Joy is curling into herself with every word he says, guilt prying off happiness easily, sheds the initial excitement at finding someone like her. He wears his emotions on his face, and she can see his disapproval clear as day, even in the shoddy lighting of the alleyway. She shouldn’t be so affected by his disapproval, should have insulated herself better but already she finds herself softening.
He squeezes her hands, gentle, and she looks at him worriedly. What could possibly be so bad? “Everything,” she says without thinking, then closes her mouth immediately, snaps it shut so quickly she almost bites the inside of her cheek. “I didn’t fall sick because of you, I just… it’s just winter, not your fault, and I- what I do isn’t… it isn’t…” Isn’t unintentional? Something she’s got control over (and paradoxically is controlled by)? Joy doesn’t know how to express it in proper words, the ridiculous situation she’s found herself in with her abilities.
She settles on “a lot could go wrong,” and it doesn’t quite feel adequate. Everything and anything has gone wrong around her, whether she was aware of it or not, and she’s been aware more often than not.
The turnaround is unexpectedly fast, the sudden admission of selfishness dropped from out of the blue. “You’re not selfish,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s not, you know, being selfish. But I, if I was around people like, like us, that would be selfish. People get hurt. It’s not the same.”
More people get hurt when she’s around others like her, she knows that. It isn’t an equal sort of distribution, one that she can safely say is impartial or fair, and she knows she’s hurt far more people who have abilities than not. It’s safer for everyone for her to stay away, keep to herself the way she’s done for the past four years. Going to this place would only cause more pain for everyone and she knows she’s only bad for the place.
But she hesitates when he offers to nullify her ability. Does she want to? To lose the constant thrumming she’s lived with, the loud and quiet of anger that she’s had for so long — it doesn’t sound real, and even if it is. She doesn’t know if she wants that.
“I… maybe…” For all the pain her ability has ever caused her, she’s never thought about not having it. This isn’t the sort of thing she’d thought would ever happen, that she could just do away with it, but now the thought’s been planted. Could she? Could they do that? Would she want that?
Joy cracks a smile at his offer of a pinky swear. “You’re promising, so it better be good,” she says, relents a little on his offer. She’s not promising to go there, she reasons, just a promise to maybe, maybe try it. There is little she thinks Kangjoon’s foreign foundation can do for her, and she’s leaving the moment they confirm they can’t, but for now — she has the smallest of hopes possible.
Perhaps in an alternate universe, Kang Joon would have realised that Joy isn’t particularly comfortable with dwelling on this topic, what with her stunted actions and stuttered speech. But not only is he a recluse—which in and of itself makes it rather difficult to read social cues—but Kang Joon is also awfully excitable when he believes he’s finally found the answer to a difficult problem, and due to this, it is hard for him to pay much heed to the discomfort that seems to be written into her skin.
“It is my fault,” he cuts her off as he stresses through gritted teeth, his eyes fiery and very much deviating from the usual meekness he wears, “I don’t know how my power works, but I know this much. It sucks, but this is happening to you because of me. I know it like I know the back of my hand.”
She tries to tell him that they’re different, tries to tell him that the harm he does isn’t as drastic as the harm she does, and Kang Joon can only shake his head in disagreement. How could be possibly believe this, when all he had been hearing before was that they’re one and the same? And how much more harmful could she be to others, when he has been the catalyst of so many deaths? What could possibly be more harmful than murder? Albeit, it is all unintentional, but Kang Joon would argue that that is what makes it worse: it is so uncontrollable that neither he, nor anyone around him, can stop it. If it were a murderer, at least they would be able to detain the criminal and be done with it: but in contrast, Kang Joon would have killed the guards and everyone else who’s forced into his close proximity.
When she finally—finally—agrees to his solution, Kang Joon cannot help but beam with happiness and, dare he say, slight disbelief. Did he really help someone? For once in his life, he feels that he’s been more helpful than he is harmful, and in his disbelief, he asks, “w-wait. So you’ll come? To the foundation? To Daybreak?”
His gloved pinky tightens around hers as he confirms, “yes, yes, it’ll be good,” and somewhere within the depths of his mind, he argues that the reason for his happiness is not simply that he’s been able to help Joy, but also that her agreement simply means they’ll be seeing each other more. He’ll admit, he’s found a friend in the girl that seems to bring joy and laughter wherever she goes, and if she joins the foundation, their friendship could extend past sharing cups of instant ramen.
But one the euphoria subsides and he is brought back to his constant state of pessimism, he begins to understand the problem: if she were to come to the foundation and they met each other more frequently, would she not be more prone to falling ill? Whilst coming to the foundation would most definitely help someone like her, being around someone like him would do more harm than good. He truly believes that this is the full extent of his ability to do good, and it would be unwise for him to continue trying harder, lest he undoes all the good he’s done thus far.
So he lets go of her hand and as a pained smile graces his lips, he mumbles, “you should probably get back in. It’s cold out here, and you’re already really sick. I’ll… I’ll head back to the foundation.”
Kang Joon wants more than anything to follow her in, but he is aware of the consequences, and he is not willing to risk them. He finds himself caring deeply for Joy’s wellbeing, even more so than he does the random passer-by.
“I’ll uh… I’ll text you the details tonight,” he mutters, his eyes already darting in the general direction of the way home, and he has to bite his lip to prevent himself from saying he hopes to see her in the foundation, because no, he most definitely cannot see her in the foundation, “I’m sure you can eat my portion of ramen, too. You have a good night, Joy.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle from an exaggerated smile, and then he pockets his gloved hand and walks back home with an empty stomach.
