It’s a beautiful day.

The sky is dyed a baby blue, sporadically adorned with wisps of white cotton. The birds are singing sweet melodies of praise, perhaps extra exuberant under the golden glow of the sun that harmonises with the lazy breeze.

It’s a beautiful d‒

Heck no it isn’t.

There's no one to fool. Why waste time painting a picture of deceit?

The world is dying.

And instead of letting Jiyong die quickly like the rest had, some unseen force with a twisted sense of humour had decided to keep him alive, just barely, so he can wither.

Alone.

And the worst thing is that there’s no one left to pity him.

Nuclear war broke out three months ago. It had started with the feud between USA and Russia, then China had gotten involved, and somewhere along the line, South Korea had been bombed.

Jiyong’s town hadn’t been decimated like some unlucky ones had been, but soon enough, the people around him had dropped dead like flies due to radiation poisoning. Of all people, Jiyong had been the one who, against all odds, survived.

Sounds like something to thank the gods for, right?

Wrong.

During the peak of summer, winter descended. Earth’s atmosphere had been covered in haze from the bombing that sunlight struggled to pry through, causing temperatures to plummet and everything to die. 'Nuclear Winter', the scientists had dubbed it.

It feels like the sun is hiding, never daring to peek above the horizon. Jiyong could pretend that it’s forever Christmas in this perpetual winter… if only he were in the festive mood and actually has someone to celebrate with.

Jiyong knows his death is inevitable. But he just wishes it would be sooner.

Today is a good day to die, Jiyong decides as he wakes up this morning, or evening; he can never be sure what time of day it is anymore.

For the first time since the start of the war, Jiyong steps out of his house. Despite his several layers of jackets, the cold stabs its way to his bones. His insides feel fragile and deflated, and going outside only aggravates his quivering.

Thick grey snow suffocates everything, freezing houses, cars and trees, and preserving the moment of death. The remnants of dead bushes splay out from the ground like bony fingers of buried witches grasping futilely at the last strands of sanity. The grey sky hangs over his head and follows him like depression.

If it isn’t for the occasional corpse lying on the ground, Jiyong can almost say that things look normal. As he hobbles down the road, laboriously lifting his legs up before they sink too far into the snow, he can almost hear the evidence of life in each house: chattering, laughing, tableware clanking, a piano playing.

They’re all gone now, replaced by a deathly silence.

A movement from the corner of his eye makes him whip his head around in fright. A figure lies on its back a little down the road, knees bent and arms pillowing its head. Jiyong’s heart pounds dangerously against his ribcage.

Images of the living dead sneak into his mind and a fear scuttles up his spine. Against better judgment and with nothing to lose anyway, he stalks toward the figure. As he gets closer, relief seeps into his bones. He stops about half a meter away from the figure and observes it with his head cocked.

The said zombie is not a brain-hungry walking corpse, rather, it is a boy who can’t be much younger than himself. With a shock of platinum blond hair on his head and a milky-white complexion to match, he would have blended right in with the snow if not for the olive green jacket that encases him like a favourite blanket.

The rapid pattering in Jiyong’s heart doesn’t falter, if anything, it quickens. He’s finally seeing another living person for the first time in weeks, yet words escape him. The boy pays Jiyong no heed, instead he gazes at the sky as if beholding a great entity.

When Jiyong finally digs up his voice, a question blunders out. “What are you doing?”

The boy’s eyes briefly flit to Jiyong’s before returning to the sky.

“Looking at the stars,” comes the calm reply and the corner of Jiyong’s mouth twitches in confusion.

“There are no‒” He catches himself glancing upwards anyway before rolling his eyes at his own gullibility. “Yeah! All I see is… gloom.”

“Look, there’s Rigel!” The boy extends his pointer finger to the sky, tone rising in excitement. “And Betelgeuse!”

“Beetle juice?” Jiyong wrinkles his nose.

He recites, “Bee-ee-tee-ee-el-gee-ee-you-es-ee. Betelgeuse. The second brightest star in the Orion constellation, after Rigel.”

The facts go in one of Jiyong’s ear and out the other. He can only focus on the boy’s nasally voice, which has a sort of slippery consistency, and how the words glide over each other in a silky manner like a melody. Jiyong marvels at the way the boy’s lips curl up at the corners as each word sashays out, almost as if he believes that‒

“It’s a blessing to be alive.” The boy verbalises the tail of his thought.

Jiyong snaps out of his galloping musings. “Huh?”

“It’s a blessing to be alive,” he repeats and his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“No, I heard you the first time. But why would you say that? It’s post nuclear war, and instead of being blessed with a quick death, we’re both subjected to a slow, torturous death because of radiation poisoning.” Jiyong flails his arms around as if to prove his point.

“I think of it as a gift. That we get this extended amount of time to enjoy this world before we disappear.”

“I can’t see anything enjoyable about this dying world.” The sentence bounces off his tongue in sparks.

“Look harder.”

Just to humour the boy, he squints at the terrain around him.

Well, even though the trees are shrivelled and , the twisted branches form patterns that are artistic in a way. And even though the snow screams of nothing but cold, it, ironically, tempts him like a warm and soft bed. And even though the boy lying on the ground below him may have a few loose screws in his head, the way a puff of cloud dances out of his nose into the crisp air with each breath is… strangely therapeutic. Maybe it is just the overwhelming relief from seeing another living human’s face. Maybe.  

Jiyong chews on his lower lip before opening his mouth. “What’s your name?”

“Lee Seunghyun, but you can call me Seungri.”

Seungri Seungri Seungri.

The name plays over and over in his head, piling up in layers until Seungri is an orchestra inside his brain.

"And yours?"

“Kwon Jiyong, but uh, you can call me Jiyong.”

He stands there for a few moments, waiting for Seungri to do or say something, but he’s greeted with silence. Ignoring the slight heat in his cheeks, he clears his throat clumsily.

“So, you’re all alone?”

This time, Seungri turns to look straight at him. A warmth creeps into his ebony eyes, inviting.

“Am I?”

Jiyong blinks and a smile spreads across his face in understanding.

“No, I guess not.”

He lies down in the snow next to Seungri, wincing at the initial frosty sting. The snow welcomes him like a gentle hug and he can just feel the grin radiate from Seungri without having to look. Slowly, the cold ebbs away.

And if he looks hard enough, he can see the stars. Gemini, Aquarius, Pegasus…

He’s lost under a sky too big for one. But maybe slightly less big with two.

It may be a beautiful day after all.