Work Text:
October, year 2032
There are moments when Jaehyun wishes that death was still an abstract concept. He’s read about it from times when life was brighter and people didn’t have to crawl over rubble just to walk down the streets. A world much more forgiving.
It was simple. People die, animals die— but these days, cities die.
There are still parts of this city that give him the illusion of life. The neon sign in the window flickers and shimmers against the water rolling down the glass. The remnants of rain mixes with concrete and the whole block seems to shine with an eerie distinctness. Yuta turns his head, his profile saturated in fluorescent pink and purple.
He’s always looked like he doesn’t belong here. The recoil pad of his shotgun pressed into the curve of his shoulder, his hair falling out of his ponytail and falling into his eyes. Jaehyun wants to reach out, but he stops himself. Instead he gestures to the subway entrance across the street.
Their footsteps echo in the space when they climb down the stairs. They raise their weapons as they walk, but it’s pointless. Nothing has strayed down here in a long time. Jaehyun lowers his gun, watches Yuta do the same. Jaehyun glances around, taking mental note of the spaces where the pipes don’t drip and they can store supplies for the time being.
Living a life in temporary flashes is an exhausting one, and for a moment Jaehyun merely stares at the wall. He sees old movie posters and government propaganda peeling off the subway tile. The paint is chipping but he can read the location 340 East Street in red block letters.
“Guess nobody thought this place was good enough to hide in,” Yuta says, shifting his weapon in his hand. He walks like his boots are too heavy for his feet, but he still pushes his shoulders back.
A sense of pride in every moment, Jaehyun thinks.
Jaehyun found him bandaging up his own shoulder in the back room of a pharmacy a year ago. His eyes shone like fire when Jaehyun’s flashlight hit them, and for a moment he wonders if he should run from the flames. When Jaehyun determined he wasn’t a threat he kneeled down, offering to help. His fingers are more gentle than he expected for a stranger, but something about his energy soothes Jaehyun before he can think.
“You look like hell,” Jaehyun had said. Yuta gave him a wicked smirk.
“That’s funny, because I feel like shit.”
Jaehyun chuckles, a little shocked at the humor, but it's nothing compared to the way Yuta leans his head back and laughs without abandon.
And so begins how they always are.
Jaehyun is used to not eating much. These days, he tastes mostly bitterness and the sharp wind as it rips through the city at night. He swears under his breath every time he pulls on clothing to greet the foggy morning, gray skies the new normal. He turns after tugging on his second layer, sees the body curled up on the mattress on the floor. He breathes on his hands in a vain attempt to warm them up before reaching out to brush the hair out of his eyes.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Get up before I leave you.”
“You’ll never leave me,” Yuta replies, voice scratchy from sleep. His eyes are still closed but he leans into Jaehyun’s touch anyway.
He’s right. Jaehyun never would.
There's a space that the filth doesn't touch, not yet anyway. It's an overlook tucked in between trees that still grow and provide cover when needed.
A space above these city lights.
Jaehyun brings Yuta there whenever he needs to clear his head. Tonight is no different, the wind carding through both of their hair and chilling them beneath the collar of their jackets. Jaehyun stomps his worn boots against the dirt road, scrapes the soles against the gravel.
“I am so sick of being angry,” Jaehyun says to nobody in particular. He’s squinting as he looks out at the cityscape. They still turn lights on here, the power grid not yet succumbing to whatever urban decay this city has fallen to. He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, fingers toying with the lint in them. He can feel Yuta looking at him but he doesn’t turn his head.
“I think it’s understandable, though,” Yuta says quietly. Jaehyun looks at him then, sees the way the city lights turn amber against his skin.
Anger seems to live in Jaehyun's bones, but it softens when he looks at him. Always.
Jaehyun reaches out, pushes the hair out of his eyes. Grabs him by the back of the neck and pulls him in for a kiss. This time Jaehyun tastes no bitterness.
The ceiling of their makeshift bedroom had a hole in it. Jaehyun knows this because he can look up and see the stars. He turns and looks at a much more welcoming sight, the way Yuta lays against the bare mattress as if it was made of silk. He pulls Jaehyun down and slots their lips together, trying to chase the anger with sweetness. And so they lay exposed beneath the cosmos as their witness in bed, finding one night of tenderness in this ragged world.
Later that night Jaehyun kisses Yuta's shoulder, right where the gun rests against his body. Trading war for weakness.
“Hey,” Jaehyun says softly, kissing across Yuta’s collarbone as he holds him. The sky is dark and their only light is from the moon. Jaehyun sees the irony of what he says before he says it, and he revels in the way Yuta laughs and pulls him closer. “Get up before I leave you.”
“You’ll never leave me,” Yuta replies, voice sweeter than Jaehyun will ever deserve. His eyes are closed but he leans into Jaehyun’s touch anyway. He shifts his face and the moon shines against it, pale like silver.
He’s right. Jaehyun never would.