It was an electrifying buzz that constantly danced around him, the hairs on his forearm standing up as he felt the vibrations tracing along his skin. Daehyun took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He was late. He had tried to leave the electronic repair shop he worked at when his lunchtime started, but Kibum had kept him back to discuss his pay raise. Normally, this would have excited him, but he needed to head off somewhere, and so he was left impatiently tapping the side of the laptop he was holding while he put on a wide smile and nodded happily to whatever his boss was saying. His lunchtime wasn’t that short—it was a good hour long—but Daehyun really wanted to be punctual for his meeting with Youngjae.

The café was located a subway station away and it wouldn’t take more than ten minutes to reach his destination if Daehyun was lucky, but he wasn’t. He stared at the LED screen, taking in the fact that the next train was arriving in nine minutes’ time and he was already fifteen minutes late. He sighed and walked over to a bench—he might as well sit down.

He became even more restless after he sat down, his awareness of the delectable, complicated system around him enticing him, burning his throat so that he felt thirsty, and his hands shook from the strain of holding up that self-control. The tangy little nudges burned his throat and every vein in his body, seducing him with its feline jabs, trying to get him to give in to his needs.

Daehyun grunted, clasping the laptop on his lap tightly as he stared at his reflection in the inky glass in front of him, attempting to ground himself to his senses. He looked constipated. Beads of sweat trickled down his temples and he could feel the back of his shirt sticking slightly to him. He pulled at his collar nervously, his heart pounding in a steady, strong rhythm.

Daehyun glanced up at the screen—seven more minutes. He tapped his foot against the floor impatiently, hoping that time would pass by quickly, because God, he really needed to get out of there. He’d rather be up in the open air, with the buzzing running over his head, than be stuck underground, where everything was intensified, adding to the constrained, claustrophobic feeling he was already getting. Daehyun looked around him. There was an exit not too far off to his left; he could probably bolt out of the station if he felt himself losing control, otherwise—his eyes trailed to a grey metal box mounted on a wall at a deserted end of the station—he could recharge himself. An idea struck him and he got up, briskly walking over to the power box.

Six more minutes.

He felt the incessant jabs on his skin slowly ebbing his self-control away—it was like an itch he longed to scratch. He hastened his pace, his eyes darting around to see that everyone else was preoccupied with their phones. Daehyun reached the power box and stood in front of it, staring at the metal case. He could feel the slight whispers of electricity running inside that thing and thought it was perfect. It would suffice to keep himself sane throughout the ride. He looked back at the way he came from. A man was curiously looking over in his direction and he casually moved his body to lean against the wall next to the box.

Five more minutes.

Daehyun massaged his temple with the heel of his palm, hissing lightly when his head ached as a result of the intoxicating buzzing in the air. He his lips—they were unusually dry.

The man quickly got bored and turned away, walking off in the other direction. Daehyun whipped back in front of the power box, casting furtive glances to his left and right. There was nobody about, and there was only a lone surveillance camera mounted at a corner. He peered up at it for a few seconds—they wouldn’t know what he was doing. His heart was thumping in his chest and his brain was hurting even more now that he was right in front of an electric source. He gripped the strap of his backpack tighter, trying to retain that last stretch of sanity within him. He probably should have expected this, but he didn’t think he’d lose himself so easily. Daehyun grunted as a particularly painful flash of white ran through his mind and he rubbed his temple harshly.

Daehyun cast one last fleeting glance around him, and without hesitation, placed his palm on the front of the box. He felt the whirring of the machine and the jolts of electricity that surged through the wires, and closed his eyes, trying to get the white flashes out of his head. He concentrated on the imposing buzz around him and automatically, his hand drew out a steady stream of electricity. He felt the vibrations course through him, the tensed muscles in his body relaxing as he felt relief with every bolt of energy surging through his veins.

One more minute.

He could hear the train approaching, the echoes of it whirring inside the tunnel growing louder. Daehyun kept his hand on the box, trying to get a few more bolts into his system, just to sate himself further. The train arrived and the doors opened. People filed in and some commuters alighted. Daehyun tried to pry his hand off the box. Except, he couldn’t.

His palm was stuck to the metallic surface; a sudden strong influx of power rushed into his system and Daehyun’s eyes rolled up, his toes curling inside his shoes and his left hand clenching into a fist. He grunted, feeling the pressure of the electrical waves hitting his body hard. They were massive, the pleasurable shots that coursed through his every nerve like impulses. His hand remained on the surface of the electric box, trembling immensely as he fought against the waves of electricity entering him. He lost, and just like that, a dull click sounded and all the lights inside the train station, as well as those inside the train, disappeared. They were plunged into darkness. He’d all the electricity out of the system.

Voices rose and confusion surmounted. Everyone wondered what had resulted in this sudden failure. Just then, a loud bang sounded, followed by screams and coupled with what sounded like glass shattering. People scurried about, the commuters trying to desperately get off the train. Someone bumped against Daehyun and a heavy object collided with the back of his knee. He stumbled and fell. The commotion ensued; everyone was trying to escape the station. Small squares of light were seen as people whipped their phones out, either to call the police, or to illuminate what little they could see.

“What’s going on?” a man shouted in a booming voice.

“Someone got shot!” a woman screamed.

There was panic everywhere.

Got shot? Daehyun’s eyes widened as his heart picked up speed. This wasn’t good. He needed to get out of there.

Panting, he got up, his recent crash making his knees wobble a bit. He felt new, rejuvenated, and extremely scared. A few light beams shone across the whole platform as officers and a few security personnel entered the scene, trying to direct the flow of the mass of people scurrying about and calm everyone down. Daehyun grabbed his bag and his laptop, both of which had fallen to the ground and sped towards the exit, getting submerged under the waves of panicked bodies. He raced up the escalators, which had stopped working due to the electric shortage, and eventually, burst out into the open air.

He stood rooted to the spot, feeling himself get brushed aside roughly as people hurried past, trying to get out of the station. He was too stunned to register what had just happened and what he’d just done. The recent high he’d gotten from crashing the entire train station making his thoughts grow hazy. In the far distance, sirens blared and he snapped out of his trance. Hitching his bag up higher, Daehyun his heels, running away from the subway and away from the scene.

~~~

Youngjae strode through the glass door, the bell jingling to signal his arrival. Sighing when he saw that Daehyun hadn’t arrived, he walked over to the counter, smiling at the familiar face behind it.

“The usual?” Junhong asked, his fingers tapping away at the cash register before Youngjae could answer.

Youngjae grinned and leant against the counter, chatting with Junhong while he waited for his coffee to brew.

“How’s your day so far?” Youngjae asked the tall barista.

Junhong sighed. “My manager wants me to work over-time. Says he’s severely short of staff for the night shift.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The same excuse,” said Junhong, as he added some whipped cream to Youngjae’s iced frappuccino. “That my grandmother is severely ill and I have to take care of her.”

“Wait till he finds out both your grandmothers are in Mokpo,” Youngjae commented.

“He won’t find out.” Junhong handed Youngjae his coffee. “Enjoy your coffee.”

Youngjae took it from Junhong’s hand, idly making his way to one of the tables right beside a tall window. He sat down, casually swinging his bag down on the chair beside his and taking out his laptop. He waited for his laptop to start, fingers tapping on the wooden table impatiently as he did so. Youngjae stared out of the window, observing the way the scenery outside was painted in cheery pastels. The lush green trees, which branches hung above the road, were spotted with a pretty pink, the flowers blossoming and spraying spring all over the city. Everyone was jolly and cheerful, amidst the usual hustle and bustle of a busy Thursday afternoon. The dull grey concrete and glass that made up the city had turned unusually colourful.

Youngjae turned back to his laptop, annoyance seeping into him when he found that his system was updating and that it was one percent done. He took another sip of his coffee, letting the sweet caramel taste soothe his mind. He always had to exercise patience when it came to his laptop. It was a rather old thing and hence, was frustratingly slow. He turned back to the glass beside him, staring out at the characters walking about. There was a child kicking up a fuss on the pavement because his mother was refusing to buy him an ice cream. His mother impatiently dragged him along as he wailed, his eyes screwed shut and his face red from crying. Across the street, there was an elderly couple manning a busy ddukbokki stall, their red and sweaty faces giving joyful smiles to their customers. They seemed to be enjoying their work, despite the busy nature of it. Over at the far right, a boy was sitting down alone on a bench and there was a man not too far off, smoking a cigarette and leaning against a lamppost while subtly observing him. Youngjae frowned a little, noticing the way the man’s eyes raked the boy’s small frame. He continued to watch the duo, not keeping his eyes off the man for longer than a second. A minute later, however, a lady came out of a nearby bank and called the boy over. He jumped down from the bench, attached his hand to hers and let himself be led off. The skulking man brought his gaze elsewhere.

Youngjae’s screen suddenly changed and he glanced down to find that his laptop was showing his homescreen. Opening a blank document, Youngjae flexed his fingers and began to write.

~~~

‘I told him we should’ve hired a babysitter.’

‘Ice cream!’

‘Maybe it’s about time I start thinking about retirement.’

‘I can’t believe it… I can’t believe it… stage three…’

‘I want my ice cream!’

‘The old man won’t be living for long. I can’t wait for him to die and claim the property.’

‘, I need to find the restroom… Where is the stinking restroom?”

‘Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!’

Himchan hissed, clenching his eyes shut, his finger harshly treading on his temples. A flurry of voices invaded his mind like a choir of a hundred people. He felt internally claustrophobic.

Himchan stretched his neck, pushing his head to the left, and then to the right, doing his best to ease all the taut muscles around his neck. His pounding migraine wasn’t helping either. Himchan brought his Americano to his lips, the bitter, disgusting taste being the only thing that was keeping him grounded for now. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the hot liquid slipping in between his lips, his tongue swirling it around in his mouth despite it getting increasingly numb from being scalded by the piping hot liquid. He tried his best to block out the insanity flooding into his mind like a waterfall of whispered thoughts. He failed. He always did. Himchan took another sip of his coffee, its taste matching the bitter feeling he was hosting in his heart.

A sudden commotion broke through his cacophony of thoughts like an arrow slicing through a thick, musty cloud. It was always easy to find chaos, for it blared loudly in his mind, like a speakerphone was held right next to his ear. Himchan turned to his right and focused his attention on the commotion brewing just a few kilometres away.

There was a murder on the subway, and there was also a major disruption in the train station’s electricity, making it a very convenient exit for the criminals. Himchan got his back off the wall he was leaning against. He frowned, his lips naturally taking up that contemplative purse.

‘I can’t believe I got away alive!’

‘I can’t wait to tell my Mirae about this! It was almost like a drama, how the lights went out at exactly the right time.’

‘I should’ve recorded it!’

‘The gunshot nearly made me die from fright. It was so chaotic.’

Himchan snorted. A murder. On a train. In Seoul. That was new and unheard of. He tuned the chaos out, his migraine acting up once again, like how it did so every time he tried to focus on one thing. It was like bringing his ear close to a stereo that was blasting at high volume. It was exhausting.

Himchan’s thoughts idled away as he casually listened to the soft mutterings of his immediate surroundings. The shooting chaos was still fluttering in the background, like a tiny bomb that had detonated in the far distance—nothing he had to pay attention to, but it was still significant enough to bug him a fair amount. Himchan finished his cup of Americano coffee, frowning when he realised that there wasn’t anything left to drink. He crumpled the cup and flung it into a nearby trash can, not bothering to walk over and pick it up when the cup bounced off the rim and rolled over on the concrete.

‘How inconsiderate,’ thought a delightfully grumpy-looking old lady. She gave him a rather nasty look before trotting away.

Himchan pulled his sleeve back and glanced at his expensive watch—it was a quarter to two. He probably should head back to work. Just as Himchan was about to walk back to his firm, he heard a familiar grumble echo in his mind and stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t heard that voice in a long time.

‘–always late. Never on time.’

He swung around, keenly observing the coffee shop he’d been loitering around outside. He watched as a small, familiar face emerged from the shop, face pulled together in annoyance. Himchan wondered why he hadn’t heard his thoughts since earlier. He supposed they must have been hidden underneath the layers of voices in his mind. He couldn’t really hear an individual thought unless he concentrated on it. It was like a tightly weaved cloth—together, the threads make one smooth fabric, an expansive noise, but when one concentrates enough, one would be able to spot the individual threads that make up the cumulative sounds.

‘Though I didn’t think he’d actually ditch me.’

Youngjae didn’t see Himchan. He faced the other direction and started walking away, his thoughts standing out bright and clear against the others’ hazy ones. Himchan stepped forward and started following him. His job could wait.

‘But why am I being so bitter about this? I’m still going to see him at home anyway.’

So he still lives with him, Himchan thought.

‘I should be glad I finished one chapter today, at least.’

And he’s still writing, he thought in surprise.

‘But thinking about him just makes me so angry.’

Himchan was glad he decided to follow Youngjae, for the younger was leading him away from the chaos, from the redundant panic over the shooting incident, and was walking towards a less-crowded part of the town. Himchan looked around him—all the buildings seemed cheap and run-down. Perhaps this was where Youngjae lived.

Youngjae continued to move silently onwards, though his thoughts were anything but. Himchan could sense his innate frustration with Daehyun and he felt a slight satisfaction. He wondered why Youngjae was still associating himself with the man.

A few minutes in, and a couple of hundred metres walked, Youngjae suddenly stopped; Himchan stopped as well, just five metres away from him. He knew what Youngjae was going to do before he did, but he made no move to hide himself when the younger of the two whirled around, his eyes widening when he took in Himchan’s presence.

‘What the hell?’

“Hello,” said Himchan, choosing to ignore Youngjae’s bafflement.

‘Was he stalking me?’

“As a matter of fact, no, I wasn’t,” Himchan sighed, pinching his high nose bridge between his fingers. “There was a commotion and I desperately needed an escape. Sorry for using your thoughts as a means of it.”

That was a lie, but no one could read his thoughts.

‘I forgot he could read minds.’

“Could you speak up, please?” Himchan said, a little exasperatedly. “It feels awkward being the only one talking.”

“It’s more convenient for me not to say things out loud,” Youngjae spoke.

Himchan gave a feeble smile. It felt nice hearing words being said out loud. He could balance his bearings now. Almost.

“It’s been a long time, Youngjae,” Himchan said.

“Two years.”

‘Do I still call him hyung, or will that be awkward?’

Himchan’s smile widened slightly. “You can still call me hyung. I’m assuming we’re still friends.”

“I guess,” said Youngjae uncertainly.

Himchan read the doubt in his mind and sighed. “Let’s put the past behind us. What happened two years ago, happened two years ago. This is the present and we should be over these things.”

There was silence, a physical one.

“I know you’re living with Daehyun,” continued Himchan, in response to the guilty comments in Youngjae’s thoughts. “And frankly, I don’t care. You do you, man, it’s not my place to tell you what to do. But there’s never been any hate between us, so I’d very much like this awkwardness to pass.”

Youngjae continued to remain silent. Himchan’s eyes suddenly narrowed.

“What do you mean ‘you might hate me if you find out’?” he suddenly demanded.

“Well…” began Youngjae shiftily.

He didn’t need to say it out loud, however, for the moment he thought of it, Himchan shouted incredulously, “You’re still in love with him?!”

He stared at the younger man in disbelief, unable to grasp the situation. Hadn’t it been two years since they’d last met? Why did it feel like nothing had changed?

Youngjae groaned. “Just because you’re the only one who knows this, doesn’t mean you’re entitled to shout it out loud for everyone to hear.”

“But why?” asked Himchan, flabbergasted. “Why him? Of all people, why that ?”

Youngjae bit his lip. “He’s a really good person, hyung. It’s all a huge misunderstand–”

“We’ve been through this before, Youngjae,” Himchan cut him off. “It’s not a misunderstanding. I know Daehyun did it deliberately, I’ve seen it in his thoughts. I can’t believe you believe your own words.”

“He just has a temper,” Youngjae said. “You know that.”

“One time is forgivable. Twice is pushing it too far. But three times?” Himchan shook his head. “Even you know that’s unacceptable. He isn’t even trying to control himself.”

Youngjae didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Himchan heard the reluctant agreement in his mind. He whirled around and started walking off. Himchan followed, hearing Youngjae’s grumbles in his mind and grinning to himself. The younger had never changed. Youngjae brought him all the way to his apartment. The pair of them entered the elevator together, the momentary silence making things awkward between them again, but Himchan busied himself with all the thoughts of the residents running around him. Eventually, the elevator reached the seventh floor and they alighted. Youngjae walked all the way to the end of the corridor, with Himchan in tow. The latter registered the dingy atmosphere and the dank, slightly tangy smell lingering in the air. Youngjae opened the door and they went inside.

The apartment was small, the kitchen barely separated from the living room with just a small counter. Youngjae placed his bag down and told Himchan to have a seat, before asking him if he’d like to have anything.

“No, it’s fine,” Himchan said, in response to Youngjae’s anxious thoughts on how they were running out of things in the fridge.

Youngjae got Himchan a glass of water, perhaps feeling a little guilty that Himchan was being considerate of his worries. He passed the glass to the older man, sitting down diagonally across him in the cramped living room, and observed him.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

“Fine,” Himchan replied. He remained silent for a while before saying, “They’ve promoted me.”

“Congratulations.”

“I’m handling bigger cases now, but they’re all giving me a serious headache. Sometimes, I don’t know if what I’ve gathered are physical evidences or what I know from my client’s thoughts.” He sighed. “And it when I’m given a real criminal. How am I supposed to defend his y, lying ?”

“And you’re still working as an attorney,” said Youngjae.

“Indeed, I am.” Himchan took a sip of his water.

Catching onto something in Youngjae’s thoughts, he asked, “How’s your novel-writing progress coming along? First novel going to be out anytime soon?”

“I’ve already published one.”

“Seriously?” Himchan asked, surprised. “What’s it called?”

“Supernova,” responded Youngjae.

Himchan hummed.

“You haven’t heard of it, have you?”

He smiled. “You need to advertise it well.”

“I have been trying,” said Youngjae glumly.

In order to rid Youngjae of his miserable thoughts, Himchan asked hastily, “So what’s it about?”

“Know what supernovae are?” When Himchan gave a confused look, Youngjae continued, “Okay, so they’re basically stars that explode in space. I’m not going into the scientific specifics and the hows and whys, but the story’s about a man who’s in a relationship and takes on more than he can handle, feeding off his lover’s problems in addition to his own, until he reaches a point of mental collapse and just, explodes.”

“Explodes? Like, boom?”

“Honestly, have you ever heard of figurative speech?” Youngjae said in an annoyed voice. “No, like, just have a mental breakdown.”

There was a short silence.

“Well, I hope it sells well.”

“Thanks,” muttered Youngjae. He glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s almost four. Daehyun should be back soon.”

He looked at Himchan pointedly. The man didn’t need to hear the younger’s thoughts to know that neither of them would be happy with an accidental face-to-face encounter.

“I’ll be going, then.” Himchan got up, as did Youngjae.

“Thanks for coming over,” he said. ‘And for wasting my time when I should be getting on with my new novel.’

Himchan grinned. “No problem. All the best for your second novel.”

He saw himself out. Himchan stepped out of the apartment, looking around at the dingy neighbourhood. He plunged his hands into his trousers and started walking uphill, back towards the more crowded city centre. He let the constant stream of thoughts waft past him, feeling a little happier that he’d seen Youngjae after so long. He didn't know what to feel knowing Youngjae was still in love with Daehyun, for that had been the cause of the huge conflict their group had had two years ago, resulting in the five of them splitting ways.

Just as Himchan thought of the man, his tranquil thoughts were pierced by a familiar, frantic voice. He frowned, unwelcoming of the voice he’d grown to dislike. He stopped right before a small post-office, reading the hurried, jumbled thoughts and quickly took a detour to the right. It would take him longer to reach the city centre, but he’d rather avoid Daehyun than anything. Himchan sighed. It had been one heck of a day. He’d skipped his work just to learn about Youngjae’s life and his miserable, seemingly unrequited crush on Daehyun. And just as he thought it couldn’t get any more shocking, he learnt, through the culprit’s own thoughts, that Daehyun had, once again, landed himself in big trouble.

Seriously, shutting down the entire subway system? Himchan thought, shaking his head. Youngjae isn’t going to be happy about this. As he walked on, he ignored the constant vibration in his pocket. His boss wasn’t going to be happy with him skipping work either, but he didn’t really care much.