“She must have been so pretty,” Dongwoo says, voice full of awe as he stares up at the battered bow of their next project.  He says this about every ghost ship they’ve ever taken apart.  He says this before they pry, smash, and burn them down into unrecognisable pieces to be reshaped into something new, something pretty.  

That’s not a part of their job though.  They just take the old ships apart because they’re no longer profitable.  Chansik watches Dongwoo stretch his arms up, as if he wants to touch the bow with his fingertips.  He always looks a bit sad, it makes Chansik wonder what he’s doing working in a ship breaking yard but Dongwoo’s been at it longer than Chansik has, so he figures he has his reasons.

“Are we starting on it tomorrow?” Chansik asks, even though he knows the answer, just to get Dongwoo to look away from the boat and at him instead.

“Probably, it’s no good just letting her sit here.  It’d be a waste of space.”  

Chansik isn’t sure what he hears in Dongwoo’s voice can really be called bitterness but it’s close enough.  He wonders why Dongwoo isn’t doing something else, designing and building things rather than taking them apart when it so obviously hurts him to see these boats stripped bare.  (Because he can’t is definitely the answer, but Chansik doesn’t like it so he prefers to wonder.)

He walks over to Dongwoo and takes him by the wrist, pulling him away so that they can go home.




They’ve been living together for six months, because cheap rent split between two is even cheaper.  It’s far away enough from work that Chansik can pretend he doesn’t still smell the stink of steel and oil and deadly chemicals when they’re home, but close enough that if Dongwoo decides he needs five more minute they still manage to make it on time more often than not. It is far from perfect.

It is so far from perfect that it’s not even on the periphery of any of the futures Chansik dreamt up for himself, once upon a time.

He feels like the sun has permanently branded him, left marks along every inch of exposed skin.  He’s been working long enough that he no longer feels tender or sore, doesn’t feel burnt when his skin is on fire.  That in itself is kind of terrifying; he wonders where those sensations and feelings went.  It’s like there’s a layer of grime over his heart to match his steel crusted second skin.  It leaves everything muffled, leaves Chansik living his life through a dirty filter.

“Hey,” Dongwoo’s voice jerks him out of his daze.  “Come on, let’s shower.”

They’ve been showering together almost as long as they’ve been living together.  It saves time and it saves water, but more than that Chansik feels at ease when he sees Dongwoo wash it all off.  

It’s a feat that should be impossible.  When Chansik looks at himself, or at any of the other yard workers, it looks like a permanent shell.  Whenever he looks at them he feels sure none of them will every look anything but grey and dirty, like the oily sea.  But Dongwoo comes along and he comes out clean.  

Chansik helps Dongwoo scrub his back; he scrubs so hard he leaves the skin red and warm.  But Dongwoo comes out and he’s not just clean, he’s glowing, hair clinging to his neck and water running down his chest.  Chansik doesn’t even care (or notice) that the puddles at their feet are grey and murky.  



Chansik used to think it was ridiculously hot and impossibly exhausting to work along the shore in 40°C weather.  Somewhere along the way it became normal.  In the same way scrapes and burns and the terrifying stutter of an old rope have all become normal for Chansik.  His breath catches and his heart races sometimes but he no longer bothers to acknowledge the instinctive fear that comes with it.  If it’s just a scrape he’s relieved, and he tells himself it doesn’t even hurt anymore.

He doesn’t know how Dongwoo does it without the same level of necessary numbness.  When they’re working together Dongwoo always stops, pulls Chansik aside to check his scrapes and check his burns.  He pulls Chansik aside and puts both hands on Chansik’s shoulders until he stops shaking.  Dongwoo looks at all the cuts and burns like he’s the one hurting from them.  Chansik comes out of each near fall and Dongwoo is more breathless than he is.  

“Are you really okay?” he asks, his voice is muffled by the mask he’s wearing but Chansik can tell his voice is tight and scratchy.  

“Don’t worry, I’m used to it,” he tells Dongwoo, smiling wide enough to make the corners of his eyes crease, to show Dongwoo.  (But Dongwoo looks at him and his eyes are sadder than when he looks at the skeleton of a freshly broken ship.)




The walls of their unit are incredibly thin.  It’s generous to even call them walls when they’re more like boards that just extend from the floor to the ceiling.  He can hear a lot through the walls.  Even when he’s shut away in his own tiny room he can hear Dongwoo.  He can hear him walking and coughing without effort.  If he strains Chansik is sure he’d be able to hear Dongwoo shift in his bed or even breathe.  It bothers him.

Chansik twists his bed sheets in his hands, straining to listen but trying not to at the same time.  

Dongwoo’s voice is muffled but Chansik assumes it’s heavy and thick.  When Dongwoo groans low, voice rumbling, Chansik’s breath catches and he imagines Dongwoo on the other side of the wall shuddering the way his voice shakes. Chansik bites down on his lip, so as to not make a peep, because if he can hear Dongwoo then Dongwoo could hear him too, if he were to listen.  

Chansik is sure Dongwoo’s not listening though, what with the way he’s grunting and groaning.  He must be moving around because he suddenly bangs something against the wall between them.  

But still, Chansik bites down on his lip.  It takes all of Chansik’s willpower to not press his ear against their wall. He tangles his hands up in his blanket so that he can’t give in to the temptation to slide his hand into his shorts.  

Dongwoo falls quiet eventually; asleep, maybe and Chansik just waits for his heart to quiet.  Chansik’s heart is pounding, his breathing is uneven – and it’s the only time Chansik really feels like he’s burning.




There are accidents regularly, more than daily.  Sometimes they’re small, sometimes they’re big, and sometimes they’d be catastrophic if only their lives were actually worth anything.  

Chansik is careful but being careful only does so much when equipment is old and broken down, even more than the boats they’re tearing apart.  Really, it’s twenty percent caution and eighty percent luck.  

Dongwoo is careful but Chansik knows that’ll never be enough.  

He’s gotten used to a lot of things but Chansik can’t contain the feeling of anxiety when Dongwoo isn’t working close to him.  He’s waiting for something to drop, for someone to fall, for something to explode and hoping that when it happens Dongwoo has come back to his place next to him.  

Something falls.  

Chansik drops his things and runs, because he’s used to a lot of things but Dongwoo is the only thing he’s not used to.  Dongwoo is the only good thing in his life and if he loses him then everything will just be grey and ugly, covered in a thick film of dirty oil.  The thought leaves his heart thundering, makes him so anxious he feels like he’s going to throw up.

(And then he stands in front of Dongwoo, both hands on his shoulders, just waiting for the shaking to stop – and he realises maybe it’s the same for Dongwoo.)




Chansik wonders if they could take one of those ghost ships and sail away.  Or even just the scraps of those once pretty ships, anything really, as long as it floats and is big enough for two.  They could sail away, drift until the water becomes clear and blue like it should be.  

It’s stupid and impossible but the thought makes him smile.  Dongwoo sees it and he smiles back, without wondering about the reason behind it.  

This life is so far from perfect.  They’re dirty and exhausted, tomorrow either of them might die in a barely tragic accident, the sea that swallows up all the waste and junk will never be clean.  The water running down their bodies trickles into the drain grey and murky.  But Chansik is used to it, so he’s not miserable, not even close.  

He figures, as long as he never gets used to Dongwoo he’s fine.  Dongwoo who imagines all the ghost ships before they died.  Dongwoo who feels all the aches and pains that Chansik can’t.  Dongwoo who glows, even if it’s just in Chansik’s eyes.  He’ll never get used to any of that.  (And for Dongwoo it’s the same.)

He runs a hand through Dongwoo’s hair, pushes it back from his face.  The world around them is dirty and toxic but they’re not.

“We’re wasting water,” Dongwoo says with a smile that might be shy.  

“One day out of 365,” he retorts with a grin.  Chansik doesn’t give him the chance to answer.  He pushes his lips against Dongwoo’s, and even though he can taste metal he doesn’t care.  All he cares is that Dongwoo is smiling; he can feel it against his lips.