Thunk.

“Owwwww!” Jongdae howls and clutches his fist to his chest, leaning away from Minseok and consequently squashing Sehun into the corner of the back row of the minivan. Sehun shoves him back upright while Minseok snickers. The pair of them have been playing “knuckles” next to Sehun for what seems like at least an hour, and Sehun is getting rather tired of being half-deafened by Jongdae’s screeches of pain every time he loses—which seems like at least 80% of the time.

“You at this game,” he tells Jongdae, rubbing his ear. “Can’t you play something else?”

“I have to get back at Minseok first.” Jongdae is still cradling his hand. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one who ends up bruised.” He examines his hand and his eyes widen. “Hyung, you drew blood!”

Sehun eyes Jongdae’s hand. His knuckles are dotted with blue bruises from the repetitive hits from Minseok’s knuckles, and yes, he sees that one of them has scraped a little, and a miniscule speck of blood is forming on the skin.

“Oh no.” Minseok is still laughing. “You need to stop losing!”

“It’s not like I’m trying to lose,” Jongdae whines. “Why are you so good at this game? It’s not fair!”

“You should give him a handicap,” Chanyeol tosses the words over his shoulder from the middle row, “or he won’t be able to use his hand by the time we get to Jirisan.”

“He has another hand, what’s the problem?” Minseok says heartlessly, earning himself a punch to the upper arm from Jongdae. Sehun rolls his eyes and resumes staring out of the window. His right leg jiggles as he watches the scenery flash by. He’s bored, tired and restless, and the combination isn’t putting him in the best mood for the antics of his eight hyungs. He loves them all, but sometimes they can be a bit overwhelming—especially when all nine of them are cooped up in an overcrowded minivan for over three hours. There are small cameras stuck to the inside of most of the windows and the roof, capturing footage for the holiday special they’re filming on this trip. Sehun isn’t convinced that this trip counts as a vacation at all if there are cameras on them, but it’s not like he has any say in the matter. Or like any of them do. Regardless of the fact that everyone else in Korea gets to spend the autumn celebration of Chuseok with their families, EXO will be spending it together, cementing the image of their group being their family. Sehun loves all s, he really does, but he can’t help wishing he could have at least a day or two to spend with his parents, his grandparents and his brother.

“Are we nearly there yet?” Baekhyun whines from the middle, and gets a chorus of groans and “shut up”s in response; it’s at least the tenth time he’s asked this. Sehun isn’t sure whether he’s playing around for the camera or really wants to know. Maybe it’s both. Sehun wouldn’t mind knowing the answer too. The van is too stuffy and too full of young men. He’s ready to be out of it.

“Only fifteen minutes now,” Junmyeon calls back from the passenger seat. Kyungsoo is driving, and hasn’t said a word for over an hour. His focus is almost unnerving, but Sehun is glad for it, because they’re going up a winding mountain road now, and the sheer drop he can see out of his window just keeps on getting bigger.

“Can we pull over?” Yixing’s voice is quietly desperate, and everyone looks at him.

“I can’t,” Kyungsoo breaks his hour-long silence to say, “not on this road, there’s no verge.”

“Xing’s gonna hurl—”

“Someone get the sick bag quick—”

Sehun shuts his eyes and puts his hands over his ears. He feels sorry for Yixing, but he hates it so much when people throw up, it makes him want to throw up too. Someone rolls down the windows and a cold breeze rips through the van. The three in the back feel like they’re sitting in the middle of a tornado, their hair whipping into their eyes, but Sehun doesn’t mind. He keeps his eyes closed and his hands over his ears and retreats into his own private world until the van takes a turn off the highway and they swing into a bumpy gravel side road and pull up.

“All clear.” Jongdae taps his shoulder and grins at him when he opens his eyes. “You can stop hiding now.”

Sehun sighs with relief and scrambles out after Jongdae and Minseok, the last one to leave the van. They’ve pulled up in front of a large house nestled high in the forest of Jirisan National Park, where they’ll be spending the three days of the Chuseok holiday, having their so-called vacation, and filming various games and cultural outings to the local shrines and Buddhist temple ceremonies. The mountains stretch out across the valley before him, layers and layers of diminishing, cool blue peaks in multiple shades. It’s so vast, and so quiet. Sehun has lived in Seoul all his life and it’s weird not to hear the sound of the city around him.

“That’s Jirisan, I think.” Jongin is beside him. He points up to one of the peaks rising up behind the house, and Sehun turns to look. Jirisan is the highest mountain on the mainland, and he’s never visited it before. He’s heard there are lots of great hiking trails here, and his mind goes to his new trail running shoes he packed in his sports bag. Running will help get some of this irritating restless-tiredness out of him, and he feels the strong desire to be alone for a while. He needs to recharge and prepare himself for three days of madness.

“You reckon I have time for a run?”

Jongin grins at him. “Dude, you are getting obsessed with running. Ask Junmyeon if we have to film anything this afternoon.”

Sehun finds Junmyeon and gets permission, as everyone is going to rest after the long drive. It's about quarter to three, and Junmyeon tells him to be back by five to start the afternoon and evening filming.

“Take your phone, and make sure you stick to the trails and don't go too far,” he instructs. Sehun barely manages to bite back a snappish response. He may be the youngest of the group, but he is not a child and he is perfectly capable of taking care of himself—but he knows this is just Junmyeon’s way, he looks out for everyone. The fact that he feels irritated by this today only reinforces to Sehun that he needs to be alone for a bit and work his crankiness out of his system.

He changes into a singlet and shorts, then steps outside and takes a moment to look at a map on his phone. About three hundred meters further up the main road is a trailhead, where six or seven different trails lead into the mountain range. He doesn’t have a pocket, so he holds his phone in his hand as he jogs the few meters down the gravel driveway and onto the main road. He sticks as close to the edge of the road as he can—it’s narrow, and the cars won’t be expecting a runner on it. Luckily the road is quiet and he gets to the trailhead without mishap.

The trailhead is bigger than he expected. There’s a large car park, some groomed grassy slopes with swoopy granite sculptures on them, and an information centre and a souvenir store. There’s a large bronze statue on one of the grassy slopes, and as he jogs up to it, Sehun slows down and stops to look. It shows tangle of people fighting. He sees soldiers with rifles, and someone planting a large flag.

“It’s the Samcheong-Hamyang massacre memorial,” a quavering voice to his left says. Sehun looks around and down to see an elderly, white-haired man gazing up at the bronze statue. The top of his head barely reaches Sehun's shoulder. “More than seven hundred people were killed in this area in 1951. They said they were subduing guerilla warfare, but that was just a pretext. They’re all buried here, the innocents; here and on the mountain.”

“That’s terrible,” Sehun murmurs. He looks at the statue again, at the tortured expressions of the fighters. His heart gives a twist, the way it sometimes does when he thinks of his country’s tragic history. He’s not sure why this happens to him. It’s not like he remembers any of it; it was all over by the time he was born, but somehow it hurts him, as if he was there. He’s not even sure what the emotion is, that makes this twisting inside him. Anger, or injustice, or a deep, deep sadness on behalf of his people. Maybe it’s all three.

“They’re still here, you know,” the elder continues. “The ghosts of the dead. They wander the mountain. Their deaths were unjust, and so they cannot rest.” He turns from the statue for the first time to look up at Sehun. “Many people say they’ve seen the restless dead, or heard their cries. Be careful up there, young man. Be respectful. They do not like their places invaded.”

Sehun feels a shiver crawl all the way up and down his body. The elder’s gaze is so deep in his wrinkled old face. It’s like he’s seeing into another world. Sehun wonders how old he is, and if he remembers the massacre.

“I’ll be respectful,” he promises, though he’s not really sure how one goes about being respectful to the dead buried on a mountain he just wants to go trail running on.

He bows politely to the elder and starts jogging again. There’s a stretch of sealed road before he meets the start of the trails, and he glances at his phone to check the time. Three fifteen. He has just under two hours. He decides to turn around when he’s been running for one hour and five minutes. He should be able to get back within two hours if he does that, since he'll be going uphill on the way out and coming down will be faster.

The first trail he reaches drops below the mountain road and winds along a rocky mountain river. It’s a well-graded trail with lots of little bridges to cross the feeder streams, and Sehun flies up it, the gentle incline nothing to his strong legs and conditioned lungs. He finds his rhythm quickly and settles into a loping gait that eats up the ground without getting him too much out of breath. The crisp air flows over his bare arms and the fresh smell of the trees and mountains seems to enliven his lungs. It’s so much more enjoyable than running in the city, and he finds himself smiling as he runs. He pours the stress of the last few weeks of intense promotions into his muscles and works it out of his body with his sweat. This is why he loves running. Running makes everything better.

He passes a few groups of hikers coming down. At first he automatically avoids their eyes, but then he realises that most of them are middle-aged or elderly and are unlikely to recognize an idol, especially not in the middle of the Jirisan mountains. He’s pretty safe here, and he relaxes even more. It’s so nice to be able to smile and call a greeting in return to those he gets from the hikers without having to worry about being recognised and having to switch into Sehun-the-idol mode.

The riverside trail only takes ten minutes to get up. It comes out on a small mountain road from which several more trails start, and he stops to take a quick glance at the signboard. Some of these trails are multi-day hikes, but he finds one that is only seven kilometres one-way, and leads up the side of the mountain to a lookout. That will do, he decides. Fourteen k out-and-back; he can do that in two hours, minus ten or so for the trail he's just run up and the couple of hundred metres back to the house.

The trail he’s picked has a closed gate at the start of it. Sehun glances the sign hanging on it. DO NOT START TRAIL LATER THAN 2 PM, it reads, and then elaborates by explaining that hikers starting any later risk getting caught on the mountain in the dark. Sehun hesitates for a moment, looking at his phone. It’s already 3:15, but he’s running; he’ll be way faster than the hiking time. He’s been running a lot lately and he’s confident in his fitness and speed. There’s no way it’ll take him longer than an hour and forty-five minutes to do 14 k. He’s done that distance in an hour back in Seoul.

He opens the gate and starts running up the trail.

It’s a great trail. Sehun blasts up it, reveling in the feeling of his legs working and his blood pumping harder as the trail gets steeper. He passes a few more groups of hikers, all of them on their way down, and then after a while there are no more people. The hikers have all obeyed the sign and started early. That’s fine with him; he enjoys having the trail to himself.

It starts to get rockier and steeper as it goes on. There are several more bridges crossing a rushing mountain stream, and then a few places where he actually has to climb. Ropes and chains have been attached to places where the cliff was just too steep to make a trail. Sehun hauls himself up the obstacles easily. He’s having a blast. No wonder people love trail running. This just cannot compare to city running.

There are trail markers every kilometre, and when he gets to kilometre six, the trail changes again. It’s just one kilometre to the top, but Sehun now stands at the bottom of an extremely steep slope that is made of huge boulders. There’s no real trail any more, just markers leading up the side of the boulders. He glances at his phone and is startled to find that he’s been running for a full hour. It's taken longer than he expected to get this far. The steepness of the trail and the places he had to climb must have slowed him down. It makes sense, he realises. When he runs in Seoul, he can go flat-out without ever slowing at all.

He looks longingly up at the steep path ahead of him. He was going to turn back after an hour and five minutes, that’s only four minutes away, but how can he get just one k from the top of the trail and turn back? It feels like quitting, and he wants to see the lookout.

He can’t possibly give up here. He’ll just take it faster on the way down. He can make up the extra minutes if he really gives it his all.

He starts to bound up the slope of boulders. It takes all his concentration; the boulders are huge, but he’s fit, and he’s strong; it’s like playing to him, and he loves the burning in his lungs, loves the sweat dripping down his face. He loves the way his mind empties and his whole being is encompassed in the effort. Everything flies away when he works like this. All the worries, all the stress, all the pressure and the knowledge of everyone watching him, always watching him; the whole world watching him. Here, alone, running up this mountain trail, he doesn’t have to be EXO’s Sehun. He doesn’t have to be an image, doesn't have to be perfect. He can just—be.

He reaches the top of the boulder slope and rests for a couple of seconds, hands on knees, panting to regain his breath. Then he’s flying along the last twisting stretches of trail through the trees, until finally it all opens out.

He’s not at the top of the mountain, but on a rocky spur, and he looks out as the vastness of the landscape spreads before him.

He never knew there were so many shades of blue; each row of mountains has a different shade. They fade into the late afternoon sky, dimmer and hazier the more distant they get. Sehun feels that twist in his chest again, but this time it isn’t anger or sadness; this time it feels different. It’s almost like nostalgia, though what for, he isn’t quite sure. It’s strange; he’s a city boy born and bred, but here, standing on top of this rocky spur surrounded by nothing but mountains and trees and empty, velvety air, he feels more belonging than he’s ever felt in his life.

It’s all too soon when he has to turn away. He could stay here for hours, but he has to get back. The others are expecting him back at five, they’ll be mad at him if he holds up filming by staying out too long, and he already overstretched his time by running that last kilometre. He checks his phone again and sees that it’s already 4:20.

Whoa. Where did the time go? How long did he just spend staring at the mountains?

He has forty minutes to get back. That’s going to be a serious push, but he can do it. He can do seven k plus a bit downhill in forty minutes, right?

He kind of has to, if he doesn’t want to be seriously scolded. He takes off back down the first flattish stretch of path. He’s feeling the fatigue in his legs now. It was hard work climbing when he’s mostly used to running on the flat, but he can do it. He’s pushed through fatigue worse than this during rehearsals and concerts. He’ll get his second wind soon enough.

He reaches the top of the boulder slope and starts swiftly bounding his way down. Springing from rock to rock, so fast, so focused—

Afterwards, Sehun always thought it felt like being shoved. Shoved from behind by a hand planted in the middle of his back. The shove puts him off balance and his right ankle slips off the side of the boulder. He slams hard into the rocks on his left side and hears a sound like crack-crack! Pain explodes in his right ankle and rushes up his body like a dark tsunami, and for a moment, everything goes black.

When he blinks his eyes open, he’s lying tangled on the very edge of the trail, where he’s fallen off the large slope of boulders. Everything is very still and very quiet. He was only out for a second, if at all, he thinks—he hasn’t hit his head, it was the shock of the fall stunning him.

He sits up, remembering the noise he heard. Crack-crack! He looks at his right ankle, where the sound came from. Where the pain is coming from.

He looks at it for several seconds before what he’s seeing actually makes sense to him. His ankle is swelling. He moves his other foot beside it to compare. There's already a visible difference. He bites his lip, closing his eyes briefly. When he opens them again, he's sure it's already bigger. He's never seen an injury swell so fast.

Hell, he thinks. That can’t be good.

“,” he says aloud. It hurts. It hurts a ing lot. He wriggles his injured foot and swears again as pain bolts through him, making his body feel weirdly limp. He can’t bear to look at the mess that was, just moments ago, a perfectly good ankle. He can’t sit up anymore. He feels sick. He lies back down and shuts his eyes, his mind going strangely empty as he waits to feel better again.

After a minute or two of lying there and not thinking about much at all, he remembers he was carrying his phone. He opens his eyes and looks around for it, and sees it lying just within reach. He grabs it and finds that the screen has a huge dent in the middle, surrounded by a cobweb of cracks. He knows it won’t turn on even as he tries the button. It probably saved his hand, he realises. He must have come down on it and the phone screen took the worst of the blow. But it also means that he has no way of calling for help.

Sehun doesn’t panic. It’s clear to him that he has two choices. One, he can stay lying on this trail all night until hikers find him in the morning. Two, he can get up and go back down the mountain.

With an ankle that went crack-crack?

It isn’t broken. It just can’t be. He needs to get back by five or he’s going to mess up the filming schedule and be in big trouble. He can’t stay out overnight because the others will go crazy with worry. And they need him to dance on stage again after the Chuseok celebrations are over, which he can’t do with a broken ankle. To Sehun, these rea