True Love Waits

You’re dressed in the full attire: university jacket, matching track pants, towel slung around your neck, running shoes gripping the cement. But you’re not with them. You’re not a part of the flock of athletes doing warm-up circles around the track.

Instead, you’re behind Jiyu, holding the glossy handles of her wheelchair.

“You should be with them,” she mutters, eyes fixed ahead of her as she watches the track team complete another lap. “The finals is in two months. You don’t have much time.”

Your lungs shudder as you take a deep breath. Jiyu can’t see the way you shake your head as you reply, but maybe it’s for the best. “Wouldn’t be the only finals. Isn’t the end of the world, yeah?”

“But it’s the first one you’ll miss.”

Leaning over her shoulder, you gesture sideways with a nudge of your head. “Leave them be. Want to go around campus? Where do you want to go this time?”

She purses her lips, and from the way her mouth twinges at the thought, you can tell she’s hesitating again.

Sighing, you place a hand on her shoulder. “Jiyu, it’s fine.”

“Is it really? Is it really fine to take this away from you?” she asks, her eyes never leaving the oval. She has this look on her again—the look that tells you her gaze is wandering far beyond where her own legs could take her. “You could just l—.”

You pivot her a full hundred-and-eighty degrees until she’s facing you, forcing Jiyu to confront nothing and no one else but you. “How about the library? It’s quiet there. I could read you a book again.”

“Oppa … I keep telling you that’s embarrassing. Everyone’s going to …”

You chuckle and pinch her cheek. “Let them stare. I’d rather they talk about us then … about …”

You stop yourself from even thinking of saying it, but your eyes glimpse the blanket over her trembling knees for just a second and you can suddenly taste iron at the back of your tongue. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to …”

Jiyu’s the one calling you back now. Before you can look away, she caresses the side of your face like she would the spines of her favorite books and forces a smile. “We can always just go home too. You look tired, oppa.”

“Tired? Me?” you scoff, stifling a yawn. You’d be lying if you said this new routine of yours with Jiyu was something you’d gotten used to already. But you have to do what you have to do. “Want to grab some snacks instead then?”

“Apples?”

“Apples.”

“With peanut butter?”

You shake your head, ruffling the top of hers as you prepare to wheel her off the bleachers area. “You can have all the peanut butter you want.”

But even with your promise of her favorite spread, you can’t help but notice how Jiyu’s eyes still linger on the track. While her body slowly leaves this space, her mind—her mind is rooted in place.

And you swear you see a few tears fall from her eyes.

“Oppa? What are you doing?”

As Jiyu appears at the top of the stairs, you abruptly stop yourself from your step-ups and turn around. But you know you’re not fooling anyone. “I … I was just …”

You hear the repetitive thumping sound of Jiyu going down the stairs. One step at a time. Hearing every smack of her bottom against the polished wood. You face her and offer a hand, but she’s already a few steps away from where you are by then.

She drags her lips into a grin, holding up a paper bag. “Got this in the mail. Grandma sent them. I was hoping you’d help me put them on.”

“Put them … clothes?”

She nods, and when she’s bumping knees with you now, you hold her by one arm and along her slender waist to hoist her up and into the seat of her wheelchair. “I haven’t tried to see if they would fit yet. Do you mind?”

“Jiyu, I should be the one asking you that,” you correct her. Whenever she needed help dressing up in the past, it would mostly just involve you wiping her back or changing out of her jogging pants. But as you take out the gifts from her grandmother one at a time, you begin to see how these might be more difficult.

Holding up the floral dress by its strings, you peek your face out to the side towards Jiyu. “I don’t think you’ll want me around for these. Even with underwear on, it’s … a bit much, isn’t it?”

“But but,” she mewls, her eyes widening with a pout. “Grandma wanted pictures. She’s … she’s just been worried. About me.”

Wheeling her toward the living room, an idea comes to you. “Do you mind if I borrow the kitchen?”

“Please don’t do anything weird with my new clothes, oppa,” she instinctively warns you. But all you do is smirk at her before purring and disappearing into the next room.

When you come back out, Jiyu is screaming in delight, laughing uncontrollably at the sight of you dressed up in her floral dress. It’s a tight fit, and it bunches around your broader chest and torso, but you manage to make it work. You strut down the invisible runway in front of her TV and strike a few poses to show off how the dress hugs your figure.

“So? How does it look? Thought I’d show it off on myself if we can’t have them on you.”

Click.

She giggles behind her raised phone screen and tilts her head in your direction. “Next one, next one!”

You shake your head and sigh with a smile. “Alright, alright. Don’t get too trigger happy with those photos now.”

A yellow sun dress. A thin halter. A wrap dress cut along the thighs. An elegant maxi.

You put on every single dress that her grandmother gifted her and show it off to Jiyu. While you argue in the back of your mind that these would all look infinitely better on her, you continue with your little pageant. You keep going because this is the happiest you’ve seen Jiyu in a while.

And you would do anything for her happiness.

“This has a weird texture. Is it silk?” Jiyu asks as you’re wearing the final purple off-shoulder from the bunch. You grab a handful of the fabric for yourself and feel it out too. “Huh, it does feel a bit like silk. It’s really hot in this one though.”

She taps the armrest of the couch next to her, and you accept the invitation, sitting next to Jiyu.

“One of these days, I’m going to actually help you into these dresses,” you tell her, glancing at her visage from the side. You watch as the mop of hair atop her head trickles downwards in clefts, racing towards her chin. You almost want to fix her appearance, but you know better than to just invade her personal space. “It’s actually a crime to not see you in one of these.”

“Really? But what would I even be using it for? It’s not like … it’s not like I can just … go out …”

You feel a pain in your chest.

It’s always like this. You never mean to, but it ends up happening anyway. Referencing her injury. Referencing her disability. And once you realize the mistake you never even knew you were making, you find yourself having to deal with the fallout with Jiyu.

You reach for her hand and place yours atop hers. “It won’t be like this forever. We’ll … we’ll keep these in the back. When you heal, you can try them on yourself, and I can take pictures of you, and we can compare how they looked on both of us.”

“But what if I don’t heal, oppa …? What if I-I never—.”

You squeeze her hand tightly and cut her off. “You will. I know it.”

That’s a lie. You’re not even sure yourself. But you have to believe in something—and so does she.

Wanting to fill the dead air and tension with something else, you scramble for the remote control on the coffee table in front of you and turn on the TV. Immediately, the first channel to come on is the sports channel. It’s the finals for collegiate track and field.

“Oh,” you utter absentmindedly, watching as one of your teammates is hoisted into the air holding a massive golden cup. “They really did it. They … won.”

“Oppa?”

You stare at the dancing pixels on the screen that form the image of your vice captain as he swings his medals around his neck. Then you stare down at the purple off-shoulder dress wrapped so tightly around your body it might just burst at the seams with one wrong move. And you sigh.

“Oppa …?”

You don’t see it. But as you stand up to get undressed once more in the kitchen, Jiyu’s trying to reach out for you, sliding to the edge of her wheelchair.

But you’re just too far from her.

Just out of reach.

You’re not sure what’s making it more difficult—the bright noon sun against your eyes or all the sweat dribbling down your face. Whatever it is, you don’t allow it to stop you from pushing Jiyu up the hill.

Head tilted back, she checks on you. “Am I not too heavy, oppa? Maybe you can just—.”

“Almost … there …,” you grunt, acting against gravity on an angle. And when you finally reach the top, you catch your breath for but a moment before wheeling Jiyu towards the edge.

Once you’ve found a nice spot a comfortable distance away, you grab the basket hooked behind her seat and start to set up. Laying down the checkered blanket against the grass and dirt. Placing the packaged portions of different cooked fruits and vegetables—pumpkins, eggplants, avocados. Then finally, you take Jiyu into your arms to lift her off the wheelchair and settle her down next to you on the blanket.

Jiyu holds your gaze as you have a hand pressed into the small of her back. She’s holding your arm and opposite shoulder, searching your expression for something she cannot seem to find. “It’s about now, isn’t it? The march?”

“Yeah. We don’t have to—.”

“You’re the one who didn’t have to, oppa. I told you before—you should have just showed up to your graduation today. Our … graduation today …”

But you shake your head, picking up one of the containers of stir fried eggplant, plunging a fork into it and offering it to Jiyu. “I chose to show up for you instead. Pretty nice view from up here, isn’t it?”

She has a whole scenic overview of the city stretched out before her, and this girl’s got her eyes locked on just you.

Nibbling on the food, she crinkles her nose. “Too bland. You should have asked me for help. I know a good recipe with braised beef.”

“Of course you do, farm girl,” you tease, which immediately merits you a pinch to your side.

“I would have kicked you off the edge by now if I could, you know that?”

You glance down at her folded legs wrapped beneath her baggy jeans. These types of clothes are all she wears now. It’s easier to put on. Easier to take off. By herself. You insisted on having her pick out clothes from her full wardrobe, but it’s been a touchy subject ever since the incident. “I … I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You still think I’m a burden.”

“Jiyu …”

“You still think I’m … broken.”

“Jiyu, that’s—.”

She stuffs your mouth full with your own dish and keeps the fork leaning against your lower lip. Jiyu pulls her knees to her chest and tucks her small face between them. “I know you’re just … trying to help me not think about it. Trying to help me … forget about it. But oppa, how can I?”

You hear the sound of the blaring truck crash into you as a gust of wind sweeps across both of your faces.

She winces.

“Jiyu, are you—?”

She whimpers, trying to move her legs.

“Stop … please …”

She whines, and grunts, and shrieks. But there’s nothing. Jiyu couldn’t so much as make her legs twitch. Her slender legs remained as motionless as the different structures and establishments entrenched firmly within the concrete jungle below. 

“See? How can I forget … if my own body reminds me every day …?”

You don’t know what to do about this. You don’t even know what to say. The moment you part your lips to try and assure her otherwise, Jiyu’s already dragging herself towards the wheelchair again.

“Just bring me back home, oppa. Place the food on my lap please. I’ll eat it on the way.”

You remain seated on the blanket for a few moments longer—just staring at the few tufts of clouds moving at a snail’s pace across the sky—and sigh.

One look at Jiyu’s face and you’re unsure.

Unsure of which of you is more eager to throw themselves off this cliff.

“Oppa? What are you doing here? And what’s with all those bags?”

You don’t explain yourself. You just start relieving your aching fingers and shoulders off of the weight of your different bags and suitcases. Once you manage to somewhat neatly arrange them into a pile off to the side by the entryway, you huff and turn to Jiyu. “Well, it’s official. I’m living with you now.”

“What …?”

You nod, squatting down next to her wheelchair, gripping one of the armrests. “Yeah, I just settled the stuff from my old apartment earlier today. Took out a bit of a loan from the bank. Packed all my things.”

“Oppa …”

You’re not sure if the delicate cracks and trembles in Jiyu’s voice are from surprise or sorrow, but you have to believe it’s the former as you lift her chin up with a finger. “Hey, did you really think I was going to let you continue living here by yourself? It … it was only a matter of time, Jiyu. Graduating helped with that.”

“B-But … you’re—.”

“Going to have to adjust? I guess. But since I’m here now, you don’t have to worry about anything—around the house, in and out of here, if ever you need something. I’ll be right here. At your beck and call,” you explain, bowing too politely to see if she takes the bait and grins from it at least. “You don’t have to keep waiting for me everyday now. I’m already here.”

“You didn’t have to …”

You chuckle. “Jiyu, what if something happens to you? I can’t … I …”

You take a deep breath and just dismiss the topic. “It’s pretty late now. Sorry I took a while to get here. Shall I bring you up?”

Without saying a word her hands are already in the air. She’s adorable. Just like a baby waiting for her uppies. You bite your lip and lift her lithe frame up by just under her pits, capturing her back, supporting her thigh, as you look over her shoulder and carry her up the stairs to her room.

You’ve never been here before. You only ever really met Jiyu by the stairs. Now that you’re going to be living with her, it was only a matter of time until you’d end up in her room as well.

So why is your heart beating this fast?

You disregard the clutter of clothes, books, and other paraphernalia littered around her floor. It’s probably laying around there so Jiyuu could have an easier time reaching them. You resolve to help her clean up another time. For now, you just lay her down atop her bed, and you’re about to pull her blanket up to her chin when she stops you.

“I’m … not in the mood for sleeping yet.”

“Hm? What are you in the mood for?”

She shrugs, shifting between you and the moonlight trickling in through the parted curtains. “I don’t know.”

You sit down next to her on the bed and lean against the headboard. “Well, what do you usually do at this time?”

Fwoomp.

A veil of cloth descends upon you both, and beneath it, Jiyu’s sitting up with her hands flat against her thighs. “I just like to read when I’m alone. But … it would be weird reading with you around now, oppa.”

“Not at all. Go on,” you encourage her, bunching up closer to Jiyu so you can see what she has in her hands. It’s this teal green softbound book called ‘There is Nothing Now’. You can’t help but wonder what it’s about, but from the title and the barefaced cover of the novel alone, you get the idea that it might be a heavy one.

“Promise it won’t be weird?”

“Promise.”

And she just reads.

You’re sitting next to Jiyu, watching her as she licks her thumb each time before combing through the next page, muttering some of the words under her breath, nodding her head as she tries to understand what’s there. And you just watch. You sit next to her and keep her company, and before you know it, she’s pressing the book against your lap and leaning on you. And before you know it, your hand finds its way to her back as you stroke her like a house cat. And before you both know it, you’re both smiling amidst your blushing, and it’s quiet and peaceful, and you just wish nights like these could stretch in forever.

You can only wish.

“Jiyu! I made breakfast! Are you ready?”

You pause for a moment while drying your hands, giving the meals you laid out on the table one last look before hollering through the kitchen door again. “Jiyu—!”

“I’m ready, oppa! Come pick me up now please.”

You hop over the arts and crafts stuff she’s got laid out by the living room and dart towards the stairs. She’s standing at the highest step dressed in a pink and yellow nightgown, smiling down at you like she’s contemplating just falling into your arms.

But you close the gap before she can do so, and your gut is immediately proven right the way she collapses into your touch so readily when you get close enough.

Caressing your chest, she notices the strain of your bicep. “Are you getting bulkier because of me? Do I really weight that much?”

As if to prove her otherwise, you begin curling her up and down like she’s gym equipment to you, and she’s just bursting into laughter now, tugging at your ears and caressing the folds of your lobes. “Ya! Stop it! I’m getting dizzy now!”

Not wanting to upset her, you place Jiyu on top of the railing and gently slide her down next to you as you head down the stairs. Yawning, you blink twice and fix the fit of your tie around your neck before picking her up again and carrying her to the dining room. “I made us miyeok-guk, and I made a whole pile of namul. Just the way you want it. Just for you.”

She pouts as you slot her in the seat opposite yours. “But aren’t vegetables getting more expensive these days? You didn’t have to.”

“Just want to make sure you’re eating healthily,” you tell her. But beyond that gesture of affirmation, you know that it’s because you felt terrible finding out there were days when she would eat nothing at all because she couldn’t cook for herself anymore back when she was living alone. “Dig in. While it’s still hot.”

Jiyu shyly picks up her metal chopsticks and prods at the different side dishes you prepared.

Chewing on some kimchi, Jiyu swallows and raises, “Have you been getting enough sleep? Your eyebags …”

You press your fingers to the soft underneath your eye and furrow your brows. “Huh? What about them?”

“They’re getting heavier. And oppa, you left the water running again.”

“Oh shit!” you blurt out, smudging the napkin against your lips before bolting towards the water dispenser. How could you have forgotten? You didn’t even need this much water for tea, and now, there’s a large puddle of wasted mineral water near a bunch of electrical appliances.

As you’re cleaning up the spill on the floor, you accidentally hit your head against one of the shelves and nearly knock over one of the picture frames. Catching it before it can wobble off, you glance at what it is.

It’s a picture of Jiyu with her brother and her parents. Back when they all still lived on their farm.

“Hey, Jiyu?” you beckon, leaning against the doorframe. “What … Have you heard from your family recently?”

You hear the sound of shattering ceramic.

When you glance up from the photo, you see a mixture of seaweed soup and fragments of what once was a bowl scattered across the floor. Your first instinct is to make sure Jiyu isn’t hurt, but you clock in an instant how firmly she’s gripping both ends of her chopsticks.

“Jiyu …?”

She’s shuddering. From head to toe. She looks up at you once and sees you holding her family photo, and she just shakes her head at you.

You place the photo face down on the table and kneel by her side, holding her wrists in yours, but she won’t let go of the chopsticks. You press your forehead against her small arm and shake your head. “I’m sorry … I’m sorry for bringing it up—.”

“Are you tired of me …?”

“What …?”

Jiyu sniffles. You can’t tell if there’s more snot or more tears flowing out from her now, but she sneezes like a rabbit would and trembles once more as she asks you again. “Are you tired of me, oppa?”

“Why … God, Jiyu—why would you even ask me that?”

“I can see it.”

She let go of the chopsticks now, but when her hands find themselves on the sides of your face now, you feel no comfort in her touch. “I can see it … You’re working so hard for me—for us—a-a-and I’m just here … taking your money … taking your space … taking your t-t-time a-and … Oppa, my legs … My legs …”

She winces. And groans. And crumbles into the side of your neck when she demonstrates it yet again.

“They … still … won’t … work …”

There’s tears in your eyes now, and you feel that stinging in the back of your throat. Jiyu’s bawling at the top of her lungs into you, and all you can do is hold her close and dearly like this and hope that she might feel that it’s alright. That it’s ok.

“Jiyu, you’re not a burden to me, I swear to god. I … Why can’t you see that?”

But her crying never stops. 

Not today. Not tonight.

It never ends.

“Are you really sure you want to come with me inside there?”

Jiyu doesn’t reply. All she does is massage downwards from her thighs to her knees in an all too familiar motion—like a routine. She’s trying to regain the feeling in them back. Something she watched online. Neither of you have the money to afford physical therapy. And her family—well, there’s no use raising it up again. This is all she had. So you let her continue.

You lean forward as you wheel her into the grocery store. “If you see anything you like, just add it in, ok? Don’t worry about it.”

That’s a lie. You’re not even sure if you have enough money to buy the bare minimum for necessities tonight.

Your job pays decently. But paying all the bills requires more than ‘decently’—more than a single job. You could never take on any sideline work or overtime because you need as much extra time as you can get to take care of Jiyu at home—and what little time you had left afterwards, you used for rest. You thought you could keep going like this for longer without needing another loan, but when you opened the fridge and only saw a pair of lollipops from last Halloween and an expired box of Pop Tarts, you’ve never been slapped in the face that hard by life before.

It’s a mess. But for now, your main concern’s restocking on groceries.

You’re figuring out the logistics of pushing a shopping cart along with pushing Jiyu. She’s too small for her own good to push the cart in front of her while seated, so that’s out of the question.

A couple passes you by. The woman’s between her man and the cart, both of them pushing it forward as her boyfriend rests his chin on her shoulder.

You glance at Jiyu, and she’s shaking her head. “No … oppa, no please—AHH!”

Hoisting Jiyu up, you carefully slip her legs between the top fold of the shopping cart like what you’d do for a small child. She just fits, and after checking for any discomfort, you pat her head. “There we go. I’ll leave your wheelchair by the entrance for now.”

When you return, she’s burying her face into your chest in embarrassment, gripping your shirt. You try your best not to laugh, but when she can feel it swell up in your chest, she twists your ear. “Dummy.”

You stick your tongue out at her and just push.

Jiyu’s putting whatever she can into the cart: cereal, Twinkies, sour candies, detergent, rice, some vegetables, savory biscuits, tampons, deodorant, an adorable plate set, and a pack of candles.

It’s well above your comfortable budget, but you don’t mind. You don’t mind for Jiyu. Especially not when she’s holding the plate set within its packaging close to her chest.

The lady at checkout gives Jiyu an odd glance. That’s understandable. Jiyu might look like a little gremlin to you, but to others, she’s still a grown ass woman. But she doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she looks like she’s enjoying being seated differently even for just this shopping trip. Somehow.

Once everything’s paid for, you push the cart outside after picking up the folded wheelchair and rolling it next to the cart. Jiyu helps to keep it steady.

Just as you’re about to pick up Jiyu again, a bunch of unkempt looking blokes bump into you.

“Shit, don’t block the way man. Other people exist, you know what I’m saying?”

You try to ignore them and just do a quick bow in apology, but it’s what the next fellow says that really freezes you in place. “Look at the wheels on that thing. Bet she does F1 with wheels like those.”

Jiyu grips your wrists. “No. Oppa, don’t.”

You don’t want to. You really don’t want to.

“Ayo? Haven’t seen a Hotwheels in years man. Is that a new model—?”

Your fist connects with his lips before they can even finish his sentence.

You send him flying into the glass doors of the grocery store, rattling them. You square up. Tighten your fists into balls. Craning your neck from side to side. “Say that again. I dare you.”

“Oppa …”

But her voice is drowned out by the blood pumping in your veins. “What? Got nothing to say, asshole? I thought so. Pick on someone your own—.”

Thunk.

Your world almost goes completely dark from the impact.

You don’t know what hit you. You just know whatever it was sends you face-first into the curb, feeling your teeth smash against it. Blinking rapidly, you turn onto your back to try and get up, but you feel shoe after shoe kicking into your sides.

From above, you see one of the ruffians bashing into your skull with his fists. Another’s rummaging through your pockets in an attempt to mug you. The others were kicking and stomping and crashing into you, wanting a piece of the assault.

And off to the side, you just see Jiyu. Struggling to break free from the shopping cart. Jerking it back and forth as tears stream down her face. She tugs a little too hard, loses balance, and soon, the whole cart comes crashing down, pinning her further in place.

You reach out to her with trembling hands, seeing the new bruises blooming across the skin of your arm.

She reaches out too, trying to wiggle towards you, crawling towards you with the entire weight of your groceries against her back, fighting for her life to get to you. But it’s not enough. You’re too far.

You’re too far.

You wish that the last thing you hear are the sirens.

But Jiyu’s cries are louder.

It hurts to move.

It’s already been a month and you feel like nothing’s changed. You skipped the doctor because the fees for your trip to the emergency room punched a large enough hole through your wallet. You stopped buying painkillers because HR recommended you to step down from work to ‘reconsider your life trajectory’, and money’s even tighter now. You skipped moving back in with your parents—even just temporarily—because you fear you’ve abused their kindness enough by asking them to cover your bills for the month while you recovered.

It hurts to breathe.

There’s still trauma against your ribs, but there’s also still trauma deeper within it. You close your eyes and you still feel paralyzed on the ground, being beaten up in all directions. Every time you inhale a little too sharply, you can feel something threatening to puncture your diaphragm. Every time you exhale a little too rapidly, you feel the air burn your nostrils.

It hurts to look at Jiyu.

Sometimes she won’t even look at you anymore. And you can’t even blame her for it, can you? Not when all she could do was helplessly watch as you got ganged up on. Not when the paramedics left her alone at the grocery store to prioritize fitting you in the ambulance. Not when she wakes up every morning and sees you looking like this.

You purse your lips. There’s pain in your chin. But what can you do?

What can you do?

All that’s served on the table is a big bowl of white rice along with some soy sauce and thrice reheated kimchi. You don’t have much of an appetite this morning. Neither does Jiyu. None of you speak. None of you move. You’re both just sitting there.

Just sitting there.

There’s a loud popping coming from the second floor bathroom followed by the sound of a metallic crash.

This snaps the both of you out of it.

Before you can stand up to check on what that was, Jiyu’s already on the floor. She dropped off the full height from her seat onto the ground and began dragging herself across the tiles.

“Jiyu?”

She pays you no mind, trailing towards the stairs. Once she gets on the first step, her arms wobble as they struggle to hoist her heft up. 

“Jiyu, I can—.”

She shakes her head. She continues what she’s doing. One step at a time. One after the other. Impact after impact. This stubborn girl forces herself up the entire flight of stairs herself.

And you just watch her. You just let her.

Once she’s back to crawling towards the bathroom, you take this time to jog up the flight of stairs and catch up to her.

Clang.

“Jiyu …”

You don’t even want to ask how she managed to reach the toolbox in the cabinet above the mirror. But alas, there it is, sunny-side-down against the bathroom floor, all sorts of tools and equipment askew against the tiles.

She has a wrench in hand.

It’s painfully obvious that she doesn’t know how to use one. Water’s spraying from the pipes beneath the sink, and it gets worse with each twist she gives it. You don’t have the heart to tell her to stop, but you’re not twisted enough to allow her to continue doing this.

“Ji—.”

“Don’t.”

Her interjection is as forceful as the smack she gives the intricate plumbings. Howling, she continues beating the wrench against the stained metallic pipes with each curse under her breath.

You catch her wrist before she can damage what’s already broken any further. “Jiyu … what’s gotten into you?”

She motions like she might reply, but she instead turns her face up, and her lips pull taut, and her eyes flicker, and without a moment’s notice, she’s found herself buried in you again. Crying.

“I-I-I just … I just wanted to help … just wanted to … do something … myself … for once …”

“Why? What are you trying to prove?”

“That you’re not still with me because you pity me.”

You feel her weight go slack within your grasp, and when you so much as signal to her that you’re pulling her closer—pulling her in—she slips from your clutches and flops backwards. Farther from you. Away from you.

“Tell me, oppa … It’s true, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“You only stuck around because you felt guilty.”

You can hear it. You can hear the blaring horn of that damn fucking truck echoing against the walls of Jiyu’s bathroom.

“You felt guilty because of what happened. Because of what I did.”

You can see it. You can see the folds of joy on her face warping into ones of horror the moment she saw your form bathed in the bright white of the headlights.

“You think to yourself that it should have been you. Instead of me.”

You can feel it. You can feel her fingers entrenching into your arm, the sudden force with which she was able to push you with, the inexplicable lightness of your being as you float away from the center of the road.

You remember it. You remember it so fucking vividly.

The final smile Jiyu gives, clutching onto her chest, moments before the speeding truck collides into her.

You gasp for air. It hurts. It fucking hurts. Like pins and needles scraping against the column of your throat. But it hurts more to relive even just a second of that night.

“So, am I right, oppa …? Am I right that you’re only here, with me, right now, because … because you think you owe me your life. And when you look at me, all you see is a mistake. That’s … that’s why it hurts me—hurts me to see you like this. Because when you treat me so nicely, oppa, you make me want to feel selfish.”

“Selfish?”

Her lips tense when she shakes her head. “Because I want to be more than just a painful memory to you.”

You don’t know how to follow that up.

You’ve loved Jiyu. Even before all of this. Even before she got hit. Even before you had both gotten close on the track and field team. You remember. You remember seeing her for the first time in Econ 101 and thinking to yourself how did such an adorable soul stumble into such a cutthroat class. You remember seeing her in the hallways of the university, greeting you with more than waves and smiles. You remember seeing her standing on the tips of her toes, scanning the width of the announcement board in search for a club to join.

So how do you tell her? How do you tell her now?

“That night, when we were drinking with the team,” you start, trying to make sense of your emotions amidst the current situation. “I … that was the happiest evening of my life. Do you remember what we talked about? About your life back at home, on the farm. About the names you used to give clouds passing in the sky. About your favorite condiments and which fruits they tasted the best with. Jiyu … I’m sorry … I’m so … fucking … sorry … If I wasn’t careless, o-or stupid, then you wouldn’t have had to … you wouldn’t have had to been hurt.”

You taste a drop of your tears. And it’s so fucking bitter. “It should have been me, not you … And now? Now this is all I can do for you.”

“Oppa, I want you to leave me.”

There isn’t any pain in her voice. There isn’t any doubt. Like she had practiced this before. Like she had already seen this coming. Jiyu runs a hand through her hair and nods twice in confirmation. “Leave me. I’m not someone you want to be with. There’s no … there’s no future with me. Oppa, I’m not … I’m not even myself anymore. I’m not even living at this point … just … just killing time. You’re kind. You have such a big heart, oppa, and I … I’ve … seen what I’ve done to you. I’ve bound you to me. Made you miserable. You … you could have done so much more without me.”

“But that’s the thing: I just needed you.”

“Don’t … don’t do this oppa, I can’t …”

You grip her small hands in yours and kiss her slender fingers.

She pouts and lifts your chin up. You don’t have the heart to look her in the eyes anymore after all those revelations, but Jiyu has this way of holding you that makes you seek her warmth out.

You can’t tell her you love her. Not yet. You just know Jiyu doesn’t have it in her yet to hold the weight of your emotions. You know she’ll spend the rest of your time together wondering if it’s genuine affection or if you’re still pitying her. But you know—you know deep fucking down—that you at least have to tell her something.

So, until then, until the time comes that both of your wounds heal, you’ll have to live with just this.

Instead of saying I love you, you say, “I’ll wait. As long as it takes, I’ll wait. For you, Jiyu.”

And instead of whispering I love you too, she says, “Just don’t leave me, oppa … Promise?”

You press your nose against hers and nod. “I promise.” You seal your vow with a kiss to her forehead, holding it there for as long as you physically could.

And as the two of you attempt to recollect yourselves, the pipe to your side still gushing water, you think to yourself that for now, maybe—just maybe—this is the shape of your love for Jiyu. A love that does not seek to possess, or control, or dictate, or impose, or demand. It’s the love that persists until you’re both finally able to meet each other where you are.

A love that waits.