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wordstro · 2 years ago

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taglist:

@hither-to-undreamt-of, @raineadlr, @allaboutsan, @seojonneh, @khjsss, @starfulmaeum, @knucklesdeepmingi, @seonghwaskitty, @wtfjongseong, @lawleysluvs, @tohokuu, @flamingi, @meowsannie, @baguette-atiny, @luvanterx, @woosluv, @leeknowsalot, @cheshire-eyes-disguise, @revehosh, @luvbinnni, @kirooz, @hongjoongwife

[18] apocalypse + ex!san + "what else am i supposed to do?"

part 17 | masterlist | part 19

a/n: warnings for mild su1cidal thoughts, guilt, mentions of murder, death, and violence. also a lot of introspection going on in this chapter. also gonna just say i really enjoy writing unlikely allies lol

you were prepared to die. you had prepared for it the moment you stepped out from your blood-splattered home with san's radio clipped to your belt loop and decided you would try to survive. you'd wondered once, long long ago, somewhere between cowering in silence in a beautifully impractical marble bathtub of an abandoned home in the upper end of gangnam and the quiet drip-drop of the leaky sink faucet and crouching under a rusty little sink in the bathroom of a rundown gas station at the outskirts of seoul for hours as you listened to the rhythmic thuds of a body slamming against the deadbolted door all night, whether survival was merely instinctual. you never thought you'd had so much fight in you until everything went to shit. something had to explain why you thought surviving was even worth it in a world as hopeless as this one.

you were always prepared to die.

as you come to, the sun's warmth on your face is the first thing you notice. the next is the aching pain curling through your body, the back of your head, your face. the last thing is the realization that you are not dead.

why are you not dead?

you shoot up too fast, and your head spins at the feeling, nausea making you groan. your hands shake as you blink away sleep and sun. you're hungry and dehydrated and exhausted and alive.

someone clears their throat.

you whip your head in the direction of the sound, scrambling away immediately, only to -

"mrs. kim?" you croak out, coughing to clear your throat as you stiffen at the sight of her. a blackened bandage is wrapped around her head, her cheek bruised and her lip cut.

your eyes dart around you, but you're not back at the sanctuary. you're on a bed of grass in front of a small cabin. mrs. kim sits in front of an unlit firepit. her rifle sits at her feet. you stare at it. she places her foot on top of it, and when your gaze flickers back to her face, she is staring at you with an unreadable expression.

she fiddles with her hands, an awkward gesture you've never seen from her before. she chews on her bottom lip as she quietly observes you.

you're too tired to continue sitting up, so you let yourself flop back down on the grass. it's soft enough, and the gentle earthy smell of morning dew is kind on your senses. it's a comfort you hadn't felt in so, so long, and the way your body melts is almost disconcerting. you stare at the green foliage above you, the clear blue sky, the fluffy, picturesque clouds floating on. birds sing to each other. it reminds you of Before. maybe you are dead. your voice is hoarse as you speak without looking at mrs. kim, "where are we?"

"five kilometers south of the sanctuary," mrs. kim responds, her voice as soft as the breeze curling around your cheek. she speaks to you as if you are a small rabbit who will run at the first sign of loudness. it's funny, almost. she's always been loud in the sanctuary, as the sanctuary's resident nosy gossip. she'd never been considerate of such things. her voice always echoed through the halls. when you worked quietly with san or jongho folding laundry, you could hear her laugh from the guard towers or her scolding from the sleeping quarters. oh.

you blink at those thoughts. the sanctuary.

you've destroyed it, you remember. you've destroyed everyone in it - aliens and humans alike. you can hear the bomb blasts in ringing in your ears. you can feel the heat of the flames against your skin. you can see yeosang pulling san away. oh.

you think of all the people who weren't guards, the children. that's when your hands start trembling. their deaths are on your shoulders, whether you want to admit aloud or not. maybe that's why mrs. kim is here. like the grim reaper, she's waited for you to wake up so you could watch as she killed you for destroying her home and killing her friends, aliens and humans alike. you want to hate the idea, but you think maybe...you deserve it. mrs. kim's voice rings in your ears, "i stayed here on one of my solo runs once."

you crane your neck to look her straight on. as you observe the lines along her eyes, the wrinkles around her mouth, the gray strands of hair peppered along deep black, you are reminded of the woman you'd imagined was talking over the radio airwaves you'd clung to after you'd escaped seoul. mrs. kim looks about your mom's age, and the thought subdues the irritation clawing at the underside of your skin.

you don't comment on any of it, or what she said, though. you only ask, "is it gone?"

she frowns at you, "is what gone?"

"the sanctuary."

mrs. kim closes her eyes, and the pain there is something you think will remain etched into your brain for eternity. the only other time you've seen such utter grief was when you'd told him to get into the car. when it clicked for him. it is the same kind of loss you saw on -

mrs. kim nods, "it was still burning when i dragged you out of there. it's probably a pile of ashes by now. everyone was...the sleep quarters was the first to go."

you bite your tongue so hard, you taste blood.

"why would you..." you clear your throat, eyes fixed on mrs. kim, "why would you save me, then?"

her eyes flicker over your face for a long, long time, "i wanted to get at least one person out."

you blink. a guilty conscience, you know, can make people do the strangest things. it has you sitting here entertaining mrs. kim.

mrs. kim sighs, "i'm sorry."

it has mrs. kim apologizing.

her brows are furrowed with sincerity. her eyes hold yours for just a moment before she lowers her gaze. is she apologizing for how you were treated in the sanctuary? or is she apologizing for not letting you die?

mrs. kim nudges the rifle with her toe, a small tap at first before she kicks it towards your outstretched form. she pulls out a small flask from the inside of her jacket. you watch her warily as she takes a large gulp, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before she leans across the space between you both and places the old silver flask next to the rifle. next to your hand.

she cranes her neck, admiring the clouds and foliage above you both. the sun illuminates more gray strands, a cloud-like halo over her that gives the impression of someone angelic. it's funny, you think, because neither of you are anything of the sort. the proof is in her black-blood stained bandages. the proof is in the blood you have on your hands.

she clears her throat, "my world ended long before the world actually ended. it was the first time my husband hit me..."

maybe it's the pain, maybe it's the disappointment of finding yourself alive still, maybe it's hongjoong and yeosang and everyone else speaking into existence that you are just like them, horrible and mean and self serving, maybe it's the near death experience, maybe you're just super fucking tired. maybe it's something else. but you let out a small groan, cutting off mrs. kim mid-sentence. she trails off, her lips pursed as she frowns down at you. the halo of sunlight is gone, and she is just the nosy, old woman you've known all this time.

you match her frown, rolling your eyes, "how is this relevant? so you were abused, and then you finally gave him the death he deserved? why does that matter to me?"

mrs. kim lets out the smallest of laughs. "san told you."

you barely hide the flinch at his name, choosing instead to close your eyes and let the sun's warmth on your face comfort you once more. "he mentioned it."

"he helped me with this."

you turn your head and peer up at her. she's pointing at the bandage wrapped around her head. you stare at her until she squirms in her seat and fiddles with the bandage around her head. your mother would have berated you for your rudeness towards someone so much older than you, but you can't help it. everything about mrs. kim is irritating. her ignorance. her saving you. her mentioned him. her looking at you as if she understands you.

"so what if he did? why should i care?" you finally break the silence.

"i joined seonghwa's guard because i didn't believe people could be good. the alien gave me...power. at least that is how seonghwa put it. that's how it felt. i lost everything when i finally dragged that pig to seonghwa, and seonghwa gave me something to live for."

your heart curls at her tone, but you mumble, "you still haven't answered my question. why the hell should i care? what is your point?"

mrs. kim lets out a dry chuckle, dragging her hand over her wrinkled face, "i used to have children. i had no idea what happened to them long before the apocalypse ever happened - another thing my husband took from me. but... i look at san. at seonghwa and hongjoong. at you. and all i can think of is how sorry i am."

"you feel sorry?" you let out a small laugh, "finally."

"huh," mrs. kim snorts, "maybe i should have left you back there."

"why didn't you?" this time your voice is not soft. it's loud. it's angry. it's a tightness in your breath and your chest heaving and this visceral, bone deep anger that makes your thoughts disappear. it suffocating in ways you've never let yourself feel before. as you lay in the dirt and crane your neck to glare at mrs. kim, it is not just anger. it is fury. it's the sharp pain at the back of your head. it's the way your chest feels hollow. it's everything and nothing all at once. it's everything you've felt during all this time. it's nothing because mrs. kim is a fucking stranger, and you're disappointed she isn't someone else.

mrs. kim doesn't answer. she just opens her mouth and closes it, once, twice, before she clamps her mouth shut and remains still as stone.

you laugh, and it sounds maniacal even to your ears. your chest rises and falls too fast, your breath growing more ragged. too fast. you sit up once more, ignoring the way your head spins and your vision blurs. your fingers curl around the cool metal of the rifle, and you lift it. you point it to her, and the barrel sits inches from her chest. she is so close.

she merely stares at you.

"is this what you want?" your fingers shake, and breathing hurts, and you are so so angry, "for me to make you stop feeling sorry? to shoot the fucking guilt - because that's what it is - out of you?"

mrs. kim's eyes fill with tears, and you would know wouldn't you? guilt recognizes guilt, and the guilt in you rises like bile. mrs. kim nods, and nods, and nods, and she says, "my home is gone, y/n. i've lived too long, while - " she closes her eyes, and her breath comes out in a small shudder, one that has you clutching the gun tighter, gritting your teeth. mrs. kim shakes her head, her eyes hard, "i have nothing left to my name but this guilt. what else am i supposed to do?"

for a moment, her words hit the deepest parts of your chest. for a moment, you resonate with mrs. kim. you never thought you would. you've never wanted to. what else are either of you supposed to do?

you have nothing left either. for a moment, the bunker settles in your mind. the living room, with its books and raggedy couches and warmth. but that is no place for you. that was never a home for you, and it never will be.

now here you are. you've taken mrs. kim's home from her, however horrid of a home it was, however horrid she had been to you, but she saved your life. now, as you look at her, with the gun in your hand and the determination in her eyes, you realize that even that act of hers was transactional, as all things are in this new world. you destroyed her world, she saved you, and now you owe her a favor. now she wants you to put her out of her misery. the thought has you shaking your head vehemently.

you're sick of the transactions and the calculations. you're sick of it all. you bite out, "you're supposed to live with it."

and you don't know if you're talking to mrs. kim, for all the times she turned her cheek on you and let people die for seonghwa and now is practically begging for an easy way out, or if you're talking to yourself, for killing innocent people in order to save someone who you're unsure would even be happy to see you if you showed up at his doorstep. maybe he would be happy to know you aren't dead, but you don't even know if you'd be safe with him and his friends knowing you still lived. even if san somehow convinced his friends to let you stay in the bunker, to no longer be on your own, you wouldn't be able to spend a single minute in that bunker without looking over your shoulder for a scheme against you. you could lie here, in the grass, and wither away. but you're supposed to live with it.

"i'm not going to do the dirty work for you. if you want to die, then do it yourself. i don't fucking care how." you say, dropping the rifle into the grass between you both. your tone is harsh, even to your own years, but you do not care. you will not be made to follow other's whims any longer. you look mrs. kim in the eye as you say, "just leave me the fuck alone."

you snatch the flask and take a drink, your throat dry.

the sting of the alcohol is sharp, burning as it curls down your throat. you cough at the burn, the sound of your cough echoing throughout the clearing.

mrs. kim speaks, her tone bland, a small, wispy thing, "that's vodka."

you glare at her late warning, slamming the flask on the ground as you flop back in the grass and close your eyes.

you lay there under the warmth of the sun and try not to listen to mrs. kim's soft, retreating footsteps, or the sounds of the porch wood creaking under her weight as she trudges up to the cabin, or the way her soft sobs harmonize with the sounds of the chirping birds.

~.~.~.~.~

mrs. kim does not leave you alone. the rifle remains propped beside the cabin door. it's a glaring, tempting thing, but it sits untouched for days upon days. when the morning sun rose to its highest point, the heat became too unbearable to lay in the grass, so you'd made your way into the cabin. the wood groaned under your footsteps and you winced at the sound of the front door swinging open as you stepped into the cabin. even then, mrs. kim did not look up at you. she just continued beating at the dust-covered blankets she'd pulled from the broken closets.

it becomes a morning routine of yours after that, to lay in the grass every morning for hours before heading back into the cabin, all while mrs. kim busies herself with some kind of task she'd silently deemed helpful and you silently thought was pointless.

the cabin is dusty and rundown and smells of rotting wood, but there are two beds and a torn, surprisingly comfortable sofa, and dusty moth-eaten linens, and wood to cover up the windows, barricade the doors at night, and light the fire pit outside. neither of you speak to each other, aside from asking about food or to pass a candle, and maybe you've been alone for too long, even in the sanctuary, because you find solace in her quiet company even if you mentally prepared yourself not to.

a week passes. and then another. and then another and another and another.

time runs together, until months pass. at least you think it's been months. the two of you spent a long, long time gathering berries and living off the food mrs. kim swiped from the sanctuary as she ran. the rifle left its designated, mocking spot next to the door only when either of you attempted to hunt for squirrels and rabbits and failed miserably. neither of you discussed the possibility of going into town. or even going five kilometers back to the burnt down sanctuary and swiping food from there. you'd thought about it, but it felt too much like robbing a grave. you hadn't been above it before, but you think mrs. kim is, unexpectedly enough.

you spent too long lying in the grass every morning and enjoying the warmth of the sun, until the leaves started to change and the weather got cooler. for the first time in a long time, you'd started getting a full night's sleep. without hongjoong banging on your doors, and with the doors and windows barricades so securely, with the way you two were in a cabin alone in the woods, you could sleep.

mrs. kim took swigs from her flask of vodka too often. you slept on your side the nights you couldn't sleep, facing the door, listening to the clicking sounds filling the forest, while the rifle remained propped in its spot beside the door. you'd suggested once that mrs. kim hold onto it, but she'd refused. if either of you noticed that neither of you took weapons to bed, that neither of you stayed very alert despite the clicking beyond the door, that both of you knew damn well that neither of you would care if something burst through that door, despite the fact that every night you both barricaded the doors and windows like clockwork, you didn't talk about it.

sometime between the grass and foliage in the clearing no longer being green and the need to find sweaters, you start going into town for food and supply runs. the towns are as empty as they used to be, when you used to be alone, but you have someone to help you carry things back. you have footsteps joining yours.

you're not the same as you used to be, and sometimes you wonder if that's a good thing. it hit you, you think, the day mrs. kim pocketed a pack of cigarettes as you both passed by an otherwise ransacked convenience store. mrs. kim grinned as she waved the only pack left in triumph. you'd opened your mouth to tell her off for falling into the habit of smoking in the first place - so many things here could kill you both, and to die from something as small as a cigarette would be a waste - when a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the otherwise empty town. it sounded desperate, the scream curling into a sob. it was a distant thing. but not distant enough. both of you started moving then, remaining near the walls of the convenience store, covered from view, as you both made your way to the exit.

"what -"

the cry of help stopped mrs. kim dead in her tracks. it was a wail, really, one that reminded you so very distinctly of your time at the sanctuary. maybe that's why you kept walking, even when mrs. kim hesitated. maybe that's why you grabbed her arm, tugging her along behind you.

"we need to keep moving," you said.

mrs. kim's disapproving frown was an annoying thing. and when you'd both made it back into the forest, leaving the cries for help far behind you, when you both made it back to the little cabin and you sat on your bed while mrs. kim cleaned the rifle on her bed, it'd hit you how much you'd changed. if this was you from months upon months ago, you'd have stopped to at least see what had happened. you'd done as much for yeosang and mingi.

you'd changed so much, but maybe that was for the better.

at the very least, it's not so lonely anymore. besides, helping people only brought trouble in this world.

~.~.~.~.~

"why did you help me?"

you probably should have asked mrs. kim this a long time ago. rain trickles over the cabin porch's overhang, and the world is a dreary, tired place, more so than it ever has been before.

mrs. kim hums. you watch her take a drag of her cigarette. the end glows a bright red-orange. it reminds you of the setting sun - a signal of impending doom, of aliens lurking the thick fog at night. the white smoke trickles from her mouth. you'd never admit that the smell is comforting. it reminds you of clubs and bars and walking the streets full of people, of honking cars. it reminds you of Before.

she says, "i owed san."

you'd grimaced at his name. you can't ever really hide your reaction to his name. mrs. kim never brings it up anyway. "he said you owed him before too. what the hell could he have possibly done for you?" you glare when mrs. kim blows more smoke into the air, "and when are you going to stop smoking?"

"do you care about my health that much?" mrs. kim lets out a small, tinkling laugh.

"no," you gag, "never."

"right." she smiles, but she puts out the cigarette anyway. she clears her throat, though the sound is more of a hacking cough, and she stares out into the gloomy forest, the pitter-patter of rain filling the silence for a moment before she says, "san knew my granddaughter. they were in a group together a few years back. i wasn't able to see her very much before all this."

you frown, "how do you know he wasn't lying?"

you want to sound vindictive, skeptical. but you just sound tired.

"he told me stories about her. the night shifts got long, and the chore shifts got boring. i don't think he was lying. the details were -"

mrs. kim drags a hand through her hair. thunder resounds overhead, the sound making you jump.

mrs. kim says, "he told me he wasn't able to save her, and he regretted it. i could see on his face just how much he regretted it, so i couldn't get angry with him."

you want to ask questions, you want to know details, but you also don't think you can handle listening to the horrors of mrs. kim's granddaughter's death. not with the way her eyes look so far away, so glassy, and the way her fingers twist in her lap.

so you keep quiet, watching as mrs. kim sighs, and says, "i got to know her through san's stories, and i'll always owe him for that."

there's a long drawn out silent. he'd mentioned that he let people die before. is this what he - no you don't care. you don't care about him or his motives or his past. you frown at mrs. kim, "what do owing him have to do with helping me?"

mrs. kim just laughs.

you glare, "i'm being serious."

mrs. kim just cackles as she gets up and strides into the cabin. you glare after her.

~.~.~.~.~

you are seated on your bed with a tattered book you found in one of the drawers open in your lap when mrs. kim hands you a flickering candle and says, "i want to go to the sea, i think. i've never been."

"really? never?"

mrs. kim places a hand at her waist, and waves her other hand, "a poor old woman like me was never rich enough to travel."

you laugh. mrs. kim smiles, but it does not quite reach her eyes, and your stomach churns at the way silence falls between you both.

the sun has set long ago, and you can almost pretend the clicking outside is merely the sounds of the crickets chirping. in the many months that you'd lived in quiet peace with mrs. kim, you didn't think you'd grow this attached. the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach is something you didn't think you'd feel in a long long time, especially not for someone like mrs. kim.

you should have known she'd find a way to make you care about her. she was nosy, and annoying, and had a tendency to make morbid jokes while cleaning that damned rifle, and liked to rub the fact that she saved your life in your face when she was annoyed with you, and the night after you woke up and told her to leave you alone, she tossed a blanket at your face without a word. two days later, you watched her massage her feet, wincing as she did so, and you'd tossed the very same blanket she threw at you at her face. mrs. kim only snorted in response, and you'd smiled. you should have fucking known.

"would you like to join me?" mrs. kim's eyes are hopeful. her wrinkled expression softens as she looks at you.

a part of you wants to go. this cabin is no real home, and it does not feel like a home, because you're an idiot who makes homes of people not places. people are not built to be homes. they are unstable and flighty and they do not stay, and you've made your home, your bed, with someone else a long time ago and it's not mrs. kim and you hate yourself for it. for the first time since the world went to shit, you think you've felt truly content here. happy, even, you could say.

"the sea sounds nice," you said, but you didn't move.

sure, this place was not your home, but it's a home, and you are so, so tired of wandering. you're tired of the uncertainty. you're tired.

"but you don't want to go." mrs. kim states, rather than questions. she knows you too well. that is most annoying of all.

you say, "i'm tired of traveling all the time."

mrs. kim sighs, "you're going to be alone again. are you sure you want that?"

you'd also told her too much about yourself, those days you spent lying in the grass or when neither of you could sleep so you lay awake and told each other stories about yourselves.

"do you?"

mrs. kim coughs, and the sound is too full, to rough. she says, "i want to see the sea."

"then i can stay," you tell her, with a roll of your eyes.

"alright." mrs. kim smiles at you, and it's the kindest smile you've seen in a long, long time. "this is a nice place. make it pretty then."

it's strange, you think, that of all the people who you've encountered since you're returned to the world from your wanderings, mrs. kim is the one who seems to understand you best. not past you, or a version of you they're so hellbent on perceiving. mrs. kim just sees you for who you are here and now. despite hearing your stories from the past. despite the way you've spoken to her. it's strange to think you'll miss her.

"you can visit whenever you'd like," you say, knowing damn well she's never going to come back. not with that cough. not with the way her eyes grow far away at your words.

she raises a brow, "i thought you wanted me to leave you alone."

you roll your eyes, "or you can do that, too."

mrs. kim laughs, and you help her pack her things.

the next morning she pats your head so gently, tears spring to your eyes. at least until she tells you you need to brush your hair.

you lean against the cabin door, watching as she shoulders her backpack and hobbles out of the cabin. the keys to the vehicle she hid a kilometer out - the same one she used to get both of you out of the sanctuary when it burned - jingles in her fingers.

she sighs one last time as she looks at you, and she asks, "you'll be fine?"

"of course i will."

she nods as she turns away, and you stay at the door until you can't hear her footsteps or see her any longer, until she disappears into the foliage of the trees, and you can pretend that she wasn't even there to begin with. the sun is unusually warm on your skin, but the breeze makes goosebumps run down your spine, so you shut the door behind you and sit on your bed.

despite your insistence, mrs. kim left the rifle behind, lying precariously beside the cabin door.

i don't have much of a need for it, she'd said with a shrug.

of course you'd be fine, you knew. you'd done this before. but you sat in the empty cabin for far too long, staring at the rifle all the while.

~.~.~.~.~

it takes a week for you to go into town on your own for supplies. usually, you and mrs. kim head east, far, far away from the sanctuary. this time, you head west, a knife tucked in your boot and rifle strapped to your back. the walk is a bit longer, but you quickly come upon a small gas station and a few dilapidated stone homes that look promising.

the first house's floor is covered in glass from the windows. each step is accompanied with the crunching of glass under your foot. the family pictures are all on the floor, shattered or torn or both. you take great care not to look at the pictures too closely.

you find the kitchen quickly, shuffling through the pantry and cabinets. you don't find much, aside from a few cans of food that you pocket. you move quick, and you find you miss the small conversations you and mrs. kim would have during these runs.

the second house has a purple piece of cloth tied around the doorknob. you'd never seen it before. it reminds you of the orange sanctuary flags from long ago. something about that makes alarms go off in your head, but the sanctuary is gone. it's burnt. these aren't orange.

still, your skin crawls too much, and your heart rate is too high, so you skip that house, heading to one other tiny house with withering flowers surrounding the entrance. you go through the pantry quickly, grabbing anything that looks relatively edible. it's not a bad haul, but you've had better.

the hairs at the back of your neck still stand on end, so you decide that's enough for the day.

as you're headed back towards the winding path that leads up into the forest trail you'd taken here, you note another purple flag hanging from one of the broken windows of the abandoned gas station.

as you're staring at it, you hear a snap. a footstep. you spin, ducking under an abandoned car.

you hear voices. you crouch behind an abandoned car, and spot two small figures speaking in hushed tones. they're words you can't make out, but you notice the bulging backpack on one of their backs. the other one is limping. the one with the bulging backpack is using most of their strength to hold the other up.

a part of you says to run. another part thinks, easy targets.

you don't think about it. you don't think about what that says about you, either. you only staying crouched and hopping from abandoned car to abandoned car as you quietly sneak up on them.

you don't think about it when you yank the one with the bulging backpack back so hard, they topple over, and the limping one cries out in pain as they collapse, and you immediately draw the knife from your boot, pressing it to the backpack person's throat, putting all your weight on their back so they're pinned to the ground.

you say, "move and i slice your friend's throat."

the injured one's head snaps up, a quick movement that startles you, and - and -

"y/n."

you nearly drop the knife at the familiar voice. nearly. your fingers tighten around the knife in your hand, digging a bit further, and the person in your grip gasps in pain.

you glance down at him, and you groan, "fuck."

your gaze flickers from the person in your grip to the injured person staring at you as if you've risen from the dead. you couldn't blame him. you pretty much have.

still, your gaze continues flickering back and forth from yunho to wooyoung.

wooyoung snorts when your grip on him tightens, a trickle of blood running down his chin where you hold the knife, amusement coloring his voice, "we really can't keep meeting like this, y/n."

yunho sighs.

#sr #taglist #itpfl

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wordstro · 2 years ago

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taglist: @hither-to-undreamt-of, @raineadlr, @allaboutsan, @seojonneh, @khjsss, @starfulmaeum, @knucklesdeepmingi, @seonghwaskitty, @wtfjongseong , @lawleysluvs, @tohokuu , @flamingi , @meowsannie, @baguette-atiny , @luvanterx , @woosluv

[8:46 AM] + apocalypse + ex!san + "i couldn't just stand by and watch."

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10

a/n: 5.8k words, mentions of abusive situations, things are getting a bit clearer!

hongjoong rises to his feet, scarlet red blood dripping down his nose. the red against his skin is stark, too bright. it drips down over his mouth, from his chin, and down his front, staining his white shirt. despite that, despite the crunch you'd heard earlier, hongjoong is unfazed. his gaze drifts lazily over san's shoulder. he meets your gaze, and you freeze in place under his mirthful stare. he raises a brow, his tone clipped, "you've trained him well, y/n."

you get the ridiculous urge to apologize. your gaze flickers up, to san, and san's eyes narrow upon meeting yours.

san whips his head to look at hongjoong once more. he lunges forward. he's fast, but you react faster, wrapping your hand around his and yanking him back into you. he stumbles back into you, and you expect him to shrug you off and keep going. as he used to. but, he doesn't. san just stills in front of you, his body a wall between you and hongjoong. san tilts his torso so that hongjoong cannot look at you, and all you're left with is a view of san's chest moving up and down as he takes a soft, calming breath.

you can hear shuffling from the south gate, no doubt the guards making their way over here. your fingers tighten around san's. before san had gotten here, you witnessed a fistfight break out during lunch. hongjoong only watched on while the guards pulled them apart. then he'd looked at you with a grin filled with teeth and glinting eyes, and he clucked his tongue and shook his head in mock disappointment. that day, you'd learned from hongjoong that the punishment for fights was 'a hand for a hand, a tooth for a tooth, an eye for an eye.'

"what does that even mean?" you'd asked.

"it means if you manage to get two hits in with different hands, or even a kick, well..." hongjoong had just grinned as the guards dragged both men away, "too bad for you."

that night's shipment had the man who hit first with two bloody stumps for hands and tears in his eyes. hongjoong leaned heavily into you, but he did not say a word. you already knew how that happened. that night, you saw the man he hit downing beer after beer, bandages plastered over his face, while everyone around him danced and laughed and smacked him on the back. the sadness in his eyes haunted you, even to this day. even to this moment.

hongjoong's voice cuts through your thoughts, ringing all around you, "the rules are the rules."

you peer at hongjoong over san's shoulder. hongjoong waves a hand, and the guards surround you and san. you recognize some of them. there's mrs. kim who spread word around of you and san meeting up after curfew; the sanctuary's gossip. there's park jihyo, her watchful gaze flickering between the three of you. she always had a bright smile plastered across her face every morning when she'd serve everyone breakfast. you never thought she would be assigned the role of a guard. then again looks are deceiving. you watch mrs. kim observe the scene before her with slight apprehension present in the way her brows furrow as her eyes dart between san and you. the guards, you notice, follow hongjoong's orders a beat too late.

still, they cock their guns with ease. they point them all at san's head.

san's eyes widen, and, for the first time in a while, you see an inkling of fear in his gaze.

your grip tightens, and your thoughts race, and, in a moment of desperation, your brain settles on an outlandish idea. if you can't appeal to the guard's morals, since they've turned the other cheek to seonghwa and hongjoong's actions so often, you can find something else to appeal to. hongjoong's hatred of you was well-known, accepted even. no one ever stepped up for you when hongjoong bothered you. no one even looked your way. sometimes, you think you were given extra food out of pity, but that's the extent of action anyone was willing to partake in. so maybe appealing to that side of them wouldn't work. these people were awfully complacent, compliant, but they're still people. and as you stare at mrs. kim and her furrowed brows, you realize one thing every person loves, no matter their morals, is a good story to tell others. people love gossip. especially in a world where entertainment was few and far between. and what better opportunity do you have than the gossip of the sanctuary? your hands tremble a bit at the thought, but your resolve already hardens, and your heart is racing in fear and desperation.

so you make a move to grip san's hand tight, ignoring the way san rubs soothing circles over the back of your hand with his thumb. he's the one with the guns to his head. he's the one who did something stupid. he's the one who needs soothing, not you.

you speak directly to the guards, ignoring hongjoong's presence entirely, "please don't hurt san. he was only trying to protect me."

hongjoong scoffs loudly, "protect you?"

you point at hongjoong, ignoring his comment as you appeal to the guards, "i only asked hongjoong not to touch me, but he did anyway. so san defended me."

mrs. kim makes a small noise at your statement, peering at hongjoong with a stony expression over her glasses. jihyo's lips press into a thin line, her usual cheerful disposition gone. johnny's expression doesn't necessarily falter, but his eyes slide from san to you to both your intertwined hands.

san glances down too, at you and your hands, his brows furrowed in blatant confusion. you catch his gaze, giving him a look you hope radiates love and worry rather than the play the fuck along you're trying to telepathically scream at him.

san's dark eyes flicker between yours before his dimples make a small appearance. then his expression drops into easy anger, and he whips his head to the side to glare at an annoyed hongjoong. "can you blame me? am i supposed to just stand here and watch while he touches my person?"

san looks at the guards, his gaze heavy. the corner of mrs. kim's lips twitch upwards. you didn't think it'd be that easy to appeal to them, but you don't bother questioning it. san turns to jihyo, "wouldn't you do the same thing if momo was in y/n's position?"

jihyo purses her lips, her gaze falling to the ground.

san's gaze flickers to johnny, "wouldn't you do the same for jaehyun and taeyong? for mark? for any of your other friends?"

johnny looks away, rubbing the back of his neck as he does so.

"enough," hongjoong grunts from behind you both, "take san to the prison."

there's hesitancy in their actions. good. hongjoong narrows his gaze, but before he can repeat his instructions, they're moving. johnny grabs san's sleeve half-heartedly. you tug at san's fingers, and johnny doesn't push you away. he just sighs.

san looks down at you with a tender, dimpled smile, one that even you believe for a moment, "don't worry. i'll be fine, y/n. i'll be okay."

he gently pries your fingers form his, and you watch as he's taken away with barely any hostility or force. in fact, mrs. kim leans close and speaks into his ear. jihyo gives san one of her sunny smiles. johnny just pats san's back. san glances back at you one last time, his gaze flickering over your shoulder before he walks away. not one of the guards leaves their fun pointed at san, and that alleviates a tiny bit of your worry.

the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end as you swivel to look hongjoong in the eyes. his nose is still dripping blood, though it's dried up quite a bit. he glares at you. you try not to recoil under his gaze as you say, "i'll go get those eggs now. you should go see the medic."

then you sidestep him before he can say a single word, slipping into the little barn-slash-shed the sanctuary keeps the hens in. you slide the door shut, but you see hongjoong turning to look at you as you do. through the sliver before you fully shut the shed door, you see hongjoong turn and stalk away. the stuffy shed smells of hay and chicken and manure, but once you've slid the door shut with a dull thud, you crumple to the floor and try to catch your breath, your chest tight, clenched almost. your heart is racing, and you have to gasp for air. you only catch your breath after too many minutes pass. your vision is still blurry, but your breath is slower. you keep your head lodged between your knees as you try every single breathing exercise in existence. the urge to cry is overrun by anger. you can't help but direct it at san. if san loses a hand because of this, because of you, you're going to fucking kill him.

~.~.~.~.~

after breakfast, you grab the bucket you're supposed to fill with water and head straight for the prison near the shipment gate. you leave your bucket on the grass as you make your way into the building. jongho was assigned the overnight shift with the medic, so you doubt he's at the prison. he's likely catching up on sleep right now.

when you step through the door, everything is quiet. you're honestly not sure what you're going to say to the guard to convince him to let you see san. you go over a speech, anxiety rising as you enter the building through the door seonghwa and hongjoong took you through to meet jongho that first night. you never thought you'd be back here. you avoided this place like the plague.

you reach the desk you'd met jongho at, the guard behind it looks up and frowns at you. you don't recognize him, but he seems to recognize you. he looks you up and down, shaking his head as he sighs. then he waves a hand down the hall.

you frown at him.

he explains, "ten minutes. that's it. then i'm coming in after you. is room is down the hall. three rights. second door on the left."

"you're just going to let me in? you're not going to report me?"

the man shrugs, says, "who am i to stop young love?"

you resist the ridiculous urge to snort in his face, merely nodding as you murmur your thanks and follow his directions. the prison is made of metal, each of your steps reverberating all around you. you don't dare to look into the other rooms. occasionally, you hear sobs. occasionally, you hear screams. you block that out, moving quickly, goosebumps running along your skin. the prison is already cool, but as you step through the building, you get colder.

you stand outside the second door on the left, taking a moment to compose yourself. for what? you're not sure. you step into the room, shocked by how bright it is in comparison to the rest of the prison. your gaze falls on san slouched against the brick wall opposite you. he looks so small in the giant empty room, especially with the way he has his knees pulled to his chest against the wall. he's already staring at you, a frown distorting his sharp features. he straightens up, and you hear the chains before you see them. shackles around his ankles, his wrists. but, his hands are still there. despite the reassurance of that, you nearly buckle at the sight, your heart racing once more. seeing him like this makes the possibility of punishment all too real.

the room itself is empty, dust dancing in the sunlight that pours in from the windows above, illuminating everything in a warm yellow-orange haze.

san tilts his head, still frowning, his voice a little raspy, "why are you here?"

"why the hell did you do that?" your voice cuts over the last echoes of his words. you cross your arms over your chest as you step closer. he watches you move closer, his head tilting back to keep your gazes locked.

san's brows scrunch in surprise at your words. you examine his face - you're not sure why, maybe to make sure he isn't hurt in any other way, maybe to understand his motives, maybe to understand him even just a little - and you notice instead that his hair is too overgrown, brushing his eyes, and there are dark circles under his eyes, as if he doesn't get much sleep. he peers at you through the overgrown strands, gaze searching yours the same way you're sure you're doing with him.

there's no malice in his tone when he says, as matter-of-factly as he had when he told hongjoong to keep his hands to himself, "you're scared of him."

it's not what you expected him to say. you expected something mean. you expected him to brush off your question with easy nonchalance. your nails dig into your palms at the softness of his voice. his observation makes you falter despite yourself. you're not scared of hongjoong. at least, you refuse to admit it. you certainly didn't think anyone would notice the way your heart races in fear around hongjoong, or the way you want to cry sometimes when hongjoong bangs open the door to the jail room and rattles your jail cell, cooing for you to wake up, or the way his hands weighed heavily over your shoulders every night as he forced you to listen to him recount why the people in the shipment were punished.

"no," you shake your head, "i'm not."

san smiles, but it's a kind thing. gentle. sad, almost. "i've never seen you act like that before, y/n."

his voice is so so soft, and it settles delicately over the dusty room, settles easily alongside the warmth of the streaming sun. your nails dig further into your palms when he says, "you never even acted that way back when we used to fight all the time. i couldn't just stand by and watch, y/n."

you thought back on those days. you both used to fight often, used to crowd each other's spaces, and shout mean words, and settle into the most vindictive, vile headspaces. you've forgotten a lot of the details over the years, but you knew you never truly felt fear around san. he was a lot of things back then, but he was never scary.

you swallow the lump in your throat, "you should have. stood by and watched, i mean."

this time san narrows his eyes at you, frowning as he opens his mouth to retort.

you cut off his response, tone sharp even to your own ears, "he's going to cut your hand off, san. that's the punishment for this. you're going to lose a fucking hand."

"i might lose a hand. besides, i can handle the consequences."

"i don't fucking get it," your voice grows louder as you scowl down at him. he just sits there, with his knees drawn to his chest, shackles ringing softly between you both, and you find yourself dragging a hand through your hair in frustration. "why would you put yourself in danger like this? why would you do something so fucking stupid?"

for me, sits heavy in the silence, unspoken but still so loud.

"i told you already," san sighs, rubbing his eyes as he leans his head back against the stone wall. he continues you looking at you with his tired eyes, "you were scared."

your palms begin to hurt with how hard you're digging your nails into your palms.

"i can handle myself."

"i know you can. you made that clear a long time ago." san's jaw ticks just a moment. you remember you used to snap that at him, when he'd step in for you and you hated the vulnerability you felt around him. it wasn't fair to either of you, how avoidant you were while he was so attached, and you'd only realized years later that that was something neither of you could help the other with. it was something you both needed to work through on your own. but now, you feel like you're both falling into that same old pattern again. at least you think you are falling into the same patterns. san doesn't get fully angry like he used to.

he just sighs, and says, reasonably, calmly, "but i've spent weeks watching you try to handle hongjoong, y/n, and i can...i see how hard it is. i just - i know you can handle it by yourself, but you don't have to. not while i'm here."

it's overwhelming, the way your heart slams against your ribs at his words. slowly, you sink to the ground across from him. he watches you, and his eyes are so sad, you want the ground to swallow you whole so you don't have to wither beneath the nagging feeling that he pities you. he's watched how hongjoong's treated you, and he knows it scares you, but he's made it clear he doesn't care about you. yet the way he looks at you makes you feel like he does. that's the awful part about all this.

"and when you end up on a shipment?" you wrap your arms around your knees, "then what?"

he shakes his head, "i promised i'd get you out of here. i'm not leaving until i do."

he sounds so sure about the fact.

"you're starting to sound an awful lot like you care, san."

san lets out a soft, staggering breath. the hesitancy weighs on your shoulders. he breathes, "i know."

you clutch your knees tight. "that's it?"

san lets his knees fall to the ground, sitting cross-legged right in front of you. he observes you for so long, you resist the urge to squirm. his face is soft, and sincere, and it is a familiar expression you haven't seen in a long, long, long time. it tugs at your heartstrings. "would you even care if i cared?"

your fingers still. you look up at him. he raises a brow, waiting.

you would. you would, but he is a stranger, different, and you're the same, and you don't know if you can process everything you feel and don't feel towards choi san when you're in a situation like this. you don't even know if he truly cares about you, or if he feels some type of obligation towards you. does he pity you enough to act like he cares? there are so many responses hurling to the tip of your tongue, but you can't seem to open your mouth. you can only look at him.

the silence is so loud, your heartbeat pounding against your ears.

his dimpled smile curls around your heart in a vice-like grip.

he says, with a wave of his hands and a rattle of shackles, "well, either way we're going to have to pretend we care."

you blink at the change in tone, "what?"

"your little acting moment back there, with mrs. kim, jihyo, and johnny? word's spread quickly."

"yeah," you take a breath to settle your racing heart, almost grateful for the change in subject, "i didn't even have to convince the guard to let me in."

"please tell me you have a plan to finish whatever you just started."

"i don't know," you shake your head, ignoring his grimace, "i just thought that if the compound believed we're desperately in love and you punched hongjoong out of chivalry and the desperate need to protect my honor or whatever, you wouldn't be punished as badly."

"protect your honor?" san snorts loudly at that.

"like the dramas," you say, with a small smile.

san laughs, dragging a hand over his face, "still, y/n. that's a pretty big fucking if."

"look, i didn't have time to think about it. i had to move fast. you punched him out of fucking nowhere."

"the asshole deserved it."

you certainly cannot help the smile then, chuckling as you nod, "yeah, he did."

san grins at you, all dimples and amusement, "i'd do it again, you know. been wanting to punch that guy since day one."

you roll your eyes, averting your gaze from his smile, you say, "how about you tell me if you have a plan? you sound pretty confident about handling this, san. you don't even look that worried."

san purses his lips, says, "i've been talking to seonghwa a lot."

you think back on all the shipment nights and how san and seonghwa would laugh together while you sipped on a drink in the corner and waited for the chance to slip away. "i noticed."

san snorts at your tone, "i can convince him i was just being overprotective. he'll understand."

"you're going to rely on that?" you frown at that, "seonghwa only understands what serves him, san."

"exactly. seonghwa understands that he needs his guards to like him while they serve him." san's face darkens as he speaks. he adds, "and you've already gotten them on your side. i'm sure he's noticed."

you smile at that, "mrs. kim looked pretty pissed, didn't she?"

"mrs. kim volunteered her abusive husband as a shipment. well, technical she shot him in the foot and dragged him to seonghwa, but that's not important," san waves a hand, a small smile still on his lips, "she doesn't like abuse."

at first you're surprised at the revelation. you knew everyone here must have been through something horrible, because in a world like this, you doubt anyone has survived unscathed by trauma. but you didn't know specifics. clearly, san hasn't just been speaking to jongho and seonghwa. he's been talking to everyone. he knew momo was important to jihyo. he knew the important people in johnny's life. you're curious why he's bothering to get to know so many people here.

"no, she just doesn't like abuse when it's happening in front of her and she can't ignore it," you mumble, rolling your eyes. you didn't know mrs. kim had such a past, but she's averted her eyes plenty of times when you were at a shipment and hongjoong had his arm around you for you to find yourself getting angry at the thought of it. it's worse somehow, knowing she'd mind her business when she should have sympathized with you to some degree. but she turned the other cheek, as jongho said the people here always do.

san's smile slips from his face, his eyes flickering between yours before they slip to your chin, your neck, your fading bruises, where sometimes you can still feel the ghost touch of hongjoong's fingers and the pain and paralyzing fear it brought. he says, "you mean the way hongjoong treats you. has he...?"

"no," you shake your head, averting your eyes, "he's just annoying most of the time. aside from the library, it's never that serious."

"it looked pretty serious to me this morning."

"seriously san. what the hell do you want from me?" you snap, fed up by his concern because it's pity, it's just fucking pity, and you don't like that. "do you want me to admit to you that hongjoong scares the shit out of me? do you want me to admit that i live in fear that he's going to get bored and kill me one day?"

san shakes his head. you don't mention how that was an admission in itself. san doesn't mention it either. but the two of you look at each other as if you're very much aware of the fact.

you change the subject, overwhelmed by the loudness of the silence, instead straightening up to glare at him, "stop asking about me and worry about yourself. if you get your hand cut off, i'm going to fucking kill you."

your voice isn't any louder than a whisper, but it draws the smallest of smiles out of san. he shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes. he says, "i won't."

"you'd better not. and don't punch anyone on my behalf ever again."

san tilts his head, "i can't -"

"no," you scoot closer, jabbing a finger at him, "you can."

san glances at your finger, inches from his nose, before he looks at you, tilting his head slightly. his lip twitches, as if he's fighting a smile, but he nods, expression solemn. "fine."

you get to your feet, ignoring the way guilt swirls in your stomach as you look at the chains latching him to the wall. ten minutes have long passed, so you say, "good."

when you reach the door, san calls to you. you pause, looking over your shoulder.

"can you let the boys know what's going on?"

that feeling, the one where you want to scream, trickles down your spine, but you nod briskly at his request.

"thank you," san says.

"just get some rest," you tell him, "and stay out of trouble."

"yes, ma'am," san says. you glare over your shoulder at him at the way he mock-salutes you. you shut the door while he's snickering at your reaction.

~.~.~.~.~

lunch is a shitshow. you get pitying looks from too many people. someone has the audacity to come up to you and hand you his apple, patting your back as he says, "stay strong, y/n."

you hadn't realized the impact you'd managed to have, but it's interesting. when you meet hongjoong's gaze from across the dining area, the way his eyes are narrowed, and judging from the fact that he doesn't make his way over to you, you realize that you've won something. you're unsure exactly what that could be, but you've swayed the right people, and hongjoong isn't bothering you because of it.

jongho slips into the bench next to you, immediately turning to face you. he slides his notebook over, what the hell happened?

you frown at him, "san punched hongjoong."

i gathered that much.

"that's about it."

jongho gives you a look of disbelief that could make anyone feel like a total idiot.

however, he writes, i'll make sure nothing happens to san in the prison.

you frown, "why would you do that? won't you get in trouble?"

i'm in charge of the punishments, y/n.

you'd never...connected that. you didn't think jongho had such power. the thought makes you feel a bit queasy, but you try not to show it. you nod. jongho gives you a sad smile, pats your arm lightly and turns to his food. suddenly, you're not hungry.

~.~.~.~.~

long after curfew, you're unlocking san's door with the key he'd given you weeks ago.

("they give us all two keys to our rooms. i'm giving you this in case you need a quiet place to nap or just some privacy and i'm busy," san said then with a shrug, while folding his pile of t-shirts carefully. you remembered feeling frustrated that everyone got keys to their rooms and you didn't get that kind of privacy.

"oh, uh thanks," you'd responded.

san only waved a hand in dismissal and pointed at your pile of folded laundry, "none of those are folded the same. have you never folded jeans before?")

you step into the cold room, shutting the door behind you and locking it. every night, san would pull the radio out from between the mattresses, so you look there first.

you find it quickly, and as you settle into san's bed, the chill of his room gets to you. you look at the wooden chair you usually occupy, and then you glance around the room. there's nothing particularly personal about the room, aside from the sweatshirt strewn next to san's pillows - you'd asked about it once, awkwardly trying to start conversation one night, and he mentioned it was yeosang's - but the room feels like it's missing something without san's presence. it feels bigger and emptier than ever. colder even. you scoot until your back hits the wall, and you click the button.

"hello?"

"y/n?" yeosang answers. he's always the first to answer. the few times it wasn't him, it was wooyoung.

you don't know what to say.

the radio crackles once more, and yeosang's tone is sharp, alert. almost like he knows, just from the silence. it makes sense. san isn't following up your hello with a cheery (sometimes whiny) greeting of his own.

"what's going on? where the fuck is san?" another crackle, unrecognizable voices in the background. "y/n, answer me."

you draw your knees to your chest, and feel so very small sitting in san's empty room, in his empty bed, talking to someone whose heart appears so full of san, who san thought of immediately, even when he was chained to a wall awaiting his fate.

"san got into a fight with hongjoong," you say, and you keep your finger on the talk button so you can't be interrupted as you explain, "he's in prison right now, awaiting punishment. he punched hongjoong, so that means he's going to get his hand cut off. but san thinks he won't. i'm sorry."

why you're apologizing to yeosang, you're unsure. maybe it's because you recognize how deeply san cares about his friends, and you're sure that runs both ways. you'd be angry, you think, if it didn't. san used to have a lot of love to give, and that hasn't seemed to change. you just hope he's found people who gives him the love back the way he needs and wants it. you let go of the talk button. the impending silence stretches on and on and on. until -

"what was the fight about?"

you frown. why does he care about that?

still, you say, "he - hongjoong was bothering me."

the silence is so long.

"i told him it was stupid," you add, quickly. why do you suddenly feel the need to justify yourself to his friends? maybe it's because you're the ex, and these are the people he loves most in the world now.

yeosang says, "that fucking idiot. i didn't think he meant he'd lose all common sense."

"what do you think collateral means, yeosang?" wooyoung's voice is quieter, more distant, but it surprises you. you'd forgotten wooyoung, yunho, and mingi are likely listening.

"he fucking promised he wouldn't die," yeosang's voice is sharp, angry, and clearly directed at wooyoung. "i told him to stop keeping promises he couldn't fucking keep. that fucking asshole.

you hold your breath. wooyoung responds, voice soft, "i told you not to listen to his promises."

"yeah, whatever." yeosang sounds breathless. "what-fucking-ever."

you can't even respond, because yeosang is likely gripping the radio, likely pressing the talk button by accident.

your heart races in your chest, at the conversation, at the emotions in yeosang's voice, the anger mixed with horror mixed with something else, something tinged with the same kind of desperation you'd felt when san had guns pointed to his head. it's the same.

the crackling stops.

you put the radio to your mouth, and you whisper, "you love san a lot, don't you?"

you look at yeosang's sweatshirt strewn haphazardly over san's pillow. platonic love is just as deep, just as desperate as any other form of love. you knew this. but the sweatshirt screams something else. wooyoung's sweatshirt isn't here. yunho's isn't here. mingi's isn't here.

promises, rings in your head.

maybe, at another time, you'd ask if yeosang was in love with san. but now, you do not care much for linguistics. it's the same thing, isn't it? to love and to be in love.

it surprises you when yeosang answers. it isn't wooyoung or yunho. just yeosang.

"yes," he says, "i do."

you note that yeosang doesn't say we.

"then i'll find a way to get san back to you safely. to all of you. all limbs in tact."

you don't mention jongho, as san asked, but you think getting jongho out of here and having him stay with them would be good. he already knows mingi. you think he'd mesh well with everyone else, and they all seem to have a lot of love to give when they care about someone. jongho deserves that, at the very least.

"y/n." yeosang groans, as if you've just said something awful, "don't do anything stupid."

"why?" you ask, "are you planning on doing something stupid?"

silence.

"if you have a plan i'm not supposed to know about, now is the time to let me in on it."

another pause.

you say, "yeosang."

yunho is the one to speak this time, and you can hear hurried whispers that he speaks over, coupled with indignant shouts of his name. yunho says, "seonghwa offered san a guard position. the plan involves that he takes seonghwa up on it. i don't know what's going to happen now, but that was a part of the original plan."

you stare at the radio. san had mentioned he was speaking to seonghwa.

"yunho, are you fucking serious?" wooyoung snaps.

yunho says, "it doesn't make sense to keep them in the dark anymore. san went off plan. so will we."

"so san lied to me." you say it out loud, and you hate how it hurts a bit more than you thought it would.

"we did, too," yunho points out.

"yeah, but i don't know you."

"you don't know san either," wooyoung speaks up.

you laugh, humorlessly, "i've noticed."

another pause.

then yeosang says, "san was the one who decided he'd come in after you, y/n. if it's any consolation, he's refused on any plan that doesn't involve getting you out first."

your fingers curl into fists at your lap, and you hate that tears fill your eyes, that your emotions are finally crumbling in the presence of a group men you don't really know. but the way yeosang talks is different from his usual rough, angry demeanor. even through the static of the radio, you can hear the understanding there. the sympathy.

"why would you let him do that?"

"you don't know us," yeosang says, tone strange, "but we know you. we've known you a long long time. through san's stories."

you blink back your tears and the sob resting at the tip of your tongue. you say, "i'm sorry."

yeosang says, "you have nothing to be sorry about. you're not doing anything wrong, y/n."

it's the first time anyone's said that to you, and you hadn't realized how much you needed someone to say that. you rub at the tears, taking a deep, steadying breath, and you say, "tell me the rest of the plan."

yeosang takes a breath, says, "okay. fine."

#taglist #sr

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wordstro · 2 years ago

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taglist:

[12] apocalypse + ex san + "you didn't know?"

part 11 | masterlist | part 13

a/n: 3k, mentions of death, i'm sorry in advance

you're still holding the book when you step out of the library, cleaning supplies stacked above it. you'd sat in that empty library and flipped through the book, but there was nothing else in there. nothing but the name chaeyoung. hongjoong's sister.

you thought, for a moment, that seonghwa was talking about her, when he mentioned a friend he once had. you didn't miss the way jongho mentioned that seonghwa and chaeyoung were primarily the ones who figured out how to keep the fog away from the sanctuary. they came up with the original rules. that 'something happened with chaeyoung'. as you sat in that chair and stared at the stupid book, the hairs at the back of your neck remained standing on end, and your stomach churned. you weren't sure what happened to her, or what seonghwa knew, or what the hell the tragedy of antigone had to do with any of it, but the very thought of something else happening to her, something that ended with her throat slit, made your stomach churn and your heart ache. you did not know the woman. perhaps, she was just as volatile and terrible as everyone else here. but as you sat in that library and stared at her name, you couldn't help but wonder about her. after hongjoong told you that story, after jongho told you his, you'd spent too many nights dreaming of a girl with a slit throat. you started keeping candles burning all night to avoid looking into too many dark corners in your jail cell room. you thought about her often. you empathized for her.

so you couldn't leave the book behind.

and as you walk out of the library, juggling a sloshing bucket in one hand, and a spray bottle and dirty rags in the other, you freeze in place at the sight of san leaning next to the door to the library. the library used to be some sort of shed, separate from the main compound where the closet of cleaning supplies sat, and the protruding roof keeps you both covered from the rain as you blink at him. it must have started raining while you were immersed in scouring the pages of the book. you want to ask why san is waiting for you, but an old umbrella with one side bent and lopsided is at his side. you can hear the shouts of the other sanctuary members as they take cover from the rain. there's laughter. giggles.

san pushes himself off the wall, uncrossing his arms, his hair tickling his eyes. it's much too long now.

"it started raining, and mrs. kim told me bring this for you," san says, rubbing the back of his neck as he holds out the umbrella. it's always mrs. kim.

you blink at the umbrella in question. you look up at him and say, "it's broken."

san scoffs, rolling his eyes, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. he steps closer, still holding the umbrella handle out for you, "just take it. she let me out early specifically for this."

"what does she think this is? a drama?" you mutter.

this time san laughs, and it's not soft or controlled. it's the kind you remember from long ago. you'd forgotten how contagious it can be. and how loud. it echoes over the sound of steady rain.

"she misses her shows," he says with a snort.

"they all do," you say, pointing with your chin across the field, under the dining hall overhang where a lot of the sanctuary members are taking refuge from the rain. some of them are blatant in their staring.

san waves at them, and everyone seems to immediately turn away or even walk off. you can't help but laugh, and san glances over at you, the small smile still there.

then he cranes his neck, peering up at the sky - something you have yet to feel comfortable doing due to those things hanging around in the sky, though when it's raining it's harder to see them and easier to pretend they were never there in the first place. he says, "let's head in before the rain gets worse. here" - he plucks the bucket and rags from you, fingers brushing yours, and his gaze flickers to the book in your hands before he pushes the umbrella into your hands. he leaves the book - "let's put these away first."

your heart jumps a bit at the way he so casually helps you - when he used to work laundry duty , he'd just laugh at you as you stumbled under the weight of all the laundry and breeze right past you - but you ignore it, instead opening the umbrella and focusing on keeping you both covered from the rain. for a moment, the steady pit-pat of the rain and your squelching footsteps in the mud is all you hear.

the tall grass tickles your ankles, and no doubt you'll have mosquito bites all over any exposed skin by the end of this, but the smell of earth and rain is comforting despite all that.

you come to a halt, and san stops after a moment, shuffling back under the umbrella so he doesn't get rained on.

he tilts his head at you, questioning, curious.

you say, "did mingi ever tell you anything about chaeyoung, uh, hongjoong's sister?"

you don't know why you're asking him. he's made it clear he won't divulge any of his friend's secrets.

you expect san to go steely, to close off or shut you down immediately, but he just purses his lips, readjusting his grip on the cleaning supplies, before he says, "mingi never said much about her. he...he doesn't like talking about it."

"what if i asked him?"

the rain starts to really pour now, your shoulder getting wet. san's is too. this umbrella is terrible.

san sighs, says, "he doesn't talk, y/n. he only really talks to a few people, and even then it's not much."

you just nod, making a move to walk.

after a moment, san tugs on your elbow. you let him pull you to a stop. he asks, "why are you asking?"

"this is hers," you say, waving the book.

san stares down the title of the book for a long moment. the rain drones on and on, before he says, "did seonghwa say something to you?"

that makes you pause, "do you...know something?"

"it's complicated."

"everything is fucking complicated with you," you snap.

san sighs. you start walking faster, yanking open the doors to the hall that holds the cleaning supply closet. the hallway is empty, no doubt because everyone's already at dinner. you shove the soaked umbrella into san's hands as you take the cleaning supplies, ignoring his small whine of protest at getting wet. you put away the cleaning supplies without looking at him. your hands, though, are shaking.

"why are you asking about chaeyoung?" san's voice is low, concerned, behind you.

you shrug, gripping the door so tight, your palms hurt a bit. "i worry sometimes that i'll end up like her."

there's a small pause, before san says, "that's not going to happen."

his voice is still low, but it's adamant. firm. stubborn, even, you'd say. he speaks like it's fact, and with the way things are going nothing regarding your lives is fact anymore. it's unrealistic for him to think otherwise. it's making a promise he can't keep, and god have you had too many of those with him.

you sigh, turning to finally face him as you shut the door. you say, "there's something off about seonghwa, san. i don't know what it is."

"maybe it's the power trip," san mutters, rubbing his wrist.

"maybe," you say, but you don't think it's just that.

before san can respond, the doors to the indoor dining hall open up and people start spilling out, chatting and laughing as they do. johnny spots san, grinning between you both.

"we missed dinner," you frown.

san says, "i can get us something for tonight. if you're still hungry."

"they only ever have desserts and alcohol at the shipments, so yeah," then you pause, and ask, "but if you steal food and get caught, you're definitely going to lose a hand."

"i'm not stealing anything," san rolls his eyes, "guards can get food whenever since so many of us have weird hours."

"i forgot you were doing that," you say, "you get access to the kitchen?"

"no," san shakes his head, heading towards the doors, and you match his stride. the rain stopped, but the air is heavy, humid, and hot, and you grimace at the deep footsteps in the muddied path leading towards the shipment. "there's a warehouse separated from the compound out past the towers behind the laundry field. i think it used to be the officer's quarters back Before so that's why it's separated from the rest of the jail."

that's where the food comes from. that's where they go when they drive their trucks out. it has to be. though you can't help but wonder where the hell they find the food to fill the warehouse.

san pauses, frowning down at you. he searches your face, and he must be able to see something because he narrows his eyes and asks, "why are you asking?"

you don't tell him that how if you find a way in there, you and jongho can get food, a car, and get out. a part of you feels bad about that, because despite everything you shouldn't leave san behind here. it's not right. but a more spiteful part of you reminds you that san has been lying to you nonstop. that he's withholding information from you, to the point where it's become blatant and normal between you two.

you say, "we can escape that way, can't we? i doubt they have too many guards in the inside. they'd want to keep people out, not keep people in, like they do here in the main compound. we could use it as a way to sneak out."

san shakes his head, and the movement is quick, sharp, "no."

you frown at his quick retort, "what? why not?"

"that's not -" san bites the inside of his cheek, "like you said, they want to keep people out over there. getting in is going to be a shitshow."

"that's where you come in."

"let's just stick to the original plan."

"you mean the one you didn't even tell me much about?"

san huffs, but he doesn't respond, looking away instead. you avoid puddles as you walk, and the two of you stew in silence the rest of the way.

~.~.~.~.~

hongjoong takes a seat straight across from you in the little viewing half-circle. every time you look away from seonghwa and his nightly speech, you catch hongjoong's gaze. his lips are pressed into a thin line, and his eyes are narrowed, and your heart does not stop slamming against your ribs at his presence.

san is elsewhere - likely building rapport with the other guards somewhere - and you're not sure why you look for him first, when hongjoong's presence brings you such anxiety. you're lying to him, and planning an escape without him. you shouldn't be looking for him anymore.

but hongjoong doesn't make a move to approach you, so you keep your eyes locked on seonghwa, and later the shipment. you ignore hongjoong as best as you can.

tonight's shipment is just one man. the man who haunts you sometimes, the one who's friend punched him, who hongjoong looked onto the two men fighting with absolute glee as he explained the consequences of a physical fight, who lost his hand too for fighting back. funny, you think, how everything comes full circle eventually.

you leave the shipment early that night, the moment you see people start to head back up the path. you glance back over your shoulder, and san is chatting with seonghwa, seonghwa placing a hand on san's shoulder as he laughs. san smiles, dimples and all. the sight steels you in your resolve then. he has plans, and they are separate from you. he won't tell you what he's doing.

so you'll do the same. you'll act separate from him. you can't believe you spent this long not doing so.

you slip into san's room easily, tucking that extra key away. you shouldn't do this. you have probably half an hour before san comes back. but you're digging under his mattress and pulling out the radio before you can rethink the situation.

you click the button, and call out a greeting.

it takes only a moment for a response. you wonder, sometimes, if they keep the radio on them all the time. you wonder how often san talks to his friends throughout the day. those thoughts run rampant in your head most when you have time to yourself, when you're not doing menial labor and actually have time to sit with yourself and your thoughts. during your errand breaks. when you're alone in your room.

"y/n, please don't tell me he did something stupid again," surprisingly, it's not yeosang or wooyoung who answers you. it's yunho.

"not this time," you say. "san's fine."

there's a long pause. yunho says, "you're calling on your own, and you're early. it must be important."

"are you the only one there?"

"yeah," yunho hums, "yeosang and wooyoung are sorting through their supply run downstairs. mingi's taking a nap upstairs. i was reading. it's just me."

you frown. the amount information he gives you feels...strange, and it's ridiculous because he's telling you very basic details. you drag a hand through your hair at the thought.

yunho's crackly voice cuts through the silence, "disappointed?"

"no, of course not."

"alright," yunho sounds amused, "then i'm all ears. what's so important that you can't say it in front of san?"

that makes you grimace. you take a breath, before you say, "i know the knife isn't wooyoung's."

you'd originally wanted to see their faces as you told them you knew. you wanted to be able to see their reactions in plain view, but with each passing day, you're starting to worry you never will be able to. the image of a slit throat and blood everywhere flickers in your mind, but you shake it away.

you continue, clicking the radio button once more, "i know it's mingi's - which by the way i'm super fucking pissed that none of you told me - so i'm here because i want to know what happened to chaeyoung. i want to know the truth. you said i shouldn't be in the dark anymore, didn't you, yunho? here's your chance."

the silence is a lot shorter than you thought it would be. maybe that's because yunho doesn't have anyone else there to consult, like usual.

"chaeyoung was murdered, but mingi didn't kill her, if that's what you're asking," yunho sighs, "and, for the record, i never agreed to it."

you frown, "agreed to what?"

"having you sent to the sanctuary, of course. i mean san wasn't in on it either, and i doubt he would have agreed if he was, but when yeosang brought up the plan that night, i didn't think it was fair. not to mention, it was rough as hell with too many holes. no contingency plan whatsoever. but i was outnumbered three to one, so i couldn't do much."

you freeze, your heart crawling into your throat. what the hell.

your voice is shrill, even to your own ears as you shakily press the talk button. "what?"

"wait, shit," yunho's voice grows panicked. "you didn't know?"

you press the button quickly, "yunho, don't you fucking dare hang up. explain to me what the hell you mean by sent here."

the silence afterwards is so, so long. he left. he left, and you're sitting there with jumbled thoughts and horror washing over you. your fingers tremble around the radio. you can't even begin to fathom what the hell that meant. how could any of them have sent you here? yeosang made the plan? what fucking plan? what fucking plan could they have possibly made that sent you to the sanctuary? all they did was give you a pack and batteries for the radio and a warning to avoid the orange flags indicating the sanctuary. but what if that was on purpose?

that last thought is a vice-like grip over your heart.

yunho's voice is low, apologetic, filled with static and almost hard to hear. he says, "i thought when san told you about mingi's knife he told you about everything else. but clearly he didn't - i really didn't - y/n, you shouldn't be finding out like this..."

his voice trails off, just as the door opens, just as san slides into the room.

his eyes widen as he takes in the sight of you, clutching the radio, hunched on his bed.

then yeosang's voice fills the room, "y/n."

his tone is sharp and tired and not at all apologetic enough for you, and it draws an anger out of you you haven't felt in years. you're shaking now, and it's no longer out of fear or terror or what ifs. it's pure fucking rage.

"if you don't explain what yunho meant by a plan to send me here in the next minute, i'm going to hongjoong and seonghwa and i'm telling them exactly where your fucking bunker is. i'm telling them everything," you say as you hold san's gaze, "i swear i will."

as san stands at the door, as you both hold each other's gazes, you know that you mean every single word of your threat.

with the way san's eyebrows furrow, he knows it, too.

#taglist #itpfl #ummmm erjfdnsknda this short but whew

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wordstro · 2 years ago

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taglist:

[13] apocalypse + ex!san + "it was necessary."

part 12 | masterlist | part 14

a/n: 4.3k, a LOOOT of cursing, mentions of reflecting back on unhealthy relationships

apparently, yeosang can tell, too, that your threat is not a bluff. yeosang's voice rings clear through the room. san steps into the room as he talks, closer to you, and you keep your distance, the radio tucked close to you. san seems to still when he realizes you're moving away from him, hovering in the liminal space between the door and the foot of his bed.

"this isn't an excuse, but i was desperate, and you showing up the way you did seemed like a fucking miracle all on its own. i've spent years trying to figure out how to get back into the sanctuary and get someone out. i left him behind the night i escaped, and mingi and i swore we wouldn't rest until we got him out of there. wooyoung, yunho, and san refused to let us go back to the sanctuary." yeosang lets out a small, humorless laugh, "in fact, wooyoung tied us to our beds for a week once. they didn't want us recaptured, and hongjoong and seonghwa were constantly on the lookout for us."

yeosang sighs, "then you showed up. i...when i saw you had the other radio i saw an opportunity. you - i...i didn't like you at first, when i realized who you were. especially when i saw you still had the fucking radio too. you'd been an obstacle in my life long before i ever fucking met you. i really didn't want to like you, y/n, but" - yeosang lets out another humorless laugh, and you grit your teeth at the sound of it - "the opportunity you presented was nothing short of a goddamned miracle. i couldn't pass it up. we were already in hot water, anyway. the sanctuary's search teams were getting closer and closer to the bunker. we...we kept tabs on the sanctuary for years, so we could avoid them, but the tire shredders they put out were unexpected and way too fucking close."

the crackle of yeosang keeping his finger on the talk button is gone, and you find yourself lifting the radio and snapping into the silence, "so you gave me the wrong directions on purpose? is that what you're saying?"

"the sanctuary sat north of town. not south. i knew telling you that much would have you running straight into one of their search parties."

your fingers curl into a tight fist at your side, nails digging into your palms, "i fucking saved your lives, yeosang. and you repaid me like this?"

"it was necessary, y/n. you have to understand that."

you want to scream at him, and you wish this wasn't happening over the fucking radios, that you could look yeosang in the eye before you punched him. necessary?

but he still has his finger on the button, so you can't interrupt, no matter how much you want to.

yeosang murmurs, "i did hate you a little bit, but i'm not a monster. the stuff about avoiding the orange flags was true. i hoped you'd get out of town by some stroke of luck. but you didn't. the plan was to have you taken by the sanctuary, and when hongjoong recognized the knife, he'd target you so you wouldn't want to stay. you...you would do whatever we wanted to get out of there. i wasn't sure if you'd keep the radio, or even put the batteries in, so i know a lot of the plan was based on pure chance, but somehow it worked. some-fucking-how, everything fell into place perfectly and it worked. when i heard your voice, i felt...sorry, y/n. you have to believe me. but, for the first time in years, i finally had an opportunity to find my friend and get him the fuck out of there."

every word that comes out of his mouth adds fuel to the fire growing at the pit of your stomach. the ache in your chest is an added pain, just more tinder to the fire, because you thought the two of you were allies, at the very least, and here he was, telling you that he was willing to sacrifice you for his goals. here he was, telling you all this as if you'd somehow agree with his stance just because he wanted to save a fucking friend of his.

standing here, with the chair you'd always sat on acting a barrier between yourself and san, with the radio clutched in your trembling hands - trembling not because of fear, but because of anger and disappointment, so much fucking disappointment - and the urge to scream, the anger inside only grows and grows, until you're afraid it will consume you whole and you will become a raging, unrecognizable beast because of it.

"let me get this straight." you bite out, "you set me up to get kidnapped and you made sure i'd be targeted by giving me that knife, just so you could jump in and pretend to be my fucking saviors. all because of what? because you found someone to unknowingly do the dirty work in saving a friend who you abandoned in this fucking shithole?"

this time you laugh, cackle really, and you have to press your fingers to your mouth to keep it from turning truly crazed.

you say, "what if i died in the process? would you really have felt sorry, yeosang, if the person that has been haunting your stupid fucking relationship for years just so happened to drop dead while doing all your dirty work?"

san visibly winces at your words, but he doesn't say a thing. he doesn't say anything and that pisses you off more.

yeosang says, "yes, i would have been sorry. i'm not a monster."

"as i listen to this fucking plan of yours, i'm finding it really, really hard to believe that."

yeosang groans, "it's fucked up. i know. and this isn't an excuse. i'm genuinely sorry you had to get caught in the middle of it."

he's making it sound like you chose to get caught in the middle. your palms hurt with the pressure of your nails digging into the soft flesh there.

"i saved your lives," you say, "i kept your bunker location from hongjoong because wooyoung told me he hurt you, to the point where you came out of there a different fucking person. i kept your fucking secrets because i didn't want that to happen again. i bet," your voice falters, your throat closing in realization and horror and frustration. you clear your throat, say, "i suppose you knew i'd cover for you, huh?"

"i figured you were that kind of person when you didn't drop mingi and run."

the resignation in his tone makes you wince. you look at san, and watch as he closes his eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line, his brows furrowed, his shoulders slumped forward.

"i should have left you both to die that night." you say, and san's eyes snap open. you continue, tone vindictive and mean and only a quarter of the fury inside of you, "i guess the only good thing about all this is that i still have the chance to make sure you do die, right? though hongjoong's going to make it a lot worse than those aliens ever could have."

yeosang's voice still echoes as he speaks, but his tone is a hint more desperate. that feeds the fire, strokes it in a way that would have horrified you before you'd entered the sanctuary. now you're so tired and angry, you find the desperation satisfying. deserving. you want him to grovel. yeosang and wooyoung and mingi. yunho, too. and as you look at san, the way he stares at you with wide, surprised eyes, you want san to grovel too.

"y/n, please." yeosang pleads, "i know i fucked up, but san caught onto the plan a few days later. he knocked some sense into me, and i realized that what i was doing wasn't fair. especially when you were - you were apologizing to me, when you shouldn't have been sorry at all. san was so fucking pissed when he found out that he immediately decided he'd go in after you. he wouldn't listen to any of us. he's in there to get you out, and knowing he's out there... i just - i know i was an idiot for ever throwing you under the bus. it's just - if you tell hongjoong and seonghwa, they're going to kill him, y/n. they're going to kill san."

a part of your heart still twists at the thought, but the angrier more vindictive side of you shuts that down quickly. yeosang only cares about san's wellbeing. not yours. he only realized the danger he put you in, because san is in the same environment and he's realizing the consequences of actions entails san possibly getting hurt. yeosang does not care about you, or your wellbeing.

"oh," you laugh, regarding with contempt. you sound like you're ten seconds away from a breakdown, your cackle too loud, too hollow, "well, that's too fucking bad. should have thought about that a long time ago. what did yunho call it? a contingency plan? should have worked that out first huh?"

you step around the chair, and san steps in front of you. you ignore yeosang, wooyoung, and yunho's voices drifting through the radio, similarly desperate, worried, for san. not you, just san.

as you stare at san, everything else seems to fall away. for a moment, everything is choi san, wholly and fully, and you vision flickers between a young san, with betrayal in his eyes as you'd told him to get out, as you rounded on him, smacking his chest, and you'd bit out, get the fuck out. everything is that night, and your breathing comes out jagged, your chest tight. the present san exhales softly, but the sound is just as jagged as the feeling in your chest, in your heart.

you snap, "move."

"y/n, please." san's voice is calmer than yours, quieter. it makes you want to scream.

"get the fuck out of my way."

san closes his eyes, briefly, before opens them, determination brightening his eyes. he says, "the friend yeosang and mingi wanted to save is jongho, y/n."

that makes you falter, your fingers loosening slightly around the radio. so jongho's friend, the one he mentioned you reminded him of. it's yeosang. it has to be yeosang. your heart pounds, and you're still so fucking angry, but you get it, the desperation to save someone like jongho from the likes of this place, from the wrath of seonghwa and hongjoong. would you have thrown a stranger, an ex of your significant other who only ever created problems in your relationship despite never meeting them, into harm as a way to save your friend? you want to say no, but you don't know what you'd do if you were truly in such a situation. besides, you'd spent more time in the sanctuary worrying over jongho then you should have. the two of you are going to escape to the other side of the country, for fuck's sake. in that moment you find yourself in yeosang's shoes, and you despise that you get it. you understand him.

a wave of deep, deep sadness washes over you, your fist shaking at your side. you'd heard once that anger is a secondary emotion, one that had sadness or fear lurking beneath its depths. you never really understood that, until now. what the hell has this world come to?

still, despite understanding his motives, none of this okay. this is not okay.

"so what?" you stare at san, "you think that's a good enough reason for this?"

san shakes his head, his jaw ticking, "look, y/n. i didn't know - i never thought yeosang would do something like this, if i'm being honest. i caught him talking on the radio with you one night, and i lost it. i just...i know i've been an ass to you before in the bunker, but this was a level of low i couldn't get behind. i got myself captured, so i could make sure we got both you and jongho out in one piece."

"why didn't you tell me any of this?"

"i don't - i didn't think it mattered as long as i got you out. i thought i could keep the peace somehow, and protect - "

"oh fuck off with that," you roll your eyes, trying to sidestep him. he only blocks your path. you look up at him, "lying to someone isn't protecting them."

"i never lied. i just -""

"all you've ever done is lie to me!" you interrupt, voice raising, "even Before. you spent years telling me you loved me, only for you to admit you never fucking meant it. you didn't even like me. you," your voice cracks, but you power through, "you barely even tolerated me, san. you said it yourself. you were my first love, and i was nothing to you, and now this? all you ever fucking did was lie and break my heart. i can't believe you think you've changed. you're the same as you've always been."

"your -" san blinks in surprise, "your first love?"

rage bubbles at the pit of your stomach as you blink back tears born of both frustration and disbelief. your stomach curls into knots, and you feel nauseous at the feeling as you ask, "how is that a fucking surprise to you? how?"

"i never meant any of what i said that night!" san drags his hands through his hair, tugging at it, his eyes alight with a million emotions you do not care to decipher. "for months and months you refused to show me any affection. you never even said that you loved me. for years, i got nothing from you! and i get it now, that the two of us had a lot of shit to work through, but you couldn't even say it, y/n? not even once?"

his voice cracks on the last sentence, lilting up and trailing off, and the tears in your eyes well at the reminder coupled with the glassy shine in his eyes.

you'd spent so long trying to forget your relationship with him, and with the end of the world and wandering as a ghost, you'd succeeded. you were bad at expressing your affection, always avoidant, unable to really voice much, always forgetful of anniversaries, and san was too much to you. too attached. you loved him so much, but the attention was overwhelming and stressful, and you often worried you were not enough, so you tried to step away first, so he could turn around and tell you he was sick of you first. he never did that, though. instead, he started trying to make you jealous. at first it was meant to be a one-off thing. that was the only time either of you talked about it, because san's tactic worked a little too well and, out of jealousy, you'd reacted and finally showed san the attention he wanted. afterwards, you'd laid with your heads close, your fingers threaded through each others, and your legs tangled, a heavy silence between you, and you said, can we talk about it next time? instead of doing all this? and san had agreed.

but that agreement fell through very quickly. why wouldn't it when san's tactics elicited immediate responses? it was easier than talking. it was a quick solution.

but you both fell into a cycle of anger and jealousy and the type of relationship that was far from healthy. the worst part was, neither of you ever talked about it after that first time. you fought and made up and pretended like the two of you were perfectly fine. you truly believed your actions were enough. that san would understand that your cutting fruits for him, and folding his laundry when he had a long day of work and classes, and making his favorite dinners every once in a while, and leaving him handwritten post-it notes wherever you could just to see him smile softly at them, was the embodiment of actions speak louder than words. you always thought he just knew you'd loved him. you never truly realized that you never told him you loved him back.

"i thought," your fists loosen and your heart is a heavy thing in your chest, weighing you down until you have to dig your heels to keep from sinking, "i thought you knew."

san shakes his head, rubbing at his unshed tears as he looks away. the silence stretches on much too long.

then san says, "it doesn't matter anymore. back then i was stupid and young and i wanted to hurt you as bad as you were hurting me. i know, god, i fucking know i fucked up that night, y/n, and i regretted what i said."

"then why didn't you say anything?"

"you told me not to come back," san blinks at you.

you stare right back. you did tell him that. you'd hoped he wouldn't listen, but he did. for once, he did.

san continues, speaking slowly, "but please believe me when i say that the minute i found out what yeosang planned for you, i only wanted to get you out of here. i promised you i'd get you out, and i'm sticking to that promise."

"why?"

"what do you mean?"

"you had no problem leaving me tied up before sunset when you and your friends robbed me," you frown, "but you came in after me this time. is this because of guilt?"

"i thought if i left you there, i'd never have to see you again. seeing you again...it scared me."

"why the hell would it scare you?" your fingers clench around air, "i was the one who was robbed."

"i'm sorry, y/n." san frowns, "it's just...it's because" - he clears his throat - "because i care about you. i still care about you. i thought i stopped, but i saw you again and it just. it set me back to the very beginning so easily. i thought you'd get that by now."

your heart races in your chest, and this time out of a completely different emotion. he'd said he didn't care about you so often, you truly believed it. you want to be unsure if he means it, but the way he's looking at you, with sincerity flooding his dark eyes, and his gaze heavy on yours, your gut tells you that for once he is not lying.

but you are not in the right space to dissect how that makes you feel. all you can think about is the fact that he lied in the past, that all that is in the past, and in the here and now, his actions have hurt you. him telling you this, after he spent so long shooting you down, brings an ache to your chest you can't quite name. all you can wonder at is how difficult it is for the two of you to just be fucking honest with each other. it's like you're both incapable of it.

"no," you shake your head over and over, stepping back from him, not realizing that he's drawn closer until you pull yourself out of the bubble that is choi san, "no, san, no. you don't get to do this."

your voice crumbles with each word, and you hate it. you hate the way he looks at you, with the softest of eyes, with a visceral sadness that settles under your skin and makes a home there.

he lifts a hand, as if he wants to touch you, but then he drops his hand. he murmurs, "do what?"

"make me feel bad for being angry. pull me back in when you spent so long being so...so mean," your voice cracks on the word, because he's been worse than mean, but somehow you can't get yourself to say anything but that. you say, "you can't act like you haven't been withholding information from me all this time."

"i told you before, y/n," san drags his hand over his face, "i can't choose between any of you. i can't choose sides."

"if you think being honest with me is choosing sides," you exhale, "then i'm fucking done here."

you try to shove past him. he grips your elbow, dips his head, says your name in a way that makes a small part of you want to stay, while the angrier part of you wants to scream and scream and scream. he says, "y/n, please."

san's touch is light, one you can easily shake out of.

you look down at his hand, and you think shake your head, over and over and over. you say, "no."

san sighs, "whatever you do next, it's going to end badly. please just consider that at least."

you find you don't care.

you keep your eyes locked on him as you bring the radio to your lips, and you say, "yeosang, i'm telling jongho everything you've done, and he can decide if he wants to see you again. i like to think he won't. either way, fuck every single one of you."

it feels a bit like a goodbye, and you really hope it is.

you push the radio into san's other hand, before looking down at the the hand still holding your elbow. you look back up at him, and say, "let me go."

slowly, he retracts his hand. it reminds you of when you told him not to come back and he listened. you're not sure how you feel about it, but your stomach still curls with a mixture of rage, disappointment, and resignation. san's dark eyes flicker over your face, and his lips press into a thin, determined line.

if he was going to listen to you, if he didn't come back back then, then you figure he'll do the same now. and, maybe, he doesn't deserve this. he doesn't deserve any type of closure on your part, but you can't help it when you look him in the eyes and you say, "you need to let me go this time."

you say it like he's the only one who couldn't let go. like you hadn't kept his radio in your room for years and years. like you didn't feel something right now, despite every thing that's happened. he's your first love, though, and those never truly leave you. it's easier, now, you think, with the fire inside you fueling your every decision.

you study his expression, repeat, "let me go."

san's eyes are glassy, his mouth set in stone, his fingers curling into fists at his side. but he nods. he nods.

most importantly, he does not try to stop you when you turn and leave.

~.~.~.~.~

you make a beeline for the warehouse where jongho is working his nightshift. the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end as they always do when you're walking the grounds under moonlight, but this time you can't focus on anything but talking to jongho and getting the hell out of this place once and for all.

as you walk away from san's room, from the radio, and yeosang, as you process the gravity of the betrayal you've faced, you know you were better off wandering alone. at least this time, you'll have jongho as a companion, though you're unsure if he'll stay with you. he may go back. to yeosang and mingi. that thought makes your heart clench. monsters aren't born, they are made, hongjoong said. you're starting to understand what he meant.

you slip into the warehouse, but when you get to the desk jongho usually occupies, no one is there.

the warehouse is quiet, eerily so. no screams, no metal banging, no crickets chirping, nothing.

"looking for someone?"

hongjoong's voice sends shivers down your back. you spin on your heels, backing up immediately until your the back of your knees hit the desk.

hongjoong leans against the hall, blocking the way you came in, his arms crossed over his chest, his grin all teeth.

hongjoong lifts a hand, and wiggles an object in the air, dangling it in front of his face. for a moment, you can't tell what it is.

then you realize it's the radio. your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. did san...?

"i don't know what -"

"cut the bullshit," hongjoong says, smile dropping from his face, "i know you've been talking to mingi since you've gotten here. i wouldn't have expected any less from you, really. so we're going to either do this the hard way or the easy way. your pick."

monsters are made, you know. and maybe you left your last bit of empathy behind when you told san to let you go. you say, "if you want information on mingi and yeosang, i can give you that. you were right. they're liars."

hongjoong raises a brow, but the grin comes back brighter than ever. he says, "ah, i wasn't expecting this so soon. i thought i'd have to pull out at least a few fingernails before you started talking."

hongjoong raises an arm, waving you forward. you follow him. he drops his arm over your shoulders as you two walk out of the warehouse and back under the moonlight. the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end, from both hongjoong's heavy arm and the things in the sky above.

he leads you across the courtyard, through the laundry field, and towards one of the guard towers. hongjoong doesn't say a word all the while.

you try to duck out from under his arm, but he is heavy.

you say, "where are we going?"

hongjoong grins, and under the moonlight, the planes of his face is longer, shadows drawing exaggerated, jagged lines that bring chills down your spine. hongjoong leans close, mouth inches from your ear, and he sing-songs, "to see seonghwa."

just as you're coming up on the entrance to the guard tower connected to the wall, the metal door closed tight ahead of you, you ask, "where's...where's jongho?"

hongjoong chuckles, and it echoes around you, "he picked the hard way."

then hongjoong shoves you forward so hard you stumble onto your knees. you look up when you hear the clang of metal. the door swings open with a resounding thud.

it isn't seonghwa who opened the door, or even san, as a part of you dreaded.

with his head tucked and his eyes averted, jongho holds open the metal door. hongjoong crouches next to you, his fingers threading through your hair as he pulls your head back, back, back, until you're looking past jongho, looking up, at the stars and the moon and white things floating in the sky, just hovering in one place. not quite moving.

he says, and strangely enough, hongjoong's tone is gentle, kind, "take a good look. in case it's your last time."

#taglist #sr #please lmk if i forgot anyone #also whew sorry again dkfjnsdjfnkdsj but we're getting to the end parts now #also me listening to young luv by stayc while writing this like stayc girls we’re breaking down…

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wordstro · 2 years ago

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taglist:

[17] apocalypse + ex!san + "he's playing with his food."

part 16 | masterlist | part 18

a/n: 4k words, warnings for descriptions of violence, injuries, and a lot of panic - similar to last chapter, we've come full circle since the end of part 1 :(

"we need to leave," wooyoung's voice reaches your ears, even as hongjoong's laugh starts to grow shrill, until it turns into the same kind of keening a rusty unused door hinge makes as the door is pushed open. until every hair at the back of your neck stands on end and you get the feeling that this creature - this hongjoong - is not the only thing lingering in the dark fog filling the sanctuary around you. the dim fairy lights that are always kept on at the shipment spot begin to sputter out, one bulb at a time, each bulb making a small pop sound as it dies. even the fire from the car they crashed through the gates has withered, leaving black smoke and ashes and the smell of burnt metal. with each dying lightbulb, you're plunged into more darkness, until the silver moonlight is all you have.

wooyoung reaches for mingi, and the image of wooyoung's smaller frame struggling to drag mingi's taller, looming frame away from hongjoong and seonghwa by the back of his shirt would have been amusing at any other time, but under these circumstances, your heart only races. mingi peers up at hongjoong with his mouth hanging open and tears in his eyes, the moonlight casting long shadows over his sharp features. wooyoung tugs once more, and mingi stumbles as he steps back. his head remains tilted upwards as he stares at hongjoong, and the sheer horror and sadness in mingi's expression is like a train wreck you cannot look away from. his stare is sad but reverent, like how you imagine the god-fearing must have looked at the sky when everything went to shit and god wasn't there to save anyone.

wooyoung's voice rings loud and clear, echoing, "now."

"what have you done?" the voice is familiar. when you look down, jihyo is kneeling beside what's left of johnny's head, her fingers curled over her face, black blood covering her hands. the other guard with the slit throat lays unseeing beside her, as if she dragged him over. jihyo isn't look at any of you. she stares up at hongjoong too, her big brown eyes filled with a terror that looks out of place on her. your heart twists a bit at the sight. she laments, "what have you done?"

she's talking to hongjoong. or maybe seonghwa. maybe even to the the things in the sky. wooyoung meets your gaze, his brows furrowing.

that other-worldly voice, the one that encompasses a million voices, answers, "whatever i want."

jihyo seems to just give up at that statement, dropping her chin to her chest, kneeling quietly beside johnny and the other guard, her fists balled in her lap. for once, you feel pity for them, for the guards who chose this, who have always turned their cheeks. they're humans who chose this to survive, but now jihyo is seeing firsthand that survival isn't guaranteed, not even for them. she doesn't move.

you turn to san, and he's staring at jihyo, at johnny, the guard. you reach out and press a hand to his. he tears his eyes off them, to you. he squeezes your hand back, but he does not smile.

seonghwa is still begging, and his voice is hoarse, quiet, while hongjoong continues laughing. seonghwa dangles from hongjoong's tentacle-like limb. it's like a cat playing with it's food. if you look closely, some of seonghwa's limbs are curved at strange angles. it takes too long for you to process that his limbs are angled that way because they're broken. bile rises at the back of your throat. you turn away. san squeezes your hand tighter, yet not even his warm touch gives you comfort in that moment. you never, in a million years, thought you'd pity seonghwa, yet here you are.

"fucking move." wooyoung shouts this time, and you finally tear your eyes from the sight. finally take in the fact that a chorus of clicks is filling your ears. you cannot pinpoint where the sounds are coming from, only that it's coming from the fog that's surrounded all of you in a circle. it's coming from every single direction, as if the night is filled with the noises, as if you are in a glass case on display for these creatures. when you look up, past hongjoong, past everything, the moon seems to be bigger, clouded by a darkness that reminds you of smoke. you can't see the flying things that have always been there, and that finally pulls you from your thoughts and your frozen shock. wooyoung is tugging at mingi, grabbing yeosang's hand, and the desperation on his face is something you've never thought him capable of.

you shout, your mouth running on autopilot as you tug at jongho's elbow, shaking him to pull him out of his shock as well. you frown at wooyoung, "where the hell are we supposed to go? do you hear that? we're surrounded. actually, why are you guys even here? what kind of stupid plan is this?"

hongjoong's voice drowns out the end of your sentence, reverberating all around you, so loud you feel the tenor of it shaking your bones, rattling your teeth, like your standing right next to a loudspeaker with the deep bass cranked all the way up. he intones, "you don't deserve the mercy of death, hwa. not yet."

the tentacle starts to tighten around seonghwa, and the choked sobbing that leaves seonghwa makes you want to throw up. seonghwa convulses. san's fingernails dig into the skin of your hand, and you try to steady your breath, despite the panic settling in your chest.

wooyoung swivels to face you, his fingers still curled around the back of mingi's shirt, even as he lets go of yeosang's hand. he is inches from you, his blood-splattered face and sweaty brow glistening under the bright, bright moonlight. his jaw ticks as he looks at you, but his grin is almost...welcoming, with everything else going on. it calms the tightness in your chest and the feeling that you are trapped, surrounded, and awaiting your death like lobsters in a seafood's restaurant's fish tank. wooyoung's breath comes quick, the only proof really that he freaking out just as much as you are, his chest rising and falling quickly, as he says, "as fun as it is to argue with you, do you really think now is the time to start an argument?"

you open your mouth to tell him to eat shit, but then the ground starts to shake, and you swallow your retort, grabbing wooyoung's forearm to steady yourself. san does the same, holding both your hand and wooyoung's shoulder. wooyoung closes his eyes, swallowing slowly. you look between him and san, "so what the hell is the exit plan? how the fuck do we get out of this?"

your voice is unsteady, even to your own ears.

"we run," a deep, unfamiliar voice curls over everything. you blink, your heart sinking when you watch the way wooyoung's head swivels to mingi. the way yeosang's eyes drop from seonghwa to look at mingi, too. the way san's head whips to mingi's direction too. it's mingi. his voice isn't what you expected. it's deep, yes, but there is a sadness there, in his hoarse, unused voice, that makes the world still. wooyoung lets go of mingi's shirt, pulling away from san and your grip. he rubs soothing circles along mingi's back like he is a small child.

mingi continues looking up at hongjoong, clearing his throat before he says, "he isn't attacking us yet because he's...he's..."

mingi trails off and yeosang finishes, "he's playing with his food. then we're next."

you figured as much, but the confirmation of your thoughts makes you want to curl into the fetal position right then and there.

mingi rubs at his wet cheeks, nodding as he claps a hand around wooyoung's waist a taps him gently before stepping away. you watch him square his shoulders, even as the cracking of bones and squelching of blood and flesh emphasizes yeosang's words.

seonghwa is a spectacle none of you can avert your eyes from. one of the tentacles have wrapped so tightly around seonghwa's arm that it's broken it further, blood trickling down his limp limb. dripping. seonghwa lets out a small, pathetic cry. another tentacle emerges from the dark shadows, lapping at the blood, and you really can't contain the gag at the sounds and smell this time.

san murmurs into the impending silence that falls over you all, "there are four gates in the sanctuary. the closest one is the one you guys crashed through, but there's three more directly north, west, and south from here. if you run, it'll take six minutes, eight minutes, and eleven minutes respectively. the shipment gate is that way."

he lets go of your hand to point towards where the shipments usually happen. it's not nearly as far as the other gates. your heart pounds at the thought of san spending time during his day calculating such accurate numbers without asking for help. you wonder, briefly, which one of his plans with his friends this was a part of. clearly, it was one you were excluded from.

you stare past your little circle, into the dark fog. you can barely see the warehouse door you'd walked out of. you're not sure if you could run through this for six minutes, let alone eleven minutes. especially when you don't know what's in there. especially when rule number two of this world was that whatever is in the black fog will kill you.

"we have more of a chance if we separate. half of us to the shipment gate and the other half to the north gate. seonghwa always keeps trucks ready at every gate but i don't...i don't think any of us will make an eleven minute run," san finishes. his gaze flickers around the circle. yeosang's expression twists. wooyoung takes a deep breath. mingi merely nods. jongho continues staring at the spectacle that is seonghwa and hongjoong.

"no," you shake your head, frowning, "all of us to the closest gate. separating in the fog is fucking stupid."

"and get us all killed at once?" yeosang snaps.

you watch him wince when the sound of seonghwa's femur snapping fills the air. seonghwa barely has the strength to scream in pain. hongjoong's joyful childish giggle follows quickly after.

"it's fair, don't you think?" your tone is dripping with sarcasm, and perhaps it's because your nerves are frazzled, or perhaps it's because you've wanted to punch yeosang since the moment you've seen him again, creatures and hongjoong be damned. either way, you continue, "instead of throwing just one unsuspecting person under the bus so you can save everyone else?"

"oh, come on." yeosang spits, spinning on you. he looks as frazzled, as terrified and annoyed and exhausted as you do.

you step up to him, "it's either all of us or none of us. no splitting up."

yeosang grits his teeth, stepping toe-to-toe with you only to shove you back, "if any of us die, it's on you."

"no," you shove him back, "this is all fucking on you."

yeosang looks like he wants to punch you. before he can, san steps between you, grabbing yeosang's shoulders as he says something so quiet, you can't hear it. it makes yeosang roll his eyes.

wooyoung scowls, "now is really not the fucking time. both of you stand the fuck down."

wooyoung is right, unfortunately. you glare at yeosang, even as you step back, shaking your head. san reaches for you, holding out a hand, but you don't take it. you're fuming and tired and so fucking scared, and maybe you're taking it out on the wrong things and people, but if you're really going to die now, you might as well get that punch in that you'd been wanting.

before anyone can say anything, however, you hear a click of the safety of a gun. you swivel in the direction of the sound, only to be met with the sight of jongho with a rifle in his hand, still fixated on seonghwa and hongjoong.

yeosang pushes past san, past you, quick to react as he says, "jongho, put it down."

jongho merely shakes his head, aiming the gun up. he doesn't have to say a word for you to understand the look he gives all of you.

run, it says.

jongho's hands are strangely steady, even as he aims the rifle, even as yeosang reaches for jongho, only to be a moment too late. even as jongho shoots. the rifle blast is defeaning, and your ears ring from blast. jongho falls backward at the recoil.

but, you notice the difference immediately.

all is quiet. too quiet.

seonghwa's begging is gone.

you look up. seonghwa lay limp in hongjoong's tentacle limbs. blood drips from his head to the dirt. jihyo sobs loudly from her spot next to johnny and the guard's dead bodies.

hongjoong's bloodcurdling scream fills you with dread. it is earth shattering. it makes the ground tremble.

run, run, run, every cell in your body screams.

so you run. you grab san's hand this time. yeosang drags jongho back, wrapping his arms around him as they tumble into the fog. you both follow after, and the last thing you see under the bright moonlight is hongjoong tilted upper half and his furious expression as he surges forward. towards you. towards all of you.

the moment you step into the fog, however, every noise is muffled and you can barely see your feet in front of you. your head feels like it's underwater, and san's hand is the only thing keeping you anchored. you focus entirely on putting one foot in front of the other as you run in the direction you think the shipment gate is.

the clicking noises is expected. what makes your heart race and your palms sweat, what makes you stumble over your feet as you run, are the footsteps and the very human, very chilling laughter inches behind you.

something wraps around your ankle. the fog is dissipating just a bit, enough for you to see shadows. the shadow of san. shadows of people behind you. holy shit. your ankle is yanked out from under you. pain shoots up and down your body as you fall flat on your face. you're already dizzy from blood loss, but the impact makes you see stars. san's hand slips from yours. for a moment, he disappears.

but then you're dragged down, grass and dirt scratching at your back as your shirt rides up. you blink rapidly, as the fog dissipates more, only to reveal -

you scream at the sight of jihyo staring down at you with eyes so black, there's no white left. she curls her hands around your neck. she doesn't say anything, but her eyes are blank with intent, and she reminds you distinctly of the way your mother looked at you as she tried to strangle you in your kitchen that first night. possessed. murderous. whatever it was, you try to kick her off. you fumble, but you manage to jam the flat of your palm to the underside of her chin, and she rolls off you. you scramble to your feet, shouting san's name. you only shadows of things, and you hear shouting. you hear yeosang screaming mingi's name. you hear wooyoung shouting for someone to run. you hear everything but san.

then you see shadows struggling in front of you. it's hard to make out who, but you find yourself running to tackle the one on top.

you don't know who this is, and maybe that's a good thing. you only felt sick when you had to hurt jihyo, despite everything. you punch the man in the face, and he keels over. you spin, and san is gasping for air on the floor. he blinks up at you. he merely takes your hand and pulls himself up as he says, "let's go."

you thought this was too easy. as you approach the gate, the fog is lighter. easier to see through, the bright moonlight above illuminating the truck beyond the date. it's running, the engine rumbling softly. you can make out yeosang and jongho holding up a limping wooyoung. mingi is holding the door open, though blood is pouring down his forehead, over his eye.

escaping can't be this easy, you thought, as you look at them. as san runs ahead of you, his hand still in yours.

but then the ground shakes once more. you turn. a tentacle shoots out from the light fog, and it's so fast, so rigidly sharp, it slices at skin as it wraps around your leg.

you yelp as you're slammed into the ground.

san pulls a knife from his boot, slicing at the tentacle. the impending scream that fills the air is so shrill, it hurts your ears.

you scramble back, getting to your feet, practically running backwards, and you see as many many figures emerge from the dissipating fog. human-like figures, as well as those spider-like creatures. like an army. there's so many.

you realize, then, that even if you get into this truck, even if you drive and drive and drive, they will follow. the creature that is hongjoong and chaeyoung clambers forward, and you wonder briefly what's happened to the other people of the sanctuary. the ones that are in the sleeping quarters, without aliens in their head. what has become of them? what will become of them?

"jongho," you call, though you know he can't respond verbally. you're still staring at the creatures, and all the guards that have aliens in their heads. they all seem to be watching, as if they're waiting for the signal to attack. chills run down your spine at the thought. "how many bombs did you plant?"

you look over your shoulder, and jongho waves his hand in a giant circle. around and around. he points at the sanctuary. you're almost glad you can't see his expression.

your fingers clamp around the detonator you'd taken from jongho and stuffed in your pockets. he'd said he spent years setting this up. if anything, this means he's put bombs everywhere. perhaps all along the perimeter of the sanctuary. maybe just the main buildings. maybe everywhere like landmines.

you turn your gaze on yeosang. he seems to understand the expression on your face, strangely enough. maybe it's because, despite everything, he understands you. he and you are alike. san had said as much. jongho, too. maybe it's because he loves san as much as you do. maybe it's something else. you glance at wooyoung, who is gripping the passenger door as he leans out the window. he shakes his head once, but you don't listen.

you finally look at san. you can see san processing your words. you say, "get in the car please."

you can see when it clicks.

san shakes his head. the devastation there comes like a wave crashing onto the shore, slowly and then all at once. anger and devastation is not a combination you'd wish on even your mortal enemy. not when you have to watch san crumble like this. "no," he says, "no, y/n. i promised - i'm not - fuck, y/n, please, no -"

he barely makes a step towards you before yeosang wraps his arms around san's waist and drags him back towards the car. san thrashes in yeosang's arms, screaming obscenities at him, and he elbows yeosang in the face so hard, yeosang drops him. that brings you a moment of satisfaction at least. but then mingi takes yeosang's position. he's taller, stronger, and it's too easy for mingi to drag san back to the car. yeosang cups san's cheeks as mingi scoots into the backseat, murmuring to him. san just shakes his head over and over and over. he cries your name, and his broken voice burrows itself in your heart. you hesitate when you pull the detonator from your pocket.

but only for a moment.

it isn't fair.

you click the button, and the engine of the truck roars to life, and it is truly the quiet before a storm right then.

it isn't fair.

you'd wanted to get at least one punch on yeosang. you hadn't wanted anymore blood on your hands. not after your mother. you think of the sleeping quarters. of all those people who didn't have aliens in their heads and still turned their cheeks to seonghwa and hongjoong. they looked away while you suffered under hongjoong's wrath. sure, they were complacent, but did they deserve to die? a part of you wants to say yes, but there are children here. survivors. you hear the first boom. another. more. screaming. screeching. hongjoong shouting. you back up, even as a tentacle shoots in your direction, smacks you across the face. you see stars then, and your vision goes black, and your head spins, and you crumble where you stand. the world spins. you didn't choose to be here, and you didn't want any of this, yet, in the end, you've chosen to click the detonator on jongho's behalf.

in the end, you chose to save other people over yourself.

in the end, you've chosen to burn this place to the ground, and yourself with it.

#taglist #sr #itpfl #nah this made me sad writing this so like :(

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wordstro · 2 years ago

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taglist:

[14] apocalypse + ex!san + "i like to call it a mutually beneficial relationship."

part 13 | masterlist | part 15

a/n: 6k, be careful if spider-like imagery bothers you, also pls heed the alien setting part haha

hongjoong yanks you to your feet by the hair, and you try to pry his fingers off you. he pulls tight enough for your scalp to sting, and you're sure he's pulled a few strands as he yanks you up. before you can pull him off you, he shoves you forward, and you stumble through the door and into a pair of arms. you look up.

it's jongho.

his kind eyes search yours, flitting back and forth, steadying you by the forearms with a tight grip. you scan his face, as best as you can.

you cannot help but note that there are no injuries on him. nothing.

you meet his gaze once more, and he purses his lips, a sorry look filling his features up, up, up until you let out the breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

you step back, away from him, and maybe you should give him the benefit of the doubt, but hongjoong's words - he chose the hard way - rings through your head. jongho's uninjured form hovers in front of you, but he does not say anything. he does not deny anything, or explain himself, and need to make excuses starts to dwindle.

hongjoong steps into the guard tower, shutting the door behind him with a resounding thud. it captures your attention away from jongho. the sound of the door shutting behind him is a loud signal of finality you cannot ignore. your heart pumps in your chest as you take in your surroundings, one eye on hongjoong as you do.

you've never been in the guard towers before. behind you is a metal spiral staircase that leads upwards, likely to the top of the wall. it's rusty and rickety, discolored even, but it still makes it to the top of the wall. past that, the guard tower stretches down into tunnels. the tunnels trail left and right, likely to the other towers. but something about the tunnel straight ahead brings chills down your spine. where could that possibly go? the dim lighting makes it all worse, the stench of mildew and dirt suffocating. stuffy.

as you take in your lack of true exits, you get the distinct feeling you're not going to get out of here in one piece.

"jongho here," hongjoong gestures towards jongho, a small smile on his lips, "says you were planning some type of escape involving stealing our food and a car. and here i thought you weren't a complete idiot."

jongho betrayed you, too.

you glance at jongho, and he's staring at his shoes. you want to be angry, and a part of you is because all these betrayals are wearing you down, but, at the same time, you're fresh off one series of betrayals, what's adding another one to the ever-growing list? even then, jongho's circumstances feel different. you can see the way his fingers tremble at his sides, and the way he tries to make himself smaller, like he thinks he can melt into the shadows with the snap of fingers. as you look at him, you pity him. you want to forgive him. you want to. but, at the same time, you're not sure if you can.

hongjoong lets out a small sigh, stepping even closer, and your gaze immediately flits to meet his. you back up, up, up, until your back hits the rail of the spiral staircase. when you look up, you can see a sliver of the moonlit sky through the open hatch above, a tiny escape route you will not reach no matter how much you try. not with the way hongjoong crowds closer, not with the way he reaches up and takes hold of your chin.

his grip is firm, but it doesn't hurt the way it had in the library.

he says, "and then i just so happened to stroll by san's room, and what do i find?"

you press away from him. hongjoong digs his blunt, painted nails into your skin and you gasp.

he says, "your boy toy standing at the door with an unauthorized radio, and kang goddamned yeosang's voice coming out of the thing."

you blink at that. you want to ask what the hell happened to san. a part of you - the part of you that dreaded seeing san here - is relieved by the fact that san wasn't the one to give hongjoong the radio. still, what the hell happened to him? did hongjoong speak to yeosang? what the hell is going on?

"the punishment for crimes like this are severe, y/n," hongjoong murmurs, his grip loosening slightly so he can brush a thumb along your jaw, where the sting is particularly painful. he presses his thumb harder there, making you hiss. "maybe i'll ask seonghwa for some leniency. you were so willing to rat mingi and yeosang out...though i'll say," hongjoong looks at jongho, smiling, "poor jongho. it took quite some, well, convincing for him to rat you out, while you did it so easily. i wonder how he feels, knowing you're not as loyal as him. i've always told him he trusted too easily. maybe he'll believe me this time."

hongjoong raises a brow at jongho, grinning. jongho looks away.

your breath hitches as your gaze slides to jongho. when he meets your gaze, he frowns. you shake your head, quickly, frantically, "jongho -"

but hongjoong clamps his hand over your mouth, and says, "shut up, and start walking."

you bite the palm of his hand, ignoring the taste of sweat and dirt and gunpowder, relishing in the way he yelps in pain, shoving you hard into the railing with his other hand. you ignore the shooting pain up your back, and the forearm pressing into your windpipe in favor of bringing your knee up to his stomach. hongjoong keels over in pain, clutching himself as he lets out an angry, almost-guttural scream. you immediately move to the door. until a hand wraps around your ankle. you try to kick hongjoong's hand off, relishing in stomping the back of your heels into his fingers. the sickening crunch that follows after is ignored by hongjoong, and that makes you attempt to drag yourself away. hongjoong, however, uses his other hand to grab your calf more securely. before you can change your tactic to curbstomping his face rather than his hands, your arms are pulled back so tightly you cry out in real pain this time.

the grip anchors you in place, and all you can do is thrash your legs, attempting and failing to kick jongho off you. but you can't. he's stronger than he looks, perhaps because of all the labor he's done at the sanctuary. you can't kick him off, and jongho doesn't say anything because he can't, and you wonder how the one person you'd trusted wholeheartedly in this place could do this to you too. he could have just let you go. he could have just -

hongjoong grabs your chin once more, and this time you can feel blood on your skin, from your bite. he smears it on your face, digging his nails into your skin as he leans close and he says, "i'm taking the leniency back, y/n."

"fuck you," you bite out each word with as much venom as you can.

hongjoong just pulls away and turns on his heels, heading towards the dark tunnel. jongho half-drags, half-carries like a ragdoll after hongjoong. your heart slams against your ribs, because with each step into the dark tunnel, fear begins to encapsulate your entire being. they're taking you somewhere else, and you're terrified. still even then, you continue screaming every obscenity you know at both hongjoong and jongho as you're pulled away.

~.~.~.~.~

in all your time since the world went to shit, in all the time you've had to sit by yourself and think, you never thought this would be a possibility. you held onto hope, as minuscule as it was, that salvation was possible. didn't everyone? even Before, you'd walk to class and be bombarded by people with megaphones and signs screaming of salvation. it was never a new concept, and when you'd sit with your knees pressed to your chest in a stranger's bathtub, listening to cackling outside the barricaded door, you used to pray to someone to keep you safe. who? you don't know. perhaps it was in human nature to call for help. to pray. to think that someone or something would save you eventually. a person or a god or even an authoritative entity like the fucking government.

when hongjoong and jongho dragged you threw the tunnel, you thought your heart would burst from your chest. it only got worse from there.

the air was tinged with the scent of burnt hair, and it made you gag as you were dragged closer to wherever they were taking you.

you'd squinted when you saw a light, but it was not bright or fluorescent like the lights hanging in the other warehouses. it wasn't warm or flickering like the candles in your room or in the lanterns.

it was a cool, white light that burned your eyes despite being so dim. it was almost lavender in its coolness.

every nerve in your body screamed for you to run, and you even dug your heels into the stone floors in an attempt to stop.

but jongho all but lifted you from the ground, fully dragging you along.

hongjoong opened a swinging door that creaked on rusty hinges. you recoiled at the onslaught of lavender-white light.

you looked up. around.

it was a building, one that looked very similar to the warehouse jongho worked in, the one san stayed in, with metal walls and industrial metal rods lining the ceiling. even the floors were metal, you noticed, and as you were pushed to your knees, the clanging was desperately loud. your fingers curled into tight fists as your eyes adjusted to the lighting and you focused on the sight before you.

straight ahead was a set of railings that seemed to curve in a giant circle. you could not see what was below, just that seonghwa stood leaning back on those railings in front of you, peering down at you over his nose, hands crossed over his chest. his eyes were dark as ever, and somehow you could tell, even in this lighting. somehow is dark eyes stood out to you.

seonghwa tilted his head, smiling, and a chill ran right up your spine as he said, "what are they doing on the floor? get up, y/n. come see."

you can't do anything but listen.

you pull yourself to your feet. you join seonghwa at his side.

you look down.

you hadn't prayed for someone to save you in a long, long time. perhaps you've lost touch with that human side of you after you washed your mother's blood from your hands.

down in the floor below, in what seems to be a pit only a few feet deep really, you see something that is beyond anything you could have ever fathomed. with coiled limbs and that same screeching and clicking you heard when you'd nearly gotten caught at night while carrying mingi. it's a creature, or maybe many many creatures, with dark spider-like limbs. there's blood down there. you can see it in the red pools that seem to glint so brightly against the cool lighting. too warm for such an eerie place. too bright.

seonghwa gestures for you to follow him. you cannot tear your eyes from the sight, especially when a single black eye, hollow and watchful and too fucking knowing seems to meet your gaze, and it remains on you. the blackness of that eye is like staring down a well or a sinkhole, as if it keeps going and going and you are seconds from tipping into over and disappearing in its depths. the eye lands on you, and does not waver. a familiarity curls down your spine, though you have now idea how, and its black limb slithers up the side of the metal wall, curling around the railing a few feet from you, leaving a trail of scarlet red in its wake, and you wonder -

you're dragged back from the rails by the elbow.

jongho shakes his head as you glare at him, pushing you forward to follow after seonghwa. hongjoong smiles pleasantly at you.

seonghwa's footsteps clang loudly as he pushes open the next set of doors. this room is bigger, filled with stacked wooden boxes. one of the boxes are open, and inside there are wrapped loafs of bread. the food, you realize. this is the warehouse san talked about. so - so did he know about that pit of aliens? is that why he was so adamant in your suggestion that you steal food from here? where the fuck is he?

past the boxes sits tanks and metal tables. a laboratory of sorts, you figure, what with the computers and vials scattered across the table.

seonghwa moves in that direction.

dread curls in your stomach as you move closer. every single instinct in your body tells you to fucking run, that this is dangerous and wrong and that something so terribly wrong has happened here.

as you turn the corner fully into the laboratory space, your heart drops to the pit of your stomach.

strapped to the metal table lies san, with a bruise on his head and his eyes wide open, glassy, as he stares up at the ceiling, clearly unseeing.

"you wanted to know where we get our food from, didn't you, y/n?"

you shake your head, stopping in your tracks as you stare at san's lifeless body. he looks dead. oh god, is he dead?

"no." your fingers curl around the hem of your shirt, "i don't."

"really? what else were you and jongho going to run off together with?" seonghwa asks, his voice too kind, too pointed, "and you were both going to leave poor san behind. after everything he's done for you."

your notice the way his chest rises and falls at a steady rhythm, but that does not ease anything. in fact, it only makes you want to cry. you're not sure what happened, but the last fucking thing you said to him was that you wanted him to let go. you fought. like Before. and now you're standing here staring at his body, with terrifying creatures in the next room, with an even more terrifying person smiling lightly at you, and you don't know if you can move on from this. you can fight, but you don't think you'll survive for long. as you look at san, you wonder if survival is even worth it anymore.

still you say, "let him go."

seonghwa hums, stepping closer to san. he brushes the overgrown hair from san's unseeing eyes, and he says, with a tinge of polite curiosity, "why?"

"'why'? you want to know why?" you repeat his question, and suddenly that rage you felt from yeosang's words hits tenfold. maybe you won't survive, and maybe it isn't worth it, but you refuse to go down here without a fight. if anything, you want to punch the smug look off seonghwa's face. you start to laugh.

seonghwa merely smiles.

that is the last straw.

you lunge at seonghwa. that catches him by surprise, his eyes widening, but you manage to tackle him into the table, the two of you toppling to the floor. you straddle him, landing a single punch on his nose. the result crunch is satisfying, despite the absolute searing pain that follows. despite the fact that seonghwa laughs. his eyes are dark, dark black, the same kind of black you'd seen in that pit. he laughs and laughs and you grab him by the collar, only for him to snap his fingers.

you're pulled off him, and you get a kick in just as you're tossed off seonghwa. you stumble to your feet, preparing to throw a punch at hongjoong and jongho if you have to, but you freeze in place at the sight of san looking at you - really looking - and his eyes are darker than usual as he advances on you.

you look between san, hongjoong, seonghwa, and jongho. jongho is the only one looking away, his gaze focused on his shoes.

you say, "what's going on?"

your voice is too fragile, too frail, to sound angry, and you hate it.

you take a step back when san steps forward. even his gait is different than usual.

seonghwa spits blood from his mouth, wincing as he rubs his nose, and he says, "let's ask san that."

then suddenly, san's eyes are back to that warm, warm brown, and his face softens significantly. however, he keeps moving with that strange gait, the kind that makes you feel like prey. san blinks in confusion, before he says your name. it's so very much him.

"y/n," he says, tone growing urgent, worried, "y/n, i need you to run."

"how are they supposed to run when you're the one who's going to chase them down and strap them to this table, san?"

he starts to move, stalking towards you, even as he says, "i can't control it. i'm sorry, y/n."

this time, you believe him, but it doesn't make this moment any worse. you do try to run. you do. but you're yanked back by the back of your shirt and pulled to the ground. you hit the ground hard, gasping in pain. san looks down at you, his face contorted with the most heartbreaking horror you've ever seen. he's essentially being forced to watch as he hurts you.

san drags your wrists behind your back, pulling tight, and he starts to quite literally drag you across the floor. all the while, san is apologizing, over and over, cursing as he does so.

you look at seonghwa from the floor, grabbing his ankle for good measure, "are you enjoying this?"

seonghwa kicks your hand. you yelp. seonghwa says, "immensely."

you don't give up though, grabbing seonghwa's ankle from the floor once more and pulling. san shouts your name, even as seonghwa comes toppling down once more, knocking into san in the process. you scramble away, saying, "so you control people with those aliens and made some kind of deal with them to get food? why are you doing this?"

"you're so fucking annoying," seonghwa sighs, "do you want me to put hongjoong on you?"

your gaze immediately flits to hongjoong. he's grinning all teeth, on his toes as if he's excited to join.

"well," you say, grasping for straws honestly at this point, "have you told him about chaeyoung?"

hongjoong blinks, eyes narrowing. seonghwa lets out a small laugh, "are you so scared you're willing to make things up, love?"

you backup as he's talking, towards the boxes of food, eyes flickering from hongjoong to seonghwa to san.

"maybe you got too caught up in your game of dangling information in front of me and let things slip, hwa?" you match his condescending tone as you say his nickname. you'd heard hongjoong use it once. you look at hongjoong. "he told me the tragedy of antigone. of a sister who loved her brother so much, she went beyond human laws to make sure he rested w-"

san lunges at you. and this time you can't outrun him. it's as if he's faster and stronger, thanks to whatever the hell seonghwa's done to him, and even as you try to put the boxes between you, he seems to glide through the shadows, appearing on your right, startling you. he secures your hands behind your back, and he wraps his arms around you, easily plucking you from the ground and walking you towards that metal table.

meanwhile, san says, whispers really, "y/n, i can't - i don't want to be doing this. i -"

"then fight it," you interrupt.

he drops you on the metal table. the pain shoots right through you, but it hurts worse looking san in the eyes and repeating, "fucking fight it, san. please."

seonghwa grabs your ankles, dragging you flat on the table. his hand is cold, and his nails dig into your skin as he straps you onto the table, the sound of the metal buckle clanging on the metal table ringing in your ears. san does the same with your hands. for a moment, san falters, his hand remaining on yours. for just a moment. his touch lingers, and your chest heaves with the ragged breaths bursting from you, and when you meet san's gaze, you want to toss seonghwa off the highest cliff you can find you want to scream and tear your limbs from these straps and you want to cry. the sheer horror mixed with helplessness in san's eyes is something you've never seen. not Before, and certainly not After. it sears into the back of your eyelids, and when you close your eyes to steady your breath, you still see it.

you crane your neck, to turn your glare on seonghwa, to tear your eyes away from the train wreck that is choi san and your curling, breaking heart. jongho hovers close by - you can see his ducked head. you don't know where hongjoong is. you can't see him from this angle, but you hope he is there to hear you speak, to allow you to at least plant a seed of doubt into something. it's all you have.

you glance at san.

it's all you have.

you bite out, with all the venom you can muster as you say, "i don't know what you did to chaeyoung. but you did something. if i - a total stranger - can tell that you did something, then everyone here has to know it. deep down. hongjoong has to know it."

for a moment, all is silent. then seonghwa's face contorts over you, and the dim lighting behind him casts sharp shadows over his face, distorting him.

"why would i do something to her?" seonghwa screeches, his voice echoing throughout the room, over and over and over.

you flinch at the volume of his tone. the desperation, the offense. it sounds different from his usual voice. shakier, less used. it makes the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end, because for once he does not sound smooth and unbreakable. he sounds human. so, so human.

seonghwa leans close, and his voice returns to normal, low and careful and condescending, his wide eyes narrowing. his fingers curl around the nape of your neck, some of the blood from his nose dripping onto your chin. "that book, y/n, was a warning. nothing more, nothing less. chaeyoung has nothing to do with this."

you take a shuddering breath, your heart slamming against your ribs. you don't believe him.

his nails dig into your skin a bit, as if he knows.

you can't help it. maybe it's the circumstances, or the full realization of the predicament you're in, but you find yourself asking, "what are you going to do to me then?"

you think of san, for a moment, but that isn't the time or place. you should worry for yourself. for once.

seonghwa drags a hand from the nape of your neck to your sweaty hair, brushing it back. your heart pounds against your ribs. you stiffen at the mocking gentleness of his touch.

seonghwa's dark, dark eyes - they're so dark, you can't see where his iris ends and his pupils begin - roam over your face for a long moment.

he speaks with a kind of amused pity in his tone that makes your stomach churn, "when someone joins the guard ranks, i need to guarantee their loyalty. the aliens and i - we've established an agreement of sorts, y/n, i'm sure you've guessed by now. i like to call it a mutually beneficial relationship, really." seonghwa strokes your cheek, sighing, "your little games with san have been causing problems in the sanctuary, so i'm going to give you two options tonight, y/n. one, become a guard and ensure your loyalty," he taps your forehead with his forefinger, a light touch that makes you recoil, "or two, i have san toss you into the pit in the other room. i'll let him stay with you, of course. i'm not a complete monster. he'll get to watch until the very, very end."

your breath catches in your throat, "that's not a choice."

"there's two options. and you get to choose," seonghwa says, "sounds like a choice to me."

you close your eyes, gritting your teeth, "then i'm not picking."

"letting you choose is only a courtesy, sweetheart. i can always have someone else choose. jongho maybe? or better yet," you can hear seonghwa's grin, "san?"

"fuck you," you spit in his face, "fuck you, fuck you, fuck you."

seonghwa hums, wiping the spit from his cheek to give you a level stare, his other thumb grazing your jaw, making goosebumps crawl up your skin.

"it'll be interesting, i think, watching you struggle against every single cell in your body as you obey my every command. knowing damn well you can't do a thing but watch yourself listen to me. as tempting as hearing your screams in the pit is," seonghwa says in amusement, still rubbing your cheek, "i think i'll choose for you this time. you should be honored to know that i usually don't choose such things."

he turns, lifting metal prongs as he unscrews a dark jaw. your craned neck hurts, but you can't take your eyes off him or the...the thing he places on the palm of his hand. it looks like a tarantula, but with so many more legs, and so white, it's almost blinding. it skitters around seonghwa's palm, leaving a trail of greenish liquid that makes your stomach turn. seonghwa is gentle as he scratches what you believe might be its head, a bulbous thing that sticks out above all the long, rigid legs. when it looks at you, it's eyes are beady and dark, and full of too much depth. like it knows things. you shake your head, pulling at the straps. oh hell fucking no.

you yank and pull and your wrists and ankles hurt like hell, but hell no, hell no.

yet it doesn't work. you thought maybe it would.

maybe san would be able to fight whatever the hell has happened to him, whatever the hell is about to happen to you.

seonghwa leans over you, and holds your head in place with one hand, the skittering white spider-like creature, with beady eyes and jagged teeth that seem to spill from it's little mouth, with legs that look like shards of glass made of marble, greenish liquid dripping onto your stomach and neck as seonghwa holds it inches from your face.

seonghwa's voice swims in your head, above the panic and disgust and instinctual need to fucking run, "san, hold them down."

san does.

you look up at him, and even though his grip on each side of your face is rough and full of a power that does not remind you of any version of san, not the san from Before, or the san from the bunker, or the san who sat in your room before he went through with his decision to become a guard, or the san who you'd left behind in his room, or the san who lied to you. he is neither of them, and in this moment you would do anything to catch a glimpse of just that. all you have is his dark eyes that do not leave your face.

"please san," you say, "let me go."

san closes his eyes, jaw clenching. it's a glimpse of him. one moment. it does not bring you peace.

you can't help but watch as seonghwa places the creature on your face. it tickles, like a real spider is skittering across your skin. you can't move or shake it off, not with the grip on your face, your skin crawling as you feel it take it's time exploring your face, slime tickling your skin. it slowly treks along your cheek, long past your mouth. it comes near your eyes, and you squeeze your eyes shut. then it crawls to the back of your head. to your ear, you realize too late, when it tickles along your hairline and then keeps going up, it legs brushing your earlobe. it feels the same as when someone lightly dusts your skin with a feather, but it's a bit damp. more spider-like even. it crawls over your earlobe, along the curve. inside. then it keeps going. you think you're going to throw up, gagging even at the feeling of this thing crawling into your ear and not stopping.

seonghwa says, "shhh."

only then do you realize you're gasping for air that's not quite there. only then do you notice the searing pain starting at your left ear, and spreading like wildfire.

~.~.~.~.~

"love," the voice is quiet, and muffled. far away. it says, "love, you have to stay awake."

you open your eyes, and you're met with your old college apartment. the one you and san shared while you dated. there's the posters plastered to the wall, the concert tickets taped haphazardly above your desk, san's anime memorabilia, his framed pictures of his family, even the smell of the barbecue restaurant at its peak hours just a floor below you wafts up from the open window. it's dark out. the sounds of traffic and drunken laughter joins the scent of searing meat. it's too many sounds and smells you haven't experienced in a long, long time. it's overwhelming. even in the sanctuary, surrounded by more people than you've experienced while alone, the world was quieter than this. you can't believe this used to be the norm.

you missed it.

"you're awake."

the voice comes from behind you.

you turn to your other side. nothing hurts, like you expected. the bed creaks under your turning weight. the breeze from the window is chilly. you tuck your feet under the blanket strewn at your feet.

lying there, staring at the ceiling, is choi san. he's younger, and his hair is red, like Before. it's what you remember him as, though it's clearer than ever. you'd done a wonderful job at forgetting him you think, over the years. you study the sharp planes of his face, the curve of his strong jaw, the high cheekbones, the faint dimple, and you whisper, "was that all a dream?"

it was a long dream, and a horrible one, but you truly hope it was just that.

san shakes his head. he turns his head, so his cheek presses against the pillow, and he appraises you slowly. he says, "no it wasn't. it isn't."

you're not even disappointed.

"and i'm here because...?"

"it's a safe place, i guess," san looks around, from your posters to your chair piled up with clothes, to san's gaming set up on the desk, screen still open though the laptop is asleep. when you follow his gaze, you remember how thoroughly entangled he was in your life Before. he says, "though how our shitty apartment is a safe place is beyond me. you were never one to think big, huh?"

"huh," you let out a small laugh, "even in my head, you're kind of a dick."

san laughs. you join him, when you suddenly feel a sharp pain at the back of your head. you groan, clutching your head.

san sighs, presses a hand to your head, over your hand, and he murmurs, "hey, it's okay. stay with me."

then the pain starts to grow, and it's like there's a fire spreading through each one of your nerves. it surges in your head first, before it fires through the rest of your body. san gathers you into his arms, and shushes you, and it's the first time anyone's really held you in a long, long time despite this not even being real. you melt there, and you cling to him as the fire grows in your limbs, in your blood.

he says, "talking helps. to ease the pain."

you don't want to talk, you don't want this pain, but you find yourself saying, "if this isn't real, can i admit that i've never let you go? because - ow, fuck - because it feels like i'm dying right now, and maybe i can admit this to someone at least."

san strokes your hair. he speaks against the top of your head, his voice low, quiet, gentle, "this isn't real though. you're not admitting this to anyone but yourself."

the next surge of pain has you drawing your knees up and curling up. you gasp, "maybe that's the point, that - fuck - that i'm going to die trapped in my head while whatever-the-hell crawled - shit - into my head takes the wheel."

you think maybe admitting it to yourself, at least, will let you die in peace. no one else needs an admission from you. no one else deserves it.

san leans back and presses his hands to either side of your face. he holds you steady as he looks you in the eyes, and he says, "fight it. please."

it's ironic almost, that he is telling you exactly what you told him. your breathing comes out ragged, broken. you shake your heads, unable to even gasp out the i can't. you feel like that thing is crawling all over you as you look at him.

his face morphs into your mother's, and at any other time you would have found it hilarious, but here and now, it has you stuttering. the pain seems to subside with the kindness in her eyes that you've long forgotten. how could time be so cruel to make you forget that too? this was your mother before the crazed dark eyes, before watching the light leave her eyes because of you. she murmurs so gentle, so full of a warmth you'd been craving for so, so long, "you can."

you're nodding, and the tears won't spill but they're there, welling and stinging and making your vision blurry. you missed her. despite the pain, despite everything, you are home again. even for a moment.

she brushes the tears from your face, nodding, "you will."

the room turns dark, as if a storm cloud has fell over everything. you look up, and through the open window, darkness skitters in. at first it's one, then its five, then it's more and more, until dark spider-like things are crawling through the window in droves. they creep across the floor, up your bed, your blanket, and your feet burn at the touch.

beady eyes meet yours, but you don't know where it's from. you don't know anything.

a great, deep voice, one that sounds like a million voices mixed into one sitting on the edge of a knife, sharp and bone-deep, calls, "you will not."

#sr #itpfl #taglist

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wordstro · 2 years ago

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taglist:

[19] apocalypse + ex san + "what else do we have to lose?"

part 18 | masterlist | part 20

a/n: 4.5k, slight implications of su1cidal thoughts much like previous chapters, this is short, but it's something i feel requires it's own section separate from the rest of the ending. i also feel like some of you are going to be mad about this omg lmfaoooooo. the next part will be the final part!

"y/n..." yunho says again, with his brows furrowed and concern in his eyes and you don't even bother to hide your scoff.

you don't say anything. you merely keep the knife pressed to wooyoung's throat. he grins, even with his face pressed to the dirt as he lets you yank the backpack from his shoulders with your free arm. he doesn't even attempt to escape or fight back. that annoys you more than the way yunho had said your name.

you toss the heavy backpack in yunho's direction. it lands in the dirt in front of him with a thud. "open it. show me what's in there."

wooyoung lets out a small laugh beneath you, and it's a mix of a giggle and a snort. yunho, on the other hand, seems to look more and more concerned as the seconds tick by. he doesn't move, merely sits there in the dirt and stares at you.

you dig the knife further into the column of wooyoung's throat, yanking him up by a handful of his hair. that earns a huff from him, which you ignore, watching yunho's concerned gaze flick from you, to your knife, and finally to wooyoung. you repeat, "open it."

yunho opens it. unfortunately, yunho starts talking as he does and you lament the fact that you do not have more than two hands to shut yunho up like you're doing with wooyoung.

yunho pulls out various cans of food, some bandages, bandage tape, and other medical supplies. he drops a pill bottle and it rattles as it rolls into a patch of dried out grass. all the while, he says, "we looked everywhere for your bod - for you. how the hell did you get out of there?"

the we rings loudly in your ears. your grip loosens on the knife, but wooyoung doesn't take that moment of weakness to turn on you. you know he's more than capable of it. you look at him for a moment, and his gaze remains fixed between yunho and yourself. the smile isn't there any longer. the smugness you felt, for finally having wooyoung on the other end of your knife, falters a bit as you take in his expression and listen to yunho toss question after question at you all while he does exactly as you order. it's not nearly as satisfying as you want it to be.

instead, it's all just so loud, so overwhelming, and you find that your skin is crawling with the anxious urge to return to your cabin. to get away from all this.

you interrupt yunho's onslaught of questions. his words have strung together in your head long ago anyway. you say, "put it back in the bag."

yunho frowns, but he does as you say. his voice is low, "where are you staying? we can -"

"shut up." your voice rings over his, echoing all around you.

yunho blinks.

you scowl at him. how does he not get it?

"just put the food away and give me the damn bag, yunho. i'm fucking robbing you, so shut up before i make you."

yunho's frown deepens, but he doesn't say anything. his shoulders slump, his eyes sliding to wooyoung. you hold out your free hand, waiting for him to put everything back. he does so with shaky hands, before he hands you the heavy backpack slowly, as if he thinks you'll take your words back. and san called you naïve.

"what do we tell san?"

you can't hide the flinch at san's name. you couldn't with mrs. kim, and you certainly cannot now. your gaze flits down to wooyoung. his cheek is pressed to the dirt, but his eyes are fixed on you. his eyes are serious.

"excuse me?"

you heard wooyoung loud and clear though, and wooyoung's gaze tells you he knows damn well you did. he still humors you.

he repeats his words, enunciating each word with knife-like precision, "what do we tell san?"

each word buries itself in you like a knife would. wooyoung tilts his head, as if he knows it.

the way he says san's name, with a slight emphasis, as if he's taking the knife his words have become and twisting it just a bit, so it'll hurt worse, makes you grit your teeth. so you press the knife to wooyoung's throat once more, digging just enough for a trickle of blood to slip down his tan skin. yet, wooyoung does not drop his gaze.

"he thinks i'm dead, correct?"

wooyoung rolls his damn eyes. you glare.

"y/n," yunho is the one to speak. his voice drifts over the tension blanketing over you both, a soft, tentative thing, "he doesn't actually. well, maybe he does?"

you frown, not taking your eyes off wooyoung's challenging gaze, "what the hell does that mean, yunho?"

you can see yunho lifting both his hands in surrender from the corner of your eye, even as wooyoung shakes his head. yunho says, "i'm just telling you how i see it. san knows you're dead, like the rest of us believed you were. but he...he still kept looking for you. i don't know if he really thinks - thought? - you were alive, but. but he kept looking. he's still looking for you."

that makes you falter. your breath hitches, and your heart stutters, and you your gaze meets wooyoung's and he seems to catch it all. you hate that. but worst of all, you hate that all this time you haven't bothered looking for the bunker once since you woke up in the clearing alongside mrs. kim while he kept looking. all this time, you tried to forget him, while he kept looking. the guilt you've learned to live with rears it's ugly head, and you hate that too, because guilt makes people do the strangest things, and you don't want to do anything strange for choi san anymore. you don't think you can handle being lied to again. you don't think your heart can take it - it's so tiny nowadays, with missing pieces traveling alongside mrs. kim to the shore, and a more pieces lost in the fog with the remnants of your mother, and a couple nestled between the pages of chaeyoung's book still empathizing with her, and so many more pieces (too many fucking pieces) sitting in the palms of choi san's hands for years upon years. you shake away those thoughts, however, because you're not in your cabin and the sun will set soon and this is yunho and wooyoung. they do not care for you, as you do not care for them.

still, you focus on wooyoung's gaze, the hint of softness there you've only seen once before, back when you'd decided you'd burn with the sanctuary and he sat injured, hanging out the truck and shaking his head ever-so-slightly. for a moment, his brown eyes are not so mirthful when he looks at you.

you don't like it. it only makes you feel pitied.

you're the first to tear your gaze from wooyoung's, looking between wooyoung and yunho instead. "that's easy. don't tell him i'm alive, and he'll stop looking eventually. it's...it's better that way, anyway. it'll be a clean break."

yunho shakes his head. wooyoung raises a brow. but neither of them refute your words. they know you're right. what san doesn't know won't hurt him.

"y/n, i am sorry," yunho says, suddenly, rubbing his eyes, "for everything that's happened. i'm glad you're -"

"i don't care."

yunho clamps his mouth shut. it's almost funny. wooyoung frowns.

"now," you point the knife at yunho, "hand me the bag properly this time."

yunho deflates completely at your words, and it's strange to see when he's so tall. he could be formidable if he wanted to be, like mingi, but he's kind and soft, and you almost feel bad for speaking to him so sharply.

almost.

yunho sighs, "can we at least keep some of the medical supplies? it's the reason we came all the way up here in the first place."

you climb off wooyoung's back, yanking the bag from yunho's hands as wooyoung huffs at you. wooyoung flips onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows. wooyoung and yunho watch as you shoulder the heavy pack, knife still pointed at both of them.

"no."

wooyoung lets out a loud, pitched laugh.

"fine." yunho glares at wooyoung, "fair enough."

you back up slowly, keeping your eyes on both of them the entire time, knife raised. it's only when you've taken a few steps back when wooyoung finally speaks. his silence had been disconcerting, especially with his watchful gaze, but his voice startles you as he calls out to you. he says, voice echoing around you, "san comes here in two days for a solo run. when the sun's at the highest point in the sky. he does his solo runs pretty often now."

you blink at that, frozen in your spot. "why are you telling me that?"

"it's merely information." wooyoung shrugs, hobbling to his feet as he brushes the dirt from his palms, his demeanor entirely too nonchalant, "you can do with that information what you will, y/n, i just thought you should know. maybe you can even rob him too. it'll certainly stop him from doing his solo runs so often."

his tone is pointed, a clear jibe at you.

"i don't need information from you," you roll your eyes, "besides, we both know you deserved this."

"oh," wooyoung laughs, "absolutely."

yunho elbows wooyoung, even as he cackles louder, toppling back into the dirt.

you don't turn your back to them until you're at the edge of the forest from where you came. you ignore the clear worry on yunho's face and the resulting guilt that brings forth in your chest. you glare at wooyoung when he curls his fingers into a small wave, turning away with the intent to never see them again.

but you return to your cabin - and you've made it pretty like mrs. kim suggested, with dried flowers hanging from the walls and blankets you took from abandoned houses scattered over every surface and pretty silverware swiped from one of the bigger house's fancy cabinets that you liked to use to eat your bland canned foods from - and you sit with a book you've read twenty-six times already in your lap, your gaze flitting to the rifle you'd left by the door since mrs. kim's departure.

the cabin feels as lonely as it did the day mrs. kim left. bigger. quieter. it isn't fair, how just a taste of human interaction has made it so hard to return to how you were before you'd met san again. back then you'd believed you were the last person left on the planet, and that made the loneliness so much easier. now, you know you're not. even the small conversations with yunho and wooyoung, however unwanted, left an ache in your chest.

even robbing wooyoung blind the way he robbed you didn't make you feel much better. it was deserved, and it felt good to a certain extent, but you can't stop thinking about what wooyoung told you.

a part of you relishes the thought that you've relegated choi san into a man condemned to walk the earth in search of a dead person. the vindictive part of you knows he deserves it. the logical part of you knows it, too. but the part of you that loved him long ago, and will likely always love him, feels so utterly guilty.

that's what it always comes down to, doesn't it? guilt is the reason the rifle is collecting dust as it sits untouched. the guilt eats away at you, and you're going to live with it. just as you told mrs. kim to. just as you know san should.

it's always the damn guilt stacked on top of more guilt.

~.~.~.~.~

you crouch, hidden beneath the overhang of the abandoned gas station you'd passed the other day. the purple flags you'd seen last time are gone, and that makes you more nervous then the possibility of seeing san again. movement in ghost towns is never a good thing. now that you know that the aliens possess people, you're especially nervous.

despite the chill of winter, the sun beats down on you. the sun is warm enough that you're sweating under your two sweaters and the scarf covering your face, but it's chilly enough that once you take any of them off, you'd catch a cold. you can't afford to catch colds.

as the sun begins to move away from its highest point in the sky and you're left to sit there for longer than you hoped, your heart races, and your palms sweat, and you briefly wonder if wooyoung is setting you up. there's no sign of life - not even the scuffle of a squirrel - and it's not like yunho and wooyoung haven't set you up before. the possibility is very real and very much there.

worst of all, you have no idea what you're going to do if you see san. it's not like you can just tap him on the shoulder and say hey i'm alive, stop looking for me, goodbye before running off. he's going to have questions. what if he's angry? what if he does not care that you're alive? what if, during all this time, he the sheer fact that you've been alive and so close, but you'd refused to let him know in even the tiniest of ways erases the progress you'd both made in that sanctuary, however trauma-induced that may have been? what if san -

you're pulled out of your racing thoughts by the feeling of something heavy pressing into your back. the weight of it makes you yelp as you topple forward in an attempt to get away. immediately, you're yanked by the scarf wrapped around your neck, and you cry out at the pain of it yanking on your neck. you're slammed into the hard ground immediately, the dirt and dried grass scratching your face. you're sure you've eaten a mouthful of grass at the impact. you thrash, but the weight grows heavier, and the terror in your chest multiples tenfold. you hadn't felt such terror since hongjoong, and seonghwa, and the sanctuary. it's the same deep terror you'd feel in your sleep, during a nightmare that ended in you waking in cold sweat and crying.

something sharp pricks at the skin of your cheek, above your scarf. your frantic thoughts flicker to wooyoung. maybe he really did set you up.

the voice above you is gruff, and loud, but it's so fucking familiar. he hisses, "you've been here for an hour. why the hell are you staking me out?"

it's almost comical how quickly the terror turns to relief. how quickly you slump into the grass. you try to turn, but his grip on your hair and scarf is painful.

"s - san?" your voice is muffled. it's the first time you've said his name since you woke up, and it feels like a stranger's name coming from your lips.

there's a long pause, and for a moment the grip on you tightens significantly. the knife digs a bit further, and you're sure he's drawn blood. your heart beats so hard, you think it'll jump out of your chest.

then the weight lifts from your back. you brush at the prick of blood and the dirt on your face, spitting out the grass in your mouth. you turn to face him, sitting up, your neck craned to look up at him. the scarf has long since slipped from your face.

he looms over you, and he's frozen to his spot. the first thing you zero in on is how san's hands are in front of him, as if he's using them as a wall between you both. the knife slips from his grip, and your heart pounds at the way his hands shake. the way he backs up, one step, two steps, three, dead grass crunching beneath his worn boots, until he hits the brick wall of the gas station with the dullest of thuds. your gaze flits to his face, and the sun glances off his features, illuminating him in such an ethereal way, you're reminded that you've started to forget what he looked like in these past few months away from him. your fingers curl around a clump of dried grass at your side, rocks digging into your palms, as you drink in the sight of him. he looks at you, too, as if this is the first time he's ever laid on you, as if he's been wandering the desert in search of water and you are the oasis that's finally graced his presence. that's a look you're not used to, and it makes your heart slam against your ribs.

the awe, however, quickly transforms into everything else. surprise, confusion, grief, anger, horror, sheer utter sadness, terror even, it all flits across his face, quick as the wings of a hummingbird, but the impact hits your chest so hard, you cannot breathe from the sheer weight of it. you blink up at him, at the purple-blue bags under his eyes, and the way his hair is too overgrown, and the way he opens his mouth once, twice, thrice, as if he's trying to say something, but nothing will suffice. you understand it. you feel the same. as you stare up at him, you can't articulate a single word. you want to say everything, and nothing, and everything, and anything. your chest fills with a tightness. you're overwhelmed. you stare at him, and he stares back, and it's -

"you came back?"

his voice cracks around the edges, the way glass cracks as it hits the ground. except the glass is your heart, cracking along with his voice. your chest feels so full, like all the missing parts of your heart that you've given to him are crying for the pieces back, like your heart is bleeding and you cannot do a thing about it. you'd asked him the same thing, in the sanctuary, when he'd come back, and you can imagine how he's feeling if he's had to ask the same thing. that feeling, those thoughts linger between you both. so many times, neither of you returned for the other and you've both suffered for it, Before and After.

this time, you cannot even respond the way he did. you cannot even say of course i did, because for months you hadn't.

the pain in your chest is unbearable, and your words nearly get stuck in your throat. you have to clear your throat before you can say, "i didn't think you'd keep looking."

there is a beat of silence before san crumples.

you watch as he sinks to his knees before you, as he presses his hands to his face and drags it through his overgrown black hair. he looks up at you then, with ancient eyes filled with the same kind of exhaustion and sadness swirling in your chest.

"i never stopped looking." san murmurs, "even Before, y/n. i never stopped looking."

you press your knees to your chest. you nod, and nod, and nod, and the movement is as stilted as the way your breaths flutter from your lips.

you want to be vindictive, and mean, and a product of the world around you. you want it so bad. you want to tell you did stop, and you felt better for it. you want to make hurt him more than you already know he hurts.

but san looks so small here, as if the smallest of breezes could send him away with the wind like the seeds of a dandelion.

so you say, gently as you can, "stop looking then. let me go."

san looks at you for a long, long moment. he'll do it. he always does.

then he shakes his head, a small, tiny little thing. he says, "no."

you are prepared for him to listen. to let you go, as he did before.

but this? you're not prepared for this.

you blink, "what?"

san shakes his head, and his hair falls into his eyes. he pushes it back, his eyes are determined, "i fucked up. i fucked up so badly that you...i thought i'd killed you, y/n. and in many ways, i did. i have. i couldn't let you go even when i left our apartment that night. i couldn't let you go even after the world went to shit. and...and i thought i lost you for good and i couldn't even let you go then. i...that's, god, i don't think i can go through that again y/n. i can't lose you again, and i know it's selfish, and i'm so fucking sorry for it."

yet, here you were, thinking he'd let you go all those times, because he never said otherwise. your fingers curl around each other as you try to keep from crumbling before him.

"we're ruined, san," your voice breaks on the word, crumbles the way your heart feels like it's crumbling in your chest. the way your resolve crumbles as you look at him. this is nothing like the arguments you'd had before. san's voice is soft, and yours is softer. the distance between you two isn't as wide as it usually is, and maybe that's because you're closing a gap that is long overdue with words that are even more overdue. maybe this is a testament to how you've both grown, and how you've both changed, for better or for worse. "by our misunderstandings and our fuckups and...and by the blood i have on my hands because of that horrible fucking place your friends sent me to, and the fact that i never even went to find you after mrs. kim got me out of the sanctuary. by all the lies and secrets. we're ruined, san, and i don't think we can move past that."

"we don't have to move past it, but i can fix it," san rubs his eyes with the back his hand, his voice trembling, "i can try to fix it."

"how?" your voice is desperate, even to your own ears, "how, san? how can we fix something so broken?"

"we can take it one day at a time," san nods, his words distraught, "we can start over."

we, we, we. it lodges in your heart, and it almost fills all its missing pieces.

you blink away the sting in your eyes as you look up at the sky, at the things floating in the sky, and the sun, as you turn to peer at the abandoned buildings all around you, at the cobwebs and shattered glass and vines reclaiming the abandoned gas station san leans against. you don't mean to be nihilistic. you were never like this. but you find yourself shaking your head. you say, "you want to start over? in this? there's nothing left to start over in, san."

everything is dead and gone and over, and you've been surrounded by the end of all things for years. what is left to start in all this? even you cannot find optimism, naivety, in such desolation.

san's gaze flickers around you. he says, "all we have left is us. isn't that enough?"

that brings you pause. your fingers curl around your knees. he's right, isn't he? there's nothing left but you. that has to be enough. it's all you have.

"besides," san's gaze flickers between yours, "what else do we have to lose?"

you frown at that question. you'd thought the same thing, when you stepped out of your home with your mother's blood on your hands, and wandered through ghost towns. what else did you have to lose anymore? and then the sanctuary happened, and you learned you had more to lose than you ever knew was possible.

"what else do i have to lose? the only parts of me i have left, san." perhaps, that sounds melodramatic, but you mean it. "and i don't know if i can lose that to you again."

san's gaze softens like the earth after rain at your words. he wipes absentmindedly at the tears in his eyes, and he says, his voice as gentle as the pitter-patter of summer rain showers - something you've missed enjoying while at the sanctuary. "then we're in the same boat, aren't we? to make sure neither of us lose ourselves to the other again?"

"you act like it's simple. like it's going to be easy."

san rests his chin on his hands as he peers at you. his gaze is a soft thing, and it is strangely comforting. for a moment, the weight on your chest isn't such a heavy burden. he says, "it's never going to be easy. that's okay, i think."

you smile, and he smiles back, his dimple appearing. for a moment, the two of you sit in comfortable silence. for a moment, it's just the two of you and nothing else.

but reality exists, and it always sits at the back of your mind, ready to whisper rationalities into your ear.

you murmur, "i don't forgive you, you know. and i don't know how long it'll take to forgive you either, or if i ever do. maybe it'll take a couple months. maybe years. maybe we'll be dead before it ever happens."

"i know," san whispers, his brows furrowed, and his eyes still so soft, "i don't expect forgiveness, y/n. i just want to be able to try to fix things between us, if that's alright with you?"

the way he looks at you, the way he asks, is a testament, you think, to how many years have passed between you, and how much it took for the two of you to be sitting here now. you fiddle with a loose thread on your pants, before you say, "i think that's alright with me."

san smiles, and it's a sad thing, despite the dimples. he says, "we'll take it slow."

you let out a small laugh, and maybe the pain in your chest is still there, and you don't fully trust him, but this moment sits on your shoulders like a warm blanket. for a moment, the world is not as turbulent as it had been. the end of all things can be gentle and kind and careful sometimes. and, so can choi san.

you say, "the funny thing about surviving the end of the world is that there is no end. there's no rush."

san grins, "who knew that could be a good thing?"

"it could always be a bad thing," you say, sighing as you get to your feet, brushing the dirt off. you hold out a hand for san, "you could lie to me again and ruin everything."

san clasps his hand around yours, his calloused palm warm, and he lets you pull him up. his hand lingers in yours as his grin widens, "i won't. i swear it. you have permission to kill me yourself if i do."

you can't help but grin along with him. despite the mistrust still looming over you, and the anger towards his friends and his lies, despite everything, you find yourself grinning along with him as you say, "i'll take you up on that."

#sr #itpfl #taglist

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wordstro · 2 years ago

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taglist:

[11] apocalypse + ex!san + "do you know the tragedy of antigone?"

part 10 | masterlist | part 12

a/n: 4k, more mentions of death haha, this fic has gotten so conversation heavy but i swear it's going somewhere!!! listened to seraph by dpr ian nonstop writing this so whew, finally created a masterlist!

it was supposed to go like this: san earns seonghwa's trust and becomes a guard.

"they have the most free reign, second to seonghwa and hongjoong depending on rank," yeosang said to you.

san befriends the rest of the guard. learn who they care about, what makes them tick, and how to have them turn against seonghwa and hongjoong. sow seeds of doubt into seonghwa's most trusted, figure out the easiest and safest escape route, all while the sanctuary implodes from the inside out.

"we wouldn't have to worry about running into them anymore," yeosang explains, voice quiet, "when they're on their hunts. and, frankly, good fucking riddance if they all kill one another."

a part of you thinks the same thing, no doubt because of the same reasons as yeosang, but another part of you wonders how that's fair. there are children here. there are survivors here, in a world where survivors are few and far between. besides, mingi helped start this place. is that why yeosang thinks he can help mingi destroy it? why he seems to think he has some type of authority over what happens to it? that mingi doesn't need to go down with it?

but in a world where everything is so fucking selfish, you succumb to the norm. you ask, "what about me then?"

the plan is simple, easy. and they could have told you about it.

that is, if you were ever meant to be a part of it.

as you listened to yeosang's quiet musical voice fill the empty room, the emptiness that settled over you became full of a quiet sort of anger. one that makes your stomach churned. the kind you used to feel before, when you could not sit still and always had to move, move, move.

"what happens to me in this plan?" you wipe the last remnants of your tears and you grip the radio as you wait for his response, curated as it might be. what else are those silences for, if not to discuss how they should respond to your questions and, as yunho put it, leave you in the dark?

"san wouldn't agree unless you escaped too."

san wouldn't agree. yeosang keeps saying that, and you wonder a lot of things right then. is yeosang lying? is he telling the truth? if he is telling the truth, does that mean he'd pitched plans that didn't involve you getting out? how do you know san hadn't agreed to those plans? what was the reason for excluding you from the planning of this particular plan?

then, in the same breath that you felt the need to apologize to him minutes ago, you wonder what if you decided not to rely on them. what if you and jongho figured out a way to get out on your own. you could secure food from whatever resource seonghwa and hongjoong have. if san could become a guard, you could push that you are san's person, and then use that to secure what you need and leave on your goddamned own.

you'd seen the sympathy you'd garnered. hongjoong had stepped back and left you feeling as if you won. if you can't garner sympathy and help because you need it, then you can provide entertainment, be a spectacle, and find your own way out. you can play the game the same way they are, with their ulterior motives and lies.

"that doesn't sound like him," you say in response, resisting the urge to grit your teeth.

"then you really don't know san," yeosang sighs, and it sounds a bit sad even to your own ears.

~.~.~.~.~

four days go by waiting in a state of limbo. you are refused entrance to the prison the first and second day. the third day, hongjoong is the one at the desk, and you're glad he didn't seem to catch you peeking into the room before you'd run off.

four days.

you shouldn't be so worried, since san lied to you and will likely continue lying. but you can't help it. multiple people try to comfort you throughout the day. taeyong helps you peel potatoes during dinner duty, content in sitting in silence. mrs. kim pats your back too often. it's strange, and awfully infuriating as well. this is what garners sympathy? not hongjoong's bullying, but this? for a moment, you almost agree with yeosang's sentiment to let this place burn to the ground from the inside out, good riddance to all. but you reign it in, and you supply extra watery smiles, and small sighs.

jongho raises a brow at you while you're doing laundry, watching as momo folds laundry from your basket, despite not being assigned to laundry duty. you explain how you haven't seen san in days and how it feels like months.

jongho raises a brow at you from across the table at that. you kick his leg under the table, and he snorts.

you feel bad about it for a moment. you tell yourself, it's not manipulation if it's justified. these people wanted a spectacle, so you're giving them one.

four shipments pass. you sit next to mrs. kim during each of them, and despite hongjoong not being there, your shoulders feel heavy as if he's still there weighing down on you. every time those doors open, your gaze flits and you search the faces of those stumbling out, and you let out a small sigh of relief when you don't see san amongst them. you feel bad about that for longer than a moment, because these other people don't deserve this. not just san. but the relief sinks bone-deep and you succumb to it's effects too easily. a part of you cannot find it in yourself to care for the fate of strangers nearly as much as you should.

~.~.~.~.~

you toss and turn in your cot before you lay still, staring at the dark, blurry ceiling. you wonder, yet again, why your skin continues to crawl, why your heart still beats fast and your thoughts run quick, why you can't fall asleep. another night passed without a glimpse of san. that is both a good and bad thing. good because he isn't on the shipment. bad because you're worried and you cannot fathom why the hell you are. he lied to you again.

you groan, and contemplate if you should bite the bullet and finally call yeosang, wooyoung, yunho, and mingi over the radio. you hadn't spoken to them since that first night. that quiet simmering anger that still lives at the pit of your stomach feels like it would boil over if you have to spend another second trying to decipher whether they're lying to you or not. besides -

a soft knock startles you, and you shoot up, head snapping to the door to the jail cell room. no one ever knocks except san.

except san.

your heart does not settle in your chest at that thought.

"come in," you call.

the door creeks open, and a lantern illuminates san's sharp features, his piercing eyes, and overgrown hair. his tired eyes are even more tired, beneath the watchful gaze, and you rub your eyes to make sure you are not imagining him.

san steps into the room, and shuts the door behind him with the softest of thuds. you roll of the cot, still staring, before you stride forward until you are an arms-length away from him. you can't help but sweep your gaze over him, taking note of his limbs. everything seems to be there. there's nothing wrong. not even a single scratch.

san's voice draws your attention back to his face.

"y/n," he says, and the way he says your name, his voice a little dry and raspy, makes you press your lips together, eyes narrowing. "i wanted to tell you something. before you have to hear it from someone else."

you stare at him.

he leans heavily against the door and says, "seonghwa offered me a position in the guard. i'm taking it. i just...that was the plan between me and the boys all along."

he eyes you expectantly, and you wonder if you should bite your tongue and keep your knowledge to yourself. perhaps it's the time, late bordering on too early, or the way relief fills your lungs and your limbs and sinks so far into your bones it must stain you, or it's merely the way he leans against the closed door behind him and fiddles with the lantern in his hands, but you find yourself saying, "i know."

san's gaze shifts up to yours. he takes a shuddering breath, one you can almost feel. he says, rather than asks, "yeosang told you."

you shake your head, "yunho actually."

san lets out the smallest of laughs, breathless as ever, "he would. he's kind."

you wouldn't know, but you'd thought he had a kind face when you first saw him. you doubt finally telling you the truth is kindness, though, so you ignore the comment and say, "i did ask first. i suspected there was something else."

san nods, says, "what else did they say?"

"what else should i know?"

san bites his lips, and for a moment you don't think he'll say anything. then he sighs and murmurs, "yeosang and i used to date."

that makes you freeze. you thought he'd tell you about other motives. not history. though maybe, if you think about it a bit more, that could very well be a motive. or at least an explanation to the way his friends behave with you. that explains why yeosang seemed so adamant when he said he knew you. your stomach flips at the thought.

still, you ask, tone too light, "only used to date?"

san frowns, tilting his head.

"the sweatshirt," you explain. maybe the sweatshirt is a keepsake, like the radio.

san drops his head back against the door with a soft thud, says, "we're still good friends. we ended things on good terms."

you remember the desperation in yeosang's voice, and wooyoung answering for yeosang when he went silent. you wonder if san is the only one to believe that. instead of questioning him, you raise a brow.

san must be exhausted because he lets out a small snort at your expression, and sighs, sinking to the floor. you watch before you slowly join him, scooting so your back rests against the door too. your shoulders brush each other, a light touch, somehow comforting because it solidifies that san is very much here, and no longer in prison because of you. the lantern sits at both your feet, the warm light reminding you vaguely of the sunrays in the prison room. this time, instead of being surrounded in warm sunlight and dancing dust, you are surrounded in devouring darkness and a silence that settles over both of you. it's a sort of tension you wonder if either of you will mention in the morning, or if you'll allow it to be devoured by the darkness too.

"fine," san exhales, "we ended things on bad terms. but we are still good friends."

"so your bad-blood-exes streak is two for two? damn."

san chuckles, and the sound is soft and breathless and tired. he leans his head to the side to peer at you. you twist your body to face him, drawing a knee up to your chest. you study his expression, his dark, exhausted eyes, as he studies yours.

"i'll have you know i've had plenty of exes that ended well."

you raise a brow, "right."

he closes his eyes, barking out a loud laugh.

you shift beside him as you carefully pick your next words.

"can i ask why you ended on bad terms with yeosang? you both..." you trail off, thinking of the few interactions you had witnessed between them and how they could communicate with each other with just a look, how yeosang asks after san on the calls, how san smiles whenever yeosang talks through the radio, the sweatshirt, and you murmur, "you both seem nice together."

san tilts his head down, and fiddles with the edge of his shirt.

you don't know why you ask it. maybe you just know, from the way yeosang's spoken to you, from the things san has admitted. maybe, deep down, you know, and you need to ask to really confirm it. you ask, "please don't tell me it's because of me?"

san drags a hand over his face, peering sideways at you once more.

the silence is confirmation enough. maybe he doesn't care about you, but he used to, and you've also spent so long trying to reconcile your relationship with him and the person you were during that time. clearly, he has too. it's not fair. as you look at him, your chest feeling as if there's a heavy weight in it that will have you sinking through the earth and onto the other side, you think it isn't fair that you obviously have not gotten over him the way he has with you. that you still care about him. that he's ruined something good because of you and you feel bad and want him to have that back, despite the heaviness in your chest and the way your fingers curl around the fabric of your pants. it's not fair that you feel this way when you he's lied to you. you can't help but wonder, questions running through your mind. why did he ruin a good thing on your account? why are you feeling the effects of something that you had no hand in, not directly at least? why the hell do you pity the san before you? why is your heart racing?

you let out a laugh, more out of disbelief than anything else.

san scowls at your reaction.

"you're a fucking idiot, choi san." you shake your head, clutching your knee closer to your chest, "in the middle of an apocalypse still hung up over an ex that left you years ago. why would you let me ruin a good thing for you?"

san blinks, "you didn't do anything."

you feel the way you did, when you sat in that empty room and apologized to yeosang and san's friends. no, you didn't do anything, but why do you feel so sorry? why do you feel like all of this is your fault?

"you just said -"

san turns to face you, placing his hand on the one that's balled into a fist on your knee, your nails digging so hard into the fabric of your pants you're afraid you'll tear it. san dips his head, until his gaze is level with yours, and he speaks with a maturity that is a testament to the strange san you never knew. the one you've caught glimpses of here. the one you're starting to pick up on.

"i ruined it because of my feelings. i broke up with yeosang because of my issues and my emotions and it is not" - san squeezes your hand, his jaw ticking as he keeps your gaze locked on his - "your fault, y/n. i know i say a lot of shit, but this is not your fault. you have nothing to be sorry for."

"yeosang said that too."

san's hand is a warm, comforting weight on top of yours. "because he's right. you said it yourself, too, not in so many words. none of what's happened since you left the bunker is your fault. the way people are treating you," san sighs, "including myself. it's not really your fault."

when yeosang said it, it felt nice. when san says it, you scan his expression for a long time.

"you're saying that like it is someone's fault."

san shakes his head, pats your hand, before he lets go and leans back against the door once more.

before you can say anything san says, "yeo reminded me of you, you know. at first."

you grimace at that, words spilling from your mouth, "why does everyone keep saying that? first jongho saying i remind him of his friend, then hongjoong, now this? i am my own person, you know? i'm not someone you all can project personalities onto. and it's shitty to get into a relationship with someone that reminds you of your ex, san."

san grimaces, "i said at first."

"my point still stands."

san's expression appears strained. you assume it's because he's biting his tongue. his gaze flickers over your face as he murmurs, "fine, yeah. i'm a huge idiot."

"self awareness is the first step."

san rolls his eyes, but his lips turn up into a smile. you both fall into silence. it's comfortable, strangely so.

but you're the first to break it, "does you being here mean you won't be punished?"

san's eyes darken. he says, "no."

you turn to look at him, eyes flickering to his hands, "what's your punishment?"

"my hands will be fine," san says, shaking his head. his dark eyes are piercing, "i have to execute anyone seonghwa asks me to. mostly those who stray too far after being released on the shipments. that doesn't happen often though."

you're horrified, "that's awful."

he bites his lip, and you can tell he isn't saying something. despite the way his shoulders are slumped and the exhaustion in his eyes, he's holding something back.

he nods, says, "it does give me a chance to explore the guard towers though and figure out if there's a way out through there."

"before or after you have everyone turn on each other."

san shrugs, "i was just going to play that part by ear."

"and where would i be during this?"

"by my side."

you frown, "so why didn't you tell me about this earlier?"

"i can't tell you."

you don't push him. you don't want to play this game again. you don't want to know that he has even more secrets he can't tell you. so you say, "you're right."

san peers at you, but he seems to rethink whatever he wants to say because he settles for a snort and a, "you think so?"

you nod briskly.

san says, "that's a first. usually you tell me i'm wrong."

"don't get used to it."

san chuckles, before he says, expression growing somber, "just stay low for a while, will you?"

you frown, "why?"

"seonghwa's noticed all the friends you've made."

you roll your eyes, "i wouldn't call them friends."

san dips his head, "whatever you call them, he's noticed."

"he doesn't like it." you state it rather than ask.

san just nods. you nod, too, say, "okay, i'll lay low."

lies are getting easier, you've noticed, but san eyes you strangely anyway. maybe lies are getting easier, but you're still getting good at them. yet, he doesn't say a word.

you let the silence engulf you both. you let yourself bask in it, in the quiet, and the presence of someone else in this lonely room.

later, a long while later, san pushes himself to his feet. the lantern at your feet is dwindling.

san holds out a hand. you let him help you up.

he says goodnight, and you watch him go.

~.~.~.~.~

the next morning, after breakfast, you pull jongho behind the building before laundry duty, and you say, "where does the sanctuary get their food from?"

jongho blinks in surprise.

you say, "we're going to need food - and a whole lot of it - if we want to get out of here. and a car. they can't follow us to the other side of the country, can they?"

jongho blinks once, twice, three times, before he breaks out into a wide, ear-splitting grin. he doesn't cover his mouth. you squeeze his hand and you ask, "is this a good idea?"

jongho shakes his head, but he's still grinning.

"but we're going to do it?"

jongho nods and nods and nods.

~.~.~.~.~

"y/n."

you look up from the bookshelf you're wiping down, freezing under seonghwa's unwavering eyes.

seonghwa sits on one of the chairs - the same one hongjoong had been lounging in when he told you his past - and he gestures at the seat next to him. he is so polite, goosebumps settle over your skin.

you glance around the library, though you know damn well it's empty. the few times you've been assigned here after the incident, only seonghwa has been in here, and he barely ever spared you a glance as he intently scoured his books.

you have half a mind to say no.

then, he says, "sit down. let's talk."

his tone leaves no room for argument. so you sit.

seonghwa says, "do you know the tragedy of antigone?"

you frown, shaking your head.

seonghwa places an old, tattered book in your hand. sophocles, it says. you don't read books anymore, and certainly not ancient greek tragedies.

"in short, two brothers fight and both die. the king creon decides to honor one brother and dishonor the other - polynices. he's refused a proper burial, and his soul won't be able to rest because of it. antigone goes against creon's orders and performs a proper burial for her brother anyway. she places her love for her family above human laws. she's punished of course - buried alive in a cave - but later creon decides to spare her an execution and he finds she's killed herself."

"that's morbid," you frown at him. seonghwa continues staring at you, and his gaze is unsettling. he doesn't blink. you swear he isn't blinking. you flip the old book in your hands before you say, "let me guess? you're the king in this story?"

seonghwa smiles, and it is a chilling thing, all teeth but so polite it makes your skin crawl.

seonghwa says, "it's just interesting, i think, how far humans will go for love. platonic, romantic, anything really."

your frown deepens, "humans?"

something about the way he says that makes alarms ring in your head.

seonghwa nods, "people will do anything for the ones they care about. i'm curious what the extent of anything truly is. aren't you?"

you'd mentioned offhandedly that you believed seonghwa to have a god complex, but this is so utterly blatant it makes you want to put as much space the two of you as you can. you'd rather be alone in a room with hongjoong at this point.

he says, "how far are you willing to go for san, y/n?"

you cannot hide your wince. instead you shake your head and say, "less than you think."

seonghwa laughs, says, "a friend of mine said the same thing once. she was a bad liar."

you don't comment on the past tense. you wonder, for a moment, if he's talking about -

seonghwa tilts his head, his dark eyes still so unwavering, so unblinking, and he says, "i don't do well with bad liars, y/n. it's uninteresting."

he stands and leaves, glides almost, and you watch him go, all the hairs at the back of your neck standing on end. you exhale a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.

you stare at the book in your lap for a long time, before you open it. written in elegant letters across the top is a name.

chaeyoung.

#it looks like some of the blogs weren't taggable TT #taglist #sr

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wordstro · 2 years ago

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[15] apocalypse + ex!san + "look closely. no one ever really dies here. this is the sanctuary, after all."

part 14 | masterlist | part 16

a/n: 3.4k - technically the second part of the last chapter, i just wanted to split them up! the next update will take a bit longer, but i hope yall like this. warnings for feelings of helplessness, mentions of death, violence, some really bloody situations/wounds, and bloodloss

you awake to quiet. the drunken laughter, the traffic, it's nothing but in the past. everything is too fucking quiet.

but you've woken up.

you're awake.

and when you sit up, you're no longer strapped to the metal table. seonghwa is leaning against the counter, and grins at you when you sit up. you look around. jongho is still standing where he was, head down. hongjoong is nowhere to be seen. san stands at the head of the table.

seonghwa says, "welcome to my guard."

you start to move, despite the fact that you don't want to. you're not controlling your body, you realize, as if you are an outsider looking in. your head tilts into a bow. seonghwa grins. you don't feel a glare on your face. holy shit.

holy -

shut up.

the voice in your head is loud, just like that previous voice, and everything in you says to lie down and do as you're told. but, you were never one to do such a thing.

this is my body now you stupid -

you see a scalpel on the table, as your body gets up. maybe it should have been harder to move, to take back your body, but this body was yours to begin with. it was stolen from you by those horrid things in the sky, the same things that took the world you once knew and flipped it inside out, that made you take your mother's life, that turned the world into a quiet, empty place you thought you'd shrivel away in. so many things were stolen from you. the loudness of the world, your life as you knew it, your home, everything, and you'll be damned if you let them steal your body and free will too.

maybe it's the anger, maybe it's the need to free yourself, and san, and whoever the hell else was taken by these things, but you reach for the scalpel, and it works.

your hands move.

there's screaming in your head, so loud it makes your ears ring, but you don't listen, you just move.

you grab the scalpel, turning it on the back of your head, where the pressures lives at its fullest. the one thing about some strange alien parasite crawling into your head and stealing your consciousness was that you knew exactly where it stood. and maybe this is stupid as hell - and you know it because Before you used to study medicine, you'd taken paramedics classes right up until the world ended - but you find the back of your hairline, fingers pressing to the pressurized spot. it's squishy, like a pocket full of liquid has formed there, and you resist the urge to gag before you hold your breath and stab at it blindly with the scalpel. seonghwa eyes are wide, full of surprise.

the scream in your head is painful in its intensity, but nothing compared to the feeling of the scalpel piercing skin, or the way warm liquid drips down your neck, down your back. nothing is worse than the blinding pain that shoots through your body, the tears springing to your eyes as your head spins. you stumble off the metal table, grasping blindly at air to catch yourself.

you instead find purchase on san's arm. you look up at him through wet lashes for a split moment, just long enough to take in his face. the bruising on his skin, and the sharp angles to his features. there is darkness in his eyes. he stares at you in shock.

that is your only chance really.

you take the scalpel, and you grab san's hair, you search frantically, and it's in the same spot. maybe it's a coincidence. maybe it's a pattern.

but it's in the same spot and your Before brain shouts that this is unsanitary and if you get out of this alive, you both will be left with an infection that'll kill you instead, but you flip it in your fingers and you jam it into the bulbous bump at the back of his head. san scream. san screams, and you catch a glimpse of the san you knew. the san you've known. your fingers curl around the sides of his head, as gently as you can so you don't hurt him more than you have.

san chokes out, gasps really, "jesus fucking christ, y/n. a warning would be nice."

before you can do anything, san crumbles to his knees, and someone grabs you by the hair, dragging you back once more. the pain has you crying out, but you keep your eyes on san, on his warm brown eyes.

you croak out, "get out."

san blinks. you look away.

the wound at the back of your neck is searing, but that doesn't prepare you for the pain of being tossed into the food boxes, your vision spotting as you try to stay on your feet and fail. you groan, blinking up at seonghwa, vision blurry. you feel so delirious, possibly from blood loss but mostly from the fact that when you look past seonghwa you see san actually leaving.

you see him duck behind the table, clutching his head, watch as he crouches and sprints to the boxes, all behind seonghwa's back, undetected.

and maybe, even in this delirious, painful state, despite telling him to leave, despite the fact that you thought about saving him after everything, you thought he'd stay to help you. you thought san wouldn't take the first opportunity to run. but every time you tell him to leave, to get out, to let go, he does. he fucking does. maybe you shouldn't expect him to read your mind.

but, he's left you alone.

alone with seonghwa's wrath, alone in your last moments with no one by your side. alone.

and you think maybe you deserve this for putting other people first in a world where no one else has done the same.

you're going to die, and you're going to die alone.

it's fitting, you think, when you've spent so long in this new world living as a ghost. now you will die a lonely ghost.

seonghwa looms over you, shadowed like the grim reaper, gritting his teeth, his hands covered in a darkness that reminds you of ink-stains. you look down at your hands, and you have the same thing. blood, you figure. the blood of whatever the hell was in your head and in san's. in seonghwa's too.

"jongho! joong!" seonghwa is calling, glaring down at you before he crouches and his fingers wrap around your throat. he says, "i have to do everything around here, don't i?"

a giggle escapes your mouth, choked and gasping, but a giggle nonetheless.

seonghwa's grip around your neck loosens, tilting his head as he peers at you. he asks, "do you think this is funny?"

you mumble, "a little bit. i didn't think it would be so easy. i was expecting something a bit more like the alien movies, honestly. something creepier. in hindsight, your aliens are pretty lame."

you're surprised you can string together full sentences, let alone words that make sense. your words strike a nerve in seonghwa, despite his silence, because he grabs your elbow and yanks you to your feet. you stumble, but he drags you along anyway, kicking away food and boxes to clear his path. he's headed to the other room. to the pit, you realize, your heart racing against your ribs.

you gasp, "is this how you killed chaeyoung?"

you're slammed hard against the wall next to the doors. so hard you see stars from the impact against your wound, and you're glad seonghwa is holding up because you're sure you would have collapsed. his fingers grip your shoulders so tight, you wonder if he could tear through skin.

his face is inches from yours, and his eyes are not so black, nor so dilated. the polite tone disappears once more, as he spits, "i did not kill chaeyoung."

seonghwa has one inside him too, you realize. oh.

oh.

"maybe you didn't," you mumble, unsure what's possessed you to provoke seonghwa when you're barely able to fight back, "but the alien inside you must have. i don't see the difference, though, between the alien and yourself. do you?" you raise a brow at him, "did chaeyoung?"

the sound of his teeth grinding together echoes throughout the warehouse. the lavender lighting makes him look gaunt, like a ghost himself, and there is a sort of beauty to it, you think even in your dazed state.

however, in that moment, you swear seonghwa will strangle you with his bare hands. the murderous expression in his eyes surprises you. he's always looked at you with such little emotion, aside from pure curiosity or amusement, even as he hurt you. the emotion in his eyes is so raw and so startlingly human.

then he slams the doors open and pull you into the room with the railings. with the pit.

as he drags you into the room, you try to struggle, but it's pointless when you're weak from blood loss and injury. seonghwa holds your hands behind your back and walks you into the railing. he's too close, and the hairs at the back of your neck stands on end at the proximity.

he slams you against the railing, so your upper half dangles over the edge and only his grip on you keeps you from toppling over. the blood rushes to your ears, sweat dripping from your chin, your nose, hair tickling your ear, as you stare at the pit of dark creatures, of spider-like monsters with jagged teeth and long, rigid, shards for legs, as you meet the dark, bottomless eyes of one of them, and they do not look away. you wonder, briefly, if it's the same one from before. the familiar one. the stench of burnt hair and rotting flesh is overwhelming, stinging your nose and eyes.

seonghwa leans in until he is flush against you, and you hate the clear show of power, of how powerless you are dangling here at his whim. he speaking over you the way a priest would bless the living and pray for the dead.

"you asked me who i was in the tragedy of antigone, didn't you?"

his voice is no longer polite. it is charged. emotional. it is seonghwa, you think. not the polite, curious creature pretending to be seonghwa. it is seonghwa, one of the four founders of the sanctuary. the person who allowed the sanctuary to escalate into a place like this, with pits of monsters and guards with aliens in their heads. the person who is sacrificing people to keep these creatures satiated so that his sanctuary can remain a utopia kept tight under lock and key and guns. your eyes flicker over the pit, watching as the creatures start to gather beneath you. their beady, dark eyes settle on you in a way that has shivers running down your spine. the clicking sounds nearly drown out the sound of your heart pounding in your chest. one set of eyes in particular maintains contact, and it is the same eyes that felt so...familiar earlier. the same eyes that fixated on you. that jongho pulled you away from.

"you were right and wrong. i am polynices, and i am creon," seonghwa murmurs. he is the brother and the king who ordered he not be buried properly? how is that possible?

you frown, "what the hell are you talking about?"

"chaeyoung was against all this." he shakes you and you swallow down the panic. seonghwa continues, "i tried to get her to see my way, but she wouldn't, so put one of the kinder ones in her when she was asleep. she needed to experience it herself. then she'd change her mind. but she...she was an idiot. i'm surprised she had the will to do what you did. most people don't." seonghwa murmurs, and his voice is right in your ear as he leans heavily against you, his grip tight. one little push and you'll tumble into the pit. you still beneath his touch, your breathing ragged. "but she failed. she missed."

everything is too quiet. and clicking gets louder in the silence.

"she wasn't supposed to die that way," seonghwa murmurs, his voice breathy, quiet, right next to your ear. "so i made sure she didn't die. i did not kill her. i saved her." he shouts that, and you flinch, even as he continues, "i am creon, too, but unlike him i wasn't too late. in my story, antigone was spared."

seonghwa lets out a small choked sob, that morphs quickly into a laugh, into an inhumanly polite tone. into the other seonghwa, you realize with horror. the grip on your head tightens, "now look closely, y/n. no one ever really dies here. this is the sanctuary, after all."

you look down, and a small creature crawls into the cool light. it's smaller than the other one staring at you, and it's eyes are just as dark. but there is an awareness to them you find curling around your heart. if you look closely, the rough skin of the creatures aren't actually all black. lavender glints off the black, and there's a hint of brown to this one. the color is similar to hongjoong's hair.

you don't know what to say. you can't speak.

your fingers curl into fists as you stare at the creature, with beady lopsided eyes and jagged teeth and a curious look in its eyes, no, her eyes. chaeyoung's eyes.

"look," seonghwa shoves you forward, until you're hanging off the edge of the railing by just his grip and you're flailing, "closer."

you tear your eyes from her, and your gaze returns to the familiar eyes, the one with the slithering limbs inching towards you as you look, up the wall and towards the railing, a streak of reddish-brown left in its wake. the familiarity itches at your brain, but you're still reeling from the thought of chaeyoung.

seonghwa sighs, "honestly, i'm not sure what happens to us when we take over you pathetic humans. it's interesting, i think, what humans will do for love and how it affects everything. i promised her i wouldn't toss you in here, though her brain must have rotted down here for even asking of such a thing. but it's too bad you've ruined it, huh, y/n? at least you'll die in mommy's arms. maybe she'll be the one to feed off you. that would be quite poetic. i'll enjoy the sounds of your scream -"

you scream when seonghwa's grip around you loosens, when you start to tumble forward, air rushing through your ears. you're going to die. you're going to die and you can't even comprehend the words seonghwa's just told you and the mention of your mother or even the fact that the tentacle crawling up the wall wraps around torso, and then you're tossed backwards. back over the rail. wait?

you blink, meeting familiar eyes, and you think of seonghwa's words, but you're dizzy and you're confused and everything is spinning, but at the same time the familiarity - there has to be a reason for it, the same as chaeyoung still being here, the same as... no. you think you're going to puke. you roll onto your side, meeting those beady eyes once more. it stares at you for a long moment before it dips below the railings. before it disappears.

there is no way in hell the creature is your mother. but seonghwa said no one dies here. and the creature just fucking saved you. maybe, when these things possess people they keep remnants of them. even though you killed her, she stayed with that thing. she still lives on. maybe that's what seonghwa was talking about. you don't know if you find the thought worse than death.

you hear screaming. you look over, and seonghwa has hongjoong by the throat, slammed up against the wall. hongjoong is crying, you realize, the lavender lighting giving him a ghostly sheen, and you've never seen him look so broken. you did not think him capable of it.

his voice echoes through the chamber, a broken, desperate thing, "she was my sister."

seonghwa says, "she still is."

you manage to crawl to your feet. you're not sure why you're doing this. you should run. you should escape. hongjoong terrorized you every single chance he had. you can barely walk straight. yet, you grab the nearest object, a rifle, and heave it up, placing the barrel to seonghwa's head. you click off the safety. hongjoong's eyes slide to meet yours.

you don't look at hongjoong for long, eyes lingering on seonghwa, "let go of him."

"oh," seonghwa starts to truly laugh, "so you're going to help him?"

"i'm going to blow your fucking brains out. would rather it just be you then both of you, really," you prod at the back of his head, "so let him go."

seonghwa releases hongjoong, turning slowly, hands in the air, until his forehead is pressed to the barrel of the gun. then seonghwa steps forward. you stand your ground, but he presses further into the barrel. his grin is maniacal.

"go on, then," he says, "blow my brains out."

you hesitate.

he cackles, before he grabs the barrel of the rifle. you yank it out of his hands and smack him across the forehead with it. that sends seonghwa sprawling.

your chest is heaving as you look at hongjoong. he stares back, his eyes wide. his eyes aren't black like seonghwa's and it's terrifying you think, to realize right then that all this time, he never had something controlling him, that everything he did was of his own volition. however, for once, he looks as small as his actual height. he looks as vulnerable as he had in that library. this may be the only time you've felt an inkling of sympathy for him.

but then hongjoong does not say a word to you. no thanks. no apologies. nothing. he pushes past you and lunges for seonghwa, bloodlust in his eyes, and seonghwa moves so fluidly, so easily, and it terrifies you when he smacks hongjoong aside so easily. when hongjoong tips over the side of the railing. hongjoong's plan was always vengeance. you almost pity him for this, as you watch him trip over seonghwa's foot and topple over the side of the railing. as he screams on the way down, the sound grating on your ears. you wonder, briefly, if the remnants of his sister will save him or kill him.

seonghwa turns on you, and he easily knocks the rifle from your trembling hands. this time, his fingers curl around your throat with intent to kill.

he says, "you're fucking annoying. i'm done here."

he squeezes, and you cannot breathe, your vision spotting. you can't see or breathe or think, and the sounds of you choking on air is so incredibly loud, even over the clicking below, the crunching of bones, and the squelching of flesh. of hongjoong's useless, vengeance-less death.

you just spit in his face, because that's all you can really do.

he slams you against the wall, and your vision blacks out. seonghwa's face is all you see, and it swims until there's three of him, so you close your eyes to block him out.

"i'll kill you," he says, "and then i'll keep you alive, just to make you die again. over and over and over. then i'll -"

he cuts off.

his grip loosens significantly.

you open your eyes, gulping for air.

standing there, heaving with a bloody metal bat over his head, and his head bandaged, is choi fucking san.

you blink at him. this isn't real. you have to be dead. he'd left. he'd left, and san never comes back.

but then he reaches for you, his fingers curling around your waist as he lets you lean all your weight on him.

you stare at san in disbelief. slowly, you reach up, and press your fingertips to his cheek, if only to check that he's really there, your vision still so blurred. you're so tired.

"you came back for me?"

san's brows furrow, his fingers curling into fists at your side. he nods, and nods, and nods, as he says, "of course i did."

#taglist #pls let me know if i forgot anyone!#itpfl

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wordstro · 2 years ago

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taglist: @hither-to-undreamt-of, @raineadlr, @allaboutsan, @seojonneh, @khjsss, @starfulmaeum, @knucklesdeepmingi, @seonghwaskitty, @wtfjongseong, @lawleysluvs, @tohokuu, @flamingi, @meowsannie, @baguette-atiny

[10:22 AM] + apocalypse + ex!san + "you're going to have to trust me on this."

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9

a/n: 5,600 words. mentions of violence. descriptions/mentions of death. jongho best boy.

for once, you're grateful you've been assigned to laundry duty again. you spent the majority of breakfast being stared at - specifically the purpling bruises on your face and neck - and when taeyong giggled at you as he passed, you decided you needed to get away from the prying eyes. you figure seonghwa didn't order you remain in your room because the bruises would no longer be incriminating for hongjoong and him. it'd be a san and you problem. strangely, no one at the sanctuary found the bruises alarming. instead they giggled harder, knocking foreheads against each other as they whispered behind their hands when you passed. when san showed up to breakfast looking as if he hadn't slept at all, his hair messy, and took a seat on jongho's other side, you watched mrs. kim gesture between san and you. taeyong was giggling with jaehyun as they both glanced between you both. the only bright side of that morning was that hongjoong was nowhere to be seen.

you're pulled from your thoughts of the morning when jongho settles into the spot beside you, leaning heavily against the brick wall you both take refuge behind during laundry duty days. the spot is out of sight from the dining hall and main building, giving you both a moment to escape prying eyes monitoring whether you're working. the small overhang and dragging shadow provides the smallest bit of reprieve against the blaring morning sun.

jongho knocks his elbow lightly against your side. you glance his way. he smiles with such kindness, you get the sudden urge to cry. it's so genuine, and the sincerity there hits you hard. you've gone a long time without sincerity. you did not realize how much you missed it until right then.

jongho's brows furrow before he searches his pockets. he pulls out his little notepad, scribbling quickly before he passes it to you.

are you alright? i heard you were sick last night.

"yeah," you say, handing him back his pad, "don't worry. i feel better."

you sure?

you nod.

jongho flips a page, writes for a long time. you watch him do so, the sweat on his face glistening under the morning light. his brows remain furrowed in worry. you hate that for a moment you find yourself questioning that worry and jongho's sincerity.

seonghwa barely deems anyone sick enough to skip shipments. especially if they're perfectly fine the next day. i'm hard to i know it's difficult to trust me, but i hope you know that i'm good at keeping my mouth shut. no pun intended.

you grimace, "you were waiting for an opportunity to use that."

jongho grins, shrugging.

you laugh, and your chest does feel a bit lighter. it's nice.

jongho's small smile falters as he examines your face. he writes, those aren't hickies, are they?

you cringe in horror, "is that what everyone thinks?"

jongho snorts and nods, snickering at your expression.

still, you touch one of the bruises, ignoring the memory of san dabbing ointment onto it that your touch dredges up. jongho watches you do so, a frown curling at his lips. frowns look out of place on him.

you think of hongjoong's story. of seonghwa's words. the moment turns bleak, and the sun feels too hot.

you gesture to the wall, beyond it. "did you know i was out there for four years?"

jongho's eyes widen.

you nod, "yeah, i know." you stare at the wall over the hill, watching one of the guards climb up the ladder to the guard tower. you let your gaze drift upwards, to the sky, and you catch glimpses of flying objects hovering above the clouds, reflecting rainbows back down to the surface. just that moment's glance brings shivers down your spine. you say, "i'm starting to wonder if escaping is worth it? i mean... would you want to go back out there and deal with those things? would you want to escape?"

you turn to look at jongho. jongho purses his lips as his gaze flickers over your face. he seems to be contemplating something, struggling with himself. then he turns to his notepad, and writes.

i tried to escape once, jongho says. back then, we used to live in a gated community. this was the one and only time anyone tried to escape this place. they succeeded, but with their success the entire community suffered. a lot of people died that night, and the fog returned. you've seen how people ignore me here, right? a lot of people lost loved ones that night. it was because of me.

"because of you?"

jongho swallows, do you remember the friend i mentioned? the one you remind me of?

you nod.

we were close... jongho's pen falters, and you watch his shoulders slump. you press a hand to his shoulder, and he looks up at you with tired eyes. he writes, and you read his words over his shoulders. he crosses out his the his first sentence and continues. we helped seonghwa and hongjoong start this place, along with hongjoong's sister and boyfriend. i just started university when it happened, and hongjoong and his sister found me hiding out in an sauna. then we found seonghwa. we met mingi, hongjoong's boyfriend, a few months later. we just went through a lot after that, so we all got close. we were like family, really. i guess you could call it trauma bonding?

your hand slips from jongho's shoulder. jongho knew mingi. your thoughts reel at that revelation, and the confirmation that hongjoong was truly telling the truth. not only that, but mingi also helped create the sanctuary. did yeosang know this? wooyoung? yunho? did san know this? your eyes widen, and jongho gives you a wobbly smile. your stomach flips as you say , "i...you started the sanctuary? the shipments too?"

back then, the shipments didn't go the way they do now. seonghwa and chaeyoung, hongjoong's sister, figured out a way to keep the fog out of the sanctuary. they kept the details between them, but they told us we needed to sacrifice one person to the fog twice a month to quell the creature's hunger. i never questioned it. weirder things were happening anyway. so we used to keep prisoners who we'd send out at night twice a month. those were the shipments. i know that sounds horrible, but the prisoners were bad people, y/n. murderers, rapists, people who hurt other people. their victims often took refuge with us. i guess i...thought it was justified since only evil people were being sent to their deaths.

you don't know if you can blame jongho for finding the sacrifices justifiable. the circumstances of the crimes made the punishment seem more than reasonable, and the desperation to survive is something you've faced firsthand. but you wonder how the hell that evolved into this. what happened? was it because mingi killed hongjoong's sister - chaeyoung? was it because of the escape attempt? was that the real reason why jongho lost his tongue?

something happened with chaeyoung. i still don't know what it was, but it was bad. really bad. she and seonghwa couldn't stand to be in the same room as each other, and she fought with everyone. she and hongjoong spent two hours screaming at each other once. the whole compound could hear it. it didn't help that all of us were falling apart. mingi and hongjoong argued often. their arguments were never loud, but the aftermath of it was always very obvious. the other members of the sanctuary started fighting too. we were running out of food and rationing. people fought over scraps, and the littlest things honestly. one day my friend told me he wanted to leave. there was something there in his eyes that just - it hurt to see it. you looked like that just now you know. like everything was over and done for. hopeless.

you blink at that, placing the notebook in the grass so you can really look at jongho. you don't know how to respond to that last bit, so you don't. instead, you say, "she's dead. chaeyoung."

you don't ask it, and that's probably why jongho's eyes widen slightly in surprise. he doesn't ask either though. he just nods briskly, a sad smile gracing his features.

you take a breath. "what happened to her?"

i don't know. it happened during the escape attempt, so i wasn't there. we decided to do it at night. it happened to be a shipment night, and honestly that is probably the best time to escape, but sometimes i wonder if that made it worse. if that was -

jongho stops writing for a long moment. you squeeze his shoulder once more in support, and sit there in silence until he continues.

he wasn't supposed to use the bombs unless absolutely necessary. i wasn't with him. it was my job to distract the guards. but i felt it when he used the bombs. the blast shook the ground. and the screaming was terrible. it did not stop. the explosion caused a fire that destroyed the community very quickly. everything went up in flames. i've never seen anything like it, but that wasn't the worst of it. the worst part was that the gates were gone. blown to pieces because of the bombs i made. for the first time i really saw what was in the fog. i was hiding, you know, in the guard box, and i could hear the clicks. i laid there and listened as those things ate someone. the sound is disgusting y/n. the sounds of those things crawling, dragging their bodies through the grass and cement, and the sounds of bones breaking and flesh -

you grab jongho's trembling hand, "you don't have to keep going. i understand, jongho. you don't have to relive that part."

jongho nods, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. that night we lost over half the community. seonghwa, hongjoong, and i were the only ones left from our group. our family. chaeyoung was dead. later i learned mingi was the one that killed her, so that he and my friend could escape. i never thought he was capable of something like that, but i also didn't think seonghwa and hongjoong were capable of the things they've done since then. hongjoong told me he'd come too late. by the time he got there, mingi's knife and hands were covered in blood and chaeyoung was on the ground with her throat slit. before hongjoong could do anything, my friend knocked him over the head with something and hongjoong lost consciousness. when he came to, the compound was burning and mingi and my friend were gone. we watched the compound burn to the ground while we all piled into the cars. we traveled for days after that until we found this place. we lost more people along the way. at one point, seonghwa and hongjoong raided an abandoned army base. seonghwa said we were looking for food, but instead we found guns. a lot of them. i don't think seonghwa was ever looking for food there. anyways, they rebuilt this place to make sure what happened that time could never happened again. rules tightened, a security training plan was developed. despite that though, everyone knew i helped with the escape. i was the only one who could make bombs like that. everyone knew it was my fault so many died. the worst part was that i didn't even help that night. i hid and hongjoong was the one who found me hiding under a table.

"jongho," you frown, "you didn't do anything wrong. you were scared. you didn't know it'd turn out like that. you didn't set off those bombs."

i helped, though, and i made those bombs. i lied to seonghwa about it at first, but he's known me for a long time. he knew i was lying. maybe i didn't actually do anything, but i was involved. i executed that plan knowing the consequences.

you wince at the implication that that was why seonghwa punished jongho. that wasn't fair. still, you say, "your friend. did he...did he die, too?"

jongho shakes his head, he didn't die that night. he's probably dead by now though.

you speak gently, still patting jongho's back, "what's his name?"

i'm not allowed to say it.

you blink, "what?"

seonghwa said he'll kill me if i ever bring up his name.

"seonghwa's not here."

i can't say it. he'll know.

your stomach churns.

"how can he - how the fuck does that help?" you sputter, annoyance at seonghwa bubbling in your chest, "why are they punishing you for this?"

it's terrifying, you think, that seonghwa conditioned jongho so well that he refuses to even write his friend's name down. seonghwa is nowhere to be seen, but jongho is still so terrified. and to think jongho considered him family, perhaps even still does. your heart feels heavy as you look at him writing his response.

i'm the only one left they can blame. and i deserve the blame.

you take a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm the anger and overwhelming way your thoughts run at all the new information.

jongho nudges his notebook into your hands once more. the point is, i've always wanted to escape, but it's impossible.

something about his words makes you want to try. maybe it's the fact that you're angry, more than anything, at jongho's mistreatment. at the level of fear he has for seongwha and hongjoong, especially when they used to be so close jongho considered them both family. that is more monstrous to you. jongho lost chaeyoung, mingi, and his friend, too. he lost family too. from the sounds of it, jongho was kept away from whatever really happened between his friends, tagging along because he was asked to, but now since jongho was the only one left behind, hongjoong and seonghwa were using him as a punching bag for their hurt feelings. the blame and consequences were being placed on someone you did not think deserved it one bit. and the worst part was, jongho truly believed all of it was his fault. you wonder, with a heavy heart, if jongho believed he deserved to lose his tongue in the process.

it isn't fair. the most terrible thing about all this is that it terrifies you knowing that as long as you are here, you will remain at the whims of seonghwa and hongjoong. at least you knew you could avoid the fog and strange alien-possessed with tried and true methods. the unpredictable volatility of seonghwa and hongjoong is something else entirely. seonghwa treats it like a game, and hongjoong like crazed vengeance, and you don't think you're equipped to remain here at their mercy. you know, deep down, that staying is not an option for you. you'd rather die at the hands of strange creatures, a kind, instant death really, then spend years being broken down by two terrible people hellbent on controlling everything and blaming everyone but themselves.

"nothing is impossible, jongho." you say, attempting at a smile.

jongho only stares at you like you've grown another head. look at all the guard towers, y/n. besides, those things in the fog were worse than anything i've ever seen in here.

you frown. "how long do you think the shipments are going to last, jongho? you said it used to be twice a month, but now it's every night. how long can seonghwa sustain that?"

jongho's brows furrow. not long.

"escaping might be hard but it's not impossible," you say, "besides, i think it's time everyone learns who the real seonghwa and hongjoong are."

you grin. jongho stares, unimpressed.

he writes, you don't think they already do?

that brings you pause. you frown at jongho, "they do?"

jongho drags a hand through his hair, peering to his right, to where some sanctuary members are laughing loudly as they make their way to the dining hall for lunch.

before you and san, we didn't get a new member for months. but every person that is here was brought here in the exact same way you were. no one was given a choice in the matter, really, but the majority of them are aware of what's going on. no one puts up a fight once they spend a day here. i think that's what was expected of you, too, but you didn't do that, so seonghwa and hongjoong took you to me. everyone knows what's happening, but it's keeping them alive.

your stomach churns at that, fingers curling into fists. you can't stay here, you decide right then. seonghwa and hongjoong are bad enough, but to stay here when you know that every single person is turning the other cheek to the atrocities occurring here. that truly scares you. this is no longer the doing of two outliers you could deem monsters. this is the doing of the collective. of everyone. bystanders and perpetrators alike. you whisper, "so it's true. only the horrible people are left."

good people don't kill others to survive. they don't step over others to get ahead. that's why they're all dead.

you think of your mother, and the blood you have on your hands too. you'd killed her to survive, so maybe you're not any different. maybe you belong here. you nod, deflating a bit as you read his words, "no, i guess you're right."

jongho doesn't write anything. he just stares at the clothesline on the hill.

you murmur, "i still want to escape, jongho. i can't be here anymore."

jongho looks down at your hands. he writes hesitantly. one stroke at at a time. i do, too.

"then we should try," you frown, "at least we can try."

we?

"yeah," you say, nodding, "you're stuck with me."

jongho's eyes fill with tears, and you blink in surprise. he wipes furiously at them, before he nods, over and over and over. you can't help but laugh, but the laugh sounds heavy, even to your ears. maybe you're about to walk you both into your inevitable deaths, but the sparkly of hope in his otherwise kind, tired eyes is worth the risk, you think.

~.~.~.~.~

"jongho's going to join us," you tell san, the moment you step into his room after curfew.

san takes a step back, his eyes widening as he gives you a quick once over. he asks, "you told jongho?"

"i didn't mention you or the radio or anything. just that i wanted to escape. but he wants to get out of here, so i'm going to help him."

you expect san to put up a fight, but he just chuckles as if you're telling a good joke.

"what?"

"nothing," san shakes his head. he plops down on his bed, and you take your usual spot in his chair. he flips the radio around in his hands, but he does not click the button. after a beat, san says, "what did he tell you?"

"it's not my secret to tell," you mock his words.

san purses his lips, "i guess not."

you expect more of a fight, but san only nods. you frown, say, "i mean, seonghwa and hongjoong have been horrible to him. he deserves to get out of here."

san nods.

he still remains so silent. you wonder if he knows about mingi and jongho. you wonder if you should ask.

san flips the radio in his hands once more, his gaze drifting from the radio to your face, "if you have something to say, say it."

"i could say the same to you."

you hate beating around the bush. you always have, and you always will. maybe san still remembers that about you, because he seems to be waiting as he looks at you. as if he knows you'll say what you want eventually.

you sigh, "jongho knows mingi."

san nods, still waiting. his newfound patience is still a strange thing to you.

"do you want me to spell it out for you? or is this another secret that isn't yours to tell?"

"are you ever going to let that go?"

"are you ever going to tell me the whole truth?"

"i've told warned you haven't i? to not trust anyone?"

"cryptic warnings don't fucking help, san," you scoff at him. "i don't know when you've decided to become the fucking riddler 2.0, but now is not the time."

this time san laughs, and it's...genuine. "the riddler? you're making batman references at a time like this?"

"yeah," you mutter, and your frown fumbles. you can't help the smile. it's contagious. you say, "you're acting like some kind of edgy comic book villain. what else am i supposed to do?"

he laughs again, dragging his hand through his hair, before he sighs and says, "i know this is difficult for you, but try to put yourself in my shoes. for one second, just try."

"what does that -"

"yeosang, wooyoung, mingi, and yunho are important to me. i love them. they are my world now," san sighs once more, "and i will do anything in my power to protect them. they would do the same for me."

you understand him. you get it. but san's loyalty to his friends always makes your heart curl up in a way you cannot fully explain. maybe it's because he was never even that loyal to you. even when he was supposed to be. maybe that's what happens when years go by and lessons are learned. you expect him to be the same, but he isn't, and he never will be. maybe it's bad that you've remained stagnant while everything and everyone has changed and moved on.

you say, "i get it. you don't owe me shit. we're strangers. you've already said this a hundred times. pick new dialogue, san."

san scoffs, rolling his eyes, "if you'd let me explain, that'd be nice."

you wave your hand at him, stiffening as you watch him open your mouth. frankly, you don't want to be reminded that he doesn't care about you. he's said it enough times, already, and there's only so many times you can pretend to let those remarks slide off your skin before it starts to stick.

san opens his mouth once, twice, before he finally speaks, "when i found out you were taken by the sanctuary i..."

you watch him trail off in search of words. the tension in the room doubles as you stare at him.

he says, "i admit i lost it."

his eyes meet yours, and he holds you in his gaze.

"i thought you didn't care?" your voice is soft, a mere whisper.

his eyes remain on yours, and there is something so heavy and encompassing living in his eyes. something that settles into the pit of your stomach and clouds the little room. it makes your heartbeat catch. you don't even dare to breathe, in case you ruin the stillness in the room. even the dust seems to remain suspended in air, waiting with bated breath for his response. an eternity passes, the two of you unblinking. staring.

san breathes, "i don't."

the air leaves your lungs, and the tension crumbles, but san continues holding your gaze.

your nerves are frayed, even when you mumble, "good."

san's smile is a tiny thing, nothing like the amused, almost mean smiles he'd getting the last word in, or the empty ones he'd bestow on you in front of other people in the sanctuary.

he says, so easily, so casually, as if the world hadn't fucking stopped a few moments ago, "all i'm trying to say is that i'm stuck between you and my friends, and i don't want to pick sides."

you snort at that, "you've chosen your friends the moment you let them rob me."

"i admit that wasn't...the nicest."

"no shit."

san rolls his eyes, "whatever."

you say, "no go on. give me more half-assed apologies. you've always been good at that."

"fine," san sits up then, crossing his arms over his chest as he narrows his eyes at you, "i'm half sorry about the robbing thing. the kimchi you had was good though."

"yeah?" your glare deepens, "i spent half a day digging that up."

"thanks for your hard work."

"i'm so glad you could enjoy the fruits of my labor, asshole."

"i'm half sorry about the living room. you shouldn't have been sneaking around, and i'm never letting that slide. but i shouldn't have said what i said to you. i was just angry, and surprised by your reappearance. but that's never an excuse. so i'm half sorry."

you let his words settle over you. you admit, "i don't think the san i knew would have ever admitted any of that out loud."

san lets out a small breath, and his eyes aren't narrowed in anger anymore. his shoulders droop a bit, but he remains with his arms crossed over his chest. "so many years have passed since then, y/n. no one ever stays the same for so long."

"i didn't even know the four years passing, you know. that's why i was like that in the bunker living room. i don't think i ever registered just how long i was out there moving on autopilot. maybe that's why you think i haven't changed."

"that's not it," san scoots back, leaning against the stone wall. he tilts his head back, but still looks at you. "you didn't know?"

you shake your head, "i didn't feel the need to pay attention."

you probably should have been able to tell. you just had to count the seasons. the winters, or summers. the amount of times the leaves turned colors, or the amount of times cherry blossoms bloomed prettily despite the state of the world. you just didn't feel the need to. you thought you were the last person left, and what does the last living person need with years? who would you celebrate your birthdays with anyway? why would you put yourself through that kind of sadness?

another pause.

"well," san's voice is quiet, gentle, "we're going into august now. my birthday just passed. yours will be coming up soon as well."

you blink at san, "oh."

he smiles, and it's as gentle as jongho's had been. your heart constricts. he picks up the radio and waves it, "let's give them a call, then."

you nod, unable to speak because of the lump in your throat.

san scoots to the edge of the bed, asks, "can i ask you one thing?"

you nod. san's finger hovers over the talk button. his expression grows serious.

he says, "can you keep jongho joining us to yourself?"

you frown at him, surprised, "why?"

san seems to mull over his next words for a long moment, speaking carefully, "you're just going to have to trust me on this, y/n."

"that goes against everything you've been nagging me about."

san snorts, "yeah, i know."

you cross your arms.

"come on," he says, "just this one time i won't nag you about trusting people too much. it's a free pass."

you glare, but he smiles. so you sigh, and nod. you don't see any harm in keeping jongho out of the equation until things are finalized anyway. "fine."

he lets out a small sigh of relief.

~.~.~.~.~

you don't say a word about what you know about mingi. san looks at you expectantly throughout the check-in, but you keep it to yourself. you want to see their faces as you ask about it. the radio doesn't feel like a good way of communicating.

instead, you say, "escaping during a shipment will be our best bet, i think. everyone's drinking and dancing. it gives you guys enough time to break in and get us out."

a pause.

then yeosang says, "that's a good idea."

you don't mention mingi, but you'd always been a bit petty. you say, "we can make bombs, too, and use it in case we need to."

you look at san as you speak into the radio. he frowns at you, his eyes narrowing as you talk.

the pause on the other side is much, much too long.

yunho answers, "do you know how to make bombs?"

"i met someone who does. he can teach me."

san outright glares at you then, gesturing for the radio.

you shrug at him, holding the radio close. his scowl deepens as he grips the edge of the bed, leaning close.

"sounds good. we'll finalize details later. it's good hearing from you both. get some rest." yunho's voice is stiff.

the room goes absolutely silent.

san says, "maybe i should have specified not to mention anything jongho said to you either."

"don't you think this is annoying?" you ask, handing him the radio, "there's no fucking transparency."

"says the person who decided to be petty as fuck just now."

"i'm allowed to be a little petty."

he doesn't deny your words. he just sighs, "i'm going to have to deal with the aftermath of that though. so thanks."

you think it's funny, how you're both aware that there's information being kept from you. you don't even dance around the topic anymore. in fact, at this point you're both feeding the damn elephant in the room the best watermelons you can find. it's funny in a what-the-hell-are-you-doing kind of way.

"you talk to them on the radio when i'm not here."

it's not a question. it's a statement. it's confirmation.

"i just to catch up with them."

"right."

san sighs, "let's walk you back."

you nod, and the two of you walk back in utter silence.

when you get to your little jail cell, san says, "i'm half sorry about not being able to tell you anything. they're my friends, and they really are not my secrets to tell, but i still feel guilty."

"is that what all this is?" you gesture at him, standing at the threshold to your jail cell room. "guilt?"

his eyes glisten in the moonlight, but the rest of his face is shadowed and indecipherable.

"yes, i think so." he says.

he doesn't care about you, but he's trying to alleviate his guilt? you don't want that. you don't want his guilt. pity is born of guilt, and that is so much fucking worse. so you shut the door without another word, and he doesn't bother saying a thing.

your heart feels heavier in your chest than it ever was before.

~.~.~.~.~

hongjoong returns that morning. he bangs on your jail cell bars with the stupid knife, and he croons, "good morning."

you groan, nearly toppling off the cot as you scramble to get up.

hongjoong says, "you have bird coop duty. breakfast folks are going to be waiting for those eggs, y/n."

you groan. hongjoong steps around the bars, to the open door of your jail cell. you stiffen then, at his proximity, and quickly get to your feet. hongjoong grins at your reaction.

"meet me outside in five minutes."

you meet him outside in three.

when you arrive, san's waiting there, looking tired, arms crossed over his chest. hongjoong grins, says, "aren't you two a lovely sight?"

you grimace.

hongjoong says, "smile, y/n."

you do.

san frowns, peering between you and hongjoong.

hongjoong gestures for both of you to follow after him, but you fall behind. san has long strides since he's taller. and hongjoong moves ridiculously fast for someone so short. "hurry up, y/n."

the chicken coop and all the other livestock are at the south end of the sanctuary, closer to the well and where the cars are stored. there's a gate here that's used for when someone uses the cars to make supply runs. you don't know who gets assigned for supply runs and how that is run, since it's not a job assignment posted on the community board. you can hear engines running, over the sounds of roosters cawing and the chickens clucking. you look over, and the gates are open, a pickup truck backing up into the sanctuary. the gate clangs shut behind the truck. the back of the pickup truck is piled high with perishable food, in green baskets that seem to be made of woven leaves. the baskets some of the older women make at the sanctuary are made of hay and straw. not leaves. you've always wondered how the sanctuary managed to have bread and cake. perishables like that should have been long gone. but, those items coming in on a supply run truck is even stranger. where could they have found them?

someone grabs your elbow and pulls you away from the truck and the gate. you yelp, stumbling forward.

hongjoong frowns at you, "pay attention, y/n."

you glare at him, though the fear you have for him only makes your heart slam against your ribs. feeling such anxiety constantly cannot be good for you.

your fingers curl into fists, "please do not touch me."

hongjoong blinks, once, twice, three times, before he says, "excuse me."

"don't touch me."

hongjoong steps closer. he looms and your morning brain cannot handle this so early. your heart races. hongjoong grabs your elbow.

"say that -"

hongjoong is suddenly yanked to the side, and a sickening crunch echoes all around you. even the animals stop making noise, as if they can sense the gravity of the situation.

san is breathing heavily, his body angled between yourself and hongjoong. he punched hongjoong. he punched hongjoong, and hongjoong's nose is gushing blood, and holy shit san punched hongjoong.

san speaks with the calmness of someone who is speaking of the weather. one hand remains in a fist, and the other is pressed against your arm, holding you behind him.

san says, "they said not to touch them, so keep your hands to your fucking self."

#taglist #sr #whew baby this is a fast update but i always end up writing two parts and then waiting a month to finish writing lol

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wordstro · 2 years ago

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taglist:

[16] apocalypse + ex!san + "i want this place to fucking burn."

part 15 | masterlist | part 17

a/n: 4k, warnings for a brief car accident description, a lot of violent descriptions bc a lot is happening, also i am sorry to say i am a Liar :/

you reach up and touch the bandage on his head. you say, "where did you go?"

"mrs. kim," san says, so very quietly. "she owed me a favor."

"so you," you grip his shoulder, if only to keep yourself steady, and san's grip on your sides tighten as if to help, "you really came back."

san looks at you with a sadness in his eyes that has your vision swimming, "i promised, didn't i? that i'd get you out of here?"

something stirs in your chest at that. something that has you shaking your head over and over.

"you should have left," you look at seonghwa, still unconscious on the floor. you look at the pit where hongjoong fell. your gaze settles on san. "you should have saved yourself, and gone back to the bunker. you should have left, san. what if we don't - what if you don't -"

he reaches up and cradles your face between his palms. for a moment, all that is left in the world is you and san. there are no sounds of squelching flesh, no bone-chilling clicking, no pain at the back of your head, no sanctuary. your breath stops in that moment, and you're afraid to exhale in case you disturb the peace you've craved for so, so long. he holds your gaze as gently as he holds your face when he says, voice firm, "we will. we will get the fuck out of here, y/n."

it's funny, you think, how those exact words have haunted you in different ways, Before and After. he's thrown them in your face not too long ago. yet now it's reassurance.

and maybe you don't entirely trust san, not after everything, but you can believe that he means this one thing at least.

"okay," you breathe, nodding.

his thumbs graze along your jaw as he searches your gaze as if this is the first time he's seen you in years. or perhaps, as if it will be his last time. then he takes a deep breath, and steps back, holding out a hand for you to take.

you take his hand.

a small part of you is convinced this is a terrible fever dream, but his hand is warm on against your palm, and you do not have any other option aside from taking his help.

you sidestep seonghwa's unconscious form. you scurry past the railings, pointedly keeping your gaze on san's back. you cannot look over the railing. you don't want to have the carnage engrained into your brain, and you certainly do not want to see chaeyoung or your mother's beady eyes staring back up at you, even if they are nearly unrecognizable remnants of who they once were.

here's the thing about disasters. there is always a quiet before the storm. a sort of peace and serenity that settles over everything. the tunnel back to the guard tower is eerie in its silence, both your footsteps echoing loudly throughout. san shoulders the blood bat, heaving open the heavy metal door you'd been pushed through. you look up, and moonlight streams through spiral staircase leading to the tower hatch. the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end as you pass. when the aliens appeared hovering through the sky, you've always felt as if there were eyes on the moon, watching your every move. now the feeling has grown tenfold.

as you both emerge from the guard tower, the night is so serene, so quiet. not even the bugs are out.

san breaks the silence first, his back still to you, your hand still in his. you stare at the bandage around his head, pitch black blood staining the white. visible even under the moonlight.

"a car is ready at the gates, y/n. the radio is there. yunho is waiting on the other end and he'll give you directions back to the bunker so -"

the peace and serenity comes crashing down.

"you really think i'm going to trust any of them?" you pull your hand from his. "after everything?"

he turns to look at you, and the moonlight casts shadows over his face. his eyes are hardened, resigned. the terror you felt in your chest starts to gather around your heart as you look at san. his eyes are still brown, you remind yourself. he is still san.

an alarm starts blaring somewhere below, near the dining hall. it's a sharp, keening noise that makes your stomach flip and every cell in your body scream at you to run.

you hear shouting, and you spot guards emerging from the guard towers down the wall. flashlights swing. people are shouting. you recognize jihyo coming out of the medical building. johnny from down the hill. mrs. kim isn't there. the walls themselves start to rattle, and the shouts from the sleeping quarters turn into sharp, startled screams. you look over, and johnny is closer. under the bright, bright moonlight, you can tell his eyes are a pitch black, even from this distance. it's as if there are two pitch black holes in his face where his eyes once were, and your stomach flips at the thought. the screaming rises from below the hill as johnny cocks his rifle over his shoulder, slowly making his way up the hill, as he shouts, "choi, what are you doing up here? now's not the time for a date!"

san pushes you the other way, towards the gate out back near the chicken coop. his tone is urgent, desperate even, "i need to find jongho. i promised i'd get him out, too."

you frown. you know he could have only promised such a thing to two people, and either option makes your frown deepen. still, you clutch his sleeve, "but jongho has one of those -"

san shakes his head, "he doesn't."

"what?"

"jongho doesn't have anything in his head. hongjoong refused to let seonghwa anywhere near him with one of those things. hongjoong... rumor has it he convinced seonghwa that living with the guilt of what jongho had done would be an added punishment. besides, after seonghwa took jongho's tongue, no alien would want his body."

the vanity of these creatures, and the realization that hongjoong kept jongho from being taken over by aliens hits you all at once. it's a vanity that feels so...familiar. so human. and it scares you more than you'd like to admit. and, to think hongjoong convincing seonghwa not to put an alien in jongho's head could have been his own convoluted way of protecting jongho. to think jongho betrayed you of his own volition. you want to be angry, but you don't think you can truly be angry at him when he lived under such circumstances. he knew about the aliens, and he was probably living in terror all these years. you think you'd have done the same thing just to ensure your survival.

you're so lost in thought, san is able to start pushing you down the hill as you walk in a daze, away from the side of the hill johnny was trudging up. johnny's attention, however, is diverted very quickly. you and san watch as he whips his head over his shoulder, before calling up, "hurry up and meet me at the sleeping quarters, san."

then he swivels and walks away. the way he walks, with a glide in his step and a rigid, halted gait makes you want to run far, far away. you consider right then taking the car san mentioned and just leaving. you can throw the radio out the window. you can drive to the other side of the country and run away from all of this. from the sanctuary and jongho and the bunker and san. you can leave.

but you're an idiot, too curious and involved for your own good. you always have been, even Before. it's why you chose to work as a paramedic back Before.

"i'm going with you."

san frowns, "you can barely walk."

"neither can you."

"y/n."

"san."

"i'm trying to save you here." san drags a hand through his blood-matted hair.

you look him in the eye and you say, "i am not leaving you. you came back for me, so i am staying with you."

san pauses, his mouth parting slightly, his brown eyes widening. his gaze flickers rapidly between yours, and you watch as his chest rises and falls with staggered breaths. then he blinks, breaking eye contact first, and the tips of his ears are red.

he fails to suppress a dimpled smile, even as he attempts for a serious expression, nodding briskly. he clears his throat, says, "i can't argue with that logic."

you're glad, because you certainly don't have the time for an argument.

there's a loud crash, the kind that sounds bone shattering. the sound of engine sputtering. glass shattering. metal crunching against metal. you'd worked car accidents Before, but nothing ever prepared you for the sound of the impact of a crash. it sounds like glass shattering and the bass of speaker crumbling all at once, but it has the ability to shake you to your very core. you and san both turn towards the impact, and it's coming from the other side of the compound, where the shipments take place. after a split second of deep silence, an explosion shakes the ground and you watch, horrified, as flames spring at the other end of the compound. from this angle, atop the hill, you can make out that a small truck crashed through the shipment gates and is now on fire. you can make out small figures running. you can hear screaming. shouting. but you can't figure out what the hell is going on.

not until the intercom to the sanctuary crackles to life, and seonghwa's uncannily polite voice echoes throughout the compound. chills run down your spine at the sound of his voice. you look at san in horror

san mutters, "fuck."

"everyone remain in your quarters. this is a code yellow." seonghwa's voice rings in your ears, "guards. you have my permission to open fire on anyone who is out past curfew. i want the traitors and intruders returned to the library. dead or alive."

traitors you understand, but intruders.

"intruders?" san voices your thoughts, spinning on his heels to squint across the compound, to the burning car and broken gate.

your heart races in your chest as you tug at san. "we don't have time to investigate that."

"what if it's...?" san trails off, his brows furrowing.

"did they tell you they'd come?"

san shakes his head.

"then we can't risk it," you say.

it takes a long, long moment for san to tear his gaze from the burning car and fighting breaking out below. the gunshots echo throughout the quiet night. san's nod is brisk, his jaw clenching.

without another word, the two of you make a beeline for the only place you think you can find jongho: the warehouse you'd met him in.

~.~.~.~.~

the warehouse is dark, cold, and eerily silent. usually those awaiting shipment or punishment would be shouting expletives, even begging for release. the metal walls were thick enough to suppress most of the sounds, but some wails still came through. it always sounded far away, like ghosts from the past crying, and the shouts would bounce through the metal ceilings and walls, making the sounds even more distant.

now, it's so, so quiet.

slowly, you and san step into the main room, where the front desk sits, and jongho kneels in front of it, hunched over. he works quietly, but you can tell his hands are moving. that he's working on something.

"jongho?" your voice echoes over and over and over until it melts into the void.

jongho looks up, his hands coming to a still. his eyes are red, and he looks so tired, but there's a volatility there you cannot ignore.

you step closer. jongho scoots back. he tries to speak, but a choke sound leaves his mouth, and you stop approaching him, your chest feeling heavy.

slowly, you kneel, until you're sitting across from him.

you look at the thing in his hand, a metal contraption that looks incredibly dangerous. you say, "i'm not going to hurt you. i'm here to help you."

he blinks, incredulously.

then he pats down his pockets until he finds his notebook and pen. his hands are trembling so hard, he drops his pen a few times, even as he scribbles quickly across a new page.

you look over your shoulder at san. san is staring at jongho, gaze wary, brows furrowed, fingers curled into tight fists at his side.

he slides the notebook across the floor, and the sound echoes all around. it's so loud. you have to squint to read the words in the dim lighting.

i betrayed you, y/n. you're not angry?

you slide it back. you can hear gunshots and shouting echoing beyond the warehouse. you speak quickly, "i'm angry, but i understand why you did it. i want to help you get out of here, still, if you're open to it."

i'm not going. i spent years setting this up. i need to fix things, y/n.

you stare at the thing in his hands as he holds it up.

"what is it?" you ask.

"a detonator. for explosives," san answers for jongho, his voice soft, breathless. sad, almost.

you look at san over his shoulder. he drags a hand through his hair, readjusting the bandages.

you look at jongho. his nod is firm.

"why?" your voice is shrill.

jongho writes, they all deserve to die. for everything they've turned their cheeks to. for everything they let happen to me and you. to all those people we sent into the fog every night. i want this place to fucking burn.

you blink, watching as jongho blinks back tears, his jaw clenched tight and fists shaking in his lap.

you scoot towards him, slowly, inch by inch, and he does not back away. as you reach out, and pluck the device from his lap, jongho does not even stop you. instead, tears escape from his stony expression. he crumbles into a million pieces before you. he doesn't put up a single fight. he never did, did he? with hongjoong and seonghwa, when they got him to betray you? he always succumbed to the whims of others.

jongho drops his head against the desk and he cries. a twisted sound of anguish leaves his mouth as he sobs and sobs. still he continues writing.

he writes, onto tear-stained pages, i need to kill them, y/n.

you wonder if that meant he needed to die with them as well. he was still in the compound. he'd made no indication that he'd escape before he detonated the explosives.

"no, you don't," you say, as gently as you can.

jongho gives in so easily, his resolve crumbling, a part of you - the angry, spiteful part of you - wonders if he's ever had an actual resolve to begin with. jongho just nods, and nods, and nods.

there are footsteps, and san crouches next to both of you, a hand settling on your back to support himself as he holds out his other hand and he says, "let's go home, jongho. yeosang and mingi are waiting for you."

jongho's eyes widen in surprise, as if to say really?

your heart softens as san nods and smiles, as jongho takes his hand and wipes the tears from his face.

you lead the way out. as you step out of the dark, quiet warehouse, the fighting outside becomes so, so loud.

you hear screaming, and you come upon the disaster the quiet before the storm had alluded before.

there's seonghwa, with yeosang in a chokehold. he stands where he does every night before a shipment, as if he will be giving another heartfelt sermon to his devoted followers. except this time, the pews are filled with five black-eyed guards with guns scattered throughout. one has wooyoung on his knees and a rifle pointed to the back of his head. he's the one shouting, the one reaching for yeosang despite the gun to the back of his head. three other guards have mingi surrounded, guns pointed at him, as he holds a rifle against the back of a guard's - it's johnny - head.

seonghwa grins when his eyes land on you, san, and jongho. he says, "did you think a little tap to the head would kill me?"

"of course not," you step forward in front of san and jongho. san grips your sleeve anyway. "i heard roaches can even survive nuclear explosions."

seonghwa's grip around yeosang's throat tightens. yeosang scowls at you in return. "i've had enough of you. of all of you. jongho -"

you step in front of jongho, blocking him completely from seonghwa's view, "leave him alone."

seonghwa rolls his eyes, "you sound like fucking hongjoong."

the safety of a rifle clicks off, echoing all around you. mingi has the rifle situated at the back of johnny's neck, digging so hard into the skin that johnny's face is smushed against the dirt. mingi is staring at seonghwa with so much hatred, it has you looking away.

yeosang, however, isn't looking at mingi. he's looking at you, and his eyes are blank, his scowl gone. you wonder briefly, if he's upset that you're the one protecting jongho even now. that you've taken his place in that aspect as well, even briefly.

seonghwa just laughs. his laugh is loud, boisterous, and fills the quiet of the sanctuary. he says, "pathetic."

the world is quiet, so so quiet. for only a moment.

before all hell breaks loose.

bang.

you yelp at the jolting sound of the rifle going off. the bullet lodges into johnny's skull, and blood and brain matter and black liquid splatters everywhere. you can tell none of the guards expected mingi to actually shoot johnny. the impact of the bullet causes mingi to spring back, the end of the rifle smoking. he's splattered in blood and gore, from head to toe. one of the other guards - jihyo, you realize - blinks rapidly, and the darkness in her eyes disappears, returning to that welcoming brown, the kind eyes that would give you extra food during breakfast, and she gags. it hits you then, that these guards are the same as san had been. they have aliens controlling them. they're humans underneath. and if johnny getting his brains blown out before them can make the aliens lose control, then that means they care about each other. that means they're capable of caring.

that's something that sticks with you, even as your ears continue to ring at the blast of the rifle, and you stare and stare at the blood that had found it's way to your shoes.

seonghwa shrieks, so so human-like, "what the fuck have you done?"

yeosang twists seonghwa's arm then, back back back, and tosses him on the ground. mingi points the gun at seonghwa.

yeosang's eyes remain on mingi only. even as he nods.

mingi cocks the gun.

but then he tosses it to the side and lunges at seonghwa, punching him hard. wooyoung grabs the tossed rifle and turns on the guard behind him, smacking him across the face with a sickening crunch. then he pulls a knife from his boot and slices his throat like he's slicing fruit. yeosang rolls away, heaving as he watches mingi punch seonghwa. as seonghwa punches back.

another guard points his rifle at yeosang. you're not sure why you do it. yeosang hurt you, and you have no business watching out for him. but you pull yourself from san's grip and tackle the guard to the ground, just as he shoots, and the bullet misses. san and jongho disarm the other two shortly. you don't know this guard, but his eyes are no longer black, and his eyes are distraught, tearful even. they care so much for their own, you realize, and it fuels the anger that's lived on for months deep inside of you.

yeosang blinks at you when he realizes what you've done. you put the guard in a chokehold, targeting pressure points you learned from Before that puts people to sleep. yeosang calls, over the shouting and yelling, "thanks."

you scowl, "don't thank me yet. i still have time to make sure you get your shit rocked."

yeosang snorts, but he nods.

and then, a low keening screech fills the silence. you look over, and seonghwa has mingi on his back, fingers curled around his throat. mingi tries to pull seonghwa's fingers from his throat, but he can't. he's spluttering for air, choking. but the sound isn't coming from him.

it's not coming from the prison speakers.

it's coming from above. from all around them.

the clicking comes next, mixing with keening. it sounds like a heavy metal door opening and closing mixed with the clicking pincers of those creatures from the pit. every hair at the back of your neck stands on end. every single cell in your body screams for you to run. instinct tells you you are merely prey for whatever the hell is making that noise.

the ground shakes under your feet. slowly, you get up off the unconscious guard beneath you.

the voice sounds just like the one you heard in your head, when that creature tried to take you over. like a million voices mixed into one, echoing all around you, ringing and bouncing off every surface, encompassing you. the voice rang under your skin, in your bones. the voice sounds like a million voices, like god himself, but there's a single voice that lives above all that. that sounds vindictive and angry and so full of hate it makes you scramble away. san and jongho step back. wooyoung yanks yeosang back, away from mingi and seonghwa.

it's hongjoong's voice.

he says, "get off him."

before anyone can react, a dark rigid tentacle-like limb shoots out from the darkness and yanks seonghwa up by the head, wrapping around his neck and jaw. for a moment seonghwa hovers in the air, arms and legs flailing, before he's lobbed into the ground. then the rest of the creature saunters into the moonlight, out of the dark fog around you. beady, familiar eyes meet yours as slithering limbs crawl from the darkness, surrounding all of you. situated above the beady, familiar eyes, is hongjoong. you can't see his legs, and your stomach churns at the possibility that maybe he doesn't have legs anymore. because his torso melts into the black limbs of the creature, and his head sits at a strange, almost broken angle, and his hands wrap around the creature, a caricature of a hug, and you realize oh this is chaeyoung, and for a moment you can't tell if hongjoong is alive or dead, a remnant of who he once was or alive and clinging to chaeyoung, or even just a dead trophy, like a taxidermy deer.

but then he smiles, and he looks so, so alive.

you think you're going to throw up as you watch the black tentacle-like limb lift seonghwa from the ground once more, still wrapped around his head.

as seonghwa says, in a voice you've come to learn is the real seonghwa, without the polite alien, and his voice is choked, losing volume the longer he speaks. his words slur, and they're drawn out, mixing with clicks and screeches of the creature, "please kill me. joong, chae, please. someone - sang? jongho? mingi?"

hongjoong's laugh fills the silence, echoing over seonghwa's very human begging.

#sr #taglist #hope yall enjoy :)

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wordstro · 2 years ago

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taglist: @hither-to-undreamt-of, @raineadlr, @allaboutsan, @seojonneh, @khjsss, @starfulmaeum, @knucklesdeepmingi, @seonghwaskitty, @wtfjongseong, @lawleysluvs, @tohokuu, @flamingi, @meowsannie, @baguette-atiny

[8:02 PM] + apocalypse + ex!san + "do you want me dead that badly?"

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8

a/n: 4,500 words, once again san is a bad communicator, also seonghwa is scary lmao, y/n goes through some self doubt which may be triggering so pls watch out

mingi? hongjoong thought the knife belonged to mingi? mingi was the love of hongjoong's life? the one who slit his sister's throat? you've barely spoken to mingi - the majority of your time spent with him was prying out from beneath an overturned car and then dragging him to his bunker while he was barely conscious, but you remembered wooyoung mentioned that mingi coped by not speaking. either way, you think it funny that you were surprised it was mingi, rather than wooyoung. you'd have believed wooyoung was the culprit over mingi. perhaps it was the sheer determination with which yeosang worked to protect and save mingi. perhaps it was just because you were on the other end of the knife with wooyoung, but not with mingi. then again, san had said it himself - you didn't know mingi or wooyoung. not yeosang. certainly not yunho. you were merely making assumptions based off mere moments of interactions. you didn't know any of san's friends.

and, you didn't know san.

you didn't actually know any of them. that was the thought that echoed over and over in your brain.

you remain sitting on the floor, long after hongjoong left, dishrag and cleaning supplies strewn around you. your fingers curl gingerly around the sore skin of your face and throat but you couldn't stop thinking.

if that was truly mingi's knife instead of wooyoung's - under other circumstances, maybe you wouldn't have believed hongjoong, but the tension in the room, the way hongjoong looked at you, it felt too real and you believed him - then shouldn't wooyoung have known not to give you that knife? especially after the way he'd warned you of running into hongjoong in the first place. of course, you don't know how long ago mingi must have given wooyoung the knife. wooyoung could have simply forgot that it used to belong to mingi. and mingi was recovering from his wounds. but still.

you blink at the library floors, still rubbing your shin, and you wondered why they hadn't brought up the fact since that night. you'd mentioned a hundred times how hongjoong was targetting you because of wooyoung's knife. you'd explained to them that he seemed to want revenge against the owner of the knife. you'd stated wooyoung's name. so why didn't wooyoung or yeosang or mingi or even san bother to correct you. did all of them forget the knife was mingi's? why didn't wooyoung at least explain that hongjoong wasn't seeking vengeance against him? it didn't make sense to you. it didn't make sense.

unless. unless san is right.

the thought rings over all your other thoughts. it burrows itself front and center, and you hate it. because if san is right, then you'll have to admit that you really are too naïve. that you're stupid and naïve and you trusted san's friends more than you ever should have (even if it was just a little bit). that if they really did hide this from you, then there's something else going on and information that is being kept from you, and that the world you once knew is truly dead and gone and all that is left is a self-serving, individualistic world that lies about everything to save their own skins. it means that even san is withholding information from you. perhaps even lied to you too. again. maybe, that's expected, but it's still terrifying to know that in the grand scheme of things, you may not get out of the sanctuary alive because of hidden intentions and secrets you frankly do not give a fuck about.

the dinner bell rings in the distance, and you slowly get to your feet, your heart pounding in your chest. you're terrified that you're in this alone. you knew you were - san warned you of it already, a kindness in retrospect, not that you think about it - but the prospect hadn't felt so real until this moment. your fingers curl at your hip, but the radio isn't there anymore. it's with san.

frustration bubbles up in your chest, your heart pounding, blood rushing in your ears, but you file those feelings away so you can process them later (much, much later).

~.~.~.~.~

you skip dinner entirely, and you leave the library just as the other members of the sanctuary are making their way to watch the shipment. you're shoving the last of the cleaning supplies into the supply closet when the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end. you look over your shoulder, and seonghwa fixes his gaze on you. you give him a smile, hoping he'll be on his way, but he starts to make his way towards you. you clutch the supply closet door, your heart pounding once more, but you force yourself to take a breath, shutting the door before turning to watch him. the other sanctuary members bow deep as he passes. seonghwa stops to pat them on the shoulder, or smile kindly at them. your stomach churns as you watch. no one takes up too much of his time. you doubt anyone would want to, not when being late to the shipment meant a punishment you'd consider worse than death.

seonghwa stills an arms length away from you. his gaze flickers over your face, your form, lingering briefly on your neck. your bruises sting just from his expression.

you open your mouth to say something. maybe attempt at an excuse, though you're unsure why you're do that, when seonghwa says, "you have permission to skip tonight's shipment, y/n. go to your room."

"what?" you blink in surprise, "why?"

seonghwa raises a brow, "are you questioning me?"

"i'm only asking you why." you resist the urge to roll your eyes, "how do i know this isn't a trick? that once i don't show up, you both consider it 'skipping a shipment' and then have hongjoong gouge an eye out. forgive me if i don't believe you'd speak up for me, seonghwa."

you try to keep your voice steady at the mention of hongjoong's name, but it clearly doesn't work because seonghwa immediately narrows his eyes at you, eyes flickering over the bruises once more. he examines you for a beat, and you keep your gaze level with him, refusing to feel intimidated despite how intense his gaze is.

the echoes of voices and footsteps are far away now, so distant you could almost convince yourself you are imagining them. the hall is now dead silent, and so utterly empty, the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end once more. you're alone with seonghwa, more than you ever have been before. your eyes flick from the open double doors, from the distant laughter and voices drifting back into the hall, to seonghwa's dark, watchful eyes. he looks at you like he is sizing you up. like you are a measly rabbit, and he is an amalgamation of every predator a rabbit would ever encounter; the eyes of a hawk and the ferociousness of wild dogs and the talons of eagles and the sharpness of owls blended into one.

seonghwa takes a step forward. he reaches, until his fingertips brush the bruises on your face. you swipe his hand away. seonghwa smiles at your reaction, says, "your bruises are obvious, and i don't want questions. the shipment is supposed to be a night of joy."

you frown. daily chores are always posted in the dining hall. the library was only ever assigned one cleaner in the morning and one in the evening. and everyone knew hongjoong and seonghwa reserved the library in the evenings to prepare for that night's shipment. seonghwa just wanted to save his ass, because you both know that if people saw the bruises, they would talk. you'd seen the power gossip holds here just from being seen with san after curfew. everyone would know you'd gotten the bruises from either hongjoong or seonghwa. seonghwa had meticulous reputation surrounding his kindness. hongjoong did not. it wasn't such a far-fetched idea either, that hongjoong would hurt you. it was a well-known fact that hongjoong was an asshole. he was well-respected, but a blatant asshole to those he didn't like, and, well, it was also a well-known fact that hongjoong did not like you. the people here may have been easily brainwashed by seonghwa's tactics, but they were not entirely stupid.

"the truth isn't joyful enough for you?" you ask, then, through gritted teeth, "that your right-hand man likes to hurt people for fun? i thought everyone already knew that, what with the punishments and the state of your shipments."

"hongjoong is..." seonghwa shakes his head, seemingly ignoring the venom in your statements. maybe that's for the best. "volatile, unfortunately. he brings out a fear in people that is, frankly, not manageable or productive."

your stomach churns at those words. manageable. productive. he admits it so easily, that he's only really looking to control the people here. like these are not people with thoughts and lives and dreams of their own, but instead they are pieces on a chessboard that seonghwa loves to manage. still, there is something strange about how easily he tells you something so...incriminating. he isn't trying to charm you, not the way he does with the other sanctuary habitants. you've watched him talk to san after the shipments. the smiles, the touches. it was nothing like the way he addresses you.

"i am sorry about that," seonghwa gestures at your face with a small sigh, "i'll send san to your room after the shipment with the first aid kit."

your frown deepens, "san?"

"you're together, aren't you? i thought you'd want him there."

you'd forgot seonghwa must have heard the rumors too. you nod.

seonghwa searches your face once more, his lips pressing into a straight line.

you don't like the way his eyes seem to see straight through you. you say, "so, are you going to punish hongjoong, then?"

"no," seonghwa says, without missing a beat.

you scowl, opening your mouth to say something, anything.

seonghwa speaks over you, "hongjoong doesn't have much to lose. punishment wouldn't have an effect on him. it's useless."

"how is that fair?"

seonghwa raises a brow, tilting his head. he always addresses you with blank eyes and small, knowing smiles, the kind that makes you feel like he can see right through you and into your head.

but as he processes your question, his eyes light up with a sort of curious amusement that sends shivers down the back of your neck.

seonghwa's smile is quiet thing. nothing like the bright smiles he gives the other sanctuary members. it feels like being doused in a bucket of ice water.

seonghwa says, "do you really think i care about fairness, y/n? are you really that dense?"

his voice curls down your spine, and you want so badly to be anywhere but there.

"why are you being so..." you trail off, unable to find the right word for the way he's seemingly dropped all pretense.

"candid?" seonghwa supplies with a snort, his dark eyes unblinking.

your fingers curl around the hem of your shirt as you nod.

seonghwa hums. the sound is quite pretty, echoing throughout the empty hall.

he says, "you seem to respond better to honesty. so i'm being honest."

"o-oh," you clear your throat so you can cover the stutter, "you can't possibly think you'll convince me you're doing anything right here. i'm not going to fall for your brainwashing like the rest of them. unless you're that dense?"

seonghwa laughs. it echoes through the empty hall. it's nice. it's normal.

he laughs and laughs, and then he stops and steps closer, just enough so you can truly feel his presence looming. you hold your head high, and that only brings him more amusement.

"no," he says, between chuckles, "of course i don't expect that. but, complacency is a powerful tool, y/n. especially," seonghwa reaches out once more and presses his fingertips to the underside of your chin. it's a light tap that has you frozen in place. he says, "when you're stuck here with nowhere to go. where would you go? you're stuck here, y/n, whether you like it or not, and you've been following my rules, whether you've wanted to or not. i think that's a success isn't it?"

you shove his hand from your face.

he smiles so pleasantly, so kindly, you think you'll be sick.

"why are you telling me this?"

"because i like that you know exactly what i'm doing to you, and you'll one day be as complacent as the people here you like mocking and calling brainwashed. it's interesting. dare i even say a bit," seonghwa grins, all teeth, "fun."

this time you step back. "you're horrible."

seonghwa shrugs, "we all are. that's what apocalypses do to people. bring out the worst in us all. you've seen the walking dead haven't you?"

you scowl, but you don't have a response to his light tone. all you feel is disgust curling at the pit of your stomach at his words and his tone.

then seonghwa takes a step closer, closing the gap you'd made between the both of you, and he says, "i'm sure you're thinking of ways to escape. i'm sure you're looking for others who will join your side. perhaps a rebellion? but why would you want to leave? i named this place the sanctuary for a reason, y/n. i've guaranteed that we're immune from the chaos outside. from the fog and those aliens. why would you want to leave? why would anyone here want to leave?"

your stomach curls at his words. not only does he seem to know you're trying to escape, and that he's eerily accurate about your methods, but...he's not wrong.

for the first time in a long time, you've been able to sleep through the night without worrying about someone trying to break down your door. of course hongjoong comes banging your jail cell doors in the mornings, but it doesn't evoke the same level of terror as the banging doors and screaming you'd experienced beyond these walls.

for the first time in a long time, you are not sleeping in bathtubs and waking up with sore limbs. you can step outside at night, and though you still feel that creeping terror, it isn't as crippling as it was when you were Wandering. the night sky is no longer a source of death and dread to you. not like it used to be. so, why would you want to leave? why would you want to go back to that? you've wasted four whole fucking years out there and you hadn't even realized that much time passed. four birthdays wandering like a ghost. four years.

and, you are stuck here. you don't know if yeosang, wooyoung, mingi, and yunho truly will help you escape here. for all you know they're formulating a separate plan with san that you are not privy to. you don't know if san is even here to help you get out. for all you know, he could have lied about that. like seonghwa said, complacency is powerful. and you've grown so utterly complacent to the rules here, to avoiding hongjoong and seonghwa's wrath, to putting your faith on a bunch of strangers. seonghwa is terribly correct. you are stuck here, and alone in any attempts to escape, and surrounded by strangers. but maybe surviving means that all those facts are...okay.

seonghwa smiles gently, his eyes flickering over your face, "go to your room, y/n. get some rest."

he waves as he walks away.

you can't do much else but follow his orders.

~.~.~.~.~

there's a knock at the door. no one ever knocks at the door to the jail cell room. especially not hongjoong. you turn your gaze from the ceiling to the door, craning your neck as you call out for them to come in.

the door creaks open, and the sound echoes throughout the room. the candles in the corner - jongho gave you more so you'd have more light after dark - fills the room with soft candlelight, enough to make out the face of the person entering, though the light casts dark shadow figures over the empty corners of the other jail cells. for the sake of your sanity, you've gotten good at ignoring those parts of the room.

you scramble to sit up when the candlelight dances just right, revealing san's stony face.

san steps fully into the room, lingering near the table the lit candles are on. you assume back when this place used to be a courthouse and prison facility, this room must have been a holding room. that table must have been where an officer sat. the door to your jail cell is wide open, but san stands on the side of the desk where the cell bars sit between you both. under soft candlelight, his expression isn't so rigid.

he places a small pouch on the desk and finally speaks, "seonghwa told me to bring this to you. he said you aren't feeling well."

you shrug, "i'm fine."

there's a pause. you twist your blanket between your fingers. the silence feels like eternity.

finally, finally, san says, "i opened it."

you look up from your fingers, and he is still staring at you from beyond the jail cell bars. it's hard to read his expression from this distance.

"it's bruise cream."

his voice is entirely too soft. you can't stop twisting the blanket between your fingers.

you say, "you can just leave it there."

"y/n-"

"what?" the blanket twists around your fingers, and it hurts a bit, but not nearly as much as the bruises on your face. certainly not as much as your wounded ego. maybe you are dense. from wooyoung's - no mingi's - knife to seonghwa's games to your doubts about yeosang's plans and where you truly stand in his plans to the way you'd felt the tiniest bit of relief at san's presence. "what do you want me to say?"

san opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. he closes it moments later and averts his gaze. of course nothing comes out.

you laugh. the rough fabric of the blanket digs into the skin of your hands. "did you know that the knife was mingi's, not wooyoung's?"

from beyond the bars of the jail cell, san's face is muddled by shadows and the low orange-yellow glow of candles. it's difficult to read his expressions, but the sag of his shoulders answers your question long before san does.

"i did," san says.

"did your friends know?"

a pause.

then, "yes."

your laugh ricochets off the walls. san steps back as if you've hit him. that makes you laugh more.

you slip from the cot, balling up the thin blanket in your fists, and you round the jail cell doors, until all that is between you is the stupid table with the candles. his gaze flickers over your face, and his brows furrow for just a moment as his eyes linger. then his expression grows stiff and calm. from up close, the candle flame lights up his face so bright it hurts to look at him. san wears the expression of a stranger.

"can you believe that" - you step around the table and candles - "hongjoong of all people told me the truth?" - you throw the balled up blanket in your hands at him - "fucking hongjoong?"

the crumpled excuse of a blanket falls to the ground in a pathetic heap.

"how does knowing that knife is mingi's instead of wooyoung's change anything?"

"i could have avoided this." you gesture to your bruises, to the bruise cream. you wouldn't have put yourself in a position to antagonize hongjoong if you knew just how deep his wounds ran, even a bit. you wouldn't feel so fucking stupid. san grits his jaw as his gaze flickers to your bruises. you say, "and i wouldn't be sitting here doubting your intentions."

"all because i didn't tell you a secret that wasn't mine to tell?"

you pause at that.

his words make you want to scream. in so many ways, he's right, but his loyalty to his friends makes you want to pull your hair out.

"you didn't give me enough information and put me in danger, san. any fucking one of you could have mentioned it was actually mingi's knife. in fact, if you didn't want to disclose that it was mingi's then fine. whatever. at least tell me that hongjoong doesn't just hate the owner of the knife, he wants to kill them. you could have given me something. instead you all left me in the dark."

"why would i do that?" san's voice is quiet, terribly so, but there is not venom behind it. he is genuine, and it weighs on your heart. "we're strangers, y/n. you were dead to me for years. long before the world went to shit."

his voice is as soft as the wisps of smoke curling from the candles on the desk. and like smoke, his voice wavers a bit, lilts in the middle of the word dead and grows stronger, clearer at to me.

"do you want me dead that badly?" you whisper, your heart in your throat.

the impending silence is heavier than anything else.

you don't expect an answer. this is the new, stranger san. silence is a constant with him. so you shake your head and take the pouch with the medicine from the table, turning away.

"i wanted you alive," san voice rings in your ears.

you pause at the threshold to your jail cell, turning to look at him.

his voice lies heavier than the silence, right over your shoulders.

"so badly, y/n. even though we broke up years ago. and that's the problem."

you turn to fully face him. shadows dance across his face. he wraps his arms around him, shuffling from foot-to-foot, a habit from way Before.

"because i thought of you knowing damn well you didn't think of me, and then i finally came to terms with all of it. with this new life and this new me. it took a long time, but i finally moved on. then the universe put you in front of me, the same as ever, like some giant fucking cosmic joke. isn't that funny? how all my other prayers went unanswered, except for the ones i made when i was young and desperate and alone and so fucking regretful."

your ears ring in the silence, and you don't even dare to breathe.

san sounds breathless, "so to answer your question, i wanted you alive once, but now i'm not sure how i want you. "

you blink, your heart slamming against your ribcage. you can feel his gaze boring into you. you say, "that's not - that's not an excuse for everything you've done. or reassuring."

"it isn't," he agrees.

"so what am i supposed to do with that?"

he sighs, shakes his head, "i don't know."

"that's so helpful," you mumble, half-hearted with your annoyance.

san steps around the table, closer, the candlelight behind him now and giving him a soft glow. he says, "i don't know how to reassure you. i don't know how to be the san i used to be, and i don't think i want to be, but i do know that the least i can do is get you out of here. so i will."

you ignore the way your heart skips a bit at the way his gaze flickers between yours and the small smile as he repeats your words from your fight with him earlier back at you. his entire demeanor shifts back into how it was before - a little too confident and holier-than-thou. you frown, "oh, am i just supposed to believe you? you pretty much confessed that you don't know if you want me dead or not."

"i confessed that i don't know how i want you. that doesn't necessarily mean dead."

he grins, and he is nothing like the vulnerable san you'd just witnessed with his arms wrapped around him like he was holding himself together.

you frown at his grin, "you're annoying."

"so are you. what's new?"

you glare, turning away once more just to plop down on your cot. there's shuffling, and you look up to find that san is now leaning against the open jail door. he's never stepped this far into your room, all those times he's walked you back here. you don't know how to process what he's told you, and you don't know how to admit that you'd thought of him too when you believed he hadn't thought of you. you don't know if it's a good idea to disclose it, because you're still doubting his intentions and he isn't doing anything to keep you from doing so.

you uncap the bruise cream, focusing all your attention on it rather than the way san hovers.

after a moment, san says, "let me help."

"no."

"you don't have a mirror. you'll make a mess."

you look up at him. he's holding out a hand.

"fine," you say.

he nods, steps closer, until he seated on the cot next to you. his touch is so gentle and light, it's like he's not even touching you. you don't look at him, staring at the wall straight ahead while he works quietly.

"i am sorry, though."

you glance sideways at him. his dark eyes flick up to meet yours, but his hands continuing dabbing on the cream. you look away first. "for what?"

"for being the reason for this."

"i thought you didn't care."

"i don't." he says it quickly, but his fingers falters against your jaw. you must have imagined the reaction, however, because when you turn to look at him, his smile is easy and he shakes his head as he closes the ointment and places it in your limp hands. he steps away, says, "i didn't bring the radio, so i think i'll go."

"oh," the disappointment is always there, and that is what frustrates you most about yourself. you have expectations for san, and he'll never meet them, yet you keep having them. "okay."

"good night," he says, hand resting on one of the jail cell bars as he looks over his shoulder at you. he doesn't really smile, but neither does he glare.

"'night." you say, watching him go. as he leaves, the door closing shut behind him with a resounding thud you lay back on your cot, too lazy to pick up your blanket from the ground, and you mull over san's words.

shadows dance on the ceiling as a small part of you can't even be sure whether or not he was telling you the truth.

another part of you wonders why anything san says to you matters anymore.

the bigger part of you wonders instead at seonghwa's words. do you really want to leave? should you?

#taglist #sr

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wordstro · 2 years ago

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taglist:

[20] apocalypse + ex! san + "i can't fix this, can i?"

part 19 | masterlist

a/n: 9k words whew. also the final part! thank you everyone for showing so much support for this! i love you all!!! warnings for some very existential talks, mentions of su1c1de once again, and some setting-typical gore descriptions. i am very sorry for how this ends lol........i will say this ended a little differently than originally planned though.

"how does this thing always survive?" you ask san, fiddling with the beat up radio.

san chuckles, shrugging, "if the internet still existed, i'd give this thing five stars."

you flip the radio in your hands for a moment, the grooves and scratches scraping at the pads of your fingertips. the volume button is beginning to come off. you carefully clip to your belt loop and decidedly ignore the memories of the sanctuary the thing dredges up. you'd decided long ago that you wouldn't talk about the place. in fact, you're yet to visit the burnt remains, despite knowing how close it is to your cabin.

you look up at san. he sits on the remnants of a broken brick wall in front of one of the more damaged houses. someone crashed a small pickup truck through the wall. you both already scoured the house in search of anything salvageable. all that was left was broken glass and plates all over the floor. the walls were stripped as bare as the pantry. even the bedroom mattresses were stripped of all its bedding. you took great care not to look to far into it, as you usually did when you broke into abandoned homes in search of food or shelter, but five minutes ago, you both came upon a locked attic door and the stench of rotting flesh, maggots crawling along the hallway floor. how either of you can make jokes, or just...move on, when something like that sits mere meters from you is yet another thing to feel guilty about.

san kicks his feet, his hair falling into his eyes. you say, "your hair is too long."

"my hairstylist is all booked out this month," san says.

you can't help but laugh.

san gives you a small smile, his gaze lingering on your face for a long moment. you're unsure, sometimes, what you're supposed to do when you catch him lingering like that. you figure it makes sense. he thought you were dead for months upon months. he's going to look at you like he's trying to remember details of your face he'd forgotten. you give him a pass for that because, frankly, it's understandable. still, you find yourself trailing off, gaze falling to the radio once more. you don't want to deny him that, especially when you let him believe you were dead for so long, and you don't necessarily hate the lingering moments, but you don't know what to do with it. the way it makes you a little nervous, the way it makes you look away, you don't want to examine that. it's baggage you're determined to never ever unpack.

there's a beat of silence before san points at the radio clipped to your belt loop, "i'll bring extra batteries next time. i think the convenience store south of the bunker should still have some."

you sigh, "you really don't have to. i can find some on my own."

it's been four weeks since you saw san again, and you've seen him every week since then. four days. once a week. for four weeks. you'd both agreed on it after that first day, and maybe you were a total idiot to take on his offer, to let him back into your life after everything, but everything he had said that day was not wrong.

you'd thought about it all that first week. you spent so many nights wide awake, curled on your side and listening to the faint clicking noises beyond your barricaded door as you mulled over every single word san had said to you, and how he said it to you.

that second time, you'd stood far enough from san that you both had to cup your hands around your mouths to shout at each other so the other could hear, and you'd yelled, "i'm not going back to that bunker."

san said, "i don't blame you."

the look in his eyes was...sad. you'd wondered during your nights wide awake if he was ever upset with his friends for what happened. you'd wondered how that day went after he thought you'd burned yourself with the sanctuary to save him and his friends, the same friends who put you in that damned place in the first place.

you'd said, "and i don't want to go anywhere near the sanctuary. ever. understood?"

"i don't...i'd never ask you to go back there. i haven't been back since the day...since the day after. when i tried to find your body," san called, shrugging. he kicked at grass, hands in his pockets, lips pursed.

something in your chest curled at the thought. he'd even gone back there.

you'd also called, "you don't get to know where i'm staying."

san nodded, "i understand."

from then on out, the conversation faded out and you were both left in silence. somehow your weekly meetups turned into hours of rummaging through houses and stores for food and supplies to split between the two of you.

neither of you really said much, but the company was enough. at least for you. sometimes, san would hold a tree branch back for you as you trekked through trails to explore smaller towns and farms off the highway, or warn you of sudden steps. sometimes, he'd ask if you were hungry and conjure snacks.

your meetups consisted of the smallest of small talks, yet the silences were...comforting. perhaps, you've gotten used to having a companion with you - from spending most of your chore time at the sanctuary at jongho or san's side to all that time with mrs. kim - and that's why you've started finding yourself looking forward to seeing san every week.

that was something you did not wish to delve too far into. so you decided that your time with san reminded you of your time with mrs. kim. to an extent, it really did. it was as if you were both living in a little bubble of peace that did not make sense in a world like this, and it brought you a moment of serenity you thought had walked away with mrs. kim.

but the dread? the anxiety? it was still there. worse than when you sat in limbo with mrs. kim. it sat at the pit of your stomach and draped itself over your shoulders, whispering of how things were going too smoothly. how this was too good to be true.

now here san is giving you the same damned radio you'd left your apartment in the city with. it's like an omen, especially coupled with what you'd both left behind in that house. death always follows this radio, you've learned, and that thought has your stomach churning.

you glance over his shoulder, at the broken house, fingers curling around the radio.

"i know i don't have to, but i want to." san's voice drifts through the silence, "besides, i think we should have some way to communicate throughout the week."

"i..." you turn the radio over in your hands, once, twice, before you say, "okay."

you turn your gaze from san to the broken pickup truck lodged into the wall san sits on. there's a pair of fuzzy purple dice hanging from the crooked rearview mirror inside the car.

san says, "i wasn't going to give that to you, but..."

your gaze flits to san, from the way he fiddles with his fingers in his lap, to the way he turns slightly to look back at the house. he sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. the expression on his face is a familiar thing, something you'd feel lodge in your throat whenever you'd stare at that damned rifle for far too long. live with it, live with it, live with it. your own words echo in your head like a mantra, like a prayer, like a plead.

the thing about the end of the world is that death is a constant. every morning, you'd come upon mangled bodies that you believed were the fog's doing. oftentimes you'd come upon scenes just like the one in the house, bodies hanging from chandeliers and ceiling fans, or worse, with guns lodged in their mouths or knifes clutched in their fingers. it's normal, even, you'd say. each body was another guilty notch on your list of reasons to live, and maybe that does make you a naïve idiot, to let everyone else's problems become your burden. or maybe that's just what you're wired to do. either way, you find yourself frowning at san, at the clear unsaid words lingering in the air between you both.

you say, "i'm not going to kill myself, if that's what you're afraid of."

san blinks.

you roll your eyes, but your heart is lodged in your throat, and live with it rings loud in your ears and you say, "i killed all those people when i blew the sanctuary up, and that guilt eats me alive every single fucking day. i don't think i'm allowed to just...die. not yet."

san's fingers curl into fists in his lap. he says, "why did you do it? why didn't you just come with us?"

"if the sanctuary survived, they wouldn't have left us alone."

"that was never your burden to bear," san says with a sigh, dragging both hands through his hair. his eyes glitter with an unreadable emotion. those words make you come to a pause. no one's ever said that to you. not in so many words.

"should i have let jongho do it, then?"

san gives you a small smile. he says, "i guess not."

then you both fall into silence as he walks you to the edge of the forest and you both say your goodbyes.

~.~.~.~.~

with the radio comes conversations throughout the week. they're sporadic, but you keep the radio clipped to your belt even as you're wringing out laundry in the clearing outside the cabin or exploring the woods to find dry wood for fire. they start off as small pleasantries, reports even about your days.

things like:

"jongho is trying speech therapy. yunho says it'll work." san said one evening, while you were boarding up the door and windows for the night. your heart did a little flip at the name and the confirmation that he's alive and okay, despite everything.

"is yunho even a trained doctor?"

"not a paramedic like you were. but he was two years into med school when everything happened. doubt any residency would have ever given him half the amount of hands on training he's had since everything went to shit though."

and:

"mrs. kim tried to teach me how to make rabbit and squirrel traps, but we're both awful at it," you'd explained once.

san said, "i can teach you next time. apparently that's one of my talents."

"setting up traps?" you'd asked, "sounds about right."

san had groaned, "that's fair."

even:

"do you want me to bring you some books? no one reads around here."

"please," you said, "i've been reading the same book for months. i think i can recite it word for word now."

san laughed, "you can't just say that and not recite it word for word. go on."

and sometimes even just:

"good night."

~.~.~.~.~

three more weeks pass, and san's kept his word on taking you into the woods to show you how to set up traps to hunt for food.

he holds a low hanging branch as you edge past him. the ground is cold and hard, trees bare of leaves, and you both know you're not going to catch anything anyway. it's the dead of winter, and the animals are sleeping. still, san showed you how to tie secure knots, raising a brow at you in silence, waiting for your permission before he placed his fingers over yours and guided your hands through the proper motions. even Before, he'd never been quite so sweet, but you figured this was because he'd promised to start over, and the san you once knew is not the san of After. you used to think that was a strange thing, and it made you uneasy. and, maybe, it still does, to an extent. however, in the grand scheme of things, it certainly makes starting over easier.

san trips over a protruding root, and the little yelp that leaves his mouth as he catches himself has you giggling. san narrows his eyes at you, but his grin is contagious.

you don't know about forgiveness, or forgetting, or even trust, but three more weeks have passed and you think maybe you're both getting somewhere.

~.~.~.~.~

the trees start to bud around your clearing. you'd missed the foliage shading you from the sun, but the tiny pink buds of one of the trees brings a fullness to your heart you hadn't felt in a while. you'd never stayed in one place long enough to see the seasons change.

even then, winter does not seem to want to leave. it's snowing.

san blinks up at the grey skies, his nose and the tips of his ears pink, his cheeks flushed, and his hair falling into his eyes. white snowflakes stick to his hair.

you hold out a hand, and you find yourself smiling. "so pretty," you say.

"yeah," san says, and you look back over your shoulder to find san looking at you, his dimple peeking out over his scarf. he looked away first, his cheeks flushed.

you laughed. san grimaced at you, fighting a smile all the while.

maybe starting over isn't so bad.

~.~.~.~.~

only a week later, when the snow has melted away completely and the flowers are still tiny colorful buds, you trip over a familiar boot lodged in the bushes. san catches you by the arm before you can smack your face into the hard ground, but that still doesn't stop you from sinking to your knees.

you recognize that boot because you've spent too many mornings staring at them from your vantage point sprawled in the grass of the clearing in front of the cabin while mrs. kim cooked or cleaned or just sat in silence.

you and san hadn't ventured far from your cabin. you still have not shown him the cabin, but you've both been venturing the forest around it recently. the thought of mrs. kim's boot being so close to your cabin brings a sinking feeling to your stomach.

"y/n?"

san crouches beside you, his hand on your back.

you say, "this is mrs. kim's."

you never told san much about mrs. kim, other than the fact that she saved you and she left for the sea before you met san again. still, san's hand stills on your back.

"maybe," your voice sounds shrill to your own ears, "maybe she had a spare?"

and, perhaps you will always be the type to seek out more reasons to feel guilty. perhaps you really are wired for it.

because you stand up, and you start to look, and san his on your heels, quietly following you as you call for her knowing damn well she's not going to answer.

under a tree further north, you find her other boot. it's tied to the lowest tree branch by its shoelaces, the ratty black boot swinging lightly in the breeze.

you step forward, intent on looking further, when you feel a tug on your sleeve.

you turn, and san's hand remains on your elbow, squeezing lightly. his touch is reassuring. he says, "what are you going to do with yourself if you find her?"

you both know damn well you won't find her alive. you can't help the way your eyes start to sting. in fact, you try to stop the tears, fingers curling into fists. you want to shout. you want to cry. you want to understand how the hell she only made it this far.

"she was," you take a deep breath, "she was supposed to visit."

but your voice cracks as you say it, and you find yourself crumbling despite everything. you hadn't even cried like this when you saw san again and you two talked about starting over. as you stand here with one of mrs. kim's boots dangling from your fingers and the other one dangling from the tree branch, your tears do not stop. your chest hurts with the pain of it. your knees buckle. san catches you before you fall, and he wraps you up in his arms. you clutch onto him. he presses your face to his chest and you let yourself sob. you hadn't cried for a long, long time. you've forgotten how to, your breathing unsteady as you gulp for air.

you cry, and san strokes your back.

~.~.~.~.~

san sits on the steps of your cabin beside you, the two of you staring at the mound of dirt in the clearing. you'd dug up the hole and buried her shoes away. you hadn't dug the hole deep enough.

you say, "she told me she helped me because she owed you."

"oh," san lets out a small, breathless laugh. you watch him look down at his hands. the skin around his nails is rough, as if he's been picking at them. that is a habit he'd never had before. it's new. "before the bunker, i spent some time with another group. there was this girl, doyeon. i wasn't surprised she was mrs. kim's granddaughter. she was so nosy and loud just like mrs. kim. we all used to share stories and so many people talked about their grandparents, and doyeon used to say she wished she had the chance to get to know them."

san trails off, and you ask, "what happened to her?"

san closes his eyes. maybe you aren't the only one wired to carry the burden of guilt on your shoulders. he draws his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his knees. he says, "my old group found the bunker. there used to be a lot of in-fighting. i picked a side, when i should have tried to keep the peace, but how was i supposed to know this fight would be serious?"

san lets out a shuddering breath, his shoulders drooping. it explains why he maintained such neutrality between you and his friends.

"it was five against three that day. me, wooyoung, and doyeon against five guys. things didn't work out. they beat the shit out of us. i'm talking broken bones, lots and lots of blood... we were tied up like pigs for slaughter. wooyoung had a fucking knife in him. i had broken fingers - i don't even think they've healed properly. doyeon's jaw was broken, and she could barely talk. as night drew closer, it became increasingly obvious that it was either us or them. so -" san rubs his red-rimmed eyes, "so we came up with a plan. doyeon thought of it, actually, and sometimes, i wonder if she just...knew what was going to happen to her from the moment she suggested the plan. she lured them out to the front of the bunker. i'll spare you the details, but we managed to push them out of the bunker. it was going smoothly, until it didn't. as we were closing the doors, one of them dragged doyeon out with them. i tried so hard to save her, but...but the sun was setting quickly and she decided to let go. the look in her eyes - i think she knew. woo says it wasn't my fault. either way, she died that night and i couldn't save her. the next morning, there were only pieces left of them. ears and limbs and...and doyeon's hands. woo and i buried her in her favorite part of town and we decided to stay at the bunker anyway. we decided we wouldn't let something like that happen again. that's why it's so hard for the boys to trust people, y/n, and i understand that isn't an excuse, but i think you deserve that explanation. doyeon...i couldn't keep her safe even though i said i would, and i thought i could live with that too, but then i ended up at the sanctuary and met her fucking grandmother." you watch san let out a staggering breath, his eyes fixed on the burial spot, "if anything i'm the one who owes mrs. kim."

you don't know what to say about san's admission. you remember him telling you he'd done horrible things to end up at the bunker. you remember how irritated he had been when you let it slip that you felt safe in the bunker that first night, despite the fact that you were surrounded by strangers. he'd been so angry, and now you can see why. you don't know what to say, so you resort to an attempt at lightheartedness, your chest tight.

"join the club," you mutter, your voice shaky despite your attempt for nonchalance, "i owe her my damned life too, and instead of letting me repay my debts, she had the fucking nerve to die so close to home."

san laughs, says, "she could have at least made it to the sea."

you snort, letting your head rest on his shoulder as you both sit in silence. you say, "if it's any consolation, i'm sorry about doyeon. you tried your best."

he says, "i thought i'd come to terms with it, but when you...i promised i'd keep you safe, and i couldn't do that with you either."

"you tried," you repeat, "that's what matters in the end, i think."

"it wasn't enough."

"it will be."

you can hear the sharp intake of breath, the way san stiffens under your head, but he does not move. he does not say anything.

you hear a sniffle. he says, "you think so?"

you push away to look up at him. he peers down at you, his face inches from yours. his eyes are glassy, and his hair is too long, and his nose is tinged red, and he looks so otherworldly, like a painting. his honeyed gaze curls around your racing heart, and the sun casts gold over his sharp features. you think you understand why throughout history people went to war for pretty queens and kings.

he presses a thumb to your cheek. your heart pounds.

you say, "you really need a haircut."

san laughs. you could drown, you think, in his dimples and his glassy eyes and the rough circles he traces along your cheek and loud laugh.

he asks, "do you have scissors?"

"kitchen scissors."

his gaze flickers over your face. he says, "perfect."

he sits on mrs. kim's once untouched chair, and stares apprehensively at the rusty kitchen scissors in your hands.

he helps you board up the windows and door when the sun starts to set.

he opens the canned food for you. canned food tastes better, you find, when you share it with someone.

he sleeps in mrs. kim's once untouched bed, and you really do think trying is enough.

~.~.~.~.~

only three days pass when you start to notice things are...strange.

not between you and san, but in the woods.

"i think someone must have accidentally planted a shit ton of mint leaves around here. they were too small last time i saw it, so maybe now it's going to -"

you come to halt next to a giant oak tree. its bare branches stretch out to one side, trunk bowed, as if it is a giant looming over you. nailed to the trunk sits a purple piece of cloth. it's flag-like in its shape. it flutters in the breeze. a chill runs straight down your back. you hadn't seen a purple flag since that day you ran into san. you hadn't seen flags since your attempt to avoid the sanctuary. the fact of the matter is that this flag means that someone is out here other than you and san. and they are close.

san's voice echoes all around you, crackly and filled with static. "y/n? y/n? what's wrong?"

your stomach churns as you swivel on your heels, scanning the other trees. despite the beginnings of spring, the leaves have still not returned fully. there are so many bare branches and dead leaves. as you walk, the leaves crunch under your boots.

for a moment, you don't think you should say anything.

but you're starting over, aren't you? you're supposed to try. you don't have to -

a few hundred steps away, another purple flag is nailed to an old tree trunk. your heart jumps in your chest.

you press the radio, "what do purple flags mean?"

your voice is quiet. the ensuing silence rings loud as you step further through the forest, as you come upon another one. it's a trail, you realize, as you keep walking. maybe you shouldn't follow it.

yet you do, even as san's crackly voice fills the silence, "purple flags?"

it takes thirty-six seconds for you to recognize the trail as you keep walking, dead leaves crunching beneath your feet. you say, "there are purple pieces of cloth nailed to the trees, san. they look flags or markers or something."

a pause. "are you following them?"

"yeah," you come to a stop at the next nailed purple flag, your gaze falling on the familiar trees. the clearing. your clearing. you swallow the lump in your throat, your grip on the radio so hard you're afraid you'll break it. "fuck."

"y/n, what is it?"

you say, "it leads to the cabin."

"shit," san's voice is sharp, alert, with an undercurrent of terror curling underneath everything, "y/n, you need to leave now. get out of there right n-"

you turn off the radio, dousing yourself in the silence of the woods. it's not so peaceful now, and every crack of a branch, every rustle of dead leaves, makes the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end. you should run. every cell in your body screams at you to do so, but you find yourself stepping forward. you find yourself peering into the clearing.

wedged into the lump of overturned dirt where you buried mrs. kim's boots is a purple flag fluttering at the end of a wooden stick. there's nothing telling about it. it's merely a poorly dyed purple bedsheet, splotchy and lighter in some parts then others, wrapped around a wooden stick. still your heart pounds against your ribcage. it's as if the shoddiness of the person's work is more terrifying then if the flag was cleanly done, the way the sanctuary's had been. and a smidge of anger curls at the pit of your stomach. your eyes drift to your cabin. the door is wide open, swaying on its rusted hinges.

you back up, one step, two steps, three, until you're running.

~.~.~.~.~

you emerge from the trees to san out of breath, his hair windswept.

you blink in surprise. he surges forward, clutching your shoulders as he gives you a onceover, out of breath the entire time.

your stomach continues to churn, even as san says, "you're okay. you're okay."

you're not sure who he's trying to convince of that.

you are not okay.

you'd spent so many months in a bubble, thinking that everything would be fine. that the end of all things was this gentle, careful, serene thing where all that is left in the world is yourself and anyone you allow in it. that you could make a home somewhere and you would be okay. but the world is nothing like that. you're unsure why you ever thought otherwise. you were in that fucking sanctuary. you were robbed at knifepoint by san and his friends. you killed your mother. you've come upon dead bodies, whether by others doings or their owns. mrs. kim is dead.

you're no ghost, because at least ghosts wander peacefully. you will never find any peace. someone or something will always find a way to burst your bubble. they'll encroach on your space, and you will never truly be safe, and the realization, however late it is, is terrifying. maybe you are naïve. you thought you'd hardened after everything, but you still clung to hope. you look at still san. you still are. to have reprieve from the terror of the end of the world only to feel it so wholly all at once - it's fucking jarring. you hate yourself for ever believing the reprieve could be permanent. as long as those things float in the sky, you'll never find peace.

your hands are shaking. your vision is blurred.

your gaze slides over san's worried face.

wooyoung stares back at you.

you grab san's hands, placing them at his sides, and you squeeze them once before letting him go. you ask, "someone was inside my cabin. they fucking...they put a marker on mrs. kim's grave. purple. everything was purple."

wooyoung is the one to speak, his voice low, thoughtful, "i've been seeing purple markers all over the place, but they never led anywhere. i thought someone was just using them to help them remember places."

"you can't go back there," san's voice is a quiet thing, fragile almost, "it's not safe. i know you said you didn't want to go back to the bunker, but y/n, you cannot go back there."

"it isn't safe anywhere," your fingers curl around each other, "i'd feel safer squatting in one of these houses then staying in your bunker."

you give wooyoung a pointed look, even as you gesture at the dilapidated stone houses around you.

wooyoung rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he cocks his head to the side, "come on, y/n. wasn't robbing me enough?"

"no, actually," you turn fully on him, stepping closer. "let me get a few more punches in."

wooyoung laughs, eyeing you up and down as you round on him. "good to see you're back in tip top shape."

"you really want me to punch you don't you?" you say, fingers clenched into a fist.

"oh," wooyoung grins, tone dripping with honeyed amusement, "i'd love to see you try."

"wooyoung, shut the fuck up," san groans, dragging a hand over his face. san puts a hand on your elbow, and you realize that you are inches from wooyoung, fists clenched, all while wooyoung grins at you without stepping back.

you step back first, glaring at wooyoung for good measure.

san says, "i'm serious, y/n. we don't know who this person is."

"or group," wooyoung mutters, his grin turning into a frown.

san nods, "exactly."

"he's showing absolutely zero remorse, san. if wooyoung's anything to go by, i'd rather get eaten by those aliens then spend a night around your snake friends."

there's a long long stretch of silence. the hairs at the back of your neck still stand on end. the three of you are still at the edge of the forest, out in the open for anyone to watch from the woods. how could you be stupid enough to think no one was ever watching all this time?

"just one night," san says, pleads really, "that's all. just so we have time to clear your place together and find you a new, safer place."

your heart skips a beat at his words, while another part of you is angry you even have to find a new place. you're tired of wandering, and you're tired of feeling scared. you're tired.

still, you meet san's gaze and you sigh. "fine."

~.~.~.~.~

the walk to the bunker had been silent. wooyoung wandered ahead while san matched your strides, his shoulder occasionally brushing against yours.

"i punched him, you know," san says quietly.

you blink up at him. san nods his chin towards wooyoung's back as he leads the way.

"so many times, actually," san smiles a little, "and wooyoung didn't hit me back once. you know him. he always has something to say back, but for months he just...let himself be my punching bag, figuratively and literally, after i lost you."

"that doesn't mean he's sorry," you say, frowning at wooyoung's back.

"in his own way, he is." san purses his lips, "doesn't mean you have to forgive him though. i know i haven't."

you blink. oh. you didn't think he was ever going to hold his friends accountable in any way. you didn't think he even blamed his friends for anything. something churns at the pit of your stomach, and it feels like the strangest bout of guilt. you say, "you love him. you love your friends."

"i think we both know you can love someone and still never forgive them," san murmurs. he looks down at you.

"still," you say quietly, "i'm sorry. your relationship is strained because of me."

he shakes his head.

"it's strained because of their decisions."

"i'm still sorry."

"at least they're trying," san says, and his tone is soft and kind, maybe even a little sad, "they won't hurt you, y/n. please trust me on that at least."

wooyoung turns into a familiar alleyway, one you'd passed through a long, long time ago.

the metal door leading to the bunker sits straight ahead. it's blocked off by abandoned cars, hiding it from view unless one knows where to look. you know where to look.

you take a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. months ago, you wouldn't have conceded with san even on this point, but now you find yourself believing him. maybe that's stupid of you, but you find that you believe him. just a little bit.

~.~.~.~.~

the bunker is exactly as you remembered it. the strewn blankets and cushions. the comforting lights. the long hallway. the way the cold air raises goosebumps along your skin. the feeling that this place is lived in, despite being a metal bunker space.

"you can sleep in my bed," san says, from where he stands awkwardly across from you, next to the kitchen island stools. he fiddles with the hem of his shirt, though his gaze remains steadily on you, "i'll sleep down here."

wooyoung looks between you both in the silence that ensues afterwards, before he turns on his heels and disappears down the dark hallway without another word. you stare after him before turning back to san.

"no," you shake your head, "i'll sleep down here. it's fine."

san looks like he wants to argue, but he just nods. he opens his mouth as if he wants to say something more, but you hear the smallest of gasps.

you look up, and jongho is stands at the end of the hall. wooyoung is behind him, hand on his back. he meets your gaze, and you can't help but smile at him. wooyoung just rolls his eyes and disappears back into the hall, making you wish you could take back that second of gratitude.

jongho blinks over and over and over, and you can't help but let out a laugh. sure, jongho betrayed you, but he'd been a victim, and you couldn't blame him. you really couldn't. here he is, looking well-fed and like he sleeps well, and your heart feels like it's growing three times its size in your chest.

he hovers, and san steps aside, gesturing jongho forward. jongho just stares at you, waiting. you realize he is waiting for permission. that makes you deflate a bit. he likely thinks you hate him, and maybe you should, but you can't find it in yourself to hate him.

so, you hold out your arms, and jongho takes a step, another, before he walks into your arms, still so uncertain, and you say, "you're alive."

he glares at you, even as he wraps his arms around you and hugs you tight. he doesn't need words for you to know what he's thinking. he leans back, frees his arms, and makes a gesture of touching his forehead. he brings his arm down. he keeps doing it. you look at san in confusion.

"it's sign language," san explains quietly, "he says he's sorry."

"oh," you look at jongho. there's a sincerity there you'd always liked about jongho. the apology is something you realize you'd wanted until now. you press your hands to his, and you say, "i know, jongho. i know you are."

jongho nods, over and over and over, as he pulls you into another hug.

~.~.~.~.~

in a way, you expected this eventually. the bunker was only so big.

but jongho asked if you wanted to talk upstairs, and you ended up in that living room once more. san stayed behind downstairs. when you'd pulled yourself through the hatch to the living room, that same feeling you'd felt the first time hit you all at once. the coziness of the room, the home that was so obviously made here, it hurt worse this time knowing that you'd built something like it in the woods and it was encroached upon by intruders. it's like you lost normalcy a second time, and it makes you so angry, yet so fucking sad.

you'd sat on the couch and jongho took out a notebook, and he asked, how are you alive?

you started from the beginning, recounting mrs. kim and your time with her. robbing wooyoung and yunho. jongho giggled at that. you spoke of your time with san. it wasn't a very long story, but it was the first time you'd spoken of it all at once, and it was yours. you hadn't had much that you could call yours since the world ended.

where will you go after tonight? jongho asked.

"i don't know," you said. jongho put his hand over yours. he seemed to be thinking, his brows furrowed, but before you can say more, there are footsteps hurrying down the stairs in the corner.

you look up, and the person comes to a screeching halt at the threshold to the living room, his eyes widening as he meets your gaze.

it's yeosang.

you shoot to your feet.

yeosang frowns as he steps further into the room, his eyes narrowing as he glances between jongho and yourself.

he says, "are you fucking kidding me?"

his voice is loud, angry, and your fingers curl into fists. suddenly, all the anger you've ever felt, from wandering as ghost, from your time at the sanctuary, from learning of all the betrayals, from the death of mrs. kim, from the fact that your cabin was broken into, bubbles at the pit of your stomach, and all you see is fucking red.

"someone's been keep tabs on you and san's first thought is to bring you here?" yeosang grits his teeth as he scowls at you.

"is that really going to be the first thing you say to me?" you ask, matching his tone. you step closer to him, and he does the same. jongho steps in, putting a hand on yeosang's shoulder, and he shrugs it off, his jaw clenching as he peers at you.

yeosang says, "do you want an apology or something?"

"yes," you grit.

yeosang rolls his eyes.

you can't help it when you swing your fist at him. to be fair, it's been a long time coming, and you'd fantasized about this moment often while lying in the clearing in front of your cabin and staring at the clouds pass by. the sound of your knuckles hitting his face echoes all around you. pain shoots through your arm, but the way yeosang doubles over in pain is absolutely worth it.

yeosang clutches his nose - it's bleeding, you realize with a giddiness you haven't felt in a long, long, long time - and glares up at you with so much vitriol, it makes you laugh.

"didn't think i'd do it, huh, asshole?"

then yeosang lunges at you, fury in his eyes.

you yelp when your back hits the ground. yeosang gets a swipe in on your face, and the pain makes you angrier. you grab him by the collar and use all your weight to roll on top. it works for half a minute before he yanks at your hair. you smack him over the top of the head. he gasps. then he kicks you.

maybe this is stupid, or perhaps you should have predicted this. it's not like yeosang ever seemed like the type to take a punch without retaliating.

before you can retaliate fully, though, you're flailing as you're pulled back. you kick and thrash in the arms of yeosang's savior, only to find that he's also being pulled away. by yunho. you look up. mingi meets your gaze, expression unreadable. mingi promptly places you on the ground. you don't move from the spot.

yeosang's nose is bleeding and his lip his cut and there's a bruise blooming under eye, so you don't fight mingi. sure, your cheek is throbbing and he may have ripped out some hair, and if you get the chance you'll punch him again, but for now you're satisfied enough with the damage you've done to stop fighting back.

yeosang is glaring at you, chest heaving.

yunho scowls between yeosang and yourself, "what the fuck was that?"

"he deserved it," you say, with a shrug.

the floor hatch to the living room swings open, and both san climbs out. san blinks between you both. wooyoung only snorts as he remains on the ladder leading out of the hatch, resting his chin on his hands as he watches.

yeosang rolls his eyes, "they deserved it too."

"you're literally acting like children," yunho sighs, shaking his head as he plops down fully on the ground next to yeosang.

the living room looks small with everyone in it. with you leaning heavily against a wall and mingi seated cross-legged next to you, his long limbs taking up too much space, and yeosang leaning against the sofa, yunho groaning with his head thrown back beside him, rubbing his eyes as he does so, and jongho sitting on the couch where you'd left him, his arms wrapped around his knees, and san with his arms crossed over his chest, looming over all four of you, and wooyoung amused from his position at the hatch door.

you scowl, "so i'm not allowed to be angry? is that it? should i just ignore what you've put me through?"

yunho frowns at the floor. no one quite meets your eyes.

"that has nothing to do with this," yeosang snaps, "you have a fucking target on your back and you've dragged us into it."

you start to laugh, and the hollowness of it is jarring even to your own ears, "do you fucking hear your hypocrisy, yeosang?"

yeosang sits up straight, his lips pressed into a straight line. his fingers clench and unclench as he glares at you, "you should have stayed dead if you were just going to bring trouble with you."

"yeosang!" san's voice is sharp as a knife.

you shake your head at san, arms crossed tighter over your chest, "no, i want to hear this."

yeosang stays silent, clenching his jaw as he rolls his eyes.

you raise a brow at him, "go on. tell me how i'm the bad person here."

yeosang says, "every time we leave this bunker, it's dangerous. every week san spends hours outside the bunker with you. do you understand the danger that's putting not only him, but the rest of us, in?"

he keeps his gaze fixed on you, but you glance at san anyway. san looks angry, in a way you hadn't seen in a long long time. he opens his mouth to say something, but wooyoung tugs at his pant leg, shaking his head.

you sigh, turning back to yeosang, "i'm not putting a gun to his head and making him meet me every week, and i certainly did not give the wrong directions to -"

yeosang scoffs, "i did what i had to do to for my people, y/n. the sanctuary was necessary. i'm sorry you got caught in the middle of everything, but i'm not sorry for what i did. we got san and jongho out. we destroyed the sanctuary. everything worked out in the end."

the anger at the pit of your stomach is tumultuous. you want to throw up at how overwhelming the urge to throw another punch is. maybe, in this world, this makes sense. you are not included with yeosang's people, and you never would be. he doesn't owe you anything. not even just a moment of genuine remorse.

"are you even capable of remorse?" you ask.

you don't mean to say it out loud, but your words spill from your mouth, and the room goes so silent, you could hear a pin drop. san is looking at yeosang, waiting for a response. mingi shifts next to you. yunho bites his lip. wooyoung just watches.

yeosang's hard expression falters. it lasts for the blink of an eye, like the flutter of a hummingbird's wings, and you only catch it because you're watching. his gaze flickers to san, as well. for just a moment. it's a tell, you realize, that you've struck something underneath his hard exterior. he clamps his teeth over his bottom lip, lips stretching into a thin line, and his gaze meets yours again just milliseconds later. his face hardens more than you've ever seen it before. if you didn't know better, you could mistake him for a marble statue, carved into the picture of insolence.

he does not respond, though, despite his façade.

yunho frown deepens as he looks at yeosang.

no one looks at you.

so you speak into the silence, "i guess not."

you get to your feet, pushing past san, past the living room table. wooyoung climbs out the hatch, moving aside from you, and he doesn't say anything either. his expression is devoid of his usual shit-eating grin and unfiltered amusement.

in the dimness of the bunker room, you wrap yourself up in a warm blanket - it's the big fur kind you grew up with, right down to the giant floral decal - and you hate how the anger is still there, turning inwards instead. you should have known this would happen. you can't truly start over with san when you share so much history, Before and After.

~.~.~.~.~

you can't sleep. you want to - you'd learned your lesson last time, and if anything the bunker is safe from the aliens, and you should take advantage of it - but you're overheating under the fluffy blanket, and the battery powered light at your side, even at it's lowest setting, is too bright. yunho brought it down for you, wordless in his exchange before he headed back through the hall. you didn't hear the opening of the hatch, so you figured he must have gone into one of the rooms lining the narrow hall. you don't want to turn off the light completely. total darkness unsettles you.

you contemplate going up to the living room and finding a book to occupy your time. at least this time you wouldn't be sneaking around.

before you can, you hear the creaking of the hatch - you'd memorized the sound, a series of cranks and a long squeak followed by a full thud - and you go still in the blanket, peeking over to the dark hall. just in case.

moments later, a shadow appears at the end of the hall. the shadow stretches up onto the ceiling due to the light from your lantern.

your fingers curl around the edge of the blanket as you keep your eyes fixed on the figure, even as you continue to pretend to sleep.

"i know you're awake," san's soft voice fills the bunker. he sounds exhausted.

you sit up. san comes closer. you dial up the brightness of the lantern, illuminating his face. you watch, leaning back on your elbows, as san takes a seat beside you and the lantern, his arms winding around his knees as he chews on his bottom lip.

it's so silent for so long, before san murmurs, "i can't fix this, can i?"

"no," you tug the warm blanket closer as you shake your head, "but at least we tried."

"i can go with you and -"

"no," you interrupt him. you can see it in the furrowed brows, in the way he frowns, that he's going to suggest something stupid. something he'll eventually resent you for. "we said we wouldn't lose ourselves in each other this time, didn't we?"

"y/n."

"you love them," you say, and your heart feels like it's being ripped from your chest. this is worse, somehow, then the anger that had been churning in you earlier. "for better or for worse, you love them. wooyoung, yunho, mingi. yeosang. they are your family. you can forgive them, but still stay with them. i can't. so i will not and cannot ask you to leave them for me, san."

in the low warmth of the lantern, san's features are softer than ever. his eyes remind you of the earth after rain. you watch as he reaches out, as he slowly presses his fingers to your cheek. first the pads of his fingertips, light as feathers, and then heavier touch of his calloused palms, his thumb. he draws small lines along your jaw, and he looks at you like he is committing you to memory, like he is determined to etch your likeness into the recesses of his mind.

his thumb traces down your jaw, along your cheek, to your hairline. around and around and around.

his wet eyes dance in lanternlight.

he says, quietly, "i'm sorry i wasn't enough."

you shake your head, and you swallow the lump in your throat, "these past few months, you were more than enough. you were everything. you are everything." your fingers curl into fists around the blanket wrapped around you, "i'm glad we at least got a little time together. without all the fighting."

"i'm going to miss you," he says quietly, "i'm always going to miss you."

"me too," you whisper, unable to articulate fully how much you agree. you'll miss him in the next life, too, you think.

his fingers brush along your forehead. then he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead. it's short and sweet, and the warmth of his hand on your cheek is enough to make you truly feel like he's ripped the rest of your heart out with that alone. he already has so many pieces of your heart, and now he's taken the rest of it.

the silence between you both is heavy. loaded. it is everything said and unsaid all at once. everything and nothing. it's you and san as you were Before, and as you are Now.

you clear your throat, leaning away to pat the spot next to you, swinging the end of the blanket his way. you say, "tell me a story please."

san smiles, his dimple appearing as he scoots in beside you, his voice soft as he tells you something about mingi stepping on yunho. his voice is soothing, soft, and, just this once, you let yourself relax with him next to you. san brushes at your hair as you do.

the next morning, he is gone. the bunker room is cold and dark, despite the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. the feeling of home you'd felt here is gone, with san.

that morning, only jongho sees you off, and you're grateful for it. you don't think you could leave otherwise.

~.~.~.~.~

one year passes, yet the year feels like a decade. time is a funny thing when you're alone, and you'd forgotten that when you'd had constant company. the things in the sky are still there. the black fog at night is denser than ever. you avoid people now more than ever. you don't stay in one place for long, though the country is too damn small to not visit the same area twice. you've traveled far enough away from the bunker where the radio clipped to your belt loop remains out of range, not once straying north. you visit the shores to the south. you find wild vineyards to the east. you remain at the outskirts of the bunker, never within range, but not quite far enough away. still, it's as if nothing has changed, as if you've never even met san again or ended up at the sanctuary.

yet everything's different. you avoid going north in case you stumble upon the sanctuary's ruins. you avoid the west so you can stay out of the bunker's range and resist the urge to return to your cabin. but a year has dulled all that, and everything different starts to bury itself away until you can pretend it doesn't affect you anymore. you've gotten very good at that.

it's summer, when you finally have the courage to travel north. this will be your first step in letting go completely, you decide the night you make the decision to go north. did you already cry your eyes out the minute you'd left the bunker while crouched behind an abandoned car? yes. did you keep doing that for months and months after? maybe. but, now you're ready to really, truly start over. no san. no sanctuary. no bunker. no fears. you can truly let go.

the hike had gone well. you were sweating through your shirt, and your water was running low, but it was going well. you felt reborn, really, from sweat and the dense summer humidity and the feeling of your skin burning under the hot sun.

as you climb over the hill, your radio starts to crackle. you must have forgotten to turn it off. everywhere you go, you gather batteries for the thing, so it doesn't die. you don't wish to delve into the reasons as to why you do that when you're never in range of the bunker anyway.

you trudge up to the hillside, kicking rocks as you go, ignoring the soft crackle. the sound is more comforting then the silence and your heavy labored breathing, anyway, so you keep the radio on. besides the radio never picks anything up anymore anyway.

some nights, you'd clicked the talk button and tried to say hello. all you were ever met with was silence. it was understandable, but it still hurt more than you liked to admit.

you reach for the trunk of the lone tree on top of the hill, catching your breath, when you hear a voice over the radio. it's unfamiliar, cutting off between words, but the sound still makes you jump.

you'd forgotten what it was like to hear voices. especially voices that aren't your own.

you fumble with the radio.

...four boxes incoming....south....open....roger.......

you nearly drop the radio when you look over the hill. in the valley sits a sprawling camp, surrounded by wooden walls that were clearly built. there are vehicles and people walking the perimeter. you can hear laughter. it's the unmistakable sound of children giggling, playing. chills run down your spine at the sight. you see military trucks at the furthest end. not every truck is a military truck, but many of them are.

your fingers tighten around the radio. the walls have makeshift guard towers. for a moment, hope sparks at the pit of your stomach. you want to trust this place so badly. there are military vehicles. there's organization. it looks nothing like the sanctuary.

at least until your gaze lands on the guard towers. fluttering at the top of each makeshift guard tower sits a purple piece of cloth. it's identical to the purple pieces of cloth you'd followed back to your cabin, poorly dyed and the color of eggplants.

dread curls down your spine at the affiliation. this isn't a coincidence. it can't be. fear mixes with that spark of hope, and you start to back away. you don't know what to do. should you leave, or should you investigate further? are they another sanctuary, or are they safe?

then you hear a familiar voice through the radio, a crackly voice that will never leave your memories no matter how hard you try to drown it away. it's been a year, yet you remember the voice so clearly, even as he says, "yeosang...open....five."

your breath catches in your throat.

it's choi san.

it's always choi san.

#sr #taglist #itpfl #the final part!!! thank you everyone omg

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