so fill to me the parting glass, goodnight and joy be with you all

It hurts. Everything hurts, hurts to the bone, and he can smell death, see the world less sharpened, hues of red against silver, metallic like blood more than wheels grazing against asphalt. It’s exhausting too, but he runs until he can’t hear his thoughts. He feels them instead, traced in indiscernible letters under his skin, shuddering into his veins.

Shit, shit, shit.

Home feels near. It’s a wreck of overturned tables, shards of glass scattered all over the floor. It’s their feet pressing against the glass, as Kyungsoo tip-toes for one more kiss. One last kiss, maybe. Dates don’t run on the calendar, time doesn’t run on the clock. They determine the seconds, minutes, hours, days on lips to lips, on skin against skin.

Home is turning into another alleyway, wheels scraping against the expanse of gravel and legs tangled as they desperately move up the stairs. Kyungsoo turns around and pulls at the trigger. The figure falls onto the ground, jerking a little. He continues running, staggering backwards into the building, a mess of sweat and horror.

Jongin kisses him furiously against the door, lips meshing, tongues swirling, taste like blood and gunpowder, breaths hot and quick. There, he loses the shuddery feeling, fear transitioning into something less overwhelming.

Home is the smell of Jongin’s navy blue sweater.



“The food rations are running out,” Kyungsoo sighs, “we should move out soon.”

Jongin shuts him up with another kiss, fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt. He quietly moves his lips down along Kyungsoo’s jawline, collarbone, across the chest, and down his belly button ring. Kyungsoo pulls on Jongin’s hair, laughing a little, shoulders sagging in hesitant relaxation.

“I love you.” His voice is muffled against the other’s skin, “Don’t forget.”

“Love you too,” Kyungsoo says breathlessly, “don’t forget.”

Jongin laces one arm around the older’s waist, using his free hand to strip him off his pants. He buries his face in between Kyungsoo’s thighs, swiping his tongue across canvas of porcelain.

“Jongin, please,” Kyungsoo begs softly, erection aching with need.

A tiny smile tugs at the corner of Jongin’s lips as he curls his fingers onto Kyungsoo’s cock, pecking at the tip before stroking the length, sometimes quickly, sometimes slow and teasing. He acts both on and against Kyungsoo’s words, the way Kyungsoo thrusts into his hands and fists into his hair, a mess of fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I love you, Kyungsoo.”

“Jongin, Jongin, Jongin.”

Pre-come gathers at the slit. Jongin licks it, lips fitting around the head, cock sliding down the throat. Kyungsoo screams at that, with his head thrown back and lips parted. Pulling away for a moment, the younger glances up, grinning. “You look absolutely fucking gorgeous like that.”

“Shut up and go on,” Kyungsoo whines and Jongin chuckles, taking the shaft in his mouth once more.

They lose control, letting the seconds slip past their fingertips, for now. Now is all that matters, now is Jongin loving Kyungsoo, now is Kyungsoo loving Jongin.

Now is Kyungsoo coming in spurts, in streaks of white all over Jongin’s mouth, collar, sweater.


“I love you.”

“Don’t forget.”



The electricity goes out for two hours and comes back just in time for dinner. Dinner at midnight, that is. Kyungsoo boils the sweet potatoes while Jongin sits by the door, gun ready at hand. He holds onto the sounds of bubbling water and throbbing hearts.

They eat by the door, too. The potatoes taste more like terror than sweetness so once they finish, Jongin kisses Kyungsoo over and over, finding comfort in thick, pink lips and tiny hands. He likes how they fit in his.

“We really have to move out of here,” Kyungsoo says again, “there’s a safe house, at the outskirts of town. I- I’m scared too but we have to, before it gets too dangerous.”

“I understand, baby.” Jongin pulls him closer. “We’ll move first thing tomorrow.”

(I’ll protect you. No matter what happens, I’ll always be here.)

Jongin pretends to fall asleep on Kyungsoo’s lap. Kyungsoo watches his chest rise and fall, studies the way his lashes fan out, and then traces Orion over his shoulder. Jongin’s lips curve into a smile.

They, “Dorado”, build, “Aquila”, galaxies, “Pegasus”, out, “Eridanus”, of, “Cassiopeia”, skin-against-skin. It’s easier getting through starless nights like this.

Kyungsoo sucks Jongin off against the wall the next morning. They skip breakfast, packing the last of their food rations into brown rucksacks.


“You ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Hyung, no matter what, you have to look out for yourself first, okay?”

“Jongin.”

“And remember I love you,” he reminds.

“I won’t forget.”


Jongin shrugs, “Say it, say you love me too.”

“Yeah, Jongin. I love you too.”


It’s scary to talk about death. Kyungsoo feels the fear, hard and bitter, but he pretends it isn’t there. It’s easier that way, he thinks. The problems go away, at least for now, as long as he pretends.

With trembling fingers, Jongin finally opens the door. They stalk out of the unit, back pressed to back, with Jongin facing the front and Kyungsoo facing behind. Their hands are clutched onto their guns. Footsteps quiet but quick, Jongin already spots a couple of them hanging around the elevator and fires at them without hesitation, “Fuck.”


Kyungsoo’s knees wobble and he feels as though he might crumple onto the floor. He presses deeper against Jongin’s back, heartbeat reverberating throughout his body.

“Hyung, stay calm.”



The figures fall. Kyungsoo glances over at them, and thinks how they once had lives, how they used to be individuals, people with beating hearts, people with families, people with feelings.

“Hurry up, hyung." Jongin signals for Kyungsoo to enter the elevator.


The trip down to the lobby is silent.


Kyungsoo thinks the sound of their breathing is enough.


♡


They leave the building through the back door, relentlessly firing at the figures. Jongin eyes them with disgust, bile bitter at the back of his tongue. Kyungsoo doesn’t bear to look.

The small figure, hair patchy and face splashes of brown and red. The lanky figure, arms a ladder-scale of scars. The bulky figure, irises the colour of rotting green apples.

They’re getting pretty good at this, Jongin thinks. He wants to hope that maybe all of this will end, that this is just a nightmare they’ll wake up from. Shifting his eyes, he presses himself against Kyungsoo even harder. There, he can hear their hearts beating in unison.

Outside, the heat is sweltering. Kyungsoo squints and pushes himself backward, motioning for Jongin to move along quickly. He fishes out the guidebook, flipping over to the page that shows a map of the city.

“It’s going to be a long trip,” he sighs, lips slightly quivering. Blue, green, brown and silver scatter across the canvas of the city. There’s a speck of red indicating the safe house and it’d take at least two days to get there.

“We need a vehicle,” Jongin declares.

“How the hell- I don’t want to risk it, Jongin,” Kyungsoo sighs. “Maybe we should just travel by foot.”

“It’s going to take forever, hyung. There’s a lot of distance to cover.”


Kyungsoo weighs the options they have now. Jacking a car would be difficult but getting there by foot means having to use up more time, more resources. It also means having to set up camp midway, and killing even more zombies. He doesn’t like the idea.

“Well, we can try.”

It’s amazing how Jongin even has the heart to smile at him. The car park is a few blocks away. Hardly anybody drives their cars anymore. It’s either they can’t bear to leave the house or they’re dead. Kyungsoo doesn’t want to think that far.

He climbs over the panel and stands on top of the car, arm reached out, fingers resting on the trigger guard, as Jongin jimmies the lock first. Fishing out a screwdriver, he removes the screws, unbolting the ignition switch. He gets rid of the other screws that attach the electrical and mechanical parts together and then turns the switch with the screwdriver.

The vehicle exhales with ignition soon after. Jongin beams, sliding out. “You can come down now.”

He watches Kyungsoo sigh in relief. The older man climbs back down, taking the front seat.

“It’d take about four hours to get there.”

“Do we have enough fuel?”

Jongin squints at the fuel gauge. “Should be.”

Kyungsoo clasps his tiny hands together. The world outside is a glass painting, monochromatic. Skyscrapers that cut into the sky, street stalls flipped over, broken panels and fallen trees. His stomach lurches as he notices a tiny figure, fingers so small they’d be able to wrap around his thumb. It staggers from behind a building, cheeks criss-crossed with scars.

“Don’t look,” Jongin warns. Suddenly, Kyungsoo’s so aware of the metallic sound where wheels graze against asphalt, the low growl of Jongin’s voice, crackling on the edges. His breath grows hitched, and his heartbeat reverberates violently throughout his body. Jongin notices. “You okay?”

Kyungsoo grips onto his seat, hands clammy. “I will be.”


They stop the car by a poorly barricaded area temporarily. The sun is just beginning to dip beneath the horizon, sky streaked with pink and orange. It’s much cooler now and Jongin aches to roll down the windows, to feel the breeze whipping his face. He doesn’t, though.

“We’re reaching.” Kyungsoo smiles lightly. The younger man closes his eyes and nods, leaning sidewards and pressing a kiss onto the other’s forehead.

“Is it okay, hyung? Is it okay to feel hopeful? Because the longer we survive, the more I feel as though we can actually make it. We can live to see tomorrow.”

Kyungsoo tilts his head, lips brushing over the philtrum. Their noses nudge. “I’m not the kind of person to hope but yeah, it’s okay, Jongin. It’s okay.”

“It’s a beautiful world outside,” Jongin whispers, finger tracing the curve of Kyungsoo’s ear, “so, so beautiful.”

Their cheeks are coloured with red, and it’s electric where skin meets skin. Kyungsoo knows it’s going to come out stupid, but he takes a deep breath and says anyway, “Yeah. It’s beautiful because you’re my world.”

(And I’ll do anything to keep you safe.)


Kyungsoo swipes a finger over the eyebrows, knuckles pressing into forehead. This is the sky, he says quietly. He squeezes the nose bridge and Jongin takes a double take, sneezing. Giggling, he moves his fingers away, trailing them across the canvas of his cheek. And then he pulls him in for another kiss. Where lips mesh, this is my oxygen, he says.

“Let’s move on, Jongin.”

“Okay.”


♡


The safe house looks run-down but good enough to settle down in. They enter the place, tips of ears growing crimson. Now that they’re at the far end of the city, there are barely any zombies here. To be safe though, Kyungsoo keeps watch as Jongin fumbles with the passcode system, one hand punching the numbers, the other hand holding onto the guidebook which reads the passcode.

Once the door is closed, they stalk in noiselessly, eyes scanning the room. Kyungsoo thinks he hears something but he can’t put a finger to it. The noises are so soft, it’s almost as if they’re non-existent and just a figment of his imagination. He grips onto the gun even more tightly though.

As they near the first room, he recognises the noises as breathing noises. Ragged breathing, as if asphyxiated and every breath hurts. He almost feels it, the tugging at his chest, raw and painful.

“There’s somebody else here.”

Jongin darts his eyes over to Kyungsoo, hands clammy from anxiety. He mouths, who?

The older man shrugs, signalling he doesn’t know. He moves slowly towards the noises instead, turning into an empty room albeit two heaving figures on the ground. Jongin takes a double take, before squinting to get a better view.

The taller one has dirty blond hair, eyes closed, lashes fanning out. Modelesque, lips smeared into a line. His hands rest on his jacket, nails subconsciously digging into the material. Even in sleep, he’s cautious.

The other man is shorter, sleeves rolled up, bones protruding out of skin. His hair is unkempt, fringe so thick it covers his right eye. Purple colours his cheeks, an extremely sickly shade. He looks like he’s in pain.

They’re definitely human. Jongin relaxes a bit, corners of lips even tugging upwards into a smile. But Kyungsoo only stiffens his shoulders, brows furrowing. The apocalypse has just occurred, there’s no such thing as trusting strangers at a time like this. Ushering Jongin into the other room, they find ammunition and food and bottles of mineral water. Kyungsoo gasps, eyes lighting up. It was the right choice to come here after all.

“Hyung!” Jongin exclaims, albeit in a soft voice. He envelops him in his arms, until their chests are pressed up against each other, his lips softly brushing the top of his head.

Kyungsoo puts a finger to his lips. “Shh.”


The younger man swiftly takes a bottle, opening the lid and taking small sips. He can’t drink up as much as he wants to. It’s key to survival that the body adapts to harsh conditions. Kyungsoo smooths his hands over the packets of bullets, heart beating just a little faster. Instantaneously, he picks a few of them up and keeps them in his rucksack.

It makes sense that there’s so little people who managed to reach the safehouse. The virus has gotten so widespread even the government can’t stop it, as much as they have tried. People either die after getting transmitted, or of starvation or dehydration, not having enough to eat and drink.

They’re all dead inside anyway, in one way or another. The fear of death is thick and fatal, consuming them. Drowning in quicksand, with arms flailing and throats growing hoarse from all the screaming. Nobody hears, nobody saves them.

Kyungsoo blinks, shutting the thoughts away. As he finally closes his rucksack, oblivious to his surroundings, he leans forward onto the shelf, hands gripping the board.

A voice laced with quiet anger pierces through the air. “Who are you?”

The both of them instantly turn around, arms raised in surrender. It’s the taller man, gun in hand pointed towards them. Threat glazes over his eyes in tiny, orange flames. His slanted brows make him look grumpy. But he’s ridiculously handsome, figure towering over Kyungsoo.

Jongin glares at the man but Kyungsoo sighs, dropping his arms. “Hey. I am Kyungsoo and he’s Jongin. We’ve come to the safe house to escape. We mean no harm.”

The guy slowly puts down the gun. “Hi, I’m Wufan.”

"Nice to meet you.... Wufan," he says, frowning. Wufan's words are slightly accented. He tries to figure out why.

"We don't come from here, if that's what you're wondering. And by we, I mean my partner and I. He's called Yixing."

"You're Chinese?" Jongin deciphers, making wild hand gestures. Wufan chuckles, promptly nodding his head. Kyungsoo still has his guard up, forehead creased, fists curling and uncurling.

"Well, welcome to the safe house. I guess we've landed ourselves on the same boat."

"Everybody is, actually," Kyungsoo says quietly. "It's just a matter of who dies first."

They lapse into an uncomfortable silence, something gnawing at their chests. The shorter man of the two finally wakes up, he guesses. Yixing joins Wufan, placing a hand on his shoulder, back bent as he coughs awkwardly.

"This is Kyungsoo and Jongin," Wufan introduces. Yixing smiles a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He's probably just as cautious of them as they are of him.

Kyungsoo decides he'd like them both more than what he expects though.



They don't sleep in the same room, each pair sticking to themselves. Jongin chews on his dried beef, watching Kyungsoo wiping the gun with a wet cloth. Kyungsoo, with his slick, black hair. Irises so white they wash out the black of his pupils. Brows pulled together as if he's deep in thought. Lips pursed, resembling a heart shape.

It's crazy how they only have each other now. Jongin thinks of their old friends from high school. There was Sehun and that guy was a pain in the neck, he remembers. Out to ruin Jongin's life, always pulling pranks on him. There was Junmyeon, and he brought him and Jongin together. He also thinks about his colleagues. Luhan, the only Chinese dancing teacher at their school, whom Jongin was closest with.

Wufan and Yixing's accent brings back memories of Luhan. Luhan and his bambi eyes, dancing precise but not as fluid as Jongin's. Luhan who's quirky and handsome. And Jongin loves him, even if it isn't the same way he loves Kyungsoo.

He wonders how Luhan's faring. Is he dead or dying? Is there somebody to back him up? Luhan has come all this way from China alone, leaving his family and old friends behind. Jongin bites on his lip. Loneliness is contagious.

"Kyungsoo, come here," he whines. The other man crawls over and sits on Jongin's lap, legs wrapped around the body. "What."

"Kiss me," he orders, the authority in his voice stealing the breath away from Kyungsoo. The older man leans in slowly, nibbling on the lower lip first. What's wrong, he asks, breath hot against the chin. Jongin shrugs, sifting his fingers through Kyungsoo's hair.

Their teeth touch and his chest crackles with laughter. Kyungsoo thinks it sounds more like sobbing though. He sucks on the lower lip again and it's a mix of pain and pleasure. Mouths open, tongues meet, twirling. He tries not to think about their touching crotches.

"We can't do this now, right." He pulls away, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Jongin grumbles, "Who cares."

"Jongin," Kyungsoo sighs, cupping said man's face, rubbing circles over the philtrum. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I thought about Luhan. And Sehun. And Junmyeon."

"Ah. Junmyeon was such a nice guy." Kyungsoo smiles bitterly. "Sehun was hilarious. You guys were best friends, I remember."

"Hyung, you were pretty close to that Baekhyun guy too. He always wore eyeliner to school, that guy."

"Baekhyun was a social butterfly. Everybody liked him. Befriending him helped me open up to people in the school," Kyungsoo talks as he pulls in to peck on Jongin's lips once more.

"It scares me. To think they might not even be alive now."

"Don't even go there. They'd like if we remember them as how we had known them."

Jongin figures that Kyungsoo's right. He should keep remembering Sehun as the boy who smudged chocolate all over his textbooks, Junmyeon who stayed back after school to help him with his homework. Chanyeol whom he occasionally played basketball with. Jongdae, the jokester of the class, the boy who made everybody laugh.

Kyungsoo ends up thinking about his own friends as well. Baekhyun and Minseok and Zitao. When his chest starts to hurt, he drives away the images where high school burns into his memory.

"Kiss me again."

Kyungsoo's smile falters. Foreheads touch, lips mesh.

The tent in his pants grows painful. Fingers curling onto the nape of Jongin's neck, he groans, "Thanks for making me hard at a time like this, fucker."

Jongin laughs out loud. "It's okay, hyung. Doesn't matter if Wufan and Yixing are in the other room."

As they jerk off each other, a mess of whimpers and low moans, Jongin’s mind a tree branching out into a million things, an idea grows. An idea of happiness, happiness which doesn’t mean having to survive this. He blinks and pumps his cock faster.



Days grow into weeks. Kyungsoo doesn’t even want to think about what goes on outside the safe house. He sticks to eating dried beef and fruits and hydrating himself whenever he can. They start talking to Wufan and Yixing after two weeks. It’s fascinating learning about the both of them, Kyungsoo thinks. It’s nice to look outside yourself and realise that other people are living too, living real lives and having their own problems and loving the people they love just like you do.

Wufan talks about his past. He had lived in Canada when he was young, a basketballer on his school team. Jongin is reminded of Chanyeol once more, of high school. He figures he kind of misses it, the school work, the peer pressure. His first date with Kyungsoo, their friends teasing them. It seemed as if they were an unlikely couple.

Yixing talks about how he met Wufan. Both struggling to make it in the entertainment industry, Wufan goes to China confused, finding Yixing midway. When Kyungsoo watches them talk, he’s reminded of Chinese take-out, greasy dumplings in a box, wooden chopsticks.

“So why did you come to Korea?” Jongin asks.

“We thought we could find more opportunities here,” Wufan explains. Kyungsoo wishes he can smooth the creases on his forehead.

“I mean, I get sick of hanging around backstage in search for something more. Something exciting. I was confused, I didn’t know what I was aiming for. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want it just as bad as the others did.”

“A spotlight. I guess that’s what we were looking for.” Yixing shrugs. “Funny how it doesn’t seem to matter that much now.”

“We got to the safe house as fast as we could, right after the apocalypse happened. How about you guys?”

Kyungsoo realises they barely talk about themselves. They only listen to the Chinese men, craving for more, for a connection outside the tiny world they live in. The walls they’ve built around them they’re unwilling to break, too.

‘We managed to get by for about a month. Then we jacked a car and got here.” Kyungsoo almost smiles. Jongin digs his nails into the other man’s arm, stopping him from saying anything more. It’s as if it’s their secret to keep. The lives they’ve lived, the lives they’re fighting for. They’re all secrets, they’re the only things left to protect. Kyungsoo bites on his lower lip.

“Cool.” The corners of Wufan’s lips pull upwards. And then Kyungsoo figures what Jongin means.

They’re starting to get attached.



It’s about three a.m. when Kyungsoo wakes up to Jongin stuffing the food from the storage room into their rucksacks.

“Jongin! What are you doing!” he asks, bewildered, albeit in a hushed voice.

Jongin ignores him, carefully sealing the rucksack and then sitting down next to Kyungsoo. “Go back to sleep, hyung.”

“Jongin....” His mind drifts off to Wufan and Yixing, to how the hell they’re going to manage without them when they all finally leave the safe house. Without the food Jongin’s stolen.

“Hyung, I said, go back to sleep.”

“Think about Wufan and Yixing-”

“This is us trying to survive, this is us snatching every chance we get. Hyung, you can’t get attached. You know you can’t, not at a time like this. I’m only doing this for us.” He puts a hand over Kyungsoo’s chest. The older man knows he’s right, but it’s not like he can help it. He can’t help reaching out to other people, he can’t help missing whatever that’s left of humanity.

And he really doesn’t want to cry, but he does, tears trailing down the cheeks leaving behind salty tracks betraying him. Jongin sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, bending forwards to press a kiss on his forehead.

“I’m not going to be sorry, hyung. We’ll need the food, we’ll need to move on.”

“I understand, Jongin, it’s just-”

“Yes, I know. I do.” He shuts him up with another kiss, and then another. They don’t want their conversations to always border on heartbreak.


♡


They start to notice something’s up by the fifth week. Kyungsoo thinks he hears nails clawing at the walls, the low growl of a zombie. He wonders if fear has caught up with him and tries to shake away the noises, the images in his head.

Wufan barges into the storage room though and tells them, “I think we’re being sieged.”

“What the fuck.” Jongin stands up, hand already fishing the gun out of the pocket.

“Sieged?” Kyungsoo questions.

“The whole lot of them. They’re going to stay outside the safe house and wait till we finish our supplies. Then we’ll have no choice but to leave the place.”

“Oh my god.” He covers his face with his hands, heart sinking.

“We are running out of supplies,” Wufan frowns. “We might end up having to leave anyway.”



Jongin thinks about the food he’s stolen, hidden in his rucksack. There’s a tinge of guilt, blooming, flower poking through the side crack.

“Do you guys have any excess supplies? Things we can use for now.”

“No,” he immediately answers, taking Kyungsoo’s hand in his. “no.”


Wufan nods his head slowly and sighs, lips quivering, eyes blank and closed off to the rest of the world. Behind the pupils though, Kyungsoo thinks he sees the universe through Wufan’s eyes, thinks he sees the first time Wufan had kissed Yixing, the first time Wufan watched Yixing danced. He wants so bad to tell him about the food they’ve hidden but Jongin only holds onto his arm even harder.

“Hey, Wufan,” Kyungsoo calls out. Jongin stiffens.

“Yeah?”

“I hope you feel better.” He tries his best at comfort and wonders if he hears the guilt in his voice. Wufan just smiles though. “You too.”




They drink as little water as they can and indulge in kisses instead, sloppy, alive with saliva. Tongues and jaws and mouths, wet and meshing and twirling. Where they couldn’t eat, they devoured each other, lips sucking red and purple into skin. They’re hours away from their old apartment, but Jongin still smells like home. Dirt, crackers and perspiration. Home.

“I want to get a nice, warm shower. And then come out of the bathroom to the waft of kimchi spaghetti. Your kimchi spaghetti. So cheesy, so good.” Jongin closes his eyes and almost smells the pasta, almost tastes it on his tongue.

“We’ll get to have a good glass of wine. It has been an exhausting day for the both of us. You smell like your favourite pear organic soap, I smell like the kitchen fire. You’re really hungry but you kiss me first, because you’re like that. I know you’re like that.”

Jongin snickers, stomach making growling noises. “Can I have another cracker?”

Kyungsoo nods, eyes crinkling into crescents. He opens the wrapper and hands the golden biscuit to Jongin, watching him eat. He thinks Jongin relieves the hunger. As long as Jongin’s okay.

Around the seventh week, they’ve finished up most of the food. There’s a few bottles of mineral water left. Kyungsoo paces up and down, heart beating so hard he feels the pounding in his ears, the thrumming of his pulse, set against the canvas of the entire world. It’s a liquid canvas, and each heartbeat draws a ripple over the water. The anxiety is raw and painful, scars that run deep into his bones. He can shed all the skin, the flesh, the muscle, the tissue and the scars would still be there.

“We have to leave tonight,” Wufan declares. They discuss their plans over a tiny meal of plain wafers and dried beef.

“Where are you guys going?” Kyungsoo asks. The wafers have gotten softer, he notices.

“We can’t even think that far.” Yixing chuckles as if it’s a joke, “What’s most important is getting past the zombies.”

“We’ve got our guns and ammunition. Basically, we have to kill them. Shoot them. But I can already picture the numbers and it’s going to be hard.”

“What’s the minimum?” Kyungsoo questions timidly. Wufan tilts his head, brows pulling closer. “I guess, about twenty?”

“Christ.” Jongin swears, tucking his knees to his chest. The older man just shrugs. “Have to get used to it.”

“Are you afraid?”

Wufan clicks his tongue, then hesitantly smiles. “Afraid of death? Not really. I just regret a lot of things.”

Yixing scoots closer to his partner, pecking on the cheek. His lips stay there a little longer than they shoot, breath against the face, wordless goodbyes breeding where lips meet skin. Kyungsoo starts to shiver, not because it’s cold (autumn is nearing) but because it’s painful to watch.

He’s not going to say goodbye to Jongin. No matter what, he’s not.


♡


They punch in the passcode and the door opens with a creak. This is it.

Wufan stalks out first, gun pointed outwards. There are more than twenty of them and Kyungsoo staggers backwards, reaching his gun out, letting out a scream. The figures approach them, eyes gleaming with the undead. Wufan pulls the trigger and shoots two down, all of them following behind and finally dispersing.

“Jongin!” Wufan yells, edging sideways and blasting off at another one. Yixing swiftly swerves in between the mess of figures, shooting and loading, all with shaky fingers.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, arms flailing and body rotating away from the zombies. One of them is jumping at Jongin and the man shrieks, veins pulsating against his neck. Kyungsoo immediately runs over, blasting at the back of its head, pulling Jongin up.

“Yixing, run! Go now! Quick!” Wufan orders but Yixing shakes his head and continues attacking the figures. “Shit, I’m running out of bullets.”

“Run now, listen to me! Somebody take him away!”

“Yixing!” Kyungsoo calls out, letting go of Jongin and loading his gun. Yixing sprints over to Wufan, fisting into his jacket. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“You dumbass. Go now, I beg you.” Tears well up in the Chinese man’s eyes and Kyungsoo can’t keep his eyes off him for a second. He has never seen Wufan cry and has never expected to either. It breaks his heart.

“Yixing! Come with us!”

“Go with them!” Wufan urges on. Yixing just shakes his head, cheeks flushed. He slowly lets go of his grip on the other man’s clothes, lagging behind a little and then blasting off at a bulky figure but missing.

Jongin grabs Kyungsoo’s hand, wanting to pull him away from the scene. Kyungsoo shakes his head and struggles in his grip, shooting at another one that stumbles past.

“Go now, hyung!”

Caught up in asking Yixing to leave, a big one crashes on Wufan, pinning him to the ground. Yixing screeches and it’s excruciating to hear. Jongin and Kyungsoo cry aloud, watching the zombie sink its teeth into Wufan’s neck, the man slowly growing lifeless, sickly colour spreading across the canvas of his body.

Jongin shoots the zombie, immediately racing over to pry Yixing off but it’s pointless, the man racking with sobs, kneeling beside Wufan.

“Get away now, Yixing! He’s dead, he’s not Wufan anymore!”

But Yixing refuses to let go, lanky arms holding down Wufan’s, pressing them deeper against the ground. When Wufan’s eyes flicker open, he curls upward, nails digging into the other man’s skin, lips sucking onto the chin, teeth tearing open the flesh.

“No!” Kyungsoo screams, “Jongin, run now!”


Jongin’s crying by now, turning around to fire randomly at the figures as Kyungsoo grips his arm and pulls him backward, the both of them running into the dark. Running with their arms swinging, until their legs grow sore, their feet swell. There isn’t that familiar adrenaline, it isn’t electric where something surges through their veins. It pulverises them instead, and Jongin’s sobbing so hard he falls onto the road, screaming.

“Calm down, Jongin! Jongin!” Kyungsoo pins him onto the ground, elbow pressing into the material of his shirt.

Jongin screams, nails clawing at the asphalt, cheeks stained with tear tracks. And Kyungsoo wants to cry too. It really, really fucking hurts. But he leans in to nibble onto Jongin’s lower lip and watch his shoulders sag in relaxation, albeit still a mess of chattering teeth and hummingbird heartbeat.

They kiss like that, until all that Jongin is aware of is his lungs. Lungs on fire, lungs filled up with the smell of Kyungsoo. Until he forgets the smell of almost losing him, of losing Wufan and Yixing, of losing the place they called home for seven weeks.

“We have to go.”

“Where?” Jongin chokes, “Where the fuck can we go?”


“I don’t know. But anywhere with you, it’s fine. It’s going to be fine.”

They both know it’s not.


Jongin nods, getting up feebly, and when Kyungsoo attempts to lace his fingers with his, he just shifts his arm away. They limp like angled legs and quiet footsteps into a forest. It’s dark, but it’s better like this anyway. Where they can’t see, the zombies can’t see them either.

Traversing deeper, they find a spot to settle down. Tomorrow they’d look for water, Kyungsoo thinks. He misses home, he wished they never left, he wished they never met Wufan and Yixing, and silently, he wished he had died. Even though he knew this was all just part and parcel of trying to survive, he thinks there are better things worth living for.

And then he throws a side glance at Jongin and takes his words back.


“You can sleep. I’ll keep watch tonight,” he whispers.

“Thanks.” Jongin lays on Kyungsoo’s lap. “Do you think the zombies will ever die out? Or will they keep increasing in numbers and we all just die? Do you think that, someday, we’ll go back home and rebuild the scraps of life we’re left with, with real things to worry about like food and jobs and children? Do you-”

“Jongin.” Kyungsoo shrugs, hesitantly carding his fingers through the other’s hair.

“Do you remember? We were supposed to go to the orphanage and find a kid we liked. And I- I miss teaching the children at dance class. I wonder what happened to them, hyung. But the more I wonder, the more I realise that I don’t actually want to know.”

“Jongin. Please.”

“Your parents hated me. They hated me so much but we still got together in the end. Are you happy? That we ended up together. Do you love me, hyung?”

“I love you so much, Jongin. So fucking much.”

“Okay. I love you too, hyung. You have to remember. We can forget about all the other things, even the little things. But you have to remember that I love you too.”

Kyungsoo nods. “Just go to sleep.”

“You have to remember.”

“I won’t forget. I promise.” He glares ahead.


Until he watches Jongin’s eyes screw shut, body heaving, chest rising and falling, lips pressed into a line, he lets out a breath he doesn’t know he’s been holding.

I love you, he mouths, tracing the curve of Jongin’s ear with his fingertip.

It’s going to be a new day. Another day of trying to survive. He goes through the list of things they’re left with in their rucksack. Bullets, blades, guide book, empty bottles, scissors, a tiny pot and dried food. He’s glad Jongin decided to steal them off the safe house's storeroom anyway. And tomorrow, they’re going to find water, of course; and maybe look for edible plants in the forest. He smiles to himself. It’s a sad smile.


Suddenly, Jongin jolts out of Kyungsoo’s lap and wraps his fingers around the other’s neck, holding him down against the ground.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

But Jongin pulls out his gun and presses the pistol against Kyungsoo’s forehead.

“J-Jongin?” Not now. Now now, you idiot.

“Jongin! Jongin, goddammit!” Kyungsoo hisses, struggling in Jongin’s grip. “Stop!”

“You love me right, hyung. Trust me.” Jongin’s eyes are dark and Kyungsoo sees it, sees how determined he is to do this. It scares the fuck out of him and the panic makes him want to throw up. He shakes his entire body instead, squeezing tears out of his eyes. “Please, Jongin! Not now! Stop, please!”

“Hyung, trust me. I’ve got this.” Jongin just says quietly, shaky finger about to pull on the trigger.

“Fuck.” Kyungsoo throws himself forward, denting nails into arms, sinking teeth into the younger man’s cheek, biting on the flesh and Jongin drops the gun, falling backwards.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he lashes out at him, hurling punches at his nose, until blood trails down the philtrum, and then the upper lip. For a tiny man, Kyungsoo has more strength, more depth to his attacks than what he seems to be on the exterior.

Jongin lets Kyungsoo hit him because yeah, Kyungsoo’s right, what the fuck was he thinking?

“Hyung, I- I’m sorry.”


Kyungsoo doesn’t soften, he bends and pulls at the collar, hauling him up, other hand clawing at his scalp, fingers pulling on dishevelled hair.

“We’re going to fucking live through this. Do you hear me? I said, we’re going to fucking live through this. You asked me if we could go back to living the way we used to. To be honest, things are never going to be the same. Recovering from this is going to be difficult. But you know what? At least we’d have a chance to try. I want to try, Jongin. For you, for us, for now, for tomorrow. I want to try.”

Jongin pants heavily as Kyungsoo slowly releases him.

“Hyung, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, Jongin.” Kyungsoo closes his eyes, attempting to even out his breathing.


“I don’t know what I was doing, I-”

“Yeah, I know. Just go back to sleep.”


“Hyung.”

“I want to cut my hair,” Kyungsoo announces out of the blue.

“I’ll do it for you.” Jongin frantically rummages through the items in the rucksack, fishing out the scissors.

“Jongin. You don’t need to. I said, go back to sleep.”

“No, no, hyung. Let me.” His voice is trembly on the edges. Kyungsoo keeps his guard up as the blades snip past strands of black hair, slowly yawning, vision blackening, scalp mottled with Jongin’s teardrops.


That night, he dreams about Jongin, skin patches of bronze and green, eyes bloodshot, scars running across his back, arms, face.



Jongin ends up falling asleep. They both wake up to something heavy in their chests, a burden to carry, and now they have to walk with their backs bent, pain etched into the creases on their forehead, the way their brows furrow together. Jongin awkwardly slings an arm around Kyungsoo’s waist for support. His limping is less obvious but it’s there.

“You feeling better?” the older man asks quietly.

“Yeah. Where are we heading off to?”

It’s clear he doesn’t want to touch the topic of what happened last night. The way his hand squeezes the flab on Kyungsoo’s abdomen says sorry though. It says I’m so sorry and I love you and I did this only because I love you. Kyungsoo decides it’s not worth mulling over so he tiptoes to press a kiss against Jongin’s cheek. It’s okay.

“We’re going to look for water.”

“Oh.”

The trees here look livelier than those in the city. Faint sunlight filters through the leaves, dappling the ground. Red, orange and gold spiral from underneath, twisting into the sky. The wind is heavy, and Kyungsoo buries his head into Jongin’s shoulder, teeth chattering.

They walk for hours, with their guns at hand of course. But they’re drained of any energy to care, really. They don’t even bother to look around, be cautious of any oncoming monsters. All they do is trudge through the forest in silence. It’s a comfortable silence.

When they finally find a lake, the sun is beginning to set. Jongin gathers some twigs and branches, starting a fire. They’re aware the light it emanates makes them an easy target but they have to boil the water first. Making sure they drink clean water is just as important.

As the liquid simmers in the pot, Kyungsoo attempts to bring his feet as close as possible to the flickering embers. The warmth is very comforting and as dry as their throats are, they relish in the heat first.

“It’s kind of pointless, isn’t it? Getting by like this.” Jongin begins. Kyungsoo turns to look at him, body trembling violently. “Jongin, why do we keep talking about this?”

“We don’t have all the time left in the world to talk about anything else, hyung.”

The older man drawls, “Admittedly, it kind of is.”

“Are you happy?”

“I don’t know, Jongin. But really, have I been happy all my life? What I’m getting at is that everybody’s stuck in a transition between this emotion and that emotion. Everybody’s stuck in a transition between one phase and another. We move on, we fall behind, we get stuck. Life works like that.”

“Are you happy now?”

“No. I’m not happy at all. I’m tired and I just want to sleep and never wake up. But I guess you can say I’m glad. We’ve made it this far, Jongin.” Kyungsoo takes his hand, “And it’s not worth looking back anymore.”

“I wonder if we’ll end up in a better place after death.”

“Maybe. But what if don’t end up there? What if we cease to exist? I want to fight for the seconds we have left. I don’t want to let them slip past my fingertips again.”

“And I just want to be happy.” Jongin gets up, removing the pot. They let the water cool down before pouring it into the bottles. Taking a slow sip, he throws his head back, shoulders sagging. Kyungsoo takes tiny sips as well, drinking as slowly as he can. As night arrives, they smother the fire with dirt and run off, groping through the darkness, face specked with fresh, tiny cuts.


♡


They manage to survive in the forest for a good month, the zombies barely ever venturing into this secret haven they’ve found. There have been a couple of them but Kyungsoo and Jongin kill them with ease. With the small number of zombies, they don’t have to worry about ammunition, regardless of the bullets they’ve used when leaving the safe house.

Jongin starts to notice they don’t talk much anymore. But Kyungsoo holds on to him harder than before. When they run low on dried food, they start picking out the edible plants in the forest. It’s a good thing they’re near the lake, too. So they can always have a source of water.

On a particular day, Jongin catches sight of six or seven of them. He fires from a distance before dashing back to their camp, hurriedly asking Kyungsoo to move from their current location first, but to still stay in the forest, just further away. Something feels off and he starts thinking about his family again, his friends. Their neighbours. He pictures them, greener and bruised and eyes the colour of something else. He pictures them with teeth baring, nails clawing at skin. And then he shudders and shakes his head, but that doesn’t bring the gut feeling that pools in his stomach away.

Kyungsoo thinks about something else. He thinks about how tired he is and about winter. Winter’s going to come, it’s already so cold, how are they going to go on? Then his thoughts drift off into little fantasies. Of fireplaces and winter clothing and Christmas. Kyungsoo misses Christmas.

Last year, he was insistent on celebrating Christmas. He cooked a small dinner, just enough for themselves and a few of their colleagues. Jongin bought him new silverware and Kyungsoo bought him cute socks. They had kissed as they unwrapped the presents.

The next day, around morning time, the national alarm blasts off. Kyungsoo jumps out of his sleeping position, gripping onto Jongin’s shoulders and screaming into his back.

He remembers reading about the alarm in the guidebook. It means a nuclear wipeout.


They lapse into silence for a few minutes, attempting to digest everything. The alarm still rings, loud and clear, force knocking death onto them. Shoving death down their throats.

“You do realise we can’t survive this, right? We’re gonna die, hyung. We’re really gonna die.” Jongin laughs. Their fingers lace, and Kyungsoo’s chin rest on Jongin’s. Their eyes are glittering, seas reflecting shimmering city lights. Seas in which their hearts sink.

Kyungsoo blinks, taking a better look at Jongin. Has he always been this unclean? The grime, the dirt, the perspiration trickling down the temples. He cups his wrist and pulls them away from their camp. Jongin doesn’t even question him, lets him take him away without a word.

When they reach the lake, Kyungsoo slowly takes off Jongin’s sweater, unbuttoning the shirt underneath. His fingers are trembling and Jongin takes his hand in his, swiping a thumb over them, callused skin plastered over bones. But Kyungsoo can’t stop shaking, and he halts, taking a deep breath, closing his eyes. Jongin waits until he relaxes, then lets him work at unbuttoning the shirt, pushing them out the slits. The younger man slips out of his shirt by himself and Kyungsoo trails his fingertips against the abs, letting the digits go over the ridge, mapping out the curve, the dip. Jongin only shudders.

When Kyungsoo finally stops, breathing a sigh, he pushes the other man into the lake. Jongin doesn’t protest, much to his surprise. The water could very much be contaminated with the virus, but honestly, who cares now?

Kyungsoo flicks some water at Jongin’s abdomen, tracing circles over skin. Jongin laughs and splashes the liquid at the older man, watching him erupt with giggles and submerging under the surface. Bubbles rise, bursting when they reach the surface. After a while, he hauls him up, eyes the way his shirt clings onto his skin.

Kyungsoo, like this, is a mess of laugh lines and eye smiles. In time to come, he’ll figure out that this is what happiness really means, Jongin thinks. It’s freezing, kind of. But this is the cleanest they’ve felt since they left home, droplets of water trailing down canvases of porcelain and bronze, iridescent even in minimal sunlight.

“This is it, isn’t it?”

“I guess so.” Jongin starts to laugh again because it’s so fucking sad it’s funny. The kind of funny where it bursts through his veins, mine trail marked around the heart blowing up all at once. The kind of funny where he remembers the first time he tried coming to terms with his sexuality, the first time he met Kyungsoo’s parents. The first time he tugged on Kyungsoo’s arm, not letting him go, promising him he’ll take care of him forever.

And the first time he competed for his job with another graduate, the first time he and Kyungsoo fought over finances. He also remembers the parts in between, the world they’ve built, the world they’ve spent forever trying to keep. In circles they go, moving forward at times, lagging behind at others.

Maybe there’s bits of happiness wedged in between the work, the endless plans for a future. But Jongin can’t remember, and it’s sad that it’s only now he wants to not forget.

Because the kisses are never enough, because there’s always something left to regret. The empty spaces where the puzzle pieces don’t fit. Money and work, puzzle pieces too big. The spaces are smaller, meant for the little things.

“I’m sorry,” Jongin suddenly says as they get out of the lake. The blades of grass crunch underneath their feet. Kyungsoo shivers, lapsing into fits of violent coughing. Leaning in, Jongin laps at the wetness, pressing a hand against the cheek.

"You're gonna have a fever." He frowns, putting back on his clothes. Kyungsoo falls limp, lying down on the grass, letting out a sigh that's trembly on the edges. "Whatever."

"I said I'm sorry."

“For what?” Kyungsoo snaps. Jongin takes a deep breath. “Sorry for not kissing you hard enough, sorry for all the dinner dates I’ve not turned up for because of work. Sorry for coming home late sometimes, like- I just wish I came home earlier to find you awake instead of sleeping. Fuck.”

“I’m sorry too. Sorry for ordering take-out on the days I’m too tired to cook. Sorry for the kid we couldn’t adopt. Sorry for turning down sex on working days,” Kyungsoo adds on. And the way he speaks, his voice itself, it all takes Jongin’s breath away. He wishes he could fall for him again. Over and over again.

“Dry your clothes,” he says instead. Kyungsoo doesn’t listen, just closes his eyes as Jongin lies down next to him. “It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay.”

When the sky darkens, Jongin notices that Kyungsoo might be having a fever after all. He crouches, carrying him on the back all the way to camp. It’s pointless but he rushes. Because as much as being killed by a zombie is no different from being killed by a nuclear wipeout, he doesn’t want Kyungsoo to die like that.

“I’m so tired, Jongin.”

“Take a rest when we reach camp.”


He wets Kyungsoo’s forehead, letting him sleep on a bed of fallen leaves and makes a fire. There’s an ache in his chest where he watches Kyungsoo shiver and he chides himself for letting Kyungsoo go down into the lake. And he’s freezing but he takes off his coat and drapes it over the older man instead.

The idea of happiness branches out, Jongin’s mind not bearing the weight. He’s going to collapse, both inside and outside. Gently patting the sleeping figure, he promises he’s not going to let Kyungsoo watch him fall apart.

Jongin remembers the first time he tried killing Kyungsoo. It was completely irrational but this time, it makes a lot more sense. He reaches out for the rucksack, fishing out the bottle which stores the edible plants, attempting to force a leaf into the other man’s mouth. Kyungsoo groans, turning over to sleep on his side. Chuckling, Jongin opens another bottle that’s filled with water and lightly sprinkle it over Kyungsoo’s forehead. He hopes it relieves the pain, even if it’s just by a little bit.

“The first time we met, I was a mess.” Jongin doesn’t even realise he’s talking aloud.

“I was a mess and didn’t even bother with fixing myself. I fucked up a lot.” He pauses for a second, brushing a wisp of hair off Kyungsoo’s eyes.

“If you looked at this from the big picture, me meeting you wouldn’t have been a miracle. We just grew so used to being with each other we kind of forgot that it’s what makes us that’s most important. We stopped appreciating the little things. It’s the little things I miss most, hyung.”

The wind bites at his neck, goosebumps blooming on the flowerbed of his skin.

“Thank you for staying. Thank you for not giving up, for saving me. For putting back all the broken pieces together. I love you.”

He curls his fingers onto the gun. The gun which he fished out along with the plants. Curling closer, he points the pistol onto Kyungsoo’s forehead. What he doesn’t expect to see though, is Kyungsoo breathing a sigh, single tear trailing down the cheek.

“I love you too.”

Jongin fires.