Panem et circenses

Bread and circuses.

Whoever had told Junhong that all Asian countries are the same was wrong.

He had landed in a small town near New Delhi merely hours ago and was already lost. The meager amount of personal belongings he had kept in his backpack had already gotten stolen. All except for the book. Yongguk insisted he bring the book with him, and now here he was with the thick leather brick clutched to his chest while his backpack remained open and ped. He was without money, spare clothes, and every other necessity. The thief didn’t even leave him with his toothbrush.

A large throng of people was everywhere he went. It was nothing like the crowd in the Thai airport that he had departed from. No, this was much different. Everyone pushed through each other. It was a mix of modern and ancient. Bright blue buckets, holding who knows what, were strung up between two pillars of an old building. Those who walked the streets walked alongside driving cars, and he tried his best to avoid being hit. Women wore either beautiful, elaborate saris or bright patterned kurtas. Men dressed themselves in striped button up shirts with short sleeves to acclimate for the heat. Voices spoke in a language he didn’t know, yet sounded exquisite to his ears. It was crowded and urban and nothing like home or even Thailand.

But it was nice.

After so long of just him and Yongguk and Daisy, it was nice to be around so many people. It almost made Junhong miss the large dining hall back at the academy, where he ate with hundreds of other boys for nine whole years. He missed the feeling of being apart of many, of no longer having all eyes on him. Sure, he was paler than the average Indian man, but they merely gave him a sideways glance. Girls giggled and flipped their hair as they passed him, but other than that he was just another man in the crowd. And he loved it.

With no money, and nowhere to go, Junhong wandered. He kept the book held close to his chest as he traversed through streets and under arches and throughout markets. Indian markets were alive with activity. Spices, saris, street food, and jewellery were all among other things that vendors were selling in their tents. As he passed a particularly wonderful-smelling stand where a thin old man was selling curry, his stomach made the most pitiful noises of hunger. He hadn’t eaten since that morning, and the alluring scent of food was starting to remind him of that. The old man was quite convincing, but when Junhong showed him his wallet that was void of money, he shook his head and waved him away.

Broke and dejected, Junhong made his way through the bazaar once again. There were so many things he wanted to buy, but without money he couldn’t even think about any purchases. Before he left, Yongguk had given him quite a few rupees, but now they were gone with the thief who practically stole the clothes off of his back. He found himself walking down alleys and kicking at the ground when a brilliant idea presented itself. Evocation magic.

Evocation magic was a special class. It was something anyone could learn, but only few could specialize in. Neither Yongguk nor Junhong were one of those people, but of course they both dabbled in it. Junhong found himself in an empty alleyway and crossed his legs as he sat down. He took a deep breath before he began to focus intensely on the ground beneath his outstretched hands. Just a few dollars. Only a few. Enough to eat something. He felt the hotness in his hands as something supernatural moved through his body. It was a feeling he knew well, but would never get used to. If nothing else, he hoped he could do this. Yongguk had never said anything about manifesting money using evocation, but he could sure as hell try, couldn’t he? And try he did. Much to his disappointment, it didn’t work. With a sigh, he leaned back against the wall. India was a mistake.

“Do you need something, friend?”

His eyes snapped up to see a man, definitely shorter than him, with features that weren’t particularly Indian. He looked like a foreigner, and most it was likely because he spoke in a language Junhong had knew far too well.

“Mostly a meal,” Junhong chuckled, more at the expense of himself. “Someone stole my money, but left my wallet.”

The man frowned and offered him a hand. “The streets are cruel here, my friend. Why don’t we get something in that stomach of yours? You could get sick if you don’t eat well.”

He opened his mouth to say something when he realized all of the sickly people he’d seen whilst travelling the streets. Men, women, children alike lined the roads with rags in hand. They coughed, hacked and groaned in pain. It was almost like a relapse of the plague from ancient times. India was known for having a significant impoverished population, right? Was this man insinuating that if he didn't eat well he could end up like one of them? He shivered. That was the last thing he wanted.

“You’d really do that?” Junhong asked, taking his hand and letting himself be helped up to his full height. Yep. He was taller.

The other smiled. “Of course, friend. It'd be my pleasure. I knew you'd need help.”

Junhong wasn't sure what he meant, but decided to dismiss it. This man wasn’t from here or anywhere close to where he lived, of course something would be a little off about him. At least, Junhong thought that was the case. He looked so drastically different from everyone else, yet had a thick Indian accent. The aura around him wasn't suffocating and unfamiliar, but amiable and friendly. Almost as if anyone could open up to him just by talking with him. It was as if he wanted people to tell him their problems, like he was some helping hand from a higher order. He was almost… Divine. And that's when it all clicked.

The man brought him to a small restaurant that was rife with excitement. The building was full of older men drinking and eating and enjoying themselves. Their loud cheering and hollering and drunken laughter was leaking out into the street. They drank to forget their ailing children and ill wives. The sick crowded the little establishment from the outside and were projecting their disease towards those with money, happiness, and healthy bodies. It was like a dichotomy of good and bad, the good being those suffering and the bad being the others turning a blind eye. Junhong wanted to help, but with no money and nothing else to offer, all he could do was send a prayer their way for good health and a better future.

Once they had sat down in a booth, as far away from the the intoxicated men as possible, Junhong began asking all of the questions that were on his mind. He started off with the most logical and least prying one.

“What’s your name?”

The man gave him a small, but genuine smile. “Names are irrelevant, my friend. I am simply just someone willing to help a friend out.”

All of his responses were like that. Thoughtfully put together and never answering what Junhong asked. Yet, with that kind little upturn of lips Junhong couldn’t stay mad at him. He seemed like a truly giving person, and there was no way that his amicability was going to be taken advantage of. After all, he had lead Junhong to the restaurant and was treating him to lunch. No reason to suspect foul play from that, right? Or perhaps… perhaps Junhong was too trusting. Then again, this man almost reminded him just a little bit of Yongguk.

He had finished his meal quickly, and out of courtesy for the one who was paying, he waited for him to eat the rest of his plate as well. The other dismissed him, though, with a “Go ahead, friend. We’ll see each other again,” and he said it with such conviction that Junhong truly believed him. With that, he left the restaurant and his fast friend behind. As he made his way aimlessly about the streets, what the man had said weighed heavily on his mind. They’d meet again? How did he know? He just seemed so sure of it. It may have just been him, though. When he first offered help to Junhong he said something like that, too. I knew you’d need help, was what he’d said. What a peculiar way of speaking.

Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, he remembered that feeling that the man gave off when they’d first met. That feeling of otherworldly divinity. He wasn’t just some passerby, was he? No. He was someone much more important. It was no wonder he reminded him of Yongguk. He himself had an essence of Yongguk to him, and that’s exactly what Junhong was looking for. He turned around and ran back towards the restaurant. Leaving there had been a mistake.

———

Junhong had been following his ‘friend’ for several hours now. He went through the bazaar buying the most bizarre things. Different roots, plants, and spices. No meat, no tapestries, and no little knick knacks that a typical tourist would purchase. Perhaps he wasn’t a foreigner, yet there was no way he was a native. But who was he to judge? Now that he thought about it, determining one’s ethnicity based on how they looked was just… wrong. It was like all of the other boys in school that mocked his narrow eyes by stretching their own and calling him “Chinese” among other things. He wasn’t Chinese, nor was he any of the other awful things that they called him. In those days, it was hard to fit in. He wasn’t the most friendly person, as he’d closed himself off after his parent’s departure. However, Yongguk allowed him to open up and be himself. Perhaps that’s why that man was so kind. He needed someone to open up to.

Junhong wanted to be that person.

Eventually, they left the bustling market place. Junhong was lead expertly through a mass of possibly hundreds of people. Crowded streets finally gave way to meagerly populated alleys which then, in turn, gave way to a small, struggling village. Many of the occupants were sick, and mothers that were in poor health desperately held their infants to their chest, most likely to spend as much time with them as they could before the illness took their lives. But, as the man entered, a new life seemed to be instilled into the miniscule community. Children playing with rocks on the dry, sandy ground ran up to him with wide smiles on their faces as they bombarded him with questions. He addressed them all by their names and answered all of their queries. Parents came from their ramshackle little huts to tame their kids and engage in idle conversation. There was such an air of familiarity between him and the rest of the village that it was almost as if he’d known all of them since they were young.

Almost like they were all friends.

Finally, he headed home. Junhong attempted to follow as inconspicuously as possible, but he had a feeling his presence had been recognized a long time ago. They stopped at a one-room ‘house’. It was made of thin wood, with prayer flags strung across the top of the doorway and a sheer curtain acting as some feeble protector of privacy. The sky had grown dark and clouded throughout the journey, and when the man spun around the first drops of rain began to fall in a heavy, steady stream.

He looked at Junhong with wide brown eyes. His light auburn hair was soaked with the warm rain pouring from overhead, and small droplets had settled on his long eyelashes. A look of estrangement appeared on his features as the rain washed away the dirt from his tan skin. The heavy beating of the rain pounded on the tin roof of what was his small shack behind him, and the only other noise was the ground being assaulted by said torrent. He was gorgeous; thick lips pulled into a deep frown, eyes blown wide with curiosity, and fist clenched tightly in his soaking white t-shirt that gave hints to the lightly tattooed skin lying beneath it.

“Yongguk…” was all Junhong could say in that moment, and the other looked at him with a smile that held newfound interest.

“I knew you’d say that.”