For Eternity

Together

Sangwoo lounged with a facade of boredom, his eyes roaming lazily over the drab walls as Yoon Bum wove a narrative of their supposed past life—a tragic, twisted tale that Sangwoo found more amusing than alarming. But as Yoon Bum spoke of betrayal and poison, Sangwoo's mind unbidden summoned the image of his father—defeated, dying, the froth at his mouth a silent testament to his mother's betrayal. The memory jolted Sangwoo, and for a split second, his mask slipped.

"Did you really try to kill me, then?" The question sliced through the stillness, Sangwoo's voice tinged with an unexpected sharpness, his casual indifference momentarily forgotten.

Yoon Bum flinched, his eyes wide with hurt. "No! Never. We just... didn't communicate. Which is why I want to do it right this time."

Sangwoo's laughter was hollow, his boredom resurfacing like a shield. "So... how did I die in this fantastical tale of yours?"

Yoon Bum's voice trembled with the weight of emotion. "There was a struggle, a fire. You got injured but..."

"Ah," Sangwoo interjected, his tone laced with mock relief. "I perished in flames. Poetic."

Yoon Bum's eyes glistened, a pool of sorrow and sincerity. "The fire didn't kill you. An old woman... she found you screaming for me. And... she smothered you with a pillow to silence your cries."

Sangwoo's laughter erupted, cold and sharp, but as the words sank in, an ancient fear clawed at his chest—a shadow of a memory, his mother's face looming over him, a pillow descending. Panic flickered in his eyes, a primal fear of ending up like his father—helpless, smothered, unloved.

But the laughter died abruptly, and he was motionless, his voice a dead monotone as he pushed the fear away. "I would've preferred the fire," he said, his face now an emotionless mask, the levity gone as if it had never been.

The rest of the conversation unfolded, with Yoon Bum reaching out earnestly and Sangwoo responding with barbed sarcasm, a familiar dance for them both. "Do you really think you can heal me?" Sangwoo questioned, a cruel twist to his smile.

"We have to try. I believe we can make it together," Yoon Bum insisted, his determination unwavering despite the bleakness Sangwoo exuded.

Sangwoo's amusement was a facade, brittle and thin. "We'll just destroy each other in the end. Like in your little fantasy."

A shadow of sadness passed over Yoon Bum's face, his voice a soft murmur. "Then we'll do that together, too."

Their exchange had continued, each volley of words a dance as intricate as the shifting emotions that played beneath the surface. Sangwoo, wrapped in the armor of his cold amusement, felt an uncomfortable tug of recognition at the parallels Yoon Bum drew with his own past—a mirror he was reluctant to gaze into, reflecting a truth he wasn't ready to confront.

The air between them grew charged, a silent acknowledgment of the undercurrents they were both navigating. Sangwoo, watching the tremble of hesitance cross Yoon Bum's features, felt a perverse curiosity awaken. Yoon Bum cleared his throat, his usual deference giving way to a tentative form of bravery.

"I want to move into our next session," Yoon Bum began, pausing as if the words were stones he had to lift from his throat, "which will involve touch therapy."

The hesitation in Yoon Bum's voice was palpable, his caution clear as he awaited Sangwoo's reaction. It was a caution Sangwoo found both irritating and oddly touching — the fear of him, mixed with the desire to help.

Sangwoo's eyes flashed with a complex emotion, unidentifiable even to himself. "Touch therapy?" he repeated, his tone deceptively mild. "And what makes you think I'd be interested in such... special treatment?"