๋࣭ ⭑Part Ⅰ: limbo | z.cl
✧*:.｡.what if the world ended, and you're all that's left?.｡.:*✧
✧synopsis: nothing seems to be going right for you. you've fallen out with your sister, you don't have any friends, and you're stuck in a 9-5 that you loathe with colleagues who are determined to make your life a living hell. and just when you're convinced that things can't get any worse, you wake up on a beach in busan with no idea how you got there, and worse still, every other person having disappeared. that is, save for chenle, an irritatingly smug and exasperatingly attractive chaebol who's willing to throw anyone under the bus to save himself, and a murderous figure clad in black, hellbent on slaying the both of you.
✧pairing: chenle x reader
✧genres: mystery, slow-burn, enemies-to-lovers, action, drama, comedy/crack, angst
✧warnings: profanities, innuendos, sexual harassment, mentions of depression/ suicidal ideation, suggestive content, eventual smut (not in this part), violence
✧wordcount part Ⅰ: 22k
✧author's note: wow, okay, i'm very emotionally attached to this one. i hope that maybe some of you will be able to relate to the contents brought up in limbo and that it will give you comfort but before that, it's gonna stress you tf out I'm sorry lmao🖤
✧taglist: @qtpiezhong @bunnychuic @sungiesworld27 @dinosaurtoothbrushwithninjasauce @ihrtantn @niinjo @renjuns-foolscover
if you'd like to be added to the taglist just let me know!🖤
✧ limbo masterpost
Every damn day is the same.
In fact, you’re so stuck in your daily routine that you only come to on the subway, suddenly uncomfortably aware of the people you’re crammed into the tight space with. A businessman seated in front of you who eats his breakfast, chewing without tasting as he stares off into nothing. Another man, similarly dressed, asleep next to him. A woman next to you, clad in office wear nearly identical to yours who holds onto the strap next to yours, fighting to keep her eyes fluttering shut. You and her may as well be the same person.
You know it happened, but you don’t remember getting out of bed at 4:15— an ungodly but unavoidable time due to your long commute to work— or brushing your teeth or nibbling on a stale piece of toast because you couldn’t be bothered to go grocery shopping yet again.
If our lives pass us by like a movie running on mute, are we really living?
You stream out of the metro along with the sea of people on their way to work. It’s hard for you to imagine each of them lead their own lives as you watch their soulless faces. What may their thoughts be? Do they worry about work? Think of their families?
Are they happy?
All of you live the same lives. Work, eat, sleep. Work, eat, sleep. Work eat sleep. Workeatsleep. Workeatsleep. Workeatsleepworkeatsleepworkeatsleep.
An office worker bumps into you, throwing you slightly off-balance. You stumble a few steps forward, only just now realizing that you’ve made it to the company you work at. The vitreous skyscraper towers in front of you, making you feel smaller than ever as you step through the rapidly revolving doors, worrying—as you do every day— about missing the timing and somehow getting stuck, or crushed between them.
You see it in front of your inner eye: your head between the revolving doors, then snap! Your lifeless body slumping to the ground as your decapitated head rolls into the lobby until someone notices it and a mass hysteria breaks out.
Well, that would be one way of getting out of work.
Your feet are already screaming in pain by the time you get off the elevator, courtesy of the high heels you’re wearing. You tell yourself that it’s fine because they’re pretty— which they are. It’s just that wearing them all day every day kind of feels like getting your foot sliced open with a steak knife over and over again. But it’s not like you have a choice. All your female colleagues wear them, and the one who doesn’t has been referred to as the ‘office butch’ ever since. So unless you want that to become your fate, the feet-mangling demon shoes it is.
This particular colleague of yours, Kang Seulgi, your senior on the marketing team, greets you with a shy smile as you walk into the office. She’s hunched over as if trying to make herself as small as possible, and she can’t quite meet your eyes, but at least she stands firm on her decision to abandon her high heels, no matter how much those bitches shame her for it. For that, you respect her.
Also, Seulgi may actually be the only decent person working in this place. Though shy and reserved, she’s always nice and smiling with her eyes when she talks to you. She’s also one of the most hardworking people in your division, not that your sexist son-off-a-bitch boss would ever acknowledge that, though. No, his promotions are reserved for the men who suck up to him and the few women who abandon their pride sweettalking him
You haven’t even been at your desk for more than two minutes when an example of the latter, Miyawaki Sakura, comes up to your desk. She’s been newly appointed to assistant manager of the Japanese division of the firm, which she never tires of boasting about. You fight the urge to glare at her.
“L/n.” In the five months she’s worked here, she has not once asked for your first name. “Didn’t I tell you to send me the arthritis creme proposal?”
God, you really don’t get paid enough for this sh*t.
You take a controlled breath and force a pleasant expression onto your face. “I did. Would you like me to show you the email?”
Sakura scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Right, because I’m blind. If I say I didn’t get it, then I didn’t get it. Also, I don’t appreciate your tone, considering that you’re talking to your superior here.”
Bullsh*t. You don’t even report to her. In fact, that stupid report didn’t even fall under your responsibility. You just did it to get her out of your hair. Well, that worked just great . . .
Your nostrils flare. You can see in her eyes just how much she’s enjoying this. “I will resend it,” you say, struggling to keep your tone civil. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“More like incompetence. If you don’t get a grip, I might just decide to have you work on the Viagra ad with butch girl over there.”
She nods towards Seulgi who pointedly looks down at her mention.
Sakura gives you a sardonic smile before she walks off, her ponytails swinging form side to side with every step she takes in her Louboutins. What a shame. Such pretty shoes wasted on such an ugly character.
2024.04.07
You don’t know it as you make your way onto the subway, that today is the day everything changes. You don’t suspect it as you squeeze yourself into the crammed subway. The thought doesn’t even cross your mind.
And how could it? Today is just as depressing a day as any other, after all..
Crammed into the tight space, you try not to get too annoyed as people keep bumping into you. A shoulder touching yours here, a foot stepping on your toes there. You grimace, pulling out your phone to distract you from your unpleasant surroundings. An alert from your calendar catches your attention mid-yawn.
Staff meeting. Stat.
Oh? If they’re not called spontaneously, those meetings are usually attended by your boss. Which is not a good sign, because there’s nothing that man hates more than progress reports and drab work talk. Usually, he only schedules them whenever he feels like yelling at someone. . .
Great. Today sure is going to be a fun day, you think grimly.
You sigh, closing your eyes in an attempt to get a little more rest. Not only does your alarm go off at an ungodly hour every morning, due to your long commute and overtime, you usually only arrive back home after midnight, which doesn’t leave much time for sleep, let alone a social life.
Back when you were a university student you felt so excited at the prospect of working for a big marketing agency. Coming up with fun ads and picking out celebrities to promote products— that was the naive fantasy you had regarding your future. Now, having worked for almost two years, you feel incredibly stupid for having had such high hopes. Most of the work you do is analytical rather than creative, and the atmosphere of that hell hole that is your workplace is bad on a good day and toxic as radioactive waste on a bad one.
You are pulled out of your thoughts when someone bumps against you from behind, making you stumble against the person in front of you. Mumbling your apology, you shrug it off, thinking it was just someone who lost their balance or got pushed themselves.
Until you feel it.
A hand, gracing your lower back. It lingers and your stomach churns, making you look back over your shoulder. The man shamelessly meets your eyes and you freeze in horror, unable to open your mouth or push him away as his hand trails lower and lower and lower—
“You piece of sh*t!”
The words barely even register before the man behind you is sent tumbling backwards, his head flying back from the punch sent to his jaw. All around you, people cry out and push away, startled by the sudden altercation.
“What the f*ck is wrong with you?!” The same person who punched the guy says, as he draws his arm back to throw another punch. But office workers intervene, holding him back and separating the two.
The stranger’s eyes meet yours briefly before he lifts his hands in surrender, and the men let him go. All the while the guy who touched you scrambles to his feet and fleels off into another wagon of the train.
You tear your eyes away from the scene, exhaling shakily. The other man looks out of the window, seeming like he doesn’t care in the slightest about the commotion he caused and the dirty looks some of the passengers are giving him.
Must feel pretty serene, leading a life unfazed by other people’s opinions.
That is what you think before you notice the way he’s swaying on his feet, or how much he’s leaning on the door for support. And the clothes he’s wearing: Designer-brands from head to toe, starting with a flashy silk shirt and ending in expensive-looking dress shoes. He’s filthy rich. And heavily intoxicated. Hell, now that you know you can even smell the alcohol in the air.
Of course, he’s unfazed by other people’s opinions of him. He’s too out of it to even notice their dirty looks.
But why does a trust fund baby, party-on-a-tuesday kind of guy take the subway?
You guess you’ll never know. Because the next stop gets announced, and you realize that you forgot to get off at yours. Hurriedly, you get out of the subway as quickly as possible, eager to leave it and the memory of this sh*tty morning behind. You walk away quickly, oblivious to the stranger’s eyes following your form until you disappear in the masses of people getting to work.
You curse under your breath as you hurry to work. Having missed your stop, you’re running late. sh*t, you’re going to be late to your meeting . . .
The heel of your left shoe catches on an uneven piece of the sidewalk, sending you flying to the floor. Your face flushes with heat and you get up as quickly as you can, hissing at the sting in your palms and knees. Great, because running late isn’t already embarrassing enough, now people will be able to see that you face-planted on the floor as well.
By the time you burst into the office, you’re officially late. You hurry into the meeting room, quietly apologizing to your colleagues as you make your way to the only empty seat left at the table. Of course, it has to be the one right next to Sakura, who throws you a dirty look just as your boss walks into the room. Thank god, the old f*ck is late as well or else you would’ve gotten into series trouble.
Most of the meeting goes by smoothly. Project updates that your boss isn’t satisfied with, new clients he’s stressed about, and other things you don’t really care about, so long as they don’t concern you. Then, however, your boss does something he never does.
He praises people.
“—just want to use this opportunity to share with the rest of you the happy news. The arthritis creme proposal, which Miss Miyawaki put together so diligently, has gone through. Thus earning this firm a new client. Please give her a round of applause, she’s earned it.”
Your hands ball into shaking fists in your lap. The report she put together? If she is going to make you do her work, she should at least have the decency to give you credit for it!
Your colleagues start to clap, albeit hesitantly, because they know as well as anyone but your boss, that this she-devil of a woman does not deserve it. Utterly undeterred by that, Sakura stands, smiling like an innocent lamb.
“Thank you guys, that’s really not necessary. There’s one more thing I wanted to say, though. I asked Mister Kang to let me tell you the good news,” What, there’s more? You’re about ready to open a window and scream out of it. “As of today, I am the head of marketing team one.”
Scratch that. Jump. You’re going to jump out of that damn window. Sakura looks at you, smiling sardonically. “I look forward to working with you, L/n. Maybe you’ll be able to learn a thing or two from me, and who knows? Maybe you’ll make head one day, too.”
Actually, sinking your hands into Sakura’s god-awful extensions and dragging her out the window with you seems the most tempting right now.
Your feet drag as you make your way into your building. You’re pretty sure you have about five blisters on both feet at the moment. As you walk up to the elevator, every step sends shocks of pain through your feet. You press the button multiple times before you notice the ‘out of order’ sign lazily attached to the metal doors.
“Seriously?” you groan.
You live on the 17th floor, for f*ck’s sake! Sighing, you take off your heels. At least, the cool floor soothes your bruised feet a little. It’s most definitely unhygienic but you just don’t care anymore, after the day you’ve had. Unceremoniously, you start your way up the stairs.
If there really is a god, he sure as hell has some sort of one-sided beef with you.
You’re panting heavily as you push through the door of your apartment. Silence greets you as you slip out of your shoes and shrug off your jacket, before finally collapsing onto your bed.
Your job doesn’t pay terribly but rent in Seoul is so expensive that the one-room apartment is all you can afford. It’s not the smallest apartment, and you’re sure if you had any talent for decorating you could make this place feel more homely, but in all the months that you’ve lived here, you barely even managed to put up a picture or two. Oh, and you had gotten a cactus, but it died within a month, so you decided that if you couldn’t even take care of that, your thumb must be gray as a gravestone, and thus you never bothered with plants after that.
You’ve always been envious of people living in penthouse apartments with beautiful views, unable to stop yourself from fantasizing about mornings spent rising along with the sun, gazing out at the sky as it shines in shades of orange and red. Looking over the skyline of Seoul and standing above the whole city. You’d be able to achieve anything if you lived in an apartment like that.
But alas, you don’t.
You go on your phone, mindlessly scrolling through social media until your eyes hurt and it’s long after midnight. Eventually, you spot a post made by your sister. It shows her with her boyfriend— oh. Fiancé now, you realize by her disgustingly proud way of showing off the hideous ring on her finger.
Well, that didn’t take long at all, did it? What’s it been, a year since they got together? Good, you think grimly, if they rushed into marriage then they’ll probably get divorced just as quickly.
The ring is an ugly little thing. Gold, with what looks like a blue diamond set in it. It’s all flashy, no taste. Apparently, marrying rich doesn’t come with taste. God damn, that monstrosity is just perfect for your sister.
Your vision slowly starts to blur at the bottom and you groan, exasperated with yourself. Really? After all this time you’re still like this?
Your thumb harshly presses on the screen, blocking your sister. At least you won’t have to spend money on their wedding gift if you’re not going, which you’re sure you won’t because there is no way in hell your sister is going to invite you after what went down between the two of you last year. And even if she did, you sure as hell wouldn’t go.
You drag yourself out of bed, lazily walking over to the kitchen. You already know before you’ve opened it that your fridge is empty— you were due to go grocery shopping three days ago, and besides, you’re a sh*tty cook— but maybe you still have a bottle or two of Soju—
Nope, of course, not.
You throw your head back, your bottom lip quivering. Today is just not your f*cking day. You should’ve just stayed in bed this morning and called in sick. You slam fridge shut.
Why the hell are you lying to yourself? As if yesterday was better than today. As if tomorrow is going to better. Every day is a continuation of the same soul-sucking cycle that is your pathetic life. You may not get harassed on the subway every day and your sh*tty colleagues don’t habitually stab you in the back but what the hell? Those instances are just the tip of the very big very f*cked up iceberg of sh*t that is your pathetic life.
Your chest rises and falls in uneven, ragged breaths, and your heart beats so fast it makes you clutch your chest.
Oh, what the hell, you have to get out of here.
A group of university students plays a drinking game at the table next to you, screams and cheers echoing through the shabby barbecue place whenever someone gets it wrong and has to drink. You roll your eyes, downing another shot of Soju. Their screaming is giving you a headache, and you tell yourself that that’s the only reason watching them irritates you so much. They’re annoying, that’s all.
This is not at all about the fact that you struggled to make friends so much when you were a university student, that you eventually gave up on it altogether. You never went out partying with your classmates, never studied together with them at the library, never sat with anyone at lunch. You spent the whole three years of university just focusing on your studies. How ironic is it, that despite all that you didn’t even manage to become a top student? What a f*cking joke.
You take another shot, already swaying in your seat. Let’s face it, uni sucked. And now, almost two years later, you’re still a nobody with no friends. Guess it wasn’t uni, it was you.
Wow, you’ve really made it in life. Your father would be so proud.
It’s when you catch a lonely tear drip down from your chin onto the table that you decide that, yup, you’ve made enough of a fool of yourself. It’s time to go home. You have work tomorrow, and you’ll probably still be drunk by then anyway, so you should really stop drinking.
As soon as you get up from your seat, the world starts spinning. You fall back down on the stool, almost missing it entirely, which has the group of students break out into a fit of giggles while they whisper to each other, staring. Great, you’re embarrassing yourself in front of kids.
Only when you’re finally out of the place do you realize that you gave the cashier the wrong bill, thus having overpaid by way too much. The bitch didn’t even correct you!
The summer’s heat is still crushingly hot even at this late hour, making you hold up your hair with one hand while the other fans your neck. God, you hate this season. Couldn’t it always be spring? When the temperatures are bearable and life feels somewhat worth living again?
A slurred exclamation leaves your mouth as you crash into something. You lose your balance, lacking coordination due to your drunken state and hit the ground harshly.
“Y/n?”
So a someone, not a something, then.
“Well, you look like sh*t,” he says in that amused voice of his that makes your fist itch to greet his face.
Great. Getting runover by a bus would’ve been better than running into him.
“Junho.”
He doesn’t offer his hand as you clumsily scramble to your feet, not that you would’ve taken it, anyway.
“I see you’ve been well,” he scoffs, looking at you the way he always has. With just the right amount of mockery and ridicule in his eyes to make it hurt.
“Yeah, I’m not doing this with you,” you say, waving your hand in his face.
But Junho has other plans. “Oh, come on! It’s been so long since we last talked. Let’s catch up.”
His hand is uncomfortably tight around your wrist and his crooked teeth show as his lips pull back into an ugly smile. You don’t understand what you ever saw in this man. With that receding hairline of his you can almost see your reflection on his greasy, large forehead.
“Shouldn’t you be at home with your fiancé?” You glare at him.
He shrugs, yanking you closer. “What she doesn’t know.”
Suddenly, you’re all sobered up. “Let go.”
You try to pull put of his grip but he won’t budge. “Let go of me!”
He grasps your chin harshly, forcing your chin up. “You know, all those weeks wasted on you and you wouldn’t even let me so much as f*ck your mouth. Don’t you think you owe me, you f*ckin’ prude? Let’s call it reparations, huh?”
His lips crash into yours and you can’t pull away. The kiss is rough and dry and teeth clattering together before you bring your knee up between his legs as harshly as you can and he’s gasping and doubling over, cursing at you. Before he can recover you turn on your heel and run and run and run until your lungs are burning and your knees are buckling and you double over, clutching your chest as violent sobs shake your form.
Eventually your tears run dry and your awkwardly crouched position on the ground becomes too uncomfortable to bear. You force yourself to your feet, dragging yourself away. Minutes pass before you realize you have no idea where you are or where you’re going. Great. Just great. You walk around aimlessly for some more before you realize just how exhausted your are.
A bench on the sidewalk comes into your view, and you gratefully sit down on it, closing your eyes for a moment. Just five minutes, you tell yourself, as you struggle to open your eyes once more. You’re going to rest for just five minutes. Just five minutes.
Just five minutes.
You wake with a start, woken by the inexplicable sensation of something pulling at your legs. A salty taste on your tongue makes you cringe, and you soon realize why it’s there. Sand. Water.
You sit up abruptly, eyes wide. How the hell did you end up on a beach?!
Now you understand the dragging sensation that woke you. It’s the waves, pushing and pulling, dragging your body across the sand. You get up on shaking legs. You’re soaked and freezing.
What the hell happened last night? The last thing you remember is passing out on that bench. How in the world did you get from there to here? There aren’t even any beaches in Seoul! No way you traveled all the way from the capital to the coast in a drunken daze. Still, the sand underneath your soaked sneakers and the sound of the waves behind you are indicators of the opposite.
Change. You have to change out of these wet clothes.
With clattering teeth, you start up the beach, aiming for one of the shops of the beach promenade—You have nothing on you. No phone, no cash, nothing at all. Did the sea wash away your bag? Well, it doesn’t much matter, does it? Even if you still had it everything would be just as soaked as you are.
Nothing about this makes any sense. If you had washed up at the shore of Han river, you could at least make a little more sense of your situation. Then, you could at least assume that you finally decided to end your suffering and jumped off a bridge but failed somehow.
Just like you do at everything else.
You shake your head, but the thought doesn’t leave you. If presented with the opportunity you don’t know that you wouldn’t have tried to off yourself yesterday.
Frowning, you leave the beach behind you. It must be about ten in the morning by now, but there is not a soul around. Looking back, you realize what you missed before. The beach, too, is devoid of any visitors. You turn in a circle, taking in your surroundings. No people on the sidewalks, no people in the shops nearby, and even the usually so popular food booths closest to the beach are vacant.
What the hell? Is today some kind of national holiday that you forgot about? No, it can’t be. You’re scheduled to work as usual— you gasp out a curse. Work. You’re supposed to be at work right now! Great, with Sakura as your new boss she’s going to make your life a living hell when you get back. But how do you get back? You don’t even know where you are!
You look around, searching for anything that might help you navigate your surroundings. You walk around, scanning street names but none of them seem familiar to you, and it’s not like you can look them up. When you finally turn back to the beach in frustration, you see it: a sign.
Welcome to Haeundae Beach!
You almost choke on air. Haeundae Beach? No way! You’re in Busan.
How in the world did you fall asleep on a bench in Seoul and wake up on a beach in Busan?
Taking a deep breath, you force the tornado of wild thoughts in your head to simmer down to a barely contained storm.
Your clothes. You have to change your clothes.
The door to one of the shops at the beach easily gives way beneath your palm. It’s not locked. You call out, just to make sure that the staff is not just in the back, taking a break or something. But no one answers you. It’s like someone opened up shop and then just . . . vanished.
Your eye falls on the clock. It reads 03:52.
“Strange,” you mutter.
Neither of the watch hands budges in the slightest, and for a frightening moment, you find yourself thinking, what if time is standing still? But then you shake your head, embarrassed by the thought. The battery probably just ran out, that’s it. Jesus, get a grip, Y/n.
You feel like a criminal as you walk between the rows of garments. But there is no person anywhere near here, and you’re shivering bitterly in your wet clothes, so you take some of the most basic pieces you can find and disappear into one of the changing rooms.
Regarding yourself in the mirror, you inspect the pieces you picked out. It’s nothing special, really. Just a black tank top and blue jeans that are a little too loose around the waist but you decide that’s fine. If you’re not going to pay for them then it’s only fair that the pieces don’t fit you perfectly.
Since you don’t know how much longer the owner will be gone for, you hurriedly leave the store and make your way down the street. You have to get back to Seoul, so to the train station it is. You may not know how you’re going to get a ticket with no money but you decide that’s a bridge you’ll cross when you get to it.
First, you have to find the train station, though. God, it’s been years since you’ve been to Busan. The last time you were here you were still in high school with a father that was perfectly healthy, a mother that recognized you and a sister that you weren’t in a cold war with.
You shake your head. That’s hardly what matters right now.
Unfortunately, the last time you came here was so many years ago that you don’t remember the layout of the city in the slightest. You have no idea where the train station could be. You wander around for a good while, frowning when you see cars that stand still on the road. More than that, none of them have their drivers in them, either. You walk up to one, even more confused when you see that the key is still in the ignition. Did these people all abandon their cars and run? But run from what?
Suddenly panicked, you whirl around. What if something major happened? A tsunami, maybe? Nope, apart from the fact that you almost drowned in it somehow, the sea looked normal. And besides, everything would be flooded and you’d most likely have died in the event. An earthquake, then? But that doesn’t explain the people disappearing into thin air. Besides, you think you would’ve woken up if the ground had literally been shaking beneath your palms.
Frown deepening, you carry on your way. Maybe you’ll find a tourist information booth somewhere around here. Even with no staff around you should be able to find a map of the city there.
You stop dead in your tracks. But what if there are no people at the train station, either? What if there is no one to operate the trains? But wait, that would imply that all people have vanished—
A flash of movement in your peripheral catches your attention and the world explodes. Suddenly, you’re on the ground, ears ringing and vision blurred as a violent heat singes your skin and smoke assaults your lungs. You stagger to your feet, half panting half choking as you try to make sense of what just happened.
Glass lies all around you, and a shop behind you is ablaze. The whole scene looks like someone threw a grenade at it.
No. At you.
Panting, you whirl around, your heart beating in your face. Then you spot it.
A male figure clad in all black. From the hood that covers his head, to the black gas mask down to the combat boots. The letters L.O.D.Y.C on his bulletproof vest. And he’s armed. Armed to the teeth.
Lightning goes through you as he lifts the weapon he used to shoot at you once more. What the hell is that, a f*cking bazooka?!
You whirl around and run for your life.
This has got to be some cruel joke. Or a nightmare! Maybe, if you just pinch yourself hard enough you’ll wake up and get to leave this horrible place behind. Because there is no way in hell you’re sprinting down the deserted streets of Busan right now, running from some lunatic hellbent on blowing you up!
You cry out as another shot has the ice cream truck right next to you exploding. Flames erupt just behind you, nipping at the heels of your feet as you turn a corner, desperate to lose the shooter.
“sh*t!” You stop dead in your tracks, realizing that you turned right into a dead end. From behind, you hear his steps coming closer closer closer.
A ladder! It’s rusty from years of disuse and shakes precariously as you climb it but it holds. Until it doesn’t.
Your left foot sinks down apruptly as the step breaks beneath your weight, tearing a cry out of you. For a horrifying moment, you hang there in midair before the man rounds the corner and panic drives you to action. You don’t know where you take the strength from, but somehow you pull yourself up enough for your foot to find purchase on another step. You haul yourself onto the roof of the building just as another shot rips through the latter and into the facade of the brick wall where your form was mere moments ago.
You lay on your back, not daring to so much as breathe. The ladder is gone. He can’t follow you up here. Right?!
The longest seconds of your life pass before steps sound, making you flinch. But then they retreat, each one sounding farther and farther away. You release something between a sob and a cry. He couldn’t see you from down there. Maybe he thought he got you.
Another explosion sounds and you scream out, clamping your palm over your mouth. Though, this one sounds farther away.
No way . . .
In the distance, you see another figure. A man. He, too, is running from the black walker, who seems to have shifted his attention to the new target.
Your feet act of their own accord. You jump from roof to roof, crouching carefully so the man in black doesn’t spot you. Every few seconds he fires the bazooka, and with it explosions go off everywhere, wrecking the streets of Busan. At some point, he seems to have run out of ammunition because you see him toss away the bazooka and pull out a shotgun that was strapped around his back, instead.
You make it as close to them as you dare, watching from the rim of a rooftop as the black walker shoots and reloads and shoots and reloads, sending bullet after bullet after the other. He manages to dodge them each time, but the masked man is more precise with the shotgun than he was with the bazooka, each shot getting closer and closer to hitting its mark.
He’s going to get him! He’ll shoot him dead if you don’t come up with something!
You make another few jumps, following the two of them. At some point, the guy who’s running from the shooter catches sight of you, making both him and you falter in your steps.
Wait . . . haven’t you seen him somewhere before?
A second later, another shot goes off, this one grazing his upper arm, making him cry out and clutch his arm, and you barely catch yourself from calling out to him.
Overwhelmed by the sharp pain, the man stumbles and falls back. His eyes widen in terror as he is faced with the shooter, his hands and feet scrambling on the floor, crawling away away away. But it’s no use, he won’t make it.
He won’t make it.
But then he lifts a shaking arm, pointing his index finger right at . . .
You.
The shooter turns around, giving him the time he needs to scramble to his feet and run away. The other whirls back around, but he’s a fast runner, already so far away, and you’re right there, practically served to him on a silver platter.
You cry out, diving away as he opens fire and bullets rain down on you. You land harshly on the tiled roof, failing to find purchase on the slanted platform as you slide and slide until you hit the edge harshly and tumble right over it, falling off the side of the roof. Something between a gasp and a whimper leaves you as your hands claw at the edge, slipping precariously around the smooth tiles.
Three, maybe four meters are between you and the ground, and you lack the strength to pull yourself back up. Faintly, you hear the steps of the shooter. A whimper leaves you. He’s walking around the building and there’s nothing you’ll be able to do when he comes, hanging here like this.
“OVER HERE!”
You gasp, looking over your shoulder at the man. He’s half sitting, half standing in front of one of the many abandoned cars on the road.
“LET GO!”
It’s either getting hurt by the fall or getting shot up. Your hands are already slipping, and you sob as you hold more tightly onto the edge, hearing the shooter’s steps come closer.
It’s now or never. Because the guy won’t wait on you for much longer. That much you’re sure of.
You let out a cry before you close your eyes and let go.
Your collision with the floor is immediate and unforgiving. Your legs can’t take the impact, so you fold in on yourself, ribs harshly making contact with the ground, knocking their air out of your lungs. But there is no time for any of that.
Stumbling to your feet, you runtowrads the guy as he screams words you don’t hear. You run and run and run like you never have before until he comes closer and his voice becomes louder and you collide with the side of the car.
“Get in!” he screams, already in the driver’s seat.
By the time you’ve made it around the car, the shooter must’ve rounded the house, because another bullet misses your face by mere centimeters, before you haul yourself into the passenger seat.
“Why aren’t you driving?!” You scream frantically.
He’s staring down at the gearshift between you with wide eyes. “I can’t drive stick.”
You look at him incredulously before a shot goes through the back window and snaps you out of it.
“Get out!” you say, but he only looks at you dumbfoundedly. “GET OUT!”
He doesn’t get out of the car, probably worried that you’re going to drive off without him but he climbs into the back seat, letting you take his place.
Your hands shake so much you fail to grasp the keys the first time, and once you do find and turn them in the ignition, another shot goes through the front window. Right through the headrest of the passenger seat, where your head was mere seconds ago.
“DRIVE!” the other screams from the backseat.
The car screams to life as you slam your foot down on the gas, accidentally revving the car up so much the tires are spinning beneath you before the car jolts forward and you cry out in relief, thanking the gods that you didn’t stall it. The other climbs back into the passenger seat while you speed down the streets and both of you flinch and duck your heads whenever another bullet hits the car.
“Get us out of here, god dammit!” he yells.
Funny, how even in a situation like this you manage to feel irritated. “Really? ‘Cause I was thinking of taking a stroll, maybe doing some sight-seeing— what the f*ck do you think I’m trying to do here?!”
Both of you let out a scream as another shot goes through one of the back windows and the car swerves dangerously as you rip the steering weel to the right, almost hitting one of the abandoned cars on the road before you manage to correct your course.
Finally, the shots lessen until they cease entirely as you finally make it out of the shooter’s range.
You release a shaky breath, your hands stiffly clutching the steering wheel like a lifeline, still. Next to you, the man sinks into his seat and burries his face in his palms.
“We did it,” you whisper, more to yourself than anything.”We’re alright.”
You say the words again and again until you almost believe them.
You drive and drive and drive, and only once you’re absolutely sure there is no way the black walker is still following you do you lift your foot from the gas a little, reducing your pace to something that’s a little more drivable than the neck-breaking speed you’d been going at before.
“Where the hell are we?” the other asks.
“No idea,” you sigh.
His head turns around. “What? Shouldn’t you know where the hell you’re going?”
You scoff. “Yeah, believe it or not, genius, but navigating my surroundings wasn’t exactly on the top of my list of priorities earlier. And besides, I’m not from here. How the hell would I know?”
“You’re not from here, either?” He frowns before his eyes widen. “Oh my god, it’s you!”
“What are you talking about?” You co*ck a brow at him as you make another turn, this one leading to what seems to be one of the main roads in and out of Busan. Good, the sooner you leave this haunted place behind, the better.
“You’re the girl from the subway!” he exclaims a little too enthusiastically before he catches himself. “Back in Seoul. It was morning rush hour, I was mad hungover . . .”
He trails off, and as his words jog your memory, you realize exactly why. It was the morning that guy touched you. And he punched him in the face for it.
Not too keen on reliving the memory, something else dawns on you. “So that’s why you seemed so familiar.”
Neither of you say anything for a moment, the obvious omission of the full details of that day lying uncomfortably between you.
Eventually, you just can’t take it anymore. You jut your chin at one of the cars on the street. This one too, stands still like the ones in Busan did.
“This is creepy as hell,” you sigh. “It’s like all the drivers just suddenly turned off their cars and walked away.”
“I know,” he agrees. “It’s like all the people just suddenly . . . vanished. I thought it was just Busan but it’s . . . everywhere.”
“So, what?” you scoff, hysteria bubbling up your throat. “Are you saying we’re somehow the last two people on earth— oh, and our friend, the Terminator's cousin, of course.”
He shrugs helplessly. “Well, have you seen anyone else, princess? ‘Cause I haven’t.”
You scowl. “Don’t call me that.”
He clicks his tongue, smiling unfriendly. “Sure thing, princess.”
You shift gears as the highway turns into more of a country road, with fewer cars to avoid, allowing you to drive faster. But as you do so, one of your elbows bumps into the armrest, making you hiss as the shards of glass you sustained earlier dig deeper into your skin. The pain is now finally registering in your brain, now that you’re somewhat in the clear and the adrenalin is slowly leaving your system.
The other notices your discomfort. He hesitates, then carefully suggests. “We’ve been driving for over an hour. Why don’t we take a break to get patched up and then we’ll take it from there?”
“I’m fine,” you lie through gritted teeth. But it’s not just your your elbows anymore. You’re hurting all over, worst of all your ribs that collided so harshly with the ground.
“Well, I’m not,” he groans. “This shirt probably cost more than this piece-of-trash car and I’m bleeding all over it, so can we please just do this quickly?”
You glance over at him, spying the luxury brand logo plastered onto the front of the shirt. Why people pay so much money for such basic clothes is beyond you, but that’s beside the point. Snob or not, the guy is clutching his arm where the bullet grazed him, blood shining through between his fingers. Now, that you’re looking at him, he does look a little pale.
“Fine,” you relent. “But as soon as we’re done, we’re leaving. I’m not giving this guy a chance to catch up to us.”
You drive off onto a dirt road leading along the length of a cabbage field and stop the car there. Though as you do, you realize it’s not like you have to worry about any oncoming traffic on the main road. Old habits, you figure.
“I’m going to look for a first aid kit in the trunk,” the other announces before he gets out.
You stay behind in the car for a moment, slumping deeper into the seat. It’s only now that you’ve stopped the car, that the rest of the adrenaline leaves your system, leaving you with a mixture of terror and exhaustion. You close your eyes, forcing yourself to take a few deep breaths before you open them again and get out of the car.
You find the other with his sleeve rolled up and wrapping a bandage around his upper arm, hissing as he secures it.
“Did you disinfect it properly?” you ask as you lean against the trunk of the car, crossing your arms.
“Nah, put some dirt on it, actually— Of course, I disinfected it.” He rolls his eyes, making you scowl at him.
“My bad. Next time, I’ll just let you get septic,” you grit out.
He scoffs, and you push past him, snatching the med kit from his hands. You hiss as you pull the tiny pieces of glass from your elbows, but the angle makes it hard for you to do by yourself. He watches you struggle for a few moments before he snatches the tweezers from your hands, ignoring your protests.
“Shh! You’re the one who wanted to get this over with quickly, so just let me do it.”
You open your mouth to protest but he grasps your arm, making your words die on your tongue. His hand is warm against your skin and he’s being surprisingly gentle.
“Ow!” You flinch, making his grip around your arm tighten.
“Hold still!” he chides. “How did you get these, anyway?”
“That black walker guy blasted a shop I was standing infront of to bits. The windows broke and glass flew everywhere.”
“Mhm.” He nods, moving on to your other elbow. His brows are creased in concentration as he works on you. It almost makes him look like he actually gives a sh*t about you.
“What do you remember from before?” you ask quietly, mainly to distract yourself from the sting of him pulling the shards out of your skin.
“Not much, to be honest,“ he says as he pulls another piece of glass out of your elbow, this one bigger than the others, making you groan and grimace. “Sorry.”
He shrugs. “I was out with friends, drunk out of my mind. Honestly, that night is a blur. I think I passed out in some club. Anyway, the next thing I know I wake up on the floor of some hair salon before that maniac is chasing me down, trying to blast my f*cking head off.”
Gee, all this guy seems to be doing is getting drunk and partying. Seems to you like a rich kid that has never worked a day in his life.
But that’s not what’s important right now. “So you don’t have any idea what happened, either?”
He shakes his head as he puts away the tweezers and pulls out disinfectant, instead. “This is going to hurt. You might want to hold on to something.”
“I’m fine,” you scoff. “This is noth—agh!”
“Told ya,” he says as your skin burns and burns.
“So, why the hell did you insist on driving if you can’t even drive,” you ask him through gritted teeth, trying to distract yourself from the pain.
“I can drive!” he protests. “Just not stick shift.”
You snort. “‘Cause you were too dumb to learn it?”
“‘Cause I don’t need it to drive my Tesla,” he retorts, making you roll your eyes and pull your arm away from his grip. He’s done now anyway.
You slip down from the trunk. “Come on then, rich boy. Let’s get out of here before that psycho catches up to us.”
“Don’t call me that,” he scowls as you get back in the car.
“You started it.” You shrug. “Fine, what’s your name then, rich boy?”
He glares at you. “Chenle. Zhong Chenle.”
“Y/n L/n.”
“Well,” he says. “I would say it’s nice to meet you but that’s a little hard considering our situation.”
“Mhm.” You scan his features, foot impatiently tapping on the floor. “Chenle, was it?”
He raises a brow in question. “Yeah?”
He groans as your fist collides with his nose, and stumbling back against the side of the car. His eyes are wide as he hold his bloody nose in disbelieve.
“What the hell?!”
“That’s for selling me out earlier.”
“So, why the hell were you taking the subway that morning when you could’ve just taken your fancy Tesla?” you ask a couple of minutes later when you’re back on the road.
You approach a sign saying that you’ve entered the province of Gyeongsangnam, which means that you’re driving closer to the mainland. Good, that means you’re getting closer to Seoul, however much or little importance that may hold now.
Chenle grimaces as he wipes at his bloody nose. “My car was . . . in the shop.”
He doesn’t offer much more of an explanation than that. Suspicious, but not of importance right now.
“Why were you,” he asks. “If you have a license?”
You scoff. “Yeah, believe it or not, rich boy, not everyone can afford a car. And besides, what good would it do me to drive to work every day? The roads would be blocked because of the rush hour, anyway. Taking the subway is faster, and besides, having a car in Seoul doesn’t really pay off.”
“Well,” he shrugs. “If you had one you wouldn’t have to deal with creeps in the subway.”
“Right,” you scoff, shaking your head. “‘Cause it’s my fault that happened. Because I chose to take the subway that day.”
“Wait, what? No! That’s not what I meant!” he says. “I’m just saying, you wouldn’t have had to deal with that sh*t if you had a car.”
You groan. “Oh my god, me not having a car is not the problem. Creepy men like that are! Ugh, you are such a guy. How are you not getting this— You know what? Just forget it.”
“Y/n, that’s not—”
“Whatever, Chenle.”
Of course, someone like him would think like that. A guy who was born into money, who never experienced what it’s like to save up for something or not even consider getting something else because it’s out of your tax bracket. Of course, he assumed you had a car. Of course, he assumed you weren’t dependent on the subway because he isn’t and never has been.
Just why did you have to run into a chaebol of all people?
It’s only when a strange ‘clang’ sounds, that you’re brought back into the present.
“Did you just hear that?” you ask, frowning.
Chenle only looks confused. “Hear what?”
There it is again, the noise unmistakable this time. It’s like a . . . rattling of some sort? Like a part of the car has come lose. You share a look.
“It’s probably nothing?” he says, not at all sounding convinced.
Finally, smoke starts to rise from the hood of the car and the noise becomes even louder.
“Yeah, that doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’ to me,” you say panicky, bringing the car to an abrupt stop. “Get out!”
You practically jump out of the car just before another pop sounds from beneath the hood and smoke start seeping out of it. Chenle pulls you back just as the car erupts into flames.
“There goes our ride,” he muses soberly.
“Look!” You point towards a hole in the hood. “One of the bullets must’ve hit something vital.”
“Great,” Chenle groans, running a hand through his raven hair. “That’s just great.”
You look around nervously. You’re on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, and you have no idea how far you’re from the next town.
“It’s going to be fine,” you say, more to yourself than him. “We’ll figure something out.”
Chenle barks out a cold laugh. “Like what? We have no food, the sun is going to set soon, our only mode of transportation is currently burning like a rotisserie chicken. Oh, and there is a literal f*cking terminator on the hunt for us.”
“We don’t even know if he followed us out of Busan,” you say.
Chenle crosses his arms. “Right, ‘cause that guy seemed like the defeatist type.”
You throw your hands up in the air. “Well, what do you propose then?!”
He stays silent, making you sigh. “We’re going to have to walk to the next town. If we hurry, we may be able to find one before dusk, but for that to happen we have to leave right now. So are you coming or not?”
He runs a hand over his face, and you can’t tell if he’s glaring at you or the burning car. Maybe both. Eventually, he groans, relenting. “Fine.”
God really must hate you. Where was all this rain hours ago when your car was burning to a crisp? By now, the sun has long set and you’re exhausted, cold, and hungry, overall just praying for someone to put you out of your misery already.
“Still feeling so optimistic, princess?” Chenle asks grimly, flicking drenched strands of his hair out of his face.
“Shut up,” you groan. “I told you to stop calling me that.”
“And I told you it wasn’t a good idea to follow a dirt road into the middle of nowhere, yet here we are, princess.”
“Well, what would you have preferred, huh?” you grit out. “For us to stay with the car until it turned to charcoal?”
“Well, at least the fire would’ve kept us warm.” He mumbles.
You groan. “Oh my god, I’m so f*cking sick of you!”
He scoffs. “Well, you’re not exactly my preferred type of company, either!”
“Yeah, thank God! Because that probably needs to be paid by the hour. With your daddy’s money, I’m sure.”
He grasps your arm, whirling you around. “What did you just say?!”
Suddenly, you’re all up in his face. “Need me to say it again? Come on, you don’t seriously expect me to believe all your money is hard-earned.” You tug at his designer shirt. “Probably didn’t even buy this with your own money. Or that damn Tesla you can’t seem to shut up about.”
“You don’t know sh*t about me,” Chenle grits out, nostrils flaring.
You click your tongue, raising your brows. “Don’t I, though? Let me guess. You spend your days rotting away in your luxurious little villa or indulging in one of your snobby little hobbies— what is it? Golf, cricket, tennis? And you spend your nights drinking, doing drugs, and f*cking girls whose names you never even bother to learn because why bother? You’ll never see them again, anyway, right?”
He steps dangerously close, his voice menacingly low as drops of rain drip from his chin. “Careful. You might become one of them one day.”
You swallow, breathing your words against his lips. “You’re wrong.”
Walking past him, you hit his shoulder with yours and stalk off.
He sneers, shouting after you. “You’re right! I already know your name!”
Groaning, you walk away. Out of all the people on this planet, why in the world does it have to be him you’re stuck with?!
“Where are you going?” he calls after you, his voice barely audible due to the downpour.
You raise your arms in exasperation. “On an expedition to find your dignity! Though that’s probably futile— aghh!”
Due to the darkness, you fail to see the sudden decline in the uneven, wet ground. Your foot lands way deeper than you anticipated it to and twists, making you lose your balance and tumble down a damp hill.
“Y/n? Y/n!”
You groan as you spy his silhouette against the light of the rising moon, your skin burning with scratches and your ankle throbbing painfully. Chenle slides down the hill and kneels by your side.
“You alright?” Worry is a strange, foreign look on him, especially when it’s not directed at himself.
“I’m fine,” you groan, swatting away his outstretched hand.
Determined to get up on your own, you struggle to your feet, hissing, but as soon as you put pressure on your left foot you moan out in pain, stumbling against the other. Chenle grasps your arms, stabilizing you.
He clicks his tongue. “Yeah, I don’t know what your definition of ‘fine’ is but it can’t be this.”
“I just misstepped,” you grit out, trying and failing to get back up the hill on your own.
Chenle watches you struggle for a few long moments until he groans. “For f*ck’s sake, just let me help you!”
You swat away his arm. “I can do it!”
“Sure you can, princess,” he says, ignoring your protests as he hauls you over his shoulder and stalks up the hill.
You protest and hit his back but he doesn’t relent. Given his lean build he’s stronger than you thought he would be. Once you’ve finally made it to the top, he lets you back down, holding onto your arms until you’ve regained your balance.
You hit his shoulder, making him flinch. “I told you I could do it.”
He rolls his eyes. “A ‘thank you’ would’ve done the trick, you know?”
“Yeah, considering the fact that you threw me under the bus when that black walker guy was after us, I’d say I don’t owe you sh*t,” you scoff.
Mercifully, the rain seems to be thinning, with only a few lonely drops falling from the sky now. You yawn, grimly looking around. There is nothing out here, and you’re probably not even close to finding a town.
Chenle makes his way under a leafy tree and plops down on the ground.
“It’s mostly dry here,” he says in resignation. “Let’s rest for a couple of hours and continue tomorrow.”
“Rich boy is willing to sleep on the dirty ground?” You co*ck a brow at him.
He sighs with restrained anger, and you relish in the way the nickname makes his nostrils flare. “Of course, I’d prefer my bed, or a nice hotel, but unless you see a Four Seasons here somewhere, that’s not going to happen.”
You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you limp-pace in a circle. “We should keep looking.”
“Y/n,” he breathes, agitated. “We’ve been walking around for hours. If there was anything out here, we would’ve found it by now. Besides, I’m f*cking exhausted and you should rest your foot, so stop walking around in circles like a rabid rodent and get your ass over here.”
You groan, knowing and hating that he’s right. Grudgingly, you limp over to him and plop down on the ground. Thankfully, it really does seem to be mostly dry over here. But the rain has cooled down the air, making you shiver in your damp clothes. God, you hope you don’t get cystitis. You wrap your arms around yourself as you look up at the sky that shines through in between the tree’s leaves.
However, even though you’re exhausted, your mind is wide awake.
“Zhong Chenle,” you drawl. “That’s a Chinese name. How the hell did you end up in South Korea?”
His eyes are closed and for a moment you think he’s already drifted off to sleep, but then he speaks, his voice low and heavy with an emotion you can’t place. “We moved here when I was six. My dad found a business opportunity in Seoul and the money was too good to pass up on.”
“You didn’t want to move?” you ask.
“I was six,” he says curtly. “I didn’t know what I wanted.”
Sensing his reluctance to talk about himself, you decide to just call it a night. Whatever, it’s not like you need to become besties or anything. Besides, you haven’t had a proper friend in years. There’s no reason for you to try forcing a friendship with some guy now, just because he happens to be the only person left in Korea besides the one hell-bent on killing you. You scoff, turning away from him and curling in on yourself.
If only it weren’t so damn cold. You lie in that uncomfortable position for minutes and minutes, hopelessly waiting for sleep to overtake you as you shiver in your skin.
“For f*ck’s sake.” You flinch, clutching your chest at Chenle’s sudden words.
“What?!”
“I can literally hear your teeth clattering. Just come here!”
“What— No— I-it’s fine!” But your body betrays you as he wraps an arm around your middle and pulls you closer, your limbs slowly relaxing as warmth starts to build between your bodies. Still, his close proximity sends a shiver of a whole different kind up your spine.
“Relax, princess,” he scoffs and you can just picture the lazy grin he must be wearing right now. “If I wanted to make a move on you, I sure as hell wouldn’t do it like this.”
Sleep finds you embarrassingly quickly.
Your head feels strangely heavy when you wake the next morning, but you brush it off, your attention quickly shifting to the person next to you. You must’ve turned in your sleep because you sure as hell did not fall asleep facing Chenle.
His features look softer, somehow, now that he’s asleep. It’s like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders— escapism’s mercy. His lashes are dense and they throw little shadows onto his cheeks. His lips are full and they curve in a slightly downturned way, as if he’s scowling a little even in his sleep. They fit the sharpness of his jaw and those high cheekbones.
You sigh internally. No matter how much you hate yourself for it, there is only one word that comes to your mind while looking at him like this.
Attractive. He’s infuriatingly attractive.
And his arm is still draped over your waist, holding you close and upkeeping the warmth that’s built between you. It’s as if he fears you may abandon him in this deserted world.
His eyes flutter open suddenly, making you startle and push his arm off you as you stumble to your feet. Your ankle still hurts as you put pressure on it but at least the pain is somewhat bearable. Chenle groans as he sits up, stretching his neck and hissing in pain.
“I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck,” he groans, massaging his shoulder blades. You scoff, but now that he’s mentioned it you also start to feel the tension in your neck and a couple of nasty knots in your back.
“Well,” you sigh. “Let’s focus on finding a town so we can sleep with a roof over our heads tonight.”
You spend the majority of your morning following the dirt road, bickering about roads you should or shouldn’t have taken, whether you’re going north or southward, or if those berries at the side of the road are edible (they were not).
Your foot still feels tender, and the hours and hours of walking don’t exactly help. Additionally, what started as a mushy feeling behind your forehead evolves into a dull ache in your ears which eventually takes over your whole head, only adding to your misery.
“You okay?” Chenle asks eventually, co*cking a brow at you. “‘Cause you kinda look like sh*t.”
“Shut up,” you groan, wiping the back of your hand over your damp forehead. Damn, you could swear it wasn’t this hot yesterday. “I’m fine.”
“Sure you are,” he drawls, eyeing you suspiciously.
You open your mouth to make some snide remark about him gawking at you but he beats you to it. “Oh my god. Look!”
You follow the direction of his pointed finger, gasping when you sees it, too. Relief washes over you, making you stagger in place as all the pent up tension leaves your body. “A town.”
He whirls around to you, excitedly shaking your shoulders. “f*cking finally! I can’t believe it— Are you alright?”
You sway from foot to foot, suddenly dizzy.
“I’m fine,” you assure him again, even as a shiver goes through you.
You sway to the side once more, this time so much that you lose your balance, making him rush to your side. Frowning, he touches your forehead.
His mouth falls open a little. “Jesus, princess, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It’s nothing,” you insist.
But it’s true. The hours upon hours you spent shivering in your damp clothes must’ve gotten to you. Your head is killing you and you’re hot and cold and hot and cold and the world is spinning—
Chenle turns around, offering you his back. “Come on. You can’t walk anymore.”
Something about him telling you you can’t do something makes you want to prove him wrong at all costs. “Like hell I can’t.”
You mean to walk past him but your shoulder catches on his, making you almost lose your balance. Chenle exclaims something under his breath as he catches you once more.
“For f*ck’s sake, just get on!”
You know that he’s right. That doesn’t mean you have to like it, though. Begrudgingly, you let him carry you.
“This is breaking and entering, you do know that, right?” You mutter from his back.
Chenle scoffs as he carries you into the living room. “Yeah, I don’t think the people who live here are going to care, given the fact that, you know, they’ve vanished into thin air.”
He’s gone the moment he sets you down on the couch, and a moment later he comes back from deep within the house, a bottle of pills and a damp rag in his hands.
“Here.” He hands them to you before he walks into the open kitchen, getting a bottle of water for you.
“Thanks,” you say quietly as you take the ibuprofen, and put the damp cloth on your forehead. You ponder his earlier words. “Maybe there was some kind of big-scale evacuation of the coastal regions,” you muse.
His brows draw together. “That we both just somehow slept through? Yeah, I don’t think so. Besides, that doesn’t explain that shooting maniac.”
You close your eyes, sighing as you sink further into the cushions. God, it feels good to finally lie down after being on your feet all day. And the cold cloth against your hot skin feels heavenly, too.
“The black walker. Lodyc,” you whisper.
“Are you having a stroke?”
You hold up your hand, hushing him as you try to remember the letters. “L.O.D.Y.C— Lodyc. It was written on his vest.”
He shrugs. “Maybe his name?”
“I think it’s an acronym,” you muse.
You watch as he rummages through the drawers of the kitchen. “For what? Maniacal-psycho-killer-sent-to-shoot-our-brains-out?”
You smile weakly as he opens the fridge, inspecting its contents. “You’re not very good at spelling are you, rich boy?” You close your eyes against the glare he sends your way. “Anything good in there?”
“Surprisingly, yeah,” he says, pursing his lips in mild glee. “Vegetables, milk, even some meat. I can make stew for dinner.”
Now it’s your turn to frown at him. “You can cook?”
He smirks co*ckily. “Specifically to make people like you mad.”
You scoff. “People like me? You mean, us lower-class peasants?”
His face hardens. “People who assume I think of them that way.”
His gaze is piercing and you’re caught off-guard by the abrupt change in the atmosphere between you. You look away, first.
“Wait, none of the food is rotten?”
“Why would it be rotten?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” you say, frowning. “I mean all the people are gone, and we were unconscious long enough not to notice it. I guess it’s just that I have no idea how much time has passed— oh my god.”
“What?” He follows your eyes to the clock on the wall.
“03:52,” you whisper.
This clock, too, stands still.
“The battery probably ran out,” Chenle shrugs.
You shake your head. “No, you don’t understand. The clock at the shop in Busan also stood still at exactly 03:52. That can’t be a coincidence.” A shiver runs down your spine. “Chenle, what date is it?”
Your eyes fall on a newspaper on the kitchen table, and you get up so fast you almost fall over. He’s by your side in an instant, a chide for your reckless action on the tip of his tongue but you push him away, snatching the newspaper up. You gasp when you see the date.
“April 8, 2024,” you whisper, breathless.
Chenle snatches the newspaper out of your arms. “But that was yesterday,” he says quietly. He shrugs, but the gesture looks anything but carefree. “It’s probably just an old newspaper, right?”
You shake your head, pushing away from the table. Dread makes your stomach drop as you whirl around and scramble for the TV remote, the action sending another hot and cold shiver through you.
Chenle watches as you turn on the TV and gulps as the two of you look at a screen reading ‘404 error’.
“What the hell,” he whispers, more to himself than anything.
You turn around, walking into what you find out to be a bedroom. Chenle follows you as you walk over to the nightstand, snatching up a digital clock that also reads 03:52 a.m., and below the time, the date stands in bright, red light.
“April 8, 2024,” you whisper, your eyes meeting Chenle’s.
April seventh was the day that man harassed you on the train. The day Sakura took credit for your work and it earned her a promotion. The day your elevator malfunctioned. The day you decided that your life sucked and went and got black-out drunk. The day you passed out on a bench in Seoul. One day later, on the eighth of April, you wake up on a beach, almost get shot by a masked figure and you meet Chenle. You escape and fall asleep under a tree. The next day you wake up—
And it’s still April the eighth.
“What the f*ck?”
Chenle tells you to get cleaned up first, arguing that you’d only bother him in the kitchen anyway. You don’t want him to think that you’re not pulling your weight but after all this time on the run you feel gross, and all you want to do is scrub the dirt from your skin, so you don’t protest.
The hot water soothes your headache and the pain in your ribs a little, but you don’t spend more time than you need to in the shower, eager to get some food in your stomach and a good night’s sleep as quickly as possible.
When you come out of the bathroom the heavenly smell of the stew makes your mouth water. God, you don’t even remember your last proper meal. As soon as Chenle sees you he snorts, abruptly bursting out into laughter, making you hit his arm.
“Wow, you’re really leaning into the grandma vibes, huh?” he says, nodding towards the sleep dress you’re wearing.
Heat tints your cheeks red. “This was the only thing I could find that sort of fit,” you defend yourself. “Just wait until you get changed later. Maybe this grandma’s husband also wore sleep shirts like this to bed,” you say, sticking out your tongue. “There is a washing machine in the bathroom, by the way, we should wash our clothes overnight.”
He only nods, still chuckling. You can’t even blame him. You know you look laughable. The sleep dress looks like it’s straight from the 80s and it’s too big on you, making you look even more ridiculous.
“Wait,” he whirls around. “Are you seriously wearing granny-panties, right now?”
“Mine are in the wash!” You punch his arm.
He’s laughing even harder now. “Sexy, princess, really.”
“That does it for you, huh?” you ask teasingly because it’s the only way to keep some of your dignity, you think. “Good to know.”
A challenge sparks in his eyes. “Oh, is it, now?”
One two three seconds pass between you before you find yourself breaking away, clearing your throat as you nod to the stew brewing on the stove.
“That looks,” you swallow, your mouth watering as your stomach growls loudly. “Not too shabby.”
Knowing that he’s made you fold, Chenle still smirks. Not that you deign to acknowledge that, though. “Should be ready now. I cooked some rice as well, will you get a couple of bowls?”
“Sure.”
A few minutes later, you’re both sitting at the kitchen table, eating quietly and quickly. You don’t think either of you even realized how hungry you were before you started eating.
Chenle watches you take a big spoonful of rice and dunk it into the soup, greedily shoving it into your mouth. “Not too shabby, huh?” he teases, but you don’t care. This is the best meal you’ve had in weeks.
“Alright,fine, you’re a good cook,” you admit.
“I know,” he says smugly, making you roll your eyes.
“Humble, too, I see.”
He shrugs. “Gotta be confident in the things you’re good at.”
“Oh yeah?” you question, irritated by his shameless smugness. Chenle is carefree in the way only people who’ve always had everything handed to them are. “What else are you good at then, rich boy? Spending daddy’s money?”
He glares at you and you almost feel bad. He’s taken care of today. Brought you here, got you medicine, let you shower first, cooked for you. But then you remember how he almost got you killed to save his own ass and suddenly you don’t feel so sorry at all anymore.
“Basketball,” he says flatly. “I’m good at basketball.”
“Let me guess,” you scoff. “You were so good you could’ve gone pro but then you got a leg injury.”
“Nope. I was just even better at singing.”
You can’t believe this guy. “Can’t be that good. Else you would’ve become an idol or something.”
“Right, ‘cause the only way to prove you’re good at something is to make a career out of it,” he says coldly.
You shrug. “I’m just saying, if you were that good at it you could’ve made it into your profession. Especially with a little help from daddy.”
His hand slams down on the table, making you flinch. “Are you trying to be a bitch or is that just what you are?”
“That’s a little rich coming from the guy who sacrifices others to save himself,” you shoot back.
“Oh my god!” He stands up, his chair falling over. “Are you still hung up on that? He was going to shoot me! I had no choice.”
You bark out a laugh. “Of course, you had a choice. You just chose yourself over me, which you, by the way, still haven’t even apologized for!”
“I saved you,” he says, his nostrils flaring. “If I hadn’t gotten that car—”
“No, that was me saving you. All you did was scream around like a little bitch.”
He steps dangerously close to you. “Oh, I’m the little bitch?”
Another wave of heat shivers through you, making the world spin. You hold onto the table, squeezing your eyes shut. Chenle watches, his features softening ever so slightly.
“Go to bed,” he says, tonelessly. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
You shoot up on the bed, drenched in cold sweat, a hand clutching your heaving chest. For a moment, you’re seized by a panic that steals the air out of your lunges, that chokes you. You don’t know where you are, you don’t remember how you got here. But then you remember, and your dread only grows.
You’re okay, you tell yourself. You escaped. He won’t find you here. You’re safe.
But how are you supposed to feel safe when he’s chasing you even in your dreams?
You slip out of bed, fanning yourself. The nightgown sticks to your damp back uncomfortably, making you cringe as you move around. Maybe this at least means that you’ve sweat out your fever. Your skin doesn’t feel like it’s on fire anymore, at least. But now you’re parched, so you slip out of the bedroom and carefully tiptoe into the kitchen and living room area.
Man, it feels so wrong to sleep in someone else's bed, to wear their clothes and eat their food. Maybe you should leave a note or something once you leave, explaining your situation and apologizing to the owners. Of course, that would only matter if you actually thought they would come back here at some point, though.
It’s too dark in the living room to make out Chenle’s form but you know he’s there. And no matter how much of a narcissistic dickhe*d he is, you don’t have it in you to turn on the lights and wake him so cruelly. He may be a selfish bastard, but the last two days must’ve been just as draining for him as they were for you, so denying him any rest just because you’re struggling to sleep feels too unfair.
Blindly, you fumble for one of the water bottles in the kitchen and screw it open, greedily gulping down the liquid. God, come to think of it, you don’t think you’ve ever drank as little as you have these past few days.
“You’re up.”
You startle so much that you inhale some of the water, making you cough violently.
“Jesus, f*ck, Chenle! Don’t do that!” you wheeze.
Only now do you notice his silhouette against the moonlight as he stands by the living room window, his back turned to you. He’s wearing a shirt that’s so big on him it ends just below his knees. And to think that he was laughing at your getup.
Your laundry stands a little off to the side, hung up on a drying rack. He must’ve gotten it out of the washing machine when you were already asleep. Your eyes fall on your underwear next to his, and heat rises to your cheeks. Suddenly, you're grateful for the lack of light.
“Can’t sleep?” you ask.
He’s still looking out into the night. And you find yourself resisting the unexplainable urge to step closer to his side.
“I keep waiting for something bad to happen,” he says quietly. “For him to bust through the door and start shooting this place up.”
You don’t know why you say it. Maybe it’s because you’re tired and exhausted or maybe it’s because, for the first time since you’ve met him, he’s showing a more vulnerable side of himself, that makes the words come out.
“I dreamed about him.” For a moment, he makes to move as if to look over his shoulder at you, but he stays in place, his back to you.
“It’s strange,” he says, eventually. “Day and night come and go but the time and date stay the same. It’s like time is standing still.”
Those were your thoughts exactly back in Busan. You both look out the window for a long moment, sitting with the unsettling thought.
“Do you have someone waiting for you back in Seoul? Or, you know, the version of it where the people haven’t dissapeared”
You shake your head, now feeling his eyes on you. “My mom is in a nursing home in Ilsan, and I’m not exactly on speaking terms with my sister.”
“No boyfriend, then?”
“Of course, that’s all you got from that sentence,” you mutter.
Chenle smirks weakly. “Your dad?”
“Died when I was eighteen,” you say, stubbornly staring straight ahead. “Lung cancer. We don’t need to talk about it.”
“I’m sorry.” The words sound so strangely sincere that it makes you meet his gaze. “Not just about your father— I mean, about that, too, of course. But also for setting the black walker on you back in Busan.”
You sigh, stretching your neck from side to side. “Here’s the thing, Chenle. I believe you that you're sorry. I just don’t believe you wouldn’t do it again.”
He sighs tiredly, running a hand over his face. “Yeah, I can’t blame you.”
This is strange. You don’t know if you can accept his apology but you don’t have the energy to fight with him anymore, either. Maybe, you should just keep him by your side until you figure this whole thing out. Surviving in this strange world is easier together. But once you’ve figured out what happened and how to reverse it, you should part ways and recognize this for what it is: A relationship of mutual benefit in a time of despair. Once this is all over, you doubt you’ll have a reason to keep in touch, anyway.
Besides, you can’t imagine Chenle hitting you up after work, asking to spend time together. Just as you can’t imagine yourself integrated into his fancy life with his no-doubt snobby circle of friends who would look down on you the moment they saw you and gossip about you the moment you turned your back to them.
You shake your head, deciding that, yes, the two of you are going to through this together, because navigating this strange world is easier and smarter done together, and then you’re going to part ways, leaving the memories of this awful place behind along with whatever this strange acquaintance between you might be.
“What about you? No fancy chaebol heiress waiting for you in your palace in Seoul?”
You can feel him roll his eyes, and you relish it. “I’m not a relationship-kinda guy.”
Yeah, that tracks.
“Of course, you aren’t.”
“You are?” he asks, almost patronizingly. “Little miss I-can-do-it-all-on-my-own, is secretly a hopeless romantic? A damsel in distress waiting for her knight in shining armor?”
You scowl. “Nothing like that. I just don’t see the point in being with someone if you’re not serious about each other.”
“So why are you single, then?” he asks.
The moon suddenly looks awfully interesting. “You’re making it sound as if it’s that easy to get in a relationship.”
He shrugs. “For you, it could be.”
You scowl, and he releases something between a groan and a laugh. “Oh, come on, are you really going to make me say it? You’re hot, alright? You could get any guy to fall for you just by batting those ridiculously long lashes of yours at them.”
“Shut up,” you scowl, hating the way heat creeps up your neck and warms your cheeks.
But the feeling is soon replaced by bitterness. Because the reason you’re not with someone? How could you be, when you’re too terrified of people to even try making friends. Or how could you commit to being with someone, when you’re still terrified of getting hurt again after what happened last year?
The image of your sister showing off that hideous engagement ring on social media forces itself in front of your inner eye, but you force it down down down.
“Love is all fine and dandy when you’re feeling it, but it also makes you blind,” you say bitterly.
Chenle nods slowly, eyes clouded over as if revisiting by a dark memory. “You’re right.”
“I am?”
“I was . . . blind, too, once. I’m not going back there,” the edge to his voice is too cutting even for him. Looks like there’s some darkness hiding behind that mask of sarcasm and recklessness he’s built for himself.
You raise your water bottle as if it were a champagne glass. “To never being blind again, then.”
His lips twist into a humorless smirk and he nods. “To never being blind again.”
The next morning you wake up feeling a little better. You must’ve really sweat out most of your fever overnight. Surprisingly, after coming back to bed from your talk with Chenle, you managed to sleep through the rest of the night without any more nightmares ripping you from your sleep.
When you wake up this time, you still have that split moment of panic where the memories of the past few days haven’t caught up to you yet and you wake up in a bed that isn’t yours wearing clothes that aren’t your own. But then, it all comes back to you, knocking the air out of your lungs a little. Because it reminds you that this is your life now, not some f*cked up dream that you can just wake yourself up from if only you try hard enough.
You find your clothes neatly folded on the dresser in your room, making you realize that Chenle must’ve brought them in here. How the hell did you not wake up when he came in?
You walk into the bathroom, quickly getting ready— thankfully you found a packet of fresh toothbrushes yesterday. You’d rather let all your teeth rot away than brush them with someone else’s toothbrush.
Chenle is already in the kitchen when you walk into the open living area. He, too, has changed back into his old clothes, though he cut off the sleeves of his shirt, probably due to their ragged state. Your eyes fall on his upper arms. They’re lean but toned. He mentioned playing basketball, maybe that’s why.
You catch yourself wondering what he must look like playing.His hair sticking to his sweaty skin, the co*cky comments he’d make after scoring, glimpses of his torso that you’d get whenever he’d use his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face.
You shake your head, frowning at the direction your thoughts are taking.
“When was the last time you changed that?” you ask by way of greeting, nodding towards his bandaged upper arm.
“Good morning to you too,” he says sarcastically, then shrugs nonchalantly. “I meant to yesterday, but I forgot.”
You sigh, shaking your head. What, he has time to fold your laundry but not to take care of his arm?
“You do know I wasn’t being serious when I joked about wishing sepsis on you.” You go to get the med kit from the bathroom. “Who’s going to take over your father’s fancy business one day if you bite the dust?”
The moment the words have left your lips you know you’ve hit a nerve. His shoulders tense and his eyes darken, making him look even more intimidating than he naturally does. “Yeah, trust me, my old man is definitely not looking to me for that. He’s got my brother for that. I’m just the second child he’s always regretted having. No one expects anything from the family’s screw up.”
Huh. Looks like you’re not the only one with family problems.
You start to undo his old bandage. It feels strange to touch him, even just like this, every accidental brush of your skin against his sending sparks from the top of your fingers up your arms. You wonder if he feels it, too. But no, that’s ridiculous. You’re just so pathetically touch deprived that you forgot what human touch feels like. When was the last time you hugged someone goodbye or kissed someone, even just on the cheek? You can’t even remember. How pathetic.
Oh, how much easier it is to be angry than sad. “Not being on good terms with your sibling, I get that,” you scoff bitterly.
“You got a sibling?” he asks before he hisses as you disinfect the cut once more. Thank god, it doesn’t look to be infected or anything.
You shrug. “Older sister.”
“Guess that explains why you’re such a pain in the ass. It’s the youngest-sibling-syndrome. Let me guess. Your sister’s a doctor while you work in . .. education.”
“I work in marketing,” you defend yourself, then add quietly. “And she’s a lawyer, not a doctor.”
“Ha, even better!” he cackles and you slap the new dressing onto his skin, making him yelp. “Let me guess, you’ve also got daddy issues?”
You can tell he regrets the words as soon as he says them, remembering your conversation from the other day.
“For that I’d need a live dad,” you say drily.
You scoff as you wrap a new bandage around his arm. “You’re saying all of this like you're so much better. You’re a selfish dick whose only goal in life is to have a good time. And let me guess, your brother’s the golden child who’s going to inherit the company so what other choice do you have? You were already coming in second place from the moment you were born. They never expected you not to be a disappointment. Might as well prove them right, am I right?”
Chenle’s eyes have turned icy cold. “Well, looks like you’ve got me all figured out, then.”
You tighten the bandage harshly and a muscle in his jaw jumps as he grits his teeth. What’s wrong with you? How the hell is it that every time you two talk you fight? f*cking hell, at this point, even being stuck here with your sister would be less of a pain in the ass! You’re just about to retort someting when your eyes catch on the newspaper from yesterday, a headline catching your attention.
“Mystery lights sighted in the capital: Just what happened in Seoul?” you read.
Some of the tension leaves Chenle’s face as he follows your gaze to the newspaper. He picks up the paper, reading aloud:
“On the night from April 7th to April 8th, numerous lights appeared all throughout the city, worrying civilians. Though there are no reported casualties from the incident, many witnesses describe a feeling of uneasiness upon witnessing the incident. The mysterious anomaly is said to have disappeared shortly after its appearance, but any attempt at explaining its origin has been futile thus far.”
You share a look.
“The night from the 7th to the 8th,” Chenle drawls. “That’s the night before we woke ip in Busan.”
You nod. “Do you remember seeing any of these strange lights?”
He shakes his head. “You?”
“Nope.” You sit in silence for a moment. “Whatever this was, it must have something to do with the people disappearing. There is no way these two things aren’t related.”
“But if the lights made people disappear, then who wrote this report?” he questions.
You run a hand over your brows, a headache starting to form behind them. “I don’t know. But this is the first lead we’ve found since we got here. I say it’s worth following up on.”
“So what you’re saying is . . .” he asks, already knowing the answer.
“We have to get to Seoul.”
As it turns out, the small town you ended up in is not actually as small as you’d initially thought. On the lookout for a new car, the two of you walk past a school, a doctor’s office, even a supermarket. You take the opportunity and get some food for the road there— supplies that are easy to transport and don’t need cooling, like canned ravioli and chili. Going around, taking whatever you want, feels an awful lot like stealing but when you bring this up to him, Chenle only rolls his eyes.
“You really think people are going to miss this canned garbage, princess?”
You also took some things from the house you stayed at last night, which you are now carrying in two backpacks you found in the back of the couple’s closet. Contrary to Chenle, who’d snatched his bag out of your hands without hesitation, you still feel bad for taking their things. But no matter how annoyed you are with the other for his unaffected demeanor, a part of you is starting to think that he’s right. Why feel bad for stealing from people who don’t exist anymore?
But then there is that other part of you that’s begging you to keep holding onto the hope that somehow this nightmare will end one day. Stopping to care about the people whose things you take would mean giving up that hope and accepting that may never happen.
You wonder if that is what Chenle thinks.
Eventually, you come upon a car dealership, which you’re more than glad for because while your ribs are starting to feel a little better, your foot only seems to hurt more with every step you take. It’ll be good for you to rest it a little.
“Woah, look! They’ve got a f*cking Porsche,” Chenle exclaims excitedly as you take in the cars inside the dealership.
“Which you won’t be able to drive,” you say, jutting your chin towards the gearshift between the two front seats.
“You could teach me,” he says, getting in the front seat and gripping the steering wheel excitedly.
You scoff. “You weren’t inclined to learn with the other car.”
“Oh, you mean between the bullet-dodging and running-for-our-lives?”
“Which we may have to do again,” you remind him. “We don’t know if we lost the black walker. What if he chases us again and you stall the car? We should get an automatic car so that both of us can take turns driving. Something that’s a little more convenient than this.”
“But it’s a Porsche,” he whines.
“It’s impractical,” you reply, looking around until your eyes land on a Hyundai Terracan. “Here! An automatic, with decent enough horsepower and a lot of stowage. We can transport all the supplies we need, and if we ever have to sleep in the car we can fold back the seats and sleep in the trunk.”
Chenle co*cks a brow at you, smirking co*ckily. “Is that your idea of car sex? You know, if you wanted to sleep with me you could’ve just asked. I could’ve kept you company in grandma’s and grandpa’s old bed.”
You grimace but an unsolicited wave of heat goes through you. Why the hell does he have to be so straightforward?
“I’d rather sleep with the black walker than with you, rich boy,” you say.
“Oh, so that’s the type of sh*t you’re into, huh? Kinky.”
You shake your head, smiling weakly, pretending away the heat climbing up your neck and cheeks.
“You do know that Seoul is not that far away, right?” he says, eventually referring to your former statement.
You shrug, glad for the change in topic. “I fell asleep on a bench in Seoul and woke up on a beach in Busan. I think it’s safe to say that we don’t know what awaits us out there.”
He rolls his eyes, pouting as he longingly looks towards the Porsche one last time, and you can’t help but find his antics sort of cute—
You shake your head, eyes bulging at your own thoughts. What the hell?
You busy yourself by looking for the keys to the car. They must be somewhere behind the front desk.
“Wait, you fell asleep on a bench?” he asks.
You shrug, not particularly keen on reliving the details of that glorious night. “I was wasted. I’d had a rough day.”
“Oh, I hear that.” The bitter note in his voice makes you think that, maybe, he really does.
Chenle looks disgustingly attractive while driving. However much of a lost cause he may be with driving stick, driving the automatic Hyundai comes agitatingly naturally to him. Sure, when he first complained about the unceremonial interior of the car and acted all pouty because you wouldn’t let him choose the Porsche, it was annoying. But now that he’s in the driver’s seat, one arm casually propped up against the window while the other maneuvers the steering wheel around with those skillful movements of his hand. His hand that is pale and veiny and with those long fingers that he moves so gracefully . . .
You force yourself to look out the window.
Chenle insisted on driving, saying something about you driving like a “co*ked up marten that’s been told to perform heart surgery”, whatever that’s supposed to mean, but you suspect he noticed your limp grow more pronounced throughout the morning and wanted to let you rest. Of course, he would never admit to that, though, which you’re grateful for, even if you hate depending on him like this.
Just like the TV back in the house, none of the other satellite-dependant electronics seems to work, which includes the car radio. So you drive in silence, that surprisingly is not as tense as you thought it would be. Well, you guess running for your life together bonds, even when the person you’re on the run with may still sacrifice you the first chance he gets if it means saving his own skin.
Painfully reminded of his betrayal, you get even more angry at the way your eyes keep drifting over to his frame, spying shameful, pathetic glances of him. Shaking your head, you focus your attention back on the road map in your lap. Since electronics are failing you, using a navigation system on a phone or even one integrated into the car is not an option.
“I’m pretty sure we’re somewhere in the Haman county,” you mumble, tracing the roads on the map with your finger.
Chenle looks over at you briefly. “How specific.”
You roll your eyes. “This map is probably older than both of us combined, it’s not up to date at all. I can’t even find the road that we’re on right now.”
He scoffs. “Or, and hear me out here, you’re just bad with maps.”
You glare at him. “Switch seats with me and you do it, then. I bet you’ll do really well with navigating, rich boy.”
“Oh my god, stop calling me that!”
“It’s so awfully fitting, though,” you pout.
He’s just about to say something else when something catches his attention. “Look!”
Just off to the road, a big shopping center stands. You nod. “Let’s make a stop here. Can’t hurt to get some camping supplies.”
Chenle rolls his eyes. “Your enthusiasm is overwhelming, truly. We’ve got the once in a lifetime opportunity to have a whole shopping center to ourselves and all you can think about is blankets and portable stoves.”
You scoff. “Why do you even care? You’ve always been able to go into a mall and just get whatever you wanted.”
“It’s not the same thing,” he mutters.
“Sure, it’s not.”
Five minutes later, you’re making your way up an escalator from the underground garage. Strangely, though all the devices connected to the satellite seem to be defective, everything powered by just electricity like the escalator or the blow dryer at the house you stayed at, still works. No matter how much you think about it, the whole thing makes no sense.
You lose Chenle within a minute of strolling around, as he stalks off to a luxury brand store, mumbling something about needing new clothes.
“Get something functional as well!” you call after him, though you’re pretty sure he’s not listening to you.
Determined steps lead you into a sports shop, first. You take a portable gas-stove, a couple of mats to put in the trunk of the car if you do have to sleep in it, and two sleeping bags. Good. With those, you’ll be even warmer than with blankets and they won’t take up too much space.
You leave your findings at the entrance, so you only have to make one trip to the car later. Besides, you’re not carrying all of this when you already did the work of picking it out. Let Chenle do it.
You walk into a clothing store as well— nothing quite as fancy as Chenle’s pick, but good enough quality that you know the clothes will last you a while. Who knows, when you’ll be able to pick up new ones again, with the way you seem to be entering more and more rural areas.
Eventually, you find Chenle in a record shop, standing in front of a shelf carrying CDs. He smiles victoriously as he holds one up to you.
“We may not be able to listen to the radio but I’m sure the CD-drive still works.”
You nod acknowledgingly. “Nice, then I don’t have to listen to your constant yapping anymore.”
He rolls his eyes but the corner of his mouth twitches, same as yours.
“Oh, one more thing,” he says, pulling something out of his pocket. “I made a little trip to the jewelry store.”
You gasp as he presents you with a silver necklace. It’s simple and dainty, but the main focus is a silver ring embedded with red gems that’s dangling from it.
“Chenle, stealing necessities is one thing. A necklace is a whole different story.”
He smirks. “Actually, make that two necklaces.”
He pulls out another one from under his shirt, this one identical to yours in all aspects except his ring has blue stones embedded in it.
You open your mouth, but he shushes you. “Oh, calm down. They weren’t even that expensive.”
Well, this is gonna be good. You cross your arms in front of your chest. “Oh really? How much were they, then?”
He shrugs. “600000 won.” And when he sees your eyes bulge he adds, quietly. “Each.”
“Oh my god, Che—”
“Oh, come on! Who’s gonna miss them?” Then he adds, his voice a few octaves lower. “Besides, the red suits you, and it would be a shame to leave them behind with no owner to ever claim them.”
Grudgingly, you let him step behind you, lifting your hair as he clasps the necklace behind your head. A shiver goes through you as his thumb graces your skin in the process, and he must’ve felt it, too, because he hesitates for a second before stepping away.
He clears his throat. “Et voilà.”
You smile wryly despite yourself. “So why are you giving me a ring on a necklace?”
He co*cks a brow at you, smiling co*ckily. “Why, you want it on your finger, instead?”
Flustered and not knowing what to do with that statement, you shake your head, stalking away, muttering something about it being time to leave. He follows after you, laughing at your shyness.
“I’m just saying, apart from the black walker, we’re the only two people left in the country— hell, maybe even the whole damn world. Why not get something to commemorate that?” He holds up his ring. “Y/n and Chenle, the last two people on earth. Come on, that’s pretty badass.”
You sigh, fingers automatically wrapping around the ring as you walk on towards the pile of clothes and supplies you gathered.
“Oh, and for the record,” he sounds uncharacteristically serious. “I would never put a ring that cheap on my girl’s hand.”
“Are you sure you should be driving again so soon with your ankle like that?” Chenle asks, glancing down at your feet over the edge of the map in his lap.
You scoff. “It’s fine. And besides, you were the one who complained about my ‘lack’ of navigation skills. So go on, show me what you got.”
You look over at him squinting at the map, turning it in his hands. “Yeah, not so co*cky now, are we?”
He hushes you. “Just give me a sec to figure this thing out, first?”
Eventually, he manages to make out your location on the map and starts directing you into the direction of Seoul. You guess it’s about a four-hour ride to the capital, so you should easily be able to make it there by tonight. Chenle pops the CD into the CD-R drive, and a slow, melancholic tune starts playing.
5th of November
When I walked you home
That's when I nearly said it
But then said "Forget it" and froze
“Gee, who broke your heart?” you joke.
Do you remember?
You probably don't
'Cause the sparks in the sky
Took a hold of your eyes while we spoke
Chenle is uncharacteristically quiet. Finally, he shrugs, saying, “It’s a good song, that’s all.”
Just as your mouth opens to reply, something catches your attention, making you frown.
“Chenle?” you ask, voice tight.
“Mhm?”
“What did you say the exit we passed before was?” you ask.
He rolls his eyes, groaning. “What, do you think I’m to dumb to read, now?” He holds up the map, agitatedly pointing at it. “Yeongsanjangma, you see?”
You shake your head, brows furrowing. “Are you sure?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “For f*ck’s sake, Y/n! Yes, I’m sure! You know, I’ve had it with you looking down on—”
“Shut up,” you hiss.
“You don’t tell me to shut up! Yes, my father is rich! So what? That doesn’t make me a stupid, lazy, blighter. My high school education alone probably cost more than your whole semester—”
“Shh! Look!” You point towards an approaching road sign reading ‘Yeongsanjangma’. Your hand goes to the ring around your neck, as your lips part.
“What the hell?” he whispers, astounded. He frowns as he looks back down at the map. “We passed this exit like 20 minutes ago, I swear.”
“I know, that’s why I asked,” you say, teeth gritted. “We’ve been going in circles.”
“But that’s not possible,” Chenle says. “The road is not even laid out in a way that would make that possible.”
You exchange a glance, your confusion and worry mirrored in his features.
“Let’s keep going straight for now,” he suggests. “If we do that, we’ve got to make headway at some point.”
You nod tensely, and you drive in uneasy silence for another ten, fifteen twenty minutes before . . .
“Yeongsanjangma,” Chenle breathes, shaking his head in disbelief. “How is this possible?”
“How about we just get off here?” you suggest.
“Yeah, sure! Let’s go to the place that we creepily can’t get away from. Have you ever seen a horror movie, Y/n? That’s like the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Well, what do you propose, huh?” You ask, panic lacing your voice. This is all officially too freaky for you now. “You think I should keep driving on this f*cking road to nowhere? We’re never going to get to Seoul like this!”
He sinks his fingers into his hair. “Ugh, fine, get off. But not at this cursed exit, alright? Take the next one.”
“Fine.” You nod tensely, warily watching the road sign reading ‘Yeongsanjangma’ as you pass it.
From then on, you stray away from the main road, keeping to country roads and dirt roads instead. You have no idea if you’re making it any closer to the capital, anymore. All you know is that you’re driving and driving until your bruised ankle starts to throb, making you wince. Why did you have to insist on driving so stubbornly?
You get away with it for all of five minutes before the other keeps glancing in your direction. But what are you going to do? Whine about it to him? Hell, no. You don’t need his help.
Chenle watches you struggle to hide your pain for a few more moments before he sighs. “Just let me drive.”
You grit your teeth. “I’ve got it.”
“Clearly,” he scoffs. “Come on, I’m sick of navigating anyway. I want to drive.”
Finally, you let up, mumbling your agreement as you slow down the car. When you get out you’re surprised by how pronounced your limp has gotten again. You hiss with every step, and unfortunately, Chenle sees it as well when you meet in front of the hood of the car.
“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?” He’s crouched down, inspecting your ankle with gentle touches that still make you hiss. It’s swollen and has started to bruise, the marks a painting of blue, green, and yellow against your skin.
“It’s fine, I just overdid it a little,” you mumble.
He glares up at you. “Just get in the car.”
Frowning at the coldness in his tone, you comply. He rummages in the trunk before he comes back, wordlessly handing you a cold compress he must’ve gotten from the med kit. Your brows raise as you take it from him, another one of Henry Moodie’s songs the only noise between you as you apply the cold compress to your swollen ankle.
You startle when he finally breaks the silence. “Do you know how reckless that was? You should’ve told me you were in pain. I thought your foot wasn’t hurt that bad.”
“It wasn’t,” you protest weakly. “I guess it would’ve been fine had I had some more time to rest but we had to get going. It’s not that big of a deal.”
He mutters something under his breath, running his hand through his hair in exasperation.
“Why are you angry about this? What’s it to you?” you ask, getting agitated yourself. So what, if your foot is hurt? It’s your foot.
“Because, what if we run into another guy like the black walker? What if we have to run and you aren’t fast enough, just because you were too stubborn to ask for help when you were hurting?!”
You scoff. “That’s funny coming from the guy who almost got me killed.”
“I already apologized for that.”
“Oh, yeah, no, of course. If you apologized for it then, of course, it’s in the past!” you say sarcastically.
“What more do you want me to do, huh? Take a bullet for you if we get shot at again?!”
“You know what?” you say petulantly. “Be my guest.”
His knuckles turn white around the steering wheel. “You know, you think you’ve got me all figured out. Rich dad. Selfish bastard who’s gotten everything handed to him his whole life. Well, you don’t know sh*t, Y/n. I know what I did was f*cked up, but you’re the one who’s held my background against me from the moment we met. So yeah, sure, I’ve messed up. But I didn’t choose to be born into a rich family. You have only yourself to blame for being such a bitter, hateful person.”
You swallow. “Nice speech. Only thing is that you can’t blame me for being hung up on the fact that you were willing to sacrifice me to save yourself.”
“Right. ‘Cause that’s all this is about,” he says, looking rigidly ahead, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “As if you wouldn’t have hated me for being rich regardless, had I not done that.”
You look out of the window. Gloomy skies drench the world in shades of gray.
“I guess we’ll never know.”
“We’re lost, aren’t we?” Chenle asks, agitation clear in his voice.
It’s close to midnight, and you’ve got a headache from how hard you’ve been staring at the map. But no matter how much you do, you cannot for the life of you figure out where you are.
“Don’t act like I got us lost. You’re the one who wouldn’t listen to me whenever I told you where to go.”
He takes a controlled deep breath. Steam may as well be coming out of his ears. “Twice. That happened twice. And only because we weren’t where you said we were, so either these roads make no sense, either, or you’re just really f*cking sh*t at navigating.”
“Oh, my god. Not this again,” you groan. “I’m telling you, it’s not my fault the roads don’t correspond with the map!”
Chenle barks out a laugh, before the car comes to rapid a standstill that has you reeling in your seat. “Yeah, no sh*t! Look at this.”
Water. Somehow you found your way to a lake. Great. According to the map, there shouldn’t even be any water here.
The summer heat hits you immediately, so humid it weighs on you. You put your hair up in a bun, fanning your neck. Your legs are beyond sore from your day on the road, aching with every attempt you make at stretching them. But at least your ankle doesn’t hurt as much anymore, now. Your eyes fall on Chenle as he shrugs off the denim jacket he took from the shopping center and nears the water.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you call after him.
He smirks over his shoulder at you before he grabs the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head. “What’s it look like, princess?”
You swallow as he kicks off one shoe, then the other. Take off one sock, then the other. Unbuckles his belt—
“We don’t know if it’s safe to go in,” you call, your voice a little too high in your ears. You fiddle with the ring around your neck as you watch him walk on, undeterred by your stares as he unzips his pants— You whirl around, staring at the Hyundai in shock. He’s doing it. He’s really doing it. Just like that.
Okay, but should that really make your heart race this much?
You hear the water splash as he wades into the lake. “We’ve been stuck in that stuffy car all day. Come on, it’s nice in here!” he calls, then adds teasingly. “Unless you’re too scared?”
He’s got you and he knows it. No way you’re going to lose to him. It’s written all over his co*cky face when you slowly turn around, meeting the challenge in his eyes with your own.
Most of his body is hidden beneath the water’s surface. Only his shoulders and the lines of his collarbones are visible, his pale skin illuminated by the moonlight. He smirks, wordlessly challenging you as you stand there in front of the lake thinking, are you really going to do this? But then he scoffs and rolls his eyes, as if to say ‘see, knew you’d chicken out’ and suddenly you’re kicking off your shoes, taking off your socks, and reaching for the hem of your shirt.
One of his brows twitches and he swallows, but you’re determined to see this through. He started this game after all, you’re just playing along. You hold his gaze as you pull the shirt over your head, painfully aware as his eyes dip down to your clothed breasts. Your bra is simple and black— not exactly lingerie but it fits nicely, hugging your curves perfectly. Even with the dim light, you see his ears turn pink as he watches you, the co*cky smile slowly fading from his face and getting replaced with something deeper, darker. A muscle in his jaw jumps and his eyes sharpen, making you feel even more nervous under his gaze. But it’s not just nervousness you feel, as you undo the front of your jeans and slip them down your legs, now standing in only underwear before him. There is something else there. Something dark, daring, and dangerous that scares you so much you push it down down down, just as your hand reaches behind your back and you undo your bra—
Chenle’s whirls around and you laugh airily as you let the item fall to the ground along with your underwear, where they land right next to his Calvin Klein boxers.
The water is crisp and shocks you awake when you hurry into the lake, eager to gain back some coverage. Chenle finally turns around again once he hears you approach from behind.
“Who’s scared now?” you ask teasingly, making him smile. But it’s not a friendly smile. It’s a smile that’s sharpened by the tension in his jaw, and his eyes that strain so hard to stay on your face, but lose the fight every few moments, dipping down the column of your neck, caressing it with his gaze until they find your collarbones and shoulders then travel further down still, until they reach the surface of the water.
Chenle tears his eyes away from you, dunking his head back and drenching his hair. He pushes the dripping strands back with his hands, exposing his forehead. You try not to focus too much on how much the hairstyle accentuates his sharp features, or the drops of water dripping from his chin and running down his neck.
“I’ve got to hand it to you,” he says, a little breathlessly, “I didn’t think you’d do it.”
Yeah, that makes two of you.
“Well, I love to disappoint,” you say instead.
The water is just deep enough for you to be able to stand where you are, but as you walk closer to the other the water suddenly deepens, making you gasp as your head breaches the surface of the lake. His hand grasps your arm, pulling you back up as you start to swim in place.
Chenle laughs a high-pitched, unapologetic laugh. “Trying to go deep diving?”
You wipe a hand over your face, trying to get the water out of your lashes. “A warning would’ve been nice!”
“It’s not my fault you’re too short to stand.” He snorts.
Briefly disoriented and still trying to blink the water out of your eyes, your lips part when your hand comes in contact with the warm skin of his chest, and you hear him suck in a sharp breath. His other hand settles on your back, stabilizing you until you’ve found your footing again. You look up from his chest at him, heat pulsing in your cheeks.
“Sorry,” you whisper, the word coming more airily than you meant for it to.
Chenle swallows but soon a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as his hand starts tracing tantalizingly slow circles into your back that slowly travel lower and lower, enjoying the way the action has you gasping and shivering in his hold.
“You’re looking a little out of breath there, princess.” His voice has turned into a low whisper that caresses your ear as he breathes the words against your skin. All the while, his other hand drags up from the side of your arm to your shoulder to your collarbone until he’s tracing the lines of your throat, making you close your eyes as another shiver goes through you. “Do I make you nervous, Y/n?”
This is not fair. How long has it been since someone touched you like this? Has anyone ever touched you like this at all? With fingers whose touch burns your skin and weakens your legs? And the worst thing is that Chenle knows exactly the effect he has on you.
His one hand draws teasing circles against your waist, while the other tips your chin, guiding your head to the side to face him. You’re so close, his breath hitting your lips.
“Has anyone ever touched you like this?”
Like this? No, nothing can compare to the ache pulsing between your legs at his simple touches. To the fire that’s been ignited in your middle. It’s pathetic, how much he has you wrapped around his finger.
His eyes watch every single one of your reactions to him with electric curiosity before they light up in realization.
“You’ve never been with anyone, have you?” His voice sounds a little hoarse as he says it, like he can’t believe it.
And suddenly his eyes are filled with hunger as his finger descends down your neck, breaching the surface of the water where it is hidden from your view and you can only anticipate his next—
Your breathe hitches as his hand settles just beneath your breast, dangerously close yet tauntingly far away from your nipples that have hardened treacherously.
“Chenle,” you breathe, your hands instinctively grasping onto his shoulders.
He’s watching you closely as he graces your lips with his, barely even a touch yet somehow magnifying the fire building in your core and his hand moves higher, gracing the underside of your breast, the touch sending electricity through you as you arch into him, straining to connect your lips—
Chenle scoffs softly. “Careful there, princess. You’re almost making me think you might actually like me.”
And then he’s gone. And you’re standing there, a little dizzy, staring at the space he used to stand in only a moment before, breathing heavily with an unquenchable fire that’s been ignited between your legs.
By the time you get a grip he’s already halfway dressed again, smirking at you from afar as you release a shaky breath.
You can’t believe this man. One moment, he makes your knees weak with his touches, the next, he cooks ramen on your camping stove, acting like nothing ever happened at all. He’s changed into a loose-fitted black shirt and joggers, when you finally join him after having freshened up yourself. You sit quietly as you eat your dinner, both starving from a long day on the road.
You don’t know if its because of the words he said back in the car, or how much it seems to bother him that you were connecting him to his father’s wealth so much, all you know is that the words come out unsolicited.
“I don’t hate you because you’re rich,” you say quietly.
He looks up from his beer— you’d given up on trying to convince him that you should just take water after he’d insisted on taking it like a child throwing a temper tantrum— and scoffs, smiling weakly.
“Right, just because you’re jealous of my extraordinary charm and good looks, then?”
You sigh, leaning back in your camping chair and looking up at the stars. They look pretty out here in the countryside where the fine dust is not as bad. And they’re a welcome excuse for not having to look him in the eyes.
“I don’t— I just—” You sigh, swallowing around an inexplicable lump in your throat. “I know it’s not fair, okay? But when I met you and realized how . . . privileged you were, I just— I’m not poor, alright? Neither was my family, growing up. But I worked my ass off in highschool to get into a good university and when I managed to make it into one I studied my ass off some more, only to—”
Jesus, why is your voice wavering so pathetically? You press your eyes shut, taking a few deep breaths before you continue. “Only to end up working a miserable underpaid 9-5 that really is a 7-11 on most days. And the worst thing is, I loved marketing when I was a student. I thought it was the one thing I would be good at. The one thing I could do with my life that would’ve made all the years of hard work worthwhile. All the late-night studying while others were out partying . . . But no, all I got in return was a sh*tty boss, colleagues from hell, and the most monotonous assignments.”
You chuckle humorlessly. “And here I am, trapped with a guy who has the means to do whatever he likes, whenever he likes. A guy who parties every day of the week, who has no aspirations or dreams and who lives carelessly while I’m stuck reliving the same nightmare day after day after day.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I know you didn’t choose to be born into this life or this family but— I’m sorry, I just can’t help but feel like it’s unfair, knowing that you don’t even appreciate what you have. And I know I’m a hateful bitter bitch for feeling this way, but I do, okay? I just do.”
You both sit there in silence for a while, cicadas’ chirping the only noises breaching the silence. Chenle stares off into the distance wearing an unreadable expression for a long time.
“I wasn’t always like this, you know I had a dream, once,” he says, finally.
Your brows furrow. “What happened?”
He shrugs, expression dark. “I woke up.”
—-------------------------
It’s strange. In a way, being on the road together feels more domestic than staying at the same house. At least with the night you spent there, you had your own spaces to retreat back into. But living out of a car is different.
Three days ago, you didn’t even know each other. Now, you’re laying on a shared sleeping mat in the trunk of the Hyundai, listening to the sound of each other’s breaths. You’re awfully aware of your close proximity. The trunk is big but even with the back seat flipped over it’s not meant to be slept in, so your legs grace his when you turn, and his shoulder brushes yours as he readjusts the hoodie he bunched up under his head to use as a pillow.
If you were at least using your sleeping bags, there would be more barriers between you, but you underestimated the summer’s heat when you took them. It’s so warm you’ve even left the trunk open, so at least the fresh air can cool down the confined space a little, but even that is doing less than you’d hoped. So all you can do is adamantly keep your eyes pressed shut, trying to convince your body to just fall asleep already, as if Chenle’s mere presence doesn’t singe your skin in a way the warm weather never could.
You can’t be the only one feeling this way.
But what are you thinking? Someone like Chenle surely spends most of his nights with women that are just as well off as him and that spend more on their appearance than you do on three months' rent. You can’t compare with that. And besides, you’re sure they don’t pick fights with him every 20 minutes. No, they probably laugh at his jokes, no matter if they're funny or not, and they stroke his ego, complimenting him on his basketball skills even if they know nothing about the sport at all.
You feel embarrassed for even daring to think that you may have as much of an effect on him as he has on you. Whatever that was that happened between you earlier, it was just him entertaining himself with his only option left in this vacant world: You.
You’re not his choice. You’re not a choice at all.
Besides, he said it himself, Zhong Chenle doesn’t do relationships. And you’re not up for being his fling in these strange times until everything goes back to normal and he goes back to his life, tossing you aside and completely forgetting about you, while won’t never be able to forget about him because that’s just how you are. A pathetic, co-dependant, thirsty little bi—
“Okay, I can literally hear you think.” His voice is low with sleepiness. He turns on his side, eyes scanning your features. “What’s going on in that head of yours, mhm?”
You answer a little too quickly. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
He scoffs tiredly, smiling faintly. “Wow, you’re a terrible liar.”
You shake your head. “No, I just . . . It’s just . . . I just realized I never thanked you,” you lie, thumbing at the necklace around your neck. “For hitting that guy on the train that day.”
When you finally dare to look back at him, he’s looking up at the ceiling of the car, his features hard. “It was nothing.”
Even now, the memory of that man’s hand on you still makes your skin crawl.
“No,” you say. “It wasn’t. No one else did anything and I—” You pause, surprised by how much the memory still affects you.
You just pushed it down down down, tried to forget it, repress it, but talking about it . . . It’s harder than you thought it would be. Chenle looks at you hesitantly, before he looks down, spying his hand next to yours. You gasp softly when you feel his touch. It’s not much of anything, really. Just the tips of his fingers grazing yours, but the touch is soft and warm and strangely comforting. Your throat works.
“I was frozen,” you whisper. “I couldn’t speak, or move, I was just . . . standing there. Had you not done what you did I don’t even want to know how far he would’ve gone,” your eyes meet. “So thank you, Chenle.”
You’re lying so close that your noses are almost touching, your whispered words hitting his lips that part as his eyes glide from your eyes to the bridge of your nose down to your lips.
“What are you doing to me?” he breathes, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his brows furrowed, as if in confusion. “This doesn’t happen to me.”
It’s like he’s talking to himself. His finger gently tips up your chin and his eyes are heavy-lidded as they dart between your eyes and lips, watching as you gasp at his touch that brings you closer and closer and you don’t know what’s happening to you, because you let it happen, and his breath hits your lips—
Both of you freeze. Exchange a look.
“Do you hear that?” he asks.
There it is. The sound of vibrations. Like a car coming closer— Your eyes widen as realization hits you. You practically jump apart and you rush out of the car. To your utter horror, it’s true: A black motorcycle is rapidly moving towards you and perched on it is a man clad in black, the letters L.O.D.Y.C on his vest.
“He’s here!” You yell into the car. “We gotta go!”
Hastily, you put on your shoes and throw as much of your supplies as you can manage into the trunk as Chenle jumps out, doing the same. You hastily get in the driver’s seat, only to realize that the keys are not in the ignition.
“Chenle? The keys?!”
“Do you not have them?!”
“Would I ask you for them if I did?!” you screech.
“They must be somewhere in the back!”
He climbs back into the trunk, searching for them as you watch the black walker approach in horror. He’s almost here now, and he’s reaching behind him, pulling a rifle from behind his back.
“Chenle, today!”
A few more moments of him shuffling through your hastily packed belongings pass before he gasps, hissing “Here!” and holds out the keys from behind, which you snatch from his gasp. Your hands are so shaky you fail to put the key in the ignition at first, and then shots go off, making you flinch and cry out.
“Drive, damn it! Drive!” Chenle calls.
Finally, you manage to start the car. The tires squeal as you take off, blindly driving off into the night. The area being very rural, trees and bushes slap against your windows on all sides as the car roughly goes up and down on the uneven dirt road. More shots go off into the night, some of them hitting the car, shocking a flinch out of you each time. Your knuckles are white around the steering wheel, palms sweaty as Chenle climbs into the passenger seat next to you, breathing heavily as he falls back against it.
“I think the main road is somewhere off to the left here,” you mutter panicky. “Hey, can you get out the map? I know it’s probably not accurate but at least we’ll have a general idea of where to go.”
But Chenle doesn’t respond, neither does he make to move from his seat. Another shot goes off, this one taking off the side mirror of the car.
“Chenle?”
You take your eyes off the road for a split second to look over at him. “Chenle!”
He presses his head into the headrest as he bites his lip, face contorted in agony. One of his hands is pressed to his side, and when he lifts it away, it comes back red.
“Well, this isn’t good, is it?” he asks.
