L*st and Death

“You came from America looking like this? The blood... what is this blood?”

“Blood? ...Ah, it’s mine.”

Baekgyeong said it casually, rubbing at the blood-stained clothes with a blank expression.

“It was kind of exhausting getting here, explaining to everyone that it wasn’t an emergency.”

“What about the surgery?”

“I told you. It wasn’t an emergency. So I decided not to go through with it.”

“Are you serious? You said you had a partial seizure or whatever.”

Baekgyeong perched on the arm of the sofa and took another swig straight from the wine bottle, his face flushed red with alcohol.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry. I won’t die that quickly.”

His lips were cracked and dry, his eyes sunken, his jaw covered in patchy stubble. The sight of him drinking like that in defiance, in that pitiful state, made Siron’s insides churn.

“‘Nothing’? Then I’ll just go.”

“This is your house. Where are you going?”

Siron had turned to leave the living room at once, but Baekgyeong’s words halted him like chains. He clearly didn’t know about the officetel. If he had, there’s no way he would have said that with such indifference.

In the end, Siron sat at the far edge of the sofa, putting as much distance between them as possible. Baekgyeong, having emptied the wine bottle, tossed it carelessly onto the couch and asked,

“Why’d you get so scrawny?”

“I went on a diet for the audition.”

Siron had undergone an extreme diet to shape his body and features to match a feminine role. By fasting, he’d reduced fat and muscle mass, making the delicate angles of his face even sharper. That finely etched face—razor-thin and fragile—looked like a shard of broken glass, too surreal and beautiful. Baekgyeong took a moment before speaking again.

“Oh, right. ...You said you passed. Congrats.”

“Thanks.”

“Knew you could do it. You shine even on your own. I always knew you’d make it.”

After enduring all of Seongmin’s threats and pleas, Siron had been certain Baekgyeong would also try to stop him from filming Host Spirit. So Baekgyeong’s pure and honest congratulations left him momentarily stunned. Doubting all the fears he’d held until now, Siron cautiously asked,

“You came all the way from the U.S. just to say that? A phone call would’ve been enough.”

“I’m not going back to the U.S.”

“What? Why not?”

“If I go through with the surgery and turn into a vegetable, what’s the point of all this?”

Baekgyeong shrugged and sank deeper into the sofa.

“So you’re really not going to do it?”

“The success rate was low anyway. I’d rather live halfway normal and drop dead than live like a cripple.”

“But the only reason you got a surgery date was because it’s dangerous not to—!”

Siron tried to reason with him calmly, but his voice rose out of frustration. Baekgyeong, however, brushed it off without a care.

“I don’t know when I’ll die or go brain-dead, so I have to live more than others, experience more. But if there’s one thing I want to experience before I die, it’s you, Yoon Siron.”

Siron looked at Baekgyeong’s face and felt his blood roil. He meant it. He truly had no intention of getting the surgery. It was a declaration that he would use his life as leverage to become Siron’s shackle.

“I... I don’t want that.”

Siron sucked in a breath, choking out the words.

“I want you to get the surgery and get better. I want you to live, experience other things, meet other people—not just stare at my videos all day, not just wait for me. Okay? Live normally, for once!”

His voice trembled like an unstable melody as he spit the words out, breathless and frantic.

Baekgyeong watched him—watched his heaving chest like someone in hyperventilation—and thought: Once, Siron had seemed to love him. But now he looked at Baekgyeong like a burden, something he had no choice but to carry. He really was like a migraine.

“Yoon Siron.”

“Y-yeah?”

“If I disgust you that much, if I creep you out that badly, then just stop caring whether I die or not.”

Baekgyeong asked it with genuine curiosity as Siron’s face contorted. Siron couldn’t give an answer. Just then, the doorbell rang.

Baekgyeong checked the intercom and buzzed them in. A battered, bruised-faced Choi Seongmin rushed in and grabbed onto Baekgyeong’s thigh in desperation.

“Baekgyeong! Without that money, my family is finished!”

“Both you and your dad talk like I owe you something.”

“You said you’d lend it, you piece of shit!”

Baekgyeong kicked Seongmin off his leg and stared down at him, sprawled on the floor.

“Your uncle hit you?”

“Yeah, you fucking bastard!”

“Your life is pathetic.”

Expressionless, Baekgyeong stared at Seongmin’s bruised face, then turned toward Siron.

“You’re probably wondering what this is about, right? Seongmin’s dad—my uncle—asked me for a loan. Twenty billion won. Otherwise, he’s going to jail. But Seongmin fucked it all up. I made him a company CEO, and instead of knowing his place, he embezzled, and couldn’t even roll out the red carpet for your future.”

The words tumbled out in a breathless rush. When he was done, Baekgyeong shut his eyes tight.

Choi Chigeon, Baekgyeong’s maternal uncle and Seongmin’s father, was the chief director of a major Korean medicine hospital. He had bought land next to the hospital to build a rehab and nursing center, but the financial strain left him buried in debt.

Desperate, he reached out—not to Choi Baekhee, who was impenetrable—but to her wealthy, idle son. Baekgyeong had more than enough money. His maternal grandfather, who had doted on him, left him a massive trust fund in cash and property across Gangnam and Yongsan. It was his way of helping a grandson born under a doomed fate enjoy as many experiences as possible, without limits.

But of all the people and experiences Baekgyeong had indulged in, none were like Yoon Siron. Siron had rewritten Baekgyeong’s universe—blazing like a supernova, devouring everything like a black hole. His disappearance would be like the collapse of Baekgyeong’s cosmos.

Suddenly, Baekgyeong felt the rush of blood heating up inside him. His rage exploded—he grabbed Seongmin by the collar and punched him in the face.

“You fucker. You couldn’t even handle Siron! You get beat by me and beat by your dad, too!”

The first blow struck his nose, sending blood spurting. More punches followed, swelling Seongmin’s face. Baekgyeong kicked him in the solar plexus, then grabbed a stool and swung it over Seongmin’s squirming body like a baseball bat.

Siron screamed and threw himself onto Baekgyeong’s legs to stop him, but it was useless. He had turned into a wild dog. Seongmin, despite silently enduring the brutal beating like he was paying blood-money for his mistakes, glared at Siron with a terrifying expression.

How dare you—that’s what his eyes screamed. And Baekgyeong, seeing that hostile glare directed at Siron, felt every vein in his body ignite with fury. He raised the stool again to smash it across Seongmin’s face.

And then, foolishly, Siron threw himself over Seongmin’s body, shielding him from the next blow.

“Yoon Siron. Move. My brother needs a reality check.”

“No matter how much you lose your shit, I’m never doing a movie funded by you!”

“Fine. Do whatever you want. My brother’s getting carried out of here a fucking cripple today anyway.”

“He didn’t do anything wrong. Host Spirit, I auditioned for that because I wanted to. I didn’t do it because you were too much—I did it because I hated the pressure and guilt of all this!”

Baekgyeong flung the stool across the room. At that moment, as Siron shouted, the switch inside Baekgyeong flipped, and his head filled with silence. Strangely, that one sentence—like a pouty child being scolded—made something in him shudder.

The sorrow rose so high he thought: If he pushes me one word further, I might just throw myself off the terrace to leave him with a scar he can never heal from.

Suicide. Yes, a slow, deliberate suicide driven purely by the desire to hurt Yoon Siron. Just thinking about it slowed his breathing. The tension in his body loosened. A childish sense of satisfaction washed over him.

He pointed at Siron’s wide-open bedroom door and said,

“So you were planning to run away while I was gone? Only packed your things....”

“Yeah! I’m sick of this. I’m tired of your bullshit! I’m done bending to your moods! Let’s just end it. Please, just... end this!”

Siron’s scream, burning with anger, quickly lost momentum. Something was wrong with Baekgyeong. He was pointing toward the room, motionless like a mannequin. His eyes were staring in Siron’s direction, but there was no focus in them. His brow was furrowed, but there was no emotion behind it.

Like someone had flipped his consciousness off—Baekgyeong had frozen.

Siron stood frozen too, stunned by the sight in front of him. After a few seconds, he finally managed to force out a whisper.

“...Why... why are you like this?”

He waved a hand in front of Baekgyeong’s face. But Baekgyeong’s eyes just stared blankly into the void. Despite never having seen it before, Siron instinctively knew exactly what this was.

It was the partial seizure Baekgyeong had once told him about.

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