If It Weren't for Mist
"What? Are you out of your mind?!"
"Why are you mad—"
"How could I not be mad? Why on earth would you grab that!"
I shot to my feet and shouted, my voice shaking with shock.
Mist's neck, as they looked up at me with wide, blinking eyes, had retreated even deeper into their collar like a startled turtle.
"Did you forget you almost vanished last time when you tried to grab the black stone?"
"But this time it wasn't the black stone, it was the thing that grew next to it—"
"It's the same thing! What if you'd disappeared again this time?"
The instant the thought flickered through my mind, anxiety came flooding in so fast it left me dizzy. I clenched my fists and squeezed with all my strength to hold down the trembling, but it only grew worse.
According to Mist, once they confirmed that the recalculated misfortune meant I would be crushed under a dump truck five seconds later, they had torn the clinging something away without a second to spare, without even time to think.
It was much like what had happened last year, when Mist had shed my misfortune factors and let me walk away unscathed from an accident that should have left me gravely injured.
The difference between then and now was— actually, no. I couldn't think about it.
"Hhk—"
"Yeonjae! Here, quick!"
The moment my breath started coming in gasps, Mist, who had been watching me the whole time, hastily conjured a plastic bag and pressed it into my hands. Before I could even say thank you, I buried my face in the bag and gulped down air.
My hands trembled violently as dizziness spun the room before my eyes. The plastic bag, rustling with every desperate breath, was far too flimsy a thing to lean my whole weight on.
Is this actually helping?
Somehow it feels like the harder I try, the worse it gets.
"Hah…"
It felt like my pounding heart was about to leap straight out of my mouth. As I pictured that bloodied heart being caught in the plastic bag, the memory of the sticky something Mist had seized and ripped away surfaced, and nausea surged up my throat.
Far from getting better, I only made a low, wrenching sound—and Mist hurriedly wrapped their arms around me, trying to soothe me.
"Shh… it's okay. Yeonjae…"
What part of this is okay?
Hearing that drained, exhausted voice made something in my chest tighten even in the middle of my panic. The frustration of having something to say and being unable to open my mouth—I decided I needed to calm this down first, whatever it was.
Thankfully, with time the trembling subsided on its own, and the nausea eased considerably. But so much of my strength had drained away in an instant that all I could force out was the sound of my own ragged breathing.
Mist held me from behind, patting my back in an awkward, uncertain rhythm.
"Feeling a little better now?"
"…Yeah."
In that brief span of time, I felt as though I had aged five years. Touching my mouth, which felt gross even though nothing had actually come up, I let myself go limp against the warmth at my back.
"So why did you apologize earlier?"
"Because… if I'd torn it away just a little sooner, the accident might not have happened at all…"
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
It irritated me. Mist, cowed in a way that didn't suit them at all. The fact that there were things Mist couldn't tell me. My own body, hyperventilating like a drowned dog the moment something scared me. Not a single one of it sat well with me.
When I heard the murmur—that if they'd been even one second late in tearing it away, something truly horrific would have happened—my mind involuntarily replayed the scene of the accident.
Mist never told me which part of me the dump truck would have crushed, but it hardly mattered which part it was. If I was lucky, instant death. If I wasn't, fatal internal bleeding from ruptured organs.
Even as I thought that I would truly be dead if not for Mist, what filled my head was the image of Mist frantically seizing that sticky thing and ripping it free.
This kid really doesn't know the meaning of fear.
"What's wrong with your hand?"
I had been leaning there quietly, just breathing, when the strange sight caught my eye and the question slipped out on its own. Mist's right hand, the one patting my stomach, was stained black.
Even back when you were a dog, your paws looked like that.
At my words, Mist panicked completely and began scrambling to hide the hand. I let it slide earlier, but I wasn't letting it go now. I quickly grabbed the hand and asked again what had happened to it, and after a hesitation, they only mumbled that they didn't know.
"Do you really not know?"
"……"
"So which is it—you don't know, it's hard to say, or… you just don't want to say it?"
Despite my considerate multiple-choice question, those trembling lips simply pressed shut. Seeing even that, I couldn't bring myself to press any further. With a heavy feeling settling over me, I quietly closed my eyes.
The cozy warmth coming from behind me felt terribly unfamiliar.
"Hyung, I'll clear that for you."
"Please stay seated."
"I can do it myself—"
"Please. Stay. Seated."
"……"
I really can do it, you know.
I stared, disgruntled, at Manager Ahn Jinbae as he swept up my dishes the moment I took my last bite. Just yesterday, when I'd set one foot out of bed to go to the bathroom, he'd actually said to me, "I told you to call me before you got up."
When he announced that he would bring me a bell and that I was to ring it before moving from now on, I swallowed a hollow laugh and joked, "Getting hit by a car has made me feel like a king"—and it fell completely flat. Lately a lot of scripts had been coming out with that exact premise, so it really had been a joke…
I had to apologize to Manager Ahn Jinbae, whose face had frozen as though I'd said the least funny thing in the world, and even draw a mark on my finger to swear I would absolutely call him before moving. But still, come on. This was going too far.
"Hyung, please wait outside."
"But what if you need something…"
"Out."
Eight days after the accident, I had finally been granted permission to shower. Having spent this whole time wiped down with nothing but towels, I'd been itching to death.
The doctor had barely stepped out before I headed straight for the bathroom, and Manager Ahn Jinbae scuttling in right behind me was enough to make my head throb.
"You could collapse while you're in there."
"My limbs are fine. Why would I collapse? I'll wash up quickly and come out, so wait outside."
"Then take it slow. If you rush, you could slip and fall. The body wash is on the left, and the—"
"Yes, yes. It's all labeled. I can read. Now go."
Sorry for cutting you off, but I was so grossed out that I wanted to be clean one second sooner.
When I shoved him firmly by the back, Manager Ahn Jinbae reluctantly retreated, shouting "Careful of your head! Don't use too much force!" right up until the door closed.
What am I, a newborn?
"Ahhh… I feel alive."
The moment the hot water hit my skin, the sigh poured out of me on its own. I showered carefully, little by little, taking care not to let any water reach the back of my head where the incision was.
Thanks to Mist, not a single scratch had been left anywhere else on my body. To quote the paramedic, it had been "a miracle that used up every last drop of luck in a lifetime."
They said that when the ambulance arrived after the reports came in, my upper body was already under the dump truck. The driver had wrenched the wheel in a panic the instant I collapsed into the road and slammed on the brakes—and when they checked, the tire was pressing down on the very back of my head, just barely. If he'd been even 0.01 seconds slower hitting the brake, it would have rolled right over my skull. I'd overheard the investigating officer saying that to his colleague.
I really would have died if not for Mist.
"Haah…"
Thinking of Mist brought a sigh up naturally. They would still be watching me, so I smoothed my expression back into place as quickly as I could.
A week had passed, and still I hadn't gotten answers. Why Mist had turned into a dog. Why one hand had been charred black. What they'd gone through right after tearing that sticky thing away.
Watching them whimper as though they were the one at fault—after saving my life, no less—made it impossible to push the questions further. For about three days I waited quietly, and on the fourth I started coaxing them as gently as I could.
If that sticky thing appeared again, couldn't I end up in the same situation all over again?
When I asked why it had formed, and how I was supposed to respond if it did, those lips only quivered again. After a long while, all I got was a mumble that it wouldn't happen again, so don't worry.
When I pressed and pressed, asking how they could possibly know that, they kept evading me sideways—until, worn down by my nagging, they blurted out without thinking, "I just heard it, okay!"—and then froze solid.
Heard it? From whom?
"……Yeonjae, pet my head."
"Mist."
"My head… hm?"
Looking into those anxiously wavering eyes, I had no choice but to swallow the question.
Apparently being held in my arms as a dog had pleased them, because they kept wriggling over trying to burrow into my chest again, and I let out a sigh. If you're going to act like a baby, at least look like one.
Something with the build of Manager Ahn Jinbae trying to climb into my lap wasn't fooling anyone.
When I pushed them away with all my strength, those usually docile eyes instantly brimmed with tears. Tsk. I clicked my tongue, and they claimed it was only because their body was too big—and in a flash they shrank into a four-year-old.
It took a long time of holding that small body and patting it before the sniffles finally stopped.
"Actor-nim? You haven't collapsed in there, have you?"
I was still thinking about how Mist had behaved like an actual toddler ever since the accident when a knock came at the door, followed by a voice thick with worry from the hallway. Startled at how much time had passed, I glanced at the clock—and went speechless.
"…Hyung. It's been three minutes."
"Do you need me? Should I come in?"
Mist was already more than enough to deal with—why was this man like this?
He pretended not to hear me, and before I could even answer, the doorknob turned. Good thing I locked it.
Even after confirming it was locked, he tried several more times, and only after I yelled that I really would be right out did I win back my brief taste of freedom. There was no room left in my head for complicated thoughts.
I hurried through the shower and changed into a fresh hospital gown, and sure enough, my visitor was waiting the moment I emerged.
"Yeonjae! I brought strawberries today! Hello to you too, Jinbae."
"Good to see you. Hand the strawberries to me, please."
"Hyung, I keep telling you not to come. You're busy—why do you keep showing up?"
Facing a face I'd seen every single day for the past week without fail, the worried words tumbled out before I could even greet him. Jung Hyun hyung, setting down the bulging bag on the table, clapped his hands over his ears.
"Ugh, enough with the nagging already."
"Is your film shoot a joke to you? Doesn't the director chew you out?"
"These days the only person who scolds me is you."
Jung Hyun hyung came over grumbling and peered intently at the back of my head, asking how I was doing today, his eyes serious. I immediately dropped the teasing tone and told him I was fine, but he didn't so much as pretend to listen. It was Manager Ahn Jinbae, arranging the washed strawberries neatly on a plate, who answered—just as naturally as he answered when the question was put to him.
"No inflammation at all, and it's healing beautifully. We also cut his painkiller dosage way back starting today."
"Oh. Sounds like you really are doing a lot better."
"I told you I was fine."
"Jinbae, did the doctor say anything to you separately?"
This guy, honestly.
Jung Hyun hyung carried on his conversation with Manager Ahn Jinbae as though my voice simply didn't exist, and only after he'd genuinely confirmed that I was on the mend did he finally smile.
"What a relief. CEO Jang worries about you a lot too, you know."
"Yes, he called this morning, actually."
CEO Jang, in an uncharacteristically serious voice, had told me to focus on nothing but rest and not worry about a thing. I'd expected him to ask at least once when I'd be discharged, what with how much he kept bringing up my next project, so it took me by surprise.
When I apologized, saying the accident right after signing our contract must have made extra mess for him, his answer came back that this didn't even count as an accident, so don't be ridiculous. It was an adult tone—almost enough to feel awkward coming from him.
"Mind if I sleep over tonight? I want to watch Mission Clear with you tonight."
Oh. Right. That's tonight.
I wondered if it was really necessary for him to sleep on an uncomfortable folding bed just to watch one broadcast together, but I just said sure. It wasn't like anything I said would get through anyway.
And so I switched on the TV mounted front and center in the private room, waiting for the broadcast to begin. I was replying to the messages from Noh Bihyeok and Park Haeun saying they were glued to the live broadcast when Jung Hyun hyung popped a strawberry into my mouth and said, casually,
"Yeonjae. Did you know you have a fan cafe now?"