A Break In Dawn

Sleep never comes easy for Hyun. Her dreams are a canvas of her terrors; loneliness and disillusion stretch far beyond her realm of consciousness. Skyscrapers concave around her huddled form, a hunk of quivering flesh on the concrete. Her screams are separate from her own body. She can hear them, yet is barren, motionless. 

The morning is darker than usual. Dark grey clouds flock the winter sky and promise a possible reprieve from the snow. Hyun hates the thought of them. Her schedule consists of drowning in a nest of blankets on her bed. She sends a smug text to Mina for her having to go to school on this very cold, very dark Thursday morning.

Since Hyun doesn’t have tutoring she doesn’t have to socialize. Doesn’t even have to leave her bed. If Mina were here she’d called her a lazy fatass and force her to go to the store. They’ve been out of ramen for a while. And as much as Hyun practically lives on artificial pre-packed foods when her dad is on one of his insufferable diets and refuses to prepare anything with a semblance of flavor, Hyun won’t go. It’s been a few weeks since she’s gone farther than her front lawn to fetch the mail. That in no way beats her record of months at a time. But the time weighs more heavily on her as she gets older. 

A ten-year-old knew nothing of the repercussions isolation brought. Scooby-Doo gummies and several stacks of video games she’d yet to beat marked the years of her childhood; the passing of time was trivial in her quest to become the best warrior in the land or avenger in her realm. 

Sixteen is very different from ten. 

One thing that turns this strange morning into an even stranger one is that her dad’s ceremonial shout for her to come eat breakfast is missing. Hyun walks down to the kitchen, barefoot and cold toed. Her dad is sitting at the island with a small notebook cracked in front of him. His uncharacteristic silence doesn’t fail to set her on edge.

“You busy?” Hyun goes to claim an empty stool.

“Huh?” Her dad looks up at her, eyes cloudy and creases from worry denting his wide forehead. “Oh, yeah, a bit. Hey, sweet girl. There’s something kind of serious that...that I’ve gotta tell you.”

“Shoot, dad.”

“I’m going on a business trip for a while.”

“Okay.”

“A long one.”

“...Okay.”

“The company lost some money during a recent venture. Big money. Some folks were let go. My boss organized for a couple of us “high performers” to do market research in a couple of different cities. so, I’ll be hotel hopping for a couple of weeks. Hopefully no more than two.” Her dad sighs. “Chanyeol is actually my co-worker’s son. He goes to a community college not far from here. And he agreed to look after the house while I’m away.”

Realization dawns on Hyun. She makes a face.

Her dad is quick on the defense. “It’s not like a babysitter or anything! It’s just, you’re going to be here alone, love. For two weeks, possibly longer. It would put your old man at ease knowing there’s someone here to help if anything bad happens.”

It sounds like a babysitter to Hyun. She wishes her dad trusted her enough to stay home alone. Or, that Kyungsoo was home so she wouldn’t have a stranger (no matter how handsome) lurking around her home. Her first instinct is to throw a tantrum and cling onto her dad’s legs so he won’t go. 

But sixteen is very different from ten.

“When are you leaving?” she asks.

“Later today. I have to take some money out of the bank to pay Chanyeol in advance and go grocery shopping first.” Her dad places a veiny hand on top of Hyun’s. “You’re gonna be okay, promise. If that Chanyeol character tries to get fresh just grab the gun in my closet. Make it look like an accident.”

Hyun laughs and nods. 

“He’s a good kid though,” her dad says.

Hyun nods again. She has no choice but to trust his judgment.

ᴅ ᴇ ғ ᴇ ᴄ ᴛ  ʀ ᴇ ᴊ ᴇ ᴄ ᴛ s

Her dad leaves later in the day, at around six p.m. Hyun is left to sulk in the living room. She had gone through a short period of intense annoyance for her dad actually thinking that Hyun needs a babysitter, as grown as a sixteen-year-old girl is. 

It passed.

Now she’s just an anxious mess, watching the minutes tick by in tense silence. Mina had offered to come over, but Hyun insistently refused. The last thing she needs is for Mina to spread her weird gospel and freak Chanyeol out. She has no time to ponder whether it was a bad move on her part because knocks erupt in the silence and Hyun is on her feet before the last one falls. She tries to look like she won’t pass out when she opens the door. 

For some reason, the Chanyeol that Hyun had conjured in her mind when she needed something to dread isn’t the same Chanyeol that is standing before her now. This Chanyeol is grinning, rosy-cheeked from the cold, and shivering.

“I thought I was gonna freeze just getting to the door.” Chanyeol laughs and Hyun’s head explodes in relief. She steps out of Chanyeol’s way as the man steps inside, kicking off his boots unceremoniously. He walks over to the closet; the man’s cologne smacks Hyun in the face as he passes. She closes the door. She’s still on edge, but the terror that surrounded this momentous encounter in her mind pales in comparison to the reality. 

Hyun follows him to the kitchen to find Chanyeol emptying some things in the fridge.

“Um, my dad made kimchi.” Chanyeol finishes up. “And a couple of other side dishes. I can’t promise it tastes good, though. I mean, I guess it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“Right.” Hyun nods. “That was nice of him. Maybe your dad can tag along when mine goes to take cooking lessons. He’s not really a master chef, either.”

Chanyeol chuckles. “It’d do him some good, that’s for sure.”

Despite feeling like her skin is crawling with awkward nerves, she manages to say, “Well, I think you know where the bathroom is. The kitchen, obviously. Through that door to your left is the backyard. This door by the pantry is the basement. And you’ll be staying in Bennet’s room. He’s the middle door upstairs. I vacuumed and changed the sheets a couple of hours ago.”

“Thanks,” Chanyeol says. “Uh, hey, I was gonna make a little snack and then head up to study. You hungry?”

She actually is. But, if she has to eat dinner with him, she might get indigestion. This is just too weird.

“I...ate already,” she lies. “I’m just gonna hang out in my room for a while.”

“Oh, ok,” Chanyeol says. “Well, this is just some pre-studying fuel. I’ll more than likely raid the kitchen again after I put in a few hours of work. Feel more than free to join me.”

“If I’m up, I might.” Another lie.

Excusing herself, Hyun goes upstairs to hide out in her bedroom. She flips the switch to her overhead light and picks up on some unfinished sketching on her bed.

Her phone buzzes somewhere near her pillow. Her lazy swing to knock it closer just ends in disaster as she feels metal knick her toe and hears a thump after. She scoots to the edge of the bed and leans over the side as she checks the message waiting impatiently in her inbox.

From: Mini, 9.09pm

How good does Casanova look?

Seen, 9.14pm

His name is Chanyeol.

From: Mini, 9.20pm

You’re dodging the question.

Without fail, her phone rings. Hyun answers it with a grunt as she scales the side of her bed to get properly on it, head pumping from the excess blood. 

“Why are you being difficult? Just explain to me in detail how amazing he looks. We’re best friends. So we must share romantic fantasies. That has to be in a rule book somewhere.” Mina blabbers as soon as Hyun has the phone up to her ear. 

“Aren’t nuns banned from dating or something?” Hyun asks.

“You're confusing religions. I’m not a nun.” She sounds like Hyun just slapped her grandma, deeply offended. “Just a believer. And I’ll live vicariously through whomever I please, so…”

“So what?”

“So give me all the dirty details, girl. We’ve got all night.”

“You have school tomorrow.” Hyun reminds her.

“Oh, puh-lease.” Mina clicks her tongue. “They’re lucky if I show up before fourth period”

ᴅ ᴇ ғ ᴇ ᴄ ᴛ  ʀ ᴇ ᴊ ᴇ ᴄ ᴛ s

A knock comes at her bedroom door about two hours later.

“Come in,” Hyun says.

Her bedroom door creaks open further. She shields the page she’s working on instinctively and sets her phone down on her bed. Mina is yapping on the other end. Her nose tips her off on the situation before her eyes do. 

Microwaved leftover pizza. Her older brother’s favorite. 

“In case you were hungry.” Chanyeol raises the plate like an offering. “May I?”

“Oh, sure,” Hyun says. “Come in.”

Chanyeol walks over to set the plate on Hyun’s desk in the corner, shuffling some of her brushes and empty jars in the process. 

“Sweet. Thanks,” Hyun says. 

“Yeah, no probs, bob.” Chanyeol lingers in the middle of Hyun’s floor, eyes curious and roaming everywhere. Hyun is a little embarrassed as Chanyeol stares all around her walls. When Hyun doesn’t completely hate something she’s painted, she clips it to a twine wire strung against her walls with tape. Pieces of the white space are splattered in vibrant attempts of reviving the dull color; but, as the splotches can attest to, her inspiration happens in bursts of energy before dying as her attention span withers with it. 

Chanyeol is standing next to the sadly empty easel in the middle of the floor, wooden legs swimming amongst carpet stains and half-full jars of paint, some newer than others.

“This is fire,” Chanyeol says, lips quirking for a reason Hyun is intensely curious about. 

“It’s a hobby.” Hyun nods, unfolding her legs and scooting to the edge of her bed. 

“It’s a cool hobby.” Chanyeol nods. “And you’re good at it.”

“It’s just dumb. I can’t even finish anything.” Hyun stands.

“It’s not dumb,” Chanyeol says. It might be the first time Hyun has seen him frown. “Uh, sorry for sounding like I’m mad at you. It’s just, I can tell you’re passionate about it. That’s sick.”

“Yeah.” I don’t know what else to say.

“Night,” Chanyeol says as he heads over to the door.

“Night,” I say back.

ᴅ ᴇ ғ ᴇ ᴄ ᴛ  ʀ ᴇ ᴊ ᴇ ᴄ ᴛ s

Lightning reflects in the dilated blackness of Hyun’s pupils. Her room is dark, the same as it had been that night. She shivers violently at the thunder that whips across the sky immediately afterward. Her nails are digging dark crescents into her cold skin and she presses her back against the wood more. She had grown too restless in her bed, so she crawled into her window nook to count the stars like her dad taught her when she couldn’t sleep. 

Grey clouds from the morning have swelled to plump, black sacks of liquid destruction. It caught her by surprise. The soft patter she could have dealt with. However, when it begins dropping like stones and splashing against her window in messy stripes, she's warped into a sad bubble that she's trying to slice open with a dull knife.

Her body is in a strange paralysis. She should be able to pull herself away from the window, but she won’t. The crackling silver illuminates the indigo sky before a boom vibrates the sill. 

Hyun is sick to her stomach.

Something warm and solid invades her bubble. It takes a couple of sturdy shakes of her entire body before Hyun is back in her dark room again. She squints at the face inches from her. Lightning helps her place the warmth and she is drawn into the man’s arms.

“Are you okay?” Chanyeol slides his hand onto the small of Hyun’s back. She melts into the sweet touch. She can only feel how hard she is trembling when her tremoring back is against Chanyeol’s still hand. The contrast is startling. 

“I’m f-fine,” Hyun stutters, voice dry and unstable.

“You’re not.” Chanyeol gently tugs her to his side and sits down, wrapping one arm around her shoulder. Hyun is incredibly self-conscious at the turn of events. She’s small and soft against Chanyeol’s solid body. When she leans into his touch her nose is filled with the scent of a generic body soap. Oddly enough, it’s comforting. The pressure of Chanyeol massaging lines down Hyun’s arm is comforting.

Before she realizes it, they’ve been at this for ten minutes. 

Hyun has no time to ponder how intimate this is for two people who’ve been acquainted for all of a day, possibly even inappropriate, because Chanyeol’s strong hands soothe the shivers right out of her shoulders like she's known him all of her life. She can breathe now without sniffling. Her chest tightens the way it does when she's thinking about how to tell someone something, throat stuttering.

“Don't. You don't have to try to explain anything to me. I just wanna make sure you're okay,” Chanyeol says right next to Hyun’s ear, sending sparks down her neck from how loud and clear the man’s voice is in the sheer darkness of her bedroom. “Are you okay now?”

Hyun gathers the courage to nod. It might be a lie. She’s not entirely sure. All she can tell for sure is that her toes are no longer cold and curled. Her pulse is even again. She can think somewhat clearly. She should be okay for the night if her nightmares can block out the thundering storm outside.

“Hungry?”

Hyun shakes her head.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Hyun has the strangest urge to say ‘yes’. But Chanyeol must want to sleep. She can hardly see his face in the dark. Doesn’t matter. It’s late. Hyun bites back the selfish whim and shakes her head. 

“You should get some sleep,” she says. 

“I can stay if you want. I know what night terrors feel like and they’re not fun.” 

Chanyeol pauses. He may be waiting for Hyun because she has gone silent. Then, as if he can peer straight through Hyun’s skull and extract her thoughts, he says, “You wouldn't be bothering me. I’m okay with it, really.”

Hyun would be lying if she said she isn’t tempted in the slightest. Chanyeol is warm, her bed is cold, and that’s really all it takes for her to lean into him. Chanyeol wraps one hand around her waist from behind and allows Hyun to burrow her halo of dark, thick curls into the crook of his neck, the crown nestled beneath his chin. 

“We can stay like this for a while.” Chanyeol locks his grip once she is settled. It’s not overbearing or uncomfortable, just comforting. Hyun closes her eyes as sleep is unlocking her joints and filling her stomach with the warmth of cherry oak burning on an open hearth. Hyun should be concerned over how indecent all of this is. She’s cuddling (because, really, what other word is there?) with this man--this stranger. As much as her head is telling her that she should stop, her chest is telling her that she likes the extra body heat; although foreign, it’s very welcome. 

ᴅ ᴇ ғ ᴇ ᴄ ᴛ  ʀ ᴇ ᴊ ᴇ ᴄ ᴛ s

Hyun realizes after a minute of blinking and staring into space, eyes lazily catching dust motes sparkling in the dawn sunshine, that she fell asleep. Her nose is squashed in her pillow. She turns her head over to face the heavy intrusion of shine. From fear that she’ll start drooling soon with hung open, she lifts her head. The mess of her room looks innocent enough compared to the battlefield she imagined last night. The round, cylindrical things on her carpet aren’t bombs, but paint jars. The spots of dark red aren’t blood, but stains where she spilled kool-aid that she never tried to get out. No corpse is going to come falling out of her closet. That doesn’t say much for the skeletons and other horrors that may be stuffed inside. But still.

Hyun tenses a little when she notices the body cramped in her window nook shift a little. So he hadn’t left. She doesn’t allow the glee popping irrationally in her stomach to go to her head. The man looks so peaceful. His sharp eyebrows, which Hyun can see so well due to his slanted angle, are tucked snugly beneath his dark fringe and his eyelids are still, calm. The only sign of movement is from his slightly parted lips, little snores slipping out that Hyun is disturbed to find more endearing than unattractive. 

She is so distracted by Chanyeol’s plush, dark pink lips that she notices when the snoring stops, but not when dark brown eyes lock onto her forehead. Her own slide up after a few seconds of stark realization and abashed regret for having been staring for so long. Her gaze finds Chanyeol’s, clicking right into place at his gentle smile.

Nerves wriggle back into Hyun a split second after Chanyeol has mumbled his morning greetings. 

“I...have to pee.” Hyun blubbers like the eloquent bastard she is and climbs out of bed. She almost cries when her haste causes her to stumble a little. The coughs that sound like muffled laughs behind her doesn’t help her regain her balance. Her bare feet pad down the freezing wooden steps and she bursts into the bathroom just before the cold sweats sprout on the surface of her buzzing forearms. 

Hyun takes a long, painful look in the mirror at herself. Her curls are angry as usual. Maybe it’s the immensely bright light spilling in from the window off to the side, but her skin is glowing. Good. She grabs a comb and tries to sort out her hair by splashing water on it and raking through the tangles. But because she has neglected to take care of it the past few days, it’s disobedient in protest.

There’s an incredibly attractive man in her house, who may or may not be in her room at the moment, and she’s here looking like somebody’s auntie. Chanyeol doesn’t make her want to hop out of a three-story window. He doesn’t give her that look that means he’s judging her from head to toe. He’s nice enough, cute enough. He’s warm. 

Hyun is not only inept at life in general, but she’s also grossly unlucky as well. 

She decides to kill two birds with one stone; she prolongs showing her face and takes a shower as well. The hot water runs over her skin. Her eyes close as she tucks her head under the shower and massages shampoo all the way down to the knotted roots, raking her fingers through the hair. After a shower and a hair detangling session, Hyun feels human again. Her breath is minty and her hair is freshly washed.

She wrangles the thickness into two french braids. They’re super damp. She might catch a cold but she’ll smell like tropical paradise while doing it.

Fridays are usually a joy.

Hyun’s dad will get off work early and they’ll watch creature movies, his absolute favorite, in the living room until either or both knock out on the couch. Friday feels different now that her dad is gone and Chanyeol, instead, is banging pots in the kitchen. She can’t say how comfortable she is with this increasing familiarity. Chanyeol seems to be secure in his level of intimacy, but Hyun is so unnerved by it that she can’t bring herself to go into the kitchen. 

The fact that Chanyeol caught a glimpse into a part of Hyun that she herself can barely understand is terrifying. She feels bare, exposed, and in front of a man that she should have nothing to do with besides living arrangements for a few weeks and some tutoring. 

“Are you alright?”

Hyun looks up from the smudge in the wood that her focus had violated so relentlessly a moment ago. Chanyeol is standing in the kitchen’s threshold with a spatula stained with what looks like eggs in his hand. Hyun’s eyes trace the prominent vein in the man’s arm up to his face, his concerned, brown eyes that evoke panic in Hyun for unknown reasons. Chanyeol might be asking two questions. One which Hyun will answer more readily than the other. But, when Chanyeol’s free hand gestures clearly to the grip Hyun has on her basketball shorts, one of the questions disintegrates in her mind and she forces a nervous laugh.

“Fine.” Hyun nods without meeting his eyes. 

“Are you hungry?” Chanyeol asks.

Hyun is prepared to say no and disappear to her room when her stomach growls like the traitor it always is. 

“I made eggs and toast,” Chanyeol says, the soft skin around his mouth crinkling in pleasantry and eyes conveying the same hopeful sentiment. “You know, you’re welcome to…”

“Thanks,” Hyun says in slight defeat and hopes her face isn’t as forlorn as her voice sounds. There really isn’t anything wrong with Chanyeol cooking a meal. Still, for some reason, it feels more intimate than she’s used to. 

They eat mostly in silence. Chanyeol will respond to Hyun’s clank of her fork with one of his own and shift in his stool occasionally. The eggs are just eggs, but they taste so different from her dad’s. They’re actually...good. Even the toast is perfectly brown, void of the black edges that have become a characteristic of her dad’s toast.

(“Is it supposed to be dark like that?” Hyun remembers asking once. It had been apart of one of the few vivid memories after her mom left when her dad was still trying to get the hang of being Super Dad.

“That’s what makes it crispy,” her dad had replied with confidence.

Hyun gave Bennett a look. She was sure that it was burnt, but she kept shut.)

Chanyeol can really cook. Hyun thinks this is something that tumbles solely in her mind. She realizes that she had said it aloud when Chanyeol starts talking. She’s a little embarrassed.

“Before my accident in high school, I used to hunt with my dad all the time. But I stopped after it happened and my aunt let me help out in her restaurant to keep me from my boredom. I lifted boxes, butchered meat, and other things she could’ve used me for.” Chanyeol sits up, fondness slipping into his voice. “Then she started to teach me the finer things about running a restaurant. When I started really cooking I never wanted to stop. I get to breathe life into food. I'm a master of my own ingredients and the kitchen is like another realm for me. Food has no bias.”

Hyun finds herself leaning forward, propping her elbow on the table and resting the side of her jaw in her curled palm.

“After the accident, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Park’s had always been about hunting. My father expected nothing less than that for me as well. I was a spitting image of him when he was my age if he had half his talent tied behind his back. I had always followed him because I knew nothing else. Then I found cooking and I realized that life is an ocean of possibilities. It was the greatest upheaval of my fourteen-year-old life.”

“I don’t know what I want to do,” Hyun blurts mindlessly. Chanyeol looks at her, only staring for a few seconds, then a grin appears.

“You’re an artist, Hyun. Make art.”

Some things are just meant to sound cringey. 'Make art' is definitely one of them. What Hyun does is hardly art. She scratches her feelings onto some paper, dries it with her tears, and tries to forget that it exists. Of the things she doesn’t completely hate, there are few she’d actually set loose for the public to claw into. Most of them are too private, too much like herself that she’s afraid they’ll wither and perish out there. 

Hyun’s art is a slice of herself that she’s temporarily coughed up and is constantly scheming to shove back inside. Just the thought of walking past it casually in some store or exhibit is panic-inducing. Pricing it is even more terrifying. In some sense, someone actually paying for what she does wouldn’t sit right. It’s her rubbish. She could give it away with less guilt. And on that same strain, it’s value is immeasurable. 

Hello, my name is Hyun and I’m selling chunks of my soul for $19.99 plus tax. 

Wickedly sickening.

“Art.” She doesn’t mean to grumble. She ends up doing it though. If Chanyeol takes it sourly, he doesn’t let on. Hyun finishes eating first and is on her way to her room when Chanyeol asks her to wait.

“Do you like music?” he asks as he pulls his phone out of his sweats’ pocket and begins tapping away, plate pushed out of his way. Hyun wanders over to him, hiking herself up onto a closer stool and leaning in. 

“Yeah, music’s cool.”

“Ever heard of these guys?” He turns up the volume and a soft bass guitar fuses with a sax and a familiar female voice:

If the kids make it out safe tell ‘em I never stopped hoping,
Tell ‘em they’ll be safe when the crickets chirp in a dewy back lawn,
Because when the sun comes up on another day of slaughter,
We’re all doomed.

“The Whoremongers.” Hyun grins, delighted. “I love them.”

“They're awesome, right? They’re having a concert next week. My friends and I are gonna drive down and stay at a pension. Sound like something you'd be interested in?”

Concerts. People. Loud, thumping music and screaming and sweating. Crying. Chaos. What the actual hell? 

“Can I think about it?” She’s being polite.

“Sure.” Chanyeol smiles. Hopeful. 

He shouldn’t hold his breath.