Silently, Jongho jolts awake.

Eyes huge and heart pounding, he looks up and finds two pairs of large eyes - concerned eyes - staring back at him.

Jongho folds in on himself, becoming defensive.

"Hi..." One of the men starts out as if testing the waters. "How are you fe-"

"Why do I not have PANTS on?! What the fuck did you do?"

"Ya, kid!" The other one, the tall one, shoots back.

Looking more at him, Jongho realizes this one probably isn't a man yet (whatever that means). "You got giardia and were passed out in your own-"

But he stops speaking with a huff when the other touches his thigh. "We found you and you weren't looking very well, so we wanted to help. We simply took your pants off to clean them." The man didn't want to embarrass Jongho further by mentioning how the pants were off to cleaned him as well.

"Your pants are hung up drying. I'm sorry all we have for now is that blanket." He tilts his chin toward the cloth covering Jongho's legs.

Jongho's eyes sharpen, but he does see his pants soaked and on a nearby branch.

He also notices he's no longer itchy.

"What's gu-guadia?"

The tall one smiles slyly at Jongho's mistake, and, in Jongho's eyes, he's far less intimidating now. But the annoyance factor returns upon hearing his answer.

"It's a family of parasites you got from eating poop."

"Mingi-ya!" The shorter scolds, "what has gotten into you? Sorry, kid," he turns to Jongho. "giar-"

"I'm not a kid."

"Okay, my apologies." He takes a steady, almost parental, breath. "Giardia: well, it does come from parasites in infected feces. Did you drink untreated water out here? That's likely where it's from."

Jongho forgets his earlier mistrust of the two as his insides roar in disgust once more. "I have parasites!?" he panics.

"No!" The shorter waves his hands. "You did, but I got rid of them."

Suspicion comes back into the mix for Jongho's racing thoughts.

"How exactly did you get rid of the parasites?" Now Jongho does not understand much about the natural world, but 'parasite' is a word from his own vocabulary. Isn't the point of parasites that they don't leave?

"My hyung is a doctor," the other states.

Sure.

His hyung laughs, giggles, almost, uncomfortably. "Oh, my name is Hongjoong, and this is Mingi." They both wave; Jongho simply nods.

"It's nice to meet you," he continues, "although I wish it were under more comfortable circumstances. What's your name?"

"Choi."

"Choi, got it." Hongjoong smiles. "What brings you out here, Choi?"

"I'm wondering the same thing about you," Jongho questions back.

Hongjoong smiles again. Jongho is starting to appreciate the annoyed look Mingi keeps over Hongjoong's patient smile.

"I'd love to explain. But first, do you have any weapons with you, Choi?"

"No..." And at that moment, Jongho is starting to regret that specific decision.

"Great. Can Mingi please check your bag? We want to trust you, but we also don't want to die." Hongjoong hands Jongho their own satchel from Mingi's back. "Here. You can look through ours as well."

But Jongho doesn't bother. Instead, he focuses on Mingi going through his personal belongings, making sure everything stays in the backpack.

When Mingi is finished and passes the backpack to its owner without incident, Hongjoong visibly relaxes.

"Mingi and I are from a community of people who live in the forest back here. You've likely heard of us, the Mabeobs?"

Jongho... his eyes swell at the thought. Could it finally be? His heart races, exhilarated by just the mere possibility.

"Hyung and I are out sweeping the forest today. We're like, volunteer search and rescue, I guess you could say. You'd be surprised at the amount of people who get lost here." Mingi laughs a little at the last part, almost reminiscent.

Wait.

"Choi Mingi?!" Jongho almost shouts in disbelief.

The other two share a concerned glance.

"Like, brother of Choi San, Mingi?" He clarifies.

"How do you know Choi San?"

Jongho scoffs. How could he not know Choi San, when Wooyoung won't shut up about the man? "He's my brother's boyfriend."

Mingi smiles hearing the news, and again, Jongho watches his entire face change countenance as it seemingly lights up.

"Yeah," he says in a far more relaxed voice, to no one in particular. "That's my hyung."

And now, now Jongho thinks he may not give up after all.

"So, Choi, now that you know who we are, can we know who you are? That way we can help you get out of here."

Although, of course, almost every person found wandering these woods was searching for Gidae, Hongjoong never gave it as an option.

This is the agreed upon practice; attempt to help the chimmong back to their origin, but if the chimmong themselves sincerely asks for Gidae, then they are welcomed.

Hongjoong observes Jongho as the - not kid - seems to second guess himself.

Hongjoong has seen this specific shade of shyness and concern many times, on many types of faces. This is the face of someone at a crossroads, who feels very likely to make the wrong choice.

This was Mingi's expression right before he asked about 'the community.'

This was Jongseob's expression before he asked to go back home.

They start to doubt themselves. Hongjoong remembers learning. Chimmongs journey all the way to the mountains' base, searching for something. Yet, when presented with the actual choice between Gidae and the place from which they've come, many will falter.

Hongjoong wonders if Jongho will falter.

Honestly, Jongho is wondering the same thing about himself.

Perhaps he should return home, check this off as another nightmare. Home to his bed, and refrigerator, and headphones, and electricity, and bathroom, and plastic wrap, and...

And yet he can't simply return. He would rather be left to die in the woods than go back to mere life-as-usual.

Jongho can't stand himself in life-as-usual.

Just ask, he tells himself, over and over, while Hongjoong and Mingi wait patiently.

"Choi," empathy laces Mingi's voice. "What did you come here for?"

But Hongjoong's hand is placed silently on the younger's knee once again before he can say more.

Yet, what Jongho barely dares to dream of on his own, he is given the courage to speak of when Mingi's softened voice touches him.

"I feel like an animal," Jongho explains with more clarity than in years. "I feel like a little animal hiding in a den, isolating myself..." He starts to become uncomfortable, feels as if he is being selfish.

But, "we want to listen," Hongjoong states and Mingi nods his head with an encouraging smile.

"So, I guess," Jongho starts again, "when someone makes me, stressed, in any little way, I try to hide farther back into the den - isolate myself more. Or, more often now, I guess, I become like a cornered animal."

Jongho has never seen a cornered animal, but this is another old expression of his vocabulary.

"I become irritated and, like, attack, in a way."

And Hongjoong smiles softly, pleased with this revelation.

This is the agreed upon practice; anyone who earnestly seeks Gidae, shall find it.

- • -

As sunlight wanes, Jongho follows Hongjoong and Mingi along a slowly widening trail.

He starts to hear shuffling on the forest floor, and pecking in the trees - something buzzes right in front of the poor boy's face. Yet Jongho's guides don't seem concerned, so he clears his throat and keeps a brave face.

Blue clay tiles are soon spotted through the trees, golden wings shooting up from roof corners.

As they walk closer, Jongho notices that the earthen walls of an approaching hanok contain the most vibrant, practically glowing, mosaics pressed into them.

A color Jongho swears he has never seen, stands out from among the earthen walls.

Jongho's brave face is broken as it morphs into one of pure wonder and curiosity. He blinks: but the strange color remains.

"Hyung!" Mingi shouts, noticing Jongho's standstill. And Hongjoong laughs almost sadly. Maybe pityingly.

"You like the colors, huh?" Mingi comes to stand next to Jongho. "I remember the first time I saw them, too."

"What color is it?"

"Red."

Now Jongho finally rips his eyes from the enchanting pigment with a scoff. "I've seen red and that isn't it."

"It is though. This is red at its full capacity. This is what red used to look like. Not that dull colors you're used to; what you're used to can barely be called red."

Previously, the deepest red had been in that pressed flower, that flower in between the final pages of his only book.

But this... If this is red, what was he seeing before?

Wait.

"What do you mean, what red used to look like?"

And the sadness from Hongjoong's laugh enters Mingi's voice as he sighs.

"During the Japanese occupation, colors were dulled. And during the second world war... the dulling became far worse."

A week ago, Jongho would've raised his brows at this claim - possibly even laughed at its absurdity - but now, with this color right in front of him, the dulling sounds almost plausible.

"It was dulled by magic?" He asks. "Like the earth was mad or something?"

It's Hongjoong's turn to answer. "Not the earth," he laughs a little, "but people. And they weren't mad so much as greedy. Right before the beginning of world war two, some people got-"

But he is cut off by a scoff from Mingi. "Some people? Hyung, is it possible to water it down any more?"

"Be careful of your hatred, Mingi, or you will become the thing you loathe." Hongjoong warns. "Be at peace."

Mingi mutters an apology.

"But Mingi is right," he looks back to Jongho and continues. "It wasn't a group of random people. Corporate leaders, philanthropists, philosophists, business leaders from all over the world: allied and axis countries, it didn't matter. They formed the Mont Pelerin Society in Switzerland..."

Jongho finally reaches out to touch the red.

He thinks the color may burn his hands. But as Jongho's fingertips gently glide over the smooth stone, it is cool to the touch. The surface is so pure that when Jongho tries to scrape a little of the color off, nothing flakes.

Is the whole stone this color? No paint? He wonders.

"That society," Hongjoong sighs, "its influence is almost unknowable. But the dulling doesn't merely refer to colors; it was the dulling of human compassion."

"Gah!" Hongjoong forces out a laugh as he feels tears form. "This is why we only stay at Geoncho for a week or two; I cry every time I have to explain the history."

Hongjoong blinks his eyes and asks if Jongho is ready to walk again.

He is.

As they walk further into Geoncho, the outpost, Jongho is amazed at these small but majestic structures; before, he has only seen hanoks in history books.

More colors appear that Jongho didn't know could exist. Purples named after things he has never heard of: violet, orchid, lilac.

Blues, too: arctic, cobalt, ocean.

(The ocean Jongho knows is grey. An oily green in certain areas, if you're lucky.)

Hongjoong explains that the only color no one could figure out how to dim, was green. So instead, if the world could not make the color of trees bend to their whims, the world simply killed the trees. True green, now, still covers the mountains and plains.

As they continue to walk, the trio comes upon a deep brown hanok. From the roof drapes scarves of that cobalt Jongho decides he adores. But when he reaches the door, Jongho is almost blinded.

New colors are painted here: gold, tuscany, lemon.

As Jongho reaches up to brush his hands over these wonderful swirls of sunlight, the door is opened, and his fingers instead hover in front of a chest.

"Ya, Yunho! Is Minji here?" Hongjoong calls as he walks up. Jongho quickly retracts his hands to his sides. "Choi needs to meet her."

"Yes! She's out back." The chest-man calls back.

Jongho stands right on the doorstep, strangely close to this other man, but still almost desperately wishing to touch the yellow hues.

"I'm Jeong Yunho," he smiles, "I think Hongjoong said your name is Choi?"

"Uh, yes. Choi Jongho." But Jongho's eyes look past Yunho to the door-something Yunho laughs softly at.

"Have you ever seen yellow like this?" Yunho steps outside with Jongho and closed the door behind himself.

"This is yellow?" He asks. "There's so many, though... They're all yellow?"

Yunho's eyes glitter with his smile; this is one of his favorite parts of staying at Gidae: the chance to explain true colors. "They're all yellow, but they're all different shades. Like, different versions or flavors of yellow. This one is bumblebee," Yunho points to the second lightest swirl. "This is amber. This one mustard." Yunho's fingers glide from paint mark to paint mark. "This darkest shade is called goldfinch, it's almost the same as mango."

As Jongho stares, looking at the door, Hongjoong and Mingi reappear with one more person in their company. "This is Minji, my cousin. Minji, this is Choi."

"It's nice to meet you, Choi." She bows from the shoulders as Jongho does the same. "I was wondering if we could talk for a little bit? If you'd be more comfortable, Hongjoong or Mingi can come with us as well. We'll just be in the garden."

But Minji looks harmless enough, with a long white skirt and blue scarf wrapped around her chest as a top. Only now does Jongho realize all four of them are barefoot.

"Uh, I guess I can just go by myself?"

"Okay," she smiles. "The boys will be just inside."

"Noona," Hongjoong uses a voice which says he's heard this before, "I'm twenty-four, how long am I going to be the boys."

"Probably forever, since I'll always be your nonna."

Hongjoong just makes a face in response, following Mingi and Yunho through the sunshine door.

Minji leads Jongho behind the hanok to a wooden table shaded by a bamboo grove. The stalks a stunning lemon color, intermittent with green stripes: sacred bali bamboo.

The two take a seats on the grass at opposite ends of the table.

"As Hongjoong said, my name is Kim Minji. You and I are just going to talk about how you got here and what you're looking for. Does that sound okay?"

Jongho nods stiffly.

"Ya, don't be stressed about it!" She laughs as her eyes light up. "It's just a conversation."

Jongho laughs awkwardly in reply.

"So, Choi-ssi, I'm here to listen to your story. Whenever you're ready."

"You-" he starts shy, "you can just call me Jongho."

Jongho is, by nature, a reserved person, but this whole "Choi" only thing is starting to sound strange.

Minji nods in reply, "okay, Jongho."

"Um, where exactly do I start?"

Minji's voice holds the tone of an ocean's smile. "Wherever you want, and take as much time as you desire. I'm here."

So Jongho starts his story.

At first, he was merely going to give the basics: a surface-level, five-minute version. But as he spoke, it just felt so good to explain everything to someone, to a stranger, with no preconceived views, with no family history. To someone as soft as this woman in front of him.

Jongho is certainly not the over-sharing type, but during that hour in the shade of bright yellow bamboo, he just wanted to speak. A new sensation to him.

Jongho wanted someone to understand him, because he himself, did not understand.

"I love them," he speaks of his family, "but I just want to get away from them. And it's so annoying, because it feels like I can't do anything. It was suffocating."

He explains to Minji that same animal-in-a-den analogy he told her cousin the day before.

"Okay, I understand." She replies thoughtfully. "But I have a question: why did you decide to come here, to a place you know barely anything about, verses, say, getting a job, or starting uni, or simply moving out?"

Jongho's heart seems to drop from his chest at this question, for it is exactly what he has been asking himself.

Why can't he just go to uni? It's only four years. Do what he is supposed to do? Why couldn't he move out like a normal person, find a job, get a mortgage, pay for wifi, and streaming, and air-conditioning... Why can't he go buy a phone plan, maybe a gym membership, an old and solid car.

Find a partner who is simply nice: who also has a decent job and good degree and pays bills and taxes. Maybe they would have children... and then those children should go to school... then uni... then a career of their own.

Why can't he just, live life as one should?

But starting that process, simply moving out, did not seem simple at all. That would take so much planning, so much oversight, so many forms and signatures and records. So much of the same, dull, constant noise of the world.

Jongho takes inhales a deep sigh. "I think..." But he doesn't know how to word it.

Minji, of course, can feel his distress rising. She can feel that his soul is burdened with the guilt of failure, that some memories make him want to disappear, and that both the future and past leave him scared and scarred.

She keeps a calm face, though. She lets nothing of her knowledge show.

Minji can also feel that he is honest. The boy in front of her certainly is not an open book, who, on their first day here, ever is? But she can tell: there is no deception in Jongho.

"I think," he continues, "doing anything else felt, kind of, impossible. I just wanted to leave everything behind... and like, be free of it, maybe..."

She nods her head in sympathy. "It sounds to me like you made the right decision by coming, Jongho-ssi."

And Jongho looks up with an almost violently melting heart.

"Do you have anything else you want to say? Yunho and Mingi have made dinner. Or"-she cringes-"at least they tried."

"Why?" Is all he asks.

"Why what?"

"Why are you helping me?" And Jongho is nervous for the answer. Perhaps Minji will say he's mistaken, or that it's only for today, or she wants something too much in exchange.

Or, maybe, Jongho thinks, I wasn't too far off with that cult idea.

"Because helping is my purpose." Minji replies with that same ocean-smile voice.

When Jongho says no more, she stands and beckons him to follow for the meal.

She doesn't think it wise to explain to Jongho, at this time, that all people have a purpose. But one's purpose will make them happy and tranquil, so it is nothing to be anxious over.

After a slightly undercooked dinner, Yunho brings Jongho on a tour of the hanok. "I'll show you the rest of the grounds in the morning," he says, "but it's late now."

There are four bedrooms, all the same, but all spectacular. Jongho wonders how long his awe at the vast array of colors will last.

"Minji stays in this room," Yunho explains as they walk past. "Who do you like more-oh wait," Yunho laughs, "wrong wording. Who, between Joong and Mingi, makes you feel more comfortable?"

Now Jongho didn't mind either-he also didn't know much of either-but who is he more comfortable with? That would be, "Hongjoong."

Yunho laughs (Jongho notices he seems to do that quite often) with a smile of understanding. "Ahhhh, Min-ah." He shakes his head without explaining.

"Joong will stay in the other room, then." Jongho follows the older down the hall. "This hanok is where visitors stay and usually two of us locals will be here to host."

"And here," they stop, "is your room."

Yunho pushes the door open to reveal a blue-themed room. "Blue is said to be the most calming color, so we use it here."

As Jongho looks around, he is still dazzled by the vibrancy and depths color can hold.

Vines grow in from the open window and an even more beautiful plant - one with bold, yellow petals - grows from a mosaic pot in the corner.

"You like the hibiscus?" Yunho asks proudly. "I grew that one yesterday. Yellow for happiness."

This is Mama's pressed flower, simply a different color.

"Yeah, it's nice." He replies.

Stepping into that masterpiece of a bedroom, the bedframe strikes Jongho's attention. Elegant metalwork is woven as if curling with running water; the blown glass corner-posts make rainbow waves in the setting sun.

"Oh!" Yunho says a little too loudly for Jongho's taste. "Have you ever seen a sunset before? We can go and watch one now if you want."

But Jongho replies that he is too tired. "Thank you for the offer, though."

It'd be a lie to say Yunho isn't a little disappointed. Second only to teaching colors, Yunho loves to show chimmongs their first clouded sunset.

Yunho has never been to a city, but he hears buildings try to reach the mountains. Offices and department stores choke out the sky. Cement and tar burns the grass.

"Ah, okay... Uh, let me get you a towel and soap. I assume you'd like a shower."

And yes, yes Jongho most certainly would.

A few moments later, Jongho lets the warm water wash over him. Finally, for the first time in days, he can breathe; perhaps, even, for the first time in months.

The shower stall is covered with sky and stardust mosaics, swirling around like the art he could never afford.

The soap Yunho gave him is rougher than he is used to; the smell earthen enough that Jongho wouldn't recognize it as a detergent.

As water droplets roll over his shoulders, Jongho wonders how the water is treated and warmed, because he doesn't believe there to be any electricity here. Perhaps the electricity exists in a way he is not used to.

But, at this moment, it doesn't exactly matter.

When Jongho steps out of the shower, a smooth, bamboo towel awaits him. Then, borrowed clothing, far simpler than he is used to.

Soon, Jongho is climbing into bed, so incredibly cushioned and clean compared to where he laid the last few nights.

He falls asleep quickly in this strange place.

7-13-22 3.8k words.