Chapter Text
*
Run.
Concrete beneath his feet.
Run.
Adrenaline rushing through his veins.
Run.
Blood buzzing in his ears.
Run.
San had no idea where he was going. He just needed to run. Get oxygen into his lungs. Untangle the knot in his throat and never feel it again. He was aware of the stitches catching on his stomach, but he ignored it and ran. His head was pounding, his vision was clouding and dotting. He was losing the fight against stamina.
Stop, his brain commanded him. So he did. San exhaled heavily, over and over again. He’’d forgotten how to breathe and struggled to learn how to do so. He did not know where he was. He did not care where he was. San took so many random turns when he ran; he was completely lost.
He leaned on the wall behind him and fought for breath, putting a hand on his chest and feeling his racing heart to calm himself down. To San, there was nothing more comforting than the sound of the beating heart of a human being. So he stood and waited for his pulse to return to normal, taking steadying breaths with his eyes closed.
It took a long while for his vision to re-focus and the dots to swim away. San was dehydrated, his lips dry and crusty. He only remembered he was barefoot when he felt something sharp pierce him. In this darkness, he couldn’t see a thing, so he took out his phone and squinted to turn on the flashlight. He didn’t want to waste the battery, but he also needed to see how bad the damage was.
And there was red. Everywhere. On his foot— no, his feet. Both of them were bleeding and cut in so many places. But he was used to it, the blood: he’d seen enough of it to not be afraid of it.
San crouched and took off his small backpack. He’d forgotten what he packed for himself because the truth is, he had prepared this bag maybe three or four months ago. He’d been planning it for a solid two years, and today he proceeded with some action. Whatever he packed, he hoped it was long lasting. Otherwise he’d curse his past self.
There were three bottles of water, a few bags of crisps, a handful of protein bars, a small dumbbell and, of course, his journal and pens. That’s it. Oh, and his phone charger and earphones, though he did not know when and where he would use those. San sighed and closed his bag before hurriedly turning off his flashlight.
Again, he had no idea where he was. He clearly did not think this through enough. Where was he going to stay? Where would he get money from? He couldn’t live on crisps and protein bars. San’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t ever been out on his own. On top of that, he hadn’t really been out out in years. He only went to the grocery store right opposite his house, but even that was occasional. San is very much an outdoor person who was forced to stay indoors.
Overprotective parents equated to a severe lack of freedom. He ran away for that very reason. His parents first demeaned his emotional ease, the way he’d cry so quickly. He’d get slapped every time he’d cry to a point where he had no choice but to begin crafting an elaborate mask to hide under, all for the sake of pleasing his parents who wanted to mold him into the perfect child. Not once in five years has San cried or shown any sort of genuine emotion or affection to the people around him, which was scarce since he made friends quickly only to lose them because they found they didn’t like him.
San was a frozen vessel with ice on his teeth to keep everything glued together.
He wouldn’t let his mask fall. Not ever. He made that oath after creating his veil. That mask alone took two years to create, and a further year to master the art of keeping the thing on. It felt impossible at first, but he grew accustomed to it eventually.
San took a deep breath of the night air. It smelled of fish and a bit of salt from the… is that the sea? San blinked. Just where the hell was he?
He looked around frantically, hoping to see even a single sign to tell him where he was, but there was nothing. The light husk of the moon was enough to tell him that. He was on some sort of isolated lane: no cars, no working street lamps and zero footfall. Apart from San’s panicky breaths, there was not a single other sound.
“Where am I going to go…” San mumbled to himself. He looked down at his feet which were bare outlines in the dark. Getting those cuts washed and covered was his top priority. If he could smell the sea, San was sure he would find water somewhere.
So he began to walk, relying on his sense of smell and touch to walk in a normal fashion. He should pretend he knew where he was going for the sake of his own sanity. Oh, how he’d love to just hole up somewhere and blast Rokudenashi’s “One Voice” with his earphones. It was his top comfort song, along with “Light of Life” by Miyake Rimu. Oh, and of course Demon Slayer’s OST, Kamado Tanjirō no Uta. All three are depressing in some way, but their softness gave San hugs when he needed it most.
As San walked, he realised that he could not at all get a grip of his surroundings. It was impossible. Everything he touched was the same brick material, every part of this dark new path he walked on was the same concrete scratching his feet and likely deepening the existing cuts. San couldn’t afford to use his phone’s life before he found a charging port, but he might have to. Without light, it was impossible to walk here.
San reluctantly whipped out his phone, shivering at the sudden cold breeze that rolled over him. He turned on the flashlight and the world was lit up. It turned out that he somehow ended up in the exact same place he was before when he stopped running and checked his backpack. San waved his light around for something - anything - that would indicate the direction of the sea. The light from his phone touched potholes, empty boxes and nets, and buckets and fishing rods.
“Fishing equipment,” San said, relief evident in his voice. The words echoed off the walls around him, and he fought not to flinch. He disliked sudden sounds. He straightened his backpack and turned the flashlight around himself to quickly scan his surroundings. Opposite him was a dank alleyway. The right of him was the way he came, and to the left was some sort of abandoned shop.
For a moment, San considered checking if there was any consumable food in there. Realistically speaking, he should, because he wouldn’t survive more than maybe two or three days with his current provisions. Stupid of him not to get more. Stupid of him not to pack a single penny to buy food, either.
San gathered every ounce of his bravery and walked towards the shop. Its walls were bathed in graffiti and the rusting, silver shutters were only pulled down halfway. The door being slightly ajar made San stop and contemplate every life decision he’d ever made. If the building was abandoned, surely it shouldn’t have an open door. Or maybe the last person out forgot to close it before leaving the place forever. San had seen abandoned areas before. This place hadn’t been abandoned very long ago, and he only knew this because it didn’t stink enough, and there aren’t any rats. Yet.
With a deep breath, San put a hand on the door handle, muttering an “excuse me” as he entered. He even made a small bow out of habit, but there was no-one there to receive it.
The shop was dark and dead. San shone his light on the shelves; they were all stocked. San fought the smile creeping onto his features. Even in the dim light of his flashlight, he could tell that the shop wasn’t as small as it seemed from the outside.
He forced himself deeper into the shop and hurriedly looked around for any lights that he could turn on. Didn’t shops normally have lights at the back?
“If I die today, I’ll have nobody to blame it on,” San mumbled, clenching his jaw. He’d always hated horror stories, and now he was in one himself. Every step he made was followed by a soft echo of the sound of bare feet against marble. Oh, that was why he was feeling extra cold suddenly. The marble was freezing. The sun had set maybe two hours ago, San guessed, and the heat had already given way to the cool air of the night.
San was conscious of the cold beneath him until he stepped on a patch of warm marble. He stared down at the floor as if it was the biggest problem in the world. Why was a singular patch of floor so warm? He looked at the aisle beside him and saw that it was stocked with a million types of instant noodles. San told himself that his feet just warmed up the marble and he moved on. Save for his own footsteps, the silence was driving him insane.
After a few moments, San found himself standing in front of a door. It was old and one of its hinges had come off the wall, deeming it weak. It was also slightly open, exactly like the front door, and there was a strong scent of buldak noodles. He reached out his free hand and slowly pushed it open. His heart was in his throat. The flashlight flickers: San’s hand was trembling.
Suddenly–
“NOW!”
San’s reflexes pulled him backwards as something comes flying at his head. Of course there had to be other people here. To attack him. He finally let his shaking voice free.
“Whoever’s there, I’m not an enemy!” San said loudly. He flashed his light in front of him and cursed to himself when he saw two people standing there. They were so pale they looked like ghosts. And they were holding plastic bowls above their heads. San squinted. The two boys opposite him were literally translucent in the dim light, and they were just skin and bone. Both their heads of hair were dishevelled and their eyes held dark circles beneath them. San could not determine their ages, but from their height alone, he guessed they were of a similar age to himself: eighteen.
“Who are you?” the boy on the right asked, his voice shaking. He stood slightly in front of the other boy, ready to protect him.
“My name’s Choi San,” San said with a bow. It felt… unnatural. Something was off about these two.
“You’re bleeding,” the second boy commented suddenly. His voice was so beautifully soft.
San looked down at his feet and nodded. “It’s no big deal. What are you two doing here?”
“None of your business,” the first boy snapped, clearly uncaring of San’s bleeding feet.
“Well, it is now. You both look like you’ll drop dead any second and that bothers me.”
“Mister Choi Sannie, we’ll be fine.”
San raised an eyebrow at the random nickname before choosing to ignore it. “What’s your name, at least?”
Both boys hesitated before the second one spoke up. “Yeosang. Kang Yeosang.”
“Sangie!” the first boy hissed before sighing. He shuffled his feet, fiddling with the plastic bowl still in his hands. “Wooyoug. Jung Wooyoung.”
San gave a deep bow. “Pleasure to meet you both, attackers with plastic bowls.” He straightened and saw Wooyoung’s brows knitted together and Yeosang’s wide eyes.
Instead of asking them again where they came from, San asked if there was a light in the room. Yeosang nodded and walked over to the wall on his right and clicked a switch, and San didn’t waste even a second to turn off his phone’s flashlight.
The light washed the room in bright white and San could finally see his surroundings. The backroom was surprisingly clean, so he decided to take off his bag and leave it on the floor in the corner. There was a singular pillow and ragged sheet on the floor, which San assumed was the bed for his two new companions, there were boxes everywhere filled with who knows what, and there was an entire stove. Which backroom had a stove in it? There was even a kettle and a microwave. The kettle in question was currently boiling some water.
Wooyoung clicked his tongue and ran a hand through his already messy hair. “Do you want some noodles? I was just making some.”
“I guessed that. The smell is really strong.”
“Do you want it or not?” Wooyoung is irritated.
“Yes. Please,” San said politely.
Yeosang came and poked San’s arm as Wooyoung headed over to the stove to cook. “Do I call you hyung?” Yeosang asked. He has a lisp. San almost collapsed from how cute Yeosang was.
“Depends,” San said, completely composed. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen. And Wooyoung-ah is seventeen,” Yeosang said.
“Then I’ll be calling you Yeosang-hyung.”
Yeosang’s eyes looked shocked. “You’re… I apologise, I thought you were maybe twenty. You look very mature.”
“Yeah, unlike somebody,” Wooyoung teased. Yeosang ignored it and San fought to keep his mask on. “I’m eighteen,” he said. He was physically fighting a laugh. San hadn’t laughed in years, and he wasn’t going to break that streak now.
“I kind of don’t like you calling me hyung,” Yeosang said, wrinkling his nose. “Just Yeosang-ssi, San-ssi.”
San nodded in understanding. Wooyoung suddenly yelped and San and Yeosang’s heads both snapped his way. The young boy was fighting with a noodle cup that was leaking a bit of water down the side, and he was trying to wipe it with the cuff of his top. It’s only then that San realises what Yeosang and Wooyoung were wearing: perfectly matching white tops and joggers. They were both fully covered, and the fabric had discoloured slightly.
San strided over to Wooyoung and swatted his hand away before expertly picking up the cup and wiping it with his jacket sleeve. Wooyoung scoffed. “Show off.”
“It’s called being practical, Wooyoung-ssi.”
“Practical my as–”
“Wooyoung-ah,” Yeosang warned, folding his arms.
“My… my backside,” Wooyoung said bluntly and pouted.
San found himself holding back a laugh. Again. So he dug his nails into his palms and found comfort in the pain.
“Just take the damn noodles,” Wooyoung said, exasperated. He held out two cups and chopsticks for San and Yeosang. The three sat down on the floor to eat and none of them complained about the cold marble beneath them. Once they finished eating, San was the only one who said, “Thank you for the meal.” Yeosang and Wooyoung stared at him cluelessly before mumbling the same, and San did not let this go unnoticed.
“Did no-one teach you two table manners?” San asked, genuinely curious. He hadn’t been curious about anything in a very long time, and he found he liked the feeling of intrigue.
Yeosang shook his head and San’s eyes widened slightly. Ever so slightly. Don’t show emotion, he reminded himself. He still didn’t know whether to trust these two or not. Trust issues suck, San realised, because he was very much enjoying Yeosang and Wooyoung’s company.
“How come?” San questioned it. “Your parents just didn’t teach you?”
“You’re asking too much, now,” Wooyoung said, waving a hand dismissively, but San still persisted. “What do you mean? I’m just curious.”
“We don’t know our parents,” Yeosang said slowly, thinking about every word before saying it. However, San did not overlook the way Yeosang clenched his jaw slightly and his eyes lost emotion for a split second. San did not address this, of course. Over the years, he’d grown hyperaware of the way a person’s features would change with every emotion because he’d forgotten how it feels.
Yeosang continued. “We’re orphans. Ran away from… an orphanage. Of sorts.”
Wooyoung snorted. “A hell-hole. Orphanage is too soft a word.”
“Wooyoung-ah.”
“Sangie.”
“It’s hyung to you.”
“Then you try calling me ‘Wooyoung-ssi’.”
Yeosang huffed before his eyes caught on San’s bare feet. Well, that was awkward. To be fair, though, you couldn’t really tell they’re bare because the cuts and blood may well have been mistaken for socks on San’s feet.
“Don’t even think about it,” Wooyoung hissed at Yeosang, who was still staring intently at San’s feet. Oddly enough, San didn’t feel even remotely uncomfortable by it, but he was much rather confused by Wooyoung’s words.
“San-ssi,” Yeosang started, ignoring Wooyoung entirely. “You’ll probably freak out, but just… just don’t, okay?”
San tilted his head, completely baffled. Yeosang shuffled closer to him and suddenly grabbed San’s feet. San let out an involuntary shriek and moved backwards, hugging his knees to his chest.
“Kang Yeosang-ssi, what the hell?!” San uncharacteristically yelped, all confusion gone and replaced with some feeling of repulsion.
“It’s not what you think!” Yeosang said hurriedly, but not before Wooyoung can say, “Sangie has a foot fetish!”
“I do not!” Yeosang said loudly, his tone near tears. “San-ssi, just trust me,” he said, trying to sound as comforting as possible.
San exhaled slowly. He thought it was the skin contact that shocked him more than a person he just met grabbing his bare feet. Though of course, that was also horrifically weird.
“Sangie has a foot fetish~” Wooyoung teased before he yelped. Yeosang just smacked him on the back of the head. “I’m sorry, Kang Yeosang.”
“You should be because you’re spreading such a huge lie,” Yeosang said, sighing. He looked at San. “San-ssi, I should’ve warned you. I apologise. But please, I need to get that healed for you. It’ll hurt if you leave the cuts exposed any longer.”
“I’ll forgive you if you can work some magic on these cuts,” San said, stretching out his legs.
“Oh, you’ll see,” Yeosang said with a cheeky grin. He gently placed his hands on San’s feet and rubbed the middle’s underside with the pads of his thumbs. San sucked in a breath because the pain suddenly jolts up his spine, forcing him to squirm a little and sit upright. He didn’t really feel the cuts all this time.
San’s eyes widened as he watched Yeosang’s hands work. He was delicate and gentle, a beautiful feather, and beneath his fingers was a soft glow as San watched all those cuts simply vanish with Yeosang’s touch. He couldn’t believe his eyes as all the grime and blood that caked his skin began to evaporate, as if…
“You rewinded time,” San said in realisation. His voice was breathless and in awe. Put the mask back on, his brain nagged him. But San didn’t want to. But he… he forced the thing back on. Stony San. Always and forever. That was what was good for him and everyone else in his life, which was currently just Wooyoung and Yeosang. His parents were as good as dead to him.
Yeosang finished his work and let out a breath. Then he smiled at San and it’s like the whole world lights up. San had the overwhelming urge to pinch his cheeks; he still couldn’t believe that Yeosang was older than him. He was so eatable, like a marshmallow. Yes, eatable was now a word in San’s dictionary.
“Yes, I rewinded time. But only for your wounds and the dirt and blood. Nothing happened outside,” Yeosang explained proudly. “I haven’t figured out how to do it on anything except human and animal wounds, though.”
“Would’ve been nice for some clean clothes,” Wooyoung quipped. Yeosang shot him a sharp glare and Wooyoung just winked in response.
“Thank you, Yeosang-ssi,” San said, staring down at his feet. He clutched his knees to his chest again and touched the skin on his feet; it felt smooth and fully repaired. Yeosang shook his head. “Anytime, San-ssi. Though I have to ask: why do you not have shoes in the first place?”
“I only own sandals,” San said. “And I can’t run in sandals.”
“Why were you running?” Wooyoung asked, absently snacking on a bag of crisps–
“When did you get my bag, you glutton?” San said, reaching out to snatch the crisps from Wooyoung. Wooyoung tipped himself backwards, lay on the floor and rolled away. He sit up and grinned. “These are really good. And I looked inside your bag when Sangie was healing you.”
“Wooyoung-ah, that’s highly disrespectful,” Yeosang said in a very elder brotherly tone.
“Oh well. The crisps are mine, now,” Wooyoung said triumphantly. San could do nothing but stare at Wooyoung and his open backpack helplessly.
“...I want to try it,” Yeosang said meekly, avoiding eye contact with San. He went to sit beside Wooyoung and tried a piece. It seemed he didn’t favour the taste because he made a face and fed the rest of it to Wooyoung who happily accepted it. Then he suddenly shifted his position to lie in Wooyoung’s lap. Wooyoung briskly finished the packet and discarded it on the floor, proceeding then to stroke Yeosang’s hair as he slowly drifted off to sleep.
The entire scene happened in silence. Yeosang and Wooyoung at that moment looked like a pair of mismatched brothers. They cared so much for each other. Whatever brought them to this abandoned place must have been a hundred times worse than what San had experienced. He was just weak. The two boys opposite him felt strong in a way that San couldn’t place, and that was apart from Yeosang having healing powers, however the hell that worked. Magic wasn’t real, right?
“Hey, Sannie,” Wooyoung said in a low voice, careful not to awaken the boy in his lap. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“What question?” San asked, pretending he forgot. “And that nickname, cut it out. I’m your hyung.”
“San-nim, San-ssi, San-hyung, Sannie, it’s all the same,” Wooyoung said lazily.
San rolled his eyes and glared at Wooyoung. He was so glare-able.
“Anyways answer it. Why were you running?” Wooyoung said, persistent.
San had two options: overexaggerate the story and make it sound dramatic and a completely believable lie, or downplay it, make it sound like it was nothing. The truth was not an option.
“You’re weighing out your answers, aren’t you?” Wooyoung whispered, grinning. Yeosang mumbled something incoherent in his sleep and turned around so his face was snuggled into Wooyoung’s stomach. Wooyoung’s eyes softened and he looked down at Yeosang before up at San again. “You’re planning to lie to me, aren’t you? Let me guess: the truth’s not an option.”
“Are you some sort of creepy psychic or something?” San sighed, trying to keep his expression neutral. He was stalling.
“I like that title, but no,” Wooyoung said, smirking. “I have superpowers, too. But nothing creepy.”
“Why am I not surprised?” San was somehow unfazed by the revelation, as if he knew this piece of information already.
“Because I’m so gorgeous that you associate me with magic and whimsy?” Wooyoung suggested, flipping back the ends of his hair in a rather feminine fashion. His hair was ink black and in a wolf-like cut, coming up to his collarbone and bangs covering his eyes. San squashed the laugh in him with a nail into his palm. What was wrong with him today?
“Alright, stalling’s over, Sannie.”
Oh crap. Think, Choi San. What do you want to do? San was stuck. If he told a lie, Wooyoung would probably know. But even the truth sounded stupidly fake, so he resorted to a classic tactic.
“Tell me why you and Yeosang-ssi are here,” San started. “And then I’ll tell you the truth.”
San could see the heavy reluctance in Wooyoung’s eyes, his unease and sudden squirmishness. He saw that Wooyoung was holding his breath.
“You win, Choi San,” Wooyoung said eventually. “I don’t wanna talk about our story.”
What? This was not how it was supposed to go. That always worked. Wooyoung was supposed to tell his story, then San would tell his own. But more than all of this, San now knew that wherever Wooyoung and Yeosang had come from was not a good place. It was so bad that Wooyoung wouldn’t share it with San.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Wooyoung said hastily. “I would tell you. Heck, I’d tell the whole world. But I can see that you’re in distress, and our story would just aggravate that feeling.” When Wooyoung said ‘our story’, he gently laid a hand on Yeosang’s head. San wonders if he did that consciously, and then his eyes locked with Wooyoung’s.
“Wooyoung-ssi,” he started. “I’ve heard many disturbing things in life. I’ll respect the fact that you don’t want to tell me right now, but know that…” San faltered and broke eye contact with Wooyoung. He hadn’t– he was speaking with his heart for the first time in years. He cleared his throat and continued. “Know that I’ll be ready to listen whenever you’re ready to tell someone.” When Wooyoung didn’t say anything, San looked up only to see a tear falling down the boy’s cheek. Wooyoung quickly swiped it away and nodded, giving San a sheepish grin. “Yeah. Same goes for you.”
The two descended into a comfortable silence. San vowed to never forget this moment because it was just too precious a thing for him to let slip from his memory bank. He’d spoken his heart, his true feelings and thoughts, and not been ridiculed for it. His sister was permitted to convey her feelings, but him? Forced to keep it locked away for him to become some sort of ‘ideal’ son. One who’s strong, courageous and doesn’t let his feelings get in the way of decisions. His sister didn’t even try to help him, but San couldn’t even blame her because of the way their parents acted towards them both.
“Sannie,” Wooyoung whispered, suddenly breaking the silence. “Y’know Sangie wasn’t always like this. A softie.”
San’s brows quirked upwards. “What do you mean?”
“He never liked physical affection, he was silent, shy and super brainy. The past Kang Yeosang would not have laid his head on my lap and fallen asleep like this.” Wooyoung paused, as if hesitant to say the next part. “But I’ve become his only safe zone in this world. He went through tougher shit than me. Kang Yeosang’s a fighter, and… gosh, I just wish he had more safe zones than just me.”
Wooyoung gave San a pleading look that was chock full of determination. “I want more for him, but I’m gonna do my best to stay by his side. I want to be his comfort brother.”
“I want to do that,” San blurted out without thinking. His heart beat a tad bit faster. From fear. Why had he said that?? How would Wooyoung react…?
Wooyoung blinked before he smiled softly. “That’d be great, San-ssi. Thank you.”
San nodded and breathed out. He needed to be careful. Wooyoung was making him say things that should be kept inside him.
Another comfortable silence broke the conversation for only a moment before Wooyoung teasingly said, “Wanna use my lap as a pillow too, Sannie?”
San choked on air. “Excuse me?”
Wooyoung gave a cheeky grin, like a black cat up to no good. “Get some sleep, you ass.”
“Language,” Yeosang mumbled in his sleep and startled Wooyoung. San couldn’t do it. He hid a smile behind his hand, but Wooyoung still caught it.
“Sannie, one day I’m going to poke those dimples, watch out.”
San froze. “...I have dimples?”
Wooyoung froze. “Dude, you’re kidding, right?” At San’s blank look, he added, “Do you like, never look at yourself in the mirror or something?”
“I don’t smile at myself, that’s creepy,” San said slowly. He never knew he had dimples.
“Okay, but surely someone must’ve told you?”
San paused before shaking his head. “Not that I remember. My memory’s quite bad.”
“Damn.”
Another silence. San could almost hear the buzzing of Wooyoung’s thoughts. He doubted the black cat was currently as question-less as he seemed.
“Hey, Sangie and I were planning on leaving this place tomorrow and finding somewhere more practical to stay,” Wooyoung said. “You wanna come with us?”
San nodded. The further from ‘home’ the better. “Wherever you two go, I’ll go.”
“That’s really sweet of you, darling,” Wooyoung cooed jokingly.
“Go to sleep, snack-stealer.”
“You go to sleep, Mister I-didn’t-know-I-had-dimples.” Considering the two only met today and it had only been maybe two hours, they got along so easily.
With no bedding, the boys had only marble to sleep on, so they stayed close to each other for warmth and used San’s long jacket to lengthen their singular pillow. Wooyoung gently laid Yeosang beside him before lying down himself. He slipped a hand over Yeosang and pulled him close, hugging him. San looked at them both and smiled in the now-dark room. Two genuine smiles since he left ‘home’. And San hoped that it was only the first two of many more to follow.
***