===

There is a story that goes something like this.

Somewhere out there is a train that can carry you to a place of no worries or cares. No one knows who started the story or if there is even the slightest truth to it, but it’s a story that everyone in the town knows, from the smallest child that still needs to be tucked into bed to the oldest resident who can always be seen walking along the pier side every morning.

It’s a story that Seokjin heard the very first night he entered this town and it’s a story he hears it again tonight, told over one of those fires lit in battered oil drums. 

It’s not a story he likes to hear.

The November air is cold and it forces the listeners to huddle as close to the fire as they can without burning themselves. Seokjin finds himself drawn to the almost feral flicker of firelight. It dances off the reflective surface of the battered drum and scatters shadows. Only belatedly does Seokjin realize that the story being told is that story.

“C’mon, we all know it’s just a story for the kids. To give them hope and in this rundown town of ours,” one boy scoffs. His voice is rough and scratchy, a clear sign of a youth spent dabbling in too much alcohol and cigarettes. He can’t be more than seventeen.  

The boy sitting hunched on a plastic blue chair opposite him shakes his head gravely. He has dark locks with the ends dipped dyed crimson. In the shadows of the firelight the color is muddied. When he speaks, his voice is like velvet.

“That’s what you all think. But I have a friend who said he saw some boys board the train.”

“A friend huh?” the first boy chortles. “Did that friend go by the name of LSD or something?”

Hoots greet the first boy’s jeer. The second boy who tells the story however does not look the least bit bothered.  

“Say what you want,” he says with a shrug, leaning back to pull out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He fishes one out and reaches forwards to light it on the oil drum fire. The flame follows him as he draws the cigarette back to his body, the minute light brightening up his face slightly. It brings out the sharp bridge of his nose, the surprisingly soft look in his eyes. “My friend said he saw them get onto the train and I know he’s sworn off drugs ever since his sister overdosed on meth and died.”

“Yeah?” a different boy goes. This one wears a ragged beanie that looks like it’s in dire need of a wash. Three piercings in his left ear wink under the firelight, the silver catching Seokjin’s eyes and pulling him in further. “Well how does he know it’s the train of the stories? There are over a hundred different trains in that yard. How does he know it’s that train?”

Smoker boy gives another casual roll of his shoulders. “Because of the boys,” he says so softly that the words barely carry.

“The boys?” It’s a girl this time. Her voice is sweet and sharp like whisky. Seokjin didn’t notice her at first because she sits in the shadow cast by the bridge under which they hold their little gathering. She built slight like a bird and her eyes flicker nervously like at any moment she will take flight.

Smoker boy nods. “He said he knew one of the boys. Said it wasn’t possible for him to be on that train.”

There it is, that queasy turn of his stomach. Seokjin takes a step backwards and away from the fire. He doesn’t want to hear the rest of the story. But smoker boy’s voice carries and even though he walks away as fast as he can without breaking out into a run, he hears the words and each on drags him down, chains and anchors and he is sinking.  

“Said the boy was a fader. As good as dead. And we all know that once you start fading that’s it. You’re tied to this town until the day you die.”

And ah, there it is. That stone in Seokjin’s stomach, dropping and sinking all the way to the bottom, heavy as lead. It anchors him to the bottom of the ocean where all he can do is stare upwards and envy the light so far, far away.

Seokjin pulls his coat in closer, forces his legs to keep walking.  

“They’re not dead,” he tries to whisper to drown out the rest of their conversation but the words sound weak even to his ears. They’re washed over by the sound of the sea, snatched away by the cold winter air. In the distance he can hear the grind of train wheels on tracks.

He repeats the words to himself in his head over and over again where they cannot be drowned out. They are not dead. They are not dead. They are not dead. His lips shape the words; his breath issues as cold wisps.

He can’t think of them dead. Not yet.

Because the moment he does is the moment he gives up on them. And to give up on them means to give in to the knowledge that he will be left alone again.

And if that’s the case… well then why did he even bother to come to this town in the first place?

===

7 months prior
April

The train station is a desolate sort of place. The green paint of the wall is chipped and the benches looked half-rotten. As Seokjin steps off the train and onto the wood of the platform he can’t hide his initial panic at the rather alarming creaking sound.

He presses the toe of his left shoe into the wood again and it creaks but does not yield. It’s enough to reassure him that he’s not going to plummet through the flooring but well, let’s just say he’s seen studier platforms. And Seokjin has definitely seen his fair share of platforms.

Laughter spills out behind him making Seokjin turn to see the conductor laughing at him. He waves and grins when he sees that Seokjin looking. He’s taken off the little hat they make him wear as uniform and his hair is rumpled, bangs swept back, accentuating the slim cut of his face and those dancing eyes.

Seokjin glares at him which only makes him laugh harder.

Hyosang is a strange enough conductor, one that loves to dabble in mundane chatter as he goes about checking tickets and offering little kids sweets from his bottomless pockets. For some reason he had thought it fitting to offer a peach chewy to Seokjin and for the rest of the trip had engaged Seokjin in conversation about his most recent journeys.   

Seokjin is a chronic traveler by nature. Ever since he the age of twenty one he’s been doing nothing but traversing city to city, taking boats and bikes and more than the average number of trains.

He has long decided that trains are his favorite mode of transportation, besides walking that is. There is something comforting about hearing the endless chug of wheels and feeling the heave of the engine beneath you.

Driving is fun but when you’re the driver it becomes hard to appreciate the passing scenery. Taking a bus or boat allows him to do that but there’s something rather unsatisfying about the unsettling stop-start at every traffic light or turn.

Nope, Seokjin has long decided trains are the best.

The only time that he ever feels discomfort from a train is when he has to take the metro. It’s less of the press of strangers right up against his back and the odd person who really needs a shower, and more of the fact that he only ever takes the metro when he has to go back home to Anyang.

In general though Seokjin equates travelling to freedom and he’ll grab every chance he can to fly.

The town he’s in right now is situated somewhere south east of Seoul, a few hundred kilometers west of Busan. It’s a seaside town, apparently well known for their scallops and scenic sidewalks.

He uses the term ‘apparently’ because Seokjin doesn’t really know much about the place.

He heard of it by chance from a businessman on one of his layovers, the both of them waiting for their respective trains. Seokjin had been there with his book and the businessman with his phone. Then they had both happened look up at the same time: Seokjin interested in what model of phone the man had since he had been thinking of replacing his current one, the businessman intrigued by the glint of silver at his wrist.

It had been thanks to Seokjin’s amazing social skills – or at least that’s how he’ll tell people afterwards when they ask how it all began – that they got talking. Seokjin found out what phone the guy had and the guy then had the chance to explain that his third anniversary was coming up soon and his wife loved silver, so if he might ask, where had Seokjin bought the bracelet?

That was a whole other story that Seokjin then explained over coffee and pastries in the nearby café. It involved a bus breaking down and Seokjin choosing to walk to the foot of the mountain instead of waiting another four hours for the next one to come, a tiny store he then found at the foot of the mountain and proceeded to nearly – and he stresses the word ‘nearly – trip over, and elderly woman who hammered and sold her own silver wear scolding him and then proceeding to cook him dinner.

The bottom line of the story was that this had taken place almost a year and a half ago and the last time had passed through the tiny town again he had been told the woman had passed away of old age and her grandchildren had packed up all her goods and taken it away. So the chances of buying a bracelet like that were, unfortunately, very slim.

The businessman had sighed and thanked Seokjin for the story, saying it was too bad but he’d keep looking. It was then that Seokjin had offered to give the man his instead, if well the man didn’t mind that Seokjin had been wearing it for a year now. The businessman’s eyes had lit up and he had been over the moon, asking Seokjin again and again if he really thought it was okay? His wife, he had explained, loved trinkets with a story behind them, and this was going to be the perfect gift for her. Seokjin had reassured him that it was perfectly fine and if he wanted to provide compensation, why not a story?

So over another cup of coffee that the man bought for Seokjin they chatted for an hour, Seokjin talking about his travels and the businessman eagerly chipping in about his trips to seaside towns for his business that seems to involve boats and trade.

One such town was famous for its rumors. The businessman had never been there per say, but he had heard stories in a port nearby, things like how those who entered the town and stayed for more than six days were forevermore trapped there, or how some people simply vanished as if made of smoke and dust, no bodies or bones ever found. It was the kind of place that intrigued people, amused them for an hour or so, and then was later forgotten when home and family called.

But not Seokjin.

Ever since he was young Seokjin had been enamored by stories. His mother used to complain about how he would constantly beg her for bedtime stories, even when he was far past the age of ten. She had eventually allowed him to go to the local library by himself when he turned twelve and from then on there he spent his every waking moments of summer reading and reading and reading.

Stories were magic spells. They would take you away to a different world, make you a different person, they could weave together friendships and then crumble them just as easily. There were enemies and allies, strangers on the street with invaluable information, people you had grown up with all your life but actually knew next to nothing about. Spaceships and aliens, worlds ruined beyond belief, stories were one’s imagination let loose and Seokjin could think of nothing better than throwing away an afternoon in between the pages of a thick paperback until the sky grew dark outside and his eyes grew heavy and then he would slip from the stories etched in ink and paper to the stories weaved of dreams and delusions. 

So the moment that Seokjin heard about this town all he could think was that this was a story so close that he could touch it.

Inspired by real events. An adaptation of true history. It was these kinds of stories that gripped Seokjin the most. Stories with fragments of the truth. It was two worlds brushing against each other, one the real grass beneath his feet and far away skies above him, the other the crisp feel of paper against his fingertips. In the moment that the businessman had finished his tale Seokjin knew with all his heart and soul that this was a town he had to visit.

He had parted with the businessman shortly after, the announcement for 19:15 train to Busan will be arriving at platform 2 soon sounding and then proceeded to spend a few distracted days wandering about his favorite bustling city. But it was clear that his heart wasn’t into it and so one week and two days later he found himself boarding a sleek KTX and then a chipped saemaeul, and finally a creaky old mugunghwa that brought him to the creaky platform of the rumor infested seaside town.

“A place to stay?” Hyosang the conductor echoes when Seokjin asks, his left hand ruffling the back of his already messy hair. Seokjin has to suppress the desire to slap away the hand and smoothen down the mess. His brother always did say he was such a busybody, even to those he barely knew. “I’m not that familiar with the town but I’ve heard from travelers who’ve been here before that there’s a reputable little place called Lily. If you ask around I’m sure they’ll point you in the right direction.”

“I’ll check that out then,” Seokjin says as he hefts his bag over his shoulder again

“You do that. And take care,” Hyosang grins and offers him a mock salute.  

Seokjin can’t help but grin as he salutes him back. “You too,” he says as he takes his leave.

The train is scheduled to depart in three hours’ time and it won’t be back for another four days. Hyosang explained their schedule varies but usually they drop by this place ever four to six days. Seokjin isn’t worried though. He doesn’t plan to be on that train, or the one after it.

He’ll stay in one town for as long as he likes. Sometimes it’s as short as two days. At other times it can stretch on to a month. It all depends on how much there is for him to see or do, how long it takes him to figure if what he is looking for is in this town or not.

And what is that? he’s asked two days later some place near the train yard when the night is dark paint above them and the only source of light is a tiny flicker of a Clipper.

A story, he’ll say. I’m looking for a story.

What kind of story? The then stranger asks.

A story that will move the heart, is Seokjin’s reply. What he really means is a story that will move his heart.  

===

Lily is a small three storied building with blue painted walls and white doors. From a distance it lives up to its name, a flowering spot of beauty in the maze of monochrome. Up close though the paint scuffs and the chips in the door become obvious. It was probably a beautiful establishment once upon a time but time has mired it as time does to all things.

Seokjin snaps a photo with his phone anyway. Beauty isn’t always the perfectly packaged things.

The doors of Lily are heavy and Seokjin has to put all his weight behind it to push one of them open. He notes with a fond glance the tiny flower motifs printed onto the handles.

The inside is dark and a little musty. There are no windows in the reception area but Seokjin can see a spill of light from somewhere up the stairs and from behind a wall.  It’s enough to allow him to make out the heavy wooden table that must serve as the reception desk, the scatterings of seats and a long, low table in the middle.

Seokjin walks carefully over to the desk. There is no bell or visible method of calling so he just knocks at the table, the sound surprisingly hollow. It rings out in the quiet room but even then there is no reply.

“Hello?” he calls out hesitantly. His voice echoes.

He counts to twenty before calling out again. “Hello? My name is Seokjin. I’m looking for a room for the night?”

Silence is all that greets him for another thirty seconds or so. Then he hears a creak and a shuffle from behind the wall and a head pokes. All Seokjin gets a glimpse of is wild curls and the frames of a glasses. Then the head vanishes again and a moment later the lights flicker on.

It comes from several dangling bulbs above, their wires long and exposed. The bulb itself is a glass ornament, dusty and dim. They remind him of an old photograph, the colors faded but the outlines of the image still clinging desperately to life.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you entering,” says a thin voice which is then accompanied by a shuffle of feet. The head belongs to an old man in what must be his late seventies or even eighties. His hair is a wild ruffle of grey twists and turns but his beard is trimmed neatly. He wears a pair of thin framed glasses that look bent and shapeless grey clothes.  

“I was taking an afternoon nap,” he says by way of explanation even though it has just gone noon. His voice is soft and wispy, the kind that can be blown away by the gentlest breeze.

“That’s okay,” Seokjin says politely in return. He’s surprised that the establishment is run by such an old man but he knows he shouldn’t judge ability based on age or appearance.  

“Business is slow these days,” the man continues to mumble as he totters over to the desk. If anything Seokjin worries about whether he can get to the desk safely or not. He does look awfully fragile.

Somehow he does, and he reaches beneath the desk to pull out a thick bound book that looks so heavy that the weight will knock him over. Again, he doesn’t, but instead drops the book onto the table where it blows up a storm of dust that makes both Seokjin and the old man cough.

“I’m sorry,” the old man says coughing slightly. “My granddaughter is usually the one who cleans up around here. She’s been quite busy lately though and well, you can see the dust.”

“That’s okay,” Seokjin says, his eyes watering slightly. “I’m just looking for a room for a few nights.”

“I can give you the room on the second floor. It has a lovely view of the ocean,” the old man offers, his finger dragging down a long list of rooms and occupants. The latter list looks rather empty, only two other names inscribed in rooms 4 and 9.

“That sounds perfect,” Seokjin says with a large smile.

The old man gives him a crinkled one in return. It brings out the etched laughter lines and the old liver spots on his cheeks in the best of ways. He pulls a brass key off a hook to his left and hands it over to Seokjin. There’s a ribbon tied to the circled end and the number 7 etched in the middle of the long length of it.

“I’d take you to the room myself but my legs haven’t been that good of late.  It’s the second room to the right. You can take the stairs over there.”

Seokjin picks up his backpack and gives the old man one last smile. “I should be fine. Thank you.”

“Of course. I hope you like the room. Let me know if there are any problems,” the old man says.

“Of course,” Seokjin says in response, giving the man another bow.

It makes him smile. “Off you go now child,” he says with fondness in his voice. Then a pause. “By the way how long did you say you were planning to stay for?”

Seokjin pauses and half-turns. “I’m not too sure. A few days for now. It depends on how my plans change. Why? Will there be a problem?”

The frown on the old man’s face disappears as fast as it appeared. “No it shouldn’t be,” he says hurriedly. “It’s just you shouldn’t stay in this town for longer than necessary.”

Now it’s Seokjin’s turn to frown. What does he mean by that?

But the old man is already shuffling away behind the wall, effectively ending the conversation. Seokjin doesn’t feel like disturbing what looks like a continuation of that afternoon nap, so he just hikes the duffle bag over his shoulder and heads for the stairs, just as the lights go off and the reception room becomes draped in darkness again.

As he climbs them he wonders what the old man meant by his words. A lack of rooms shouldn’t be the problem. The old man said it himself, business was slow. A fragment of a conversation runs through him, rumors like how those who entered the town and stayed for more than six days were forevermore trapped there…

Seokjin shakes his head roughly. Nonsense. Just a story, that was all. And for as many stories that Seokjin has heard, none of them has ever held enough truth for him to become worried by them. He doesn’t think that this town will be any different.

(a very tiny, dark part of him wishes elsewise)

He takes the stairs two at a time. At least these don’t creak like the train station platform did.

The room is easy enough to find. There are only four rooms per floor, set in a square arrangement with the stairs as the center.  Room 7 has a white painted door with the number painted in blue and outlined with a six petal lily. Seokjin puts the brass key to the lock and it opens with just the slightest grinding sound.

Unlike the reception downstairs the room is softly lit by the white light that spills in front a pair of wide framed windows covered by gauzy curtains that don’t really hide anything.

Seokjin closes the door behind him and drops his bag to the chair and the key to the lovely little wooden table on the right. There’s a door to his left that presumably leads to a bathroom and a large white bed sits right before the large windows.

Seokjin wanders over to it. He leans over, placing one knee to the white sheets pulled tight over the bed and throws back the curtains and it is just as the old man said – the view of the ocean is one of the loveliest that Seokjin has ever seen.

The water stretches on and on and on, a glorious spread of green-blue speckled with white. The sun burns high above but the clouds soften the glare. There is a boardwalk beside it that Seokjin thinks would be lovely to walk in the morning or late afternoons. The town acts as its fringe. Seokjin takes a picture of it before he forgets to.

It makes him wonder why this town is as unknown as it is. Sure there is not much, the buildings are plain and monotonous in color, the ocean will probably be just as lovely in Busan, and it’s not like the streets hold anything special. However Seokjin thinks there is something special about this place, something mysterious just waiting to be found. He wonders why no one else seems to feel the same way.

===

Eventually his stomach gets the better of it. Growling loudly, it sends a clear signal of what it wants Seokjin to do.

He closes the windows and pulls out his emergency snacks, a granola bar that will tide him over until he finds something more substantial.

Unpacking comes first.

His clothes go in the cupboard, his extra pair of shoes next to it. Toiletries are laid out in the small but clean bathroom and the essentials, wallet, phone, notepad and pen, they all go in his pocket. There’s a sheaf of paper atop of the table: a map of the place and a list of potential landmarks to visit. Seokjin glances them over, folds it and pockets it.

And now, and only now is he ready. His stomach growls approvingly.  

===

He finds a little sandwich shop some ways down the boardwalk easily enough. It’s run by a woman in her thirties and her eight year old daughter. Their exchange is amicable enough and Seokjin leaves with a wonderful lobster and mayonnaise sandwich and some extra notes on the map of other good places in to eat at. He thinks he’ll try the pub tonight. The lady did say they change their meals every other week and from a quick glance at the map it’s not too far away from the motel.

In the interim he explores the town at leisure, walking the streets at random, only stopping occasionally to take stock of his location.

As he explore he can’t help but pick up on several slightly unnerving things.  

The first is that there barely seems to be anyone out. The streets are empty even though the sun is still high in the sky. The people seem to shrink into their tiny stores and when they are forced out they skirt the open areas and slip back indoors as soon as is feasible. The one or two cars that pass by drive so quickly that Seokjin cannot catch a glimpse of the people inside. It’s like they’re ghosts living in a ghost town and Seokjin is the living intruder.

The second thing is that when Seokjin does find someone to talk to they respond with hesitance, as if they’re afraid to let something slip, and they always seem eager to finish up the conversation as quickly as possible. The only ones who don’t act that way are the children like the eight year old he met in the sandwich shop. Children however seem to be far and few in between.

The third thing and possibly most unnerving thing that Seokjin notices are their eyes. The sun beats down harshly, the stone and concrete walls and floors are discolored and chipped, but the people, the people and their expressions are what catches Seokjin’s gaze and makes it so very hard to look away.

It takes him a few hours of walking up and down the streets and stairs before he can put a label to it.

Hope. It’s hope.

It’s the complete lack of hope in their eyes.

And more than he’d like to admit,  that kind of scares Seokjin.

===

Night falls quickly upon the town. The sun vanishes in a flash and the streets light up with these tiny street lamps that barely do any good. Instead what brightens up the place are stars. And there are a surprising number of stars that can be seen out here.

And with the darkness, out come the people.

It’s as if they fear sunlight, the way that they instantly pour out from shops and homes and work places the minute the sun goes down. Seokjin is almost swept away by them as they come.

Men, women, the occasional child. They all share the same dark eyes but other than that they act like normal humans. They joke, they gripe, they bump shoulders when they meet up with what looks likes friends. It’s almost enough to make Seokjin think he’s just imagining things.

He decides he needs food and so he ends up at the pub that the sandwich lady circled on his map.

It’s a welcoming enough place. The inside is brightly lit by small bulbs encased in what look like empty vodka bottles. There are several tables and booths and a long bar at one end. At the other is a door from which the smell of food flows from. The minute Seokjin enters his stomach growls.

The only downside is that apparently everyone else thinks the same.

“Sorry but I’m afraid you’re going to have to share tables,” the bartender says as he sizes up Seokjin when he approaches the man to ask for a seat.  

“That’s okay,” Seokjin shrugs. He’s never been adverse to meeting new people.

“Then table 12 over there only has one person. If you ask nicely he might let you share.”

“Might?” Seokjin raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t like the way the man twists the word.

The bartender with his gruff face and bar piercing in his left brow smirks. “Not everyone here is as friendly as you are mister. We have different priorities here and being buddies with tourists isn’t high on our list.”

Seokjin is a little taken aback with the way he twists the word tourist. Just what has this town got against people like him?

“Oh shush you,” says a woman who comes out from the back and smacks the bartender across the back of his head. He doesn’t stumble but winces slightly and rubs at the sore spot. “Ignore Kwangsu here. He just likes to play around with people and seeing as we all know him too well here, the only time his tricks work are on people from out of town.”

The furrow between Seokjin’s brow vanished. “Oh.”

The waitress is a small little thing but her sharp eyes say she’s made of sterner stuff. With her hair tied back almost painfully tightly and the no-nonsense trousers and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, it’s easy to see that she is not someone to push about.

“That being said,” she continues in a brusque tone, “he wasn’t lying about friendliness. The guy over there may chew your head off, but hey, I’m sure a guy with a pretty face like yours can probably salvage the situation. Why don’t you go right on ahead? I’ll come on over later to ask what you want.”

“Um okay,” Seokjin coughs and totters off. He’s always known that he’s had a face prettier than the average guy but never before has been told it so bluntly, and by a girl.

He swallows down the minute embarrassment and heads over to the table.

Seat 12 is a small booth that could probably fit four. One side is occupied by a blonde haired guy who looks like he’s in his early twenties. He wears a dark jacket over a white tee and sports a brooding look as he stares out the window. He kind of does look like the type of guy who would chew Seokjin’s head off for so much as opening his mouth, but Seokjin has never been the kind of back down from a social challenge – he does have these amazing social skills as he tells anyone who is willing to listen – and so he steps forwards and clears his throat as loudly as he can.

The pub is noisy but somehow the blonde hears. He turns his head around and raises an eyebrow. “Yes?” he says in a low, rasping voice and for a moment Seokjin is at loss for words. The bomber jacket and deep voice had set Seokjin up for one particular image, and the moment the blonde turned around, he got a very different one indeed.

The blonde boy stares. “Um hello?”

It jerks Seokjin out of his reverie. “Oh sorry, I was just going to ask if I could share a table with you. The rest of the pub is kind of full and you look alone and…”

He trails off at the boy’s incredulous expression, like he thought no one would ever have the guts to ask what Seokjin is asking. Okay so maybe he does fit image 1? But it’s so odd how can someone with such a deep voice yet such a sweet face exist?

“Did you just say my face is ‘sweet’?” the blonde boy says disbelievingly.

Oops. Seokjin old habit of saying the things he was thinking out loud doesn’t seem to have diminished with time.

“It’s the truth,” he says earnestly, trying to patch up the situation. “I mean you have really nice features. Your skin looks really soft and you’ve got this really cute tiny… um… nose… and I’ll shut up now.”

The blonde boy is giving him the longest look ever and Seokjin thinks that maybe his awesome social skills aren’t actually that awesome and he might just want to consider finding someplace else for dinner tonight.

He’s already backing away slowly when a hand comes down hard on his shoulder. He looks over to see the waitress from before.

“I see the two of you are acquainted now. Why down you sit down Mr. Tourist and I’ll take your order. We haven’t got all night after all have we?”

She shoves him down into the seat opposite of the blonde boy with strength that Seokjin did not know was possible for the fairer to possess.

“Uh, um, wait one-“

She ignores his protests in favor of pulling a pen out from behind one ear and producing a notepad from somewhere in the front pocket of her apron.

“So? What will you be having?”

Seokjin eyed the blonde boy out of the corner of his peripheral vision. He looked slightly annoyed at the intrusion but he hadn’t demanded that Seokjin leave or anything just yet so maybe it’s okay for him to stay?

He turns back to the waitress who sports an impatient expression. “I um, don’t know. What’s your special?’

“What do you feel like? Meat, fish, vegetables? Something soup or stew? Baked or fried?” The girl rattles off a list, her pen never ceasing to tap out the rhythm on the pad. 

“Um stew I guess?” Seokjin says, pulling out the first thing that sounds most appetizing.

“Jjigae then?” the girl says.

“Sure.”

“You okay with fish?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay then, one fish jjigae. Any drinks?”

“Um…” Seokjin glances about the room, trying to gauge what there is to drink. He spies a whole row of alcohol behind the bar and various cans of beers across several tables, one even in front of him. He however has never been great at holding his own.

“Just water please,” he finally says and the waitress gives him a curt nod.

He thinks that’s it and she’ll go away now and leave him in awkward silence with this blonde fellow who’s looking mighty annoyed now. But she doesn’t. She turns and addresses him loudly.

“And you, Min Yoongi. Are you going to sit here drinking beer all night or are you going to order something?”

The now named Min Yoongi gives her a deep glare but contrary to Seokjin’s expectations, does not chew off her head. “Give me the same thing that guy’s having then,” he says in that low raspy voice of his. “And another beer,” he adds as he shakes the can.

“Sure thing,” the girl says shortly, scribbling down the extra orders and then tearing off the top sheet of paper. “I’ll bring over the food soon,” she says as she shoves the pen back behind her ear and walks away.

And now Seokjin is left in awkward silence with the blonde fellow named Min Yoongi who does still look mighty annoyed. He’s glaring at Seokjin now, eyes sharp and narrowed. His lips are pressed together even tighter.

Whilst the easy way out would be for Seokjin to just maintain the silence until the food comes, Seokjin decides that he might as well put in an effort to make it a more amicable situation.

He coughs and tries out a “um, so-“ only to be cut off by the blonde boy’s hand sweeping in front of him.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to bother with small talk. Minjae does that often, shoving people together. She says it saves space and gets the pub more money.” He lets out a derisive snort here. “If it makes you feel better I’ll leave as soon as I’m finished eating.”

“Oh, no you don’t need to do that!” Seokjin cuts in.

Min Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

“I mean,” Seokjin coughs and tries to amend his sentence. “I mean I like meeting and talking to new people. So if you don’t mind do you want to have dinner together?

The other brow rises and Seokjin thinks that maybe he really needs his social skills re-evaluated. Then to his utter surprise the guy named Yoongi laughs, a short little bark of amusement.

“Yeah why not,” Yoongi says with a crooked smile.  

Seokjin blinks. “Okay. Good, then.”

The smile teases at Yoongi’s lips, coming and going. “I’ve dined with worse looking people than you. I’m sure I can survive a night staring at your ugly mug.”

Seokjin pouts. “That’s rude.”

And Yoongi laughs again. It’s softens all his features and Seokjin thinks that maybe Yoongi isn’t so bad after all.

“You’re definitely from out of town,” he says. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so easy to tease.”

“Yeah I’m from Anyang,” Seokjin replies, not rising to the bait.

“Oh? What’s it’s like over there?”

Seokjin casts his mind about for words of how to describe his hometown. He thinks of the towering skyscrapers, ten or twenty times taller than Lily is, of the streets filled with cars and people no matter the time or day, of the lights that never go out and the stars that never shine. “Busy,” is what he decides on.

Yoongi’s lips quirk up into a somewhat smile. “Well that’s different enough from out here.”

Seokjin latches onto the subject. “Tell me about this place then.”

“How long have you been here for?” Yoongi asks as he drains the last of his beer.

“Only one day. I got here this morning.”

“Hm there’s not much to say. We have a beach but you need to drive to get there. If you like trains you might as well check out the yard. Food’s good enough. Other than that there’s not much in this town.” Yoongi squints at him. “Why’d ‘you even come here?  

He’s saved from answering when Minjae the waitress comes by with beer for Yoongi and a glass of water for Seokjin.

Seokjin takes a huge gulp, suddenly realizing just how thirsty he was but as he puts down the glass he can still see the curious glint in Yoongi’s eyes.

He takes a breath and gathers his thoughts to explain. “I came because I heard some rumors about this town.”

The flash in Yoongi’s eyes is unmistakable. “Rumors?” he says carefully. The word sounds like it was wrenched from his gut and twisted on its way out.

Seokjin chooses his words carefully. “Yes. Thing like how the people who come here don’t ever leave, or how some people just vanish-“

The can of beer slams down hard on the table. Seokjin freezes as he meets Yoongi’s frigid gaze. “Be careful of what you speak about in this town tourist.”

And there’s that word again, twisted and mangled. Gone is any inch of friendliness from Yoongi’s face. All there is now are deep etches of bristling anger and eyes that smolder.

Seokjin opens his mouth, what he’s going to say he’s not quite sure. He’s not going to apologize, but ever since he’s stepped foot in this town there’s been something the people skirt about and Seokjin wants to know what exactly that is.

He never quite gets to saying it though.

“Your food,” Minjae announces as she slams down two huge steaming pots of jjigae. “Cutlery is in the pot there. You need any more drinks?”

Both of them shake their heads.

“Good. Enjoy that then,” she says and turns like she’s about to walk away, but then she pauses and looks back. “I heard what you were talking about tourist. Yoongi’s right, be careful about what you say in this town.”

Seokjin meets her gaze evenly. “What do you mean?” Is that a threat? is what he really wants to ask.

He can see indecision run in her eyes. Her lips part and then they close again. Then all of a sudden she pushes at Seokjin’s shoulder and slips into the booth next to him.

“Huh, wait what-“

“Eat,” she orders, leaning over and grabbing a spoon and a pair of chopsticks for him. She doesn’t do the same for Yoongi. He helps himself though. “Eat and I’ll talk.”

“Okay,” Seokjin says hesitantly and takes a spoonful of the stew. It’s warm and hearty, thick and filled plentiful with meat. He takes a second and third bite and warmth billows from his stomach outwards.

“Good?” Minjae asks. “I’ll tell Taewook that the tourist approves later. He’ll be happy even though he doesn’t really show it.”

Seokjin winces. “Do you have to keep calling me tourist?”

“It’s what you are,” Minjae says mincingly.

Seokjin sighs. “Anyway weren’t you going to say something?”  

Mingjae blinks. “Oh yes, I was. Rumors. You wanted to hear about rumors didn’t you?” She grins. “I can tell you some if you want.”

“Minjae!” Yoongi calls warning over his half empty bowl.

“Aw shush oppa,” Minjae waves him off. “The tourist wants to hear some tales. Why not tell him some?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and takes another gulpful of stew.

“Hm what should I tell you?” Minjae muses, her eyes wide and almost girlishly round, like the girls in Seokjin’s middle school who used to do the same but about make-up and boys, not town tales. “How about the one about the train?”

“The train?” Seokjin echoes.

“Yeah, have you heard that one yet?”

Seokjin shakes him head.

“Good,” Minjae says gleefully. She grabs his glass of water and takes a sip without even asking Seokjin, and Seokjin’s starting to wonder whether this town shrinks away from being welcoming or just crosses the boundary so much that it’s hard to see anything they do as welcoming, but then she’s telling the story and Seokjin forgets minor transgressions like that. “Okay so everyone knows this story. It’s a good one to start you off one.”

She leans in close and her voice becomes a conspiratorial hush. “You’ve seen our train yard right? You must have when you came here.”

Seokjin nods, mouth full of fish that is succulent and soft on his tongue.

“There are almost a hundred different trains out there. We use them to get supplies to this town and we also use them to ship out our produces, fish, scallops, seafood, the like. But there’s always been this story about one train in particular. No one knows who started the story or if there’s even the slightest truth to it, but the story is always the same.”

Seokjin almost forgets to eat as Minjae speaks. Opposite him he sees Yoongi roll his eyes as he plunges his spoon deep into the bowl again.

“Somewhere in there is a train,” Minjae says almost reverently. Her legs are pulled up to her chest and her eyes are sparkling now. “A train that looks no different from any other. They say that if you board this train it can take you to a place of no worries or cares. And there, you’ll live happily ever after.”

Seokjin pauses with the spoon in his mouth. He the curve of it thoughtfully and then pulls it out. “Isn’t that a little farfetched?” he says, thinking how he loves stories with realism and this is the farthest thing from it.  

Minjae sighs. “You’re no fun,” she complains, leaning back into the seat of the booth. “Yeah, it’s a little farfetched. But it’s a cute story. We’re all told it as little kids, that if we behave and grow up well we can board this train and it’ll take us to a place with rainbow and sunshine and we can play all day long. When we did grow up though it became an escape for different sorts of worries and cares….” her voice grows distant and Seokjin pauses in his meal to look over at her. There’s a glossy sheen over her eyes and somewhere far back is the darkness.

“It’s just a story,” Yoongi says out of the blue and Seokjin looks over, surprised. He’d forgotten Yoongi was there. Yoongi’s spoon scrapes the ceramic bottom and he drops it, letting the metal clatter. He looks over at Seokjin and his eyes are the darkest that Seokjin has ever seen out of all the people here so far. “You’ll find Mr. Tourist, that the rumors here are just that. Stories and nothing more. There’s no proof behind any of them so you shouldn’t let yourself get carried away by them.”

He puts the empty cans in the bowl and shoves to the edge of the table. “Thanks for the meal Minjae. I’ve got to get going.”

“Sure, sure, I’ll put it on your tab,” Minjae says, waving nonchalantly at him. She wriggles out of the booth and picks up his bowl, sashays back off as if the story never happened.

Yoongi takes a moment to fiddle with his jacket, taking the zip and pulling it up slow and luxuriously. He doesn’t look at Seokjin when Seokjin addresses him.

“Is that true what you said? That all the rumors here are just that? Stories and nothing more?”

Yoongi gives him a long look. When he speaks his voice is still the same low drawl that sends shivers down Seokjin’s spine. His eyes are the darkest out of everyone that Seokjin has met today, not a spark or star hidden in its depths. “It would be best for you to think of them as that,” he says quietly and leaves.

“Wait,” Seokjin calls out as Yoongi passes by him on the way to the exit.

He pauses, head half turned. “What?” he asks curtly.

“My name,” Seokjin says quickly. “My name is Seokjin.”

Yoongi gives him an amused look. “Why do you think I’d want to know that?”

Seokjin frowns. “I know your name. It’s only fair you learn mine. Then you can stop calling me tourist.”

Yoongi chuckles. “We’ll see about that,” he smirks, “tourist.”  He throws a careless one handed wave as he leaves.

Seokjin fumes.

===

The stars are bright tonight.

Yoongi glances skyward for a brief moment before he looks back down at the path he takes alongside the pier. Jungkook has always liked stargazing for some strange reason but Yoongi has never understood the appeal. Then again Jungkook has always wondered what the rest of the world out there is like and here Yoongi is, satisfied within the confines of their tiny town.

Night is always cold here, no matter how hot the day burns.  Yoongi draws his jacket tighter around him and quickens his pace.

The sea churns; the town shudders. Life goes on and Yoongi thinks he’s drowning in it.

“Hyung!”

A heavy weight slumps over his shoulder and Jungkook is there, pressing his cheek enthusiastically up against Yoongi’s. Yoongi halts and hunches to accommodate for Jungkook’s weight. He’s not as small as he used to be.

“You ate already,” Jungkook says accusingly, his nose twitching.

“Sorry kid, Minjae practically forced me to,” Yoongi says, one hand reaching over to push back Jungkook’s long bangs.  

Jungkook huffs. “What about me then?”

“What? Those folks didn’t feed you?”

“They never do,” Jungkook bemoans. “Only you do hyung. The best hyung in the entire world.”

“Yeah, yeah, save it kid. What do you want?”

Jungkook beams and unlatches himself from Yoongi. They take the path by the pier side and Jungkook fills the silence with chatter about his entire day, Yoongi nodding and grunting where expected.

Then Jungkook asks, “Who did you eat with? Minjae-noona only ever forces you to eat when there’s someone new in town.”

“It was some tourist,” Yoongi sniffs. “Some pretty boy named Seokjin.”

“Oh?” Jungkook skips ahead of him and turns around to look him in the face, a grin plastered there. “You called him pretty. You don’t do that often.”

Yoongi makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “Because there’s not many pretty faces about here – watch where you’re walking – but really that’s the best way to describe him.”

Jungkook ignores him and hops up a step backwards without missing a beat. “Was he nice?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I guess so.”

Jungkook grins. “You like him hyung,” he says teasingly.

Yoongi takes a long stride forwards and smacks Jungkook lightly on the nose. “Can it brat. Let’s hurry up, it’s getting cold.”

Jungkook grins wider even as he nurses his nose. He spins back around and takes chase after Yoongi. “It’ll be summer soon hyung.”

“Then it’ll just get too hot,” Yoongi grumbles.

“You’re so hard to please,” Jungkook says.

“Damn right,” Yoongi replies uncaringly which makes Jungkook throw his head back and laugh.

He falls into step with Yoongi. “So this Seokjin guy, do you think I’ll get to meet him?”

“Who knows,” Yoongi says, shrugging. “He’s a tourist, a traveler. Said something about coming here because he was interested in the stories here. He’ll soon find out there’s nothing and leave.”

Dejection floods Jungkook’s face.

Yoongi notices and falls back. He bumps Jungkook’s shoulder. “Hey don’t be sad. It’s just one guy. You don’t even know him.”

“Yeah I know,” Jungkook sighs, “It’s just I thought it’d be nice to meet someone who wasn’t from here. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah I know,” Yoongi says softly. He leans over and ruffles Jungkook’s head, just the way he knows the kid hates it. Jungkook squirms but doesn’t bat away his hand. “Tell you what, the next time I meet him I’ll bring him over, okay?”

Jungkook brightens. “Promise?”

Yoongi softens. “I promise. 

Appeased, Jungkook loops an arm around Yoongi’s neck and clings to him for the rest of the walk home. The kid is getting tall, outgrowing Yoongi in leaps and bounds, and as he leans over he weighs down onto Yoongi’s shoulders. It’s a comfortable weight.

Yoongi doesn’t dare voice his hopes that he doesn’t get the chance to meet Seokjin again. He reaches into his pocket for the comforting grip of the Clipper. Seokjin is a tourist no matter how hard he tries to refute the title. He’s from out of town and frankly, he’s better off staying that way.

The town drags you down. It sinks its claws and fangs into you and drags you down to its depths. And though Yoongi barely knows Seokjin, he’s not so black-hearted that he’d wish such a thing upon a stranger.

“Hyung?” Jungkook nudges his shoulder. “You’re thinking so hard again that you’re not listening to me. Namjoon-hyung says it’s not good for you.”

“Of course he would,” Yoongi scoffs. “And sorry. What did you say?”

Jungkook repeats his sentence, something about stars and navigation and today’s work being really tough and Yoongi better feed him soon or his stomach will turn inside out, and this time Yoongi tries to listen. Tries not to think about how little time they have left. So little time left and he doesn’t know how much longer he has to stick around and protect Jungkook for.

“Hey hyung?” Jungkook says, voice softer this time.

“Yes kid?”

“You don’t have to protect me always, you know that right?”

They come to a kind of halt, Yoongi staring at the sea, Jungkook at the stars. “I do,” Yoongi says, equally soft back to him. “I always do. I made a promise to you didn’t I?”

He can sense Jungkook’s sad smile. “Yeah you did hyung.”

“And I don’t break my promises right?”

Jungkook closes his eyes and leans in, pushes his face into the crook of Yoongi’s neck where there are no stars or hopes or despair. Just a comforting warmth and the twin beat of their hearts. “Yeah hyung,” he whispers. “You don't."