out beyond (i'll meet you there) Part 1
vixx
leo/ken +nc-17
Trapped on the wrong side of the Han River,
Taekwoon relearns South Korea’s energy crisis
and Lee Jaehwan.
explicit sexual content, violence
prompts 1|2
Out Beyond (I'll Meet You There)
At the height of deurbanisation, his friends in the industry moved away one by one out of Seoul. Taekwoon never asked them why, but they told him, anyway. They sought solace, said the ones who brought their families with them. They wanted quiet, they said, and they moved back home to their parents and five siblings. They wanted to be with their families again, they said, they wanted somewhere they could live the rest of their lives, they said. They said, Taekwoon, come with us.
Taekwoon can still remember the look on Hakyeon’s face, remember watching change from hopeful to a subtle sadness. Well, Hakyeon said, with some kind of finality in his voice, as if they might never see each other again, I’ll call you when I get there.
It sounded like a question, so Taekwoon nodded.
Hakyeon didn’t look very satisfied with the answer. In the end, he did call, and several more times after that. Taekwoon suspected that Hakyeon did it to annoy him for a while, but later he thought Hakyeon might have been trying to preserve some of the camaraderie leftover from their time spent together, years ago.
Hakyeon might have been onto something with his parting words, because one year after his departure from Seoul, three-quarters of South Korea’s trains went out of service. The country’s access to non-renewable gas dwindled, and then ceased altogether a few months afterwards.
In 2029, the country’s the total generation capacity of nuclear power is about 30%, Taekwoon remembers reading from one newspaper article. He isn’t sure of the specifics, but efforts to increase hydroelectric energy supply have been failing for years, and none of the other renewable energy sources cut close.
Abruptly, journalists throughout the country wrote, South Korea found itself surviving on half of the energy it was used to.
It took one month for half of the entertainment companies to go out of business. Transport and CD manufacture and special stage effect fees skyrocketed. Jellyfish held on.
It was all sorts of poetic for Taekwoon.
“They’re building one in Chunju,” Hakyeon says. His phone calls over the years were genial, warm, easy. Now, Hakyeon sounds like every word pains him. “They’re building a nuclear plant.”
It takes Taekwoon more than a few seconds to think of what to say. He finally says, after a stretch of silence, “Do you want to come back to Seoul?” The evening train to Seoul is about eight hours away. If Hakyeon hurries, he’d be back in the neighborhood by nine.
“I don’t know.” Hakyeon sounds as though he’s actually considering it. They stay like that, silent, for a long while. As he waits, Taekwoon goes to the kitchen to take a drink of his daily unsweetened coffee. He winces. Sugar has been hard to come by.
“I was thinking of heading to Busan with my family,” Hakyeon says. “You should come with.”
“But if you can’t come back to Seoul, then how can you go to Busan?”
Hakyeon chuckles, like Taekwoon’s a child that needs explaining to. For a moment, Taekwoon feels almost… petulant. “It’s not the right place to be,” Hakyeon says, and then he adds, voice soft, “Come with me.”
Taekwoon bites his lower lip, and says, “I’ll think about it.”
He watches the news often, after that, even the presidential speeches.
The rest of the world has also been plunged into darkness, which is why South Korea will complete the power plants as quickly as they can, and meanwhile, the president says, his eyebrows pinched together in practiced concern and worry, the nation must work together to emerge victorious from the second dark age. For eternal glory, liberty, and justice.
He barely has the last word out of his mouth before the front row of the audience erupts in shouting, and then Taekwoon’s television screen goes black.
The silence washes through his apartment like a wave. Taekwoon sits at the edge of his couch seat, so still he can hear the bones in his wrist creak as he aims the remote to change the channel. The screen lights up with a sugary pop song, and three girls hold up their matching solar energy watches.
Taekwoon shuts it off, and goes to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. As the machine whirs away, he presses his nails against the granite tabletop. Kkulbbangi pads up to him, and flicks her tail, almost in a question. Taekwoon huffs, and scoops her up in his arms. His gaze slides to his suitcases, lined up against the far corner of the living room.
There are two trains that run through the whole of South Korea. Taekwoon misses the evening train by mere seconds, because he’d spent ten minutes trying to persuade Kkulbbangi to get into her carrier.
He takes his time to get back to his apartment in Yangjae-dong, and to unpack his suitcase in the middle of the living room. When he opens the carrier, Kkulbbangi is curled up, fast asleep. Taekwoon snorts, and leaves the carrier door open.
The morning paper headlines two days later is of the evening train that has been taken hostage by rioters.
Hakyeon’s cell is turned off. “Hey,” Taekwoon says to his voicemail. “I think I’m gonna stay in Seoul. It’s not a good time to leave.” If Hakyeon were on the other line, Taekwoon would have already heard a hundred variations of It’s okay. He clears his throat, and adds, “I hope you’re doing fine” -he clears his throat again- “Eunji and the kids… tell them I said hello. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”
It feels strange to be the one to initiate contact. He had only kept in touch with Hakyeon because Hakyeon insisted on calling him every month or so, even after their bitter band breakup years ago. They hadn’t even been very close, back then, but Hakyeon stuck to Taekwoon. It might have helped that they were the only two out of the group to sign back on to Jellyfish.
Jellyfish didn’t promote musical stars. They promoted actors and soloists, so that was what Taekwoon became.
That had been a while ago. Now Taekwoon is just himself, and by himself. At least he has Kkulbbangi.
His retirement rewarded him with plenty of time to watch the news. Taekwoon isn’t fond of the internet, and reality shows and dramas hasn’t appealed to him for the better part of ten years. The news is perfunctory and informative, and he liked to have something to talk about with his old acquaintances. Taekwoon supposes it’s his own way of growing old.
Right now, he wishes he can just turn away from the television screen. The blackout earlier in the week spawned a slew of news reports claiming to know the real reason to South Korea’s energy crisis. Gradually, the reports shifted to the protests in Jongno-gu, which at first intrigued Taekwoon. But after weeks of rehashing the same issue, even he had grown bored of the broadcasts.
Perhaps annoyed with the daily public disruptions, Taekwoon guessed, the South Korean government dispatched a small group of police to disperse the crowd. The next day, the protesters came back to the same business district in Jongno-gu, bigger, louder, more adamant. In retaliation, the police brought out the tear gas.
Taekwoon wakes up one morning to a muted boom, and Kkulbbangi yowling in distress at the foot of his bed. He scrambles up and stumbles over to the window. From where he’s standing, he can just make out the orange glow two blocks away, and the thick, black smoke rising into the sky. The shouting, Taekwoon realises with a sinking stomach, is of the rioters’ slogan.
There’s another boom, and then a crash. It sounds like a window breaking, and it sounds close. Kkulbbangi’s voice is thin and high, and she paws Taekwoon on the leg of his pants. He bends to scratch her, and then goes to double-lock his front door.
He goes to shut the windows, but makes the mistake of sticking his head out. The rioters are almost on his doorstep now, and there some people in the crowd looking up his apartment complex. Looking at him.
Taekwoon latches the window shut, and stumbles away from it. He lives on the fifteenth floor; no one in their right mind would climb up here.
He takes a deep breath, and sits himself on the ground, back against the wall. Kkulbbangi jumps into his lap, her hackles raised, her ears twitching as the banging and shouting grows near. It sounds like the rioters are making their way up the stairs now, and Taekwoon puts a gentle hand on his cat’s back. The lub-dub of his heart is loud, and he can feel it stall as the sounds grows closer, like a wall of noise that threaten to trap him against the wall, squeeze him dry. His lips are dry, and it hurts to swallow.
The next boom rocks through Taekwoon’s entire body. He raises one hand against his mouth.
His doorknob turns. And then there is a sharp thunk of metal against wood.
A pause. Another thunk, and then two more, in quick succession. They’re louder, and the door starts to cave inwards.
Kkulbbangi hisses, and her claws pinch at Taekwoon’s legs. The pain startles him out of his still state, and he scoops her up and puts her into her carrier with a burst of energy.
He presses himself up against the nook beside the door just as it swings open. The looters pour into his home without a backward glance. Taekwoon waits just one second, and keeping the carrier close and his head low, he pushes out of his apartment to the corridor.
His heart roars in his ears, and he twitches as people clutching bats and molotov cocktails near him. He quickly turns the other way, where most of the rioters are moving towards, bumbling, cat carrier bumping against his knee. There is a stray baseball bat on the ground, one side of it dented. Taekwoon takes it, squeezes it hard in his sweaty palm, and joins the crowd as the rioters surge as one entity. It pushes Taekwoon along the narrow passageway, down the stairs, and out into the streets. With the press of people insistent against his back, Taekwoon takes a deep breath, and steps off his porch. He blends in easily with his dumpy sweatshirt and baseball bat. He keeps pace, half-pushed by the throng of people.
There is a loud crash from above him. Against his common sense, Taekwoon stalls, and turns to look.
He can’t see very clearly, but one of the windows in the buildings behind him bursts into shards from the inside, the sound muted by the swarm of people around him. People behind him push at him and step on his heels. Taekwoon catches a young girl looking curiously at him, and he turns back around so fast his neck cricks.
They reach the edge of the Han River in perhaps a matter of minutes, and he has all but gotten pushed into the dead centre of the rioters. The baseball bat lies in his hand, lowered and useless. All around him, the rioters roar for justice.
Then a horn blares, a long prolonged note from the back, and a few heads in front of Taekwoon turn back. Taekwoon peers with them, searching, but the horde stretches so wide he can barely see the end of it.
“Riot police,” he hears someone on his right mutter. The group continues its forward motion as it rearranges, folds, regroups, as though taking a deep, collective breath.
Taekwoon had been complacent to assume that following the crowd would do him any good. He’s watched snippets of the tear gassing incident, but never expected to be caught in the middle of one. An imminent one, at least. Now, the top priority is to disentangle himself from further trouble.
He shuffles to his left with his head low. Surprisingly, the crowd lets him, its movements now segregated and individualised. Tightening handkerchiefs against their noses, lighting up their cocktails, slow and clumsy, far from the practiced ease which Taekwoon saw the other rioters had possessed in his apartment complex.
Taekwoon shakes his head, and slips into a small alleyway. He works up to a quick jog, clutching Kkulbbangi tight in his arms, just in case anyone from the throng happens to spot him.
He jogs and walks in short intervals, turning corners on instinct, until the din is a rumble in the distance.
When he turns another corner, he stops, sags against the brick wall, and sets Kkulbbangi’s carrier on the floor. His hand is still shaking when he runs it through his hair. It’d been unbelievable, and he’d been lucky to come out of it unharmed, physically, at least. If he had prepared earlier, listened to the warnings on the television…
“Hyung?” The voice is low and close. Taekwoon jerks up to see Lee Jaehwan, with laugh lines and curly hair, staring down at him with a backpack clutched in his hand.
“Hyung,” Jaehwan says, louder now, leaning closer. “Taekwoon-hyung?”
Taekwoon feels his face set instantly into a frown. “It’s you,” he says.
“It’s me,” Jaehwan says, voice breezy. “Hey, is that your pet?” He squats down next to Taekwoon and points to the carrier, and -Taekwoon turns to look- Kkulbbangi is peering out from the gaps between the plastic bars.
Taekwoon draws her closer to him. Jaehwan withdraws his hand and rubs his knuckle against his own nose. He sniffs, but he doesn’t seem to have a cold. "Are you here for the protest? Or to loot? You don't seem like the type to-"
"I'm not," Taekwoon says. “I live here.”
Jaehwan scratches the back of his neck. "You have a baseball bat, so I assumed..." He points to the bat at Taekwoon's feet.
Taekwoon pointedly nudges it away with the toe of his sneaker. "What're you doing here anyway," he asks, looking back at Jaehwan. Jaehwan startles as their gazes meet, his gaze turning from friendly to inscrutable.
"I was just stopping by," Jaehwan says. "Nasty commotion." His lips curl, and for a moment Taekwoon thinks it looks almost ugly. "What happened to you, anyway?"
Taekwoon sighs. "I don't know, I woke up to people breaking down my door." Jaehwan cocks his head at that. Taekwoon pauses. It looks like he's taking mental notes.
"And then what happened," Jaehwan prompts.
"And I left with my cat and got on the street, it was crazy-"
Jaehwan chuckles. "Nothing like what we watch on the news right?"
Taekwoon relaxes, grateful for the shred of normality. "Yeah." He offers a tentative smile to Jaehwan.
Jaehwan's mouth tugs upwards. "Are you gonna go home now," he asks. "Where do you live now, anyway?"
Taekwoon shakes his head. "Maybe tomorrow." His house must have been completely raided, and he doesn't want to go back to that.
"Then, where will you go?" Jaehwan's voice turns soft.
Taekwoon sighs, and puts a hand against the top of Kkulbbangi's carrier. "I don't know. I'd walk around, but..."
"You can bum a night at my place, if you want,” Jaehwan offers.
"I’m okay.” It'd be awkward to share a space with Jaehwan again. Not after everything that happened. "I'll be alright. I've got a baseball bat." Taekwoon jabs uselessly at the object lying next to him.
Jaehwan snorts. "Hyung, you and I both know it's going to get out of control, if it hasn't already. Please” -His voice is so soft and low and it sounds like Hakyeon asking him to come with- “It's the least I could do for hyung."
Taekwoon feels himself wavering, just for a split second, before he's nodding and climbing to his feet. He gets up, Kkulbbangi in her carrier, and dusts himself off clumsily with one hand. “I won’t be any trouble,” he says. “I’ll just stay for one night.”
Jaehwan slings his backpack over his shoulder, and throws him a haphazard grin. “As long as your cat doesn’t shit on my carpet.”
Taekwoon, despite himself, chuckles.
Jaehwan has a neat little bicycle parked a little ways from where they met. It was obtained a couple of days before the energy crisis really hit, he says, and before bike prices went through the roof. He pats it fondly, and tells Taekwoon that he hasn’t settled on a name for it yet.
Taekwoon isn’t sure at what point of time Jaehwan picked up the habit of naming his possessions. Back in the dorm- he pushes the thought away, and settles against Jaehwan’s back, his hands held inelegant against his shoulders. As Jaehwan kicks off, he wobbles, perhaps unused to Taekwoon’s weight. Taekwoon, sitting at the back, remembers vividly, of how Jaehwan tried to piggyback him back when they were still friends-
Taekwoon bites his lip, and concentrates on looking at Kkulbbangi’s carrier in the bicycle’s basket. She seems at ease, her nose dipped demurely as she rests her head on the bottom of the box.
They reach a small, sleepy neighborhood, and Jaehwan brings his bike with him up the stairs. The apartment is on the edges of Jayang-dong, he explains to Taekwoon. Two blocks where Jayang and Hwayang divide.
“I’ve been living here ever since I moved out,” Jaehwan says, and takes a set of keys from his pocket to unlock the door.
Taekwoon blinks rapidly as he tries to contain his surprise. He settles for something neutral. “It’s a nice flat,” he says, and steps into the living room. “You have good taste.”
“Thank you,” Jaehwan says, and slumps onto his couch with a sigh. “You wanna let your cat out so it can stretch its legs?”
“Her name’s Kkulbbangi,” Taekwoon says, but he sets the carrier down and opens the door. Kkulbbangi almost springs out of it, and she stretches for a moment, before she stalks off to nose at Jaehwan’s potted plant by the door.
“Honey bread.” Jaehwan turns to the cat. “Cute.”
Taekwoon shrugs. “She looks like a loaf of bread when she curls up, you’ll see.” Kkulbbangi has been sniffing the potted plant for a while now, and Taekwoon walks over to her, concerned. Then she squats in an uncomfortably familiar position.
“Oh god,” Taekwoon mutters. He hurries to lift her up from the floor before, but oh, she’s already started and Taekwoon, in desperation, holds her over the potted plant and waits for it to end. Jaehwan laughs, a booming sound that echoes in the small space. Taekwoon can feel the tips of his ears burning.
“I’ll mop it up for you,” he says, and sets his troublemaker down. Kkkulbbangi curls up on the carpet, a perfect bread roll shape, and looks up at him with her wide eyes. Brat. “Where do you keep your cleaning supplies,” Taekwoon asks Jaehwan, who is limp from laughing so hard.
“It’s okay,” Jaehwan says, still chuckling, and waves a hand at his plant. “I’ll clean it up.” He pushes himself off the couch, and heads into the kitchen.
Taekwoon tugs at the edges of his sleeve, and for the lack of something better to do, he settles gingerly into the spot on the couch that Jaehwan just vacated. Moments later, Jaehwan reemerges from the kitchen with a mop and a bucket of water.
Taekwoon moves to help, but Jaehwan waves him away, and sets about mopping the floor around the watered plant. About a minute into it, he says, deadpan, “It’s a good thing your little bread roll didn’t do the number two, because I just ran out of bleach.”
“I should go take her outside,” Taekwoon sighs.
“You go do that,” Jaehwan says, his back bent as he mops up the last of the pee on the floor. “You know how to get back, right? Just ring the doorbell, and I’ll let you in.”
“Thank you,” Taekwoon says. Jaehwan hums in response, and goes back to cleaning.
He spends perhaps half an hour outside with Kkulbbangi, and when he picks her up again to go back inside, the strangeness of the entire day hit him like a slap to the face. He walks up the stairs to Jaehwan’s apartment in a daze, and knocks woodenly on the door.
Jaehwan opens it quickly, and when he takes a look at Taekwoon’s face, he says, “Are you alright?”
Taekwoon shakes his head in a quick, jerky motion. “I’m just overwhelmed.”
“It’s understandable,” Jaehwan says, and rests his hand on Taekwoon’s elbow. Jaehwan’s fingers are dry and warm, and they raise goosebumps along where they’ve touched Taekwoon’s skin. It’s familiar and startling that he jerks his hand away before he can think. When he looks back at Jaehwan, he’s dropping his hand back to his side, eyes lowered to the ground. Taekwoon wishes that Jaehwan can look up, so he knows if he’s offended him.
Instantly, the decade-old frustration and hurt well up in him.
When Jaehwan raises his eyes to look at him, Taekwoon looks down at the ground almost on impulse.
Jaehwan clears his throat. “Come on in, then.”
Inside, Kkulbbangi slips easily from his hold, and Taekwoon settles himself against the back of his couch, arms folded. The irritation that he’s suppressed so well is bubbling just beneath his skin, and he can feel a migraine building up in his head.
He doesn’t want to be here. He shouldn’t have waited so long for the train that he’s never going to be prepared enough to board.
“Hey.” Jaehwan’s voice is right next to his ear, and Taekwoon shrugs away, again. This time, he doesn’t need to turn around to see Jaehwan’s hand falter just an inch above Taekwoon’s shoulder.
Jaehwan sighs, very loudly. “Maybe a shower can help clear your mind.” The intensity of Taekwoon’s migraine builds, as he realises that he should have been more hospitable, because Jaehwan can kick him out any time and he has nothing but his cat. Taekwoon wonders if he would be able to find the baseball at where he last left it, on the opposite side of the river.
He hears Jaehwan say, “I’ll go get you some clothes and a towel.”
“Thank you,” Taekwoon bites out, and feels satisfied that he sounds at least a little grateful. Jaehwan emerges from his bedroom with a set of pyjamas and a fluffy green towel, and Taekwoon accepts it wordlessly. The clothes fabric is well worn, and Taekwoon untucks the label. It’s the same brand that Jaehwan wears to bed in their dormitory.
“I’ll get dinner started,” Jaehwan calls. Kkulbbangi mewls from her spot on the couch, ears perked up, and drops down to the floor to follow Jaehwan. “And I’ll get some fish for your bread roll. Is canned fish fine?”
“Yeah,” Taekwoon mumbles. He pinches the bridge of his nose, right where his headache is most concentrated, and heads to the bathroom.
Jaehwan’s bathroom doesn’t have hot water, and it reminds Taekwoon once again of their old dorm room back when they first started living together as colleagues. Under the spray of the shower, he mulls over what has changed. The only answer he can think of: everything.
He steps out of the shower to smell food. His stomach rumbles, and he realises that he hasn’t eaten anything since last night. Jaehwan pokes his head out of the kitchen, the same silly grin on his face. Taekwoon wants to childishly wipe it off of his face, if only to make him feel as wrong-footed. The words are at the tip of his mouth, but Jaehwan beats him to it.
“Hey, you’re done already. I hope you don’t mind spaghetti,” he says, and ducks back into the kitchen. The moment is over, and the words dissipate in his throat.
Taekwoon pads into the kitchen, and stops short. It resembles the one in their first dormitory so much that he has to take a step back. The layout is an exact match, the rice cooker is in the same place, the storage rack above the sink looks like that ratty thing they threw out when they moved. Is Jaehwan doing this on purpose? He swallows hard, and manages a wobbly “Thanks.”
Jaehwan turns to grin at him, apparently oblivious to Taekwoon’s bewilderment. “You say that a lot. I fed your cat already. She really likes canned fish, heh. She’s your cat for a reason.”
Taekwoon takes a deep breath, and then goes to help Jaehwan set the table. “Are the utensils in here?”
“Yeah,” Jaehwan says. Taekwoon sees him scratch his head, and smiles to himself with a vicious sort of glee.
Jaehwan’s pan is set on a hot plate that’s plugged to a power port. His burner is covered with a large cloth. The pan is so full with spaghetti that Taekwoon wonders if Jaehwan’s chucked all but his smallest pan into the rubbish chute.
“My flat runs on hydro,” Jaehwan says. He must have seen Taekwoon looking. “It’s the reason why I bought the flat. The lights gets techy after midnight though, so I usually turn in early. Don’t get freaked out or anything later.”
“I won’t.” Taekwoon says.
Jaehwan is silent, and Taekwoon realises that he’s waiting for an answer that might not come. The problem is, Taekwoon hasn’t asked a single question in the entire conversation. It’s so much like how they used to be, and he knows how well things turned out the first time.
Dinner is a quiet affair. They argue a bit over sleeping arrangements, for formality’s sake, and talk, haltingly, about the rest of their old colleagues. Jaehwan tells him about Sanghyuk, Hongbin, and Wonshik. Taekwoon nods along. His headache might have subsided, but he can’t seem to meet Jaehwan’s eye. All he can think about when Jaehwan’s rattling along are questions like, “How can you act like everything’s fine?” and, most importantly, “Did you know what you did to me when you left?”
“How’s Hakyeon doing,” Jaehwan says, his voice light.
Taekwoon sets down his utensils on his plate. “He’s moving to Busan.” There, short and perfunctory. Maybe if he kept at it long enough Jaehwan will call it an early night.
“Why didn’t you go with him?”
Taekwoon sighs, and pushes his fork around the empty plate in front of him. “I missed the train.”
Jaehwan leans forward and rests his elbows against the table edge. “If you want, there’s another train tomorrow-”
“No,” Taekwoon interrupts. “I need to go home and sort things out.”
“I understand.” Jaehwan shoots him a rueful look.
It takes all of Taekwoon’s self-control not to say, Do you? Do you really understand? Instead, he says, “I’m tired, maybe...”
Jaehwan jumps up from his seat at that. “I’ll just wash these and we can get some rest.”
Once again, Taekwoon is reminded of how much of Jaehwan’s hospitality he has accepted, and his migraine is back at full-force. “I’ll help,” he says, and takes his plate to the sink.
“I got it, I’m the one footing the water bills,” Jaehwan says, chuckling. Taekwoon passes him his own plate, and manages a stiff smile as Jaehwan turns to look at him.
When Jaehwan’s done, he heads to a cupboard in his bedroom, takes out a blanket, and grabs a pillow from his bed. “Your blanket, and my extra pillow. I hope you don’t mind,” he says. Taekwoon shakes his head. “Sorry, I don’t have a lot of visitors.”
“I don’t mind,” Taekwoon says.
Jaehwan turns to him. Taekwoon keeps his gaze stubbornly at Jaehwan’s chin. “Well,” Jaehwan sighs. “Goodnight then. I’ll take you home tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Jaehwan says, and Taekwoon watches the way his mouth pulls downwards into a frown.
“Goodnight,” Taekwoon says, and watches as Jaehwan closes his bedroom door.
The next morning, he wakes up to the soft sounds coming from the television. Groaning, he sits up, and wipes at the crust in his eyes.
“Did I wake you?” Jaehwan’s voice comes from a little ways beside him, and Taekwoon turns to face him. Jaehwan is lying haphazardly on the couch, pressing the little volume button on his remote even as he’s looking at Taekwoon.
“It’s fine,” he mutters, and pushes himself to sit at the edge of the couch.
Jaehwan bites his lip, clearly hesitating, and then he says, voice casual, as though suggesting a sleepover. “Why don’t you stay over a while more in my house?”
“What-” Taekwoon says, and then he hears it, he hears the announcer say “Cheongnam-dong”.
“-has been cordoned off by the police this morning due to the increasingly violent acts by the rioters.” Jaehwan twitches in his seat at that. “We advise all Cheongnam residents to stay indoors and lock their front doors.”
Jaehwan switches the television off, and turns to Taekwoon. “Hey,” he says, and puts a soft hand on Taekwoon’s knee. Taekwoon stiffens. “We just have to wait it out.”
“I know.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Jaehwan says, and pats Taekwoon’s knee. “You know how the police is. Maybe you’ll get to go home this afternoon.”
“Maybe,” Taekwoon echoes.
Taekwoon watches Jaehwan watch him, as he pretends to watch the news. He thinks Jaehwan might give up his charade soon, but maybe Taekwoon won’t even be here to see it. He feels slightly let down at the thought.
Kkulbbangi tucks into her first meal of the day speedily, and within minutes, she’s looking up at them with a soft meowl.
“I think she’s still hungry,” Jaehwan says, and pushes his fork around his already empty plate. “Do you want me to get some more?”
Taekwoon shakes his head. “It’s okay. I don’t want to trouble you further but…” His gut curls at that. He shouldn’t have to do this, ask for permission from the person who left him in the dust, if he just got on the train like he was supposed to-
“It’s okay,” Jaehwan says with a quick wave of his hand. “What do you need?”
“I need to make a couple of phone calls. I haven’t called my family yet.”
Jaehwan nods towards the wireless on the wall of the living room. “Go ahead, take as long as you need.” And then he turns back to Taekwoon, his chin tucked neatly against his neck. “Are you done with your breakfast?”
Taekwoon glances at Jaehwan’s almost spotless plate. “I’ll finish my plate quickly,” he says, and takes another bite of his eggs.
Jaehwan sighs, and takes a sip of his coffee. Taekwoon has a cup too, but it’s so watered down, he can barely taste anything. “I have to head out soon,” Jaehwan says.
Taekwoon bites back the instinct to ask where he’s going. Jaehwan doesn’t have another company to run to anymore, and Taekwoon has lost the right to care, as Jaehwan has so delicately put it. Taekwoon must have ran through that conversation hundreds of times in his head.
Instead, he nods, and hopes Jaehwan can leave the house before he does something stupid, like ask about their old glory days.
After Jaehwan shuts the door behind him, Taekwoon goes over to the telephone, and dials his parents’ house number. His mother picks up on the first ring.
“Mom,” Taekwoon says. “It’s Taekwoon-”
“Oh, oh, Taekwoon,” his mother says this in one loud exhale. “We heard about the rioting in Cheongnam, are you okay? Are you at home?”
“No, I’m at…” Taekwoon pauses. “I’m at a friend’s house. My house got looted.”
“Oh, Taekwoon.” Her voice becomes sorrowful. Taekwoon imagines her by the phone, one hand against her mouth in worry.
“I’m okay, though.”
“My baby,” she murmurs, and it makes Taekwoon shuffles his feet. He’s way too old to be called something like that.
“I got Kkulbbangi with me, too. I might head back home when things get better. Mom, they” -Taekwoon takes a deep breath and braces himself for his mother’s reaction- “knocked my door down.”
Sure enough, his mother gasps. “Taekwoon,” she says, her words rushed and urgent. “Come to Busan.” It’s as though she believes that her son could cross the distance between Seoul and Busan with the state of the country as it is. Knowing her, she probably does.
“I can’t, mom, you know how it is,” he says, pitching his voice to be low and comforting. “It’s dangerous now. Maybe when things settle down…”
“Okay. Okay.” She sighs. “I trust you. I haven’t seen you since we moved out of Seoul, and now this happens.”
“I’ll take care of myself,” he tells her. “And you take care of yourself, and dad, too.”
“You should call your sisters,” she admonishes. “Make sure they’re taking care of themselves, too.”
Taekwoon winces. “I don’t remember their phone numbers. I left my phone back home.”
“I can give them to you now.”
“Mom,” Taekwoon says, and he feels a flush work its way to his cheeks. God, he’s in his thirties and asking for phone numbers from his mother. “Could you tell me the phone numbers for the KDB and Onse?”
“Sure,” she says, and rattles off the chain of numbers.
“Thanks,” Taekwoon mutters.
She chuckles. “You’re welcome, dear.” There is a pause, and then she says, softly sweet, “I love you, okay? Call me when you’re coming home.”
Taekwoon sighs, biting back his swelling heart. “I love you too, mom,” he mutters into the receiver. “Talk to you soon.”
The phone calls with his three sisters go the same way, and Taekwoon hangs up for the fourth time with a sigh on his lips. He might never see them again for years.
He calls Hakyeon, and gets voicemail, again.
Then he calls his bank to cancel his credit cards, and the telco to stop his phone service. He hangs up the phone, finally, with a loud exhale. He hadn’t even thought of bringing his own phone and wallet when he left.
He spends a short while outside with Kkulbbangi, and then goes back inside and turns on the television. The news channels are all broadcasting the worsening conditions in Cheongnam, and Taekwoon worries his lip as he stares at the screen, watching videos of the hoards on the street.
Jaehwan, when he comes back later, says nothing about how Taekwoon is glued to his seat, and his eyes, on the television.
Around six o’clock, he sets down a can of beer in front of Taekwoon, and then settles down in the couch adjacent to him. When Taekwoon raises his head to look at Jaehwan in question, he merely shrugs, and says, “You look like you need a drink.”
Taekwoon blinks. The can of beer won’t even be enough to get him halfway to tipsyness, but it’s a kind gesture. He isn’t in the position to refuse kindness, so he takes the beer. The drink is lukewarm, but Taekwoon gulps down half of it in one swallow. Jaehwan probably doesn’t have a refrigerator anymore; Taekwoon hadn’t seen it when he was in the kitchen last night.
Jaehwan is silent as he watches the evening news. He takes in the blurry videos of the protest today with a hand under his chin. The segment ends, and the announcer moves on to the weather report.
He huffs, and lets out a short, faltering breath. Taekwoon waits for him, keeping his gaze on the television. The weatherman points to the sun icons all over the island, as though it’s a surprise that they’ve had never-ending sunny days for the past year or so.
“They didn’t show everything,” Jaehwan finally says, voice solemn. Taekwoon thinks it’s unfair, that Jaehwan jumps from cheery to moody in the span of an afternoon, just when Taekwoon’s getting used to being talked at.
The weather report ends, and the camera pans away from the announcer as the ending theme plays over the speakers. Taekwoon shuts the television off and turns to look at Jaehwan. He’s rubbing a knuckle across the skin under his chin, and his lips are pursed. “What didn’t they show,” Taekwoon asks.
Jaehwan’s gaze flicks to him so quickly that it takes Taekwoon quite a bit of effort to maintain their eye contact. He fights not to fidget.
Jaehwan takes out his phone, and presses a couple of buttons on it before sliding it over. Taekwoon takes it, and presses the play button on the screen. It’s a video clip, and it starts with a shaky shot of the ground- the person recording must have been running- before it pans to the group of people a few feet away. Some of the figures are huddled on the ground in twos and threes, while the others are- Taekwoon moves the phone closer so he can see better- wrapping cloth around their faces. Just like the day he left Cheongnam. Taekwoon feels his stomach clench.
Seconds later, there is a shout that rips through the recording, and the sound cuts off. The camera pans up to the smoke billowing through the crowd like a wave. On the right of the screen, someone drops to the ground, her hands to her face, and another figure takes both her arms, and drags her out of the frame. The recording ends.
Taekwoon swallows, mouth dry, and he feels the weight of Jaehwan’s gaze on him. When he leans to rest his back against the couch and turns to look at Jaehwan, it’s to see him gnawing on his lower lip. His steely gaze has eased somewhat, and he looks almost nervous.
“Did you take this,” Taekwoon asks.
Jaehwan shakes his head. “I got it off a forum.”
“Ah.” Taekwoon slides the phone back, and Jaehwan pockets it.
“Well,” he says. “What do you think?”
His gaze settles on Taekwoon like a harsh ray of light. Taekwoon winces, and rubs a hand against his face. “I don’t know what to think,” he says, and hopes the answer is enough.
Jaehwan stiffens for a moment, and then he’s sliding off the couch to the kitchen. “I’m going to start dinner,” he calls. “You wanna help?”
Taekwoon hesitates, and then pushes himself off the couch. “Yeah, sure.”
Taekwoon spends the next couple of days living on Jaehwan’s couch. He sleeps on the couch at night and then spends afternoons watching television. Jaehwan has a towel hung in the bathroom specially for him, now, and Taekwoon can feel how much he relies on Jaehwan as the days pass.
Cheongnam is now cordoned off, so no one can enter or leave the area. It won’t be long until martial law, now, Jaehwan tells him, during one of their less stilted conversations.
After their non-disagreement, Jaehwan leaves early in the morning, before Taekwoon gets up, but breakfast is always laid out for him. Taekwoon wants to wake up early, but he sleeps deeply, and he’s too embarrassed to ask Jaehwan to stop making him breakfast, or even for an alarm clock.
One evening, when Taekwoon feels the guilt scrabble at the pit of his stomach like a virus, he opens his mouth to say, “I should just go.” His voice is soft and halting and conceding, and Taekwoon hates it.
Jaehwan looks up from his plate, and their eyes lock. Taekwoon has to remind himself not to look away, and suddenly feels very small. “Hyung,” Jaehwan says, voice soft and casual. “I’m trying to help you.” Taekwoon remembers, back in the dorms, that when Jaehwan’s truly angry his voice gets choked up and wobbly.
“I think I shouldn’t be relying on you all the time,” he mutters.
Jaehwan’s mouth twists, and Taekwoon thinks he looks so cruel in that moment. Jaehwan says, “I think-”
The lights flip, and they’re encased in darkness.
Somewhere in front of him, Jaehwan’s utensil clatters against the plate. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters. Taekwoon hears his socked feet patter around him towards the direction of the kitchen. A moment later, Jaehwan emerges with a lit torchlight in his hand.
“I’ll clean this up and we’ll get an early night.” He jerks his head at Taekwoon. “Lights will be back on in the morning.”
Taekwoon passes Jaehwan his plate. Later, on the couch, he pulls the covers all the way over his head, so he doesn’t have to see Jaehwan and his hunched shoulders and angry frown. As how things go between them, Taekwoon always makes things worse when he’s trying to help.
The lights don’t come back the next morning. The television isn’t working either, and Taekwoon feels a thin thread of hysteria trickle through his veins. He curls around Kkulbbangi for comfort, and she paws and noses at him. He laughs like it’s been punched out of him, and feels his smile fall off his face the next second.
He burrows under the covers, and sleeps.
The door clicks open some time later, and Taekwoon sits up blearily to see Jaehwan kick off his shoes.
“Is the television working,” Jaehwan asks in lieu of a greeting.
“No,” Taekwoon says.
“It should be. The lights are working again.” Jaehwan says, and then leans over to take the remote from the couch.
The television blinks on. Taekwoon is instantly awake, and sits up to watch the broadcast. Behind him, Jaehwan says, “It’s a leak. Happens sometimes, when people are desperate enough.”
“Rioters?” Taekwoon ventures.
“Maybe. I wouldn’t know.”
The broadcast ends, and Taekwoon sneaks a couple of peeks at Jaehwan, waiting for him to say something. It’s incredible, how quickly they’ve recycled through the first year of their time together decades later within a single day, almost in perfect synchronicity. Except this time, they haven’t even had a good moment before it became stifling to be around each other.
Taekwoon remembers their first fight well, and how Jaehwan had gritted his teeth and shut Taekwoon down when he had tried to apologise.
He searches in his mind for something to say, and finds it. “Can I ask for another favor?”
Jaehwan sighs, as though very put upon. His laugh lines are prominent around his eyes, but now, it only serves to highlight his exasperation. “Go ahead.”
“The address of the forum. Can you…” he says, and then shuffles in his seat. His palms have turned sweaty, and he wipes them on the legs of his pants.
Jaehwan raises an eyebrow, and he bites at his bottom lip. “Sure, I’ll go write it down for you.” He stands and shuffles into his bedroom. There’s some rustling, and then he reappears with a sticky note. “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” Taekwoon says, and takes it.
“You probably need a laptop to access the website, hyung,” Jaehwan says. “And you’ve got to stop saying thank you.”
“Ah,” Taekwoon says, and looks up at Jaehwan. He’s not frowning anymore, at least. Jaehwan looks at him, considers, and then heads back to his bedroom. He walks back out with his laptop. He taps a few keys, and then holds it out to Taekwoon.
“You can use it whenever you like,” Jaehwan says, and his mouth quirks upwards, but just barely. “Except before I go to sleep, that’s when I go online.”
“Okay.” Taekwoon puts the sticky note on the edge of the laptop. “Thanks.”
“You’ve got to stop saying that.” Jaehwan’s smile isn’t wide, but it’s not unkind.
Later, after his shower, Taekwoon sits on the couch, curled up with Kkulbbangi as he browses the website Jaehwan gave him. He’s never been fond of the internet, but here, on his ex-bandmate’s couch away from home, he finds that he has the time to learn. The forum covers a variety of topics, but the most popular ones, marked with flashing stars next to the titles, are all of the recent protests.
Taekwoon clicks on the first thread, and starts to read.
When he looks up at the clock app on the laptop dashboard, he’s surprised to find that he read for almost three hours. The internet is a blackhole, he decides, and shuts it firmly. He’ll have to check the forum again tomorrow.
It’s almost close to midnight, and Taekwoon feels a small twinge in his chest. Jaehwan probably needed to use his laptop before he went to sleep, but the light in his bedroom is switched off. Maybe Taekwoon should just leave it, but it doesn’t hurt to check. He puts one hand against the door, knuckle out, and knocks.
The door, unlocked, opens a creak from the force. Taekwoon bites his lip, and his hand hovers over the door knob. Should I close it… He listens intently for Jaehwan’s reply.
Instead, he hears a soft rustling, and a low groan.
Taekwoon feels his cheeks colour so fast he can feel his blood rush past his ears, and he jerks back into the light of the living room. Jaehwan doesn’t seem to have heard him, if the next moan is any indication. Taekwoon pads over to the couch, laptop still clutched in his hands. Guess Jaehwan didn’t need his laptop tonight, after all.
Jaehwan’s door remains open, and Taekwoon can still hear it. It’s only when his hand drifts absentmindedly to his crotch that he realises that he’s half-hard.
Taekwoon gets up, switches off the living room light, and crawls back onto the couch. He puts his-Jaehwan’s pillow against his ear, and waits for his erection to subside. He adamantly pushes the memory, the moment when he opened the door, out of his mind.
The next morning, Taekwoon wakes up to a half-cold breakfast again, and the sun high in the sky. He makes quick work of his food, rinses the dish, and goes to walk Kkulbbangi. He wants everything done and out of the way for the forum.
Some of the threads about the alleged reports about the failure of the government to procure oil from the Arctic due to its obsolete relations with China. Complete with transcripts.
He powers up the laptop, and it prompts a password. Taekwoon sighs, and shuts it. It should be fine to call Jaehwan while he’s doing… whatever that he’s doing and ask him a simple question. Jaehwan seems to be back to his cheerful, attentive self again after their conversation last night. Taekwoon pointedly derails the thought of the other conversation that also occurred last night. At their age, it’s not supposed to be embarrassing, but no one talks about it, either.
He goes to the wireless and keys in Jaehwan’s phone number (written on another sticky note, given to him a few days ago).
Come to think of it, Jaehwan hasn’t mentioned a wife or a girlfriend, in any of the conversations that they’ve had recently.
The line clicks open. “Hello,” Jaehwan says, and then the noise on his side floods the line.
“Where are you?” So much for staying out of business.
“What,” Jaehwan yells, and the background roars, a conglomeration of sound surging against the phone line. “Can’t hear you. I’ll call you back.” The line goes dead. Taekwoon hangs up the wireless back into its cradle with a sigh, and then goes to flop back on the couch. It probably has an imprint of his butt on it, by this point. He switches the television on.
It’s probably been weeks since the protests started, and the news reports have started to incorporate some live updates, and opinion journalism. The live reporters look nervous, and it makes Taekwoon’s mouth curl instinctively in sympathy. The opinion segments, however, make him switch the channel.
He knows, now, that the number of blackouts has been more than he’d imagined. He also recognises some of the tactics the experts are using, blatant as they are to the trained eye. Taekwoon has had years of experience, and he knows that they’re saying nothing at all. Nothing about the state of things in Cheongnam, nothing about the looters, nothing about when he can go back home. The president’s speech weeks ago comes up on nearly every broadcast, and by the tenth replay, Taekwoon rolls his eyes and switches off the television. He counts down to the end of the speech in seconds, and turns the show back on just when the announcer turns the attention back to the panel of experts.
In the late afternoon, after the protesters have reportedly dispersed, news channels move on to discussion segments. Kkulbbangi, probably bored, nudges her head at his leg. He scoops her up, so she can watch with him.
Jaehwan opens the front door just as Taekwoon clicks the remote, and a press conference comes up. He hovers at the door, and Taekwoon can feel his eyes graze him like a bullet, before settling on the television.
“We thought we’d be the last generation to live out our entire lives,” a woman says on screen. She’s well-groomed and in a suit. The placard in front of her says that she’s a chief engineer at GoTech. GoTech, the hydroelectric company that dabbles in civil engineering. Taekwoon is pretty sure they build flats like Jaehwan’s. “Growing up, listening to people talk about radicality. It seemed like radicality has gone and made itself outdated.”
“Regret doesn’t mean much these days,” Jaehwan says. His voice stings of annoyance. Instantly, a large part of Taekwoon shrivels up at that, and he leans forward to shut the television off. He feels silly for having thought, even for one second, that the annoyance had been aimed at him. He wonders when he even started caring so much.
“It’s a small comfort,” he offers, and turns to watch Jaehwan kick off his shoes. “And welcome” -he bites back the urge to say home- “back.”
Jaehwan looks up, and like that, Taekwoon feels the world narrow to the distance between them. Jaehwan’s mouth twists, and it looks like he can’t make up his mind between frowning and smiling. He drops his backpack at the foot of the couch, and flops down on the couch adjacent to Taekwoon’s with a sigh. “Long day?” Taekwoon shifts, so they’re face to face.
Jaehwan nods, a lazy motion against a couch cushion. It makes his hair fluff up, and with his eyes shut and mouth slack, it seems almost… cute. Taekwoon is reminded of their idol days, back when he’d said, “Jaehwan looks like a manga character” unironically. That statement might still hold true after all these years.
Jaehwan rubs at his eyes, forcefully, and then sits up to look at Taekwoon. “Did you call me this afternoon,” he asks.
Taekwoon blinks, wracking his brain for memories on this afternoon that seems to have stretched for days. “Oh,” he says. “What’s the password of your laptop?”
Jaehwan holds a hand out for the laptop, and Taekwoon gives it to him. “I’ll set one for you right now. Let’s see, uhm.” He taps the keyboard a few times. “Is your birthday okay?”
Taekwoon nods.
Jaehwan’s hand hovers a long time over his keyboard, and then he shoots Taekwoon a look that seems almost nervous, his ears tinged pink. Before he can ask what that’s about, Jaehwan types down something rapidly. “Sorry,” he says. “What’s your birthday again?” He brushes a knuckle against his nose, and sniffs.
Jaehwan doesn’t seem to be having a cold. Taekwoon frowns, but he recites it dutifully. Jaehwan types it neatly into the laptop, and then turns it back to him. “It’s all yours.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Jaehwan says. He pats Taekwoon on his knee, and gets off the couch. Taekwoon bites his lip so hard he can taste blood, and clicks on a new forum with a hard tap of his finger.
Next
leo/ken +nc-17
Trapped on the wrong side of the Han River,
Taekwoon relearns South Korea’s energy crisis
and Lee Jaehwan.
explicit sexual content, violence
prompts 1|2
Out Beyond (I'll Meet You There)
At the height of deurbanisation, his friends in the industry moved away one by one out of Seoul. Taekwoon never asked them why, but they told him, anyway. They sought solace, said the ones who brought their families with them. They wanted quiet, they said, and they moved back home to their parents and five siblings. They wanted to be with their families again, they said, they wanted somewhere they could live the rest of their lives, they said. They said, Taekwoon, come with us.
Taekwoon can still remember the look on Hakyeon’s face, remember watching change from hopeful to a subtle sadness. Well, Hakyeon said, with some kind of finality in his voice, as if they might never see each other again, I’ll call you when I get there.
It sounded like a question, so Taekwoon nodded.
Hakyeon didn’t look very satisfied with the answer. In the end, he did call, and several more times after that. Taekwoon suspected that Hakyeon did it to annoy him for a while, but later he thought Hakyeon might have been trying to preserve some of the camaraderie leftover from their time spent together, years ago.
Hakyeon might have been onto something with his parting words, because one year after his departure from Seoul, three-quarters of South Korea’s trains went out of service. The country’s access to non-renewable gas dwindled, and then ceased altogether a few months afterwards.
In 2029, the country’s the total generation capacity of nuclear power is about 30%, Taekwoon remembers reading from one newspaper article. He isn’t sure of the specifics, but efforts to increase hydroelectric energy supply have been failing for years, and none of the other renewable energy sources cut close.
Abruptly, journalists throughout the country wrote, South Korea found itself surviving on half of the energy it was used to.
It took one month for half of the entertainment companies to go out of business. Transport and CD manufacture and special stage effect fees skyrocketed. Jellyfish held on.
It was all sorts of poetic for Taekwoon.
“They’re building one in Chunju,” Hakyeon says. His phone calls over the years were genial, warm, easy. Now, Hakyeon sounds like every word pains him. “They’re building a nuclear plant.”
It takes Taekwoon more than a few seconds to think of what to say. He finally says, after a stretch of silence, “Do you want to come back to Seoul?” The evening train to Seoul is about eight hours away. If Hakyeon hurries, he’d be back in the neighborhood by nine.
“I don’t know.” Hakyeon sounds as though he’s actually considering it. They stay like that, silent, for a long while. As he waits, Taekwoon goes to the kitchen to take a drink of his daily unsweetened coffee. He winces. Sugar has been hard to come by.
“I was thinking of heading to Busan with my family,” Hakyeon says. “You should come with.”
“But if you can’t come back to Seoul, then how can you go to Busan?”
Hakyeon chuckles, like Taekwoon’s a child that needs explaining to. For a moment, Taekwoon feels almost… petulant. “It’s not the right place to be,” Hakyeon says, and then he adds, voice soft, “Come with me.”
Taekwoon bites his lower lip, and says, “I’ll think about it.”
He watches the news often, after that, even the presidential speeches.
The rest of the world has also been plunged into darkness, which is why South Korea will complete the power plants as quickly as they can, and meanwhile, the president says, his eyebrows pinched together in practiced concern and worry, the nation must work together to emerge victorious from the second dark age. For eternal glory, liberty, and justice.
He barely has the last word out of his mouth before the front row of the audience erupts in shouting, and then Taekwoon’s television screen goes black.
The silence washes through his apartment like a wave. Taekwoon sits at the edge of his couch seat, so still he can hear the bones in his wrist creak as he aims the remote to change the channel. The screen lights up with a sugary pop song, and three girls hold up their matching solar energy watches.
Taekwoon shuts it off, and goes to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. As the machine whirs away, he presses his nails against the granite tabletop. Kkulbbangi pads up to him, and flicks her tail, almost in a question. Taekwoon huffs, and scoops her up in his arms. His gaze slides to his suitcases, lined up against the far corner of the living room.
There are two trains that run through the whole of South Korea. Taekwoon misses the evening train by mere seconds, because he’d spent ten minutes trying to persuade Kkulbbangi to get into her carrier.
He takes his time to get back to his apartment in Yangjae-dong, and to unpack his suitcase in the middle of the living room. When he opens the carrier, Kkulbbangi is curled up, fast asleep. Taekwoon snorts, and leaves the carrier door open.
The morning paper headlines two days later is of the evening train that has been taken hostage by rioters.
Hakyeon’s cell is turned off. “Hey,” Taekwoon says to his voicemail. “I think I’m gonna stay in Seoul. It’s not a good time to leave.” If Hakyeon were on the other line, Taekwoon would have already heard a hundred variations of It’s okay. He clears his throat, and adds, “I hope you’re doing fine” -he clears his throat again- “Eunji and the kids… tell them I said hello. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”
It feels strange to be the one to initiate contact. He had only kept in touch with Hakyeon because Hakyeon insisted on calling him every month or so, even after their bitter band breakup years ago. They hadn’t even been very close, back then, but Hakyeon stuck to Taekwoon. It might have helped that they were the only two out of the group to sign back on to Jellyfish.
Jellyfish didn’t promote musical stars. They promoted actors and soloists, so that was what Taekwoon became.
That had been a while ago. Now Taekwoon is just himself, and by himself. At least he has Kkulbbangi.
His retirement rewarded him with plenty of time to watch the news. Taekwoon isn’t fond of the internet, and reality shows and dramas hasn’t appealed to him for the better part of ten years. The news is perfunctory and informative, and he liked to have something to talk about with his old acquaintances. Taekwoon supposes it’s his own way of growing old.
Right now, he wishes he can just turn away from the television screen. The blackout earlier in the week spawned a slew of news reports claiming to know the real reason to South Korea’s energy crisis. Gradually, the reports shifted to the protests in Jongno-gu, which at first intrigued Taekwoon. But after weeks of rehashing the same issue, even he had grown bored of the broadcasts.
Perhaps annoyed with the daily public disruptions, Taekwoon guessed, the South Korean government dispatched a small group of police to disperse the crowd. The next day, the protesters came back to the same business district in Jongno-gu, bigger, louder, more adamant. In retaliation, the police brought out the tear gas.
Taekwoon wakes up one morning to a muted boom, and Kkulbbangi yowling in distress at the foot of his bed. He scrambles up and stumbles over to the window. From where he’s standing, he can just make out the orange glow two blocks away, and the thick, black smoke rising into the sky. The shouting, Taekwoon realises with a sinking stomach, is of the rioters’ slogan.
There’s another boom, and then a crash. It sounds like a window breaking, and it sounds close. Kkulbbangi’s voice is thin and high, and she paws Taekwoon on the leg of his pants. He bends to scratch her, and then goes to double-lock his front door.
He goes to shut the windows, but makes the mistake of sticking his head out. The rioters are almost on his doorstep now, and there some people in the crowd looking up his apartment complex. Looking at him.
Taekwoon latches the window shut, and stumbles away from it. He lives on the fifteenth floor; no one in their right mind would climb up here.
He takes a deep breath, and sits himself on the ground, back against the wall. Kkulbbangi jumps into his lap, her hackles raised, her ears twitching as the banging and shouting grows near. It sounds like the rioters are making their way up the stairs now, and Taekwoon puts a gentle hand on his cat’s back. The lub-dub of his heart is loud, and he can feel it stall as the sounds grows closer, like a wall of noise that threaten to trap him against the wall, squeeze him dry. His lips are dry, and it hurts to swallow.
The next boom rocks through Taekwoon’s entire body. He raises one hand against his mouth.
His doorknob turns. And then there is a sharp thunk of metal against wood.
A pause. Another thunk, and then two more, in quick succession. They’re louder, and the door starts to cave inwards.
Kkulbbangi hisses, and her claws pinch at Taekwoon’s legs. The pain startles him out of his still state, and he scoops her up and puts her into her carrier with a burst of energy.
He presses himself up against the nook beside the door just as it swings open. The looters pour into his home without a backward glance. Taekwoon waits just one second, and keeping the carrier close and his head low, he pushes out of his apartment to the corridor.
His heart roars in his ears, and he twitches as people clutching bats and molotov cocktails near him. He quickly turns the other way, where most of the rioters are moving towards, bumbling, cat carrier bumping against his knee. There is a stray baseball bat on the ground, one side of it dented. Taekwoon takes it, squeezes it hard in his sweaty palm, and joins the crowd as the rioters surge as one entity. It pushes Taekwoon along the narrow passageway, down the stairs, and out into the streets. With the press of people insistent against his back, Taekwoon takes a deep breath, and steps off his porch. He blends in easily with his dumpy sweatshirt and baseball bat. He keeps pace, half-pushed by the throng of people.
There is a loud crash from above him. Against his common sense, Taekwoon stalls, and turns to look.
He can’t see very clearly, but one of the windows in the buildings behind him bursts into shards from the inside, the sound muted by the swarm of people around him. People behind him push at him and step on his heels. Taekwoon catches a young girl looking curiously at him, and he turns back around so fast his neck cricks.
They reach the edge of the Han River in perhaps a matter of minutes, and he has all but gotten pushed into the dead centre of the rioters. The baseball bat lies in his hand, lowered and useless. All around him, the rioters roar for justice.
Then a horn blares, a long prolonged note from the back, and a few heads in front of Taekwoon turn back. Taekwoon peers with them, searching, but the horde stretches so wide he can barely see the end of it.
“Riot police,” he hears someone on his right mutter. The group continues its forward motion as it rearranges, folds, regroups, as though taking a deep, collective breath.
Taekwoon had been complacent to assume that following the crowd would do him any good. He’s watched snippets of the tear gassing incident, but never expected to be caught in the middle of one. An imminent one, at least. Now, the top priority is to disentangle himself from further trouble.
He shuffles to his left with his head low. Surprisingly, the crowd lets him, its movements now segregated and individualised. Tightening handkerchiefs against their noses, lighting up their cocktails, slow and clumsy, far from the practiced ease which Taekwoon saw the other rioters had possessed in his apartment complex.
Taekwoon shakes his head, and slips into a small alleyway. He works up to a quick jog, clutching Kkulbbangi tight in his arms, just in case anyone from the throng happens to spot him.
He jogs and walks in short intervals, turning corners on instinct, until the din is a rumble in the distance.
When he turns another corner, he stops, sags against the brick wall, and sets Kkulbbangi’s carrier on the floor. His hand is still shaking when he runs it through his hair. It’d been unbelievable, and he’d been lucky to come out of it unharmed, physically, at least. If he had prepared earlier, listened to the warnings on the television…
“Hyung?” The voice is low and close. Taekwoon jerks up to see Lee Jaehwan, with laugh lines and curly hair, staring down at him with a backpack clutched in his hand.
“Hyung,” Jaehwan says, louder now, leaning closer. “Taekwoon-hyung?”
Taekwoon feels his face set instantly into a frown. “It’s you,” he says.
“It’s me,” Jaehwan says, voice breezy. “Hey, is that your pet?” He squats down next to Taekwoon and points to the carrier, and -Taekwoon turns to look- Kkulbbangi is peering out from the gaps between the plastic bars.
Taekwoon draws her closer to him. Jaehwan withdraws his hand and rubs his knuckle against his own nose. He sniffs, but he doesn’t seem to have a cold. "Are you here for the protest? Or to loot? You don't seem like the type to-"
"I'm not," Taekwoon says. “I live here.”
Jaehwan scratches the back of his neck. "You have a baseball bat, so I assumed..." He points to the bat at Taekwoon's feet.
Taekwoon pointedly nudges it away with the toe of his sneaker. "What're you doing here anyway," he asks, looking back at Jaehwan. Jaehwan startles as their gazes meet, his gaze turning from friendly to inscrutable.
"I was just stopping by," Jaehwan says. "Nasty commotion." His lips curl, and for a moment Taekwoon thinks it looks almost ugly. "What happened to you, anyway?"
Taekwoon sighs. "I don't know, I woke up to people breaking down my door." Jaehwan cocks his head at that. Taekwoon pauses. It looks like he's taking mental notes.
"And then what happened," Jaehwan prompts.
"And I left with my cat and got on the street, it was crazy-"
Jaehwan chuckles. "Nothing like what we watch on the news right?"
Taekwoon relaxes, grateful for the shred of normality. "Yeah." He offers a tentative smile to Jaehwan.
Jaehwan's mouth tugs upwards. "Are you gonna go home now," he asks. "Where do you live now, anyway?"
Taekwoon shakes his head. "Maybe tomorrow." His house must have been completely raided, and he doesn't want to go back to that.
"Then, where will you go?" Jaehwan's voice turns soft.
Taekwoon sighs, and puts a hand against the top of Kkulbbangi's carrier. "I don't know. I'd walk around, but..."
"You can bum a night at my place, if you want,” Jaehwan offers.
"I’m okay.” It'd be awkward to share a space with Jaehwan again. Not after everything that happened. "I'll be alright. I've got a baseball bat." Taekwoon jabs uselessly at the object lying next to him.
Jaehwan snorts. "Hyung, you and I both know it's going to get out of control, if it hasn't already. Please” -His voice is so soft and low and it sounds like Hakyeon asking him to come with- “It's the least I could do for hyung."
Taekwoon feels himself wavering, just for a split second, before he's nodding and climbing to his feet. He gets up, Kkulbbangi in her carrier, and dusts himself off clumsily with one hand. “I won’t be any trouble,” he says. “I’ll just stay for one night.”
Jaehwan slings his backpack over his shoulder, and throws him a haphazard grin. “As long as your cat doesn’t shit on my carpet.”
Taekwoon, despite himself, chuckles.
Jaehwan has a neat little bicycle parked a little ways from where they met. It was obtained a couple of days before the energy crisis really hit, he says, and before bike prices went through the roof. He pats it fondly, and tells Taekwoon that he hasn’t settled on a name for it yet.
Taekwoon isn’t sure at what point of time Jaehwan picked up the habit of naming his possessions. Back in the dorm- he pushes the thought away, and settles against Jaehwan’s back, his hands held inelegant against his shoulders. As Jaehwan kicks off, he wobbles, perhaps unused to Taekwoon’s weight. Taekwoon, sitting at the back, remembers vividly, of how Jaehwan tried to piggyback him back when they were still friends-
Taekwoon bites his lip, and concentrates on looking at Kkulbbangi’s carrier in the bicycle’s basket. She seems at ease, her nose dipped demurely as she rests her head on the bottom of the box.
They reach a small, sleepy neighborhood, and Jaehwan brings his bike with him up the stairs. The apartment is on the edges of Jayang-dong, he explains to Taekwoon. Two blocks where Jayang and Hwayang divide.
“I’ve been living here ever since I moved out,” Jaehwan says, and takes a set of keys from his pocket to unlock the door.
Taekwoon blinks rapidly as he tries to contain his surprise. He settles for something neutral. “It’s a nice flat,” he says, and steps into the living room. “You have good taste.”
“Thank you,” Jaehwan says, and slumps onto his couch with a sigh. “You wanna let your cat out so it can stretch its legs?”
“Her name’s Kkulbbangi,” Taekwoon says, but he sets the carrier down and opens the door. Kkulbbangi almost springs out of it, and she stretches for a moment, before she stalks off to nose at Jaehwan’s potted plant by the door.
“Honey bread.” Jaehwan turns to the cat. “Cute.”
Taekwoon shrugs. “She looks like a loaf of bread when she curls up, you’ll see.” Kkulbbangi has been sniffing the potted plant for a while now, and Taekwoon walks over to her, concerned. Then she squats in an uncomfortably familiar position.
“Oh god,” Taekwoon mutters. He hurries to lift her up from the floor before, but oh, she’s already started and Taekwoon, in desperation, holds her over the potted plant and waits for it to end. Jaehwan laughs, a booming sound that echoes in the small space. Taekwoon can feel the tips of his ears burning.
“I’ll mop it up for you,” he says, and sets his troublemaker down. Kkkulbbangi curls up on the carpet, a perfect bread roll shape, and looks up at him with her wide eyes. Brat. “Where do you keep your cleaning supplies,” Taekwoon asks Jaehwan, who is limp from laughing so hard.
“It’s okay,” Jaehwan says, still chuckling, and waves a hand at his plant. “I’ll clean it up.” He pushes himself off the couch, and heads into the kitchen.
Taekwoon tugs at the edges of his sleeve, and for the lack of something better to do, he settles gingerly into the spot on the couch that Jaehwan just vacated. Moments later, Jaehwan reemerges from the kitchen with a mop and a bucket of water.
Taekwoon moves to help, but Jaehwan waves him away, and sets about mopping the floor around the watered plant. About a minute into it, he says, deadpan, “It’s a good thing your little bread roll didn’t do the number two, because I just ran out of bleach.”
“I should go take her outside,” Taekwoon sighs.
“You go do that,” Jaehwan says, his back bent as he mops up the last of the pee on the floor. “You know how to get back, right? Just ring the doorbell, and I’ll let you in.”
“Thank you,” Taekwoon says. Jaehwan hums in response, and goes back to cleaning.
He spends perhaps half an hour outside with Kkulbbangi, and when he picks her up again to go back inside, the strangeness of the entire day hit him like a slap to the face. He walks up the stairs to Jaehwan’s apartment in a daze, and knocks woodenly on the door.
Jaehwan opens it quickly, and when he takes a look at Taekwoon’s face, he says, “Are you alright?”
Taekwoon shakes his head in a quick, jerky motion. “I’m just overwhelmed.”
“It’s understandable,” Jaehwan says, and rests his hand on Taekwoon’s elbow. Jaehwan’s fingers are dry and warm, and they raise goosebumps along where they’ve touched Taekwoon’s skin. It’s familiar and startling that he jerks his hand away before he can think. When he looks back at Jaehwan, he’s dropping his hand back to his side, eyes lowered to the ground. Taekwoon wishes that Jaehwan can look up, so he knows if he’s offended him.
Instantly, the decade-old frustration and hurt well up in him.
When Jaehwan raises his eyes to look at him, Taekwoon looks down at the ground almost on impulse.
Jaehwan clears his throat. “Come on in, then.”
Inside, Kkulbbangi slips easily from his hold, and Taekwoon settles himself against the back of his couch, arms folded. The irritation that he’s suppressed so well is bubbling just beneath his skin, and he can feel a migraine building up in his head.
He doesn’t want to be here. He shouldn’t have waited so long for the train that he’s never going to be prepared enough to board.
“Hey.” Jaehwan’s voice is right next to his ear, and Taekwoon shrugs away, again. This time, he doesn’t need to turn around to see Jaehwan’s hand falter just an inch above Taekwoon’s shoulder.
Jaehwan sighs, very loudly. “Maybe a shower can help clear your mind.” The intensity of Taekwoon’s migraine builds, as he realises that he should have been more hospitable, because Jaehwan can kick him out any time and he has nothing but his cat. Taekwoon wonders if he would be able to find the baseball at where he last left it, on the opposite side of the river.
He hears Jaehwan say, “I’ll go get you some clothes and a towel.”
“Thank you,” Taekwoon bites out, and feels satisfied that he sounds at least a little grateful. Jaehwan emerges from his bedroom with a set of pyjamas and a fluffy green towel, and Taekwoon accepts it wordlessly. The clothes fabric is well worn, and Taekwoon untucks the label. It’s the same brand that Jaehwan wears to bed in their dormitory.
“I’ll get dinner started,” Jaehwan calls. Kkulbbangi mewls from her spot on the couch, ears perked up, and drops down to the floor to follow Jaehwan. “And I’ll get some fish for your bread roll. Is canned fish fine?”
“Yeah,” Taekwoon mumbles. He pinches the bridge of his nose, right where his headache is most concentrated, and heads to the bathroom.
Jaehwan’s bathroom doesn’t have hot water, and it reminds Taekwoon once again of their old dorm room back when they first started living together as colleagues. Under the spray of the shower, he mulls over what has changed. The only answer he can think of: everything.
He steps out of the shower to smell food. His stomach rumbles, and he realises that he hasn’t eaten anything since last night. Jaehwan pokes his head out of the kitchen, the same silly grin on his face. Taekwoon wants to childishly wipe it off of his face, if only to make him feel as wrong-footed. The words are at the tip of his mouth, but Jaehwan beats him to it.
“Hey, you’re done already. I hope you don’t mind spaghetti,” he says, and ducks back into the kitchen. The moment is over, and the words dissipate in his throat.
Taekwoon pads into the kitchen, and stops short. It resembles the one in their first dormitory so much that he has to take a step back. The layout is an exact match, the rice cooker is in the same place, the storage rack above the sink looks like that ratty thing they threw out when they moved. Is Jaehwan doing this on purpose? He swallows hard, and manages a wobbly “Thanks.”
Jaehwan turns to grin at him, apparently oblivious to Taekwoon’s bewilderment. “You say that a lot. I fed your cat already. She really likes canned fish, heh. She’s your cat for a reason.”
Taekwoon takes a deep breath, and then goes to help Jaehwan set the table. “Are the utensils in here?”
“Yeah,” Jaehwan says. Taekwoon sees him scratch his head, and smiles to himself with a vicious sort of glee.
Jaehwan’s pan is set on a hot plate that’s plugged to a power port. His burner is covered with a large cloth. The pan is so full with spaghetti that Taekwoon wonders if Jaehwan’s chucked all but his smallest pan into the rubbish chute.
“My flat runs on hydro,” Jaehwan says. He must have seen Taekwoon looking. “It’s the reason why I bought the flat. The lights gets techy after midnight though, so I usually turn in early. Don’t get freaked out or anything later.”
“I won’t.” Taekwoon says.
Jaehwan is silent, and Taekwoon realises that he’s waiting for an answer that might not come. The problem is, Taekwoon hasn’t asked a single question in the entire conversation. It’s so much like how they used to be, and he knows how well things turned out the first time.
Dinner is a quiet affair. They argue a bit over sleeping arrangements, for formality’s sake, and talk, haltingly, about the rest of their old colleagues. Jaehwan tells him about Sanghyuk, Hongbin, and Wonshik. Taekwoon nods along. His headache might have subsided, but he can’t seem to meet Jaehwan’s eye. All he can think about when Jaehwan’s rattling along are questions like, “How can you act like everything’s fine?” and, most importantly, “Did you know what you did to me when you left?”
“How’s Hakyeon doing,” Jaehwan says, his voice light.
Taekwoon sets down his utensils on his plate. “He’s moving to Busan.” There, short and perfunctory. Maybe if he kept at it long enough Jaehwan will call it an early night.
“Why didn’t you go with him?”
Taekwoon sighs, and pushes his fork around the empty plate in front of him. “I missed the train.”
Jaehwan leans forward and rests his elbows against the table edge. “If you want, there’s another train tomorrow-”
“No,” Taekwoon interrupts. “I need to go home and sort things out.”
“I understand.” Jaehwan shoots him a rueful look.
It takes all of Taekwoon’s self-control not to say, Do you? Do you really understand? Instead, he says, “I’m tired, maybe...”
Jaehwan jumps up from his seat at that. “I’ll just wash these and we can get some rest.”
Once again, Taekwoon is reminded of how much of Jaehwan’s hospitality he has accepted, and his migraine is back at full-force. “I’ll help,” he says, and takes his plate to the sink.
“I got it, I’m the one footing the water bills,” Jaehwan says, chuckling. Taekwoon passes him his own plate, and manages a stiff smile as Jaehwan turns to look at him.
When Jaehwan’s done, he heads to a cupboard in his bedroom, takes out a blanket, and grabs a pillow from his bed. “Your blanket, and my extra pillow. I hope you don’t mind,” he says. Taekwoon shakes his head. “Sorry, I don’t have a lot of visitors.”
“I don’t mind,” Taekwoon says.
Jaehwan turns to him. Taekwoon keeps his gaze stubbornly at Jaehwan’s chin. “Well,” Jaehwan sighs. “Goodnight then. I’ll take you home tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Jaehwan says, and Taekwoon watches the way his mouth pulls downwards into a frown.
“Goodnight,” Taekwoon says, and watches as Jaehwan closes his bedroom door.
The next morning, he wakes up to the soft sounds coming from the television. Groaning, he sits up, and wipes at the crust in his eyes.
“Did I wake you?” Jaehwan’s voice comes from a little ways beside him, and Taekwoon turns to face him. Jaehwan is lying haphazardly on the couch, pressing the little volume button on his remote even as he’s looking at Taekwoon.
“It’s fine,” he mutters, and pushes himself to sit at the edge of the couch.
Jaehwan bites his lip, clearly hesitating, and then he says, voice casual, as though suggesting a sleepover. “Why don’t you stay over a while more in my house?”
“What-” Taekwoon says, and then he hears it, he hears the announcer say “Cheongnam-dong”.
“-has been cordoned off by the police this morning due to the increasingly violent acts by the rioters.” Jaehwan twitches in his seat at that. “We advise all Cheongnam residents to stay indoors and lock their front doors.”
Jaehwan switches the television off, and turns to Taekwoon. “Hey,” he says, and puts a soft hand on Taekwoon’s knee. Taekwoon stiffens. “We just have to wait it out.”
“I know.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Jaehwan says, and pats Taekwoon’s knee. “You know how the police is. Maybe you’ll get to go home this afternoon.”
“Maybe,” Taekwoon echoes.
Taekwoon watches Jaehwan watch him, as he pretends to watch the news. He thinks Jaehwan might give up his charade soon, but maybe Taekwoon won’t even be here to see it. He feels slightly let down at the thought.
Kkulbbangi tucks into her first meal of the day speedily, and within minutes, she’s looking up at them with a soft meowl.
“I think she’s still hungry,” Jaehwan says, and pushes his fork around his already empty plate. “Do you want me to get some more?”
Taekwoon shakes his head. “It’s okay. I don’t want to trouble you further but…” His gut curls at that. He shouldn’t have to do this, ask for permission from the person who left him in the dust, if he just got on the train like he was supposed to-
“It’s okay,” Jaehwan says with a quick wave of his hand. “What do you need?”
“I need to make a couple of phone calls. I haven’t called my family yet.”
Jaehwan nods towards the wireless on the wall of the living room. “Go ahead, take as long as you need.” And then he turns back to Taekwoon, his chin tucked neatly against his neck. “Are you done with your breakfast?”
Taekwoon glances at Jaehwan’s almost spotless plate. “I’ll finish my plate quickly,” he says, and takes another bite of his eggs.
Jaehwan sighs, and takes a sip of his coffee. Taekwoon has a cup too, but it’s so watered down, he can barely taste anything. “I have to head out soon,” Jaehwan says.
Taekwoon bites back the instinct to ask where he’s going. Jaehwan doesn’t have another company to run to anymore, and Taekwoon has lost the right to care, as Jaehwan has so delicately put it. Taekwoon must have ran through that conversation hundreds of times in his head.
Instead, he nods, and hopes Jaehwan can leave the house before he does something stupid, like ask about their old glory days.
After Jaehwan shuts the door behind him, Taekwoon goes over to the telephone, and dials his parents’ house number. His mother picks up on the first ring.
“Mom,” Taekwoon says. “It’s Taekwoon-”
“Oh, oh, Taekwoon,” his mother says this in one loud exhale. “We heard about the rioting in Cheongnam, are you okay? Are you at home?”
“No, I’m at…” Taekwoon pauses. “I’m at a friend’s house. My house got looted.”
“Oh, Taekwoon.” Her voice becomes sorrowful. Taekwoon imagines her by the phone, one hand against her mouth in worry.
“I’m okay, though.”
“My baby,” she murmurs, and it makes Taekwoon shuffles his feet. He’s way too old to be called something like that.
“I got Kkulbbangi with me, too. I might head back home when things get better. Mom, they” -Taekwoon takes a deep breath and braces himself for his mother’s reaction- “knocked my door down.”
Sure enough, his mother gasps. “Taekwoon,” she says, her words rushed and urgent. “Come to Busan.” It’s as though she believes that her son could cross the distance between Seoul and Busan with the state of the country as it is. Knowing her, she probably does.
“I can’t, mom, you know how it is,” he says, pitching his voice to be low and comforting. “It’s dangerous now. Maybe when things settle down…”
“Okay. Okay.” She sighs. “I trust you. I haven’t seen you since we moved out of Seoul, and now this happens.”
“I’ll take care of myself,” he tells her. “And you take care of yourself, and dad, too.”
“You should call your sisters,” she admonishes. “Make sure they’re taking care of themselves, too.”
Taekwoon winces. “I don’t remember their phone numbers. I left my phone back home.”
“I can give them to you now.”
“Mom,” Taekwoon says, and he feels a flush work its way to his cheeks. God, he’s in his thirties and asking for phone numbers from his mother. “Could you tell me the phone numbers for the KDB and Onse?”
“Sure,” she says, and rattles off the chain of numbers.
“Thanks,” Taekwoon mutters.
She chuckles. “You’re welcome, dear.” There is a pause, and then she says, softly sweet, “I love you, okay? Call me when you’re coming home.”
Taekwoon sighs, biting back his swelling heart. “I love you too, mom,” he mutters into the receiver. “Talk to you soon.”
The phone calls with his three sisters go the same way, and Taekwoon hangs up for the fourth time with a sigh on his lips. He might never see them again for years.
He calls Hakyeon, and gets voicemail, again.
Then he calls his bank to cancel his credit cards, and the telco to stop his phone service. He hangs up the phone, finally, with a loud exhale. He hadn’t even thought of bringing his own phone and wallet when he left.
He spends a short while outside with Kkulbbangi, and then goes back inside and turns on the television. The news channels are all broadcasting the worsening conditions in Cheongnam, and Taekwoon worries his lip as he stares at the screen, watching videos of the hoards on the street.
Jaehwan, when he comes back later, says nothing about how Taekwoon is glued to his seat, and his eyes, on the television.
Around six o’clock, he sets down a can of beer in front of Taekwoon, and then settles down in the couch adjacent to him. When Taekwoon raises his head to look at Jaehwan in question, he merely shrugs, and says, “You look like you need a drink.”
Taekwoon blinks. The can of beer won’t even be enough to get him halfway to tipsyness, but it’s a kind gesture. He isn’t in the position to refuse kindness, so he takes the beer. The drink is lukewarm, but Taekwoon gulps down half of it in one swallow. Jaehwan probably doesn’t have a refrigerator anymore; Taekwoon hadn’t seen it when he was in the kitchen last night.
Jaehwan is silent as he watches the evening news. He takes in the blurry videos of the protest today with a hand under his chin. The segment ends, and the announcer moves on to the weather report.
He huffs, and lets out a short, faltering breath. Taekwoon waits for him, keeping his gaze on the television. The weatherman points to the sun icons all over the island, as though it’s a surprise that they’ve had never-ending sunny days for the past year or so.
“They didn’t show everything,” Jaehwan finally says, voice solemn. Taekwoon thinks it’s unfair, that Jaehwan jumps from cheery to moody in the span of an afternoon, just when Taekwoon’s getting used to being talked at.
The weather report ends, and the camera pans away from the announcer as the ending theme plays over the speakers. Taekwoon shuts the television off and turns to look at Jaehwan. He’s rubbing a knuckle across the skin under his chin, and his lips are pursed. “What didn’t they show,” Taekwoon asks.
Jaehwan’s gaze flicks to him so quickly that it takes Taekwoon quite a bit of effort to maintain their eye contact. He fights not to fidget.
Jaehwan takes out his phone, and presses a couple of buttons on it before sliding it over. Taekwoon takes it, and presses the play button on the screen. It’s a video clip, and it starts with a shaky shot of the ground- the person recording must have been running- before it pans to the group of people a few feet away. Some of the figures are huddled on the ground in twos and threes, while the others are- Taekwoon moves the phone closer so he can see better- wrapping cloth around their faces. Just like the day he left Cheongnam. Taekwoon feels his stomach clench.
Seconds later, there is a shout that rips through the recording, and the sound cuts off. The camera pans up to the smoke billowing through the crowd like a wave. On the right of the screen, someone drops to the ground, her hands to her face, and another figure takes both her arms, and drags her out of the frame. The recording ends.
Taekwoon swallows, mouth dry, and he feels the weight of Jaehwan’s gaze on him. When he leans to rest his back against the couch and turns to look at Jaehwan, it’s to see him gnawing on his lower lip. His steely gaze has eased somewhat, and he looks almost nervous.
“Did you take this,” Taekwoon asks.
Jaehwan shakes his head. “I got it off a forum.”
“Ah.” Taekwoon slides the phone back, and Jaehwan pockets it.
“Well,” he says. “What do you think?”
His gaze settles on Taekwoon like a harsh ray of light. Taekwoon winces, and rubs a hand against his face. “I don’t know what to think,” he says, and hopes the answer is enough.
Jaehwan stiffens for a moment, and then he’s sliding off the couch to the kitchen. “I’m going to start dinner,” he calls. “You wanna help?”
Taekwoon hesitates, and then pushes himself off the couch. “Yeah, sure.”
Taekwoon spends the next couple of days living on Jaehwan’s couch. He sleeps on the couch at night and then spends afternoons watching television. Jaehwan has a towel hung in the bathroom specially for him, now, and Taekwoon can feel how much he relies on Jaehwan as the days pass.
Cheongnam is now cordoned off, so no one can enter or leave the area. It won’t be long until martial law, now, Jaehwan tells him, during one of their less stilted conversations.
After their non-disagreement, Jaehwan leaves early in the morning, before Taekwoon gets up, but breakfast is always laid out for him. Taekwoon wants to wake up early, but he sleeps deeply, and he’s too embarrassed to ask Jaehwan to stop making him breakfast, or even for an alarm clock.
One evening, when Taekwoon feels the guilt scrabble at the pit of his stomach like a virus, he opens his mouth to say, “I should just go.” His voice is soft and halting and conceding, and Taekwoon hates it.
Jaehwan looks up from his plate, and their eyes lock. Taekwoon has to remind himself not to look away, and suddenly feels very small. “Hyung,” Jaehwan says, voice soft and casual. “I’m trying to help you.” Taekwoon remembers, back in the dorms, that when Jaehwan’s truly angry his voice gets choked up and wobbly.
“I think I shouldn’t be relying on you all the time,” he mutters.
Jaehwan’s mouth twists, and Taekwoon thinks he looks so cruel in that moment. Jaehwan says, “I think-”
The lights flip, and they’re encased in darkness.
Somewhere in front of him, Jaehwan’s utensil clatters against the plate. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters. Taekwoon hears his socked feet patter around him towards the direction of the kitchen. A moment later, Jaehwan emerges with a lit torchlight in his hand.
“I’ll clean this up and we’ll get an early night.” He jerks his head at Taekwoon. “Lights will be back on in the morning.”
Taekwoon passes Jaehwan his plate. Later, on the couch, he pulls the covers all the way over his head, so he doesn’t have to see Jaehwan and his hunched shoulders and angry frown. As how things go between them, Taekwoon always makes things worse when he’s trying to help.
The lights don’t come back the next morning. The television isn’t working either, and Taekwoon feels a thin thread of hysteria trickle through his veins. He curls around Kkulbbangi for comfort, and she paws and noses at him. He laughs like it’s been punched out of him, and feels his smile fall off his face the next second.
He burrows under the covers, and sleeps.
The door clicks open some time later, and Taekwoon sits up blearily to see Jaehwan kick off his shoes.
“Is the television working,” Jaehwan asks in lieu of a greeting.
“No,” Taekwoon says.
“It should be. The lights are working again.” Jaehwan says, and then leans over to take the remote from the couch.
The television blinks on. Taekwoon is instantly awake, and sits up to watch the broadcast. Behind him, Jaehwan says, “It’s a leak. Happens sometimes, when people are desperate enough.”
“Rioters?” Taekwoon ventures.
“Maybe. I wouldn’t know.”
The broadcast ends, and Taekwoon sneaks a couple of peeks at Jaehwan, waiting for him to say something. It’s incredible, how quickly they’ve recycled through the first year of their time together decades later within a single day, almost in perfect synchronicity. Except this time, they haven’t even had a good moment before it became stifling to be around each other.
Taekwoon remembers their first fight well, and how Jaehwan had gritted his teeth and shut Taekwoon down when he had tried to apologise.
He searches in his mind for something to say, and finds it. “Can I ask for another favor?”
Jaehwan sighs, as though very put upon. His laugh lines are prominent around his eyes, but now, it only serves to highlight his exasperation. “Go ahead.”
“The address of the forum. Can you…” he says, and then shuffles in his seat. His palms have turned sweaty, and he wipes them on the legs of his pants.
Jaehwan raises an eyebrow, and he bites at his bottom lip. “Sure, I’ll go write it down for you.” He stands and shuffles into his bedroom. There’s some rustling, and then he reappears with a sticky note. “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” Taekwoon says, and takes it.
“You probably need a laptop to access the website, hyung,” Jaehwan says. “And you’ve got to stop saying thank you.”
“Ah,” Taekwoon says, and looks up at Jaehwan. He’s not frowning anymore, at least. Jaehwan looks at him, considers, and then heads back to his bedroom. He walks back out with his laptop. He taps a few keys, and then holds it out to Taekwoon.
“You can use it whenever you like,” Jaehwan says, and his mouth quirks upwards, but just barely. “Except before I go to sleep, that’s when I go online.”
“Okay.” Taekwoon puts the sticky note on the edge of the laptop. “Thanks.”
“You’ve got to stop saying that.” Jaehwan’s smile isn’t wide, but it’s not unkind.
Later, after his shower, Taekwoon sits on the couch, curled up with Kkulbbangi as he browses the website Jaehwan gave him. He’s never been fond of the internet, but here, on his ex-bandmate’s couch away from home, he finds that he has the time to learn. The forum covers a variety of topics, but the most popular ones, marked with flashing stars next to the titles, are all of the recent protests.
Taekwoon clicks on the first thread, and starts to read.
When he looks up at the clock app on the laptop dashboard, he’s surprised to find that he read for almost three hours. The internet is a blackhole, he decides, and shuts it firmly. He’ll have to check the forum again tomorrow.
It’s almost close to midnight, and Taekwoon feels a small twinge in his chest. Jaehwan probably needed to use his laptop before he went to sleep, but the light in his bedroom is switched off. Maybe Taekwoon should just leave it, but it doesn’t hurt to check. He puts one hand against the door, knuckle out, and knocks.
The door, unlocked, opens a creak from the force. Taekwoon bites his lip, and his hand hovers over the door knob. Should I close it… He listens intently for Jaehwan’s reply.
Instead, he hears a soft rustling, and a low groan.
Taekwoon feels his cheeks colour so fast he can feel his blood rush past his ears, and he jerks back into the light of the living room. Jaehwan doesn’t seem to have heard him, if the next moan is any indication. Taekwoon pads over to the couch, laptop still clutched in his hands. Guess Jaehwan didn’t need his laptop tonight, after all.
Jaehwan’s door remains open, and Taekwoon can still hear it. It’s only when his hand drifts absentmindedly to his crotch that he realises that he’s half-hard.
Taekwoon gets up, switches off the living room light, and crawls back onto the couch. He puts his-Jaehwan’s pillow against his ear, and waits for his erection to subside. He adamantly pushes the memory, the moment when he opened the door, out of his mind.
The next morning, Taekwoon wakes up to a half-cold breakfast again, and the sun high in the sky. He makes quick work of his food, rinses the dish, and goes to walk Kkulbbangi. He wants everything done and out of the way for the forum.
Some of the threads about the alleged reports about the failure of the government to procure oil from the Arctic due to its obsolete relations with China. Complete with transcripts.
He powers up the laptop, and it prompts a password. Taekwoon sighs, and shuts it. It should be fine to call Jaehwan while he’s doing… whatever that he’s doing and ask him a simple question. Jaehwan seems to be back to his cheerful, attentive self again after their conversation last night. Taekwoon pointedly derails the thought of the other conversation that also occurred last night. At their age, it’s not supposed to be embarrassing, but no one talks about it, either.
He goes to the wireless and keys in Jaehwan’s phone number (written on another sticky note, given to him a few days ago).
Come to think of it, Jaehwan hasn’t mentioned a wife or a girlfriend, in any of the conversations that they’ve had recently.
The line clicks open. “Hello,” Jaehwan says, and then the noise on his side floods the line.
“Where are you?” So much for staying out of business.
“What,” Jaehwan yells, and the background roars, a conglomeration of sound surging against the phone line. “Can’t hear you. I’ll call you back.” The line goes dead. Taekwoon hangs up the wireless back into its cradle with a sigh, and then goes to flop back on the couch. It probably has an imprint of his butt on it, by this point. He switches the television on.
It’s probably been weeks since the protests started, and the news reports have started to incorporate some live updates, and opinion journalism. The live reporters look nervous, and it makes Taekwoon’s mouth curl instinctively in sympathy. The opinion segments, however, make him switch the channel.
He knows, now, that the number of blackouts has been more than he’d imagined. He also recognises some of the tactics the experts are using, blatant as they are to the trained eye. Taekwoon has had years of experience, and he knows that they’re saying nothing at all. Nothing about the state of things in Cheongnam, nothing about the looters, nothing about when he can go back home. The president’s speech weeks ago comes up on nearly every broadcast, and by the tenth replay, Taekwoon rolls his eyes and switches off the television. He counts down to the end of the speech in seconds, and turns the show back on just when the announcer turns the attention back to the panel of experts.
In the late afternoon, after the protesters have reportedly dispersed, news channels move on to discussion segments. Kkulbbangi, probably bored, nudges her head at his leg. He scoops her up, so she can watch with him.
Jaehwan opens the front door just as Taekwoon clicks the remote, and a press conference comes up. He hovers at the door, and Taekwoon can feel his eyes graze him like a bullet, before settling on the television.
“We thought we’d be the last generation to live out our entire lives,” a woman says on screen. She’s well-groomed and in a suit. The placard in front of her says that she’s a chief engineer at GoTech. GoTech, the hydroelectric company that dabbles in civil engineering. Taekwoon is pretty sure they build flats like Jaehwan’s. “Growing up, listening to people talk about radicality. It seemed like radicality has gone and made itself outdated.”
“Regret doesn’t mean much these days,” Jaehwan says. His voice stings of annoyance. Instantly, a large part of Taekwoon shrivels up at that, and he leans forward to shut the television off. He feels silly for having thought, even for one second, that the annoyance had been aimed at him. He wonders when he even started caring so much.
“It’s a small comfort,” he offers, and turns to watch Jaehwan kick off his shoes. “And welcome” -he bites back the urge to say home- “back.”
Jaehwan looks up, and like that, Taekwoon feels the world narrow to the distance between them. Jaehwan’s mouth twists, and it looks like he can’t make up his mind between frowning and smiling. He drops his backpack at the foot of the couch, and flops down on the couch adjacent to Taekwoon’s with a sigh. “Long day?” Taekwoon shifts, so they’re face to face.
Jaehwan nods, a lazy motion against a couch cushion. It makes his hair fluff up, and with his eyes shut and mouth slack, it seems almost… cute. Taekwoon is reminded of their idol days, back when he’d said, “Jaehwan looks like a manga character” unironically. That statement might still hold true after all these years.
Jaehwan rubs at his eyes, forcefully, and then sits up to look at Taekwoon. “Did you call me this afternoon,” he asks.
Taekwoon blinks, wracking his brain for memories on this afternoon that seems to have stretched for days. “Oh,” he says. “What’s the password of your laptop?”
Jaehwan holds a hand out for the laptop, and Taekwoon gives it to him. “I’ll set one for you right now. Let’s see, uhm.” He taps the keyboard a few times. “Is your birthday okay?”
Taekwoon nods.
Jaehwan’s hand hovers a long time over his keyboard, and then he shoots Taekwoon a look that seems almost nervous, his ears tinged pink. Before he can ask what that’s about, Jaehwan types down something rapidly. “Sorry,” he says. “What’s your birthday again?” He brushes a knuckle against his nose, and sniffs.
Jaehwan doesn’t seem to be having a cold. Taekwoon frowns, but he recites it dutifully. Jaehwan types it neatly into the laptop, and then turns it back to him. “It’s all yours.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Jaehwan says. He pats Taekwoon on his knee, and gets off the couch. Taekwoon bites his lip so hard he can taste blood, and clicks on a new forum with a hard tap of his finger.
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