Chapter Text
Sometimes, Jin-Chul feels like everything is wrong.
The universe, the position of the stars, the movement of the planets. The passage of time, the consumption of seconds, the mechanism of the clock. The power of the sun, the violence of the ocean, the rampage of the wind. The sound of the grass under his feet, the smell of the crowds in the streets, the feeling of the air in his lungs. The shadow of his body, the shadow of his footsteps, the shadow of his eyelashes.
Joy, happiness and serenity. Fear, anguish and horror. Surprise, confusion and pleasure. Hate, anger and fury. Disgust, bitterness and despair. Melancholy, regret, and remorse. Sadness, grief and mourning.
Birth. Life. Death.
Sometimes, Jin-Chul wakes up in the morning and, even when he sits on his bed, even with his hair soaked from his shower, even with the heat of the coffee in his throat; he can't tell if he's awake.
He touches each of his fingers with his thumb. One. Two. Three. Four. Then he does the same in reverse. Four. Three. Two. One. And he starts again, faster. One, two, three, four. In reverse again. Four, three, two, one. It's not fast enough, so he starts again. One two three four. In reverse again, faster. Four three two one. It's still not fast enough, still too slow. Onetwothreefour. And back again, again and again. Fourthreetwoone. There is something wrong, something wrong in the movement, in the feeling of his footprints on each other, in the count he makes of them.
Then, Jin-Chul breathes to calm down. He puts the palm of his hand on his belly, to feel it swell when he inhales. The movement is soft, but it is not whole, not complete. The air does not enter completely, does not cover all of his lungs and he is forced to exhale without having managed to even breathe. He waits, four seconds, then he starts again. Again, again, again, and again, until he finally manages to breathe normally – but that's not normal, it's wrong, it’s too much and it’s not enough.
He drinks his coffee (and the taste is wrong); he puts on his tie (and the knot is wrong); he closes his door (and the sound of the lock is wrong); he goes to work (and the faces of his colleagues are wrong); he writes his reports (and the ink is wrong); he eats (and the smell is wrong); he returns to work (and the contact of his back on the chair is wrong). He goes home and it's wrong. Everything is wrong, from the second he wakes up to the second he falls asleep.
There is something that is not right in his life, something that does not fit, that does not make sense. There's no meaning in his job, no meaning in what he does in life, no meaning in having a drink with his friends, no meaning in having his coffee in the morning, no meaning in getting out of bed, no meaning in waking up (why does he only wake up?). And that's not good. He has a family, friends, a job. He is young, healthy, physically fit, mentally fit.
He is happy – so why is it wrong?
Why is everything so wrong?
Things start to make sense when he turns twenty-two and the gates come to Earth. That's right, he sometimes thinks, when he sees the huge gate-like portals of blue flames. It makes sense, he sometimes thinks, when he learns that monsters have destroyed an entire neighborhood, when he sees the bodies covered with a white sheet on television. It's not fair, but it makes sense.
Gradually, things make more sense. When he gets his powers, it is like he feels something other than blood running through his veins and that's right. Sometimes, just to check, he wants to open his skin a little, just to see what would come out: blood, magic, or something else? He tries, once, at his thumb, just to know. He opens the skin with the nail of his other thumb, enough to cut the flesh, enough to draw blood. The wound is covered in darkness and closes before anything comes out of it.
And that's right.
He gets a rank, a new job, a new boss. And that's right, he thinks upon meeting Go Gun-Hee for the first time. That's right, he thinks as he shakes his hand. This is where I have to be, this is where I was meant to be, he understands. The hand is warm, just as it is supposed to be; the smile is pleasant, just as it is supposed to be; the presence is strong, just as it is supposed to be and it makes sense. Everything makes sense.
(Except his shadows; his shadows continue to make no sense).
The rest of the world makes sense, so Jin-Chul may well accept that something isn't entirely right with his shadows. It's not a big deal if sometimes they're not exactly where they should be, if they don't have the shape they should have, or if sometimes they seem to move a little bit when they should not.
"Is everything alright Mr. Woo?" Go Gun-Hee asks, when he hands him one of his reports.
Jin-Chul replies that everything is fine, that maybe he just lost a few hours of sleep, so he's a bit tired. He apologizes if it affects his work, he swears it's not what he wanted. He doesn't dare tell his superior that there are a hundred pairs of eyes in his shadow. It does not matter. It does not matter. Nobody sees them. Nobody needs to know.
"Are you sure?” Go Gun-Hee asks again when he sees that Jin-Chul's eyes aren't exactly on him but more behind him.
Yes, everything is right. He is sure. Who care about the shadows? They don't hurt anyone, and if no one sees them, he's not going to put a target on his back by revealing that kind of thing. He tries to pull his eyes away from the hundreds in Go Gun-Hee's shadow (which is too tall, too wide to be exactly his own) and rest them on the man.
"Yes, sir.” He finally answers, trying for a small smile.
And maybe Go Gun-Hee doesn't believe him, but he agrees to let him go as if nothing had happened, without asking him for more explanation. When Jin-Chul turns around, as he closes the door behind him, there are no longer any eyes in the shadow. It would be almost reassuring, if they hadn't been replaced by hundreds of smiles.
And the days go by, and life goes on as normal. In raids, facing monsters who come from other worlds, with blood and flesh on his hands, burying comrades and friends, offering condolences and compensation to grieving families. And everything is normal. In horror and in hatred, everything is normal. He is exactly where he needs to be, doing what he needs to do.
And Jin-Chul grows like that. He learns to do a job that he feels he has always known. He learns to lead men and does it as if it was what he had always done. He learns to write reports without having slept for 72 hours as if it were something usual for him. He's learning to survive on more coffee than nutrients, and the feeling is familiar. He does what he was supposed to do (what he feels like he has always done).
And sometimes, just to remind himself that everything is real, that he didn't just start imagining that everything is fine, he cuts his finger a little bit, just to see the darkness cover his wound and make it disappear. It's not normal, it's not usual - and it's enough to remind Jin-Chul that it's all real. If everything was perfect, if everything was normal, if everything was usual, it would have been suspicious. With this, with this darkness covering his wounds to heal them (all his wounds, without exception), Jin-Chul knows that he is not imagining, that he has not created a world in his head to get out of reality.
It does not hurt. On the contrary, it is reassuring.
“Chief Woo.” Calls one of his subordinates. "I'm going to get some coffees, do you want something?"
“Does the machine no longer works?” He just asks, because without a coffee machine he won't be able to function. He is useless if he does not have a sufficient dose of caffeine in his blood. He becomes useless, violent, vulgar and aggressive. Some of his subordinates were quite sad to see him in this state, and it's not something they want to see again.
"No sir, that's why I'm going to get some. Do you want something?”
And Jin-Chul sighs, because he doesn't know what else he can do. He has too much work to just go home and enjoy a working coffee machine. Coffee is more than a pleasure, it is a necessity, one of the things that is right in this world. He feels like who he is when he drinks coffee, good coffee. It's a need - for him, and for others, so they don't have to put up with him when he doesn't get his dose.
“Please, yes.” He finally answers.
He has to wait about ten minutes before the man comes back with an entire tray of coffees and some pastries. The smell hits him before the office door is even opened—it's strong, potent, pleasant, and he feels like he can hold on for a few more hours before he's even taken a sip. The cup gets on his desk and everything is normal, everything would be normal if not for this cup, except that its smells is the best that Jin-Chul has ever smelled.
When he opens the cap, he's a little taken aback by the power of the smell - as if he only has a glimpse of the reality behind it, a mere taste before realizing what's going on, of what there really is behind. And the taste, the taste, is unlike anything he's ever experienced. He could take it down in one gulp, and have no problem doing it.
Oh, I opened Pandora's box, he thinks – and the realization doesn't scare him that much. He has no problem dooming his soul and those of other people if it allows him to drink coffee like that again.
He feels invigorated, as if he had just slept eight hours straight, without the slightest dream, without the slightest nightmare. He no longer feels the pain in his back from bending over writing reports; he no longer feels the aches in his legs after his long exercises.
It is not normal. Coffee is something that gives him a boost, something to keep him going for an hour or two - it's not equivalent to a healing spell done by the best healers of the highest ranks. There is something strange about this coffee. Maybe he should have it analyzed, he thinks, before finishing every last drop of his cup. Too bad, later, he will only have to go and find some.
"Where did you get that coffee?" He asks his subordinate, who continues to distribute the drinks (and none smells as good as the one he was given, it's strange).
"Is there something wrong with the coffee, sir?" The man asks, an eyebrow raised on his forehead.
Yes. No. Maybe? There isn't anything wrong, but there is something that isn't normal and Jin-Chul isn't used to it. He lives in a world where everything is normal, usual, easy. A coffee that has the same properties as one of a higher rank hunter's healing spells is not something he usually finds.
"No. It just tastes good.” He ends up explaining and it's as much a lie as it is the truth. The coffee is good, it's the best he's ever tasted. Better than any Jin-Chul has ever had the honor of testing, from the purest coffees to the most extravagant inventions. But still, there is something strange, which is not logical with this coffee and he wants to know why.
“Oh, I just found a new café – a block away. There already seems to be a small clientele. And the pastries are excellent.”
And Jin-Chul has a place to visit after work.
The café is fairly easy to find, his subordinate gives him perfectly acceptable directions, and Jin-Chul manages to spot the storefront that he's never seen before quite easily - he didn't even know the shop had been bought. There are a few people talking together outside, discussing about the weather and everything else and Jin-Chul listens to them a little bit, but he doesn't hear anything interesting. The waiter is to the taste of young high school girls, more so than pastries, but nothing out of the ordinary.
A l’ombre d’un breuvage.
It is French; Jin-Chul recognizes the language, without understanding it. He notes the name in a corner of his mind, just to think about translating the words later. Then, he pushes open the door and enters, his nostrils almost assaulted by the new smells (and there are no kinder assaults than this).
The cafe is very welcoming, warm, brighter than Jin-Chul thought it would be when seeing the storefront. There are several tables that are side by side, and others that are further apart, as if to allow a minimum of privacy or to let some customers work in peace. There is a wall on which hang several bookshelves, full of books whose titles Jin-Chul doesn't take the time to look at.
Jin-Chul approaches the display where there are several pastries that all look very appetizing. He quickly thinks about which one he's going to choose – a raspberry pie – before looking up at the drinks menu, and there are more than there are pastries. The names follow one another, and to his surprise, Jin-Chul doesn't know that many.
"Welcome, can I help you?"
A voice he's heard before asks him (he knows it, with as much certainty as he knows his name), and Jin-Chul lowers his eyes a little to stare at the waiter. He is a young man – not in his twenties, most certainly not of age. Not particularly noticeable on the street, black hair and eyes between gray and black – very common. But Jin-Chul has a special feeling. He knows this person.
"Have we met before?” He ends up asking, when he can no longer remember where he has seen the young man before.
The waiter's smile seems to grow in front of him and the impression of wrong is as much there as it has never been so invisible. There's something about the boy that is as wrong as it is right. It is right, he is right. He is exactly what he is, but not where he should be, not doing the things he should be doing. He does not belong in a café. He does not belong to his waiter’s role. He does not belong to the salesman smile on his face.
"I don't think we've met before, no.”
Liar.
The boy looks at him as if he is happy to see him (to see him again?), how could they not know each other? The real question is where. Where have they met before? He is very unremarkable in his appearance or clothes, but Jin-Chul feels like he could recognize him anywhere in Korea. Cover his eyes, and he will be able to recognize his voice. Take away his ears, and he'll remember his scent. Deprive him of his nose, he will still be able to know his presence.
He knows this boy.
With as much certainty as he knows his name, as he knows the color of the sky, the feel of the wind in his hair, the touch of the grass between his toes. With as much certainty as he is able to say that there is something strange in this world, in this town, in this cafe, in the body of the young man in front of him. He knows it, and it is his salvation as much as his damnation.
"Can I help you?” Asks the young man again, still a small smile on his face.
And the most instinctive answer Jin-Chul feels like giving is yes. He could beg without the slightest shame, get down on his knees with his face on the ground and beg the boy to help him because he needs his help. But he doesn't remember why he needs it. His help, his support is obligatory, but for some reason that Jin-Chul doesn't know. It's not that he wants his help, it's that he needs it - it's a necessity. Jin-Chul doesn't know what will happen to this world if this boy doesn't help them.
“I would like a coffee.” He finally answers, not even realizing he forgot about the raspberry pie.
The waiter's smile widens, and there is something in the hollow of his lips that reassures Jin-Chul. The boy nods and proceeds to make coffee without further instruction. His gestures are so natural that they seem almost instinctive. It's as if it's what he's always done, without being in the right place.
(As he turns a little, to pour the coffee into a cup, Jin-Chul observes his shadow. It is normal. Exactly where it should be, with the perfect shape, the identical reflection of its possessor, without the slightest eye, without the slightest toothy smile. It is perfectly normal. And in a world where the shadows of all people and objects are not normal, Jin-Chul thinks that this is strange.)
The boy faces him again and places the cup on the counter. The smell is intoxicating, powerful – as much as the coffee he drank earlier, maybe even more. Even in such a place, where the aromas mingle in his nostrils, he is able to spot coffee and distinguish it from all the others. When he puts a hand on the goblet, it's hot — not enough to burn it, but enough to spread the heat through his palm, his whole forearm, and his whole body.
Jin-Chul pulls out his wallet, with enough money to pay for a coffee and to leave an adequate tip. He hands over the money but the boy just tilts his head a little, without making the slightest move to take his winnings.
"Coffee is on me.” He ends up explaining, when Jin-Chul finds himself waiting for a good ten seconds, money in hand.
And he can't accept. A free coffee, for his first visit, is more than he can accept from this boy. He cannot afford to accept gifts or favors when he does not deserve them. He hasn't done anything worth receiving presents from the waiter. Nothing exceptional, nothing that is sufficient compared to such a gift. Not after everything he's done for him.
(Not after all he has done for them).
"It's not necessary.” He just replies, and he hopes the waiter understands that he is not worthy of this favor.
He does not understand. The boy still doesn't take the money Jin-Chul offers him. He looks at him with big eyes and their color is special (it's not the one they had when Jin-Chul entered the café, but he still can't describe it – similar but not identical; similar but entirely different).
"I must insist.” Explains the young man, before his smile becomes bigger, more prominent, almost a little snarky. "That's how you build customer loyalty.”
He explains and Jin-Chul almost feels like it's a joke, so he can't help but laugh a little bit. It's not particularly funny, but the simple fact that this boy makes what amounts to a joke is enough to make him laugh. He didn't expect it. It did not correspond to the image he has of the waiter.
“Isn’t it more of a technique to do on the second visit?” He replies, after calming down a bit, because he still can't accept the gift.
The waiter's smile grows more and more, without revealing his teeth (would they be human, Jin-Chul wonders quickly, without really trying to get the answer). He seems amused by his answer; which he doesn't understand, because it's a valid argument. There are many travelers who are just passing through and will never return – offering them the coffee for their first visit is a waste.
"But I did make you a coffee before, did I not?” The boy asks, tilting his head a little and Jin-Chul stops himself from shaking when he notices the shadow of the coffee pot staring at him. “I hope it will be as good as the first one.”
And Jin-Chul tips twice the price of the coffee. He already knows he will be back.
(The coffee is not as good as the first one, he realizes while walking to his apartment, it is better).
He passes by the café again the next morning at six o'clock on his way to work. He didn't expect it to be open, but to his surprise, it is – the window is already open, and there are a few dim lights escaping from inside to illuminate the street. Inside, he sees the young waiter, an apron over his clothes, sweeping through the shop.
It doesn't make sense, Jin-Chul thinks, people so young shouldn't work so early; they should prepare for school (perhaps high school given his age). And maybe it doesn't concern him, maybe he has absolutely nothing to do with it, but he is still a citizen who wants the best for those in his country. Children should be allowed to be children, without having to pretend to be adults before they become one.
He takes the few steps that separate him from the café and pushes the door open, a small bell signaling his arrival. Immediately, there are different smells of coffee and leather cakes. These are good smells, pleasant, not violent but powerful. If the waiter's eyes weren't on him, Jin-Chul would have enjoyed it longer. But he's looking at him, and Jin-Chul can't shy away from giving him the same honor.
“I imagine that my loyalty technique works well.” exclaims the young man, a smirk on his face.
His shadow is always perfect, so perfect, even with artificial lighting. How does he keep it from being full of other entities that Jin-Chul doesn't understand? Or maybe it's not exactly that, maybe there are hundreds of smiles and thousands of eyes in his shadow too, just that he knows how to hide them. And if so, how?
The boy puts down his broom without waiting for his answer and goes behind the counter, from where he pulls out an already full bag which he hands to Jin-Chul. When he opens it a little, just to see what's inside, he notices two cups of coffee, and some pastries, still warm, just out of the oven, well wrapped so as not to move with the journey.
“I don't think I've booked anything.” He just says, without looking up at the young man (he's a little afraid of what he might see).
A laugh makes him look up. The waiter still has a human form, still a human (and perfectly too normal) shadow, an all-too-amused smile on his face that creates dimples in his cheeks, and eyes that are a little squinted (but the gleam is not nice).
“Oh but you did.” The young man finally answers. “Yesterday, just before leaving, don't you remember?”
No. Jin-Chul doesn't remember. He doesn't remember because he knows he didn't. He remembers exactly what happened the day before, down to the smallest detail. The meeting haunted him to the point that he dreamed of it. He would have remembered – he would have known if he had ordered anything the night before.
Wouldn’t he? If he were to look at the CCTV cameras, they wouldn't show him ordering something, would they? He couldn't have lost that kind of memory, it's not like him. But at the same time, it could explain why he took a detour on his way to work, why he decided to stop. If he knew he had an order to pick up, that would justify his behavior.
"I added you a few things to eat - it's not good to have nothing in your stomach.” The waiter continues.
(Jin-Chul didn't eat anything this morning, because he had nothing left at home, but no one is supposed to know that).
"Isn't it free again this time?” He just answers, when the young man extends a hand to him to collect the money for the order.
And the waiter smiles again, not as amused as the first time. It's something more discreet, almost complicit - like a little secret between them, just one that Jin-Chul doesn't know yet. He hasn't been made aware of the secret they share yet (or maybe he has been, maybe he knows it, but he's just forgotten - but why, how, does he could have forgotten a secret?)
"Oh, that's no longer necessary. We both already know you'll be back.”
He can't stop himself from shaking when the young man speaks again. There is such finality in his voice, such certainty; he knows that Jin-Chul already intends to come back, the same way he knows how to make great coffee, the same way he knows how to control his shadow to behave normally, the same way that he manages to scare him like no one has ever managed before.
And Jin-Chul will return.
"What is your name?” He asks, as he spends the money needed to pay for the order (his? Or the one imposed on him? It doesn't matter, its content satisfies him).
Jin-Chul isn't quite sure why he's asking. He already knows the answer. He just forgot it. But the answer is there, somewhere in his mind, hidden by memories he has created for himself. He just needs a little help, just a little help, maybe just a hint, and he'll be able to find it on his own.
“My name is Sung Jin-Woo.”
And that is as false as it is true. As yes as it is no. As real as it is imaginary. As true as the blue grass and the green sky; as false as the burning under the light of the moon, and the darkness under the rays of the sun. There is something wrong in what he says, in his voice, in his smile, his face, his body, his everything. There is something so right in his being, in what he exudes, in the way he stands, in the look he gives him.
And it's strange, but it's like the whole universe is moving again, like the stars are repositioning themselves, like the planets are starting to move again. Time starts again, the seconds tick by, and the clock runs normally. There is something real in the power of the sun, in the violence of the ocean, in the unleashing of the wind. There is something real in the sound of the grass under his feet, in the smell of the crowds in the streets, in the feeling of the air in his lungs. There is something logical in the shadow of his body, the shadow of his footsteps, the shadow of his eyelashes.
And Jin-Chul is having a little trouble breathing, because all of his feelings are making sense again, from the greatest joy to the greatest hatred, and he doesn't understand what Sung Jin-Woo has to do with it. He can't remember where they've met before (just that they've met before). He can't remember who he was to him (just that he was important). He can't remember, but he wants to.
He digs his index fingernail into his thumb, drawing blood, and as usual, a shadow covers the wound to heal it. Facing him, Sung Jin-Woo has a small smile on his face. He's amused – far too amused by the situation. Is he even aware of how much he destroys everything Jin-Chul had managed to get used to?
"Aren't you a bit young to work?” He asks, the moment he finally manages to take his eyes off the boy, heading for the door.
He should go, he should run away and never come back. There's something that doesn't make sense about Sung Jin-Woo. Something which terrifies him but is more reassuring than anything Jin-Chul has ever experienced. He wants to prolong the moment as much as he wants to stop it. Behind him, the waiter laughs a little (and the sound is as pleasant as it is strange, as well known as it is new).
“You don't work in the police Chief Woo.” The boy explains, and it's not a question so Jin-Chul doesn't answer anything. "And I'm not a hunter, so why are you asking?"
Even when he steps out of the café, He takes three minutes before he realizes that he never gave Sung Jin-Woo his name. Neither his name, nor his rank, nor his profession. The realization is not as scary as it should be.