Archive of Our Own ^beta

There are three things that Kun knows for sure:

The crawlers only come out at night. It’s a small relief that they cannot tolerate sunlight, or Kun would have been dead a long time ago. The abandoned buildings and factories with the windows boarded up serve almost as daytime nests—sometimes he can hear them scratching at the walls, waiting for night to fall. The sound sends shivers up his spine so he avoids it, sticking to the broad streets.

The Jeep he stole when the crawlers first appeared is almost out of gas, and he needs to refill it before night comes. It’s not his and he doesn’t know where the owner went. His own car was ripped to shreds, and it wouldn’t have been much use anyway—an electric thing, small and easily crumpled like a tin can. The Jeep has a pair of fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror, and it has a small bobble-headed figure of an owl on the dashboard. These things are not his—they are remnants of someone who is long gone. He lets them be because he feels it is not his place to remove them.

It has been approximately three months since the end of the world, or maybe just the end of this city, and he has not found the one thing he is looking for, and he is beginning to believe that maybe it is no longer there waiting for him. He is still searching, though. He won’t stop until he finds it.

…

The past is a painful phantom. Kun has learned this well, but the memories still sting.

When the crawlers come out of the sea, Kun is in a jewelry store looking through glass cases filled with diamond rings. It is a late Friday afternoon, springtime, and the sun is beautiful and bright and turning red and Kun remembers it so, so well.

“May I help you?” the sales lady asks, smile so wide it might’ve been fake.

“I’m looking for an engagement ring,” Kun says.

“Oh? Do you have anything particular in mind?” The sales lady reaches below the counter. “A stone or setting you’d prefer?”

“I’m not sure,” Kun says quietly, thinking of a megawatt smile and a dancer’s grace. “Something...simple?”

The sales lady smiles. “I have a couple here,” she says, pulling out a case. Diamonds glitter in their settings, each one like a fingerprint. Unique.

Kun looks over them for a couple of minutes, the sales lady helpfully answering questions and providing details ( this is 24 karat gold, this can be customized, this is perfect for someone who loves gemstones!)

Something catches his eye in the case. He lifts it out and holds it to the light.

“This one,” he murmurs to himself. He turns to the sales lady, who gives him another bright smile. “I’ll take this one.”

…

When Kun leaves the jewelry store it is practically night. The shadow of evening has spread across the city and the sky is deepening in color from red to purple to black. The sea glitters in the late evening light. 

Kun hears the first few notes of a piano song and fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket. 

“Hey,” Kun says, smiling. “I’ll be home soon.”

“Good,” the voice on the other end says. “I miss you, idiot.”

“I know.”

"The weather is supposed to be bad tonight," the voice says. "Be careful."

Kun hears a car horn honk down the street and sees that the street lamps have flickered on in response to the dimming sky. 

"What the heck…" the voice on the other end is bewildered. "People are yelling outside."

"Who is it?" Kun says, crossing the street. "Is it those kids again?"

"No," the voice pauses. There is a long silence. "No...it’s something else."

There’s a muffled crackling on the other end, as if the phone has been dropped. “Kun, there’s something out there, I don’t know what it is but its...oh my god, it’s right outside.”

Kun pauses with his hand on the car door. “Ten? What is it?”

There’s a shout and Kun feels his blood run cold until he realizes it isn’t coming from the phone. He looks down the street and sees the sales lady from before running into the street, her heels clicking against the pavement. Behind her, the closed glass doors shatter.

“Sir! Please!” Her eyes are wild with fear. “Help me!”

Something long and spindly reaches through the glass, something unrecognizable and foreign, razor-edged like barbed wires. The woman screams and is pulled back inside, and the last thing Kun sees is her wild eyes, her hair falling down around her face, her hands scrambling on the pavement.

Somewhere a car crashes, and Kun hears the slicing grind of metal against metal. It’s dark out.

Kun scrambles to pull his keys out of his pocket but finds his hands are shaking. He puts his phone to his ear.

“Ten, I’m coming,” he looks behind him. “Stay there, I’m coming home.”

There is nothing but silence on the other end. Nothing but crushing, ominous silence.

“Ten?” Kun moves the phone to his shoulder so he can use both his hands as he swings the car door open. Down the street, Kun can hear screams, and from the jewelry store he hears crushing glass, the sound of something large in an enclosed space. “Ten!”

There is still no response. Kun throws the phone onto the car seat and presses the gas pedal so hard his ankle burns. 

Something heavy lands on the front of his car and for a second Kun isn’t sure what he’s looking at. It’s got legs, and arms, but he can’t tell which is which. It’s heavy, though, and Kun can hear it on top of his car, waiting.

A long, spindly leg pierces through the roof of the car and Kun screams, leaning back as it comes down right in front of him, the force of it so hard that it crunches through the dashboard. Up close Kun can see that the appendage is almost like a crab’s leg—mottled gray and covered with tiny ridges, ridges that currently are only inches away from Kun’s face. A long claw lies at the end, currently sunken into the dashboard.

Kun shoves the door open and falls out, and he hears the car thrash behind him, the creature on it struggling to free its leg. Kun turns and it looks at him, its body almost human but in all the wrong ways. Kun sees joints and legs and a face filled with nothing but one gaping mouth. The creature has six legs, his mind supplies, even though Kun’s heart is beating so hard he cannot think of anything else. Its mouth opens and Kun stumbles backward. He glances down the street and sees more of the creatures, crawling over vehicles and on the sides of buildings. Screams fill the air, the sound of squealing tires and crunching metal not far behind. 

The creature pulls its limb from the roof of the car and screeches at him, arms raised as if it is preparing to jump at him. Its motions remind Kun of a large bug, one he might have found on the bathroom floor and released back into the yard because it was harmless. But this is no bug, more like a nightmarish caricature that a frightened child would imagine, and with its gaping mouth and many legs, it is not harmless.

Kun leaves his car and runs as fast as he can, his feet pounding against the pavement. He sees one of the creatures pull a man from his car, keys still in the ignition, and drag him around a corner as he screams. The car is a battered green Jeep, scratched on its fender, but Kun still jumps inside, slamming the door behind him as he turns the key in the engine. It takes two tries before it starts, and Kun can hear the creatures outside, screeching above very human screams. Kun closes his eyes, and the car rumbles to life. He swings out, tires rolling over the pavement, and speeds right towards the creature, hitting it so hard it goes flying to the sIde.

He looks at the gas. Full tank.

Kun presses the gas and speeds home as fast as he can, praying that Ten will still be there.

…

“Ten!” Kun yells, running up the stairs to their apartment. “ Ten! ”

The windows in the kitchen are all shattered and glass litters the floor like diamonds, beautiful and sharp. Ten’s phone is lying amidst the glass, screen cracked.

Kun pauses, bending down to pick it up. He clenches it in his hand as he spins wildly, not sure whether to scream or run or do both. He runs into the bedroom, finds it empty, pulls open the closet door, finds it empty, runs into the bathroom, finds it empty, empty, everything is empty .

Kun stops with his chest heaving, Ten’s phone still clenched in his hand. He hears screaming out on the street but it sounds so faint, so far away, that he doesn’t know what to do. A sinking feeling has settled in his chest, a stone that will never hit bottom. Ten is not here. He’s not here, and Kun does not know where he could be.

Kun runs out the door, out onto the balcony. Something is burning in the distance. He sees shapes in the dark, sees flashlights, streetlights, headlights. He is searching for a shadow among shadows, and it is not there.

A dull roar comes from the direction of the ocean, and Kun sees one of the creatures screech at the base of the apartment building. It stabs its legs through a wall, tearing it apart. Kun curses and runs back into the apartment, the sound of shattering glass and cracking wood following him. He imagines he will hear it even in his dreams.

He runs into the bathroom and slams the door shut, wedging the metal towel holder under the doorknob. He backs up until he is standing in the bathtub and he hears screeching through all the walls, hears it echoing on the floor below and the floor above.

Kun curls up in the bathtub with his hands pressed over his ears. The tile is cold against his skin. Something in his pocket is digging into his side but he is too afraid to move or take it out. He waits in the bathtub, no windows to tell him the time of night, no clock, nothing but screeching outside and terrible, terrible noise.

Kun waits there. At some point, he falls into a fitful sleep, a nightmare, not much different from the one he is living right now. He balls himself up, cold.

He dreams of Ten, and it is still a nightmare.

…

He wakes up in the bathtub and when he pushes the door open all the windows are shattered. There are holes in the walls. There are holes in the bathroom door. He stumbles awake, legs frozen, and looks out the kitchen window at the ocean. It is a peaceful illusion.

Kun takes a quick shower and pulls on some clean clothes, then takes a backpack from the closet and fills it with things that are not destroyed. Canned food from the pantry. An extra set of clothes. A flashlight. 

Ten’s phone is lying on the kitchen table and Kun gives it one last glance before heading out the door into the morning light.

...

Every country. Every coastline in the world. 

Kun only hears about it later, after he stopped running long enough to turn on the radio. Home is a moving vehicle, now. Home is nowhere.

The crawlers, as they were quickly dubbed by the survivors, only came out at night or in the dark evening, spending the night crawling through the streets, legs piercing through windows and doors. In the daytime, they would recede to the sea, their home the coastline that runs the length of the city. An ocean view was not as pleasant as it seemed.

The looting came, violent and callous. Kun saw buildings burned, saw people stand in the streets with their faces painted red, screaming about the end of the world. He saw people fight over food, saw people fill their pockets with valuable things and then see them lying dead in the streets during the daytime. All he could truly do was hide, was wait until the scuffles were over and then pick through what was left, no matter how damaged.

He nailed a piece of scrap metal to the top of the Jeep. He painted the back windows black and then cut black fabric flaps that he could use to cover the windshield at night. He filled the trunk with things left behind—knit blankets from empty homes, battery flashlights from half-burned hardware stores, the spare cans of food that went unnoticed by the rush of people to the markets. He lived on the run, running but never knowing where.

The people left in droves during the daytime to the nearest city. It was not long before there was no one left, and police and emergency workers drove the streets, announcing evacuation. They would take those that could not go by themselves, they said. They stopped Kun and asked him if he would leave soon.

“I can’t go,” he says. “I can’t go yet.”

The police officer who had stopped him gives him an oddly sympathetic look, lips twisting. “You best leave while you still can.” 

“I’ll try.”

“Good luck, son.” The officer tips his hat and turns away, and Kun watches him walk down the street, calling out to stragglers. 

Kun didn’t leave. He stayed and stole clothing and food and a gun with a long barrel, he stayed and kept a small black box in the right pocket of his stolen jacket, he stayed and every night he would sleep on the floor of his car, gun clenched in both hands as he heard the crawlers outside.

He stayed. Even with his heart half-broken in his chest, he stayed.

…

It is the end of the world, and this is what Kun knows:

Never park the Jeep in a parking garage. There is no real protection there, no walls, and because of the darkness the crawlers will linger there past morning. It is best to park on the side of the street or in someone's private garage. Sometimes, if the house is empty, it might be safe enough to sleep.

Crayons burn just as good as candles, but the smell quickly fills any space. Kun keeps a pile of small home candles in his glove compartment, just large enough to burn for several hours. After much deliberation, he has decided that Apple Cinnamon is his favorite scent.

His Jeep smells like apples.

The crawlers can't smell.

Kun keeps a small black ring box in the pocket of his stolen jacket but doesn't open it. Some nights, when he is lying on the floor of the Jeep or in the bed of a stranger he will never know, he takes the box out and turns it between his fingers. The velvety covering is beginning to wear down. 

He has not seen Ten in 97 and a half days. He is beginning to lose hope.

…

Memories are precious and Kun struggles to hold them close, struggles to keep them pinned between his fingers as he struggles to recall a voice, a touch, a habit.

Memories are precious dreams, and tonight he dreams of this:

“What do you think we would be like in an alternate universe?” Ten asks, propping his head on his hand as he turns to face Kun. “Do you think we would still be together?”

Kun blinks against the bright morning sunlight, reflected off the ocean waves and refracting against buildings. He looks at Ten, framed by pillows and rumpled sheets.

“I think we would,” Kun mumbles into his pillow. “Maybe we’d be space pirates or something.”

Ten hits his shoulder. “I’m serious. Who would we be without each other?” Ten asks, pushing hair away from Kun’s face. 

Kun sits up a little, stretching. “I imagine I’d be a little boring,” he says lightly. Ten shakes his head, resting a hand on Kun’s cheek.

“No,” Ten says quietly, smiling. “You’d be some big executive, and the most eligible bachelor in the whole city, no, the whole country, and girls would tape pictures of you to their bedroom walls and run fan accounts with usernames like ‘misskunxoxo’.” Ten smiles. “But you’d be an absolute heartbreaker. You’d break their little hearts.”

“Of course I would,” Kun says, pulling Ten into his arms. “I’d accidentally reveal that I was dating the most famous dancer in the world and it would be a huge scandal...the media would eat us up like dogs. And then we would get married and they would forget all about us.”

“We’d have one of those stupid couple names,” Ten says lightly. “What would they call us? TenKun? KunTen?”

“No,” Kun says. “They’d call us the most perfect couple in the whole world.”

“You’re an idiot.” Ten says, laughing as Kun kisses him on the cheek. He kisses Kun back, quicker, and in minutes they are laughing and trying to peck each other on any available skin—shoulders, noses, chests. Ten tries to kick him off the bed and they are both laughing in the early morning light. It is a soft moment, colored in honey and morning sunlight, ruffled hair and white sheets.

This is a memory that Kun treasures and he places it into the little pocket above his heart, warm and waiting.

…

Kun watches from his Jeep as the crawlers retreat towards the shore, peeking through the fabric covering the windshield. It is almost dawn, the sky turning red. Kun lies on the floor of the Jeep, turning slowly. 

When the sun is high enough in the sky and beating down onto the pavement, Kun opens the car door and peeks out, gun hanging from his shoulder. He pulls the fabric off the windshield and stows it in the passenger seat before starting the engine.

It is a Wednesday. Kun knows this because when he turns on the car radio he hears the familiar Wednesday Morning Talk show, the DJs discussing the crowding in the inner cities due to the mass evacuations from the coast. Kun listens until they go to the commercial break, and then he changes the channel until something vaguely resembling a pop song plays thinly from the speakers. 

Today’s stop is an abandoned apartment building, several stories high. The front door is cracked open, glass sheets falling against each other. Kun pushes the rest out with his foot and ducks inside the lobby. The room is dark, and Kun pulls open the emergency stair door. The stairs are covered with paper and trash.

He goes floor by floor, opening and closing doors, taking things he might need. One of the rooms still has intact windows and walls and so he goes inside, sweeping the corners of the apartment with his gun before closing the door. There’s a closet filled with shirts and pants, none big enough to fit him. It looks like most of the clothing is women’s clothing, and pairs of boots and heels litter the bottom of the closet. Kun rifles through and pulls a jacket off a hanger, a windbreaker in a bright mint color. It’s large enough for Kun to slip on over his other jacket, and comes with a hood. There are several hoodies and pairs of sweatpants and Kun takes those out too, throwing them on the bed.

There’s running water and there’s a box of crackers on a shelf in the kitchen. Most everything else in the kitchen is expired. 

There’s soap in the bathroom and a half-empty bottle of shampoo. Kun showers and pulls on the hoodie and sweatpants, slowly munching on the crackers. It’s about noon.

He visits a couple more rooms and finally finds more clothing in his size. He takes that too. He also finds several kitchen knives, not yet dull, and takes those.

He heads back to the apartment he was in before, dumping all his finds onto the bed. He sorts through nonperishable food and assorted tools, and when he finally finishes deciding what he can and cannot use it is late enough in the day that the sky is turning red.

Kun packs all his things together and then grabs the comforter off the bed, dragging it into the bathroom. He blocks all the doors to the apartment with chairs and shelves and covers the window with the other sheet on the bed, blocking out any light from the outside. 

That night Kun sleeps in the bathtub, gun balanced on the edge, wrapped in a comforter that does little to ease the cold of the tile. It is a familiar feeling.

He’s cold, but still, he dreams.

…

He dreams of this:

“You’ll have to wait,” Ten says, voice loud in their tiny college dorm room. His side of the room is decorated with posters and photos of friends, a hundred little notes and messages scribbled between. Kun’s wall is bare compared to his—all he has is his signed Jay Chou poster and a calendar with things scribbled hastily on it, stuck onto the bare plaster without any heed to form or art. “I can't love you yet.”

Yet. Kun’s heart thumps. 

“What do you mean?” Kun asks, sitting on his bed, He leans his head against the wall and watches as Ten fiddles with a small figurine on his desk. It is hard to believe that they are this young, halfway through college, just at the beginning of a dream that involves both of them.

“I’m not ready to love you the way I want to.” Ten’s voice is calm, but he does not look at Kun. “I want to give you all of my heart but even I don’t have it yet.”

“I’ll wait,” Kun says, and he doesn’t even realize the words left his mouth. “I’ll wait for you.”

Of course he’ll wait. For Ten, for bright, ferocious, driven Ten, he would wait a millennium. He would wait an eternity.

“I don’t know how long it will take,” Ten says, and there is a raw emotion there, something deeper than sadness, something deeper than heartbreak. It is as if Ten is trying to remake some part of himself, something that he is not proud of.

“It doesn’t matter.” Kun watches the figurine go still in Ten’s hand. “I’ll always be here.”

Always . Ten gives him a small smile. 

“You’re an idiot,” he says. “As usual.”

“I'm your idiot,” Kun responds, and the resulting smile comes as easy as breathing.

…

Kun wakes up in the disorienting darkness, mouth dry and heart hammering. He grabs his gun, holding it to his chest, listening.

Something is moving in the hallway outside. Something with many legs.

Kun holds his breath, moving slowly in the tub as he clutches the gun in his hands. His bag is lying at his feet, on the comforter.

Here’s a thing Kun has learned: the crawlers cannot smell. They can barely see. 

But they can hear. They can hear exceptionally well.

Kun raises himself onto his knees and points the gun at the door, careful not to let his boots squeak against the bathroom tile. He silently hoists his bag onto his shoulders and checks his watch. It is a little after six in the morning. 

Kun thinks very hard for a moment, wondering just how the crawler got in. They aren’t the type to take stairwells, but he is several stories off the ground. He has never seen a crawler climb up the side of a flat wall, but it is possible.

Kun plants one knee on the ground, waiting. He hears scuffling outside and then it stops. There is a heavy pause, Kun’s hands cold and steady.

There is the sound of scuttling and then shattering glass, and Kun waits until he hears nothing but the rustle of wind. He kneels there for almost half an hour, hand wrapped around the trigger, heart beating slowly.

One breath in. One breath out.

Kun relaxes slowly, muscles uncoiling as he stands. His bones ache, his knee sore from the tile. He slowly unlocks the bathroom door and opens it, one hand on the knob and the other on the trigger, and peers out. There is nothing there. The room is slightly messier than it was before, clothes scattered on the floor and shelves knocked over, and the windows have all been shattered. There are large holes in the walls and scrapes along the hall, as if the crawler had attempted to get through but couldn’t. 

Kun takes another deep breath and heads out of the apartment building. The sun shines brightly on the sea.

…

“I love this view,” Ten says, standing in their kitchen. Boxes litter the living room floor and every available space in the kitchen. It’s not the biggest apartment but it’s theirs, and Kun knows that wherever they are, as long as they are together, they are home.

 Ten closes his eyes briefly, basking in the light of the window. “It’s lovely. It almost looks like a painting.”

Kun comes up behind him, placing his hands on his shoulders. “Does it look better than me?”

“Yes,” Ten says, calmly. “Absolutely. To be very honest, I prefer the ocean to your face any day.”

Kun grabs Ten, hugging him tightly. “Good to know.”

Ten laughs, pushing him away. “Come on. These boxes aren’t going to unpack themselves.”

“Yeah,” Kun replies. “ I’m the one unpacking them.”

Ten grabs a pair of scissors off the table, slicing through packing tape. He opens and closes it a few times in Kun’s direction, as if he is trying to snip off his nose. He has that devilish smile that always means he is up to no good, and Kun feels himself fall, fall into an endless pit that he cannot fathom. Sometimes, love scares him. The way he can love one person so much scares him.

They unpack boxes and for every piece of tape Ten manages to peel off one ends up in Kun’s hair. He proceeds to rip them off with as much force as possible, laughing as Kun tells him to stop.

The ocean is somewhere outside the window, and this is home.

…

Kun wakes up groggily, lying on the floor of the Jeep. The memory is already fading. He’s doing his best to latch on to it and reel it back but it is gone to sea, riding on the waves. 

Kun sleepily fishes the ring box out of his pocket and with it in his hand, he falls asleep again.

…

The metal plate nailed to the top of the Jeep is rusting from saltwater, and it has dents in the top. It needs to be replaced, or at least covered with another, something to keep it strong.

Abandoned cars litter the city, some in better condition than others. There are parking lots full of empty vehicles, their metal bodies like skeletons in a graveyard.

Kun parks the Jeep at the corner of a building, several meters away from a parking lot, and begins searching. Most of the cars are dented, windshields cracked by long, spindly legs. Some of the cars have useful things lying inside their broken hulls. A pair of sunglasses. An air freshener. A pocket knife.

One of the cars has a piece of the roof separating from the car’s frame, and Kun pulls a flattened metal rod out of his backpack, wedging it under the plate and pushing until the metal separates.

It’s grueling work, and Kun finally breaks away to see that the sky is unusually dark. He looks at his watch and sees that it is barely 11 am. The watch is stolen and three minutes slow, but he knows that it should not be this dark out in the middle of the day.

He looks up, frowning, and the sky rumbles. He curses, trying to lift the last of the plate up with the rod, prying at the metal.

Lightning cracks against the sky and Kun curses again, grabbing his gun off his back and throwing the rod to the ground. He'll have to come back for the metal.

There's a rustling from the shore, and it is only then Kun realizes just how close he has gotten to the shoreline. He turns and finds himself face to face with the boardwalk, the sea so close he can see it breaking on the shore. 

Kun looks up, and the dark sky splits open. The first drops of rain hit him like pebbles and Kun hears a screeching, a terrible grinding cry. He takes off between the cars but the rain pours down, making the asphalt slippery. His foot skids and he looks over the top of the car to see crawlers advancing on the boardwalk, chittering to each other. Kun’s fear-addled mind briefly wonders what they could be discussing.

The Jeep is several hundred meters away, and there’s no way Kun can stay here, even if he hides. He can try to make a run for it but the rain makes it hard to see, much less run. The only benefit of the rain is the clamor it makes as it pounds on the cars, the sound of hundreds of drum beats, over and over again, repeating.

Kun runs, dashing from car to car, pausing. He sees the crawlers spread across the beach and onto the boardwalk, getting closer and closer. He takes a deep breath and zigzags through the cars, his knees burning. He hears a screech and then hears cars skidding behind him, as if they are being pushed. The sounds of grinding metal against pavement make his sick to his stomach but still he keeps running.

He pauses once to look behind him, and he sees several crawlers overturning cars. It is as if they are looking for something. For one, single, terrifying moment, Kun realizes it might be him.

Puddles are forming between cars, and Kun’s foot lands in one deeper than he’d thought it would be. His ankle twists and he goes down hard. Pieces of scrap metal litter the area, and he sees more flying in his direction as the crawlers rip through the vehicles’ metal remains.

Kun gets to his feet and ducks as a piece of his metal comes flying his way. It embeds itself into the roof of the car next to him with so much force it goes all the way through. 

Kun slips again, but this time he is not so fortunate as to land on asphalt. Instead, his leg hits a piece of metal on the way down, slicing a deep gash into his thigh. The pain is instant and Kun hisses, resisting the urge to grab his leg and scream. He takes several deep breaths, struggling to stay calm even as he sees his blood joining the water in the puddles that form around him. He reaches for his gun and panics, realizing that it flew out of his hands when he fell, and it is now lying in a bare spot between cars. 

The sky has darkened enough for the solar street lamps to flicker on. The gun is illuminated several feet ahead of him. The crawlers have gone silent.

“Fuck!” Kun hisses quietly, gritting his teeth. He drags himself behind a parked car and into the shadows, back to relative safety. Blood soaks through the fabric of his pants, making the already damp cotton fabric sticky. His hands shake as he presses them to the wound, watching blood seep between his fingers. He pulls off his jacket and cuts through the sleeve, tying it around his bleeding thigh. He pulls his jacket back on, minus one sleeve and peers around the car. An inhuman screech fills the air and Kun pushes himself to his knees, his leg dragging uselessly behind him. 

The street lamps flicker and Kun sees his gun lying out on the open pavement in a puddle of water. He watches it, breathing slowly, counting the seconds between screeches. The rain reflects every beam of light.

One .

Kun stands and winces as his leg straightens. He can feel the blood run down his thigh, warm and sticky, and every time he moves he can feel his leg drag behind, out of sync with the rest of him.

Two.

Kun hears screeching and splashing down the pier, the sound of many creatures moving all at once. He can hear the skittering of the crawlers against the wooden planks of the boardwalk, their many legs denting into the wood. He hears a high chittering noise and then a chorus of the same noise, over and over again. He squeezes his eyes shut and when he opens them the lamps are still flickering. Their light gives out and Kun is left alone in the dark. The rain has stopped but the sky is still the darkest gray.

Three.

Kun lunges forward for the gun and hears a high screech and the excited rustling of legs. He hits the pavement and then keeps going, struggling to regain his balance as he runs. His legs burn with the effort, his one leg on fire with a pain too excruciating to name. His vision is blurry in the half-dark.

Kun clutches the gun to his chest and stumbles past the parked cars, many of them crushed or dented, roofs pierced by sharp legs. His foot snags on a piece of scrap metal and he bites his tongue trying not to cry out, hitting the ground with a thud. He presses his hand to his bleeding thigh and hastily rewraps the wound with the now blood-soaked sleeve of his jacket. His mouth tastes like blood.

Kun props himself against the parked car behind him, looking up at the clouds. The sun is a hazy light behind the cloudy sky, muffled and obscured. 

I’m coming home, Ten, Kun thinks. I promise.

With his lungs shuddering Kun stands, peering over the hood of the car. There are crawlers everywhere, screeching as they run haphazardly through the parking lot. Kun swallows the blood filling his mouth and feels it slide down his throat, sour. He limps as quickly as he can towards the edge of the parking lot, head down, cursing silently to himself every time he hears the uneven drag of his footsteps.

Thirty seconds, max. Thirty seconds until he can get to his Jeep and then get the hell out of here, back to safety. 

Kun counts quietly to himself, hands tightening around the barrel of his gun. He can hear his foot catching on uneven dips in the asphalt, and each time it does he feels a spike of pain run up his leg.

“Please,” he murmurs to himself, so silently it is almost just a thought. “ Please. ”

He hears a high screeching and the sound makes his blood run cold, and as he goes forward he can hear the overturning of cars behind him, the tearing and piercing of metal.

“Please,” Kun whispers. Please please please.

Kun hears a car overturn and then sees it skid past him, hitting several other cars. He turns to see the empty face of a crawler several feet away, mouth open and tongue out.

Kun breaks into a run and he hears the delighted squeals of the crawlers behind him, rushing over each other to get to him. His leg threatens to give out beneath him, and every step is like a sledgehammer being pummeled into his thigh. He feels something whiz past his face but doesn’t stop to find out what it was. 

Kun turns and manages to fire off one shot before his leg completely gives out, sending him into a rolling tumble against the asphalt. He cries out helplessly, the sound raw and painful. The gun goes off as he hits the ground and he hears a pained squeal, an angry screech.

“If you’re going to kill me do it! ” Kun yells, hearing the sound of legs all around him. His eyes have barely adjusted to the strange darkness, and all he can truly see now are shadows, shapes, suggestions of terror. “Kill me!”

He remembers the sales lady at the jewelry store all those months ago, the wild look on her face as she was pulled into the dark. He remembers screams and cries of pain, remembers life before and life after the end of the world. 

One of the crawlers screeches at him and stabs its leg downwards, right into the soft part of his shoulder. The scream that rips itself from Kun’s throat is inhuman in its terror, wild and uncontrollable. He feels like an insect on a glass case, pinned and ready for display.

I’m coming home, Ten. I promise. I promise.

I promise.

Kun uses his other arm to grab the gun and fires upward into the crawler’s stomach, shot going wide and only grazing its side. It rears back with a screech, extracting its leg from Kun’s shoulder. He gasps and rolls onto his side, struggling to his feet.

One .

Kun grabs his gun and runs to the Jeep, every step bringing a wave of nausea and pain that makes his vision go black. He hugs his arm to his chest, his ruined shoulder and injured leg making his gait uneven, less of a sprint and more of a continued fall forward. His feet splash in puddles that seem to go on forever.

Two.

The crawlers scramble over each other to get to him, and the sound makes him sick to his stomach. Or maybe that's just the blood loss.

Three.

Kun yanks the Jeep door open and throws the gun inside, slamming the door shut behind him. The car roars to life and the headlights come on, and Kun can see the crawlers rear back, startled by the light. He thinks he sees the sun far off in the distance, clouds thinning, but he feels it is too late.

Four.

Kun swings the Jeep around with his good arm, his other arm useless and bleeding onto the seat. He goes as fast as he can, tires running over sidewalk curbs and debris in the street. His chest burns and he can smell his own blood, the scent so overpowering he can almost taste metal on his tongue.

Five.

Kun can no longer hear the crawlers behind him but he doesn’t know where he is. The Jeep stutters to a halt, out of gas.

Six.

Kun can no longer hear. Everything is muted outside.

Seven.

“I’m coming home,” Kun whispers, gritting his teeth. He presses his hand to his shoulder and it comes away covered in blood. Kun’s chest heaves at the sight of it, and his eyelids are heavy. 

Eight.

I’ll just rest for a while, Kun thinks to himself, the thought fuzzy. And then I can head back. Just a minute or two.

Kun closes his eyes, resting his head against the seat. Just a minute. 

Blood seeps into the car seat, and Kun feels the world slip away. Just a minute.

Nine.

The sun is out again and the rain is over. Just a brief shower. Nothing to be afraid of.

Ten.

Ten.

…

“You’re an idiot,” Ten says, smiling at him over a cup of coffee. “You know that, right?”

“But I’m your idiot.” Kun takes his hand. 

“That’s what you always say.” Ten puts down his coffee. “Do you have a lot of stuff to do today?”

“Yeah,” Kun says. “But it's pretty much the usual. Reports and stuff. What about you?”

“The dance studio is closing early today because Sicheng is meeting a friend of his at the airport this afternoon,” Ten says, stirring another spoonful of sugar into his mug. “It’d be nice if we could do something together this afternoon.”

“I might be late tonight,” Kun says, thinking about the money he has been secretly saving for the past few weeks and what he plans to do with it. “Try not to be too bored without me.”

“Bored? Without you?” Ten laughs, but it is not unkind. “I’ll see you later, dummy.”

Kun pulls on his jacket and leans down to kiss Ten on the forehead. “I’ll see you later.”

Kun walks out the door, and at that point in time he does not realize just how much later it will be.

…

“Don’t move, man. You’ll break open your stitches.”

Kun blinks his eyes, squinting against the bright light above him. The dream is fading and is slowly being replaced with a dull, burning pain throughout his body. He feels worn down. 

Kun tries to sit up and feels a searing pain slice through his shoulder, as if someone has pressed a hot poker to it. He feels a hand on his chest, gently pushing him down.

A face swims into view, young and with a bright smile, brown hair cut short on the sides. Kun frowns. He is not the face Kun wants to see.

“Who are you?” he says, experimentally moving his right leg. He hisses at the sudden pain. 

“I’m Yukhei,” the man says. “Don’t move. The crawlers really did a number on you.”

“Oh,” Kun says, relaxing slightly. The man doesn’t seem very threatening, even though he is taller than Kun and has muscles that looks if they could do some damage.  "Where am I?"

"My house, I guess."

"And your house is a...doctor's office?"

Yukhei smiles at that. "Not exactly. I'm a veterinarian." He gestures to a poster on the wall of several different breeds of cat. "I've been living here since the crawlers came. It's not too bad, but I have had to do some refurbishing."

Kun notices that the bed he's lying on is actually two short exam tables pushed together with a threadbare blanket thrown over them. There are cabinets everywhere, and dusty medical equipment pushed to the sides of the room. Kun sees a container full of bandages on the counter, and below the counter he sees a trash can with the blood-soaked sleeve of his jacket in it. He realizes then that his jacket is gone, along with his shirt. He looks around wildly, heart racing, until he sees it lying on a chair. He relaxes a little more.

Kun pushes himself upright with his uninjured arm and looks at Yukhei. "I'm Kun. Thank you," he says, sliding off the table. He braces himself on his good leg. "I appreciate it."

"You're lucky that your car almost ran into my door," Yukhei says. "If it was anywhere else you might have bled to death." Yukhei wipes his hands with a towel, before motioning to Kun to sit down again. “Let me check your bandage.”

“It’s really not necessary—”

“Listen,” Yukhei says. “I know I’m not a human doctor, but I have more experience with this than you. Do you want an infection? Do you want to lose a limb? I don’t think so.” He motions at the table.

The bandage wrapped around Kun’s thigh is already stained with blood and Yukhei carefully unwinds it, hands steady and sure. Kun can’t even look at the wound, even though he is sure it is infinitely better than whatever his shoulder looks like. He catches a glimpse of even black stitches as Yukhei covers the wound again.

“Sorry I was a bit rude,” Yukhei says cheerfully. He seems to be a kind, level-headed person, someone who takes each day as it comes with strength. Kun can almost imagine how he seems in comparison: a man that is broken down in more ways than one, life and appearance a patchwork quilt of scraps and stolen things. Kun absentmindedly wonders if the Jeep is still intact. “It would really suck if you died.”

Kun doesn't laugh but he exhales a little harder, amused. "How long have you been here?"

"About 2 months," Yukhei says stepping back. 

"Two months?" Kun asks, standing. He rests most of his weight on one leg, testing out the strength of the other. "Where were you before? I know almost everyone was evacuated."

"I came back," Yukhei says calmly. Kun frowns, watching him move throughout the room, calm and assured. He does not seem like a man with a death wish.

"Why would you do that?" Kun asks. "Are you trying to get killed?"

"I'm looking for my brother," Yukhei says calmly, rolling up the unused bandages into a tight roll. "He wasn't among the evacuees. I came back to find him."

Kun is silent. 

"I hope you find him," Kun murmurs, and his bones ache. Yukhei nods.

"What about you?" He asks. "You look like you've been here since the beginning. Is there a reason?"

Kun looks at his hands and realizes how calloused they are, stained with dirt and blood, dry. Small cuts litter his palms, cutting across the lines in his hands. Life line. Heart line. Love line. Ten taught him that.

"I can't leave yet," Kun says quietly. He straightens. "Thanks for all your help. I owe you." He grabs his jacket and his torn shirt.

"Man, I think you're the one trying to get killed." Yukhei shakes his head. "You need to recover. What are you gonna do, run back out there to get sliced up again?"

"You don't understand."

“Your shoulder is busted,” Yukhei says. “It would take weeks of physical therapy to get it back to normal again. The muscles were severed, Kun. You won’t be able to use that arm for a long time, not the way you were using it before.”

Kun grimaces, pushing his shoulder back a little. He grits his teeth against the sudden jolt of pain. Yukhei is right—he can't even lift his arm above his head. He can move his arm at the elbow, but any motion above that is restricted and painful. He slams his other hand onto the table, frustrated.

“I have to go back out there,” Kun says. “I have to.”

“I understand,” Yukhei says. “But let me stay with you. We can both stay here, and it's more secure than your car. These walls are brick, and as long as we’re back before nightfall we’ll be fine.” Yukhei pauses, watching Kun plant both his hands on the table. “We both know you won't make it alone.”

Kun hates to admit he’s right.

"Help me find my brother," Yukhei says. "And I can help you...do whatever it is you're doing here."

Kun exhales slowly. "Fine," he says slowly. "I'll stay here and help you find your brother. But once I'm healed enough, I'm leaving."

"Suit yourself," Yukhei says. "But I can't just let you die, even if you are a stranger."

Kun eyes him warily. He isn’t much older than Kun himself but he seems so much younger, as if he has not carried the weight Kun has. Kun supposes he hasn't.

"Do you need clothes? I have some extras."

Kun sighs. "Yeah. Thanks."

Yukhei opens a cabinet and pulls out a shirt and a pair of pants, as well as a green jacket. He places them on the bed beside him and leaves the room wordlessly. 

Kun tries them on, struggling to pull the pants on over his bandaged leg. The shirt is infinitely harder and Kun feels waves of pain radiate through his arm as he works the shirt over his head. 

The clothes are a little big on him but they are clean. It is a small comfort. 

There is a mirror hanging on the wall, just out of sight. He goes over to it and touches it, gently. He traces the gauntness of his face, the scratches and scars that litter his exposed skin. He’s thinner now. His hair, it seems, has begun to go gray—strands of it shimmer in the light, his hair dry and dull.

Would Ten recognize him like this? Unsmiling, unhappy, a gray cloud? Kun’s heart aches with an emotion he cannot name, with a silence that fills every open and burning breath. He won’t stop until he finds him, even if it kills him.

He once told Ten he would die for him. Maybe he will fulfill that promise sooner than he expected.

…

Yukhei is a friendly face in a world that has gone cold and starless. The night is a nightmare so Kun turns to the sun with every waking moment, confined to his own body. Yukhei helps him stretch, teaches him how to move his body in different ways, but it is not enough. The wound on his leg was not that deep, and even though it bled it did not end him. His shoulder, on the other hand, heals slowly and painfully, in fits and starts. Every day he struggles to put on his shirt, struggles to raise his arm, struggles to hold his gun as he did before. He finds the Jeep several blocks away, holes pierced through its roof. He has lost another home, this one made of metal instead of flesh, but it hurts all the same.

He feels helpless. It is an awful, awful feeling.

…

“The crawlers are just like any other animal—they have limitations, rules. I think the real reason they aren’t out in the day is that they aren’t afraid of the sunlight but of what happens when they’re in it too long.”

They are sitting on the roof of the townhouse building Yukhei calls home, something that used to be more of an office complex than a house. It is a place the Kun comes to know as shelter and safety, even when he ears the crawlers outside the boarded-up windows.

Kun looks out over the ruined city, the twinkle of the sun on the waves past the pier. “They came from the water, right? I guess they don’t like being dry.”

“The water level has been steadily rising over the past three months, and at first I thought it was a coincidence but now I’m not so sure,” Yukhei says. “I’ve been measuring it. It’s over three feet higher than it was two months ago, and it keeps rising.”

“So what do you think?” Kun asks. His shoulder is throbbing again. “That they’re gonna start being more active during the day?”

“No,” Yukhei says slowly. “I think they know something we don’t. Something about the sea.”

Kun looks at him, frowning. “How could they?”

“I don’t know, but they aren’t just an unorganized swarm of creatures. They have methods, a form to their movements. It’s like a hive of bees—they’re working towards something. Every night they come further into the city. I think they’re preparing for something.”

Everything looks so normal from this point of view. The buildings still stand, the sun still shines. It is only when Kun looks closer that he sees the signs of decay and ruin—cracked windows, overturned cars, burn marks. The sea looks so peaceful from here. He looks at Yukhei, who is frowning at the shoreline.

“If the city floods, what happens then? Do you think they’ll just...live here?”

“I think that if the city floods they won’t be confined to moving at night,” Yukhei says. He toys with a string bracelet around his wrist. “And if they can move during the day, who knows what else they can do.”

Yukhei stands and reaches down to Kun, helping him up. Kun reaches up with his good shoulder and they head back inside. Kun looks behind him one last time, watching the sea shift in the sun, and shudders.

…

Five months. Five long, excruciating months since the end of the world, or maybe just Kun’s world.

At night Kun dreams of a face he is afraid he is forgetting. Certain things elude him, like the way Ten’s eyes glitter in the sunlight, like the way he laughs, like the way he moves like a ripple of silk in water. Kun keeps dreaming but all the dreams end up nightmares, end up in a dead phone line and creatures with too many legs. He wakes up reaching out for someone who isn’t there, trying to grasp a body that may by now be a corpse.

He remembers a winter day. He remembers him and Ten standing on the shore, snapping pictures of each other in front of the waves. He remembers Ten trying to push him in the cold water, laughing when his feet were soaked in the seafoam. He remembers how cold it was, even in the sun, and how he had never felt so warm. It was, perhaps, the moment when Kun decided that there would be no other in his life. That he was going to marry this man, this little devil pushing him towards the water.

Changing. Always changing but always the same.

Kun does not open the ring box but he never lets it go. He doesn’t even remember what the ring looks like. 

It’s like Ten—there, but not quite. A memory.

…

Kun grows stronger and eventually he and Yukhei begin to spend the long summer days searching the city, mostly on foot, Kun with his gun in his hands and Yukhei with a machete strapped to his back. They are the only truly living creatures in this skeleton of a city.

Radio reports come in. They are talking about the weather, and the crawlers, and the coast. What should we do , they ask, over and over again. What should we do?

Kun has no answers. He can’t think of anything at all.

…

“You’re looking for something,” Yukhei says, cracking open a warm can of soda. “I can tell. What is it?”

They are sitting on the roof. It’s windy today, drying, but there is something soothing about the roar, the way that it is not alive in any way and poses them no threat. Kun squints against the gusts.

Kun is silent for a moment. How do you describe the universe? “The love of my life, I guess.”

“You guess?” Yukhei laughs. “Are they the love of your life or not?”

“He is, it's just….” Kun’s voice tapers off into a whisper. “I’m just not sure I’ll find him.” 

Yukhei gives him a long look, eyes unreadable. “How long has it been since you were separated?”

“Almost five months,” Kun replies. “Since the beginning of all this.”

“You must miss him,” Yukhei says quietly.

“Not a day goes by that I don’t.”

Kun’s heart aches. He turns to Yukhei and tells himself that the burning in his eyes is from the wind. “What about your brother?” I know you miss him.”

“I do,” Yukhei says. “He’s the light of my life. A real talented kid—he wants to become a singer.” Yukhei drinks some of his soda. “And he could. He’s got a great voice, you know. I’ve been saving money for him so that he can go to a real music school.” Yukhei lowers his voice. “It’s gonna be quite the surprise when I give it to him.”

Present tense. He’s. When. Yukhei talks in absolutes.

“But enough about me,” he says, gently pushing Kun’s shoulder. “Tell me about this mystery man. He must mean the world to you if you’ve searched for him this long.”

Kun doesn’t have the words. He can’t explain the feeling in his chest. It’s more than love, it’s more than wanting. It’s the feeling that Ten is a part of him, and that if he is gone he will never be whole again. 

“We’ve been dating for almost four years,” Kun says slowly, and he wishes the wind would carry his words to wherever in this world Ten is. “I finally worked up the nerve to propose but then…” Kun shakes his head. “I had so many plans,” he says. “And even now, I can’t imagine what I’d do if I didn’t find him.”

“Life goes on,” Yukhei says, but his voice has no emotion. It is damp, in some way, weighted, but Kun can’t discern why.

“Life goes on,” Kun replies. “But at what cost?”

Yukhei has no response. Kun doesn’t either.

…

“I’m going to explore a different part of the city today,” Kun says. “I’m going to look through the eastern quadrant.”

“I thought you said you were there before,” Yukhei says, eating half a can of beans. The other half is in the bowl in front of Kun.

“I was,” Kun says, “But I have to look again. I've been through the entire city. He has to be here somewhere.”

“Are you sure he didn’t leave?” Yukhei asks, scraping the side of his can. The beans are hot, and they are a welcome change from cold protein bars. 

“He wouldn't...he wouldn’t leave without me.” Kun looks down at his beans, and Yukhei smiles at him.

“So you’re both stubborn, huh.”

Kun exhales in a way that suggests a laugh. “Well, I'm more stubborn than him. He’s more easy-going.”

“Sounds like my brother,” Yukhei says, chuckling. “He just takes each day as it comes.” Yukhei pauses. “I hope he’s safe.”

“Are you coming with me?” Kun asks. 

“Of course,” Yukhei says. “That’s what friends are for.”

A friend. Kun hasn’t had one of those in a while.

…

They head out early, but not too early. They wait until the sun has been in the sky for at least two hours before beginning their trek across the city, the pavement hot beneath their feet. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the emptiness,” Yukhei says. “It’s eerie.”

Kun adjusts his pack on his back. “Imagine being here for over three months by yourself,” Kun says. “It’s a miracle I even lived this long.”

“It’s a miracle for anyone to live here at all,” Yukhei adds. 

The eastern part of the city is one that brims with shopping districts and old buildings, tourist attractions and museums. Kun remembers going to the art museum here with Ten once. Or twice. He can't quite remember.

The place has changed. All the shiny buildings and meticulous gardens have turned to a slow type of decay, growing dull and wild. No tourist would ever come here. No living person.

But Kun hopes.

They split up for a while, drifting down the streets. Kun walks alone, trying to remember what these buildings were before the crawlers came. A shopping mall. A movie theatre. A restaurant.

He slows to a stop in front of one building, the glass front completely shattered. A gaping hole stands where it was before, and as Kun looks down into the glass he sees something glittering.

He bends down and pulls a gold watch out of the glass, the face cracked. He looks and sees a ring, and then farther back a gold brooch. A memory swims back to him, slowly, of a woman with a bright smile, a glass case filled with rings.

Kun steps back, the watch still in his hand. He’s holding onto it so tightly that it leaves sharp indents in his palm, the gold just as sharp as it is beautiful. He mindlessly stows it in his pocket, and keeps going.

He wanders. There isn’t much here in the way of provisions, and Kun does not think he is in the mood to look through racks of clothing or bottles of perfume. He sees Yukhei standing in the intersection ahead of him, staring at something.  He pulls the watch out of his pocket.

“I didn’t find anyone, but look at this—”

Kun slows as he gets closer, watching Yukhei’s eyes flicker to him and then away as if he is afraid. 

“What is it?” Kun asks. Yukhei is silent. “What is it?”

Yukhei looks at him, gaze slowly rising. “There’s a corpse lying on the sidewalk.”

Kun feels his blood go cold, feels all his veins freeze instantly as if there were liquid nitrogen in them instead of blood. “Where?”

“Over on the sidewalk.” Yukhei’s voice is quiet. “It looks like it’s been there a while.”

Kun turns and walks slowly, approaching the sidewalk. He sees the body of a young man, unrecognizable, face down on the ground. He swallows thickly, heart thumping like a speaker in a quiet room. He kneels next to the body.

Parts of the head are missing, but Kun can tell the man had dark hair. There are holes in the corpse, pierced right through by a crawler. The man is wearing a dark jacket and jeans. There is a bracelet on his decomposing hand.

Kun takes a deep breath and reaches out, gently touching the corpse’s shoulder. He rolls it onto its back, slowly, holding his breath. The rotting flesh smells. 

He looks at the face, scanning it quickly, and then turns away. The flat nose, half-rotten eyelids, and deep frown lines are all foreign to him. He does not recognize the dead man in the street. It is a small blessing.

He is relieved, but some small, dark part of him is bitter. This small part of him, hidden in the deepest corners of his heart, wishes that it had been Ten in the street. Ten’s corpse, just so he would know. So he could mourn. So he could stop giving himself hope when there is not much left.

For a terrible moment Kun sees clearly what a life without Ten would look like, and he imagines himself walking into the crawler infested sea, arms open and eyes closed. Waiting.

Kun stands and faces Yukhei. “It’s not him.”

“That means he’s still out there,” Yukhei says cheerfully, the dark spell that held them losing its grip.

“Yeah,” Kun says, tired. The watch is still in his other hand, and he leaves it with the corpse.

…

That night they sleep in an abandoned movie theater, the doors barred to keep the crawlers out. The dark movie theater is soundproof and has soft chairs, and when they raid the dusty concession booth they find unopened boxes of candy, stale and hard. The walls are thick, and as Kun lies on a row of seats staring at the slanted ceiling, he hears nothing outside.

Silence. He could get used to it.

…

Kun is dreaming again. He wishes he could stop.

“I love you,” Ten says quietly, resting his head on Kun’s chest. “I love you a lot.”

Kun doesn’t say anything. He laces his fingers with Ten’s, watching the star-filled sky out the window. The stars are like diamonds in a black velvet box, glimmering in the dark.

“I love you,” Kun whispers. He doesn’t say I love you more , or I love you too he just says I love you, and he still wonders if it is enough.

He’s scared to say what he wants to say, because what he wants to say is I love you more than anything in this world, or out of this world, or in this entire universe ; he wants to say I would pull the sun from the sky, the moon, all the diamond stars, just to give them to you ; he wants to say Ten, I will never leave.

But he doesn’t. When he looks at Ten, he is already asleep.

Ten, I will never leave you.

…

Routine. 

Kun continues to check shops, apartment complexes, a hospital. He goes into empty banks, he searches houses he has searched before, he visits libraries and schools waiting, searching. Yukhei is never far behind and it brings a burning shame, that someone else is watching him fall apart.

“Where do you think he would go?” Yuhei asks one afternoon. They are sitting in the abandoned food court of a shopping center, trash littering the floor. Kun shakes his head. 

“I’ve checked everywhere,” Kun says, tired. “It’s pointless.”

“Is there anywhere that you both know?” Yukhei asks. “Somewhere he would expect you to end up?”

Kun shakes his head again. “Have you gotten any closer to finding your brother?”

“No,” Yukhei says. “But I’ve got a good feeling I’ll find him soon.” Yukhei grins. “Maybe we’ll be lucky enough to find them at the same time.”

Kun gives him a tired smile.

“We’re gonna have to find somewhere to hole up for the night,” Yukhei says. “I’ll look around. I’m thinking that the library down the street might be pretty secure, but I’ll check again.” He stands. 

“Sunset is in three hours,” Kun says. “I’m going to keep looking, just for a little while.”

Yukhei gives him an unreadable expression. “Be careful.”

Kun tries to smile, but it looks more like a pained grimace. “When am I not?”

…

Straight, numbered streets become part of a maze that twists beneath Kun's feet. He has no sense of direction except towards the one thing that he cannot reach, his inner compass pointing not to the north or south but to a person. The compass needle spins, back and forth, unable to fix itself in one direction. He walks and time passes and he finds himself reduced to these small minutes, these big streets, his tired, tired heart.

The old art museum is unrecognizable now. It’s still beautiful, in an old, decrepit kind of way, but even from here Kun can see pits in the brick, parts that have been dented by crawlers’ legs. He can see the edge of a glass ceiling that juts out of the side of the building, part of an abstract installation. He's only been to the museum a handful of times, most of them with Ten, once when he was in high school. It feels surreal to know that you once lived in a place and took everything about it for granted, always thought that nothing would ever change. But things do change—they disintegrate, they drown, they are broken into the barest bones of what they used to be.

Kun knows this. He knows this but he still can’t accept it.

There’s a large part of the glass wall missing and Kun climbs inside, gun in his hand. The room inside is wide, the white concrete walls catching the sunlight as it shines through each joined segment of glass. There’s a bench positioned to give the viewer the greatest view of the ocean. It is the only thing in the room. 

Kun sits down, slowly, eyes on the horizon. The sea is beautiful, and it seems that at this moment, nothing has changed at all.

“I miss you,” Kun murmurs to the empty space. His voice escapes him, lost in the clear panes of glass and dying sunlight. “Where are you? Where did you go?”

The sea does not answer him. The horizon does not answer, the glass does not answer, the wind does not answer. Kun stands, adjusting the gun in his grip. His shoulder is throbbing, a low burn that is spreading down his chest. 

There are two doors that lead into the darkness of the rest of the museum. Kun turns towards one, the other empty behind him. The darkness beyond the doorway scares him, but he does not know why.

Silence. Silence, always changing but always the same.

There is a rustle in the doorway behind him and Kun’s good hand flies to his gun, muscles acting quicker than his mind does. The sun is out, it isn’t raining, how could the crawlers be out, there’s still an hour until sunset, where’s Yukhei—

“Drop your gun,” someone yells, their voice echoing off the walls. “Now!”

Kun feels his blood run cold and hot at the same time, going still. He throws his gun to the ground and raises one arm, the other only bent at the elbow.

“The other one, too!”

“I can’t,” Kun says through gritted teeth. His heartbeats are slow. “I’m injured.”

There is a long pause. Loaded. “Turn around then, and slowly.”

He turns and comes face to face with the end of an arrow, and as his eyes travel along it he finds it wired into something that looks vaguely like a crossbow. At the handle of that crossbow are two gloved hands, connected to two arms, connected to a man who is staring at Kun with an expression he can’t read. His dark hair has been cut short, shaved up on the sides, and there's a small bandage on the side of his neck. He lowers the crossbow, movements slow and halting.

A silence so heavy it could crush him descends on the two of them.

“Kun,” the man says, and his voice is soft and sad, almost on the verge of tears. “Your hair has gone gray.”

The man in front of him has dark hair. He has dark eyes, he has a small cut on the side of his cheek, he has several piercings on his ear but only one of them has anything in it. He has a smudge of red paint on his jaw. The man in front of him has an awestruck expression, almost disbelieving. He has. He is. 

“Do you like it?” Kun says quietly. “I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t.”

Kun is not sure if they are the right words. He is not sure if he should say anything at all.  The moment feels surreal, almost as if he is dreaming, and he is afraid he will wake up.

Ten drops his crossbow to the ground and runs the few feet between them before wrapping his hands in Kun’s jacket and burying his face in his neck. Kun takes a step backward, unsteady on his feet as he wraps his arms around Ten, the feel of his body against him familiar and haunting.

“I thought you were dead,” Ten says quietly, looking up at him. He is squeezing Kun so tightly it hurts. He thumps a hand on Kun’s chest and then runs a hand over the wrinkles in his shirt, smoothing them out. “I thought you died.”

Kun feels his throat tighten, feels his lungs burn, and pulls Ten closer. “I’ve been looking for you this entire time.” He lifts his uninjured arm and smoothes the hair away from Ten’s forehead. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”

Ten is silent, his arms wrapped around Kun’s waist. He is shaking from head to toe and Kun can feel his shirt soaking with tears. It is only seconds later that Kun realizes that he is crying as well and that he is holding Ten as if he is afraid that if he lets go he will lose him again. 

“You idiot,” Ten says, voice hoarse and words clogged up in his throat. “You absolute idiot.”

Kun can feel Ten’s heartbeat against his chest. “But I’m your idiot, remember?”

Ten’s hands are gentle on his face, imploring, as if Ten is trying to rememorize all the lines and angles of his face.

“Yes,” Ten says quietly, mouth resting gently against Kun’s cheek. He can feel the words just as much as he can hear them. “You are. You always will be.”

Kun places his hand on Ten’s cheek and kisses him, kisses him to make up for all the lost time, kisses him as if he is trying to forget every horrible moment he spent wondering if they would find each other again. He feels Ten’s hands on the back of his neck and finds that his mouth somehow still tastes like sugar and candy, finds that he still kisses as if he is trying to play catch with Kun’s heart.

“Don’t ever leave me again,” Ten says against his mouth. “Never.”

“I won’t,” Kun whispers back. “I won’t.”

They stay there for a moment, just the two of them in an empty room, sun streaming through the windows. 

“The boys will start closing up for the night,” Ten says, scratching absentmindedly at his neck. He reaches down for his crossbow and Kun's gun. “You can stay here.”

“The boys?”

Kun hears footsteps behind him and tenses up, placing his hand on Ten’s shoulder as if to push him behind him.

A door bangs open and footsteps run frantically towards the doorway. He raises his gun towards the hall and sees Yukhei run in, out of breath. His machete is strapped to his back, his jacket open. 

“Kun!” He says, smiling. He pauses when he sees Ten, crossbow drawn and mouth set in a grim line. He smiles again, but there's confusion on his face.

Kun gives him a small smile. "This is Ten."

"Who are you?" Ten asks, mouth a grim line. Yukhei strides forward and wraps him in a big hug, his grip tight enough that Ten is lifted off the ground a few inches. He lets out a muffled oof.

"Kun talked about you all the time," he says brightly. "I'm so happy to meet you!"

Ten relaxes a little as Yukhei lets go. “It's nice to meet you, too."

“Thanks,” Yukhei says. “I’m glad we found you.” He looks out the glass wall. “There’s only about an hour until sunset.”

“You two can stay here,” Ten says, reaching out to brush Kun’s hand with his own. “We’re already locking up for the night. It's safe here.”

Safe. Kun takes Ten’s hand in his own. Safe.

...

The museum extends underground, and Kun learns this is where Ten has been staying. He leads them down a set of stairs marked with red paint and lit by white lights set in the floor.

“There’s still electricity in most of the building,” Ten says. “But we only use it here.” 

He pushes a door it opens to reveal what looks like a maze of white walls. Some of them have glass cases set flush within them, and others look as if they used to display paintings.

“We had to move some things,” Ten says, flicking a switch. The subterranean area fills with white light. “There’s a lot of space down here, most of it divided by display walls.” 

Kun pauses, glancing at an old pot in a glass case.

“Do you stay here with someone else?” he asks, peering around corners as Ten leads them deeper. He sees some of the display areas have been sectioned off, blankets covering empty doorways. Some of the sections have pillows and blankets piled on the floor, as if someone was sleeping there.

“Well—”

“Ten?” It’s a young voice, cautious. “Who is this?”

Kun turns to see a teenage boy, hair bright red like crushed cherries. He’s holding a crossbow contraption like Ten’s, and his face has a smudge of red paint in the shape of an x.

“It’s okay, Renjun,” Ten steps towards him and already Kun resists the urge to pull him back. “They’re friends.”

The boy, Renjun, lowers his crossbow and watches Kun and Yukhei with wary eyes.  

He looks at Ten. “Everyone else just got back.”

Ten nods. “Good. Is everyone closing up?”

Renjun nods slowly, glancing at Kun. Ten ruffles his hair.

“Good. Round up everybody so they can meet our new friends.” 

Renjun nods again and runs down the myriad of hallways. Kun looks at Ten, raising an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

“Where did he come from?” Kun asks. 

“He’s one of the boys that used to live in our apartment complex,” Ten says, shrugging. “You know, the ones that were always yelling every night.”

Yukhei is silent behind them. Kun can almost hear what he’s thinking.

They keep walking and they finally come to a central room, a large square with benches set against the walls. There are paintings hanging on the walls, but it is obvious that they have been moved slightly. There’s what looks like a small electric stove in the center, and scavenged blankets and cushions covering the floor.

But what’s more surprising is the four boys sitting in front of them, all of them young, most of them with red paint smeared on their cheek or jaw. They fix Kun and Yukhei with cautious, unfriendly stares, and Kun feels his nerves tingle. 

“This is the gang,” Ten says, resting his crossbow on the floor. “Meet Kunhang, Yangyang, and Dejun. You’ve already met Renjun.”

Renjun nods from where he is seated by the wall, toying with a makeshift radio.

“Who are they?” one boy pipes up, his dark hair falling over his eyes. He’s wearing a dark shirt with a band logo on it, and a piece of tape is holding the elbow of his jacket closed. 

“This is Kun and Yukhei,” Ten says to the boys. “This is Kunhang.”

At least two of the boys let out audible gasps, and Kunhang jumps up from where he is sitting

“Nice to meet you,” Kunhang says, sticking out his hand. He squints at Kun. “We all thought you’d be taller.”

Kun gives Ten a sideways glance and Ten shrugs, giving him a shy smile.

Ten looks around the room. “Wait, where is—”

“Yukhei!” Someone shouts from down the hallway. “Yukhei!”

Kun turns to see a boy barrel into Yukhei, a blur of movement, and Yukhei laughs and picks the boy up in his arms, swinging him around. 

“Bro!” the boy shouts happily in the hallway, words running into each other as he wraps his arms tightly around Yukhei’s neck. “Where were you?”

“Man,” Yukhei replies, beaming. His voice does not grow any quieter but it becomes a little softer, cushioned in happiness. “I missed you. I missed you so, so much.”

Yukhei turns to Kun as he puts the boy down, and Kun can see now there is a slight resemblance between the two of them. The boy looks as if he is in high school, his hair a messy blonde color that looks as if it had been dyed a long time ago but hadn’t fully grown out.

“Meet Chenle,” Yukhei says proudly, smiling. “My little brother.”

Kun feels something warm in his chest. A full circle.

“Let’s eat something,” Ten says, smiling at Yukhei and Chenle. “And then we can talk.”

…

Kun learns that Ten and the boys have been living here for only the past four months. The first two they spent moving around, avoiding all the looting and crime. Ten tells him that was the greatest threat, in the beginning—it was also part of the reason he took the boys in. It was safer together, he tells Kun.

They eat lukewarm cans of ravioli and SpaghettiOs and the boys chatter amongst themselves, wildly. They look different when they smile, Kun thinks. More like children and less like fighters.

Ten stays silent, scraping the edge of his can with a spoon. He smiles tiredly at them and laughs when Chenle procures a deck of cards with mustaches drawn on all the kings. He shows it to Yukhei, who lets out a big, happy laugh.

“Let me see those,” Kun says, and Chenle grins at him as he hands them over. “I used to be able to do card tricks. Sure hope I haven’t forgotten how.”

Kun shuffles the cards and the boys watch raptly as he pulls several out and then slides them back into the deck. 

“Now this,” Kun says, showing Chenle the deck, “should be your card.”

“But it's not.”

“Shoot,” Kun says, scratching his head. “Are you sure you put it back in the deck? Are you absolutely sure?”

“Of course he did,” Renjun says hotly. “We all saw him do it.”

“Well,” Kun says. “It’s not in the deck. Could you have put it in your pocket?”

Chenle rolls his eyes and digs his hand in his jacket, eyes widening as he pulls out a card. It’s the king of hearts, a mustache doodle on his face. Chenle gapes at him.

“How’d you do that?” he asks, clambering forward to grab the deck. “How?”

“A good magician never reveals his secrets,” Kun says cheerfully. “You’ll just have to figure it out yourself.”

Chenle shuffles the cards and all the other boys crowd around him, talking excitedly. Kun looks over at Ten, who gives him a small, rare smile. He stands.

“Lights out in ten minutes,” Ten tells the boys. “You all need your rest.”

He turns to Kun, smiling slightly. “You too.”

Kun’s heart thumps.

…

The underground labyrinth of the museum is almost frightening in the dark. Kun follows Ten as he checks on all the boys, each of them piled into little sectioned off display rooms. Yukhei and Chenle stick together, still talking excitedly when they go to wish them goodnight.

The electric lantern in Ten’s hand casts a warm yellow light on the walls as he ducks into a display room, a thick black blanket hung for privacy. Kun follows him, unsure.

There’s a mat on the floor and several souvenir pillows with famous paintings printed on the fabric. Ten places the lantern on the floor next to the mat.

“Take off your shirt and lie down,” Ten says. 

Kun raises an eyebrow at him and Ten gives him an exasperated sigh. “I want to take a look at your shoulder. You said you were injured.”

Kun feels a chill. “It’s not that bad, really.”

“You’d say that even if your arm was amputated,” Ten says. “I want to take a look.”

Jacket first. Kun sighs and pulls that off and then his shirt, stiffly, working it over his head the way Yukhei taught him. Ten frowns at the halting movement of his arms, the pained grimace he tries to hide as he pulls the shirt off.

“You don’t act like it’s not that bad,” Ten says quietly, gently pressing on the angry red wound puckering the skin at his shoulder. It’s mostly scar tissue now but it still burns as Ten presses on it “Does it hurt?”

“Like a bitch.” Kun smiles at Ten. Ten does not smile back. “What about you? Are you okay?”

“It’s been rough,” Ten says quietly. “We’ve been lucky.”

Silence.

Ten reaches over and switches the lamp off. The darkness is warm and safe, familiar but not, unfamiliar only because Kun is not scared of it. 

…

Ten is up early, and when Kun blinks his eyes open Ten is already pulling on his shoes.

“There’s a lot to do,” Ten says hurriedly. “Now that—now that everyone’s reunited there’s no reason to stay here. We can head to the inner cities.”

“Do you have a vehicle?” Kun asks, slipping his jacket on. The black ring box is a weighted lump in his pocket.

“Not one that could fit all of us,” Ten says. “I’ll have to look for one.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Ten pauses. “Maybe you should rest. Your shoulder…”

“My shoulder doesn’t stop me from walking or firing a gun,” Kun says. “I can do just fine.”

Ten is silent for a long time. There is no light in the area, as there are no windows. Ten doesn’t bother to switch on the electric lamp, but Kun can hear him moving.

“You know what we used to say in college? That stupid buddy system thing? If there’s one of us…”

“There’s two of us.” Kun finishes. “I remember.”

“That’s what I tell the boys,” Ten says quietly. “Always stick together. Always have someone with you. It’s safer that way.”

Ten smooths hair away from Kun’s forehead, touch cool in the dark. “How long were you alone before you found someone? How long did you spend out there by yourself?” 

“Long enough.” Kun takes Ten’s gloved hand. “But I don’t want to talk about that.”

The memory still tastes bitter on his tongue, all that time spent alone in a ruined city wondering if he was the only one. His shoulder burns with the memory of a night far in the past, and Kun pushes every painful memory out of his mind.

"I'm going with you," Kun says again, speaking into the silence between them. "I don't want us to be apart anymore."

Ten pulls him close and they stay there for a little while, the sun rising somewhere outside the dark walls, the two of them waiting for something that feels a little like freedom.

...

"We're going to look for a vehicle today," Ten tells the boys. "Something in good condition that could fit all of us." He pauses. "You know the rules. Stay at least a block away from the boardwalk and check in every hour. Stay with your partner. Renjun and Yangyang will be here if you have an emergency. Any questions?"

The boys shake their heads and Kun notices that their faces have all been repainted with a streak of red paint in the shape of an x or a shaky line—Kun wonders if it means something, but he can't fathom what. The boys head out, Yukhei and Chenle trailing behind. Even Yukhei has a blob of red paint on his cheek.

Ten turns to Kun, running a finger into the red paint on his own check and transferring the color onto Kun's skin. His touch is gentle, soft, and Kun has never truly realized how much he took it for granted.

"It's to help us recognize each other from afar," he says. "Just in case there's someone else out there."

Kun nods wordlessly, and Ten's hand hovers over his cheek.

They set out on foot at around 9 am, the sun already high in the sky. He and Ten turn down one of the side streets, walking. Every once in a while Ten will point his crossbow into the window of an empty vehicle as he peers inside. They do not speak.

Kun watches him carefully as they head into a parking garage, light streaming onto the concrete floors. There are vehicles parked throughout, but many of them bear the telltale signs of crawlers—holes and dents pierced right through the metal. Kun thinks of the Jeep, almost torn to pieces, and shudders.

They don't find anything usable. There are several SUV's but most of them are either run down or damaged in some way. Most don't have any fuel left.

They return to the museum hours later empty-handed, a strange and heavy silence between them. By the time they get back everyone else is already there.

They lock up and Ten shows him the bars that slide behind every door, the sheets of metal that serve as makeshift barriers in doorways that don’t have doors.

Kun watches but there is something off with the way Ten speaks, slowly and quietly, not even looking at him. He doesn’t say anything but a sense of disconnection lurks there, something he cannot place.

They eat cans of soup. The lights go out at 9.

…

“There’s something bothering you,” Kun says quietly. The light from the electric lamp flickers over their faces as they sit on the ground, facing each other in the dark. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he says. “I’m fine.” He doesn’t sound fine. He sounds tired. He sounds like he’s about to cry.

“No, you’re not.” Kun leans forward. “What’s wrong?”

Ten says nothing. They both know that they cannot lie to each other, not in any way that counts. There is too much time between them, too much of one heart in two bodies, too much to say with words alone. Kun can feel Ten’s unhappiness as if it were his own, a tangible ache in his throat.

“Your hair has gone gray,” Ten says. “You almost died .”

“But I didn’t,” Kun says, struggling to force the words out. “I’m not.”

“Six months.” Ten pauses. “Six months that I spent wondering if you were dead or not. I gave up halfway through, Kun. I thought I had lost you. I almost did.”

“I’m here now,” Kun murmurs, old wounds burning. “I’m here.”

“I told all the boys about you,” Ten whispers in the darkness. “I thought it would help but it just made me lonelier.” He looks at his hands. “Now that you’re here, I’m afraid that I’m going to lose you again.”

“I never stopped trying to find you,” Kun says, grabbing Ten’s hand and holding it over his heart. “I never stopped looking.”

Silence. It is a repetitive silence, one that shows up between every word like a comma.

“I remember that day so well,” Ten says quietly “I kept calling and you wouldn’t pick up the phone, and every call went to voicemail,” Ten says, “I waited until I couldn’t anymore. I waited for you to come home .”

“You were gone by the time I got there,” Kun murmurs. Ten sighs.

“The boys had nowhere to go, and I had nowhere to go, so we went nowhere together,” Ten says. He laughs softly, the sound more like a forced breath than a laugh. “Chenle whacked one of them with a skateboard. Can you believe that? I couldn’t leave them.” Ten pulls his hand back, and Kun can see a baffled type of pain, as if Ten wants to yell. “I was so angry with you, and I kept rehearsing what I would say when you came back, but then you didn't come back, and I was—" The sentence spreads into a thin calm. "I was still waiting. Searching. Wondering."

Kun takes a shaking breath. He pulls off his jacket, looking down at the fabric, absentmindedly rubbing at the seams with his tired fingers.

Ten fixes him with a sharp, knife-like stare. "What was so important, Kun? Why couldn’t you come home earlier? Why couldn’t you—”

Ten thumps him in the arm with his fist, more out of frustration than anger. “Why, Kun? What was so important?”

Kun does not have the words he wants to say, but he does have something else.

Kun stretches the jacket out in his lap and Ten’s eyes follow his movements warily. He rifles through the pockets, emptying them onto the floor. There isn't much—a pack of matches, a couple of bullets that roll out and clatter against the floor. He unbuttons the top chest pocket and pulls out a small black box, covered in dirt in some places and blood in others.

Kun stands and looks at him, gripping the box in his hand. He takes a deep breath and the inhale rattles around in his lungs like broken glass.

The world goes silent for a moment. He pulls the box open, the hinge almost stuck shut.

He did not imagine this moment in this way. He imagined it softer, kinder, maybe in a dim restaurant or at the edge of the beach with the sun in the sky above them. But instead of a candlelight dinner they have an electric lamp in the dark, and instead of the sun, they have the nighttime and the danger that lurks outside. It doesn’t change anything, though. Kun will give Ten anything, even if it means the end of the world.

I can't quite kneel," Kun says quietly, thinking of the searing pain in his shoulder when he tries to extend it. “But if I could, I would.”

Ten stands, frowning, as Kun offers him the box. The ring resting inside is a brilliant silver, two bands spun into one, meeting in the middle. A single diamond lies in the center, glowing as if from within. Ten tilts his head, confused, and then his face slowly changes into something quietly shocked and disbelieving. Hegapes at him.

“Kun, you...you…”

Kun pulls the ring out of the box with shaky fingers, unsure if he is nervous or just exhausted, worried that his hands will stain the metal. He takes Ten’s hand in his, feeling every callous that lies in his palm. His fingers are scarred, but that does not make him any less beautiful.

“I carried this for six months,” Kun says, and the words catch in his throat. “I carried this for six months and I...I didn't know if I would ever get the chance to give it to you.” His eyes prick at the corners, throat burning. “Ten, I want to be with you forever. No matter what, I want to be by your side.”

Ten stares at him as he slides the ring onto his left hand, the names engraved on the inner band glinting. Ten grabs his hand, fingers ghosting over his.

“Please say yes,” Kun murmurs, smiling even though tears are welling in his eyes.

“You idiot,” Ten says, voice uncharacteristically quiet. “You big, thoughtless, romantic idiot.” He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yes. Yes, Kun.”

Ten places his hand on Kun’s cheek, leaning forward. “For you, the answer is always yes.”

They kiss in the dimming light of the electric lantern, the room cramped and small but the universe so large around them, so vastly infinite that Kun cannot imagine it ending. He wraps his arms around Ten and they stand there in the semi-darkness, swaying together, Ten humming softly. The tune is familiar, but Kun hasn't heard it in a long, long time.

“I dreamed about you,” Kun says. “It was the only thing that kept me going. The thought of you.”

“I feel like I’m dreaming.” Ten takes a deep breath. “I feel like I’m never going to wake up.”

“Is that good or bad?”

Ten smiles at him, the ring on his hand catching the dying light and reflecting it like a supernova, a bursting star. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Sleep on it,” Kun says lightly. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“You should sleep,” Ten whispers softly, resting his head on Kun’s good shoulder. The lamplight flickers. “You sound tired.”

Tired. Kun has never felt less tired in his life.

“I don’t want to go to sleep,” Kun says, squeezing Ten in his arms. “I don’t want to take my eyes off you.”

“Then dream of me.” Ten laughs quietly, his voice the only sound in the night that matters.

...

It is strange, to know that you are bound to another person. Kun realizes this as he sees Ten pull on his gloves over the ring Kun gave him. It vanishes beneath the black fabric but it is still there, hidden. Ten wakes early, pulling on his shoes in the dark.

“Good morning,” Kun whispers, kissing him on the cheek. Ten leans into his touch, sighing. It is such a small thing, to be able to say good morning to the person you love, to be able to wake up next to them, to know that they are there, but it feels like so much more to Kun. It feels like a part of his soul has been slotted back into place. Ten kisses him back and it feels like they are trying to make up for lost time, both in the present, the past, and the future.

They head out that day and eventually find what they are looking for—a van that can seat eight people, with no holes or dents in the metal. It runs for several seconds, and then putters out of fuel.

“We can bring fuel tomorrow and then move the van,” Ten says that night as they are sitting in the big square room. He pulls off his gloves as he speaks, every eye in the room trained on him. “We can bring it back here and prepare to leave.”

One of the boys, a quiet boy dressed in all black that Kun has learned is named Dejun, leans forward. “Where’d you get that ring?”

“Oh,” Ten says, looking down at the ring. He glances over at Kun, mouth tilting up at the corners. “Kun and I are going to get married.”

There’s an excited gasp that ripples throughout the room as the boys rush forward to look at Ten’s hand, and Kun is nearly swept off his feet by Yukhei pulling him into a hug. It is a strangely celebratory moment in such an unusual setting.

Kunhang comes up to him, pointing a finger at him. “You better treat him right,” Kunhang says fiercely. “There’s no one as good as him in the whole world.”

Kun looks over at Ten, who is letting Chenle pull his hand closer to the lamp so they can see the ring clearer. His heart floats a little.

“Don’t worry,” Kun says, looking at Kunhang’s paint smudged face and determined expression. “I know.”

...

“There’s a hurricane budding off the coast,” Renjun says. “It’s all the radio stations are talking about. The storm will affect weather patterns all across the country.”

“Rain is coming,” Ten says darkly. “We have to leave before it hits us.” He glances at Kun across the table before turning to Kunhang. “Is the van working?”

“It needs gas,” he says. “I can fill it up today along with some emergency containers.”

“Good,” Ten says. “Head out early. Take Dejun with you. Let’s aim to head out tomorrow.”

“If there’s a storm coming there’ll be increased presence at the blockade,” Yukhei says. “Once we reach that we should be safe. It’s an hour outside the city.”

“It will be a three-hour trip, and we can’t stop for anything.” Kun drums his fingers on the table. “Do we have weapons? Supplies?”

“We travel light," Ten says. "The van should be able to take us all the way on a full tank of gas. We'll bring water and weapons, but hopefully, we can make it without interruption."

"Alright then," Yukhei says. Chenle nods at him.

Kun learns that the crossbows all the boys possess were made by Kunhang from scraps of wood and metal and fabric. The crossbows are checked, pieces repaired and more arrows made. Chenle and Yukhei sit in the great marble hall on the upper floor, surrounded by paintings larger than any one of them could ever be, sharpening dowel rods stolen from a hardware store. Kun stands in the shadow outside the room watching them. Renjun runs past, stepping onto a statue of a reclining woman to peer out a tall window.

"Hey Kun," he says, squinting. "Does it look like its gonna rain?" 

Kun runs to the window, standing on his toes. The sky is darkening outside, and he can hear a dull roar, something he does not want to hear ever again.

"Send a message to the others," Kun says. "Tell them to get back here as soon as possible." He looks out the window. "Now!"

Renjun nods and runs back to the radio, footsteps echoing on the stone floors. Kun goes into the painting hall, waving frantically at Yukhei and Chenle.

"It's going to rain!" Kun yells, voice echoing. He feels the paintings watch him, old and fading. Chenle stands, piling makeshift arrows into his arms. Kun grabs Yukhei's arm. "Ten, Kunhang and Dejun are still out there. We can't lock down until they get back."

"They would have to see that a storm is coming," Yukhei says. The machete slung across his back glints dully in the light that streams through the windows. 

"Renjun is sending out a radio message now," Kun says. "But the sky has already started getting darker."

Yukhei's mouth is a grim line. "We'll start blocking the windows," he says. "We'll leave the main door unlocked." He pauses. "For now."

Kun nods. He watches the two of them head out of the hall, vanishing behind the wall. Kun takes a deep breath and turns, heading in the opposite direction.

…

There is one thing that Kun knows, and it is that he will not die if he doesn't have to. He also knows that there is more than one type of death. There is loss, and there is losing yourself, and even though these two things are very similar they are not the same. 

The glass room faces the sea. It was meant, at one time, to be picturesque, and even though the sea is still beautiful now it harbors dark secrets, something ugly that begins to bubble to the surface as the sky darkens.

The glass is reinforced but Ten still insists on the area being walled off and blocked because of the singular pane of glass that has been pushed out. It’s a big window, he tells Kun, and windows break. But Kun stands there, surrounded by glass on three sides and stone on the fourth, and watches the street and the sea and the sky. He pulls his gun off his back and holds it in his hands, prepared for an enemy that rests just beyond. He holds it up, barrel pointing through the hole in the glass to the cloudy outside.

The clouds break open, and rain pours down. Kun watches the water slide down the curved glass in sheets and he watches the street, watches it with his hands gripped on his gun. He sees the ocean waves boil in the distance.

He’s waiting. He feels a nervous flutter in his chest and finds that he is silently murmuring Ten’s name over and over again, like a prayer.

A van pulls up to the sidewalk in front of the glass room, running over the curb as it keeps driving past. Kun catches a glimpse of dark hair through the tinted windows and lowers the gun. He turns and runs out of the room, bolting the door as he leaves, three metal bars sliding against the stone.

“They’re back!” He yells, voice echoing. He hears footsteps and the opening and closing of doors, metal bars sliding shut, rooms darkening as windows are covered with sheets of metal. He goes to the main door and sees Kunhang and Dejun stumble in, soaking wet. They run past him into the darkness, heading to the stairs.

Kun stands in front of the half-open door, waiting, his heart beating so loudly in his chest it seems to echo off the walls.

The door slams open and Ten runs in, pushing it shut behind him. Kun runs forward and together they heave the heavy door closed, sliding the metal bars behind it. Ten looks at him as they slide the last metal bar in.

“Downstairs,” Ten yells, the sound of rain clamoring above them. “Now!”

The stairs are perilous shadows in the dark but Ten takes his hand and leads him down. The electric lights above have finally failed. Kun struggles to keep his steps measured as they fly down the stairs.

The darkness is suffocating but Kun is used to it. He can hear rain pound on the walls and then hear it fade away as they lock the door behind them. The labyrinth of walls underground block the sound.

“Fuck,” Ten hisses. His hair is wet. “I thought we would have at least one more day before this started.”

“We can’t head out until it stops raining,” Kun says, fumbling for an electric lamp. The lamp flickers on and Kun holds it up between them. “That’s at least a day lost. At least.”

“I need to check on the boys,” Ten says, heading down the hallway. His voice has a strained quality to it. Kun follows with the lamp.

They find Yukhei with the boys, most of them soaking wet from the rain. No one seems injured, but Yukhei is sweeping over them anyway with a watchful and experienced eye.

“With eight of us we have enough supplies for five days,” one of the boys, Yangyang, says. A headband is tied around his wet hair. “How long do you think the rain is going to last?”

“I don’t know,” Ten says. “But we have to be prepared for the worst. We’ll give it two days. If it hasn’t stopped by then, we leave anyway.”

Everyone stares at him, but no one says anything. Ten kneels in front of the boys. “I’ll protect you, okay? No matter what, we’ll all get out. Do you trust me?”

The boys nod. Kun finds himself nodding as well.

“Good.” Ten stands. “Then we’ll be fine.”

...

It rains for two days straight, the electricity flickering on and off throughout the day and the night.  Kun can sense a restlessness that settles throughout the walls, a longing to be out of here in one form or another. There is little that they can do except wait for the rain to pass, and then keep waiting for the sun to shine.

Kun and Ten leave the relative safety of the underground exhibits to head upstairs, looking out at the graying sky. They are waiting for a change but there is none. Kun can hear the crawlers in the distance, and sometimes he can hear them much, much closer.

Kun holds Ten in the darkness, and even though they are waiting for sunshine it does not come.

…

“We’re leaving.” Ten switches on the lights. “It’s stopped raining, but I don’t know for how long.”

Everything begins in a blur—Kun grabbing Ten’s hand, the two of them running behind the others to the van, the lightening gray of the sky that looms with the threat of more rain. The wind whips around them, biting into their skin. They try to move quietly but a footstep is still a footstep, and it makes its own space in the wind around them.

Kun keeps his gun trained on the road and the nearby buildings until everyone gets in the van, back to the vehicle, until Ten taps his shoulder and pulls him inside. The inside of the van is dark. Yukhei is behind the wheel, Chenle sitting in the passenger seat beside him.

It is a two hour trip to the edge of the city, and then another hour to the blockade. Ten clasps their hands together and then tells everyone to keep an eye out, and all of them take off down the road.

…

One hour in. Kun has not seen a crawler yet, which is strange. The sky is just dark enough for them to be out.

“It’s so quiet,” Dejun says, wrapping his jacket closer around himself. “It’s so dark but it’s so quiet.”

The rumble of the van’s engine is soothing in its steadfastness, but it makes Kun’s teeth chatter.

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Kun murmurs, almost to himself.

…

Two hours in. The tall buildings of the heart of the city give way to houses in the suburbs and eventually they pass the city limits. Kun looks out the back window of the van and thinks he sees something with six legs watching them, many somethings with six legs watching them, but nothing moves. He blinks and they disappear.

Here is something else Kun knows: the crawlers are not human. They are mindless and cruel and will chase after any living thing if they know they can hurt it. He knows they can hear very well, and he knows that the van is not the quietest vehicle. Something in the back of his head doesn't add up, but the thought is lost in the swaying sound of the engine, in the sound of the boys whispering to each other and passing around a deck of cards.

The sky is still dark. Raindrops hit the windshield. They keep going.

…

The military blockade is made up of bright orange road stops and a tall concrete building with small, thin windows. There are men with guns standing around the building and they watch the van warily as they drive closer.

Almost there. Kun can see the boys’ eyes light up as they look out the window, freedom glowing before them like sunlight. Safety. Normalcy. All these things seem so distant to Kun but still he feels an itch burn under his skin, something that makes his heart race. Ten looks over at him and Kun grabs his hand, rubbing his thumb over the outline of the ring hidden under his glove.

Moments turn into eternities as the men come closer, examining the van, opening the doors and ushering them out. They stand behind them as they run past the barricade. Noise. Light. Voices that are new. The world is shattering but in a way that suggests rebirth. Remaking.

“You’re safe now,” one of the men says, dressed head to toe in black. “We can protect you.”

The boys hug each other, hug the men dressed in black, and their smiles look so much more real, so much more human. Kun sees Yukhei and Chenle grin at each other, Chenle whispering something in his big brother’s ear. Ten grabs his wrist, fingers digging into his skin so hard it hurts. There is a faraway look in his eyes, something like tears glazing them.

“Did you hear that?” he asks quietly. 

“Hear what?” Kun asks, looking behind them. The men in black are leading them past the concrete building to a bus painted all black.

“Nothing,” Ten says quietly. “I don’t hear anything.”

The flat, grassy area behind them outlines the road they drove in one, and Kun hears what Ten hears, that absolute lack of sound. No scraping, no screeching, no chittering. Kun takes a deep breath.

Kun reaches out to brush the streak of red paint on Ten’s cheek. “It means we’re safe,” he says, watching as Ten’s hand comes up to cover his won. “It means we made it.”

Ten kisses him, and he is still playing catch with his heart.

…

Life goes on. It goes on slowly, sometimes painfully, but it still goes on.

They get married on a Saturday, in a forest, surrounded by the few friends they can find. Yukhei is the best man and all the boys are there in their best clothing, even if their best clothing doesn’t quite fit. Chenle and Yangyang pretend to gag when they kiss, and Ten laughs against Kun’s mouth when they kiss again. It’s a small affair, but all Kun ever truly needed was Ten by his side. They wear matching black bands, now. One heart in two bodies, no matter how broken.

They move to the mountains. They vow to never see the sea again.

The days are rose gold and beautiful. Kun has never been happier.

Here is a thing Kun knows, and it is perhaps the only thing he needs to know: he loves Ten, and it doesn't matter if the world ends all at once or bit by bit because he will still be by his side.

…

A sound. A skittering, screeching sound, and then the feel of tearing flesh and then a scream, someone is screaming, someone is—

Kun wakes in the middle of the night, heart hammering and palms sweaty, his shoulder burning. For a second the wound feels fresh, as if it is still bleeding through his shirt. He jolts upright, chest heaving. 

The night is silent. One of the windows is open, the breeze gently swaying the curtains, and Kun can see mountains and forest outside. There is nothing there—no crawlers, no creatures lurking in the night.

Kun looks over at Ten, who groggily fumbles for his hand. “What’s wrong?” he mumbles, half asleep.

Kun looks out the window. It is beginning to rain.

“Nothing,” Kun says, watching rain run down the open window in sheets. The sound drowns out everything else. He thinks he sees a shadow of movement amongst the trees, but then doesn’t see anything at all. “Nothing.”