Work Text:
Too much of Dacham has stayed the same.
They’re walking in circles now. Seojoon’s voice has grown hoarse, and if it trembles it’s only because of the chill of November.
In the distance, a lantern.
“You hear that?”
Jiwoo listens, and he hears, “Yes.”
“She must be in there.”
It’s a distressed cry, but it’s not a little girl’s cry. Still, Seojoon is sprinting in front of him, palms on the coarseness of the wall, heart turning over his tongue every time he takes Yooha’s name. What is Jiwoo to do except follow? What is he to do?
Gravel crunches under their footsteps. Jiwoo recognises the place. It’s an empty shack, the owners long gone. Even when he was in high school, it was where all the students went to smoke, or get drunk, or have sex, or—get high once. Not Jiwoo, but someone from his year, in the classroom next to his. Someone. And Yooha won’t be here, because Jiwoo knows her, he knows how she is. In their treks up the mountains, to the outskirts and the fields and the hills, he knows enough that she won’t be in a place like this. She’s scared of the dark. She doesn’t like the cold. She can’t climb that high, because she’s afraid of heights, of the monkey bars in the playground, of him pushing the swing too hard, of this wretched place. She won’t be here.
But there is a cry, and it’s alright, because it’s not a little girl’s cry. But what if it is? What if he’s missed an entry point? What if her disdain for this place is exactly why she’d come here to hide? What if the cold—
Beside him, Seojoon inhales sharply.
His hand is on his wrist. His legs are unsteady.
Jiwoo’s mouth grows dry.
Seojoon blinks, and blinks again. “Let’s go around that way,” he says. His voice is quiet. Jiwoo cradles it close, that voice. It helps keep the bubbles of panic down. It helps.
And then, another cry. A meow. Jiwoo exhales.
Seojoon’s breathing wobbles. “Can you get down on all fours?” he says. “I can climb on you and—or I can get down, and you can get over. Or—”
“She’s not here”
“But what if she is? No matter how much she acts like an adult, she’s still a child. She must be alone, and she must be scared, and—”
“That was a cat.”
A pause.
“What?”
“How can a child cry like that?” Jiwoo says. “It’s a cat.”
Seojoon isn’t looking at him. He shakes his head. “We should check,” he says, and his voice is resolute, and he’s not waiting for an answer; he’s got his mind made up already. Slippery palms reach for the top of the walls, seemingly deciding that if Jiwoo won’t help him then he would do it himself, and it’s only a minute before he launches back. There’s a thud, of flesh ripping, probably. Blood blooms at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t seem to notice. He goes to try again.
Jiwoo catches him by the elbow. “Stop.” He puts as much finality into his voice as he can. He moves Seojoon easily, and his ribs quiver at the sight of him, at the warmth of him, now that he’s so close again. “Stop,” he says, something caught in his throat this time, something mangled. What are you thinking about? He wants to ask. You weren’t like this. You’ve become something else. You’re changed and I don’t know who you are. You’re reckless about yourself. You’re thoughtless. Who made you into this? But Jiwoo is a coward. The kind of coward that knows the answers to all the questions he thinks of. The kind that will never ask Seojoon anything, because he won’t be able to stand what he responds with. He won’t.
So, he says, “You fucking idiot.”
So, he says, “You hurt yourself.”
Seojoon shudders. “Do you think…” he starts, stops. Starts again, “Do you think it’s because I called her hair weird? Is that why she ran away?” There is blood in his mouth, and his eyes have the stars in them, and all the planets too, and all the galaxies and comets and—Jiwoo went to a planetarium once. After the breakup. After the note. He will never tell him this; he’s never been interested in visiting one no matter how much Seojoon begged when they were dating, but it was a tough day, a tough week, a tough month. He doesn’t remember what he saw, or how it was, or how he got there at all. Because he’d closed his eyes half-way through the narration, and before that his eyes were burning, and before that he’d thought about Seojoon’s eyes. How none of it compared. How everything paled.
What have I done? He’d thought to himself. How will I ever forget those eyes?
Jiwoo wants to kiss him now. Blood on his mouth. Chin trembling. He wants to kiss him so bad it hurts.
He will never tell him this either.
So, he says, “Don’t think about it too much.”
So, he says, “Let’s keep looking,” and pretends he wasn’t looking at Seojoon’s lips.
(He’s getting good at this.)