Work Text:
Trust is, in every sense, a foreign concept to someone like Dongho. He knows that he can't trust other people, that the only person he can trust is himself.
Kang Dongho cannot trust a single person on the face of the planet, not even himself.
Or, rather, he cannot trust his mind.
———
Dongho's lived in South Korea for close to a decade, long enough to experience a number of Seoul winters. And yet he still thinks of winter like it is back in California— LA, to be precise.
He still thinks of winter as the strange period of time when things aren't hot— aside from the rare hot spell that sometimes happened— and the only time of year where it's guaranteed to rain and, if you're extra lucky (or just at a higher altitude) it could even snow.
He still thinks of raincoats as winter jackets, and of puffer coats as snow gear. Rain boots are winter boots, and snow boots are for the day trips to the mountains to play in the snow for a bit.
But his mind is wrong.
His first year in Seoul, Dongho nearly froze during the winter. He hadn't packed a proper winter coat, just a windbreaker and a longer water-repellent trenchcoat. Minsoo's mom had fussed over him after that, insisting on buying him a coat and scarf, and Dongho had just let her, too shy to speak up.
He still has that scarf. It's his only scarf.
———
He can't trust his reaction to loud, sudden noises.
Cars backfiring.
Metal doors slamming shut a bit too sharply.
Something heavy falling on concrete flooring.
He's never been in a situation where that kind of sound meant death. But there were drills at school, and gunshots occasionally would fire through the air in some of the neighborhoods he stayed in when he first came to Seoul, and now, that sound means he needs to hide.
There's always a moment after he first hears them, a moment of his heart thumping so loudly that the person coming for him can surely hear it, and his head's swiveling this way and that to try and spot a place to hide-
And then Minsoo pokes his head to the practice room, groaning something about dropping an ottoman and how he needs Dongho to help him carry it-
And even though he's shaky and a moment away from running to some dark corner to hide, Dongho sighs and rolls his eyes and follows Minsoo out to the hallway.
———
Dongho knows he can't trust his mind. Still, his other senses betray him, too.
Like the night he woke up, blinking sleepily and trying to spot the clock and then he smelled it.
A whiff of smoke.
And then everything was hazy and the sky outside was burning orange and he couldn't see, couldn't breath, and he could hear flames crackling and people shouting and the sky's full of smoke and ash and it's blazing red and everything is burning and-
Dongho grabs at the sheets, gulping down breaths of clean, cold air.
It's 2am. He's in Korea. The sky's a deep, deep inky purple and he can hear the faint drizzle of rain on the windows.
He gets up, stumbling through the apartment to the balcony, and he walks out into a safe, damp, cold night.
Cars drive by, wipers on and streetlights shining on the already-wet pavement.
Sighing, Dongho sits on the rough floor of the balcony, feet resting against the frigid metal railing.
He breathes in air that's probably polluted, but it's not full of ash and his mouth doesn't taste like smoke and he can smell the rain on the ground, as opposed to the acrid smoke.
Dongho just hopes he can trust the rain to not be a dream, as well.