The Unrequited Love

XXVII

Hanahaki:
A fictional illness in which a person bearing an unrequited love coughs up flower petals until they die or their feelings are reciprocated.

×××××

“You, son of a Chimpanzee!” I laughed back, the crescents of our eyes falling into each others’ before he dived further down the stairs.

[Three weeks later]

Days passed away in the blink of an eye. Jimin was undergoing his therapy sessions and his nightmares were becoming less frequent. His sleeping pills were also tapered down to the minimum. Playing a sport every weekend had become a part of his routine and meditation was something he did everyday.

Life was getting better for Jimin. But I couldn’t say the same about myself. As usual, I would throw up as per my routine and though I was used to throwing up regularly, when the suffocation hit it always frightened me if it was the last time…before I’d die.

I thought these things when I was sitting idle on the couch, looking back.

But at least Jimin will be fine.

That was the only thing that I could console myself with.

“I'm home,” Jimin said, tossing his briefcase on the couch and reaching for his tie.

“So how was it?” I asked, helping him with his coat.

He loosened his tie. “It was tough. The client's still against the deal.”

“It will be alright,” I said. “What are their terms?”

“Nevermind, my head hurts thinking about it,” he said. “Just wish I had something refreshing.”

“Here then,” I said, putting a glass out for him.

“Lemonade?” Jimin's face lit up. “How did you know?”

“Just me things,” I said but Jimin just grinned lopsidedly. I threw my hands up when he gave me that I-know-you’re-lying look. “Okay. I had planned it from the start.”

He shook his head and drank a sip, and let out a satisfied sigh. “Feels so relaxing after a long day,” he said.

“Yup, I made it,” I boasted.

He put the glass on the counter. “Yeah whatever, it's not that good.”
“Oh is that why your glass is empty?”

Jimin only stuck his tongue out at me and got in the bedroom to change while I chuckled silently.

“Put two spoonfuls of soy sauce,” Jimin instructed while I followed. He then mixed the ingredients and put the chicken into the bowl, coating it thoroughly.

“I wonder, where did you learn all this?” It fell out of my mouth on its own. I bit my tongue because I realised that it could go the Dong-Chul-way and trigger his trauma again.

But I instead saw him smile ruefully. Nonetheless, at least it was a smile. I knew if I pressed him more, he was going to burst. Even now, he wasn't going to share.

“I learnt it from Dong Chul,” Jimin replied. “We used to make it on Sundays. With soju on the side.” He allowed himself a reminiscent laugh. “We also had yangnyeom. He was a better cook than me. Too bad you couldn't taste his dishes.”

I could only watch.

“You okay?” he said.

“Y-Yeah. I didn't think you'd answer that.”

He became quiet. “Yeah. I didn't…realise that. It just came out like a memory from the past. Of my friend Dong Chul.”

“Before you used to refuse to talk about Dong Chul. At all,” I said. “You know that?”