The Worst Condition
A woman’s time of the month usually comes once a month. The cycle lasts about a week.
I never needed to know any of this before, but now I found myself staring holes through those words.
The article I was reading and my own situation weren’t exactly the same. It claimed everything varied with physical condition and body state, yet I knew so little about Song Haneul that there was almost nothing I could be sure of.
Why the hell did I finish inside…
Even if—just for the sake of argument—there had been mutual consent, this still felt wrong, so I kept reading. Something incomprehensible had happened, and it kept dragging me under into thought.
“What are you doing? Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Uh… not really feeling it right now.”
“You skipped breakfast and lunch too.”
“No appetite today.”
After giving a vague answer, I went back to the room. Sinking into thought wouldn’t change a single thing. Still, if something did happen, I felt I couldn’t afford to stop thinking if I wanted to be ready to accept it. Stay too complacent and something big might blow up.
I knew full well that treating everything normally felt good and unawkward, yet it wasn’t easy. This wasn’t a situation where normal was even possible. Even if we’d only been male and female friends, awkwardness would have been inevitable—being siblings made it that much worse. A situation I couldn’t talk about to anyone, plus the relationship itself. The pressure of having to think it all through and decide alone pressed down hard.
“Drinking today?”
Song Haneul poked his head through the open doorway and I flinched.
“Ah, no. Doesn’t seem like drinking would do any good.”
“Yeah, feels that way… but you never know.”
We’d already drunk a few times after that. The fact that nothing changed meant the body swap itself wasn’t the alcohol’s fault. Besides, the booze seemed to be the real problem. I was worried about what might happen if I drank again for no reason. I’d never had an experience like this.
“No, I’m fine.”
My head hurt. I didn’t even want to think. I couldn’t tell whether my stomach was aching because of the period or because of what we’d done. The sticky feeling I’d had while washing clung and refused to let go.
“Okay.”
Every time I watched Song Haneul leave so casually, my insides burned. I couldn’t stop feeling like an idiot for being the only one all worked up. Today really was the worst condition—I didn’t even want to drink water.
Last night. The moment I figured out the cause of the body swap, I pulled out the booze to try turning things back. I bought the exact same brand and type, held it in my mouth, and prayed we could go back.
Even family members have their own lives, so the chaos that hits the second bodies swap is no joke. Just me alone, I kept revealing things I never wanted Song Hamin to know—chest size, the state of my naked body, even the messed-up internal cycle. Lucky he was an idiot who didn’t know much about any of that, but if he looked it up later it would still feel gross. He’d find out my body was in a shitty state.
People can’t live clean forever. Pull all-nighters, skip meals roughly, and even without special events the cycle delays or shortens or all sorts of crap happens—you can’t stop it. So in the week since the swap I’d taken every kind of stress there was. Plus the guy’s lower half reacting on its own. Nothing went the way I wanted. When I was a girl there was none of this, so no inconvenience.
“Ugh, my head…”
Watching her groan after just a little made my stomach turn. Song Hamin’s body treated this much alcohol like a soft drink and was fine, but the body in front of me—my original body—was already dying. Just half a bottle. And it was low-alcohol Fruit Soju at that, yet she was already reeling. The sweetness and everything made it feel like her palate and stomach were still a kid’s. Twins the same age, just different genders—why so different? Well, opposite-sex fraternal twins, so nothing weird. Height difference over twenty centimeters too.
“Hot…”
Song Hamin, face and ears flushed deep red, swayed like even holding her head up was too much. That sight left me speechless.
“Try eating a bit more pizza.”
“I’m full…”
Full after two slices—yeah, I really do eat little. The sensation of still having room for more was hard to imagine right now.
“Tsk.”
It tasted good, but the sense of obligation made it weird. If you asked whether eating like this had any effect, all I could do was hope. Even if it did, no one knew whether it would give the result I wanted. Why the hell did we swap in the first place.
“Hot…”
Drunk Song Hamin panted. Looking unwell, she leaned her upper body on the table and gasped. Her body tilted more and more. Eventually she scooted her hips back and dropped her head with a thud. Maybe because her chest kept getting pressed against the table, her breathing sounded a little easier than before.
“Just collapsing like that.”
Probably why she never touched alcohol. Right after becoming adults we tried drinking once and ended up like that, so she avoided it. The memory was hazy enough that I should add “probably,” but I knew the booze tasted awful to her.
“If you’re sleeping, go to your room.”
“Ugh…”
The taste was awful and she got drunk quick after little. Instead of feeling good, discomfort hit first, so she never tried to find her limit. That’s why this was the first time seeing my body’s alcohol tolerance objectively. If you drink till blackout, most people don’t remember their own drunken antics. The chance to face your own tolerance through someone else’s eyes is basically zero—unless bodies swap like this.
“Tsk, if the body can’t handle it, no way she can either.”
If Song Hamin was like that, maybe me going weird was natural too. I don’t want a life ruled by the body, but what can’t be helped can’t be helped. No intention of continuing the meal with someone about to pass out in front of me, so I stood up. Food can be reheated later anyway. I roughly cleared the table and downed the leftover soju. A sweet yet tipsy feeling rose. Feeling the buzz pleasantly was a first in this body. Amazing that pleasantness came first without dizziness or struggle.
“Up we go.”
I lifted Song Hamin, who couldn’t even hold herself up from the buzz. The height difference meant I had to bend my knees, but that was nothing. Thinking of putting her to bed, I naturally ended up in Song Hamin’s room. Because I’d been living conscious that this body was Song Hamin’s so I should use Song Hamin’s room, coming in here felt familiar. Maybe the alcohol confused me a bit—I reached out thinking of going back.
“Ugh.”
Hot. She muttered it small and started pawing at her clothes. The instinctive thrashing of Song Hamin fighting the heat exposed her belly. In an instant the motion revealed the bra-clad chest. A bit of sweat made it glisten.
“Hey, stop…”
“It’s tight… so tight…”
Not just trying to strip clothes. Whining that her chest was tight, she struggled to take off the bra too. Because of the weight, if you undid it carelessly the muscles might snap. Knowing that, I had to be careful. But Song Hamin was reckless like she knew nothing of it. If I left her, would she tire and sleep? Or thrash till then? All sorts of thoughts flashed through my head.
“Stay still. I’ll undo it for you.”
I held her firmly and turned her on her side. Undoing the hook, she exhaled the breath that had been stuck. Definitely tough. Well, overlapping with that cycle, her chest could be uncomfortable.
“…You okay?”
“Haa.”
When she drinks she really loses it. Good thing I refused saying I couldn’t taste the booze and stuck to soft drinks. If she’d wandered outside like this, beastly guys would have flocked from everywhere. Definitely disgusting. That feeling of eyes locking just from chest size. If you dress baggy you look ugly; if you dress pretty, eyes flock and it’s uncomfortable. Recalling the hellish either-or choice just made my head throb.
“Be grateful in your own way… how nice it is that it ends in a day or two.”
Stomach pain is quick, the cycle ends quick. Not like I should be thankful for a wrecked body, but at least the pain and discomfort don’t last long, so it’s okay-ish. If it went on for days, how miserable. Even after decades you bury it in familiarity but never call it comfortable—that pain and inconvenience.
“…Hey.”
“Ugh, hot.”
“Summer’s almost over… I don’t know either.”
Didn’t think I’d turn on the AC in this weather. Watching her, whether from the alcohol or not, she seemed to be getting hotter. My body didn’t heat up like that and cooled quick, but Song Hamin started stripping her top completely like she was craving the AC breeze. The removed bra rolled on the bed, and the defenselessly exposed breasts swayed freely.
“Ah, shit…”
It’s my body—why does she keep acting like that. Or is it because she’s drunk out of her mind. Well, when sober she seems to live normally. Why does it look weird. Not from the start, but me starting to see it differently feels bad. Even just this afternoon. I’m getting weirder and weirder. People are slaves to hormones—maybe that’s exactly it. No matter how hard you try to keep reason, men and women each have things they’re bound by; there’s no choice. When I was Song Haneul, looking at Song Hamin did nothing, but as Song Hamin, looking at my body and getting subtly aroused is the problem. A problem I have no idea how to solve.
“Once you cool down, go sleep in your room.”
What the hell kind of creepy bullshit is that.
I recalled Song Hamin making a disgusted face. But now it was a completely slack face. Maybe because of that difference, my heart just raced.