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Meeting Beomgyu again after six years of separation was nerve-wracking—a fact that only became less obvious because of his age (older now, so he knew how to hide such a thing behind a carefully controlled expression) and because of the circumstance that had pushed for their reunion in the first place.
It was less than ideal to say that it was a happy occasion.
During one of his afternoon breaks, Soobin had received a phone call from him. The number flashing on his screen was saved simply as ‘Choi Beomgyu’, direct and to the point and without the same priority it once held, as they only remained in contact because of Soo-mi. It was so strange to see him calling when texting had been his primary mode of contacting Soobin about Soo-mi’s development for the past years, that Soobin had to stare for a few seconds to make sure he was seeing it right before answering the call.
It was a short and curt conversation, with Beomgyu informing him that they had to meet soon to talk about Soo-mi. His tone of voice was natural, making it difficult to infer any underlying implication beyond what he was told. That, or perhaps they had become strangers that Soobin could no longer tell what Beomgyu was feeling or thinking. It was likely the latter than the former.
They had decided to meet at the cafe they used to frequent when they were still together. It was a quiet place with affordable pricing of drink selection in an alley of the downtown area where they used to live back when they were students, and then parents after Soo-mi was born. They had been broke then, needing to save as much money as they could, so they cut the fund for their date. Both of them had enough money now to go somewhere more luxurious, but it was easier to agree to a place they were familiar with.
“Your tie is crooked,” Beomgyu said to him the first thing when he arrived, pointing at his neck. There was a very subtle hint of a smile on his lips, and Soobin felt his face warm at his observation.
After they placed their order—ice tea for Soobin and hot black coffee for Beomgyu—they fell into an awkward silence. It didn’t last long though, because Beomgyu was determined to address the purpose of their meeting.
Soo-mi had been sick, he told Soobin after their drinks were served. Beomgyu relayed the story of her rapidly deteriorating health and the type of treatment and medication she was receiving from the hospice. There were some medical jargons coming out of his mouth, but Soobin lost him when he started mentioning chemotherapy.
“I have to tell you because she’s getting worse,” he said, refusing to look Soobin in the eyes.
It must have been unpleasant to be in Soobin’s presence again, and to talk about their sick daughter of all things. They had broken off their relationship on a rather bad note, and as far as Soobin was aware, neither of them had truly moved on with a different partner—both of their necks were pretty and clean of any marking, with their mating bites having faded away a long time ago and leaving no trace behind.
Since their separation, Beomgyu had his hands full of Soo-mi while Soobin had his study and career keeping him on his toes. Soo-mi had been the sole reason connecting them now. They were mated but they hadn’t been married, so from a legal perspective, Beomgyu had no obligation to be in touch with him to keep him updated about their child. But he still did anyway—a fact that Soobin was thankful for.
“Worse how? Is she going to be okay?” Soobin asked, feeling his stomach grew heavier as realization dawned in him. Cancer . It was cancer that Beomgyu was talking about, although he wasn’t clear on what type of cancer it was.
Beomgyu took a while to answer his questions. There was a surprising conviction in the way he stared at Soobin, like he’d prepared himself for this talk a hundred times and refused to let himself be overcome by emotions. “Bad, just bad. And I don’t know—I don’t think she’s going to be okay.”
When they went together for a patient visit an hour later, Soobin realized that this was the first time he was seeing Soo-mi in person since she was two years old. Pictures and videos of her that Beomgyu sent to him occasionally had been the only luxury he’d been allowed to have. It was nice to know about the drawings she made of the dolphin and the penguin she’d seen in an aquarium visit or the calico cat their neighbor owned that she’d grown attached to or the habit of picking the seafood off her food like Beomgyu had, but it also made something inside him shatter that he wasn’t a part of their life.
What Soobin would come to see of her that day was nothing like he’d seen in the pictures and videos. There was not a smile or laughter to welcome him, or her bright inquisitive eyes to regard him. She was lying still on the bed, sleeping, looking so small and frail with the ventilator attached to her and in the teal gown that seemed to drown her. Beomgyu had informed him beforehand that she went through a fit shortly before so she’d be tired, but nothing could have prepared him for this sight of her.
“Hey, baby. Appa is here to see you,” Beomgyu whispered to her, in a voice so soft and quiet Soobin felt his heart ache. She didn’t stir.
Soobin had to clench his jaw and dig his nails into the flesh to ground himself, to tell himself again and again that this wasn’t about him, that the paralyzing agony he was experiencing couldn’t amount to anything she was going through, or what Beomgyu was going through. This wasn’t how he imagined his reunion with his daughter would be, if they were to have one. But Soobin was still grateful that he managed to see her now than never at all.
When he held her hand, it was so small in his grasp, completely hidden by Soobin.
He wished it was that easy to protect her from any pain in the world.
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He spent less time in his office after that. Although the amount of work he had to do had not lessened in the slightest, he’d taken to do whatever work he could get done in the hospice room where Soo-mi was staying or the hospice canteen. His coworkers and subordinates had been understanding of his situation, despite most of them having only learned about Soo-mi’s existence.
Needless to say, this new routine took a toll on him physically and mentally. Work aside, being in this close proximity with Soo-mi had opened his eyes to her endearing childlike speech and behavior, as well as the episodes of drop she experienced from time to time. It never got easier to watch, no matter how many times it happened. Soobin couldn’t begin to imagine what it was like to be in Beomgyu’s shoes, who had been taking care of her for longer.
“Why aren’t you angry at me? I didn’t tell you anything until she’s this bad,” Beomgyu questioned him one day as they were having lunch in the canteen.
Soobin sighed and ran his hands down his face, rubbing the sleepiness and exhaustion away. “I don’t have the time and energy for that, Beomgyu. I want to focus on her. Isn’t that the reason why you reached out to me? For me to be here for her?”
Beomgyu stared at him, perhaps assessing the extent of truth in his words. There wasn’t much else Soobin could do besides staring back at him, taking in the changes in Beomgyu’s appearance more closely. He was still just as pretty but he was looking rather gaunt these days, resembling the Beomgyu who was in his first trimester of pregnancy struggling with keeping his food down. Wasn’t a fun time, Soobin recalled.
After a whole minute or so, Beomgyu seemed guilty as he said, “Thank you, and I’m sorry.”
The days passed in a blur. March came in a blink of an eye, marking Soobin’s third week with them.
“Look at what I have. Can you take a guess, Soo-mi?” Soobin pushed a box of cake that he bought on the way to the hospice. There were three slices of strawberry shortcake inside to celebrate Beomgyu’s twenty-ninth birthday and Soo-mi’s eighth birthday that was a week apart from each other.
It was a rare day where she was feeling better and allowed to leave her room with company, so the three of them had strolled around the hospice park and took a break at one of the picnic tables near the water fountain. The cherry blossoms had yet to be in full bloom, but the pink shade of spring had begun to color the air around them.
“Oh, I know! Cake.” She giggled, showing off the dimples in her cheeks.
“Does appa and papa love each other?” she asked a while later after she had finished eating—only half of it despite strawberry shortcake being her favorite—looking expectantly at the both of them.
“Of course we do. Why are you asking, baby?” Beomgyu said, sounding suspiciously sincere, as if it wasn’t a lie he was pulling through his teeth.
“I’ve never seen you two kiss,” she stated, appearing genuinely curious. “I want to see you two kiss.”
Soobin sputtered at her request. It was just an innocent comment made by their daughter, but perhaps she had noticed the lack of warmth and intimacy in their interactions, the way their scent hadn’t rubbed off each other like any alpha and omega who were in love with each other. Soo-mi was a sharp and sensitive girl, and in that sense, she reminded Soobin of Beomgyu a lot.
“She’s smart, she could tell if we’re lying. So kiss me like you mean it,” Beomgyu whispered into his ear when he pretended to remove a leaf from Soobin’s shirt so only the two of them could hear it.
Strangely, the feeling of Beomgyu’s lips against his own was familiar, as if the touch had triggered a memory he’d carefully kept in the corner of his mind, waiting to resurface for this very moment. The soft scent of Beomgyu’s strawberry and rose filled Soobin’s nose, and as Beomgyu cupped his cheek to deepen the kiss, Soobin knew exactly what to do. He’d kissed Beomgyu a thousand times before, and his body still remembered it.
“There, happy?” Beomgyu said to Soo-mi when they parted.
“Very,” she replied cheekily.
Beomgyu laughed and hugged her, pressing his cheek against hers to scent her, turning the air surrounding them softer with his natural sweet and floral note.
For a moment, life almost felt normal and simple. As if they were a happy family on a picnic in a park somewhere in Seoul to cheer for their daughter for her eight years of existence, and the many more years to come; there were no worries in sight.
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The night when the doctor gave them an update about her condition—another devastating news about how Soo-mi’s body was not responding positively to the current treatment and that she had come to the final stage of her condition where nothing else could work anymore, suggesting that they had to prepare for the worse any day now—Beomgyu finally reached his breaking point.
By the time the doctor left, Beomgyu seemed like he was about to pass out from both exhaustion and anguish. His feet were unsteady as he went to settle heavily in one of the chairs. His shoulders hunched and shook with each breath he drew, but his eyes were dry. It was Soobin who found himself in one shadowy corner of the hallway with his cheeks wet and dripping of warm liquid, arms crossed on his chest as if trying to hug and comfort himself. They didn’t say a word to each other, even as they tucked Soo-mi in for the night.
When Soobin was dropping him off after, Beomgyu asked him to stay the night. He couldn’t bear to be alone at the moment, he said.
They were worn down, after weeks of sleepless nights filled with worries for the inevitable, but neither of them could go to sleep. They found themselves in the living room, each nursing a mug of hot chocolate courtesy to Soobin after they had a shower and changed into sleeping clothes. Beomgyu’s scent hung thickly in the room, giving off a tinge of sour that betrayed his real feeling.
“She’s only eight, Soobin. She should have a whole future to look forward to just like other children, but—” Beomgyu stopped, his voice cracking and his eyes shining. He sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes. The hands resting on his laps, with his palms curling into each other as if they were a cocoon protecting something precious, trembled. “Every time I look at her, laying in the bed linked to a machine to help her breathing and in pain, I think about how I have failed her.”
Soobin put down his mug on the table to look at him. “No, what are you talking about? You love her so much, and you’ve done your best as her guardian. She loves you.”
“I deprived her of you . I know that if I hadn’t denied you, you would be present in her life in some ways. That you would be kind and caring to her. That you would love her too, and she would know that. I took that away from her.”
“You were hurting, Beomgyu. After what happened… I was obsessed with climbing the corporate ladder that I neglected both of you. I was foolish enough to not see that you needed me, so it was expected that you didn’t want to meet me or have me associated with our child.”
“But I was selfish. I was only thinking about myself. She asked about you many times, and every time, I lied to her. I told her that you were in a country far away, and that you couldn’t come to be with us because you were busy. I kept lying until she stopped asking,” Beomgyu said shakily, as the tears pooling in his eyes finally trickled down his flushed cheeks.
Soobin had to wonder if things would have turned out differently had he been more insistent and stubborn. Sure, Beomgyu had forbidden him from coming into their life, but Soobin had accepted it far too easily, hadn’t he? He’d thought it would cause the least amount of pain on Beomgyu, but he hadn’t really considered how it would affect Soo-mi, hadn’t he? If only he’d forced his presence in their life, would he have been a proper father to Soo-mi, ephemeral as it may be?
“It’s my fault. You’re here now, but what if she thinks you don’t love her because you’ve been absent all of this time? That’d be because of me . I don’t want her to feel that way when she’s already so sick—” Beomgyu choked on his words and cried.
It wasn’t anything Soobin had ever heard or seen of him. In the past, Beomgyu had cried plenty—because he was struggling with a particularly challenging assignment or because Soo-mi was being difficult and hadn’t wanted to go to sleep no matter how much time Beomgyu spent patting her and singing her lullaby. But this was different. This was the kind of crying that came from a place of deep grief, from somewhere that rendered words meaningless and only the wretched noises leaving his lips could encapsulate the depth of the intense suffering he was experiencing.
Beomgyu sobbed and whimpered and wailed until his throat became raw, until he was gasping desperately for air. One of his hands balled into a fist to thump at his chest repeatedly, as if doing so could lessen the sting coming from the inside. He was quickly descending into a fit of panic that Soobin had to cradle him and ran his hand down the small of his back, gently reminding him to breathe so he wouldn’t get stuck on those lonely thoughts by himself.
Gradually, Soobin diffused the air with his own scent of sandalwood and petrichor to calm him. It had been such a long time since he’d done this. Beomgyu had liked his scent so much when they were together, always used to cuddle against him until Soobin’s scent stuck on him and his clothes. “Smells like a forest, like green spirit,” he always said.
Despite that, it still took a long time for Beomgyu to calm down, to stabilize his breathing into something less frenzied. Soobin lost track of time but he hadn’t stopped patting him and whispering words of reassurance and giving off his pheromone, easing Beomgyu down his breakdown as he clung to him like Soobin was his last life line.
He nuzzled his nose where Soobin’s scent was the strongest and inhaled sharply. After a while, he said in a hoarse and quiet voice, “I don’t want to lose her, Soobin. I’m so, so scared to lose her. She’s my whole world now… what would be there for me when she’s gone?”
Soobin remembered the time when the world had been such a big place full of possibilities for the two of them, now reduced into something smaller but so dear.
They had been so young once—barely twenty and filled with dreams of a future together. They were in love with each other but they hadn’t discussed marriage let alone about building a family together. Soo-mi had been conceived by accident outside of Beomgyu’s heat cycle, although she had been made with love. Abortion was an option, but neither of them had the heart to go through it, and they were much too young and immature to understand the amount of money it would cost them to take care of a baby.
It wasn’t an easy pregnancy. In the early stage, Beomgyu was terribly ill due to morning sickness. He had a constant headache accompanied by severe nausea, and he had to stay in bed all of the time when he wasn’t pushing himself to go to classes. Following the first trimester, although his condition started to improve, he wasn’t gaining as much weight as he was supposed to, so the doctor had to monitor his diet closely. It was during this period too when his mood swings became worse, joking and laughing with Soobin one minute and crying and screaming at him the next. When Beomgyu was in his eighth month of pregnancy, his water broke prematurely, resulting in an early birth of their baby—a grueling fourteen hours of labor that still traumatized Soobin to this day.
Of course, it would be so heartbreaking for Beomgyu to witness Soo-mi’s gradual weakening—a kind of torment only himself could comprehend. Beomgyu had carried her inside of him for months, given birth to her, and nurtured her with a tremendous patience and strength Soobin only learned to exist in him after he’d become a parent. Soobin remembered thinking how admirable and how beautiful he was, under the orange glow of the cheap floor lamp of their cold apartment when he had to wake up in the middle of the night to hold and feed Soo-mi, his hair mussed up and his face puffy from sleep. Beomgyu would ask him “what?” in a gruffly voice and with a tired smile, when he noticed Soobin was also awake and looking at him. “Nothing, just thinking about you,” Soobin would reply, before he too, would rise from bed to come help him with Soo-mi.
Soobin swallowed thickly, feeling his eyes watered at the memory. He had to be strong for Beomgyu because Beomgyu had been strong for far too long—he needed someone he could lean on, someone to hold and comfort him.
“I know I wasn’t here with the two of you over the years, and I won’t claim I understand the pain you’re going through. But Soo-mi is my daughter. Believe me, Beomgyu, I grieve with you.”
Soobin kissed the crown of his head, and Beomgyu shuddered in his arms. He’d grown quiet now but he hadn’t stopped crying—Soobin could feel his tears cascading down and his snot and spit wetting Soobin’s neck, could feel each painful draw of breath that shook his body to the core in his embrace. There was nothing more that Soobin wished for at the moment than to wrap him up tightly, to enclose his own body around him like an impenetrable shield so nothing could hurt him.
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It was in early summer when Soo-mi passed away. She had gone peacefully in her sleep, a few days after they took her out for a walk in the wheelchair around the hospice park. She hadn’t been completely lucid, but she had smiled at the flowers, at the supple leaves donning the tree branches and said to them; “smells like green spirit”.
Beomgyu hadn’t cried at all until after she was buried and after people had left the funeral service, leaving only the two of them behind to keep each other afloat. His face had fitted perfectly in Soobin’s palms when he wiped his tears away. Soobin pressed a thumb to his chin to stop it from quivering.
“Call me whenever. If you’re having a difficult time, or if you just want someone to talk to. You’re not alone, okay? I promise.”
Beomgyu sniffled and nodded, clasping his palm on top of Soobin’s. His hands had always been smaller, but when they once used to make Soobin feel big and Beomgyu cute to him, they only made him feel worried for Beomgyu now.
“I don’t—I don’t know if it will ever be okay again,” he confessed to Soobin. His eyes were pink and swollen from crying, and somehow his tears had yet to dry.
Soobin placed a very soft, chaste kiss on his lips. There was no complicated reason as for why he did that, it simply felt like the right thing to do and the very thing that Beomgyu needed at the moment—love, reassurance, a seal of promise that the pain he felt right now would fade over time although the grief may not come to pass. Beomgyu melted into the kiss and rested his head on Soobin’s shoulder after, leaning most of his weight onto Soobin’s body.
It had been easy to love Beomgyu, hadn’t it? So easy when his heart was so big that his love became all-encompassing, that losing that love would be everything to undo him and yet he still loved, he still loved fiercely.
“It will. You’re strong, Beomgyu. The strongest person I know,” Soobin said, wrapping his arms around Beomgyu’s slim waist and rocking him in place. “I’ll make sure to check on you from time to time. And call me, I mean it.”
“Thanks,” Beomgyu breathed out onto his collarbone.
“Why are you thanking me, it’s no problem. Will you be okay today? Do you want me to be with you tonight?”
Beomgyu raised his head from where he tucked it in Soobin’s neck. He seemed to consider his words, and it took him so long to formulate a response. In any other different circumstances, Soobin may have begun to feel nervous with anticipation, but there was only a profound emptiness and an inexplicable coldness that hadn’t begun to thaw in his chest at the thought of Soo-mi. Their little girl. Their little girl who was gone forever. He imagined Beomgyu was feeling much the same way.
“Yes, I want you to stay over. I can’t be by myself right now,” he finally replied.
The grief was still so fresh and raw, but at least they wouldn’t be alone tonight. At least they knew, even when tomorrow came and doused them with a cold reminder of what they had lost, there was a shared sense of sorrow that belonged exclusively to the two of them. Something theirs , no matter how bleak and how tender they were right now.
Time would pass, and slowly but surely, they would start to heal.