The Panacea

Jisung puts a faceted glass of water on the wooden tabletop with a loud bang. Icy, drawn from the tap water slid down his throat a second ago, forcing the guy to clench his teeth, which suddenly ached from the cold. He watches as the clear liquid is still swinging in the glass. The glass walls were slightly misted up from the warmth of his fingers and breath while Jisung drank. He turns it with the other side, watching the light of an old dim lamp play with the glass. It casts barely noticeable highlights on the old shabby by-time tabletop. By the way, it was not the only one who was shabby in the house.        The guy closes his eyes and inhales deeply, until his lungs ache, as he always does when he tries to calm down after another quarrel with his mother. It is cold in the kitchen. A window with an old plastic frame, dappled with scratches and streaks, opens wide at such moments. It does not matter if it is winter or summer — he just needs to let fresh, cool air into an eerily stuffy room. After spats or fights, the rooms are always filled with heat, and it becomes harder to breathe. The image of the bawling woman is still in front of his eyes, and Jisung closes his eyes harder, ready to beat himself on the wretched head, to drive it out to hell. And it lets him up for a few seconds. There is no noise in the ears, a blank sheet in front of his eyes and no thoughts. It is getting easier. He takes another sip, and pours the rest of the water into the sink, where there are a couple of plates and a mug with half-finished coffee. His gaze falls on a washed white mug with an uneven pattern of a red cat. It stands in its usual place, polished to a shine with small children's hands. The guy smiles sadly. Goes to the window. The view from here is detestable. The third floor, a house opposite is made of yellow-brown brick, and at the bottom there is a garbage dump, on which, no matter how you look, a flock of birds gathers. On the left, if you stick your head out, can see the roadway and the corner of a small shop where Jisung usually buy food. Clouds covered the sky. There are no stars in sight today. Jisung likes to look at the stars. Especially when goes out of town. Even at night, in the city it is difficult to see the twinkling lights in the sky. Light from other people's apartments or from shop windows constantly interferes. Over time, Han even began to believe that the stars did not exist at all, until one day he went camping with a class three years ago. It was the only time he went anywhere with the class. He finally closes the window, cutting off the fresh air to entrance on the kitchen. Walks across the creaking plank floor and turns off the light. His tired legs carry him to bed on their own. Wants to fall on the mattress and forget today, and the whole life in general. And if, alas, he can not do the second, then the first is quite feasible. The door to the room softly shuffles against the jamb and lets Jisung inside. He closes it behind him and gropes for the bed in total darkness. The head immediately rests on a soft pillow. It is buzzing and whining. Somewhere inside, in the brain, from overwork and lack of sleep. The guy is already starting to fall asleep when he hears a quiet, almost squeaky voice: — Jisung-ah? Is that you? He barely lifts one eyelid and looks to the right, where there is another, narrower and softer, opposite his bed. His eyes have adjusted to the darkness, but he does not have to distinguish who is tossing and turning under the feather blanket. Does not even want to strain voice to answer such a silly question, but Jisung can not do it any other way. — Of course it's me, — the guy sounds as tired as he looks. His consciousness gradually begins to leave him. The silence that follows the answer envelops him. Nothing is pressing on his head anymore. The body gradually relaxes. — Did you and mom have a fight again? — The voice again. — Yeah, — he drawls slowly and hoarsely. He wanted to turn on side, bury face in the wall covered with light blue cheap wallpaper, but muscles would not obey. — Don't worry, Sua, everything will definitely get better. I promise. That was the last thing the guy said before he conked out. The girl continues to mutter something indistinctly in the dark, but when hears a quiet snoring opposite, turns to the wall, clutching a stuffed tiger in her hands, and herself plunges into a restless sleep. It is been a long time since Jisung has had normal colorful dreams. Every night is filled with either emptiness or nightmares that occasionally visited him. These nightmares were not so terrible as molesting. Well, they are quite realistic, mostly. Usually, in them, the mother beat younger sister or left, disappearing into the unknown. Sometimes he dreamed of himself wandering through a dark forest, unable to find a way out. It was really frighten. Closer to four in the morning, Han wakes up all of sudden. The room is quiet and dark. Even the white tulle hanging by the window does not waver. He sits up on the bed and combs his disheveled hair back. Had to wake up in the middle of the night. But now he won't sleep a wink until the evening. Never sleep a wink. Takes a deep breath, getting up from the bed. No wonder he has a headache every day. Sometimes he slept for three hours at most, and then wandered around the room like a zombie, or buried himself into the screen of an old laptop that he bought from one of his classmates. But Jisung is too tired today. The bed remains smash up, in case he still wants to sleep again in an hour-two. Han shuffles his bare feet on the floor, quiet as a mouse, so as not to inadvertently wake sister, and goes out onto the balcony. The air may not be as clean as would like, but it is much better than keep stand about in a stuffy room. He leans against the iron railing and cringes at how cold it turns out to be, even through the sleeves of the black hoodie he just put on. The guy's dark hair merges with the sky in the night, the wind sways them like the laces on his sweater. The guy listens to the silence. The area in which he lives, although not the safest, but is quite calm at night. The only source of illumination nearby is a tall gray lantern. Its warm light pours onto the clean asphalt, and flocks of moths hover around. Jisung always liked the quiet of the night. And, to be honest, the night as a whole. With darkness, calm usually comes, the pain recedes and oblivion sets in. So pleasant, like a fog. He can stand for a long time on a small cluttered balcony and watch the empty streets, listening to the only thing: the sounds of crickets and the noise of foliage on trees. Closes his eyes, inhales deeply again and listens, as does every time. Shoulders relax, and he tilts his head back. Jisung realizes that even if he opens his eyes now, he will not see the stars. What a pity. A ringing laugh from somewhere far away breaks the idyll. It sweeps between the houses and miraculously reaches the Han's ears. It is like its owner is just a block away. Other voices are heard next. Jisung is about to turn around and go back into the apartment. The silence is broken. There is nothing more to catch here. But his legs do not obey him — they seem rooted to the floor. Meanwhile, the voices are getting closer. The shuffling of feet also becomes audible. A new wave of laughter is rolling along the walls of the houses, but now more than one person is laughing. Jisung looks down cautiously. His eyesight is so-so, to put it mildly, so there is no point in trying to make out their faces. Nevertheless, the guy continues to stare at an unfamiliar group of teenagers in front of his windows. A small bunch of guys quickly slip under his balcony. They are having fun: he can tell by their voices and abrupt movements. — Hey, give it back! — a lowest one jumps on some tall guy, desperately trying to take his thing away. Frankly, Jisung doesn't see any shit from his balcony at all. Just stand and be content with the sounds. — Catch up, then I'll give it back, — the tall one laughs and runs straight down the street as fast as he can. A little commotion begins in the clique. Han squints, trying to make out at least one face, not understanding why he is doing this. At one point, he even feels like one of these guys is looking right at him. But the next second, the short one catches his attention again. He ran after the fan of catch-up game. — Hey, Prince! Stop! — He shouts. The company left behind bursts into laughter and runs after a couple of seconds. They all disappear around the first corner and a minute later the previous silence reigns on the street. Jisung just blinks silly. He could safely say that a bunch of noisy teens had become a figment of his exhausted imagination. A waking dream, so to speak. Yes, he could. If it were not for that very first ringing laugh, which still echoes inside the skull. Confused and mesmerized by someone else's fun, Han enters back into the apartment. He is going to spend the rest of the sleepless night at work. And now what, is there time to waste? And his eyes do not hurt so much anymore, and he is not particularly sleepy. Thank you, uninvited guests, for your help, maybe I won't spend the night in vain, he thinks.

***

In social studies at school they told us, that the family is our rear, a fortress behind which we can hide. Jisung thought it was absolute bullshit. He was never at ease at home and it was not the rear at all. A fucking endless war. After a particularly violent scandals, he desperately wanted to escape. Sometimes was possible to do this. Then he usually spent the night with friends, less often was out whoring the streets, if it was warm, or sat in the entrance. There were days, when it seemed that everything had finally settled down and life began to return to normal: the mother stopped yelling, throwing objects at son, hitting him with everything that came to hand. But as soon as Jisung thought he could breathe out in peace, everything was happening again. Over time, he just stopped hoping. She never looked for weighty reasons. Did not even try. The boy always received for the most petty offenses: did not wash the dishes, came five minutes later than scheduled, stained T-shirt, said a word that she did not like, or was born, for example. She often crossed the line and in fits of anger did not notice how hard she was hitting her own child. And the older Han became, the more he resembled his father, the more mother's hand beat. In front of her, there was no longer the usual little swarthy boy, who shied away as soon as she haul off at him. He turned into an adult youth, who could easily intercept her heavy and whiplash hand or even fight back. But over time — as Sua grew up — it became much harder to endure beatings. — Have you packed all things of yours? — the girl has a big blue backpack on her back, which Han wore in elementary school. I should buy her a new one, flashes through his mind. The girl nods briskly several times, as did to all previous questions. — Well, then let's go, — he holds out hand to his sister, and she grabs a large, compared to hers, warm palm. His sister is the only close person for Jisung. The only one he cares about and truly loves. He tries to give her the best. Tries to make sure that the girl never feels worse among her peers, who, as if for spite, had everything they wanted. Jisung buys her clothes, sweets, pencils and notebooks himself, and gets her ready for school. Buys a lot of things with his honestly earned money. And fortunately, the mother pays for communal services and just partially for food, although not always the best. As say, there is a roof over and you have something to eat too, so be content with that. And Han would not complain, in principle. She never spoiled him with toys or sweets, so even when the boy grew up, he did not demand anything from her. Apart from stopping the physical abuse and insults, of course, but she was apparently unable to provide that. Jisung did not have any friends by itself. And there was not much time for them. All his free time was occupied by part-time job and looking after sister. There were acquaintances, but none of them stayed long in Han's life. And after fourteen, he stopped looking for new acquaintances and getting attached to people altogether. Realized that it never leads to good. Now he thinks it is for the best. If he got attached to someone, would get lost in reality, and this is absolutely must not do. He needs to keep working and taking care of his sister, whom mother is already starting to forget. Maybe in two years he will be able to save enough money to move out of her, taking Sua with him. Or he will finally find a good job to have a steady income. But no matter how much Jisung assured himself that he was comfortable in the company of his sister and his laptop, thoughts of loneliness sometimes visited him. Mostly at night, when all that he could hear in the whole house were the snuffling by little Sua and the noisy sounds of the computer. This feeling comes suddenly. Just at some moment he realized that he had no one to talk to at all. There is not even a single person around who would truly understand him, listen to him, support him. And the silence did not seem so soothing then. It was pushing, pointing out how lonely and pathetic Jisung was. And he felt so terribly empty inside, but he did not know how to fill this void. — You're going to pick me up tomorrow, aren't you? They are already approaching the house, the walls of which are a mixture of wood and white stone. Somewhere inside him stings unpleasantly. Every time to see how normal people live, and coming to happy families... It does not bring much pleasure, you know. Especially when you have never had one yourself. — Of course I will. Tomorrow at lunch, — Jisung smiles at his sister. Squats down in front of her, to look into the girl's eyes. In response, she also smiles broadly and throws her arms around brother's neck. — Don't fight with mom while I'm gone, okay? — She lispes in his ear as brother wraps both arms around her fragile back. The guy grins sadly. If only it was that simple… — Sure. — Do you promise? — I promise, — he breathes, closing his eyes. Jisung wants to believe that he will keep promise after all. Well, or at least will try. — Oh, that's it, — he pulls away, — run already. The girl joyfully pulls away from her brother and runs to the door. After three short knock-knock-knock, a woman with black hair tied in a tight ponytail and a friendly smile on her face finally appears. She greets Sua and lets her into the house. In the end, she just gives Jisung a short smile and a quiet «Hello». He waves back. — I'm going to pick her up at lunch tomorrow, — he says, because the woman is still standing in the doorway. Honestly, she is only twenty-six, but for Jisung, even such an age difference seems colossal. Despite the fact that he communicates with nuna almost on equal terms. — Okay, — she says shortly, but does not close the door. The guy nods his head and turns on his heels, preparing to leave. — Jisung… Are you all right? He hesitates. Of course, Jiwon-noona has always been quite perceptive and certainly knew about what was going on in their family. And Sua doubtful kept her mouth shut. But Han does not want to talk to anyone right now. Although, even if wanted to, he would not. Too used to loneliness that it is not possible to open up to someone. Perhaps this can be considered a mental problem. Fear of opening up to people, anxiety when someone tries to get into your life, avoiding noisy companies and public places. Looks like an early stage of social phobia. But Jisung does not to care a darn. To think that a person, who grew up in an environment like this, will be mentally fine is akin to believing in Santa Claus. It is childishly blind, and in the end is bitter and sad. — Yes, it's all right, — he nods, forcing a smile. Hides emotions. It is unpleasant. — Okay. Why don't you come in for tea? — does she have a mission for today to detain him as long as possible and get into his soul? Or is she just kidding? He want to believe that neither one nor the other. After all, Jiwon wants the best, he should not be mad at her. But Jisung's self-control is not ironclad, so he bites his cheek from the inside so as not to say too much and tries to hide around the nearest bend as soon as possible. He is not in the mood today. At all. — No, I'm going. Thanks for the invitation, — he nods and walks down the street so that noona does not have time to call out to him again. He made it clear that the conversation was over. A minute later, the door closes behind him, the lock clicks loudly, and Han exhales. Kang Jiwon is the older sister of the girl Sua is friends with. By the way, is quite close friends with. Han did not have such a strong friendship as these two in childhood. Probably because of this, because of his sister did not follow in his footsteps, he rejoices every time she starts telling him about Yoonmi. And even gets a little jealous. They spend a lot of time together: study in the same class, often walk after school. Yoonmi often invites a friend to visit, and Jisung has to take her every time. He does not complain, on the contrary. It is useful to get some fresh air sometimes. Besides, he is always asked to stay for tea, and few times he even agreed. Well, or not a few. It is not that Jiwon has become his close friend, but it is nice to talk to her. Yoonmi's family is generally friendly, and this makes a little uncomfortable to be in their house. He is not used to such comfort and idyll, is looking for a trick in everything. Despite this, twenty-minute gatherings in the kitchen with a cup of tea and a pleasant conversation turned out to be useful. Otherwise, it seems to Jisung, he will go completely wild soon. However, the guy has not yet opened up to anyone and does not plan to do so. Even with Jiwon, who seemed to have managed to get him to talk, he was not completely honest. The woman is really endearing and skillfully lures into conversation. With such people, you usually do not notice how blurt out too much, and later do not even regret it. Just trust them. You can see by the eyes that they will not tell anyone. But the habit of keeping everything to himself and enduring to the last seems to be ingrained in the subcortex of his brain, and Han can not do anything about it. The only thing Jiwon knows is that they have constant quarrels with their mother in the family. But she does not suspect how Jisung goes through them, or how global these quarrels are. She also knows that Jisung is fond of writing texts that he successfully sells, what earns daily bread, and that he loves Sua more than his life. But she does not suspect know how shitty Han has been feeling lately. It always ends with a simple «Everything is fine», and then another topic of conversation follows. There is no need to burden her, Jisung thinks, he will figure it out somehow. The guy turns right somewhere in the middle of the way home and only then remembers, that it would be nice to go to the store, otherwise, if his mother ate at work again today, he will have to live on thin air and boiled water with sugar himself. Fortunately, Sua is staying at Yoonmi's tonight, at least she will be full, that is for sure. In Jisung's memory, this is sister's first sleepover with a friend. She was so delighted when he allowed her to stay overnight and tried to thank him all day long by helping around the house and bringing him everything he asked for. And all this morning, the girl was just bursting with impatience and excitement. After all, she was going to have her first night away from her brother. But that was not what she was excited about. Rather, it was a desire to see Yoonmi as soon as possible and go to the first sleepover. Admit, it is almost always exciting.

***

Water boils in a pot, lifting the lid. Jisung takes it off the fire and puts on a cold burner next to it. There is a smell of strong spices from the purchased ramen in the kitchen, a stained board on the countertop, where there is a leftover carrot, a dirty package from thawed meat and eggshells. The guy sweeps everything unnecessary into the trash, rinses the board and puts it next to the sink. His stomach rumbles loudly as he walks over to the stove and finally puts the previously cooked food on a plate. Not that Han is an excellent cook, but what he usually cooks is edible. Or so it seems to him. In general, he does not have much cooking ability. It is just that life forced to learn the basics. Now he knows how to do the most elementary things: fry an omelet in the morning, make sandwiches, and cook ramen quickly when he is very hungry. He looks at the clock on the wall. His mother was due in half an hour, so he would have time to clean up everything by her arrival, so that she would not start hysterical from scratch. The broth turns out to be too hot, and Han sharply draws in air to cool his burned tongue. He chokes on noodles and coughs nonstop for the next minute. So that tears begin to gather in the corners of the eyes. Fuck, what a day. Clearing his throat, he finishes, more carefully, rinses the plate and goes to his room. Does not put ramen in the fridge, maybe his mother will get hungry. Jisung should have given up on her, held a grudge, and spat on her and her needs. Preferably a hundred times, as she does all the time. But for some reason he can not. He still continues to help her occasionally, leave food, and wash things. What for? He does not know himself. Probably, conscience makes itself felt and makes him follow her lead. It is already starting to get dark outside the window. The hour hand is approaching thirty minutes past seven when the lock on the door clicks. Jisung does not hear it, he is wearing headphones and being glued to the laptop screen. He will have to finish the text today, in two days the customer will already be waiting for the finished lyrics. It usually takes him 3-4 days to write a text, if the meaning in it is primitive. Most people order the same thing: money, bitches, cars. Others ask to write something snotty about love. It is snotty, and not some other. It all ends with how much the heart flutters, how terribly the singer misses and about the endless love-love-love. Fortunately, Han has to write about this much less often than about bitches and money. Not that he is a proponent of eternal loneliness, but this vanilla makes him want to vomit. Jisung takes off his headphones and rubs his eyes. Cracks his fingers, numb from constantly pressing keys. One verse remains and he can send the finished text. This time, some guy asked to write his text about a night in Las Vegas. It does not matter that Jisung has never actually been there, Google is always there to help. After a couple of seconds, there is a loud clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Something inside tells the guy to stay in the room, but he already automatically jumps out of bed and opens the door. He stands in the doorway, considering whether to go further, and in the end steps forward anyway. The picture is very entertaining. His angry mother is sitting at the table, hiding behind a mask of indifference. Her face shows such a familiar and annoying discontent. What the fuck don't you like again, he want to shout in her face, but Jisung holds on. Be a strong boy, adults teach. Think about your actions. He crosses the threshold of the kitchen, looking for a pogrom. He turns his head to the sink and sees three large white shards left over from the plate of noodles in it. The broth spilled, apparently while the plate was flying into the sink, and stained the countertop around along with the recently washed mugs. — Is something wrong? — the guy asks, looking at his mother. She crossed arms over her chest and crossed her legs. Looks like an offended little girl. All she needs is to pout her lips, and will be just like Sua. But aggressive and restless. — Tell me, who taught you how to cook this shit? — She points to the pot of ramen. Jisung wants to laugh. That's the thing, no one taught him. — Have I ever cooked such inedible slop? — When was the last time you even took the time to teach me anything? — he thinks. — Oh God, how could I have raised such a cack-handed man, — she continues to resent. — You can't even cook a fucking ramen… Jisung is silent. The woman continues to be indignant and does not even look at her son. Each subsequent thought only inflames her anger more. The guy slowly walks over to the sink to clean up the mess. The screams fade into the background as his own thoughts cloud his consciousness. Anything is better than listening to the endless stream of swearing that pours from the mother's mouth. He thinks about how wonderful it would be to listen to the silence in reality again, and not what he is trying to create in his head every time another tantrum begins. About how he wants to breathe in fresh air, because the room is getting terribly stuffy again. How wants to be tens of thousands of kilometers away. Jisung would not even mind taking a dip in the sea, despite the fact that he can not swim at all and hates the heat. The fragments are still warm from the broth. The noodles are unpleasantly slippery, has to take them with his hands to throw them in the trash. When there are no more pieces of plate in the sink, Han takes up a rag and wipes the countertop next to it to remove the remnants of the broth. He wonders what she did not like so much about an ordinary purchased ramen? Are the spices too spicy or the noodles too cheap? It is even funny. He does not notice how his mother turns up next to him and starts yelling almost in his ear. Then Jisung finally looks at her. Her chest is often heaving from long screams and adrenaline surges, her eyes are burning with anger, and it seems that foam will soon come out of her mouth. — Are you ignoring me?! — Her hand shoots up and after a split second, hits Jisung on the cheek with a ringing clap. The skull shakes for a couple of moments. All thoughts disappear at once. All that remains inside is a burning fuse of irritation that threatens to ignite. Moreover, with each phrase, his mother only pours gasoline into his soul, which is already boiling with indignation. — I taught you to answer when elders are talking to you! She swings again, but this time the guy grabs her hand and reads a slight stupor on her face. He caught her off guard. — Calm down, — he says shortly. The tone is icy. Just a little more and the explosion will not be avoided. Nerves are not made of iron. — Oh, how you... — she jerks her hand, trying to free herself from her son's arms. To be honest, he does not really hold her, — how dare you be impudent to me! The mother frees herself and stares blankly at Jisung for a while. He does not say anything, does not react in any way. He just turns around and continues to wipe the liquid with a soaked cloth. He feels that if she does not stop, his hands will start clenching into fists of their own accord. — You, — she comes up again, — ungrateful little bastard, — hits him on the shoulder, from which Han involuntarily hides his neck, — not a son, but a solid problem! — another blow, this time on the arm. And all because of some fucking soup… Jisung angrily throws a rag into the sink and turns to face his mother. She continues to whip him in all parts of his body, wherever gets. She almost grazes his eye with her fingernail when Han grabs both of her hands and leans forward to push the screaming woman against the wall opposite. She presses her shoulder blades against the open plywood door while he holds her hands, and tries to break away again, but more aggressively. Shakes her head, which causes strands to come out of the braid, and she begins to look more and more like a madwoman. — Stop it already! — The guy raises his voice, but she still does not hear him. The blood begins to ring in his ears. Get a grip on yourself, Jisung. Get a fucking tight grip on yourself. — Let me go! — the woman screams. Her screams hurt his sensitive eardrums, and Jisung squints. — Fuck, — he exhales and inhales through his nose again, trying to get his brain to work. The nervous system is ready to break down right now, unable to stand it anymore. Irritation will spill out of him, like the lava flows of an active volcano, and maybe this storm inside will finally settle down. Wants to punch through the wall with his hand unbearably. — Shut the fuck up! — He shouts deafeningly. Everything is quieting down. The mother stops kicking and, as if holding her breath, looks at one point. Jisung's face is flushed and burning. The cheek where he was hit is still throbbing a little. Maybe there will be a bruise there tomorrow. He finally lets go of her hands and stops leaning on top of her. Immediately comes into the hallway, puts on black sneakers worn on the soles, grabs a hoodie from a hanger and, closing the door with a bang, runs down the stairs while the cold air cools his heated face. Somewhere outside the door, the scream is heard again, but Jisung continues to shuffle his feet on the concrete steps. He does not care. It is a cold night tonight. Han pulls on a hoodie, shivering from the cold, hides goosebumps under a layer of fabric and throws a hood over his head. The phone in the back pocket of his jeans notifies of the last fifteen percent charge. The guy puts it on power saving mode and puts it back away. He will not need it anymore today. The itching under the diaphragm, as if a thousand bees are stinging in the stomach, does not go away. Still wants to break his knuckles into blood. To pick someone to pieces. To let out all this red-hot, boiling stream of rage. Jisung does not know where he is going, his legs carry him forward on their own. Yes, he does not really care where, as long as he is away from here. To find something to scratch his fists on, to let off steam. The head is completely foggy, his thoughts are confused, stumbling over each other. Wants to scream. He wants to find someone who will knock all this nonsense out of him and bring back the good-old apathy so that he does not fucking feel anything again. The city is plunged into silence. The one that Jisung wanted to hear so much while he was at home. It, along with the cold, humid air, helps to relax a little. But in the head, like a wound-up hurdy-gurdy, his mother's words spin, and the spring inside twists with renewed vigor. Shop signs are illuminating overhead, serving as almost the only source of light. There are no more people on the way. Jisung walks and walks, looking only at his feet, with his hands in the pockets of the hoodie. Because of the cold, the nose turns red, a slight blush appears on his cheeks. Even when Han finds himself so far from home, he does not feel properly calm, he is uncomfortable being here, in this city, on this Earth and in general in this reality. He wants to disappear, to sink through the ground, to dissolve. At some point, he stops. He does not know how much time has passed or how far he has wandered. It is dark in here, and the garbage dump nearby smells bad. Jisung turns between houses, where the road is illuminated by a single moon peeking out from behind high stone walls. He inhales through his nose, and goosebumps run through his body, which makes the guy shudder. He slows down, shuffles his sole on the asphalt, thoughtlessly kicking small pebbles, which makes the crunching sound of gravel resound with a hollow echo in the silence of the night. What a fucking day, he thinks. A sharp pain shoots through his shoulder, and Han winces away. Immediately looks up, seeing a short guy in black in front of him. There are three more standing not far from him. — Are you looking for problems? — a redneck voice is heard from the side. If people have instincts, then they have probably failed Jisung, because he does not feel any fear or need to tick from here. Just wanted to get all the crap knocked out of him, so get it. — Fuck off, man, — he says, and turns to leave. — Watch your mouth, — the one the guy ran into grabs him by the hood and pulls sharply towards himself. For a second, it seems to Jisung that there was a crackle of threads, immediately hidden behind a dissatisfied bass. — Do you know where you've wandered into? — I don't give a fuck, — he almost spits. In a moment, the lip explodes with pain. There is a taste of iron on the tongue. The head tilts back like a bobblehead, and all thoughts disappear, leaving behind blackness. Jisung opens his eyes as the stranger grips the collar of his hoodie in a tight grip. His ears are ringing, drowning out all other sounds. Han does not understand what is being said to him at all, but with a peripheral vision, which miraculously functions, unlike his hearing, notices several blurred spots. He had never regretted his eyesight as much as did now. There are strange noises again, and a stranger's hand releases the hoodie, allowing the guy to fall to the ground like a sack. Jisung lifts himself up, feels his lip, which is still oozing blood, pouring over his teeth, while the newcomers shout something. — Leave the kid alone! — Yeah, don't touch him! — Jisung distinguishes a faintly familiar voice. — He poked himself in here, so we have the right to deal with him, — explains the one who is closer. — Stop it, Decker, — someone interrupts, and the others fall silent, — you can't hit everyone who looks at you askance. — Don't lecture me, Chris. This is our territory, you know, so he, — pointing a finger at Jisung, — is also ours, — the so-called Decker hesitates, and then adds. — And I'm not a Decker to you. — I don't care what you call yourself now. Just give us the boy. Consider him with us. — You don't even know him, — he grins. Jisung opens his eyes a little and looks up at the night sky. For a moment, thinks he can even see the stars. — Of course I know. Gante, get up, it's time for us to leave, — the guy looks at Han in anticipation when turns his head to him. He gets up and runs, stumbling, towards the company that appeared out of nowhere. The one who spoke to Decker before puts his arm around his shoulders and glares at the opponents for a couple more seconds, if literally saying: «One more time, and I can't vouch for myself, motherfuckers». To make it more epic, he can spit on the ground and go off into the sunset. Slowly, one by one, passing their eyes over Decker and his friends, all the guys turn around and go after Jisung and the unknown, who continues to hold him just in case. There are outrages from afar, but no one pays attention to them. It is like no one has even spoiled the mood for the guys, some who were walking behind are talking quietly to each other, someone is laughing, and Han is only thinking about how lucky he probably is. Still, it was better to stay and beat up the wall at the house than to run away and get punched in the face. The lip will be like a dumpling in the morning. — How are you? — the guy asks. Chris, it seems. — Yes, Gante, — the little kid runs out and walks backwards, grinning at Jisung. Some kind of git, but laughs at the elders, he is indignant in his thoughts, — how are you? — I'm not Gante,— he answers angrily and breaks out of someone else's hands, saying that can walk on his own. Jisung should thank the guys, but there is no mood for dialogue at all. Especially when this little one starts to get sarcastic. Han is actually knows his own worth either. Besides, he is gushing bile right now, despite the recent shake-up. — Don't be angry, that's the first thing that came to mind, — the elder explains. Jisung thinks he could call this guy hyung. He looks very mature compared to the others. Although he did not really see the others, looked at the floor more as walked. It is kind of a shame to even raise his eyes, or something. Chris's tone is warm. You can even pick up a note of concern. He does not mean any harm to Jisung, is not being sarcastic. And the soul immediately feels lousy. He should not have been rude to them. They helped after all. Who knows what would have happened to him if it had not been for these guys. Maybe he would have been lying in a ditch on the outskirts of the city a long time ago. — I... in general, thank you... for, well, help, anyway, — he still does not look up. — Yes, you're welcome, feel free to ask, — the voice is high, not broken. Finally, Han looks at the boy in front of him, who is smiling and flashing uneven teeth. — You... — little asshole, why do not you respect your elders so much, he was going to ask, but was interrupted. — So what's your name? — Chris is still walking beside with his hands in his pockets. The one who was walking backwards fits in on the other side of Jisung. — My...? Somehow they imperceptibly reach a very familiar intersection — Jisung studied not far from here, it takes about twenty minutes to walk home. He hesitates. Doesn not know if should say his name. Could he lie? And what if they are some kind of maniacs or robbers. But they do not look like either of them. The guy finally decides to raise his head and inspect everyone else while they stop on a deserted street. Absolutely everyone in the company looks young. The oldest one here is no more than twenty-five, and the little one is maybe even thirteen years old. The others are probably his peers, but not a single familiar face. Two of those who were walking behind them continue to talk, and one, who also looks old enough, maybe the same as Chris, stands a little to the side. He had his hands in the pockets of his black pants, a worn denim jacket was thrown over it, and under it a black-and-white striped T-shirt. Has a puncture in one ear with a small metal ring. And looks relaxed, but detached, stands silently, smiling at arguing friends, does not pay attention to what is happening. The smile is beautiful, for some reason Jisung suddenly thinks, like a Cheshire cat. — Don't be afraid, we don't bite, — a light blow to the shoulder follows, from which Jisung staggers. He do not have any strength left today. — Well, if only Lix, but he does it out of love, — Jisung does not fucking know at all who is Lix, but does not dare to ask again. — The Prince suffers the most from this. Yes, Prince? The nickname is literally ear-splitting. He had heard that somewhere before.… The tallest guy breaks away from the conversation and nods, as if saying "What do you need?". The boy shakes his head and, kicking a pebble, returns his gaze to the elder. — Han Jisung... You can call me just Han, — his tone is cautious, probing the ground. — Okay, just Han. Where are you going? — the voice is cheerful, mischievous. Apparently, childhood is still playing in the ass. Wonders how his parents even let him go out with elders at night, are they not watching at all? — Nowhere. — Well, you were going somewhere before you got punched in the face, — the curiosity of this boy is starting to piss him off madly, and Jisung thinks that if he does not shut up now, he will become the second person to get punched in the face today. — Yennie, don't poison a man's soul, — Chris says, — But you really have a problem with your lip, — turns to Han and possessively grabs his chin, like a puppy, examines his already swollen lip. Jisung jerks his head, pulls away. He is not a fan of touching, especially from strangers. A habit developed by his mother over the years. Touching, even the most gentle, does not bring anything good, because it is always followed by a blow. — This should be treated. Han is ready to agree here. Getting injured is always terrible, but more than that, it is not profitable. The lip is still sore and bleeding, so it is better to treat it now, otherwise... — You'll bring the infection, and then you'll give a fucking lot of money for treatment. And you don't seem to be rich if you live here somewhere, — Chris finishes for him, as if reading his mind. He does not look tense, even though Jisung broke out, he does not react in any way. It is like a normal thing to save a kid from bullies at night in a dark alley. A dorama with an action movie genre, honestly, except that there is no shootout. — Come on. Here. They walk almost silently. More precisely, only Jisung, who is still uncomfortable being among people, and Chris, who leads them like the leader of a wolf pack, are silent. Probably, social phobia makes itself felt, Han thinks, when he realizes that there are only six people here, including him, and he is ready to shrink into the wall out of fear and stand until they leave. And, for some reason, looking at such liberated guys, such behavior no longer seems normal to him. They do not seem to threaten him, beat, try to kidnap, or extort money, so why is he so uncomfortable? After a few turns, they stop. Go into some nook hidden between the shops. Not far from here there is an old white truck, and next to it, plastic pallets are piled against the wall. Guys jump on top of them like they are on the couch at home. The tallest one, Prince, sort of sits higher and moves closer to the wall. Unknown to Jisung sits down next to him. The little one hangs his legs down and starts dangling them, and Cheshire-cat sits down opposite, on the lowest pallet, crosses his long legs and, pretending that he is not here at all, looks at something on his own sneakers. «Probably just not to look at me», Jisung thinks and snorts, looking away. It does not matter. — I'll go to the pharmacy right now and will be back. Don't bother him too much, guys. And you, — he turns to Han, — better sit down, you can barely stand on your feet. He says the last «I'll be quick» and walks away, leaving Jisung in the company of his friends. At first, he hesitates, examines the guys. This Yennie keeps staring at him like Jisung is some kind of dinosaur. Have not seen any people or what? Han does not sit down — leans against the nearest wall and continues to stand. The silence between them is broken only by a quiet whisper, and the tapping of the little one's feet on the plastic. — Are you a local? — The Prince suddenly asks. Only now, looking up at him, he notices that the guy has discolored ends and grown roots. His hair is tied in a ponytail, and a white bandana with blue lettering is wrapped around his head. And no wonder they call him Prince. The appearance is really royal... Jisung is even starting to get a little complex. — Yes. And you? The guys exchange brief glances, and then all three of them, without the participation of Mr. I-am-not-here-at-all, who for some reason becomes tense at once, fix their eyes on Han. — If Chris agrees, we will tell ya, — they answer him mysteriously. What does it mean if he agrees? — He likes you, by the way, — all three of them grin, but Jisung does not understand what is funny here. He ceases to understand what is happening around at all. — Li... what the fuck? What do you mean? — but no one gives an answer. The elder one returns soon. Holds hydrogen peroxide and cotton swabs in his hands. — Lee Know, — he calls, and the guy in the jeans finally raises his head, looking at his friend. Yeah, so he is Lee Know — it's in your line, — he exhales in a strangled voice and holds out his hand for the peroxide. — I don't usually do that. Lee Know is our local medic. He has deft hands, — Chris explains, nodding towards the guy, and then shoves the little one in the knee as if saying «Move your ass, let me sit down». — Are you going to stand there like that? — The voice is clear, pleasant, sarcastic behind his back. Jisung turns around, but the guy still does not look at him, enthusiastically opens a pack of cotton swabs and moves to the side, freeing up some space for Han. He cautiously comes closer. Next to this Lee Know he becomes uncomfortable again. And he was just getting used to this atmosphere... Jisung sits down in front of him and, while the guy is messing with the peroxide, fiddles with the hem of the hoodie, examining its worn edge. The pallet is cold, but it heats up quickly due to body temperature. The place where Lee Know was just sitting is still warm, Han feels it when he rests his hand on the surface. Only now does he feel the faint smell of gasoline dissolved in the clear night air. If the air in their city can be called clean at all, of course. — Raise your head, — the commanding tone. Jisung wants to throw something caustic in response, but just obeys in silence. Does not even have enough strength for simple swearing. The next moment, he feels the pads of someone else's fingers gently touching his chin, slightly tilting it towards himself, for greater convenience. Han is really not fucking comfortable, he is terribly creepy. The guy deftly smears a cotton swab soaked in peroxide on his lip, which immediately begins to pinch wildly, from which Jisung hisses and weakly jerks his head. But Lee Know's grip is firm, he tightens his grip on the chin, again ordering: — Don't move. Jisung is angry and squeezes the sleeve of his hoodie in his fist. After a couple of seconds, Lee Know pulls away, twists a jar of peroxide and throws used sticks smeared with blood around the edges somewhere on the road. After that, he raises his head and meets the gaze from Jisung, who himself cannot understand why he is still sitting here and, moreover, why is looking the guy straight in the eyes. — What? — he asks coldly, and Han looks away, stewing. — Nothing, — he immediately gets up to find a place away from Lee Know, and all he can think is «What the fuck was that just now?». He gets closer to the guys. The Prince laughs loudly from something on his phone and shows it to Chris. His laugh is contagious, Han does not even notice how sticks and starts smiling too, watching as the guy throws back his head and slaps his leg. He suddenly notices that the atmosphere has really stopped being tense. — Oh, you're done, — the little one jumps off the pallets and walks up to Jisung. Smiles again, shining the braces in his mouth, and is no longer annoying. If they had known each other better, Han would have even patted his hair. — Yes, Lee Know has golden hands, — of course, it is not clear why they are golden, if he just smeared Han's lip with peroxide. Jisung could have done it himself if he had a mirror. Shrugs his shoulders numbly: «Hands are like hands». Once again, he examines the place where found himself, but with a more sober look than before. The last drops of adrenaline had worn off and the fog in the head had finally dissipated. He inhales deeply. — Thank you… Chris, seems to be, — says to the elder. He smiles amiably and nods in response. — I'd give you the money for peroxide and all that, but I don't even have a won with me. — Don't worry about it. Consider it from my heart, — he waves it off. — What did you forget in that alley, by the way? — Me? Well, I was... Just walking around, — Han rubs his neck, does not look into Chris's eyes. — Well, don't walk there anymore. Especially at night. — And what kind of guys were they? — Jisung comes closer and leans his hands on the plastic. The Prince with his friend look up from the phone and looks at him. — Forget it, it's a long story. — Well, I kind of have time, — Han thinks about the phone in his back pocket, which is most likely broken after a "successful" fall on the asphalt. — Listen, — Prince leans towards him, — you don't need to know this. Just stay out of there. We may not be there next time. — All you need to know is that these guys don't repeat their words twice. One more time, and you won't assemble yourself in parts, — the one who was sitting next to the blond guy says. It all sounds kind of unrealistic. To believe that some kind of gang is operating in their city at night, which beats people left and right... it is nonsense. — Prince and Min-min are telling the truth. We're not going to lie, Han, — Min-min, it is something new. In general, this guy looked like such a good boy, who should be called Min-min. He wonders, if anyone here calls each other by their first names? — Yes, I got it, I got it, — he raises his hands in defeat. — I won't set foot in that area anymore. — Good boy. Good boy? Is he some kind of dog? Argh. He wants to spit. Han is unhappy with many things, but all his claims immediately dissolve into the night atmosphere and the calmness of the guys, which gushes and envelops them all. All except Lee Know, maybe. There is still an incomprehensible tension coming from him, the guy even feels it with his back. They all continue to sit in silence. Yen, or whatever they call him, climbed back onto the pallets with the elders. And Jisung still does not know where to fit his ass. Does not want to sit down with Lee Know, but the only empty seat next to him is because all the seats are already occupied on top. He sighs, turns to the truck on the right of the guys and walks towards it. No one calls out to him, but Chris watches his actions. Soon he comes out from behind the car, rolling a large tire in front of him. Jisung wonders how he had enough strength to move it from its place — apparently, the Hulk woke up in him — rolls it up to the guys, puts closer to the wall, so that they all form a kind of triangle, and sits on top of the hard cold rubber. Then everything happens by itself. By themselves, there are topics for conversation that suit everyone, jokes fly out by themselves too. Jisung does not talk much, listens to the others more. The guys are arguing about some bullshit and do not touch on personal topics at all, do not ask. Han likes it. He likes this kind of company, especially today. The Prince jokes a lot, and for some reason Jisung thinks that in ordinary life they could well become good friends. He does not have enough funny people around. In principle, does not have enough people around. The time is already starting to pass 3 AM, which the guy does not notice at all when Lee Know, who was also silent most of the time, gets to his feet. — I have to go, — he says shortly, and looks only at Chris. He silently nods in response. — Yes, and we'll go too. I'll just walk Yennie out. We're on our way, — the Prince ruffles the little one's hair like a younger brother as they both descend to the ground. Everyone comes out of their shelter together and walks together for a while. The city is quiet, there is not a single soul on the streets. In some places, lanterns and signs of convenience stores and bars are lit. The guys stop at the intersection, and Jisung realizes it is time to say goodbye. That is just not what he wants to do at all. — Okay. Cheer up, just Han, — Chris throws and salutes with two fingers before disappearing around the corner. Gradually, they all disappear from view, like ghosts, that were not real. Like another glitch of tired consciousness. Lee Know is the last one hiding behind the wall. He reaches the corner with a measured step, turning to Han. Stares at him for just three seconds, then exhales and breaks off after the others. Jisung is left standing in the middle of an empty dark street all alone. The air does not feel as cold to him as it used to. It pleasantly licks hot skin and penetrates into the lungs. And in Han's head there is only a hollow echo: «Cheer up, just Han».