Chapter 1

Jinwoo - Before

Summers he spent by the lake, surrounded by worlds of his own making. The hot air seemed to lie heavily on his skin. It was an uncomfortable reminder of reality as he worked away at his desk. Sweat slicked hair stuck to his neck as he lived through his characters; living their lives and bearing their burdens.

Late autumn nights by the fire, cooking up stories to entertain the small slices of the world he managed to reach. This was his favorite season to write in; red and yellow leaves falling all around his house provided a landscape for him to dream up stories. The lines between imagination and reality were blurred in the fall air.

Winter evenings in the city, cursing the dark and the cold under his breath while in meetings with the necessary corporate evils of this world. Jinwoo hated having charm all the necessary people and hold his tongue as boards of directors, marketing and what not talked about his life, his worlds and his creations like he wasn’t even there.

Jinwoo was lucky and he knew it. Life was easy but dreary. But there was a constant weight in his chest reminding him that while he was always content, he was never truly happy. He’d find himself staring off into the distance in all seasons; not distracting by imaginary worlds for once but by this unbearable hole in his chest.

He longed for some excitement, some danger, anything that could set his heart racing a little, let blood actually pulse in his veins for once. A nice change would that be from him pounding against the walls of fictional worlds. Jinwoo’s life was safe and he would give anything to for it to be anything but.

Slowly the dark weight took over everything else. Jinwoo couldn’t dream up imaginary worlds anymore. He lost the only lifeline he ever had while slowly drowning in the ocean of his own loneliness. 

Seungyoon - Before

Maybe he was wired wrong but safe never sat well with him. He was what the teachers in school had called ‘troubled’. He had potential, they had said, if only he tried.  The professionals had found plenty of people to blame for Seungyoon’s ups: his dead beat dad, his alcoholic mom, the s that bullied him and his ‘artistic’ streak.

He himself didn’t blame anyone. He was just different. Seungyoon lived for empty night streets; jumping on cars and laughing as he smashed street-side trash cans just because he could. He walked among dealers, addicts and smugglers on dark streets boldly, almost cockily, as though they could never do anything to hurt him.

Seungyoon had an uneasy relationship with the others on the wrong side of the law: they tolerated him because he was useful and he stayed out of their way simply because he didn’t care enough to deal with their messes. Perhaps that was just the thing; Seungyoon didn’t care for anyone or anything to ever let it become a permanent part of his life. 

Another day brought another narrow escape. Police scuffles and quick getaways were such a well-versed part of Seungyoon’s life but it never failed to send a thrill down his body. Public nuisance, breaking and entering, vandalism, the charges they tried to pin him down with kept racking up. But by some of miraculous luck, no one could ever seem to actually proof that he was guilty. Seungyoon was too slick, too careful to let anyone get any solid proof that he broke the law.

The police hated him. The gangs wanted him on their side. Law-abiding citizens shamed him. Seungyoon kept his head high and proud through it all. A sly smirk, a dangerous glint was how anyone knew him, if that could be called knowing him at all.