Chapter Text
Jeongin's eyes snap open thirty minutes before his alarm clock is set to go off.
He sighs as he sits up in bed, lifting a hand up to rub at his eyes as the covers pool around his waist. It's nothing new, he thinks blearily as he reaches over and fumbles for the snooze button. He hasn't woken up to the shrill sound of the alarm clock for a year, and though his body has found its own schedule, his mind still struggles with the prospect of losing a half hour of sleep every morning.
It's stupid in hindsight. If anything, he should be thankful his body looks out for him in the way his brain doesn't. He pushes the thought away as his feet land on the floor, and he slowly lifts himself up. Early morning light leaks from the corners of his window's curtain, illuminating his bedroom far more than what is reasonably acceptable, though Jeongin doesn't really think anything falls under that category at five in the morning.
He moves carefully across his bedroom, picking through his dresser for some clothes, and blindly grabbing a towel from the small pile tucked on the bottom shelf of his nightstand, before gently tugging open his door and stepping out into the hallway.
Soft light floods the hallway from a slow rising sun, bouncing off of old picture frames and catching on silver door knobs. He passes by the closet, and steps over the soft spot in the floor that comes after, before turning to the left and slipping into the bathroom, overly cautious of the creak the door makes if he closes it too quickly.
Lock clicking in place, he flicks on the switch, the old light above the mirror humming to life. Jeongin stares at his reflection for a long moment, eyes flickering across his features.
He thinks he looks older than he should, but everyone else is always telling him otherwise, pointing out the color to his cheeks, the air to his soft smiles. He doesn't put much thought into it anymore. He doesn't find his appearance something of importance, not like he used to.
He dyes his hair with whatever store-bought chemicals he can afford at the time, and eats when he can. He makes sure he's clean and collected when he goes into work, is sure not a hair is out of place when the monthly maintenance checks come around for the sake of himself and his job, and the days drag on this way, a constant reminder of the life he's been given.
When someone says he looks young, he simply smiles and murmurs a pleasant thank you. It's what's expected of him, anyway. He glances away from his reflection, stopping himself before he can spiral. He's wasted too much time thinking about nothing already.
He leaves his clothes on the lid of the toilet as he places the towel under the tap and turns it on. Cold water sputters through, echoing through the tiny room, and he gets changed as he waits for it to soak the towel; there isn't much to be done when the water pressure's been shot for years. He turns off the sink a few minutes later and grabs the towel, bringing it up to his face.
He scrubs at his skin - under his eyes, his cheeks, across his forehead. He's vigilant not to scrub too hard and leave any red marks, and to avoid the cut still healing behind his right ear. The towel slides through his hair next as he leans closer to the sink, water dripping down his chin, and exhales. The cold shock of the water wakes him the rest of the way, and he shivers as a few droplets slip under the back of his shirt, snaking down his spine.
He doesn't notice the dried blood hiding on the corner of the towel until after he's done, running a hand through his hair to smooth it down into something more presentable. He stares at the spot for a moment, debating, but it looks old, more brown than red. Dark, rather than bright and shiny and new. He must've missed it when he did his laundry, and gathers it with his night clothes as he turns off the light and exits the bathroom.
He leaves his clothes just on the inside of his bedroom, thrown on the ground a few steps from the door. The dirty pile is steadily growing, but between his long shifts and growing exhaustion, he hasn't had time to go to the laundromat, and he spent this week's paycheck on the rent already. He double checks that his alarm clock is shut off before leaving his room for the final time, clicking the door shut behind him and heading back down the hallway.
His father's room is across from the kitchen, door ajar. Jeongin can hear the rumble of his snores as he passes, and doesn't give the room a second glance before heading for the awaiting coffee machine on the counter by the rattling fridge.
The whole house is falling apart bit by bit, if anyone looked close enough to see it. He wonders how it would fair under a maintenance check, and then winces at the idea. He's heard more than enough stories of controlling landlords with enough money forcing the checks on poor tenants, bribing their way up the chain, even if the act in itself was technically illegal. Apartment complexes would make deals to push out people who couldn't pay, and the Uniforms would simply follow whatever orders they were given, because money talks more than half of the people in the city do.
Jeongin doesn't know much about how the world was before, and he isn't sure if he ever wants to. Would it be useful to learn that the world was just as bad back then? Or frightening, that it had changed so much for the worse? Or maybe it had changed for the better?
He bites back a scoff. If the world he lived in was meant to be better, then what was the point in looking forward to the future?
He measures out the bare minimum of coffee that they can spare so that the bag lasts, and dumps it in, setting the timer so that it starts brewing in an hour, the smell enough to wake his father. He tries not to let his mind wander any more than it already has as he grabs one of the mugs left by the sink and rises it, setting it beside the machine and checking the old clock above as he turns toward the front door.
He's successfully wasted his extra half hour.
He pauses by the front door to throw on his shoes and messily tie his laces before heading out, and turns to catch the door by the corner before it can slam shut behind him. It barely makes any sound as he closes it, pushing at the bottom with the toe of his foot in an attempt to make it stay shut before turning to the awaiting world around him. He makes his way down the crumbling sidewalk, taking a deep breath of more or less artificial air before beginning his short trek to the coffee shop.
Jeongin and his father lived simply, renting out a small rancher that was barely big enough for the both of them on a road most people forgot existed. The houses that littered either side of the street were nice enough, albeit smaller than anything Jeongin ever sees within the city, but the people that occupied them were those who had been left behind.
Elderly without family to rely on, disjointed families with too many mouths to feed, children stuck with the single parent who resented their very being. All of it was contained to this road, and that's how it's been for as long as Jeongin can remember.
The further down the road one went, the faster the façade shattered, until the woods greeted you, poking through old metal fences that had stopped doing their job long ago. He hadn't been down that end in years, but the last he remembered, weeds were twisted around poles covered with rust, and missing person papers were being overtaken by branches and leaves.
Missing people.
They don't allow anyone to use the word 'missing' anymore, but it's what is whispered in the shadows, in the circles of people without homes huddled around barely burning fires. The teenagers joke about it where adults can't hear, and the adults pretend that they're blind when another poster is plastered on top of a window somewhere, begging for help. The government speaks nothing of it, and life goes on.
Jeongin knows the truth. Everyone in this city knows the truth, even if so many are too afraid to entertain it. The people on the posters aren't missing, they're free.
It's an abstract idea that's been idolized in the worst of ways.
He doesn't know if he believes it or not, still doesn't after twenty-three years, but what he does know are people who have disappeared, and haven't come back.
When Jeongin was eight, he was friends with the boy who lived next door. They often found themselves playing within the city, running between cars and jumping between dumpsters, acting too big for their age. Jeongin had played with his neighbor for almost two years, until one day, he hadn't showed up where they usually met before venturing into the jungle of a city. A week went on this way, until Jeongin finally found the guts to go up to his front door and ask why he was all too suddenly avoiding him, only for the boy's mother to say that he was missing.
Someone else down the road, who Jeongin would throw a ball with on the worst of days, disappeared when he was ten. An older teen who took to caring for the ones who didn't have anybody else was there one day, and then gone the next when Jeongin was fourteen. His life was spotted throughout with these abrupt reoccurrences - people, children, missing, without a trace. Their posters are probably still hanging off the fences bordering the forest, if one peeled the top papers back far enough.
It's always been interesting to Jeongin, in the worst of ways. Some of those who went missing didn't have the best lives. Abusive parents, lack of somewhere to sleep, malnutrition. Under constant scrutiny from a government that couldn't care less where they ended up. Others had lives that were seemingly perfect, gone under the same mysterious circumstances. Was something taking these people at random? Or did they all just leave, vanishing into the forest without looking back at the life they were leaving behind?
He's at the edge of the heart of the city by the time he remembers that he's supposed to be watching his surroundings, especially with the uptick in Uniforms patrolling lately. He doesn't know if it's luck or not that he hasn't seen any yet. For as thoughtless as the street he lives on is perceived to be, it's a stone's throw away from the main city itself, two streets down from a bustling, highly trafficked intersection.
Whereas his street is hidden behind the backs of department stores and towering skyscrapers that leave shadows splayed across the asphalt, this intersection is nicer, and home to restaurants with pretty fronts and bus stops that are actually taken care of. Jeongin is never surprised when it comes to what is nice and what isn't - the government was only ever going to put money into things that would return the favor.
There's more than a few people out now, the closer he gets to the coffee shop, which is a quaint little place nestled between an office building and abandoned store, as the time draws closer to when his shift starts.
Groups of businessmen clad in dark suits converse loudly as they pass, and construction workers munch quietly on thrown together breakfasts as they hurry to their ever changing sites. A few women walk quickly past the more obnoxious groups, ducking their heads, and Jeongin attempts to give them a wide berth as they pass, the least he can do for those that have no choice but to fear the world around them.
The city is wide awake.
Cars congest the streets, horns blaring already without care for the time. Shops are putting out clearance signs and making sure their storefront looks as nice as they can make it look for any Uniforms that decide to pass by. The sun is steadily lifting higher and higher into the sky, hazy grey clouds puttering in and out of its view.
Hightowers sit looming over the city, as though watching every move, sunlight bouncing off pristine windows. Electric boards sit scattered at different heights, advertising everything anyone could ever need in vastly different colors and prices. Even with constant light, the city is still dreary - faded, and worn, a filter thrown over a camera shutter.
It's always looked like that, for as long as Jeongin can remember. A dreadful place, seeped in hope, weighed down by the hopelessness that hid underneath. It didn't matter what was chosen to cover it with, there was no hiding a city that was festering all the wrong ideals.
It's something Jeongin tries not to think about, how after all these years, the only thing that's changed is the ability not to be free. It's funny to some, to live in a country that's so advanced in all the wrong ways. Jeongin's never really laughed about it when he's too busy missing all the things he's heard only whispers of.
A hand roughly grabs at his arm, startling him.
His heart jumps when he quickly looks up and sees a Uniform glaring back at him, mouth crudely twisted. "Name?" he asks, already impatient.
Jeongin swallows hard, and hastily turns his gaze away from his face. The rules drilled into him since he was young are already leaving him, as they usually do whenever he's stopped, and it hasn't gotten any easier, or better, the more it's happened. He can already feel his heart attempting to beat clear out of his chest, fear clutching tight at his stomach, sweat beading at his brow -
"I asked for your name," the Uniform snaps, jostling him hard. His fingers burn against Jeongin's freezing skin.
"Y-Yang Jeongin."
The Uniform turns away from him, aggressively inputting the letters into the small device he tugs out of his pocket. Jeongin thinks that their devices are simply reprogrammed cell phones, repurposed for their cause, because they look awfully similar.
The government has never offered any information when directly asked, and hackers were few and far between in a world that didn't allow their people to have electronics, so he watches carefully out of the corner of his eye as his name is shoved into a small blank space, cursor blinking in wait after the man is done.
"Number?" The Uniform is still gripping hard at his arm, with no intentions to let go until he's verified Jeongin's person. He thinks it's really because it's easier to restrain someone that’s already being held onto.
"02089732."
Jeongin's eyes flit to the Uniform as the other types in the numbers, taking in his appearance. He looks the same as any other Uniform out there, black on grey, dull yellow curved into the stitching over his bicep, announcing him as Government Authority.
A heavy-looking silver badge sits over the left side of his chest, embedded with morals Jeongin is more than sure they don't follow anymore, outlined by more yellow. Sleek armor plates sit over his shoulders, and under his forearms, protecting easy to access areas, and the top half of his head is covered by a mask that comes to a stop just before his lips, encasing any easily identifiable features. The yellow-sheened glass over his eyes is reflective, and Jeongin's eyes catch next on his belt, on the items that sit there nicely in a row.
Someone once told him that the folded baton is electric, meant to teach lessons that teenagers refuse to learn, while the pistol might look small, but assembles in less than twenty seconds, and takes down fleeing targets quickly and easily. The shots have a choice to be non-lethal, but it all depends on a Uniform's particular mood, no matter what their orders are.
The pair of handcuffs might look like the best option, but they're no better, heavy, with insides laced with something that makes one drowsy and compliant the longer it presses against skin. The ID marker is something straight out of a nightmare, if not the nightmare of any citizen in the city.
When it was first unveiled by the government, Jeongin was a child, but the idea was rejected immediately by a population desperate to keep themselves independent and different, sprouting riots across the country.
The riots only lasted a week, and they didn't change anything, because by the end of it, those taking part in the riots were stamped.
The ID marker was to be used to forever mark those that willingly chose to oppose their government. If someone was caught with a forged name, number, or workplace, they would be stamped with a barcode right then and there, which would forever hold their true ID number.
Where the barcode went on someone was up to the Uniform that caught them, and since it was made of the same ink that was once used to create tattoos, and there was no such thing as makeup anymore, it was more or less unable to be hidden from any prying eyes. Jeongin's heard his share of horror stories about barcode placement from older adults on his street, and has even seen a few ducking through crowds, hurrying on their way.
The fear of being marked diminished most of the attempts of rebellion, though they've recently started to emerge again, from the snippets he's heard through the news. It's never a true threat, they say, when Jeongin goes to click off the television, father snoring loudly from his chair.
They'll never last. Our forces are stronger. Our people are stronger.
He doesn't know who would truly be stronger, if it ever came down to it.
"Destination?" the Uniform asks, Jeongin's eyes snapping to his face before he remembers his place and quickly looks down once more. His heartbeat thunders through his eardrums, and he wonders if the other man can hear it.
"I'm heading into work. The shop over on sixth," he offers aloud, fumbling over his words more than he should. "The coffee shop." He adds, almost as an afterthought, out of fear that the man will doubt him, but that in itself has him wincing, because talking twice without waiting for an answer was enough cause to be written up, or detained.
The Uniform doesn't say anything for what feels like too long, typing away on his device. Jeongin's eyes shift back down to his belt, and then take a quick glance behind him, which shows that he's unknowingly stumbled his way into a new checkpoint that wasn't there yesterday. Three more Uniforms mull about a few feet behind the one who has stopped Jeongin, and there's a fourth sitting in the tent beside the cement walls that have been placed to block off the sidewalk, rifle held tightly in his hands.
They're always ready. Even when they don't have to be, they are, guns raised before questions are, and it's one of the many things about them that sets Jeongin on edge, and makes him more nervous than he already is.
He can't ever fathom being a part of whatever resistance they're always looking for - not when he can barely utter his name, number, and place of work without stuttering or making an absolute fool of himself.
He tries to shift himself slightly, a vain attempt in putting some distance between him and the gloved hand whose grip has turned abruptly bruising, only for the Uniform to tug him closer, chin lifting so that the sheen of his mask bores into Jeongin's face.
"What do you do at your workplace, Jeongin?"
Jeongin freezes at the stiff sound of his name from lips that shouldn't be repeating it back, as if trying to check something. His mind runs through scenarios; panic slithers down his spine and settles somewhere in his gut.
Uniforms only ask three questions.
They only ever ask three questions, nothing more, nothing else. They don't even bid greetings or goodbyes if they don't want to, because it's up to them, and what they wish to do. Orders from the people above them can push them in a certain direction, but it's up to them which path they want to take.
"I'm just a part-timer," he says, and it's not a lie, not technically, because that's what he's paid for, and what he is referred to as. On his papers, he works part-time at a coffee shop. No one really knows that he runs the shop, because the owner of the place could care less to be there when he has other responsibilities to worry about.
Jeongin's been so stable over the last two years that he barely even stops in anymore, and the times he does, it's just to sign the order approval slips in person instead of through Jeongin signing for him.
Jeongin follows the rules. He obeys the laws.
But even he isn't immune to cutting a few corners, especially when his boss pushes him to do it to save himself time, and he knows of other people that have done the same for much more dangerous things. Nobody is perfect, least of all someone who just wants to make it to the next month with a roof over his head and some sort of meal in his stomach.
The Uniform hums, the sound low in his throat. Jeongin catches sight of one of the other Uniforms over his shoulder turning around, and staring in their direction. Sandbags are thrown in a haphazard pile beside him, reaching his waist. Just tall enough not to jump over, if someone were to run.
"You’re clear to go," the Uniform says gruffly, before reaching to pocket his tablet. He releases his arm, and Jeongin instinctively reaches over and runs his hand over where he had been grabbed, nodding his head.
"Thank you, sir."
The Uniform steps to the side and waves a hand so that the rest know to let him pass, Jeongin shuffling forward once he's prompted to. He gives a short bow to the air in front of him before trying to move away, only to be stopped by the loud call of his name, beckoning him back.
He's tense, and trembling, as he turns around to the Uniform, tucking his hands into his pockets. He just wants to go to work. He just wants to be done with this, with the constant thrum of his hammering heart, the anxiety of saying the wrong thing, the fear of what could happen next.
"Speak clearly next time, or someone will beat the words out of you."
Fear spikes through him.
He has trouble forming the words as he gives another bow. "Yes, sir."
The Uniform doesn't offer an acknowledgement, so he stays there just long enough to be seen as respectful before straightening, and passes through the makeshift checkpoint without lifting his head. He doesn't stop checking over his shoulder until he turns the corner at the end of the street, and even then, he still feels on edge, squeezing his still shaking hands into fists within his pockets in an attempt to calm himself down.
For all that he is, Jeongin is not brave, or courageous, or one to speak up.
Authority makes his insides twist, and it's one of the reasons why he willingly chose a job away from the spotlight, where no one of high caliber shows up, because the shop isn't even that nice compared to the ones near the hightowers. He takes the low pay and long hours without complaint, and that's why the owner of the shop likes him. He's not a problem, and never will be, because he's too afraid to speak his mind.
He's far too afraid to do anything other than what is expected of him.
Jeongin doesn't know who instilled that fear in him, if it was the rules, the government, his father. The arrests he's seen happen in front of him, the disappearances of those around him, the threat of things he has yet to see, like what happens to those who chose to ignore the warnings printed on signs and plastered across flyers.
His hands are still shaking as he finally makes it to the coffee shop, shoving the key into the lock and tugging the door open. It isn't until it clicks shut behind him with a soft jingle that he feels like he can breathe again, a ragged inhale that scrapes down his throat. He closes his eyes, and tells himself that it's fine, that everything is fine, over and over again until the words settle over the dull ache in his chest.
It's unusual for him to freak himself out over nothing, but it was simply because of the Uniform's behavior, the painful grip he had on his arm, the way his threat could become reality in a matter of seconds.
It was because of that, and not because he was starting to lose his nerve for a world like this one, he tells himself, because he needs something to hold onto, to ground himself back to reality, and not instead devolve any further, five minutes before his shift.
He reaches a hand up and rubs at his eyes, stumbling his way behind the counter. Maybe he wasn't getting enough sleep. Maybe the things his father said were finally getting to him in a way he couldn't brush off. Maybe he was just anxious, and looking for an out that didn't end with him admitting he couldn't even get through a checkpoint without becoming a wreck.
He reaches below and grabs a clean glass from the neatly stacked rows, before pushing it under the tap and watching the water fill. He lifts it to his lips, hopes his boss paid the water filter bill on time so that he wouldn't get lead poisoning, and takes a swig.
He feels better after drinking the rest of the cup, the cold burning on the way down, and swirling around his stomach as he places the glass in the sink so that he can clean it later. He exhales, and looks down at his hands. They've stopped shaking. He glances over at the clock that sits on the wall above where he keeps his apron, striking six. The morning rush will be here any minute, and he isn't as ready as he should be.
He walks over to his apron, and grips the material tight. There's an empty spot where his name tag should be, something he had done as soon as he realized he would be running his shop by himself.
It led to less conversations in the long run, people unable to linger when they had nothing to refer him by, especially when he didn't offer that information himself. It was easy to fade into the background of lackluster pastries and mediocre coffee.
He steadies himself, and pulls the apron off the hook, wrapping it around his waist and tying it with a knot behind his back. He'll fade into the background today, same as any other, and the morning rush will get his mind off of the checkpoint.
The silence of the shop is nice, and he prefers it to the noise of people most of the time, but the rushes keep him busy, and when he's busy, his mind doesn't wander to places it shouldn't.
He finds himself at the coffee machine, beginning to prep it as he waits for the sound of the door to open, signaling his first customer of the day. Today will be no different from yesterday, and the same as tomorrow. Exhausting, monotonous work, that Jeongin will find himself continuing to do, because each day begins and ends the same.
It's all the same.
This world is the same as it was, however long ago. It's a bitter thought to have.
X
It's nearing two in the afternoon when Jeongin finds himself sitting behind the counter, scribbling useless doodles on a scrap of paper.
He had dealt with the morning rush fine enough, even the afternoon one that had followed albeit earlier today than usual, and had only a handful of random customers since then, asking for small halves of pastries and tall cups of coffee to get through the better half of their workday.
He didn't want to deal with the floors yet, or else he'd have to mop again later, and he had finished the order slips for the week between the two rushes, not needing much in terms of ingredients or refreshments. Enough coffee was brewed and sitting in wait, and the take-away cups were organized by size and color. The tables were wiped clean, the counters spotless, and everything inside of the display cases were perfectly in place.
He tended to be a bit of a perfectionist when there was nothing else to do. He figured it was better than sitting around and doing absolutely nothing, just to keep up appearances.
The door jingles as it's opened, and Jeongin hides his paper under the counter as he returns to his full height so that he can greet the man approaching the register.
He's shorter, black hair with lightly colored ripped jeans and work boots that look new, a black leather jacket pulled tight around his broad shoulders, the same color zip-up resting underneath it. A black earring hangs from his left ear; different stylized rings decorate his right hand. It's risky, to have anything that might toe the line close to self-expression.
Jeongin feels anxious just looking at him.
"Welcome. What can I get for you today?" Jeongin schools his expression into something close to a smile, making his voice light.
The man barely lifts his head to give a short nod, reaching a hand into his back pocket and tugging out a wallet that's seen much better days. He gazes down at it, thumb running across the bottom fold, before he slips out a few bills from inside.
"Just a drink and sandwich for here, please."
Jeongin watches as the man places the money on the counter, just as detached from it as he is from the world around him. "Do you have a preference of - "
The man interrupts him before he can finish, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter." He takes a step back from the counter as Jeongin's eyes flick from the register, to the money, and then to the dark splash of the man's hair. "Keep the change."
He turns away before Jeongin can say anything else, and takes a seat at the closest table, chair scraping loudly against the hum of the coffee machines. Jeongin flinches, but it's enough to push him into motion as he rings up a receipt and disappears around the corner.
There's two very small rooms attached to the back of the shop, one's been turned into a kitchen, the other a storage closet for the shop's stock. The owner decided to add a small menu of items to Jeongin's list of chores when they were short on money sometime last year, though it wasn't used much since.
Jeongin just thinks he's too lazy to be bothered with removing it. The better solution is just to let Jeongin run it, because he doesn't ever complain about anything he probably should.
Jeongin turns into the kitchen, and reaches for a roll and a plate to serve it on. He's seen this man before a few times, and all of their interactions have been mostly the same; a few uttered words, a handful of money pushed onto the counter, and a lack of preference when it came to his food and drink.
He'll stay for a while, staring down at his plate, out the window, or at the decorations hung loosely on the far wall. His food is always half-heartedly picked at, the drink the only thing he's really able to finish, before eventually leaving without another word.
Jeongin knows this man's lost stare.
The automatic move of his hands, the numb twist of fingers against silverware.
He'll catch people in the shop sometimes, staring off into space. Remembering about the past, dreaming about the future, or something like that. It can happen to anyone - one minute they're talking with their kids, drinking a coffee, filling out work papers - and the next minute they're gone. Their voice will fade, and their grip will slip, and their pen will fall.
Suddenly lost, with little to no chance of recovery.
They'll find themselves staring off into the distance, stiff, stagnant, unblinking.
Frozen in time, almost, with nothing to snap them out of it. They'll stay like that for hours sometimes, and no one bothers to bring them back. Some don't ever find it within themselves to resume the life they've put on pause. If it gets bad enough, or happens where it disturbs the public, the Uniforms have no other choice than to get involved, called in by annoyed store owners or busy passerby; there isn't much one rejects to, when they can barely find their own voice.
He can't stand how it makes him feel, especially when it happens in the shop. The way guilt and pity and nothing but pure anxiety coils around his insides, pushing him to act where others won't. But the fear keeps him away, keeps him cleaning tables and pouring more coffee, because nothing good ever happens to the ones that choose to intervene.
The government released a statement, years back.
Waking Up, they called it, or Awakening.
With firm smiles and nonchalant gestures, from a podium made of black and grey. Something that happened to everybody, at one point or another, akin to a midlife crisis. It lasted no more than a few hours, and ninety two percent of the population would make it through without any further complications. It was simply a mental test of the body, separating the wheat from the chaff, as they had so eloquently put it.
There was nothing to worry about.
Jeongin never forgot how they purposely didn't mention what happened to those who couldn't find their way back out. Or how Waking Up could be longer than just a few hours, and instead turn into days, or weeks, or months, if their body allowed them to survive that long. Putting a name to it in an official statement did nothing but show that they didn't have a solution, and would never look into one, because they believed it to be a natural occurrence for everybody.
He tries not to think about how scary it must be, trapped in your own head for longer than a few hours. Or being trapped in your head at all.
He shrugs the thoughts away, reaching for some pre-sliced meat. It's better for him not to think about it too much, after the morning he's had. He finishes the sandwich within a few minutes, and grabs some silverware just in case, tucking it beside the bread.
The man is still in the same position as he was when Jeongin had left him, sitting silently on the stool, elbows resting on the corners of the table, hands pulled close to his chest. Jeongin stops to grab a glass, filling it with his own favorite soda, before making his way over to the table, and placing both items in front of him.
"Is this okay?" he asks, even though he knows he doesn't need to, carefully keeping his tone even. The man has never minded about whatever the other ends up putting together, and the last thing Jeongin wants to do is say something that could cause a reaction neither of them are really prepared for.
The man doesn't look up.
"Thanks," he mumbles, deflated now that he's sitting down.
Jeongin hesitates for a long moment, before returning back to his place behind the counter, though he keeps his sight on the man, a twinge of concern keeping him from doing anything else. He's not supposed to care for the ones that end up stuck in their Awakenings, muddling through their daily life, a shell of who they used to be.
The tug of his heart says otherwise.
A half of the man's sandwich is gone by the time Jeongin finishes rearranging the paper cups beside the display case in an attempt to keep himself busy. He feels as though he should go over and say something, or ask how it tasted, if it was up to par with the shop down on eighteenth, or no better than anything you could get at a convenience store.
Jeongin drags his gaze away. He needs to focus on something else. Anything else. His eyes land on the windows. They look fine, but there's always room for improvement, especially in a world like this one, where perfect still wasn't good enough.
He resigns himself to cleaning the windows, reaching beneath the counter to grab the cloth and one of the bottles of cleaner on the bottom shelf before heading towards the window farthest from the man. He takes his time moving down the row, reaching for the corners, half listening for the door as he stretches and presses. He's halfway through the middle window when he risks a glance outside, and sees two people stop across the street, dressed in loose-fitting black clothing.
The guy looks to be around Jeongin's age, while the girl seems to be younger, anxiously wringing her hands. They talk to each other for a long moment, the man reaching out to give her shoulders a quick squeeze, before he leans in close for a hug that feels as though it lasts too long. Jeongin's hand slowly slides down the window as they part, the girl smiling wryly before running her hands through her long hair.
It feels like a goodbye, like he's watching something he shouldn't be.
The man gives a determined nod and tugs his hood over his head, hiding his hair, before backing away and digging through his sweatshirt pocket. A third man with blond hair and a tan cap appears from the right, hurriedly apologizing for something.
The girl assures him with a wave of the hands, and then he takes a seat on the ground to the right, a water bottle perched in front of him. Jeongin's eyes slide back to the other man, who is now fiddling with the camera settings on a cell phone -
His breath catches in his throat.
The man is holding a real, actual cell phone, and getting ready to record. Jeongin hasn't ever seen a cell phone in a civilian's hands, let alone one that actually works. And to record something? To do so many things that went directly against the government without any attempt to hide it? Jeongin feels as though the glass separating them isn't enough.
A chorus of noise erupts from outside, and Jeongin almost staggers back in shock when he sees a laptop being placed on the pavement next, the man in the cap hitting a few buttons before returning to where he was.
The noise continues, loud sounds lowering into shorter notes, before a voice begins to accompany it, bringing it all together into something that sounds like nothing Jeongin has ever heard before. The girl starts to move her limbs in frantic ways, before spinning and shifting her body with them, following the noise like a moth to flame.
Jeongin can't help but continue to watch, memorized.
The noise doesn't sound like noise the longer he listens, and the girl's movements that he didn't understand start to ebb and flow in a way he wishes he knew how to do himself. It's like this noise is an extended part of her - something she wants to fully encompass.
Jeongin is so enraptured that he doesn't see the older woman that looks at the scene in absolute horror before rushing towards the closest checkpoint; the two men outside do, and the man in the sweatshirt doesn't hesitate to pass the phone over to the other.
The man in the cap lingers for a moment too long - the other man has to shove him to get him to leave, whispering aggressively, until he finally moves, hiding the phone and taking off. The man in the hoodie inches closer to the girl, but doesn't make any attempt to warn her, one foot hovering close to the laptop.
The sound continues, more than a few people gathering on the opposite side of the road, pointing and watching in a similar fashion as Jeongin. Jeongin forgets where he is and what he's supposed to be doing, watching the girl in what can only be described as awe, because he's never seen somebody move so easily, so gracefully.
So happily.
It keeps the feeling of anxiety that stirs restlessly at bay, quiets it, even, into something Jeongin can't hear anymore. Is this what was being kept from them? This feeling that he can't put a name to?
He's quick to stop the thought before it turns into something worse. Nothing was being kept from them. If he started to go down that road, he would be no better than the rebels being constantly silenced on the six o'clock news.
It hits him, then. Were these people...part of the rebellion?
The girl pushes off the ground and into a backflip, before gliding into another spin. She twirls and twirls as the sound builds and builds, and Jeongin holds his breath, smiling without even knowing, this feeling he can't name pulling at his stomach and filling him with anticipation for what comes next -
Only for the crack of a bullet to shatter the moment into two.
Jeongin flinches back as though he was the one shot, heart pounding, rag tumbling out of his hands and falling against the floor. When he returns his sight to the window, he can hear the shouts of the Uniforms, thundering and threatening.
Another shot rings out into the sky, causing the crowd that had been watching to scatter like birds from a perch. The guy moves quickly, popping the cap off the water bottle and dumping it on the laptop.
The sound cuts off immediately, and he follows the action by stomping his foot on the keyboard. He continues to do so until keys flick off into multiple directions, before leaving the dead device and moving towards the girl, who hadn't stopped moving. He begins to tug her to the right, but it's already too late.
The Uniforms swarm them, and Jeongin can barely keep up.
They're outnumbered, two to ten. He sees flashes of movement - the guy struggles against the arms trying to grab him, yelling profanities and managing to hit one of the Uniforms in the face. The girl, silent but fighting, until she is shoved against the ground, two batons pressed between her shoulder blades, causing her to writhe.
One of the Uniforms is berating them loudly, while another is reciting the laws they've broken, and why they're being detained. No rights are read aloud, and Jeongin doesn't have a chance to look away before the ID markers are pulled out, and being stamped across skin.
He feels sick when he sees black ink on the girl's cheek, and the blood that leaks from the ink on the sloppily placed stamp on the guy's neck. One of the other Uniforms grabs at the laptop, trying to make it start back up, but all Jeongin can hear are the girl's hoarse cries. Small lines of blood run down her chin, before a thick line of cloth is wrapped around her head, effectively blocking her sight and hearing. A black sack is thrown on next, erasing her identity, before the van finally pulls up, blocking the rest from view.
The same is done to the man as the doors open, revealing more Uniforms inside as they wave their hands and mumble into their walkie talkies. The van is big, with tinted windows and wide doors, and Jeongin can barely see the two through the circle of Uniforms as they're shoved inside, van pulling away with a screech, then everything is quiet once more.
Six Uniforms are left to patrol the spot, searching around for anything they've missed, rifles at the ready and eyes scanning the area. One looks directly at the shop, staring through the window and meeting Jeongin's eyes.
Jeongin scrambles away, back hitting the counter.
Panic shoots through him - what if they come in to question him? What if they think he was involved somehow, by watching and not reporting? What if they take him away too?
A hand falls on his shoulder and he jumps, meeting the eyes of the regular. He's crouched in front of Jeongin - when had he even slid to the ground? - lips pressed together, grip firm enough to be grounding. Jeongin tries to find something to say. His eyes catch on his piercing. Too risky. Too close to be crossing the line that's been drawn in the sand for decades.
The man lets go of him. He looks exhausted, up close like this. Jeongin can see the lines etched deep under his eyes, the slouch of his shoulders, the way he holds himself, like he doesn't want to be seen.
"I - I'm sorry," Jeongin whispers, slowly lifting himself up. The man watches him, taking half a step back to give him enough room. "I'm sorry that I made a scene."
The man shrugs. "It's okay."
Jeongin glances over at the table where the man was sitting. He hadn't eaten anything else. He feels bad, and can't help but feel at fault. If he hadn't made a scene over nothing, maybe -
"It's nice, isn't it?" the man asks quietly, turning towards the door.
Jeongin watches his back in confusion. "What is?"
The door jingles as it's opened. The man doesn't turn back around. "Being free."