Hyun Woo

As I woke up that morning, I couldn’t believe how I had acted the night before. I was never the emotional one. Even if I had to pretend to be his friend, that was too much. But why did it sting when he said we were nothing more than two people sharing a house? Was that all we were after a year together? Anyway, who cares. If he thinks so, I’ll show him what indifference looks like. Even if he dropped dead in front of me, I wouldn’t lift a finger.

“Hyunwoo, breakfast is ready. Would you get up?” he shouted. Was he really acting like nothing had happened yesterday? I didn’t answer. If he wanted to talk, he could come to me.

The next moment, he was in the bedroom, standing over me. “Are you getting up or not? Sunday doesn’t mean you’ll lie around like a mermaid. We have chores to do.” His eyes met mine, bold as ever. I ignored him and turned away.

“Then I guess you don’t want mushroom soup — your favorite. There’s only a little, so I’ll finish it myself,” he said, leaving the room. The smell drifted in, tantalizing. What am I, five years old? Did he think food would make me forget?

Bloody hell, my stomach growled loud enough for him to hear. “Someone seems hungry!” he shouted. Soon he was back. “Can you be less angry? It doesn’t suit you. What should I do for you to forgive me? At least look at me.” He caught my shoulder, trying to turn me, but I didn’t budge. He knew I was stronger, so he gave up. He kept talking for half an hour, his voice softer each time.

“Sorry I couldn’t make it yesterday. I didn’t feel well, so I came home and fell asleep. My battery ran out, the phone switched off. My bad. I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly.” His voice cracked, close to tears. I still didn’t look at him. Finally, he left.

Then — a loud thud. I ran faster than I ever had. He had fallen in the bathroom, knees scraped. “Bet no one would help me now, right?” he pouted.

“Shit.” I extended my hand. He took it, and I helped him to the sofa. I fetched the first aid kit and sat at his feet.

“I’ll apply this and then go to sleep, understood.” My voice was flat.

“Okay, sure. Thanks.”

I dabbed antiseptic on the wound. He winced. “Tss.”

I blew gently on it, almost against my will. “That’s enough,” he laughed. But when he saw my glare, he stopped abruptly.

“Before you go to sleep, can you help me to the table? I want breakfast.”

“You can walk yourself. It’s not like your legs are broken.”

“So if I break my legs, will you forgive me then?” he asked with a sad smile.

I couldn’t take his nonsense anymore. I helped him up and guided him to the table. Our table was low, Japanese-style, where you sit on the floor. He winced as he sat — maybe his butt was hurt too. Who cares.

“There. Can I go now?” I said, turning to leave.

He caught my hand. “Since you’re already here, can’t you eat too? Please. It’s getting cold.” His eyes shimmered with tears, his smile broken.

I sat down without breaking eye contact, his hand still gripping mine tightly.