Shane finally managed to cry himself dry. When he was done, they placed a placard for Loralie below a maehwa tree. The plum blossoms would flower in winter despite the cold. It was a hardy tree, but beautiful when it bloomed. It reminded Shane of Loralie, so that was where they laid her to rest.
It was a simple ceremony lit by the waning moon. When Eamon and Minjae arrived, they exchanged no words, but Shane had no strength to make them leave.
With nowhere else to go, Shane stayed with Jihoon. His room became the sanctuary where he waited for her death. Shane's soul had disappeared with Loralie's body. And without it, he expected to soon join his sister. As Shane lay with the curtains drawn to block out the sun, he didn't know how many days had passed.
The full moon had marked the ninetieth day, which meant Shane had ten days of feeling like his grief would consume him. Ten days of mourning before he could go to oblivion.
A fever raged through him like a flash fire sweeping through a forest.
Shane slept through days and wept at night. And every time he woke, Jihoon was there, wiping his sweaty brow or napping beside him. It was his only comfort that Jihoon would be with her in the end. Though he felt sorry when he saw the pain in Jihoon's eyes.
"This has to stop," Jihoon said one day, stomping to the curtains and flinging them open. "You're not dying, Kensington."
Shane didn't reply, didn't even move to block out the light.
"Shane," Jihoon said, his voice softer. "I don't know what to do for you. Can't you tell me?"
Shane stared at him, resting his cheek against the pillow, still damp from his tears. "When I die—"
"Don't."
"When I die," he continued, "don't mourn me. Forget me and live the life you should have before I came into it."
"Shane." Jihoon sat beside Shane, folding his legs beneath him. "If you die, then I'll always remember you. That doesn't mean I won't live a full life. People leave us and our lives will never be the same, but if we forget them, then what does that say about how we value them?"
"When did you get so wise?" Shane asked. He couldn't help but feel amused.
"When the hundredth day passed."
"What?" Shane sat up and the sudden movement made his head spin.
"I didn't want to say anything. I was worried it would jinx it. But yesterday was the hundredth day," Jihoon said. "And you're still here."
"No." Shane shook his head, trying to calculate the time, but it was all a blur of mourning and sleep. "That can't be. I don't have my soul. I should be dead."
"Is it really that horrible?" Jihoon asked, a smile tilting the corners of his lips. "The idea that you'd have to live a human life with me?"
Shane let out the breath he didn't know had been clogging his lungs. And let himself believe. With it came a lightness as if he'd float away without Jihoon to anchor him to the earth. Shane laughed and flung his arms around Jihoon, hugging him close.
"I'm alive." Saying the words made him giddy, and Shane let out another laughing breath. "I'm alive."
"You're alive," Jihoon said, and Shane heard the answering joy in his voice. They held each other close.
Then he sobered as the weight of the realization came down on him.
"So now I'll have to live without her," Shane whispered.
Jihoon squeezed his hands. "We'll both learn to live without them."
Shane sighed, remembering grandma. Grief wasn't exclusively his own.
"I don't know how." Shane sighed, and it shuddered through her whole body to shake her. "She was my everything."
"Maybe it's wrong for us to hold any one person as our whole world. Maybe . . ." Jihoon trailed off with an odd expression. "Maybe it's wrong of us to owe all of our happiness or sadness to one person."
"What is it, Jihoon?" Shane asked, frowning.
"Nothing. I just think maybe I owe someone a visit," Jihoon said. "But that can come later. Right now, I'm going to make your soup."
"Soup sounds good." Shane smiled.
***
When Jihoon knocked on the sleek metal door, his hand trembled. He closed it until the shaking stopped. He felt back to normal for the most part, but a few residual weaknesses remained. The doctors had assured him it was just the last fading effects of overcoming such an acute illness, though they still had no name for what had afflicted him. He didn't suppose it would help for him to explain the supernatural parts of it. The hospital could just view him as a medical oddity.
The door opened and his father's surprised face appeared.
"Jihoon-ah," he said, caution in his eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"I have something to say." He paused. On the way there, he'd practised his speech over and over. But now, facing her, he wasn't sure what words to use. So he blurted them out. "I understand."
"What?" His father's voice shook with unspoken emotion.
For some reason, that made Jihoon feel steadier. "I understand why you left."
he hesitated, glancing behind him. Then seemed to come to a conflicted decision. "Why don't you come in? I'll make you tea."
It was a step, he thought. But not one he wanted to take right now. He'd gathered enough courage to talk to his father, but not to spend time with him. Not yet.
"I'm not staying long. I just need to say something."
"Okay." He folded his hands, waiting patiently for him to continue.
"I understand that when you left, you thought you were doing good for me. I used what you did as an excuse to push people away for too long. It was easier for me to blame you for my insecurities, but I can see it now, how you were right about one thing. Being raised by grandma was the best life for me."
"Oh, Jihoon-ah—"
"I've decided to stop blaming you. I don't want to be angry anymore."
"Jihoon-ah, I am sorry for how things ended up."
"Thank you," Jihoon said. "And maybe I'll forgive you. One day."
Jihoon's father gave a small smile. "I hope so."