The rate at which their relationship improved could be said to be inversely proportional to Junjin’s sanity—the closer they get, the more Junjin thinks he’s finally lost it.

And yet, the more he thought about it, the more confused he became, and the more he wanted to just brush off the problem and enjoy life. He couldn’t comprehend his thoughts, couldn’t comprehend his actions—he couldn’t even comprehend who he was anymore. He wasn’t the old Junjin—the one who smiled freely and lived the life he loved—nor was he the new Junjin—the jaded one with little regard to the world around him. He was so in-between that he had begun to question his true nature. Which Junjin was he? Or was he never the Junjin he thought he knew in the first place? What’s driving him to continuously—subconsciously—befriend Andy?

Junjin didn’t know. And, traipsing over fallen rubble and shards of broken glass, Junjin decided that he didn’t want to think about that at the moment.

How he missed taking these walks. After being dragged into the whole mess that was Andy, Junjin realized that these walks were actually very relaxing—despite the fact that he was surrounded by death and decay wherever he went. He didn’t have to think. He didn’t have to feel. He could just sit back and let his legs walk him to destinations unknown. It really soothed his frazzled nerves.

He careened to a stop in front of a tall building. The remains loomed over him like a mountain, dark insides seeming to consume the whole building in an ominous aura. It wasn’t as dilapidated as the buildings he’d seen and passed by, but the emptiness, the hollow rooms devoid of life, set a cold feeling inside Junjin’s gut. This was where he worked. This was where he met Hyesung, where he met Junghyuk. This was his life before the mess started and spiraled out of control.

His legs started to move once again, and he was walking towards the building’s entrance.

The glass doors felt cold against his bare hands as he pushed them open. The dark, empty lobby was as spacious as he remembered. The receptionist desk in the center, the row of seats against the wall to the right, the magazine rack beside the seats—it hadn’t changed at all. With a pang of nostalgia, Junjin stepped further into the threshold.

The gas mask hindered his sight in the lightless building, but Junjin knew where to go by heart. The clacking of his heavy boots against the tiled floor echoed throughout the empty building, ringing loudly in his ears. Perhaps if he closed his eyes he could imagine what it was like before. Ignoring the gusts of cold wind billowing against his hair and focusing on the way the walls still had the same lime-colored wallpaper. He could imagine the busy rush of people, the cacophony of shoes beside his own. He could imagine walking to the dance studio and being greeted by friendly faces and cheerful smiles. He could imagine Hyesung waiting for him at the end of the day, scolding him if he was late, and he could imagine Junghyuk waving them off with a smile as they walked past him.

He could imagine, but he didn’t. It wasn’t healthy to indulge in a lie.

There was no one in the decaying practice room, just as he had expected. From the light that filtered in through the cracks in the wall, Junjin could see the broken mirrors and the dusty wooden flooring. Junjin’s hand traced along the walls, remembering all those hours spent inside these walls teaching young, fresh-faced, eager trainees. Junjin had loved dancing then, and loved sharing his knowledge with earnest students. The pride and accomplishment that came with seeing his students succeed had been a reward better than the pay they gave him.

In a way, he supposed he understood Andy’s attachments, he mused. He wondered how his students were—if they were dead or still alive. If they lived in the misery of a survivor, forced to leave their home and live in a world where the sky will no longer be blue, or if they were given the blessing of being far, far away from the miserable place the Earth had become. He wondered if they’ve been able to smile since it all started.

The thought made him wonder: had he ever been able to smile after Hyesung died? Had he ever been able to look at his life and think: ‘At least I still have something to be happy about?’ The more he wondered, the more he thought, the more he seemed to realize the moments where he felt the ‘happiest’ were the relatively peaceful moments he shared with Andy.

The moments where there was no loathing in his heart. No insecurity in his mind. No doubt or caution or irritation, no thoughts. It was those moments where his mind was at ease and his heart beat a steady, soothing rhythm. It was those moments where he would subconsciously think, ‘This is kind of nice.’

The thought should have disturbed him more than it did.

But weeks of being around Andy, talking and getting used to the man, had made him, admittedly, less bitter than he had been. He was starting to change. He always knew—always knew that those times, those moments—of peace were changing him, but that…that was the first time he had acknowledged and made peace with the fact. He didn’t mind talking to Andy as much as he used to. He didn’t mind Andy as much as he used to. He was even willing to admit that he was starting to like Andy.

The epiphany should shake him more than it did, but it didn’t. Instead, he continued staring into a broken, blurry reflection of himself on the practice room mirror, looking nonchalant as if he was merely contemplating the day’s weather rather than seriously thinking about his current mental state and human relations. And perhaps, staring into the dark void of the mask’s eyes, he had known all along. Perhaps that moment in time was merely an amalgamation of evidence and thoughts obvious from the beginning but shut down from constant fervent denial.

But what mattered right then wasn’t the question of whether or not he had known all along, what mattered right then was that he had come to realize and made peace—after weeks-long of conflicting emotions and undying frustration—with the fact that he was changing. If he was changing for better or for worse, he wasn’t sure, but he was changing.

And the thought was curiously refreshing.

It was certainly a change from the mental turmoil he’s subjected himself to ever since the day he decided to get acquainted with Andy.

The next question was how he would go about this change.

But—that is a thought for another day. The light filtering through the cracks in the walls was starting to dim, and Junjin was no fool. Seoul at night was dark and bone-chillingly cold. There was no mercy in the abyss, Junjin knew. So he gathered himself up and started his trek home.

The thoughts accompanied him home, nestled in the cradle of his mind like a baby. Safety and security and warmth—the thoughts invigorate him, gives him the light in his life that he never saw after Hyesung’s death.

But, again, that was for another day. And Junjin wasn’t pressed for time.

A/N: I have no excuses, just a thousand apologies. If God wills it, I'll get another chapter out by the end of this month.