p a r t  III — e p i l o g u e ; 

Two years ago

“Help me,” Donghae called out, only to be greeted by an echo of his own voice. Blood was pooling around his torso. No pain Donghae had ever endured hurt as much as right now. This is it, he thought. This is how I’ll die. He went in and out of consciousness like a flickering flame, but he forced himself to stay awake, dragging his hand across his chest to bunch up the fabric over his gunshot wounds. I have to get out of here, he told himself. I have to survive. He propped himself off the floor with his elbows, grimacing in pain with each move.

Donghae began to leopard crawl towards the main door at a painstakingly slow pace. He could taste the blood in his mouth and knew that in a matter of minutes he’d either pass out again or die. The clock was ticking. When Donghae finally got to the main door, he reached out for the handle, groaning as he forcefully pulled it down. The door clicked open and immediately Donghae dragged himself out the veranda, rolling down the stairs and onto the gravel below. He didn’t know if anyone would find him, because the house itself marked the end of a quiet, deserted street.

“Help, somebody, please,” he called out weakly. “Help me.”

The seconds ticked by in slow motion. Donghae was beginning to lose all hope of someone finding him, thinking that only a miracle could save him now. Perhaps he was right, because as his world slowly faded to black again, there was no one in sight.

Two years later

The loud horn of an alarm punctuated the afternoon air, a sign for inmates to trudge to the front of their shared cell and collect their bento box meals. Hyukjae picked his box off the tray and walked towards an empty table, slumping into his seat. It had been nearly two years since he was incarcerated, and even though he should’ve gotten used to it by now, everything still felt hazy to him—like a dream even, or more like a nightmare he wished he could get up from. Instead, he took the lid off his bento box and began digging into his food robotically. At this point, regardless of how bad the food could be, he had no choice but to force it down his throat for sustenance.

“Hi, I’m Shindong. Mind if I sit here?”

Hyukjae looked up as a man, Shindong, stared back at him. Shindong was tall and burly, and about three times Hyukjae’s frail build. He could strangle him to death if he wanted to, that Hyukjae knew. Hyukjae could care less about making friends in here, but he figured having an acquaintance like Shindong on his side could prove useful if ever hit the fan. Ironic to his build, Shindong had the biggest and softest smile plastered across his face. It sent chills down Hyukjae’s spine. Who was he to say no?

“Sure.”

Shindong sat across from Hyukjae, lifting the lid off his box. “What are you here for?”

“Robbery, shooting, something like that.” Hyukjae said in between mouthfuls of rice. “You? You’re new here, aren’t you?”

Shindong shook his head. “This is my third time here. I’ve been incarcerated for fraud thrice by now. You’re the only one who’s new around here.”

Hyukjae didn’t know if Shindong mentioning him as a newbie was some sort of warning, and he couldn’t regard Shindong’s smile as friendly either.

What was he supposed to say? How do you create small talk in a prison cell?

“I adapt quickly,” Hyukjae said, laughing nervously. “It’s not like I’m surprised at getting caught for all the I’ve done.” Do I sound cocky?

Shindong swallowed a spoonful of egg and raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t be too quick to say that, kid.” Shindong deadpanned, shooting Hyukjae a sideways glance. “How long have you been in here for?”

“Two years. I have three more to go.”

“Ah. Best of luck, kiddo.” Shindong said, emptying half of his box. “I didn’t get your name. You’re—”

“Hyukjae.” Hyukjae interrupted, smiling faintly. “Just Hyukjae.”

Shindong nodded in acknowledgment.

They ate in silence for the next five minutes, and as soon as Shindong had swallowed every last grain of his rice, he got up to throw his box and retreat to his room. “Nice meeting you, Hyukjae. Come to Room 15 if you need anything,” he’d said as he walked away from the table. Hyukjae didn’t know how to feel, especially since he’d spent the last two years mostly keeping to himself. Trust no one, he reminded himself mentally. He didn’t know if having an acquaintance like Shindong was a bonus or an omen. For all he knew, Shindong could have commited some sort of crime within the cell and then use him as a scapegoat, considering he now knew his name. He shuddered.

Hyukjae dragged his feet towards the front of the room, discarding his empty bento box into a bin. Just then, a prison guard grabbed hold of his shoulder and in reflex, Hyukjae flinched. The guard let go of his shoulder.

“Lee Hyukjae,” he said in a hushed voice. “Come with me. You have a visitor.”

Hyukjae snuck a glance at the other inmates, some of which were in the common area distracted by the television as they ate. He quickly followed the guard out the door, puzzled over who it was that had come to visit him. He hadn’t had a single visitor in the last two years and took it that Donghae had kept his promise, but this? Was it Donghae that had come to visit him?

The guard escorted Hyukjae into a small room with a table split in half by a large glass panel. He took a seat on one side of the panel and waited. On the other side, another guard had let a visitor, a woman, into the room, ushering her to take a seat. Hyukjae’s breathing hitched, his eyes growing twice its size.

“Eomma?”

Several months before

“None of this would have happened if—” the sound of a rice bowl slammed onto a table in interruption resonated throughout the house, “—you’d listened to us all those years ago!”

The man, Donghae’s father Hyunsoo, yelled. The table was quiet. Everyone except Hyunsoo had their heads bowed, afraid of what he’d do next. He had always been one to make up for words using violence anyway, and Donghae was glad that was not a trait he’d taken after his father.

“Dear, don’t—”t

“Don’t dear me! You’re always covering up for this brat! Look how he turned out!”

His mother, Hyeya, reached out to touch her husband’s arm in a bid to calm him down, but as soon as her fingers reached him he flinched.

Donghae had his head bowed as low as humanly possible. He dared not look his father straight in the eye, and he knew better than to argue with him. Things could go ugly really quickly.

“Hae, we’re just happy you’re home—”

“Happy?” Hyunsoo repeated. “I’m not happy having a son like this return home after gallivanting across the country with men and then eventually getting shot by—”

Donghae looked up, livid. “You take that back.”

Hyunsoo snickered. “Oh? But am I wrong though? All these years you never came home, spending your time fooling around with men instead of sending more money home like you’d promised. God knows what you’ve been doing in Seoul—”

“TAKE THAT BACK!” Donghae yelled, getting up from his seat to grab his father by the collar. “ING TAKE THAT BACK!”

Donghae’s family knew nothing about what he’d been up to—heists and what not, but they didn’t need to know anyway—but he hated when his father used his uality against him like it was some kind of weapon of mass destruction. His uality was what made his father throw him out of the house years ago, and he hated how his father invalidated his efforts of sending money home because of it. Nothing was ever enough for his father.

Donghae glared at his father dead in the eye, tightening his grip on Hyunsoo’s collar.

“I’m only here because I have to be,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I’m only here to recuperate. Don’t even think I’m here because I want to be. I’m not staying.”

Donghae glanced over at his mother who was silently shaking her head as if to tell him to let go.

“Whoever shot you should’ve left you dead in a ditch,” Hyunsoo sneered, laughing. He slammed his chopsticks onto the table and rolled his eyes. “My appetite’s gone.”

Hyunsoo disappeared into the master bedroom, leaving Donghae and his mother Hyeya sitting in awkward silence. Donghae knew his nose had begun to redden and that tears were on the brink of spilling over his bottom lashes, but he forced himself not to cry. He couldn’t, at least not in front of his mother.

After Donghae had been shot by Heechul several months before, he managed to drag his injured body across the floor and knocked out after clambering out the front door. It was a miracle—a neighbour had been on the way home when she caught sight of Donghae’s body. Donghae bled profusely, and had the lady been minutes late, Donghae would’ve probably died. Unfortunately, it was his family who were first informed about him being in hospital. Had it been his choice, Donghae would’ve never wanted to see them again.

But right now he had no choice. He couldn’t go back to Hyukjae’s house, at least not now. He didn’t want to burden Hyukjae’s mother anyway. He decided staying home to recuperate was the only viable option, even if he had to tolerate his insufferable dad.

“Your father loves you,” Hyeya said quietly. Donghae held his tongue—he wanted so badly to counter-argue the claim—but he knew his mother had nothing to do with his plight. If anything, she was protective of him, exactly how a mother should be. She didn’t deserve any of his lashings, and definitely not on behalf of his father.

“I don’t think he does, eomma.”

“He does. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”

Donghae shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Donghae ate in silence. He forced as much food down his throat as he could, knowing that he needed to sustain his energy so he could heal. As he shoved grains of white rice into his mouth, he thought of what he should do next. Work? No more heists, that’s for sure. Perhaps he should lay low for now.

Snitches end up in ditches, he recalled Heechul say. He shuddered at the possibility of Heechul hunting him down if he ever snitched on him.

“Why were you shot, Hae?”

The question caught Donghae off guard. He coughed.

“I told you, I was robbed. That’s all.”

“No,” Hyeya shook her head. “What really happened, Hae? You know you can tell me anything, right? I won’t tell your father, I promise.”

Donghae hesitated. Should I really tell her, he wondered. He knew his mother deserved the truth, but he didn’t know how she’d react to knowing that her son was a crook.

“I was shot by someone who worked with me.” Donghae paused, waiting for his mother to probe further.

“What do you mean by someone who worked with you, Hae?”

“I was a robber. I was shot by my partner. He wanted me dead so I wouldn’t rat him out.”

An awkward silence tore the room in two. Donghae was sure his mother would berate him for his misdeeds. He closed his eyes, waiting for his mother’s first words following his confession, but Hyeya shook her head and smiled, much to Donghae’s confusion.

“Change your ways, Hae,” was what she offered in response. Her voice was gentle and doting, which made Donghae all the more guilty having done any misdeeds at all. “It’s not too late to change, Hae. Stay here, okay? Stay here for a few months, years even. I want you to be safe.”

It was an irrefutable option, really. Donghae felt like he had no other choice, and besides, he didn’t want to break his mother’s heart.

“Okay,” he mumbled, tears streaming down his cheek. “Okay, eomma. I’ll stay here for you. I’ll find a job and start anew.”

Hyeya had gotten up and moved towards her son, cradling his head in her arms.

“No matter what, you will always be my baby, Hae,” she cooed. “You will always be my son.”

Donghae spent the next few weeks searching for a proper job, like he had pre-almost fatal heist. He found one at a local bookstore and settled on it, deciding that it was better than nothing. On his first day of work, Donghae appeared half an hour early, eager to start. The shutters were down. Donghae had no choice but to wait for the owner of the store, so he occupied his time scribbling in a sudoku book while sitting by the curb. Just then, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Waited long?” asked the man with gold rimmed glasses. Donghae rose and dusted his pants, slipping the sudoku book into his bag. “Not really!” He chirped, holding out his hand. “I’m Lee Donghae.”

“I know,” the man said, nodding. He shook Donghae’s hand and smiled. “My son told me all about you. You can call me Sooman, Donghae.”

“Sooman,” Donghae echoed, grinning.

Sooman unlocked the shutters and lifted it up. Donghae watched from the side as Sooman unlocked the front door, letting them into the little bookstore. As soon as he’d entered the store, the musky smell of books, old and new, hit him. He  covered his mouth and coughed as he followed Sooman into a storeroom.

Sooman smiled. “You’ll get used to it. This is where you can put your bag, Donghae.”

Donghae nodded, placing his bag on a shelf nailed into the storeroom wall. He looked around at the boxes of items stacked inside the storeroom and caught sight of a box of packed envelopes.

“Sooman,” he called out.

“Yes?”

“Can I.. Can I buy some of those?”

Sooman laughed, as if that was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard.

“Of course you can, Donghae! Planning to write some letters, huh?”

Donghae sighed. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Take a stack of it. It’s on the house.”

“Sooman, I can’t—”

“Take it as a welcome gift, Donghae. It’s just a packet of envelopes anyway.”

Donghae nodded his head in gratitude again and again. “Thank you, Sooman, thank you. Thank you so much!”

He picked up a packet of brown envelopes and slipped it in his bag, his mind hazy as he planned what to do with them.

Present

Eomma,

I’m okay. I’m sorry I haven’t visited you in the past two years. Something happened to me and I had to recuperate at home because of it. Don’t worry about me, eomma. I’m fine. I’ve been taking good care of myself. How are you? And how is Hyukshin, eomma? Has he been well? I’ll stay home a few more months and once I’m fully recovered I’ll come round to visit you. I miss the both of you. I’m so sorry I disappeared off the grid for a while. It felt like forever to me, so I can’t imagine how it must’ve felt for you. I promised Hyukjae I’d take care of you but I didn’t do a good job of it. I’m sorry, eomma. I’ll be back soon. Please wait for me.

“He’s safe,” Deokboon said softly, reaching out to touch the glass. “Donghae is safe, Hyukjae.”

Hyukjae looked around, hoping that none of the guards were listening in on them.

“How do you know?”

Deokboon retrieved a little brown envelope from inside her bag and pressed it against the glass.

“He wrote to me, Hyukjae. He said he was recuperating at home for the past two years.”

“Recuperating from what…”

“I don’t know, he didn’t say. I’ll ask him to write to you. Do you want me to tell him to visit you?”

Hyukjae shook his head sadly. “He doesn’t have to. I told him not to. I’m just glad he’s okay.”

Deokboon nodded. “I won’t tell him then,” was what she said on the outside, but her stubborn heart told her otherwise. She quickly snapped out of her thought bubble when Hyukjae met her hand, separated by glass.

“How are you, eomma?” Hyukjae asked, his face ridden with a look of concern.

Deokboon sighed. “Same ol’ same ol’, Hyukjae. It’s getting lonely in the house. Hyukshin stays at the hospital now, but his doctor says he’s responding well to the chemotherapy now.”

“That’s good.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

Once the visit was over, Deokboon asked the guard to pass the little brown envelope to Hyukjae. She rushed home and scrambled for a pen and paper. She sat down at the dining table and began to scribble words onto the paper.

“Dear Donghae,” she read as she wrote. “I’m glad you are taking good care of yourself. I visited Hyukjae earlier today. He—” Deokboon paused, wondering if she should go through with her plan, “he said he wants you to visit him if you can, or at least write him letters. Here’s the address you could send it to—”

*** ***

In the cell, Hyukjae laid on his bed, glossing his eyes over the words on the letter repeatedly. I’m fine, it read. I’ve been taking good care of myself. Hyukjae felt conflicted. On one hand, he would like for Donghae to keep his promise and wait for his release. He would like for Donghae to stay far, far away from here. On the other hand, however, he wanted so badly to be able to see Donghae. It hadn’t occurred to him until now that he loved the man so much, and now that he’d been starved of any sign of Donghae apart from the letter, he wanted to see Donghae so badly. He tried to rationalise. It had been two years since Donghae disappeared, so why had he written to Deokboon only now? There was something weird about the situation and Hyukjae could feel it in his bones.

“Hey Hyukjae,” Shindong called out, standing by the doorframe. “Free to talk?”

Hyukjae sat up and slid the letter back into its envelope, hiding it under his pillow.

“Sure,” he replied sharply, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “What’s up?”

Shindong darted his eyes. “I have something I wanna show you.”

The pair walked down the corridor, paying no mind to the chaos caused by the other inmates. It turned out Shindong had been here so often that he’d established some sort of rank that made sure he, and his acquaintances, were untouchable. Hyukjae was still puzzled why Shindong was so nice to him. Was it a trap?

Entering Room 15, Shindong shut the curtain behind him and ushered for Hyukjae to sit on his bed. He reached for something beneath his bed and joined Hyukjae on the mattress.

“I managed to smuggle a phone in,” he said firmly, showing Hyukjae the device. “I figured you’d be here a long time and it’d come in handy for you.”

Hyukjae shrugged. “Aren’t you worried I snitch on you?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Shindong stated firmly.

“But why me?”

“Because,” Shindong paused briefly, handing Hyukjae the phone, “you’re a decent guy.”

Hyukjae laughed. “Decent? We’re in prison, Shindong. There’s nothing decent about any of us.”

Shindong shook his head. “I’m rarely ever wrong with my judgment. Tell me, what was your motive behind the robbery?”

Hyukjae panicked. He didn’t know whether he should come clean, or if he should lie his way out of this one. He tried to think of what Shindong could possibly do with the information he was about to share. it, he thought. I have three more years to go anyway.

“I was trying to earn money for…” Hyukjae hesitated two seconds, “..my brother’s chemotherapy.”

“See?” Shindong remarked, happy that his hunch was right. “Had a feeling there’s more than meets the eye with you.”

Hyukjae didn’t know how to react, to be honest. He didn’t know if he should be elated, or glad someone saw through him, so instead, he stared at the phone nestled in his hands and wondered about the endless possibilities he could do with it. Unfortunately, he couldn’t recall any of his loved ones’ phone numbers. Perhaps he should write a letter to his mother asking for both her number and Donghae’s, if it was possible.

“How’d you smuggle this in here anyway?”

“Bribery,” Shindong said simply, smiling.

It only confused Hyukjae even more.

“You have money? How did you manage to sneak money into the cell?”

Shindong shook his head. “I have intel. I know how to work my way around the guards.”

Hearing that was both relieving and terrifying at the same time. It only meant that if Hyukjae were to ever have done something that wasn’t in Shindong’s favour, Shindong could easily finish him with the help of his “intel.”

“I don’t remember any of my family’s numbers though, so this is kinda useless for now.”

Shindong nodded. “I understand. Maybe you could write your mother a letter asking for phone numbers. The guards won’t think much of it when they scan the letter before passing it to you. They’ll just think you’re gathering contact numbers to call your family with the shared phone booth downstairs.”

It made sense. Hyukjae smiled gratefully at Shindong, a “friend” he didn’t think he’d make during his time in prison. He locked away his doubts and suspicion for now, trusting his gut that Shindong was genuine.

“If you ever need to phone someone, you can come to me. I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks, Shindong.” Hyukjae said as he bowed his head. He paused, contemplating a question.

“Oh yeah,” he spoke finally. “How long are you in for?”

“Three years. Three years and I’m done.”

“I guess that makes the two of us then.”

The pair exchanged half-hearted smiles, sitting in silence as the clock ticked by in anticipation of lunch time. The familiar horn resonated through the air, gathering the inmates in a queue in front of a trolley. Shindong and Hyukjae collected their bento boxes and sat at a table farthest from the television, digging into their lunch.

“Where do you live?” Shindong asked suddenly. Hyukjae raised a brow.

“Can I tell you?”

“Yes, you can, Hyukjae.”

“But can I trust you?”

Shindong snorted. “Yes, you can trust me. If you don’t want to tell me then that’s fine too.”

“Okay,” Hyukjae mumbled. “Option two sounds good.”

They continued to eat in silence when Shindong decided to speak up again.

“You said you shot someone,” Shindong stated, “but why?”

Hyukjae swallowed his food and looked up. “It was out of self-defence. The man had a knife and wanted to stab me.”

“The man?”

“The man whose car I stole for a heist. He didn’t die though; he appeared in court on the day of my trial. What luck.”

Silence. Shindong finished his food and got up to discard his box before returning to the table with a cup of orange juice.

“It’s a good thing he lived,” Shindong said before taking a sip of his juice. “Otherwise you’d be on death row.”

Hyukjae froze. He hadn’t thought about that, but now that Shindong had mentioned it, he was glad things had panned out the way they did. He finished his food and rejoined the table with his own cup of juice too.

*** ***

“Honestly, I didn’t think I’d end up working at a bookstore a few rows down from home,” Donghae said aloud two years later as he restocked a thick stack of books. Behind him stood a young and chirpy teen boy named Henry, the son of the bookstore’s owner Sooman.

Henry dusted his hands and took a step back.

“To be fair, I didn’t think I’d end up working here too,” Henry said. Donghae rolled his eyes.

“You’re literally Sooman’s son.”

“So?”

“He’ll probably hand the bookstore to you at some point.”

Henry sulked. “Well what if I don’t want to own the bookstore? What if I’m destined for greater things?”

Donghae laughed. “Then maybe Sooman will hand the store to me.”

The two shared a comfortable silence as they placed books on the shelves of the bookstore. Not a single customer had come in that day, and time was passing by incredibly slow. For Donghae, today was special. Today was the day he’d finally allowed himself to go visit Hyukjae, after nearly four and a half years since he’d fled their bungalow home. He wasn’t sure why he’d waited so long to finally visit the man—his lover, he thinks, but he decided now was better than not at all. He needed time to recover from his gunshot wounds, and time away from everything that reminded him of his current predicament, including Hyukjae anyway. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel seeing Hyukjae after four and a half ridiculously long years, but he knew he needed to.

“Shift’s over, Henry!” Donghae announced as he walked to the storeroom, picking up his bag. “You good?”

“I’m good, hyung. I can manage on my own!”

“Great, Henry.” Donghae slung his bag over his shoulder and hurried towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Henry!”

“Yep, see you, hyung!”

Donghae stumbled out the door, looking left and right in search of a taxi. Much to his luck, a yellow taxi slowed by the curb, and Donghae hurried into it as soon as it stopped.

“Seodaemun Prison,” Donghae said overtly, resting his bag on the space beside him. The taxi took off no questions asked, even though the driver had many curious questions about why he’d asked to go there. Donghae couldn’t make sense of what he was feeling. He wondered if Hyukjae would be delighted to see him, or if he’d refuse to see him after four and a half years of being apart. What if Hyukjae thought he’d abandoned him? What if Hyukjae loathed him because of it? Was there any point in fearing this at all? It was Hyukjae afterall. It was the same Hyukjae that told him he loved him, that told him he was his in between heists, that forced him out of the house after he’d shot a man. It was the same man, except this time, they’d been separated way too long for Donghae to be able to predict Hyukjae’s reaction. He worried his lip thinking about all the possible outcomes and then cursed himself for giving in to his anxieties.

“Stop by the slow sign,” he instructed, rubbing his chest in a bid to calm his fast palpitating heart.

The driver did as told, pulling up next to a large red slow sign. Donghae paid him slightly more than the fare and told the driver to keep the change. He could care less about money at the moment; what mattered now was seeing Hyukjae. He walked down a hall and reached a reception desk, behind which sat a man in a green uniform tapping away at a keyboard.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted. “What are you here for, sir?”

“I’m visiting,” Donghae replied, tapping his fingers on the desktop. “I booked an appointment online.”

“Can I have your ID please?”

“Sure.”

Donghae handed his card to the man and waited as he scanned his computer screen. The man found Donghae’s name and smiled.

“You’re here to see….”

“Lee Hyukjae,” Donghae intercepted albeit all too excitedly. “I’m visiting Lee Hyukjae.”

The man nodded and picked up a phone on his desk, dialing several numbers. “Sir, we have a visitor for inmate #026813, Lee Hyukjae.”

A prison guard arrived at the front desk upon being summoned and led Donghae through a series of corridors, closer and closer to Hyukjae. Donghae couldn’t help his racing heart.

*** ***

“You ever been in love?” Hyukjae asked. He was lying on Shindong’s bed, half his upper body hanging off the side, staring at the ceiling. Shindong, who was sitting next to him, frowned.

“I guess,” he replied nonchalantly. “I have a wife and kids, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Hyukjae widened his eyes and sat up.

“Really? Don’t you miss them?”

“This is my third time being here, Hyukjae. Put two and two together.”

Hyukjae frowned. “Sorry.”

“Have you ever been in love, Hyukjae?” Shindong asked courteously, even though he really could care less. He watched as Hyukjae swung his feet back and forth with a look of whimsy splashed across his face like paint to a canvas.

“I have,” Hyukjae answered, followed by a frown. “But he hasn’t visited me in almost five years, and I’m starting to think he’s forgotten me.”

“He?”

“Yup, he.”

Shindong pursed his lips. “Ah, I see. Don’t worry, I don’t discriminate.”

Hyukjae didn’t mind. He didn’t mind talking openly about his life and love anymore. He’d been in prison for more than four years and at this point, nothing he could say would ever matter. Everyone here, was here because they had to be, to do their time then get up and leave. No one cared about anyone in here.

Just then, a prison guard entered the cell and made his way to Shindong’s room.

“Lee Hyukjae, you have a visitor.”

Hyukjae stood up. “Talk to you later, Shindong. My mum’s here.”

Shindong nodded as Hyukjae was escorted out of the cell. At this point, it was a routine—a guard would come and tell Hyukjae he had a visitor, and then him into a room with a desk and a glass divider. His mum would be on the other end, asking him endless questions of how-are-yous and will-you-come-homes. This time was different.

“Donghae?”

Hyukjae ran towards the divider and pressed his palms against the glass like a puppy in a pet shop.

“Is it really you, Donghae?”

Donghae returned the favour, pushing his palms against the glass. “It’s me.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

Hyukjae slumped in his seat, blinking his eyes profusely to make sure this wasn’t a dream sequence of his.

“Why now?”

“Oh.” Donghae rubbed the back of his head sheepishly before shooting Hyukjae a look. “I had some things to take care of.”

“Eomma said you left the house four years ago.”

“I did, but I’ve been writing to her.”

“You never wrote to me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Things are complicated.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Hyukjae said. He wanted so badly to be able to pull the man in front of him into his embrace, but all he could do was fantasise about it. If only he could penetrate through glass.

“I’ll write to you,” Donghae offered, smiling weakly. “I’ll write to you every week for the last four months of you being here, I promise.”

“Okay.”

The next four months moved by like a sloth on a branch—excruciatingly slow yet calm. When Donghae wasn’t working, he’d occupy his time writing letter after letter for Hyukjae. He’d write about his day, about how Hyukjae’s mother and brother were doing, maybe sometimes even about his love for Hyukjae. It felt surreal knowing that in less than three months, Hyukjae would return to his side. They would leave their crooked pasts behind, and maybe then be able to embrace each other fully as lovers, and not partners in crime. No more grey areas for them.

“Why are you always writing stuff?” Henry asked one day as he watched Donghae scribble a wall of text on a piece of paper.

Donghae smiled. “I’m writing a letter.”

“Just one letter? You’ve been writing all week!”

“It’s a long letter,” Donghae countered. “I write letters every week and in each letter I sum up what I’ve been doing for the week.”

“Sounds like an assignment,” Henry remarked, sticking a stack of bookmarks into a pen holder. “Is it one of those cheesy love tropes where you write your letters to a lover who’s locked somewhere high up in a castle?”

Donghae laughed. “You could say that, yes.”

“Gross.”

“You’ll understand one day when you fall in love.”

Donghae continued to write his letter in between sips of latté. He thought maybe he should write about his job at the bookstore, and about his little exchange with Henry earlier. Maybe it’d amuse Hyukjae as much as it amused him. Maybe. Maybe. So many maybes.

On the final week, Donghae decided against writing Hyukjae a letter. He decided to turn up at the prison to pick him up, and only then share with him how the week had gone by. He was sure Hyukjae would have a lot to say after being confined within concrete walls after five long, horrible years.

“I think you forgot to replenish the stationeries,” Donghae said aloud in hopes that Sooman could hear him. It was the last Friday of May, just five days shy of Hyukjae’s release from prison. Donghae smiled as Sooman brought out a crater full of books.

“I’ll replenish the stationeries, and you replenish the books on the high shelf. An old man like me would struggle climbing up the ladder.”

“Okay,” Donghae replied, lifting the crater to his waist. He moved towards the ladder near the front of the store and placed the crater down, picking up a few new books as he climbed the ladder to replenish the stock. Sooman watched as the young man went about his job. He smiled fatherly, proud that Donghae was as diligent a worker as he had been when he was young.

“I’m going to buy us come coffee,” Sooman said. “Look after the store for a while, Donghae.”

Donghae looked down and nodded. “Okay, chief!” He watched as Sooman passed beneath the ladder and walked out the door. Donghae counted his lucky stars that he had landed this job. Not only was he paid a decent amount of money, but he also gained himself a father figure and friend to boot. He pushed one last book into the shelf before climbing down the ladder.

Donghae picked up the empty crater and began walking towards the storeroom to keep it. On his way there he heard the bell on the front door ring, but paid no mind to it.

“Bit too soon for you to be back from the cafe, don’t you think, chief—”

Donghae froze. Mere metres away from him stood a man with a mask covering the bottom half of his face, and what terrified him was that the man was armed, and he was not. Donghae cursed himself for not strapping himself.

The man looked familiar, but Donghae couldn’t quite figure out who he was, until of course, the man spoke.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here, Choi Siwon,” said the voice from behind the mask. It was Heechul, the man who’d shot him half to death years back. He’d recognise that voice anywhere. Truth be told, Donghae was scared less. Nothing could prepare you for something like this. How do you prepare yourself for meeting the very man who tried to kill you years ago again after having your life turned around?

“Please don’t hurt me,” Donghae begged, kneeling on the floor and rubbing his hands apologetically. Heechul loaded his gun, sending shivers down Donghae’s spine as the cartridge clicked in place.

“If you don’t want to get hurt, simple—empty your cash register into this bag.”

Heechul tossed a large grey duffel bag onto the counter, to which Donghae rose on his feet, quickly opening the cash register to do the deed. He retrieved folds of tens, twenties and hundreds, dumping them into the duffel bag no questions asked. In his mind, he wondered why Heechul had decided to rob a bookstore of all places, and he cursed fate for the off chance that of all bookstores, it had to be the one he worked at. How unlucky.

“I was pretty sure I killed you off the last time,” Heechul said, his words void of emotion. “Maybe I’ll try again.”

Donghae could feel his Adam’s apple bob as he emptied every last cent from the cash register into the bag.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Donghae begged again, swallowing. “I never told on you, not even after how you shot me dead.”

“Yet here you are, alive and kicking.” Heechul deadpanned, snickering. “Why shouldn’t I kill you this time, hm?”

“I did nothing wrong to you!” Donghae dared himself to say. “I helped you with the heist and received not a single cent of the money and yet you shot me, twice, just because you were worried I’d snitch, which I didn’t!”

The tension in the air grew thicker than the very musk of dusty books, and Donghae chewed his lip worrying if Heechul would pull the trigger at any point. Was he destined to die for real this time? Everything felt a blur to him.

“I’m a robber, I have a gun and I have a target right in front of me. Killing you means clearing evidence. You should know that.”

“Just take off with the money, please! Just leave me be! I’ll never tell on you, I swear!”

Heechul paused, temporarily lowering his gun, pensive. Donghae held his breath; what were the chances of Heechul trying to shoot him dead again? Surviving once was a miracle, but surviving twice? He doubted the possibility altogether.

“If you tell on me, I’ll find you. I’ll make sure to turn your life a living hell, bet. You’ll wish you’d never met me.”

“I won’t,” Donghae assured with a shaky voice. He clenched a fist behind him so tight his fingers dug into his palm like pins to a cushion. “Take the money and go, please.”

Heechul stepped forward, cautiously in fear that Donghae would brandish a gun and shoot him dead instead. He picked the duffel bag off the counter and backed towards the front door, pointing his gun at Donghae with his free hand.

“Remember what I said,” he said, every word that left his mouth coated in warning. “I won’t hesitate to shoot you a third time.”

Donghae swore he was about to himself, so he raised his hands as proof that he was unarmed. Just as Heechul was about to turn towards the door, the bell on the front door jingled and—

“Donghae, I bought you a—”

The sound of a gunshot bounced within the four walls of the bookstore, and before Donghae could register what had happened, Heechul had fled the scene, leaving not a single hint of his presence here at all. Donghae ran to the front of the store, holding Sooman’s hand in his as he watched a pool of blood form around Sooman’s chest.

“No, no no no,” Donghae cried out, tears staining his cheek. It finally occurred to him that Heechul may have shot Sooman as a reflex, or simply out of shock. He held Sooman’s limp body and reached for his phone to call for help. With every passing second, Sooman’s body slowly grew limp.

“It should’ve been me,” Donghae said aloud, the veins on his neck straining. “IT SHOULD’VE BEEN ME!”

Donghae now realised that the consequences of his crooked life hurt all those around him; his mother, Hyukjae’s mother, Sooman, whom he’d seen as a father figure. He should’ve been the one to take the fall. Nothing felt fair and he hated himself for it.

The ambulance arrived nearly fifteen minutes later. He watched as the paramedics lifted Sooman’s limp body onto a stretcher and pushed it into the van. One of the paramedics asked if Donghae was Sooman’s next of kin, but Donghae shook his head sadly, deciding to call Henry to let him know what had happened. He had to close up the bookstore. The ambulance drove off almost ten minutes later, and Donghae had no clue as to whether or not Sooman would survive. He sure hoped he would.

“Rough day at work?” Hyeya asked as she placed some forks and spoons into a utensil stand. Donghae placed his bag down and slumped into an armchair.

“My boss got shot, eomma.” Donghae said emotionlessly as he waited for a prompt that never came. He continued. “My boss got shot and it’s all my fault.”

“Hae, what do you mean by that?”

“The man who shot me tried to rob our bookstore,” Donghae explained to a rather concerned Hyeya. “Sooman was on the way back from a cafe and Heechul shot him straight in the chest.”

“Donghae…”

“None of this would have happened if I had never chosen to be a crook in the first place! Had I just decided to ing work a decent job instead of robbing, none of my loved ones would’ve gotten—”

“—hurt,” Hyeya interrupted. She moved towards the armchair gingerly and pulled her son into her embrace. Donghae sobbed loudly into the dip in his mother’s shoulder, and Hyeya let him. Thankfully, Donghae’s father was out drinking, or else he’d have made the situation far worse than it already was.

“Shhh, I know it hurts,” Hyeya said softly, “but it isn’t your fault, Hae. None of this was your fault.”

“But it is,” Donghae argued. “I chose to be a part of this life of robbing. If I had just, god, chosen a cleaner route, none of this would have happened, eomma. Karma is getting back at me.”

Hyeya frowned. She didn’t know what to say or do, so she continued to cradle her son’s face in her arms, concluding that no amount of words would make her son feel any better for now. Perhaps listening to him speak was sufficient for now.

Several days later, Donghae found himself standing at the entrance of Seodaemun prison, waiting for a lover that got ripped out of his clutches five years ago. His eye bags were swollen and grey, and he honestly looked like he came back from the dead. He hadn’t bothered to shower, let alone comb his hair. Inside his chest lay a heart broken by reality; a pain from a certain someone’s death still fresh and stinging. Donghae couldn’t help himself. He knew he looked wounded, and he couldn’t be bothered hiding it. He thought to himself that Hyukjae would understand, that he wouldn’t think of Donghae as a Debby Downer on the day of his release. For once, he thought wrong.

“Why the long face, Hae?” Hyukjae asked as soon as he’d met Donghae by the gate. “You don’t look happy to see me.”

“Someone died.” Donghae deadpanned. “Someone died because of me.”

Hyukjae frowned. “Do you wanna talk about it? We could go get something to eat, and I promise I’ll listen to whatever you want to say.”

“I don’t know what else to say,” Donghae said, slouching. “I’m leaving our ugly past behind. I’m never going back to the life of robbing. It hurts all the people around me. I even lost a life because of it. It’s all my fault.”

Hyukjae pulled Donghae into his arms, rubbing the nape of his neck, hushing him all at once.

“If it’s any consolation, it’s my fault. I roped you into this life, Hae. I didn’t think it through,” Hyukjae said, his voice low but calming. “I’m the real reason you’re hurt right now.”

“There’s no use pointing fingers anymore,” Donghae sighed. “I’ve had enough.”

“You’ve had enough,” Hyukjae repeated.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

There was a brief pause, before the pair made their way towards a car—Donghae’s car—and headed for a little restaurant down south. Neither of them said a word because they both knew there was no amount of it that would lessen the ache in their hearts. Nonetheless, Hyukjae found himself rubbing his thumb in circles on the side of Donghae’s hand, and Donghae found himself blinking back tears.

They reached a diner about forty minutes later, and even though Donghae had lost his appetite, he knew he had to force food down his throat, else he’d never eat. Hyukjae was worried; perhaps the life of heisting had really, finally took a toll on his only companion, and he didn’t like how dead beat Donghae looked as a result of it. He had anticipated being asked a myriad of questions about what it had been like locked in prison for five years, but now that he was sat across Donghae, he didn’t know what to say.

“I’m tired,” Donghae whined, and Hyukjae knew there was more to it than the simple phrase that it was.

“I’m here,” Hyukjae said, reaching out to hold Donghae’s hands. “I’ve always been here. I’ll always be here.”

“I want to go back.”

“Back where?”

“Back to your home, to your mother’s, to Hyukshin’s.”

Hyukjae frowned. “What about your family?”

“I’ll visit them from time to time,” Donghae claimed. “I just want to be somewhere far, far away from this crooked life. I want to start anew again.”

And so they went. Deokboon welcomed them back with open arms, and Hyukshin was more than delighted to see his older brother and his friend.

“Donghae hyung, you’re back!” Hyukshin exclaimed, dragging Donghae into his bedroom to show off his new toys.

Hyukjae stayed in the living room with his mother.

“Donghae is very sweet,” Deokboon remarked, nudging Hyukjae in the ribs. “You chose the right man.”

All Hyukjae could think of was their days of heisting, and it made him shudder.

“I guess I did,” Hyukjae answered, leaving his obviously pained expression unmarked. It’s not like Deokboon would question him about it anyway; she was too busy feeling glad her son had returned home after what felt like forever. Hyukjae decided to leave it at that, at least for now.

Before Donghae and Hyukjae slept in the bed of their extra room, Donghae had pulled his shirt over his shoulders after deciding it’d be better (and more cooling) sleeping that way. Hyukjae couldn’t help but to notice the semi-healed wounds on Donghae’s chest. He sat up.

“Who shot you?!”

“Some guy.”

“Some guy?! Donghae, tell me, who shot you?!”

“The same guy who shot my boss to death. The same guy I’d worked with on a heist while you were imprisoned. That guy.”

Hyukjae ghosted his fingers over the scars on Donghae’s chest, sad.

“Never again,” he said quietly, now understanding the hurt in Donghae’s every word and move.

“Never again,” Donghae repeated.

“We’ll buy a house and move out, and we’ll have nobody but each other’s company. We’ll leave this—” Hyukjae nodded towards the scars, “—all of this behind. All of it.”

“All of it,” Donghae echoed. It was hard to pick up from there, but they did anyway. The past started to fade to black, and the pair swore to never again be involved in the crimes of a crook. From time to time, their past would haunt them in their sleep, but nothing more. Sometimes Donghae grew anxious about the fact that Heechul was still out there, possibly hunting him down, but Hyukjae knew his way round Donghae, to console him, to comfort him, to reassure him that he was safe. And maybe, that was all that mattered.

“The ring,” Donghae said out of the blue, showing Hyukjae the silver band fit snugly around his ring finger.

“Oh. I almost forgot that.”

“Let’s run and never turn back.”

“Let’s,” Hyukjae said. “Let’s get married, buy a house and—”

“I love you,” Donghae said smoothly, smiling.

“I love you too.”