Dancing In the Rain

Prologue

His wet clothes clung to his body as if it was a second layer of skin. His umbrella that was sheltering him from the harsh rain was long gone, abandoned at the cemetery. The rain made it difficult to keep his eyes open, but he had to. His breath was just a white cloud of nothingness in the nighttime air. His body was trembling in the cold, but he couldn't feel anything; for he, himself, have become so numb that he wishes to feel something. Even if it were to be pain.

His focus was set on the two bright lights speeding toward him. He sucked in one more breathe and held it. He finally gave into the hardships of the rain and closed his eyes, stepping out into the middle of the street. He waited for the impact. The pain. The feeling of something. The impact came, but it wasn't the feeling of being thrown and your head cracking against the harsh pavement, but the feeling of being pushed onto the ground. He slid across the sidewalk, hissing in pain. He felt something, but he was also still alive. The car zoomed past the two bodies laying on the floor, blaring its horn. The driver yelling colorful words at the two.

"What the actual fuck were you thinking," screamed a voice not to far away, panting. "Y-your stupid ass almost got fucking hit!"

The voice was still yelling at him, getting louder as the person got closer. He still had his eyes close, letting the rain just wash over him. He wished he could drown in it. Just let the water fill his mouth and nose and breathe in. He lifted his hand and covered his eyes. He finally opened them. He saw a figure dress in some of the most brightest clothes he's ever seen, standing over him. The figure bent down and stared into his eyes. The strangers eyes held anger, but also confusion. Sadness. Pity.

"Wuh--," he started but was interrupted by a coughing fit. "Why? Why would you save me if I'm just a stranger to you and you're just a stranger to me?"

The stranger looked at him as if he's gone mad. "Why wouldn't I save you? You literally almost died! I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I saw you kill yourself and I knew I could have done something about it--"

The stranger stopped talking. Their lips fell into a straight line and their eyebrows creased in concentration . They cocked their head to right as if they were thinking. After a few moments, their face went blank and they stood up straight. They stared down at him, "Get up. We're heading back to my place. There, you can take a shower and get some fresh clothes."

He stayed on the floor for just a few more seconds before getting up and following the man who saved him. He was so confused.

He was limping and the pain shot through his body every step he took. The man looked behind them to see him struggling to keep his balance. The stranger turned around and helped him all the way to his apartment.

Once the stranger and himself got there, the stranger helped him strip and clean himself up. "I'll go get you some new clothes," the stranger had mumbled before getting up.

The kind stranger left the bathroom, leaving him in silence. He thought about all the events that had led up to this very moment. He stood in the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around his waist. He could see the bruises forming on his upper abdomen and the scrapes lining his cheeks and hands. He lifted his hand and outlined a bruise on his forehead. His vision became blurry as he fought back the tears. He almost choked on his spit and he tried to control himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He and the man who saved him were seated on the couch with mugs full of hot chocolate. The steam was warming his face while the cup was warming his ice cold palms. They sat in silence until he decided to speak up, "Why did you become so harsh all of a sudden back there? I mean, you were still kind enough to take me in and help me, but I could sense your drastic mood change."

The other man just stared blankly at the wall.

He sighed. "I'm sorry, really. I shouldn't have done that. I just. . .I wanted to feel something, you know? It's been so long since I've been able to feel anything and I have been through so much my whole life and I just though everyone would be better off without--"

"Stop," the stranger demanded. He lead forward, setting the mug that was still full of dark brown liquid down. "Just. . .stop."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. After a few moments of sitting in silence, he decided to speak up. "What's your name? I just realized that I never asked."

The stranger gave him a short sideways glance, immediately turning back to face the wall. "Namjoon. Kim Namjoon."

"Oh, well, thank you, Mr. Kim Namjoon for saving me. I'm Hoseok. Jung Hoseok." He stuck out his hand for a handshake. It wasn't returned.