Moving home meant a lot of organizing. Being gone for two years - there were things in boxes in storage that he’d never thought about, never needed, and therefore they had to go. He sat surrounded in a radius of s t u f f, and that’s when he found it.
A feathered cloak, iridescent black and extraordinarily heavy and as he held it carefully (almost reverently) it still seemed as if it pulsed in his hands with something he didn’t - and wouldn’t ever - understand, but that seemed so close. It felt familiar.
THe cloak had been given him years ago now - when Gom had said farewell, when he’d thought his heartbreak would be forever. It had been years, also, since their happier reunion.
Junghwan didn’t ever went to cry like that again.
He shook off the memories, shaking the cloak straight.
I’ll return this to him tomorro-wait.
There was a clatter, and the phone hit the floor before Junghwan could catch it. He stood staring for a second. How many phones had he destroyed now? He could see the spiderweb across the delicate glass. He heaved a sigh and ducked to pick it up, a fond smile playing on his lips.
The phone had been top of the line when he’d helped the Bear God choose it, even though it had only been used to send silly videos and emoticon spams. If he was giving the cloak back, he might as well give the phone back too, right? It would still work, even with the cracked screen. Gom had only ever used it to talk to him, after all…
He plugged it in, set it aside-
And promptly forgot about it for three days.
When he remembers, he discovers Gom’s passcode is adorably easy to guess: t-r-e-e.
He soon wishes he hadn’t.
The forest feels weird, wrong and sad and dark, and he bangs on the wooden door again, heart pounding in his ears.
“Hyung--I know it’s late--open up--I’m sorry, please, there’s something you need to see---”
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