon, and it’s nice to have a boyfriend to take home and show off during family dinner. What do you think I should tell them?
─
Dear Sunoo,
You left your heart in my pocket. I’m not very sure I want to give it back.
That was a joke. I hope you’re having a good time with Seyoung. You like her more than me now, don’t you? Go write her letters instead.
You’ll find a small pack of sweets enclosed within this envelope. It’s my favourite candy from where I live, something I don’t think you’ll be able to find in Seoul at the moment. At least, I’ve never been able to find it while I was there. I couldn’t send any more without exceeding the weight limit for mailing envelopes, so you’ll have to make do.
Yours,
Sunghoon
P.S. I should hope your answer would be a ‘no’. Why should other people get to take you home? I wanted you before Chuseok, so please wait for me. I’ll see you soon.
Dear Sunghoon,
…
I don’t need to write Seyoung letters. At least she didn’t move to some faraway town halfway across the world from me.
Yours truly,
Sunoo
P.S. What do you mean, you wanted me before Chuseok? And what does ‘I’ll see you soon’ mean? Are you coming home for the holiday?
─
The next time they meet comes, unexpectedly, before Sunghoon’s reply reaches him. There’s a knock on the door early in the morning of the first day of the Chuseok holiday, and Sunoo answers it still in pyjamas, a bowl of cereal half-finished at the kitchen island.
“Sunghoon?”
A familiar boy greets him from just past the threshold, dressed in a thin shirt in the autumn wind, jacket in hand, and Sunoo barely lets a second pass before he’s in Sunghoon’s arms again.
Sunghoon extricates himself from the embrace when it passes the minute mark. “You’re warm,” the older boy says apologetically, smiling. “Sorry.”
“You’re back early this year,” Sunoo smiles, inviting him in.
“I won’t be staying for long,” Sunghoon says ruefully, leaving his shoes at the door. “The temperatures are cooler this Chuseok, so we decided to come back for just a while to celebrate with the rest of my family. I’ll be leaving at the end of the holiday weekend.”
Sunoo offers Sunghoon some breakfast which he refuses, insisting that he’s already eaten and isn’t hungry, and he sits by the younger boy as he finishes the last few bites of his breakfast.
“Is this your first time spending the Chuseok holiday in Korea?” Sunoo asks.
Sunghoon nods, eyes wandering. “Back in Canada, whenever Chuseok came, we’d just have a family meal, the four of us, and send some food back home. Our family members here would send us kimchi and other things in advance, so we could have homemade food for Chuseok dinner. I wonder what it’ll be like this year.”
“It’ll be much better when you can be with family,” Sunoo says, washing his bowl and spoon. “People here usually gather all their aunts and uncles and cousins, and everyone comes together and has a good meal and they talk about all the things that have happened since they last saw each other, since some of them don’t see each other the entire year apart from Chuseok festival.”
“Let’s go for a walk,” Sunghoon says. “I only get to see this town during the winter. I’d like to see what this place is like when it isn’t covered in snow.”
It’s a holiday weekend, which means Sunoo doesn’t have homework to catch up on or tests to study for. They happily spend the day traversing every corner of the town, from the streets of residential estates to the sprawling parks with grey pavements crinkling with dried leaves of red and orange and buttercup yellow, only stopping for lunch at a small streetside snack stall before continuing on their way.
As the cloudy skies of the morning begin to surrender to afternoon, Sunghoon and Sunoo find themselves at the edge of a lake, secluded from the rest of the town by a copse of thick evergreen trees. A wide platform overhangs the water, dotted with scattered leaves that Sunghoon brushes aside before they sit down.
Sunghoon reaches into his back pocket and carefully unfolds an enveloped letter, already addressed, just missing a stamp. He smoothes out the fold over his thigh as best as he can before handing it to Sunoo. “I had a reply to your letter written, I just thought I’d give it to you in person since I was coming. Don’t open it until I leave, though.”
“What, let me guess,” Sunoo begins jokingly. “You wrote something sappy and embarrassing and you don’t want me to read it in front of you?”
In the dappled sunlight filtering through the branches above, he almost thinks he sees Sunghoon’s cheeks colour, in the second it takes for him to turn away.
“Don’t make me regret it, Kim Sunoo, I’ll take the letter back,” he counters, but his tone holds no real threat in it, and Sunoo smiles.
“I won’t read it until you leave,” Sunoo promises, laughing, slipping it into the inner pocket of his puffy jacket.
"Promise?"
"Promise. Unless…"
“Kim Sunoo, don’t you dare…”
Sunoo waves the letter over his head as he darts away from the hand Sunghoon swipes towards him. “Catch me, if you can!”
He turns and disappears, zipping between trees, autumn leaves crackling like the forest coming to life under his feet wherever he runs. In moments like these of incandescent happiness, it’s so easy to forget about Sunghoon’s condition.
“Sunoo, wait up!”
Sunghoon has never really been allowed to run; it was against the doctors’ recommendation for him to participate in any sort of intense activity that could raise his heart rate and internal temperature, lest it couldn’t be regulated in time.
Nevertheless, he tries, tracing Sunoo’s path through the trees, clumsy, untrained feet picking up the pace as he stumbles to catch up to the other boy. He can already feel the uncomfortable, tingling warmth beginning to course through his veins, burning spiderwebs through his arms and legs, but he presses on. Just a little further.
“Kim Sunoo!”
By the time Sunoo’s realised the only noise left in the forest comes from under his feet, Sunghoon is already unconscious.
─
winter, 1994
17 years old
Sunghoon fades in and out of consciousness. The lights running along the ceiling flash over him without stopping; he is vaguely aware of the gurney weaving through the corridors of the hospital.
It’s been a while since he last had to come here.
Faces follow him on the journey. Doctors talk over him, nurses check on his condition, orders are issued with precision. Something inside his head aches; it hurts to keep his eyes open, but he strains to find the only face he’s looking for amongst the crowd.
Sunoo, running along beside the gurney, constantly watching over him.
Sunghoon wants to speak, but his throat is drying and rough and won’t obey his instructions as he’s pushed into a familiar room, fitted with thin pipes that surround him. The emergency treatment begins, water mists from the openings and fans are directed to him, a last-ditch procedure for severe heat injury.
Just past the curtains that separate the room from the rest of the hospital, he can just make out the silhouette of Sunoo, standing, watching, waiting, hoping.
Hoping against all hope for his winter flower to survive the fire.
When Sunghoon reawakens, Sunoo is gone.
─
Sunoo tries his best not to get in any of the doctors’ way as he follows the gurney along the hospital corridors. He doesn’t know where they’re taking Sunghoon or what they’re doing with him, only that he can’t bear the thought of being away from the other boy. Not now, not when his life hangs in the balance, a delicate flowerbud balancing on a knife’s edge.
A temperature scanner is waved over his head to check on him as they move. The numbers keep moving, like the scanner itself is confused; 40.2, 40.6, 41.5, 41.2-
Sunoo doesn’t know what’s happening, but he knows Sunghoon’s life is in danger.
They push Sunghoon into a small, low room full of thin, running pipes. As the mechanism starts up water begins to spray in a fine mist across the room. The nurses tell him the procedure is known as evaporation cooling, supposed to drop his core body temperature as quickly as is medically possible.
He strains to see Sunghoon’s face through the floating mist. He can’t tell if the older boy’s eyes are open, or if he’s even conscious at this point. All he knows is that if Sunghoon dies today, he will never forgive himself.
He doesn’t leave Sunghoon’s side. The doctors remove him from the water room and test his temperature again after ten minutes give or take; the scanner reads 37.9, which Sunoo supposes they’re satisfied with because the nurses take him away to dry his body off and clothe him in hospital attire before admitting him to one of the wards.
Multiple clear tubes run from both of Sunghoon’s arms as he lays unconscious. One of them, Sunoo gathers, is fluids to keep him hydrated; he’s unsure of what the labels on the rest of them say. The medical terms are too technical for him to understand.
A nurse pulls up a plastic chair beside Sunghoon’s hospital bed for Sunoo to sit in and he curls up in the chair, watching mindlessly as the other boy’s chest rises and falls with even breaths. He places his hand against Sunghoon’s neck as a test; he can tell the boy’s temperature is rising again. He lifts the blanket off him, folding it neatly to place at the foot of the bed. Sunghoon doesn’t need it, after all.
The hospital ward has heaters installed by each of the four beds in it. Sunoo is grateful on Sunghoon’s behalf that the room is empty aside from them, because it means he can turn off the heaters and open the windows to keep Sunghoon’s temperature down without affecting anyone else. He’s not exactly sure what temperature constitutes discomfort for the older boy, but as far as he remembers he knows Sunghoon prefers fresh air to stuffiness.
They stay like this for hours as the mid-afternoon gives way to heavy twilight; the older boy doesn’t reawaken, and Sunoo has no inclination to be anywhere else. Apart from periodical checks on his bodily temperature and nurses popping in to read off the vitals on his heart monitor, the otherwise empty ward is silent.
When the clock face over the entryway to the ward reads 8:47PM, Sunghoon’s eyelids flutter for the first time in hours. Before the older boy can awaken fully, Sunoo is already out of his chair, careful not to make a noise dragging the legs across the floor as he slips away. He tells one of the passing nurses Sunghoon is awake before leaving the hospital, only looking up periodically to navigate the street signs on his way home.
─
Sunoo doesn’t see Sunghoon for the rest of his stay. He, in fact, makes a conscious effort not to. It’s easy to ignore the knocks that sound outside his door every day when he’s trapped in his own dark bubble of conflicting thoughts that never leave him for even a second.
He tells himself it’s better this way. He just wishes he could tell Sunghoon that too.
The Chuseok holiday draws to a close. At some point the knocks on the front door become less frequent, and when the day comes for school to resume, Sunoo knows Sunghoon must have gone home.
This is the right thing to do . Sunoo lets those seven words be a constant reminder to him every time those smiling eyes resurface in his distant memory. He finds the letter Sunghoon left for him weeks later, the letter he’d given to him that night at the lake, just before the accident had driven them apart for good.
Dear Sunoo,
You are terrible. How could you make it sound like I moved away out of my own free will? Rephrase that or you’ll hurt my feelings. See, if I come back in the winter and your English has improved too much, I’ll know you spent all your free time with Seyoung.
I wanted you before Chuseok, make of that what you will. Thank you for waiting for me. I’m sorry to have to leave you again, but when the first snow falls outside your bedroom window I will be by your side. Please hold on, until I see you again.
Wherever you are, I hope you bloom.
Yours,
Sunghoon
Sunoo hates that his eyelashes are heavy with unshed tears as he folds the white notebook paper back into its envelope with clumsy hands. The pressing warmth, the feeling that always saturates him when he’s trying not to cry, reminds him too much of Sunghoon’s arms around him.
He gets up from his perch at the edge of his bed and throws his bedroom window open. The cold spell that stuck long enough to see the town through the Chuseok holiday has come and gone; the gentle autumn night wind is not nearly cold enough to freeze the last remnants of longing from the heart he’s so desperately trying to keep from missing the boy far away in Canada, the boy whom he’ll never know misses him just as much.
I have to stay away from him. This is the right thing to do.
Isn’t it?
─
Dear Sunoo,
I don’t know what’s happened between us. If I’ve done something wrong, please tell me.
I suppose something must have kept you busy last week. I didn’t see you after I left the hospital. I hope everything’s okay on your end, and if there’s anything I can do, I’ll do my best to help. In the meantime, I’ve reached home safely. I’ll be back for the winter.
Yours,
Sunghoon
─
Dear Sunghoon,
Nothing happened, please don’t worry.
You haven’t done anything wrong. I think that’s the problem.
Nevertheless, I don’t think we should hang out with each other anymore. I don’t want to put you in a position like that ever again. Please stay safe. I’ll see you again if you come back in winter.
Yours,
Sunoo
No more letters come afterward. Sunoo doesn’t know why he expects them.
Six weeks of him hopefully greeting the mailman pass before the little kindle of fire that still burns in his heart extinguishes itself for good. It’s long overdue, anyway. He’s the one who told Sunghoon they should stop hanging out together. Of course, at that point he hadn’t expected they wouldn’t even be friends anymore, but he supposed it made it that much easier for him to forget that a piece of his heart was still in Sunghoon’s pocket.
─
Sunghoon returns later than is expected. Sunoo’s class stays as thirty-one people until late November has come and gone, when the snow begins to stick to the ground, and the town has already settled into the winter season when the empty table at the back of the classroom finally welcomes its occupant home. Sunoo’s seat is in the second row this time, at the opposite corner from Sunghoon’s.
There’s an unspoken layer of tension that hangs between them both; Sunoo had dreaded acknowledging it weeks before Sunghoon was bound to return, but he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. They greet each other with neutral civility, but there is nothing more. Sunghoon doesn’t stop by his table to ask how he’s doing, or offer help with Sunoo’s assignments. Sunoo, on his part, doesn’t ask for it either.
The odd, artificial distance between them doesn’t last longer than a week. It is much like having a fight with one’s best friend; one doesn’t mope and mourn the end to a friendly relation, no, they know it’s not the end. They wait on the sidelines of reconciliation for the right moment to sit back down beside their best friend, press unpause on the movie that is their friendship. The movie resumes. Life goes on.
By the weekend, Sunghoon and Sunoo already have plans made for the entire first week of the holiday. The earliest inklings of snow have come and gone, winter has proven itself here to stay; the only conditions which allowed Sunghoon to come home in the first place.
They meet again when Sunghoon knocks on Sunoo’s door early Monday morning, as promised. An odd sense of deja vu flits through Sunoo’s mind as he slips into his puffy blue winter jacket before heading out the door; the last time they were in this position, Sunghoon had been home for the Chuseok holiday, and the accident had not yet happened.
Sunghoon offers his hand to Sunoo as they walk. Sunoo takes it.
They say nothing, but then again nothing needs to be said. His touch is comforting; warm and dry, like a blanket on a cold, wet day, and Sunoo finds he doesn’t want to let go.
─
The lake first comes into view as they crest the small hill separating the woods from the rest of the town.
"It's completely covered in snow," Sunoo says, frowning. "I can't really see if the ice is thick enough to bear weight."
"It's been two weeks since the change of season," Sunghoon answers, trying to untangle a stubborn knot on the lace of his left skate. "The ice over the lake should be frozen solid at this point. We should be safe."
"Alright then, let's go!"
"Let go of me idiot, I'm not done with my laces," Sunghoon laughs, pushing Sunoo's hand away as he almost slips off the rock from the other boy's nudging.
"I'm going first. Last one to the centre of the lake buys us both ice cream later!" Sunoo whoops as he launches himself off from the edge of the lake, skates slicing cleanly through the layer of fresh snow over the ice.
"I never agreed to that!" Sunghoon shouts back, hurrying to lace up his right skate. The laces on these borrowed skates were unfamiliar; his fancy training skates were back home in Canada, too bulky to justify carrying on board the plane with them. "Wait for me!"
He finishes up his last bunny-ear with practised hands and stands up quickly, excitement coursing all through him.
As he looks up, standing at the edge of the lake, the last thing he sees above the surface is the hood of a blue jacket disappearing below the ice.
“Kim Sunoo!”
Sunghoon throws aside his jacket and skates towards the gaping crack in the ice with such little care for self preservation it was a miracle he didn’t fall in himself.
“Kim Sunoo!”
He slams his fists into the thin, already breaking ice around the edge of the hole, swiping away snow and shards of ice with reckless abandon to pull Sunoo back out of the water. He knows the clock is ticking; in such temperatures, a normal person would drown within minutes, and hypothermia would finish the job not long after. If he didn’t get Sunoo out of the freezing lake water very soon, it wouldn’t matter anymore if he got him out or not. Sunoo would already be dead.
“Please, Kim Sunoo…”
The frigid water rising through the hole in the ice stains red with Sunghoon’s blood as he slams at the frozen layer with no heed for the blood on his knuckles, on his fingers, on his palms. He can see a vague shape under the cloudy ice, and he hopes with every last hope in the world that shape is Kim Sunoo, just within arm’s reach.
As his fingers touch a cold, sopping jacket sleeve, Park Sunghoon takes a deep breath and dives.
─
winter, 1994
17 years old
Sunghoon runs, for the first time in his life. His legs stumble as he picks up speed, awkward from the inexperience, but the momentum is enough to keep him going as the snowfall thickens all around him. His knees buckle as the heat forces black spots into his vision and he lets go of Sunoo only to shrug off the coat on his back and lay it over the younger boy.
The exposure is crisp, like a mouthful of iced water on a hot day, and the heat dissipates easier off him in the thin shirt he’s left in. He has no more time to waste cooling down; there are just minutes left before the hypothermia seeps into Sunoo’s bones and pulls him beyond the reach of anything in the world.
It’s his first time running as hard as this, and as he heads for the hospital he’s struck with the realisation that it’ll likely be his last. The frigid water from the lake has long since evaporated away; nothing is there to stop the choking warmth from constricting his body as he runs. He can already feel the heat saturating his skin, radiating off him into the night air.
Not fast enough.
The uncomfortable sluggishness that comes with overheating sets in fast, before Sunghoon has a chance to register it happening; it burns into every nerve on his skin with alarming speed as they break away from the forest and the familiar cityscape opens up before them. The red medical symbol high up on the hospital rooftop illuminates the night in the distance.
The snow falls thick enough to dust his hair and shoulders with white; for Sunoo’s sake he wishes the snow would stop, but for his own sake he wishes it would snow harder.
Sunghoon is out of breath by now, something burns away in his chest as he shifts Sunoo into a better position and picks up speed again, but the breathing is a lesser concern for him. He’s dizzy enough that the edges of everything are blurred into each other; his field of vision whites out in flashes as he pushes on through empty streets just beginning to coat with white powder in every direction he can see.
There’s something almost tragically poetic about it, he supposes. The boy in the desolate streets, burning up in the dead of winter, running not for his own life but for the life of the lifeless boy in his arms.
As he stumbles across the wide, open ambulance bay leading into the emergency room, some part of him knows it’s the end. He doesn’t feel like he’s controlling his own body anymore; he’s floating, floating, his body carried forward only by the desperation that brings him impossible strength, the desperation of youth and love and tragedy and terrible hopeless hope, the only thing that could rise above the flames inside him.
I will stay by your side until you survive.
Light spills through the doors of the emergency room, a beacon in the darkness. Sunghoon almost trips on the curb before the entrance, catching himself with just enough dogged persistence not to collapse on the pavement before him.
“Sir!” Someone calls to him from a distance, he can’t see clearly enough to recognise a face. “Sir, do you need help?”
“By the entrance, I need a gurney, now!”
Paramedics pour from the emergency bay like water from a tap, and Sunghoon thinks of a pool of ice-cold water on a summer’s day, a cold hand in the suffocating warmth. He thinks of a winter flower blooming bright in the snow.
He supposes the brain damage at this point must be irreversible. The heat receptors through his body are beginning to shut down slowly, like tiny lights in the distance blinking out one by one.
Sunghoon falls, arms stretched out to protect the younger boy’s head as the world spins on its axis around him. The fire inside him is dying away, as if the only thing that has tormented him through all his living years has finally, finally given up its chokehold on him.
As he begins to lose his grip, he feels a thousand shards of ice pierce through him, brutal, merciless, unforgiving in the final moments of his consciousness.
“Sunoo… is this what it feels like to be cold?”
With his last breaths he looks down at the boy still cradled in his arms, eyes closed, cheeks pale, hair dripping, crowned with crystals of ice in the freezing wind.
His plum blossom, his camellia, his daffodil, his winter flower.
He loosens his grip to let the paramedics take Sunoo onto the gurney.
“Spring came early this year, Sunoo. I’m sorry.”
As he slips away, all that surrounds him is ataraxia.
─
“So the spring came,” Sunoo says, holding tight to Jiyoung’s hand. Somewhere along the way back home she had regained enough energy to walk on her own again, and she bounces along beside him as she listens, intent. “And he was gone. The only difference this time was that from then on, he never came back.”
“I thought flowers that bloomed in the winter were the strongest,” she says, dismayed. “What happened to him? Why did he have to leave?”
“I ask myself that sometimes too, Jiyoung-ah,” Sunoo answers. “There are a thousand other ways that night could have gone that wouldn’t have ended in him dying, but it’s too late now, isn’t it? If he hadn’t died that night, I would have frozen to death before I made it to the hospital. He died, so he could save me.”
“Would you die to save him, if you had to?”
“In a heartbeat, Jiyoung.”
Sunoo thinks of the last night they spent together, the pink in Sunghoon’s cheeks just as soft as the petals around him. “My winter flower was the strongest. But in the end, he loved me more than he loved himself.”
Wherever you are now, Sunghoon, I hope you bloom.