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Wonwoo puts a pointer finger to his lips, as if a reminder to keep quiet is even needed at this point. He cranes his neck in every direction, trying to catch anything with his eyes in the far back. Thankfully, he sees nothing.
He turns his head to the left, nodding once, and walks into the pharmacy. Or, well, the remains of what once was a pharmacy — back in a world Wonwoo realized not long ago he’s started to forget about, little by little, the small details that used to be part of his everyday life and now are nothing but a forgotten memory. This one has been looted before, of course; it’s rare to find stores and pharmacies that are still untouched this long into… this, whatever this is, and he figured it wouldn’t be different this time.
“Antibiotics,” he whispers to himself, hating the crunch of fallen bottles of cough syrup under his combat boots. “Antibiotics…”
In the far back, Joshua’s voice rings as a recent memory, behind the counter. Wonwoo touches the pistol over the thick material of his leather holster, the closest thing he has to guaranteed safety with him, and walks closer, step by step. Deeper into the pharmacy, it’s harder to hear the sound of leaves rustling against the wind, or another human’s breathing nearby. Wonwoo tries not to let this get to him, holding his breath in for longer, doing anything in his power to hear any possible surprises coming from inside this place.
It’s a common occurrence now. It wasn’t like this back when this started, much like it wasn’t uncommon to see brand new, untouched stores, but the deeper they get into this, the harder it is to get supplies, and the harder it is, the more people die. Not die; get bitten, in daylight traps much like this one. Which is why Wonwoo hears it — the not-so-distant growling, a familiar sound that has haunted his nightmares for who knows how long now, one of the very few things left in this world that are still capable of making his blood run cold.
His fingers find the cold metal of his pistol, pulling it out of the holster in one quick movement he has perfected over time. He has learned not to react much, not to do much more than the absolute necessary. Wonwoo sees its face — once a woman, a human — and brings his pistol up, keeping his feet rooted to the ground and aiming with expertise he sometimes wishes he never had. He doesn’t apologize profusely like Seungkwan does every time he finds himself in a situation like this, but a part of Wonwoo feels sorry for this once-human he has to take the life of. He breathes in, puts his finger to the trigger, and pulls.
Nothing happens.
He registers it quickly, but not quickly enough to check why his pistol didn’t fire and what he can do to fix it, and the face of the once-human is closer, clearer. With dark, almost black blood dripping from its wide open mouth, with its purplish and bloated skin, it only walks faster in Wonwoo’s direction. He finally takes a step back, ready to tell Joshua to run as fast as he can so they can go back to their camp, when he hears the click of someone unlocking a revolver over the sound of the growling, of his own heavy breathing.
Wonwoo doesn’t have time to duck and stare at his feet as he has done before when someone else killed a once-human in front of him. This is an emergency, a sign of Wonwoo’s mistake forcing him to close his eyes and his mouth in a tight line, pinching his nose at the same time. He hears it then — the sound that was supposed to come from his own pistol, the gun firing from a safer distance, but not far away enough that his ears won’t be ringing for the next few hours. The splash of lukewarm blood on his skin is gross yet familiar. The loud sound leaves him disoriented for a couple seconds, but he doesn’t move. Wonwoo counts to four in his head before he feels the delicate touch of a rough hand on his arm.
“Eyes first,” Joshua whispers, or so Wonwoo believes he does — he can’t be sure. The ringing in his ears is as loud as ever, and, to him, Joshua’s voice sounds like a whisper now. Wonwoo obeys the command and opens his eyes, seeing nothing but the lenses of his glasses covered in dark blood. “Any exposed wounds?”
Wonwoo shakes his head. He’s thankful for Joshua for a number of reasons — he is one of the very few people back in their improvised camp who is as “cold-blooded” (Seungkwan and Chan’s words, not his) as Wonwoo, and also one of the very few who insists on carrying a small first aid kit with him and knows how to use it. Mingyu is useful, but oftentimes clumsy. Jihoon doesn’t fear contaminated blood splatters as much as he should, and Hansol means well, but can’t always follow through with every step they should take in cases like Wonwoo’s. He isn’t even going to get into Seungkwan, Chan or Seokmin; Wonwoo would probably be hearing panicked screaming over the ringing in his ears now, if one of them could have even reacted as quickly as Joshua did.
The touch of a wet wipe to his mouth area startles him, visibly enough that he hears Joshua’s quick apology. Wonwoo could shake his head to reassure him, but he knows he doesn’t have to. Joshua cleans the area around his mouth, going up to his nose, cleaning gently around his fingers as if Wonwoo is a delicate thing. Once Joshua drags the wet wipe up to his glasses and gets the gross, thick mixture of blood and whatever was left of the once-human’s brain out of the way, Wonwoo breathes in through his nose and finally gets to look at him.
The wrinkle between Joshua’s eyebrows, the firm set of his lips, his flared nostrils. Wonwoo has never been exceptional at reading — or trying to read — emotions on someone’s face, but none of them were Joshua either. He knows upset when he sees it now.
“It didn’t fire,” Wonwoo explains himself. Joshua stares up in his eyes for a moment and continues cleaning his face as if he was never interrupted. “My gun.”
“I could tell,” Joshua raises his eyebrows, dragging the wipe a little more forcefully over the areas on Wonwoo’s face that shouldn’t be a big concern of his. As long as the contaminated blood doesn’t come in contact with a healthy human’s circulatory system in any way, they should be fine, but Wonwoo knows why he is being thorough. “At least more of them didn’t come out. We should still be quick, though.”
“Right. The antibiotics,” Wonwoo nods. He checks the wet wipe covered in pieces of brain and dark, rotten blood, and sees the moment Joshua drops it over the dead body of the once-human. “We should grab more gauze if we can find that. And painkillers. Should I go to the back, and you—”
“We’re not splitting up before you press check your gun,” Joshua interrupts Wonwoo’s commands in a firm voice. Wonwoo… Obeys, because what else is he supposed to do? He lifts his pistol up and releases the magazine in one quick motion, holding it in his partially clean hand. To his surprise, it is empty of bullets. Wonwoo holds his breath, and looks up to find Joshua turning his back on him. “That’s what I thought. Antibiotics first, everything else second, and only if we have time.”
It doesn’t take a master at human communication to figure out Joshua is very, very upset with him now. Wonwoo nods dumbly because he knows this is his fault, knows how risky this was for them and for everyone else in their camp. Joshua leads them both to the back of the pharmacy, grabs three small bottles of the antibiotics they need and walks them back to the front of the pharmacy so they can grab the necessary extras — the gauze, a couple band-aids, and different types of painkillers they could thankfully find.
The walk back to their camp is torture. Because of the scorching sun, because of the obvious tension in the air, because of the blisters on his toes that never get enough time to heal before he’s shoving his feet back in combat boots again. Wonwoo has a thousand things on his mind now, annoying what-ifs he wishes he could’ve left back in that pharmacy, and he doesn’t know where to begin apologizing, or if Joshua even wants to hear his apologies. Luckily for them, no growling or trail of rotten blood follows them into the mountains, and soon they see signs of living human beings nearby.
The first one Wonwoo sees is Seungkwan. Waiting by the makeshift entrance to their camp, walking back and forth with his thumb stuck between his teeth. When Seungkwan sees him — them, because he surely sees Joshua first —, the relief in his eyes is visible from thousands of kilometers away.
“Oh, thank God,” he says, every syllable getting louder as he speaks. His hands go in the air for a second and he schools himself into barely-there neutrality, smiling up at them. Then, it’s as if he really sees Wonwoo, smile dropping off his face almost comically fast. “Wonwoo hyung?”
“Surprise encounter. He’s fine,” Joshua explains in a clipped tone. Seungkwan looks at him, then at Wonwoo, and Wonwoo can only nod in confirmation. “Where is Chan? We got the antibiotics. Is he still in pain?”
“He’s been limping around trying to be useful ever since you left,” Seungkwan waves one nervous hand in the air, guiding them back into their camp. “I told him to sit down and be quiet because it could make his injury worse, but he doesn’t listen. I was going to, I don’t know, grab a pan and bonk him over his head to see if it slows him down, but…”
“Let’s go find him together, yeah?” Joshua shows Seungkwan a smile — a pretty one, curving his eyes into little crescents, one of Wonwoo’s favorites to see. When he turns to Wonwoo, his smile falters. “You should prepare a bath. Get rid of all of this residue for good.”
Either Seungkwan doesn’t see the tension, or he knows better than to ask while Wonwoo is still around. As for Wonwoo, he obeys once again because he isn’t stupid (not always, at least). He finds whoever is responsible for the laundry today — it’s Junhui, who stares at him long and hard when he hands over an impossibly stained white tank top — and leaves with two buckets filled to the brim with water, ignoring the blisters on his toes to walk all the way back to the tent he shares with Joshua.
When he walks in, Joshua is already there. It’s as if he knows Wonwoo is there as well almost immediately — Wonwoo wouldn’t be surprised if he did —, and he doesn’t hold back. Joshua is kicking his boots off, dropping his gun holster unceremoniously on the floor, unfastening his belt in total silence, but letting Wonwoo know loud and clear he’s still upset. The tent is filled with silent warnings in every corner. Wonwoo carefully drops the two buckets on the floor, and starts undressing as well.
Joshua drags two small wooden stools closer to the buckets and drops his weight down on one of them. Wonwoo walks closer, having no other option but to sit down right in front of him. He picks up the washcloth over the rim of the bucket he is sure Joshua put there, and dips it in the water, taking it out and twisting it.
He’s about to start cleaning himself when he hears a tired sigh, feels a hand slapping his away, and sees Joshua come into view with his stool in hand, every gorgeous inch of his naked skin on display. Wonwoo allows him to grab the wet washcloth, and sighs in relief when the cool water comes in contact with his warm skin. He can never get used to the feeling of rotten blood drying up and getting sticky on his body, and having Joshua’s hands on him to help him get rid of this sensation is a lot like a reward after coming face to face with death.
Although he knows he doesn’t quite deserve this reward.
“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo whispers, staring at their feet. Joshua drags one hand down Wonwoo’s arm harder, almost hurting. “I know I… I’m sorry, I really am.”
“You should be,” Joshua replies, voice sharp around the edges. He’s rarely hard on anyone — a little sassy, yes, but always so gentle and caring. “You could’ve cost us so much if I weren’t there to kill that thing for you.”
Joshua knows where his priorities are, knows when to leave someone behind and when to fight for them. It’s one of the reasons why Wonwoo left behind a life of lone survival and joined him and this team he was part of, after one encounter where they had to fight over a bottle of antihistamines. We could both use this if you come with me, Joshua said all those months ago, and Wonwoo saw himself following him, staying with him for longer than he planned at first. Joshua, with all his gentle words and great aim, showed Wonwoo love in a new world he never thought he would be capable of feeling such thing.
“I know,” Wonwoo whispers.
“Imagine if I had to come back here, Seungkwan waiting for me by those trees, all alone,” Joshua drags the washcloth down harder, wiping the same spot over and over again. Wonwoo tries to stay still and let him talk, because he knows he needs this. “Imagine if I told Chan you died after we went after antibiotics for him. All because you — how many times have we told each other to check if the gun is loaded before we leave?”
“I was sure it was—”
“But it wasn’t, and you could’ve died,” Joshua interrupts him, voice going higher. Wonwoo finds blood splatter on his knees. His left arm is still covered in splatters as well. All evidence of his mistake. “Do you understand why I’m upset?”
“Yes.”
“Then look at me,” Joshua demands, and Wonwoo does so almost immediately. That wrinkle is there in between Joshua’s eyebrows, a little deeper if anything, but Wonwoo also sees the way his eyes shine under the light filtering in through the fabric of their old tent. “Don’t ever leave the camp before checking if your gun is loaded again.”
“It won’t happen,” Wonwoo shakes his head. “Promise.”
“Turn around,” Joshua’s nostrils flare up and he looks down, scratching the back of his neck with a heavy sigh. “Let me get your back.”
Wonwoo doesn’t make a comment about how he isn’t a punching bag when Joshua starts scrubbing his back so hard it hurts, because, again, he knows he kind of deserves this. He doesn’t ask either whether or not Joshua told Seungkwan — and Chan, who probably got his antibiotics already — the truth about what happened, because he knows the answer is most likely to be a resounding no. Some of them have this blind faith in Wonwoo and Joshua that would crumble and turn into panic if they knew Wonwoo is still capable of making mistakes after all this time, and they need to protect this. It’s one of the driving forces behind their team. It’s one of the reasons why Joshua is so upset too.
Only one of the reasons, though.
Wonwoo hears sniffling, and then the sound of the washcloth being dropped in one of the buckets of water. He feels Joshua’s forehead touching his back, feels the way his fingers find the skin of his hips and holds him gently, tightly, flexing as if reminding himself Wonwoo is still there, alive. Wonwoo doesn’t move for a second or two, allowing him a moment, and only turns around when the sniffling stops. Coming face to face with Joshua, Wonwoo raises his clean hand and touches his face carefully, stroking the skin of his cheek with his thumb.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, just for good measure. Joshua rolls his eyes, but nods. Wonwoo leans in for a quick peck, almost hearing the way Joshua’s shoulders sag in relief. “I promise I will always check if the gun is loaded before we leave.”
“Good,” Joshua whispers. He kisses Wonwoo one more time, for a little longer, and hums, content. When he pulls away he also pushes Wonwoo, scrunching up his nose. “Now get away from me. You quite literally smell like death.”
“Oops,” Wonwoo says, smiling when Joshua does. He holds the comment of how Joshua smells of gunpowder on the back of his tongue, letting him have this. “Sorry. I’m pretty sure there’s brain scatter in my hair.”
“Gross,” Joshua sticks his tongue out and pulls Wonwoo’s partially clean hand in his hold, expression lighter, shoulders more relaxed. Wonwoo pats himself on his back in his imagination and lets Joshua do whatever he wants. “Let me help you, yeah? Get you nice and clean the way I like you.”
“Anything you want,” Wonwoo whispers.
The sounds coming from their camp seem muted behind the thick material of their worn-out tent. Wonwoo closes his eyes when Joshua’s fingers dig into his hair, appreciating the birds singing, reveling in the faint laughter he hears of the people he now knows he could consider his family. The heat is so intense the cold water doesn’t do much to alleviate how every inch of his skin seems to be burning up anymore, but he doesn’t care all that much. When Joshua announces he is done, Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate to turn around and do the same for him, dropping a kiss between his shoulder blades whenever he can.
Wonwoo hears a light giggle every time, accompanied by a soft grumble about distractions and Joshua being ticklish, or something like that. He keeps going anyway. If he can forget — and if he can make Joshua forget — what happened earlier that day, it’s worth it.