Chapter Text
They come together slowly.
It’s Hongjoong and Seonghwa first, outside the old corner store, late at night.
It’s dissatisfaction which has driven both there, roaming the darkened streets long past the time when most sensible people have gone to bed.
Hongjoong is standing by the video store, staring in at the rows of TV screens and lost in thought. Watching the happy families sitting around their neat little dinner tables, and wondering where his own parents and siblings are now. He hasn’t seen them in years, but they must be out there, somewhere. Just like the people in these screens, they’re real, but so far removed from him that they may as well not exist at all. It’s strange to think about.
Seonghwa is brooding because the girl he likes has left him. It hadn’t been love exactly, but it might have been, with time. He’d certainly liked her a great deal, and they’d been together, sort of. She’d never seemed as committed to the idea as he had. And now she’d ended it altogether. Said they weren’t a good fit.
“I don’t want to stay here and settle down,” she’d said. “I want more from life. I’m not satisfied here.”
That’s how we all feel, Seonghwa had nearly replied. You just have to learn to live with it.
But the words had caught in his throat as he suddenly wondered – was that really true? Did every person really carry such a feeling of unrest within themselves? And did they really have no choice but to ignore it, for the sake of law and order in their society, for the sake of following the path they’d been set on?
The two are so caught up in their own thoughts that it takes them a few minutes to notice each other, even though the shops they’ve chosen to languish in front of are only a few doors down from each other.
Then together they look up, eyes meeting under the dull, flickering lights, and they recognise a kindred spirit.
It doesn’t take them long to become friends. They begin meeting up after school, taking solace in each other’s company.
They’re still quite alone in their lives, but it’s a start.
Next to join is Yunho.
He’s not a music student, but he’s been hanging around the music building so much that Hongjoong starts to take notice of him. Hears the whispers, that his brother was a musician, before he died. Hit by a truck, instant death, so tragic. Yunho seems to be having a hard time recovering.
Hongjoong is far from being a people person, but he plucks up the courage to approach Yunho next time he sees him, asks tentatively if he needs someone to talk to about it.
Turns out, he does.
“My brother wrote songs,” he tells Hongjoong, “Beautiful ones. He would have been famous one day.”
His bedroom is still set up like a studio, and Yunho sits in it every day after school, wishing things were different.
“I want to learn how to write songs too,” he says. “I need to continue what he started.”
Hongjoong offers to help him, because how can he not? He invites Yunho to meet up with him and Seonghwa after school, starts teaching him the basics of composing and recording on the shitty third-hand equipment he keeps in his own room.
Before long, Yunho has become not only his protegee, but his friend.
Wooyoung is next, loud and brash and everything Hongjoong didn’t think he liked in a person, but somehow so happy and charming and earnest with it that it’s impossible not to like him. He gets talking to Seonghwa one day, and has pushed his friendly way into their after-school hangouts the next.
With the addition of a fourth person, their various bedrooms are starting to feel too crowded, and they start looking for another place to meet. The old warehouse behind the school is the obvious choice, unused but unlocked, a cavernous space which is theirs for the taking. They snag some old couches which have been left out on the street for the garbage collectors to take away, and relocate a mishmash of music equipment from both Hongjoong’s and Yunho’s brother’s room to the least leaky corner. Before long, it’s starting to feel like a home.
Not long afterwards, to the surprise of the others, Wooyoung turns up with Kang Yeosang by his side.
Cold, distant, perfect Yeosang, who everyone knows doesn’t talk, doesn’t hang out with others, doesn’t have time for anything except studying and his violin classes.
Except, as he explains to them now, halting and shy under their curious gazes, he doesn’t enjoy living like that. His parents heap pressure on him to do well, and he folds under it and does what they tell him to do, and his own interests and ambitions fall by the wayside.
He just wants somewhere he can relax and drop his perfect mask for a moment, some people he can be around without having to pretend. To be reminded what it’s like to have fun.
The others welcome him, free of expectation, and learn how he sounds when he giggles, and the way his eyes light up when people laugh at his jokes.
Then, because Wooyoung attracts people like a magnet, he shows up with the new kid, San, in tow.
“San told me he’s moved around heaps,” Wooyoung tells them when he introduces him. “He’s been to so many different schools!”
“Don’t know how long I’ll be here until my family gets uprooted again,” San admits, smiling self-consciously, “But it’ll be nice to make some friends for once.”
And make friends he does. They meet up more and more often, chatting and playing and messing around in the old warehouse.
Mingi is next, a standoffish, sullen boy with an intimidating stare and earbuds perpetually in his ears, turned up so loud you can hear the bass if you stand nearby. Not that people often get close enough to hear, given his reputation for getting into fights.
Still, that reputation isn’t enough to drive Yunho away when they get partnered on a project, and he stubbornly pushes his way through Mingi’s barrier and finds a smile as bright as his own waiting behind it.
He cajoles Mingi into joining them after school, and they discover that he writes music as well, can put together lyrics even faster than Hongjoong.
He ditches one ear bud at first, having actually found people he’s willing to listen to for once, and eventually both are sitting loose and unused around his neck, forgotten for the first time in years.
Last comes Jongho, who San finds sitting on the sidelines of the basketball court, leg in a cast and dejection on his face. He had friends, he tells San, but they all ditched him the second he couldn’t keep up with them, too focused on the game and too set in their ways to consider slowing down for him.
San tells him that they don’t sound like friends at all, and asks if Jongho would like some real ones. Jongho would.
He brings his basketball along and teaches the others how to play better, directs them from the motheaten sofa where he sprawls like a king with his leg up on the battered coffee table, and doesn’t hold back in letting them know that they’ve been playing with poor technique or had the finer points of the rules all wrong. Basking in the fact that even injured, he’s still a better shot that all of them, even Yeosang who surprised them with his ability to spin a basketball on his finger.
They learn Wooyoung has a hidden talent for dancing. He starts showing them routines he’s been working on, offers to show them how. Yunho and Yeosang take to it like a fish to water, and although it takes the others a little longer to begin with, it’s not long until they’re all joining in. Even Jongho can take part, Wooyoung and Yunho carefully reworking the steps which need fast leg movement into a gentler version Jongho can learn until he’s better.
Wooyoung confides that it’s his dream to be able to join in the street dancing circles that meet in the old underground parking on Friday nights, but he always freezes up at the idea of dancing in front of so many talented people.
“I can dance in front of you guys because you’re lame,” he tells them cheerfully, and then admits quietly later what they all already know – that he can dance in front of them because he knows they won’t make fun of him.
Because he trusts them.
They accept this sacred responsibility with the importance it deserves, do all they can to heap on praise and build his confidence, and their reward is his smile when he arrives late one night, still shaking with adrenaline, to announce that he joined the dance and all the crowd cheered for him.
Weeks turn into months, and Hongjoong realises with some surprise one night, looking around at the others’ laughing faces as they sit sprawled around on the couches and the floor, that he hasn’t thought about his missing family in ages.
He’s not lonely anymore. He doesn’t miss them with his whole heart and cry himself to sleep at night anymore.
He’s built himself a new family, right here in this warehouse.
At long last, Hongjoong is happy.
And then, abruptly, it all falls apart.
It starts with Yeosang, whose parents have finally cottoned on that all his late evenings after school haven’t been spent studying in the library. They ground him, and although he still does his best to see them when he can, his presence in the group drops off significantly, and his absence is keenly felt.
Then Wooyoung bursts into the warehouse late one evening with wide eyes, shouting that the old parking lot where the dance crowd always met has been locked up, sealed with heavy iron gates and a huge padlock. He doesn’t know where the rest of the crew has gone, if they’ll choose a new meeting place or if they’ve simply scattered to the wind. He has no way of finding out.
He grows more and more sullen as the days wear on, worse because Yeosang isn’t there to calm him. San is the other friend he’s closest too, and he does his best, but Wooyoung’s smile becomes a rarer sight and he laughs less and less.
Then, just a few days later, San shows up with angry tears in his eyes and announces that his parents have decided to move again. He’ll be gone within the month.
It comes as a blow to all of them – they’d known it was a possibility, but it hasn’t seemed real, hadn’t thought that it might actually happen, let alone so soon.
With San’s imminent departure hanging over the group like a black cloud, it doesn’t take long for the rest of their peace to unravel.
Yunho withdraws, speaking less and retreating into his head more, and it’s not until he stops acting as the group’s cheerful mood-maker that they realise how much they were relying on him. The atmosphere becomes tense and strained, and as Jongho’s leg finally heals enough to remove the brace and begin gentle exercise on the courts once more, he starts spending less time in the warehouse as well.
Mingi, without the others to cheer him, becomes surly again, and Seonghwa, easily worried and incapable of feeling at ease when the others are unhappy, is in a constant state of anxiousness.
Then comes the fight.
It’s one of the rare nights when they’re all at the warehouse, but none of their usual easy cheer is present. No one seems to know what to say, how to act, where to look. Conversation is strained.
After a little while, Jongho seems to have had enough. He gets to his feet, announces that he’s going back to the courts to practice again.
Mingi raises his head, narrows his eyes at Jongho as the other shoves his things back into his shoulder bag.
“What, are we not cool enough for you anymore?” he asks lowly. “Are you too good for us losers now your leg’s better?”
Those words are all it takes. Like a glass that’s been teetering on the edge of a shelf for weeks now, waiting for that final bump to send it crashing to the ground, the tension in the warehouse suddenly explodes.
They’ve never even heard Jongho raise his voice before, but he’s shouting now, and Mingi replies, harsh and cutting, and they knew he was good with words but oh it’s different when those words are being used as weapons against one of their own. It’s enough to make Jongho, calm, sensible Jongho, grab him by the collar and shove him back against the wall, so hard it echoes through the cavernous space. The others are crying out, panicked, angry, trying to get in between them, trying to hold them back. Hongjoong is among them, shouting furiously for them to stop, to calm down, to be reasonable.
Jongho wrenches himself out of their grasp, too strong for them to hold him, but he doesn’t attack Mingi again. Instead, he just glares silently at all of them, one by one, before snatching up his bag and striding away without another word. The heavy door bangs shut behind him, leaving them in horrible silence.
The group scatters to the wind after that. They avoid each other at school, they retreat back to their own private worlds.
Hongjoong still goes to the warehouse every night after school, because there’s little difference between the emptiness there and the emptiness waiting for him in his house.
He lies back on the battered sofa and stares up at the ceiling, unshed tears in his eyes at the wrongness of it all. This place was never meant to be empty. It was meant to be filled with joy and laughter, raised voices and the stomping of feet.
It shouldn’t be quiet enough to sleep.
Hongjoong turns over on his side, sighing unhappily, and closes his eyes.
He’s woken by the sound of footsteps approaching.
His eyes fly open and he looks around, disoriented. He doesn’t know how long he slept, isn’t sure of where he is for a moment, but he knows at once that whoever is walking towards him isn’t one of the group. The gait is all wrong, unfamiliar, too measured, too steady.
Hongjoong scrambles to sit up and gets his first view of the intruder – it’s a man, dressed entirely in black. Long black coat, black trousers, black shoes. Black hat pulled low over his eyes. Black mask covering the lower half of his face. Black eyes staring down at him in disdain.
Hongjoong bristles.
“Who are you?” he demands. “What are you doing here?”
The man doesn’t answer.
He holds something out, something made of metal and glass which catches the light and shines gold for a second, so it takes Hongjoong a moment to see it properly.
It’s an hourglass.
Hongjoong looks at it, then back up at the man.
“What is this?” he asks.
“It’s called the Cromer,” says the man. “It’s yours now. Be careful with it. Keep it safe. Keep it hidden.”
Hongjoong takes in his words, but is more preoccupied with the fact that this voice is familiar. Where has he heard it before? Why does he know it?
“Have we met?”
“You and I?” says the man. “No. Not yet.”
What’s that supposed to mean? Hongjoong opens his mouth to ask, but the man shakes his head.
“Not now,” he says. “We’ve run out.”
“Run out?” repeats Hongjoong. “Run out of what?”
The man steps forward, places the hourglass – the Cromer – on the table between them. The sand is almost entirely drained to the bottom half now. The little clunk it makes as it connects with the wooden tabletop rings out in the tense silence.
“Time,” says the man simply, as the last few grains fall.
Then, just like that, he’s gone. Vanished. He was there a second ago, and now there’s nothing.
Before Hongjoong has a chance to react, the Cromer is glowing. Golden light surrounds the hourglass as the sand within, impossibly, begins to flow upwards.
Hongjoong wakes with a start for a second time, finds himself on his back on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling of the warehouse. Bright daylight is streaming in from the east, birds are singing outside.
It’s morning. He must have accidentally spent the whole night here. And what a strange dream he had – how vivid, how real it all felt! Hongjoong shakes his head and presses a hand to his temple.
He’s relieved it was all a dream, really. The man was very unnerving, and something about that hourglass had made his hair want to stand on end. He’s glad to wake up and leave it all behind.
…Except when he looks across at the table, the hourglass is still there.
Not glowing, not flowing backwards, just sitting there like a normal, everyday, real object, which is somehow even scarier.
Hongjoong freezes, breath halting in his throat.
Impossible. It can’t be here. The dream can’t have been real. But what other explanation could there be?
He’s not sure how long he stares at it, unmoving, until he’s jolted from his reverie by the buzzing of his phone. He fishes it from his pocket absently, glances down to switch off his morning alarm, then pauses. A frown creases his brow as he squints down at the date. Friday? But yesterday was Friday.
Thoroughly spooked now, Hongjoong gathers his things and bolts from the warehouse, leaving the hourglass behind.
But escaping isn’t that simple.
It soon becomes clear, looking around at the world outside, that however impossible it seems, it really is yesterday again. Head spinning, Hongjoong remembers the masked man’s words.
We’ve run out. Of what? Time.
Just what power does the Cromer hold?
Hongjoong doesn’t go to school that day. There’s no point. He’s already sat through all these classes once before. Instead, he goes looking for answers, searching through the library for anything to do with hourglasses and time travel. It’s no good, though. He doesn’t find anything of use.
He goes to sleep in the warehouse again that night, and the night after too, almost hoping he’ll have another dream, that the man in black might return and give him some answers.
He has no luck there either though.
His only dreams are of himself, alone, wandering in endless darkness. Searching for the others, he knows, but he can’t find them. They’re gone.
On the third day, Sunday, Hongjoong wakes to the sound of footsteps once more.
This time, however, they’re familiar.
He scrambles upright, heart leaping in his chest, and sure enough, there they are, all seven of them, and they’re unsure, they’re awkward, there are nervous looks being cast between them, but they’re here.
After a little bit of uncertain shuffling, it’s Wooyoung who steps forward and explains.
Explains that over the last few nights, he’s been plagued with strange dreams, dreams about the group together, the group apart, the group in trouble, the group needing each other.
Feeling unsettled, he’d gone to Yeosang and told him about the dreams, only to find that Yeosang had been having the exact same experience. Together they’d sought out the others one by one, and all had the same story. The same restless nights, the same recurring dreams.
“It was this longing,” says Yunho, “But it also felt weirdly urgent? Like we were running out of time.”
The phrasing sends a shiver down Hongjoong’s spine as the others nod in agreement.
“So have you had them too?” asks Mingi. “The dreams?”
Hongjoong turns to look at the Cromer, still sitting on the table beside them. Feels the others’ gazes on him, then shifting to look at the hourglass curiously.
“It’s complicated,” he says. “You guys might want to sit down.”
They obey, moving to drop onto the couches or sprawl on the ground beside them, and Hongjoong takes a moment to look around at them all while he gathers his thoughts.
He doesn’t know how they’ll react to his strange story of the masked man and the day that repeated itself, barely knows if he believes it himself, but right now, in this moment, his family is together again.
He takes a deep breath, and begins to explain.