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From: <[emailprotected]>
Sent: 02/23/23, 4:07 AM (GMT-06:00)
To: <[emailprotected]>
Subject: RE: Job Application Approval
Thanks so much!
Sent from iPhone
--------------- Original message ---------------
From: <[emailprotected]>
Sent: 02/22/23 10:00 PM (GMT-06:00)
To: [emailprotected]
Subject: Job Application Approval
Dear Chan Bahng,
We would like to inform you that you have been approved for the role: LL3-A5-KSM092200 – Overnight Custodian (10PM-6AM). Attached are documents regarding your pay and schedule, as well as background check and drug-screening information.
Steel-toed shoes are to be received upon arrival on your start date. Full uniforms are not provided; it is expected you dress appropriately for your workday (i.e. no obscene graphic tees, ripped jeans, etc.). Additionally, you must bring the signed disclosure agreement provided during the interview to your supervisor. Your ID will be created by security personnel.
All measures are taken to ensure our employees are equally accommodated at the facility. If necessary, suggestions can be made to better suit your needs. Further ADA-related inquiries will be directed to the appropriate department.
We welcome you as another member of the team!
Please do not reply to this message.
Best regards,
The Everest Group
––––
Chan's alarm goes off at 8:00 PM, set on max volume underneath his pillow. The next one is at 8:05. Another at 8:10. It goes on and on and on until 8:50, when he finally gathers the strength to get out of his bed, body clinging to the sheets with his sweat. He stumbles to the bathroom, slipping out of his boxers and into the shower. Guided by the running water overhead, on the edge of hot enough to scald his skin, his hand slinks down to his half-hard co*ck for the first stroke.
The come is down the drain by the 8:55 alarm, and Chan is out the door by nine, swamped by his black hoodie, curls still damp.
Hyunjin doesn't peek his head out to bid him farewell. His friend and next door neighbor is in another town, working on a mural for a secondhand bookstore, so he'd texted Chan earlier in the day, wishing him luck on the new job. He's been rooting for him every day since Chan lost his last one, fired from a clothing store for simultaneously being too inattentive and too repetitive with customers.
"I couldn't hear them well over the music," he'd told Hyunjin that day. He'd taken refuge on the corner of Hyunjin's couch, swaddled in a blanket that smelled like rose water and dish soap. "It was my fault. I should've been closer to them."
Hyunjin had been sitting in front of him, painting Chan's toenails pine green where they peeked out from the blanket. "Customers do not want the hot sales guy breathing down their necks while they're shopping. Trust me." He'd sighed. "You ought to have kicked your manager before you left. What a dickhe*d."
"She was a woman," Chan had corrected with a halfhearted chuckle, wriggling his toes.
"The dickhe*d insult has no gender. If I say the etymological opposite, 'cl*t-foot' sounds like a queer cryptid in Yosemite."
Chan of the present snorts at the memory, and the Uber driver gives him a strange look through the rearview mirror. "Sorry," he says.
The driver says something back, not loud enough for him to hear, impossible for him to decipher since they're facing forward, so he hopes it isn't anything important. Chan goes for a tight smile in response, and the driver's face turns amused. Good enough.
The facility is close to his apartment: forty-five minutes by foot and less than five minutes with a car. He decided to be early for his first shift to get all the introductory things out of the way before the real work. He highly doubts anyone will train him how to sweep floors, but there might still be a learning curve. Knowing what brand of disinfectant to use, which rooms are off-limits – that sort of thing. Best to hit the ground running with this type of job, and do the best he can to prove his worth.
Chan thanks the driver and steps out. There's a chill in the air, which is expected of early spring. He keeps his hands in his hoodie pocket, where he's been fiddling with his leather wallet so he doesn't crumple the folded disclosure agreement behind it. He had used one of Hyunjin's fancy pens to sign it, to make it more official. Ignoring that it took him a few tries to get the ink to come out, some not-so-gentle taps of the tip to the page, which caused an odd splatter at the start of his signature. He can blame the printer for that. Probably.
He'd looked into the company before applying for the job. The Everest Group is dedicated to a mission created by a sizable group of scientific researchers, something along the lines of oceanic conservation and impact studies. There's barely any information on them, and what's available to the public isn't very detailed. What he gathered was that they operate 24/7 and need people to do the literal dirty work accumulated from their experiments.
Enter: Chan. He needs the money, so he'd been looking for all kinds of work. With Hyunjin's insistence, he'd searched for ones that were more accommodating towards those with disabilities. Finding this one was pure luck; the job posting had been up for only two minutes before it closed.
Chan had gotten his application in, though. And then he'd interviewed on the phone, and then again in person. He had come here, to the facility, and spoke with a kind woman in a blue lab coat, who spoke way too softly for him to hear but enunciated well enough for him to understand her. And when they'd extended an offer a few days later via email, how could he contain his excitement?
The building looks smaller, in the dark. The night's shadow is cast over the metallic structure. Without windows, the only light seen inside is from the windows on the red front doors. He enters and swings left, where there's a door that reads Security in neat letters, knocking twice and then letting himself in.
Chan's attention is caught on the two large monitors showing the view from multiple cameras: the entrance, some hallways, the front office. Two men are inside the room, deep in conversation. One is a white male, in a security guard's uniform, black vest and slacks. The other is Asian, more casually dressed, with a fitted t-shirt tucked into jeans, a charm bracelet with silver bunnies and cats on his left wrist.
"You the new guy?" asks the Asian man. He's loud, so Chan has no trouble hearing him from across the room.
"Yeah, that's me. Got here early." Chan smiles, polite. "I hope that isn't a problem?"
The white guy sighs. The Asian guy kicks his chair and says to Chan, "No worries, man. You're efficient. I like that." He gestures for Chan to come closer. "So, are you from here? Wait, uh– not, like, in a racist way! Just– you kinda sound like you got an accent?"
The guy's face is hilariously horrified after realizing he unintentionally committed a microaggression. "Yeah," Chan says, biting down a laugh. "I know you're not being racist."
"Oh, thank Christ."
The Asian guy's name is Changbin. Korean-American, a Seattle-native, with a pleasant fabric softener smell on his clothes. That last part Chan realizes once Changbin stands close to help him pose for his ID photo. He's friendly, grinning brightly as he compliments Chan's dimples, and talks a lot, not going silent for longer than ten seconds. When Chan tells him he grew up in Sydney, he brightens and says he dreams of visiting the Opera House one day.
Chan thinks he's his supervisor, but it turns out that Changbin is just another custodian like him, having started last summer. The supervisor works during the day and planned to welcome Chan on his first day, but a family emergency came up so Changbin is here to help guide him in her stead. He takes Chan's disclosure agreement and puts it in a manila folder with Chan's full name labeled on the flap, tucking it away in a filing cabinet. He also takes Chan's phone, handing it to the security guard to toss into a drawer.
The security guard's name is Craig. He's in his late-twenties, with a seemingly permanent five o' clock shadow. He's an overnight worker like Chan, stationed here instead of the lower level, which Changbin tells him is their area. He's less talkative than Changbin, but speaks clearly. Sighs a lot, too.
The blank badges are in another drawer under the monitors, locked away with one of the bajillion keys he keeps on his belt. Craig prints Chan's photo on a badge, gives it to him to wear on a lanyard. Once Chan gets a pair of steel-toed shoes, he waves him out with Changbin.
The first floor has security, the front office, the locker room, a few lab workrooms, and a small presentation room. Nothing notable. Changbin shows him his locker, where he leaves his Vans so he can change shoes. Then, they head to the elevator.
There are only two buttons: G and LL. Ground and lower level. Changbin presses LL. The ride down feels far too long to be a single floor, but Chan doesn't question it. He isn't an architect or engineer or scientist. He's just here to clean.
The doors open to a long hallway, metal doors lined on either side. Bigger than what's on the surface, literally. This could be miles. They walk forward, and Chan recoils, bringing his sleeve to his nose, smothering it fast.
It reeks. He gags at the smell, a full-body shudder passing through him. Like rotting garbage, month-old tuna salad, dead fish on the beach on a hot summer's day. Chan can barely see a thing down here, the lighting dim, but the smell–
"You'll get used to it," Changbin says, pulling him to continue.
Well, Chan highly doubts that. His sense of smell is pretty good, so this horrendous stench will be unforgettable. Changbin looks unbothered, so maybe he got used to it, somehow. "How did you?"
"I can't smell."
Chan frowns. "At all?" Changbin nods, inhaling deeply without a flinch to prove himself. "You... You really can't smell."
"Born without it. Took 'til middle school to diagnose."
"Oh. Wow." Chan would have never known. His own disability goes undetected all the time, but it's a surprise when he's seeing what it's like to be on the ignorant side.
As if Changbin could tell where his train of thought went, he asks, "You're some kind of senseless, too, aren't you?" Chan blinks at him. "I don't mean to pry, but mostly everyone here is. Equal opportunity employer, and with this job, we're the most suited for it, I guess. A girl who cleans during the day is so nearsighted she's registered as blind."
Chan gawks. "Seriously?"
"Seriously. She wears glasses, though. I tried them on once and thought I was gonna throw up."
"I'm hearing impaired," Chan tells him. "Hard of hearing." Changbin's expression slips, a recognizable pity suddenly in his eyes. Chan just chuckles, used to it. "I don't know ASL. I mostly lip-read."
"sh*t." Changbin scratches his chin, grimacing at himself. He faces Chan, appearing apologetic. "Am I talking too fast? I do that. Let me know. I'll slow it down."
"You're good," Chan reassures. "You're close enough for me to hear you. Loud enough, too."
Changbin beams and smacks him on the shoulder. "Loud, you said? I'm taking that as a compliment!"
There's significantly less talking after that, but Chan doesn't comment on it. Changbin might be doing it unconsciously. He doesn't mind it either way. He feels surprisingly comfortable with the guy, whether it's with chatter or silence.
Changbin shows him the cleaning supply room. It has shelves of a detergent with a foreign label on it, almost a fluorescent yellow. There's an industrial-sized washer and dryer, dirty towels in a bin next to it, clean ones folded in a stack. Brooms. Mops. Sponges. Gloves.
"Whatever you need is here," Changbin says. "Supplies are restocked almost every week. Don't worry about taking too much."
They go out, walk forward some more, and when Changbin stops again, so does Chan. They're in front of a locked door, navy blue metal, the badge reader's light beside it at an idle red.
"This is you," Changbin tells him, pointing to the embossed sign above the door.
LL3-A5-KSM092200
So this is him. Chan scans his badge, the light going green, and holds open the door. He turns to Changbin, who hasn't moved. He frowns.
"You're not coming in with me?"
"I work the PM shift. This is as far as I take you." Changbin touches the cat charm on his bracelet, likely on instinct. He smiles cheesily. "I need to get home to the babe, if ya know what I mean."
Chan doesn't. He doesn't even have a pet to welcome him back, let alone a partner. He lets out a short laugh, to humor the guy. "So. Do I just stay in the room?" he asks.
"You can head out to eat. The break room is two doors down from supply."
Food. Chan didn't bring food. That was– a miscalculation on his part.
Not sensing Chan's dilemma, Changbin pulls out a crumpled wad of paper and passes it to Chan. "Here's my number," he goes on. "If you have any questions, just call. After your shift."
Chan nods. "Thanks for the help, man."
He doesn't bring up not having food to Changbin, not wanting to keep him any longer. He doesn't need to eat. He'd like to, but it was his own mistake for not realizing he should have brought something. Tomorrow he'll have at least a protein bar.
"Don't be a stranger," Changbin remarks with finality, patting Chan on the shoulder before leaving him at the door.
Being alone down here is freaking nuts. Empty, dark, eerily quiet. Straight out of a horror movie. He quickly enters the room, the door swinging shut with a loud clunk and a digital beep. Auto-lock. Sick.
Like the hallway, the room is dimly lit. The ceiling is high, no lights built-in or hanging, so the few that are on the walls cast the space in a medieval glow. Chan doesn't know where the light switch is, but his vision is decent enough to get by. There's a bluish glow coming from further in the room that helps guide him, too.
He passes by rows and rows of shelving units, some lined with binders, others with black, nondescript storage tubs. There are also bookshelves, dense textbooks on inorganic chemistry, neuroscience, psychrophiles... They aren't organized well, and he makes a mental note to get back to it later.
When he reaches the end of the room, he can't help but let out a soft and awestruck, "Wow."
There are about ten large desks facing what looks to be a glass enclosure of some sort, the source of the glowing light. The near ceiling-high enclosure is split into two sections, rectangular glass cases, each the size of his living room, right next to one another. The glowing light is coming from the side entirely filled with crystal-clear water. The other area is just barely lit from a bulb hanging above from the inside of it, illuminating a patch of the sandy floor, tall grass and rocks silhouettes in the dark along the back. When Chan peers closer, he sees a small pool by the side wall that probably leads to the water section.
He doesn't see anything moving in either the water or the sand. The movement of the grass is accounted for by the ventilation fan inside, and the water is rippling because of a filter installed in the back. He steps in front of the enclosure, in front of the water section, and lays a hand on the glass, cool to the touch. He feels the thrum of a machine through his fingertips.
Weird. Weird, but cool.
Maybe the researchers keep animals in there. Maybe they don't have any animals yet. Chan would love to see a dolphin, even though he's not sure if they're relevant to whatever the Everest Group does.
He walks around the desks, inspecting the messes in and on them, surprised to only find sheets of paper and pens. No laptops. No hard drives. Not even an outlet. Nothing from the twenty-first century in sight. Now that he recalls, he doesn't think he saw any cameras or outlets in the hallway either.
"Old-school," he mumbles. Things are strewn about, sticking out of folders and drawers. He doesn't intend to rifle through the documents, but a drawing catches his eye.
A drawing of what, that he can't say. On a sheet of regular copy paper is an artfully drawn rendition of– something. It could be an animal. A prehistoric creature that the researchers plan to study or are referencing, maybe? There are claws, and what look like fins attached to the arms. But the apparent size and outline of it remind him of a human, the eyes almond-shaped like his own. Its limbs look like they're made of segmented pieces, almost like a suit of armor. But human-like, still: two arms and two legs. The color is a hue he's never quite seen before. A pale, cloudy sort of green.
"Pretty," he says aloud, touching the face of the creature with his thumb. The color doesn't smear, so it must be drawn with the fancy pencils Hyunjin uses. He tidies the paper into a folder, peeking at it one more time before putting it away.
He thinks he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. Whipping his head to the side on instinct, he sees that the tall grass is rustling. He doesn't think it makes a noise, but he goes closer anyway, pressing an ear to the glass, concentrating hard.
Nothing. Just the thrum, a low vibration on his skin. He pulls away with a frown.
It must be the fan again. A machine. He exhales through his nose, a little disappointed. It would be cool if the researchers get a creature in there soon. He would love to just stare at a fish for hours on end. Or a turtle. The sand looks perfect for an animal with a shell...
"Don't get distracted, Chan," he chides himself, slapping his cheeks. "You have work to do. You need to do a good job and get paid, and then you can get Hyunjin a Lush bath bomb set for his birthday."
Okay. Motivation: set. He doesn't have his phone to distract him, nor any food to snack on, so he has to persevere through sheer willpower tonight.
It's easy, though. He loves organizing. The room isn't dirty per se, just messy. Mostly chairs and documents out of order, some garbage here and there. He grabs a broom and sweeps the floors, humming a mindless tune as he goes around the room. He normally plays music during the night, lo-fi or something for the vibes to pass the time, but he doesn't have that here. He could ask if he could bring a radio, though the lower level's aversion to electronics might make that a futile cause.
As he cleans, he finds more drawings. A few plants underwater. A bunch of hexagons linked together in a complex chain. And more of the strange creature, the image of it just as intriguing as the first glance. He doesn't dwell on them, aiming for productivity instead of exploring his curiosities. He can do that once he gets home.
So Chan loses himself in the work, and before he knows it, a person is entering his field of vision.
A bespeckled woman, with frizzy hair held back by a cloth headband. She's wearing a blue lab coat, a thick folder under her arm, a biodegradable coffee cup in her other hand. She breezes past Chan to set down her items on a desk, and then goes to stand in front of the enclosure, hands clasped behind her back.
Chan notices the digital clock above it on the wall, then. 5:53 AM, it reads. How did he miss that?
"Good morning," he says instinctively.
She looks over at him, eyes narrowing. "Are you the new overnight custodian?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"That's Doctor Mettler to you."
Chan blinks in quick succession, and then nods. Doctor. She has a PhD. Everyone with a lab coat has a PhD.
"What did you do all night?" she asks, just before returning her gaze on the empty enclosure before them.
"Cleaned," Chan answers plainly. She doesn't acknowledge it. He fiddles with the drawstring of his hoodie. "And, uh. I reorganized the binders in chronological order."
Doctor Mettler's shoulders shake with what may be a dry chuckle. She says something else, Chan unable to hear her, and ends with, "You may leave."
He nods again. He looks at the glass, at the grass and the water, wondering what has her so interested in it. "Doctor," he starts, itching to ask about– everything. She turns to him, then, a sudden harshness on her features, and all the questions inside him retreat. "Have a good day," he says instead.
She nods and turns back, knocking on the glass with her knuckles. Chan watches for a moment, breath held for a reason beyond him, before leaving the room.
The hallway still stinks of regurgitated fish guts. Chan is almost glad he hadn't had any food. Once he returns to the ground floor, he changes his shoes and watches a slow trickle of blue lab coat-wearing persons walking out and about. More researchers. Doctors. He gets his phone back from security, where a petite woman is manning the station now, soft-spoken with long acrylic nails. Chan compliments them, and she excitedly mentions her nail tech who stopped studying biomedical engineering to open her own salon.
When he leaves the building, the sun is just about rising from the horizon. He calls an Uber, not trusting himself to walk all the way home just yet. He rocks on the balls of his feet until it arrives, and then before he knows it, he's back home, tucked in bed.
He dreams of the sea that night, the undertow taking him to the depths of it, and a full moon above him.
––––
––––
8:00. 8:05. 8:10. One alarm after another. Chan gets out of bed at 8:45 this time, jerks off to completion by 8:50, and he's out before 8:55, enough time to start his walk to work, a bag of Chinese takeout hanging off his wrist.
Walking is his mode of transportation tonight, and will likely continue to be the regular. He makes it to the facility at ten o' clock, right on the dot. He would have gotten there earlier had he not gotten distracted by a raccoon stealing a slice of pizza from the garbage midway through his walk. He has a good photo of it and sends it to Changbin, for fun. Changbin sends back a laughing emoji.
Chan had thought about sending him another message asking him about the Everest Group and what they're researching. Sate some of that first day curiosity. But he had thought against it, instead wanting to discover the secrets here organically. More fun that way.
Craig is at security again. He's napping when Chan goes in, the phone on his lap open to a Twitch livestream of someone playing Valorant. Steps light, Chan drops his phone in the drawer for safekeeping. He manages to hear the streamer yell a slur and he winces, leaving the room in a hurry.
Down the elevator, across the hall. Chan is ready for the stench this time, taking a big lungful of air before sprinting to his assigned room. He realizes only after he's entered that he brought his food along with him instead of dropping it off at the break room. That should be fine. He'll take out the trash before his shift is over anyway.
He puts his food down on a desk, glances at the enclosure.
Hold on. Something is there. Undeniably, something is there, in the tall grass. The movement is too irregular to just be from the fan's wind. Closer to the light is a shadow. An indiscernible figure. Something.
Tentative, he walks forward, watching as the grass continues to rustle. "My name is Chan," he announces. "I work here as a custodian. I clean."
He wonders what kind of creature this is. Definitely not a fish, since it's residing on the land section. Maybe a reptile? A big one? Komodo dragons can get pretty huge, he thinks. Or a turtle.
Why is he having a conversation with what could very well be a turtle? Well, turtles have feelings. And people talk to their plants all the time. Might as well give whatever creature is here a Chan Bahng introduction.
The shadow doesn't budge, however. Not aside from the extra rustling that makes the grass sway.
Maybe it's tossing in its sleep. Maybe it isn't nocturnal.
Chan presses his fingertips on the glass, thoughtful. After blowing a hot breath of air onto it, he draws a smiley face on the fogged surface. A sight the creature can potentially admire when it wakes up. He matches the expression, and then returns to tidying.
Again, papers are the leading culprit of the mess in the room. This time, Chan has a good idea of where things should go, which shelves are in-use to put things away. He finds some writing utensils out of their holders, a container of whiteout beneath a table. He gathers all the papers in a single pile before deciding to separate them into related piles.
There are a lot of words on them. Technical jargon that looks like an entirely different language. All handwritten, with an occasional note inserted in the margins, chemical symbols or numbers or just plain old question marks. There's another drawing like the one Chan found yesterday, with a short description on the bottom. It has the mysterious creature shrouded in darkness, almost as tall as the grass around it and standing on the sand, much like the same kind as–
Wait a second.
Steps light, Chan scurries to the enclosure. He grips the paper, tracing the outline of the creature with his eyes. Blurred. Indistinct. He turns it around, presenting it to the glass, and asks, "Is this you?"
He doesn't get an answer. His excitement over making the connection momentarily overshadowed the fact that this is an animal that doesn't understand human speech. Still, it doesn't stop him from eagerly rambling on.
"I think it is! It would make sense, but I'm not sure since I haven't really seen you yet. This might say more about you, but..." He squints at the words on the bottom, the handwriting neat. "Hm. I can't read this. It might be Spanish. Or Latin. The smart guys always write stuff in Latin."
He laughs at himself. The grass only barely moves– not because of the wind. He knows for sure it's not the wind now, at least.
He gets back to work. He pays more attention to the papers he's putting away, trying to see if there's anything he can make sense of. He wasn't the best at school, so the equations and formulas mean nothing to him, but once he reaches seemingly older papers, a familiar pattern of letters on every page catches his eye. Lines and circles. Hangul.
Chan's expression brightens. "This is Korean! I know Korean." He hums. "Well, I know how to recognize Korean. I dunno what any of this means."
The Korean here is describing words he's completely unfamiliar with, like everything else in this collection has been. Technical jargon, just in another language. But it could be a start.
"Are you from Korea?" he asks, once again rhetorically. "My parents were born there. Not me, though. I grew up in Australia. Moved around the coast for my dad's job. He was a swimming coach." He smiles, growing nostalgic. "We had a lot of fun times, my parents and I. Feeding squirrels in the backyard. Birthdays by the beach. Traveling for competitions. But there was a– an accident, towards the end of high school. I made it out... mostly intact. They didn't.
"It was hard, for a while. Being alive when they weren't. Knowing I made it out, and they didn't. I ended up coming here a few months later. It didn't feel good to stay there without them, so I picked a whole new nation."
Trauma dumping on the clock wasn't on his to-do list, but whatever. He's talking to himself. Well, no. He's talking to whatever's inside the enclosure, which is essentially the same thing. It's not like he'll be understood, anyhow.
"I'm really curious about you," he says aloud. "I'd like to meet you properly."
Just to say hi. To make acquaintance. He's great with animals. Loves every furry or scaly creature he's ever encountered. There's a story about him as a kid meeting a wombat at a nature reserve and nearly smuggling it into the family car with him. He got as far as leading it to their trunk with a trail of blueberries before his mom caught him.
"It must be lonely, if you're alone in there," he adds, a sudden ache in his chest. "Being alone is sad."
Chan knows. He doesn't think he's lonely now, with Hyunjin a permanent fixture in his life, and the other mates he has from the gym. They always invite him out to lament about the troubles with boyfriends or girlfriends or situationships that Chan, the forever single friend, can lend an objective ear to. Metaphorically, however, since it does get hard to hear them once they start slurring and the music drowns them out.
He thrives on companionship. He likes having friends. Likes to be needed. He sees the vast emptiness behind the glass and imagines himself in that water, confined inside an enclosure, with no one around to hear him cry.
He doesn't like it.
"If you want someone to talk to during the night, I'll be here," he jokes. "Not like you have much say for the choice in company. Ha." He blushes and tugs on an earring, starting to feel silly for getting caught up in this one-sided conversation.
He lets himself get sucked into work once more. Disinfecting the floors. Wiping dust off the shelves. Humming songs as he makes room for the radio he doesn't have. He finds more paper with Korean on it, able to read rudimentary words like green and water but clueless with the rest. By the time his stomach starts growling, he's made the entire entryway sparkle.
He hasn't gotten used to the rotten smell of the hallway at all, so he decides to stay in the room to eat. He gets comfortable on the floor, leaning back against the enclosure, the whirring vibrations an oddly satisfying sensation. He pulls out the takeout boxes one at a time, mumbling the name of each dish under his breath. The rice is still warm. He giggles happily as he readies his wooden chopsticks.
But then, there's a noise. A muffled thunk Chan just barely hears but somehow feels inside his chest. He turns his head, and his heart stops.
The shadow is no longer a shadow. It casts one, though, as it stands alert in the spotlight. The silhouette of the creature is just as fascinating as it was drawn, but nothing can compare to seeing it up close.
Tall. Taller than Chan, although it's hard to tell when he stands since the base of the sand floor is a half-foot above the ground. Sleek, skin pale green and translucent, with hardened patches of emerald all over its body, its hands. Hands that have five fingers each, extending into pointed claws, talon-like. Like a living suit of armor, a creature made for the sea.
Except the creature– is more than that. It has incredibly human-like features, a slope of a nose and pointed ears at the side of its head. Sparkling scales surround its eyes, the black irises staring piercingly at Chan. Its mouth is set in a tight line, lips just slightly off-colored from the rest of its skin.
The word beautiful wouldn't even begin to describe it.
"Hi," Chan whispers, a breath of air. He touches his hand to the glass, and the creature follows the movement with its dark eyes. "Were you sleeping?"
The creature says nothing. Watches him, silent.
Chan stares back. "I'm sorry if I woke you," he says in apology. "Have you eaten?" he asks. "I'm about to. I forgot yesterday."
He thinks he imagines it – the responsive rumble he feels against his palm. The creature hasn't moved an inch, and the glass is far too thick for a quiet noise like that. Right?
What would it even sound like, the soundbox of this fantastical creature? High-pitched? Low and growling? Chan wonders. He wonders if his hearing is good enough to detect it. It took him some time to make peace with being unable to tell if a dog across the room was whimpering.
He smiles. He smiles, because it's an easy expression to make, amidst the sadness that always comes around when he remembers what he's lost.
Thunk.
Chan startles. The creature is still watching him, but it's poised in a crouch now, a hand on the glass, where his own is resting. His hand, calloused and dry with drugstore polish chipping at the thumbs, compared to the hand of the creature, gleaming under the lamplight with claws as dark as the night, is small. Frail. Unremarkably human.
The creature leans forward, presses its forehead to the glass, and Chan–
He feels it, all of a sudden. That rumbling. It keeps him rooted in place, his heart rate elevating as the reverberation tickles his nerves. He can't tear his eyes away from this unidentifiable, mystifying entity, its gaze boring into the core of his soul.
Chan doesn't move his hand. He doesn't even breathe. Eventually, the creature pulls its hand away and slinks back, out of sight. Chan cranes his neck to see where it's gone off to, but the rest of the enclosure is too dark to make out. Maybe it's heading back to sleep. Maybe it's still watching Chan.
Either way, it doesn't change the fact that he's hungry. He returns to his food, moving the containers around so he's facing the glass.
"This is my dinner. Or, lunch. I'm not sure how to classify my meals now that I'm on night shift. Before, everything after midnight was just a snack!" He pops open all the containers, using his chopsticks to poke at the food. "I ordered beforehand. I got beef chow fun and pork buns and braised short ribs and– hey, I'm a big eater, okay? I came prepared this time."
He watches the grass rustle. A claw gleam at the edge of the light. "I wish I could share," he says, holding his food close, "but I don't know how to open that."
That. The enclosure. Last night he'd looked for any openings or latches, out of curiosity. He hadn't found anything on the sides, so he imagines there might be something on the top. There was a ladder he saw in the supply room, probably as tall as the enclosure. He could use that to check next time.
He sits cross-legged, munching on his breakfast/lunch/dinner, and watches the light ripple off the water for what feels like hours. Filling his stomach, emptying his mind. He feels oddly calm, knowing he's in the presence of the creature. Knowing he's made this unlikely connection.
The creature doesn't come out from hiding, so Chan assumes it's fallen asleep. He finishes his food and resumes working. Focuses on sweeping every nook and cranny, discovering lost items under crevices and wedged behind shelves. He pats the glass every time he rounds the corner of the enclosure, a simple acknowledgement as the night wears on.
By the end of his shift, Chan thinks he's done a fine job of getting the place back in order. Whether it was originally like that is hard to say. It definitely didn't smell like citrus-scented disinfectant, that's for sure.
Doctor Mettler is the first to arrive again. She nods at him this time, and he tells her, "Good morning."
"Good morning," she parrots. She sniffs the air. "You disinfected?"
"Yes, ma– Doc. Doctor."
"Good." She sits down and begins to write in her journal. "You may leave."
Chan nods. He goes for the door and then pauses. Turns around to see–
The creature. Its eyes glow like a car's headlights in the night, beaming bright and pinning him in place. It blinks once, twice. Waiting?
Grin wide, Chan waves excitedly and mouths the words, bye-bye.
He doesn't think he imagines those eyes shining even brighter.
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––––
When Chan comes into work the next night, the creature is already awake. Not standing this time, though. It sits almost daintily atop the sand, ankles crossed, its claws digging into the sand.
Chan places his paper bag of food on a table and waves. The creature just blinks at him.
First order of business is to get that ladder. He wants to see if there's some kind of opening in the enclosure so he can share his fries with the creature. Today he has a few burgers and enough fries to attract a hoard of seagulls upon him. He could finish them all himself, but fries are meant to be shared. The researchers might not like him feeding greasy carbohydrates to their object of study, but what they don't know won't hurt them.
There aren't even cameras in this room. He's seen the security feed, and it doesn't show any of the rooms on the lower level. Either the cameras are super well-hidden, which Chan highly doubts, given how ancient everything in this room feels, or there aren't any in the first place.
Chan will take his chances. He trusts his gut on this one. Rarely has it ever steered him wrong.
In the supply room he finds the ladder. He brings it back to the room and props it beside the enclosure, climbs to the very top rung. The creature watches him trek up, neck craning further and further back the higher Chan goes. By the time he reaches the top, the creature is meeting Chan's eyes through the see-through glass with a slight tilt of its head.
There's a door handle up here, and a metal latch with a keyhole keeping it locked. The opening itself is clear, blending in with the pane. When Chan tries to pull it open, it doesn't budge.
"Huh," he says. The creature blinks at him. Chan blinks back.
From this angle, illuminated under the lamplight, he can see its face better. A sharp nose, skin thin under its eyes. The ears on the side of its head are elfish, pointed and twitching as it blinks. Its eyes are shaped like his own but filled black, pools of ink in a well. Lips parted, plush.
So human-like, but so clearly not. Clearly an entity different from himself. Something to be admired and praised.
"Hey there, pretty," he says. The creature's eyes widen a smidge, and then it scurries into the darkness. There's a splash in the corner of the enclosure. Chan doesn't see it emerge.
Maybe it got embarrassed.
He chuckles to himself at the mere thought. After he climbs down, he takes the ladder back to the supply room. When he returns, he's surprised to see the creature out of the darkness, in the water-filled enclosure.
It floats in the water like a buoy in the ocean. The light against its skin is like seeing a ripple of moonlight on the surface of the ocean. It regards Chan as he enters the room, and as Chan steps closer, its hand raises to touch the glass.
On instinct, Chan presses his own hand against it. He looks up at the creature, finding himself grinning in an instant. "Hi," he says.
The creature blinks at him. Opens its mouth to let out a gurgle of bubbles. Chan giggles.
And the rest of the work week continues like that. Chan clocking in, cleaning up, and seeing the creature lurk in the background in the meantime.
Sometimes the creature sits in the sand. Sometimes it swims about in the water. Sometimes it only shows its face for a moment before slinking into the grass. Chan doesn't think it's nocturnal, but who knows. It could be sleeping for sixteen-hours a day, or maybe it just takes a night nap to get by.
He hasn't discovered much else about the creature. The papers offer no help to him. He's read bits and pieces, learned that it was discovered in the Yellow Sea, that it could potentially be the only one of its kind, that it appears reptilian but exhibits amphibious traits, can handle both salt and freshwater. Small facts, but nothing concrete to write home about. Nothing that could explain what sort of creature it is.
The researchers must be onto something big. Like, discovering an entirely new species is big, right? No one's done that since... a long time ago. Probably.
The key to the enclosure is nowhere to be found. Chan looks all over during every shift, but he hasn't had any luck finding it. He's even done a discreet sweep of the security office while Craig's gone to the toilet at the beginning of his shift. All he'd found were blank badges and some loose cigarettes. The keys on Craig's belt, though– Chan has a hunch one of them could open the enclosure.
But he doesn't ask Craig for it. How could he even justify needing to use it? To give the creature a midnight snack? Hell no.
In fact, he doesn't mention the creature to anyone. His NDA had said something about that, not saying a peep about what he finds at work or he and his next of kin would be sued to death. He wouldn't anyway. He likes his moments with the creature, like they exist in their own bubble named LL3-A5-KSM092200.
Chan has that memorized now. He likes how the letters and numbers are arranged.
He messages Changbin a few times, after he's gone home from or is on his way to work. Changbin is a cool dude. He prefers to call, and does so on Chan's first day off to ask how everything is going.
"Good," he answers honestly. He slept a full ten hours after finishing his shift, and the phone call was what pulled him out of consciousness.
Changbin proceeds to tell him about his experience working at the facility. He only has a high school degree, like Chan, so seeing people work in the lab fascinates him. He doesn't bother them while they're performing experiments or writing reports, but he likes to chat with whoever has the time. He worked in municipal waste before this, which was a blow to his social life due to the abhorrent smell that never faded from his clothes. That job lasted a few years until he met his current partner on a family trip to Gimpo, South Korea. They dated, he job-hopped; one thing led to another, and now he lives with his partner and works for the Everest Group.
Chan doesn't think Changbin has seen the creature. He's never entered the room, and it sounds like the researchers don't talk about what's specifically being studied. Changbin might not even know it exists, and Chan has a feeling some of the researchers haven't seen the creature like he has, either.
Is Chan special? He feels connected to the creature, in a way. Curiosity? Beyond that. Fondness? Closer. Not like how an owner feels for its pet, but–
Something different. Something unexplainable. Even when he's miles away from the facility, his mind wanders to the creature. To that lovely silhouette, to that iridescent color.
When he returns to work days later, he's unable to contain his excitement for seeing it again, flying into the elevator and getting to the room in record time.
The creature regards him from its perch on the sand. Chan smiles, waves, lets his heart hammer against his chest as the giggles overtake him at the sight.
"Hi, pretty," he greets. He puts his food down on a desk, hurries to the glass to press his hand on it. The creature immediately does the same.
"I brought Korean food today," Chan says. "This spot's near my place and has the best kimchi jjigae I've ever tasted. The owner's mum has her own restaurant in Busan. The owner is the youngest daughter, almost forty, I think."
The creature twitches at the mention of the seaside city. Chan's excitement is close to overflowing. It understands him, he's sure of it.
"I asked her to give me names earlier. As in, names for a person. A thing. Proper names," he clarifies. "Like, I call you 'the creature' in my head, but I think you should have one! Unless you already do. Blink twice if you already have a name."
Unsurprisingly, the creature doesn't blink at all. Although, it does smack its lips together a few times. Amusem*nt. Chan thinks he recognizes the emotion, and he smiles even wider.
"I tried describing you. Not you-you. Just... your color and your look," he amends. "Pale green and shiny, but prettier-sounding than that. Like a jewel." One fingertip on the glass idly traces the shape of the creature's hand. "She told me I must be thinking of jade. It's a really pretty stone, take my word for it. Asia is all about jade."
He remembers the jade lion statue at the Chinese buffet his family always went to on Friday nights growing up. He stuck his fingers in its mouth, left coins there for the next mischievous child to find. He got scolded by his mother for it, but she would still pass him coins when he asked. She gave them to him with a harsh frown and a finger pressed to her lips, as if this was a secret between them. His father pretended to be ignorant, but of course he knew.
"Anyway, the restaurant owner," he continues with a laugh. The creature shuffles closer, leaning forward until its forehead is on the glass. Chan pretends he's scratching it as he goes on, "She wrote down the hanja that kind of translated 'jade' into a name, which I couldn't read because I don't know a lick of Chinese. But she also put down the hangul, which I read just fine. Let me know how this sounds."
He takes a deep breath. Places his palm flat on the glass. Gets those tingling sparks dancing over his skin once he declares, "Seungmin."
승민. 昇玟. Seungmin. He fell in love with the name as soon as he heard it. Being able to tell the creature about it has been on his mind all day. He's been hoping for... He doesn't know. But he's eager to share this little tidbit, almost like he's proud of discovering it.
The creature watches him intently. Chan swallows, cheeks warm.
"Nice, right? I think it's perfect for you. I'll call you that now, if that's alright. There are letters on your sign– the S and M are there. That must be fate, yeah? Seungmin. It sounds good. And she said that it's a very Korean name, whatever that means. So, congrats on being dubbed 'very Korean' by an ahjumma from Houston. Ha-ha."
Embarrassed by his rambling, he turns back to hide his reddening face. He hasn't done so much talking in a while, not since the first time he'd seen the creature. It just feels so silly of him to act like this. As if the creature can judge him and his peculiar habits.
He sighs, scrubbing at his hair. Shaking out the jitters. His heart is still racing. He whispers, "Seungmin," to remind himself of the shape of it on his tongue, and bites his lip.
God, he's so weird. To act like this in front of– in front of what? A sea creature? How can he even explain this?
He should talk to Hyunjin about it. That guy is really in touch with his feelings. He's yearning for a digital love with a guy back in Seoul, but at least he's honest about it. Chan isn't in the same boat, has never pined for someone like that, but he's feeling something. Feeling something for this creature he's named. This creature he wants to see freed.
Come here.
A chill cascades down Chan's spine. He slowly turns to the enclosure, sees the creature– sees Seungmin sitting there, unawares.
But Chan heard it. He heard it. A voice, distinct. "Did– Did you call me? Did you just talk?"
Seungmin blinks. Twice.
That can't be a coincidence.
"No f*cking way." Chan can barely register himself saying it. "No f*cking way." He scrambles over his feet, slamming the front of his body against the glass. "Seungmin, how– You sounded so close, your voice, Jesus, f*ck, how did–" He stops, catches his breath. Eyes wide, he asks softly, "Have you called me before?"
The response is too many blinks for him to count. Seungmin crawls closer to the glass, puts its hands where the human's uselessly lay. It makes a rumbling noise, a gentle purr. It bows its head, and in that clear, lovely voice, it says, Yes.
Chan's heart breaks. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I didn't hear you. My hearing– It isn't good. I never meant to ignore you." Seungmin lifts its head. "If you ever want something, you have to show me."
Okay.
Seungmin's mouth... doesn't move. Chan frowns. "I can hear you," he says, confused. Seungmin blinks. "You– You talked to me. Why... What's going on? How can I hear you?"
How? Again, Seungmin's voice. It doesn't ask Chan, just repeats him. A perfectly clear sound in–
"Are you talking in my head?"
Seungmin blinks. Yes.
Chan sticks both fingers in his ears, and waits. Seungmin snorts, a bit, and then: Yes. Clear. Undeniable.
"Wow," Chan breathes out. His lips quirk into a smile. "Sick."
Are you not healthy?
A full sentence. A question. Not yet recovered from the shock, Chan babbles, "Yes. No. What I meant– It's an expression. It means, um. That this is cool. Interesting."
Seungmin's mouth shifts into a– smirk! Interesting, he says. Says? Very interesting.
Chan flushes. He stumbles back, nodding mindlessly. "Yeah. Holy sh*t. Sorry, f*ck. This is– This is blowing my mind." He runs his hands through his hair, baffled laughter tumbling past his lips. "That's– another expression. I have loads of them."
Blinking again, Seungmin tilts its head. Give me another.
"Uh," Chan says. "Uh. Uh, um. f*ck, you put me on the spot. I don't know." He pauses. "Oh, hold up. That's an expression, too! On the spot. Like, making someone – me, in this case – answer something right away. Getting caught off-guard is part of it..."
When he peers at Seungmin, it seems the creature has inched even closer to the glass. Still curiously staring at the human, the emotion in its expression indiscernible.
Chan rubs the back of his neck, tugging at the hair curling there. "Do I talk too much?" he asks, uncharacteristically self-conscious about his rambling. He does this all the time, getting lost in his own words, and he's not ashamed of it. It's just–
It feels different, with Seungmin. Something is different.
No, Seungmin says. Talk more.
Chan laughs, baffled. Seungmin's back goes straighter, almost like it's taken aback by the reaction. "Sorry," Chan says. "You just– I didn't expect that."
Seungmin tilts its head. Why?
"Why? Uh..." Unable to help it, Chan laughs again. "I dunno! You're full of surprises, Seungmin."
A flash glitters in Seungmin's eye. Say it again.
"Say what again? Why? Uh? I dunno?"
The creature sounds out a huff. Silly man.
A smile spreads like butter on Chan's face. "Ah, Seungmin," he says whiningly, and the creature rumbles lowly, satisfied.
Yes. I like that name.
Chan all but preens. "I do, too." He grins even wider. "I still gotta have my lunch, Seungmin. I have to work after this." Seungmin settles onto its side, watching him. Chan snorts. "Okay, sure. Do that, and I'll eat. I'll tell you about this restaurant, yeah? 'Cause it really is a great spot. Really authentic. Maybe you'd like Korean food? Everyone does, honestly."
He rambles, on and on, unbidden. As he slurps stew and mixes in rice. As he sweeps floors and wipes down desks. Seungmin watches him the whole time from the sand, and Chan hears a word or two from the creature inside his head for every thousand of his own.
It isn't much different from what he's been doing, truthfully. The creature is there, observing him as he does his tasks. The commentary is new. Chan tries to imagine it as his conscience, but then Seungmin says, Lick the floor, so maybe he should liken it to an intrusive thought instead. Either way, getting a response is still wild to him.
A non-human creature is talking to him in his brain. Like, f*ck. How cool is that?
The shift is over in a blink of an eye. Between mopping the floors and getting lost in recounting the topic of the popularization of Spam, it's no wonder the time goes. Chan hasn't had a stretch of time like that in a while, though, not one where he felt this good afterward.
Seungmin changes positions throughout the night and listens (as far as Chan is aware) to his inconsequential spiels intently. When it starts to slink away, it places a loud smack to the glass that puts Chan on alert before fully retreating to the darkness.
Before Chan can scold the creature for leaving without a goodbye, the door to the room swings open.
Doctor Mettler. Chan grins at her, an instinctive expression, his mood still high. "Mornin', Doc," he greets.
She looks at him warily. "Did something happen?" Her eyes narrow. "You have this... excited aura about you."
He chuckles, shakes his head. She would never believe him. And, well. He doesn't want to tell her, either. He looks at his shoes, rocks on the heavy tips of them as he lies, "Just thinking about a new video game I bought over the weekend."
She stares at him. "I see." She sets down her things. The folder she's carrying looks especially thick. "You'd better be off, then."
Chan nods. He takes a quick glance at the enclosure, the shadows hidden but not unknown, and smiles.
Another secret, his alone.
Goodbye, the voice in his head bellows, almost like a pointed correction to his innermost thought. Chan bites down on his lip to keep the glee from growing any more obvious.
A shared secret. He's satisfied with that.
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April 2
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Seungmin is strange, Chan finds. The creature has odd habits, more apparent now that he has befriended it properly. Like, pressing onto the glass with its face. Holding out its tongue like an overactive puppy. Growling in a low, rumbling frequency that flutters the slits on its neck. It even likes to watch Chan, from the start of his shift to the end, gaze trained on him like a predator to prey.
Ah, wait. Correction. Him. Seungmin is a 'he', as it turns out, which is a biological observation that Chan discovers on his own by pitting context clues against the very questionable drawings of a non-human penis he found amidst research paperwork. His Google search history is already f*cked, but he's not interested in what the advertizing algorithm might feed him after he searches that.
Seungmin is a male, which is the conclusion Chan decides to make. To be certain, he even asks the creature, "What are your pronouns?"
What are pronouns, Seungmin returns, blinking languidly through the glass.
It was a redundant question, in hindsight. Still, Chan does his best to explain them, with his far-removed knowledge from elementary school grammar. Realizes pretty quickly that the concepts of sex and gender and sexuality are utterly meaningless to Seungmin.
I want your pronouns, the creature demands, after Chan has finished his abridged lesson. Give them to me. I want them.
So, he/him/his for Seungmin. Thankfully he seems satisfied sharing pronouns with Chan, who doesn't have the heart to tell him that they're ubiquitous beyond the confines of the grimy basem*nt.
But, as time goes on, this grimy basem*nt becomes its own little world for them, so maybe it doesn't even matter. Chan clocks into work and meets Seungmin at the glass, has that smooth voice residing in his head as he cleans the room.
Sometimes Seungmin will ask him questions. What are you doing, is his go-to line, and Chan will tell him every detail, from the brand of disinfectant he's using to the way he's holding his fork. Why are you doing this, is another one that usually has Chan answering, "Because I have to."
Not in a begrudging way. Chan cleans because he has to; that's his job. Chan eats four Jimmy John's sandwiches because he has to; that's his lunch. Chan tells Seungmin about the human world because he has to; who else will?
Because Seungmin is confined to this enclosure, ignorant to the modernity of life that goes on beyond it. As Chan explains the seemingly most mundane things to him, from pencils to books to the bracelet around his wrist, that much becomes apparent. Seungmin may be able to communicate, but that doesn't mean everything Chan says is fully understood.
But Chan does his best to teach him. He tries to draw and illustrate what a giraffe looks like. He hums the tunes to songs as he pats a beat on the ground so Seungmin can get introduced to music. He brings along a pocket dictionary to describe the truest definition of words, flipping to a random page and reading what catches his eye aloud.
For example:
"'Dimorphism,'" reads Chan. He squints at the word, reiterates under his breath before he looks at Seungmin. "Can you guess what that means?"
Seungmin, swimming in the water tank, webbed feet keeping him afloat, tilts his head. He's thinking. Chan knows that look on his face.
The prefix 'di' means two, Seungmin begins. (Chan had taught him that when they learned the word 'divergent'.) The suffix 'ism' relates to an act, or process. ('Journalism' was another word learned.) I do not know what a 'morph' could be.
"I told you to guess," Chan urges.
Mor... Morph... Seungmin circles around the tank, gills releasing bubbles into the water. He comes close to the glass. Does that mean 'to change'?
Chan flips to the Ms and gasps. "Wow! How'd you get that?"
Seungmin chitters, undoubtedly proud of himself. I have learned much, he says, boasting. He taps a claw onto the glass. I cannot comprehend the full word, however. 'Dimorphism.' Define it for me, Channie.
A smile pulls at Chan's lips. Nicknames aren't new, but he likes them a lot. "Dimorphism," he begins. "'The occurrence of two forms distinct in structure, coloration, etc., among animals of the same species.'"
Dimorphism, echoes Seungmin. You and me.
Chan laughs. "We aren't the same species," he says. Well, he thinks.
He still doesn't know what Seungmin truly is. Whether he's an animal, an alien, a lab experiment gone wrong. He's never asked, and doesn't expect a reliable answer. Seungmin doesn't care about speaking on himself, only interested in probing Chan's brain. So Chan has no need for a label when they're watching one another through the glass, thoughts and words simmering and soaking together in an inexplicable harmony.
He and Seungmin just are.
You and me, repeats the creature. Ignoring Chan's pointed technicality.
Chan smiles, relents, "Whatever you say," and picks up the broom.
It becomes seamless, this interaction with Seungmin. One month goes by. Two. Three, almost, in a blink of an eye, and yet the scientists never speak to Chan about Seungmin. KSM092200, his technical name.
The 'blue humans' are what Seungmin calls them. He never goes beyond discussing them beyond that, however. Just simple observations like, There were five blue humans today, or, The blue humans produced much garbage. He doesn't ask Chan about them, nor does Chan tell them what he knows.
Because, honestly, Chan doesn't know a thing that the scientists are doing. Knowing might be above his intelligence level, definitely above his pay grade. It must be research-based, right? With the lab coats, the confusing documents, the secrecy... The scientists must be studying whatever Seungmin is for the betterment of the environment, or something. Whatever it is, Chan doesn't really care.
The bond he has with the creature is the only thing that matters to him in the grand scheme of things. As long as he works for the Everest Group, he can see Seungmin. As long as he does his job well, he can stay. He's gotten so attached to this wonder from the sea that he's certain he would never be able to recover if he could no longer meet him.
This is everything for Chan.
It comes as a surprise, then, when Seungmin tells him one night, I would like to leave this place.
Chan's been sitting cross-legged on the floor, rearranging coins he found in his jacket pockets in numerical order. He was just about to explain to Seungmin the 50 States Quarters and point out the Tennessee quarter that somehow snuck into the bunch. And a penny from 1962. He looks up from the coins, taken aback.
Leaving was never part of their conversations. Never, before now.
"Did something happen today?" he asks in worry, crawling forward to place his hand on the glass. He sees how the creature's gaze darts towards it, body laid on the sand. "Come on, Seung. Tell me."
The discomfort is obvious in Seungmin's features. His lips purse out, beady pupils darting away. Chan huffs, moves himself into the creature's line of sight so Seungmin is forced to look at his face. Seungmin bares his teeth, a scare tactic similar to a pitbull on the defensive. It's useless against Chan, though; he's cooed over Seungmin when he's gnawing on bloody fish bones.
"Tell me," Chan repeats, even gentler.
Seungmin breathes out through his nostrils. Reluctant, but willing to comply. The blue humans.
"What about them?"
Another exhalation of air. Seungmin nudges his forehead onto the glass, where Chan's hand rests, and rumbles low in his throat. After a moment, withdrawn and sad, he says, They hurt me.
Chan's stomach sinks. A five-thousand ton weight in the ocean, plummeting into the chilling unknown. "How? Where? Do you need bandages? Medicine?" He has yet to hit the bottom, shrouded in darkness. "f*ck. Are you okay?"
I have healed.
"That's not what I asked, Seung."
Chan knows how he sounds. Frustrated. Impatient. This isn't– This isn't what he wanted to hear. This isn't good. As far as he was aware, the scientists were just– researching. Observing without intervention. And yet.
They hurt Seungmin.
Chan wants to cover his ears and drown out the sound, pretend like everything is normal, everything is fine, but Seungmin is inside his f*cking head, for better or worse. The creature is eventually going to answer him, and he can feel the cracks starting to form on his heart.
Repeat. "Are you okay?" Brace for the inevitable impact.
Seungmin closes his eyes. He lays his entire body down onto the sand, curling up and looking so, so small. Growling, low and steady.
I would like to leave, Channie.
The admission hurts. Chan is hurting for him, for Seungmin, just imagining what could have happened to cause him such sadness. Chan wants to hold him, offer him comfort. Trapped on the wrong side of the glass, Chan is left cold and aching for the creature he can't even touch.
"They haven't... This has never happened before, has it? Them– Them hurting you." Silence. "Seungmin, has it?"
Never to this extent.
A silent collision, skidmarks and whiplash. "f*ck," hisses Chan. Anger flares red-hot, his teeth digging into his lower lip. He doesn't want to imagine what the implications of the statement are, how much pain Seungmin has been going through. He tries to keep his voice level as he asks, "Why didn't you tell me?"
You worry.
Chan huffs, "Yes! Yes, I worry. Of course! I am worried, Seung. You shouldn't ever be hurt. That never should've happened to you. I wish– God, I wish I'd known."
But, Channie, Seungmin says, pressing the pad of his finger to the glass. What could you have done?
Well. f*ck. "I could've helped," he mumbles.
Seungmin stares at him. How?
"I could've–" Chan inhales sharply as his words judder to a halt. But his mind speeds forward, thoughts racing.
How could he have helped Seungmin? What could he have done? Stayed an hour longer and hit someone who earns five times his paycheck with a broom? Would that have stopped the hurt? The ache? Chan is just a custodian. What power does he have over his employers? How could he ever save Seungmin from this glass prison?
It's a prison. Several inches thick. With a lock, a door.
A way out.
Not impossible.
He could have. He could.
"I'll help you leave," Chan blurts out, his fist on the glass. Break. Break it all, as soon as he can. "I'll help you escape."
Why?
The answers start to flow like the water cast downstream. "I want you to be safe," Chan declares. "No matter what it takes."
You would risk your own safety for mine?
In a heartbeat. Without a second thought. "I'd protect you with my life," he declares, firm.
Seungmin straightens, eyes widening as he knocks his forehead onto the glass. Chan, he says. Channie. Please. I do not want to see you hurt.
"Neither do I." At the creature's undignified huff Chan cracks a smile, tracing the outline of Seungmin's palm. His heart is pounding. He can feel the rumbling in his bones, ever-familiar.
"I'll make a plan," he says softly. "I'll– I need some time to get the details straight, but. I can do it. I can set you free. I will, Seungmin."
Pitch black eyes. Iridescent skin. A voice that accompanies him in every dream.
Promise.
––––
––––
It takes many weeks of preparation. Chan has never dedicated himself so wholly and unwaveringly to something before. When he's not at work he's at home, on his laptop, researching until the sun is setting again. Hours and hours and hours; rinse and repeat for the next day.
Chan is a planner by nature, so he refuses to make his move until Plans A through G are well-established. Full-proof. His notes are handwritten; he physically shreds the ideas that get scrapped and locks whatever stays in the safe beneath his bed.
He can't risk getting caught. The consequences are too high. He could lose his job, could lose his only access to Seungmin. To free him, Chan has to stay an employee at the facility. Even though he knows, now, what horrors the researchers have committed against the ethereal creature of the deep.
He would have done this ages ago, had he known. Had he known that Seungmin was hurting, bearing with the pain to put on a brave face.
Seungmin's told him everything. At least, everything Chan thinks to ask of him. How many times. What sort of inflictions. Who.
Every researcher that has entered the room has had a hand in the creature's misfortune. Keep him another day without food, one suggested. Another: bring up the temperature, more, observe the discomfort. Electric shocks. Injections. A scalpel to the arm. The leg. All in the name of science. Every day.
Every f*cking day. And Chan hadn't even noticed.
He hates hearing about it. Every story has his tears threatening to leak, his face crumpled uglily. Seungmin gives him a break between the heartwrenching confessions to let the human just lay his head on the glass, console him with sweet rumblings and songs.
The songs are new, and appreciated. Between mopping the floors and searching how to override security cameras, he teaches Seungmin about music. He brings in a radio, because no one tells him not to, and tunes in to whatever station isn't just unending static. The sound isn't at its best quality, which makes sense since they're underground, the concrete blocking the radio waves. But, still, the music perseveres. Chan, who struggles to hear through the speaker, and Seungmin, who's never experienced human song, listen together.
There's been some Ariana Grande. Coldplay. Bruno Mars. The Beatles. An instance of BTS that got Seungmin sparkly-eyed, bewildered, and questioning how it came to be on an American pop station.
They sing in another language, the creature had marveled.
Chan had hummed along to the familiar tune, the missing lyrics something along the lines of blooming flowers falling. "Music is the universal language, some might say." He'd laughed at himself, scratching his neck. "I'm Korean, but I don't know much of it. I like listening to their music, still. K-Pop, K-R&B, K-Indie–"
If music is universal, why must the 'K' be included to differentiate the language? Do you call music made in America 'A-Pop'? Or that which is sung in English 'E-Pop'?
"No, but... Huh. That's food for thought."
To this day the creature has kept solely to brain-conversation with Chan, and he gets the most talkative over music. Learning about the art of it, the artists. Instruments and music theory. Chan brings in some secondhand introductory piano workbooks he'd gotten from Hyunjin. They have some kid's scribbles on the pages, but the base content is legible. Seeing Seungmin's joy at eighth-notes and chromatic scales is a nice distraction from the anger that swells within Chan.
He hasn't stopped being angry, not since Seungmin first told him of his employers' cruelty. He keeps it quelled inside him, however, simmering like magma inside an unerupted volcano. He has to face the doctors at the end of every shift. Smile at them and suppress the urge to throw a punch to their throats, a merciful punishment for everything they've done to Seungmin.
Keep his job. Appease the abusers. Lay low, until the time is right.
Throughout the weeks, Hyunjin comes by sporadically and knocks on his door. Asks if he's alive, if he's eaten, and if he's showered. Chan answers: yes, sometimes, and after I wake up. They hang out less often nowadays, not just due to Chan's hyperfixation on the escape plan. Hyunjin is still in talks with that fellow across the globe, and he's on the grind to save up for a plane ticket.
At first, Chan doesn't think it's a good idea for his friend to meet some guy he's only communicated with via Twitter DMs and Korean memes. Hyunjin immediately refutes him with, "When you feel so strongly about something, someone, every idea that brings you closer to them is a good idea."
He doesn't argue after that. He doesn't tell Hyunjin about how close to home that statement hits, because–
Because Chan has a duty to Seungmin. A promise he made, one he has to fulfill.
One he sets in motion on a rainy evening in early August, after the sun has set and night has taken over.
He's not working today, a strategic part of the plan. He's using sick time, and has been for the last three days to recover from an alleged viral infection. If he had scheduled it off any earlier, then that would be more suspicious. Leaving the building this past week, he'd made sure to sniffle and cough, make every researcher aware of his increase in germs. He'd found out that he's the only custodian of Seungmin's room, so with him taking time-off, the person in charge (who he still hasn't met in person, weirdly enough) just has a day shift worker come earlier and leave later. That gives him at most four hours to get in and out, undetected.
Four hours to free Seungmin.
Black jacket. Leather gloves. KN95 face mask. Heather-gray beanie. Converse with duct tape on the soles. A Ziploc bag of powder.
8:00 PM. He walks. Nothing out of the ordinary. He avoids the streets with businesses, the cars with dash-cams, traversing the paths he's memorized down to the placement of the trash receptacles.
8:40 PM. He makes a stop at Bayleigh's Bayou. A local joint, hole-in-the-wall restaurant that claims to serve authentic New Orleans comfort food. Cajun seasoning hits his senses when he walks in, and there's a buzz of noise coming from the back kitchen. A single brown bag is on the order pick-up counter, the name scribbled on it in Sharpie. He takes it and leaves. Cracks open the gumbo and dumps the contents of the Ziploc into it, powder dissolving with the rice and veggies.
9:00 PM. He's at the front door of the facility. There's a camera just above it. Enough blind spots.
All Chan needs tonight is the right timing.
When he enters, he heads straight to the security room. As anticipated, Craig is there and sitting in the chair, hunched over his phone, tapping furiously with an accompanying sound of tinny gunfire. He looks up at Chan's arrival, but doesn't recognize him.
"Delivery," he announces. It comes out muffled through his face mask.
Craig throws his phone aside and slaps his hands on his thighs. "Oh, hell yes. Right here." He hits a spot on the desk, smiling crookedly while Chan approaches.
Craig is a dickhe*d. Over the months, Chan's brief interactions with him have given Chan enough clues to deduce that. From the emblems that he wears, the snide looks he gives for certain opinions. You can't even hear me, he'd muttered under his breath, once, when Chan was close enough to read his lips. Plus, Changbin had told Chan that he's tried to distance himself from the guy after finding out Craig's frequent not-so-savory comments he makes on a female streamer's stream.
Chan doesn't feel bad about this part of the plan, but he does feel bad about lying to his doctor. Not lying-lying, but – warping the truth, rather. He really does have insomnia, often plagued by sleepless nights, but he's not the one taking these sleeping pills.
He'd noticed Craig's accent, muddled over time by the Pacific Northwest, but his southern drawl comes out whenever he's frustrated, the twang of his letters, the rollercoasting tone of his words. So he'd snuck a flier for Bayleigh's Bayou into the desk, the only cuisine of its kind in a hundred-mile radius. It emphasized their buy-one, get-one free deals past 8:30 PM on Wednesdays. A strange one, but exactly what Chan needs: a quirky restaurant that doesn't ask questions. They hadn't even checked if he was the DoorDash guy; someone stealing food isn't unheard of around these parts. Everyone needs to eat.
Chan drops the takeout onto Craig's desk, and the man wastes no time before pulling out the containers. "Enjoy," he says, almost too late because Craig has already gulped half the gumbo straight from the bowl.
All is going according to plan. Chan's grin is wide behind his mask. "Can I use your toilet?" he asks.
"Sure. First door to your right."
"Sweet."
He goes slowly, like a confused little lamb, as if he's never stepped foot in this building before. The bathroom is the first door to the right, technically, but it would be easily missed by a first-timer because the door is almost the same shade as the wall. Whoever painted it must have thought camouflaging the restroom would be a funny joke. Unless they did it thinking it was a legitimately good idea, which makes him even more skeptical of whoever makes decisions at Everest.
Frankly, he doesn't give a flying f*ck about finding out. He's not some vigilante sleuth trying to find the truths behind the twisted lab experiment. No, the only reason he's here is the creature deep underground, who doesn't deserve to be trapped in a torture chamber.
Sat on the toilet bowl, his leg bounces in anticipation. A couple minutes have gone by. He flushes the toilet and washes his hands, flicks the water onto the ground and wipes the remaining on his pants.
He walks straight to the front door, the movement causing him to look like he's leaving on the cameras. In case the footage is found, whoever is watching needs to believe he left the building. Made it seem like it was all a coincidence, that the food delivery guy had nothing to do with what's about to take place. He knows the blind spots. Where to stick himself on the walls, how the shadows bend to hide him.
When Chan slips back into the security room, Craig is fully unconscious. The man's face is planted just shy of the keyboard, and he's already drooling on the desktop. The gumbo container is empty. Not a trace of food or drug left inside.
Pushing Craig's chair aside, Chan shuts off all the cameras. It's shockingly easy, only a few clicks and inputs, but then again he studied this security system's shutdown methods using tutorial videos from an Icelandic YouTuber with 19 subscribers. When the researchers discover what Chan has done, they'll just think it was a glitch. An accident. A series of unfortunate events that start with Craig falling asleep on the job and end with a missing sea creature.
All is going according to plan.
Chan steals an activated badge from the drawer and unhooks the keys from Craig's belt. The bottoms of his shoes are covered in several layers of tape to obscure his footprints; with the cameras off, he's free to move around. He'd found schematics of the entire building registered at city hall, luckily public information, so he knows where every blocked off hallway leads, the square-footage of the lower level, and which door leads to the singular emergency stairwell. For now, he takes the elevator to the lower level.
When the doors open, he sprints past the horrendous smell to the navy blue door. He swipes the badge and bursts in, tugging down his mask to make an excited exclamation.
"Guess who's back?"
The shimmer of Seungmin's figure illuminates the water, the creature's palms held against the glass as a breath of bubbles escapes his mouth. He's surprised to see the human, eyes wide, blinking rapidly.
Channie.
He'd told Seungmin he was going to be gone for a few days, but he hadn't mentioned why. He grins, feeling playful. "Ding-ding! You're our lucky winner." He scurries to the enclosure, looking up at the creature, bright and beaming. "Surprise! Did you miss me?"
Seungmin lets out a low rumble. Yes, he answers, so sure and quick Chan's heart stutters. Once you leave, I long for you to return. When you return, I dread when you will leave.
Flustered, Chan can only gape at the honest confession, relayed so bluntly. He lets out an airy laugh, knocking his forehead onto the glass, the pane cooling his rapidly reddening face. "You're an underwater puppy. Missin' me when I'm outta sight." He says it jokingly, but he knows there's a tender truth in it. Man's best friend. Loyalty and love. "I miss you, too," he says. "All the time, Seung."
You are here now, remarks Seungmin. Why?
"Why?" parrots Chan, unable to stop himself from taking on a cute tone. He giggles at Seungmin's look of bewilderment.
Seungmin is seriously just so cute. Chan thinks the first thing he'll do when he gets him within reach is pinch Seungmin's cheeks.
He feels like a little kid, puttering about on a secret mission, eyes skirting every few seconds to Seungmin's confused face. The creature swims around the tank, following Chan's movements, making trilling noises in Chan's head like physical prods at his side.
"Hold on," Chan says with a laugh. "I have to come back with the ladder."
In his excitement he'd forgotten. When he comes back with it, Seungmin has moved to the sandy area. Standing alert, gaze lasered on Chan as the human props the ladder against the enclosure. Watching him take each step until he reaches the top.
Chan looks down, through the glass. Seungmin stares back at him, lips parting in his continued confusion. Smiling, Chan takes the ring of keys out of his pocket and spins it around a finger.
"Are you ready for this?"
Seungmin's eyes widen. He straightens, makes himself taller as he asks Chan, Am I leaving?
There are a million keys to choose from. "We are leaving," he says. The first key he puts in the lock– fits. He turns it, and hears a click. With Seungmin's bright eyes on him, Chan feels his heart readying to soar. "You and me, remember?"
You and me.
Chan gets the pane open. He has the sudden realization that Seungmin has no way to get here from the inside. There aren't any notches in the walls to climb up, no footholds or handles. How on earth is Seungmin–
The resounding thumps answer him before his mind can spiral any further. Seungmin is a blur of color as he bounces against and up the walls. When his head pops out from the pane, near inches from Chan's face, Chan reflexively leans back in alarm. An immediate dread floods into him, gravity tugging his body off the ladder. He tries to get his bearings, get his hands back to secure him, but his foot slips off the step, and then he's hurtling towards the ground, squeezing his eyes shut in preparation for the impact.
But the impact doesn't come. He falls, but he lands softly on something solid, no pain felt in his body. He peeks open one eye, seeing the figure materialize before him. Registering the firm grip around his torso, cradled like an infant.
Seungmin's eyes flash. Out, he says, setting Chan on his feet. On the same level, he's taller than the human. Bigger, but slimmer. Faster. Stronger?
We must go, Channie.
"Y-Yeah."
Before they head to the door, Seungmin stops in front of the water enclosure. Chan stares at the lines of his shoulders, the expanse of his back, the elegant jade color sleek, exposed and hard. One clawed finger drags along the glass. It could sound like a nail on the chalkboard. Styrofoam on Styrofoam. Chan just sees the hairline scratch left behind. Seungmin draws back his hand and then pounds a fist onto the mark, and the scratch fissures into a meaningful crack.
He takes Seungmin's hand and runs.
The stairs are farther than any other room. The door is unmarked, but he knows where it is. Has it memorized. The door creaks open, revealing a long flight of metal steps in a dank, narrow stairwell. The smell is much better here; Seungmin doesn't look bothered anyway. Chan has to let go of him to fit on the steps, but Seungmin sticks close behind.
At the top of the stairs, the door leads to behind the facility. It must be a fire exit, or something like that. The space outside is an open area, a large field, just barely illuminated by the light poles on the faraway streets. Standing on the grass, breathing in the fresh air, seeing the stars above–
Chan turns to Seungmin. He admires the creature glowing under the moon's light, iridescent skin equal to a shining jewel in a trove. Beautiful. So, so beautiful.
And he can touch. Hold. So he does. He pulls Seungmin close, gets to have this beautiful creature wrapped up in his unwavering embrace, his nose pressed to the cool column of his neck. He can assure himself that Seungmin has escaped from the harm, gone away from the pain. Is safe and secure and here, finally, in Chan's arms.
It's a miracle the human isn't a puddle of tears yet.
"Seungmin," he says breathlessly. There is rumbling against his chest. Arms around his shoulders. Solid. "Seungmin. Seung."
Thank you.
It's the same voice inside his head, but it feels so much closer now. It is much closer, no pane of glass to separate them and the telepathic words, no man-made barrier to keep them apart.
"You're free," Chan declares. A tear waterfalls down his cheek, a joyful escape. Not the only one of the night.
Seungmin holds him even tighter, then. Free, he echoes. With you, I am free.
––––
Visual Voicemail
(206) 811-0325
6:11 PM, 08/04/2023
Bro! You picked the worst week to be sick. Something crazy is happening. Listen. There was a line to get into the building today. I tried chatting with one of the ladies in blue next to me. And I couldn't tell if she was ignoring me because she didn't like me or if she just couldn't speak English. Wait, not like that. Her badge said Min-Young and she kind of looked like my mom, and my mom doesn't speak a lick of English. Anyway. There might've been a spill? Somebody said there was a crew with hazmat suits on. Maybe it was good you weren't here. Everyone wore those clunky gas masks. Oh. sh*t. This call got long. Call me back, all right? Miss you, buddy. Bye. Wait, you're invited to my birthday party next week. Okay, now bye!
––––
Housing what may be the equivalent of a fugitive in his rinky-dink apartment should put Chan on edge, but in all honesty, he's never been more at peace. He's lived alone for so long that he'd forgotten what it was like to have someone else in the living space. He's never even known what it felt like to wake up beside another body, until now. Until today.
The sensation is chilling, in the literal sense. Seungmin's body is smooth and cold to the touch, a mimic of an ice cube without the wetness. Chan feels like he's running his hand on a slate of marble, goosebumps rising across his bare arms as he strokes Seungmin's skin.
But his heart is undeniably warm. Like a Hot Pocket straight out of the microwave. Pepperoni pizza flavored, his favorite.
A chuckle rises out of Chan, scratchy from slumber. It all just... feels so surreal. He almost thinks he's still dreaming.
Because he really pulled it off. He freed Seungmin. His Seungmin. And now the creature is sharing his bed, too small for the both of them, but comfortable nonetheless. Comfortable having Seungmin within arm's reach, close enough to hold.
Chan had been quick to discover how much he loves to hold Seungmin. It became evident last night after he'd stripped down, immediately wrapping every limb around Seungmin like an octopus while they slept. Once the human got a hold of him, he was reluctant to let go. He would've, if Seungmin complained or resisted, but the creature just let himself be held, still and lax, rumbling against Chan's chest until the two of them succumbed to their exhaustion.
Seungmin is beginning to wake now. Chan automatically breaks into a grin as Seungmin does a little shudder and yawn, tongue tracing over the sharpest points of his teeth.
"Hi, pretty," Chan whispers. Like an alligator rising from the water, Seungmin blinks slowly, coming back to himself. From this close, Chan can count the scales that smatter across his jaw, the dark lines that frame his eyes. How the pointed tips of his ears twitch at Chan's every breath.
Hello.
Seungmin's eyes drift down Chan's naked torso, appraisingly slow, only to land on the extremely apparent bulge in Chan's briefs.
Oh. That. That. Right on time. His body apparently didn't get the memo to hold off on the morning wood while he has a guest.
"I have to..." Chan shifts, attempting to hide his– predicament. Seungmin hasn't looked away. "I, uh. I have to take care of this," he mutters. He's mortified, shame lighting his skin on fire. This isn't– He hadn't intended to–
When he tries to extricate himself from Seungmin's grip, the creature growls and narrows his eyes. Pins him in place with that obsidian gaze that commands him to immobility. Chan flushes, feels his co*ck stir traitorously.
"Seung," he says, a whine. He doesn't sound like himself, voice hoarse and warbly. The adrenaline of the escape has left him spent, malleable. Needy.
He's needed this: Seungmin close. Touching him. Holding a flame to Chan's skin with a sleek palm, a sharp claw. He yearns for this steady heat, this growing passion.
Unexplainable, inescapable want. Chan wants so much, in every way, to be had by Seungmin. He can't help but want, his body reacting to the pull of gravity, the song of a siren. He's dreamt of him, the sea, the tide. Countless of times he's woken up gasping for breath, bleary images of tangled limbs, bubbles of air, desire and pleasure swirling like whirlpools into the depths.
Seungmin rumbles, pressing closer, hand firm on Chan's upper arm, keeping him in place. His thigh slots itself against Chan's groin, making the strained tent in Chan's briefs even more apparent. Seungmin's eyes flash dangerously, devilishly, and then there's a claw tracing the lines down Chan's abdomen.
"Ahh," moans Chan. He bites his lip to stifle the sound, but he's been caught. Red-handed, red-faced. From a single touch, he's already leaking precum.
Oh, Seungmin says. You are very warm.
"Sorry," he whispers.
Do not apologize for your body. You are only reacting to me. You cannot control it.
The creature makes a noise that Chan has only ever felt behind the glass. A rumbling purr that he can feel now, something primal and possessive and all-telling as one of Seungmin's fingers slip under Chan's waistband, his leaking co*ck freed from its confines.
Oh, Seungmin says again, fixated on the weeping drip. He exhales a breath, growls deep in his chest, but the human doesn't cower.
No, Chan meets Seungmin's eyes and sees the ocean. Tastes the sting of saltwater, feels the grit of sand, hears the infinity inside the conch calling out to him.
Seungmin wants this– wants him, too. To swim with Chan in the undertow. To hold and be held and just feel.
Chan chokes on air once Seungmin wraps a hand around his co*ck. His hips jerk forward, his shaft dragging along Seungmin's palm. He quivers at the new sensation, shuddering with every stroke, panting against Seungmin's crystalline skin. His tongue is too thick to stay in his mouth, saliva pooling beneath it as his vision grows hazy.
You are breathing heavily.
"I'm– I'm catching m' breath," Chan slurs, the tip of his nose going cold against Seungmin's jaw.
Seungmin hums. You threw it?
"E-Expression. You–" He groans, teeth finding a home on dewy skin. The taste is divine. "You're, ah, good. Good at this. f*ck." He dribbles a glob of precum into Seungmin's hand as Seungmin teases his thumb right below the head of his co*ck. "f*ck, Seung. There. Just like that."
You are wet.
"Don't–" A breathy laugh tumbles out of him. "You don't have to– to point it out!"
I am not pointing. I am holding you. Seungmin tightens his grip, just so. Smirks when Chan whimpers pathetically. Here. I can feel you here.
Chan pulls his head up to see Seungmin leering at him. "Seung," he whines. The residual laughter mixes with his next moan, and he nips at Seungmin's collarbone in retaliation, relishing in the creature's result jolt.
Hey. Use your words. You have so many of them, Channie.
"N–Ngngh," he groans, shaking his head, too overwhelmed for speech. Too overwhelmed by Seungmin's steady strokes and ministrations to do anything other than gasp.
Seungmin looks at him with apparent amusem*nt, lips curling. He flicks out his tongue and maneuvers Chan to eye-level, knocking their foreheads together. Another shudder racks through Chan's body, his breath hot. Seungmin drags his lips over Chan's face, trailing butterfly kisses that leave the skin tingling and warm. Chan mewls and squirms, noiseless begs for attention, and Seungmin lets out the sweetest hum before capturing Chan's lips with his own.
Being kissed by Seungmin is a sensation he'll never forget. A graceless mashing of their mouths, more spit and teeth than he's ever had before. Inexperience meeting eagerness. Chasing desire and passion. Chan can taste him in his lungs, the intensity of the kiss like a mouthful of seafoam, sizzling on his taste buds. Instead of breath, there's only Seungmin occupying every space inside him.
"'m, ah. I'm gon– come." The words punch out of Chan, freed once Seungmin pulls away to stare at his face, his pulsing co*ck.
Seungmin polishes his palm over Chan's leaking tip, encircles his fingers to stroke him even faster. Chan lets out a high-pitched keen. Come, says the creature, a question and answer and command, inopposable.
Chan spills into Seungmin's hand, shaky moans drunk by the creature's ravenous mouth, his curious tongue tracing the human enamel. His heartbeat rings in his ears, and the sweat collects at his clavicle.
Seungmin brings up the sullied hand to his face, cream smeared on jade. He sniffs at it, blinks, and then licks across his palm. He gathers up all of it onto his tongue and keeps it there, maintaining eye contact with the human all the while. Once he swallows, he presents his clean tongue to Chan. He communicates nothing, which makes Chan, in his already dazed state, tilt his head in confusion.
"Um. Good job?" he tries. Seungmin beams, and then bites Chan's nose.
God, he's so weird. Chan is obsessed with him.
The post-org*sm bliss has him aching to be cuddled. As if sensing his desire, Seungmin stoops down and snuggles into his chest, his chin dug right over Chan's sternum as his arms loop around his waist. He stares at Chan, the weight of the gaze familiar yet foreign, now out of containment.
Chan can touch him freely, so he does. He traces his thumb over the arch of Seungmin's brow bone, down the slope of his nose. The pad of his finger comes away moist like he'd grazed morning dew. He places his thumb on the fat of Seungmin's lower lip, letting it slip into the creature's warm mouth for it to be immediately suckled.
It tickles. Hard to believe that mouth lapped up Chan's come like a puppy to peanut butter just a minute ago. Innocence lost, or something like that. Chan giggles, and that gets Seungmin to rumble, satisfied, as he plants a smacking kiss on his stomach.
Languid, Chan rubs circles over Seungmin's skin. The creature doesn't look like he wants reciprocation, content just lying on the human, purring like a housecat. Having the vibrations Chan had only ever felt through glass now directly in contact with his body is an immensely soothing sensation. He hadn't expected things to turn out this way. Becoming... intimately involved, at least.
He thinks he's known about the attraction for a while, though. He was drawn to Seungmin from the very start, almost like a love at first sight.
Well, actually. Maybe there's truth in that, too. That feeling inside Chan whenever he came to work, saw the shadows behind the glass... What else could it have been?
"Have you ever tried talking out loud before?" he asks, suddenly curious.
Why should I?
The response is swift, Seungmin's voice blunt in tone. Chan shrugs. "Might be cool to hear."
You hear me best like this.
"True," Chan agrees. Never does he need Seungmin to repeat himself, or strain to distinguish his words. He hums thoughtfully. "But I'd like to know what you sound like. One day. I might not hear you well, but I'd hear you."
Seungmin grunts. It sounds dismissive, and also petulant, like a kid turning the other way when presented with a piece of broccoli. Chan sighs, patting Seungmin's head, and smiles once the rumbling resumes.
Will you go back? asks the creature, during the lapse of silence. Chan makes a questioning noise. To that place.
"Oh," Chan says. "Tomorrow. To avoid suspicion. You can stay here until I get home." Seungmin huffs, so Chan defends, "It might not be safe going out and about! Before we do anything else, just get settled here for a bit. Eat some of my snacks. Make use of the wi-fi."
Wi... fi?
"You can finally learn the joys of technology," Chan teases. "TV. Frozen dinners. The internet. Dog videos."
You will teach me, Seungmin says. Commands it, like he always seems to do.
Chan chuckles. "I have a wealth of knowledge, Seung. You've got loads to learn from me." He smiles cheekily. "Like kissing. You're not so great at that."
Seungmin blinks. He scoots up the bed, places his hands on either side of Chan's head, and stares right into Chan's eyes. It takes just a moment for him to mold his mouth against Chan's, slick and cool and unbelievably more practiced than the mess they'd exchanged before.
Not to say Chan hadn't enjoyed liberally swapping spit with him, but now having Seungmin's tongue expertly probe at parts he hadn't even known were sensitive is throwing him for a loop. He drinks in every breath Seungmin feeds him, squirming and moaning helplessly, wantonly. Kisses like jellyfish stings, sharp numbness, lips puffy and red.
When Seungmin pulls away, Chan rests a hand over Seungmin's chest. It thrums, with energy and life. Is that where his heart is? Do they have that in common?
"What are you?" he asks, a dreamy whisper. Will he ever be the same, after getting a taste?
A sharp claw caresses down his cheek. Chan lets his eyelids fall shut, his breath steadying in his lungs. Lingering seafoam. Still waters. Seungmin smiles.
Yours.
––––
––––
Work goes as work goes for Chan. Routine. He has to continue working to keep up appearances. Act as the cog in the machine. Clock in, clock out. It would be odd of him to suddenly stop, especially after such a huge incident.
And what an incident it was. Not only did the test subject of interest go missing; the structural integrity of the enclosure that housed it was abruptly compromised and broke down, flooding the lower level with thousands of gallons of water. Craig was put on administrative leave for falling asleep on the job and not catching anything amiss. An emergency response team was called to deal with the worst of it, removing filters and stopping pipes... And to hide anything unsavory that may have washed up with the water, Chan can only assume.
When he had returned to the facility the day after, he was with at least three other custodians cleaning up the rest of the wreckage. One was an older man with a lisp and crooked fingers as he signed, to which Chan apologetically told him he wasn't fluent. The other was a woman who picked up shards of glass with her bare hands, uncaring of the risk of injury. The stench in the hallways was still unbearable, so they took turns mopping out there. They hung papers on a clothesline for them to dry, swept up soggy sand particles that looked and felt like oversaturated brown sugar.
The only official communication he got about the incident was an email warning employees of hazardous conditions because of an unforeseen accident. The enclosure would be rebuilt, but work should resume as usual for everyone. He skimmed through it, just to see if there were wary fingers pointed in any direction, and saw nothing. As far as he's concerned, the Everest Group doesn't suspect a thing. They're probably f*cked, in one way or another, but that's not Chan's problem.
Seungmin lives with him now. He eats whatever Chan provides him, with a preference towards seafood and stewed dishes. He wears Chan's clothes sometimes, a loose shirt or shorts whenever Chan isn't home. And he refuses to sleep anywhere aside from Chan's bed.
He hates the sound of the microwave but loves popcorn kernels popping. He loves brushing his teeth but hates using soap. He sucks Chan's co*ck before he leaves for work and soaks in the shower water afterward.
Seungmin is learning. About humans. About society. About freedom.
They go out on the nights Chan doesn't work. With the cover of darkness, they take walks to the park or the nature reserve or a pop art piece on the outskirts of town. They find puddles of water for Seungmin to splash in, railings for Chan to slide down, pretty sights that the two of them just like to stare at. Seungmin asks questions about the names of trees, why Canadian Geese are so abundant, how tall is the Space Needle.
Google is pretty helpful. Seungmin can't utilize the keyboard well with his fingers, so Chan is his proxy typer. He reads aloud for them, too. More than just the definitions of words now. Chan doesn't have to carry around a pocket dictionary anymore.
Two weeks go by swimmingly like that, easy and fun. Exploratory nights, where they watch airplane lights blink in the sky and stare at the rogue raccoons on the street. Lazy days, where they count how many of Seungmin's slender fingers can fit inside Chan's hole and find out what it takes for Seungmin to lose his composure. Time spent together, not in captivity but a place chosen to stay.
They can't do much in public, which is a shame. Not comfortably. Chan doesn't want to raise too much attention to himself and the escaped creature for the time being, just in case his employers start to investigate too close to home.
But it happens anyway.
On a day where he plans to do nothing but eat Pizza Rolls with his head on Seungmin's lap, a loud pounding on his door makes the hairs on his arm stand on end. From the couch, he can't hear the words spoken clearly enough. He sends Seungmin a warning look and tiptoes to the door, pressing his ear to it and straining to hear.
"–where Chan Bahng resides? I'm looking to ask him a few questions about the Everest Group. The current situation of interest, more specifically. Hello? Is anyone home?"
A sinking feeling manifests in his chest. He peers through the peephole to see a woman smartly dressed, a tablet in one hand, an official looking badge at the end of her lanyard. She looks like she means business. Business might be very, very bad for them.
"f*ck. f*ck. f*ck."
What is the matter?
Chan bites his lip. "We have to hide you," he says. "This lady– She's looking for answers. She might come in? I don't know. If she sees you, she might–" He takes a deep breath in.
f*ck. This could go so badly. He needs help. His hand is already on his phone, and the contact is being dialed before he even realizes.
"Yellow?" Hyunjin's voice is perfectly crisp against his ear. A calm to his anxiously beating heart.
"Are you home?"
"Yup. I'm washing my brushes."
"I need your help," Chan pleads.
Hyunjin makes a questioningly accusatory noise. "The hell? Why do you sound all nervous? Am I hiding a body?" Chan doesn't respond for a meaningful few seconds. "Uh, hello? Chan Bahng? Your silence is alarming. Am I hiding a body?"
Chan glances at Seungmin, still primly sat on the couch, and runs a hand through his hair. "Kind of, but not– Not like that, Hyunjin."
"Um, okay!? Then what the f*ck is it like!?"
Voice hushed and rushed, Chan says, "Look, can you just– Go outside and bring the lady outside my door to the lobby. She's looking for me. When she asks, tell her I like to, uh... check my mail. And leave your door unlocked. I'll meet you downstairs. Okay?"
This time, Hyunjin has no response. Likely thinking whether or not to agree. He isn't the type to blindly trust, spending ages on overanalyzing a situation's every possible outcome, but he should know Chan would never steer him wrong. Not intentionally.
"Please, Hyunjin. This is really important to me. I'll explain back at your apartment."
Chan's desperation must be convincing enough for him. "Fine," Hyunjin sighs. "You better have a good reason, mister. This smells fishy."
Seungmin sneezes. Chan says, strained, "Ha-ha," and hangs up the phone.
With Seungmin behind him, Chan watches through the peephole as Hyunjin comes out of his apartment to confront the woman. His friend is dressed like a slob, his smock dirty with paint stains and water. Hyunjin approaches her with a winsome smile, they exchange some words, and then he's walking her down the hall and to the elevator.
Chan gets Seungmin out of his apartment and into Hyunjin's in under five seconds flat. "I'll be back," he tells the creature, hugging him tightly before darting to the stairwell.
Miraculously, he makes it to the lobby before the elevator does. He sprints to his mailbox, fumbling with the keys and wrenching it open. There are a few letters there, coupons for Dunkin, an Ulta magazine with those scented paper strips. He gathers everything in one hand and closes the mailbox just in time to see Hyunjin and the woman headed his way.
"Ah, there he is," Hyunjin declares. While the woman isn't looking he makes wide eyes at Chan, very clearly expressing his discomfort at having to do this favor with barely any pretense.
"Are you Chan Bahng?" asks the woman.
Chan swallows. "Who's asking?"
She hands him a business card. Audrey Santosh, Legal Department. "I'm a representative from your employer," she says. "HR-adjacent, if you will. I've been tasked to conduct a standard interview with all the employees." She smiles. "May we talk in your apartment? For privacy."
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure."
They all ride up the elevator together, Audrey standing between him and Hyunjin. Hyunjin keeps making The Eyes at Chan, wordless complaints against him. Chan can only smile apologetically, and when they part ways at his apartment, he prays that Hyunjin doesn't scream bloody murder upon discovering the creature that's likely stealing his snacks.
Audrey is all business. She walks slowly into Chan's apartment, silently surveying it until she's seated at the dining table. Chan's profile is already pulled up on her tablet, with the picture he has on his employee ID badge. He sits across from her, ankles crossed, thankful he wore a shirt with sleeves that covers the bite mark Seungmin left on him yesterday.
The questions she asks him are kind of like the ones he has to answer on his taxes. Past addresses, any name changes, has he donated significant amounts of money to charity. Could she secretly be an IRS agent sent here to nuke him for not reporting sales tax correctly? The possibility isn't zero, but he fears more for what he did for Seungmin, obviously.
"I understand you recently had some time-off," she remarks, after he's given her his educational background.
"I was sick."
"Could you elaborate on that?"
Chan curls his hands into fists. "Elaborate on my... sickness?"
She laughs. "When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous." She folds her hands over her knee, tablet locked on her lap. "How long were you off work? I just want to make sure I have your hours inputted properly, Mr. Bahng."
"Just a few days," he answers honestly. He leaves it at that, afraid saying anything more may incriminate him.
Audrey looks at him and hums. "You're all healed up, I presume?" Chan nods. "Good. In case you're not aware, the Everest Group has a comprehensive healthcare benefits package, which also includes dental. I suggest signing up during the next enrollment period. It really does save you hundreds if not thousands in medical bills."
Chan believes her. He also believes Seungmin, who told him how many of his teeth were pulled in the months he was kept in captivity. More than both their hands could count.
He's going to leave Everest as soon as he can. Fully untether himself to that horrible place. He just needs more money, another plan–
"I'll be in touch with your manager," Audrey says, standing up. "You've been very cooperative today. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Bahng. Have a good rest of your day."
Once she's gone, Chan's knees give out and he drops to the floor. He stays like that for a minute, just breathing. Decompressing.
His heart aches. He needs to see Seungmin.
The walk across the hall is a lot less frantic than before. He raps his knuckles on the door and lets himself in, closing and locking it behind him. "Hyunjin?" he calls out. "Are you here?"
"Why, yes, I am. Because I live here."
Hyunjin is on one end of the couch, eyes less wide but still bewildered, spine rigid and posture irregular. On the other end is Seungmin, munching from a bag of Chex Mix.
Chan offers a weak smile. "You've met Seungmin?"
"We have been sitting here in silence for the last five minutes," Hyunjin snips. "So, no. I have not met this Seungmin."
"Well," Chan starts. He points to the creature. "That's Seungmin."
Seungmin bares his teeth. Wheezing out a manic laugh, Hyunjin hurriedly rises to his feet.
"Cool! Cool. Cool. Chan, honey, can I talk to you over here for a second?"
Without waiting for an answer, Hyunjin snatches Chan's arm and drags him to the kitchen. Chan goes easily but makes sure to send Seungmin a smile to appease the creature's protective stance. Seungmin doesn't appear that concerned, which hopefully means he doesn't think Hyunjin is a threat and/or is more invested in eating savory snack food.
Hyunjin dives headfirst into the fastest flurry of confused questioning Chan has ever seen from him. His voice is shrill, hissed through his teeth, and he gestures wildly to Chan, to Seungmin, and to the ceiling, for some reason. At one point, it dips down to inaudible mumbles, so Chan pleads gently, "Don't whisper."
The interjection skids Hyunjin's tirade to a halt. "f*ck. Sorry. I'm having a mental breakdown." He presses his hands against the sides of his nose, inhales deeply, and continues, "Chan, respectfully, what the f*ck."
"It's... a long story." One he realizes in that moment he's never told out loud.
Hyunjin throws up his hands. "Fine! If that's how you're gonna be!" He stomps to his cabinets, rifling through them. "I'll make some tea, then."
"Oh." Chan purses his lips. "You might not believe me."
"Respectfully, Chan Bahng, there is a lizard man eating my last bag of Chex Mix on my couch. I will believe anything you f*cking say right now."
Good point.
Three mugs are filled with steaming hot liquid: two green teas and an instant coffee, because Seungmin prefers the latter. Hyunjin changes out of his dirty clothes and returns to his spot with a fleece blanket wrapped around him. Chan sits himself on the floor, beside Seungmin's legs, close enough to lean his head against his knee.
And he tells the story. Which, as it turns out, is a lot shorter than he anticipated. Maybe because he doesn't embellish it like he normally would when he tells tales, giving Hyunjin the core facts.
He met a mysterious creature, felt an instant connection. When the time was right, Chan helped him escape. And now they're here, cohabitating and enjoying their days in secrecy.
There are gaps in his story that Hyunjin clocks right away. He asks about the circ*mstances, the timeline, the relationship. How they communicate, which Chan tells him candidly. His and Seungmin's relationship, of all things, though, is the easiest to explain with feelings rather than a label: chosen dependence, comfort in the dark, reliance without need for explanation.
But Hyunjin, so eloquent with his words and understanding, cradles his mug of lukewarm tea and summarizes, "You basically got yourself a magical lizard boyfriend."
Chan blinks. As he'd spoken he's gotten his arm wound around Seungmin's calf, inadvertently tracing a pattern over the jade scales. "Oh. I guess?"
You guess, snorts Seungmin. Chan pouts at him, and Seungmin slips a pretzel past his mouth.
"Wow," Hyunjin marvels. He narrows his eyes at Chan. "Now that you're a taken man, does this mean you can be more approving of my e-relationship with Innie? Because this–" He points between him and Seungmin, "–is less normal than my thing. Hands down."
This isn't the first time Hyunjin has brought up the strange-named guy to him. He's been doing it less ever since Chan expressed his wariness over the stranger on the internet, but that doesn't mean he's stopped talking to him. He'd told Chan that Innie was his person, and that even though they don't know what one another looks like, they know each other's hearts just fine. Chan had badgered him to get more information, even a blurry selfie would suffice, Hyunjin had obstinately shaken his head.
"I know his voice," he'd said. "I don't need to know what he looks like yet. I can wait for him. And he wants to wait for me, too."
"I don't understand," Chan had argued. "How could you fall for someone you've never even seen?"
Hyunjin had laughed, cheeks ruddy and eyes sparkling. "How should I know?"
No explanation. No reason. Love truly works in strange and mysterious ways, that much is for certain.
Chan leans more heavily on Seungmin's cool knee and hums. "Maybe once I meet him face-to-face," he tells Hyunjin teasingly.
"We'll already be engaged by then," Hyunjin retorts. A joke, or a vow so outrageous that it can't be taken seriously; Chan can't really tell, nor does it matter.
They understand one another better now. It still doesn't make sense, but they understand.
"Hey," Hyunjin says, poking Seungmin's thigh with his toe. Seungmin chirps, and he flinches. He clears his throat. "You– You can hang out here, whenever Chan isn't home. It might be safer that way."
Seungmin stares at him. Hyunjin wiggles uncomfortably, his expression doing nothing to hide his nervousness. Chan feels a flutter in his chest when Seungmin exhales through his nose and says, Your friend is kind.
"He likes you," Chan says, grinning. Hyunjin's mouth twists, all sorts of emotions on his face. "Thanks, Hyunjin. We really appreciate your help. Really."
Hyunjin's face settles into a look of softness. He sniffles. "Of course. I'm just... really glad that you're happy."
Happy? When Chan breathes, he has someone there to see the rise and fall of his chest, the give and take of his lungs. Every second he has his eyes on iridescent jade gives him a dose of serotonin, a shot of dopamine. He feels alive. He feels loved.
Yeah. That's it. Seungmin just makes him happy.
––––
––––
Things take a turn after Audrey's unsolicited visit, in more ways than one. For starters, the facility changes. Almost imperceptibly, but Chan notices.
More cameras, inside and out. The bathrooms have badge locks on them. Two security guards are on duty at a time, one stationed in the security room and the other patrolling the perimeter of the building. When Craig returns from his suspension, his face is hardened and he has a pistol strapped to his hip. He's more gruff with Chan, but he stays awake, now more if not overly attentive.
There are less shoes in the locker room. Less activated badges in the drawer. At least five of the binders in room LL3-A5-KSM092200 have been removed from the shelves. Chan's radio is gone.
The vibe changes, too. Audrey doesn't come back for any more interviews, but her presence must have left an impression on everyone. When the researchers enter the building at the end of Chan's shift, they have a different aura about them. More tense. Furtive glances around the building like someone is looming over their shoulder. Their blue lab coats are buttoned to the top, safety glasses perched on the bridge of their noses. Prepared. Protected.
Doctor Mettler doesn't greet Chan anymore. She gives him one quick glance and then stares at the construction tape surrounding where the water enclosure used to be. It should be rebuilt in another three month's time, or so the most recent communication email predicts. She stares at what used to be, in a jarring silence. Chan continuously bids her farewell with no further small talk.
Work is work. He's still keeping a low profile, accumulating paychecks and keeping his head down. Things may have shifted at the facility, sure, but he's more worried about what's happening at home because Seungmin–
Seungmin isn't well. He's losing his sheen, getting paler and more lethargic as time goes on. He wakes up later. Eats less. Like a growing sapling, he needs direct sunlight and water to thrive. They haven't gone out for days because Chan is paranoid of getting seen by someone. Having Seungmin cooped up inside is something he never wanted to do, but it's the only thing Chan can think of to keep him safe from Everest right now.
It helps to have Hyunjin around so Seungmin isn't alone all the time. The creature doesn't talk to him like he does Chan, though. He just putters around the apartment while Hyunjin sketches or paints or voice calls Innie. Hyunjin says he's gotten used to the random noises he hears throughout the day, and gets a good laugh seeing Seungmin do something funny like run into the table. When Chan joins them, it almost always turns into a movie night utilizing Hyunjin's Netflix subscription.
It helps, but it isn't a permanent solution. It's a piece of duct tape on a leaking pipe, and no amount of rom coms or action flicks will fix the crack.
Chan is stuck. He's at a loss for what to do. As much as he loves Hyunjin, loves Seungmin, loves this little routine they've all made – it's not sustainable. He can't force Seungmin into a life like this.
It isn't freedom. And when he brings it up to Seungmin, all he gets in response is, We are doing what is best for the time being.
But why does it feel like they're running out the clock? Why do the precautions they're taking feel like they soon won't be enough? Why is Chan having doubts about Seungmin's happiness?
Why does it feel like he's one wrongly inhaled breath from drowning?
He's not going to let that happen. There's still time, there's still safety, there's still air. He can protect Seungmin. He will protect him, no matter what the costs.
Chan takes a step back to reassess. On one of his nights off, he meets with Changbin at a local dog park for an evening snack and chat. Catch up on life. Neither of them has a dog, but it's a spot that's closeby for both of them. There's a taco truck on the street, and they get their order to bring back to an open picnic table.
Hanging out with Changbin is a lot of fun. Chan finds him easy to listen to, literally and figuratively. Changbin is naturally loudspoken and enunciates his words, and his bubbly laughter never fails to get Chan laughing, too. They have similar interests, similar mindsets. Changbin talks fondly about his partner and his eccentric habits, and Chan wishes he could do the same so openly.
"We'll all get together one day," Changbin vows. "Karaoke or KBBQ or bowling. All of the above, if you're feeling up for it. You, me, hyung, and– Chan, are you dating anyone? Don't feel like you have to give me an answer. I might be acting pushy."
Chan chuckles. "No, you're not. I can answer. I, um... Dating..." He toys with the crumpled straw wrapper from his horchata. Well, he can't actually answer, can he? "It's complicated," he lies.
With Seungmin, it's anything but. Seungmin is his partner. His home. What's so complicated about that?
"Valid," Changbin affirms. "We don't gotta get into it." He smiles, and points to a hand-sized puppy rolling in the mud. "Hey, do you know what kind of dog that is? It looks adorable."
They talk about other things, then. Pomeranians. What goes into an enchilada. August's new album drops. The finicky weather. How the Trailblazers are doing. Work.
Changbin suddenly turns serious. "Y'know," he starts, wiping his mouth with a napkin, "they're talking about the flood again. The researchers. Fiona heard from Gerard who heard from Tim. I heard from Fiona." Chan hums around his straw. "Apparently, the higher-ups are speculating it wasn't an accident. Not only that– That it was an inside job, too."
Gossip. That's all gossip from coworkers Chan has never seen or spoken to. Not completely baseless, but still off-base. "Sounds far-fetched," he says.
"Right? I don't get it. Why would someone even want to flood the facility? Makes more sense for something old to have just given out. Like, all that's there is just notes on plants."
Chan blinks, surprised. "You– don't know," he blurts aloud.
"Know what?" asks Changbin, frowning. "Isn't that... Doesn't the room you work in have some kind of sea plant?"
"No," Chan says, chest tight. Changbin's eyebrows furrow. "No, my room didn't– didn't have that. There was... something else." He swallows. "Something... alive, Changbin."
Changbin sits up straighter, expression bewildered. "What the hell?" His eyes cloud over with a storm. "How could they do that? They just– kept a creature in the dungeon? Seriously? That's f*cked." His eyes widen. "The flood... Did it get loose?"
So Changbin really hadn't known a thing. Not about the creature, or about the violence against it. Changbin came to the facility, did his work, and went home to his partner. He didn't get to see what Chan saw, had no idea
It was Chan's secret: Seungmin's existence. He wasn't going to tell anyone. He kept Seungmin to himself, away from the researchers and his friends and the world.
But it's different now. Seungmin isn't a secret anymore, not entirely. Proof of that is Hyunjin, keeping Seungmin company while Chan is out. Proof of that is the gossip circulating in the facility, and the wary eyes he feels on him as he exits the building.
Chan trusts Changbin. Their friendship has bloomed over these months of being sort of coworkers, and even though they don't know one another that well on a personal level, he knows Changbin is a good guy. He offered up his car to help Chan learn how to drive. He Venmo-ed Chan $20 when Chan said he was strapped for cash and would skimp out on groceries. He saw a stray cat on the street, reached into his bag, and pulled out dried tuna treats to toss its way, despite being allergic to them.
In his heart, Chan knows Changbin can be trusted with the truth, so he takes a gamble. "It was me," he confesses.
Changbin sniffles. "Huh? What was you?"
"Everything," he responds. The nerves start to get the best of him as he stammers, "The– The flood. The break. The escape. Everything, Changbin.The entire–"
"Wait. Hold that thought." Changbin stands up. "I'll drive you home," he announces abruptly. Chan stares at him. Changbin leans close to his face and says, "Whatever you're about to say, I don't think it's safe to talk out in the open." He jerks his head back. "Come on. I parked by the bookstore."
Buckled into the passenger seat of Changbin's Audi Q7, Chan tells the story for the second time as he's driven home. And just like the first, his audience believes it without argument or retort despite how unbelievable it sounds. No calls for insanity or the police.
Somehow, Changbin takes it even more in stride than Hyunjin had. He has less questions, but maybe because Chan is more equipped to explain himself this time, or just because he only wants to know the initial facts Chan presents to him.
Well. He does get curious about... the inner workings of Chan's relationship with Seungmin, of all things. He saves his questions for when they're stopped, parked by the curb outside Chan's building.
Changbin presses his thumb to the scar on his chin. "Since you and that sea thing–"
"Seungmin."
"Sure. Okay. Since you and Seungmin are, uh. Together. How do you guys..." He looks down at Chan's– crotch. Chan instinctively covers himself, and when they meet eyes again, they both laugh. This is ridiculous.
"Um. We both have... holes." Chan's ears feel like they're on fire. "And dicks. So." He shrugs, the blush hot on his skin.
"But you said he's all covered up like a Power Ranger. Where's his dick go?"
Already embarrassed, Chan bites his lower lip, conflicted on how to explain it. "There's a..." He decides to use his hands to demonstrate. Holding them together, then dropping one of them down like a steamed clam opening. He'd been shocked when it first occurred. Really turned on, too.
Changbin gets it, somehow. "Whoa! That's sick as hell. Wish I had a dick compartment."
That gets Chan doubling over with laughter. He hiccups on every giggle, becoming more hysterical when Changbin's chuckling joins in. "Dick compartment," he repeats, taking a breath.
"What else would you call it?" barks Changbin, grin wide. His head falls against the headrest, and he rubs his nose. Sighs. "I'll help you guys," he proclaims. "In any way that I can. Just say the word, alright?"
"Why?" Chan can't help but ask.
Changbin shrugs. "Why not? Everyone needs one or two partners in crime. I'm down." He thumps his hand on the top of the steering wheel, hissing through his teeth. "God, it makes me so mad. f*ck those Everest nerds."
"Nerds?"
"I can say that. I was a mathlete in high school."
They leave it at that. Changbin lets his offer stand as he waves Chan goodbye. He even texts it, once Chan is climbing up the stairs, half a paragraph of heartfelt empathy towards Chan's situation. Chan doesn't know how to respond to it, so he just gives it a heart and hopes it conveys enough of his gratitude.
Seungmin is sitting in front of the door when Chan opens it. "Oh," he says, swiftly shutting it behind him. "Hi, Seung. I'm home."
Hello. Seungmin bumps his head against Chan's knee, and Chan's heart is full.
Chan lets him know that he told Changbin everything. Seungmin hums, doesn't bat an eye. Chan had expected nothing less from him, given how intrigued Seungmin has been at every story Chan has relayed to him about Changbin. Seungmin must have also realized what goodness is held in Changbin's heart to not question the man's commitment to a creature he's never met before.
As they're laying in bed, teeth minty-fresh and eyelids heavy, Chan finds himself turned towards Seungmin, his hand cupping the creature's face, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. He likes to stare at Seungmin just as much as Seungmin likes to stare at him. The touching is a bonus, the physical connection that may or may not escalate to sweat-soaked skin and wet, open-mouthed kisses.
Tonight isn't one of those nights. Seungmin is tired, and Chan is stuck overthinking. They just lay together and breathe, content just to be close. Seungmin's rumbles are like a song written for Chan and only Chan. He hums along to them, makes a melody with it. Seungmin likes harmony and harmonizing. Chan likes the music they make.
"Should I take you back to the ocean?" he whispers. The suggestion has plagued him: return Seungmin to the sea. It could solve everything. It could be the best option they have.
Do you want me to leave?
A part of Chan's heart shatters just imagining a life without him. He shakes his head. "No," he says.
Seungmin closes his eyes. Then you should not.
"You're not healthy," Chan counters. Seungmin's skin has gotten drier. Less vibrant. He doesn't want to be responsible for his dimming. "You haven't been in water for ages. The air is getting to you. You're tired. We haven't gone outside in a while, yeah, but even then I don't think it would be enough. I can tell you're hiding your pain from me." He inhales a pained breath. "You... You don't belong here, Seung."
Immediately, Seungmin rebukes him. He knocks his forehead against Chan's and growls, full of defiance, I belong with you.
Chan's heart skips a beat. Had he ever considered that? Having that sense of belonging, not to a place but for a person. A partner. He knows Seungmin is his home. They can make a home anywhere, as long as they have each other.
He kisses Seungmin once to be soothed, and another for luck. He smiles when Seungmin tucks himself under Chan's chin, snug as a bug. His hand traces down Seungmin's spine, a thoughtful stroke.
"Should we... leave together, then?"
Yes.
"Wow, so fast!" exclaims Chan, laughter on his lips. "Are you agreeing because you think I want to?"
I know you want to. You do not belong here either, Channie.
Chan squeezes Seungmin tight. "I belong with you," he declares.
Seungmin nips at his collarbone. I said that first. How dare you.
"Stole your thunder for a second there, didn't I?"
I am not Zeus. You are no thief.
"But I stole your heart," teases Chan. Seungmin nips at him again, and they fall asleep before Chan can fully explain the meaning.
––––
––––
Chan is packed and ready two weeks ahead of the flight. He dipped into his savings account to book it, milking it close to dry. People have always said that that kind of money should be used for big purchases like a car or a house or a trip. This trip of his will be one-way, and he has enough in his checking account to put a deposit down at a decent apartment.
He and Seungmin chose their next destination together. Chan had brought up Seoul as an option since Seungmin is enraptured by both the pop and traditional culture, and may very well be of that ethnic origin as well. Chan knows enough Korean to get by; Seungmin might be more proficient than him from watching K-dramas and chatting with Hyunjin in their native tongue. If they managed to move somewhere near the sea like Busan or Jeju Island, it would be perfect.
Seungmin, however, had suggested Australia.
I would like to see you golden, he'd reasoned as his tongue traced the lines of Chan's abdomen, fingers pressing into the human's hip bones.
Chan had whined, "But I burn easily."
Prettily, Seungmin had corrected. He'd sucked a mark above Chan's navel, a blotch of red instantaneously pulled to its surface. Look. Color stands out so well on your skin.
That night had Chan quivering and flushed, begging for Seungmin to have mercy. Seungmin had made him come once like that, with just kisses and bites and praise, and then another time from his co*ck, felt so deeply in his guts that Chan could taste him. And when Seungmin came inside him, he hadn't been able to speak for almost an hour, so overstimulated and overwhelmed with the fullness and warmth provided by the creature he adores.
I would like to see you fight a kangaroo, Seungmin had said, afterward. His come was getting tacky between Chan's thighs, and Chan had weakly hummed in response. Only later, after the human had fully recovered and they were able to have a real conversation about it, did they come to an agreement.
Australia. A place where Chan can bask in the sun, where Seungmin can swim for miles. A place where they're not hiding in the dark from what may be looking for them in the light.
When Chan calls his faceless manager with the announcement that he wants to quit, she gives him a silence so long he thinks she hung up.
"That's unfortunate," she says, disappointed. She sounds young. A customer service type voice. "Okay! If that's how you feel, I can't change your mind. But it's very upsetting to hear your departure from the team. You were a very competent asset, Chang."
Nail in the coffin. Correcting her about his name isn't the highest on his list of priorities. He gives her his two-week notice, and she tells him his remaining PTO won't be paid out. He'll have to return his steel-toed shoes, get his badge deactivated, and never speak about his experience working at Everest with anyone per his NDA.
His employers have been ignorant of what he's said and done to this point, so he hopes it stays like that. Nothing is going to stand in his way of getting out of here. He wants to build a life with Seungmin, one where neither of them has to be contained in a box or scrutinized for what makes them different.
The plan is already set. Seungmin will traverse across the ocean while Chan takes to the skies. They'll rendezvous at Bondi Beach under the midnight moon. The rest is up to them, and whatever the future holds.
Because the water can be unforgiving, especially in travel, Seungmin packs his few items in Chan's luggage. He's acquired a love for Pokémon plushies, these mini Pikachu dolls with varying expressions. And socks. Normal socks, tube and crew. He puts them on Chan's feet because they don't fit over his own. Seungmin tries to load an entire section of Chan's suitcase with balled up socks, and Chan has to convince him that the socks in Sydney are perfectly fine to use, too.
Hyunjin throws a party for them a week before they plan to depart. It's only a small gathering of the three of them, plus Innie by extension, who's almost always on a voice call when they hang out, now that Chan has accepted him. He decorates Chan's apartment, which is mostly cleaned out, save for some groceries in the fridge and toiletries in the bathroom. With a Party City bag filled to the brim, he sets up streamers and balloons and table confetti and birthday hats. When he puts a striped cone onto Seungmin's head, he giggles.
What is this, Seungmin huffs, making a face. He still hasn't spoken aloud or in anyone's head aside from Chan's, but no one is forcing him. Hyunjin doesn't mind, though, and looks expectantly at Chan to relay whatever Seungmin is telling him, which he does.
"You're wearing a birthday hat," Hyunjin informs him. He's wearing one, as is Chan and Innie, on the other side of the world.
"But it's not his birthday," remarks Chan.
"Are you sure?"
Chan opens his mouth to counter, but then frowns. "Actually..." He turns to Seungmin, who just shrugs.
I do not recall my date of birth. Why must that be known? Is it important?
"Humans celebrate birthdays," Chan explains. "It's to commemorate another year of being alive, I guess. You get gifts and eat cake."
"Chan's birthday is after you guys leave," Hyunjin points out. Seungmin stares wide-eyed at both humans, landing that owlishly accusing look on his partner, who holds up his hands in surrender.
"I'm not big on birthdays! I've never been a fan!"
"Because he doesn't know how to accept a present," sighs Hyunjin.
Seungmin stands taller as if he's about to take on a challenge. I will make today my birthday, he declares. I want a gift and cake.
They have cake, not specifically intended for a birthday, from Tours Les Jours: a cloud cake with cuts of strawberry and a hefty pile of blueberries atop the soft cream. Seungmin stares at his slice with wonder before taking his first bite, and the joyous sparkle that dances across his eyes is enough for Chan to cut him another. It's his birthday, after all.
Chan and Hyunjin talk all night, reminiscing about their start as shy neighbors and then growth to inseparable friends. Hyunjin had been so closed off from the world initially, stuck in his room working on art commissions online. It took Chan's incessantly rhythmic knocking on his door and numerous grocery runs left on the handle for the man to open up, both literally and figuratively. They bonded over similar circ*mstances: alone in the city with no family to support them.
While Chan was a survivor, Hyunjin was a victim. He was ostracized by his parents the second they discovered he was gay. He was just a kid, still in high school, and although he still lived with them, he became a ghost in his own home. After he finished school, he packed up and left with no second-looks behind him. He picked up a job at Walgreens restocking shelves and worked on his art online. For a while, all he did was hold his breath and survive.
Meeting Innie helped, honestly. It was after Chan had barged into his life, but still fresh in their acquaintanceship. Hyunjin had just gotten more active with posting his work on social media. Some guy on Twitter commented on one of his self-portraits in broken English with a display name in Korean. Innie was his first international fan, as far as Hyunjin knew and the man claimed once they hopped into DMs and started conversing there.
Hyunjin downloaded KakaoTalk for him to chat more openly and easily. The messages were sporadic because of the time difference, but Hyunjin is a night owl and can go without sleep once he's concentrated enough. He found Innie charming, and was persuaded to pursue an art career full-time by him. While Chan had his reservations, it became clear how much Hyunjin cared for the man. He found something– someone to chase after, and he's been more motivated ever since.
Chan is so proud of him. He's grown so much since Chan had first met him. It hurts to know Chan won't be able to see him as often anymore, with Hyunjin no longer across the hall. He'll be a whole ocean away. Seventeen hours apart.
"You have my number," Hyunjin reminds him, dabbing at his stray tears that finally fall at the end of the evening. "You better message me once you're settled. If you don't, you'll force me to call and I will charge exorbitantly for emotional damages."
Who knows how long it'll be until they see each other again. Chan hugs him for a long time as Hyunjin cries. Seungmin leans his head against them, rumbling softly. There's probably makeup smudged on Chan's shirt, but whatever. Seungmin has been really into laundry these days.
They finish up the cake, no berry left spared. Seungmin washes the dishes, and then Hyunjin reveals a 6x6 canvas for him and Chan to marvel at.
It's a painting of The Puget Sound. Brushstrokes as the surface of the waves. Smears of Mount Olympus in the background. A cotton cloud-dusted sky. Emerald green trees, the golden beams of sunlight against the water.
"For your new place," Hyunjin says with a sniffle. "A little piece of Washington, in case you miss it."
Seungmin joins in on the hug this time, and through Chan tells Hyunjin, You have captured beauty exquisitely.
After Hyunjin has left, when the two are cozy under the sheets, Seungmin demands he receive his birthday gift.
Chan makes a face at him, a minimal pout. "I don't have anything prepared," he says.
I will prepare you, Seungmin proclaims.
That statement is the prelude for the creature laving Chan's backside with his dampened mouth, trails of slick saliva along his skin. Seungmin probes him open with his tongue until he's relaxed enough for him to fit a finger in with no resistance. Another digit joins in, the stretch and pressure of it perfect. Chan struggles to keep his composure, rutting mindlessly against the bedsheet, hands gripping the pillow under him until his knuckles turn white. Seungmin presses that sweet spot inside him, eliciting a shuddery exhale.
"Seung," Chan whines, pulling himself up to his knees. He turns his face to the side, cheek squished by the comforter. "Seung, come on. Please?"
With a short puff of air, Seungmin backs off. His face gleams with spit, shiny as it cascades down his neck. He massages the area above his crotch, circling motions that unsheath his erect shaft. Hard, thick at the base, slick. It drags over Chan's skin, every tap of the sticky head a relentless tease that Chan curses him out for.
Seungmin slowly feeds Chan his co*ck. Inch by inch, sucked in by the loose hole. His saliva has nearly the same consistency as lube, they've found, the viscous liquid easing the slide. Eyelids fluttering closed in pleasure, Chan doesn't take a proper breath until Seungmin is flush against him, completely to the hilt. The contrast of Seungmin's cool skin to his burning hot co*ck always throws Chan for a loop, his body clenching down as if to retain the warmth inside him for good.
Seungmin growls with a squeeze to Chan's waist. Stay, he grits out. He gets less talkative during sex. Shorter words, clipped thoughts. Those animalistic noises become his main form of communication once he tightens his grip and snaps his hips, just as he does now.
"F–f*ck," groans Chan. His co*ck hangs hard and untouched between his legs, dripping precum from the blushing head. Seungmin tugs at the skin near his asshole with the pad of his finger, watches his co*ck disappear into his human with every sharp thrust. The girth of him fills Chan to the brim, like water from a glass on the precipice overflowing, surface tension keeping the break at bay.
Pretty, Seungmin chants. Pretty. Pretty. He presses onto Chan's stomach, hard enough to feel the shape of himself inside him. My pretty, pretty Channie.
"Yours," Chan gasps. Every thrust drives him mad and breathless. Relentless. "Y-Yours, 'm yours, Seung. 's so good. Feels good. f*ck. I love you."
With a whimper, Seungmin releases his load into Chan, stuttered movements until he's emptied every last drop inside him. Chan takes and takes, moaning desperately once Seungmin wraps a slick hand around his co*ck, pumping him harshly. Stimulated by the dual sensations, the cold and the hot, the push and the pull, Chan comes with a cry, dirtying Seungmin's palm.
Chan lets Seungmin toy with him amidst the aftershocks. A pinch to his nipple. Fondling his damp slit. Even stretching his hole to fit another finger beside his softening co*ck, the feeling of fullness not enough to describe what it does to Chan, who eventually shakes with another org*sm, weak but unavoidable, spurting onto the sheets below.
Seungmin changes the sheets for them, and wipes Chan down with a warm washcloth. He wraps Chan in a fuzzy blanket, turns over to be the little spoon, and then declares, I like birthdays.
Chan places a chaste kiss to Seungmin's neck. "Good," he murmurs. "Because you get another one next year."
––––
––––
Chan's last day at work is uneventful. He wakes up to Seungmin lapping at his co*ck like a kitten to a bowl of milk, and then shudders through an org*sm that goes straight into Seungmin's throat. At this point, he's woken up like this more times than he can count. He latches himself onto Seungmin's back and gets hauled to the bathroom, where they clean up in the shower, drowsy kisses exchanged under the trickling spray.
Seungmin bites his side as he's dressing, and traces the indent it leaves with a cool finger. He trails behind Chan until he's at the door, pulling on his shoes, adjusting his jacket. It's uncharacteristically cold for October. That must be climate change.
Be well, says Seungmin.
Chan smiles. "I'll be back soon," he replies, kissing Seungmin's cheek. "And behave, okay?"
Never.
Walking the familiar roads to the facility gives Chan a gentle wave of nostalgia. He kicks a can around the sidewalk and into the recycling bin. Squirrels scurry into the trees, music plays from that Mexican restaurant on the other side of the street, a woman taking out her trash gives Chan a polite bow. Rose-tinted glasses make him sad he won't get to encounter these specific sights again, but his hope for the future outweighs that thought. After all, there can be community wherever you make a home.
His final shift starts just like all the ones before it. He greets the security guards, making a bit of small talk before heading to the lower level. The stench hits him, foully odorous, and he runs to room LL3-A5-KSM092200 with his breath held in his lungs.
Inside, he gets to work. Sweeps and dusts. Mops and wipes. There's less clutter around, likely since there are less researchers in this area these days. With no specimen to probe, there isn't much work for them here. The new enclosure is far from being done, and Chan is glad he won't be around to see it to completion. He'll be long gone, leaving this place and its memories behind him.
He never found his radio, which is a bummer. Someone must have discovered it in its poorly concealed spot on the shelf and confiscated it. He bought it on discount at Wal-Mart, knocked down on price because the cord was bad. He doesn't think it's worth trying to get it back, especially given what he's already stolen from this facility. Although it hardly counts as stealing; Seungmin was never someone to own in the first place.
The dawn comes, as it always does. Chan is readying to leave when the door opens. He knows who it is without looking. She's the only one to come at this time, and maybe even the only one to still come here despite the room's emptiness.
Doctor Mettler passes by him to observe the unfinished enclosure. She turns to him, hands clasped behind her back. "I hear you're leaving," she proclaims.
Chan smiles unsteadily. "Yeah. Last day. Night. Yeah."
She hums. "Did you find work elsewhere?"
"I'm gonna do some– traveling. Freelance stuff. That sort of thing." A half-truth. Believable.
Doctor Mettler nods. She looks to the floor, to the construction tape, to Chan. "I hope you learned a lot during your time here," she says. "We wish you well. Goodbye, Mr. Bahng."
"Bye, Doc."
The end is lackluster. Shoes returned, badge deactivated, goodbyes said. He's not a custodian anymore. He's no longer tied to the Everest Group in any official way. He goes home, has kimchi stew, and then holds Seungmin close as he drifts into sleep.
The next day is one more closer to departing. Seungmin rests all that he can, saving his energy for the journey, so Chan does the same. His sleeping schedule is f*cked, but that might be helpful for the timezone change. He still likes to nap when Seungmin naps; he won't have the chance to hold the beautiful creature for some time once they separate.
In the night, he takes Seungmin out for one last breath of the West Coast air. He lets Seungmin wear some of his clothes, a black hoodie and sweatpants, chunky boots that hide his webbed feet, and they go to town. Literally. They're being careful, they're going to leave, so it's fine. It's their little secret.
Hood drawn, Seungmin walks through the streets and sees the shadows of the neighborhood. The farmer's market stalls, crates empty. Restaurants locking up. Sleeping geese. Chan loops an arm through Seungmin's, leans his head close to his shoulder as he speaks softly to the creature.
They happen upon a large fountain with statues of fish that spew a stream of water into the center of it. There are coins littering the bottom, some locks and keys, too. Immediately, Seungmin slips off his boots and jumps in. He chitters, kicking and splashing with the widest smile on his face. Chan watches him play with an equally ear-splitting grin, giggling as Seungmin slaps his hands to the surface of the water.
Of course Chan joins him. He rolls up his pants and takes careful steps in, the chill making him blubber incoherently. It takes a second for him to get used to the temperature, and Seungmin teases him the whole while. Chan huffs and puffs and chases after him, barely making any headway as the creature deftly traverses through the shallow water. Still, the human laughs the entire time, warbling menacingly whenever Seungmin is almost an arm's reach away.
Chan takes a seat on the edge of the fountain to rest, feet submerged. Seungmin stands before him, eyes glimmering with the moonlight, and Chan automatically rests his hands on his hips. It feels odd, Seungmin wearing clothes, but also kind of nice, being in Chan's clothes. The creature is taller than him, though not by much, but Chan is broader. The hoodie is just a bit too loose, the sweatpants tied extra tight. He snakes a few fingers underneath the fabric and smiles when the cool skin reacts to the touch.
Seungmin narrows his eyes at him. He tilts his head to the side and drags a claw across the side of Chan's neck, close to the pulse point, the blood within twitching. Chan holds his breath, eyes undoubtedly glazed as he takes in every minute movement.
Home? whispers Seungmin, expectant and anything but innocent. Giddy, Chan wastes no time pulling them from the water.
When they get back, he f*cks Seungmin on the floor. Five feet from the door, more specifically. They shed their clothes, tumbling gracelessly onto the ground, rutting together while Chan peppers kisses down the creature's skin.
Chan gets him loose with three fingers, and gets to watch the creature's co*ck unsheath as he leisurely pumps them in and out of his hole. Seungmin squirms, back arching and toes curling. Slick to his wrist, Chan pulls out his hand and licks the sheen off his fingers. It tastes sweet, somehow. Like sugar-coated strawberries. Addictive. Seungmin's told him that it isn't an aphrodisiac, so it's probably all in Chan's head. Seungmin always is.
With one of Seungmin's legs thrown over his shoulder, Chan sinks his co*ck in nice and slow, contrary to the frenetic pace they'd set initially. He relishes in the airy sound that comes from Seungmin's agape mouth, the instinctive clench around his co*ck once he pushes forward. He noses along Seungmin's knee and holds him still with a firm hand on his hip, rocking gently into the wet heat.
They don't talk at all. Just exhales and whimpers, groans and sniffles. Chan's head is empty from any thought that isn't Seungmin, Seungmin, Seungmin. He's petting Seungmin's face, his co*ck, his lips, tracing the creature's teeth with the pad of his thumb, nearly drawing blood. Saliva drips down Seungmin's chin, and Chan bends down to lick the trail of it clean, co*ck pushed in impossibly deep.
Seungmin cries out, coming abruptly over his stomach, sticky white ropes on his jade skin, and Chan follows with just a few more thrusts, spilling inside him.
When he has the energy for it, cleaning up is Chan's favorite part. He gets them both to the bathroom, washing with soap and water in the shower. After they're mostly dry, Seungmin readies their toothbrushes while the mirror turns foggy from the steam. Chan doodles a smiley face in front of Seungmin's reflection, and Seungmin gives him a clown hat and a mustache.
In bed, Chan gets another wave of restless energy as they enter the bleary hours of dawn. He rolls around the blankets, delighted giggles and laughter bubbling from his chest, kicks out his feet, too. Seungmin has to wrap himself around him so he stops.
What has gotten into you?
Chan hums, nuzzling into Seungmin's neck. Seungmin tugs on a lock of his hair, and he giggles. "I'm just excited, Seung. Can you blame me? Tomorrow you'll be in the ocean, and I'll be on a plane. It's really happening."
Seungmin cards his fingers through Chan's hair, claws gently scratching at his scalp. Have you flown before?
"When I was really little."
An even smaller Channie?
"Hey," huffs Chan.
I like you small.
"Hey," Chan says warningly. "I am not small!"
Surely not. Nor are you old.
Chan makes a face. "Sarcasm isn't a good look on you."
You cannot wear a literary device, Seungmin murmurs. He pats Chan's head. Sleep. We will escape again once you wake.
It takes one more org*sm to tire Chan out, but he's out like a light afterward. He sleeps through the whole day, as planned, and wakes up around sunset. Seungmin is already awake, sitting at the foot of the bed, watching a video on Chan's phone. It sounds like an acoustic version of a pop song. Chan hums along sleepily once he recognizes the notes, and then Seungmin chirps and tugs off the blanket.
After some tussling, three-and-a-half kisses, they eat a small meal of what's left in the fridge. Chan scrambles five eggs; Seungmin microwaves rice from a takeout container. They season everything with soy sauce packets and chili oil and eat with wooden chopsticks on paper plates.
By the time Chan's phone rings, they've already tidied up and are ready to go. Chan's suitcases are packed, his backpack full. Seungmin is wearing Chan's clothes again, minus the footwear. He's not going to be walking much, so it seemed unnecessary to restrict his feet.
Chan's landlord told him he could leave the key on the kitchen counter and leave whenever he was ready. It feels anticlimactic, the end of his residency. Hyunjin isn't in town to see him off either, but the sentiment is there. Chan made this place his home, and now he's leaving it to build a new one from scratch. One that's safer, sunnier, and happier, hopefully.
Closing the door, Seungmin at his side, Chan sighs. "Goodbye, apartment," he says, wistful. Seungmin exhales through his nose and then slaps a palm against the wood. Chan snorts. That's another way to bid farewell.
The streetlights have turned on. The dark of night is just about settling. Changbin's car is pulled onto the curb, two men getting out of it when Chan and Seungmin exit the building.
Chan recognizes Changbin, of course. He's in black tracksuit lined with white stripes, yawning into his fist. The man beside him – dark-haired and expressionless – is a stranger. Given context clues, he must be Changbin's partner, which Changbin confirms a moment later.
"This is Minho," he introduces brightly. When Minho squeezes a hand on his nape, he revises quickly, "Hyung. I meant– Minho-hyung. Even though I'm speaking in English."
"Hello," Minho says, followed by a litany of words in Korean Chan isn't adept enough to translate. He doesn't look offended by Chan's blank expression and lack of response. If anything, that kittenish curl of his lips looks amused, though that's more likely because of Changbin's tiny huff and shy twist of his lips.
"Nice to meet you," Chan offers. "I'm Chan. This–" He gestures to the creature idling behind him, "–is Seungmin."
Seungmin stares at Changbin and Minho, eyes narrowed. Minho makes another comment in Korean, which gets him elbowed in the side by Changbin.
He called me a fish, Seungmin sneers, distinct irritation evident in his tone as he presses closer to Chan. He tucks his nose into Chan's neck, growling. That was very rude of him.
"Don't call him a fish," Chan reprimands aloud. "He doesn't think it was a polite thing to say."
Minho's eyes widen. His mouth flaps open like a sea bass, somewhat ironically, as he blinks rapidly. He nods a few times, and then hits Changbin on the back before grabbing Chan's suitcases to bring to the trunk.
"Ack! Hyung, what the heck."
"Boo," is all Minho says in English. He stares at Seungmin for a few seconds, mutters something else in Korean, and then returns to the passenger seat of the car.
"Sorry about him," Changbin apologizes with a sheepish smile. "Hyung said you're a cool color, if that makes up for anything." He looks at Seungmin from head to toe. "I've heard so much about you, y'know. You're taller than I thought you'd be."
He is very tiny, observes Seungmin, and this time Chan is the one to give a reprimanding elbow. He sniffs loudly, rumbling out his annoyance.
"Not much of a talker, ay?" Changbin goes on, unaware. "That's fine! I'll gab enough for the whole crew. Get in, get comfy. I heard you like K-pop, so I found a good mix."
Early 2010s K-pop accompanies them once Changbin gets them on the road, Chan and Seungmin relaxed in the backseat. Chan and Changbin converse as they always do, this time with their partners listening in and occasionally participating. Minho responds to Changbin in Korean, to which Changbin tells Chan what he said, and Chan does the same whenever Seungmin has something to say, too.
Changbin is driving them to a woodland area off the highway that leads to the Columbia River. It's far enough from the city and late enough in the night that they don't have to worry about anyone seeing them. After they send Seungmin off, they'll be heading straight to SeaTac to get Chan on his flight, which isn't until noon. Enough time to get his bags checked-in, pass through security, and eat a Wendy's burger or five before he boards.
Chan holds Seungmin's hand on the seat between them. If they weren't in a moving vehicle and buckled, he would bring the creature into his lap and squeeze him like a body pillow. Linked fingers have to be enough for the time being. He can survive their time apart, knowing they'll be reunited somewhere brighter.
The car pulls onto the shoulder. Changbin bemoans empathetically, "At long last," as if the ride was nine hours instead of one. When they get out, Seungmin immediately sheds his clothes. Minho covers Changbin's eyes despite his partner's protests of, "He's basically a G.I. Joe figurine!"
They use their phone flashlights to guide them, the light of the moon not strong enough to warn them of the dangers on the ground. Seungmin keeps his hands on Chan's shoulders as the human leads the way, Changbin and Minho behind them as they illuminate the path. It's a little spooky, as a walk in the forest near midnight is expected to be, but Chan has no fear. Not when Seungmin's voice hums in his head, those familiar songs that were introduced to him in that dank cage, giving him reprieve. A good memory amongst all the evil, he's told Chan.
Freedom is so close. Once they reach Australia, the opportunities for them are countless. Chan can get a job by the water, and Seungmin can swim in the open water for as long as he wants. They can have a pilgrimage along the sandy coasts, and maybe Chan can save up for a little boat to join Seungmin in the vast sea.
Now, the four of them reach a clearing that leads into the water. The tide is low, washing against fallen leaves and branches, warding away rodents. The mushy ground of dirt and rock sinks under their shoes. Chan stares at the water, the ripples shining under the night sky, splashes of hidden life under its surface.
This is where he says goodbye. He turns around and watches Seungmin's face twist. "Wait one second," he whispers.
Your second is already over, retorts Seungmin. Despite the melancholy, Chan manages a laugh when the creature realizes it's an expression. I will wait for another second, he says pointedly.
Chan pats him on the cheek and says, "Good boy." Seungmin shivers, leans into his palm, and nods.
Minho and Changbin are a few steps away. Chan shuffles to Changbin and glomps him in a hug. Changbin doesn't stumble, but he does make a loud noise of surprise as he automatically wraps his arms around Chan's middle.
"You good?" Changbin asks.
"Yeah, man. I am. Thanks. Thank you." Chan doesn't let go. "I... I just... " Minho pats him on the back, a delicate push of sorts. "Thank you so, so, so much. I really can't say it enough."
Changbin snorts, "All I did was drive."
"Something I can't do. Even if it doesn't seem like something substantial, only you could do it. And because of that, you helped me. Helped us."
"Aw, dude. Don't get all weepy on me."
Chan sniffles, and he feels Changbin's laughter, so warm in the embrace. "You're a great friend," he declares. "We'll meet again."
Changbin claps him on the arm. "Hey, hey, hey! No parting words for me just yet. We still gotta get you to SEA." He pulls back and shows off his winsome grin. "The airport, not the body of water. Can't be confusing that stuff around you."
"Right," snickers Chan. He takes a deep breath, and walks back to the shimmer of jade like a moth drawn to a flame.
Six feet away. I will miss you. Three. You will miss me. In Chan's arms. We will find each other.
Chan rests his forehead against Seungmin's, feels the beating of hearts down to his bones, and seals the unspoken promise with a kiss. Not long, not desperate. Chaste and sure. Steady and sweet. He holds Seungmin's hands in his own and just stares at them, the way they engulf his own, inhuman and lovely.
Finally, he lets go. The time apart won't be long. The distance will make his heart ache, but the fondness will remain. He takes a few steps back, smiles as wide as he can, and waves. Seungmin preens, eyes shining, and waves back until Chan has joined the other two.
All of a sudden, Changbin's head jerks towards the trees. Minho looks at him in alarm, and Chan says instinctively, "What is it?"
"Did you hear that?"
"I didn't hear anything," Chan says, confused. He realizes too late that– he wouldn't. He wouldn't hear the hooting of owls, the crunch of leaves. The click of a safety.
But he sees the figure emerge from the shadows. A familiar figure, despite the lack of security garb. The gun, held in both his hands. An expression of bewilderment, furiosity, determination.
No one moves. No one utters a word.
Eyes hard and sneer evident, Craig points the gun at Seungmin. He says something, over and over again, too quiet for Chan to discern. A mantra? No, a reminder for himself. Chan reads his lips, eyes slowly widening in alarm as the air goes tight in his lungs.
Without second thought he runs straight to Seungmin. Throws his body in front of the line of fire, right before the trigger is pulled, a single bullet whizzing through the sky.
The pain explodes inside of his abdomen, firecrackers alight and scorching every nerve. He collapses to the ground, back and head hitting the damp ground. Then there's screaming. Another gunshot. Two, or maybe three. Someone throws a punch. Chan holds his hand in front of his face.
There's blood on it.
Oh. That's not good.
But as he lies there, palm coated in crimson, he can't help but notice how perfect the view is above him. Cloudless and ethereal, the stars visible and twinkling. Airplanes drift through the night sky, the moon full and shining.
He wants to close his eyes and dream about it.
"Ch–Chan."
That's–
Seungmin's voice. His voice: a gentle rush of air in the wind. Flower petals in the breeze. Sunshine on glass.
Chan smiles. "Hi, Seung. You sound so pretty," he praises. "Oh, I knew you would, Seung. Of course you would."
"Chan," Seungmin hisses. He sounds just like he has in Chan's head. That voice, that perfect voice. No matter where it comes from, it sounds like music to his ears. A melody made for him. The creature from the deep that chose to stay.
"My name. Say my name again."
Seungmin's hand cups his face, shockingly warm. He looks scared, trembling with his lip drawn into his mouth. Somewhere in the distance, Changbin is shouting, "f*ck! f*ck! Hyung, go to the car. Get the– the first aid kit–"
"Channie," calls Seungmin. Sweet, sweet Seungmin. A gem amongst gravel. A pearl in the sand. "Chan, my love. Stay with me. Keep your eyes open. Love. My love."
"Seungmin," Chan mumbles, breath weak. He's so cold.
"Do not close your eyes," the creature commands, but Chan's eyelids are getting too heavy.
"Pr–Promise me that... That you'll b-be safe."
Seungmin growls, forehead pressing against Chan's, his incessant rumbling racking through their bodies. He says something else, but Chan can't hear him anymore. Not out loud, not in his head. When Seungmin pulls back, eyes glassy and wide, Chan puts on a smile. He watches Seungmin's lips move, but his vision is fading fast, the sight too blurry for him to make out the words.
"Promise?" he asks again, eyes slowly falling shut.
And then Chan sinks.
––––
[BREAKING] Body Found in Columbia River, Suspected Crime Scene Currently Under Investigation
By Portland Digital Team
Tuesday, October 3rd, 2023 5:30 PM
warning: graphic descriptions
WESTPORT, WA -- Police were alerted to the area after reports of gunshots by residents at approximately 11:30 PM. Several units were sent along the Columbia River to patrol. No suspicious activity was found in relation to the gunshots.
However, a police officer discovered a sizable unidentifiable object of interest floating in the river. The Coast Guard was called upon, and the object was brought ashore. It was then determined to be the body of a male: fully clothed, dark hair, suspected to be in his mid- to late-twenties. Significant bruising was found on the face and upper torso. A wide laceration across the body's stomach revealed punctured lungs and intestinal damage. Medical action was attempted onsite, but was unsuccessful. The body was declared dead by medical examiners and is working to be identified.
The patrol revealed a scene of interest near Skamokawa Valley. Bullet casings were found on the scene, as well as tire tracks. No gun was found to be traced back to the scene. All evidence is in transit to a forensics lab. It is currently unknown whether this information is related to the discovered body.
Despite no immediate indicators of foul play, the police would like to inform the public to be on the lookout for suspicious behavior. At this time, no individuals have been linked to either events.
This is a developing story. Check back in to Portland News for more.
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r/PotentiallyUnsolvedMurdersTheories 81 days ago
RatsInTheTrap
Drowned body in Portland suburbs was ruled accidental because no evidence showed otherwise. Thoughts?
I just moved to the area last month and I found out about this story from my landlord. (Is it a red flag that she told me this after handing me my key? If it is, well... The rent is hella cheap so I'm just gonna deal ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)
I'll give a TL;DR for anyone who hasn't heard it but since I'm freestyling this go ahead and chime in the comments if I missed anything 👇👇
Last year there was a headline about some guy's body getting found in the Columbia River. The story blew up for a while cuz it was so sudden and gruesome while the guy was just.... a normal dude. He didn't go to college or anything but he was financially stable plus had a job at a research building for a while. (I can't remember his name, it was C -something and really generic tho.) He was a nice guy apparently, they interviewed some of his friends and they all had good things to say about him. Went out for drinks a lot, was a gamer. Took him some time to get work, but that's pretty normal for America.
So police ended up announcing it wasn't a suicide, and everyone pretty much agreed on that given the kind of guy he was which meant that this had to be a really unfortunate accident. The official statement they made basically said that the guy fell off the bridge and drowned, and his body got all beat up by rocks afterward. That was the story – cut and dry, case closed.
Except it doesn't make like...... any sense. Cuz lots of things don't add up. The guy didn't live by the river, so why would he be anywhere near the water? His toxicology report didn't have any drugs or alcohol either. I wouldn't be walking around in the dead of night unless I was high or blacked out. And his injuries were crazy bad. Borderline mutilation if you asked me. Rocks are intense but he had a clean cut across his body, like someone used a big knife on him.
The night before people in the area thought there were gunshots, too. It was a throwaway report cuz even tho the police found shell casings they didn't find the gun they came from, but that got me thinking..... What if it's all connected? What if there was someone else with that guy, they got into a gun fight, and then stabbed him in the river? The water would wash away any evidence I think. It's a tragedy still but it could also be a f*cking murder! And if it was, the guy who killed him definitely got away with it and is on the loose.
My landlord is super chill about the story. She said the community grieved for a long time, and the guy's workplace had a vigil for him. They dedicated a lab room in his honor, which sounds cool. Anyway, even though it might be reaching, I just feel like something's just not right about the whole situation. Figured I would share my thoughts here in case anyone felt like me. I swear I'm not a conspiracy theorist, but I can't be the only person thinking there's more to the story????
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The sun beats down on the waters, the waves lapping at the stagnant boats in the marina. Seagulls caw and hover, swooping down to annoy innocent passersby. The air smells like sea salt and sunscreen. The latter scent had come from the aerosol can, bright yellow and vaguely banana-scented. The sea salt is a permanent fragrance around these parts.
One might call this a sleepy town by the sea. The population is less than five-thousand, give or take the travelers that skew the count. There are more mom-and-pop restaurants than chains, and downtown has more spots for bikes than cars.
The people here live comfortably. Lots of folk retire by the beach, which means the hustle and bustle of city life is nonexistent. There are no mile-high skyscrapers, no honking taxis cutting off traffic, no groups of tech bros discussing the next steps for their start-up over oatmilk lattes. Instead, downtown consists of dirt sidewalks and storefronts that leave their doors open. Shirtless men in shorts. Women in flowing shirts and skirts. Bingo nights at the community center and a farmer's market every Wednesday and Sunday.
There are lots of parks, too. Forests of Eucalyptus trees, freshwater lakes and ponds that hold fish of all colors and sizes. Hours can be lost just watching the speckled creatures swim around in circles.
Chan would know. He's done it enough times by now for the local quokkas and wombats to paw at his legs for treats as if they recognize him. Maybe they do. He keeps a container with sliced fruit in his backpack for occasions like that.
Today, though, is a clean-up day. Berry is looking a little worse for wear, especially after this past weekend's storm. There are chips to her paint that he plans to fix up tomorrow; the sail has a few nicks in it that just need some needle and thread and time. The checklist he made is over halfway done. He's already hosed down the deck, wiped down the windows, aired out the laundry, dusted the painting, restocked the–
"Oiiiiii, Chris!"
Startled, Chan looks up from the tangled mess of rope in his hands, blinking at the sun-kissed figure at the top of the docks. He wasn't expecting a visitor out here; not many of his friends have the capacity to come out and visit his floating home. The voice carries loudly across the seabreeze, deep and bright. Chan's hearing has gotten better over the months but still, he struggles distinguishing words from afar. His shirt sticks to his chest as he stands.
"Oi?" he parrots, squinting. The person is wearing an aggressively neon tank, half of their bleached hair tied in a bun while the rest of it flows over their shoulders. "Ah, look. It's Lix," he remarks aloud, throwing up his arm for a wave.
Felix jogs onto the pier, the woodboards banging with the slap of his sandals. "Oi, Chris! Oi!"
"Oiiii."
"Oi, oi, oi!" Felix laughs. "I feel like we're just a couple of penguins, don'tcha think?"
"Penguins don't sound like that," snorts Chan.
"Hey! How would you know?"
Chan puts one hand on his hip as the other ruffles the younger man's hair. "Have you heard of a nifty place called a zoo, little one?" Felix laughs louder, innocently shaking his head. Chan rolls his eyes. "Yeah, right. So, what're you calling me for?"
"Was wondering if you wanted to go with me and Han to see the new Marvel movie! We weren't planning on it, but his brother got extra tickets for the Thursday night showing from work."
Humming, Chan shakes his head. "Can't. I'm sort of hosting a few friends from out of town."
Just three. Conveniently enough, all of them are flying in from Seoul around the same time. Changbin and Minho's flight lands first thing in the morning, and they're going to rent a car to drive to the marina because they want to see Berry in all her docked glory. This is an anniversary trip for them, and they'll be heading to Sydney to sightsee and camp after they stay a couple days with Chan.
Not literally stay. As much as Minho enjoys the outdoors, he'd been very against sleeping on an unstable vessel in the ocean. Changbin's already stepping out of his comfort zone by braving several nights camping at a campground inland, so getting rocked during REM sleep was a hard pass for him, too.
Jeongin, on the other hand, wants to experience it. He's hitching a ride with the other two since his flight lands an hour after theirs. He's staying with Chan until Hyunjin gets in on Friday, and they'll be off doing a short vacation to celebrate their engagement. Hyunjin really wants to see a koala in the wild, and Jeongin wants to see him paint one.
Chan is going to be busy catching up with the four of them. He hasn't met with his friends since– well. With Jeongin, even though they message quite frequently nowadays, this would be his first time meeting him face-to-face. As for the other three...
Yeah. It's been a while. "They'll take up all my time," he adds with a laugh.
Without skipping a beat, Felix just exclaims, "Bring them along!"
Chan raises an eyebrow. "You want me to take some tourists to a theater?"
"It's a local attraction," Felix says, very seriously. "You gotta support your local businesses, Chris. Think of the economy."
Amused, Chan rolls his eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest and rocks on his heels. "Next time, okay? We can meet up for dinner. All six of us. Seven, if you count the guy coming later."
Could even be eight.
Felix brightens. "Really? Promise?"
Chan smiles, a tickling sensation ghosting over his neck. "We'll see about that," he says. "One of them is a huge yapper, so he'd get along with you."
"That's great! Wait." Felix's freckled face falls into a vindictive sneer. "Oi! What's that s'posed to mean, ya c*nt!?"
It's all in good fun, their playful arguing. Joking and jeering with the younger man is natural for him. Felix had been the first friend he made after moving here; his father owns the company Chan is leasing Berry from, and it was pure curiosity on Felix's part on why a mysterious man such as Cha– Chris would be settling down in an uneventful place like this, getting a job at the grocery store with no apparent desire to do anything more.
They bonded quickly and easily, and Felix introduced him to a few of his friends, too. Chan hangs out with him and Han the most, another guy who's Felix's age. Han was born in Seoul, raised in Malaysia, and moved here with his uncle to go to school for an accounting degree so he could bookkeep for his family's crabbing business. He's an anime nerd, and gives Chan recommendations to download whenever he takes his trips out to sea, where signal is spotty.
He'll tell them the truth one day. How much of it, he hasn't decided, but he will. He cares about them, and he doesn't plan on hiding his identity for long. It was just a necessary step to get here, because the person named 'Chan Bahng' who once lived in the rural neighborhoods of Washington state may or may not be wanted by some super shady scientists and/or the police.
But that's on a whole other continent, across an entire sea, over a year in the past. He's done with all that. Hard to be on a manhunt for someone when everything is top-secret and classified, too.
After he sends him the movie information anyway, Felix leaves Chan to his chores. Chan continues where he left off, detangling ropes as he sits cross-legged on the deck. When he finishes that task, he moves onto the laundry. He has all the clean clothes and towels in a pile that he drags into his lap, separating the shirts from the shorts from the miscellaneous apparel or cloth. Folding the items is therapeutic, the motions familiar.
He hums a song aloud, one that's been buzzing in his head alongside the voice that never seems to stop singing nonsense lyrics to it. Yesterday it was an ingredient list for eggplant parmesan. The day before, guacamole. Food has been a pretty consistent part of their lives, and Felix lets Chan use his kitchen whenever he wants to try making a more involved meal. There's only so much he can do with a camp stove in the open ocean. He's gotten pretty good at deboning and fileting fish, though. Very relevant life skills.
Hey.
Chan doesn't look away from folding when he says, "Hm?"
Channie.
"That's my name," he agrees.
Come here.
Lips pursed, Chan states matter-of-factly, "I don't have super senses. I don't know where 'here' is."
A thunk resounds from the hull, nearly toppling him over with the ferocity of it. The boat rocks and the loud splashing disrupts the crowd of seagulls that had been idling on the pilings.
Come to me, the voice demands, petulant.
Chan scoffs. "That doesn't tell me anything!" He stands up, dusts off his knees, and puts his hands on his hips. He's already smiling when he asks, "Where are you, Seung?"
Sometimes Seungmin will call him half a mile away. The creature has done that just to mess with him, yelling his name while Chan is restocking blue-flavored Gatorade in Aisle Seven. Chan scolds him every time, but Seungmin has the best puppy-dog eyes so he has no choice but to forgive him.
Starboard. Hurry.
Sure enough, when Chan peers his head over the right edge of the boat, he's met with two obsidian eyes watching him intently from the water. He folds one arm over the other and rests his chin on them, gazing below. "What is it?" he asks softly.
Seungmin surges up from the water and plants a sopping wet kiss to Chan's cheek. Chan blinks, and then lets out a laugh. "Aw, Seung. Was that all?"
Yes. Seungmin bobs aimlessly in the water as Chan continues to giggle.
"Okay. Sure." He stands up straight, stretching out his back. He takes a cursory glance around the marina, pleased to see unoccupied boats, and then turns to Seungmin with his head co*cked. A wry, goading smile. "I was expecting more, but if that's all you wanted..."
Take off your shirt and get in.
Oh! Now that is a command he can get behind. With the sunshine sweeping over his shoulders, Chan strips off his shirt and tosses it into the pile of unfolded laundry. He sets one foot on the edge of Berry, vaulting off and into the water, swiftly taken into the arms of his love, joining him under the waves.
Seungmin butts his head against Chan's chin, rumbles reverently as he traces the scar on the human's abdomen, raised skin reminiscent of a horrible scene under the moonlight, the memory and wound healed with time. The iridescence of Seungmin's skin is as alluring and indescribable as it was the first time he laid eyes on him. Beautiful. Pretty.
Bubbling laughter escapes Chan's mouth, and he holds Seungmin tighter, smoothing down his scaled sides, groping and touching until Seungmin is swirling them down, down to the depths. A kiss is exchanged for every lost breath as the shape of the water outlines their silhouettes, two souls once met in darkness, now bathed in the refraction of a star's light.
