Age 17

“Are you hungry?”

Young In turns over and tugs the blanket over her head.

“No, I’m fine,” she mutters through her chapped lips.

“I made you some soup.  It’s on the kitchen counter.  Did you take medicine?  If you’re cold, I’ll get you an extra blanket before I go.”

Young In lets out a miserable whimper in response to mother’s queries, but in protest, not pain.  The thing she hates the most next to being sick, is being pampered.

“And Jongin?” she croaks.

Mother places both hands on her slender hips.  “He left with the bus this morning.  He’ll be home by evening.”

Young In nods, closes her eyes, and sinks deeper under the blanket.  Mother says goodbye and closes the door to the bedroom.  In a matter of minutes, the garage shuts with a rumble and the engine of the car drones down the street.

The house is suddenly still.

Young In coughs a few times, interrupting the silence.  Her head is still pounding and her body aches from every scorching limb.  The silver necklace hanging around her neck is suddenly an icy barrier against her hot skin.

Evening seems like a very long time away. 

She remembers when Jongin caught the flu, in the winter when they were eleven.  They had played in the snow all the way home from school, Jongin dressed in only a reedy knit sweater.  Mother reprimanded Young In, saying how disappointed Jongin’s mother would have been if she knew he was so sick. 

But it’s not like his mother would ever know anyway. 

Young In remembers Jongin lying on the couch, telling her that it’s okay to be sick once in a while, and chuckling and coughing at the same time because he felt weird having three layers of blankets wrapped around him.  And because Young In is ugly when she’s worried.

That’s how Jongin is.  Even when he’s half-deceased with a 105 fever, there’s still something to laugh about.  That’s how Jongin is.

__

Young In stays in bed for a while longer, waiting for exactly what, she doesn’t know. 

Noon strolls by, and she hasn’t gotten out from under the covers.  She’s sleepy, but closing her eyes only makes the time move slower.

When the clock reads two-thirty p.m., she can’t take it anymore.  Lying in one place for an entire day will not cut it for Park Young In, who wants to live a life of get-up-and-go.  Sick or not.

She pulls the blanket away from her body, finally aware of her perspiration when the air is cool against her damp skin.  A natural fever sweat, she thinks.

Her first priority is a quick scurry to her phone resting on the night table.   She grips the device defiantly in her hands as she presses her first speed-dial key.  

Jongin picks up after one ring.

“Hello?”

“Come home,” she sniffles.  “I’m sick.”

There are a few muffled male voices on the other end of the line.  That must be his dance group, she concludes.  The guys that he talks about so many times.  She imagines the elation in Jongin’s eyes as he chatters along with them.  She's suddenly thankful that he has a large group of friends to rely on.  They'll be there for him when she isn't.

“Have you eaten?” Jongin asks as soon as it quiets down.

Young In traces her socked foot in a circle on the wooden floor.  She doesn’t want to tell him that she hasn’t been near any food since the night before. 

“Mother made soup this morning,” she answers.  “It was all right.”

She reaches to open the drawer of the bedside table, salvaging for a small, white box.

“You didn’t even touch it, did you?”

Young In smiles to herself, not surprised at Jongin’s break through her facade. 

“I don’t even know what kind of soup it was.”

He laughs quietly and replies, “I’m on my way.”

Young In hangs up, satisfactorily.  As she sets the phone down, she opens the box that’s she’s managed to find.  It’s empty, save for two untouched, wax candles.  She runs her finger down the smooth edge of the box, convincing herself to save these candles until she really needs them.

He’ll be home in a matter of minutes anyway, she reminds herself, climbing back into bed. 

Maybe she’ll feel a little like herself again when he does.  He’ll be there to laugh with her as he kicks off his jacket and shoes and jumps into the bed with her.  He’ll pull the covers up to cover their chins, leaving their toes poking out at the foot of the bed. 

They’ll smile at each other for a while, or until Young In doesn’t feel like smiling anymore.  Then the both of them will just lie together for a moment longer, under the covers. He’ll whisper quiet nothings, and fiddle with the loose thread edged around the covers, until Young In’s eyelids are heavy again.

When mother comes home from work, Young In will still be in bed, her necklace warming in the envelope of her palm.  Jongin will be right beside her.  Everyone will think she’s asleep, but she’s not.  She’ll have her eyes closed, but still be alert.  She’ll feel the bed shifting as Jongin slowly slips outside.  Feel him tuck her arms into the blanket.  She’ll hear mother’s weary voice, but she can also hear Jongin’s gentle whispers, telling mother to stay quiet, so that Young In can sleep a little longer.

12: 32 pm