MVV | YG [✔]

01. Beomgyu

8 months later

Cheongdam High was cast under a veil of darkness. Rows of cracked bricks were stacked one on top of the other, lined with moss and littered with leaves. Rain pummeled the curved edges of the building, tearing sections of old paint off the window sills. Its peak was concealed by shadows, protected by the thick morning air. Between its angled walls sat a two-hundred-year-old clock that never stopped singing. The ominous noise was buried in the sounds of the storm, camouflaged by taps of rain and the whistles the wind made.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

The heavy sound was near palpable—enticing in a way that made it Cheongdam High's very own siren song. The slow melody the clock sang charmed teachers into aisles of isolation. It lured students into tunnels of somber hallways and silent classrooms.

It promised life... but only ever managed to tie us all to death.

Fragments of cobblestone shifted beneath my feet as I walked. Rain curled around the edges of the hood I wore, pooling in the tops of my eyebrows before racing down the sharp angles of my cheeks. My knuckles popped when I curled my fingers into my palms and shoved my fists deep into my front pockets.

The hairs across my neck rose to attention when a violent rush of students flew past me. They dodged dimly lit puddles with curses leaving their lips. Some had textbooks clutched to their chest while others held soggy cups of coffee. Their urgency seemed to syncopate with the sounds of the clock, and it felt a little louder with each step I took.

Tick. Tock.

Old, iron gates separated Cheongdam High from the rest of the Busan population. They stretched far above my head, their chiseled tips disappearing into the fog. My shoulders rolled forward as I moved past them, my bones heavier and tongue thicker. Memories of my past assaulted me in waves of nausea, and the reason I was back here seemed to slap me square across the face.

There was nowhere else to go.

Two rust covered gargoyles flanked either side of the double doors, their wings wide open and mouths frozen in a scowl. Their presence felt a lot like a premonition, and I wondered often if their front and center position was purposeful—some sort of subtle yet twisted metaphor for slow torture.

My exhale was heavy as I climbed the steps of the building and crossed the threshold. Chin low, I kept my hood in place as I put one foot in front of the other. The walls felt more narrow than they did the year before, and though heat was now blasting me from all directions, my goosebumps were as prominent as ever.

The inner workings of Cheongdam High was a lot like a puzzle box. The intricate web of walls were woven together without purpose and one had to work their way through one tangle before they could move on to the next. It was something of a nightmare for anyone who visited us but those of us who grew up here knew the secrets these walls kept.

Some were hundreds of years old, whispered and hidden long before we ever made this space ours... and some were more recent.

Some were mine.

My fingers crawled across the wall's harsh edges, dipping in and out of divots as I walked. The sconces lighting my path were more dull than bright, flickering every so often. Their design felt too intricate for this place, too beautiful—their artistry a keepsake of the church that was here first.

Wooden boards creaked against the bottom of my sneakers, and one by one, I felt the heat of a dozen stares crawling up the base of my spine. Uncertain whispers and hushed conversations vibrated the insides of my ears. The unwanted attention made my stomach curl, but I understood their curiosity.