#107
A light kiss fell on his cheek.
“Are you hungry now?”
“Stop laughing…”
Lips holding back laughter showered his face once more. Kang Jihan gently pinched the stomach that had just made a loud sound and got up.
“I’ll make something quickly. Stay in bed.”
Nam Seonwoo glared at his annoying back. He was dying without even the strength to get up, and seeing the other move so lightly, unlike himself, somehow felt unfair.
“Is there anything you want to eat?”
But when he saw the face looking back at him, he couldn’t help but soften his gaze. It wasn’t just because Kang Jihan was smiling with his eyes crinkled. The idea of facing each other like this in the morning, in a bed still warm, felt strange. Somehow uncomfortable with Kang Jihan looking back at him instead of seeing his usual dry back view, Nam Seonwoo averted his eyes and said:
“Just make what you were going to make yesterday.”
“Meat seems a bit much for breakfast.”
His face, deep in serious thought, looked surprisingly fine for someone who hadn’t slept all night. It seemed he must have gotten some sleep after that. Inexplicably relieved, Nam Seonwoo decided to show his own kind of generosity.
“Aren’t you hungry? Make whatever you want.”
“I’m fine. I ate plenty yesterday.”
“…”
Turning away, Kang Jihan opened the door without losing his smile even as a pillow flew at the back of his head.
“Is toast okay?”
Nam Seonwoo was about to nod casually when he hesitated. Remembering the French toast Kang Jihan had made for him once before, a small question that had been lingering in his mind suddenly jumped out.
“Kang Jihan.”
“Yes?”
“Did I ever… tell you what I eat for breakfast before?”
Surprised by the sudden question, Kang Jihan turned around with a confused expression. Nam Seonwoo looked down at the bedspread. The sheets that had been changed overnight were much thinner summer ones, unlike yesterday’s.
“I’m just asking, but did I talk in my sleep again yesterday? Like asking you to change to summer sheets?”
The feel of the sheets was crisp and cool, just like the ones Kang Jihan had changed at his officetel. Back then, he’d assumed Kang Jihan had just grabbed whatever was on top when taking out someone else’s bedding, but now he couldn’t just let it go.
“I mean, it is summer, but yesterday’s sheets weren’t this thin.”
“Well, that’s because you like…”
Kang Jihan stopped mid-sentence. His words had flowed out naturally, but now he looked bewildered, as if belatedly realizing something was off.
‘…?’
It was the exact same expression Kang Jihan had worn in the hospital room. Right after waking from anesthesia, Kang Jihan had mumbled constant apologies with that face. Like someone confused at the boundary between a long dream and reality.
Nam Seonwoo carefully spoke up.
“I do like it. That’s why I’m asking. I don’t remember ever telling you that I like such things.”
“…”
Kang Jihan now closed his mouth completely.
It was an ambiguous response. He’d checked just in case Kang Jihan’s memories had returned, but if that were the case, he wouldn’t have such a blank expression. Yet it was also hard to believe that Kang Jihan had simply been perceptive about his preferences. Something like sheet preferences wasn’t something one would know unless they’d lived together for a long time.
‘So it’s really…’
While he had learned many facts from his conversation with Baek Heeyeon, he hadn’t perfectly understood everything. In particular, questions remained about Kang Jihan’s memories. Can a person’s memories “completely” disappear? That was the question Nam Seonwoo had kept asking himself throughout his rehabilitation period.
If Kang Jihan had also regressed, it meant he was essentially the same being as the Kang Jihan from the previous life. Even if he’d lost his memories, he was ultimately the same person. But memories define one’s existence—is it really possible for those memories to vanish cleanly, as if at the push of a button?
Nam Seonwoo’s tentative conclusion was “no.” It wasn’t because he harbored lingering attachment hoping Kang Jihan would recover his memories. On the contrary, he hoped Kang Jihan wouldn’t remember.
If that pure white hospital room he saw in his dreams was real after the accident… if that desperate grip on his hand and those frantic cries were real, it would be better not to remember.
Stupidly followed him to death, that guy. He thought—and still thinks—that rather than having such a person recall all memories of his previous life, it would be better if he never remembered. But an inexplicable emptiness always lingered.
It was a feeling very similar to loneliness.
He knew it was paradoxical. Wishing for someone not to remember while feeling lonely—it was contradictory. But that emotion would suddenly rear its head. When walking the paths he had once walked with Kang Jihan, when recalling those times that Kang Jihan couldn’t remember, there was a bitterness in his mouth.
Only now did he realize there were bright moments within those fifteen years, but there was no Kang Jihan to share them with. Thinking about it made him feel strange, as if those times were disappearing. Carrying the memories of those fifteen years alone was indeed a bit lonely.
Perhaps that was why. His contradictory lingering attachment kept raising questions. Whether memories can truly vanish.
For the past few weeks, he’d frequented the central library like it was his own home. He’d indiscriminately read anything with “memory” in the table of contents, whether psychology or brain science, and one day he came across the concept of “implicit memory.”
“…unlike explicit memories that are consciously remembered, implicit memories are buried in the unconscious, so the subject doesn’t recognize that they ‘remember’.”
It was the answer Nam Seonwoo had been looking for. The answer that Kang Jihan’s memories hadn’t evaporated but were buried in his unconscious.
And now, Kang Jihan’s inability to answer seemed to confirm his hypothesis was correct.
‘…That’s a relief.’
A sense of comfort washed over him momentarily. If Kang Jihan remembered those fifteen years even in his unconscious, it seemed less lonely.
“You never… told me?”
Meanwhile, Kang Jihan’s expression had hardened. Seeing his frozen face, Nam Seonwoo finally came to his senses.
He belatedly realized how his question—about how Kang Jihan knew something that had never been mentioned—must have sounded to him. While Nam Seonwoo had resolved his own doubt with the question, for Kang Jihan, it only created more questions. Nam Seonwoo quickly covered up:
“Why are you taking it so seriously? I’m just saying you’re perceptive.”
“…”
“It’s a compliment. What are you doing? Hurry up and make breakfast.”
Despite his smile, Kang Jihan remained rooted to the spot. Only after Nam Seonwoo whined “I’m starving to death” did he snap out of it and awkwardly leave the room. Looking at his still-dazed back, Nam Seonwoo quietly clicked his tongue.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.’
The increasingly serious expression kept lingering in his mind. And for some reason, it reminded him of Kang Jihan’s face during the early morning hours.
Of course, Kang Jihan from the previous life also had little sleep, but he didn’t have insomnia. He’d only thought “Has he been having trouble sleeping lately?” for a few weeks before they broke up. Given that he hadn’t come home for several days, it seemed even that was due to being busy with overtime work.
Above all, the current Kang Jihan lacked the chronic sensitivity that Nam Seonwoo had always felt from the previous Kang Jihan. The subtle furrowing of his brow, like cracks in a cold ice sheet, now only transparently revealed intense emotions. Similarly, the fatigue under his eyes, once pallid like a white gown, was now completely absent…
‘…Or is it?’
Nam Seonwoo tilted his head. Come to think of it, Kang Jihan had seemed quite tired recently. As he carefully thought back to when it started, Nam Seonwoo suddenly opened his mouth with an “Ah.”
If his memory was correct, it started right after the motorcycle accident.
* * *
Kang Jihan was a liar.
Contrary to his claim that no one would be home “today,” the house had been empty for days. When asked when his mother would return, Kang Jihan finally confessed that she was away on a business trip for over two weeks.
There was another lie. Unlike his promise to take things “slowly,” Kang Jihan behaved like an unleashed colt, doing it at every opportunity. Without exaggeration, because of this crazy guy who got aroused just by breathing, Nam Seonwoo had no choice but to spend more than half the day in bed.
When he said it was too exhausting to continue, Kang Jihan would listen. Of course, he’d just refrain from putting that disgusting thing inside him. Nam Seonwoo looked down at his thighs. The insides of both thighs were red and swollen. He knew his skin was sensitive, but he hadn’t wanted to confirm it this way.
It had been over ten days since he’d been home. That was because Kang Jihan wouldn’t let him go back to his officetel. If he said he’d left something at home, Kang Jihan would buy him a new one; if he needed his notes, Kang Jihan would go to the officetel while he was asleep and bring them back.
And so, from morning till evening, or rather, into the dawn, Kang Jihan never left his side. Days when he had to go to class were exceptions, but even then, Kang Jihan waited in front of the education building until lectures ended, becoming famous among his classmates.
Nam Seonwoo swallowed a sigh. All he did was shower with Kang Jihan’s body wash, wear Kang Jihan’s pajamas, collapse onto Kang Jihan’s bed, and eat the food Kang Jihan fed him. Somehow it felt like becoming an animal, but being this close allowed him to discover one thing.
That Kang Jihan’s insomnia was more serious than he’d thought.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
