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Three Years Ago
In their forever home, as Choi likes to call it, the garden is always overrun with weeds. There’s a box made of four wooden planks Choi had put there once, declaring today is the day we start the garden. They hadn’t.
Now Jaekwan squats down, tending to the weeds with a single minded focus. Kim Soleum admires him from inside: the curve of his back, the sharp intensity of his eyes, the bulge of his muscles under the ugly neon blue shirt Haje once got him as a gag gift, but that he wears regularly now. Snoozer, it reads, with a caricature of a bear in a rocking chair. The bear is bright orange.
Kim Soleum wants to go outside. Offer a drink, maybe. There should be some barely tea left in the fridge. Kim Soleum stays where he’s sat, in the room he’d sequestered himself in after he got home from the hospital. It used to be a guest bedroom: a bed, a desk, and a rug. Now various belongings have a place on the desk, and there’s a hole in the wall.
Someone in the house, a notification sounds. Jaekwan’s head snaps up. Kim Soleum waits, one, two, three beats before slowly getting up. As expected, Choi is already sat there, fiddling with the projector. He looks up at Kim Soleum’s entrance and smiles.
“What do you want to watch today?” he asks.
He’d started this trick — this routine a few days after Kim Soleum was released. A few days after Kim Soleum started crying hysterically, screaming I can’t fucking eat with you smothering me and threw food at the wall. Jaekwan had intervened. Now they ate food side by side — Kim Soleum in the middle — all watching movies while he pretended to not notice the two sneaking glances at his plate.
Now, Soleum offers a smile of his own and takes a plate of pre portioned food. Choi’s cooking is great for someone who’d started a week ago, but Jaekwan is in and out of the house at all times and they’d decided, for silent agreement, that Soleum wasn’t to be trusted to cook for himself.
So Choi cooks.
Jaekwan closes the door behind him, pants dirty from kneeling in the garden. “I’m taking the boards apart,” he says.
“Jaekwan-ah,” Choi replies. “Just hit me next time. It’d be less painful.”
“They’re obstructing the space. I want to plant grapes.”
Kim Soleum waits for Choi’s reply: a dramatic sigh, a mock mournful wail.
“Oh. That would be nice,” Choi says instead, carefully neutral. Soleum feels sick to his stomach. Another change, then, all because they want to plant Kim Soleum’s favourite fruits into the ground.
He picks up the fork and starts eating, trying not to gag at the slimy feel of rice in his mouth. It’s not slimy, he knows logically. A year ago, he would have eaten a small portion of it as his daily alloted intake, and enjoyed it thoroughly, savouring every bite. Now he chokes it down and forces back tears from how it sits in his stomach, a rock.
He will not be allowed into the bathroom for an hour or two after this meal, because he’s tried that trick before. They’ll talk to him, and wait for a reply to check he hasn’t kept food in his mouth, because he’s also tried that. They will take his hands, and Choi’s keen eyes will scan hsi sleeves for any food he’s tried to hide away.
Because he’s tried that as well. Everything and more.
Soleum swallows back another mouthful of mucus and bile and ash.
…He’s tired.
One Year Ago
“One… two… three… Happy Birthday, Kim Soleum!” Confetti rains down upon him as he desperately stamps down on his grin. Cake is smeared onto the tip of his nose as Choi ruffles his hair and Haje cuts him a massive slice of cake, frosting smearing into the knife. She licks it up, smiling.
The plate is deposited in front of him. Someone hands in a fork. He takes a big bite, it’s sweet and light and fluffy and utterly delicious.
“Wow,” Haje says. “Choi made this?” She elbows Choi in the ribs, ignoring his yelp. “Where were these cooking skills when we were in college?” Beside Kim Soleum, Lee Seonghae leans over to kiss him on the cheek before taking a slice for himself.
Choi starts arguing with Haje. Jaekwan sighs as he valiantly tries to take another photo with the camera Haje leant him, warning him of its exorbitant price. In the midst of the chaos, Go Yeoungeun leans over and says, very quietly, “I’m glad you’re here, Soleum.”
“Yeah,” he says, his throat sticking. His nose burns. “Yeah, me too.”
And in the warm candlelight with his family by his side, he makes a wish.
I hope everyone remains happy.
Now
It starts like how it did then, except not really, because back then Choi only knew that Kim Soleum didn’t like eating, and Jaekwan knew that Kim Soleum was often busy, and Haje was still a reporter and only met up once every few months.
Now, Haje’s long retired on account of the very distinct missing arm, meaning that she could no longer infiltrate cults, or whatever else she did as a reporter. Now, Jaekwan and Choi have resumed their jobs at the Disaster Management Bureau, while Kim Soleum was banned from ever returning, given the circumstances that led to his first forced resignation.
The point in common:
He doesn’t mean to.
Really.
Honestly.
He just… well. He’s stressed, because he returned to studying and now is preparing for his thesis. He reads up on horror stories everyday for reference, and braces himself to look at scary images then watches an episode of children’s cartoon in between each picture. He’s stressed, and anxious, and wondering if he made a mistake in listening to everyone tell him that he should study what he wants to, instead of going back to get a reasonable degree.
The first skipped meal is a mistake.
He’s working, and Choi and Jaekwan are pulling overtime. A message dings in the shared group chat, Grapes-ie, remember to eat food! and he sends back a thumbs up.
Then he’s sucked into reading another horror story, then an episode of cartoon, and then it’s time to sleep and Choi and Jaekwan aren’t back yet. And he’s tired — he is. He’s stressed, and anxious, and it’s all — it’s a lot.
He can’t bring himself to go through the motions: heating up food, picking at the food, eating the food.
So he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes around the rice in the pot, pokes at the kimchi to rearrange them, and smears crumbs on a plate and leaves chopsticks in the sink. Old habits.
Three Years Ago
“Hey, Soleum-ah.”
He looks up. Choi doesn’t often sound serious, or call him by his name. When he does, it usually means it’s serious. They’re in the kitchen and Kim Soleum eyes the patch of colour mismatched from the rest of the walls from where they ran out of paint before reluctantly returning to meet Choi’s gaze.
“…Yes?”
A pained smile. He clears his throat. “I —” pauses. Coughs. “You know we love you, yeah?” The ends of the sentence goes high as Choi himself stops washing the plate, instead rubbing at the same spot distractedly.
mi“…Yeah.” His own voice is blank, free of inflection. This, again. Of course he knows, how could he not? It’s suffocating, though, and irritating. Of course Choi is saying this. What does he think it’ll achieve? Kim Soleum miraculously getting free of not eating because of what? Love?
“Okay.” Choi’s voice is wobbly. From where Kim Soleum is sitting, which is on the other side of the kitchen island, he can see Choi’s adam’s apple bob. He can see Choi breathing harshly, trying to calm himself down, no doubt remembering what Soleum’s therapist had said: something along the lines of remain calm, Kim Soleum is fragile, Kim Soleum can’t handle anyone else’s emotions.
At this moment, Kim Soleum hates Choi.
Now
The second missed meal is less of a mistake and more of a necessity. He’s sick to his stomach, tired, and his hands are shaking as he thinks about the amount of work he has left to do. His defence feels shoddy, he found a resource that disproves a point he’s been trying to make, and his hands are too open, too empty.
His chest is cold.
Nausea rises when he thinks of having to eat. Having to open his mouth and close his lips around the cutlery and chew and chew and swallow, feel the spit pool in his mouth and the mushed food spread across his tongue and —
He can’t.
Three Years Ago
“Did you eat?”
Kim Soleum has a choice here: he can lie, and say that he did. Or he can tell the truth, and be forced to sit under Choi’s delight and praise over how well he’s doing and try to avoid gritting his teeth at the condescension.
The choice is obvious.
“Yeah,” he says. “Lee Seonghae and I went to eat hotpot earlier.” Lee Seonghae and him did not do that, but Lee Seonghae has always been dependable and trustworthy above all else, and she would lie for him. Even for this.
“…You’re lying.” The observation is cool, and Choi’s eyes glint. The temperature drops.
“No, I’m not.”
“…Soleum-ah,” he starts. Stops. “You know we’re just trying to help you —”
This bastard. “Why the fuck did you bother asking me then?” Kim Soleum demands. He’s shaking, he registers distantly. He’s shaking, and he normally doesn’t swear, and something is terribly wrong.
But his vision is red and he’s so angry and stressed by Choi acting like this all the time: testing him, setting him up for failure, unable to resist poking at the wound that is the trust killed and laid into a grave between them.
“Is this funny to you?” his voice is rising. He’s defensive. Illogical. Irrational. None of this stops Kim Soleum from trembling. “Seriously? I know — god. I know you don’t trust me but do you have to question every single thing? What, am I incapable now? Is that it?”
“Soleum-ah, calm down.”
“Not everyone carries the same level of paranoia as you,” he continues. “Not everyone —”
“Kim Soleum!”
Silence. Choi looks like he’s about to cry, and Kim Soleum did that. Choi, who would rather smile and bear anything. Choi, who had never ever given up on him, not even when Kim Soleum was throwing up every other day and lying to everyone’s faces. Choi, who approaches him like he’s a wounded animal. Choi, who has never trusted him, and probably never will.
“I believe you,” Choi lies. He’s going to call Kim Soleum’s doctor after this, and there will be an increase in therapy sessions for the foreseeable future. Kim Soleum lets Choi approach anyway, because no matter how furious Kim Soleum is, he’s terrified of a Choi who’s on the verge of tears.
Now
They catch him out on his bullshit not even a week in.
Part of it is because Kim Soleum ran to the bathroom to throw everything up in tears, not even a minute in the meal. That’s the main reason. Another part if Choi’s freakish level of detail and paranoia over Kim Soleum and Food in the same sentence, and has noticed Kim Soleum felt guiltier than usual.
“Than usual?”
Choi looks unimpressed. “Stop deflecting.”
Here’s the thing:
Logically, Kim Soleum should not be so defensive over this. He’s been going to therapy for years now, and last time — well. Last time nearly killed him. He’d been hospitalised, and had woken up to Jaekwan and Choi sitting by his bedside more times than he could count, tear tracks on their faces.
And yet a panicked feeling remains nonetheless, his instinct is to hide and hide and hide. He’s guilty. He’s a terrible person. Last time nearly killed them all, why is he doing this again?
Kim Soleum has broken everyone’s trust so many times. Has tread and spit on the broken shards of their faith, and tore apart their relationship to the point where Jaekwan woke up sometimes at night just to check if Kim Soleum’s still breathing.
So —
Kim Soleum looks up. Swallows.
Three years ago, he’d been taken, kicking and screaming to the hospital. He’d been dragged through recovery and he’d thrown a chair in the wall and left a permanent dent in it in a fit of rage. He’d done that, until Eun Haje had broken down in tears and Jaekwan had grown quieter and quieter, and Choi’s smile had become a thin silver of a thing.
He couldn’t — he wouldn’t go through that again.
So —
Kim Soleum meets Choi’s gaze. Outside the window, he can see the garden Jaekwan had planted painstakingly, a physical manifestation of his hopes for Kim Soleum to be happy, and healthy. At this time of the year, Kim Soleum can stroll out to the garden and pick grapes whenever he wants.
“I’m just stressed,” he says.
He’d promised himself that he would make sure everyone remains happy. It would break them, he knew, if they had to go through that again.
“I have a handle on things. Really.”
And Kim Soleum should feel bad, truly. But the relief that spreads across Choi's face only reaffirms his decision.
I hope everyone remains happy.