Chapter Text
Today marked the seventh anniversary of the day he jumped into the river.
Joshua marked off the date on the calendar, then capped the marker, considering the tiny box circled in red ink with a somber, contemplative gaze.
He never knew how to feel during each anniversary, though the first one had him going through his day like a ghost that never got laid to rest, dropping dishware and forgetting something told to him mere seconds ago. It took way too long for the ghastly memories to become meager phantoms of a past life.
At least, functioning on that particular day no longer seemed like such a daunting task.
Joshua spent a few minutes ruminating on the calendar, a hand on his jean-clad hip and tapping the marker against his bottom lip with the other. Then, after a thoughtful moment, he tossed the marker onto the dresser under the calendar and went about his day.
He left his desolate room, hopping down the stairs that connected the room to the lower part of the building, and as he burst through the double-doors at the bottom of the stairs, the room opened up, filled with a scattering of tables and chairs, varying degrees of vibrant to wilting plants. It was with ease that he maneuvered past the tables and approached the checkout counter, where beside the register, a long, glass-covered display showcased of desserts. Cake slices, muffins, savory and sweet puff pastries, and two kinds of tarts: blueberry and raspberry.
The aroma of sweetened air and brewed coffee followed Joshua as he went through the back of house, peering into fridges and wiping down counters and equipment. A passion lingered behind his thoroughness, an urge to always deliver his best driving him through the tranquil morning.
There was no room for mistakes. He needed to do well. From the pastries he baked fresh every day to the meticulously procured cleanliness and overall mood he urged the café to encompass, everything had to be perfect – or at the very least, near perfect. Settling for any less? A surge of unsettling unease threatened to overcome him at the thought.
In his reach for perfection – both a curse and a blessing - Joshua always found it easier to forget what day it was by drowning his attention in working.
In many ways, it was the only thing he could do. An encouragement in putting one foot in front of the other, knowing that there was something to live for, to work for. A goal. Joshua didn’t think he’d be able to get through life if he didn’t have one.
Joshua came to terms with his circumstances a few years ago. The sudden shift from luxury clothing and maids at his beck and call to scrubbing surfaces everyday and spending sparse cash on the dullest of items wasn’t a hard one to get used to. He was used to hard work, even before his new life had begun, and it was with a sense of internal glee that Joshua flipped the sign hanging outside on the door to the side that said ‘Open!’. It always filled him with bright anticipation, seeing that sign flipped.
No matter if it was another regular day, or the anniversary of the day he tried to take his own life, Joshua refused to let it affect the well-being of his café.
“Mrs. Anhyun, I’m quite sure you know I don’t have time to spend gossiping… Now, now, let’s not make a fuss—ah, alright, what did you want to ask me? Mhm… What do I think of the boy who runs the café by that river? Well, I think he is a good guy. Knows when you need somebody to talk with or if you just need to get your cup of coffee and go. You know me well by now; I’m late four out of five times in the week, and somehow, he always knows when to get my to-go order ready before I even step into the building…”
“Ah! Mrs. Anhyun! That boy of your’s, Joshua, I met him at the store today! Even when he isn’t working at that café of his, he’s such a sweetheart and even helped me carry my groceries back home! All of them! How did you even find such a sweet soul? I’m telling you, whoever raised that boy did something right.”
…
“Say, Mrs. Anhyun, even though he smiles so often, doesn’t Joshua always look… a little sad…? Huh? None of my business…? Goodness, Mrs. Anhyun, no need to get so feisty…!”
“Have you noticed, abeoji? He’s got this positive gloom around him. Never knew what that was about, but I guess everyone has something weighing ‘em down.”
“Aish! That poor boy doesn’t know how to take a real compliment. He gets so defensive on me when I compliment him and not his magnificent brews! Can’t a woman compliment both?”
He was returning from a visit to his benefactor as Joshua took his keys out of his pocket, sliding into the building and locking the door behind him. His cheeks were a rosy pink, and the cold seeped much deeper into his fingers than he had first thought, stiff and quivering. It’s chillier than usual inside since he seldom used the heater when the café’s closed, but the air outside hadn’t been much warmer, so he paid no mind, toeing off his shoes and making his way up the stairs.
Once upstairs in his room, he slid the containers of food and fresh kimchi Ajhumma made for him into the miniature fridge there, humming to himself a cheery tune.
Sparse decorations lay scattered all over the room, crocheted plushies and tiny houseplants; picture frames of him and an aged, but straight-backed woman.
A bead bracelet set lay on the dresser on one side, a personal project he worked on when time allowed for it. Sometimes, when someone became a dedicated regular, he would make a custom bracelet and gift it to them as thanks. He liked seeing the way their faces lit up at the small present, and the varying smiles they wore for the rest of their stay.
Though perhaps he wouldn’t work on them tonight. The clocks already shone eleven in the night.
His bed, in the top left corner of the room, laid vacant with a single pillow and a rather thin sheet. He hadn’t been able to afford anything better for his bed, not when all his funds were going to the café, but Joshua made peace with that ages ago.
Freezing in the middle of the night in winter became bearable knowing his café managed to flourish in return.
When Joshua wasn’t curled over his desk, reading through bundles of papers and documents on the laptop the kind ahjumma let him borrow for such tasks, he was trading cooked meals with his benefactor, an old, sturdy woman who helped him through thick and thin.
Joshua would sooner shut down the café than claim that he started that tiny establishment all on his own, because he didn’t. He never did, and he owed an eternity of gratitude to her for giving him another chance at lif— ah, let’s not get somber now. She had helped him immensely then, still did, and the least he could do was bring her homecooked meals to her liking and take care of any errands she may have.
She was like a grandmother of sorts, as if Joshua had grown up under her careful watch and she raised him from a young spindly boy to a grown, independent man. Some days they spent together pondering over menu items, and other days he was atop a ladder, swaying precariously with a light bulb in hand as she fussed and gestured at him and his dangerous antics. Her lightbulbs never seemed to work for longer than a month. Ahjumma thought it was because of the moisture levels in her house; Joshua suspected it was the low-end brand she insisted on buying every time.
They ate together, shopped together, and sometimes simply sat in the same room, Joshua bent over his latest artistic project for the café and Ahjumma twisting up her lips at the newspaper in her grasp.
That was the routine. Work hard on the weekdays and relax at his Ahjumma’s on the weekend. He didn’t have anyone else to go to, and Joshua had made peace with that prospect as well.
(“So when are you going to get a girlfriend, Jisoo’yah? Or maybe someone to hang out with? I’m sure being with an old woman all day is beginning to bore you to death.” His ahjumma had huffed, stirring something at her antique stove. Seated at the square, wooden dining table squeezed into the section between the livingroom and the kitchen, Joshua glanced up from the bracelet he was hunched over and blinked at Ajhumma’s strong back.
“I don’t think that.” He answered with a frown, straightening up in the chair. A flat, unbelieving hum answered him.
“But don’t you at least wonder what it would be like to have a friend your age? I’m sure that young lady who works at the convenience store wouldn’t mind being your friend. You should see how red she gets whenever you talk to her.”
“That’s not… I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of thing. It’s a lot of work and effort, isn’t it?” Joshua tilted his head in question, a small, confused smile on his lips, and his Ahjumma huffed.
“That is true. Youths nowadays… so hard to commit to anything. Well, if you do find someone that isn’t me to be friends with, tell me how it goes. I don’t think I’ve seen you hanging out with other people yet.”
Joshua hummed in agreement, his smile now strained and a troubled glint to his gaze.)
(“Jisoo’ah, why are you crying? Was my cooking really that bad?” Ahjumma asked, her grey brows furrowing as Joshua sniffled at her dining table.
It wasn’t the food; on a plate before him was some kimbap, neatly rolled and cut and arrayed beautifully. There was no doubt in his mind it would be delicious, but…
“No—no, it’s okay.” He murmured, wiping at his silent tears, wishing he wouldn’t cry at every reminder of a life he wished he could back to. With a shaky exhale, he gathered himself and smiled up at Ahjumma, tears clinging to his lashes and chin trembling faintly. “It looks amazing, I promise.”
“Aish…” Ahjumma sighed, her wrinkled face laden with an emotion Joshua was too scared to place, but he understood anyway: understanding. No, she didn’t know exactly what set him off, but that was partially Joshua’s own fault.
He never bothered to tell him that kimbap reminded him of a reminiscent, sunlight-bathed kitchen, a tiny, two person table smothered in expensive linen cloth, and a motherly figure with a mischievous, cattish smile and pretty summer dresses. It would only make such an expression of understanding even more bitter.)
Ahjumma hadn’t prodded him for the details of his past, and to be frank, Joshua didn’t think he felt ready to open that can of worms. She respected his privacy, and he respected her in turn. Even with their familial bond, that had always been a dividing line separating them.
Eight in the morning shined a bright blue on the bedside clock, and only the sunlight that streamed through the cracks of grey blinds outshined it. The light drew a line down the floor, up the bed and onto the splayed, seemingly lifeless, body of twenty-five-year-old Joshua Hong. The funny part of this situation was, well, his café opened at seven.
Twitch, shuffle, blink – a very familiar wakeup routine. Mere seconds later, he’s choking on spicy toothpaste and squeezing on the first outfit he laid his eyes on, a rustic, gray tee and jeans that never seemed to cuff right at the ankle. The door slammed into its threshold as he frantically hurdled out of his room. Sprinting to the door, he slipped on his shoes (which predictably jammed on his heels and required him to stomp repeatedly on them. Real fun) and nabbed the café keys from its key holder, muttering a desperate plea under his breath.
His feet barely touched the polished wood stairs of his humble establishment as he flew down them, and the sight of two regulars standing outside in the frigid winter breeze, ready for the special morning coffee, had him wincing, vicious guilt gripping his chest. Pushing the feeling down, Joshua hurriedly shoved the now warm key into the locks, twisting it open.
“I—I’m so sorry about that! Did you stay out long? A-ah, it’s freezing out here, I’ll place both of your orders on the house!” With a ninety-degree bow, he stood heaving.
“Oh please, it’s quite alright,” A wrinkly woman, skin pale and pink in the frigid late-fall chill and adorning a crocheted off-white sweater, soothed him gently as she shuffled inside, “It doesn’t hurt to wait a little longer for the simply wonderful cups of coffee that you brew.”
“I would’ve slept through my meeting if I didn’t stop by, don’t beat yourself up too much.” The aloof gentleman added, folding his suit on his forearm and following the woman inside.
The guilt didn’t dissipate even with the sincere forgiveness. It never did when he wasn’t the best he knew he could be.
Joshua had to admit, he didn’t slept well at all last night. As most times were after the anniversary, getting back into the groove turned into a tedious task. It didn’t help that the memories enjoyed resurfacing at the dead of night, lurking in the back of his mind and baring their fangs when deep sleep graced him.
The routine was exhausting. Irritating. Annoying. But he’s getting better at coping with unbidden emotions and memories. What used to be one week of flashbacks and near panic attacks had shifted into a day or two. He’s getting better. Little by little.
The day went by smoothly, customers and regulars alike coming in at a steady pace and slow to leaving. He made up for his accident that morning by putting an extra bit of energy behind his actions and words, brightening up his café with well-practiced ease and stitching together his own mental wounds at the same time. They’ve peeled a little with this morning fright as well as yesterday’s haunting. Patiently, Joshua bandaged them back up.
Before he knew it, the time showed four going on five, signaling that it was about time to close.
Joshua carefully folded the board and placed it inside by the door. He also wiped the counters and swept the floor before exiting his café, throughout and meticulous to a near obsessive degree.
Once done, Joshua found himself strolling along the dim street, grocery list on mind. He pulled the puffy jacket he grabbed last minute tighter around him, his nose and cheeks pink in the cool frigidness of fall. The sidewalk was the more well-lit area – which in all honestly, wasn’t very bright – so he drifted closer to the light poles.
His eyes – doe-like and observant – flickered up towards the gleaming crescent moon, before falling back to the way ahead.
Today felt… a bit surreal. He got through the week of his anniversary without fanfare. No panic attacks or sudden bouts of strained crying sessions. It’s been a while since tears pricked at his eyes, actually.
He was proud of himself. Not by a lot, but enough for a warm feeling to settle in his chest. He never really cried as a kid anyway. It just wasn’t something he found himself led to do when faced with a situation where he was expected to cry. Well—for the most part.
Joshua could remember two times he truly broke down and cried for hours on end.
When he found himself alive in a hospital bed after his last memories were falling into ice-cold water, and when his mother was—
Klang!
Joshua spooked, shoulders jumping and pace freezing to a stop. What had that been? A mugger? Someone looking to empty his pockets? There had been more of those than usual lately…
Joshua stood there in an attempt to even his breathing with a short glance at the source of the noise. Emerging from the shadows skittered a tabby cat, golden eyes refusing to leave the alleyway as the most audible of exhales escaped him. It felt too quiet now that he wasn’t stuck in his own thoughts. Joshua didn’t like it one bit.
For a moment he hesitated, appraising the cat who refused to turn its back to the alleyway, and then began to make his way down the road again, skimming the hairs on his arm with jittery fingers. He dug his free hand into his pocket, sweeping his wary gaze over the area while thumbing the cylinder bottle of pepper spray buried deep within. Never hurt to be too safe, no?
As the sidewalk veered off into a cross section on the left, a wide, healthy tree stump sat in in the middle and, filling with nostalgic memories, Joshua slowed his pace to a creep, noting the seedling peeking out in between its thick roots.
Though… thinking back to then, he regretted getting so caught up with a tree stump of all things.
Before he could register the swift footfall behind him or the barreling force collided with his back, and Joshua felt all the air in his lungs painfully compress when his front struck the solid cement.
The front of his tee grew dark with blood as his skin stung from being scraped across the rough pavement, but the feeling was drowned out by the hands enveloping his throat. They squeezed before he had the chance to gather his wits, drawing out a choked gasp. His limbs failed to cooperate with him, cumbersome and weak from the lack of oxygen, and Joshua gritted his teeth as dots began to obscure his vision.
It wasn’t long before vast darkness robbed his vision, and despite his usual reservations, the only first and last thing that flashed in Joshua’s mind was—
What the hell?
__________________________
A straight-faced, grim man in his sixties watched from his stormy-blue velvet seat as the unconscious boy was unceremoniously dropped onto the wooden office floor, leaning his forehead onto his calloused knuckles.
“Did I say you could drop him?” The guards hovering over the body stiffened, “Pick him up.”
“This is the one?” He questioned, looking over the boy as he was now upright with the support of the two guards. He was a bit on the skinny side and there wasn’t much muscle. The curve of his eyes and mouth were attractive, however, and he would accel as a decoy. The boy had some worth, though how much was heavily debatable.
“Yes sir. I observed him for quite a while, he seems to fit into your description. He’s quick on his feet, and very observant. There’s no record of any existing family members, besides his deceased mother, and his physical appearance is up to standard.”
A pause turned into drawn-out silence, and the spokesman – a man with average height and striking, dirty blond hair that was slicked back, several valuable rings on his fingers – adjusted his open collar nervously. Finally, he was answered.
“How much do you want?” The grim-faced man asked with the tone of a man who had more than enough money for any kind of price.
“One hundred thousand, sir.”
Mr. Choi sighed deeply, raking deep in his streaked hair.
“Fine, I’ll take the boy.”
A noisy thud sounded.
“Now get out.”
The spokesman picked up the case and stumbled back into a wobbly bow. He didn’t open the case he was given. Didn’t question anything, actually. He left as soon as Mr. Choi’s attention no longer bore into him, not even bothering to check the amount with his haste.
As for Mr. Choi…
“Seungcheol-ah.”
“Yes?”
“Take him to the house for me. Settle him in well. I don’t want to hear any objections.”
The man referred to as Seungcheol – a thick-built figure of a man with pale skin, dark hair, and a deep-seated gaze – hesitated for a moment before slowly nodding, glancing at the unconscious boy – or man? – who the bodyguards hauled onto a couch for a moments’ reprieve.
An unease clung to his features despite his agreement, but he kept his words to himself as was expected of him.
“…Treat him well, Seungcheol-ah… Very well.” Mr. Choi drawled, yet his eyes were pinned not on Seungcheol, but the boy slumped on the couch, a zealous flame in his age-tamed gaze.
Seungcheol swallowed the lump in his throat, unease shifting into uncertainty. “Noted.”
_____________________________
Huh…?
Flinging the bed sheets off, Joshua hastily crunched upward. His eyes went from startled to pinched and bothered as a jab of pain shot through his entire torso, collapsing back onto the soft bed with a rasped groan.
Where was he? Not home; the room was foreign to him.
He made a low noise of distress – rubbing his face violently failed to wake him up from a possible dream – but despite the surrealness of the situation, he peeled his body off the comfortable, luxurious bed, feeling the tinge of his sore muscles as he shifted to sit on the side of the bed.
The room wasn’t by any means comforting, but seeing as it was simply a bedroom, Joshua felt a little better, his grip on the sheets loosening. What wasn’t helping was his mind, a jumbled, disorganized mess of what if’s and how come’s.
What had even happened? The last thing he remembered was walking to the grocery store and then…
The café.
Joshua’s expression dropped faster than the rock in his stomach, eyes widening. Was today yesterday? How long had he been unconscious? He made so many light-hearted promises the last time he was working at the café, agreeing to pre-ordered brews and many – too many – more.
He needed to get back.
Determination flowing through his veins and steeling his shaken mind, Joshua knew what he had to do. Searching the area usually helped in getting his bearings. Maybe he could find clues on just where he was, and then, if luck had decided to be on his side for once, he would be on his way home by the next few hours.
With a short glance around, he shuffled until one foot touched the rug. Apparently, the wrong thing to do. Joshua’s determination shriveled like a salted slug as a shrill screech came from behind what he assumed was the exit door, and he froze, heart pounding in his chest. The voice had been deep – too deep to be a woman. Joshua didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified.
Fingers curling into the soft – painfully soft – mattress covers, Joshua hesitantly sat back onto the bed and crossed his legs, willing the roaring of his chest, the nausea threatening to emerge, to settle down.
‘I could beat their face in’. Despite his ailments, Joshua huffed dryly, burying his burning face in his hands at the absurd suggestion he supplied himself with. He hasn’t been in a fight in years, to suddenly throw punches would obviously end in his face smashed in.
Though… even without the possibility of a brawl, he didn’t have much to go off.
Nibbling his lower lip, Joshua eased himself off the bed and searched.
The room was barren except the bed in the middle, the drawers, and the bathroom with only the bare minimum; there were no hints to where he could possibly be. His chest grew heavy with slowly building panic, and Joshua raked the room with his gaze three more times to be sure, clutching the fabric of his jeans with shaking hands. No luck.
And now he was back in his original position, cross legged on the bed, and thinking over the possibilities in his mind. In the probable hours he sat there, he came to a conclusion.
He went outside and dealt with whatever life threw at him. Not the most… thoughtful solution, but Joshua didn’t think he could handle any of the other conclusions he came up with.
Sneaking out through a window or something was bound to end up with him stumbling through streets or neighborhoods with quite literally – and Joshua said this after patting down his pockets and scouring through every possible place to store items – nothing in his possession. He couldn’t afford a bus or a hotel, and he most definitely could not afford a taxi. He’s broke, and if Joshua had been ten years back in this situation, he would’ve lost his mind right then and there.
But he’s not from ten years ago, used to getting whatever he wanted, no matter how simple, and having no worries about how he would get to or fro. He’s… him. The Joshua who knew how to ride on commute transportation and set aside what he wanted to maintain a budget.
A new man unearthed from the consequences of a failed suicide.
Mind made up, Joshua carefully pushed up from the mattress and shook out his tense body. It didn’t do much in the way of relaxing him. Nothing could, at this point.
Joshua glanced at the door. If his intuition was right, which it usually was, no one should be outside right now. He hadn’t heard any footsteps for a while. Summoning what he knew was much needed courage, Joshua gingerly approached the door and turned the knob, pushing it slightly and watching with an eagle’s gaze as it creaked to the side.
A hallway.
Joshua hummed to himself and, after a quick look at both ends, deemed the area safe enough to tread. He left the door behind him slightly ajar, just in case anything unfavorable happened, and caught a glimpse of an open threshold further down the hall, ears straining for any sort of noise.
Thud thud thud thud.
…Footsteps.
Joshua tried. He really did. He yanked the door back open with speed he never knew he possessed and got one foot through the threshold, but his efforts were for naught.
“Chan! Save me!” An unfamiliar voice screamed, the sound horrifying for Joshua’s frightened, high-strung mind, and accompanied with a heavy body leaping onto his back, the entirety of it all was enough for Joshua to crash to the ground and receive a face full of wood. His fright was overcome with a groan as his sore body throbbed, turning his squished face to the side.
“Jun, come back here! This isn’t finished!”
The weight lifted off and despite being able to move, Joshua laid there and breathed. Truly, fully, breathed. He’s not dead. No one had stabbed him yet or cracked his skull against the floor. Oh gosh.
Maybe he shouldn’t deal with whatever life had to throw at him.
“Wait, I don’t think this is Chan though—” A deep, playful voice sounded in his ear and Joshua would have enjoyed listening to such a voice, if it weren’t for the fact the owner of that voice nearly crushed him flat enough to be part of the ground and terror was flooding his veins.
He tried to shift around. Move his limbs. Run into the room that was quite literally right in front of him. And then his body ached with vengeance, and Joshua settled down.
“Of course not, he crumbled to the ground before you even jumped. It’s probably Seungkwan.” A softer voice huffed, sarcasm dripping like honey from his similarly accented voice, and before Joshua knew it, hands reached under his arms and hauled him upward, forcing him to come face to face with a foreign-appearing, lanky man with silky dark brown hair that threatened to brush against his own tussled mop from how close they were.
“Dramatic as ever Bo—” The man paused, intense gaze drilling into his. Joshua blinked back, unsure if he should be the one giving an explanation. After a moment, a second, equally charming face peeked over his shoulder to get a good look, his thick brows furrowed with confusion.
Joshua opened his mouth, even though he had no idea what he could say in the moment, and then the start of his scuffed explanation was cut off when the shorter male swiftly seized his arms and twisted it behind his back. His face kissed the floor once again, and Joshua couldn’t hold in the small hiss that escaped him, features twisting in pain.
“Get Seungcheol!” Somebody had fled down the hallway in a hurry while Joshua tried to wriggle out of the grasp, fear spiking his heartbeat and gripping his chest.
“Let me go—!” Something hard – most definitely an elbow – dug into the tender flesh between his shoulders, and he bit down a cry and blinked back tears, his back searing in protest.
“What happened?” A voice came from further away; low and heavily, heavily concerned.
“Jun was doing something stupid, and he jumped on this guy while we were— uh… he thought it was Chan and I was thinking Seungkwan, but as you can see, he’s neither.” The person on top of him tugged at his arms, making him take a sharp inhale. Chan? Seungkwan? How many people were there in this place?
“Oh.” The low voice said flatly, and then, with a hint of urgency and a lot of revelation, “Wait—”
A profanity slipped into the air, and then the hands on Joshua’s arms tugged him to his feet, forcing him to have sudden eye contact with the mentioned Seungcheol.
He looked… like he had just kicked the grave of his ancestors. His hands hover uncertainly in front of him as if he’s afraid of doing something wrong, and his heavy-lidded eyes scanned up and down, a stiffness to his expression.
“Myungho-ah, let him go. He’s… the new guy.”
“The new guy? Since when were we getting a new guy?”
“Just let him go, okay?”
Joshua stumbled forward a bit once his arms were released, gaze bouncing from Seungcheol to the other two men as he pressed his back against the wall. New guy? What was considered a new guy here? Joshua didn’t remember signing up to anything that could’ve entailed this. He would’ve remembered if he had, right?
Seungcheol looked back at him, watching him a bit too intensely from his face – which must reflect the uncertainty and fear Joshua felt deep inside – to the sore arms he had cradled to his body, and the urge to curl into himself strengthened.
“Myungho… you really shouldn’t attack everyone you see. You almost put Soonyoung in a coma for sneaking in through the window.”
“In my defense, he had it coming. Who sneaks into their own house?” The one who had pinned him to the ground – Myungho – mumbled and stalked away. Seungcheol murmured something under his breath before sliding his attention to Joshua.
His scrutiny burned into Joshua’s being like he was being appraised or – possibly worse – considered for some fate. Thick-set brows ticked downward the longer the silence drew on, lengthening the time Joshua’s mind spent racing.
Joshua side-stepped into the room he woke in.
Seungcheol snapped out of whatever daze he had been in, and his hand flew out to grip Joshua’s forearm, putting a pause to his attempt at an escape. Even though Joshua had felt worser holds, the suddenness of it had his heart leaping out of his chest.
“Sorry, I—” Seungcheol started, his gaze wandering before slowly returning to Joshua, “I know this will be confusing, but, I’m… we’re not here to hurt you. It’s—everything’s really complicated. I’ll explain in the morning, I promise, but right now, you should get some more sleep.”
“…I’m staying here?”
“This… probably isn’t what you’re expecting, but yeah, you have to stay here… for a while.”
“Why?” was the only thing Joshua could think of asking, even if he had been told mere seconds ago that everything would be explained in due time. He had questions – so, so many questions. Where was he? Why had he been taken here? How was he supposed to get home?
What about the café?
The silence between them drew out. The desperation in Joshua’s heart seeped into his expression, and after a moment, Seungcheol winced with a look of unease, his hold on your forearm loosening but not quite letting go. “Tomorrow. I’ll explain as much as I can tomorrow.”
“Wait… but—” Joshua started, voice growing frantic.
“Tomorrow.” Seungcheol repeated, but it seemed more like a reassurance for himself than Joshua, and with that, a hand on his chest pushed Joshua back into the room, the door shutting closed. A click sounded.
Joshua couldn’t open the door. For the first time in a while, he cried on the floor, back against the door, body curled despairingly into itself.