[title track: lonely - sistar]
[5k; sorry it's so short i feel bad TT]

Chapter Three. 

“Jihyo?” Dasom tries to keep the shock out of her voice but it must be incredibly obvious, because the boy’s eyes widen and he nods rapidly, his lips forming a smile.

“So you do know where she is.” He says like it’s a statement rather than a question, full on grinning now as he rubs his hands together and bounces on his toes, the tension in his shoulders disappearing as if he’s relieved or something, which she finds awfully suspicious because this is Jihyo he’s asking about. Relief and Jihyo never go hand-in-hand, at least not for her.

But still, Dasom frowns. She would never admit it, especially not to Jihyo, that at that moment she feels a surge of protectiveness wash over her because some stranger was looking for Jihyo and she and Jihyo may not be friends, but they’re acquaintances and sometimes acquaintances make sure strange boys don’t end up at the other’s doorstep because of them. Dasom’s frown deepens, “Why do you want to see her?”

In hindsight, Dasom should have known exactly why. Jihyo doesn’t half anything, especially not a declaration for rebellion, and Dasom wouldn’t put it past her for managing to secretly recruit people from other towns, despite communications between every town being completely restricted. Dasom has never seen another person, especially not another human, outside of the humans in their own town.

(She’s aware that other towns exist, that there are more human beings out there, but sometimes it feels like a myth, like an abstract concept that she’ll never fully be able to wrap her head around the way the stars and outer space is, because this town is her entire world and she’s never set foot outside of it. Sometimes, she wonders if that was what the ruling creatures—the Royal Council—had planned for them, because isolation diminishes hopes and dreams, creates fear, rightly so because these creatures—these vampires and werewolves and faeries and wendigos and hybrids and shape shifters and monsters—were stronger than any human would ever hope to be, even if there were more humans in the world. Rebellion is an impossible feat, in and of itself.)

He looks at her, his dark eyes lingering on her expression for a long, long moment, before he slowly reaches into his pockets. She tenses at his movement, but it’s slow and deliberate enough that red flags don’t go off in her head. He holds out his hands, his pretty fingers folded around an object, and she watches as he uncurls those fingers, revealing an old bottle cork. Dasom’s first instinct is to stare at the boy in confusion, but then she remembers all the complaining Jihyo does about the corks she has left over from all the liquor bottles. There’s something carved onto the corks, something Dasom can’t make out from all the way over here, and she remembers how sometimes she’d see Jihyo playing with a small knife and those bottle corks, how she’d carve minuscule pictures into the sides and Dasom would occasionally pick them up and examine them, keeping her compliments to herself because Jihyo doesn’t have to know that Dasom thinks the pictures are pretty—Jihyo already knows they’re pretty.

Dasom instantly deflates as she stares at the cork, her gaze flickering between his pretty hands and his pretty face, and she thinks, of ing course, because clearly Jihyo’s found a use for those goddamn corks littering her bar. Dasom finds herself sighing, loudly, because Dasom might not be Jihyo’s friend, but Dasom figures it wouldn’t be in Jihyo’s best interest to let this boy back on the streets and have him caught and possibly traced back to Jihyo. Jihyo would probably find a way to place half the blame on Dasom anyway.

“She’s probably at the whipping right now. Attendance is mandatory.” Dasom exhales as she drags a hand through her hair.

“Really? Then why aren’t you attending?” He asks, his eyes lighting up as he gives her a curious look. She notices the way his eyes flicker past her, to where her gloves are sitting, and she tenses a bit, unconsciously.

“That’s beside the point.” She snaps out. His eyes grow more curious and she hates the way he looks at her, his head tilted to the side and a tiny smile tugging at his lips. She points at the cork, “Even though it’s pretty clear you got that from Jihyo, I still don’t trust you, you know.”

“I don’t blame you. I mean, I’m a strange, handsome boy that randomly showed up at your doorstep. If you trusted me, you’d be stupider than you look.” He blinks at you, that stupid tiny smile still gracing his features.

Dasom blinks, irritation bubbling up inside her. She just can’t figure which part of his sentences she should be most offended at. So she just downright glares at him, rolling her eyes because Jihyo might have managed to find someone more annoying than her, which is one hell of an accomplishment on her part. “First of all, don’t call yourself handsome. Consistently lying to me won’t make me trust you any faster.” Dasom tells him. “Second of all, you’re stupid.”

She knows she sounds childish, but he seems to find her words amusing, snorting as he grins with all his teeth, a boxy, rectangular smile that makes his eyes curl into crescent moons. “Nice comeback.” He gives her a thumbs up.

“Do you even want me to help you?” She asks him.

He shrugs, so nonchalantly that it grates on her nerves, “I could always find Jihyo on my own.” Then he raises a brow at her, “But I’m guessing you’re not going to be okay with the possibility of my exposing and endangering your friend.”

“She’s not my friend.” Dasom blurts that out unconsciously. “And if you keep this up, I’ll just leave you to wander around the city on your own.”

He crosses his arms, “That’s fine. But I’ll have you know that I love the thrill of being chased by werewolf cops. My self-preservation skills are great. Also, I have a big mouth and a loose tongue. Some call it a flaw, but others have told me that I’m really good at using it and it might be my biggest asset, if you know what I mean.” He winks then.

She wrinkles her nose at him because his eyes are glinting and he’s looking her right in the eye as he winks, and, for some godawful reason, it takes all her willpower to not look away and avoid the blatant eye contact and waggling eyebrows coming from him. She’s really going to punch Jihyo in the face for digging up this boy from whatever hellish pit she found him in. It takes all her willpower to keep her voice steady, irritation clawing at her chest, the wave much, much stronger than before.

She ignores the ridiculous ual connotations to his words and expression, easily deciphering exactly what he’s implying. If she doesn’t help him find Jihyo, he has no qualms about ratting Jihyo out, especially if that means he can somehow save himself. Dasom knows that even if he rats out Jihyo, those awful creatures will have his head too because he’s human, but this boy seems oddly nimble, like he could slip out from under your nose the minute you look the other way. Despite his blood red scarf, the rest of his attire blends into the bleak scenery around them perfectly. Just from looking at him, she knows he could easily slip away from the cops. She’s not so sure that Jihyo could, unless her rich werewolf merchant helped her out, which she doubts since Jihyo’s planning a ing rebellion.

Besides, Jihyo’s not her friend and Dasom doesn’t trust this guy at all. She can't even tell if he's bluffing or not.

Which means that Dasom’s stuck with the guy, at least until she gets him to Jihyo’s.

Dasom sighs, rolling her eyes as she crosses her arms. She doesn’t even need to say anything because the red-scarfed boy just grins, all wide and boxy and too cute for a manipulative liar.

“Great, let’s get going then.” He says, still grinning ear to ear.

She snatches her gloves up from her bed and gives him a dirty look, “Only if you promise to stand back at all times and follow me. No running off or provoking the wolves.”

He’s still grinning and her glare only deepens, “Of course. I love it when a girl takes the lead.”

She yanks on her dusty cloak, “And stop talking like that.”

He puts both his hands up in defeat, grinning all the while. She’s pretty sure she’ll kill him before they even make it to Jihyo’s place.

~.~.~.~.~

“I expected him to do something stupid the whole way through.” For a moment, you think maybe her obvious frown is tugging upwards the tiniest bit, as if she’s on the verge of amusement, fondness. “I was so stressed out.”

You think she looks beautiful like this, lost in contemplation, clearly lost in memories. “You’re smiling.” You blurt it out, you can’t help it. Her eyes snap upwards at a superhuman speed that instantly reminds you that she could easily snap your neck before you even get a chance to blink. You gulp, “I mean, like, I—you look happy?”

For a moment, her eyes flash red and your blood runs cold. You open your mouth but nothing comes out except for a teeny, tiny squeak. Before you can stutter out a quick nevermind, sorry and perhaps change the subject completely, she speaks.

“Really?” Her tone is surprisingly light, “I certainly wasn’t happy on that day. They weren’t necessarily happy memories. He was a ing piece of work. All of them were.”

She looks at you very, very carefully, and you decide to choose your next words just as carefully, treading lightly, practically tiptoeing over because God knows what could set her off. You set aside the plural them for another time. “Is he—is he the boy?”

Your voice is quiet, emphasized by the sounds of birds chirping outside, where the late morning sun blazes on, the faint sounds of children playing on the streets intertwining with the sounds of birds and car honking, until it feels almost deafeningly loud within the confines of their sudden silence.

You’ve noticed that whenever she speaks, she seems to contemplate each word, weighing them in her mind, and it only makes you more impatient. It only adds to the suspense, the instinctual fear, the anxiety that leads you to think that, eventually, you might set her off. You know it’s a bit irrational, just your self-preservation instincts telling you to ing book it out of there, but it’s hard to ignore when every nerve in your body is screaming at you to run. But still, you remain as poised as you can, even if that means you’re going to appear jumpier than usual in front of her, especially when she draws out the silences and adds to the suspenseful anxiety building in your head.

“He never knew how to shut up.” She finally says, completely ignoring her question.

There’s a look in her eyes, though, that makes you instantly clam up. You decide that she’ll open up on her own, when it’s time, and you can’t pry information out of her that she’s not willing to give, especially when she’s at such an advantage compared to you (as in she could quite literally rip your head off without batting an eyelash).

She sits up straight, her chin resting on her palm, her elbow resting on the back of the couch. She stares out the open window, unblinking, seemingly lost in thought. And then she keeps speaking.

~.~.~.~.~

“You have got to be kidding me.” He stares at her and she rolls her eyes at the disbelief in his eyes. “You can’t jump up there.”

“Watch me.” She mumbles before she ties the fluttering pieces of her tattered cloak at her waist, securing it before she glances up at the building, scanning it quickly before she finds a ledge to latch on to. She only needs to make it a couple of feet before she gets to the rusty ladder that scales along the side of the building, identical to many of the ladders on most of the buildings throughout town. Apparently, it’s a means for escape when there’s a fire, but humans only ever really need it so it’s practically useless now. Dasom had heard legends that this town used to be a safe haven for humans, closed off from the supernatural a long, long time ago, but Dasom’s never been one to believe in legends. Besides, she’s pretty sure those legends were just folk tales made up by people looking for comfort, the same way the people who pray and believe in a salvation after death make up stories of a God and a prophet who will soon come and save them all.

Her muscles burn a bit, a good sort of ache she associates with training for her fights and running through the few empty streets she's allowed in early in the mornings. She huffs, pulling herself up, before she quickly locates another ledge, swinging as she grips the soot-covered brick, her fingers slipping a bit. She grunts as she swings sideways and up, until she finally manages to latch onto the rusty ladder. Her ascent is surprisingly quiet and she’s glad because she isn’t quite sure she can climb fast enough to avoid the police if they decide to investigate any strange noises. She pulls herself up until her legs aren’t swinging anymore and she’s finally fully secure. She breathes a soft sigh of relief, glancing down to where the red-scarfed boy is eyeing her strangely, his eyes wide and that stupid grin wiped clean off his face. She brushes her sweaty hands off on her cloak, the couple hardened blisters on the palm of her hand from doing this often stinging the tiniest bit, and grins down at him.

“Your turn.” She tells him, a bit goading.

He raises a brow before pushing up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, a determined look making his eyebrows furrow together. She half expects him to land on his at his first attempt, hell, she hopes he will. But of course he doesn’t.

There’s a soft oof as he latches on to the brick sticking out the wall, his legs swinging and his feet scraping against the wall as he unconsciously scurries for proper footing. She’s still grinning and when he looks up, he scrunches his nose at her. “You look terrifying when you smile like that.” He informs her, his voice quiet.

“Whatever.” The grin drops from her face as she rolls her eyes, “Just don’t fall.”

Then she quickly makes her way up the ladder while he seems to be catching his bearings down below. Dasom pulls herself up over the roof ledge and onto the rooftop before turning around and peering back down at him. She watches as he (sloppily) throws himself at another brick, grabbing onto it. One of his hands slip and he whispers before he gets a better grip. The next jump is much smoother and he doesn’t waste time before moving onto the bottommost ladder rung, though he throws himself at it too fast, the momentum making his legs slam against the side of the building and the entire ladder shake as his hand hits the ladder’s rung with a deafening clang.

Dasom blinks before shushing him loudly.

He freezes for a moment before he skitters up the ladder so fast, Dasom doesn’t even have time to move away from the ledge of the roof because he’s already throwing himself over and grabbing her by the back of the collar, bringing her down behind him. She lets out a soft squeak, flailing from surprise as she hits the ground.

He shushes her, still holding her down by the collar of her cloak, and she’s immediately offended even though she was the one to shush him first.

She gives him a look, clearly confused.

He seems to be listening to something and she takes a moment to listen carefully, too.

That’s when she hears voices, soft and growl-like, angry. The police, she realizes. She stills instantly and she practically holds her breath, afraid even her breathing could give them away.

She can’t make out words, the afternoon, setting sun beating down on her face as she stares at him and his focused, narrowed eyes. Five minutes pass until he finally removes his pointer finger from his lips and lets her collar go. She’s on her back, leaning back on her elbows, ignoring the way black soot is most likely ruining her cloak. It’s not like everything in this damn town isn’t covered in factory dust already. Besides, her cloak is a tattered mess, in the first place.

It’s still quiet between them as Dasom tries to calm her racing heart, the adrenaline of nearly getting caught slowly filtering out of her system.

Finally, she says, “How did you hear them?”

He stands up, brushing the dust off his clothes, though it doesn’t help. “Lots and lots of training.” He says, nonchalantly.

She thinks there’s more to it than that, but she doesn’t pry, doesn’t ask questions because she doesn’t know him and she’s only here to him to Jihyo while making sure he doesn’t put herself, Jihyo, or any of the other street kids in any kind of danger. Curiosity, a fickle thing she hasn’t really allowed herself to feel in so long, tickles at her thoughts, but she ignores it because she was never one to ask questions in the first place.

So instead of delving into a red-scarfed boy shaped hole, she stands up, too, brushing off the gritty factory dust from her cloak, while simultaneously attempting to wipe off the black dust streaking her hands. Without another word, she gestures to him to follow her and sets off towards Jihyo’s bar, taking deep, deep breathes as she runs and jumps off each rooftop, landing with bent knees so as to not overextend herself. She’s just glad the rooftops in her town are so close together; she isn’t sure she could do this without struggling if they had any more than five feet of space between each other.

She pauses at the rooftop of one of the highest buildings in their town. The sun has almost set, the oranges and reds and deep, deep purples, make her pause. She can see the high walls surrounding the town, way at the outer edge of town, and the factory gears continue to crank out their ominous, mind-numbing tune, grey-black dust billowing overhead, nearly blending into the few clouds covering the sky. She thinks the sight is almost beautiful, at least as beautiful as their town can get under its horrific circumstances. She heaves for air and she can hear him breathing heavily beside her as his heavy footsteps hit the ground.

She glances at him, momentarily rendered speechless by the way the setting sun, in all it’s soft orange-yellow, pink and purple glory, settles over him, casting him in a glowing light that makes her think he doesn’t look entirely human. But then she blinks and shakes her head lightly, clearing her thoughts, her eyes drifting past his head, to where the wall surrounding their town stands, towering overhead, so high that it always cuts off the sun before she can see it fully descend beyond the horizon.

There’s a long, long pause between them as she watches the sun slowly descend behind the wall, as the oranges and soft, soft pinks and lavender purples disappear, replaced by dark blues and even darker purples, and she momentarily wonders what the transition looks like. She’s never seen it before, because the walls were always too high to see beyond a certain point, no matter how high a roof she found herself on. She has never, not once, truly and fully seen the sun set or rise.

“This view is .” He murmurs, suddenly.

She glances at him, watching as he squints at the wall, grimacing. Then he looks at her and his brown eyes skitter across her face, strangely analytical despite his appearance. He's strangely observant, though from the way he looks and talks, she had thought he’d be incapable of observation skills in general.

“Wait.” He blinks as if he’s realized something groundbreaking, his pink lips falling open into a small ‘o’. “Is this how the sunset looks from everywhere in your town?”

She watches him turn on his heels, taking in the sight of walls surrounding the city, like a giant concrete cage.

“Yeah.” She gives him a strange look because he does look strange. She doesn't believe he's from another city, so shouldn't he know this already.

“Have you never seen the sunset?” He looks genuinely concerned.

There’s a churning at the pit of her stomach, akin to embarrassment and a sort of resentment she can’t quite place who or what she wants to direct it at. She shakes her head in response because she can’t get herself to speak.

“That’s…” He tugs at his red scarf, “Awful.”

“Not really.” She mutters, a knee-jerk response because his tone is strange, almost angry, the same way Jihyo’s is when she mentions something from beyond the wall and Dasom has no idea what that thing is so Jihyo has to explain it to her. It always ends up being so simple and Jihyo's expression always grows so pinched. It’s like a sadness, almost like pity, that Dasom thinks comes from a certain point of privilege. And it annoys Dasom, more than anything else, though she doesn't know why.

He keeps staring at her, even as she turns her face. She can feel his gazeboring holes into the side of her face. She takes a deep breath, watching the last inklings of orange and pink disappear behind the wall, light still spilling from behind the wall, though the darkness is more pronounced. Dark blue-black creeps through the sky and she turns to Jihyo’s bar.

For a moment, she wants to ask him if he has and how he saw it. But she’s not the type to ask questions.

And as she makes her way to Jihyo’s bar and edges herself down the rusty, broken ladder that sits right behind Jihyo’s bar, she quickly pushes that curiosity out of her, a deep exhaustion creeping into her bones the closer she gets to the bar.

He steps on her foot when he lands shakily and she yelps, “Watch it.” She mutters.

He makes a face at her, rubbing his arms, “How the hell do you jump around like that? My arms hurt.”

He’s pouting, his pink lip jutting out, and she almost laughs. Almost.

Instead, she quickly ushers him into the nearly empty bar—empty because she doubts anyone wants to drink after having to watch their own people get publicly whipped for heaven knows how long.

Red Scarf Boy looks around the shabby bar, taking in the rickety wooden tables and stained bar stools. Dasom manages to throw Jihyo one heavy what the look the minute she walks out of the back room behind the bar, before the boy looks up, too.

Jihyo beams, her big brown eyes curling up into crescent moons. She plops her empty wooden beer mugs on the bar counter and continues grinning widely.

“Baekhyun!” She calls out, “You made it just in time!”

Dasom stares at Jihyo, a dreadful creeping up her spine, because if Jihyo knows this stupid red-scarfed boy—Baekhyun—then that means Jihyo really is up to something rebellious and—Dasom pales, her fingers tightening into fists.

“Jihyo.” Dasom’s voice is surprisingly calm, steady.

Jihyo looks at Dasom with her big brown eyes and Dasom sees the ing fire burning in them. “Dasom.” Jihyo copies her tone. Then Jihyo gives her a small smile, “You’re just in time, too. The meeting just started in the back if you want to join us.”

“You’re really going through with this.” It’s not a question anymore, it’s a statement, a realization.

Dread fills Dasom’s veins.

“Well, yeah.” Jihyo shrugs, smile strangely polite, careful almost, “Why would I drag people from out of town if I wasn’t serious about going through with this?”

Dasom’s eyes shift from Jihyo to the Res Scarf Boy’s—Baekhyun’s. “You’re from outside? He’s from outside?”

“He’s not the only one.” Jihyo nods, “I’ve spent years speaking to people and organizing this. I know—we’ve been extra cautious this time. It won’t be like the last time.”

That sentence makes her blink rapidly, her chest tightening. A part of her wants to be offended, because it felt like Jihyo was implying that her parents weren’t even trying to be careful. But another part of her knows Jihyo doesn’t mean to offend, not on that part at least. “You know my stance on this.” Dasom says, frowning, “Why would you ask me to join you again if you know how I feel about this?”

That’s when Baekhyun speaks up, cutting off Jihyo just as she opens , “You don’t agree with this?”

He sounds confused and she turns her glare on him, “Of course not. It’s stupid and it won’t change anything, just like last time. It’ll only make it worse.”

“How can anything get worse than it already is?” Baekhyun turns her glare back on her, intensifying it. He's not much bigger than her but his glare makes him almost intimidating. Almost.

“Everyone could die.” She snaps that out, aiming for cold fury. Instead, her voice comes out quieter, softer. She doesn’t like the way those words sound coming from , the way they fall into the silent bar room, settling in the silence like heavy rainfall.

Then, “So?”

She scowls at Baekhyun and he glowers right back.

“You call this living?” He asks and the way his voice grows ice cold makes her angrier. She’s never been so angry and it’s strange because she’s always thought she’s become numb to anger, resigned to losing touch with the fire inside of her. He gestures around them, at her, and then out the boarded up window, “You have never even seen the sunset before.”

She blinks.

“That’s not living.” He says. He looks sad, tired, infinitely so, his voice gritty, angry, rough, “That’s not living.”

~.~.~.~.~

Jihyo eyes her funnily. He’s in the back room and she’s still glaring after him and his rough footsteps, his flexed jaw, his stormy anger.

“What?” She snaps.

Jihyo looks at her, keeps looking for a good two minutes before, “You knew he was here because I told him to come. I think,” She pauses, collects her words, “I think you knew why he was coming here, Dasom.”

Dasom looks Jihyo right in the eyes, “I didn’t trust him.”

She says it like she’s trying to explain away something.

Jihyo stares, ignores her words, “You knew why he wanted to come here, yet you came with him anyway.” There’s another pause, “Think about it.” Another long pause, “If you’re curious, feel free to sit in.”

Dasom makes a face at her implications, but Jihyo just gives her a look, knowing and calm.

(Dasom decides right then that she really, really hates Jihyo.)

a/n: I'm going to update this weekly because it's fun to write and I got a lot written so far!!!

skjdnfksdnj also have you guys noticed the correlation between exo comeback announcements and me updating lmao i'm a mess also KOKOBOP!!! insert longest yeah boi ever

anyways thank you all for everything, I will update this asap, I've been newly inspired by the title song! love you, me sweet sugar cookies

xoxo