Crossroads [J.WY]
Pairing: Wooyoung x f! Reader (oc nickname used)
Word Count: 9.3k
Genre: Hurt/comfort, some fluff, some angst, dystopia AU, found family, WOOYOUNG POV
Warnings: Mentions of death, injuries, blood, violence, implied torture, survival themes, sandstorms
Summary: Wooyoung has always believed that if someone is still breathing, they're worth saving. So when he finds a stranger half-buried beneath the desert sand, bringing them home isn't really a choice. Convincing them to stay might be.
-
This was written for a collab with some lovely members of @lapydiaries <3 @potatomountain [No More Running] @sanjoongie @anyamaris [Guardian's Oath] @pars-ley @defwoodz @flurrys-creativity @an-annyeoing-writer all wrote amazing stories (which I will link as they post)
Wooyoung hasn’t seen a sandstorm like this in a long time. Though the storms are a common occurrence, this time he can hardly see an inch past the tip of his nose. Even the goggles he has on do little to clear his line of vision. If it wasn’t for his extended training with that wretched government, he’s sure he wouldn’t be as good at navigating with limited sight as he is right now. At least one good thing came of that time in his life.
The wind howls around him, making it feel almost as if he’s walking underwater, but he’s sure he can’t be far from the safe house. Thank God for the cable wire he connected to the building so he can follow it back easily. Almost there.
Still. He hasn’t worked out much since he took over the safehouse, and carrying someone’s dead weight is tough. It feels like hours have passed when he finally lugs the person to the door, fumbling with the lock for a moment before he finally manages to haul them inside and down the secondary hatch, miraculously not dropping them down the ladder. With a groan and final push, he gets them right side up on the worn leather couch and he finally can get a good look at them. She’s a young girl, can’t be much older than him, and her face is almost serene, if not for the slight crease between her brows. He doesn’t recognize her at all, and it makes anxiety churn in his gut.
He takes one more step forward when something catches on his foot and he stumbles forward, almost falling flat on his face. Frustrated, he looks down to see a large lump half-buried under the sand. He almost passes it by, but on closer inspection, he blanches. It’s a human. Against his instincts, Wooyoung hooks the wire to his belt before he bends down and scoops the body up, then starts his trek back up. As much as every part of his brain screams at him to leave whoever they are, he doesn’t think he could stand having another death on his hands.
As he starts cleaning the sand off his outerwear, he can’t help but think about the worst possible scenarios, and memories of his past flash through his mind. Wooyoung’s breaths grow heavier, and he sits at the kitchen table with a thud. It’s been a long time since he’s thought of the bright lights and smell of coppery metal that haunt him. It takes him a long time to get his breathing under control, even longer to wave away the memories filling his mind like haze. He really needs a drink.
With great reluctance, Wooyoung forces himself up from the chair and stumbles over to the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of old bourbon and taking a swig. He doesn’t bother fetching himself a glass, it’s not like anyone can see him right now. It takes him a little, but he can finally feel his heart settle, and he returns to his kitchen chair. This time, he just contemplates what to do with the unconscious person on his couch right now.
Out of curiosity, Wooyoung steps closer. She must be around his age, but the crease between her brows speaks of more stress than people his age should be under. He would know, he thinks his forehead wrinkles have made a permanent home. A worn jacket rests on her shoulders, covered in sand, and he silently bemoans the state that will become of his washing machine.
He reaches out, dusting off the majority of it, careful not to wake her. The lapels are faded, but his hands pause as he brushes over an almost completely worn through lapel. Wooyoung brushes his fingers over the ridges of an insignia, but the shape of it is familiar. Too familiar.
With a jolt, Wooyoung yanks his hand back. He knows that symbol all too well — he wore it for a time. Government.
His hand shakes as he reaches out again to readjust the lapel, trying to see it more clearly. The jacket is clearly worn, almost falling apart, but he can’t help but fear for his safety. What if she was sent by the military to stake out the base and just got caught in the sandstorm before she could find him? He knows deep down it makes no sense, but he can’t stop his mind from wandering.
But despite the panic, he can’t help but not feel a single lick of regret in his bones for taking her in. He could be wrong. And this house is for caring for people. Not for leaving them out in the deadly weather because of some deep-sated fear. After a moment, he wipes her face of the grime and sweat beading her forehead, and takes a seat once more to wait for her to waken.
He doesn’t have to wait long. Her eyes open slowly, adjusting to the light before she bolts up, the jacket falling loose around her shoulders. Her eyes dart around before they finally land on him, and something unreadable flashes in her eyes. “You—this place?” her voice is rough from the sand that entered her airways, and she coughs.
Wooyoung hands her a glass of water, eyes studying her carefully. “This is…my home,” he explains-without-explanation. “I found you in the sandstorm.”
She frowns, taking the glass and sipping it, hesitant gratitude in her eyes. “…Thank you.” There’s a long pause, where both parties seem wildly uncomfortable.
“…What’s your name?” Internally, Wooyoung panics. He doesn’t know what to ask. He doesn’t want the jacket to be a warning sign. But he needs to know, to figure it out somehow.
She immediately shrinks into herself, lips pulling into a frown. “…what’s it to you?”
Wooyoung’s lips immediately twist. “Are you kidding me?”
She frowns. “It’s a valid question. You’re not entitled to my personal information.” Her lips twist into a little pout, very out of place on her calculating gaze.
Wooyoung gapes. “I dragged you out of a sandstorm. You are occupying my couch. It absolutely gets me a name.” He gives up before she can argue back. Because, as much as Wooyoung is loath to admit it, he understands it. He’s a stranger, anything could be held over her head. “Fine, whatever. Don’t tell me. Is there something I can call you?”
“Nothing,” she responds just as quickly, and Wooyoung feels like ripping out his hair.
“That is not how conversations work.”
It’s almost like she has a response waiting. “It seems to be working just fine.”
Wooyoung can’t help but be amused. There’s no way to argue with her on this either. At all. And he respects it. “Okay. What were you doing in the sandstorm?”
“I was just wandering.”
“Wandering?” The incredulity in Wooyoung’s voice is very audible.
“The sandstorm happened in the middle of my wandering. Is that a crime?” She’s insanely defensive, and Wooyoung can’t seem to make heads or tails of it.
With a sigh, he leaves that conversation alone for now, lest they go in circles until nighttime. “Well, they usually last at least a few hours. There’s no way you can go back out there today. You already probably inhaled enough sand that you’ll be coughing it out for at least a week.”
This time, she nods, rubbing the centre of her chest absentmindedly. “…Yes. Thank you for helping me. You didn’t have to.”
Wooyoung frowns. “Are you kidding me? You were practically half-dead when I found you. Was I supposed to just leave you to your fate?”
Something flickers in her eyes. “You could have. It wouldn’t have changed anything, I wager.”
Wooyoung scoffs. “You can’t wager on that. You needed help, so I helped. That’s a change if I’ve ever seen one.” The corner of her mouth twitches, and Wooyoung barrels onwards. “Things change. That much I know.”
She looks at him like she wants to argue, eyes narrowed, lips pinched. But she doesn’t. Instead, she lays back down, and Wooyoung knows that’s all he’ll get out of her for today. He stands.
“I’ll prep some dinner.”
She shifts, sitting up and swinging her legs to rest her feet on the floor. “I’ll help.”
Wooyoung holds up a finger. “You. Are half dead. Rest.” For the first time since waking up, she listened.
-
Over the next few days, neither of them pushed. Wooyoung stopped asking questions she wouldn’t answer, and the stranger stopped trying to leave the moment the sandstorm cleared. They settled into something that wasn’t quite comfortable, but no longer uncomfortable either.
Wooyoung found out early on she was quiet…but also incapable of leaving anything where he had put it.
“…Is that a third shelf?” It takes Wooyoung a minute to notice it at first.
That wasn’t entirely true.
He saw the stranger hammering the brackets into the wall the moment he entered the safehouse after fetching supplies. He just ignored it until the sound and curiosity became too much to handle. About two minutes later.
The woman spins around, eyes wide before she schools her expression into neutrality. “Yeah. It’s to organise,” she mutters.
Wooyoung sets down his bags, rolling his shoulders slightly to relieve the ache. “Yeah,” he mimics her tone of voice. “That’s what shelves usually are for. But why are you building one? Did…did I even have one lying around?”
She shoots him a look. “This is why you need a shelf. This was lodged behind your desk, along with—” she checks the pocket of the toolbelt…which he had lost weeks ago “—seventeen screws. Also this belt was under the couch. I hope you don’t mind I’ve been using it.”
He stares. He can’t help it. “Uh—yeah. That’s fine. Thank you.” He mindlessly wanders to the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers and sink.
“The kettle is in the cabinet next to the stove. The one with the broken door.” He opens the cabinet and pulls out the worn kettle, thanking her. Then it hits. The guest misunderstands his face. “I can fix the door after I put this shelf up.”
Wooyoung shakes his head, then again. “That’s not what I’m confused about. I just—why?”
“Your organization skills are abysmal.”
It’s the only explanation she gives, and yet, Wooyoung doesn’t feel the need to ask for more. He just accepts it. “Yeah. This is the most organised it’s been in probably months.”
“Mmh. It was bothering me.”
-
It turns out the shelf wasn’t the end of it.
Over the next few days, his cabinets stopped squeaking, his cutlery drawer became alphabetized, Missing screws reappeared in suspiciously convenient places. He didn’t notice at first, not when he was preoccupied with finding out more about this stranger in his home.
A few days later, Wooyoung wanders around, trying to find the Allen wrench he had needed for approximately six projects, and couldn’t find. He enters the kitchen, brows furrowed, looks up, then just stops.
He was looking for that hex key for days. And his guest is just...spinning it between her fingers as she erases and recompletes the crossword from years ago. "You are such a magpie." The words slip from his mouth without him thinking about it.
She looks up. “What.”
Wooyoung rolls his eyes, holding out his hand. She places the hex key there immediately. “A magpie. You’re always taking my shiny things and reorganising them…or pocketing them. But mostly reorganising.”
Almost immediately, her cheeks flare red and her lips twist. “No, I don’t,” she says quickly, too quickly.
“You organised my silverware drawer by size and by, and I quote, fanciness. I still don’t understand how that category works. You somehow materialised a third shelf to put all my screws into. You have my hex key I have been trying to find for the past three days. And I know you knew I was looking for it because you were helping me find it.” Wooyoung counts off his fingers. With each tick, she shrinks lower in her chair.
“It’s helpful,” she mutters, and Wooyoung closes his eyes for a brief moment and smiles.
“…It is. You’re still a magpie, though.”
She glowers. “Why not ravens? They also collect shiny things and they’re cooler.”
“That’s just it. You’re just cute,” Wooyoung laughs, and dodges her hand trying to smack his shoulder. “Thank you for finding it, though.”
She settles back in her chair and picks up the pencil again, returning to her crossword. “Mmh. It’s nothing.”
“Hey, Magpie?”
“…What?”
“Do you also happen to have my pocket knife?”
“It’s in your coat. Don’t call me Magpie.”
“Thanks, Magpie.”
“…You’re welcome.”
Magpie’s lips twitch before settling into a frown, and she doesn’t look up. The nickname stuck, and she is not happy about it. But despite that, whenever Wooyoung uses it, she answers. Before long, he forgets she was just his guest. She is Magpie, and she knows what he’s looking for. Usually because she’s the one who moved it.
-
The moment San arrives, Wooyoung’s lips quirk up. It’s been a while since he’s seen San, and he can’t lie and say he wasn’t worried. He of course, worries for the rebellion and its members as a whole, but there’s a special anxiety he reserves for those working as inside men. He can feel the ache in his chest already.
“Wooyoung, good to see you,” San smiles brightly, drawing Wooyoung out of his thoughts. No matter everything, San somehow always manages to make Wooyoung relax. “You look well.”
Wooyoung laughs, letting San pull him into a bone-crushing hug. “Well as I can be, you mean. No need to lie.” He knows the bags under his eyes are a little heavier than usual, the way he can’t sleep the night through even on the best days.
But then again, San isn’t one to dwell on Wooyoung’s past. He always knows exactly what is needed. “Sure, but you’re smiling. That’s gotta mean for something, right? Now come on, who was the one you wanted me to meet?”
San keeps his arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders, and Wooyoung doesn’t mind the weight of it. “Magpie, come meet San!”
Magpie pops her head around the corner from the kitchen before shuffling out and smiling stiffly at San. “Nice to meet you,” she says, voice soft as always. “San, right?” She eyes his get-up, but San seems to take no offense.
“That’s right. I knew Wooyoung from way back, and decided to drop in on my favourite idiot.” Wooyoung clicks his tongue, slapping at San’s chest. “Magpie, huh?”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a fond smile on her face. “Just because I like organizing his mess, Wooyoung decided to torment me with that nickname. But…I think it suits me.”
For the briefest moment, Wooyoung stills. Then he shakes his head and refocuses on the conversation at hand. There’s a glint in San’s eyes as he grins wider. “I think it does too,” he teases. “But Wooyoung does need someone to clean up his messes. Looks like you got the job.”
Wooyoung huffs, pretending to kick at San’s shin. “You didn’t come all this way just to fuck with me, San. Come on, you said you’d help me fix up the airlock hatch.”
Magpie shrugs, blinking a few times, and returns to the side kitchen, and Wooyoung tugs San over to the heavy metal door. “I want to replace the hinges and fix the gasket seals,” he says, rummaging around and pulling out the toolbox.
“So, you only wanted me here to fix the door, I see,” San teases, but reaches out and practically snatches the toolbox from Wooyoung. “You know you’re not supposed to carry heavy things.”
Wooyoung laughs, nudging his shoulder against San’s. “It’s not that heavy. But be my guest. Might as well, since I have a big strong man here to help me.”
San sticks out his tongue at Wooyoung, who pointedly ignores it. “Still.” But he doesn’t push.
As they start fixing up the door, Wooyoung glances towards Magpie, who is humming as she chops vegetables. “So…the jacket…” he begins under his breath, and San looks over, assessing.
“I don’t recognize her or that jacket,” San murmurs, watching Magpie with careful eyes as he threads in the new rubber seal. “It’s old, too. Most of the officers of that rank will get their jackets replaced every few years. She’s much too young to have been part of the government for that long. She can’t have worn that thing officially; you would’ve remembered her.”
Wooyoung nods, screwing in a few loose bolts before wiping the hinges with an oiled rag to keep it from squeaking. “She wasn’t anyone’s wife. Or child, for that matter. And you’re sure no one is on any sort of espionage mission?”
San snorts. “Wouldn’t you actually remember then? They would’ve crossed your desk at some point.”
Wooyoung nods slowly, eyes not leaving his guest. “Yes. And I don’t recognize her either. Do you really think it could just be something she found?”
San sighs, slowly stretching, his bones cracking. “I couldn’t tell you, Wooyoung. It could very well just be something she scavenged. Those guys lose their jackets all the time the moment they step foot onto the actual premises. But she very well might be a government defender. It’s hard to tell just from a jacket. Ask her.”
Wooyoung must have been making a face, because San laughs. “Wooyoung, you can’t run a safehouse without talking to people. Come on, you used to be so good at getting information from people.” He realizes what he says a moment late, pausing before shaking his head with a sigh. “I'm sorry. But really. You can’t just deduce this time. You’ll need to talk to her.”
“Yeah…I know...” Wooyoung’s voice trails off, and he rubs furiously at a particularly stubborn rust patch. The silence between the two linger as they fix the rest of the door, rather than discuss further. There’s not much else San can say this time.
They both glance at Magpie, before standing up. “Thanks for coming all the way out here, San,” Wooyoung smiles crookedly. “Get back safe, but you know that you’re always welcome to stay the night here.” It’s an offer they know San won’t take. He never stays anymore. Nothing that could potentially endanger Wooyoung. Wooyoung tells him constantly it isn’t his fault, but guilt…guilt is a stubborn thing.
San smiles at him and nods before carefully climbing up the ladder and into the open. The moment the door seals shut behind him, Wooyoung sits back down on the couch with a heavy thump. He’s already tired. Not just physically, but from trying to untangle the moral dilemma of keeping Magpie around.
Before he has much time to deliberate, Magpie calls out for him. “Can you help me with the soup?” Wooyoung gets up almost immediately, fighting the headache that threatens to overcome him. Help. He likes doing that. It’s better than just mulling over his choices.
San’s reassurance should have been enough. But it wasn’t. Wooyoung tried convincing himself it was, but instead of that, he just cleaned. Then cleaned some more.
-
Mingi was never one for surprise visits. If he said he was coming, then he would come. Which meant the closer the date crept, the heavier the guilt settles in Wooyoung’s stomach.
Wooyoung was sick of chores already. He refilled the water tank, restocked the food, and attempted to refill the water supply before Magpie took the tank from him and told him, with the same tone she used when organizing his screws, that he was resting. Wooyoung didn’t mean to fall asleep after that. But his body ached, and the couch was so soft after she patched the cushions. He needed this. He ran himself ragged the past few days, but he hadn’t meant to. He was just trying to get everything prepped before Mingi visits. He still…feels guilty. He knows San’s words should’ve been enough. But years of fear just don’t disappear. He needs to hear something solid. Something only Mingi can provide. He hopes Magpie won’t hold it against him.
But when he wakes up, there’s a blanket draped over him, and a warm bowl of clam chowder on the coffee table. Magpie sits at the kitchen table, now occupied by a wordsearch book that he marked over a million times.
Strangely, he doesn’t feel the need to comment. No quip, no teasing smile. He just sits there, his heart warming. This? This feels…right. He begins to sit up, but his spine protests, and he flops back down. Magpie glances up briefly. “You shouldn’t have done all that alone,” she murmurs, almost too quietly. Yet, Wooyoung doesn’t feel admonished, not like he would’ve weeks before.
Before he can dwell, a knock sounds. Several knocks. Very heavy knocks. Wooyougn knows who it is before the brash voice even speaks. “Woo! Open up! Wake your ass up. It’s not that early. No one else is around.”
Guilt floods him again. Mingi. Magpie looks at him curiously. “A friend?”
“Yeah.”
-
Wooyoung and Mingi sit awkwardly at the kitchen table. “So…” Wooyoung starts, glancing at the closed door where that little goosy woman who Mingi brought along showers. He can see the curiosity in Magpie’s eyes from across the room, and he mirrors that feeling. But he won’t pry. Not into Mingi.
Mingi raises one eyebrow, his sharp gaze intensifying. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Wooyoung. You know what my answer is going to be.” He straightens his glove, that perfectly raised eyebrow not moving an inch. “The jacket is enough to incriminate her. I say toss her out to where she belongs. And that’s kinder than killing her, since I can tell you have no intention of listening to my advice.”
At his words, Wooyoung pouts. “That’s not true.” The taller man levels him with a look. “Okay. A little true. But I don’t know…I feel like it’s plausible she just picked it up from somewhere. Can’t you just use your adrenaline and read her energy?”
Mingi pushes up his sunglasses, staring Wooyoung down over the rims. “Look. You wanted me to come and analyse her. So listen. I can’t make you decide the same way I would, but at least just listen. She…she’s strange.” He pauses. “Not like you. Not wrong like you.”
Wooyoung flinches. Hard. “Hey, man,” he laughs weakly. “Not cool.”
Mingi rolls his eyes, but his expression softens the slightest bit. “Shut up and listen, asshole. I just mean…your vibe has always been messed up since you got back from fucking asshole county. But I got used to it. With hers? It’s there. It’s strong. I just can’t read it.” He shakes his head. “It’s like I don’t know what I’m looking at.”
Wooyoung’s lips quirk up into a mirthless smile. “Can you tell if she’s government?”
“No,” Mingi answers truthfully, then exhales slowly. “That’s the problem.”
There’s a long pause. Wooyoung doesn’t know what to say, and Mingi just looks at him. For a tad too long. Wooyoung squirms. “…Yeah,” is all Wooyoung can muster out, and he just wants the conversation to be over. “…Do you need to stay the night?"
Mingi doesn’t respond at first, then he sighs. “You’re keeping her, aren’t you.” It’s not a question, because they both already know. Mingi huffs out a dry laugh. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”
-
Mingi keeps himself scarce, usually talking to Goose in quiet but snippy tones. Wooyoung and Magpie much more polite conversation with her, but in the end, everyone ends up doing their own thing. Magpie continues organising, shying away from Mingi’s intense gaze as he tries to figure her out.
It’s late at night, and the little Goose is resting on the couch, Mingi’s arms wrapped protectively around her despite the harsh way he refers to her. Wooyoung honestly forgets he’s there. He and Magpie sit quietly around the dining table, the only sound light snores from the couch and the scratching of her filling out her crossword once more.
Then Wooyoung’s radio crackles. An outpost he once ran supplies to needed extra hands to fix up the bridge, broken from the sandstorm Wooyoung rescued Magpie from.
“You’re going to go out again?” Magpie stares at him like he just told her he’s going to strip naked in front of her.
“They need my help.”
“But why?” Her voice is taking on an edge he hadn’t heard before. Frustration. “You helped them before, already. You need to help yourself.”
Now it’s Wooyoung’s turn to stare. “Help isn’t a one time thing. You have been organising my spice rack for days.”
She frowns, tapping her fingertips on the table. “That’s different.” She doesn’t expand, and Wooyoung can feel frustration rise.
“How is that different?”
“The spice rack doesn’t get people killed.”
Wooyoung’s blood runs cold. “That’s how you feel?”
“That’s what I know, Wooyoung.” Magpie sounds so, so tired, but Wooyoung just can’t accept why. How can she be tired of fighting? How can she look at everything happening and decide the answer is to stop? “You know what happens when people keep telling themselves the suffering is worth it? They stop seeing the people who are suffering.”
His jaw tightens. “And you think I don't see them?”
“I think you see them so much that you don't know when to stop,” she says softly. “And that’s what you need to do. You can’t keep putting your life on the line for people who won’t even know your name.”
“And what, pray tell, am I supposed to do?” Wooyoung asks, frustrated. “Leave them to die?”
“You’re supposed to live,” Magpie replies as easily as she pours him a cup of tea. And Wooyoung’s world halts.
He can hear blood rushing to his ears, his mouth suddenly dry. “Live? Live while innocent people die from the government’s schemes?”
“Innocent people have died because of the government, yes. But the rebellion doesn’t solve pointless casualties.”
Wooyoung lets out a long-suffering sigh, “No,” he assents tiredly. “But doing nothing doesn’t stop them either.”
Magpie shakes her head, shoulders relaxing like she’s relieved he’s agreeing. He wasn’t. “Everyone always thinks their casualties are necessary.”
Something burns in Wooyoung’s chest. “Necessary?” He doesn’t mean to sound so sharp, so bitter. But that word twists his heart and he can’t stop, won’t stop running his mouth.
“You think I don’t know what casualties look like?” he snaps, his hand curling into a fist, his nails digging into his palm. The pain doesn’t ground him. “They experimented on me. They ruined me. They pumped that shit into my body until there was barely anything left that worked. And when that didn’t work, they threw me into a cell to rot.
He laughs once, but there is nothing funny about it. “Only God, if He’s real, knows how I got out. So you can’t—you won’t tell me I don’t understand the costs.”
He stops. His lips pinch tight. And he pushes his chair back, legs scratching against the hardwood floors, and he stands. Mingi sits on the couch, most definitely awake, watching him with careful eyes. Wooyoung had spent years trying to bury those memories, and somehow, she had dragged them into the light with one word. And, although not his proudest moment, he turns and storms out.
Wooyoung doesn't know how long he was gone. But it was long enough for him to get to the outpost and help until his gut stopped churning, begin the journey home, and then feel sick to his stomach at the sorrow in Magpie's eyes as he told her about things he hadn't let himself think about for years. Guilt mixing with relief because he helped people who needed it, but he left the person he hurt sitting at home and worrying. Because he knows she worried, and that’s why she argued.
When he's back, he expects an empty house. The lights are off anyway, the door locked tight like he had left it. But she's sitting on the couch. Her eyes are red, and Wooyoung doesn't want to know if it's from tears or a lack of sleep. But she's here. She's here, and her bag is still shoved under the desk, and her crossword is still laying on the kitchen table.
"...Where's Mingi?"
"He left."
They stare at each other for a moment. Then Magpie looks down, then Magpie shifts slightly. Making room for him on the couch. And Wooyoung doesn't reopen the fresh wound. Instead, he drops his bag and just collapses into the couch. For tonight, that’s all they need.
-
They don’t talk about it. Wooyoung doesn’t want to. Magpie doesn’t want to. And somehow, they’re both okay with that. Life resumes in small ways. Sometimes, he can’t help but wonder about Magpie, and how she became so cynical, but then she pushes a cup of warm tea into his hand and his train of thought falters.
Her bag remains packed, but it doesn’t move from its spot. Every morning, Wooyoung can’t help but glance to make sure it’s still there. Magpie moves like she lives comfortably, and he doesn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize that. Because as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he likes having her around.
Sometimes, when he hopes she doesn’t notice, he will just watch her do her crossword, or tinker with the toolbox, or make a pot of soup. And he has to fight the smile from appearing on his face. One evening, as she props her chin on her hand and absentmindedly erases a clue, he sits opposite her, mirroring her pose.
“Magpie?” She doesn’t look up, and he laughs softly and tries again. “Magpie.”
This time, she looks up, chewing on the end of her pencil. “Mmh?”
“Is there anyone who still uses your real name?” He regrets it the moment he says it. Her shoulders tense, her eyes squinting almost imperceptibly before she looks to the side and then back at him. The apology is on the tip of his tongue when she speaks.
“Not anymore.” She tries to smile, but it falls flat. There’s a long pause when Wooyoung thinks she has ended the conversation just like that, but then she clears her throat and fully sets the pencil down. “…It’s YN.”
“Oh.” Wooyoung slaps himself mentally for that reaction. “I like it.”
Magpie stares at him for a long moment, her lips twitching as if deciding whether to smile or frown. “Yeah. I…I miss it, but I like Magpie too.”
Wooyoung’s lips pull into a smile. “Then we can stick with Magpie.” He suddenly needs fresh are and stands, scraping his chair on the floor. “Want to help me do a supply run?”
Magpie laughs this time, shaking her head. “No, thank you. I think I’ll start on dinner instead.”
Disappointment lingers in Wooyoung’s chest but not for long. “Okay. I’ll be back.”
She doesn’t hesitate in her response. “I believe you.”
She was right. He came back that evening. Then the next. And the one after that.
The next few days blur together.
Yeosang drops by with Silver in tow, filling the safehouse with conversation Wooyoung hadn't realized he'd missed. Mingi returns not long after, somehow even grumpier than before. Magpie and Silver disappear into the kitchen over soup, while Wooyoung catches Yeosang up on the latest patrol routes and the bar raid.
For the first time in a long while...The safehouse feels full.
Magpie is convinced Mingi doesn’t like her, but at least he looks at her without as much suspicion now. And Goose is happy enough to join the conversation without Mingi breathing down her back. Wooyoung is in the middle of preparing dinner for a nice little reunion when a little beep catches his attention.
Wooyoung freezes. He knows that beep. In a flash, he’s practically leapt over the kitchen island and scrambled for the desk, blatantly ignoring the looks everyone shoots him. “Fuck—” Wooyoung hisses as he deciphers the coded message. He knows exactly who is on the other end, exactly the situation they’re in. “Fuck.”
Magpie is already standing beside him, hand resting on his shoulder. “What is it?”
“Sa—” he pauses, glances at Silver, at Goose. “One of ours needs help.”
Automatically, he reaches for his bag, hoisting it onto his shoulder. He turns, staring at the tracker screen, walking towards the sealed door.
Then he pauses, raising his head. Looking at Magpie. Looking at…looking at YN. She stares right back, eyes dull, but she says nothing. She doesn’t protest. She just stands there, resigned.
“Mingi, can you take this one? Use the radio, it has a tracker.” Wooyoung suggests it before he can even think, already tossing the old radio to the taller man, grateful for his reflexes. “I…I have to stay back.”
Mingi pockets the remote. “You sure?” he asks, more as a courtesy. He’s already halfway out the door, Goose on his trail.
Yeosang quickly trails behind him. “We’ll fix it, Wooyoung. Count on us. We’ll bring them home,” he says softly, promising Wooyoung exactly what he needs to hear, Silver hot on his heels. And then they’re gone. The hatch is closed. The radio static fades, the safehouse is...quiet.
Wooyoung stands there, his bag still hanging limply off his shoulder. He doesn’t set it down for a long time. “I’ve never done that before,” he says, hearing his voice like he’s underwater. He laughs wetly. “I feel awful.”
YN hesitates. “…Are you going to regret it?”
This time, Wooyoung turns to look at her, the way she chews on her lip, her hands clasped behind her back. “I will. No matter what I would’ve chosen, I would regret it. But…but I want to stay.” Neither of them move.
Then, the moment Wooyoung’s shoulders relax fractionally, YN blurts out, “I need to tell you something.” Like it’s her last chance.
Wooyoung shuts his mouth and immediately sits on the couch. YN remains standing. “I…I have adrenaline. Always have for as long as I can remember. I just…never knew how it manifested until much later.”
She smiles, but there’s not a hint of joy behind it. Nor sadness. It’s just her face. “I thought everyone did it. They would talk about what-ifs, what could’ves. I thought I was human.” Her entire body tenses. “Then one of them came true. My parents, I saw them…saw them get caught in a sandstorm. It happened three days later.”
Wooyoung feels like he’s been dunked in cold water. “All those times…” he replays it all. Her zoning out for a few seconds. The way she never slept in one sitting. “You see the future.”
Her lips twist into a crooked smile. “Not one future. Just possibilities.” She breathes out slowly. “Most of them never happen. Some do. I never know which. That is the worst part of it all.”
And it all falls into place like a puzzle. Why she was so adamant against choosing, why she feared leaving, why she feared staying. “YN…—" she flinches “—Magpie. That sounds lonely.”
She almost shakes her head, but she stops, and agrees. “Yes. It was. I stopped choosing because I thought, I hoped, maybe fewer people would disappear.” She laughs again, closing her eyes briefly. “Are you afraid of me?”
Wooyoung immediately shakes his head. “I’m more afraid of how long you’ve been carrying it yourself.” This time, she chuckles genuinely. It’s still sad, but it’s real.
“That’s a very you answer.”
“Mmh. Yeah. I know.”
-
The next morning, Wooyoung wakes to find a mug of tea waiting where he always sits. Magpie is already bent over her crossword, erasing a clue with the same absentminded concentration as always. When he murmurs a quiet, "morning," she doesn't flinch anymore.
Instead, she looks up, smiles, and silently scootches her chair over to make room for him. “There’s oatmeal in the pot,” she hums, glancing back down at her crossword.
Wooyoung doesn’t grab a bowl first. Rather, he sits next to Magpie, peeking over her shoulder. He watches her diligently fill in the letters quickly, lips pursed slightly. “Haven’t you completed that a billion times already?” he asks, plopping his chin on her shoulder.
Magpie pauses for a moment but lowers her shoulder for him to relax more. “Yeah. But if I get too bored, I just make up my own clues and answers,” she explains absentmindedly, scratching out another stray pencil mark. “Then, once enough time has passed, I’ll erase everything and start again.”
A loud laugh escapes Wooyoung, but he quiets soon after, reaching out to point at one of Magpie’s makeshift clues. ‘Returns Home (8)’. “What’s the answer to this one?”
Magpie hums, filling it in silently. Wooyoung.
He immediately lifts his head to beam at her. “I’m one of your answers?” Despite the face she pulls, his heart warms.
“I ran out of words,” she mumbles, and Wooyoung doesn’t press. The heat blooming in her cheeks is enough for him. For a moment, he’s overcome with the urge to press his lips there. The thought surprises him enough that he clears his throat and stands.
“I need to run to grab some supplies and fill the water tank. Want anything?”
Magpie doesn’t look up, but Wooyoung can hear the slight smile in her voice. “Maybe some vegetables? I think I’ll make soup tonight.”
“You got it,” Wooyoung smiles, brushing his fingers across her shoulder as he walks past to grab his bag. “I’ll be back before sunset.”
This time, she looks up, something amused in her eyes. “You’ll try,” she corrects, and Wooyoung laughs.
“I’ll try.”
After that, "I'll try" becomes their compromise. More often than not, he keeps his word. He comes home with vegetables tucked beneath one arm and whatever odds and ends he'd managed to barter for beneath the other. The lights are already on by the time he reaches the safehouse, and dinner is always waiting. He doesn’t know how she does it, how it always is the perfect temperature when he gets home. But he thanks her every time, happy to see the smile on her face when he hands her some fresh fruit.
Then one evening, he’s late. The supply run took longer than expected, and he was eager to be home. But as he was packing and counting his purchases, he notices one thing laying haphazardly on the wooden table. It took some time to convince the trader to part with it, but extra coin never hurt.
Wooyoung doesn’t even realize the sun has gone down fully, his steps automatic, but as he swings the door open, he sees Magpie. She’s sitting on the couch, eyes unfocused as she mindlessly scribbles in the corner of her crossword. The pot sits on the stove, simmering on low heat. It’s almost picturesque.
The moment he takes a step inside, Magpie’s head snaps up. She looks him up and down, assessing. Only when she deems him alright do her shoulders relax. “…The soup’s been kept warm,” she murmurs.
With a quiet, almost apologetic sigh, Wooyoung steps closer and holds out the crossword book. “Here. I saw it on the way home.”
He watches as Magpie reaches out tentatively, her fingers brushing the cover before she takes it and flips through. “You bought me another one?” she asks, her voice small but filled with gratitude and a hint of surprise.
The corners of Wooyoung’s lips quirk up. “You looked like you were running out of room.” He pauses. “Did you eat yet?”
Magpie pauses, before she smiles. “Yeah. But…I think I’m hungry again.”
They eat together that night in a comfortable silence, the new crossword abandoned on the table between them. Before long, it joins the rest of the books laying on the worn coffee table, and the house is peaceful.
The quiet doesn’t last long. A few days later, the others return, with San in tow. Wooyoung almost falls to his knees in relief seeing that his friend is alive, despite the exhaustion written on San’s face. They don’t linger long, just long enough to grab extra supplies and reassure Wooyoung. There were still settlements to rebuild, patrols to organize, and much needed rest for everyone. But before they left, San rested a hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder, a small smile on his face.
“You made the right choice.”
Wooyoung freezes. Something in his chest finally loosens. Before he can think twice, he beams and throws his arms around San.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
San chuckles, returning the hug. Then they pull apart, and Mingi steps forward, solemnly handing the radio back to Wooyoung. He doesn’t say much, the look in his eyes stormy, but he thanks Wooyoung quietly and trails out. Yeosang sidles up and smacks Wooyoung’s shoulder, a tired grin on his face. “We’ll return with some damn good alcohol next time,” he promises, and Wooyoung laughs shakily.
“You better.”
Wooyoung smiles despite himself. “Guess it’s just us again.”
And then the safehouse is empty save for Magpie standing quietly in the kitchen, watching him. She meets his eyes, before turning back towards the stove.
Magpie hums in agreement. “Come on, soup’s ready.” Wooyoung nods and begins to set the table without another thought.
The safehouse settles again. Tea in the mornings, supply runs in the afternoons. Dinner waiting until the door creaks open and Wooyoung pokes his head around the door with a smile. More and more crosswords piling up.
One morning, Wooyoung wakes before dawn. He glances at Magpie, still curled up around a pillow on the spare mattress, and smiles slightly. Quietly, he starts dressing, glancing over every time he hears her shift, afraid he’ll wake her up.
Then, as he reaches the door to the main room, he hears her smack her lips and he turns to see her sitting up, blinking at him. “You’re up,” he laughs softly.
“Mmh. You’re leaving earlier than usual,” she says in between yawns.
Wooyoung laughs, walking over to neaten her hair automatically. “Yeah. I want to be home earlier today. I’m heading to the relay tower to get some spare antennae and I'm hoping to find some replacement relays, wiring, maybe a signal amplifier if I'm lucky.”
Magpie hums. “Okay. Be safe.”
“I’ll try. But you should go back to sleep,” Wooyoung laughs at the way her eyebrows scrunch.
She smiles, eyes already closing again. “I’ll see you later,” she murmurs, curling back around the pillow.
Wooyoung stills. It's such an ordinary goodbye that, for a moment, he almost misses it, but the smile that splits his face almost hurts. He fights to keep his voice level, moving his hand from her face. “Yeah. I’ll see you later.”
-
The house is far too quiet. No chattering, no friendly arguments, just silence and the flip of each crossword page. The sun remains freshly risen, and it feels like the clock hasn’t made one more tick. Wooyoung had only left an hour or so ago, when the sky was light but the sun was still hidden. You shuffle in your seat, erase another letter, look up at the clock, take a sip of your now-cold tea.
You’ve cleaned everything, sorted and resorted the cutlery drawer, And yet, you can’t seem to sit still. How long has Wooyoung been gone, anyway? You shake your head, trying to chase away your worries. He’s fine. He can handle it. He always comes back.
It feels like something crawls up your spine, and you stand abruptly, the chair scraping against the dull hardwood floors. You can’t sit at home idle anymore, you’ll go insane. So instead, you rummage through your bag to grab only the necessities before borrowing one of Wooyoung’s long scarves to block against wind. You don’t even know where you’ll go, but you can’t sit in silence and just wait a moment longer.
Without even thinking, you begin the journey to Yeosang’s bar, remembering the route from what Wooyoung has told you. It’s a long journey, but you’ve walked farther. So, off you wander.
As the sun is starting to reach its high point, you make it to the bar, staring at the heavy doors before you pull it open and step inside. The interior is kept dim, but the racks on racks of alcohol remain lit up. You see Yeosang wiping down some glasses, his face impassive. When he looks up, his expression doesn’t change save for a single eyebrow raising. “Magpie? What brings you here?” Another head pops out from behind the shelves. Silver waves with the rag still slung over her shoulder before returning to wiping down the counter. Yeosang looks around. “Where’s Wooyoung?”
You offer them both a weak smile. “He went to grab supplies. I…” you pause. Why did you come? You wrack your brains for a good excuse. “I wanted to let you know, Wooyoung received notice the government patrol is no longer at the canyon outpost.”
Yeosang hums. “"Thanks. Saves Woo another trip.” He sets down the glass with a clink. “Want something to drink before you head back?”
“…Sure.” As you settle onto one of the barstools, Yeosang begins mixing a drink, and Silver walks around the counter to join you. “How’s San doing?”
Something in Yeosang’s smile turns…almost sad, but not quite. “He’s resting right now. But he’ll recover.”
You nod almost automatically. The silence is thick, not with tension, but something not quite comfortable. Right now, all you want to do is finish your drink and start the trek back home. Silver doesn’t seem to mind, engaging you in conversation.
“So, you came here for some company?” Silver leans in conspiratorially. Even when you shake your head, she laughs and winks, like she knows your deepest desires. “Don’t give me that look. Come on, drink up. Yeosang is actually pretty good at mixing drinks.” Yeosang shoots her a look, but it’s tempered by the genuine affection in his eyes.
As you take another sip, the radio on the far end of the counter begins to crackle. “...Repeating today's weather bulletin. Storm front advancing from the western dunes. Estimated impact: Sector One in forty minutes, spreading east quickly. Any travellers still outside are advised to turn back while visibility permits.”
Yeosang hums, setting a glass down. “That’s near the relay tower. It’s lasted many sandstorms before, but I hope it’ll last through this one. The settlement nearby relies on that junk tower.”
Everything in you freezes. “Relay tower?” you repeat, voice tight. For half a heartbeat, sand claws at your face, swallowing you whole. Someone is calling a name you can’t hear, the sound of metal groaning before the telltale signs of it collapsing. Yeosang lifts his head to look at you, but you’re already halfway out of your seat, rewrapping your scarf around your head.
Something shifts in Yeosang’s eyes. “Wooyoung’s there?”
“Yes. He said he was going to see if he could get spare parts.” You swing your bag over your shoulder and straighten up only to see Mingi standing in front of you, his broad shoulders blocking your view of the door. You don’t even know when he got here.
“Why’d you let him go?” His voice is sharp as he looks you over. Silver opens her mouth to object, but Yeosang gives the slightest shake of his head.
You look down, then back up. “I asked him to choose to live. I can’t punish him for listening.”
Something in Mingi’s eyes change, although he still looks at you warily. “Then why are you going now, after everything you’ve said?”
Your mouth opens, but you shut it soon after. “Because…” Any other time, you would’ve just said it’s because you owe Wooyoung. If you asked him, he would say that debt had been repaid many times over. “Because this is my choice. I may not agree with him, but I want him safe while he does what he loves.”
Mingi huffs, studying your face for a long moment, as if expecting hesitation. Fear. An excuse. But he finds none, and exchanges a look with Yeosang. “About time.” He glances at the radio, still cracking out weather forecasts. “Come on, we should get going. Every minute we're standing here is another minute he's out there.”
At that, you pause. “You’re coming with me?” you ask, narrowing your eyes. “But you don’t like me.”
A crooked smile creeps up on Mingi’s face. “I don’t. But I want Wooyoung safe more than I don’t want to see you.” He hoists your bag onto his shoulder without you even asking. “And I have a car.”
You stare. “That rickety old thing I saw on my way here?”
Yeosang laughs, even as Mingi’s glare intensifies. “Mingi’s car is more reliable than you’d think. And he knows the route well.”
Silver’s lips quirk. “But you’ll need a bag to handle his driving. There is no such thing as a speed limit when he’s behind the wheel.”
Mingi glowers. “There are no speed limits in a sandstorm.” With a wave of his hand, Mingi starts walking toward the door. “Don’t worry, I won’t hover. I’m going to go help the outpost nearby, since they’ll be hit pretty hard.” He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder at you, clearly waiting.
You scramble to follow, and Silver glances back at Yeosang, exchanging a nod, before she hops off the stool and moves to walk beside you. “I’ll come. Someone’s gotta keep Mingi in check. And…” her voice trails off before she replaces the pensive look with an easy smile. “There are kids—people at the settlement. I can’t just…leave them.”
Mingi tsks, but doesn’t argue. Instead, he leads you to the rusted car and wrenches the door open for you and Silver before moving to the driver’s side. “Let’s get a move on.”
-
At first, Wooyoung thought it was just the wind. He was unscrewing the transmitter to take home when the wind stopped. After a quick glance out the window only to see nothing, he continued working. He grabs the transmitter, shoving it into his bag before beginning the descent of the creaking staircase. He would like to stay longer, but when the air itself seems to come to a halt, he knows that’s when it’s time to go.
Then he hears it. The whistle of wind before it melts into a constant roar. His head snaps to the west only to see that the horizon has disappeared behind a wall of swirling sand. He scrambles down the stairs, reaching the door to the interior and slamming it shut behind him just as the sand pelts against the metal. The relay tower has weathered many a storm, and so has he.
He'd ridden out storms before, knows them well enough. Some passed before the tea in his thermos cooled. Others lasted long enough for the sun to disappear entirely. The only thing they had in common was that nothing ever told you which one you were in.
Wooyoung leans against the thin metal wall, checking his watch. Four minutes pass, then twenty, then forty. Then an hour, two, and although he can’t see it, he knows the sun is almost touching the horizon, especially as the windchill sets into his bones. The storm has shown no signs of easing. He looked at the doorway. Wait another hour...or head home. His eyes drifted to his watch. Around now, YN would probably have finished today's crossword.
He waits one more minute before gathering his supplies and moving to wait by the door. Once the wind lulls slightly, he tightens the scarf around his mouth and trudges out.
Fifty paces. When he glances behind him, the relay tower is still standing strong, although he can see the antennae wobble. It’s hard to trudge up the dunes, but he bites through the wind threatening to shove him back to the bottom.
The sand finds every bit of skin it can reach, pelting him. When he tries to glance at his watch, he can barely see the minute hand due to the thick layer of dust covering it that seems to replace itself when he tries to wipe it. So, he begins counting each second.
By the 500th, or maybe 600th second, Wooyoung doesn’t know how long he’s been out here. He’s passed the fence that blocks off the canyon from the relay tower. He knows he needs to move east from it, but when he stops to orient himself, the wind shoves him to his knees.
With difficulty, he staggers to his feet, and looks behind him. The relay tower is no longer in sight, which is good. But when he looks forward, he can’t see anything either. But he was supposed to reach the gate to Sector Two by now—or did he pass it already?
Wooyoung breathes out sharply to try and dispel the sand from his nose and lips, although he knows it only allows more to enter his system. But even just the few seconds without the grains in his mouth is relieving. He’s trying hard to keep a hold of the spare parts he came for, but he knows he’s lost some already. His whole body aches and groans in protest as he tries to take one more step. He slumps to the ground, head landing against the edge of the fence. Just one minute, he tells himself. One more minute, and then he can get up and go have a nice, warm meal. One more minute.
He doesn’t remember how long his eyes were closed, when he slumped over and sand covered his entire torso. But he does remember when something crashes into his side. He barely reacts. Then someone is digging, brushing sand off his shoulders.
"...Wooyoung?"
He blinks awake, then jolts up. The clouds are gone, the sun setting in golden and orange colours behind a familiar silhouette. “What are you doing here?” Wooyoung asks past the mouthful of sand and internal gratefulness YN had pulled him out from the sand bank. “I thought…I thought you didn’t meddle.”
He berates himself silently for the question. He had told himself not to pry, but something in YN’s eyes made him blurt out the question without thinking twice. She looks at him for a long moment before she sighs, tugging at his arm to help him up. “You would’ve made me a liar.”
Wooyoung stares at her. “What?”
YN huffs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I said I’d see you later, but you were half-buried under a bunch of sand. I’m not keen to become a liar.” Wooyoung opens his mouth, but you beat him to it again. “And I don’t think I could do it anymore. Be alone, I mean.”
The last bit is mumbled, and Wooyoung almost doesn’t catch it. But something warm blooms in his heart and he leans just a tad closer. “YN, you…” his words catch in his throat. “Thank you.”
Finally, the gratitude he feels from the depths in his bones, and YN’s lips quirk. “Of course, Wooyoung. It’s…you know…”
She catches herself, and Wooyoung frowns, looking at the way she seems to fight with herself. “What is it?” She looks away, and Wooyoung waits.
Her shoulders slump. “I was going to say I’d always be there for you,” she says, voice quiet, but not dull. “But I don’t know that. I don’t know where we’ll be tomorrow. Or next month, or after that. But…But I’ll always want to.”
For once, Wooyoung doesn’t try to convince her to make a promise. He finally, truly, understood. It had never been about unwillingness. It had always been about certainty.
“…Let’s go home?”
Magpie pauses, then smiles resignedly. “Yes. Let’s go home.”
