Don't Go
As I took my first step, my skin prickled.
Toward the inside. A sensation like flesh pulling at flesh above my skin. The fine hairs on my forearm all stood on end. Something heavier than air brushed over my skin.
Heukgu was beside me. His large paws hit the floor. It was just a normal step.
I wasn't fazed either. Not yet.
Second step.
It felt heavy. Not just my legs—the whole weight of my body. Like walking through water. Denser than water. Every step met resistance. Something was pushing my body back as I tried to move forward.
I could see Kong-i. In the middle of the passage. Her small back. White short-sleeved shirt.
She was close. So close, yet so far.
Third step.
A burning heat spread across my forearm. The scrape from when I'd fallen earlier. It wasn't just stinging. It was being pulled. My skin felt like it was splitting open. Something escaping from inside.
...Ah.
Truth be told, the thought had crossed my mind before.
That what I saw in Kong-i and Heukgu might be different from what others saw.
Fourth step.
Heukgu shrinking, too. Normal dogs don't do that. I knew that. I'd known it. A medium dog turning small isn't about dieting.
My knees trembled. The deeper I went into the force field, the heavier my body felt. My breath came short.
And.
Kong-i wilting like spinach by her side. Green onions turning black.
Lee Seojin freezing up every time. Every single time she saw Heukgu, or Kong-i.
It'd be a lie to say I hadn't suspected anything.
Fifth step.
The burning spread from my forearm to the back of my hand. I looked down. My skin was flushed bright red. The scrape from before had split open. Blood was seeping out—not flowing, but sucked away, dispersing thinly into the air above the wound.
...Yeah. I get it now.
I'd known. Maybe from the very start.
So this was probably just stubbornness.
Kong-i was closer now. Three steps away. The air around her was warping. I could see it. Something transparent enveloping her, twisting her.
Heukgu didn't stop walking beside me. He strode on as if it were nothing. His tail still wasn't wagging.
I still didn't really get it.
What Kong-i was. What Heukgu was.
The woman I'd become. Or the me before that.
I didn't know. I truly didn't.
Two steps.
My knees buckled. I held firm. Forced strength into my legs. They didn't give.
One step.
The skin on my arm started peeling away. Thinly. Like tearing paper. Blood scattered in strands. Drawn by something, not wind.
It hurt. It hurt, but I couldn't stop.
Kong-i's back was right there in front of me.
So small. Had her back always been this small? Back in that alley, she'd been huddled with her knees hugged tight. Small then, too. Small now.
Us.
We never truly understand each other.
But.
Even so.
If there's something we can do.
I reached out my hand.
My arm shook. Blood trickled over my skin—not trickling down, but scattering into the air. Like blown by the wind.
And.
I touched her.
Kong-i's back.
It was cold. Like ice. Had her back always been this cold? It had been cold when I'd held her before. At dawn. By the window. But far colder now.
I wrapped both arms around her. Hugged her back.
Kong-i's body was rigid. Like stone. She didn't move.
A knife-edge wind scraped at my skin. The outer side of my embracing arms—flesh peeled off in layers. Blood seeped from beneath. Red strands dispersed into the air. Over my arms, my shoulders.
A vibration came from Kong-i's body.
She was trembling.
And a sound reached me. Very faint.
"Don't go."
A breath of a sound. Felt more in my chest than heard in my ears.
"Don't go."
Once more.
"Don'tgodontgodontgon'tgo."
It didn't stop. No boundaries between words, flowing endlessly. Without breath, without pause. Bursting from deep inside her.
I'd heard it at dawn, too. By the window. The same words.
And I'd answered the same way then. With the same words.
"I'm not going anywhere."
I tightened my arms. Over the peeling skin.
"I'm not going anywhere, Kong-i."
Kong-i's body trembled faintly. Like a crack forming in stone.
"Don't go."
"I'm not."
"Don't go."
"I'm right here."
The same words. Over and over. I didn't count how many times. When Kong-i spoke, I answered. When she spoke again, I answered again.
My arms burned. Skin peeling. Blood unrelenting. My training pants sleeve soaked red. Heukgu lay at my feet. Nose to Kong-i's instep. Still.
Time passed.
I don't know how much. A minute? Ten? Sensation in my arms dulled, then returned, over and over. My knees touched the floor. I don't remember kneeling.
But at some point.
Kong-i's trembling slowed.
The fine shivers became broad shakes, then began to settle.
The scraping on my skin weakened. The squeezing turned to pushing, the pushing to brushing.
The brushing, finally, vanished.
The air lightened.
Breath returned. Like my lungs resuming function.
Emergency lights stopped flashing. Red glow faded. Somewhere, a surviving fluorescent flickered on with a buzz. White light.
Kong-i shrank in my arms.
No—she'd always been this small, but it hit me now. This tiny child. This light child.
Kong-i's hand moved.
The limp hand rose. Slowly.
Grabbed the fabric at my back.
The training pants cloth. Tight.
Just like that dawn.
Kong-i spoke.
"Ha Yujin."
"Yeah."
"Ha Yujin, don't go."
"I'm not."
"......Ha Yujin."
"Yeah. I'm right here."
Strength left Kong-i's hand. She was falling asleep. Standing, held in my arms.
Heukgu rose. Pulled his nose from Kong-i's instep. Lay at my feet.
His tail wagged.
Just a little.
The hospital room was a private single.
When Han Jeongsu pushed open the door, afternoon sunlight streaming through the window hit him first. Less hospital room, more bright studio apartment. Though no studio had an EKG monitor, of course.
A woman sat on the bed. Striped gown. Her left arm bandaged. Gauze visible beneath. From elbow to wrist. A wide area.
With that bandaged arm, she held a child. Asleep. On her lap. Pink sunglasses perched on the cabinet. Crack in the lens.
The black dog under the bed lifted his head. Looked at Han Jeongsu. One second. Then dropped it again. Dismissal, or permission to approach.
Han Jeongsu didn't miss that moment. Black eyes. As Lee Seojin's report said—no red glow. But the report missed something. Fatigue in those eyes.
Even calamity-grades get tired, huh.
Han Jeongsu headed for the bedside chair. His eyes caught the caregiver's table. Laptop open. Screen on. No screensaver—owner gone briefly.
Lee Seojin's. Management Bureau asset sticker on the back. Off to wash up, or grab coffee.
Notepad
Ha Yujin [anomalies]….
▽ (blinking cursor)
Unfinished text. Last line.
‘Ha Yujin [anomalies]….’
Cursor blinking.
After the ‘[anomalies]’. Blink. Blink.
Han Jeongsu's gaze lingered there briefly.
Ha Yujin [anomalies].
What was she going to write?
Han Jeongsu looked away from the laptop soon enough. Didn't pry further. Veteran courtesy after 23 years.
Turned back to the bed.
The woman was watching him. First meeting. Matched the report photo as Ha Yujin, but she looked thinner.
"Han Jeongsu. Management Bureau Awakener Support Team Leader."
A white lie, of course. Special Response Unit Squad 1 Leader. No separate team leader title. Couldn't mention Special Response to Ha Yujin, so he'd improvised.
Ha Yujin straightened slightly. Careful not to wake Kong-i. Stroked the sleeping child's hair with her unbandaged hand.
"Oh, hello."
Her voice sounded a bit young. Nervous around a strange adult.
"Anything uncomfortable?"
"No, I'm fine."
Han Jeongsu nodded and sat. Chair creaked. Hospital chairs always creaked. In 23 years of hospital rooms—juniors', his own—he'd never found a quiet one.
Silence fell briefly. Han Jeongsu handled silence well. Office or field. He spoke when he had something to say. Otherwise, not.
But today felt different. Civilian opponent. One raising a calamity-grade like a dog. No instinct for what to ask, what to skip.
"Um."
Ha Yujin spoke first.
Han Jeongsu turned.
Ha Yujin stroked Kong-i's hair, eyes on the child.
"What happens to Kong-i from now on?"
Han Jeongsu looked at her wordlessly.
Ha Yujin continued, voice softer.
"This child is, after all…."
Trailing off. Unfinished. Or unwilling to finish.
Han Jeongsu opened his mouth, then hesitated.
What to say? We'll observe progress on the Bureau's behalf? Holding judgment for now? All true, none answers.
What would Lee Seojin say? Difficult to answer on official duty?
As Han Jeongsu pondered.
The answer came from an unexpected source.
"Kong-i is Kong-i!"
From her lap.
The child had opened her eyes. No idea when, but bright and alert. Bare face, no sunglasses.
Her pupils sparkled. Looking up at Ha Yujin.
Han Jeongsu and Ha Yujin's gazes snapped to Kong-i.
Kong-i said it again. Louder.
"Kong-i is Kong-i!!"
Voice with two exclamation points.
Ha Yujin's expression shifted. Slowly.
Mouth curved up. Eyes narrowed. Bandaged arm stroked Kong-i's hair.
"Yeah. Kong-i is Kong-i."
Kong-i squirmed on Ha Yujin's lap. Adjusting position. A hand emerged from the blanket, grabbed the bandaged arm. Two fingers. Tight.
Han Jeongsu watched blankly.
A community comment surfaced. Unbidden.
The gif's cute lol
...Is it cute?
He shook his head slowly.
A cup on the table. Caregiver's? Lee Seojin's? Coffee.
Thirst hit; Han Jeongsu grabbed it absently.
Slurp.
?!
"Hot hot—!"
Han Jeongsu spat the coffee undignifiedly.
Kong-i turned from Ha Yujin's lap, mouth agape at him. Laughing or blank? Probably laughing.
Giggle giggle giggle.
"Hee hee hee... Ahahaha!"
Ha Yujin burst out laughing too. Holding back, then losing it.
Woof!
Heukgu lifted his head from under the bed. Tail wagged. The commotion? Coffee smell?
Han Jeongsu brushed coffee from his pants, striving for blank expression.
Dignity in tatters.
Han Jeongsu set the coffee down. Wiped the table stain with tissue. While wiping, glanced at the laptop screen.
Notepad
Ha Yujin [anomalies]
▽ (blinking cursor)
Cursor still blinking.
‘Ha Yujin [anomalies]’
Blink. Blink.
Han Jeongsu tossed the tissue, picked up the coffee again.
Blew on it. Twice.
Sipped.
Still hot. But manageable now.