Chapter 15

"Come straight back home, okay?" Sung-Hoon urged, his voice laced with concern as he handed Yeon-Jun his neatly packed backpack, which contained all the essentials for his hiking trip. He surveyed the contents, ensuring nothing was amiss, but his anxiety was palpable. "I mean," he hesitated, his brow furrowing in a way that signaled his struggle to temper his protective instincts, "why do you want to suddenly go on a hiking trip? And alone, of all things." Since their father's passing, Sung-Hoon had morphed into a fortress of worry, enveloping Yeon-Jun in layers of overprotectiveness that bordered on obsession. He convinced himself that this vigilance was a form of love and protection for his 'only family,' yet deep down, he was aware that it was suffocating Yeon-Jun, eroding his spirit.

Yeon-Jun had been grappling with this harsh reality. He recognized that if he didn't assert his independence soon, their relationship would become a stifling loop where neither could breathe freely. Hence, he resolved to embark on this solitary hiking adventure, hoping it would serve as a wake-up call for Sung-Hoon—a reminder that Yeon-Jun was not a fragile object to be shielded from the world but a breathing individual who needed all the experiences he could get, without being caged up or put on a pedestal.

Anticipating Sung-Hoon's resistance, Yeon-Jun decided to employ his most persuasive tool: the 'victim card.' He signed dramatically, "Are you saying that because I'm mute, I can't do what others can?" Frustration flashed through his gestures, and he poured on the theatrics, culminating in a few well-timed faux tears that hit home for Sung-Hoon. "Do you think living with a disability is easy? Do you believe I don't face challenges because others label me as 'not normal'? Just because I lack a voice doesn't mean I don't have a say in my life." The emotional plea struck a chord, softening Sung-Hoon's defenses just enough to allow Yeon-Jun to step out into the world.

As he walked, a hint of satisfaction surged through Yeon-Jun. "Serves him right," he thought, squeezing the last remnants of chocolate from a pouch before crumpling it up and tossing it into the trash can next to the bus stop where he had been dropped off. "Who is he to dictate my activities when even Dad never held me back?" He felt a flicker of defiance as he made his way toward the trailhead. The route appeared straightforward, yet he knew it would be an uphill battle both figuratively and literally, considering his physical activity was limited mostly to badminton games or the occasional sprint during gym class.

"What if he passes out? What if he loses his way? What if he gets injured?" Sung-Hoon paced anxiously around the dimly lit room, his mind racing with a relentless stream of worst-case scenarios regarding Yeon-Jun's safety. The walls listened silently, serving as the only audience to his escalating worries, but that was until Tae-Min arrived, having accepted Sung-Hoon's invitation under the guise of sharing drinks together. Little did he know, he'd be subjected to a lengthy monologue filled with Sung-Hoon's spiraling thoughts of concern.

Tae-Min, exasperated by his friend's fretfulness, let out an exaggerated sigh. "You're worrying for nothing," he replied, his tone a mix of concern and bemusement. Standing up from the small table where they had gathered, he rummaged through his pocket and pulled out his phone, his thumbs quickly navigating to an advertisement for a trendy new club opening up just a few blocks away. The vibrant colors and enticing images flickered on the screen, beckoning them toward a much-needed distraction.

"Ever since your dad passed away, you've been way too invested in everything but yourself," Tae-Min continued, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. He could see the toll that grief had taken on his friend, transforming him from a carefree young man into someone who seemed perpetually burdened. "Look, you haven't even crossed your thirties yet, and you're already acting like you're nearing retirement. What are you going to do when you actually reach that age? Stay home and worry? You need to live a little!"

With a supportive hand on Sung-Hoon's back, he gently urged him toward the door, the fresh evening air spilling in as they stepped outside the restaurant. "Let's have some fun. Yeon-Jun went on that trip to enjoy himself; he wouldn't want us sitting here, drowning in our own worries," Tae-Min insisted, his voice lightening as he attempted to lift the heavy atmosphere. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow, signaling the start of night.

Sung-Hoon's mind was still clinging to thoughts of Yeon-Jun, who was supposed to be returning the next day, but as he looked at Tae-Min's determined expression, he began to feel a sliver of hope. He knew deep down that there was no sense in fretting right now; even if something were to happen to Yeon-Jun, it was unlikely he would ever hear about it during this trip. Tae-Min had a point—his anxious tendencies needed to be curbed before they drove him to chase after Yeon-Jun himself, spiraling into an exhausting worry.

With a reluctant but hopeful nod, Sung-Hoon consented. "Alright, let's check out that club," he said, a hint of excitement beginning to stir within him. Yeon-Jun's and Tae-Min's missions had somehow tasted the fruits of succession. Sung-Hoon was finally out of his bubble of anxiety. But the same couldn't have been said for Yeon-Jun.

"Did I really have to go on a hiking trip of all things?" Yeon-Jun pondered as he sat on the edge of the rocky trail, his weary body slumped against a gnarled tree trunk, with no sign of human presence around him. The sun was obscured, its warm glow swallowed by thick, ominous clouds that loomed overhead, casting a muted gray light across the landscape. The distant rumble of thunder warned him of the impending storm, while he rubbed his aching ankles, the fatigue creeping through his legs as he realized he could barely feel his feet after hours of strenuous hiking.

After managing to scale the summit, he had been unaware of the warning about the approaching rain, neglecting to wait for the forest ranger who often guided hikers down the mountain. Now, utterly fatigued and without cell service in this remote area, he found himself on a trail that he belatedly recognized as one that had been designated unsafe during wet conditions due to its steep incline. It dawned on him that he was utterly alone, with no hope of rescue.

Yeon-Jun took a deep breath to steady his racing heart, resolving not to succumb to panic. He shifted the weight of his backpack, attempting to ease the strain on his weary ankles. Peering inside, he assessed his supplies: two water bottles, one filled with icy water and the other with warm, which he quickly mixed together in one bottle, discarding the redundant one. He recalled that moderate water temperature was preferable to either extreme in such a situation.

Next, he rifled through three lunch boxes, remnants of his earlier meal preparations—one meant for the ascent, another for enjoying at the peak, and one for the descent. He hastily transferred the remaining food into a durable ziplock bag, discarding the empty boxes to minimize his load. His fingers brushed against the contents of his pack, where a reliable flashlight, a power bank, and a first aid kit sat. With swift efficiency, he extracted them, placing them into the ziplock bag while discarding the bulk of the packaging he no longer needed.

As he finally flicked on his flashlight, droplets began to splatter against the leaves overhead, soon escalating into a steady downpour. Realizing the danger of traversing straight down the treacherous incline amidst the slick mud, he opted to maneuver diagonally, seeking the support of the trees that flanked the trail. Every few steps brought him to varying heights, where the ground underfoot would shift from steep to inexplicably flat. He learned to crawl towards the more stable areas before attempting to stand and take further steps.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Yeon-Jun approached a precarious wooden bridge that stretched over a cluster of jagged rocks below. It didn't take long for him to assess the situation—the rocks, artfully placed in the path of a trickling stream, had likely been intended as a decorative feature rather than a stabilizing structure. The bridge was tethered into the earth rather than anchored on solid rock, raising red flags in his mind. The very soil beneath it, soaked by the rain now pouring down, could easily be compromised, threatening to undermine the bridge's integrity and send him tumbling into the canal below.

After a considerable pause, pondering the precariousness of the rickety bridge, Yeon-Jun ultimately chose to forgo crossing it. Instead, he began to maneuver carefully along the bank of the stream, which was strewn with uneven rocks. He surmised that the rocks had been deliberately placed there, not due to a scarcity of water in the stream, but as a safeguard for hikers navigating the trail. As he ventured further along the rugged path, Yeon-Jun imagined that just beyond the next bend, the water would deepen, and where there is water, there are bound to be people, particularly in a region renowned for its fishing traditions. Yet, that acknowledgment birthed another concern; he was acutely aware that such environments often attract wildlife, raising the possibility of encountering animals that might pose a threat. Nevertheless, he clung to the notion that a glimmer of hope was preferable to complete despair.

With each cautious step supported by the sturdy trees lining his route, Yeon-Jun noticed the stream's water meandering lazily past the rocks that hindered its flow. It was a foreboding sign that, should the rainfall persist, the area might soon be inundated. Despite the delicate nature of the rain currently falling, he couldn't shake the sense of urgency that threatened to escalate.

After navigating the twisty path for what felt like an eternity, Yeon-Jun sought refuge beneath the expansive canopy of a large tree, positioned well away from the stream's edge to safeguard himself in the event of a sudden downpour causing it to flood. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and retrieved his phone from his pocket, hopeful for a signal, yet to no avail. He found himself wedged between the ascent of the mountain above and the treacherous stream below, lacking the energy to scale higher, and far too distanced from a downward escape.

As he surveyed his surroundings, Yeon-Jun scanned the dimly lit area with the beam of his flashlight, searching for any manageable materials that he could use to scale the incline or fashion a makeshift barrier against the relentless rain. Yet, all his eyes fell upon were damp, decaying twigs scattered around him. An ominous thought flashed through his mind: "Landslide..." His heart raced as a warning sign from the base of the mountain surged into his consciousness, stirring feelings of anxiety within him. The rain intensified, and the rolling thunder echoed ominously overhead.

In a sudden rush of nostalgia, a vivid memory surfaced—a fleeting glimpse of his childhood. "Mom… Dad…" The incessant downpour seemed to amplify the clarity of the recollections, yet simultaneously clouded them with a sense of vagueness. A distant recollection of a past long buried unfurled in his mind, an unfamiliar moment that felt strangely familiar; it was as if he were reliving it anew, even though his body reacted as if it had faced this moment countless times before. He had long believed he possessed no voice, yet now, fragments of conversation reverberated within him. "Selective mutism…" The flicker of a memory danced forward, recalling his first encounter with Sung-Hoon's father. "I can talk…" A feeble whisper escaped his lips, intertwined with a stifled hiccup, barely piercing through the cacophony of the storm, before he succumbed to the darkness, unconscious.