Seventeen, and Spring (4)
The alarm on my phone jolted me awake. The device I'd left face down beside my pillow was blaring its wake-up call, the bed trembling faintly from the vibration. I stretched out a sluggish hand and swiped the screen. The alarm cut off with a snap, and the home screen lit up. 6 AM.
"Ugh..." I rubbed my eyes, shook off the covers, and hauled myself upright. I smoothed out the rumpled blankets, spreading them neatly over the bed, then stretched my arms high with a satisfying crack. A dull ache radiated from my shoulders and back, deep in my muscles. The house was still chilly. I toed around the floor until I found my slippers, slid them on, and shuffled toward the bathroom, my body protesting every step.
I flicked on the light, and the fluorescent bulb over the mirror flickered once before steadying. I set my phone on the shelf and washed my hair, then splashed lukewarm water on my face and squeezed toothpaste onto my brush.
In the mirror, there I was in yellow pajamas, toothbrush in mouth, one hand wielding the hairdryer on my damp locks. Hot air tousled the strands, occasionally blasting my face instead thanks to fatigue—not because it was too heavy to hold steady, of course. As those thoughts wandered, my heavy eyelids finally began to focus.
I finished brushing, rinsed my mouth, roughly combed my hair, and set the dryer down. I swept my bangs back with my fingers, straightened my pajama sleeves, and stepped out.
Heading to the living room, I glanced at the master bedroom door. Light seeped from underneath—Mom and Dad must already be up. In the kitchen, I turned on the light and grabbed the apron draped over a chair. I tied the ribbon loosely behind my waist and opened the fridge. From the veggie drawer, I pulled a bag of bean sprouts, then the pre-boiled beef bone broth beside it.
I dumped the sprouts into the sink and rinsed them under a strong stream of cold water. Slender stems slipped silkily between my fingers. I poured the broth into a pot, set it on the gas stove, and lit the flame. Blue fire whooshed up with a hiss. As the broth heated, I dragged over the minced garlic, salt, and chili powder.
Today's breakfast: spicy bean sprout soup.
"Did my girl sleep well?"
Mom's voice drifted in as I scooped the rinsed sprouts into the pot. Footsteps approached slowly from the kitchen entrance. Her hair was still half-fluffed from sleep, a cardigan thrown over her pajamas, laugh lines crinkling around her eyes as she smiled.
"Yeah. Good morning, Mom."
I stirred the soup. Red chili flakes bobbed on the surface before swirling in.
Mom peeked into the pot and sidled up beside me. "Bean sprout soup for breakfast?"
"Yep. Made it spicy this time."
I scraped the ladle along the bottom once more. Steam wafted up hot against my face with every motion.
"Mmm, smells amazing."
She inhaled deeply, then circled behind me and wrapped her arms around in a tight hug. "What would we do without our girl? Mom's so grateful."
Her arms encircled my waist; I felt her chin nudge over my shoulder. I froze, ladle in hand.
"Ah... Mom, careful..."
My words said one thing, but the warmth against my back felt nice. Embarrassment prickled my ears first.
Then the master bedroom door creaked open again. "Seojin, sleep okay?"
Dad strolled in wearing just his shirt, tie still undone.
"Morning, Dad."
I turned and smiled. "Almost ready. Just a sec."
"No rush. I'll set the table."
"Okay, then I'll grab the side dishes."
We all fell into our roles. I stirred the pot again. Bean sprouts bobbed up as they cooked, then sank back down.
We didn't used to eat breakfast together like this. Back when Dad's business was rough, both parents were out more than in. Our table was usually just Sis and me facing off over convenience store lunchbox lids. Delivery was too pricey on tight budgets, and instant food every day felt wrong. So to save on groceries, I started cooking. It began with an extra egg in ramen, but soon I handled all the meals. I volunteered, so no complaints—actually, creating something like this eased my mind a bit. Mom apologizes sometimes, but I always brush it off with a smile.
By the time bowls were set out, the table was ready.
"Dig in."
I placed soup bowls before Mom and Dad, aligning chopsticks and spoons. Dad took the first sip. Mom followed. Only then did I start.
Dad slurped noisily and nodded. "Refreshing. But spicy today—what's the occasion?"
I set my spoon on my rice bowl and glanced toward the hall, at Sis's door.
"Well..."
I rolled my eyes just a fraction, and Mom and Dad turned to look too.
"That idiot came home totally wasted last night, so..."
Mom chuckled and shook her head. Dad gave an awkward grin.
"She made it home safe, at least."
"Yeah, sprawled out in front of the entrance."
"After all that warning..."
Last night replayed vividly. The late call—I rushed out to find Sis slumped against the wall outside our unit, legs splayed, bag tumbled aside. Hair a mess, dead drunk, couldn't stand. When I grabbed her arm to help, she draped her chin on my shoulder and rambled nonsense. A neighbor passing by stared. My face burned, but I dragged her inside anyway.
Lost in the story, we'd all finished eating. Mom and Dad prepped for work; I saw them off at the door.
"Bye, Mom and Dad. Have a good day at school—always look both ways crossing, and watch the sidewalk too!"
"Haha... Got it."
The door shut, and the house felt vast. Back in the kitchen, I tackled the dishes, shaking water off each piece before stacking on the rack. Lights off, I headed to my room. I changed into my uniform shirt and skirt, tied the ribbon, and checked the wall clock. Not quite 8 yet.
I grabbed my phone from the desk and plopped on the bed. Unlocking revealed a string of KakaoTalk notifications, mostly from last night. Top was Sis's drunken ramble from the wee hours—illegible, ignored. Below, just Yeonho ajusshi's number saved plainly. Then the middle school group chat: boys' dumb banter, some teasing me a few scrolls down. I frowned and backed out.
Back in my day, I wasn't that immature. Kids these days...
Swiping up, my eyes snagged on yesterday's chat with Yeonho ajusshi. Formal stuff, but oddly comforting. First impressions stick, huh? I backed out, peeked again, sent nothing, closed it.
I tossed the phone on the desk and stood.
Should wake that idiot up before school.
At Sis's door, I gripped the knob lightly. Knock? Nah. She's out cold anyway. Plus, she barges into mine without knocking.
I twisted quietly and slipped in. Dim room, curtains half-drawn—Sis sprawled starfish-style in the bed's center. Blanket shoved to her waist, long hair fanned like a waterfall over the pillow. Faint booze stench lingered. The floor was a disaster: empty cans everywhere—did she drink more after? Clothes and underwear flung haphazardly.
That many beer cans... Alone? Ugh... Clean your room, you rascal.
Muttering inwardly, I crept to the bedside and wrinkled my nose—the alcohol reek was intense.
"Sis, get up."
I shook her shoulder lightly. Her body jiggled softly under the covers.
"Ugh... Sleep more..."
Face half-buried in the pillow, she mumbled drowsily, eyes shut, lips barely moving.
Figured. I let go.
"Made bean sprout soup—eat it later for your hangover."
Her lips twitched up. Suddenly, an arm shot out and yanked me into a hug.
"Heehee... Thanks, my Seojinii~ Sis loves youuu~"
Slurred from lingering buzz. Her chin thudded onto my shoulder; booze breath hit my face.
"Eww, gross... Ugh, reeks of alcohol..."
I whipped my head away, prying her arms off one by one, then tugged the blanket up to her stomach.
"Seriously... Check your messages when you wake up."
Grumbling, I left. At the entrance, I straightened my uniform, slung my bag, laced my shoes tight, and stepped out.
"I'm off."
Cool hallway air rushed in. Gripping my strap, I rode the elevator down.
On the way to school, waiting at the crosswalk, my mood soured. Over there, a familiar gym uniform sauntered up casually.
"Hey, Bunny? Early today, huh?"
Kim Yuha. Damn.
"...Loud this early."
I barely responded to his nonsense, but had to log some details anyway. Bell was 30 minutes early today. He yapped the whole way; I half-ignored him till class.
Bag hung, seat taken—the moment I sat, a text from Sis popped up. I couldn't put my phone down till class started.