Hearts of the Wasteland

Chats and Chase

They finally found a safe hideout after hours of silent searching. The building was tall, a towering business structure, its upper floors offering refuge from the wandering undead below. But the quiet between them had been more suffocating than the weight of their steps, the pain of what Wooyoung had just witnessed hanging thick in the air. San glanced over at him—Wooyoung hadn't said more than ten words since leaving the mall, and for someone as chatty as him, the silence was deafening. The grief was written all over his face, a sorrow so deep it had silenced even his usual attempts to lighten the mood.

But San wasn't doing much better.

The silence had given him too much time to think.

And San and silence weren't a good mix.

His mind churned with thoughts he wasn't prepared to confront, the stillness around them amplifying every doubt, every crack in the walls he had carefully built around himself. How had he let his guard down so easily? How had he let Wooyoung slip past the barriers he had sworn to maintain, especially in a world like this? He'd spent years surviving on his own, avoiding connections at all costs. Attachments were dangerous—he'd promised himself that much. In this apocalypse, friendships weren't just luxuries; they were liabilities.

But here he was.

Following Wooyoung, sticking by him, unconsciously gravitating toward his warmth instead of going his own way like he always had. It was strange, unsettling even, the way Wooyoung had slipped into his life. And now, after seeing Wooyoung fall apart in the face of his friend's zombified corpse, the reality of their world hit San harder than ever before.

One day, it could be him. One day, San might be the one staring at an undead Wooyoung.

Would he be able to pull the trigger?

The thought lingered, haunting him in the quietness of the room they were sitting in. He clenched his fists at his sides, trying to shake the image from his mind, but it refused to leave. Wooyoung, the one person who had managed to wedge himself into San's heart, turned into a mindless, decaying shell of the man he was now. Would San be able to take that shot? The answer eluded him, and the uncertainty gnawed at his insides.

San's thoughts spiraled, pulling him deeper into that pit of dread until a small, sudden weight on his lap jolted him back to reality.

He blinked, startled, looking down to see Wooyoung's head resting there. The other man had silently shifted, settling into San's lap without a word, his eyes closed and his body curling slightly as if seeking comfort. San's breath hitched, the intimacy of the moment catching him off guard. He had no idea how long Wooyoung had been in that position, but the vulnerability of it struck him.

"I can't believe he's gone," Wooyoung whispered, his voice barely audible, a broken echo of the man who had once filled every silence with laughter.

San looked down, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of Wooyoung lying there, so exposed and raw. It was such a contrast to the upbeat, carefree attitude he usually exuded. But in this moment, Wooyoung was fragile, carrying the weight of his loss with a kind of quiet devastation that made San's chest tighten.

There was a long pause, the kind that settled deep into their bones. San closed his eyes briefly, leaning his head back against the cold wall, trying to find words that wouldn't feel hollow. "Tell me about him."

Wooyoung stirred slightly, his brow furrowing. "What?"

"Changbin," San said softly. "What was he like?"

For a moment, Wooyoung was silent, as if the question itself had brought back memories he wasn't ready to confront. But then, a small, sad smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Oh... Changbin... He could be blunt, sometimes harsh, but he cared more than he ever let on. Especially about the ones who hadn't completely lost their souls in that gang."