Archive of Our Own

Rumi is walking down a well-trodden path. An elephant path. It's raining (it always is, in this memory). She is coming home from school.

She's had to walk by herself for, a while. Sometimes her imo¹ picks her up, driving up in her eomma's² silver sedan. Sometimes, her eomma is sitting in the front and giving her a tired smile.

Not today. (No.) Because, as she left for the bus this morning, tying off her violet braid with quick fingers, Celine imo had to take her eomma to the hospital. Again.

(She hates this part. Knows her eyes are looking at the tops of trees from under her umbrella with cartoon frogs. Knows the sound she's about to hear as well as her own voice.)

She hears the weak cry before she sees it. She runs towards the sound. The hare is bloodied, its leg twisted at not the right angle. It's breathing is, just so.

She brings her umbrella over, looking around, trying to find some way to carry the hare.

(She could have put it in her backpack, carried it with her. Held it in her arms, damn the blood she'd get on her uniform, it could be washed later.)

(She should have done anything else.)

Rumi starts to sing.

"Ahn nim's³ family will be returning later tonight, her surgery at the hospital went exceedingly well and they wish to move her back home. She is expected to make a full recovery."

Rumi nods, quietly breathing a sigh of relief. Ahn Iseul is ninety four, having lived through several hard times (war, famine, stomach cancer...). Despite having a strong heartbeat, her liver was not doing so well. But with this transplant...hopefully she'd have a few more years with her family. Maybe even reaching a hundred years of age.

"And Sa nim suffered another fall. I took a look earlier, and the break is uneven. You know he enjoys his walks, as well as your singing."

Oh. She tries to keep her features composed, "Does...has he seen his daughter?"

"No. She has not responded to our inquiries, though she continues to support his stay here." Celine sounds almost annoyed, as if she hadn't done her part in this...conspiracy they engage in. "And you remember the last time she was here."

"She was...agitated." It'd been a few months earlier, and she could still hear the colorful cursing ringing in her ears.

"Disturbed, Rumi." The ajumma's⁴ expression softens, but it is probably her imagination. "It may be best to put their visits to an end."

"But Sa nim's dementia... He responds when I sing." She argues softly, her eyes downcast as she tries to find some fact, something else that might... "Can't he...?"

"Dementia cannot be healed, Rumi. And we have...limited space, in our residence here." Celine's expression is difficult to read, when she dares look up at her. "There is another patient moving in, at special request from one of our board members. She'll be the youngest resident."

She nods along, her violet braid bobbing along to the side. And listens with half an ear about the other patients.

Im nim was complaining about the chill in his room, and that was an expected comment regarding his cancer treatments. Hyun nim will be vacationing with her son's family, just for a weekend, or maybe a fortnight depending on how quickly they travel. Yang nim may be leaving soon due to cited financial stress, her husband's pension and their children's families having encountered difficulty from personal distress. And so on...

Every time she sees the end of her braid, she feels the urge to undo it and re-braid her long strands.

(There are times, she thinks she sees hands far bonier than hers working at her braid. It must be her imagination.)

She breathes softly, striding into Sa Min-Jun's room. The moon is hidden behind grey clouds. Somehow, it usually is when she does...this.

"Do you know, the story of Bari gongjunim?"⁵ She takes a seat in the bedside chair, plastic creaking as she could feel an otherworldly weight in the room. "She begged a jeoseung saja⁶ to take her to the Underworld."

She slows her breathing to match the old man's.

"The jeoseung saja was surprised, as he was to retrieve someone else that night. He tells her that her name is not on his jeokpaeji,⁷ she needn't leave with him, but merely wait for her time to be called." Her voice wavers before she returns to song, "She insists, she must. Her parents may not love her, but that didn't matter. As their child, she owes them for the life she can live now."

"Perhaps the jeoseung saja takes pity on her, or perhaps her argument is persuasive. Bari gongjunim is escorted before a judge of hell, pleading her case again. The judge exclaims that she has done what is right and good, rewarding her faithfulness with her parents returned to the land of the living. But their souls, despite being freed, could not return to their diseased bodies. They remained with her until the jeoseung saja escorted them away, and Bari gongjunim mourned once more."

Rumi checks her watch, unable to look towards the very still bed that Sa Min-Jun's body rested in. It is 0:04.

She exits the room, and re-enters, turning the light on, and proceeds to go through the motions of checking for signs of life.

She files the paperwork for the death certificate, and settles in for the rest of her shift.

"Oi. Princess." Rumi wakes with a start, shoulders jerking up as her face flushes with embarrassment. She'd fallen asleep at her desk after her rounds again, crap. She tries to temper her pout as the warm cup of coffee is lowered into her hand. "Rough night?"

"I was waiting for the early bus and fell asleep." An easy enough lie. She takes a sip and fights the urge to spit it out. "Mira!—"

"Oops. Sorry." Non-apology aside, the cup is removed from her hand. The burnt dark roast taste is barely soothed by her order of double cream and sugar.

"Thank you." She takes another sip, shivering as she shook off a shawl someone had put on her during her 'brief rest.' "Why are you here?"

"You left me a message to notarize a certificate. Sa Min-Jun." She winces softly, especially under the taller woman's gaze. "I did my shit. How'd he break his leg anyway?"

"He fell, uh, yesterday. He had...two hip replacement surgeries, I guess something broke inside."

"Good guess. Either way, his heart gave out around the time of death recorded so." Brown eyes behind thin gold frames continue to watch her, waiting for...something. "No time for that bone to try healing."

"He was eighty eight..." Rumi swallows, and tries to drink more coffee. It wasn't the first time this...interrogation...happened with the coroner.

"I guess. Funny how you're the only one writing these death certificates. In five years."

"Mira, if you're suggesting something—"

"Relax Princess." She tries to not look too relieved, even if the nickname continues to burn. "If you don't want to be accused of smothering old people in their sleep, don't take the night shift."

"I wouldn't—" Deep breath. Remember what this was about (the reminder sounded vaguely like Celine's voice). "I'm used to it, now. It's just the job."

"Just a job." A mocking reply, but her attention is soon drawn elsewhere. And Rumi also turns to look. "The jester is here."

Huh? She finds her voice again, wincing quietly at the crick in her stiff neck. "Who?"

"Chang Zoey, aka Lucky Z. Occupation: being an adrenaline junkie." Right, the new patient Celine ajumma had mentioned.

Small and almost waifish, her hair a bright sea-green resting just at her shoulders, a lot of freckles, and an alarmingly bright smile. She's wheeling herself in and seemed pretty familiar with how a wheelchair works.

"Adrenaline...junkie?" Her coffee is empty now, but Rumi's eyes dart between Mira and Zoey. "She's...going to be the youngest patient here."

"At my brother's request." Oh, that explained everything.

"She doesn't...look like his type."

Mira snorts, and she actually looked amused. Huh. "Nooooo. He's really into extreme sports athletes at the amateur level."

"So he's...her patron?"

"Sure. Sponsor. Sugar daddy without the treats, whatever."

"Mira." She tries to poke the other woman, "Please, not until later? I'll get breakfast."

"Lunch, but sure Princess."

Rumi does, however, make a mental note to try getting someone else to discover the corpses. She could only lie so much.

Two weeks pass before Rumi enters Zoey's room.

Not that she was intentionally avoiding the private guest or anything. She simply had her hands full with, singing souls away. Though today, Hak-Kun-ssi⁸ had to take care of a family emergency, and asked her to cover his rounds. She had smiled and told him it wasn't an issue, though Celine—somehow, across the breakroom—gave the two PCWs disapproving looks.

(It wasn't her business whether what Hak-Kun said was the truth or not, the job needed to be done.)

(Death never takes a holiday.)

And things are, fine. Rumi may not be a registered nurse, but the records and files looked fine from a glance. Everything is healing properly. (And Celine hadn't said anything.)

"Oh you're Mira's ex!" She nearly drops the assorted pills she had on the tray, cheeks flushing as she righted her balance. There's cackling from the bed.

"I am not. We have lunch and dinner some times, because we're friends." She clears her throat, and sets the tray down on the bedside cabinet. "How are you feeling today, Chang nim?"

"Zoey's fine and I'm good. And you're new, to me! Rumi, right?" There's that bright smile again, which must be fake. The patient hadn't taken her painkillers yet today.

"Yes. And Cha—" "Zoey." She's more insistent now, and Rumi corrects herself. "Zoey. I'll be with you today, as Ho-ssi had a personal matter to take care of."

"Is that what he's calling his dick now?" The cackling returned, and she wasn't sure if she was in some odd dream or if this was, just how the patient is.

She tries for a humorous response: "...He did say it was in regards to a family emergency. Maybe?"

Zoey laughs so hard that she starts to shake, and an RN pokes their head in to ask if she was having a seizure.

Oops.

Twelve weeks later, Chang Zoey is discharged, much to her physiotherapist's displeasure.

That, she had heard from Mira. Because Rumi had sung to Jin Duri while checking in during his afternoon nap.

...Zoey returns to her private suite within a fortnight. Two fractured ribs and a dislocated shoulder. The stunt? Being shot out of a cannon through four steel traps and a ring of fire in the middle.

The last steel-trap had been fitted with the same blunt-teeth safety precautions as the others, but there was some safety failure in the launching mechanism. Leading to the closing-force to be greater than expected. And then dismantling the contraption led to the dislocated limb.

The behind-the-scenes leak was being scrubbed, but Hak-Kun shoved it in her face while raving about how lucky Lucky Z was, well, lucky!

She didn't have the heart to tell him she didn't want to see. And had a bizarre fascination with watching the slow-motion of a tiny body launched alarmingly at the obstacles. She felt bad for her curiosity, and a heavier stone dropped in her stomach at seeing Zoey's arm dislocated in quick succession.

Rumi makes some excuse about hearing Celine calling, tucking away her uneaten lunch as she extracted herself from watching the video a second time. It is pure chance that she rounds the corner towards Zoey's private suite, and overhears arguing.

(The door is open, and neither woman—Zoey or Mira—is quiet. They're shouting, absolutely no attempt to maintain a private discussion. But maybe she's in the wrong, for pausing in the hall and making no move to close the door.)

"I've told you before, if it's money—"

"Oh my god, it's not about the money!" Something wasn't quite adding up...she almost misses the next part, Zoey's voice dropping in volume suddenly though no less forced: "I have to be the one to do it."

"You beat cancer already. Doing all this stupid shit is going to get you killed."

"Then you can laugh over my dead body! It's what you want, isn't it?"

"Maybe I should choke you out right now and save you the trouble." Rumi gasps. And she dashes towards the door, yanking it further open harder than she meant to.

The scene she sees is, she's. She's confused.

Mira turns away, but not before she sees swollen eyes and tear tracks. She's sitting on a chair that looked an awful lot like Celine's cushioned office chair. Zoey is laid up, bandages peeking out from her patient robes. Arm in a sling, a jigsaw puzzle half done on the large tv-tray over her legs.

Uh.

"Are you...okay?" Rumi's not sure who she's asking. Zoey? No, Mira. They're friends, sort of. And obviously the patient wasn't OK, that's why she was here in a private suite and healing up and everything. "Uhm, Mira-ssi?"

"Rumi, not now." Sharp, but not unkind. Her voice wavers. Rumi stays still.

"Can you escort my guest out, Rumi-ssi?" Zoey continues to sound bright, but there's a pinched sort of sound to her voice. A tightness that she hadn't heard before.

"Of cour—" Mira actually growls and her voice falters.

Zoey continues to smile through strained teeth.

Rumi remains frozen. Her eyes darting between the two as she tries to think of some way to diffuse this.

She's saved by a colorful phone case coming to life with a heavy-metal screech. She'd heard it a few times before, and moves to take Mira's hand. "We should go."

"Yeah, get out. I gotta do my stream."

"We'll stay out of frame." Mira yanks her hand back, still glaring holes through Zoey.

Wait. We. She's included. (Why is she included?)

"Bet." She shrugs her uninjured shoulder before lifting up her phone and transforming her demeanor into a show-host. And it is a transformation, with Zoey's posture loosening up and that easy dimpled smile—Rumi pinched herself because that sort of thing was, inhuman to her. "Hey shooting stars, Lucky Z here! Yeah, that last stunt was preeeetty bad, I know. But, I'll do it better next time!—Yeah of course next time chat. I'm not gonna stay in bed for long!"

To Mira's credit, she doesn't say a thing to interrupt the live. And Rumi, having never wanted the spotlight on her, held her breath for near the entirety of it until Zoey asked how long she'd be bedridden ("A-About four months, wi-with some physiotherapy in-included." Thank goodness her face wasn't shown on camera.).

(And part-way through, she could feel Mira's tension dissolve. The firmness disappearing as, whatever this was, continued in Zoey's entertainment of the masses.)

(Yet, Rumi still feels she ought to have closed the door earlier. Left when she had the chance.)

Pan Yon slips away in her sleep. As does Jong Soo-ah a week later. Bin Young-Jae asks about his new wife as Rumi sings to him, his eyes unfocused as he says he'd see her in the spring despite the autumnal winds outside.

If she doesn't think about their stories, if she only reassures them that the aches and pains of their bodies is only temporary, surely their souls will rest easier.

Surely.

"How do you do it?" Rumi blinks, looking to Zoey. Due to her shoulder injury, it was far easier for her to push the smaller woman around in a wheelchair. Doing rounds inside the greenhouse a few minutes away from the home.

"Do...what?"

"Work in a place where people just, die." Oh. Zoey even looks up at her, tilting her head up so her big brown eyes can dig right into her soul. "Jong halmeoni⁹ was so excited for Christmas and she literally passed on Christmas Eve. That's kinda sick, isn't it? If there's a God out there?"

"I don't discuss religion at work, Zoey." She sighs softly. The other woman didn't know that Jong nim's family had informed their staff they wouldn't be able to visit for Christmas, citing some excuse or other. "And it can be difficult, to see patients here one day and gone the next. Death comes for everyone."

"So they'd rather rot here than, live?"

"It's not always their choice. It's just...how healthcare in this country is." The United States of America, where dreams come true. As long as the dream didn't involve longevity. Retirement homes, long term care homes, and palliative care homes... "Every body breaks down eventually. Yours sooner than you think if you keep doing those dangerous stunts."

"Aw, you don't approve?" Zoey looks away, but Rumi winces. But the younger woman continues: "I just, want to feel something I guess. It might look like I'm doing some really stupid stunts, but it helped me get out of bed when I felt like I couldn't fight my cancer. My cousins showed me a bunch of old Evel Knievel vids and Jackie Chan movies and, I just... I guess I promised myself, if the leukemia didn't get me, I'd do the same for some other scared kid out there."

(Maybe she's imagining it, but Zoey's words had turned watery part way through. Teary-eyed, maybe.)

"You do these things to...give hope to people?" That wasn't in Mira's assessment. And she pauses, holding the wheelchair handles firmly in place.

"Does Mira know?"

"She sure acts like she doesn't. Money can't give people hope." She huffs.

"No, about...." Rumi spoke softly, voice above a whisper. Even if they're alone in the greenhouse, and the automatic sprinklers wouldn't turn on for another half hour, she feels she owes this to her. "The leukemia coming back."

"Nope. And if you tell her, I promise I'll haunt you forever."

"What if that's what I deserve?" She murmured, only freezing when Zoey asks her to repeat herself. "You'll be fine Zoey, once you start treatment. There's research happening every day."

"Only if you pay for it."

Mok Ha-yoon, eighty six.

Seong Yeong, ninety.

Wang Su-Bin, seventy nine.

"Hey, you with me Princess?" Rumi snaps to attention, her smile quickly dropping at the other woman's stern look. "Where were you?"

"Uh, just, thinking about this book I was reading. 'The Fault in Our Stars'." She tries to sip her rum and coke, and was dismayed to find her tumbler glass empty. "I'll just, excuse me—"

"Huh. We should play poker some time." Mira inhales sharply. "You're easy money. Sit."

She sinks back down onto the bar stool, fingers already tugging at the end of her braid. "How long have you known?"

"Believe it or not, I do talk to the other PCWs." She sips her gin and tonic through a straw, teeth leaving imprints on the paper. "How bad is it?"

Rumi sighs. "We shouldn't be discussing it. We aren't her doctors."

"I thought we were her friends." She feels a sharp prick in her back at that assertion, and shakes her head. Braid swaying out of her hands.

"Friends don't bribe medical staff for reports." Mira snorts, and orders a bottle of soju¹⁰ for the both of them. Peach flavored.

The shot glasses are slid in front of them by a bartender, with an unopened bottle following in close proximity.

"How did you become friends?" Rumi twists it open, pouring the drink.

"Same way we did."

"Bullshit."

"What." Mira sniffs at her glass before tossing the shot. "It is."

"You're amazing Mira, but you were not an ME when you met as kids."

"Damn, she told you that?"

"I guessed." She throws back her shot. "Talk."

"Princess got claws." Long fingers grasp the bottle and fill in the amounts consumed. "She was at a children's hospital, for treatment. Parents dragged me to the fundraiser dinner, 'cause, board members yanno."

She grunts softly. (Maybe they should have ordered tequila instead, soju always made her feel a sort of way.)

"I dunno why she was there. Think she snuck on the bus with the kid's choir or something." A soft chuckle. "She sang real bad, didn't know half the words."

"Maybe we should go karaoke some time." She suggests softly, bringing her shot glass to Mira's in a small toast. "After her treatments are done."

"Sure. I'll finally get to hear your infamous singing, Rumi nim."

"Shut up." They both drink. But the thought lingers.

"Do you think she's scared of dying?"

"A hundred percent." Another shot. "Told me once if she was going to go out, she wanted to go out in a blaze of glory."

"We all die, eventually." Rumi murmurs.

"She's dramatic as fuck. You've seen her hair."

"Have you seen yours?" More pours. "She doesn't want to stop."

"She doesn't." Another sigh. "It's a problem."

A silence settles over them for a moment. It grows longer with distant laughter and chatter around them in the bar. Glasses clinking from wait staff collecting and the bartender in front of them.

"Does she know you're her main sponsor?"

"If she did, she's still taking the money." At that, Rumi stares at her until she gets an eye-roll of exasperation. "Fine! She doesn't know."

"So why not...stop? Pull funding?"

"Then she'll do something stupider, like. Start an OF account probably."

"A what."

"Porn, Rumi. Porn." She chokes on her next shot, and coughs as Mira thumps her back gently. "Small Asian girls make a killing."

"We're going to need another bottle. I don't want to remember that tomorrow."

"The internet is gross. Anyway."

"Anyway." She flags down the bartender for water. Celine's words echoing uncomfortably clear in her skull despite the alcohol making other thoughts painful. "Are you prepared if she...you know."

"Dies?" Shot thrown back. "I'll cry like a fucking baby, set her grave on fire, and cry some more."

"...Wouldn't a grave fire also spread in a graveyard—?"

"If you're arguing with me, you clearly aren't drunk yet Princess."

(The tremble in Mira's voice returns, she thinks.)

It's summer when Zoey is discharged from Rumi's workplace.

Mira grabs her after a half-shift, for karaoke together.

Rumi sits out every song. She doesn't trust herself, still. Her eyes trained on the white rabbit cartoon on Zoey's jacket.