LOSE MY BREATH

LMB 36

36: Onism.

Jisung felt a mix of emotions as he followed Yongbok into the ancestral hall. The hall was dimly lit, with the soft glow of candles casting flickering shadows on the walls. 

The air was thick with the scent of burning incense, a blend of sandalwood and jasmine, which created an atmosphere both serene and sombre. The hall was adorned with ornate wooden carvings and calligraphy scrolls that chronicled the family’s lineage and history, giving the space a timeless, almost sacred feel.

Yongbok led him to the altar, where several tablets with inscribed names stood in solemn rows. Each tablet represented an ancestor, a silent witness to the prayers and offerings made in their honour. 

Yongbok handed Jisung a stick of incense, and they both bowed deeply before placing the incense in a brass holder. The smoke curled upwards, disappearing into the rafters.

Jisung’s gaze lingered on the tablet bearing his own name, Yang Jisung. The sight was a stark reminder of the duality of his existence – living between two worlds, neither fully belonging to one nor the other. He felt like an observer in his own life, a ghost among the living.

This feeling was all too familiar, reminiscent of the estrangement he felt during his foster family’s gatherings. He was present, but never truly a part of the family tapestry.

“He spent a lot of time here,” Yongbok said, his voice a soft echo in the quiet hall. “Kneeling as a punishment.”

Jisung snorted, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “I had to do that a lot back home as well. Go to my room and think of what I’ve done.”

Yongbok huffed in response, and then a silence settled between them, heavy and contemplative. The only sound was the gentle crackle of the incense burning. The smell of incense filled Jisung’s nostrils, a scent that was becoming increasingly familiar yet still somewhat foreign. It was a reminder of the rituals and traditions he was still learning to understand.

As they stood there, memories of the past began to surface. Jisung remembered the pain of not being invited to Jeongin’s funeral, a wound that had never fully healed. The ache was a constant companion, a dull throb that flared up at the most unexpected times.

He glanced at Yongbok, who looked every bit the stern leader in his deep golden robes. There was a hardness in his eyes, a result of the burdens he had carried and the responsibilities he bore.

“He thought I was responsible for Jeongin’s death,” Jisung said quietly, the words heavy with guilt and sorrow. “My Felix.”

“Were you?” Yongbok asked, his voice straightforward and unyielding.

Jisung looked at the tablet again, tracing the characters of his name with his eyes. This was supposed to be a place of peace, a place to honour those who had passed. But for him, it was also a place of unresolved guilt and lingering questions.

“It feels like it,” he admitted. “Jeongin was going to pick me up and got into an accident.”

“So you weren’t.”

Jisung looked up, meeting Yongbok’s intense gaze. “What?”

“Responsible,” Yongbok clarified. His expression was sharp, almost accusatory.

“Yongbok,” Jisung began, but he didn’t know how to continue.

Yongbok wouldn’t have let him, anyway. He turned fully to Jisung, his chin raised defiantly. “You know what? Stop… stop playing the martyr for once, okay? You don’t have to make yourself the villain just because you think there needs to be one.”

Jisung stared at him, eyes wide with shock.

“Fuck, you were just like that here too. Taking unreasonable punishments with a smile, like you were glad it was you and not someone else. There wasn’t going to be anyone else, you realise that?”

“Yongbok,” Jisung repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Isn’t it enough to lose him and – and not talk to me? That other me? Do you also have to whip yourself raw over it?”

Yongbok’s hands were balled into fists, opening and closing as if he couldn’t decide whether to strike out or hold back. Then he gestured to the tablet with Jisung’s name.

“I miss him, you know? I miss him all the time, but I’m not going to make it my fault that he’s dead. He took the risk and paid the price. If I thought it was my fault, my fault only, how could I live with myself?”

Jisung exhaled weakly. “You don’t understand, Yongbok.”

“What don’t I understand? What is it? Jisung, how self-centred can you be? There is a grief you’ve earned and the grief you have no right to, and you’re just hoarding it all. Grieve over Jeongin, not your damn self!”

He stared at Yongbok, his little brother, who in this world absolved him of blame entirely. The contrast between the two realities was stark and painful.

They performed the final bow, Yongbok a bit too swiftly, his movements sharp and precise. As he straightened, he placed his hands on his back, the posture of a stern leader.

“And tell Minho if he doesn’t stop hovering, I will drown the both of you in the river,” Yongbok said, his voice regaining its usual commanding tone. He marched out of the hall, past Minho who had indeed appeared in the doorway.

Jisung watched him go, feeling a mix of gratitude and confusion. He wanted to believe this Yongbok, wanted to let go of the guilt that had plagued him for so long. The incense smoke still spiralled into the air, creating a haze that seemed to blur the boundaries between his memories and the present.

“Jisung?” Minho’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the moment.

“It’s fine, Minho. Have you packed already? Good. You can help me, then.”

The scent of incense had burrowed into his body, and Yongbok’s words had cut deep, reaching places Jisung had long tried to keep hidden. As he turned to leave the hall, he felt a faint glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find peace.

Outside, the evening sun was setting, casting a warm golden light over the courtyard. The shadows lengthened, and the chirping of cicadas filled the air. Minho walked beside him, silent but comforting in his presence. Jisung took a deep breath, letting the fresh air clear his mind.

The ancestral hall, with its heavy air of tradition and history, faded into the background as they stepped out into the open. The future, uncertain as it was, seemed a little less daunting with Minho by his side and Yongbok’s words echoing in his mind.

Jisung glanced back at the hall one last time, feeling a sense of closure. It was time to move forward, to let go of the past, and to embrace whatever lay ahead. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but with his friends and family beside him, he felt ready to face it.