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The room they’re in is dusty and suffocating, more so because of its new occupants. Nam-Ra distinctively notes that the lights flicker sometimes, that they still don’t have any food (eat them, eat them, eat them, eat them, eat them, eat them, you want to eat them, don’t you? No, I don't) , that the only sounds that can be heard are the guttural noises from beyond the door and the harsh pants in the room. That they left the solace of the rooftop to get trapped in a box (a cage).
There is a soft patter of footsteps. Nam-Ra looks behind her to see Dae-Su hesitantly approaching Cheong-San who’s barely standing up, eyes blown wide while staring at the floor. On-Jo is at his side, and Su-Hyeok stands up from the door to join Dae-Su’s side.
“Hey, Cheong-San… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was your mom,” Hesitation. “I’m sorry,”
Cheong-San collapses.
Su-Hyeok and On-Jo join him on the ground while Dae-Su hesitantly leaves to join Joon-Yeong. Nam-Ra doesn’t see much, but she hears Cheong-San’s small whimper before he starts crying; deep breaths and shaky exhales like he’s trying to keep quiet.
Nam-Ra would be lying if she said it didn’t break her (half-dead, barely-even-beats) heart a little.
One of the two girls who joined them is yelling unintelligibly since entering the room. (Later, Nam-Ra will find out her name is Mi-Jin.) She joins Cheong-San. But while Cheong-San’s cries sound like silent despondency, hers are a reverberating disbelief. Nam-Ra remembers her crying out for someone while they were dragging her in the storage room. Someone is being eaten outside as a price for their safety.
This is why Nam-Ra hates sacrifices.
(“What is this?” Says the woman in front of her. Nam-Ra was studying in her room, sitting at her desk when her mom barged into her safe space like an animal out for blood, waving a crumpling piece of paper in front of her.
“What?” Nam-Ra exclaims, eyes widening, heart racing.
“This,” Her mother slams the piece of paper on her desk. It’s a test paper; the mark above shows 97%.
Nam-Ra flinches.
“This,” Her mother reiterates while pointing at the red numbers, “is unacceptable,”
Nam-Ra stays silent. She knows better than to speak without being asked to or given permission to now.
“Did I not tell you to always at least score 98% and above?” A harsh exhale. “Do you know that you're not first in class anymore because of this? That–Joon-Young boy got first because he–miraculously–got a 99%!"
"Do you not know how embarrassing this is?!"
A disappointed sigh.
"Why?"
"W-what?"
"Why did you let your grades fall? Did you do something silly instead of studying like you were supposed to? Again? Is this one of your–rebellious phases?"
Nam-Ra bites her lip hard.
"N-no!” Her mother raises an eyebrow at the volume of her voice, and Nam-Ra forces her voice to steady itself as she continues. “I-I just, it was-it was late already b-because I just finished three projects t-the night before the e-exam. I went to s-sleep, and decided to s-study at school i-instead,"
Crack.
Nam-Ra hardly gives the pain on her left cheek a thought, listening to her mother’s lecture instead.
“You’re telling me you slacked off on your studies to what? Fucking sleep?! This is why you’ll never succeed in life–you don't know how to fucking sacrifice!”)
(Nam-Ra wishes to eat her mother right now. To bite into the flesh of her jugular and pull back. Chew it. Drink the blood. Eat it because she’s hungry, she’s hungry, she’s hungry, she’s hungry, she’s hungry, she’s hungry , she’s hungr–)
Hyo-Ryeong thanks her with a delicate smile at risk of falling off her face (and Nam-Ra still can’t believe Ji-Min left the girl to save her own skin) before she leaves her to join Dae-Su and Joon-Yeong.
After what feels like an hour later, the girl finally stops sobbing. A quick look by the door shows her that she’s finally fallen asleep, her head laying on another girl’s lap, the latter carding a hand through the former’s hair as what must feel like a soothing and grounding gesture. The action looks intimate to Nam-Ra, especially as the other girl looks down at the girl on her lap with a frankly weird mix of melancholy and warmth in her gaze, but that’s none of Nam-Ra’s business.
Her friends (and holy shit, she actually has friends now) start falling asleep now that the room has finally quietened. Cheong-San is still crying but everyone is mostly ignoring him. Either out of pity or because they’ve gotten used to the pulls in their hearts whenever Cheong-San lets out a hushed sob, Nam-Ra doesn’t know. Nam-Ra joins them, falling into slumber almost immediately.
The next time Nam-Ra opens her eyes, the room is bright from the sun peeking through the window in the room and there is a warm weight leaning over her shoulder. When Nam-Ra looks to her right to find out what it is, she gets a cluster of hair in her mouth and a very cute On-Jo sleeping on her shoulder.
Okay.
Nam-Ra can do this. It’s not like her crush is sleeping on her shoulder right now (which is a fucking lie, by the way). Nam-Ra thought her heart would forever beat 1 beat per 4-5 seconds. But now it’s beating like–a normal person's, which is really the equivalent of her heart racing for her half-zombified heart. Nam-Ra’s throat has closed up so instead of calling out to the girl on her shoulder, she reaches out her left hand and pokes her index finger on On-Jo’s cheek.
On-Jo does not stir.
Nam-Ra does this again and again for almost a minute before she stops, letting a finger rest on the soft cheek beneath it.
On-Jo does not stir.
She adds a finger.
On-Jo does not stir.
She adds another.
On-Jo does not stir.
Another one.
Nothing.
She adds her thumb and pushes her palm up to cup On-Jo’s cheeks.
Still nothing.
Nam-Ra stills because what does she do now?
In a moment of zero-self-preservation, Nam-Ra moves her thumb up then down smooth, soft skin.
On-Jo does not stir.
After a bit of hesitation, Nam-Ra does this again. When there is no movement underneath her hand, Nam-Ra moves her hand up a bit until she is touching the bridge of On-Jo’s nose. She traces it, her thumb traveling from the very top down to the apex.
On-Jo does not stir.
Nam-Ra goes back to cupping On-Jo’s cheeks, the thumb brushing the apple of her cheeks barely even a ghost of a touch. Nam-Ra sighs almost (read: unmistakably) wistfully while staring at On-Jo’s closed eyes. It’s almost too easy to imagine what On-Jo would look like if her eyes were open, staring into Nam-Ra’s. But she doesn’t because that just might give her a heart attack. (Is she even capable of a heart attack?)
On-Jo does not stir.
Until she does.
Nam-Ra retracts her hand from On-Jo’s face almost immediately, tucking her left hand under her thigh before On-Jo’s eyelids even start fluttering open.
Nam-Ra stares in front of her, trying desperately to avoid looking at On-Jo’s adorable actions while sitting upright, which consists of yawning like a cute cat and rubbing her eyes with a small fist and a barely-noticeable pout.
“Good morning,” Nam-Ra hears beside her. She looks at On-Jo again who is giving her a soft (shy?) smile.
“Good morning,” Nam-Ra replies.
There is silence as they stare at each other.
Nam-Ra stares in front of her again, fiddling with the cuffs of her uniform.
“Um…”
Nam-Ra looks at her right. On-Jo has an awkward smile on her face. Nam-Ra studies her when she doesn't say anything.
"Yes?"
"I…" On-Jo starts. "N-nothing," She looks away from Nam-Ra. Nam-Ra tries to ignore the disappointment that has settled at the pit of her stomach.
"What is it?" Nam-Ra says when the silence continues.
"Um,” On-Jo starts. “Were you…Were you holding my f-face when I was sleeping?”
Nam-Ra’s heart stutters in her chest. (Again, she absentmindedly wonders if that is even possible for her but–priorities.)
“I’m sorry,” Nam-Ra’s voice wavers, and damn it, she’s showing too much emotion. “I’ll never do it again. I know it was rude considering you were in a position unable to give consent,”
On-Jo’s eyes widen and she starts shaking her head while raising both her hands in front of her.
“Oh, no! No!” On-Jo clears her throat while lowering her hands. “It was–it was fine actually,” She fidgets with her fingers anxiously. “Can you–can you do it again?” She asks shyly.
Nam-Ra can fucking die happy, now. (Can Nam-Ra even die properly? Can she even fucking die in the first place?)
Nam-Ra tentatively lifts her left hand, putting it back on On-Jo’s right cheek. It fits perfectly. Like it was made for her. On-Jo leans into the touch provided and Nam-Ra’s chest swells with fondness at the action. Nam-Ra starts rubbing her thumb up and down soft skin once again, and it’s easy to get lost at the ministrations.
“Thank you,” On-Jo whispers, a gentle smile gracing her lips. Nam-Ra smiles at her in response.
They stay like that for a while before On-Jo speaks up again.
“Am I…” On-Jo hesitates. Nam-Ra raises an eyebrow as encouragement. “Do you think it’s selfish that I…that I feel sad because Cheong-San’s mom is d-dead now?”
Oh, Nam-Ra thinks.
“You’re allowed to grieve for her too,” Nam-Ra states. “You knew her, didn’t you?”
On-Jo nods.
“She was like a mother to me,” On-Jo’s voice cracks as she says it. Her eyes shine with unshed tears. Nam-Ra wipes them with her thumb before settling her hand back on On-Jo’s soft cheeks.
“No,” she corrects herself. “She was my mother,”
There is a moment where all Nam-Ra hears is a pair of beating hearts: One beating normally; hers, and one beating erratically; On-Jo’s. And then, a tear falls down On-Jo’s left eye, then her right, another comes out of the left again. On-Jo blinks and two steady tear tracks taint her face. Nam-Ra reaches out her other hand to cup the other side of On-Jo’s face. Nam-Ra wipes her face clean of any tears. On-Jo isn’t sobbing. She's just letting the quiet tears spill out of her pretty eyes, sniffling every now and then. Nam-Ra doesn’t know what to do. She’s never had anyone in her life except a mother that demands perfection and sacrifice (she ignores the phantom pain of her slaps and blows) and a father that reeks of alcohol and other women's perfumes (she ignores the shiver that went down her spine). So Nam-Ra stays quiet because that’s what she’s good at.
But On-Jo shouldn’t be quiet too. Because On-Jo is the laughter she hears every day in class whenever someone makes a ridiculous joke, she’s the squeal of delight whenever she gets a high score in an exam, she’s the bright smile whenever someone–anyone–talks to her. She is Nam On-Jo, the embodiment of the fucking sun.
So she lets her left hand slide to the back of On-Jo’s head. Nam-Ra pushes On-Jo’s head to her chest, then wraps both her arms around the smaller girl. On-Jo’s sobs burst out of her, and Nam-Ra tightens her hold on the girl, letting On-Jo muffle her sobs and get snot and tears in her chest.
Because Nam-Ra will be damned if she lets some shitty zombie apocalypse dim On-Jo’s light, even if she has to sacrifice her humanity to do so.