#onewe fic

But some nights fell silent, his apartment seemingly abandoned and leaving you alone to your own thoughts. What does he do? Is this his career? Is he in a band? With such a brilliant voice, it was too straightforward to consider the man an official performer. He could be anyone with this as his hobby, but your mind still wanted to imagine him giving these same feelings and chills to an entire crowd and not just you a floor down in your own living space.

Gut feelings, they’re seamless. Unquestionable, your instincts will always know better than your mind or heart; but you still listen to the trio in its entirety. Your mind creates scenarios you wish to play out, your heart beats harder from the imaginary feelings and reimbursing reality, but your gut always knows where you lead you that’s best.

Dark pavement beneath your shoes and a walk at a later hour than usual, it turned into what you had waited for. A small club being smoothed over by his voice, the band at his back giving each other smiles and laughs, and every single person in the crowd shivering with that same giddy emotion.

Yonghoon, the man now with a face on his body and his name on the chalkboard, had been performing for two hours before his eyes surfed over the packed club to find you. Weaseling your way past the man at the door just to peer inside and match with his dark brown eyes. You finally had the chance to see his smile light up the entire building and your heart all at once. Like when you make eye contact with an animal a long ways away and they deem you as not being a threat, keep moving along in their world—you felt comfort from seeing him in his own space.

His eyes shined like light hitting a raven’s feathers, glazed over with tears from the blazing lights over his head. Lips forming words, his voice was louder in your ears than anyone else’s. The use of the microphone at his mouth was almost unnecessary from his blaring pipes, each note capturing your feet in place like wet cement was at your ankles.

It was only when a hefty arm caught your shoulder and twisted around that you remembered you were a person in a body standing in the middle of the opening of the club. “In or out, please.” The guard at the door seemed tired of having to peel people away from the performance, but he only shook his head once at your appalled state.

But your tongue moved faster, eyes blinking in tandem with the thumping bass shaking the floor. “Out.” Every muscle contracting and releasing to pull you from the club, the oxygen around you only slipped back into your lungs as the familiar feeling of your apartment surrounded you.

“What are the odds?” You whispered to yourself, an estranged feeling now in your gut. You finally witnessed the man in his own world, not in the comfort of his home where he could belt out any note without feeling watched, and yet he still sang beautifully. As if the world turned for him like a record on a needle, he had everything in the palm of his hand.

And once again, midnight creeped around the corner. His voice painted a picture above, body cradled on the windowsill staring up at the stars. Completely undisturbed, your voice caught him first.

“Nice to know I’m not the only one listening to this every night.” The honking of horns and chatter of people still on the streets below didn’t cover your voice like you thought it would, Yonghoon standing from his sitting position to peer around.

“You saw me tonight?” His brows were furrowed, but he still wore a smile on his face.

“Only for a little bit of time, but it was enough.”

“Why didn’t you stick around?” Intrigued, he dipped himself back down onto the windowsill and ignored the cold wind of the nightly air brushing against his face.

“Call me selfish, but I prefer hearing you when we’re all alone.” You laughed at yourself silently, the same out-of-body feeling in your chest as when you saw him performing earlier that night. It doesn’t seem to let up around him at all, in fact. “I can hear you clear as day when it’s just the two of us.”

“And yet, it is ironically past midnight.”

“I don’t sleep well these days.” Your sentence was nearly halted by his overlapping sound, a defiant sight creating a delightfully understanding word.

“Ahh—” he chuckled. “A fellow insomniac.”

“That would be the term, yes.” You laughed back, but knew the two of you bonding was already a step above whatever scenario you could have ever created in your own head. Just like all humans, the imaginary person you dream and conceive when you’re away from a person you enjoy is only a concept of them. But Yonghoon was filling in his own shoes, and riddling you astounded.

“So, my new friend—” All surroundings flourished so loud you could hardly make out his voice, but even you knew what he was asking. “—what song would you like to hear next?”

two.

One song turned into two, and two turned into three. Like getting a mixtape of your favorite songs sang by your favorite vocalist, you were in your own form of heaven. Nothing in the world could touch you, not even the things that scare you most. No stress, no worries, all of it covered by Yonghoon’s voice until the sky broke with purple and blue and the sun fought to rise.

“Already dawn.” He smiled, the cracks of the fire escape helping you see his cheeks rise and head shake. “I kept you up all night.”

“I would have been awake anyways. You just gave me company and music all at once.” You hated admitting it, but having him singing for you, directly to you, made each night that you listened to him in silence feel like they were a dream, themselves. As if you hadn’t actually been here, only a cloud in the sky listening to the humans below.

“I don’t suppose you’d still like to stick with me?” He asked, peering down to find your eyes through the same cracks that you gazed up at. His smile was sideways, hair greasy from the humidity of the morning, and clothes from the same stage he had been on that night.

“Depends on if you go shower first.” His laugh is better than his vocals, that’s for sure.

“Same for you?” He questioned through his own cackle. “I’ll come down in forty-five minutes and we’ll go get coffee, yeah?”

“It’s a date.”

And a date, as seen by movies and media, is always chalked up to so many things at once they can make someone dizzy. Walking hand-in-hand or side-by-side, staring at their lips as they talk, someone paying for the entire meal instead of just one, and the oh-so-classic kiss at their front door before parting.

But Yonghoon, swooning and bright-smiled, catered to it all so peacefully. Capturing your hand as you walked together down the sidewalk to the café on the corner, paying for your drink and breakfast, eyeing your mouth as you talked and told him all you could say in a short amount of time that wouldn’t leave him thinking you’re weird for speaking so much, watching you listen attentively to his own words and stories in the mix of yours, and the best part—the kiss.

“I’ve never spent so much time with a stranger.” Admittedly, you laughed along with him in the hopes he’d understand that you hadn’t, either. “But this was thrilling.”

His eyes admired your face with the same glistening twinkle in them as when he performs, palm now against the frame of your door. He was like an embodiment of the word charming, your eyes blinking at him like he’d fade away in a mirage.

“So,” his smile, so cherishing and warm. “What’s next?”

“What does your day consist of? Considering I’ve already taken over an entire night and morning, I’ll admit I'm not ready to part just yet.”

It was the word ‘part’ that brought his pearled teeth to shine between his lips, his back to lean him forward, his face to turn opposite of yours to find your mouth in a deep kiss. Like he was sucking the air from you, you pulled back in an abrupt way that made even him laugh.

“Another try?” You asked, eyes squinting from embarrassment before they relaxed. He didn’t miss a beat, pressing his lips to yours for a second kiss.

Small movement, softness, and a flutter of your heart. The man you had listened to sing into the night’s air, faceless and nameless, had swept you off your feet with his voice and made you find solace so simply. Yonghoon, an obvious enjoyer of life and your shaking limbs in his hold as you both smiled into the kiss, had become someone important to your little world.

“What is the extreme measure here?” You asked with a heaving voice, his eyebrow cocking in wonder.

“Such as me coming into your apartment with you after only knowing you for a little over ten hours now?”

Your smile made him nod, voice small from his warm glare. “Such as exactly that.”

“Why wonder what could be if you can act on it?”

Standing outside of your own apartment with shivers running up your spine from his words, he truly did make you think. You could have said nothing last night, listened to him contently like you did every night he was home—and yet you spoke up. You could have made the conversation small, let it wither away—but you let it continue on. It was a common factor - letting your control slip from your grasp - that gave you the confidence to befriend the stranger in the first place. So why not take control now and play this out for what it is?

“Come right in, then.”

three.

Nightfall, hours of spilling life to one another, and Yonghoon with his chin in his palm and his eyes following your pacing form. Oblivious to the tiredness in your bones, darkening eyes, and slowing pace: normally you’d be crashing from sleeplessness at a time like this. But the adrenaline in your veins couldn’t leave your form with Yonghoon here, so close.

Back and forth, his stories filling your mind and helping you piece the man together. All while yours gave him a better idea of who had been listening. You had gotten more out of today than the month of listening to his voice sing notes of love songs, pain, and happiness all together did—and the lingering feeling in your stomach never subsided.

“What makes you excited?” His question caught you off guard, the few seconds of silence finally letting your mind race with the reality of having him in your safe space as he truly is.

“Hmm?” The sound wasn’t just from your curiosity of what he meant, but what he was expecting the answer to be.

“What do you think about that makes your heart race from the thought alone? Or what do you do that makes your hands shake from the enthusiasm?” He asked questions that left you on the edge of your seat and made his mind seem like a huge puzzle for you to solve. You couldn’t configure what was next, and that’s what differentiated from him in your mind and the man sitting before you now.

“There are so many examples in life that make us giddy.” He began to explain. “Sex, love, romantic acts done to or around us; they make our heart beat faster. Stepping down one step and accidentally slipping down a second is another, but it’s less controlled. Do you enjoy control?” His words seemed nearly perverted, but he had a point. When you section life off as things that can and cannot be controlled, you’re left with two very different sides.

“Control is overrated.” Your response made him sit back, tap his index finger against his chin, and his eyes roll over your frame from head to toe. “If I had any, true, sense of control—we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Valid response.” He nodded, but a pout was worn on his face. “But—” His voice was evident of a lingering question, one that had been missed multiple times all day due to not being the right moment. “—how long have you been listening to me sing from above?”

“A little over a month.”

“And you said no words, just listened?” You nodded at his questions, but your gut only tightened. “I was like your little secret.” The smirk on his lips overtook the pout, his eyes glazed over with a filter of courage and libido. “Is that what makes you excited? The thought of me?”

His palm moved from his chin to his knee in tandem with his other hand, the sweat forming from his own excitement being pressed into the fabric of his jeans.

“If I say yes to any of this—” His face was centered with yours, your pacing form finally moving in his direction after hours of keeping a respectful distance. “—would you consider me a creep?”

“And if I say I knew this entire time that you were listening to me, would you consider me a coward for not calling out to you first?”

The long nights of his vocals filling the air, all other neighbors ignoring the sound and going on with their evenings, but you being the only one to listen. It was stupid of you to think it wasn’t obvious, the sound of your window sliding open when the first note left his throat until the last echoed into the darkness. He had known for weeks, but you were on the same page of keeping your distance.

It takes every human emotion and instinct to hold back from doing something simple, common, and natural. The fight is like war—mentally, emotionally, and physically. He held back just as you did, two strangers enjoying each other’s company in silence.

“I would consider you human.” You spoke up, face feeling the heat of his cheeks as you fell down at his side to stare at him evenly. “All this time, and neither of us did anything.”

“Separate worlds mixing for a mere few hours a night, huh?” He laughed like he was being spoiled by the universe, and you were his muse.

“One last question.” You asked, tilting your head to the side. Yonghoon, casually placing his hand over your knee to rub the pad of his thumb in a circle, hummed in response. “Do we keep learning about each other, or return to the pleasing abyss?”

You meet a stranger. Hear their voice, smell their scent, catch their sight—once or repeatedly. And yet they stay at the front of your brain, the image of them like mental polaroids. Why is it that we fall in love with strangers? Everyone you meet is a stranger until you get to know them, but how can you know you love them if you’ve never met them?

One answer resides, and you didn’t have to question it for a split second—that gut feeling.

“Your call, stranger.”

Giwook is the youngest in Onewe, and even though he hates showing it, sometimes he’s a total baby. Especially when he’s not feeling well. It’s 2:34am and he’s been in his studio working all night, binging on random snacks, and junk. He wanted to continue for a few more hours, but an ache in his stomach changes his mind. Giwook always hated belly aches, and feeling sick, so when these would happen, the first thing he’s do is shuffle off to his hyung Yonghoon. Yonghoon was the mom of the group, and always took in the members when they needed something. It was late, so yonghoon was fast asleep in his bed. Giwook, hunched over a little from the ache, slowly opened the door to the others room, peeking in to see a sleeping Yonghoon. Slowly, he closed the door and tipped toed closer to his bed, stopping in his tracks as his belly let out a loud, painful gurgle. Giwook flinched and brought a hand to his protesting midsection, looking over at the boy in bed. Luckily he was still fast asleep, which gave Giwook a sigh of relief. He rubbed his belly over his shirt, carefully climbing into the bed and snuggling up besides Yonghoon. An hour or so passed, the ache in giwooks belly only worsened, a sigh in frustration fell from his lips as he turned over onto his back, looking down at the bloated orb. His movement caused his stomach to slosh, swaying his belly from the contents rocking back and forth inside. He placed his hands to each side of the wobbling mass to hold it still, letting the contents settle before letting go. “ please just digest already..” Giwook whispered desperately, watching as his belly trembled with deep grumble. He placed his hand over the belly, sighing, feeling his stomach quiver and vibrate from all gurgles and growls that rumbling through his distressed belly. His hand shifted to the side a little, over his stomach, lightly pressing his fingertips into the the organ, feeling around. He furrowed his eyebrows with worry, massaging his fingers into the mass of undigested food that laid like a rock in his stomach. He’s been binging all day, and absolutely nothing has digested, sending his whole belly into overdrive. Another gurgle shook his belly, and in annoyance, he began pushing down into his slop filled organ, trying to force the undigested food lower into his digestive track. The stomach let out a series of burbles, begging Giwook to stop, but when he continued, the belly fought back, letting out a loud, rumbling growl, his stomach pushing outwards with gas. “Ooh..” Giwook moaned, stopping and resting a hand over his stomach, only to feel another groan shift through his stomach, lurch forward, and force a loud, rumbling burp up his throat. The burp lasted for a few seconds, his whole body tensing, torso lifting from the bed a bit with the amount of force and strain his body involuntary used to force the burp up. falling back against the bed, giwook panted, looking down at his stomach in defeat, brushing off the few chunks of undigested food that he burped up onto his shirt. His stomach quivered with another rumble, causing giwook to cry out, feeling a hand place to his belly.  he turned his head to see Yonghoon laying beside him, Who just watch the whole ordeal unfold, looking over his swollen midsection. ”You know.. I would’ve preferred your voice waking me up and not the sound of an earthquake happening in your stomach..” Yonghoon chuckled, pulling the smaller in closer and cradling his rumbling belly. The night went on, slow, sweet caressing to Giwooks stomach eased it into a steady digestion, the sickly gurgling turns into a soft her, happy rumbling rolled through his stomach as the contents shifted and slowly digested.  soon the swell shifted down into his lower belly, no longer causing him pain and trouble. 

He had become a nomad once things began to settle in. Most people panicked when the beginning of the end had crept upon mankind. People were terrified to lose their lives. Those lives they complained about every day—suddenly, they wanted it back. The seven o’clock alarms and rush hour traffic. But he could escape.

He ignored the fire and kept on. 

The sound of Yonghoon’s car became music to his ears as the rumbling of the engine blocked out the sounds of the Walkers moans and groans. He had learned every single word of every single song on the CDs his parents had left behind. In particular, the Theatre of Pain CD by Motley Crue had become almost entirely worn out. But he figured, if a Walker decided to make themselves at home in his vehicle, break the thing in half and end their misery.

There’s no character to the sky above him. It’s a faded blue-grey—no clouds, no sun, no birds. It reflected the way things had become—dead.

He put in a Green Day CD as he drove down the dirt road. He played the music softly so Walkers wouldn’t hear. He focuses on the music, trying to keep his eyes off the few Walkers that were littered around the area. A large, open field stretched across his left side, and on the right, stands what he had assumed to be an abandoned neighborhood. 

As he started to turn onto the main stretch of the road, he heard screams. Not just those guttural hisses and moans from the Walkers, but a live, a young scream. There was a human nearby. 

He parked his car on the road, taking a stronghold of his knife. He prepared himself to kill anything that posed a threat, even the source of the screams. If there was one thing Yonghoon was beginning to learn since the start of it all, it was to never trust anyone.

The screams were coming from just ahead of him on the side of the road. A puddle of blood had surrounded the body that continued to let out sounds of agony and misery. Yonghoon approached slowly, steadily, keeping his focus on the knife in his hand. As he got closer to the source, it was a short-stacked, obviously younger boy. His leg was wrapped in a thick amount of cloth, which was stained red. 

“H-Help—”

“I’m gonna help you. ‘Kay?” Yonghoon inched closer, keeping his distance in case the boy decided to pounce. He noticed the boy tense up at the sight of the knife in Yonghoon’s grip. Yonghoon dropped it on the pavement. “What happened?”

The boy inhaled a deep breath before speaking. “I got shot. Some assholes just drove by and got me, they must’ve thought I was a Rotter or something.”

Yonghoon kneeled, taking a closer look at the wound. It smelled. 

“Okay. Can you stand?” Yonghoon asked as he grabbed his knife and put it back in its sleeve. The boy winced as he pushed himself off the ground. Yonghoon wrapped the boy’s arm around his own shoulders as they slowly walked back towards the car. The music was still flooding from the cracks of the windows. Yonghoon felt embarrassed for a fleeting moment, listening to Boulevard of Broken Dreams.

The boy heaved in heavy, slow breaths, and Yonghoon could tell he was trying not to let out any loud noises. 

“What’s your name, kid?” Yonghoon asked, trying to spark up some conversation. He realized though that this boy was probably in no mood to be talking when he had a gaping hole in his leg.

“It’s Giwook,” he replied.

“Cool.”

More silence.

“There’s houses over there,” the boy explained as he pointed to his right. “I was going over there then I got shot. I think I saw some light coming from over there.”

Yonghoon made a turn to the right, through a small tunnel of trees looming overhead. The sun tried its best to peek through the branches and shine on them. It was beginning to grow into nighttime, and still, the dead sky wouldn’t drop its guard to give what was left of mankind a nice sunset to look at. Nonetheless, despite the few Walkers that lingered around, the sight was rather beautiful. Again, a calming, haunting comfort.

Driving became more difficult as they entered the neighborhood. Bodies littered the street, along with debris of all sorts. Yonghoon would have been shocked if there were anyone in any of the houses.

“You stay here. I’m gonna find some gauze or something,” Yonghoon said in a low, husky voice. “If any of the Dead Ones pose any sort of threat, just scream. And here—“ Yonghoon took that Motley Crue CD out of the middle compartment and snapped it in two. “You can stab them with this.”

Then he was off. He made sure to lock the doors behind him. He didn’t know Giwook, except for that he was a tough boy for trying to live through a bullet to the thigh, but either way, he wanted to protect him. 

Yonghoon checked the houses. He skipped the ones that looked like they had been inhabited by Walkers, or the ones that were burned to the ground, which was most of them. Most of them had already been ransacked.

One smaller house that looked more worn down and barren stood towards the end of the road. It was boarded up. No windows to peek through. 

It was obvious someone was in there.

Yonghoon wasn’t sure, though, but tried anyway. 

He knocked a few times, waited, to no avail.

He let out a shallow sigh before taking another good look around the house. The area around it was clean. There weren’t any bodies or trash lying around. Yonghoon tried once more, this time, knocking quickly three times, then slowly three more times, then quickly three times. He heard the floor creak inside.

He grabbed a hold of his knife. The person behind the door was just as prepared as Yonghoon was—he pointed a large rifle right at Yonghoon’s face.

Yonghoon put his hands up, keeping the knife in his hands. The guy behind the gun nodded towards the blade, gesturing for Yonghoon to drop it. This surely wasn’t his first rodeo, having to stare down the barrel of a gun. It was how people made conversation with one another nowadays.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Yonghoon repeated with a soft voice. “I just need a little help.”

The guy scanned Yonghoon up and down. Despite the giant gun in his grip, he didn’t look that intimidating. He was shorter than Yonghoon. He had a stout build. He sported a plain, blue t-shirt and some tattered jeans. He gave Yonghoon a glare, one that told him to explain.

“I...I need some bandages. Or something. Alcohol, antibiotics...my friend is shot.”

They both paused, staring each other down. The guy with the gun whistled as he cocked his head back. Upon his cue arrived a much taller guy, however, lanky and nimble. He immediately reached for his pistol at his waistband. 

“Where?” asked the short one with a monotone voice. 

“He’s in my car.”

The other two in the house exchanged looks. “You got a car?”

“Yeah. I’ve got about three-quarters of a tank left.”

They both lowered their guns. “Take us to the car.”

And so Yonghoon did. They walked back down the road, taking out the occasional Walker. The shorter guy kept his aim on Yonghoon the whole time, though, pressing the tip of the gun between Yonghoon’s shoulder blades. The other guy took bigger strides—either because he had such long legs, or he was eager to see what Giwook and Yonghoon’s Honda had in store. Yonghoon noticed, and looked behind him at the short one. 

“We lost our friend,” he said quietly. He had a haunting grit to his voice. “You know your friend’s name?”

Yonghoon swallowed hard. “Giwook.”

The two exchanged glances again. “Not ours.”

Once they made it to the vehicle, Yonghoon pointed towards the passenger’s side. He unlocked the doors and the short guy now aimed his gun at Giwook. It only took one look at the boy to know he wouldn’t be any sort of threat.

Tall boy looked up. “They’re good.”

As their guns were lowered, they all gathered around Giwook as he hunched over in pain. He was sweating bullets—his shirt clung to his skin, his hair was oily and damp. 

“How the hell are you still alive?” asked Tall boy. Giwook gave him an annoyed expression. 

“Just give us some damn help, okay?”

Giwook leaned his head back as he closed his eyes. Yonghoon put a hand on his shoulder, which made the boy squirm. 

“He’s not infected, is he?” 

Yonghoon let out a sigh. “No. He just got shot. We just need some stuff to hold him over.”

“Take us to Gwangju, and we’ll take care of your friend.”

And so they left Yonghoon there. He had a sour feeling in his stomach, thinking about having to deal with Giwook all the way to Gwangju. Hell, he didn’t even know where he was. 

Yonghoon went into the back of the car and grabbed a half-empty water bottle from under the seat. He opened it for Giwook, then instructed the boy to drink. He could barely open his mouth, and the water dribbled all over his shirt. The stench of the boy was unsettling—the combination of his rotting leg and the sweat coating his skin made Yonghoon feel queasy. 

After what had felt like a decade, the two finally returned. Only this time, on a motorcycle, and with a box.

Without any hesitation, Short Guy threw the box into the backseat, then took out a roll of paper towel. He handed it to Yonghoon, who was still kneeling next to Giwook.

“Wrap that around his leg. Keeping that bandage on is gonna infect it,” he said. Giwook started to unravel what cloth he had on the wound, the sound of scabbed skin ripping with the cloth making everyone cringe. Yonghoon prepped the paper towel as Tall Guy kneeled next to him. 

“I’m Hyungu,” he said, looking at Giwook, then at Yonghoon. His gaze lingered on Yonghoon a bit longer—maybe, because he didn’t want to look at the gory sight of Giwook’s injury—but Yonghoon didn’t mind it. The boy had beach-blonde hair and glasses. Yonghoon was shocked they weren’t broken or anything yet. In fact, he looked rather clean compared to his accomplice.

“Nice to meet you, Hyungu,” Yonghoon replied as he helped Giwook. He held up the old makeshift bandage, throwing it behind them as he made a disgusted face. Hyungu looked closer at the wound. 

“Is there an exit wound?” Hyungu asked as he watched Yonghoon wrap the towel around Giwook’s leg. Over in the distance, Short Guy was fueling up his bike. From afar, he looked more intimidating. He had a sheer buzz cut for hair, and sported a few tattoos, at least in the spots that were visible.  

“Don’t know. It just hurts.” Giwook seethed through his teeth as the fresh cloth touched his skin. Yonghoon winced, as if he could sense the pain Giwook was in, coursing through his own veins. The sight of the wound alone made his stomach turn.

Before Yonghoon could wrap the towel around, Hyungu grabbed his hand, stopping him. Their eyes met and Yonghoon’s face washed over with confusion. Hyungu looked over towards his partner, whistling to grab his attention.

“Harin,” he shouted. “Throw me your canteen.”

Without hesitation, Short Guy—presumably Harin—tossed over a small container, Hyungu catching it in his hands without any sort of struggle. Hyungu grabbed some of the paper towel, pouring a little water on the cloth then wiping it over Giwook’s leg. The younger boy let out a painful noise of misery. Hyungu let out a shallow chuckle.

“Sorry,” he said as Yonghoon grabbed the boy’s forearm. They finished patching up Giwook.

“What exactly is in Gwangju?” asked Yonghoon. He stood from his kneeling position, which sent a sore pain through his knees and ankles. He walked around to the other side of the car and leaned against the door.

“Some refugee camp. We were headed there, then got separated from one of our own. We think he’s probably headed there.”

Yonghoon looked inside the car at Giwook, who had his eyes closed as he held his thigh. 

“They could help your friend,” Harin added. “And besides. We’re running out of resources here.”

Harin started his bike as he secured the small bag on the back of his bike, tightening the straps around the seat. 

“Do you know how far it is?” Yonghoon asked. Hyungu went back to the car, grabbing something from the box from earlier. He pulled out a tattered map. At first, seemingly useful, until Yonghoon joined Hyungu in examining the paper which had its words faded beyond recognition. The roads printed in the ink looked just like streaks of yellow sun rays on the paper. Hyungu held the paper close to his eyes, examining further.

“We just need to head south. About 100 miles.” Hyungu folded up the map, putting it into the pocket of the flannel he wore. “It shouldn’t take more than a day or two.”

And so they prepared for their trek. Yonghoon hoped and prayed for the mileage on his car to do him some justice, for he really had no idea if what was left would get them to their destination. Either way, he was determined to get Giwook some real help.

Hyungu drove with Yonghoon and Giwook, Harin led them on his motorcycle. Despite the peaceful feeling that surrounded the group, Yonghoon clenched the wheel so hard the entire time. His fingers began to cramp up. His knuckles went white.

BATTLE STUDIES ;

I. PART ONE

wc: 822

it's that time of year leave all our hopelessnesses aside it's just for a little while

II. PART TWO

wc: 2435

we'll be forgiven together we wait for space together we wait for silence

III. PART THREE

wc: 2270

waiting for the end to come wishing i had strength to stand this is not what i had planned it's out of my control

IV. PART FOUR

wc: 2251