II. Sometimes it is the willpower that keeps people alive, rather than the medication.

The ambulance’s siren resounded in Chorong’s head, as if taunting her. Everything had happened way too quickly— the moment she got to where Jackson had directed her, she found her best friend limp on the ground, her back to the cold pavement. She remembers cursing at Jackson for being an idiot and not calling an ambulance that very instant, and how the aids had carried her best friend onto a stretcher.

Now, there she was, seated by the side of the hospital bed where Bomi was resting. Jackson had contacted Bomi’s parents, and her father was on the way. Chorong and Jackson didn’t find anything to talk about, especially in the state of panic they were both in. Thus, the air-conditioning unit’s whirring fills in the silence.

After a few more wordless minutes, Bomi’s father comes through the doors of the room, eyes red-rimmed, obviously from crying. From that, Chorong took the hint that there was something that everybody else in the room knew, that she didn’t. From that thought alone, she could feel her insides tightening. Quickly, she gets on her feet.

“Is my little girl okay?” His voice was as if pleading, gaze quivering to Jackson, and eventually to the unconscious body of Bomi. “ Did she overexert herself again?”

Chorong’s insides continued to churn. Again? She thought to herself, no longer finding the strength to stay standing. So much of her paranoia is taking over her, and the endless possibilities bursting in her head of what exactly could be happening to her best friend renders her knees feeble. She crashes back onto the chair, with her gaze bore on the floor.

“We—“ Jackson starts off, but fails to find his words, his brows furrowing together before he can continue speaking, “we were on our Wednesday jog… because you said she needed exercise, r-right? I-“ he pauses, swallowing the saliva thickening at his throat, “I was being a little playful, a-and went ahead a few steps… then I h-heard her hyperventilate? Heavy b-breathing … Then a thud, a-and…” He shakes his head, realizing he couldn’t go on. If it weren’t for that very situation, it would’ve been funny to see a buff guy like him stammering like how he was.

“What did the doctor say?” Bomi’s father’s voice was trembling, his eyes scanning the room for anybody of authority that he could question. That was the only instance when he noticed that Chorong was in the same room. It dawns over him that Chorong, despite living with Bomi and knowing her for most of their lives, probably didn’t know anything about the condition that her daughter was in.

In a word, Chorong felt like crying. A part of her felt betrayed that nobody had shed light onto the entire situation for her, and the fact that it seemed as if everyone else but her knew of Bomi’s condition made it even worse for her. She could feel the tears sitting at the brim of her eyes, but she tried her best to hide it.

Bomi’s father considered Chorong for a moment before stepping closer to her, holding out his hand. Despite the situation, he manages a smile. “She hates it when you cry, doesn’t she?”

“S-sir,” Chorong’s voice falters as she chokes on that lone word, giving in, finally allowing the tears to fall freely. She takes his hand in both of hers, grasping on it tightly as she stands up. “I—I didn’t know anything… I could’ve stopped her…? I could’ve—“

“She didn’t want you to know, silly girl.” There’s a crinkle at the ends of his eyes that are reminiscent of Bomi’s when she smiles, and the pang in Chorong’s heart intensifies. Of course Bomi would hide it from Chorong— knowing how much of a worrywart the older girl is. “I thought that you should have been the first to know, but she would hate me if I told you.”

Muscular Dystrophy. The medical jargon feels weird even just in Chorong’s thoughts, as if the fact that Bomi had something that was possibly a terminal illness wasn’t a tough enough pill to swallow. The doctor had went on and on regarding Bomi's condition, but all Chorong could process were that at present, there is no possible cure for it, and that the disease entails Bomi going through an immense, almost unbearable amount of muscular pain every time it struck her. 

Those moments back in childhood when Bomi said her father was dragging her into some camp were simply trips to the hospital for Physical Therapy because of how the muscles in her forearms and hip were already giving away, slowly— the grasp of her fingers on both hands has even weakened, which Chorong curses at herself for her failure to notice.

“It isn’t the first time she’s collapsed like this, actually. It happens when she overexerts herself. The doctor said the muscles associated with her breathing has started giving away as well, so her fainting was a result of losing breath.

Muscular Dystrophy doesn’t usually hurt but… well, Bomi’s a special case, because of other complications she has with her knees. I guess you could say she’s very fragile… That’s why we got a trainer to go and make sure she gets enough exercise— which is something the doctor suggested. So, we got that kind, young man over there to check up on her. Jackson.” Bomi’s father gestures over to the bed, where Jackson was looking down at Bomi who was still knocked out. Chorong checks her watch, noting at how it’s been a little over an hour since they arrived. “He’s a nice kid, ain’t he?”

Chorong nodded, her gaze veering away. Suddenly, she felt bad from having all of the negative thoughts that she had towards Jackson, which were all rooted from her unfound jealousy. In the end, she comes to the realization that it had been him helping her get by with her condition, while she was the one who did nothing in Bomi’s favor.

She stands up and heads for the side of the bed just as Jackson’s about to walk away. They exchange meek smiles as she looks at Jackson properly for the very first time. “Hey, Jackson,” Chorong’s soft voice stops Jackson from completely walking away. “Thanks for taking care of this idiot for me, yeah?”

A goofy smile graces the younger male’s lips, and he nods firmly. “She always talks about you, noona. It’s a shame you never got to tag along whenever we went for runs. It would’ve been fun.”

He sounds so sincere, and it breaks Chorong’s heart, thinking back at how she had refused the offer each time Bomi brought it up. “Then,” her voice cracks, “when she gets better, I promise I’ll join you guys, okay? Once she gets released from the hospital. Promise.” And she's left wondering, rather pessimistically, if such a time would ever come. 

Eventually, the crying ceased and there was a strange sense of numbness left in Chorong's sense of touch. Jackson had left not too long ago, and Bomi's father had fallen asleep on the couch adjacent the hospital bed.

At that very moment, Chorong felt the most useless. What more could she do but stay awake and wait for Bomi to wake up again? And what exactly would she say to the girl once she does wake up?

Sure, the tears may have stopped but the pang in her heart only intensifies— as if it had a noose tied around it that only knew how to tighten. The doctor said that she’d wake up in no time, but why did every seemingly protracted second feel like they were being stretched out to become what felt like hours worth of waiting?

Chorong’s head lowers to the edge of the bed that wasn’t occupied by Bomi. It was only then that she realized how much her head hurt— as if it were being pressed down on by a heavy weight. She groans, but finds herself not complaining.

The sound of Bomi’s breath relieves her. She sneaks her hand past the thick comforter, holding onto the unconscious girl’s wrist, her index finger tracing over the soft protrusion of Bomi’s vein— and eventually resting just above where her pulse could be felt. This made her feel at ease, at least.

Chorong remains sleepless when Bomi finally stirs in her bed, regaining consciousness after hours of being without it. A breathy moan due to the pain in her lower limbs seeps past her lips.

The older girl is quick to shoot up, straightening her back, retracting her hand from where it had been previously positioned. When Bomi blinks her eyes open, Chorong felt like crying all over again.

“You head.” Chorong grumbles in a breath, her nails mindlessly digging into the insides of her palms— from anger, perhaps? She still wasn’t over the fact that Bomi had threatened everyone to keep this a secret from her all along. Her exasperation blurs out her rationality, and thus she’s left with the feeling of being betrayed lingering in her insides.

“W-what?” Bomi’s still groggy from her abrupt awakening. It takes a few moments more before she fully realizes the situation, immediately recognizing the bland white walls of the hospital room she was in. “Oh…”

“Is that really all you can say right now?” Chorong’s knuckles become pallid, and she says this through grit teeth. She feels the tears gather at her eyes again, but refuses for them to fall. Looking straight onto the floor, she continues, “why didn’t you tell me? Why did you stop everyone from telling me? This entire situation could’ve been avoided if only you told me. I could’ve watched over you properly, could’ve monitored your exercise, moderated your—“

“This,” Bomi coughs, and there is a shortness in her breathing that she chooses to ignore, “this is exactly why.” Both of them are whispering in the fear of waking Bomi’s father up, but if the walls of that very hospital room were soundproof, they would have been shouting at each other. “I didn’t want to be that much of a bother.”

“Are you serious? You didn’t want to be a bother?” Chorong’s gaze raises onto Bomi, finally seeing how her eyes already had a slight glint to it— she realizes they’re both hurting. “I’m your best friend. We’ve been best friends since the both of us could remember, and you keep this huge secret from me?”

Bomi’s breath is hitching in , mostly because she was suppressing herself from crying, and partly because of how her muscles were failing her yet again. “Unnie…” She breathes out, sitting up and placing her hands over her eyes as she feels her tears inevitably start streaming down her cheeks, not allowing the older girl to see them through this very child-like manner of hers. “Can we just please, please, please, not fight? I’m sorry.”

It’s only then that Chorong is able to observe how there was an evident difference in the way Bomi was breathing. Her head is still a disarray of disjunctive thoughts— mostly those leaning towards negativity— but Bomi’s health would be a priority from now on.

“A-are you okay, Bom-ah?” Chorong’s tonality shifted from being condescending to dulcet, her entire body tensing up. “Does anything hurt?”

Bomi hesitates for a moment, but eventually nods, ceasing how she had been containing her breaths prior. Her jaw hung open as she breathed erratically through her nose and mouth in alternation, the pain enough to make her start crying like a little kid.

Chorong panics, but manages to gather her senses. She presses the button that read ‘emergency’, and nurses came rushing in not too long afterwards. Bomi’s father wakes up in the process as well, but is surprisingly calm.

That fateful evening, it was decided that Bomi would have too much of a hard time breathing with the use of her flimsy lungs alone, so she had to be hooked onto a dextrose to aid her breathing pattern.

The doctor also found that Bomi had prematurely developed aspiration pneumonia, which affected her swallowing— eating became a hassle, and they therefore had to resort to feeding tubes (which Bomi absolutely hated the feeling of).

“Chorong unnie, do you know that one horror story about the three mists that visit hospital patients?”

There were times in the day when Bomi didn’t have to be hooked onto a ventilator, and she takes advantage of this short duration of time by making sure Chorong was around to talk to come those periods. While Chorong couldn’t be there on a daily basis (due to her morning classes), she still visited every time she could (but every time she did, she had schoolwork or stacks of readings along with her).

“I don’t think so… Want to tell me about it? Or would that scare your sleepiness for tonight away?” Chorong is smirking when she says this, as she sets her things for school aside. It was time to indulge Bomi’s talkativeness, after all.

“I’ll manage.” Bomi sits up (as she only ever does when Chorong is around), smiling slightly. She puts a hand up, and starts counting as she goes, “There are three mists that supposedly… hang around in hospital rooms, showing themselves to those admitted into it. They often go unnoticed because they're very faint, but it’s mostly the patients that see them.

The first one is white. Something like a glowing orb of some sort— they’re often seen in the birthing rooms. If a pregnant patient sees this, it means that the delivery will go well and that the baby will grow up with little to no problems. If a patient who is sick sees this, it means they’re on their way to recovery.

The second one is red, which hangs around in the rooms where the patients are injured. It is said that people who see it feel a great remorse in their hearts when they do— guilt for whatever they did that got them injured in the first place.”

“… Where the heck do you get these stories from, Yoon Bomi.” Chorong deadpans, shaking her head. She’s, in all honesty, amused, however. It was good to see that Bomi was still her cheerful self despite the situation she’s currently in.

“Shh, let me finish!” Bomi whines, playfully pouting. “Then, there’s the third one. It’s grey, and… well, it usually visits the rooms of the patients who are dying. Oftentimes near birthing rooms, too... It’s really vague when someone sees this, because it means somebody would die.” Bomi pauses, and Chorong’s expression is gradually becoming darker as the younger girl enunciates each word, “sometimes it wouldn’t be the patient; perhaps someone close to them. But, inevitably, someone would have to go.”

“You know, you’ve been spending way too much time on the internet ever since you got admitted here. Idiot.” Chorong tries her best to seem unfazed as she runs her hand across Bomi’s features, making Bomi scrunch up her nose.

“It’s an interesting story! I wonder if I’ll come across any mists in my stay here…”

“You’ll be out before you can even catch a peek at one.” Chorong defensively retorts, making Bomi look over at her with a slight smile on her lips. Chorong’s gaze shifts to the side, and her voice decreases to a whisper, “just saying.”

“I sure hope so, unnie. I really do.” Her voice is sad, because both of them knew that they were holding onto groundless hope.

Each passing day, Bomi becomes thinner and paler— the medications do nothing for her. She’s rendered immobile despite her efforts to regain control over the muscles in her limbs, and nothing is becoming better. It’s especially awful on the nights when Chorong isn’t able to stay, she’d have to sit through the excruciating pain in different parts of her body, or episodes of having difficulty breathing. In reality, she wasn’t getting any better.

“I finally saw a mist, unnie. But I’m not telling you which one.” Bomi’s voice is quivering, and is mixed in with a light, static-like sound due to the mouthpiece over her lips that helped in regulating her breathing. Gone were the days of being allowed a certain period of time without the dextrose. This is the most vulnerable she’s ever been.

“You idiot, don’t say stuff like that. It’s just folklore.” Chorong doesn’t rake her gaze away from her laptop that’s seated at her lap, as she’s working hard on a paper that was due the morning thereafter.

“But,” a draggy breath, “it’s true. I got scared at first, but I figured it wouldn’t harm me in any way so I managed to stay calm.”

“It was the red one, wasn’t it?” Chorong’s gaze finally shifts onto Bomi after previously being glued onto her laptop’s screen. “And now you feel sorry for not telling me in the first place?”

A long pause. Chorong knows better than to push for her response, because silence always meant that she was catching her breath. But in reality, Bomi was just deep in thought.

That night, Chorong couldn’t sleep. She was alone in the dormitory she once shared with Bomi, with a bed feeling bigger and bigger as each sleepless night went by. While she’s been telling Bomi that her night have been full of peaceful sleep, it was actually the exact opposite. In fact, for the past month that Bomi had been confined in the hospital, Chorong’s become absolutely restless.

Reality hit her hard: Bomi was dying, and she has yet to tell her how to feel. Would it still be worth telling her? She wonders about this tirelessly.

The morning thereafter, classes were dismissed early so Chorong decided that it’d be great for her to come for a surprise visit to Bomi. She’s sure the younger girl will appreciate it.

As she strides across the hallway of the hospital, she fiddles with the hem of her shirt. Something felt off about today. She spots a nurse standing right in front of the door to Bomi’s room.

It takes a while before she realizes that the nurse was removing Bomi’s nameplate from the door. Chorong’s legs are shaky as every cynical possibility flows into her brain. With every ounce of strength left she could muster, she runs— she frantically pushes the nurse aside and opens the door wide in one swift movement of her arm.

Her eyes scan the empty room. Bomi wasn’t there.