Just Drink It
"Son! I'm so sorry I couldn't even visit you once while you were in the military. Mom was just so busy, you know?"
Mom's voice was warm and affectionate, laced with genuine apology.
The problem was that the person she was talking to wasn't me—it was Song Haneul.
Well, from Mom's perspective I was Song Haneul and that one was Song Hamin, so there wasn't much to be done about it. It wasn't like I'd gone through military service just to hear those words anyway, so it didn't really matter—but still, I was the one who'd suffered through it all, and watching that brat soak it up left a strange taste in my mouth.
"I know you were busy. You don't have to worry about it."
Had my voice always sounded like that?
The voice was lower and deeper than I'd expected, and it felt strangely unfamiliar.
People always say the voice you hear in your own head is different from a recording of it—but seeing myself through someone else's eyes for the first time was inevitably disorienting.
"That's a relief. And how about you, Haneul? Are things going well?"
"Ah, yes. Sure. Well…"
"Not going well, then. Looks like you've even started drinking, which you never used to. If it comes down to it, why not just write a book? You don't necessarily have to get into a broadcasting company. Or maybe look up someone you know and try something like travel writing?"
I'd thought the leave of absence was just an excuse, but apparently they'd already discussed it.
I managed some vague non-answer, but the mere fact that I was expressing Song Haneul's opinions instead of my own was draining the life out of me.
"I keep wondering what I can do for you kids… Even though it's work, it ends up being half travel, so I feel guilty leaving you home all the time. Oh, and Hamin—are you going back to school next year?"
"Probably?"
"Good. Seeing something through is worthwhile. But if something else catches your interest along the way, don't feel like you have to bury yourself in it."
Do what you want. It was a light remark, but it still revealed Mom's personality—once she dug into something, she saw it through to the end.
"Yes."
Song Haneul handled my body with surprising naturalness.
Not that he spoke the way I would, exactly.
He was more curt than I'd expected, which made me nervous he might give us away—but Mom didn't seem to find anything odd about it.
"My son's gotten so mature after the military. Your hair looks neat and sharp, too—it suits you. Oh, are you going to start living on your own again?"
"I might."
"Really? Well, do whatever's comfortable. Mom needs to go wash up for a bit."
With that, Mom gathered her suitcase and bags. She disappeared into the empty master bedroom and shut the door, leaving just my little sister and me in the living room.
"Come with me."
At this rate I was going to die of a heart attack, so I grabbed Song Haneul and pulled him along.
He was firmer and stronger than I'd expected, and didn't come easily—but he didn't dig his heels in either, so dragging him wasn't a problem.
I got him into the room, but it wasn't as if some sudden answer was going to materialize out of thin air.
I sat "myself" down in the desk chair of my room and frowned at the sight.
"Don't get pissy—just listen. First of all, I didn't do this, okay? So stop taking it out on me."
I understood why he'd gotten so touchy. An inexplicable situation had dropped on us out of nowhere. I got frantic and irritable too whenever things spun out of my control.
Staying calm under pressure was a rare gift; panicking was the natural response. And with Mom showing up on top of everything—Mom, who barely ever came home—of course he was on edge. I got that completely.
"I didn't do it, and you didn't do it either. Pointing fingers and blaming someone isn't going to fix anything right now."
"So we just don't assign blame? You're not trying to pull this off and then act like nothing happened, are you?"
He already seemed convinced I was the culprit, wearing a sullen, unimpressed look.
I hadn't known my own face was capable of making an expression like that.
And delivering it in that low voice somehow made it even more unnerving—like facing down someone genuinely angry.
Still, at least we were talking. I was just as confused as he was; if he'd refused to listen and kept throwing tantrums, this would have been a lot harder.
"I'm not. Seriously. I didn't spike the drinks or anything, and I'm losing my mind over this too, okay? You know this doesn't make any sense in the first place. Bodies don't just swap because you drank something. We didn't even share a glass."
"So what are we supposed to do? How do we switch back? We have to reverse this somehow."
"I don't know either."
"Hey."
"My head hurts too. It's already pounding, so stop being so damn irritating."
I'd chugged more booze earlier just to double-check, and now I was woozy. Maybe that was why my brain wouldn't turn over properly.
"I'm fine. Why are you like this?"
"My alcohol tolerance is fine. Yours is the problem. I'm not in my own body right now."
Song Haneul's alcohol tolerance was garbage.
I'd known that, but feeling it firsthand was a whole different kind of weird.
Getting this wrecked off fruit soju? Just how much of a lightweight was she?
I was experiencing a level of drunkenness that should have taken several bottles of regular soju, and it wasn't sitting well.
I pressed my fingers to my temple and forced myself to think. I needed to come up with some kind of solution before Mom came out and started looking at us funny.
"For now, we just don't let it show until Mom leaves. Sound good?"
"…We can't switch back before then?"
"I told you, I don't know."
"Look, I'm uncomfortable too. You think I'm just sitting around doing nothing? I was actually preparing for job interviews, you know…! How am I supposed to go to interviews in this body? What, are we supposed to live like this forever?"
Song Haneul made no effort to hide his irritation.
"So what, you want me to go to school for you? Then you go to the interviews for me? Even if that somehow worked, you know we can't live like that."
"I know, but—ugh. We'll talk about it later. You know nothing's getting fixed right now."
"We'll drink again tonight."
"…Fine."
We were twins—so why did he still act like such a child?
Even among friends, a ten-month age gap still just felt like friendship. But with a younger sibling, even a difference of a few seconds never quite erased that childish quality.
We'd grown up more like friends than anything, and yet the hierarchy blood imposed—older brother, younger sister, the whole ranking of hyung and oppa and unni and nuna—still pressed down hard. Maybe that was why, even now, he just looked like a kid throwing a tantrum.
I could say I was losing my mind too, and the suspicious looks still wouldn't let up. It was nothing but frustrating.
"What did you buy?"
"This? That one asked me to get it."
"Alcohol?"
Song Haneul held up the soju bottles nestled in a black plastic bag.
Five bottles of the same fruit soju we'd been drinking yesterday and today—even knowing it was coming, I was speechless.
"Honey, are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
I forced a bitter little laugh and pressed my lips into a tight smile.
Trapped in this thoroughly uncomfortable situation, I couldn't manage a real one.
Phones were usable enough if you just drew the pattern lock—but rooms were another matter.
Me, as I was now, walking into my own room would look strange. And hanging out in Song Haneul's room felt awkward and conspicuous; I couldn't bring myself to go in there either.
Was I supposed to sleep in the living room?
There was no real reason I had to be in a bedroom, but being forcibly displaced and left to wander was exhausting.
The simple fact that I was no longer myself—that I'd become someone else—had multiplied the things I had to worry about by a dozen.
"Just bear with it even if it's uncomfortable. Mom's leaving again in two days."
"Huh? No, it's not uncomfortable… I'll just do my best."
"Good. Don't put too much pressure on yourself either, sweetheart. Just do what you can."
Meanwhile, Song Haneul was casually stocking the fridge.
The sight of five more green bottles lined up made the future look bleak.
Her leaving in two days was a relief—and yet the fact that that wasn't even the real problem squeezed my chest tight.
Night fell in what felt like an instant, and Mom went into the master bedroom to sleep.
I'd spent the entire evening parked at the dining table, and now I looked up at Song Haneul standing tall in front of me.
I hadn't realized how big that body was.
Standing in the dark living room, he radiated a kind of physical presence that was almost intimidating.
Was this how I'd looked through Song Haneul's eyes?
No—what he felt was probably different. Judging by the way he'd always horsed around, his take on this body had been nothing like what I was feeling now.
There was no reason to be intimidated by family I'd seen every day of my life. But given the situation, maybe it was unavoidable.
"Crack one open?"
The second Mom was gone, Song Haneul started rummaging through the fridge.
"Any snacks?"
"Just order the same pizza again."
"Only when Mom's around. Not for this."
"You think you could handle swapping with Mom?"
He had a point. That might be completely unmanageable.
Mom had work she needed to leave for. That absolutely couldn't happen. Right.
"I can't handle much, so just give me a little."
"No. Half and half is fair. But are you even serious about this? You're being way too casual."
Those sharp, narrowed eyes made me flinch.
Even when I said I wasn't responsible, the suspicion wouldn't lift. No matter how pointless I thought this was, that brat had a desperation of his own.
Even when it seemed futile, the way he charged straight at it made that clear.
"Fine. Give me half. We just have to drink it."
Chugging all day, chugging all night.
What was Mom going to think, coming home for the first time in ages?
The words rose all the way to my throat, but I kept my mouth shut.
It wasn't my image on the line anyway. He'd deal with it himself.
"Ugh…"
The drinking itself wasn't the problem. It was always what came after.
I worried how heavy my body would feel if I fell asleep like this. It was hard to imagine, and yet the fatigue settling over me now somehow made it all too easy to predict.
It wasn't a good feeling.
Being pleasantly buzzed and being blackout drunk were two very different things.
"I finished it. Happy?"
Even my speech was starting to drag.
I tried my best to act normal, but my body wouldn't cooperate.
"You go to your room. I'll go to your—wait. No. You go to my room, I go to yours. That's right, isn't it?"
"What are you going to do in my room?"
"If we're in the wrong rooms, Mom's going to think something's weird, isn't she?"
"……"
"I won't do anything weird."
"Don't touch anything. Once Mom leaves, we switch rooms back."
"Yeah."
I let out a long, hot breath.
My head felt like it was clearing and not clearing at the same time, which was maddening.
"See you tomorrow."
"Yeah. You too."
Hoping we'd be back to normal by then, I stood up.
My head felt heavy and I swayed on my feet. I went into the room, collapsed face-down on the bed, and my eyes closed almost immediately.
The next day arrived. Nothing had changed.
I'd known it probably wouldn't work, but I hadn't been entirely without hope either—so the disappointment stung a little.
"Ugh, my head…"
A skull-splitting headache announced the morning.
I furrowed my brow and let out a miserable groan.
I'd forced it down through sheer willpower, sure—but it was fruit soju.
This was just unfair.