L*st and Death

“...It’s just... I know someone there.”

“They treat patients at this hour?”

“P-Probably?”

“You’re still living without a single plan, huh.”

Says the dog covered in shit to the one with a speck of dust. Siron bristled at Baek Kyung’s words, but deep down, he couldn’t deny it.

Dr. Johnson’s Urology Clinic was about eight minutes away by car if they cut through Summers Park from Curry King. Siron knew full well no one would be doing checkups at this hour, but the doctor had once told him to call any time if side effects occurred. He was clinging to that sliver of hope.

If the clinic was the kind that operated in a shady neighborhood with a 1.4-star Google rating and accepted pharmaceutical companies' clinical trials to stay afloat, maybe—just maybe—they’d overlook the situation for a few bills from Baek Kyung.

But Siron’s thoughts quickly turned. The more he thought about it, the more he regretted not calling 911 from the beginning. Cleaning up the blood and taking the frying pan with them—that had been covering up a crime scene. And if the rapist died on the way, everything would spiral out of control.

“I’m terminal.”

The frantic wheels turning in Siron’s head went completely still at Baek Kyung’s words.

“...What?”

“They said I don’t have long.”

Baek Kyung looked bored, like he was reading a dull novel. He was nearing the end of his life, but his expression said he was so sick of it all, he might toss the book aside any second. Siron instinctively pointed at him and shouted.

“You—You!”

“Eyes front.”

“What? Ah—!”

Just as Siron looked forward again, headlights glared off a road mirror, stabbing into his eyes. He slammed the brakes just in time, stopping the car before impact, but the seatbelt crushed his chest so hard he couldn’t breathe.

“You drive like absolute shit.”

“Hhkk—fuck you!”

Did he just insult his dick?! Even in the middle of agony, rage surged through Siron and he reached for Baek Kyung’s collar—but his hand grasped empty air. Baek Kyung had already gotten out, walked around the front, and now stood outside the driver’s side, getting soaked by the rain as he knocked on the window. When Siron didn’t react, he waved him out with a smug motion.

“Get out. I’m not letting you drive me to my death.”

“That’s—because you said that weird shit—!”

“What, you don’t want me to die?”

“Not at all.”

As Siron winced and rubbed the pain in his chest from the seatbelt, Baek Kyung frowned, reached in, and touched his shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Siron slapped his arm away, uncomfortable with the gesture, and climbed out of the car. He deliberately took the back seat instead. Just moving from one seat to another had soaked him in the pouring rain.

Baek Kyung keyed Dr. Johnson’s Urology Clinic into the GPS, adjusted the rearview mirror to reflect Siron, and started driving. As Siron sat behind him, he replayed their recent exchange and asked quietly:

“Why did you come here?”

“I saw your photos online. Couldn’t ignore it. You’re surprisingly diligent.”

Of course. Those fucking nerds. Siron gritted his teeth at the memory of the people who’d ruined his quiet life.

“I always deliver when I’m paid.”

“Yeah. You were pretty hardworking in bed too.”

“God. Shut up.”

But not even a full minute passed before Siron leaned forward, poking his head between the seats.

“Is the terminal diagnosis because of that brain tumor?”

“More or less.”

Baek Kyung didn’t sound like someone grappling with death. His voice was flat, bored, completely detached from the gravity of it. He didn’t sound like he was accepting death, just... indifferent. Like it was someone else’s problem.

Resting his face against the headrest of the passenger seat, Siron studied Baek Kyung’s rain-slicked profile. He’d changed a lot in the four years since they last met.

He’s 184 cm, but how the hell does he seem even bigger now?

Baek Kyung had always been tall, but now he looked like a whole different species. His voice was deeper, his facial structure more angular and wild. Even with clothes on, the muscle packed into his frame showed through.

You’re dying, but you’ve got the body of a guy on chicken breast and protein powder prepping for a fucking body profile shoot?

Siron hesitated, then asked:

“So how long do you have?”

“Best case, seven years. Worst case, five.”

Siron stared at him, stunned. Then, after a long silence, he slumped back into the seat with a groan.

“God, I must’ve had high hopes. That’s a long-ass terminal case.”

Baek Kyung glanced at him in the rearview and burst out laughing. Like he was thrilled that Siron still hated him just as much.

“Aw. What a shame. Gotta leave this behind when I die.”

“Shut the hell up and give me my phone. I need to call the clinic.”

“Hold on.”

With one hand on the wheel, Baek Kyung pulled Siron’s phone from his pocket. The phone looked tiny in his huge hand. When he touched the screen, the lock pattern prompt came up. He paused for a second, then traced a capital ‘Z’ with his thumb.

“Huh? Still works? You still use this pattern?”

“So what!”

“I told you not to use easy patterns. Kim Hwangjoong leaked your phone files, remember? Didn’t learn a damn thing from that? Goddamn it, Mr. Yodopl Siron, do you ever grow as a person?”

“This is America! No one gives a shit about me here! And seriously, you don’t get to bring up the Yodopl thing!”

Baek Kyung chuckled like he was reminiscing about a fun memory and punched in a number. The generic ringtone cut through the rain and the wipers.

“That’s my number. Save it.”

He stretched his arm behind him, handing the phone back.

“X64-746-4666? What kind of cursed number is that?”

Three fours and five sixes? That number was just as ominous as Baek Kyung himself. Siron glared at it like it needed an exorcism, then snapped to attention and opened his contacts list. Dr. Johnson’s personal number was saved. It was 11:41 p.m. The doctor had told him to call no matter the hour if there were side effects. If luck was on their side, he might still be at the clinic.

As he searched the contact, Siron muttered a warning:

“For the record, I don’t give a damn if you’re terminal or not—I’m not spending your last days with you.”

Baek Kyung let out a hollow laugh.

“Hah. Got yourself a new sponsor or something?”

Siron had never thought of an excuse—never expected to see Baek Kyung again. But the moment he heard that question, a dangerous lie sprang to life and left his mouth.

“No. A boyfriend.”

He watched Baek Kyung’s reflection in the mirror as he pressed the call button. That faint, unreadable smile made his stomach churn. What the hell was going on in his head?

Siron had forgotten what Baek Kyung was really like. He would use violence to gain the upper hand, demand obedience without shame, and control Siron down to the last breath. It was never love. It was—

“A boyfriend? Who?”

Good question. Who was it supposed to be?

Siron stared out the rain-blurred window, focusing on the shrill ring of the call.

Would Dr. Johnson be at the clinic? If not, there was an urgent care nearby. And if that was closed, there was always the general hospital further out. As long as the rapist didn’t die before then.

But if he did die—

An image flashed in Siron’s mind: the Secreta Swamp. The filthy waters swarming with bugs, overgrown with weeds, and crocodiles lying in wait, unmoving, unblinking, anticipating prey. In his imagination, Siron watched himself and Baek Kyung throw the bloody man into the black pool. Reptilian eyes stared, cold and void of empathy.

But why had Dr. Johnson gone to Secreta Swamp in the middle of the night?

Like someone snapped their fingers next to his ear, Siron was yanked out of his thoughts.

—“What brings you to call at this hour?”

That low, smooth voice—just faintly amused—sent a chill down his spine. Since when had the man’s voice been this unsettlingly... pleasant?

He already knew who was calling. That much was clear. Do doctors usually save the numbers of clinical trial participants? Siron had done plenty of trials before. That had never happened. It was an unnatural level of familiarity.

—“Mr. Siron?”

“Y-Yeah. It’s me. Siron. Hi.”

He called him by name. That’s all it took for Siron to leap to a decision. He blurted out:

“Babe, are you at the clinic right now?”

A long pause.

Siron’s face burned in the dark. He bowed his head and buried his forehead against the back of the seat, conscious of Baek Kyung nearby.

“A-Are you there? I had some... um, side ef—no, I just... wanted to see you. I’m nearby...”

Whatever. Just say it now, clean up the mess later. Siron hastily lowered the call volume and nervously bounced his knee, waiting for a response.

—“...I’m at the clinic.”

“W-Wow, working late, huh, babe? I, um, need a favor... Can I come in now?”

Another pause. Longer this time.

He probably thinks I’m insane. Or maybe he’ll write this off as some kind of drug-induced delusion.

Siron winced. Maybe he’d gone too far. Just as he opened his mouth to try and recover—

—“Of course. I’ll... see you at the clinic.”

“Great! I’ll see you soon. I really want to see you, babe!”

He hung up quickly, his face flushed. Baek Kyung didn’t glance at him through the mirror. He just drove, like a cab driver ignoring his passenger’s phone call.

But the air inside the sealed car had changed. There was a pressure now—a stinging physical weight. Was it discomfort? Like having glass fibers pressed into your skin.

And then, through the pounding rain, a small, worn-down building appeared like a relic from a forgotten age. If the GPS hadn’t been set, they would’ve passed it entirely. Its darkened sign made it blend into the road like it was part of the night.

The car came to a stop in the parking lot in front of Dr. Johnson’s clinic. A dilapidated three-story building, its first floor was vacant. Only a faint glow came from the second floor, where the urology clinic was located. As soon as the car stopped, Siron rushed to get out—but the door wouldn’t open. Locked.

“What the hell?! Unlock the door!”

“Siron.”

“What?!”

“Can I ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) fuck you in front of your boyfriend?”

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