this is where it splits in half honey, love or death (grab an end, pull hard and make a wish) [2/12]

[januarys_lovers]

“How many are you in your group?” Jongdae asks, trying to look oblivious to the pure surprise painting Jongin's face.

He has debated all night long, his thoughts so loud in his head that it overpowered the silence. He's been walking on eggshells since they left the house, after having crashed against Jongin's resigned mutism when he was expecting endless rambling and chattering. Jongdae felt quite relieved then, mind already focused on their surroundings and the chirping of birds, but with the night falling on them, something had started to feel wrong. And the only thing that could go wrong in a world where everything was already so wrong was, well, the newest addition, and that would be Jongin. The latter had walked next to him in utter silence all night long, his long limbs synchronized with Jongdae's smaller strides, and his body carefully keeping the two step safe distance between them. He had been so silent actually, walking with his delicate gait through the night like a ghost, that Jongdae had felt obligated to reach and make sure Jongin was still there by brushing his arm with his fingertips more than once. In all honesty, they were very lucky not to run into some Infected, because Jongdae had been so distracted that it would have most surely killed them. And that's exactly why Jongdae decided to break the silence first, instead of keeping squinting through the thick darkness to try and read Jongin's expression-especially when the darkness all around them was the one he should have tried to see through.

“Well,” Jongin starts, voice still a little unsure. “We were fourteen before the attack, but now... I'm not sure...”

Jongdae doesn't like how sad Jongin's voice is, and hates even more that he cares, but he decides not to dwell on it, and says the first thing that runs through his mind.

“I get why you don't like to sleep alone. You're used to thirteen people around you.”

Jongin chuckles. “Actually, I mostly sleep with Yeri. She's kind of my best friend.”

Better, Jongdae thinks with a little smile when Jongin's voice reaches his ears, half-embarrassed half-shy.

“She takes care of the food rations with me, so we really are always together.”

It's so Jongin to be talking about someone with so much affection and adoration, with so much care in his eyes as if the worst thing that could happen to him and his feelings would be his precious Yeri turning down his offer for a coffee date. But, just like Jongdae can't help but stop and look up when his feet take him to forgotten roads showered with broken light through roofs made of leaves, he can't help but stare at Jongin. And he knows it's dangerous, he knows how sad it is, and that it only forecasts destruction and pain, but at tqshe same time, it's beautiful. Jongin shines brightly, but too bright for a world where the rest of human kind can only live in the night.

“She sounds nice,” Jongdae says with a voice he hopes sounds conclusive. He doesn't want to talk about Jongin's group anymore. They're probably dead anyway.

“She is,” Jongin nods.

Silence, so large and overwhelming, butts in, and they both let it swallow them. Just a few minutes though, but Jongdae was kind of expecting it. He started the conversation, and Jongin wouldn't let him forget that that easily.

“How about you?” Jongin asks. “How come you're alone?”

“I wasn't always alone,” Jongdae shrugs. “But I've come to realise being alone is safer, better.”

Jongin doesn't look convinced.

“How can it be? No one to guard the house during the day, no one to help you if you break your leg--”

“If you break your leg, you're dead, people around you or not,” Jongdae cuts him.

“It's not what I meant,” Jongin mumbles.

Jongdae shrugs again, lips pressed in a thin line. He doesn't want to go on about his past life, and the people he lost. Jongin's presence suddenly loses its hypnotizing and kind of comforting state to become itchy on Jongdae's skin, unwelcomed. He has smaller legs, but he still tries to take longer strides, in the hope that if he walks faster enough, he'll be able to get ride of Jongin in six days top. Jongin follows the new rhythm easily, huffing with anger.

“Staying with people would help you improve your social skills,” he snaps at Jongdae. “And that wouldn't be a bad thing, because you're a fucking moron.”

Jongdae adjusts his bag on his shoulders, determined not to meet Jongin's eyes.

“You're like that fucking Katy Perry song,” Jongin goes on. “One minute you're friendly, and the next you look at me like you'd like me better dead.”

“Haven't you heard the news?” Jongdae taunts him. “Katy Perry's dead.”

“You don't know, maybe she was immune.”

Jongdae winces at Jongin's tone. He sounds like a whiny teenager who never gets out and still tries to teach his parents lessons about life, and it would be hilarious if it wasn't so infuriating.

“Then she ended up in her friend's stomach, who wasn't,” he glares at Jongin.

Anger doesn't suit Jongin. It's twisting his features in the most unexpected ways, but despite his knitted eyebrows and the scowl he's sporting, he still has that boyish vibe that easily outshines his broad shoulders and his clenched fists. Jongdae has seen a five-year-old Infected eat a grown up though, and he knows strength sometimes looks very similar to weakness, so he carefully wraps his fingers around his machete, just in case Jongin would turn to be hot-blooded.

“Katy Perry's not the point,” Jongin bites back. “You should make up your mind about how you're going to act with me, because if I have to go through your bipolar disorder, I'd better--”

“Shut up,” Jongdae hisses, stoping dead in his tracks. His hand shoots in thin air and he closes his fingers like claws around Jongin's forearm. Thank god, Jongin doesn't discuss, coming to a halt right away. Darkness has engulfed his face most of the night, but his eyes now stand out in the night, faint moonlight catching on all the white around his pupils now that they're wide open.

Jongdae remembers the summer breaks with his family, and how they would leave the hustle and bustle of Daejeon for the peacefulness of the country. He remembers not being able to sleep the first night because of how quiet it was in their cottage compared to the background noises he was so used to in the city. It's a thought that frequently hits his brain, and has him bordering on mirth every single time, because he had no idea, back then, how silent the world could be. The silence now is closer to the absence of sound when you plunge under water, deep enough for the light to struggle to reach you. It isn't deafening though, it isn't oppressive or overwhelming. It's just there, huge and whole, and what is deafening are the cracks that run through it when something less-silent happens.

Another branch cracks on their left, deep into the forest, but Jondgae still hears it as if it was just next to them. Jongin's breath hitches in the back of his throat, and Jongdae knows he hasn't dreamed the sound.

“A nest...?” Jongin asks, low, so low that the silence almost doesn't notice it, but it still makes the hair on Jongdae's nape stand up.

There are no rules about the Infected's behaviors, not exactly, but generalization has worked pretty well for Jongdae until then. He knows how rare it is for the Infected to go out of their lairs at night, so the probability is low, very low. He also knows that if they're walking near a nest, and they heard their bickering, they'll be here in no time. And they probably know that portion of the forest like the back of their hands, thanks to that scary animal instinct the virus has given them.

He glances at Jongin, the latter looking as terrified as Jongdae feels, and gestures him to keep quiet. Infected don't have ultra developped senses, except for the smell of blood, but in that silence, the slightest sound would attract the whole pack.

Despite the close sunset, darkness around them is thick and impenetrable, but Jongdae keeps narrowing his eyes at the forest, just in case. Seconds tick by, minutes, but the cold sweat running down his spine keep attacking his body with shudders. He's almost sure they're being hunted.

Jongin relaxes a few minutes later, a short sigh leaving his mouth. Then it happens again. And again. Again. A branch, several branches, and faint groans, faint moans. Jaws clicking, nails scrapping the trees. Jongin recoils, whimpering, and Jongdae sees white, adrenaline burning his whole body up.

“Run,” he whispers, fingers leaving red crescent imprints on Jongin's skin. “As fast as you can.”

Jongin darts off before Jongdae's last words reach him, but Jongdae is on his heels. Their shoes blow up the silence everytime they hit the road, and their breaths, already short, sound too much like they're indicating their position to Jongdae, but running's their only option if they want to survive. The silence remains strong around them, like a wall between them and the rest of the world. It's just Jongin, Jongdae, and the Infected running behind them now.

The road abruptly turns left, and carried away by his speed, Jongin doesn't see it before it's too late. He gasps and jumps over the safety barrier, straight into the forest, and Jongdae's mind screams red alert. Not the forest, he wants to scream, but they have a small lead over the Infected trailing after them, and scream will ruin it. He follows Jongin into the darkness, and prays that neither of them falls and hurts themselves, his arms stretched before him to try and avoid the trees popping up with every step he takes. He keeps running, his bag hitting the small of his back everytime he jumps over a bundle of roots, his eyes trying to focus on Jongin's faint silhouette. The ground is softly going down under his soles, and soon enough, he's gaining speed. He hears the precise moment the Infected enters the forest, the commotion echoing all around him. Some of them groan, others sound like they're falling and being walked on, but all in all, they mostly sound like they are too many of them. Jongdae tries to calculate the distance between them but lets go when he dodges in for the third time to avoid a low branch. Now's the worst time to bleed.

Jongin's legs are longer, and he runs terribly fast, but Jondgae's pretty sure he slows down from time to time to make sure Jongdae doesn't lose him, and Jongdae doesn't. The sun is rising behind the horizon line, revealing high and dispersed trees in that greyish light that comes before the actual sunrise, before the explosion of bright colors. They've reached the end of the hill, but they both try to keep up with the speed the slope gave them. Jongdae is now trying to determinate how many Infected there are and if, maybe, he can take them all down. He took Jongin's only weapon, but he could still throw him something before the Infected reach them. He doesn't know nothing about Jongin's skills, and he's pretty sure he can't kill them all on his own. It's a dangerous bet, one he won't risk to take, at least not until they still have a choice, with the distance between them and the Infected. Jongdae needs a solution though, because they've been running for a while now, probably around half an hour, and the Infected won't let them go.

He groans as the adrenaline pushes back the fear in deepest corners of his mind, where he doesn't have to think about it for now, and blindly reaches for his bag, panting. Jongin glances at him over his shoulder, but Jongdae motions him to keep going, internally screaming in victory when his other hand, deep in the bag, closes around what he was searching for. He pulls out the sockets, and hears a familiar sound at the same time he throws them over his shoulder, fingers secured around what was inside. It's light, kind of bubbly, and constant, and Jongdae's mind immediately focuses on it. There's a river near.

He clenches his jaws and speeds up to reach Jongin, and then run past him. His legs are burning, and his back is screaming from the weight of the bag, and Jongin looks as bad as he feels. Sweat is plastering his hair down, and the effort has painted his face red. He's panting hard, his breath whistling around the air he's desperately trying to take in. Unable to talk for the very same reason, Jongdae takes him by the hand and turns towards the water sound, only letting go of Jongin when the latter follows the change of direction. They're going down another hill now, but with the sun shyly looking above the horizon line, it's not as dangerous, and it mostly helps. Jongdae lets go of the urgency he was feeding his leg muscles with, and lets the angle of the ground they're running on takes him deeper into the forest.

He didn't really have a plan, except for the tiny ampule in his hand, but it was just the sketch of an idea that could have gone wrong in all the most terrible ways. So when he catches sight of the wooden hut when they reach the river's bank, relief washes over him. He immediately shoves Jongin inside, the latter landing with a oomph, and opens the tube as he runs towards the border. He almost stumbles straight into the whirling water and curses when he falls on his butt. He quickly checks the tube, making sure that not a single drop from the blood inside splattered on him, and pours the red liquid into the water. The Infected are getting dangerously close, just a few meters up the hill, so Jongdae turns around, walking on all fours as fast as he can, up the bank until he can hauls himself straight behind the hut. The first Infected reaches the border just when he presses himself against the back wall of the hut, and he silently prays that Jongin got enough common sense to close the door. The first body hits the surface of the water with a sharp sound, and Jongdae has no trouble picturing the probably almost naked body throwing itself forward without an ounce of doubt. Are they even registering the fact that they're diving into water? Jongdae has tried to drown some of them before, so he knows their remaining reflexes and instincts are just good enough to allow them to keep their heads above the water, but what about the thoughts that come with it? He listens, wincing, the mutliple splashes, the unmistakable sound of bodies raining over the river's surface, and how loud it is. There's nothing left of the persons they were before the virus, even less of their thoughts. They would jump from a building to follow the smell of blood. Jongdae has to shut his eyes to keep himself from puking.

He waits what feels like hours after the last splashing sound, but even like that, it doesn't feel enough. The silence doesn't feel as thick now that the river is just under his feet, but Jongdae takes his time getting used to it, until he can block it in his mind and focus on the rest. Which means only a few birds, and a soft breeze whistling through the leaves. The sun is now over the horizon line, and shining bright enough to erase the faint pink and orange painted all over the sky just a few moments before, and Jongdae loses himself on the sparkles exploding on the water when rays of sunshine land on the river.

When he remembers Jongin, the burn in his lungs has almost completely faded, and the nausea has stopped. He slowly raises himself from the ground, limbs shaking with the long walk and the sprint he forced on them, and bypasses the hut to reach the door. He's relieved to see it closed, but hurries to open it to slip inside, and looks over his shoulder one last time before he lets himself fall inside the hut. He lands on a dirty ground, dust whirling around around his body, and barely has time to take in the archaic surroundings before someone fills his vision. Jongin's large hands wrap around his shoulders to raise him up from the ground, just enough so he can press Jongdae against his chest.

“You're crazy,” Jongin mumbles.

“I saved your ass, ungrateful brat,” Jongdae retorts, and Jongin chuckles.

Jongin finally pulls away. He probably faceplanted when Jongdae shoved him head first into the hut, because he has an imprint of sand on his cheek, glued by the perspiration, but despite the exhaustion, he looks okay. He's even smiling, dark chocolate eyes swallowing Jongdae in a warm bubble, and the latter finds himself crashing against the mystery that is Kim Jongin and his optimistism in a world where it can't exist again. Jongdae sighs, his resolve faltering and finally breaking, and reaches to pet Jongin's wet hair.

“We'll have to stay there today,” he says, glancing around at what was probably a hunter's hut. “I'll get out later to refill the bottles, but for now, we should sleep.”

With the eyesmile Jongin keeps flashing him, he almost expects the latter to purr and curl up on his lap at the mention of some well deserved hours of sleep, but to Jongdae's surprise, Jongin almost recoils in fright at the mention of it, his eyes suddenly nervous and fleeting. It's only then that Jongdae recalls that Jongin feels safer when someone is guarding the door, and he feels himself deflating.

“You can sleep,” he says. “I'll stay awake until you wake up, okay?”

Jongin throws him a hesitant glance, and Jongdae almost wants to argue, to remind him that no Injected will open their door, because they never do. During days, they just wander around and wait for the so desired ferrous smell to grace their noses, not even thinking about going into the houses if they don't smell it. He lets go though, giving in before he even starts forming the sentence in his head when he catches Jongin's grateful eyes on him.

“Sleep,” he orders gruffly.

Jongin nods before considering the dirty ground around him. He doesn't flinch as he curls up in the corner of the tiny hut and immediately closes his eyes, using his palms as a pillow under his cheek. Jongdae watches him, the sight of Jongin's endless legs folded back against his abdomen a nice distraction of the sound of bodies falling into the water he keeps hearing in the back of his mind. He turns around, and glances at the door, hunger washed away by another wave of nausea.

“How did you do it?” Jongin asks him a few hours later.

Jongdae wonders how the other boy knew he was awake since his eyes are still closed, but even like that, he feels Jongin's intense gaze on him, and he grumbles. He's not fully back from his short night yet, sleepiness still heavy in his mind, and his body still numb. It turned out that the floor of the hut wasn't the worst mattress Jongdae has experienced, and he surprisingly slept pretty well when his turn finally came. He supposes it also has to do with the proximity of the river and the soft lapping sounds that lulled his conscience to sleep. It was a nice change from all the silence, and it took him back to older times, times he can't allow himself to think about.

Now that he's awake though, the river sounds turn into a source of danger. Fond of silence or not, it has kept him alive until then, and the river is drowning it. If something or someone comes closer, they won't hear it until it's too late. Jongdae sits up so quickly that the walls turn around him, and his brain feels like it's shrinking against the back of his skull. He winces, raising a hand to massage his temple.

“Here,” Jongin says softly, pushing an old basin filled with water towards him. “I got out earlier to fill it. The water's fresh, it will do you good.”

Jongdae narrows his eyes at the other boy. “You got out?”

Jongin nods with a little smile. His eyes feel even more intense than usually, like he's trying to decipher every little twitch in Jongdae's features, and the latter looks away, uneasy.

“I was very careful, don't worry.”

Jongdae slightly shrugs, eyeing the clear water with envy. He tests it with the tip of his index finger and finally plunges his hands into the basin to wash his face. The water feels divine against his skin, and Jongdae can feel the dirt being washed away. He sighs contentedly, taking more water in his palms to splatter it on his nape and down his collarbones. Jongin watches him silently, his wet hair dripping on his shoulders, and Jongdae decides it's a terrific idea. He shifts to get on his knees and leans down to plunge his head into the water. The freshness of it sends a spark of adrenaline down his spine, and something else that feels like glee, and Jongdae embraces it, squinting under the water and smiling to himself. He reaches up and starts washing his hair, fingers scraping against his scalp. It's not long before another set of fingers come to help him, and Jongdae's hum of pleasure turns into a bubbly melody when it reaches the surface.

When he feels clean enough after a few minutes of intense washing, Jongdae ruffles his hair, wringing some of the longer locks to get the water out. He looks down to the basin, the water now of a brownish color, and specks of dust swirling in the tiny whirls Jongdae left behind. They catch the sunlight pourring in the hut from the cracks between every plank, turning into small gold nuggets for a short instant. Jongdae checks his watch, it's a little over five pm. He slept for five hours.

“How did you do it?” Jongin says again, whiping his wet hands on his pants.

Jongdae raises an eyebrow at him. “Did what?”

“Exactly. I don't know. You pushed me into the shack and all I heard after was the Infected diving in, one after the other. I thought you were dead. How did you manage?”

Jongdae snorts. He wouldn't have sacrificed himself for Jongin, no matter what the latter seems to think, but he knows better than to correct him. Instead, he grabs his bag and rummages through it, fingers quickly closing on the sockets. He pulls them out and shows Jongin the three remaining tubes, all of them filled with his blood, thick and dark red. Jongin gasps as he slides on his butt to move away from Jongdae, as if he was holding a handgrenade. In a sense, he is.

“I keep them for situations like these,” Jongdae explains. “I pourred one in the river, and they didn't even slow down to follow the trail.”

Jongin gulps, eyeing the tubes with cautious eyes.

“Isn't it a little bit too dangerous? Like... What if they break in your bag?”

Jongdae shrugs, putting the tubes inside the folded sockets with careful movements.

“Never happened. They helped me a few times before though, and they saved us this morning.”

Jongin's shoulders seem to relax a bit now that the blood is out of sight, but he still watches Jongdae intently as the latter puts them back in his bag. Jongdae is organized, as organized as one can be in such a messy world, and he knows where to put the sockets so they're the most protected from random impacts, but under Jongin's dark eyes, he can't help but take his time to place them. He wants Jongin to realise how careful he is, and that there's no danger. His fingers graze the Stephen King's book he stole Luhan, and he briefly wonders if Jongin would still look at him with so much admiration in his eyes if he knew what happened with the last tube, and how it has helped Jongdae. Not to mention that that tube was probably the cause of the Infected's attack on Jongin's group.

Jongdae quickly chases the thought away, and pulls out two choco pies from the depths of his bag, one for him and one for Jongin. The latter takes his with a tiny smile, his eyes still thoughtful.

“It's actually... quite clever,” he mumbles, taking out his choco pie from its bag.

Jongdae avoids Jongin's eyes, drawing his attention on the chocolate flooding his mouth. It isn't that tasteful, the wrapping of the cake having somehow left a taste in the chocolate, but his grumbling stomach still welcomes the sweetness.

“How do you take the blood, though?” Jongin asks again when he swallows down his first bite. His tongue keeps darting out between each word to lick at some possible crumbs left on his lips. Jongdae obviously wasn't the only one starving. “I mean, you had to cut yourself, am I right? And you didn't get caught?”

“Obviously not.”

Jongin scoots closer, the curiosity storng enough to make him forget about the cake he's holding between long fingers.

“But how?”

Jongdae sighs, putting back his pie in its wrapping. He's not sure he'll still be hungry after.

“It depends,” he starts. “Sometimes, I stumble onto some remains, and when I'm lucky, the Infected are gone, having eaten everything they wanted to. When I'm even luckier, I can collect a little bit of blood from the...” -Jongin winces- “bodies. Other times, they're still here, festing, so I keep quiet and hide as close as possible. Then I cut myself. Most of the time, there's already too much blood for them to even smell mine.”

Jongin makes a face, pulling his own pie away from his mouth. His obvious disgust doesn't seem to lessen his curiosity towards Jongdae though, and the latter can almost see the next question taking shape in Jongin's warm pupils.

“Isn't that very risky though?”

Jongdae nods. His fingers instinctively follow the curve of his machete lying against his hip.

“I was a barman before the explosion,” he tells Jongin. “I don't really know how to fight, I mean, I've learned the basics-I had to, but I'm not that good? Against more than two or three Infected, I'm bound to get killed. I needed to be creative.”

The expression in Jongin's eyes softens to one of care and understanding.

“That's why you shouldn't be alone. People can help you be safe without you having to take such huge risks.”

Jongdae shakes his head, the gesture sending a few droplets of water flying around him.

“I told you already, I don't do groups. Do you think I haven't tried it before? It's never ended well.”

Jongin shrugs. “Maybe you weren't with the right people.”

Jongin's trust in his group would be touching if it wasn't so stupid, but at least this new topic has reminded Jongdae's of the incident from last night, and how they left the road they were following.

“Yeah, maybe. I don't know. Whatever,” he shrugs Jongin's remark off and plunges his hands in the bag again, this time aiming for the map.

“I'm going to try and find where we ended up,” he tells Jongin. “Because someone decided to leave the road yesterday.”

Jongin quickly reacts to the underlying teasing tone in Jongdae's voice with a raising eyebrow.

“If I hadn't, we wouldn't have found that river. We would still be running on your precious road.”

Jongdae unfolds the map, keeping silent. He doesn't say it, but he highly doubts it. Their shared joke though, seems to do Jongin a lot of good, because he resumes eating with a grin so wide it takes over his face, turning his eyes into mischievous crescents.

“Man, we were running so fast, we probably would have found back my people by now,” he snickers.

That too, Jongdae isn't very sure of, but once again, he keeps his mouth shut, focusing on the map while Jongin eats next to him.

Jongin discovers he's two years younger than Jongdae a few hours later, and decides to call him hyung, to what Jondgae cackles, saying that for all he cares, Jongin could even call him oppa. It just doesn't matter anymore, it's not like a little bit more of respect would help the world right now. Jongin still gives him that impression of being too late, like he should've been born fifty years earlier, with his kindness and his care for formal Korean. Jongdae doesn't want to ask, but he thinks more and more about the Kim Jongin before the Mist Days, who he was, where he used to live and if he really did make the lives of his loved ones better with his strong charisma and boyish optimism. It's not much a matter of pride that refrains Jongdae from asking, but more of self-defence. Details about Jongin's past life wouldn't do him any good, especially since Jongdae's still determined to leave him behind when they'll find his group. He already finds himself glancing at Jongin during their nights spent walking to make sure the younger male is okay, and that sudden interest rings like a warning through his mind. He's not supposed to care, but Jongin is hard to resist to. He stands in awe in the dead of the night, his head thrown back as his eyes take in the constellations he doesn't know the name of, and points at high stalks, pretending he knows everything about the closed flowers. Jongin thinks the saddest part of it all is being allowed outside only during the night, when the flowers are asleep, and his voice takes a disgusted note when he adds that the living monsters shouldn't be allowed to live like flowers, awake and feeding during the day, and asleep and forgotten during the night. Jongdae would like to argue, maybe even kick Jongin's ass for worrying about something that random, but he finds himself tongue-tied, his throat constricted around his words. On the second night, Jondgae stops in the middle of the road with Jongin, and looks up at the sky for a short minute. But when Jongin smiles at him afterwards, Jongdae knows it was still a minute too long.

If Jongdae refuses to ask Jongin about his past, it's not the boy's case. He keeps finding new questions, his warm and nasal voice always fighting off the silence when the latter settles between them, and Jondgae lets him. Jongin has been bordering on an invisible red line drawn around some topics, but he's been very careful not to cross it. They never talk about groups again, or about what happened after the Misty Days. Jongin's questions stop at the world, at how it used to be back then, and it's just... so Jongin.

“Where were you heading?” Jongin asks two nights after their last meeting with the Infected, and a few minutes after their impromptu stargazing session. “When you found me, I mean.”

Jongdae shrugs. “Nowhere. It doesn't really matter, does it?”

Jongin nods with a smile.

“That's why you agreed to turn back for me,” he muses. “Because you were actually walking towards the opposite direction, weren't you?”

Jondgae thinks about Luhan's gang, and the weapons he had to leave them because he couldn't take more. If Jongin really had asked him to go back near this place, guilt or no, Jongdae would have told him to go screw himself.

“Kind of,” he tells Jongin. “But not exactly. Like I said, though, it doesn't matter. I think I'll try to get out of China after. Maybe I'll go north. The Infected are probably slowed down by really cold temperatures.”

Jongin watches him with his usual intense eyes, but Jongdae has learned to decode them. He knows there's a question waiting to be spilled out on the tip of the younger male's tongue, and he knows that if Jongin hasn't asked yet, it's because it's a delicate one. Jongdae has an idea about what it is, so he quickly looks away. He remembers Jongin saying that they'll probably head towards the European seaside when he'll be back with his group, and he's pretty sure Jongin is thinking about the same thing. Fortunately, Jongin has a no trespassing line around topics like this one, and he doesn't ask, deflating after a few moments.

Jongdae isn't scared to turn him down, not scared of the hurt he'd see flooding Jongin's eyes. He's mostly worried about the fact that he isn't sure he'll say no if Jongin asks him to stay with him and his group.

“We're halfway there,” Jongin says again, his tone back at being cheerful and so out of place in the middle of the night. “I can't wait to see my friends,” he sighs longingly.

There's a hint of worry in Jongin's voice, and Jongdae can't help but agree. He knows it's impossible for all Jongin's thirteen friends to have survived the attack of a full pack of Infected, and it's obvious that Jongin is aware of it as well. He's probably too nice, too kindhearted to hope for some of them to be alive more than others though, but Jongdae can do it for him. He really hopes that Jongin's closest friends and that -what was her name again? Ah yes, Yeri, are still alive. He doesn't know the others, and he doesn't care.

“You'll see how nice they are,” Jongin continues, dismissing his worries with a slight gesture of the hand. “They'll give you back everything you gave me.”

Jongin doesn't wait for an answer, because it's not even one second after that he's back at rambling about his friends, and how nice and different they are, and Jongdae takes the flow of information for what it really is, namely, Jongin seeking for reassurance and distraction. Jongin is revealing to be nothing more than a puddle of worries and fears, the exact kind of people Jongdae would be avoiding like plague, because they inevitably drown, and when then do, they take everyone down with them. Jongdae eases his own uneasiness by telling himself that in just a few days, Jongin will be gone, back with his group, and he won't have to worry about being a collateral damage to Jongin's downfall anymore. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, one that he takes for dryness, and that he pretends has disappeared when he gulps down half of his water bottle.

When they reach a house perched in the center of an orchard a couple of hours before the sunrise, Jongin is still talking about his people, and Jongdae has registered a few names already. Yeri is the most frequent one, and it's also the most fragile one. Jongin says it with such care, his voice low and soft, that it feels like a direct door to his worst fears, and it probably is. In all honesty, telling himself that Jongin would probably be dead without those people he's been since the very beginning doesn't help Jongdae a bit. He feels himself give in to Jongin's sad eyes when he enters the bedroom upstairs.

“Wanna come in?” he asks, and for a split second, he can't believe what he's just said.

Jongin is obviously as surprised, because he stares, mouth agape. Jongdae gestures towards the bed.

“We could put the mattress on the floor and sleep on it together,” he adds, his voice dropping a few octaves lower as he ends up grumbling. “I mean, you're tall, but we would fit...”

“Thank you,” Jongin whispers.

They stand there for a while, staring at each other. Jongdae had been so sure he had a head start over Jongin, but now that he's facing the sad glint in his eyes, he's really starting to doubt. Something tells him that Jongin has known all along he's not cut out to face this reality, that the world has been running too fast for him to catch up, and that he would be dead without his friends. It's probably why he likes them so much in the first place, and why their names always pop up like a mantra in the dead of the night. Jongdae's resolve melts a little more and he steps away to let Jongin walks to the bed.

“Thank you hyung,” Jongin whispers again a few moments later, when they both end up on the mattress, their leg muscles finally relaxing.

Jongdae snorts. “You're welcome, Jonginnie.”

He doesn't even need to glance at the younger boy to know that the latter is beaming at the use of Korean suffixes. (But he still does.)

Jongdae opens his eyes, warmth spreading on his face through the window, and for a very short second, it feels nice, and nice only. He closes his eyelids and basks in that fleeting second with a long sigh, knowing that soon, he'll be groaning, thinking about summer's heat, and sweat and food rotting in the stores. And the following second, he'll be worrying about Infected, the few miles they still have to walk, and how effortlessly Jongin has slipped into his life. Jongdae sighs, this time with heavy lungs devoid of content, and rolls on his stomach. He lands on the floor, the wooden material fresh against the skin of his abdomen, and the unexpected sensation finishes to pull him out of sleepiness. He opens his eyes, conscience sharp, and mind screaming about the total lack of sound.

Jondgae props himself up and looks over the other side of the mattress, only to find it empty, with no trace of Jongin. His heart jumps up in his throat, and he quickly shifts on his knees, hands flying in his bag. He doesn't even need to open it to know that Jongin hasn't stolen anything, but he still checks, just in case, reaching for his weapons afterwards. His gun his still against his hiphone, the barrel printed on his skin, and his machete is right where he left it, which would be just beside the mattress. Jongdae frowns, turning his head towards the bedroom's door, slightly ajar.

“Jongin?” he whispers, pulling out the machete from under the bed.

Jongin is probably downstairs, doing whatever nice people like him do when they wake up, but Jongdae shoves the thought away. Despite his everything urging him to run downstairs and check on Jongin, Jongdae walks towards the window, intending to check the surroundings like he always does because better safe than sorry. He freezes when he reaches the square of bright light spread out on the floor though, eyes almost falling off their sockets with how wide he opens them at the sight welcoming him.

“What the fuck,” he stutters, before turning over and dashing out of the room.

He almost falls when he runs down the stairs, but he jumps over the last few steps, both his gun and machete in his hands, and his heart beating like crazy in his chest. He forces himself to slow down when he reaches the front door, but all his senses are still urging him, screaming red alert in his mind and making his movements somehow jerky. He glances around as soon as he steps out, the hair on his arms sticking out when the first rays of sunshine crash on him. He thinks about retreating to the safety of the house, even stepping back, but the sight of Jongin so fucking carelessly picking cherries changes his mind.

“Jongin!” he half-shouts, half-whispers, walking as fast as he can towards the cherry trees.

Jongin turns over, beaming when he catches sight of Jongdae as he licks his fingers clean, his other hand carrying a plastic bag full of cherries. The sun piercing through the long branches casts patches of light like puzzle pieces over Jongin's face, highlighting his natural tanned skin and giving even more depths to the chocolate splinters in his eyes. The view would honestly be pretty if sunlight hadn't become quite deadly in the past few months.

Jongdae finally snaps a few meters away from Jongin, and runs towards the latter. He puts his gun back in his belt and grabs Jongin by the arm, tightening his hold on purpose just to make Jongin squirm with uncomfort.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing,” he hisses at Jongin.

When the latter opens his mouth to answer, Jongdae shuts him down with a glare.

“No actually, no, just-shut up. We need to go back inside.”

Jongdae shoves the younger boy before him and pushes him towards the house, his own eyes wandering all around them. The sun is high above their heads, indicating midday with hot rays raining on them, which means the Infected are hunting right now, their senses still sharp and deadly. The forest around the orchard is both a blessing and a curse, and Jongdae would rather not find out on which side reality will choose to be. He hears himself breathe, so slow compared to erratic panic he feels beating through his veins, and he lets himself falls into an altered state with every step he takes towards the house. Each second could be his last one, and he knows it. Infected could be popping out of the forest any moment now, and the house that felt so much like a shelter last night, now stands high between the trees like a tomb. He tightens his hold on the machete, muscles tense and ready to drown in adrenaline.

Jongin finally reaches the threshold, his bag of cherries still dangling off his hands, and he looks over, his face infuriatingly devoid of fear. Is he not aware of what they're risking?!

“Hyung--”

“Shut up,” Jongdae cuts him. He jumps over the few steps of the porch, and pushes Jongin further into the house. He looks over his shoulder one last time and quietly closes the door behind them, immediately crouching down to keep watching the surroundings through the window next to the door.

“Hyung,” Jongin starts again. “I was really silent. I'm-I was a dancer before, I'm very quiet, they couldn't possibly hear me...”

“I don't fucking care what you were before,” Jongdae snaps back. “We don't know how many of them there is in that forest, and you still got out.”

“But--”

“You think being silent is all that matters? They could have seen you. Anything could have happened.”

Jongin holds Jongdae's gaze, half pouting half defying.

“I know you think I'm useless, but I've done it before, okay? And I'm still alive.”

“You didn't even have a weapon!”

Jongin freezes, Jongdae's short breath still swirling with anger around them, and against all odds, the younger boy's face breaks into a grin. It crashes against Jongdae's retinas, unexpected and so out of place that it's disturbing, but he faces Jongin's eye smile as bravely as he can.

“Is that why you were so scared?” Jongin asks, teases like now's the time for teasing and games. “Kim Jongdae, were you worried about me?”

Jongdae huffs and reaches out to hit Jongin's knee. When the latter's stupid beam doesn't disappear, he pushes him until Jongin's balance, already fragile from his squatting position, gives in and he falls on his butt.

“It's not funny,” Jongdae hisses at him.

Jongin shrugs, trying to come back to a blank face, but it obviously doesn't work very well since he ends up hiding his crooked smile behind delicate hands. Mortified, Jongdae ignores him as he keeps watching outside although it has become obvious that no Infected caught sight of Jongin, or they would have already attacked by now. Jongin stands up after a while, stepping out of the room wordlessly. Jongdae clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms to stop himself from following the younger boy to know what he's up to. He's mad, so mad. Mad at Jongin for thinking he gets to choose how dangerous the world is so he can keep admiring flowers and stars, but most of all, he's mad at himself. He's been there before, and he knows that caring never ends well, nothing ever does, and yet, he's rushed outside without taking any precaution whatsoever.

He hears Jongin coming down the stairs again, but he keeps his eyes focused on the trees outside, determined not to talk to the younger. Jongin doesn't seem to mind, as he takes place next to Jongdae, crouching behind the second window on the other side of the door.

“Since we're going to keep watching all day long, I thought we could do with a snack,” Jongin says.

Jongdae's resolve only gets stronger when he hears Jongin's smile laced all over his voice. He narrows his eyes at the forest's border, mentally snorting at Jongin's attempts. What does he think, that Jongdae's that easily to lure in? The smell, though, is harder to resist, especially when Jongin noisily licks his lips while humming in pleasure. He's put the bag of cherries between the two of them, wide open, and from the noise and the lingering smell, Jongin has also taken the cheese crackers from the backpack. Jongdae swallows his saliva, scooting closer to the wall, his fingers clenched on the edge of the window. His knuckles turn white when Jongin bites into another cracker with a loud sigh of pleasure, and he tries to block the smell by breathing with his mouth only. It's actually worse, because the air tastes like cheese, and it stimulates his salivary glands. He's pretty sure that Jongin's exagerated hums of pleasure aren't enough to cover the loud rumbling of his stomach. But Jongdae is still way too mad to cave in.

Jongin moves, and soon enough, Jongdae hears a familiar ruffling sound that he immediately recognizes. The brat has brought his bag downstairs, and he's now handing Jongdae the map of China, shaking it under his nose like a bait.

“We should check our position on the map,” Jongin says without chickening out under Jongdae's dark eyes. “Don't you do it everyday?”

Jongdae grabs the map, throwing Jongin one last glare before he turns over, drawing back his attention on the orchard outside, the map settled in his fingers. Jongin lets out a quiet chuckle, one that has Jongdae's blood boiling, but when he looks over to snap at the younger boy, the latter is handing him a cracker with a cherry so red it's almost black, on top. Jongdae's eyes travel from the offering to Jongin's soft eyes, and he deflates. He takes the cracker, and hulls the cherry under Jongin's warm gaze.

“Brat,” he groans.

“I know,” Jongin says, pushing the crackers towards Jongdae.

“It was really stupid and very risky, and useless. We could have picked those cherries before leaving tonight. In the dark.”

“I know,” Jongin repeats. “I'm sorry.”

“You better be,” Jongdae mumbles, before shoving the whole cracker in his mouth. Damn, it's divine, so much that he has to bite his inner cheek to swallow down a sigh of pleasure.

“I won't do anything unless you tell me to,” Jongin continues. He straightens and points his finger at Jongdae. “I won't even ask to do anything, you're the master and I'm the slave.”

Jongdae stares, and snorts, rolling his eyes. It was obviously Jongin's goal since the latter beams at him, his eyes turning into mischievous crescents and his lower eyelids jutting out from the pressure of his cheekbones.

“You're overdoing it, Jongin.”

Jongin shrugs with a little smile, pleased to see Jongdae's hand plunge into the bag of cherries. They eat in silence, and although Jongdae wouldn't admit it, the fruits are a nice change from all the biscuits and freeze-dried food he's been eating for the past few months. Jongin picked a lot, but they eat them all with sticky fingers and red juice painting their lips. There's even more outside, but Jongdae hasn't been charmed enough by Jongin to even consider it. He does make a mental note though, to pick a few more when they'll leave the house in the evening.

Jongin hands him the water bottle, and a wet handkerchief when Jongdae's done drinking. He then pushes the last cracker almost religiously towards Jongdae, beaming when the latter takes it. Jongin is all soft touches and warm but discreet attentions, and his sincerity is sometimes destabilizing. People have long stopped being nice, but Jongdae has come to learn it, Jongin isn't quite like everyone.

He considers the younger boy for a while, and finally folds his leg, bringing it closer, so that he can reach into his right ankle boot. He pulls Jongin's hunting knife out of it, and hands it to the latter. Jongin watches him, surprised, but Jongdae merely shrugs.

“Just in case.”

Jongin grabs the knife and slides it back in his belt, and Jongdae quickly changes the topic by unfolding the map on the wooden floor, eyes lowered on purpose to avoid Jongin's. Jongin gets the hint and doesn't mention the weapons again. Or maybe he's just too busy jubilating at the ridiculous amount of miles they have to walk before they find back his friends. Either way is fine, because Jondgae would rather not dwell over the risks he keeps taking with Jongin around, and he silently prays that he hasn't fallen into a very weird plan that will get him killed in his sleep by Jongin, the nice and genuine boy. He doesn't mind the absence of the blade in his boot though, and is even reassured to know it's now in Jongin's reach.

And he's mostly worried about that, actually.

1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| 9| 10| 11| 12