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The world flares up — but in an entirely different way than it did twenty years ago: instead of fire licking at life, buildings falling down and humanity shattering into a million pieces, Seokwoo sees everything becoming whole again; houses and apartments rising once more, the sun shining on a horizon that belongs to him once again — and his kind, his brethren, finally emerging from the metro, and taking back the seat they have been gifted at the top of the world. It's a new dawn: the sun in the sky reaches out to him and tenderly strokes his cheek with its orange, pink hues. There, it says, everything is fine once again.
'Hey, hey. Hey! Is it better now? How d'you hear me now?'
'Fine,' Seokwoo breathes out.
He can't quite believe it yet, can't quite come to terms with the fact that there's a breathing, living being at the end of the line — someone human, just like him, someone who survived.
Someone who survived well: his tone is laid-back, and in no hurry like Seokwoo. The man at the end of line speaks clearly, and slowly, with far less excitement than Seokwoo — perhaps he is familiar with survivors, with life existing out of his cocoon. But he is gentle, communicates with Seokwoo as best as he can, goes as far as to instill hope and trust in his weak, weak heart.
'Could you really?' Seokwoo asks after the man at the end of the line says his people could send a few tanks, a few trucks, a few buses down the metro's way to pick everyone up, to give everyone shelter. 'Can you- you can do that?'
His interlocutor laughs, a high-pitched, delighted laugh, as if he's never been asked this before, as if he's never encountered doubt in his entire life.
'Of course we can!' he says. 'What do you think I'm here for? You're not my first, buddy.'
Seokwoo blushes; stutters, apologises and clears his throat — doesn't know how to react — he has met a gigantic amount of people in the metro, has spent almost his entire life there. Yet this man at the end of the line is like no other, makes it seem like every interaction Seokwoo has ever been a part of was only a fragment of what society is, a mock exam resembling in no way the actual test. Freedom — it seems it makes everything different.
'When can we ring your bell, my lad? If we send a convoy tomorrow, it might just reach you Wednesday. How's that sound?'
'That… that sounds perfect,' Seokwoo replies, almost immediately. He laughs, can't believe his ears — was it really this easy? All this time? Was it always there, nearby, just begging to be noticed? 'You're not kidding, are you?'
'Of course not!' the man exclaims, a little too loud — offended. 'You really have a hard time with the whole trust thing, don't you? I'm saying the truth, the whole truth! I just have to tell my colonel about this thing, and then she'll probably send help. No joke in there! Mama raised a truther. Got it?'
It's hard for Seokwoo — to believe it, to get his hopes up once again, to prepare the ground for a potential heartbreak. It's incredibly easy.
'Got it.'
'Great! Stay put, my guy. I'll be right back.'
'Wait!'
'What is it? An important confession to make before I tell my boss about you all? The fact that you eat human corpses, perhaps? Or maybe is it you're actually a talking horse, because the radiations are that bad where you are?'
'I… none of that. I…'
Seokwoo hesitates. Doesn't know how to express himself — how to express the fear coursing through his veins, the anxiety that is starting to seize his heart. How can he word himself, in a way that would make sense to his interlocutor, a man who has probably been free for months, even perhaps for years? How can he make sense — him, little boy of the station 145, whose last memory of an actual day spent outside goes back to when he was a child?
'Well, spit it out, my guy. I don't have all day.' A pause. 'And I imagine you don't either.'
Indeed — Seokwoo looks at his watch, at Medusa downstairs, guarding the tower, holding herself like a wolf, like Cerberus itself. Indeed.
'I just- I- do you really have to leave?'
Something — a crack at the end of the line; static. Then a laughter — brief, much more discreet than the first one. Gentle, warm, almost fond.
'How do you want me to tell my boss if I'm talking with you? She's not standing right next to me, you know. She has business to attend, here and there. I have to call her.'
'Right,' Seokwoo replies — meant to only think it, but he sustains momentum. 'Right, sorry. That was stupid of me. Sorry.'
'It's fine. It's good. Here too, you're not my first.' A pause. 'Though that's not how my many firsts worded it. You lonely?'
Seokwoo weighs pros and cons — thinks if he's gotten that far with this man, then certainly it won't change a single thing to let one of the cracks of his heart spill what it contains.
'Yeah,' he whispers. 'A little bit. Mostly hopeless. A little too hopeful. I didn't think… I can't really believe this is real.'
'That bad, huh?' A pause. The world playing with the line, then letting it go. 'Well, this is very real. Can you hang in there? Five minutes, while I talk to my colonel. Then I'll be right back. And we can chat and chat and chat until the end of my shift. That's in two hours, by the way.'
'Thought you didn't have all day.'
'Same goes to you, Mister I-killed-all-the-guards-here-to-be-able-to-contact-you. You really should not be asking for me to stay.'
Seokwoo opens his mouth, closes it — starts to stutter that that's not it, that's not it At All.
'Whatever,' the man at the end of the line chuckles. 'What did you say your name was? My colonel's gonna need it.'
'Seokwoo. Kim Seokwoo.'
'Nice. Alright, Kim Seokwoo. See you, alright? Well- hear you soon.'
There's a rustle — Seokwoo can sense his interlocutor preparing to change lines, to abandon him for a few minutes.
'Hang on.'
The man sighs. Stops what he was going to do anyway.
'What? Kim Seokwoo, you're starting to step on the line!'
'Your name,' Seokwoo says. 'What's your name? You have mine — but what's yours?'
At station 126, the answer would be what's it to you? At the Desreves station, it would be fuck you — simple, aggressive, effective. That's the kind of answer Seokwoo expects.
But once again — perhaps freedom changes man.
'Lee Sanghyuk,' the man articulates at the end of the line.
'Lee Sanghyuk,' Seokwoo repeats, twice, to get the hang of it, to convince himself this is very real, very much not a dream. 'Alright. thanks. Lee Sanghyuk…'
There's a chuckle at the end of the line, and Sanghyuk mutters a comment that Seokwoo half-catches, don't something something my name like that — you'll be something something another list of firsts. Seokwoo, cheeks red, burning, feels like he gets the gist anyway.
'Well,' he says, clearing his throat.
'Yes,' Sanghyuk replies, clearly not embarrassed, clearly not caring, just like at the beginning of the call. 'I'll be right back. You wait for me, alright?'
'Of course.'
'Great.' A rustle, distance between them — but this time Seokwoo is ready for it: he simply closes his eyes, and hopes for the best. 'Hear you soon, lonely boy.'