Chapter Text
where to go, nowhere to go
without a destination,
navigation system's freezing up
you've been here, you must've been here
you, who have walked this path
so effortlessly
The world awaits him, vast, ever-changing.
But it doesn't wait for him. It never does.
It didn't ask Jisung before uprooting his life, along with everyone else's. It didn't hesitate to shift into something new, something cruel. And when it was all over, it didn't apologise – not to the bodies left half-buried, not to those left aching.
The world burned, uncaring of those who succumbed to the flames and those forsaken to walk among the ashes.
Jisung didn't know how he managed to survive, not at first, but it didn't take him long to figure it out.
He was used to staying in his room, holed up between four walls. Trapped in his personal paradise, a reprieve from the outside world that demanded so much of him. He was used to tuning out the voices of others, their words that trailed after him like chains. And when the drag of those chains pierced his eardrums, he learned to tune that sound out, too. He was used to having no one by his side.
He made small changes; instead of his lectures, he slept in. Instead of the judgmental comments of his classmates, he plucked the chords of his guitar to block out the screams.
When someone thinks of an apocalypse, they usually imagine zombies and rampaging corpses hunting after humans for brains or flesh. Had that been the case for their reality, perhaps they would have been able to prevent it all from happening.
The virus didn't cause violent outbursts, nor did it drive people to the point of insanity. Instead, it acted like a parasite, depleting all nutrients and wearing down the host until the body could no longer function properly. It affected the parts of the brain that signalled exhaustion, and thus went by unnoticed until it was too late, both by doctors and the infected themselves. It spread through bodily fluids and open wounds, as so many other viruses do.
Jisung remembers the day when the announcement went up, the first of many. Initially, people referred to it as a pandemic. A "public fatigue befitting of the new age". Elders deemed it a weakness of younger generations. Civilians refused to stay informed, rejecting the notion of an "exhaustion virus" altogether.
He honestly thinks that if it were anything else, the apocalypse wouldn't have happened. But who would think of exhaustion as alarming? It was the friend of students, employees, and retired citizens alike. Sure, it was bothersome, but never dangerous enough to warrant attention.
Until it was.
The first outbreak in his city happened five months after the lockdowns and a week after the first-ever televised outbreak. Channels went wild. The alarms Jisung had only heard of through his phone rang out in the area, filling the air with a cacophony of panic. His roommate went back home, along with many others. Jisung stayed.
The start of the apocalypse was the most terrifying part. During that first month, he hid. He barely left his room and didn't even think about leaving the dorm building. He survived on the leftover food in the fridge and pantry and the remaining vending machine snacks in the hallways. When those inevitably ran out, he made his first trip outside.
That was when Jisung encountered a sleepwalker for the first time.
He was stuffing instant noodles and bottles of water into a duffel bag when he heard shuffling on the other side of the convenience store. He thought it was a person, someone like him, scavenging for resources. He thought they would barely interact, acknowledge each other's presence and their efforts to survive, and then they'd each be on their way.
He thought wrong.
The… the thing that Jisung locked eyes with when he made his way to the exit wasn't human. It couldn't be. He'd seen flashes of the sleepwalkers on the screen, but nothing could have prepared him for the real thing. It was slumped over the counter, its mouth hung agape, hair missing in chunks, clothes ragged and draped over a skeletal frame. It looked like the stock image of malnutrition, except twisted into some sleep-paralysis-inspired horror.
When their eyes locked, Jisung felt all of his survival instinct leave his body. Instantly, he knew:
This thing belongs in the soil.
Its mouth moved, a twitch. Its lips cracked, crimson staining the single word it managed to whisper to him.
"H… elp…"
He couldn't.
Jisung ran.
He couldn't help. Not the person trapped inside that husk, not other survivors, not even himself. Not when his reaction was to rush back home, collapse on the floor and have a breakdown right after.
He limited his scavenges for food to only when it was absolutely necessary. Sometimes, he'd catch glimpses of people – actual people – running through the empty streets, the buildings of Busan swallowing them whole. Jisung never dared to approach them. Some other times, he'd stumble across another sleepwalker, staring blankly into space and shuffling their feet against the road, their brain too far gone to reach out.
Most times, he'd find bodies.
The smell he was met with every time he left the dorm was rancid. He wasted space in his bag to bring back air fresheners on one of his store runs. He couldn't have the stench invading his only safe space.
He also had some other run-ins that proved to him how the virus still posed a threat, even after everything.
"Please…"
Jisung turns his head around. He hasn't heard another person's voice in what feels like ages.
A woman stands behind him. She looks… tired.
He takes a step back.
"I-I know how I look… just… please, help me," she says. "My group abandoned me. I-I'm scared. You have to help me."
Jisung bites down on his bottom lip so hard he tastes copper. He takes one more step back, then another.
"You have to… You have to!" The woman yells, attempting to grab him. Her body moves too slowly, limbs flailing as she falls to the ground.
Jisung runs off, straining to focus on the sound of his worn-out shoes against the concrete and not her wails.
If a cure did exist, waiting to be found, desperation was its antithesis.
Some nights, he swore he could hear people fighting outside, as if there wasn't a common threat intent on destroying them all. There was one thing those movies got right: man's greatest enemy is no one but himself.
One day, the lights started flickering out. He supposed it was to be expected; the city generators could only last for so long. The nights grew darker, the streets quieter.
He felt it in the air.
This hell was coming to an end. At least, for now.
It was the cue Jisung needed to start planning his escape.
He couldn't stay in Busan forever. The stores were almost empty by now, and frankly, he needed to leave – to run away. The corpses filled the streets, where live people used to be, and the sight only made him feel worse and worse. It felt like a premonition, like they were warning him.
"Leave. Leave, before your soul gets sucked out of you," they whispered in his dreams.
So he packed up his duffel bag. He filled it with food, water, and other resources he managed to find on his last trip – whatever hadn't been raided already, and then threw in a couple of shirts and pants. He thought about bringing his laptop, but it'd be pretty much useless without any WiFi or electricity.
His eyes fell on his guitar.
It wouldn't be a good idea to bring it along. His bag was already heavy enough. Having to carry that for days on end would only cause him worse back pain than what he already had from slaving over his desk for hours while studying.
Yet he felt heavier without it.
And, hey, the guitar case had space for an extra jacket.
The day he'd decided to leave, he made a quick stop.
He walked down the hallway to room 143. He knocked on the door. Shuffling followed on the other side, but the door didn't open.
"Hey," Jisung muttered. "I hope you can hear me. I-I saw you coming in and out of your room a couple of times. I think we're the only ones left in the building." He dug the heel of his shoe into the thin carpet. "I'm leaving today. I thought you should have some of the stuff I couldn't fit in my bag. It's… mostly noodles and water, not much variety, but it's better than nothing."
And then he was rambling. Gods, how is it possible that he could find ways to embarrass himself even during an apocalypse? A Han Jisung exclusive, no doubt.
"It was… nice, knowing I wasn't completely alone," he added quietly.
There was a soft click. The door creaked open, just a crack. A girl about his age peeked through the gap. She looked down at the food he'd placed by the doorstep, and back up at him.
"Thank you," she said. "I could hear you playing the guitar some nights."
"Oh."
"It was nice, like you said. A reminder I wasn't alone."
"W-What's your name?" What the hell is this, kindergarten?
"Haneul. Yours?"
"Jisung."
"It was nice meeting you, Jisung."
"You too, Haneul."
There had been no goodbye, no acknowledgement of the fact that the world around them was still burning. That none of them knew if it'd ever return to what it once was.
Jisung supplied himself with a map, one of those with the tourist highlights, simply for the novelty of it.
He didn't really have a destination in mind or anywhere to go. Jisung just knew that he wanted to keep going.
-
His days spent walking are quiet.
He hasn't come across any other survivor groups nor any sleepwalkers. It's like as soon as he decided to leave the dorms, everything else went into hiding. As if he's the threat.
Hah. Jisung, a threat. Yeah, right.
Ironically, he sees a lot more animals roaming around. There are birds, cats and rats that are no longer afraid to occupy space and scurry along the sidewalks. He even spots a bunny in a remote park, tucked between the tall buildings of a forgotten neighbourhood.
This might be the one nice thing that will come out of the apocalypse: the animals residing in big cities no longer living in fear.
During the daytime, Jisung makes his way through the empty city. He doesn't stick to the main roads – which might be the actual reason he hasn't encountered anyone or anything other than animals – and has taken to sneaking into alleyways he wouldn't have when the city was still full of life. He finds a lot of cool spots this way.
One of them is this large bingo hall, with stamps and papers spread on the tables. There are also savoury snacks and cups everywhere, but Jisung manages to find only one bag of pretzels that hasn't been opened and can be consumed. He snacks on it as he lies down on the confetti-littered floor, wondering where the people who came here last might be now.
When nighttime comes, he usually searches for shelter. He breaks into stores that are easy to get into and hides in the break room, or he manages to slip into an apartment lobby if he's lucky.
On nights when Jisung doesn't feel like sleeping, he looks for places with a view of the sky. It's harder than he thought it'd be, but when he does, he pulls his guitar out of its case. He strums the strings gently, too scared to play properly, and the next morning, he hums the melodies under his breath while walking, and he feels like he's carrying the serenity of the night with him.
Today is another one of those mornings.
With winter approaching, the air has started to grow a bit colder, so he's wearing double the layers, with his hood pulled over his head. The chill bites at his fingertips, and he has to switch the duffel bag from one hand to another regularly. Thankfully, it looks like it will be sunny; it will probably get warmer later in the day.
His stomach grumbles, distracting Jisung from his thoughts. He didn't eat anything last night, he remembers. Didn't feel like going through the trouble of finding anything, nor wasting the little food he had with him. He's never been a fan of breakfast if it includes anything other than coffee, but his recent dietary choices are strained enough.
The good thing is that convenience stores are, well, convenient. You can find one easily if you walk for long enough. When a small corner store comes into view after some random turns, Jisung gives himself a pat on the shoulder.
The glass on the door is already broken, its wooden frame barely hanging on its hinges. He's probably not the first survivor to come here looking for food, but his hope of finding something doesn't prevent him from going inside.
One thing he'll never get used to is the lack of people in places like these. He was used to ducking his head as soon as he entered a store in order to avoid eye contact with the cashier. He doesn't need to do it anymore – there is no one to avoid, but instinct takes over. It's muscle memory, at this point.
The shards on the floor crackle underneath the soles of his shoes. There is dirt and trash strewn about all over. The store's shelves have already been partially emptied, and most of the remaining items still on them have already expired. There is also stuff like flour and condensed milk, but what is he supposed to do with those? Open a post-apocalyptic bakery?
There might be stuff in the back, Jisung reasons. Perhaps he'll find an employee's hidden stash of snacks. It wouldn't be the first time.
He shuffles to the "employees only" room behind the register. It's small, with most of the space occupied by lockers. There is a table with a microwave and a coffee maker, as well as ingredients for instant coffee. Some folding chairs are tucked into a corner next to it. He wishes the coffee maker didn't rely on electricity. He misses his morning americanos. An extra door, which must lead to the back of the store, is half-open, allowing the light to illuminate the room.
Unfortunately, there is no hidden stash. Jisung checks every locker, and the only thing he finds is a burgundy, fluffy scarf. He takes it. Winter is coming, after all.
It smells faintly of some flowery perfume.
He wonders if it was gifted to its past owner. If it was given to them by a friend, a family member, or a lover. If they miss it, or if they've completely forgotten about it. One of the lockers had a half-finished pack of cigarettes. He wonders if that person had been planning to stop smoking, if they managed to quit in the end or if the virus got to them. Perhaps they had just started smoking, or never planned to quit at all.
How did everything collapse so quickly? What does that say about them, humans, in general?
He thinks about Haneul. He wonders if she decided to leave, too.
He hopes she did.
"Back- off-!"
Jisung perks up. That sounded like a person. An actual person.
He inches towards the back door and peeks outside. There, in the back alley, there is, in fact, a person. A man, if his short, blonde hair is anything to go by. He has a large backpack on his shoulders and is wearing clothes that seem much more fitting than Jisung's college student attire. He appears to be out of breath, the air knocked out of him as he tries to stand up straight.
And then there is someone else.
It's stalking towards the guy, legs wobbly like jello and posture crooked.
"Not… die alone…" It mutters, ignoring the guy's attempts to put distance between them.
Is he stupid? Jisung wonders, raising a brow. Why isn't he running? Sleepwalkers are, like, ten times slower-
Then he sees it. The man's limp as he takes another step back.
Getting involved would be stupid. Jisung would only be putting his life in danger, and he's made it this far. He's survived past the outbreaks, past the worst parts of it. He deserves to make it.
The sleepwalker is getting closer to him.
But does he deserve it? Does he deserve it when he spent his days hidden underneath the blankets, ignoring the sound of the world burning outside his apartment window? Does he deserve it more than any other person?
The sleepwalker reaches out.
Jisung drops his guitar case and his duffel bag. He ducks inside and then slams the door open all the way with his foot, attracting all attention to himself. The sleepwalker looks away from the man to turn to him, and Jisung grips the folded-up chair tighter before he swings.
There is a sickening crack as his swing lands right on the sleepwalker's neck.
Its body falls with a thump, its neck bent at an impossible angle.
Jisung looks down at it, then at the chair he's still holding, his knuckles white. He slowly lets it drop. His breathing is fast, unsteady. It almost matches the breathing of the guy standing next to him.
"A-Are you…" He begins to turn towards him, but then he feels bile in his throat. He quickly spins around to face the other way and bends over as he retches, his body trying to expel food he doesn't have.
So much for trying to do a good thing, he thinks dazedly, his forehead pressed against the brick wall. This is why you shouldn't play hero, Han Jisung. You're not built for this shit.
"Here."
Jisung looks up just enough to see a metallic bottle hovering next to his face, one of those that sound like atomic bombs if they fall in a classroom.
"Thanks," he mumbles and takes it, not even trying to hide his shaking hands. He pours some water into his cupped palm and wipes away his spit, using the last drops to splash his face. "S-Sorry about that."
"What are you apologising for?"
He finally lifts his head to meet the stranger's eyes. Jisung's world freezes over.
This is the prettiest person he's ever seen.
His hair is blonde, yes, but it must not be his natural colour because Jisung can see his roots, which are dark and uneven. Also, his hair ridiculously fluffy, and to that Jisung says, not fair. His eyes are angular, like a cat's, and so is his nose, and his cheekbones, and- hell, is this guy made of corners? His mouth might as well be the only soft thing about him; a plump upper lip settled over a smaller bottom one.
He realises too late that he's staring when the guy blinks, twice and scary fast.
"I-I don't know," Jisung blurts out.
The guy tilts his head, one side of his lip twitching. "Do you apologise to every person you save?"
"I don't know," Jisung repeats. Yes, clearly, he's very eloquent. "I mean- I don't really- I haven't really had to save anyone else."
"You're on your own?" The guy asks.
"Aren't you?" Jisung asks back.
"Touché."
He holds out a hand, and Jisung hesitates for a moment before taking it and pulling himself up. He avoids turning towards the corpse lying on the ground a few meters away and focuses on the stranger instead. It's not hard to do so; he's pretty – a prettier sight than a disfigured corpse, certainly.
"What's your name?"
Jisung raises a brow. "Huh?"
"Do I not get to know the name of my saviour?"
"Oh- Jisung. Han Jisung."
"Lee Minho."
Jisung takes a good look at him a second time. This "Lee Minho" is taking this a bit too lightly, is he not? He almost got killed. How can he jump into a light-hearted conversation so quickly? Has the apocalypse driven him insane to the point that he doesn't fear for his life anymore?
This guy is weird.
"Are you lost?" Minho asks again when it becomes obvious to both of them that Jisung can't carry a conversation for the life of him.
"No? I don't really know where I'm going," Jisung replies earnestly.
Minho's expression shifts into something more serious. "It's not safe out here."
"I can't imagine it being much safer for a guy with a limp," he bounces back. He's not about to get scolded by a hypocrite.
"Not like I had a choice on that part."
"Still…"
Silence settles over them again. Minho tugs on his backpack straps. It becomes awkward too quickly. Jisung doesn't like awkward.
He also finds himself disliking the idea of Minho ending up in a similar situation to what happened earlier, except next time, someone might not be there to help.
It's haunting, the weight he feels now, after coming up with that thought.
"I know a place that's safe," he says.
"I know a place, too. But I can't go off-route."
"I-It's pretty nearby."
Minho shifts his hold on his backpack straps again. "Is it quiet?"
"It should be, unless someone else has decided to make it their shelter in the few hours since I left?"
He appears to be considering Jisung's offer. He does so while blatantly staring at him, and Jisung is left to shuffle under his gaze, avoiding eye contact.
"You don't mind me tagging along?" Minho asks him.
"No?"
"Are you asking me, Jisung-ssi?"
"Just Jisung is fine. And I-I wasn't. Asking."
Minho gives him a small smile. "Okay, then."
Good, this is good, Jisung tells himself. He's helping someone out. He doesn't know where this surge of compassion has bloomed from, but unless Minho turns out to be a serial killer, this shouldn't end that badly. Besides, it might be nice to have someone other than himself to talk to for once, even though he's famously known not to be good at talking.
"Oh, right. I should get my things, hang on," Jisung tells him and turns to grab the stuff that he'd abandoned back in the employee room. He slips the guitar case over his shoulder and picks up his duffel bag from the floor.
When he exits into the alley again, Minho furrows his brows.
"Is that a guitar case?"
Jisung blinks. "Yeah."
"What do you have in there?"
"A guitar?"
Minho gives him an unreadable look that Jisung has no idea how to decipher. Is Minho judging him? He's definitely judging him.
Perhaps he shouldn't have made that proposal. Jisung had a very few selections of friends even back when the world hadn't turned to ashes, if he could even call those people proper friends. Why would he be able to make one so easily now? He also has no idea what type of person Minho is. He might pull out a gun or a knife and threaten him halfway to the spot Jisung offered to lead him to after all.
"L-Let's just go," he mutters. "Can you walk well?"
"I can walk."
Jisung talks before his brain has the time to stop him. "Do you want me to carry your stuff?"
Minho lets out something reminiscent of a scoff. "You're carrying more things than I am."
"I have two hands."
This time, Minho smiles. It's small and might be at Jisung's expense, but it's there. "I can walk," he repeats. "Just don't go too fast."
Jisung nods. "Okay."
They leave through the back alley and make their way to the front of the store again so that Jisung can retrace his steps from earlier in the morning. The sun has risen a bit higher, and it feels a bit warmer, just like Jisung had hoped it would.
Before the apocalypse, Jisung wasn't good at navigating. He'd rely on the GPS app on his phone to get anywhere he wanted to, and he'd still find ways to make mistakes. But now, with the streets empty and the freedom to look around as much as he'd like without the stress of being perceived, it's easier. He takes in the details around him, and his brain tucks them away carefully, treating the images with kindness.
It's a good thing Minho didn't ask for directions to the spot instead, because they'd sound something like: walk down the street until you see a sign with graffiti stickers all over it, then make a left, then look for the weird tree that looks like a heart from this very specific angle, then-
"How old are you?"
Jisung turns his head to look at Minho. There is a significant distance between them, at least two meters. At least he's not within stabbing range.
"I'm twenty-three," he replies.
Minho grins a bit at that. "So I'm older."
Suddenly, Jisung feels a strong curiosity to know more. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-five."
"You're not that old."
"I'm still older," Minho hums. "You said you're on your own?"
Jisung doesn't reply immediately. He didn't give an actual response before. He thinks about whether he should or not. It wouldn't be smart of him to say yes, but he can't exactly lie and conjure up a group of people out of nowhere.
"Yeah, but I've been on the move for just a few weeks," he ends up saying. "You too, right?"
"Yes, but it was a recent development."
"Recent..?"
"I was at a shelter base until a week ago," Minho says. "It wasn't government-regulated or anything. A group of survivors set up camp at a hospital, and they started recruiting people who needed a place to stay. We'd go on supply runs in teams, and some even started a little vegetable garden."
Jisung tilts his head. That sounds… nice. "Why would you leave, then?"
"I have somewhere I need to go. As safe as it was, I knew I'd have to leave as soon as things settled down a bit outside." Minho looks at him. "And you?"
Jisung points to himself, stupidly. "Me?" What more is there to say about him?
"You said you've been on the move for a couple of weeks. Were you at a shelter, too? We might have been in the same one and missed each other."
I don't think you would have been easy to miss if that were to be the case.
Jisung keeps his thoughts to himself. "No, I've been on my own since the first outbreak," he says. "I stayed in my dorm and got food from the convenience stores and supermarkets nearby. But, yeah… I spent most of my time in my room." God, you sound so pathetic right now.
Minho, surprisingly, doesn't regard him with the pity or disgust Jisung thought he would. "And why did you leave?"
Well, he's already embarrassed himself enough in front of this guy. Why bother making a good impression at this point?
"I… didn't have a choice. I felt like I was going insane," Jisung confesses. "I had to leave, even if I didn't have a plan about where I'd go."
Minho doesn't say anything. He doesn't laugh, nor does he call him stupid for leaving the safety of his dorm room for nothing but a feeling.
They don't pick up the conversation again after that. They walk in silence, and the distance between them remains. Jisung keeps switching the duffel bag from one hand to another, even though the sun is shining and his fingertips are no longer freezing.
Eventually, they reach the place Jisung had spent his night at. It was one of those fancy apartments with rooftop gardens.
"We can get up through the fire escape staircase," Jisung tells Minho once they stop by the entrance.
"Alright."
Jisung leads the way around the building and to the side of it. The ladder he'd used to get to the stairs is still lowered. He slips his duffel bag over his shoulder, the one that doesn't have the guitar case, and makes his way up the ladder. Once he reaches the platform, he sets down his belongings and climbs halfway down again.
"Give me your bag," he tells Minho.
"I've got it."
"You've got a limp, that's what you've got." Jisung rolls his eyes. Minho's stubborn, he'll give him this, but Jisung is, too. "I won't run away with it, if that's what you're worried about. I've already got enough stuff to carry around."
Minho stares up at him for a bit.
It hits Jisung then that Minho is as sceptical about trusting him as Jisung is. It makes sense. In fact, Minho probably thinks he's at a disadvantage with his leg and all.
Little does he know that Jisung would rather run into a horde of sleepwalkers than fight another person.
"Fine," Minho says after a while and shrugs his backpack off his shoulders. He raises it to Jisung by the straps and, as soon as Jisung gets hold of it-
"S-Shit-!" The weight is almost enough to throw him off balance and cause him to fall off the ladder. How is this so heavy?! Is Minho carrying rocks with him?! "What do you have in here?!"
"Food."
Jisung can hear the grin in his voice.
He lets out a grunt as he slings the backpack over his shoulders and makes his way up a second time. Minho follows close behind, the rhythm of his boots meeting the metal bars uneven.
"Here, I'll take it back," Minho says once they've both reached the platform.
Jisung looks at him like a man deranged. There are eight stories to this building, his leg is injured, and he wants extra weight on his back. Did he hit his head or something?
"It's a long way up, I'll carry it. Just grab my guitar."
"You don't-"
"It's fine." Jisung shakes his hand, shooing him off. He mutters the next part under his breath. "I'm feeling nice today, apparently."
Minho must have heard him anyway, because he chuckles and gives in, bending down to grab his guitar case. "Okay then, Jisung-ah."
By the time they get to the top, Jisung is panting. His hatred for himself has doubled, and his hatred for this stupid backpack has tripled. It kept sliding off his right shoulder every few seconds, making him have to pause, put the duffel bag down, and then adjust it again and again.
At least the soft breeze feels ten times more refreshing after his struggle.
"Thank you," Minho tells him when he drops off their stuff next to one of the picnic tables.
Jisung gives a lifeless thumbs up and collapses on the bench.
"It's nice up here." Minho looks around.
Some of the plants in the flower pots lining the edge of the rooftop have withered away, while others are properly thriving without humans around to trim them every week. Just nature taking its course.
"Yeah," Jisung huffs out, still partially out of breath.
"How did you even find this place?"
"I have a lot of free time."
Minho chuckles. "Don't we all?"
Jisung's stomach chooses that moment to start whining. Right. With everything that had happened, he'd ended up skipping breakfast. He groans. He doesn't really feel like wasting food from the emergency supply that he carries around in his bag. He planned on using that food later, when he made it out of the city, and stores became more scarce. However, he also doesn't feel like climbing all the way down and up again.
Maybe he can skip lunch and convince his stomach to wait until dinner.
"Are you hungry?" Minho asks him, appearing next to him out of nowhere. Jisung catches himself before he jumps off his seat.
"Yes, but I don't feel like going out to get food right now," he sighs. "I'll just eat later."
Minho kneels next to his bag. He zips it open and starts rummaging through it. "You don't have to. We can share."
He straightens up slightly. "But- that's your food."
Minho just grins. "I'm feeling nice today, apparently," he shoots Jisung's words right back at him.
Jisung would be lying if he said that he expected something like that. He'd decided to help Minho, sure, but that was merely because he knew that guilt would eat him up from the inside out if he hadn't. He didn't do it expecting a reward or something in exchange.
Minho pulls out two cans of chunky vegetable soup and something that looks like those small portable gas stoves people use for camping. He puts them all on the table and opens the cans before pouring some water from his water bottle into them. Then, he turns on the stove and puts the first can on top.
The stable hum from the stove is peaceful enough to make some of the tension in Jisung's body disappear. He doesn't feel the need to fill in the silence with the stove doing it for him. Minho monitors the can carefully, until steam starts to rise from it. Once he decides the soup is ready, he passes it over to Jisung.
"Do you need a spoon?"
"Y-Yes, please."
Minho digs through his bag again, pulls out two plastic spoons, and gives one to Jisung. He takes it with a quiet thanks and starts mixing the soup, careful not to spill it over. It smells good. His stomach cheers audibly, but he refuses to eat yet.
"Do you… not like soup?" Minho startles him again. Jisung lifts his head to find him staring.
"No, no! It smells amazing. I just thought- I should wait for you."
"If you're hungry, you can start eating, Jisung-ah."
Jisung-ah. That's the second time Minho's called him that.
Jisung starts eating because he is, in fact, very hungry. He hesitates taking the first bite, but the flavours burst onto his tongue, and he can't control himself from taking another, and then another. It's been a long time since he's eaten anything other than soggy noodles and pickled vegetables. The soup is good – really good. It's smooth and rich and doesn't taste like cardboard with spices, for which Jisung is very grateful.
"Good?"
Jisung nods vigorously, mouth too busy chewing to answer verbally.
Minho smiles and starts eating as well.
How long has it been since Jisung shared a meal with somebody?
He finishes first and pats his stomach with a pleased sigh. He waits until Minho is also done, and then he takes the empty cans and throws them away in a trash can. Apocalypse or not, Jisung doesn't feel like littering. It preserves a part of humanity in him that's rare to find nowadays.
When he turns around again, he finds Minho with his foot on the bench, examining his ankle. There is a nasty bruise there that was previously hidden by his combat boots.
"What happened?" He asks because, well, it seems like a fitting question. This injury is the catalyst for their meeting, the reason they're both here, right now.
Minho presses his lips into a thin line. "It's stupid."
"I've done stupid things."
Minho stares at him. Jisung stares back.
"It- It happened a day ago. I was walking down the street, and suddenly I heard a bunch of barking. I followed it, and I ended up at a random tree on the side of the road. A dog was just barking up at it. When I got closer, though, I saw that there was a cat up there. I tried to shoo the dog away, but it just- ran toward me, got tangled up in my legs, and tripped me up somehow-"
"Pfft-!"
"Not funny!" Minho scolds him, but he's also sporting a smile. "The cat didn't even check up on me afterwards. I watched as it climbed down the tree and walked away without even sparing me a glance."
"That's why dogs are better."
Minho raises a brow. "You're a dog person? I regret sharing my food with you now."
"Dogs are just friendlier!" Jisung protests.
"Tell that to the one who tripped me over."
"That's different."
"How?"
Jisung shrugs. Even without bothering to explain it, Minho doesn't refute his claim. He leans down to study the bruise on his ankle again.
"Do you have any bandages to wrap it up at least?" Jisung asks.
"No, but it should be okay. It looks worse than it feels." He leans back with a small groan, stretching his body in the process. "I'm used to these types of injuries, actually."
"Really?"
Minho hums. "I used to be a choreographer. Before all this."
Of course even his job is cool.
"Then I guess it makes sense."
Minho's eyes dart to his guitar case. "I believe I can guess your thing."
Jisung smiles. Yeah, that's a good way to call it, he thinks. Music has always been his thing. "Music production," he tells Minho anyway, just to clarify. "Never graduated."
"A uni dropout. What would your mother say?"
A scoff leaves his lips. "'I told you so', probably."
Jisung realises what he said a moment too late.
What the fuck was that? You met the guy today! You're practically strangers, and you flaunt your mommy issues? Real smooth, Han Jisung.
"F-Forget that. But yeah, my parents wouldn't care much, so it's whatever…" He mumbles, voice becoming quieter to the point that it's almost inaudible. This must suck for Minho. He probably wishes the sleepwalker had gotten him.
"It's okay," Minho tells him, refuting his thoughts, as if it's easy. "I had plenty of classmates who didn't have supportive families. And you know what? They still made it."
Jisung gets that he's trying to comfort him, because apparently, he's feeling nice today, but it doesn't really work. Not when they're here, on the rooftop of a random apartment complex, trying to escape the ghost of a city.
Perhaps, if he'd met Minho earlier, his words would have landed a heavier hit on him. Although it's not like someone like Minho would hang out with him in different circumstances.
"It doesn't matter now, anyway," Jisung says.
"You think it's all over?"
Something about Minho's tone has Jisung turning to look at him.
His eyes are burning.
Jisung chooses to look away before he forgets what he wants to say. "Well, yes? I haven't really had access to worldwide news for a while, but from the state of things here…"
"I don't think it's over," Minho states.
Good for you? Seriously, man…
"And I don't think you really do, either."
Now Jisung is forced to look at him again. That's a bold claim to make about a stranger.
"I've met people who really think it's over back in the shelter. They've given up on their loved ones, their passions, life itself," Minho goes on to explain. "But you insist on carrying that giant thing around." He points to Jisung's guitar.
"T-That's not it," he stutters. "I'd go crazy without something to distract me."
Minho smiles like he's won a game Jisung didn't know they were playing. "People who've given up don't care about going crazy, Jisung-ah."
Third time.
"You keep calling me that."
"What?"
Shit. He didn't mean to say that out loud.
"You keep… calling me 'Jisung-ah'."
Minho's lips form a small circle. "Does it make you feel uncomfortable?"
Does it? Jisung doesn't think it does.
"You can call me 'Minho-hyung' if it makes it easier for you," Minho says. "I just feel like it's a bit stupid to pay attention to formalities when you might not make it to see the sunset."
"You were just talking about not giving up on life."
"I never said we can cheat death, though. And I'm not giving up my elder rights."
Minho is a walking contradiction, Jisung decides then and there. He appears carefree, but carries a bag full of food and equipment. He's bragging about being older, but he let Jisung eat first and also suggested informal honorifics to someone he's known for hours.
Jisung is already bad enough at socialising. Socialising with someone like Minho should be a nightmare.
However, somehow, it hasn't been a complete and utter disaster so far.
"I'm going to take a quick nap, if you don't mind. I've been awake for more than twenty-four hours," Minho says, lying down on the bench and subsequently disappearing from Jisung's view.
Jisung nods. "Do you… want me to wake you up?"
"If there is an emergency."
"Got it."
He doesn't move for the next few minutes, too afraid to make any noise and disturb Minho right as he's about to fall asleep. Jisung lays his head on the table in front of him and allows his thoughts to run wild, but none of them sound coherent.
He gets up after he's made sure that Minho's breathing is steady. He's tempted to take a peek, to see what the other looks like when he's sleeping. He decides against it.
He feels restless. The rooftop feels too small, and the plants in the flowerpots are taking up too much space.
Jisung's sure he saw a store down the street last night. This is primarily a residential area, thus lessening his chances of finding any resources, but he won't know unless he tries, right? Hasn't that been his motto this whole time he's been out here?
He takes his guitar case and places it against the door that leads to the rooftop from inside the building, just in case. He doubts anything or anyone will bother them all the way up here, but it feels good to take precautions. Plus, if Minho wakes up before he comes back, he'll know that Jisung is coming back.
Carefully, he picks up his bag and leaves with quiet steps.
-
Jisung is breathless because of that stupid staircase for the second time today.
He got used to the lightness of noodle cups and underestimated how heavy a few cans of soup could make his bag. To think he was wondering if Minho was carrying rocks – nope, just soup cans. Lots of soup cans.
His trip to the supermarket had been a success. He didn't find any of that fancy vegetable soup, but he did find a few cans of tomato soup and some canned beans. Beans are not really his favourite, but he has to get his protein from somewhere.
He must have made some noise while he was climbing back up the stairs, because when he makes it to the rooftop, Minho is sitting up from his lying-down position and running a hand down his face.
"It's me," Jisung says as he makes his way to the bench, not wanting him to feel alarmed right after waking up.
"Oh. Did you leave?" Minho asks him, eyes still drowsy. He looks softer than he did before, like sleep has smoothed out his edges. It's probably because he's not fully alert yet.
"I just went to the store down the street. I got some food and water."
"Mmh, okay," he mutters. "Was it clear?"
Jisung tilts his head, confused. "Was what clear?"
"The area," Minho clarifies. "Did you run into anything?"
"Ah. No, it was clear."
Minho nods his head, appearing to be lost in thought. Jisung leans down to pull his jacket out of his duffel bag. It's colder up here than it is below.
Or it's simply because the day is reaching its end. Jisung didn't realise he'd been gone for that long. He's gotten used to spending his days walking aimlessly, so they feel longer than they once did. Today has kept him uniquely busy.
He looks over at Minho. He's rummaging through his bag again, though this time it looks like he's also counting under his breath. He's probably making sure he has enough food to last him on his trip to wherever he needs to go.
Jisung almost forgot: Minho's got a goal. He's got places to be. He's not like Jisung, who is merely existing like another stray animal in the streets. Tomorrow, he'll wake up, thank Jisung for showing him a place to rest and spend the night, and then Jisung will never see him again.
He wants to say something to him before he leaves. He wants to say that this meant more to him than it should, more than Jisung is willing to admit. He's known Minho for less than a day, but he'll miss him – he'll miss the warm food from the gas stove, the dark roots of his hair, the lightness of his voice. Next time he sees a cat, his brain will probably go: Hey, this could be the one Minho tried to save. He did kind of look like a cat, didn't he?
And then he finds himself mourning all the things he won't get to miss, because he'll never get the chance to see them: how Minho walks without a limp, how his hair looks in its natural colour, how he dresses when he doesn't have to fight to survive.
It's a lot, Jisung knows. He's always been like this; he gets sentimental and emotional over the smallest things. He's practical and analytical when he needs to be, but he knows he can also be awfully sensitive.
His professors called it a valuable quality, especially for someone who's studying music, but Jisung never embraced it, not fully. He's shed too many tears over Howl's Moving Castle to deny it; however, that doesn't mean he's come to terms with it.
"Do you want to have dinner before it gets dark?"
Jisung doesn't reply for a few seconds. He doesn't want to. If he eats dinner now, then the day will come to an end faster, and tomorrow will come before he knows it.
"Yeah," he says, because in the end, he's nothing if not self-sabotaging.
Minho takes out another pair of cans from his bag. Jisung goes to stop him, to tell him that he has his own food and that he doesn't need to do this a second time, but Minho isn't hearing any of it.
"I-I have some noodles, if you want to mix them up with the soup," he tries to convince him, hoping to reach a compromise.
The suggestion must sound appealing enough, because Minho does give in and lets Jisung boil the noodles before he warms up the soup and adds it to the cups.
It almost resembles a normal meal. That's why he empties his cup, even though he's not that hungry.
Silence lapses around them as they eat, and after they're done as well. Minho throws a teasing remark his way, something about the noodles being a bit more "al dente" than they should be. Jisung chuckles, but the sound is empty, even to his own ears.
The sun is no longer visible on the horizon when they've finished tidying up after themselves. Only the trail of its light traces the sky like an afterthought, the clouds above painted in shades of blue and purple.
There weren't so many clouds last night, Jisung notes. He wasn't planning on keeping up with his nightly ritual with Minho here, but it's as if the stars went into hiding to give him an excuse for skipping it, anyway.
Still, even though he won't be playing the guitar, and even though there aren't any stars to inspire him into stringing words together in his mind, he's already here, so he might as well.
Jisung grabs his guitar case, sets it down on the ground, and then he places his head in the crook of it. It's not the most comfortable of pillows, but he likes it – like the seashells he used to hunt on the beach as a kid, it feels as though he can hear the guitar's chords whispering practised melodies through the case's fabric.
He hears Minho pause in his movements a few steps away on the bench.
"That's your setup for the night?"
Jisung lifts his head ever so slightly. Minho is holding a pen and seems to be in the middle of taking some notes on something he can't see from his spot on the ground.
"If I fall asleep, then yes," he says.
"Your neck is going to hurt."
"I've slept like this before. It's not that bad."
Minho lets out an impressed (?) hum. Jisung goes back to stargazing at a starless sky.
-
His eyelids feel heavy when he attempts to open them, weighed down by sunrays caressing his face. He turns around to face away from the window.
He can still feel the sun.
Jisung's eyes slowly open, and he realises why his attempt to escape the assault of daylight first thing in the morning wasn't successful. He's not in his room.
He sits up, making sure to tilt his head down and give his eyes some time to adjust as he mentally prepares himself to face direct sunlight. Autumn is nearing its end, and it's becoming increasingly obvious with every day that passes, the air turning heavier with dew each morning.
"Oh, good morning."
Jisung tilts his head up on instinct and hisses when the sun hits his eyes. He hears a lighthearted huff coming from the same direction as the morning greeting. He rebounds and uses his hand to provide some shade for his eyes as he looks up this time.
Minho is sitting in the same seat Jisung left him last night, as if no time had passed at all. He knows that's not the case; obviously, since the sun is back.
"Good morning…" He pauses. "Did you sleep at all?"
"I did, though much later than you," Minho answers. "The nap I took kept me from going to bed early."
Jisung nods. Now that his brain has taken a moment to reset after waking up, he remembers everything that happened yesterday, why he feared today and what's bound to happen.
Minho must have read his mind, because he starts folding up whatever paper he was taking notes on and shoves it inside his pocket.
"I was thinking of getting out on the road as early as possible," he says.
There it is.
"That's… That's a good idea," Jisung mutters.
"Mhm."
Jisung watches as Minho lifts his backpack and swings it over his shoulder.
He can't do it. Not yet.
He scrambles up from the ground so fast he gets whiplash. "L-Let me help you carry everything down."
Even if it's just a few more seconds, Jisung wants to have them. He's greedy. He's selfish.
He doesn't want to be alone again. Not yet.
"I tied my ankle for support this morning. You don't-"
"It's fine. I have to get back on the road, too, anyway." He hurries up to gather all of his things and approaches Minho, holding out a hand to receive his bag.
Minho stares, unblinking, unreadable.
You look so pathetic right now.
Finally, he agrees. "If you insist," he tells him.
He shrugs off his backpack and passes it to Jisung, and then takes his guitar case without another word. He starts heading towards the staircase, and Jisung lets out a sigh of relief. It's not much, but it's something.
Something turns into nothing awfully fast.
The descent is quicker than the ascent, as it always is. Minho reaches the ladder at the last platform first and climbs his way down. Jisung tosses him his duffel bag first since it's lighter than Minho's backpack, and then he follows suit.
The realisation lands on him right as he lands on the ground. There are no other ways for him to stall.
All good things must come to an end, mustn't they?
They exchange their belongings in silence. Jisung's the first to speak for once.
"Well, it… it was nice meeting you. I hope you get to where you want to go safely."
Minho doesn't say anything.
His face is blank, and he's staring again. Jisung's brows pinch together. He's not good at reading people, never has been, and he knows it. What is it? Did I press too much?
"Um, stay away from dogs this time, okay?" He jokes, trying to lighten the mood, but all it does is add an unhealthy dose of awkwardness to the mix.
Minho still doesn't say anything. Why isn't he saying anything?
"I-I'll just- go."
He turns on his heel and begins taking swift steps away from Minho – as swift as they can be without breaking into a run. There is a bitterness settling in his chest with every blink of his eyes.
Did he creep Minho out? He probably did. He was being clingy. Who in their right mind wants a stranger to cling to them like that? Who would want-
"Jisung-ah!"
Jisung wishes his body didn't freeze up. He wishes he had willed himself to keep moving and never look back.
He looks over his shoulder just enough to see Minho a few paces behind him. Huh. He hadn't walked as far away as he thought he had.
"Yes..?"
And then, and then, Minho smiles.
"My leg hurts."
Jisung's mind goes quiet, leaving only an echoing syllable.
"What?"
"My leg hurts," Minho repeats himself, as if Jisung didn't hear him the first time.
"Didn't you say you wrapped it up-?"
"Yeah, but I guess I underestimated how heavy my bag is."
Oh. Okay.
And Jisung is supposed to do… what?
"Do… Do you need help?"
Minho's smile widens and twists itself into a grin. "I'd appreciate it."
He waltzes up to Jisung and takes off his backpack, but then he goes ahead and grabs Jisung's duffel bag instead of his guitar case.
"Ah, no, wait. The guitar is lighter-"
"I can handle this much," he says. He gives Jisung a once-over. "Besides, you'd look off without it."
Minho nudges past him, and Jisung notes that he's walking normally, almost.
He's… confused. Minho's leg can't be hurting more than it did yesterday. There is no real reason for him to ask Jisung for help. The way he's acting holds no logic, and Jisung can't see any advantages to it either.
And yet, he is too much of a coward to point it out.
He runs to catch up, and they exit the alleyway together, Jisung trailing after him like a lost puppy. The weird thing is that he feels more lost now, with Minho leading the way, than he did while he was on his own.
"W-Where are you going?" He asks Minho, because he doesn't know – he doesn't know what's going on at all, if he's being honest.
"To Gimpo," Minho replies. "My parents live there. I haven't been able to get in contact with them, so I have to make sure they're okay."
Well, that sounds like a noble journey. The thing is, Jisung is still not quite sure if he's being invited to be a part of it.
"You want me to come with you all the way to Gimpo?"
Minho turns to face him. "Do you want to come with me?"
Jisung knows the answer. Has known it since Minho revealed that he had somewhere to be. He just didn't feel entitled to voice it out loud. Judging by the way Minho is looking at him and the question itself, he thinks Minho knows, too.
"I-I mean, it's not like I had other plans," Jisung mutters. The tip of his shoe scuffs against the concrete as he tries not to look too eager.
"You can help me carry my stuff until we get there, then."
Oh, so we're still playing that game.
"I can do that, sure."
"So it's settled." Minho pulls out the paper he'd shoved in his pocket, the one Jisung remembers seeing him writing stuff on. As it turns out, it's a simple map of South Korea. Nothing like Jisung's tourist map.
"It should take us two weeks to get there, tops."
Jisung doesn't really care about how long the trip is going to be. Minho could have told him it would take two months, and Jisung's answer would have stayed the same. "Okay."
Minho lets out a pleased sound and tugs on the strap of his duffel bag, holding it over his shoulder. He nods ahead, and just like that, they're off.
Easy as that.