After the first hour of initial shock, Jieun and Youngjae began cleaning up the cafe, figuring that getting something done would be better than not doing anything at all. Eventually, after the fifth hour, they ran out of things to clean, and then Jieun resorted to watching Old World DVDs on her vintage television in the staff room; the decrepit thing was mounted to the wall, and so thin it could probably break at the smallest touch. Youngjae joined her shortly after.
 
It had been eleven hours before Madame Hyosung declared that all "protesters" had been subdued. Jieun said that it would be ridiculous to keep the cafe open when people would rather stay inside. Youngjae agreed for the most part.
 
After Youngjae had walked Jieun home, he decided it was best to go back to his. As he walked down the nearly empty streets, his mind wandered to Junhong. Was he alright? He must have stayed in the apartment. Well, it had barely been thirty minutes since Youngjae left when the riot broke out. Junhong couldn't have gone very far in those thirty minutes.
 
When Youngjae reached the door of the apartment, he found a young man slumped on the front steps. He wore dark clothing, making him blend almost completely into the shadows, and a knapsack sat by his side. Blinking, Youngjae checked the door number to be sure it was his and Junhong's apartment; it was, and Youngjae had no choice but to cautiously approach the young man.
 
"Um...," Youngjae started, reaching out a hand to tap the man's shoulder.
 
Startled, the young man jumped to his feet, a frantic look in his eyes, and Youngjae tried to keep from stumbling backwards. Once the young man had relatively calmed down, he stared at Youngjae.
 
"Are you—"
 
"Who are you? What do you want?" Youngjae suddenly asked, interrupting the young man before he could continue.
 
The young man attempted to lift his hands, but winced at the effort, quickly dropping his arms to his sides. Looking closer, Youngjae noticed blood on the young man's hand; whether it was his or somebody else's, Youngjae didn't want to know.
 
"You should go to a hospital," Youngjae said sternly.
 
The young man shook his head, his eyes focused solely on the ground. "Can't. I'm... Can you help me?"
 
Youngjae stared at the young man with wide eyes. He wasn't a certified doctor. He didn't even know the first thing about dressing a wound. "I'm not—"
 
The young man's head shot up, his eyes wide in desperation. "Please."
 
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Youngjae took his keys out of his pocket. He'd figure something out. "Come inside. Take off your shoes too."
 
The young man slung his knapsack on one shoulder, and took a step to the side to let Youngjae through. Once Youngjae was inside, the young man followed, his footsteps quiet on the tile floor. Turning around, Youngjae took in details that he couldn't see while they were outside. The young man was about the same height as him, his features gaunt and his skin a deathly pale.
 
"Sit down there," Youngjae ordered, pointing to a chair in the dining room. "I'll get the first aid kit."
 
As Youngjae shuffled off to the bathroom to fetch the kit, he considered calling out to Junhong, but shook the thought away because there was a stranger in the apartment and Junhong didn't need to be put at any more risk. When Youngjae walked back to the young man, he found him peeling his grimy shirt off.
 
Eyes wide, Youngjae looked away. "W-what are you—"
 
"I'm sorry, but weren't you just going to do this anyway?" the young man asked. His shirt and jacket sat in his lap, and a strip of cloth was wrapped around his upper right arm.
 
Pursing his lips, Youngjae set the first aid kit on the table and opened it. He paused, not having the slightest idea on what to do.
 
"Get some towels and hydrogen peroxide to clean the wound. Water will do, but the other is better," the young man said after a while as he picked up a rectangular rubbing alcohol swab.
 
Youngjae went off to search for a couple old towels and a bowl for water. He didn't have hydrogen peroxide because he didn't use it, therefore he didn't need it. Youngjae found the towels in a cabinet in the bathroom, and quickly filled a large bowl with water from the sink. When he returned, he saw the young man wiping his minor wounds with more swabs. A small pile of the pink patches had begun to form on the table.
 
Youngjae wondered why the young man didn't just head to a hospital like any other sane person would normally do.
 
"You're gonna have to sew this shut," the young man suddenly announced.
 
Nearly dropping the bowl of water, Youngjae stared at the young man and his cloth-wrapped wound. He said it easily as if he was simply commenting on the weather. It looks like it might rain tonight. You're gonna have to sew this shut. It looked just fine the way it currently was, but then Youngjae remembered the way the young man had winced at the slightest movement. It had to be worse underneath.
 
"No, I can't—"
 
The young man looked up at Youngjae, his wide eyes pleading.
 
"I still think you need to see a doctor," Youngjae muttered under his breath as he took out an emergency suture kit.
 
"I'll walk you through it," the young man reassured, but Youngjae already felt his fingers trembling.
 
//
 
It was a lot more difficult trying to sew a wound shut than constructing a robot for class, Youngjae thought, but it was the same general concept: keep your hands steady. The young man's calm voice kept Youngjae from doing much harm, but sewing skin together honestly wasn't Youngjae's forte. He worked with mechanics, built projects, wrote research papers; this was a living person in his care, a needle between his fingertips and nerves on the other end. Why him, of all people, did this stranger have to pick his specific apartment out of everybody else's?
 
"Good job," the young man suddenly commented.
 
Pausing his movements, Youngjae belatedly realized that he'd finished the stitches. It wasn't the best job, but it looked tolerable. Youngjae grabbed the scissors, snipped the thread, and quickly began wrapping the young man's wound with gauze.
 
"So that's it, then," the young man said afterwards as he began to slip back into his shirt. "Thanks."
 
"Wait," Youngjae blurted out without thinking. He blinked, staring at the young man as he sat with barely an arm through a sleeve. "Um... Let me, uh, wash that for you. I mean, it'd be suspicious for you to walk around as you are currently. It'll take only ten minutes."
 
The young man stared at Youngjae, expressionless, before taking off the shirt. "Alright."
 
Nodding, Youngjae took the shirt and jacket in the young man's lap, and carried it to the washer. It reeked of sweat and the rusty scent of blood, but Youngjae told himself to bear it; he brought up the idea of washing it anyway. As he dumped the clothes into the washing machine and started it up, his mind wandered back to Junhong. Youngjae poured soap into the machine, and then sent a message to Junhong asking if he was alright. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he was getting worried.
 
Shortly after Youngjae sent it, he heard the annoying chiptune echo through the apartment. He knew that was from Junhong's watch because the younger had set up that tone specifically for Youngjae. Instantly forgetting the clothes and washing machine, Youngjae rushed to look for the source before it ended. He found himself in the dining room, staring at the young man—who held Junhong's transceiver watch in his hands.
 
"Why do you have Junhong's watch?!" Youngjae yelled, snatching the device from the young man's hands.
 
The tune ended, and the automated voice started up immediately after. "You have—"
 
"Stop," Youngjae commanded in a grim tone. He glared at the young man who cowered in his seat. "Who are you? What happened to Junhong?"
 
The young man stayed silent, his eyes wide with fear.
 
Youngjae felt all the stress, fear, and anger welling up and melting together into a vicious monster that was more than eager to lash out at the closest victim. "Answer me, dammit!"
 
"I-It's not what you might think, Youngjae," the young man tried to explain. His hands were up in a motion of surrender, but Youngjae wouldn't have it.
 
"Then why did you have his watch?!" Youngjae fumed, crossing his arms atop his chest. He felt the watch needed to be kept from this stranger's sight. It took him a few seconds to realize another blatant fact. "How do you know my name?!"
 
The young man rubbed his face with his hands, groaning before replying. "He sent me here. Told me to find you. Said you'd help."
 
Youngjae narrowed his eyes. "Who sent you?"
 
"Junhong."
 
There was no way Youngjae would believe that. It was absolute bull. The young man was a complete stranger. Despite that, though, Youngjae's anger subsided just a bit, replaced by the faint glimmer of hope. "Who are you then?"
 
"My name is Daehyun," the young man, Daehyun, said. "I'm...a friend. It's a long story. I can't explain it here."
 
"Why not?" Youngjae asked. He was growing impatient with Daehyun's vague responses.
 
Daehyun threw glances around the room, his eyes glistening with something Youngjae didn't recognize, and then shook his head. "I just... I can't. I'm sorry. I really am a friend. Just trust me."
 
Realizing that Daehyun wasn't going to say any more, Youngjae heaved a sigh. "Fine."
 
There was no way Junhong was in danger. He was clever enough, quick enough, to escape the Republic if he had to. He could have easily slipped past the soldiers. Youngjae sank into the chair beside Daehyun, hand still clutching the watch.
 
Youngjae recalled the last time he actually spoke to Junhong. He had snapped at the younger in his frustration, and although Junhong appeared to shrug it off, Youngjae felt a sharp pang of guilt jab him in the gut.
 
"He's fine."
 
Youngjae turned his head to look at Daehyun, who had a soft smile. Youngjae looked down at the watch. Even though Junhong might have given Daehyun the watch, Youngjae still couldn't trust him, no matter how many reassuring statements he spewed. "How do you know?"
 
"He's in a safe place." Daehyun paused, and Youngjae assumed he had finished talking until he continued again. "Just before he gave me that watch, he said to look after you."
 
Youngjae was confused. Junhong was younger, so wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?  "Does this have to do with the riot?"
 
It took a moment for Daehyun to reply, and Youngjae dared to look up at him. There was a faraway look in his eyes. Eventually, Daehyun replied with an almost inaudible, "It's much bigger than that."
 
Blinking, Youngjae stared at Daehyun until the other broke contact. Whatever "it" was, though, Youngjae felt that getting involved only meant trouble.