Day ???

Almost Noon

Summer

Seoul, South Korea

This is all Professor Jang’s fault. She’d like to put that on the record right now, right here.

If Professor Jang hadn’t decided to accept her email submission of that ridiculously long eight-page research paper, if Professor Jang had come in ing clutch like all her Rate My Professor reviews claimed her to be and didn’t make her commute all the way to campus on her day off to turn in a stupid paper that, frankly, she hadn’t even bothered editing, she would not be in this mess right now.

That mess being trapped in some random, probably-dead person’s loft apartment, with no more heavy furniture to pile up against the door (she’d also like to blame the advent of minimalism because what the , how does one utilize minimalist furniture in any way other than Instagram—which is now dead, mind you). The slamming against the door is loud, all-encompassing, and it rings throughout the apartment. That and their ragged breathing is all that can be heard and all she can think of, beyond the general sense of terror, is that this is all ing Professor Jang’s fault.

They are going to die and, she thinks, why the did she have to spend her last days before the world went to absolute working on a research paper about the economy of Venezuela. She can barely point out Venezuela on the ing map, for God’s sakes. Why the didn’t Professor Jang just accept her email submission? She had asked for an extension, anyway, so why did she have to turn it in in person? They didn’t even have class that day!

Her chest constricts when the heavy bedframe screeches against the floor, moving ever so slightly.

“Oh, God.” She whispers as she steps back, looking around franticly. There’s a balcony and then it’s a four-story drop. That’s it. That’s the only way out.

She turns to look at him, her eyes wide. Fear spills from his cat-like eyes, fear she thinks he’s allowed to build and build and build throughout their entire journey together, festering like an infection until he couldn’t contain it anymore. He meets her gaze and his mouth opens and closes. The furniture scrapes across the floor. One of the silver hooks attaching the door to the hinge comes loose. The slamming gets louder. There are groans, nasty and throaty and so so hungry, fingernails scratching against wood as the sound of what seems like fists and bodies slamming against the door resonates throughout the beautiful loft.

This is all Professor Jang’s fault, she decides, even as he slowly backs up, his gaze meeting hers. He looks so dazed, so lost. She takes his hand and she tugs him towards the balcony. Econ, she thinks, her grip tightening around his fingers as he throws open the beautiful French doors, curtain billowing from the breeze.

Her hair whips against her face. She thinks, this is how I die and it’s almost disappointing, after everything they’ve been through, this is—it’s nothing. It’s unfair.

~.~.~.~.~

Day Zero

13:41:42 PM

17 April

Seoul, South Korea

“Breaking news! There’s been reports of protests in the streets near the Blue House, police are—”

“These damn spoiled kids have nothing to do other than protest, do they?” The old café owner scowls as he switches the channel to an old movie, the camera dramatically panning into the man’s eyes as he gives a long, heartfelt speech about sacrificing himself for the greater good. Just as the old man mutters something more disparaging under his breath, though loud enough for everyone in the café to hear (“What would their parents think? Spending their hard-earned money going to protests instead of studying for their degrees?”) Sojin types the final word to her essay and sighs in relief as she sits back in her chair, stretching her arms over her head.

“ing finally.” She mumbles, relief increasing tenfold when she finally gets to close out of all fifteen tabs she’s had open for her research. She should read over it, but she just presses the spell check button before she decides it because Econ and she’s tired.

She stretches her hands over her head before reaching over and chugging down the last bits of her lukewarm coffee, shutting her laptop screen and groaning, because now she has to walk to the library, print out her paper, and then walk to Professor Jang’s office. She checks her cellphone, swiping left at the news tweets she gets sent to her phone. She pauses at a text from her roommate.

From: Seulgi

i forgot my keys again T_T text me when you’re heading home pls

ill just hang at irenes until then

Sojin snorts, smiling politely at the old café owner, who scowls at her as if she’s the one who personally organized the protest happening outside of the Blue House right now—although she has participated in rallying for protests before, but she’s never actually organized one. She rolls her eyes the minute she turns her back, turning her attention back to her cell phone as she types out a response and quickly gathers her things.

To: Seulgi

are u sure u didn’t just forget ur keys on purpose

From: Seulgi

shut up

To: Seulgi

WHEN are u going to admit that u and irene are a THING??

From: Seulgi

when the world ends and you learn to stop being nosy!!!!!!!!!!

Sojin scowls at her phone, biting down on a smile, before she shoulders her backpack and tosses her empty cup in the trash.

To: Seulgi

listen,,

stop attacking me seul, i’m already stressed enough and the stress is bad for the baby

From: Seulgi

…what baby? :o

To: Seulgi

me

From: Seulgi

Wow

I’m moving out. Drop off my things at irene’s when you get home you ing loser

Sojin cackles as she pushes open the door, the bells attached to the door ringing. She turns just as she’s about to type out a response when she slams into something hard and painful. She gasps, phone dropping out of her hands and her nose stinging, yelping loudly as she watches her phone—caseless, too, she remembers in absolute horror—tumbling out of her hands in slow motion.

Until someone catches it midair and her eyes widen because, uh, that’s pretty ing amazing.

She glances up, her eyes probably comically wide, and there’s a pretty boy with cat-like eyes and a sheepish smile looking back at her, her phone clutched in his hands. He is handsome beyond words, eyes twinkling adorably, and she thinks he can’t be real. She blinks, “Oh.” That’s all she can say.

The boy—man, cutest person she’s ever ing seen, etc.—grins then, his smile lighting up his whole face, gums showing, eyes curling into little crescent moons, and cheeks puffing out. She completely checks out mentally then (she swears there’s a chorus of angels singing, or that just might be the cheesy ballad filtering out from the café) because holy .

But then he opens his mouth, one hand at the back of his neck as he holds out her phone with the other, “Sorry about that. I should have been watching where I was going.”

If it had been anyone else, she would have outright agreed, scowling all the while, but because she’s an absolute idiot and has a weakness for cute, pretty boys—namely whomever the this man is—she squeaks out a weak, “Oh, uh, no, it’s okay, it was my fault, too. I shouldn’t be texting and walking.”

His toothy grin drops, but his smile lengthens, the corners of his lips tilting upwards in a sort of amused way that makes her momentarily wonder if he gets away with doing things like this a lot just because his smile is kind-of-sort-of mesmerizing. He makes an awkward gesture towards the door, the one she’s currently blocking (and there’s a dude behind him who’s tapping his foot impatiently as he looks on) so Sojin just grabs her phone from his gasp and says, in a voice that’s most definitely not an octave higher than usual, “Uh, thanks?”

The boy keeps smiling, even as he nods and says, “No problem.”

Then he edges around her as she forces herself to not run off, walking briskly and ignoring the man behind the cute boy’s disparaging glare. She slaps her cheeks when she rounds the corner, groaning because good god she’s awkward, and some stranger laughs at her as they pass her. She smiles sheepishly at them before she shakes her head and makes her way the couple blocks to the library, cheeks still hot.

The only comforting thought about that interaction is that she’ll never have to see that boy again.

~.~.~.~.~

She makes her way to the Economics department up on the third floor, noting the strange emptiness to the building—to campus, in general, really—and she decides Professor Jang really is the worst professor ever. It’s Spring Break, for God’s sakes. She had asked for an extension on her paper due last week because of workload issues and despite it being Spring Break, her awful professor wanted her to turn in a hard copy of the paper, rather than just email it. The only reasonable explanation Sojin can make for that is that Professor Jang is a ing menace.

Sojin can’t wait for end-of-the-semester evaluations, because she’s going to rip Professor Jang a new one in the form of low scores and a strongly worded essay in the suggestions box.

(It’s not like Sojin really had anything to do during Spring Break, though. Her parents live in Jeju Island and went on vacation without her—only informing her like two days before break started, halfway through her slowly packing her bags—which isn’t new for Sojin, exactly. Loneliness isn’t a new concept to her, she’s just become better equipped with dealing with it. Besides, Byun Baekhyun’s throwing his annual Spring Break Bash™ this weekend and Baekhyun’s parties are always a good time because Baekhyun, endless tequila shots, the fact that he somehow knows every single ing person on campus (and possibly all of Seoul), and his tendency to always throw parties that end in some kind of drama is a guaranteed good time.

Also, Baekhyun promised that Park Chanyeol would be there, with an annoyingly knowing twinkle in his eyes as he quite literally wiggled his eyebrows at her after telling her so, and Sojin can’t pass up an opportunity to hear Park Chanyeol play Wonderwall drunkenly on the back porch, his deep voice and guitar strums hitting her right in the heart (and other places), for the third time (okay, fifth time).)

She walks past the room twice, circling the third floor in annoyance before she finally finds the entrance to where all the Economics professor’s offices are, and she steps in. There’s no one at the receptionist desk, so she makes her way down the hall, scanning each name tag until she finally finds Professor Jang’s room. Her door is open just a crack and she blinks, glancing around, frowning because there is no box attached to her door for her to leave her paper in. Slowly, Sojin reaches over and knocks, ever-so-slightly, anxiety creeping up her spine because what if she’s in a meeting and she accidentally interrupts and Professor Jang knocks her grade down??

With her third rapid knock, the door creeps open, a slow, languid movement that’s joined by a crescendo of a creak, slow and deliberate and embarrassing.

Sojin can see the desk and the chair. She can briefly make out someone sitting on the desk. Sojin frowns before she reaches over and gently pokes at the door with her pointer finger, the door creaking open further, the sound getting louder and louder as the door falls open and—

“Professor Jang?” Sojin frowns at the woman, who’s sitting at her desk, leaning forward on her elbows and chin resting on her knuckles. She’s significantly pale, her eyes fixed ahead. She does not look at Sojin and when Sojin fully registers the look in Professor Jang’s eyes, goosebumps crawl along her skin, a shiver creeping down her back.

There’s something about her eyes, something about the way Professor’s Jang’s eyes are filled with this abject terror, so utterly full, so there, that it makes Sojin instantly push the door open further and turn her gaze towards the thing, the person, whatever is making Professor Jang, always so serious and unemotional, look so utterly stricken.

Sojin’s phone vibrates in her pocket as she stares at the muted flat screen television mounted on Professor Jang’s wall. She stands at the threshold of the room and she watches the news with a sort of out-of-body feeling, as if she’s watching herself watch the screen and register the news from outside her own body. It’s disconcerting and so so unnerving. It makes her fingers tremble, her research paper spilling out of her hands, the sound of paper flipping finally seeming to snap Professor Jang out of her trance.

She blinks at Sojin, rapidly, as if she’s trying to remember her surroundings, remember who she is, and remember who Sojin is, all at once, and her brain is sort of short-circuiting. “Oh…Miss Lee. Wh—what are you doing here?”

(The television is showing the protests outside of the Blue House through helicopter footage, but it’s a haze of smoke and though the television is muted, the Korean subtitles at the bottom of the screen floats by rapidly as the news anchor strapped to the helicopter speaks quickly.

For a moment, through the smoke, through the military men she can just barely make out, she sees riot shields and guns. She can’t hear the screams, but she knows they’re there. She can just make out a figure breaking free of the military barricade in front of the Blue House and, even from the distance of the helicopter, so high up in the sky, she swears she sees the figure jump at the military officer, who is instantly dragged down and disappears in the smoke—tear gas or smoke screen used by the riot police to try and get the crowd to disperse.

Sojin’s been to a couple protests before and she’s never seen it escalate like this before. The students who organize these never get violent like this. It’s almost always the officers and government trying to get them to stop. Riot police are typical, but the excess use of tear gas and smoke screen? It’s strange, almost. The news never bother to broadcast it like this, either. The retaliation from the police—it’s terrifying to see. Her heart skips a beat and she hopes that the people she knows go out to march at every protest stays safe.)

She manages to speak, turning away from the television, “You asked me to turn in a hard copy when I asked for an extension?”

“Oh.” Professor Jang looks flustered, “Oh, yes. I did.”

Sojin hands the paper over and Professor Jang’s hands tremble. Sojin may hate Professor Jang, but she’s not heartless. “Are you okay, Professor?”

Professor Jang looks up at her, then, and her eyes are steely, careful. For a moment, it’s dead silent and Sojin gets the distinct feeling that Professor Jang is analyzing her. But then, before Sojin can say anything, shuffling from foot to foot uncomfortably, Professor Jang nods and she says, “This isn’t an ordinary protest.”

Sojin blinks, rapidly, at the cryptic sentence, “What?”

“You should go, Miss Lee.” Professor Jang says before adding her paper to a pile on her desk. “Get out of here.”

Sojin frowns before she slowly backs up and turns away from her professor. Maybe, her professor finally ing lost it. Why else would a professor be working during Spring Break?

~.~.~.~.~

There are police sirens blaring outside the building, the sound loud and all-encompassing, engulfing her in the sound the moment she steps off the elevator and onto the ground floor of the university building. Sojin can see the bright red and blue lights filtering through the glass walls. She blinks, taking a step forward whe—

“Sojin? Lee Sojin?”

Sojin turns, just as someone skids to a stop right in front of her, grabbing her arm to steady himself. “J—Jongdae?” She stutters, taking in his ragged form.

Kim Jongdae—a senior she met in accounting class—keels over, fingers digging into her forearm as he tries to catch his breath, the sound ragged and strangely loud, echoing throughout the giant foyer. All the seats scattered throughout the lobby, sofas and tables that are usually filled with students, are empty; there’s not a person in sight. She looks over Jongdae’s head, from the empty hallway he just came from, before looking back down at his bobbing head, messy as if he’s just woke up. He’s not wearing a jacket, she notices. It’s not warm enough to wear short sleeves yet.

“Sunbae, where’s your coat?” Sojin asks, the hairs at the back of her neck standing on end because something—something—about this, about his underdressed, harried state, about the frenzied police sirens cutting through the otherwise silent building, about Professor Jang’s cryptic words, about the protest footage, bothers her. Sojin places her other hand over Jongdae’s upper arm, frowning at him even as he straightens up, still gripping her tightly. Her eyes flit between his, dread creeping up her bones, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t even reprimand her for insisting on calling him sunbae even though they’ve known each other for years, like he usually does.

He is grim, uncharacteristically so, and her stomach flips when he says, “We need to get out of here.”

“Ge—get out of here?” Sojin repeats, confused.

Jongdae just pulls on her arm and she’s surprised by the strength in his grip. He pulls her behind him, heading towards the opposite hallway—not outside like she expected. She stares at the back of his head, confusion far outweighing any other reaction as she follows him, stumbling when he tugs harder.

“Sunbae? Jongdae?” She tries, but he isn’t listening. He’s just pulling her and pulling her, pausing at the end of a long hall, glancing back and forth at a fork, before he turns and starts pulling her along again, his phone in his hand as he frantically texts with one hand.

(It shouldn’t remind her of the many times people have ignored her, stared blankly at her or down at their phone as she speaks, until she eventually allowed her words to fade out halfway. It shouldn’t remind her of her parents or some of her friends. Jongdae is kind to her, one of the kindest friends she’s made at this university, and he always listens to her speak. The first time they met, in a group project, he had asked her to continue speaking when everyone else had spoken over her. He’s never like this and she feels so out of the loop, so strangely lonely right then—disconnected. She feels like she’s having an out-of-body experience and whenever that happens she starts homing in on specific details, her gaze settling instantly on the hand he’s texting with, trailing up his arm.

His shirt is torn at the sleeve, split wide open.

There’s blood on his arm.

Blood.)

That’s when she yanks her arm from his grip and he’s startled by her reaction, dropping his phone. The resulting clatter echoes loudly between them. Sirens blare in the distance. Her heart pumps in her chest, hard. He blinks, rapidly, turning to look at her after picking up his phone. His eyes look wild and she has no idea what to make of it. “Jongdae.” She speaks slowly, deliberately, dropping the honorific because there is panic settling at the very pit of her stomach and he’s worrying her, “What the hell is going on?”

Jongdae gives her a strange look, “Haven’t you been watching the news?”

She shakes her head, leveling him with the same strange look he’s giving her. “I just spent the last twenty-four hours writing a paper. I have no idea what the is going on and you’re scaring me.” Her tone is shrill, even to her own ears, and Jongdae’s eyes instantly soften. He blinks, rapidly, before he bites his lip, nervously.

Slowly, he unlocks his phone and types something in. And then he hands it to her.

Her fingers tremble as she takes his phone and his hand lingers against hers until she manages to get a steady grip, his brows furrowed together in an almost sympathetic way.

He takes a deep, deep breath before he speaks, voice low, shaky.

“I was making up research hours for my internship and—my professor tried to kill me, Sojin.” He speaks gently, almost, as if he thinks his tone can somehow soften the impact of his words. She can still hear the fear laced through his words, can see it on his face. She looks down at his phone, at the articles he has pulled up.

Professor Jang as right. That protest isn’t just some ordinary protest, nor a protest-turned-riot. It’s something else entirely.

--

BREAKING NEWS: VIRUS OUTBREAK

--

DEAD COMING BACK TO LIFE

--

TW GRAPHIC VIDEO: FOOTAGE FROM NEW YORK CITY

--

She reads headline after headline and her heart slams harder against her chest.

Oh, my God. Her chest heaves up and down, up and down, and she tries to breathe properly.

“Oh, my God?” She whispers, her hands shaking as she hands Jongdae his phone back, unable to read any further. There are videos and pictures, but she can’t get herself to look at them. She can’t look at them, doesn’t want to confirm the horrors of the headlines. The terror in Jongdae’s eyes tells her it’s not some elaborate prank and she doesn’t need nor want pictures and videos to prove it.

He gives her a pitiful look, taking a moment to pat her trembling hand before he says, “Baekhyun says there’s a military quarantine set up near here and he’s out there right now.” He looks at her, his brows furrowed, and murmurs, “You’re damn lucky I ran into you, Sojin.”

She’s dazed as she nods and says, “Yeah.”

Her stomach churns and she thinks it’s only a matter of time before luck runs out. She’s seen zombie movies and TV shows and she knows where this is going. She knows where this is going but she doesn’t have it in her to imagine it. Her fists tremble at her sides.

~.~.~.~.~

It’s utter chaos outside and she nearly loses track of Jongdae three times amidst a crowd of people rushing through, all headed on their own course, all following their own path of survival.

Lee Sojin has always been resourceful; more so, she thinks, than most of her university friends know. That’s what happens when an eight-year-old must learn to cook meals for herself if she doesn’t want to starve. That’s what happens when loneliness becomes a recurrent visitor in one’s life. Lee Sojin is the definition of resourceful and she has been for as long as she can remember.

So she ignores Jongdae’s surprise when she yanks him into a convenience store, empties her backpack of all the extra paper and folders she has, leaving her laptop because the internet can’t be down yet and it’d come in handy, before she throws her backpack into his limp arms, and picks up a cheap water filtration system, as many packets of dried ramyun as she can shove into the backpack, first aid supplies, and water bottles.

Jongdae lets out a low whistle. “Damn.” He says, as she drops her credit card at the counter, glancing around before realizing it’s totally empty. “Have you been reading survival guides?”

Sojin rolls her eyes, stuffing her credit card back in her bag, making the decision right then to pay this place back if this whole situation doesn’t degrade into an apocalyptic situation (it probably will, because she’s the unluckiest person on the planet, and then she’ll either die via apparent zombies or guilt for stealing from a convenience store), and then she grabs the backpack from him, shouldering it. Jongdae blinks at her for a moment before he smiles, a mischievous little thing, before he steps behind the counter and kneels, disappearing under the counter.

She frowns, “If you’re stealing money I’m going to kick you in the face.”

Jongdae pops up from behind the counter, then, glaring at her, seemingly affronted, “I would never steal.”

She raises a brow, “You stole food from me every day last semester when we had that accounting class together.”

Jongdae snorts, before he straightens up completely. There’s a stick in his hands, made of plastic. She blinks at him and he says, “I used to work at a convenience store. They’re always worried about getting robbed.”

“Okay.” She says, after a moment. She has no idea what else she’s supposed to say. This is getting too ing surreal.

~.~.~.~.~

Here’s the thing about survival situations—about zombie apocalypses. Everything that can go wrong, does go wrong, and horribly so.

Jongdae grew up in Seoul, he knows all the most obscure, most out-of-sight alleyways in the city. They take the back alleyways to a location Baekhyun had sent Jongdae, right outside the city. Somehow, Baekhyun’s found a safe zone and Sojin chalks it up to Baekhyun knowing everyone and their grandparents within a fifty-mile radius. She and Jongdae sit on a ledge in some alleyway and share dry ramyun and a bottle of water, the sound of helicopters interrupting the sudden silence that falls over them. Jongdae’s eyes are distant and she wonders if the adrenaline rush has finally left him. He looks like he’s only now processing what the hell had happened to him, what the hell is happening right now. She manages to work up the courage, then, to read her texts, her fingers trembling as she fishes out her phone from her pocket. There are missed calls, all from Seulgi, a few texts from both Seulgi and Irene, and even a text from Baekhyun—who she honestly never knew considered her friend enough to check up on her until now. She’s always had a solid three friends, probably, and it that she’s gotten the chance to discover that maybe she has four friends when they’re clearly about to enter the end of the ing world as they knew it. Despite the given circumstances, her heart swells a bit with fondness at Baekhyun’s texts. Her stomach flips and her heart twists at the prospect of reading Seulgi’s messages, though.

She needs to take three deep breaths, earning a concerned look from Jongdae, before she manages to check Seulgi’s texts.

From: Seulgi

Are you watching the news

oh my god pick up the phone

why aren’t you

jinnie

Her heart drops to the very pit of her stomach as she processes the texts, her hands trembling so hard, her phone almost slips out of her hands. There’s something so…so terrifying about the last text.

Jinnie.

Seulgi only ever calls her that when she wants something or she’s trying to be cute. But right now, Sojin gets a heavy feeling in her chest, akin to those moments in her bedroom alone, where her chest would feel tight and it’d be hard to breath and she’d feel like death itself, when she’s panicking because of no reason whatsoever. This time, though, there’s a reason.

Still, she manages to blink back the sudden urge to cry. She stares and stares at the voicemail icon on her phone, only half listening to Jongdae babbling to her, clearly trying in vain to distract himself from the distant screaming and sirens echoing through the city, from the way her own fingers are shaking.

She’s startled, though, when Jongdae’s voice cuts through her thoughts, “Play it.”

She looks up at him.

He’s staring at her phone. And then he looks up and they lock gazes and he says, tone knowing, tired, “You’ll regret it otherwise.”

He nods at her, slowly, smile strained, but slightly reassuring.

So, she plays it. She plays back the most recent voicemail, from just an hour ago. Jongdae’s smile looks more strained now.

It’s Seulgi. She’s whispering and Sojin feels her heart drop to the very pit of her stomach.

She says, “Hey, Jinnie. I’m—I’m holed up in the bathtub right now. I’ve been bitten and–” There’s such a loud slam on the line that Sojin yelps and Jongdae looks over at her, curious and sad, somehow. His eyes have been so sad, lately, and she thinks maybe she’s lucky she hasn’t seen these undead creatures yet like he undoubtedly has. She doesn’t know if she can handle that kind of reality check.

There’s a sob, Seulgi sobs and it’s loud and grating and Sojin finds herself freezing in place, both her hands clutching her phone to her ear. “Irene’s outside. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t—I’m so scared, Sojinnie. I hope you’re okay. You’re in the heart of it, according to the news and—Irene is—that can’t be Irene. That can’t be her. I’m—Oh, my God.” There’s another loud, loud slam and then Sojin hears a soft, sob, a quieter, no, please, don’t and a snarl, animalistic and loud, heart-stopping, and then—and then the voicemail system cuts her off from Seulgi and Sojin finds she is crying.

She is crying in the middle of a dark alley—in the middle of something that she can’t quite wrap her head around. Jongdae looks like he has no idea what he’s supposed to do, his hands lifted as if he wants to comfort her, but hovering as if he has no idea how to do it.

Her vision blurs, the sadness etched across Jongdae’s face disappearing for a moment.

Then she feels a gentle arm wrapping around her shoulders and Jongdae says, very carefully, “We have to keep going.”

She sniffles, nods as she tries to rub her tears away, her contact lenses shifting as she does it, making her vision blur a bit more as she blinks rapidly. She nods and nods and Jongdae just rubs her back, soothingly, as he guides her forward.

a/n: idk if anyone saw the author's note update, but this will be a chaptered fic, updated with short chapters (6k is short for me lmao), because Minseok deserves the world! Please, let me know what you think below, this is going to be angst, but more black humor, than anything? Thank you!!! I love you guys!!!!!!

xoxo