Tomorrow

A gentle breeze drifted in through the window, tracing a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tickle across my skin. The sweet scent of grass brushed past my nose, and the chorus of insects filled my ears.

It wasn't as if I were simply soaking in the countryside.

There was clearly someone else here besides me. And yet no voice reached me. Not a single movement. Just silence.

The apple slices I'd first arranged on the plate sat untouched, save for the one still speared on the fork.

Noona was no different. Her eyes, half-lidded and unfocused, blinked now and then — and that was all.

I searched for something to say, turning it over in my mind for a long while. But aside from our dark past, all that remained in my chest was a thick residue of wounds.

I steadied my breath, cast my gaze out the window, and murmured quietly.

"...Isn't there anything you want to do, Noona?"

From now on, I decided, I would think only of the future. Leave the past buried where it was.

Even if the old wounds never closed, we didn't have to carve new ones. We could just overlay them with happier memories, and that would be enough.

That was what I thought.

"...I don't... know."

Those few words, stripped of even a trace of hope, pulled me back into doubt. Why wouldn't this feeling go away — like I'd stepped into a swamp and couldn't find the bank?

"You've spent your whole life working. It's time you did something you actually want."

"...Do you... want to go to college?"

"..."

Something rose up my throat, threatening to spill out, and I clenched my molars tight.

She wasn't saying she wanted to go. In that faint, frayed tone, the end of the sentence had clearly lifted — she was asking about me.

It was time she looked after herself. So why was she acting like someone who had set everything down and walked away?

I didn't feel even a speck of frustration. If anything, looking at her like this — like a person carved to pieces by every wound she'd ever suffered, like someone who had simply put herself down and let go — all that welled up in me was a helpless, aching sorrow.

"...Let's do what you want, Noona. Don't worry about money anymore."

"..."

There was no answer. Only her arm, drained of all life, beginning to move — slowly. Little by little, but unmistakably.

A hand so light it seemed to weigh nothing settled over the back of mine. And then, quietly, she spoke.

"...Sehyun. What do you want?"

"...To protect you."

"...Protect what?"

I didn't bother answering. I simply turned the hand that had been braced against the floor and closed it around hers.

Had I ever held a person's skin and thought it cold? I was holding a human hand, without a doubt — so why did it feel like I was touching a doll?

Noona's pupils, which had been blinking weakly, flickered for a moment. Then she closed her eyes and let the words slip out, slow and soft, as if a weight had lifted.

"...I'm glad."

I wanted to ask her the same thing. What she had meant by that, exactly.

But I swallowed it down at once. Because I'd caught the faintest lift at the corner of her mouth.

Relief at having escaped the pain of the past. That, I supposed, was what she'd meant by glad.

I watched her breathe — small, even, regular — and decided to take comfort in the fact that we were moving forward.

Faint as it was, there was no mistaking it.

She had smiled.

I had the sense that my grasp of the date was growing faint. Maybe because I'd stopped attaching any meaning to the rising and setting of the sun. Or maybe because I'd set my measure of time somewhere else entirely.

Noona, who had been lying down for an average of twenty hours a day, was sleeping less and less. The same Noona who had once struggled even to sit up on her own was spending more time with her back against the wall, taking in the view outside. She had barely been able to chew, and now, slowly, the amount she ate was growing too.

Those were the changes that mattered to me. So the time that had passed didn't. However much of it there was.

"Noona, is there anything you want for dinner?"

I let the question fall toward her back as she sat by the window, the way she did every day. The answer came before long.

"...Mm. Just make whatever you want."

At first, even finishing a sentence had looked like more than she could manage. Now there was enough strength in her voice that I could hear a little of her tone again.

How much had I put into just being able to hear that voice?

Still... if I had one wish left — one small greed I hadn't quite let go of —

"Noona, do you think you could walk a little today?"

"...I'm sorry? That's still..."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for."

"Even so... I'm sorry."

She turned her head to look at me, a bitter little smile on her lips, and I walked over to her slowly.

She still wasn't in any condition to walk properly. Sensation had returned to her upper body enough that she could feed herself, but that was a long way from moving freely.

All I wanted — the only thing that lingered in my chest — was that someday she might walk on her own two feet and take in this quiet countryside however she pleased.

"Want to go for a walk, at least?"

"No... you'd just get tired. I'm fine like this."

"I'm fine. Tell me when you feel like going."

"Mm..."

Every so often I would settle her into the wheelchair and take her out. And every time, a little more life would come into her eyes. Maybe it was the feeling of tasting freedom, however briefly.

Of course, the moment our eyes met she would smile awkwardly and suggest we head back. Each time, I made a point of pretending not to notice — that she hated being a burden.

It was probably the same feeling now. Noona had always put me first, ahead of herself.

We sat like that for a long while, taking in the view beyond the window together, until she began to squirm her legs as if something were uncomfortable. I asked her quietly.

"Bathroom?"

"...Mm. ...Hah—"

The way I always did, I hooked my arms under her thighs ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and around her back and lifted her.

At first she had resisted so hard. These days she seemed to have accepted it, at least somewhat — she would duck her head in embarrassment and rest it against my chest.

"Hey... I haven't gotten heavier lately, have I...?"

"Not at all. You still need to eat more."

"...I'm sorry. For making you do this every time."

"I told you not to worry about it. It's fine."

That was probably why she never asked for anything. Having to make requests of the younger brother who already handled every last bit of her care — that couldn't have been easy.

Still, I thought she might get used to it someday. Her body was recovering, after all, and the resistance was fading, little by little.

I carried her into the bathroom, set her down gently on the toilet, and stepped back out.

Maybe that was why. Ever since that day, the moment she slipped out of my sight, the anxiety bloomed first.

I waited in front of the door. The sound of water rushing down the drain reached me, and I counted to ten in my head.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Noona, always too embarrassed, never called for me even after she was finished.

"Noona, I'm coming in?"

"...Yeah."

The door rattled open. She had her pants back on, and as always at times like this, her face was turned away.

I lifted her in the same hold as before and walked toward the window seat she always claimed. I was used to it by now — it didn't faze me in the slightest — but she still seemed mortified.

"Sehyun... I don't think I want dinner tonight after all..."

"Eat. I keep telling you, you're too thin as it is."

"But..."

"Noona. If anything, you need to eat more so you can get strong enough to walk on your own."

"...Nnh. That's... okay..."

She seemed to have more or less accepted it. The crown of her head bumped softly against my chest again. She did this every time I held her — as if hiding her face meant I wouldn't know.

I set her back down in the sunlit window seat and started to walk away.

"...Sehyun, where are you going...?"

The voice came from behind me, and I turned. Noona was glancing sideways at the empty space beside her, as if it felt too vacant.

"It's been hot today. You sweated a lot."

"...Oh. Uh... did I smell...?"

"No. I just thought you'd feel sticky. Wait for me."

"...Mm."

At first, both of us had recoiled from this. It had dulled enough by now that it was all right — though if either one of us got embarrassed, the whole picture went strange, somehow.

I was only wiping down a body that couldn't wash itself. There was nothing else to it.

A large basin and a bucket from the bathroom. And two towels.

If she kept recovering at this pace, she'd be able to wash on her own before long.

I set the basin down on the floor, gathered her up lightly, and sat her on the boards. She could wash the front herself, anyway. I'd go back when she called.

In the beginning I'd had to wipe down her whole body. Now that she could move her arms, there was no need to go that far.

I was prepping the ingredients for dinner when her voice reached me before long.

"Sehyun... I'm done..."

I set the knife on the cutting board and turned.

I walked over to her slowly and crouched down behind her back.

Her tank top was pulled up to the nape of her neck. Everything except below the waistline was bare. In the beginning I'd had to undress her piece by piece — so even this counted as an improvement.

I wrung out the towel from the bucket and flung the water into the yard.

I scooped water from the basin, soaked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the other towel, and laid it against her back.

"Hah..."

"Too cold?"

"Mm, no... it feels nice."

I checked on her for a moment, then drew the towel down her back again, slow and gentle.

Another person's hands still seemed unfamiliar to her. Every so often she would flinch and try to pull away.

When her back was done, I moved to her shoulders, then down along her arms. In between, I rinsed the towel in the bucket and wiped her down, over and over.

"Hh, hah... ahh..."

"Noona, do you want me to wash below as well?"

"...Nnh. It's hot, so... maybe..."

I lifted her arm gently and began wiping beneath it, then paused.

Normally she would have told me to skip it, too embarrassed. Maybe it was the heat. Or maybe she was still turning over what I'd said about the sweat.

I set my hands moving again, finishing her upper body, and asked,

"Did you already wipe the front?"

"Not yet... for now, just... the back. Please."