Even After You Die

SIX

Back at the hotel, Haneul slams the contents of his pockets on the coffee table with held-back aggression. His wallet falls to the ground but he doesn't bother to pick it up, instead, he flops on the couch. I walk over and pick the black leather square up for him.

"Why did you agree to go out with them?"

"I thought it would be fun." I take a seat on the armchair in front of him. "You looked happy to see your cousin when he first showed up. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"You don't have to let people like her belittle you like that."

"I handled it the best I could. There was no way of stopping her from being a bitch."

He sighs. "Just don't let her words bother you."

"I'm not the one who's upset up by them." I cross my leg over the other and fold my arms. He leans forward, elbows propped on his knees, eyes focused on the glass top of the coffee table.

"Are you okay?" I whisper.

"No."

I stand up and sit down next to him, reaching to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't touch m-" He stops abruptly, swallowing, and allowing his voice to come out softer. "Please. I... I don't want to be touched right now."

I bite my lip, retracting my hand. Sighing, I push myself off from the couch, turning into the kitchen to put some water on to boil. Maybe a cup of fresh tea will help him feel better.

But still, even if he's super stressed and what-not, that doesn't give him the right to be a jerk. I shouldn't have to be the only one trying to mend our relationship. He should put in some effort too, unless... unless he actually wants a divorce. But perhaps I'm being too harsh on him. He is only acting like this because he's upset about what Yu-Joon said about me, right? We really need to communicate more.

When the tea is finished, I pour it into two cups and carry them into the living room.

Haneul, who was reading a text message, quickly stuffs his phone in his pocket and stands from the couch.

"My grandfather's awake." He doesn't accept the tea. "I'm going to visit him now."

Before I can protest or insist that I come along, Haneul is already out the door, leaving me standing alone with two cups of tea in my hands.

I expect him to come back in a few hours at the most, but he doesn't. I switch back and forth from scarfing down snacks, turning on the TV (which I can't understand anyway), scrolling through social media, and practicing writing Hangul. By 10:30, I've texted him five times and called him twelve.

It's now past eleven and I'm more scared than mad. He should've made contact by now! Did something happen? He was pretty grumpy earlier today, more so than usual. I know he's under a lot of stress and everything, but—wait.

No, no, no, no.

This can't be happening. Not again. I should've paid more attention!

I grab my coat and take the elevator down, catching a cab to the hospital. Deja vu whacks me in the back of the head as I run to the front desk, slamming my hands down on the counter.

"Can you tell me if a man named Haneul Lee was admitted into the hospital today?" I shout at the indifferent receptionist. "He's about five foot nine, 29 years old, gorgeous black hair, and the softest, biggest brown eyes you've ever seen?"

"Nan ihaega an dwaeyo*..."

"Ugh." I grit my teeth and tap my hand against the counter. Of course she doesn't know English and to make things worse, I don't know enough Korean to ask her where Haneul is.