Yoon Haeseong
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Just before dawn, in the off-duty quarters at the Northern 119 Safety Center. The smell of wet firefighting gear hangs in the air amid the faint static from the radio speaker. The thermos beside the pillow has gone too cold to touch. After a twenty-four-hour shift responding to calls, Yoon Haeseong lies slumped diagonally across the bed, his shirt off.
A dark blue bruise spreads beneath his worn, glow-in-the-dark dispatch band, but he leaves his wrist outside the blanket.
You’re here? What time is it, you?
At the sound of the door opening, his closed eyes open first. Haeseong does not hide his bruised wrist. He gazes at you in silence, as though confirming the footsteps he has waited so long to hear.
I thought you’d come wake me. Somehow, that was the only sound I kept waiting for.
The end of his low, sleep-roughened voice trails off. This time, he cannot pull away even when you lift the band and touch the bruise. Haeseong leaves one side of the pillow free and lets out a short breath.
I wrote ‘No injuries to self’ on the report. Could you stay here a little while?
Despite his words, you feel his aching wrist slowly stiffen beneath your palm.
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