Sehun hits CTRL+S once, thinks better of it, repeats it ten thousand times, uploads a backup copy to two different cloud storage accounts, saves another one in his hard drive, and another in a flash drive.

 

Byun Baekhyun, sharp-tongued former colleague with a mangled brain-mouth filter, once called it ‘neurosis’ and recommended a visit to the psychiatrist stat; but Sehun prefers to call it ‘prudence’, and being prudent never hurt anyone.

 

The sixteen-inch LED television mounted opposite the bed splashes multiple hues all over the pale, unembellished wall that he’s currently leaning on. It’s about the only color his drab apartment gets. As usual, the news channel is on but Sehun hardly ever pays attention to it. He doesn’t really have to when he’s working for an online news portal that rolls out real-time feeds faster than any reporter can say “this just in!” He leaves it on anyway, volume turned low so that it’s only a faint murmur, just enough to ripple over the static. Just so it’s not too quiet.

 

Sehun wrinkles his nose at whatever remains of the pack of ramen sitting beside the keyboard. He’s been at this since noon, if his half-eaten lunch of crunchy, uncooked noodles is any indication, and he’s completely lost track of time. Which reminds him—

 

“Oh , what time is it?” Tiny lines of tension appear on his forehead. He takes a sweeping glance to see if there is anything in his immediate surroundings that can give him an answer. Well, there’s his phone, but it’s all the way over on the bed, and he’s not too keen on uprooting himself from his spot right now.

 

He turns back to his laptop with a resigned sigh. Squinting at the long string of codes interspersed with blocks of paragraphs, he takes a second to deliberate the wisdom of pressing F11 next just so he can take a look at the virtual cuckoo clock pinned on the desktop. But then exiting out of Full Screen Mode feels too much like he’s done, which he isn’t. It’s like he’s violating his personal work ethic or something quasi-profound like that.

 

Also, resizing the window now and blowing it back up later will result in the cursor being dislodged, which shouldn’t be that big of a deal, except that he’s working in the middle of large chunks of untabbed, raw codes. He’s trying to decide if anything in this world is even worth the migraine he’ll get from painstakingly retracing his steps later.

 

Just then his phone lets out a loud whistle beside his pillow. Wisps of dark fringe fall over his eyes when his head immediately snaps up. Groaning, he begrudgingly leaves his comfortable perch at the narrow table, which serves as both his dining area and work desk. Two giant steps and then he’s climbing onto the bed and crawling over a small pile of laundry tangled with unmade sheets. Having a tiny studio-type apartment basically means everything is more or less four steps away.

 

He finds a new text message.

 

More importantly, the time reads 2:10 PM.

 

 

Sehun snickers. He can almost hear Park Chanyeol say it exactly the way only Park Chanyeol would say it. And it’s amusing how even over text Chanyeol is irrepressibly boisterous. He’s as tall as his voice is deep, and if you get exposed to it long enough, it sticks to you, like acrid cigarette smoke sticks to your clothes and each strand of your hair, and you hear it in your head even when he’s not actually around.

 

Sehun replies with:  =P

 

He tosses the phone down, leaving it to drown in a sea of blankets and dirty clothes, and goes to resume his work.

 

He does hit F11 about twenty minutes later, though.

 

At exactly three o’clock, Sehun throws on a black turtleneck sweater and slips into a thick, jet parka. He fastens a mask over the lower half of his face, hooking elastic strings behind each ear. From the bedside table he grabs a faded-seaweed messenger bag, slightly frayed along the edges of pocket flaps, and carefully slings the thick strap over his head. A ribbed knit beanie wraps snugly around his head and he tucks his ears under the folded brim on his way out.

 

Sehun knows he might be a little too early. Although it doesn't take an hour from his place to Jamwon, it is New Year’s Eve and he’s not taking any chances. He really would much rather not get caught in the massive rush hour mob. He keeps his gaze low, hands in pockets, as he ambles down the hallway. The sound is loud when he zips up his parka just before he leaves the comfortable heat of the building, and pushes into the bitter cold of late December.

 

The sun is still out, but the wintry air nips at his skin nonetheless. He contemplates hauling up the fur-lined hoodie and letting it engulf his entire head; but then he figures that looking like he has a black hole for a face will probably draw rather than ward off attention so he decides to leave it down.

 

Sehun makes the short walk from his apartment in Nakwon-dong to Jongno sam-ga station. As if on instinct, he pulls his right hand from his pocket, holding his palm forward like he’s waiting for a high five. He smiles a little when a light breeze glides between his fingers, finding it not at all unwelcome in spite of the chill.

 

As he makes his way to the steps leading down to the subway, he maneuvers the bag in front of his thigh, taking care not to jostle it too much while he fumbles for his phone. The notification light is blinking a pale blue. He doesn’t revive the screen nor unlock the phone, much less actually play any music. He simply connects the jack and plugs earbuds in. It usually discourages people from striking up a conversation.

 

Sehun takes line three which runs south of the river, down to Sinsa. He quickly walks past a few empty seats and heads to a corner a little away from the doors. Other passengers are highly unlikely to favor this general area when there’s so much prime space free for the taking—or so he hopes, anyway.

 

The parka stays fastened even though he feels like he’s fallen into a boiler. It’s still only a comfortable thawing now but he’s guessing his skin will be prickling by the fifth stop. That’s fine, he thinks, eight stations isn’t too bad. He decides to check his inbox just to give himself something to do.

 

There are two unread messages from Chanyeol from twenty-three minutes ago, probably while Sehun was still in the shower. He has to try not to chuckle when he finds a selca of his dumb hyung sticking out his tongue at the camera. Sometimes it’s too easy to forget that Chanyeol is actually two years older than him.

 

 

Sehun prompts the virtual keypad and types in a response. Somewhere in the background a female voice announces their arrival at Chungmuro station in four different languages.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sehun almost snorts. He’s actually correct on both accounts.

 

Chanyeol was one of the two youngest staff members when Sehun started his six-month internship in his old company where he was eventually absorbed as a regular employee. Byun Baekhyun was the other one, but he was in the editorial team while Chanyeol and Sehun where both in content design.

 

Chanyeol always brought the most amazing food and he let Sehun mooch off his packed lunch every time. Nobody was surprised when he quit as soon as he saved enough capital to start his own restaurant. Sehun also quit not long after, for entirely different reasons.

 

His mouth quirks behind his mask at the thought of food, and he types a random: I’m hungry.

 

 

Sehun’s eyes roll because, well, that’s not obvious at all since Chanyeol does not actually cook for a living.

 

He thinks he hears Sinsa station over the speakers, but between the obstruction in his ears and being assaulted by excessive amounts of caps lock, exclamation points, and emojis, he can’t be too sure. He takes a gander at the overhead monitors hanging from the center of the roof and reads the words scrolling under the looping advertisement.

 

Sinsa, it is.

 

 

The train decelerates until it comes to a progressive stop. The doors begin to slide open.

 

 

There’s honestly no argument there so Sehun shoves the phone back into the back pocket of his bag without sending a reply. He moves from his spot only when he’s sure that he’s the last one to step out. Going along with the flow of traffic, he tries to make himself as small as possible, which is quite the challenge with his broad shoulders and long limbs. He purposely stays close to the wall, hanging back until the small crowd grows even sparser. He arrives at his exit eventually, bracing himself as he lumbers back up to the frigid outdoors.

 

 

 

Winter has stripped the gingko trees that line the stretch of Garosu-gil bare. Sehun walks along a row of fashion shops—most of them newly renovated and some looking like they’ve seen better days.

 

He remembers his uncle telling him how charming and lively Garosu-gil was back in Seoul’s heyday. Back when Seoul was considered South Korea’s central nervous system. Way before the Great Riot that destroyed a vast majority of the old capital, virtually paralyzing it and forcing widespread migration to Busan and other minor districts in the south. He was practically a newborn when it happened. He can’t really say that he can imagine this place looking like anything other than how it is now—small stacks of rubble, fissured concrete, soot-stained walls, and all.

 

Sehun keeps his head low as he takes long, quick strides. A group of giggling girls brush by him accidentally-on-purpose on their way to a basement shop that mainly sells fashion accessories. His back stiffens, brows drawing together to form narrow grooves on his forehead as he follows the trail of long, thin cracks in the pavement. At least he’s not being chased down by a talent scout anymore. He’s too old for that, anyway.

 

 

“It's the eyebrows, man. They stand out too much,” opined Baekhyun around a crispy piece of Doritos that one time Sehun whined about the dire need to be inconspicuous and the great pains he took to try to achieve it.

 

"Or,” a thoughtful pause punctuated by obnoxious, crunchy chewing, “I mean, you’re fairly okay-looking in general, I guess, but you also look like... I don’t know—a walking noodle?”

 

Sehun recalls flicking his chopsticks at the smaller man and feeling vindicated when Baekhyun gasped in horror at the bright red specks of gochujang that adorned his white dress shirt.

 

 

Sehun passes a slightly bent light post next to a narrow alley with a line of rusty racks, onto which a couple of bicycles are locked. He slows when he approaches the quaint café that follows it.

 

He was about twenty-three when he first started to appreciate the wonders of caffeine and acquired a taste for the strong, bitter kick of a fresh brew. Though he still veers toward the sweeter variety—an offshoot of past bubble tea addiction, it seems like—he’s never looked back.

 

Inside the coffee shop is a loft fenced with fancy wrought-iron railings for guests with a preference for a higher vantage point. The bare walls, polished wood, and understated interior in earthy colors give it a warm, sophisticated vibe. But the best thing about it all, Sehun thinks, is the fact that the entire face of the café is wide open. The thick transparent panes at either end suggest that the place can be sealed in without taking away the view whenever necessary, but they seem to do so only during bad weather.

 

Here, fresh air is free to circulate. Camouflage is viable. Escape is easy.

 

Sehun’s usual table is the one on the farthest end, closest to the sidewalk. He searches for that first and finds it occupied. In fact, a quick scan of the place tells him that it's a full house today. He frowns, silently be his luck. He’s really hungry and in dire need of coffee fix, though, and so he figures he’ll just get something to go. However, the moment he spots the long queue in front of the counter (okay, there were probably four people in line, but anything more than two is a lot as far as he’s concerned) he shoots that idea down.

 

Quickly backpedalling, he decides that he can live with the hunger and caffeine withdrawal for now. Maybe he can try again later on the way back. Hopefully they still have chocolate chip muffins in stock then.

 

Just as he’s beginning to walk away he gets a strange, crawling feeling that someone is watching him. He halts briefly when suddenly there’s a tingling sensation down his spine. Ice-cold chill strikes through his chest like a thunderbolt, making his skin crawl. It’s the oddest thing but Sehun doesn’t think too much of it. He keeps walking, and soon enough it fades away. Reaching the end of the long street, he crosses to the other side of the road. It isn’t long before he reaches a familiar tunnel that leads to a vast stretch of open field.

 

Relief washes over him when he walks through the empty parking lot and sees that the space is practically deserted. Three people with a book in hand are sitting separately under the shade of a long, continuous chain of arched canopies on the perimeter of the field. Joggers and bikers are few and far in between. A two-way byroad, mostly for bikers, separates the vast park grounds from Hangang.

 

Sehun tugs off his mask and undoes his parka. He stows the mask into a pocket as he trudges closer to the river, stopping at the top of the stone steps that lead to the water.

 

 

 

 

One hand comes up to clasp around the strap across his chest while the other fishes for his phone. He pulls out the earbuds and disconnects the jack. The screen lights up at the press of a button.

 

It’s exactly five o’clock in the afternoon. He’s early.

 

Sehun’s mouth quirks up at the corners. He feels strangely accomplished. His uncle never did take kindly to his constant tardiness.

 

He descends midway to the landing and takes a seat on a step. Mostly he sits on the lower part of his parka, but there’s a bit of damp coolness that seeps through the sliver of denim that directly touches cold, hard surface. Sehun detaches the strap from his frame and gingerly sets the bag down on the steps. He folds his legs in, arms wrapping around knees.

 

It’s quiet. It's noticeably colder now than when he stepped out of the apartment earlier. The tip of his nose stings, unused to the bite of winter air because he hardly ever goes out. Sunlight is slowly beginning to fade. Wind softly whistles in his ears, and he sighs.

 

From where he sits, he can see vehicles traversing the long, winding bridge that extends over Hangang. Far beyond it he can make out the distinct shape of Namsan Tower through a screen of fog. It had been one of the very first landmarks that the government reconstructed after much of it was burned down. Now, it stands the tallest in a sea of buildings and steel columns—ghosts of past destruction and promise of a new beginning.

 

Sehun watches cars zip in and out of his field of vision; watches a world that’s fast-paced, crammed, busy, trying to get back on its feet. He knows he’s a part of it and yet he’s never felt more detached. Everything seems so far away. Everything is so quiet. Everything just is, and he’s just Oh Sehun.

 

He never really understood why his uncle Donghae loved this place so much until now. For a second he regrets not grabbing some chicken and beer before coming over. His uncle loved those. It’s all they’d had for the past five New Year’s Eve dinners. Alcohol is usually prohibited, but they let Sehun in with them anyway. Holiday spirit and all that.

 

It’s not much but he’s always happy to just see his uncle stuff his face with the best chicken in all of Seoul until he’s ready to pass out from contentment. It’s the least he can do to repay him for singlehandedly raising him, after all. Some traditions don’t have to change just because everything else has.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sehun jolts when the phone rings in his hand.

 

“Oh Sehun!!!” Chanyeol’s voice booms through the receiver even before he can utter a ‘hello’. “You never told me if you were coming or not, you little ! You’re coming, right?”

 

He sounds hopeful, but like he won’t be too surprised to hear a ‘no’. It makes Sehun feel a little guilty. He can’t seem to stop himself from sounding it, too.

 

“I can’t, hyung.” His head tips forward until his forehead is resting on his left knee.

 

“Why not? I made buffalo wings!”

 

Sehun bites back a whimper. He should have known that Chanyeol would know exactly how to twist his arm.

 

His breath is visible when he lets it out. And now his mind is on overdrive—flashing hazy images of drab, gray skies, ominous clouds, impossibly congested streets; of loud gasps, a large signboard falling over the edge followed by violent clanging of steel; of deafening screams, blood pooling on the pavement—

 

Sehun’s gut churns.

 

“You know why, hyung.”

 

“Well. Yeah, but it’s just me and Baekhyun and a couple other people—it’s barely a crowd. And free food! You know you love my buffalo wings! Come on, Sehunah!”

 

By ‘a couple other people’ he knows Chanyeol means his entire neighborhood, and yes, that is most definitely a crowd.

 

“I can’t, hyung, sorry. Besides, I’m not at home right now.” He catches the dull, steady noise of a knife pounding on a wooden board.

 

“Oh?” The surprise in Chanyeol’s tone isn’t misplaced at all, considering that Sehun has practically turned into a recluse ever since—

 

“Where are you?”

 

Sehun tilts his head a bit, gaze resting on the messenger bag sitting beside his feet.

 

“Hangang Park. In Jamwon.” His voice comes out low, weak, and he almost flinches at how tired he sounds.

 

The silence drags a little longer than usual. For once Chanyeol is quiet. Sehun can imagine him standing in place stiffly, meat cleaver hanging in midair.

 

“I see.” He probably doesn’t know what to say. Sehun doesn’t think there’s anything to be said at this point, really.

 

The chopping resumes. “Well, if you change your mind-”

 

“I know where you live,” he finishes for him. Sehun hears a laugh on the other line and something about it feels so reassuring, so familiar.

 

“Sehunnie,” Chanyeol sounds solemn. Sehun raises his head and adjusts the phone against his ear. “We’re literally a dangerous combination, you and I. But you know I’m always-”

 

“Yeah,” breathes Sehun. He chuckles softly as he recalls that one time his hair almost caught on fire because Chanyeol was being an idiot and Sehun was a high-strung fledgling.

 

“Yeah, I know,” he smiles a little. “I appreciate it, hyung.”

 

“Okay,” There’s a faint clattering of steel—pans, maybe—in the background. “Hey, I have to go. Happy New Year, kid!”

 

“Yeah, you too. Save some buffalo wings for me!”

 

Chanyeol laughs again and sing-songs, “I’ll think about it,” before cutting the call.

 

 

Now the time reads 5:29 P.M.

 

Sehun’s chest is suddenly tight.

 

His body feels heavy as he gets on his feet. Bending down, the bag is gathered up from the ground and he slings it back on. He s the main compartment in the middle, and at that moment he swears it’s the single loudest sound in the world. He reaches in with both hands until his fingers are wrapping around the swell of a vase.

 

His hands are cold but the nickel plated brass feels like ice against his skin as he carries it down the remaining steps until he reaches the narrow landing at the edge of the river. It’s kind of beautiful how the sunset casts a red-orange glow to the shiny, patterned silver and muted deep shades of blue, almost making it look like it’s aflame.

 

“Well. Here we are,” Sehun heaves.

 

He feels like he should probably be saying something right now. A good bye. A thank you; I love you, uncle. But he comes up with nothing. His throat feels dry, tongue rough against the roof of his mouth. He knows that the clock is ticking and he has a promise to keep.

 

Sehun carefully loosens the threaded lid until it detaches completely.

 

 

 

 

Sehun raises the urn higher above the water and then tilts it to the side. Fine dust slowly trickle over the rim and—in a moment of courage, or complete and utter stupidity, he’s not really sure—he centers all of his focus and silently throws out a command.

 

In an instant, he feels the light breeze picking up until it’s blowing in gusts. The wild fluctuation sends irregular ripples over the surface of the water. For a second it appears to gather the ashes, spinning them around haphazardly. Then Sehun is blowing out through his mouth experimentally—and all of a sudden a strong blast of wind rips through, scattering the ashes far in different directions until he can’t see them anymore.

 

He watches the disturbance in the air dissipate entirely; until all that’s left is a peaceful hum.

 

Sehun smiles wistfully. Mission accomplished.

 

He doesn’t cry. It's been a full week, after all. And before that, his uncle had been on death row for far longer. Five years. Sehun’s had all that time to grieve.  He blinks, eyes squeezing shut for a second as a dull pain thuds in his temple. He expected that. Still, he stays a while longer to see the end of daylight to completion. He has nowhere to hurry to, anyway; no one waiting for him to come with chicken and beer anymore.

 

 

 

It’s right during the height of rush hour when he begins to head back. It feels like he’s pretty much exceeded his Acts of Bravery/Idiocy quota for the week, so he decides to hail a cab instead of taking the subway again. It’s not the cheapest option, but it’s his best one at the moment, everything considered.

 

He's about five minutes away from his building when it dawns on him that he’s completely forgotten to stop by the café. He scrambles to evaluate his options and promptly realizes, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that he has none. They’re probably closing up now, anyway.

 

As if on cue, his stomach begins to grumble. He in a breath, poised to huff in distress, but stops himself just in time. His eyes flash in panic, cheeks puffed out, as he throws a furtive glance at the back of the cab driver’s head. Luckily the old man doesn’t appear to notice anything strange.

 

Slowly, Sehun exhales.

 

He goes right to food hunting the second he’s home. He grabs a large half-empty bottle of water that’s sitting on top of the table and takes a swig. Yanking the refrigerator door open, his face twists in a grimace when he finds that there’s nothing in there but a couple boxes of leftover.

 

It’s not even nine in the evening and yet he’s feeling so faint, exhaustion seeping from every pore of his body. The headache hasn’t abated at all. If anything, it’s probably gotten worse. He’s lucky he didn’t pass out straight after that little stunt he pulled at the Han River. The effect on his body is always worse when it's done deliberately. Plus, he’s out of shape and way out of practice. Mainly because practice is too dangerous, as past experience proves, and more importantly, against the law.

 

Sehun reaches for a sealed glass container of two-day old kimbap. He grabs a pair of chopsticks from the rack by the sink and the remote control on top of his pillow. At a press of a button, the television flickers to life.

 

Vaguely, he registers the tail end of a breaking report. Something about a strange spell of warm wind detected in Jungang-dong that lasted for about ten minutes.

 

 

Hands trembling, Sehun switches to a different channel. He's bizarrely gripped with fear, not for himself but for a stranger miles away who probably only needed a little warmth in the middle of this frigid winter, and may be punished for it. No one’s going to look kindly on a Hybrid, especially not a Red Flag Hybrid, no matter the circumstance. This is something he’s long come to accept.

 

If his uncle were here, he would probably squeeze his shoulder tightly, take a piece or two of chicken from his own share and add it to Sehun’s. He wouldn’t offer any words of assurance, or tell him that he understood what Sehun was feeling, or promise him that everything was going to be okay, because he wouldn’t know that. He wasn’t a Red Flag Hybrid like Sehun. Nobody Sehun knows is.

 

He sits himself at the table, his back to the flashing colors. It’s still too quiet. The walls are too stifling. The kimbap is too dry and the water too flat. Nothing like chicken and beer.

 

He adjusts the volume a little louder and lets the sound fill the gaping void. It doesn’t do much; there are too many cracks to cover, but it’s a start. He briefly considers staying up until midnight to welcome the New Year, but then he figures that there’s really no point.

 

 

*

 

 

Sehun wakes up to a dusting of whiteness collecting on his window frame and the loud growling of his stomach. Last night’s dinner was hardly satiating. And that reminds him that a trip to the market is in order.

 

Sehun groans, petulantly throwing the comforter over his head. It’s soft and warm where he’s cocooned by pillows and bedsheets, and getting up means leaving said cocoon for the ruthless post-snowfall temperature outside. He is hungry, though, so he does get up eventually, because it’s either that or starve to death.

 

Business is just setting out and he takes great comfort in the fact that the streets are swept clean of people. A large chunk of the population might have partied a little too hard last night. He knows for a fact that Chanyeol and Baekhyun did, judging by the blurry photo of them with droopy eyes, crazy hair and even crazier grinning faces, looking delightfully smashed that he finds in his inbox. It comes with a very eloquent message that goes: “HAPPE NW YESR SEJUMN!!!@!!@#!!!”

 

 

 

The trip to Lotte Mart is short. Sehun gathers the basic necessities—mostly packs of MSG and possibly more processed sugar than is healthy. He throws in a stalk of celery and two oranges in his basket as an afterthought, perhaps to make himself feel a little better about his life choices.

 

Once that’s done, Sehun heads back to the apartment to drop off the shopping bag. He’s feeling oddly lucky so he elects to head back to Garosu-gil despite the message in his work email about a bug awaiting troubleshooting. Maybe that chocolate chip muffin and hot cup of coffee won’t be so elusive today.

 

His luck holds up, apparently. Today's head-count is well below ten and every one of them is seated inside, which means that all the ones out by the front are unoccupied. It’s likely due to the fact that the snowfall has left a particularly harsh draft in its wake and nobody wants to start the year with a windburn. To be honest, he kind of expected to come and find the café sealed in by clear glass panels, but he’s not about to complain.

 

Sehun pulls off the mask as he marches up to the non-existent line at the counter. He’s not quite a regular—it’s not like he goes out every day, or even every other day—but he does come by often enough to recognize the shorter man with full cheeks and single-lidded eyes that slant upward at the corners. By now he doesn’t have to look to know that his nameplate says ‘Kim Minseok’.

 

It’s usually him manning the register whenever Sehun drops by, but he seems to occasionally take turns with a taller guy named 'Choi Minho', and another with a strange accent, blond hair and deep, kohl-lined, feline eyes, who’s called ‘Huang Zitao’. It’s a slow day today, though, and only Minseok and a bubbly, petite girl with an auburn bob—Park Sunyoung—are behind the counter.

 

As usual, Minseok greets him with a warm, gummy smile, which Sehun returns with about a quarter of the enthusiasm.

 

“Hey, Sehun, what would you like today?”

 

Sehun’s lips press together, hands at his sides. He can’t help being uneasy whenever he’s around people who don’t really know him, even though he’s familiar enough with Minseok that they can speak more casually with each other.

 

“Hot medium dark mocha, please,” he absently drums fingers against the edge of the countertop.

 

The barista hums and punches in Sehun’s order. “That’s it?” Minseok has one eyebrow quirked. There’s a friendly grin pulling at a corner of his mouth.

 

Sehun pauses. “Ah!” He blinks, eyes wide, and then shyly amends, “Can I add a chocolate chip muffin to that?”

 

Minseok grins. “Sure thing.”

 

Sehun pays for his coffee and muffin, and Minseok hands him a rectangular buzzer—which, as it turns out, he’s really got no use for. Far too engrossed in his phone as he intently goes over some work email, he doesn’t notice the approach of a man carrying a tray.

 

A medium-sized cardboard cup and a small plate of hot muffin slide into view without preamble, and Sehun is nearly startled out of his skin. He jumps in his seat, causing him to topple backwards in the process. Something he can’t see catches behind him and draws him forward before both forelegs of the chair can lift off of the ground.

 

His head snaps up so fast he's lucky his neck doesn't break. There’s someone sitting across from him, staring at him with big bright eyes, the tightlipped smile on his boyish face genial.

 

“Hi,” the stranger’s eyes wrinkle around the edges when he smiles bigger. “It’s Sehun, right?”

 

And all of a sudden it's happening again: tingling down his spine, ice-cold chill darting right through his chest, goosebumps crawling up his skin. One second it’s throwing him totally off-kilter and then the next, it’s gone.

 

Meanwhile, the man is still there, watching him, still smiling. Clearly something isn’t right here. How does he even know his name? He looks familiar, though. Have they met before?

 

The man casually gestures to the tray on the table.

 

“Your name is on the cup,” he explains. “It’s a good thing I’m used to decoding Minseok’s unintelligible handwriting.”

 

His grin is big and mirthful and it reduces his eyes to bowed slits. It’s meant to be assuring and, to Sehun’s surprise, it’s kind of working. Just a little. Or maybe not quite. This is actually a bit creepy.

 

“I’m Lu Han. We’ve never met before, but you’ve probably heard my name somewhere? Two Moons Entertainment? Ring a bell?”

 

Sehun considers this for a second. Working for an online news portal has built up his mental index of prominent people, so he probably does have that name catalogued in there somewhere. He takes a second to rack his brain, and then—

 

 

“Correct!” The man—Lu Han—bobs his head then pauses thoughtfully before slowly adding, “And, well, no.”

 

Sehun blinks. What?

 

“I meant, you’re correct; I am the owner of TM Ent. I co-own this place with Minseok, too, actually. But don’t worry, I’m not scouting you.” There’s amusement written all over his twinkling eyes.

 

Sehun stares at him quizzically. He’s sure he did not say that out loud. In fact, he’s quite certain he hasn’t spoken a single word at all.

 

“How did you—”

 

Lu Han actually looks sheepish.

 

“Your muffin’s getting cold,” he digresses as he awkwardly rubs at his nose, looking kind of nervous and unsure—which is strange, considering how unabashedly he barged into Sehun’s personal space just minutes ago.

 

Sehun is about to call him out on that badly executed swerve; but then his little plate of chocolate chip muffin is inching closer to the edge of the tray all on its own. He jerks back, and the only semi-coherent thought his brain can come up with is: What the —

 

Hazy fragments start piecing together in his mind. Something clicks, and suddenly panic is seizing his chest. He knows what Lu Han is.

 

 

“Screw the muffin,” he’s not quite shouting—or at least he hopes he’s not. Bringing attention to their table is the worst possible idea right now.

 

“Who are you? What do you want?”

 

Lu Han raises both hands, palms forward. “Okay, calm down. I’m not a dangerous person.”

 

That’s a lie. Sehun knows that’s a big lie. There’s a reason why telepathy, being one of the gravest threats to national security, is classified as a major criminal offense. And the fact that he’s obviously also telekinetic probably puts him on an entirely different threat-scale.

 

Sehun knows that it’s probably hypocritical of him to pass judgment, or to turn the man away, considering that he’s a Red Flag Hybrid himself. An intractable, unstable, and extremely dangerous agent of natural disaster, as a newspaper once put it. Baekhyun actually snorted at that, though, the brat. But for all he knows this could be a trap.

 

His expression is bordering on hostile as Lu Han readjusts himself in his seat. He’s thinking he must be the one responsible for the fact that Lu Han is a picture of utter exasperation right now, with furrowed brows and lips drawn to a tight line. That is until the man abruptly aims a nasty glare to his right side. Curious, Sehun chances a glance in the same direction and catches Minseok glowering back at the telepath. There’s a fierce staring battle going on—a heated telepathic argument too, most likely—and they keep at it for a while. But it isn’t long before the barista notices him looking. He seems a little taken aback, but collects himself quickly and offers an apologetic smile.

 

At first Sehun doesn’t know what to make of that. Then he recalls that Minseok and Lu Han are business partners, and he instantly blanches. Could Kim Minseok—kind, friendly Kim Minseok who remembers his uncanny love for chocolate pastries—be in on whatever game Lu Han is playing here? Is he like them, too? How long have they been plotting this ambush? How long have they known?

 

Sehun is suddenly antsy, lightheaded, choking on a scream trapped in his throat.

 

“Let me start again,” says the man sitting in front of him, humorless. “Hi. I’m Lu Han,” there’s a ghost of a quiver where his mouth curls up, but his voice remains steady. “I’m a telekinetic-telepath Hybrid.”

 

Sehun tenses, alarmed—not as much because of the information itself than the fact that it was so easily disclosed.

 

“I-I don’t think you’re supposed to be saying—hey!” Sehun’s beanie slips off so fast, as though blown away by the wind. Except that the air is completely still, and the thing was so closely fitted around his head that a simple gust couldn’t have yanked it off.

 

Sehun almost lurches to his feet, scrambling to give chase, but it’s too late. He looks up forlornly at the beanie hanging on a high branch of a barren gingko tree. He sharply turns back to Lu Han, because it couldn’t possibly be anyone else, and barks, “What the hell?”

 

The bastard only looks amused.

 

“Well,” Lu Han shrugs. “Go get it.”

 

Sehun squawks. “You want me to climb the damn tree?”

 

Lu Han an eyebrow. “You know that’s not what I mean,” there’s a patronizing lilt to his tone and Sehun wonders how his luck could have turned a full one-eighty so fast.

 

“Make it fly back,” Lu Han sounds a tad bit too eager. “I know you can.”

 

Sehun frowns. He feels . This isn’t fair.

 

 

Lu Han’s eyes widen at that, like he’s surprised that Sehun even knows to do that, and he smirks.

 

 

Sehun dumps himself back on the chair with a grunt. Brows deeply furrowed, he fixes Lu Han with a hard, uncompromising stare. Just in case the man doesn’t catch the full extent of his irritation telepathically.

 

“Look,” he hisses, leaning over the table so that he can keep his voice out of anyone else’s earshot. “I don’t know why you’re doing this—but I don’t want any trouble, and I most certainly don’t intend to start my year behind bars.”

 

If Lu Han finds his whole demeanor impertinent—they only just met after all—he doesn’t make a big deal of it. Doesn’t even bat an eye.

 

“Don’t worry,” he soothes, eyes wrinkling at the corners. “You’re not gonna get in trouble.”

 

He’s still calm, still smiling, and Sehun doesn’t understand how he can so casually dismiss his concerns. Like controlling the wind and reading minds aren’t punishable by law. But then again Lu Han has a little more leeway. No one’s going to walk by and just know that he’s encroaching on someone else’s thoughts. There’s still a choice, of course, and Sehun can always just leave and never come back. But there’s something compelling him not to. Maybe Lu Han’s pulling some sort of Jedi mind trick on him that’s keeping him rooted in his cha—

 

 

Sehun flinches. — If his brain’s got a separate pair of ears, they must be deaf by now.

 

“Fine!” Sehun whisper-yells, flinging both hands in the air. “But if I land in prison for this, I swear to God—”

 

Lu Han beams. “You won’t. I promise.”

 

Sehun has no idea why he’s letting a potentially dangerous stranger talk him into this; but there he is, worrying his lower lip as he quickly scans his surroundings to check for unsuspecting spectators and CCTV cameras. And then he’s pulling his shoulders back, fists planted on his lap, eyes and full focus trained on his target. The pendent beanie is already flapping precariously, which tells him that he doesn’t need to use too much energy.

 

Gently, he blows out through his mouth, just like how he would on a dandelion, and the hat is nudged right off of the branch. As it falls to the ground, he crooks a finger, summoning a soft breeze to push at it a little harder until it’s moving toward his feet. The object rolls across the concrete before eventually parking itself beside Sehun’s shoe. He picks it up, shakes off any dirt it might have gathered in transit, and then snaps it back onto his head.

 

He’s greeted by a delighted sparkle in Lu Han’s eyes when he glances up. There’s a huge grin trying to split the man’s face in half. He looks absolutely fascinated. Like a kindergartener on his very first trip to the zoo.

 

If he’s being completely honest, that was actually quite... liberating. He hopes Lu Han didn’t catch that thought, but the knowing glint in the man’s eyes tells him that yes, he probably did. Sehun clears his throat. Curbing his own amusement, his expression shifts to his default disinterested look as he sinks into the backrest.

 

“Please tell me I didn’t risk my entire future just to entertain you.” He takes the abandoned coffee in both hands and brings the cardboard cup to his lips. He’s not surprised when the dark mocha doesn’t scald his tongue.

 

“Can’t, sorry.” Lu Han chuckles, crooked grin impish.

 

He laughs harder when Sehun bristles, stopping only to mock-solemnly mutter, “Hey, hey, let’s not get violent now—I’m older than you, show some respect!” as a small tornado spins to life between his feet.

 

“Really?” Sehun’s control slips—not that it was ever stable to begin with—and the mini-twister promptly thins out.

 

“I’m thirty-two, for your information.” Lu Han actually preens a little.

 

“Huh,” he never would have guessed. Wonders never cease. He plucks out a chocolate chip from the pastry’s dome-shaped top.

 

“Truthfully, though,” Lu Han says. “It’s great to finally meet a Hybrid of your sort. I’ve never met a wind wielder before.”

 

“Who isn’t in prison, you mean?” He means to make it sound like a joke but falls short. He doesn’t miss how the bend of Lu Han’s youthful smile falters for the briefest of moments. The man’s face clouds over with something that looks more like empathy rather than pity. Sehun gets this so rarely that he derives more comfort in it than he probably should.

 

“But you’re not just an ordinary Hybrid, are you?”

 

 “Hey,” Sehun’s eyes narrow at him in accusation. “You said you’d get out of my head.”

 

“I did!” Lu Han defensively caws. “It’s just, earlier I sensed... something. Something dormant? I don’t know if it’s some kind of extension of... that—” he makes vague gestures in the air with his hands, head tilting to one side, perplexed. “Like I said, I’ve never met a wind wielder before.”

 

Sehun takes a bite out of his now cold muffin, shrugging noncommittally.

 

“I guess I’ve never met a telekinetic or a telepath before either,” his voice is almost a whisper, careful. “Much less someone who’s both.”

 

“Or maybe you have—you just didn't know.” Lu Han wags his eyebrows comically, and this time Sehun chuckles softly. He just cannot fathom how that face could possibly be a high-level threat to anything.

 

Sehun shakes his head. “Maybe.”

 

He takes another big bite. And then another. And another. The hunger that he somehow forgot in the midst of all the chaos is back with a vengeance. Now it’s even compounded by the loss of energy to wind-control. He stares sadly at the small bit of muffin he has left. Maybe he should have gotten a bagel, too. And perhaps a slice of pie?

 

“Listen, Sehun,” Lu Han begins and Sehun almost doesn’t catch it over the sound of his own regret.

 

Lu Han props his elbows on the table as he leans forward. He looks serious and determined and something about it makes Sehun gulp down cold nerves.

 

“I have a proposition for you.”

 

 

*

 

 

“Wah! Waah! WAAAH!!”

 

Sehun warily eyes a hyperactive Chanyeol, who has a small piece of paper in one hand and a very sharp-looking chef’s knife in the other.

 

This is danger.

 

“This is great!”

 

His eyes are huge and wild when he looks up from the paper to Sehun, who’s standing on the other side of the granite countertop in Chanyeol’s kitchen. He’s making Sehun a late dinner because he was so drunk the night before that he forgot to save some buffalo wings for him. He reads the note again, emitting more ‘waaah’s in varying degrees of amazement, all the while absently brandishing the knife in front of his visitor’s face.

 

Sehun recoils abruptly, nearly tripping over his own legs, when the blade swings dangerously close to the tip of his nose.

 

“—put that away, hyung!”

 

Chanyeol sheepishly mumbles an apology and sets the sharp object down by a batch of julienned carrots.

 

“But no, really, look,” He wipes a hand down his Rilakkuma apron and pushes a thumb in the air, poised to uncurl his fingers one by one as he enumerates all the reasons why this is great!

 

“We’ll be in the same neighborhood. I can assure you that the place is much bigger than that tiny mouse hole that you live in now.”

 

Sehun bristles at that. There’s a rebuttal ready at the tip of his tongue, but Chanyeol is quick to shush him with a loud “I’m not finished!” So he heaves a suffering sigh, folds his arms on his chest, and tells himself to endure for the sake of free dinner.

 

Chanyeol grins. “Rent is dirt-cheap. Apgujeong is closer to your head office, not that it matters in your case, AND!” his voice climbs several notches, “We’ll be in the same neighborhood!”

 

If Chanyeol’s eyes get any bigger Sehun’s afraid they might pop out of their sockets. He’s buzzing with excitement, flashing all that pearly teeth, and Sehun can’t help but laugh as he snatches the little perforated sheet back. Scribbled on it is an address, a phone number, and a questionable sketch of a deer.

 

He nearly spat out lukewarm coffee when Lu Han sprang this one on him. Apparently the telepath is landlord to an apartment complex in Apgujeong and said apartment complex currently has one vacant unit.

 

“Everyone who lives there is a Hybrid, you see,” he said. “You’ll be safe there. You might even like it.” He told Sehun to think about it, to call him if he ever wanted a tour, and then slipped the note halfway under the tray before leaving him alone. Sehun was surprised when he read the address and realized that he knew exactly where it was.

 

Chanyeol picks up the knife again and gets to work on the onions as he fills Sehun in. Apparently, a couple of decades ago Lu Han’s Chinese immigrant parents took advantage of the dramatic drop in land value in Seoul. They bought this patch of property in Apgujeong, which Lu Han later turned into an exclusive residential area. He sold one of the two apartment complexes to Kim Junmyeon after construction wrapped up.

 

“Hmm,” Sehun croons, thoughtful. He steals three strips of raw carrots and proceeds to nibble on them, which he rightfully gets a smack on the head for.

 

Chanyeol huffs and points the tip of the knife in his direction.

 

“Get your filthy paws away from my carrots or you can forget about dinner!”

 

Sehun chuckles even as he raises a hand in surrender. Chanyeol can probably arm himself with a canyon, aim it right at Sehun, and he still won’t look quite scary enough to him. Chanyeol actually tried to threaten him with tongues of flame shooting up from his palm once and Sehun just asked him if he could hold it long enough to roast his marshmallows.

 

The chef turns a knob and the burner instantly ignites with blue flame. Gas stoves are normally prohibited in apartments like this, but Junmyeon made an exception for Chanyeol. The steel underside of a shallow pan clanks lightly against the grate.

 

Sehun watches as Chanyeol puts a large hand into the pan, palms flat over the non-stick ceramic, fingers splayed. He still finds it interesting no matter how many times he’s seen Chanyeol use his bare skin like this when cooking. This is what makes him so good, Sehun thinks. Having power over fire, and therefore heat, gives him leverage in the kitchen. He knows how hot is too hot, what will burn, what will undercook, how long a dish should be exposed to what level of heat to get it just right.

 

Many years ago, the initial reaction to the existence of Hybrids—individuals born with ‘special abilities’—had been that of fear. However, people soon came to discover that using these abilities human energy dry; could even lead to death in extreme cases. For the most part, this became an assurance that Hybrids would not—could not—cause any real, large scale damage. The fear ebbed considerably but the social stigma ran even more rampant, and remains even now.

 

It’s incredibly dumb how the restaurants that Chanyeol applied to straight out of culinary arts school rejected him despite his obvious talent just because they were afraid that he would blow up the entire place; like he’s automatically an arsonist by virtue of his aptitude for fire. But now that he owns one of the most raved-about restaurants in Gangnam and stealing business from those s, Sehun reckons it’s not so bad.

 

“So, this whole apartment-renting,” he straightens his spine, arms extending above his head until he feels a satisfying pop. “Is this a by-invitation-only sort of thing?”

 

“I guess,” Chanyeol shrugs. “I mean, Lu Han and Junmyeon only take in Hybrids. That’s not something you can put in an ad.”

 

Sehun hums in agreement. There are still so many questions running through his mind. Why only Hybrids? Why him?

 

“If you’d showed up to any of my parties you would have met Lu Han sooner,” Chanyeol drawls, throwing him a pointed look that pretty much says ‘listened to me you should have, young Padawan; the wisdom of Yoda I have.’

 

“I could have introduced you to my neighbors. I play basketball with Lu Han, Yifan, and Yixing sometimes.”

 

Sehun snorts. “I bet they kick your .”

 

“Do you want this ing dinner or not?!”

 

“I do!” Sniggering, Sehun does little hopping motions in place. He closes his hands then brings both fists up to his cheeks, “Bbuing, bbuing!”

 

Chanyeol mock-punches him in the face, but he’s cackling so loud that Sehun knows he’s got this in the bag. Perks of being maknae even though he’s just a couple years shy of thirty now.

 

When the laughter dies down, he turns and pads to the window across the kitchen, his socked feet scuffing on heated flooring. He sweeps the curtain to the side a little, just enough to let him take a peek at a similar apartment building about two blocks away. The property Lu Han owns is nearly identical to this one, except it has burgundy brick accents while Junmyeon’s has dark blue. He’s never paid attention to it before and yet it doesn’t feel entirely unfamiliar either. So maybe...

 

“How did you manage to land this place, anyway? Did Kim Junmyeon-sshi ambush you too?” he asks, leaning back to half-sit on the window pane.

 

“Not exactly,” Chanyeol’s brows draw together as he adds minced garlic in the heated ghee. “His and Lu Han’s methods are different. Junmyeon-hyung was my first regular customer at the restaurant. Lu Han’s a little... eccentric.”

 

Sehun laughs through his nose. “Well, that’s one way of putting it,” he mutters and Chanyeol fondly laughs along.

 

“Trust me, though, he’s a good person.”

 

A wooden spatula pushes the rest of the vegetables into the pan and Chanyeol proceeds to sauté them in the heat. He doesn't pause even as he looks up at Sehun with an earnest smile.

 

“I think you should take the offer, Sehunnie. What have you got to lose?”