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1.
Kim Rok Soo is nine years old when he learns the art of ignorance.
It’s not that difficult of a feat, really; he’s only repaying what he’s been given. The world doesn’t care for boys like him, with marred skin and tragic tales that don’t serve them. He knows that the neighbors know what kind of a man his uncle is. The mailman knows. The landlord knows. The lady who runs the flower shop across the street knows. They just don’t care enough to do anything about it.
The world doesn’t care for boys like Rok Soo. Rok Soo doesn’t care much for the world either.
He finds it much easier this way. So long as he turns his back, nothing will bother him. If he covers his ears, no whisper will haunt his dreams. If he closes his eyes, no sight can be burned into his memory. If he doesn’t think too much about it, he can push away whatever childish fantasies he has before they give him too much hope.
Perhaps it's a selfish thing to do. Rok Soo doesn’t quite care; he’s always been one to take the easiest route possible.
“What a cold boy,” he hears people whisper, sometimes, when they think he can’t hear. He does; he just pretends not to, because ignorance is easier. “He never smiles. What a devil child.”
Rok Soo wonders what gives them the right to label people as such, to decide whether or not they are a gift or a curse, to determine their fate after death. It’s a foolish belief, he thinks, to assume there is some sort of higher life to strive for, some goal to meet after it's all done. Rok Soo is just glad to be alive, no matter what measures he has to take for it to stay that way. He doesn’t understand what their Eden could possibly be. He doesn’t think ever will.
His version of heaven, pathetically enough, is his small, cramped room in the back of his uncle’s apartment. Four square walls with a tiny futon, an even smaller closet, and stacks upon stacks of thrift store novels. It’s a tight space, enough so that it’s almost like he doesn’t exist to the world. The pages of his books are worn, sometimes torn to the point of incomprehensibility, but he devours the words all the same.
He doesn’t leave his room unless it’s to leave for school or to eat. He makes a point to only have meals when his uncle is out of the house or passed out from one too many drinks.One the day that isn’t possible, he keeps small snacks and fruits stuffed in the back of the closet. Usually oranges, never apples. They can be both sweet and sour; he doesn’t like that he can never guess which it will be.
And so, Rok Soo’s life is composed of these four walls; a life of torn pages, the stench of beer, and rotten apples. It’s just enough to survive, like he’s always wanted.
But here’s another fact about Rok Soo: He’s a selfish, selfish boy.
Rok Soo wants to be able to breathe. He wants to be able to walk without cutting his feet on glass. He wants to eat fresh food without worrying about how long he’ll have to go without it, again. He wants to be able to speak without fearing drawing attention to himself. He should be glad with what he has, but he’s not.
But Rok Soo doesn't care for whatever sins he’s committing. He’s never been good anyway.
At twelve years old, he gathers the courage to pack his bag with his meager belongings and enter the living room, which he tends to avoid with fervor. It smells strongly of beer and cigar smoke, topped off by glass bottles littering the ground. His uncle sits in a large reclining chair, positioned in front of the TV. Rok Soo edges around the room, entering the man’s peripheral vision.
His uncle grunts, head turning towards the boy. Or at least, Rok Soo thinks that his head turns. He only looks down at the base of the reclining chair, as he always does; Rok Soo’s never even looked at him long enough to remember his face clearly.
“What,” the man slurs, snapping him back to the present. “Boy. What’s your problem, eh?”
His speech is broken enough to tell the boy that he’s too drunk to actually cause any damage. A relief, as his proposition has a high chance of setting the man off into a frenzy.
“Let me leave.” Rok Soo blurts. “I’ll find a place to stay. I won’t call anyone important for help, I've already arranged things with the school, and there’s no one who will call the police when I’m gone. I’ll be out of your hair, and I’ll be elsewhere. Win-win.”
For a long moment, his uncle doesn’t respond. Rok Soo rocks back and forth on his heels, ready to bolt at any given opportunity should the man prove to become violent. His eyes dart around the room anxiously, searching for something that doesn’t exist. The remote. The broken coffee mug. The apple scone, sitting innocuously on the coffee table. Strange; there was almost never any fresh food in the apartment that wasn’t pure junk. It smelled sweet.
His uncle takes a gulp of his beer. “Fine,” he grunts. “Get out of my face. You’re blocking the TV.”
Rok Soo stands frozen, for a minute, only jolting to the side when the older man growls in warning. His words were one spit with venom, threaded with disregard. Still, they're the kindest words that Rok Soo has heard in years. It’s an open door he has all but been shoved out of; does it matter, so long as he gets to leave?
His hands tighten around the straps of his bag as he treads to the front door, sparing one last look at the house he’d never called home. He thinks of his novels, tucked under his pillow. He thinks of his comics, shoved in the back of his closet alongside ripened oranges. He thinks of the apple scone sitting on the table, terribly appealing to his empty stomach. It must be sweet.
But Rok Soo doesn’t ponder on it for much longer. He slips on his worn shoes, tightens the straps of his bag, and unlocks the door. There wasn’t any point in it, anyway. It didn’t matter whether the scone was sweet or sour; it would rot away too, eventually.
And so, Rok Soo leaves the haven he’d known for so long.
He doesn’t look back.
2.
At the orphanage, nothing ever changes.
The food they serve is cold, the clothes are uncomfortable and itchy, and nothing ever changes. It’s the same old routine, again and again, every day. Rok Soo finds a sort of comfort in it. There's a sense of control to be found in monotony, in steady repetition.
This is how Rok Soo learns that he doesn’t hate ‘boredom’. If anything, he prefers it. If he could, he would stare off into nothing for hours on end, lazing about as his mind drifts off elsewhere. The world is a little softer when he drifts, a little less loud. It’s easier to bear.
The other children his age tend to avoid him, something that the caretakers seem to pity him for. Contrary to their beliefs, he doesn’t care much. If anything, he prefers to be left alone by them; it’s another simple routine, a cycle that never changes. He can’t give them what they want anyway.
And so, Rok Soo spends much of his stay at the orphanage alone.
To be honest, he can’t quite recall much of his days there. His memory was impeccable, but there wasn’t anything to remember when he spent most of his time staring off into nothing, lost in his own head. He recalls bitter food and cold air and little else.
Rok Soo thinks that if he had stayed at the orphanage, he might have stayed that way forever; lost, adrift, caught somewhere between living and alive. In its peace, he hadn’t realized how suffocating it was, like a snake winded around his neck, tightening slowly with him realizing.
In that regard, it’s a good thing that the orphanage was a temporary thing, as so many things in life were. It was bound to happen, even though he had been there for many a year. He was one of the sole faces of the institute, as the other children were taken in or adopted.
The others leave. Rok Soo stays. This too, never changes.
It was a little isolating, at times, when every new face that smiled at him disappeared sooner or later. There was no one that stuck around long enough for Rok Soo to be able remember their faces, let alone their names. Everything around him moved in a steady flow while he, alone, stayed rooted firmly in place.
At eighteen years old, Rok Soo makes the decision to move as well.
There was no way he could survive, stuck in one place, caught in a cycle like a hamster in a wheel. It was only a matter of time before he would have to leave, anyway. Though the institute allowed children to stay for a few short years after reaching adulthood, he wasn’t blind to the way the caretakers stared at home with disdain. They wouldn't be fond of providing for a boy they never even really knew.
It’s fine. Rok Soo is used to being alone anyway.
While there’s really no reason to leave, he doesn’t really have a reason to stay either. While in these four walls, he could have the basics provided to him, he would feel eternally trapped. It’s reason enough to leave.
So on a random night, Rok Soo packs his bags. He has few personal items, so he’s easily able to cram it all into a simple suitcase; a few books, clothes, money that he’s been saving over the years. It’s enough for him to survive off until he can get a job, so he doesn’t pack much more.
Nobody says goodbye as he leaves. The caretakers shoot him a few strange looks as he passes, and a few kids stare as he rolls his suitcase behind him, but that is all. Nothing more, nothing less, the way it’s always been. Nothing changes.
“Hey, did you hear?” A kid whispers to her friend. “Apparently they got a pay raise. To celebrate, they’re gonna serve Apple Brisket tonight.”
Rok Soo’s stomach growls. He hasn’t had such a meal in years.
But he pauses, and thinks of cold food and itchy clothes. He thinks of harsh glares and wrinkled sheets. He thinks of endless nights and pointless thoughts. He thinks of a ticking clock and a never ending cycle.
Either way, it would never change.
He doesn’t look back.
3.
When the end of the world begins, Kim Rok Soo is working.
The restaurant he works at part time is as busy as it always is, filled with lively chatter and squealing kids. There's an old pop song playing from the speakers, bubbly and bright and just a little too grating on an already overstimulated Rok Soo. A line cook greets him with a smile as he passes, undeterred by the server’s ever passive expression and scarred figure. A child holding a cup of apple sauce bumps into his leg as he runs to his mother, who grimaces apologetically at him before scooping her son up into her arms and strolling back to their table. As always, nothing changes.
And then, the sky collapses.
Well, Rok Soo assumes it did. From where he was standing, just a few feet from the window, he could see the sky bleed a beautiful red, like the heavens had folded in on itself. It was a sight too magnificent for something like the apocalypse, for the start of the armageddon itself. It’s a memory that would remain engraved in his memory for years afterward, though the sight wasn't one he could appreciate for long.
The sounds of screaming are short, cut off by crumbling buildings and inhumane screeching. A piece of wreckage rams into Rok Soo’s ribs as it falls, sending him tumbling to the ground with a choked out gasp. He presses a hand against his side, taking shaky breaths; the bone was bruised, at the very least.
The line cook he had greeted just a few minutes ago is laying slumped on the ground just a few feet ahead of him, red pooling around his head. A woman is screaming for her child, voice twisting into choked sobs. It’s cut off by a growl, and then a sickening crunch.
Rok Soo scrambles backward, hand knocking against a small foot and a little blue shoe trapped beneath the rubble; it’s barely as long as his forearm. He gags, tipping over from the force of his sudden nausea until he’s staring up at the sky. Despite it all, the stars shine as brightly as ever. Some shoot down from the sky, like the fall of the heavens had set them free. Rok Soo wonders, somewhat deliriously, why they, such angels, would ever want to come down to a place as cursed as Earth. Still, he’s grateful that he gets to see such a sight at all.
It makes it so much crueler when the last of the rubble collapses, trapping him beneath dust and ash, hiding away the fall of a burning star.
I’m going to die here, he thinks belatedly, staring up at nothing in particular. A strange, broken realization that sparks a sense of panic, deep in his chest. He is trapped, he is hurt, and there is nobody coming to save him. Most certainly, he will die here.
But Kim Rok Soo is nothing if not terribly, recklessly stubborn.
When it rains, he drinks the dirtied water that drips down from the gap in the wreckage, relying on it alone to satiate him. He uses the writing pad in his pocket to staunch any cuts he has, ignoring the way the messily scribbled chicken nuggets and apple juice stain with blood. Very quickly, he ignores the small shoe resting by his leg too, for no other reason than his own selfishness.
Time drifts by strangely. It’s nothing new, and yet it is so much worse.
At one point, he simply hopes that whatever creatures that roam outside don’t find. At another point, he prays in a way that he hasn’t since he was young that someone will come find him, come rescue him. And then, he thinks of very little, his mind drifting off into some safe haven with the stars above.
I have to survive, he thinks. It’s the only thing he thinks of now, really. I have to survive. I have to survive. I have to survive. I have to–
“Hello?” a voice calls out. “Is there anybody here?”
Rok Soo freezes. He doesn’t think it's been very long since he’s been trapped, but the sound of a coherent, human voice still shocks him to his core. The sound is smooth, low, soothing despite its firm nature.
“Hello?” It calls out again, now much closer. A shadow passes over the gap in the rubble. “You can hear me, right? Can you move?”
Rok Soo blinks. The voice speaks to him informally, with little care; not that he was really expecting it, but it’s more reassuring than he thought it would be. For once, there are no screams, no blasts, no death; there is only a man, with the voice of honey, reaching out a hand he had never thought he would receive.
“...I am hungry,” Rok Soo manages to force out with his raspy, broken voice. It’s not quite what he meant to say, but his mind is a little too far away for him to reach, right now. There’s a pause, and then the man laughs. The faint sound of rustling fills his ears before something drops through the gap, falling against Rok Soo’s neck. A chocolate bar.
“Looks like you’re fine, punk,” he laughs. The baritone of his chuckle is followed by the distinct sound of stone shifting, something dislodging the wreckage. Rok Soo unwraps the sweet carefully at first, only to abandon his manners and all but devour it.
“Is it free?” he asks belatedly, aware of cost even in destruction.
The voice seems to consider it. “No.”
“I have no money.”
“Is that so? How disappointing.”
Still, the man does not leave. He continues dutifully at his task until the stone tumbles to the side, and Rok Soo is bathed in the gentle light of the rising sun. He takes a deep gasp as air rushes into his lungs, coughing as dust shrouds his face as the rubble shifts.
Air. Sun. Lungs. Simple things bestowed upon those with the ability to appreciate them. Things with life. Things that are alive.
He’s alive.
He’s alive.
A hand reaches down and wraps around Rok Soo’s wrist, pulling him upwards with little struggle. Another hand comes to rest between his shoulder blades when he tips forward from the sudden movement, grounding him securely.
Rok Soo turns his head to look at his saviour, for the first time. A sharp jaw, long limbs, calloused fingers. His hair is long, a river of tar spilling over his shoulders, just shy of tangling with the sword sheath at his belt. His figure screams of something dangerous, but his eyes are kind when they meet Rok Soo’s.
With the rising sun bathing his back in golden light, illuminating his features despite the blood and ash, Rok Soo can’t help but think that he looks like an angel.
“What’s your name?” The man asks suddenly. With one tug, he pulls Rok soo to his feet, guiding him to step out of the wreckage. Now standing, the man towers a good few centimeters above him, but it doesn’t feel like he’s looking down at the man he saved as he waits for a response.
“Kim Rok Soo,” the scarred man says, voice scratchy with disuse. The man hums thoughtfully, hand still resting on his arm.
“I see. Can you walk?”
“Yes, sir, I think so.”
The man lets go of Rok Soo’s arm, turning his back on the shorter man and treading ahead, motioning for him to do the same. “Follow me. I'll take you somewhere safe.”
Rok Soo stares at the man’s back, a hand pressed against his side as he follows with shaky steps. He doesn’t look away until they're outside of the broken remains of the restaurant, until he pauses and looks back at the place where he had been trapped mere hours ago.
“What’s your name?” he asks. For whatever reason, the man in front of him sparks a curiosity he hasn’t felt since he was young and vowed to push it all away.
The man turns his head to the side, stern face shifting into something softer, something kinder. It’s not a look Rok Soo is very familiar with, especially when directed to him. It makes something uncomfortable churn in his chest, especially when the man smiles at him
“Lee Soo Hyuk.” he greets. His eyes trace back to the destruction behind him, seemingly unconcerned with providing anything more. “Did you need to get anything? Is there someone else?”
Kim Rok Soo thinks of the cook who smiled at him when he clocked in for work each morning. He thinks of the women who cooed at his respectful nature, of the men who laughed heartily at his blunt words. He thinks of the children who would run between his legs with little regard for their mother’s scolding.
He thinks of a little blue shoe, lost between the wreckage.
“No,” Rok Soo says. “There’s nothing for me to get.”
Soo Hyuk smiles at him again, more sorrowful than before, and continues down the path to safety, light bathing his figure. Dutifully, Rok soo follows, because it’s the only thing left for him to do. He looks forward, towards a man he can call a saviour, an angel, leading him somewhere for people like Rok Soo, people who have been followers from the very start.
He doesn’t look back.
4.
Humanity is the most unpredictable thing Kim Rok Soo knows.
It’s precisely why he tends to stand away from the crowd. He prefers the predictable, the quiet, the monotonous. If staying away from others is what allows him to find that peace, then so be it.
Unfortunately, one Choi Jung Soo doesn’t seem to get that message.
“Kim Rok Soo,” he calls out with a long, teasing drawl. He skips ahead to where the aforementioned man has treaded forward in a valiant attempt to avoid his bubbly teammate. The brunette bumps his hip against him when he catches up, pouting when he’s met with no reaction. “Come on, lighten up. Our shift is almost over and we haven’t come upon a single monster!”
“You never know,” Rok Soo returned. He wasn’t wrong, and Jung Soo knew it.
After the collapse of the shelters, everything had gone to hell. People still hadn’t grown accustomed to the monsters that roamed the streets, and they didn’t have any more time to try when they stampeded upon clusters of survivors. Every bit of safety that they thought they had was completely destroyed.
But of course, humanity had its way of doing the unpredictable.
Survivors began rallying up, resistances grew from the ashes, and people began fighting back. They learned what made monsters tick, what kept them alive, what kept them dead. Soon enough, people began creating a society of their own–Something better, something new.
After the collapse of the shelter Rok Soo resided at, he decided to follow the example that so many had been setting; if he was going to keep living, especially with his newfound ability, he might as well make himself useful.
It did mean responsibility, unfortunately. There were monsters to be killed, people to be saved, streets to be patrolled. Worse still, there was also paperwork–during the apocalypse, what a wonder. Really, there's nothing he hates more.
But when Rok soo closes his eyes at night, he can only think of the lives lost during the attack on the shelter. He thinks of Grandma Kim, dying alone in desecration. He thinks of his acquaintances, torn apart by sharpened claws and hungry teeth.
Yes, responsibility isn’t that big of a deal, in the long run.
And so, Rok Soo managed to make his way into the ability guild of the Disaster Prevention and Protection of Civilization, one of many companies that ran it all, with people that had eyes just as tired as his own. The other members flocked to him quickly, disappearing just as fast when they realized he cared little for formalities such as socializing.
It wasn’t until orientation that he realized exactly what he signed up for, when he was placed under the guidance of one Lee Soo Hyuk. The man who was once his savior stared at him for a long moment after wrangling all his team members together, then shot him a leisurely grin.
“Nice to see you alive,” He had greeted. It might have sounded mocking, if not for the pure relief that bled into his voice. Selfishingly, Rok Soo was glad for it. “Want to meet the others?”
And that was how he came to meet Choi Jung Soo, who had clearly made it his mission to bother Rok Soo in every way possible.
Jung Soo is exactly what people imagine when thinking of the warriors that defend their lives. He’s bubbly, bright, but also holds a kindness that so few people have. Not to mention that he’s got the looks for it, too: Fluffy brown hair, pink cheeks, round eyes–he resembles a k-pop idol. Though, to Rok Soo, he’s more like an excitable puppy. An exceptionally strong puppy, who happens to be skilled with a blade.
It might be why he gives in to most of Jung Soo's whims, despite his best efforts not to. It has to be, because there’s no other reason as to why he would be sitting on the roof of an abandoned office building with Jung Soo after their patrol shift, a tupperware container of fresh food in his lap.
The food consists of fried rice and vegetables mixed with cooked beef, an orange sauce Rok Soo can’t remember the name of drizzled over top of it. Tucked neatly into the side are sauteed apple slices, with a little toothpick stuck through one of them.
“Where’d you get this?” he asks as Jung Soo shovels the food into his mouth. Both of their legs dangle precariously off the ledge, swaying back and forth carelessly. “I know it can’t have been you–theres no way anyone would let you in a kitchen.”
The brunette looks vaguely offended as he swallows, pointing his plastic spoon at Rok Soo. “Team Leader-nim made it for the two of us,” he says. “Said something about making sure that his rookies are fed, or whatever. And I am not that hopeless in the kitchen!”
The man hums halfheartedly as eats, pointedly ignoring Jung Soo’s flabbergasted defense. “Sure, whatever.” he concedes, ignoring the way his heart warms at the thought of Soo Hyuk going out of his way to make a meal for them
The silence sits between them, enunciating the sounds of their chewing. Though Rok Soo doesn’t care much, it concerns him that Jung Soo has sat for so long without so much as breathing a single word.
“Say, Rok Soo,” the martial artist says suddenly, just as his teammate was about to question him. His voice is quiet, solemn; it doesn’t suit him. “Do you believe in god?”
Rok Soo blinks at him. “How random,”
“Oh, just answer the question.”
He takes another bite as he contemplates, letting the cool air wash over him. “I…guess I do? Sort of.”
Jung Soo’s brows furrow as he stuffs another mouthful of rice in his mouth. “That’s not an answer,” he says. “Come on, Rok soo, give me something here.”
Rok Soo sighs, tilting his head back to watch the stars. He thinks of how he used to believe they were angles, when he was a child. He had thought that every time a star fell, an angel was coming down to grant a wish upon a poor soul.
How naive.
“I suppose,” he starts, “that to me, religion is all the same. It’s just a reflection of humanity, no? We are our own gods, and this is our own hell. Or heaven. However you see it, I guess.”
For Rok Soo, life alone is both his heaven and hell. He does everything to stay alive, even though life has done nothing but put him through the grinder. If life is his Eden, then knowledge is his cursed fruit. For that reason alone, he finds ignorance to be safer. At least that is predictable.
Sometimes, it is best not knowing at all.
“I’d just like to think,” he continues, “that our power comes from our own beliefs. That’s all.”
Jung Soo stares at him for a long moment before bursting into quiet giggles. “I didn’t know you could be so philosophical,” he teases, though his voice is still soft. “My dongsaeng has such big thoughts.”
“Not your dongseang,” Rok Soo grumbles.
Jung Soo laughs again, looking up into the sky along with him. “It’s reassuring though, to say that we hold the power. Believing that some god is behind all of this–” he gestures vaguely towards the skyline, to the destruction stretching across the horizon “–just seems cruel.”
Rok Soo hums in agreement, letting out a breath as he snaps the lid of the tupperware shut.
“Then,” Jung Soo asks, turning to meet eyes the colour of Earth. Not once has he shied away from them, like so many others have. “What do you believe in? What’s your so-called power?”
Rok Soo thinks of days spent fighting side by side, together through it all. He thinks of evenings spent patrolling, making small conversation. He thinks of Soo Hyuk looking after him in his own subtle way, making sure that he eats and sleeps as he should. He thinks of Jung Soo, making sure there’s never a dull moment in his life.
He thinks of two people who’ve never left his side, from the very start.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Rok Soo says instead, swinging his legs back around to the solid ground. He hears Jung Soo whine behind him as he walks towards the roof door, grumbling petulant about his secretive dongsaeng.
Some part of Rok Soo wants to turn back around and tell him everything. He wants to tell him of his thoughts, of his Eden, of his angels. He wants to tell him of cursed fruit that tastes a little too much like acceptance. He wants to see his reaction.
But ignorance is kinder than knowledge.
He doesn’t look back.
5.
Sometimes, adaptation is never enough.
Some delicately hidden butterflies are meant to be eaten for the sake of another animal’s survival. Some parasites must die in order for the host to survive. Some fish will never swim fast enough to be able to escape the predator. Such is the way of life.
Unfortunately, the same thing applies to humans.
Rok Soo doesn’t think he’s seen so much blood before, even during the collapse of the shelters. The most recent stampede of monsters had been unexpected, resulting in a wave of bloodshed that tore the city apart.
Rok Soo and his fellow team members had been on the field for hours now, blades flying in an attempt to slow the hoard. Most offensive attackers on other teams had been forced to retreat due to their injuries, lest they end up like the fighters who hadn’t managed to draw back in time.
Defensive members, like Rok Soo, had been yelling orders from the back, recalculating, strategizing, helping citizens getting to safety. He himself had been directing people one way or the other, darting to and fro in an attempt to to reduce the number of casualties.
He can see both Jung Soo and Soo Hyuk up front, skillfully slicing through monster flesh as though it were butter. They whirl around each other like they’re dancing, an image only enhanced by the White Yong swirling through air, its movements matching each slice of Jung Soo’s blade.
“Another wave!” someone screams from up front. The sound is quickly followed by a cut off scream and squelching crunch that Rok Soo grimaces at.
“Defend gates Three and Five!” he yells right afterwards. “Stop the flow before it gets too far!”
A chorus of affirmations follows his command, accompanied by the sharp noise of blades being drawn from their sheaths and heavy footsteps. The fighters disappear into the hoard, guarded occasionally by a shimmering white dragon.
Rok Soo steadies his breath as they disappear, trying not to think too hard about the blood on his shirt. He tries not to think too much about anything but moving, running, yelling, moving, whatever you do, don’t stop moving–
“Fuck!”
Rok Soo’s head snaps to the side at the sound, eyes widening. Soo Hyuk darts to the side in his peripheral vision, blood dripping from a shallow cut on his side. Jung Soo stands in front of him, sword slashing from side to side in an attempt to defend him. The two of them stand apart from everyone else, surrounded by beasts twice their size.
Without thinking, Rok Soo runs.
Someone calls after him, but he pays it no mind as he weaves in between too long limbs and sharpened claws. His hand tightened around the hilt of his own blade, pulling it free from its sheath as his vision tunnels.
Jung Soo’s Yong growls fiercely. Soo Hyuk raises his sword. A monster opens its jaw, teeth highlighted with blood, ready to eat them whole. Man and beast, prey versus predator, adaptation that can never win, and there is no way they’ll survive and their doom is certain and–
CLANG!
“Rok Soo!”
The man slices swiftly through the lower part of the monster’s jaw, landing safely on the broken gravel as the beast rears its head back with a pained screech. Jung Soo and Soo Hyuk watch incredulously as he wipes the black-green blood off of his blade, trapped between a crumbling wall and their reckless dongsaeng.
“Again?!” Jung Soo yells. Soo Hyuk lets out a strangled noise beside him. “Rok Soo, you’re meant to support, not be on the field! You’ll get yourself killed!”
But they know that the words are fruitless, that they will only reach deaf ears. When Rok Soo gets like this, there’s nothing that can stop him. Everything goes in one ear and out the other, because this is his own adaptation. To keep moving, to never stop, to push and push and push to that they can live another day.
Rok Soo raises his sword, and he attacks.
Fighting when his mind can’t quite catch up to his actions is strange, but it doesn’t stop him. In fact, it restricts him a little less, even if the cost is losing a bit of his rationality. Like this, he can protect, defend, make sure that there’s no more blood on his hands than there already is. But despite his best efforts, there is still so much
red.
Strange, Rok Soo doesn’t recall there being so much blood. But he supposes that’s to be expected. He just has to keep moving. He must keep moving.
“Rok Soo!”
There’s just so much to be done. He must keep moving, if he wants to leave. Live? Oh, what does it matter? Is it not the same?
“Kim Rok Soo!”
He needs to do this, he has to, if he wants to live. He thinks there was another reason too. He can’t remember exactly what it was. That’s okay too. So long as he’s alive, it’s okay. He just has to keep
moving
and moving
and moving because he can’t afford to stop until everything else stops. He wonders how long he has to keep moving for it to stop. But it’s not for nothing, because the hoard is dwindling, the streets going quiet as the monsters are finally cut down.
There is so much. There is nothing else for him to do, but it feels wrong to stop moving now. It can’t be right. He must make himself useful, so that he can afford to stop, eventually. He needs to survive, he must survive, he must live, because
because
because
because–
“Dongsaeng!”
Kim Rok Soo blinks, taking a shuddering breath in as his vision unblurs. His lashes are sticky with blood, his hands equally so. He’s standing beside the corpse of a particularly large monster, one with long slashes across what he thinks is a throat. The gore on his sword indicates that it must have been his own work.
In front of him, Lee Soo Hyuk and Choi Jung Soo watch with worry burning in their eyes.
Rok Soo looks down at his hands, holding his blade with a white-knuckled grip. Jung Soo’s hands are folded gently over them, ready for when they inevitably fall limp. Belatedly, he notices that the sun is rising over the horizon, shining its softened light over the bloodshed desecrating the city. Last he saw, the stars were still teaching over them.
Had so much time passed while he was adrift?
“Dongsaeng,” Soo Hyuk begins, voice terribly soft. There’s a tone to his voice that Rok Soo can’t quite name, though he’s heard it many times before. “You did a lot of work today, huh?”
Rok Soo blinks slowly, attention torn between his words and the way Jung Soo gently pried his sword out his hands. “...Yeah.” he answers after another long moment, voice scratchy and hoarse.
Soo Hyuk smiles gently at him, eyes crinkling. “Then let’s rest, yeah? I heard that someone managed to bag some fresh fruit for the rest of us to share. We can take some and make some Apple Cobbler. Just the three of us.”
The three of them. Choi Jung Soo, Lee Soo Hyuk, and Kim Rok Soo. Not one, not two. Three. The three of them.
“Come on, dongsaeng,” Jung Soo urged when the strategist fell silent for just a little too long. “Let’s go home.”
Home.
“Alright,” Rok Soo whispers, much to the joy of his hyungs. They smile at him, guiding him back to the base with little fanfare. One hand rests on his shoulder. Another remains pressed softly against the small of his back.
Rok Soo thinks of the destruction wreaked in just a few hours. He thinks of all the lives lost in a single night, of the sobs that would echo through the streets for many nights to come. He thinks of the grief that would linger for days.
And then, he thinks of a nice bath, already prepared just the way he likes it. He thinks of a warm cup of tea being pressed into his hands. He thinks of two warm bodies pressing against each of his sides, cramming into a small bed even though they have their own. He thinks of the bloodshed behind him, of work to be done, of sins to be repaid, and then he thinks of a place ahead of him called home.
He walks forward alongside the two people who had never left, alongside two fallen stars.
He doesn’t look back.
+1
Sin is a very broad term.
Kim Rok Soo knows this very well. His sins encompass everything from white lies to things that have left blood on his hands. No amount of praying to a god he doesn’t believe can undo the things he’s done, the choices that he’s made. Yes, Rok Soo regrets many of the choices he’s made.
Many, but not the one he’s choosing to make now.
“Come on, hyung, let me do it!” Jung Soo whines, reaching for the rolling pin that Soo Hyuk holds out of reach. There’s flour dusted across both of their cheeks, sugar sticking to their fingers and the countertop. “Pleeeease?”
“You better be glad you’re even allowed in the kitchen right now,” the taller man replies, pushing the brunette away with one sticky hand. “I don’t trust that you won't accidentally shove three peppers into the pie.”
“Wha–It really was an accident that time!”
“Right.”
Rok Soo, while still helping, spends his time watching the two of them make a mess of their kitchen. He stands quietly on the side as he prepares the apple filling for the pie, chuckling every now and then at the chaos they leave in their wake.
If you had told a teenage Rok Soo of his situation now, he would’ve scoffed in your face. Back then, he had firmly believed that his fate of loneliness was one set in stone, one that could never be changed. He had found his comfort in loneliness, in monotony. He was content with that, once.
Jung Soo and Soo Hyuk have brought nothing but chaos into life. They are reckless and stubborn and loud, and though it was once everything that he hated, Rok Soo wouldn’t have it any other way.
Because now, he is more familiar with something warmer, something kinder. His days of bland routine have been interrupted by Jung Soo’s boisterous laughter, by Soo Hyuk's fond scolding. Now, instead of one toothbrush in the bathroom, there are three. Instead of simple sweet coffee in the mornings, it is accompanied by green tea and orange juice.
Instead of one, it is now three.
Rok Soo had once wondered why people strived so much for things so impermanent. It hadn’t made sense to him, as a child. Adrenaline, hate, love–they were all things that would fade, eventually. What was the point in holding onto it, in searching for it in everything?
But now, he understands it intimately. Now, he sees Jung Soo in every stray flower on the side of the road, in every Keroppi keychain hanging from a child’s back. He sees Soo Hyuk in every shimmering windchime, in every gentle ocean breeze that kisses the goosebumps on Rok Soo’s skin.
How could he possibly ignore them, when they’re in every corner of Rok Soo’s world?
How could he prefer monotony, when he had them?
“Rok Soo,” Jung Soo calls. “Aren’t you going to take my side? Aren’t I your favorite hyung?” the brunette pouts as he leans closer to the man, as though his puppy-dog eyes would ever work on him.
“First of all,” he starts. “Not my hyung. Second of all, no. To both.”
Jung Soo lets out a long drawn whine, slumping against Rok Soo like a rag doll. Soo Hyuk snorts at his misery as he rolls out the dough for the pie.
“So cruel, so mean, so heartless…” the brunette complains, smearing flour over his dongsaeng’s clean sweater.
“Get off of me.”
“No thanks.”
“You’re annoying.”
“No, I’m lovable. You love me.”
…Love, huh?
When Rok Soo thinks of love, he thinks of sappy TV shows with overly dramatic confession. He thinks of flower bouquets at the store paired with little cards. He thinks of the things he had seen so many readily give to others, but never to him.
Then, he thinks of Jung Soo weaving his arms through his whenever they’re on a long patrol, fingers intertwined as the man talks about anything and everything. He thinks of Soo Hyuk scolding him gently when he overworks Record, dabbing at his bloodied nose with a handkerchief. He thinks of movie nights buried under piles of blankets, of mornings spent lazily enjoying each other’s presence.
When Rok Soo thinks of the two of them, he thinks he can understand the unquenchable hunger for more—no, for this. The need to have something, the need to keep it.
Temptation is a sin. A calling meant to deceive, to bring ruin. It’s not something that should be indulged in, but rather something that should be avoided. For a good life. For survival. Yes, temptation is a cursed fruit, a sweet apple ripe for the taking.
Rok Soo thinks he’s willing to take a bite.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” he responds. Jung Soo pouts and shoves him with an unexpected amount of strength, sending Rok Soo tumbling to the floor along with an abandoned bowl of filling from a past attempt. Flour rises into the air as he falls with a loud clatter.
Jung Soo and Soo Hyuk stand in silence for a long moment, staring down at their sugar-covered dongsaeng, whose gaze is fixed on them with a vicious glare. Then, they burst into laughter.
Rok Soo thinks of hands holding his own. He thinks of nights spent crammed into a single bed, of mornings spent bickering over anything and everything. He thinks of training in the fields, and he thinks of naps on the couch. He thinks of a ruined kitchen and spilled sugar and sweet apple pie. He think of Soo Hyuk and Jung Soo, and thinks of the old tale that people were split into pieces to one day find the other parts of themselves wandering the world.
Kim Rok Soo thinks of love.
“Come on, dongsaeng,” Soo Hyuk manages to get out through his laughter, holding a hand out for him. Jung Soo does the same. "Don't stay there on the floor, join us."
An offer. A temptation. A hand that could be easily refused.
For the first time, Kim Rok Soo takes it.
0.
“Shit, we need to go. A huge wave of monsters has hit.”
“Coming, coming. Let’s go. Afterwards, we’ll all get drinks!"
"What makes you think we'll be able to do that, huh?"
"Well, what on Earth could stop us?"