Time passes quickly, and yet to Hyesung, it doesn’t seem like it passes by at all.

The war has thrown everyone off the deep end, with half the city reduced to rubble and the other half barely keeping its wits together while sharing limited space and resources. In the chaos of it all, the media find it in themselves to put Shinhwa in the spotlight, praising them and what they stand for, and how brave Hyesung is even though he doesn’t feel very brave or honorable or loyal or whatever cheesy adjective they come up with, at any goddamn point in time. Overnight, Shinhwa turns from idols into national heroes, the six of them becoming poster boys and role models for all being called to enlist.

“This is propaganda!” Hyesung says to Kangta on a rare phone call, equally baffled and disturbed. Shinhwa’s salute picture lines the bottom portions of cereal boxes and milk cartons, and he can’t turn on the TV without seeing the video people had taken of them at the bus depot. “None of us approved this!”

“It’s true though,” Kangta says, finding the whole situation hilarious. “The coverage for it was insane. Choongjae’s brave face after crying is very effective, and so is Dongwannie’s smile. If I wasn’t going already I’d have signed up after seeing the posters.”

Hyesung’s heart sinks at the news buried deep in the statement. “When are you heading out?”

“I won’t tell you so you’ll have no reason to come.” Kangta has the gall to laugh. “We’re all going, H.O.T. finally reunited. Hell, if we had done it before you guys did it would have made for great comeback material for when we come back.”

If you come back, Hyesung mentally corrects, but quickly banishes the thought from his mind.

“Good luck, Hyesungah,” Kangta says, sounding almost sorry. “We’ll see you at the end of all of this.”

And then he’s gone. Along with him, generations of seniors and juniors line up and get shipped out in droves, more often than not announcing their enlistment as full groups. Like Shinhwa, one even dares to say, we will defend our country alongside each other.

(We created a trend, Eric would probably say, raising his arms. Manse!)

“Idiot,” Hyesung says out loud, and promptly unplugs the TV.

He throws himself into volunteer work at shelters attempting to reconnect families that had been separated in the Seoul attacks, keeping the secret hope that he’ll see Junjin’s father or sister in the churning crowds. He works nearly 12 hours each day, only stopping to shower and eat and sleep. Throughout that entire period, he keeps his phone with him, fully charged, in case any of s call or text. He ignores his fears as it stays ominously silent. 

His mother calls him from America where she and his father had been when the North attacked. “Are you sleeping at all?” she asks.

“Yes, of course,” Hyesung lies, because as long as she doesn’t see how he lies awake on most nights staring at the ceiling – wondering where s are and if they’re eating and if they’re hurting anywhere and how lonely they must be – he doesn’t see the need to worry her any further than she already is.

A beat, then his mother says, “Pilgyo, just come here. Please. It’s safer.” As though he’s a child. Or a coward.

Hyesung fidgets, peels back a paint chip from the corner of the table. “I’m safe here,” he says. “I’ll see you soon, Umma,” and then he promptly hangs up. He doesn’t answer the phone the next few times his mother calls.

“They’re being silly. Of course you can’t leave,” Jingyo says as they eat dinner together at his brother’s apartment. Hyesung notices the deployment bag sitting in the foyer right away. Jingyo follows his gaze and raises his eyebrows knowingly.

“You could have told me,” Hyesung says, his tone holding a hint of accusation, because everyone’s leaving him now and the least they can do is tell him. It’s infuriating when Jingyo just shrugs.

“It’s a given, hyung. I mean, you guys are even endorsing it.” His spoon clinks noisily against the bowl, a sound that he knows drives Hyesung crazy but always makes a point to do anyway. “And just for the record, yes, Umma and Appa know.”

It’s a lie, but Hyesung knows a lost cause when he sees one. “Just…” He’s at a loss for words. “Please, try to come back, all right? I won’t ask for anything else.”

Jingyo gives him a toothy grin. “Age has made you soft.”

“And you stupid.” Hyesung points his spoon at him. “Yah. I mean it. Don’t die or I will personally bring you back to life to kill you myself.”

His brother’s laughter is his last memory of Jingyo. A week before Christmas, his unit gets decimated by the border and sends South Korea into a tailspin of rage and mourning. His mother’s wails fill his empty apartment and Hyesung finds he can’t bear staying in it any longer. He carries his pillow and comforter to Eric’s apartment upstairs and settles it on the living room floor, still bare from when they had last used it.

Despite his grief and desperation, it’s the first time Hyesung is able to sleep soundly in weeks.

Dongwan is the first to reach out.

Merry Christmas, Hyesungie, he writes in Japanese in the group chat. We miss you.

Junjin is next: Hyung, don’t drink too much. Save it for when we come back.

Minwoo writes on Christmas day from the military base in Daegu. Freezing my balls off. Hope you guys are somewhere warm.

Eric and Andy don’t write but actually post a picture, one of them both in fatigues but wearing a Rudolph nose and antlers. Hyesung doesn’t even have to think twice as to who applied the disgusting aegyo stickers and filters on it. It prompts everyone else to send their own pictures: Minwoo in his uniform with a face mask on, Dongwan with a tiny snowman, Junjin in the barracks. Hyesung sends one of his own but covers most of his face with a milk carton showing their accidental military endorsement.

Yah, is that us?

Hyung, show your face!

So that’s why everyone was talking about us!

Daebak, we started a trend! Manse!

In between his eye-rolling, Hyesung can’t help but laugh, the knee-jerk reaction of it almost making it feel like his soul is being stitched back together. Almost.

“Idiots,” he mutters, touching the screen affectionately.

Outside the snow is falling, hiding the ruined city under a temporary cover, and for a moment he’s able to fool himself into thinking that everything is all right.

The days pass. Winter deepens. The war gets worse.

China is in tenterhooks between helping North Korea or going against it, and so has voted to stay silent on the matter. The US, with all its pomp and circumstance about freedom and liberty and whatnot, does the same, afraid of enraging either Russia or China and inadvertently triggering them into destroying half of Asia. Left alone, South Korea lives in fear of being killed by a rogue missile.

Eric calls him from a blocked number in January.

“Hyesungie,” he says, his voice strained. “Leave Seoul. They may attack anytime.”

It’s been weeks since their last communication, and in the background, Hyesung can hear barely-controlled chaos.

“What about you? Are you and Andy okay?”

“Stop worrying about us, idiot. Get out.” The line crackles, and was that gunfire? “We love you.”

A distant boom. The line goes dead.

Hyesung doesn’t leave Seoul. He can’t.

He doesn’t think of the guns and bombs, of the distant explosions that seem to inch in on them every single day. He doesn’t think of anything, except that there’s been no word from any of s, and for him that was good enough, because silence means status quo. Silence means alive.

Seoul is like a ghost town now, the once-buzzing metropolis now a shell of what it once was. Hyesung divides his time between shelters and free benefit concerts or radio appearances. He makes sure to always say encouraging words, to tell the troops to keep fighting and that they all fully support them. He makes sure that when the announcers always say What about your Shinhwa brothers, what would you like to say to them, he holds his tears in while replying, I love you. I’m right here.

It goes on like this until the winter passes, and the fragrance of pear trees mingle with the scent of gunpowder and sulfur.

There’s an ambush somewhere off the coast of the East Sea and a plane is shot down. Hyesung’s heart stutters when somebody contacts him and tells him Dongwan is one of the rescued. Despite the fuel shortage, Hyesung breaks all speed limits and burns through half his supply in an attempt to get to the field hospital where he’s told Dongwan is.

Dongwan has been given his own private space, a small corner surrounded by linen curtains and with a clear view of the sea. He’s white with pain and fever when Hyesung gets to him, but he still forces himself to smile when the younger man approaches.

“Yah,” Hyesung says, feeling enraged, worried, and sick all at once. “There’s nothing to smile about.”

“I never thought I’d see you again.” Dongwan says before bursting into tears. His face has gotten much thinner, the bags under his eyes much larger. Half his body is swathed in bandages. “Jinnie…”

“Don’t.” Hyesung warns, because he doesn’t want to think about Junjin. Not now, when it’s Dongwan who needs his attention. Not now when he’s not ready yet.

“Jinnie was in a separate unit, but we had left together. I don’t know where he is now.” When he says this, Dongwan’s face crumples. “I’m so so sorry, I should have gone with him. I should have watched over him.”

“Don’t.” Hyesung says again, because his hands are shaking now, and he reaches over to grab Dongwan’s own. “Just concentrate on getting better.”

“I’m going back.” Dongwan says as though he hasn’t heard. “They’re discharging me soon but I’m re-enlisting.”

Hyesung feels like he’s been punched. “What?”

“I have to look for him. I can’t leave him.” His fingers pick at the edge of the sheets. His nails are torn and bloody. “Hyesungah, he must be so scared. So scared, and I left him.”

There’s a deep pain in Hyesung’s heart that twinges when Dongwan says this and he hangs his head. He can’t be selfish, and he knows nothing will stop Dongwan anyway.

“Find Choongjae,” he says. “But please come home.”

Dongwan touches his cheek, his skin rough and scabbed. No more words are exchanged but Dongwan clutches Hyesung’s hand and brings it up to his chest, kissing his fingers lightly before falling asleep.

tbc