Mechanosis

구름 (cloud)

구름

cloud

The future looked different through a cracked glass pane. Only two people in the entirety of Gyeongseong Station knew there was a crack on the inside pane of the seven metre clock face that adorned the iconic tower, and Hongjoong was one of them.

He spent most nights alone with a view of the city far below, twinkling lights almost seeming magical through the blanket of haze that coated everything east of Incheon. And most nights, he knew better than to dream.

The past, too, had a strange new colour streaked across it, and the filter of glass clock face windows, like thin hanji mulberry paper, revealed things Hongjoong hadn't seen five years ago. Things he couldn't have known.

Accompanied by the constant whirring and clicking of gears, he watched rain trail down the glass with his single working eye, following a drop and tracing it with his finger until it slid off the clock face and out of view.

He had put his tinkering away an hour ago, but too many things were keeping him awake. The constant thoughts, plans, and anxiety. The rain. San's coughing.

The pair of them worked sunrise to sunset in the Namsan metal factory every day, retreating for the night to their secret hideaway in the clock tower, and these late hours were the only moments he could steal for himself.

If Hongjoong turned to look out the eastern facing windows in the tower, he'd see the factory there; carved into the side of the mountain and constantly belching a steady stream of smoke into the surrounding forest.

It was good money— as good as pay could be these days— but it was also the culprit of San's cough. Both of them knew it.

For now, it was mercifully raining. In a matter of weeks, it would be snowing. And when the snows came, their days would be difficult again. San always grew sicker when winter arrived.

Five years ago, Hongjoong would've looked forward to the snow, and the way it gathered on bare tree branches outside in his courtyard in perfect little snow walls that stood upright until he ran a mittened hand across their surface and knocked them down. Now, the snow should be a gift— freedom from the curse of ash that had befallen Hanseong— but all it did was signal the upcoming darkness and the increased chance of death.

He closed his eyes, the burned right one with more difficulty, and inhaled deeply before his thoughts could spiral, pulling his legs close to his chest. The bottom edges of each pant leg of his baji were fraying, so he picked at them mindlessly and waited for exhaustion to set in.

A mumble sounded from the direction of the sleeping mats, set in the middle of the uppermost terrace with the best view below to catch any intruder who should attempt to sneak up the stairs.

San's sleep-talking no doubt.

"Come to bed."

Hongjoong turned his head to the left to see him. So, the younger man was coherent after all.

He was sitting up with the blanket draped over him, hair ruffled from tossing and turning.

Hongjoong hesitated and it brought a childish pout to San's face.

"Please? I want to snuggle."

Watching him bat his eyelashes, Hongjoong would never have guessed San had spent nearly all of his nineteen years growing up on the streets, wondering where the next meal would come from and inventing creative ways to get by on his own.

Even around a complete stranger, his softness and innocence had always remained.

Hongjoong remembered the day he met him, on a rainy night at Mount Inwang when he opened his single eye to see the ceiling of a shrine room.