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The moment of relaxation after tirelessly working is a thrilling moment: a deep sensation of being to rest, an active enjoyment of indulging in hobbies, the satisfaction of having the time to enjoy a good meal. An appreciation of the small, important things in life. It was one of Choi’s favorite parts of a mission— the night after, when his mind can stop working and his body can wind down and he can finally relax and fully indulge in a moment of doing absolutely nothing, with no pressing concerns or looming matters.
He doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt that way. The night after Jisan village, perhaps, when he was confident Kim Soleum would quickly leave the marble prison, only for his unease and guilt to grow by the day, then the hour. Or maybe it was when they found Soleum again months later; even if things hadn’t been perfect, being together means being able to work together, so he was able to relax a little.
Whether or not that relaxation was the same as before Jisan Village, Choi wouldn’t be able to say. He’s not even sure he remembers what it’s like to relax. He was searching for information in the Bureau, then Soleum left a letter to disappear, then came back, but then Jaekwan was gone, and then they were both gone, and—
And now, Choi is left with the uncertainty of not knowing. There must be things he can do aside from the basics, but he doesn’t know what. He keeps an eye on information channels, searches for more places of information, runs through his drills so he doesn’t lose his edge despite it being weeks since the last time he went into a ghost story. It becomes a routine, so subtly exhausting that Choi can tell he’s burning out only because he’s used to keeping tabs on himself. He sets a timer to remind himself to eat. He has melatonin to help himself sleep.
He takes care of his juniors.
These past few years, it’s one of the things he’s most proud of. Choi’s seniors would cry if they could see him now. He used to be the one doing reckless things, jumping into rescue missions at any chance, so set on saving he forget about maintaining. Back then, he would find protein bars in his pockets, food left for him at his desk, candies popped into his mouth before he could say no.
“Rookie, come here, come here. Let your seniors take you for a meal. Aish, what do you mean you want to look over the manual? You can do that later! Right now, it’s more important to eat!”
“—— -ie is so enthusiastic, he’s taking all the jobs. Let me take this one, ——. Otherwise, what am I being paid for? Let this senior show off, ‘kay?”
“—— -ah, listen to me. Listen carefully. Take a bite. Chew. Mhm. Now swallow. Heh, what, did you think I was going to give you scold you or give combat instructions? If you choke and die, you’re not useful to anyone. Slow down. You have time.”
He doesn’t remember their names or faces, but he remembers being taken care of. The fast-learning, enthusiastic, overzealous rookie, being made to rest. If your life isn’t in immediate danger, rest and recuperate. If you can’t rest well, eat something. If you can’t eat well, drink a bit of water and breathe. Before he realized it, Choi had become a master at resting. Even without his seniors there, he knows how to rest, and can take of other people, too. For example, he knows that Soleum doesn’t tend to eat and doesn’t sleep well, and that Jaekwan forgets to drink water and loses time easily when he’s too focused.
Choi does all of that, too. Or, well, he used to; he can’t exactly be a good senior if he’s not setting a good example, right? So he’s become better at keeping track of time, better at having water on hand, and better at remembering to eat. Most of all, he’s become better at keeping track of other people. He leaves a protein bar on Soleum’s desk before leaving work, because he knows Soleum doesn’t eat breakfast in the morning. He nudges a water bottle to Jaekwan when talking to him, because he knows Jaekwan will obediently drink if quietly requested to.
Choi’s life is filled with details like that. He knows that Soleum is better at paperwork than Jaekwan, and he maybe even enjoys certain types of paperwork. They both write formally, but Jaekwan is more concise and Soleum adds more details. Soleum appears to be more friendly than Jaekwan, but is actually more distant with people. Both of them work more than they rest. Neither of them have many hobbies. Among those few hobbies, he knows that Jaekwan listens to the same few music artists over and over, or that Soleum watches children’s cartoons when scared but is drawn to mysteries and thrillers when he’s not.
Choi wishes he could relate to either of those hobbies, if only to have something in common or another conversational topic on hand. But his thoughts are loud enough that he prefers silence when he can, and he’s restless enough that he finds it difficult to sit still through some show or other, especially when the plots are easy to guess.
But, it’s okay! That’s what conversation are for, isn’t it? Jaekwan is sometimes willing to play a favored song for Choi to listen to. As for Soleum…well, Choi always hoped that one day, Soleum would be comfortable enough to talk about his interests to them.
It doesn’t seem like that will happen any time soon.
If anything, the next time they talk, Choi will hopefully be the one talking about their interests to them. In fact, he’s counting on it, considering how much effort he’s put into keeping up with their hobbies on their behalf. When they wake up— no doubt stressed and exhausted and on edge—, Choi will be able to say things like ‘hey, that artist released a few albums, I think you’ll really like this one’ or ‘that series ended well; it was interesting! Want to do a watch party?’. And then they can ease back into everyday life, take some time to relax and indulge in what they enjoy, and appreciate the things that make life more fulfilling.
To be honest, the task had first seemed daunting. The artists Jaekwan is a fan of have been around for decades; the shows Soleum are into have multitudes of seasons. Isn’t that way too much for a newbie to get into it, especially on an unknown time limit? Choi would stress over the sheer amount, scold himself for stressing, try to set a schedule, scold himself for that, and semi-anxiously consume the first few items while thinking of the rest he has to get through.
But at a certain point, it became easy to catch up. He listens to Jaekwan’s music while exercising and traveling. He watches Soleum’s show while cooking and doing stakeouts. Maybe an hour each day for both, but as the days pass, it piles up. An album is released, and then a concert that Jaekwan isn’t able to go to. A new season of the show releases, finishes, and the next season announced. Eventually, Choi catches up. Eventually, there’s nothing else that Choi can do for them.
Somehow, Choi starts repeating the process again.
It’s more because of his juniors than the actual material. He thinks about the two of them, wondering if they reacted the way Choi thinks they would, or picturing them slowly relaxing; Jaekwan listening to music while riding a biked or Soleum watching a children’s cartoon to calm down after a scary disaster. He thinks of them, and mimics them, and it helps. So he does it again.
He knows, logically, that it probably isn’t healthy. Aren’t there too many horror stories about being caught on the past? And here he is, partaking in hobbies that he doesn’t have a particular fondness for, all because it reminds him of people he has no control over seeing again. Just describing it, it sounds unhealthy. But it helps ease his anxiety, so even though there’s nothing new, he listens again, and watches again, until he probably knows them better than his juniors do. They’re going to shocked the next time they talk to him, maybe even a little concerned. Well. Probably a little concerned.
For all that Choi does his best to keep up good habits and take care of himself, he can tell that he’s worsening. Such a thing is common in his line of work, but he never expected it to happen outside of a disaster, and in such a slow, gradual, agonizing way.
For all that Choi has relied upon his memory, now he’s writing things obsessively. He has notes everywhere in his pockets, just in case his memory slips; he’s always reaching for things, so even if he forgets for a while, he’ll eventually pull out a reminder. It was more useful in the beginning, when he had a thousand daily things to do and he didn’t have the mental space to remember to think about his juniors all the time. Now, it’s more of a habit.
For all that Choi has relied upon his memory, it has historically made him prone to nightmares. He dreams of rooms so cold it hurts to breathe, and sound of blood rushing in his ears. He dreams of scared faces and desperate expressions and bodies he had to turn away from. He dreams of a group of seniors, warm and encouraging and reliable, but their faces are indistinguishable, and they fade away, leaving him alone.
These days, he tends to dream of his current, daily life. He dreams of the days passing, music and shows playing in the background, the sky brightening and darkening as he leaves and comes back. He dreams of the taste of egg porridge, dreams of a burner stove in a dark cave and the now-ingrained process of a singular dish.
He dreams of taking care of his juniors until one day, suddenly, he notices they’re not breathing more. Sometimes, he notices immediately, a change in the atmosphere or a bad gut instinct making him check, and he can tell their chests aren’t moving anymore. Other times, he leaves the cave early in the morning and comes back late at night, and sometime in the between— or maybe since before he left— they’ve stopped breathing. The worst times is when he doesn’t notice for days, keeping an eye on unoccupied bodies and not noticing they’re dead until he goes to clean them, and he doesn’t feel a pulse.
In these dreams, Choi is always shocked awake the moment he realizes. It’s never a peaceful awakening; he’d wake up scared, cold sweating from fear, his head dizzy from the rush. Worst of all, his heart would be beating too loudly to hear their breathing, so he’d have to get up and check. As the days went on, the dream went further. He’d stop waking up right away, and the image of those corpses is more gruesome than they have to be; when he notices, in those dreams, their bodies rot all at once, leaving him with the smell of rot and egg porridge.
On those nights, he’d wake up with, his heart beating always too quickly, and have to vomit.
It’s unrealistic, as dreams tend to be. Choi is too observant to ever miss something like that, and he cleans their bodies often enough that he’d notice long before they’d rot. Yet, anxiety, as it tends to do, creeps up on him. Before leaving, he checks their warmth and breathing. Before putting his things down, he checks their warmth and breathing. Before sleeping, he checks their warmth and breathing. While trying to sleep, he ends up just lying there, staring at the cave ceiling. He used to sleep closer to the cave entrance but now he lies between his juniors. To hear their breathing properly, even his mind has to be quiet. So he stops thinking, stops moving, and breathes with them.
Really, it’s quite meditative. Not relaxing, but forcibly meditative.
Choi wonders if it’s the closest he’ll get to relaxing ever again.