It takes Kim Dongwan a week to recover.

He goes from hospital gown to fatigues so fast that Hyesung even questions if he was ever injured in the first place. The only overt sign is the fact that he’s still hobbling when Hyesung drops him off at the military base, but the set expression on his face is one of a man with a mission: there’s no question as to the reason for his re-enlistment. Despite it, however, the second goodbye is not much easier.

“I’ll bring him back,” Dongwan says. “Jinnie is alive, I know he is. If you haven’t heard anything then that’s good.” There is a determined gleam in his eyes that fades into something like pain as soon as he says the next sentence. “The others are too. They must be all right.”

To be reminded of the other members and their unknown whereabouts is painful, but Hyesung has learned to trust the silence and refocus on things he can control.

“Yah, just don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Hyesung is trying very hard to keep himself rooted where he stands and not cling to Dongwan to prevent him from leaving. The only thing giving him enough courage to send his friend off once more is the thought that Dongwan is their only hope of locating Junjin. Somewhere, his baby bird is alone and frightened and possibly hurt, and it’s an image Hyesung can’t stand to imagine.

“Don’t even try to play the hero. When you find Choongjae, come straight home. Drag him back by his hair if you have to.”

The older man smirks, makes the final adjustments on his uniform. “Yes, Umma.”

“I mean it. Be safe.”

“You should follow your own advice.” Dongwan tells him. “It’s not safe in Seoul. Why don’t you drive down South?”

“And what, make an album while I wait?” It takes all of his strength for Hyesung to smirk. “Yah. I’ve had enough orders from all of you. When you guys come back, I’ll be there waiting to give you all a beating for putting me through this. You guys will owe me big.”

Dongwan laughs, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he reaches out to do a final embrace. I’m so sorry, he whispers into the lapels of Hyesung’s coat.

“Ow, ow. You bastard.” Hyesung is fighting to keep his composure. “You…get off. You’re squeezing my tears out.”

“Wait for us, all right, Hyesungah? We’ll try not to be away for too long.”

His hold is a warm circle that Hyesung never wants to be apart from, but all too soon it’s over: Dongwan tightens his grip for a fraction of a second, kisses his temple, then releases him to turn on his heel and walk away, never looking back once.

And then it’s just Hyesung once more.

In April, another bomb rips through Seoul, this time in Cheongnyangri. 

Hyesung is caught in the bomb blast, having been there to drop off supplies from one shelter to another, and thinks for a split second that the universe has torn itself apart. In the darkness he dreams of Junjin, and Dongwan, and Eric, and Minwoo, and Andy, their mouths moving, shouting at him, but their voices silent. He wakes with a splitting headache a day later on a bed in a makeshift hospital in Korea University, limbs still mercifully intact and nothing to show from his accident apart from a few stitches in his skull from where his head hit the pavement.

“How am I not dead?” is his first question, because Christ Almighty, his head hurts. A doctor observes him from the foot of the bed, wearing a slightly relieved expression on his face.

“Extreme luck. You’ve nothing except a few minor scratches and a shallow head wound.” The doctor is young but looks as though he’s lived several lifetimes over. Hyesung surmises he probably doesn’t look any better. “Jung Pilgyo-sshi. Is there anyone we can contact to inform them you’re all right?”

His emergency contacts are s, and Hyesung doesn’t see the need to worry his parents. Not after Jingyo.

“No,” he says. He flexes his fingers and toes, says a little prayer when he can move them with no pain. “I’ll be fine.”

The doctor purses his lips, as though debating whether or not to believe him. “There are plenty of people looking for their missing relatives from that latest explosion. It’s wisest if we alert someone…”

“Yes, but there’s no one.”

“Jung Pilgyo-sshi…”

There’s a squeak on a bed two spots over, rusty springs signaling movement.

“Pilgyo-sshi?” a voice says, the sound of it barely a scrape of its former glory. “Jung Pilgyo?” More squeaking, and even the doctor has to turn to look. “Son, is that you?”

It’s there that Hyesung finds Charlie Park.

It’s several things all at once, Hyesung discovers. Pneumonia and frostbite, some limb damage from injuries sustained during the first attacks. At his age, it’s a miracle Junjin’s father has made it to this point, but then again, he figures Choongjae would have inherited his insane survival instinct from someone.

“I knew it was you,” Charlie Park clutches his hands and touches his cheeks. “I would hear your voice on the radio and I thought I was dreaming.”

“Abeonim…” Hyesung starts, because there’s a hundred different things he wants to say – thank God you’re all right, Choongjae will be so happy, please hold on, please wait until we find him – but the words get stuck in his throat and what comes out is a strangled whimper.

“Aigoo.” The older man tuts as Hyesung’s tears fall onto the sheets. He pulls Hyesung down to pet his head. “You boys are all crybabies. There there now.”

The fact that he doesn’t ask about Junjin upsets Hyesung more and he struggles to put a sentence together so he can inform him at least. “A-Abeonim…”

“I know, I know,” Charlie Park says, although he doesn’t really confirm what he knows. His hands are shaking uncontrollably and so he balls them into fists. “We’ll get through this, my boy, one way or another.”

There’s a rattling in his chest that hurts Hyesung to hear, but he keeps his head by the older man’s heart, comforted by its slow, steady rhythm. His headache reduces to a dull throbbing as Junjin’s father runs his knuckles through his hair in careful , mindful of the large bandage behind his ear.

To: Shinhwa Group Chat

Jinnie, I’ve found your abeogi.

Jinnie, your appa is waiting for you. He can’t wait to see all of you.

Choongjae. Guys.

Please.

The silence continues, and Hyesung refocuses.

He divides his time between visiting shelters, going on radio shows to read out the names of displaced family members, and the hospital where Junjin’s father is. He does benefit appearances, ensures his voice is heard throughout the country in the vain hope that somewhere, somehow his brothers would hear it.

(Where are you? Do you remember me?
Are you listening? Are you well on your way?)

But the silence continues, and the cool of spring is replaced by the dry heat of summer, the city now redolent with the smell of soft rot and peach blossoms. The fighting continues in the North and in the East. Seoul’s population is now half of what it used to be.

Still, Hyesung stays. He’s gone down two sizes in clothes and gets daily migraines, but he compels himself to get up each morning to work from dawn to dusk. When he works, the empty space inside of him can’t swallow him whole. When he works, he doesn’t feel like he’ll drown while breathing.

(My heart is filled with you,
so I can see you even with my eyes closed)

The silence continues.

Until one day, it breaks.

tbc
 

Author's Note: Thank you for all the comments and views! I truly appreciate them. I'm really just letting this story take me wherever it feels like it needs to be. If you could drop me a line or two on how you want me to improve, or what direction you think the story should take, please feel free!

Also, I read about Jonghyun and offer condolences to all those who loved him. He was truly a talented artist and I'm pretty sure he was also a great guy. RIP KJH. I hope you've found peace.