In Grief: A Blogsary Short

i.

The twins deal with their grief in different, varying ways.

Hae-jin expresses her remorse online, through Twitter and Instagram. What follows is a sequence of memories; different unseen, filtered images as well as short videos lasting five seconds but meaning the world. After the memories and the tweets, she tells that she would stay off social media for as long as she needed.

            @HJinnies: need a break from social media for a bit. i promise that i’ll come back soon. it’s what’s needed at the moment. hope you all understand. <3

Thankfully, the fans gave the space she needed. Hae-jin was seen much less after that; there wasn’t much media on her nor was there any reports on her brother. Most of the time, the two stayed either indoors or hanging around Eun-seok. They continued going to work, but the atmosphere and their mood was obviously subdued. She wore darker clothing, laughed less, and her smile was a bit dimmer, lacking its usual shine.

She stayed with Hae-won more, and they relied on each other until they were sure they were ready to start moving in the right direction.

(But they weren’t sure—no one really was sure whether they were ready.)

All throughout, it was Hae-won worrying about Hae-jin. He saw her posts, retweeted them, supported like the proud and protective brother he was. It was the most he’d been active on social media, and when fans tried to swamp him, he simply shot out a quick post asking for some kind of privacy.

            @SongHW: Hae-jin and I need privacy and space right now. Please give us at least that. That’s all we’re asking from everyone. Thank you. // HW

That set another argument amongst fans, but Hae-won found himself wanting to keep away from it. Social media was barely something he cared about at that point; not when Hae-jin was smiling less, Eun-seok wasn’t talking, and Jin-kyong buried herself alone in her apartment, barely reaching out at all.

He heard her crying some nights, all the way in the bedroom. Despite being twins and knowing each other all their lives, he wasn’t quite sure how to approach and how to comfort.

Not when he himself couldn’t even pick up his own pieces.

ii.

Eun-seok works past his grief. The rush was something else entirely; it was a different spark compared to the nearly literal dark clouds that hung over him after finding out what had happened to Soo-yeon.

 Her name tasted bitter in his mouth; memories weren’t any better. Eun-seok avoided transport of any kind, resolved to just walk and block out any background noise with blaring Korean pop in his ears. When he got to work, the whole nine to five would be entirely of work. He’d work, work, keep working until the day ended and he had to go home.

The cycle repeated for weeks.

Eventually the twins caught notice and he protested as they questioned him; Hae-jin had bags under her eyes and looked close to teary while Hae-won stared him dead in the eye with his arms folded over his chest. “Don’t do this to yourself,” the male twin snapped. “If you think that it’s the best option, then you’re just being selfish.”

(If there was anything Eun-seok learned from being friends with him, it was that he knew how to make the words cut and sting the most. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. It never was.)

“It’s not healthy for you,” Hae-jin spoke in a quiet voice. “Please, Eun-eun. I don’t think she’d want any of us—for you—to be in this kind of state.”

Eun-seok was unable to say anything and merely slumped down against the seat. He heard Hae-won sigh and eventually he felt a tug at his wrist. Hae-jin spoke, “Let’s just go out and eat? Please? This isn’t going to help,” she asked, pleaded, and he heard a tremble in her voice.

That was unsettling. Hae-jin never cried. Before her brother could even spit out yet another painful statement, Eun-seok quickly agreed and told them to lead the way.

They talked about it eventually, the grief. He listened to the twins first before adding his own words, and they bonded—somehow—over multiple servings of cake and cups of mixed beverage.

At first, he felt a little happy that there was some kind of recovery. That Soo-yeon’s name wasn’t received with a flinch anymore, but—

He remembered Jin-kyong.

iii.

Unlike the rest of them, she managed to become a shut-in.

Nothing helped, if she was going to be honest. To make matters worse, aside from having to grieve and grieve inside where the two of them used to whisper and laugh, Jin-kyong had to recount the memories of That Night to two people who were working on the “case”. That’s what they had called it. The two of them had somehow managed to take something tragic and reduce it to paperwork that would simply be left behind in a folder to be stuffed somewhere.

She couldn’t go back, not yet. She received texts, offers of jobs. Interviews about her. Invitations to go back and live as if Soo-yeon was still there even though she wasn’t.

Jin-kyong knew that the world still spun even despite the absence of her best friend, but she wouldn’t take that, not at all.

After all, Soo-yeon was—

            Her friend

           

            Her roommate

            Her confidant

            Her sister

            Her almost

—and suddenly, nothing. Just a body buried six feet below, adorned with flowers and tears on the surface.

So she stuck herself inside the apartment, buried herself underneath the sheets, and refused to come out unless necessary. Dust began to gather in Soo-yeon’s room. The door remained closed. She knew that if she entered, then the smell of her friend’s favorite perfume would still be lingering in the air.

It didn’t help either that she knew Soo-yeon’s sheets were still unmade. Soo-yeon never made her bed, didn’t really give a shit about that kind of thing.

It was dark inside the apartment, dark and cold and she was a wreck, Jin-kyong felt so goddamn alone. The text messages and invitations stopped eventually. Her phone died eventually. The world spun on, but all she could do was to mourn and grieve and remain.

It takes a while until Eun-seok decides to take matters into his own hands. His intrusion is met with protest, screams, emotion. She hurls something at him; he dodges. The object shatters on the wall. It’s enough to get her to break for the nth time in days and she doesn’t want to admit it, but Eun-seok’s embrace and Eun-seok’s whispers almost felt like before.

Hae-jin and Hae-won appear, too. They do their best. They try to bandage. They flutter about, trying to fill in the missing space in Jin-kyong’s chest.

But it’s not the same and they know, they know.

She admits this one night to Eun-seok. “I miss her,” she croaks. She feels the familiar burn from behind her eyes. In the past, she would have ignored it, but now, giving in seems like the better option.

“I miss her, too.”

She can’t help it. “You don’t understand,” Jin-kyong whispers next. “None of you understand what I had with her.”

A beat from Eun-seok, then a sigh. “We don’t,” he agrees. “Which makes this all the more even harder to deal with and accept.”

(It’s cruel and selfish and everything in between.)