Chapter Text
It is the first time he sees Hwapyung in black.
He is a figure clothed in sorrow, eyes downcast and dim. Agony swirls around him like a hurricane that threatens havoc on anyone who dares to come close.
Hwapyung had been by his side when he lost his brother. Quiet as he sat next to him: a lighthouse in the center of a vicious storm, anchoring Yoon with his presence. A warm hand on his shoulder—I'm here if you need anything.
He should reciprocate.
Instead, he maintains a safe distance. Watches from the corner of his eyes as Hwapyung stands up, legs shaking, and leaves without a word.
He should follow.
He doesn't.
By the time he sets foot on familiar soil, the sky has begun to pale, ushering in the quiet of dusk and closure to a weary day.
The church grounds are always empty at this hour. He takes his time to cross the yard, letting the sound of rustling leaves in wind fill his ears, enjoying the chill of the arriving night against his unclothed skin. It takes his name off his mind, if only for a while.
A sharp sound cuts through the still air. The timing is all wrong. He picks up on the second ring.
"Choi Yoon," Gilyoung's voice filters through the receiver. It's rare for her to address him by full name without title; rarer for her to sound this solemn with him, as if there was ever a need to emphasize the gravity of a situation to him, of all people.
He knows what she's about to say. They only ever call each other for one reason. Still, his heart lurches violently in his ribcage when the words come out of her mouth. "It's Hwapyung."
The static on the other end of the line tells him that she did not have enough time to think of how to best deliver whatever it is she needs to say, only that it is urgent enough that he must know, now. He steadies himself on a brick wall, closes his eyes and waits for her to continue.
"He passed out, shortly after we left him at the cremation hall. I'm with him, at the hospital... he's fine, it's just—"
"Which hospital?" he asks, already crossing the yard in long strides.
"Wait." There's a note in her voice that's equal parts apprehension and warning. His feet pause on the next stone tile. "I don't think that's a good idea. At least, not now."
"Why not?" he bites back, dread filling the pit of his stomach. She must know how much he worries about him. That's all he does in his waking hours. Worry about Yoon Hwapyung.
A stagnant pause on the phone. He hears her breathing, heavy. In the background, faint sounds filter through: distant chatter, heels on smooth laminate. He strains his ear to pick up his voice. Nothing familiar comes through.
"He doesn't remember anything," she confesses, sounding crushed and entirely unlike herself. "Or anyone. He doesn't even remember Park Ildo. Only bits and pieces of his family, from what I've gotten so far. Choi Yoon... he doesn't remember us."
A pull of a grenade pin.
Flash—bang.
The world goes dark.
A voice that's calling through the incessant ringing in his ears.
Choi Yoon. That is his name.
When he opens his eyes, he's on the ground with his legs pulled up to his chest. His phone is inches from him, Gilyoung's distressed voice still echoing from it. With quivering hands, he retrieves the device and breathes, "I'm here. Can you elaborate?"
"It's as I said. He refuses to talk to anyone, only to me when I pulled the badge. He's really not in the best state of mind... confused, scared..." He hears a sharp intake of breath, careful and weighted. "Listen... I think if a priest showed up, he'd go crazy."
He tries to imagine what it'd be like to lose most of his memories and have a shaman visit him. It would be terrifying. Gilyoung is being logical, as always. The words don't sting any less. "Did the doctors say how it could've happened? When his memory will return?"
An exhale, drawn-out. "No... and no. They suspect it's due to grief. He'll be discharged tomorrow since there isn't identifiable injury."
The words spill out of his mouth before he even has the chance to comprehend what he's saying. "I'll stay with him until he gets his memory back."
What?
"What?"
"We can't leave him alone," he reasons, keeping his voice steady. It's the most rational solution. He imagines her wavering on the other end of the line, weighing pros and cons, and hammers it home with language a detective speaks. "He's dangerous, to others and himself. I'll watch over him until he is, at the very least, functional."
"We don't know how he'll react to you..." she retorts, words trailing off at the end. It almost sounds like she's arguing with herself. "Besides, don't you have your duties?"
Duty. To the God he'd swore his life to, the church he'd grew up in. All of them seem awfully far away now.
"I'll take a leave of absence. It's easier for me to do so," he states, putting an end to the conversation. He hears her mouth opening and snapping shut, pictures her pacing around in the way that means: I don't like it, but I don't have a choice.
"You'll let me know first thing if anything happens to him," she says, tone already softening despite trying to sound grave. "Or if he has any visions. Those could be important clues. When you pick him up tomorrow morning, say you're with me. And Choi Yoon..."
He waits, his breathing the only thing keeping time. Alas, she sighs. "Just be careful, okay?"
For a reason he cannot put to words, it sounds like she's not referring to their spirit predicament. "I will."
He hurries back to the church, feeling cold all of a sudden.