Day 7 ❀ The Correspondence of Kim Jonghyun ❀

[colorful_world]

Title: The Correspondence of Kim Jonghyun
Prompt-#: 214
For: Anonymous
Pairing: JongKey, (OnTae), (Jonghyun/Others), (very slight JongHo), (technically Jonghyun/himself)
Author: Figleaf@aff
Word count: 24,900 words
Rating: R
Warnings: Jonghyun has undiagnosed PTSD and has some nightmares involving descriptions of violence and character death. No one is hurt in the main plot. Everyone drinks, smokes and swears more than they ought to.
Summary: Jonghyun is an aspiring young writer in 1960s Seoul. He's currently working on his first novel, as well as a few other jobs to keep him afloat. One morning he comes to and realises that his dream had been exactly the same as the scene he'd been writing the night before. The next night the same thing happens again, and again.

❀❀❀

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

August 1964


“JONGHYUN! POST!”

Jonghyun stretched himself and yawned, wincing as the sharp, morning light pricked at his eyes. The air in his little attic room was humid already and he could hear the sounds of people going about their daily business in the street below. He squinted over to the rusty alarm clock on the bedside table, 9:23am. “Urgh, gross.”

“KIM JONGHYUN!”

“COMING~”

He pushed himself up from the bed, scratching absent-mindedly as he grabbed his glasses and picked his groggy way down the narrow staircase to the café… and to an irate Mrs. Park, ready and poised, waiting to attack him with her wet cloth for being a slattern.

“What kind of time is this to get up? And why aren’t you wearing proper clothes?”

“Auntie please—” He hadn’t had time to change out of the billowy cotton shirt he’d slept in, he’d just thrown on a pair of trousers underneath it, and his hair was probably sticking out at all angles. But he’d heard that an unkempt appearance was a sign of a creative soul so…

“— What do you want huh? For the customers to think we’re running a brothel. Where do you think you are living, Itaewon?”

“— I just overslept.”

“Yah! Boys~” Mrs. Park threw up her hands and relented. Jonghyun looked over to the sole customers, two old regulars who habitually occupied the table next to the window and who witnessed this exact same fight near daily. They offered him a smile and a wink and went back to their pipes and their papers.

Mrs. Park wasn’t being serious. Jonghyun had come to live with her and her husband Yongsik about six months before, when he’d moved into the city in pursuit of his dream to become a writer. They were old family friends and had offered Jonghyun a virtually rent-free room in exchange for a little help around the place. Often this just meant taking on the late shift, Jjong’s night-owl tendencies allowing the aging couple to keep longer business hours than they could have managed alone.

The Parks’ and Jonghyun’s original home was a village, not far outside the boundaries of Seoul. Someday it would be developed and absorbed into the sprawling metropolis, but for now it remained little more than a desolate, medieval time capsule, whilst the rest of the nation focused all its energies on creating a miracle on the Han River. Once upon a time, before Jonghyun was born, the Parks had been part of a wealthy family, at least wealthy for ethnic Koreans. After the war, the first war, they’d salvaged everything they could and fled to this crumbling box in the city, turning it into a tea house-come-café for those lucky people who could afford it, and assiduously avoiding all connection to that past.

Jonghyun picked up his letters from behind the till and flicked though them, cheap envelops and neat handwriting, all spelling out the address of the magazine he worked for. “Did I miss the courier again?” he asked.

“What do you mean? Of course you did! He doesn’t have all day to wait for layabouts like you.”

“Sorry Ajumma.”

Mr. Park smiled. “Don’t you Ajumma me, ‘~Ajumma Song’. And what are you saying sorry to me for?” She said, a twinkle forming in her eye. “Greeting him isn’t exactly a chore”

“Why? Is he handsome?”

“Uh huh.”

“More handsome than me?”

“Easily.”

Jonghyun gasped, scandalized. He looked over to the customers for support, who shrugged at him. How dare they! The wrinkly pair of traitors.

Mrs. Park smothered her girlish laugh in her washcloth before quickly changing the subject. “So, anything interesting today?”

“I can’t believe… Hey, can’t you wait until they’re published?”

“You know I refuse to buy that rag. We only have quality publications in here — Don’t we gentlemen?”

The customers mumbled their assent.

“Ah whatever. I promise I’ll show you my answers before they get sent off.”

“Good boy.” Mrs. Park beamed and patted him on the cheek. “I left you breakfast on the sideboard in the kitchen.”

“Thank you~”

…

“Good morning!” Jonghyun greeted cheerily as he entered the back room. Yongsik was sitting, as always, drinking is tea and doing his crossword puzzles at the table. Technically this was the café’s working kitchen, but really it was more of a general living room for Mr. and Mrs. Park.

“Morning Jonghyun. No thunderstorm last night, did you sleep any better?”

“Mmhmm” Jjong nodded.

“Was that my lovely Soonhye I head shouting at you just now?” Yongsik asked as he blew over his cup.

Jjong collected his breakfast and joined him at the table. “Who else? Apparently I make this place look like a kisaeng house.” He said, digging in to his rice.

“Haha! I wish...” Yongsik slapped the table as his booming laughter rang out around the tiled room. He was a tall, jolly man, fast approaching his 60s. Jonghyun would describe him as naturally grandfatherly, if only he had any grandchildren. “You know she doesn’t mean it don’t you? We’re both very happy to have you here.”

Jjong smiled tightly. Of course he knew that the Park’s liked to have him around, but it was a delicate subject - they’d lost their own son 12 years ago. He’d been about the same age as Jonghyun was now and they’d never really spoken about it, although he couldn’t help but think that maybe… that had something to do with them being so keen to have him… Not that he wasn’t incredibly grateful and everything.

“Don’t worry, I know. She just likes to have someone to nag.”

“Hm, you don’t need to tell me. Watch out or you’ll end up with one of your own just like her.” He warned, taking another sip of his tea. “How’s the book going?”

“Eugh. Don’t ask.”

“Ah, ok. Then how’s the Agony Aunt business?”

Jonghyun selected an envelope at random and tore it open. He read aloud, “’Dear Ajumma Song. I sent my clothes to the laundry and they came back all ripped. The laundry says that they were like that when they got them, but I know they weren’t. What can I do to get compensation?’… Oh God, kill me now.”

“You shouldn’t tempt the divine like that… Although in this case, I can see what you mean.” Yongsik said, scratching his chin.

The young author groaned. “Yeah… I should get started on these before I loose all will to exist.”

“Work hard.”

“I will~”

…

Upstairs, Jonghyun lit a cigarette and cleared a space on his desk. The surface was buried under several layers of rejected drafts and false starts he’d hammered out on his arthritic typewriter, all full of messy crossings out and scrawled expletives. Cold mugs of coffee he’d balanced around the edge were just asking to be knocked over and soak everything, and there was a nearly full ashtray doubling as an ersatz paperweight. He considered for a moment that he might tidy it all up before he got on with his work, but he decided that that would only start an endless cycle of procrastination.

He looked forlornly at his pile of letters. He’d taken this job on a couple of weeks ago because of the extra money it offered. He couldn’t live solely off the café, he certainly couldn’t live off his yet non-existent novel. So when he’d chanced upon a wanted notice for an agony aunt in one of Soonhye’s lifestyle magazines (no experience required, but must provide own typewriter and common sense) he’d applied instantly. It wasn’t that he hated it, there were aspects of the job which he enjoyed. He liked that sometimes submitters would slip 100 won notes in with their letters, he liked to hear about people’s everyday lives, he liked to help them out. He wasn’t so keen on pretending to be a middle-aged housewife, but that was probably just good for developing his characterization skills.

However, not hating a job entirely was a bit different to being able to muster enthusiasm for it. Writing silly advice under a silly pseudonym for a silly publication was not going to actually get him anywhere. Jonghyun wanted to be a writer of substance, a writer of important works that touched the heart, inspired the mind, fortified the soul, and all of that kind of crap… That wasn’t happening any time soon though. He cracked his knuckles and opened another envelope, survival came first.

‘Dear Ajumma Song,

My father owns a business which employs many people—‘

“Well good for you rich boy.” Jjong muttered.

‘—Among the staff in the office there is a new clerk. He is a little younger than me and rather shy, but I think that we would get on well. My problem is that because I am older and the boss’s son, I cannot approach him comfortably. I am worried that if I try to become friends with him he will feel pressured. What should I do?

Yours faithfully,
Mr. O.’

‘Huh, how antiquated. No wonder all foreigners still think we’re strange.’ Jjong thought to himself. But this man sounded cute enough, Jonghyun wanted to tell him he was being a silly ass and that their relative statuses shouldn’t matter. He couldn’t write that though, he might be arrested for being a communist sympathizer (Jonghyun wasn’t, for the record, a communist. He was a proud intellectual modernist and literary revolutionary... or at least he was in principle.)

He took a drag from his cigarette and loaded a fresh sheet of paper into the typewriter (half his earnings seemed to go on paper) and began to write.


Dear Mr. O,

Your father employs many people and you have never come across this problem before? You must be very introverted. Or maybe the young men who your father usually employs are not interesting as this one? In any case, what you ought to do is not give up!

I am sure that any young man would like to know his employer’s son more intimately, as there can be no disadvantage in that to him. I suggest that you take time to greet him, and are always careful to smile when you see him. Very soon he will come to see you as a friendly figure and will not feel intimidated when you try to make conversation with him.

Yours,
Ajumma Song.


•


Jonghyun returned late, wet through and his head spinning as he collapsed onto his bed. The sweaty fug of the day had broken into a torrential downpour sometime during the evening and as Jjong tried in vain to struggle out of soaked his jacket and trousers, he realized that neither his wallet nor his notebook were still there. He groaned, they were probably left soaking in the gutter after he’d gotten into that fight with the asshole outside the bar.

Earlier that evening Jonghyun had dressed up and taken a tram the short distance across town to the university district. Occasionally he liked to visit the small strip of bars there, which catered to the faculty and students. The only (affordable) places in Seoul where one stood half a chance of running into anyone literary or interesting. In reality few of the drinkers were interested in, (or capable of) speaking to anyone outside of their circle, it was almost if they could smell the lack of degree on Jonghyun… But sometimes, just sometimes, there was someone worth meeting, and that small ray of hope was what motivated him to go back every other week.

Tonight there had been no one, and Jonghyun had sat alone, sipping his drinks in the smoky darkness and scribbling and brooding like the rugged maverick he clearly was - whilst secretly hoping that the other inhabitants all just thought he was too cool and intimidating to approach. Because he was you know? Jonghyun consoled himself with the fact that most of the people there weren’t worth talking to anyway. Too many of them were scared of the censors and scared of real thought. They all just blindly carried on the trend of writing traditionalist, sentimental crap, glorifying a feudal utopia that never existed with conformist, nationalistic fantasies and predictable romances about priggish princes and princesses. Ok, Jonghyun was bitter. None of them knew anything. He wondered where the students of the April 19th revolution where, where had they gone in those few years since?

It was in this resentful mood that he staggered out of the bar. He needed to get home before the national curfew, or he’d end up waiting in a police cell until morning. He didn’t remember exactly how it had started. Some guy was hassling his girlfriend? A random girl?... It didn’t matter, he shouldn’t have been doing whatever he was doing and it must have hit a nerve, because Jonghyun had never been a violent drunk…. No maybe he hadn’t thrown the first punch… maybe he’d gotten between them and started ranting, the other guy had told him it was none of his business… Was that what had happened? He remembered pushing the man, he’d been strong, much bigger than Jjong was… he remembered hitting the floor and wet grit stinging his palms. And he remembered a rescuer, a shap, disapproving voice asking him where he lived and bundling him into a taxi cab…

Where was he now? Oh, bed. He was cold. Where was his wallet? His notes?... Leaking into the gutter. That was ok he thought, at least that way none of those uptight university jerks could steal them then... Let them all bleed away into the rain…


•

꿈

Jonghyun crouched among the branches of the chestnut tree, his little fingers clinging into the damp bark, holding on tightly so that he wouldn’t slide and fall out. He itched to rub them where they stung from having to pick open the prickly cases. Jjong sniffed, his father had beaten him earlier for daring to ask if he could borrow the wooden clogs to stamp open the chestnuts and gather them quicker. It was so unfair, his father would have more for dinner and he would have fewer cuts… if only he’d been able to use the clogs. His father had called him pathetic and said that he needed to toughen up before ‘the war’. His father always ranted about this ‘war’ when he was drunk and rambling. Jonghyun didn’t know what war he meant, there had never been any war in living memory. The townspeople didn’t know what he meant either, and just shook their heads at the mad farmer’s warnings. War or not, Jonghyun still couldn’t see how it was any reason to refuse him the clogs. The chestnuts weighing down his pockets would scarcely make a meal for two.

He wasn’t sure what impulse had called him to stop his foraging and to seek comfort and solace high up among the rustling leaves, but it was peaceful up there. The trees were turning yellow, readying themselves for winter, and the whole forest looked as if it was blazing with cool flames, lit by the orange evening light.

If his father found out he’d stopped work for no reason… But he was suddenly glad of his truancy, now that he could hear voices were approaching.

Jonghyun peeked out, some of the town children were playing chase, shouting and whooping and running towards him through the forest. He flattened himself to the branch, not wanting to be seen. The town children scared him… The town children had given him reason to be scared of them before, and the closer that the children got, the more it became apparent to Jonghyun that their game was not a game at all. The two figures running in front were being hunted.

“GET THE FREAKS!!”

<“RUN KIBUM!”>

“DON’T LET HIM GET AWAY”

Jonghyun’s fingers curled into fists ready to fight, whether it was out of impulse or of an urge to protect he couldn’t say. The boys running were cheonmin, untouchables, he’d never spoken to them but he did know exactly what that that terror felt like. Those two kids… he could guess why they were the town boys’ new target. That gang always had a target. It was so unfair… just because they were stronger.

Jjong was shaking, could he fight? He looked down at his fists clenched tight against the bark, he trusted that they were strong in there own way, but his stomach turned as he saw the rivulets bright red blood dripping from his split cuts and all of his courage left him in an instant.

His head whipped to the right as he heard a crack. Two new combatants barreled sideways out of the undergrowth to join the fray and ran straight into the mob. Jjong’s heart was in his throat as he watched them knock a few of the gang to the ground. The shorter one throwing wild punches left and right and the taller sprinting after them as they fled amid panicked calls of “RETREAT! RETREAT!”

The cheonmin boys finally came to a stop under Jonghyun’s tree, panting as they warily watched their remaining savior dust himself down. Jjong recognized him as Lee Jinki, the doctor’s son; his accomplice was nowhere to be seen.

No one spoke, but when Jinki was done checking his fine clothes, he glanced up and over to the two beneath the tree. It looked to Jonghyun like he intended to go over and greet the others, however something about the cheonmin pair must have stopped him, because his expression soon hardened and he turned his back to silently leave the way he came.

As the crunching footsteps disappeared, Jonghyun grew nervous left alone above the other two. The sound of his own breathing deafening in his ears as he huddled between the branches. He watched as the taller of the boys reached out and rested his hand on the other’s skinny shoulder. “You shouldn’t waste your time on him. He’s not interested in people like us”

“Jinki came to help us.” The other replied resolutely.

“You saw him. If that chungin bastard cared then he would come over. He’s just another asshole looking for a fight Tae… Come on. Let’s get back to gran...”

Jonghyun let go of a sigh of relief as they too left him. He looked at his bloody hand and cursed himself for tearing open the cuts, he’d need to find something for it now. Those boys, they were the grandsons of the witch... she’d have something for his hand, not that he was going to go ask.

He recalled that Taemin, the smaller one, also had a mother. No one knew who his father was, no one cared either. Kibum, the elder, had no known parents. If he was referred to at all in the town, he was usually referred to as Taemin’s cousin. Which was funny because the witch had only ever had one child. There used to be a rumor that he was a demon who the witch had summoned and given human form to… But, young as he was, Jonghyun honestly thought the other rumor, the one about how she’d been given him by a young girl from Ryonggang who wanted to stay out of trouble, was much more likely. Either way, the pair of them were wretched. Jonghyun might have feared the town children, but he was their equal too. One day he would grow taller, inherit his father’s farm and build a good life for himself and they wouldn’t come for him anymore. Kibum and Taemin would always be outsiders.

Jjong dropped down from the tree and considered the chestnuts in his pockets, were there really enough to take back for a meal yet? The light was already changing to cool pink-grey, and he didn’t feel like gathering any more with his hands in the state they were. Maybe if he took a small portion for himself it would be just about ok... He could come back tomorrow with the clogs and stiff fingers. Yes, he’d sneak out in the morning whilst his father was getting up the hens and be back before he was even done gathering the eggs.

Jonghyun had only gone a few steps on the path home before—

‘Ooof’

He was tackled from behind and ended up face down in the leaf litter, the breath knocked straight out of him.

“Flip him over, let’s see who it is.”

None too gently, he was rolled over onto his back and the faces of the cheonmin boys glared down at him, Kibum’s foot pinning his chest to the floor.

Jonghyun’s first impulse was to struggle, grabbing the ankle above him and twisting sharply. Kibum went tumbling and Jjong ran for it… about 5 paces before Taemin rushed in, tackled him from the side and straddled his arms and body with his boney legs. Jonghyun tried to shout out, only to have his mouth stuffed with a handful dead leaves, the acrid taste of leaf mould filling his nose and throat.

Kibum’s face reappeared, a little muddier and much grimmer that before. “Were you up there the whole time?” He asked.

Jonghyun weighed his options. There wasn’t much use in trying to lie at this point. He nodded… carefully.

His eye’s narrowed. “Why were you spying?”

Jonghyun shook his head, “I—I wasn’t.” He spluttered, spraying fragments of spittle covered leaves over his chin. Kibum’s lip curled in disgust.

“Did you see what happened?”

Jonghyun’s eyes nervously flicked between the cousins. Taemin was poised, looking like a little goblin, ready with another handful of leaves clenched in his paw. He shook his head.

“Stop lying. Are you with them?”

“No, I wanted to help y—“

“No one cares. You were spying.” Kibum motioned for Taemin to get him again.

Jjong turned his head just in time, screaming into his shoulder, “I wasn’t spying!”
.
“Fine…” Kibum huffed. “If you wanted to help and you didn’t, then you must have been cowering… like a coward.”

“Hey!”

“Do you deny it?” Said Taemin.

“… I— I can’t.”

Kibum looked at him, face blank. “Then you’re no better than them.”

“But I—“

“Come on Tae.” Taemin’s weight left his stomach as the pair of them got up to leave, stomping off together into the gathering darkness, leaving Jonghyun.

“Hey wait a second! Wait—”


•


Jonghyun shot bolt upright, then winced a second later as he felt his brain slam into the front of his skull. “Fuck…. ouch.” He rubbed his head and felt a huge swelling there, what had he done last night?! Why was he in damp clothes and what the hell was that dream all about, it seemed familiar but—

Wait. It was familiar! It was exactly like what he’d written down in the bar last night! A few finer details included but—

Jonghyun leapt over to his typewriter, shucking his damp shirt and shoving a cigarette in his mouth as he went. He needed to get the dream down before it evaporated and he lost all his work. He went to push his glasses up his nose… they weren’t there. Never mind, he didn’t need them to see the keys anyway.

…

When his typing frenzy was over, Jonghyun sat back and looked at what he had, about 5 pages, that wasn’t too bad, a few misspellings too by the look of it, but he’d have had to edit it anyway…. It was good, it was what he wanted, and frankly, it was the best start he’d managed so far. At the moment he had no idea where he wanted the story to go, or what he wanted it to mean, but this felt like a start which could mean something. After all, he’d lost it once and his subconscious mind had preserved it. How common was it to repeat everything you’d written in a dream like that? Maybe it was just meant to be.

He groaned and looked at his watch, crikey, it was still only 7:00am, he must have gotten barely any sleep in at all. Alcohol often did that to him, knocked him out and then kicked him awake again as soon as it was ready to gift him a hangover, just so that he’d get the benefit of experiencing the whole, entire thing.

7:00am, Soonhye and Yongsik would be out in a moment to open the café. Jonghyun’s mouth was thick with fuzz and his head was reeling, he could go down to get a glass of water, but he didn’t know if he could quite face company yet. He settled for the half-mug of cold tea he’d left on the side of his desk yesterday and scanned his pile of letters. One of them in particular caught his eye, the relatively heavy paper and messy handwriting looked familiar.


‘Dear Ajumma Song,
I took your last advice to smile at the young man and I’m pretty certain that he now sees me as a friendly person, but when it comes to making actual conversation with him, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask for your guidance once more.
Every time I think I might try to speak to him, I get nervous and end up doing something clumsy. I went up to his desk the other day and accidentally knocked it over. The whole desk, over! He seems to think that I do it on purpose to be funny, and I like it when he laughs so I’ve been doing tricks for him rather than talking. How do I know if he really is amused by me, or is he’s just being polite? And clowns are usually pretty silent fellows, so how do I go from clowning to talking? I was considering showing him this great trick I have where I crush an egg with one hand, and then I could explain to him how I did it and that would get the conversation going. Do you think that would be a good idea?

Yours faithfully,
Mr. O. [Again].’


Jjong would have rolled his eyes, if rolling his eyes didn’t hurt so much right now. What an idiot, Mr. O, most hopeless man in Korea. Jonghyun would have almost felt sorry for the dongsaeng if O. wasn’t so earnest sounding.

…

The tea hadn’t done its job, his mouth still tasted like a fuzzy ashtray so it was time to brave downstairs. He snuck past Soonhye in the café whilst her back was turned and swung straight round the corner into the kitchen.

“Morning Uncle!”

“Christ lad! Don’t startle me like that!” Yongsik said, jumping three feet into the air on his old legs and almost knocking milk all over on the side counter. “What in god’s name are you doing up this bright and early?... And where’s your shirt?”

“Sorry uncle, I didn’t mean to startle you” said Jonghyun, taking a seat at the table and spooning some rice into his bowl. “And it’s far too hot for a shirt.”

Yongsik came to join him “Ok, shame is only for old people these days, I get it. Don’t let Soonhye see you though.” He said with a wink. “She might get expectations for me to keep up.”

Jonghyun blushed looked down at his chest… It wasn’t that impressive, he hardly even ever left the house, let alone did any physical labor. But then if she’d only seen Yongsik’s f— Nope. Time to change the subject… “Say Yongsik… Do you know anything about squeezing eggs?”

“… Well that’s not a question I was expecting.”

“Do you though?”

Yongsik blinked. “Have you really never tried to squeeze and egg?”

“No. It would break wouldn’t it?” Jonghyun asked, intrigued.

“Why don’t you take an egg from the cupboard and have a go.”

Jonghyun got up, selected an egg and took it over to the sink. Eggs were such fragile things, they broke so easily, Yongsik must be having him on. He enveloped the egg in one first and braced himself for the crack… Nothing. He tensed harder, the veins popping out in his forearm… Still nothing. He flipped the egg so that he was squeezing it lengthways and it still didn’t give. “Fuck. That’s impossible!” He said, adding his second hand into the battle and using all his strength.

Yongsik laughed at him. “It’s a common trick, betting someone they can’t crush an egg. I’m surprised no one’s tried it on you before.”


…

Dear Mr. O,

I’m sure that you mean well, but perhaps you should try more conventional methods of conversation-starting first. Maybe covertly find out what some of his interests are, or what he likes to read. Educate yourself on those subjects and use that. Perhaps, if he has a particular skill, find an excuse to ask him for advice. Just don’t go crushing eggs in his office, he’ll probably find it a little off-putting.
Assuming that your new friend-to-be even knows how difficult it is to crush an egg in the first place, I’m concerned that your ability, and choice, to do so might make you seem a little thuggish or even threatening, and that’s the last thing that you want! Just take an interest in him and be nice, that should be enough to make a good impression! Good luck.

Yours,
Ajumma Song.


Jonghyun tugged the finished answer out of the typewriter and put it with the others, ready for collection the next day. It was evening and his head still hurt like hell, at least it being Sunday meant that there was no late shift for him to do tonight.

He rubbed his chin as he thought, that egg business was interesting though, maybe he should try to incorporate it into his story for a bit of color. His main character kept hens didn’t he?

He loaded a new sheet and got to work.


•

꿈

Jonghyun’s knees threatened to buckle under the weight of the yoke across his shoulders. His father had decided early that morning that Jjong was finally old enough to take the eggs up to market alone – thereby leaving him more time to mope and drink to his wife’s ‘memory’.

That excuse was horse-shit. Jonghyun kicked at the dust in the road, cursing himself when the force of his foot almost swung him off-balance. He knew perfectly well that his mother was still alive, and so did his dad.

His mother had left them a long time ago to become the concubine of some fancy, rich yangban, who also happened to be her childhood sweetheart. It would have been the perfect romance, ‘Beautiful woman leaves terrible husband for the perfect man she’s been in love with since she was his servant as a girl’… if only Jonghyun didn’t exist. ‘Beautiful woman self-righteously abandons young child with terrible father to become a rich man’s mistress’ really didn’t sound so good. Yet, Jjong couldn’t bring himself to resent his mother, he could understand her. He chose to resent his father instead, who had driven her away in the first place. The drinking and the ranting and the beating were more than anyone should be expected to put up with for the sake of loyalty or fidelity. How anyone came to think that you were a worse person for leaving your family, than you were for abusing your family, was a bloody mystery to Jjong’s innocent mind.

Now that he thought about it, the ranting had maybe only started after his mother left… unless his father had another subject back then. ‘The war the peasants will bring, which will scatter the entrails of the rich and powerful, from the rice fields of the South to the peak of Mt Baekdu.’ sounded a lot like jilted man talk to Jjong. Maybe it was that which had saved his father from the secret police so far. Not considered serious enough to be a real dissident, just a tortured man who’d lost his wife to a richer one. No wonder everyone thought they were so pitiable. Not even serious enough to be dissidents, tisk.

The crowd grew thicker as Jjong approached the town gates, and he was forced to concentrate, weaving and ducking with the yoke, trying to avoid getting knocked by any of the other farmers bringing their produce to market. It may have been he first time coming alone to sell, but Jonghyun was no stranger in the marketplace or to how it worked. Once through the gates he headed straight over for their usual spot, stopping by Mr. Ahn, the friendly potter, who had always allowed the Kim’s to borrow a few of his straw-filled crates to make up into a stall for the day.

“Morning Jonghyun! No father today?”

“No Mr. Ahn.” Jonghyun said, passing the old man a couple of the best and largest eggs in payment.

“Ahh, you’re a real man now aren’t you?” Ahn teased. “Be careful to watch your back out there!”

Jjong flashed him a smile “Don’t worry Mr. Ahn, I will. Thank you!”

It didn’t take Jonghyun long to get set up, and although he was a little nervous being alone without anyone to watch his back, he was fine. He stood behind his stall, poised to catch out anyone with light fingers, but generally the people who came to buy from him were up to no tricks. All in all eggs were a pretty good business to be in, much more reliable than the vegetable crop they also sold in the summer. Hens laid all year round, people always wanted eggs, when the hens stopped laying they could be sold to the butchers for meat. Poor old hens.

…

They were hitting peak hours now, when the servants and the poor people doing business in the square were being joined by the elderly and the wealthy, and the town was thronging with activity on every level. That was when Jjong caught sight of a commotion taking place over by the East gate.

Someone was running, dodging between the stalls. Jonghyun strained his neck to catch a glimpse of the figure through the crowd. It was that cheonmin boy again, the older one. Had he stolen something? Nope, the shouts were all wrong for that, it was the town boys after him again. Jonghyun made a snap decision.

“Hey You! Kibum! Here!” Jonghyun shouted, reaching out and grabbing the other’s bony wrist as he streaked past

Kibum struggled against his grasp. “YAH! Let me go.”

“Just trust me - get under get table.”

Kibum stopped moving, turning and scanning Jonghyun’s face with frightened, round eyes that quickly narrowed in suspicion. “Why?” He demanded.

Jonghyun shrugged. “Well do you have another option?” Kibum appeared to waver, caught between two choices he clearly didn’t like. He twisted slightly, testing Jjong’s grip on his wrist. Jonghyun loosened his hold a little in response.

“Ok.” He nodded.

Jonghyun moved aside to let Kibum under the crates, not a moment too soon as the gang rounded the corner.

“Hey! Egg boy!” The largest member, who Jonghyun just assumed the leader, strode up to him.

“Y— yes?”

“Have you seen that skinny witch’s son around here?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have a clue who you’re talking about.”

The gang tensed. Shit, too obvious a lie, everyone knew everyone.

“… Or, at least, I haven’t seen him around here recently… if that’s what you mean?” Jjong corrected nervously.

“I bet he’s covering for him.” Piped up one of the members from the back.

Jjong tried to gather his bravado back up from the floor, puffing himself up to his full height. “Why would I help him?”

“Because freaks like you stick together.” The leader said, jabbing the shorter boy in the chest.

“I bet he’s under the table right now—“ Said another, moving forwards and laying his hands down on the topmost crate.

Jjong could feel Kibum trembling against his ankles. “Wait—“ He said, thinking fast. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you!”

“And why not exactly?”

“Because…” Jjong’s eyes flicked over to the guards stationed over by the well in the center of the square. They hadn’t even noticed what was going on yet, too busy lusting after the pretty women milling around them, batting their eyelashes and swishing their skirts… But they would hear him if he shouted.

“…Because I’m not going to move away… and if you try to force me, then all my eggs will break, and if the eggs break then I’ll shout and tell the guards that it was your fault, and your fathers will be forced to pay for them, and I imagine they wouldn’t like that very much.”

The leader crossed his arms. “Then we’ll just have to wait until the end of market and then you’ll have to move.”

Jonghyun grinned slyly, swallowing down the gulp of fear as he mirrored the leader’s mannerisms. He hoped this bluff would work because there’d be no taking this move back, but the boy under the table needed him. “Well you could…” He said levelly. “Although Kibum might be anywhere by then—“ He watched in satisfaction as the false realization dawned on their dumb faces.

“Come on, let’s go!” The leader snarled, waving his gang on. He turned back to Jonghyun, “You,” He pointed. “You’re dead.”

Jjong slumped, letting out a long breath of relief as they lumbered off – Which instantly hitched in his throat as he was startled by sudden appearance of the doctor’s son behind him.

“That was clever, tricking them like that.” Said Jinki.

“Hi.” Added Taemin, peeking out from behind the other. Jjong noted with amusment that the small boy looked a lot less threatening when not armed with a fistful of soggy leaves.

“Get out the way, let me o—“ Kibum batted at Jonghyun’s shins to set free from his hiding place. He stopped short though when he registered Jinki’s presence. He turned on Taemin, completely blanking the two older boys. “Why did you bring him here?”

“To help.” Taemin explained.

“Why him though!?… I mean for fuck’s sake, if you’re really going to get someone to help, at least get someone strong.”

Jinki just smiled serenely at the other’s disrespectful manner. “Jonghyun. How much are eggs?”

“2 mun?” Jonghyun replied blankly.

“Give me the oldest please.” Jinki laid the coins on the crate and took the egg Jonghyun had selected for him. He held it in his hand for a second, before closing it and crushing the egg in one.

The crack caught Kibum’s attention. “The fuck is wrong with you!?” He asked, watching aghast as the white dripped from between Jinki’s knuckles. “And they call me a demon?”

“I know you’re not a demon.” Jinki calmly replied.

“You don’t know shit about me.” Kibum spat.

“I know that your grandmother isn’t really a witch.”

“And I know that your father takes credit for her work and knowledge, whilst we have to live with the stigma.”

“You’d have to live with the stigma anyway.”

Kibum’s face dropped, and before anyone could react, the contents of several more eggs were covering Jinki from head to toe, and Kibum had stormed off into the crowd.

“Kibum!” Taemin called after his cousin, running after him. He turned to swiftly bow. “Sorry!!”

They stood silently for a second, processing what had happened whilst egg dripped off Jinki’s face.

“I shouldn’t have said that should I?”

“Probably not.”

“I’ll pay for those.”

Jonghyun nodded silently. If someone had to, it might as well be the one of them with money. “So, she’s really not a witch?” he asked after a moment.

“Of course not. She just plays up the shaman angle so people will trust her.”

“Oh.” Jonghyun wasn’t sure if anyone he knew actually trusted the crazy old woman with the spells, and the potions, and the sharp knives. But, then again, they all still went to her when they needed help.

“When she was young she was a court kisaeng.” Jinki clarified. “My father says that she used to be the physician to the royal concubines. She’s probably the most educated person in the entire town. He respects her a lot you know.”

“Oh.”

“…Yeah.”

An implicit understanding seemed to bloom between them about how unfair that all was; as if they both knew that the other knew that something was wrong in that. After all, how could it be fair? To a person without ideas, fresh to the world and alien to its prejudices, how could that be fair? That the woman they all thought was a witch, who even the lowliest and most desperate hesitated to let past their thresholds, was the most knowledgeable of all of them. To learn that the royal family had once trusted the least respected woman in town was a bit of an eye-opener.

“She hasn’t told her grandsons that?”

“What, what she used to do? I assume she has.”

The more Jonghyun turned it over in his mind, the more it seemed obvious that the boys were aware of their grandmother’s former position… They themselves were somehow not… standard, if that was the right word. There was something in the way that, Kibum particularly, had held himself. It was free of the usual stoop cheonmin had, which signaled that they knew their place and accepted their life for what it was. Whenever Jonghyun could recall seeing him in the past, his posture had seemed somehow defiant, refined even. (At least when he wasn’t running away from something.) That was probably what the town kids had latched onto too, what made them pursue him so relentlessly.

““No not that... I actually meant the bit about your father respecting her.”

“From the way Taemin acts towards me, I think she probably has…” Jinki paused, searching for the right words. “Kibum is just…”

“He’s a lot of things isn’t he?”

“Quite.” Jinki agreed.


•


Jonghyun woke up on Monday morning to the soft pitter-patter of drizzle against the window. The usual noise from the street outside was dampened, with that particular quiet which you only get in the very early morning, when the mist still hangs heavily in the air. As he rubbed his eyes it dawned on him that, yet again, his dream had been precisely the same as what he’d written the night before… It was sort of annoying really, wouldn’t it be much more useful if he’d dreamt what he ought to write next? That happened for some writers didn’t it? He covered his head with a pillow and growled in frustration, just trust him to get stuck with a defective imagination. Maybe it was just proof that his story was engaging? So engaging that his brain wanted to go over it again in more detail at night! Stupid brain.

It was a good way to review though… He decided that he liked the bit he’d added about the eggs. Not because it was particularly good or meaningful (perhaps he could layer in some symbolism later), but because, for the moment, just adding stuff from his column made his day job seem more worthwhile. Maybe it had been snobbish of him to dismiss people’s concerns as petty. They were real after all, realer than the characters he was writing about now. And, perhaps the people who already had the means to buy pens and paper and a bi-weekly entertainment magazine weren’t the people Jonghyun was the most concerned about, but they were people nonetheless.

…

60 minutes later found Jonghyun downstairs, up and drinking some coffee (which Soonhye had made him brew himself) jotting down his ideas as the first customers filed in.

What was preoccupying him the most now, was how much more vividly his characters appeared to him in his dream. He didn’t know quite how to capture how comforting Jinki’s aura was, or how fragile Taemin’s. He couldn’t figure out how to get onto the page in words, the strange and compelling mixture of proud and brittle he imagined Kibum to be. He didn’t even know how to describe the boy’s basic features, which held onto all of the sharpness and the intangibleness of the dream from which they came. In his waking imagination Kibum appeared to be perfectly normal, average looking child of about 10, but Jonghyun couldn’t shake the feeling that he ought to be more than that, as if there was some crucial detail about him which was getting obscured by the daylight.

“Mr. Kim?”

Jonghyun looked up to see a man in uniform, brandishing a wad of envelopes at him… An annoyingly tall man… a very handsome one. “Yes.”

“Good morning sir.” The man bowed smartly. “Is Ajumma Song here?” He was a little sweaty as if he’d ran part of the way there, just an attractive sheen highlighting the contour of his jaw line. Jjong would have thought it was still a bit early for it to be getting muggy outside, but he’d noticed when he came downstairs that Soonhye had already set the fans in the café up to high. He could see them behind the man, spinning furiously on the celing, like little wooden propellers about to take flight.

“Excuse me?”

Jonghyun shook himself. Blinking back up at the stranger over the rim of his glasses. “Oh. Thanks, I’ll take them.” God he was handsome. “Say… Are you the usual courier?”

“Yes sir. My name is Minho.”

Bugger, Soonhye was right, the guy really was better looking than him. He’d never hear the end of it… But on the other hand, he now had a reason to make the effort to get up earlier. “Nice to meet you Minho… I’m sorry, I don’t have anything to tip you with. Is there anything I can get you from the café.” He offered.

It wasn’t poor Minho’s fault that he was handsome. It was Soonhye’s, and Jonghyun wasn’t going to be giving her any excuse to say that he was jealous. Oh hell no.

Minho’s big eyes looked torn for a moment, but his self-control clearly won out. “… No, it’s ok, I’m fine, but thank you for the offer.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” No matter, Jonghyun vowed that he would get the stubborn bastard with cake later… “I’ll see you later.”

“Yes, Goodbye sir.” He bowed again and left, the door ringing behind him – Jonghyun not so subtly watching him go.

Well that was interesting… Minho. It was a common name, and he hadn’t yet settled on a character profile for Jinki’s tall, athletic friend in the woods. Minho might do very nicely as a model.

Jonghyun definitely didn’t giggle as he picked up his new letters and took them upstairs.


‘Dear Ajumma Song,

My outside plants keep dying and I think my neighbor might be poisoning them out of jealousy. Her plants are always really miserable and mine were all nice up until a couple of weeks ago. Since then they’ve all gone like hers and I think it’s a bit suspicious. How do I find out if she’s poisoning them?

Yours,
Mrs. P.’


… Maybe he’d been too quick earlier in forgiving his writers for being petty… What to reply? There were 101 things which could kill a pot plant, and honestly jealous neighbors seemed a bit far-fetched. Mrs. P. should probably check her plants, and her neighbor’s, for signs of common diseases. Then, if she found none, she should buy a hydrangea, one that would change color if someone tried to pour bleach into it. That would do.

He opened the next envelope and read…


‘Dear Ajumma Song,

I need help, my senior at work keeps showing me party tricks. I like him very much, it’s just a little unnerving, and it’s really difficult to type when someone is trying to get you to watch them spin an accounting ledger on their finger. I don’t want to be harsh to him, but how do I get him to stop and just speak to me normally?

Yours, F.’


It couldn’t be… could ‘F’ be talking about Mr. O? Or was Seoul just infested with awkward managers making clumsy overtures towards their staff? …Now ’F’ hadn’t implied a gender, maybe they were a girl?... No, the ambiguity of just ‘F’ implied that it was probably a man and they were trying to avoid saying so… Unless they were a girl and avoiding saying so so that he wouldn’t get the wrong idea? Argh, Jonghyun figured that he was never going to know, but under all his lofty political notions he was a romantic at heart – so he chose to get the wrong idea. ‘Mr. O’ and ‘F’ had to be together! He cracked his knuckles and got on with it.


Dear F.

Your senior is clearly interested in you and wants your attention. If you like him in return, and do not mind giving your attention to him, then there can be no harm in asking him if he’d like to show you his tricks at a more appropriate venue, preferably outside of the workplace. Even if there has been a misunderstanding, you can always claim that your comments were made in the spirit of increasing productivity.

Yours,
Ajumma Song.



Jonghyun looked over at the clock. He’d made good time on his letters today and there was more than enough time to get another bit of novel done before his shift began. He loaded another sheet and began to type, his fingers hitting the keys with more certainty then they ever had done before, and before long the cheap paper was being filled with words that would be rewritten in his dreams again that night.


•

꿈

Dusk was falling as Jonghyun managed to put the last of the hens away, it was always such a struggle to persuade the silly creatures that they wanted to go indoors for the night. As he shut the door behind it, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. It was Kibum again, looking like one of the foxes which often crept out of the wood to sniff around the fence in search of an easy dinner. Jjong’s father often said that one fox was the only difference between success and starvation for them. He might have had a point where real foxes were concerned, but the last thing on Jonghyun’s mind right now was chasing Kibum away.

“Hi,” He said, as the other boy approached him cautiously. “What are you doing here?” He tried to ask in as friendly a tone as he possibly could.

Kibum looked at the ground and muttered, thrusting forth a fistful of coins. “Grandma said I needed to come and pay for the eggs I threw.”

“Oh” Jonghyun laughed as he swung himself up to sit on top of the hen house. “You don’t need to worry about it, Jinki already paid.”

“Oh, ok then.” Kibum looked up at him. “Do I have to thank him as well then?”

Jonghyun shrugged “Are you thanking me?”

“Maybe... What’s it to you?” Kibum shrugged in return.

Jonghyun watched the other boy with incredulous furrowed brows. What was he even talking about? His tough-guy act really didn’t fit him. “It—“

“I know.” Kibum climbed up to join Jjong on the hens’ roof. “Thank you for helping me earlier. You didn’t need to do that.”

“I think you mean ‘saving’.” Said Jonghyun, a warm feeling filling his chest as Kibum scooted to sit closer to him. He felt almost felt like he’s accomplished something, to be allowed so near this wild thing.

“Assisting.”

“…Rescuing.”

“Shut up.”


•


‘Dear Ajumma Song,

I’m not looking for an answer today, but to thank you for your sensible advice about holding off on the trick with the egg. In hindsight it was probably a bad idea, albeit it not for exactly the reasons that you said. I made a terrible mess all over his desk.

However, all was not lost! My junior said I was cute but not helping productivity. Then he said he thought it was really ‘cool’ anyway, and asked if I’d like to go with him to a bar with him sometime, and maybe show it to some people there! If things continue to go like this then I’m sure we will be fine, if not then I will be back!!

Yours faithfully,
Mr. O.’


•


After a week, Jonghyun had gotten pretty used to the pattern of write > dream > write > dream, and he’d given up trying to figure out what it was all about, or how it was happening. He’d concluded that it simply couldn’t be helped, and that it didn’t hurt at all. Rather, instead of hindering him, it encouraged him to write more, as he was keener to get his words down on the page now that he knew they’d come back to him at night, with more depth and detail than before. In fact, he’d taken to keeping a pen by his bed, just to jot down any little details from his dreams that he wanted to go back and add into his manuscript later.

After some nights’ experimentation, he’d discovered a couple of basic rules about how the dreams worked. He found that things he’d only implied in his text were all played out in full. Scenes he wrote without his namesake in, he observed from a disembodied 3rd person perspective. Things he had written and then crossed out because he’d changed his mind, didn’t make it in. But, things which he’d crossed out, just to see if crossing them out got rid of them, still stayed put. He’d found that specific objects and people who he described in detail, stayed in detail. Those he did not describe fully often acquired a little more detail through the re-dreaming process, although he still couldn’t envisage them quite as clearly as real objects when he woke up. He had absolutely no power to stray from the overall plot. His dreams were not lucid, he was not aware that he was in the story whilst the dream was happening, it was only after he woke that he became aware it wasn’t real. And because he was strictly following the plot the whole time, neither what was happening around him when he was stirring, nor any of the usual subconscious specters which make their way into dreams, had any power to haunt him there.


•

꿈

It was the first time in a long while that the five of them had managed to sneak out together, hopefully everyone would be too distracted by the festivities in town to notice that the unlikely group of adolescents were missing. By luck, the midsummer celebration had fallen on the hottest day of the year, and the boys were all-too eager to escape the sweltering, packed crowds in the town square, and head down to the river mess about in the cold, clear water, and relax without any one else around.

They were at the normal bathing spot, a slow bend in the river surrounded by trees. Usually it would be packed with women, rinsing and pounding their laundry on the flat rocks of the outside bank, and children weaving in between them. But today it was silent… save for all the noise they themselves were making.

Jinki and Taemin were busy, off talking at the water’s edge, heads bowed together as they examined some unfortunate fish Jinki had caught in a bottle trap. Kibum… Kibum had clearly grown bored and gone temporarily missing. And finally Minho was standing on the high, far bank by the deep side of the river, waving his arms shouting instructions at Jonghyun when he thought he needed them.

Jonghyun himself was happily floating about, or rather, trying to learn to float. He’d almost gotten the hang of treading the water with his newly grown limbs… Not that they were that grown. To his dismay he had found he was still struggling to touch the bottom in places where the others were easily walking flat, and in his pride he had adamantly refused to let anyone come help him in the water. Minho's continued advice from the sidelines didn't seem to be optional.

What he’d do, was walk in as far as he possibly could, until the tips of his toes were barely scraping the pebbles on the riverbed, then take one step more into the unknown, bob frantically for a couple of seconds trying to stay afloat, feel like he was drowning, and then throw himself backwards into the shallows.... It was absolutely much more dignified than accepting help from anyone less vertically challenged.

“USE YOUR ARMS MORE!”

“HOW?!” Jonghyun craned his neck up to look at Minho.

“LIKE THIS.” Minho gestured wildly, wind-milling his arms in a way that Jjong couldn’t possibly translate into action.

Jonghyun stifled a giggle as he spotted Kibum sneaking up behind the tall boy, only for it to break free when Kibum sent him a mischievous wink… Minho was going to get wet.

“HEY, DON’T LAUGH, CONCEN—“

“YAAHHHHH!” Kibum screamed a war-cry, running towards his prey.

“—TRATE”

There was a gigantic splash as a flailing body hit the water… Poor bastard, Jonghyun thought as he laughed, Kibum shouldn’t have yelled at the crucial moment and given Min time to dodge.

His head popped up from the water, gasping and shaking his long black hair back from his face. ”Ugh! ~MINHOOO!”

“YOU STARTED IT!”

Kibum's eyes snapped over to Jonghyun who was still wheezing. “Hey! And what are you laughing at?” He started to swim towards the shallow side. “Come here you—”

“AHH!” Jonghyun squeaked as he was assaulted by a wave of river water, kicking off an almighty splash fight between the two of them as Kibum closed in. “It’s not my fault you’re ridiculous!!”

“Yes it is. Now prepare to pay for your crimes!” He said, swiping his arms over the surface to send another sheet of water crashing into Jjong.

Jonghyun fought back with equal strength, lifting his legs to kick the water up at him “~Kibum no!”

“Kibum yes, you pocket sized piece of—“ Kibum grabbed his ankle and dragged a flailing Jonghyun towards him.

“Stop!—“Jonghyun screamed as was pulled under by a current, taking a gulp full of river water down with him, flooding his throat “Help—“. He coughed, sucking in a breath before being forced beneath again. He couldn’t fight the current, he couldn’t see. He grabbed desperately for something to hold onto, but he couldn’t find anything solid. Panic overtook him, shutting down his mind and his senses as the river took him under. This was it, he was going to get swept away forever…

“JJONG!” Something solid caught him around the waist and pulled him free from the fast-flowing water.

When his breathing finally slowed his feet still weren’t touching the bottom. He was being held tight against Kibum’s warm body, and holding him in turn, his legs tugging gently in the river’s flow and hot tears burning against his neck. “Jjong… I’m so sorry.”

‘That’s ok Kibum,’ He thought, letting himself relax in the embrace. ‘So long as you’re always here to rescue me, it’s ok.’


•


The next day Jjong woke with butterflies in his stomach. Not from the panic, which had faded before he woke, but from the tantalizing closeness of naked bodies. He shook his head to clear his mind. He hadn’t written that part… well he had… but he hadn’t written in the butterflies, that was his own reaction.

…

Jonghyun was going out that day. He’d received a telegram at breakfast from Mr. Lee, his magazine’s owner and chief editor, asking for a meeting at 12:00. Needless to say, the butterflies had quickly made a return.

He’d only been to the offices a couple of times so far, once for his interview and once more for a swift, perfunctory orientation. He’d never actually met Mr. Lee before, or really heard anything notable about him.

Seeing as, apart from that one time, he hadn’t managed to catch Minho in his first month, his only regular communication with the rest of the company so far were his letters and his paycheck. They’d obviously never taken issue with his work before or he’d certainly have heard about it… and he was probably about to hear about it now. For the first time he was beginning to regret being so isolated from the other workers, it had robbed him of any gossip or expectation about what was about to happen. That fact only served to make him feel more anxious as he stepped off the bus on wobbly knees and out onto the dusty street.

The office itself was a non-descript grey slab, hastily thrown up at some point in the last 30 years to fill an ugly gap in the heart of Seoul’s Central Business District with something even uglier, although admittedly more functional. The receptionist with nicotine stained fingers who Jjong remembered from his interview was still there, guarding the front doors like a hawk. She peered at him skeptically over the top of her diary before putting a call through to the back office.

“You can go through. He’s expecting you.”

Jonghyun bowed, keen to escape the lobby with its low, tiled ceiling and frigid atmosphere as soon as he could. Past the back doors, he found himself in the typing pool, dozens of young women clacking away heavily at their typewriters on modern plastic desks. He grit his teeth as he squeezed past their ranks towards the editor’s office, trying to focus on their breezy chatter above the rhythmic sound of flesh hitting metal, hitting metal, hitting paper thousands of times a minute and of the presses whirring and thundering in the basement below.

Mr. Lee sat smoking in his chair, leaning forwards on his elbows and looking a little frayed around the edges. He wore his shirtsleeves rolled up and his tie loose and Jjong fiddled uncomfortably with his cuffs in the stuffy office, feeling very small under the older man’s scrutiny.

“So we’ve had a complaint…”

Jonghyun gulped dryly. “Did I give someone the wrong advice?”

“Have some water.” Mr. Lee poured him a glass from a decanter and slid it across the table with a thin smile. “Not exactly… it wasn’t from a reader.”

“…I see?”

“It’s not only your fault, we should have caught it too. I’m just letting you know now, so that you can be more careful in the future...” Mr. Lee sounded tired, not as angry as Jonghyun had feared he would be when he’d envisaged this scenario earlier. “My son’s around your age too… I know how easy it is for the young to be reckless.”

“Thank you sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t mention it.” Mr. Lee waved him off. Jonghyun wanted to ask what he’d done to cause a complaint, but he was afraid that he’d look stupid. “You seem like an intelligent young man. Tell me, what do you do when you’re not pretending to be an old busy-body for us?”

“I— I work in a café, but I’m also trying to become a writer.” He stuttered, caught off guard by the sudden change in subject.

“A writer huh, what are you writing?” Mr. Lee asked, relaxing back into his chair. He seemed to be genuinely interested so naturally Jonghyun felt compelled to reply.

“A novel, a historical one.”

“Ah yes very good, very on-trend,” He nodded. “I could get our lit. critic to give it a look over. But you might not want that… He’s not exactly one to shy away from speaking his mind… I suppose that’s why we hired him.”

“Haha maybe better not then,” Jjong laughed nervously, taking a sip from his glass. “At least not before it’s finished.”

“So what’s it about then, a romance?”

Jonghyun took a deep breath. He hadn’t really discussed the subject of his book with anyone yet, not even Yongsik and Soonhye. But he’d have to start sometime and Mr. Lee was his boss, so what choice did he really have? Well, he could lie… But he actually sort of wanted to see what the more experienced man had to say. “No sir, it’s just about normal people living in history, I was going to start it around 1800 and the climax will be the Gwanseo Peasant War.”

“There’s still room for romance there.” Mr. Lee wiggled his eyebrows.

“Not really sir, I’m not sure if my characters will have time for that… to be more realistic you see... The protagonist is a child without an orthodox sense of morality… That’s not to say he’s not moral, he’s just not Confucian. He thinks a lot, but he’s never been taught or molded by traditional society.”

“Sounds like it might be a bit heavy going.” Said Mr. Lee grimly, stubbing out his cigarette. Jonghyun then froze in shock as he reached over and plucked the glass right from his hand, casually tossed its contents into a dry looking pot plant, and replaced them with something from an amber bottle he’d conjured up from under his desk. He poured one for himself as well and set the new glasses down in front of Jjong, indicating that he should drink. “Did you take on board what I said about the censors?”

Jonghyun winced at the burning sensation of the viscous liquid sliding down his dry throat. “You think there will be a problem?” He wheezed.

“In short. Yes.” Said Mr. Lee, tipping his glass. “Now, I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt because you don’t seem like a northern sympathizer or a communist to me… And I hope you’re not KCIA, even though that would make sense… But you’re saying that you want to write a serious, realist, ethical novel, about an anti-corruption peasant rebellion in the North, and expect not to have people take it as polemical?”

Jonghyun was affronted. Of course he wasn’t a secret police agent! Although, he had to admit that if he was one trying to investigate Mr. Lee, then this would be a clever way to get him to incriminate himself. He wondered what he could say to put the other’s mind at rest. Mr. Lee was obviously paranoid already, perhaps with good reason, and Jjong should avoid stressing him out further. “But it’s not meant to be political… not in the sense that it relates to the present, and there wasn’t even a North then. It’s idealistic yes, but it also contains no commentary on the current government. It’s just about people being people.”

Mr. Lee sighed, he suddenly looked so tired. Jonghyun supposed that he had probably gone through all this before. The editor seemed to be at least as in his 60s, easily old enough to have been a reporter during the First Republic, even the Japanese occupation. He wondered how many people Mr. Lee had known, who he’d seen arrested, killed, or who’d just disappeared one day. He suddenly felt insensitive for burdening the old man like that.

“If it’s just about people dear boy, then the meaning is universal and people will take it to relate to whatever they are most concerned about at the moment. Currently our government is concerned with suppressing all dissenters and getting the nation to work for the common good as one. Under their authority. You can still write it if you want, I can’t stop you, but no one is going to publish it. A tale about rebellion doesn’t sound like the kind of thing the country wants or needs right now, and it is unlikely that it will be tolerated.”

“I— I’ll bear that in mind sir.”

“Just, please, watch what you write in the column… For the sake of everyone that works here.”

“I will sir.”

…

By the time Jonghyun arrived back at the café it was almost time for his shift. After leaving the office, with his job intact and his resolve shaken, he’d had errands to run. Money to send to his mother back home, a book to return to the central library, and some bits and bobs to pick up from the shops (including a ridiculous list of items from Soonhye, most of which weren’t even available and hadn’t been for years, but she always lived in hope.) To top it all off, the bus had broken down and he’d had to leg it back in the heat. He was exhausted, drenched in sweat and his glasses had steamed up. He barely had enough time to wash and to wolf down some plain rice before he needed to get to work.


•

혼

Jonghyun hadn’t written anything that day. It hadn’t bothered him when he’d gone to sleep, he couldn’t face writing after his shift, he could barely keep his eyes open long enough to focus on the page. The consequence of that had become apparent now though, as he was stood alone in the market square. Everything was in place, but eerily silent and motionless and there was not another soul to be seen, not even the slightest of breezes disturbed the dead the air.

It registered with him that he was dreaming, was this what they called a lucid dream? He’d read about them before, about the Buddhist monks who were able to be conscious within their dreams and to control them. How strange, Jonghyun felt a shiver of excitement run down his spine as he imagined the possibilities. Even though he didn’t feel like he could control the fabric of this dream yet, as an experiment, he tried to will his characters present to fill the space, but they didn’t appear. No matter, mastery was probably too much to expect on his first attempt.

He looked around. Now that he knew that he was in a dream… and he seemed to be stuck there, what should he do? Eventually he’d wake up of course, although he couldn’t say when that would be. They said that dreams only last for a couple of seconds, even if they feel like they’re taking years. What if he was alone in this world for a lifetime before he woke up? No that wouldn’t do. He’d figure out how to make other people appear before then. In the mean time he thought he might as well take advantage and explore the world he’d created.

Everything had so much more texture now that he wasn’t focusing on the plot, if that was still the appropriate to describe it in here? The food in the stands seemed real, he crunched a pear from one of them to check. Yep, it tasted real. The carving on the buildings, everything, down to the little nicks and cracks in the roof tiles, they all seemed real too. He ran he hand over a bail of straw, feeling the prickle of each stubbly end as he passed it, and wondered at how powerful a thing imagination was.

Jjong spotted an alley turning off from the square, one which he’d never imagined the end of before. What would happen if he walked down it? There was no purpose for it in his story, it was just there to fill a space. So he went, after all, what was the worst that could happen? He could wake up, and that was pretty much it. To his disappointment the alley seemed normal enough, although when he got to the end, Jonghyun saw that he had just arrived on the other side of the square. Huh. Well, space and time mean nothing in dreams then, not a big surprise, Jjong could only hope that his actual writing had more internal logic.

“Jonghyun! Hey, Jjong!”

A figure materialized, jogging towards him from the end of the street, slowly coming into focus as it got nearer. Jonghyun didn’t know whether he was relieved or terrified, he’d almost grown comfortable with his solitude. “Minho?” He breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized it as a friend.

“What are you doing out here?” Minho asked, his brow furrowed. Jjong chuckled, he looked just like Minho in real life, just like he had intended him to… Except, only he really did look just the same as real-Minho. The last time Jonghyun had seen dream-Minho he’d been somewhere in his mid-teens, the man in front of him… well he was a man. “Come on! We’re all waiting for you!” Minho took Jjong’s hand in his big, warm, rough one, pulling the flustered author with him along down the path.

“Oh— Ok.”

They arrived in front of a house, Minho’s house? It looked like it could be his, but Jonghyun had never written about Minho’s house before. Honestly, he was still a bit of an underdeveloped character. Jjong would have to change that when he woke up, because now he felt a little guilty.

“Hi Jonghyun!” The three others called. They were sitting cross-legged around a table, smiling up at him, all of them seemed to have aged naturally into their 20s now too.

“We haven’t seen you in ages! How’s the book going?”

How did they know about that? “Um— er… Fine thanks?”

“Sit down, sit down.”

Jonghyun gingerly took a seat between Taemin and Kibum “…And how are all of you?” He asked politely.

“Oh we’re ok you know.” Said Jinki. “Taemin has started a jewelry line.”

‘A jewelry line?” Jjong’s eyebrows shot towards his hairline. Dreams were too weird.

“Yeah, earrings for men.” Said Taemin, nodding enthusiastically, he swept back his hair to show off what he’d made… it appeared to be art-deco, really, very nice but…

“Hang on… I’m not sure if you can do that. I can’t remember if Joseon men wore earrings or not.”

“What do you mean Joseon?” Said Kibum.

“I mean— I mean… Oh.” Jonghyun looked around again. The wooden interior of Minho’s house seemed to have dissolved whist they’d been speaking. Now they were all sitting downstairs in the café, his café. “How did we—?“

“Don’t ask me.” Kibum shrugged. “We’re in Minho’s house, so I suppose he gets to decide where we are.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Doesn’t have to.” Said Jinki, passing him a cup of coffee to complete the picture. “Realism is overrated.”

Kibum cleared his throat. “So how’s your book? Have you gotten to the important part yet?” He said angling his body towards Jonghyun, to shut out the others. Not that they seemed that interested in them anymore anyway, too busy investigating the automatic till.

“Which important part?”

Jonghyun squeaked as he felt the electric shock of a foot trace up his inner calf. Was Kibum wearing oxfords? …They suited him better than his old reed sandals.

“Oh, I think you know~” He answered, leaning in predatorily.

Jonghyun panicked and took a sip from his coffee mug to prevent him from getting any closer. Kibum looked so put out that he almost regretted it. He wondered what— “Wait.” His train of thought was halted suddenly “What’s that noise?”

“What noise?” Kibum cocked his head, puzzled.

“That hammering sound… it sounds like—“

“Come here, you’ve got something just on—“ He went to wipe some foam caught on Jjong’s lip as the sound amplified, cutting harshly into Jonghyun’s eardrums, almost like thousands and thousands of pieces of flying metal…

Jjong’s eyes went round as he watch Kibum bring the foam he’d wiped to his own lips. But it wasn’t foam, it was blood red. “No Kibum don’t!”

\\\\\BANG/////

Dust and rubble went hurtling in all directions, choking his lungs, “KIBUM!” Jonghyun coughed, he couldn’t see. “MINHO?!” The gunfire started again, strafing through the café, rounds sinking into the mangled remains of the chairs and tables. Where were the walls? Where was the city? “JINKI! TAEMIN!?” Suddenly there was a different kind of thundering. There were people on the horizon. Hundreds of people, streaming towards the café, a disorganized human flood crashing into him, tripping, falling into the gunfire, twisted and broken on the tiles “KIBUMM!!”

\\\\\\\\\BANG/////////


•


Jonghyun jolted awake.

“Fuck.” He panted. His heart was racing, he was shivering whole body shivers. There was a flash of light.

\\\\\BANG/////

Thunder. He could almost laugh if he didn’t feel like crying. It was just the thunder again, and the rain pounding against the window, being thrown by errant gusts of wind. He’d allowed himself to forget what this was like these past couple of weeks.

He shivered again. Now that the heat of the day had been broken, he felt cold. There was no way he was going back to sleep, so he wrapped himself tightly in his sheet and shuffled over to his desk.

The lamp wouldn’t turn on, bugger, typical, the storm must have taken out the power. No matter, he kept a candle in his desk, just for times like this. He fumbled around for his lighter amongst the papers and lit it with shaking hands, steadying his breathing as he watched the little flame dance on the wick. He needed to write some more before he could safely submit to sleep again.


•

꿈

After the others had done fussing over him and his near-death experience, Kibum had taken Jjong’s hand and led him off, up and away from the river bank to ‘dry off’ in the fields behind. Jonghyun was thankful, the others were well meaning and he loved them, but they could smother him a bit when he really just wanted to be alone. For some reason Kibum didn’t count.

Out from under of the shade of the riverbank, the air was balmy and still, chirping with the sound of crickets. “There better not be snakes in here.” Jjong said, looking suspiciously at the waist-high grass.

Kibum waded a little way in and stamped some of it down to make a clearing, extending a hand to Jonghyun and pulling him down to lie with him. “When have snakes ever bothered us before?” He asked. The grass reached above the top of their heads and made a little house for them, all of their own and invisible from the path. They’d done this many, many times before… and never been bothered by snakes, but Jonghyun felt a little nervous now. He gulped as Kibum stretched himself out to dry on the scratchy floor, trying hard not to look too closely at the droplets of water running across his skin and down under the curve of his body, hiding away from the hot sun which beat down on top of them all.

“Are you really ok?” Kibum asked, plucking a stalk to fiddle with, the end of it tickled Jjong’s arm as he twirled it delicately between his fingers.

“Yes, I’m fine now.” Jonghyun tore his gaze from Kibum’s skin. He lay down to look up to the sky instead, watching the scant few clouds hanging in the air being pulled and reshaped by some distant breeze which didn’t reach the ground. “…Thank you for saving me.”

Kibum stopped. “I almost drowned you...”

“No you didn’t.” Jjong sighed, he could guess where this was going to go. Kibum would always act as if he didn’t care, as if he had no shame and lived only for his own enjoyment… right up until the split-second that his natural sense of guilt kicked in. Once, when Jonghyun had been really angry with him over some petty thing, he’d told Kibum that his attempts to apologize and rid himself of guilt were just another layer to his selfishness. That he only ever said sorry to make himself feel better. It had been a lie on Jjong’s part, or a half-truth – because secretly he suspected, that deep down, that was how everybody worked… What he hadn’t said was that in his eyes, Kibum was still pretty much the best person out of everybody.

“… I’m pretty sure I did.” Kibum insisted.

Jonghyun sat up to look Kibum in the face. “It wasn’t you, it was the river. And it was me too, not knowing how to swim.”

“I shouldn’t have pulled you out of your depth.”

“Kibum!” Jonghyun snapped, pinning the other by his shoulders. “Stop feeling guilty right now. You saved me. End of.”

Jonghyun’s eyes followed Kibum’s tongue as it licked a drop of water from his lips, realizing too late that the water was from his own hair, dripping onto him from above.

“Fine.”

‘We’re even.” Jjong said, backing off before he could do anything more impulsive and laying on his front in the prickly grass.

“What! No we’re not!” It was Kibum’s turn to sit up.

“Yes we are.” Jonghyun grumbled into the grass. “Shut up and get back to drying.”

“No... We’re not.”

Jjong huffed and propped himself up on his elbows. “Why?” He asked. He was going to find out anyway, so he might as well ask now.

“I still owe you my life from when we first became friends.”

He wrinkled his brow. “They weren’t going to kill you.”

“They might have done.” Kibum replied. “—Or how about last week when I pointed out that scorpion on the path to you? That way I’m still one up.”

“Kibum… what on earth? Why is this so important suddenly?”

Kibum looked down, in a way which made Jjong suspect he might be concealing a blush. “…Promise that you won’t laugh?”

“I promise to laugh only if it’s really stupid… Don’t look at me like that, that’s my best offer.”

“Fine.” Kibum shifted bashfully. “We need to stay in debt to one another, because I’m scared that if I owe you nothing and you owe me nothing, there will be no reason for you to want to be around me anymore and you’ll leave me forever.”

Jonghyun blinked slowly. “That’s really stupid.”

“You’re not laughing though.”

“Because it’s sad.” Kibum looked mortified and got up to leave. “Oh come back idiot.” Jonghyun caught him around the leg and dragged him down into an embrace, holding the thin boy against his own bony chest and rocking him gently until he submitted and relaxed into it. “I’m not going to leave you just because we don’t owe each other anything. I hang around you because I like you. But, if it makes you feel better, I will always owe you my life, because I don’t know what my life would be without you… and if you take yourself away, then you’ll be taking part of my life away, and I’ll have to follow you wherever you go to get it back… To have and to hold, from this day forwards, for better or for worse…”

“For richer or poorer… Kim Jonghyun!” Kibum burst out in a fit of giggles. “Are you trying to trick me into a Christian marriage!?”

Maybe…” Jonghyun smirked. He liked tricking Kibum into affection, why not a fake marriage too? “It’s not like it means anything~”

“Yah~ “ Kibum twisted in Jjong’s arms to slap him gently. “I can’t believe you. My grandmother would skin you alive if she knew… She already doesn’t like it that your father associates with those missionaries.”

Jjong shrugged. “They seem to help him with his drinking.”

“Yeah… and now he’s convinced he’s a prophet.”

“It’s not any weirder than the rest of he village believing you’re a literal demon though?” Jjong said, tucking his chin over the other’s shoulder.

“Yeah, well if any of them actually did believe that, then they’d be wrong too. Wouldn’t they?”

“Hmm…I’m not so sure.” Jonghyun said, squirming his fingers into Kibum’s sides, making the other yelp, jerking out of his arms.

“Oh, you will pay for that Kim Jonghyun.” He said, launching himself at the other, trying to get to his equally ticklish stomach with his clever fingers. The pair of them laughing as they tumbled over one another in the grass, panting and dusty as they fought out their new battle.

“JJONG, KIBUM-HYUNG… IT’S TIME TO GO~... ARE YOU TWO DRY YET?”


•


‘Dear Ajumma Song,

I asked my senior if he’d like to show me, and some other people, his tricks outside of office hours. It worked really well, thank you! Now he ignores me completely during work hours and allows me to get on with things, but as soon as we’re done for the day, he’s instantly there, trailing me like a sick puppy.’

‘Oh crap. Sounds like poor ‘Mr. O’s’ got it bad for him hasn’t he?... Obviously collaborating in bar scams is what does it for him.

‘It’s not that I don’t like the attention. But it’s unusual, and now I’m worried that he hasn’t got anything else better to do in his spare time. What do you think?

Yours, F.’


‘Now,’ Jonghyun thought, readjusting his glasses on his nose bridge. How to answer in a way that wouldn’t get him and the rest of the magazine thrown into prison? It really was burdensome of Mr. Lee to tell him that; now he knew that they were being monitored to some extent, he couldn’t help but second-guess every word he wrote. It seemed to be making his replies somewhat robotic… or should he say somewhat more robotic?


Dear F,

It’s very good of you to be concerned for your senior in this way, but please do not worry about him too much. I am glad to hear that he has rectified his behavior and is using the working day to concentrate on productivity. An example of responsible behavior, which only strengthens my assumption that he has taken our governments’ advice, to treat his co-workers like his family, to heart. Your senior’s lack of interest in things other than yourself is likely to just be his way for making the most proper use of his leisure time.
Strengthening the bonds between colleagues is only one way of being a good citizen. Perhaps, if his attention is bothering you to the extent that it is causing a destructive conflict with your private responsibilities, you could gently let him know this. However, in principle, it is your duty to respect the management decisions of your superiors. If your senior as decided that you are the best use of his time, then perhaps that is the truth and you should trust in his sincerity.

Yours,
Ajumma Song.


…That would have to do. Next letter.


‘Dear Ajumma Song,

I am writing to ask your advice on how to curb my wife’s spending. Since the diversity of products in the shops has started rising she has become profligate. Now, I want to encourage economic growth as much as—‘

Jonghyun’s head hit the desk. “Fuck my life.”


•


The night shift was often slow, and Jonghyun knew that if he wasn’t there to take it, Soonhye and Yongsik probably wouldn’t bother opening at all. There were usually only two types of people who frequented the café at night. Firstly, people who were waiting for something or someone more important, and secondly, people who were waiting to sober up before going home to greet their families. The takings from these waifs and strays probably only just about covered Jonghyun’s food expenses… but that was reason enough for him to still take the work.

That night the café was deserted by 9:00. Jjong didn’t mind, the solitude was nice and he could use it to clean up whilst he waited out the clock. As he washed down the table at the front, he idly watched a pair of men walking together out in the street. Both of them were young, both of them handsome, although in rather different ways. He wondered what it was about them that had caught his attention. Maybe it was because they were walking a little too closely for it to have been accidental, a little too tentative for it to mean nothing. Jonghyun smiled gently. They looked familiar, although Jjong couldn’t say where from, they probably weren’t that local. The older-seeming one jumped a little as his hand brushed against his companion’s, but then relaxed as the other one caught it properly, fumbling to link their fingers together as he led them through the chain curtain of the restaurant opposite.

They were sat in the window by the ajumma, and Jonghyun thought that they looked beautiful together in the candlelight, so hopeful, so pure. Why was the world so unfair that he had to be the one observing from a distance, alone, by himself, in the darkness of the unlit café?

He was already in bed and drifting off to sleep, before he dimly realized that the scene he’d roughly scribbled down whilst watching the two lovers could count.


•

꿈

“Kibum?” Jonghyun strode through the open doorway into his best-friend’s house, wrinkling his nose at the sharp, earthy smell that always seemed to inhabit it.

The house was much bigger than one would expect a cheonmin family’s to be… technically bigger than any cheonmin family were allowed to have. But it seemed that one of the perks of being a Shaman, was that no one dared to question Kibum’s grandmother about the size of her home, or even dare to approach it unless it was absolutely necessary. Jonghyun was one of the few people from the town who’d ever been inside. It was dark and thatched and wooden like most houses, but with a bafflingly unusual number of pots and herbs and just general objects lying about it. Urns containing unmentionable pickled items were stacked higgledy-piggledy on top of ornate carved cabinets from Hanseong, relics from the old woman’s youth in the city. The reed mats on the floor were thick with strangely colored powders, and bones and dried animal parts hung from the ceiling on strings, alongside painted fans and brightly dyed ceremonial cloths.

“Bum?”

There was a shuffling from the back room and Kibum appeared in the shadows “Hi.”

“Hey Kibs—” Jjong said, pausing when he noticed something was subtlety different. “What’s that on your face?”

“Nothing.” Kibum said quickly, stepping backwards into the darkened bedroom.

“Lemme see~”

“…Fine.” Kibum sighed. “I just wanted to see what it would look like.” He stepped into the light, where Jonghyun could clearly see the lines he’d drawn around his eyes with charcoal paste, just like one of the figures on the fans. The effect was striking, from the elongated black lines sweeping across his lids, to the slight blush rising on his cheekbones. He looked almost magical with the shining particles of dust falling from the window, swirling and drifting around him as he moved in the evening sun.

“Thank god, I though someone must have punched you in the face.”

“Yah! Don’t make fun.” Kibum crossed his arms huffily. “What are those?” He said, nodding towards the bundle of flowers Jjong was holding.

“Never you mind.” Jjong said, setting them down behind him, so he could address the much more interesting sight in front of him. “Stay still, I want to look at you.”

Kibum rolled his eyes “You are so tiresome.”

Jonghyun grinned as he recognized that as consent to come closer, reaching to tilt Kibum’s chin gently into the light. His hands trembled a little as he heard Kibum’s breath hitch as his touch, but he didn’t flinch, taking his time to admire the other’s handiwork. The lines painted on Kibum’s skin only highlighted how smooth and flawless it was. Really, Jonghyun couldn’t think of anyone he knew, who looked quite like Kibum. He was truly remarkable. “You look pretty.” He said finally, breaking the spell.

“Hey!”

“You do!” Jjong said, nursing the hand which had been slapped away.

Kibum cocked an eyebrow. “Is that why you bought me flowers?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. They’re not for you, they’re ingredients for your grandmother.”

“How sweet you are.” Kibum said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Give them here and I’ll put them in some water, they’ll need to stay fresh if they’re going to be any use to her.” Jonghyun passed him the bouquet, which he took and placed carefully in a jug. “You know, I don’t know why you try so hard to butter her up all the time.”

“Because she’s always really sharp with me and I know she doesn’t like me.”

It had turned out that Kibum and Taemin’s grandmother, despite being very knowledgeable about physical ailments, was also a staunch believer in the principle that temperament was an inherited trait. This didn’t help Jonghyun at all; with his delusional, violent father and his flighty, unfaithful mother. The first time Kibum had brought him home she’d shooed him out of her house with a broom. Of course, that was a distant memory now, years had passed and she had long since accepted that Jonghyun was not exactly like either of his parents and that he was not going anywhere. However, she’d never quite been able to shake her more general misgivings about him and had remained convinced that he would get her boys into trouble one day… As if they needed any help from him.

“Ok, first off,” Kibum turned around and placed his hands on his hips. “I thought you didn’t care what people thought. Second, I’m just as sharp as she is.”

“Well First off,” Jonghyun echoed, mimicking the other’s intonation. “Just because I don’t care what people think doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t prefer them to like me. Second,” He said, dropping the impression, to stalk over sweep Kibum up against him. “You can be as sharp with me as you like, because I already know that you love me really~”

“Eugh, you are so gross.” Kibum laughed and wriggled out of the embrace, pushing Jjong away so he could snag the flower jug and take it outside for water. “What would you say if I went round to your house to give your dad a posy?”

“Don’t do that though.” Jjong said padding after him.

“~Jealous?” Kibum asked, looking over his shoulder as he bent down to scoop some water from the rain bucket.

“Why would I be jealous? I just think that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Never mind.” Kibum murmured, brushing past Jjong to get back inside.

“What? If you haven’t noticed, he’s kind of violent. How would it be a good idea?”

“Seriously, never mind, forget I said anything.”

An awkward silence fell as Kibum worked with his back turned to Jonghyun, rearranging the flowers. Jjong was at al loss to know where it had come from. This seemed to be happening more and more recently.

“… Can you put some on me too?”

Kibum turned to look at him. “You what?”

“Please~” Jonghyun didn’t know what had made him ask, but now he seemed to have pissed Kibum off somehow, he wanted to get back to a safer subject. “I just want to see what it looks like?” And now that he’d said it, he was a little curious.

“You want to see what you’d look like painted up like a kisaeng?”

“Yes… Well, not all the way obviously. I don’t think the lip tint would suit me.”

Kibum looked at him, with the special, skeptical look he reserved only for when he was trying to deduce if Jonghyun’s puppy eyes were genuine, or whether they were concealing some ulterior motive. Jjong’s expression seemed to pass scrutiny though, as Kibum disappeared briefly into the other room to fetch the paint and brushes from amongst his grandmother’s things.

“Sit.” Kibum ordered, Jjong sat, cross-legged in front of him, their knees touching. Kibum licked the end of the brush with a suspiciously practiced air, teasing it into the perfect point before dipping it into the paint pot. “Eyes closed.” Jjong dutifully closed his eyes. He had to try really hard not to flutter them open when Kibum’s breath tickled his cheek “Now stay fucking still or I’ll end up jabbing you.”

Jjong could feel where the brush was hovering above him. “Eeep!” He flinched when the cold liquid was swept across his lash-line, he wasn’t expecting it to feel like that.

“Yah!” Kibum grabbed him firmly by the hair to hold his head still. “No twitching. Aish, seriously. I don’t want you to go blind.” he nagged, and continued, this time with Jjong pinned and ready.

“Will I?”

“No you big baby. Now open your eyes, look up and stop moving, I’m almost done.” Kibum said as he filled in the lower lids with quick, steady hands.

Jjong waited with baited breath for the verdict as Kibum assessed his own work under wrinkled brows. “Here, take a look.” he said finally, passing over a small polished mirror.

“Oh.” Jonghyun looked at himself. “I kinda like it.” Kibum’s looked better of course, but his would do. “Do you like it?”

Kibum shrugged noncommittally. “It’s not bad. It sort of works the opposite way on you. It makes my eyes look longer and sharper, but yours look bigger and rounder.” There was a tint of jealousy to his voice as he explained, and a hint of something else that Jjong didn’t quite know how to place.

“So just not bad then?” He teased. “I think you like it better than that~”

“Do not.”

“You must be bad at doing it then.”

Kibum pouted at being caught out. He could either chose to admit he was bad at something, or admit that Jonghyun looked good… There was always going to be a clear answer to that one. “Ok, fine. But let’s get one thing straight. You said that I was pretty first… Which means that it can’t matter that it makes my eyes look all small.”

“Your eyes always look all small.” Jjong said without thinking, stopping when he caught a storm brewing in Kibum’s expression “AND I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve told you that you look pretty.” He added to placate him, reaching a finger to softly smooth out the furrow between the other’s eyebrows. “Either way, I really do love it... them...”

“I love you too.”

Kibum slapped his hand across his mouth, his eyes really going wide in horror as he realized what he’d let slip.

“… What did just you say?”

Kibum shook his head violently.

Jonghyun leaned forwards from where they were still sitting cross-legged on the mat, reaching out to gently prize Kibum’s hand away. “Bum…” He strengthened his grip on Kibum’s wrist as he struggled against it. “What, did you say?”

Kibum looked terrified. Jjong noticed what position he had gotten them into, kneeling in between Kibum’s legs almost pinning him to the floor. He was only inches from his face... so close he could almost hear the other’s heart racing in his chest.

“Jjong?” Jonghyun’s gaze followed the origin of the sound to Kibum’s lips. Such pretty lips, Jjong had noticed them before… “Jjong. What are you doing?” Jjong’s breath hitched as Kibum’s nose bumped his, he’d been drifting towards him without meaning to. “Jjong?”

“What did you say?” Jonghyun couldn’t hide the tremor from his voice.

“I said I love you too...” Resolve seemed to crystallize in Kibum’s eyes as he answered “A—are you going to do anything about it?”

Jonghyun’s knees gave and he stumbled back a little, only to feel Kibum’s cool palm reach out and catch is jaw, cupping it gently and compelling him forwards. His eyes fell shut as their lips met. It felt something like relief as he sighed into it, like years of tension were slipping away from him.

A flame flickered to life in Jonghyun’s gut when Kibum changed tack, pushing himself further into Jonghyun’s body like a man starved. He scooped the other up into his lap, sending the pair of them gasping and overbalancing onto the mat, entangled together. Jjong winced as the breath was knocked out of him, Kibum’s hungry mouth covering his own before he could open his eyes again.

“MMphh, Kib-bum, hold up” He struggled under the other.

Kibum backed off and appeared above him, looking concerned that he might have done something wrong, “Are you ok?”

There were worse ways to go, Jjong’s delirious mind thought, than being smothered by Kibum’s lips. He smiled up at the other, taking advantage of his new position to let his fingers trail up Kibum’s ample thighs, over his hips, and up to his torso, marveling at the difference in this kind of touch. Marveling at the way Kibum bucked and rolled under his hands. How could this be real? But at the same time, how could this have not happened already? They fit together so perfectly, and together they felt complete.


•


The ash fell from the edge of his cigarette; Jonghyun was so engrossed in his notebook that he didn’t even register that it fell onto the table instead of in the ashtray. The faint jazzy music and chatter of the bar around him had faded far into the background. Why had he even bothered to come here tonight at all? Perhaps he was just filling the time until he could sleep some more. It had become addictive, writing out a life for himself and getting to wrap himself safely in it every night.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

“Sorry, yes.” Jonghyun muttered automatically, not even bothering to look up at the stranger who’d approached him.

“Ok.”

The stranger turned to leave downcast, It was not until Jonghyun spotted the back of his suit-clad legs walking away from him that he even registered that the other had been there at all. “Wait, no!” Jjong said, a little too loudly.

The stranger’s head whipped around confused.

“I mean no, it’s not taken.”

“… Thanks.” The man said, returning Jonghyun’s awkward smile and drawing out the chair opposite. “Let’s start again then… Hello, I’m Joonyoung.”

“Jonghyun.”

“That’s funny, I have another friend called Jonghyun.” He remarked, cocking his head to the side.

“You know, me too actually…” Jjong said, looking the stranger up and down. He was tall, very tall, handsome, around the same age as him, his hair was styled like an actor from an American movie. But despite all this Jjong felt immediately at ease with him, and that very fact in itself put him on edge a little. “… Joonyoung, could you wait here a second? I just need to go to the bathroom quickly.”

Jonghyun splashed some water on his face and met his own fuzzy eyes in the mirror. Blinking, he slid his glasses back down onto his nose and his reflection merged back into focus. What was it about that stranger which had him bolting in here? He wasn’t threatening, quite the opposite really. He was a little too inviting. Could he trust it? Jonghyun heard his mother’s voice in his head, ‘you’re never going to make friends in the city if you don’t talk to people, and god knows, you’ll need some friends in there.’ His mum hadn’t known what she was talking about really, but she was always right in principle. He’d hardly said more than a couple of words to anyone his own age since moving here. He gathered his thoughts and swung back through the doors into the bar area. There was nothing else for it.

When he returned Joonyoung was still sitting where he'd left him, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, and one hand resting on the cover Jonghyun’s notebook - almost as if he had only just put it down. “Are you a writer?” He asked. Jonghyun froze. Really, who was he, police, KCIA, religious nut? What had he seen? “Don’t worry, I didn’t read much…” Joonyoung said. “I’m sorry, I know these things are… private. It was just open and I got curious. One of my flaws…” He smiled apologetically and fished a silver case out of his inner pocket. He flipped it open and offered Jjong one from a row of the most beautiful imported, hand-rolled cigarettes he’d ever seen. “Forgive me?”

Joonyoung genuinely did look sorry, Jjong recognized his big-eyed, doleful expression from the mirror, there was a slight tremor in his wrist, and if he was more than he appeared, well then Jjong was done for already. He allowed his cravings to make the decision for him, what more could expect of a stressed man? “Thank you.” He said, taking his seat once more. “No, it’s ok. And yes, sort of, but I haven’t published anything yet.”

The other nodded, offering his lighter “What’s it about then?” He gestured to the dog-eared pad on the tabletop.

Jonghyun sighed as he took a drag, he felt himself relaxing as the smoke filled his lungs to the brim like warm velvet. The last time he’d tasted expensive tobacco like this had been the first time he’d ever smoked. The memories came flooding back, of a single cigarette given to him by a foreign soldier in payment for a favor. He’d had green eyes. Jonghyun had coughed almost half to death that time… “It’s about a group of boys who get mixed up in the Gwanseo Peasant War.” He said “And their day to day struggles that lead them there.”

Joonyoung grinned, “It didn’t seem to be that kind of struggle—“

“Oh my god! Which bit did you—?“

“Don’t worry, shhh.” Joonyoung looked around and winked. “You’re not going to publish that part are you?” He asked in a hushed tone that did barely anything to cover his own excitement.

Jjong could empathize, it was always exciting when you found someone similar. “No, no, of course not!” He praised the gods that he’d only been using initials for shorthand, because it would be too embarrassing to be caught using his own name to write smut. “It just sort of comes out while I’m writing the other bits…” He explained. “I thought maybe, if things ever change, I’ll keep those bits and put them back in one day… Although…” He grimaced as he thought about what Mr. Lee had said to him. “The only person I’ve explained it to thinks that the rest of it isn’t any more publishable either.”

“Why though?”

“Apparently the tone and themes are too political.”

Joonyoung looked confused. “In the sense that everything is political?” He asked.

“Exactly.” Jjong nodded and took another drag.

“Well, they’re right about that.” Joonyoung scratched his nose, suddenly looking very professor-ly. “When you live in a system that tells you how you ought to think. Everything is political.”

“You sound like an academic. What do you do?”

“I’m studying for my doctorate in psychology.”

Jonghyun wrinkled his brows, this man didn’t exactly seem like the kind of guy who could, or would want to do the messy job of nursing someone back to mental wellness. “So… do you psychoanalyze people?”

Joonyoung snorted. “No, I’m a cognitive psychologist. I’m interested in perception and memory in the subconscious.”

“Eh?”

“Well, like currently I’m researching subconscious learning. How we can pick up on tiny details without really knowing that we’re doing it, and how and when those tiny memories are stored and recalled.”

That made more sense to Jonghyun, something stupidly academic and modern was a much better explanation for Joonyoung’s slick appearance and mannerisms, than him being something more sinister. He’d probably been abroad for a while. “Ah, that sounds complicated.” It enhanced his appeal. Not that his appeal was ever lost on Jonghyun in the first place.

“Haha, just a bit. It’s quite a new field.” He smiled. Jjong could tell that he liked his work from the way his face lit up when he talked about it. He hoped that was how he looked when he spoke about writing, although sadly he wasn’t sure if that was always the case.

“Well you can stay out of my subconscious.” Jonghyun joked. “It’s too perverse to be researched.”

“Really? I’m sure it’s not that perverse.”

It certainly was perverse… especially when Joonyoung’s foot started to sneak it’s way up his trouser leg, it was very perverse. Jjong tried to stop the action from reminding him of Kibum’s foot teasing him in the café dream, but the reminder was only serving to pique his interest more in certain areas. “It—it, yes it is really quite perverse.” He stuttered.

“Well, we are very accepting in the social sciences.” Joonyoung grinned smugly as he leant over to breath in Jonghyun’s ear. “And I can tell that you’re nervous, so I’ll confess first. I want you to take me home please, Jong-hyun.”

…

Jonghyun fumbled with his keys to the back door, either the nerves or the alcohol had gotten to his fingertips. Joonyoung’s arm snaked around him from behind, drawing him back in closer to his body “Kiss me now.” He mumbled into Jjong’s shoulder.

“Someone might see.” Jjong protested, worming his way out of the other’s grasp. Not very hard mind, he wasn’t that risk-adverse, and the alley behind the shops was completely deserted at this time of night. He half wanted Joonyoung to just take a hint and take him there. That would be hot. Stupid, but hot.

“It’s pitch black, come on~” Joonyoung reached for him again, just as Jjong found the lock and slipped through his grasp into the kitchen.

“Shhh. You’ll wake my aunt and un—.”

Joonyoung shut him up, bundling him into a muffled kiss. Jjong’s glasses pressed into his face, everything seemed so close in the darkness and he felt a thrill of adrenalin rip through him. He could feel Joonyoung’s chest pressed tight, rising and falling against his, their heartbeats matched, he wasn’t alone. He broke the kiss and beckoned the other up the rickety stairs to his room, closing the door behind them as softly as he could.

As soon as he turned he was pressed firmly up against the painted wood, being lifted up off the floor as Joonyoung took advantage of his greater height. God, Jonghyun loved tall boys, he loved the way they looked, loved the way they fucked, loved the way they could toss him around. He winced as the bed frame squeaked a little when he landed.

Joonyoung was all of a sudden on top of him, pausing to rip off his own jacket and shirt, before sliding the elastic braces off Jjong’s shoulders and over his arms. “Fuck Jonghyun.” he pressed a kiss to Jjong’s throat as he set about undoing him, placing his lips where the buttons had been only seconds before.

Jonghyun let his eyes slide shut, allowing himself to enjoy the sensation of having the other man over him, gasping as Joonyoung’s tongue flicked over a sensitive spot. Joonyoung ran his teeth over a nipple and Jonghyun gasped again, although this time not because he enjoyed it, but because someone else’s name had threatened to escape his lips. He needed to forget that, focus on what was real and present. Jjong grit his teeth and hauled Joonyoung up for another kiss to remind him of where he was, but when his eyes closed again, Kibum was their waiting. “Fuck” Jonghyun swore, pushing Joonyoung off. The other took it as a signal of impatience, flipping Jjong over and pressing himself flush against his back.

Jjong could feel the delicious hardness pressing into the base of his spine. He panicked as he realized that there was no answering hardness of his own, ‘Fuck?’ He ground himself desperately into the sheets in search of some friction, ‘Fuck, think sexy thoughts, think sexy thoughts.’ He said to himself. ‘He won’t notice yet if you keep it up like this, but If he finds out you’re not ready, he’ll think he’s done something wrong.’ Images of Kibum came traipsing unbidden into his mind, ‘No! fuck off you fictional bastard, this is real. There’s a real hot man in my bed and you are not needed.’ Kibum in various states of undress, Kibum in various positions. Kibum with his shorter limbs and small eyes, and pretty lips. Kibum’s lips mouthing the words, ‘I love you too’. “Fuck.” Jonghyun groaned in frustration, this was so fucked up.

“Do you like that baby?” Joonyoung hummed above him, completely oblivious as he kissed along the back of Jonghyun’s neck and down.

“Fuck, Joonyoung.”

“Hmm?” Joonyoung hummed, big hands curling around Jjong’s belt.

“Fuck, Joonyoung, Stop”, Jjong moaned. The rational part of his brain knew that this was sexy, but the rest of him just wasn’t co-operating. It wasn’t unpleasant it just, just wasn’t… he couldn’t… “Joonyoung, no, stop. I can’t, I’m sorry I can’t.” he said, shaking his head.

“Why not?” Joonyoung asked, sitting back on his heels.

“I just can’t”

“Oh?”

Jonghyun gestured sheepishly downwards, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson… So that’s where his blood was.

“Ohhh~”

“I’m so sorry.” Jjong said, sitting up beside him. God this was humiliating. “It’s not you at all… it’s something else.”

“Well… it’s a damn shame, but if you’re sure.” Joonyoung bumped his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Haha, are you going to psychoanalyze me now?” Jonghyun laughed hollowly. “…I probably need it.” He groaned, letting his head fall into his hands. What was wrong with him? “But no, I don’t think I can talk about it.”

Joonyoung sighed and got up to leave, “I should go then.” he said, his voice heavy with regret as he patted Jjong on the back and went to gather his lost clothes.

“But the patrols?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Worst that could happen is they’ll keep me in a cell ‘till 5 when curfew ends. That’s only 4 hours away.” He said, shrugging on his jacket and looping his tie back around his neck. It really was a shame thought Jjong as he collapsed backwards into the sheets, covering his eyes with his arm. He couldn’t bear to look Joonyoung in the face as he left.

“I am sorry.” He murmured.

In the morning he would find Joonyoung’s address and number left on the nightstand, written neatly on a piece of waste paper.


•

꿈

Kibum’s laugh rang out over the fields as he ran up to Jonghyun and took the empty yoke from his shoulders, swinging it gracefully up onto his own. The sun caught his hair making it shine copper brown rather than black, and his skin glowed like burnished gold.

“You sold everything today?”

“Yeah” Jonghyun replied smugly, sitting down on the grassy verge and picking at the daisies. “Aren’t I clever?”

“The cleverest.” Agreed Kibum, twirling around him, enjoying the extra momentum given to him by the empty pallets.

Jonghyun watched him with hearts in his eyes, Kibum was always carefree and beautiful nowadays, even when he had 100 things in the world to worry about. “Well you’re the prettiest.” He said.

Kibum came to a halt, suddenly serious. “Don’t lie.”

“What!?” Jonghyun stood up, leaning over to peck Kibum’s cheek. “Give me your hand.”

“What are you doing now?”

“Shh.” Jonghyun said, sliding a daisy ring onto Kibum’s finger, “You are the prettiest to me, because I love you the most.”

Kibum smiled, admiring his new ring. “Sap.” He said.

“Cynic.” Jjong replied


•


Jonghyun blinked at the paper on the nightstand, waiting for the cogs in his mind to click into place and process what had happened the night before.

“Fuck!”

He dove back under the covers to flail. There was an attractive, attentive… A real man in there last night with him, and he was actually crazy enough to chuck him out because he couldn’t get over the feeling that he was cheating on his imaginary. fucking. boyfriend?! What the fuck, what the actual fuck was wrong with him, that was an actual crazy-person problem.

He caught a whiff of Joonyoung’s cologne on the sheets, bringing back more unbidden flashbacks from the night before. “Fuck!” He threw them off as he cringed and lay panting, spread eagled on the bare sheets.

“ARE YOU OK UP THERE DEAR?”

Shit, had they remembered to be quiet last night? Did Joonyoung get home ok? Jjong barely remembered him leaving “…Yes?” He called back carefully, and waited with baited breath for Soonhye’s reply.

“…OK~”

Jjong exhaled, it seemed like he was in the clear. In the clear but still pathetic. He couldn’t face going down just yet, just in case he was wrong and there was something he’d need to explain.

Lying, staring at the blurry cracks in the ceiling wasn’t great either. Maybe he ought to take his mind off things by doing some letters, perhaps one of those pitiful people would have something that would make him feel better. He lugged his body over to the desk and sat, tearing open a familiar looking envelope…

‘Dear Ajumma Song,

I tried to follow your advice to accept my senior’s affections, but I think he likes me more than just a colleague. He kissed me, and I think it was my fault that he did that, and I wouldn’t need your advice if I wanted to push him away. The thing is, I actually like him.’

Oh dear god no, that was so much worse. That idiot! Jonghyun could never answer something like that in a million years, especially not after what Mr. Lee has asked of him.

‘I know that you won’t be able to answer this in print, but here’s my address. Please, please answer me.

Yours, F.’

“Shit.” Jonghyun panicked. What if Mr. Lee was really on the money and the KCIA were watching them, him, anyone…? Maybe he shouldn’t answer at all? But if he didn’t answer, would that still look bad too? He couldn’t report F. He should report him to the police to be safe. But there was absolutely no way. No, no, nope. No. He couldn’t do that.

Despite his better judgment Jjong bit his tongue and loaded a new page into the typewriter.

Dear F,

You reckless, idiot child. I cannot believe that you are taking a risk like this. I could be literally anyone, I could report you. Think of your family, think of your senior and think of his family, your boss’s family. You need to deal with this yourself. I am sorry but I cannot help you any further, please do not contact me again.

Yours,
Ajumma Song.


He felt like crap. But he had to, he didn’t know what else he could do. If F. was real… Jjong wanted to help him, but F. also needed to learn a lesson. What kind of idiot was he, putting himself and others in danger like that? Jonghyun wracked his brain but he could not think of anything he’d written which could inspire that level of trust from the young stranger. And what if F. was a trap? The KCIA might haul him in for not reporting him… but surely he couldn’t get into too much trouble for that reply… At least no one at the magazine could get in trouble for it.

… Of course, he could go see F, find the address in the letter and try to meet him in person. But what if that was a trap too, and what if he was too cowardly to do that....?

At least the mystery worker was brave enough to speak to someone about his problems. Jonghyun just locked them inside and hid in his own little delusions. Jonghyun could have found the perfect person last night, but he’d cast him out for the sake of his own fictional creation. He’d cast this novel aside too. He hadn’t fully acknowledged it yet, but Kibum was in there, corrupting it, morphing every last page of it into something that Jonghyun had not intended it to be. Kibum was supposed to die, but how was Jjong going to be able to kill him?

He could feel a migraine coming on. “How is it that you’re not real, and yet you’ve caused so much disruption in me?” He laid his head flat on the desk and sobbed, looking up at the stack of loose paper which made up his novel. He ran a thumb up the corners, smudging them inky-grey as he thought. How was he going to kill Kibum? The thought turned his stomach, almost as if he was contemplating a real murder. He couldn’t even ‘cheat’ on him, how was he going to bring himself to kill him? Did he even need to if it was too hard?

He wasn’t ever supposed to care this much. He knew, he had known for a while, that his characters would not all make it to the end. That re-dreaming his words would not always be pleasant. He felt as if he had finally reached a crossroads and he had 3 paths to take. One, he could abandon the plot, let his fantasies take over and risk losing himself in love with a dream. Two, he could just stop writing for a while. Let his nightmares return instead of having to go through the process of crafting himself new ones to watch, and lose all of his work so far into the bargain. Three, press on, edit his romance with Kibum out of the text and write exactly what he always meant to, horrific emotional consequences be damned.

When he put it like that, there was only one way forwards. It was time to make a change. He was going to be a writer and Kibum wasn’t going to stop him. Jjong set about making two piles. One pile of pages to keep, and one to go.

But he paused. Would this work? Before, when he had written words he didn’t truly mean, they hadn’t been included in his dreams. If he wanted to get over Kibum, to have that done, the temptation gone, to be able to write him out totally, then he should deal with it properly. It seemed crazy, but Jonghyun feared that if he didn’t have closure, then Kibum would be coming back to haunt him. He couldn’t just continue writing as if nothing had ever happened between them. Sure, the edited text could look clean of any romance, but the narrative in his head just wouldn’t allow it... Jonghyun poured himself a drink, he needed to write a break up.


•

꿈

The young man crouched in his father’s corner and knocked back a gulp of his father’s strong liquor, pretending that it was the spirit that was summoning the tears prickling behind his eyelids.

He had been arrested by a soldier… finally… And it was certain that he would be executed before the week was out. All for choosing the wrong moment to let lose a drunken tirade about the upper classes. He’d done it before so many times and been brushed off, told to go away, go home and sober up. But recently tensions had been high, in nearby villages there were whispers of a rebel leader rising up, the first rebel in a long time, and the soldiers where getting twitchy and ready for a fight.

Jjong didn’t give a fuck about the soldiers as he fell forwards onto the earthen floor. His father was as good as dead, and although he’d always imagined that this day would make him happy, it just didn’t. Whether he liked it or not, whether he liked him or not, the death of his father turned his world upside down. Because, as unpleasant as his father could be, he was still a static point in Jonghyun’s small existence, a fact and a part of him, and now he was going to be gone forever and Jjong was going to have to change.

“Jonghyun?”

Who was that? It sounded like Kibum. Jonghyun just wanted to be left alone in his grief.

“Jonghyun!” The footsteps paused at the threshold before hurrying towards him. “What have you done to yourself?” Strong hands grabbed him under his armpits and hauled him up, a familiar face swimming into view. “I came to see if you were alright. But clearly I was too late huh?”

“I guess you could say tha—“ Jjong slurred.

“You know you’ve always taken after him more that you think.” Kibum hugged him tightly to his chest, rocking him gently. “But I have to say, getting drunk to escape your problems is a new one.”

Jonghyun sniffed as Kibum's words sank the knife further into his heart “My father was ruined by not being able to be with the one he loved… I’m never going to be with you properly. So if I’m going to be like that too, I might as well start now.”

“Don’t twist what I said Jjong.” Kibum replied sternly. “You know that’s not what I meant. You’re not going to turn into him.”

“How do you know?” He sobbed pathetically. “If I were you I would run for my own good. Run like my mother did. Go to the city and find a rich man. Shouldn’t be too hard for someone like you.”

Kibum tightened his grip. “You don’t know what you’re saying. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“No!” Jjong pushed the other off him. “Seriously. Fuck off Kibum. Leave me alone.” He hid his face in the corner, not able to turn and have to look at the perfect creature he’d thrown to the floor.

“Nope, sorry.” Kibum grit his teeth and brushed himself off, advancing on Jjong once again with fire in his eyes. “You once promised me that you’d never leave me, and I’m afraid I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Jjong cringed deeper into the corner as if it could protect him. “I’m not leaving you idiot. You’re leaving me, so get lost already~.”

“It’s the same fucking thing you feeble, self pitying, son-of-a-bitch.”

Kibum prized Jonghyun out of the corner and wrestled his struggling body over to his sleeping mat, sealing them firmly together with his wiry arms and his warm body, Jjong began then to sob in earnest, thick, salty tear-tracks running down his face and shattered breaths wracking his rib cage.

“Shhh, Shh now, let it all out.” Kibum cooed behind his ear. “It might be the end of his story, but it’s not the end of ours.”

“I don’t want it to be.”

“I know…I know darling… Maybe someday, but not now, not until it’s what you really want.”


•


Jonghyun blinked at papers on his desk, waiting for the cogs in his mind to click into place and figure out what he was doing there, why it seemed to be sunset, and why he was sad, but also vaguely aroused, even though his stomach felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out.

“Fuck!”

He lurched sideways and vomited over into the wastepaper basket… So that’s what happened when you started on soju for breakfast and spent a whole morning writing angst in a drunken haze. He must have passed out some time around lunch.

He balled up the paper and deposited it on top of his sick. Time to try again.


•


The next day he tried another tack. If he couldn’t force Kibum away, then he thought he’d tempt him to leave. He began to design a rival for himself. A cheerful girl, with shiny hair and ample curves and a devil-may-care attitude.

Jealousy could make a person twisted, Jjong thought, as Soonhye shouted at him for stabbing the counter with his pen and leaving a clear gouge mark in her nice wood.

Eventually the girl ended up being caught in a barn by Kibum, rolling around in the hay with a sheepish Minho. Kibum promptly decided that he didn’t mind much, and that Jjong’s ample chest was much more his kind of thing anyway. Jonghyun was powerless to stop him.

…

The next day, Jonghyun filled the morning by posting F’s letter. He’d hesitated on Monday, still being hung over didn’t help, but he’d finally decided that it was for the best. F. needed to know.

In the evening he tried to get Kibum to move away to the mountains and become a monk, just as a ‘fuck you’ to some Christian missionaries who had come to the village. But during his shift, Jjong managed to accidentally plot Kibum’s return. The monk idea wasn’t exactly realistic to begin with. Although Kibum returning triumphantly to kiss him in the market square in front of everyone, whilst the villagers rejoiced and birds burst into song, wasn’t in the slightest bit believable either. At least it made for a nice dream.

…

The next day he was up early enough to catch Minho coming in with the new letters, and instantly felt bad about making him a cheater. Minho looked concerned and asked him whether he was ok.

In the bundle there was a letter from someone who was trouble because her mother had died of a sudden illness. Jjong tried to write Kibum as catching a disease and dying too… He threw that one away before he’d even written half a paragraph.

…

By the end of the week Jjong was ready to throw in the towel. Fuck closure, he was just going to have to be strong and start writing over what he’d already got. Ignore Kibum, just pretend that nothing had ever happened, and stop his fingers whenever they tried to write something more. Self-control was a virtue which he needed to develop more anyway… and if ~things crept into his dreams, then so be it. He would not allow them to be imprinted on his precious paper.

However, without their old dynamic, Kibum became distant from him, in the dreams and in the prose. He was like a real life ex, one who could no longer bear to be his friend. Jonghyun had no way of knowing whether a reader would pick on in the difference, he’d lost any of the perspective he’d ever had. Technically, he knew the plot flowed perfectly, technically, he knew their friendship should seem natural. But the chemistry was gone, at least in his eyes, there was no spark anymore. Everything seemed lifeless and grey, devoid of emotion. And it was making everything harder. The further Jonghyun pushed Kibum away, the more he wanted to call him back. The more apathetic towards him Kibum appeared, the more Jonghyun craved him, and he began to grow afraid that old-Kibum would not return, even if he wrote him. It really was like breaking up with a part of himself. There was no escape from it.

And meanwhile, the general narrative around all the characters was getting darker and darker, building towards its conclusion and Jonghyun still knew that it was really good. Kibum aside, it was exactly what he had always wanted to write, because he had wanted the angst and the pain and the hopelessness. He’d planned for there to be death and starvation and cruelty. He perhaps hadn’t fully taken into account how unpleasant it would be to dream these things, how drained he would be when he woke. Every day now, Soonhye and Yongsik would pass comment on the dark circles growing under his eyes.

At one point Jjong almost gave up, until by chance he read a review in the magazine’s lit section, about how some new book had exactly the right kind of social commentary in it and how admirable and timely it was. He wanted that, he wondered why Mr. Lee let that article pass and had warned him instead. Perhaps there was a right kind of wrong thing to say and a wrong kind of wrong thing to say? Maybe erudite novelists got more of a free pass with what they wrote, than low-brow magazine columnists.

He thought about what Joonyoung had said about how all human nature was political. How what he had written was political because it was about people wanting to live as themselves, rather than what society said they must be. And about how that was a political statement against the present – where people must live by the right ideals and work by the right ideals, and live to work and work to live, and love their work more than their lives all in the name of the common good. Maybe, he thought, he should just trust his instincts and say what he wanted to say. He never wanted to write anything safe. Hell, he’d explicitly said once that he didn’t want to write anything safe, and maybe he felt like just phoning Joonyoung up and fucking him as a political statement. Or not, because being in love with an imaginary boy, too perfect for this world, was non-conformist too?

…

Kibum’s time was up. Jonghyun would write this and Kibum was going to be gone, dead, disappeared. And he could continue life as normal, everything would be ok, even his dreams, because, with Kibum gone, he could stop being emotionally invested. Ok, he’d be a bit emotionally invested, but a manageable level of invested. Love, even when it’s messed up, is more powerful than anything.

It was all planned. Kibum was going to be shot down in the street by drunk soldiers, so that Jonghyun would have a reason to run away and become a rebel. Originally Kibum was going to be raped… because symbolism. But Jjong knew that he absolutely couldn’t watch that, he was already so close to balking at the idea of having to watch Kibum die a quick death. Just 3 little words would be enough.

Inevitably he turned to the bottle to see if it would make things easier, but he passed out before he’d even made a single mark on the paper.


•

혼

He was back in the café with others. All were sitting in a circle, covered by an awkward silence. Their eyes flicking nervously between Jonghyun and Kibum, as if they thought something was about to kick off if they made the slightest sound. Across from him, Jinki was holding Kibum’s hand, and the soothing motion of his thumb over the back of it was the only movement in the room except for the swish of the fans. It bothered Jjong, he could feel the anger in him bubbling to a head.

“You need to be strong and do this.” Jinki said.

Jonghyun deflated immediately at his words. “I’m so scared hyung, I don’t think I can.”

“You should do it.” Kibum looked resolute, but there was a clear tremor in his voice, like he was about to burst into tears.” I’m not real Jonghyun, and you need to do what’s best for you and for everyone else.”

“It might not be best for me though.” He pleaded, reaching out for him. “How can you know that?”

Taemin caught his hand half way across the circle, stopping it gently before he could reach and touch Kibum. “You believe it is though, don’t draw this out more than it needs to be.”

“There’s a real world.” Said Minho.

Jjong snapped. “Well you would know all about that wouldn’t you, delivery boy.” He said, tugging his arm away to round on the taller boy. “I could kill you instead you know, it’s not like I’d be missing you.”

“Don’t even think about it. That’s not the issue here.” Said Kibum.

“Why why won’t you just let me be happy?”

It was Kibum’s turn to rage. “Me? Me, let you be happy? I have nothing to do with this Kim Jonghyun!” He stood up. “We are your creations. You make yourself miserable. Why don’t you grow a pair and take hold of yourself and show some fucking resolve for once? Oh my god you are so useless, it is getting to the point where you’re becoming pathetic, in love with someone inside your own head.”

Jonghyun had a sudden flashback to Kibum, ordering Taemin to shove leaves in his mouth. If it was inside his head then where did that come from, that whole scene. He thought he’d written it but… was this his own self hatred being expressed through Kibum? He’d scribbled something down in the bar, but he didn’t really remember exactly how it went… he was so drunk. He always thought he’d done it, but he didn’t remember making the marks on the page. He’d been wondering for a while if there was some other creative force at play here besides his own. “Hang on, I didn’t make you up!”

Kibum rolled his eyes. “Stop making excuses, you can write it, so write it.”

“NO! I refuse to let it happen again.” Jjong cried desperately.

“Again!? Happen!? It’s not real Jjong, it’s a book, this is in your head you fucking cretin ¬– Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“Because none of it makes sense!”

“Just because you don’t understand something, doesn’t mean that it doesn’t make sense!” Kibum folded his arms. “If you want to be able to move on, go look out of the window.” He muttered.

Jonghyun hesitated for a second. Did he really want to move on? Really? Was this it, did Kibum have the cure? He looked at the others, standing sternly behind him. Kibum didn’t seem to be giving him a choice. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but the Kibum stood firm. If this was really the last goodbye, then how could he bear to be so cold?

Jonghyun turned and looked out of the window onto the street. It looked like the street always did late at night, the pavement glistening wet with rain, smearing the light of the late-opening restaurants across it. It was deserted until, as Jjong watched, the couple he’d seen before came skipping up the street… except now, now he recognized them as Jinki and Taemin, swinging their entwined hands between them as they walked. Jonghyun turned around, they’d gone form the café, only Kibum was still there, expressionless like a statue. They were followed by Minho, Minho in his work uniform… And then finally Kibum jogging behind them to keep up with the other 3, dressed as he was now, in modern clothes.

Jjong winced as he heard a sound off, somewhere in the distance, shaking the café. Another bomb. His head whipped around to see that Kibum was still there behind him, unaffected, still as steely as before. “Kibum? What’s happening?” He asked. He could just tell that it was something bad by the feeling in the air. He glanced out of the window to look at the other Kibum, the animate Kibum, but he wasn’t sure which one he ought to watch.

Suddenly a burst of gunfire strafed down the street, Jjong’s eyes went round in horror, his body froze as the bullets cut down the figures in the street like they were nothing. “No.” He watched as that Kibum fell, hit straight through the head, dead before he hit the ground, his blood running down the asphalt. Taemin was holding onto Jinki’s hand as he went, eyes bugging in horror before he was pulled down with him in a broken heap. “No, no, no, no. This isn’t happening. It’s not happening.” Minho was dragging himself along the floor, scraping a streak of red behind him as he tried in vain to get away… until a lone soldier appeared with a gun and ended his struggles… The soldier looked straight through the café window at them.

“You’re right. It’s not.” Kibum said calmly as the sound of approaching artillery rumbled around them, vibrating the window until Jonghyun was scared it would shatter.

Jjong turned on him in anger, shaking him. “NO!” He cried “What are you doing? Stop it!” Kibum pushed him off easily, headed for the door, and Jonghyun, sensing what he was about do, desperately clung onto him, trying to pull him back towards the kitchen, sobbing his heart out. But Jjong’s hands didn’t seem to be able to hold him, Kibum could not be stopped from walking out of the front door, the tinkling the bell announcing his exit. “KIBUM— DON’T GO!“ Jjong watched helplessly as the spectral Kibum approached the soldier, stepping over the broken bodies of his friends as if he couldn’t see them laying there. The soldier took aim - Jonghyun ran for the door and threw it open - the glass shattered with a deafening crash. And all he could see was white.

Jonghyun woke up as the lightning struck.

That was enough. Fuck it. He fought his way out of bed and over to the desk, gathering every last scrap of paper that he had. Another fork of lightning came down over the city and Jjongs hesitated for a second before unlatching the window. What if it was really out there? No, no it wasn’t. None of it was. Fuck it all.

The cold rain lashed at his arm, soaking his shirt. “Goodbye.” He said for the last time, before he tossed it all out into the deluge, the pages scattering themselves down the street, and the ink dissolving away, into the gutter


•


From the warm sanctuary of his sheets, Jonghyun’s ears pricked up. Someone was shouting outside, their voice piercing into his eardrums. “Eugh” he groaned “Again?” He needed to stop trying to write in his bedroom, that bottle made for too much of a temptation.

Shit. The novel! It wasn’t on his desk anymore, what had he done last night? Fuuuuuuuuuck. What on earth had inspired him to do that? …Oh, god, that terrible dream. He could barely recall the details of it, but he shuddered anyway. Well that was that then he supposed. Nothing to be done about it now. It was a nice idea to begin with, but maybe this was for the best… All that wasted time though…

As Jjong lay there, lamenting his impulsiveness, his ears tuned back into the commotion out on the street.

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? HE TRUSTED YOU!”

“FOR THE LAST TIME, I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT, YOU ABSURD BOY!” Shouted Soonhye. For once her voice was only the second most piercing, how unusual. He wondered what she’d done to offend someone this time.

“DON’T PLAY SMART WITH ME YOU OLD WITCH, I KNOW WHO YOU ARE ‘AJUMMA SONG’, MINHO SOLD YOU OUT FOR 3 BASEBALL CARDS AND A SIDE DISH.” Oh Crap.

“MINHO? THAT DELIVERY BOY FROM JONGIE’S WORK…? …Lord save him, he’s as dumb as he is handsome if he thinks that I’m Jonghyun.”

“Jjong-who? I’ll skin him alive!” Double crap.

Jjong reluctantly got up and grabbed his glasses, dragging himself down the stairs. He could do without this right now. Stupid Minho for ratting him out. How did this guy even know Minho in the first place?... And what had he done?

He met Yongsik half way down on the landing, obviously on his way coming to fetch him.

“You heard the commotion I take it?”

“Yeah, what’s it all about?” Jjong asked blearily, raking a hand through his hair, trying to calm it into some kind of publicly presentable form.

“Beats me.” Yongsik shrugged. “But the crazy guy outside the door seems pretty livid. I think I saw him foaming a little.”

“Eugh, I’ll go save Soonhye.”

“You really think she’s the one that’ll need saving?”

There was a crash which sounded a lot like a metal teapot hitting the wall “COME ONE STEP CLOSER AND IT’S YOU WHO’LL BE GETTING SKINNED!”

“Point taken.”

Downstairs, Jonghyun pulled Soonhye gently inside the front door. “Auntie, Auntie, calm down I’ll handle it from here.”

“Are you sure you want to?” Soonhye said in a hushed tone, glancing out sideways. “That boy is a snakey one. I can see it in his eyes.”

“YAH I HEARD THAT!”

Jjong poked his head out and froze, stock still in the doorway, stunned beyond words bt the vision of Kim Kibum, living and breathing, in full, furious Technicolor out on the pavement.

“IT’S YOU? The drunk guy?” Jjong was too baffled to speak or move “No wonder your shitty advice is so shitty.” Kibum ranted. “Aish, if I had known... Do you know that our boss’s son is crying right now because you went and fucked everything up…?” This couldn’t be true. What was he doing here? Was Jjong still asleep? “I swear… I should have left you in that puddle when I first saw you—”

Jjong shook his head. “Wait, our boss?” He asked. “Puddle? What? How?”

“And slow as well. No fucking wonder. This is why I tell Mr. Lee that he’s got to interview everyone properly, even freelancers.”

“Mr. Lee?” There was too much information here for Jjong to process. How did Mr. Lee come into this? Why was Mr. Lee getting hiring advice from fucking Kibum?!

“Oh my god! It’s like talking to a child... Our boss. Mr. Lee. At the magazine. I’m the literature critic. You have been writing advice to his son, Jinki, and to the accounts clerk, Taemin. Not that you’ve done either of them much good.”

Try as he might Jonghyun still couldn’t follow, he didn’t think he was ever going to follow, too weird, just too weird. Jinki and Taemin were real people too? Had he met them before in the office and not taken it in? What about Kibum? “What the fuck?”

“Yeah, That’s exactly what I said when I found out about it. Idiots should have just asked me.”

Suddenly Jonghyun was offended. Kibum didn’t know him, how many insults had he thrown at him in the last minute? He kicked into defense mode. “Hey! Kim Kibum, who do you think you are? There was nothing wrong with my advice. They’re the nutters who wrote in to a fucking published agony aunt column about their freaking homosexual crushes! I was only trying to keep them out of prison!”

Kibum paused, dumbstruck for a second “…How the fuck do you know my name?”

Oh shit, he didn’t know. Lucky guess? “…I— I must have read it…?” Had he met Kibum before too? But the man before him didn’t really seem like the kind of person he could forget in a hurry. “But… how come… How have you met me before, but you don’t know who I am? What puddle?”

Kibum crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, just like Jjong had always imagined. “I pulled you out of a puddle some time ago, over by the university. I sent you home in a taxi… I— I have your notebook here.” He said, carefully reaching into his inner pocket and producing a crinkled, water-stained paper pad.

Jonghyun stared, lost at the little thing in Kibum’s outstretched fingers. “You saved it?” …That time he’d been punched, the first time before he’d had a dream?

“Yeah, and I’m beginning to regret it.” Kibum sniffed, motioning for Jjong to take it from him.

“Just in case you ran into me?… Did you read it?”

“…I guess so.”

“And?” Jonghyun asked, turning it over in his hands in disbelief.

“And what?... There’s hardly anything in there. Just an outline of some stuff in a wood with kids. It’s okish... I mean you have some nice—”

Jjong’s face lit up with wonder. “So you are a real person?”

Suddenly everything clicked into place and Jjong collapsed laughing in the road, hysterical fits of laughter shaking his body. No wonder he dreamt of Kibum that night… And here he was now. To think that Jjong might have never of seen him again, but by chance there he was, and he was beautiful. God he was beautiful. He had a nick missing from his eyebrow and a scar on his cheek that Jonghyun had never seen before. He was paler, but of course he was, he had an office job. He was a wearing a chestnut brown, 3-piece suit with a pocket square and cufflinks. He tore apart other people’s novels for a living… And he was perfect.

“… Wait, was that ever in question?” Kibum asked, completely baffled by Jonghyun’s sudden change of subject.

“But you’re beautiful!” Jjong laughed, not caring that there were people walking past staring at them, staring at the strange scene.

“Yah! Hey! Stop that… Tsch, get up you lunatic. I’m not saving you from the gutter twice you know.” Kibum warned, prodding him gently with his foot.

“I think you mean assist.” Jjong replied.

Kibum tilted his head, considering the strange, charming little man on the floor for the second time in his life, and once again offered him his hand. “I would say more like rescued.” His fingers were strong and warm and solid.

“…Helped.”

Kibum smiled, and to Jonghyun it was like the whole world had been illuminated. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he realized that he must have been grinning back, like the moonstruck fool he was. “Shut up and invite me inside for coffee. This is a café isn’t it?” He said.

Jonghyun gladly ushered his prickly new friend inside. As he closed the door to, a lone leaf of ruined paper blew past, drifting on the autumn breeze and Jonghyun couldn’t bring himself to feel even a hint of sadness.

“…Wait. If you have my notebook… Then what happened to my wallet?


•END•