In the distance, I hear the same explosions. Usually I can tone them out, but today, with 5Zic gone again on a supply run, I have nothing to distract me. My legs are more stiff than usual, even though I just took the medication yesterday. I wonder if it’s getting worse. Once it moves up to my waist, chest, and arms, it’ll be all over. Scanning the bare room, my eyes land on a notebook and pen. 5Zic found it on the last supply run. He said that the house had been cleared of everything edible and really worth trading for, but tucked away there were a few notebooks and a pen. He traded all but one of the notebooks, presenting it to me a few days later.

I look at it now, wondering if there was anything worth writing about. It’s not like anyone is going to read it. Maybe that’s what urged me to finally open it, and begin to write.

See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil. For years, before life as we knew it crashed and burned, I believe people lived by these rules. Deep in everyone’s minds, we knew this would happen. The rumors floated around, and only grew each time they were denied. Only to the regrets of the ignorant, did the rumors prove their truth. Before we get there, we must go back further, to when a country, one I have long forgotten the name of, played with nuclear weapons. Its actions invited repercussions from other countries and before long, the world was a mess of fighters and fleers. Whole countries fell to the ground in a matter of a few months. People were calling it World War III, but now that name is meaningless.

And that’s when I came into the picture. My mother a refugee, and my father nowhere to be found, I was born in the middle of this war. By some of luck, when I was six, Mother and I were picked up by some soldiers of the new Republic, and taken to the city. When I say city, I mean some ramshamble of buildings, tents, and swarms of thousands of people just trying to survive. High walls, an attempt at government, and men with weapons patrolling daily gave the citizens a sense of security. A few years after we arrived, it got support from similar refugee cities, growing in size and in resources. By the time I was ten, Mother and I had our own house, compete with a working sink and a bed for two.

It’s where I met 5Zic. My mother, as wonderful as she was, knew nothing about being a mother. She spent far too long trying to just keep her and her child alive, that the maternal basics never formed within her. I saw other children with their mothers, smiling, hugging, looking thankful that each other was alive. My mother and I cared about each other, but remained distant, so I was left to my own. I joined a group of kids, a few were refugees like me, but most were known as “rep-kids,” short for Republic kids, ones lucky enough to be born within the walls. 5Zic, as he called himself, (no one used their real names, even the adults), happened to be a rep-kid, and proud of it. Son of a soldier and a woman of high class, he escaped life on the run. The kid always looked at the world around him with a scowl like he was daring it to continue going against him.

From day one, we like oil and water. He called me “wall-climber” and when I called him rep-kid he only laughed. Out of all the boys, he was the strongest and bravest, so of course if one opposed him, he was instantly an outcast. But trauma does something to kids, especially when that constant assault of violence and starvation and plain death doesn’t cease for years. So labelled as a wall-climber, I only embraced it, fought back, and survived like I had every day before. Earned me a few black eyes, but I never backed down. Got named “Kangnam” for it, after the only surviving part of some city far away.

Somehow it all changed when 5Zic disappeared.

“What are you writing?” I jump at his voice so close to my ear and manage to throw the pen across the room.

“5Zic?” I fling my arms around him and he holds me tight for a good minute. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“That’s not exactly a good thing,” he says and presses a kiss against my cheek. “Again, what are you writing?” His eyes scan through the words but I know he can’t understand what any of the symbols mean. Without meaning to, I wrote it in the characters of my mother’s native language, something that she taught me on cold evenings.

“Nothing special,” I say, closing the book and setting it off to the side. “Just a history of everything that’s happened.” He laughs, but not in a mocking way.

“If things ever get better, you’d have a head start on all the memoirs of all the survivors.” He goes to fetch the pen, placing it near the book and then grabs the pack he brought back. We both know what’s going on in each other’s minds. It’s the question we ask ourselves every day. Are things ever going to get better? He puts the food away, while I stretch out on the couch and begin to massage my legs. Sometimes it helps to get movement back to them.

“How are your legs?” he asks from the other room.

“Not a good day today.”

“When was your last dose?”

“Yesterday.”

“Tried walking a little?”

“Not really.”

“You know stretching helps.” I sigh. It’s the same conversation. Sometimes it sounds like he’s nagging me, but today I’ll let it slide. Today he’s back. Today, he’s with me. I wait for the sounds in the other room to cease, then for him to join me back at my side. When he does, his body is cold against mine, and I pull him towards me so we’re snuggling on the couch.

“I hate when you leave,” I tell him. My fingers draw circles on his arm. The touches make goosebumps rise up and I smile at the silliness of it.

“I know,” he finally says. “I hate leaving you just as much.”

“See any Banes this time?” He shakes his head.

“Good thing, too,” his voice is soft, sounding like he’ll drift off to sleep at any moment. I reach up for the ratty blanket I keep on the couch and pull it down over us. Resting my head on his chest, I listen to his heart beat as it slows to a steady tempo. Only when I know he’s asleep do I finally give in.

5Zic likes music. So it’s not a surprise when I wake up on the couch to him humming a random tune. I don’t say anything and he just continues while I stare up at him. I like these kind of mornings, when everything is silent save for the soft tune he hums. Sometimes I keep my eyes closed and pretend I’m still asleep because it never seems to last long enough. The tune comes to an end, and he’s getting up off the couch to start the day.

“Breakfast?” he asks and I chuckle.

“Even though I can barely stand for five minutes, I’m still not letting you anywhere near the fireplace.” I move my legs so my feet rest on the ground. He watches as I bring myself to stand, ready to race to my side in case anything happens. I can feel all the muscles locked up like rusty joints, but I push to loosen them. Looking through the cupboards, I spot ingredients to make bread, which I tell myself to do later, and finally grab a can of meat.

“I need to go on another supply run in a few days,” he says quietly. “It’s getting harder to find food and winter’s close.” I don’t say anything as I dump the meat into a pot, along with a large bowl of water and rest it over the silver coals. I go to build the fire but his hand falls on my shoulder, stopping me. “Kangnam.”

“I heard.” The hand slid across my chest to the other shoulder and he gently pulled me back to lean against him. I used to wonder why he was always so physical with his affections, because he never struck me as the type. After the first time he went on a supply run on his own, I found the answer in my own desire to touch and hold him. By touching, we were confirming the other’s, and, in turn, our own existence. It never occurred to me before that moment how much we needed such proof.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

“How long?”

“No more than a week.”

“You promised three days.” He breathes out deeply and rests his head on my shoulder.

“Not this time, Kangnam.” He sounds tired. We both are, not physically but of this battle between our bodies surviving and our minds.

He’s gone again. Didn’t even wait for me to wake, not that he usually does. Something about not wanting to say goodbye, he said last time I asked. I lay on the couch thinking I can get a few more hours of sleep, but it’s futile. Sleeping is practically impossible if he’s not around. So I reach for the notebook and continue right where I left off.

Somehow it all changed when 5Zic disappeared. One or two days wouldn’t have been much of a surprise, but when a whole week passed without him, I knew something was wrong. Didn’t take much of an effort to find out why. I walked into the almost empty house, hearing some sort of noise from the back. I followed it, already forming assumptions as to what it was. 5Zic sat against the wall in the very back of the house. Tears streamed down his face and with his arms wrapped around folded knees, he rocked back and forth.

As soon as he caught sight of me, his eyes hardened, turned cold and he reached for the first object he could find – a bottle. I dodged the throw, and the next one, a shoe this time, and simply sat down a few feet in front of him. He looked nothing like himself. Pale, hair ratted, and eyes so crazed he almost looked feral.

“Go away!” he shouted at me, like it would make a difference.

“I don’t have a father either,” I told him bluntly. “I’m sure you already know that, but I’ve also never met him.”

“What do I care?” he scoffed, wiping the tears away. “You still have a mom anyways.”

“My mother only knows how to keep me fed.” I scooted a little closer.

“That’s ‘cause you’re wall-climbers.”

“And you’re a rep-kid.” No reply followed, and I didn’t bother saying anything more. For me, who had lived around death for the first six years of my life, I couldn’t very well comprehend the kind of pain he felt. I mean, how did one feel after losing one’s father to the violence outside and losing a mother to the violence in her own mind? And how was one supposed to comfort the one who went through that? So I only sat and waited.

Nightfall came around and only when darkness covered ourselves did I hear him again. Sniffles of grief and loneliness. The pain only held him back for so long, and then a hesitant hand sought me out, grabbing onto my shoulder.

“Just checking to see if you were still here,” he said thickly, but didn’t move his hand away. By the end of the night, both arms were wrapped around me and my shoulder had only just dried from all the tears.

We never talked about that night. Two boys, let alone teenage boys don’t normally hug each other through the night – it was strange, and embarrassing if others knew. Yet because of that night, things changed. “Wall-climber” and “rep-kid” were replaced by “Kangnam” and “5Zic” and when night had set in, I would be at his house, lying on the ground next to him.

We kept this routine until I was sixteen, broken only by a single question.

“Are we friends?” Admittedly, I got scared as soon as the question fell from my mouth. Could I consider us friends, or was I overstepping my boundaries. The silence that followed didn’t help my feelings. He sat up and even in the darkness I could see him looking down at me.

“Friends?” he spat. “Who would be friends with a wall-climber like you?” Pain so vicious, it was nauseating, erupted from my chest and that night it was my turn to shed tears. But there was no hug, or hand on my shoulder to make them stop. Only silence, and a feeling of acceptance that I would always be an outcast, always just a wall-climber.

I rub my face, and my eyes widen at the feeling of tears on my cheeks. I make a promise to myself that if I ever read what’s in this book to 5Zic, I’ll skim over that part. If I can still feel that wound, then I can only imagine how he would feel hearing it over again.

Setting the book off to the side, I get up to make bread. I need to get my mind off of 5Zic for a while or I’ll only continue to cry about the past. My legs protest but I work through it – I can practically hear 5Zic telling me to. The bread makes it to the unconventional oven that 5Zic picked up somewhere and that’s when my legs finally fail me. I sit there on the floor and nothing could stop the tears this time as they fall haphazardly. Worse, I’m getting worse and there’s nothing I can do. I in a shaky breath and wish for the strength to hide it from 5Zic.

After that night I didn’t feel welcome at his house, nor was I able to sleep. It was around this time rumors of the government having problems started to arise. People were arguing over whether or not wall-climbers had any right to stay. Apparently we never earned the right to stay, since our fathers and brothers and husbands never risked their lives to protect the city. It was a load of crap, since most of us were women, children, and men who had been crippled by war. Quite a few of the boys who had grown into men had even taken jobs as guards or soldiers, yet they still talked.

I felt lost and confused, to the point the emotions were physically manifesting on myself. My mother even felt the need to ask me if I was alright, my mother who never showed any concern for me before. 5Zic still hung around with the same crowd, but I was sure to keep my distance. Days passed. Nights grew longer. I took to wandering the streets when I couldn’t sleep, most of the time wondering what 5Zic thought of me all that time.

“I’m sorry,” I heard from behind me one night. 5Zic stood with hands in his pockets and a remorseful frown on his face.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” I told him, not because I wasn’t offended but because I had no right to be offended.

“There was, and there will be.” I opened my mouth to ask what he meant but apparently he was going to let actions speak for themselves. Hands tightly, almost painfully gripped my shoulders and a pair of lips were pressed against my own. I knew what it was. I’d seen it a time or two, but I couldn’t understand his meaning behind it. When he pulled away, I expected to see the soft gaze on his face that always appeared on the faces of those who kissed. Instead he looked frustrated, angry even.

“No reaction at all?” he growled, pushing me back a step. “You’re not going to get mad, or anything?”

“You want me to?”

“I want you to do something!” he shouts, raising his hands up. “You never cared when I called you wall-climber, or a few weeks ago, or even just now! You don’t care about anything!” I took another step back when he said that, only to take it back plus a few more until I was practically in his face. Those last words were the turning point for me.

“You did this just for a reaction?” I asked, sounding incredulous. “You want me to get mad? Fine. I’m mad. I hate that I’ll only ever just be a wall-climber to you. I hate that you kissed me for such a pathetic reason. And-”

“Then for what reason should I kiss you?” he asked, completely throwing me off. I stepped back, unsure of what he expected me to say.

“B-because we’re friends?”

“Friends don’t kiss like that.” 5Zic took a step this time, placing himself within inches of me. “Lovers do.” I hit him before he could lean down to capture my lips once more. Only catching a glimpse of him clutching his cheek, I took off running.

Closing the book, I look to the window. Though it’s blocked off by weathered boards – a new addition – I imagine a world outside that’s dark and terrifying. Banes drag their legs against the ground, limping, deceiving the world with a sluggish gait. I can see trees whose limbs hang so thick and so low to the ground that they create spindly moss covered walls. Beyond the maze of branches, a city in its last stand is fallen to little more than rubble. Humans, of all kinds, stand in the same hunched over stance, with the same expression of near hopelessness. Some weave through the skeletons of buildings, while others huddle in groups. There’re torches scattered around where the few people crowd around. Some lit, some not, but all are a last hope for solace.

I see the light peeking through the cracks in the boards and my vision disappears. It’s been a year since I’ve really been outside. I haven’t even seen a Bane in almost two. A part of me wants to know what lied beyond the view I used to have and part of me is glad that my line of sight has been blocked. I am both hopeful for the world to change but scared to see that it hasn’t.

Picking myself up off the couch, I head to the kitchen. The loose board gives me a bit of trouble before I finally pop it out of place. Three bottles sit. Three months of medication. Three months of life rests in the plastic containers. The cap twists off easily with practice and I grab two pills.

“To living,” I say as a sort of toast and toss them back. It takes another few minutes for me to put the panel back and head back to the couch. Not too long passes before the effect sets in, and suddenly I feel too tired to stay awake. I hate taking it because of this. Because of the vulnerability of such a deep sleep, and because of the dreams.

5Zic is in every dream that I have. Usually he’s there, waiting for me in some bright meadow full of flowers. I’ve only seen flowers once, so I don’t know why I would dream of a field of them. To the dreaming me, it didn’t matter. A blinding sun would always hang over us in the brilliant blue sky – something else I have only seen on rare occasions. Banes don’t exist and the world is at peace.

And then I wake up. And 5Zic is nowhere to be seen.

Today I wait almost too long for my eyes to finally close. I don’t want to be caught in that world right now. But I have no choice.

I sleep. I dream. And I want more than anything to never wake up to the nightmare that is life.

I barely remember it, yet it plagues my mind every second. That moment only hours ago.

A week has passed since 5Zic went outside and I was left only to worry and wait for his return. I tried to write more but after the first two days, even thinking of 5Zic was too much to bear. Being apart was too hard. I can’t say whether it’s because being apart for too long almost certainly meant his death, or that it meant mine.

When the door crashed open, I picked up the flare gun in record time and held it up. I froze. A giant creature caught my gaze with beady black eyes. Its mouth was stretched too far to even appear natural and rows of sharp, jagged teeth gnashed against bloody lips. Paper white skin covered its entire body, which was just as terrifyingly tall and thin as I remembered. Arms that would reach the ground, were raised high, high enough to show off the sharp edge that gleamed in the dim light. A Bane. I didn’t even have enough time to curse my stupidity before firing one of the two flares I had.

The monster screeched, sounding like the grinding of metal against metal. The giant body crashed back into the wall, slowly turning black as the flames roasted its delicate skin. I fired another flare, hitting it dead on as it swerved back out the door. At its disappearance, I almost breathed a sigh of relief, until I saw a crumpled form lying in the doorway.

“5Zic?” I called out quietly. The body didn’t move. Cautiously, I hobbled toward the figure, keeping the flare gun ready, at least as a façade of security.

“5Zic,” I said once again, this time firmly, almost as if I was scolding the figure for lying there. I got closer, seeing the open door and the darkness lit by the flaming body of the Bane. My foot fumbled and I almost fell, but caught myself in time. I couldn’t afford to fall. The body barely moved but then I saw it. A white hand with a piece of wire tied like a ring around one of the fingers.

5Zic.

I dropped to the ground and moved his legs away to close the door. Without another second to spare, I rolled him over and threw my head onto his chest to check for a pulse. My cheek met wet material, and I knew it was his blood. Ignoring that the best I could, I strained to hear the quiet thumping that told me he hadn’t left me yet. Quick hands pushed the pack aside and started to tear away his clothes. I needed to find the source of the bleeding. Long scratches in his chest, and I didn’t have to guess what made them. Luckily for him, they only grazed the ribs. Using all my strength, I dragged him close to the fireplace. My legs gave out twice but I didn’t let that stop me. Someone would have to take my arms away, too, before I could even consider giving up.

I spent the next few hours with thread, needle, cloth and near-boiling water, trying to clean and stitch the wounds closed. A few times he would grimace in pain, but he never woke up.

So here I am now, sitting on the couch with his head on my lap. He’s laying almost peacefully across the rest of the couch with the ratty blanket barely covering him.

“I almost lost you today,” I whisper and lean forward to place a kiss to his forehead. All that’s left is to wait for him to wake up. I grab the notebook because there’s no way I’m getting sleep before he rouses from his.

There’s quite a few things my mother taught me in the years that we lived in the Republic. On evenings where it was too cold to be outside it would be speaking and writing her (our) native language. As for the rest of the time, it was mostly healing techniques. Mother said she used to be a doctor before and even during the war, until she realized she was pregnant with the child of someone she “knew once upon a time.” When she told me stories of her life before the war, I pictured her in a long white coat and her dark hair tied back, talking to patients and giving orders with the same expressionless face she had around me. I figured that her lack of emotions probably gave her the strength to survive.

A few days after I had hit 5Zic, he came to my door, asking for my mother. One hand was wrapped in a dingy white cloth that was slowly turning red, but I would have never guessed he was injured by the expression he wore.

“She’s not here,” I said, letting him in anyway. “What’d you do? Cut open your hand?”

“Yeah,” he answered, taking a seat in the chair I absently offered. I went to the cupboard and took out the box of herbs and supplies my mother kept from her old life. I started to ground the herbs to make a paste as I put a pot of water over the fire.

“Think you’ll need stitches?” He shrugs and begins to unwrap the bindings until I stop him.

“Don’t take that off until I tell you.” I grab a pouch of seeds and pour some into his other hand, which was stained with dried blood. “Chew and swallow these. They’ll help with the pain.” He did as I asked and a little pride swelled within me at seeing him be so compliant.

I secured the curved needle in a cloth and set it in the water as soon as it started to boil. Adding a few more strips of cloth and surgical thread, I waited.

“Have you done this before?” I turned at the sound of his voice and nodded. “You seem really calm about stitching up someone’s hand.”

“It’s just a hand,” I said and finally pulled the pot off the fire. While I waited for it to cool just enough to touch, I scrubbed my hands with the soap that Mother always used. “As long as you didn’t do too much damage to the tendons, ligaments or muscles, you should be fine.” With a deep breath, I walked over and uncovered his hand. I threw the soiled cloth into the fire and carefully examined what I needed to work with. A gash extended across his palm and the skin around it was red and enflamed.

“I need you to very carefully open and close your hand. I need to make sure everything still works.” Mother wouldn’t have to ask this question. Just looking at it would tell her right away what was wrong. 5Zic widened his eyes as if I was crazy. The wound must have hurt enough to begin with, but he did it anyways. “Now move your thumb across to your little finger.” This time, it was a little easier and I decided that there wasn’t too much damage to the muscles or tendons.

“You’re lucky,” I said, moving to grab the needle and thread from the hot water. It stung my skin, but not enough to bother me much.

“How so?” I didn’t answer, deciding instead to thread the needle. Grabbing one of the cloths, I gently dabbed away some of the blood, in order to get a better look at the wound. It was a clean line, so that made things easier. I reached into the box and pulled out another piece of metal, this one thicker than the needle. I held it over a candle for a minute and straightened his hand out with the other.

“I need to cauterize a few of the blood vessels. This is going to really hurt.” I hid my nerves behind a mask like my mother’s. This was only my second time cauterizing blood vessels. Moving in practiced motions, I did it quickly and caused him to only jolt back in pain once. Another deep breath and I grabbed the needle to begin the stitches. He flinched the first time the needle pierced his skin, but afterwards sat completely motionless until I was finished.

“The hand is really delicate,” I said as I grabbed one of the clean bandages Mother had in the cupboard. I applied a little of the herb paste and bound his hand effortlessly. “If there was too much damage, no matter what I did, you wouldn’t be able to move it later. You still have a chance of having nerve damage, but you’ll be fine.”

“Good.” I expected him to leave after that, but he didn’t. He sat there at the table, almost like he was waiting for something.

“Is-“

“I’m sorry,” he said, surprising me. “For the other day. I-I at these kind of things.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I jump at the sound of him slamming his hand on the table.

“Stop doing that!” he growled. “Aren’t you Kangnam? You just dismiss everything instead of fighting back like you used to!”

“So you’ll be happy if I just start fighting back?” I asked, tired of this conversation.

“No,” he said, sounding like he was trying to calm a storm of emotions. “Look, Kangnam, you’re not just a wall-climber to me.” To say I was surprised to hear him say that would have been an understatement. “You haven’t been, for a long time. When you asked if we were friends I just got upset that after so long you didn’t think of us as such, that I didn’t matter all that much to you. And I wasn’t trying to mock you the other night. I was just, happy, I guess, that you actually did have a shred of care for me, and that maybe you wouldn’t mind being more than friends. I got ahead of myself, I know, but I’m serious about wanting to be friends with you, and… your lover if you’d allow it.”

I didn’t move, didn’t show any reaction, and just studied him. Dark eyes held my gaze as I waited for some sign that this was all some elaborate ploy. Nothing.

“Why?” I asked, figuring that would reveal the act.

“Isn’t it obvious? Because I love you.”

Soft humming comes from the darkness of my mind and I squeeze my eyes tighter to remain in the dream.

“Kangnam,” I hear a soft voice say. The humming disappears and I feel its loss more than I should. “Wake up, Kangnam.” My eyes peel open and I stretch upon reflex, but a weight on my lap keeps me grounded. All the sleepiness leaves my mind as I peer into soft, dark eyes. “Good morning.”

“5Zic?” I whisper, not convinced that this is real.

“In the flesh.”  My hands reach to touch his face, carefully feeling the skin. He smiles tiredly against my hands and I lean forward to gently kiss his lips.

“Don’t ever scare me like that,” I tell him, and he snorts. “Do you even know how many stitches I had to put in you?”

“Probably more than I needed.”

“Even so, you’re not moving around for a few days, at least.”

“So no more Bane hunting?”

“I swear if that’s what got you into this mess, I’ll kill you myself.” He shakes his head and grabs my hand with his own.

“I’ll tell you if you get me something for the pain.” As carefully as I can manage, I slide off the couch and roll up my jacket to prop his head up.

“I was on my way home,” he begins as I stiffly walk to the medical supplies. “And I know I should have stopped and taken shelter, but I figured I had more time before dark. I just wanted to get home, and I was almost there, too. Apparently the Bane was just waiting around the house for someone. I thought I could race inside, but it came at me from the side, and those arms have a longer reach than I expected. It managed to graze me just as I got to the door.”

I kneel down next to the couch with the bowl of herbal paste that I made. I move the blanket away and study the bandages that were brown in a few places. A little but not too much bleeding is a good sign.

“How did you get rid of it?” he asks as I begin to remove the bandages. The skin around the neat stitches is still a little enflamed, but otherwise looks like it’s on its way to healing.

“The flare gun,” I answer and toss the bandages into the fire. He flinches at the cold paste that I start to smooth over his chest but doesn’t comment on it.

“You got rid of the Bane that easily?”

“My aim was always better than yours.” 5Zic rolls his eyes and lets me finish taking care of his wounds. I place more bandages on and cover him with the blanket once more. “Now get some sleep.” The words barely leave my mouth and he’s already breathing softly with both eyes closed. I look to the next order of business, which is the pack lying near the door. Deciding against walking, I crawl to it and open it. Inside there’s a few of the usual stuff – canned food, water bottles, and other small edibles – but in another pocket, I nearly shout in delight at what I find.

A book, and not just any book but one written in my native language. It’s covered in a soft green binding and the pages have a musty smell to them. I look to 5Zic, expecting to see him with some sort of proud smile, but I find him still sleeping. I’ll just have to thank him later. Books can be found pretty easily, since most houses have tens of volumes abandoned, but the risk of packing around extra weight is one most don’t take. 5Zic would only grab a book if he had nothing else to bring back, or if it was a special occasion, like my birthday. Neither of which is the case for the appearance of this book. I wonder if this is an apology for staying outside longer than he promised.

I set it off to the side and drag the pack into the kitchen area to begin sorting out the new supplies. Just after finishing, I crawl back to the book and bring it with me to where 5Zic is still sleeping. Even though it’s calling out for me to read it, I want to wait until he’s awake to enjoy it. I reach for the notebook that had fallen to the ground sometime after I fell asleep and flipped to the right page.

Though I thought I would, I never once regretted accepting 5Zic’s confession. At first, I was nervous, scared even, because what did being lovers entail? I knew nothing behind the glances of adoration, and lingering touches. I felt awkward and completely out of my element. But to 5Zic, that didn’t matter, or rather he would gently laugh at my clumsy attempts at loving him, and somehow make me feel better. All his impatience from before seemed to have vanished.

During the day, we would either be walking through the city, checking out the market or at my house, if my mother wanted a day to herself. During those days, 5Zic would sit in the corner of the room, just watching as I treated patients or mixed herbs. At night, we had fallen back into our routine of sleeping side by side at his house, only with a few small changes. Silence was filled by soft voices and whatever space was between us before disappeared easily. I surprised myself with my need to feel him close to me, closer than simply touching. I would always fall asleep tucked close in his arms.

“What’s this?” I asked one morning, when I woke up to a new addition to my hand. Around one of my fingers of my left hand, a piece of wire was tied around it.

“A ring,” 5Zic said, holding up his own hand that bore the match. “My mom wore something like this. Said it was her promise to always stay with dad.”

“I never made any promise to stay with you,” I said, even though I would in a heartbeat if he asked.

“If I’m making a promise to never leave you, then that just means you’re already promised to always be with me.”

I smiled, for what felt like the first time and fell against his chest. Somehow I could only describe this wonderfully tight feeling in my chest as happiness.

When things seem to be going good, life likes to knock our feet out from under us.

Rumors began to spread faster than wildfire of wall-climbers simply disappearing and the government being behind it. Never children or whole families, but one person here and there. 5Zic worried more than I did. We argued a few times because I wanted my space and he wanted me safe. The numbers grew and I kept dismissing their relevance to me. In my own mind, I had almost pushed out my identity of being a wall-climber. To everyone that mattered, I was Kangnam, and that was how I saw myself – as the one that never fell.

I had been painfully reminded when my mother became one of those rising numbers. One morning, she just wasn’t there. The house looked like someone tore through it, spilling everything and rendering most of Mother’s tools useless. Ceramic bowls lied shattered on the ground and I grabbed one – a piece of my mother’s favorite vase.

“It has a nice color, don’t you think?” I asked the empty room, just like she would ask me. My mother wasn’t the type to be attached to anything, even her own son. I knew that the vase was from another point in her life, a point where she could afford to treasure something as frivolous as a vase. Arms wrapped around me from behind, holding me as I felt like I had shattered into the same fragments as the vase.

I wanted to blame him for everything. If he hadn’t distracted me, I would have been there to protect her in some way. But I knew it wasn’t his fault. How were we to know she was one of the targets? How were we to know anything? We were just stupid kids.

5Zic never seemed to let go of me. I didn’t know whether he was afraid I was next, or concerned about how I felt about her disappearance. Even while I cleaned up the mess, and tried to salvage what I could, he remained within reach, asking if I needed him for anything. I thought it would annoy me, but instead it kept me grounded, kept my mind where it needed to be.

Darkness fell over the world, putting to rest the destruction that morning brought upon my life. That night I finally let him see my tears, and he just held me close. Years and years of pent up emotions came pouring out my eyes. I thought I would cry until there was nothing left of me – the tears just wouldn’t stop. A gentle hummed tune, coming from 5Zic strangely began to sooth away the pain, like cold water to a burn. The tears slowed, the sobs ceased, and with eyes closed, I drifted off to sleep.

Nothing, even 5Zic, could have prepared me for a few weeks later when the bodies began to turn up one by one, Mother’s being one of them. The bodies were stiff, as if in rigor mortis, but I tested each one. None had been dead long enough to be in rigor. However, as everyone found out later, those that turned up on the streets of the Republic, happened to be the lucky ones.

The unlucky ones we found much later as hideous creatures that wandered the night outside of the walls.

Banes.

“You really shouldn’t be getting up,” I say, but of course he doesn’t listen.

“I’ll go crazy if I lay here any longer,” he counters and begins to pull himself up. I pretend I didn’t see the flash of pain across his face.

“I’ll go crazy if you end up tearing your stitches out.” When he finally sits up, he takes a few deep breaths, before trying to put his weight onto his feet and stand. I watch him wobble a little, but there isn’t much I can do, especially if he ends up falling.

“See? Not so bad.” He takes a few steady steps, further trying to prove that my worrying was for nothing. I eye him suspiciously and don’t even blink when he stumbles and falls back onto the couch. His entire face contorts in pain and I sigh, shaking my head. “Maybe a few more days.”

“You lost a lot of blood,” I tell him as he carefully lays back down. “Of course you’re not going to be able to get up within a few days.” Without even thinking about it, I cover him back up with the blanket and squeeze onto the couch next to him. “Here, I’ll rest with you so you aren’t lonely.”

“You just want an excuse to sleep with me.”

“Maybe.” He laughs, and brushes my hair out of my face.

“Have you taken your medicine?” I close my eyes and give in to the wonderful feeling of his fingers caressing my face.

“I’ll take it when I wake up.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” I say, already half asleep.

I wake up before he does. I stretch out a bit, almost falling off the couch, but catch myself in time. I snuggle in closer and glance up at his sleeping face. With the pads of my fingers I draw invisible designs across his skin, brushing over every contour of his face. They skim over his nose and he wrinkles it cutely, making me stifle my giggles. Finally I retract my hand, leaving a kiss in its place and slide off the couch. My legs feel numb today. The cold temperature isn’t helping but it’s never been this bad before. I force myself to crawl to the kitchen, watching my legs the entire time to make sure they were positioned right. I get to where the medicine is stored and use every ounce of strength to pull myself up. My arms, legs, practically my whole body is shaking from the effort, but I manage.

The pills inch their way down my throat and I wonder if they’re doing any good any more. I feel so exhausted by the time I get back to the couch that I just give up and make myself somewhat comfortable on the floor. Sleep claims me once more.

This time when I wake up, I’m captured within warm arms. They hold me close and I’m almost too comfortable to get up. But I do, and I and I grab the notebook to continue writing. It won’t be long before my hands and arms start getting stiff. I need to finish writing everything before that happens.

The government made a statement to all the citizens following the appearance of ten bodies. They claimed that every single one had been infected by a disease that only targeted wall-climbers, and rather than cause mass panic among the people, they safely extracted and quarantined the citizens. Of course they found that they were too late in stopping the progression of the disease, but they had created a medication that would prolong it.

The disease was simple. Passed only through blood, it would first attack the muscles in the feet and legs, stiffening them. It would travel up the body through the arms and torso. Once the muscles in the torso were affected, other problems would arise, such as a lowered immune system, trouble with digestion, urination, and even breathing. The heart would be the last to be infected, gradually slowing until it couldn’t beat properly. The total process could take only a few weeks, but they were sure, with the medication, it could be longer.

Not one of the wall-climbers believed it. Once the bodies were found, people began finding the connection. Every single one of them were either a medicine maker, herb grower, nurse, or doctor like my mother. They would have been our first line of defense against those false claims, or the actual disease.

The original citizens of the Republic bought every word. This was the justification they needed to begin a purge of all those “useless” refugees who sought shelter in this city. Whole families were marched out, without much more than what they could carry. I was ready for when they knocked on my door, already having packed and told 5Zic goodbye. Of course he didn’t take it very well, arguing until dawn over impossible solutions. I felt strangely calm considering the fact I was being thrown back into a world I knew nothing about. Beyond those walls, I had no place or purpose, and yet I could only casually wonder what it would be like.

The guards showed up the next morning, faces of men I recognized from the countless times Mother and I stitched them up, or healed the sickness in their families. Their expressions betrayed them, showing a fraction of concern behind their solemn fronts. I gave them the briefest of smiles and crossed the doorway. I barely got a few steps out of the house when a hand grabbed my shoulder, pulling me back a step and almost toppling me over.

“If I can’t get you to stay,” 5Zic said, looking me in the eyes with fierce determination. “Then that means I’ll just have to go with you.” He took my hand and I could feel his ring pressing into my skin, reminding me of his promise. He hefted his own pack of life belongings on his shoulder and together we walked past the walls.

The first day was the worst. We had no idea what to expect, especially 5Zic since he never once left the Republic. I hadn’t seen the outside in about fifteen years. I just remembered it being gray, everything gray and dusty and in ruins. Now without human interference, greenery had begun to arise from the barren ground. Grasses and shrubs grew where the cement crumbled. Small creatures scurried at the sound of our footsteps. After a few hours, we came across a house that had all but fallen. The roof caved in in one area and vines crept up the sides, but it was a place to stay for the night.

I gathered some stones and built a small fire in the corner of the only remaining room. 5Zic pulled a thin blanket out of his pack and threw it around our shoulders as we huddled between the fire and wall. Neither of us slept that night. Too cold, too many strange noises, and too upset that our world turned its back on us, we watched the fire all night with heavy hearts.

Over the next few days, we travelled around the area, staying in buildings on their last legs and scavenging through others. 5Zic wanted to go far away, holding hatred in his heart for the city that he lived all his life in. I convinced him to stay close. If there was ever a day he wanted to go back, he could, but I only told him that he could still trade with the Republic if we stayed close.

Eventually we found a house that was weathered on the outside, and had moss covering the roof, but didn’t look so bad inside. A few rooms had water damage and mildew from a leaking roof but the main room, which had a fireplace, didn’t. The place had been ransacked, with only a couch and a table with a broken leg still remaining. 5Zic promised that one day we could fix it up. I couldn’t see that far ahead.

“Still writing?” 5Zic asks as he sleepily cracks his eyes open. I close the notebook and set it off to the side.

“Not anymore,” I tell him, rolling over to face him.

“You don’t have to stop on my account.”

“I don’t?” I ask with a grin. “Then let me get back to that.” As soon as I begin turning back, his arms tighten around me, pulling me closer.

“On second thought, I take that back.” A warm hand slips under my shirt and just rests against the bare skin of my lower back. He brings his face close to mine and breathes in deeply. “Let’s just lay here all day.”

“Nope,” I say, scooting back and sitting up. “You know I can’t be staying still for too long.” Low blow. The soft look falls away from his face and he pushes himself up to sit on his heels. But before I can be disappointed by his playful attitude leaving, he stands up and helps me to my feet. I stumble, which may have been his plan, and he pulls me close to lean on him.

“Just follow my lead,” he says as he begins to hum a soft tune and pretty much sweeps me away on my feet. There’s no other way to describe how easily he begins to dance, balancing both of us effortlessly. Dark eyes stare into mine, turning up slightly at the corners every time he gives me a small smile. We both know I can’t keep up with him, but that doesn’t stop me from trying. My legs feel like noodles with lead for feet. I love everything about this moment, wishing it could last forever.

Unfortunately, the song comes to an end too soon.

After going through most of our supplies within the first month, we were left with the only option of going out and searching for more. The first few times we went out, we stayed close to the house. When we couldn’t find anything close, we began travelling a day, two days, and even three days away from our little house. I convinced 5Zic to go back to the Republic a few times, which he did grudgingly. Each time, he would come back with new information. We would sit by the fire as he told about the latest rumors.

The Republic was beginning to crumble. Their ploy to rid themselves of wall-climbers backfired when people with no contact with the refugees contracted the same disease they blamed the wall-climbers for. The government did all they could to hold control over the people, but when inside information was leaked, people took matters into their own hands. Apparently the disease was created from mixing a few different poisons with a common virus – they planned to use it on wall-climbers and outsiders. They tested it on animals first, then on humans, using the only wall-climbers that could put an end to it. But it got out of control. Mutated. Spread.

“Are you ok?” 5Zic asked, pausing in the middle of reporting to me. I nodded despite hearing the fact that the government pretty much murdered my mother. He gave me a look, like he didn’t believe me but continued anyway.

With the disease, reports of “strange creatures” also spread. People began fearing for their safety within those walls that were once impenetrable in their minds. Only one managed to break into the city. With twenty men working together, they captured it, only to have it burn in the sunrise. Relief died once someone found a necklace around the creature’s neck that belonged to one of the original abducted wall-climbers. Those creatures, named “Banes,” came close, but were driven away by fire and flares. We learned that they were smart. Already knowing of their own weakness, they avoided enclosed spaces where light concentration was at its greatest and instead did what they could to draw the victims out. There was one man who went outside to check on a loud noise. His wife, who remained at the door, told of how it was like the Bane was just waiting for the man to fall into its trap.

We knew no other purpose for their killing other than an assumed sense of vengeance. A need to kill who turned them into such monsters and that need was directed to everyone who wasn’t them.

I asked if we should head back, since there was strength in numbers. 5Zic didn’t answer, but I got the feeling that only if I pressed the point, he would pick everything up and go back. It felt wrong to even think about forcing him back, despite the fact that I was the one kicked out.

Over the next few months we stocked up on homemade flares and found two flare guns. When we thought we were prepared, we came across our first Bane. 5Zic hesitated just a little too long, and fired the flare a little too late. It missed. I watched it’s movements for just a moment longer before firing my own weapon. The flare hit it mid-charge of myself and it fell to the ground, covered in orange flames. It rose a moment later and took off into the night.

5Zic didn’t say anything, only wrapped his arms around me and breathed in deeply. He’d never admit that the creature’s appearance terrified him. But then, neither would I. We ran into a few other Banes over the next few months but we only had use for our guns twice. One battle lasted a moment, the other had found us both laying at home recuperating from wounds.

It was also around this time that I started to notice something was wrong. I would wake up in the morning with feet so stiff and numb that I could hardly move them. After a few hours they would be fine. Right from the start I knew what it was. But I didn’t want to say it… and I definitely didn’t want to tell 5Zic.

So I hid it. I pushed through it. I got back up every time my feet wouldn’t carry me. Each time I felt like giving in, I imagined how 5Zic would look, how he would act if he ever found out. Sometimes I pictured him smiling, telling me it’ll be ok, but I knew that wasn’t like him at all. More often than not I saw him just turning around and leaving. A scowl would form on his face, the one he used to wear as part of his normal appearance, and he would shake his head before walking away. The nightmare of it haunted me, but I couldn’t find a way to wake up from it. No matter how I looked at it, I would be in some way a disappointment to him at the very least.

But this wasn’t something that could stay a secret for long.

“Can you take these out yet?” he asks, making me pause and set down my notebook. He already has the bandages off and so I critically examine the skin, running my fingers over it lightly.

“I guess they can come out.” Without even needing me to tell him, he heats a knife over the fire and waits for it to cool before handing it to me. I start with one side and run the knife through every stitch, careful not to nick the skin or pull the threads too tight. Once I finish, I pick the severed threads out and use the discarded bandages to wipe away the few droplets of blood that bead at the pinpricks left by the stitches.

“Done,” I say and fall back on the couch.

“What’s wrong?” It takes me a moment to register that he had even asked the question. I don’t notice my heavy mood for another few seconds and by then he’s waiting intently for me to say something, either a denial or confirmation. I want to say the former, but choose instead the latter.

“Just thinking about something from the past.” The words process in his mind for a second before he nods and once again waits. I always thought I had the most patience out of the both of us, but these last few years proved otherwise. 5Zic never pushed or pressed for information. If needed, he would wait days or weeks for me to finally confess whatever was on my mind. That didn’t mean he was entirely passive, just patient. If I didn’t seek him out, he would create opportunities for us to talk, usually by getting rid of any distraction and then planting himself next to me. I always cave in pretty quickly.

“Remember when I first got this disease?” His eyes darken but he nods again nonetheless. “I just finished writing about when I first discovered it. It was a tough time for us, wasn’t it?” Again, he nods, but this time he pulls me close to him and we sit there for what seems like hours. It’s exactly what I need.

I pull away first, giving him a reassuring smile.

“Hungry?” he asks and I nod, moving to get up. “I’ll make something and I promise not to go near the fire.” My eyes follow him as he heads to our little kitchen and looks around for food. It used to make me feel useless whenever he would attempt to cook or clean, because it seemed to reinforce the fact that one day I wouldn’t be able to do it. But then late one night, he told me that my worth was not in my use, but my existence. While he said that, he still lets me do the work around the house because he knows it makes me feel better. I grab my notebook and find where I left off.

But this wasn’t something that could stay secret for long.

I’m sure that as soon as I started having symptoms, 5Zic noticed. I had a hard time keeping my balance, I didn’t want to get off the couch for a little while longer, and I spent more time off my feet. I made sure that I didn’t do it too often, but the changes, no matter how minute, were still present. The biggest was when I decided not to go out on a supply run.

I woke up that morning, feeling the stiffness all the way up past my ankle and I knew I wouldn’t be able to run, let alone cross some of the more course terrain. 5Zic didn’t say anything, though I expected some sort of demand for explanation. Instead he grabbed our ratty blanket and pulled it up over me, tucking me in. Silently, he grabbed the empty pack and just left.

I couldn’t sleep the next two days. Couldn’t stomach anything either. He knew. That much I was sure of. And he was walking away. Half the time I thought about whether I could go out and find him once more. The other half I spent mourning over the fact that no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried to convince him, once he left me, there was no turning back.

On the third morning, the front door opened. My throat constricted and air refused to enter my lungs when I saw 5Zic walk in. Silent once again, he only reached into the pack, pulled out a few bottles and set them in front of me. Then he grabbed the pack and went into the kitchen.

When I looked inside the bottles, I couldn’t hold back the tears.

Inside was our only hope for me.

Medication.

I feel safe in his arms. I don’t really know why, but when he holds me close, I can forget the world is somehow coming to an end. The arms around me are warm, comforting. Nestled close to him, all I can see, hear, smell, and touch is him, only him. Nothing else matters in these moments.

Only a few minutes ago, 5Zic walked in to find me struggling to move my fingers. My legs refused to even move. It was the beginning of the end. Most people in their last few weeks would be doing everything they wouldn’t allow themselves to do before. I only reached out to him, and he understood that all I asked for was for him to stay with me in these remaining days.

I look up to see his expressionless face. It hurts to see him pretending, but I know if he didn’t we’d both fall apart.

“After I’m gone,” I begin and he starts shaking his head, silently asking me not to continue. But I do. “After I’m gone, what will you do?” The muscles in his jaw tense, but I wait for him to answer. When he doesn’t, I press further. “Will you go back to the city or stay here?”

“Can we not talk about this?”

“But I want to.” He gives me a stern look, challenging me, telling me to back down.

“Why?” The word comes out carefully, cautiously. He’s afraid of the answer.

“I want to know you’ll be ok-” I couldn’t finish because in that moment he rolls us over so that he’s on top, staring down at me. He leans back and sighs.

“Ok?” He asked incredulously. “You think I can ever be ok without you? When you avoided me those few times in the Republic, I was far from ok, and now you’re going to leave me forever, and you expect me to be fine and dandy?”

He’s angry, not that I could blame him, but it only made me feel it, too. I pushed him off of me, succeeding only because of his surprise rather than my own strength.

“You think I planned this?” I struggle to sit up and brushing off his help. As soon as I’m up, I try raising my arms a few feet. The effort wears me out and they fall limply at my side. “You think I planned to get this disease, to become this weak and then leave you? Yes, I’m going to die. No amount of medication is going to reverse that. But I’d rather die knowing you’ll be alright, that you’re not going to do something stupid because you miss me too much.”  My breath comes out haggardly and only when he reaches out to touch my cheek, do I notice the tears that fall.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble a second later, anger forgotten. I move to wipe my eyes on my shoulder, but his fingers brush the tears away before I could.

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I’m in the wrong.” And just like that, he hugs me again and I let myself cry into his shoulder.

“I promise I won’t do anything stupid,” he whispers as his hands my back. A gentle kiss is pressed to my temple. “I’ll do everything I can to live on for the both of us.” He begins to hum a soft tune and for hours it seems, he just holds me, helping me to forget the world.

I’ll never forget the day we were rescued. Though I doubt I have much time to forget it. My legs stopped moving. My arms, too. 5Zic is actually writing this down as I speak. Anyways, it was a cool morning when they came. Soldiers dressed in black suits carrying weapons I couldn’t name, barged into our small house. For a moment, they seemed to ignore us, wandering around to check the other rooms. We were in too much shock to even think about whether we would need to defend ourselves. The men came back, speaking some language neither of us knew and when they noticed the language barrier, they resorted to charades. It would have been amusing to see them practically dancing around to get their point across if we weren’t so confused.

Somehow they conveyed that we needed to leave with them. 5Zic spoke nothing as he picked me up and followed the suspicious men out the door, past the Bane corpse and into the ruined world. We were brought to a camp for a few nights, meeting a few other refugees. From there, we were taken out of the country to a large city that looked nothing like the Republic. Every bit of it resembled the cities before the war that mother described. People dressed in clean clothes with bright colors walked down streets with smiles. Not a single one looked plagued by the disaster that destroyed the lives of those I grew up with. In a way, it had a fragile, innocent beauty. The people escorting us, who could luckily understand us, brought us to a room that they said would be ours. We finally had a bed, blankets, running water, books that I’d need another lifetime to read all of, and these things called movies. 5Zic wasn’t all impressed by them, but I loved how the pictures would move on the screen.

He cried that night. Holding onto me, large tears fell from his eyes.

We had just learned that this new city had medicine to treat my disease, but I was too far gone.

That was three weeks ago.

This will be my last entry in this notebook. There isn’t much left of my story to tell. I wish I could say I don’t fear death, or the short amount of time I have left. But I do. And because of that, I want to spend every last moment with 5Zic. He promised to take me to a field of flowers where we’ll sleep beneath the stars.

So I will conclude this here. I began my life as Namekawa Yasuo, a refugee child clinging to his mother’s hand. That child died, or rather, faded away with the name. He is no longer I. This life, I shall end it as Kangnam, one who fought to survive the war, the Republic, Banes and disease with 5Zic by my side.