| Fan Fiction |
by Katvangsta a.k.a Miss Keethie
The ceiling was impossible to move. It was a door-sized wooden chunk. It was a good thing there had been no one standing in the doorway when the ceiling came down and crushed it.
“Is there a possible way to get in?” I asked her, but she shook her head before I finished my question.
“This classroom was an older, unremodeled room with wooden ceilings. There's only one window and it happened to be this one that got crushed as well.”
“How thick is the ceiling?” I asked her, kicking the ceiling that never budged. God, I was really wishing I had time to change before getting here. I still wore my stupid short little maid-uniform.
“Pretty thick,” she answered, still panicked by the situation. “About half a foot. Again, this is the older unremodeled room.”
I nodded quickly, my brain working overtime to process a way to get in. “Are all the other rooms—”
“No, no,” she shook his head. “Of course not. This is the last unremodeled room. All the other classrooms are safe and the students and teachers are all under their desks and tables.”
I nodded again, looking around hoping something would trigger an idea.
No way out. No way in. Door and window are crushed. Wooden ceilings...
WOODEN CEILINGS?!
“The ceilings are bound to cave in soon, aren't they?” I asked her, seeing as how the ground and walls were still shaking. A half-a-foot thick wood was definitely going to weigh down the thin paint covering it.
The principle turned to look at me then, fear and panic mixed in her eyes.
“Sh!t,” I muttered, still looking around, praying for any kind of thought to come to me before the wooden ceiling in the room collapsed.
The principle turned to me, opening her mouth to say something. And I knew what she was about to say. Something along the lines of “Watch your language” but she rethought it and turned back to look at what used to once be a door but was now a thick chunk of the wooded ceiling.
Who came up with that?! WOODEN ceilings?!
With this classroom being the unremodeled and isolated one from the rest, it was a good amount of distance away from all the other classes.
But everything had to connect somehow...
“Does the air-conditioning work?” I asked the principle as a chill ran down my spine. As soon as she heard my question she gave me an incredulous look.
“Excuse me?”
“Air-conditioning.” I said again. “Does it work?”
The look she gave me never changed. “Why yes, of course.”
I nodded once. “Does this room get air-conditioning as well?”
Again, the incredulous look never budged. “Of course.”
I nodded again, turning myself to face her. “Where is the closest classroom to this one?”
She hadn't taken more than five steps down the hall before I stopped in front of a small janitor closet and she stopped as well, giving me a confused look.
“Has this area been remodeled yet?” I asked her, opening the closet door to reveal the inside of the closet. It was about three feet in width and seven feet in height with mops, brooms, buckets and every other janitor equipment. It was small and squishy.
“Yes,” she answered. “That was the latest remodel.”
Who decides to remodel a closet before a classroom?
“When, exactly, if I may ask,” I turned to her, my left—not bloody—hand grabbed a mop out of the closet door before I shut it with my feet. I had forgotten all about my still bleeding hand until now. And I have to say, it is much easier to ignore the pain from it when my whole right hand was forgotten about.
Her incredulous look returned. “Yesterday, they finished up on the ceiling and the interior was barely finished a couple of hours before school started.”
“White paint?” I asked her and she nodded, wondering why I cared about the paint color. “What time is it now?”
She glanced at her watch. “Four fifteen.” And school started at eight, if I remembered correctly.
With the mop in hand, I asked her to lead the way to the closest classroom and she did as the walls around us continued shaking. The glass trophy case that hung against the wall shattered as the lights that lighted the hall all popped at once.
Electricity went out. The only light in that hall was the light that came from the end where the doors that led to the outside were.
“Oh dear,” said the principle. She stopped in front of what I barely read out as her office. “I'll go get us flashlights.” She left the door to her room opened as she went in with ease, though things were constantly falling off the shelves, thanks to the help of the light from her window inside the room. It had been no longer than a minute when she returned with two flashlights. “Here you are.”
I ended up switching the mop to my other hand in order to hide it—the bloody hand—from her, and accepted the flashlight with my uninjured left hand.
It is, I noticed, very hard to hold up a mop with a bloody hand that was painful and filled with cuts.
We continued on down the hall to the closest classroom that was about fifteen yards away. Fifteen yards. And it was the closest classroom?
The principle opened the classroom door to reveal kids huddled under their desks and a teacher huddled under his table. “Here we are,” said the principle as we stepped into the room, dodging a globe that rolled off the shelves. It was, no doubt, the lightest thing falling off the shelf, since everything else that fell off made a loud noise.
The class remained silent as they stared up from under their desks as us—or, me, because of my stupid short little maid uniform. (The stupid dress is way too short.) The teacher, however, greeted the principle.
I began shining the flashlight around the sun-lit room in search of the vent. And I found it right next to the clock that had now fallen to the ground and cracked. It was about two feet wide and two feet in height.
The principle, surprisingly, saw how my flashlight had shone on the vent and said, “That's not a very smart idea. The vents aren't exactly...strong. Who knows when they'll break or if the ceiling collapses on it. It can seriously injure you—kill you, even.”
“Its all we've got,” I said, moving an unused desk against the wall—with my feet, since my hands were occupied with the flashlight and mop—under the vent as blood continued running down from my hand. Honestly, I'm surprised the principle never caught sight of it.
“Noona!” exclaimed a little boy from under his desk. “Y-your hand is b-bleeding!”
Well, so much for my trying to hide it with the mop.
Now the whole class gasped.
“Don't worry about it,” I said, setting the flashlight on top of the desk. “Its been bleeding before I got here.”
“Oooh,” cooed the class in unison.
Were all little kids this adorable?
After using my uninjured hand to stack a couple of thick books on top of the desk—since, you know, I'm not a very tall person, I need an extra booster—I finally climbed up on the desk, hoping it wouldn't tip over or something and stepped on my two-feet-high booster. It helped enough so I just barely reached the vent. Thank God I wore shorts under the short uniform—even if it is short-shorts.
The ground continued shaking under my feet.
I kept the mop in my bloody hand and stuck the end of the flashlight in my mouth to shine the way through to the inside of the vent. Then I yanked out the metal cover over the vent and tossed it to the ground. Blood dripped down from my right hand as I lifted the mop up and shoved it into the vent first. Then, with my bloody right hand and sweaty left one, I grabbed onto the sides of the vent and hoisted myself up as I held in my scream that wanted to escape due to the pain from my right hand. Oh yeah, it took major restraining. I can bet my life upon the fact that my skin was half-scraped off and bleeding much worse now.
“Let's just pray for that wooden ceiling to not cave in yet,” I muttered—instead of screaming out in pain—with my teeth still biting onto the flashlight to hold it.
“Be careful,” the principle said after me.
“Be careful,” echoed the kids and the teacher.
I had actually fit inside that vent, with my painfully bloody hand holding onto the mop that I used to jab around before moving forward, the flashlight still in my mouth, shining the way, and my free left hand pushed me around as well as my foot.
The whole time I prayed for three things: The ceilings do not cave in any time soon. The vent does not break or fall and for the safety of every person in that barricaded room.
I heard kids from different classrooms saying: “I hear noises in the vent!!!” as I pushed myself around the vent.
I was still trying to remember the right direction to go in, when it happened. A creak at first—the vent. A rip—my damn uniform. Scrape—my bloody right hand against the vent as it crashed. Downwards.
I didn't have time to react to the pain because I yanked the mop back before it fell down along with that part of the vent. I had yanked it back so hard, my bloody hand scraped against the top of the vent and it nearly ripped some of my skin along as well.
My fingers felt raw.
Painfully raw.
My whole right hand began to grow numb.
Wherever YoungBae was, I apologize for him having to feel the pain as well.
With a deep inhale, I held my breath—held back the painful screams and painful sensitivity of my right hand.
I was in an intersection. Four ways—well, three, since one of them just crashed on me right now.
I heard another creak.
And I didn't even finish my thought of: “Oh h3ll—” Before I made up my mind on which path to take. Because my right hand was feeling painfully raw and numb, I ended up using my feet to push me through the vent that now began slightly rocking.
ROCKING. That was not a good thing.
I moved faster than ever, using my feet as I switched the mop from my right hand to left and continued jabbing at the weaker areas of the vent—not taking that route—and the tougher, stronger ones. Until finally, there was a single route. The vent just went straight. There were no more multiple directions, no more intersections. This, I noticed, was the direction towards the barricaded room.
My feet propelled quickly, moving me forward until I reached the end of the vent—the rocking still continued. That was not a good thing. The ceiling would give in soon.
Not realizing it, I had used my right hand, that blood still ran down from, and shoved the metal cover of the vent down. It landed on the ground with a metal *clack* and I realized the voice that shrieked loudly as I, myself, let out a painful groan because of my now bleeding hand—if it hadn't been before; if it had, then it was bleeding harder.
Lily's shriek, I realized.
Then I heard Kenny's: “NOONA?!”
They were here. They were safe.
For the time being, that is, if I didn't hurry up before the ceiling caved in.
I didn't have time to get a good look at the room because I was in such a hurry—for all I knew, there could be knives under me and I wouldn't know.
Quickly pulling the mop forward, I dropped it into the room, then the flashlight followed as they both hit the ground. I hope it was the ground and not a desk or something worse.
So, taking an incredibly large amount of “risking my life”, I—not having the time to draw in an inhale—shoved myself out of the vent and fell down for what it was that awaited me and my raw blood-dripping hand.
I had closed my eyes in anticipation, waiting for some sudden painful attack. What I felt instead was unbelievable: Electric shocks, surging through me.
A pair of arms had caught me. A very strong pair of arms—with biceps—that went around my back and under my knees. Almost as if I was being carried. I've felt this before—this skin, these static surges.
“That was dangerous,” I recognized the voice that whispered into my ears as well and I was correct upon knowing who it was as soon as I opened my eyes and caught sight of YoungBae's face. It was, I saw, less than centimeters away from mine. The flashlight I had dropped was now in the tiny hands of Kenny who shone it around the room like it was a light show, laughing from under his desk with Lily beside him.
Every other student remained under their desks and Miss Teacher—I still don't know her name—was under her table—looking at me like I had fallen from above. Technically, I had fallen from above—from the vent, to be specific.
YoungBae slowly let me down on my feet, the static surges coming to an end, and I caught sight of his bloody right hand as well—it looked just as torn up and bloody as mine. But I was distracted from that as soon as I saw that the very little skirt part of my little-maid-dress-uniform was torn and hanging.
Sometimes it really does pay to wear short-shorts underneath.
And, as if that wasn't bad enough, there was also a big rip running down my uniform from my left rib side to my hip.
No wonder that side had felt cold in the vent.
“What are you doing here?” he asked—I still felt the ground shaking beneath my feet. It was much better in his arms than on my feet. However, his question snapped me back to the reality of the wooden ceiling about to cave in anytime now.
I felt something warm over my shoulders and as I turned around, I saw that it was YoungBae's coat. He had draped his coat around me—which meant he saw the huge rips as well.
Not embarrassing at all.
“I'm here to save your lives before the wooden ceiling caves in,” I answered as I stuck my hands through the arms of the coat—it looked like a dress on me and covered my uniform completely.
I picked up the mop from the ground and Kenny handed me the flashlight. Then, closing my eyes, I forced the pain in my head to go away as I thought back.
...
Left corner of the room.
Reaching back with my blood-dripping hand, since I had the mop and flashlight both in my left, I meant to grab YoungBae's arm or wrist even, but I ended up taking his bloody hand in mine as I headed towards the left corner of the room with things toppling off the shelves, landing on the ground in a crack or thud, and YoungBae at my back, trying not to step on my heel.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his hand tightening around mine slightly to get my attention. And, oh yeah, it worked. It worked completely. Too well, maybe, because for a second, I really did forget why I was there and what I was doing.
Though my hands were bleeding and raw, I thought I felt his warm blood with mine. Honestly, it is weirder than it sounds.
“Just watch,” I said after a long second and we reached the far left corner of the room and I let go of his hands. Switching the flashlight to my bloody right hand, I shone it against the wall and used the mop to jab it once.
Over eighty percent dry already. Its been about nine hours now. Depending on the consistency of the layers of white paint... It's probably going to be a bit thicker to break through. But white paint should be pretty thin anyways.
I continued jabbing at the wall with both my hands gripped tightly on the mop, putting all my upper arm strength into it. It hurt my raw right hand, but at least there was a hole forming in the wall. Its times like these, I wish that I hadn't taken off my dagger—even if it would show when I wore it with this stupid uniform.
Yanking the end of mop away from the wall, I pulled it back, far over my head, hoping this jab would go in deep—
“Here,” YoungBae's grip on my arm startled me to a point where I jumped. Either that, or it was that damn static rush again. “Let me get it.” He took the mop out of my hands and stepped in front of me. With two jabs, he had already broken a hole through to the other side.
So much for the wall being thick
Then he simply lifted his feet up and kicked the wall. It crumbled down to reveal a big enough opening to get through to the closet.
“Get Ms. Go so she can go through to the other side to take kids out safely,” YoungBae instructed as he began shoving the janitor's equipments out of the small closet.
Why did it bother me that he knew her name—or, last name?
Okay. Not a good time to be thinking about that.
I practically made a dash back to Ms. Go's desk and after I had summed up a quick explanation for what was going on, she got out from under her table and gladly went through the huge crack in the wall, waiting for YoungBae's further instructions.
That was not fair! I came here to save them, why was I now following YoungBae's orders?
Again. Not a good time to be thinking that stuff. Who cares, as long as everyone gets out fine before the ceiling caves in.
The kids closest were instructed by YoungBae to get out first and line up against the wall in the hall with their arms covering their heads. They followed his instructions perfectly, quickly getting out from under their desks. They got in a single-file line and filed out through the crack with their arms covering their ducked heads as YoungBae helped them in the correct direction—since, you know, with their arms over their heads, they couldn't really see.
Finally, it came time for Kenny and Lily's row to exit. The last row.
Lily gladly popped up from under her desk, beside Kenny's, when a loud creak was heard from the ceiling right above them. Lily shrieked and Kenny, I guess, being the man and all, grabbed her and pulled her away from her desk the moment a foot of wood fell from the ceiling—landing where she was just standing before Kenny had pulled her away.
Wooden chunks now began falling off the ceiling. A couple of other kids screamed.
I cussed—Don't ask what I said—and ran over to their rows with one arm over my head. The kids were still under their desks with frightened eyes. I don't blame them. This has never happened before—to me, either.
“Get em' out,” YoungBae's breath came from behind my ear as I leaned over a desk, helping the kids out. He, himself, began to get kids out from under their desks and led them over to the crack to the closet. In his arms, he carried two fear-stricken four-year old girls who had their head ducked under his jaw.
Lucky little girls.
I guess I was stalling when I was watching him, because a falling piece of wood snapped the leg of a desk with loud crack and that yanked me back to reality—the dangerous, dangerous reality.
I followed after his single-filed line with Kenny's row. Kenny, in the middle of the line, began pulling the kids behind him to his front—keeping an arm over his head. HE WAS LETTING THEM GO IN FRONT OF HIM.
“Go!” he exclaimed at every confused expression he got from each kid. “Go! Go!”
I glanced back at YoungBae who was helping the kids through the crack. He glanced back, seeing Kenny's actions, and grinned.
Eventually, Lily past Kenny up in line and they had reached the big crack; she held onto his hand.
Lily got to the other side safely—joining the rest of the class—and she looked back at Kenny, whose hand she still held.
Kenny and I were the only ones left on the dangerous side. I gave him a light push forward, slightly ducking over him so he wouldn't have to keep his arms over his head. He had just about put a foot through the crack, when he stopped and turned back to the class.
“Go,” I told him, hearing the wooden chunks collapse on top of desks and chairs. “Go, Kenny!”
But he didn't go.
No, he let go of Lily's hand, turned back to the class and exclaimed: “BACKPACK!”
He ran back to his desk and I ran after him with the sound of creaking wood loud over my head.
It faded black from there.
...
...
...
I am in pain. No thoughts are coming to me at all. I just know that I'm in pain.
I groaned as my fingers twitched; it hurt.
“SunYe!” SunMi's voice? YeEun's? YooBin's? Was it SoHee's or Kim's?
“Yah, unni.” that was definitely SoHee's soft voice.
“Wake up,” YooBin's teary voice.
Ow. Why is she shaking me?
“SunYe...” YeEun's, for sure. She sounded like she'd done some serious crying.
“WAKE UP!” YooBin's voice. Why is she still shaking me? Does she not know that it hurts? “Yah! SunYe! If you DARE leave us—”
“God,” I groaned again, my eyelids slowly opened as I tried to adjust to the bright light in the room. “What is wrong with you guys?”
“SUNYE!” they all exclaimed. They, as in: SunMi, YeEun, YooBin, SoHee.
“Yes?” I answered weakly, still blinking multiple times. “Are you all now realizing my name?”
YeEun sighed, relieved, and dropped herself into the chair beside where I lay on some kind of bed. She rested her head against the arm of my—now bandaged—right hand.
Where am I?
“Why the h3ll would you try to pull something like that?!” YooBin asked, furious now. “You shouldn't drive when there's an earthquake! You shouldn't climb through cracking vents! And you do not run back into a classroom with the wooden ceiling caving in!”
“Ow,” I winced, her voice echoing through my head as I remembered the reason I was here—
“Where am I?” I asked.
“The hospital,” SunMi said, fastening a hand over YooBin's mouth to keep her from screaming.
“What happened?”
“You mean why you got here or how you got here?” SoHee's soft voice asked—sounding like she was forced to keep calm.
I looked at her, confused by the question, but I didn't want to spend time pondering on it. “Both.”
“Well,” she sighed. “I'm not sure what happened back at that school—other than everything YooBin just said, but if you want to know more, you can ask YoungBae about that. As for your arriving here...you were said to have been brought here in an ambulance with YoungBae riding with you.”
“Gee,” I said sarcastically, unable to move my right hand, “that explained a lot.”
SoHee held up her hands in defeat. “Hey, that's all I know.”
“And my car?” I asked her.
“I drove it back home,” YooBin said, not yelling anymore after she had pried SunMi's fingers off from over her mouth.
“The earthquake?” I asked SunMi.
“Eight,” she said. “It was rated an eight on the Richter scale.”
“Which means?” YooBin looked at her, a look of confusion.
“Its incredibly strong on semi-weak grounds,” SunMi answered. “That earthquake went on for a whole hour. It did some pretty serious damage to some parts of Seoul.”
“Yeah?” I asked, sitting up. It hurt. My head, I mean, and my right hand. My whole right hand was bandaged. As for my head...I couldn't see, but I felt the band wrapped around it.
“Yeah,” YeEun answered, lifting her head up from where she had been resting it on my arm. With her hand, she reached out and placed it on my head—right where it hurt. “The Palace is going to be repaired for a couple of weeks, so we have a couple weeks of no work. And Kenny their school is also getting repaired from the damage done. They don't get school for two weeks.”
“Ow,” I said belatedly to her hand on the side of my head. YeEun laughed and so did the others.
“I'm glad there's no brain damage,” SunMi said with a laugh.
“That's because it was damaged before she arrived to the hospital,” YooBin said. “Yah, who goes into a school, much less CLASS, with things crashing and falling?”
I groaned to her remark as I rested my head against the backboard of the hospital bed.
“We'll leave you alone,” SoHee said, taking YooBin by the arm. “RIGHT, unni?”
“Yeah, sure” YooBin muttered as SoHee dragged her out of the room.
“She's yelling,” SunMi began, but I cut her off with a laugh. “Because she cares,” I finished.
“Exactly,” YeEun said with a pat to the other side of my head where it didn't hurt as much. And with that, they exited the room.
With a sigh, I closed my eyes, ignoring the throbbing in my head and my right hand that stung, and slumped back into the bed. Peace and quiet at last. It had been so loud and noisy during the earthquake, I had forgotten all about the beauty of the silence.
My brain began to slowly unwind, my thoughts drifted off...
I woke up later to the sight of YoungBae looking out the hospital window. Man, if a backside could look good—
He turned around and his gaze immediately caught mine.
“You were a hero today,” he said, leaning against the glass window. “It would've been a better tale if you hadn't been sent to the hospital afterwards.”
“That's funny,” I said in reply. “Because if I recall correctly, since we're linked, you should've been injured just as well.”
He chuckled. It was a nice chuckle. I can't seem to recall the last time he chuckled or laughed.
“It seems you're still unaware of the fact that I can endure more than you,” he said, pushing himself off the window and coming towards me. Uh-oh. He was headed towards me!
Shut up, heart!
He stopped right beside my hospital bed and leaned over towards me so there was only about a couple of inches between our faces. “I thought you'd be the first to know, because—correct me if I'm wrong, but—we DID go through that shooting at Sunset Coast together yesterday. Painful, wasn't it?”
“Please do not remind me of the events that took place last night.”
Only, that was suppose to have been my thoughts. Why had I said it aloud?
“It seems I don't have to,” he smirked—it looked more cruel up close. “You seem to remember it well enough.”
It took a couple of seconds for his words to sink in because I had been thinking of...well, something completely off topic while he spoke with his mouth not very far from mine.
I returned his smirk. “You can't seem to forget it either.”
He chuckled again. His warm breath bouncing off my face made it more tempting to not do what my insides yearned. “You expect me to?”
Only, I hadn't understood why he said that, or remember what we were talking about because his warm breath still bounced off my face.
He straightened with that smirk still plastered on his beautiful face. Why was he smirking anyways? God, I have some serious head damage going on.
“I expect you to what now?” I asked him, bewildered, and he must've caught onto my expression because he chuckled again.
But he never did answer as his dark eyes remained frozen on me, though he had chuckled like that. There was such intensity in his eyes, it made me nervous and my brain finally stepped in—pointing out a couple of things to me.
One, um, we're alone. Two, we're alone with the door locked. Was it suppose to be locked? Could they lock it? What if no one can unlock it from the outside?!
Three, the intensity in his gaze was beginning to make me jumpy. Not a good sign. And my still making eye contact with him probably made it worse.
I blinked. Once, twice. Right, I was suppose to look elsewhere.
I dragged my gaze away from him, down to my bandaged right hand.
“Yah,” I said, looking up at him to see that he still looked at me with that intensity in his eyes. I held my right hand up for him to see—not that he needed to see it, since he had the same treatment as well. His right hand was also bandaged. “What—how did this happen?”
His eyes lingered on me for a while longer before it went to my hand.
“That,” he said, taking a seat in the chair beside the bed, “happened because I had gone to the school as soon as the earthquake had hit.” It feels nice to know he wasn't thinking of me the least bit. I mean, we're linked and all, doesn't he worry if I got killed and he got dragged along as well? Or, it could've been the other way around. “I went to their class and the door was jammed, so I smashed the window to get in.”
“You hadn't expected the issue with wooden ceiling?” I asked him with a chuckle of my own. He angled his head, looking at me like I had lost my mind.
Maybe I have, since I found it that even his glare looked good on him.
“Do you know how dangerous your little stunt was?” he asked. I did not like the newly formed choler in his voice.
“My stunt?” I asked him, trying to get a grip of myself and my brain and voice and thoughts.
“Driving in an earthquake?” he listed with raised eyebrows and dark beautiful eyes aimed at me. “Entering a school that was falling apart? Climbing through vents as they slowly fell apart? Throwing yourself down ten feet?” I should probably mention that he got more furious as he listed the stupid things I did. Especially when he reached the final one. “Running back into a classroom as the ceiling caved in? And you did all this with a torn up and bloody hand, wearing—”
He stopped. I KNEW what I was wearing, too. He needn't have said it. I was aware of everything he had listed as well.
My voice returned. My stupid thoughts were held back. My brain was finally on my side again.
He had no right to be mad at me.
“Yes,” I said, surprised to hear the ire in my voice. I don't recall ever being this mad at him, or anyone I've had an actual conversation with before. “Driving in an earthquake is stupid. Entering a school as it fell apart is stupid. Climbing through vents as they slowly fell apart is stupid. Everything else you listed that I had done is stupid as well.”
My eyes narrowed at him. He didn't seem bothered by my anger at all. In fact, he just looked at me with half raised eyebrows as I spoke. And with my next couple of sentences at the tip of my tongue, there was no way I was holding back.
“But, you know what?” I went on. “Have you ever thought of my reasons behind it all? Behind every stupid action is a reason—no matter how stupid the reason is. My reasons weren't so hard to predict either. I'd have thought you'd figure out my reasons by now.” Why was my brain now taking over half my words? It sounded like I was talking about something completely different. It didn't sound like I was talking about the earthquake anymore. Uh-oh.
His intense gaze on me never faltered. It was beginning to tear me apart. I felt a quiver catch in my throat.
“I didn't do it to be a hero,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “I didn't do it because I lost my mind. I don't care about what would've happen to me. Damn it, YoungBae, I just wished for the safety of everyone else!” Was I yelling? “I just wanted those lives to be saved! God, YOU of all people should know that I would risk my life alone to save innocent ones!”
I stopped myself and looked down at my bandaged hand. I took in a slow quivering breath—that I hoped he didn't hear. Then I went on again, calmer, quieter. Just above a whisper, actually. “I was worried, okay? Yes, my actions were stupid, but I acted on impulse. I had to save my only cousin and Lily. I had to save those people.” I looked up from my hand, meeting his gaze that I doubt ever left me. He was expressionless. I couldn't read into his face at all.
“I don't want to think about what would've happened to you guys in that classroom,” I spoke again, a tad louder, “if I hadn't made it on time. So if you think I was stupid for risking my life against all odds, so be it. I'm willing to be stupid as long as no one else is injured.”
His gaze broke off mine as if he had been burned. And he shoved himself out of his seat so fast, I jumped, my head getting dizzy again.
“Congratulations,” he spoke, not sounding like he meant it at all. Probably because, well, he didn't. “You had your wish granted. Everyone else is safe. You happened to be the only one injured, if that's something to be proud of.”
I caught on to his tone as soon as he finished his sentence. Anger.
Then he left, closing the door behind him. I didn't know what to think. That was our first big argument. I've never argued with anyone before. I didn't like this feeling in my chest either—or my rapidly pounding heart. So to distract my thoughts, I assured myself that he wasn't mad. If he was, he would've slammed the door, right?
Somehow, I didn't believe myself.
“Noona...” I heard Kenny's voice, and sat up to see him poking his head into the room. Beside him was Lily who was still crying.
“Noona,” Kenny said again with what sounded to be a stuffy nose.
Then it struck me.
I had gone back into the classroom to save Kenny from the ceiling that caved in. Was he alright?
“Kenny,” I said. “Are you okay?”
He nodded, but Lily was the only one that stepped into the room. After stifling her tears, turned to look back at him and grabbed his hand, pulling him in after her. “Unni not mad.”
And that made it clear the reason why he hadn't stepped into the room. The reason there was a quiver in his voice. He thought I'd be mad at him.
“You're not hurt?” I asked him as Lily dragged him over to the bedside, beside me and the monitor screen that was monitoring my heartbeats/rate.
“No,” Kenny said, shaking his head, still looking at me like he was about to cry any moment now.
“Kenny,” I laughed, reaching for him and Lily, I pulled them into a quick hug because my back hurt from leaning over. Then I noticed that my back and ribs felt incredibly tight. “I'm not mad at you, okay?”
“Told you,” Lily turned to Kenny and pinched his cheeks with a smile. He smiled, the first of the evening, then I noticed that they were holding hands.
“Huh.” I said, looking right at their hands.
“Unni,” Lily said, as I looked up from their hands to see her holding out her necklace I had bought her—the same one Kenny also wore. “It say Lily. And Kenny.”
I tried to restrain myself from laughing. I really did, but it came out anyways. I laughed. She had actually found out. So had Kenny, who looked at her and smiled, her hand still in his, and she smiled in return.
Well, they certainly got THEIR happy ending.
I'm jealous.
“I-I'm sorry, Noona,” said Kenny, turning to me with his apologetic puppy eyes. “I-I-I.”
He turned around and took off his backpack that I hadn't known he had on. Then he reached into it and pulled out a piece of paper.
Kenny held it out to me with shaking hands. I gave him a smile as I accepted the paper.
It wasn't a piece of paper.
It was a piece of art. The finest piece of art I've ever laid eyes on.
Never say a child can't draw, because Kenny proved it wrong.
There was no single white area on the paper except for the center of the heart he had drawn at the bottom right corner. It was a picture of—what I recognized right away as—YoungBae and I, that day at the park when we had taken Kenny. That exact moment after I had fallen off the swing and YoungBae had caught me.
It wasn't finely sketched with details. Wasn't perfect. But I loved it. Somehow, someway, Kenny had managed to capture the moment—that very beautiful moment: Him, smiling and standing beside YoungBae who had me in his arms. YoungBae had a smirk on his face—Kenny even caught YoungBae's sexy, sexy smirk—and I looked...flushed.
That was exactly how I remembered it.
“Kenny,” I looked up from the drawing and he gasped.
“Noona, don't cry!”
Reaching up, I touched my face and realized that I was crying. The thought of such a beautiful picture, that perfect moment...then the remembrance of my fight with YoungBae earlier... It was hard to hold in.
I laughed, wiping the tears away.
“Kenny,” I pulled him into a hug again, and Lily—who was crying and smiling—as well. “Its beautiful, Kenny.”
He laughed, his cheery laugh, as I let go of them. “Guess who the guy is.”
“Kenny,” I laughed, then said sarcastically, “I have no idea who he is.”
“Really?” Lily looked up at me. “He look like YoungBae!”
I laughed again, surprised that she had managed to say his name correctly. Kenny, of course—seeing how he gave her a big smile, was probably the one that taught her how the say his name.
Turning the subject away from YoungBae, I asked, “This was why you ran back inside the room?”
His face turned a light pink, and my question had been answered before he spoke. “Y-yeah. I want to give you it.”
I gave him another smile, and upon seeing it, he smiled in return.
It was his smile and Lily's that reassured my thoughts.
I didn't care what YoungBae said. I don't care what he thought. My risking my life—well, technically, our lives, since we're linked and all—was more than worth it. Whether it had been for the safety of those people, the smiles on the faces I loved, or simply for the beautiful artwork I received. It was worth it.