Chapter Text
The knees begin to shake feverishly and eventually fail. Three flimsy steps forward, followed by a fall onto the rough asphalt. No pain can be felt. It is blocked by an icy prickly hysteria in a form of a suffocating wave. The stomach twists frantically and crawls up, trying to squeeze into the throat.
“No... No, my God, no...”
A sob escapes from the mouth, the last note jumps, as if breaking off the hook and flying into the ringing abyss. Jisung wraps his trembling arms around the limp, heavy body. Still warm. Sticky blood soaks through the shirt, runs down the fingers, climbs into the sleeves, washing over the skin.
“No... Wake up, please.”
Crying gets stuck in the throat with gurgling, not allowing to breathe. Jisung strokes his cheek, runs the fingers through his hair, but he does not respond. His half-open eyes stare blankly into the void, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Arms hang down like motionless whips, knuckles touching the cold asphalt. He is gone. Jisung clutches the dead body to him and screams hysterically at the top of his lungs. So that the ears start ringing.
Fingers clench the sheets achingly, nearly tearing them as Jisung sits up abruptly in bed and sucks in a convulsive breath. He inhales jerkily, the chest burns as if it was stuffed with red-hot stones. He rubs it, trying to calm his pounding heart, then looks down at his reddened palms. Every time it seems to him that he feels real blood on them.
Jisung falls back onto the bed with a noisy exhalation, wiping cold sweat from his forehead and closing his eyes tightly, frowning and trying to even out his breathing. Night after night, always the same scenario. The same nightmare that tears him to pieces equally hard. Because it was not a nightmare. You can forget about nightmares, they mean nothing. These are bad movies, made by your mind, fantasy run wild, albeit cruel. Jisung, on the other hand, dreamed of his unfortunate prediction without any breaks whatsoever.
He does not know why fate decided to punish him like this even before birth. Usually everyone was born with some kind of good prediction in their minds, in extreme cases, incomprehensible. His own prediction meant only hellish pain. He must lose a loved one, he feels it. Every night, Jisung relives this horror, this hysterical fear, this agony, from which the ribs seem to be crushed by a heavy hammer. He does not know his face, name, or age, but he only knows that he means so much to him that his death means the end of everything. End of his world.
Cold water gets him back to his senses a little. Jisung rinses his face several times, letting the drops run down the collar of his T-shirt, flips the switch, and returns to the bedroom. The clock on the wall shows six in the morning. The sky outside is already light gray, like fresh cement. He straightens the tangled sheet and sits down. The body is tired, but he no longer wants to sleep. Sleep was the worst part of each day.
A few years ago, Jisung decided that he would not let the prediction come true. He will not let another person die because fate cursed him, he will beat it. Since his loved one must die, then he simply will not allow one to appear. Just catching a hint of some feelings, Jisung builds a wall and runs away. He has no right to love, his love will cost too much.
On the way to the university, Jisung stops by for his daily coffee. The familiar barista nods to him as always, noticing him through the window, and already preparing a tall paper cup. Jisung likes to have his little routine aspect. Every day he can put a tick in the mental list and everything seems to be fine, gets back to normal. For Jisung, the day starts from this moment. Not from the horror that tightens the throat with an iron belt. He has an acute need for light constancy, so as not to go crazy.
Another portion of the suffocating fog rolled over Seoul. The alert message warns that fine dust will remain in the air for at least another three days. Jisung feels it on the inner walls of his cheeks and rinses his mouth with sweet coffee. The windows at the university are closed, which makes it a little stuffy, but it is better than breathing in strange particles that make your throat tickle. September, fortunately, turned out to be not hot, otherwise they would all have baked here, or froze from the AC cold.
A pencil scratches lazily on the last page of a notebook on political science. Jisung looks at the cement sky outside the window and involuntarily sighs. Such weather makes people not want to do absolutely anything. The body is sluggish, the mind is cloudy. He does not even want to sleep, but just fall on the bed and spread over it, like a jellyfish, lying under the scorching sun on a flat heated stone. The others, too, seem to be saturated with this gray despondency. Even the company, which usually sat in the third row and loudly discussed wrestling matches, did not remind of its existence in any way.
“Good morning, guys,” the professor in a dark green turtleneck, tucked into perfectly ironed trousers, swims into the classroom with leisurely steps and puts his leather briefcase on the desk. “The weather’s kinda sucky today, isn’t it?”
The students hum unenthusiastically, forcing themselves to rise from their desks where they reclined. The professor, meanwhile, takes out a neatly folded handkerchief, dabs the corners of his lips with it, puts it aside and then opens the university application on his phone, looking for the right group. After doing the roll call, he squints slightly, peering at the screen, then exhales "Oh" to himself, as if remembering something.
“Have you already met the new student?”
Several heads turn to the guy who was sitting at the second desk in the middle row. The others look around in puzzlement, not understanding who he was talking about, including Jisung. He did not notice anything out of the ordinary when he entered, though it is not that he was particularly looking around.
“He's not exactly new though, he's actually your senior. Well, I think he’ll tell you everything himself. Please, go ahead.”
The professor asks him to stand up with a wave of the hand. The unidentified guy gets up, adjusting a pastel blue shirt, casually hanging a little from the back and tucked in at the front. He goes to the center of the auditorium and turns. Absolutely black fox eyes carefully run over unfamiliar faces, studying the reaction to his appearance. The lower lip is slightly pulled back, but it does not seem that it was on purpose, the jaw is relaxed. Just a personal trait.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Lee Minho. You and I missed each other by one year,” concentrated Minho suddenly exhales with noise through his nose, smiling at the corners of his lips. “Last year, I had an unfortunate fall down the stairs, and only now have I fully recovered. So I’m gonna continue my studies with your course.”
“Have you completed the term for the first semester?” the professor asks.
“Yes, I passed all the exams last week and the rector allowed me to join the classes.”
“Well, welcome back. You can sit down now.”
Minho bows and walks back to his desk. As he descends, he catches the eye of Jisung, who has been looking at him with interest all this time. Jisung, realizing this, nods awkwardly and turns to the window. Probably, this guy is already used to this taking into account his appearance, so he is unlikely to be surprised. His voice was sonorous, but at the same time it managed to retain some kind of insinuation, so it immediately attracted attention.
Throughout the class, Jisung, who was sitting in the front row two desks further, looked at his profile several times, after which he decided to still focus on the lecture. He is not obsessed with studies, however, if you look motionlessly at one place, then you can easily pass out while sitting and get penalties for it. The class dragged on as sluggishly as everyone felt.
The new guy is not present on the professional psychology class. Which means he chose another subject. But there were Jisung's friends who filled themselves with a can of energy drinks in the morning and claimed the title of the liveliest people on the entire campus. Hyunjin swings his backpack to the farthest desk, flops down, and after a few seconds, Jisung almost jumps in surprise. A discharge went through the scalp.
“The fuck?” he immediately throws up his hands.
“Someone left it in the auditorium.”
Fingers grope for the headband, which scratched his skin. Moving a little further, they come across two triangles made of fabric, impaled on wires.
“Is that ears?”
“Yeah, you’re the coolest pussy in the neighborhood now,” Changbin cackles, sitting in the back next to Hyunjin.
“Very funny,” Jisung snorts and turns to face them. “Why are you so happy? You took something much funnier along with the energy drinks?”
“Even better. Remember when we gave a talk in spring about revenge killings? The forensics professor said he'd give us additional twenty points for the final test for that.”
“Damn, why are criminalists always so lucky?” Jisung sighs heavily. “The IR professor doesn’t give a shit about what we did there.”
“You should’ve joined us when...”
A professor, who enters the classroom, her heels busily pounding on the wooden floor, interrupts Hyunjin’s words. The conversation has to be postponed. Jisung likes psychology a lot more than political science. Here he can at least learn something interesting, useful and related to real life. The eyes do not even look out the window, and the notebook is not used as a draft in order to occupy the hand. The dullness inspired by a cloudy day is slightly dissipated by a flash of attention.
An hour and a half later, their company is walking down the corridor, indignantly discussing the subjects on which it is most difficult to score points. Jisung listens, occasionally nodding, as he notices the new guy appearing ahead of him, walking out of the audience. Headphones dangle from his pants pocket, apparently not fully tucked in.
“Hey, Minho, your headphones fell out,” Jisung catches up with him in three long strides, grabbing his elbow. “They might get hooked on something. I'm Jisung, by the way, from political science.”
“Thanks.”
Minho picks up the headphones, folds them up, and tucks them deep into his pocket. He looks at Jisung and suddenly a laugh escapes his mouth.
“What?”
“It suits you.”
Giving him a mocking look, he turns around and walks down the corridor, merging into the buzzing crowd. Jisung's brows furrow in puzzlement, he cannot figure out what made him laugh. Realization hits four seconds later.
“Hey, wait, that’s not mine…” the hand reaches out in the direction Minho went, but he no longer hears him, having turned the corner. “You fucking assholes.”
Jisung jerks off the cat ears he completely forgot about and looks at his satisfyingly giggling friends as if they were the biggest traitors on Earth.
“It sits on you like a glove, we didn’t even notice,” Hyunjin squeezes out through laughter, hitting Changbin on the shoulder.
“Yeah, sure.”
“But, hey, you got a compliment. Who’s that dude anyway?”
“A newcomer, it’s his first day. Now because of you he’s gonna think that I'm some kind of a moron.”
“Know,” Changbin corrects him and takes off as Jisung swings his hand at him and rushes after, cursing.
The next day the weather is as gloomy. The barista was noticeably sympathetic to the request to make the coffee stronger. Jisung fiddles with the bright yellow cup in his hands and looks up expectantly as Minho enters the auditorium. There was hope in his chest that he had already forgotten about yesterday and would not react in any way. However, Minho puts his backpack on a chair, pulls out a notebook, and curves his lips when he catches his gaze. Mischief lights up in the black eyes. He did not forget. Jisung is about to go up to him and explain how it really happened, but at that moment the professor enters and he has to stay put.
As they leave class, Jisung sweeps things off the table into his backpack, and moves towards Minho as he is being pulled back. His classmate Soohyun asks for help with her hair caught in a button on her shoulder. When Jisung turns back, the new guy is no longer in the auditorium. He does not know why he is so attached to the idea of explaining everything to Minho, probably, he just does not want to be perceived as an idiot who wears cat ears.
Stepping out into the hallway, Jisung cranes his neck, looking around. He does not see the targeted head among the crowd moving towards the elevator, but at the last moment it disappears into a half-dark staircase. Jisung makes his way through the people, trying not to lose sight of him, steps on someone's foot, hurriedly apologizes and jumps down the stairs. Minho goes all the way down to the first floor and Jisung thinks he is going to the store across from the local bank, but the new guy takes a sharp turn to the back door, confusing him.
Unsteady gray air instantly crumbles in the lungs, one has only to go outside. With each breath, the throat gets covered with a thin dry layer. Jisung picks up speed and jogs over to Minho, finally standing in front of him and forcing him to stop.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” he chuckles, looking him over expectantly and trying to understand the reason for the conversation.
“It was my friends who put that shit on me. It's not mine, I just forgot about it.”
“So you specifically trailed behind me to tell me about it?”
“I wanted to clarify so you don’t think anything strange,” Jisung nods several times, catching his breath.
“I see,” Minho exhales with a grin and studies him for a moment. “You got more classes?”
“World history two slots later.”
“Me too. You got any plans?”
“Well, some grub would be nice.”
“Let's go then,” Minho walks around him and continues to go down the sandy road.
“Where? There’s only forest over there.”
The road led to a small park with a pond and benches. It skirted the territory of the dormitories, and then transformed into the forest, which grew along the gentle mountains that stretched a couple of kilometers further.
“Yeah. Let's take a walk.”
“There's nowhere to eat there.”
“Are you coming or not?”
Jisung stares into his impatient eyes, puzzled. The prospect of trudging into the mountains does not cause much enthusiasm, he wants to relax after class. However, curiosity still takes over. There is such confidence from the new guy that it seems as if he knew exactly what he was doing. Jisung gets curious why he suddenly decided to go to the mountains in the middle of the school day.
“We won't get lost, right?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“I know the way, relax already, eh.”
“I don’t know you at all.”
“Well, you will.”
The paths in the park are made of stones, which causes the feet to bend with every step. Reading students are sitting on the bench near the pond. Midges hover over the dark surface, from under which fat carps peep out. As soon as the rows of trees begin, the stone path gives way to a trodden path with squashed blades of grass. Due to the intertwining crowns the light has noticeably diminished. The singing of birds and cicadas becomes many times louder and is heard from all sides.
“Hope it won’t rain,” Jisung looks skeptically at the cement sky, which seems swollen and slightly sagging.
“Not until tonight,” Minho adjusts his backpack.
The road gradually goes up, they have to stand on stone ledges and make efforts to climb higher. Dry branches crackle underfoot, dust falls from above. There is a smell of torn earth and fading mock orange bushes.
“How much longer?” Jisung breathes out tiredly fifteen minutes later, feeling his calves start to burn.
“Almost there,” Minho’s breath hitched a little too, a drop of sweat rolling down his temple.
A mosquito sits on the neck and Jisung immediately kills it with a displeased cluck. The last thing he needs is to become a local snack and keep scratching for a whole week. The laces cling to small bushes sticking out from below, a thorn has stuck to the sleeve of the sweatshirt, the particles of which get tightly woven into the fabric. Suddenly, the road goes down, although most of the time they were steadily climbing. Walking just got a little easier.
A new inflorescence of smells hits the nose. Slime and damp mud. A gust of cool air sweeps across the skin. Jisung twitches as a frog jumps out from under his foot, which he nearly stepped on. The trees in front of them begin to thin.
“Is that a lake?” he exhales in surprise, seeing the swaying water.
“It sure is.”
At the foot of the rocky shore, unexpectedly blue water is beating. Dark, more of a black, but in daylight, clear indigo overflows are noticeable. Not at all the greenish slush that splashed in the university pond. Through it, one could even see the algae swaying at the bottom and the fish flickering among it.
“I had no idea there was a lake around here,” Jisung leans down a little, peering into the trembling surface.
“Our fellas never come here. Only the locals know about this place,” Minho lowers his backpack onto the rocky surface.
“Are you a local?”
“Nope. Just stumbled upon it while walking.”
Jisung turns and sees him taking out some kind of a small red metal canister and setting it on the even stone covered ground. Then he begins to screw a structure of polished iron to it.
“What's this?”
“Gas stove. Have you never gone hiking?”
“No.”
“Well, congrats on your first time.”
A turquoise fire flares up at the top. Minho reaches into his backpack again, this time pulling out a small bucket, into which he then pours water from a bottle. The bucket goes on the stove.
“So you decided to go camping in the middle of the school day?”
“A school day is a death sentence or what?” Minho spreads an orange blanket on a boulder across from a kind of fire pit and sits down. “I wanted to breathe. Isn't it nice?”
Jisung inhales and only now realizes that the tugging feeling in his throat is gone. The air among the trees is damp and smooth, filling his jubilant lungs without any interference. Such simple thing as breathing turns out to be really nice.
“Wow, normal air,” Jisung inhales deeply again, catching the sensation, and sinks down onto the rock next to him. “But still, it’s the first time I see someone going not to the canteen or a dorm in between classes, but to nature. You do that often?”
“I came here a couple of times when I had two empty slots in a row. To ventilate my head, stretch my legs, take a break from people.”
“How did you even manage to fall down the stairs so much that you fell ill for almost a year?”
“Stumbled and flew over the railing. Fractured anterior pelvis, internal bleeding, also broke a finger on this hand when landed,” Minho snorts, looking down at his left hand. “I really wanted to come here when I couldn’t even get out of bed on my own. This feeling of helplessness can’t be accurately described. I would lay down and imagine walking, and it seemed so fucking unreal. Turns out that walking like this on your feet and being able to climb all sorts of ledges is cool.”
“Jeez,” Jisung stretches, looking at him with pity. “It must’ve hurt a lot.”
“Imagine that instead of these bones,” Minho touches his thigh. “You have inserted pieces of iron, and red-hot one. And they are hot all the time. And when you move, for example, just to turn on your side, they become even hotter, collide with each other and generally cut you from the inside.”
“That’s enough,” Jisung shields himself with his hand. “I’ve never broken anything, and I hope I won’t.”
“This has its advantages. You get a permanent weather forecaster.”
“What do you mean?”
“Broken bones ache when the weather changes.”
“No, thanks, it's not that difficult for me to open the forecast.”
Minho chuckles at his words before kneeling down on the stone surface in front of the burner. The water in the bucket began to bubble. A neat glass teapot is taken out of the backpack and is placed next to it. Then Minho pulls out a sphere wrapped in a paper with Chinese characters from a small pocket.
“Is this tea?”
“Yes, a friend brought it for me from China.”
Inside, there is something of a greenish tint and generally reminds Jisung of a dried pressed peony. Minho puts it in the teapot, then pulls the sleeve of his sweatshirt over his palm and carefully pours boiling water over the top. Air bubbles immediately rush to the surface. A weird flower swells and slowly begins to open.
“Never seen anything like that before.”
“Me too,” Minho tilts his head slightly as he watches it. “Let’s wait until it boils.”
After five minutes, the liquid in the teapot turns amber, and steam rises from the spout. The flower opened completely and sat importantly at the bottom, wrapped in tiny bubbles. Minho takes out a blue iron cup.
“I didn’t count on fellow travelers, so there’s only this one.”
“I don't care anyway.”
The taste of tea is quite strong, it tingles the tongue. However, Jisung likes it. He blows gently and takes short sips before handing the cup to Minho. He blows on it longer and harder, comically stretching his lips and clearly not wanting to get burned.
“Good shit,” he delivers his verdict. “Not a vegan, I hope?”
From the backpack (it starts to seem to Jisung that it is bottomless and one could find a snowplow there if needed), a package with two sandwiches appears. Standard set of ham, boiled egg, cheese and mayonnaise. Jisung eats one, drinks everything down with tea and exhales contentedly, looking at the swaying forest on the other side. In the distance, among the reeds, stood an elderly fisherman who did not care about them. The fresh breeze ruffles their hair pleasantly. Warmth soars in the stomach. Having a snack in nature to the accompaniment of splashes of water and singing birds makes everything inside calm down.
“You said that you come here to get some rest from people. Why did you invite me then?”
“I don’t know,” Minho shrugs as he pours some tea into the cup. “Thought you were funny.”
“Funny?” Jisung snorts, lip twitching. “Am I some kind of a clown, or what?”
“You tried so hard to prove you were sane, that I didn’t believe you right away.”
“I see,” Jisung hands him the cup and stands up. “Keep sitting here and drinking your good shit, I’m gonna go live my insane life.”
“Oh, come on, wait,” Minho laughs, grabbing his sleeve. “I'm not saying it's bad. I don't regret inviting you.”
Giving him an offended look, Jisung still sits back down. With a gust of wind, bewitching ripples sweep along the river.
“So, how do you like the trip?”
“Not bad. Unusual.”
“We can come here every Wednesday,” Minho says, his inky fox eyes meeting Jisung’s. “Or rather, I will come, and you do as you please. I’m not forcing you.”
In the bushes not far from the shore, small brown birds rustle, now jumping out of there, then jumping back inside. Leaves with yellow stripes that have fallen from trees slowly glide along the surface of the water.
“I don’t mind, why not?” Jisung replies after some thought. “It will be my treat the next time.”
In the evening, when the dull rain drums on the window, he recalls an unexpected outing into the mountains, scrolling through it in his head. He already misses the clean juicy air. He remembers Minho's clear voice as he talked about the minor subjects he had chosen this semester. They had a few in common.
Jisung turns on his side, wrapping himself in the blanket. The only pity is that a good day will not save him from his own impending nightmare, where he will again lose the person whom he loves piercingly, whoever he might be.