Chapter 18: It's a Small World, Afterall

Who’d’ve thunk it: Jongdae’s life story would one day be anything but a lie and people would still open doors for him.

Connections kept him safe in the Haven. George at the dealership. Ms.Bates at the corner-store. Miss Jessica. Alibis are hard to come by when the Society starts breathing down your neck.

“Jongdae? Jona’s nephew? The sweet boy couldn’t scavenge for meat in the poultry section of the grocer's, let alone be sent out to the Hunt.”

Make a friend. Get a girlfriend. Create bonds with people who’ll die for you.

His mother’s creed was told to him each morning as though it were the single law ruling over him. Pity will only get you so far. Outwardly promise them the world. Inwardly be two steps ahead of their future betrayal. Or death. Whichever comes first.

Spending their mundane days locked together once more and Jongdae remained unsure of exactly whether Han would take a bullet for him — should he ask. Probably not. Probably so. Stranger things have happened. The Shisa thought bigger than this. At the very least, he was harder to kill than midlife crisis afflicted George or arthritis-ridden Ms.Bates.

Jongdae awoke to Han staring, a sigh propped up by a bruised elbow. He couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. Maybe about what variation of chicken Jongdae tasted like. Maybe not. Either way, Han spouted something similar to what he’d said each morning since their capture — or whatever time Jongdae’s body decided sleep was too empty a task to fake.

“Bust out of one cage only to get thrown into another.”

Ignoring him as usual, Jongdae asked “Where are we,” curiously looking around the small room. An old radio buzzed on a small desk, filling the otherwise sparsely decorated room with its static.

“Clockwork City.” Han answered; Dog Catcher had moved them. “It rang earlier. You know, while you were unconsciously drooling on the floor of our collective cage.”

“Remember what happened to Hun and Yeol yet?”

Han pleaded the fifth the first, second, third, and fourth time Jongdae asked what happened to the two. Jongdae had been unconscious for their disappearance and Han had previously hinted he'd been anything but. For bigger reasons, Han's memory returned then all at once. Apparently Hun’s eyes garnered more pity than Jongdae’s words ever could.

“That oaf took Hun and high-tailed it when our charming, gun-totting assassin knocked the back wheels out with a shotgun round.” Han yelled suddenly, for no reason. Just asking for a fight he didn't have the strength to carry through with. “Not very nice of you, if I may add! I was having a lovely dream about honey-roasted chicken, cheese-drenched mashed potatoes, and a steaming side of seasoned corn!”

No one answered from outside the crooked, but closed, door. Leaning against a wall of iron, Jongdae shrugged. Hope seemed hopeless without the intimidating Yeol and the crafty Hun. Just crazy and crazier. “So it’s just me and you then.”

“It’s just little ol’ me and useless ol’ you then.” Han agreed, simultaneously adding unnecessary adjectives, speaking like the newly deceased Beck, and thoroughly pissing Jongdae off.

“If you’re a Yeol of sarcasm, I’m more than prepared to dish it out, little girl.”

The underside of Cerberus's nails felt empty without the relief ripping into skin provided. Killing Han didn’t seem all too hard a task. Sneak up on the deaf side of his head and one good whack would do it. Imagination was all he had now.

Plus Han, who threw his head back, neck exposed, and laughed. “Sarcastic remarks and insulting comments are completely different things, Chen.”

Plus Han.

A thought that had Jongdae’s nerve-endings settling. Dazed, riding his high on a steady slope downwards, he got comfortable in their new prison and rested a sigh on his own elbow. “When we’re stuck in a cage, who cares what the difference is?”

After what seemed like hours of staring at Han staring at him, wondering if Han wondered what he tasted like, wondering if Han knew he was wondering the same thing, the Dog Catcher of Clockwork city came waltzing in — a beefsteak on legs.

Clearly, it'd been awhile since the two ate.

“And how are our strays today?”

Jongdae leapt to his feet, unabashedly scrutinizing Dog Catcher's pointed features and slinted eyes. His mere wavering presence set Cerberus off like a volcano. Steam whistling in his ears, he felt his anger rising up from a deep nothing.

“You’re an eager one, aren’t you?” Dog Catcher yawned, plopping himself into the creaking chair before the radio with an echoing sigh. “The bounty on your head in particular is quite large, you know? I’ll be getting myself quite the pretty penny after I return you both to the Dog Fights.”

Despite not asking, Han rushed to Jongdae's aid. “I’m sure I’m prettier than any penny they could give you.” Why Dog Catcher chose now to speak, why Han chose now to flaunt his — surprisingly feminine — appearance, Jongdae couldn't know. Coincidences make the world go round.

Dog Catcher brushed Han's proposal off with a suggestive finger, “Money is more important than the desire between my legs, I’m afraid.”

“It was worth a shot.” Han returned to his previous, impassive state on the cold, compacted, concrete floor. If he had a plan, he hadn't related it to Jongdae yet.

“So I heard a little bird singing songs about taking you two to Cusp’s End.” Dog Catcher pondered out loud in a singsong manner, waving his dirty finger, “Know the lyrics?”

“No use being stubborn about it.” Han had reached a state akin to quicksand: apathy. "What’ve you got to fear from telling our story anyway? Stockholm syndrome?”

Sitting by Han's side, Jongdae began, “I’m looking for a girl.” Immediate regret struck him in the Shisa's response. The stray who called him by two names; neither of which were real.

“Now this verse is new to me!”

Han's stare changed, so close to Jongdae he could feel his breath on his jaw; the stench smelt as though something crawled into Han's stomach to die. Retching back, grinding teeth, he reminded himself to rinse his mouth out at the earliest convenience — his surely just as bad.

“She’s just a friend. There’s nothing else between us.” Now he sounded like a high school girl in denial; he hated it. Considering his currently bleak outlook on life, there weren’t many things he could vehemently and unabatedly hate. 

“Never said a thing.” Han pursed his lips. Smiling. Frowning. The exact feeling he expressed was unclear. “Though me doth think the lady protests too much.”

“She saved my life.” Jongdae relied heavily on the title “Savior” again. It felt righter than “friend.” “Technically.”

Dog Catcher twisted his words, throwing a net over an elusive idea he thought he could catch with, “Complications make every love story juicier.”

Features contorting reflexively, Jongdae said, “I’m not in love with her,” so quickly even he grew suspicious of his motives. Months since they were attacked and he only thought of her fleetingly. Yet when asked his purpose, she came to mind first. Whatever happened to her was a mystery. Chances were she was dead; high chances at that.

If she tasted like chicken, he would never know.

Dead or not, convinced she made a coincidental return to his memory for the sake of his own alibi, he focused on her. Not on June or Beck. Not on Tao. Not on Minseok. She became expendable. A penny out of many. Another way to garner pity. To stay alive.

“She’s in love with my,” he paused, for effect, “brother, anyway.”

“A love triangle!” Han played excitement. “Shapes are much funner than straight lines, you know.” Getting closer, he whispered loudly, “What’s she like?” 

“Like wildfire.”

She burnt bright, only to be snuffed out for being a lovestruck high school girl — the kind he’d pick on in an alternate, high school set universe. 

“That’s it?” Han pushed further, noticing something Jongdae didn’t; Dog Catcher sat as still as a statue, not saying a word. “Is she pretty? Curvy in all the right places? Soft to the touch? The kind of girl to launch a thousand ships? Give us a name at least!”

Jongdae said just one syllable.

“Fay."

Han would later tell Jongdae he guessed either girlfriend or wife. People marry young in the Underground. Who knows when they’ll die and “all that jazz.” The verbatim quotation then launched the Shisa into a full blown discussion on the history of jazz and its many different forms from Cusp’s End to Tally’s Ho. This odd fascination aside, Han was wrong.

As Dog Catcher unlocked their cage, he formally introduced himself, “My sister saved your life, did she?” 

Laete Farland: Dog Catcher; Society-employed; self-nicknamed “Lay.” He hates his real name. Surprisingly, their captor turned out to be more forthcoming in five minutes than Jongdae had been his entire life. 

Tucked away in the darkest corner of the creaking train station they could find, Han and Jongdae waited for Lay to return with good news. Smuggling two Strays through the Underground without the help of a hog-drawn carriage was apparently much more difficult than one would assume. Even now, Jongdae didn't recognize the threat the gray-stained, hobbled residents of this empty aqueduct could pose to him.

Cerberus had cut a man's ear off with an axe; he was near invincible.

41:0.

"Anyone ever tell you you smell nice, Chen?"

Han's voice dreamily interrupted Jongdae's reminiscence of more axe-frenzied times. It took him a moment to respond, forgetting the many names entitled to him.

"Well, you smell like ."

Han laughed at that, saying nothing more — the workings of his mind a mystery since the beginning. If he didn't ask, Han wouldn't tell: the reason he decided it was now or never.

“Would you die for me?”

Han answered immediately, “Would you?”

Taken aback, Jongdae let loose an empty, “What?” into the stagnant shadow of their hidey-hole.

Han repeated, revealing to "Chen" the subtexts of his short spurts of otherwise — mistakenly — random thoughts, “Would you die for me?” Han believed in the succulence of meat, the soothing-notes of jazz, the forgotten words of a long since dead playwright, and the human conscience.

Jongdae's jaw tightened. Gut tugging at his bobbing Adam's apple. Instincts screaming against the answer he knew would placate his “friend.” 

“Yeah, I would.” Han finally said, eyeing an older woman who slowly wobbled towards the now departing train. He remained seated even as steam flooded the station, horn singing sharply. “I’d die for you.” He shrugged. The woman missed her train by mere seconds. “I’d die for anyone at this point.”

Self-centered Jongdae didn’t understand. So he did what he always did: he shelved Han’s answer to be scrutinized at a later date. The next morning, aka whatever time Jongdae woke up from his pretend sleep, the two hopeless strays and the filial Dog Catcher boarded a train for Cusp’s End.

Jongdae wished for train jackers. He wanted the rush. Safety was overrated.

A/N: Click here to ask me stuff. Otherwise, I wish you a safe day.