Work Text:
Park Moondae has been home alone for two weeks, and he feels like he’s coming apart at the seams.
He’s been alone before — in fact, he’s been alone more often than not, if you count his original life, but this life has slowly spoiled him. It doesn’t help that this is the longest he’s ever been alone since they’d defeated the system. Essentially, this is the first time he’s been alone this long without having to think of how to circumvent the looming threat of disaster.
But Ahyeon, Chungwoo and Lee Sejin are all vacationing with their families. Bae Sejin is shooting for a new movie. The two youngest are shooting for an adventure-type variety show, and both Big Moon and Shin Jaehyun are abroad for business.
The first one due to return is Jaehyun, and not until three more days. He doesn’t know what he’s meant to do until then.
Just a month ago, during TeSTAR’s post-tour, pre-vacation celebration, a tipsy Big Moon admitted that he’d only just truly gotten used to his new body and name.
“Hyung is so amazing!” Big moon had said, “He learned to sing and dance in another body in a few weeks! I had to practice 10,000 steps a day so I’d stop stumbling over my own feet when I wasn’t paying attention! And he actually looked when people called out ‘Park Moondae’! For at least the first half year in this body, people had to call out ‘Ryu Gunwoo’ to me at least thrice, before I actually realised they were talking to me!”
“That’s because you were helping me…” Park Moondae protested weakly, “You buffered a lot of the shock for me.”
Big moon blinked at him innocently, “No. I wasn’t shielding you like that. That was all you!”
“Our Moondae is really amazing,” A red-faced Lee Sejin jumped in exuberantly. “You can throw anything at him and he’ll come out on top!”
“Not really…” Moondae muttered, flustered, but the rest of his teammates jumped on him for a group hug, and everything just got progressively more chaotic from there.
The thing is, in the privacy of his own mind, Park Moondae admits that he knows full well that his ease in becoming someone else entirely isn’t normal at all, and he also knows exactly why he’d been able to do it so seamlessly.
He’d been empty almost his entire first life.
It’s hard to explain to people who have never truly been alone before, but… As days go by without any consistency or permanence, it’s all too easy to let go of everything. Of things, of accomplishments… of self, even.
From the day his parents died and he was thrown to uncaring relatives, Ryu Gunwoo was slowly whittled away by the gaping hole where love and comfort and family used to be, and by the time he’d met Big Moon, it was too little too late. He’d already been carved out.
The truth is simple: becoming “Park Moondae” was easy because “Ryu Gunwoo” stopped truly existing long before the System came into play.
But now, thanks to Big Moon, Park Moondae has a new life, a new body, new friends, and new family. He knows he isn’t alone — his constant kakaotalk notifications are a constant reminder — but his brain has forgotten how loud his doubts can be, while his heart has unfortunately never forgotten the gaping ache of loneliness.
It’s easy to fall back into old patterns. To let the demons in his head tell him that one day, everyone will disappear just like his parents did. That all this was just temporary, and that the return to emptiness is inevitable.
Every day he’s alone, he feels the numbness slowly crawl in from the edges to the centre of his very soul, and nothing he’s done to stop it seems to be working. He’s tried going out, taking walks, and talking to people, but everyone he actually knows is out of reach, and the sense of distance from the world he’s been feeling hasn’t improved from his efforts. His loved ones' photos, messages, calls, and voice notes are the only things that really help, but they are not enough. Their effects are too temporary. His doubts are too loud, and their existences feel too intangible.
He knows that they’d come if he called, but some part of him is paralysed by fear — what if he’s wrong? What if they don’t come? Even worse, what if he’s just been imagining all of them, and this second life is all a delusion? Worse still, what if they do come, but nothing changes? What if he’s broken forever?
On top of all this, he also feels a crushing guilt.
His friends, his family — they don’t
deserve
his doubt. He shouldn’t
need
to call on them like a child seeking reassurance. He should be old enough and mature enough to
know
that he isn’t alone. To know that he is loved, and cared for, and that people would be sad if he died.
He had more than enough proof. His entire second life was given to him simply because someone loved him enough to refuse to let go.
So Park Moondae hangs on, but he has no idea for how much longer.
It’s on one his worst moments, when all he can do is stare blankly at the fridge, wondering what the point of eating is when everything will still feel empty afterwards, that the door to the apartment opens behind him.
He feels fear and anticipation wage war inside him — he wants to hope, wants to believe, that he’ll finally stop scattering away in the wind, but he’s been disappointed so many times in his first life that he can’t let go of his worries.
So he stays still, right there, in front of a half empty fridge, afraid that even one twitch of his finger will shatter this dream — that someone has come for him in his worst moments, even though he’s never struck up the courage to ask .
Warm arms wrap around him from behind, and Park Moondae feels the brush of soft lips on his temple.
“You’re home early.” Park Moondae says, voice miraculously steady.
“I couldn’t cope without you.” Shin Jaehyun says, resting his forehead against the back of Moondae’s head.
Shin Jaehyun’s voice is teasing, but his arms are wrapped tightly around Park Moondae, as if afraid to let go. His fingertips tremble ever so slightly where they’re resting against Moondae’s hips, and his breath puffs unevenly at the base of Moondae’s neck.
Shin Jaehyun’s steadiness is as false as Park Moondae’s.
Shin Jaehyun, after all, has lived centuries more years of emptiness than Park Moondae has. Shin Jaehyun, more than anyone else, truly knows the worst of Park Moondae’s fears and doubts.
“I couldn’t either.” Park Moondae admits through the lump that’s formed in his throat.
Park Moondae shuts the fridge door and rests his own shaking hands on top of Shin Jaehyun’s. They stay there, leaning against each other until slowly, their hands steady, and slowly, their breaths even out.
Tomorrow, they’ll start trying to reassemble their broken selves together, but for now, it’s enough to know — someone is here, and someone understands.