Chapter Text
Seungkwan always figured that if he ever ran into Hansol again, post-breakup, he’d have a few choice words to share.
Who do you think you are, walking away like that? Do you realize you’re throwing away the best thing you ever had? Do you miss me? Even a little bit?
Normal ex-boyfriend sentiments.
Then the world ended.
The perfect way to finish off the shittiest month of his life, Seungkwan thought. How great. He was sure, then, that he’d never see Hansol again. Ever. That Hansol was probably dead, along with everyone else Seungkwan had ever loved, and that was that. Nothing gained, everything lost— all choice words rendered completely irrelevant.
So, obviously, when Seungkwan does see Hansol again— standing on the ground three floors below where Seungkwan is standing at the edge of his fire escape— Seungkwan thinks he’s already died.
“Are you real?” is what he says to Hansol, the first time he sees him post-breakup.
Hansol looks at him like he’s crazy. His hair is buzzed, and his arms are outstretched, and there’s blood on his cheek. He huffs, like Seungkwan has pissed him off— even though Seungkwan is hardly in the wrong here. Says— or, insists, rather, “Jump, Boo.”
And, really, what harm could it do if Seungkwan is already dead?
He closes his eyes. Lets out an errant sob. And jumps.
The last thing he feels is his body hitting the ground.
When the world ended, it did so quickly.
Seungkwan always figured it would be slow. Creeping. A soft, underwhelming crawl into full blown panic. A frog boil.
The end of the world happened fast. Much too fast to make plans, or figure out what he should do. They told him to stay, or go. Those were the options. Seungkwan looked at his tiny apartment in his sleepy neighborhood and wept, unwilling to part with the only thing he had left.
He’d already been having a bad month. The idea of trying to survive on his own outside of the city containment area was too much for him to bear.
The government provided him with a little radio for emergency updates, and small rations of food and water doled out every few days. Seungkwan shut himself up and waited for everything to go back to normal. For himself to wake up from his bad dream, and for everything to go back to normal.
That must’ve been four or five months ago. It’s hard to keep track of the days, lately. It’s the dead of summer now— the sun hangs high and beats strongly down on the city. Seungkwan’s apartment was like a hotbox waiting to blow.
Something he didn’t expect about the apocalypse is how quiet it is. No hum of electricity. No buzz of life. Everything is dead, and everyone is dying, and sometimes he hears screams as someone succumbs. There’s no music. Seungkwan misses music.
He misses music, and his friends, and his sisters. He misses fruit, and coffee, and his job. He never thought he’d miss his job, but he misses it now— so badly that it’s settled in the center of his chest as a low, dull ache. The yearning for normalcy.
Before, he’d complain about little things. Missing the bus, or forgetting an umbrella. If his food was too cold, or his clothes too warm. The idea of it almost makes him angry. What simple problems to have.
A month before the world ended, Seungkwan and his boyfriend broke up. It was mutual— technically— in the way that Seungkwan refuses to admit that Hansol dumped him— and that felt like the end of the world. He wishes that was the worst he had to deal with. He’d do anything to get that feeling back— and then the idea of wishing it back makes him angry again. How pathetic he was then. So immature. Privileged.
A few days ago, the tiny radio Seungkwan had been given by the military when they set the containment zones. Zone Seventeen is compromised. It’s less of a warning to evacuate and more of a mark of death.
Seungkwan waited for his rations to run out before he left.
He figured the worst of it would be over if he stayed a day or two— trying to peek out his window through the trees to little success. But then he ran out of time. His options were to wither away, starving to death in his apartment, or to make a run for it and die somewhat valiantly.
Somehow, through it all, Seungkwan still hasn’t gotten over his suffocating fear of death. The idea that everything will just snuff out— that there’s nothing he can do to stop it— terrifies him. That’s why he went with option two.
Seungkwan’s first kill was with his biggest kitchen knife. It left his favorite neighbor is bleeding on his rug— dead by his hand. She wasn’t what she used to be. She was one of them. The undead. He tried to tell her to back off, but the Hyeri he knew was gone— she was nothing but a groaning, hungry corpse by then.
His arms swang down to cleave into Hyeri’s skull, a twisted sob leaving his lips as her body fell to the ground, a smattering of blood dripping down his fingers. Seungkwan stuffed his face into the crook of his arm to muffle his cries.
He wishes he had a lack of will to live— but his heart still beats faster at the threat of death, and he’s too much of a coward to throw himself onto his own sword. He’s not ready to die. A hard pill to swallow when everyone else is beating him to it.
Maybe that's why he jumped for the ghost of his ex-boyfriend. On command.
Jump, Boo.
And Seungkwan did— because there were five walkers closing in on him from behind— each of them people who used to be his neighbors— and his options were to die in Hansol’s arms, or to die at the jaws of something no longer human.
Seungkwan’s head aches. He’s dizzy. His tongue tastes like metal. Iron. Is he bleeding?
“Easy—” Hansol says gruffly.
Strong hands curl around Seungkwan’s biceps, helping him up from the awkward position he’s laying in. His vision is spotty and black. It takes a good thirty seconds for him to gain his bearings. To open his eyes without the light threatening to blind him.
If he’s hearing Hansol’s voice, he must still be half-asleep. Or dead. One of the two. The only time he’s heard Hansol’s voice in the past few months has been in his dreams. He almost thought he was forgetting the cadence of it.
His vision shifts, sticking to recognizable objects. He's in the back of a car. It’s late afternoon. Hansol has no hair. Hansol is looking at him with a crease between his brows, mouth set into a serious line. He has a scar on his cheek that didn’t used to be there.
“Can you see?” he asks.
Seungkwan still doesn’t know what to make of it. Hansol shouldn’t be here. He should be dead, or long gone. Packed up with his brother and headed south. Not near the city.
“Am I dead?” Seungkwan asks. His tongue feels too big in his mouth. He swallows, but his mouth is too dry.
Hansol releases his hold on Seungkwan’s arms. He frowns. “Not yet.”
Seungkwan points a weak finger at Hansol’s chest. “Are you dead?”
“Not yet.”
“What the fuck.” Seungkwan rubs the side of his head, cranking his back to look around. They’re in an SUV. It’s clearly been sitting for a while. One of the front windows is broken— a thin fracture running through it. There’s a half-empty coffee cup in the front, like whoever was driving abandoned it.
Seungkwan’s legs are folded beneath him as if he’d been shoved into the car haphazardly. They’re parked in an alley, maybe. Right near the mouth. Hansol is looking at him like he’s worried. He’s being cautious, certainly. He’s real, and breathing, and his hair is short. Buzzed clean off his head.
He has a scar on his cheek that he didn’t have before. Seungkwan is certain that his subconscious wouldn’t make that up.
“What the fuck,” Seungkwan repeats, more stony this time. His heart starts pounding, a shot of ice running through his veins. He swallows again, scrambling to get his legs out from under him and onto the floor.
“Boo—” Hansol’s eyes go wide and frantic. “You probably have a concussion— chill—”
Seungkwan’s ears ring. He clenches his jaw, jerking away when Hansol tries to grab his wrist. “Don’t tell me to chill, Chwe Hansol, I swear to god—”
Hansol frowns again, the crease between his eyebrows returning full force. “I just saved your life, for the record.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that!” Seungkwan huffs. His head is spinning. He turns around and starts fumbling for the car door. “I’ll just go, if I’m such an inconvenience for you—”
“Boo— stop.”
“No,” Seungkwan laughs, wild and unhinged. His fingers slip before he can get a grasp on the door. “It’s clear that you don’t want me to be your problem, so—”
“Jesus, quit making noise— Seungkwan— Stop,” Hansol snaps. He launches across the car and grabs Seungkwan’s wrists. Twists them together so he can hold them tight enough that Seungkwan can’t escape. He takes a long, tight breath. “Look— I’m sorry. You’re disoriented—”
“Wow what makes you think that?” Seungkwan yanks as hard as he can, but Hansol’s grasp doesn’t budge.
Hansol’s jaw shifts. “Just, please don’t jump into the road in an infested area— calm down a second— we can figure it out— I know you don’t want to die. I definitely don’t want to die either. I’d rather we both stayed alive.”
Seungkwan sniffles. “How did you even find me, Hansol? Shouldn’t you be miles from here by now?”
“I was— but—” He winces, clenching his teeth. “Look— Chan was at work when everything happened. He’s been stuck over there, and when we heard that the containment zone broke, I offered to try to find him.”
It’s a plausible story. Chan worked at the hospital nearby Seungkwan’s place. Seungkwan had heard, maybe a month ago, that it was still holding up pretty well. There’s no telling what’s happening now.
“What about Seungcheol?” Seungkwan presses. “Jeonghan?”
There’s no way that Seungcheol would have let Hansol go on his own. Staunchly protective— the sort of older brother Seungkwan always wished he had. Jeonghan goes where Seungcheol goes, and he’d never let one of his pseudo-kids rot away in a hospital, if he could help it. Especially not Chan.
“Seungcheol hurt his leg. He and Jeonghan told me to go, and they’re going to meet us in a small town a ways away from here. That’s where we’d been until now.”
Seungkwan takes a short breath, arms folded across his chest. He doesn’t like how Hansol is using us and we. So presumptuous. He’s always been like that. Making assumptions for everyone else. For Seungkwan.
“It’s going to take a while to get there without a car. We should really start walking as soon as we can. The city is too dangerous—”
“Sorry, who is we?” Seungkwan butts in. “We’re not friends, Hansol. I don’t know why you assume I want to come with you and meet up with your group.”
“Boo,” Hansol placates helplessly, his stupid, pretty face twisting up in anguish. He reaches for Seungkwan, but Seungkwan jerks away. “Listen, Seungkwan— we were your family at one point, right? And things are different now. It’s not like— you can’t trust any stranger you meet— people are going insane. It’s always safer to stick with people you know.”
Seungkwan exhales. He refuses to meet Hansol’s eye. He wishes he could say he has somewhere else to go. That Hansol is wrong. He hates when Hansol is right.
“Jeonghan misses you, Seungkwan,” Hansol tries, softer.
A kill shot. Both of them know it.
Seungkwan and Jeonghan were always close. The day Hansol dumped him, Seungkwan spent the night in Jeonghan’s bed, crying as Jeonghan pet his head, telling him they’d figure it out. Seungkwan had been so embarrassed afterwards that he’d cut Jeonghan off completely. Didn’t answer any of his calls, or texts. Didn’t answer Seungcheol’s either. Seungkwan has been harboring guilt over it for months. He was going to text back eventually— but then the world ended.
“I’m not going to be your friend, Hansol,” Seungkwan says steadily. “Just because we’re surviving doesn’t mean anything is going to change.”
Hansol puts his hands up in surrender. “That’s fine. I’m not asking you for anything else.”
Seungkwan stares at him for a long few seconds. He sinks further into his seat. “What about Chan?”
“Oh.” Hansol fidgets, playing with his fingers. “The hospital was gutted when I got there. I don’t know—”
“That doesn’t mean he’s dead,” Seungkwan rushes, the back of his neck prickling. “Maybe he got out.”
He doesn’t know why the idea of Lee Chan being dead causes him so much strife. He and Chan would always butt heads— they’d bicker relentlessly. But Chan is Hansol’s best friend. Jeonghan’s favorite child. He was a staple. Seungkwan has never met anyone quite so full of life. The possibility that he’s been extinguished is too much to swallow.
“Maybe.” Hansol gives him a sad smile.
“I think he’s fine,” Seungkwan amends. “He’s resilient.”
Hansol doesn’t move. “Sure.”
Seungkwan’s head starts hurting again, like he’s being smacked in the temple by a hammer. He squeezes his eyes shut, groaning, shoving his head between his knees. “Ow, what the fuck.”
“Seriously, Seungkwan, you need to take it easy—” Hansol says, hand landing on Seungkwan’s shoulder.
“Stop touching me,” Seungkwan hisses, pushing through the pain to yank Hansol’s arm away from him.
“You’re concussed, Seungkwan— we’re going to need to go slow. I need you to tell me when you’re hurting so we can rest.”
“Oh, was it not obvious enough by the keeling over and holding my head?” Seungkwan snips. He turns to the side, forehead pressed to glass. He tries to breathe through the wave of pain, but his head is throbbing so severely it seems like it’s no use. “Fuck.”
“Shit,” Hansol says. Seungkwan ignores him until he feels the car door open, SUV shaking.
“What the fuck, Hansol?” He turns, eyes wide, watching Hansol step into the alley, hand at his belt.
“There’s a walker. Just— don’t move.”
Seungkwan’s heart rate picks up immediately. He doesn’t know what to say before Hansol shuts the door— he just sits up, leaning forward to look out the window. Hansol pulls a long knife out of his belt, striding purposefully towards the undead that’s coming towards the car. He reaches one hand out, holding the thing’s shoulder as he stabs it straight between the eyes. Seungkwan gags. He forces himself to look away when Hansol wipes his blade on his pants.
What the fuck? What the fuck. Seungkwan’s breathing hitches. He’s panicking a little bit. A lot a bit, maybe. What the fuck?
He squeaks when the car door he’s leaning against is flung open. Hansol looks at him seriously, eyebrows raised. He holds out a hand. “It’s time to go, Boo.”
Seungkwan licks over his bottom lip. He doesn’t have much of a choice. He can go with his ex-boyfriend, who will guarantee some form of safety— or he can wander off on his own, concussed and stupid, and hope for the best. Maybe he’d run into Chan wandering around the city. Chan would help him. But that’s such a gamble. Seungkwan isn’t ready to die. He wishes he were, honestly.
He looks up at Hansol, swallowing down the bile in his throat. “Only because I’m concussed.”
“Only because you’re concussed,” Hansol agrees— but Seungkwan can tell he doesn’t believe it. He just knows. Hansol is so full of shit. Hansol knows Seungkwan just as well as Seungkwan knows Hansol.
Seungkwan lifts himself out of the car without taking Hansol’s hand. He wobbles on his feet. Glares when Hansol goes to reach out to steady him. “I’m fine,” he lies.
“You’re fine,” Hansol repeats.
“I hate you,” Seungkwan says.
“You hate me,” Hansol echoes. His mouth is twitching up at one corner, like he wants to smile.
Seungkwan narrows his eyes. If he had a bit more strength, he’d shove Hansol against the brick wall they’re standing in front of— but he’s concussed, and stupid, and all he can manage is a passive aggressive shoulder bump as he pushes past him.
Hansol doesn’t have anything to say to that.
Seungkwan and Hansol were together for three years, two months, and eighteen days. Not that anyone’s counting. They’ve been separated for one month, plus four or five more, but it’s getting harder to keep track of the days as they go on.
When Hansol did it, he came over to Seungkwan’s apartment. He showed up, and Seungkwan opened the door with a bright smile, leaning in for a kiss that Hansol avoided by turning his cheek. Seungkwan remembers the horrible, sour feeling that bubbled up when Hansol did that. How he looked at Seungkwan afterwards. Face completely neutral. He said, “Seungkwan, I think we should talk.”
Seungkwan let him in, and closed the door behind him. He never would have imagined that Hansol would be throwing away everything they had. It didn’t feel like a possibility. The night before, Hansol kissed Seungkwan at his door and told him he loves him. Hansol has never been cruel.
Hansol has always been self-contained. Quiet. Reticent. He internalizes, and mulls privately. Whatever he’d been rolling over in his head that week must have been terribly unfavorable for Seungkwan. Seungkwan knows Hansol wouldn’t have done it on a whim.
Afterwards, when Seungkwan showed up at Jeonghan’s door, snot and tears running down his face, Jeonghan looked shocked. He thought something happened to Hansol. When Seungkwan told him what happened, Jeonghan grew confused. Then angry. He kept telling Seungkwan he has no idea why Hansol would— he had no idea.
Seungkwan believed him. He still does. He just knows that Hansol must have had a good reason— or what appeared to be one in his head. Convinced himself of it. That he was done with Seungkwan. That’s that.
In some lifetime where the world didn’t end, Seungkwan thought that they’d eventually run into each other again, somewhere down the line. Seungkwan would be completely healed. Hansol would ask for him back. Seungkwan would give— but only on the condition that Hansol knows that this is his last chance.
A stupid, silly fantasy. Irrational and unbelievable. A sure sign that he isn’t over Hansol at all. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud.
It’s hard to get over someone he was in love with for four years. It’s harder to get over someone that had no real reason to break his heart.
Seungkwan kicks a rock down the pavement. It bounces a ways, knocking off of a stalled car’s tire before coming to rest again.
They’re on the expressway out of the city, walking down the middle of the outbound side— three lanes of cars lined up and stretching for miles. When everyone tried to leave, they got stuck. Abandoned their cars and went on their way. The idea of it makes Seungkwan a little sick, but Hansol says they need to walk down this side because they should be on the lookout for anything worthwhile that was left behind.
Seungkwan is refusing to speak to Hansol, but Hansol doesn’t seem to have the same concerns. He’ll say something to Seungkwan every once in a while. Elicit an answer that goes unanswered sometimes. Seungkwan wants to hit him.
Hansol found some sunglasses in a car a mile or so back. He pulled them out and jogged to catch up with Seungkwan, because Seungkwan has been keeping at least twenty yards of distance between them. Said, “Here, this will help with the sun sensitivity.”
Seungkwan refused to take them, so Hansol shoved them into his pants pocket before Seungkwan could argue. Then he went back to walking behind Seungkwan.
They made it another mile before Seungkwan gave in and put the sunglasses on. The light really is too much for Seungkwan. His head feels like it’s going to explode. He doesn’t dare turn around to see the pleased smile he knows is on Hansol’s face. He won’t give Hansol the satisfaction.
He kicks the rock again, but this time it veers off path, rolling under a car. Another thing Seungkwan has lost. Nothing is sacred anymore. He hugs his arms across his chest, feet scraping against the ground as he walks.
It’s hot out, sun high in the sky. Seungkwan doesn’t know where they’re going, but Hansol seems to. He seems incredibly certain that Seungcheol and Jeonghan will be waiting for them at some medical clinic a hundred miles away. A hundred miles. Seungkwan is already exhausted. He can feel tears pricking his eyes. He sniffles.
Seungkwan was always certain that Hansol would survive. Or, as certain as he could be without anything to go off of. He doesn’t know why he felt so strongly about it— he just knew it. Seungcheol and Jeonghan are smart. They’d move fast. Get Hansol to safety. Seungkwan doesn’t doubt that they were loaded up in Seungcheol’s car and at Hansol’s door as soon as the news broke. Seungcheol probably had them long out of the city by the time the expressway became so congested.
If Hansol had never broken up with Seungkwan, they’d have picked Seungkwan up, too.
What is dwelling on the past even worth anymore? Nothing is the same as it was. Nothing will ever be the same again.
Seungkwan sits on the hood of a car. He pulls his legs up, dropping his forehead to his knees. His breathing feels uneven, like he’s going to start panicking.
“Have some water, Boo,” Hansol says, appearing out of thin air. “We’ll rest as long as you need, I just want us to get off the highway by nightfall.”
Seungkwan refuses to look up. He knows Hansol is holding out a bottle for him, but he doesn’t care to take it.
Hansol waits for a few beats, saying nothing. There’s a soft noise against the metal of the carhood. A plastic bottle rolls into Seungkwan’s hip, staying there. Seungkwan can hear Hansol’s shoes against the ground as he walks away.
Seungkwan counts to one hundred before he gives in and picks up the water. He drains all of it in one go. Throws the bottle to the side. He doesn’t look for Hansol. He doesn’t care. He’s afraid if he starts looking, he’ll realize that he does care— way too much.
Hansol and Seungkwan met almost a full year before they started dating.
Hansol got hired as a first year at the same firm Seungkwan did. They shared a cubicle space— their first job out of college. Seungkwan knew he wanted Hansol immediately. Hansol was sweet, and gentle, and incredibly handsome. He never took anything too seriously, and one time, when Seungkwan was crying after a particularly bad performance review, he turned him around in his spinning desk chair and wiped the tears off of his cheeks for him. Said, “Fuck them, Boo.”
That’s when Seungkwan knew he would fall in love with Hansol if he were given the chance.
He kissed Hansol the first time, after months of pining. A stupid, drunken thing as they left a company dinner. Hansol looked at him with wide eyes, and he held Seungkwan’s shoulders, and said, “Seungkwan, you’re drunk, I’m going to take you home.”
The next morning, Seungkwan skipped work because he was so humiliated.
The next morning, Hansol came to work and quit. Walked into their boss’ office, terminated his own employment, effective immediately. He walked calmly into their cubicle afterwards, and gathered his things. Got on a train and came straight to Seungkwan’s apartment door. Knocked.
“Did you mean to kiss me?” he asked.
Seungkwan, still catching up, replied, “I mean— I meant to— but I was really drunk— but I wanted to— unless you didn’t want me to— then it was a mistake—”
Hansol kissed him that time. Said he quit his job because the only reason he was sticking around was to see Seungkwan every day. He hated it. Always had. He wanted to do something more creative with his life. He asked Seungkwan if that was okay, as if Seungkwan would tell him no.
Seungkwan fell in love with him hard and fast. Hansol is easy to fall in love with. He’s everything Seungkwan dreamed of and more. Kind, and soft, and smart. He’s tidy, and he likes babies and animals. He’s a good listener, he never minds when Seungkwan talks too much.
He’s quiet. To a fault. Seungkwan wishes he were less quiet sometimes. He wishes Hansol didn’t lock everything up and keep it so close to his chest that it’s impossible to tell what he’s feeling, or thinking about, or considering. He wishes Hansol wouldn’t make so many goddamn assumptions all the time after spinning ideas around in that thick skull of his over and over.
Hansol turns his head, and Seungkwan quickly drops his gaze. He’s been staring. Tracing the line of Hansol’s jaw with his eyes. The new scar on his face. The clean line of his shaved hairline.
They’ve stopped in a house. One of the suburbs outside of the city. Someone who isn’t alive anymore lived here. Hansol did a sweep of the upstairs. Said he found three dead walkers and a fire stoker. Seungkwan doesn’t want to know what that means about whoever the fourth person was that had been here with them.
All the doors are locked, and there’s no undead in the house, but they still sleep on the living room floor. It feels safer to have multiple points of exit. “The most dangerous thing isn’t the walkers, it’s other humans,” Hansol muttered to himself earlier. He’s quit talking directly to Seungkwan— started talking in a general sense. Into the air. Musings on what he’s doing that he knows Seungkwan will listen to.
There’s an unboiled pot of water on the stove. Leftover from before. There’s trash in the bin, and shoes by the door. There’s blood on the stairs. Pictures on the wall. A family with two children— growing up into adults.
Everyone has lost so much. Many lost everything.
As silly as it sounds, Seungkwan feels like he lost everything before the world even ended. Seungkwan had built his life around Hansol. Hansol’s friends were his friends. They were his family. He turned down a job offer for Hansol. He planned to be with him forever. He had no one after Hansol left— and he pushed himself as far from Jeonghan as possible, because it hurt too much.
It’s not like Seungkwan had no one else— but he’s lived so far from his family for so long that there was already a sense of disconnect. They had their own lives, and he had his. But Hansol was his life— not in any bad way— it was an active choice. Seungkwan wanted them to share that together.
Seungkwan will never see his mother again. Or his sisters. It’s something he’s thought about over and over again— he’s become numb to it. He’s run out of tears to shed. The grieving for something that will never be— that was and is no longer.
It’s strange knowing that they could be alive. Somewhere. That if they are, he still won’t see them. He can’t decide if that’s worse. Or better. He can’t decide.
Eyes drifting back up to Hansol after he turns away again, Seungkwan breathes out through his nose. His head aches. Hansol looks so serious. He used to be softer around the edges. When he focused, he’d go straight-browed and steady-eyed. As soon as Seungkwan caught his attention, it would melt away. Intense, sure, but warm. Now Hansol looks like he’s seen someone die. Multiple someones, probably.
And Seungkwan can’t let himself go tender over things like that. Hansol ended things. He didn’t want to see Seungkwan again. He only has him here now because he feels bad for him. Because Seungkwan would die without him, and Hansol isn’t a monster.
Seungkwan sniffles. His eyes water. He turns his back to Hansol and curls in on himself on the floor, throw pillow stolen off the couch stuffed under his head.
The apocalypse is quiet. No hum of electricity. Just the sound of Hansol’s breathing, and the muffled noise of Seungkwan’s stuttered inhales as he desperately holds back tears.
The first time Seungkwan met Hansol’s friends, he knew that theirs was a thing that would last.
He fit right in. Chan bickered with him immediately, and Jeonghan fussed over him. Seungcheol gave up his tough protective schtick as soon as Seungkwan smiled. They were warm, and welcoming, and Hansol blushed when he told Seungkwan that he’d never introduced anyone to them before— because he was never serious about anyone like that.
When they went back to Seungkwan’s apartment afterwards, Seungkwan cried.
“Seungkwan, what’s wrong, baby?” Hansol asked, forehead creased and eyes serious. He ran his hands up and down Seungkwan’s arms, warming him up.
“I’m just—” Seungkwan let out a watery laugh. “I’m just so happy, Hansollie. I haven’t been this happy in a long time. I feel like I… belong.”
Hansol’s face softened. He brought his fingers to cradle Seungkwan’s face, thumb stroking over his cheek bone. Smiled— just the barest curve of his lips. “You do belong, Boo. We make sense, don’t we?”
“Yeah. We do,” Seungkwan agreed.
When they kissed, it felt different. More solid. Like they were promising something larger. That’s the moment Seungkwan knew that Hansol was the one. A feeling he’d never had with anyone else— because it’s a forever feeling. Hansol is the only one that Seungkwan wanted forever.
They made love in Seungkwan’s bed, and Hansol told him he loved him for the first time, sweaty foreheads pressed together, basking in the afterglow. Seungkwan said it back. Of course.
The apocalypse is lonely. Quiet.
They spend a couple of days walking. Seungkwan has to take breaks more frequently than he should. Hansol hovers, but keeps his distance. Seungkwan still refuses to say more than a few words to him.
They’ve made it out of the metropolitan area— forest getting thicker and houses slowly thinning out. Wherever Seungcheol and Jeonghan are, it’s far out. Hansol told him it would take about a week.
Seungkwan’s legs ache. He’s still too dizzy— he still has a nearly constant, lingering headache. He wants to ask Hansol how he knows they’re going in the right direction, but that would require him to speak to Hansol, and Seungkwan is stubborn to a fault.
At this point, if he were to give in, it would feel like giving up. Letting all of his qualms go. Forgiving Hansol for breaking his heart. (He’s well aware things don’t work like that, but it feels like they do.)
Around lunch time, they took a break at an abandoned shopping center. Seungkwan sat down and nursed his headache. Hansol filled up his backpack with water bottles that he pulled out of the staff room of a car dealership.
It starts raining at some point. Thick clouds, lightning and downpouring raining. Seungkwan squeaks and follows Hansol into the grocery store at the end of the block.
“We’ll just set up here for tonight, I’m assuming the rain won’t clear anytime soon,” Hansol says, dropping his bag next to Seungkwan’s feet before splitting off to explore. “Yell if you need anything,” he says as an afterthought. That’s all Seungkwan is, anyway.
Seungkwan drags their things into a little room near the front of the store that must have been used for security. There’s a bank of monitors that have long been disconnected from power. Lots of dust. A cup of coffee with mold swimming on the top.
“Gross,” Seungkwan frowns. He takes it outside to dump it out. The rain hits the pavement with loud smacks. Stench of death lifting from the air for a bit to make way for freshness. Seungkwan takes a deep breath, blinking back the sting in his eyes.
He used to hate the rain. It would ruin all of his favorite activities. Biking. Volleyball. Picnicking. Now it feels like a relief. A reprieve from the hell of how they’re living. A break from reality— time standing still for a bit.
Seungkwan waits in the doorway until he catches a chill from the cool air. On his way back in, he ducks below one of the cash registers and finds a bottle of air freshener. Brings it back to the little room and sprays the spot where the offensive, rotting coffee sat. It’ll never be perfect, but it’s something.
He sits down against one wall, legs pulled to his chest, chin on his knees. Rain pounds down against the roof. Seungkwan wishes he could listen to music. He wishes he could watch TV. Buy a new pair of shoes just because. He wishes he could go to the doctor to get medicine for his head. Painkillers, maybe. He wishes that he could take a hot shower. Wash his clothes in a machine instead of by water bottle in the sink. He wishes he didn’t have to make do— but it’s a useless thing to wish for now.
Hansol seems decently well adjusted. He knows what he’s doing. He knows where to find food— what’s okay to eat and what isn’t. He’s been on the outside since the start, but Seungkwan has been in. Hansol has gained survival instincts. Seungkwan has been wasting away, making himself useless because he was scared. Hansol knows where to look for water sources, he knows how to kill walkers, and which places they’re more likely to be.
If Seungkwan didn’t have Hansol with him, he’d have died immediately. Even if the walkers in his apartment building hadn’t done it— it would have happened before he left the city. He’d have gotten overwhelmed and curled up. Eaten some bad food and starved on accident. Hansol is the only thing keeping him alive. They both know that. Seungkwan hopes he doesn’t get tired of it. Wouldn’t be the first time.
There’s a soft knock on the door, Hansol standing in the entryway with bright eyes, a grocery bag full of products hanging over his arm.
“Can I come in?” he asks.
What a stupid question. Seungkwan frowns. “I can’t stop you.”
Hansol doesn’t flinch. He steps inside. Closes the door behind him, but leaves it just a crack open. He squats down in front of Seungkwan, setting the bag down on the floor. Starts rummaging through it.
“I found some acetaminophen,” Hansol murmurs. He pulls out a bottle of pills. Sets it on the floor and nudges it towards Seungkwan with his knuckles. “You can have three every six hours. But just make sure you’re drinking enough water.”
Seungkwan eyes the bottle. He so badly wants to reject it— but he’s tired, and he’s in pain—
He snatches the bottle from the floor. Presses down and twists off the cap. Thumb through the foil over the opening, tipping three pills into his palm. Hansol has an opened water bottle waiting for him.
“We’ll just have to guess on the time,” Hansol says. He continues searching through his spoils after he hands off the water. “I think I’ve got a decent internal clock.”
“What time is it now?” Seungkwan asks. He’s being a bitch, because he can. He just wants to tell Hansol he’s wrong.
Hansol hums. “Maybe three in the afternoon.”
“Wrong,” Seungkwan says blandly. Hansol laughs, a huff in the back of his throat. Seungkwan points at the clock on the wall. It’s stopped— probably hasn’t worked in a while. It’s stuck on twelve forty two. Not three.
“Well,” Hansol mumbles. There’s a tiny smile on his lips.
Seungkwan ignores the heat flooding his face. He hates how easy Hansol brings it out in him.
Hansol produces a can from the bag. Holds it out to Seungkwan. “Look what I found.”
It’s a can of Spaghetti-O’s. Seungkwan used to love them when he was a kid— and every time he was sick, he’d make Hansol go pick some up from the store. “I used to love these,” Seungkwan says.
Hansol nods. I know, his eyes say. He gently shakes the can, asking Seungkwan to take.
Seungkwan sniffs. Tipping his nose up. He doesn’t say thank you. That makes things too easy. He tucks himself up in the corner with his can. He doesn’t even have anything to open it with, but he’s suddenly hungry. He searches through his pockets, but only comes back with his keys. Maybe that will work.
He takes the sharp edge to his apartment key to the top of the can, trying to saw through metal. He’s barely making a dent. Hansol keeps looking up at him. Hesitating. Seungkwan refuses to give him the satisfaction.
“Boo, let me help,” Hansol says eventually, a little exasperated. He scooches across the floor, reaching for Seungkwan’s can.
Seungkwan doesn’t have the energy to resist. He gives Hansol the food, hands falling flat against his thighs, staring at the ground. Hansol uses his pocket knife to cut a jagged edge around the lid of the thing. Turns back around and produces a plastic wrapped spoon from somewhere in his bag.
He hands both back to Seungkwan at once. “Be careful with that edge. Don’t cut yourself,” he says softly.
“Thank you,” Seungkwan manages, voice small. He curls in on himself as he starts to eat. It tastes odd cold, but he can’t be picky. It tastes how it should. He misses how his life used to be.
Hansol goes back to whatever he was doing. He doesn’t make a deal out of Seungkwan speaking to him. He’s not the type. Chan would be— but Chan is probably dead.
They exist in quiet companionship for a long time, Seungkwan resting his head against the wall after he finishes eating, trying to soothe the buzz in his skull. Hansol takes everything out of his backpack and reorganizes. Making sure he can fit everything he wants to. He finds another backpack in the store for Seungkwan, too. Packs it with much less, but doesn’t mention it. He puts Seungkwan’s painkillers in the front pocket. Water in the back. More Spaghetti-O’s.
He doesn’t rest until he’s finished. Then he lays down. Head resting on his bag like it’s a pillow. He stares at the ceiling blankly. Rain still smacks against the roof, thunder rumbling in the distance.
Even breaths. When Hansol sleeps, he does so on his back. He looks dead. Even breaths, and mouth in a flat line. He looks peaceful. Seungkwan was always jealous of that. Hansol can sleep anywhere.
His long lashes rest on his cheeks, chest rising and falling. He speaks eventually, forehead creasing. A sure sign he’s been thinking about it for a while. Choosing his words.“I’m afraid they won’t be there when we get there,” he says. He doesn’t blink. “What if they’re dead?”
“I don’t know, Hansol,” Seungkwan says. It sounds fake coming out— like he’s placating a nosy child. “What if they are?”
Hansol frowns deeper. His brow twitches. “I don’t know what I’d do.”
“You’d survive. Just like you’ve been doing.” Because what is the difference, Seungkwan wonders— if they never find Seungcheol and Jeonghan. Things will move on as they always have. No answers. No certainty.
Hansol turns his head, to look up at Seungkwan. “Seungcheol handled it. Jeonghan. I was just there.”
“You made it to me somehow.”
“It’s different.”
Seungkwan sighs. He doesn’t owe Hansol anything. He doesn’t want to owe Hansol anything. But he feels like he needs to hear this as much as Hansol does. “You’ll survive, because that’s what you have to do. Because there’s nothing else out there, and this is all we have. We’ll just have to survive it. If that’s what happens.”
Hansol turns back towards the ceiling. He folds his hands over his stomach. Exhales through his nose.
Neither of them speak for the rest of the night. It takes Seungkwan a long time to fall asleep, even though he used to be able to sleep better with Hansol next to him.
Seungkwan got offered a big promotion a few months before the world ended. Huge pay raise. More responsibility. More benefits. He’d been working towards it for a year. Putting in everything he had for the chance to move up. He and Hansol had planned on moving in together once they had a more stable income.
“But, you’ll have to relocate,” his boss said. “To the Southern branch.”
That was it for Seungkwan. He bowed. Said, “Thank you so much for the offer, but I won’t be able to take it. My life is here.”
His boss looked at him like he was stupid. “This sort of opportunity doesn’t come up often, Seungkwan.”
“I know. But it’s not an option right now. In the future, if you have a position that would keep me here, I would be honored to be considered.”
The look on his boss’ face made him certain that it wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. A dark pit sunk in Seungkwan’s stomach. Not quite regret. He didn’t regret it, even as he sat on it during the day. Moving wasn’t an option. Hansol had just found a job with another artist that he was really excited to work under— and Seungkwan wouldn’t ask him to leave for a job he didn’t even like much. Seungkwan never liked his job much, but it paid his bills.
When Seungkwan met Hansol for drinks after work, he told him not right away— but after a few— when his cheeks were flushed and his lips were loose. “I got offered the promotion today.”
“You did?” Hansol reached for him. Held his hand. “Boo— that’s amazing, why didn’t you say anything sooner? We should be celebrating—”
“I turned it down.”
Hansol stilled. “What?”
“It would have required me to move. The job is at the Southern branch.”
“Seungkwan.” Hansol’s brows pulled together. “I mean— we could figure it out, if you wanted the job— it’s not— I don’t want you to hold yourself back for my sake—”
“I’m not, Hansollie.” Seungkwan’s stomach turned. He’d drank too much. “I’m committed to this. I don’t want to do long distance. I want to stay with you.”
Hansol’s thumb ran over Seungkwan’s hand. He studied him for a few long minutes. Got quieter for the rest of their last drink.
He walked Seungkwan home afterwards. Kissed him at the door, but declined to stay. Seungkwan felt uneasy about it. He didn’t know what he did wrong. Worried about it all night. Called Jeonghan in the morning.
“Hansol just needs time to think things over. He doesn’t do well with change.”
“But nothing changed! That’s the point!” Seungkwan let out a watery laugh.
“I know, Seungkwan. Just give him time. He’ll be fine.”
And Seungkwan did. And Hansol was fine. He was back to normal the next time he came over. He brought flowers to say sorry. Kissed Seungkwan like he was sorry.
Seungkwan thought that was the end of it. That they’d overcome to bumps in the road and moved on.
Seungkwan thought that he would survive longer than a week after Hansol found him.
His chances had improved. If he was doomed to live for one day without Hansol, with Hansol he was hoping he’d be guaranteed at least a good month. It felt reasonable.
The worst part about the undead is that they’re people. They look like people. They groan like people. They have hair, and fingers, and they walk on two legs.
There’s a horde of them, and Hansol and Seungkwan got separated. Hansol started fighting. He turned to Seungkwan and told him to fucking run, Seungkwan. Save yourself.
And now Seungkwan is backed against a wall in an alley— a walker coming towards him. He has no knife. No gun. It’s coming at him with gnashing teeth and growls— and it looks like Chan. It looks like Chan, and that’s why Seungkwan hesitated. It’s probably not Chan— but Seungkwan still hesitated, and now he’s going to die.
“Please don’t,” he begs uselessly, arms stretched out in front of him, bricks digging into his back.
The walker doesn’t stop. It gets closer. Close enough that Seungkwan has to stop it with his hands. His palms meet greasy, rotting flesh. Thumbs sinking through the outer layers of skin. His stomach turns. He chokes on a sob.
As soon as he gets nicked by teeth, his life is over. The walker snaps, head lolling towards his arm. It narrowly misses him. It’s surprisingly strong— shoving its entire bodyweight into Seungkwan to try to get closer.
It won’t grow tired. It will keep up forever. Seungkwan might be better off saving his strength. Dying with dignity while he has it left.
Despite everything— he still doesn’t want to die. That’s why he went with Hansol in the first place, isn’t it? Sacrificed his heart for life. Bruised ego and nothing more to gain or lose.
“Please— leave me alone. I’m not ready to die,” he pleads. The walker doesn’t stop. Seungkwan’s fingers sink deeper into flesh, bloody and grisly. He gags. His arms are growing weak.
The walker looks like Chan. Maybe it is him. Maybe he made it this far and fell victim just like this.
Seungkwan killed his neighbor, but he hesitated with this thing that might be Chan. His muscles wobble, biceps giving in. Teeth clack next to his cheek. He can feel tears rolling down his face— he hopes Hansol moved on. Or Hansol is already dead, too. As awful as it sounds. He hopes Hansol doesn’t have to see him after he’s died.
Eyes squeezed closed, Seungkwan waits for the pain to come.
It doesn’t come. The weight is lifted off his arms. He yelps. And Hansol is there, in front of him, covered in walker guts, shoving the walker that was going for Seungkwan against the ground and shoving his foot straight through its skull. He doesn’t stop. He keeps stomping on it like it has personally offended him.
Seungkwan clamps a hand over his mouth to muffle his cry. His legs give out under him, sliding down to the ground.
Hansol straightens like he’s been snapped out of a daze. His eyes soften out from the intense anger he’d been wearing as he killed the thing. He rushes over, crouching down in front of Seungkwan. He cups Seungkwan’s face in his hands, smearing blood across his cheeks in the process. Seungkwan would care more if he could breathe properly. He’s hyperventilating.
“Boo. It’s okay. We need to go.”
Seungkwan lets out a strangled noise.
“I know, Seungkwan. We’re okay. It’s alright. Can you get up?”
He shakes his head. Hansol frowns. He looks over his shoulder. Turns back around.
“We’ll stop as soon as we’re safe, Boo. I promise, baby.”
Some of the fog in Seungkwan’s head clears. Just enough for him to feel the bubble of anger in his gut. Rage. “Don’t fucking call me that,” he breaks. He tries to shake Hansol off, but Hansol stays in place.
Hansol grins. Wild and unhinged. He looks mad. “There you are. We need to go now.”
He doesn’t waste time. He practically hauls Seungkwan to his feet. Drags him out of the alley and turns the corner.
They run for a while. Seungkwan can’t keep track of how long. He’s stumbling, and Hansol is chanting praises at him, telling him a little bit further. Seungkwan is choking on every breath that comes out of his mouth.
Finally, Hansol lets them rest when they come up to a house. He forces his way though the front door. Sits Seungkwan down on a chair in the dining room and disappears as he sweeps the place.
Seungkwan can’t catch his breath. He can still feel his thumbs sinking into walker flesh. He has guts under his nails. His vision swims as he stares at his palms.
“Okay,” Hansol says. He drops his bag near Seungkwan’s feet. Carelessly pours a bottle of water over a washcloth he must have found in a linen closet.
Seungkwan cries the entire time Hansol cleans them off. He cries as Hansol checks him over for bites.
After they’re more or less clean— Seungkwan starts shaking. A tremble beginning deep in the center of his chest and working its way out into his arms and legs.
“It looked like Chan,” Seungkwan says, his voice cracked and raw. “What if it was Chan?”
Hansol stands in front of him, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “What if it was?” he asks.
“You killed him.”
“No. I saved you,” Hansol says. The serious line of his brow won’t give. His mouth flat. “That’s all that matters. I’d kill a thousand of them if it meant saving you, Seungkwan. No matter who they were.”
An errant sob racks Seungkwan’s body. He stands up, and Hansol’s eyes search, wondering what’s wrong. Seungkwan takes two shaky steps, and collapses into Hansol’s chest. Hansol huffs. He staggers, but then steadies. Wraps his arms around Seungkwan’s back, and lets him cry.
He holds him, and lets him cry, hand running soothingly up and down Seungkwan’s back.
“I know,” Hansol murmurs into Seungkwan’s hair. “I’m sorry, Boo.”
“I don’t know, Seungkwan—” Hansol said when he did it. “I just feel like we need time apart to figure out who we really are.”
They were sitting at the kitchen table. Seungkwan had brewed tea, because he was nervous, and needed something to do with his hands. But it just sat there, quietly steaming.
He stared at Hansol blankly. “What are you talking about? I know who I am. We’re not kids, Hansol, we’re twenty-seven years old.”
“I know that— but we were basically kids when we started dating—” Hansol said. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Exhaled like he does when he’s having a hard time explaining himself. “And I know that you’re holding yourself back for me— it’s killing me, Boo.”
“What are you talking about?” Seungkwan’s voice didn’t shake. His heart slowed, preparing for the fall.
“I just don’t want to commit to forever until we’re both sure that this is what’s best for us.”
“Are you— fucking kidding me?” Seungkwan barked out a sick laugh. He felt a sick satisfaction when Hansol flinched. “I’ve already committed to you forever. I’ve made decisions so that we can have forever.”
“It’s not too late to change them, Seungkwan. And I think you should—”
“You’re a fucking asshole, Hansol,” Seungkwan said tonelessly.
“Boo—”
“No, don’t call me that. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Another laugh. Seungkwan stood up. Hansol mirrored him. Tried to get closer. Seungkwan shoved him away by the shoulders, not letting him reach. “What’s best for us? You’re what’s best for me, Hansol. I’m so sorry that I didn’t realize that I’m not best for you, but I thought you loved me too. You told me you love me just last night.”
Hansol had the gall to look hurt. “I do love you, Seungkwan. Of course I do.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing this for!?”
“I just—” Another hand through his hair. Hansol looked anywhere but Seungkwan. He took a steadying breath. “I think we need to take a step back and reassess. Before we make any serious decisions, and it gets a lot harder to back out.”
“You’re breaking up with me?” Seungkwan’s hand curled around the lip of his kitchen counter. “Are you really breaking up with me?”
Hansol winces again, but Seungkwan got no satisfaction that time. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Get the fuck out of my apartment,” Seungkwan said steadily. He pointed to the door.
“Seungkwan—”
“No. I’ve heard enough. I get it. You’re done with this. The commitment is too much.”
Hansol didn’t deny it. He just took a deep breath, eyebrows pulled together. “Seungkwan— I just don’t think we know what we want—”
“I know what I want, if you don’t know what you want, then you need to leave. I want you to leave. How’s that?”
And Hansol did leave.
The world ended a month later.
Hansol starts getting nervous as they get closer to the meeting spot.
He wants to make more frequent stops. He’s pacing. He’s driving Seungkwan half insane.
Seungkwan had been ignoring him again— after the night they spend wrapped up in each other’s arms. Hansol didn’t let Seungkwan go, even after all of Seungkwan’s tears dried, and he quit sniffling. He hummed a low tune as Seungkwan fell asleep. In the morning, Seungkwan sprung away from Hansol like he’d been burned. Said, “This never happened.” Hansol stared up at him from the floor, and said, “Okay.”
They kept walking. Right up until they reached the final stretch of highway leading to the place. Hansol said it’s just a couple more miles up the road.
Seungkwan is sitting on a rock as Hansol paces. Another break. Seungkwan is sick of it. He’s going to start walking again if Hansol is like this. He’ll just refuse to stop until he finds it.
“Hansol, if you keep putting it off, we’re never going to make it, and then it doesn’t even matter if they’re alive or not,” Seungkwan snipes.
He feels a little bad about how harshly it comes out, but then Hansol stops walking. Looks at him. Says, “I know. You’re right.”
“Wow,” Seungkwan snorts, standing up. “Never thought I’d see the day where you admit that.” He keeps walking without looking back, leaving Hansol to hurry to grab their things and catch up.
Hansol’s sneakers shuffle against the pavement as he jogs to match Seungkwan’s pace. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Seungkwan glares at him. He keeps his mouth shut, and keeps walking.
“When have I ever said you’re wrong, Boo? Seriously. I’ve always gone along with whatever you say,” Hansol continues. He’s getting irritated now, Seungkwan can hear it in his voice.
Technically, Hansol is right. Most of the time, Hansol would just do whatever Seungkwan asked, or said. He’s docile. Type B to Seungkwan’s Type A. But he’s still stubborn. They both are. That’s how they ended up broken up in the first place, isn’t it?
“I don’t feel like telling you if you don’t know,” Seungkwan says haughtily.
Hansol scoffs. He mutters something to himself. “Look, Seungkwan, you have to give me a little bit if we’re ever going to work anything out.”
“Good thing we’re never going to work anything out.”
Another scoff. A bitter laugh.
At least this is keeping Hansol distracted. He’s less of a bother when he’s pissed off than he is when he’s anxious over some scenario he concocted.
“I don’t know why you’re being like this. This is all we have, Seungkwan. We’re going to have to talk about it sometime,” Hansol says.
Seungkwan rolls his eyes. He picks up his pace a bit. “Says who?”
“Says me!”
“Who died and made you king, Chwe Hansol?”
“Literally everyone died! Everyone’s dead!”
“You would have been a terrible lawyer.”
“Well thank god I wasn’t, that would be particularly useless in the apocalypse, wouldn’t it?”
Seungkwan sighs, long and dramatic. They fall into a stilted silence for the next ways. Shoes on road, wind whistling through the trees.
Just as Hansol opens his mouth again, starting, “And, by the way—” he stops. Stops walking.
Seungkwan stops too, turns around to give him hell, but his attitude drops when he sees Hansol’s face. “What?” he asks.
“That’s the place.” Hansol points off the road. A ways through the trees is a building. It’s hard to see clearly, but it’s certainly a building.
“Okay. What are you waiting for?” Seungkwan raises a hand limply in the direction of the clinic.
“What if someone’s there?”
“I hope someone is there. It would make my life a hell of a lot easier,” Seungkwan says. He turns. Changes path towards the building.
Hansol takes a second to catch up, but then he pulls ahead of Seungkwan, staying close enough that he can reach if he needs to.
They’re still too far to see much, but Seungkwan swears he sees a flicker of movement. Hears someone laugh in the distance. His heart rate picks up. He draws closer to Hansol on instinct.
It becomes clear that there’s someone there the closer they get, trees thinning out.
A lone figure bent over a row of plants outside. Hansol perks up at first— but he wilts the closer they get. It becomes increasingly obvious that the man standing outside isn’t any of theirs. He’s lean, with messy hair and slender arms. He’s wearing a shirt Seungkwan swears used to be Chan’s. One Seungkwan would always make fun of Chan for, because it had a lame cartoon on the front.
Seungkwan doesn’t mention that to Hansol. He doesn’t think it would be helpful.
Hansol puts his hand on his belt, where his knife is sitting. The man outside is hunched over his plants. He’s picking tomatoes and dropping them in a bucket. Humming to himself. He doesn’t notice them until Seungkwan steps on a twig. Then his head snaps up. He narrows his eyes. Stands up, putting his hands on his hips. He very strategically moves so that his shirt lifts up over one side of his waist, revealing a pistol holstered at his hip.
One of Hansol’s hands finds Seungkwan’s wrist, fingers curling around him, grasp tight.
“How can I help you?” the man asks, voice level. Seungkwan’s eyes drop to his shirt. It’s definitely the same, stupid shirt Chan used to wear. Did this guy kill Chan and steal his stupid shirt?
“Who are you?” Hansol asks before Seungkwan’s thoughts can spiral further.
“Who am I?” The man points at his own chest. Then to Seungkwan and Hansol. “Who are you? This is my place.”
Hansol tugs sharply on Seungkwan’s arm, maneuvering them so Seungkwan is halfway behind him, as if his body could shield him. “Are you alone?”
The stranger’s face goes stony. He straightens up. Hand lingering near his gun. “What’s it to you?”
“Hansol—” Seungkwan hisses. “He has a fucking gun—”
Hansol glances at Seungkwan, eyebrows pulled together, mouth downturned. “I’m looking for my friends. I was supposed to meet them here.”
I’m looking for my friends, Hansol said. Seungkwan feels a sour taste building at the back of his tongue.
The man blinks. Drops his hand from his hip. “What’s your name?”
“Vernon.”
Seungkwan flinches at the use of his middle name. Hansol hasn’t gone by that since university. He had been talking about using it when he published any of his work. Never got around to it.
The stranger goes bug-eyed. His lips drop into a surprised o. “Oh, shit! No way. How’s it going, man. I totally thought you were dead,” he says, trekking across the grass toward them, hand outstretched and stupid grin plastered across his face.
Hansol doesn’t take it to shake. He holds Seungkwan tighter. Backs them up a step or two.
The guy doesn’t seem bothered. His smile doesn’t falter. “Don’t worry, the gun isn’t loaded. We ran out of ammo ages ago,” he laughs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “And you must be Seungkwan,” he nods towards Seungkwan. Pretends to wipe sweat from his brow. “Seriously, everyone’s going to be so relieved to see you guys.” He smiles at them for a few seconds. No one moving. Then he stutters back to life, laughing, “My bad— sorry— I’m Soonyoung! Chan’s boyfriend.”
“Chan?” Seungkwan says at the same time Hansol says, “Boyfriend?”
“Soonyoung! What’s taking so long!?” someone shouts from inside.
Soonyoung turns around, cupping his hands around his mouth. Shouts back, “Hansol is here!”
There’s a loud crash. What sounds like a pot hitting a hard floor. A commotion. Then the door bangs open from the inside, and Jeonghan comes stumbling out.
Seungkwan releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He lets out a wobbly laugh. Blinking a few times to make sure he’s not dreaming.
“Oh my god,” Jeonghan says. His hair is longer than it was before. He’s thinner. Eyes a bit more sunken in. He’s alive— which is what really matters.
Seungkwan shakes Hansol off of him just as Jeonghan races across the grass— bypassing Hansol entirely, gunning straight for Seungkwan. He slams into Seungkwan with all his might, wraps him in his arms and coos like he always used to when Seungkwan needed comforting.
“Oh, Seungkwannie,” he breathes. “Oh my god, you’re okay. I can’t believe it.”
“Okay, guess I’m worthless,” Hansol grumbles.
“Shut the fuck up, idiot,” Jeonghan snipes. Then he’s hugging Seungkwan tighter.
Seungkwan squeezes his eyes shut and buries his face in Jeonghan’s neck, arms winding around his waist.
“You must have been so scared. I’m sorry we didn’t come for you sooner.” Jeonghan pulls back to hold Seungkwan at arms length. He looks him over, sucking his teeth and clicking his tongue. He shoots Hansol a glare. “Has he been feeding you? Taking care of you well?”
A laugh bubbles up in Seungkwan’s chest. He blinks back tears, but it’s of no use. They’re blurring his vision, and pooling in the corners of his eyes. “Yeah. He’s been taking care of me fine.”
“Good,” Jeonghan says seriously. He pinches Seungkwan’s cheeks. “Aish, I can’t believe you’re real.”
“Did— is Chan here?”
“Of course.” Jeonghan nods. “Yeah.”
“When did he—”
Jeonghan’s brow furrows, he cocks his head in question, but Seungkwan’s question is cut off by the sound of the door opening again. A wild laugh from the man himself.
Chan goes for Hansol first. So does Seungcheol— albeit slower, because of his bad leg. Chan claps Hansol on the back in a bro-ey hug. Seungcheol smacks him across the head before pulling him in.
When Chan turns to Seungkwan, his smile is megawatt.
“I thought you were dead,” Seungkwan says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.
Chan laughs loudly, hugging Seungkwan as tight as he can. “Common sentiment around here.”
“Seungkwan.” Seungcheol nods curtly. He’s acting funny. Seungkwan is too shook up to parse it apart right now. “Glad to see you in one piece.”
Jeonghan leans closer to Seungkwan’s ear, whispers, “He’ll get over himself. Give it a day or two.”
“Alright, so, you already met Soonyoung— and Junhui will be home soon— and that’s everyone— We’re all back where we belong.” Chan claps. He slings an arm around Soonyoung’s waist, pulling them flush together, knocking a kiss to his temple.
Seungkwan doesn’t know if he’s seen him so animated in ages. He was always stressed about work, and busy, and he smiled, but it never reached his eyes. Now he’s glowing. He’s happy.
What a concept. Being happy at the end of the world. Seungkwan wipes some of the wetness from his cheeks with the back of his hand.
He lets Jeonghan fuss over him, tugging him inside and sitting him down on a sofa in the middle of what must have been the lobby of the clinic once upon a time. The place is nice. It’s been kept up well. There’s a makeshift kitchen set up at the front desk. A few exam rooms in the back that have been turned into bedrooms. Soonyoung and Chan are sharing one, obviously, and Jeonghan and Seungcheol. The third one is for the rest of them. “I know. It’s temporary, we’re not going to be here forever,” Jeonghan whispers to Seungkwan.
Jeonghan asks Seungkwan all sorts of questions. Hansol hangs around the edge of the room, clearly avoiding Seungcheol. Clearly trying to stick as close to Seungkwan as he can without making a deal of it. Like he’s still on high alert.
A while later a tall, lanky man with a deep laugh shows up. “Wen Junhui, but you can call me Jun,” he introduces himself. Then he says, “I was all turned around, trying to meet up with Minghao— that’s my best friend— he’s down South— and he’s got sort of a… commune? Is that the word? Either way, Jeonghan and Soonyoung found me eating pudding at the grocery store downtown and they brought me home— hah hah hah.”
He’s charming. Seungkwan likes him instantly.
There’s a lot to like here. Soonyoung and Chan prepare a big dinner. Spaghetti on real plates. They have a gas stove, and some pots and pans. Everyone huddles around two differently sized tables to eat. Talks like they were never apart. It almost feels like one of the family dinners they used to have once upon a time.
Seungkwan is doing a good job holding it together, even as Jeonghan shoots him worried looks across the way. He avoids Hansol’s eyes, and keeps to himself. Laughs when appropriate. He knows it’s only a matter of time before he falls apart.
Hansol tries to catch him, after they’ve finished eating— passing Seungkwan in the hallway. He touches his bicep, says, “Boo— can we—”
“No, Hansol. I can’t today,” Seungkwan says firmly.
He slips outside through a door that used to be an emergency exit. Walks to the edge of the clinic parking lot, sits down on the curb and starts to cry.
It’s not fair. None of it is fair. It wasn’t fair when Hansol broke up with him, and it wasn’t fair when Hansol showed up and gave him no other choice but to rely on him. It’s not fair that Hansol’s friends are his friends, and Seungkwan hasn’t felt particularly loved since Hansol left him. It’s not fair that he felt it again, the second Jeonghan hugged him. It’s not fair that nothing will be normal again. That this is the reality of his existence. It’s not fair that Hansol said I’m looking for my friends instead of We’re looking for our friends.
Seungkwan’s chest heaves. He squeezes his knees, blubbering, sloppy sobs leaking out of him. He wipes his snot with his arm, trying to pull himself together a bit.
He tips his head up, the sky is dark by now— laden with bright stars. One good thing the apocalypse brought, the end to light pollution. Seungkwan can see everything. It’s beautiful. One of those simple things that he didn’t know he was missing before. Something he’d give up in an instant to get back what he had.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?”
Seungkwan sits up straighter. Turns around to find Soonyoung lingering by the door. He smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, do you mind…?”
“No,” Seungkwan shakes his head, motioning for the stretch of curb next to him.
Soonyoung trots right over, plopping down, smiling brightly. Seungkwan hurries to try to wipe away any errant tears. He’s sure his face is swollen.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
“Don’t be sorry about that. It’s a lot,” Soonyoung hums. He reaches into his pocket and produces a travel pack of tissues. Passes it to Seungkwan.
It’s so ridiculous that Seungkwan can’t help but laugh. He plucks a tissue out of the wrapper. Blows his nose. Soonyoung waits patiently, a soft smile lingering on his face. He looks up to the sky, eyes reflecting the smattering of stars.
He’s pretty, Seungkwan thinks. He was probably prettier before the world ended, but he looks nice now, too. His eyes crinkle up when he smiles. He’ll probably have nice smile lines when he’s older.
“It’s kind of funny—” Soonyoung says eventually. “Chan has told me so much about you two— and Jeonghan too— but you know nothing about me.”
“They talk about me?” Seungkwan sniffles.
“Oh, yeah, all the time!” Soonyoung nods. “Chan was more reserved about it before Jeonghan and Seungcheol came back. He was scared they didn’t make it— you know— but once they showed up, he wouldn’t quit.”
Seungkwan’s brain feels a little slow. Like he’s wading through quicksand. “How did you and Chan… meet?”
Soonyoung breaks into another dazzling smile. “He found me half-dead in the middle of the road. He took me back here and patched me up.” Soonyoung laughs fondly. “Good luck. I saved all my luck up for him, that’s what I say, at least. He saved my life, and then everything else just…” He brings his hands up and pantomimes something tipping over. “Fell.”
“You’re in love with him,” Seungkwan says. It’s not a question— he can just tell. He’s a romantic.
“Super in love with him,” Soonyoung agrees. “It’s been great. It sounds crazy, but when you know, you know. Did you ever get that feeling with Hansol?”
Seungkwan feels his cheeks heat up. “Once upon a time, sure.”
Soonyoung hums softly. He clears his throat. “From what Channie has told me, I think if Hansol knew the world was ending, he never would have left you.”
A sharp pang shoots through Seungkwan’s chest. “What do you mean?”
“I think he always thought you two would find your way back together again,” Soonyoung says simply. Like that makes any sense at all for Hansol to think. “I guess maybe you did, despite everything.”
Seungkwan scoffs. He kicks a stray pebble near the toe of his shoe, watching it clatter across the parking lot. “It’s not like he meant to find me. He was coming to find Chan.”
“Huh?”
“Hansol. He was coming to find Chan when he ran into me. At the hospital,” Seungkwan says.
Soonyoung shakes his head. “No. I’ve been with Chan every day for, like, six months. Hansol definitely knew Chan was here.”
Seungkwan stares at him. “Chan’s been here that long?”
“Yeah.” Soonyoung cocks his head. “He’s been here since the beginning. I showed up a few months after that.”
“What do you mean since the beginning?” The tips of Seungkwan’s ears start to burn in shame. Like he’s being played a prank on.
“Uh,” Soonyoung laughs nervously. “Since Seungcheol and Jeonghan picked him and Hansol up at the start. They drove until they ran out of gas. Ended up here.”
Seungkwan’s skin starts prickling— ice cold little needles running down his spine. “Do you know what happened after that?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Umm, I think they all stayed for a bit— but then Seungcheol and Hansol wanted to go back to the city to get more information on what was happening, I think? And Jeonghan went with them. They left Chan here— and that’s when he found me.” Soonyoung chews on his bottom lip. Seungkwan can see the gears in his head turning. “And at some point, Jeonghan and Seungcheol came back— but they didn’t have Hansol with them, and they said Hansol had gone off to look for you—”
“Hansol told me he was looking for Chan,” Seungkwan says. “That’s why he was in the city. He left to look for Chan.”
Soonyoung frowns. “He came to get you. After he heard about the breach in the containment zone. That’s the first thing Jeonghan told us, too. That’s why Seungcheol is so mad. He didn’t want Hansol to leave— but Hansol went anyway.”
“I— don’t know—” the words come out stilted and awkward. Like they’re too big for Seungkwan’s mouth. He swallows. Shakes his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Are you—” Soonyoung’s forehead creases right between his eyebrows. “Are you sure it doesn’t make sense? Or are you just not ready to make sense of it…?”
Seungkwan stiffens. He scowls, shooting Soonyoung the nastiest look he can muster. “Why are you talking to me like that? I don’t even know you.”
Soonyoung laughs like Seungkwan is hysterical. He claps Seungkwan on the back, and leans against his shoulder. Seungkwan is too tired to move. He just lets it happen.
He doesn’t complain when Soonyoung gets up a few minutes later and holds his hand out to help Seungkwan up. He doesn’t complain when Soonyoung throws his arm around his shoulders, either. He just lets himself accept comfort. He didn’t realize how touch starved he is until Hansol held him the other night. Now he’s feeling greedy.
“I think your room is at the end of the hall. We’re kind of running out of space in here,” Soonyoung whispers. Everyone has retired to their rooms. Seungkwan can hear Jeonghan and Seungcheol talking lowly through a crack in one of the doors.
Soonyoung turns into his room, taking a running leap onto the two cots he and Chan have zip tied together to make a bed. Chan is already laying down, reading a book. He looks up at the noise, smiles at Seungkwan.
“It’s good to have you back, Seungkwan,” he says, lifting up his arm for Soonyoung to wiggle under.
Seungkwan leans against the doorframe. “Is it? You can be honest with me, Chan.”
Chan sets down his book across his stomach. He makes a funny face. “Of course it is. You’re part of our family. You know that, right?” He says it so earnestly that Seungkwan has no chance but to believe him. Adding insult to injury, Chan adds, “No one is going to leave you again. We’re past petty human shit like that.”
“Some of us are, I guess,” Seungkwan mutters.
“Hm?” Chan’s eyebrows raise up.
“Nothing. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Seungkwannie,” Chan says.
“Goodnight, Seungkwannie!” Soonyoung echoes.
Seungkwan shuffles down the hallway, into the very last exam room. Hansol is already sleeping in the cot pushed against the furthest wall. On his back. Like a corpse. Breathing even. Junhui is in the middle cot, sitting against the wall, knees to his chest as he sketches in a notebook, one small candle providing him light.
He gives Seungkwan a pleasant smile as Seungkwan climbs into the third bed— shoved up in the corner closest to the door. Seungkwan draws his legs up, hugging his shins. He falls asleep listening to Junhui’s pencil scratching against paper.
One week before the world ended, Seungkwan pulled Hansol’s contact up on his phone. He sat and stared at it for an hour before he thought better of calling.
He wonders if it would have made any difference at all. If Hansol would have answered. If they’d have ended up exactly the same place as they are now.
There’s something to be said about fate— going and coming around.