The hands on the clock struck two, and the darkness had seeped through every corner of the old village.  Usually there would be a bright white moon to crown the black blanket covering the small houses below, but for some reason this night, even the sky had spilled change.

Yijeong perched himself on the balcony outside, watching the main road that weaved through all the little brick houses in the village, only two cars having passed by after midnight.  The balcony of this ancient home was low enough for a strong pair of legs to jump over, and Yijeong occasionally ventured over the rails, walking down the road to nowhere in particular and nothing in mind.  His feet would only take him so far, pale in comparison to the relentless and never-ending horizon, past the hills and below the valleys, winding down and above, slithering away from anyone who ever dared to grasp it.

He thought a lot about the city in the distance.  The gatherings where people did the unspokens of his humble village people, where they danced and embraced, living alongside the night rather than bowing down to it in slumber.

Many nights Yijeong would gather his determination, pack it together in his hands and promise himself he’ll jump on the next car coming, making his way at least to the city.  Then doubt and worry would gnaw on the edges of his mind, and his sand castle would crumble before it can even stand.  

He thought about it so much that he’s somehow become numb to the idea.  He puts a leg over the rail, making his way down the balcony while his mind wrestled and rolled around with the turmoil thrashing inside.  There’s a slight buzzing coming from the distance, but Yijeong’s too wrapped up in a dreamland to bother.  He starts walking down the road, wandering like a lost soul in the abandoned street while the buzz grew louder and louder, like an ominous bell toll ringing in the back of his head.  It zoomed even closer, and like a slow train before it rams into a wreck, the screeching of tires invaded Yijeong’s senses, a foul smell of burnt tar and grinding metal registering slowly.

The motorcycle had veered off to the left in a screeching halt, barely missing Yijeong’s left leg.  The stranger, clad in black, comes up to his feet again, glaring at him seethingly, the annoyance obvious in his face.  The man was a rather tall and intimidating figure, his demeanor like that of a wild being that paved his own conscience with bare claws and innate instinct.  It awed Yijeong, like a moth venturing to a lit fire, stirring something deep within Yijeong’s essence.   

“Sorry,” it comes out of Yijeong’s mouth rather languidly, drawing it clear that in all honestly Yijeong wasn’t sorry at all, and probably wasn’t even fazed by the fact that he had almost carelessly crashed into this stranger’s motorcycle.

For some odd reason, that seemed to have flipped a switch in the exquisite man’s disposition, his face morphing into a curious challenge.  The man slowly straightens his motorcycle, steering around back in the opposite direction that he was heading originally.  He keeps staring at Yijeong, and a small chill crawls down Yijeong’s spine under the weight of intense eyes boring back into his own.  He felt, for probably one of the fewest times in his life, a rush of fear and heat, intertwined in the most illogical manner that his mind could not explain.

Then, like a clasp of thunder crashing to the ground, Yijeong finally understood.  If felt like an intrinsic reaction--an uncontrollable chemical explosion swimming through his veins, and the longer he stood at the bottom of that rail, the more perplexed his mind became.  It probably couldn’t have been more than two seconds, but Yijeong was dashing through eons within himself, gauging the man’s body language, studying his face as the stranger throws a sturdy leg back over the motorcycle, kicking it to life.

He smirks, as if he had already seen through Yijeong’s pride, knowing that a wild ego is hard to be tamed by such fresh and young eyes.  He slowly turns his head over his shoulder, purposefully locking his eyes with Yijeong, like a target hitting its mark.  A small pause, and then--

“Need a ride somewhere?”

Yijeong can’t properly think.  So he abruptly decides to let it all go to hell.  

Can’t get warm without getting closer to the fire.