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Summary
There was a certain gloom that came with the ending of any year. It always had its way of dredging up refuse from the bottom of the crap drawer, all things left undone and unsaid, and Mingi now had more than ever.
Most years he didn't much mind the haze. Or think of it. The scant few summers he spent with family he hardly knew and appeasing them with pleasantries in a tongue he knew less were just as wet and grey, only hotter. He understood hello, yes, no, thank you, I'm sorry, and that Hongjoong could say he was the centre of the world with my name is.
Hongjoong Kim, chaser of immortality, is six feet under. Mingi Song, never one for convention, has a spade and a laboratory.