With there roles from earlier now reversed; with Hwang being Chan Jeol's crutch as he lean on her, she gets him out of her room and back onto the couch. A few painkillers later his head is comfortably fuzzy and his ribs only aching dully. Still, he cannot move without a sharp, stabbing pain icing through him starting at his side.
The wind outside has only grown in intensity, and Chan Jeol suspect there won't be any visitors until the weather calms down enough. He's reduced to picking at his nails as Hwang causes pots and pans to clang in the kitchen as she decided she felt bad enough for him and that food would be a consolation. She had seemed so earnest when she suggested she make us something, he didn't have the heart to tell her the last thing his body felt like having was food. Nonetheless, the salty smell emanating from behind him does stir his appetite slightly. And so, he picks his nails vaiting, listening to the ruckus mixed with barely audible humming.
"And, voila" Hwang appears, clumsily handing him a bowl of steaming soup.
"That actually smells pretty decent." Chan Jeol say, inhaling slightly too deep, his ribs angrily stabbing him.
"Thank you." Hwang says as she carefully lowers herself onto the other end of the couch, bowl in hand.
"Hey, how come you get the nicer bowl?" He asks her and she looks up at him and then his bowl, her lips forming a soft circle in surprise.
"What?"
"I'm not ungrateful, but that's just rude." He teases her, holding up his old, slightly chipped bowl for her to examine.
"I- I'm sorry, do you want to trade?" She stutters, now holding out her bowl, still looking confused, not catching onto his sarcasm.
"All-powerful witch but sadly, she lacks the power of humor. How sad." He chuckles, placing the bowl on his stomach and taking the spoon in his good hand.
"Hey!" Hwang pouts, furrowing her brows. "Im no Witch. And english isn't my first language."
"Not an excuse." He tells her, blowing on his soup. "Humor transcends language."
"Not bad humor, apparently." She shrugs, blowing on her own soup, a small twitch playing on her lips.
"Please." I tut. "I double as a stand-up comedian on weekends."
Hwang is mid-swallow as she snorts, soup going down the wrong way, making her cough, then place a hand on her stab wound, pain flashing across her face. Chan Jeol chuckles, bringing the soup to his lips and the salty soup warms him up instantly.
"Are you laughing at me?" Hwang narrows her eyes at him.
"I wouldn't dare." He tells her, taking another sip of the soup as suddenly out of nowhere he's hit square in the face with a piping hot potato.
"What the heck!?"
"Physical comedy." Hwang shrugs, grinning.
"Is your target audience seven?" He grumpily wipes his face with his sleeve.
"Hey, at least I have an audience." She says cheerfully.
"Of littl kids." He mutters, catching the brief look of sadness on her face, which she replaces with a forced smile as soon as it appears. "Sorry."
"Why?" She compartmentalizes, he can tell.
"I had to read your file." Chan Jeol explains, treading carefully, his eyes fixed on her to gauge her reactions. "I know what happened to your siblings."
Her eyebrows shoot up and she swallows, clanging her spoon around in her bowl. He waits silently, giving her space.
"And now you think you know everything about me?" She curtly says and he notes her accent thickens slightly as it seems to do when she's emotional.
"No." He simply answers and returns to his soup. "Sometimes it helps to talk about things."
"There's no service here."
"Not funny. Again."
They sit silently for a bit, neither of them eating any more of the perfectly fine soup. Suddenly, there preoccupied with stirring there spoons the liquid, creating a sad symphony of metal against clay. Then, Hwang lets out a huff and stands up.
"I'm full." She tells Chan Jeol without looking at him, and leaves him on the couch as she marches back to her room, slamming the door behind her. She didn't leave the bowl of soup behind.
He sighs and finishes his soup in silence, feeling slightly disappointed with his sudden loneliness.
Hwangs siblings died in the war and she was the only one those kids had, and when she coudnt protect them they died. Which turned her world.
The wind continues its own lonely song outside. Chan Jeol sulks on the couch, picking his nails until they're close to bleeding. He's suddenly struck by such an outrageous idea he laughed out loud. Surely it will not work...
Deciding he needs to give it a go, he sits up slightly, chuckling to myself. Oh boy, there must have been extra painkillers or something in that soup he had. He takes a breath, closes his eyes, and focus.
Hwang! He thinks loudly in his head. Hwang! Hello? Hwang! He chuckles again, wildly amused with himself. Hwang! You're not trying to escape, are you? I cannot get off this couch but I assure you my aim has returned. Hwang! Hello? Hwa-
Suddenly, a weird sensation overcomes him. He feels warm all over; as if he stepped into a warm bath.
Shut up.
He opens his eyes as if electrocuted and stare around him in shock. He's alone in the room. And yet, that was Hwang. That was Hwang. In. My. Head. He stares at the door to her room, still flabbergasted it actually worked.
Hello...? He thinks tentatively.
The same rush of warmth overcomes Chan Jeol as he hears Hwang's voice in his head again.
First, you shout and now you whisper. Not scared, are you?
His head goes blank as her amused voice goes silent. This might truly be the weirdest thing to ever have happened to him. Gasoline drinking crazy inter-state-traveling woman included in the count.
Can you hear me? He trys again, still looking at the closed door between Hwang and him.
No, you're going insane. Comes a dry retort.
Again, he's shocked silent. Which is rare.
Did you want to say anything, or is shouting my name something you do regularly? Hwang asks him and he can picture her rolling her eyes at the ceiling. I am not rolling my eyes.
I feel like this is an invasion of privacy. He thinks and she actually laughs out loud. In hid head. Is this what it sounds like in your head? He thinks, closing his eyes to focus on just the words but unconsciously wondering how she doesn't go insane.
It wasn't easy at first. Comes her slow reply. I couldn't spend long times around people without having horrible headaches. Then I got better at closing it out. It's still hard when there are many voices around me. Or when they scream my name in their heads. She adds that last part sounding slightly ironic.
Is that how you knew we were coming? Chan Jeol thinks and feels her hum softly, which is the strangest experience, but oddly calming. He sinks into the couch.
I did not use to be able to listen to people who weren't in my exact proximity before, but recently... she falters, and he suddenly feel insecure. Or she does. He can't even tell anymore. I am learning more about myself.
What do you mean? He wonders curiously, wanting to know more, hoping she won't close off again.
For a little while, he fears she's left his head as she stays silent, but then he hear her again. I can remove myself from myself. She explains vaguely and he frowns, confused. When you came into my room with the agents and saw someone. That wasn't me, and it was me.
Today, when you were on the bed but also in the corner... he begins, thinking back to the horrifying Hwang who seemed so emotionless, almost.
Yes. She answers, and he feels the warm feeling leave his body.
Wait! He thinks loudly and feel her pause. I am sorry about earlier.
She lingers for a second, then the warmth slowly leaves his body and he suddenly feel alone and cold again, opening his eyes to see the closed door between them.