D Minus Chapter 2

Author: nicotine

Annoyance surged within Hajin. He wondered why he had expected any manners from the man. Frustrated, Hajin threw the dishcloth and turned on the faucet full blast, making a racket as he washed the dishes. Every few seconds, a sigh escaped him.

“I said I’d do it. You’re so impatient.”

“When are you planning to do it? Who does today’s dishes tomorrow?”

“Right here.”

The man approached and unceremoniously shoved Hajin’s shoulder, causing him to stumble and water to splash everywhere. Hajin, now unexpectedly doused, glared at the man with fierce eyes.

“What are you staring at?”

“…Ugh.”

“Move. I’ll do the dishes now, okay?”

Pushing Hajin aside with his large frame, the man began washing the dishes with bare hands, scrubbing rice-encrusted plates and trays stained with chili flakes with his fingers. People should use tools effectively, Hajin thought, as he watched the man scrub with his fingers. Hajin, still wearing pink gloves, couldn’t help but snicker.

“Is this your first time doing the dishes?”

“No.”

“Do you always do them without gloves?”

“Gloves? You’re wearing them.”

“Huh…”

It was absurd, but Hajin had no retort. His earlobes burning, he quickly took off the pink gloves and handed them to the man.

“I’m done, what for?”

“Don’t you use dish soap?”

“Water cleans it.”

“Oil doesn’t come off with just water. That’s filthy, really…”

Hajin wasn’t one to enjoy insulting others, but the man seemed to bring out the worst in him. Muttering harsh words unconsciously, Hajin glanced at the man, but he continued washing dishes, seemingly unfazed.

“Move. I’ll do it.”

It looked like he’d have to redo everything from scratch. Greasy dishes were being put back into the cupboard. If not dried, they’d start to smell, indicating the man lacked even the most basic knowledge. Hajin pushed his shoulder like the man had done earlier. The man’s solid body didn’t budge.

“I’m done.”

“Huh… Washing dishes like that will make them smell.”

“Then how should I do it?”

“The dish soap is right there. You need to use it, rinse, and then dry them.”

Although he’d only been teaching for a couple of years, it seemed old habits died hard. Hajin, arms crossed, spoke sternly like he was instructing a student. The man, about to place the last rinsed spoon into the cutlery holder, paused and looked back.

“You should’ve told me earlier. I’m done now.”

“Ah…!”

Scolding him seemed more appropriate. But as always, the man defied expectations. He took all the wet dishes he’d stacked in the cupboard and put them back in the sink, squirting dish soap directly onto his bare hands. Hajin, momentarily stunned, watched as the man lathered his hands before reaching out to stop him just as he picked up the first dish.

“Here’s the sponge. Why are you putting soap on your hands?”

“Oh.”

Again, the man complied without protest. He took the green sponge Hajin indicated and squirted dish soap on it before starting the second round of washing. Hajin, gaping, didn’t know what to say and just stood there, dumbfounded. It wasn’t until the dishes were done that he shouted.

“Are you crazy? What are you doing?”

“Why?”

While Hajin had been momentarily distracted, the man had started washing his face with the leftover dish soap. Hajin, regaining his senses, slapped the man’s back in shock. The man, face covered in foam, turned to him with a furrowed brow.

“Why are you hitting me?”

“Why are you washing your face with that? Are you insane?”

“Stop nagging…”

The man’s patience finally seemed to snap. Shaking off Hajin’s light slaps, he vigorously washed his face, splashing water everywhere, and dried it with his T-shirt. That wasn’t his sleepwear but his outdoor clothes…

Hajin’s eyes lost focus. He couldn’t understand the man. The man opened his mouth to speak, but Hajin, not wanting to hear it, turned and headed for his room. He resolved to avoid the man as much as possible in the future.

“Hey.”

He heard the man call as he reached for the doorknob but didn’t look back, slamming the door behind him. The loud slam ensured he didn’t hear the man’s last words.

“Thanks for cooking.”

Perhaps it would’ve been better if he’d heard it.

***

“300 million…”

After ending the call, Hajin sat in the rocking chair, closed his eyes, and sighed. The insurance payout upon his death was 300 million won. The problem with death benefits was simple. What good were they after he was gone? No parents, no wife, no children. He didn’t even have friends.

So who would get the enormous sum of 300 million won in exchange for his life? That was the problem. Likely, some distant relative who’d never contacted him would get a pleasant surprise for the new year. The fact that there was no one to give the money to saddened him more than the reality that he didn’t have much time left to live.

Bang. Bang bang.

Just as Hajin’s eyelids grew heavy, a rude knock echoed through the house. He was annoyed that he couldn’t even indulge in his melancholy. He hadn’t seen the man’s face for nearly ten days thanks to his efforts to avoid him, but today, those efforts failed. He couldn’t understand why the man was knocking when he knew the passcode, but Hajin had long given up on understanding him. With a heavy sigh, he opened the door.

“Don’t you know the pass…”

“Open up quickly. I almost died.”

“What? What happened? What the…?”

Hajin’s eyes widened in shock. As soon as he opened the door, the man, as large as a bear, collapsed into his arms. To be precise, he fell onto him. Normally, Hajin would have pushed him away, asking what he was doing, but now he couldn’t. The pungent smell emanating from him was blood, and his white T-shirt was stained red. With trembling hands, Hajin closed the door and helped the man inside.

“I’m calling 119. Hold on…”

“No, don’t.”

“Let go! You’re injured!”

“Don’t call them. They’ll catch me.”

“What did you say…?”

The man, miraculously still alive, had enough strength to snatch Hajin’s phone. Hajin’s heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst out of his throat. He had vaguely suspected the man was a gangster, and now it seemed true. Living under the same roof with him had been a brave act, he realized now. The man, noticing Hajin’s wide-eyed gaze, smirked and pointed to his room.

“Open the closet. There’s a box with a red cross. Bring it here.”

His voice was growing weaker. Fearing he might die, Hajin quickly did as he was told. For the first time, he entered the man’s room, which was empty except for a cheap bed, a built-in wardrobe, and a desk.

“No time to dwell on that now.” Hajin quickly opened the closet and retrieved the first aid kit. The man was sitting on the floor, leaning against the sofa, clutching his side and breathing heavily.

“Did you get stabbed?”

“How did you know?”

“Does that matter?”

Despite his disdain, Hajin had no intention of discriminating against anyone in such a situation. He removed the man’s hand and lifted his ruined shirt. Sure enough, blood was gushing from a long wound the length of a finger. The blood had clotted in some areas, forming a jelly-like consistency. Hajin covered his mouth with a trembling hand. He had only seen such things in movies.

“I told you, dying isn’t a big deal.”

“Stop saying nonsense!”

Hajin’s tone turned informal in his frustration. The more the man laughed, the more blood flowed. Hajin retrieved a dishcloth from the kitchen and shoved it into the man’s mouth. He would have preferred a towel, but he was just as panicked. Fortunately, the man bit down on the smelly cloth without complaint.

“Damn!”

Hajin cursed loudly as he opened the first aid kit. It contained only a small green ointment and a pack of multi-purpose bandages. The man, lying exhausted on the floor, picked up the crumpled bandage box.

“Use the biggest one. The square one. It fits perfectly.”

“What kind of nonsense…”

“Used it all?”

The man seemed to treat ‘death’ as if it were nothing. Hajin, despite knowing the gravity of the situation, stared blankly at him for a moment. The man’s face, despite the copious blood loss, showed no trace of fear.

“Oh, I must’ve used it all last time. Use three of these long ones instead…”

He wanted Hajin to cover the gaping wound with three bandages. Hajin, chuckling at the absurdity, pressed the man’s chest and pushed him down. Then he went to his room and grabbed his car keys. The man’s eyes followed him.

“We’re going to the hospital, so be ready.”

“We can’t go to the hospital.”

“Getting arrested is better than dying. If you don’t go, I’ll report you.”

Hajin’s voice was icy and resolute, leaving no room for argument. The man, scrubbing his wound with the dirty cloth he’d bitten on, chuckled sincerely.

“Not the police.”

“…What?”

“If I get caught this time, I’ll really die. They said they’d slice me up.”

“…What?”

“I’ve been in this situation before. The bandages will heal it.”

More likely to die from infection than blood loss, the man thought.

What had Hajin eaten for lunch? Pork kimchi stew, and he had cleaned the table with that cloth. Although he had washed it, it wasn’t clean. The man pressed the yellow cloth against his wound, groaning softly. Hajin realized he was far more dangerous than he had imagined. This was D-163.

***

“Did you get stabbed?”

“…Yes. It just happened.”

The elderly doctor’s expression was unusually serious. Although Hajin had found the largest hospital in the area, it was still rural. The man, lying on the examination bed, tapped his legs against the mattress, showing no signs of learning from his pain. The doctor, frowning as he examined the wound, questioned the man.

“How did you get stabbed?”

“…It’s a long story.”

The answer came from an unexpected person. Hajin, who had reluctantly lent his name, glared at the man who had begun to doze off and answered in his place. The doctor’s eyes, filled with suspicion, were sharp behind his glasses.

“Hey, wake up?”

Hajin never imagined he would be knocking on the man’s door at seven in the morning. Holding a tray with a steaming bowl and spoon, Hajin sighed deeply and knocked a couple more times. From inside came a groggy response.

“Eat your porridge.”

“Porridge?”

“You need to eat before taking your medicine.”

“Did you make it?”

Without answering the follow-up question, Hajin placed the low table on the bed. The man tried to get up as if to come down, but Hajin stubbornly set the bowl on the table. He tried to stay calm in front of the patient, but his frustration kept spilling out in sighs. He had moved here to spend his remaining days in peace, but it was all in vain.

“They said you should eat thin porridge right after surgery. Don’t expect it to taste good.”

“Oh. It really doesn’t taste good.”

The man grimaced and stuck out his tongue, making Hajin feel foolish for waking up early to make the porridge. Watching the man eat the porridge with a variety of exaggerated expressions, Hajin closed his eyes tightly and pressed his temples. The unjust feeling of being a caregiver was overwhelming him.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“…What?”

“They say you don’t have long to live. What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?”

The man, having emptied his bowl, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and asked. It was a poorly timed question. Hajin, seeing the empty bowl, silently cleaned up. He placed the small table under the bed and put the water cup and bowl back on the tray.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Why do you care?”

His voice was excessively irritated. His fingers trembled as they gripped the tray. He had known the man was rude, but he hadn’t expected him to be so tactless as to ask such a question to someone waiting to die. The man shrugged as if he didn’t care about Hajin’s annoyance.

“Can’t I be curious?”

“Are you really that interested in why someone’s dying?”

“No. I’m just curious about what kind of disease it is.”

Hajin let out a bitter laugh. He put the tray back on the table and brushed his bangs away, glaring at the man. It was the first time he had properly met the man’s gaze, and with all the anger swirling inside him, he felt nothing else.

“Stomach cancer. I have less than six months. Happy now?”

“Stomach cancer…”

Though the man couldn’t possibly find someone else’s disease interesting, he rolled his eyes, seemingly chewing over the diagnosis. Only then did Hajin see his eyes clearly. Distracted by the deep scars, Hajin hadn’t noticed before that his eyes were a very light brown—almost out of place in their lightness.

“Hey.”

“What now?”

He had no reason to be this angry, but he was in a particularly bad mood today. Hajin swatted away the man’s hand as he reached out, glaring at him. The man’s slightly dejected face filled his view. Now that he had noticed, he couldn’t unsee the light brown eyes. Hajin lowered his head and sighed shortly, adding in a whisper.

“Sorry. I’m just on edge.”

“Hey. Isn’t stomach cancer something that can be operated on?”

The man didn’t seem to care about Hajin’s irritation. He asked seriously, and Hajin scoffed. It was almost like he was being mocked.

“You think it’s that easy?”

Suggesting surgery to a terminal cancer patient showed a severe lack of tact. Hajin looked the man up and down with a disdainful glance before standing up with a muttered “take your medicine and sleep.” The man reached out and grabbed Hajin’s wrist. Hajin’s eyebrows shot up.

“Do you want my stomach?”

“…What?”

“I have a clean liver. I don’t smoke or drink much. I’m big, too.”

“…What?”

Hajin’s expression grew complex as he stood by the bed, bewildered by the man’s nonsensical words.

“You know, nowadays, they can do organ transplants.”

“Hah…”

“I don’t need it. You can take my stomach and sell the rest. It’ll fetch a good price.”

“Are you out of your mind…?”

There were limits to jokes. Hajin, having patiently listened, now stared coldly at the man. He wasn’t particularly attached to life, but the fear of death was universal. He felt resentment towards his diagnosis and the thought of his approaching end. The man spoke lightly about the terrifying disease. It wasn’t anger that filled him but disbelief, making him laugh bitterly.

“Find out how long the surgery takes. I have some things to do, but I can give it to you in two months.”

But the man’s expression was dead serious. Staring into those marbled eyes, Hajin lifted one corner of his mouth.

“Can you live without a stomach?”

“How could you live without a stomach?”

“Then how do you plan to give it to me?”

“I’m serious. Just wait two months. Then you can have it.”

“What about you then?”

“I can die. I’m going to die anyway.”

The end of the conversation felt strange. There was no deceit in his eyes, which Hajin had been looking into for quite some time. Hajin bit his lip and clasped his hands behind his back to hide their trembling.

“We’ve known each other for less than a month.”

“So?”

“How can you so easily talk about giving away your organs or selling them to someone you just met?”

Hajin’s previously sharp voice softened considerably. Noticing the subtle change, the man smirked slightly.

“You cooked for me. Twice.”

“Twice?”

“Today, and before, with the tofu.”

“Oh…”

Hajin remembered shoving the man’s hand away, wearing a grimace. He realized it hadn’t been necessary. A sense of guilt began to creep up on him.

“So, cooking for you makes me worthy of your organs?”

“It’s not that. You’re the first person to cook for me.”

“…”

“I don’t have money or anything else, but my organs are fine. It’s the least I can give.”

“…”

“You cooked for me.”

Strangely, the man’s previously detestable casual smile didn’t seem as irritating anymore. Even stranger was the way Hajin’s eyes were welling up with tears. It made him think of how he had once laughed bitterly about having no one to leave his 300 million won insurance to. Here was a man offering his organs to someone who cooked for him, while Hajin was planning to leave his money to a relative he couldn’t even remember.

“Lie down. I need to check if you’re bleeding.”

Avoiding eye contact, Hajin, whose eyes were bloodshot, gently laid the man down. The man, propped up against the bed, pressed down on the bandages around his abdomen and assured him, “I’m fine.” Hajin rummaged through the scattered medicine packets on the green desk, found the one labeled “morning,” and brought it over to the bed.

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nicotine

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Comments (2)

  1. idk what to say after the scene with disp soap…

  2. although i like that he’s kind to animal, my heart melted