2. A Different Path
T he water beneath his feet is crystal clear, the wind as gentle as the flow of the limpid stream. In whichever direction his head turns, fireflies light up the forest like a dream, but beautiful things don’t last as long as they should. Nor do they help alleviate the burdens weighing on Yunho’s mind. Beautiful things are like fire, and just like fire, they can hurt. They sear his brain, swiping his head like the scalding heat from a meteorite, determined to make him fall, to burn and break him until there’s nothing left to fight for.
Yunho flutters his eyes closed as he feels the bleak mid-August air brush against his skin.
It’s been a week since his prison release. He had locked himself in his condominium to avoid the demanding press, doing nothing much but sleeping on the sofa, eating spicy cheetos, watching American shows on Netflix, and stepping back from social media. He’s likely still a hot topic on the internet, and he’s not quite prepared to face the public’s opinion about him just yet. It was only when his parents called him a few hours ago that he decided to lift himself out of his mopey mood and drive himself back home.
Back to where it all began: Damcheon Village. That’s why he’s here now. Rooted on the mysterious, old bridge nestled within the forest of his beloved home, where hundreds of fireflies scatter like tiny specks of stardusts.
Yunho fixes his eyes on the river, his mind meandering as aimlessly as the water stretching out before him.
What in the world compelled him to come back here? All it did was conjure up memories of Jo Wooju, the one who christened this spot the lantern bridge , despite the absence of actual lanterns. Yunho is supposed to head straight home and reunite with his family over tofu and a box of soju , not stand here staring at fireflies like a fool.
Over a decade has passed since Yunho first laid eyes on Wooju.
Wooju had no idea about Yunho stealing glances at him from behind the lilac trees, but Yunho remembers everything from that night as if it were yesterday, even the most discreet of details—the delicate rustling of leaves and purple blooms, that sweet fragrance lingering in the air, the soothing sound of water bubbling over rocks, and that puzzling shift in Wooju’s expression.
Yunho remembers Wooju leaning against the carved wooden railings overlooking the river. Wooju’s thin hair danced in the wind as he peered beneath the icy stream with those striking, ocean-blue eyes, almost as if he wanted to jump.
And the more Yunho observed him, the more he wanted to rescue the peculiar boy.
It wasn’t until the forest fireflies emerged from the lilac trees, coalescing wistfully around Wooju’s slight stature, that Yunho saw the sorrow etched on his face.
However, despite Wooju donning sadness like a second skin, Yunho’s attention lingered on his ethereal beauty. His dark hair complemented his fair complexion, and his full lips made him look like the prince from an illustrated book Yunho had once read; a creation drawn without any flaws.
Yunho never told the boy—nor did he ever admit it to himself until now—that he’d wanted to paint Wooju with his delicate strokes.
Yunho never imagined they would meet again or that he would allow the boy to upend his entire world either.
But he did, and that’s why he’s a fool.
Yunho’s phone vibrates in his pocket.
Severed from the sudden nostalgia, he digs his cell phone out and answers.
“Yunho,” a warm voice on the other end calls out.
He could never forget this voice.
Jo Wooju.
The sky starts drizzling.
The forest fireflies, which used to grace the bridge and the river with light, spiral back into the lilac trees, their glow dimming as their wings flutter in the numbing breeze.
Just moments ago, Yunho was gazing at an imaginary Wooju and relishing their home. Now, he can hear the man’s voice as well. Though faint, it grates on him.
“Yunho.”
Yunho’s heart crashes as he hears his name a second time. He tries his best to block everything out—to not hear, see, or feel—but the past clouds his resentment. He shakes his head vehemently, feeling utterly betrayed by his mind.
It takes him quite a few seconds to compose himself and remember only the constant pain and hatred.
“I hate you, Jo Wooju,” Yunho fumes as the stream below him ripples, mirroring his anger. “What now? Are you pretending to be a good boy in prison? Is that why they’re letting you make calls right away? I guess you’re not as furious as I was, kicking tables and knocking over lunch trays because being there didn’t make any sense to me. So what, is it fun?” He swallows the dryness in his throat, then his voice darkens. “Did you have fun? Making me look like a fool, Jo Wooju?”
“Yunho, how are you feeling?” Wooju murmurs weakly.
Yunho fails to understand these words.
The soft sound of Wooju’s voice baffles him, compelling him to feel like he’s spiraling into Hell and beyond, even though he still has his feet firmly planted on the ground.
Yunho scoffs, his fist knotted tightly at his sides. “If you have nothing else to say, then I’m hanging up.” He takes a deep breath. “Stay away from me.” His voice cracks as he musters the courage to voice his inner anguish. “I never want to hear your voice or see your face again.”
“Yunho, wait?—”
Yunho hurls his phone into the river before Wooju can say another word.
Don’t fall for it, he reminds himself.
But as he watches his phone descend, he wavers—a part of him dying to snatch it back and hear what his old friend has to say. But Yunho clings to his inner fury, refusing to let it recede. He can just ask Bora to buy him a new phone.
It shouldn’t be a problem, right?
That said, Yunho shuns away from the glistening river, desperate to drown their friendship so he can bounce back to the top where he truly belongs—where he has always been the happiest. He takes one stalwart step toward the lilac trees, then another, but a brief chime brings him to a sudden halt. Driven by curiosity, he looks straight ahead.
Toward a small glint of light.
There’s someone— something —watching him.
But it is too far ahead and too dark to tell who or what.
As if by signal, the fireflies in the area soar out from the lilacs again, casting light on his path.
Yunho’s lips quiver at the sight.
Female deers with antlers are extremely rare, yet one perches at the end of the narrow bridge.
The large doe’s antlers beam as bright as gold, even more so as the lightning bugs crowd around its body.
Through the rustling of leaves and the murmurs of the river, the doe’s unwavering gaze meets Yunho’s.
Its glassy eyes beckon him to come closer as if it wants to help him navigate through the darkness threatening to confine him. Before Yunho can take another step forward, a sweet lullaby echoes in the air, calming the cloudy sky, the moon, and the fireflies living in the forest.
Find me, find me, find me where fireflies dwell?.?.?.
Yunho doesn’t know how it’s possible, but the hymn emanates from the doe’s fuzzy, branched antlers. He sees the musical notes drifting in gold and sapphire, forming muffled lyrics. Yunho thinks he’s heard it before—the melody of a broken heart, a forgotten memory—but he’s unable to place it, unable to remember what he could have forgotten in such a cruel world.
But he feels it.
Find me, find me, find me where fireflies dwell?.?.?.
He feels the music. It is soothing, familiar, and beautiful. It feels like home and youth. It calls for him like a siren’s song, drawing him in to listen as the pattering of raindrops penetrates through the crisp yet distinct sounds of nature.
Then, it dissolves into the background, yielding to the rising intensity of the rain.
The doe turns on its hooves, and Yunho darts ahead in one frantic step, wanting to chase it before it vanishes.
He wants to say, No, don’t go just yet; I need to hear more, but the doe with the prettiest antlers he’s ever seen continues to lope away with grace, its celestial antlers gleaming before fading completely into a faint haze.
Yunho had lost all faith in miracles until this moment.
“Wait—” He attempts to spring forward, but he slips on the rain-slicked ground and falls backward. As Yunho feels his body descend in slow motion, he catches a glimpse of the myriad of stars in the night sky—right before his head meets the damp, wooden surface of the bridge.
It has been ages since he last saw stars in the sky. Be it in the city or in town, pollution has long succeeded in dimming their light, blanketing the sky with darkness.
Now, as he lies on the ground with his eyes closed, Yunho wonders?.?.?. Is this the end of the world?
. . . Or am I dying?
For a moment, silence engulfs him. No sound from the rain or the creatures inhabiting the forest. Just utter silence followed by the faint beep of a car.
Memories of the past few years flash before Yunho’s eyes: the first time he and Wooju got drunk together, sleeping in the same bed, countless road trips through foreign countries, Wooju’s amusement at being mistaken for a married couple, receiving his first acting accolade, Wooju celebrating his win with speed racing, and?—
Wooju framing him for an impossible crime.
The memories fade away as quickly as they come.
As soon as Yunho cracks his eyes open, he rescans the vicinity and stretches his muscles, hoping the fall didn’t fracture his bones. However, even as he moves his arm, panic continues to rise in his throat. He can’t feel the aged, weathered wood of the bridge beneath him or hear the patter of rain. No forest, no river, no purple lilac trees, no fireflies.
Not even the doe.
This is not the lantern bridge anymore.
Yunho’s mind swirls in disbelief as this realization hits him. How? He’s inside a brand-new-looking car, seated on the driver’s side with a seatbelt secured across his chest, his hands gripping the padded steering wheel.
The air has acquired a peculiar scent, too. It is now a heavy combination of lemon and chemicals.
Lost in a haze of bewilderment, Yunho observes the leather interior encircling him with its outdated ergonomic features and the steering wheel draped in wood grain finish. It looks so much like the white 2014 Mercedes-Benz his dad gave him for his eighteenth birthday. The one he later traded in for a BMW.
What the?.?.?. ?
Yunho swears, his heartbeat pulsing in his ears.
Is this for real, or is he lingering in a dream? Perhaps he’ll wake up before he can even finish immersing himself in the nostalgia. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he spots the silver lamppost on the side of the street and the magnolia tree planted next to it, the dark road, and that boy in front of his car.
Jo Wooju.
Wooju is clad in an all-black sweater, faded black jeans, and a pair of dirty white sneakers. His hair is disheveled, as if he has just awakened from a deep sleep.
When did he get out of prison?
At that exact moment, Wooju lifts his gaze toward the headlights, prompting Yunho’s heart to skip a beat.
In an instant, everything comes rushing back to Yunho. This moment right now? This was how they officially met ten years ago—the night summer break of 2014 ended—when he almost hit Wooju with his car.
Yunho looks out through the other side of his tinted car window. He takes in the sights of the convenience store, the rundown bar, the modernized apartment building he used to reside in, and his old high school.
The images of his small neighborhood are too flawless, too real. They don’t feel like mere memories or dreams at all.
So what is it? If Wooju and his car are still here, then where in the world is he?
Theories run rampant within Yunho’s mind as he desperately seeks a plausible explanation. Perhaps he damaged his brain from the fall. Or maybe he is rapidly descending into insanity, and this is all in his mind.
Yunho remembers the feeling of enchantment, of climbing out of the car to help Wooju up.
He doesn’t remember this—him balling his fists, itching for a fight, enraged as he watches a younger Wooju struggling to get back on his feet.
Wooju once told him that sometimes you have to carve a new path for yourself and move forward. Sometimes, the people you thought were your closest allies end up being the reason you fall. That’s why, sometimes, you need to be alone to understand that the world breaks everyone and that, at the end of the day, you only have yourself.
Yunho never thought he’d listen.
Now, he does.
Instead of going out there to meet the raven-haired boy the same way they had in the past, Yunho stomps on the gas pedal, turns the car around, and disappears from Wooju’s sight, his heart racing as if every breath could be his last.
A memory or a dream? He’ll worry about that later. For now, Yunho vows to stay away from the boy who broke his trust. Because, at the end of the day, he only has himself. He never had Wooju, not now, not ever, and he has to start accepting it before he wakes up from whatever this is.