Chapter Text
The sky above the neighborhood was a soft watercolor , streaks of early light breaking across a sea of gray. The air was crisp, the kind that made breath fog just slightly and left fingertips cold even through gloves.
Seonghwa stood outside the building, hands tucked neatly in his coat pockets. He wasn't tapping his foot. He wasn't sighing. But he checked the time again anyway. 7:12 a.m.
Right on schedule, the door above creaked open. Yeosang emerged, blazer slung over one shoulder, headphones hanging from his neck, and the remains of sleep still clinging to his eyes.
“Sorry,” Yeosang muttered, hopping slightly as he adjusted his shoes. “Alarm didn’t go off. Again.”
Seonghwa lifted an eyebrow.
“You said that yesterday.”
“It didn’t go off then, either.”
The deadpan reply earned him a breath of a laugh. Seonghwa turned, falling into a familiar rhythm as they began walking. Their shoes echoed faintly against the pavement, birds overhead calling softly as the city yawned awake around them.
“You stayed up?”
“Mm,” Yeosang murmured. “History paper. And… other stuff.”
Seonghwa glanced over. Yeosang’s expression was neutral, not guarded, exactly, but distant. He often looked that way in the mornings: like his body was present, but his thoughts were still tangled up in something he couldn’t quite shake.
“What kind of ‘other stuff’?”
“You’ll roll your eyes.”
“Try me.”
Yeosang hesitated, then chuckled under his breath.
“I ended up reading about ancient weaponry. Iron Age spears, ceremonial daggers. Total rabbit hole.”
“Again?”
“It helps me fall asleep.”
“That’s not how sleep works,” Seonghwa said. “You’re overstimulating your brain before bed. No wonder you’re always late.”
“Coming from someone who memorizes Latin for fun?” Yeosang shot back with a small grin.
“Latin is structure. Order.”
“So is weaponry. If you think about it.”
Seonghwa didn’t argue. Not because Yeosang was right, but because the tone in his voice shifted, just slightly. There was something reverent in it. Like the topic comforted him in a way that didn’t make sense to most people.
They passed the bakery on the corner, steam fogging the windows. The scent of freshly baked buns drifted out onto the sidewalk, and Yeosang slowed for just a step, inhaling.
“You skipped breakfast.”
“I had coffee.”
“That’s not breakfast.”
“You sound like my mom.”
“Maybe she has a point.”
“She’d cry if she heard you say that,” Yeosang said, feigning betrayal.
Seonghwa smiled, small and fleeting. They turned down the next street , the one with the crooked traffic light and the fence that always creaked in the wind. The morning crowd of students grew denser here. Backpacks thumped, voices rose and fell in waves, laughter bouncing off walls like early sunlight.
“Do you ever remember your dreams?” Seonghwa asked abruptly.
Yeosang blinked, caught off-guard by the shift.
“Dreams?”
“Yeah. When you sleep.”
“Not really. I know I have them sometimes, but they’re always… foggy. Just images. Feelings. And then nothing.”
“Like what?”
“It’s stupid.”
Seonghwa slowed his steps a little.
“I asked.”
Yeosang hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Then:
“There’s this one I used to get when I was younger. I’d be standing in the middle of this big room. Marble floors. Everything glowing. And… I was waiting for someone. But I never knew who.”
His voice had gone quiet. Not sad. Just distant.
Seonghwa frowned.
“That’s not stupid.”
“You say that like you’ve had weirder.”
Seonghwa tilted his head, his gaze trailing up to the sky.
“I dream of water sometimes. Lakes that shimmer. Candles that burn cold. Names I don’t know , but feel like I should.”
Yeosang didn’t reply immediately.
“Maybe we’re just tired,” he said.
“Maybe.”
But Seonghwa didn’t believe that. Not really. There was something unsettling in those dreams. Something too vivid to ignore.
They reached the long slope down toward the school gate. The campus was nestled between two gently sloping hills, and the morning sun lit the building’s windows like rows of gold coins. Students streamed through the courtyard in waves , groups of friends calling out to each other, club members waving flyers, bikes rolling past in hurried streaks.
Yeosang slowed slightly.
“You ever get the feeling,” he said, “that we’ve done this before?”
Seonghwa turned to him.
“What?”
“This. Walking here. Talking like this. Like it’s already happened.”
Seonghwa studied him, something cold brushing the back of his neck.
“Déjà vu.”
“No,” Yeosang said. “More than that. Like… a replay.”
The bell chimed in the distance , gentle and melodic, signaling ten minutes to homeroom. Neither of them moved at first.
Then Seonghwa turned, nudging Yeosang gently with his shoulder.
“You’re being weird again.”
“You asked.”
“And I regret it already.”
Yeosang laughed softly, the strange haze lifting a little as they stepped through the school gates.
Behind them, the sky brightened.
In front of them, voices rose and scattered in the wind.
And far below the surface of everything ordinary, something ancient stirred.