With every step, the thudding of his boots echoes heavily throughout the rundown complex. Minho squints through the darkness of the place, trying to make out the faded numbers that were stuck carelessly onto each apartment door.

512

Surely that’s five flight of stairs, but he’d been circling the floor twice and no sign of door 512 still. He stops, shuffling against the plaster on the floor that peeled off the relic walls as he spots a door with a rather odd numbering. One of the digits were missing, having fallen off presumably, and he waits hesitantly, partly unsure if this was it and mostly because he was scared.

He wanted to laugh at the thought, who would have guessed that just a few weeks back he was out in a battlefield– in and out for the past six years to be exact. Fear was all he knew.

Mustering all the courage he has left, Minho takes one step towards the door and places a stern knock.

“Who is it?” A loud muted voice squeezes through the secured door almost immediately. He could tell the other person was right behind it, expecting him.

“Hyung– it’s–”

The door clicks open before he could finish and Minho was greeted with a pair of wide, doe eyes staring right back at him.

“Minho.” Jinwoo squeezes his eyes shut briefly in relief, before he ushers his guest in, “Come in, what took you so long?”

“It’s been a while, Hyung. I didn’t realize so much would change.” Minho laughs quietly. The fresh scent of his senior’s apartment pierced his senses, a contrast to the damp, smoky one of the staircase just outside.

“I was worried, you know they’re not just targeting at night now?” Jinwoo fiddles with the numerous locks that lined the door frame. He must have been waiting for Minho to only have one of them engaged.

“I’ve heard, yes.” Minho replies, recalling his efforts to remain composed and walk like a normally civilian out in broad daylight. The only sign that might have given him away was the combat boots he had on– the only footwear he owned.

“They say it’s not so bad now, but better safe than sorry.” Jinwoo turns around to face him properly, patting his shoulder as a greeting and brushing past him seconds after.

Minho has no memory of a time before war. He was born into one, grew up in one, and fought in one. His mother had insisted for him to opt for a safer route­– anything but enlisting. But it was the only thing that could get his family by, the government promises a steady income­ for a soldier’s family. And for Minho, this was a safer route for him– to live knowing that his family isn’t out there looking to feed themselves in this hell of a place.

Young soldiers out of deployments are targeted by those against the government as a scheme of revenge. Many are killed and paraded through conflict torn streets in a sick effort to raise the authority’s white flag. And to Jinwoo, anyone could tell Minho was one no matter how hard he tries to hide it. He had the natural build for it, tall with broad shoulders and walks systematically like one would even before he was trained.

Minho eyes the elder as he walks past him through the small apartment. It’s been two years since he last saw Jinwoo, it was a mistake to think that his delicate exterior mirrors the person inside. Minho wasn’t going to lie. The first time he saw Jinwoo, he was ignorant enough to assume that this person was the least of his worries. Until he saw how scared everyone in his unit was, no one would dare to look Kim Jinwoo in the eye unless instructed to do so. He was a merciless leader, yet there was something gracious in the way he barks his orders.

It was normal to steer away from talks of war and service, adding to the fact that Jinwoo wasn’t much of a talker and so he was prepared to have his own thoughts consume him during his stay here. He had nowhere else to go, it was too risky to travel over the border where his family was and Jinwoo stays in the outskirts of town which was relatively safer for someone of their background. It’s not like he knew anyone else.

He befriended Jinwoo and a younger soldier, Taehyun back then and the three men were inseparable ever since. Each with their own past and characteristics, it was a rather odd combination but the three filled each other’s missing parts like a puzzle and found home when they have left it.

“Hope the couch’s okay, if anything it’s more comfortable than the bed.” Jinwoo throws him a small smile, settling a thin blanket over the arm of the furniture.

“Thanks, hyung. I won’t be here for long.” Minho sets his tatty backpack in one corner,

“And what? Live off the ing streets?” Jinwoo laughs lightly, running a hand over his dark locks. It was a different look to the one Minho was used to, different to the shaven cut he sported. “God forbid, they’ll kill you the first night.”

It wasn’t Jinwoo’s blunt words that had caught him off guard, but it was the zeros that were inked on the back of the elder’s wrist –just like the ones on his. Minho remembered how it was still on countdown before Jinwoo was discharged and he struggles to keep his gaze fixed, away from Jinwoo’s wrist.

He wasn’t one to pry and Jinwoo was a private person. It used to bother him, how he wasn’t made for anyone else and wondered what was wrong with him, which had brought him to a series of troubled relationships along the way. Minho had this mindset planted deep within him, that no matter how serious he took it, she was not meant for him and it was pointless to put much effort into a relationship. He found the purpose of his existence in battlefields, and the successes of the missions he was assigned, Minho had come to accept that this was what he was made for.

//

The clock reads 5:00 AM, and a young woman props herself up to tap the alarm bell before it would ring. It has become a habit ever since she could remember, some sort of force would wake her up five minutes before the usual alarm, and it would be the only five minutes she would waste on doing absolutely nothing. Not exactly nothing, Aeri would mentally go through a rough run down of her day, making sure that not a second would go to waste. Once those five minutes are over, she would rush through her morning routine not forgetting to check on Seunghoon who slept on the living room couch before anything else.

It was something she started to do ever since Seunghoon slept in and woke up with fifteen minutes left on his clock. She had already left for work then and received a panic stricken call from him asking how much time she has left. It usually takes her ten minutes to walk back home and she didn’t know what possessed her that day, sprinting home, still in her apron, in just under five minutes because her brother’s life depended on it. Aeri remembered how furious she was, mostly at how goddamn careless he was being. She had screamed through her tears, yanking his hand in hers, briskly flipping the gesture to lock their forearms together as she transferred her time to him. Seunghoon tried to reason with her, telling her the budget at work was tight and payday was shifted an extra day. But she was having none of it, bawling down onto the floor after transferring a day or two into Seunghoon’s wrist. “You ing idiot! I’ve got no one else but you, Hoon!”

She was 16 then, now 23 still working at the same bakery and she wasn’t complaining. It was enough to get by, Seunghoon worked odd jobs since then, settling as a courier a few years later.

Aeri hurries into the living room to see Seunghoon still deep in his slumber, she kneels down before him and pulls the covers away to reveal his wrist.

504:23:10

Three weeks, twenty three minutes and ten seconds. Aeri studies her brother’s sleeping face, dark brown hair falling softly over his tired lids. She lets out a silent thank you, to him, to the universe- and even with its cruel nature, to whoever it is that keeps them alive. He stirs in his sleep and she was careful not to disturb him any further, rushing away on her tiptoes to start her day.

After breakfast, she sets aside a plate for Seunghoon– purposely onto the coffee table next to him, the smell of food would wake him up quicker than she would. The warm air outside was quick to replace the morning breeze, and even in the clammy weather, Aeri always opts for longer sleeves as she slips out of her sweats. The thought of having her wrists covered comforts her, away from snooping eyes which was silly since she didn’t have much on her anyway. And so did anyone else that lived in her area, but some were less fortunate than her, choosing to steal time in a way to survive.

She used to wonder what it was like over the district she lives in, where the privileged has years up their sleeves, millions even. Upon hearing such thing, she remembered laughing in hysterics, it was bizarre because really, who lives that long? Seunghoon’s job demands him to visit it frequently, and he would tell her how slow everyone is. The phrase ‘taking their time’ would come to a literal sense when it comes to the rich. Which reminds her of Seungyoon, a rich kid from the city who finds solace in old towns where the poor lives. It sounds heartless in a way, and the first time she saw him, Aeri was quick to judge. How could he possibly fit in with the attire he’s got on? Sure, he walks like he’s got satan chasing after him– just like everyone else, but he looked so out of place, it worried her that someone might mug him. And someone did, they’ve been friends ever since she rammed the thief away with a bike.

She darts past a mirror that hung by the doorway, catching her own reflection which for her, still hurts to see. Aeri looks nothing like Seunghoon and would often times be mistaken as his girlfriend. Instead, she takes after her mother. Her reflection blinks, light brown eyes staring back at her. The freckles that scattered the bridge of her nose were more prominent due to constant exposure to the sun, which explains her complexion as well– tanned, unlike that of her mother’s pale one. She gathers her hair upwards to a pony tail, skimming a finger through her thick bangs before she looks away.

It was a little over eight years ago the night she witnessed three men break into their home, draining her parents time ultimately to their deaths. Seunghoon doesn’t talk much about it, simply because he couldn’t bear the look on his sister’s face. To this day, he still blames himself for it.

“If I hadn’t become so sick then you wouldn’t have had to come home, mum and dad–”

“Then it would have been you, Hoon. They would’ve taken you.”

//

Note: This is different to what I have previously written, forgive me if you see any mistakes or anything of the sort as this is completely new to me! I have had this idea a while back even before I finished The Art of Falling and have only gotten around to writing it properly recently. I’m not sure how long this would be, and it’s quite possible that it would be slow for me in terms of updates. I hope you enjoy :)