It Follows {Book One}

13

Wednesday, August 15
16 days

•Yukhei•

Yukhei groaned in frustration.

A few days ago, he had taken Jungwoo out. It wasn't much, just a drive. Still, it seemed to do some good, because near the end, Jungwoo had insisted that Yukhei kept the windows rolled down even in the pouring rain, because whoever was left might want to hear the music too. So Yukhei grinned, and turned the volume up as high as it could go without it causing them pain.

Ten had let Yukehi borrow* one of the trucks he kept parked behind the store.

**(Was it really even necessary for him to ask? Ten had stolen it anyways. Or maybe it was Mark? Either way, Mark was involved. Whether it was his idea, Yukhei didn't know, nor did he care.)

Today, Yukhei woke up alone. He had fallen asleep on one of the mattresses that he had dragged into one of the grocery aisles, because he liked the cold, and so did Jungwoo. Jungwoo eventually joined him. He had been talking with Kun most of the day and far into the night. Yukhei didn't have any interest in it though. It was probably boring. But when he woke up, Jungwoo was no longer at his side.

"Have you guys seen Jungwoo?" Yukhei asked, after he had wandered around the store, going up and down every aisle about three times.

"Not since he told me he hated you and that you make him want to throw up every time he's sees you."

"Shut up, Jaemin."

Jaemin shrugged. Yukhei was surprised that he was even awake. He looked terrible—his skin was pale, bruising on his neck and arms from when he'd they aren't while trying to get air. But for the moment, he seemed okay. Despite looking disturbingly frail, he still had a mischievous grin that gave Yukhei the sudden urge to glance over his shoulder. "I can't."

"He's probably off reading that book that he always has."

"1984? The book he's read twelve times and still doesn't know anything about?"

"He's distracted, Yukhei," Kun said as he pushed Jisung's hair back from his forehead. The heat had risen exceptionally high within the past week. He'd say it was a new world record, but who's keeping track anymore? Jisung's hair was dripping wet, and he slept on the concrete floor. The floor was warm, but still much cooler than anywhere else. Other than the aisles where the alcohol and other beverages we're kept but that was all the way across the store and Jisung probably wouldn't be able to make it over there anyways. "You can't blame him."

"I know that."

The blanket he usually held in his arms was cast aside for the first time in . . . well, as long as Yukhei had known him.

Donghyuck was sat with his legs crossed, leaning back against a shelf that was full of scented candles. Mark was laying on the concrete floor as well, but he had his head in Donghyuck's lap. Donghyuck ran his fingers through Mark's hair, pushing it back away from his face, the same way Kun had been doing to Jisung. Only Mark wasn't alseep.

He had lost a lot of weight, to the point where if it wasn't the end of the world, Yukhei would be scared for him. But they were all going to die. So he didn't bother saying anything.

It wasn't that Mark wasn't eating, because he was. He just couldn't keep anything down. At this point, Mark was living off water and tiny bits of frozen bagels. Nobody wanted to thaw them out because the freezer was the only thing keeping them from going bad.

Yukhei sighed and started to walk around the store again, every so often calling out Jungwoo's name. There was no response, which was starting to worry him. It had been over an hour, and nobody knew where he was.

He thought about all the awful things that could've happened to him. Maybe he suffocated like Taeil did. Maybe he was killed by one of the gangs that thought "lol no cops, let's shoot stuff", and decided that Jungwoo would work nicely for target practice. 

He kept thinking of scenarios like that, until he remembered that Jungwoo had planned on going the the library across the street to get new books, because he was sick of reading the same one over and over again. Even though he didnt remembered any of it.

Yukhei smiled to himself. He had gotten himself worked up over nothing. Jungwoo was fine, and he'd be back soon. Yukhei was about to turn around and head back to find Doyoung, to see if he wanted to walk to the library with him to get Jungwoo, when he felt something touch his leg.

He jumped and looked down. "Hey—wait . . ."

Jungwoo's fingers gripped tightly at his pant leg, tugging at it in an attempt to pull Yukhei down to him. He was curled up on the floor, his face bright red and contorted. Veins bulged around his forehead and his neck.

"Jungwoo, I was looking for you," Yukhei said as he knelt down, his voice suddenly barely above a whisper. "Why didn't you call for one of us?"

"I—" Jungwoo's voice was interrupted by a loud, wet sounding cough. It smelled of metal. Red began dripping from the corner of his lip, and into a small puddle on the floor. "I tried."

"Can you stand up?"

Jungwoo gave him a look that said, 'right, I hadn't thought of that. Silly me, I didn't have to lay here for the past hour'.

"Right," Yukehi mumbled, standing up straight. "Sorry. I'll be right back. Johnny will probably want to put you with the others."

Put all the dying together. Yukhei didn't like that. It made everything so much more depressing. He liked to stay away from that area as much as possible, and he had already spent too much time in there in the last few hours than he wanted to for the next two and a half weeks. He felt guilty about it though. They were his friends, and he didn't even want to see them. Not unless they were healthy and back to their old selves.

Yukhei wished they would've just dropped dead like Taeil did.

He was lucky. He didn't suffer as long as the others.

Yukhei didn't know what he would do now, Jungwoo was going to be in there. He supposed it didn't matter now, whether he liked it or not, he'd be spending all of his time around them.

Yukhei wished it had been the other way around. That it was him on the ground, coughing up blood.

Then he could get it all over with, instead of having this cloud of dread hanging over him.