DEAD MAN'S HAND.

III

3. Spontaneous bonding was not made for panicked runaways.

"How can you be so sure that there are no cameras here?" Unease existed in the way Jisoo's eyes explored every shadowed inch of the room before he entered, the way he memorized the cracks in the walls as if it the cement would crumble at the slightest touch - the way trepidation swelled through him even after repetitive reassurance, the way his throbbing heart echoed in his ears as if every beat was numbered, as if it were a bomb ticking down to his demise.

His fear served as a grim reminder of his own mortality; the most minuscule things could end his life, and there was nothing he could do about it. The hooded veil of death had surrounded his world in every fond memory, with every recollection of adrenaline rushes and panicked expressions and short-lived guilt. He knew that death was not kind; even in the fairytales of his late-night imagination, in his nightmares of robed skeletons with dark scythes, he knew better than to hope for mercy. He'd always known that death lurked behind corners, that every crosswalk was plagued with cons, that even plastic bags and jump ropes had safety warnings, but never had he felt it so closely. He was always an optimist, staring at passing dogs instead of speeding cars, but to feel the felt the icy aura of his manifested grim reaper so near to his skin was a different story.

A bullet aimed well would end his life in an instant, give him only a moment to watch his most adoring sentiments flash before his eyes, and then he'd be gone. A knife would be painful, plunged once or twice or a million times into his stomach - it might kill him in minutes, or painfully slowly, and he didn't know if he'd rather end it all quickly or bleed out for hours because every one of his mentalities was shifting and he didn't know what to do. Bombs were only as effective as the attacker, but Jisoo was starting to doubt that inexperience was common on the streets. Anyone able to survive a month on the execution list had to have some sort of skill, some talent to offer - either in wealth, action, or wisdom - and Jisoo was poor and unknowing, but at least he was not ignorant. He knew all too well that cameras did not always come in obvious forms, that it wasn't always a flickering red light, that it wasn't always accompanied by whirring - a sound that served as the theme song to his panic. A promise of privacy - from Jeonghan, of all people - was hardly a guarantee of security. It was a half-hearted consolation at best.

Regardless, Jisoo would always try to find the sun even when the sky was dark. That day, he thought, he'd just have to squint.

"Because I was raised to be a government rat, by government rats, so I know how a government rat works. This place has been shut down for decades, and it's going to fall apart soon, so there's no point in putting cameras in them. They took them out two years ago when they boarded everything up. I would know." Impatience existed in the way Jeonghan's voice went from relaxed to snappy in seconds, the way intolerance reflected in his hardened gaze - a face that had not been spared of torture, that had witnessed the good and the bad and the minuscule in between, the grey area that he'd never quite been able to define. There was no point in dwelling over what was objective and what wasn't, because nothing was truly absolute. Experience shaped perspective. A hero's good was a villain's bad, and Jeonghan was no saint to choose what made a hero.

"Well, you're awfully confident." Jeonghan's stoic expression melted into amusement at Jisoo's careful, narrowed eyes. Untrusting. Hesitant. How endearing - too worried about the prospect of footage caught on camera to account for the facts. Jisoo was rather reluctant in his endeavors for someone who didn't have another option, unless he counted death as a feasible solution to his problems. A building left untouched for years, with rotting framework and insects crawling underneath aged cobwebs, would not have a functioning camera; and on the off chance that it did, the darkness would at least mask their faces, if not their presence entirely. Jeonghan's initiative made up for Jisoo's apprehension and Seungcheol's confusion; he stepped away from the splintered door, running his fingers over the vines gnarling between the gaps of hastily nailed wooden boards. His footsteps were heavy in a way that encompassed certainty, and despite all Jisoo's attempts to have faith in Jeonghan's actions, the careless echoing of his movements seemed like a foolproof way to get themselves killed. "Are you sure about this?"