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Open landscape rushes in front of Gunwook. The passing world has become a familiar sight, the movement of the train barely noticeable anymore. Gunwook prefers the rural scenery to that of rebuilt cities. The latter reminds him too much of home—if he can even call it that anymore.
He’s been travelling for almost a month now, freight hopping from city to city, steadily moving further south. The hwan he stole from his parents has started to run low, keeping Gunwook on an empty stomach until he reaches his destination. The first few days after they kicked him out, he felt so bad a nauseous guilt took over him. However, now that his hatred and the pain of hunger has set in, he wishes he had taken more.
As the train comes to a stop, the view turns into winding paths of separate tracks and he follows his usual routine—hiding behind crates until all the workers disperse, coming back out just to sit in the same spot as before.
The boxcar shakes as the train gradually builds into motion once again, the scene in front of him beginning to slide away.
He’s ready to close his eyes, get a few winks in while he’s sure they won’t be stopping anytime soon, when a shout comes from outside.
Gunwook stills, fear freezing him to the spot.
“Hey!” The shout comes again, closer this time.
He hesitantly moves to peer out of the boxcar, following the ground slowly rolling beneath to a boy running alongside the train, a large briefcase in one hand.
“Yeah, you!”
He doesn’t look like one of the train workers. With his dirty clothes and messy hair, Gunwook can instantly tell he’s one of them.
“Need a hand?” He calls, but instead of replying the stranger pulls his arms back, hands wrapped around his luggage.
“Catch!”
Gunwook staggers back, barely dodging the briefcase as it flies past him and into the car, landing on the floor with a loud thump. Eyes wide, he looks back in time to see the boy jump inside, the movement practiced and clean—at least until he tumbles into Gunwook. The two fall down into a mess of limbs, knocking the wind right out of him, his breath lost somewhere on the tracks, already hundreds of feet behind them.
Looking up, he finds the stranger already upright, face looming over him, tilted in curiosity.
“You okay?” He asks, overgrown black hair framing his hollow cheeks.
Gunwook couldn’t make out much about him before, but up close like this, he can see mirrored beauty marks beside each eye and the pinkness of his full lips. He shakes the thought from his head, sitting up.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
The boy lets out a relieved laugh, holding out a hand.
Gunwook takes it, surprised at the strength with which the other pulls him when upon standing, he’s face to face with only the crown of his head.
“I’m Matthew.” The boy says, his footing steady as the boxcar shudders.
“Gunwook.”
“Well Gunwook,” He starts, a smile filling his face. “I’m happy to be riding with you.”
—
They don’t talk for a while, eventually sitting down, legs dangling outside the car as they watch the setting sun bleed oranges into the sky.
Gunwook keeps sneaking furtive glances at Matthew, trying to memorize him.
After a while, the other breaks the silence.
“Where are you coming from?”
Gunwook startles when the boy catches him staring. But he doesn’t mention it, seemingly unbothered.
“Osan, south of Seoul. You?”
“Canada, technically.” Matthew says, looking out at the blur of trees. “My parents returned here for ‘family’, but I’m pretty sure they got deported.” Matthew laughs. “Came back only to die in the war.”
Gunwook frowns.
A streak of purple enters the sky, floating gently on the horizon.
“You know what? I like you.” Matthew decides.
Gunwook blinks rapidly.
“Because you didn’t say sorry.” He explains, like it’s the only logical answer. “I hate when people try to apologize for something that doesn’t involve them.” The boy sighs, turning to grin at him. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just easy.”
Heat rushes into Gunwook’s cheeks and he turns away. Matthew knocks his shoulders against him playfully, a laugh building under his breath.
“Okay, okay.” He concedes, changing the topic. “What brings you here?”
By here , Matthew means the life of train hopping—of one bag for all your belongings, of impermanence, of surviving alone.
He hesitates for a moment, the answer catching in his throat.
“My parents found out I’m gay.” He whispers.
Matthew hums, watching as the outskirts of a town move by. “I got away before anyone could kick me out for that.” He admits, voice quiet.
They are close together, knees knocking and skin brushing. Matthew moves to lay his head on the other’s shoulder and Gunwook lets him. This is the closest to a friendship he may get for a while.
As the sky blends from orange to blue, Matthew tells him about his life.
He talks briefly about the abuse his adoptive parents put him through, about being on his own for a year now. He says he’s going wherever his mind takes him.
Gunwook returns the words in his own, recalling his last interaction with his parents. He maps out his current journey to Busan in front of them, tracing lines in the air.
They discuss the war, the upcoming five year anniversary of the armistice. They talk about how everything was built back up so quickly that it feels like it never happened.
Eventually, their words turn few and far between until silence takes over. They slowly move to the back of the boxcar, all yawns and tired bodies.
They lay side by side on the wooden floor, the summer heat covering them like a blanket.
“I’m glad I met you.” the other murmurs.
Gunwook feels a pang in his chest.
Because he knows that when he wakes up, Matthew will be gone.