𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 › eng

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤

𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑟𝑑 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔.

​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ He'd spent the last three days repairing broken pots and washing himself with execrable meticulousness, only to do it again and again. It was hellish, this whirlwind of repetition in which Jeong-guk wandered. He could see no end to it, no bottom to it, no hope of breaking free. Whenever he received a call, he rushed out of his apartment. As if he had an itch. As if he couldn't stand losing himself in this heap of invasive, destructive thoughts. And as soon as he was no longer needed, he'd go back inside, to shower. Once. Then twice. Then five. He could spend hours scrubbing his body with that rough glove. From the roots of his feet to the backs of his ears, he grated until he bled. Something new had been triggered in him recently, something he hadn't seen coming.

​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​Jeong-guk felt dirty, atrociously, inordinately dirty. Like a murderer on the rampage, he felt the irrepressible need to clean up what had tarnished his soul, what had shattered his humanity. He saw impurities everywhere, while the whole world ignored them. His OCD seemed more and more present and more and more disturbing. Now he wasn't just checking the lock on his door, no. He was watching himself. He calculated his calories, those he burned walking and those he added to himself by eating. He trimmed his nails several times a day, reworked his hairstyle whenever he passed his reflection, insisted heavily on brushing his teeth. Jeong-guk wanted to be clean, because inside, he simply perceived himself as a vile being.

​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​His only remedy was his own escape. When someone phoned him in the hope of being saved, he'd go for it. Not out of altruism, but out of a deep desire to get away from who he was. And while he supported his little world, Jeong-guk didn't have to think. He was free for a few hours.

​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​But today, one name was missing from his list. Seok-jin's. He noticed instinctively as he reread the call history. Their last exchange was on D-Day. Jeong-guk had missed his phone call, so Seok-jin had left him a voicemail message - a very banal one. And the loser's best response was "I'll get back to you later, I'm with the guys". No wonder he was feeling dirty now, since he hadn't even bothered to take the time for his friend. He hadn't even bothered to give him a minute, preferring to get drunk and continue chatting with those girls they'd met earlier in the day.

​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​𝑇𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑆𝑒𝑜𝑘-𝐽𝑖𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑, 𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑌𝑜𝑜𝑛-𝑔𝑖'𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑡.

​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​Jeong-guk had been suffering ever since. Intensely. Deeply. Just like the rest of the gang. He was missing a piece, a piece of himself, a piece of his world. He still didn't realize it. Did he even want to? Realizing that his friend had died accelerated the process of forgetting, and Jeong-guk didn't want to forget. He preferred to live with the guilt, heavy and hanging over his head. Even if it meant losing altitude, even if it meant losing strength. It was inconceivable to him to move on. It was too vivid. Much too vivid.

​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​Once again, for the last three days, Jeong-guk had spent the morning sanitizing himself with his almost sandpaper. Until he received the phone call he'd been waiting for to be saved: this time it was from a number he didn't know. He didn't answer right away, theorizing about who might be trying to reach him. He didn't like the unexpected, at least not like this. The smartphone lit up three times before he grabbed it.

​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​– Yes? he says, his voice broken by anxiety.

​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​– Hello, Jeong-guk. This is... Jin's mother. She couldn't pronounce her full name and Jeong-guk understood. I found your number on one of her notes. Look, I went to the hospital to get her things, finally. And... um... He left something for you.