TTDOTO 1.5

Long ago, Seo Jae-rim had outgrown Jae-an’s height, and now his stature was so imposing it was hard to gauge at a glance. His once lanky frame had filled out like an athlete’s, making it rare to spot anyone on the street with a build to match his.

His once-small, cute fingers had lengthened, his thickened palms and knuckles calloused. Beyond calluses, faint scars marked his hands. They were often injured—sometimes bandaged, sometimes wrapped in gauze. Seeing his hands grow rougher always made Jae-an regret suggesting he try cooking.

Yet, no matter how much Jae-rim had grown and toughened, to Jae-an, he remained a child. The soft, innocent boy who’d stood at their door, barely pressing the bell, weighed down by a backpack as big as himself.

It was only natural. They’d grown up together since Jae-an was fifteen and Jae-rim just ten. Jae-rim would hate to hear it, but no matter how much he aged or exuded a rugged masculinity, to Jae-an, he was still that teary-eyed ten-year-old.

Five years had passed since Jae-rim moved out, meaning they’d lived together for thirteen years before that.

Guiltily, Jae-an couldn’t recall being particularly warm to young Jae-rim. He’d cooked extra portions to share, snatched Jae-rim’s clumsy laundry to wash with his own, signed school forms in his place—mundane chores, nothing more.

Yet Jae-rim had grown up so well. For someone who wasn’t even a parent, Jae-an felt a swell of pride. Jae-rim wasn’t gifted at studies, but he had a talent: cooking. Jae-an first realized this one weekend morning when a middle-school-aged Jae-rim had breakfast waiting.

Steam rose from rice topped with a slightly burnt egg blanket. Jae-an, unexpectedly served, took a bite of the omurice without much expectation and blurted, “You could be a chef.” That teenage boy’s dish was the best thing Jae-an had ever tasted.

Jae-rim, emptying his bowl without a word, had ears red as ripe fruit, a detail Jae-an noticed as he carried the dishes to the sink.

Jae-rim cooked more often—side dishes, soups—until he took over entirely, while Jae-an handled the dishes. Recalling those flushed ears, Jae-an offered praise with every bite: “Delicious. You could be a chef. I need another bowl.” Absurdly, Jae-rim’s ears reddened at every repetitive compliment.

As soon as he turned adult, Jae-rim left to study cooking abroad for a year. Within a few years of returning, he owned one of Seoul’s top restaurants. Jae-an, who’d once nagged about his grades while signing report cards, was outdone by Jae-rim, who earned a better living than a civil servant like himself.

“That’s why I thought I could leave without worry.”

Lost in thoughts of Jae-rim, Jae-an’s listless gaze fell on the IV in his arm, then drifted to the console. A vase, matching the console’s tone, sat empty, a mere object without a single flower or blade of grass. Slowly rising from the bed, Jae-an staggered to the vase and lifted it.

He almost dropped it but paused, worried the noise might carry outside. Dragging the blanket over, he wrapped the vase and struck it against the floor. Dizziness hit; his legs wobbled from the effort.

When a brittle crack sounded, he pulled back the blanket. A large shard lay loose.

“….”

Jae-an gripped the shard, swallowed dryly, and slashed his wrist. The ceramic scraped his skin, splitting it. Blood welled, grotesque, but the pain was faint—perhaps from drugs or lingering smoke dulling his senses, a mercy for a coward.

In his haze, his hand grew bolder, blood dripping steadily onto the floor. It flowed without need for further cuts. Jae-an let his arm hang and collapsed back onto the bed.

Feeling his wrist grow warm and wet, he stared blankly at the ceiling. In the car, he’d worried who’d find his body. He’d avoided dying at home, hoping it wouldn’t be Jae-rim.

But, guiltily, he no longer had the emotional capacity—or will—to spare Jae-rim.

‘Sorry, sorry.’

Repeating apologies, Jae-an’s eyes slowly closed.

*****

Living with a mild, persistent depression, Jae-an always thought if he died, it’d be by suicide.

But he wanted to reach thirty. No real reason—just that people seemed to attach meaning to it. So many songs were about turning thirty, after all.

He’d held a small hope that at thirty, life might get a bit more fun, that he’d find a reason to linger in this world.

But past thirty, then thirty-two, and now thirty-three, his life remained unchanged. Days were still dull. Staring at clouds drifting in a clear sky, he’d be struck by a sudden urge to die.

On his commute, he wished a truck would crush his car. At the hospital, hoping to heal, he imagined the building collapsing, burying him in rubble. Washing his face to cleanse the filth, he fantasized drowning in the handful of water.

Of course, these were just fantasies, never acted upon, so he thought death wasn’t urgent. But once a small trigger pushed him to decide, he acted without hesitation, realizing how desperately he’d wanted to die.

“…Urgh, I’m… sorry…”

A chilling sound shattered Jae-an’s sunken consciousness. Like an animal’s groan, it came with a scraping noise across the floor. He felt his body lifted and set down several times.

Tap, tap.

A pat on his cheek drew a groan as he opened his eyes. Focusing, he saw Jae-rim looking down, smiling brightly.

“You’re awake?”

But… was that Jae-rim? The face felt so foreign it sparked doubt. It was him, yet the aura was utterly unlike the Jae-rim he knew. A black cap and gloves—unfamiliar attire—added to the strangeness.

Jae-an’s light brown eyes darted in confusion.

“…Where… am I?”

“You don’t need to know where. What we’re doing matters.”

The cold reply made Jae-an shut his mouth and scan his surroundings. He lay on the floor of an old warehouse, a musty blanket beneath him reeking of aged fabric, mingling with the cologne from Jae-rim’s jacket draped over him, dizzying his head.

Looking down at himself, a sharp pain stung his wrist. A white bandage wrapped it tightly. Slashing his wrist hadn’t been a dream. Pathetically, he’d failed again. Exhausted, he closed and opened his eyes.

“Urgh!”

The groan he’d heard in his haze echoed again. Turning toward it, he realized they weren’t alone.

Beyond a crackling bonfire, several men in black suits stood, and in their midst, a disheveled man knelt, hands bound.

Panic-stricken, Jae-an looked to Jae-rim for explanation. Jae-rim knelt beside him.

“Didn’t know you were so disobedient, hyung.”

Frozen like a statue, Jae-an didn’t respond. Jae-rim’s brow twitched as he asked, “Trying to die again? By cutting your wrist this time?”

The question, about something so grim, carried a faint laugh, disorienting Jae-an.

“Told you, people don’t die that easily.”

Jae-rim stood, gesturing to the men across. They dragged a small, tape-gagged man closer. His complexion and features marked him as a foreigner, drenched in sticky sweat.

“S-Save… me…”

His terrified voice muffled through the tape, matching the groan Jae-an had heard. The man writhed, soaked in fear.

“Look closely.”

Jae-rim took a long, sharp knife—fit for filleting fish—from one of the men and stood before the bound figure. Grabbing his arm, he slashed the wrist in one swift motion.

“Argh!”

Blood sprayed the floor, stifled screams trapped by tape.

Jae-an’s eyes widened to their limit in horror. He lurched toward Jae-rim.

“What the hell are you—”

Jae-rim, barely glancing back, raised the honed blade again. Instead of grabbing him, Jae-an threw himself in front of the bound man.

“Hey, knives are dangerous.”

“D-Don’t…”

“Move.”

“You’re angry? Let’s talk instead…”

But Jae-an couldn’t finish. Jae-rim’s free hand swung, striking his cheek.

“…!”

With a thunderous crack, Jae-an crumpled sideways. Reflexively catching himself, searing pain shot through his freshly stitched wrist, a ringing in his struck ear.

Staggering up, he blocked Jae-rim again. All he could think was to stop him. Jae-rim’s eyes burned with a murderous intent.

Staring at Jae-an’s desperate stand, Jae-rim scratched his temple with the knife’s handle, letting out a low chuckle.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t. I’m sorry, I was wrong…”

“Move.”

“Jae-rim…”

“I said move.”

“Jae-rim, please—”

A sharp blow pierced his gut like a spear. Clutching his stomach, Jae-an collapsed, coughing. Jae-rim had kicked him.

“Don’t make me hit you again. Move when I’m asking nicely.”

His voice, unshaken, was low. Waiting for Jae-an to rise, Jae-rim saw him only cough, unable to stand, and crouched instead, pointing the knife at the man.

“Human life’s tougher than you think.”

“Urgh…”

“Look at him. Sliced just as much as you played around, and he’s still alive.”

Jae-an looked up, but instead of the man, he stared at Jae-rim, verifying if this was him, spouting such cruelty.

“Look closely. To die by cutting your wrist…”

Standing, Jae-rim grabbed the thrashing man’s tattered wrist, pinning his shoulder with a foot. The blade gleamed in the dark.

“You need to cut like this to sever the veins.”

As Jae-rim sliced, the man twisted grotesquely, screaming like a slaughtered animal. A chilling voice burrowed into Jae-an’s mind.

“They’re like bugs, clawing to survive no matter what.”

Jae-an clamped his mouth. The scene was unbelievable.

A surge of shock made reality feel alien. The world swayed, his vision fading. Panting, he thought, ‘This is a dream, a vile nightmare.’ But the metallic stench of blood and the tearing screams engulfed him, mocking his denial.

Unable to look, he turned away. Even without seeing, the sound of slicing and shrieking sent chills from head to toe.

“Urgh…”

His breath tangled, air scarce. Why was Jae-rim acting like a psychopath? Who was this foreigner?

The man’s groans, clutching his wrist, faded. Jae-an, desperate not to look, fixed his pleading gaze on Jae-rim.

“What are you doing, Jae-rim? Why… why kill someone?”

“You tried to die without a fucking clue.”

“What?”

Snorting, Jae-rim wiped blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. Dropping the knife, a suited man nearby cleaned it and sheathed it, their fluid motions chillingly routine.

Jae-an, soul-shocked, could only stare as Jae-rim approached. Tossing his gloves into the fire barrel, Jae-rim removed his cap, raking back his hair, and stood before him. His shadow, backlit, darkened Jae-an’s vision. The man’s groans had stopped, the silence eerie.

“I told you, people don’t die easily.”

“You…”

“I explained it, but you tried to die again.”

“So you… kill someone?”

“This fucking…”

Cutting off his curse, Jae-rim glared down with a gaze as cold as a sharpened blade.

“You made me watch you nearly die twice. You owe me an apology.”

Wincing as if in pain, Jae-rim sighed faintly and jerked his chin toward the motionless man.

“Burn him too.”

His voice, laced with annoyance, spoke as if discarding trash. The slashed man was dragged away. Jae-an, gasping, replayed Jae-rim’s words. If he hadn’t misheard, “him too”—who else?

“What does that mean… ‘burn him too’? Who else?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“Tell me, Jae-rim.”

Crawling on his knees, Jae-an clutched Jae-rim’s shirt as he turned to leave. His grip wrinkled the black fabric.

“God, I can’t say no when you call my name.”

Closing his eyes briefly, Jae-rim stopped, sighing deeply. He pried Jae-an’s hand off, holding it gently. Jae-an, pushed back, flailed to grab him again. Jae-rim swatted his hand lightly, chuckling low.

“Have you… been doing this all along?”

‘Should I tell him?’ Jae-rim’s eyes scanned Jae-an slowly, but he shook his head.

“Don’t wanna say.”

“Why?”

“Scared you’ll hate me.”

“What does that mean? I don’t… I don’t understand…”

Trying to continue, nausea hit. After retching, bile surged up his throat. He wasn’t stupid enough to miss the weight behind “don’t wanna say.”

“Urgh…”

He vomited beside Jae-rim, unable to bear the situation. A man’s wrist was severed, and at a command to burn him, thug-like men moved in sync. The metallic groans and blood stench were a raw terror he’d never felt. And to Jae-rim, it all seemed routine.

“Urgh…”

Jae-rim clicked his tongue, patting Jae-an’s heaving back.

“You okay?”

Desperate to escape that hand, which had just cut a man, Jae-an struggled to stand. Dizziness warped the world. Stumbling to stay upright, he collapsed. Just before hitting the dirt, Jae-rim caught him with one arm.

His vision blurred rapidly. As his eyes dimmed, the last thing he saw was Jae-rim’s hand on his shoulder. On his left ring finger, a ring identical to Jae-an’s gleamed.